San Ramon Valley High School - Kernel Yearbook (Danville, CA)

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,ir- -ra' i Tl X427 must be careful. They both shuddered as the thought of the terrible fued of a century came flooding back. The tales of knifing and murder done by their g families. UBut Felita, they will never know. M cousin Allesandro Vallejo will shelter us, Come.n At that moment Carlos Moraga's eyes stray- ed from the rhythmical tangle of the daneer's feet, and saw Juan standing there. With an insane ery he pointed to the man cornered by the wall. nJuan De Soto,W he scrcamed.N That swine at my wedding festival. Hwith animal rage he lunged toward Juan but as suddenly stood frozen. Over the wall a horrible face grinned at him. The face of WEl Diablo.' On the strained ears of the listening group beat the mad-tortured laughter of a soul in hell. A wavering, fading scream and El Diablo had gone! A small piece of greasy paper fluttered to the ground. It bore the feared inscription-- WEl Espiritu de la Montana Ha Habladon The terrible curse of the mountain spirit had fallen! The rest of the night men worked with l feverish haste, trying to construct a fort-' barred gates--set up guns--stationed look-outs-- reinforced walls--endless labor. Felita forced her tired brain to direct them but she gave up and with leaden feet, walk- ed slowly to her balcony. Watching--waiting for death. Then a faint grey light began to show over the mountain only a few moments longer-- the workers slept. The faint notes of a guitar recalled happier days. Felita, singing her last goodbye to her lover. A ray of light struck the crest of the mountain and the skin drums of the Bolgones

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Eizjr +-a.. V XJ s EL ESPANTO NTHE TERRORU Fclita sat on the little balcony looking down into the courtyard where the wedding festi- val was at the height of its mad gayety. The fevered rhythm of the guitars gave animation to the twirling feet of the dancing girl in the light of a huge bonfire. A circle of eager, happy faces surrounded her so that no movement would escape their gleaming eyes. Tomorrow was Felita's wedding day. To- morrow she would go to the chapel of the padre's mission, and after a few quiet words she would be Senora Moraga. No longer the gay Felita of San Ramon. y She would leave the sleepy, tranquil beauty of the valley that bore her name. Desert the gardens and orchards of the hacienda of adobe and bright red tiles, so dear to the heart of the color-loving child of Spain. She would pass out of the shadows of devil mountain to the stately House of Moraga where the mad old Senor ruled with heavy hand. ' A silence settled over the group as the haunting strains of NOld Madridu throbeed beneath the fingers of the dancing girl. Her clear, lilting voice sang the love song of a Spanish Knight of Granada. nCome, my love, the Stars are shining--N Time is flying, love is sighing-- Come, for thee a heart is pining-- Here alone I wait for thee--H NFelita,N a soft whisper ended her reverie. WFe1ita, did you hear that song--those words? nCome my love, the stars are shining.H UJuan,N she cried sharply,H go away, my father and Carlos will kill you! The hatred of the San Ramon's and Moraga's for the family of De Soto will never die! Since Romero Moraga was murdered the fued has doubled its fury. You

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2 began their message of death. Another moment and the sun arose to its full glory, the ravines of the mountain were stained with bloody light. The time had come! With cries of rage the painted horde swarm- ed over the valley. The horrible painted Nspiritu danced before them, arousing their lust for blood. Down, down they swept, through the fields of green grass, through the orchards to the vineyards. There they halted for a moment, impaired by the creeping vines but not for long. With renewed fury they came on. The corral gates crashed and the fences fell. Near- er they came--by leaps and bounds to the doom- ed watchers--I Thus Felita was not permitted to make her choice between a romantic elopement or a common- place, respectable marriage. She was not to be the heroine of another legend to add allure to the mad moments of a fiesta or to stir the sleep- ing thoughts of love in the wistful eyed Spanish maidens or to render more arduous the age old serenades strummed by dashing cavaliers to their lady loves, a tale that would bring memories to the gossiping old Peons that bask in the sun by the stable gates. I Nor was she to rule in the House of Moraga, growing old and corpulent, with grand-children following her footsteps about the garden, or listening wide-eyed as she directed her Indian workmen. For, by noon the haeienda of San Ramon had vanished. In its place was a heap of smouldering ruins. El Diablo had come. And gone! Jean Miller