Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

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RICHMOND RODEO THE HOLY CROSS | | HE night seemed steeped in silver moonlight. Mercedes crept to the window, and pressing her face against the bars, gazed out into the peaceful stillness. Below her, rolling hills spread out into the marshland, but to the west the land rose steeply to a crest—at the foot of the slope on the opposite side lay the bay. She studied the lurking blackness beneath the clumps of brush for signs of life. Ever were the traders on the alert for wandering bands of Indians. The strong walls of the convent served not only as a school for the young people but often as a fortress for this hardy little band of Mexican explorers. Toward the east several black clouds hovered and cast their ominous shadows. Startled by a noise within she drew her mantilla over her head and stepped back into the room, away from the light of the window. Her roommates were sleeping heavily; the whole house seemed weighed down with stillness. She was impatient to be away. Her life appeared hard and unpleasant by night; she did not realize that daylight would lend a brighter aspect. It was all too stern and strict; the long hours of study were intolerably tiresome and confining. Only the day before she had been forced to crawl and lick the cross outlined on the floor of the chapel, merely for evading the morning service. She shuddered at the thought of the undue severity of the pen- ance. Glancing out of the window again she sighed for joy. On the ridge of the hill, his black form outlined abruptly against the bright sky, stood the Gringo. She drew a cloak about her and creeping along in utter darkness, felt her way stealthily through the hallways. On reaching the patio she was startled 18

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RICHMOND ‘RODEO was off like a flash, for already his pursuers, recovering from their excitement, were mounting their horses to give chase. Manuel Piora was soon galloping in pursuit, scarce a hun- dred yards behind Murietta. Raising himself in his saddle with the cry, ‘‘I said I’d have revenge,’’ he emptied his pistol after the fleeing couple. A shriek of pain rent the air, for the bullet, missing its intended victim, tore through Loretta’s arm. Turning quickly in his saddle, with an oath, Murietta took careful aim and shot once. Piora fell from his horse. But Murietta knew every trail and pass in the mountains, and having a far better horse than any of his pursuers, the outlaw made his escape, carrying the limp but breathing form of Loretta in his arms. The silence of night had settled over the land. In a little adobe iglesia back in the hills, an old Spanish priest softly chanted his prayers. Suddenly a loud knocking interrupted him. Crossing himself, the priest called, ‘‘Who comes here?’’ ‘Friends, who seek your assistance, good Father. We wish to be married,’’ was the answer. ‘‘Enter,’ commanded the priest, throwing open the puerta. ‘Are you both of the faith?’’ ‘That we are,’’ readily replied a young Espanol, who sup- ported a half-fainting girl on his arm. ‘‘The Signora is injured, Father, and needs her wounds bandaged.’’ After Loretta had recovered sufficiently, the simple wed- ding ceremony was performed and the midnight travelers made ready to start. Murietta lifted his bride to the saddle, and sprang up be- hind her. Then taking the reins in his hands, he called out to the ancient priest, ‘‘Father, when you see Manuel Piora, tell him that I, Joaquin Murietta, did not get him last time; but the next time I shoot to kill.’”’ ‘““Murietta!’’ gasped the old Father, crossing himself. ‘“‘God help you, Manuel Piora, for you are doomed!”’ —WILMA ROTH, ’10. 17

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RICHMOND RODEO —it was as light as day; she could never dare to cross it. Keep- ing near the edge, she was making her way around in the shadow of the wall, when a footstep arrested her. She sank back into a doorway, fearing every breath detected. But it was only old Jose, the friendly keeper. As she went toward him he started and would have cried out, but she motioned him to be silent. ‘‘Jose—the door?’’ she whispered, clutching his sleeve. “fh! What did I promise, Senorita?’’ he said, and jingled his purse. She silenced him quickly, for the slightest sound awoke the echoes. ‘“‘Gratias, Jose,’’ she smiled. ‘‘Adios, Senorita.’’ He would have lingered but she dis- appeared abruptly in the shadows. At the timbered door in the outer wall she stopped to quiet her pounding heart and peer back into the moonlit gar- den. Then, finding the bolt in the dark, she slowly swung the door on its hinges, just wide enough to let her pass, and slipped out. But to close it—she seemed hours long. The ponderous weight jarred, and the iron bolt grated, until she was almost in a frenzy. Stealing away, she sought every clump of shrubbery and crept along until finally a friendly cloud covered for a moment the all too bright moon—then she sped frantically up the hill. The tall Gringo sprang to meet her, his eyes flashing—his voice tense— ““Ah, my Mercedes!’’ He took her hand and together they rushed on. Now over the top of the hill she stopped for breath, but soon they hurried on down the slope toward the water. There was the great ship riding at anchor on the brilliant bay, her masts swaying to and fro with the current, and below was the small boat that was to help them to the ship.. Climbing down the rocks they reached the beach. Here, surely, they need not fear, for the cliff hid 19