the Californios (1974)

by L'amour, Louis

  There was water at the trough near the corral, too, but that was far, far away, beyond the limit of what strength he had left.

  Suddenly his eyes were open and he was aware that he had been asleep without remembering even closing his eyes. He listened ... somebody in the house was talking.

  He could make out none of the words.

  He blinked his eyes ... why, it wasn't in the house! It was there! Right in front of him.

  His mother was on a horse and someone was beside her. It was Mariana.

  Someone was talking.

  "He's dead, and we killed him." Wooston suddenly stepped from under the overhang. "Look for yourself. He's there!"

  He stepped out another step and pointed at the rocks. Suddenly, as the skies had paled somewhat since he had gone inside, he seemed to see the rocks for the first time.

  Unbelieving Wooston took a step forward and Sean grabbed the bank and pulled himself erect. He grabbed a stick and using it for a staff, propped himself up. His gun was in his right hand.

  "Not yet, Wooston. I'm not dead yet."

  With an animal like cry, Wooston swung his gun up as Fernandez ran from the house. Sean shot, firing quickly but smoothly.

  Wooston wore a white shirt and the target was perfect. Fernandez ran into the open and began firing rapidly. Bullets dusted around Sean but suddenly somebody else was shooting and then another. Sean shot Fernandez and saw the man fall.

  Tomas Alexander suddenly appeared in the door, his hands up.

  The shooting was over, and all was still.

  Sean Mulkerin stood weaving on his feet, staring around him, and then he had two women holding him and crying, and Johnny Mims was riding into the yard with Honeycutt and Campbell.

  Chapter 21

  Sean Mulkerin had been in bed three weeks when Andres Machado came to see him.

  Mariana opened the door for him, and Machado stepped in. "So?" he said. "You choose this way of escape! Anything to avoid fighting Machado! You go out and get yourself shot by a pack of dogs! Well, so be it. I shall have to wait."

  "Sorry, my friend," Sean said, smiling a little. "First time I can ever remember keeping any man waiting, but I guess it will have to be."

  Machado walked closer to the bed. "My friend, you are a brave man, a very brave man. I am sorry that my anger would not let me think wisely.

  "You were right, of course! Why waste time on a girl who does not love me when so many do? Of course, it is true! I shall stay here awhile, and then I shall go back to Mexico, but I shall miss you, my friend."

  Sean held out his hand. "You're a tough enemy, amigo, but you'll make a better friend."

  When he was gone, Sean closed his eyes. He could hear the voices outside, the soft murmur of them, slowly receding as they drew away from the house.

  His eyes closed. It was good to rest, and he would have to rest a great deal. He had been hit three times, and he had lost blood.

  The curtain stirred. He heard his mother's voice outside. She was talking again of planting flowers where the stones were ... how many times had she planned that?

  Michael was coming out. He was back from Monterey. Things were happening and there was talk of a rebellion against Micheltorena.

  Suddenly his muscles tensed, then slowly, very slowly they relaxed. His eyes closed. Somebody was in the room with him, somebody who moved very, very softly. He thought something brushed against the bed, he thought someone leaned above him, then a faint click of a stone on stone and a faint shuffling.

  Under the blankets his fingers closed around the butt of his Paterson. He waited, but there was no further sound, nothing but a faint, lingering smell of crushed cedar.

  Suddenly someone was singing outside, then Mariana came in. She stopped suddenly, and he opened his eyes. His mother was behind her and they were staring with eyes that would not believe.

  He lifted himself up and looked.

  On the mantle above the fireplace was the missing jar from the cave in the mountains.

  The Senora crossed to the mantle and started to pick it up. Then with both hands she lifted it down. It seemed to be heavy ... quite heavy.

  She looked within. "It's gold," she said, her voice trembling a little with surprise. "It's gold, Sean."

  He lay back and closed his eyes. "Wherever you are ... whoever you are ... thanks."

  Historical Note

  This is a fictional story of the Malibu coast and some of the mountains that lie inland.

  Shortly after the period of this story the people of California rebelled against Micheltorena and he was expelled from the province. His place was taken by Pio Pico.

  Many of the names along the coast were given by an unknown people before the coming of the Chumash. Who these people were we do not know.

  There were two peoples before the Chumash of whom we know a little: the Oak Grove people, and the Hunting people who followed them. The Chumash seem to have been an intelligent, generally well-built people whose boats show considerable sophistication, and judging by their construction, the Chumash must have been skilled in rough seas and landings through the surf.

  Actually the Chumash area extended from Malibu and perhaps Topanga to the vicinity of San Luis Obispo, and inland beyond the Cuyama Biver, Pine Mountain, and Mt Finos.

  Presumably the first man to own the Malibu was Jose Bartolome Tapia, a colonist who came north with de Anza in 1775. The grant was made about 1802. In 1848 the Malibu was sold to a young Frenchman, Leon Victor Prudhomme who married a daughter of Tiburcio Tapia.

  In 1857, with the title in question, Prudhomme sold the Malibu to an Irishman, Matthew Keller, for ten cents an acre. Thirty-four years later his son sold the place for ten dollars an acre, and the Malibu comprised 13,316 acres. The buyer was Frederick Rindge, who had found his dream home and lived many happy years on the rancho, leaving it to his wife, May Rindge.

  The story of her defense of the property against the oncoming tide of highway and subdivision is an epic in itself, too long to be entered into here.

  Before the tides of change few things remain the same, and the shores of Malibu are crowded with the homes of motion picture and television stars. Further along there are beaches, motels, restaurants, and cottages.

  Behind them are the mountains. Roads now cross these mountains and wind along their flanks, yet isolated spots remain, unchanged in the passing of years. The graves of the earlier peoples have often been looted by the unthinking, destroying any chance of proper dating, and vandals have marred cave paintings left by the Chumash.

  When people from Los Angeles "go to the snow" it is often to the vicinity of Pine Mountain, but the hollow where lay the Old One's cave is as it was, unchanged from one hundred, perhaps one thousand or ten thousand years ago.

  Only do not look for the cave. You might find it.