morning Diego went to work in the garden not far from the house, leaving
Juana busy with her domestic duties. The day after Diego's return from
one of his long absences was always a holiday for Juana, one of the
mission women taking her place as teacher. Happy and gay she cleared
away the breakfast, swept the room, and washed and dressed the baby, now
and then bursting into song, from sheer excess of joy. It was toward the
middle of the morning, when she heard a sudden cry from Diego. Springing
up, she hastened out of the house, and ran to the spot where she had
seen her husband at work a few moments before. It was not until she had
reached the place that she discovered Diego, prone on the ground where
he had fallen, near the vines he had been pruning. Juana knelt and threw
her arms around his neck, when she saw the arrow from which he had
fallen, buried deep in his breast.

"Juana, querida," he whispered hoarsely, "get Pepito and fly to the
mission. Tell the Father. Leave me; I am past help. The arrow was
poisoned. Go at once."

"Diego, Diego, I cannot go; let me die here with you. Let the Indian
kill me, too. Where is he?" and she looked wildly around.

"He is hiding among the trees by the stream. Juana, go, I command you.
Santa Maria! Save her from the cruel savage, who may be, even now,
watching us."

Enfolding her in a close embrace, he kissed her many times, then, with
his remaining strength, pushed her from him and motioned her to go.

Juana did not move. She clung to Diego, weeping bitterly, as she
whispered endearing names. The time of delay, however, was not long, for