Read Online The Girl of the Golden West by Giacomo Puccini, David Belasco - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Giacomo Puccini, David Belasco
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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but not nearly the proportions of a sombrero; a plain,
rough tweed coat and a waistcoat of a darker tan, which showed a
blue flannel shirt beneath it; and his legs were encased in boots
topped by dark brown leggings. In a word, his get-up resembled
closely the type of American referred to disdainfully by the miners
of that time as a Sacramento guy; whereas, the night before he had
taken great pains to attire himself as gaudily as any of the
Mexicans at the dance, and he had worn a short black jacket of a
velvety material that was not unlike corduroy and covered with
braid; his breeches were of the same stuff; above his boots were
leather gaiters; and around his waist was a red sash.
It was now close to four o'clock in the afternoon and the band
began their preparations for the raid. To the rear of the small,
open space where they had been waiting was a fairly good-sized
cave, in the opening of which they deposited various articles
unnecessary for the expedition. It took only a short time to do
this, and within half an hour from the time that their leader had
so startled them by his strange appearance, the outlaws were ready
to take the trail for Cloudy Mountain. One comprehensive glance the
pseudo-American—and he certainly looked the part—shot at his
picturesque, if rough-looking followers, not a few of whom showed
red bandannas under their sombreros or around their necks—and then
with a satisfied expression on his face—for he had a leader's pride
in his men—he gave the signal and led the way along and down the
steep trail from the tableland. And as from time to time he glanced
back over his shoulders to where the men were coming along in
single file, he could see that in every eye was a glint of
exultation at the prospect of booty.
After they had gone about three miles they crossed the black
ravine, and from there they began to ascend. Up and up they went,
the path very hard on the horses, until finally they came to the
top of a pass where it had been arranged that the band should await
further instructions, none going on further save the two leaders.
Here, saddle-girths and guns were inspected, the last orders given,
and with a wave of the hand in response to the muttered wishes of
good luck, Johnson,—for as such he will be known from this time
on,—followed by Castro, made his way through the forest towards
Cloudy Mountain.
For an hour or so Johnson rode along in that direction, checking
the speed of his horse every time the sun came into view and showed
that there was yet some time before sunset. Presently, he made a
sign to Castro to take the lead, for he had never been in this
locality before, and was relying on his subordinate to find a spot
from which he could reconnoitre the scene of the proposed raid
without the slightest danger of meeting any of the miners.
At a very sharp turn of the road to the left Castro struck off
through the forest to the right and, within a few minutes, reached
a place where the trees had thinned out and were replaced by the
few scrubs that grew in a spot almost barren. A minute or so more
and the two men, their horses tied, were able to get an
uninterrupted view of Cloudy Mountain.
The scene before them was one of grandeur. Day was giving place
to night, fall to winter, and yet at this hour all the winds were
stilled. In the distance gleamed the snow-capped Sierras, range
after range as far as the eye could see to the northwest; in the
opposite direction there stood out against the steel-blue of the
sky a succession of wooded peaks ever rising higher and higher
until culminating in the faraway white mountains of the south; and
below, they looked upon a ravine that was brownish-green until the
rays of the departing orb touched the leaves with opal tints.
Now the fast-falling sun flung its banner of gorgeous colours
across the western sky. Immediately a wonderful light played upon
the fleecy cumuli gathered in the upper heavens of the east and
changed them from pearl to
rough tweed coat and a waistcoat of a darker tan, which showed a
blue flannel shirt beneath it; and his legs were encased in boots
topped by dark brown leggings. In a word, his get-up resembled
closely the type of American referred to disdainfully by the miners
of that time as a Sacramento guy; whereas, the night before he had
taken great pains to attire himself as gaudily as any of the
Mexicans at the dance, and he had worn a short black jacket of a
velvety material that was not unlike corduroy and covered with
braid; his breeches were of the same stuff; above his boots were
leather gaiters; and around his waist was a red sash.
It was now close to four o'clock in the afternoon and the band
began their preparations for the raid. To the rear of the small,
open space where they had been waiting was a fairly good-sized
cave, in the opening of which they deposited various articles
unnecessary for the expedition. It took only a short time to do
this, and within half an hour from the time that their leader had
so startled them by his strange appearance, the outlaws were ready
to take the trail for Cloudy Mountain. One comprehensive glance the
pseudo-American—and he certainly looked the part—shot at his
picturesque, if rough-looking followers, not a few of whom showed
red bandannas under their sombreros or around their necks—and then
with a satisfied expression on his face—for he had a leader's pride
in his men—he gave the signal and led the way along and down the
steep trail from the tableland. And as from time to time he glanced
back over his shoulders to where the men were coming along in
single file, he could see that in every eye was a glint of
exultation at the prospect of booty.
After they had gone about three miles they crossed the black
ravine, and from there they began to ascend. Up and up they went,
the path very hard on the horses, until finally they came to the
top of a pass where it had been arranged that the band should await
further instructions, none going on further save the two leaders.
Here, saddle-girths and guns were inspected, the last orders given,
and with a wave of the hand in response to the muttered wishes of
good luck, Johnson,—for as such he will be known from this time
on,—followed by Castro, made his way through the forest towards
Cloudy Mountain.
For an hour or so Johnson rode along in that direction, checking
the speed of his horse every time the sun came into view and showed
that there was yet some time before sunset. Presently, he made a
sign to Castro to take the lead, for he had never been in this
locality before, and was relying on his subordinate to find a spot
from which he could reconnoitre the scene of the proposed raid
without the slightest danger of meeting any of the miners.
At a very sharp turn of the road to the left Castro struck off
through the forest to the right and, within a few minutes, reached
a place where the trees had thinned out and were replaced by the
few scrubs that grew in a spot almost barren. A minute or so more
and the two men, their horses tied, were able to get an
uninterrupted view of Cloudy Mountain.
The scene before them was one of grandeur. Day was giving place
to night, fall to winter, and yet at this hour all the winds were
stilled. In the distance gleamed the snow-capped Sierras, range
after range as far as the eye could see to the northwest; in the
opposite direction there stood out against the steel-blue of the
sky a succession of wooded peaks ever rising higher and higher
until culminating in the faraway white mountains of the south; and
below, they looked upon a ravine that was brownish-green until the
rays of the departing orb touched the leaves with opal tints.
Now the fast-falling sun flung its banner of gorgeous colours
across the western sky. Immediately a wonderful light played upon
the fleecy cumuli gathered in the upper heavens of the east and
changed them from pearl to
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