"BretHarte-LegendsAndTales" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harte Bret)

the base of the mountain; but as Senora Pedrillo was known to be a
termagant half-breed, the Senor was not supposed to be over-
fastidious.

Such is the Legend of Monte del Diablo. As I said before, it may
seem to lack essential corroboration. The discrepancy between the
Father's narrative and the actual climax has given rise to some
scepticism on the part of ingenious quibblers. All such I would
simply refer to that part of the report of Senor Julio Serro, Sub-
Prefect of San Pablo, before whom attest of the above was made.
Touching this matter, the worthy Prefect observes, "That although
the body of Father Jose doth show evidence of grievous conflict in
the flesh, yet that is no proof that the Enemy of Souls, who could
assume the figure of a decorous elderly caballero, could not at the
same time transform himself into a bear for his own vile purposes."



THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO

A LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO.


One pleasant New Year's Eve, about forty years ago, Padre Vicentio
was slowly picking his way across the sand-hills from the Mission
Dolores. As he climbed the crest of the ridge beside Mission
Creek, his broad, shining face might have been easily mistaken for
the beneficent image of the rising moon, so bland was its smile and
so indefinite its features. For the Padre was a man of notable
reputation and character; his ministration at the mission of San
Jose had been marked with cordiality and unction; he was adored by
the simple-minded savages, and had succeeded in impressing his
individuality so strongly upon them that the very children were
said to have miraculously resembled him in feature.

As the holy man reached the loneliest portion of the road, he
naturally put spurs to his mule as if to quicken that decorous pace
which the obedient animal had acquired through long experience of
its master's habits. The locality had an unfavorable reputation.
Sailors--deserters from whaleships--had been seen lurking about the
outskirts of the town, and low scrub oaks which everywhere beset
the trail might have easily concealed some desperate runaway.
Besides these material obstructions, the devil, whose hostility to
the church was well known, was said to sometimes haunt the vicinity
in the likeness of a spectral whaler, who had met his death in a
drunken bout, from a harpoon in the hands of a companion. The
ghost of this unfortunate mariner was frequently observed sitting
on the hill toward the dusk of evening, armed with his favorite
weapon and a tub containing a coil of line, looking out for some
belated traveller on whom to exercise his professional skill. It