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

break-neck trails. The converts, Concepcion and Incarnacion,
trotting modestly beside the Padre, recognized, perhaps, some
manifestation of their former weird mythology.

At nightfall they reached the base of the mountain. Here Father
Jose unpacked his mules, said vespers, and, formally ringing his
bell, called upon the Gentiles within hearing to come and accept
the Holy Faith. The echoes of the black frowning hills around him
caught up the pious invitation, and repeated it at intervals; but
no Gentiles appeared that night. Nor were the devotions of the
muleteer again disturbed, although he afterward asserted, that,
when the Father's exhortation was ended, a mocking peal of laughter
came from the mountain. Nothing daunted by these intimations of
the near hostility of the Evil One, Father Jose declared his
intention to ascend the mountain at early dawn; and before the sun
rose the next morning he was leading the way.

The ascent was in many places difficult and dangerous. Huge
fragments of rock often lay across the trail, and after a few
hours' climbing they were forced to leave their mules in a little
gully, and continue the ascent afoot. Unaccustomed to such
exertion, Father Jose often stopped to wipe the perspiration from
his thin cheeks. As the day wore on, a strange silence oppressed
them. Except the occasional pattering of a squirrel, or a rustling
in the chimisal bushes, there were no signs of life. The half-
human print of a bear's foot sometimes appeared before them, at
which Ignacio always crossed himself piously. The eye was
sometimes cheated by a dripping from the rocks, which on closer
inspection proved to be a resinous oily liquid with an abominable
sulphurous smell. When they were within a short distance of the
summit, the discreet Ignacio, selecting a sheltered nook for the
camp, slipped aside and busied himself in preparations for the
evening, leaving the Holy Father to continue the ascent alone.
Never was there a more thoughtless act of prudence, never a more
imprudent piece of caution. Without noticing the desertion, buried
in pious reflection, Father Jose pushed mechanically on, and,
reaching the summit, cast himself down and gazed upon the prospect.

Below him lay a succession of valleys opening into each other like
gentle lakes, until they were lost to the southward. Westerly the
distant range hid the bosky canada which sheltered the mission of
San Pablo. In the farther distance the Pacific Ocean stretched
away, bearing a cloud of fog upon its bosom, which crept through
the entrance of the bay, and rolled thickly between him and the
northeastward; the same fog hid the base of mountain and the view
beyond. Still, from time to time the fleecy veil parted, and
timidly disclosed charming glimpses of mighty rivers, mountain
defiles, and rolling plains, sear with ripened oats, and bathed in
the glow of the setting sun. As Father Jose gazed, he was
penetrated with a pious longing. Already his imagination, filled