In the olden time, between the Mission of San Gabriel and Los Angeles, lived an old Spaniard, his wife, and one son.

In his early manhood, Don Pedro had been very rich, but sickness and misfortune had followed him, until, in his old age, he was destitute of many of the comforts of life.

Sorrowful and dispirited, he looked forward to death as the only portal of hope for future repose.

Francisco, his son, was full of youthful ambition and ardent life.

One morning he went to the bedside of his father and mother, and kneeling down beside them begged their blessing.“I am going,” he said, “dear father and mother, to retrieve your fallen fortunes.”

The father blessed him, and bade him Godspeed, but the mother wept and clasped her arms about him, till her silver hair mingled with the glossy black of his; and when he tore himself regretfully from her embrace, she called him again and again to return for one more kiss. At last, when he rushed out, and was nearly gone from her, she buried her head in the bed-clothes and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Francisco was at first greatly saddened and subdued by his dear mother’s grief; but soon with the fresh morning air, the elastic spirits of youth, rose joyous and hopeful, and he sung merrily as he wandered on through the open country.

He had taken with him some tortillas (coarse Indian-meal cakes) and dried beef.When he was hungry, he sat down in the shade, ate sparingly of these and of the delicious fruits that abound through all the country, and drank from the clear spring.

Thus passed the first few days of his journeying; but there came a time, when, out in the desert, his food became exhausted, and there were no cooling springs bubbling up from the yellow heat of the burning sand.

There were no trees, no fruit, no shade. He wandered on for two days and nights, until nature was almost exhausted, and when the third night came, he threw himself upon the sand to die.

He prayed devoutly to the Holy Virgin to intercede for his soul, and grant his fevered body rest; when, as he turned his head wearily, far out on the desert gleamed a light.

Hope rose in his bosom, and he drew his aching limbs onward, till nearer and nearer gleamed the blessed light from a cool oasis in the desert. Soon his foot pressed the soft turf, and green trees waved above his head.

The blessed Virgin had pitied him and listened to his prayer. He was saved.

He thought the waters of the running stream the sweetest music he had ever beard, and bending over, with his hand he raised to his parched lips a draught of holy water—for ’twas the Mother of Mercy’s gift—the gift of life.

Extreme thirst is the most intolerable of all sufferings—greater far than hunger. None but those who have endured its pangs, can have the least idea of the excruciating pain it brings.

After Francisco had drank the water, he was for a time very sick, but soon was sufficiently relieved to long for food and rest, so again he looked for the light that had guided him to the oasis.

Just before him, from the thicket of palm-trees it gleamed. He drew near cautiously, fearing it might prove the encampment of hostile Indians.

Softly as he stepped, the quick ear of an old Indian woman detected his approach, and she raised her eyes to meet his eager and hungry gaze, as he looked longingly at the supper she was preparing over the fire just outside her little cane hut.

When he saw that he was discovered, he went up to her, holding out his hand, and saying:—

“Good mother, I am very hungry and weary, give me something to eat and let me rest here to-night, or I shall die. Oh, mother! mother!”

He was thinking of his own mother at home; but his words and tones sunk into the heart of the old Indian woman, and tears gathered in her dim eyes as she placed her hand softly on Francisco’s shoulders.

“You call me mother,” she said, in Spanish, sadly, “those who used to call me mother are all dead! My boy would have been like you. My brave boy! my timid girl, gone! all gone!”

She wept bitterly as she gave Francisco the choicest morsels, and a cool, delicious drink, that was a balm to his parched and aching throat.

When Francisco had eaten, he was overcome with fatigue and want of sleep, but when he would have thrown himself down upon a mat in the hut, and fallen asleep immediately, the old mother caught him by the arm, exclaiming:—

“You must not lie down there to sleep, you would never wake again; for when the chief, my husband, returns, he would kill you, for he hates the Spaniards. What can I do with you, my poor boy?”

“I can go no farther, mother, I shall die of fatigue if I try; think of the two days and nights I passed upon the desert, without food, drink or sleep.” And he threw himself in the corner, saying: “he must kill me if he will,” and in a moment was fast asleep.

The old woman bent over and kissed him, weeping.

“He called me mother,” she said, “poor boy, poor boy.”

She covered him over with cool boughs, with the thick green leaves still fresh upon them.

How long he slept he could not tell, but while it was yet dark, a rough voice very near, awoke him.

Opening his eyes and peering through the mass of foliage, he saw a gigantic Indian, surrounded by half a dozen younger men, all eating what appeared to be an early breakfast, and talking over some adventure in which they were about engaging.

From their conversation he learned that he was approaching the borders of the rich Arizona country; and he noticed, when the chief put up his ammunition (he was the only one who carried a gun), that the bullet was of pure gold.

He lay for some time motionless, carefully watching their movements. At one time he came very near being discovered.

One of the young Indians had mislaid his bow and arrow, and went to the pile of brush to look for it; but the old woman, whose mother’s heart had warmed to the perishing young stranger, drove the Indian boy away, with a sharp reproof for his carelessness in disturbing her basket of reeds, which were mingled with the concealing boughs.

At last the missing bow was found, and the company mounted and rode away.

Again silence fell upon the palm-shaded hut.

Still weary, Francisco lay quietly watching the old woman, as she moved about with a lighted taper, silently putting the things to rights; but at last she blew out the light, and lay down to rest upon a mat near the door, and in the darkness, the green oasis of the desert faded into the land of dreams.

The morning sun was shining clear and bright, through the waving branches of the palm-trees, when Francisco again awoke.

There was no one in the hut when he arose and went to the spring, where the night before he had slaked his thirst.

Again he drank from its pure fountain, bathing his face and neck in the sparkling water, till he felt quite refreshed.

Above his head, amid the glossy leaves hung the rich yellow bananas.

He gathered some and ate them as he returned to the hut, with a hopeful, happy heart.

The old mother met him at the door, and greeted him pleasantly.

They sat down together and ate their morning meal. Francisco told her how he had left home to seek his fortune, and of his father and mother, who had once been very rich, and had become poor, and in their old age were suffering for the comforts of life. How he had vowed, if his life was spared, that they should enjoy all that money and love could provide for them. “And now, mother,” he said, “I am seeking gold, and gold I must have, if my life pays the forfeit.”“Were it not that the chieftain, my husband, would kill you, I could show you where gold is plenty enough,” said the old woman. “Only one day’s journey from here are the great mines, and even on the ground you can pick up quite large nuggets of almost pure gold; but every hour you stay here your life is in danger, and you must live to be happy.

“There are places in the Arizona country where the ground is yellow with gold. The Indians care little for it, but you could never go there and return alive. At every step your way would be beset with a more deadly foe than the hunger and thirst of the desert.

“Boy, you have wakened a love that was dead in my heart. I will save you if possible, and, as nearly as I can will grant your wishes.”

Then the old woman prepared food and water for a journey, and taking two deer-skin bags, she filled them with great nuggets of pure gold, and laid across the back of a strong mule, as much as he could carry, and embracing Francisco, she bade him take the mule and recross the desert with all possible dispatch.

“To-night our men will return, and you must be far away.”

Then she gave him directions about the way. “By to-night, if you keep the trail, you will reach green trees and water. Go home now, be rich and happy; but some times remember the lonely Indian mother far away in Arizona.”

The old woman embraced him again, weeping, and said: “All who call me mother must go from me.”

Francisco kissed her brown cheek, and went out from under the shade of the palm-trees into the arid waste.Looking back, as long as he could see over the desert, in the distance he saw the old woman watching him. She, too, had gone out from the shadow of the palm-trees, and stood upon the burning sand, shading her tearful eyes with her wrinkled hand from the blinding sunshine.

God pity the childless mother.

Francisco was fortunate in keeping the trail, and at night reached the trees and water the old woman had spoken of, but the desert was still before him—a long and toilsome journey.

For six weary days he traveled through an arid sandy waste, finding water at intervals; and when at last the green hills of San Gabriel rose before him, he wept like a child for joy; but he soon called back his manhood and laughed at his weakness.

With a full happy heart he journeyed on, till Los Angeles, dear Los Angeles, the home of his infancy, lay before him. There was the cottage of his mother, and she herself standing at the door. He had returned after all his hardships, strong, rich, and happy. Again the gray hair of his mother rested on his shoulder, but this time she wept tears of joy, as he whispered in her ear: “Mother, dear! you and father can never want again, I am rich now. I have gold enough to last a lifetime; and, mother, you shall have a beautiful home: and I will ask Juanita, who loves you, to come and be your daughter and my wife.”