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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

He wondered if, as part of his penance, he ought not to
proclaim his sin and abase himself before them; but he knew that his
devoted followers would insist upon sharing his punishment; and he
remembered his promise to Cranch, that for _her_ sake he would say
nothing. Before they reached the summit he turned once or twice to look
back upon the Mission. How small it looked, lying there in the peaceful
valley, contrasted with the broad sweep of the landscape beyond,
stopped at the farther east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the
Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning to be felt; in
a few moments more they were facing it with lowered _sombreros_ and
flying _serapes_, and the vast, glittering, illimitable Pacific opened
out beneath them.
Dazed and blinded, as it seemed to him, by the shining, restless
expanse, Father Pedro rode forward as if still in a dream. Suddenly he
halted, and called Antonio to his side.
"Tell me, child, didst thou say that this coast was wild and desolate
of man, beast, and habitation?"
"Truly I did, reverend father.


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