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Vanamee is crazy in the head. Some morning he will turn up missing again, and drop out of sight for another three years. Best let him alone, Sarria. He's a crank. How is that greaser of yours up on Osterman's stock range?" "Ah, the poor fellow the poor fellow," returned the other, the tears coming to his eyes.
And the following sweet legend is told of Padre Sarria. As the Indian carriers lowered the humble redwood coffin which contained the Father's precious remains into the mission vaults, the edifice was filled with an exquisite fragrance as of roses, and this story told with all earnestness was given much credence about the mission towns.
And it was also the human, natural protest against the inevitable, the irrevocable; the spasm of revolt under the sting of death, the rebellion of the soul at the victory of the grave. "He can give her back to me if He only will," Vanamee cried. "Sarria, you must help me. I tell you I warn you, sir, I can't last much longer under it. My head is all wrong with it I've no more hold on my mind.
"I understand as little of these things as you. But I think if you had been asleep, your power of resistance would have been so much the more weakened." "Perhaps I should not have waked. Perhaps I should have come to you in my sleep." "Perhaps." Sarria crossed himself. "It is occult," he hazarded. "No; I do not like it.
And suddenly, at this moment, his recollection of his strange compelling power the same power by which he had called Presley to him half-way across the Quien Sabe ranch, the same power which had brought Sarria to his side that very evening recurred to him.
Presley often came to find him on the stock range, a lonely figure in the great wilderness of bare, green hillsides, but Vanamee no longer took him into his confidence. Father Sarria alone heard his strange stories. Dyke drove on toward Bonneville, thinking over the whole matter.
Governor Argüello assisted his priestly friend as far as he was able, and apprised Sarría that he would sustain the new establishment; although he would withdraw the order for the suppression of San Rafael. A compromise was then effected by which New San Francisco was to remain a Mission in regular standing, but neither San Rafael nor old San Francisco were to be disturbed.
It is only Hell that is real." Sarria caught him by the arm. "You are a fool and a child," he exclaimed, "and it is blasphemy that you are saying. I forbid it. You understand? I forbid it." Vanamee turned on him with a sudden cry. "Then, tell your God to give her back to me!" Sarria started away from him, his eyes widening in astonishment, surprised out of all composure by the other's outburst.
By the doorway, Annixter met Sarria, who had stepped out to smoke a fat, black cigar. The set smile of amiability was still fixed on the priest's smooth, shiny face; the cigar ashes had left grey streaks on the front of his cassock.
Sarria made a sharp movement of interest. "Ah, Vanamee a strange lad; a wonderful character, for all that. If there were only more like him. I am troubled about him. You know I am a very owl at night. I come and go about the Mission at all hours. Within the week, three times I have seen Vanamee in the little garden by the Mission, and at the dead of night. He had come without asking for me.
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