The tinkling of guitars in the moonlight; the softly hummed words
of a Spanish love song; the sweet, liquid music of the bells in the
mission San Carlos De Carmelo; fleeting pictures of old Father
Junipero Serro-these and a hundred other rich memories flood the
mind as one unfolds the story of little Suzanna, a peon girl, poor,
futureless at a time when the Dons and the grandsons of the
conquistadores were supreme in California. You think of Ramona; the
dust covered stretches of El Camino Real-the King's Highway-appear
before your eyes; you hear the roaring of quaint, old-fashioned,
muzzleloading guns, the clash of cold steel; subconsciously you
thrill to the deeds of valor, of sacrifice and danger. You are in
step with romance and adventure when it was in its heyday in Old
California. Red-lipped, smoky-eyed senoritas smile on you; your
nostrils dilate with ungent aromas of hot, golden brown tortillas,
or fragrant, steaming tamales; for you the clock has been turned
back a hundred years-you walk in a land that is gone, but in which
fate played as recklessly with the lives of men and women as it
does in our own world today.
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