Robins, larks, and humming birds swarm in the warm valley, and abundance
of grass grows in the meadows for the Indian ponies.
As Alfonso's strength increased, he walked more frequently with Mariposa
along the banks of the river, by the thickets of young spruce, cedar, and
manzanita with its oddly contorted red stems. At times, each vied with
the other in bringing back echoes from the lofty granite walls of the
valley.
One sunset, as Alfonso and Mariposa sat by the river bank, Alfonso
holding the light redwood cane, the gift of the maiden, he took the
shapely hand of Mariposa in his own and said, "Mariposa, I owe my life to
you, and if I am ever rich I will come back and reward you."
"I shall miss you," said the maiden shyly, "I want no money; I am happy
because you are well again."
"Mariposa, I have long searched for gold," said Alfonso, "but finally
I lost courage, became sick, and you know the rest. You have a ring of
beaten gold on your finger, did it come from near here?"
"My father gave it to me," was all that Mariposa would say about the ring
as they separated for the night.
It was past midnight when Alfonso felt someone pulling at his shoulder.
There in the moonlight stood Mariposa beckoning him to come.
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