Photoplay (Oct 1917 - Mar 1918)

oA Branded Soul Concbita's surpreme sacrifice quenches the evilflame in the heart of John Rannie By Isabel Ostrander THE bell of the old mission church of San Miguelito tolled its last paternal call to early mass and its overtone still vibrated on the shimmering, torrid air as a group of horsemen rode across the village plaza and halted beside the graveyard wall, their accoutrements jingling a discordant note in the echo of its mellow symphony. The leader, a broad shouldered, bronzed, young man swung himself from his horse with a lithe quickness of movement in sharp contrast to the lazy slouch of his padrones and issued a curt order. "Get busy, all of you, and tear down the wall pronto! Those old grave stones must be carted away by tomorrow morning — " A protesting murmur in liquid Spanish like the ripple of disturbed waters passed from man to man and they averted their furtive eyes from this desecrating Americano. The murmur grew and John Rannie had taken a hasty, threatening step forward when from the church behind him there poured forth such a flood of melody that he paused spellbound. Clear and golden as the Mexican sunlight, rich and rounded yet quivering with reverential awe the exquisite timbre of the woman's voice rose upon the still air, but as the last lingering note pulsed into silence. Rannie roused himself and turned with a muttered imprecation to the padrones. "On the job now! Tear down this wall! " Surlily the men slid from their horses and with pick and crowbar approached their task. Within the church the huddled worshippers had lowered their rapt gaze from the girl who sat alone in the choir loft and the fat padre's intoned prayer droned sleepily about their ears when all at once the deafening ring of pick on masonry and crash of dislodged stones brought them, terrified, to their feet. With the padre in advance, they swarmed out into the sunlight and met the cool insolent glance of the Americano. "Senor!" The priest raised his hands in expostulation. "Senor Rannie! What is this unholy thing that you would do?" "Only what I warned you of, Padre." Rannie spoke with crisp finality. "This church property, the village and all the land about is mine! I mean to spud out a well — " "But my children!" the priest wailed. "My sleeping children! They have rested here for centuries. Senor! You would not despoil them — ?" Conchita mia! It has seemed long without thee, but it is over. I will gamble no more." "Wait, my father!" A clear young voice broke in upon his protestations, and the girl who had sat in the choir loft sprang forward, her dark eyes blazing, and confronted the intruder. "Senor!" she began passionately. "You who with your gold have bought the ground from beneath our feet, the good earth which has been ours since the coming of the conqueror, you shall not invade the sanctuary of our dead! Their curse and that of the Holy Church will be upon you!" Rannie's eyes swept her slender form in a swift appraising glance and he bowed with ironic humility. "The Senorita will pardon, but curses do not impede the development of oil wells." "Conchita!" A woman murmured warningly in the group, but the girl gave no heed. "In your thirst for the oil which means riches to you, you have taken from us all that we have, but the dead you shall leave in peace! You shall not desecrate this holy ground!" For a long moment their eyes met and battled, then the American shrugged and a sharp order to the padrones sent them scurrying back to the horses. Rannie turned again to the girl. "It was you who sang just now." There was a new, quickened note in his voice. "The churchyard shall not be molested, Senorita, since it is you who ask it. Sometime you shall sing for me. Hasta la vista!" He swung himself into his saddle and clattered off down the white, sun-baked road, his padrones following in a cloud of dust. With a sudden flame leaping beneath the clear olive of her cheeks the girl watched until they had vanished across the plaza. Then her smoldering eyes dropped and she followed the others into the church. All during the service and later, when in the cool of a moonless, starry night she sat in her father's patio, Conchita pondered with a vague stirring of fear in her heart.