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ARI-ZON 
 
ARi-ZON 
 
 SUPPOSED BY THE AUTHOR 
 TO BE A COMEDY 
 
 BY 
 
 JONATHAN B. FROST 
 
 ;i; 
 
 BY INVITATION ONLY 
 JONATHAN B. FROST 
 ATLANTA, GEORGIA 
 

 COPYRIOHT, 1912 
 
 By JONATHAN B. FROST 
 
 fRANSFEiritED PROII 
 OOPYRieUT OfR«F 
 
 SEP ( t 1929 
 
 APR !3 iy20 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 COMEDY ........... 1 
 
 An Essay written in eighteen eighty-nine, 
 then published in the Saint Louis Globe- 
 Democrat, and now revised; Ari-Zon having 
 been written in part in eighteen ninety-six, and 
 in part in eighteen ninety-eight, as an illustra- 
 tion of the Essay and an example of pure 
 comedy. 
 
 COMMENTARY .17 
 
 In Lectures, Reviews and Letters, being crit- 
 ical appreciations of Ari-Zon 
 
 ARI-ZON 33 
 
COMEDY 
 
 A CRITICAL ESSAY ON HUMOROUS DRAMA 
 
COMEDY 
 
 ''To he brief, gentlemen, room for a soldier and a 
 sailor, that gives you the fruits of his labors that he 
 wrote in the ocean, where every line was wet with a 
 surge, and every humorous passion counterchecked with 
 a storm/' 
 
 TT is doubtless contrary to the common thought of 
 '*• amusing incident that the pearls of choicest pleas- 
 ure are on the brink of deepest sorrow, that the diamond 
 delights of mellowest brilliancy lie lowest in the heart; 
 yet, as "the deepest grief is silent grief," so is the deep- 
 est joy silent joy, and the chalice of profoundest pleas- 
 ure must distill from our sympathies and affections. 
 
 From his own observation that "Everyone laughs at 
 somebody that is in an inferior state of folly to himself," 
 [Addison infers that man "finds his mirth arising from 
 objects that perhaps cause pity and displeasure in 
 higher natures." 
 
 Low down among the merciless there may be a vi- 
 cious, and a little higher a vulgar, delight in the discom- 
 fiture of others, but this hardly sustains the relation of 
 root to bloom, with that comedy which Schlegel calls "a 
 species of drama the first requisites of which are ease 
 and sweetness." 
 
2 ARI-ZON 
 
 Fine as is Hazlitt in literary criticism I find him set- 
 ting down as a defect this highest excellence of genuine 
 comedy: "The fault, then, of Shakespeare's comic 
 muse is, in my opinion, that it is too good natured and 
 magnanimous. It does not take the highest pleasure 
 in making human nature look as mean, as ridiculous and 
 as contemptible as possible." 
 
 To me it seems that only perverse and cruel disposi- 
 tions can enjoy such a work. Tenderness is in sympa- 
 thetic distress with any mortified creature. No satir- 
 ist is without an element of sadness springing from half- 
 conscious regret of the pain he inflicts. The wit may 
 smile while making incisions into the feelings of com- 
 panions but in private he becomes sorry with thinking 
 over his own meanness. Spectators share this latter 
 feeling. What mortifies and vexes any human crea- 
 ture, mortifies and vexes any humane observer. It is 
 because the wit of Benedick is better humored than that 
 of Beatrice, that we like it better. Vanity, affectation, 
 disdain, which inspire the displeasure of contempt, can 
 not enter genuine comedy as leading elements. Satire 
 and ridicule which agitate and annoy must give place 
 to gayety and humor which please and amuse. 
 
 Critical judgment of comedy has usually been based 
 upon the element contained in the piece. Thus when 
 
COMEDY 3 
 
 Schlegel says of the "Merry Wives of Windsor" that "of 
 all Shakespeare's pieces, this approaches the nearest to 
 the species of pure comedy," he means simply that it 
 is most devoid of fancy, of romantic sentiment, of ten- 
 derness, dignity, earnestness and pathos — that it con- 
 tains only the ludicrous, the laughable. I can find in it 
 nothing of the ease and sweetness Schlegel elsewhere 
 calls the first requisites of comedy. 
 
 But it appears to me that judgment should be based 
 upon the effect produced — the instant and ulti- 
 mate EFFECT — and that all elements of the piece 
 should be conducive to the pleasurable result of 
 the whole. Then "Merry Wives of Windsor," by its in- 
 stant effect of loud and lusty laughter, would rank it- 
 self as Shakespeare's nearest fall to the rude and vulgar 
 baseness of modern farce, and by its ultimate effect of 
 disgust at the coarseness of the incidents, of indignation 
 at the malice or baseness of the motive, of pity and con- 
 tempt at the weakness of the characters, would brand 
 itself as the impurest of its author's comedies, as the 
 
 LEAST PLEASURABLE IN ITS GENERAL AND FINAL RESULT. 
 
 The outcome of true comedy must be pleasure unde- 
 filed, and by so far as there is intermingled any element 
 of vexation or pain, by just that far, at least, must 
 comedy fall short of perfection. It must provoke mer- 
 
4 ARI-ZON 
 
 riment on the instant, and upon contemplation of all its 
 incidents re-awaken its first impressions of delight. 
 There must be no element of regret for any creature 
 concerned, no sadness must arise at the memory of any 
 circumstance. The ideal effect of comedy is in- 
 stant PLEASURE AND PLEASURABLE RECOLLECTION. 
 
 This is not produced by the lightning play of the 
 malicious jests of Beatrice. It is not realized in the 
 vanity and languid affectation, levity and disdain of 
 Congreve's Millamant, Hazlitt's ideal heroine of the 
 comedy of high life, nor can it be accomplished in con- 
 formity to his standard of sport, which is that "Some 
 one is generally sure to be the sufferer by a joke. 
 What is sport to one is death to another." 
 
 This is in violation of all our finer sensibilities. As 
 Anna Jameson says, "Woman, the true woman, is too 
 tender to be sarcastic," and the perfect heroine of ideal 
 comedy must manifest no disposition the true and tender 
 woman would scorn to possess. She is too true a lady 
 to sport over the wounds of sensitive feelings. To quote 
 Mrs. Jameson's words about Rosalind, "She has as much 
 tenderness as mirth, and in her most petulant raillery 
 there is a touch of softness--''by this hand, it will not 
 hurt a fly.' " 
 
 We have genuine comedy only when the pleasurable 
 
COMEDY 5 
 
 effect is accomplished in accordance with the moral in- 
 junction to sympathy — rejoice with them that do 
 
 REJOICE. 
 
 But ease and sweetness, animation, gayety, wit and 
 tenderness are not of themselves adequate to the pro- 
 duction of this fine effect. We must add dignity, 
 depth, earnestness. These are not obtainable from ec- 
 centricities of manner, from costume and time. They 
 lie deep in the heart of the human — must bubble up 
 from the soul of nature a draught "at once salutiferous 
 and savory." The glare of wit and brilliant fancy must 
 be subdued and blended into harmony with tender pa- 
 thetic gloom. 
 
 With a just conception of the highest humor, Dion 
 Boucicault supplies this element by an irremediable dis- 
 tress deep seated in nature, and awakens a compassion 
 for the character too earnest for perfect sport. Or, he 
 supplies the element of seriousness by a free intermix- 
 ture of tragedy, producing an anxiety too eager and in- 
 tense for the careless, sweet, easy pleasure of genuine 
 comedy. 
 
 Yet it appears that this necessary seriousness has 
 been and can be obtained from no other source than the 
 calamitous and tragical. 
 
 Genuine comedy must he the fruits of labors 
 
6 ARI-ZON 
 
 wrought in the ocean of life where every line is wet with 
 a surge, and every humorous passion counterchecked 
 with a storm. 
 
 But we must feel that the mellowed gleams of joy- 
 are breaking not through gathering, but through dis- 
 persing clouds. 
 
 Considered in the light of Shakespeare's tragedies, 
 always of complete catastrophe, and of his comedies, al- 
 ways savored by the essence of sorrow, "A Winter's 
 Tale" must be regarded as an experiment. 
 
 We are all cognizant of that misguided sympathy 
 which once demanded a happy terminus to trag- 
 edy, would have carried Hamlet from the fencing scene 
 unscathed, and awakened Juliet in the arms of her living 
 Romeo. But this conventional tenderness was not 
 popular. Nor can it ever be successfully embodied in 
 drama. It must remain impossible to produce a happy 
 impression by that whose central design is tragic effect. 
 Escape from calamity in these two or any tragedies of 
 excellence is cheating nature of that toward which, all 
 the way through the tragedy, she has worked. The re- 
 sult of such conclusion is simply to dispel the result of 
 the drama and we leave the theater with absolutely no 
 impression, and the next morning awake with a smile at 
 this stage-effort to give nature the lie, pigmies have 
 
COMEDY 7 
 
 strutted out a pantomimic reproof of their incompre- 
 hensible Creator. 
 
 Shakespeare's tragedies never stoop thus to the 
 ludicrous, but impart a sense of the true, of the com- 
 plete, and by them we are not, cruel though they seem, 
 left with sensations of pain, but we are inspired with 
 majestic resignation. "Such is destiny," we say, "we 
 must submit." 
 
 We more perfectly understand this when contrasted, 
 for example, with the effect of Virginius. Over the 
 death of Virginia we weep. That fate is not in anywise 
 inherent in herself, in no way precipitated by her own 
 conduct. Nor is it an inherent result of nature, nor yet 
 does it arise from the operation of unavoidable circum- 
 stances upon complex dispositions. Pure, innocent, 
 lovable, inactive Virginia dies solely by the actions of 
 freely acting man, and we say, "This ought not to have 
 been, again it must never be," and utter our feelings of 
 indignation and revenge, our demand for restitution and 
 reform. And here is a tragedy which will admit of re- 
 construction — because it is a tragedy of the arbitrary 
 actions of man, not of the enforced necessities of nature. 
 It is history and much of history could well have 
 been reversed. We feel that with knife in hand before 
 the throne Virginius should with tiger spring have 
 
8 ARI-ZON 
 
 plunged it into the tyrannous heart, instead of gashing 
 the bosom of the innocent. 
 
 In Shakespeare we never feel that the wrong person 
 is killed. Desdemona has something bad in her blood, 
 or she would not have fled, fascinated by a black sav- 
 age's enthusiasm in savage tales, and in the end we sigh, 
 but do not weep over, not her fate, but her weakness. 
 Nor when Ophelia is drowned, do we say, "She should 
 have died hereafter." She has, in a heart full of filial 
 love, a placid and deep love for Hamlet. At the mo- 
 ment when the latter is suppressed by the former, her 
 destiny is fixed. Otherwise, it could have been only 
 that of Juliet, or rather, Ophelia would have gone to a 
 nunnery. There is no possible reconstruction of 
 Shakespeare which will still preserve the deep sense of 
 truth, of completeness, and of sad satisfaction. 
 
 This sympathy with attractive victims of fate, this 
 weeping tenderness wishing to give happy shape to mor- 
 tal ends, however rough-hewn they are by destiny, 
 Shakespeare, in "A Winter's Tale," attempted to grat- 
 ify. Pope thinks this drama is not from Shakespeare. 
 It is peculiar because it is the poet's only attempt of the 
 kind. If the result did not justify repetition of the ex- 
 periment it was not through want of the master-hand, 
 but through human impossibility to receive at once and 
 
COMEDY 9 
 
 retain together the tragic and comic impressions. The 
 effort is to produce a tragic effect on the heart, and send 
 its recipient rejoicing home. To attempt this by modi- 
 fying or weakening either of the elements is to produce 
 the ludicrous. Shakespeare, incapable of a blunder the 
 result of which can be but insipidity, presents both the 
 light and heavy elements with complete vigor. The re- 
 sult is "Winter's Tale," a double drama, the first part 
 ending with Act III, being tragedy, the second part 
 being a two-act comedy. Thus the tragic and comic 
 elements are not intermingled but combined. The de- 
 sign is to produce the impression of a happily terminat- 
 ing tragedy. The heart, then, must first be over- 
 whelmed with the calamitous and fatal. Consequently, 
 in this three-act tragedy is intermingled no hint or sug- 
 gestion of sport. Its opening dialogue turns upon the 
 serious. Its every expression, its every emotion is 
 tragic. In the end the catastrophe is apparently com- 
 plete, the only method of making the tragic impression 
 thorough. The new-born babe is by the old man borne 
 away to the wilderness to starve; the little prince dies of 
 an overfraught heart, the wronged queen has fallen to 
 the ground, and we, no more than Leontes, are permit- 
 ted to hope "she will recover." Present death shadows 
 every soul with gloom, fatahty shrouds the court with 
 
10 ARI-ZON 
 
 mourning blackness, hopeless destiny engulfs the scene. 
 
 The drama, however, bears Shakespeare's unmis- 
 takable seal, not alone in the tone and savor of the comic 
 and pastoral scenes, but in the stamp of the characters 
 created. If we peruse the play with the thought of 
 making the slightest acquaintance with its women, we 
 can not but perceive in an instant that Hermione is sis- 
 ter to Imogene, and Perdita to Miranda. 
 
 The tragic impressions, however, are too immediate 
 and sweeping to be jostled oiF by the shifting of the 
 scene. Any gay and sprightly interlude by the orches- 
 tra would strike discord through the soul sitting in con- 
 templation of the majesty of fate, or in lament over the 
 awful woes unjust men bring on themselves and others. 
 
 The Drama should close here, as the tragedy does 
 close, and as the tragic impression cannot, and the 
 thoughts and emotions it arouses probably should not, 
 be dispelled within the evening. The two-act comedy 
 following at once gives the feelings a more violent and 
 sudden reversal than they are capable of sustaining, 
 savors the tragedy with the grotesque and carries for- 
 ward a somewhat bitter irony into the comedy. 
 
 "The great," says Emerson, "will not condescend to 
 take anything seriously." The characters for genuine 
 
COMEDY 11 
 
 comedy must He, by nature, genial and glad, humane, 
 magnanimous, humorous and great, above the common 
 sorrows of broken fortune, capable of seeing and sport- 
 ing with the ludicrous of their own situation, able to dis- 
 till a jest out of any destiny, such as would die like Mer- 
 cutio, with a pun in his mouth. They must see deep 
 enough to see comically. Carlyle has said, "See deep 
 enough and you will see musically." To see musically 
 and to see humorously are the same thing. They both 
 strike the chord of harmony, and harmony is the joy of 
 nature, the completion of being, the right quality of 
 happiness, the basis of humor in the soul. 
 
 Genuine comedy is a recovery from calamity. 
 It falls under the gloom of foregone tragedy, and, by 
 the law of contrast, the darker the tragic doom from 
 which we emerge, the more eager will be our joy, the 
 keener and sweeter our sense of pleasure. Before the 
 scene opens the tragedy must have passed, wrong and 
 treachery must have stolen away, and within the gray 
 gloom of lingering shadows peace and happiness begin 
 to arise, and the soul and heart are greeted with the 
 murmuring of harmless jests and gay, delicate sounds 
 of mellowed mirth, musical prelude to approaching 
 heaven. In its dispositions comedy is the contrast, in 
 its tendency and result the absolute and minute reversal 
 
12 ARI-ZON 
 
 of tragedy. One gathers up and restores as the other 
 breaks down and scatters the joys of life. 
 
 ''Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear." 
 
 Tragedy is thy fierce swing into the passionate 
 state of overwhelming distress, comedy thy buoyant re- 
 swing through the air of melancholy sweetness into the 
 pleasurable feeling of pure and permanent delight. 
 
 The truth of this conception of comedy is at once 
 seen when we discover that "As You Like It" is its per- 
 fect model. 
 
 Its characters are humane and magnanimous, so 
 there can be no chafing of tender feelings, no velvety 
 pats that draw blood. Its pleasing element is humor 
 rather than wit, and in Rosalind, with "as much tender- 
 ness as mirth," is realized that ideal sport which pleases 
 us with the pleasure of others, in the memory of which 
 we will always rejoice, rather than with their mortifica- 
 tion at which upon reflection we must grieve. Wit 
 mingles with love. Sweetness combines with cunning. 
 And "the best humor," as Thackeray says, "is that which 
 contains most humanity, that which is flavored through- 
 out with tenderness and kindness." 
 
 How admirably is this piece wrought in this depth of 
 spiritual contrast! All are mellowed into sweet sym- 
 
COMEDY 13 
 
 pathy of disposition by being brought under the cloud 
 of a common sorrow, with whose silver lining only they 
 will concern themselves. We are taken into the heart 
 and into nature, into subtle feelings, refined sentiments, 
 beautiful fancy, and are given all the pleasure possible 
 to arise from gay, playful spirits, in sweet, easy humor 
 and innocent mirthfulness. It is the perfect ideal of 
 comedy in which there is no rejoicing at any human 
 creature's misfortune, however slight, and accomplishes 
 the ideal effect of mellowing wit, which causes loud, im- 
 pulsive outbursts of boisterous laughter, into pathetic 
 humor, which creates such a gradual uprising of all the 
 pleasing sentiments that before we are aware of it, our 
 hearts are immersed in a gentle flood of ethereal sweet- 
 ness, and our countenances woven to such an expression 
 of "cordial mirth" as will not vanish the next moment, 
 but fade away only through days to come, and as "the 
 echo which the whole (of Othello) leaves behind in the 
 mind resembles a single but endless sigh," so does the 
 lingering effect of "As You Like It" resemble a single 
 but endless smile. 
 
 "The Tempest" is constructed upon these principles 
 of genuine comedy, and imparts a pleasing poetic sense 
 of recovered happiness, but the serious and playful are 
 not so happily blended as in the former, where all the 
 
14 ARI-ZON 
 
 sportfulness is earnest and the earnestness sportful. 
 In my heart I never knew but my preference for 
 "As You Like It" over "Twelfth Night" was due to no 
 other cause than having first become acquainted with the 
 former. It is as well "a genuine comedy, a perpetual 
 spring of the gayest fancies." It harmoniously blends 
 grace, refinement, delicacy of sentiment, good willed wit 
 and broadest humor. It is a patient, genial, hopeful, 
 happy recovery from calamity, a restoration of joy. It 
 opens with strains of plaintive music, introductory to 
 the Duke's touching condition of unheard yet hopeful 
 love for Olivia, who in turn would a brother's dead love 
 
 ''Keep fresh and lasting in her sad remembrance." 
 
 Then Viola, in dazed bewilderment, awakes under the 
 closing echoes of an ocean storm which to her has prob- 
 ably swept her brother on into the eternal bosom. Yet, 
 in the light of this idea of genuine comedy, I can better 
 found my slight preference than on the fact of previous 
 acquaintance. In Andrew Aguecheek and Tony Belch 
 there is an element of voluptuous baseness which does 
 not contaminate the airy spirits of the field, and there is 
 a studied humiliation upon the weakness of Malvolio 
 which awakens pity for human vanity, which pity is not 
 pleasurable. 
 
COMEDY 15 
 
 Genuine comedy gives us, not the boisterous force of 
 worldly joy whose every echo is blown away with the 
 first breath of misfortune, but spiritual joy deep and 
 unfading. The sun sets and the glare of day is followed 
 by an hour of thickening gloom. This is the crisis of 
 tragedy. The mellower lights of night envelop the 
 soul and show how glorious are the stars brought out by 
 darkness, those earliest affected shining brightest. 
 This is genuine comedy. 
 
 Aye, truly, "much as we like catches and cakes and 
 ale, there is something we like better." That something 
 is deep, silent patience, buoyancy of hope and spirit — 
 sweetness of disposition and pleasantry— earnest, tender 
 mirthfulness under the precarious cruelty of chance, 
 under the destiny of trying, treacherous fate— a sun- 
 shine of spirit, which will break through and disperse 
 the gloomy clouds of a lowering sorrow. And tliis is 
 what the genuine comedy embodies. It is the gradual 
 return of joyous day through all degrees of brown to 
 brilKant dawn, after the passing of the midnight of sor- 
 row. Somber do the spirits begin, as emerging from 
 the brine of baptismal grief, and as the plot advances 
 gayer grow, each turn being with keener animation into 
 serener light, until the font has vaporized and settles on 
 the soul the bathing dew of heaven's morn. 
 
COMMENTARY 
 
COMMENTARY 
 REV. WALTER S. VAIL 
 
 From a Lecture of the late Reverend W. S, Vail 
 on the Literary Works of Jonathan B. Frost. 
 
 I shall not compare "Ari-zon" by Mr. Frost with the 
 productions called Comedies at the present time. The 
 Scenario, the Environment, the Characters, the develop- 
 ment and the thoughts and sentiment, rising from cli- 
 max until reaching finale, must be compared to such 
 classic works of similar nature and development as 
 ''Twelfth Night" and "As You Like It." 
 
 Time will not allow me to present any idea of the 
 poetic beauty of this production, nor to give an etching 
 of its plot, which is as natural, free and easy a growth 
 as that of the fruit-laden vine, gracefully creeping from 
 branch to branch in the forest where it finds its home. 
 Rut forfeiting this pleasure, let me ask you to a no less 
 important comparison than we shall find by holding up 
 the work of Shakespeare in his greatest, most romantic, 
 and idyllic comedies, — and without words of further eu- 
 logy turn with me to the work produced : — 
 
 The harsh Carter has been brought face to face with 
 his wife's sympathy and help. The long struggle of 
 
 19 
 
20 ARI-ZON 
 
 business life had hardened him and sapped his life of 
 many of those higher virtues that adorn human charac- 
 ter, that sweeten and charm it even in the strongest men. 
 And the wife, turning to the memory of other days, 
 gives us the word of womanly charm in these lines : — 
 
 "Aye, good heart, but those were days of love 
 And nights all sweet with rest, without a care. 
 The boon they brought beyond the passing present 
 And pleasant passing sensibilities — 
 Our daughter of the spring, all smiles and flowers, 
 And loyal good-heart — somewhat wayward, son." 
 
 I cite also Carter's description of the panic on 
 "Change," and later, Roland's description of his own 
 conduct, — but I quote as ranking with Polonius' advice 
 to his son, Roland's dehneation of the man who would 
 win his sister, thus:—* 
 
 "His easy dignity of every move is self-reserve. 
 His unaffected grace high overtops 
 Convention's common laws, the which are stilts 
 To common men. Broad-minded, he is free 
 From jealous canker. Unassuming honor 
 He ignores suspicion : — Conscious of his worth, 
 Not egotistic, nor self-conscious, 
 Yet knows himself, and self-appreciative, 
 His thought too lofty is for envy's seat." 
 
COMMENTARY 21 
 
 I hasten from the introductory scene for greater 
 beauties which await us. And yet, removing now as 
 the whole scene of the drama is transferred from New 
 York City to the freedom of Ari-Zon, I must warn you 
 that it is impossible to flourish before you more than a 
 few detached blossoms from this vineyard of beauty. 
 
 With the famous "Ode to Love" by the Duke in 
 "Twelfth Night," I hazard the comparison of Roland's 
 opening words of the second scene under the Ari-Zon 
 moonlight : — 
 
 "Softly thrum such music through the air 
 As when the moonbeams strung among the leaves 
 Are gently breathed upon by meUow spring." 
 
 In delicacy of imagination, deftness of picturesque 
 painting, and force of spontaneous poetic diction, 
 "Ari-zon" must win its place in the mind and heart of 
 all lovers of Drama. 
 
 This genius does not move in any merely spasmodic 
 and untaught way to its end. Without the weight of 
 the machinery being felt, without the wheels and pulleys 
 of plan being seen, it goes on following lines of de- 
 velopment, logical to the final degree, holding 
 proportion ever in mind, never over-stepping the 
 most refined demand of taste, yet in all things abso- 
 
22 ART-ZOlSr 
 
 lutely true to the realistic demand of the situation. 
 It is impossible to describe the absolute freedom of 
 the versification, rhythm, meter, and rhyme, that per- 
 meates this entire romance. It seems to flow from the 
 author's imagination as free as breezes wander over the 
 Ari-Zon plains; and with the music, rhythm and bril- 
 liancy of crystal waters flowing down her mountain 
 streams, or beating themselves with metric stroke into 
 foam upon the rocks. 
 
 "Ari-Zon is the bracing clime 
 Of decorated plains, deep woods, and ridges. 
 Rock-ribbing chasms, canons, abrupt gorges 
 Where wild waters thunder up their dirges 
 To forest's feathered and aeolian chime!" 
 
 I would hke to give you many coherent, strong, 
 terse and satisfying pictures of the characters of this 
 drama, not only, but would like to point out the superior 
 ability manifested in expression, insight, and clean-cut 
 etching of character. 
 
 To begin is like culling from a garden, where what 
 you leave, you leave with regret, and where you only 
 half enjoy what you cull, because you are thinking of 
 the beauties you leave behind. And first of all, let me 
 quote Carter's description of his son Roland, a descrip- 
 tion that is given after the father has made the long 
 
COMMENTARY 23 
 
 pilgrimage to Arizona, and coming into the hotel with 
 Hazelton, helps to complete the group on the stage, in- 
 cluding, unknown to each other, nearly all the principals 
 so skillfully and artistically grouped and separated, that 
 their appearance, ability to hear yet preserve incognito, 
 keeps an audience alert. In this position, Carter says : 
 
 **Landlord, I'm looking for my son, — 
 An addle-pated sort of fellow; long 
 Yet oval face, — a callow softness on 
 It all; and deep non-mobile eyes, but keen 
 Observant, yet non-observant manner; motley 
 Expression, idiotic half, the other 
 Half, his father — wise; hair heavy, brown 
 But for a golden tinge, and rather saunters 
 On than walks, as like his legs were also 
 Addled." 
 
 Later, under the shadow of the foothills, the moim- 
 tains, high, silent and watchful above them, the sleepy 
 herd disturbed by some restless lowing or moving, the 
 camp settling down for sleep but rising as if for some 
 excitement, the fever of strange fun aroused by the ap- 
 pearance of the Yankee: — ^with this condition, what 
 more natural than that the hungry strangers should 
 want to eat, or that the lean Yankee should demand his 
 "chuck" ? And then what more natural than that some 
 
24 ARI-ZON 
 
 one should demand that each should make his joke? 
 And what more picturesque than the appearance of 
 Rosalie and Eula, dressed in hunting garb, at this par- 
 ticular moment? And where can we find in the half 
 jocular yet half serious words used by Barrios instead 
 of the joke demanded, a more unique description than 
 this he gives of Eula? 
 
 "Fellows, you'll instead of jest allow 
 Me say the trail we follow; Senor Carter 
 Here is looking for his daughter. Fair 
 As morning is her feature; black as double 
 Night her eyes — dilating pupils burnish up 
 To blue sometimes, and in good nature twinkle 
 Radiance forth that wakes the deadest best 
 Impulses of the soul, but when chagrined 
 Their nether color flashes fire out 
 Would singe a tommy-cat ; her amber hair 
 From alabaster brow flows ofi^ like liquid 
 Waves, but now's tanked in much such chapeau ; 
 Her Grecian legs — 
 
 (Carter reaches for Yankee's knife.) 
 The which when looking in 
 Her face one thinks not of, and else of form 
 Concealment carries is lithesome borne in garments 
 Much like my own. In this disguise this night 
 This lady trips this region through !" 
 
 These companion pictures: First, Carter's Mining 
 
COMMENTARY 25 
 
 Camp description of his son, who is present and must 
 hearken unrecognized by his father,— and second, this 
 round-up camp description of Eula by her Cuban lover, 
 her father and dude-lover present, and Eula in hunt- 
 ing costume also present unrecognized, — are specimens 
 of dramatic picturesqueness and comic finish absolutely 
 unsurpassed in Drama. 
 
 The "Prospector" is a man whose life is full of 
 golden dreams, who sits on the mountain-side on stormy 
 nights in the shelter of his shack, and by warmth of such 
 fire as he has, plans the ways to spend his princely in- 
 come, when he strikes the gold in the nugget. A third 
 picture almost equal to these two, is Eula's free and 
 swashing character sketch of this unique figure of this 
 IVIining Camp, when amidst the crowd she approaches 
 him and says; — 
 
 "Prospector ! Once I read of this odd kind. 
 
 " 'The Prospector !' Yes, now it comes to mind ; — 
 
 "The felt he calls a hat is rotten on his head ; 
 
 "The loose limp cloth, his coat, is oily on the collar; 
 
 "His pantaloons are greasy down the knees ; 
 
 "His boots are red and dry beneath the weather, 
 
 "His eye rolls on the earth, 
 
 "His soul a creeper is, 
 
 "And moss grows on his back!'* 
 
26 ARI-ZON 
 
 iThis designation of character in a most striking way 
 bringing out the person spoken of and no less strikingly 
 indicating the person speaking, forms one of the fas- 
 cinating charms of Drama, and nowhere else but in 
 Shakespeare has this fine art been so deftly and happily 
 handled as here. 
 
 Extending from the minutest detail of country life, 
 with all its limitations and compensations, ranging still 
 higher to the cosmopolitan life of a great city, and 
 whether it is the round-up of a herd, or a description of 
 those strange movements of life and fortune with which 
 the spirit of speculation and change maddens the crowd 
 and sends some home rich and others penniless,^— in 
 each and in all, a most unusual thing in any man, you 
 find our author equally master of conditions, with that 
 perfect knowledge and complete grasp of the situation, 
 which carries with it not merely the knowledge but an 
 ATMOSPHERE^ felt ouly whcn a master hand has 
 touched the pen. 
 
 I turn to the cowboy in Ari-Zon, who takes a fond 
 interest in the herd that is under his control, who as he 
 rounds them up at night, unsaddles his pony, sits down 
 beside his fire, and opens the second scene of the third 
 act, thus: — 
 
COMMENTARY 27 
 
 "I say though, fellows, I could cut boss Reneaud*s 
 Herd if there were never a brand on one, 
 Or if they'd all been hog-tied by the burners ; 
 They're nothing like your big-paunched Oregons; 
 There's not one in the lot is over seven; 
 Clean-limbed and thrifty, long round body, straight 
 Slim horn, straight-backed, smooth and glossy skin 
 Well stretched with meat well packed to bone; their like, 
 So kept and culled are not by other ranchmen 
 Grazed in Ari-Zon!" 
 
 This is a description which all must admire for its 
 graphic qualities as well as its realism. And when I 
 have finished this description, tell me if it is not like, 
 and in definite ways as accurate, as apt of word, and 
 taken as a whole, as compact yet expressive as the Bu- 
 colics of Virgil, so celebrated in the world's literature. 
 
 Time fails me to give a quotation of the Mexan boy's 
 description of a stampede, or his tale of the many woes 
 that fell upon the herd, or the wild scene of mountain 
 and tarn, or the gentler, more pastoral and altogether 
 more glorious scene of the ranch of Reneaud and Rosa- 
 lie; and I can only repeat that whether in the crowded, 
 roaring streets of New York, where vice elbows virtue, 
 where filth shuffles by the carriage of luxury, where the 
 merriment of the gay and the happy is startled by the 
 cry of the wretched, or whether in the mountain mines 
 or on the ranch or in the huntsman's forest, in one place 
 
28 ARI-ZON 
 
 as well as in the other, we always feel the power of the 
 artistic touch, while its delicacy makes it more effective 
 than if it were only powerful. 
 
 REV. THOMAS P. BYRNES 
 
 I have read the second time Mr. Frost's comedy, 
 "Ari-Zon." I enjoyed it better than the first time, for 
 not so absorbed with the plot, I felt the keen delights 
 of its fine literary style and its delicate and subtle 
 humor. As I read the many beautiful and eloquent 
 passages, as I felt the spell of the pastoral scenes and 
 happy outdoor life that pervades the whole work, I had 
 to often stop and remind myself that I was not reading 
 Shakespeare's "As You Like It," or "Mid-Summer 
 Night's Dream," although I felt many times that Eula 
 is a worthy sister of Rosalind, and that the eloquent 
 dramatic style and the pervasive humor are worthy of 
 the "Bard of Avon" himself. 
 
 The diction of the comedy is classic, and worthy 
 of a true literary craftsman. Its character portrayal is 
 of a high order. Roland's description of the man wor- 
 thy of Eula's heart as a high piece of character-draw- 
 ing is worthy to stand side by side with that other 
 passage which describes a man "with a combination 
 and a form indeed where every god did seem to set 
 his seal to give the world assurance of a man." After 
 
COMMENTARY 29 
 
 describing the proper man in the first act, it was no 
 easy thing to create him and breathe into him the 
 breath of life and put him full grown into the field of 
 action, but this is done in Reneaud, and while I would 
 like to have seen his suit prolonged and not won quite 
 so easily, yet the limitations of the drama sometimes 
 make it impossible to in every case prolong delights. 
 
 Roland, also, is a fine, true character, one of the 
 kind that rules by right divine, and while we were glad 
 to see him cow the braggart Clack, yet here we also 
 felt that his victory was too easily and quickly won, 
 yet, as in Reneaud*s case, it was by sheer force of char- 
 acter and genuine courage, which we know in real life 
 is quick and decisive in winning its victories. Colonel 
 Carter is a good strong character, one whom we would 
 like to meet and while away a jolly day with. While 
 Lord Hazelton easily won our contempt, and brought 
 a throb of joy to our hearts to see him sent home with- 
 out succeeding in his mission. In fact, the merit of all 
 the characters is that the are aUve and real, and con- 
 vince us with the reality of their lives, trials and 
 troubles, as well as their joys and delights. 
 
 I was impressed with another marked feature of 
 the comedy, and that is the rich vein of poetry that runs 
 all through it; even the rough characters speak with 
 
30 ARI-ZON 
 
 native eloquence, all the more convincing because within 
 the limits of possibility, while the conversations of 
 Eula and Rosalie in the third act are the very flower 
 of poetic expression, and made me long for the flowery 
 lawn of Reneaud's plantation, and the sweet conversa- 
 tion and poetic effusions of a Eula and a RosaHe. 
 
 REV. WM. H. McGLAUFLIN 
 
 "Atlanta, Ga., Nov,, 1898. 
 "Mr. J. B. Frost: 
 
 "My Dear Frost: May I tell you how much I en- 
 joyed reading *Ari-Zon?' My interest deepened from 
 the first page and when the last was reached, the sensa- 
 tion was experienced, like that of the small boy's, who 
 had eaten his pie^— regret that there was not more of it. 
 
 "The plan of the book was happily conceived, the 
 imagery is fresh, vivid, enlivening, the characters are 
 self-revealing, and the dialectical skill not often excelled. 
 The volume is now loaned out, going the rounds of lov- 
 ers of literature who think with me that you should 
 issue a new edition and so accommodate all who would 
 like to own *Ari-Zon.' 
 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 "W. H. McGlauflin." 
 
COMMENTARY 81 
 
 LOLLIE BELLE WYLIE 
 
 In The Saturday Review^ Atlanta. 
 
 In his "Ari-Zon," a play capable of excellent staging, 
 Mr. Frost has struck upon a happy line of thought. 
 The book is full of action, and is light and breezy, with 
 great stretches of airy fields for the imagination to play 
 in. 
 
 Poor drunken Clack makes a lifehke picture, and 
 there is a world of pathos in his humiliation and de- 
 parture from the mining-camp. 
 
 J. VILLA BLAKE 
 
 Essayist and Dramatic Critic ^ Chicago. 
 
 Mr. Frost's "Ari-Zon" seems to me to have strong 
 lines and passages of the most genuine poetic beauty — 
 such as three lines at the top of page 16, and the open- 
 ing of the third act, and the opening of Eula's speech 
 on page 60, and things in the whole of that speech. 
 
 Far more important than separate strong or beau- 
 tiful passages is a certain living and forceful quality, 
 a daring of literary manner, a freedom and directness 
 of hand that pervades the whole. 
 
 Mr. Frost has force. It is high in beauty and fit- 
 ness. He has power, feehng, fancy, picture-quality, 
 originality, a fine scope and beauty of words. 
 
WHEN WRITING " ARI-ZON " 
 
ARI-ZON 
 
To my wife, whom I was with 
 on beginning this play. 
 
 And my angel, who was with me 
 on its completion. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS: 
 
 Entering on first act, beginning on page 39, 
 
 EuLA, daughter to the Carters. 
 
 Mr. Carter. 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Roland, son to the Carters. 
 
 Lord Hazelton. 
 
 Music-boy, known as Barrios. 
 Entering on second act, first scene, beginning on page 59 
 
 Roland. 
 
 EuLA, as Barrios. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Barrios, formerly known as Music-Boy. 
 Entering on second act, second scene, beginning on 
 page 70, 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 William Clack. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Coy, a claim-pusher. 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 EuLA, as Barrios. 
 
 Jim Junkins, Sally Jones, and other mining-camp 
 characters. 
 Entering on third act, first scene, beginning on page 101, 
 
 R0SALIE5 sister to Reneaud. 
 
88 ARI-ZON 
 
 EuLA, as Barrios. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Senora, a Mexan woman. 
 
 Mexan Youth, her son. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Carter, Hazelton, Barrios, and Cowboys. 
 Entering on third act, second scene, beginning on 
 page 127, 
 
 Cowboys. 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Roland and Reneaud, passing in the background. 
 
 EuLA, as Barrios, and Rosalie, passing in back- 
 ground. 
 Entering on third act, third scene, beginning on page 
 Ul. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 EuLA, as Barrios. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Pike Parson. 
 
 Display of Arizona Scenery. 
 Curtain. 
 
FIRST ACT 
 
 Scene: — Street in New York City, before the Carter 
 
 residence. 
 (Curtain rises on Eula, daughter to the Carters, 
 on upper veranda. ) 
 
 Eula, 
 
 Ah me I how weary is this little world! 
 
 How sadly, madly, are we weaklings whirled 
 
 Through this vapid run of social rush. 
 
 Just to be considered "In the push"! 
 
 Are there woods, and runs, and rising suns 
 
 Beyond the city's rattle, dust, and hums? 
 
 Stretches noonday over flowered plains? 
 
 Or glares it always hot from window-panes? 
 
 Somewhere this dusky evening's drowsy charm's 
 
 Unchoked of dust, unstartled by alarms; 
 
 And I'm sure the gentle moonbeam falls 
 
 On else than cobble-stones and barren walls. 
 
 Oh! I'm weary with this stifling city; 
 
 I long for watered woodlands, song-bird's ditty, 
 
 To live and roam and breathe and rest 'neath nature, 
 
 As free as air, and wild as — what creature? 
 
 (Enter Carter from street, Mrs. Carter on lower 
 veranda.) 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Oh, come not forth to-night to meet me ; 
 
 39 
 
40 ARI-ZON 
 
 Instead of joy must sorrow greet thee! 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Alack! what heavy grief contorts this way? 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Oh, this the night is of our fortune's day! 
 
 To speedy ruin on a single tide 
 
 Is swept good name and fortune, honor, pride! 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Take strength, stout heart; say not thou'rt thus o'er- 
 
 run. 
 What woes have fallen from this single sun? 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Yea, from this single son, indeed! 
 
 A pest upon the sun that brought him forth! — 
 
 Stay not my up-pent wrath, nor stop its flash, 
 
 But know the cause why fury rides my breath: — ■ 
 
 Good wife, how many weary years I've spent 
 To garner up this harvest for my age ! 
 How many nights your anxious heart awaited 
 Tardy love awhilst o'er-drowsy eyes 
 Groped over midnight-blurred books! 
 Ah ! bitter crusts I've broke and saved the crumbs ; 
 Hard days worked and stingy clutched the pennies; 
 And all my cautious conduct circled in 
 And hedged by close economy's cramped hand. 
 
 Mrs. Carter, 
 
 Aye, good heart, but those were days of love 
 And nights all sweet with rest, without a care. 
 The boon they brought beyond the passing present 
 
ARI-ZON 4.1 
 
 And pleasant passing sensibilities — 
 
 Our daughter of the spring, all smiles and flowers, 
 
 And loyal good-heart*--somewhat wayward son. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 A trifling wretch! a stripling makeshift man! 
 
 A lazy lout ! a callow, unkempt kid 
 
 Who ever thought to waste and never save; 
 
 To broadcast scatter all and never glean. 
 
 His only study was consuming of 
 
 My means; how most to disobey my will; 
 
 His father's honor's blot and shameful ruin — 
 
 Oh, hear me through! I'll rave, for thus it was: 
 
 On Change stocks all uncertain were, and few 
 Did buy or sell, when fresh from night of brawl, 
 Full-flush, and blear-eyed, he from feast of wine, 
 All liquor-legged, rushed in and crazy cried, 
 And bought such reckless hazard of results 
 That all, supposing he some smart pointer 
 Had received, rushed in the cry and craze, 
 And while the scene was wild he bought and sold 
 And lost and lost, and sold and bought and lost 
 And lost, till all was lost and ruin came. 
 Oh, wretched father paupered by a son! 
 My shame will scarce allow I pass my threshold I 
 
 (Enter Roland.) 
 
 Roland. (Singing.) 
 
 Via a swagger, swell fellow, 
 Scouting fortune's foul folly — 
 
42 ARI-ZON 
 
 Carter, 
 
 Ah, profligate spendthrift, addle-pated fool! 
 
 Pass not these portals, darken not my door; 
 
 Never breathe to me the title "father"; 
 
 Go your way and starve or beg your bread ; 
 
 A vagabond, be cuff^ed about the world 
 
 And learn the stuff 'tis made of ; hanger-on 
 
 My purse no longer be, thou sapping leech. 
 
 Thou father's shame, thou mother's woe, thou sister's 
 
 Deep humiliation and abridgement 
 
 Of all her joy, her marital chance! 
 
 Ah! if I longer look on you 
 
 Indignation will my bosom burst! 
 
 (He bursts out.) 
 Eula. (Above.) 
 
 What curse! what chance to wed a curse is this? 
 
 Roland. (Singing.) 
 
 Over loss I can't bellow, 
 Midnight still is all jolly. 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Oh, son! how have you so displeased your father? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh, mother! how my father has displeased me! 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Roland, have you wildly sown the wind 
 That now this whirlwind you must reap? 
 
ARI-ZON 43 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Good mother! 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Has intoxication scattered all 
 
 And homeless left us— as yourself? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 'Tis true 
 
 That tipsy I have fortune topsyturvied, 
 
 And wine has scattered thrift upon the wind. 
 
 Mrs. Carter, 
 
 Oh, what grief this chance will bring my daughter ! 
 What wretched destiny plunge your sister in! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Nay, good mother-heart, more, better cheer; 
 For none would such harsh fate more better bear 
 Than free and lovely gay-heart Eula would. 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Then falls this care upon your father's age I 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Ah, heard you not my angered father's boast 
 
 I should ne'er o'erstep his gorgeous stoop ; 
 
 His floor my scapegrace weight should never press ? 
 
 And his they are, and all his safe-locked bonds ; 
 
 For less I've lost than hitherto had gained; 
 
 No more drunk than many times before ; 
 
 This method, too, I've often pushed and won. 
 
44 AM-ZON 
 
 To craze the crowd and ride the craze to fortune. 
 But here I staid too long, o'erswam the tide, 
 And could not buffet back to shore. But that 
 Is naught. These fortunes floating loose must daily 
 Change their hands. Why were it not, my mother, 
 For the pleasant pride of showy wealth, 
 The needless pomp that gaudy vainness wears, 
 You scarce would miss a dime. 
 
 Mrs. Carter, 
 
 Good son, this news is leverage to lift your father's 
 
 Heavy grief, and straight I'll bring full frank 
 
 Forgiveness in his hand. 
 
 (Eant Mrs. Carter.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Ha, full his hand 
 
 With franks! you'll sooner touch his shekel heart 1 
 
 Oh, tender, pious spirit, that thou wouldst 
 
 The "woman new" enough imbibe to cuff 
 
 Those stingy wrinkles off his crusty face: — 
 
 'Tis strange that he should get a youth like me; 
 
 That she, all rooster-pecked, should such a daughter 
 
 Bear; for Eula, on half a chance, I'm sure, 
 
 Would pull the breeches on; and I too senseless 
 
 Am to mourn a curse — else would have wept 
 
 These many years of wasting honor ; but 
 
 Instead, have chased regret around the sparkling 
 
 Brim, and made despairing good a mirth. 
 
 Now free, naught happier can I wish to do 
 
ARI-ZON 45 
 
 Than 'neath some lonesome shade laugh off dull time 
 In doleful tune with some bereft cuckoo, 
 A-sport with nature's jests, and more at mine. 
 Ari-Zon is the bracing clime 
 Of decorated plains, deep woods, and ridges, 
 Rock-ribbing chasms, canons, abrupt gorges 
 Where wild waters thunder up their dirges 
 To forest's feathered and seolian chime ! 
 
 These are for my "uncle" — touching leave. 
 The loss of dollars causes me no dolour. 
 Were I to call a curse — 'tis nature's call 
 With comic things to stop our serious thought. 
 
 (Enter Lord Hazelton.) 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Oh, Lord I Sir Roland, what's afloat? I never 
 Saw your countenance so disturbed. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 My soul's afloat on time, and as I cut 
 My anchor from this island, curses — 
 
 Hazelton. 
 Oh, Lord! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Impassioned, hence pathetic, slobber 
 From my mouth into this moral maelstrom. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Oh, forbear, Sir Roland ! your expression 
 Nauseates I 
 
46 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland. 
 
 This rot called honor, stinking 
 Social cleanness, I have swallowed nigh 
 To twenty years, and now must belch it up. 
 We lie, we steal, we cheat, we gamble on; 
 'Tis honor while we win! Lose once and we're 
 Disgraced. This rule controls our merchants all. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 I know — don't tell me — all Americans 
 Will overheat the — ^liquid in the veins 
 And needle up the nerves. Is your sister — 
 
 Roland. 
 
 My sister is. — My lord, I've stomached this 
 
 Till now, by savor of my cups. 
 
 There are fathers who would sell their daughter's 
 
 Hand, and lords would sell their soul; 
 
 But now I'm sure the lord and father both 
 
 Are sold. Here enter ; find some comfort. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Thanks. 
 Sir Roland, thanks. 
 
 (Emt Hazelton.) 
 Roland. 
 
 Unto the dolt I open 
 
 Wide the door which I shall never, praised 
 Be fortune, pass again. Yes, I may trust 
 Her self-defense though slimy lords do crawl 
 Forth thick as poUiwogs with leeching suits. 
 
ARI-ZON 47 
 
 Dirty honor gone, I'll gain some manhood I 
 Eula, 
 
 Ho, Roily! whereto are you off so early? 
 Roland. 
 
 To the laundry. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah, you seem already well 
 Done up. 
 
 Roland, 
 
 In seams — of else the starch is out. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Much stiffening were in a walk to Ari-Zon. 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Enough ! Good sister, you're my lone regret. 
 But fare you well ; nay you must not fare ill. 
 Your tastes demand the best of life, your worth — 
 Better than exists in men. You still 
 Will flaunt all little lords. One day a man 
 Will come with quiet force and take your heart. 
 His easy dignity of every move is self -reserve. 
 His unaffected grace high overtops 
 Convention's common laws, the which are stilts 
 To common men. Broad-minded, he is free 
 From jealous canker. Unassuming honor 
 He ignores suspicion: — Conscious of his worth, 
 Not egotistic, nor self-conscious, 
 
48 ARI-ZON 
 
 Yet knows himself, and self -appreciative, 
 His thought too lofty is for envy's seat. — 
 Aye you may take himl — rather must! Till then, 
 And then, you'll stand your father's will aloof. 
 Oh ! your resistless claim e'er set on good. 
 Your artful grace, woman's right diplomacy. 
 Will win your will. I'm off for Ari-Zon 
 To bellow, stroll, and roll about in nature 
 With beastly freedom, being tired, being beastly. 
 
 (Eant Boland.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh, my life! my light is out! my heart. 
 My future night-enveloped are. My grace 
 Will help me little without my brother to 
 Interpret it and champion all my wishes. 
 Oh, happier were a menial washing dishes 
 Than I, unto a crank's most rank caprices 
 An abject slave, without a hand or heart 
 My own! Oh, such a father I disown! 
 And will unto my brother cleave whose open 
 Frankness often faced his father's harshness 
 Off.— But how? 
 
 (Enter Spanish music-hoy, playing.) 
 
 Ha! cad, come here! Would you 
 This jewel wear? 
 
 Music-boy. 
 
 For sure! I'll play for if. 
 
ARI-ZON 49 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Nay stay! for it — you'll drop your instrument — 
 Leap the garden-wall — throw me your clothes 1 
 
 Music-boy. 
 
 I would not freeze-^but fear that the pohce — 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Fear not; to you my brother's suit I'll throw; 
 About the town in better clothes you'll go, 
 And on your finger wear this blue-white prize. 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 Not for the jewel, but those lovely eyes. 
 
 (Leaps on the wall.) 
 Not fooling me? You wish for this disguise? 
 
 Eula, 
 
 My time is short! make haste, or spoil my sport. 
 
 (Exit Eula. Music-hoy leaps over the wall and 
 throws his suit to upper veranda.) 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 Good-bye, old coat, you full the circle where 
 The arms you've naked left would never dare! 
 Blessed vest, guard well that lovely breast! 
 Oh, lucky pants! Oh, that a Spanish dog 
 Should wear you into such a chance! — -but hold! 
 Carry up these kisses, to the seat 
 Of 'static blisses ! 
 
 (Re-enter Eula.) 
 
50 ARI-ZON 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Imp! my mother on 
 
 The stair, I could not reach my brother's robe. 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 The stare ?^^Ah, she was watching you? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 (Throwing skirt and waist.) 
 But these 
 Will cover you,*^so quick jump into woman's 
 Sphere, and put a girlish simper on. 
 
 Music-hoy. (Aside.) 
 
 I'd rather she would clothe me with her smiles.-=. 
 Oh, good lady! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Hush, and don the dress-^ 
 You'll rouse the dog! — Ha, this is artful grace, — 
 What Roily said is woman's right diplomacy! 
 
 3lrs. Carter, (Within.) 
 Eula! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Lordy, if she should come up! 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 Eula, daughter! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Yes, mama! I'm coming! 
 
ARI-ZON 51 
 
 Mrs, Carter. 
 
 Lord Hazelton is here and asks for you. 
 
 Eula. (Aside.) 
 
 Asks for me ! Sweet Heaven, an escape ! — 
 Mama ! 
 
 3Irs. Carter. 
 
 Well, daughter! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Serve the lord some ice. 
 (Aside.) 
 
 'Twill cool his suit, while I get in my suit. — ^ 
 Mama! 
 
 Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Well, daughter! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Serve it in the library. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 'Twill detain him in till I get out. 
 
 Oh, Lord ! I'm turned around ! No wonder though ! 
 
 (Having drawn pants on wrong side to.) 
 
 Man's sphere's so large, — 'tis not an easy task 
 
 To fill his place. But lasses crowd him out ; 
 
 Then he runs to politics and pouts 
 
 That we've usurped his occupation. Oh, me I 
 
 I can naught but jest, and my mind 
 
 Should be its best. I'll do my best to be 
 
52 ARI-ZON 
 
 A man! Dear, I must have hysterics! Surely 
 I am full dressed ! Then do not need hysterics. 
 I shouldn't know how to put them on. Oh I what 
 Is in a suit? "Aye, that's the question!" 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 Oh, lady, you didn't throw the simper down! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Bah! what a fool! 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 Oh, pretty lady! it will 
 Not fit my face. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh, here's a witty lad! 
 Hold your shoulder close and help me down. 
 Hazelton can take what here is left 
 Of me :-^an old shoe-lace and corset-stay 
 Are enough — oh, oh! 
 
 (Falling, hut saved from injury hy Music-hoy.) 
 
 I'm faint: Oh, help 
 Me out of this unknown : Here, take the ring ! 
 
 (Enter Carter, Mrs. Carter, and Lord Hazelton 
 on veranda.) 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 No, lady! I can't take pay from you! 
 
 Eula, 
 
 Cease! what is your name? 
 
ARI-ZON 58 
 
 Music-hoy, 
 
 Del Barrios, — 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Hush, hush I 
 
 Carter. 
 
 They don't attract me, lord ; though some 
 Are yellow, flowers never blossom gold. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 But these old-fashioned marigolds^— 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Nay mister; 
 
 'Tis the latest fad. 
 
 Hazelton, 
 
 What 'tis? 
 
 Eula, 
 
 To marry 
 
 Gold. 
 
 Hazelton. (Aside.) 
 
 Ha, gad I 'Tis what I have intended. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 You follow well the youthful fashion of 
 Impertinence. As brass has brought you up, 
 Valor's better part will move you on. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 This youth wears a gentle look; his grace 
 And curtness make me curious. 
 
54 ARI-ZON 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Ho, gammon 1 
 
 My friend, the lord, would know your name. 
 Eula. 
 
 Ridel 
 
 De Barrios. 
 
 Carter, 
 
 And whence you are? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 The son 
 
 Am I, to a banished Cuban lord. 
 
 Music-hoy. (Aside.) 
 
 How knows this lady all my history? 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Well, sir, what make you here? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 To answer by 
 The rhyme, "I mar what God has made," but truly 
 Sir, I make bad music, pleasing lords 
 By pleasing ladies, playing serenades. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Happily come^-what say my friends? — a song 
 Will faster pulse our lady's heart, and we'll 
 Enjoy her quicker presence here. Such music 
 Play as wakens thoughts romantic in 
 Fair ladies' minds.^ — Magician, play. 
 
ARI-ZON 55 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Musicians 
 Play. 
 
 Music-boy. (Apart to Eula.) 
 
 And you have not the fingering? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Nay I want not the finger-ring. 
 (Aloud.) 
 
 My dainty sister here will dance a turn. 
 
 Music-boy. (Aside.) 
 
 I am her brother! 
 
 (Music and dance.) 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Horrid ordinary ! horrid !•— 
 
 A song to ravish beauty's ear. 
 
 Eula. (Sings.) 
 
 Sweet Lady Amaryllus,- — 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Why Amaryllus? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Blooms your lady's face no beauty, lord? 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Aye! more than gardens do! 
 
 Eula. (Sings.) 
 
 Sweet lady, sweet Allyssum, — • 
 
56 ARI-ZON 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 What is Allyssum? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 What is your lady's worth? 
 
 Music-boy. 
 
 More than mines can hold! 
 
 Eula, 
 
 More than minds 
 Unfold! her father's fortune's loss would 
 Lessen much her worth. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Excuse me, Hazelton; I am beyond 
 
 The age and state of sentiment : To steady 
 
 Years it is distasteful. (Aside.) Ah, dog Roland, 
 
 You will not forgiveness gain by posting 
 
 Scamps across my path I 
 
 (Exit Carter.) 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Young Spaniard, tune your tongue to better taste. 
 
 Eula, 
 
 This lady's rue and hyssop opens only 
 To the courting coriander. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Who? 
 
ARI-ZON 57 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Her love responds to merit. Jealous lord, 
 You now are dock. Your prickly disposition 
 Smoothing off, you'll be geranium. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Say your riddle. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ugly patience, lord, 
 Will blossom disappointed expectation. 
 
 Hazelton, 
 
 Your playing in bad measure; sniveler, cease. 
 You vrould stay my lady off. 
 
 (Exit Lord Hazelton, bowing Mrs. Carter out, 
 throwing money to the ground.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 My feet 
 Must bring and take her, where and whither will 
 
 she.' — 
 Oh, mama! How can I leave you thus? — 
 
 (Music-hoy has gathered up money and hands it 
 to Eula, who hurls it against him.) 
 Stupid sissy, dance and wake my spirits I 
 Ha, ha! ha, ha! I'm off for Ari-Zon 
 To bellow, stroll, and roll about in nature 
 With beastly freedom, being tired, being beastly. 
 
 (Exit Eula.) 
 
58 ARI-ZON 
 
 Music-hoy. 
 
 Ha, ha I ha, ha ! my wild and lovely lady. 
 For a suit I'll trade this blue- white prize, 
 And means to keep aken of delf-blue eyes. 
 
 (Eocit Music-hoy. Enter Carter, Mrs. Carter 
 and Lord Hazelton on veranda.) 
 
 Carter. 
 
 My daughter lured away! Oh, profligate son I 
 My curse on you must be the birth 
 Of curses on my age. 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
SECOND ACT. 
 
 First Scene: — Arizona. Mountain forest. Moon- 
 
 light. 
 (Curtain rises on Eula as Barrios, and Roland.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Softly thrum such music through the air 
 
 As when the moonbeams strung among the leaves 
 
 Are gently breathed upon by mellow spring. 
 
 Eula, (Striking instrument violently and rushing 
 across the stage.) 
 Oh, oh! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 'Tis true the tempest tumbling up 
 The woods is nature's music. 
 
 Eula, 
 
 Seel A snake! 
 Roland. 
 
 Young fellow, come, a snack of this. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 It moves! 
 Roland. (Taking up stick.) 
 
 Ah ! this must come to all who tarry long 
 In Texas. 
 
 69 
 
60 ARI-ZON 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I am wearyU-with the moon. 
 
 And faint with hunger. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Well, the man should hide 
 
 The moon.^-^Ridel, my boy, rest easy; there: — 
 
 Hunger's tough : and often toughly served. 
 
 There, my boy ; barefoot I'll tread more lightly. 
 
 (Takes off and throws Eula his boots.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 But, sir, I have boots on. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Eat mine — first. 
 Eula. 
 
 Tarantulas I 
 
 (Springs away, pushing one hoot toward Roland, 
 holding other, a tarantula having fallen to the 
 ground.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Ho there! my other boot. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I can't have half a meal? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 A good full feast, 
 I will exchange you both my socks. You're right— 
 They're covers for the feet, not stomach-stayers. — 
 It don't want us: it's after larger game. 
 
 (Exit tarantula.) 
 
ARI-ZON 61 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Perhaps 't has dined this week. Oh, Rol^ — oh, sir. 
 Good sir, are you not scared? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh yes, I'm scared, — 
 Else would have checked that fat tarantula 
 And tried the question which should eat and which 
 Be eaten.=^That's the struggle of the world. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Once I read a tale of this wild land :— 
 
 Beasts in every mountain crevice crouch. 
 
 Lone wanderers' flesh they munch, their bones they 
 
 crunch, 
 And prowl the woods o' nights. No luckless lamb 
 From the fold once strayed has e'er returned: 
 Bears are brown to closer come unseen; 
 The coyote's galloping cry will split the ears; 
 The cougar and fierce cat creep stealthy up.^- 
 Hark ! what sounds so make the world a terror \ — 
 And on the earth, 'twas said, crawl infant snakes 
 That play with rattles, ven'mous centipedes 
 Whose jointed hundred legs trail death along, 
 The lizard too ! Oh, sir ! is this the river 
 Whose banks both breed the Gila monster, scaly, 
 With mouth agape, that puffs a greenish slime, 
 And is in color blackish-red, as if 
 That night and hell cohabited for its 
 Creation? 
 
62 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland, 
 
 By damnation, boy! — ^your nerves 
 I'll tonic. 
 
 (Taking flask and cup from pocket.) 
 This is bad as Change where I 
 Have stood whole days amongst the bears and bulls. 
 
 (Throwing away empty flask and cup.) 
 A river's waters and not a drop of any- 
 Thing to drink.^ — Ugh! it's damp! and chilly! 
 Ridel de Barrios, you shame your race! 
 You stand e'en here on Nunez' trail who 'scaped 
 From Flora's florid skins; — this wilderness 
 Then was wild ;■ — and barefoot crossed the eastern 
 Alligator swamps, then swam the Mississippi, 
 Naked traced the Colorado up 
 And the Gila reached in skins. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Well healed he must 
 Have been. 
 Roland. 
 
 Not healed at all; he found no gold. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Your jest is old. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 You're better now. 
 
 • (Scraping away leaves and placing stone.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 What's this? 
 
ARI-ZON 63 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Your be(i.^-Oh! here's your blanket. 
 
 (Tossing her his coat.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 You will freeze 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh no, my brain's a-fire. 
 
 The pillow a stone 
 
 (Lying down.) 
 
 The dreams bring angels near.-^Barry, lad, 
 
 I've read of this wild land, that sleeping out 
 
 O' nights, and waked by slimy touch of scaly 
 
 Creeper*^never move a muscle: hold 
 
 Your breath. 'Twill think you are a log and crawl 
 
 Away*— but move, 'twill fang your flesh; that's death 
 
 To-night; we're out of antidote. 
 
 Reneaud. (In the distance singing.) 
 
 Hello, ha ho — 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah, hark! what noise? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Come hide here, I some good 
 
 Divine in this. 
 Reneaud. (Singing.) 
 
 I'm a strolling free fellow 
 Wandering over the hollow 
 
64 ARI-ZON 
 
 Calling through hollow, hello I 
 Waking roe from their wallow. 
 
 Roland, (Singing, Eula slightly thrumming,) 
 
 From the pull of the troUo, 
 
 From the tough and the tallow 
 
 Gay free fancy I follow 
 
 Seeking fat of the fallow. 
 
 {Enter Reneaud in hunter* s costume,) 
 Reneaud. 
 
 A mouthy echo, I will call't again.*=- 
 
 (Sings,) 
 Fleety flies and I follow 
 Through red nature and yellow 
 Swift as wing of the swallow 
 Roe-eyed beautiful Delia. 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Throw up— your supper. 
 
 (Covering Reneaud with gun, himself under 
 cover of tree.) 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 All that's possible 
 I'm bound to do, not yet have thrown it down. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 This youthful Cuban here is stomach-fagged. 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Is he cannibal? Then bring me down; 
 
ARI-ZON 65 
 
 If not, you'd better bag some better game. 
 
 Boldnd. 
 
 Ah well! we're friends ; then be at ease ; but tell 
 
 Us where we are and how we may get hence. 
 Reneaud. 
 
 You're in the woods ; the one way out 's to walk. 
 Roland. 
 
 We still can leave some tracks, if right directed. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Sir, you are the gentlest man we've seen 
 
 In this rough region, which almost makes you seem 
 
 The gentlest gentleman— we've ever seen. 
 
 I'm sure you'll bring us from this per'lous wood 
 
 To where we'll find some wholesome drink and food. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Your paleness pleads your hunger, youth, no less 
 Than does your sweet-toned voice; your fine-cut 
 
 features 
 Should be borne by woman's form; no doubt 
 Your appetite is man's ; a lucky hit, — 
 A dram of bracing cordial I have left, 
 'Twill loose your belly from your back, inviting 
 Better fillment.— Sir, a gunshot up this canon 
 Stands a mining-camp with hospitality 
 Broader than 'tis elegant. Not finding 
 What our palates crave, we'll roast such game 
 As suits our taste. 
 
66 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Then lead the way to food 
 And drink. You're mirthful company. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 You've had 
 The drop and spared me once, I take no risk 
 In going forward. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 To a feast, — not any. 
 (Exeunt Reneaud and Roland.) 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh, I must carry my concealment well 
 
 To still remain with him — and him. 
 
 (Enter Ridel de Barrios.) 
 Barrios. 
 
 Senorita follows him for love; 
 For love pursue I senorita. Death 
 To him,— my way to her. I'll follow to 
 The camp, intrude on him, when he will me 
 Insult, we quarrel, draw! I strike him down. 
 
 (Drawing stiletto.) 
 Eula. 
 
 Madcap, what frenzy works such fury up? 
 
 Barrios. (Dropping stiletto.) 
 Senorita !— Double lunacy, 
 
 Not come from single moon : two great bright orbs 
 Blazed on my heart at eventide ; I gazed 
 
ARI-ZON 67 
 
 On them, since which I've naught but sought their 
 
 ^ light;— 
 Through day I've trailed you and watched through 
 
 night, — 
 To feel this fire beneath a single gleam 
 Of those eye-stars. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 One stare's enough? then take 't! 
 
 (Taking up stiletto.) 
 Barrios. 
 
 Beaut'ful lady, scorn of my suit-— 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I'm in 't! 
 Barrios. 
 
 Will make me desperate. My love is des- 
 Peration! Night intolerable is:— 
 
 Eula. 
 
 You can't endure the stars? 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Your beauty 
 
 Is my day, your eyes my light. You took my clothes, 
 
 Suppose you take my name — it honorable is. — 
 
 The personage you saw me in, disrobed me of, 
 
 A fancy, I a refuge Cuban took 
 
 To scout oiF melancholy. Rebuff is death I 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I paid you for your coat a fair exchange, — ■ 
 
68 ARI-ZON 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 No lady, you my doublet when receiving 
 Lassoed my heart along. Am not deceiving, 
 It burns with love; your kindness is reheving; 
 I worthy am; scorn silenced eases grieving; — 
 Can bring you home, — and family. Believing 
 Enthrones resolve, and hope emblazoned plunges 
 On to action ;- — 
 
 Eula. 
 
 How to freeze this Southern 
 Temper! 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Come to camp where I shall kill 
 This vagabond engrossing you, then fly 
 We across the Rio Grande. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Bold sir, o*er-hot idiot, pursue 
 A further step, divulge my sex, or touch 
 His life, a hair or scratch his skin, my heart 
 Will kiss this steel, my bosom thus ensheathes; 
 Before you, dead I'll drop, and wry your days 
 With dying woman's curse. 
 
 Roland. (Calling from a distance.) 
 
 Ho Barrios; 
 Ridel; come boy, we'll lose you in our wake. 
 
 Barrios. 
 I*m called ! 
 
ARI-ZON 69 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Nay hold. Ridel de Barrios 's 
 The name I answer : you should know his coat.— 
 With this you'll prosper under other name. 
 Another face I'm like to better like. 
 
 (Tossing him diamond.) 
 Roland. (Calling.) 
 
 Ho Barrios. 
 Eula. 
 
 That voice is of my brother. 
 
 (Eant Eula.) 
 Barrios. 
 
 Also senor is her brother I — This 
 
 The lady must retake,^ — and this first love 
 
 {Taking up instrument.)' 
 Cleave to the second ; find I thus the way 
 To find what more relations she has! 
 (Curtain.) 
 
SECOND ACT 
 
 Second Scene: — Mining-camp restaurant , showing 
 mountain and mining scenery. 
 (Curtain rises on Landlord back of lunch' 
 counter, and William Clack asleep on bench. 
 Enter Carter and Hazelton.) 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Midnight and Delmonico's ! 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Your son 
 Roland's time and place. 
 
 Carter. (Sitting and taking up paper.) 
 
 Ah, we can read 
 While dinner cooks. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Eh, gad! Americans are 
 Such promiscuous strollers too that she. 
 My beauteous she, oh horrors ! him would follow 
 Here. 
 
 Carter. (Reading.) 
 
 "The Lonesome Gulch Consoler." 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Gad, hard compulsion hunger is to dine 
 In this vile place. 
 
 70 
 
ARI-ZON 71 
 
 Carter, 
 
 Ah, "Pleasantries." We may 
 As well be cheerful. 
 
 Hazelton, 
 
 And such a dinner take 
 As will be served. 
 
 Carter, 
 
 Here, lord 's a humorous column. 
 Hazdlton. 
 
 Even humor must be ghastly here ! 
 
 Carter, (Beading.) 
 
 "Last Tuesday, foreman J. C. Arnold was oper- 
 ating a scraper on the grade four miles west of Fran- 
 conio, when an attack of heart-failure overtook him 
 and with a few gasps he was dead. Mr. Arnold 
 leaves a wife and three children." 
 
 "R. E. Norton, being bit on the calf by a rattler, 
 emptied a pint of antidote into himself, then grasping 
 the bushes to sustain his equilibrium, was bitten on the 
 thumb by a tarantula. This being very painful, he 
 realized the necessity of reaching one of the river 
 towns to consult a physician. To do so he must cross 
 the Gila, whose swollen and treacherous current had 
 washed a deep cut in the ford, in which Norton's team 
 suddenly disappeared from view. The buggy fol- 
 lowed, turning completely over Norton in its descent. 
 Some way very fortunately the horses succeeded in 
 
72 ARI-ZON 
 
 freeing themselves, though Mr. Norton was drowned. 
 Ergo — Shakespeare : 
 " 'One woe doth tread upon another's heels.' " 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Gad! in the Gila! 
 
 Carter, (Reading.) 
 
 "The ranch round-up outfit, while working in the 
 Chiricahua mountains, on the 10th inst., discovered 
 between Cave Creek and Dunn Springs, an emaciated 
 man. He had started for a ranch up in the foot-hills, 
 and must have entered the wrong canon. When 
 nearly exhausted he found water. As the water dried 
 up he gradually worked up the mountains. He had 
 subsisted on acorns, but the October rains and heavy 
 frosts of the present month had been severe on him, 
 and when found he was a skin-covered skeleton. 
 With a gasp of joy at being rescued his troubles 
 ended." 
 
 "Jack Farley, lodging in one of the elegant rooms 
 at Dowdies' Hotel, was visited during the night by a 
 centipede which had crawled up through one of the 
 crevices in the floor. In some way, which the centi- 
 pede would delight, doubtless, to relate, it reached the 
 top of the bed and addled its hundred legs across Mr. 
 Farley's foot. It has now been forty-eight hours 
 since this event and Jack still sleeps soundly." 
 
ARI-ZON 73 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 -Oh horrors ! This is Dowdies' ! Dinner, no lodging. 
 Carter. 
 
 Landlord, shall we eat? When shall we eat? 
 Landlord. 
 
 When youVe said what you'll eat,^ — an' that 
 you'll eat. 
 Carter. 
 
 Well, well ! why are we here ! why are we here ! 
 
 Landlord, 
 
 That's your question, well asked; now answer it. 
 Carter. 
 
 Dinner ! dinner ! What should we wish but dinner ? 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 The reg'lar's off, sir ; what d' you want for dinner 
 
 Carter, 
 
 To eat! to eat! but one thing in your house 
 
 And ask me what I want! I want a gun! 
 
 A dozen guns ! some guns and black strong coffee ! 
 
 Clack. (Awaking, aside.) 
 
 Ho! what row's afoot? Ha purty fuss 
 
 To rouse an honest slumberer from spongin' 
 
 Of a little rest.^ — I'll squelch this row 
 
 Ur when daylight comes my name won't be 
 
 Sir William Clack. 
 
74 ARI-ZON 
 
 Hazelton, 
 
 Landlord, you need not serve 
 
 Me corn bread made with water, greasy beans 
 
 With fat of pork, fat pork with greasy greens 
 
 Nor chickory, though you may call it coffee. 
 
 Clack. (Firing gun over their heads.) 
 
 Sit down I I'll give you prompter waitin' on. 
 Landlord, some pone and beans and grass: This 
 Colt's been livin' 'bove 'is oats. Now knuckle to. 
 Don't tack no more scandal on this tepee. 
 
 (Firing couple of shots.) 
 
 Eat, eat: 
 
 No feather soups don't grow up huare. 
 
 Put away this chuck awhile, an' that sickly 
 
 Purty pink o' your face '11 chase itself. 
 
 An' I grub-stake you week you won't be lankin 
 
 'Round so like a mornin'-glory at noon-time.—* 
 
 Hay, pard, shy up that thar sly bottle huare. 
 
 None your pale Blue Mountain corn juice in this: 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 Loco ! that mads the herds down on the mesas ! 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 The Century Mescal,- — God prolong its age, — 
 Red fury of the Greaser's bull that runs 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 On cowards to his death; (Drinks.) Tizwin too! 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 The frenzy of the copper buck for scalps. 
 
ARI-ZON 75 
 
 (Crosses with Indian dance and yell, to table.) 
 "Now pard, I've had my stim'lents, fling on some 
 
 grub. — 
 Glasses, glasses! Seldom chucken witK 
 The gentry I most f urgot to be purlite. 
 Carter. 
 
 Landlord, I'll thank you for another plate 
 Of beans and spinach. 
 
 Clack, 
 
 Ha, old boss, a man 
 After my own stomach: Have some pizen.— 
 Say, mav'rick, drop none that rye in this. — 
 Huare's yer life, the pizenest essence o' the earth :^ — • 
 Rattles, and the tongues o' rattlers, ha ha! — 
 That's why it rattles mav'ricks, — 'stilled with green 
 An' yellow- jointed centipedes, — that gives 
 It color ; — tarant'las freely mixed, to make 
 Us feel the dance you know, and wasp tails just 
 To tone the flavor down : Ha ha ! drink ! drink ! — 
 Drink, — the best bug- juice was ever bottled. (Drink.) 
 How's that, old bronco? 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Good: recalls pioneer 
 Days in old York State^ 
 
 Clack. 
 
 Another," — 'noth'r 1 (Drink.) 
 Carter. 
 
 Ha! It makes my spirits young again? 
 
76 ARI-ZON 
 
 Clack, (Singing,') 
 
 Ha, ha ! drop in the bugs, drop in the snakes, 
 Drink old tarant'la till we get the shakes. 
 
 (Standing, pours drinks.) 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Ha, ha ! what a quick change on the spirit it brings. 
 Pour in the stings till we all get the sings. 
 
 (Clack and Carter drink and dance across to 
 counter, while Hazelton overturns glass on 
 table, nervously grabs glass, turning to still 
 face them, much frightened.) 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Gad! the Sing-sings! 
 
 Clack. (To Carter.) 
 
 You're a lump o' free gold 
 Now one fur partin' !— Hang up huare awhile, 
 Old buck, we'll have the howl'nest time that ever 
 Hell turned loose to cel'brate weddin's with. 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 
 Jim Junkins is agraf tin' of hisself 
 
 [Unto Sally Jones to-night.— Their health! — 
 
 (Drinks.) 
 And when the putyin of it's done by old 
 Pike Parson, — ha, his health !■ — they're goin* to Sal's 
 Fur good eatin'; then the gang, — their health! — 
 Huare's a-comin' fur good drinkin' and 
 
ARI-ZON 77 
 
 A heel twist. Huare's to partin'! huare's t' the 
 night ! — ' 
 
 Huare's t' the day that f oilers night! T' the land- 
 lord! 
 
 To your health, old burro! huare's to partin'!—' 
 
 One o'clock an' they're not cumin' yit ! 
 
 Afore a half they'll be right huare or old 
 
 Bill Clack has lost his callin' awakin' things up. 
 
 (Eocit Clack, with Indian dance and yell, shoot- 
 ing. Hazelton nervously turning against 
 table turns it over, f ailing. X 
 
 Carter. (Throwing chair.) 
 
 Get up! you cottage-pudding! I'll rule this roost 
 
 While my companion in arms is out. — Imbibe 
 
 Balloon juice! hoist up your courage mountain high! 
 
 Drink ! my lord, the sight of you makes me 
 
 Respect son Roland. What a courage-maker 
 
 'Tis! Three gills of this that day on Change, 
 
 I would have bulled the earth, and saved my boy!— • 
 
 And what a lib'ralizer is the stuff! 
 
 Were I now at home, and full as now, 
 
 I'd give my wife a pair kang'roo shoestrings-^ 
 
 That she might hang herself — for driving oif 
 
 My son. — Cheese-face, don't stare at me with gaugle 
 
 Eyes. T' what wisdom too it wakes the fagged 
 
 Brain. It shows to me, my lollylop, 
 
 That you had just as well hoist sail and scud 
 
78 ARI-ZON 
 
 For old Fog Island. We Americans 
 Are such promiscuous livers, because we all 
 Are men; we have small tolerance for pinched 
 Abortioned pimples. Shame that ever I looked 
 With favor once on that could not be once 
 A man 'mongst men, and once be brave, — 
 
 Coy. (Entering.)j 
 
 Hello! 
 My old friend Carter of York! well how'd you leave 
 All the folks down there? Well, well! the last 
 Mortal I ever 'spected t' see way out here ! 
 Aren't lost eh? When 'd you come in? last stage? 
 Just arrived; had supper? — ^well shake again! 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Have a drink. — ^Another. — 
 
 Coy. 
 
 One more;^ — ^thanks. 
 N'ow come sit down, old friend, talk over times. — 
 Awful lucky we met so soon. Must warn 
 You right now lest we fail to have another 
 Talk, against — these sharks. They'll be pushing 
 All sorts of fake claims ; when you wish to place — 
 A small sum, — come to me; I'll steer you straight. 
 You know you people from salt-level, not used 
 To this light air, are apt to be light-headed- 
 Handed. — I am here to hold you down 
 Close on the earth. — Know Dixon? Well slightly.— 
 A rascal knave was Dun to persecute 
 
ARI-ZON 79 
 
 Him. — Oh, he never stole the money. — I say 
 In my rough travels 'round this country 
 Now forty years I've found that men- 
 Are honest. — 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Have a drink. — Have you a gun? 
 I wish to get that shot. 
 
 (Indicating Hazelton.) 
 
 Coy, 
 
 Oh it's a harmless 
 Bug. I never wear a gun.— What, Dana of 
 The Sun! know him? Well I should say, why I'm 
 The man who wrote his editorials: — 
 Oh, oh, not recently, not recent— in 
 His early days when they were vigorous 
 And full of good hard sense. — Say, by the way, 
 I picked some specimens up to-day that you'd 
 Be pleased to see. Don't talk 't about, but I 
 Have struck a bargain no one else is onto. 
 It only needs a little cash to work 
 The deal.' — Ah there's as fine a lump of syl- 
 Vanite as ever powder blasted ; and here's 
 Free gold ; this yellow beauty too, and this 
 Right from the contact : — All these from one shaft, — 
 And the parties owning it are broke. 
 We will run out to-morrow an' look it over ; 
 We'd best before we go though, some way cinch it. 
 The minute it gets out it will be nabbed. — 
 
80 ARI-ZON 
 
 Ah, nature once was prodigal and packed 
 Her treasures here with lavish hand! No single 
 Claim such various specimens ever showed 
 Before, so beautiful in form, such dazzling 
 Col'r, so brilliant lust'r, so rich in worth ;^ — 
 
 (Enter Barrios to table, smiling with sinister ex- 
 pression at specimens and Carter.) 
 Silver in its native state, in com- 
 Bination too; chloride, bromide, ruby- 
 Silver, silver-glance and brittle silver. 
 Carbonates, sulphides, polybasite and an- 
 Timonial silver ; gold, alluvial gold, 
 Free gold, gold quartz and sulphurets — • 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Sulfires ! — now huare's 
 
 To partin', as says my friend Bill Clack. 
 
 (Pouring glass to Coy, throwing glassful into 
 
 Barrios's face, and throwing over table.) 
 
 I'll face 
 
 A gun, but run from that perpetual motion 
 
 Mouth. (Throws bottle at Hazelton.) 
 
 Get out 'n the rain, 'ts too wet in here 
 
 For kids. 
 
 (Exit Coy. Hazelton and Carter going, the 
 
 Landlord fires gun at bell over door which 
 
 springs a sign into view across the doorway as 
 
 follows: "Gests plese setle bits fore leevin." 
 
ARI-ZON 81 
 
 Both returning. Carter takes roll out of 
 Hazelton's hand.) 
 I'll pay, my lord. How much, sir? 
 
 Landlord, 
 
 Forty. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Delmonico's at two! 
 
 Hazelton, 
 
 Sir Roland's place 
 And time. 
 
 (Hazelton turns towards right, and Barrios and 
 he see and stare at one another. Enter from 
 the left Reneaud, who, as Carter begins to 
 speak, is stopped by Roland concealed by 
 him; enter also Eula concealed by Roland.) 
 Carter. 
 
 Landlord, I*m looking for my son:-^ 
 
 An addle-pated sort of fellow; long 
 
 Yet oval face, — a callow softness on 
 
 It all; and deep non-mobile eyes, but keen 
 
 Observant, yet non-observant manner ; motley 
 
 Expression, idiotic half, the other 
 
 Half, his father — wise ; hair heavy, brown 
 
 But for a golden tinge, and rather saunters 
 
 On than walks, as like his legs were also 
 
 Addled.* — Should he straggle in just turn 
 
 Him over to my friend Sir William Clack. 
 
 (Crosses as to exit, also Hazelton.) 
 
82 ARI-ZON 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Senor Carter and the poodle! 
 Eula. (Advancing to Barrios.) 
 
 Must hear word of my mother! 
 Barrios. (To Carter.) 
 
 Oh, I 
 
 Sir! — Senor! 
 (Aside to Carter, near Hazelton.) 
 I know your — son ; can bring you where he is. 
 Await me-^on the square ; — meantime what word 
 To senorita of her mother? 
 
 Carter. 
 
 The square? 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Spaniard, bring me to my lady ! Gad, 
 
 I'll give you gold! and tell 'er 'er mother's glad 
 
 She's gone : I think to get her off from my 
 
 All-burning suit, but more the two 
 
 Together all safe will guard each other, 
 
 While she, one missing lamb alone, must 
 
 Have bitter wept. Now bring me to her, haste ! 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Bah! get on, you pulp! 
 
 (To Barrios, who has drawn stiletto.) 
 In this ripe orchard 
 He's too green to peel. 
 
 (Exeunt Carter and Hazelton.) 
 
ARI-ZON 83 
 
 Eula. (Apart.) 
 
 Oh, heavens! thanks I cut this lord's acquaintance! 
 If cramping hunger ever brings repentance 
 May I die exposed upon the desert, 
 For my heart would famish in his palace ; — • 
 Now free, my spirits I may feed, — and fatten 
 For the future. 
 
 Reneaud. (Advancing, also Roland.) 
 
 My jolly old host, now how is everything? 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Well well! Charles, gaming must been good you 
 
 come 
 So late! — Ho wife, Reneaud's at hand: — ^but supper's 
 Hot : — as fine piece ven'son, sir, as ever 
 Old King Charles ate of, ha 'tis! and 'nough 
 For six ! we thought the whole day out would give 
 You 'n appetite. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Quite fortunate, we're three 
 To eat it. 
 
 Landlord. (Still arranging table.) 
 
 What game 'd you bag? 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Two graceful bucks. 
 
 This is my friend,' — Sir William Gladstone, Junior. 
 
 Roland. (To Eula advancing. Barrios intrusively fol- 
 
84 ARI-ZON 
 
 lowing, as he and Reneaud are being 
 seated.) 
 And who's your friend, my boy? 
 
 Eula. (Embarrassed.) 
 
 Oh — this^ — ^is a — 
 Mexan cousin — one — Gueverro. 
 
 Reneaud, (To Gueverro.) 
 
 Join us 
 Here. 
 
 Barrios, (At first advancing, then retires under Eula's 
 rebuking eye.) 
 Ah thanks, senor; — I've dined. (Aside,) Now my 
 Relation is distant growing ! — dined ! 
 
 (Rubs lank stomach and retires to lunch-counter,) 
 
 Roland. (To Reneaud.) 
 
 Commending your great country as we came 
 Along, my friend, you did not say how early 
 Vegetables can be raised? 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 By six o' the morning, 
 Ready for breakfast. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Well, 't's a dam' slow country— 
 Or 't would get 'em up in time for supper ! 
 
 (Steaming vegetables are brought.) 
 
ARI-ZON 85 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Well Gladdy, what would you, an' you were primer 
 O' this country? 
 
 Roland, 
 
 I'd shut up myself 
 Till you, the people, had learned the alphabet. 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Hear, hear! an' what if you were president? 
 (Enters weddingers, followed by hoodlums.) 
 Roland. 
 
 If I were president ! — Resign to 'scape 
 The pestilence, and come to Ari-Zon. 
 
 (Shouts and laughter.) 
 But first I'd hook up black Hawaii onto 
 Old Mount Shasta, wipe that Spain-spot off 
 Fair Cuba's face, and key her up to Uncle 
 Sam,^ — 
 Barrios. (Slamming counter^ stamping and yelling.) 
 Hurrah for Blaine! 
 
 Crowd. (Yelling.) 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! — 
 Roland, 
 
 To smash the proper hole clean through that tariff 
 Wall to let provisions in. 
 Landlord and Crowd. (Simultaneously .) 
 
 Hear ! hear ! 
 
 Hurrah, Hurrah! 
 
86 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Then I'd take a trot down east and puif 
 Th' east wind called Wall Street up East River, then 
 I'd give to all a job of building merchant 
 Ships and war-guns for the seas, and forts 
 For all our coasts and border shores ; of making 
 Roads, for easy tramps,' — but then there'd be 
 No tramps, for all would have a job; — and some 
 Good stuff I'd stamp to pay 'em with,— and show; 
 How government, just like a man, should make. 
 Instead of borrow money. — 
 
 Crowd. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! 
 Landlord. 
 
 Hear, hear! My Charles, not Gladstone, only Coxey! 
 (Enter Shiefellin.) 
 Crowd, 
 
 Hurrah for Shiefellin! Here's luck, a find! (Drink.) 
 Roland. 
 
 Now what is Shiefellin, in nature's kind? 
 Landlord. 
 
 Once tenderfoot, as you, now tough old rind. 
 Reneaud. 
 
 A shepherd lost, stroll'n' from his flock of hind. 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Ah gints, my lasses, never was so rhymed 
 
ARI-ZON 87 
 
 Old Shief'lin, since his birth old Kronos timed. 
 I'm a prospector, gold dust in my mind, 
 Though patches cover up my all, behind. 
 Eula. 
 
 Prospector! Once I read of this odd kind. 
 
 "The Prospector!" Yes, now it comes to mind;— ^ 
 
 The straw he calls a hat is rotten on his head ; 
 
 The loose limp cloth, his coat, is oily on the collar; 
 
 His pantaloons are greasy down the knees; 
 
 His boots are red and dry beneath the weather, 
 
 His eye rolls on the earth, 
 
 His soul a creeper is. 
 
 And moss grows on his back ! 
 
 (To Reneaud.) 
 
 Good friend, you will persuade my friend I hope. 
 On your so kindly given invitation. 
 To taste awhile the sweet and restful rec- 
 Reation of your calm and cozy ranch,'— 
 As you've described it to us. — (Aside.) And his sister! 
 Oh, to clasp again a kindred woman- 
 Heart, and rest in safe and tender home !^-^ 
 '{To Reneaud.) 
 
 These walls oppressive are, I'll gain the outer 
 
 Air; I'll wait your coming,' — (Aside.) underneath 
 
 The stars, and with the balmy wind weep dew 
 
 Upon the sweetly blooming earth, — though 'ts blooms 
 
 Be not for me to pluck. 
 
 (Ecnt Eula.) 
 
88 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland. (To Shiefellin.) 
 
 A find? Good-natured fellow? Ah! good fortune 
 Comes to him, ill-fortune can not injure. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Damn ; I'll throw it after hly-lip 
 That lopped me on the ear! 
 
 (Throws specimen out, rushing after, grabs plate 
 of beans, eocit eating.) 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Ho there, ho! 
 
 Roland. (Observing instrument closely, taking it up, 
 
 then to Barrios.) 
 
 See here, my fellow of the bull brigade, 
 How come you by my Barrios' mandolin? 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Sir, it is my own. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Your own? Look here: 
 
 Now face this name, Ridel de Barrios, 
 
 And call it yours. 
 
 Barrios, 
 
 The name ? and instrument, 
 For sure my own. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Why knave, you were but now 
 
 Proclaimed that Greaser name Gueverro! 
 
ARI-ZON 89 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 True, 
 'Tis true. (Aside.) I most forgot my name is not 
 My own. (Aloud.) My cousin borrowed it to me 
 Awhile. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Your cousin's kind! and you'll return 't 
 By me, eh? 
 
 Barrios. (Aside.) 
 
 Oh that she would take my name 
 And make it rightful her's, surrendering 
 Her own! 
 
 Roland. (To Reneaud.) 
 
 Here friend; we'll need this on the ranch 
 To soften morning into sleepy hours with. 
 
 (Throws him instrument, then to Barrios.) 
 Your hand ;< — come. 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 I would not refuse — 
 Roland. 
 
 Then don't. 
 Barrios. 
 
 For your protection to my cousin, shake! 
 Roland. 
 
 Hold ! I'll know if 'tis my sister's ring 
 
 E'en if to do so I unsocket all 
 
 Your arm!— To knave I now add thief and liar! 
 
90 ARI-ZON 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Sir, sirl that's more than I'll withstand! 
 
 (Drawing dirk from hoot.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 The eye 
 Is weapon 'nough 'gainst Greaser threats ; the coward 
 Thief will bite the back alone. 
 
 Barrios: (Withdrawing threatening attitude: aside.) 
 
 He is 
 Her brother !«*Curse soft love that makes the heart 
 A sponge! Ah, vengeance now! — I'll guide old Carter 
 And my lord to Reneaud's ranch ahead. 
 Learning first the way, to welcome them, 
 Where she, unrested, weak, and all-^broke up 
 By this surprise, is offered choose the duke. 
 Will fly with me,««K)r not, I'll kill them all! 
 
 (Ea^it Barrios.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Now I wonder if young Barrios 
 And this Gueverro are a band of con's !-* 
 Or did a father's harshness, or unheard of 
 Harder fate, compel her pawn the ring? 
 Had this occurred before, I would have asked 
 The — ^governor»^the news; but he would told me 
 Nothing, he, close-mouthed as fisted he. 
 Oh, what ill and woe has fallen on my sister! 
 
 (Drops on chair, head on table. Re-enter Shiefel- 
 
ARI-ZON 91 
 
 lin, poking dish in ahead, remaining con- 
 cealed.) 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Want yer dish? 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Come in and have a supper, 
 You've been starving long enough i' the hills. 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 See here ! are you enticin* of me up 
 Agin the muzzle of that gun? 
 Landlord. 
 
 You're not 
 Worth powder ; I'll get my bow and arrows for you. 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 If I'd had this in me, this bracer too. 
 
 That soft-tongue never'd cuffed and yanked me 
 
 'bout! 
 I'll meet that rose-face yit, and pluck his petal! 
 (Enter Clack: Shiefellin scrambles over 
 counter.) 
 Clack. 
 
 Ha, ha, 's this Windy Point? Is this the place 
 Fur breedin' storms? A reg'lar gust went up 
 The gulch a-puffin' like the monster, cuttin' 
 Wind with meat-ax, cussin' every stride 
 Fur vengeance ! Ha, an' I'd been huare he needn't 
 Spent his anger on the wind!— ^Wake up 
 
92 ARI-ZON 
 
 The hollers now, we're huare fur fun! Every- 
 Body drink! 
 
 (To Reneaud.) 
 Hello, old nester ! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Good morning, 
 William. 
 
 Clack. 
 
 Morning Ha ! and huare's a man 
 Asleep! (To Roland.) Wake up! WeU whar in hell 
 Did you come from? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 What I? Why from New York. 
 
 Clack. 
 
 I jest 
 
 Don't know whar New York is ; but from the salt 
 
 O' your eye, I jedge it's somewhar on 
 
 The 'lantic way back under these old hills, 
 
 Whar the sun gits down at four o'clock. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 The sun don't set in New York, sir; it rises 
 There. 
 
 Clack. 
 
 Be keerful thar, I shoot and cut! 
 You're one these tenderfeet, footsore fur home. 
 I'll teach you how to honor natives huare, 
 Ur give you quick an' easy sailin' out. 
 
ARI-ZON 93 
 
 Roland. 
 
 I can make still many knots without 
 Your wind. 
 
 Clack. (To crowd.) 
 
 Say, boys, thar's bound to be a boggen 
 Huare. (To Roland.) Now, stranger, Clack'U 
 
 give fair warnin' 
 O' who he is ; — turn down that grin o' yours 
 Ur he won't have time. Look out ! you're bravin' 
 The bloodiest brave in all Ari-Zon ! I font 
 The battle o' the Caves, I did ! Ha, I'm the 
 Wild wolf o' the Huaehucas! Be keerful! 
 I'm the terror o' the draggoons! it's chuck 
 To me to meet a hostile! Ha, I've killed 
 Hadalgoes, braves and Greasers in every gulch 
 In Cochise County! Easy eatin' is 
 A tenderfoot to me! — Take keer thar, sir! 
 I'm a half-breed I am, decent from old 
 Cochise ! My blood's Apache an' biles to kill! 
 
 (Gives the Indian dance and yell.) 
 I've got to give these boys a buryin' soon, 
 An' you fling back old Clack another word 
 An' at their suremony you'll turn up 
 As corpse! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 You've preached the funeral, fool, and I'm 
 Unhurt. 
 
94 ARI-ZON 
 
 Clack. (To crowd.) 
 
 Get out the way, time's up, and Clack 
 Is goin' to shoot ! 
 
 (Jumps, cracks heels, swings around to crowd as 
 he speaks, faces back as he reaches for gun; 
 Roland, having risen, shoves table aside, and 
 has gun on Clack as he turns.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Throw up your hands ! 
 
 (Hands up, Roland looses belt, dropping same 
 but holding Clack's gun.) 
 
 Walk backwards 
 Until your back is 'gainst the boards. ^ — 'I'll try 
 My left hand on your gun, just on that gong 
 Above your head. 
 
 (Fires, sign drops.) 
 Landlord, send your collector 
 Over. 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 Last drinks are free in this hacienda. 
 Roland. 
 
 I'll try that gong for one more chestnut. 
 
 (Fires, sign disappears.) 
 Friend, 
 I rather like this gun. Four more good charges; — • 
 This old war souvenir hasn't burned powder for thirty 
 
 Years. 
 
 (Throws down his own gun^) 
 
ARI-ZON 95 
 
 Ah, genius is but power to bluff! 
 Landlord, have you anything you call cigars? 
 Landlord. (Setting out box.) 
 Best Mexan bran', sir. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 And the papers to wrap 
 
 The cigarette? 
 Landlord. 
 
 Hear, hear! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Ah, thanks, a light 
 Please; — thanks. — Now have a smoke. 
 
 (Pokes lighted end of cigar in Clack's nose.) 
 
 Hands up or you'll 
 Act corpse in a fun'ral for the boys. 
 Oh, a slight mistake ! — but no offense 
 I hope. — Well, try another; — smoke.^— There'll be 
 No further trouble, gentlemen, resume 
 Your merriment ; — when boys 'twas sport to cow 
 Such bullys on the Bow'ry.- — 
 
 (Fires other four shots rapidly, hitting gong 
 with each.) 
 
 This Clack, too. 
 Is emptied of its harm. Keep up your hands. 
 
 (Throws gun near belt, and takes Reneaud's 
 rifle from counter; then to Reneaud.) 
 Good sir, you've been so kind on short acquaintance 
 I seem to 'ave known you long ; I earnest take 
 
96 ARI-ZON 
 
 Your banter to quiet watch your herds a month, 
 If doing so will give your trip so coveted 
 To York.' — This ring shall be my pledge of honor 
 Till your return ; — an' you will bear a message 
 To and from my sister there. 
 
 Beneaud. 
 
 Courage is honor's pledge in Ari-Zon. 
 
 I wear the ring for friendship's bond, and safely 
 
 Keeping of 't. When on the ranch your hand 
 
 Is in a week I'll take the travel east 
 
 And do your pleasure. Come, the morning sun 
 
 Will blaze us home. 
 
 Roland. (To Clack.) 
 
 Excuse us, friend, for leaving 
 You to smoke alone. Some rumination 
 Though, may soften down your brag and tone 
 Your courage up. Adieu! 
 
 (Exeunt Reneaud and Roland.) 
 
 Clack. 
 
 Now ruin fall on 
 The cuss != — 'Now must old broke-heart Bill away 
 Pull his freight off to some strange and distant 
 Gulch; — for in this camp his name's no more 
 Sir William Clack! — Now ruin fall on the cuss! 
 
 (Crowd turns its hack in contempt ^ after first ex- 
 pression; Clack advances totteringly, falls to 
 knee, resting arm and head on table and 
 
ARI-ZON 97 
 
 weeps; takes up gun and belt and drags tot- 
 teringly out.) 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Humph! that shows the difference 'tween courage 
 And a right hard cough! Why didn't I cure 't? — 
 Why I could done 't! Oh, think! that blow, that 
 
 mountain 
 Gust, — disgustin' 'tis to think, that puff-ball. 
 With substance none but suffocatin' smut, — 
 That air-pump, suctionless, no courage either 
 To suck on, — windmill, just by what he'd pump up, 
 Kept me six months skeered to draw my breath, — - 
 Jest lest I'd breathe my last! It puts me 
 In such rage I'd like to handle both 
 Them cusses, — one right after t' other, — or both 
 Together! — Oh, I'm the reaching high giraffe! 
 Why I'm the yeller kid, that spread it on 
 The New York World, — the sun don't set on ! — 
 The reason is, it sits! Oh I'm a graduate 
 O' Harvard. — Practiced every sober hour 
 Punchin' of the bag.' — Oh, I stood high 
 In class, and when our day fur partin' come. 
 Soft old Elliott 'rose and paid me special 
 Praise, as graceful handin' up my skin 
 He tuneful said,. — "Oh, Shiefellin, so well 
 You've done, though brightest when you came, 
 
 you're now 
 
98 ARI-ZON 
 
 Most brainless of the lot." — 
 
 Landlord. (Pouring drinks.) 
 
 To Shiefellin 
 Good cheer! 
 
 Crowd. 
 
 Good cheer to Shiefellin! good cheer! 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Now you-ns think I'm coward cause that posy- 
 Nodding on me 'scaped dilapidation! 
 That fuz-touch-hand, that softly cunnin' eye, 
 That playful tongue that lapt its laugh, and purred 
 Its words like little Tom when stroked 's the moss 
 Grows down his back,^— would quell the savage beast. 
 Now while my courage rages is there any 
 Cuss'll face me? — 
 
 (Junhins comes forward.) 
 Are you married? 
 
 Junkins. 
 
 I have 
 One wife. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Is she enough to do the work?— 
 If you were gone? Now who will marry this? 
 (Holds up specimen^ but indicates himself,) 
 Girls. 
 Aye, aye! Now who will marry this? 
 
AKI-ZON 99 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Who'll take 
 The dross to git the gold? 
 
 Girls. 
 
 Aye, aye I we'll shake 
 The dust, we'll fan the gold. 
 
 (Indicating dance,) 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Then shake the dust and see who'll pan the gold. 
 (Sets specimen on counter as prize for the dance; 
 all dance, by twos, then all together, 
 Shiefellin awards gold.) 
 A pledge of health for Junkins and his Sal! 
 
 (All drink.) 
 The wedding dance! Hurrah for ShiefeUin! 
 
 All 
 
 The song of revel! Play the devil song! 
 
 (Music, song and dance) 
 We will dance until death overtakes us I 
 We will then go under the clod! 
 We will laugh while happiness shakes us ! 
 We will then return unto God! 
 
 Ha! ha! swing up the center and side! 
 
 We will dance intense joy till it end! 
 
 With groom's arms around his won bride 
 
 To earth all heaven will bend ! 
 We will leap o'er the earth with high revel! 
 
100 ARI-ZON 
 
 We will drink up all intense blisses ! 
 God objecting we'll go to the devil 
 To reheat our fiery hot kisses! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! swing up the center and side ! 
 
 We will dance intense joy till it end! 
 
 With groom's arms around his won bride 
 
 To the earth all heaven will bend! 
 Quaff a kiss ! all around ! and dance fleeter ! 
 Swing in bliss too profound to express! 
 Love's emotion makes motion much sweeter ! 
 Draw your brides to your bosoms, caress ! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! swing up the center and side ! 
 
 We will dance intense joy till it end! 
 
 With groom's arms around his won bride 
 
 To the earth all heaven will bend! 
 (Curtain.) 
 
THIRD ACT. 
 
 First Scene: — Reneaud's Arizona plantation. Ve- 
 randa "with vines. Flowered lawn stretches away 
 into fields dotted with herds. Hills in the distance. 
 (Curtain rises on Rosalie, sister to Reneaud, on 
 veranda.) 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Down from the eastern hills sweet-scented morning 
 
 comes 
 And gathers as it comes the perfumes from the plains, 
 And gathers balm and fragrance as it westward 
 
 roams, 
 And sips the dews, and on the petaled earth enchains 
 Its loveliness of colors woven from the light 
 And brought through moon-cast shadows of the 
 
 mountain brushes. 
 Oh morning, warning off the melancholy night 
 With the whistling of the worship-throated thrushes ! 
 (Eula as Barrios, having entered under conceal- 
 ment of hushes, whistles thrush song.) 
 Oh that I were buoyant winged and songful souled 
 To sing glad greetings through the decorated 
 
 bushes I' — 
 Ah then, — I'll be a flower fair and sweet unfold 
 
 101 
 
102 ARI-ZON 
 
 To kissing morn the fragrance of embosomed 
 wishes.^ — 
 
 (Eula imitates humming-bird softly.) 
 Hark! the unwarbler hmns its joy instead of sings. 
 Sir bobber, I will glimpse the glitter of your wings. 
 (Rosalie playfully warbling, searches bushes for 
 humming-bird, while Eula, dodging from her 
 view, still imitates the bird, until shortly they 
 run face to face.) 
 Oh sir! you startle me I — ^Where are the gentlemen? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 At coffee, — songster. 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Ah, curt sir,' — ^why left you them? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh, just to play the humming-bird to your fair flower. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 You should have tarried there at coffee's fragrant 
 bower. 
 Eula. 
 
 Not while, sweet vine, your suckle's yet unsipt of 
 honey. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, well:*--I will go in, — for here 'tis rather "sonny." 
 Eula. 
 
 Fair lady, stay and be the flower for my humming! 
 
ARI-ZON 103 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Sir unfeathered youth, your summer must be coming! 
 Eula. 
 
 I would not live it otherwhere than in your garden. 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Suppose you were debarred entrance by its warden? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 For that your features finer are than carved marble, 
 Your voice more resonant far than songster's summer 
 
 warble, 
 Your form so touched in curves as heaven did the 
 
 plastic, 
 Also your movement never swerving lines elastic 
 As lazy roe which saunters ever on at ease, 
 Your aifrontive warden down the wind I'd sneeze! 
 For that of all your charms, your charm o'er me is 
 
 psychic, 
 I'd Remus-like o'erleap your tiny wall with high kick ! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 I like your mirth: — ah, come, sit here;— who is — 
 
 the other 
 Gentleman that came this morning with my brother? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah! my song is charming, charming up another! 
 The gentleman who came this morning is — my 
 brother. 
 
104 ARI-ZON 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 So like that now I see ; you're fair as he is handsome. 
 Your youth has yet to pay some years for manhood's 
 ransom. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh yes, I'll growl — 'I'm sorry I'm not more a man. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh I am not; I should not like, — to like you then; 
 But now your youth and fairness make you like a 
 
 sister. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Were I, instead of brother to that other mister! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 In fair good truth 1^ — like you for your radiant eye, 
 The which reflects the splendors of a two-domed sky; 
 I like you for the feathery softness of your face. 
 Your fragrant breath, your feminine voice, your 
 
 supple grace, 
 Your feeling, gentle, though audacious manner; and 
 
 then. 
 In all, you seem above what mars the best of men. — - 
 You are my guest. If I've been cold, without inten- 
 tion; 
 I dare, I'm sure, we may be friends without conven- 
 tion. 
 
ARI-ZON 105 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Sweet lady, thanks! O sister, thanks for this esteem! 
 (Rushing forward impulsively to embrace her.) 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, no I no, curb yourself lest I shall scream 1 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh, I forgot myself! — or rather what I seem! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Are you false then, other than appearance shows? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 'Tis true that falsehood is the seeming of my clothes. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, they are likely torn; you want some mending 
 done? 
 
 Eula. 
 
 You rankly innocent, less naive than pretty, one! 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Well, come into the lawn and sing your pretty words 
 Supposing I'm a flower, you among the birds,^ — 
 Would you sing to one lone drooper in your va- 
 grance? 
 
 (Eula whistles the nightingale or oriole song.) 
 Your song could only win my dumb and blinded fra- 
 grance. 
 
106 ARI-ZON 
 
 Eula, 
 
 Ah heaven, all the world of men 's desired omen! 
 Dumb and blind! Oh, what a blessing in a woman! 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Ah, then I'd have to keep on you my eyes agape? 
 
 Eula, 
 
 It is unwise with man that any woman nap I 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Chirp sir, you're touching close, be winging off 
 your distance. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 The almond be, you're damask rose in your resistance. 
 Ah then, I'll chirp, and from my star-eyes twinkle 
 
 kisses. 
 And in my flighty course wing in these far-fetched 
 
 blisses. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, snippish curt-lipped youth, though pretty-talking 
 mouth,—' 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Now heaven kill your posy bushes with a drouth! 
 I thought the mouth is nicest when it kisses. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Be it! 
 Then's when it feels the nicest; — no I can not see it. 
 
ARI-ZON 107 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah me, how struck with wide-eyed bhndness! 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Bird, to wing! 
 Eula. 
 
 I'm weary of the song, I would be gardening. 
 
 RosaUe. 
 
 Then I'll go on a lark, an* you will be the rose. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Quite well you'd play the man, and pretty look in 
 clothes. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 For worlds, aught other than I am I would not 
 
 seem !^ 
 Now sleepy rose, relate your heavy-scented dream. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I'll not endure your lark, my lord of wayward song, — 
 Until the honeyed season's past, and days grow long. 
 Oh, then the lusty-throated thrush can while the morn. 
 The dauntless lyric lark then trill high noon to scorn, 
 The lonesome oriole the weary evening round, 
 Then blackbirds chirp the lurching night across the 
 
 ground I— 
 Oh hark I the messenger of earth's aspiring wail 
 Ascends above the night to heaven, — the nightingale! 
 
108 ARI-ZON 
 
 EosaUe. 
 
 Your dream's with beauty, yet too much consistence, 
 
 fraught. 
 Eula. 
 
 'Tis not a dream, but love's full-flowering wakeful 
 
 thought. 
 If I'm the rose encased and latent in the bud. 
 Fast fixed and folded tight to wait some coming good 
 In this prehensive sleep I'll dream, when it has ended, 
 And fate my being with some neighbor bloomer 
 
 blended, 
 Although we can not trudge the mud, thus stuck on 
 
 earth, 
 Like those who pull the pants and boast some higher 
 
 birth, 
 We'll send conmiingled fragrance through the worlds 
 
 of essence. 
 And wait enticement of their blessings with complai- 
 sance ; 
 Unseen will swoop a swarm of kisses winged with 
 
 love. 
 And love all feathered o'er with kisses from above 
 Descending to the garden blooming through caresses. 
 Oh I since, sweet lady, this is nature, I'll kiss your 
 
 tresses! 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Sir buddy, your imagination grows prolific! 
 Why you should fortunes tell. 
 
AKI-ZON 109 
 
 Eula. 
 
 My heart is not pacific! 
 (Aside.) 
 Oh if they come 'fore I'm discovered what's to boot! 
 
 (Aloud.) 
 Oh yes, I fortunes tell ; I tell them by the foot. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Then I'll not pay, nor play; you put your bird to 
 wing. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I'll be no more the rose. — Do you play anything? 
 
 (Aside.) 
 When will this artless unsuspecting creature see! 
 The all I've dared, my heartless tongue now fears to 
 say! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh yes, I play,^-with birds a-flying thro' the lawn, 
 A-blowing open flowers only half are blown, 
 A- trapping bees within the glories, hum-ee-rumbles ! 
 Then sucking honey, pinching off the heads of bum- 
 bles; 
 Again, I'll call and throw my pony under saddle, 
 And do the range a-gallop; safe, I ride a-straddle — 
 
 Eula. 
 
 You shocking knave ! here take my waistcoat and my 
 hose ! — 
 
110 ARi-zoisr 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Then tickle with my whip the vicious old ram's nose 
 To see him butt the air and blow and show his fight! 
 So, too, I tease tarantulas to see them bite. 
 And flaunt my sash at bulls : What all my courage 
 
 takes 
 Is seizing tails and yanking off the heads of snakes.^ — 
 Bah, girlish youth, bug yarns might chase weak 
 
 woman's valor ! 
 This double rose shall symbolize your changing color. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 Now by my honest sex this rose shall be my mascot. 
 
 (Alotid.) 
 Not on my coat-lapel but here within my waistcoat. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 What! woman? Oh my whole heart's being is ap- 
 palled! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Why little chicken-liver, how easy you're ungalled ! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, I'm faint; my heart is sick; I'll call my brother! 
 Thus trapesed about with men! I'm scant of breath! 
 I'll smother! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh judge not harshly sister-heart all fragile tender! 
 
ARI-ZON 111 
 
 'Tis sister love that from this evil 's my defender. 
 How lagging 's been the moon I've waited to ungen- 
 
 der 
 This weary son of music and my secret render 
 To some sister bosom. Oh, I can not longer 
 Wait to greet you ! lead me in that I may squander 
 On your ears my o'erfull tongue and wake your won- 
 der 
 At how fate and prankish spirit tore asunder 
 Mine and mother's heart and to my brother's yonder 
 Knit in this disguise, enforced me hither wander 
 Hoping to redress, your willing cover under. 
 What I am,^^as good as you, — altho' less winning. 
 Rosalie. 
 
 I^ow all your sweetness comes to mind from our be- 
 ginning! 
 
 I know you must be good or nature must deceive us. 
 
 I warmly welcome you, bold youth, or nee mischiev- 
 ous. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh joy and you and franchise I embrace together! 
 Oh hasten, sister, in and I'll reblow what weather 
 Harbored us and test by veiny prophecies 
 If by the foot our mingled fortune bootless is. 
 
 (Exeunt. Enter Roland.) 
 Roland, 
 
 Well that kid brought along his Bow'ry pace! 
 
112 ARI-ZON 
 
 Oh, he was ill and could not breakfast! ah! 
 
 Well I had some heart-flutters when her silk 
 
 Skirt rustled; when her sleeve once brushed my 
 
 shoulder 
 It threw me into nervousness some like 
 The palsy : But it did not sour my coffee : 
 And I'm recovered now. At least I'm one 
 Square meal ahead in this fair race of that 
 Fair rascal. In one meal, however, the 
 Apollo-paced has gained a moon in love! 
 How laggard is my fortune then if measured 
 By his foot! — I'll consolation draw 
 From the lonesome weed. — That Frenchman is 
 All right. — But when I'm full in sway I'll pack 
 That music-box to some most distant corner 
 On the range to tune with blatant herds. 
 Ah ha! perhaps fair Rosalie wears diamonds! 
 The slickest games are played by smoothest grace. 
 Appearance often is assumed. We dare 
 Not judge by dress what dress conceals. If I'm 
 Deceived by his address then nature is 
 The friend o' thieves ; and if my boy's a fraud 
 His confidant Gueverro will appear 
 To shy away the booty. By my foot 
 His fortune will not be bootless here. 
 
 (Enter Mexican youth and woman.) 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Estrangerol 
 

 ARI-ZON i: 
 
 Roland, 
 
 
 
 Well, who are you? 
 
 Youth', 
 
 
 
 Gueverro. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 
 What! 
 
 
 Youth. 
 
 
 Arturo Gueverro.-^Madre. 
 
 Sefiora. 
 
 Sangre Azull 
 
 Youth. 
 
 Senor Reneaud says 
 
 How that you're range-boss, — 
 
 Senora, 
 
 Valiente caballero! 
 
 Youth. 
 
 I come for you to say me what I'll do. 
 
 We must be up to snuff I — » 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Muy picaro! 
 
 Youth. 
 
 The robbers are on a rampage, — 
 
 Senora, 
 
 LadronesI 
 Youth. 
 Last night they done South Pass, the night before 
 
114 ARI-ZON 
 
 Pulled Fairbank, had Benson scooped 'fore that, 
 Held Brannack's up for dinner yesterday, 
 Then rode Rigg's best saddlers off with heads 
 This way! 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Que infamia! 
 Youth, 
 
 Peloncillo, 
 Pinal-eno and Chi-Ri-Cahua, all move 
 With red-skins on the dance ! 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Los Barbaros ! 
 
 Youth. 
 
 They'll steal half the herds in Sulphur Valley, 
 And likely scalp the women and drag away 
 The children. 
 
 Senora. 
 Roland, 
 
 Valgame Deos I 
 
 Oh, the devil I 
 
 Youth. 
 The wolves are hungry-bold and gnawed the straps 
 Last night from saddles we used for goose-lairs 
 While our heads were sleeping on theml 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Adios buen mozo! 
 
ARI-ZON 115 
 
 Roland. 
 
 The Moses of liars I 
 
 Youth. 
 But they're no harm much; they fall only on 
 Trail doughgies and the gaunt, but mav'ricking 
 Is awful often just afore the round-up 
 Which now's the time for, and the lumpy jaw— 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Say, Mexico! you do to-day the same 
 As yesterday; what you do to-day 
 Repeat to-morrow, and the next day do 
 It over ; Friday, Thursday's work repeat ; 
 On Saturday then redo the work of Friday; 
 What you did last week do this, and this 
 Week's work do next, and that the next; so on; 
 Just imitate your country.*— Say, but don't 
 Approach the cattle. 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Ganado mayor I 
 Youth. 
 A puncher not go 'mongst the herds? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 That limpy jaw may be contagious. 
 
 Youth. 
 
 I get the lumpy jaw? 
 
116 ARI-ZON 
 
 Roland. 
 
 The cattle might contract it. 
 Youth. 
 
 Catch the lumpy jaw of cows! 
 
 (Ecdt, laughing idiotically.) 
 Senora. 
 
 Es Medio tontol 
 Roland. 
 
 Yes, his good nature borders idiocy. 
 Senora. 
 
 Simple of head but true of heart; Hi jo! — < 
 
 Now would you believe, brave caballero, 
 
 On Rancho Rabbit's Foot a senorita 
 
 Is who is still much more fatter yet 
 
 Than I am. 
 Roland. 
 
 Many as fat, senora, few so fair. 
 Senora. 
 
 Ah, senor, you are laughing at me; ya lo se bien que 
 soy vaca, pero hay otra, mas gorda que yo ; — 
 
 I know well that I'm a cow, but thank God there 
 is one other in the world fatter than I am. 
 Roland, 
 
 But, Senora, none so graceful. 
 Senora. 
 
 Que dice? I am not so fat but I can dance! 
 
ARI-ZON 117 
 
 Roland. 
 
 The national fandango? 
 
 Senora. 
 
 El yique. (Dances.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh, no! no, que 'Diabolo! I saw that in Georgia! 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Jarabe. (Dances.) 
 
 (Enter Eula as Barrios^ and Rosalie.) 
 El Cantador. (Singing.) 
 
 Sabe que es pulque? 
 
 Licor divino-ol 
 Enel Cielo Los Angeles 
 Lo beben por vino! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 All, Barrios ! translate, and thrum the air. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah — sir — I — do not care — 
 
 Rosalie. (Taking instrument.) 
 
 Oh sir, allow me. 
 
 (Singing.) 
 Know ye what pulque is? 
 
 Liquor divine ! 
 Angels in heaven 
 Prefer it to wine. 
 
118 ARI-ZON 
 
 Sefiora. 
 
 Senorita y caballerol 
 
 Soy Mejicana 
 
 De este pais.—-' 
 lYo un soldado 
 Soy infeliz. 
 
 (Eant Sefiora, dancing.) 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 A Mexican girl 
 
 Of this country am I. — 
 And I a poor soldier. 
 Woe is me! 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Well — why, ah— ^what! oh yes, ah beautiful! 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Not beautiful to be in woe, sir? 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh no I The situation. 
 
 Eula. (Aside,) 
 
 What has tied 
 My Rolly's tongue that ne'er was tied before! 
 
 Roland. (Aside.) 
 
 Oh, why I did not say, the lady's beauty 
 Is the soldier's woe! 
 
 Rosalie. (Apart to Eula.) 
 
 Speech from your brother 
 
ARI-ZON 119 
 
 Comes awkward out, not glib, like yours ; despite 
 His handsome grace his tongue throws favor back 
 To you. 
 
 Roland. (Aside.) 
 
 Ah, this I'll stop, or not, I'll die! 
 
 (Aloud.) 
 Miss Reneaud; your pardon; ah, what beauty 
 Finds such beauty in this situation 
 To veil its fair face in wild solitude I 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh sir, — or rather Mr. Roland — Carter, 
 
 Sudden tribute rather chokes — or rather 
 
 Sudden praise most— all unmerited — 
 
 Is surprising to me. 
 
 (Turns to Eula.) 
 Eida. 
 
 Your halting speech throws favor on your brother! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 I ask, — Miss Reneaud — Miss Reneaud ; your pardon ; 
 What in this rugged, ruffian's region feasts 
 Those epicurean eyes upon? 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 I hope 
 My soul is not carnivorous ! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Were 't, your fathomless 
 Eyes would all mankind devour! 
 
120 ARI-ZON 
 
 Rosalie. (Turning to Eula.) 
 
 I'd be 
 More delicate, dining only on their giblets! 
 
 Senora. (Just having re-entered.) 
 Devour! Ah senor, chile con 
 Carne: raw beef minced, four onions. 
 Can tomatoes, ten garlics, seven pods red pepper \ — 
 Devour! Es un primor! 
 
 Reneaud. (Just having entered.) 
 
 Ah senora, step into the sala ! Dine with us ! 
 
 Senora. 
 
 Mil gracias, caballero — (Aside.) que sin 
 Vergiienza. (Eojit Seiiora.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 My friend, is that your cook? 
 
 Reneaud, 
 
 This hand directs 
 Our household. 
 
 Rosalie, 
 
 Though we serve jerked antelope 
 And faisan^ — with the feathers oiF, we are 
 Not cannibal ! and much we serve 
 That's meet, which is not meat, such as potatoes. 
 Mealy, grown on yonder river's loam, 
 And meal from maize for pone, with which we serve 
 Fresh cream and wild-plum jam and berry jellies; 
 
ARI-ZON 121 
 
 For those who like, when we are lucky in 
 The hunt, we spread a maize-bird pie. We trust 
 That this enough attraction is to tent 
 You with us 'while, how be 't our Southern 
 Friend may crave his cousin garlic. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 I kiss the hand of such delicious viands, 
 But chide the tongue would wake the appetite 
 Forgotten under greater charm your frank 
 Free welcome feeds the heart. 
 
 Roland. (Aside,) 
 
 Well, hear the brazen 
 Glib-tongued kid ! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 The charm that's pers'nal though, 
 Though doubly bond enough, redoubled is 
 By this sweet calm that plays on us : — I see 
 That I must speak for both : — 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Oh yes! (Aside.) I'll change 
 These times or hang myself to some goose-brier! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 To us, impaneled in the city, rural 
 Scenes are balm to our sick hearts; — • 
 At first we bask as ether-drugged, and feel 
 That we can swim away our life in floating 
 
122 ARI-ZON 
 
 Visions ; swifter winds wake action up 
 
 And inner undulations 'gin to heave 
 
 Against the bosom; fire sits latent on 
 
 The eyes, which traverse now the undulating 
 
 Plain,' — for thus our sense gives back to nature 
 
 Movements nature wakens in us, — flashes 
 
 Streak the gorgeous clouds, the eye-fire sweeps 
 
 The hurried mountains round ; then om'nous storm 
 
 Tumults the inner sea and surges tidal 
 
 Energy against — our ribs, until 
 
 We feel that we can do the things we can't ; 
 
 While cyclone's lurid ball enfears us things 
 
 Are like to happen us we'd rather weren't!* — 
 
 Why the other night while wandering lost, 
 
 iThough frightened by the howl of beasts, the thunder, 
 
 Rolling down the mountain-side, awed nature 
 
 Dumb, but roused a soul in me which said 
 
 That I just as Jeanne d' Arc,— if I were woman, — 
 
 Could pull the heavens open, — or not, then be 
 
 A hero like none has ever been, to flaunt 
 
 And master nature with the soul ! but ah ! 
 
 The storm subsides and leaves despair, some great 
 
 But wasted unserved purpose ebbing in us!-— 
 
 Our Rosahe though shall be our maiden queen 
 
 Ari and peaceful rule this valley Zon. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Say, friend, that rake will bear some watching! 
 
ARI-ZON 123 
 
 Beneaud. 
 
 My eye is constant on him under charm. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 He may a dangerous charm throw over ladies I 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 .Tush I he's but an urchin, features fair, 
 Almost as fine as Rosalie's are. My sister 
 Shields herself; the fair who don't can scant 
 Protection have. 
 
 (Turns away to Eula and Rosalie.) 
 
 Roland. (Aside.) 
 
 That's right ! the faith that parted me from Eula ! 
 
 Eula. (To Reneaud, who' has thrown his arms around 
 her and Rosalie.) 
 
 Oh sir! Oh my! my shoulder's lame,— 'long carrying 
 The zither. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Ah, a week of sport will toughen 
 Up your sinews. — Something now's afoot! 
 
 (Enter Mexan youth, out of breath.) 
 Well, what? 
 
 Youth, 
 
 Boss Reneaud, all the valley was 
 Yester' rounded up to end a month's 
 Hard riding, and the huge uneasy herd 
 Was bellowing held last night on Pigeon Creek; 
 
124 ARI-ZON 
 
 And just afore daybreak, when all were making 
 Ready for the cut, a wolf loped up 
 On t' other bank ; the herd quick catching sniff, 
 Stampeded off ; the wranglers could not check, 
 And in their circuit all our herds were swept 
 Along! The riders say they'll press them 'gainst 
 The bluffs more'n twenty miles up stream! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Warn the boys! get everybody out! 
 
 (Exit Youth, yelling.) 
 We'll join the camp! Come all, for spurs and guns! 
 
 (Ecvit Reneaud.) 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Now Barrios shall have a charger to his taste! — ' 
 And, Roland, if you will, ride in our troop. 
 
 (Exeunt Eula and Rosalie.) 
 Roland. 
 
 In soft caressing speech he flays me out. 
 Once in the woods I'll find a chance in some 
 Secluded spot cliff -shadowed to the mood 
 Of love, to banish stammering speech and take 
 Her heart by storm. For this her troop I'll join! 
 (Exit Roland. Enter Barrios and Hazelton 
 with Carter still further in background. Re- 
 enter Eula and Rosalie, running.) 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Remember you must ride a-straddle. 
 
AKI-ZON 125 
 
 Eula, 
 
 Oh, shocking ! rather say, cross saddle ! 
 
 (Exeunt Eula and Rosalie. Enter Roland and 
 Reneaud.) 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Now, friend, brace up! a buoyant week upon the 
 range ! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Away! (Aside.) I play for hearts upon this stock 
 
 exchange. 
 
 (Exeunt Reneaud and Roland.) 
 
 (Barrios, Carter and Hazelton advance. Then 
 rushes across stage a crowd of cowboys yell- 
 ing and swinging lariats; one lariats Hazel- 
 ton, one dragging Senora to a lariat. All 
 crowd and jam and jostle Carter and Bar- 
 rios. Barrios falls out of crowd at rear as 
 it passes on, with sword swinging wildly, cuts 
 lariat which is on Hazelton, and continues 
 slashing with blind impetuosity at trees or 
 posts until he falls over bushes. Hazelton 
 still gallops and yells, with end of lariat on 
 his neck. Carter, with clothes disheveled, 
 gazes in dumb amazement after crowd.) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 (Encore.) 
 
126 ARI-ZON 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Leading the rabble, yonder brazen wench 
 Astride the motley mare, sir, is your daughter I 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Oh, horrors I horrors I— 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Brazen wench my daughter! 
 Sword-swinging nincompoop, I'll club your skull! 
 (Exeunt all. Carter chasing Barrios with club.) 
 (Curtain.) 
 
THIRD ACT 
 
 Second Scene. — Round-up camp in the valley, by the 
 foot-hills. 
 
 (Curtain rises on group of cowboys in careless 
 ease, having just finished supper.) 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 I say though, fellows, I could cut boss Reneaud's 
 Herd, if there were never a brand on one, 
 Or if they'd all been hog- tied by the burners ; 
 They're nothing like your big-paunched Oregons ; 
 There's not one in the lot is over seven; 
 Clean-limbed and thrifty, long round body, straight 
 Slim horn, straight-backed, smooth and glossy skin 
 Well stretched with meat well packed to bone; their 
 
 like. 
 So kept and culled are not by other ranchman 
 Grazed in Ari-Zon! 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Bah! ra, smoke! 
 You're always on the brag, and couldn't bust 
 A broncho! 
 
 Shiefellin. (Entering.) 
 
 I have learned— 
 
 197 
 
128 ARI-ZON 
 
 Cowboys, 
 
 How, friend! 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Good evenin', gints !^ — to be-a-ware of men 
 Of soft, apologetic voice — jest like 
 My own. 
 
 (Surveys spread.) 
 
 Cowboys. 
 
 Fall to! faU to 
 
 Shiefellin. (Seating at board.) 
 
 They've records gin*rally, 
 But pedaled blow-bag, throated bellows, you 
 Can ride as Balaam did. 
 
 Yankee, 
 
 Wo! hoa!' — Cuss sich a country, I say. 
 
 Wall, strangers, gosh darned ugly camp I swow; 
 
 And what my oxen '11 do here I don't know, 
 
 Fur they've not eat since pullin' way from Stink 
 
 Creek, 
 And are darned nigh gev out, and that's a fact. 
 Thar's nothin' here fur 'em to eat, that's sure : 
 Wall, they must jest hold on till mornin', thar is 
 No two ways 'bout that, — 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Shut off your clack awhile, and feed your beasts ! 
 
ARI-ZON 129 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 One thing sartin, this is dis'pintment camp. 
 Cuss sich a darned country, I say: look 
 At them thar oxen, wull ye ! thar is no go 
 In 'em and mornin' sees 'em faced right back 
 Towards old Caw. Cuss sich a darned country ; 
 Missouri's fur 'nough west fur me. Old 'ooman, 
 When your Yank gets hum he'll never leave 
 Again for squatter sovereignty on this 
 Whole darn country, an' ye can put that down. 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Beantonian, an aside ! This climate's wholesome 
 
 Kept, — I've studied hygiene at Crambridge, — 
 
 Not by what we feed on but by what's 
 
 Put in us, that depends on what's put out us ; 
 
 Soft politeness is our mark of health. 
 
 Your heated speech has melted lead enough 
 
 To make dyspepsia fatal! 
 
 Yankee. (Extending Ms hand, crushing hand of 
 Shiefellin.) 
 Cuss sich a darned country, I say I 
 
 (Shiefellin kicks him and runs out.) 
 Wall, strangers, I'll throw in with you ; a darned 
 Ugly camp I swow! I guess you'll have 
 A skillet 'mong ye : 'f yer a mind to trade 
 I'll have it right off. Wull, anyhow, I'll borry 
 It to-night to bake my bread and beans, — 
 
 (Takes up skillet.) 
 
130 ARI-ZON 
 
 Wagon-hoss. (Firing against skillet.) 
 I'm the boss of this, mess-kit : no rider 
 Feeds his belly huare until his beasts 
 Are fed! 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 Wall, I guess if you'll some of you lend 
 A hand I'll fix 'em right off, I swow I will! 
 Tho' darn 'em I They hev gev me darned lot 
 O' trouble, they hev, darn 'em, — ^but the critters 
 Will hev to eat I b'lieve. I swow they will. 
 
 (Starts out.) 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Say, Yank, when you've fed 'em, yonder on 
 
 The cliff go sit and hear the owl to hoot 
 
 And hearken to the whip-poor-will awhile, 
 
 And watch the moon glint down the mountain-side ; 
 
 Come back with 'nother temper than you've belHed 
 
 Off on us or else your sovereignty 
 
 Will squatter just six feet o' ground. 
 
 Yankee. 
 Wall, gosh darned, I b'lieve I'll do 't, I swow, 
 I b'lieve I will. 
 
 (Eait Yankee.) 
 
 Wagon-hoss. 
 
 I'll pluck old Plymouth Rock rooster's spurs or he'll 
 Quit croakin' huare on God's own country: — 
 
ARI-ZON 131 
 
 Carter. (Just entering.) 
 
 Who can run the circuit of the plains 
 
 All spotted up with grazing fat and meaty 
 
 Herds and swell his blood-filled veins with nature's 
 
 hfe 
 And the zest of action, glint the western 
 Vermil sea, althrough the crystal drippings 
 Of his sweating brow, glide under verdure's 
 Shelter as earth swings under night and forest 
 Life howls up the stars, and not throw nature's 
 Throb of worship up to God: Say, fellows, 
 This rooster's been cooped up wing-cropt in town 
 So long he had forgot the day had beauty 
 In 't to crow for. 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, friend! 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Lusty, hardy, hearty health is ours 
 Who ride the range by day, wake the welkin 
 With an evening song, and blanket up 
 The night. 
 
 (Carter advances, leading Hazelton by sus- 
 penders about his nechj enter Barrios, sim- 
 larly leading Shiefellin.) 
 Carter. 
 
 Spain and I concluded, if there were 
 
 A show demanded here, we'd have a monkey 
 
 For it. 
 
132 ARI-ZON 
 
 Cowhoy. 
 
 Loose the burro now; he'll never 
 
 Leave 'is chuck. 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Who'd a thought that Spain would have mistaken 
 Me for Uncle Sam? 'D you bring your arsenal 
 Over in your pocket? I'll give him now 
 The Idoma de amour! 
 
 (Places point of dirk over Barrios' heart and 
 presses it lightly.) 
 Give your Uncle Calf more mast rope, Spain! 
 Keep up your hands until I rifle you 
 Of Cuba. 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 I'm a Cuban! 
 
 Shiefellin. (Lowering dirk and contending hand.) 
 
 How goes, friend? 
 Oh that Uncle Kinny knew as well 
 Just when and how to end a fuss ! The Maine 
 Would have been a-floatin' yit. 
 
 (All start to spread.) 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Hold, hold ! a dance, then chuck ! 
 
 (The four dance mildly. Enter Yankee, sing- 
 ing.) 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 How happy am I 
 
ARI-ZON 133 
 
 From care I'm free! 
 Oh, why are not all 
 Contented like me? 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 First dance, the concert after ; into line 
 And shake your bones. 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 Wall, I'll be gosh-darned! I'd do that 
 If I knowed how to dance, I b'lieve — 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Pick up your hoofs; I'll pat for you! 
 
 (Fires several shots at Yankee's feet while he 
 works himself into line and step, while all 
 dance; Shiefellin continues dancing after 
 others cease.) 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Hold up! are you drunk or crazy? 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 'Twould 
 Be jolly fun to you-ns to git me crazy 
 Drunk, eh? 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 Cuss this darned country, I say! 
 Always bawlin' fur drink! Its sands are even 
 Thirsty. 
 
134 ARI-ZON 
 
 Cowboys, (Pulling guns.) 
 How, sir, how? 
 
 Yankee. 
 
 They've drunk your cussed 
 
 Rivers dry. 
 
 (General merriment,) 
 
 Them critters yonder Ve lanked 
 
 Fur drink as now this stomach lanks fur grub, 
 
 That has a famine felt, and then a drouth, 
 
 And here comes onto flood and feast, and cusst 
 
 If Yank, now havin' listened to yer owl 
 
 And to yer hoot, an' shuk his foot and cracked 
 
 A joke, won't fill his paunch! just put that down! 
 
 (Uncovers a long knife, and sits, under general 
 
 approval,) 
 
 Shiefellin, 
 
 That the world is rotten is a rotten 
 Fact needless to expatiate upon 
 A la Brann,- — You ass, jackass, morass. 
 Assault, asafetida, asphalt, 
 Aspinwall, ascend, assets, molasses! 
 
 (Sits, under general merriment. Hazelton ad- 
 vances as if to sit.) 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Hold, hold; the joke: 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 To conserve a healthful interest 
 
ARI-ZON 185 
 
 In life, man must attend unto three points: 
 The culinary art, which appertains 
 To what he eats; the art emotional — • 
 That is, what he loves, — and the productive 
 Art, which looks to what he doth create,— ^ 
 
 (Enter Roland and Reneaud in background, 
 under concealment in hunting outfit,) 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Your father sadly lacked the last. 
 
 Roland. (Aside.) 
 
 Not Rosalie's! 
 Carter. 
 
 In the generation which begat 
 
 The dude it is the art was lost. — (Aside.). Ugh! 
 
 I felt such spinal chills as when my son 
 
 Is near. 
 
 Wagon-boss. (To Carter.) 
 
 Your joke is worth a dinner; fall to! 
 
 Carter. 
 
 I'll give 't my lord, 'twas his expense; (Aside.) as 
 
 't seems, 
 And eat on one will touch less keenly home. 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Thanks, sir, awful thanks, but an idea— 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Sit down and plug your mouth. 
 
136 ARI-ZON 
 
 Hazelton. (Sitting.) 
 
 Oh horrors ! thanks I 
 
 Carter, 
 
 Once a woe unseen lay on my soul, 
 Made all the world seem like a priestly cowl I 
 And shadows settled Hke grim doom 
 On all my future path a somber gloom! 
 Oh heav'n, of life, of health, the giver, 
 I now know well it was my liver! 
 
 Roland. (To Reneaud.) 
 Oh what a tonic is this nature 
 My father's soul is gaining stature! 
 
 (Exeunt Roland and Reneaud; Carter, under 
 general merriment, sits; enter in hachgroundj 
 in hunting costume, Eula and Rosalie.) 
 
 Barrios. 
 
 Fellows, you'll instead of jest allow 
 Me say the trail we follow; Senor Carter 
 Here is looking for his daughter. Fair 
 As morning is her feature ; black as double 
 Night her eyes — dilating pupils burnish up 
 To blue sometimes, and in good nature twinkle 
 Radiance forth that wakes the deadest best 
 Impulses of the soul, but when chagrined 
 Their nether color flashes fire out 
 Would singe a tommy-cat ; her amber hair 
 From alabaster brow flows ofl" like liquid 
 
ARI-ZON 137 
 
 Waves, but now's tanked in much such chapeau; 
 Her Grecian legs — > 
 
 (Carter reaches Yankee's knife.) 
 The which when looking in 
 Her face one thinks not of, and else of form 
 Concealment carries is lithesome borne in garments 
 Much like my own. In this disguise this night 
 This lady trips this region through! 
 
 Cowboy. (Imitating Hazelton.) 
 A goodly heifer, gad! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Such gallant mark some sweeter worth deserves 
 Than brilliants. 
 
 (Throws kisses toward Barrios, Exeunt Eula 
 and Rosalie.) 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 And now's old Shiefellin's time to hang! 
 
 (Hangs himself with Carter's suspenders.) 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 Why that's the down-face burned the wind before 's 
 This morning! 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 And with our fleet Rosalie vied 
 
 Which should cross the plain with swiftest speed! 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 Why, sir, not more than half ago this he 
 
138 ARI-ZON 
 
 Dressed she went up the trail with Rosalie, 
 
 Who wouldn't let a moonbeam 'scape her in 
 
 The hills. There went along her brother Reneaud 
 
 Also that carrot-haired friend new come this morning! 
 
 Cowboy. 
 
 Why the feminine fellow gave out it was 
 His or her brother ; he's our new range-boss. 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 If she's your daughter you must be his father! 
 Doubly welcome! His account must house 
 You here to-night. 
 
 Carter. (Aside.) 
 
 That boy already has 
 
 Established an account! the Ari-Zon 
 
 Bank I'll wager is a sand-hill. Well, 
 
 He never told me not to house with him! 
 
 He must have struck a stock exchange out here. 
 
 House me here to-night ! Well there's a limit, 
 
 I'll not kick off the roof. 
 
 Wagon-boss. 
 
 The moon is well- 
 
 Nigh sunk : To trace that mountain buck and doe 
 Under heaven's brightest lamp were risking 
 Much. They headed for the upper range 
 To kill an antelope and broil a callop, 
 As they said, for breakfast ; sure's daybreak 
 Shall streak the woods again you'll that direction 
 Have will fetch you to their chuck. 
 
ARI-ZON 139 
 
 Yankee. . (Singing while arranging his blanket and 
 bunk.) 
 
 How happy am I 
 
 From care I'm free I 
 Oh, why are not all 
 Contented like me? 
 
 (Sleeps.) 
 Shiefellin. (Arising in background.) 
 I've eaten moose nose in Maine, 
 Chicken back in Louisian', 
 Squirrel head with 'Hio's boys, 
 Frog's legs in boggy Illinois, 
 Beaver tail a la Klondike, 
 Crabs in 'Frisco as you like. 
 Ox-tail soup with Kansas maize 
 World over a la cannibalaise ! 
 She wanders where the titmouse tits. 
 Where the whip-poor-will poor whips. 
 Where hawks still hawk and buzzards booz. 
 And men booze, too, and cuckoo coos. 
 Where sand-crane sands, and swallowtail swallows! — 
 Disguised she who trails these hollows 
 Will by some catamount night-lootin' 
 Be made meat of sure as shootin' ! 
 
 (Goes to bunk.) 
 Cowboys. (Singing.) 
 Will be made meat of sure as shootin' I 
 
140 ARI-ZON 
 
 (Moon sinks, fire dies, shadows deepen, general 
 blanketing up for the night.) 
 
 All, (Singing.) 
 
 While bunking in the wilderness 
 
 We'd better set a watch, unless 
 
 We do we'll by some brazen buck. 
 
 Emerging from his wickiup, 
 
 And creeping through the night, night-lootin' 
 
 Be made meat of sure as shootin'! 
 
 Be made meat of sure as shootin' I 
 
 Should he under shadow's cover 
 Any brute or beast discover 
 Prowling closely here about 
 He'll instant shoot and loudly shout, 
 "Awake! arouse! for here's freebootin'!'* 
 Or be made meat of sure as shootin' ! 
 Or be made meat of sure as shootin' I 
 
 (All sleep.) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 (Encore.) 
 Little can we ken what nymphs bestir the forest, 
 What softness animates exterior abhorrest; 
 Our balm-kissed dreams that nothing less than angels 
 
 render. 
 Prove to us the wildest forests' guards are tender: 
 Little can we ken the hearts of one another 
 Sweetly dream of sweetheart, sister, wife or mother. 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
THIRD ACT 
 
 Third Scene. — A mountain forest. 
 
 (Enter Boland, Eula and Reneaud.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Under lazy shades now lie we here; 
 
 Leave to long-wind hounds the starting deer. 
 
 Resting, thinking, feeling, sleeping, dreaming, 
 
 More in pleasure's keeping is than leaning 
 
 'Gainst and scrambling through these brushy slants ; 
 
 This is dogged sporting, pumping pants. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh swift-foot me with fleetest fairy wind, 
 Chasing after fleet-foot flying hind; 
 This is life's first freest breathing in me, 
 Passing doleful up to twenty-three. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Friends, these tastes diverse fulfill the chase ; 
 Under yonder hill a hundred pace 
 Wends the trail; here watch; with certain aim 
 What e'r we wildly start is yours to tame. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 I'll try to keep abreast of our high-pulsed musician. 
 Who somehow, soft'ns my native roughness to contri- 
 tion. 
 
 141 
 
142 ARI-ZON 
 
 Eula. (Singing.) 
 
 I'm a strolling free fellow 
 Wandering over life's hollow 
 Calling through hollow, hello I 
 Waking joys from their wallow. 
 
 Eula and Reneaud. (Singing.) 
 
 Fleetly flies and I follow 
 Through red nature and yellow 
 Swift as wing of the swallow 
 Rogue-eyed — tra la la — trello! 
 
 (Exeunt Eula and Beneaud.) 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Now by her grace my heart too soft-conditioned is 
 To tame a living thing by death; I've read 
 A poet called his lady's eyes gazelle, 
 And by my life I've seen a kid whose soft 
 Caressing trustful rolling longing look 
 Awoke a kissing answer in me, as if 
 To say: "Oh to your faith my heart responsive 
 Is with fondling love ; come rest your head 
 Against my breast and let us talk together." — 
 
 Old fuzee^ I'll empty your discordant 
 Bawl into the vacant air ; yet what 
 May hover viewless here! — Then in the ground; 
 Which covers hfe as thick as molecules 
 In mud:— Oh for the lurid hateful glance 
 Of centipede, with eyes green-set in hell! — 
 
ARI-ZON 143 
 
 It shows my favor with my friend that he 
 Should arm me with this heirloom; though what 
 
 sickens 
 Me here to have, and I will have or turn 
 This charge to this, is just that family's latest.-— 
 Old Huxley said, or should have said, the whirl 
 Of life within a tree would music-lave 
 A hearing world. — A wormer! — So! — I'll draw 
 Your teeth. — 'Twas loaded for a herd of deer, 
 Or to somersault who held the rear,— 
 
 Arouse the forest with your harmless hark! 
 
 (Fires gun, with rod, from behind a tree.) 
 Echoes come some hundred ways ! Oh hark ! 
 Nature plays upon the heart in tender mood, 
 Striking chords that cramp the soul; and drives my 
 
 reason 
 Frantic o'er the verge of wild exhilaration! — 
 Draw thy bow across the strings of life, 
 Reverberations touching through the mind, 
 Turmoiling things of soul vrith love's whirlwind, 
 Till nothing slumbers on the thuddy earth ! 
 Rosalie. 
 
 I heard! what 'prived your shot of 'ts right of birth? 
 Roland. (Aside.) 
 
 My game! now fail my heart to fire such volley '11 
 
 tame her. 
 My tongue forever after '11 be my own defamer! — 
 Miss Reneaud, I know not whence these moods, 
 
144 ARI-ZON 
 
 But my soul is full of feeling, 
 Which would, alone, under nature and this woods, 
 O'er surge my heart and pour head-reeling 
 Poesy on this laving wind's sweet weather 
 To cope, or their wonder songs commingle. 
 The weather waves and swaying winds together 
 Bearing swimming rhythm and rhymes limp jingle: 
 But you are here, and from those liquid eyes 
 I see double waves of beauty flow. 
 Which double all the beauty of the skies 
 And sweep this poesy in their undertow. 
 Engulfing all this milder beauty from above. 
 Their deep whirl of dizzy azure ocean 
 UnderpuUing all my soul in a wilder flood of love : 
 I seize your heart, your waist, to buoy me o'er emo- 
 tion! 
 
 (Seizes Rosalie's hands ^ kissing therrij then clasps 
 her in his arms, kissing her rapturously, with 
 impetuous poise. Rosalie faints. Enter 
 Reneaud and Eula.) 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Sir ! what now may be believed since courage 
 Falsely hides false heart and cordial friendship's 
 Bitten in the back! No word till I 
 Have said. Our ranger's custom here would 've had 
 You dropped ere now: I'd scorn to slay a dog 
 Without a chance o' life ; reload your gun 
 Whose discharge brought me timely back. 
 
AM-ZONi 145 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Had I hand-fired the thing, your dogged trick 
 That I'd self-slay myself would now have been. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Your slur's a double wrong. Choose one of these 1 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Ah, gentlemen! desist. Imagined provocation 
 Shouldn't displace the savor 'f gentle speech 
 Belongs frontier, as also city, gentlemen! 
 Good sir — 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Aside you ! gentlemen don't bandy words ! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Roland, good friend, oh think of soft sweet music 
 I've discoursed to you and be as calm. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Attention to your sister ; if she recovering 
 Passes censure, calls me base of purpose, 
 I'll bear my bosom to your gun. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Subterfuge and bluff! To what will cowards 
 Resort when facing danger real. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh sir, good sir, for your sister, self and — 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Hush! gibbering soft-heart, fearing fight 
 
146 ARI-ZON 
 
 Heel yourself around the point from sight! 
 Away! — Sir, take a gun. 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Thanks, sir I 
 Decline. 
 
 Reneaud, 
 
 Oh, wretched city-heated libertine! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 I endure the folly of your words 
 
 For when your sister speaks you'll take them freely 
 
 Back. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Oh what exasperation I soon you'll force 
 Me kill you like a snake ! Oh here, why think, 
 There is no rider on all the valley ranches 
 But's touched enough by purity here of nature, 
 To guard through dungeons of the lonesome wood 
 The honor of my sister's free and fearless 
 Innocence ; but nothing in nature sacred 
 Is to sexual vagabonds. 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Nor any 
 Limit on the tongue of fools. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh patience! 
 Pity! patience! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Pitiable !^Choose ! 
 
ARI-ZON 147 
 
 Eula. (To Roland.) 
 
 Oh think, think of your sister, and her brother! 
 
 Roland, 
 
 Sir, you who so lately called me friend, 
 Have patience, courage to await your sister's 
 Voice. We were in favor linked as soon 
 As met; our friendship speaking thus that we're 
 The magnet-poles of heart was prophecy 
 To this swift jump of love; am honest — 
 
 Reneaud, 
 
 Curses 
 On this mockery I You'll fight or cower. 
 
 (Strikes at Roland^ blow falls on Eula's arm.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Had 't fall'n on me 'twere 'nough,^ — somewhat too 
 
 much, — 
 As 't bruised the tender flesh of my companion. 
 Faithful in this desert of my sister's 
 Absence, sweet consoler of my heart 
 By song:— Now, sir; you falsely wear my friendship's 
 Pledge ; I'll after pluck it from your finger 
 To grace a faithful hand. 
 
 (Reneaud tosses diamond to Roland, who places 
 it on Eulas hand.) 
 
 It fits as if 
 'Twere yours, or you were Eula ; how like my sister's 
 Hand! 
 
148 ARI-ZON 
 
 Eula. (Half -fainting J, in almost inaudible voice.) 
 My brother! Roland! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 What, my sister! 
 Eula, fair brave Eula ! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 What, his sister? 
 My sister ; — Eula ! — Rosalie, awake ! 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Sir, 'tis not your speech o*erwhelms, but love ! 
 It must be love,^ — so sudden, soft caressing 
 As this forest music, — and your tongue ; 
 Oh, — my brother! Roland, — Rene, — Oh! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Sir, more pardons than would the forest wind 
 Endure my breath to speak. My pride, and jealous 
 Temper of my sister's freedom pleads 
 Excuse, which scarcely have I face to ask; 
 But as a tender towards repair here pluck 
 You from my hand, though still it must be 
 Rooted in my heart, this fairest flower 
 Of Ari-Zon's clime. 
 
 Roland. 
 
 'Twere 'nough, were your 
 Soft speech the magic touch to turn this blue 
 Mark back to pearl. 
 
ARI-ZON 149 
 
 "Reneaud. 
 
 That blue reflects a bitter 
 
 Blackness in my heart, a wound self -pitying 
 Tears must wash away. — 
 
 (Enter Barrios, Hazelton and Carter, in back- 
 ground.) 
 
 It must be said! 
 
 The fascination of this presence, when 
 A lad not understood, now knowing 'tis 
 A lass I know is love ; and if I may, — 
 I may? I'll kiss it up to red, till nature 
 Gomel 
 
 Eula. 
 
 My brother doesn't understand — 
 Roland, 
 
 Don't 'e! 
 
 Eula, 
 
 This is but the semblance of 
 A wound; the wound is in my nether heart. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 The best conductor thence is through the lips. 
 
 Barrios. (Apart.) 
 
 And now I'll sail; and soon myself dictator 
 Absolute declare of Guatemala ! 
 
 (Eccit Barrios.) 
 
 Carter. (To Hazelton.) 
 
 Did 'e say he'd swear and eat a hot tamale? 
 
150 ARI-ZON 
 
 {Enter in background, SMefelUn and Pike Par- 
 son.) 
 
 Roland. 
 
 She to you and I to her, together! 
 
 We*ll turn the darkest clouds to fairest weather. 
 
 Eula, 
 
 And do we all helong to one another? 
 All 
 
 A double sister and a double brother! 
 
 Hazelton. 
 
 Gad! I will adopt that tariff rule 
 
 And hunt some market near at home ; good breeding. 
 
 Exterior how handsome, never can 
 
 I barter in the States, where lovers play 
 
 At give away. Adieu! ha, gad! ha, gad! 
 
 (Eant Hazelton.) 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 That awful oath ! he swore he'd Europe sink, 
 Or a royal heiress wed to put 
 On airs, upon the earth ! 
 
 Eula. 
 
 Oh — well! what — now — my father! 
 
 Carter, 
 
 Yes, my daughter! — 
 My daughter! — son! — and son! — so grow your hearts 
 Together; — whilst I hasten to apprise 
 
ARI-ZON 151 
 
 Your mother how, instead of daughter's loss 
 And son's, she has a son and daughter gained ; 
 An' with her hither haste, to charm her winter 
 Into spring, as the songster of the woods 
 His brooding-mate a- whilst their nestlings feather! 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 This whilst your journey lasts, the whilst our hearts 
 Upon the honeymoon will feast, our eyes 
 Shall sweep by tour this rugged Ari-Zon, 
 And homeward to our sunny rancho come 
 By time to welcome you with feast and song. 
 
 Carter. 
 
 Adieu! must lose no time for my returning! 
 
 (Exit Carter.) 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Nor either we for our moon-honey's journeying! 
 
 Shiefellin. 
 
 Nay tarry, now a little, little Frenchman ; 
 I'm through the woods to-day Pike Parson's hench- 
 man; 
 Your journey after be, as I construe it. 
 The Parson's word, and I'll be witness to it. 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 He tarried at Communion through the night. 
 
 Parson. 
 
 It is not good for man to be alone : — 
 
152 ARI-ZOF 
 
 The third day after was a Cana weddin',— 
 
 And the wine gave out. — Now, wives, submit 
 
 Yourselves unto your husbands; you're one flesh. — 
 
 Dearly 'loved, we're here in presence of 
 
 This witnesses; — and he won't peech, ^will you? — 
 
 Keep thee unto him, and him to her ;«^— 
 
 And now by virtue of my lack of virtue, — 
 
 JReneaud. 
 
 Dispense with sacrilegiousness ; love 
 Is sacred. 
 Roland. 
 
 Lady, on this kiss I pledge 
 Myself to you a lifelong hab'tant of 
 That heav'n which you for me create ; when 'ts unseen 
 Walls do crumble I'll be clay, and if 
 I e'r prove prodigal to this sweet sacred 
 Home you grant me in your heart, then heav'n 
 Launch death and bitter woe upon my soul! 
 Now, sweet and lofty goodness, what say you? 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Oh, my love, I love you! 
 
 Roland. 
 
 Enough. Love is 
 The all-sufficient bond on woman, th' only 
 Tie not vain ; for while it holds thou art 
 Fidelity and I am trust ; and when it breaks. 
 Or rather raveled is by negligence 
 
ARI-ZON 153 
 
 Of time or failing worth, all other vows 
 And oaths, and state and priestly bonds, as flimsy 
 Gauze become as that so whitely, lightly 
 Trims your pretty garments. 
 Parson. 
 
 Martynia proboscidea. 
 
 (Plucking the plant.) 
 
 Sliiefellin, 
 
 Which translated means, Cuckold's horns! 
 
 (Exeunt Sliiefellin and Parson.) 
 
 Reneaud. 
 
 Parson priest, 
 
 Or priestly parson, shall 't our journey's nearest 
 Town pronounce his word and set his seal. 
 Forms to which the social state impels 
 Us to conform. 
 
 Eula. 
 
 "And with this ring I now 
 Thee wed, and with my worldly goods I thee 
 
 Endow. 
 
 (Gives him mandolin.) 
 
 'All in our Father's name, and Son 
 
 And of tbe Holy Ghost!'" 
 
 All 
 
 "Our Fath'r who art 
 
 In heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom 
 
 Come ; thy will be done on earth as 'tis 
 
154 ARl-ZON 
 
 In heaven; keep us from temptation; d'liver 
 Us from evil; thine the kingdom; power, 
 Glory, ever, and forever. — 
 
 (Consecutive display of several Arizona scenes.) 
 
 (Curtain.)