NOT OF 
 HER RACE 
 
 iity of California 
 hern Regional 
 rary Facility 
 
 NAN C Y K. 
 FOSTER
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 /&*>
 
 NOT OF HER RACE
 
 El Molina
 
 NOT 
 OF HER RACE 
 
 NANCY K. FOSTER 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 I9II
 
 Copyright 1910 by Richard G. Badger 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, u $. A
 
 TO 
 
 MY SISTER 
 MAUDE 
 
 503503 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 1 
 
 Not of Her Race 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Esteban Ybarrando the summer 
 had been an intolerably long one. 
 Two years had passed without a 
 "rainy season" in Southern Cali 
 fornia, winters had come and 
 gone bringing none of those generous down 
 pours that mean resurrection to tree and 
 flower, earth and air, beast and man. From 
 the office window of the Chemical Works on 
 this October day, the foot-hills looked gray 
 and bald as a line of sand dunes, overhead 
 the clouds were threatening, smothering the 
 glad rain was surely on its \vay. Leaning 
 above the tall redwood desk, Esteban felt 
 suffocated. As the afternoon waned, his head 
 bent lower, and it was long past five o clock, 
 before he stirred, took out his watch, and pre- 
 9
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 pared to leave the office ; his movements as he 
 put up the ledger, fastened the safe, and 
 locked the door were mechanical, involuntary 
 as those of an automaton with this differ 
 encethey were full of grace. Behind the 
 heavy physique of the Mexican was a nervous 
 organization responsive as a delicately strung 
 instrument. 
 
 Under a long shed in the rear of the group 
 of low brick buildings that made up La Mer 
 ced Chemical Works, Esteban mounted his 
 bicycle and was turning dow r n the highway of 
 eucalyptus trees, when a phaeton occupied by 
 two women appeared from a cloud of dust 
 and stopped beside him. 
 
 "Is Mr. Woodbridge here?" inquired the 
 younger woman, raising a silvery mull veil 
 from her face and looking expectantly from a 
 pair of sunny eyes at Esteban. 
 
 At the sound of her voice he leaped from 
 his wheel and went up to the vehicle. 
 
 "No, Senorita, he is now in the city a 
 week, at the hotel", and Esteban lifted his 
 10
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hat, bowing deferentially. 
 
 An expression of disappointment crossed 
 her face as she turned to her companion and 
 they exchanged a few hurried words. 
 
 Impelled by her look, Esteban ventured, 
 "On Friday Mr. Woodbridge will be at the 
 office. Is there a message, Senorita?" 
 
 "Thank you, no" she replied hesitatingly, 
 and picking up the reins, she said good even 
 ing and drove away. 
 
 Esteban watched them until a dust cloud 
 hid the phaeton, then striding his bicycle he 
 struck out across a less frequented road. It 
 was heavy with dust and on either side lay the 
 sunbaked fields. He was going directly to 
 ward what appeared to be a mud hut. In a 
 parched lot close by a large, canvas-covered 
 wagon was standing and two lean horses were 
 feeding in the scorched stubble. About the 
 wagon two Mexican women in bright dresses 
 hovered. As Esteban came nearer, one of 
 them, very old, stepped up into the wagon 
 and brought forth some finely woven straw 
 ii
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 baskets and flask-covers. Hobbling over to 
 the roadside she grinned and offered him her 
 wares. 
 
 "Buenas tardes, Senor, buenas tardes", 
 greeted the old crone. 
 
 Esteban got off his wheel and walked over 
 to her. The other, a fat, unwieldy creature, 
 squatted on the ground and began to cut up 
 some green chilis in a smeared sauce pan that 
 lay on a bundle of twigs, rolling her 
 eyes and making absurd grimaces at her 
 countryman. He spoke in courteous friendly 
 tones to the old woman, looked at her wares, 
 and bought three small baskets. Voluble, 
 gracious, she waddled back to the wagon 
 to fetch him two large pomegranates. He 
 took them and departed followed by a "Gra- 
 cias, gracias," from both women. 
 
 The mud hut proved to be a crumbling 
 adobe of two rooms. The front one was 
 Ybarrando s house, here he slept, cooked, ate 
 and studied. The back room, a mere shed, 
 was fitted up as a laboratory. There were 
 12
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 two small deep windows in the large room 
 and from the door the upper panel had been 
 cut out to let in air. The floor was of dirt 
 and the walls were covered with plaster 
 an adobe plaster roughly laid on and white 
 washed. In a far corner, close against the 
 wall, was a cot covered with a faded, once 
 handsome, Mexican blanket. An oil stove 
 and some cooking utensils, a chair and large 
 table with three rows of shelves, completed 
 the furnishings. On the table were a lamp, 
 a half-dozen ponderous text books on chem 
 istry, and copies of the Engineering and Min 
 ing Journal; the rude shelves above were filled 
 with chemical apparatus and with bottles of 
 every shape and size that shone grotesquely 
 with silvery flower-like creations of mercury 
 this was the one bright spot in the dreary 
 room. 
 
 At midnight Esteban was still over his 
 books. The streak of dawn through the tiny 
 windows and the extreme chill of the room 
 roused him. 
 
 13
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Rising wearily from his chair, he picked up 
 the straw baskets lying on the cot and, bend 
 ing down, drew from under the cot an old 
 trunk. It was made of raw hide interwoven 
 with red and blue canvas and was fastened 
 by a crude lock. Months had passed since 
 Esteban had opened it. Don Dolores, his 
 father, had written for the deed, it was in 
 the inlaid box; the belts, too, must need pol 
 ishing; and the earrings perhaps los Ameri 
 canos had stolen them, for the adobe was de 
 serted all day. 
 
 It was always an occasion when Esteban 
 opened the rawhide trunk, always a half 
 hour of boyish delight to him. In the narrow 
 till lay the inlaid box. Many a time when a 
 child had Esteban sat at his mother s feet 
 counting slowly the tiny pieces of mother-of- 
 pearl, he remembered there were eighty alto 
 gether. Opening the lid he took out an old 
 yellow paper the deed and put it in his 
 vest pocket; then he proceeded to the bottom 
 of the trunk, taking out two splendidly 
 14
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 wrought silver belts and a pair of huge tur 
 quoise earrings. The belts had been worn by 
 his mother s Mexican grandsire, and the ear 
 rings of turquoise, inlaid with center pieces of 
 abalone rude workmanship each piece put 
 together with tar unmistakably Indian mo 
 saic had adorned what dark-skinned wo 
 man of his ancestry? The belts and earrings 
 were wrapped in a bit of rose-colored silk- 
 remnant of a rebozo. About these barbaric 
 trinkets the tales of his childhood clustered, 
 and the treasure box meant pictures of Old 
 Spain. Esteban handled them admiringly, as 
 he put them along with the baskets back again 
 into the trunk and began to prepare for bed. 
 Once he glanced about the cold, bare room, 
 his eyes, heavy with sleep, fastened upon the 
 row of silvery mercury bottles, and the vision 
 of a woman s veil, silvery too, fluttered be 
 fore him and the thought of a pair of sunny 
 eyes brought a momentary smile into the sad, 
 handsome face.
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "The railroad took seven hundred and 
 fifty acres," sighed Don Dolores, in Spanish. 
 "If I sell any more lots, I shall have to break 
 into the last tract, the Tranquilina named 
 after your mother," and the old man pointed 
 slowly toward the ocean front. 
 
 "Los Americanos have their eyes on this 
 bluff. They want a hotel and a dancing pa 
 vilion. Where can we get the money to build, 
 unless we sell these lots your tract Este- 
 ban?" he mournfully continued. 
 
 Don Dolores and Esteban sauntered along 
 the high bluff overlooking the Pacific. 
 
 "And we must sell at once. Los Ameri 
 canos do not wait, they want all in a hurry. 
 Next year I had thought of building a danc 
 ing pavilion, but they will be here before that 
 time. Already the electric cars are running 
 to La Tierra Baja." 
 
 They had now reached the top of the bluff 
 
 and they paused in their walk. Don Dorlores 
 
 turned and, shading his eyes with his hands, 
 
 gazed off in the direction of the "low lands" 
 
 16
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 where the new electric line terminated. 
 
 Don Dolores Ybarrando was singularly 
 handsome. In height he was a little above 
 the average, broad shouldered, muscular, per 
 fectly developed in limb. Over the long 
 slanting brows and about the well-formed 
 large ears his fine hair fell in silver-gray rip 
 ples; a scant mustache disclosed full lips and 
 a mobile, sensitive mouth; his most prominent 
 feature was a high-bred, slightly aquiline nose 
 with inflated nostrils; the eyes were very 
 beautiful, brown in color and glowing with a 
 light, playful at moments, always happy and 
 tranquil. 
 
 The father and son were very like one 
 another, yet strikingly different. Except for 
 Esteban s heavy, straight, black hair each fea 
 ture had been duplicated. The likeness was 
 unusual. But the light in Don Dolores eyes 
 had been changed into one of unutterable sad 
 ness in the son s, and the voice of the father, 
 gentle, womanish, had deepened into tones 
 strong, sympathetic in Esteban. Don Do-
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 lores was more aristocratic something of an 
 oriental languor, even effeminacy clung to 
 him, to the slender shapely hands and to the 
 loosely fitting garments. The younger Ybar- 
 rando was old beside this young old man of 
 seventy. A profound sadness, a lofty melan 
 choly pervaded his personality and were be 
 trayed in the heavy, dragging walk. An eter 
 nal youth radiated from Don Dolores as he 
 moved about. One felt as he looked at the 
 olive skin and perfect features, contentment, 
 gladness, an inexplicable sense of irresponsi 
 bility, as when one contemplates the sculpture 
 of some old sylvan god. 
 
 The original grant owned by Don Dolores 
 comprised thirty-two thousand acres. When 
 he brought the fair Tranquilina Mojica home 
 as his bride to La Piedra Blanca Rancho, 
 golden grain waved upon every upland, 
 myriad sheep wound in and out of the green 
 canadas, and three thousand new born calves 
 each year were marked with the Ybarrando 
 brand.
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Nature had taken on many moods in the 
 evolution of this vast tract valley land, roll 
 ing hills, brushy, broken ridges, and a long 
 stretch of mesa extending seaward to a 
 promontory. There was every variety of 
 landscape from the idyllic beauty of the se 
 questered nook where the adobe stood, to the 
 sublimity of the barren, treeless bluff that rose 
 in Homeric strength up out of the sea one 
 hundred and thirty feet. Here and there the 
 baldness of the headland was brightened by 
 blood-red patches of ice-plant. In the spring 
 after the rains, the mustard flaunting its slen 
 der stalks, glorified the mesa ; but nine months 
 of the year the ocean side of the rancho was 
 wild, windswept and desolate. 
 
 On the futhermost point of the promon 
 tory a white speck was discernible, El Socor- 
 ro, a coast light. 
 
 Here, alone with his charts, marine al 
 manacs and eight thousand dollar lamp, lived 
 Captain Safford, a typical New England sea 
 captain, a man of large experience, intelli- 
 19
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 gence, and wide reading. 
 
 Don Dolores and the keeper were inti 
 mates. Under the training of Safford the 
 Californian had learned to speak a perfect 
 English. When Esteban was but a boy, every 
 day he was driven by his father to El Socorro 
 to be taught by this master in English. Un 
 til he was sixteen Esteban s tutor was the old 
 Vermonter. The ranch-house was six miles 
 distant from the lighthouse, tucked away in 
 a fold of the hills, warm, protected and shady. 
 Day after day, when the mustard was abloom, 
 and later, when the hills were bare, and the 
 ground-squirrels and buzzards tenanted the 
 mesa, the silent lad walked alone to El 
 Socorro. 
 
 Esteban liked best the sea side of the 
 rancho. He liked to come suddenly upon the 
 ocean. The sensation of discovery when for 
 the first time he emerged from the Canada 
 clung to him throughout his life. The ranch- 
 house in its deep basin was his cradle; his 
 first feeling of freedom, of escape from his 
 
 20
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 mother s arms came to him when he stood 
 overlooking the barren headland at El Socor- 
 ro. It was all so different from the sunny 
 slopes and fruit orchards about the ranch- 
 house. From the long verandas he had no 
 vista of the sapphire sea and the mountain- 
 islands gleaming like faerie fastnesses in mid- 
 ocean. This first intimation was ineffaceable. 
 Looking out over the infinitude of water, the 
 childhood of Esteban passed into youth in 
 dividuality was born. 
 
 Today, father and son, standing together, 
 gazing silently seaward, had an overwhelm 
 ing sense of change, loss, poverty in the fu 
 ture. 
 
 And it had all come about most inevitably. 
 If Don Dorlores could have told his story 
 consecutively, the events would have followed 
 as naturally as the episodes in a Greek trag 
 edy. There had been no disregard of unity; 
 an inexorable fate in the form of American 
 aggressiveness had shifted the scenes, evolved 
 the catastrophe. 
 
 21
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AMONG the seven hundred stu 
 dents who thronged the long 
 corridors of College Hall, there 
 was not one more restive than 
 young Ruth Hastings. If the 
 place had been less beautiful, Ruth s fresh 
 man year would probably have been her last 
 one; but a sunset row on the lake, or a half 
 hour alone on the hillside under the great 
 white pines, listening with ear against the 
 trunks to the slow sea music of the branches, 
 always counterbalanced for her the weariness 
 that was sure to follow a day of recitations 
 
 At best the freshman and sophomore years 
 in college are a "grind". Ruth had not sprung 
 from a race of college women. Boston born 
 and bred though she was, it would take more 
 than three or four generations to tame and 
 circumscribe the spirit of the great-grand 
 daughter of a Cape Cod sea captain. 
 22
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Hardihood, generosity, humor, and a 
 stern sense of duty had characterized old 
 Bartholomew Lovewell, who lost his life in 
 an heroic effort to save a sinking crew off 
 Truro Light A small water-color of this 
 brave man young and of handsome features, 
 a bright blue jacket contrasting with the au 
 burn curls and frank hazel eyes, hung over 
 the table in Ruth s study-room in College 
 Hall This happy, healthy youth was her 
 great-grandfather. Her great-grandmother 
 had been a Provincetown belle 
 
 A look at her bonnie forefather s picture 
 always made Ruth unusually restless, a glance 
 at the wind swept curls and bronze cheeks, 
 filled her with longings for broad waters and 
 free spaces; sometimes when the autumn rains 
 lashed her windows, the story of the Novem 
 ber gale and the sinking crew would come 
 vividly before her, and the text books would 
 lie unopened, while the girl sat looking earn 
 estly at her grandfather s face, fancying her 
 self by his side helping, saving too. 
 
 23
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Early in her junior year Ruth created a 
 stir in the psychology club by reading an 
 analysis of Browning s poems She declared 
 his philosophy to be truer and greater than 
 that of his predecessors because of the im 
 portant place given to love in his theory of 
 human existence. As the meeting closed and 
 the students wended their way in the moon 
 light down the long avenue of elms, heated 
 discussion of the paper was carried on. Some 
 of the more clever young women were certain 
 that intellect played the larger part in the 
 poet s interpretation of life and they accused 
 Ruth of sentimentality. 
 
 Ruth herself was one of the last to come 
 from the dark into the open meadows by the 
 lake. She walked slowly by the side of a 
 young woman noticeably tall and with a face 
 large-featured, baffling like one of Michael 
 Angelo s Sibyls. 
 
 "So you think that I was too extreme, Ju 
 dith?" said Ruth clinging closely to her com 
 panion s arm. "Well, I meant to be. There 
 24
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 is nothing I abhor more than the type of in- 
 tellectualized woman." 
 
 "But, Ruth, there is always a danger in 
 over estimating the value of emotion," pro 
 tested Judith. "And when one takes the ex 
 treme position that you did tonight, one s 
 argument loses rather than gains in force. 
 Kant says", slowly continued the young wo 
 man, "that Goodness is the one only test for 
 human experience. Love makes life too self 
 ish, too personal. There is a higher test than 
 Love Duty." 
 
 "But Love is Duty the highest Duty," 
 quickly interrupted Ruth. "It is just this 
 point that Browning so repeatedly empha 
 sizes, and for this reason he seems to me to 
 be more powerful than any other name in 
 modern literature." 
 
 "Perhaps he is right. But Love often 
 brings great sorrow, great pain. Man is un 
 able to make it his Absolute, Goodness must 
 be man s ultimate aim that alone can bring 
 him happiness or better, peace," replied Ju- 
 25
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 dith in a calm tone. 
 
 "What a superb starlight night this is! I 
 don t want to go in Judith," broke in Ruth. 
 Come to my room and have a lunch before 
 you go digging at the Greek." 
 
 "I mustn t dear, I have three pages yet in 
 the Phaedo , and it is now after nine," and 
 Judith glanced reluctantly toward the tall 
 clock as she and Ruth entered Meadow 
 House. 
 
 "Good night," and she took Ruth s small 
 hand in her large, cool palm, looking stead 
 fastly from her fine, gray eyes into the girl s 
 face. A glance from Judith s eyes meant 
 more than mere words. Tonight the glance 
 was very sympathetic. 
 
 Judith Wilkinson, the brilliant Greek stu 
 dent and tutor in the Philosophy department 
 was a poor missionary s daughter; she had a 
 scholarship and twelve dollars a year to live 
 upon, until they would take her into the 
 faculty. 
 
 Since their freshman year Ruth Hastings 
 26
 
 and Judith had been great friends. Judith 
 the elder by three years, the more developed 
 by ten, loved the winsome child-girl, tossed 
 like a flower into the maelstrom of college 
 life. In the rush and whirl of the life, Ruth 
 had found the quietude and poise of the elder 
 woman a haven; while the brightness of 
 Ruth had woven itself like a streak of shot 
 silk through the homespun warp of Judith s 
 routine. The strong strain of idealism in 
 both had cemented this friendship. Ruth 
 revelled in Judith s transcendentalism; while 
 but partially understanding much of it, the 
 essence she always caught Judith recog 
 nized in Ruth a character made to live the 
 ideal. The girl s originality and audacity in 
 saying and doing what Judith only reached 
 in thought constantly surprised and fascin 
 ated the maturer woman. 
 
 This evening Ruth had been more daring 
 
 than usual. 
 
 ******** 
 
 College Float Day Ruth met Gerald 
 27
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Woodbridge for the first time. It was an 
 immediate recognition on his part. Ruth re 
 ceived his unaffected overtures a little 
 shrinkingly, at the same time being instantly 
 attracted by his physical charm. 
 
 All that scientific athletics could do to de 
 velop the masculine form they had done for 
 Woodbridge. If there had been any awk 
 wardness in adolescence, not a hint remained 
 in the well-proportioned, closely knit figure. 
 Added to this perfection of physique, was a 
 dignified carriage, a certain blandness of 
 manner which particularly led women to like 
 him, often mistaking this blandness for 
 sympathy. Of sympathy there was not an 
 iota in the man s nature. Light-haired, hand 
 some, suave, with a smooth, clean-shaven 
 face, an adamantine chin and a clear, cold 
 blue eye, this young Harvard man as he 
 strode across the campus, possessed no out 
 ward characteristic that greatly differentiated 
 him from a hundred other men. One had 
 to know Woodbridge to discover that he ex- 
 28
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 celled most men in a superlative egotism. 
 
 During her college career, Ruth saw too 
 little of her determined lover to find reason 
 to dismiss him. From the outset he appro 
 priated her. She had been created for him. 
 Her personal charm, her mentality, nay her 
 soul, were his by a divine fiat. In these dec 
 larations of Woodbridge there was no aban 
 don. He never lost himself. If Woodbridge 
 had disclosed the fervour, the passion of the 
 ordinary lover, Ruth might have stopped to 
 question the validity of his assurance. His 
 was an esoteric devotion, its profundity dis 
 armed her. To her inexperienced heart it 
 seemed a beautiful and ideal thing that she 
 should be chosen as an essential element in 
 the development of this strong, self-contained 
 man. For the time being she permitted her 
 self to be extinguished by his self-assertive- 
 
 ness. 
 
 * * 
 
 Seven years had passed since the meeting 
 of Ruth and Gerald Woodbridge on Float 
 29
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Day. One morning in November, Ruth 
 hurried down the winding staircase of one 
 of the small hotels in the environs of Los 
 Angeles. Her arms were filled with books 
 and magazines and her slender shoulders 
 were burdened with a Navajo blanket, whose 
 vivid colors were a poor back ground for the 
 girl s tired, pale face. 
 
 "At last I m coming, Carolyn," she called, 
 pushin^ her way through the screen doors 
 and depositing the heavy blanket on the end 
 of the Calcutta chair where her sister lay 
 basking in the sun. 
 
 "Oh, don t put that blanket over me now," 
 querulously said the invalid, without glancing 
 up from the "Vegetarian Magazine" in 
 which she was absorbed. 
 
 After placing a small stand upon which 
 were a bottle of smelling salts, a paper knife 
 and various trifles close to her sister s chair, 
 Ruth walked away and sat down near a mid 
 dle-aged gentleman at the farther end of the 
 broad, sunlit piazza. 
 
 30
 
 NOT OF HER RACE! 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Ruth," he said, 
 drawing up his chair to hers. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Rodman, I hope 
 you slept better last night," responded Ruth. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, I did," nervously 
 replied Mr. Eben Rodman, between asthma 
 tic gasps. "How is Miss Hastings? I trust 
 that she is more comfortable this morning, 
 that she rested well." 
 
 "Carolyn always sleeps pretty well, she 
 never coughs at night. The Doctor says that 
 it is simply nervous exhaustion, that there is 
 no pulmonary trouble as we at first feared," 
 said Ruth. 
 
 "I don t know how this climate agrees 
 with nervous invalids. I don t know whether 
 any climate agrees with them," dubiously re 
 marked Rodman, glancing timidly over the 
 rim of his eye glasses in the direction of Miss 
 Carolyn. 
 
 "By the way, I saw young Woodbridge 
 here yesterday. A friend, eh? I ve always 
 known the Woodbridges. A good Boston
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 family for at least three generations, perhaps 
 longer. This young man bears his father s 
 name Gerald Woodbridge, but he resembles 
 his mother. She is a splendid looking wo 
 man. A queen in evening dress, and brilliant 
 enough to be the leader of a salon. Wood- 
 bridge s father was always a queer chap. At 
 Harvard we lived in the same hall. I re 
 call how the fellows made fun of Wood- 
 bridge for taking himself so seriously; later 
 he developed an insufferable conceit that 
 made him most unpopular." 
 
 As he drifted on in his meandering 
 monologue Rodman had forgotten his lis 
 tener. Now, something in the girl s face, a 
 look of earnestness, the return of color to her 
 cheeks, interrupted him, his curiosity aroused, 
 he continued, "Woodbridge was always 
 clever enough to me, and I was glad to meet 
 his son. He is a fine looking fellow. Have 
 you known him long?" 
 
 "Yes, we live near the Woodbridges on 
 Beacon Hill. I know Mr. Woodbridge very 
 32
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 well," meaningly replied Ruth. 
 
 "He can t be in Southern California on 
 account of his health?" queried Rodman, 
 half apologetic. 
 
 "No, he is here for business reasons only. 
 Mr. Woodbridge is superintendent of La 
 Merced Chemical Works. But this seems to 
 be almost a minor interest. He is absorbed 
 in countless things the oil development, the 
 new electric systems and especially in copper 
 Mines in Mexico." 
 
 As Ruth Hastings sat by Rodman, her 
 nervous little hands clasped across her knees, 
 her head thrown back in eager speech, the 
 passerby turned to look a second time into 
 the bright, up-lifted face and to admire the 
 coils of golden hair that adorned the broad, 
 shapely head, falling in soft abundance about 
 the brows. It was very golden in the sun 
 shine and set the seal of distinction upon its 
 owner. The face itself was neither beauti 
 ful nor pretty. But it was not a plain face. 
 There was nobility in the outlines of the 
 
 33
 
 cheeks and chin, symmetry in the nose and 
 the mouth was striking. It was the mouth 
 of a poet broad, sensuous lips with a hint 
 of melancholy in the droop of the strong 
 chin. The eyes, a grayish brown, were seri 
 ous, except when she spoke, then they over 
 flowed with light. Her figure was that of a 
 girl, short and immature, though her waist 
 was slender and long. The girlishness was 
 accentuated by the dress she wore which was 
 a well fitting golf skirt and a brown Norfolk 
 jacket. This youthfulness was not wholly 
 external. Both her manner and voice were 
 those of a person much younger than she 
 really was. A certain unconsciousness of 
 movement, an impulsive ring in her tones 
 heightened the impression. It was not merely 
 innocence, it was ingenuousness, the frank 
 ness of the old New England sea captain. 
 One felt the presence of a womanly girl, 
 rather than that of a mature woman of twen 
 ty-five. 
 
 "It s remarkable the way these Mexicans 
 34
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 sit a horse," suddenly exclaimed Rodman, 
 rising from his seat and directing Ruth s at 
 tention down the long driveway. 
 
 Curveting to and fro between the glancing, 
 green pepper branches, came a splendid black 
 horse ridden by a Mexican in tan corduroy 
 and sombrero. As he approached and dis 
 mounted Ruth recognized in the hand 
 some caballero, the tired Mexican whom she 
 had frequently seen at the Chemical Works. 
 
 "A note from Mr. Woodbridge," said 
 Ybarrando, quietly bowing and handing Ruth 
 an envelope. 
 
 "Thank you very much," said the young 
 woman, standing on the broad steps and look 
 ing down at him for a moment. "This is 
 Senor Ybarrando, whom I met the other 
 day?" she asked giving him one of her can 
 did glances as she led Ybarrando to a shady 
 seat on the piazza. 
 
 "Will you sit here and rest for a few mo 
 ments while I write an answer?" she said 
 turning and pointing out a comfortable chair, 
 
 35
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 then walking quickly away. 
 
 Ybarrando did not speak, but sat down, 
 following her vanishing figure with eyes full 
 of regard. 
 
 "Carolyn, Gerald has just sent me a note. 
 I m going upstairs to answer it," said Ruth as 
 she returned to her sister. She started away, 
 then, abruptly coming back, "Carolyn, Senor 
 Ybarrando brought the note, you remember 
 the Mexican you met at the Chemical 
 Works?" she explained. "Perhaps you 
 would talk to him while I am gone, look at 
 his sombrero and he is very handsome, pic 
 turesque, different from the ordinary person 
 he might interest you, dear." 
 
 Carolyn roused herself a little, "Yes, I m 
 tired of reading, you may bring him, any 
 thing to entertain me," and as Ruth moved 
 away, the invalid smoothed out her shawls 
 and adjusted her pillows. 
 
 While Ruth was gone, Carolyn arranged to 
 have Ybarrando get her some new walnuts 
 and fresh honey. "Honey comes under the
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 list of natural sweets ," Ruth heard her 
 saying as she approached. 
 
 "I hope that I have not kept you waiting 
 a great while," said Ruth, handing Ybar- 
 rando the note. He had risen, offering her 
 his chair as she came up. 
 
 "Not at all, Senorita, but I must go at 
 once," he bade Miss Carolyn good morning, 
 and he and Ruth walked down the long 
 piazza together. 
 
 "Prieto is a superb animal, I always feel 
 in awe of him," Ruth stood on the steps 
 watching Ybarrando unfasten the bridle, the 
 horse kept rubbing his nose up and down 
 Esteban s sleeve. "He is evidently fond of 
 you Senor Ybarrando." 
 
 "Horses always know when any one under 
 stands them," and smoothing the shapely 
 neck, Ybarrando sprang easily into the sad 
 dle. Then he cast a lingering look at her 
 and rode rapidly away. 
 
 For the first time, Ruth was struck by the 
 unfathomable sadness in Esteban s dark 
 
 37
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 eyes. 
 
 "Ruth, I m going to follow explicitly this 
 vegetarian diet," said Carolyn picking up her 
 magazine and feeling the pages between her 
 slim fingers. "It includes nuts, nuts to take 
 the place of meats and natural sweets . Just 
 what is meant by natural sweets, I m not 
 sure. But I m certain there ll be no risk in 
 having some fresh honey. That Mexican 
 promised to fetch some from a ranch to the 
 office. Of course Gerald can bring it over to 
 me." 
 
 "He can t, Carolyn dear, Gerald leaves 
 for Mexico today on the noon train," said 
 Ruth. 
 
 "Then how shall I get it on Thursday? 
 And the new walnuts too? The Mexican 
 said they were perfect now." There was a 
 look of distress in Miss Hasting s face, but 
 it was suddenly changed into one of indig 
 nation. 
 
 "Gerald Woodbridge going to Mexico!" 
 she exclaimed. "Ruth Hastings I don t un- 
 38
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 derstand him at all. You have seen him but 
 a half-dozen times since we came, and after 
 a separation of three years it 5s"- 
 
 The pained look in Ruth s face forbade 
 her to go further. Ruth moved silently 
 away, disappearing in the garden. As the 
 sun had travelled to the other side of the 
 piazza, Carolyn drew the blanket over her 
 and burying herself in the pillows murmured, 
 "Perhaps the Mexican will bring them over. 
 He seemed willing and so polite." 
 
 39
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 GERALD WOODBRIDGE was 
 a type. An embodiment of the 
 business cult. As a family the 
 Woodbridges represented Yan 
 kee wealth, not Boston culture. 
 For three generations the Lowell mills had 
 fathered them. The employes in these same 
 factories used the Woodbridge name as a 
 synonym of parsimony and close dealing. 
 "Work for work s sake" was the saturnine 
 motto that greeted the factory boy as he 
 glanced through the dingy office windows on 
 his way to the work room. 
 
 Shortly after his graduation from Harv 
 ard, Gerald Woodbridge s father died, hav 
 ing bequeathed to his son a large bank ac 
 count and a fever of work. Three weeks 
 later, the bank in which his money had been 
 deposited failed. Before his death he had 
 sold out his interest in the mills to an elder 
 40
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 brother. Young Woodbridge and his mother 
 found their resources curtailed; there was 
 nothing left but a town house and some min 
 ing interests in California. To look after the 
 latter Woodbridge had come West. 
 
 Woodbridge was without sentiment. The 
 struggle to gain position, to make a name for 
 himself, which in this new country meant get 
 ting rich, had in no way increased the natural 
 deficit in his nature. Self-centered, ambiti 
 ous, Woodbridge had in the three years of 
 western life developed into a reticent, cal 
 culating man of affairs. The acquisition of 
 wealth, mere wealth as an end in itself, was 
 his life-incentive. Some day when the way 
 was perfectly clear, he meant to realize a 
 dream in which Ruth Hastings would figure 
 conspicuously. But, as a matter of fact, ma 
 trimony was a secondary consideration; dur 
 ing his absence from home, his engagement 
 had become a vague obligation something 
 that he thought of when he perused his Sun 
 day paper. Love was a mere accessory in his 
 41
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 existence. 
 
 Meanwhile Ruth withheld her heart from 
 more desirable suitors, and lived on brief, 
 weekly epistles from her luke warm lover. 
 When the sudden break in her sister s health 
 led the physicians to order them south, it was 
 with a wild elation that Ruth chose California 
 before Florida and the Bermudas. 
 
 The knowledge of her coming was re 
 ceived by Woodbridge with surprise. Her 
 arrival on the eve of his departure for Son- 
 ora produced in him a state of feeling that, 
 if carefully analyzed, would have proven to 
 be scarcely that of an old lover. 
 
 The Jesus Maria Copper Smelting and Re 
 fining Company belonging to the same capital 
 ists who owned La Merced Chemical Works, 
 had given Woodbridge full control of the 
 erection of the new smelter at Gabriela, Son- 
 ora. The Company had received an ultima 
 tum from the State authorities that the 
 smelter must be in actual operation by a cer 
 tain date or it must forfeit its concession. The 
 42
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 concession was valuable. It relieved the 
 Company of paying taxes and the four per 
 cent. State tax on all its business. A heavy 
 cash bond was given by the Company as a 
 surety of its good faith. There was still an 
 enormous amount of work to be done on the 
 plant and Woodbridge knew of the great dif 
 ficulties to be experienced in getting the large 
 eighty horse-power boiler into the camp. 
 
 Woodbridge never altered a plan once de 
 termined upon, a business proposition de 
 cided, he was immovable; moreover, he was 
 vain of the Company s having given him the 
 present responsibility and ambitious to profit 
 therefrom; the unlocked for arrival of Ruth 
 had already detained him. In the light of all 
 this, his abrupt departure a week before the 
 Thanksgiving holiday was duly palliated by 
 Woodbridge. 
 
 Ybarrando always lunched with Wood- 
 bridge at Griffith s ranch, once El Famosa 
 winery. Hither he came with Ruth s note. 
 Between hasty bites Woodbridge read it. In 
 
 43
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 a half-hour the train left for Nogales and 
 there was barely time remaining to reach the 
 station. Ybarrando hurried also, following 
 on his bicycle behind the swift-footed Prieto. 
 
 "I m awfully obliged to you, Ybarrando, 
 for taking that note to Miss Hastings," said 
 Woodbridge, tying his horse and going to 
 ward the ticket window. "I guess the express 
 is a little late," and glancing at the coupon on 
 his ticket, he walked restlessly to and fro on 
 the platform. 
 
 He was taller, more erect than his com 
 panion, and as he turned to address him di 
 rectly he seemed to incline his whole body 
 and his manner was patronizing. "I dis 
 liked asking you to do it. Running errands 
 isn t exactly in your line," he went on. "But 
 the truth of the matter is that I can t trust 
 that fellow Rivera to get anywhere on time, 
 he s so everlastingly slow, and I wanted a 
 reply from Miss Hastings before I left." 
 
 Ybarrando s measured walk adapted itself 
 to the American s nervous stride, but his 
 44
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 tones were finely modulated in contrast with 
 the hardness of Woodbridge s voice. 
 
 "Don t mention it, I am at your service, 
 Mr. Woodbridge. Is there anything fur 
 ther?" 
 
 "No, I can t think of anything. I ve left 
 the office in your care. In my note I told 
 Miss Hastings that you would be able to give 
 her better than anyone else, the directions she 
 might want about the best roads to take in 
 getting over to the Mission, or out to Los 
 Robles Canon. We had planned to spend 
 Thanksgiving Day at El Molino." 
 
 Ybarrando s face changed, an eager light 
 stole into his eyes, as Woodbridge finished 
 and walked over to scrutinize his horse s 
 legs. 
 
 "Look after Prieto, ride him a little every 
 day or so. It might be a good idea to go 
 with them on Thanksgiving to El Molino. 
 Miss Hastings will drive her sister. You 
 might show them the way. I think you could 
 make it in an afternoon." The whistle of 
 
 45
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the train interrupted him. "Well, I m off. 
 I ll try to get back in three weeks. Don t 
 forget to have that car of sulphur side 
 tracked. Adios, adios," and as Woodbridge 
 mounted the platform, he gave Ybarrando 
 one of his ingratiating smiles, which Ybar 
 rando returned with a sombre inclination of 
 the head. 
 
 After this unceremonious manner, Este- 
 ban Ybarrando was made guide to Miss 
 Hastings during the absence of Wood- 
 bridge. 
 
 The short autumn days, some of them 
 warm as midsummer, went hastily by. 
 Scarcely one of them passed without finding 
 a messenger, or oftener Ybarrando himself 
 at Los Pinos to make inquiry if the ladies 
 were well or had any commissions. 
 
 Thanksgiving Day a memorable one to 
 Esteban dawned warm as August. By ten 
 o clock they were on the way to El Molino. 
 
 "We should have been hopelessly lost 
 without you," called Ruth from the phaeton 
 46
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 to Ybarrando who rode a little in front of 
 them. 
 
 "It is difficult to find if one doesn t know, 
 but my uncle once owned a ranch in this vi 
 cinityI ve ridden over it all." He pointed 
 below them, where for miles and miles the 
 land stretched away in darkly-gleaming 
 orange groves and silvery walnut orchards. 
 They had stopped on an oak-crowned hill, 
 from which there was an expansive outlook 
 a picture of unsurpassing beauty. Off in 
 the distance rose the white peaks of San An 
 tonio and San Bernardino; beyond and yet 
 beyond, loomed the uncertain summits of far 
 ther ranges, and near by, close enough to 
 exalt and overpower, stood in massive grand 
 eur the amethystine wall of the Sierra Madre. 
 
 "Now we are just above El Molino, the 
 lake always tells me," and Esteban pointed 
 to what was an anomaly in a Southern 
 California landscape a sedgy bit of water 
 lying directly under their eyes. 
 
 In a few moments they went down to the 
 47
 
 old building itself. It was a long, white 
 house, half-dwelling, half-mill. The walls 
 of masonry were well preserved and the but 
 tresses supporting the corners would endure 
 for years to come buttresses that were no 
 architectural conceit; but put there for a de 
 fense against the enemy. On the east side 
 were two arched openings, where the water 
 wheel once turned and the upper story boasted 
 several tiny casement windows and a little 
 balcony. Silent, deserted, suggestive, the 
 rambling structure stood. Tufts of grass 
 and tall weeds sprang here and there from 
 the roof, clambering rose vines encircled the 
 buttresses and a venerable black walnut tree 
 overshadowed the walls. The earth had 
 claimed El Molino for her own. 
 
 They stood long before the old building. 
 Esteban enlivened their interest by telling 
 quaint scraps of romance connected with the 
 past of El Molino. He spoke excellent 
 English, and had a picturesque way of re 
 calling the stories he had known from boy- 
 48
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hood. 
 
 "It was built for one of the Mission fath 
 ers in connection with the San Gabriel Mis 
 sion The first grist mill in California, 
 read Miss Carolyn from a small guide book 
 in her hand. "Very ingenious, a sort of fort 
 ress and work shop together. But was there 
 really any danger from the Indians" she went 
 on, not observing the scornful look that 
 Ybarrando cast at her source of information. 
 
 "Yes, Senorita, of course, the padres were 
 .ilways open to attacks from the unconverted 
 Indians. El Molino was built with a view 
 to protecting the inmates; and one still finds 
 ;i trace of the tuna hedges that were planted 
 to keep out the enemy. 
 
 "Tuna hedges! what are they? It doesn t 
 say a word about anything of the kind," said 
 Miss Carolyn again consulting her book. 
 
 Esteban smiled. "They are a sort of 
 prickly pear cactus, nothing better could be 
 used for warding oft" an invader." 
 
 "One wouldn t suppose harm could come 
 49
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 to any living thing in so peaceful a spot." 
 Ruth walked in from the balcony where she 
 had been standing. "That picture will go 
 with me for months to come. Quietude ! the 
 quietude of centuries broods over the spot!" 
 she murmured wistfully. 
 
 They sauntered on, sitting down to lunch 
 eon under the oleanders. Ybarrando swung 
 a hammock between the tall cypresses, and 
 Carolyn, who was fatigued and somewhat 
 bored by Ybarrando, lay down in the warm 
 sunshine, while Ruth and Esteban continued 
 wandering over the old place. 
 
 "Underneath those buttresses there used 
 to be a delicious spring; only last year they 
 ruthlessly cut down the other pine there were 
 always two," explained Esteban pointing to a 
 vacant space in the garden. "They were 
 planted by a Spanish girl and her lover. One 
 night they rode up to the door of El Molino, 
 and after receiving refreshment from the 
 holy padres, started on their journey but not 
 until they had planted two pine trees one on 
 50
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 either side of El Molino. You see there is 
 but one tree left." 
 
 Esteban had led Ruth to a seat on the west 
 wall above the cisterns. Neither spoke for 
 a little while. 
 
 "California is the most fascinating place in 
 America, Senor Ybarrando!" at last Ruth 
 exclaimed. "I felt it the moment that I first 
 set eyes upon the great lonely mountains with 
 their superb lights and noble outlines. And 
 what could be more mysterious than your 
 desert with its weirdly sounding name Mo- 
 jave." 
 
 As she spoke Esteban s face shone, and he 
 came and sat down on the old wall beside 
 her. "Si, si, Senorita, the desert no man can 
 understand. It is the great Mystery, one 
 must respect the desert," he uttered the last 
 words with an oracular dignity. 
 
 "Yes, it compels a silent worship, like the 
 sea," continued Ruth, catching his mood. 
 
 "You like the sea?" he queried eagerly. 
 
 "Very much, more than anything on earth, 
 
 51
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 My people lived on it; I can t breathe far 
 away from it." 
 
 Her intensity drew him. 
 
 "I understand perfectly your feeling. I 
 was born by the sea; the old ranch is there. 
 But it s all beautiful, Seiiorita," and Ybar- 
 rando looked up appealingly at the flawless 
 sky. 
 
 "Yes, it s perfect," said Ruth. "It must 
 be a continual joy to you that your forebears, 
 happened to have been born in this land. 
 You Calif ornians ought to be a remarkable 
 people, Senor Ybarrando," and she sought 
 his eyes with a smile. 
 
 Ybarrando turned resentful, but disarmed 
 by her look, he said, "I think that I wouldn t 
 have been ashamed of my grandfather, of my 
 father; today, we don t amount to much." 
 
 "California the country hasn t changed, 
 what is the reason that its people have?" 
 asked Ruth thoughtfully. 
 
 In the very directness of her question, he 
 fancied a thrust something, at least that 
 52
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 sealed his lips. 
 
 "There are many Californians who still 
 own large estates?" persisted Ruth. 
 
 "Very few families, T could count them on 
 my fingers on the fingers of one hand. But 
 it s a long story, Senorita, one that could not 
 interest you," he spoke as if to dismiss the 
 subject glancing furtively at her glowing 
 cheeks and sunbright hair. 
 
 Ruth fumbled her hat ribbon. 
 
 "Why shouldn t I be interested? One 
 ought to be interested in the original people 
 of any place; and the people that built the 
 Missions, and a picturesque workshop like 
 this" and she surveyed El Molino approv 
 ingly "Such people, must have been worth 
 while, must have been people of refinement, 
 taste, ideals". 
 
 While she talked she had almost forgotten 
 Ybarrando, rising, she walked further and 
 stood within the mouldering walls, a sort of 
 protecting genius of the old ruin. 
 
 Ybarrando hung on her words, fascinated 
 
 53
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 by this unexpected and graceful protagonist 
 of his people. 
 
 "Carolyn is hunting us," said Ruth sud 
 denly, and she let Ybarrando lead her down 
 from the walls and they followed Carolyn 
 who had gone into the mill. 
 
 The little party returned home late and 
 tired. But Esteban did not go back to the 
 adobe. Prieto was given his supper, and af 
 terwards the Mexican rode ferverishly over 
 the familiar roads, until he reached the canon 
 that circled round and about the foothills 
 near Los Pinos. On and on he went, croon 
 ing softly to himself a little old song that his 
 starry-eyed sister used to sing when he was 
 a boy at home : 
 
 "Si tu eres rosa, 
 De nieve y grana, 
 Lirio pomposa, 
 Caliz de flor, 
 Yo sere brisa 
 De la mafiana, 
 54
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Fresco rocio 
 Suplo de amor." 
 
 Repeating it over and over, he at last came 
 within sight of the house. From all the win 
 dows the lights were gone. But a half-hour 
 later, as again he came out into the open, a 
 girlish figure might have been seen standing 
 on one of the upper balconies, looking out 
 over the warm, silent valley. 
 
 "It is strange that he could go and 
 Thanksgiving so near. Thanksgiving the 
 most precious day in the year to us New Eng- 
 landers, to him and to me I" Then the hot 
 tears fell unchecked and Ruth wept bitterly. 
 Startled from her reverie by the sharp bark 
 of the coyotes, she gathered her white shawl 
 about her and went slowly in. 
 
 4C3|(]|($4()|C)|C9| E 
 
 At Christmastide Woodbridge returned. 
 January drifted into February and the mead 
 ows of lupine made an impressionist s back 
 ground for the unsightly Chemical Works. 
 
 55
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 During Woodbridge s absence the work had 
 accumulated and the men had more than 
 they could do to meet the orders. Out be 
 yond the sheds a long line of empty cars stood 
 waiting to be filled with the fertilizing ma 
 terial. It made a mountain in the yard. 
 
 One morning Woodbridge, as was often 
 his habit, came out to take a survey of the 
 yards. He stood close to the great pile watch 
 ing the men undermine it, when suddenly, 
 without warning the heap caved down inter 
 ring Woodbridge and an old Mexican. 
 
 "Come quick, come quick, he s buried 
 alive !" yelled two voices at Esteban s elbow 
 as he leaned over the desk in the office. The 
 superintendent s buried alive!" 
 
 Throwing off his coat, Esteban followed 
 the frantic men. At once perceiving the aw 
 ful situation, with none to help him but the 
 two men, the others having gone to dinner, 
 he began shovelling desperately at the great 
 masses of sulphur, at the same time directing 
 the helpless fellows at work beside him. 
 56
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Heap after heap he threw out, with a speed 
 far beyond the others. Before his eyes, in 
 the glare of the noontide, the meadows rolled 
 like purple flame and far in the distance, 
 strangely distinct came a woman s voice, ur 
 gent, passionate, putting electric stimulus into 
 his stunned brain, and strength into his 
 fagged arms. At last the two victims were 
 pulled out. The old Mexican was lifeless, 
 but Woodbridge had only fainted from a 
 badly crushed ankle. 
 
 Esteban, with the aid of the men, bore him 
 into the office, and immediately sent for a 
 doctor. The injury was very painful and 
 Esteban ordered a carriage brought to take 
 Woodbridge to the ranch-house. As they 
 drove along they passed a group of sad-eyed 
 Mexicans carrying the dead Mexican home. 
 They stopped, took off their hats and waited 
 for the superintendent s carriage to pass. Es 
 teban felt bitterly as he saw them ; for he had 
 no faith in the Company s doing anything for 
 the widow and children, and he knew they 
 
 57
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 were hopelessly poor. 
 
 Ybarrando s presence of mind in the rescue 
 of Woodbridge was the subject of much talk. 
 During his convalescence Woodbridge expa 
 tiated upon the action, assuring Ruth that 
 only one man in a hundred could have re 
 moved the sulphur with the rapidity of the 
 Mexican. Woodbridge henceforth had 
 much greater confidence in Ybarrando, and a 
 month or two later elevated him to the posi 
 tion of superintendent of the works and made 
 him his business manager. 
 
 The intercourse between the two men 
 thrown together for eight hours every day 
 was remarkably impersonal. Neither by act 
 nor question had Woodbridge ever evinced 
 the faintest degree of interest in Esteban s 
 career. On one occasion he came upon a text 
 book on metallurgy belonging to Ybarrando. 
 Glancing at its contents he mentally com 
 mented that it was a somewhat advanced 
 treatise and wondered that the Mexican had 
 the mind to attack so difficult a subject, at the 
 
 58
 
 same time determining on the first opportun 
 ity to send him down to the new mines at Ga- 
 briela. 
 
 During the three years that Ybarrando had 
 been bookkeeper, he had done the bidding of 
 Woodbridge mechanically as one wheel or 
 piston obeys another they were both neces 
 sary parts of the same engine La Merced 
 Company. Contact with this fellowman of 
 a different racial development, different tra 
 ditions and environment had left no impress 
 upon the Mexican s individuality. There had 
 never been interchange either of thought or 
 of feeling. Dumb animals thrown together 
 would have been more aware of each other 
 than were these two living souls. 
 
 But after the accident to the superintend 
 ent, Ybarrando s feelings toward him awoke. 
 As he came to and fro from his bedside with 
 the office reports, he found himself affected, 
 his temper roused, by Woodbridge s disposi 
 tion. The two natures began to antagonize 
 each other. The egotism and self-absorption 
 
 59
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 of Woodbridge, his incessant talk of his pros 
 pects and plans, and more particularly his as 
 tonishing indifference to the devoted atten 
 tions of Ruth kept Esteban in a constant 
 ferment of irritation. At first he had con 
 jectured the character of the intimacy be 
 tween Woodbridge and Ruth; later he knew 
 it was an engagement. 
 
 To one of his race an engagement was 
 akin to holy matrimony in its responsibilities; 
 it presupposed devotion to the beloved, an 
 abandonment to her wishes, a reverence for 
 her presence. As day by day he met them to 
 gether in the sick chamber, he looked in vain 
 for any fulfilment of his idea. At first he 
 marveled. Woodbridge s coldness was inex 
 plicable. Perhaps it was the way of the 
 American. If it were a race trait then it was 
 useless to look for any change. Woodbridge 
 himself couldn t help it, at this thought Es 
 teban almost pitied him. But Miss Hastings 
 was an American as well here his general 
 izing ceased. 
 
 60
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 One day three weeks after the accident, 
 Esteban was leaving Woodbridge s room as 
 Ruth entered. Her attitude toward him was 
 always glad and gracious. Today her face was 
 serious. As she passed on into the room he 
 was constrained to turn and lollow her with 
 his eyes. Woodbridge was reclining in an 
 easy-chair, his head buried in a newspaper, 
 he neither moved nor smiled as Ruth ap 
 peared. Esteban saw her lean to kiss him. 
 Then he quickly hurried down stairs, out into 
 the fresh air, staggering as one wounded. 
 
 The night after the day at El Molino, it 
 was the romantic impulse of the impossible 
 lover that stirred his heart; now, it was a 
 feeling, chivalric, passionate, a yearning to 
 help the slighted one, that went out from 
 Ybarrando s innermost soul. Woodbridge s 
 inappreciation had quickened Esteban s sense 
 of knighthood. 
 
 61
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FROM the imperturably pleasant 
 countenance and cheery voice of 
 Mr. Eben Rodman, the most 
 skillful interpreter of the human 
 heart would have drawn conclu 
 sions altogether false. To pronounce him a 
 contented man was a wrong that his own soul 
 continually resented. Where is the bachelor s 
 soul that does not? In the eyes of the world 
 and even to his intimate friends his bachelor 
 hood was confirmed. Yet, year by year, Mr. 
 Eben Rodman s loneliness increased, and his 
 large fortune cried out for progeny. 
 
 He was generous too, supporting this 
 cause and that. His special hobby was negro 
 education. Lately his interest had been di 
 verted into a similar channel, similar so far 
 as it involved a race-question. He had be 
 come an ardent supporter of the Anti-Im 
 perialist cause. One evening at the St. Ru- 
 62
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 dolph Club he brought as guest a young en 
 thusiast, a writer of books on Anti-Imperial 
 ism. Even Boston Anti-Imperialists found 
 the young man too radical, and Rodman s 
 friends exchanged significant glances, con 
 demning him for harboring so dangerous a 
 personage. Henceforth Rodman s popular 
 ity began to wane. 
 
 It was about this time that asthma drove 
 him for the winter to Southern California. 
 When the warm days came, Rodman decided 
 to forego the usual summer in Switzerland 
 for life in a house-boat on the bay near Lui- 
 cito. There was a charming sea resort close 
 by where the Hastings had taken up quarters 
 for the season. 
 
 Today as Eben Rodman came out for an 
 afternoon stroll with Miss Hastings, he was 
 unusually excited. 
 
 "Here is an article on our treatment of the 
 
 Filipinos that I should like to read to you, 
 
 every word of it," he said, greeting Miss 
 
 Carolyn and relieving her of her pongee sun- 
 
 63
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 shade. 
 
 Miss Hastings walked slowly by his side 
 trying to appear interested. 
 
 "Remembering Miss Hastings that the 
 typical Filipino is every whit as distinct from 
 the negro as you are, and that there are in 
 Manila many educated people who have en 
 joyed European culture, listen to this on the 
 attitude of our army women," and he hur 
 riedly read aloud from the magazine he was 
 holding, commenting upon each sentence. 
 
 "How abominably ridiculous! And hear 
 one of these women discussing affairs when 
 making a call on the wife of a member of the 
 Commission, hear her exclaiming in horror, 
 Why surely you don t propose to visit these 
 people and invite them to your own home just 
 the same as you would white people ! " Rod 
 man s voice was high-pitched and he paused 
 in his walk. "Think of their narrowness in at 
 tempting to exclude from the Woman s Hos 
 pital all Filipinos as patients, and in forbid 
 ding the natives the use of the library and 
 64
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Philippine taxes supporting it. Outrageous!" 
 "But see what it gives as a reason," inter 
 posed Carolyn, looking over his shoulder 
 and reading the lines he had omitted. "Of 
 course there was some point in it when the 
 library had been established as a monument 
 to American soldiers who had lost their lives 
 in the Philippines." 
 
 "Point! What point? What sort of a 
 monument? A monument of ignominy, if the 
 natives were forbidden to darken the doors. 
 Fine civilizing, this!" and Rodman groaned 
 with disgust. "But I shan t bore you any 
 further with this I m delighted that Sena 
 tor Hoar is holding the capitalists at bay in 
 his amendments to the Spooner Bill. They 
 had a scheme to over run the Islands witl 1 
 coolie labour," and closing the magazine 
 Rodman turned his attention solely to Miss 
 Hastings. 
 
 "It is rather warm walking, shall we sit 
 here?" and he led her along the board walk 
 to one of the pavilions overlooking the wa- 
 65
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ter. 
 
 "Miss Ruth tells me that you like it here 
 very much, so much that you have been think 
 ing of renting a cottage for the summer. I ve 
 been here now since May, living day in and 
 day out on the bay, and I m scarcely aware of 
 the fact that I ever had asthma," and the lit 
 tle gentleman drew up his neat, firm figure 
 and took in a whiff of the sparkling air. 
 
 Miss Hastings threw back her Chudda 
 shawl. "I don t know what it is, but I do 
 not even care to lie down in the afternoon 
 it must be the quality of the air. My nights 
 too are perfect; it is strange when I could 
 not stay for a single night at Magnolia. The 
 beating of the surf made me so nervous that 
 Ruth had to rouse the maid and take me 
 back to Boston on the ten o clock train. 
 Here the sound of the breakers puts one to 
 sleep. Yes, I like it very much." 
 
 Rodman looked out over the bay with a 
 satisfied smile on his face. "I see you have 
 caught some of my enthusiasm and I am de- 
 66
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 lighted. If you will only stay long enough," 
 the tone of his voice was not disinterested. 
 
 "Do you know I have an original idea 
 about a house, Mr. Rodman," continued 
 Carolyn. "Across the bay, about six miles 
 from Luicito is the Ybarrando estate and the 
 old ranch-house is still standing. Some of the 
 family are living there; but the father has 
 become paralyzed and is going to move into 
 the city to live with his son. You remember 
 the Mexican Ybarrando? It is his family. 
 They say the house is very well preserved 
 a large adobe, and that there is an abundance 
 of delicious fruit on the place. I ve been 
 thinking that Ruth and I might rent the house 
 and stay on here until Christmas, when Ruth 
 is to be married. 
 
 "It seems to me a most practical and wise 
 plan. The hotel will not be so agreeable in 
 July and August. I hope you will succeed 
 in carrying it out. May I do anything about it 
 for you?" eagerly responded Rodman. 
 
 Carolyn was not prepared for such fa-
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 miliarity; fearing that she had spoken too 
 freely of her affairs, she drew up her shawl, 
 and rose to go back. 
 
 With the intention of the Hastings rent 
 ing the old adobe for the rest of the season, 
 Ruth and Woodbridge planned to visit the 
 Ybarrando rancho one evening. Esteban was 
 to take them through the house. At noon 
 Woodbridge announced that work at the lab 
 oratory would probably detain him, and that 
 Ruth would better not wait for him after 
 four o clock. Ruth was crestfallen. Weeks 
 had gone by since she and her lover had tak 
 en any pleasure together, for days she had 
 anticipated this outing. At the appointed 
 hour Woodbridge did not appear. 
 
 Alone she went down to the bay where 
 Esteban had a boat waiting. Swiftly he 
 rowed across into a nook of the bay a cir 
 cling inlet, where the tall grasses and tules 
 choked the water and the shy marsh-birds 
 wheeled overhead here they landed, and 
 walking a dozen yards came to the adobe 
 68
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hidden among trees and nestling in a niche 
 of the foot-hills. As Ruth stepped on to the 
 long veranda, the hills rose so closely, it 
 seemed that she might put out her hand and 
 touch their dun brown sides. Ybarrando led 
 her across the garden of ill-kept flower beds 
 and neglected shrubs, down through the end 
 less orchards of pomegranates and figs, and 
 back again into the patio with its two stately 
 cypresses and giant cactus. Near an old da 
 tura, now in bloom, and shedding a heavy 
 fragrance from its pendulous white blossoms, 
 they sat down to rest. 
 
 How often in this spot had Esteban played 
 and been rocked to sleep by his mother! 
 "Nino, do do Ave Maria Ave Maria," 
 came back the familiar refrain; and as he 
 looked up to the hills the care-free life of 
 his youth returned and Esteban felt a boy 
 again. 
 
 "I know every step of the way over those 
 foot-hills and over the mountains beyond for 
 that matter," said Esteban pointing toward 
 69
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 their summits, Ruth s eyes following him. 
 "Nowadays I don t suppose a deer track is 
 to be found, and the bears have disappeared 
 altogether." 
 
 "Bears?" queried the girl, looking dubious 
 ly up at the hillside. 
 
 "The bears attacked the camps every night 
 the camps where the herders lived and 
 where they rounded up the sheep," Ybarran- 
 do hastened to explain. Near a camp was 
 usually a foot-hill where the sheep would 
 gather at night. Almost every night some 
 of the herd would be killed. I remember one 
 exciting night that I passed at the camp of 
 Juan de Dios. We used to have many In 
 dians as servants here on the rancho. Juan 
 de Dios was one of the most faithful and 
 devoted. My brother and I loved him. He 
 was a huge silent fellow and would perform 
 any service, obeying my orders when I was 
 scarcely ten. At intervals he would disap 
 pear with the sheep. thousands of them 
 and be absent for six months back in yon- 
 7
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 der mountains all alone with his sheep. At 
 this time, I was only nine years old, they sent 
 me out with supplies to the different camps. I 
 would go horseback, leading the mules with 
 the pack carrying sugar, beans, tea, coffee 
 a heavy enough load. Sometimes night would 
 overtake me on the mountains." 
 
 "You would go alone on these trips and 
 sleep by yourself on the mountains, with bears 
 attacking the camps at night I" exclaimed 
 Ruth. 
 
 "Certainly, Senorita, for I knew how to 
 use a Winchester. You ll be amused when I 
 tell you that when I made my first shot, I 
 wasn t able to do it standing, and fell down 
 on my knees. But my game my first effort 
 was two deer, and Esteban s eyes sparkled 
 with boyish triumph that even the memory 
 roused. 
 
 "But to go on with my bear story. I had 
 been travelling all day the camps were some 
 times twenty, sometimes sixty miles apart 
 when I reached the camp of Juan de Dios. 
 
 71
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Juan had been troubled by bears for many 
 nights, but had been unsuccessful in catching 
 one. I think it was past midnight when I was 
 wakened by the Indian s whispering in my 
 ear, Ahi esta el oso ! el oso! - There s 
 the bear! the bear! Putting our ears to the 
 earth, we listened to the ground vibrating 
 with the hoofs of the scattering herd; then 
 Juan lifted up the flap of the tent, and there, 
 in the moonlight, sat a great bear eating a 
 sheep; he was but a yard off, seizing my Win 
 chester I fired and down dropped the great 
 fellow in the midst of his supper." 
 
 While he talked Ruth pictured the venture 
 some lad starting out on his responsible journ 
 ey, and when he finished his story they both 
 broke into laughter. 
 
 "That was the supreme moment of your 
 life, but wouldn t it have been generous to 
 have allowed the old fellow to finish his sup 
 per?" and Ruth glanced ruefully at Esteban. 
 
 "Neither Juan de Dios nor I was in the 
 humor for ceremony", and he stood up, smil- 
 7 2
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ing down at her bright face under the swaying 
 blossoms, then he began to walk ruminatingly 
 before her. 
 
 Ruth looked about at the rose tangles 
 smothered in dust, at the rows of lilies shriv 
 elled like strips of brown paper even the 
 cypresses were rusted dying for lack of wa 
 ter. 
 
 Esteban stopped in front of her. 
 
 "It seems centuries since those days, Seno- 
 rita, sometimes I wonder if they were at all; 
 now the life is so different, the rancho, the 
 adobe, the entire place is dilapidated, gone 
 to pieces." 
 
 There was a hopeless sadness in his voice. 
 
 Instinctively the girl rose from her seat, 
 and moved toward him. 
 
 "It was all very beautiful once", she said, 
 surveying the waste and pointing to a gnarled 
 rose-stalk that had woven itself inextricably 
 around roof and windows "that must be a 
 very old rose it is thick as a tree-trunk." 
 
 "My mother planted it just before I was 
 73
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 born, she always called it my rose it is a 
 La Marque." They both crossed the patio, 
 standing in silence for a moment before the 
 woody, leafless vine. 
 
 "It is dead", Esteban said. 
 
 Ruth leaned over it, examining it carefully, 
 "Are you sure that it is Senor Ybarrando? 
 Plants do not die easily, especially in Cali 
 fornia. It may only need water and atten 
 tion. If we come, I shall nurse it back to 
 life". 
 
 She lifted up her face sympathetically to 
 his, but Esteban, turning his back, said 
 abruptly, "Would you like to see my father, 
 Senorita? Since his last illness he speaks 
 with difficulty, but he enjoys meeting people. 
 Francisca says that he talks with his eyes to 
 every friend who takes the trouble to come. 
 Few come out here now, he gets very lonely. 
 I m sure that he would be glad to see you", 
 and Ybarrando got up. 
 
 "Yes, it would give me great pleasure to 
 meet Don Dolores Ybarrando," said Ruth. 
 
 74
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "I hope it will not disturb him to have me 
 look through the rooms," she continued, 
 following Esteban as he crossed the patio 
 and led the way through a long room the 
 sala to the front veranda. It was paved 
 with large square bricks, off from it ran a 
 narrow winding stairway to an upper veran 
 da. The Ybarrando adobe was one of the 
 half-dozen or more old houses that boasted 
 a second story. At the head of the stairs, 
 Ybarrando passed Ruth quickly, and opened 
 the last door into a shadowy little room with 
 one deep window. 
 
 In the center of the room in a cushioned 
 chair in which its occupant was lost, a frail 
 old gentleman reclined. His handsome head 
 was thrown back, the silver hair falling care 
 lessly on either side, and the luminous eyes 
 bent expectantly toward the door. The 
 face broke into a tender smile as Esteban en 
 tered. Ruth thought she had never seen so 
 winning a countenance. Don Dolores eyes 
 did not leave off delighting themselves with 
 75
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the sight of his son until he stood close by 
 the chair, then they were turned to her. Ruth 
 was unaware that Esteban had told Don 
 Dolores about her, so naturally she was sur 
 prised at his greeting. It was as if they had 
 met many times. His glance was full of ad 
 miration without curiosity; a divine confi 
 dence emanated from the old man as bend 
 ing over, he kissed her hand, pointing to a 
 stool at his feet. 
 
 Ruth sat down, and Esteban going out, 
 she began to tell Don Dolores how much she 
 liked the rancho. "It is very lovely here," 
 she said, "muy bonita, Don Dolores," and 
 she gave him one of her sunny glances, as 
 her eyes wandered from his face, out to the 
 tranquil bay and the golden reaches beyond. 
 
 Esteban came in, a tray of white and pur 
 ple figs in his hands. He laid them in Ruth s 
 lap and went noiselessly away. 
 
 "You are fond of figs, Don Dolores?" 
 asked Ruth. "I thought so when I saw your 
 fine orchards. They re rather trying to eat," 
 76
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and Ruth began to break one. 
 
 "No, no, Sefiorita, this way, this way 
 the only way," and with deft fingers Don 
 Dolores broke open the skin, carefully dis 
 lodging the luscious fruit and holding it 
 toward her. Ruth took it gleefully into her 
 mouth. "The most delicious fig I ever 
 tasted," she cried. "Now let me try to open 
 one for you, Don Dolores, though I m cer 
 tain to make a failure of it." 
 
 With a twinkle in his eyes, Don Dolores 
 chose a very ripe fig and handed it to Ruth. 
 "Oh, Don Dolores, this isn t quite fair," 
 laughed Ruth, taking the fig. "Very ripe 
 figs are only for experts like yourself." 
 
 This childish banter and amusement were 
 interrupted by the appearance in the door 
 way of a lithe, womanly figure. She wore a 
 black sateen dress that fitted her perfectly, 
 and about the olive throat a purple handker 
 chief was loosely knotted. A heavy braid 
 of lustrous black hair fell below her waist, 
 and her eyes were half hidden by dark lashes 
 
 77
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 that swept her cheeks, lending naivete to the 
 whole face. She came forward holding in 
 her shapely hands two abalone shells of un 
 usual size and beauty. 
 
 "See, see, tilito, these are for you," said 
 the girl in Spanish. At the sight of Ruth, 
 she drew back, standing shy and speechless, 
 letting her full eyelids droop. 
 
 Don Dolores spoke very slowly. "Nina, 
 come here, and see your cousin Esteban s 
 friend, la Senorita Hastings." Gracefully 
 as a flower unfolds, she moved toward Ruth, 
 reaching out one of her hands and glancing 
 coyly from beneath the sweeping lashes. 
 
 Ruth, struck by the uncommon beauty of 
 the young girl, looked wide-eyed, with pleas 
 ure. She recognized beneath her artlessness 
 a dignity, a latent haughtiness that the girl s 
 modesty could not conceal. Once or twice 
 Ruth had observed a certain hauteur of bear 
 ing in Esteban. She wondered if it were a 
 family trait. 
 
 "This is Francisca, isn t it?" said Ruth. 
 78
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "I m so glad to see you, to thank you for the 
 beautiful shell that you sent to me by your 
 cousin." 
 
 Put at her ease, Francisca knelt down by 
 her uncle s chair. "I go a long way, Senorita. 
 You been to El Socorro, six miles away? I 
 walk and the Japanese give them to me for 
 nothing." 
 
 Ruth thought she had never heard a 
 quainter speech. Each word was uttered un 
 certainly, the young girl looking timidly to 
 ward Ruth, as she put back the heavy braid 
 that fell across her breast, as though it would 
 crush her. 
 
 "Do you walk so far often?" asked Ruth. 
 "You must be very tired." 
 
 "Tired?" queried the girl. "I am not tired. 
 I walk all day, I am never tired." As Fran 
 cisca spoke she gazed at the golden lights 
 playing about Ruth s hair, reminding her of 
 the aureole around the holy Madonna s face 
 in the altar-picture in the old church in Lui- 
 cito. 
 
 79
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 While the two women sat at Don Dolores 
 feet he was very happy. He had ever wor 
 shipped beauty in women, and age had not 
 lessened his ardour. But tears trembled in 
 his eyes, as looking towards the window he 
 thought of his beloved Tranquilina. Again 
 he heard the melancholy wailing of the wom 
 en as her precious body was borne from the 
 sala below, away to the campo santo on the 
 barren mesa; again he saw the boy Esteban 
 rush in, flinging his little body in grief across 
 the empty bed. He remembered his own 
 anxiety when the lad would eat nothing for 
 two days. 
 
 "Francisca, Francisca," called a woman s 
 querulous voice, and an elderly Mexican wom 
 an came to the door. Her eyes, large and 
 wild, were deeply sunken in her emaciated 
 face and her hair was dishevelled and flying. 
 She walked unsteadily toward Don Dolores. 
 
 "Francisca, why do you not come when you 
 are called? Your uncle must have his soup. 
 It is late, very late." She spoke a good Span- 
 So
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ish, but so harshly and rapidly that the mel 
 ody was jangled, and Ruth could not under 
 stand what she said. She had not observed 
 Ruth until she was by her side, then she 
 turned her back upon her and stood before 
 her husband Don Dolores. 
 
 The old man grew agitated and flushed. 
 "Dona Sacramento, this is la Sefiorita Hast 
 ings, Esteban s friend," said Don Dolores. 
 
 Muttering something in Spanish, the wom 
 an looked keenly at Ruth and put out her 
 hand. Then turning again to Don Dolores 
 she asked sternly "Is she a good Catholic? 
 Tell her I hope that she is. Say to her that 
 your son is lost, that in spite of your prayers, 
 my prayers, he must suffer eternal punish 
 ment. Tell her that he never goes to church, 
 never to confession, gives nothing to the 
 priests. Tell her that he is lost !" She leaned 
 over the old man, hissing the malediction in 
 his ears "Esta condenado, esta condenado." 
 
 Her thin black dress fell in folds about her 
 lank figure, a rosary hung at her belt and 
 81
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 three long crosses, blue, black and red, 
 dangled from her gaunt bare neck. After 
 her outburst she walked to the far end of 
 the room to an oil burner, looking neither to 
 right nor left. Making the sign of the cross 
 she began mixing some gruel. She stirred it 
 abstractedly, her head thrown back and her 
 bright dark eyes moving restlessly all the 
 while. In the twilight, her morbid features 
 resembled those of a witch. 
 
 Alarmed by the woman, Ruth moved to 
 ward the door. 
 
 Francisca neither stirred nor spoke, but 
 crouched nearer to her uncle. 
 
 At this moment Esteban entered. "We 
 must go Senorita, I fear that even now the 
 tide will leave us and the pull home will be 
 hard." 
 
 At the sound of Esteban s voice Dona Sac 
 ramento turned, and brandishing the long iron 
 spoon in her hand, advanced toward him, her 
 crosses rattling, and her white, uneven teeth 
 chattering. 
 
 82
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Thou art lost thou child of sin. No pray 
 ers now will avail. As a boy thou wert 
 stubborn, thou wouldst not bow thine head be 
 fore thine own mother s crucifix, thou wouldst 
 not fast, neither wouldst thou use the holy 
 water, lost, lost thou art! Even the beloved 
 San Jose will hearken no longer to my entreat 
 ies". Breathless and pale with anger she 
 paused in her imprecations. 
 
 Esteban, motioning to Francisca, bade her 
 descend with Ruth; and he, an expression of 
 sad contempt upon his face, took Dona Sac 
 ramento by the arm and gently pushed her 
 into the next room. Cowed, yet full of rage, 
 the tall figure disappeared. 
 
 While Ruth waited, she and Francisca 
 looked over the house. She was touched 
 by the poverty and meagerness of the furni 
 ture. There were no carpets on the floor of 
 the sala and the haircloth chairs were shabby 
 and threadbare. A bureau was in one corner, 
 and over the round table hung the portrait 
 of a young and beautiful woman closely re- 
 83
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 sembling the girl Francisca. About her 
 shoulders a Spanish lace veil was festooned, 
 caught at her breast with a medallion. But 
 even the portraits were marred and the 
 frames falling apart. 
 
 In spite of the signs of indigence there 
 was something attractive in the interior a 
 reminder of patriarchal hospitality in the 
 ample proportions; the aroma of a gracious 
 past in the deep-seated windows and wide 
 doorways with their vistas of garden and 
 patio. 
 
 Francisca brought a lamp. "Come, see, 
 Senorita," she said, motioning Ruth to 
 follow her into a bedroom which led off from 
 the sala. 
 
 "This is Dona Sacramento s altar," said 
 the girl, bowing devoutly before a tawdry 
 shrine, decorated with black and yellow 
 roses, and adorned with row after row of 
 miniature wax saints. "She made these 
 saints herself. It took her a long time to 
 make San Jose. Isn t he beautiful? She 
 84
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 prays many times a day to him." Lowering 
 her voice Francisca drew closer to Ruth. 
 "She gives him much money, see this little 
 silk bag," and Francisca raised the lapel of 
 San Jose s vestment, "many gold pieces in 
 the bag; a bag is on his back too. The other 
 saints wear only one small bag. She does not 
 pray often to them. Once I saw her kiss San 
 Jose." 
 
 "What are these?" asked Ruth with curi 
 osity, as she looked around the dimly lighted 
 walls. 
 
 From floor to ceiling they were covered 
 with large sheets of light blue paper, crudely 
 outlined with symbolic figures of tonsured 
 monks, crosses suspended from their ears 
 and tiny butterflies fluttering about their 
 bodies, the center of each insect was a 
 cross; the wings of a bird covered their 
 breasts the wings held together by an in 
 fant virgin she had a pretty face and wore 
 a blue and gold collarette. 
 
 Ruth observed that the days of the month 
 
 85
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and the year were printed at intervals on the 
 paper. "What mystical pictures!" she ex 
 claimed to Francisca, who, with enthusiasm 
 gone, stood holding the lamp closely up to 
 Ruth, taking in every detail of la Ameri- 
 cana s dress. 
 
 "These are evidently meant to be a church 
 calendar," said Ruth. "And Dona Sacra 
 mento did them herself? They remind me 
 of pictures that I saw in the museum in Mex 
 ico." 
 
 At that moment Esteban came into the 
 room. "We must go at once, Senorita. 
 Dona Sacramento is at last quieted," and 
 they went back into the sala. 
 
 As he helped Ruth on with her jacket he 
 turned to Francisca, who leaned against the 
 wall watching every movement of Esteban. 
 
 "See that your uncle goes to bed very 
 soon," he said in Spanish. "She will be quiet 
 the rest of the evening. I gave her some 
 money." 
 
 They went out on the veranda. "Good- 
 86
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 bye," said Ruth, taking Francisca s hand. 
 
 Francisca followed them down the steps. 
 "Buenas noches, Senorita," and the young 
 girl stood there in the darkness until she 
 could hear their voices no longer, then turn 
 ed dejectedly into the lonely adobe.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT was eight o clock and moonlight 
 as Woodbridge sauntered up the 
 board walk to La Concha, the beach 
 hotel. "Is Miss Ruth Hastings 
 back?" he inquired. 
 
 "No she didn t come in to dinner," replied 
 the new clerk who was leaning over the reg 
 istry eagerly scanning the names. 
 
 "She ought to be back by this time," com 
 mented Woodbridge to himself, and he 
 looked at his watch as he turned down the 
 walk toward the boat-house. "Perhaps the 
 tide went against them, and they have had 
 to walk. Ybarrando ought to have known 
 better, those Mexicans never consider any 
 thing." 
 
 He had reached the landing, and he sat 
 down on the steps to wait, taking from his 
 vest pocket a small note-book and com 
 mencing to make several rows of figures. 
 88
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "If the deal with Hotson goes through, I 
 shall be able to get an option on that mine at 
 Gabriela that Johnson has just written me 
 about. I must try to get down to Gabriela," 
 he was saying to himself. 
 
 He put his note-book into his pocket, got 
 up and began pacing up and down the land 
 ing. "I don t believe Ruth would mind stay 
 ing on here through the autumn, and I 
 should get back in January at the latest. 
 This would give more time to investigate 
 matters. I ll talk it over with her to-night," 
 continued Woodbridge to himself. Then he 
 sat down again, rolled a cigarette and began 
 to smoke. "George! I don t seem to see 
 much of the girl these days. It will soon be 
 a year since she came and I ve been too busy 
 to go anywhere. But to-day a fellow can t 
 be a man of leisure if he ever expects to have 
 a bank account. When did I have a day s 
 vacation? It must have been two years 
 ago." His cigarette finished, Woodbridge s 
 head dropped on his chest, and worn and 
 89
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 tired he closed his eyes. 
 
 To-night the waters in the harbor were 
 magical with the shifting phosphorescent 
 lights that sometimes make the Pacific an en 
 chanted ocean. Now and then Woodbridge 
 opened his eyes, but was unconscious of the 
 glory about him. Presently in the distance 
 rose the sound of plashing oars and a 
 woman s voice; but it was too far away yet 
 to rouse him. 
 
 "I would rather you wouldn t talk so," 
 she was saying, and as Ruth leaned forward 
 in the boat she saw between the flashes of 
 vivid yet ghostly light, the face of Esteban, 
 passionate, set and pale. 
 
 "Let me speak, Senorita, humble though 
 my thoughts are. You know how monoton 
 ous my daily occupation is. I am without 
 companionship, despised, ostracized by the 
 Americans about me. What consolation then 
 to have found such kindness at your hands; 
 an honor, I confess, to be treated with such 
 deference. What less may I do, Senorita, 
 90
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 than to thank you a thousand times? God 
 grant that some day I may be able to show 
 you my gratitude." Each sentence, each 
 word, flashed forth with fiery vehemence 
 from the depth of Esteban s soul, which to 
 night was as full of hopeless gloom as the 
 ocean s void below them. 
 
 "Hello, there!" shouted Woodbridge, as 
 Ybarrando in the excitement of the moment 
 rowed beyond the landing. Instantly he 
 turned and Woodbridge helped Ruth out of 
 the boat. 
 
 "Rather late isn t it for you to be getting 
 back?" said Woodbridge. 
 
 We ve had a serious time," answered 
 Ruth. If Senor Ybarrando had not been 
 perfectly familiar with the channel we should 
 have had to walk home. He was very skill 
 ful, and here we are at last," and she took 
 Woodbridge s arm, looking up into his face, 
 asking for some recognition of Esteban. 
 
 Ybarrando came up listening with grate 
 ful expression on his face to Ruth s words, 
 
 9 1
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and letting the oars drip on his trousers. At 
 no response from Woodbridge, he turned as 
 if stung, and went to the boat-house. 
 
 "Do be gracious to him, Gerald," whis 
 pered Ruth, as Esteban reappeared and ex 
 tended his hand to her. 
 
 "Hadn t you better come and have your 
 dinner with Miss Hastings, Ybarrando, both 
 of you must be hungry?" said Woodbridge. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Woodbridge, but I must 
 go back to the city, so I ll say good night," 
 and Esteban hastened to the station, which 
 lay in the opposite direction from the hotel. 
 
 Ruth and Woodbridge soon reached La 
 Concha. As they went up the steps of the 
 veranda, he took an envelope from his 
 pocket. "I had a letter from Johnson to 
 day," he began. Those Gabriela mines are 
 going to be great producers; he advises me 
 to take an option on some land near the Jesus 
 Maria; he assures me there is a rich deposit 
 of gold." 
 
 Woodbridge led the way into the dining 
 92
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 room, sitting down opposite to Ruth. "Per 
 haps you won t mind my reading the letter 
 while we wait," and he leaned toward the 
 light and read : "We ve got to have splendid 
 results, conditions are so favorable. These 
 old mines and modern methods united form 
 the best combination. They were worked 
 fifty years before the Revolution. The other 
 day I ran across some smelting furnaces 
 they call em Vasos ; it would make you 
 smile to compare them with the modern ma 
 chinery. Can t you get down soon? There s 
 a magnificent hoist at the mouth of the grand 
 central shaft. The old mines were said to 
 be worth two hundred and fifty thousand; new 
 ones not less than a couple of millions. I 
 think we ll find it worth while to keep on. 
 All O. K. at the Jesus Maria. Adios. Karl." 
 "1 must go, Ruth. A couple of millions 
 in prospect, a man shouldn t hesitate," said 
 Woodbridge. "I should try to return by 
 Christmas. We could postpone the wedding 
 until January, begin the new year together if 
 
 93
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 it weren t possible for me to get back in De 
 cember. What do you say, Ruth; will it be 
 the new year?" and Woodbridge handed 
 Ruth a plate with a coaxing glance. 
 
 "I m not hungry tonight, Gerald, but while 
 I eat let me consider just what we ought to 
 do. I m not thinking of myself," she went 
 on slowly, "for if you don t care 
 
 "It isn t a question of caring, Ruth; of 
 course I care it s simply one of time and 
 money. One month more for the business 
 will give me an opportunity to run down to 
 the City of Mexico to close up that deal with 
 the Canadian Electric Company. 1 should 
 have to go sooner or later." 
 
 Ruth looked desperate as he mentioned 
 this new interest. "Why Gerald I thought it 
 was only the mines in Mexico. You seem to 
 be involved in every sort of project, it will be 
 dangerous to let you out of my sight; besides 
 dear," and she arose and they sauntered out 
 to the piazza, "what is it all worth when it 
 keeps us apart? The entire summer it has 
 
 94
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 been "oil"; even here in California I only 
 see you at intervals. Sometimes I think it 
 would have been better if we had never be 
 come engaged, more honest perhaps, to break 
 the engagement." 
 
 "What do you mean Ruth, are you crazy?" 
 harshly demanded Woodbridge, surprised at 
 the cool deliberation in her words, the deter 
 mination in her voice. 
 
 "No Gerald, I m perfectly aware of what 
 I am saying. We are only engaged in form, 
 the spirit was crushed months ago." Uncon 
 sciously they had begun to stroll down the 
 smooth, hard beach, the phosphorescent wa 
 ters playing at their feet in unsympathetic 
 splendor. 
 
 "Perhaps we never truly loved one another; 
 otherwise how could mines and money draw 
 you away, hold you from me day by day; 
 sometimes it all appears a great mistake, as 
 though we had been deceiving ourselves the 
 one awful experience in life been mistaking 
 liking for love but it s not too late " there 
 
 95
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 was a new note in the woman s voice which 
 Woodbridge did not like. 
 
 "Why Ruth what s the matter tonight? 
 Come now, let us be sensible. I know you ve 
 been lovely and unselfish, but I postponed 
 our marriage because I wanted to offer you a 
 home and surroundings such as you d always 
 been accustomed to. Your own little fortune 
 is a mere pittance; and it isn t as it was fifty, 
 even twenty-five years ago. Now, a man to 
 keep up any sort of an establishment has to 
 be worth a half a million or more. I ve ne 
 gotiated for the Poyoreno estate, got myself 
 involved and there s no way out of it, unless 
 we re willing to stop right here and turn sheep 
 herders or farmers on a five acre ranch lead 
 a sort of Paul and Virginia life, give up all 
 our ambitions." 
 
 "Please dont say our ambitions ", pro 
 tested Ruth. "Since I ve seen what money- 
 making has done to you, Gerald I despise it 
 all. Let us give it up and go back to sim 
 plicity when we shall have time to love and 
 96
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 enjoy all this" and she pointed out toward 
 the brilliant waters glowing resplendent in the 
 darkness. 
 
 For the first time Woodbridge noticed the 
 spectacle before them, but he made no com 
 ment, only turned to go back to the hotel. 
 
 "Oh, Gerald, what may I do to help you, 
 for my love hasn t seemed to count for much ! 
 All this year I ve watched and agonized over 
 this living death, for that s all that your life 
 is the commercial spirit is paralyzing you." 
 
 In the moonlight Woodbridge s face shone 
 with bitterness and hardness. "You talk like 
 a school girl, Ruth. Of course I love you as 
 much as I ever did, but I can t be a baby. A 
 man must be a man, and to do as you would 
 have me I should be counted a fool a lu 
 natic." 
 
 "I thought it would be too late, it was too 
 late when I came," murmured Ruth to her 
 self, and she moved slowly up the steps of 
 the hotel. "Do as you think best, Gerald. I 
 have no jurisdiction over your going and com- 
 
 97
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ing and the wedding doesn t matter." 
 
 Woodbridge had never seen Ruth in so 
 unsatisfactory a mood, she had always re 
 linquished cheerfully. He couldn t marry 
 Ruth before going to the mines, for how could 
 he leave her behind? And to take her with 
 him to the mines was out of the question. As 
 he kissed her good night he set his lips to 
 gether more firmly than ever, laughing his old 
 metallic laugh, which always meant the 
 achievement of his ends, the victory of self- 
 will. 
 
 98
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHAT a skin she has! Clear 
 and pink like the inside of 
 Pedro s most beautiful shell. 
 My cheeks are yellow as a 
 gosling s breast - - yellow, 
 yellow they never can be like la Senor- 
 ita s." Cousin Esteban smiled with what a 
 light in his eyes as he looked at her!" 
 
 Francisca uttered the words half aloud, 
 in plaintive Spanish, tears welling up into 
 her eyes as she held the lamp before a smalt 
 looking-glass that hung over her table. Lean 
 ing closer, her cheeks almost against the 
 glass, she gazed deprecatingly for one long 
 moment, then, lamp in hand, went out into 
 the sala. It was silent and cold. Presently 
 there was a rustle in her aunt s room. She 
 slipped over to the door. 
 
 Dona Sacramento was carefully deposit 
 ing Esteban s gift in one of San Jose s tiny 
 
 99
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 silk pockets. Her countenance, that fifteen 
 minutes before had been livid with anger, 
 was smiling and bland, and the wild light 
 had left the deep-sunken eyes. Making the 
 sign of the cross she turned and came out of 
 the room. 
 
 Francisca was moving quickly toward the 
 kitchen. "Come, nina, I have put your 
 uncle to bed, we must get some supper," said 
 Dona Sacramento, following the girl. 
 
 "Esteban is a good boy after all, alas! 
 that he does not believe in the blessed teach 
 ings", whined Dona Sacramento, putting a 
 pan of frijoles on the fire, while Francisca 
 laid the cloth. "La Americana has a devil", 
 she continued. "I saw it in her eyes." 
 
 "Oh, tia mia, how can you say so, and she 
 so beautiful?" said Francisca reproachfully. 
 The thought of Ruth s radiant hair and sun 
 ny eyes for the instant forcing the girl to 
 lose sight of herself. 
 
 "When I declared that she was no Catho 
 lic, Esteban did not deny it," persisted Dona 
 100
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Sacramento, placing a dish of frijoles before 
 Francisca and sitting down herself to a cup 
 of pinole. 
 
 "Mark what I say, from this night on, 
 your cousin is under her spell. He will be 
 wax in her hands; she will lead him to de 
 struction a white woman, a she-devil, your 
 cousin loves. Mark you, he will give me no 
 more money for the blessed San Jose." She 
 stirred the pinole absentmindedly, looking 
 into the fire where the mesquite twigs blazed 
 and crackled. 
 
 "Why, tia mia, how do you know? Didn t 
 Esteban give you money tonight, more, too, 
 than ever before?" boldly questioned the 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes, yes, girl, but it is the last." 
 
 "Don Felin, my beloved father, who was 
 killed by the Apaches, had second sight and 
 I am like him. One night as he sat by the 
 fire he said suddenly in a voice that drew us 
 at once to his side, Roberta is dead. The 
 next day the word came that at the very 
 
 101
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 moment my father had uttered the words 
 Roberta had died. My brother was thirty 
 miles away and we had not known that he 
 was ill. Many, many times I have predicted 
 and it has come to pass." 
 
 But exhausted by her rage of the after 
 noon, Dona Sacramento had almost dropped 
 to sleep, her head had fallen to one side of 
 the high-backed chair, and the nervous eye 
 lids drooped. 
 
 During her aunt s speech, Francisca s eyes 
 kept growing larger and brighter. The 
 frijoles were untouched and the girl, draw 
 ing up to the fire, sat gazing, now into her 
 aunt s sinister face, now at the fantastic 
 figures in the mesquite wood. For the first 
 time in her life Francisca was thinking put 
 ting two and two together, planning to act 
 for herself. Dona Sacramento was now fast 
 asleep. 
 
 The young girl rose softly and went up to 
 Don Dolores room. Peacefully as a little 
 child the old man slept, a smile on the pale 
 102
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 handsome face. Francisca crossed the room 
 noiselessly to a heavy chest of drawers. Don 
 Dolores turned. 
 
 "You love Francisca, you would give it to 
 her, tilito," whispered the girl, looking 
 toward the bed, "you love her very much." 
 
 As she emphasized the words, the lock 
 snapped in a small box which she had lifted 
 from an upper drawer. There lay an old 
 leather wallet, Francisca opened it as fast as 
 her nervous fingers would permit. No money 
 was in it, alas ! Nothing but a shining black 
 curl, tied with a bit of red ribbon. One day 
 long ago, Don Dolores had shown it to her. 
 It was her own baby curl ! Tears rushed to 
 her eyes, tears of shame and disappointment. 
 Swiftly returning the box and glancing a sec 
 ond time toward the sleeper, she stole softly 
 out of the room. 
 
 Going into the kitchen she saw that her 
 
 aunt slept soundly. Back through the sala, 
 
 the candle flickering in her hand, she entered 
 
 Dona Sacramento s room. Among the rows 
 
 103
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 of wax saints was one farthest away from San 
 Jose, whom Francisco had often noticed her 
 aunt ignored, rarely dropping money into his 
 silken pocket. With her slender hands clasped 
 and eyes dilated, Francisca approached the 
 inviolate altar. Prostrating herself before 
 the dignified San Jose, too frightened to pray 
 aloud, her lips moved for a moment a sup 
 plication, the pathos and significance of which 
 only her tempted young soul knew. Then 
 reaching forward, she drew forth from the 
 neglected saint s pocket fifty cents. 
 
 The candle sputtered as Francisca crept 
 stealthily back into the sala. Wrapping a 
 black shawl about her head, she went out into 
 the patio. At the sound of her footstep, a 
 dog barked loudly. Francisco rushed toward 
 the kennel, unfastened him, patting his head 
 and whispering, "Be quiet, Viento it s only 
 Francisca." 
 
 The great fellow leaped to her breast, lick 
 ing her beautiful hands and delightedly walk 
 ing with her. 
 
 104
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Out along the highway that wound in and 
 out between the foot-hills, she moved like the 
 wind, until she reached the village of Luicito, 
 three miles distant from the rancho. 
 
 It was dark when she entered the main 
 street. The apothecary s windows were light 
 ed by dull, kerosene lamps and within the 
 shop it was gloomy and ill-smelling. Doc 
 tor Vejar was not there. Anxious and impa 
 tient, Francisca walked to a door at the back 
 of the shop. 
 
 Suddenly above a small showcase filled with 
 tobacco and shells, peered a frowsy, red head, 
 and a boyish, dumpy figure, chuckling and 
 grinning, came forward. 
 
 "Good evening, Francisca, Vejar is in at 
 his supper. It s a long time since we ve had 
 the pleasure of seeing you in town," and the 
 fellow turned red and began to pat Viento. 
 
 "Oh, you re here, Pedro. I want to see 
 Doctor Vejar very much, I m in a great hur 
 ry, perhaps you ll give it to me," said Fran 
 cisca coloring slightly. 
 
 105
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "The change-drawer is locked. I never 
 wait on customers, Vejar won t let me," re 
 plied Pedro. 
 
 "You never wait on people," despairingly 
 repeated the girl, "I m in a great hurry." 
 
 A glance at Francisca s face and Pedro had 
 leaped over the counter. 
 
 "If it isn t for medicine, I might perform 
 the ceremony. What is it you ll have?" he 
 asked encouragingly as he began mimicking 
 old Vejar, whose well-known habit was care 
 fully to dust both scales and counter before 
 serving a customer. 
 
 In spite of her anxiety Francisca broke 
 into a smile at the perfection of Pedro s mi 
 metic art. 
 
 While the young fellow with the merriest 
 twinkle in his watery blue eyes said graciously, 
 "And now my dear Senorita, I hope I can ac 
 commodate you." 
 
 "Pedro, really I m in a great hurry. I 
 want a box of powder." 
 
 For once in his life Pedro Dugan was 
 106
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 dumbfounded. Unwillingly opening the show 
 case he took out three boxes and pushed them 
 toward the girl. Then he leaned back against 
 the shelves earnestly eyeing her. 
 
 The fellow had known Francisca from 
 childhood. Old Vejar and Don Dolores were 
 friendly. Pedro had played frequently with 
 Francisca at the rancho. He had always 
 thought her the most beautiful of creatures 
 and her olive cheeks faultless. The Irish- 
 Mexican hated white girls. 
 
 "How much is this one?" asked Francisca, 
 reaching him one of the gay boxes. 
 
 "It is fifty cents," replied Pedro, "fifty 
 cents too much for ruining those beautiful 
 cheeks of yours." 
 
 Francisca heeded not the compliment, but 
 handed him the smallest box, casting a re 
 gretful glance at the one first selected. 
 
 "There s little difference in the cost, they 
 
 all run high, and the cheap stuff has poison 
 
 in it." Pedro read the box lid: " Suprema 
 
 Face Powder. Invisible. Harmless. Pink. 
 
 107
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Used and endorsed by the most refined ladies 
 in private and public life. This is forty 
 cents." 
 
 "I ll take it, and be quick, Pedro," said the 
 girl. 
 
 Awkwardly wrapping the box and giving 
 her ten cents from his pocket, Pedro escorted 
 her to the door. 
 
 "Good-night, Pedro. Come Viento," and 
 Francisca hurried away. 
 
 It was now late, and as she left the town 
 behind, the highway was unfrequented and 
 lonesome. Fear never entered the young 
 girl s mind until she turned a foot-hill where 
 a road led off to the campo santo. At that 
 moment Viento gave a sharp bark and 
 sprang forward toward a shambling figure. 
 
 "It s only me, Francisca," called the 
 cheery voice of Pedro. I m going to El 
 Socorro to stay all night with the Japs and 
 go fishing for abalones in the morning. I ll 
 fetch you back one." He turned in the oppo 
 site direction. 
 
 108
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Good-bye," answered Francisca, drawing 
 her shawl more closely and hurrying around 
 the wall of hills, running breathlessly, Viento 
 at her heels. 
 
 "Poor girl! poor girll" compassionately 
 murmured Pedro, standing still for an in 
 stant, then following Francisca at a safe dis 
 tance until she reached the rancho. After 
 wards he sauntered back to Luicito, now and 
 then taking off his sombrero, and rubbing his 
 bushy head as though he would solve some 
 mystery. 
 
 Pedro Dugan was the offspring of a lusty 
 Irish sailor, whose vessel had once passed a 
 month in the harbor near Luicito. During 
 this time Dugan had found an opportunity 
 to frequent old Vejar s shop and to betray 
 the Californian s only child, a simple-mind 
 ed, homely Mexican girl, then only fifteen. 
 
 Francisca softly entered the house. Peep 
 ing into the kitchen she saw that her aunt still 
 slept soundly. Francisca never disturbed 
 Dona Sacramento s naps. Lighting a lamp 
 109
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 she retired to her cheerless room. 
 
 On a rude table under her looking-glass 
 was a collection of abalone shells, most of 
 them the gifts of her play-fellow Pedro. She 
 selected the most beautiful one; it was a 
 warm pink inside. Looking at it studiously, 
 she opened the box of powder and began cov 
 ering her face with the soft cosmetic. 
 
 When she had finished, the face in the 
 glass was streaky and ghostly, wholly un 
 satisfactory to Francisca. Going over to her 
 basin, she impatiently washed the powder 
 off, disappointment in every movement. Then 
 blowing the lamp out, she rolled herself in a 
 blanket and soon dropped off to sleep, tears 
 of vexation wetting the pillow. 
 
 no
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "^T T"OUR sister is very well again, 
 ^^/ Miss Ruth," began Rodman one 
 day while Ruth and he were ar 
 ranging the draperies in the 
 deep windows of the ranch- 
 house. 
 
 "Yes, she is another person. I often look 
 at her unable to believe she is the sister whom 
 I brought to California a year ago. She is 
 not only well, but new life is in her, all the 
 querulousness and morbidity have vanished" 
 Ruth caught herself, "I don t mean to say 
 that Carolyn was of this disposition naturally, 
 illness and nervousness make us all " 
 
 "Totally depraved," suggested Rodman 
 laughing. "I used to despise all mankind, 
 when I was particularly ill with the asthma. 
 It s a marvelous climate this! Curing peo 
 ple of their mental as well as of their physical 
 ailments. Are you certain that the climate 
 in
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 has been the only doctor?" 
 
 , Rodman glanced straight from his little 
 
 blue eyes into Ruth s. 
 
 A look of astonishment mingled with hu 
 mor suddenly lighted her face. Putting the 
 scissors on the window-ledge and folding her 
 hands in her lap, she said quietly, "You would 
 better ask Carolyn herself, Mr. Rodman." 
 
 He gazed at her intently. "Is this the first 
 time that it has occurred to you that I love 
 your sister, Miss Ruth?" 
 
 "Yes no," replied Ruth hesitatingly, "the 
 truth is, Mr. Rodman, I have been at sea 
 about the matter for a long time ; your ques 
 tion brought me into port." 
 
 Rodman stepped forward, seizing her 
 hand. 
 
 "Miss Ruth, your sister is a difficult person 
 to approach. I have not yet offered myself; 
 just how I m going to do so is a grave ques 
 tion. Now and then your sister has given me 
 a bit of encouragement, but it has been so 
 slight that I can t climb toward her upon it 
 112
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 any more easily than a mouse could reach a 
 shelf by a spider s web." 
 
 As he finished his sentence, Rodman set his 
 slender Manila cane down vehemently upon 
 the hard wood floor and took his hat from the 
 window seat. 
 
 At this juncture Miss Carolyn entered. A 
 smile fluttered on her thin lips, as she handed 
 the morning paper to Mr. Rodman. 
 
 Reddening, he moved toward her, the cane 
 swaying and breaking beneath his hand. 
 "Good morning, Miss Carolyn, you see how 
 heated our conversations become, I believe 
 I ve broken my valuable new cane." Placing 
 a chair for Carolyn, he looked down at his 
 cane. "It s really broken, and I haven t writ 
 ten yet to thank Miss Locke for it." 
 
 Ruth took the splintered pieces in her 
 hands. While she and Rodman bent over 
 them trying to put them together, neither one 
 noticed the pallor that came over Carolyn s 
 face. 
 
 Rodman continued, "Miss Locke is the
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 teacher in the Luzon schools to whom I sent 
 a trifle for her young savages. The woman 
 was so grateful that she has been sending 
 me little presents ever since. This came the 
 other day. She writes a remarkably inter 
 esting letter, by the way." 
 
 "If you will let me have it a moment, I 
 think my glue will mend it perfectly, even 
 these splinters," and taking the cane from 
 Rodman, Ruth left the room. 
 
 "Are you not feeling so well today?" so 
 licitously inquired Rodman, noticing Caro 
 lyn s white face. 
 
 "Yes, I m perfectly well," she quickly re 
 plied. "I suppose I ought not to work so 
 long over the flowers." 
 
 "You should not lean over those beds at 
 all; really you mustn t do it again," said 
 Rodman, coming over to her chair and plac 
 ing his hand authoritatively on the back. 
 
 Carolyn drew up her slender figure in pro 
 testation, and raised her shapely hand to her 
 face, as though to adjust the faultless folds 
 114
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 of her hair, but to hide the flush overspread 
 ing her cheeks. 
 
 "I supposed that Mexican case would ap 
 peal to you," she said, turning abruptly and 
 picking up the newspaper from the table by 
 her side. 
 
 Carolyn read aloud the pathetic account 
 of the unjust accusation of a Mexican, who 
 was about to be convicted of the crime of 
 murder. A Mexican lawyer, reading of the 
 case, had insisted upon a new trial. 
 
 "I ve been following that for days. The 
 thing from beginning to end is an inexcusable 
 outrage," said Rodman. 
 
 In his intensity Rodman almost forgot 
 himself. Leaning over her chair he tenderly 
 drew her light shawl about her shoulders 
 and took the newspaper from her hand. 
 "My dear Miss Hastings, I beg you not to 
 tire yourself reading aloud to me, let me fin 
 ish the article," and sitting down by her Rod 
 man read on. 
 
 "The jury brought in a verdict of murder
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 in the first degree; the sentence, life impris 
 onment, and the prisoner himself had not 
 understood one word of his trial! Did you 
 ever hear of anything more preposterous? 
 The poor fellow, Grijalva, I believe is his 
 name, told the Mexican lawyer that he knew 
 nothing about the killing, had never seen 
 the murdered man in his life, and that he 
 was perfectly innocent. Think of a panel of 
 jurors declaring the man guilty simply be 
 cause he is a Mexican, and the man who 
 stabbed the American is a Mexican!" 
 
 Throwing down the paper Rodman turn 
 ed to Carolyn. "What do you think of it, 
 Miss Hastings? It seems to me it is time 
 that something was being done to expose the 
 criminal carelessness and indifference of our 
 courts something without delay." 
 
 "Doubtless," responded Carolyn. "It is 
 pathetic that he doesn t understand English. 
 But these Mexicans are a very unreliable set 
 of people. Everyone tells me that their word 
 cannot be depended upon at all. I must con- 
 116
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 fess to feeling little interest or sympathy 
 toward them. They have always seemed to 
 me a degenerate race. That man Ybarrando 
 is the only good specimen I have met, and he 
 is an exception, I am confident. But between 
 him and myself I feel a difference, a chasm 
 as wide as the sea itself." 
 
 "Pshaw!" exclaimed Rodman. "It s all 
 prejudice based upon the fact of his skin 
 being olive instead of white. It s nothing 
 deeper than this. I have conversed with 
 Ybarrando for hours at a time, and he has 
 more mind, more thinking power and origin 
 ality than any Harvard graduate I know." 
 
 Rodman s manner was so sweeping and 
 assured that Carolyn was put on her mettle. 
 
 "I said that he is an exception. But 
 toward the majority I feel much as I do 
 toward a Chinaman," returned Carolyn. 
 
 "And how do you feel toward a China 
 man?" directly demanded Rodman. 
 
 Carolyn glanced up disdainfully. "How 
 do I feel? Why, I feel superior, above him 
 117
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 in race and in development." 
 
 "We haven t gone so very far in advance 
 of Confucius and Brahmanism as one would 
 suppose." 
 
 Deliberately drawing from his pocket a 
 note-book, Rodman said, "Listen to this, 
 Miss Hastings, as an example of ancient 
 Egyptian ethics : Not a little child did I in 
 jure. Not a widow did I oppress. Not a 
 herdsman did I ill-treat. There was no beg 
 gar in my days; no one starved in my time. 
 And when the years of famine came I plow 
 ed all the lands of the province to its north 
 ern and southern boundaries, feeding its in 
 habitants and providing them food. Now 
 and then I like to read this over, comparing 
 it with the modern competitive spirit." 
 
 "As to the Mexican," continued Rodman, 
 "you must not forget that he is the offspring 
 of one branch of the Caucasian people the 
 Spaniard; and that behind him rises also a 
 civilization, Aztec, or whatever it may be 
 called, hinting of a culture and development 
 118
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 which in some respects were comparable to 
 that of the old Egyptians." 
 
 Rodman rose to go. 
 
 "A visit to old Mexico would open your 
 eyes, Miss Hastings. They are a splendid 
 people, with a repose and courtesy that we 
 should do well to emulate." 
 
 Looking out into the sunny patio, he went 
 on. "When one realizes that barely fifty 
 years ago this entire country belonged to the 
 Mexicans or Californians, as they preferred 
 to be called; that they dwelt here on their 
 vast ranches in patriarchal style, owning 
 leagues of land and thousands of horses and 
 cattle, entertaining stranger and friend alike 
 with a lavish hospitality unexampled; and 
 that now these people are practically exter 
 minated, it is one of the most pathetic race- 
 tragedies in history." 
 
 As he finished his dissertation, Ruth re 
 turned, holding the cane carefully in her fin 
 gers. 
 
 "I think it will hold well. I ve mended 
 119
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ever so many things with this glue," she said, 
 as Mr. Rodman took it from her. 
 
 "Ah ! Miss Ruth, you are my good angel. 
 I wouldn t have broken that little cane for a 
 great deal," and he began to examine it. 
 "It s beautifully done, thank you heartily." 
 
 The two women followed him to the ve 
 randa. 
 
 "I ve tired your sister to death haranguing 
 on my old hobby the Race-question," said 
 Rodman looking anxiously toward Miss Hast 
 ings. 
 
 "I m not at all tired, but fear that I shall 
 never see with your eyes. Black is black and 
 white is white; there is an insurmountable 
 difference," insisted Carolyn as Rodman 
 walked away. 
 
 Late in the afternoon Ruth went up to her 
 sister s room, the upper chamber formerly oc 
 cupied by Don Dolores. Carolyn had eaten 
 no luncheon and had said that she wanted 
 to rest and to be alone. Ruth ventured to 
 knock and a petulant voice said, "Come." 
 1 20
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "What is the matter, dear?" asked Ruth 
 bending over Carolyn s couch. "You are not 
 well and you are hiding it from me. Let me 
 send Anita for the doctor." 
 
 "No, no, it s nothing serious. I must have 
 overdone this morning," replied Carolyn, 
 burying her face in the pillows and sobbing 
 quietly. 
 
 The talk with Mr. Rodman came back to 
 Ruth, something told her that neither indis 
 position nor neuralgia was now the cause of 
 Carolyn s tears. Had Mr. Rodman pro 
 posed, and had her sister rejected him? 
 
 "Ruth, why are you so interested in that 
 Mexican Ybarrando? wailed the voice from 
 the couch. "You and Mr. Rodman are ac 
 tually ill-balanced upon the Race-question. 
 That Luzon school teacher is posing, I haven t 
 any idea that she really cares for those Fili 
 pinos, her letters all have a note of sentimen 
 tality. I think that she is simply forcing her 
 way into the affections of Mr. Rodman. I 
 wish," and Carolyn buried her face deeper in 
 121
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the cushions, "that you hadn t mended that 
 cane this morning!" 
 
 At this concluding outburst, both women 
 broke into a laugh. Carolyn s was hysterical 
 and mingled with tears; Ruth s full of amuse 
 ment. 
 
 "Carolyn," said Ruth, "the idea of your 
 being jealous of a little old New England 
 school-mistress, who is sacrificing her last 
 days to those poor children in Luzon, fie ! fie ! 
 But tell me, dear, is it true that Mr. Rodman 
 may have hope ? Now, listen, it was only this 
 morning that he told me he loved you; but 
 was timid about proposing to you." 
 
 Carolyn instantly roused herself, her gray 
 eyes brightening and her shapely white fingers 
 nervously clutching the shawl. "Ruth dear 
 est, did he, and what did you say?" 
 
 "I told him that he must not ask questions 
 of me, but come directly to you, or something 
 of that sort," and the younger woman put her 
 arms soothingly about the other s neck. 
 
 "Oh, Ruth, I m so very, very happy," and 
 122
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 sobbing with joy Carolyn arose as if fresh 
 vitality had been put into her limbs. Walking 
 across the room to the dressing table, she be 
 gan to arrange the braids of her thin grayish 
 hair. 
 
 Carolyn Hastings, an invalid of forty, was 
 in spite of years and hypochondria, a hand 
 some woman. Neither medicines nor dietary 
 regime had succeeded in destroying the trans 
 parent complexion of her finely featured face ; 
 and her large gray eyes, limpid and oval, 
 would have been beautiful, if their expression 
 had not been one of discontent and ennui. 
 This self-weariness betrayed itself most 
 strongly in her voice, which was always quer 
 ulous and sometimes peevish. A slight 
 spinal trouble made her conscious of her fig 
 ure, and had emphasized a natural stiffness 
 of bearing into almost an arrogance of man 
 ner. In entering a room, or often in con 
 versation, she had a habit of throwing back 
 her head after the fashion of a finely bred 
 animal about to go on the track. Carolyn 
 123
 
 cultivated exclusiveness. From the style of 
 her costly garments to her inclination toward 
 extremely high church, she was fastidious. 
 
 The one passion of her life was her love for 
 Ruth, who had been left at eighteen months 
 old without a mother. The elder sister, then 
 entering into womanhood, took the mother s 
 place. Later, Carolyn s illness and long years 
 in a sanitorium, had separated them. 
 
 At the time of banker Hastings death, the 
 invalid Carolyn came back home to live. It 
 was the making of a new acquaintanceship 
 the reunion of the sisters. In intellectual de 
 velopment Ruth had outstripped the elder 
 woman; Carolyn resumed the duties of home 
 life with all the ways and limitations of the 
 invalid, and conducted her household much 
 after the plan of a private sanitorium. Ruth s 
 friends pitied her, and rejoiced when the win 
 ters carried her away from the quiet home 
 and growing responsibilities. 
 
 Between these sisters there was not the 
 usual New England reserve, at least, Caro- 
 124
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 lyn told Ruth all her thoughts. Carolyn had 
 to tell somebody her thoughts. Her feeling 
 for Mr. Rodman, which had been steadily 
 growing, was less of a feeling to her because 
 she had not spoken about it to Ruth. 
 
 But since the time that Carolyn, in anger 
 had upbraided Gerald Woodbridge for his 
 departure, and had been silenced by Ruth, she 
 had been cultivating reserve. 
 
 Today, however, the flood-gates of Caro 
 lyn s pent up emotion burst, and Ruth laughed 
 and rejoiced in the joy of the invalid. 
 
 Presently Ruth slipped quietly out of the 
 room, unobserved by Carolyn self-absorbed 
 before the looking-glass. 
 
 In the deepening twilight she went out into 
 the patio. Under the datura, where she and 
 Lsteban had talked a month ago, she sat 
 down. Carolyn s joy set Ruth s soul astir. 
 She began comparing Rodman and Wood- 
 bridge; she thought of Rodman s boyish fer 
 vour and tried to remember if Woodbridge 
 had ever been so ardent; she wondered at 
 125
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 herself for being so unrequiring in the past 
 and questioned had she demanded more, 
 would it have been given her. An inner voice 
 said that Woodbridge was not in possession 
 of that for which her heart most longed. But 
 she would not give birth to this deadly con 
 jecture. 
 
 All day a dozen Mexicans had been clear 
 ing out a small arroyo behind the adobe. 
 Esteban had come out to pay them and, re 
 turning, passed by the ranch house. He 
 longed to go in, but could find no provoca 
 tion. Suddenly he remembered that Miss 
 Carolyn must be told that the painters would 
 be there the last of the week. Going into the 
 patio, he thought he heard a woman s voice 
 a sob? Stopping, he turned, and would 
 have retreated; but something in the sound 
 stayed him. Esteban s ear was familiar with 
 the note of distress; from the wild things 
 in the canons and mountains, he knew well 
 the cry of dread and alarm. This sound was 
 ah ! how different 1 It asked no relief, it was 
 126
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 self-contained, full of tragic, human pathos. 
 He came a step nearer, instantly the sound 
 ceased, and moving quickly away, Ybarran- 
 do went into the house by way of the garden. 
 
 Young Anita opened the old familiar 
 door. "Is Miss Hastings at home?" he 
 asked in Spanish. 
 
 "Si, Senor," and the girl motioned him in. 
 
 As she disappeared, Esteban stood gaz 
 ing about at the old sala that had been trans 
 formed into a Boston drawing-room. For 
 a moment his eyes were blinded and the ob 
 jects on the mantel shelf were indistinct. 
 
 "Senorita Hastings cannot see you, but 
 she told me to call Senorita Ruth," said Ani 
 ta, as she turned toward the patio. 
 
 Fiercely catching her by the arm Ybar- 
 rando said, "Wait, do not go, it will do to 
 tell you." 
 
 The young girl darted an angry glance at 
 him. 
 
 "Say to Miss Hastings that Senor Ybar- 
 rando left word that the painters would be 
 127
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 here on Thursday, buenas noches," and be 
 fore Anita could respond, Esteban had dis 
 appeared. 
 
 As his step left the veranda, Ruth came in 
 from the patio, with flushed face and lips set 
 more bitterly than ever. 
 
 "Senorita Ruth," said Anita, "Senor 
 Ybarrando was here to say that the painters 
 would be here on Thursday." 
 
 It was Esteban Ybarrando s footsteps 
 then, that she had heard in the patio. Ruth 
 sat down before the little fireplace and wait 
 ed for Carolyn to come to dinner. The mag 
 azine in her hands lay unopened, uncut; her 
 mind turned doggedly away from her own 
 gnawing grief to the Mexican in his poverty 
 and loneliness; her thoughts grew vivid and 
 her sympathies alive, as looking about the 
 sala, she recalled the appearance of the room 
 the evening she had come there with Este 
 ban. Not a vestige remained of the original 
 belongings; it was so elegant and comfort 
 able, so American, and unlike the simplicity 
 128
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and bareness of the old room. 
 
 "He must despise it all," she said to her 
 self. "I wonder he can endure being about 
 the place. It seems a sort of presumption 
 for us to be living here; only money makes 
 it ours, it is theirs by right," and in her heart 
 she longed to make some reparation. 
 
 During dinner Carolyn said, "Ruth, I 
 think that we are allowing Senor Ybarrando 
 to make too many changes. The rent we 
 are paying is almost nominal. We should 
 pay for having the painting done ourselves." 
 Ruth caught eagerly at the suggestion and 
 wrote to Esteban in the morning. 
 
 129
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 visit of Esteban and la Ameri 
 cana to la Piedra Blanca rancho 
 resulted disastrously to the 
 Ybarrando household. The next 
 morning Dona Sacramento did 
 not get up at the usual hour. At last ven 
 turing into her room, Francisca found her 
 aunt fast asleep. She spoke to her, whisper 
 ed closely at her ear, yet there was no re 
 sponse. She lay very still. Dona Sacramen 
 to had never looked so pale. 
 
 The girl alarmed ran out into the patio, 
 where she met Pedro, who had come to bring 
 the promised shell. Following Francisca 
 back into the house, he glanced at the stark 
 figure of the old Dona and fled from the 
 room in terror. 
 
 "Don t you know, Francisca, that Dona 
 Sacramento is dead!" cried Pedro in awe- 
 stricken tones, "and you here alone!" he 
 130
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 added. 
 
 "Pedro, Dona Sacramento can t be dead. 
 Only last night she sat here and talked. Run 
 for Doctor Vejar, he will know," said Fran- 
 cisca in Spanish. 
 
 Pedro looked scornfully at her. "Vejar 
 can t do anything. I ll go for the priest. 
 Come along with me, can t you?" and Pedro 
 cast a superstitious glance at Dona Sacra 
 mento s door. 
 
 "Leave tilito ! no, Pedro Vejar, I m not 
 afraid. Go at once and bring Doctor 
 Vejar," and abruptly leaving him, Francisca 
 went back into the adobe and upstairs to see 
 if Don Dolores were awake. 
 
 Doctor Vejar said that Dona Sacramento 
 had broken a blood vessel at the base of the 
 brain and that death had been painless. 
 
 The sudden death of his wife and the re 
 moval from the rancho to his son s small 
 house in the city had had a serious effect 
 upon Don Dolores. He had lost the use of 
 his left limb and was sometimes almost help-
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 less. 
 
 Francisca, his sister s child, had been de 
 votion itself on the rancho, but the gaiety of 
 the city turned the young girl s head the 
 close life grew irksome. Only her affection 
 for her uncle an instinct from childhood, 
 and her growing passion for Esteban, made 
 life endurable. 
 
 Two or three evenings of the week and on 
 Sunday, Esteban came to see Don Dolores. 
 He gave his brother, Julio Ybarrando, 
 money both for his father and for Francisca, 
 and he always brought Francisca something. 
 
 The tie of blood was strong with the 
 Ybarrandos. Esteban loved his cousin. 
 Francisca s extraordinary beauty could not 
 pass unnoticed by the dullest, least suscept 
 ible of the other sex. Now Esteban was 
 neither dull nor wanting in susceptibility; he 
 was blind to this woman because another 
 woman s face was always before him, yet 
 now and then he found himself admiring 
 her; one day as they sat by Don Dolores 
 132
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 chair, he caught himself gazing intently at 
 her. The grace of her slender shoulders, 
 the outlines of her piquant face, the droop 
 of the long dark lashes as she sat over the 
 bit of drawnwork, charmed him. The fas 
 cination was momentary. 
 
 Often Francisca sang to Don Dolores, 
 sometimes it put him to sleep. Of late the 
 songs had been plaintive, wild Spanish songs. 
 Had Esteban been responsive he might have 
 noticed that the innocent look was gone 
 from the wide brown eyes. 
 
 Julio Ybarrando had assisted with the 
 nursing of his father, but he had been called 
 north to oversee one of the great ranchos. 
 Esteban was obliged to find someone to re 
 lieve Francisca. Young Pedro Vejar had 
 come to the city and was making an uncer 
 tain livelihood at selling shells. Esteban 
 came upon him one day and engaged him as 
 night nurse for Don Dolores. 
 
 Joy overflowed the Irish-Mexican s heart 
 at the thought of living so near the peerless
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Francisca. Vejar was glad to have him ac 
 cept this new position, glad because of the 
 wages it would bring, and glad to have out 
 of his sight Pedro the ever present re 
 minder of his unfortunate daughter. 
 
 Several weeks had gone by since Pedro 
 had taken up his new duties. Old Vejar sat 
 in his shop, his keen black eyes riveted upon 
 the evening paper. 
 
 For the seventh time he had read one item 
 under official news The Grijalva Trial. 
 
 Grijalva was one of the myriad peons se 
 cretly shipped over the border for the South 
 ern Pacific Railroad Company. In the past 
 few months Vejar had been looking up this 
 business. He discovered that the peons were 
 outwitted on every hand and underpaid. Fol 
 lowing them to the Company s store, he had 
 seen that short measure and meanest cloth 
 ing were supplied to them. 
 
 Tonight the situation was grievous. Gri 
 jalva was sentenced to a living death, and 
 
 34
 
 there was every proof of his innocence. All 
 that there was to connect him with the killing, 
 was the fact that the night the murder was 
 committed a policeman had come upon Gri- 
 jalva half asleep in a doorway with a knife 
 on his person ! 
 
 As Vejar read and reread the facts, several 
 Mexicans had strolled into the shop, taking 
 possession of the stray stools and chairs near 
 the counter. 
 
 Vejar s shop was a rendezvous for the dis 
 affected. In the rude chamber over the shop 
 there was always a cot ready for an unfortun 
 ate brother Mexican. 
 
 "The Lawl" hissed out Vejar, "we know 
 what the Law will do," and Vejar looked up 
 from his newspaper, pausing to be sure that 
 he had the ears of his small audience. 
 
 "You recollect what the Law did with 
 Lobo the Portugese," he sneered in Spanish. 
 "That proved once for all what an American 
 judge will stoop to"- 
 
 "Go on, Vejar, let s have it all," cried Pe- 
 
 35
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 rez, speaking for his companions, who slowly 
 smoked away, their dark eyes fastened upon 
 Vejar. 
 
 Coming from behind the counter Vejar 
 walked up and down before the company, ges 
 ticulating and pulling his fingers until they 
 cracked. 
 
 "This case is similar, only much worse. 
 Grijalva can t speak or understand a single 
 word of English. He did not know what the 
 court was saying when his petition for a new 
 trial was denied. He did not know what was 
 going to happen to him when they motioned 
 him to stand up," and Vejar laughed de 
 risively. 
 
 The group was now intent and eager. 
 
 In the dimly lighted shop, Vejar s heavy 
 figure looked portentous. He had a long head 
 and closely cropped black hair. His neck was 
 short and bovine and his skin was dark 
 almost black. Moorish blood, not Indian, 
 coursed through his veins, as excited, revenge 
 ful, he leaned for a moment against the parti- 
 136
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 tion the incarnation of festering malignity. 
 
 "An appeal may be taken!" Vejar lifted 
 his eyebrows and grinned sardonically at his 
 fellow-Mexicans. 
 
 "I haven t watched these American inter 
 lopers all these years for nothing, 1 he went 
 on. They hav 7 e succeeded in killing off all 
 the old families and now they re commenc 
 ing on the peons. Thieves and murderers the 
 whole pack of them ! Take yonder Ybar- 
 rando rancho. Not one foot of the land 
 is in the family today, yesterday the last acre 
 was sold to some people a man by the name 
 of Rodman. They rented the place for a 
 year, then decided to buy the old adobe one 
 of the best preserved in the country. They 
 paid a song for it, knowing it was worth twice 
 as much. Mortgages and unjust lawyer s fees 
 have wiped out the thirty-two thousand acres. 
 A few years ago, the Southern Pacific gob 
 bled a big slice and never paid Don Dolores 
 a single penny. The old man has often told 
 me how they opened a quarry on the rancho, 
 
 137
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and never gave him a dollar for the stone they 
 took out," as Vejar finished his voice trem 
 bled with vindictiveness. 
 
 Going to the counter he began doling ciga 
 rettes to the men as they passed out. They 
 continued talking of the Grijalva case, Perez 
 declaring that a Mexican didn t begin to have 
 the hearing that a Chinaman has, and that 
 Grijalva would be condemned undoubtedly. 
 
 As the last Mexican disappeared Pedro Ve 
 jar came into the doorway. 
 
 "Julio Ybarrando came down for the night 
 and they let me off," said Pedro as his grand 
 father expressed surprise at seeing him. 
 
 "It s a good thing, perhaps, for Julio 
 Ybarrando and his family that the rancho 
 has been sold; and you ll get better pay now, 
 Pedro," said Vejar in Spanish as he put the 
 lamps in the window. 
 
 "The paper says it went for two thousand. 
 
 It was worth twice as much with that adobe, 
 
 which will last for another hundred years. 
 
 Don Benignio built most of it with his own 
 
 138
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hands. I remember when the old man lived 
 there. I seem to have been dreaming a bad 
 dream ever since. Don Benignio was the 
 grandfather of Julio and Esteban. He came 
 from the city of Mexico, had been an Indian 
 trader, traveled as far east as Kansas and 
 knew fifteen different Indian dialects. His 
 wife was a Spanish girl, the daughter of old 
 Don Ricardo Preciado. She owned all the 
 land for leagues about here. Today her 
 grandchildren are as poor as you and I are." 
 
 Vejar opened a door in the partition, be 
 hind which were two cots. 
 
 "I understand that one of the ladies at the 
 ranch-house is going to marry the Superinten 
 dent where Esteban works. He s the same one 
 who struck oil on the rancho. They say he is 
 worth millions, has large mines in Mexico. 
 The evening paper says that he leaves for 
 Sonora tomorrow. They ve got the bubonic 
 plague there ; pity a lot of these Gringos don t 
 take it and die off like rats!" With this 
 venomous thrust, Vejar dropped off to sleep. 
 139
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Pedro, always dumb when Vejar spoke, 
 had undressed and tumbled into his cot. But 
 the young fellow could not sleep. He was 
 planning how he might raise money enough 
 to buy a certain breastpin for Francisca. He 
 had heard her tell of one that she had seen in 
 a shop window. 
 
 Pedro thought Francisca very restless; he 
 didn t like to see her running out of nights 
 with the American girls; she was rarely with 
 out the white chalk on her face these days 
 such were the thoughts that jumbled them 
 selves together in the never too clear brain 
 of the simple-hearted Pedro as at last he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The two young people had lately had many 
 a happy hour together by the chair of old 
 Don Dolores. The girl Francisca was as 
 great and beautiful a mystery to Pedro as the 
 blessed Virgin herself, only so much more 
 adorable; for the Holy Mother, beautiful as 
 she was, couldn t joke and talk as did Fran 
 cisca. 
 
 140
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "I ve become quite a rustler, Pedro," said 
 Francisca one evening, gliding swiftly into 
 Don Dolores room to say good-night to him 
 before she went out to a dance in Sonora- 
 town. 
 
 "I ve got the promise of a job, no cheap 
 John business either, a real lady s job, in a 
 tailor s shop uptown, where they make suits 
 for the bon ton-senoritas," and flaunting her 
 pretty head before a small looking-glass she 
 adjusted her large white hat, from which 
 floated pink satin ribbons. 
 
 His mouth wide open, Pedro sat stunned. 
 
 "A job!" he ejaculated after a moment. 
 "There s no need that I can see, of your go 
 ing out in them Jew shops to wait on las 
 Gringos, you re needed here." 
 
 Francisca was slowly buttoning up her long 
 white glove, "Now don t tell, Pedro, promise 
 me, and I ll let you bring me home tonight 
 and then tell you more about it. I must meet 
 the man who wants me to work, so I must 
 hurry," and stooping over, she gently kissed 
 141
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Don Dolores, who sat half asleep with eyes 
 closed. 
 
 The grace and beauty of the girl and the 
 mellifluous tones of her voice were a pathetic 
 contrast to the bold looks and coarse slang 
 that she had acquired since she had come to 
 the city. 
 
 Day by day Francisca longed to be free. 
 She was greatly pleased when her little cousin 
 Esperanza relieved her in the forenoons so 
 that she might take the work at the tailor s. 
 She was careful that Esteban should know 
 nothing of this; as for Don Dolores, he sat 
 in a stupor most of the time, unconscious of 
 the life going and coming about him. 
 
 Francisca received a fine return for her 
 work, which was the fitting of jackets and 
 coats. Half of her money she gave to her 
 cousin, the rest she used for finery to adorn 
 herself when she went out in the evening. 
 
 On Pedro s return to the city he related to 
 Francisca all the news that Vejar had drop 
 ped. 
 
 142
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Your uncle ought to have gotten twice 
 as much for the old place," said Pedro look 
 ing sympathetically at the girl. 
 
 Francisca made no comment, and appeared 
 to take little interest in what he was saying 
 until he happened to mention the fact of 
 Woodbridge s departure for Sonora ; then she 
 became suddenly eager and began asking all 
 sorts of irrelevant questions, that Pedro could 
 not answer. The next night, when he came 
 on duty, Pedro was further mystified. Fran 
 cisca drew him into the alcove by the window, 
 and said very deliberately, "Pedro I m going 
 to watch tonight, I want you to do something 
 for me, will you?" and she leaned over him 
 enticingly. 
 
 "We hate los Americanos, don t we?" she 
 asked as preliminary. 
 
 Pedro nodded assent and Francisca went 
 on in Spanish. 
 
 "They steal our lands, they take our houses 
 for nothing ; they insult us to our faces they 
 call themselves white people ; the 
 
 143
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 men, nice American men won t look at us"- 
 
 At this Pedro burst forth "The pale vil 
 lains! they had better not" 
 
 "Be quiet, Pedro, be quiet and listen to me. 
 I want to play a bad joke on that man who is 
 in love with Miss Hastings. Let us write 
 him a letter that will scare him, telling him 
 cousin Esteban loves her. It will make him 
 want to kill Esteban, but he won t be able to; 
 for listen, Pedro, now listen, you are to give 
 the note to him as he is already on his way 
 to Mexico. You can do it only listen to 
 me," and she sat down on the rug near Pe 
 dro s chair with a sheet of paper on her lap 
 and began to con over something that \vas 
 written in Spanish. 
 
 Pedro s eyes grew merry, and he chuckled 
 softly to himself. What better proof could 
 he have of Francisca s liking for him than 
 her permitting him to enjoy such a fine joke 
 on Esteban, of whom he had been jealous 
 these many years? Esteban would lose his 
 job when Woodbridge got back. Good for 
 144
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 him ! What right had he hanging around los 
 Gringos? 
 
 Francisca handed the carefully written 
 sheet of paper to Pedro. "Now Pedro, dear, 
 make this into English and write it in your 
 handsome letters. I ll read it slowly to you," 
 and she repeated in her soft voice : 
 
 "Apreciable Caballero: Con su permiso 
 me torno la libertad de abrir los ojos un 
 amante. Las circustancias me han propor- 
 cionado hacer conocimiento la Senorita Hast 
 ings que sin duda esta calificada por todos los 
 que la conocen de hermosa y con todos los 
 prendos de education y talente* que la caract- 
 eriza. 
 
 "Bien su protejido Ybarrando un desco- 
 nocido Mejicano esta perdida de amor por 
 ella. Manifesta la mayor deferencia hacia la 
 bonita joven; y aun roba para hacerle rega- 
 los. 
 
 "No sera estrana que se casen a desapa- 
 rescan uno de estos dios. Mi opinion esque 
 es unperdonable en una senorita que esta com- 
 145
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 prometida y un joven que deve a Ud tantos 
 favores. 
 
 "Esperendo que Ud ponga termino a estas 
 iniquidades lo mas pronto posible. 
 
 "S. S. S. Misterio." 
 
 When she had finished reading, both 
 laughed aloud, "You re a good one Francisca, 
 cute enough to be a detective. "I ll get you a 
 silver star," said Pedro in Spanish. 
 
 "A beautiful composition! I must teach 
 you the English," and taking the paper from 
 her, he set diligently to work translating. Pe 
 dro s training in the priest s school stood him 
 in good stead at this critical moment; and 
 his Irish gift in the use of large words never 
 availed him better. As he labored over the 
 translation, endeavoring to compass the elon 
 gated Spanish sentences into the concise Eng 
 lish, the perspiration stood out on his freckled 
 face and his bright necktie crept over his col 
 lar. He wrote clearly in immense flourishes, 
 carefully shading every letter. 
 146
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 While Francisca waited, she impatiently 
 tapped her foot on the rug, and once got up 
 and walked to and fro before her uncle s 
 chair, glancing anxiously toward the clock. At 
 last she went out into the hall and got Pedro s 
 big black hat. 
 
 "It s done, and a good job I ve made of it 
 too," and Pedro held up the large sheet of 
 paper. "Let me read it over to you" : 
 
 "Dear Sir, With your permission, I take 
 the liberty of opening the eyes of a lover. 
 Circumstances have placed me in the position 
 of becoming acquainted with Miss Hastings, 
 who without doubt is qualified by all who 
 know her as very beautiful, with all the ac 
 complishments of education and talent. 
 
 "Your dependent Ybarrando, an unknown 
 Mexican is dead in love with her. He shows 
 all deference toward the lovely young lady, 
 even steals to make her presents. 
 
 "It would not be a wonder that they would 
 get married or disappear one of these days. I 
 am of the opinion that it is unpardonable in 
 147
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 a young lady who is engaged, and a young 
 man who is indebted to you for so many fa 
 vors. 
 
 "Expecting that you will put an end to 
 these iniquities as soon as it is possible, 
 "Your devoted servant, 
 
 "Mysterio." 
 
 As he finished, Francisca seized the paper 
 and putting it hastily in an envelope, handed 
 Pedro his hat. "Now you must run, Pedro, 
 and catch the next car. 1 
 
 "I want something first," he replied, plant 
 ing himself stolidly before her, looking sheep 
 ishly into her eyes. 
 
 She let the awkward fellow reach up and 
 kiss her, quickly brushing her cheek, as he 
 stumbled out into the narrow dark hall and 
 down stairs. 
 
 "Go through all the cars, and don t miss 
 him, Pedro, I ll never, never forgive you if 
 you do !" she whispered loudly to him as he 
 closed the door. 
 
 148
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WOODBRIDGE and Rodman 
 had very little in common. 
 Born in the same community, 
 belonging to the same social 
 set, educated at the same uni 
 versity; yet they did not speak the same 
 language of the heart. Woodbridge s west 
 ern experience may have had something to do 
 with this uncongeniality; but even if their 
 lives had been spent closely together in Bos 
 ton, their paths must have been very diver 
 gent. Propinquity and place cannot bridge 
 over the abysses of the spirit. 
 
 It would take something more than his 
 union with the sister of Woodbridge s be 
 trothed to induce Rodman to like Wood- 
 bridge. He felt it his duty to tell him at once 
 of his engagement to Carolyn Hastings, and 
 of their intended marriage at the holidays. 
 This brought Rodman to Woodbridge s of- 
 149
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ficc. It was noon of the day that Wood- 
 bridge would leave for Sonora. He had 
 spent the morning giving orders to Ybarran- 
 do, and the two men were starting out to 
 luncheon when Rodman appeared. 
 
 "I thought that I might have fifteen min 
 utes with you, I m sorry to disturb you at all, 
 but I have something I want to speak to you 
 about of great importance importance to 
 me at least," and the elderly gentleman s face 
 broke into a boyish smile. 
 
 Looking up quizzically and putting some 
 papers into his pocket, Woodbridge said, 
 "Glad to see you Rodman, just wait until I 
 show Ybarrando the combination of this new 
 safe." 
 
 "Ha! he is making you his confidential sec 
 retary?" said Rodman, greeting Ybarrando, 
 and standing in the doorway, his back turned 
 while the two men discussed this point, and 
 that number. 
 
 Ybarrando went off quietly and as he disap 
 peared, Rodman remarked, "An exceptionally 
 150
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 fine type of the Mexican; integrity, faithful 
 ness, and indomitable pride under that olive 
 skin." 
 
 "Yes, he s a trusty fellow, I ve never found 
 in him the slightest crookedness, accounts per 
 fect to a penny. He has a lot of brain too, 
 digs at scientific subjects that I m afraid to 
 touch. This morning I came pretty near let 
 ting him go to the mines instead of myself. 
 He wanted to go; there s likely to be insu 
 bordination here amongst the Americans; they 
 abominate having Mexicans around and have 
 worked underhandedly to get Ybarrando s po 
 sition. Once, I sent him away for a week and 
 took an American in his place, but he hadn t 
 the mind to accomplish the work and ran off 
 with two hundred dollars one pay day that 
 ended the matter. I took Ybarrando back, 
 and now the Americans are forced to respect 
 and obey him. He is faithful as a dog." 
 
 Woodbridge drawled the last sentence in a 
 way that made Rodman frown. Rodman nev 
 er exacted fidelity of anyone.
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "It seems to me it would be a good thing to 
 send him. I think Miss Ruth could urge a 
 good case in favor of his going," as Rodman 
 spoke he looked keenly at Woodbridge. 
 
 "Perhaps I m particularly sympathetic just 
 now; for I ve come to tell you, Woodbridge, 
 that Miss Carolyn Hastings and I shall be 
 united in marriage two weeks from today, and 
 we wanted you to be best man. Carolyn 
 thought that her sister would appreciate this 
 attention." 
 
 "Too bad, too bad," said Woodbridge. 
 
 "Too bad it is that we re getting in ahead 
 of you and Miss Ruth, isn t it? But I count 
 this the most important act of my life one 
 that I can t procastinate. It s a mystery to 
 me how you and Miss Ruth could be 
 engaged for five years, five years isn t it?" 
 asked Rodman. 
 
 "No it s seven now," and there was the 
 faintest note of disappointment in Wood- 
 bridge s voice. 
 
 "Well seven s a lucky number," continued
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Rodman, "perhaps the New Year will see 
 you man and wife, I sincerely hope so. To 
 tell you the truth, Woodbridge, I don t think 
 that Ruth Hastings has her equal ; few women 
 would have endured such a test." 
 
 "We have not put it off of our own ac 
 cord," returned Woodbridge dryly. Some 
 how one circumstance after another has hin 
 dered us. You see Rodman, you re differently 
 situated. I have had to work, and work hard 
 to reach this point. Of course I m comfort 
 able now; but five hundred thousand is a bag 
 atelle when one can make his millions in these 
 Mexican mines; and make it easily too, the 
 only requirement being a man s presence now 
 and then, and a good slice of ready money to 
 keep things going yes, I ve got to be on 
 hand," said Woodbridge emphatically. 
 
 "I m really sorry that you won t be on hand 
 for the twenty- fourth," acquiesced Rodman, 
 who had recognized long ago the futility of 
 urging Woodbridge out of his course. 
 
 "The twenty-fourth?" said Woodbridge 
 
 153
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 evincing a little interest, "Why I believe that 
 was the day that Ruth set some six months 
 ago for our wedding, I m not sure, it may 
 have been the twenty-third, it was to be about 
 Christmas time." 
 
 As he talked he wrapped a second cigarette 
 in his long white fingers and quickened his 
 pace. 
 
 "Come in Rodman and have some luncheon 
 and then we shall both go over to the ranch. 
 I planned to spend this afternoon with Miss 
 Ruth." 
 
 "Thanks, I have an engagement to meet 
 Miss Hastings in town at two this afternoon, 
 and must be off at once," and the usually de 
 liberate Rodman glanced hastily at his watch 
 and ran toward the station. 
 
 At luncheon, Woodbridge remembered that 
 he had forgotten some important papers, and 
 the return to the office to get them cost him 
 the afternoon with Ruth. He missed the two 
 
 o clock train to the ranch. 
 ******* 
 
 154
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Since their conversation at La Concha 
 months ago, Woodbridge had gone into the 
 Kern River Valley to follow up some oil de 
 velopments; thus postponing his trip to the 
 mines until December, and making it impos 
 sible to have the wedding for weeks to come 
 perhaps months. 
 
 Ruth sat waiting for him on the sunny ve 
 randa. This latest postponement of their mar 
 riage had gone deeply with Ruth. The wom 
 an s nature, first patient, self-suppressed, al 
 ways palliative, now recoiled. 
 
 This afternoon as she got up two or three 
 times to speak to Carolyn or to look at the 
 clock, there was something defiant in her man 
 ner. During her acquaintanceship with 
 Woodbridge, she had had a way of imag 
 ining scenes between herself and her lover- 
 scenes that were never acted. Ruth s dra 
 matic instincts had found no incentive in 
 Woodbridge; the verve, the spirit of the girl 
 were kept at bay. In his presence her feeling 
 was scarcely one of fear, neither was it one 
 155
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 of timidity; it was more that of powerlessness 
 to make any impression. She felt toward his 
 petrifying emotional life much in the same 
 way as a physician feels toward a patient with 
 slow paralysis. 
 
 Today she was playing again her scene, As 
 she walked up and down in the sunshine on 
 the old veranda, she had never seemed more 
 comely; her golden hair covered her with its 
 radiance and the flowing outlines of her girl 
 ish figure were brought into relief by the sim 
 ple white dress, but the little hands were 
 clenched and the sweet brown eyes flashed 
 with indignation. 
 
 Woodbridge s quick stride startled her. She 
 stood still and her color came and went. 
 
 "It s a great shame, 1 he said, taking out 
 his watch and putting a perfunctory kiss upon 
 her forehead. "I had no idea that I should 
 be so rushed; but you know how it is at the 
 last moment, a fellow has a hundred and one 
 things to do ; unfortunately I had to go back 
 for some papers." 
 
 156
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Oh, of course, I know how much you 
 had to do, I ought not to have expected you 
 sooner, it was rather absurd of me," there was 
 anger mingled with sarcasm in her words. 
 
 "It really couldn t be helped, Ruth," re 
 monstrated Woodbridge. "If it were not for 
 that Mexican Ybarrando, I really shouldn t 
 be able to go at all, he is thoroughly depend 
 able obeys me to the letter." 
 
 "This morning Rodman came in to tell me 
 about the wedding. So he has bought this 
 old adobe," Woodbridge hit the thick walls 
 with his boot. "Like iron isn t it? I don t 
 especially admire his taste no conveniences, 
 no electric lights or gas. Just like Rodman, 
 though an odd fellow, most people would 
 call him a crank. By the way Ruth, I told 
 Ybarrando to come over now and then on 
 Sundays, but don t let him bore you." 
 
 At the mention of Ybarrando s name, Ruth 
 interposed a word, 
 
 "He never bores me. I like him very much. 
 But I should think it would make him unhap- 
 
 157
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 py to visit us here, when they once owned it 
 all, and now have not a foot of ground left." 
 
 Woodbridge laughed impatiently. "Ruth I 
 never knew a woman so completely given over 
 to sentiment. Why these Mexicans will do 
 anything for a little money; to give a dance 
 or buy a horse, they think nothing of selling 
 off an acre or two. All the grants have 
 gone for mortgages. Ybarrando and his 
 brother are like all of them. I suspect they re 
 chuckling at the offer of Rodman. He will 
 be the poorer for the bargain, I warrant 
 you," and Woodbridge looked deridingly to 
 ward the dilapidated garden. 
 
 There was a combative flash in Ruth s 
 eyes, but only for an instant the defeated 
 look settled in them immediately. It was 
 second nature to succumb to Woodbridge s 
 ideas at least outwardly. 
 
 "We ought to be talking about our plans 
 
 I suppose," she said, feigning a gladness of 
 
 manner and throwing a pretty glance at 
 
 Woodbridge, as she crossed over the ver- 
 
 158
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 anda, poising gracefully on the railing. 
 
 From the steamer chair in which he lazily 
 stretched, Woodbridge looked up at her. 
 Ruth was undeniably pretty, her figure was 
 developing well, and every detail of her sim 
 ple dress satisfied his critical glance. 
 
 "Our plans, Ruth? There isn t anything 
 new to say about them. I ll get through as 
 quickly as I can. Come now, don t take my 
 last half hour for discussion. Sing for me," 
 he almost gruffly demanded. 
 
 Ruth winced. This last half hour there 
 were so many things that she had wanted to 
 say. As usual she had said nothing. 
 
 Going into the sala, she sat down at the 
 piano mechanically turning over the pages of 
 a song. Presently her voice rose in sombre 
 melody, flooding the old adobe, echoing 
 along the darkening veranda; her head bent 
 lower over the keys, her fingers moved 
 noiselessly; the contralto notes suited the 
 melancholy music her hopeless mood was 
 reflected in the words of the lyric. 
 
 159
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "The dinner is served, Senorita Ruth," 
 said Anita coming into the sala from the 
 veranda where she had found Woodbridge 
 half asleep. 
 
 Woodbridge had piled up his baggage 
 and was sitting down to read, when the Pull 
 man conductor came up, and before opening 
 his ticket said, "I ve got a note here for a 
 man by the name of Gerald Woodbridge." 
 
 "I m the person," said Woodbridge with 
 surprise, and he took the letter which Pedro 
 Vejar had mysteriously thrust into the con 
 ductor s hand as the Overland was moving 
 out of the station. 
 
 The conductor passed on, and the passen 
 gers were too busy settling themselves to ob 
 serve the expression, first of annoyance, then 
 of something akin to amusement that crossed 
 the face of the handsome, taciturn man op 
 posite them, as he hastily scanned the letter. 
 Slowly putting it back into the envelope, a 
 harsh laugh escaped him, and nervously 
 1 60
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 clutching the newspaper, he walked forward 
 into the smoker, one or two persons turning 
 to follow him with questioning looks. 
 
 Rolling a cigarette, again he opened the 
 envelope and read the letter. This time a 
 bland smile settled over his clean, stern face, 
 and his smooth chin grew firmer than mar 
 ble. 
 
 "A woman s at the bottom of this, some 
 Mexican fool I I ve been told they are as 
 jealous as Juno; she thinks she has it in for 
 Ybarrando." The whole thing began to 
 seize him, it was an immense joke! and 
 Woodbridge wanted to laugh outright. "I ll 
 not be over anxious about my Mexican rival; 
 why twas only this morning that Ybarrando 
 urged me to let him go to the mines." 
 
 This last thought was conclusive. Troub 
 ling himself no further with the matter 
 Woodbridge soon became absorbed in the 
 newspaper, and sat up late into the night 
 straining his eyes over some calculations con 
 cerning the new mines. 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 It never once occurred to him to interro 
 gate the conductor as to the person who 
 brought the note; in fact by morning the epi 
 sode had left his mind. 
 
 162
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT was brilliant weather during these 
 February weeks by the sea. The air 
 was deliciously stimulating there was 
 a lustre in it for the mountains were 
 still white with snow; overhead, the 
 sky was glowing; the winter sea burned a 
 lapis lazuli; and across the bay, already, the 
 yellow primroses sparkled on the dunes. 
 
 Ruth loved the lonely white dunes that rose 
 and fell for miles along the unfrequented 
 shore. Part of every day she would spend 
 lying in the warm, clean sand, feasting her 
 eyes on the illimitable waters that lapsed quiet 
 ly to and fro. 
 
 Since the departure of Woodbridge, she 
 had fallen into a condition of apathy. The 
 wedding roused her; but when it was over 
 and the Rodmans had gone on their wedding 
 journey to the City of Mexico, Ruth was in 
 a state of desuetude. The old habits of let- 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ter-writing, of practising, of reading German, 
 of working in the garden all ceased. Wood- 
 bridge a miserable correspondenthimself,was 
 requiring about her letters. Every day or so, 
 Ruth wrote to him but there was nothing to 
 say even this got to be an insurmountable 
 task. 
 
 Sunday had broken fine and clear. Crossing 
 the bay early, Ruth threw herself listlessly in 
 a covert of the dunes, feeling that she would 
 like to fall asleep and never waken again. It 
 was tranquilizing, seductive this warm south 
 ern sea as it came and went, breaking in white 
 lines of smothered foam; she ran her fingers 
 through the hot sands, the sun burnt her face ; 
 she contrasted the southern lanscape with her 
 own New England coast, hurricane-swept, im 
 possible, at this season of the year. 
 
 Nowadays her mind moved reluctantly, 
 but naturally Woodbridge came into her 
 thoughts he was always there. He had be 
 come cold, implacable as that far away east 
 ern shore. 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 By a capricious association of ideas she 
 suddenly thought of Esteban Ybarrando. She 
 wondered if the Mexican race were as intense 
 as their environment the world that lay be 
 fore her; she would like to know more about 
 the Mexicans the dark skinned, silent people 
 attracted her. She questioned why Ybarran 
 do had not availed himself of Woodbridge s 
 invitation. Mr. Rodman, much to Carolyn s 
 surprise, had asked him to the wedding, but 
 he did not come. The following Sunday he 
 had made a brief call, but that had been weeks 
 ago. 
 
 After a while she rose, and walked slowly 
 along the smooth hard beach, turning she 
 saw Ybarrando coming quickly toward her. 
 His face lighted up and he put out his hand. 
 
 "They told me that I should find you here, 
 Senorita." 
 
 "I am happy to see you," said Ruth, cor 
 dially shaking hands and throwing off her sad 
 ness. 
 
 She had never seen him so glad; the wont- 
 165
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ed melancholy had disappeared, his gestures 
 were animated. They walked along the beach, 
 jesting, talking, Ruth sat down at last. Gath 
 ering the delicate shells that strewed the shore 
 like fine powder, he sprinkled them gaily into 
 her lap; once he flung himself at her feet, and 
 looking seaward, exclaimed, "There s some 
 thing besides force back of that!" 
 
 "What is it then? Law, I presume you 
 scientists call it," returned Ruth. "We who 
 are old-fashioned call it God, I like to trans 
 late this God into Beauty; I suppose one 
 might go on and add Love, if one could trust 
 in Love. Beauty, the idea of Beauty is a 
 much surer thing than Love Beauty is made 
 sure to us through Art; Love necessitates 
 persons, and one can t depend upon persons, 
 can he?" 
 
 She looked away from him, speaking slow 
 ly, as if she were talking to herself. 
 
 Esteban glanced up timidly at her tense 
 features, eager for her voice, her meaning. 
 Since he had met Ruth Hastings, persons had 
 1 66
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 become a very certain quantity to him; his 
 passion for her the most positive fact in his 
 life. 
 
 Turning suddenly upon him, an expression 
 interrogative, beseeching, in her eyes, "Senor 
 Ybarrando, did you ever love anyone a long 
 time, yet feel certain that the love could not 
 be returned?" she asked. 
 
 He did not start, but moved a little away 
 from her. She had broken the desert silence 
 of his soul; put his secret thoughts into words 
 the sky, the sea, the dunes, were blazoned 
 with her question. Had he made a hideous 
 mistake? Had he spoken, dared to betray 
 his love? He feared to look at her. 
 
 Calmly the tide flowed in; as it broke in 
 slow music at their feet, Esteban recovered 
 himself and said in unsteady yet fervent 
 tones, "In the very act of loving one has 
 some recompense a joy that no one can take 
 away, no one." 
 
 "After all though, it really isn t love if it 
 isn t returned," continued Ruth. 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 At this moment, they were interrupted by 
 the approach of four Mexicans. Two young 
 girls and two men; the girls had taken off 
 their hats and sprigs of geranium gleamed 
 in their hair; each wore about her shoulders 
 a small circular cape, so commonly seen on 
 the Mexican girl a substitute for the re- 
 bozo; one of the men carried a guitar. They 
 sauntered leisurely along the beach, with 
 something of the unconsciousness of young 
 animals. 
 
 "How modest and graceful the Mexican 
 girl is," commented Ruth, trying to divert 
 her mind. "See how dignified the taller one 
 is!" 
 
 Esteban looked a second time. "Excuse 
 me a moment," and before Ruth could reply, 
 he had walked up hastily to the group of 
 Mexicans. 
 
 Drawing the handsome girl aside, he talk 
 ed quietly to her for a few moments. 
 
 Ruth recognized in the lissome figure, Es- 
 teban s cousin, young Francisca. She 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 thought her beauty more striking than ever; 
 but she hardly liked her manner toward Es- 
 teban. He was remonstrating; while she 
 laughed, glancing defiantly after him, as he 
 returned and sat down again by Ruth s side. 
 
 Esteban said nothing, but looked abstract 
 ed and anxious. After a while Ruth broke 
 the silence. "One sees so few of your race 
 in California; yet seventy-five years ago they 
 were the only people here the masters of 
 the soil. Where have they disappeared?" 
 
 "Most of the old families have died out; 
 the few remaining are very poor and exceed 
 ingly proud," replied Esteban, with much 
 feeling. "I know of several instances where 
 the person has died of poverty died rather 
 than disclose his misery. My father has one 
 friend now in the insane asylum, his mind 
 wrecked from the loss of his land taken from 
 him, acre after acre, by an American. There 
 are hundreds of similar instances; in fifty 
 years there will be no Mexicans in California 
 my race will be extinguished." He spoke 
 169
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hopelessly. 
 
 "How do you explain this, Senpr Ybar- 
 rando? Contact with the American ought 
 to have helped you. It is a great reflection 
 upon us," returned Ruth. 
 
 "Senorita, the Americans despise us. We 
 have little chance in the eyes of the law; in 
 politics we are nothing; except in one or two 
 cases, where the families have been clever 
 enough to keep their money, we are unknown 
 in society. Every day I see the Mexican 
 browbeaten, insulted; the Americans brush 
 us by on the sidewalks, in the cars, as though 
 we were polluting them." 
 
 Ruth looked at him in astonishment. 
 "Surely you are prejudiced; you must have 
 suffered more than others. I cannot endure 
 the thought that all Mexicans feel as bitterly 
 toward us as your feeling would betray." 
 
 Esteban looked at her mournfully, "Alas! 
 
 Senorita, if it were only one or two who feel 
 
 as I do. But all Mexicans tell the same 
 
 story. As a family we have not suffered 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 more than others. Lands mortgaged away, 
 or overrun by ruffians who stole our horses 
 and burnt our wheat fields; later great tracts 
 seized by the railroads today we have 
 nothing left we are doomed!" 
 
 "I do not believe there should be one 
 race, one civilization. And this restlessness 
 of the American, this greed after money, I 
 sometimes feel it too ! As a race, the Mexi 
 can hasn t it; but I have it, I am seized with 
 it," and Esteban arose, clenching his hands 
 in protest against this Anglo Saxon inroad 
 upon his spiritual domain. 
 
 "How long have you felt this distrust of 
 us?" asked Ruth. 
 
 "Since I was seven," he quickly returned. 
 "It was then my father had to pay ten thou 
 sand dollars. Sheep-raising was the prin 
 cipal enterprise on the rancho. For several 
 years my father had employed an American 
 to oversee; finally they became partners in 
 sheep-raising. A dry season came, one year 
 two years a third during which time, 
 171
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the American had insisted upon my father s 
 taking back the greater part of the stock- 
 he did not want them to die on his hands. 
 Five years afterward, the American brought 
 a case against my father. Every witness was 
 perjured to declare that my father had taken 
 the sheep from him forcibly and owed him 
 ten thousand dollars for the theft! That 
 was the beginning, and it has been going 
 from bad to worse ever since." 
 
 Ruth got up and they walked silently to 
 ward the lagoon. She could not speak. Her 
 ense of justice, her sympathies were stirred 
 to the utmost; she felt her heart going out to 
 Esteban with a new pity that she did not 
 comprehend. 
 
 While he made ready the boat, she stood 
 leaning over the wharf railing, looking off to 
 the mountains that rose behind them miles 
 away; their bases were hidden in mists, but 
 the snowy summits stood forth white and 
 aloof; around them lay the green, gleaming 
 reaches; the crystal note of the meadow lark 
 172
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 fell on the stillness something in the call 
 of the bird made Ruth fearless and free. 
 
 "Senor Ybarrando, she said, sitting down 
 opposite to him and looking into his dark, 
 steadfast face, as he adjusted the oar-lock, 
 "There are many things that I could lose 
 easily enough in this world ambition, 
 money, position; but I should wish to die if 
 the power to help my friends were taken 
 from me. If I can, let me bring some cheer 
 and brightness into your life, come and see 
 me, bring your books, let us talk together, 
 let me be your friend," and she put out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Esteban held it for an instant, then he 
 rowed rapidly to the other shore, and they 
 walked without speaking to the house. Here 
 he broke the silence. 
 
 "At moments, I have wished to die, Sefi- 
 orita. My first gleam of hope came after 
 meeting you, and you treated me with con 
 sideration as an equal. The Mexican has 
 much dignity, I would not talk spitefully of 
 173
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the American, I only tell you the truth, and 
 but half of that. When we care for our 
 friends we care very much for them; we 
 would gladly die for them the Mexican 
 has not forgotten how to love." 
 
 It was not alone the woes and grievances 
 of his people that now filled his soul. Min 
 gled with the passion for his race, was a 
 more profound emotion his love for her. 
 As Ybarrando spoke, he tossed back his fine 
 head impatiently, his earnest eyes flashed, 
 and every feature was firm as adamant. 
 Abruptly he bade her good-night, and Ruth 
 stood there in the twilight, flushed and trem 
 bling. 
 
 On his way home, Esteban eagerly re 
 hearsed every word Ruth had said; her 
 piercing question came back to him. He felt 
 certain that she was unhappy in her relations 
 with Woodbridge. Again returned the old 
 longing to help her, and with it, the impos 
 sibility of doing so. 
 
 He sat later than usual over his experi- 
 174
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ment. Each bottle contained a clear liquid; 
 as he slowly poured one into the other, the 
 clear liquid changed into a chalky, then into a 
 pink mixture. The process of bringing to 
 gether these opposites the negative and 
 positive, was a beautiful pastime to the 
 young chemist. But tonight, as he worked 
 over his table, a finer interpretation came to 
 him he no longer saw a new solution in 
 chemistry in the lifeless fluids he saw his 
 own heart rising up in boundless sympathy 
 to meet the American girl in her subtle, ap 
 pealing grief.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ABOUT ten o clock the following 
 morning, Esteban looked up 
 from his desk and found Ruth 
 Hastings with frightened r ;yes 
 standing in the doorway of the 
 office. 
 
 "Have you not read it, Senor Ybarrando?" 
 she asked excitedly, giving him the morning 
 newspaper. 
 
 At the sight of her his serious face bright 
 ened ; but he grew anxious as he took her cold 
 hand and noticed her ashen face. Leading 
 her trembling to a chair, he brought her a 
 glass of water. While she drank, she kept 
 her eyes fastened upon him something in his 
 presence, his quietness of manner, calmed her. 
 Ybarrando walked to the window and read : 
 
 "Plague in State of Sonora. 
 
 Dreaded Disease Makes Its Appearance at 
 
 the Jesus Maria Mines. 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Nogales, State of Sonora. (Mexico) Feb. 
 20. Information has reached here that the 
 dreaded bubonic plague has made its appear 
 ance at the Jesus Maria Mines. An unknown 
 white man came to the camp about a week 
 ago, and was immediately taken ill and rap- 
 idl> developed symptoms of plague. When 
 questioned the man admitted that he was 
 from Mazatlan, and said that he had 
 managed to make his way through quar 
 antine line without much trouble. Ger 
 ald Woodbridge, superintendent of the 
 mines, as well as two Mexican miners, 
 are at present ill and it is feared the Asiatic 
 scourge has attacked them. Physicians have 
 been called from Hermosillo and nurses from 
 Nogales. The camp is deserted, the entire 
 force having fled when the disease was dis 
 covered. Close quarantine." 
 
 As he finished, Esteban turned to Ruth, 
 but she did not allow him to speak. 
 
 "Senor Ybarrando I must go, go at once 
 to the mines. I have come to ask you how I 
 177
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 may reach there without delay. What rail 
 road shall I take and how do I make the 
 journey after leaving Nogales?" 
 
 Ybarrando looked at her in dismay. "Se- 
 norita, it is the plague it is death! You must 
 
 he caught himself "No one will be 
 permitted in the camp; already it is quar 
 antined by order of the government, as are all 
 the small towns where it has broken out." 
 
 "What is this to deter me? I have never 
 feared contagion; the Mexican Consul will 
 give me a special passport," recklessly replied 
 Ruth. 
 
 "But my dear Senorita it is winter there, 
 the season of snow storms ; the trails are dan 
 gerous, perhaps impassable in places," he 
 spoke now without reserve. 
 
 At this, Ruth s face fell. Then suddenly 
 she said, "How do the doctors and nurses 
 get there?" 
 
 "Perhaps they have not been able to do 
 so, or only at the expense of great hardship 
 and positive risk," replied Esteban. 
 178
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "All the more need that I go. Mr. Wood- 
 bridge may lie there at this moment without 
 care, dying! Sefior Ybarrando will you go 
 along with me?" she asked desperately. 
 
 The question did not surprise him. Es- 
 teban had made up his mind that he would 
 go go in her stead if she would permit him. 
 
 "Senorita Hastings, I shall gladly go, go 
 at once for you in place of you, if you will 
 consent. If I go alone I could reach the 
 camp a half a day sooner perhaps a whole 
 day if the snow melts." 
 
 Ruth did not want to be unreasonable; but 
 confidence in her physical strength and long 
 years of devotion to Woodbridge would not 
 let her swerve in her determination. 
 
 "Senor Ybarrando I am going to Mr. 
 Woodbridge, if you will take me. The train 
 leaves for Nogales tonight, at what time?" 
 
 "At eight o clock the train goes. I shall 
 telephone to reserve the sleepers," was all 
 that Ybarrando said. Crossing the room he 
 took down the receiver. 
 179
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 As he stood waiting, Ruth considered the 
 request she had just made of this man, upon 
 whom she had no claim beyond that of a 
 year s acquaintance, which within a few 
 months had ripened into friendship. Now 
 she was demanding that he risk his life in 
 order that she might go to Woodbridge. 
 This was not her privilege; she was presum 
 ing upon his generosity how could she ever 
 repay him? To jeopardize her own life was 
 her own affair; asking another to risk his, 
 a very different matter. 
 
 She got up and walked toward him. 
 
 "Sefior Ybarrando I am beside myself, I 
 have asked a favor of you which I must not 
 allow you to grant," and she looked gravely 
 into his face. "Engage but one sleeper, I 
 am perfectly equal to going alone, you must 
 not go with me, I shall get on well. After 
 I reach Nogales, I shall wait until the trail 
 is safe, until the burros can go without risk. 
 There are always guides who would be glad 
 to go, glad of the money that I shall give 
 1 80
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 them. Mr. Woodbridge has told me of an 
 old Mexican who lives in Gabriela, who has 
 been a guide for years." 
 
 Patiently Ybarrando listened, the tele 
 phone interrupted Ruth several times. He 
 rang up "central" again and engaged one 
 sleeper as she had bidden him; then he walk 
 ed with her to the phaeton without speaking 
 a word, his face wearing a sphynx-like ex 
 pression, his dark eyes beaming with stern 
 joy as he helped her into her seat. 
 
 But there are several errands that I 
 shall ask you to do if you will," said Ruth, 
 taking the reins. "If you would go to the 
 Consul for my passport, I ll give you my card 
 with the privilege to sign for me," and she 
 took one from her bag and wrote upon it. 
 "And if you would buy my ticket," she con 
 tinued, "and come to the station this even- 
 ing." 
 
 "Yes, Senorita, I will gladly do all these 
 little things for you. Is there nothing more?" 
 
 "Yes, please tell me what sort of clothing 
 181
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 I shall need, I fancy a trunk is out of the 
 question," and a smile crossed her earnest 
 face. 
 
 "A trunk would be in your way, in the 
 burro s way," smiled back Ybarrando. "But 
 do not fail to wear very warm clothing, furs 
 and a blanket," he advised, as Ruth turned 
 her horse and drove rapidly away. 
 
 The remaining hours of the forenoon were 
 hours of feverish preparation for Esteban. 
 Calling in John Lane, his old rival and 
 enemy, he told him that Woodbridge was ill 
 at the mines, and that he must go to him, and 
 he gave Lane a check to pay the men on Sat 
 urday. 
 
 As he hurried from office to laboratory, 
 more than once he caught himself in a mood 
 of exultation. He was going with her, going 
 to help her, going to save her from death ; 
 for she should never enter the plague-stricken 
 camp ! Once as he walked out to a sulphur- 
 car that stood on the siding near a mustard 
 field, he ran and caught up an armful of the 
 182
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 feathery, yellow blossoms, thinking to carry 
 them to her. 
 
 Leaving the office soon after noon, he 
 went to his adobe to make ready the neces 
 sary things for the journey. So often had he 
 taken these trips to the mines, that knife, can 
 teen, revolver, and other articles were strap 
 ped heedlessly together. Then he looked 
 about his bare room; perhaps the Senorita 
 would not take enough to keep warm; there 
 was his old scrape faded but clean, soft and 
 very warm, he would put that in for her. But 
 he had to take out an extra flannel that he 
 had packed for himself, to make room for it. 
 
 Ruth in the meantime had sent Anita into 
 the village to bring her old Mexican mother 
 to the rancho; and through Anita s inter 
 preting, told her that she was going away 
 for a few days, and would leave the house 
 in her care; that Mr. and Mrs. Rodman 
 were expected home the following Sunday. 
 
 She left a long note of explanation for 
 Carolyn; then gathering together clothing, 
 183
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 shawls and wraps, Ruth took an early din 
 ner, and with Anita s assistance, started to 
 the city. Finding the Pullman window al 
 ready open, she claimed her sleeper, went 
 into the car and sat down to wait. 
 
 A dull feeling had settled over her a 
 feeling which even the excitement, conse 
 quent upon the hasty resolve, the quick ac 
 tion, could not down a portent, vague, yet 
 none the less persistent that she was going 
 on a bootless journey; that Woodbridge 
 would think her coming unnecessarythat 
 this act of hers would be ineffectual to 
 awaken him. Filled with these morbid fore 
 bodings, she waited for Ybarrando. 
 
 At last he came in, and going quickly to her 
 seat, took out her ticket, his hand trembling, 
 and his manner distrait. 
 
 "How do you do?" said Ruth, "see what 
 faith I have in you to start on my journey 
 without my ticket. I did not care to stand 
 alone in the station, so I claimed my sleeper 
 and came into the car to wait." 
 184
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "I m sorry to be late, Senorita; but I had 
 to say good-bye to my father." As he spoke, 
 the train began to move certainly out of the 
 station and the passengers were withdrawing 
 their heads from the windows. 
 
 "What do you mean Senor Ybarrando?" 
 exclaimed Ruth blankly. 
 
 "I am going with you, Senorita," he replied 
 "you cannot go alone. I know the risks, I 
 know that it is impossible for you." 
 
 His voice was resolute, but his eyes were 
 lowered; he dared not meet her disapproval. 
 At this moment he would not have encount 
 ered her eyes for the universe; he knew that 
 he had made her his debtor. 
 
 The mystery of one s self is the greatest of 
 mysteries. Ruth Hastings had fully made up 
 her mind that she did not want Ybarrando 
 to go; even if there had been no risk in his 
 accompanying her, she had decided that she 
 preferred to take the journey alone. 
 
 Yet she broke forth into words of relief 
 and gratefulness. "This is wholly unexpected, 
 185
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 nobly generous in you, Seiior Ybarrando. 
 There is nothing for me to do but to be gra 
 cious; I can t put you off at a way station. It 
 is a great freedom from responsibility to have 
 you ; the country, the people, are all so strange 
 to me, and I did dread the trail." After this 
 admission, Ruth sat back, folding her hands, 
 willing to let Esteban see to her ticket and 
 make her comfortable. 
 
 "Did you succeed in getting a sleeper?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 "No, yours was the last one, but I shall 
 not mind sitting up all night, there will be 
 some corner, I have my blankets," replied 
 Ybarrando contentedly. A little later he bade 
 her good-night and went into the smoking 
 car. 
 
 Ruth did not close her eyes until midnight. 
 Sitting up in her berth, her elbows on her 
 knees, she watched the night landscape, the 
 spring world illumined by moonlight. It was 
 magical. Orange grove after orange grove, 
 gleaming and gold; the almond blossoms 
 186
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 spreading canopies of silver; and ever the 
 steady flight of the train, on, on, through the 
 enchanted distances. She fancied herself the 
 central figure in the fairy tale, being conduct 
 ed by the lonely knight to her absent lover in 
 the purple mountains. Forgetful of conven 
 tionalities, unafraid of the displeasure of 
 Woodbridge, happy to have Ybarrando with 
 her, she at last fell asleep. 
 
 When she wakened in the morning they 
 were in the desert zone. Life, the painful 
 reality of the situation overcame her. Per 
 haps she was wrong to have come ; it seemed 
 to be involving others. Why had Ybarrando 
 followed her? She was soon dressed and 
 waiting to go out to breakfast, when Esteban 
 came into the car, the bunch of mustard in his 
 hands. 
 
 "Good-morning, Seiior Ybarrando, where 
 did you get it! not about here?" and she tried 
 to peer out of the dusty window. 
 
 "I brought it along yesterday," he an 
 swered, fastening the long sprays over her 
 187
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 seat. 
 
 Ruth watched him with appreciative looks. 
 
 The train stopped for twenty minutes, and 
 they went out and breakfasted together. 
 
 "Ybarrando could gain no satisfactory in 
 formation about the plague. Brakeman, con 
 ductor and passengers were either uninformed 
 or non-committal. One Mexican miner said 
 that there had been a case at the Jesus Maria 
 Mines, but that the man had recovered; he 
 thought it might spread. 
 
 188
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IT was seven o clock in the evening 
 when Ruth and Ybarrando reached 
 Nogales. The town of Gabriela was 
 distant a two hours stage ride and 
 Ruth preferred to continue and pass 
 the night there, in order that they might start 
 very early to the mines. 
 
 So far there had been no warnings of the 
 plague. Quarantine stations had not been 
 established, and the Nogales paper contain 
 ed no mention of the scourge. It was gener 
 ally known, however, that, on account of 
 commercial reasons, the officials were no 
 torious for their conspiracies to ignore the 
 existence of danger; and plague reports were 
 often suspended altogether. 
 
 There was great commotion in the little 
 
 town of Gabriela. It was the occasion of 
 
 the spring festival, the Indian Deer Dance. 
 
 As Ruth and Esteban got out at the inn, 
 
 189
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 groups of stalwart Indians and wide-eyed 
 Mexicans, crowded about the door of the 
 stage; but they drew back at the sight of the 
 fair haired woman and dignified caballero. 
 
 Ybarrando succeeded in getting a room 
 for Ruth; but he had to sleep all night him 
 self on the veranda. 
 
 At dawn Ruth was roused from heavy 
 sleep by an unearthly yell piercing the still 
 air. Dressing quickly she went out into the 
 plaza. She found herself in a foreign coun 
 try. Separted from the States by merely an 
 imaginary line neither mountain nor river 
 intervening to emphasize the transition Ga- 
 briela, with its adobe huts, its single grass- 
 grown street, its miniature adobe church 
 and its people handsome women, wearing 
 the mantilla, tall dark men, and squalid In 
 dians sitting in the sunny doorways was to 
 the visitor from across the border, pictures 
 que as any corner of the Old World. This 
 morning teams and wagons of every descrip 
 tion, crowded the plaza, and from ladder 
 190
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and terraced roof gay scarfs and bright 
 handkerchiefs fluttered. 
 
 Ybarrando with a group of Mexicans, 
 stood on the inn terrace, watching the In 
 dians start on the chase. Catching sight of 
 Ruth, he quickly came down. 
 
 "Their loud yells wakened you, Senorita," 
 he said apologetically. "I hoped that you 
 would rest a little longer. It is the spring 
 festival," he continued, pointing toward the 
 plaza. "Perhaps you would enjoy seeing it, 
 we can go up to the roof; the burros will not 
 be here until half past six. They say there is 
 no plague; they tell me that the trail is 
 cleared of snow so that there will be no dan 
 ger in going, if you still wish to go, Senorita." 
 
 Ruth s face brightened. 
 
 "This is good news," she said. "And 
 there is no mention of the plague, the peo 
 ple know nothing about it here? But one 
 cannot tell ; there is so much secrecy, the facts 
 are often suppressed," continued Ruth. 
 
 "I fear that you are getting chilled, Senor- 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ita, let me fetch your cloak and some coffee 
 at once, if you care to stay out and watch the 
 chase," said Esteban, regarding her anxi 
 ously. 
 
 "I should like it very much," replied Ruth, 
 and she let Esteban help her up the narrow 
 ladder to the terrace. 
 
 At her approach, the Mexican women 
 smiled, speaking to each other of Ruth s 
 golden hair, which gleamed from beneath a 
 blue silk scarf she had thrown over her head. 
 
 Ybarrando left her and running into the 
 inn, returned, her furs under his arm, and 
 a cup of coffee and plate of steaming tortillas 
 in his hands. The Mexican women ex 
 changed significant glances, moving silently 
 to the opposite side of the terrace. Ruth 
 smiled and begged Ybarrando to join her at 
 breakfast. 
 
 "No, you must not wait, the tortilla is 
 hot," and eager as a boy he stooped down 
 before her, holding her cup while she ate the 
 tortilla. 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "How delicious this is, fluffy as a snow 
 flake. But I shan t eat another nor drink 
 my coffee until you go and bring some for 
 yourself," said Ruth commandingly. 
 
 Off he went, returning quickly and sitting 
 down on the terrace beside her, drinking his 
 coffee and explaining the scene before them. 
 
 Below in the quadrangle, about fifty Indi 
 ans were gathered. Half of the number wore 
 buckskin and were adorned with horns and 
 tails to imitate the deer; amongst them, here 
 and there, was a figure more wild and gro 
 tesque a buffalo these buffaloes were the 
 leaders of the chase. Each figure leaned upon 
 two sticks to perfect the dissimulation. These 
 make-believe animals were waiting to be pur 
 sued by twenty-five Indian chiefs tall, 
 splendid fellows, almost nude and gorgeously 
 painted; some of them were chanting rhyth 
 mic songs devoid of melody. 
 
 With the sunrise the chanting grew loud 
 er and the hideous beating of the tom-toms 
 began. This was the signal to start. As the 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 sunlight broke in scarlet and crimson 
 shafts, over the dull, porphyritic moun 
 tains, defining the plateaus of volcanic 
 tuff, so that the distance was a mediaeval 
 facade of fortress and battlement the chase 
 began. 
 
 Every face on every adobe housetop was 
 strained, alert, following the Indians, as with 
 abandoned cry they scattered for miles 
 around, over foot-hill and mesa, their lone 
 figures disappearing and reappearing through 
 the sage brush hotly pursued by the tireless, 
 fleet-footed chiefs. 
 
 Ruth was fascinated with the scene, carried 
 out of herself; for the moment she forgot 
 her anxiety, Ybarrando was delighted with 
 her enthusiasm. Once he left her side to 
 speak to the Mexican women opposite them. 
 Suddenly he took a small note-book from his 
 pocket and quickly drew a rough sketch of 
 the girlish figure, the floating scarf, soft hair, 
 and earnest profile. 
 
 Because of the excitement in Gabriela, they 
 194
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 were an hour late in starting. 
 
 Until noon the trail was simple enough, and 
 in some parts very beautiful it was the 
 primeval forest, heavily wooded with yuccas, 
 high mesquite bushes, iron-wood, and live oak. 
 
 "What are these white crosses," asked 
 Ruth, as here and there they gleamed from 
 the mountain sides. 
 
 "They mark the path of the Apache," ex 
 plained Esteban. "Years ago the Apaches de 
 vastated the entire country, many Mexicans 
 were killed and all the ranches destroyed." 
 As he spoke a train of crows filed overhead. 
 "In the days of the Apaches, the crows always 
 preceded them they held high carnival when 
 the Apaches were on the war-path." 
 
 "What a grotesque idea! With a little 
 effort of the imagination one might see an 
 Apache behind every mesquite bush," and 
 Ruth shuddered, riding her burro closer to 
 his. On they plodded, slowly up the steep 
 heights, the pines beginning to appear and the 
 air growing colder. When they paused now 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 and then to rest, the eternal silence and the 
 unreclaimed beauty of the place filled Ruth 
 with wonder. 
 
 "It is all so virgin, so untouched fresh 
 from the hand of God one finds it difficult 
 to believe that man has ever been here ; I 
 like to fancy that you and I are the first to 
 have come up these mute peaks and into these 
 trackless forests." 
 
 She had let her voice sink almost into a 
 whisper, and throwing back her head she 
 gazed up through the serried pines. At her 
 words a glamour came over him, and her fair, 
 upturned face set his heart throbbing; but he 
 only reached his hand across and steadied her 
 saddle. Then they rode on and he said in a 
 hushed voice : 
 
 "Si, si, Senorita, it would be beautiful if we 
 were the first to have come, but in centuries 
 past the Spaniards and Indians ascended this 
 trail and worked the mines. After the Indian 
 massacres, the mines lay idle for a long time; 
 about fifty years ago they were opened again. 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 The older Mexicans of the settlement tell all 
 sorts of stories and legends handed down to 
 them by their ancestors; they tell of large 
 towns here, and of burro trains loaded with 
 silver and gold; of the last pack train with a 
 retinue disappearing and no trace of the car 
 avan ever being found, its leader supposed to 
 have been murdered by the ladrones or ban 
 dits who at that time infested the mountains." 
 
 It was noon and they had come out upon a 
 broad mesa level to an abandoned ranchito. 
 As they dismounted before the adobe, two 
 vaqueros came to the door and held their 
 sombreros in their hands, watching Ybarran- 
 do as he relieved the burros of the blankets. 
 Ruth stood by his side, looking up at the cu 
 riously shaped house. It was protected by 
 heavy buttresses and was like a primitive fort, 
 having been made for the wise purpose of 
 shooting without interruption at the Apaches. 
 The adobe was now utilized as a posta be 
 tween Gabriela and the Jesus Maria Mines. 
 
 Ruth and Ybarrando went into the adobe, 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 where a luncheon of frijoles, bread, milk and 
 quesadera, was laid on a white deal table; no 
 one appeared, and Esteban acted as though he 
 were host. Going into the patio, he found a 
 woman cracking corn in a metate ; he ordered 
 her to show him the best room in the house, 
 and with his own hands, he made a fire of 
 mesquite wood on the hearth; he glanced 
 about the room, a bundle of blankets lay rolled 
 in one corner. 
 
 "Senorita, we have an hour to rest here," 
 he said, returning to Ruth. As he looked into 
 her face it was haggard and white. "It is 
 only three miles to the camp; but ascending 
 all the way a difficult climb a precipitous 
 trail Senorita will you not remain here to 
 night, and allow me to go on alone?" he 
 urged. 
 
 Tears sprang into Ruth s eyes. "Alone, 
 Senor Ybarrando? Don t you think that I am 
 equal to it? If I could rest here for a half 
 an hour, I should be myself again." 
 
 "There are no beds here, only the blankets; 
 198
 
 but the rooms are clean," and Esteban went 
 out. 
 
 The Mexican woman appeared and led 
 Ruth into the little room ; unrolling the heavy 
 blankets before the hearth, she turned to go, 
 but coming quickly back, she folded Esteban s 
 soft, old serape about Ruth, smiling from her 
 dark eyes, and gesticulating and pointing to 
 the veranda where Ybarrando walked to and 
 fro. 
 
 In his highest mood, the scientist acknow 
 ledges God, grows in humility. Ybarrando, 
 working in his laboratory with the earth s 
 more subtle elements, had nourished rather 
 than starved his soul-life. Impalpable, al 
 luring as the etheric forces that played about 
 his universe of light and heat, was the per 
 sonality of Ruth he was worshipful before 
 it. Yet over against this passive worship 
 was the ardour of the devot the delight in 
 the objective revelation. Today as Esteban 
 paced by Ruth s door he felt an ecstacy like 
 that which his Catholic mother had felt 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 kneeling before the images and holy saints; 
 he stooped and bowed his head upon the 
 door her low breathing exhaled something 
 finer than the mystic vapor of the incense. 
 
 The vaqueros had taken the burros for 
 water. When they came back, they told 
 Ybarrando that there had been a heavy fall 
 of snow in the mountains, and that the trail 
 to the Jesus Maria Mines was dangerous in 
 mtny places. They seemed to know nothing 
 about the plague, and doubted the truth of 
 the report; but they depended wholly upon 
 the chance passerby for all information; 
 they saw a newspaper once a month, some 
 times it was several weeks old. The old 
 man and woman at the posta were ignorant 
 of the plague rumor. 
 
 At two o clock Ruth came out greatly re 
 freshed, and after taking a glass of pinole, 
 she and Ybarrando started again on the 
 journey. 
 
 The sun was trying hard to shine, but the 
 wind was cold, and there were ugly clouds 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hanging over the Jesus Maria peak, behind 
 which lay the small hamlet and the mining 
 camp. 
 
 As she mounted the burro, Esteban 
 wrapped Ruth well in the blankets and they 
 began the ascent in earnest. In some places 
 the burros would stop altogether. For years 
 the trail had been used and the hoof prints 
 of the burros were like well worn steps on 
 the trail; but the snows had been frequent 
 and heavy, packing in the holes one mis 
 step and they would be hurled hundreds of 
 feet below. 
 
 Soon dismounting, Ybarrando let his 
 burro lead the way, while he walked in front 
 of Ruth s. The trail was fairly wide, but 
 the old landmarks were hidden, and the cau 
 tious beasts crept along; night was fast ap 
 proaching. 
 
 A look of distress came over Ruth s face. 
 
 "You are suffering, Senorita, but there is 
 no danger it is only very slow. Are you 
 vvarm enough?" asked Esteban with con- 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 cern, stopping to fold the blankets more 
 closely about her his manner was earnestly 
 solicitous. 
 
 "Yes, I am perfectly comfortable, but 
 why do you walk, Senor Ybarrando? It 
 disturbs me, with the snow so deep. The 
 burro knows his way better than you can 
 show him, doesn t he?" 
 
 "Perhaps so, Senorita, but I should rather 
 walk than ride;" then glancing askance at 
 her, "the burro carries precious ore; it 
 wouldn t do to let it slip into yonder canon, 
 no, no, you will allow me to walk, Senorita," 
 he pleaded. 
 
 Ruth smiled, deeply moved at his devo 
 tion; she was now so tired that she found 
 herself losing courage and scarcely able to 
 hold her seat. 
 
 About five o clock, Ybarrando pointed out 
 to Ruth the little hamlet of Jesus Maria, 
 with the mining camp just beyond. The rays 
 of the setting sun lighted up the gilt cross 
 of the small church, about which clustered 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the squat adobe huts, some of them white 
 washed, but many of them enclosed in hedges 
 of enormous cactus and indistinguishable 
 from the desert upon which they were built. 
 The settlement was about six thousand feet 
 above sea level, while the mine towered two 
 hundred feet above the village, and was lo 
 cated upon an eminence the denuded and 
 dissected remains of an old volcano it was 
 called the Hill of the Cross. It was an 
 ugly height; the great smoke-stacks of the 
 smelters dwarfing a tall white cross that had 
 once dignified the elevation. 
 
 "We shall reach the camp in half an 
 hour," said Ybarrando, as he mounted his 
 burro and they rode into the settlement. 
 
 From the adobe church a feeble bell tolled 
 the vesper hour, and moving slowly along 
 the road to the church door, came a Mexi 
 can woman, two ragged children clinging to 
 her skirts. 
 
 Ybarrando went up to her and spoke 
 quickly, returning to Ruth. 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "She says no plague has ever been in 
 Jesus Maria; that two Mexicans were bur 
 ied at the church a week ago, having died of 
 pneumonia up at the mines." 
 
 Ruth s color fled from her face. 
 
 "Do you suppose it is all a mistake, that 
 I have come all this journey brought you 
 here for nothing?" she gasped, turning to 
 Esteban. 
 
 He looked at her with vast pity in his eyes. 
 Her remark was full of pathetic truth. She 
 was afraid that Woodbridge would be angry 
 at her headlong act. Had he been ill, she 
 would have had at least an excuse for her de 
 votion. She felt she would be frightfully 
 in his way; perhaps he was already gone to 
 Mexico. This last thought comforted her a 
 little. 
 
 On they went past the melancholy mud 
 huts, along the road to the Hill of the Cross. 
 Ybarrando urged on the mules, his heart leap 
 ing with joy at the assurance that Ruth was 
 out of danger. All the journey a heavy load 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 had weighed him down the thought of her 
 jeopardizing her life for Woodbridge. 
 
 The light began to twinkle from the twenty 
 or more tents that were scattered at the foot 
 of the dump. 
 
 "Do they all sleep in tents?" asked Ruth, 
 "no wonder that they die of pneumonia." 
 
 "Oh, this fine air, Seiiorita, cold, but dry 
 as steel," returned Esteban. "I like nothing 
 better than sleeping out on these mountain 
 ranges. To be sure this heavy snow fall is 
 unusual, it is a little cold," and Ybarrando 
 felt a chill run over him, for his feet were wet 
 through from walking up the trail. 
 
 205
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 i 
 
 WOODBRIDGE S cabin stood a 
 little apart from the tents. On 
 this particular evening, he and 
 Karl Johnson, the overseer, 
 were consulting a long pay 
 roll. The Jesus Maria plant had a pay roll 
 to be proud of, amounting to fifty thousand 
 a month. 
 
 As they neared the cabin, Ruth slackened 
 her burro s gait and kept close to Esteban. 
 Her heart beat fast and her eyes were spark 
 ling. Tenderly he lifted her from the burro; 
 she started toward the door and would have 
 knocked, but waited until Esteban tied the 
 burros, and stood at her side, bag and blan 
 kets in his arms. 
 
 Woodbridge flung open the door. Ruth s 
 white face peered up out of the darkness at 
 him, unexpectedly, as though one of the stars 
 overhead had fallen at his feet. 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 For an instant he drew back. "Great Heav 
 ens, Ruth ! what has brought you here and 
 alone!" 
 
 Then he moved toward her, and she threw 
 her arms about him. Lifting her head she 
 pointed to the door where Esteban lingered. 
 Woodbridge s first impulse was to step for 
 ward and grasp his hand; but a look in the 
 Mexican s eyes, fixed upon the woman s face 
 at his breast, withheld him perhaps there 
 was something in the letter after all. 
 
 A smile curling his under lip, he nodded at 
 Esteban, and said, "Oh, I see you have a 
 guide, come in Ybarrando." 
 
 Esteban entered, holding out his hand to 
 Woodbridge. "Senorita Hastings read that 
 the plague had reached Gabriela, and that you 
 and two miners were stricken she felt that 
 she must come," the tone of his voice was in 
 evitable. 
 
 "Ah!" murmured Woodbridge. 
 
 "How such a report got about," he con 
 tinued coldly, "I m sure I can t see. Likely 
 207
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the death of those peons a week ago started 
 it. They wandered up here from Hermo- 
 sillo when the plague was raging at Mazat- 
 lan. Several days after, both were taken ill 
 and died; but it was from pneumonia, not 
 plague. A white man rarely catches the dis 
 ease, it attacks Chinamen and cholos. The 
 sanitary conditions here, the short supply of 
 water, have made me dread pneumonia, but 
 not the plague." 
 
 While Woodbridge talked, he glanced 
 helplessly at his two visitors, as if they were 
 luggage on his hands. 
 
 "I presume you had a difficult time getting 
 up the trail. Johnson said that the snow had 
 made it dangerous in places," he went on, ad 
 dressing Esteban. 
 
 "Yes, it was bad, very bad from the ranch- 
 ito on," replied Esteban. 
 
 "Gerald, Senor Ybarrando walked every 
 step of the way by the side of my burro," in 
 terrupted Ruth, giving Esteban a look of grat 
 itude. 
 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Woodbridge saw that his shoes were 
 soaked. 
 
 "Where are you Johnson?" called Wood- 
 bridge. 
 
 At the sound of the manager s voice, John 
 son, who had retired into an adjoining room, 
 came in. He was a burly Swede with straight 
 blonde hair and a child s big, blue eyes. He 
 looked wonderingly at Ruth and Ybarrando, 
 and was overcome with embarrassment when 
 Woodbridge introduced him. 
 
 "Some friends have arrived to nurse us 
 through the plague," explained Woodbridge 
 dryly. "Tell Mrs. Johnson they must 
 have supper. I guess you ll have to set up 
 that A flap for me. Miss Hastings will 
 take my room, she will want to be next to 
 Mrs. Johnson," said Woodbridge in a glum 
 manner. 
 
 "Better let the women have the suite of 
 
 rooms," said Johnson good naturedly. "I ll 
 
 fix up the old tent for Mr. Hypochondria and 
 
 me." Johnson s blue eyes rolled in their 
 
 209
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 cushions of flesh toward Ybarrando. John 
 son was all flesh. As he moved through the 
 small door it seemed as if a hippopotamus had 
 disappeared. 
 
 The first explanations over, a silence fell 
 on the little group ; and when they had par 
 taken of Mrs. Johnson s supper, Ybarrando 
 was restless, and said he would go out and 
 see if Johnson had attended to the burros. 
 
 "Wait, Ybarrando, I ll go along and show 
 you the way, I want to know how you left 
 things at the works." 
 
 The men left Ruth in the company of 
 Mrs. Johnson, a tall, silent Mexican wo 
 man. 
 
 "Knowing that you had trusted him be 
 fore, I gave Lane a check to pay off the men 
 on Saturday, in case that I shouldn t get 
 back," said Ybarrando to Woodbridge, "but 
 I shall return in the morning." 
 
 "The truth is I was making my plans with 
 Johnson to leave the camp early in the morn 
 ing for the City of Mexico," replied Wood- 
 210
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 bridge. "A Canadian Company is waiting 
 to sign up with me about taking the super 
 vision of their new roads. I was due there 
 ten days ago, I wrote them that I shouldn t 
 come later than the twenty-seventh of the 
 month tomorrow is the first of March. I 
 hate to think of Miss Hastings attempting 
 to hurry back; but there s nothing to stay 
 here for." He looked moodily across to the 
 tents, where the men, most of them Mexi 
 cans, were smoking, or playing cards by the 
 dim flicker of tallow candles; the thrumming 
 of a guitar was heard in the distance. 
 
 Just then the figure of Johnson protruded 
 from the flap of the large tent. "Guess Mr. 
 Hypochondria won t object to an early bunk. 
 I brought your blankets along with me." 
 
 Johnson stood up unrolling them; out of 
 Esteban s faded scrape fluttered a little 
 white handkerchief. 
 
 "See here Johnson," said Woodbridge, as 
 Esteban sprang forward taking blankets and 
 handkerchief out of the awkward fellow s 
 211
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 arms, and thrusting the handkerchief into 
 his pocket, "you two men can t sleep together 
 here, can t you find another tent?" 
 
 "We ll get on comfortably, I can sleep 
 any place indoors or out," said Esteban. 
 With a brief good-night, Woodbridge was 
 off. 
 
 It was Johnson s habit to go to bed early. 
 While Esteban was in the first stages of un 
 dressing, he was fast asleep. Esteban was 
 nervous, disquieted; heat as of a raging fever 
 surged through his brain. Glancing sharply 
 at the shapeless mass of the Swede, he threw 
 his serape about him and stealing past the 
 silent tents, made his way out of the camp. 
 
 All was still with the stillness of night and 
 the desert; the traditional dog at this special 
 hour, held his peace; the palpitating stars 
 overhead and the mountain s vital breath 
 these only accompanied him. As he walked, 
 he turned his hot face to the blue night-sky; 
 he took off his hat to let the snowladen air 
 cool the frenzy in his brain. Mad impulses 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 possessed him. He recalled Woodbridge s 
 scornful glance; he heard the condescension 
 of his voice. The old race-antipathy was 
 roused; he hated himself for being the de 
 pendent of this American, for whom he had 
 no respect and whom he despised this man 
 who possessed the heart of the woman he 
 worshipped. In the old days, the rival was 
 got out of the way. Esteban felt for the 
 little knife in his pocket the one he had car 
 ried to protect la Senorita; he took it out, 
 fingered the thin, clean blade. It could be 
 put to a new use one thrust, and he could 
 forever send himself where there would be 
 no more anguish. Great beads of sweat 
 stood on his brow; the fever burned like a 
 flame a scorching, white heat. 
 
 On he stumbled up the steep hillside, 
 clenching the knife, muttering incoherent 
 words. A large moon rose, solemnly lighting 
 the Hill of the Cross; the rude wooden sym 
 bol stood forth as Esteban approached re 
 buking him. More sternly he clutched the 
 213
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 knife something hindered a full grasp 
 the little white handkerchief that he had 
 thrust into his pocket had twisted itself 
 about the handle ! Flinging himself at the 
 foot of the cross, passionately he pressed the 
 handkerchief to his lips, to his burning eye 
 balls, groaning in an agony of prayer. 
 
 For a long time he lay there. The moon 
 was gone, the early morning air, icy cold, at 
 last wakened him out of a dead stupor. His 
 mind, his will, were alive within him, he felt 
 kingly of spirit; but racked by chills and a 
 violent fever, his body made no response. 
 With difficulty he found his way back to the 
 camp. 
 
 Early in the morning Johnson greeted 
 Ybarrando with cheery words, but he was 
 unable to speak. 
 
 Scrambling into his clothes, Johnson hur 
 ried off for his wife. She looked at the 
 flushed face, listened to the heavy breathing; 
 then in awe-stricken tones, whispered in 
 Spanish to her husband, that it was another 
 case of pneumonia. 
 
 214
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " "W" T is serious you think?" asked Ruth, 
 betraying in her voice both pity and 
 alarm. 
 
 Woodbridge had returned from 
 Johnson s tent, where he had found 
 Esteban ill with a raging fever. He stood be 
 fore the cabin door looking down on the camp. 
 Without turning he replied, "The fever hasn t 
 made great headway yet, but the temperature 
 is too high to hope for much; there is every 
 indication that it will develop into pneu 
 monia." 
 
 Ruth paled and came down the steps to 
 Woodbridge s side. 
 
 "With nothing but Juana s box of yerba 
 santa, the situation is bad," dismally con 
 tinued Woodbridge. "He must have a doc 
 tor, if it s possible to get one up here. Do you 
 think that you would be equal to going back 
 this morning? Then I could send the doctor 
 215
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 from Nogales. As a matter of fact the san 
 itary conditions are so poor that I dont like 
 to risk either you or myself here a day longer. 
 And I m through with the business, I ought 
 to go back today." 
 
 Ruth turned directly toward him. "Don t 
 you think that Johnson could go for the doc 
 tor? I m able to return this morning, but I 
 think we ought to stay to see what the doctor 
 thinks is the matter with Senor Ybarrando, 
 to find out if it is pneumonia." 
 
 "Supposing it pneumonia, what can we 
 do?" abruptly replied Woodbridge. "If I 
 went to Hermosillo I couldn t find a better 
 nurse than Juana Johnson. All the men in 
 the camp come to her. These Mexicans have 
 the greatest confidence in their women and 
 their yerba santa. I fancy Ybarrando is no 
 exception, though of course I ll send up a doc 
 tor. I repeat I cannot see any point in our 
 staying if you are able to go today." 
 
 There was nothing like subterfuge in Ruth. 
 Even when she and Woodbridge had dis- 
 216
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 agreed, the intercourse between them had al 
 ways been of the frankest character. Because 
 of her love she had perhaps been his victim; 
 but she had not permitted him to change her 
 moral nature to turn her into a creature of 
 pretexts and artifice. 
 
 Walking apart from Woodbridge, she 
 stood on the edge of the dump, her serious 
 eyes fastened on the white tent below them 
 where the sick man lay. 
 
 "Gerald, I brought Senor Ybarrando here, 
 I am directly the cause of his illness; yester 
 day he walked for hours through the snow, 
 leading my burro. If he should grow worse, 
 if anything were to happen don t you under 
 stand?" She paused for a moment; "he 
 risked the plague to bring me to you, surely 
 \ve must recognize kindness like this!" 
 
 Irritated, angry, Woodbridge drew out a 
 cigarette, lighted it and walked up to Ruth. 
 "I understand you, but I confess not to sym 
 pathize with you to the extent of staying on 
 when we are actually of no use our being 
 217
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 here only gives Juana more to do." 
 
 "That is just the point, I could help her, 
 help her to nurse Senor Ybarrando," insisted 
 Ruth. 
 
 Woodbridge was unprepared for any such 
 proposal from Ruth. Once again the myste 
 rious note and its contents flashed before him. 
 Could it be possible that there was any signifi 
 cance in the nonsense? 
 
 "Ruth I do not like to accuse you of talk 
 ing absurdly; but for you to suggest that we 
 stay here that you may help nurse Ybarrando, 
 with whose illness you really have nothing to 
 do, is preposterous. He must have been half 
 sick when he started, the congestion has evi 
 dently been going on for several days. Ybar 
 rando should have known better than to have 
 come. If you persisted in coming, he might 
 have sent you with old Chavez, who has 
 been down here with me many a time. 
 
 "I asked Senor Ybarrando to come. I 
 should have been unwilling to have had any 
 one else. But Gerald, this is no time to stop 
 218
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 to argue; at this moment Senor Ybarrando 
 ought to be having careful attention. You re 
 member that the trained nurse and I were up 
 day and night with father, and how unexpect 
 edly he died. Pneumonia is a most treacher 
 ous illness, one never knows what to look for ; 
 poultices must be constantly applied. I know 
 just what to do, at least until the doctor 
 comes," as Ruth spoke she moved toward the 
 cabin and went in. 
 
 Astounded at her diregard of his point of 
 view; non-plussed by the anxiety and eager 
 ness in Ruth s voice, Woodbridge did not 
 follow her for a moment; then he walked 
 fiercely into the house. 
 
 "Ruth I forbid you to go any further. Your 
 actions are unaccountable open to criticism 
 even in a mining-camp. I have a little prerog 
 ative in this matter. You will be ready to 
 go down with me at eleven o clock." 
 
 Fire darted from the girl s eyes; but her 
 voice and manner were beseeching. 
 
 "Gerald, dear Gerald, I must stay," she 
 219
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 turned from him and went into the little 
 kitchen, whose thin partition rose a wall of 
 granite between them. 
 
 Woodbridge s eyes followed her. So 
 quiet and finally determined was her man 
 ner, that astonishment more than anger took 
 possession of him something akin to ad 
 miration was in his look; but it was quickly 
 replaced by one of wounded pride and cha 
 grin. His will was no longer lord over this 
 woman of his choice. 
 
 He went back into the office and quickly 
 made ready to leave the camp. Once or 
 twice he considered remaining, and allowing 
 Johnson to go for the doctor. But someone 
 was needed at the Chemical Works, now that 
 Ybarrando was unable to return; then he 
 was overdue in the City of Mexico. It was out 
 of the question to stay even for a day. He 
 cursed the moment that he had set eyes upon 
 Ybarrando. The whole situation was an 
 abominable one. He would leave directions 
 with Johnson to take Ruth down when she 
 220
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 was ready to go. 
 
 He returned for a moment into the kitchen 
 to bid Ruth good-bye. She was stirring a 
 pan of flaxseed over the stove, she put out 
 her hand, and he kissed her coldly on the 
 forehead; the look in her eyes baffled him. 
 
 The Johnsons were surprised at Wood- 
 bridge s leaving without Ruth. The loquaci 
 ous Karl explained confidingly to Juana that 
 evidently there was a sad misunderstanding 
 between Woodbridge and Miss Hastings. 
 
 Juana shook her head gravely as she bent 
 over Ybarrando s cot, and asked her hus 
 band to make la Senorita comfortable, mut 
 tering under her breath that she wished la 
 Americana had gone. 
 
 Karl Johnson was a Swedish-American 
 who since leaving the old country some thirty 
 years ago, had been a miner in the West. Ill 
 luck had attended him, until wandering into 
 Arizona, he became overseer of the young 
 Senorita Romualdo s rancho. She was then 
 about eighteen, the sole mistress of the 
 221
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 hacienda with three hundred men under her. 
 A taciturn, fearless, handsome creature, full 
 of bravery and border-spirit a Mexican 
 Brynhild. Johnson was the first foreigner 
 whom she had ever seen and the first man to 
 tame her. His dry wit and kindliness had 
 won her heart. He, in turn, was fascinated 
 by her wild beauty; nor was his mercenary 
 spirit blind to the possibilities in the rancho. 
 
 One day Woodbridge had stopped over 
 night at the Johnson s on his way to the Jesus 
 Maria Mines. He recognized the steady 
 Swede s ability, and made him a proposition 
 to go to the mines. This was a day of grief 
 for Juana. The old rancho was sold and the 
 cattle driven hither and thither Los Ameri 
 canos were in possession. From that mo 
 ment Juana detested the invaders. 
 
 Upon Woodbridge s departure, Ruth felt 
 called upon to explain to the Johnsons the 
 reason for her remaining behind. She and 
 Johnson sat together at the dinner table. 
 Johnson stopped eating, turned sidewise on 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 his chair, opening his innocent eyes wider 
 and wider. 
 
 "Mr. Woodbridge felt obliged to go 
 back," she said, "but it did not seem wise 
 for both of us to leave until we knew what 
 the doctor thought was the matter with Senor 
 Ybarrando. At my request he came to the 
 camp. The papers said that Mr. Wood- 
 bridge had been striken with the plague, I 
 felt that I must come at any cost. Senor 
 Ybarrando would not let me come alone, and 
 he walked in the snow up the trail which no 
 doubt brought on this cold. I feel that in 
 some measure I am responsible; that it is my 
 duty to stay and help Mrs. Johnson." 
 
 There was a sympathetic response in the 
 blue eyes. "I see, I see," said Johnson. "My 
 wife is a first-class nurse; but there s no 
 tellin how long the Senor Hypochondria, I 
 should say Ybarrando, may be ill. She says 
 it s a bad case of pneumonia, that he seems 
 delicate. She s taken a great likin to him, 
 calls him a caballero that means high-toned 
 223
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 in Mexican. She says it will be a mighty dif 
 ferent thing nursin him from nursin the two 
 peons, his system won t stand what theirs 
 did, and they didn t pull through. By 
 evenin the doctor ought to be here." 
 
 Johnson got up and shuffled over to the 
 door, clapping his sombrero on the back of 
 his blonde head. "She ll be glad enough that 
 you ve stayed, Miss Hastings; for I m no 
 hand at nursin at all, specially when it comes 
 to the night turn. The Mexicans give up 
 mighty easy in sickness; they sometimes 
 seem a delicater race than ours. If anyone 
 can pull him through, my wife can; she s an 
 expectation to every one." 
 
 224
 
 1 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HE American doctor had come 
 from Nogales, and had pre 
 scribed medicines and directions, 
 that would never have been ad 
 ministered by Juana, if Ruth had 
 not been present when they were given; he 
 also left a small tin box with a preparation for 
 plasters, this unaccountably disappeared, Ju 
 ana declaring that the doctor must have put 
 it back in his bag by mistake. 
 
 Juana Johnson was sprung from a long 
 line of curanderas, familiarly called viejas 
 old women healers who are to be found in 
 all Mexican communities. Her intelligence 
 about sickness, her knowledge of the efficacy 
 of certain herbs, was instinctive. Like the old 
 women before her, she was supplied with a 
 large gunnysack, filledwithahundredor more 
 small packages tied with bright bits of calico, 
 and containing every sort of herb imaginable. 
 225
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 It was from this simple pharmacy that Este- 
 ban was to be restored and made well. 
 
 Ruth proved to be invaluable in assisting 
 Juana to nurse Ybarrando. As he tossed in 
 delirium, one word was constantly upon his 
 lips. Sometimes it escaped from him in sen 
 tences wild and incoherent; again he whis 
 pered it low and tender. Juana bending over 
 the cot to replace the poultice, let a hot tear 
 fall on the blanket. 
 
 "Is it someone s name?" asked Ruth, rising 
 to stir the fresh flaxseed and to put water on 
 the stove. She looked at Esteban s flushed 
 face; his straight heavy hair hung in clammy 
 masses over his brow, and he stirred in pain. 
 
 "No, it s no one s name. It is a love name 
 very precious," replied the Mexican woman 
 in broken English. "Has he a sister, a little 
 sister?" she went on pulling the blanket gently 
 over the sick man, and turning her penetrat 
 ing eyes upon Ruth. 
 
 "No, I believe there is no sister, there is a 
 cousin, a beautiful girl; but she is tall, very 
 226
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 tall," said Ruth, the graceful figure of the 
 girl Francisca rising before her. 
 
 Again Esteban moaned, "Mi queridita." 
 
 "It can t be her he has on his mind," said 
 Juana, Mi queridita always means a little 
 person, my little one," and again she turned 
 to Ruth, this time surveying the girl from 
 head to foot with a stony glance which fright 
 ened Ruth. 
 
 Johnson had endeavored to explain to Ju 
 ana why Ruth had remained at the camp. Du 
 biety and distrust were in the shrug of her 
 fine shoulders as she turned to see to her pa 
 tient. 
 
 "You know that I do not trust them, Karl 
 
 los Americanos. Duty I don t know what 
 
 she means; Senor Ybarrando loves her con 
 
 gran pasion has la Senorita had nothing to 
 
 do with it?" 
 
 Finer irony than any rhetoric may convey, 
 was in her interrogation. Always brief of 
 speech, Juana said no more, but she deter 
 mined to watch Ruth closely. 
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 It was the second week of watching. Juana 
 had much need of rest. One night, Ruth, 
 fearing that the woman might fall asleep 
 at the greatest risk to Esteban, asked John 
 son to take her down to the tent. 
 
 "You are so worn, won t you sleep, Mrs. 
 Johnson, and let me watch for a few hours?" 
 said Ruth, going up to the dark, unapproach 
 able figure and putting her arms about her 
 waist. "Senor Ybarrando rests much more 
 easily tonight," and Ruth glanced toward the 
 cot. 
 
 Juana made no reply; looking sternly over 
 the girl s head, she called to her husband, 
 who for reasons of his ow r n had not followed 
 Ruth into the tent; nor did he appear at the 
 sound of his wife s peremptory voice. Juana 
 went out to him and directly Ruth heard 
 Johnson, coaxing, persuading, and her own 
 name came repeatedly across the vibrant air. 
 After a while Juana came in, and without 
 any comment wrapped a black shawl about 
 her shoulders and threw herself down upon 
 228
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 an Indian blanket that lay across the tent. 
 Ruth took a chair close by Esteban s cot and 
 on into the night she watched. He lay quiet 
 ly, the delirium had ceased, the fever had al 
 most gone; she knew that the crisis had pass 
 ed. Once Juana got up to put on a fresh 
 poultice, and succumbed to Ruth s persua 
 sions to rest a little longer. 
 
 It was midnight. Healing winds blew into 
 the tent air laden with the aromatic scent 
 of the chia and the fragance of mountain 
 pine. Ruth rose softly and went over to the 
 tent opening. She leaned out breathing in 
 the balsamic odors; over the wall of hills, 
 one tremulous star spoke to her out of the 
 stillness; through the mesmeric atmosphere, 
 her thoughts came quick and fast, like ap 
 paritions they hovered about her apart 
 from her, reasoning one moment, on fire the 
 next. She had never doubted the Tightness 
 of her act in remaining to nurse Senor Ybar- 
 rando; but why had she felt disquietude in 
 her heart when she fancied the sick man s 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 murmurings were for Francisca? Of what 
 consequence was it to her? During these 
 days of waiting why had she neither eaten 
 nor slept? When she went back to the cabin 
 and tried to rest, why had the earnest face of 
 the man there on the pillow, followed her? 
 What privilege had she, the betrothed of 
 Gerald Woodbridge, to intrude upon an 
 other man s life? Yet hour by hour she had 
 forecast the future of Senor Ybarrando, and 
 Gerald Woodbridge was always a stumbling 
 block in the way. Once, twice, oftener, an 
 other cloud had arisen the fact that Senor 
 Ybarrando was a Mexican. How little dif 
 ference this meant after all ! 
 
 Something the primordial wildness of 
 the spot the largeness of the mountains 
 the desert wind, untameable, free, as it toyed 
 with her hair bade her cast off her old pa 
 tient self and the circumscribed, conventional 
 life; her fettered heart called back to the 
 wind; and a light, more mysterious than that 
 of the dawn breaking over the mountains, 
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 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 stole into her face Love s revelation! 
 
 Esteban stirred. Noiselessly Ruth moved 
 toward the cot, putting her arm protectingly 
 over his blanket. Peacefully as a child he 
 slept; Ruth s eyelids fluttered, for a moment, 
 she, too, would rest. 
 
 The dawn light crept stealthily into the 
 tent, Esteban awoke; slowly, very slowly, he 
 let his eyes wander about the tent they 
 rested on Ruth. Wonderingly he looked at 
 her, clutching feebly at the blanket where 
 her hand lay; without touching so much as 
 the tip of one of her fingers, he let his own 
 hand rest beside hers, and fell off to sleep, 
 
 a wrapt smile hovering about his lips. 
 
 ******** 
 
 "Senorita Hastings sat here last night," 
 said Esteban, while Mrs. Johnson fed him 
 his breakfast of gruel. 
 
 "No, Senor, you must have dreamed that, 
 I m the only nurse," was her intrepid reply. 
 
 The sick man pushed away the bowl and 
 fell back, closing his eyes, tears trickling 
 231
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 "Pobre tonto!" murmured Juana, turning 
 away with the bowl that she might not see 
 his disappointment. 
 
 It was not the moment to give him her 
 opinion of los Gringos, later she meant to in 
 spire him with hatred; meanwhile, if she 
 could manage it, he should never know that 
 la Senorita had been there. It was arranged 
 that Ruth should go down the mountain with 
 Johnson early the next morning. The few 
 hours remaining, she herself would sit guard 
 at the tent door no cat ever watched for a 
 mouse with the same adroitness. 
 
 Esteban sat up the next morning to his 
 breakfast, he seemed brighter and stronger 
 than at any time. "Put the blanket around 
 me and lead me to the door. If I could sit 
 out for an hour or so in that sunshine, I 
 should be all right in a day or two; nature 
 would heal me," he said in Spanish to Juana. 
 
 Reluctantly she did his bidding, so far as 
 allowing him to get out of the cot and into 
 232
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the rocking chair; but beyond the tent he 
 was not permitted to go. 
 
 "Have Senorita Hastings and Mr. Wood- 
 bridge gone?" inquired Esteban. 
 
 At that moment the figure of Ruth, ready 
 to start on her journey, her white-breasted 
 turban thrown back on her golden hair, the 
 blue scarf fastened at her throat, appeared 
 in the tent. 
 
 "I am going now Mrs. Johnson, I have 
 come to say good-bye to you and to Senor 
 Ybarrando," said Ruth irresistibly, gliding 
 by the stalwart Juana to Esteban. 
 
 Timidly, delightedly, he raised his dark 
 eyes, reaching out his hand to her. "I 
 knew that you were still here," he slowly 
 whispered. 
 
 For an instant, she held his hand and did 
 not speak, bending over him with the strange 
 new light in her eyes. 
 
 Esteban s old feeling of gratitude, of hu 
 mility before the woman, gave way to one 
 of joy; his blood hurried through his veins 
 
 233
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 with the sweep of a life-current; his heart 
 beat almost with pain. 
 
 Then her clear, sweet voice broke the sus 
 pense. 
 
 "You are up already, Senor Ybarrando ! 
 What miracle has Mrs. Johnson wrought? I 
 have come to say good-bye ; you will reach 
 home almost as soon as I shall. No, no, do 
 not try to talk yet; let it be only Adios ." 
 Gently pressing his hand she turned from 
 him and left the tent, the sick man murmur 
 ing "Adios". 
 
 As Ruth departed, Juana s figure loomed 
 speecheless, threatening, in one corner of the 
 tent; and an expression of scorn mingled 
 with pity, filled her eyes while she watched 
 the face of Ybarrando bent yearningly for 
 ward from his chair, following the girl, as 
 she finally disappeared in the direction of 
 the cabin. 
 
 234
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SLOWLY, very slowly, Don Dolores 
 regained the power of speech. 
 The stroke of paralysis which 
 had made the left leg useless, had 
 enfeebled the mind; yet thoughts, 
 especially recollections of his boyhood, 
 crowded and pressed for utterance. One 
 day a single word "Esteban" burst forth, 
 gradually a sentence was uncertainly spoken. 
 Francisca heard this labored speech with the 
 same feelings of delight as those of a young 
 mother listening to the lispings of a child. 
 
 All his life Don Dolores had been given 
 to dreaming; as a boy his nights were made 
 glorious with visions of bear killing in the 
 mountains back of the rancho, or of lassoing 
 wild horses out on the mesa by the light 
 house. "And the best part of it all was, 
 that those dreams, nina, those dreams of my 
 boyhood were always happy ones," he said 
 235
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 to Francisca. Then the old man, with dif 
 ficult speech, would recall his pet story the 
 one of lassoing the herd of antelope when he 
 was a boy of twelve. So the weary weeks 
 passed in the pent up room where Don 
 Dolores lived; his four walls receding into 
 green canons; the narrow window panes 
 radiating sunshine that no one saw save the 
 old man. 
 
 One afternoon, a few days after Este- 
 ban had gone to the mines, Francisca sat by 
 Don Dolores chair, her head bent over a 
 bit of drawn-work, her thoughts restless and 
 discontented. 
 
 The old man had passed a wakeful night, 
 his sleep interrupted by vivid, heart-rending 
 scenes. "Come nearer, nina," he said in a 
 whisper, "I had a strange dream last night. 
 I was back at the rancho, everything was dif 
 ferent, all was changed. Hundreds of men 
 were at work plowing up the fields; your 
 aunt s fig orchard had entirely disappeared; 
 and where the old adobe stood, there was a 
 236
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 cheap wooden house that they called the 
 office . Here they told me, that the South 
 ern Pacific had been given permission by the 
 government," at this point Don Dolores 
 voice dwindled to a hoarse whisper, "yes, 
 they said by the government, to take my land 
 free, they would pay me nothing, nothing, 
 nina. It is true, they paid me nothing for the 
 tract, the quarry next to el chorro," and he 
 gave Francisca a pathetic glance. "On I 
 went in my dream, out to the light-house, 
 where I saw tall poles such as I had never 
 seen before, and the bluff was guarded by 
 many policemen, soldiers in a long line 
 
 Francisca dropped her work and bent over 
 the agitated body, taking Don Dolores cold 
 hands in hers. 
 
 "I spoke to them, nina," the old man went 
 on, "asked them what they were building, 
 and they told me oil derricks oil stock had 
 gone up very much since the company had 
 struck oil. The policemen alarmed me; yet 
 knowing that the hill was still mine, that I 
 
 237
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 had never sold k Esteban loved that bluff 
 and I had always tried to save it for him 
 I walked up to the foreman, but was instantly 
 silenced and told that the chief of police in 
 the city kept a body of men on the rancho; 
 that force would be used if they were inter 
 rupted in their work. Nina, I want to go 
 back to the rancho to see what they are do 
 ing. When will Pedro come? Ask him, 
 nina, if the derricks are on the hill, on Es- 
 teban s hill." 
 
 Prostrated by his long speech, Don 
 Dolores closed his eyes and lay back panting 
 for breath. 
 
 "Tilito, tilito," Francisca tenderly whis 
 pered, kissing his cold forehead upon which 
 the perspiration lay in heavy beads, and 
 chafing his stiff fingers, "tilito, it was only 
 a dream, Esteban s hill is still there, just as 
 it always was, there are no poles, no men at 
 the rancho," then she softly crossed the 
 room, gave him a powder, and he soon fell 
 asleep. 
 
 238
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Pedro came in at half past eight to relieve 
 her. "Do you know who went to the mines 
 with your handsome cousin?" he queried as 
 they stood by Don Dolores chair. 
 
 Francisca was sad, subdued, ready to cry 
 on the slightest provocation. "No, did he 
 take someone with him? When he came to 
 say good-bye to us, he said Mr. Woodbridge 
 was very ill, that was all." 
 
 "Well, now who do you suppose went with 
 him, to see that he didn t take cold, for 
 there s snow on the trail this time of year; 
 to keep Woodbridge from killing him?" 
 Pedro gave a malicious laugh and lolling 
 against the window, waited a response from 
 Francisca. 
 
 "How do I know? Tell me Pedro, I 
 don t feel like being teased. What do you 
 mean anyway?" 
 
 "Well, just give one guess," persisted the 
 fellow, and his coarse face shone with some 
 thing more than mischief. "Someone who 
 never rode a burro up a snow trail before," 
 
 239
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 he chuckled. 
 
 "Pedro Vejar, I believe you mean Senor- 
 ita Hastings," and throwing herself down 
 on the stool by Don Dolores, her head 
 against the arm of his chair, Francisca burst 
 into tears. 
 
 The tears, the fiery passion of the girl, 
 awed the fellow; yet this was the moment for 
 him to gain vantage; he started toward her. 
 
 "Francisca, Esteban Ybarrando knows 
 what he is doing; he doesn t care for any 
 body in the world but that woman; and it s 
 a shame for you to worry your beautiful 
 head about him a day longer. There s 
 someone who likes you and who doesn t run 
 after the Gringos." 
 
 With this Pedro drew from his vest 
 pocket, a small box. "I thought you d like 
 it, I had it made for you out of the prettiest 
 shell there was." 
 
 Francisca raised a petulant face, took the 
 box reluctantly and opened it. There lay a 
 shell breastpin carved in the shape of an oak 
 240
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 leaf. Pleased as a child, the distress van 
 ished from her face, she broke into smiles. "It 
 is lovely, I ll wear it to the party tomorrow 
 night," she said, fastening it on her dress. 
 
 Pedro too, was pleased; but not satisfied. 
 "People say in Luicito, that the manager 
 isn t sick, that Esteban and Senorita Hast 
 ings have run away." 
 
 At his words Francisca sprang like a ti 
 gress toward him. Pedro slunk back into 
 the alcove behind the door. "Pedro Vejar, 
 if you lie, I kill you," she whispered in Span 
 ish, and following him she stood before him 
 riveting him with her eyes of flame. 
 
 Intimidated, yet obstinate, Pedro held his 
 ground; for there was much more to dis 
 close. "Old Chavez saw Senorita Hastings 
 talking for an hour with your cousin the 
 morning before he left, and" Pedro drew 
 a little apart, the girl s quick breathing, the 
 agony in her face smote him "yesterday 
 Mr. Woodbridge came back alone." 
 
 Don Dolores awoke. "Nina," he whis- 
 241
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 pered faintly, "come here nina. Tonight it 
 has been a beautiful dream. You and Este- 
 ban were there; married, living in peace, hap 
 pily at the rancho, in the adobe his grandfath 
 er built with his own hands. Your children 
 romped over the hills, played at hide and 
 seek in the tall mustard, sat about the fire 
 every night for the Rosary as in my child 
 hood. It was all joy and contentment; no 
 one was poor, all had enough clothes, 
 enough to eat, none were miserable, wretch 
 ed, unhappy. Nina, closer nina, kiss me 
 once again for Esteban. You will be his 
 good and faithful wife, love Esteban?" 
 
 Great tears streamed down the girl s 
 cheeks, "Call them Pedro, quick, tilito is dy- 
 ing!" 
 
 Pedro, hearing the dying words, as if 
 reprimanded by the Almighty, fled from the 
 
 room. 
 
 ******** 
 
 When the Rodmans returned from the 
 City of Mexico and found Ruth s note say- 
 242
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 ing that Woodbridge was dangerously ill, 
 and that she had gone to the Jesus Maria 
 Mines to nurse him, Mrs. Rodman was 
 thrown into a pitiable state of mind. She 
 was both shocked and alarmed. Their jour 
 ney home had been retarded by frequent 
 quarantines, due to the plague scare; and 
 Carolyn at once feared the worst. 
 
 "I heard the conductor say that the 
 plague had found its way into several of the 
 mining camps; perhaps Gerald Woodbridge 
 has caught it! this couldn t be!" she said to 
 her husband, calamitous forebodings in her 
 voice. 
 
 Usually Rodman was very sympathetic, 
 but on this occasion he offered his wife no 
 consolation. He felt that he needed it him 
 self. Rodman cherished next to his par 
 ticular grievance the "Philippine Ques 
 tion", his sorrow caused by Woodbridge s 
 inappreciation of Ruth. The selfishness of 
 his future brother-in-law lay heavily on his 
 heart and mind; he despised him for his 
 243
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 treatment of Ruth, and daily prayed for 
 some intervening circumstance to prevent 
 the marriage. The thought of the girl s 
 risking her life to save Woodbridge frenzied 
 him; even his wife s distress was insufficient 
 reason for his holding his peace. 
 
 His present indignation served as an ano 
 dyne to Mrs. Rodman. Already she had 
 discovered that Rodman had a temper; 
 which when roused was as much greater 
 than her own petulancy as a mighty moun 
 tain torrent is greater than a waterfall. His 
 violent mood subdued her. 
 
 Rodman paced vehemently up and down 
 the veranda, denouncing Woodbridge s ac 
 tions and finally deciding that he would join 
 them at the camp at the risk of his life. At 
 this Mrs. Rodman burst into fresh weeping 
 and it was not until the next morning that 
 either was calm enough to discuss what was 
 the best thing to do. 
 
 "I ll go down to the works and see what 
 they can tell me there. Ybarrando will be 
 244
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 likely to know all about it." They had 
 walked out after breakfast into the orchard, 
 and as they stood there, suddenly saw the tall 
 figure of Woodbridge stalking up the garden 
 path. 
 
 "The situation is preposterous," angrily 
 declared Woodbridge, as Rodman led him 
 up to the veranda, where Mrs. Rodman was 
 sitting, anxious and pale. 
 
 With the bias of defeated purpose and 
 jealous rancor, Woodbridge endeavored to 
 explain Ruth s actions. "You mustn t blame 
 me, Mrs. Rodman, I was perfectly help 
 less," he said. "Ruth persisted that it was 
 her duty to stay and nurse that confounded 
 Mexican; that if he were to die, it would 
 be on her conscience forever, and a lot of 
 talk like that. I could neither reason with 
 her nor dissuade her. I never knew Ruth to 
 be so headstrong. It has about used me up; 
 I am half sick, I ought to be in bed this min 
 ute," and he got up to leave. "Here s her 
 note," and Woodbridge handed Mrs. Rod- 
 
 245
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 man her letter. 
 
 While she read, Rodman went over and 
 stood close by Woodbridge. "Why didn t 
 you stay with the girl?" he demanded. "Un 
 der the circumstances, it was hardly the thing 
 for you to leave her there, was it?" he spoke 
 in scathing tones, clenching his hand till his 
 seal ring cut his fingers, and looking Wood- 
 bridge squarely in the eye. 
 
 Woodbridge reached for his hat on the 
 veranda railing. 
 
 "I am due in the City of Mexico days 
 ago. This whole affair has interfered with 
 most important business negotiations. Ybar- 
 rando s illness necessitated my return here; 
 it was simply out of the question for me to 
 hang around an hour longer at the mines. 
 Ruth has acted in an altogether inexcusable 
 fashion. From beginning to end, the whole 
 proceeding has been a matter of impulse. I 
 assured her that Ybarrando would have 
 every attention; had to pay a doctor fifteen 
 dollars to go up from Nogales, what more 
 246
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 could a man do?" asked Woodbridge in ag 
 grieved tone. 
 
 "The one only thing that a man should 
 have done to have stayed with her," fierce 
 ly retorted Rodman, going over to his wife s 
 side and taking the letter she offered him. 
 
 "Eben, you must go after Ruth at once," 
 said Mrs. Rodman, rising, and bowing 
 freezingly at Woodbridge as she moved 
 away. Rodman said a blunt good morning, 
 and followed her. 
 
 Woodbridge stood discomfited. He had 
 only counted upon himself as being the in 
 jured one, and was not prepared for this re 
 ception. Lighting a cigarette, he medita 
 tively drew on his gloves and walked toward 
 the town. 
 
 "It s perfectly shocking!" said Carolyn, 
 as her husband entered the room. "Ruth 
 Hastings alone in a mining camp ! There is 
 something at the bottom of this, Eben. Ger 
 ald Woodbridge is killing her. For seven 
 years I have watched Ruth, watched her pa- 
 247
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 tience, her devotion to that man; seen her 
 sacrificing other interests, other friendships, 
 other offers of marriage and living on oc 
 casional attentions, brief letters and one visit 
 in all this time. Determined she has been 
 to be true, never permitting me to utter a 
 word against him. Something has hap 
 pened that she so disregards him now. But 
 Eben, think of that child alone in a mining 
 camp nursing that Mexican Ybarrando!" 
 The last words were uttered with a moan of 
 agony and Mrs. Rodman lay back on the 
 couch overcome. 
 
 "Thank God, that it isn t that selfish pu 
 sillanimity Woodbridge," said Rodman, sit 
 ting down beside his wife and holding her 
 hands in his. "Let us read the note again," 
 and he began to read Ruth s letter aloud, 
 but his wife interrupted him. 
 
 "What do you mean, Eben!" she cried. 
 
 "I mean just what I say," he answered. 
 
 Carolyn disengaged her hands, sat up 
 right among the pillows, staring at him. 
 248
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Certainly you do not approve of what 
 Ruth is doing? To have gone to nurse Ger 
 ald Woodbridge was a shocking enough 
 thing for a Hastings to do; but to stay be 
 hind to nurse the sick Mexican Eben!" 
 The invalid leaned forward looking up into 
 her husband s face, each one of her delicate 
 features strained, and her eyes filling with 
 hot tears. 
 
 "Eben Rodman, I would rather have 
 heard that Ruth Hastings had the plague 
 herself." 
 
 For an instant, Rodman looked pityingly 
 at his wife; then he drew himself up, and 
 raising his voice, said, "Carolyn, this mo 
 ment I would rather think of Ruth Hastings 
 out at the mining camp helping to nurse the 
 Mexican Ybarrando than to be nursing 
 Gerald Woodbridge. He is infinitely more 
 worthy a woman s devotion, and I mean 
 what I say," 
 
 Rodman was silent for a moment. 
 
 "I see too, the girl s point of view. Un- 
 249
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 der the circumstances she had a right to stay, 
 a perfect right. She will have her own story 
 to tell, she says she will be home Monday. 
 But I shall go out to Nogales to meet her, 
 start today," and Rodman consulted the 
 morning paper that Anita had brought in 
 with the mail. 
 
 250
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 1 
 
 Ruth, awakening to the 
 knowledge of her love for this 
 man of a different race, differ 
 ent environment, different life 
 and ideals, should feel no hesi 
 tancy in her heart, no questions in her mind, 
 was an impossibility. 
 
 As she came down the trail behind John 
 son, the intoxication that always comes with 
 a first great love was upon her. She thought 
 of no one, of nothing but Esteban; she went 
 over every trifling detail of the room in the 
 cabin, where Juana would have him moved 
 that day; she reiterated each word he had 
 spoken in his delirum, radiant in the hope 
 that "Mi queridita" might mean herself at 
 least it could not be Francisca in their inter 
 course Francisca was the only woman whom 
 Esteban had mentioned especially. There 
 was a moral halt in her present mood. In 
 251
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 her thinking she evaded Woodbridge and 
 her relations to him as the wild thing evades 
 the hunter s cry; her spirit as well as her 
 body traveled through solitary canons, 
 across green mesa levels companioned by 
 Esteban s spirit; his thoughts leaped to meet 
 hers; his sympathy reached out loving 
 hands. 
 
 Ruth divined that Juana Johnson would lie 
 to suit herself, and not to her advantage; 
 she almost wished that she had spoken, said 
 something to let Esteban know her feelings; 
 if he had been stronger that she might have 
 talked with him ! yet must she not first break 
 her vows to Woodbridge before she dis 
 closed her love to Esteban? 
 
 When Rodman met Ruth at Nogales, he 
 said little, but both his voice and manner 
 conveyed approval of her action. 
 
 The bliss that Ruth had felt since the 
 
 midnight revelation at the camp, forsook her 
 
 only when she came into the presence of her 
 
 sister Carolyn. Caroyln meant her past. 
 
 252
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 How would she take the breaking of her 
 engagement? What did she think of her 
 having remained alone at the camp? Some 
 thing in the tone of her sister s voice, as she 
 greeted her, made Ruth fearful fearful 
 lest the great new love should be taken from 
 her. There was no cowardice in Ruth s 
 present feelings; she was merely conscious 
 of the fact that Carolyn never could be 
 brought to think of Esteban as their equal; 
 and that she and her sister, once insepar 
 able, were forever estranged. The meeting 
 between them was an emotional cataclysm. 
 One look into the patrician face of her sis 
 ter, and Ruth s old life the protected, ex 
 clusive childhood; the college career, where, 
 despite the boast of democracy, lines were 
 drawn and defined and reasons given for in 
 equalities of race and classes of society; the 
 months passed in sanatoriums and health 
 resorts the breeding places of superficial and 
 effete conceptions of people and life all this 
 rushed over her, and quick as a flash came 
 
 253
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the resolve not to mention at present her 
 love for Esteban. 
 
 Carolyn took Ruth in her arms. "Dar 
 ling, at last you are here, safe and well. Oh, 
 Ruth I have gone through tortures at the 
 thought of you alone there, in the mining 
 camp!" 
 
 "I wasn t alone, dear, I had a mountain- 
 giantess as chaperone," and for an instant 
 the sweet, girlish laugh rang out, and Ruth 
 reached up, kissing the elder woman s pale 
 forehead. 
 
 A faint smile hovered about Carolyn s 
 thin lips. "In the first place Ruth, it was 
 the wildest thing for you to have gone to 
 nurse Gerald Woodbridge, when you 
 thought he had the plague; it was selfish too 
 Ruth, knowing my love for you, and the 
 certain risks I don t understand how you 
 could have done it." 
 
 "Is it necessary for me to tell you Caro 
 lyn, you who have always anticipated my 
 thoughts, that this was my last throw, my 
 254
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 final test to prove Gerald Woodbridge s su 
 preme selfishness and I have proven it! 
 He was not so much as glad to see me ! It 
 is all over, Carolyn. Gerald loves but one 
 person in this universe. I broke the engage 
 ment in my own mind when I refused to re 
 turn with him from the mines. It has taken 
 seven years to bring me to this." Ruth 
 paused for a moment. "Carolyn, I feel like 
 one who has been scattering seed over the 
 desert." 
 
 They sat together, their hands in one an 
 other s. Ruth s calmness, the look of joy 
 on her face, surprised Carolyn. 
 
 "You wouldn t allow me to speak, Ruth." 
 she said at last. Long ago I recognized 
 Gerald Woodbridge s character. Eben de- 
 spies him. Thank Heaven, you did not 
 marry him ! You can go back to Boston and 
 stay with Judith; perhaps go abroad this 
 summer." Carolyn went over and stood 
 looking out of the window. "There s noth 
 ing to keep you here, for the first time in 
 
 255
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 your life dear, you can feel free, get ready 
 to go at once." 
 
 The moment had come for Ruth to speak 
 of Esteban, mention at least his name; it 
 was her due to him. Carolyn, absorbed in 
 the topic of the broken engagement, had for 
 gotten even to inquire about the sick Mexi 
 can. Ruth waited, hoping that she would, 
 she looked toward Carolyn. The slender 
 stately figure, the transparent profile, the 
 faultless coils of hair, the sweep of her soft, 
 rich garments, the lace falling over the ta 
 pering fingers something in the very gen 
 tleness rebuffed her. Later, when she and 
 Esteban had met and revealed themselves to 
 each other then Carolyn should know 
 everything. 
 
 Indeed several days had elapsed before it 
 occurred to Carolyn to ask after Esteban. 
 Naturally she was not interested and was 
 satisfied when Rodman remarked that Ruth 
 had left him out of danger. 
 
 256
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 During his convalescence, Esteban was 
 easy prey to the vindictive, American-hating 
 Juana. As he paced to and fro in the sun 
 shine, she was always close at hand, usually 
 on her own little porch sorting yerba. Ju 
 ana was aware that her time was short a 
 week and Ybarrando would be gone if it 
 were in her power, he should not go back to 
 the States to be insulted as she had been; and 
 then la Senorita was there. 
 
 "Senor Ybarrando, why do you not pre 
 fer to live in Mexico?" she asked Esteban 
 as he stopped to rest on the steps. "When 
 Karl is rich, we shall go to live in 
 the City of Mexico among our own, 
 never in California. Once long ago, 
 he took me for a week to Los Angeles. I 
 was looking about for an old friend, and 
 when I inquired on one street, they said, 
 Only white people live here. Senor, / have 
 not forgotten that," Juana stopped sorting 
 yerba, stood up, and looked at him. 
 
 Esteban turned pale with indignation; the 
 257
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 incident recalled a similar one in his own ex 
 perience. He remembered the time that an 
 ugly American fellow in the office had 
 flaunted at him almost the identical lang 
 uage. He knew that Juana s rankling spite 
 was well grounded; that it had more reason 
 for being that she dreamed. "They make no 
 distinctions the Americans, they take us 
 all for black people," the benign Don 
 Dolores had once said to Esteban, in deep 
 bitterness of soul. 
 
 "In California they all feel the same to 
 ward us; there is not one of them different, 
 not even your sweet Senorita," broke forth 
 Juana two mornings before Esteban left the 
 camp. "She and Senor Woodbridge had a 
 quarrel; she stayed behind just to torment 
 him; that is how she happened to be here 
 when you were sick. Those American ladies 
 treat their men shamefully. She was a sly lit 
 tle creature, I expect he will have a hard time 
 with her," and the Mexican woman flung 
 an insinuating glance at Esteban. 
 
 258
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 Not feeling called upon to defend Ruth, 
 Esteban walked reticently away. 
 
 Esteban had had little personal experi 
 ence; but he had a great nature. Of the hu 
 manizing influences of life literature, art, 
 and the intercourse with superior minds that 
 brings with it culture and refinement of 
 these he had been deprived; poverty too, had 
 laid its deadening weight, almost from the 
 beginning of life. Yet the elemental man 
 hood in him was too fine and strong to perish. 
 It had been nourished without environment 
 growing like the glorious yucca, in spite 
 of its surroundings; developing by some 
 thing from within. A belief in the sacred- 
 ness of life, in the sanctity of living things, 
 their right to existence, had come long ago 
 to Esteban when, late one afternoon, as the 
 light faded among the trees, he shot a doe 
 the appealing look in her dying eyes had 
 pierced his heart. He was only eighteen 
 then, but the soul of the man had leaped into 
 full consciousness. It was this sense of the 
 
 2.59
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 value of all life, and of human life in par 
 ticular, that had intensified the naturally 
 strong race feeling in Esteban; justice as 
 well as love, entered into his passion. 
 
 In Ruth he had found this same quick 
 recognition of the holiness of people and 
 things. Her intense love of nature of the 
 things of the sod and the air, had been one 
 secret of their congeniality; her sympathy 
 for his race had been consoling, heaven-sent. 
 But the thought had eaten in upon him, that 
 Woodbridge out of the way, even then, this 
 American girl could not be different from 
 the rest of her race ; sometimes he had laughed 
 grimly, calling himself demented, to suppose 
 that she could love him, a despised Califor- 
 nian, an obscure Mexican. Since they had 
 been thrown so closely together, his love for 
 her had taken supreme possession of him; 
 the face of Ruth, the look in the sweet brown 
 eyes as she bade him good-bye, stayed with 
 him, haunting him day and night; until that 
 instant, his love had been nurtured without ex- 
 260
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 pectation he had simply kept on loving. He 
 clung to the look as a drowning man clings 
 to the drifting weed, sinking the while. He 
 longed again to be near her; but in his pres 
 ent state of physical depletion, he dared not 
 return, he was too unnerved; the mere 
 thought of meeting her filled him with trans 
 port, ecstacy. 
 
 He wrote a letter to Woodbridge saying 
 that a flattering business offer had come to 
 him from Chihuahua; and without satisfy 
 ing the curiosity of Juana, he left the camp, 
 feeble, recking nothing. 
 
 At Nogales he happened upon a newspa 
 per, and in it read of the death of Don Do 
 lores; it had occurred a week ago. Esteban 
 was deeply moved; the letters were perhaps 
 on the way, but the funeral was over; the 
 last tie to hold him to the States was broken, 
 there was nothing to call him back. Then the 
 thought of the girl Francisca came into his 
 mind. She had always been his father s spe 
 cial charge; he must return and see that she 
 261
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 was provided for. 
 ******* 
 
 After Don Dolores death, Julio Ybarran- 
 do s wife, took her children and joined her 
 husband in the north. 
 
 Francisca had refused to go with her rel 
 atives, and had found a home with Antonia 
 Garcia. Antonia had- met Francisca at a 
 friend s house. To be sure she had known 
 Don Dolores Ybarrando, was Francisca the 
 niece of that man? Antonia, the descendant 
 of Governor Alvarado, sniffed good blood, 
 she would take the girl in; besides, Anto 
 nia had nothing left but the adobe and her 
 safrano roses, and Francisca would pay for 
 her room and board. 
 
 Francisca liked Antonia to talk with her 
 while she adorned herself to go to the par 
 ties. The old woman would gaze admiringly 
 at the soft olive arms and abundant hair; 
 crushing in her own coppery cheeks with both 
 fists, she would say in Spanish to Francisca, 
 "Blanco, bianco, I was not always like this 
 262
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 this is old age, sickness, girl, see 1" and 
 drawing down her stocking she would point 
 to her ankle, that was as fair as Francisca s 
 own. The girl w r ould look, now at the ankle, 
 now at the parchment cheeks, thinking with 
 horror that perhaps sickness, old age, might 
 so change her beautiful face some day! 
 
 Francisca had been with Antonia ten days. 
 Night after night the old woman waited for 
 the girl to come home; so far, she had asked 
 no questions, but she feared the worst; she 
 suspected los Americanos who always escort 
 ed the girl; and they stood in awe of the 
 withered beldame, who, lamp upraised in her 
 arm, stood waiting at the door for Francis 
 ca, with eyes burning like flakes of flame in 
 her sunken cheeks. 
 
 Tonight, Francisca was very late. There 
 were just three cigarettes left on the top of 
 her bible, looking furtively at them, Antonia 
 selected the thickest, struck a match, and be 
 gan to smoke. A knock at the door it was 
 not el Americano this time, but one of her 
 263
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 own countrymen, the son of her former 
 friend, Don Dolores Ybarrando. They ex 
 changed cordial greetings, Esteban taking a 
 seat by the table opposite Antonia. 
 
 "Francisca will come any moment; you are 
 the cousin Esteban, very often she talks of 
 you," said Antonia in good Spanish, lighting 
 another cigarette, drawing her chair closer 
 to Esteban and looking up into his face. 
 
 "Like your mother, Dona Tranquilina, 
 who was Mexican like me; you have read his 
 tory, you know Montezuma, una sangre 
 one blood in the Aztec one blood. All is 
 changed now United States; first the 
 Indian, then the Spaniard, then the United 
 States," and throwing away the remnant of 
 her cigarette, she relentlessly counted off each 
 name on her bony fingers. 
 
 Restless as he was for Francisca to come, 
 Esteban could not help being diverted by the 
 tragic earnestness in the old woman s manner 
 and words. 
 
 "In California the Mexicans were afraid 
 264
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 of los Americanos," she went on, "they start 
 ed to Sonora, my husband went, he had no 
 horse, the roads," and Antonia made imagin 
 ary curves and tortuous paths with her long 
 arms. "Many, many died on the way, my 
 husband no agua, no agua no water, no 
 water, O, O, O!" and the last words came 
 from the attenuated body like an elegiac 
 moan. 
 
 "Be comforted, Sefiora Garcia," said Es- 
 teban, "if your husband had lived and re 
 mained here, he would have been miserably 
 poor and unhappy. The old Californians 
 are all gone; those of us who are left are 
 treated as an inferior race, an outcast people; 
 we shall soon be extinct, all gone!" 
 
 "Si, si young man, you are right, it is true, 
 I know, si, si," and Antonia gave a despairing 
 sigh, her head bent forward to hear more. 
 
 But Esteban took out his watch, it was al 
 ready twelve and Francisca not yet come ; he 
 stood up, looking about the barren room, he 
 must take Francisca away at once, tomorrow. 
 265
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "I worry when the girl stays so late," said 
 Antonia in response to his anxious look. "He 
 comes every night this week, el Americano, he 
 brings her a gold necklace and many rings; 
 Francisca smiles and whispers to me, He is 
 very rich ; she talks always the American to 
 him and he laughs very loud. I say to Fran 
 cisca, Why do you not speak the Spanish any 
 more? but she only smiles." 
 
 It was now one o clock, and Francisca still 
 away. Antonia s volubility had revealed all, 
 and more than Esteban wished to hear. Sev 
 eral times Antonia got up and went to look 
 out of the door. 
 
 "She has never been so late," and the old 
 woman sat down, folding and smoothing a 
 green silk handkerchief that in her excite 
 ment she had thrown off her head. 
 
 Frowning, absorbed, Ybarrando bade her 
 a courteous good-night, and left, saying that 
 he would come tomorrow to see Francisca. 
 
 The light in Antonia s black eyes was pur 
 ple in its intensity, as she waited in the door- 
 266
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 way, listening to the retreating footsteps of 
 Esteban. "If I had told him all, he would 
 kill el Americano; then they would send the 
 son of Don Dolores to prison to San Quen- 
 tin the son of an Ybarrando to San Quen- 
 tin 1" and drawing up her broken figure, she 
 turned with dignity into the old adobe. 
 
 As Esteban reached the Plaza, a figure 
 moved stealthily along the walls of the dark 
 church. It was Pedro Vejar. He turned 
 in the direction of Antonia s house. Once 
 he stopped, looking about furtively, then 
 drew from his breast a short handled knife, 
 felt of the blade, and quickly returned it to 
 his pocket, a murderous light gleaming in 
 his eyes. For many weeks at the same hour 
 he had gone this way, but he had never met 
 them Francisca and el Americano would 
 he tonight? if not, there was tomorrow; but 
 in the distorted brain of the young Mexican, 
 inflamed by liquor and his wild passion for 
 Francisca, tomorrow was an eternity away. 
 At last, spent by watching and rage, he tum 
 bled into a doorway and fell asleep. 
 267
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 WOODBRIDGE had returned 
 from Mexico. With confi 
 dent spirits he went to the 
 rancho to see Ruth and to 
 tell her of his new success. 
 Since leaving her at the mines, he had re 
 ceived no word directly from her; Ybar- 
 rando s note, however, had informed him 
 that Ruth had gone home. When he 
 reached the rancho, he was disappointed to 
 find Ruth out. Anita said that she had start 
 ed at noon for El Socorro. 
 
 Climbing the foot-hill back of the adobe, 
 he made his way to the lighthouse, stopping 
 now and then to fleck the dust from his im 
 maculate trousers, or to light a fresh cigar 
 ette. Presently the uplands of waving mus 
 tard stretched before him; beyond the yel 
 low haze, far in the distance, he descried a 
 woman s figure the figure of Ruth moving 
 268
 
 along by the campo santo. 
 
 Ruth had been walking briskly, and as she 
 came to the little burying ground, she slack 
 ened her pace and turned into the inclosure. 
 It was closely crowded with graves, most of 
 them marked by rude white crosses, and all 
 of them decorated with something wreaths, 
 shells, broken lamps, worn out clocks, bits 
 of jcrockery grotesque but touching sym 
 bols of the lives of those who slept beneath 
 them. From among the graves, Ruth sought 
 one newly made the mound of Don Do 
 lores. She went up and stood close by it, the 
 tears filling her eyes. All the way along, 
 her thoughts had been of Esteban; she 
 imagined his poignant grief, his disappoint 
 ment at having been away, when he heard of 
 Don Dolores death; she thought of his pain 
 when he heard of Francisca s disgrace. Only 
 that morning Anita had told her that Doctor 
 Vejar had been spreading the gossip about 
 Luicito, that Francisca was leading a life of 
 shame in the city, with a rich profligate 
 269
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 American; that she flaunted her conquest 
 openly Anita s mother had come face to 
 face with her on the streets with el Ameri 
 cano. 
 
 So absorbed was Ruth that she did not 
 hear Woodbridge until he was close up to 
 her. "You are back!" she exclaimed, 
 "When did you come? We have had no 
 message since your letter of two weeks ago." 
 
 He leaned to kiss her, but she drew back 
 gently, firmly, crossing over to the road, 
 where at that moment the weather beaten 
 coach that travelled daily between the vil 
 lage and El Socorro was lumbering by. 
 
 "The dust is abominable, it might be a 
 good idea to get into the coach and drive 
 home, we can talk better there," proposed 
 Woodbridge, disconcerted by Ruth s man 
 ner. 
 
 "No, it is well enough here," and Ruth 
 walked before him toward the bluff. 
 
 Through the golden mustard, vistas of the 
 blue sea flashed, far away the mountains rose, 
 270
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 dreamily indistinct. As they came within 
 sight of the lighthouse the mustard bloom 
 grew sparse, and only the short grass and cac 
 tus gave a touch of life to the treeless bluff. 
 They had now reached the promontory. Ruth 
 still kept a little in front of Woodbridge, 
 walking out she stood alone on the escarp 
 ment; above, below, and around them was 
 the omnipotence of space. 
 
 "We ve come to the end of things now," 
 remarked Woodbridge, in a prosaic voice, 
 catching up with her. 
 
 "Yes, it is the end," slowly repeated the 
 girl, looking out to the illimitable waste be 
 fore them; then turning her brave eyes to 
 him, she continued, "I know what you have 
 come to say to me, but I cannot listen to you ; 
 once I thought I loved you, I threw myself at 
 your feet, waiting weary years; in return for 
 this, today you come to offer me, not a living, 
 breathing man, but a machine; in place of 
 yourself, gold. That which every true wom 
 an can alone be satisfied with love and com- 
 271
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 radeship, you are now unable to give me." 
 
 Woodbridge looked out at her from his 
 narrow, cold eyes, and his under lip curled 
 in surprised scorn. 
 
 "Then there is really something in it; I 
 hadn t put any confidence in the rumors," he 
 began deliberately, feeling his way. 
 
 "I don t know what you mean," replied 
 Ruth directly. 
 
 "I mean," sullenly resumed Woodbridge, 
 "that you are acting like a fool about a poor 
 half-breed; that you have allowed a senti 
 mental Mexican to ingratiate himself into 
 your affections; to usurp my place." 
 
 Ruth changed color, but answered quietly, 
 "Senor Ybarrando has never said that he 
 loved me; the love of such a man would be 
 worthy any woman s consideration." 
 
 Enraged, vanquished, Woodbridge turned 
 abruptly as though he would go. 
 
 "No, I am not going back yet," said Ruth, 
 sitting down on the edge of the bluff, "we 
 would better say good-bye here," and she 
 272
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 reached out her hand, the gesture was one of 
 dismissal. 
 
 He stepped up to her, looking down com- 
 miseratingly. "You know what you are do 
 ing, I suppose," he said, and eyeing her stead 
 ily for an instant, he strode away. 
 
 The afternoon had waned, already the sun 
 was dropping seaward, and the mountain-is 
 land that all day had scintillated out in the 
 deep, was darkening with violet and purple 
 shadows. The ocean, stretching in lines of 
 infinitude to the horizon, breathed tranquilly, 
 no life moved upon the face of the waters, 
 not the tiniest sail was to be seen; the cur 
 tained windows of the lighthouse emphasized 
 the loneliness of the spot; a troop of gulls, 
 flying south, grew dimmer, disappearing alto 
 gether. 
 
 Ruth sat motionless, her hat lay at her 
 feet, her flushed cheeks were buried in her 
 hands and her eyes were fixed on the dis 
 tant sea line it was that way her soul 
 looked. In abandoning this tie of her youth, 
 
 273
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 in choosing to love Esteban, she had done 
 with the old conventional life and its narrow 
 ing influences forever. For the moment she 
 became part of the solitude of the place; she 
 longed to sit there on the barren bluff indefi 
 nitely. 
 
 There was a footstep, she turned, half 
 afraid, unwilling to be interrupted in her ex 
 quisite isolation. The tall mustard stalks 
 swayed and Esteban much to Ruth s astonish 
 ment came over the mesa. Ruth looked up 
 but she did not stir; she could not for the 
 tumult in her soul. Close to her side he 
 came and took the hand she offered him. 
 
 Neither spoke for an instant. 
 
 "I have come from visiting my father s 
 grave in the campo santo," and Esteban 
 waved his hand in the direction of the little 
 graveyard lying below the mesa. Underneath 
 the sadness in his voice, there was a tremulous 
 delight at seeing her. 
 
 "I wanted to write to you when I heard 
 but I thought you would be on the way 
 274
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 home, that my letter would not reach you. 
 I know of your devotion to your father Don 
 Dolores, I know your grief. I wanted to 
 tell you how keenly I felt at having taken 
 you away, you might have been with him at 
 the last, forgive me, I have given you much 
 trouble, pain 
 
 Esteban turned impatiently, "That you 
 have never done, you have given me life, in 
 spiration, Senorita." Drawing nearer, he 
 sat down on the side of the bluff, a little be 
 low her, looking up with the old unsatisfied 
 hunger in his eyes. His words came slowly, 
 softly. "It is very beautiful here." He 
 took off his hat, and flinging his head back 
 against the bluff, closed his eyes, a smile 
 of contentment on his lips. 
 
 Ruth waited. 
 
 "It was strange to find you here today," 
 he murmured, opening his eyes and glancing 
 timidly at her. "I thought when we parted 
 at the camp, that we should never meet 
 again and to find you here," he went on be- 
 
 275
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 wildered with joy, "to find you here," he 
 fondled the words. 
 
 Ruth watched him. He looked wearily 
 at the sea ; for some reason she felt that the 
 hour was his to say in it what he would; no 
 thought of hers should intrude. 
 
 Presently Esteban spoke again, 
 
 "Would you come, Senorita? It will be 
 in the little church " and he looked toward 
 the village far away behind them "the 
 wedding; I am going to marry my cousin 
 Francisca." He spoke as though the words 
 were of no import for himself, without sig 
 nificance to his listener. 
 
 Ruths eyes were blinded. The fervid 
 earth, the radiant sky, the calm, azure sea 
 were withdrawn; she was sinking into an 
 abyss, black, engulfing. 
 
 "You were children together," was all she 
 said after a little. 
 
 "Yes, Francisca was my father s youngest 
 sister s child, her father was a Peruvian sea- 
 captainlost at sea. She always lived with 
 276
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 us at the rancho," said Esteban. 
 
 "A Peruvian ! That accounts perhaps for 
 her singular beauty, she is very handsome." 
 Ruth spoke in strained tones, each syllable 
 choking her. 
 
 "When I came back," continued Esteban, 
 "I found that Francisca was going with a 
 low American. He plans her ruin, I must 
 save the girl. I do not love her," and for 
 a single instant, he let the passion of his life 
 into his dark eyes, turning them full upon 
 Ruth s over-leaning face. He had raised 
 himself into an upright position, his hands 
 moving nervously, his voice earnest and low. 
 "I used to be able to do anything with Fran 
 cisca," he went on, "she was always a child 
 to me. I have not seen her yet nor spoken 
 to her, perhaps I can influence her, I must 
 not let her perish. Besides, what is my life 
 worth? She is at least one of my race whom 
 I may save. You will come then Senorita, 
 a handful of people in the little church be 
 low the mesa?" 
 
 277
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 "Yes, yes, I shall come," answered Ruth 
 wanderingly, and they both arose, for a chill 
 was in the air. 
 
 The twilight still wrought its mystic spell 
 upon the water; but as they turned their 
 faces to the land, the warmth, the glow, 
 were gone, and the path was hard to find. 
 
 "We must keep together," said Esteban, 
 helping Ruth around a clump of cactus, 
 "there are many barrancas and the rabbit 
 holes are treacherous." On they hurried 
 hand in hand, closed in by the sleeping hills 
 and the uncertain glimmering light. Breath 
 less, Ruth stopped. 
 
 "Let us rest for a moment," she gasped. 
 
 Releasing her hand, they sat down on the 
 mesa level, with their faces turned to the 
 enchanted water. Far out in mid-ocean, the 
 mountain-island was drifting slowly, slowly 
 away; near and black the headlands loomed; 
 before them lay the twilight sea, purple, 
 dark, illumined; only the importunate wind, 
 interrupted at intervals by the long wash of 
 278
 
 NOT OF HER RACE 
 
 the surf on the far beach below, broke the 
 stillness. 
 
 Suddenly Ruth turned to Esteban. "I 
 meant to let you go undeceived, to let you 
 sacrifice yourself to Francisca;" she hoarsely 
 whispered, looking up into Esteban s face and 
 seizing one of his hands, "but that" and she 
 pointed to the vision of fading water "the 
 beauty of it all is like God commanding me. 
 I do not love Gerald Woodbridge. I shall 
 never be his wife, Esteban," and she leaned 
 tenderly toward him. 
 
 Breathing quick and hard, with transfig 
 ured face, Esteban bent forward, catching the 
 girlish figure passionately to his breast. 
 
 "Queridita, mi queridita," he murmured 
 through sobs, as one golden star brightened 
 the silent spaces above them. 
 
 279
 
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