DE VALUERE 
 
OPALS 
 FROM A MEXICAN MINE 
 
OPALS 
 
 FROM A MEXICAN MINE 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE DE VALLIERE 
 
 NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS & < NEW YORK < < MDCCCXCVI 
 
Copyright, 1896 
 
 by 
 
 NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
" Now, opals are the tears shed by Tonatiuh, the Sun God, 
 many ages ago, and which fell upon the earth and have lodged 
 in its bosom, turning into jewels. It was prophesied by our 
 forefathers that men would labor wearily for them and kings 
 would pay great price of gold therefor. Hence it is well to 
 know the virtues and portents of these stones, and may wise 
 men ponder deeply upon what I, Chimapopotl, a descendant of 
 the high priest, will say. Now, some [of these stones] are white, 
 though veined with red when held to the light, and these portend 
 love and death . . . and there are some that shimmer with 
 the blue of Heaven, and these speak of love . . . passion 
 rings loud in those that are of the hue of gold. . . . If a 
 man take into his hand one that is yellow changing into cloud- 
 like gray, and sleep, he will have strange dreams . . . and 
 it is also true that one may find a handful of divers hues which 
 may mean anything or nothing, as one will." Extract from 
 an ancient Nahuatl manuscript in Queretaro, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Greatest of the Gods is Quetzalcoatl . . . 9 
 The Water Lady .... . 49 
 
 The Mysterious Disappearance of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 97 
 The Vision of Don Juan on the Piedra de los Angeles 141 
 Cosmopolitana Mexicana . . . . . .167 
 
The Greatest of the Gods is Quetzalcoatl 
 
And some are white, though veined 
 with red when held to the light, 
 and these portend love and death." 
 
 The Greatest 
 
 of the 
 
 Gods 
 
 is 
 
 Quetzalcoatl 
 
 ^PEZCOMAYA is builded in the hollow of a 
 plain, wherein it differs not from most 
 towns in the Republic of Mexico. All about this 
 plain the Sierra strikes its purple teeth into the 
 sky of everlasting blue, these deepening into 
 black when they meet the stars at nightfall. Far 
 to the east lies the valley plain of Anahuac, and 
 to the west the mountains slope down to the sea 
 till the sands are washed by the lazy surges of 
 the Pacific. 
 
 A cluster of adobe houses huddled around a 
 dusty plazuela, and then straggling out into a 
 single street that ends in brushwood huts, and 
 
12 The Greatest of the 
 
 finally sprawls into the desert ; here and there a 
 tree that sulks and is ashamed ; a small church 
 with galleried campanile, wherein hang bells that 
 softly ring the hours of sleep and prayer ; dust, 
 dogs, and donkeys such is Tezcomaya. 
 
 The people toil not, nor spin, nor are they 
 well clothed. Meekly they bear the burden of 
 life, aided thereto by a long draught of mezcal 
 now and then, whereupon they sleep, and per 
 haps dream. A league away is a hole in the 
 ground, a mine denounced and mastered by 
 men from the North, and here some of the na 
 tives move with pretence of labor, though still 
 dreaming. 
 
 One October day, in the year of our Lord 
 1892, Tonatiuh rose, as he had done since the last 
 universal cataclysm, in a sky of unflecked blue, 
 seemingly indifferent that he was not met, as of 
 yore, with greeting songs and garlanded dance. 
 Well here, as elsewhere, had the cowled head 
 done its work, and only the surpliced priest in 
 the adobe church bowed and genuflexed before 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 13 
 
 images of gaudy hue, all of which had nothing to 
 do with the old god. 
 
 Just as the bright beams tipped the eastern 
 Sierra, a girl darted out from one of the adobe 
 houses, passed the door of the church without 
 even the sign of the cross, despite the tinkling of 
 the bell within, and hurried away to the north. 
 She was clothed in a plain sleeveless garment of 
 cotton cloth, and her face, all but her dark eyes, 
 was hidden under a heavy rebozo of black thread, 
 whose fine and delicate weft cost many a day of 
 ceaseless toil, and stamped the wearer as wealthier 
 than her fellows. 
 
 The girl s bare feet left a clear imprint upon the 
 soft white dust of the plazuela and of the street 
 as she sped swiftly along, past the last strag 
 gling huts of Tezcomaya, and out upon the 
 smooth cactus-flecked plain that levelled away to 
 the foot of the Sierra rising like a boundary wall 
 a good six leagues away. Mile after mile she 
 passed at a seemingly tireless gait that was more 
 a run than a walk, though her throat and nos- 
 
14 The Greatest of the 
 
 trils were parched and choked with the fine 
 powder of the desert, and her feet torn to 
 bleeding by the spines of the cactus. 
 
 The earth glowed like a furnace under the 
 fierce heat of the sun, and the girl panted like a 
 hunted deer, her dry tongue licking her lips, but 
 never once did she relax her speed. Soon the 
 Sierra grew more distinct, its buttresses, battle 
 ments, towers, and ravines marked themselves 
 out of the purple mist. Not a tree nor a bush 
 grew upon the shrivelled slopes, not a bird hov 
 ered in the air above ; it was the desolation of 
 heat, not death, for here life had never been. 
 Columns of dust marched like giant spectres 
 across the plain which swept off here and there 
 into mirage lakes that shimmered with light. 
 
 Straight toward the wall of rock the girl ran, 
 as if to hurl herself against it; but when she could 
 almost touch it with her hand, there appeared a 
 narrow cleft, and into this she entered. Here she 
 was in the cool shadow, for this was the domain 
 of Mictlantecutli, into which Tonatiuh could never 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 15 
 
 come. Scarce was she within when she sat, or 
 rather fell, upon the rocky floor and bowed down 
 until her forehead touched the cold stone, her 
 breath coming quick and short, her limbs trem 
 bling. Thus she remained for some moments 
 until the heaving of her full rounded breasts grew 
 less rapid, and then, as if with new strength, she 
 leapt to her feet and pursued her way through 
 the narrow gorge, now climbing over huge 
 boulders that blocked the path, now leaping 
 across black holes that yawned beneath her feet, 
 yet always surely, as one who knows the way 
 well, difficult though it is. 
 
 As she advanced, the walls of the gorge leaned 
 together and met above, shutting out the light of 
 day. She plunged fearlessly on, though with 
 slower step, for in the thick darkness hands took 
 the place of eyes, reaching and feeling for the 
 sides of the narrow tunnel. Her foot touched 
 something soft and cold, and she drew it up 
 quickly with a low cry. She stood motionless 
 as an image of stone, and called with half-voice : 
 
1 6 The Greatest of the 
 
 " Nantli Colotl ! " 
 
 She craned her neck, listening. Her voice 
 seemed to travel a long way and then come 
 back to her in a faint echo : "Colotl." Again 
 she called, this time loudly, straining her throat 
 to its utmost of sound : "Nantli Colotl !" An 
 other sound now thrilled to her in the blackness : 
 "Nelli, nelli, teichpoch !" 
 
 The girl breathed a sigh of relief as she an 
 swered in the Nahuatl tongue : Yes, it is I, 
 your daughter, Xicaltetecon. I wish to see you 
 quickly, but dare not come farther, for the way is 
 full of your children, the cohuatl." 
 
 A low soft hiss breathed down the tunnel, and 
 the girl could feel, rather than hear, the gliding of 
 the sinuous bodies of the snakes on the rocky 
 floor, as they answered the call of their mistress. 
 She stepped forward slowly, putting her foot 
 down with care, lest it touch one of the reptiles 
 whom she knew were moving on ahead of her. 
 She went but a short distance, and then, turning 
 sharply to the left, emerged from the narrow way 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 17 
 
 into a great cavern which was brilliant with the 
 flames of a fire that leapt and curled upon a huge 
 stone altar. Near this, her hand resting upon it, 
 stood a tall bronzed woman, clad only in a sash 
 of bright yellow wrapt closely about her hips and 
 knotted in front. She was not old, for not a 
 single wrinkle marred her regular features, and 
 her dark eyes glowed with strength and passion ; 
 nor young, for her face had something of the 
 majesty that comes from knowledge born of 
 long experience. On her wrists and ankles were 
 heavy bands of gold, and strips of the same 
 metal glittered, interwoven, in the long hair that 
 fell to her knees, covering her as with a mantle 
 of jet. About her neck was a thin chain of silver 
 that held suspended between her breasts a golden 
 image of the sun, the centre and rays of which 
 seemed to glow with a light of their own. 
 
 Such was Nantli Colotl (Mother Scorpion), the 
 far famed Bruja de los Montes, or witch of the 
 mountains, in whose existence the Spaniard 
 denied a belief, though he spoke of her reluc- 
 
1 8 The Greatest of the 
 
 tantly and with some fear beneath. They 
 the immaterial and undefmable "they" said 
 that there lived in the Sierra a priestess of the old 
 cult, and that some of the Indios went thither to 
 worship ; but the padre, a stern man, proclaimed 
 this a lie of Satan himself, and dangerous to the 
 soul s future even to think about. Xicaltetecon 
 walked up to the priestess, and, holding out her 
 hands appealingly, fell upon her knees. 
 
 "Well, girl," said the woman, looking coldly 
 at the form at her feet, " tis a long time since 
 thy butterfly wings have brought thee hither, 
 and I think thou wouldst never have come again 
 had not " 
 
 "Pity, Nantli Colotl !" pleaded the girl in the 
 soft Nahuatl tongue ; " I will tell thee " 
 
 "Tell me!" exclaimed the priestess scornfully, 
 "thou wilt tell me something ! Nay, I will tell 
 thee what thou earnest for. Thy lover, the 
 golden-haired stranger from the North, lies ill, 
 ill of the fever that the Spaniard cannot cure, the 
 curse of Mictlantecutli, and on the seventh day 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 19 
 
 he will die, and thou wouldst beg me to save 
 him. Do I speak the truth of Quetzalcoatl ?" 
 
 The breasts of the girl heaved quickly and her 
 voice quivered with pain. "Yes, Nantli, it is 
 true. Thou knowest all things. Thou wilt 
 save him, save him, Nantli, for my father s 
 sake ! " 
 
 "Thou darest mention thy father s name!" 
 exclaimed the priestess angrily; " what hast thou 
 in common with him ? He served our god here 
 till the Spanish priest caused him to be thrown 
 into a dungeon, where he died. Thou didst flit 
 away to live with the Spaniards, and almost hast 
 thou gone into their church and bowed down to 
 their maquechitli (dolls), and thou speakest their 
 tongue as glibly as if thou wert a chattering 
 monototl (parrot) thyself." 
 
 "Nay, nay, Nantli," sobbed the girl ; "never 
 have I been false to my father s teachings ; never 
 have I entered the door of the house of the sing 
 ing priest, nor bowed to the velvet-robed virgin. 
 My lover is not one of the Spaniards whom thou 
 
20 The Greatest of the 
 
 hatest. Thou wilt save him, Nantli ? 1 will die 
 if he die !" 
 
 "Ca, ca. Thou speakest of dying like a 
 Spaniard, as if it were some great thing." The 
 priestess stopped and placed both of her hands 
 over her eyes. After a moment s pause she con 
 tinued in a low and hesitating voice, as of one 
 speaking with great difficulty, "Yes, I see thee 
 dead, and thy lover with the gold hair standing 
 with a foot upon thy grave. It is so written." 
 
 The girl rose to her feet, and with the fringe 
 of her rebozo wiped away the tears that stained 
 her brown cheeks. 
 
 "Then let it be so, Nantli. If thou dost wish 
 my life for his it is thine. It was not death I 
 feared, but leaving him." 
 
 "I have naught to do with thy life, Xicaltete- 
 con," said the priestess, taking down her hands 
 and seeming to recover herself. " That is in the 
 hands of the dark forms who stand behind Quet- 
 zalcoatl, and whose messenger he is. I told thee 
 what I saw, nothing more." 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 21 
 
 " A prophecy ? " murmured the girl. " Those 
 of our people have not always come true. My 
 father taught me to read the signs upon those 
 walls," and she pointed with her finger to some 
 hieroglyphics that were deeply cut upon one of 
 the sides of the cavern. " That says, and it was 
 so spoken by Guatemozin, that at this time our 
 people shall again rule the land. Yet it is not 
 so ! w 
 
 The priestess looked at Xicaltetecon with an 
 expression of contempt. " .Thou art but half 
 learned in our mysteries, and of facts thou 
 knowest no more than thy namesake which 
 flits from flower to flower. Dost thou not know 
 that he whose throne is in the ancient city, and 
 who rules with iron hand to-day our land from 
 the river of the North to where the oceans eat 
 into the earth until they are but a span apart, is 
 one of our own people, with not a drop of Span 
 ish blood in his veins ? Does not Diaz descend 
 straight from our prince Guatemozin, and is not 
 the prophecy thus fulfilled ? " 
 
22 The Greatest of the 
 
 The girl bowed her head. "Thou art right. 
 Speak, I will do whatsoever thou tellest me." 
 
 For a while the priestess did not answer. The 
 light upon the great stone table had grown dim. 
 Nantli Colotl picked up from the floor what 
 appeared to be a piece of yellow stone and threw 
 it upon the smoldering fire. It crackled fiercely, 
 and long curling tongues of flame shot up that 
 illumined the farthest recesses of the cavern. At 
 this something upon the altar moved something 
 that looked at firsk like a heap of feathers and 
 coiled itself into a snake, lifting its head and dart 
 ing out its forked tongue toward the priestess. 
 
 "Down, Mitzli !" she commanded ; and then 
 turning to the girl, who had shrunk back at the 
 sight of the feathered monster, "Why art thou 
 afraid of Mitzli ? It is through him that Quetzal- 
 coatl speaks, the greatest of all the gods, he who 
 taught our people and guides them to-day, if 
 they would but listen ! " As she reverently 
 spoke the name of the mysterious god she 
 pointed to a face sculptured in the rock on one 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 23 
 
 side of the cavern the sad, pleading face of a 
 man, wise in the wisdom that is born of suffer 
 ing ; the same face that struck awe to the heart 
 of the invading, Christ-worshipping Spaniard 
 when he found it upon the ruins of ancient tem 
 ples, so like was it to that of his own thorn- 
 filleted God. 
 
 The priestess dropped her hand to her side and 
 stood for a moment in deep thought ; then, a 
 cruel light flashing in her eyes, she looked at the 
 girl, who stood with clasped hands, mutely 
 awaiting the decision. 
 
 " I am not all powerful, Xicaltetecon, that thou 
 knowest. This much can I do for thee if thou 
 wilt obey me, no more. Swear by the face of 
 Quetzalcoatl, by thy father s spirit which now 
 stands beside thee, that thou wilt obey me if I 
 cure thy lover, no matter what it is I ask." 
 
 "I swear it !" cried the girl, holding out her 
 hands to the sculptured face that looked pity 
 ingly down upon her. 
 
 "Good! Now listen. To-night, ere the 
 
24 The Greatest of the 
 
 moon rise, I will come to the choza where thou 
 livest with thy lover, and I will apply to him the 
 cure known to us. If at the end of three hours 
 the fever die out and he be as those are who get 
 well, thou shalt leave him and go to the choza of 
 Jose, the arriero, who is one of us, and who has 
 loved thee long and faithfully, and thou shalst 
 live with him." 
 
 The girl staggered back and the muscles of her 
 face contracted. " Never ! Death if thou wilst, 
 I agree to that but not life with Jose while my 
 lover lives ! Never, never ! " The last word 
 was a moan ending in a sob. 
 
 The priestess shrugged her shoulders impa 
 tiently. "I have said it. Only upon that con 
 dition will I save the man from the North. You 
 may choose." 
 
 With a cry of agony the girl fell upon her 
 knees and again held out her hands imploringly 
 to the sorrowful god. 
 
 "Help!" she cried ; Quetzalcoatl ! Spirit of 
 my father, help ! " 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 25 
 
 As the last word was spoken there seemed to 
 come whisperings as if from the walls, and a low 
 moan shuddered through the cavern and died 
 away. There was the sound as of the light 
 treading of many feet upon the stone floor, but 
 Xicaltetecon could see nothing, only a great 
 tremor shook her from head to foot, pricking her 
 as with needles lightly touched upon the skin. 
 The feathered snake writhed as if it had been 
 impaled, and the flames that arose from the 
 burning stone shot horizontally along the surface 
 of the altar, hissing as if a strong wind had 
 blown upon them. Purple lights flashed in the 
 shadowy dome above, like the gleams of swing 
 ing scimeters, and for an instant the earth rocked 
 beneath the feet of the priestess and her victim. 
 Gradually the sounds died away, the snake grew 
 motionless and coiled again into a bunch of 
 feathers. All was as it had been before the cry 
 of the girl stirred the shadowy things that are 
 behind the veil. 
 
 The expression of surprise, not unmingled with 
 
26 The Greatest of the 
 
 fear, which had shown itself upon the face of the 
 priestess at the first manifestation of the powers 
 she served, now gave place to one of triumph. 
 
 * As I thought ! " she exclaimed ; it is written, 
 and they could not change it if they would." 
 
 The girl made a last effort to bend her foe. 
 She looked fixedly at the priestess, her eyes 
 flashing with magnetic force. 
 
 "Listen, Nantli," she said ; "if I cannot change 
 the fates, thou canst, for this thing of Jose, the 
 arriero, is thy will, not theirs. Give me a little 
 time with my lover after he is cured, to see once 
 more the love-light in his eyes, to feel once more 
 his kisses upon my lips, to bid him farewell 
 when he can know me ; for now the fever has 
 changed his soul and he knows nothing. Only 
 a month, Nantli a week a few little days ! " 
 
 Again the priestess shook her head and the evil 
 light flashed in her sensuous eyes. 
 
 "It is useless, Xicaltetecon. If I sell, thou 
 must pay the price I demand. But decide 
 quickly," she added, with an impatient stamp 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 27 
 
 of her foot that made the golden anklets ring. 
 "At the falling of the sun some come here to 
 worship ; the way is far from here to Tezcomaya, 
 and there is much to do for this thing." 
 
 The girl crossed her hands upon her breast and 
 bowed her head with the fatalism inherited from 
 her forefathers, who had mounted with firm step 
 the teocalli and given their hearts to the sun-god. 
 
 "\ will do as thou wishest," she said, in a 
 quiet, firm voice. 
 
 The priestess fixed her eyes upon those of 
 Xicaltetecon. "Thou art weary," she said; 
 "thou must rest ere thou goest back, or thou 
 wilt fall by the wayside. Sleep ! " 
 
 The sharp command caused the girl to start, 
 but she could not take her eyes from those of the 
 priestess, which had become two centres of circles 
 of flowing, dazzling light. The lids of Xicaltetecon 
 closed, and she would have fallen had not her 
 companion caught her. Nantli Colotl bore the 
 limp body across the cavern and laid it upon a 
 heap of jaguar skins. 
 
28 The Greatest of the 
 
 She stood over the girl for a moment, contem 
 plating the exquisite Madonna-like face which in 
 the hypnotic slumber looked drawn and infinitely 
 sad. She bent down and put her fingers upon 
 the sleeper s forehead. "Dream," she com 
 manded ; " dream of thy lover ! " The muscles 
 of the girl s face relaxed into a smile, her breath 
 ing became almost imperceptible. 
 
 The priestess now turned to the stone altar and 
 took from beneath it a jar of baked clay with nar 
 row curved neck. Into this she poured liquid 
 from another jar and pushed in a handful of dried 
 leaves and some white powder. She placed the 
 vessel upon the flames and stood watching it 
 until a light cloud of steam curled up from it. 
 She then removed the jar, and, holding it by the 
 neck, whirled it rapidly around at arm s length 
 that it might cool more quickly. Replacing it 
 upon the altar, beside the sleeping snake, she 
 began a low droning chant in the Nahuatl, the 
 original Aztec tongue, to the accompaniment of 
 which she swayed her lithe body to and fro in 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 29 
 
 the graceful rhythmic movements of a sensual 
 dance, the one used of old when the sun was a 
 passion god and the earth heaved toward him. 
 
 "Quetzalcoatl, Teuhtli, ca mochipa, ca nican 
 nica. Te ticuati in notlanequiliz in motechcopa ! 
 Macame ximomamatl in nohuicpa. Nictlazoca- 
 mati ca nicuipcayotiz in cenca qualli nohuicpa 
 oticchiuh. Cuix cualli." 1 
 
 As the chant proceeded, the snake lifted its flat, 
 triangular head, fixing its ruby eyes upon the 
 woman, and then began to wave its head and 
 the upper part of its body in exact imitation of 
 her movements. It rose higher and higher until 
 it stood upon a single coil of its tail, and when 
 the dance ended, it stopped suddenly and re 
 mained as motionless as if carved in stone upon 
 the walls of Xochicalco. 
 
 Slowly, her eyes fixed upon those of the mon 
 ster, the priestess approached until she was 
 
 1 " Quetzalcoatl, always Lord, 1 am here. Thou knowest the 
 worship I have for thee. Be not loth to give me what I ask. 
 Thanks do I render, and I will compensate thee for the good 
 thou hast done to me. It is good. " 
 
30 The Greatest of the 
 
 within arm s reach of it, and then, with a move 
 ment swifter than the eye could follow, seized it 
 by the neck and thrust its head into the mouth of 
 the jar. The snake twisted and writhed in fury, 
 but the woman held firm for a few minutes, 
 after which she released the snake and stepped 
 quickly back, drawing away the jar. 
 
 "There, there, Mitzli," she murmured caress 
 ingly, "thou hast given me enough of thy 
 venom. Tlein tiquelehuia, nehuatl mitzhualhui- 
 quiliz, etzli acuetzapalin necuayotl. " (" What wilt 
 thou ? I will bring it, lizard s blood and hydro- 
 mel.") She put before the reptile a bowl into 
 which it plunged its head greedily. 
 
 There was more of practical chemistry than 
 magic in the priestess s preparation for the cure of 
 the man who was dying of the fever. She tasted 
 the mixture, and, seeming to find it good, put the 
 jar aside and went over to where Xicaltetecon 
 lay sleeping upon the jaguar skins. She leaned 
 over and put her lips close to the girl s breast. 
 
 "When the bells in the Spanish priest s tower 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 31 
 
 strike three thou must go to the hut of Jose, the 
 arriero. Now wake ! " 
 
 At the last word she breathed upon the 
 sleeper s eyelids. Xicaltetecon moved, drew up 
 her arms, and opened her dark eyes. 
 
 "Have I slept long?" she exclaimed, spring 
 ing to her feet. 
 
 "Barely a half hour. The sun is not long 
 upon the downward path. Drink from this 
 cup." 
 
 The girl obeyed, taking a long draft of the 
 sweet but powerful necuayotl, distilled from the 
 honey of wild bees in the forests of the tierra 
 caliente. 
 
 "To-night, then, when the moon rises, thou 
 wilt come and bring the secret medicine ? " asked 
 Xicaltetecon, handing back the cup. 
 
 "Nantli Colotl never failed to keep her prom 
 ise," said the priestess, haughtily, "whether it 
 were given for weal or woe. Let others look to 
 theirs. Fare thee well, Xicaltetecon, and bear in 
 mind to speak my name if thou meetest others 
 
32 The Greatest of the 
 
 coming here to worship, lest they kill thee as a 
 spy." 
 
 "Nelli, nelli" ("It is well"), replied the girl, 
 and turning, she hurried from the cave, threading 
 cautiously but swiftly the dark passage, and 
 was soon out upon the plain, under the hot 
 rays of the sun. 
 
 The single-storied adobe house that had for 
 merly belonged to the father of Xicaltetecon, 
 known in Tezcomaya as Pedro Gutierrez, stood 
 at the head of the street which, together with 
 the plazuela, formed the town. The building 
 was more pretentious than the others, more 
 so even than that of the padre, by reason of its 
 swinging wooden door, painted white, and its 
 two windows with panes of glass guarded by 
 heavy iron bars. 
 
 The interior, however, was but a single room, 
 floored unevenly with reddish brick, which was 
 covered here and there with bright-hued zarapes 
 woven by the natives of Michoacan. A rough 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 33 
 
 table, a few chairs and settee of bent wood, a 
 huge chest of drawers, black and scarred, that 
 had come from France in the days of Maximilian, 
 and an iron bed, were all the furniture of which 
 this room could boast. On the walls were prints 
 and engravings cut from illustrated papers, some 
 rifles and revolvers hanging from iron hooks. 
 Through the half-open door that led into the 
 little patio in the rear, one could see part of a 
 brushwood shed, beneath which was the stone, 
 cut at regular intervals with holes for the burning 
 charcoal, and which served as a cooking-stove. 
 Some lean chickens stalked about the sunburned 
 yard, venturing now and then into the room, 
 cautiously, and with quick, nervous twists of the 
 head. 
 
 The room was deserted, save for some one 
 who lay upon the bed, a form outlined under 
 the white coverings. For a time it would lay 
 quite still, and then, with a low moan, turn 
 over, and two trembling, emaciated hands were 
 stretched out as if in dumb pleading. As the 
 
34 The Greatest of the 
 
 form turned, a yellow, cadaverous face was 
 exposed, covered with dark blotches that shaded 
 from purple to brown. The eyes were closed 
 in the stupor of the fever. An indescribable 
 odor, peculiar to the typhus, filled the apart 
 ment. 
 
 The door opened, and a hag, wrinkled and 
 bent with age, entered the room. Her face was 
 so furrowed that no features were clearly distin 
 guishable, save the hawk nose and the eyes that 
 glittered like black crystals set in old mahogany. 
 She saw the chickens which had wandered into 
 the room, and drove them, with muttered curses, 
 out into the patio, closing the door upon them. 
 Then filling a clay cup from a jar that stood in 
 the corner, she held it to the sick man s lips, 
 crooning the while. The sufferer greedily drank 
 the liquid and then sank back upon the hard 
 pillow. The old woman replaced the cup, and 
 after a glance to assure herself that the eyes of the 
 sick man were closed, she put her hand down 
 into the covers at the foot of the bed, and drew 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 35 
 
 out a small leathern bag. This she opened, and 
 peered greedily at the silver and copper coins 
 within. Her long bony fingers picked out a 
 tlaco, a copper coin worth but the fraction of a 
 cent, and slipped it into a rent in the rag that 
 served her as a dress. She carefully put back the 
 bag, mumbling to herself, as if in justification of 
 her petty theft: "Los muertos no pagan" 
 ("The dead do not pay"), and then went 
 out again, closing the street door softly behind 
 her. 
 
 The shadows of the low houses grew longer, 
 moving across the white dusty street till they 
 clambered up the adobe fronts on the opposite 
 side. The sun reddened as it dipped down to 
 the Sierra, and a puff of chilling air swept in from 
 the north. The bell in the church-tower toned 
 the hour of vespers, and some charcoal burners, 
 bent under the huge baskets they had carried 
 that day from the wooded mountains which lay 
 far to the west, called out their long quavering 
 cry : "Tecolli, Teco-o-o-o-l-li ! " The sick man 
 
36 The Greatest of the 
 
 moved, opened his eyes, and looked about him, 
 and as he did so the door swung back and 
 Xicaltetecon entered. 
 
 "Alone!" she cried, breathlessly, "and old 
 Trinidad swore to me upon her rosary that she 
 would not leave you a step ! Querido mio, 
 pobrecito mio," and with the tears starting 
 from her eyes, the girl seized the burning hand 
 of the man who lay upon the bed. He looked 
 vaguely at her at first, not understanding. Then 
 a glad light shone for a moment in his eyes, and 
 he drew her brown hand to his lips and kissed it 
 softly, murmuring : "My little chicken, my little 
 rabbit, my little mouse." 
 
 "Do not speak, Carlos," she whispered, bend 
 ing over and putting her lips to his forehead. 
 "Let me tell you this. To-night there will be 
 medicine for you, medicine that will make you 
 well and strong again, my Carlos. And I have 
 paid a great price for it ; but you will forgive 
 me, amado." She fell upon her knees by the 
 bedside, still holding his hand, and hid her face 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 37 
 
 in the covers. The sick man smiled faintly and 
 stroked her dark hair. 
 
 The shadows were creeping into the room 
 when she arose. She smoothed his pillow and 
 arranged the disordered covers upon his bed. 
 Then she went out into the little shed in the 
 patio and fanned the ignited charcoal under the 
 iron pot till it roared like the fire in a blacksmith s 
 forge. It had grown dark when she reentered 
 the room with a smoking cup of broth in her 
 hand. The sick man drank and fell back upon 
 his pillow with a sigh, his eyes soon closing in 
 the coma of the fever. Xicaltetecon did not light 
 a taper, a bundle of which lay upon the table, 
 but drew a chair to the bedside, and sat there, 
 gazing into the darkness, with widely strained 
 eyes. 
 
 Her body was broken by fatigue and her brain 
 wearied to numbness by the agony of it all, 
 stupefied by the inevitable, as that of a con 
 demned man the night before execution. She 
 listened to the breathing of the man who lay 
 
38 The Greatest of the 
 
 beside her, growing more labored, more ster 
 torous, as the hours of the night were marked 
 out of the present into the past by the bells of the 
 tower. Perhaps she slept, but when the clock 
 struck ten she found herself mechanically count 
 ing the strokes, and the sound seemed to jar a 
 window in her brain, which flew open and she 
 saw the past, how she had met him out there 
 by the mine, whither she had gone to sell fruit 
 and necuayotl to the men who labored and 
 dreamed therein. He was standing by the 
 mouth of the shaft, clad in blue shirt and 
 trousers spotted with the yellow clay, and his 
 long hair glinted like gold in the sunlight under a 
 curious hat, such as no Mexican had ever worn. 
 He had looked at her and smiled and said : 
 "Adios, chiquita," with uncouth Northern ac 
 cent, and she had laughed, drawing her rebozo 
 more closely about her face. Thereafter they 
 had met one evening by the acequia, whither 
 she had gone for water, and he, the blond god, 
 had put his arm about her and kissed her, whis- 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 39 
 
 pering that she was more beautiful than the 
 velvet-cloaked Madonna over the altar in the 
 little church. Then to her the heavens had 
 glowed as if with the fires of a mightier sun, and 
 she had been glad with the gladness of angels. 
 She had been as faithful to him as the dog to its 
 master, wondering and worshipping, singing 
 the day long of the coming night which would 
 bring him home to her from the mine. He 
 never went out with the men to the cantinas, but 
 after nightfall he was wont to close the door 
 tightly and pore over the letters and papers the 
 stagecoach brought him, explaining to her, as she 
 sat by his side, the great world he had left, and 
 which she knew must be filled with noise and 
 clamor and all distraction. Then he would draw 
 her upon his knee, her arm would creep about 
 his neck, their lips would meet, 
 
 " And overhead there shook a silver star." 
 
 . . . . The picture grew dimmer and she 
 slept again. 
 
40 The Greatest of the 
 
 " Xicaltetecon ! " The word penetrated to her 
 brain like a spear driven, and at the same time 
 she felt a hand upon her arm. She opened her 
 eyes and saw the figure of the rayed sun that 
 hung between the breasts of Nantli Colotl glow 
 ing in the darkness. What was it ? Why was 
 the priestess there ? But it all came back more 
 quickly than the lightning of the rainless storms 
 strikes upon the barren peak of Penon Grande. 
 
 "Nelli, it is well," she said, springing to her 
 feet. "Wait till I make light." She crossed 
 the room, and, after fumbling in a drawer, struck 
 a wax match and lit two of the yellow tapers. 
 As the flame of the sputtering wicks grew 
 brighter, she saw the priestess standing by the 
 bed of the sick man, bending over to see his 
 face. 
 
 "Ca, ca ! " exclaimed Nantli Colotl; "it is 
 time I came ! A day more and all the power of 
 Quetzalcoatl, the greatest of the gods, and the 
 virtues of the sacred plant, could not have saved 
 him from the shadows of Miquiliztli." 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 41 
 
 The priestess held in her hand a small jar, 
 which she placed upon the table, and then threw 
 aside the long zarape in which her tall form had 
 been draped. 
 
 "Now, quick," she said, turning to the girl 
 who stood waiting by her side ; "give me rags 
 of cotton cloth the size of thy hand." 
 
 Xicaltetecon seized a white garment from a 
 nail and tore it into bits. The priestess dipped a 
 wooden spoon into her jar and spread the thick, 
 viscid contents upon each piece of cloth, which 
 she at once applied to the body of the sick man, 
 continuing the operation until his entire body and 
 face were completely covered with these plas 
 ters. She rolled him in the blankets and zarapes 
 which were upon the bed, and threw everything 
 else she could find in the nature of covering 
 upon him. Some of the paste she forced into his 
 mouth, and, taking one of the tapers, burned 
 more of it under his nostrils, compelling him to 
 inhale the pungent vapor. 
 
 " Quix ! Qualli \ " ( j t j s done ! It is good ! ") 
 
42 The Greatest of the 
 
 exclaimed the priestess ; and then, looking at the 
 stars that glittered in the cold sky : "It is mid 
 night. At three the medicine must be taken 
 from him, or it would kill him. I will wait till 
 then. Xitlapacho in tletl " (" Put out the light"), 
 "Xicaltetecon." 
 
 The girl extinguished the tapers, and the 
 priestess, drawing closely about her the long 
 zarape, crouched down in a corner, leaning her 
 head against the wall. Xicaltetecon threw her 
 self upon a chair by the table, and buried her 
 head in her arms. Not a sound broke the silence 
 without. The round moon, climbing up the sky, 
 cast its beams through the barred windows, and 
 even to the bed whereon lay the fevered man, 
 whose breathing was now inaudible. 
 
 The bells struck two. Xicaltetecon arose, and 
 seeing that the priestess slept, crept over to the 
 bed, and, bending down, kissed her lover s lips, 
 well knowing that such kiss meant death to her. 
 She whispered something to him (as if in his 
 deep stupor he could hear), the last farewell to 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 43 
 
 the living of the one about to die. She told him 
 all that was in her heart, all the wondrous mys 
 teries of a woman s boundless love ; the same in 
 every clime, rare though it be. Then as the 
 clock struck three she rose, awoke the priestess, 
 and without a word opened the door and passed 
 out into the night. 
 
 "Tell me again, Pedro, and if I find you have 
 lied to me I will shoot you down like a dog ; and 
 you know that the jefe politico is a friend of 
 mine, and would not trouble me on account of 
 your death." 
 
 The speaker was a man from the North, who 
 spoke with little mercy of grammar the soft 
 Southern tongue. He sat by the door of the 
 adobe house, swathed in heavy zarapes, his pale 
 face showing in strong contrast to the bright 
 colors of the blanket. 
 
 The one whom he addressed was a typical 
 Mexican of the lower class, clad in cotton shirt 
 and trousers, his peaked felt hat on the back of 
 
44 The Greatest of the 
 
 his head. His dark complexion and thick lips 
 indicated his Otome origin. 
 
 " I swear it is true, Don Carlos, by the soul of 
 my mother and by the cross/ replied the peon, 
 earnestly. "You may ask every one in the 
 village and the padre himself. It is as I told you. 
 Two weeks ago to-day twas the day of San 
 Antonio she left your house and went to live 
 with Jose, the arriero. He boasted of it, Senor, 
 at the cantina, and I myself saw her at the door 
 of his hut, not once, but twice. And a week 
 ago she herself was stricken with the fever, the 
 folgorante, Senor, that kills like the lightning, 
 and the next day she was dead." 
 
 "Go on, Pedro." 
 
 " Bueno, Senor. That night Jose and I carried 
 her to the Campo Santo, and buried her outside 
 the wall for as you know, Don Carlos, she was 
 not of the Church, and could not be put in holy 
 ground on the other side, near the clump of 
 huisache trees." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 45 
 
 And we wrapped her in the blue zarape, and " 
 (here the peon lowered his voice) " I took one of 
 your empty wine bottles, Sefior, and filled it 
 with holy water from the font in the church, and 
 sprinkled it on her. You will not tell the padre, 
 Don Carlos ? For if he knew it he would curse 
 me and make me bring him a load of wood from 
 the Sierra for penance." 
 
 "Esta bien, Pedro," said Don Carlos, rising 
 slowly and painfully to his feet ; "I think I am 
 strong enough to walk there with your help. 
 So, let me rest on your arm." 
 
 Slowly the two men walked along the dusty 
 street, in the slanting rays of the setting sun. At 
 their doors the people gave Don Carlos kindly 
 greeting: " Buenas tardes, Don Carlos ;" "Adios, 
 caballero." It was not far to the little Campo 
 Santo, where the orthodox natives of Tezcomaya 
 continued their dreaming after death. Arrived 
 at the iron gate which but made pretence of 
 closing the holy ground to the outer world, 
 for there was no fence about it, they did not 
 
46 The Greatest of the 
 
 enter, but turned to the right, and a few steps 
 brought them to the cluster of low, graceful 
 huisache trees which had sprung up, no one 
 knew why or how, from the baked, waterless 
 clay. 
 
 "Alia, Senor," said the peon, pointing to a low 
 mound, at one end of which a piece of board, a 
 rare and precious thing in this land, had been 
 stuck into the ground. Nothing had been writ 
 ten upon it, for neither Jose, the arriero, nor 
 Pedro knew how to write, and they dared not 
 ask the padre. 
 
 "It is well, Pedro ; leave me here a while, and 
 go you and wait for me at the gate of the Campo 
 Santo." 
 
 "Si, Senor," and the peon turned obediently 
 and walked away. 
 
 "Ah, little one," said Don Carlos, this time in 
 his own tongue, for he was speaking to himself, 
 " I had believed in you as I had never believed in 
 woman. You were the only thing I ever loved, 
 and yet when hope of my life was gone, you fled 
 
Gods is Quetzalcoatl 47 
 
 to another, not even waiting till the breath had 
 left my body." He laughed, a laugh that was 
 akin to a sob. "And yet why should I blame 
 you ? Why ask more of you, poor child, than of 
 the women of my own land ? Nay, sleep soft 
 and sweet to all eternity, little Xicaltetecon." 
 
The Water Lady 
 
And there are some that shim 
 mer with the blue of heaven, 
 and these speak of love." 
 
 The 
 
 Water 
 Lady 
 
 (~)HE ! Hombre!" 
 
 The peon, at the call, dropped his shovel 
 and looked up. He saw a tall, blond-bearded 
 man bestriding a black horse, and behind him 
 another horseman mounted upon a handsome 
 gray, leading two pack mules. The dress and 
 arms of the one who spoke, as well as the em 
 broidered saddle upon which he sat, told of 
 authority, so the peon took off his ragged straw 
 hat and answered : " Si, senor." 
 
 Tell me, man, what place is that ? " spoke the 
 horseman, pointing to a straggling collection 
 of huts that speckled the sand about a mile 
 away. 
 
52 The Water Lady 
 
 "Jesus Maria, senor," answered the peon, 
 twirling his straw hat. 
 
 " And where is Concepcion ?" 
 
 " Quien sabe, senor?" 
 
 "Look here, my man !" said the horseman, 
 with a slight impatience in his tone, though he 
 knew how fruitless it was to be angry with these 
 people ; "it means a real for you to know, and 
 the devil s own time if you don t. Sabes ? " 
 
 "You mean the city of Concepcion, senor?" 
 queried the peon, eying the silver piece which 
 the other held in his fingers. 
 
 "Yes, if you want to call it a city." 
 
 " Bueno, senor. It lies over there, but there s 
 no trail, and if you want to be sure you had 
 better go to the gulf and follow along the 
 beach." 
 
 " And where lies the gulf? " 
 
 " Over there about two leagues, and then, by 
 the scratched leg of your horse, two leagues 
 more to Concepcion." 
 
 The horseman tossed the peon the silver piece 
 
The Water Lady 53 
 
 and turned his horse s head in the direction in 
 dicated by the native. 
 
 "I ve got my bearings now," he said, speak 
 ing in English to himself. "We re below Con- 
 cepcion, and not above it as I feared ; for it s 
 Bonita s right foreleg that is scratched, which 
 means to the right and north after we strike the 
 shore." 
 
 He pricked his horse into a gallop, his long 
 sword clinking against the silver buckles as the 
 animal rose and fell, and his servant followed 
 close behind, urging on the pack mules. They 
 sped over the sandy plain, which swelled here 
 and there into hillocks, held together by bunches 
 of coarse grass, flecked with the livid green of 
 the prickly pear. The blots of Jesus Maria were 
 soon lost to view, and on every side the dreary 
 waste was patched to the clouds. A half-hour s 
 ride and a faint breeze blew cool upon the horse 
 man s face. "Salt," he muttered; "we have 
 only to follow our noses now to reach blue 
 water." He glanced back, and seeing that the 
 
54 The Water Lady 
 
 pace was too hot for his mules, drew rein into a 
 jog trot. 
 
 Now the low roar of the heaving, curling 
 water came to his ear ; then he saw a narrow 
 line of deeper blue than the sky, which broadened 
 out as he neared it into the Gulf of California. 
 The waters shimmered and danced in the sun 
 light, rolling heavily about the long sand-spits 
 which stretched out into the cool waves like the 
 parched tongues of the land. The rider dis 
 mounted, and, taking off his hat, drew deep 
 breaths of the wind. The horse snorted at the 
 sight of water, tugging at the bridle which its 
 owner still held in his hand. The man laughed. 
 "Try it if you want to, you landlubber," and he 
 led the animal to the water s edge. It plunged 
 its nose into a pool, but drew it quickly out, and 
 turned its round soft eyes to its master with a 
 look of amazement and reproach. 
 
 "Jose, we will let the animals rest for half an 
 hour, and then follow along the beach to Con- 
 cepcion." 
 
The Water Lady S5 
 
 "Si, Don Vicente." The servant dismounted, 
 and, taking the bridle of his own horse and that 
 of his master s, stood holding them, while the 
 pack mules, fastened by a lariat to the saddle- 
 peak, brought their noses together and stood 
 patiently blinking at the vast sheet of scintillating 
 blue. 
 
 Don Vicente threw himself down upon the 
 shell-strewn sand, and, lighting a cigarette, blew 
 clouds of smoke into the sky, watching the while 
 the antics of white gulls that flew screaming 
 above him. 
 
 The time up, they were again in the saddle, 
 trotting along the beach, so close to the waves 
 that at times the foam-fringed water shot up 
 about the hoofs of the horses. Brown and long- 
 legged snipe ran on ahead of the cavalcade, with 
 plaintive "weep, weep," rarely taking wing; 
 and small pink crabs sank into the sand, leaving 
 a hole and a bubble. 
 
 It was a good hour s ride ere the low houses 
 of Nuestra Sefiora de Concepcion (to give the an- 
 
5 6 The Water Lady 
 
 cient place its full name) rose into view, wedged 
 in at the head of a narrow bay, up which the long 
 surges, pushed by wind and tide, rolled foam- 
 crowned and menacing. The white beach that 
 spread out like a fan in front of the village was 
 bestrewn with the long, flat-bottomed boats of 
 the pearl-divers, hauled up beyond the reach of 
 the waters. Beyond the town, on a sandhill, 
 rose the cathedral, gray and pink in the sun 
 light, capped with bell-tower, while beyond and 
 close to the gulf were the crumbling walls of an 
 old monastery, long since abandoned by its holy 
 tenants. 
 
 Entering the town and winding along a nar 
 row street, Don Vicente drew rein in front of a 
 square, single-storied house, which a blue sign 
 with white lettering proclaimed to be the Inn of 
 the Three Pearls ; and this anyone who could not 
 read might see for himself in the three blotches of 
 white, shaded with pink and green and spawn 
 ing long rays of yellow paint. 
 
 The arrival of a stranger in this ancient and 
 
The Water Lady 57 
 
 musty town was something which had not 
 occurred a score of times within the memory 
 of man, and the bronzed natives gathered close 
 in the narrow street, silently and respectfully 
 admiring. 
 
 The owner of the hostelry, one Don Pablo 
 Perez, a short stout man with saffron face and 
 bristling mustache, affectionately known to his 
 wife as El Perezoso (the lazy one), stood blinking 
 at the door. 
 
 "My poor house is yours," he repeated, bow 
 ing mechanically, as the stranger swung himself 
 from his horse ; and then, when the landlord 
 saw the new-comer s face close to his own, he 
 exploded : "By the glory of God! It is Don 
 Vicente himself ! The Don Vicente ! " and his 
 fat body was stricken as with galvanism. He 
 bounded like a rubber ball to the horse s bridle. 
 "Pedro! Mateo ! You sons of Satan! His 
 Excellency s horse and baggage ! Manolita ! " 
 he yelled, turning houseward that his voice 
 might carry through the open door, " tis His 
 
58 The Water Lady 
 
 Excellency the Americano of the North. Be 
 quick and stir thy big legs, Manolita." 
 
 A dozen natives sprang forward to hold the 
 horse and assist in unloading the patient mules 
 under the direction of Don Vicente s servant, 
 while a thick-set woman of pure Andalusian 
 blood appeared at the door, her dark eyes danc 
 ing with excitement. 
 
 "Hold thy noise, Pablo!" she exclaimed; 
 " there is no need to destroy His Excellency s 
 hearing with thy shrieking. This way, Excel 
 lency. You shall have the best room, the one 
 you had last time, and I will send for my cou 
 sin s feather pillow for your head. Will you 
 have a chicken or a kid killed ?" 
 
 " A chicken will do for to-day, Senora," said 
 the guest, smiling at the warmth of his recep 
 tion, but roasted, asado, you know, and in a 
 clean pan without the taste of onions." 
 
 "Si, Si, Senor. Manolita forgets nothing; and 
 if twere not for her, God only knows where the 
 fonda would be by this time, with only such 
 
The Water Lady 59 
 
 a lump of nothing as her husband to care 
 for it." 
 
 Perhaps in the fondo of the gulf," replied 
 Don Vicente, laughing at his own pun, as the 
 matron led the way to the low-ceiled room, 
 which, with its furnishings, was the pride of 
 the village. 
 
 "There, Don Vicente, you will sleep like an 
 angelito here," she said, ushering him in. "See 
 the new blanket I bought at La Plaz for sixteen 
 reales, though, by the soul of my mother, I 
 could get it in Michoacan for eight. The way 
 they rob the poor here is an unhappiness to the 
 saints in paradise." 
 
 She chattered on, while the traveller, seating 
 himself upon the low bed, unscrewed his heavy 
 silver spurs, hanging them on one of the wooden 
 pegs that were driven into the wall. Then, after 
 washing his face and hands in a pannikin of 
 water, he lit a cigarette and strolled out into the 
 patio, where Don Pablo sat impatiently awaiting 
 him, in company with a bottle and two glasses. 
 
60 The Water Lady 
 
 "You must forgive my wife, Don Vicente; a 
 green parrot is nothing to her for noise," said 
 the host, rising. "No one has smelled of this 
 tequila since you were here last year, and a cup 
 of it is good for ten years of life." 
 
 "Salud, amigo," replied Don Vicente, emp 
 tying his glass of the transparent liquor at a 
 single gulp. " What is there new ? " 
 
 "Mucho, mucho, Don Vicente. I must talk 
 with you long and seriously after your meal, for 
 it concerns a compatriot of yours who came here 
 four months ago, perhaps a friend, quien sabe ? " 
 
 "His name ? " queried Don Vicente. 
 
 " God knows. I will go and get the book and 
 you can read it for yourself. Here we called him 
 Don Fernando." 
 
 "Tell me the story now," said the American, 
 "for Dona Manolita has just caught her chicken, 
 and it will be a long time before it is served." 
 
 The innkeeper drained his glass, and, accept 
 ing a cigarette proffered by Don Vicente, settled 
 himself back in his straw-bottomed chair. "You 
 
The Water Lady 61 
 
 must know, Sefior," he began, after lighting his 
 cigarette with a double-ended Mexican match 
 and putting the unburnt piece back in his box 
 for future use, "that this Don Fernando came 
 here in May yes, it was May. He was tall not 
 so tall as you, but with hair and eyes the same 
 color as yours. He had a couple of burros carry 
 ing his baggage, and was seemingly possessed 
 of much money in good Mexican silver pieces, 
 together with some paper bills on Hermosillo 
 which I did not like, but sent on to my brother 
 in Sonora, and he said they were good as gold. 
 We gave him your room, and Manolita fed him 
 on chickens and kids and made him some real 
 bread, for, like you, he hated tortillas. He 
 stayed on and on, paying me three good silver 
 dollars a week for his board. He amused him 
 self going out with the pearl fishers, and would 
 dive better than any of them. Old Tiburcio, the 
 best diver of the lot, told me the Americano 
 could stay under water longer than any native, 
 though he scarce ever troubled to bring up an 
 
62 The Water Lady 
 
 oyster, and the sharks never seemed to molest 
 him." 
 
 Don Pablo poured himself out another glass of 
 tequila, held it up to the light, and, then taking a 
 sip, continued : "He was pale when he came, 
 and coughed, but he grew better quickly ; and 
 when he disappeared he was strong and hearty 
 as myself, though not so fat. Every day he was 
 in the water, and the divers said he was search 
 ing for the great pearl which my father, Juan 
 Perez, of blessed memory, once found and lost 
 again, but I know better. Bueno, one day he 
 went off in his boat with old Pacheco, and when 
 out by the island of Los Tiburones dived, and, 
 Dios de mi alma ! never came up again ! Old 
 Pacheco swore to it, and the men in the other 
 boats that were near saw it, as well. Po- 
 brecito ! " 
 
 Here Don Pablo helped himself to another 
 glassful from the white bottle, and to another 
 cigarette from the package which Don Vicente 
 had left upon the table. 
 
The Water Lady 63 
 
 "So the poor fellow is dead!" said the 
 American; "gone unshriven into the stomach 
 of a shark, I suppose." 
 
 Don Pablo looked carefully about him and 
 then drew his chair closer to that of his guest. 
 "There are ears glued to the walls here, Senor, 
 and we must speak low. Every one thinks him 
 dead, but some curious things have happened. 
 You know, Don Vicente, that I am like you, un 
 hombre cientifico, materialista, positivista, and I 
 do not believe in witchcraft, nor ghosts, nor the 
 incantations of the divers to drive away the 
 sharks. As for the priests, they are good enough 
 for the women and children, but for men such as 
 you and I, pah ! " Don Pablo waved his hand in 
 a gesture of infinite contempt. "Now, Senor," 
 continued the narrator, "it was two days after 
 his death, and I had made his clothing and books 
 into a bundle, most carefully, and put them in 
 that room, the one over there by the well, and 
 one day this bundle vanished, Si, Senor, van 
 ished, and in its place were six dollars, the sum 
 
64 The Water Lady 
 
 he owed me. Now, no one came into the place 
 that day but an old woman, though my wife 
 says I was asleep and the devil himself might 
 have carried off the fonda. The divers will all 
 swear that time and again since then they have 
 heard voices and laughter in the wooded isle of 
 Los Tiburones. Old Panchita Guasta, who lives 
 in the ruins of the monastery and never owned a 
 tlaco, now comes and buys chickens, meat, and 
 fruit, paying for them with broad silver pesos. 
 Tis a most difficult problem," continued Don 
 Pablo, scratching his head, "and I can make 
 nothing of it. But Don Fernando left some 
 papers, and a book full of writing in the English 
 language, I think, and these I have, for I had 
 locked them in the cupboard for safe keeping. 
 I will get them." 
 
 He bustled away and soon returned with a 
 package of papers and a small leather-bound 
 diary, all of which he gave to Don Vicente. " It 
 would be well for you to read these, Sefior, and 
 find his residence and the name of his family, and 
 
The Water Lady 65 
 
 let them know of his death, for in spite of all, 
 dead he must be. These divers are not to be 
 believed in matters of ghosts, goblins, and mi 
 raculous virgins who ride upon the waves at 
 night with pearls in their long hair, but in mat 
 ters of fact they tell the truth ; and you know as 
 well as I or any hombre cientifico that no man 
 can live under the sea, and as for ghosts, tis 
 folly, tonterias." 
 
 Here Manolita interrupted, carrying a smoking 
 platter and a bottle of red wine. Don Pablo 
 withdrew to bargain with a donkey driver for a 
 load of onions. 
 
 His meal despatched, Don Vicente lit a cigar, 
 and drawing up a chair put his feet upon it. 
 Then he took up the diary, curious to learn 
 what manner of man he might be, this country 
 man of his who had been devoured by the 
 sharks, and who (what was much more curi 
 ous) had been content to live in such a hole as 
 Concepcion for so long a time. It was no easy 
 matter to decipher the writing, for, owing doubt- 
 
66 The Water Lady 
 
 less to scarcity of paper in that benighted re 
 gion, the writer had utilized an old diary after 
 effacing the first script with bread or rubber. 
 His pencil had marked but faintly at best, gliding 
 now and then over a miniature pond of grease, 
 without even a trace of its passage. The reader 
 was interested, and managed to decipher here 
 and there a word, but after a page or two the 
 writing became clear and legible ; and thus it 
 ran : 
 
 "May 6th. I . . . peace . . . Con- 
 cepcion . . . fresh eggs . . . fool . . . 
 unutterable . . . 
 
 "May ... the soughing of the waters 
 lull . . . dreamless . . . but in me dull 
 all creative . . life here is but a vision 
 seen in a trance . . . closer . . . nature 
 . . . turmoil . . . 
 
 "May 9th. Sometimes I dream, but it is all 
 so misty and weblike that it will not bear the 
 crystallization of a pen. The colors of the spec 
 trum and more, from straight lines waving into 
 
The Water Lady 67 
 
 coruscant halos that dampen in turn into filmy 
 clouds when one would sense them into words. 
 These lines came to me to-day : 
 
 And God breathed color, light, and sound, 
 And Silence spoke in music to the ear. 
 
 In all the universe no man had found 
 Aught but himself to fear. 
 
 all of which is bad poetry, and I don t know 
 what I meant by it. I neither fear nor loathe 
 myself. I have lost me ; I have dissolved it into 
 nature like a lump of sugar in a jar of water. 
 There is nothing here, in the wide sky, the shim 
 mering waters of the gulf, in these quaint primi 
 tive folk, to make me bound back upon myself 
 and find my own personality. All this, how 
 ever, is but the mooning of a convalescent. 
 Too weak to dominate our environment we float 
 with it, inmiscent. 
 
 "May 1 8th. My strength leaps back in this 
 air, soft and humid, filled with the foam of the 
 salt sea. My muscles itch for action, but my 
 
68 The Water Lady 
 
 brain is quick weaned of work. To-day I took 
 a plunge in the waves, in company with some 
 white gulls that screamed discordantly at my 
 splashing and nervously circled about my head. 
 After the bath I felt like a Titan and ate like a 
 Gorgon (did Gorgons eat ?). 
 
 "May 1 9th. To-day is a feast day, devoted to 
 the blessed memory of some saint who lived a 
 thousand years ago, in Africa probably, about 
 whom these fellows know nothing, and consist 
 ently celebrate him by doing nothing. That is, 
 nothing but lay about the beach and yarn, I 
 listening. There s matter for a dozen poems 
 in their tales, but I cannot write now. Old 
 Pacheco, bronzed, grizzled, perched on the side 
 of a boat, tells the legend of the great pearl, alike 
 the world over. Many have seen it at the sea 
 bottom, glowing in the half-opened shell with 
 light of its own. But just as one was about 
 to seize it, it vanished no, a small, delicate 
 hand was stretched out and drew it quickly 
 away, and the form of the Water Lady, Nuestra 
 
The Water Lady 69 
 
 Senora de las Aguas, could be seen fading into 
 the depths, and before you could say "Jack 
 Robinson (supposing one could say anything 
 under water) pearl, lady, and all had gone. 
 Old Pacheco had seen her, and his father, like 
 wise his grandfather it seemed to run in the 
 family. No mermaid, this Water Lady, no 
 fish s tail, but a woman of fair form and feature. 
 These folk had never heard of mermaids, other 
 wise they would have given her a tail, if only 
 for the sake of historical consistency. 
 
 "May 20th. The weekly stage-coach crawled 
 in to-day, and the mail-sack was letterless for 
 me, for which may the gods be praised. I hear 
 nought, I want nought, of the outer world. 
 This is liberty pure, perfect. To-morrow I go 
 pearl diving. I have hired old Pacheco and his 
 boat for a month, and propose to walk about 
 the bottom of the sea. To avoid unpleasant 
 familiarity I have learned to use the double- 
 pointed shark dagger. . . . To-day the 
 white-maned horses of the gulf tide are too 
 
70 The Water Lady 
 
 lively for safety . . . may to-morrow be 
 calm, for I am all eagerness . . . 
 
 "May 22d. Yesterday before sunrise we were 
 off, paddling over a mirror-like sea with the sky 
 in it. ... Near the Isle of the Sharks (name 
 of ill omen !), a foam-splashed acre of rock and 
 earth covered with dense foliage, we cast anchor. 
 Pacheco prepared the heavy iron weight and 
 attached it to the rope. Naked, my shark dag 
 ger between my teeth, my feet upon the weight, 
 and clutching the rope with my hands, I gave 
 the word to the old man. . . . Down, 
 down, with swiftness incredible, the water gur 
 gling and humming in my ears, till I reached the 
 bottom, twenty feet below the surface. I opened 
 my eyes now and looked about me . . . the 
 sunlight filtered through the water in waves of 
 white and green light which trembled with the 
 currents, revealing and shadowing in turn. A 
 floor of hard white sand inlaid with shells of 
 varied hue ; the brown and yellow glandina, 
 open-mouthed, purpling within ; the flat and 
 
The Water Lady 71 
 
 fanlike pectens ; the spiked murex, reddening 
 into ruby as if with the blood of impaled fishes. 
 Here and there gleamed a jewelled cyprsea, like 
 unto a lost bit of a queen s diadem. On every 
 side rose huge sea plants with arms yearning to 
 the light and air. The long leaves of the green 
 algae curled in the swirling tide like snakes, 
 while the dreaded Campo Santo plant, so called 
 because many a diver has been held in its hide 
 ous embrace, shot out its long red ribbons like 
 amorous tongues eager to seize whatever might 
 come within their reach. . . . Beyond were 
 dark and mystic paths, losing themselves in 
 shadows, leading to other realms of the deep, 
 through which scaly and glistening forms, 
 grotesque and uncouth, floated lazily or darted 
 arrow-like in flight or pursuit. ... It was 
 strangely intoxicating, that life of the sea, the 
 realm of mystery forbidden to man . . . 
 strange and weird in the soft, solemn light, the 
 infinite silence, and the clinging, pressing, lifting 
 water. ... It seemed an age that I stood 
 
72 The Water Lady 
 
 there peering, till the almost bursting lungs gave 
 warning, and I shot up into the air and sunlight, 
 and was dragged half fainting into the boat by 
 old Pacheco. 
 
 " By the mother of God, Don Fernando ! " he 
 exclaimed, piously, "I had given up hope. No 
 diver on the coast ever remained longer below ! 
 It was rash of you to try it, carramba !" My 
 eyes stung for a long time, but the faintness 
 passed quickly away, and, after clothing myself, 
 I could do my share at the paddle as we sped 
 homeward. ... In my sleep that night 
 there passed before me visions of sea nymphs, 
 bacchantes, and what not, circling in merry 
 dance, half mocking, half pleading, as though I 
 were some Gautama or Faustus to be led astray, 
 though in good sooth twere no hard task for 
 them. Some bits of rhyme jingled through my 
 head, the burden being 
 
 Sing the sirens songs of no meaning 
 As rocked on the waters they float, 
 Guarding the pearl? 
 
The Water Lady 73 
 
 . . . but the rest is metrical din. I can 
 imagine a number of things the sirens might 
 sing if they chose to, but nothing very novel. 
 . . . Mayhap twas a great poem, quien 
 sabe ? To-day at noon I go out 
 
 with Pacheco, and will dive again into the 
 depths. They re as fascinating as the Venusberg. 
 May 28th. To-day I went down seven 
 times, and the divers are amazed at the length 
 of time I can stay under water. My watch, left 
 in the boat with Pacheco, showed five minutes, 
 something unheard of among them. I tore off 
 and brought up some pearl oysters, to please the 
 old Indian, who thought I must have good luck, 
 buena suerte, but they contained but seed pearls, 
 and these of poor quality and scarce any orient. 
 While I was below, a huge shark swam close 
 to me, staring at me with his small, devilish 
 eyes. I held my dagger ready to plunge it into 
 his cavernous mouth, but he had decided not to 
 attack, and with a whisk of his tail vanished 
 behind a clump of the Campo Santo plant. 
 
74 The Water Lady 
 
 . . . Since I have used the oil on my body 
 and face before diving, my eyes do not pain me 
 any more. . . . 
 
 "June 6th. The days flash by, full of nothing; 
 empty, at least, of things distasteful. Eden must 
 have been something like this an endless sum 
 mer time, full of things humming and buzzing 
 and droning, and little waves lapping and splash 
 ing, ticking time smoothly away. . . . 1 am 
 not even lonely, and yet . . . 
 
 "June 1 2th. I wonder if the gods make mad 
 those who enter a forbidden realm ? Was it fact 
 or phantasy ... a day dream, a sugges 
 tion ? . . . If I write it out before me, I 
 may understand it better. . . . 
 
 "This, then, is what I saw, or thought I saw 
 to-day, in the green depths, wherein I now 
 tread and float at will a woman s face, weirdly 
 beautiful in the pale emerald light that shim 
 mered from above, looked out at me from a 
 cluster of giant algae. One must think quickly 
 when one cannot breathe, and I leapt toward 
 
The Water Lady 75 
 
 her. As I did so she fled, and I caught a glimpse 
 of an exquisite form ere it disappeared into one 
 of the dark paths that led toward the rock 
 foundation of the Isle of the Sharks, for I was 
 then quite near it. I could not stay to follow, 
 but when I had mounted to the surface and 
 breathed, I plunged again, and sought her madly, 
 pushing on through the swaying algae till I 
 reached the wall of rock, but in vain. Only a 
 swarm of foul bladder fish owls of the sea 
 flashed about me in blind struggle to escape. 
 ... I cannot make it out. Is the legend of Our 
 Lady of the Waters true, as told by old Pacheco, 
 or was this form but a creation of my brain, pro 
 jected upon the crystal background of the swirl 
 ing waters? I could not see that face clearly, 
 yet every feature is clearly stamped upon my 
 memory. Were I a painter, I could now lay it 
 sharply with pigment upon canvas the arching 
 brows ; the deep, dark eyes ; the full lips, lifted 
 at the corners into a smile ; the long black hair 
 that spread out behind her as she fled ; the swell- 
 
76 The Water Lady 
 
 ing hips and tapering limbs ; all these details 
 are too concise for something that was but the 
 wraith of a memory-conjured vision. ... If 
 I do not see her again I shall think I am going 
 mad. . . . If I do not see her again I shall 
 certainly go mad. . . . How sweet that 
 sounds, Nuestra Senora de las Aguas . . . 
 Ave, Ave, Maria ! 
 
 "June i yth. Five days of vain search, . . . 
 an eternity ! . . . I am in doubt, nervous, 
 irritable, possibly dyspeptic. I am wearying of 
 Don Pablo and Dona Manolita and their inces 
 sant chatter, and of the inn of the Three Pearls, 
 and cannot for the life of me understand what 
 Concepcion was conceived for. ... I shall 
 drink a bottle of Don Pablo s wine before going 
 to bed (it is good wine ; I wonder where the old 
 rascal stole it?). 
 
 "June 2Oth. No, I am not mad, nor dream 
 ing, nor calling spirits from the vasty deep which 
 do not come when I do call. She is as real as 
 anything in life, this lady of the waters ! . . . 
 
The Water Lady 77 
 
 I saw it, her, yes, her, again to-day, moving 
 amidst the long, tremulous algse. She saw me 
 and waved her hands, calling. Again I sprang 
 forward, again she vanished, melting into the 
 deep shadows. 
 
 "June 22d. I must leave this place, if I have a 
 care for my own good. The divers themselves 
 are beginning to have grave doubts as to my 
 sanity. Why any one should wish to dive day 
 after day, and not bring up a single oyster, is 
 beyond the understanding of these folk. I see 
 old Pacheco in deep converse with the rest, 
 marking his talk with shrugs and sharp gestures. 
 Perhaps they think I am searching for the great 
 pearl. They are not far wrong. . . . But 
 this thing, be it woman or devil, shall mock me 
 no longer. . . . To-morrow I will sail across 
 the gulf, in Pepe s fishing boat. . . . Per 
 haps afterwards I can make something of this 
 that will be worth reading. . . . We write 
 with our own blood . . . 
 
 "June 23d. It is too hot to travel to-day, and 
 
78 The Water Lady 
 
 there is no wind to blow us across the gulf. So 
 I sit in the patio and watch Dona Manolita roll 
 ing about, and listen to snatches of her gossip, 
 wherein the Holy Virgin is much mixed with the 
 price of onions and the depravity of chickens. 
 The big square of sunlight moved over the patio 
 and I recked naught of it, until at three the bell 
 in the cathedral roared more loudly than usual. 
 
 " Dios de mi alma! exclaimed the stout 
 hostess. Tis three already, and I not dressed ! 
 
 " What is it, Madrecita ? I inquired lazily. 
 
 " Ah, Senor, tis a special mass for the lay 
 Sisters of Saint Joseph and they do penance, 
 and with this she disappeared. It is always cool 
 in the shadowy aisles, beneath the great stone 
 arches, and the smell of incense that hangs about 
 the place is not rank to me. I believe I will 
 climb the hill and see these sisters of St. Joseph, 
 though I know they are not fair and they reek 
 of garlic. 
 
 "Midnight. I must write it down ere I sleep 
 upon it, if sleep I may, for rather than rest I 
 
The Water Lady 79 
 
 would bound out there in the moonlight, and 
 thence into the cool waters, and swim about 
 and splash, telling my joy to the night birds and 
 scaly fish, shrieking my love to the moon. But 
 write this I must, quietly, coherently. So, then, 
 I went up to the cathedral, along the stone-paved 
 calzada, verily a via cruets to tender feet. From 
 under the arched door came the music of the 
 mass, heavily, but thinning out in the open air. 
 Cool within and dark by contrast, the thick 
 shadows flecked with the flames of candles, the 
 air heavy with incense that one smelled and 
 pasted. The gold and tinsel upon the altar 
 glittered, and the white-robed priest genuflexed, 
 turned, bowed ; the bell tinkled ; the boys 
 swung the censers ; above all gleamed the cross, 
 stella marts vitce. 
 
 "The sisters of Saint Joseph were kneeling 
 upon the stone pavement, clad in long black 
 robes that fell to their feet, with cowls that 
 covered head and face. On their backs, sus 
 pended by broad red ribbon passing over either 
 
8o The Water Lady 
 
 shoulder, were illuminated pictures of Saint 
 Joseph himself, duly blessed. All these maids 
 and matrons moved about upon their knees, 
 crossed, bowed and murmured, rosary in hand. 
 " Dominus vobiscum. Ite, missa est. 
 " The priest turned toward them and made the 
 sign of the cross ; the music of the little organ 
 crept away under the arches. Then, whisper 
 ing Aves and counting their beads, the black- 
 robed sisters began moving around the church, 
 still upon their knees, stopping before each small 
 altar and painted saint. The air was sibilant 
 with muttered invocations and heavy with the 
 smoke of liquidamber. In the shadowy re 
 cesses huddled the men of the village, some 
 pious of face and demeanor, others grinning de 
 risively. I stood there, fascinated by the lights, 
 dreaming of formless things, I know not how 
 long. The sun, falling, shot level rays of light, 
 bands of golden dust, through the western win 
 dows, when, as with one accord, the women 
 stopped, arose, and made their way toward the 
 
The Water Lady 81 
 
 great doors that led outward. The younger men 
 sprang forward to the font, and as each maid 
 passed, well known, perhaps, in spite of cowl, 
 gave holy water with their finger-tips. Now 
 and then a cowl was raised enough to show 
 black sparkling eyes, to tell something in a look; 
 fingers were pressed for a rendezvous. Slowly 
 the church emptied until 1 stood alone, nay, not 
 yet, for an old crone, cloaked and hooded as the 
 others, bent double with age, and leaning upon 
 a heavy staff, came tottering toward me. An 
 impulse, perhaps of courtesy or pity, I know 
 not what, moved me to dip my fingers into the 
 font and hold them out toward her. From be 
 neath the black folds she reached out a hand, 
 wee and wondrous white, and touched my fin 
 gers. Then her bent figure straightened, the 
 staff dropped clanging upon the stone floor. 
 With a rapid movement she threw back the 
 cowl, and before me stood the Water Lady, 
 Nuestra Senora de las Aguas ! Ave, Ave, 
 Maria ! 
 
82 The Water Lady 
 
 " I felt akin to those torrents which, following 
 a cloudburst, roll down the sandy bed of an 
 arroyo, carrying all before them. I could have 
 seized her then and there and borne her off to a 
 keep, as did the barons of old when passion 
 lived and sang and roared throughout the land, 
 ere came the tinkling troubadour to tie the giant 
 in silken rhymes. Mine ! Not in the green 
 depths of the sea, midst swaying algae and 
 tremulous weeds, where breath of life is not and 
 dimmed sight deceives, but in the glad sunlight, 
 on firm earth, under the arching blue. I put out 
 my hands, and, as she drew back with a light 
 laugh, I seized her cloak. No, no ! she tim 
 orously pleaded; to-morrow, in the sea, by the 
 Isle of the Sharks, at noontide. Come to me 
 then. 
 
 " Was this some woman s trick to elude me ? 
 I grasped her cloak more firmly. 
 
 " You shall not escape me again, I cried in 
 desperation. 
 
 "Fool that I was ! With a movement more 
 
The Water Lady 83 
 
 rapid than thought she threw off her cloak, leav 
 ing it in my hands, and sped away like a fright 
 ened deer. I cast aside the garment with an 
 oath and followed her as quickly as I could, 
 clambering and stumbling over ancient chairs 
 which I could scarce see in the shadows; but she 
 reached the other end of the church ere I could 
 seize her, and vanished within a small door that 
 closed behind her. Before it barred her from my 
 sight she gave me a look, one of mingled prom 
 ise and reproach. I struck the door with all my 
 strength, but the heavy wood yielded not a 
 tremor to my blow. I would have called her, 
 but I knew no name, only, Our Lady of the 
 Waters. 
 
 " I was still at the door, fumbling vainly for 
 some key or bolt that might open it to me, when 
 I felt a hand upon my shoulder. Turning 
 quickly, I saw standing behind me the old priest. 
 Why this violence in the house of God, my 
 son ? he said sternly, but not unkindly. 
 
 " A person passed that way, father, I an- 
 
84 The Water Lady 
 
 swered, not a little embarrassed, and I would 
 have followed. 
 
 " And hadst thou then the right to follow? 
 There was a look of quiet amusement in the old 
 man s eyes that told me he knew, or perchance 
 guessed, the object of my pursuit. 
 
 " I know not, father, I answered. What 
 is right ? 
 
 " Ask that question of one wiser than I am/ 
 said the priest, his face clouding in doubt, and 
 folding his hands beneath his robe he turned 
 away and walked slowly back to the sacristy. 
 
 "I ran out of the church by the great doors in 
 front and looked down the stony calzada which 
 led to the town, thinking perchance I might 
 catch a glimpse of the blue-robed figure in the 
 golden haze of the setting sun. But no ! noth 
 ing ; only old Pepe Huarto, the pearl diver, 
 climbing wearily up, chewing a piece of sparto 
 grass. 
 
 " Pepe, I exclaimed, hast thou seen any 
 one come out of the church ? 
 
The Water Lady 85 
 
 " When, Senor? he inquired, staring stupidly 
 at me. 
 
 " Just now, a moment ago, a woman/ 
 
 " Si, Don Fernando, a woman came out of the 
 sacristy door on the left there, and fled as if the 
 devil were after her or the priest, he added, 
 with a sly look. 
 
 " And which way did she go? I inquired 
 eagerly. 
 
 " That way, he said slowly, pointing with 
 his finger to the ruins of the old monastery more 
 than two miles away, to where she lives, 
 
 Senor. 
 
 ** 
 
 " You know her, then, Pepe mio ? 
 " I did not look with great care, Senor, for 
 twas no business of mine, but I think, I am sure, 
 it was the little Dolores, the daughter of the old 
 witch who lives in the ruins. 
 
 " I looked again in the direction of the monas 
 tery and caught sight for an instant only of a 
 blue speck on the top of a sand hill. I could not 
 overtake her then, for surely she was swifter of 
 
86 The Water Lady 
 
 foot than I, and I must rest upon her promise; so 
 I seized Pepe by the arm, and with my other 
 hand drew a Mexican cigar, which I thrust into 
 his eager paws. Come and sit by me here, 
 Pepe, and I led him to a stone seat near the 
 church, from whence I could see the ruins, black 
 against the setting sun, and tell me all you 
 know about Dolores. To-morrow you shall 
 drink the best bottle of wine that El Perezoso has 
 in the fonda. 
 
 " Well, then, Don Fernando, said the old 
 man, lighting the cigar and drawing two or 
 three long whiffs of smoke into his lungs, 
 there is not much to tell. It is this way. 
 Pedro Guasta, whom I knew as well as any one 
 knew him, and that is not much, was a diver 
 like the rest of us. He was not born here, but 
 came somewhere from the East, perhaps from 
 Sonora or Chihuahua, quien sabe ? He could 
 read books and could talk better than the padre, 
 when he talked at all, which was seldom. 
 When he came here he brought with him his 
 
The Water Lady 87 
 
 wife and the chiquita. He took up his residence 
 in the old ruins, and it was said he knew strange 
 things about the old monastery, the way to un 
 derground dungeons, and had found treasures 
 there, though, for a truth, he never showed signs 
 of having either silver or gold. He was poor as 
 the rest of us, eating only to his fill when he 
 brought in a pearl to the father of Don Pablo 
 Perez, who was a robber of the poor, Senor, and 
 paid the men but a tenth of the value of their 
 finds, till the saints in paradise grew weary of it 
 and let the devil take him one night to hell. 
 This father of Don Pablo 
 
 " Never mind him, Pepe, I interrupted, go 
 on with Guasta. 
 
 " Bueno, bueno, Senor. Well, a few years 
 ago Guasta died of the fever, or of something else, 
 and was not buried in holy ground. He left his 
 widow and the chiquita Dolores to get along as 
 best they could, and the saints only know how 
 they do it, though now and then the old witch 
 brings in a pearl and trades it with Don Pablo, 
 
88 The Water Lady 
 
 who is more of a thief than his father. It is a 
 rare thing that one sees Dolores about the town. 
 She is more beautiful than the Virgin over the 
 altar, but the young men about here are afraid 
 of her, I know not why. 
 
 " Here Pepe stopped and seemed to be consid 
 ering if there were anything more of interest he 
 could tell. They say, Don Fernando/ he 
 added, after a moment s pause, that the old 
 monks built a passage way under the sea from 
 the monastery to the Isle of Los Tiburones, and 
 he pointed to the green blot that lay upon the 
 water below us, like an emerald set in turquoise. 
 
 " It is a thing the ancestors tell (cosas de 
 abuelos), and I do not tell you that it is true, Don 
 Fernando. 
 
 " I strained my eyes again in the direction of 
 the monastery and thought I saw the blue speck 
 again crossing the space of white sand that lay 
 before the gray walls. Old Pepe, seeing that I 
 cared to ask him nothing more, arose, and doff 
 ing his hat, said: Hasta manana, Seffor. 
 
The Water Lady 89 
 
 " Hasta manana, Pepe, I answered, and do 
 not forget the bottle of wine at the fonda. . . . 
 
 " Hasta manana! How will I live till to-mor 
 row ? Dolores ! thy sweet face will haunt my 
 dreams, should I sleep this night. What man 
 ner of strange child art thou, Dolores, who hast 
 been cast among these poor folk ? I will meet 
 her to-morrow, in the green waters, amidst the 
 swaying algse and the tremulous reeds. . . . 
 
 "June 25th. There are chapters in men s lives 
 that are closed and sealed with a seal, that they 
 may not be read by mortals. Some of these are 
 written by pens of iron dipped in blood, others 
 by quills of gold inked in the blue of the sky, and 
 the reading thereof aloud is like the murmur of 
 waters passing over round pebbles. The music 
 of her voice is still in my ears and the touch of 
 her kisses is yet upon my lips. In these moments 
 time and space were not, and the pain-mingled 
 sands of life stopped running through the glass 
 of eternity. (Has it ever been so with you, O 
 brother ?) . . . 
 
9 o The Water Lady 
 
 " It was near noon when I rowed out to the 
 Isle of the Sharks, a light breeze ruffling the water 
 into glinting lines. What ails thee, Pacheco? 
 Bend to thy paddle, man. Are the hinges of thy 
 arms and knees growing rusty with age ? . . . 
 I needed not the old man s help to adjust the 
 weights to my feet. . . . We had cast 
 anchor by the Isle of the Sharks, a score of 
 yards from the shore, at the place where I had 
 first met her. ... In a moment I was ready 
 and had been lowered into the cool water and 
 sped down into its opalescent depths. Once 
 upon the hard white sand I looked about me, 
 peering eagerly into the shadows, making my 
 way carefully but rapidly along one of the paths 
 that seemed to lead toward the rocky barrier that 
 supported the green isle. I soon saw her com 
 ing, gliding toward me, cleaving the water like 
 a fish. She took my outstretched hand in hers. 
 At that instant, although it seemed to me I had 
 scarce been half my usual time beneath the sea, 
 my lips and lungs gave way and bubbles passed 
 
The Water Lady 91 
 
 before my eyes. My sight grew dim, there 
 was a strange drumming in my ears, I was 
 moving rapidly through the water . . . 
 there was a sense of suffocation, blinding light 
 ning flashed before my eyes. Then a blank. 
 . . . God ! what pain ! My chest seemed 
 to be rent asunder, and pangs beyond human 
 endurance shot through every limb as if I had 
 been stretched upon the rack. . . . This 
 is what they call the agony of death, thought 
 I, the spirit tearing itself from the body 
 . . . now it is over. ... I am resting 
 quietly, peacefully, but I am so tired. . . . 
 What a delicate tracery ! Some artist of won 
 drous skill has painted flowers and the leaves of 
 trees on glass, through which one sees the blue 
 sky and an exquisite imitation of fleecy clouds 
 . . . and the clouds are moving . . . 
 something is put to my lips and I feel that I am 
 drinking. How curious that one should drink 
 when one is dead, and yet it seems as if I had a 
 body and new life were thrilling through 
 
92 The Water Lady 
 
 it. ... Now the sky and the clouds, the 
 leaves and the flowers, fade away, and I am 
 sleeping . . . am I dreaming? . . . I 
 know that face, but cannot think where I have 
 seen it before . . . it is a beautiful face, com 
 ing between me and the sky, a woman s face, 
 with soft, sweet, tender eyes that are looking 
 into mine. . . . Why can I not remember 
 . . . it seems important that I should. . . . 
 Those are wonderful eyes ! I can trace the 
 perfect arch of the dark brow upon the white 
 skin ; long black hair hangs down and brushes 
 against my face ; the red lips, half parted, show 
 ing two rows of even white teeth ... if 
 I could only move now I could touch those lips, 
 but I am too lazy to think it all out and I don t 
 know how to move . . . bits of sunlight 
 seem to strike down through the tracery of 
 leaves and flowers upon her white body 
 . . sunshine? . . . clap, lap, lap, is 
 that sound ? . . . water ? . . . the sea ! 
 old Pacheco ? the boat ! 
 
The Water Lady 93 
 
 . . . the wheel of memory begins to turn 
 again . . . Dolores! 
 
 " My lips move at this word, I speak it aloud ; 
 and the sweet eyes smile, the red lips come 
 down to me and press my own. The tide of life 
 flows back, bounding. 
 
 "The sun is slanting over the waters. In 
 the boat sits old Pacheco, a bit of rope in 
 his hand, gazing about him and waiting, the 
 tears streaming down his tanned and weather- 
 beaten cheeks. He s muttering something to 
 himself . . . prayers for the soul of Don 
 Fernando ? Hours have passed and he is still 
 waiting for his master to come up from the 
 deep sea ; for his master, who is upon the Isle 
 of the Sharks, looking at him through the thick 
 foliage. . . . We peer at him together, 
 laughing pityingly, but softly, for the stillness 
 of eventide is upon the water and the slightest 
 sound could be heard afar off. We stand upon 
 that bank up which Dolores, with almost super- 
 
94 The Water Lady 
 
 human strength, had dragged me, fainting, 
 drowning, but a few hours before. ... A 
 last embrace . . . only until to-morrow, hasta 
 manana . . . and I drop quietly into the water 
 and swim under the leafy branches that bend 
 over till they touch the waves, and then out to 
 the boat. Pacheco does not see me until I am 
 almost upon him. He hears me, turns, falls to 
 trembling, and crosses himself; gives a cry of min 
 gled fear, astonishment, and delight; then man 
 ages, not without difficulty, to drag me into the 
 boat. I cut short his prayers and explanations. 
 
 " Pacheco, I exclaim, you will swear to me 
 by the memory of your mother and the most 
 holy Virgin that you will say nothing of this, 
 and I will give you fifty pesos in silver to buy a 
 dozen donkeys for your son to carry goods up 
 into Sonora. 
 
 "He swore it, and I think the old man will 
 keep his word. Dolores ! " 
 
 The remaining pages of the diary were quite 
 
The Water Lady 95 
 
 illegible. Either the pencil of the writer had 
 needed sharpening or the paper had refused to 
 be marked by its point. 
 
 Don Vicente closed the little book, and while 
 he was pondering that which he had read, Don 
 Pablo approached softly. He noted that his 
 esteemed friend was solemn, even triste, muy 
 triste, and knowing but one panacea for sorrow, 
 he waddled off and returned in a moment with a 
 fresh bottle of tequila and two glasses, all of 
 which he compassionately, reverently, placed in 
 front of his honored guest. 
 
 Mechanically the hand of Don Vicente took the 
 bottle and poured a glassful of the transparent 
 liquor. He was old and worldly-wise, was Don 
 Vicente, and he sighed as he lifted the glass to 
 his lips, "Pretty, very pretty, but how long will 
 it last?" 
 
The Mysterious Disappearance of Mrs. 
 T. Tompkins Smith 
 
" Passion rings loud in those 
 that are of the hue of gold." 
 
 The 
 
 Mysterious 
 Disappearance 
 of Mrs. T. 
 Tompkins Smith 
 
 r pHE train pulled out of the frontier station 
 with a clanging of iron, midst a clamor 
 of voices, both sounds blending and vanishing, 
 as it gathered headway, into the smooth hum of 
 the speeding wheels. The sun, scarce risen 
 above the horizon, marked black blotches of 
 shadow upon the white arid plain just under 
 the writhing cactus and stunted palms, though 
 there was yet in the air something of the cool 
 breezes of the night. 
 
 Straight as twin arrows cast from a single 
 bow, the two lines of shining steel converged 
 till they met the sky, far to the south, then sped 
 
ioo The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 on till they reached the White City, fetters of 
 conquest upon the desert. Puffs of wind whirled 
 the dust into inverted pyramids, and sent them 
 spinning away in fantastic dance. 
 
 The conductor entered the third-class car, 
 where he began lustily calling for "boletos!" 
 The half-sleeping, blanketed Mexicans, lazily be 
 stirred themselves to drag out the bits of paper 
 entitling them to ride on the iron way. Thence 
 he passed into the Pullman, assuming an expres 
 sion of easy and familiar joviality. It was "tick 
 ets, please," here the English language and 
 politeness corresponding to first class. 
 
 "Ah! Mrs. Tibbins, glad to see you back 
 again," he said, as he registered a pass tendered 
 by an overdressed and somewhat vulgar woman 
 of the common American type. " Been havin a 
 good time in the States ?" 
 
 The woman smirked. 
 
 "Well, I should say !" she remarked, putting 
 her pass back into a red wallet. "I tell you, 
 Mr. Crosby, it does a power of good to one to 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 101 
 
 get a breath of fresh livin air after bein down to 
 Mexico for four years. Gracious ! I have had 
 enough of this place, I have." 
 
 "Might be worse though," sighed Mr. Crosby, 
 half resenting the remark and half sympathizing 
 with the sentiment, for he had lived in Mexico 
 for many years. He turned to the other side, 
 taking long strips of red tourist tickets from two 
 elderly persons, buried amid a heap of baskets 
 and satchels, and whose dress proclaimed the 
 female sex. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Myra Tilden," croaked one of 
 them, "that s my name written on the ticket. 
 I m from Mauchunk, going to do Mexico." 
 
 "Certainly, ma am," replied the conductor, 
 clipping the tickets with his punch. 
 
 "Conductor, when do we get to the dinner 
 station?" groaned the other fossil as the man 
 turned away. 
 
 "One forty-five." 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 The train was now gliding rapidly over the 
 
io2 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 white desert of caliche. The sky, unflecked by 
 a single cloud, burned to a gray that seemed to 
 shimmer in waves of heat. 
 
 As the conductor approached, a young man 
 aroused himself sufficiently from the perusal of a 
 yellow-covered novel to extend his ticket, though 
 without taking his eyes from the book. 
 
 Only three more passengers, sitting together 
 at the end of the car. As the conductor neared 
 them he became more deferential, for there was 
 a flavor of the stockholder about the men, and a 
 chic about the dark blue costume of the woman, 
 that bespoke the upper circles. 
 
 "Going through?" queried Mr. Crosby, pleas 
 antly. 
 
 "Yes. We are due in the city day after 
 to-morrow night, are we not ? " asked one of 
 the gentlemen, hand.ing two tickets, while the 
 other produced a pass. 
 
 "Afternoon, sir, at two o clock." 
 
 The lady looked up. 
 
 "Two days more of this !" she exclaimed, 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith I0 3 
 
 with some impatience in her tone. "Really, 
 Tom, the play is not worth the candle." 
 
 "My dear," replied the person addressed, 
 "you would come, you know, though Mr. Jarr 
 told you it was a horrible trip. Long, dusty, 
 bad eating, and all that, you know." 
 
 "Yes," she assented, wearily, "that s all very 
 true." She opened her valise, and, taking there 
 from a book, leaned back against the pillow 
 which the fee-expecting negro porter had placed 
 behind her. 
 
 "You ll excuse us, my dear, if we go to the 
 smoking-room for a cigar ? " 
 
 She nodded acquiescence, without looking up, 
 and the two men walked away. 
 
 Soon the book fell, and Mrs. T. Tompkins 
 Smith leaned her elbow on the window-sill and 
 her chin on her hand, gazing out at the flying 
 desert and the distant gnarled hills that rose 
 abrupt, as if man-built. The dull white was a 
 background for her thoughts ; there were clouds of 
 dun dust too, whereon she could image at her will. 
 
104 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 But they broke in upon her reverie. The 
 ancient female tourists had been deeply impressed 
 by the statement of the young woman to the 
 effect that she had lived long in Mexico, and 
 ventured questioningly : 
 
 " Tough ? Well, I guess. Why, there ain t a 
 decent house, nor a stove, nor a chimney in the 
 whole city. Cook ? Oh, yes, with charcoal on 
 stones with holes in them. Oh, tain t so hard ; 
 you get used to it after a while. Society ? 
 Well, of course I have to go into it, as I live 
 there. It ain t what we have at home. The 
 Mexicans ain t much on society. Catholics? 
 Oh, yes, you just ought to see the churches ! " 
 
 She rattled on, sharp in voice, a tone that cut 
 like the shrieking of a file. 
 
 Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith would have given 
 gold to stop her ; turned to freeze her into silence 
 with a glance, encountering only her back, on 
 which the icy shaft broke harmless. 
 
 The lady resumed her position at the window, 
 shutting out the voice by an effort of the will, 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 105 
 
 drowning it in the whirring of the wheels. She 
 thought of nothing, in the stupor of widely 
 strained eyes, in the gentle rocking of steel 
 springs. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware of a mirage, 
 surely one of those phantasms she had read 
 about, occurring in deserts. A gigantic horse, 
 higher than the distant hills, bore toward her 
 with ponderous gallop a gigantic rider whose 
 head scraped the skies. She noted every detail 
 of the horseman s costume, though the face was 
 indistinct. He wore leggings of brown leather, 
 tight fitting, trimmed with silver buttons adown 
 the sides ; a jacket of blue, faced with silver ; and 
 a peaked hat of gray, about which curled a 
 golden cord. She could see the embroidered 
 saddle-cloth, the shining butts of the pistols that 
 .stuck out of the holsters, the long machete that 
 swung by his side. The rider was waving a 
 white handkerchief, like a scudding cloud, fran 
 tically hailing. 
 
 Nearer came the monstrous forms, until the 
 
io6 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 forefeet of the horse were upon the very car, and, 
 oh ! Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith gave a little start 
 and the mirage vanished, but left a comparatively 
 small and very solid kernel of reality, for she 
 could now see a horse and rider of natural size, 
 and scarce a mile from the train, galloping madly 
 toward a point somewhat beyond it, as if to 
 head it off. 
 
 Surely a man in the desert was like a castaway 
 at sea, flying likewise a signal of distress. Mrs. 
 T. Tompkins Smith acted upon the impulse. 
 " Conductor ! " 
 
 "Yes, ma am." The worthy put down a 
 novel belonging to one of the passengers and 
 came toward her. 
 
 "There is a man on horseback over there 
 trying to stop the train." She indicated with 
 her jewelled finger. 
 
 Mr. Crosby looked, studied for a moment, 
 then seized the bell-rope, pulling it steadily 
 thrice, bringing the train to a standstill. 
 
 "I m sure that s Don Federico himself!" he 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 107 
 
 exclaimed excitedly. "Lucky I saw him in 
 time !" 
 
 "Who is he, Mr. Crosby?" eagerly queried 
 the file, gathering with the ancient tourists at 
 the car window. 
 
 "Well, he s a big man, I can tell you," vouch 
 safed the conductor. "Lives about six hundred 
 miles down the road here. Has a silver mine 
 that pays him millions a year, and a regular 
 castle near the Nevada de Toluca volcano 
 helped build this road and owns part of it." 
 This hastily, and he then rushed out of the car 
 to explain the signal to the engineer and receive 
 Don Federico. 
 
 The horseman reined in his panting animal at 
 the very steps of the car and, swinging himself 
 from the saddle, proceeded to unbuckle the 
 girths, answering at the same time the saluta 
 tions of the conductor and porter, who had gath 
 ered officiously about him. 
 
 " Put this saddle in the express car, this valise 
 in my berth. Get a bucket of water for the 
 
io8 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 horse." They flew to execute his orders. The 
 animal having drained the last drop of the 
 precious fluid, its owner gave it a sharp cut with 
 his short riding-whip and the order "A casa !" 
 and the horse, now riderless, sped away over 
 the desert. 
 
 "Glad to see you, Don Federico. Take num 
 ber six. It s the best section in the car. Any 
 thing else we can do for you, sir?" 
 
 He waved them away, taking off his heavy 
 Mexican hat and hanging it upon one of the 
 brass hooks. Then he turned to look about 
 him. 
 
 Now a most singular thing occurred. The 
 eyes of tall Don Federico fell upon Mrs. T. 
 Tompkins Smith, who just at that moment was 
 looking hard upon him, and for a time the two 
 stood as if transfixed, gazing at each other, mov 
 ing not outwardly, but the two hearts pumping 
 blood at redoubled speed. 
 
 The file, seeing it all, tittered, and broke the 
 spell. With long, quick stride Don Federico 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 109 
 
 walked down the aisle toward Mrs. T. Tomp 
 kins Smith, his hand extended. 
 
 "Margaret ! Surely it is you !" Then hesi 
 tatingly, remembering, "I beg pardon Mrs. 
 eh Mrs. " 
 
 "T. Tompkins Smith." This loudly and 
 sonorously, as if revelling in Tompkins and 
 glorying in Smith ; then she added, cordially 
 putting her hand in his : "I knew you almost at 
 once, Fred, in spite of your costume and tan. 
 Have you really become a Mexican, and are you 
 really the great Don Federico?" She spoke 
 quickly, to smother embarrassment. Her voice 
 trembled, for the past fell upon her like an 
 avalanche. In her parlor, at home, flanked by a 
 tea-table and bric-a-brac, buoyed up in a perfect 
 gown, she would have known just the proper 
 things to do and say ; but here in the desert, on 
 whirring wheels, it took time to adjust the 
 present to the past. 
 
 Don Federico gazed in admiration at the 
 woman he had lost. The same form and face, 
 
no The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 splendid in their strength and beauty, the lines of 
 the face a little firmer, more saddened perhaps. 
 The calm eyes, deep and blue as a mountain 
 lake, with volcanic possibilities, the wealth of 
 brown hair knotted behind in careless fashion. 
 Yes, she had changed but little, though it was a 
 long sweep of time, full of action for him, and he 
 felt as if the ages had piled up against him. 
 
 She waved him to the seat in front of her : 
 "Tell me about it, will you ? " 
 
 He took no note of the tone, only heeding the 
 words. The emotion of pleased surprise had 
 faded, leaving bitter memories in bold relief, and 
 his voice, as he replied, was two-edged with 
 irony. "I will not say that I do not think it 
 would interest you to know of my past : how 
 plain Fred Hawthorne became Don Federico, in 
 what to your eyes is rare and strange apparel ; 
 and there is something romantic in picking a 
 man up in the desert." He looked out of the 
 window and then back at her face, which was 
 hardening. "I suppose," he continued pen- 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith m 
 
 sively, "it would all make a very interesting 
 story, to be retailed as one of your Mexican 
 experiences to a circle of admiring friends after 
 your return. But really, you know, there is 
 hardly any legitimate basis for a display of inter 
 est in my affairs on your part." 
 
 It was a slap in the face. She reddened, then 
 paled. It pleased him to know that he had cut 
 deeply. The lady looked about her to see if she 
 could be overheard. The file and the fossils, 
 awearied of staring at the new-comer and his 
 companion, had assembled at the other end of 
 the car and, heads together, were deep in words. 
 Mr. T. Tompkins Smith and his companion, Mr. 
 Jarr, were in the smoking compartment, compar 
 ing views on the subject of silver and exchange. 
 Then she turned again to Don Federico, and burst 
 forth like a torrent: 
 
 "There is an Italian proverb, Mr. Hawthorne, 
 which says that the undeserved thrust glides 
 harmless from the shield. Somehow, out here, 
 the forced and the artificial jar on one. Can t 
 
ii2 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 we be truthful in the desert ? It seems to me I 
 can. According to all precedent I should hate 
 you, I suppose, and show my scorn for you in 
 some tragic manner, and all that ; but I can t, 
 Fred. Now I have put away the shield, strike 
 again." 
 
 The man s mouth and eyes, curved in sarcasm, 
 now lifted in wonderment. 
 
 " Hate me, Margaret ; you hate me ! What a 
 strange twisting of things ! I, who worshipped 
 you as I am sure no man ever worshipped a 
 woman ! Hate me because you dismissed me 
 like a cur from your doorstep ? Ah ! this is a 
 strange world." 
 
 He smiled bitterly. He, too, had thrown away 
 the shield, and they stood defenceless, face to face. 
 
 She bent over, seeking his eyes, a little pained 
 smile upon her lips. 
 
 "Oh, Fred ! I thought we were to be truth 
 ful ! We have but a few minutes to talk here, 
 after seven years of silence. Could anyone 
 injure a woman more than you did me ? " 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 113 
 
 His wonderment grew. 
 
 "Do you mean to say, Margaret, that you 
 never wrote the letter which struck me down 
 like a felled ox, breaking our engagement, re 
 questing me never to see you again, and 
 announcing that you were to marry T. eh 
 T. T.- 
 
 " T. Tompkins Smith. Oh ! yes. I wrote 
 the letter, Fred ; there is nothing so melodra 
 matic in all this as a forged letter. I could not 
 have done otherwise, very well, as you should 
 admit, though," she added thoughtfully, "I 
 might have left out the reference to T. T. 
 T. " 
 
 " Tompkins Smith ! " 
 
 He, too, bent over, and his words came like 
 rifle-shots. 
 
 "In God s name, then, how dare you look me 
 in the face ? I was poor, he rich ! But you 
 knew of my poverty long before that, and rich 
 men were buzzing about you like bees around a 
 pot of honey. Such action would not have sur- 
 
 8 
 
n4 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 prised me on the part of the average woman ; 
 but you, Margaret I had idealized you so much 
 above the rest ! You were to me the goddess 
 whose skirts would have been soiled at the touch 
 of others of your sex " 
 
 It was the woman s turn for wonderment, 
 though her eyes flashed with indignation. "Do 
 you really mean to say, Fred Hawthorne, that 
 you do not know my reason for that letter ? Do 
 you believe it was on account of your poverty or 
 his wealth " Her wrath strangled speech. 
 
 "I give you my word, Margaret, that I know 
 of nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have 
 given you cause to reproach me. I thought for 
 a moment some slander had been told you, but 
 you were not the woman to believe the tales of 
 others. I knew you too well, or thought I did, 
 to even consider that possibility." 
 
 She leaned back with a gesture of weariness. 
 
 "I never believed any tales of others. I 
 thought you knew, must have known, that I 
 saw you." She stopped, as if to see over again 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 115 
 
 that which she was about to tell. "It was 
 the last time we met, the night of the Van 
 Steen ball. You remember it, Fred ? You 
 had left me only an hour before I arrived there, 
 and there was no prouder, happier woman than 
 I in all that crush. I had put on my best frock 
 and all my jewels, and was eager for men to 
 say : See how beautiful she is ; she belongs to 
 him. You were there, Fred, head and shoulders 
 above other men, and I was glad I looked well 
 for your sake. Hardly an hour of that intoxica 
 tion for me, for it was not eleven o clock when I 
 saw you in that little alcove with Mrs. Stanhope 
 saw it all, Fred. No, don t interrupt me." 
 She held up her hand to silence him. "That 
 moment I fell from happiness to despair. I suf 
 fered in an instant enough for a lifetime. It was 
 only an hour after that I accepted Mr. Smith as I 
 would have done a pistol bullet." 
 
 She paused a moment, closing her red lips 
 tightly, for awakened memory seared a scarce 
 healed wound. The file was still dogmatizing, 
 
n6 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 waving her hands, the fossils gaping it in, nudg 
 ing, squeaking with satisfaction. 
 
 Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith continued: "No, 
 Fred, I did not pine away, allow the worm to 
 feed upon the damask of my cheek, and all that. 
 I love life as I think people of flesh, blood, thews 
 and sinews do, and I shall probably succeed in 
 staggering through what there is left to me of it 
 with fair success, as the world goes. But that 
 night, Fred, all the light went out of it, and since 
 then it has been of the treadmill order." 
 
 The man had listened, bent over, his eyes 
 fixed upon the floor. She could scarce see his 
 face, but he bit his mustache, and his bronzed, 
 powerful fingers twisted one into the other as if 
 in pain. He was silent for a while, and then 
 looked up. 
 
 "It is all gone by now, Margaret," he said 
 slowly, like a man wearied of a long race, "and 
 regrets are useless. We must live out our lives 
 on the lines that we ourselves have unwittingly 
 marked out, or perhaps a mischievous fate has 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 117 
 
 marked for us. It s just as well I should tell you 
 what you saw. It may now do a little good 
 that we should part with a better opinion of each 
 other. There was fault of mine in that episode, 
 though, God knows, no meant lack of fealty to 
 you." 
 
 He stopped, for the train was slowing up for a 
 way station in the desert, and when it stood still 
 a dozen brown and dirty hands, eloquent in 
 beggary, were thrust up to the open window at 
 which he sat, and as many voices whined : " Un 
 centavito, senor ; por Dios, senorita, un centa- 
 vito." 
 
 Angered at the interruption, he sent them to 
 the devil in good Spanish ; but some one of 
 them had recognized him, and the lazzaroni 
 exploded in a series of " Viva Don Federico !" 
 He stopped their mouths with a handful of silver 
 cast among them, and then the train drew on 
 again. 
 
 "You see," he resumed in the same tone, 
 when the wheels had gathered headway enough 
 
n8 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 to drown his voice from itching ears, "I met 
 Nellie Stanhope two years before I knew you. 
 It was one of those liaisons a man in society 
 drifts into somehow, and then is too weak or 
 does not know how to get out of. So it went 
 along till I met you. Well, you see you were 
 the only love of my life, too, Margaret, and it 
 did not take me long to tell her that she and I 
 must part. I suppose I talked a deal of rot to 
 the poor woman about her future and her hus 
 band, and all that for which I ought to have 
 been horsewhipped ; but I did not realize it then, 
 and said the only thing that occurred to me, not 
 wishing to madden her by telling her I cared for 
 someone else. She took it, though, and I did 
 not see her again for many months until the 
 night of Van Steen s ball. Then she cornered 
 me in the alcove and cursed me for half an hour, 
 threatening to scream and cause a scandal if I 
 left. Suddenly she turned, threw both arms 
 around my neck, and kissed me. Now that I 
 know you were there, I think she saw you and 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 119 
 
 did it purposely. I left her, however, imme 
 diately, and sought you everywhere ; finally, 
 they told me you had gone home with your 
 mother and Tom Smith. The next morning 
 I got your letter. I could not stay in New 
 York any longer, so turned into money what 
 little I had, pulled up stakes and came out here, 
 where I have realized the French proverb, mal- 
 heureux en amour, heureux au jeu" 
 
 He stopped. They understood each other 
 now. The story was older than the pyramids. 
 She knew he spoke the truth. Her fingers, 
 clasped about the arm of the seat, sank into the 
 velvet, and two tears, starting from the blue 
 eyes, rolled slowly down her cheeks and fell 
 upon her other hand that lay upon her knee. The 
 man knocked a book from the seat beside him 
 to the floor, and stooping low to pick it up, 
 pressed his lips to this hand. She did not draw 
 it away, rather pushed it to him. Twas little 
 enough, that kiss. 
 
 A moment later Mr. T. Tompkins Smith and 
 
120 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 Mr. Jarr came out of the smoking-room, and 
 the surprise of the former was not small when 
 he saw his wife in deep converse with the man 
 in Mexican dress. 
 
 Introductions solved the puzzle. 
 
 "My husband Mr. Frederick Hawthorne, an 
 old friend of mine, formerly of New York. Mr. 
 Jarr Mr. Hawthorne." 
 
 The men shook hands, Mr. Smith very cor 
 dially. 
 
 "Why, of course I remember you. Fuller & 
 Hawthorne, on Broad Street. Fuller was a 
 member of the Exchange. Poor fellow, went 
 down with Hutch s grain corner last year. Glad 
 to see you again. How long have you been 
 down here?" 
 
 Hawthorne entered easily into explanations. 
 Told of his lucky strike in the Sierra Mojada. 
 Bought out a worthless mine for a song and 
 struck pay ore three days afterward, two hun 
 dred ounces silver to the ton. Yes, lead ores, 
 of course. Got into this railroad in the sub- 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 121 
 
 cellar, and turned over his share of the deal while 
 the boom lasted. And so on. Made something 
 out of it. 
 
 T. Tompkins Smith s eyes glistened ; he struck 
 his knee with the palm of his hand in emphatic 
 approval. Mr. Jarr smiled, much interested. 
 The woman looked at the speaker, fascinated, 
 thinking, hearing little of what he said. He was 
 to her as some bronzed giant, telling of battles 
 with Titans, these conquered. Would she had 
 stood with him, bearing the brunt ! (Some 
 woman had, probably, for the time.) She was 
 conscious of pain now. Bah ! Why worry over 
 the past, irrevocable ? The blood started again, 
 coursing more quickly, flaming. How lucky 
 people cannot read your thoughts. Do other 
 women think such things ? . . . 
 
 The conductor traversed and interrupted, just 
 as the air-brakes were throttling the wheels, 
 "Excuse me, dinner station. We stop here 
 thirty minutes." 
 
 The station baked in a glare of heat. They 
 
122 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 alighted from the car, Don Federico helping Mrs. 
 Smith, and entered the sultry dining-room. He 
 had telegraphed ahead, as usual, for a special 
 dinner, and dividing it with the others, these 
 fared less badly than otherwise they would have 
 done. Two bottles of Don Federico s wine, 
 from the private stock kept for him by the sta 
 tion master, filled the measure of T. Tompkins 
 Smith s happiness to the brim. The worthy 
 stock broker held the ruby-colored Lafitte to the 
 light, smelled it, tasted it reverently. "You 
 couldn t buy this in New York for money," he 
 exclaimed, oracularly. Then turning to Don 
 Federico and holding up his glass : " What is it 
 the Mexicans say ? Salood ? " 
 
 "Salud." Don Federico bowed and emptied 
 his glass. Mr. Jarr remarked that he never 
 could get that soft sound of the Spanish final "d," 
 though he could speak the language well enough 
 to get along. Mrs. Smith had a fair knowledge 
 of French and German, but wished she knew 
 Spanish had heard there were some exquisite 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith I2 $ 
 
 things in modern Spanish literature. A friend of 
 hers had told her that Emilia Pardo Bazan was 
 the greatest living woman writer. 
 
 The conductor again, smiling and wiping his 
 mouth: "Don t hurry, ladies and gentlemen; 
 plenty of time." 
 
 The meal over, they strolled out upon the plat 
 form, instantly surrounded by beggars, pleading, 
 importunate, bravadoing hideous deformities. 
 Mrs. Smith, shuddering, peremptorily ordered 
 her husband to give a silver dollar to a hag clad 
 in a remnant of calico, holding a shrunken child 
 to shrunken breasts. He complied, grumbling : 
 "If these people would only work " 
 
 "What at ? " snapped Don Federico. 
 
 A correct answer would have solved a ques 
 tion bothering the statesmen of the country, but 
 T. Tompkins Smith did not give it, for just 
 at that moment the bell of the engine rang 
 out, and the passengers hurried to board the 
 train. 
 
 "These people have souls," whispered Don 
 
i24 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 Federico to Mrs. Smith, as he assisted her up the 
 steps. 
 
 "A woman with a child must have a soul," 
 she replied, adding doubtfully, "if any of us 
 have." 
 
 They together chatted the afternoon away 
 with all subjects, from Carlyle to coffee planta 
 tions in Tamaulipas. Later, when the sun was 
 slanting its rays across the desert, the train 
 stopped at a section house rather longer than 
 seemed needful. T. Tompkins Smith, curious 
 and aching for movement, left his companions 
 and went forward. 
 
 "What are we waiting for?" he queried of 
 the oily and grimy being who ran the engine. 
 
 " Water," was the laconic answer. 
 
 A cigar, tendered by the questioner, loosened 
 the grimy being s tongue. 
 
 " You see, the tank car busted, sprung a leak, 
 and when we tried to pump into the engine 
 there warn t nothin there. Left it on the road, I 
 reckon. Have telegraphed on ahead for another 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 125 
 
 tank car." He reckoned, too, that it would be a 
 couple of hours before the water would reach 
 them. Smith hurried back to communicate the 
 news to his companions. 
 
 " Would you like to take a stroll over the 
 desert? It s much cooler now than it was." 
 Don Federico bent over Mrs. Smith, pleading 
 with tongue and eyes, regardless of ownership. 
 She assented, adjusting her hat before the mir 
 ror, giving it a little touch here and there, deftly. 
 Then she arose and followed him. When they 
 were out of ear shot he turned to her suddenly : 
 
 "I am going back to New York next 
 month." 
 
 She lifted her blue eyes to his, searchingly. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To be near you. Listen, Margaret. Until I 
 met you again I thought I could go through life 
 without you. Now I know I can t. I have 
 been much alone in the last few years, alone in 
 mountain, plain, and desert. If solitude teaches 
 a man anything, it teaches him the power of will. 
 
i26 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 How foolishly we mar our own lives, Margaret, 
 when it lies in us to do otherwise! You and I 
 could sit down like two children crying over a 
 broken toy, or, if we would, make our future 
 lives as glorious as those of gods! Which shall 
 it be, Margaret ?" 
 
 She was looking at the distant mountain peaks 
 that broke the coast line to the south. 
 
 " 1 was thinking, Fred, of that beautiful little 
 poem of Heine s that you and I tried to put into 
 good English once, in the old days, and failed. 
 Do you remember it?" She quoted, the Ger 
 man in her sweet mouth sounding soft as 
 Spanish : 
 
 " Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam 
 Im Norden auf kahler Hohe. 
 Ihn schlafert; mit weiszer Decke 
 Umhiillen ihn Eis und Schnee. 
 
 " Er traumt von einer Palme, 
 Die fern im Morgenland 
 Einsam und schweigend trauert 
 Auf brennender Felsenwand." 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 127 
 
 Ere she completed the lines the man had 
 shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "That il 
 lustrates the very point I wish to make, Margaret. 
 A pine is alone in the North, sleeping and dream 
 ing of a palm that mourns for him in the South ; 
 but don t you see they are trees, or weak people, 
 if you like. If that pine had the power of loco 
 motion, don t you see that he d be a fool to stay 
 up there in the North, sleeping in the cold and 
 ice, instead of coming South and getting the 
 palm?" 
 
 She laughed softly at his vehemence. 
 
 "Don t you see that other things besides the 
 mere lack of power to move may have kept the 
 pine fixed in the frozen earth ? It is more than 
 probable that Heine thought of those other things 
 when he wrote the poem. Look at those two 
 sharp peaks." She pointed to the distant moun 
 tains, purpling in the setting sun. "They ought 
 to be called the twins, they are so exactly alike, 
 yet there they have stood for ages and will al 
 ways stand, unable to approach each other, 
 
i 2 8 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 though they may yearn to do so to heartbreak 
 ing, as the pine yearned for the palm. When 
 those peaks are joined, Fred, then may we be." 
 
 Her voice trembled in spite of her efforts. She 
 felt like a person writing his own epitaph, clos 
 ing from within the only outlet of his vault 
 where through leapt the glad sunshine. 
 
 They stood silent for a while, as the soft even 
 tide fell upon the plain. Suddenly the man 
 seized the woman s arm in a grip like that of an 
 iron vise. He quivered with excitement; he 
 shouted like a Viking at sea: 
 
 "Look! look! By Heaven, a miracle! A 
 sign ! A portent ! Margaret, the peaks are 
 joined !" 
 
 Yes, one of the many clouds, round and fleecy 
 as fat sheep, that had been floating lazily across 
 the heavens, had struck the western peak and 
 stopped for a moment; then, little by little, this 
 cloud lengthened out till it met the eastern peak, 
 forming a bridge between the two. 
 
 She looked doubtingly, scarce believing what 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 129 
 
 she saw ; then, half conquered, turned upon 
 him the pleading look of a trapped animal. 
 There was in her a bit of inherited superstition, 
 as there is in the best of us, and to her this phe 
 nomenon was almost miraculous. Not so to 
 him, for he had seen it often in the mountains 
 that rise from the high tableland but that it 
 should occur just then ! A coincidence ? 
 
 Pleading, yet loving, she looked at him. Ah ! 
 he would have given his silver mine in the Sierra 
 Mojada twice over to have taken her in his arms 
 then and there and kissed her tempting, trem 
 bling mouth; but not half a mile away was the 
 train, and T. Tompkins Smith and Mr. Jarr, to 
 say nothing of the file and the fossils, and not 
 foliage enough betwixt Don Federico and all 
 these to hide a jack rabbit. The desert was 
 a good chaperon. 
 
 Don Federico and his companion turned and 
 walked back in silence. He feared to say more, 
 lest he should provoke opposition, preferring to 
 hope on the half consent he had wrung from her. 
 
1 30 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 As they neared the train Smith s voice rang 
 out: "Did you see that cloud on the moun 
 tains ? Wasn t it funny ? " 
 
 Don Federico acknowledged that it was, and 
 Mr. Jarr added something about a bridge for the 
 gods to march into Valhalla, whereupon Mr. 
 Smith asked him if that were in Mexico. 
 
 Just then a black speck appeared upon the 
 horizon, where the converging lines of steel met, 
 and a shrill shriek tore through the purple air. 
 The tank car was coming, so the passengers 
 hastened back to the sleeper, where the negro 
 porter was already beginning to make up the 
 beds. 
 
 Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith, heedless of supper 
 to come, and pretexting headache, withdrew 
 behind the curtains of her section, and, partially 
 disrobing, threw herself upon the bed. 
 
 Her mind was in a whirl ; the events of the 
 day had thrown her from her moral balance. 
 She must be alone, to smooth out the wrinkled, 
 crumpled sheet of the past and read it clearly. 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 131 
 
 Her emotions must be dominated, thrust back 
 into their respective places, weighed and ana 
 lyzed ; shadow and substance, fireflies and 
 comets, distinguished. She was playing a game 
 with her future for the stakes, and it behooved 
 her to look well to the cards. Two ways were 
 open to her the narrow path, leading through 
 New York society, to T. Tompkins Smith ; the 
 broad one, through the desert, to Don Federico. 
 She looked back over seven years, and they were 
 as the seven lean kine, seven pallid milestones 
 on a dull and dusky road. And the future, ay 
 de mi ! She could hear in advance the weary 
 hours rung out by a wearied clock, ticking her, 
 leaden footed, into eternity with T. Tompkins 
 Smith. To have striven along this path with 
 anything like equanimity she must have felt quite 
 sure of the priest-promised prize at the end of it 
 all, and somehow, in the garish light of the end 
 of the century, she didn t. And the other way ! 
 Now that she had seen again the lover of her 
 youth, every fibre of her being strove toward 
 
132 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 him, every beat of her heart sounded his name. 
 With him the path would be pink-rose strewn, 
 made merry with the melody of affinity even if 
 it were but for a day, with door-closing (or door- 
 opening ?) death at the end of it. But duty ! 
 She could hear the clank, clank, clank, as the 
 wheels leapt from rail to rail. Whirr ! A score 
 of skeletons danced about her, dirging in chorus: 
 "Duty, duty, duty !" Now they spun round 
 and round like whirling dervishes, drawing ever 
 nearer to her, till they seemed about to lay their 
 clammy hands upon her, and she would have 
 shrieked in her affright when there rose a tall 
 form, at the sight of which the skeletons van 
 ished. The appearance was shrouded from neck 
 to foot in misty white. The face was indistinct 
 but for two balls of fire that stood for eyes, 
 and seemed to compass her about with flame. 
 She felt herself giving, yielding, melting, and the 
 next moment she knew nothing, for she was 
 sound asleep. 
 Don Federico sat the night out on the rear 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 133 
 
 platform of the Pullman, looking up into the 
 black, spangled infinity, and out upon the hilled 
 desert full of strange shadows. His purpose 
 was a single arrow gathered into the bow 
 of his will, drawn taut. It seemed to him 
 that he could see her lying there in her bed 
 behind the curtains, one white arm above her 
 head, her eyes closed in sleep. His force pene 
 trated, wrapped, and swayed her ; she quiv 
 ered under it like a wounded thing. He would 
 carry off the woman he loved, like a Berserker. 
 Fight if need be, and glory in it. He would 
 crush her, tenderly, lovingly. The strong win, 
 the weak lose ; he had learned that in the desert. 
 He would win. His muscles itched for the 
 combat. . . . How slow were the stars in 
 moving out the night ! 
 
 The day came, and most of it passed with 
 the trite on the surface, two torrents roaring 
 beneath ; T. Tompkins Smith gay with tele 
 graphic news of a rise in stocks, flung out from 
 a way station. 
 
134 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 They had left the deserts of the North behind 
 them, wheeling into fields of maguey; cool and 
 blue acequias framed in bright green ; adobe huts 
 from whose low doors peered brown women, 
 curious of the passing train. Men in peaked 
 hats, sullen faced, muttered curses upon the iron 
 horse of the Gringos, which sped by like a 
 comet, tailing a cloud of yellow dust that pricked 
 their nostrils. Dinner at six, very good, at a 
 spacious stone station. Mr. Jarr insisted upon 
 opening a couple of bottles of champagne to 
 celebrate things in general and their future hap 
 piness in particular. T. Tompkins Smith grew 
 facetious, told some good stories, dropping his 
 voice at passages that were a bit off color, and 
 they all laughed loudly, a strain in the laughter 
 of two, taut to breaking. 
 
 The file and the fossils at another table, 
 peering, were properly shocked. Them New 
 Yorkers ! A contempt that wheezed and 
 sniffed. 
 
 After dinner Mr. Smith and his friend Mr. Jarr 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith i 35 
 
 adjourned to the smoking compartment, digest 
 ing, in blue clouds, more good stories to come, 
 Mr. Jarr the victim. 
 
 The sun fell down behind the Sierra, and trees 
 and huts whirled by, blurred in the gathering 
 shadows, vanishing finally into black. 
 
 Don Federico and Mrs. Tompkins Smith sat 
 together, silent, she straining her eyes out into 
 the void, he watching her, intent. In a moment 
 he would throw the dice Quien sabe ? 
 
 The locomotive shrieked out into the night, 
 the bell clanged, the brakes pressed heavily upon 
 the wheels. 
 
 Don Federico glanced at his watch, looked 
 around the empty car, and then bending over, 
 in a voice that was hard as steel and unwavering 
 as death, said to the woman who sat beside him : 
 
 "Listen, Margaret. In a minute we will be 
 at the station where I get off. I have tele 
 graphed ahead and my man will be there with 
 two horses. You are mine, and you must come 
 with me. Must!" 
 
136 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 She looked up at him, startled, quivering, her 
 face white to the lips. 
 
 "Oh ! No! Fred, no!" Her voice was a 
 wavering wail. 
 
 His eyes glistened. "You must, Margaret," 
 he repeated, in a low, firm voice; "you will 
 come with me to the old hacienda on the crags, 
 a night s gallop from here, and there we will live 
 our lives out together." 
 
 The train was slowing up. 
 
 " Come ! " She half rose from her seat at the 
 command. 
 
 The train had stopped now. 
 
 " Come ! " He led the way to the rear end of 
 the Pullman. She followed, protesting : "Oh ! 
 Fred, please ! This is cowardly." 
 
 They were out on the platform. He lifted her 
 to the ground, and, taking her by the arm, hur 
 ried on, passing quickly the zone of light that 
 fell from the car windows, and then into the 
 darkness beyond. " Please, Fred, let me go," 
 she pleaded, in a low tone. 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 137 
 
 He laughed softly, but hastened on. 
 
 " Let you go, Margaret ? Never ! " 
 
 He half lifted her over some stones that would 
 have bruised her feet. She heard the engine 
 whistle, and then the train rolled away to the 
 south, a moving line of light. Don Federico 
 called out: " Antonio ! " 
 
 A voice came out of the night: 
 
 " Aqui ! Senor." 
 
 " Are the horses there ? " 
 
 "Aqui estan, Senor." 
 
 Now they could hear stamping hoofs. 
 
 " Fred ! " A last appeal. 
 
 His answer was to catch her up in his arms 
 and swing her into the saddle. He leapt upon 
 the other horse. 
 
 "Antonio !" 
 
 "Si, Senor." 
 
 "You will stay about here till morning and 
 hear all that is said. Then borrow a horse from 
 Don Gasparo and come straight to the hacienda. 
 Ears open and mouth shut." 
 
138 The Mysterious Disappearance 
 
 "Si, Don Federico, en boca cerrada no entran 
 moscas." 
 
 Don Federico leaned over and seized the bridle 
 of Margaret s horse. Huy ! The spurs fell 
 upon the animal s flanks and they shot out into 
 the night. Now they were in the open, where 
 the starlight fell unhindered on the plain. Huy ! 
 The hoofs rang on the hard earth. Margaret 
 swayed in the ugly, peaked saddle. Don Federico 
 perceived it and forced his horse close to hers, 
 till the sides of the animals touched ; then put 
 his arm about her waist, compelling her to lean 
 against him, gathering both bridles into his other 
 hand. The two horses galloped as one. 
 
 " Margaret ! " 
 
 No answer. He could not see her face. She 
 lay heavily upon him. 
 
 "Margaret !" 
 
 Still no answer. The man grew pale with 
 fear. "Margaret, speak to me. Darling, I will 
 take you back if you wish it. We can telegraph, 
 and explain that we were left by the train." He 
 
of Mrs. T. Tompkins Smith 139 
 
 faltered ; his voice broke ; his courage was leav 
 ing him, now that he had won. "Shall we go 
 back ? " His hand was straining at the bridles. 
 
 She turned and lifted her face up to his, a 
 curious little smile trembling upon her lips. 
 
 "No," she whispered. 
 
 His arm tightened about her, he shouted in 
 triumph, the sound echoing from the gnarled 
 hills like a blast from a clarion. 
 
 Above them the snowy summit of the Nevada 
 de Toluca, silvered by the rising moon, gleamed 
 like the crown of a queen. 
 
 And the horses swept on, through the night. 
 
The Vision of Don Juan on the Piedra 
 de los Angeles 
 
If a man take into his hand one that is 
 yellow, changing into cloud-like gray, 
 and sleep, he will have strange dreams." 
 
 The Vision 
 
 of 
 
 Don Juan 
 
 on the Piedra 
 
 de los Angeles 
 
 ^T^HE sound of a horse s gallop echoed clearly 
 from the canon walls to the cluster of 
 adobe huts which from time immemorial had 
 borne the name of Tlatzmatlapan. 
 
 As yet the animal could not be seen, for there 
 was a sharp turn in the canon ere it debouched, 
 like the mouth of a huge bellows, into the valley; 
 but the clatter awoke from their dreaming the 
 dwellers of the huts, who issued as with one 
 accord from the low doors, and eagerly watched 
 the barranca. 
 
 Now a cry rent the air long, swelling, end 
 ing in a hissing quaver " VengoconDi-o sss ! " 
 
i44 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 and all smiled, for they knew twas the cry of 
 Pedro the carrier, and that God had been with 
 him during his long ride from the vale of Ana- 
 huac. Good Padre Mateo came out from the 
 little capilla where he had been preparing for 
 vespers, and joined the watching group, for 
 there might be a letter from the bishop or the 
 padre s brother in Puebla, quien sabe ? 
 
 " Adios, Pedro ! " came from a score of throats 
 as the rider turned into view. Without drawing 
 rein, and with brave clinking of chain and spur, 
 he dashed into the centre of the dusty plaza, and 
 then, by a sudden twist of the rope bridle, threw 
 the animal he rode back upon its haunches, him 
 self scarce moving at the shock. 
 
 "Mail for Don Juan!" cried Pedro, shaking 
 a leathern bag above his head and looking about 
 him with an air of important inquiry. 
 
 At this all hands pointed to a man who lay 
 stretched out in a hammock suspended under a 
 thatched roof. Touching the side of his horse 
 with his spur, Pedro rode up to the recumbent 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 145 
 
 figure, and with a bow handed the leathern bag, 
 making another yet lower as the silver pieces 
 given in return clinked in his hand. Then with 
 a " Muchas gracias, Senor," he walked his horse 
 over to where the assembled villagers awaited 
 him, there to retail much of the gossip he had 
 learned in the valley below, upon the smooth 
 plains of Anahuac, where the white City of the 
 Sun lies under the guard of Ixtaccihuatl, the 
 White Woman, first, however, giving to the 
 padre a recent copy of the Voz de Mexico, much 
 to the delight of the good man, who loved to 
 read the news of the day in a paper the bishop 
 himself approved of. 
 
 Don Juan arose from his hammock, and at the 
 first tinkle of the bell that called to vespers 
 walked up the steep path that led to the Piedra 
 de los Angeles, a rock that jutted abruptly out of 
 the side of Tare-Tzuruan, the highest peak in the 
 State of Michoacan. One could but remark, as 
 he leapt from stone to stone, that the name of 
 Don Juan sat illy upon him. The tall yet mas- 
 
 10 
 
146 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 sive form, the blond hair and beard, the eyes of 
 deep sea-blue, all told of Viking blood, very 
 different from the Tenorio of poem and story. 
 But then no Mexican tongue could say his un 
 couth northern name, so he had given the vil 
 lagers "Don Juan" as a handle of address, and 
 these simple Indian folk were content therewith, 
 the Don distinguishing him from the many other 
 Juans, Juanchos, and Juanitos who lay around. 
 
 "See!" cried Pedro the carrier, stopping for 
 a moment his tale of the wondrous fiestas he had 
 seen in the great city, where the President of the 
 Republic had just reflected himself, and point 
 ing to the mountain side, "there goes Don Juan 
 up the mountain. What can he do there now ? " 
 
 "Caray," answered old Concha, who, by 
 reason of her age, good memory, and ready 
 tongue, took the lead in village discussion. 
 "He goes to sit on yon rock and smoke of an 
 evening. Why, I know not. Lucky for him he 
 does not sleep there!" 
 
 " Why ? " queried Pedro. 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 147 
 
 " Why," repeated the madre, with some con 
 tempt in her tone, "hast thou passed here so 
 many times since the government gave thee thy 
 place, Pedro, and knowest not that yon rock is 
 the rock of the angels, and that he who sleeps 
 a night there never awakens?" 
 
 "Why ?" again Pedro. 
 
 Carramba ! Thou art made of whys, Pedro, " 
 exclaimed the old woman, stamping her foot 
 impatiently, yet withal not ill-pleased to have the 
 tale to tell again. "Well, it is because if one 
 sleeps there at night the angels come down and 
 take away his soul." 
 
 "Buena historia, esa," replied Pedro, looking 
 laughingly around and curling his moustache. 
 
 "A good story, is it! " shrieked old Concha, 
 trembling with rage. " The next thing thou wilt 
 be doubting the holy sacrament and the saints in 
 paradise! Three times did it occur in the life 
 time of my mother, who is with God, and many 
 a time has she told me the tale. Besides, tis all 
 written down on yellow paper by the cura of 
 
148 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 this place, the one we had before Padre Mateo, 
 and with a seal on it as big as my hand! And if 
 thou wilt go up there thou wilt see a cross cut in 
 the stone!" 
 
 "Tis well, madre," interjected Pedro at the 
 first opportunity, desirous of staying the old 
 woman s wrath and torrent of words, but she 
 would not heed him ! 
 
 " I tell thee, boy, thou art losing thy faith since 
 thou hast been employed by this unholy govern 
 ment of Porfirio Diaz, who respects not the 
 Church nor the ministers of God. Ave Maria 
 purissima, but thou wilt be damned ! " 
 
 "Hush, madre !" cried a young girl, as with 
 the blood darkening her brown cheek she sprang 
 to the carrier s side. " You go too far. Pedro is 
 no heretic." 
 
 The carrier put his arm affectionately about the 
 girl s waist. "All here know that as soon as 
 the rainy season begins, Conchita and I marry, 
 and she goes with me to the city to live. She 
 will have a hat with flowers and feathers in it, 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles i 49 
 
 and walk with me in the Alameda Sunday noon, 
 amidst the best of the caballeros. Is it not so, 
 chiquita ? " 
 
 The old woman drew away, mumbling, for 
 she saw that all were with Pedro and against 
 her ; but her wrath knew no limit when any one 
 doubted the story of the holy stone that thrust 
 itself so strangely and abruptly from the smooth 
 side of gigantic Tare-Tzuruan. 
 
 In the meantime Don Juan had reached the 
 rock, followed by a little yellow dog that kept 
 close to his heels. Seating himself and lighting 
 a Victoria de Colon, he untied the thong that 
 closed the bag and shook out a score of letters 
 upon his knees. Carelessly he glanced at their 
 contents and tossed them aside, all but one, 
 which he seized with seeming eagerness. His 
 name was penned upon it as finely as if with the 
 engraver s tool and art, and the postmark bore 
 the name of a city of the North. 
 
 He tore open the envelope and slowly read the 
 pink sheet that it had held. When he had fin- 
 
150 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 ished he laid it aside and took from his pocket 
 the picture of a woman, at which he gazed long 
 and attentively ; then he took letter and picture, 
 and throwing them upon the rock, ground them 
 to powder with his heel, not angrily, but rather 
 as if weary, utterly weary of it all. 
 
 Drawing his zarape more closely about him, 
 he lay back, resting his head upon his hand, 
 and watched the sun fall behind the ragged 
 Sierra, outlining it in fire. Out of bottomless 
 barrancas and yawning holes dug by gold- 
 seekers of old came the black shadows, creep 
 ing out into the valley, stealing up the moun 
 tain sides till they reached and quenched the 
 glow that still lingered upon the peaks. The 
 stars glittered out of the dark canopy above, and 
 a cold wind moaned down the canon. Still 
 Don Juan did not move, but gazed steadily into 
 space, and the yellow dog nestled closer to 
 him. 
 
 From the village below came the notes of old 
 Tiburcio s violin and the clamor of singing 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 151 
 
 women, filtered by the heavy air into a single 
 chord of harmony. Still Don Juan gazed steadily 
 out upon the blackness and the void ; for mem 
 ory, that tricky painter of mingled truth and lie, 
 was making for him a multicolored phantasm, 
 toned throughout with the misty gray of non- 
 fruition. The picture grew duller, the figures 
 blending shadow-fashion into grotesquerie, and 
 he became keener to the sounds without, the 
 voices of the night, deep monotones cut athwart 
 by sharp cry of bird or beast. The stars shone 
 with a swifter light, marking deeper their set 
 ting of infinity ; but one, that hung just above 
 a spear-like peak, even as the dot upon an 
 "i," sent a luminous shaft, clear and distinct, to 
 the very rock whereon lay Don Juan. 
 
 Scarce had he time to note this, when he saw 
 a figure coming down this glittering pathway, a 
 figure of shining haze, yet well marked in form 
 and feature. Another followed, and another, 
 until six in all moved toward him. What 
 strange phantasm was this ? He sat up that he 
 
152 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 might see more surely, and the yellow dog by 
 his side moaned and hid its face in a fold of its 
 master s zarape. 
 
 The first of the throng placed a foot upon the 
 rock, and passed him so closely that he might 
 have touched her with his hand. It was a 
 woman, one he had well known in years gone 
 by. Well he knew the stately form and proud 
 face, the eyes which, though cold to all others, 
 had softened to him only for a moment. Her 
 pride pricked her for a fall. But he felt no regret 
 that it was bygone, and had for greeting to her 
 but a smile, hinting at contempt. Slowly this 
 figure vanished, seemingly adown the mountain 
 side, engulfed, and the next strode before him. 
 She held in one hand a bunch of scarlet flowers, 
 and in the other a cup of wine which her joy 
 ous laugh spiced with the hope of pleasures to 
 come, keen to rending. Her dark eyes and red 
 lips spoke of love, and her rounded limbs, and 
 men had given gold and honor that they might 
 touch her hair. Well he knew her, too. She 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 153 
 
 had come into his life and gone out of it, a dream 
 without dregs, and he smiled, as she passed on, a 
 smile of pleased remembrance. 
 
 Then came one of slender form and anguished 
 countenance, as of one who had sinned and was 
 sorely troubled thereat, beating her breast that 
 memories of pleasant hours might not rise and 
 stand twixt her and soul s salvation ; her eyes 
 were heavy with reproach and querulous repin 
 ing. He laughed mockingly as she moved away. 
 
 There stepped behind her a girl of dull form, 
 but flecked sharp with bright color of flower and 
 feather and gleaming jewel. Though featured, 
 her face was a blank whereon petty vices and 
 weakly virtues writhed and marked themselves 
 like dun serpents, drugged, slow moving to a 
 dim and feeble piping. The pride in her step 
 was from numbers ; for could she have waved 
 her hand and evoked her like throughout the 
 world s broad plains, the heavens would have 
 blackened with the rising myriad. 
 
 Don Juan turned wearily from her to the one 
 
154 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 who followed. Here was force force in the 
 lithe and supple form, force in the dark eyes that 
 flashed anger and revenge, force in the nervous 
 fingers that clutched the hilt of a shadowy knife 
 and yearned to plunge it into the breast of the 
 man who lay upon the rock. She struggled to 
 reach him, and when borne on by some invisible 
 power, she shrieked, baffled no, twas only the 
 cry of some night bird caught in the canon. 
 
 But now the way that lay from the star grew 
 brighter, and adown it came two figures, a 
 woman and child, at the sight of whom Don 
 Juan rose to a sitting posture and his breath 
 came quick and sharp. The woman s brown 
 hair fell about her like a veil, framing a pallid face 
 whereon was writ infinite sadness and the suf 
 fering that is not to end through all the roll of 
 centuries, not even when the earth splits asunder 
 and falls screaming through space. Both hands 
 of the fair-haired child were clasped to one of 
 hers, and its blue eyes looked up to her darker 
 ones with trusting worship. She saw the man 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 155 
 
 upon the rock, but in her look was naught of 
 reproach nor of complaining, only tenderness 
 without bounds. Don Juan moaned in his pain, 
 and sank his nails into his breast until red drops 
 followed the cut. Then he held out his hands 
 to her, imploring ; but she, understanding, gently 
 shook her head. Love such as hers would have 
 only what it gave, and she well knew that this 
 would never come to Don Juan, and he suffered 
 that he could not create it. The boundaries of 
 fate are higher than the stars and stronger than 
 the ages, and she blamed not him that he could 
 not love, but the Parcse, who twisted the threads 
 of life, or ran them singly through the ever- 
 moving shuttle. She bowed to the decree of the 
 Fates ; he would have struggled against it, though 
 knowing such struggle to be vain. He held out 
 his hands to her, but even as he did so the figures 
 grew misty, and soon where they stood was but 
 the black sheath of the night, jewelled with quiet 
 stars. 
 The man, bending over, hid his face in his 
 
156 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 hands, and the yellow dog thrust its head out 
 from the folds of the zarape and licked the hands 
 softly. 
 
 The night sped on, and now the deep silence 
 seemed to vibrate, at first into a low monotone, 
 rising higher until it broke into a cadence of 
 softer notes, the harmony of the whirling atoms 
 in rock and tree and tinkling water. Don Juan 
 listened, and this harmony broke into words, a 
 voice distinctly speaking: 
 
 "Over, over, over the waters I move, o er 
 broad plain and peaked hill. He who lays o er 
 night upon this rock will see the past and know 
 the future. Look up, Don Juan." 
 
 The musical syllables were loud and clear, 
 seemingly at his side, and he took his hands 
 from his face and looked up. 
 
 Beside him stood a form of perfect beauty, such 
 as in the sculptor s dream floats above the hired 
 model when the artist, despairing, lets fall his 
 chisel, clanging upon the marble. He marvelled 
 at her beauty, and yet more at her words. 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 157 
 
 Never had he seen her; no hidden door of mem 
 ory opened as he gazed upon her. He felt within 
 him a sense of peace, of quiet infinite, that recked 
 not of the fall of worlds, that soothed the pain in 
 his breast, and healed all wounds as though they 
 had never been. She bent over and placed her 
 hand upon his brow. 
 
 " Thou hast sought love, Don Juan, and found 
 it not. Evil hast thou wrought, seeking it, but 
 for this blame the Fates, not thyself, for they led 
 thee winding ways. This much may I tell thee; 
 that before thou reachest the end thou wilt meet 
 me, and thou shalst know love as the gods know 
 it, eternal and infinite. We two have sought 
 each other through the ages, ever since the soul 
 was born of the first woman who sorrowed in 
 love, and it is written that we shall meet. So 
 be of good cheer and journey on, fearing not, and 
 I await thee." She bent over him till her lips 
 were upon his. Her kiss thrilled him like the 
 touch of a god. He put out his arms to enfold 
 her but there was nothing there. Still he could 
 
158 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 hear the music of the voice : "Over, over, over 
 the waters I go, o er broad plain and peaked 
 hill. . . ." The voice sank into a monotone, 
 and this dwindled into silence again, and Don 
 Juan slept, his head upon his arm, the yellow 
 dog shivering in the folds of its master s zarape. 
 
 Tap! Tap! Tap! "Padre Mateo ! Padre mio, 
 for the love of God come quickly! " Twas the 
 voice of old Concha, standing without, and at 
 the sound of it the priest arose from his couch 
 and went to his door. "What is it, my 
 daughter?" he called from within. 
 
 " Ave Maria, Padre," she whispered shrilly, 
 " but Don Juan the Americano has gone to sleep 
 on the Stone of the Angels, and they are taking 
 away his soul ! " 
 
 Quickly the padre threw about him his new 
 black robe, over this a blanket, and thrusting his 
 feet into his sandals opened the door and hurried 
 out upon the plaza. He saw there the entire 
 population of Tlatzmatlapan huddled together 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles i 59 
 
 and shivering, their blankets drawn about them, 
 covering their faces up to their eyes. 
 
 Old Concha seized the priest s arm as he came 
 out. "Look," she whispered, pointing to the 
 Piedra de los Angeles on the side of mighty 
 Tare-Tzuruan. "I saw that Don Juan did not 
 come back, and I watched the rock, and but a 
 moment ago I saw a light upon it. Ave Maria 
 purissima ! See ! " 
 
 The padre gazed steadily, his arm still held by 
 the old woman. Perhaps in some corner of his 
 nature there had lurked a doubt as to the legend 
 so carefully cherished in the records of his 
 church, but now, by Our Lady of Guadalupe ! 
 there could be none, for he saw it with his own 
 eyes and if you cannot trust them, what can 
 you trust, eh ? Juan Diego himself, when he 
 saw the miraculous Virgin on the hill of Guada 
 lupe, had nothing but his eyes to see with. The 
 new doctrine of contagious hallucination had not 
 yet found its way to far Tlatzmatlapan, and if it 
 had, the good padre would rather trust to the 
 
160 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 eyes that God had given him than to the ridicu 
 lous theories of a parcel of heretical Frenchmen. 
 He saw it; saw the stone lit up with a strange 
 light that was like nothing ever seen of this earth, 
 and forms of flame moving therein. After a 
 while, one greater, more brilliant than the rest 
 then all vanished, and darkness again shrouded 
 the holy stone. 
 
 A long time thereafter the watchers were 
 silent, only breaking out now and then into a 
 whispered Ave Maria or a Nuestro Senor, for a 
 great awe was upon them. Had there been 
 devils on yonder rock there is no doubt the 
 padre, armed with a crucifix and a bowl of holy 
 water, would have marched straight to the rescue, 
 for he was a man of kindly impulse and withal 
 brave enough in his way. But with angels one 
 must bow to the will of God. 
 
 So they stood there the night through, waiting 
 until the first arrow of Tonatiuh tipped with gold 
 the peak of Tare-Tzuruan and drove away the 
 spirits of darkness, giving courage to the hearts 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 161 
 
 of those whose forefathers had worshipped 
 him. 
 
 Now, at a nod from the priest, Pedro the car 
 rier and Jose the sacristan went together to the 
 church and got therefrom the stretcher of wood 
 and leather that had served to carry many to 
 their last rest in the Campo Santo. As a heretic, 
 Don Juan could scarce be buried there in holy 
 ground, but if the angels had taken his soul, 
 carramba ! twas a case over which the arch 
 bishop himself might well puzzle and lose his 
 Latin. But they could bring him down from yon 
 rock, and then to-morrow they would decide 
 what to do. 
 
 So a procession was formed and started bravely 
 up the path. First the padre, with a crucifix, 
 for one never could be quite sure about angels 
 when heretics were in question. Then Pedro 
 and Jose carrying the stretcher. Next, Madre 
 Concha, fairly bursting with pride and piety, 
 her faded blue rebozo drawn tightly over head 
 
 and shoulders. The entire population followed, 
 ii 
 
162 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 even to the chicos, clinging fearfully to their 
 mothers skirts. 
 
 Up the steep path they wound till just beneath 
 the rock, beyond the edge of which projected a 
 man s boot and the sharp nose of a little yellow 
 dog. Here the padre stopped a moment, 
 doubtless for breath, and the rest did likewise. 
 The little yellow dog eyed them doubtfully. It 
 was not quite sure of their intentions. Two or 
 three times it opened its mouth as if to bark, 
 then shut it again to await further developments. 
 The padre started, winding around the rock, 
 and now was upon it. There lay Don Juan, 
 as large as life, stretched out upon the hard 
 stone, his head resting upon his arm, his bright- 
 hued zarape wound about him. At this juncture 
 the yellow dog came to a decision, and opening 
 widely its mouth, emitted a sharp, clear yelp 
 which cut the air like a knife, and then the 
 body on the rock moved. 
 
 The footing of Padre Mateo upon the steep 
 side was at best precarious, and by a coincidence 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 163 
 
 he lost his equilibrium at this particular moment, 
 falling heavily against Pedro, who in turn 
 jammed the stretcher into Jose 1 , who knocked 
 down Madre Concha, and the next instant all 
 these good people were rolling down the moun 
 tain side in a confused heap, amid the cries of 
 terror of the villagers. Twas not long, how 
 ever, ere they stopped, unmixed themselves un 
 harmed, and the padre, angry with himself, 
 bounded up to the rock. He was just in time 
 to see the recumbent figure stretch out an arm, 
 then a leg, open its mouth in an abysmal yawn, 
 and sit up. 
 
 "You are alive and well, Senor?" cried the 
 padre in something of a strangled voice. 
 
 " I think so," replied Don Juan in a natural but 
 sleepy tone, gazing with some wonderment at 
 the awed and astonished faces of those who now 
 crowded the narrow platform. 
 
 "But the angels, Senor?" cried Concha, in 
 mingled wrath and disappointment ; "hast thou 
 seen no angels this night ? " 
 
164 The Vision of Don Juan on 
 
 Don Juan passed his hand over his forehead. 
 
 "Yes, angels and devils, madrecita. I have 
 dreamed strange dreams upon your rock, for a 
 truth. But," he added, coming fully to himself 
 and catching sight of the stretcher which Jose 
 and Pedro were making desperate efforts to hide, 
 "I do not need that yet, my friends !" and he 
 leapt to his feet, in his full strength, and the 
 yellow dog executed a fantastic joy-dance about 
 his heels. 
 
 Respectfully they made way for him to pass 
 down. As he came to Conchita, who clung 
 fearfully to Pedro s arm, he drew from his finger 
 a ring. "Take this, girl, as a wedding present 
 from the man who slept on the Piedra de los 
 Angeles, and may it bring thee luck and love. 
 And you, Jose," he added, turning to the sacris 
 tan, "saddle my horse quickly, for after a tortilla 
 and a cup of the madrecita s coffee, I go down to 
 Anahuac." 
 
 He strode on down the mountain, the rest fol 
 lowing slowly in whispering groups. 
 
the Piedra de los Angeles 165 
 
 That morning he rode out along the canon, 
 after many farewells and " Vaya Vd. con Dios " 
 from these simple folk. At first he let the rein 
 hang idly over the high peak of his Mexican sad 
 dle, the horse picking its way as it would, the 
 man lost in thought. 
 
 Was, then, all this true ? Was there before 
 him, in what was left to him of life, the per 
 fect woman, the love that knows not doubt nor 
 sorrow, that makes gods of men ? 
 
 But a moment later he seized the reins and 
 drove his spurs into the flanks of his horse. 
 
 He did not believe it. 
 
Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
And a handful of divers hues, 
 which may mean anything or 
 nothing, as one will." 
 
 Cosmopolitana 
 Mexicana 
 
 Jornada I 
 
 TT was a great holiday, the Saturday following 
 Good Friday, and the city was in gala dress. 
 To one who knows the climate of Mexico, some 
 eight thousand feet nearer the clouds than sea- 
 coast towns, it is needless to add that the 
 weather was fine, the sky unflecked by a cloud, 
 the sun dazzling. Eight months of clear, bright 
 days, one so like unto the other that you long 
 for a tempest and thirst for a patter of rain, 
 wishing the sun moon-like, with quarters. Now, 
 even about the forehead, breasts, and knees of 
 the White Woman, Ixtaccihuatl, there was no 
 crown nor wreath of mist, nor a bit of smoke 
 
170 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 lingering about the cones of Popocatepetl. Only 
 one great expanse of blue into which the white 
 volcanoes dipped. 
 
 In every street, suspended from cords stretched 
 from house to house, were huge dolls, man-size, 
 fantastically painted and dressed, the Judases 
 which were to be this day shot, knifed, and 
 burned, that the people might thus fittingly show 
 their hatred of the one who had betrayed the 
 gentle Christ. 
 
 The Zocalo, the great square in front of the 
 cathedral, swarmed with a multicolored mass of 
 humanity, pushing and jostling good naturedly, 
 the upper classes in sombre black and gray, the 
 lower in zarapes of every hue that light con 
 tains, and many that it doesn t. Mingling with 
 all were Indian hawkers and peddlers, proffering 
 their wares with shrill cries ; children lugging 
 grotesque dolls to burn at home. Beggars 
 whined and squeaked, dark-skinned women in 
 blue rebozos, from the floating gardens of La 
 Vega, tendered their bouquets of fragrant flow- 
 
Jornada I 171 
 
 ers, while now and then a carriage split the 
 crowd, the driver shouting for way. It was all 
 bathed in splendid sunshine, and splendid music 
 from the military band that played in the kiosk, 
 and deep waves of harmony that rolled out from 
 the great bells swinging in the tall twin towers 
 of the church. 
 
 From the plaza the mass flowed into the nar 
 row streets of Plateros and San Francisco, toward 
 the Alameda, for it was near noon, and the fash 
 ion and beauty of Mexico must be in the green 
 and shady walks by that hour, to see and be 
 seen, to smile, gossip, and smirk. 
 
 In front of the arched door of the palace that 
 was of Iturbide, now fallen to the base uses of a 
 hostelry, stood two degenerate descendants of 
 Aztec kings, clad in peaked straw hats and ragged 
 cotton shirts, holding out their hands, upon every 
 finger of which was perched a live tropical bird 
 of brilliant plumage, seemingly well content and 
 undisturbed by the passing crowd. " Pajaros, 
 pajaritos bonitos, mansos," shrilled the natives in 
 
1 72 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 chorus, thrusting the birds almost into the face 
 of every one who bore the marks of a tourist. 
 
 "Oh, Dick! just look at those lovely tame 
 birds," cried a young American woman who 
 hung upon the arm of a young American man, 
 and the demeanor of those two proclaimed to 
 who would read, that they were inseparably, 
 indissolubly, inextricably, and by due process of 
 law, linked in wedlock. 
 
 " Ask him how much they are, Dick, do ! " 
 
 Dick brought his entire knowledge of the lan 
 guage to bear upon the natives, and uttered the 
 one word, Cuanto ? " 
 
 "Dos pesos, Senor," replied the vendor of 
 birds. 
 
 "I guess that means two dollars, Dolly," 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Oh, that s only Mexican dollars, Dick!" 
 Her eyes yearned to the little feathered bunches. 
 
 A tall man who had been standing near her 
 bent over. "Excuse me, madam," he said, "I 
 would advise you not to buy those birds. They 
 
Jornada I 173 
 
 have been recently snared in the forests of the 
 Tierra caliente, and a half ounce of small shot has 
 been forced down their throats. This is why 
 they are unable to fly. To-morrow they will be 
 dead ! " 
 
 "Oh, dear ! how awfully cruel !" exclaimed 
 the woman ; and then she and her lawful spouse 
 turned away and were swallowed up in the 
 moving throng. 
 
 The tall man gazed for a moment after his 
 countrywoman, who had failed to even nod an 
 appreciation of his courtesy in saving her both 
 expense and trouble. He was not surprised. In 
 her fade but rather pretty face there was no 
 spark of intelligence nor breeding. She was of 
 a certain schoolgirl type, celebrated in song and 
 story, carefully avoided by all wise men. 
 
 He was still looking, lost in thought, when a 
 hand was laid upon his arm, and a voice beside 
 him said : " Tiens, c est toi. Georges ! Juste- 
 ment je te cherchais." 
 
 "Ah! Paul," replied the one thus addressed, in 
 
174 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 French that bore no trace of being spoken by 
 a Saxon, "I was about to look you up in the 
 Alameda." 
 
 " I hope you have no engagement for to-day," 
 continued the Frenchman, vivaciously; "we 
 will meet Calvo and Petroffski there, and I have 
 ordered dinner at the Cafe* de Paris for one 
 o clock. They have just received some fresh 
 oysters via Vera Cruz, and I am sick of the table 
 d hote at the Jockey Club. Si le coeur t en dit ? " 
 
 The American nodded in acquiescence. Paul 
 chattered on. 
 
 "Quel trou, ce Mexique, mon cher, quelle 
 galere, quelle infamie ! It is a most marvellous 
 thing that France should think of keeping a min 
 ister or even a charge d affaires here. Va pour 
 le ministre ! He seems to like it, but wherefore 
 an attache ? My poor mother is working night 
 and day to get me out of here and sent to Japan, 
 Tonquin, Tunis, the devil anywhere. She even 
 went to elemental, just think of it, elemental, 
 who has such a pull with the ministry that he 
 
Jornada I 175 
 
 was able to send a mari importun to Denmark. 
 But nothing, nothing. The Deschanteaux are 
 not in favor with the bourgeois government." 
 
 In front of the Jockey Club they were stopped, 
 the multitude in front of them closing up into a 
 compact mass. From somewhere beyond came 
 shouts and cries mingled with laughter. 
 
 Paul Deschanteaux tip-toed in vain endeavor 
 to look over the heads of those in front of him. 
 
 " What is it, Georges ? " he finally asked of his 
 taller companion. 
 
 "They re burning Judases in front of the 
 Jockey Club," replied the American, "and some 
 of the members are throwing silver to the crowd 
 from the balcony." 
 
 Deciding, after a few vain efforts to push 
 through, that they would be detained too long, 
 the two friends backed out of the crowd and 
 turned into the Calle de Gante, alone now in this 
 broad street, the murmur behind them growing 
 fainter. They turned the block, coming out at 
 the entrance of the main alley of the Alameda, 
 
176 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 lined with chairs and covered from the sun, 
 people swarming therein, and the military band 
 at the farther end rolling down full notes, a son 
 orous background to the cackle and laughter of 
 the throng. The men in black frock coats, light 
 trousers, French silk hats, shamming gravity. 
 The women in French gowns or home-made 
 imitations, sparkling with feather, flower, and 
 jewel ; the graceful rebozo long since demode, 
 and relegated to the back stairs. 
 
 The two nodded gayly to passing acquaint 
 ances. " Adios, Don Jaime." " Como, Pedro?" 
 " Buenos dias, Don Tiburcio." These were the 
 limit of Deschanteaux Spanish like all his coun 
 trymen he was above learning any language 
 other than his own, excepting under circum 
 stances of great provocation. 
 
 A group of notaries passed, sedate, and there 
 was a great lifting of shining silk hats, for it 
 must be remembered that in this town every one 
 knows every one else (that s worth knowing). 
 The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, walking 
 
Jornada I 177 
 
 alone, hands behind his back, buried in thought, 
 carrying the Constitution on his shoulders, and 
 prepared to cheerfully violate its most sacred pro 
 visions at the nod of the Executive. He lifted 
 his hat gravely, with a whispered "Senores !" 
 
 One of the notaries detached himself from the 
 group, and touching the American on the arm, 
 beckoned him aside. "Any news from New 
 York, Don Jorge?" 
 
 "None," replied the American, shaking his 
 head wearily. " I don t think there ever will be, 
 Velasco. The company is bankrupt, and in the 
 present condition of the money market cannot 
 raise another dollar for working capital." 
 
 "And what are you going to do, then, pobre 
 amigo mio ? " inquired the notary, his round, 
 fat face shining with sympathy. 
 
 " Sabe Dios," replied the other. The notary 
 glanced back. "Your friend Deschanteaux is 
 talking with Calvo and the Russian. I won t 
 detain you but a moment. Listen. I have a 
 client, Don Cassio Alvarez, who has a great ha- 
 
178 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 cienda in Guerrero, mines, cattle, plantation, 
 everything. His last steward robbed him un 
 mercifully and he has discharged him. He 
 wants an American, one whom he can trust. 
 He pays three hundred pesos, Mexican, a month 
 and ten per cent, of the net. He will be here 
 next week, and I thought of you. Can I men 
 tion your name ? " 
 
 George Forrest grasped the notary s hand and 
 shook it warmly. 
 
 "Thanks, amigo. It would be salvation for 
 me. I will confess to you that I do not know 
 where to give head." 
 
 " Es nada," answered the good-humored no 
 tary, shrugging away the other s gratitude. 
 " Apropos, there is a rendezvous at the Tivoli de 
 San Cosme to-night. Alberigo, Escandor, and 
 others ; will you come?" 
 
 "If possible. Thanks." 
 
 "Hasta luego, then." 
 
 The two separated, and Forrest walked on to 
 join his companion. He found him in animated 
 
Jornada I 179 
 
 converse with Petroffski and Don Calvo. The 
 former, blond-bearded, blue-eyed, the body and 
 hands of a mougik, a touch of sentimentalism 
 somewhere about the face, that struggled to offset 
 the hard shrewdness of the Tartar eyes; a queer 
 mixture of Werther and wolf, with the possibili 
 ties of a Tolstoi and the probabilities of a brute. 
 
 Don Calvo was a type of the Visigoth run 
 clear, on Spanish ground, of Arabic or Jewish 
 blood, or else harked back in a spasm of atavism. 
 Thickset and long-limbed, with reddish blond 
 hair and moustache, and eyes that shifted from 
 gray to steel blue. He was of good stock, and 
 had his father left him a fortune he would have 
 been a gentleman ; with opportunities he might 
 have been a professional gentleman or a com 
 mercial gentleman ; with capital he might have 
 drifted along any of the accepted channels of 
 thievery yclept trade, and been a credit to his 
 country. Lacking these, he had become a soci 
 ety broker, giving you cheerfully the price of 
 anything, from a horse to a girl with dark eyes, 
 
i8o Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 and accepting a commission gracefully, as a loan. 
 Always ready to do any one a good turn, on the 
 principle that it deserved another. He was tol 
 erated for his good fellowship, much sought 
 after as a budget of news. Not a scandal but he 
 had it at the tips of his fingers, not a conjugal 
 lapse that he could not conjugate. He was bet 
 ter than a Burke s Peerage, and more truthful, for 
 he could tell the relationship of every man and 
 woman in town to the Devil. They marvelled 
 and mumbled at his memory. 
 
 As Forrest drew near, Petroffski hailed him 
 with a grunt that rumbled into a laugh. 
 
 "To the rescue, Monsieur Forrest ! Deschan- 
 teaux is engaged in his usual occupation of 
 damning Mexico with ornamental and original 
 aphorisms that were new and startling at the 
 epoch of the deluge, and Calvo is no match for 
 him." 
 
 "And what new evil has my friend Paul dis 
 covered in la colonie manquee of Napoleon 
 the Little?" 
 
Jornada I 181 
 
 " Nothing new, mon cher, but my manner of 
 putting it," answered Deschanteaux, turning to 
 Forrest. " The two principal topics of conversa 
 tion in every European capital are, as you know, 
 politics and women. Here only one man talks 
 politics, presumably with himself, and that is the 
 President. As for women, il n y en a pas." He 
 snapped his fingers to emphasize the void. 
 "So we are reduced to discussing art and litera 
 ture, and will ultimately be forced into science 
 and theology. Petroffski is threatening us with 
 Tolstoi, and Calvo is ranting about some fellow 
 by the name of Picon, who it seems wrote nov 
 els in Spanish. Yes, mes amis, two months 
 more of this, and if I ever reach home, and you 
 come to visit me, my address will be Charenton, 
 third cell to the right, main corridor; and then," 
 continued Deschanteaux, for once started on 
 this topic it was difficult to stop him, "every 
 body seems to have the amusing and laudable 
 habit of dying of the typhus. Yesterday, while 
 I was taking my afternoon walk on the Paseo, I 
 
1 82 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 met a dozen men whom I knew, who had just 
 died of the typhus " 
 
 " What, their ghosts ?" inquired Don Calvo. 
 
 " Non, gros beta. I mean each of them had 
 just lost some relative by that charming disease. 
 They were either going to or coming from funer 
 als, having just left their former friend in pigeon 
 hole number 369. N est-ce pas que c est gai, 
 eh ? " 
 
 Don Calvo stood the chaffing good-naturedly. 
 
 "Joking aside, Paul," said Forrest, " Calvo is 
 right about Octavio Picon. I am familiar with 
 almost everything in the way of novels in 
 European literature, but I assure you that no 
 pen has ever drawn a more exquisite picture 
 of a woman than Cristeta in Duke y Sabrosa. 
 Am I not right, PetrofTski?" 
 
 "You are, Forrest," replied the Russian. 
 "But such women only exist, unfortunately, in 
 the imagination of the novelist. They are 
 poetical myths. Now Tolstoi " 
 
 "Pour Tamour de Dieu, Petroffski, stop Tol- 
 
Jornada I 
 
 183 
 
 stoi ! " exclaimed Deschanteaux. "Do you 
 know " 
 
 "Let me tell you, gentlemen," interposed 
 Don Calvo, "I knew a beautiful woman here 
 once " 
 
 "She s dead, of course," interrupted Deschan 
 teaux. 
 
 -Yes, but " 
 
 "I knew it," and the irrepressible French 
 man began to hum: 
 
 cf II penchait pour 1 amour physique 
 
 Et a Rome, sSjour d ennui, 
 
 Une femme, d ailleurs phtisique, 
 
 Est morte d amour pour lui." 
 
 "Is that original?" queried PetrofTski, when 
 the laughter had subsided. 
 
 "Yes with Charles Baudelaire." 
 
 "Seriously, Deschanteaux, can t you be serious 
 a moment?" asked the Mexican, with a tinge 
 of impatience in his tone. 
 
 "No, my dear friend, I can t. If I were seri- 
 
1 84 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 ous for five consecutive minutes I should certainly 
 catch the typhus. Nothing predisposes one so 
 much to that disease as being serious. Don t 
 try it, my dear fellow; if you value your life 
 don t try it, and don t talk to me about beau 
 tiful women. It gives me the nostalgia. I 
 have not seen one since I left Paris " 
 
 "Hush!" exclaimed Don Calvo, in a sharp, 
 sudden whisper to the three who stood facing 
 him. "Don t look around, don t move! In a 
 moment I will show you the most beautiful 
 woman in the world, to say nothing of Mexico. 
 She is seated directly behind you, and you 
 cannot look around now. Let us go over to 
 the American minister and see him a moment, 
 and then we can walk by her." 
 
 They looked at the speaker in amazement, 
 scarce believing what he said, yet there was no 
 mistaking his tone. Obediently, and success 
 fully resisting the temptation to look behind 
 them, they went over to where O Brien Mul- 
 cahy, the diplomatic representative of the United 
 
Jornada I 185 
 
 States, his wife and two daughters, sat watch 
 ing the passing crowd and listening to the 
 music. 
 
 "Tell me, Forrest, are all American ministers 
 Irish?" inquired Petroffski as they approached 
 the group. 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And your President, senators and deputies 
 too?" 
 
 "Yes, all of them." This listlessly, for he 
 had been weaned by much questioning upon 
 home topics difficult to explain. 
 
 "This domination of the Celtic race over the 
 Saxon is certainly a curious historical phenome 
 non," said the Russian, reflectively. 
 
 The American minister returned the salute of 
 the four gentlemen with the diplomatic grace and 
 dignity he had acquired during his many years 
 experience as sheriff in a town in Iowa. His 
 daughters, healthy, rosy-cheeked girls, bowed 
 and smiled condescendingly, with a suspicion 
 in manner, however, of not being intimately 
 
1 86 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 acquainted with their new French gowns, and 
 as yet unused to foreign ways. 
 
 Had the latest papers yet?" queried the 
 minister of Forrest. "We ve got the other 
 party on the run, and as sure as you re alive, 
 at the next election we ll sweep the country!" 
 
 Forrest nodded in agreement. He did not care 
 very much which party swept the country so 
 long as he was not asked to carry away any of 
 the dirt, and he was impatient to get away. 
 
 "You ll come to our reception Tuesday 
 night," said Mrs. Mulcahy as they moved away, 
 "all of you." 
 
 "Yes, do," added the minister. 
 
 They accepted, all but Deschanteaux, who had 
 not understood a word of the conversation, and 
 had been nursing a contemptuous wrath for dip 
 lomats who could not speak French. 
 
 Under the guidance of Don Calvo they strolled 
 a short distance up the shady walk, and then 
 wheeling about, two by two, bore down on the 
 object of their quest 
 
Jornada I 187 
 
 It was quite needless for the Mexican to nudge 
 Deschanteaux with his elbow when they arrived 
 in front of the lady. It would have been no hard 
 task to have singled her out from among the 
 twelve thousand virgins of Cologne. As they 
 walked by they had but a single glance, and lit 
 tle time for carping details. Against the back 
 ground of dark green, sun-sprinkled, they saw a 
 figure in gray, with curve of bust and hip which 
 sculptors would have sought as knights the 
 Holy Grail. A face, calm, pure, majestic, sur 
 mounted by a coil of dark brown hair crowned 
 by a simple toque of black velvet, relieved only 
 by a golden spray on one side. The eyes they 
 remembered clearly, two wells of deep blue, 
 fathomless. 
 
 To their astonishment Don Calvo lifted his hat 
 to the goddess, whereupon they all followed suit, 
 pleased at custom permitting this obeisance. 
 They walked on, rounding the fountain, and 
 then seized Don Calvo. " You know her, then ? 
 It s a king s privilege ! Wretch ! Who and 
 
i88 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 what is she? Speak, or we ll throw you into 
 the basin. Speak, and we ll give you all we 
 have!" 
 
 Don Calvo was in his element. He swelled 
 with pride and expanded with satisfaction. It 
 would not do to yield too quickly, however. 
 He paused for a moment, nodding to a passing 
 acquaintance; and then, with feet spread apart, 
 swung his cane to and fro in his gloved hand. 
 At last, patience of others to breaking point, he 
 quoth sagely, and with a smacking of Sir Oracle, 
 " Have I kept my word, gentlemen ? " 
 
 The affirmations were as of a well-trained 
 chorus. 
 
 "Well, you see it is this way. To begin at 
 the beginning, did you notice the respectable old 
 lady who sat beside her, a foil in yellow ? No ? 
 I thought not. That was Madame Schreiber, 
 who came here some eight years ago with her 
 husband, an American engineer employed on the 
 National Railroad. He died a year later and his 
 salary died with him. It s a question which 
 
Jornada I 189 
 
 death the widow regretted the more. Deciding 
 wisely to live, she opened a boarding-house for 
 Americans, baked them pie with her own hands, 
 and flourished exceedingly. By my advice (I 
 speak modestly, gentlemen) she bought a barro 
 in the Santa Rosalia mine and sold out at the 
 proper time, whereupon she gave up baking pies 
 and took a villa out at Tacubaya. The goddess 
 is her niece, who came from your country " (he 
 nodded to Forrest) "a week or tx-n days ago. 
 Voila ! " 
 
 "A niece of Madame Schreiber is indefinite," 
 exclaimed Deschanteaux. " Her name, her line 
 age?" 
 
 "Her name, Alma Lessing; age, twenty- 
 four; lineage, her father, brother to Madame 
 Schreiber, was a coal miner in Pennsylvania, and 
 married a Hungarian woman, daughter, sister, 
 or something of another miner." 
 
 "And how do you know all this?" asked 
 Petroffski. 
 
 " I called on the old lady the other even- 
 
190 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 ing, and she introduced me to la Senorita 
 Alma and gave m the family history from A 
 toZ." 
 
 "All of which means, en somme," said 
 Petroffski slowly, "that our friend Don Calvo y 
 Ramirez is both able and willing to introduce us." 
 
 "Certainement." 
 
 Deschanteaux glanced down the long line of 
 seats, and spied the black velvet toque and the 
 gold spray gleaming in a bit of sunlight. 
 
 "Now?" he questioned. 
 
 Don Calvo nodded, and they strolled back to 
 where the two women were seated, listening to 
 the music, the younger one watching the pass 
 ing crowd with the interest of one to whom this 
 land was new. 
 
 Introductions were quickly given. Alma ex 
 tended her small gray-gloved hand to each, cor 
 dially, with a gesture that was grace and 
 strength. One guessed muscles of iron under 
 the soft glove and softer skin. She looked 
 frankly into the eyes of each in turn, not with 
 
Jornada I 191 
 
 the boldness of a woman who knows men too 
 well, nor with that of a woman to whom they 
 will never be known. Rather with the glance 
 of one who is politely curious until the hour 
 comes, then only to leap into flame. 
 
 Madame Schreiber, clad in a yellow dress 
 that shrieked, was pleased to make acquaintance 
 of men whom she knew stood well, and she 
 monopolized volubly in bad French, propped up 
 here and there by worse Spanish. Her lungs 
 troubled her so the rarefied air she felt she 
 must go to San Antonio as soon as her lease was 
 up in June her house was at Tacubaya, Villa 
 Dominguez the first turn to the right after 
 you pass the great gambling hall always at 
 home evenings, and also afternoons, excepting 
 Wednesday and Saturday, when they drove on 
 the Paseo she would be glad to have them 
 call, sans cere*monie. 
 
 They listened to her, nodding approvingly, 
 with now and then a " mais oui " or a " c est 
 bien vrai " to emphasize. She was doorkeeper 
 
192 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 to beauty, and hence worthy of deep regard. 
 She would have rattled on to exhaustion of 
 breath had not a dozen bells each given a 
 single musical note on different keys. "Him- 
 mel ! " exclaimed Madame Schreiber, rising to 
 her feet. "Es la una. Mon Dieu, we shall 
 just have time to catch the tramcar. We shall 
 be late for dinner. Adios, Senores. Villa 
 Dominguez, first road to the right after you 
 pass the gambling hall." 
 
 She trotted away, followed by her niece, who 
 bowed pleasantly to the lowering of silk hats. 
 The younger woman walked with light step, 
 as if moving upon smooth joints of gold, bend 
 ing rhythmically to the music of flowing life. 
 Her plain gray gown hid her form no more 
 than clear glass. The four watched her until 
 she was lost to view in the surging crowd. 
 
 " Bones, flesh, tissue, bathed in blood and 
 air," murmured Petroffski, "and the result is 
 that! And yet some men say there is no 
 God ! " 
 
Jornada II 193 
 
 Paul Deschanteaux drew a long breath. 
 "Well," he said, " shall we dine?" 
 
 Jornada II 
 
 A week later the city had resumed its work 
 aday look of moving apathy. Few were on 
 the broad Plaza, these crossing to other points. 
 The red, yellow, and blue wheeled hacks stood 
 in a long line, drivers and horses sleeping. 
 There was buzzing and droning, but no clatter 
 nor clash. The mules dragging the tramcars 
 stepped quietly and lightly, the bells as if 
 muffled. The tall man leaned against the huge 
 iron railing in front of the cathedral, his arms 
 folded, under one of them a book. He was 
 dressed in a dark blue flannel suit, a black felt 
 hat pushed back over a mass of curling hair 
 with a silver line in it here and there. His 
 posture was not one of grace, rather of laziness 
 with a touch of dejection. He was surely 
 deep in thought, for a newsboy had twice yelled 
 13 
 
i 9 4 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 "El Democrata ! " and flourished the paper 
 under his very nose, and a brown-faced girl 
 had offered him a bunch of pink roses, only a 
 real, mire Vd., and he had not even so much 
 as blinked at them. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Forrest." 
 
 The words roused him, and he looked up. 
 Before him stood the gray figure he had seen 
 in the Alameda seven days before, a gray- 
 gloved hand extended, the deep blue eyes look 
 ing straight into his. He took the hand eagerly, 
 reaching after his hat, which threatened to fall 
 backward. 
 
 "You look as if the fardel of life were heavy," 
 she said, smiling. 
 
 "Neither heavy nor light, Miss Lessing; only 
 an empty cask. One can t fly with it." 
 
 "Why not fill it, then, and walk? Your 
 shoulders are broad enough. Only those wish 
 to fly who don t know the earth and its 
 treasures." 
 
 "To you life is pleasant ? " 
 
Jornada II 195 
 
 "It should be to anyone not in physical pain. 
 It is just what we make it, after all. To me it 
 is full of beauty and joys to come. I have faith 
 in the future." 
 
 "I had once," he muttered. 
 
 She placed her hand upon his arm. "Only 
 God has the right to be a cynic, because he 
 alone is supposed to know the future. But tell 
 me," she added, her eyes brightening with 
 mischievous inquiry, "why is it that you, my 
 own countryman, are the only one of the quar 
 tette who has not been to see me ? Your 
 friends, Messieurs Deschanteaux, Petroffski, and 
 the accommodating Don Calvo have called 
 several times and paid the penalty for it with 
 numerous games of cribbage, for my aunt is 
 merciless. Are you afraid of cribbage ? " 
 
 He shook his head, and a smile crept into his 
 eyes. Her presence was warming him into 
 life. 
 
 "I would brave even that to see you," he 
 answered with mock gallantry; "but," he 
 
196 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 added, - those who would fill their cask with 
 bubbling, joyous life must joust right merrily, 
 and my armor is rusty and my sword 
 blunted." 
 
 -Wherefore?" 
 
 "I met the black knight Disappointment in 
 the lists and he unhorsed me. By the way," 
 he added, for he was impatient to switch the 
 train of conversation from the siding of him 
 self, where it threatened to run into a swamp, 
 to the main line of generalities, which was 
 smooth and had no end, -have you ever been 
 upon the tower ? " 
 
 She craned her full white neck, looking up 
 ward. 
 
 -No. One must have a beautiful view." 
 
 -Would you not like to go up there? We 
 can sit there and chat if you have the time." 
 
 -I am not Time s slave, but he waits upon 
 me. I never sacrifice my liberty of action nor 
 of impulse to Time nor to Mrs. Grundy. 
 Allons." 
 
Jornada II 197 
 
 He pulled the rope that hung from above the 
 little wooden door that led to the spiral stair 
 case. It opened, and they ascended, she first, 
 lest her foot slip on the uneven stairs ; he there 
 to catch her, wishing a slip. Half way up 
 they passed the guardian, and Forrest dropped 
 silver into the itching palm. They emerged 
 upon the platform, out of breath, for the 
 strongest lungs pant after short effort, at this 
 height above the sea. 
 
 She gazed, speechless for a time, at the white- 
 topped volcanoes, the broad plain of Anahuac, 
 the placid shimmering lakes, and then down at the 
 broad Plaza, where men were as ants moving. 
 "The impression is exquisite," she said at last, 
 when she had caught breath and speech, "but 
 weak. It lacks character, strength, ruggedness. 
 There is no incentive to action in it all. The 
 Hindoo Buddha on the lotus flower, chained 
 eternally to contemplation, would be more fitting 
 here than Thor with his hammer. Perhaps, 
 after all, it s a question of atmospheric pressure." 
 
198 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 He nodded approvingly. " Climate, soil, and 
 aspect of nature mould the races," he said. 
 
 "But not the individual," she interrupted 
 quickly. (< We can break through the hard 
 crusts of heredity and environment, and chal 
 lenge the laws and powers of nature to combat. 
 Call it spirit, self, what you will, there is the 
 kingdom of the microcosm, in which the T is 
 overlord." 
 
 She was looking, as she spoke, at the snowy 
 cone of Popocatepetl, as if addressing it, as well 
 as the man who leaned over the railing beside her. 
 He looked at her curiously, with a sense he 
 knew not whether of disappointment or rebel 
 lion. Most men instinctively hate intellectuality 
 in women. Their ideal, au fonds, is the harem. 
 For all of which men are not so much to blame, 
 for in climbing the heights of brain development, 
 women of our land usually leave sex and flesh in 
 the valley, only the skeletons reaching the peak, 
 there to grin at each other in a charnel-house. 
 
 His glance fell upon the book she held in her 
 
Jornada II 199 
 
 hand and he read the title. It was Duke y 
 Sabrosa ! 
 
 "You are reading my favorite novel, I see," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "and because it is your 
 favorite novel. I overheard what you said to 
 Monsieur Petroffski about it in the Alameda, for 
 you remember I was seated just behind you. 
 1 determined to get the book if possible, curious 
 to know what the ideal woman of such a man 
 as you might be." 
 
 In her slight emphasis of "man" there was 
 Carlylian contempt of mostly fools ; her distinc 
 tion of him was flattering to his pride. 
 
 " And what do you think of Cristeta ? " 
 
 "Delicious and unique. I can readily see how 
 real men worship such women. From time to 
 time women have given all for love of men, but 
 they are few. When one does, and the love is 
 returned, I think a star falls into the diadem of 
 God." 
 
 He looked at her again, this time with a 
 
200 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 strange feeling that defied analysis. He yearned 
 to know whence came this woman. He ques 
 tioned tentatively : " You speak French and 
 Spanish so well, you must have lived long in 
 Europe?" Trite but effective. 
 
 She divined his thought. " I am an enigma to 
 you, n est-ce pas ? I am to most people, though 
 I rarely give the answer. I will tell you all about 
 myself you would care to know." She settled 
 herself down comfortably upon the broad stone 
 bench, her elbow on the railing, her head resting 
 upon her hand, and started as one drawing a full 
 breath for a long run. 
 
 "I feel like a chronicler. To begin. I was 
 born in Pennsylvania. My father was a German 
 miner, uneducated, a Hercules in strength, good- 
 natured and loving, who worked his eight-hours 
 shift in the coal-pit, and thought life worth living. 
 He married the sister of a fellow miner, a Hun 
 garian. She was a sweet-faced woman with 
 soft, pleading eyes. I can see her now, though 
 perhaps the mist of years has dimmed the 
 
Jornada II 
 
 201 
 
 sharper outlines. We lived in a little two- 
 roomed hut that was not always fast against 
 wind and rain. When my father came home 
 and had washed and eaten, he would take me 
 upon his knee and tell me the story of Prince 
 Charming. How the Prince came at last, after 
 weary, wasted years of waiting, to the maiden 
 who loved him. He was always mounted upon 
 a handsome charger and clad in all manner of 
 glittering array. It was the only story my father 
 knew, and I never tired of hearing it. There was 
 always the same suspense, doubt, and pain, 
 flavored to some sweetness, though, by the de 
 licious foreknowledge that it was to jend well. 
 My father lacked the imagination to change the 
 facts of the story ; he could only change the cos 
 tume of the Prince and the color of his horse. 
 Sometimes he came clad in silver armor, with 
 mantelet of emerald green; in gold and purple; in 
 steel and blue; now mounted upon a black 
 charger, again upon one milk-white; but always 
 with bag of gold at saddlebow, from which he 
 
202 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 flung largesse. Poor little father! It was the 
 only gold he ever saw. It was a puzzle to my 
 childish mind why there should be such lengthy 
 discussion as to the possibility of my having a 
 new pair of shoes when Prince Charming was 
 scattering largesse a deux mains." 
 
 There was nothing in this tale of a childish tale 
 to make a mist float before the eyes of the man 
 listening. Perhaps something in the tone of the 
 soft, musical voice, that broke, once or twice, 
 under the weight of memory, moved him more 
 deeply than he would have cared to own. He 
 sat beside her, keenly intent, one leg crossed 
 over the other, his hands clasped about his knee. 
 They were alone in the tower, and the city 
 seemed to have sunk farther away. 
 
 Feeling a sympathy, in the Greek sense of the 
 word, she took up the thread and went bravely on. 
 "I remember well it was my high ambition at 
 that time to own a pair of shoes and, more than 
 all else, long stockings that would come clear up 
 to my hips, partly because they would be so beau- 
 
Jornada II 203 
 
 tiful, I thought, and partly to protect my bare legs 
 from scratch of brier and thorn-bush. But that 
 longing was never gratified. When I was eight 
 years old my father was killed, crushed by a fall 
 ing mass of rock. When they brought him home 
 the neighbors gathered around, offering help to 
 lay out the dead, but my mother waved them 
 away and barred them out. She then knelt by the 
 body, putting one arm about the neck of him she 
 had loved in life, bringing her face close to his. 
 She crooned and whispered to him, and as the 
 night fell fast, I became afraid, and crept from the 
 corner, in which I had crouched, to the bed. The 
 starlight came softly through the window, soon 
 to be blotted out, for black clouds were banking 
 up, winged by the north wind. Feeling, I found 
 one of his hands, ah, so cold, and one of hers, 
 warmer, and I knelt there clasping a hand of 
 each in each of mine, my head resting upon the 
 bed. My mother s crooning and whispering 
 grew lower, and I think I must have slept or 
 fallen into a stupor. I dreamed that the room 
 
204 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 was filled with an intensely yellow light, and 
 that my father, dim and indistinct in form and 
 face, but with eyes that were clear and had a 
 glory in them I have never seen in human eyes, 
 took me by the hand. He told me again the 
 story of Prince Charming, not in words, but as 
 if in a series of visions, in the last of which I saw 
 the Prince, dressed in blue, and his face was a 
 very human one, never to be forgotten. Then I 
 saw my mother s eyes beside my father. They 
 wavered a moment and were gone. The yellow 
 light went out too, and I awoke just as the white 
 dawn was creeping in. My mother lay with her 
 head upon my father s breast. The room was 
 intensely cold. During the night fine snow, 
 driven by the wind, had sifted in through the 
 cracks and crannies of the cabin and covered the 
 bed and those who were upon it as with a thin 
 white pall. My mother s hand was cold too. 
 She was dead." 
 
 She had said these last words very softly, her 
 voice sinking to a whisper. The man roused 
 
Jornada II 205 
 
 himself, unclasped his hands from his knee, and 
 taking one of hers, pressed it gently. Her musi 
 cal tones had lulled him into a dream wherein he 
 had seen the things she told of, as visions rising 
 and floating by, conjured by melody. It did not 
 surprise him that she should tell her heart-secrets 
 to one she had scarce met before, for he well 
 knew that affinity is a link that time does not 
 forge, but which is moulded with the swiftness 
 of the electric spark, upon mere contact, and one 
 feels that it is but the physical counterpart of a 
 chain that has been for ages. 
 
 "Well, after that," she continued, with new 
 strength in her voice, and as if opening a chapter 
 with less pathos, "a good woman took me in 
 for a couple of years and herded me kindly with 
 her own brood. One day there came to our vil 
 lage a troop of acrobats, and the manager hap 
 pened to notice me, and asked to have me join 
 him. He would teach me. It was at the time 
 of a great strike, and bread was scarce, so I went, 
 and for years lived a strange life with people who 
 
206 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 were not cruel to me. I learned to perform on 
 the trapeze, to sing and to dance. I have known 
 what it is to tighten my belt, on going to bed, to 
 still the cries of hunger. And yet, after all, it was 
 not a bad life. When I was sixteen I had wan 
 dered over the greater part of Europe and our 
 own country. Men flocked about me, offering 
 gold and what not, and I would have yielded 
 time and again, perhaps partly from desire of 
 change, partly from the cravings of sex, but 
 every time there came to me the story of Prince 
 Charming as told by my father, and I said to my 
 self, it is not he ; some day he will come and 
 will find me true and waiting. Then a brother 
 of my father, who had been a professor in Leip- 
 sic, sought me out. Through the death of a 
 relative he had come into possession of a small 
 fortune, which enabled him to realize the dream 
 of his life, which was to travel and meet men 
 great in science, whom he had before known 
 only by correspondence. After that I lived and 
 travelled with him until his death, which oc- 
 
Jornada II 207 
 
 curred last year. And so endeth the chroni 
 cle." 
 
 She had galloped through the latter part of her 
 story, impatient to have it over, feeling it was 
 too long and lacked climax. 
 
 Her companion had resumed his former posi 
 tion, with his hands clasped about his knee. He 
 was not looking at her, but his face was turned 
 three quarters toward her. She studied his feat 
 ures for a moment, and then a thought seemed 
 to flash upon her. She grew pale to the lips, 
 and put her hand to her left breast as if she 
 would compress the beating of her heart. The 
 emotion passed quickly away, and then there 
 came into her eyes a look of infinite gladness. 
 
 He was thinking of this woman beside him, 
 born in a hovel, long classed as one of the 
 world s outcasts, steering her life-bark with a 
 fairy tale, the tiller gripped by an iron hand, 
 though. 
 
 The thought broke in upon his musing that it 
 was his turn to tell of himself. He rambled on 
 
208 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 to her, a tale trite enough, bare of outer things 
 startling (so it seemed to him, though she lis 
 tened, wide-eyed). 
 
 They talked on till the shadows fell, and the 
 dark-faced, wrinkled guardian peered out upon 
 them from the door which led to the stairway, 
 wondering what two could do in a tower, thus 
 long. 
 
 The man and woman descended and walked 
 together across the great square. On the south 
 erly side of it, where her car passed, she turned 
 and put out her hand. 
 
 "Good-by until tomorrow only," she said. 
 "I will expect you at my aunt s at eight. There 
 will be quite a crowd there, but you shall not 
 play cribbage. We will find time for a chat. 
 Adios." 
 
 " Yes, I will surely be there." 
 
 He pressed her hand, helping her at the same 
 time to mount the step of the waiting car. As 
 it moved off she turned and bowed to him 
 again from the platform. He lifted his hat, and 
 
Jornada III 209 
 
 then walked up the Plateros toward the Con- 
 cordia, where it was his custom to dine on a 
 chop or steak, a tortilla of black frijoles, and a 
 pint of Pyrenean wine, 
 
 Jornada III 
 
 The Villa Dominguez, Tacubaya, first road to 
 the right after you pass the gambling hall, was 
 alight and ablaze. 
 
 A square two-storied house with stuccoed 
 walls, set in the middle of an acre of palmettoes 
 and cacti, with here and there a gigantic nogal, 
 giving shade grateful at noonday. Here and 
 there a plaster statue gleamed white against the 
 dark green background of leaves patched with 
 fragments of dark blue sky. For this night 
 lamplets, glasses filled with oil in which floated 
 a burning wick, had been placed among the 
 branches and in the centre of huge century 
 plants, glimmering like weak fireflies. 
 
 Carriages and hacks drove up to the arched 
 14 
 
210 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 gateway, and many men and some few women 
 emerged therefrom and walked up the gravelled 
 path to the glaring doorway. In the drawing- 
 room, hideous with a set of American furniture 
 which sprawled over a crimson carpet that was 
 like unto a pool of blood, Madame Schreiber re 
 ceived her guests with subdued enthusiasm and 
 much mixture of tongues, Don Calvo beside her, 
 master of introductions. 
 
 "Senora Schreiber, my friend Pepe Taluno ; 
 La Senora Schreiber, Pepito. " 
 
 They swarmed in, these youthful Mexicans, 
 each having loaned Don Calvo y Ramirez a con 
 siderable sum for this invitation and introduction, 
 the fame of the niece having spread far and wide. 
 Such a harvest had the accommodating gentle 
 man never dreamed of, and his popularity had 
 waxed with his purse. 
 
 Madame Schreiber had never dared to hope 
 for such social eminence, and looked upon Don 
 Calvo with favor; and Alma Lessing herself, 
 though aware of his weaknesses, smiled upon 
 
Jornada III 211 
 
 him with the indulgence of one whom some 
 thing neither pleases nor bores. She cared lit 
 tle for the adulation of which she was the 
 object, but her aunt s enjoyment was so un 
 bounded and childishly frank, that her niece 
 had not the heart to thwart the good lady s 
 plans for forming a salon in Tacubaya after the 
 manner of celebrated women about whom she 
 had read. 
 
 Some things move more rapidly in Mexico than 
 in other lands, and within a week Alma had 
 had a half dozen offers of marriage, and one 
 of love and affection the latter from Deschan- 
 teaux, one of the former from Petroffski. While 
 she refused the Russian, she had kept his 
 friendship and a dog-like devotion that was 
 boundless; the Frenchman had ground his teeth 
 and permitted himself to say some brutal things 
 under the lash of her sarcasm. She was not 
 offended that he had asked her to be his mis 
 tress, for like many women of strong passions 
 and intellectual development, she cared little 
 
212 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 whether a ceremony tied her to the man she 
 loved. She had felt, for opportunity for judg 
 ing from actions had been lacking, that his 
 character was as small as his stature, and she 
 had sped her shaft at the fatuous presumption 
 and insolent assurance which were as twin 
 pedestals to the man s words. It had bitten 
 deep, this shaft, and the wound yet rankled 
 within him, but he had plastered it over with 
 a laugh, and continued to call at the Villa 
 Dominguez, received good-naturedly. Unques 
 tionably in love with her, as he had never been 
 before with womankind, he had a faint hope 
 in a long siege, and in the meantime he would 
 make it unpleasant for any man to whom she 
 might show favor, a curious balm for the wound 
 of unrequited love which men of Gallic race 
 have indulged in from time to time before the 
 worms have eaten them. 
 
 This night Deschanteaux sat beside Alma upon 
 the straight-backed, uncomfortable sofa, a chal 
 lenge in his half-closed eyes and thin-lipped 
 
Jornada III 213 
 
 mouth for every one of the black-coated men 
 who formed a solid half circle about this fair 
 woman. Among these were Mexicans, a French 
 man or two, a German count who had accepted 
 the one alternative of peddling life insurance 
 policies for a living, the other one being star 
 vation ; an Englishman who had travelled and 
 had not forgotten it; an American author cele 
 brated for writing proper and pretty things that 
 were as crisp pie to every good household in 
 the land. The conversation twisted from Spanish 
 into French, dropping now and then into Eng 
 lish, for the celebrated traveller had never really 
 thrown off the shackles of Ollendorf, while the 
 pleasant author pretended to no language but his 
 own. 
 
 A few tables were about the room, at one of 
 which old General Bisbee, the senior of the 
 American colony, was deeply engaged in a game 
 of cribbage in company with his son-in-law and 
 a red lady in green. In another corner were two 
 women, the one tall, angular, bare-armed, and 
 
214 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 dcolletee, undeniably homely, and equally thor 
 oughbred ; the other small, plump, with pink 
 and white complexion, and hair that was the 
 color of new hemp. The former was the wife 
 of an English gentleman who had heavily in 
 vested some one else s money in a rich gold 
 mine, and had gone West to examine into the 
 matter, leaving his wife stranded in Mexico to 
 kill time as best she might ; the latter was help 
 meet to a Protestant missionary, a good man 
 from Ohio, who had striven bravely many 
 years to make a convert from among these 
 heathen. 
 
 "Lady Mackelroy," said the plump one to 
 her companion, casting a timid look toward the 
 corner where Alma sat, "do you think she is 
 a perfectly respectable ? " 
 
 "Who? Alma Lessing ? Quite so. Did 
 you think she was a tart, Mrs. Sommers ? " and 
 Lady Mackelroy let fall her fan of black ostrich 
 feathers upon her knee and gazed at the little 
 woman with indulgent curiosity. 
 
Jornada III 215 
 
 "A a what?" ventured Mrs. Sommers. 
 
 "Oh ! I said a tart." 
 
 "And may I ask what that is?" 
 
 "Certainly. It is the latest London slang for 
 a woman who has divorced most of the thirty- 
 nine articles, and who lives half according to 
 the dictates of nature, and half according to the 
 bank accounts of her admirers. One can t really 
 define a slang term, you know; one must feel 
 it. No," added Lady Mackelroy, after a mo 
 ment s pause, during which the little woman 
 was studying out this definition, "Alma Les- 
 sing is quite good form, I fancy. I heard of her 
 in London last season, though I did not meet 
 her there, and she visited some very good 
 people. What made you think she was how 
 did you put it? not respectable?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Sommers, meekly. 
 "Only she dresses so curiously and is so so 
 easy in her manners." 
 
 The English woman raised her lorgnette to her 
 eyes, and after studying Mrs. Sommers for a 
 
216 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 moment, "My dear Mrs. Sommers," she said, 
 "that is a Greek gown somewhat modified, a 
 costume not one woman in a thousand can wear 
 with grace. I admit that her total lack of jewelry 
 is immodest, and as for the way she attracts men, 
 that is simply criminal." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied Mrs. Sommers, with 
 approving emphasis. Lady Mackelroy heaved a 
 little sigh, hid her face for a moment behind the 
 black ostrich feathers, to conceal either a yawn or 
 a smile, and then glanced toward the doorway. 
 There she spied a man who had just come in, 
 and, after looking around for the hostess and fail 
 ing to find her, was leaning against the wall, 
 with folded arms, seemingly bored. 
 
 Lady Mackelroy whispered to Mrs. Sommers, 
 "Who is that man over there by the door? 
 He looks like a sleepy lion." 
 
 "That is Mr. Forrest, a New Yorker, a mining 
 engineer. He has been quite unfortunate. He 
 is real nice." 
 
 "Ugh!" muttered Lady Mackelroy to herself; 
 
Jornada III 217 
 
 "the idea of calling a man of that size real 
 nice. 
 
 Forrest knew that Alma Lessing was behind 
 the semi-circle of black-coats which he saw at 
 the other end of the room. To attempt to ap 
 proach her would be awkward, so he preferred 
 to remain where he was until she should see 
 him. His patience was not tried, for Alma, re 
 membering his promise, was alert to his incom 
 ing. For much thinking of him she had scarce 
 heard the English traveller s description of Borneo; 
 did not smile when he said, with great impres- 
 siveness, " Les habitants sont des cannibaux qui 
 mangent la viande humaine;" and a tale of weird 
 adventure in the craters in the breasts of the great 
 Ixtaccihuatl, told by a tragic-looking Mexican, 
 had failed to interest her. More than one had 
 noticed that she was distraite. 
 
 "Will you excuse me, gentlemen? There is 
 a compatriot of mine over there whom I wish 
 to speak to." She rose, and they moved their 
 chairs hastily to make way for her. 
 
2i8 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 When she had passed beyond them Deschan- 
 teaux turned fiercely to Petroffski. "I thought 
 you told me Forrest had never called here," he 
 whispered. 
 
 The Russian shrugged his big shoulders. "I 
 did not know he had seen her since that Satur 
 day on the Alameda; but we do not own her, 
 mon cher, and it is no business of ours whom 
 she sees." 
 
 "I ll make it my business," muttered Deschan- 
 teaux; and then, after a moment s observation, 
 he added, "She is going out, evidently for a 
 walk in the garden ; suppose we play ecarte 
 until she comes back. Hola, Escandor, will you 
 take a hand at ecarte* ? " 
 
 Unimpressionable as he was in his present 
 listless mood, Forrest could not but be struck by 
 the beauty of the woman who advanced toward 
 him. She was clad in a white drapery, sleeve 
 less, and wore not a single jewel of any kind, 
 more for the reason that she had none than from 
 any affectation of simplicity. She would cheer- 
 
Jornada III 219 
 
 fully have worn a queen s diadem, but only the 
 tawdry would have been within the reach of her 
 purse. She passed her hand under Forrest s arm. 
 "Let us walk outside a while," she said; "I am 
 suffocating in here. You were good to come." 
 
 "Glad to come, you mean," he replied. " I 
 am late ; but this by reason of the breakdown of 
 my car. I was compelled to walk the greater 
 part of the way." 
 
 They went out into the garden, full of green 
 blades and glimmering lamplets that warned of 
 the sharp points. By a plaster statue of Diana 
 Huntress, accompanied by the usual impossible 
 dog, was an iron bench. 
 
 "Let us sit here a while," she said; "how 
 deliciously cool the air is, almost sharp ! Per 
 haps the wind is blowing from the white 
 mounds of Ixtaccihuatl." 
 
 He threw himself upon the bench beside her. 
 
 "I m afraid I ve left a dozen or two enemies 
 in the room," he said, with a careless laugh. 
 "You seem to be obsede"e to-night." 
 
220 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 "It s the usual thing," she answered, quietly, 
 "and I assure you I do not enjoy it particularly. 
 I am what is called a man s woman, and I sup 
 pose they like to talk to me, or at me, or for me, 
 as the case may be. Sometimes I think Us se 
 pavanent. There was no one there to-night who 
 interested me, excepting Petroffski, whom I like. 
 Your friend Calvo is une bonne bete, and I am 
 not sorry to be of service to him in lining his 
 coffers. As for Deschanteaux, I despise him." 
 She said these last words without any shade 
 of anger in her tone, as she would have spoken 
 of the weather. 
 
 Forrest condensed his interrogation and in 
 terest into one word, "Deschanteaux?" 
 
 She caught the key and hedged a little, for his 
 sake, for it was more in her character to strike 
 where she would. "Is he a good friend of 
 yours?" 
 
 "I scarcely know. I have known him since 
 he was a child of six, and am rather fond of 
 him. We were at the Lycee together. I was 
 
Jornada III 
 
 221 
 
 an orphan and without friends. His mother 
 was kind to me." He glanced up at the four 
 posts of Pacari Tambo, and as if this contem 
 plation of bright stars induced Aurelian medi 
 tation, he continued aloud: "Friendship is a 
 peculiar thing. It can hardly be said to exist 
 to-day as it did in Greece or Rome or even in 
 the middle ages. It is now but a cobweb chain 
 at best, and money or woman may cleave it 
 as Saladin s cimeter did the silk handker 
 chief." 
 
 His tone aroused her sympathy. You like 
 him. I should not have spoken as I did. But, 
 believe me, his nature is incapable of friendship 
 as of love. He is to me a pretty, petulant child, 
 malicious to an incredible degree. I only say 
 this because something tells me he is more your 
 enemy than your friend." 
 
 "I fear he has offended you," replied Forrest. 
 
 "No," she said, with a light laugh, "it is I 
 who have offended him. It is difficult to offend 
 me. I care too little for others, as a rule, to be 
 
222 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 moved by their opinions or the expression of 
 them. He amused me a while. Now he bores 
 me." 
 
 They were silent for a time. The moon had 
 risen and was throwing its silver sheen over the 
 white Diana and the impossible dog, the bayo 
 nets of the palmettoes and the curved leaves 
 of the cacti ; the lamplets dimming to yellow 
 specks in these white rays. The soft strains of 
 Sobre las Olas, played by the excellent band 
 in the gardens of the gambling-hall, rolled 
 through the still air toward them, full and sonor 
 ous. Forrest felt as if the sound rippled the 
 moonlight into waves, he floating thereon, into 
 the Nirvana of nothing, whither he had listed so 
 much of late. It was dimly strange to him that 
 he should be so unmoved beside the one woman 
 who was so like unto the ideal he had wrought 
 out in idle hours. He had a vague feeling that 
 he ought to care for her; that any one else would 
 think it quite extraordinary that he did not; but 
 caring for anything was altogether too much 
 
Jornada III 223 
 
 exertion anyway. He wished he had some life, 
 strength, passion, energy, wondering dumbly 
 whither they had all gone. Easier to float than 
 think, after all; to sway on the waves of light 
 and sound. 
 
 She could but marvel at what manner of man 
 this was, this listless giant. Surely she had 
 recognized the face she had seen in her vision in 
 the hut years ago; yet this was not the way the 
 prince should have come to claim her. Dreams 
 are but half true at best. She had divined from 
 what he had told her of himself in the tower how 
 the fire of energy had been quenched under dis 
 appointment, until there scarce remained a glow 
 ing ember; but this she would fan into flame, she 
 would sting him into action, rouse within him 
 the strength she believed but slumbered. 
 
 His mood of silence was contagious. She too 
 stared at the moon, blankly. This orb was now 
 to her as a crystal ball of the Rosicrucians, 
 whereon she saw pictures of the past and future, 
 these latter formed by hope. Yet was she aware 
 
224 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 that there was a current between them, an ebb 
 and flow of the sub-conscious, building deep and 
 strong and lasting, to which words would have 
 been but as the chatter of apes to the undersong 
 of the sea. 
 
 How long they sat thus she knew not, for she 
 had ceased to hear the dull tread of time, and 
 was seeing the moon now trebled through a tear, 
 when her aunt s voice called loud and sharp : 
 
 "Alma, Almita, donde estas? Come in. We 
 are going to have a game of cribbage with the 
 General." 
 
 She felt as one who, dreaming upon a flowered 
 bank, has rolled off into a ditch. Forrest started, 
 shame-faced, stung into movement by the feel 
 ing that he was a loathsome thing. With a 
 swift motion he took her hand and kissed it. 
 " I think I am a ruined man, Alma. Of all those 
 in that room," and he pointed to the lamp- 
 flaming windows, "there is none so worthless 
 as I." 
 
 She stood fronting him in the white light, the 
 
Jornada III 225 
 
 most glorious figure of a woman he had ever 
 seen, and in her eyes was an expression any 
 man but himself would have read, and then 
 thanked God for life. She would not speak the 
 words that rose to her lips. If he could not 
 feel what she would say it had better be left 
 unsaid, for the nonce. She put her hand on 
 his arm and they strolled back to the house. 
 At the door he stood aside to let her pass. 
 
 Deschanteaux sat at a table, holding some 
 cards in his hand, and when Forrest and Alma 
 Lessing entered he looked up at them and the 
 corners of his thin lips drew down into a sneer. 
 "Tiens," he said to his companion in a tone 
 that could be heard throughout the room, 
 designating Forrest with a backward move 
 ment of his hand : Monsieur has evidently 
 been enjoying himself in the moonlight. II a 
 1 air d un coq en pate." His voice was a jeer; 
 it cut like a saw into the flesh. The others 
 knew it meant an insult, deep and incurable, 
 levelled at both the man and the woman. It 
 15 
 
226 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 rang the death-knell, probably, of one of these 
 two men, in a land where nought but blood 
 can polish anew a tarnished shield. 
 
 Every eye was fixed on the tall American. 
 There was upon his face seemingly neither 
 annoyance nor anger. He walked slowly and 
 carelessly toward Deschanteaux, and there was 
 suspicion of drawl in his tone as, stopping at 
 the table whereat the Frenchman sat, he said, 
 very quietly: "You forget where you are, 
 Paul. Your remarks are in exceedingly bad 
 taste." 
 
 He then turned away and crossed the room 
 to where Alma stood leaning against the back 
 of a chair. "Good night," he said, and then 
 added in a lower tone : "lam sorry to have 
 brought this upon you. You see I am always 
 in bad luck. I think I had better go away now 
 to avoid any more unpleasant scenes. I know 
 his character. He is not fully responsible for 
 all he says." 
 
 "Good night." She pressed his hand, and 
 
Jornada III 227 
 
 for a moment her features relaxed again into 
 the look she had given him in the garden. 
 
 When Forrest had taken leave of Madame 
 Schreiber, now trembling like a leaf in a breeze, 
 and muttering under her breath an endless 
 series of "Ach! Gott im Himmels!" and the 
 door had closed behind him, Alma Lessing 
 walked over to Deschanteaux and stood facing 
 him, her bare arms folded. He rose from his 
 seat as she came toward him, the same jeering 
 mask upon his face. The woman towered 
 several inches above the man. Her eyes 
 glittered with suppressed anger, but her voice 
 was cold and hard, though the effort to keep 
 it so was perceptible. "Monsieur Deschan 
 teaux," she said, "this is the second time 
 you have insulted me in my own house. I am 
 not une grande dame, as you know, but a plain 
 woman of the people, and from childhood have 
 been compelled to defend myself, and I have 
 never given any one else the right to defend 
 me. I have tolerated your presence here and 
 
228 Cosmopolitana Mexicana. 
 
 overlooked your petulance as I would that of a 
 boy. Now, Monsieur Deschanteaux, will you 
 leave this house of your own accord, or put me 
 to the unpleasant task of picking you up and 
 throwing you out?" She spoke in French, 
 clearly and distinctly; and all present, watching 
 breathlessly this bit of tragic comedy, could 
 see the muscles of her round white arms swell 
 and the two red classic bows of her lips press 
 tightly together, her whole form quivering for 
 physical action. They well knew that for a good 
 part of her life she had trusted to the strength 
 of those arms for a living, and there was not a 
 man there who did not believe her able to carry 
 out that which she threatened. She was of the 
 stamp of those Teutonic women of old, great 
 white bodies crowned with hair of reddish 
 gold, defending broken camp with spear and 
 arrow against short sword and round buckler, 
 women upon whose white breasts warriors 
 slept, passion-tired so thought the American 
 author to whom now and then came ideas he 
 
Jornada III 229 
 
 did not insert in his home and fireside series, 
 for his name guaranteed ignorance to innocence. 
 
 So perfect was the conviction that this woman 
 could take care of herself that not even Petroff- 
 ski, who worshipped the ground touched by her 
 slippered foot, moved from his seat to her assist 
 ance. Deschanteaux did the only thing possible 
 under the circumstances. He bowed in silence 
 and walked out. 
 
 "He ll kill that big American," said the Eng 
 lish traveller to General Bisbee. 
 
 " If he can," chuckled the General. 
 
 It was getting late, and soon most of the 
 guests came forward to take leave of the two 
 women. Alma was quiet and easy, as if nothing 
 worth remembering had occurred, but her aunt 
 was prey to conflicting emotions. She saw her 
 prospective salon ruined by this contretemps. 
 "C est bien dommage," she said to every one ; 
 and every one said, "Ah, oui," without quite 
 knowing to what part of it all she alluded. 
 
 "Don t you think it rather ah forward of 
 
230 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 her, Lady Mackelroy ?" queried Mrs. Sommers, 
 tentatively, as these two adjusted their cloaks in 
 the ante-room. 
 
 "Oh, certainly !" replied her ladyship, knot 
 ting a white hood under her chin ; "the proper 
 thing, if anything, would have been for her to 
 have screamed or wept, or to have gracefully 
 swooned away in close proximity to the best- 
 looking man in the room. How tickled poor Sir 
 John would have been to have witnessed this." 
 
 When Forrest left the Villa Dominguez he 
 walked to the terminus of the tramway and per 
 ceived a car just coming in, which meant that it 
 would not leave again city-ward for half an 
 hour. He was undecided whether he would 
 not walk, but, concluding to ride, entered the 
 car and sat down in one corner. A few mo 
 ments later he heard voices, and some of the 
 guests of Madame Schreiber, in company with 
 Don Calvo, all talking at once, came into the 
 car. In the dim light of the smoky oil lamp 
 Forrest was not recognized by the newcomers, 
 
Jornada III 231 
 
 for his dress suit was covered by a gray over 
 coat, his slouch hat drawn down over his eyes. 
 
 "Oigame Vd.," said Don Calvo, excitedly 
 shaking his finger at one of his companions, " I 
 tell you his conduct was unpardonable. Had he 
 been justified in any grudge against Don Jorge 
 he should have waited until some other time and 
 place." 
 
 "Que mujer ! hombre ! " wedged in Escan- 
 dor, rolling a cigarette, "did anyone ever see 
 such a goddess ! " 
 
 "Moralles told me that Deschanteaux said, as 
 he got into his carriage, that he would kill Sefior 
 Forrest before forty-eight hours, though the 
 American will stand more provocation than any 
 man living." 
 
 "Yes, yes," interjected a short, dark boy, 
 eager to tell what he knew. "Listen, Senores. 
 You remember the duel between Jose Latour and 
 Hidalgo some two months ago ? Bueno. The 
 next day I was at the baths, and Don Jorge 
 Forrest was in the steamroom, and we were 
 
232 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 talking of this, and he said that in his part of 
 America duels were never fought, and that the 
 practice was silly and childish." 
 
 "Bah!" replied Escandor, "he must fight. 
 These American ideas don t go here. Not a 
 man nor a woman in Mexico would ever speak 
 to him again. He must fight or leave town by 
 the next train." 
 
 "He is no coward, of that you may rest 
 assured, Senores. He will fight him." Thus 
 Don Calvo, always loyal to his friends. 
 
 "Caramba!" said a tall, thin Mexican who 
 had not hitherto spoken, "who would not fight 
 for such a woman ? He would have to be lower 
 than a dog. Give me the chance and I would 
 fight the whole French colony of Mexico." 
 
 "He could crush him in one hand" "a 
 bullet is no respecter of size" "the larger the 
 man the larger the bull s eye" "he is a good 
 swordsman, Deschanteaux, quick as a snake to 
 strike," etc. 
 
 So they rattled on till the car, which had 
 
Jornada III 233 
 
 started, stopped before the entrance to the 
 gardens of the gambling-hall, where a great 
 number of people were waiting. As they 
 crowded into the rear door, some finding seats, 
 others standing, Forrest slipped out of the front 
 and started on foot for his lodgings. 
 
 He was anxious to escape them, these men 
 who judged without knowledge. "He must 
 fight " rang in his ears. But they did not know 
 what this man was to him, he whom he must 
 fight. He strode along with quick, nervous 
 pace, leaping now and then over the form of a 
 drunken indio sprawling on the narrow pave 
 ment. Passing along the edge of the Alameda, 
 he turned into a street on the right, and ham 
 mered with his fist upon the huge door of an old 
 house. The sleepy portera opened, rubbing her 
 eyes, and he passed into the patio and then 
 up the stairs to the gallery whereon was the 
 modest room he occupied. It was poorly fur 
 nished. An iron bed; a table loaded with books 
 and papers ; clothing, spurs, saddle, and boxing 
 
234 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 gloves hung upon wooden pegs driven in the 
 walls, from which the plaster had fallen here and 
 there. A shabby piece of carpet half covered the 
 red brick floor. 
 
 He took off his coat, and then threw himself 
 upon his bed to think it all out, and of much 
 thinking there was sore need. Now he had 
 at least a few hours of quiet to settle with 
 himself ; with others later. Matters with him 
 had now come to a climax ; this climax the bot 
 tom of a gulf down which he had been stum 
 bling many a year. Bad luck had stalked him 
 like a doppelganger, and had now brought him 
 to bay. To see things clearly one must go back, 
 tracing cause and effect down the steps of 
 time. 
 
 He saw himself at the age of twelve at a lyce*e 
 in Paris, orphaned, dependent upon an uncle, a 
 good-natured man who gave cheerfully and with 
 open hand. Deschanteaux had been his friend, 
 two years younger, of much less stature and 
 strength. A malicious boy, he remembered him, 
 
Jornada III 235 
 
 given to hysterical fits of crying and screaming 
 when things did not go to suit him, continually 
 appealing to le grand American (and successfully) 
 when other lads threatened merited thrashings. 
 Madame Deschanteaux, learning from her son 
 that George Forrest was his friend and protector, 
 used to take them both out on Sundays to dine 
 at the cafe, and then for a drive in the Bois, or a 
 trip to Isigny, where the Deschanteaux owned 
 a farm, though Paul s mother lived at Rouen. 
 Friendless as Forrest was in that great city, these 
 were his only outings, and he was grateful to 
 the good woman for her kindness. She, leaving 
 them at the gate Sunday evening, each with a 
 huge package of bonbons to be eaten thereafter 
 by stealth, would say to Forrest, " You will take 
 care of Paul, Georges, and see that he does not 
 get hurt ? " and he had always promised, saying 
 simply, "Oui, madame, bien star," and he 
 was not one of those who forget things prom 
 ised. 
 Later these two had gone apart. Forrest, 
 
236 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 shaking off the leading strings of school, had 
 
 taken a room in the Latin CLuarter, and entered 
 
 / 
 1 Ecole Polytechnique. Paul had gone to the 
 
 University, and pulling through, tant bien que 
 mal, had entered the bureaucracy, department 
 of diplomacy, aiming at St. Petersburg. They 
 had met now and then on Sunday excursions. 
 In Paul the man had kept some of the traits of 
 the child. He was subject to fits of colere 
 froide, as the French call it, a cold rage that 
 may wear itself out in time, but does not re 
 act into the warmth of good fellowship. None 
 better than Forrest knew his weakness, and 
 often held the hands of the younger boy while 
 he made vain efforts to scratch and bite him. 
 In Mexico they had met again, and it was to 
 Forrest like a breath from the springtime of 
 youth. Only a month before this he had re 
 ceived a letter from Paul s mother, rejoicing 
 that her son had met his old comrade, and end 
 ing with the old-time request, "You will take 
 care of Paul, Georges ? " And now he was asked 
 
Jornada III 237 
 
 to kill him or be killed by him, au choix, or else 
 flee like a thief in the night, branded. No other 
 way out of it, turn it how he would. Leave he 
 could not, for he had not the money to pay 
 his way out of the country, had he been so 
 inclined. 
 
 He was not over fond of existence, anyway. 
 When he left college his good uncle had left life, 
 cheerfully and good-naturedly, as he had lived, 
 and, furthermore, had left a will wherein, with 
 much legal rhetoric, he had constituted George 
 Forrest his sole heir and legatee, and creditors 
 would have smacked their lips at the reading 
 thereof. Unfortunately for Forrest the will was 
 the only part of the estate which had been found, 
 the kindly man having genially scattered his 
 wealth to whistling winds, and his fortune had 
 ended with his own need of it. The young man 
 had come home, a stranger in his own land, and 
 pushed his way to the swine s trough, hunger- 
 driven, and illy did he succeed at it. Some men 
 drop into this century by mistake. Either they 
 
238 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 were intended for another, and there was some 
 blunder in time, or they do carry with them such 
 strong marks of past incarnations that they fit into 
 this one no more than square pegs into round 
 holes. Imagine a Coeur-de-lion awakening in a 
 broker s office, holding his nose to the stench of 
 ghettos which have burst bonds and swarmed 
 the world over, making good shield of promis 
 sory note gainst lance-thrust, with heeling bail 
 iffs, writ-armed, nosing for chattels. His was a 
 misfortune common to those of his countrymen 
 who have passed much of their youth in older 
 lands. His own was to him filled with clamor 
 and confusion and all manner of din. Accus 
 tomed to yield deference to intellect and genius, 
 he found it exacted by politicians and pork- 
 packers, and his stomach would not feed on that 
 meat, hard though he tried to gulp it down. He 
 had been born with the most fatal of all gifts, 
 that of seeing things as they are. Luck had been 
 against him too, and repeated misfortune had 
 wearied him into a condition of lethargy in 
 
Jornada III 239 
 
 which he cared not whether the world turned or 
 stood still. 
 
 At last a chance had come to him to manage a 
 mine in Mexico, but unfortunately the property 
 belonged to honest and inexperienced men who 
 had capitalized it at an honest valuation and at 
 tempted to raise the money on an honest busi 
 ness basis, whereupon the brokers had laughed 
 them to scorn, and the owners deservedly and 
 miserably failed, leaving their manager penniless 
 in a strange land. It seemed to Forrest that fate 
 had done its worst when there came up this mat 
 ter of killing his friend or getting killed by him. 
 He did not so much mind the leaving of a 
 world for which he had no love, but, if this 
 must be, preferred to choose the manner of his 
 exit. 
 
 And Alma ? Paul evidently loved her much to 
 make him thus lose his head and fling even 
 ordinary courtesy to the winds, when she but 
 walked and talked with another man ; though 
 Forrest did not know that when Alma Lessing 
 
240 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 had reentered the room with him, her expres 
 sion and manner were as an open book to the 
 keen eye of jealousy, and Deschanteaux had 
 clearly seen that the game was up for him. 
 
 As for Forrest, ah, how he could have loved 
 this woman had not some strange wall, he knew 
 not how, built itself about him, penning in every 
 impulse, every desire or was it that impulse and 
 desire were drugged into a dull sleep by environ 
 ment ? Nothing more painful and brain-racking 
 than self-analysis. He felt dimly now that some 
 subtle action was within, a tremor in a chrysalis ; 
 but perchance the morrow would bring coun 
 sel, so he slept. 
 
 Jornada IV 
 
 THERE were few in the great blue-tiled Vene 
 tian palace that was the home of the Jockey Club 
 at the early hour of eleven in the morning. In 
 the cardroom some devoted ones were gathered 
 together for a game of alburres ; on one side of the 
 
Jornada IV 241 
 
 large salon an Englishman was writing letters, 
 while upon the other the great General Roca, 
 he of Queretaro fame, a stout man with red face 
 and bristling white moustache, was asprawl 
 upon a sofa, studying the smoke wreaths of his 
 cigar. In a huge, leather-covered chair by one 
 of the balconied windows Paul Deschanteaux 
 sat reading, or pretending to read, a yellow- 
 backed novel, with now and then a nervous 
 yawn. 
 
 He knew that Forrest, having no occupation, 
 was wont to pass much of his time in this club, 
 lounging, smoking, and looking over the papers, 
 and the Frenchman was hot to meet him again, 
 fearing lest in some way the American escape 
 him. His purpose was more fixed, if possible, 
 than it had been the night before. The occur 
 rence at the Villa Dominguez had not given 
 birth to hatred as hail from a blue sky. Rather 
 was it that envy, worm-like, had long since 
 eaten out the heart of friendship till there re 
 mained but a thin shell, which at slight pressure 
 
 16 
 
242 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 would burst like a puff-ball. He had suffered 
 from childhood the humiliation of protection, and 
 had resented it. Exile and ennui had soured 
 him. He longed to break the monotone of 
 wearying days ; and then the woman s words, 
 too, had bitten like corrosive acid, and now he 
 dared look no man in the face till he had settled 
 with this favored one who should do battle for 
 her. All this had keyed him up to bursting. 
 He hoped to meet the American here, and even 
 at this moment the hand of the man he sought 
 was laid upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Paul," began Forrest, who had come up 
 unheard, "can we not talk this matter over? 
 We have been friends for too many years 
 
 to quarrel now, and " but Deschanteaux 
 
 bounded from his chair and faced him, livid. "I 
 do not accept your apologies," he shrieked in a 
 voice that was heard throughout the building. 
 "I told the men last night that you were a 
 coward, and I repeat it now: un lache, un grand 
 likhe, hiding behind the petticoats of your mis- 
 
Jornada IV 243 
 
 tress ! A beggar and a coward ! " He raised 
 his right hand to strike the American in the 
 face, but Forrest seized his wrist in a grip like 
 that of a steel vise, and twisted it till he threw 
 the smaller man, grimacing with pain, back into 
 his chair. 
 
 The card players in the adjoining room had 
 rushed to the wide door and were watching 
 curiously, knowing something of the reason of 
 this dispute, for gossip had borne high upon 
 its tide the events of the preceding night at 
 the Villa Dominguez. General Roca, however, 
 sprang to his feet with an agility younger and 
 slimmer men might have envied, and ran to 
 Forrest. "Let go of his hand," he said, sternly; 
 "I will see that he does not try to use it. We 
 must not settle disputes here a bofetadas, as 
 between two peons in a back alley." 
 
 Forrest did as he was bidden, and Deschan- 
 teaux sank back into the chair. 
 
 "You are witness, General," exclaimed Des- 
 chanteaux, "that this man came here to apolo- 
 
244 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 gize, and that I refused to accept his apologies, 
 j " 
 
 " Brrrrmm !" interrupted the General, clearing 
 his throat with a rumbling roar, his small, black 
 eyes snapping with excitement ; " I know what 
 I know. I take charge of this matter now, and 
 both of you must obey me. Do you go home, 
 Monsieur Deschanteaux, and find two friends. 
 Don Jorge, stay a moment, I wish to speak with 
 you." 
 
 Deschanteaux arose, and with a jeering laugh : 
 "I depend upon you, General, to see that he 
 does not escape." He left the club, followed by 
 two of his friends, to whom he held forth, down 
 the stairway and across the broad patio. 
 
 General Roca liked Forrest, and, on the other 
 hand, had not forgotten the matter of Maximilian 
 and his hatred of the nation which had backed 
 this unfortunate prince. He spoke the language 
 only under protest, snorting at the mention of 
 things French, and declining to wear silk hats 
 made in Paris. 
 
Jornada IV 245 
 
 "Don Jorge," said the General, turning to 
 Forrest, "do you entrust your interests to my 
 hands ? Yes ? Brrrmm then go to your room 
 and remain there till I come. Adios." 
 
 He patted the American gently toward the 
 hallway, and then, turning back, rubbed his hands 
 briskly together. "Unfortunate affair, gentle 
 men, very unfortunate ! " he exclaimed to those 
 who stood discussing the matter. " I hope you 
 will say nothing of this until it is over. On your 
 honors, gentlemen, for you know the police are 
 sometimes disagreeable. Brrrmm! " 
 
 He was in his element, was General Roca. 
 Two things in the world he loved and lived 
 for. To tell the real truth concerning the siege 
 of Queretaro to any who would listen (and of 
 late these were few), and to be mixed up in a 
 duel, either as principal or second. He was in 
 great demand in the latter capacity, as he almost 
 invariably got the best of everything for the one 
 for whom he acted, including luck in the result. 
 
 At two o clock the General arrived at Forrest s 
 
246 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 room, accompanied by his nephew, Pepe 
 Ximenez, a young cavalry officer with soft, dark 
 eyes, and cheeks that were red as ripe peaches. 
 
 "We had a time, amigo mio," exclaimed the 
 General, sinking into a chair, " with his seconds ! 
 Two Frenchmen, caray, who pretended to give 
 me lessons, and they have yet to grow beards ! 
 They were sucking milk when I was leading 
 cavalry ! They claimed their principal was the 
 offended party and had the choice of weapons ! 
 Dios ! I put them straight in one two three. 
 They held out for pistols, claiming that you were 
 so large and strong. Diablo ! said I, your friend 
 should have thought of this before offending 
 mine. Brrrmm! So swords it is, hombre, till 
 one falls, to-morrow morning at five, at the Mili 
 tary School building, the usual place, out there 
 by the Penon." 
 
 He chuckled with satisfaction, wiping his 
 face with a huge red handkerchief, and then 
 continued : "And how are you at the sword? 
 Good, I hope." 
 
Jornada IV 247 
 
 It struck Forrest that the General should have 
 made his ability as a swordsman the subject of 
 inquiry before consenting to these weapons, 
 but it had sufficed for Deschanteaux seconds 
 to want one thing for the General to want 
 another and get it. He replied, however, 
 that at one time he had known something 
 of fencing, but for years had not had a sword 
 in hand. 
 
 The General glanced inquiringly around the 
 room. " You have no foils? Pepito, hijo mio, 
 go to my house and ask your aunt Teresa for 
 my foils and masks. Tell her it is not I who 
 fight, and you will save her several hours of 
 prayer in the church of St. Joseph." When 
 Pepe had departed, the General turned to For 
 rest, explanatory: "We will practise a while 
 and get your hand in again. By the way, this 
 matter between you and this Frenchman reminds 
 me of an episode that occurred at the siege of 
 Queretaro. Brrrmm ! You see the armies were 
 this way" He illustrated on the table. " This 
 
248 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 inkstand is Queretaro, this button the convent of 
 La Cruz. General Escobedo and his staff are this 
 book. 1 and Velez were thrown forward here 
 with two battalions. Naranjo and Guadarrama 
 commanding the cavalry are this cigar." 
 
 Forrest followed the movements intelligently, 
 expressing interest, criticising, winning the old 
 man s heart. " You understand these things, 
 Don Jorge mio," the old soldier exclaimed with 
 enthusiasm. " You should have been a soldier 
 a leader of cavalry a Murat ! Dios ! What a 
 picture you would make, charging at the head 
 of a troop of horse! En avant ! Sabres flash 
 ing, bugle braying tra la la la. Brrrmm!" 
 
 Here Pepito entered, the foils concealed under 
 his military cloak, which he carried on his arm, 
 the masks wrapped in a newspaper, looking like 
 a huge melon. 
 
 The General stripped off his coat and waist 
 coat, took off his collar, and turned back his 
 shirtsleeves, adjusted the mask, and commanded 
 Forrest to do likewise. 
 
Jornada IV 249 
 
 " Pepito, push the bed back, and that chair 
 out of the way the table in the corner so. En 
 garde now ! Bueno. Let us begin at the begin 
 ning." The blades clicked. The General con 
 tinued, voluble. " Your left foot more at right 
 angle. So. One, two. Parade. Quicker, 
 hombre ! A woman could run you through 
 with a bodkin. That is better. Now swords 
 quarte and watch this flanconnade. Bad, very 
 bad. Parade in octavo, so and so. Let us 
 try it again. Quicker, I tell you. Carram- 
 ba!" 
 
 The General lowered his sword. "Don 
 Jorge," he said, solemnly, " I hope you will not 
 disgrace me by going to sleep on the ground 
 to-morrow morning. By the Mother of God, 
 put more life into your movements, mas vida, 
 hombre! You have the strength of a Hercules, 
 and are slower than a burro. You should be 
 able to bind my blade and whip it out of my 
 hand with a demi-turn of your wrist. Imagine 
 I am Deschanteaux, and am about to carry off 
 
250 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 the beautiful Senorita you two are quarrelling 
 about. Try it again. En garde ! " 
 
 This time it was better. A slight flush had 
 passed over the pale face of Forrest at the men 
 tion of the woman. The General chuckled, 
 knowing he had struck true. "Better, much 
 better. Now thrust. Quarto, tercio, circulo. 
 Better and better. Attack ! De*gager ! Feint ! 
 One, two. Brrrmm!" 
 
 The General took off his mask. "Now, 
 Pepito, take a turn with Senor Forrest." 
 
 The young man seized the foil, and for another 
 half hour he and Forrest fenced, the General 
 seated in the bentwood rocking-chair, a cane in 
 hand, playing at maitre d armes. 
 
 "Good, Don Jorge ! Are you a cripple, Pepe ? 
 That time he had you, chiquito. That should 
 have been quinto, not tertio. You had a good 
 teacher, Don Jorge, that is evident. Mark this: 
 if you are in doubt as to a parade, do nothing. 
 Keep your point directed to your adversary s nose, 
 and, as your reach is longer, he cannot touch you 
 
Jornada IV 251 
 
 without first spitting himself like a chicken and 
 spoiling his beauty. Ha, ha, ha! Brrrmm! That 
 reminds me at the siege of Queretaro no, now 
 1 think of it, Pepito, teach him the Indian feint. 
 Attention, Don Jorge ! One, two. There, you 
 were fairly touched and a dead man without the 
 buttons, and you can t see how it was done. 
 Slowly now, Pepito, so he can get it." 
 
 The two combatants, out of breath, sat down 
 upon the bed. The General glanced at his watch. 
 "Five o clock. I have an engagement to keep, 
 and will return at seven. We will have another 
 hour s practice. You will dine lightly. A small 
 piece of chicken, a bit of bread, and one glass of 
 champagne, nothing more. To-morrow morn 
 ing a roll, a cup of coffee at four, and at four fif 
 teen the carriage will be here. I leave nothing 
 to chance. Were it not for this habit of mine, at 
 the siege of Queretaro well, well, I will tell you 
 that later. Adios !" 
 
 He bustled out, after a hand-clasp, followed by 
 Pepito, and Forrest was alone. 
 
252 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 He lit a cigar and sat down in the rocking- 
 chair. No help for it now. What a demon Paul 
 was, after all ! Surely he, Forrest, had done all 
 he could. They were both now in the hands of 
 fate. There is always a relief in shifting things 
 on to the broad shoulders of destiny. In olden 
 times they called it "the judgment of God," and 
 presumably there were some who believed that. 
 The chances, so far as Forrest knew, were even. 
 If he fell, the leaving of his life would become 
 him about as well as the living of it. Neither 
 was a matter of consequence. He remembered 
 that under these circumstances men wrote letters 
 and made wills, facing the worst. He had no 
 one to whom he cared to write and nothing to 
 leave. Did Alma care much for him ? Did he 
 care for her ? Something like a sharp pain shot 
 through him at this thought. He wished he 
 could see her once more before to-morrow morn 
 ing, to tell her no, better not, better for her and 
 for him. But the wall about him was crumbling, 
 the mist was fading away, and he saw clearly. 
 
Jornada IV 253 
 
 It was only last night they sat in the moonbeams, 
 by the white statue of Diana and the impossible 
 dog, and it seemed years ago. What a droll life 
 this is, after all ! 
 
 Alma Lessing, parched for news, had sent 
 posthaste for Don Calvo. Her action of the pre- 
 ceeding night was wormwood in her mouth, and 
 to undo it she would have given much. Well 
 had she said it, "a plain woman of the people." 
 Arms akimbo ! The polish of later years cracked 
 now and then to let out nature; the lioness 
 growled from under the sheepskin. But this 
 would have been to her no more than the breezes 
 that blow, did she not know that the man she 
 loved would pay the piper for her dancing. Snakes 
 are dangerous to monarchs, and to her Deschan- 
 teaux was a coiled adder, ambushed. Custom 
 would demand ten paces and two bullets, sense 
 less leaden things with no more respect for the 
 heart of Hercules than the ribs of a guinea-pig, 
 or a clashing of steel blades with open spaces for 
 
254 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 even weak hands. Without her outburst matters 
 might have been smoothed over, the break in 
 years of friendship mended, to last at least for a 
 while. 
 
 It was not in her nature to lose time in regrets. 
 The night through she had writhed, impotent, 
 under conjured possibilities, but the sun smote 
 her into action. She penned a hasty note to 
 Don Calvo, having full faith in his devotion. 
 Would he not watch, inquire, spy out, letting 
 her know results, and this quickly, to the 
 foundering of horses ? 
 
 She paced the room till after the noon hour, 
 when he arrived, breathless and bursting. He 
 chaptered the events of the morning at the 
 Jockey Club, while she beat a nervous tattoo 
 upon the arm of her chair. He was verbose 
 to weariness, and her impatience whipped him 
 on. The town was now chewing details of 
 the matter, for each witness had whispered 
 them to a friend in solemn confidence. The 
 two would fight that was settled, then but 
 
Jornada IV 255 
 
 when and how ? Don Calvo swore he would 
 tell her before nightfall, and sped away, shak 
 ing with sympathetic excitement. 
 
 The task was not an easy one, for principals 
 and seconds were mute. Don Calvo button 
 holed General Roca in the San Francisco, in 
 sinuated questions, and was laughed away. 
 Later Don Calvo laughed, for he straightway 
 sought out a big brown fellow in a peaked 
 straw hat and ragged cotton shirt, and, after 
 earnest whispering, slipped silver into his hand, 
 betaking himself thence to a cafe to kill time 
 with a game of dominoes and await the return 
 of his ferret. He waited long, for the carriages 
 were already rumbling back from afternoon 
 drives on the Paseo when the man returned, 
 his sloe-black eyes glistening success. 
 
 He had lured the coachman of General Roca 
 to a neighboring pulqueria, and there, after pour 
 ing down him many glasses of the milky- fluid, 
 had learned that the horses were not to be taken 
 out that afternoon for the usual family ride to 
 
256 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 Chapultepec, but were to be hitched up at four 
 the next morning ; and Manuela, the housemaid, 
 had seen the General furbishing his swords, the 
 pair he kept in the long table drawer in his 
 library. This was enough for Don Calvo, and 
 he was off to report. 
 
 He found Alma quiet without, but quivering 
 within. There is relief in knowing the worst. 
 To-morrow morning at five or so swords of 
 course within the walls of the roofless and 
 unfinished building of the Military School. Every 
 one goes there to settle these matters. (Ah ! yes; 
 she remembered how Forrest had pointed it out 
 to her that day in the tower, a reddish blot on 
 the plain.) 
 
 She plied him with questions. Was the 
 Frenchman skilled at sword play ? Was Forrest ? 
 As a rule how many were killed and how many 
 wounded in these encounters ? She calculated 
 chances, but the best gave her a twinge of pain. 
 She dreaded his lethargy ; she feared good nature, 
 remembrances of past friendship, would numb 
 
Jornada IV 257 
 
 his arm and bridle his impetus, while she knew 
 the other would seek to kill. Her lover was 
 to her as some big child whom she would have 
 folded in her arms, shielding him with her body, 
 could she have done so. Her lover ? He had 
 never spoken to her of love. She had seen 
 him twice three times at most. To her he 
 was the prince coming after weary years of 
 waiting ; but what was she to him ? Yet she 
 felt no doubts upon this score ; in this she was 
 sure of the future. Only now he risked his life ; 
 the prince s horse might stumble upon the very 
 threshold and throw its rider ; and this must 
 be looked to. 
 
 Yet she could do nothing. There was no 
 act by which she could prevent this encounter 
 upon the morrow. Too much had been done 
 already. She could not disgrace him fur 
 ther. She had dragged out of Don Calvo the 
 words of Deschanteaux : "Coward, hiding be 
 hind the petticoats of your mistress ! " The 
 
 word "coward" to him stung her to madness ; 
 17 
 
258 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 the reflection upon her was nothing. No, he 
 must fight ; fight and win and kill. She was 
 merciless as Judith, and could have slain with 
 her own hand ; but she was powerless. 
 
 Nay, she could do something. She believed 
 in the triumph of will over destiny; that thought 
 creates and fashions events to one s liking if 
 one be strong enough. Her uncle had taken 
 her much among men whose names were 
 towers in the higher world of knowledge, and 
 she had heard them whisper of science reach 
 ing out an arm into the domain of miracle and 
 wresting fixed laws from the chaos of super 
 stition. The power of one mind upon another 
 had been dimly seen, and men were wondering 
 if some musty records of past ages could be true. 
 It seemed to her that she could radiate a strength 
 that could stop a star. Love would ride the 
 warhorse of her will to battle. She had a faith 
 to move mountains. From her room, on the 
 morrow, she would move these two fighting 
 men as puppets. She felt like a witch mixing a 
 
Jornada V 259 
 
 mystic brew, to save to her the man she loved ; 
 and while this man slept, heavily, dreamlessly, 
 the woman watched in her darkened room, 
 her eyes fixed upon vacancy, her mind intent 
 on what was to be, till her body became rigid 
 and motionless, and her thought, taking form, 
 sped like an electric shaft to mould events to 
 her liking. 
 
 Jornada V 
 
 The carriage rattled over the stony streets at 
 the first glimmer of the dawn that was paling the 
 lanterns, of watchmen at street crossings. On 
 the rear seat were Forrest and the General, oppo 
 site to them Pepe Ximenez and Doctor Lisorta, 
 the latter fighting yawns. Forrest was thinking 
 nothing of whither he was going. He had 
 awakened with the vague feeling of an incubus 
 pressing upon him, of some ugly task to be faced 
 and done, and when the facts shot back into his 
 consciousness he had put them away, convinced 
 
260 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 that thought of them was useless an hour or 
 two would tell. He sat looking out of the car 
 riage window at the long gray line of houses, 
 dotted here and there by the gaudy signs of 
 dramshops, scarce heeding the animated dis 
 pute which had arisen between the General and 
 the Doctor. 
 
 At the turning of a street corner Forrest gave a 
 slight start, for he saw, under the sharp light of an 
 electric lamp, a form clothed in a white, trailing 
 garment, and the face, though indistinct, he 
 knew to be that of Alma Lessing. She seemed 
 to glide to the carnage door, and then sweep 
 along beside the vehicle, without an effort, so 
 close that he could have put out his hand and 
 touched the long brown hair that fell like a cloak 
 to her feet. He recognized at once that this was 
 but an hallucination, a thought picture thrown 
 out objectively, yet it caused a curious tremor to 
 run through him. So strong was this impres 
 sion, so persistent, that he turned to the other 
 occupants of the carriage, almost in wonder that 
 
Jornada V 261 
 
 they too should not see. When he again looked 
 toward the window, the phantom of his brain 
 had vanished. 
 
 The carnage had passed the limits of the city, 
 and, stony roads left behind, was now bowling 
 over smooth earth, the horses snorting in the 
 keen air, the coachman restraining them with oft 
 repeated "Xo, xo, chicos." 
 
 The General and the Doctor continued their 
 argument. " I tell you, General," said the latter, 
 shaking his finger, "the French lead the world 
 in scientific investigation, and to-day we are 
 entering upon the era of science." 
 
 The General shrugged his shoulders and 
 waved his hand contemptuously. The Doctor 
 continued, emphasizing by slapping his knee, 
 "Man, from that period of evolution in which he 
 assumed his present form, has passed through 
 three stages, and is about entering the 
 fourth." He counted on his fingers. "First, 
 the period of brute force, the age of the warrior. 
 Secondly, the period of cunning, the age of the 
 
262 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 priest, who, by shrewdness, overcame brute force 
 in a measure, and gathered to himself the func 
 tions of legislation, leechcraft, and monopolized 
 all knowledge. Thirdly, the period of lav/, based 
 upon experience and observation of human rela 
 tions, the age of the lawyer, who holds us in his 
 grip to-day. We are at the dawn of the fourth 
 period, during which the scientist will rule, and 
 the practical scientist is the physician, He only 
 can save life; the others destroy it." 
 
 "The period of pills, in short," interrupted the 
 General, grinning maliciously. 
 
 The Doctor threw himself back upon the 
 cushions, folding his arms, and raising both 
 shoulders nearly to his ears, a method of ex 
 pressing indignation which was too deep for 
 words. Pepe Ximenez laughed. 
 
 War, " said the General, in more serious tone, 
 and shaking his finger triumphantly in turn at 
 the Doctor, "is acknowledged by all historians 
 to have been the great civilizer. Hence the 
 soldier is the prime factor in civilization." 
 
Jornada V 263 
 
 The Doctor sniffed. "The soldier s greatest 
 virtue is courage. It is also possessed in an 
 equal degree by numerous animals, such as the 
 rhinoceros, the crocodile, the shark " 
 
 "Disparates ! All the great qualities " 
 
 Here the carriage stopped, and the black peaked 
 hat of the coachman, with its silver band, shad 
 owed the window. "Is it here, Senor General, 
 you wished to stop?" 
 
 The General thrust his head out and surveyed 
 the surrounding country. " Yes, yes." 
 
 He opened the door and they alighted. When 
 all were out, the General sent the carriage on to 
 take a stand some half-mile up the road, that 
 attention might not be attracted, for one can see 
 far on this treeless plain. 
 
 The four walked in single file along a narrow 
 path worn through the grass, and which led 
 toward the huge brick walls pierced with holes 
 which some day, government funds permitting, 
 were to be closed into doors and glazed into 
 windows. As they were about to enter under 
 
264 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 an arch, Forrest again saw the white form, more 
 dimly than before, floating like a bit of mist over 
 the grass, and it seemed to melt away against the 
 brick wall. 
 
 At the other end of the enclosure stood three 
 gentlemen in black frock coats and silk hats, con 
 versing together. The General glanced at his 
 watch and said, with an air of relief, " We are not 
 late. In fact it lacks five minutes of the hour." 
 
 The sun had now fully risen and was sending 
 broad bands of light through the window-spaces, 
 checkering the hard earthen floor into squares of 
 yellow, framed in dark brown. 
 
 The Doctor went over to a low pile of brick, 
 and after carefully depositing his black bag at his 
 feet, sat down and began rolling a cigarette, like 
 a veteran actor who, having no part in the first 
 act, awaits his cue in the second, indifferent. 
 Two of the black frock coats advanced to meet 
 the General and his nephew, saluting gravely, 
 the manner and expression of polished gentle 
 men, with a smacking of undertakers simulating 
 
Jornada V 265 
 
 sympathy. The seconds of Deschanteaux were 
 both of his own country. Monsieur Imbert, an 
 amiable youth with blond moustache, much out 
 of place in a matter of this kind, would have 
 given worlds to be back in his glove store in the 
 Coliseo, in company with the charming woman 
 who kept his accounts. That morning she had said 
 to him when he left her, "Courage, mon pauvre 
 cheri," and he had shrugged his shoulders in 
 contempt of feminine alarms. He kept repeating 
 to himself, however, that he was only a second, 
 a mere spectator, and hence in no possible dan 
 ger. He relied upon his companion for all things 
 pertaining to this business, and well he might, 
 for Gustave Delorme was a man of wide experi 
 ence in killing with or without deliberation, 
 strictly according to social law and usage. He 
 had served in the Chasseurs d Afrique, knew a 
 sword from a curling iron, and felt the honor and 
 responsibility of his position, which reflected in the 
 measured gravity of his speech and the curving 
 gesture with which he twirled his pointed black 
 
266 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 moustache. He had great admiration for General 
 Roca, whom he had described to the peaceful 
 Imbert, " Voila, mon cher, un vieux de la vieille, 
 un vrai ! " 
 
 Monsieur Delorme proffered a pair of swords, 
 his own. The General examined the handles and 
 guards critically, tried the spring of the blades 
 over his knee, measured them carefully side by 
 side, and then accepted them they were full 
 four ounces heavier than those he had brought 
 with him, and he preferred the weightier blade 
 for the stronger arm. The details were again 
 agreed upon, and the General walked over to 
 where Forrest stood, gazing at nothing, his 
 thoughts filled with the woman whose phan 
 tom he had seen, a great yearning within 
 him. 
 
 " All right, my boy," said the General, cheer 
 fully, the conditions are that you fight till one 
 falls, as I told you yesterday. A wound that 
 does not disable will not warrant interference by 
 the seconds. Don t forget what I told you about 
 
Jornada V 267 
 
 the length of your reach. Above all things, 
 wake up ! Be quick ! " 
 
 Forrest bowed in acquiescence, and took off 
 his coat and waistcoat, laying them upon the 
 brick pile upon which the Doctor was seated. 
 He rolled up his right shirtsleeve to the shoulder, 
 displaying a massive and muscular arm, white as 
 a woman s, at which the Doctor glanced in ad 
 miration. 
 
 Forrest took the sword which was handed to 
 him, saluted, and stood facing Deschanteaux. 
 The blades clicked together, and the two men 
 looked into each other s eyes. The corners of 
 the Frenchman s mouth drawn back, and his 
 eyes half closed, as if to concentrate his power of 
 vision, gave to his face an expression wherein 
 one could read fixed determination, intense vin- 
 dictiveness, and certainty of success. His gesture 
 in bringing his sword to that of his opponent 
 spoke the satisfaction of one who has waited 
 long and says "At last." 
 
 For a moment Forrest saw only the friend 
 
268 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 of boyhood days. Remove the moustache, 
 smooth out the lines about the eyes, and he was 
 again, "le petit Paul, sacre garnement, vas ! " 
 of twenty years before. Forrest felt an almost 
 overpowering desire to throw down his sword, 
 seize the hands of his adversary and hold them, 
 while the latter tried to bite and scratch, scream 
 ing the while. He had always been so careful 
 not to hurt him, hearing the words of Madame 
 Deschanteaux, and remembering his answer : 
 " Bien sur, Madame; " and his mouth recalled the 
 sweet flavors of bonbons, eaten by stealth, lest 
 the pion see them. Only for a moment did these 
 thought-pictures flash through his mind ; but his 
 eyes showed absence, and the point of Paul s 
 sword quivered within an inch of his side. 
 
 The General uttered a terrible "Brrrmm!"at 
 which Monsieur Delorme looked indignant, but 
 he could say nothing; for when a man is troubled 
 with catarrh, he must clear his throat once in a 
 while. 
 
 Forrest understood. He gripped the handle of 
 
Jornada V 
 
 269 
 
 his sword more firmly, recalling that latterly life 
 had become worth living, worth fighting for. 
 The gloomy future had been pierced by a ray of 
 light. All remembrance of past friendship fell from 
 him now like a cloak thrown off, never to be 
 worn again. He kept his eyes fixed upon those 
 of his adversary, seeking to guess his thrusts, act 
 ing upon the defensive. There was a scratching 
 of steel upon steel, with now and then a low, 
 sharp click. 
 
 It was rapidly becoming apparent to the on 
 lookers that Deschanteaux was master of the art; 
 as superior to Forrest as cat to mouse. Deschan 
 teaux expression was now a triumphant grin; he 
 knew he had the other at his mercy. It was 
 easy, almost too easy ; so a glance said which he 
 shot at his seconds. He was now playing to the 
 gallery; he would keep this up as long as it 
 amused him, and then with one swift thrust in 
 the right spot. 
 
 The General nervously grasped the arm of his 
 nephew, who stood beside him. He felt that he 
 
270 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 had blundered, blundered horribly in the choice 
 of weapons. With pistols his principal would 
 have had at least a chance; here he had none. 
 The General saw that Forrest was not "asleep," 
 as he had feared ; he saw that his man was doing 
 all that he could, better than he had done the pre 
 vious day in practice ; but even this was nothing. 
 Forrest felt his own lack of skill, knew now 
 that Deschanteaux would do with him what he 
 would. There was no fear in him, only regret, 
 deep, poignant, and it condensed itself into one 
 word, "Alma!" It was almost as if he had 
 uttered this name aloud. The illusion came to 
 him again; the white-draped form was beside 
 him, so close he could have touched the long, 
 brown hair; so clearly defined that it was pass 
 ing strange the others could not see it. A puff 
 of cold air seemed to blow upon him ; a tremor 
 waved up from his feet to his head, and 
 through his arms. Then a flame leapt within 
 him, and a rosy cloud, as of mist tinged with 
 blood, passed before his eyes, through which he 
 
Jornada V 271 
 
 saw only the grinning face and the neck of Des- 
 chanteaux, swaying like a pendulum from side to 
 side. He felt the strength of an army in his arm. 
 The Berserker rage was upon him ; he could have 
 shouted, as his Viking ancestors had shouted at 
 sea, perched upon the prows of their Jong boats, 
 driving into the face of the storm with clashing 
 bucklers. He was not conscious of his own 
 sword ; his hand moved itself as move upon the 
 keyboard the fingers of a skilled player who is 
 thinking of other things. 
 
 General Roca marked with amazement the 
 sudden change. He saw the lips of Forrest part, 
 showing the white teeth clinched together ; the 
 angry flash in the eyes, and two deep, perpen 
 dicular lines in the centre of his forehead. Now 
 Forrest attacked. His sword play had ceased to 
 be fencing, it was legerdemain. His blade had 
 become invisible, moving so swiftly the eye 
 could not follow it, a moulinet forming a shield 
 of steel. He moved upon his adversary slowly, 
 deliberately. 
 
272 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 Deschanteaux broke ground. A step back, 
 then another. When he put out his sword it 
 was whirled aside like the switch a child thrusts 
 into the spokes of an engine wheel in motion. 
 His expression changed ; at first doubtful, trou 
 bled, finally one of absolute terror. His eyes 
 were fixed, as if fascinated, upon the disk of steel 
 before him or upon something beyond. His arm 
 was numbed, his hand had lost its dexterity. 
 Back, step by step, with now and then a weak 
 thrust in vain attempt to break through. 
 
 The spirits of General Roca rose. He cast 
 upon Monsieur Delorme a look that meant much. 
 The Doctor left his seat and came nearer. This 
 could not last long. 
 
 Suddenly Forrest s arm straightened, he bent 
 forward very slightly, then the hand and sword 
 were still, only the end of the blade quivering a 
 little, and it had changed color to red. At the 
 base of Deschanteaux neck, just above the breast 
 bone, a stream of dark blood gushed out, 
 and at the same instant his knees doubled 
 
Jornada V 273 
 
 up under him, and he fell heavily upon his 
 back. 
 
 Monsieur Delorme sprang toward the fallen 
 man, but the Doctor was there before him. 
 Sinking upon one knee, he turned the body half 
 over, and at the back of the neck saw a small 
 wound from which issued a few drops of blood. 
 
 "He is dead, gentlemen," he said quietly, 
 looking up at the anxious faces ; "the sword 
 passed completely through the neck, severing 
 the cervical vertebrae. Death or at least the ces 
 sation of all consciousness was instantaneous. 
 He suffered no pain." 
 
 Monsieur Imbert grew very white, and went 
 over to the pile of bricks and sat down, hiding 
 his face in his hands. General Roca turned to 
 Monsieur Delorme : 
 
 "This is unfortunate, sir, very unfortunate; 
 but you recognize, of course, that all conditions 
 have been strictly complied with, and that this 
 is a catastrophe which we deplore as much as 
 you do." 
 
 18 
 
274 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 Monsieur Delorme nodded affirmatively. Yes, 
 yes, General," he replied sadly, "it is the fortune 
 of war. I will sign the proces-verbal together 
 with my companion, if you will draw it up." 
 
 George Forrest glanced at the body of the man 
 whom he had believed to be his friend for so 
 many years, and then, throwing down his sword, 
 turned away and walked over to where he had 
 left his coat. 
 
 He felt neither sorrow nor triumph. Some 
 thing of the anger which had so strangely and 
 suddenly arisen within him was still upon him. 
 He had thought it all out before to weariness, 
 and knew that he had done what he could to 
 avoid the meeting ; his reason justified him and 
 dominated his emotions. Then, too, a change 
 had taken place. The mental inertia, amount 
 ing almost to a form of melancholia, had fallen 
 away from him. The blood coursed rapidly 
 through his veins and tingled in his finger-tips ; 
 every faculty and desire alive, vibrating in unison 
 with the nature that was about him. The sun- 
 
Jornada V 275 
 
 light was bright, the sky blue, as to him they 
 had not been for many a year. One chapter of 
 his life had closed, tragically, it is true, but 
 another had opened in which he could foresee 
 rainbow tints flashing about a woman s face, 
 and her voice was the music to which the hours 
 stepped lightly. 
 
 " You know, Jorge," said the General, coming 
 up to him, "you will have to keep out of the 
 way for a few weeks. The police will make no 
 great effort to arrest you, but if they should see 
 you, they could hardly avoid doing so, for form s 
 sake ; and once in Belem prison, it is not easy to 
 get out, except feet foremost, the typhus aiding. 
 We will make our report, Monsieur Delorme and 
 I, later on. Now I will drive back quickly to 
 your house with you, and, while you are packing 
 a few things, will have the horses changed, and 
 send you the carriage with a fresh pair which 
 will take you out to the third station on the rail 
 road, where you can get the train." 
 
 The General signalled to his coachman, and 
 
276 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 he and Forrest entered the carriage, leaving the 
 Doctor and Pepe Ximenez to assist Monsieur 
 Delorme in the sad task of bringing back to 
 the city the body of Paul Deschanteaux. 
 
 They had proceeded only a short distance 
 when the General s ear caught the sound of 
 horse s hoofs, a mad gallop upon the highway. 
 In another moment the panting animal was 
 reined up by the side of the carnage and the 
 face of Don Calvo appeared at the window. He 
 espied Forrest. 
 
 "You are not hurt, Don Jorge mio ? No? 
 May the saints be praised ! And the other ? " 
 
 The General answered with a look, a shrug, 
 and an outward motion of the hands that told 
 the story without words. Don Calvo s good- 
 natured face grew serious; he commented with 
 a word, "Ca-ray!" uttered slowly and softly, 
 straightened up in his saddle, and removed his 
 hat, riding along a few moments in silence. He 
 leaned over again. 
 
 "Don Jorge, I am glad you are safe, and an- 
 
Jornada V 277 
 
 other will be more glad than I can tell you. I 
 have two letters for you which I was only to de 
 liver in case you were unhurt." He handed the 
 white envelopes to Forrest. "I am going back 
 to carry the news to " He hesitated, and 
 then, perceiving that Forrest understood, contin 
 ued, " I promised her, you know. Adios." He 
 waved his hand in leave-taking, and, putting 
 spurs to his horse, shot along the highway, and 
 was soon out of sight, swallowed up by a cloud 
 of white dust. 
 
 "Read your letters, my boy, read your let 
 ters," said the General, patting his companion 
 on the knee; "I ll warrant they contain good 
 news." 
 
 Forrest opened the smaller envelope. The en 
 closure contained but a few lines, which he read 
 at a glance. "If you read this, fortune has 
 favored you and you will know that I am glad 
 beyond words. Come to me as quickly as you 
 can. Alma Lessing." 
 
 He folded the note and put it in his pocket. 
 
278 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 He did not need this to confirm the certainty 
 which was within him, yet it caused his heart to 
 beat faster for a moment, added another glow 
 and a brighter hue to rainbow tints that played 
 about the face filling the future. 
 
 The other letter enfolded some bank bills, and 
 was from his friend Velasco, the notary. "I 
 give this to our mutual friend Don Calvo, who 
 tells me he will see you early to-morrow. My 
 sympathies are all with you, my dear friend, and 
 likewise the good wishes of my comrades. Now 
 if you are unscathed I have good news for you. 
 Don Cassio Alvarez you know, the one in 
 Guerrero has authorized me to close with you 
 for the management of his hacienda. I take your 
 acceptance for granted, and send herewith some 
 money for travelling expenses, for which please 
 send receipt on stamped paper at your con 
 venience. He is a good man, Don Cassio, and a 
 pleasant companion, well educated, and I know 
 you will like him. Enclosed find full directions 
 for journey. Afsmo amigo y S. S. Q. S. M. B." 
 
Jornada V 279 
 
 Forrest handed the letter to the General, who 
 read it carefully through. " Good! " he exclaimed, 
 seizing Forrest s hand and shaking it heartily. 
 "It is great good fortune that this comes now. 
 And I know Don Cassio well. He is one of the 
 old ones was with me at Queretaro. I must 
 send him a letter by you. He will confirm all I 
 told you about the siege; he is a bright man, a 
 bright man, a very bright man." 
 
 Surely the jade fortune had turned her face 
 toward him, smiling, so Forrest thought, and her 
 eyes were two wells of deep blue, fathomless. 
 He wondered if now that 
 
 The carriage drew up before the house in 
 which Forrest lived. " I will not see you again 
 for a long time, perhaps, Don Jorge." The Gen 
 eral seized Forrest s hand and passed his own 
 left arm about his companion s neck, patting 
 him on the back, Mexican fashion. "You have 
 nothing to reproach yourself with, my friend. 
 You have acted in all things like a brave man 
 and a caballero. You were over-matched, and 
 
280 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 how you did it in the end is a puzzle to me. 
 However, thank God you are sound and well ! 
 Go with God, hijo mio, vaya Vd. con Dios!" 
 
 The General waved aside the thanks which 
 Forrest would have uttered. "Nada, nada ! I 
 came too near putting my foot in it in choosing 
 swords. Only that last attack of yours car- 
 ramba, what an assault ! saved me from dis 
 grace." He leaned out of the window, beaming, 
 as the carriage turned, and called out again to 
 Forrest : "Jose* will be back in half an hour, 
 remember, with fresh horses." 
 
 Forrest rapidly thrust some clothing into a 
 large valise, together with his revolvers and 
 things that were trifles in a city, but beyond 
 price in the wild country whither he was bound. 
 The rest of his luggage Velasco would send on 
 to him. He wrote a note to the worthy notary, 
 thanking him warmly, explaining why he could 
 not call, and gave this to the portera, with some 
 silver, for delivery later. 
 
 He sprang into the waiting carriage after fling- 
 
Jornada V 281 
 
 ing the words at the driver: "First, Jose, the 
 Villa Dominguez Tacubaya first road to the 
 right after you pass the gambling hall." 
 
 "Si, Senor." 
 
 As the vehicle rumbled off, Forrest drew up the 
 blinds, as a measure of precaution, while passing 
 through the city. He could take no risks now. 
 The fast trot of the horses was a snail s pace to 
 his impatience, and every now and then he 
 glanced out, through a crack, astonished at so 
 little progress on the way. Time was to him 
 now like a bit of rubber, that one could stretch 
 out, stretch out, indefinitely. Thoughts of the 
 new chapter, almost formless, but hinting at 
 bright things, hummed through his brain. 
 
 At last. Jos drew up the horses and Forrest 
 had passed under the arched gateway, and to the 
 door of the Villa Dominguez, which was wide 
 open. He stood for a moment, uncertain 
 whether he should ring, and then heard her 
 voice from within, bidding him enter. 
 
 Alma Lessing, clad in the gray dress she had 
 
282 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 worn the first time he had seen her in the Ala- 
 meda, was reclining on a couch at the farther 
 end of the great bare parlor, by a window. She 
 beckoned him to take a seat upon a low stool 
 beside her, and as he did so he took her ex 
 tended hand in both of his. 
 
 Now that he was in her presence the confi 
 dence he had felt was shaking ; it might be only 
 a dream born of his wish perhaps the whole 
 scaffolding he had built up was the work of his 
 own imagination to vanish like mist before the 
 stern objective facts of reality. He began awk 
 wardly, some trouble showing, perhaps, in his 
 face. 
 
 You know?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered ; "Don Calvo was here 
 an hour ago. He told me what I wished to 
 know." 
 
 She read him like an open book printed in 
 clear type, and her heart bounded within her. 
 Oh, he of little faith ! Oh the great, big, blind, 
 stupid, blundering child ! She smiled mischiev- 
 
Jornada V 283 
 
 ously. She would prolong this torture for a 
 moment to punish him for doubting woman s 
 love compensation to follow. 
 
 "It was strange," he said, reflectively, " I don t 
 know how it happened. He was a hundred 
 times more skilful than I. He had me at his 
 mercy until " He felt reluctant to go on ; it 
 appeared somewhat foolish to him now at least 
 when expressed to others to her, perhaps 
 and these illusions of his had something sacred 
 about them to him. After a moment s hesita 
 tion he plunged on : " You may think it curious, 
 but the fact is there was a moment I thought you 
 were beside me. I could see you as clearly as I 
 see you now, and then I fought like a mad 
 man." He grew reckless ; she could think him a 
 fool if she would. "I saw you more than once 
 while we were going to the place. You seemed 
 to be with me all the time. I suppose I was very 
 nervous underneath, though I did not know it." 
 
 Still she said nothing. The little mischievous 
 smile had faded from her face. 
 
284 Cosmopolitana Mexicana 
 
 He crossed his legs, clasping his knee in both 
 of his hands, his favorite attitude. His hopes 
 were dimming and the silence oppressed him ; 
 he felt he must break it. 
 
 "Well," he said, his eyes fixed on the red 
 carpet, "you see, I have got to go away. General 
 Roca told me I must keep out of the way until 
 the matter had blown over. I had a letter from 
 a friend of mine this morning, offering me the 
 position of manager of a hacienda out in Guer 
 rero. It is not a bad place. Dull and lonely, 
 and all that, I suppose, but plenty of work. 
 General Roca has loaned me his carriage, and I 
 am to catch the train at the third station out, 
 some ten miles from here." His voice had the 
 note of weariness in it as of old, and the woman 
 could bear it no longer. 
 
 She laid her hand on his and sought his eyes, 
 compelling him to look at her, to read in her face 
 the truth, and then doubt was laid aside forever. 
 There came to him the full comprehension of 
 her love of a love that recked not of the world, 
 
Jornada V 285 
 
 that was without bound or limit, such as falls to 
 the lot of man once in ages ; and, as he bent 
 down to her, she whispered: 
 
 "May I go with you ? " 
 
 With a cry that was almost a sob he fell upon 
 his knees, and wound his arms about her till he 
 lifted her from the couch, she yielding to him 
 gladly, in the fulness of her self-surrender. As 
 their lips met he knew that his thirst for her 
 would never be quenched, though their lives 
 were to span beyond those of mortals, and she 
 believed that another star had fallen into the 
 diadem of God. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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