Chariton courier. (Keytesville, Chariton County, Mo.) 1878-current, 1878-11-30
A MuchachO" of the Mexican Camp.

on the road to the Mexican camp. l
had just met Tommy Job "a Cornish
lad who brought our milk in the morn
ing and our mail in the afternoon) and
taken from him two or three letters, and
was sitting on dusty rock by the road
side reading them. A step pausing be-
side me, and shadow falling across my
page, 1 looked up and saw pair of
black eyes looking down. Banito did
not want to read my letters-he thought
1 was drawing; and all the miners chill
dren in both the Cornish and Mexican
camps felt at liberty to look over my
shoulder when was sketching. don't
think ever invited them to do so.
They did it quite naturally, regarding
it, perhaps, as part of that right to life,
liberty, and the pursuit. of happiness, to
which most of them were born. fold
ed my letter up and looked at Banito,
whereupon he gave short laugh and
darted off up the hill. Just at the top,
where the road winds out of sight round
shoulder of the hill, with the shadow
of live-oak tree lying black across it,
he stopped and looked back, his little,
dark figure between the blue sky and
the reddish-yellow road. Nothing else
to be seen except the ive-oak tree with
its spot of black shade.
1t took me some time to climb the
hill up which Banito had fled so quickly,
then saw him curled up in the limbs
of the live-oak peering down at me with
a half-shy, half-saucy smile.
"Come down and let me draw a pic
ture of you," I said. (The Mexican
children play with those of the Cornish
camp, and understand English quite
we'll He laughed and turned his head
away sharply, but / knew he would
come down.
"Come where can sit in the shade, "
1 said, " and bring my stool"
left the little camp stool in the mid
die of the road and walked on slowly,
as if waiting for him.
"There is big shade down there. "
He pointed to the slope of the hill
where another live-oak leaned his dark,
twisted trunk away from the wind. All
the trees lean the same way, for the
same untiring steady wind blows for
months and months over these hills.
Their boughs are trimmed, on the un-
der-side, as smoothly as the top OF
hedge, as far as the hungry cattle can
reach. 1 made myself comfortable in
the "big shade," and began sharpen
ing q pencil. Banito made himself
comfortable in the sun, pulling at the
dry punches of sage-gr. IS, and looking
at me from the shadow of his hat-brim
with those queer, dubious glances.
If the camp-children had been robins
in spring, and we the first ripe cherries
they could not have found us more
quickly, or fiocked more gayly ano
noisily about us. There we're mucha
chos from the Mexican camp-every
shade of brown and yellow-there were
rosy ,saucy, irrepressible Cornish young
sters. ] tried to keep them near me, 81
nv shy little model might be undisturb
ed; but one ruddy-brown Mexican bo.
cheeks the color of russell apple il
October-stole behind him and pricket
him in the neck with sheep-burr.
Catching my eye, he plunged bacl
into the midst of the group under tn
tree.
Iasked his name, and Banito said
was his brother, Francisco, and that n
was every bad;" but he laughed as h
said it. Then l remembered his face a
one of a flock of six that crowded roun,
me one day when sat making sketcl
under the shadow of the high, bar
porch OF their "caSa.
The mother, leaning over the railing
had told me all their names. She, too
had said Francisco was very ba'
(.s muey malo," she called it), and she
too, had laughed. 1 asked Francisc
where he kept all his badness, for
could not see any of it in his face. Ba
bows do not look as happy as Francisc
did, and he smuggled in among hi
} comrades as if he we're sure OF a we
come. He looked merry, wild and dill
ty. dare say he tore his clothes, an
was a sad trouble to his mother. A Lit
| tie girl who logged my elbow and wa
invited to move further off (and cordia
ly assisted to do so by all her neighbors
r had the bluest eyes that ever shone III
5 der torn hat-brim.
t "Was she not Cornish girlP'
5 asked.
"No," she said; "I'm English"
"Were YOU not born at the mine
l PERHAPS YOU are an American.
3 "No, ma'am. / amt 'Merican.
5 was born down to San jose"
Another little girl coughed and loo
3 ed as if she had been ill. She told n
j, tbey sswas allays sick back there" al
:: when tried to find out where " bat
d there" was-where she had lived befo
. coming to the mine--she only answe
Q ed my repeated questions with: so
1t in a Kind o. brown house back there
Banito had been very still for sor
e time, and his face began to droop as
IS he were tired; so L hurried with t
g sketch. The children, hearing t
y heavy wheels of the stage rattling
t, the last hill, scampered off to welcor
le it on its arrival, in company with I
q dogs and other noisy livestock OF
camp.
S, Banito looked wistfully after the
le hut with the prospect of 'two Dts
I'd RESIGNED himself to five minutes long,
e. "Two bits " represents large shs
c. of the lows of this world to an Almad
Il boy. For two bits you can get of Co:
ts the vegetable man a ripe, spl
s. musk melon as big as your head, OF
watermelon twice as big, or hatful
peaches, or double handful OF IRE
figs, or two paper bags OF sale can
at the store. A Cornish lad might |
n it in tin bank until Christmas and
n new stock of toys arrived, but Me
wv can never!
a When was making Banito's portr;
ge he held dark little object by strir
,ct it was a horned toad" They
lie strange little creatures-so delicat
ng made, yet so roughly carved and fl
ne ted; so still, sometimes for long m
ST. utes, that they might indeed be car
,s- stone or fretted bronze; then, at s
NO den movement, they will slide of
iii. swift and silent as u shadow. They
utterly deaf-even pistol-shot ii
on close to ones head would not dist
his immovable stillnes if he saw nc
in ing to alarm. They seem to hay
me kind of sensitiveness under the rou
yer dark skin; light finger-touches on
the head will soothe them to sleep, and
He are easily tanned into dull, pas
md companionship.-Mary Hattoc6 ft
ur- in 81. Nicholas for December.
81,