The morning call., 1890-11-30

lis weight of care. His dress was totally
different from that of the men had noticed
about Monterey, for he was dressed in soiled
buckskin from head 10 foot, and | became
impressed with the idea that L had at last
met with one of those strange ideals OF -ihe
sensational Western novelist
As drew this momentary photograph OF
him. he repeated the question that had
first broken my revere;
What yer readin' p
"Tennyson."
;"Wots that9"
''Tennyson is the Poet Laureate of Eng
land, and one Of the most graceful writers of
the day. The story | am reading is that OF
Elaine a strange, sad tale of disappointed
love"
Tell us about it, wont yer, mister?"
In as few words as possible l recounted
the touching experiences of this misguided
heroine. from her first meeting with .Launce-
lot to the place where, in the words OF the
poet:
Steered by the dumb, went upward with the food
MY GodT'
l looked up in surprise. The sad, white
face had in second undergone startling
metamorphosis. The cheeks were flushed,
the cold. gray eyes flashed with anger and
the lips quiyered with excitement.
what is the matter?" [ asked.
mister, wher did TennysOn git that
story?"
Il cannot say, but it is probably child
of his own fancy-a bit of poetic romance.
No, 'taiut, mister, no, faint. tIhat
ere story's as true as the blue O. them skies;
true as the wind that's a-sighin' above them
pines now; true as the o them break
ers on the roeks at Cypress Point. Fur 1t
happened right there on the bend o the
river. whar yer see that old adobe: and the
bells as fliat book says tolled fur her death
want rung in England, but over at the loot
O. the hills thar, from the towers o. the Mis-
sion Church"
GU have awakened a strange interest
in me- my friend. Wont you sit downp
He sat upon the fragrant cushion OF pine
needles beside me, and cast long, wiSiful,
fearful glance at the book l held in my
hand
What did you mean when you told me
that the story was truep, =! asked;
Just what | said mister. Elaine was
NV gal Phoebe, Launcelot was Teller from
Frisco, named Roberts, and-what did you
say TIE Queens, name WASP"
g. Guiuevere."
:. Wall, sine was a grand lady visiting at
the biz hotel. And, mister, the Lord OF As
tuiat was me-"
do you mind telling me the story in your
own way?"
There was no reply. for the stranger
threw himself upon his face, his gaunt frame
qpiyered with emotion, and sob after sob
stirred the.silence of the pines. l had, bent
forward in the hope that the touch OF "a
friendly hand might staunch the flow Of
grief, hen / heard the tramp of heavy feet,
and newcomer appeared upon the scene,
knelt beside the old man and spoke to him
eagerly in Spanish.
Que iienes, Capitano%'
The newcomer was one OF the few remain
ing types Of the California Mission Indian.
Rather short of stature, with skin dark
almost as that OF a negro; heavy growth
of wiry. black hair struggled down his
shoulders at the back, and, to use modern
phrase. was banged" low upon his fore
head. He wore pair of very ragged mill
uary trousers, with faring red shirt, and,
although the thermometer that afternoon
must have registered 80 degrees Fahrenheit,
heavy gray blanket was thrown about him.
Receiving no reply TO his earnest appeal he
leaned closer to the PROSTATE form of the
"CapitanO" and repeated it with even more
a sitting posture, took hold of the Indians
wrist with conclusive clasp and spoke to
him in his OWL tongue.
''Sancho. Ell me ha dicho la historic de mi
hija perdida.' (Sancho, he has told me the
story of my lost daIighter)
"Como?"' (How?) asked the Indian in as
Then with bated breath and tremulous
voice. the old man repeated to Sancho what
! concluded must be a Spanish version of
the same. story l told him. What sight
were those two faces as | eagerly listened to
the recital in a tongue J. could not under
stand? The old mans voice was tremulous
and faltering, and be stopped now and
then to brush away the tears, from his
brenzed cheek. Sancho, true to the in
StInets of his race, remained stolid and ap-
uarently Indifferent but from the depths of
his piercing black eyes there seemed TO fash
an expression of bitter hatred. and when he
had heard all lie glared at the book in my
hand as though it were some enemy he
wished to destroy.
lyon dan I understand Snanish mis-
ter?"
On my negative reply he continued:
And he don't speak no English" point
ing to the Indian. but l wanted him to