Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-11-22
A WESTERN ELAINE.
THOMPSON OF MONTEREY
TELLS THE STORY OF A
GIRLS BROKEN HEART.
WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY
CLAY n GREENE
tCopyrtghted 1901
CHAPTER I.
"What yer readin', mister2"

tary hour with Tennyson commended himself
to me at once as being one Of those strange
specimens of humanity who to the student Of
human nature might become an interesting
subject Of analysis. Almost every one imagines
himself to be a reader of faces, and am 10
exception.
He was not altogether a stranger to me. for
had seen him but a few moments before pad
ding on the river at the foot of the bluff on
the edge Of which sat But when the strange
craft that carried hIm-a primitive dug out,
fashioned from the trunk of q pine tree--had
glided into the shadows of the stuntcd
expresses that lined the rivers edge, both the
boat and Its solitary occupant passed out of
my mind Now new interest was awakened,
and for moment studied him closely with
out replying TO his abrupt, If not impertinent
query.
He was a man Of apparently ffty-fve years
Of age; his figure tall and erect and mass of
iron gray hair tell from under his sombrero in
tangled mass about his shoulders. His face
was almost hidden by bushy growth OF beard,
and his piercing eyes. gray and sad, seemed to
reflect heart that had borne its 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 to
foot, and became impressed with the idea
that had at last met with enc Of those strange
ideals of the sensational western novelist.
As drew this momentary mental photograph
Of him he repeated the question that had first
broken my reyerie.
What yer readin?'
''Iennyson."
'Wots that?'
''Tennyson IS the poet laureate Of England,
and one OF the most graceful writers Of the day.
The story ! am reading is that of Elaine,
strange. sad tale OF disappointed love-"
Tell US about it; won't yer, mister?"
In as few words as possible recounted the
touching experiences Of this misguided heroine
from her first meeting with Launcelot to the
place where, In the words Of the poet
steered BY the dumb. went upward with the food"
''My Godr'
/ looked up in surprise. The sad white face
had in a second undergone a startling meta
morphosls. The cheeks were flushed. the cold
gray eyes flashed with anger and the lips Quiv-
cred with excitement
''What Is the matter?" asked
Mister, wher did Tennyson git that story?''
II cannot say. but it Is probably child Of
his own fancy, a bit of poetic romance"
NO talnt, mister; no tamil That ere story's
as true as the blue o. them skies; true az the
wind that's sighin' above them pines now;
true as the roar O. them breakers on the rocks
at Cypress Point Fur ii happened right Their
on the bend o the river, whar yer see that old
adobe, ana the bells as that book SAYS tolled
fur her death wasn't rung in England, but over
at the foot the hills thar, from the towers o.
the Mission Church"
me, my friend; won't you sit DOWN"
he sat upon the fragrant cushion of pine
needles beside me and cast long. wistful,
fearful glance at the book held in my hand.
"What did you mean when you told me that
story was true?' asked.
Jest what said, mister. Elaine was nv
gal Phoebe, Launcelot was a Teller from Frisco
named Roberts and-what did you say the
queens name wasI"
"Guineyere."
wall, she was grand lady visiting at the
Hotel del Monte, And, mister, the Lord of
Astolat 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 quiv-
cred with emotion and sob after sob stirred the
silence of the pines / had ben. forward in the
hope that the touch Of a friendly hand nigh.
stanch the flow Of grief. Then heard the
tramp OF heavy feet and a new conner appeared
upon the scene, knelt beside the old man and
spoke to him eagerly in Spanish.
Que themes, capitano?"
The new conner was one Of the few remaining
types of the California Mission Indian Rather
short OF stature, with a skin dark almost as that
OF negro; heavy growth OF why, black hair
struggled down his shoulders at the back and
TO use modern phrase was banged low
upon his forehead. He wore a PAIR of very
ragged military trousers with a faring red
shirt; and although the Thermometer that after
noon must have registered 80 degrees Fahrep-
helt heavy gray blanket was thrown about
him Receiving no reply to his earnest appeal
ne leaned closer TO the PROSTATE form OF the
"Capltano" and repeated il with even
more emphasis than at first The old man rose
TO q sitting posture. took hold Of the Indians
wrist with convulsive clasp, and spoke to him
in his own tongue:
.sancho, iel me ha dicho la historic de mi
hiia perdidar'
(saneho. he has told me the story of my lost
daughterD
''ComO?' Chov) asked the Indian in as
Then with bated breath and a tremulous
voice the old man repeated to Sancho what 1
concluded must be q spanish version of the
same story had told him. What sight were
those two faces as l eagerly listened to the re-
citsl IN tongue could not understand! Tho
old mans voice was tremulous and faltering,
ana ne stopped now and then to brush away
the hot tears from his bronzed cheek. Sancho,
true 10 the instincts of his race, remained
stolld and apparently indifferent, but from the
depths OF his piercing black ewes there seemed
TO Hash an expression Of bitter hatred and
when he had heard all he glared at the book in
my hand as though 1t were some enemy he
wished to destroy.
You don't understand Spanish. mister?"
On my negative reply he continued:
And he donts speak no English" point,nv
to the Indian. But wanted him to know and
now II tell yer the whole thing jest it hap
pened, and then you kin see ITS the self-sau,
story as Is printed into that ere book. But
hold on!' ana he pointed to the distant hills
See that house on the hill yonder2"
''See where the settin' sun shuin' On thu
winders makes it look like Iight?"
Yes
well, that ere's my clock. stand on this
very spot every day jest at sunset, and that
glitter warns me it's time to go home to the
old woman wot's waitin' fur me over wonder
IN the old adobe. So I'll have to quit yer now.
but III tell yer the story tomorrow"
Il shall not be here then" / replied, s'for
urgent business will call me to the city. But
am deeply interested in the strange coinci-
dence you have mentioned and should like to
hear IL through"
Would yer mind comm home with me,
tnen, and havin' bite o supper with me and
the old wOman?"
lshould desire it above all things"
Tome On, then, and we've GOT To hurry or
she II be sworryin'."
With nod to Sancho he led the way toward
me rNer. Not word was spoken We silently
trod the elrcuitous trail down the cliff, and,
arriving at the waters edge, the old man
Poin'e1 10 the boat and took my place in the
Dow ne seated himself amidships and the
inoian with dexterous moyeme mt pushed the
poat INTO the stream, took his place in the stern
ano, paddle In hand, pointed her PROV toward
Ine oeno IN the river which the old man had
spoken or IL was . weird almost fantastic
picture. Inc setting sun, Just disappearing
pehind the western sea, casting long shadows
from the pines upon the placid surface of the
water; the rudely constructed boat with its
tnree strangely contrasted occupants gliding