Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1894-09-08

HSSiM will send Paquita to
TtEN MN chaperone you and
MIENT JAMl< act as interpreter,
WLHNA(< and old Raquel as a
( watchdog, and you
/I|H will be safe from
moles tion as
though guarded by a detail from the fort"
And so 1t was that 1 came to attend a
Mexican society function. purely Mexi-
can one. mind you for besides myself there
was not an English-speaking person there.
OF course Pequita thought that English
was enc CT her accomplishments, but her
utter disregard for accent and her tongue
tied efforts at our "g's' and IS were
simply alarming. Her ideas Of a chaper-
ones duties would just suit the ideas of an
advanced young bud. With great presence
of mind she effected absence Of body on
our arrival. and 1 only saw her at brief
| intervals thereafter. Then she came up
painting and beamingly hoped that 1 was
having good time, introduced me to an
other relay OF Mexicans. and then away
she went.
You will be very kind to Sonora Sara,
Paquita," said Sonora Cordova-
ISL senora," she replied. smilingly.
And remember, you are not to leave her
alone an instant. You are to see that
Raquel does rot drink too much pulaue
She must meet all the nice people and you
must come home the moment she gets
tired. Me comprende VIZ
Isl, senorita." she responded. Com
prende." She 'sabed" all right enough, but
she knew that 1 would tell no tales out of
school, so left me to my own devices.
The 'bailie.' was something In the ma
ture of a church festival. for it occurred on
some saints natal day, and 1t ended up
with c ball. The bailie was held at the
Posada Hotel in San Jose. a little Mexican
hamlet six miles from Casa Cuenemo.
was one of the star routes over which the
mails were carried by pony express AMI
all the government supplies for frontier
forts were hauled. Having heard much of
this historic highway l was pleased to
learn that the old trail was yet used be-
tween San Jose and Casa Quenemo.
a Rough Ride.
Again our conveyance was the blackboard.
Paquita and 1 occupied the back seat, Ra-
quel and a character called "Chapparer' the
front one. Chaprarci drove-at least he
called 1t driving. but the way those little
mustangs "sifted'' over the trail was more
like sailing before a northeastern. AS we
flew along in the dewy dusk of the Mexican
twilight, ancient landmarks were cheerfully
fratricide was hung; THE Heavenly Trail
"a branching road, at the angle of which
stage robberies were frequent in the palmy
days of road agents; Canon Diablo" where
the Apaches used to hold 1.-The devils own
carnival" SO Chapparel said, and Dead
Mans Gulch,' where men who were no &C
QUESTION to society in general were mys-
te-iously deposited after summarily depart
Ing this life with their boots on.
The blackboard swung round a bend of
rocks with more than usual vehemence, and
Chapparel brought the ponies to a stand
still with a suddenness that nearly lifted
them into the vehicle. while all three of the
other occupants jumped to the ground and
devoutly crossing themselves knelt and be-
gan to say prayer. Through the soft
night, Just whitening with the newly
risen moon. cav a cleaning white cross
kneeilng trio. and became conscious also
that the air was heavy with the mingled
and coming to the blackboard. was just on
the point Of asking me to get down when
the FESTIVE mustangs gave plunge which
threw me violently into her outstretched
mighty jerk and savagely shouted a Mexi-
Can oath at the prancing animals. which
brought them to their launches again, and
went On with his unfinished prayers.
Saint Miriam.
When 1 got breath enough 1 asked the
that time Paquita had produced a huge
jar of water from the blackboard. and was
pouring it around the tuberoses. lilies and
other flowers that were set border fashion
around a grass-grown mound. large enough
to cover several bodies. and at the head Of
which stood the tall cross outlined in such
ghostly fashion against the rising moon.
"Ea! And have you not heard of the
blessed martyr, Saint Miran?" asked
Paquita amazedly. When we were once more
on the road she told me how that fifty
years ago a young American mother, hus-
band and child came to this spot with a
caravan, how they were all taken away by
the cholera except Miriam and her child
who sought assistance at San Jose. The
Mexicans. too. were stricken with the
cholera, and Miriam helped them until her
little one was taken away. Then she dis
appeared.
MY peoples find her at last" said
Paquita, when they have hunted a night
and a day, on that spot where she have her
own small hands buried her hoosban', and
Mary has taken them all then to be with
her-el parde, ell infante and la madre. 1t
Is best, but my peoples are mooch SORROW
and they bury her and the pobre infante
with the hoosban right there. She have no
friends to know, but my peoples they plant
flowers the white sweet ones like she have
been, and they put up the cross, and we
say over them each time that We pass d
prayer for them"
In the midst of my musings over this sad
story the mustangs were set on their
launches with a twist of Chapparers wrist
they never talk to the horses in this
country. A dig Of the spurs sting of the
lash is the gentlest urging they know, and
a wrench Of the bride or jerk Of the lines
Is the cruel anncu nc ernent of a desire to
lessen the always maddening pace-and l
became conscious Of the fact that we had
reached the hotel at San Jose. Two gaily
caparisoncd MexicaLs stood at the wide
archway, but at a word from Raquel they
stood aside. and. responding to a singing
swish of Chapparers whip, the ponies DASH
ed through the archway over the red marble
pavement into the Illuminated patio.
rubbed my eyes in amazement.
A Gay Scene.
Light and laughter! Color and colloquy!
1t was positively painful at first. THE
Sonora Americana is mooch welcomed"
That was the first thing 1 comprehended
after being lifted from the blackboard. l
presume had been introduced by Paquita
to the sallow, fat little sonora who was
assuring me in true Spanish fashion and
Greaser English that all the house and the
fullness thereof was mine to deal with as
l chose.
The room into which we went was long
and narrow, high-ceilinged and somber.
Perhaps the walls were white once and age
had turned them as autumn does the leaves.
oil orff chod nd do