San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1894-08-13
ON THE LOITER
THE AFFABLE WITCH OF GOBLIN
CAVE.

to make of it; at any rate you
would not think of calling it hui
man habitation. It's hole in the
side Of an abandoned rock-quarry,
little southeast Of the National
cemetery. In front Of the opening
and suspended from sticks stuck
into the dirt around the aperture,
hang a few tattered pieces of
blanket and grain sacks, which
serve the double purpose of an
awning and a door. A medium
sized man, by slightly ducking his
head, can easily enter the place,
but a large, strong man would
have to stoop considerably to pass
within. The narrow doorway leads
into a dark hollow, the size, per-
haps, of some dingy little attic.
Not only is the room musty,
smoky and mpenetrably dark,
but, as you will find on striking a
match, unearthly and weird indeed
"Ah, who is there" asks harsh.
feminine voice in Mexican, as the
noisy match blaZes up. You hold
the light above your head and peer
about you. The match at last
burns in steady flame, clearly
lighting up the curious chamber.
1t takes but glance to survey the
scantily furnished place. Here,
to the right, is a niche in the dirt
wall in which stand a few small
earthen vessels, none of them larger
than quart cup. Two one pint
bottles and half used candle,
with broken saucer for a candle
stick, are also stood upon this
earthern shelf. Over there.
an iron skillet, bate tin pail
and two queer shaped stones are
stood up against the dirt wall. In
the corner almost opposite you is
what appears half nude figure Of
a short, shrivelled up woman, in
the act of rising from a heap of
rags used as bedding. A little cur
is at her feet, snarling and barking.
pardon me madam, / didn't
know any one lived here" would
probably be your words if you are
conversant with the language.
The old woman has, very likely,
scanned you closely by this time,
and with surprising hospitality,
urges you to be seated. A light
kick at the dog quiets that vindi-
ctive little: animal, and the old
woman hobbies across the den
to light a candle. A little box
is pointed out to you and you
are again urged to be seated.
You have come upon no business
and scarcely know what to talk
about, but the old woman is too
hospitable to bid you go. So there
you sit face to face with the Witch
of Goblin cave, speaking about her
abode, about the weather and
about any subject that might
flash into your mind, receiving a
polite and intelligent answer to
every question asked.
By the light Of the candle you
| again survey the subterranean den,
but all that you can see is the
niche with few pieces Of earthen
ware, and the two bottles; the
skillet and flat stones, on which
the bag grinds the soaked corn for
tortillas; white flour sack full OF
things that you are unable to name
without close inspection
the dirty bedding; the watchful
little cur, at your feet few en-
bers and ashes, the fire place
where the cooking is done when
the weather is bad, and there be-
fore you, with but the candle on
the floor between, the Witch Of
Goblin Cave herself. She is small
of stature, and her bare feet and
| bare breast are all skin and
bones. A garment, once white, but
now black and gray from dirt and
SCOT, hangs suspended by strips Of
cloth from her bony, prominent
shoulders, reaching from the waist
to her ankles, and as she squats
down on a rock in the centre Of
the den, brushing with her long,
palsied fingers, the gray hair from
before her wan, emaciated face,
you can not help but think that,
from appearances at least, she fully
deserves the appellation Of "the
Witch of Goblin Cave.
In imitation of the politeness
with which you were entertained,
you bid the witch good day, and If
you have failed to ascertain how
she manages to live, you need but
watch the streets on "beggar's
day." the last one of each week,
and you will find her with host
of other hays begging from store to
store for a pittance of coin and