Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1896-03-04

mas been mend1ng the sheepfolds, at the
head. The little procession winds round
toward the alamazen, when, with one
accord, they all stop. Their song ends in
shriek AS if turned to stone they
stand and gael
There sits Don Tiburcio upon the low
bench, his eyes staring and CLASSY, his
Jaws tightly locked, the whole figure
horribly upright and rigid. With cry
ike wounded animal Domingo falls
forward upon his master. mi senior,
mi senorp' he calls in harsh, choking
tones, then, without word, he puts his
strong arms around the rigid form. In
stantly the others leap forward, and they
bear him through Marianita's grove,
around to the veranda. Slowly they lay
him down, and at that moment the jaws
unbock-a shiver, gurgle, the head
falls back-the CLASSY eyes stare upward
to the pitiless heavens!
Light footsteps sound down the wide
hall, a gay voice calls out, "Papasito,
papasito! !" The Indians start with appre-
hension one muscular youth springs for
ward. He will hold her by main force
if he must from the sight of that awful
horror! Too late! Marianita bounds for
ward; one inarticulate cry, she sways
and falls! When Domingo creeps for
ward and lifts the arm that lies stretch
ed across her father breast, it falls back
heavy, lifeless. In death, as in life, Don
Tiburcio's priceless blossom rests safe
against his heart.
It is many days after. The relatives
there are many of them-have all de
parted, after having filed the house
with loud lamentations and laid their
kinsman and his lovely daughter in
their double grave with all the solemn
pomp Of church ceremonial
Don Tiburcio's legal friends have
come, and they search for all that ru
mored gold. They find buried gold and
silver, but still they are not satisfied.
The amount is not adequate to their ex
pectations. There must be more.
Then some one remembers that Do
mingo was the confidential servant Of
Don Tiburcio, and they go out to him,
where he sits in the sun and the wind,
staring straight before him, always
staring, staring He lifts his head and
looks stupidity at them when they ques-
tion him. At length he understands,
and in dull, monotonous tone and man.
ner he tells Of that journey to Los An
geles, Of the metal box, the picks and
shovels in the carreta, OF the separation
at Ell Encino del Tinaje, of the meeting
on the outskirts of the wood.
"Why had not you told us all this be-
fore, Domingo?" they exclaimed impa-
tiently.
eft was all for Marianita that he
did it, know. I knew it was a secret.
Ny master knew I would keep his Sc
cret. 1t was secret. 1t was secret. -
So they left him muttering, his head
upon his breast. The cold wind blew
about him. He felt nothing, he saw
nothing, and so he passes out of our
story.
Il =
They have bu1rowed like moles for
Tapia's treasure. Miles have been
thrown upward all around Ell Encino
del Tinaje to the very edge of the wood.
The old adobe house at Cucamonga,
squatted at the foot Of the frowning
j sierra, is in ruins. Lizards crawl in and
out its gaping DOORS Black, winged
creatures make hollow, ghostly echoes
in the silent rooms. The mocking birds
that nest among the thicket Of orange
trees sing to ruin and decay. Half a
century has gone by, and men, still won
dering, ask:
"Where lie Tapia' S treasures?"
The old encino guards its secret we'll
San Francisco Call.