The Goodland republic. [volume] (Goodland, Kan.) 1891-1907, 1896-05-01

been widely spread through all of the
Candado de Los Angeles, and the
storyof Encourages committed against
the property of his friends farther
north had moro than sympathetic sig
nifeance to him. Day after day he pom
dered and his purpose grew.
The rumors of war on the Rio
Grande became louder and louder, and
at length, when the grapes Of Cuca-
monga were taking on the purple hues
of the distant canyons, word was
brought that the stars and stripes Of
Los Estados Unidos had been raised
at Monterey, Don Tiburcio said moth
ing, but the next day announced to
Marianita that he must journey to Los
Angeles. Close as was the tie which
bound these two, the traditional pride
and faith Of her race permitted nodoubt
nor further question than the simple:
Gam I to go with you, papasito?" When
the hesitating reply came: mo, can
not very well take you, hiji mia, " this
proud little descendant of old CASTLE
thought for only a moment, 81 wonder
why?" then dismissed the subject from
her mind, and sent her father upon his
journey with a close abrazo and tender
words of farewell.
Don Tiburcio journeyed to the pueblo
without adventure or mishap. Two
amigos viejos, apprised Of his arrival
by one of his household servants, dined
with him al fresco, and as they smoked
their cigaritOs under the shadow of
the orange tree, Califcrnia's position
in the present struggle between Mexico
and Los Estados was discussed with
great warmth. At length, when the
lateness of the hour penetrated the
consciousness of their heated spirits,
the two friends arose, and with the for
NAL courtesy which the closest init
macy never alters, babe their host
'Buenas noches, Don Tiburcio, voya
V'd con Dios manana" C'Good night.
Don Tiburcio, God be with you tO-mor-
Tow'O. He had not disclosed, even to
these two tried and true old friends,
the object of his visit to the pueblo.
In that darkest hour before the dawn,
when all his household slumbered, Don
Tiburcio arose, listened for a moment,
and finding all still, crept cautiously
out into the wide hall of the house.
Noiselessly drawing the bolt Of the
outer door, he glided around the east
corner Of the house to the servants
quarters. Here again all was still, save
for the occasional mutterings of the
sleepers within.
"Domingo!" whispered Don Thur
clio, and out Of the darkness a tall figure
arose and stole silently toward him.
With no further word or sign the two
passed away toward the stables. Here
Domingo drew out a cumbrous four
wheeled "carreta del pals" which
rolled out with dismal creakings. Hur-
riedly oiling the numbering vehicle, so
that its eomplainings were instantly
hushed, he yOled to it q pair of we'll
ted, slow-moving oxen. Then, always
with quick, gliding motions, ne sad
died Don Tiburcio'g horse, and Just as
the day was lighting up the crown Of
FL VieJo Calvo, master and servant
passed out of the great gate, the mas
ter astride his favorite horse Paloma,
his Indian attendant walking beside
the cumbrous carreta, which contained,
beside large metal box, with strong
brass clasps, pickaxes and shovels of
various sizes and degrees Of strength.
Slowly they wendell thcirway toward
the Rancho de San Jose, and as they
rode the golden glory Of the day gilded
the crests of the Sierra Madre. Rev
erently Don Tiburcio raised his broad
Eombrero, and the silent but observant
Indian clasped his arms and dropped
his head upon his breast, The oxen
stood still. With his eyes upon the
glory-crowned Sierra, Don Tiburcio
chanted his morning prayer Of praise
and thanksgiving, to which the Indian
added a low-toned amen, and, quietly
laying his hand upon the nearest Of
the oxen, they resumed their slow
journey.
The sun rose high in the heavens,
the purple canyons of the still distant
mountains grew hay with the days
Feat, and the long line of hills to the
south grew faint and indistinct. Slow
ly, slowly the sun passed over their
heads and sank down below the level
horizon. a cool breeze came lightly
toward them. The glow of the sunset
died, and the dusk, like a mist, softly
fell and wrapped them within impalpa-
BILE, invisible folds, through which the
light breeze foated like the touch Of
spirit that wanders.
In silence they journeyed, the Indian
moving like a shadow beside the slow
rolling carreta, while the stars flung
dowu a soft white light like the CLEAN
Of the blooms in the orange groves. The
Indian and the master, each in mis- own
way, felt the silent power Of the forces
of the night; perhaps within the In
dams untutored soul it stirred the
wider depths of poetry. But he gave
no sign, only patiently guided the plOd-
ding oxen,
The stars paled, and as the gray light
Of another dawn lifted the shadowy
mists from the cornfelds and vine
yards Domingo and his master halted
under ths old Encino del Tinaje, Here
DOmingO's face took on its first express