Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1897-06-05
Padre AmbrOSiO'S Beads
By CLARENCE PULLEN.
copyright, 1896, by the Author.1

Copyright, 1885, by the Author.l
Padre Ambrosio sat on the mud bench
in front of his modest whitewashed
adobe house in the Indian village OF
Santo Domingo, his eyes dancing and
twinkling. He smiled blandly to him
self, and more than once with mys-
terious air he placed his forefinger be-
side his nose, as if to make it the conf
dant of some pleasant secret The sun
had long ago gone below the mountains
beyond the Rio Grande, and the mid
summer evening had become agreeably
cool. About the doorways and upon the
terraced roofs of the compact, populous
little New Mexican town groups Of peo-
pie sat silent or gossiping in low tones.
Except for the fitf1l tiny glow of a
cigarette here and there, not light
showed among the houses.
The padre was more fully dressed
than might have been expected of
priest who had said vespers and pre-
sumably had nothing further to do that
night than to get comfortably cool and
70 to bed. Stout riding boots showed
below his black gown, and broad
brimmed sombrero lay on the bench at
his side. His ample rosary, closely
strung with beads, passed thrice around
his neck. hung in folds on his chest,
and the last loop. with the pendent cross,
dangled below his rotuBd waist.
Old Anita, his Mexican housekeeper,
evidently had theories of her own con-
cerning the reasons Of her masters OBJ
vious preparations for all outing, and
as she looked from the small, square
window upon her master she nodded her
head, showed her two or three lone vel.
low teeth in smile Of mysterious
meaning and recalled her girlhood, 30
years back, as she smoked her cigarette,
which at each inhalation illumined for
a moment a wrinkled, parchmentlike
face that would have befitted one OF
"Macbeth's" witches.
The dusk grew deeper, and the people
almost with one movement drew into
their houses to their slumbers. But the
padre still sat before his door. His good
humor had begun to be invaded by
something like impatience, the effort to
control that feeling led TO drowsiness,
and he was nearly asleep when three
Indians of the village, one of them lead
ing burro, or ass, silently emerged
from the shadows of the house walls
and approached the nodding priest.
They were attired after the manner OF
their tribe in white cotton tunics, buck
skin leggings and moccasins, and about
the long black hair of each was bound
red fillet. Padre Ambrosio opened his
eyes and was wide awake in an instant
In a low tone he accosted the comers:
"Ha, Pablo, Nicholas, Miguel, see
you are here as you promised, and you
have brought the burro for the saving
of my weary steps. Well, lead on. I am
ready"
The padre approached the ass, but the
foremost Indian, whom he had called
Pablo stood by the saddle and barred
the way. His face was set and stern and
he addressed the priest in voice which,
though respectful, was grimly deter
mined.
Father" said he, "you know the
conditions under which We are to make
our journey.
The priests countenance fell but he
answered in manner that seemed some
what forced, though it was cheerful:
"It is we'll my children. Your eau
ton is excessive, but will respect it
and do your bidding. Proceed with
what you have 10 do, and I absolve you
for laying profane hands upon the sa-
cred person of priest.
The Indian who had spoken unrolled
from his waist a long, closely woven
sash, with which he thoroughly band
aged the eyes of the priest, drawing
each fold tight and strongly securing
the ends in place. The world was all
abyss of darkness to the padre, when the
Indian spoke again:
Father, we will now fulfill our COM
pact and take you to the place you have
80 long desired to see. But bear this in