The times., 1897-03-12

OF all places to oppress one with the fruit
lessness of life, there is none like unto the
southern portion of the Colorado River.
Other rivers-notably such q one as the
Gila-may flow through asbarren acountry,
but the desolation is different; it is sug-
gestive of what is yet to be, while the
Colorado, at the south. rolls lifelessly
through a land that is OF O past so hope
lessly dead, so far away, that There is
neither memory Of itremaining nor chance
of resurrection OF its vanished bones. There
seems alway VS. TO be visible fromits banks, if
banks they can be called, some faint blue
gray mountain peak off in the distance,
beyond the plain with its rare groups
of cottonwoods and its occasional lonely
adobe. And there is something that makes
one sad ana restless in the sight Of those
misty lines OF mountains, something a
thousand-fold more depressing than in a
prairie that meetsitsow unbroken horizon.
Eyenlng-which seems the only time
that should ever he there-waS coming upon
this country of forgotten aeons. There
was 10 color anywhere. The yellow of
the sky was only a pale glimmer over
the whitening blue; the green OF the trees
was dulled by the dust and the twilight;
the country was a level dun stretch, and
the mountains-far, far away-were only
a shading OF uncertain blue. There was
but one house in sight, an adobe 400 yards
or less from the river; but there was no sign
or sound of life except the quiet rattling
of the cottonwood leaves in the evening
wind
Yet in among the Willows by the river
was a small, canvas-Covered wa gon. Two
thin bronchos were hobblcd near by, and
a man was gathering sticks for fire.
There was little dry wood so near the
stream, and he went out into the open in
front of the abode He was in no hurry.
All the night was before him, SO he stood,
with his thumbs looked III his cartridge
belt, looking at the house. lie wondered
IL it would be worth his W hilc to make the
acquaintance of the 'greasers' who I'M
doubtcdly inhabited it, They might offer
him hospitality for the night; but he had
learned by experience that Mexican hos
pitality usually implies dirt, and he dis
liked dirt. 1t was a question in his mind
whether a blanket under the wagon would
not be preferable. And while he debated,
the flat hoard door Of the adboe opened,
and a woman came out. She was slender,
therefore she was young-so reasoned the
man, who knew McXicans. More than
that he could not see. After a time She
went back into the house, and he fell to
gathering sticks.
When the N oon rose, and he, having fin
ishcd his supper, was sitting beside the
dying campfire, peaccfuly smoking, the
low Willows parted, and the girl of the
adobe stood near him. She was pretty
in the ideal Mexican way-red and full
Tipped, brightly Colored, large-ey ed, with
two great braids Of purple black hair, and
she was dressed with surprising neatness
in fresh, white flock ana crude pink
ribbons
'Ah! beg your pardon, senior; knew
Io-o 7at you wear hicr" she cried, start
ing back.
The man arose He was aware that
1t was totally improbable that she had not
seen him when she had been standing in
the doorway; lie was also aware that she
must have observed the smoke Of his fire.
nevertheless, he spoke and said: Sc
rorita. l viii go away And he stood
quite stiIl.
"Ah. 10. Eet must be me to co. and
she, TOO, stond still. "Eet ees zat come
each night hcr TO sect, an knew note
zat you wear hier,'' she repeated.
lit gives me much pleasure TO see you.
VIII YOU not sit here with me?' He spread
a blanket on the ground near the bright
Goals, and motioned to her, with deep
tow, To be seated, She took her place,
and he, stretching himself ut her feet,
leaning upon one elbow, offered her a ci-
gare tie.
Her name, it transpired very soon, was
Anita-Anita Manara, his, he told her was
Richard Lowell. They fell a-talking, and
he did what was expected OF him-made
desperate love instantly; while she did
what he had expected her to do, responded
with only enough reserve to keep up the
illusion of Filtration. Principles of Sc
verify may flourish upon mountain heights
may withstand great temptation, but on
the southern prairies of a summer night,
when the moon is full and shedding gold
light through the Willows, and a slow
river trickles by, and the only voices are
those of the cricketS and of Mexican
woman, and the woman is beautiful,
morality is at ebb tide, and principles melt
like hard, white pearls in wine. Here in
the halftropic Southwest, with an unwise
child of sixteen, OF an amorous race, the
rather lax code of honor of Richard Lowell