The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1898-04-12

,,,, story Yet there | fancied | could
put my past away. | was sure 'hVee |
had wronged would not follow 50 laF'
and | felt safe-if n man can De slle
from his memories. For memories no"
and then would conc, weuid bother;
then | longed for money with wInch 10
make restitution with y hurried desire.
For what had left was but a plt1ance'
10 keep me for many years III this SIM
nle Mexican village. | had lost most
that | had stolen III many ventures
taken in the vain hope.
Have Won ever been in Mexico: Can
Won imagine that village far away over
the border-its long sunny street, be-
I veen the adobe houses: It's llStlesS fox,
with more Of the Indian than the span
lard. High above on both sldeS was me
street scattered slopes of the noun
tains: and a quarter mile mp the valley
on a rounded hill. stood the old mon
asterv Of Corpus Christi, hu;lded. it was
said, by a generation that had known
MonteZuma. Who knows: Perhaps the
monks did-these few br~OWn-coWled
brothers, the survivors OF the great or
der. AS l sat idly smoking, wondered
at them, thinking how much easier a
monastery might have been for me.
| myself did not make the acluaint-
ance Of the monks. The villagers some
times chatted with me. | knew All the
affairs of my fat landlady and her black
eyed daughter, about whom three young
fellows were passionate. These folk had
been curious when l had appeared on
donkey back from over the slope But
habit STILES curiosity, and L lived on
almost the sole guest OF the old inn.
For the mountain village was out Of
the way of travel; centuries bad passed
since il had been a station on the route
to the now long abandoned silver mines
Of the mountains. And days and
months passed for me as they will III
such an out-of-the-way place, wiere the
events and talk of the world seem of
no moment; and, as I say, l longed with
an e~ver-increasing desire for all I had
frittered away-honor and position and
love l had lost in fine New England town
where the winters might be bitter ana
the summers fierce, but where The Old
habit of my Anslo-Saxon blood called.
All, if / only had money to repair that
wrong. For gold / longed, and Of lis
potentially dreamed.
I had been at Corpus Christi n yea
before the two who were to be my COM
rades appeared. One-I knew him as
John Fenton-was a little clerkly book
ish man with a certain fright always IN
his sunken eyes; vet plainly n man OF
gentle breeding. The other. who called
himself Borden. was his antitheSis. Il
burly. red-faccd. Oath-fiinging bravo.
What interests I wondered did they
have in common. But | did not dare
ask them of their past. Of their bond of
union. lest they should ask Of mine.
Possibly they had the same reason. fer
they never inquired. We knew that we
belonged somewhere over the border.
Isolation, and the same conditions nj
past. make strange companiOnship. III
dcsperation-among these simple village
f0lk-1 struck up a friendship with Dor
den. Many Il sunny day we passed IN
the shaded court of the inn, playing
gloomily with Il greasy pack Borden had.
On one thing we agreed: we wanted
money: that alone would repair the
cloak of responsibility we had worn
t~hreadbare.
AS We talked, little Fenton would
smile gloomily. and would disappear Up
the slope to the monastery. For he
strangely had made an acquaintance
there; and every day he would return
with a pile of old manuscript from the
library of the place; Reconsideration
by scholars-Of the early history of So
nora. Then Borden let drop the only
remark he ever had about the pasts of
either: FentOn was q scholar. Il lin
guist. who had been n tutor at a New
England college. Again | wondered
what had brought together these two,
so dissimilar.
One evening-ah, / never may forget
tive We're sitting by Pickering CANDLE
in my room, Borden and /, at our gam
ing. and Fenton reading a manuscript
he had brought that day from the men
alstery. The monks, an illiterate leI.
did not care, or note, their treasures Of
the time when Spain was great, and her
venturesome gentlemen were about
these far mountaineering gold and
it's power. Possibly these brothers Of
Corpus Christi wondered at this pale.
Ettle-faced a who amused his exile
with papers that to them had no value:
for, as | have said, scholarship had died
in that cloister.
"If it were so,' said Fenton, looking
at us suddenly.
"Eh. what's so. Bob:' said Borden.
"That Miguel Santos left his treas
nres in the mountains back from Cor
pus Christi"
HI" said Borden. "stop your -
lingo. No such luck
"Jnck" said l YEARLY. m~aligning my
own.
"Listen," said the little man, whose
past | say [ wondered at, and he read:
I'm those days the governor ruled So
nora not so much as Miguel Santos.
Nay, Santos laid tribute of the governor.
and of all who passed; and Miguel San
tos' wealth was great beyond magma
ton. Yet every piece of gold, they say,
was blood staincd!'
There are Others said Borden. deal
ing the cards.
"Listen," said the other rather eager
~.
But in his old age remorse seized
Santos. and he retired into TIE monas-
terry of Corpus Christi, where he led in
every respect Il sanity life-Savc in the
single one, that he made no restitution.
To this day the treasure is hid in the
mountains-wealth greater thai all the
Kin of Spain ever had from Peru"
"Eh." said Borden, 81 wish I'd IL.
It's something. Bob. to know as much
as YOU about languages"