Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1898-09-07

of San Juan must be very i'll and
wanted the padre for confession. 1t
would be o long ride for the good old
man, because San Juan was many
miles away. He would be absent
from the town for over day.
Pulling at the strings of his SOU
tame, Padre Francisco rode on, his
old black coat tapping in the breeze.
Il was so old and shabby that even
Panchita's dark eyes could Lot but
remark it. Poor Padre Francisco,
with no one TO look after his clothes
he really deserved better cloak
than that shabby thingl Perhaps, if
she asked her father, he would allow
her to take the cloak that had be-
longcd to her uncle, o priest of the
same order rs Padre Francisco, to
give to the latter. And the hood
that the padre wore, covering his
head and nearly all his face-was ever
anything seen like it? One could, of
surety, wear it to masquerade;
perhaps she might borrow it for the
next 'Beile dc Mascaros. At the
thought she laughed and choked-it
would be a good disguise.
The next moment she was weeping
her heart out. For now she knew
what to do, aud Santiago should be
saved. There was plan. Now to
carry it out.
At six o'clock that evening the SOL
der on guard before Sautiago's, door
admitted without auestion. the tl,in-
-sroUpuu rorm OF Padre francisco,
cloaked and hooded in his usual man
per, and carrying prayer-books. The
father was silently telling his beads,
and the soldier bowed humbly as he
opened the door, speaking no word.
For no Catholic is privileged to ad-
dress o priest who is counting his
rosary-beads-it is sign that silence
is desired.
The cell door opened and closed
silently after the padre, and tho
watches outside heard smothered,
impatient ejaculation from Private
Moreno, who was smoking cigarette
and trying lard to write that adios to
Panchita. Then the door was locked,
for the padre was going to confess the
prisoner, and the guards retired, laugh
ing at the idea Of confession for San
tiago-the wickedest dog in the army.
Lounging in the doorway, the SOL
diers speculated lazily as to what was
going on in the condemned cell, it was
so quiet Not even murmur could
be heard, and finally the men agreed
that the padre was praying silently,
with Santiago railing in the other cor
ner of the room.
1t was dark-quite dark-when
Padre Francisco came out, with head
bowed lower than ever, cloak wrapped
disconsolateiy about him, and fingers
still telling his beads. Ho had been
there for an hour, and surely Santiago
was either talked down OF dead by
this time. "Shall we 60 and see?'
asked guard.
-"No, hombre; let the poor brute
Alone" said another.
To the men who watched au night
for fear that the prisoner might escape,
it seemed o century before midnight
gave way to the darkness that comes
before dawn, though to the prisoner-
quien sabe! Such waiting is hard
even on the men who are not to die,
and there was sound of relief when
at last the first bugle souude>.; it was
time to get the prisoner aud march.
Because soldier is allowed two privi-
leges-to be. executed before dawn,
and to be shot in his Uniform. There
was no need to change the clothes of
Private Santiago Moreno; SO far as
costume was concerned, he was ready.
In front of the prison, stif1y drawn
up into line, in the darkness, stood
the squad Of the Twenty Third Private
Moreno's own regimentl, who were to
attend to the claw of fire." and in the
corridor waited impatiently the two
guards who were detailed to walk on
either side of him. The prisoner,
however, WAS not ready: I'd deep dis
gust and scorG was shown on every
face when tho warden appeared and
stated grimly that the prisoner was
weeping, and had begged one moments
grace. Weeping, indeed! A pretty
way for O soldier of the Twenty-Third
to die! And men who had thought
privately that they would aim low in
the ley de fuga, hardened their hearts
"a coward did not deserve such treat
ment.
That the prisoner, barely visible in
the gray dawn, was perfectly calm
and composed when he did appear
made no difference to them: perhaps
he had mustered up some courage, af-
ter his weeping, but he had played
the coward for all that, and coward's
death was no loss.
Out on the bare, swampy plains Of
San Geronimo, just where Mt. Ajusco
rises up, bleak and rock-covered, was
the place of execution. The walk was
not long for the men, to the sound of
the mufHed marcia, but very dreary.
There was hardly light enough to SEQ
each others faces, and the trees and
cactus shrubs loomed up gray and
ghostly along the side Of the rocky