Evening star., 1898-04-02
THE CAVE OF AVARICE.
WRITTEN FOB THE EVENING STAR By CLINTON ROSS.
Copyright 1885, BY Clinton Ross)

How I came to Corpus Christi in Sonora
I need not tell; and am glad 1 need not,
for it is at the best a shameful story. Yet
there 1 fancied 1 could put my past away. l
was sure those had wronged would not
follow me so far, and felt safe-if a man
can be safe from his memories. For men,
ories now and then would come, would
bother; then I longed for money with
which to make restitution with hurried
desire. For what had left was but pit
tance to keep me for many years in this
simple Mexican village. 1 had lost most
that had stolen in many ventures, taken
in the vain hope.
Have you ever been in Mexico? Can you
imagine that village far away over the
border-its long sunny street, between the
adobe houses; its fstless folk, with more
of the Indian than the Spaniard. High
above on both sides were the street scat
tered slopes Of the mountains; and a quar-
ter mile up the valley. on a rounded hill.
stood the old monastery of Corpus Christi,
buided, ii was said, by a generation that
had known Montezuma. Who knows? Per-
haps the monks did-these few brown
cowled brothers, the survivors Of the great
order. AS l sat, idly smoking, 1 Won
dered at them. thinking how much easier
a monastery might have been for me.
Of the monks. The villagers sometimes
chatted with me. knew all the affairs of
my fat landlady and her black-eyed daugh-
ter, about whom three young fellows were
passionate. These folk had been curious
when had appeared on donkey back from
over the slope. But habit stiles curiosity,
and lived on, almost the sole guest Of the
old Inn. For the mountain village was out
of the way of travel; centuries had passed
since 1t 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 in such an out
talk Of the world seem of no moment; and
as 1 say, longed with an ever-increasing
desire for all l had frittered away-honor
and position and love had lost in the New
bitter and the summers fierce, but where
the old habit of my Anglo-Saxon blood
called. All, II I only had money to repair
that wrong. For gold 1 longed. and of its
potentiality dreamed.
l mad been at Corpus Christi year be-
fore the two who were to bs my COM
rades appeared. One-I knew him as John
Fenton-was a little, clerky, bookish man
eyes; yet plainly man of gentle breeding.
The other, who called himself Borden, was
his antithesis, burly, red-faced. oath
finging bravo. What interests, wondered.
dare ask them of their past. of their bond
Of union, lest they should ask of mine
Possibly they hal the same reason, for
they never inquired. We knew that We
lation and the same conditions of past
make strange companionship. In despera-
tion-among these simple village folkI
struck up friendship with Borden. Many
of the inn, playing gloomily with greasy
pack Borden had. On one thing We
agreed; we wanted money; that alone
would repair the cloak Of respectability
we had worn threadbare
AS We talked little Fenton would smile
glcomily, and would disappear up the slope
to the monastery. For he strangely had
made an acquaintance there; and every
manuscripts flom the library of the place;
records, forgotten by scholars-of the early
history Of Sonora. Then Borden let drop
the only remark he ever had about the
liIguist. who had been a tutor at a New
England college. Again I wondered what
had brought together these two, SO dissim-
liar.
we were sitting by Pickering candles in
my room Borden and l, at our gaming,
and Fenton reading a manuscript he had
brought that day from the monastery. The
monks. an illiterate lot, did not care for,
or note, their treasures of the time when
Spain was great, and her venturesome gen.
tlemen were about these far mountains
seeking gold and it's power. Possibly these
this pale, little-faced man, who amused his
exile with papers that to them had no
value; for. as 1 have said, scholarship had
died in that closter.
'If it were so,' said Fenton. looking at
US suddenly.
"Eh, what's so, Bob? said Dordan.
''That Miguel Santos left his treasures
in the mountains back from Corpus
Christi"
H said Borden, stop your - lingo.
No such luck
Luck" said I wearily. maligning my
own.
Listen" said the little man, whose past
say 1 wondered at, and he read:
In those days the governor ruled Sonora
not so much as Miguel Santos. Nay, San
tos laid tribute of the governor, and Of all
who passed; and Miguel Santos wealth was
great beyond imagination. Yet every piece
of gold, they say, was blood stained!'
There are Others" said Borden, dealing
the cards.
Listen" said the other rather eagerly.
but in his old age remorse seized Sam
tos, and he retired into the monastery OF
Corpus Christi, where he led in every re-
spect sanity hfe-save in the single one,
that he made no restitution. To this day