Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1899-04-27

ing heavy felt hats and with red blan-
kets drawn across their mouths. They
sat still until about the time all travel
had ceased on the highway above. They
were planning, in low voices, the di-
vision of the spoils when Juanito's hard
little head began 60 throb consciously.
The first thing he heard to understand
was that Miguel was to turn the coach
over at exactly that spot, and that
Don Hypolite had the money for the
years pulque from his San Martin ha-
cienda, and the Dona Yncs had been
to bale in Puebla, and had on her
mothers diamonds.
"If the fall does not KILL" growlcd
one, ga tap of the good friend here
and Juanito heard him slap his pistol.
Juanito heard, and, though sick and
dazed, comprehended. He could not
sec how he could prevent it. He knew
that when the coachman tipped the
carriage down the barranca Dona Yncs
would be hurt, and if she were not
hurt enough they would kill her. All!
he would not get his ccrtavo il Dona
Ynes was killed. The thought moved
him-poor, little, dying baby!
He tried to raise himself, but the eff
fort increased the deadly nausea. 4
night wind was blowing and rustled the
leaves; under cover of that noise he
could move freely if he could keep
from crying. And keep from crying he
would, for even his short life had given
him self-control and courage. lie was
not an American child, who screams
when it is explained kindly that he
cannot have the moon. He began to
move, pulling himself up by inches,
forced often to rest from sheer an
guish, but never moan was wrung
from his lips by the torture.
Several hours must have passed be-
fore he REACHED the highway. When
there, he could not tell which way to
go. lie had lost his sense Of direction,
always extraordinary in Indians. He
thought he heard a shout from below,
as though the men had missed him; SO.
without further cogitation, he dragged
himself along the road. He was cold
with an awful chill that struck out
from the bones. The blood steadily ran
down his face from the crack in his
skull He was afraid he was going
in the wrong direction; before this
he should have heard the clip, clip of
the housekeeping black mares. His
tongue was getting too big for his
mouth, and his heart roared like wild
thing within him.
Suddenly he heard the rumbling of
the carriage, and he fancied he
could see the shining TANKS of Don
Hypolite's beautiful thoroughbreds.
He gave q cry, another, and another.
They were driving rnpidly-and drir-
ing by!
AS they swept past, for the first time,
he burst out crying, and sank in the
dust. Dona Ynes, inside the carriage,
was jerking violently at the cord.
"Why. does he not stop? Oh, papa,
call Miguel to stop. Some one called
me; some one is hurt by the road"
Don Hypolite put his head out and
ordered Miguel to drive slowly back.
The guilty scamp did so reluctantly.
The carriage halted by the side of little
sobbing Juan, and Dona Ynes jumped
out. She had dropped her fur coat,
for the night was warm, and her bare
arms shone millkywhite through the
meshes of lace mantilla. The man.
tilla was fastened by a gold-and-tur-
quoise comb to the high knot of dusky
hair, and the curved edges tapped CO.
quettishly about the roguish face.
Regardless of her satin ball-gown, she
knelt in the dust by Juanito. After he
had told her and Don Hypolite of the
plan to rob and murder them, she car
ried him herself in her round arms
to the carriage, while Don Hypolite,
portly and courtly, in evening dress,
with a half-dozen decorations glitter
ing on his breast, went back calmly,
and pulled Miguel by the coat-collar OFF
his seat. Relieving the rascal of his
pistol and kicking him soundly, Don
Hypolite took the relns ana uIoNe
back to Puebla, leaving Miguel rubbing
his aches and wondering how 1T hap
pened.
The motion of the carriage so Jared
the little pain-racked frame that Dona
Ynes, thinking that it must be mat
ter of but few moments, asked her
father to stop. Juanito whispered to
her that he could not breathe, that
he wished to be outdoors, where he
could see the stars; so Dona Ynes'
tenderly holding the child, sat in the
grass by the road.
Alas! he could breathe no better
under the quiet stars. There was the
croakiAg of frogs and the song of night
birds, and the soft wind rustling
through the low shrubs. He lifted a
wistful face, and with long, laboring
breaths he managed to say:
81 want my centavo."
hall 1,ar coho !