The Bellefontaine Republican. [volume] (Bellefontaine, Logan County, Ohio) 1855-1905, 1899-09-12

glowed like a red rose, but he hung
back and fretted for Teja, who would
not go and had even hidden himself in
the adobe hut ungrateful beast that he
wasi
"Thou must stay with Manuel until
sundown; then come thou bome to-
gether. Thou wilt come then. 'mio
amigo3' This to her husband.
eff naught should happen" he re-
piled indifferently in his Mexican
speech, and she answered. ''Bueno."
and went about her work.
Up, up, the Indian climbed over the
long slope that led to the herding, up
to where the mesa breaks into cliff
and in the deep trough filed with soft
sweet grass to where the sheep and
goats were herded. The last were
browsing on the very edge of the cliffs.
among the rocks of many colored clay.
which are SO beautiful that some one
has said of them that, like the dearest
woman. they can never be adequately
photographed.
OF what was the Indian thinkingf
Not of the grandeur of his native coun-
try nor of the time when he would be
one of the sheep kings Of the territory.
No; he was thinking where he could
make a little grave.
In his pocket was the bottle of color
less fluid the Americanos had left for
use on the vagrant cur, and if it would
SO nicely kill dog why, then. the child
should not suffer. and Anita would soon
forget if he was found asleep-that lit
| tie Jean-where he had wandered. As
for himself he would go at Easter and
give himself 800 blows with the peni-
tentes, and he would whip much harder
than if he had only stolen a COW, and
he would carry the heaviest cross and
after the discipline of castigation there
would be the masses for the repose of
little Jeans soul. 1t would be all right
Poor little Jeanl When he had SMELL
ed obediently of the 80 nice Americana
medicine. his bright eyes drooped and
closed, and his pretty head with its
| glistening brown curls lay quietly on
Manuel's shoulder. and the red drained
from his round cheeks. Then that
traitor believed he could safely leave
him in hollow. where he dug a shallow
grave, covering the child from sight
with freshly plucked grass and green
leaves. He hurried 80 that if any one
came he could say it was one of the
lambs that had died. Poor lambl
Anita had the ''frijoles'' for supper
ready when Manuel came home alone.
She asked him where little Jean was
and he told her, with foolish laugh
that she was trying to frighten hin
(Manuel) for that little Jean had only
gone half way and then turned back
But he was afraid of the glare in hel
eyes, as if the light had been stricker
out
"He go so little way by me-he wan
mooch his madre and he come back.
She searched for him like a mad
thing-she and the cur, who had gon'
an hour before to look for his playmat'
and who found him first.
Manuel dared not stay in the lone
some little hut that night, and he wen
where men were carousing and forgo
himself in drink. The next day he la,
like log in the herding, but the mex
night he went boldly home and fount
the cabin lighted with tapers and tn
priest chanting prayers for the repos
of the dead. Then Anita had given III
hope of ever finding the boyf That wa
well, and he slipped in to kneel by hi
wife and join in the responses.
But, Santa Maria, what was there
The child he had buried was alive an,
! well, dressed like the Holy Babe, an
| held in its mothers arms who woul,
have looked veritable Madonna onl.
/ for the fierce hatred that shone in he
eyes as they rested on that traito
| Manuel. Why, even Teja was there
with wreath of jewels on his ugl
neckl And well he might be, for al
' though the Indian did not know it j
was the cur that had found Jean befor
3 it was too late and had rescued the lii
tie fellow by scratching away the GOV
3 ering from his insufficient grave. Wit
3 wild cry of horrid rage and disaI
| pointment Manuel drew a knife an
3 hurled himself on the little group, onl
to be seized by strong hands, and ho'
! it happened no one ever cared to know
a but the treacherous knife found il
/ way to his own black heart.
q And the priest continued chantin
D prayers for the repose Of the dead
! Mrs. NJ L. Rayne in Short Stories.