Clarke courier. [volume] (Berryville, Va.) 1869-1997, 1901-11-13
rs THE EAGLE FLIETH''
A Porto RiCan
Romance.
BIZ WILL LEXINGTON COMFORT.

Two months after the squad of
dozen troopers rode into the noun
tam town of Coroxal, far in the high
interior of Porto Rico, big Darby
was doing his trick at stable guard.
1t was that wonderful half hour at
the close of tropical day when the
hush of twilight rests upon the
mountains and the dark is climbing
silently, steadily up from the valleys
and gorges. The troop horses were
buried in their nose bags. Darby
sat upon bale of hay, with his car
bine lying across his lap. He was at
peace with himself chiefly because
five weeks had passed since pay
day. a little native girl was ventur-
ing shyly toward him. He said
Good evening" in Spanish, and a
queer tingle crept up from his boots
when he heard how sweet and low
her voice was. She rechned daintily
upon a bale OF hay and rolled ciga-
rettes for the big fellow to smoke.
Never in the history of military
men did a trick at guard duty pass
so quickly.
The days which followed were
strange ones for Trooper Darby.
Often the senorita watched him
from a balcony or walked past his
quarters in the evening. She was
always in the plaza when he was. 1t
was in Darby to treat her as he
would a little girl, and vet an in
stinc, hidden somewhere forbade.
Since Darby's first enlistment
long ago he had Stunned women.
He was a quiet fellow usually and
had more manner and far more
mind than were needed for a soldier.
lie had killed grown mans ambi-
tlon with the feeble satisfaction of
being a clean, obedient soldier. but
he had so much time and energy
left over that despair sometimes
crept into the vacuum Then it was
that Trooper Darby vent to the
canteen, in which case he fell short
of his single ambition. The stripes
of nOncOmmissioned officer were
removed so often from his sleeve
that he finally refused 10 have them
replaced at all. SO, in spite of in
tervals of fine soldering, he remain
ed Private Darby.
The last four months of his en-
hstment were passing quickly in the
high Porto Rican town of Coroxal
and passing strangely too. The
days were full of troubled thoughts,
and the. evenings 80 the evenings
we're beautiful. Queer indeed are
the little Porto Rican naidens. They
know nothing of the world except
/ their own fruit laden. rain shower
ed hills, but they are moved by the
hearts Of women. They are without
education, yet possessed of woman's
art. They drink VINE in their JOY
and rum in their despair. They
light a cigarette in their babyhood.
/ 1t Is still lighted in their dying. For
breakfast they have coffee and ciga-
rettes; for dinner a fried plantain,
with cigarettes before and after; for
supper they drink the Juice of an
orange, followed By an evening of
cigarettes and native wines; hence
they are ready to die at the age
when a northern woman is looking
for a husband. They adore music.
They are fairies in the dance, grand
mothers at 80. The genius of ro-
nance lives in their land. Marie,
who ventured shyly down to the
picket line that night, was one of
these.
a little above the town, in the
very heights, was a little bamboo
shack, where Marie and her old
mother lived and wove white straw
into hats and delicate bamboo strips
into mating. After retreat in the
evening big DARBY would be seen
striding up this steep trail. 1t was
very beautiful to SIT up there beside
the little hill maiden. Far below
the lights of the town twinkled, and
sometimes when the breeze was
right the voices of the soldiers could
be heard singing dreamily of their
native land All about rose the
cliff shadows, and Oh their tops the
moon flung a veil of misty gray,
and Marie would turn her great dark
eyes upon big Darby. Those eyes
of hers shone through the dark, for
the moonlight was in them, and be-
hind, in the doorway of the shack,
Sat the old mother, humming like
one who had lived her life and now
only bides.
Darby would have liked to take
the little girl upon his knees and
talk to her as he might have done
to child of her age and size back in
the States, but every time this
thought came the heart within him
throbbed a warning. Marie was not
a child. She was a woman who
would have been made happy indeed