River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1901-06-06

ing back. 1t was playing Home, Sweet
Home, and l can't stand it any longer.
You don't know what home is down
here. None of your people do. How
can you, living as you do? But know.
had home once, and Pm going back
to it."
The strength which had come with
his excitement left the old man and
he sank down on the bench. Manuel,
thinking to quiet him, brought him the
mescal bottle. Chamberlain drank,
but chung to the idea fixed in his mind.
To Manuel such a thing was worse
than folly. 1t was sheer madness, for
the old man had told him many a time
of the trouble which had made him
fee the states and which had made
the Rio Grande the boundary of for
hidden land. The thought of what he
might lose financially did not enter his
head. With long years of association
he had come to like the old man, and
Drunken Gringo" though he was-he
wanted to save him from harm This
idea was strong in him, and he hur-
thought, might have influence with
Chamberlain. They came and they
argued their best, but the old man was
firm.
81 tell you I'm going back" he in
sisted. I'm going back, even if they
do get me-"
Hell have changed his mind by to-
morrow" said the jefe politico. 'They
say the prisons in his land are worse
than those we have, and"
A significant shake of the head
showed what the jefe thought.
But on the morrow old man Cham
berlain was as firm as ever. The music
box was picked up and repaired, and
the mescal bottle was refilled. Manuel
and his friends argued All in vain.
Finally they held consultation. It
was in one end of the cantina. In the
tening to the music box and fitting to
its airs the words: "I'm going back,
I'm going back, I'm going back again"
When the consultation was ended,
Manuel came to him.
I'm going back, tell you." said the
old man, his voice keeping time to the
music.
Isl, 81. You shall go back" answered
Manuel. 'But will go back with you.
Then, perhaps, they won't get you"
I'm going back, I'm going back,
I'm going back again." persisted old
man Chamberlain, as the music box
continued to shakingly grind out its
tunes.
That night there was a long talk,
and the mescal bottle was emptied
and reemptied. Manuel talked and
the iefe politico talked and old man
Chamberlain crooned his one refrain.
But he listened to the arguments. He
had no money, and Manuel could not
pay the expenses to New York. That
did not matter to the old man. New
York was dream so far in the past
that it had ceased to be real. But the
United States still existed for him, and
if he could step foot in them once
more he would be content. So it was
arranged.
The next night as the Mexican Cen
men got off. One was Manuel; the
other was the Drunken Gringo." It
was still light, and slowly, by back
streets, they made their way to sa-
loon. There a bottle OF mescal was
secured. When it was empty Manuel
went to the door and looked out.
Come" he said. st is time"
Old man Chamberlain totteringly
rose from his chair. He drew him
self as erect as he could, and walked
to the street. In his hand he held the
empty mescal bottle, which he had
been grasping as it stood on the table.
Slowly Manuel led the way to the
stretch of dry sand which, for geo.
graphical purposes, is called a river.
care you sure? Is this the way?"
asked the old man, as they stumbled
along.
"Si, 81. I am sure. I know the
way" replied Manuel
Gradually they went down sandy
incline. Then they crossed small
plain cut up by minute arroyos. Then
there was sharp ascent.
Here, here" whispered Manuel, in
a frightened voice that showed he was
trembling as though he was the one
who stood in fear of the law.
"Are you sure?" again protested the
old man. "Are you sure? Is this really
the United States?"
Eyes, yes. Look" answered Manuel,
as he pointed to one side where could
be seen the lights of the river guard
on duty at the frontier customhouse.
The old man looked. From behind
came the rumble of the street cars as
they crossed the bridge. Straight
ahead, the first one hardly so feet
away, were the lights of FL Paso.
81 believe you. 1t is-it is-home,"
said the old man in a strange voice.
Then he sank on the sand, his face
hidden from sight.
For time Manuel left him. There
was no danger, probably, but to the
friendly Mexican every sound, every
movement of the bushes ahead was a
warning that they should 60 At last