The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1912-10-17
q Little Dream of Empire.
Paper Selected from The Success Magazine and Read Before the
Chautauqua Circle by A. N. Apache.

the great forlorn hope. A forget
me-not plucked from the garden of
recollections- recollections Of bet
ter day when | shared of the hos
pitality of those simple. saint-lov-
ing God fearing folks of Southern
Mexico.
If l were a philosopher / might
reflect. AS it is, | shall tell the story
simply. There isn't much to tell;
just the events of a few days, the
futile asperations of human pawn
on the chessboard of Destiny. 1t
is bit of true pathos in a mosaic
of farce; tragedy of comic-opera
revolution.
1t happened at Los Cuerros,
which. if you look upon the map,
is some ewhere just across the imagin-
airy line which separates the U. S.
from the land of MANANA. Los
Cuerros consists in the m a n of
about half a hundred buildings given
to the drinking of strong liquors
and the playing of games of chance.
Then there are other buildings de-
voted to purposes worse. For the
land to the north made an effort to
be decent, and many things driven
across the border made here their
last camp. The town is depot for
smugglers of coolies and opium, and
a refuge for petty offenders whose
malfeasance never rose to an impor-
tance justifying extradition.
Near the border is the custom
house in the hands of Mexican Of
ficials, sleek, fat-jowled set who
wiring bribes from the rich and blood
from the poor with equal avidity.
Then on the barren plain which
surrounds the town are the wretch
ed mud huts of the chalos. How
they exc out an existence in so en-
hospitable an environment, G d
only knows or seems to care. But
this | know: when the cattle were
butchered the poor came to the alb
attoir-grizzled old men, lean faced
women and smiling children
carried off the offal, every scrap of
it. for food. And this, and worse
than this, is Los Cuerros. There is
not residence worthy Of the name,
! not building devoted to the more
legitimate pursuits of commerce,
not church, not school. 1t is a
nest of parasites on the desert; a
town of two nations with the virtues
of neither.
But at the time / best know, it
was hardly scene of gaity, how
ever rough. The garnish lights no
longer disputed the serene suprem-
acy of the myraid stars, and the
musical silence was unbroken by
the mechanical discords of the elect
ric piano. Well | remember those
nights of earth and sky and crisp
cool air, when we heard only the
steady tread of some maurader in
our own ranks, or the incisive qui-
en- vive?" of some unseen sentinel.
For we of the Army of Liberation
were in possession. A strange ad-
mixture we; in truth more like an
armed mob ,han an army. Outlaws
from both sides the border, Yaqui
and Peon, derelict and super tramp,
cowboy and adventure, socialist and
malcontent-undrilled. undisclplin-
ed, intoxicated by freedom from the
thousand restraints Of organized
civilization which had so long held
us in check. Among those W b o
formed the group to which l be-
longed was tall slender lad, who
seemed to command attention with
out demanding it, 1.-the and dark
and sinewy, his was the brow of the
intellectual and the eye of the dream
er. As blood thursty as a young wolf,
he had the department of a high
school boy, an adventurer with the
mien of cavalier, an outlaw with
the imagination of a poet. We be-
came acquainted one night as we
paced lonly beat side by side.
That day we had passed through
our first skirmish, he and / in the
same rife-pit. and had laughed at
the bullets and jeered at the enemy