The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1919-07-02
CHAPTER x.

ME FTAnclS ana the peon hur-
ried up the ravine trail in safely.
the ravine itself. below where the
oil flowed in, had become a river or
flame, which drove the Jefe, Tor
res and the gendarmes to scale
the steep wall of.-the ravine. sAt
the same time the party Of Ia
'cfendados in pursuit OF the pSon
was compelled to claw back and sup
to escape out Of the roaring canyon.
: Ever the peon glanced back over
his shoulder, until, with a cryFof
Joy he indicated e second black
smoke pillar rising in the air be-
yond the first burning we'll
How much are you WORTH he
demanded Of the peon with appar-
. 'ent fffeIeYahce
But the peoh could not under
stand.
'How much are your clothes
-worth--all you've got onFl
Half a peso: nay. half OF 4 barf
peso the peon admitted rusfuIIy
surveying what was left Of bis tai
tered rags. r-
And other property2'
NOthinE But Debt.
The Wretched creature shrugged
his Shoulders in token. OF his utter
restitution. then added bitterly:
possess nothing but a debt.
owe two hundred and fifty pesos.
l am tied to It for life, damned with
II for life, like. a man with cancer,
Ihat - why 1 am a slave to the
ahciendado."
'Huhi" Francis could not forbear
10 grin Worth two hundred and
n1ty pesos less than nothing, not
even a cipher, a sheer abstraction
OF a minus quantity without exist
ence save In the mathematical i'm
aglnation Of man, and yet here You
are burning up not less than mill
IONS OF pesos. worth OF oil And IL
the strata Is loose and cratic and
the oil. leaks up outside the tubing
the chances are that the oil-body Of
the. entire field Is ignfted-savs a
billion dollars worth. Say. for an
ABSTRACTION, enjoying two hundred
and Nifty dollars worth Of nan
existence, you are some honbre. be-
lievs- nae e
Nothing OF which the peon un-
derstood=saTe the word ''hombre."
am a man" he. proclaimed.
thrustkRg out his chest and straight
ening up his bruised head. 81 an
hombres and I am a Maya"
Maya Ihdian-you?" Francis
Half Maya" was the reluctant
admission MY father Is pgre
Maya But the Maya women Of The
CordiIIeras did not satisfy him.
he must love mixed breed woman
or the terra caliente. 1 was SO
born, but she afterwards betrayed
aim Tor a Barbados niger. and he
went back TO the CordilIeras to live.
And, like my father, was born
10 loye miXed-breed of the TERRA
caliente. She wanted. money and
my head was feYered with want of
her, and I sold myself to be q peon
for two hundred pesos. And I saw
never her nor the money again.
For I'VE years have. been a peon.
For I'VE years have shaved and
been beaten, and behold, at the end
Of i've years, my debt Is not two
hundred, but two hundred and dfty
pesos"
And while Francis Morgan and
the long-suffering Maya half-breed
plodded deeper into the CordilleraS
to overtake their party, and while
the oil fields OF Juchitan continued
to go up in increasing smoke, still
further on, in the heart OF the Cor
dilleras, were preparing other
events destined to bring together
all pursuers and all pursued-Fran-
els and Henry and Leoncia and
and their party; the peon; the par
ty. of the haciendados, and the gen
dares OF the Jefe, and along with
them. Alvarez Torres, eager to win
for himself not only the promised
reward Of Thomas Regan but the
possession of Leoncia Solano.
A Man and n Woman.
In a cave sat a man and q woman
Pretty, the latter was, and young,
a mestiZa, or half-caste woman BY
the light OF the cheap kerosene lamp
she read aloud from q calf-bOund
tome, which was q Spanish transla-
ton OF Blackstone. Both were bare
armed, clad in hooded gabardines OF
sack cloth. Her head lay back on
her shoulders. exposing her black
and generous head OF hair.
But the old mans hood was eowled
about his head after the fashion OF
a monk. The face. lofty and asce-
tic, beaked with power, was pure
Spanish. Don Quixote might have
worn precisely a similar face. But
there was a difference. The eyes %
this old man were closed in the per
'etual dark OF the blind. Never
could he behold a windmill at which
to tilt:
He sat, while the pretty mestiza
read to him, listening and brood!ng.
for all the world in the pose %
Robins Thinker Nor was he
a dreamer. nor filter Of windmiIa.
like Don Quixote.
Despite his blindness, that ever
yelled the apparent face OF the
world in inyisibility, he was a man
of action, and his soul was any
thing but blind. penetrating IN
erringly beneath the show of things
to the heart and the soul of the
world and reading its Utmost sins
and rapacities and nobleneSs and
virtues.
He lifted his hand and put =
pause in the reading. while he
thought aloud from the context OF
1.-The law OF man." he said with
slow certitude. "is today a game
of wits. Not equity, but wit, is the
game OF law today. The law in
its inception was good; but the way
of the law, the practice Of II, has led
men of into false pursuits. They
have mistaken the way for the goal.
the means for the end. Yet Is law
law, and necessary, and good. Only
law. in its practice today, has gone
astray. -.