The Ypsilanti daily press. (Ypsilanti, Mich.) 1928-1962, 1943-07-24
CHAPTER THREE

FLASHING LIKE a silver saber
in the strong sunlight, the train
raced on across brown table lands
dotted with Towering mesquite. an
occasional tall yucca spike break
ing the monotony of the low-grow-
ing scrubby plants. White-faced,
long-horn cattle grazed contentedly
along the tracks. AS Jean watched
the landscape ahead, she saw pur-
pie mountains rising majestically
from the sea. All the color and ro-
nance of a glorious past that had
been Mexico's ran through her
mind. What q perfect setting for
the rise of such colorful Spanish
grandees as Don Luis TerraZas,
veritable king, who once had a do
main so large that even he knew not
the full extent Of II. Some seventy
million acresi Thirty thousand low
~ poems looked to him as their lord
of life! a setting for men like Diaz,
Carranza, Madero, and the most
colorful OF them all, the fabulous
Pancho Villa! The lowly peon Villa,
whose name was one day to strike
fear, pride and admiration in the
hearts of all Mexicans. Even today
the poems swore that Villa was not
dead. Some day he would sweep
down again from brown hills, his
silver pistols blazing.
The train rumbled 70 a stop az
the little adobe station that stood
baking in the sun. A few scrawny
palm trees and a spikey maguey
plant or two stood like weary SEN
tinels along the frcn'. Jean looked
out Of the car window to read the
faded sign, Santa Carlos" Steve
Lands was standing under it. look
ing tall and cool in white linens.
She quickly gathered UP her polo
coat and purse, tucked stray wisps
Of golden hair under her brown
suede hat and followed the porter.
who bumped alorg ahead OF her
with arms fun Of baggage.
She stepped lightly from the car
and Lands took long strides to
meet her.
Welcome to Mexico. Miss Mars.
den he grinned with boYsh de-
light.
oh It's perfect" Jean breathed.
Just the. way I had always pic
tured it,"
Low, one-story adobe buildings
dotted the narrow streets. They
we're tinted in vari-colored hues.
Greens. blues. reds and pinks un-
der a deep blue sky The natives
stood about in little groups chat
ting. their peaked straw hats shad-
ing faces that we're the color Of old
copper Across their shoulders were
thrown blankets Of brilliant hues
II was riot Of Kaleidoscope col
ors painted deftly on a carpet OF
brown To the west were the noun
tains that rose only to fall away
again into the sea.
Steve Lands was gathering UT
Jeans luggage and nodding toward
the station wagon that stood b.
the depot. Jean felt surge Of cx.
element tingle through her as her
eyes Toasted on this primitive land
of the Aztecs. Steve tossed her lug.
gage easily into the back Of the
car and they started down through
the village street and then gu, onto
a narrow road that stretched itsel.
across sea Of sand.
This Is great country. once you
&c, used TO IT Steve said. II wa,
pretty lonesome at first. but some.
how II gets in your blood afte,
you're here awhile
Yes, think I already can SEE
what you mean" Jean answered ir
low tones.
Steve let the car idle along a,
an easy gait and cast an occa.
sionai sidewsrd glance toward Jean
He knew he had never seen such
perfection-a skin so smoothly