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CHAPTER I.
It was at Governor Alvarado's house
fn Monterey that Chonita first knew of
Diego Estenega. I had told him mucu
of her, but had never cared to mention
the name of Estenega in the presence of
an Iturbi y Moncada.
< honita came to Monterey to stand
godmother to the child of Alvarado and
of her friend, Dona Martina, his wife.
Kho arrived the morning before the
christening, and no one thought to tell
her that Estenega was to be godfather.
The house was full of girls, relatives of
the young mother, gathered for the cere
mony and subsequent week of festivities.
Lhuicia, my little one, was at tiie rancho
with Ysabel Herrera, and I was staying
with the Alvarados. So many were the
guests that Chonita and I slept together.
We had not seen each other for a year
and had so much to say that we did not
sleep at all.
She was ten years younger than I, but
we were as close friends as she with her
alternate frankness and reserve would
permit. But I had spent several months
of each year since childhood at her
homo in Santa Barbara, and I knew her
better than sho knew herself. When,
later, I read her journal, I found littlo
in it to surprise me, but much to fill and
cover with shapely form tho skeleton of
the story which passed in greater part
before my eyes.
Wo were discussing tho frivolous mys
teries of dress, if I remember aright,
when sho laid her hand on my mouth
suddenly.
“Hush!” she said.
A cabelloro serenaded his lady at mid
night in Monterey.
The tinkling of n guitar, the jingling
of spurs, fell among the strong tones of
a man’s voice.
Chonita had been serenaded until she
had fled to tho mountains for sleep, but
she crept to tho foot of tho bed and
knelt there, her hand at her throat. A
door opened, and one by one, out of the
black beyond, five white robed forms
flitted into tho room; they looked like
puffs of smoko from a burning moon.
Tho heavy wooden shutters were open
and tho room was filled with cold light.
Tho girls waltzed on the bare floor,
grouped themselves in mock dramatic
postures; then, overcome by the strange
magnetism of the singer, fell into mo
tionless attitudes, listening intently.
How well 1 remember that picture, al
though 1 have almost forgotten the
names of the girls.
In the middle of the room two slender
figures embraced each other, their black
hair falling loosely over their white
gowns. On the window step knelt a tall
girl, her head pensively supported by her
hand, a black shawl draped gracefully
about her; at her feet sat a girl with head
bowed to her knees. Between the two
groups was a solitary figure, kneeling
with hand pressed to the wall and face
uplifted.
When the voice ceased I struck a
match, and five pairs of little hands ap
plauded enthusiastically. He sang them
another song, then galloped away.
“It is Don Diego Estenega,” said one
of the girls. “He rarely sings, but 1
have heard him before.”
“An Estenega!” exclaimed Chonita.
“Yes, of the north, thou knowest. His
excellency thinks there is no man in the
“Californias like him—so bold and so
«mart. Thou remenxberest the books that
were burned b} ihs priests when
ernor was a boy, because he had dared to
read them. No? Well, when Diego Es
tenega heard of that—he is the same age
with the governor—he made his father
send to Boston and Mexico for those
books and many more, and took them up
to his redwood forests in the north, far
away from the priests. And they say he
had read other books before, although
such a lad. His father had brought them
from Spain and never cared much for
the priests. And he has been to Mexico
and America and Europe! God of my
soul, it is said that he knows more than
his excellency himself—that his mind
works faster. Aye, but there was a time
when he was wild—when the mescal
burned his throat like hornets and the
aguardiente was like scorpions in his
brain; but that was long ago—before he
was twenty; now he is thirty-two. He
amuses himself sometimes with the girls
—valgame Dios, he has made hot tears
flow—but I suppose we do not know
enough for him, for he marries none.
Aye, but he has a charm!”
1
WT'
She crept to the foot of the bed and knelt
there.
“Like what does he look? A beautiful
cabellero, I suppose, with eyes that melt
and a mouth that trembles like a woman
in the palsy.”
“Aye, no, my Chonita; thou art wrong.
He is not beautiful at all. He is rather
haggard and wears no mustache, and he
has the prefile of the great man, fine and
aquiline and severe, excepting when he
■miles, and then sometimes he looks kind
and sometimw he looks like a devil. He
has not the beauty of color; his hair is
brown, I think, and his eyes are gray and
set far back; but how they flash! 1 think
they could burn if they looked too long.
H j is tall and straight and very strong,
not so indolent as most of our men. They
call him the American because he moves
go quickly and gets so cross when people
do not think fast enough. He thinks like
lightning strikes. Aye, they all say that
he will be governor in bis time; that he
would have been long ago, but he has
been away so much. It must be that he
has seen and admired thee, my Chonita.
and discovered thy grating. Thou art
hv.ppy that thou, too. hast read the books.
1 iou and he will be great friends, 1
know!”
“Yes!” exclaimed Chonita scornfully.
‘lt is likely. Thou hast forgotten per
il; ps—tho enmity between the Capulets
and the Montagues was a pale flame tc
the bitter hatred, born of jealousy in
love, politics and social precedence,which
exists between the Estenegas and the
Iturbi y Moncadas.”
CHAPTER 11.
§ i" 4
i ®
n mi
siilf WJ', Im
"IL is my duty and pleasure to Ufa you to
your horse.”
Delfina, the first child of A ? farado.
born in the purple at the governor's man
sion in Monterey, was about to be bap
tized with all the pomp and ceremony of
the church and time. Dona Martina, the
wife of a year, was unable to go to the
church, but lay beneath her lace and
satin coverlet, her heavy black hair half
covering the other side of the bed. Be
side her stood the nurse, a fat, brown,
high beaked old crone, holding a mass
of grunting lace. I stood at the foot of
the bed admiring the picture,
"Be careful for the sun, Tomasa,” said
the mother. “Her eyes must be strong,
like the Alvarados’ —black and keen and
strong.”
"Sure, senora.”
"And let her not smother nor yet take
cold. She must grow tall and strong,
lixe the Alvarados.”
"Sure, senora.”
"Where is his excellency?”
“I am here.” And Alvarado entered
th ) room. He looked amused and prob
ably had overheard the conversation.
Ho justified, however, the admiration of
his young wife. His tall, military figure
had the perfect poise and suggestion of
power natural to a man whose genius
had been recognized by the Mexican
government before he had entered his
twenties. The clean cut face, with its
ca lm profile and fiery eyes, was not that
of the Washington of his emulation, and
I never understood why he chose so tame
a model. Perhaps because of the meager
ne.sof that early proscribed literature,
or did the title “Father of His Country”
appeal irresistibly to that restive and
doomed ambition?
He passed his hand over his wife’s long,
white fingers, but did not offer her any
other caress in my presence.
"How dost thou feel?”
‘Well, but I shall be lonely. Do not
stay long at the church. No? How glad
I am that Chonita came in time for the
christening! What a beautiful comadre
she will be! 1 have just seen her. Aye,
poor Diego! He will fall in love with
her. and what then?”
“It would have been better had she
come too late, 1 think. To avoid asking
Diego to stand for my first child was im
possible. for he is the man of men to me.
To avoid asking Dona Chonita was equal
ly impossible, I suppose, and it will be
painful for both. He serenaded her last
night, not knowing who she was, but
having seen her at her grating. He only
returned yesterday. I hope she plants
no thorns in his heart.”
“Perhaps they will marry and bind
the wounds,” suggested the woman.
“An Estenega and an Iturbi y Mon
cada will not marry. He might forget,
for he is passionate and of a nature to
break down barriers when a wish is
dear; but she has all the wrongs of all
the Iturbi y Moncadas on her white
she ulders, and all their pride in the car
riage of her head, to say nothing of that
brother whom she adores. She learned
this morning that it was Diego’s deter
mined opposition that kept Reinaldo out
of the departmental junta, and meets
hiia in no tender frame of mind”
Dona Martina raised her hand Cho
uita stood in the doorway. She was
quite beautiful enough to plant thorns
wnere she listed. Her tall, supple figure
was clothed in white, and over her gold
tair—lurid and brilliant, but without a
tin ;e of red—she wore a white lace man-
Her straight, narrow brows and
heavy lashes weis black; but her skin
was more purely w kite than her gown.
Her nose was finely cut, the arch almost
Indiscernible, and she had the most
sculptured mouth I have ever seen. Iler
long eyes were green, dark and very
luminous. Sometimes they had the look
of a child; sometimes she allowed them
to flash witn the fire of an animated
spirit. But the expression she trhosJ tc!
cultivate was that associated with
crowned head and sceptered hand, and
Bure no queen had ever looked so calm,
so inexorable, so haughty, so terribly
clear of vision.
Not that she posed, to any one at
least but herself. For some reason—
youthful, probably—the iron in her na
ture was most admired by her. Where
fore, also, as she had the power as twin,
to heal and curse, I had named her The
Doomswoman, and by this name she was
known far and wide. By the lower class
' of Santa Barbara she was called The
Golden Senorita, on account of her hair
and of her father's vast wealth.
“Come,” she said; “every one is wait
ing. Do not you hear the voices?"
The windows were closed, but through
them came a murmur like that of a pine
forest.
The governor motioned to the nurse to
follow Chonita and myself, and she trot
ted after us, her ugly face beaming with
pride of position. Was not in her arms
the oldest born of a new generation of
Alvarados—the daughter of the governor
of the Californias? Her smock, embroid
ered with silk, was new and looked
whiter than fog against her bare brown
arms and face. Her short red satin skirt,
a gift of her happyaady's, was the finest
ever worn by exultant nurse. About
her stringy old throat was a gold chain;
bright red roses were woven in hex* black
reboso. I saw her admire Chonita’s state
ly figure with scornful reserve of the
colorless gown.
We were followed in a moment by the
governor, adjusting his collar and
smoothing his hair. As he reached the
doorway at the front of the house he was
greeted with a shout from assembled
Monterey. The plaza was gay with
beaming faces and bright attire. The
men, women and children of the people
were on foot, a mass of color on the op
posite side of the plaza, the women in
gaudy cotton frocks girt -with silken
sashes, tawdry jewels and spotless cami
sas, the coquettish reboso draping with
equal grace faces old and brown, faces
round and olive; the men in glazed som
breros, short calico jackets and trousers;
Indians wound up in gala blankets.
In the foreground were caballeros and
donas on prancing silver trapped horses,
laughing and coquetting, looking down
in triumph upou the duenas and parents
who rode older and milder mustangs
and shook brown knotted fingers at
heedless youth. The young men had
ribbons twisted in their long black hair
and silver eagles on their soft gray som
breros. Their velvet serapes were em
broidered with gold; the velvet knee
breeches were laced with gold or silver
cord over tine white linen; long deerskin
botas were gartered with vivid ribbon;
flaunting sashes bound their slender
waists, knotted over the hip. The girls
and young married women wore black
or white mantillas, the silken lace of
Spain, regardless of the sun, which might
darken their Castilian fairness. Their
gowns were of flowered silk or red or
yellow satin, the waist long and pointed,
the skirt full; jeweled buckles of tiny
slippers flashed beneath the hem. The
old people were in rich dress of sober
color. A few Americans were there in
the ugly garb of their country, a blot on
the picture.
At the door just in front of the caval
cade stood General Vallejo’s carriage,
the only one in California, sent from
Sonoma for the occasion. Beside it were
three superbly trapped horses.
The governor placed the swelling nurse
in the carriage, then glanced about him.
“Where is Estenega and the Castros?” he
asked.
“There are Don Jose and Dona Modeste
Castro,” said Chonita.
The crowd had parted suddenly, and
two men and a woman rode toward the
governor. One of the men was tall and
dark, and his somber military attire be
came the stern sadness of his face. Cas
tro was not comandante general of the
army at that time, but his bearing was
as imperious in that year of eighteen
hundred and forty as when six years
later the American occupation closed
forever the career of a man made in
derision for greatness. At his right
rode his wife, one of the most queenly
beauties of her time, small as she was in
stature. Every woman’s eye turned to
her at once. She was our leader of fash
ion, and we all copied the gowns that
came to her from the City of Mexico.
But Chonita gave no heed to the Cas
tros. She fixed her cold direct regard on
the man who rode with them, and who,
she knew, must be Diego Estenega, for
he was their guest. She was curious to
see this enemy of her house, the politi
cal rival of her brother, the owner of
the voice which had given her the first
thrill of her life. He was dressed as
plainly as Castro and had none of the
rich southern beauty of the caballeros.
His hair was cut short like Alvarado’s,
and his face was thin and almost sallow.
But the life that was in that face—the
passion, the intelligence, the kindness,
the humor, the grim determination!
And what splendid vitality was in his
tall thin figure and nervous activity un
der the repose of his carriage! I remem
ber I used to think in those days that
Diego Estenega could conquer the
world if he wished, although I sus
pected that he lacked one quality of the
great rulers of men—inexorable cruelty.
From the moment his horse carried
him into the plaza he did not remove
his eyes from Chonita’s face. . She low
ered hers angrily after a moment. As
he reached the house he sprang to the
ground, and Alvarado presented the
sponsors. He lifted his cap and bowed,
but not so low as the caballeros who
were wont to prostrate themselves be
fore her. They murmured the usual
form of salutation:
“At your feet, senorita.”
“I appreciate the honor of your ac
quaintance.”
“It is my duty and pleasure to lift you
to your horse.” And. still holding his
cap in his hand, he 1?d her to one of the
three horses which stood beside the car
riage. With little assistance she sprang
to its back, and he mounted his own.
The cavalcade started—first the car-
■ riage, then Alvarado and myself, fol
lowed by the sponsors, the Castros, the
members of the departmental junta and
their wives, then the caballeros and the
i donas, the old people and tho Americans,
the populace trudging gayly in the rear,
keeping good pace with the riders, who
were held in check by a small section of
pulp too young to be jolted.
“You never have been in Monterey be
fore, senorita, I understand,” said Este
nega to Chonita. No situation could em
barrass him.
“No. Once they thought to send me
to the convent here—to Dona Concepcion
Arguello—but it was so far, and my
mother does not like to travel. So Dona
Concepcion came to us for a year, and
after I studied with an instructor who
came from Mexico to educate my brother
and me.” She had no intention of being
I communicative with Diego Estenega, but
] his keen reflective gaze confused her, and
, she took refuge in words.
“Dona Eustaquia tells me that, unlike
most of our women, you have read many
books. Few Californian women care for
anything but to look beautiful and to
marry—not, however, being an isolated
race in that respect. Would you not
rather live in our capital? Yon are so
far away down there, and there are but
few of the gente de razon. No?”
“We are well satisfied, senor, and we
are gay when we wish. There are ten
families in the town and many rancheros
within a hundred leagues. They think
nothing of coming to our balls. And we
have grand religious processions and bull
fights and races. We have beautiful
canyons for meriendas, and I could dance
every night if I wished. We are few,
but we are quite as gay and quite as
happy as you in your capital.” The pride
of the Iturbi y Moncadas and of the Bar
barina flashed in her eyes, then made
way for anger under the amused glance
of Estenega.
“Oh, of course,” he said teasingly.
“You are to Monterey what Monterey is
to the City of Mexico. But pardon me,
senorita, I would net anger you for all
the gold which is said to lie like rocks
finder our Californias—if it be true that
certain padres hold that mighty secret.
(God, how I should like to get one by
the throat and throttle it out of him!)
Pardon me again, senorita; I was going
to say that you may be pleased to know
that there is little magnificence where
my ranchos are high on the coast
among the redwoods. I live in a house
made of big ugly logs, unpainted. There
are no cavalcades in the cold depths of
those redwood forests and the ocean
beats against ragged cliffs. But we are
here. At your service, senorita.” He
sprang to the whaleboned pavement in
front of the little church facing the blue
bay and surrounded by the gray ruins of
the old Presidio and lifted her down.
Chonita took the infant from the
nurse’s arms and carried it fearfully up
the aisle, side by side with Estenega, who
regarded her meditatively.
“What is she?” he thought, “this Cali
fornian woman with her hair of gold and
her unmistakable intellect, her marble
face crossed now and again by the ani
mation of the clever American •woman?
What an anomaly to find on the shores
of the Pacific! All I had heard of The
Doomswoman, The Golden Senorita,
gave me no idea of this. What a pity
that our houses are at war! She is not
maternal, at all events. I never saw a
baby held so awkwardly. What a poise
of head! She looks better fitted for trage
dy than for this little comedy of life in
the Californias. A sovereignty would
suit her—were it not for her eyes. They
are not quite so calm and just and inex
orable as the rest of her face. She would
not even make a good household tyrant. '
like Dona Jacoba Duncan.
“Unquestionably she is religious and I
swaddled in all the traditions of her
race; but her eyes—they are at odds with
all the rest of her. They are not lovely
eyes; they lack softness and languor and
tractability; their expression changes too
often, and they mirror too much intelli
gence for loveliness, but they never will
be old eyes, and they never will cease to
look. And they are the eyes best worth
looking into that I have ever seen. No,
a sovereignty would not suit her at all;
a salon might. But, like a few of us,
she is some years ahead of her sphere.
Glory be to the Californias—of the
future, when we are dirt and our chil- i
dren have found the gold!”
The baby was nearly baptized by the
time he had finished his soliloquy. She
had kicked alarmingly when the salt was
laid on her tongue and squalled under
the deluge of water which gave her her
name and also wet Chonita’s sleeve. The
godmother longed for the ceremony to
be over, but it was more protracted than
usual, owing to the importance of tho
restless object on the pillow in her weary
arms. When the last word was said she
handed pillow and baby to the nurse
with an eager sigh of relief, which made
her appear girlish and natural.
After Estenega had lifted her to hex
horse he dried her sleeve with his hand
kerchief. He lingered over the task; the
cavalcade and populace went on with
out them, and when they- started they
were in the rearward of the blithesome
crowd.
“Do you know what I thought as 1
stood by you in the church?” he asked.
“No,” she said indifferently. “I hope
you prayed for the fortune of the little
one.”
“I did not, nor did you. You were tex.
afraid you would drop it. I was thinking
how unmotherly—l had almost said un
womanly—you looked. You were mat?
for the great world—the restless world
where people fly faster from monotony
than from a tidal wave.”
She looked at him with cold dignib
but flushed a little. “lam not unworn
only, senor, although I confess I do no
understand babies and do detest to sew
But if I ever marry I shall be a good wifi
and mother. No Spanish woman wai
ever otherwise, for every Spanish woman
has had a good mother for example.”
“You have said exactly what you
should have said, voicing the inborn
principles and sentiments of tho Spanish
woman. I would be interested to know
what your individual sentiments are,
but you misunderstand me. I said that
you were too good for the average lot of
| woman. You are a woman, not a dell;
an intelligence, not a bundle of shallow
emotions and transient desires. You
I should have a larger destiny.”
She gave him a swift, sidelong flash
from eyes that suddenly looked childish
find eager.
“It is true,” she said frankly. “I have
no desire to hiarfy and have many chil
dren. My father has never said to me,
‘Thou must marry,’ and I have some
times thought I would say “No’ when
that time came. For the present I am
contented with my books ami to ride
about the country on a wild horse, but
perhaps—l do not know—l may not al
ways be contented with that. Sometimes
when reading Shakespeare I have imag
ined myself each of those women in tr.r.x,
but generally of course 1 have thought
little of being any one but myself. What
else could I be here?”
I “Nothing, excepting a Joan of Arc
when the Americans sweep down upon
us, but that would be only fox* a day.
We would be such easy prey. If I could
put you to sleep and awaken yen fifty
years hence, when California was a mod
ern civilization! God speed the Ameri
cans! Therein lies our only chance.”
“What!" she cried. “You —you would
have the Americans? You —a Califor
nian! But you are an Estenega. That
explains everything.”
“I am a Californian,” he said, ignoring
the scorn of the Liter words, “but I hope
I have acquired some common sense in
roving about tho world. The women of
California are admirable in every way—
chaste, strong of character, industrious,
devoted wives and mothers, borxx with
sufficient capacity for small pleasures.
But what are our men? Idle, thriftless,
unambitious, too lazy to walk across the
street but with a l\crso for every step,
sleeping all day in a hammock, gambling
and drinking all night. They are the
natural followers of a race of men who
camo hero to force fortune cut of an un
broken country with little to help them
but brains and will.
“The great effort produced great re
sults; therefore there is nothing for their
sons to do, and they luxuriously do noth
ing. What will tho next generation be?
Our women will marry Americans —re-
spect for men who are men will over
come prejudice—the crossed blood will
fight for a generation or two; then a race
will be borxx worthy of California. Why
are our few great men so very great to
us? What have men of exceptional tal
ent to fight down in the Californias ex
cept the barriers to its development? In
England or the United States they still
would be great men—Alvarado and Cas
tro at least —but they would have to
work harder.”
Chonita, in spite of her disapproval
and her blood, looked at him with inter
est. His ideas and language ■were strik- i
ingly unlike the sentimental rhetoric of
tho caballeros.
“It is as you say,” she admitted, “but
the Californian’s highest duty is loyalty
to his country. Ours is a double duty,
isolated as we are on this far strip of ■
land away from all other’ civilization. (
We should be more contemptible than j
Indians if we were not true to our flag.”
“No wonder that you and that famous
patriot of ours, Dona Eustaquia Ortega,
are bonded friends. I doubt if you
could hate as well as she. You have no
such violence in your nature; you could
neither love nor hate very hard. Yoxx
would love, if you loved at all, with
majesty and serenity. and hate with chill
severity.” While lie spoke he watched
her intently.
She met his gaze unflinchingly. “True,
senor; I am no ‘bundle of shallow emo
tions,’ nor have I a lion in me like Eusta
quia. I am a creature of deliberation,
not of impulse. I love and hate as duty
dictates.”
He looked up at her with an amused
smile. “You are by nature the most im
pulsive woman I ever saw, and Eusta
quia’s lion is a kitten to the one that
sleeps in you. You have cold delibera
tion enough, but it is manufactured, and
the result of pretty hard -work at that.
Like all edifices reared without a founda
tion, it will fall with a crash some day,
and the fragments will be of very little
use to you.” And there the conversation
ended. They had reached the plaza, and a
babel of voices surrounded them. Gov
ernor Alvarado stood on the upper corri
dor of his bouse throwing handfuls of ;
email gold coins among the populace, who ’
were shrieking with delight. The girl '
guests mingled with them, seeing that
no palm went home empty. Beside the
governor sat Dona Martina radiant with
pride, and behind her sat the nurse hold
ing tho infant on its pillow.
“We had better go to the house as
soon as possible,” said Estenega. “It is
nearly time for the bull-bear tight, and
we must have good seats.”
They forced their way through the
crowd, dismounted at the door and went
up to the corridor. The Castros and I
were already there with a number of
other invited guests. The women sat in
chairs close to the corridor railing; sev
eral rows of men stood behind them.
The plaza was a jagged circle surround
ed by dwelling houses, some one story in
heiglxt, others with overhanging balco
nies; from it radiated five streets. All
corridors were crowded with the ele
gantly dressed mexx and women of the
aristocracy; large black fans were wav
ing; every eye was flashing expectantly;
the people stood oxx platforms which had
been erected in four of the streets.
Amid the shouts of the spectators
two vaqueros, dressed in black velvet i
short clothes, dazzling linen and stiff I
black sombreros, tinkling bells attached
to their- trappings, jingling spurs on their |
heels, galloped into the plaza, driving a '
large, aggressive bull. They chased him
about in a circle, swinging their reatas,
dodging his oAdaughts, then rode out,
and four others Altered. dragging an un
willing bear by v reata tied to each of ,
his legs. By of a long chain and j
much dexterity <-aey fastened the two .
easts together, Veel the logs of the
then retire? to the entrance to
vents. B’ bull and the bear
ot fight. >ae latter arose on hie
haunch® and regarded his enemy warily „
but the bull appeared to disdain the bear
as too small game, He but lowered big
horns and pawed the ground. The spec
tators grew impatient. The brave cabal
leros and dainty donas wanted blood.-
They tapped their feet and murmured,
ominously. As for the populace, they
howled for slaughter.
Governor Alvarado made a sign to one
of the vaqueros. The man rushed ab
ruptly upon the bull and hit him a sharp
blow across tho nose with the cruel
quirto. Tho bull's dignity vanished.
V> ith the quadrupedian capacity for
measuring distance he inferred that the
blow had been inflicted by the bear, who
sat some twenty feet away mildly lick
ing his paws. He made a savage onset.
The bear, with the dexterity of a vaque
ro, leaped aside and sprang upon the as
sailant’s neck, his teeth meeting argu
mentatively in the ropelike tendons.
The bull roared with pain and rage and
attempted to shako him off, but he hung
on. Both lost their footing and rolled
over and over amid clouds of dust, a
mighty noise and enough blood to satis
fy the early tliirst of tho beholders.
Then the bull wrenched himself free.
Before the mountain visitor could scram
ble to his feet he fixed him with his horns*
and tossed him oxx high.
i As the bear came down on his back
with a thud and a snap which would
have satisfied a bull less anxious to show
■what a bull could do the Victor rushed
I upon the corpse, kicked and stamped and
l bit until the blood spouted into his eyes,
and pulp and dust were indistinguisha
; ble. Then how the delighted spectators
' clapped their hands and cried “Brava!”
to the bull, who pranced about the plaza
dragging the carcass of the bear after
him, his head high, his big eyes red and
rolling! The women tore off their rebosos
and waved them like banners, smashed
their fans and stamped their little feet.
The men whirled their sombreros with
supple wrists. But the bull was not sat-
. isfied. Ho pawed the ground with de
' nxanding hoofs, and tho vaqueros gal
i loped into the ring with another bear. |
! Nor had they time to detach their reatas ]
I before the bull was upon the second an- ’
I tagonist, and they were obliged to retire j
in haste. J
Estenega, who stood between Chonita |
and myself, watched The Doomswoman fl
attentively. Her lips were compressed 1
fiercely; for a moment they bore a strange 1
resemblance to his own as I had seen I
them at times. Iler nostrils were ex- ■
panded; her lids half covered her eyes. fl
“She has cruelty in her,” he murmured ■
to nxe as the first battle finished, “and it fl
was her imperious wish that the bull fl
should win because he is the more lordly fl
animal. She has no sympathy for the fl
poor bundle of hair and quivering flesh H
that bounded on the mountains yester- fl
day. Has she brutality in her? —just fl
enough" fl
“Brava! Brava!” The women were on fl
their feet; even Chonita for the moment fl
forgot herself and beat the railing with
hex- small fist. Another bear had been
impaled and tossed and trampled. The
bull, panting from his exertions, dashed jfe
about the plaza, still dragging his first
victim after him. Suddenly he stopped; MS
the blood gushed from his nostrils; he
shivered like a skeleton hanging in tho
wind, then fell in an ignominious heap—
dead.
“A warning, Diego,” I said, rising and S
shaking my fan at him. “Be not too fl
ambitious, else wilt thou die of thy vic- fl
tories. And do not love the polar star,” fl
I murmured in his ear, “lest thou set fire fl
to it and fall to ashes thyself.” ■
[TO BE CONTINUED.] I
The I.oon. I
The loon is found in all the north- 1
ern states. It is a very awkward ■
bird on land, but a graceful and ■
rapid swimmer. It is a remarkable ■
diver, and it is thought thatno other B
feathered creature can dive so fax - fl
beneath the surface or remain so I
long a time under water. A speci- fl
men was once found attached to the fl
hook of a fisherman’s set line in fl
Seneca lake, it having dived nearly fl
100 feet to reach the bait. It feeds I
on lizards, fl.-.h, frogs, all kinds of I
aquatic insects and thoroots of fresh 1
water plants, usually swallowing its fl
food undex- water. It is a very large I
bird, about 3 feet in length, and 1
spreads its wings fully 5 feet. It fl
builds its nest in marshes, near wa- fl
ter, of rushes and grass, which it I
twists together in a huge heap on I
the ground, usually among tall 1
reeds. The eggs, usually three in 1
number, are a little over 3 inches I
long and in color of a dull greenish 1
ocher, with indistinct spots of dark 1
urn Ler, most numerous toward the <
broad end. During the winter this
bird lives near the seashore, espe
cially in the salt marshes on the
Long Island coast and along the
shores of the Chesapeake, but in the
summer it goes as far north as
Maine and breeds there in great
quantities.—Detroit Free Press.
Proper Picture Frames.
Artist—l want to get a frame for
a rather important picture Fve just
painted.
Picture Dealer Certainly, sir.
For your own use?
Artist—No. I'm sending it to the
exhibition.
Picture Dealer—Just step this
way. I’ve the very thing. There! |
You see, the design of the frame is I
a nymph on each side. Absolutely ]
excludes all danger of having t’;e
pictr.ro hung iqride down. —Pick
Me Up.
Resilient Rags (puzzled) —You
seem mighty fidgety terday, Pete.
Punctured Peterson (mournfully)
—l’m sufferin, Ragsey ! I'm Lreakia
in er new pair - uv socks.—Brookly n
Eagle.