At the Hacienda

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At the Hacienda. BY JOSEPHINE SPENCER.

The still figure in the moonlight is the Senor, and you may See him sitting mostly that way, dumb and heedless, night and day. Just now, too, the season's mem'ries crowd the rest that's in his heart And make black the barb o' poison on his sorrow's rusty dart. Can't be true you've met with any cowboy lopin' on the range And he's let you off that story of the Senor' s, for a change? It's gone clean throughout the South here, Texas and the Mexicos, Arizony, and the Isthmus, and all Californy knows How old Ruel lost his daughter. Well, I'm glad to have my chance, Knowing how they've mixed the story with their kite-flies at romance. Yes, the Senor 's white as silver, proud, too, as a prince or king — And with warrant, if you count what blood and titled lineage bring. Rich? I guess — though it's a matter of the commonest report That there's many a stagger fortune has gone up in one day's sport; For, you see, his longest suit was on fast horses, and his name Stood up dizzy in race-records in the nation's tracks of fame; And the fall that laid him crippled is the fruit of that last race, When, his every cent at stake, he took the treacherous jockey's place And with those mad throngs there, watching him in white and breath- less spell,

Reached the stake an inch af oremost of the others ere he fell

But that triumph was the last one that the Senor ever saw, — On the track, at least for nature rendered bills for broken law; Made it death or strict retirement as the Senor's gift to choose, And he, grudging, took the latter; but for what his life must lose Of its oldtime sport — half reckless— he had famous horses bought And at any price or trouble to the grand old Mesa brought;

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Like those connoisseur collectors of "rare paintings or old lace, So he gathered equine treasures to his quiet mountain place, Where, upon the race-track, (laid here ere the house itself was planned) He some measure of the old life in his exile might command, And the fame of his possessions to the world might still reveal That his heart had not relinquished all the oldtime fire and zeal.

Rarest breeds of every country came to grace the stately walls Of the costly palace stables, and.among the oaken stalls Stood, like jewels in their settings, all along the polished plain Of the wall's wide panels, inlaid with their woods of richest stain, Perfect types of equine beauty, curved bodies, sleek and slim Princely arch of neck and nostril, princely shape and pose of limb; Murzuk— kingliest type of beauty from the purest Arab line: Selim, whom the Persian masters sold for half a Mexan mine; These, and breeds of Texas prairies, long of step, and slim of girth, Told the judgment that selected bargains from the best of earth. For the Senor 's lore and life-art made lym connoisseur of race; And his wealth could render worthless obstacles of price and place. So it fell, of course, that rumor of his madness spread afar; And the fame of his collection, like a magnet, or a star, Guided many curious people to the plateau's wooded height, (Where the hacienda reared its dozen cupolas in sight) Who passed through the ponderous gateway of the walls that crowned its crest, Built to balk cowboy marauders, and became the erewhile guest Of the Senor, happy ever to give greeting to that soul Who might thrill him with the story of some fierce-contested goal. Thus it chanced, the Senor, sitting in the broad veranda's shade, Saw one day a stranger riding down the graveled path that made Sinuous curves of length in guiding through the thick palmetto trees, And gave welcome with his courtly, old-world air of grace and ease; Listened, gracious, as the stranger, with his touch of English style, Told the errand which had brought him over many a desert mile To behold the Senor 's stables; and then roused the Senor 's greed With the list of famed ancestors of his own sore-ridden steed, And held out his hope of selling, if the Senor chose to name Such an offer as might tempt him to relinquish his prized claim.

And the Senor, charmed by something in the stranger's air and face, Holding in his look and manner subtle mark of birth and race,

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Begged him, in his silken Spanish, to become his favored guest morrow: taking needful time for judgment and for rest, Till the

When upon the private race-track just beyond the wooded ground, They should prove the vaunted pacer in a trial on its round. Called Jose to serve the stranger, with a charge for every need, (Anxious equal for the comfort of the master as the steed.) Summoned the young Senorita from her shady hammock seat To add her solicitations to make his request complete. Then, upon the broad veranda, sitting idly in the shade Of pomegranate boughs and palm leaves arched in many a green arcade Sat in comfort, while the stranger, softly wreathing rings of smoke, Told him tales of English races that his memory bespoke; — Till the older man with visions wakened by each pictured scene Lived again in old-time rapture the glad days that once had been: Listening breathless, never heeding how the Saxon's eyes of blue Found their frequent glance reflected in soft eyes of midnight hue. For the shy young Senorita, sitting silent and apart, Seemed to his fine sense, as hostess hardly well to bear her part. And his courtly heart regretted, as it oft had done before, That high-mannered wife who bore his honors well in days of yore, Sat so blind, that when at nightfall the well-favored guest was shown To his chamber in the west wing and they found themselves alone, He had words of gentle chiding for the manner, strange and shy, Which might seem like meagre greeting to the cultured traveler's eye; Pleased to note, when their guest after his attention kind bestowed That the child a shy obedience to her past instructions showed.

And swift morrows passed each other, spreading muffled silvern wings, Whilst the stranger still would linger, finding plea in various things To detain him — first the pleasure that the Senor's passion found Trying speed of famous horses on the race-track's level round. Then some jaunt into the mountains, with the hope that fate or chance Might reveal some rich Golconda's hidden treasure to his glance. And full oft when molten sunsets melted into sapphire eves, And the sky's white rain of moonlight dripped through close palmetto leaves, Sweet Josita and the stranger strolled together arm in arm Through the wide grounds, drinking fieeply in the evening's subtle charm.

Tillone day when he had ridden up the steep barranca, told — By some horseman who had stopped here of some late-seen sign of gold

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I, the Sheriff, and my party, passing through the ponderous gate, Armed with warrants, whose grave charges claimed a grievance to the state, Rode, and found the Senor sitting in the early twilight gloom, On the broad veranda opening from a front, wide-windowed room; Formed in line around the doorway ere was heard a muffled hoof, And presented to the Senor all our gathered links of proof Which declared the man he sheltered as a rogue of deepest dye, Hiding from a score of victims to his errant treachery; — of the mammoth Mexan mine Told the story of his scheming Worked by men who waited vainly for the never coming sign — Of their wages long months lacking— holding faith from day to day — Through his specious tales and promise that the long arrear of pay Would in time yet be forthcoming from his men across the sea The great syndicate whose money held the mammoth work in fee.

How at last the men, half maddened by their want and waiting, swore To be tools of his bold scheming and bald trickery no more: And inflamed with murderous passion, to his house, an angry horde, Rode with muttered threats of vengeance but by some strange chance ;

the word Of the raid had gone before them; and though swift and still they sped, When they reached the spot, the object of their planned revenge had fled.

Gone upon his fleet horse —winner of full many a famous stake; And with two hours flown between them, hopeless, then, to overtake. So they gave him up, surmising that the blue Atlantic's brine In short time would lie between them and the owner of the mine.

Whether all his smooth tongue uttered savored in the least of truth, Or he merely worked to profit at the wretches' hands, in sooth, I can't swear; but certain, if what some of them have claimed is true He was quick to share the hardships of his men the long months through: Shared with them his food, too, when they came to him in want and grief, Sparing neither time nor effort that might aim for their relief. One who stayed with him through all, and told him, (if I guess it right) Of the mad mob riding down the trail for blood that summer night Swore that though in truth all blameless of events that raised the blow He would yet have faced their vengeance had he not been urged to go

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And with freedom's better venture seek, from friends across the sea, Succor for their need, and safety for himself from rope and tree.

But the miners met that story with a howling sleet of scorn; Praying yet that fate might bring him to the vengeance they had sworn. And at length chance played to trace him through a rumor that had come From some rancher who had tarried at the Senor's mountain home; — And they flocked— a half-score bringing to my county seat the word Of the man's late dereliction; thus our raid here had occurred. And we claimed the Senor's duty, as became his honored name, To deliver him to justice who was charged with such dark blame. And the Senor, sorely stricken that the guest of his high store Held the stain of such dishonor, in his pride, deep-wounded swore That the man should answer dearly for deceit so deep and base — Bidding all of us in silence hide ourselves about the place; For the villain soon returning from his journey, unaware, Would be taken without trouble in our deftly-actioned snare.

So 'twas planned; and while we waited, silent in the twilight gloom, Suddenly a rustle sounded in the near, wide-windowed room, And I thought 1 saw before me, as I waited at my post, Something down the broad walk flitting like the moonlight's moving ghost, But before I knew if I had dreamed, below, outside the walls, We could hear a horse neigh, giving short, home-coming, joyous calls. Then — a sudden sound of hoof- beats floating back upon the road Fleeing with the lightning's swiftness from the Senor's near abode, Told us that the stealthy ambush hatching in the dark was known, And the victim we had counted for our clever trap had flown!

Then we dashed out, riding pell-mell, with a wild, half brutish glee, The hot chase there close before us rousing all our deviltry. But the man— or his swift pacer — measured magic lengths of ground, Heedless of our hail of bullets whistling shrilly all around; Yet I, who was worst and foremost of our wild, blood-thirsty men, Knew the cruel odds between us should he face us — one to ten; Knew, as he did, flight was hopeless from our fierce, fresh-mounted crew — When a sudden curve the road made brought to both of us the view Of the cliffs that edge the river; and before his foaming horse

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Could be checked, he was upon them — and I cursed in quick remorse, For that minute from his saddle sounded woman's scream; shrill a

And the next they plunged together in the deep, swift-flowing stream! Then for days we dragged the current, though no hope our dark work cheered, And at length we raised a cross there where the two had disappeared

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That's the Senor's little romance; and his life's a link of hell What with loneliness and brooding on his hopeless wrong as well; But to tell the truth, — though wildest of the yelling crew that run The young wretches to the river, and the glibest with my gun I have took a heap of stock since in the stories I've been told That the Englishman's intentions was all solid, and — By old Harry and hot Hades! its on me — what? shake my hand! Me that chased you to the river —heau of that un-Christian band? Brought back money for the miners — their salary's arrear? all

Won't that word just clear the howlin', thicknin' gloom that's broodin' here! And — and her, too. Lord! won't the message be a blazin' silver star Shining in a sky o' midnight for the old man droopin' thar! Say! I think all things considered — if the Senor hasn't heard I had better step ahead there, and just kind o' break the word. Understand? he thinks dead sure you both arefloatin' in the — Wait! Just step back behind them bushes, — there's the Senor at the gate.

Things to Do Now.

"Give the children a tent. Teach them camp living and camp cook- ing. It is good training and great fun — and fun is a tonic in summer.'' "Good idea to serve as many meals as possible out of doors, on lawn or piazza — good fun for you, too." "Never, never put natural ice in the goblets on the table. Too cold and too dangerous. Fill bottles with water and put them on ice. Never put ice in water." "Why not use your second-story piazza as a bedroom? Hang a can- vas curtain in front to keep out the rain, lay down rugs, put a bed and washstand out there. Sleep out of doors as much as possible. It gives an ideal night's rest. Try it — and screen the bed — don't forget that.''