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She also asked him whether there was anything fresh at the office, and he replied merrily: "Your friend, Ramon, who comes and dines here every Sunday, is going to leave us, little one. There is a new second head-clerk." She looked at her father, and with a precocious child's pity, she said: "Another man has been put over your head again."
"But it is not true," maintained the girl, simply, and her eyes were as steady as altar flames. "Eh? Well! He is in the barracks at this moment," snarled Ramon, "and there he shall remain, I promise you, until he goes to Chiriqui or " Gertrudis turned to her father. "Take me to him, please. I must go at once to the Carcel." But he only answered her with a stare of amazement.
The world of the little valley dropped into night, and all was dark as Erebus. A breath of wind whispered through the forest, and died away, sighing, in the pines. Ramon awoke suddenly. Straight from the centre of that sea of blackness, like the plummet of an engineer, like the lead of a storm-tossed sailor, shot a drop of rain.
He fell back with a yell, crying out that there were spirits within it, as his eyes encountered the crouching forms of its two occupants. "What's the matter, you fool?" demanded Ramon himself, who happened to be close at hand. "Oh, the spirits! The spirits of the hollow altar!" howled the Mexican in abject terror, his knees knocking together and his face taking on a sickly pallor. "Hey!
The situation of the mission of Uruana is extremely picturesque. The little Indian village stands at the foot of a lofty granitic mountain. Rocks everywhere appear in the form of pillars above the forest, rising higher than the tops of the tallest trees. The aspect of the Orinoco is nowhere more majestic than when viewed from the hut of the missionary, Fray Ramon Bueno.
In his far away peaceful Northern home, Norfleet, friend of Ramon Mansford, received the following letter: "MY DEAR NORFLEET: I am about at the end of one of the most shocking and most mystifying affairs known to the human race. In keeping with my resolve I disappeared into the Negro race for the purpose of fathoming the mystery of the murder of my beloved Alene.
Hillyard struck a match and held it to his companion's cigar. "And you trust Ramon, Señor Baeza?" Lopez Baeza leaned back with a gesture of unqualified assent. "As often and often you can trust the peasant of my country," he said. Hillyard agreed with a nod. He gazed about the room. "There is no one interesting here to-night," he said idly. "No," answered Lopez Baeza.
In one of the swinging benches covered with Navajo blankets two other dress-suited youths were seated, smoking and talking. One of them was a short, plump Jew with a round and gravely good-natured face; the other a tall, slender young fellow with a great mop of curly brown hair, large soft eyes and a sensitive mouth. “She’s good looking, all right,” the little fellow assented, as Ramon came up.
He spoke with a hopefulness he could never feel, for he knew that the life of Leon Ramon was doomed; and as the other strove to gain breath enough to answer him, he gently motioned him to silence, and placed on his bed some peaches bedded deep in moss and circled round with stephanotis, with magnolia, with roses, with other rarer flowers still.
Ramon got his uncle to his feet with some difficulty, and led him outdoors where he looked about in vain for one of the cheap autos that served the town as taxicabs. There were only three or four of them, and none of these were in sight. The flat-wheeled street car had made its last screeching trip for the night.
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