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A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 A Novel of Southern California 
 
 BY 
 
 CONSTANCE GODDARD DU BOIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A MODERN PAGAN," "THE 
 SHIELD OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS," ETC. 
 
 HERBERT S. STONE and Company 
 
 CHICAGO and NEW YORK 
 
 1900 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
COPYRIGHT igOO, BY 
 HERBERT S. STONE & CO 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 HELEN HUNT JACKSON, 
 
 WHOSE WARM HEART AND ENLIGHTENED SYMPATHY 
 
 MADE HER THE FRIEND OF THE INDIAN, 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, WITH 
 
 ENDURING ADMIRATION. 
 
A SOUL IN BRONZE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 The unclouded sun of Southern California 
 flooded land and sea with glory. It is a sun 
 that never smites. Its life-giving warmth sends 
 the sluggish blood coursing with new vigor 
 through the veins, draws the odor from the 
 orange blossoms, the pungent scent from the 
 eucalyptus trees, and sets the bees humming 
 half -surfeited amidst the fragrant sage. 
 
 Among the inland hills where the sea breeze 
 died away and spent itself, the mesas lay singed 
 with the summer drought and unshaded from 
 the sky ; and where a brown field curved its out- 
 line in the foreground the upward movement of 
 the transparent air could be seen like the flicker- 
 ing currents above a heated stove. 
 
 The little railroad train with its motor engine 
 and loads of full and empty lemon boxes puffed 
 and snorted into the station which was its ter- 
 minus, and here discharged its few remaining 
 passengers in what seemed to be a cul-de-sac 
 among the hills ; a granite quarry, that scarred a 
 1 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 cliff, being the only evidence of human industry, 
 and a rambling one -story hotel half -buried in 
 the shade of fig trees the only visible place of 
 shelter beyond the station sheds. The observ- 
 ant eye, however, might find tokens of the exist- 
 ence of a stable in the rear ; and the traveller 
 whose ticket assured him a twenty-mile ride as 
 the completion of his journey knew that a stage 
 would start in half an hour, which interim was 
 dedicated to luncheon in a funereally-shaded 
 room in the sleepy tavern. 
 
 The stage-road made its exit from the appar- 
 ently impassable mountain wall which receded 
 at its advance along the course of a rocky 
 stream, dry and voiceless now, but in winter a 
 formidable torrent. The stage, with its square 
 body painted red, and its enormous yellow 
 wheels and axles, swung and pitched in the 
 ascent over " chuck-holes" and rocks buried 
 beyond view by six'inches of dust. 
 
 " You'll find the seat by the driver the easiest, 
 Miss," the station-agent had said, as he assisted 
 at that important daily function, the departure 
 of the coach. 
 
 4 'But the sun is so hot," the young lady 
 addressed had replied in a musical voice, with a 
 doubtful glance at the driver's high and un- 
 shaded position. "I think I will go inside." 
 2 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Putting a daintily-shod foot on the step, and 
 bending her pretty head, she was about to enter 
 the coach when she drew back in alarm. "I 
 can not ride with an Indian," she cried. "Are 
 we the only passengers?" 
 
 The terror in her tone should have appealed 
 to masculine chivalry, but the station-agent had 
 retreated, the driver sat silent and indifferent, 
 and only the Indian, a well-dressed and civilized 
 specimen of his race, heard and noted the 
 remark. 
 
 He rose, lifted his hat, and retreated by the 
 opposite door, mounting at a stride to the vacant 
 place on the box. 
 
 The whip cracked, the four horses strained at 
 the start, and with a lurch and a bounce, and 
 wrapped from sight like an enchanted chariot 
 in a cloud of golden dust, the coach departed 
 and the ascent began. 
 
 Dorothea Fairfax blushed and nervously 
 arranged the fastenings of her veil. 
 
 "I wonder if I offended him," she thought; 
 "but no, he is only an Indian. I was not 
 actually afraid, of course; that was only a little 
 piece of affectation. But fancy Aunt Sally's 
 horror if she could see me starting alone on such 
 a journey with a driver who seems to be dumb, 
 and a wild no, a tame Indian beside him; 
 3 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 and only my poor little self in this great big 
 bouncing stage-coach. Even papa might be a 
 little concerned dear papa!" 
 
 The stage, lumbering upward, made steady 
 progress, but its two passengers were alike 
 absorbed in memories which rendered them 
 half -oblivious to the passing landscape. An- 
 tonio Lachusa, the Indian, was reviewing the 
 history of his life with a courage founded upon 
 that philosophy whose foster -nurse is a resigned 
 despair. He saw himself as a child of eight 
 confronted with a startling fairies' gift, a rich 
 lady's patronage, the promise of an education in 
 the East, later on wealth, ease, luxury, and all 
 at the price of an aching homesick heart. He 
 had paid the price, and the reward had been 
 greater than he hoped. 
 
 Mrs. Leigh, his eccentric patroness, had made 
 him, in effect, her adopted child; later on, her 
 confidential secretary and courier during the 
 happy vacations when, alone together, or with a 
 few chosen friends, they had explored Europe 
 and the Orient. Her wealth and influence had 
 won for him the highest advantages of school 
 and college ; and buried among his books he had 
 lived a happy life, winning prizes in his studies 
 and honors in the field of athletics, with her 
 smile of approbation for the crown of every 
 4 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 endeavor. Her sudden death without a will 
 had left him penniless and desolate. The hopes 
 and purposes of years failed him like broken 
 bubbles. The slow steps of the stage horses 
 straining at their task as they mounted the toil- 
 some ascent were taking him home to the reser- 
 vation, a stranger uncertain of his welcome. 
 
 Dorothea Fairfax, his fellow traveller, was 
 taxing her bravery to resist the tears which 
 dimmed her vision. A stranger's welcome 
 awaited her also ; and her heart ached with the 
 double grief of a parting in which she realized 
 her father's sorrow as keenly as her own. 
 Edward Fairfax had lived for years self -exiled 
 from his family, an unrepentant prodigal, ideal- 
 ized by the clinging affection of his motherless 
 daughter into a hero of romance. Dorothea 
 had been educated in New York in an atmos- 
 phere of staid conservatism, but ever present in 
 her fancy was the subtle consciousness of her 
 father's influence drawing her close to him in 
 spite of all opposing forces. She lived in the 
 thought so long that at last it realized itself as 
 wishes will, falling then into dust and ashes like 
 Dead Sea fruit. 
 
 She did not relinquish her ideal, but she 
 found the man as she believed in him, sadly at 
 variance with his environment. The circle in 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 which he moved in Valparaiso was distinguished 
 by an easy Bohemianism not without its stand- 
 ards, though these were novel and unacceptable 
 to Dorothea. The dark-eyed seiiors with whom 
 her father played baccarat, the low-voiced 
 senoras who smoked cigarettes, affronted her 
 prejudices as her reserve offended theirs. She 
 drooped in the uncongenial atmosphere like a 
 transplanted flower ; and her father noted the 
 first symptom of failing health with keen anx- 
 iety. 
 
 4 'Your mother went just so," he said, "with 
 a cough that was neglected. You shall have 
 better care. This is no place for my fastidious 
 little girl. I will send you to your uncle's 
 widow in Southern California, and when I can 
 fix up my business I will follow you. We will 
 have a cosy little home there in the wilderness." 
 This plan, combated with tears by Dorothea, 
 was immovably adhered to by her father, and 
 her present journey was the last stage in its 
 accomplishment. 
 
 The narrow road, cut like a spiral in the 
 mountain side, wound steeply upwards, flanked 
 on one side by an escarpment of bare, jagged 
 rocks hewn to make a passage, on the other by 
 a deep ravine. As they neared the head of the 
 6 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 pass, the driver drew a holster from beneath the 
 cushion, and began to unfasten the straps. 
 
 1 4 What is that for?" asked Antonio, observ- 
 ing the movement with some surprise. 
 
 " We've got the express box for the Governor 
 mines on to-day," explained the driver. "A 
 pile of money for the pay of the hands. There 
 have been stages held up along here before now, 
 and there have been rumors of danger lately. 
 I expected a couple of men for a guard to-day 
 when they sent the box, but they didn't come. 
 Well, I'll be ready for 'em." 
 
 As he spoke he laid the pistol upon the seat 
 to secure the use of both hands for the reins, 
 for here the road turned sharply, and the lead- 
 ers plunged, being the first to catch sight of a 
 horseman who was confronting them in the 
 middle of the road, a handkerchief tied over 
 the lower part of his face, and a cocked revolver 
 in his upraised hand. 
 
 His imperious command, the driver's loud 
 exclamation, the crack of revolvers, the heavy 
 lurching of the coach, came in quick succes- 
 sion; and Antonio found himself, he hardly 
 knew how, on his knees before the box, the 
 tangled reins in one hand, and an arm around 
 the limp and half -lifeless body of the driver, who 
 had fallen back upon the seat, a bullet in his side. 
 7 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "I am dead," he gasped. "The money's 
 safe." 
 
 "You defended it nobly," said Antonio, 
 encouragingly. " I gave the scoundrel a bullet 
 in the shoulder. His horse threw him and ran 
 down the road. If he has no accomplices we 
 are safe." 
 
 He spoke to deaf ears. The weight upon his 
 arm grew heavier. The red blood clotted upon 
 the shirt front and ceased to flow. The dead 
 man's head rocked back and forth under the 
 impulse of the lurching coach, as the maddened 
 horses plunged forward, guided at a hair's 
 breadth from destruction by Antonio's grasp 
 upon the reins. 
 
 Dorothea's scream had followed the pistol 
 shots. She had seen a man fall beside her, and 
 then roll face downward from ledge to ledge, 
 staining the rocks with blood. She held her- 
 self in place as the stage bounded along, graz- 
 ing the angles of the jutting rocks, twisting and 
 swaying about the dizzy spirals ; and with bated 
 breath she waited for the end, the death which 
 must come in the likeness of that which she 
 had witnessed. She had time for self-pity at 
 the thought of her youthful face and form so 
 grievously torn and mangled. 
 
 The pace slackened; the coach stopped, 
 8 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Antonio descended from his seat, and with the 
 reins in his hands looked in at the door. 
 
 "You must climb upon the seat and hold the 
 horses," he said. "They are quiet now, but 
 quivering with fear. They must not start until 
 I have laid the dead man decently upon the 
 seats here." 
 
 "The dead man a robber?" queried Doro- 
 thea. 
 
 "No, the driver. He was shot before I could 
 get the pistol from its case." 
 
 "And you killed the robber?" she asked. 
 
 "Not unless the fall over the rocks killed 
 him," he answered. "I shot him in the 
 shoulder, and his horse ran and threw him." 
 
 Dorothea buried her face in her hands. She 
 had never been in the presence of death before. 
 The horror of it struck a chill to her heart. 
 
 Antonio mistook her thought. "And now it 
 is I you fear," he exclaimed "an Indian. 
 You dread them all as savages. Here, take the 
 pistol. See, it is loaded. Now you are safe, 
 are you not, and will climb as I beg you upon 
 the box? There may be others, accomplices. "We 
 must make haste. We have on board an express 
 box with money which must be safely delivered. ' ' 
 
 Dorothea allowed him to take her arm and 
 assist her to mount the box. She held the four 
 9 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 trembling horses well in hand while Antonio 
 raised the heavy, blood-stained body in his 
 arms, and descended with his burden, which he 
 placed upon an improvised bier within the 
 coach. She did not blench nor turn away her 
 eyes from the sight ; and when he returned and 
 took his place beside her she relinquished the 
 reins and the pistol together. 
 
 14 Take it," she said; "I am not afraid." 
 Then she fainted quietly away upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Antonio felt his blood recede and fill his heart 
 with strange emotion, as he felt the soft pressure 
 of her head upon his arm. He looked down 
 upon her in bewilderment, wondering what it 
 were best to do. She had taken off her veil, 
 and her hat was pushed back upon the forehead, 
 where loose curling locks were set astray by the 
 wind. The death-like pallor of her face de- 
 tracted from its beauty, but gave to it the pathos 
 of helpless appeal. The various methods for 
 her restoration which knowledge suggested, 
 prudence rejected ; for he did not dare to face 
 the possibility that her eyes might open with 
 terror upon him. It was with a pang of anguish 
 that he realized that he could be to this beauti- 
 ful girl an object of instinctive fear and aver- 
 sion. 
 
 10 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Dorothea stirred and opened her eyes. Her 
 vision was clouded ; the blood sang in her ears ; 
 she remained leaning upon Antonio's shoulder, 
 unconscious of this support; and in that 
 moment when her bewildered look passively 
 met his, Antonio's heart gave a bound, and 
 then stood still. 
 
 She raised her head, pushed her hat squarely 
 into place, leaned back upon the cushion, and 
 said, in a quavering voice, "I am rather 
 ashamed of myself. I have fainted, I believe." 
 
 "I believe so," replied Antonio. 
 
 Her eyes brightened with returning courage. 
 This Indian was a simple soul with a good face, 
 kind, mild and dignified. She was safe with 
 him, and only the horror of the burden which 
 they bore within the coach remained, and that 
 she must try to forget. 
 
 1 'I have always lived in the city," she said, 
 as much to herself as to the Indian. "I am 
 not prepared for the startling adventures of 
 Western life. " 
 
 Antonio made no reply. He was struggling 
 to crush within himself the very thought of the 
 emotion which had set his pulses tingling. For 
 a fleeting moment he had known what love 
 might be ; and, with a new and bitter pang of 
 revelation, he saw that he was inevitably cut 
 11 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 off from all the best and tender est joys of life. 
 He had climbed too far above his lawful place, 
 yet he could never reach and keep a higher 
 level. Custom and prejudice would act as 
 weights to drag him down. 
 
 "How far is it to the town where the dead 
 man must be taken?" asked Dorothea, nerv- 
 ously. 
 
 "I have not been over this road for fifteen 
 years," he answered, "but I think there is no 
 nearer place than Hilton, a little town we pass 
 through. It must be ten miles from here." 
 
 "Where have you been these fifteen years?" 
 asked Dorothea, for the sake of making conver- 
 sation. Under the circumstances it was neces- 
 sary to talk even to an Indian. 
 
 "At school and college in the East," he 
 replied; "and during vacations, in Egypt, Pales- 
 tine and India; later, in France and England." 
 
 "Oh, you are a rich man, then?" said Dor- 
 othea. 
 
 "I have not a penny. The friend who did 
 all this for me is dead." 
 
 "I wondered if there were any rich Indians," 
 she said. "I shall soon know all about them 
 and their ways, I suppose, as the aunt whom I 
 am going to visit is teacher of the Indian school 
 at Casa Blanca." 
 
 12 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "You will live at Casa Blanca?" asked An- 
 tonio. 
 
 "Yes, it is to be for the present my home." 
 
 "I am sorry for you," said Antonio, gravely. 
 "With your fear of Indians you can not be 
 happy there." 
 
 She smiled as she looked up at him. "If 
 they are all like you I shall not be afraid," she 
 replied. 
 
 "But I thought you had a horror of me." 
 
 "Oh, no; how stupid of you! I can tell a 
 good Indian from a bad Indian. That was a 
 silly speech I made, and I little thought that 
 after all I should have to ride miles and miles at 
 your side with that terrible thing behind us in 
 the coach. It is my punishment, I suppose." 
 
 Antonio made no reply. 
 
 "Where is your home?" asked Dorothea. To 
 a gentleman she would not upon first acquaint- 
 ance have put categorical questions, but a 
 question is in most cases the only form of 
 conversation that can be used with an inferior. 
 
 "My home, like yours, is to be at Casa 
 Blanca. I belong on the reservation there." 
 
 "Oh!" said Dorothea; and she made no 
 attempt to continue the conversation, but, 
 spreading her parasol, leaned back in her seat, 
 and fell to observing the scenery. 
 13 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 The road, having climbed the steep grade, 
 debouched upon a rolling mesa, or high table- 
 land, at whose further edge a line of jagged 
 mountains cut the horizon. Part of the land 
 had been reclaimed for cultivation, and a wide 
 field of barley stubble lay beside the highway, 
 defended from encroachment by the ubiquitous 
 bar bed- wire fence. 
 
 "Look," said Antonio, "at the little birds 
 upon the ground." 
 
 Dorothea followed his glance, and saw that 
 where each fence-post cast a narrow shadow, a 
 row of little birds sat one beside another in the 
 limited shade. 
 
 "How comical they look," she said, laugh- 
 ing, "ranged like scholars in a class!" 
 
 " 'When all the birds are faint with the hot 
 sun,' " quoted Antonio; "but here there are 
 no cooling trees where they can hide." 
 
 He spoke as he would have done to Mrs. 
 Leigh, who, he was sure, would quickly have 
 responded, "Nor does that parched barley stub- 
 ble suggest 'the new-mown mead' ;" and her look 
 would have met his with a smile, and he would 
 have felt the happy sense of good-fellowship 
 which was the one joy he had counted on in 
 life. 
 
 Dorothea only stared. Perhaps she did not 
 14 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 know her Keats ; perhaps she thought Antonio 
 forward in the parade of his book-learning. 
 
 It was indeed very hot. The horses sweated 
 at their task, and the continuous cloud of dust 
 in which they moved stuck to their flanks and 
 backs, and turned then 1 coats to rusty yellow. 
 It powdered Dorothea's hair and eyelashes, 
 while the unfriendly sun burned her cheeks and 
 the tip of her nose. She was neither happy nor 
 comfortable, yet she uttered no complaint. She 
 possessed a well-bred serenity which she endeav- 
 ored to maintain at an extreme when circum- 
 stances put it to the test. 
 
 Antonio's stoicism surpassed her own, for it 
 was not until they had crossed the mesa, and 
 stopped in the welcome shade of some cotton- 
 wood trees where there was a well, that Doro- 
 thea noticed, as he prepared to water the 
 horses, that one of his arms was disabled and 
 his coat-sleeve stained with blood. 
 
 * 'You are wounded, "she exclaimed in concern. 
 
 "Yes, the robber gave us two shots before I 
 hit him. One finished poor Jo in there, the 
 other went through the fleshy part of my arm. 
 I had to shoot with my left hand. That is 
 why I did not kill him. I am very glad it hap- 
 pened so. I am thankful in my deepest heart 
 that I did not kill a man." 
 15 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 4 'Oh, oh!" said Dorothea, "how selfish and 
 unthinking I have been! I noticed, too, that 
 you drove with your left hand. Let me help 
 you with the horses, but first roll up your sleeve 
 and let me look at your arm." 
 
 "No, you would faint again at the sight of 
 blood; that is why I said nothing. I thought 
 perhaps I ought to bind it up, for the bleeding 
 began to make me dizzy ; but at last it stopped. 
 My clothes stuck to it and closed the wound. 
 It is best to leave it so. " 
 
 "What must you think of me?" she said. 
 " I am brave when there is need. Let me wash the 
 wound and bind it with a clean handkerchief." 
 
 Antonio shook his head. "We ought, before 
 long, to come upon a man who can do it," he 
 said. "It is strange that we have gone so far 
 without meeting a wagon." 
 
 "I dread to meet people, for they would stop 
 us and annoy us with morbid curiosity and 
 questions," she replied. 
 
 "I should be glad to find some one who could 
 ride inside with the dead," said Antonio. "I 
 do not like to leave him at the mercy of these 
 jolts. He rolls from side to side. It is pitiful 
 to see a corpse so disordered." 
 
 "I will sit there if you wish," said Dorothea, 
 growing pale. 
 
 16 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "No, no; I only wish that I could find some 
 other way for you to make the rest of the 
 journey. Ah, there comes a wagon. We do 
 not meet it, but it overtakes us." 
 
 A light wagon, drawn by two spirited chest- 
 nut horses, drew up beneath the trees, and the 
 occupants, two young men, leaped out. 
 
 "We heard that there had been a hold-up; is 
 it true?" cried one. 
 
 "Yes, by , and here is poor Jo Wil- 
 liams dead," exclaimed the other, springing 
 upon the step, and looking into the coach. 
 
 Both raised their eyes at the same moment 
 and caught sight of Dorothea on the box, and 
 they mechanically removed their hats while 
 they gazed in fixed surprise. Antonio drew 
 them aside to spare Dorothea the annoyance 
 she had feared ; but after he had been minutely 
 questioned and cross-questioned, Dorothea, 
 alighting, came to his relief. 
 
 "Do not keep him talking any longer, if you 
 please," she said. "He is badly wounded. 
 Will you not dress his arm?" 
 
 "I was about to ask that favor," said An- 
 tonio, "though the wound is a trifle; and also 
 that one of you gentlemen will take the young 
 lady in the carriage with you and drive on 
 ahead. It is too hard for her to sit here in the 
 17 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 hot sun, knowing all the time that the dead 
 man is there close behind her." 
 
 "Oh, I do not mind that," she said. "I am 
 not a child. At first I felt it, but now I have 
 become used to it." 
 
 "But it will get on your nerves badly, so long 
 a strain. The Indian is right," said the taller 
 of the men. ''Please seat yourself in my 
 buggy. Nelson, go with the Indian, after you 
 have looked at his arm." 
 
 "If you will drive," said Antonio to the 
 young man, who came forward, "I will sit 
 inside with the corpse. I feel that I owe him 
 that respect." 
 
 It was thus arranged, and Dorothea, taking 
 the advance in the light open buggy with the 
 spirited horses, whose owner set them going at a 
 spanking pace, drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 "It was terrible," she said. "I am so glad 
 to be free from it." 
 
 Nature met her eyes with a smiling reflection 
 of her happier mood. The open mesas were for 
 a time at an end, and the road wound upward 
 between large live oaks whose gnarled and 
 twisted branches made arabesques of shade upon 
 the ground. A tiny stream ran beside the road, 
 keeping green the grasses and shrubs that 
 bordered its course, while the quivering leaves 
 18 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 of the cottonwoods danced overhead. A cool 
 breeze blew, and a buzzard, balancing himself 
 against it, soared aloft with widespread unflap- 
 ping wings. 
 
 "It was a sad affair, and I am sorry that you 
 should have been there," responded the young 
 man. " Nelson and I were coming up the grade 
 when we met a riderless horse, and further on 
 we saw a man half-way up the side of the canon 
 dragging himself from rock to rock. We 
 shouted to him, but he did not answer, and we 
 drove on without concerning ourselves very 
 much with the matter until we met a boy who 
 had been shooting rabbits on the mesa, and he 
 told us he had seen the stage go by with a dead 
 man in it, so we whipped up and hurried after. 
 But now let us talk of something else. Is this 
 your first visit to California?" 
 
 "Yes. I have always lived in New York, 
 and lately spent a year in Valparaiso." 
 
 "And you will fancy us a lot of bloodthirsty 
 desperadoes; but I assure you it is the most 
 peaceable country in the world. Young ladies 
 ride about everywhere alone, and nothing ever 
 happens." 
 
 "After this I prefer that things do not hap- 
 pen," replied Dorothea. "I will welcome the 
 monotony of Casa Blanca." 
 19 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "You do not stop at Hilton, then? I am 
 sorry for that, for I live there. I am a lawyer, 
 Harry Burke, at your service. I have clients 
 who live at Casa Blanca. Do you know the 
 Wilsons there?" 
 
 "No, I have never been there; but my uncle's 
 widow, Senora Aguilar, is teacher of the Indian 
 school." 
 
 "Oh, I know Mrs. Aguilar. We anglicize 
 the title," answered Burke. "She is a partic- 
 ular friend of mine, and a charming woman, in 
 spite of her enthusiastic fondness for the 
 Indians. I am sure you will be very happy 
 with her, or at least that you will be very fond 
 of her. I cannot promise that the life there 
 will be altogether congenial to a young lady 
 accustomed to gaiety and to a large circle of 
 friends." 
 
 "I have never had many friends," said Doro- 
 thea, won to confidence by the good-humored 
 glance of his honest brown eyes. "I have had 
 rather a lonely life, until lately, when I have 
 been with my father at Valparaiso ; and there 
 we had society, or at least people to talk to, eat 
 with and dance with ; but of real friends none 
 at all, I think." 
 
 She spoke a little sadly, and Burke answered 
 kindly: "You will find plenty here, I hope. 
 20 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 We are, as a rule, warm-hearted, well-meaning 
 people, and I can answer for one or two who 
 will stand the test as real friends. I have told 
 you that your aunt has given me that place with 
 her. Perhaps you will be kind enough later on 
 to include me in your list." 
 
 "I am sure that I ought to do that," said 
 Dorothea, smiling. "You rescued me from an 
 uncomfortable position. My journey is so 
 much pleasanter than it might have been." 
 
 "If I remember, it was the Indian, not I, 
 who should have the credit for suggesting the 
 change. I am afraid I should not have thought 
 of it, though it gives me great pleasure to be of 
 service to you. I was intent with the thought 
 of the murder, and, to be honest, I did not con- 
 sider your position at all." 
 
 Dorothea felt a secret chagrin. She would 
 have preferred that he had accepted her thanks, 
 even if he did not altogether deserve them. A 
 woman never appreciates the blundering hon- 
 esty that fails of the chance for a compliment. 
 
 "At any rate, I may thank you for the use of 
 your easy carriage and fine horses," she said. 
 
 "I hope you will have many drives behind 
 them," he replied. "I could drive blindfolded 
 over every road between Hilton and Casa 
 Blanca. You will often see me there." 
 21 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Dorothea had removed her gloves to push 
 back the rebellious locks from her forehead. 
 Burke noted the delicacy of the hands and the 
 polished brilliancy of the rosy nails, which 
 denoted the hand of an aristocrat, and con- 
 firmed the impression made by her voice, al- 
 though the dust and sun had done their worst 
 in transforming Dorothea's outer person, even 
 her pretty face, into the semblance of a daughter 
 of the people. 
 
 "I suppose I must look like a fright," she 
 said in self-conscious deprecation. 
 
 "We give up caring about looks out here," 
 he replied. "It is not safe in California to 
 judge people by their clothes." 
 
 "But my clothes were very nice when I 
 started," she answered, naively; "please give 
 me credit for that." 
 
 "I do," he said. "I give you credit for 
 much more than that." 
 
 His look and tone expressed such sincere 
 admiration that Dorothea, who had a moment 
 before been wishing for a compliment, now with- 
 drew within herself like a little frightened snail. 
 
 Arrived at Hilton, Burke conducted his guest 
 to a seat upon the hotel porch, thickly shaded 
 with vines, where he had a table set with a cold 
 lunch, and himself prepared to make tea. 
 22 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "I know the capabilities of the place," he 
 remarked. "Being a bachelor, I am condemned 
 to take my meals here. They range from bad 
 to indifferent ; but I have a private stock of tea, 
 and know how to brew it. By the time my 
 horses have had their dinner, the stage will be 
 here. We shall learn when the inquest is to be 
 held, and then I will drive you on to Casa 
 Blanca." 
 
 Dorothea paled at the thought of an inquest, 
 wondering whether she should be summoned as 
 witness, but she made no allusion to her anxi- 
 eties. Burke watched her with pleasure as she 
 sat opposite to him at table. She gave him the 
 impression of a character intrinsically sweet and 
 strong, although time might be needed to 
 develop all the strength, and sorrow might lay 
 a frosty finger upon the fruit before its full 
 sweetness should appear. She had not yet 
 grown beyond the happy self-concentration of 
 youth, when the external touches only the sur- 
 face of the consciousness. She did not dream 
 of analyzing her companion with any answering 
 keenness of observation. She knew intuitively 
 that he was a friend. She felt that he admired 
 her; and the thought was vaguely pleasant, yet 
 it set her pulses astir with a slight alarm, and 
 awoke a shy reserve which appeared only in 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 added dignity and grace. Burke watched her 
 delicate hands at work among the teacups with 
 a sudden realization of the vapid emptiness of 
 his solitary life. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 While the two still sat at table, an open farm- 
 wagon, drawn by a pair of shaggy horses, ap- 
 proached the inn. Its occupants were a woman 
 in a simbonnet and gingham gown, an old 
 Indian who acted as driver, and half a dozen 
 dark-skinned, smiling children who sat upon 
 the straw behind. 
 
 "It is Mrs. Aguilar," said Burke, springing 
 to his feet. "I will bring her to you," and he 
 advanced hatless into the blazing sunshine. 
 
 u How do you do, Harry?" said the woman in 
 the sunbonnet, giving him her hand as he aided 
 her descent. "I came down to-day to meet the 
 stage. I have not seen you since I got the 
 letter, so you do not know the news. I am to 
 have a guest, a niece of my husband, who is 
 coming to live with me. I am just a little 
 afraid to meet her, and yet I could not wait. 
 Good old Jose and some of the children came 
 with me. Don't they look well in their sum- 
 mer suits? You recognize some of them, I am 
 sure. This is Anna, who had the fever last 
 spring " 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 4 'Dear Mrs. Aguilar, I must venture to inter- 
 rupt you. Your niece is here, waiting for you 
 on the porch. I had the pleasure of the first 
 meeting, and now I will leave you together." 
 
 Dorothea appeared, holding out her hands. 
 
 44 My dearest child, how did you manage to 
 fall from the skies? I am so glad to see you, 
 and so surprised." 
 
 A kiss was exchanged in the depths of the 
 sunbonnet. 
 
 44 Come here, Manuel and Martha, Anna and 
 Samuel," said Mrs. Aguilar. 44 This is my 
 niece, Miss Fairfax, come all the way from 
 South America to visit us. They drove the ten 
 miles just to be the first to see you, my dear. 
 How well you look, and how pretty you are! 
 You don't mind my saying that, do you? And 
 you are just a little bit like your uncle ; perhaps 
 you remember him the curve of the mouth 
 and chin is like him." 
 
 She held Dorothea's hand and pressed it 
 warmly and lingeringly. She was tall and 
 slight, and stooped a little as if worn with the 
 hardships of her lot ; but she was full of tireless 
 energy and cheer. Her voice was charming. 
 
 44 Come, Jose, water the horses, and give them 
 their barley, and then we must go home. No 
 time for stopping at the store to-day. Miss 
 26 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Dolly will sit on the seat between us. There is 
 room." 
 
 "I am afraid I must wait for Mr. Burke's 
 permission to leave," said Dorothea. "The 
 coach was held up, the driver killed, and there 
 is to be an inquest." 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar was loud in exclamations of 
 wonder and distress. Poor Jo Williams, she 
 knew him, and she knew his wife, who had a 
 six-months-old baby. How sad, how tragic, 
 how trying for Dolly! She would stay with 
 her, of course, and Jose could stable the horses 
 under the cotton wood tree by the brook. They 
 could drive home by moonlight if necessary. 
 
 Burke returned when the stage drove up, 
 crowded closely by curious outrunners who 
 swarmed about it on foot and on horseback, 
 attracted from all quarters by news of the 
 freight it bore. 
 
 The corpse of the murdered man was carried 
 on an improvised litter to an undertaker's shop 
 near by. The coroner was summoned by tele- 
 graph. 
 
 "It may be twenty-four hours before he 
 arrives," said Burke. "You can come down 
 again if necessary, Miss Fairfax. Meantime, I 
 hope you will allow me to take you the rest of 
 the way. I am going to Casa Blanca this even- 
 27 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ing. I have business with a client there, and 
 to-morrow my horses will be again at your dis- 
 posal." 
 
 "Oh, Harry," cried Mrs. Aguilar, before 
 Dorothea could reply, "it is not true that you 
 are going to bring that suit against the 
 Indians?" 
 
 "I am afraid it is, Mrs. Aguilar; but do not 
 think too hardly of me. I must do my client's 
 work." 
 
 "The devil's work!" she answered energetic- 
 ally. "I did not believe it of you. No, Dolly 
 need not use your carriage. We have room to 
 spare. I came ten miles for the sake of her 
 company. You do not mind sitting a little 
 close, dear?" 
 
 "Not at all," replied Dorothea, looking some- 
 what doubtfully at old Jose", who stood awaiting 
 orders. 
 
 "We will go home, Jose, home at once." 
 
 Burke was chagrined that Mrs. Aguilar per- 
 sistently avoided his look, and that under the 
 impulse of her authority Dorothea was led away 
 without the opportunity for a farewell. 
 
 She bowed and looked after him a little rue- 
 fully when he passed them on the road, his 
 horses spinning onwards, while the heavy wagon 
 creaked and lumbered up the long ascent. 
 28 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Antonio was left to trudge the ten miles to 
 his destination, but he was not alone. A group 
 of Indian youths found more interest in attach- 
 ing themselves to his company than in hanging 
 upon the outskirts of the crowd, or peering 
 through the darkened windows of the under- 
 taker's shop. 
 
 Two or three rode bronco ponies, the others, 
 like Antonio, went on foot, and the sociability 
 of the riders kept the pedestrians buried in a 
 cloud of dust, and often in danger of being 
 trodden under foot. Good humor prevailed; 
 and a trifling discomfort seemed only to furnish 
 cause for merriment. Their welcome of An- 
 tonio was tinged with a shade of awe. They 
 knew that he had been to college, wore fine 
 clothes, and was reputed to possess fabulous 
 wealth. At the same time he was one of them, 
 a member of the tribe, speaking their language, 
 and associated with their earliest recollections. 
 
 "Do you remember, Antonio, how we climbed 
 the cliff and stole the eagle's eggs?" asked a 
 good-looking young man shyly. 
 
 "Why, Felipe, is it you?" responded Antonio. 
 "I should never have known you for the round- 
 faced boy of eight who was my rival in every 
 sport." 
 
 "And I remember," said another, "the day 
 29 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 that Antonio left us, how we peeped from be- 
 hind the house and watched the carriage and 
 the lady in it, and Antonio beside her staring 
 like an owl and ready to cry, but braving it out 
 and full of his importance." 
 
 ''And you wished it was you," said Felipe. 
 
 "No, not then, but later, when we heard 
 how rich he was. It must be a fine thing to be 
 rich." 
 
 All echoed this sentiment with wistful glances 
 at then* mate. 
 
 Antonio longed for solitude. He was unused 
 to sociability, and the demands of curiosity 
 wearied him. Half-way to the rancheria he 
 found an opportunity to detach himself from his 
 companions. 
 
 Two broncos came clattering down the stony 
 grade, one ridden by an aged Indian woman, 
 the other by a younger one carrying in front of 
 her a two -year -old child. At sight of the pro- 
 cession advancing upwards, both nodded greet- 
 ings. 
 
 "Who are they?" asked Antonio, with a 
 vague stir of recollection. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Felipe. "You have be- 
 come a stranger indeed. That is Angela and 
 Marta, your grandmother and sister. This is 
 Antonio Lachusa," he called out, completing 
 30 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 the introduction, and his companions smiled 
 broadly, realizing the humor of the situation. 
 
 Marta did not smile. 
 
 "I will leave you," said Antonio. "I will 
 stay with them for a while;" and after some 
 debate of the matter his escort reluctantly 
 departed, cheered by the consciousness of the 
 unusual intelligence which they carried with 
 them to Casa Blanca. 
 
 Angela was deaf, and did not realize that the 
 stranger was of interest to her, so she urged her 
 horse onwards at its slow, shambling gait ; but 
 Marta paused, held out her hand, and looked 
 shyly at her brother. 
 
 "You are welcome," she said. 
 
 "And you to me. Whose is the child?" 
 
 "Mine," said Marta. 
 
 "And who is your husband?" 
 
 "I have none," she answered. 
 
 At sight of Antonio's face, she bent her head 
 and wept. "Oh, brother, brother, why did you 
 come back?" she added. 
 
 "I came back to my home," he replied, "but 
 I find it dishonored. I feel now that I have 
 no home." 
 
 "It is not my fault, brother," she sobbed. 
 
 Antonio ground his teeth. "And the man?" 
 he gasped. 
 
 31 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 4 'If I tell yon, you will wish to kill him," 
 she answered. "I know it by your face." 
 
 "Yes, I would like to kill him," he replied. 
 
 "But promise me you will be patient." 
 
 "I will be patient," said Antonio. "An 
 Indian is not allowed to avenge his honor. 
 What is left for him but patience?" 
 
 "He is the postmaster and store-keeper," she 
 said, "a rich man and a white man. He sells 
 liquor to the Indians. One day he gave me a 
 glass of cider with a drug in it." 
 
 Antonio staggered and pressed his hand to his 
 forehead. 
 
 "I must follow grandmother," continued 
 Marta, regarding him with a mournful look. 
 "We are going to visit Manuel's wife at Leona. 
 She has a fever and wishes grandmother to 
 nurse her, and I will work for her till she is 
 well. It is a change. We have been hungry 
 at the rancheria. Now you have come, brother, 
 we shall all be rich." 
 
 He made no reply, and Marta, after lingering 
 awhile in silence, shook her bridle and moved 
 on with drooping head. 
 
 Antonio stood in the middle of the road 
 
 where she had left him. The afternoon sun 
 
 beat fiercely upon the dusty highway. Behind 
 
 lay the world of wide thought, high endeavor, 
 
 32 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 eager ambitions; before him, the rancheria, 
 narrow, barren, poverty-blighted; but he had 
 no choice, he must go onward. 
 
 The white house which gave its name to the 
 Indian reserve, the post-office and the small 
 settlement about it was a long, stuccoed build- 
 ing, erected in Spanish style around three sides 
 of a courtyard upon which the doors of the 
 dwelling rooms opened, those of the upper story 
 giving upon a gallery supported by round 
 wooden pillars and enclosed with ornamental 
 lattice-work. The court once boasted a foun- 
 tain set about with palm-trees and rose-bushes, 
 but the basin now was empty; a headless god- 
 dess held a broken urn, the palm-trees were 
 dead, and, lacking the necessary irrigation, the 
 roses had ceased blooming during the summer 
 drought. 
 
 The house had been built by an Englishman 
 who had sunk a fortune in an unsuccessful gold 
 mine, and at last deserted it and his property 
 together, selling at a loss to the present owner, 
 a retired merchant and speculator who still had 
 hopes of the gold mine, which he was preparing 
 to capitalize. 
 
 The white house, now called "Wilson's," was 
 occupied by the senior possessor of the name, 
 33 
 
A SOUL in BBONZE 
 
 his wife, two daughters, and the husband of the 
 elder of the two, who kept the post-office and 
 conducted a productive gin-shop, dignified by 
 the name of store, on the outskirts of the Indian 
 reservation. 
 
 Burke's chestnut horses turned into the car- 
 riage drive unguided ; he flung the reins to a 
 stable-boy and entered the paved courtyard, 
 which echoed to his tread. At his approach a 
 hand stole out from the trellised balcony and 
 flung a shower of red blossoms plucked from a 
 climbing vine upon his head. He caught the 
 falling flowers and looked up with a smile as he 
 fastened one in his buttonhole. 
 
 As he disappeared within the doorway the 
 young girl, who had been watching him with 
 shining eyes, sprang from her hiding-place 
 among the vines and unceremoniously entered 
 her sister's room. 
 
 "Nell," she said, "Harry is here. He has 
 just come, two hours late." 
 
 "Have you been counting the hours?" asked 
 her sister, a pretty but care-worn matron of 
 twenty-five, who stood at the mirror adding a 
 finishing touch to her toilet by the application 
 of a powder-puff. "Tell me, Bess, do I look like 
 a fright? I cried my eyes out last night, and 
 I show it, I know." 
 
 34 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Do not worry; no one will notice it," was 
 the careless reply. "But what do you suppose 
 the neighbors say? They all believe that 
 Harry and I are engaged ; and I will tell you a 
 secret, Nell. I think they are likely very soon 
 to be right." 
 
 She began to hum the fragment of a tune, as 
 she twirled about the room in a fantastic dance. 
 
 "Nonsense, child," replied her sister, sharply. 
 "He has never had an idea of such a thing." 
 
 As she spoke the face which confronted her in 
 the mirror looked strangely haggard; and the 
 hand trembled which adjusted a stray lock of 
 hah*. 
 
 "Will you not give us your blessing, Nell?" 
 asked Bessie, with thoughtless gaiety. "In one 
 way it will be good for you, poor dear. When 
 I am married to Harry, Sam must stop teasing 
 you with his stupid jealousy. Sam is really too 
 short-sighted. I think we shall surprise him." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings sank into a chair beside her 
 toilet table. 
 
 "Perhaps it is you who are short-sighted, 
 Bess, " she replied. "A husband can see things 
 more clearly than a young girl like you. How 
 blind I was at your age ! Why must experience 
 always come too late?" 
 
 "Old people always say things like that," 
 35 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 remarked Bessie. "It is their privilege, I sup- 
 pose, a sort of a consolation for missing things 
 they might have had. Now, I am determined 
 to have my good things as I go along. I think 
 it is people's fault if they miss them." 
 
 She smiled as she delivered this aphorism, 
 heedless of the pain her words might give. 
 
 Meantime, the subject of this conversation 
 was seated in a room on the ground floor, dedi- 
 cated to, the occupancy of the Casa Blanca 
 Mining Company, whose framed prospectus 
 occupied "a conspicuous place above the mantel- 
 piece. Mr. Wilson sat opposite his lawyer, 
 leaning upon the table where a crayon map was 
 outspread between them. 
 
 "Here is the line," he said, "where I claim 
 that the Indian reservation encroaches on my 
 land. Because it includes the newly-discovered 
 borax mine my enemies say, of course, that my 
 claim is fraudulent.'! The truth is, these lands 
 have been very loosely surveyed. The Indians 
 steal all they can get, and build their adobe 
 huts, hunt and fish upon my land; and I say 
 nothing until something like this occurs to give 
 value to my boundary line. Then I assert my 
 rights." 
 
 "I hope it is so, Mr. Wilson," answered 
 Burke. "I should like to work for you with a 
 36 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 full conviction of the justice of our case. I do 
 not like to argue on the wrong side. I am 
 never so sure of myself." 
 
 "Well, you can study it up. You will find 
 that it is so, and I depend on you to convince 
 the Court of it." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, took down a decanter 
 from the shelf, and filled some glasses that stood 
 upon a tray, adding, "Here's to our success." 
 Burke drank the toast in silence. The after- 
 noon was spent over books and papers. At the 
 supper table Burke took his place as an expected 
 guest, greeted with smiles by the ladies, and 
 with an indifferent nod by Mr. Jennings. 
 
 "It is a long time since you have been here, 
 Harry," said Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 "Three whole days," said Bessie, laughing. 
 "What an age!" 
 
 "It has seemed long to me," said Burke. 
 "Hilton is not a cheerful place of residence. 
 In fact, when not in town at court, I live on the 
 road to Casa Blanca. ' ' 
 
 "Why not at Casa Blanca?" asked Mr. 
 Wilson. 
 
 "Perhaps some day " began Mrs. Wil- 
 son, then she choked the end of her sentence 
 and a laugh together in her handkerchief. 
 
 Bessie looked from one to the other of her 
 37 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 parents with alert intelligence; then she met 
 Burke's glance frankly but with heightened 
 color. He felt himself on the verge of a peril- 
 ous situation, and, though he was sure his will 
 had no share in creating it, he realized that he 
 had not perhaps resisted hitherto the current of 
 events. Feeling an immediate necessity of 
 doing this, he gathered himself together and 
 remarked with an effort: "I had an adventure 
 to-day. The Governor stage was held up on 
 the Johnson grade, the driver was shot dead, 
 and a passenger brought the stage in safety as 
 far as Hilton, after disabling the robber and 
 protecting the express box. My adventure was 
 the rescue of a charming girl, who took refuge 
 with me in my buggy and lunched with me at 
 the hotel." 
 
 "Who was she?" asked Mrs. Jennings, smil- 
 ing at the sight of Bessie's clouded face. 
 
 "She is a niece of Mrs. Aguilar at the school, 
 and is on her way to visit her." 
 
 "Then she will be our neighbor," remarked 
 Mrs. Jennings. "It will be pleasant for you, 
 Bess, to have a young girl of your own age so 
 near us. I hope you will take pains to culti- 
 vate her acquaintance." 
 
 "I hope so, too," said Burke, with an earnest 
 look at Bessie, quite unconscious of the hidden 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 meaning in her sister's words which caused her 
 to color in vexation. "I am sure you will like 
 her. I almost promised her that you would be 
 friends. She is very interesting and attract- 
 ive." 
 
 If her sister alone had spoken, Bessie would 
 have returned a ready sarcasm. The situation 
 between the two was strained by circumstances 
 which did not openly appear but which inter- 
 fered with any natural sympathy. Mrs. Jen- 
 nings's nerves vibrated like an ill-fcuned harp to 
 Bessie's thoughtless jesting; and the younger 
 sister made no allowance for the deep-seated 
 grief which caused the wayward humor that 
 gave her continual offence. While at heart each 
 felt the strong tie of blood and would have 
 resented a stranger's misinterpretation, this did 
 not prevent the constant jangling of warring 
 interests. 
 
 Burke's presence was oil upon troubled 
 waters. With an instinct of deception which is 
 at best a self-deception, Bessie adorned herself 
 for him with charm of manner and gentleness 
 of speech. The sudden pang of jealousy his 
 words caused had taken her by surprise, and she 
 had no reply for his appeal. 
 
 1 'I suppose it will be right for Bessie to visit 
 her," said Mrs. Wilson. "She is a lady, no 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 doubt, though poor Mrs. Aguilar is in such 
 humble circumstances. ' ' 
 
 4 ' She is a lady, ' ' replied Burke. < < She might 
 be a princess." 
 
 He spoke with enthusiasm, smiling down 
 Mrs. Wilson's petty doubts. She, poor woman, 
 was in the uncertain position of the newly rich, 
 forsaken by old standards, and querulously 
 doubtful of each situation. Burke's opinion 
 was the oracle to which she frequently deferred, 
 for he dominated this circle with the superi- 
 ority both of mind and heart. Mr. Jennings 
 alone held himself aloof with a manner of de- 
 clared hostility which Burke as constantly 
 ignored, despising the man too sincerely to pay 
 him the compliment of attention. 
 
 Mr. Wilson turned the current of the conver- 
 sation by demanding an account of the hold-up. 
 
 4 'Who brought the stage in?" he inquired, at 
 the conclusion of the narrative, to which all 
 listened with interest. 
 
 *'A good-looking young Indian who was a 
 stranger to me," Burke replied. 
 
 4 'Perhaps it was the famous Antonio 
 Lachusa," remarked Mr. Jennings. "We 
 heard of his coming a while ago. Some of the 
 young bucks came over to my place and cele- 
 brated by indulging in copious supplies of fire- 
 40 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 water, which they wanted me to charge to his 
 account. 'Not much,' I said, 'I must see some 
 of his wonderful wealth before I credit any- 
 thing to it. ' They say he inherited a fortune 
 from the white woman who was crazy enough to 
 adopt him." 
 
 44 Why does he come back now?" asked Mr. 
 Wilson, discontentedly. "A man like that is 
 sure to be a dangerous spirit, and as matters 
 stand at the rancheria a word from him would 
 be like adding a spark to tow. I wish you 
 would go down this evening, Burke, and see 
 how things are going. I would be glad if you 
 could gain some influence with this fellow and 
 persuade him to leave the neighborhood, at any 
 rate until our suit is settled." 
 
 44 I will see what I can do," answered Burke. 
 
 4 * Hark!" said Bessie. "They are firing a 
 salute as they do when the priest comes. He 
 must be an important personage, and is he really 
 rich? Who ever heard of a rich Indian?" 
 
 Antonio entered the rancheria at sunset. He 
 had lingered on the road, climbing here and 
 there to a well-remembered height command- 
 ing a view which he recalled as among his 
 earliest impressions. He recognized the hillside 
 where he had met the mountain lion ; the dis- 
 41 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 tant cliff where he had found the eagle's nest ; 
 the hollow where the humming-bird nested in 
 the manzanita bush. The face of the country 
 had been somewhat changed by the clearing of 
 fields, the felling of trees, and the building of 
 roads ; but in nothing did he recognize so great 
 a change as in the rancheria itself. It looked 
 so small and shrunken, the adobe houses mere 
 diminutive huts, the valley a narrow gorge, 
 the mountain no longer the imposing mystery 
 which it had been. He had to assure himself 
 that these things must have remained unaltered. 
 The change was in himself. 
 
 He could not return unobserved, as would have 
 suited his mood, for the whole reserve was out 
 of doors and awaiting him. A group of the chief 
 Indians, the old Captain, the present incumbent 
 of that office, the judge, and a number of the 
 old people of importance in the tribe, advanced 
 in procession to meet him. He was led into the 
 tumble-down adobe building which served as 
 council chamber, where addresses of welcome 
 were made him ; then he was taken to visit each 
 of the houses in the settlement, where he was 
 received with shy smiles and awkward hand- 
 shakings which hid some fluttering heart-beats. 
 To the marriageable young women it was as 
 if a fairy prince had come among them. He 
 42 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 was so handsome, so well dressed, and withal 
 so rich. 
 
 To Antonio it was all like a dream. He 
 recognized only by name these people who were 
 his kith and kin. A few of the old men and 
 women were as he had known them, only more 
 withered, wrinkled and bent beneath the in- 
 creasing weight of years. There were his 
 uncles, aunts and cousins, his godparents and 
 their families, all of whom stood in a relation 
 of close intimacy with him, and yet to them his 
 heart gave no warmer response than to the rest. 
 He felt that instead of a heart he had a lump of 
 ice in his breast. 
 
 "If it were Marta who, happy and innocent, 
 should come to meet me, if my father and mother 
 were alive, it would be different," he thought. 
 
 No one noticed any lack in his manner. 
 Eeserve and self-control are habitual with these 
 people who, with their well-bred dignity, are 
 nature's aristocrats. Antonio's smile was ready, 
 and his words gentle and friendly. He listened 
 with proper respect to his elders, and ate of the 
 feast spread in his honor, after which he smoked 
 a solemn cigarro in the council chamber. It 
 was here that old Jose made a speech in which 
 he revealed to Antonio the state of affairs at the 
 rancheria. 
 
 43 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He spoke in the language of the tribe, and 
 Antonio's heart was stirred by the unforgotten 
 accents, which had a power possessed by no 
 other tongue, however enriched by learning and 
 cultivation. This was the language which he 
 had heard from his mother's lips. It aroused 
 dim recollections, vague associations, undefin- 
 able emotions. In its perfection it was heard 
 only from the old people. The young were shy 
 of its use, preferring the English or the more 
 universal Spanish. 
 
 Jose concluded his speech by saying: "It is 
 the rich who are plotting against us. They 
 covet our lands. I appeal to you, Antonio, to 
 use your riches to secure our rights. They say 
 the American courts are all in the interest of 
 the rich. The poor man has no chance of 
 justice. Work for us, Antonio. Our Lady has 
 sent you back to us in our time of need. How 
 can they say that they have a claim upon our 
 lands? They have been ours from time im- 
 memorial. Look at yonder mountain. No 
 man knows how long it has been there ; no man 
 knows how long our people have been in this 
 place. It is true we are now but a handful; 
 and little by little we have been pushed aside 
 from the wide plains where our cattle used to 
 range, from the fertile valleys where now the 
 44 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 white man plants his corn, to this barren corner 
 where it is hard work to live, where we are poor 
 and hungry. If there is wealth in rich mines 
 here it is ours, and is given to make up to us for 
 the unfriendly soil. Even in its poverty we 
 love this spot, for here is our burying ground, 
 and the dust of our dead is here. Now they 
 would take this from us and leave us nothing. 
 Surely, this must not be. We beg you to help 
 us, Antonio. You are our hope." 
 
 Antonio rose and bowed, as he said: "I 
 thank you, elders and friends, for your welcome 
 of me. I return to be one of you. If I had 
 riches they should be at your command; but 
 this is all the wealth I bring, two hands to 
 work for you, a heart and brain to feel and 
 think for you. The beloved friend who gave 
 me my home and education promised that I 
 should be a rich man. She fully meant that 
 this should be so, but she died suddenly, leav- 
 ing me without a penny. It is the will of God. 
 But if you rely upon me, I accept your trust. 
 I will use in your service the education that has 
 been given me. I know something of the white 
 man's law, and will appeal to it for your pro- 
 tection." 
 
 Disappointment fell like a thunderbolt upon 
 the assembly. Antonio Lachusa, the pride of 
 45 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 his race, was an ordinary mortal, a poor, uncon- 
 sidered Indian. 
 
 Jose spread out his hands in a gesture of 
 despair. 
 
 "You can do nothing if you are poor," he 
 said. "Have we not wise men among us, older, 
 more experienced than you? It is money alone 
 that we need money; that is the only thing 
 that can give power in this world." 
 
 "That should not be so," said old Pedro, a 
 man of ninety years and more, who was a pious 
 Christian, fasting on Fridays and wearing a 
 rosary next his heart. "The priest will tell you 
 something different. Does he not say that 
 righteousness is power?" 
 
 "That may have been so in the old day, but 
 not now," answered Jose. "It is the white 
 men who upset all things. They are rich, and 
 can do as they please. At the store they sell us 
 our groceries, our cloth and calico, a third 
 higher than to the next white man who buys 
 the same goods. They buy our corn and barley 
 for a third what they pay to the white man. 
 Then they say we are ungrateful and haggle 
 over prices. They call us thieves, when it is 
 they who are the thieves. Would they submit 
 if we took the gold mine which is dug on the 
 next hillside, on land which is by rights fairly 
 46 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 ours? Yet they claim the borax mine on our 
 land, and blame us for wishing to defend it." 
 
 The meeting broke up in this spirit which 
 was general among them, a sense of wrong and 
 injustice aroused by a new cause, but become 
 habitual through the experience of years. 
 
 Antonio drew a long breath when he found 
 himself at last alone beneath the stars. Ke- 
 turned to this land of crystalline atmosphere, he 
 wondered at the brilliancy of the heavens. All 
 the unfamiliar stars of the fifth and sixth mag- 
 nitudes, obscured in countries of humid skies, 
 came out here, and took their rightful places, 
 changing the outline of the constellations. The 
 milky way shone with the light of a second 
 moon. Antonio thought of Belmont, and its 
 lovers, and its starlit sky. His heart thrilled 
 now as it had never done before at the memory 
 of the restrained passion of Lorenzo's speeches. 
 He realized heights and depths where his 
 thought had never penetrated, infinities of 
 feeling which were as remote from him as the 
 infinities of distance in which the planets move. 
 Was he happier because he could apprehend 
 what had been hidden? Was he more fortu- 
 nate than his fellows to whom these patines of 
 bright gold were only twinkling lights, since he 
 knew the laws of astronomy, and had covered 
 47 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 pages with the calculations of the higher mathe- 
 matics? "Yes, yes," he answered to himself. 
 "I suffer more, but it is godlike to suffer with 
 open eyes. If only I may make something of 
 my life so that it shall be worth while." 
 
 He walked past the school-house, through 
 whose open windows he saw Dorothea and her 
 aunt in the little front room, where the light of 
 the lamp shone full on the girl's head, turning 
 her red-brown hair to burnished gold. Her eyes 
 were bright with animation as she talked. 
 Antonio paused involuntarily, and stood look- 
 ing at her as he had often stood lost in con- 
 templation before a picture in the Dresden 
 gallery. A footstep startled him, and turning 
 quickly he found Burke at his side. 
 
 "It is my Indian friend," said Burke. "Is 
 your name Lachusa?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Antonio. "And yours?" 
 
 "Oh, I am Mr. Burke." 
 
 "I have heard of you," said Antonio. "You 
 are Mr. Wilson's lawyer." 
 
 "They have already told you about me," said 
 Burke, smiling, "and nothing good, I am sure. 
 But a lawsuit, you know, is not a matter of 
 sentiment. I must do my duty. They tell me, 
 Lachusa, that you are remarkably well educated. 
 Now I should like to feel that I might depend 
 48 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 upon you to influence the others of the tribe, 
 who are as ignorant and emotional as children, 
 to take a common-sense view of this matter. 
 I think I can promise that Mr. Wilson would 
 be willing to settle the matter out of court, and 
 even to pay a little for the disputed land, 
 though it would be like paying for his own." 
 
 "Of what use would be the money?" asked 
 Antonio. "It would be spent soon, half of it 
 for drink which is furnished illegally to my 
 people by Mr. Wilson's son-in-law. We could 
 not buy new homes, and the old people, the 
 women and children would be cast adrift. No, 
 Mr. Burke, the land is ours, and you seek to rob 
 us of it under the name of the law. We must 
 fight you at law if we can, though we are poor 
 and ignorant, and you are rich and wise." 
 
 They had walked up the road during this 
 conversation, and were now opposite the Casa 
 Blanca gardens, where the white house gleamed 
 fairy-like through the trees, and the sound of a 
 piano thunderously executing a movement of 
 Die Wallcilre came through the still night air. 
 
 "But you are an exception," remarked 
 Burke. "You are both rich and wise." 
 
 "I was left without a penny," answered An- 
 tonio. "The will which I once saw drafted on 
 paper was never signed. But what does it 
 49 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 matter? It is possible to do much without 
 money." 
 
 1 'No, there you are mistaken," said Burke. 
 " Poverty is a crime or the imputation of one. 
 If you are to fight me at law the first thing you 
 must do is to look about for means to raise it. 
 Mrs. Aguilar, of course, will be your friend. 
 She thinks she has found the means through an 
 Indian Association, formed of certain senti- 
 mental people in the East who love the poor 
 Indian and are interested in his affairs. I tell 
 you this because she herself will tell it to you 
 when you meet her. But I would suggest that 
 you do not depend too much on this aid. 
 Sentiment is a fine thing, but it has its limita- 
 tions, usually at the point where it attacks the 
 pocketbook." 
 
 "Mrs. Leigh was president of an Indian 
 Association," said Antonio. "I have some- 
 times Spoken at their meetings. I might still 
 have some influence. Thank you for the idea. " 
 
 "You may have it for what it is worth," said 
 Burke. "I will leave you here. Think over 
 what I have said. After to-morrow I will begin 
 the suit. It will then be too late for a compro- 
 
 50 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 When Burke returned from his stroll in the 
 starlight he found Mrs. Jennings at the piano, 
 while her husband at the further end of the 
 room was engaged in an animated conversation 
 with his sister-in-law. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Burke," called Bessie, as he entered 
 and approached her, "Sam has a piece of news 
 for you. Your princess is not a princess, after 
 all. We have decided that we can not even call 
 upon her." 
 
 Burke felt his heart throb with an undefin- 
 able anxiety, not from the manner of the threat, 
 but because something told him that he was 
 punished for mentioning Dorothea's name in 
 this society. As he had seen her again at a 
 glimpse through the school-house window, she 
 had appeared to him like a dainty flower trans- 
 planted into an uncongenial soil, but rearing 
 itself bravely against the elements. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he inquired, as care- 
 lessly as he might. 
 
 "Why, Ed Fairfax is an old chum of mine," 
 said Mr. Jennings. "I know him from 
 A to Z. Do you know why he lives in South 
 51 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 America? It is because he prefers the climate 
 to that of Canada, ' ' and he gave a harsh laugh 
 which Bessie echoed musically. 
 
 "Go on, Sam, explain," she said. "Mr. 
 Burke looks skeptical." 
 
 "Well, in plain English, he robbed a bank 
 where he was cashier, after repeatedly forging 
 his father's name on drafts, and was saved from 
 the penitentiary only by the indulgence of the 
 old man, whom he drove into his grave. He is a 
 blackleg and a sharper, a professional gambler, 
 as well as a reckless speculator in wild-cat 
 schemes. He has had some correspondence 
 through an agent with my respected father-in- 
 law concerning our property here, the Bonanza 
 Mine. We may make a deal with him if all 
 goes well. Fairfax does not know that I mar- 
 ried Wilson's daughter, or even that I am in 
 this part of the world, and I donH want him to 
 know it just yet awhile." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings had ended her music when 
 Burke appeared. She now whirled about on 
 the piano-stool and exclaimed: "For reasons of 
 your own, no doubt. Mr. Fairfax knows you, 
 I suppose, as well as you know him." 
 
 "See what it is to have an admiring wife," 
 said Jennings "one so full of love and confi- 
 dence." 
 
 52 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 4 * Come, come," said Bessie. "Don't quarrel 
 in public. It is not good taste. Well, Mr. 
 Burke, what do you think about it? Don't you 
 see that we can not call on this man's daughter?" 
 
 "In that you will, of course, do as you 
 please," Burke answered gravely. "She is a 
 lady, and one of the most attractive girls I have 
 ever met. She will be very lonely if she 
 makes no friends here. I hope you will not 
 prejudice others against her. She can not be 
 held responsible for her father's sins." 
 
 "But I shall think it my duty to tell my 
 friends what I know of her family," said Bessie, 
 piously. 
 
 "Oh, her family's all right as far as that 
 goes," said Jennings. "Aguilar was always 
 boasting of his blue blood. He was her uncle, 
 you know ; and the Fairfaxes are very respect- 
 able. Ed was the black sheep. I have nothing 
 against the girl, and Nell may call on her if she 
 likes, if she will promise to contrive that Miss 
 Fairfax does not mention my name in her let- 
 ters to her father. This is very important." 
 
 "Why should I call?" replied his wife. 
 "Mrs. Aguilar has never been on my visiting 
 list, and her niece is more nearly Bessie's age 
 than mine. The matter absolutely does not 
 concern me." 
 
 53 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Well, then, let us drop the subject," said 
 her sister. 
 
 Burke forced himself to appear at ease and 
 interested in the further conversation of the 
 evening; but his blood was hot within him. 
 Never had the injustice of petty standards and 
 narrow judgments seemed to him so inexcus- 
 able. Never had the sisters appeared in so 
 unamiable a light. The affluent good-nature 
 which prevailed at Casa Blanca had been one of 
 the advantages which had counterbalanced a 
 certain homely vulgarity in the minds and 
 manners of the family there. They were 
 good-hearted people, he told himself, enjoying 
 their newly acquired wealth and the prestige it 
 gave them in that limited society, and willing 
 to share enjoyment and spread good-will about 
 them. Of late the atmosphere of the place had 
 changed, or was it that he himself was disen- 
 chanted? The family skeleton which rumor 
 had long assigned to a place in the Jennings 
 apartments had come somewhat shamelessly 
 into view. The controversy with the Indians 
 had served to embitter Mr. Wilson. Bessie, 
 who had always commanded Burke 's admira- 
 tion, had become, under the disturbing influ- 
 ence of Dorothea's entrance into her social 
 horizon, both unreasonable and unkind. 
 54 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Mrs. Jennings 's keen eyes noted Burke 'a 
 altered mood, though Bessie, with a young 
 girl's happy obliviousness to everything beneath 
 the surface, was quite unaware that her liveliest 
 sallies were no longer of effect. When they 
 met on the landing of the stairs for a moment 
 while good-nights were being exchanged, Mrs. 
 Jennings bent near him and murmured: "If it 
 will please you, Harry, I will call on Miss Fair- 
 fax. You are like a child with a new toy. 
 You have been sulking all the evening because 
 we will not admire it as much as you do. Is 
 she really charming enough to make you forget 
 Auld Lang Syne?" 
 
 "The toy is not mine," he replied; "I have 
 no claim." 
 
 "Except that of discoverer," she answered. 
 "You have found out that she is a lady, and 
 that we are barbarians. You used to praise the 
 simplicity of our life here, and find the genial 
 warmth of our climate reflected in our natures. 
 Ah, the good old times ! How easy it is for a 
 man to forget!" 
 
 She looked down upon him, the light of the 
 candle which she held falling full upon her face 
 and revealing the pathetic droop of the mouth, 
 and the glint of tears in her eyes. 
 
 Burke, distinctly remembering the past, knew 
 55 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 that she exaggerated the importance of the 
 admiration which he had given and the terms 
 upon which their acquaintance had been 
 founded. Questioning himself seriously in the 
 solitude of his room, he could not feel that he 
 had been to blame, that he had trifled with her, 
 or that at any time he had given more than the 
 natural share of homage due from a young man 
 to a pretty girl whom he meets daily. That 
 one day he had awakened to the consciousness 
 that he was being urged beyond his intentions 
 by the pressure of circumstances, that he had 
 detached himself to a certain extent from Casa 
 Blanca and its inmates, and that Eleanor's 
 marriage to Mr. Jennings had been viewed by 
 many in the light of a heart tragedy, with him- 
 self as principal actor, he knew, having often 
 bitterly reviewed the case without bringing him- 
 self to judgment. Since then Mrs. Jennings 
 had chosen to maintain an attitude which often 
 annoyed him, but to which he perforce sub- 
 mitted. She made it appear that all that had 
 been suspected and implied had actually ex- 
 isted, that he had loved hopelessly, and that an 
 unkind fate had divided them. It was to avoid 
 this position that he had attached himself 
 openly to Bessie during his frequent visits at 
 Casa Blanca, making her the object of his atten- 
 56 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 tions at the risk of repeating with the younger 
 sister the .misunderstanding of his motives. 
 While honest examination led him to seek his 
 bed that night with a clear conscience, Mrs. 
 Jennings lay awake, dry-eyed but heart- 
 stricken, while Bessie felt the anger of jealousy, 
 than which nothing is more cruel, and marked 
 the unconscious Dorothea as its victim. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar wondered that the neighbors 
 were slow in calling upon her niece, and she was 
 both pleased and relieved when Mrs. Jennings, 
 in summer finery and plumed hat, tripped down 
 the dusty road one afternoon and knocked at 
 the school-house door. She seated herself in 
 the chair offered with enthusiasm by Mrs. 
 Aguilar, and surveyed Dorothea with deliberate 
 criticism. She recognized that she was not 
 only beautiful enough to be her rival in Burke's 
 fancy, but also that she had the indefinable air 
 of distinction which had impressed him. 
 
 "You seem to be out of place here, Miss 
 Fairfax," she said. "You ought not to live in 
 a two-roomed house, and your hands are quite 
 too pretty to spoil with work." 
 
 Before Dorothea had appeared she had been 
 visible in the rear room engaged in the homely 
 occupation of washing dishes. 
 57 
 
A SOUL in BBONZE 
 
 "You are quite right," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Aguilar. "Dolly is used to something so 
 different. I fear she will not stay with me 
 long." 
 
 Dorothea was a little embarrassed by this 
 opening of the conversation, but she answered 
 frankly: "Of course one misses luxuries that 
 have always seemed necessities ; but it is good 
 for us to learn how the other half lives, and 
 everything is comparative. Our simplicity 
 seems luxury to these Indians." 
 
 U 0h, the Indians do not interest me at all," 
 said Mrs. Jennings. "But if you stay in this 
 house you will hear of nothing else. Mrs. 
 Aguilar thinks them perfection." 
 
 "Hardly that," said the teacher. "But I 
 wish to help them in the weary way upward. 
 They have taken the first step towards better 
 things. The next should be easier for them." 
 
 "Well, do not let us talk about them," said 
 Mrs. Jennings, "for they bore me to death. 
 Papa is in a rage over their obstinacy which will 
 make it necessary for him to go to court in town 
 these hot, dusty days. Then Mr. Burke is 
 there so much that we see nothing of him. 
 You have met Mr. Burke, I believe?" and she 
 looked keenly at Dorothea. 
 
 "Yes, I drove with him several miles at the 
 58 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 time of the hold-up, and again when I went to 
 attend the inquest. He was very kind about 
 making that as easy for me as possible. I have 
 not seen him lately." 
 
 "Nor have I for that matter," was the 
 answer. "We are such old friends that we 
 really think it strange if we do not meet six 
 times a week." 
 
 "I hear some interesting rumors about Miss 
 Bessie," said Mrs. Aguilar, smiling. "I be- 
 lieve she will not remain Miss Bessie very long." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings answered coldly: "People will 
 gossip in a little country place. It is the only 
 amusement they have. But Mr. Burke is 
 decidedly not a marrying man." 
 
 Dorothea pondered this statement, which 
 seemed somewhat enigmatical. Mrs. Jennings 
 struck her as an eccentric person, and that 
 lady, feeling instinctively that she was not mak- 
 ing as favorable an impression as she had meant, 
 began to talk about general topics in a friendly 
 way. At last she said, "One thing is so odd, 
 Miss Fairfax. My husband used to know your 
 father intimately years ago." 
 
 Dorothea's face brightened at the mention of 
 her father. 
 
 "But the strange thing about it is that Sam 
 is particularly anxious that your father should 
 59 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 not hear of this from yon, so please be careful 
 in your letters not to mention it, or even to let 
 him know that Samuel K. Jennings lives within 
 a hundred miles of you. I don't know Sam's 
 reason for this. He seems to have some grudge 
 against your father, in a business way no doubt. 
 Large speculators are always likely to make 
 enemies in business, you know, and your father 
 is a sort of Napoleon of finance, I believe. He 
 is negotiating for the purchase of the Bonanza 
 Mine here, it seems, and Sam would not have 
 him know for the world that he is connected 
 with it. I speak of this as something that may 
 interest you, but of course you will not repeat 
 it." 
 
 Without waiting for Dorothea's reply she rose 
 and took her leave. 
 
 "What a curious woman Mrs. Jennings is!" 
 said the girl, musingly. 
 
 "She is a very unhappy woman, as married to 
 such as man she must be," replied her aunt. 
 "She married out of spite, and a woman who 
 will do that must expect to break her heart. 
 She was engaged, they say, to Harry Burke, 
 and he broke it off, or they quarreled, and she 
 married Sam Jennings within a month." 
 
 "Could Mr. Burke do such a thing?" asked 
 Dorothea. 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "No, I do not believe it," said Mrs. Aguilar. 
 "If it were so, he would not be calling con- 
 stantly at the house, and be paying his ad- 
 dresses, as they say, to her sister." 
 
 "Perhaps it is Mrs. Jennings whom he cares 
 for still," thought Dorothea, but she said 
 nothing, and within an hour was engaged in 
 writing as follows to her father : 
 
 "I miss you constantly. The life here is so 
 different from anything I have known. I am 
 set down in a little valley among the moun- 
 tains, and the horizon of my experience is as 
 limited as possible, yet even here dramas of 
 destiny, are being played, interesting enough to 
 those concerned in them, though I am quite an 
 outsider and can do nothing but look on and 
 philosophize. The villain of the play is a Mr. 
 Samuel K. Jennings, whose morals are deplor- 
 ably bad, though this does not seem to place 
 him beyond the pale of society, since he is the 
 son-in-law of Mr. Jerome Wilson, the rich man 
 of the place. He keeps a store and sells liquor 
 to the Indians, which does not seem to be 
 thought wicked, though it is against the law. 
 I have heard that he used to know you years 
 ago, and that he is very anxious to remain un- 
 known to you. He is interested in your specu- 
 lations, especially in the sale of the Bonanza 
 61 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Mine here. And now, darling papa, I have 
 found you out. If you are planning to buy the 
 mine, it is to come here and live with your own 
 Dorothea. How happy I am at the thought of 
 it ! I can hardly wait to receive the answer to 
 this letter. How could you expect to keep a 
 secret from your inquisitive little magpie? Do 
 not try to have secrets from me. I shall find 
 them out, every one." 
 
 Cause and effect are proportionate, but the 
 law of accumulated force is so obscure in its 
 application that we sometimes wonder when the 
 fall of the pebble starts the avalanche. Mrs. 
 Jennings 's communication was a pebble thrown 
 at random, with no motive except the desire of 
 avenging a hundred petty slights, a hundred 
 stabs of malice, dealt where hatred filled the 
 place of love. Custom and conventionality held 
 her in check, and she could only act against her 
 husband in secret, striking blindly like an angry 
 child; and walking homewards she felt a child's 
 trepidation in the memory of her act of rebel- 
 lion. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Dorothea had entered with enthusiasm upon 
 her aunt's work of philanthropy. She found 
 much to interest her in the Indian character, 
 whose stolid reserve did not preclude a quick 
 responsiveness to kindly influences. She be- 
 lieved that an impersonal sympathy for the un- 
 fortunate prompted her to throw herself with 
 eagerness into her new duties; but if she had 
 known her heart she would have recognized the 
 concrete motive which is not far to seek in a 
 woman's deed. 
 
 A climbing vine will set a tendril swinging in 
 circles, vague of purpose until it strikes the 
 object of its unconscious search, when straight- 
 way it will coil into a quick activity. A 
 young girl's heart possesses such a swinging 
 tendril ; and without realizing it, Dorothea had 
 made Burke the object of its direction. Slight 
 associations connected her thought with him. 
 The memory of his looks and words lay deep 
 within her mind. An accident of revelation 
 might have tightened the bond ; but before she 
 was aware of it, this vague tie had been rudely 
 63 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 broken. Mrs. Jennings had hinted at a 
 romance to which the girl's quick imagination 
 readily supplied outline and color. She had 
 learned by this accident the secret of Burke 's 
 unhappy attachment ; and, although she pitied 
 him, it lessened him in her estimation. He no 
 longer perfectly deserved her instinctive sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 It was possible, she considered, for a man 
 to love for a lifetime a woman who by some un- 
 happy fate had become another's wife; but 
 such a love ought, then, to be a chrism consecrat- 
 ing him to eminent nobility. He should never 
 lightly touch another woman's hand, never 
 smile admiringly into another's eyes. His love 
 to be worthy must be kept sacred. If false to 
 it, he was false to everything. Such reasoning 
 might have its flaws, but it was conclusive to 
 Dorothea, to whom it brought sharp pin-pricks 
 of discontent when she remembered Burke 's 
 brown eyes and the light that shone within 
 them. Turning for distraction from these 
 thoughts, she found it in the work which lay at 
 hand, the stern reality of grief making her own 
 cares seem the merest vapors of an idle thought. 
 
 She forgot Burke when she fed the hungry 
 and tended the sick and dying. She found 
 interest in watching the development of the 
 64 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 little dark-skinned scholars, and in conversing 
 with Antonio Lachusa, the depths of whose 
 mind she could not sound with any plummet of 
 her own possessing, but whose reverential 
 attention, as he followed her slightest words, and 
 the enthusiasm of his appreciation, were sweet 
 to her. 
 
 One morning she descended the hill while the 
 fog still hung like a silver mantle upon the 
 shoulder of the mountain, and the quail were 
 calling upon the hillside, where they had nested 
 and taught their young to fly. 
 
 She entered the door of the dark adobe hut in 
 which she was now a frequent visitor ; and she 
 found, as always of late, both Antonio and his 
 sister bent above a bed of blankets where the 
 small Fernando, Marta's child, lay gasping his 
 life away. Antonio sprang to his feet, and met 
 her with a bow and a sudden brightening of his 
 dark eyes; while Marta raised her head and 
 nodded solemnly. 
 
 4 'The doctor was here again last evening. 
 What did he say?" asked Dorothea. 
 
 "That it is only a question of a day or two," 
 replied Antonio. " Nothing more can be done. 
 We have watched through the night together, 
 for though I begged Marta to sleep she would 
 not shut her eyes. To-day I must go down to 
 65 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Hilton, but Felipe's wife will come in to-night. 
 Marta must have rest, or she will be ill." 
 
 "I will stay with her to-night," said Doro- 
 thea. 
 
 Antonio's face glowed, and Marta, bending 
 her head, began to weep silently. 
 
 "It is what she has been wishing for," said 
 Antonio "that you should be with the child 
 when he dies. Not even Mrs. Aguilar is such 
 a comfort to her. She says that when little 
 Fernando was well he would always laugh when 
 you spoke to him. She thinks he can know 
 you even now ; and she will not allow the Indian 
 women, our neighbors, so much as to look at 
 him. They are all angry with her about it. 
 She says their wails frighten the child, and she 
 will not adopt the remedies they suggest, since 
 she has more faith in the doctor you have sent 
 to attend him. What grieves her most is that 
 Fernando has not been baptized. The priest 
 comes here only once a year, sometimes not 
 even that. He has not been here since the 
 child was born; and though Mrs. Aguilar tells 
 her that she herself or good old Pedro may 
 baptize him in case of necessity, Marta fears 
 that the child cannot be happy in eternity 
 unless the Church receives him in baptism. I 
 am going to Hilton to telegraph to the priest to 
 66 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 come; but if he does not, you will comfort her, 
 will you not?" 
 
 He looked lovingly at his sister as he spoke, 
 and she followed him with eyes of devotion 
 while he said his farewells and left the hut. 
 
 The grandmother came in soon after, and 
 bent to scrutinize the child. 
 
 " Stand aside, Nana," said Marta, queru- 
 lously. "Your shadow falls upon him. The 
 doctor says he must have sunlight and air." 
 
 "But he can have neither here," said Doro- 
 thea, who understood the Spanish that Marta 
 used, and answered her in it, while with An- 
 tonio she had spoken in English. "Shall we 
 not carry him out into the air? It is so fresh 
 and fragrant now." 
 
 "No," said Marta; "I will not leave the 
 house. Here, when people come, I can shut 
 my door upon them. Outside they would 
 crowd about, and each would have some reason 
 with which to explain his illness or some 
 remedy for me to try. Old Diego is medicine- 
 man, but he is so old that he has nearly lost his 
 mind, and I have no faith in him. He wishes 
 me to bind an amulet of eagle feathers tied to a 
 stick upon him, and to grease him with the 
 sacred rattlesnake oil. I would gladly do this 
 if I dared to disobey the priest, who told me 
 67 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 once that these amulets were the same as idols, 
 and that we did wrong to put faith in the 
 medicine-men; but if Fernando dies all my 
 people will tell me it is because I denied Diego; 
 yet I would not dare to displease the priest, at 
 least until the child is baptized. After that he 
 would be safe." 
 
 The torture of Marta's mind, hesitating 
 between two opposing beliefs, struck Dorothea 
 as pathetic in the extreme ; but she could not 
 suggest any other consolation than the hope 
 that the priest would come in time. 
 
 She left, repeating her promise to return, 
 since Marta persistently refused the ministra- 
 tions of her neighbors. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar did not oppose her niece's 
 benevolent purpose, and when the full moon 
 rose Dorothea took her way by a little winding 
 path which made a short-cut behind the garden 
 of Casa Blanca to the isolated corner where 
 Marta's hut stood in its tiny corn patch. As 
 she came from the shadow into the brilliant 
 light, Burke, who had been standing at an 
 angle of the path, advanced to meet her. 
 
 "It is so long since I have seen you," he said, 
 
 offering his hand with a radiant smile. "Your 
 
 aunt quarreled with me about the lawsuit, and 
 
 almost forbade me her house. I should have 
 
 68 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 risked her anger, and have called upon you, 
 however, if I had been here ; but I have been at 
 court in town, and this is my first visit to Casa 
 Blanca in two weeks." 
 
 "Your friends must have missed you greatly," 
 said Dorothea. 
 
 "But you, you have not cared at all. Of 
 course not, since I am only a new acquaintance 
 to you ; yet I cannot explain to you what you 
 have become to me in the comparatively short 
 time that I have known you. Lately I have 
 thought of you constantly, and have felt a cer- 
 tain anxiety about you, as if you were in a posi- 
 tion where you needed my help why I can 
 hardly tell. But I fear that you do not find 
 the society at Casa Blanca exactly congenial to 
 you." 
 
 "Society, if that means the Wilsons and 
 their circle, has left me for the most part alone. 
 I have exchanged a few formal calls." 
 
 "I feel half -responsible for your disappoint- 
 ment in us," said Burke, "for I told you that 
 we were genial, warm-hearted people who 
 could be counted upon to be good neighbors; 
 and, as a rule, it is so in California much more 
 than elsewhere. The perpetual sunshine warms 
 our souls. But this unfortunate lawsuit has set 
 people by the ears. The Wilsons are angry at 
 69 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 your aunt for her enthusiastic championship of 
 the Indians, and they include you in that, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Their opinion is not of the slightest conse- 
 quence to me," she replied. "As individual 
 characters, I consider Marta Lachusa and her 
 brother vastly superior to the Wilsons." 
 
 "And you are going to watch to-night with 
 Marta 's child, "said Burke, gently. "Leonore, 
 who cooks at the Wilsons, told me that, and I 
 lay in wait for you. I honor you for your 
 warmth of heart, though I wish it did not carry 
 you so far. You should not roam about at 
 night alone." 
 
 "I am sure it is quite safe," she answered. 
 "The Indians are peaceable and harmless. 
 They all know and like me." 
 
 "They are always harmless unless they are 
 drunk," said Burke. "That entirely trans- 
 forms their character." 
 
 "And it is Mr. Jennings who sells them the 
 liquor. Oh, Mr. Burke, I have seen so many 
 unfortunate results of it. Instead of bringing 
 a lawsuit to drive the Indians from their homes, 
 you should be engaged in prosecuting that 
 man." 
 
 "I wish it could be done," he answered. 
 "He is my particular bete noire." 
 70 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Dorothea suddenly remembered her suspicion 
 concerning Burke's unf or gotten attachment for 
 Mr. Wilson's elder daughter. 
 
 "How beautiful the moonlight is!" Burke 
 remarked. "Why is it that the moon seems 
 made to shine for youthful lovers? I am no 
 longer young, but still " 
 
 "Was that a snake?" cried Dorothea, as a 
 black shadow glided sinuously across the path. 
 
 "No doubt; a harmless gopher snake, most 
 likely. Are you afraid of them?" 
 
 "Not as a rule," she replied, "but for some 
 reason the sight of it made my blood run 
 cold." 
 
 "The half-light makes you 'nervous," he re- 
 marked. "As I was saying, I had almost 
 believed that I had grown too old to love. In 
 youth, it comes to us as a vague and beautiful 
 dream, which touches the imagination more 
 deeply than it does the heart. But when in 
 middle life it comes upon a man like a sudden 
 revelation, it is an imperious passion for which 
 he would risk the world. Do you know, Doro- 
 thea, there are plants that send up stalk, bud 
 and blossom in a single night? Do you believe 
 that there are cases of love at first sight?" 
 
 Her heart beat fast with surprised agitation. 
 Suspecting that these were the words of a 
 71 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 trifler, she did not care to magnify their impor- 
 tance by a reply. Fear as well as prudence led 
 her to ignore them. 
 
 Burke was content to leave his thought half 
 spoken, for he realized that he might offend 
 her by too great precipitancy ; though his pres- 
 ent purpose was the logical outcome of the 
 serious reflection of days and weeks. Since he 
 had first met her, Dorothea had been the object 
 of his constant thought. The slight anxiety 
 which he felt concerning her happiness had 
 served to fix his mind continually upon her. 
 The freshness of her youthful beauty appealed 
 to him with that suddenness of charm which is 
 caused by a flower, a sunset, a burst of melody. 
 She suggested all beauty, and was a part of it. 
 Life seemed a monotonous desert as it stretched 
 behind him; the future a dreary waste if it 
 must be passed without her. He was amazed 
 at the strength of this new passion which filled 
 his heart. Through its very unexpectedness it 
 became an exquisite joy. His fancy lingered 
 upon it, sipping the intoxication drop by drop. 
 He was not too young to be self-conscious, and 
 he realized the promise of every moment that 
 should unfold his hopes. He saw no reason for 
 fear or self -distrust ; no impediment in his path 
 except the shy instinct of a girl's reserve, which 
 72 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 it would be the sweetest task for manly love to 
 vanquish step by step. 
 
 The dreary routine of his daily work was 
 glorified by blissful dreams. He wrote German 
 poetry upon the margins of his briefs. 
 
 Thou little youthful maiden, 
 
 Come into my great heart ; 
 For my heart and the sea and the heaven 
 
 Are melting away with love. 
 
 When at last he met her in the moonlight he 
 had to remind himself that her ignorance of his 
 heart laid a careful restraint upon him. "Per- 
 haps I have spoken too hastily," he thought. 
 "I will be patient. That 'little youthful 
 maiden' shall have her own sweet way with 
 me;" and he walked homeward through the 
 summer night as if he trod on air. 
 
 Dorothea, entering the hut, found Marta 
 huddled upon the floor in the chiaroscuro of the 
 candle beam invaded by the shadow of the nar- 
 row room. Her eyes were fixed in a terrible 
 stare which the sight of her visitor did not 
 relieve. 
 
 "What is it, Marta?" she asked. 
 
 "I am sure the padre will not come, " was the 
 answer, in the very accent of despair, "and then 
 73 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 my child, my innocent child, must suffer in fire 
 forever/' 
 
 1 'Oh, no, Marta; it is not true. The priest 
 could not tell you that. You did not under- 
 stand him. The dear Lord loves little children. 
 He held them in His arms. He never could 
 condemn an innocent thing. If He takes your 
 child it will be safe with Him." 
 
 The earnestness of Dorothea's tone, the 
 warmth of sympathy which her look expressed, 
 soothed the mother's heart. Her mind was 
 unconvinced, but with a childish acceptance of 
 a present comfort, she allowed herself to be 
 diverted from her fears. 
 
 Dorothea sat upon the floor and held the little 
 Fernando in her arms. He opened his dull eyes 
 and smiled into her face. 
 
 "There, there," said Marta, beginning to 
 weep with joy, "it is the first sign of life he has 
 given all day. It is a good omen ; he will get 
 well." 
 
 Dorothea remained still and rigid, hardly dar- 
 ing to breathe for fear of disturbing the soft 
 slumber into which he now sank. Marta 
 stretched her weary limbs beside her, and, worn 
 by long watching, herself fell asleep. 
 
 The hours dragged slowly. The moonlight 
 waned and gave place to the first flush of dawn, 
 74 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 and as the candle flared and sputtered in its 
 socket Dorothea noticed a change in the child's 
 face. She had never seen death, but she 
 recognized its presence ; and she woke Marta, 
 who started at a word. 
 
 "Call Angela," she said quietly. "He will 
 not live till the priest comes." 
 
 Marta ran distracted into the open air. In 
 the moment of anguish she begged help of all 
 she met. Old Diego was awakened and en- 
 treated to bring the amulet and the oil. Marta 
 grovelled before her offended neighbors and 
 begged them to come and wail with her that the 
 evil spirits might be frightened away and her 
 child's departing soul escape them. She asked 
 the prayers of the pious Pedro, and that he 
 should bring his rosary and the blessed candles 
 left over from the Easter Services. 
 
 Urged by her entreaties for haste, the neigh- 
 bors crowded into the narrow hut, and there 
 they found Dorothea seated with an uplifted 
 face of solemn thought, and the dead child 
 stretched upon her knees. 
 
 "His breath went in a little sigh, Marta," 
 she said, "but do not be frightened. I bap- 
 tized him with the water from the olla just as I 
 saw it was the last moment; and I prayed to 
 the dear Lord to receive him. He is as safe as 
 75 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 if the priest had used the holy water and oil 
 and salt, and said every prayer. Trust what I 
 say." 
 
 Later in the day Dorothea took a long walk 
 over the hills. She could not rest within doors. 
 The look in Marta's eyes haunted her. She 
 wanted time to think ; to let her little plummet 
 into the depths of that unknown sea on whose 
 borders we all stand wondering. 
 
 She sat down on the dry grass beneath an oak 
 tree, whose fallen leaves made a carpet beneath 
 the spreading boughs without diminishing the 
 living verdure of its crown of green. She 
 leaned against a rock and looked up at the sky, 
 where, at a great height, motionless cirrhus 
 clouds had taken the shape of tall white lilies 
 standing rank on rank, the asphodels of 
 heaven. Watching them, her eyes grew heavy. 
 By degrees her head sank lower, and in the 
 stillness of the encompassing solitude she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Antonio had returned from a fruitless errand. 
 The priest could not leave his work in the city 
 to make a visitation upon this outlying quarter 
 of his parish at an unaccustomed season simply 
 because a young Indian child was dying. An- 
 76 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 tonio would have been surprised if he had pros- 
 pered in his quest. He had gone with the 
 sole intention of pleasing his sister, who had 
 become deeply endeared to him by their com- 
 mon care of Fernando, who had wound himself 
 about his uncle's heart. By one of those com- 
 pensations which underlie the evils of fate, this 
 child had been for a short time the sunlight of 
 two lives. 
 
 When Antonio reached the rancheria and 
 heard that Fernando was dead he had no cour- 
 age to meet his sister, so he took his rifle and 
 made his way up the hillside, following an 
 unfrequented path ; and thus came suddenly in 
 sight of Dorothea asleep beneath the oak. 
 
 At the moment he stopped electrified by 
 terror, while the blood froze in his veins. Upon 
 the flat rock close to her head a rattlesnake had 
 slid to sun itself, and disturbed in its siesta by 
 some instinctively uneasy movement of the 
 sleeper, it had coiled itself, and with uplifted 
 head and sounding rattle was preparing to strike 
 at its unconscious victim. 
 
 Antonio raised his rifle. "Pray God she does 
 not waken, " he thought, as he took aim and 
 fired. 
 
 The report roused Dorothea, while a detached 
 splinter of rock slightly wounded her forehead. 
 77 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 The rattlesnake had fallen headless upon the 
 ground. Antonio, rifle in hand, rushed for- 
 ward at her scream. 
 
 "You have shot me," she exclaimed. "How 
 could you fire so near me? How wickedly care- 
 less you have been!" and half -sobbing with 
 fright she wiped a few drops of blood from her 
 forehead. 
 
 Antonio bent over her to assure himself of the 
 trivial nature of the wound ; then he picked up 
 the rattlesnake and pointed to its shattered 
 neck. 
 
 "It lay there on the rock," he said, "ten 
 inches from your face. It was about to strike, 
 and I shot its head off." 
 
 Dorothea sprang to her feet, and in the sud- 
 den reaction from her terror, extended her 
 hands in gratitude. 
 
 "You shot it, Antonio, and saved my life! 
 How can I thank you? How brave, how good, 
 how clever you are! No one else could have 
 done it." 
 
 She trembled with nervous excitement, and 
 stood looking down upon the mangled snake as 
 if it still possessed the fascination of active 
 malignity. She did not notice that Antonio, 
 from excess of humility, had refused to accept 
 her offered hands. 
 
 78 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "It was hard," he replied, "but I knew I 
 could not, must not, fail. Too much was at 
 stake." 
 
 "I can never, never thank you," she repeated. 
 
 "It is a joy to me; I need no thanks," he 
 answered. "It gives me a reason to be glad 
 that I have lived." 
 
 79 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Antonio was working in an uplying field 
 which commanded a wide view of the moun- 
 tains lying naked and scarred beneath the 
 dazzling sun. There was no glamour in the 
 morning light. The chaparral was withered 
 and dusty; the flowers had faded from the 
 mesas; but his heart was glad as he worked. 
 This was the nature which he loved. These 
 rocky heights were more beautiful than wooded 
 hills. The barren mesas were more satisfying 
 to his eyes than a velvet lawn. In such a scene 
 the imagination is stirred by possibilities with- 
 held, as a woman charms most who piques by 
 her denials. 
 
 Antonio was grubbing greasewood roots from 
 stubborn ground. Two antiquated oxen assisted 
 in his work. The sweat started upon his fore- 
 head, and the animals panted at the task ; but 
 Antonio had no mind to complain of its diffi- 
 culties. At a dollar a day he felt well paid, and 
 his fancies sang like birds within him. 
 
 Supplementing every source of joy was the 
 consciousness that he loved. It was a hopeless 
 . 81 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 the desire of the moth for the star"; but 
 happy in the very quality which raised it above 
 the doubts and fears of passion and rendered 
 it invulnerable to rebuff. Antonio knew no 
 wish as yet except that he might serve Dorothea, 
 and the joy that set his pulses bounding was the 
 consciousness that he had saved her life. 
 
 She could never forget him. Every happi- 
 ness which the years might bring her was a gift 
 from his hand. 
 
 When the sun marked high noon he unyoked 
 his oxen and led them to rest in the shelter of 
 a solitary oak. He threw some barley-hay upon 
 the ground for them, and sat down to lunch on 
 half a loaf of bread, with water from his can- 
 teen, and thus refreshed began to meditate upon 
 the problems of his life. 
 
 He knew that he owed it to himself not to 
 degenerate into a mere grubber of roots. Cin- 
 cinnatus at the plough was Cincinnatus pre- 
 pared to lead men. Antonio was ambitious for 
 himself and for his race. Since his return he 
 had studied conditions at the reservation, and 
 had decided that his people needed a leader. 
 They were Israelites waiting for their Moses. 
 Poverty was their tyrant. 
 
 He was not sure that they were prepared to 
 accept him as their head, for with the loss of 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 his fortune he had lost prestige among them, 
 suffering that imputation which always attaches 
 an added stigma to failure. The elders, more- 
 over, suspected in him a lack of sympathy with 
 the traditions of the past. 
 
 With the younger men he had some influence, 
 for they regarded him with deference as one who 
 had acquired a measure of that right for which 
 all instinctively yearned, the right to think, and 
 be, and act on a level with the white man. 
 
 The annual election for Captain of the tribe 
 was soon to be held. Antonio was preparing a 
 canvas, having offered himself for the office. 
 He was wondering what he should do if elected ; 
 how best to serve the interests of his people. 
 The lawsuit decided in their favor (as in justice 
 it must be), the coveted borax mine would 
 be at their disposal. Intelligent management 
 might so direct it as to remove forever the 
 shadow of famine that hung upon the reserva- 
 tion. Each man should have a common share, 
 and all should have enough. Then education 
 must reach beyond the scope of the government 
 school. A university should be founded in 
 which youth might be trained to the status 
 required for intelligent citizenship, which could 
 not always be denied his race. All of these 
 schemes might become realities if he possessed 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 his millions. Now he recognized that they 
 were only dreams. But as he yoked his oxen to 
 the plough and resumed his work, he felt a joy- 
 ous consciousness of power, and a belief that the 
 shaping of his future could offer no more 
 difficulty than the upturning of the gnarled and 
 stubborn roots which were to furnish his em- 
 ployer with a store of winter fuel. 
 
 At sunset he took his fellow laborers to their 
 well-earned rest, carefully watering them at the 
 brook in the pasture before presenting himself 
 at the ranch-house to receive his dollar ; then he 
 made his way homeward by a short-cut through 
 the chaparral ; not an easy way, for the tough 
 branches of the greasewood smote him, the 
 manzanita tugged at his hair, and in more open 
 spaces the white-sage brushed him closely, 
 anointing him with its aromatic scent, to 
 which the black-sage and blue-curls added yet 
 heavier perfumes as he plunged through the 
 fragrant thickets which overspread the hill- 
 sides, offering incense to the sun. 
 
 At the foot of the hill near the school-house 
 he came upon an agitated crowd, the centre of 
 which was a wagon wherein sat those older 
 members of the tribe who had been summoned 
 to town as witnesses and principals in the law- 
 suit. His heart bounded anxiously. 
 84 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "How did it go, Jose?" he cried, peering 
 over interposing heads and shoulders. Jose 
 recognized the voice, and turned his head in 
 sullen despair. 
 
 "Lost, lost," he replied; and a groan fol- 
 lowed the words; but "before Antonio could 
 continue a new speaker took up the thread of an 
 interrupted discourse. It was to him, and not 
 to the dignitaries in the wagon, that the people 
 were listening with that intensity of attention 
 which is more flattering than applause. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Antonio of his neighbor 
 in the crowd, Felipe, as it chanced. 
 
 "A new-comer, Marco by name," was the 
 answer, "a clever man who will right our 
 wrongs." 
 
 "A ranting demagogue," commented An- 
 tonio, uneasily. 
 
 It was evident that Marco held his audience, 
 and interruption would be ineffectual. His 
 was the tongue of the glib orator, ready with 
 specious arguments of the sort that dazzle 
 ignorance and confound wishes with proba- 
 bilities. His premise was the fact fondly be- 
 lieved and founded upon history, that the land 
 from horizon to horizon belonged to the Indian 
 people. His conclusion was that it was to be 
 restored to them by the government at Wash- 
 85 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ing ton, that vast central power known only by 
 its workings, which were as absolute and 
 incomprehensible as the forces of nature; and 
 the gist of the matter was that it was through 
 him, Marco, the trusted counsellor and go- 
 between, that Washington was to treat with the 
 tribe at Casa Blanca. 
 
 The law could not be relied upon to do them 
 justice witness the infamous decree just pro- 
 mulgated to drive them from their homes; but 
 Marco would go direct to "Washington and lay 
 the matter before the President. Money was 
 necessary for his journey, and this his audi- 
 ence were prepared to furnish, the hat being 
 already in rapid circulation; and the poorest 
 man present, in rags and lacking a meal, was 
 stripping himself of a day's earnings to con- 
 tribute his mite. Antonio made his way to the 
 fore, and mounting upon the wagon -step, de- 
 manded attention. 
 
 "Do not believe a man whose first appeal is 
 for money," he said, in the language of the 
 tribe. Marco had used Spanish, a vile patois at 
 that. "This man is a deceiver. He is not even 
 of our tribe. He is the sort of man who fattens 
 on the misery of others. The President has no 
 use for his advice. Such as he have no influ- 
 
 ence at Washington." 
 
 86 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Here, as if by accident, Antonio was jostled 
 from his perch. The horses that had stood 
 passive with dejectedly hanging heads now 
 started forward at the cut of a whip adminis- 
 tered by an unseen hand. Marco, who seemed 
 to have foreseen the movement, had swung 
 himself into the wagon and was borne in 
 triumph to the council chamber, where he con- 
 tinued his harangue. Antonio was left with a 
 small following upon the hillside. 
 
 "It is no use," said Felipe. "They all be- 
 lieve him. I am not sure myself but that a 
 dollar given to him might be well invested. 
 Something must be done. That is evident. 
 You, Antonio, have neither money nor influ- 
 ence, and can do nothing. We are to lose our 
 homes unless we can raise the six thousand 
 dollars for the appeal." 
 
 "Are the bonds fixed at that?" asked An- 
 tonio, in surprise. 
 
 "Yes; five hundred for Wilson, and six thou- 
 sand for us. They pretend that it is because 
 there are several of us in the case." 
 
 "What injustice!" exclaimed Antonio, under 
 his breath. 
 
 "It might as well be six million," continued 
 Felipe. "What a pity you have not your 
 money ! They were saying before you came that 
 87 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 you acted as if you possessed the fortune you 
 expected. You wished to be Captain, and to 
 rule where older heads should have first place. 
 If you had money that would be different. 
 Marco makes definite promises, and he asks 
 nothing except the chance to prove his word. 
 You seek first of all your own advancement." 
 
 "It was Jose who said this?" asked Antonio. 
 
 "Jos6, and Diego, and Samuel." 
 
 "And Marco suggested it to them?" 
 
 "They were talking it over together. Marco 
 might have been Captain if he were born in 
 the tribe." 
 
 "Fortunate for us that he is not. Felipe, 
 you are my friend, and I count upon you to 
 call a meeting of the younger men, all who can 
 be influenced, at nine to-night, by the big oak 
 tree in the hollow. I will be there to address 
 you and give you convincing reasons why you 
 should trust me and not Marco. Secure the 
 attendance of a majority of the voters if you 
 can." 
 
 By counting without question upon Felipe's 
 fidelity, Antonio, as he intended, confirmed the 
 wavering allegiance of his friend. 
 
 At the appointed hour, while Marco was 
 treating his intimates to the forbidden fire- 
 water at Jennings 's saloon, while the more 
 88 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 conservative Indians were dancing the old war 
 dances in unison to mystic wailing chants and 
 the rhythm of the sacred rattle, while the 
 women were wailing over their jeopardized 
 hearthstones; Antonio stood beneath the oak 
 tree and disclosed his purposes to a handful of 
 his comrades. 
 
 He appealed to their intelligence, he treated 
 them as men who might one day rank as equals 
 of the white men, and share the privileges of 
 the country whose first-born sons they were. 
 Vain demands and useless complainings would 
 win no favor at Washington. They must use 
 the machinery of the law. An appeal must be 
 filed in the lawsuit, by which they might main- 
 tain their rights. 
 
 4 'There is no absolute justice in the matter," 
 he concluded. "We are not here to demand 
 what once was ours, but only that to which we 
 can establish a legal claim. Our wishes can 
 not guide us. We must have a reasonable 
 hope. There is hope in an appeal. Will you 
 trust me? Will you give me your votes? Will 
 you secure me a majority in the election if I 
 succeed in raising the amount of the bonds?" 
 
 "Six thousand dollars," commented Felipe, 
 breathlessly. "Yes, yes, if you do that you 
 shall be Captain." So his audience pledged 
 89 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 themselves in tumultuous enthusiasm, and the 
 meeting broke up. 
 
 Through the shadows of the misty mantle 
 which the mountain had drawn about its 
 shoulders, the dwellers on the reservation met 
 and passed at midnight on the homeward path. 
 Marco and his boon companions made the dark- 
 ness ring with shouts and drunken laughter. 
 
 "I choose the post-office land for my share,'* 
 said old Diego; "the post-office, and the store, 
 and the sweet crackers in the window. ' ' 
 
 "I'll go halves with you, and take the grog- 
 shop," said another. "Think of it whiskey, 
 all you want, rivers of whiskey!" 
 
 "I'll take the white house," said a younger 
 man. "I'll drive old Wilson out, and burn it 
 down. Whoop, hallo!" 
 
 "Drunken dogs!" said one of a couple of 
 horsemen who passed at full gallop, and he laid 
 about him with a riding whip to such effect that 
 the most unsteady of the revellers lost balance 
 and fell in the effort to make way before him, 
 and were saved from the trampling hoofs only 
 by that providence which shields the drunken. 
 
 The younger horseman reined his mount long 
 
 enough to observe that no one had been injured, 
 
 long enough, therefore, to hear a full share of 
 
 the curses which fell upon him at recognition; 
 
 90 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 then, with a heightened angry color, he followed 
 his friend, and dismounted at the door of Casa 
 Blanca. 
 
 "Well, it is no wonder they are angry, 
 Burke," said Mr. Wilson, who had already 
 recovered his good-humor. "Poor devils, they 
 lose, we win ; it is the way of the world. Come 
 into the dining-room. I see a light, and from 
 what I know of my girls I guess that on receipt 
 of my telegram they brewed some punch to wel- 
 come us. Fact is, I hear a fiddle. They've 
 asked the neighbors in and are dancing. I 
 wonder what they take us for! Perhaps you 
 can ride thirty miles and then dance at mid- 
 night. I could when I was young." 
 
 "I can hardly dance in riding costume," said 
 Burke. 
 
 "But it is very becoming," said Bessie, who 
 had suddenly appeared. "We are all here to 
 congratulate you, Mr. Burke. We will forgive 
 you dust and everything. You are the con- 
 quering hero since you have won us our case. 
 I knew you would. You have a lucky star. 
 I believe you win in everything you under- 
 take." 
 
 Burke followed her among the merrymakers, 
 a dozen or so, who were whirling to the strident 
 notes of an ill -tuned fiddle. He went the more 
 91 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 willingly, since through the open door he had 
 caught a glimpse of Dorothea Fairfax. 
 
 She had turned pale when she overheard 
 Bessie's words, and she hardly answered Burke'a 
 greetings, though his eyes held hers and forced 
 her to recognize the joy he felt at the sight of 
 her. 
 
 "It has been so long since I have seen you," 
 he said, noticing how well her evening dress 
 became her, her lovely neck and arms partly 
 revealed among its laces and ribbons. 
 
 "I must go home," she stammered. 
 
 "But you will dance with me before you go." 
 
 "Not if the case has gone against us. Not if 
 all the poor people down there are homeless." 
 
 "Do you blame me very much?" asked Burke. 
 
 "I am not here at any rate to congratulate 
 you," she answered. "I did not understand 
 Miss Wilson's purpose. I did not know you 
 were expected. I did not know the suit had 
 been decided." 
 
 She spoke hurriedly, in agitation. Burke 
 saw that her only wish was to escape. 
 
 "I am not going to dance myself," he said. 
 "I am not dressed for it, nor in the humor for 
 it. May I see you home?" 
 
 "It is only a step. I can go very well alone, " 
 she answered. 
 
 92 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke accepted no rebuff, but ran for her 
 shawl, unheeding Bessie's protests except to 
 promise a quick return, foreseeing that he might 
 perjure himself. 
 
 Dorothea was passive, absent-minded and 
 unresponsive. Burke recognized with quick 
 alarm a barrier between her thought and his. 
 His late enforced absence had cost him dear; 
 and the victory for which he had worked so 
 eagerly began to look hateful to him. 
 
 But Dorothea was young, she was a woman, 
 and Burke was eloquent. Little was lost if she 
 would listen to him, and he opened his mouth 
 to speak; when at the moment two shadows 
 grew out of the darkness beside them. 
 
 "Please take my arm," said Burke, "and 
 come upon this side of the road. Some Indians 
 are coming, and they are all drunk to-night, 
 and rude and insulting, as I have found to my 
 cost." 
 
 "Not all of them, I am sure," she answered, 
 with a dangerous spark in her eyes. "I happen 
 to recognize these as my friends. I will join 
 them, and say good-night to you." 
 
 Burke bit his lip in vexation, as she ran for- 
 ward and put her arm around the shoulder of a 
 weeping woman who leaned towards her and 
 looked up into her face in an attitude of 
 93 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 pathetic trust, dumb except in eloquent action. 
 "What is it, Marta?" she asked. "Why is she 
 crying so, Antonio?" 
 
 "I came home late," replied Antonio, "and 
 I found that Marta was gone, no one knew 
 where. I have been looking for her every- 
 where, and I found her at last in the graveyard 
 stretched out on Fernando 's grave, praying that 
 she might die now that she can no longer own 
 the ground where he rests." 
 
 Marta's sobs burst out afresh. 
 
 "But we are going to appeal the case," he 
 continued. "She must not give up yet." 
 
 "Oh! can that be done, Antonio?" asked 
 Dorothea, eagerly; and the heads of the two 
 were bent together in discussion as they walked 
 on, forgetting Burke, until words and forms 
 were lost in the darkness. 
 
 Burke stood with bowed head and contracted 
 brow, feeling the pain of bitter discomfiture. 
 A strange, unexpected obstacle barred the 
 progress of his hopes. Dorothea saw in him 
 the oppressor of a helpless race in whose cause 
 she had taken arms. 
 
 This discovery gave him the terror which a 
 
 man feels who builds a strong dyke against the 
 
 ocean only to find that a hidden force has all the 
 
 while been undermining it. His work for days 
 
 94 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 and weeks had been sapping the foundation of 
 his dearest wishes. His triumph in the law- 
 suit which evicted the Indians had thrust him 
 beyond the pale of Dorothea's sympathies. 
 
 How could he dream that she should care for 
 them with any personal feeling ; could embrace 
 that woman as a sister ; could speak to that man 
 as a friend? 
 
 A friend! Burke flushed hotly at the 
 thought. He could not be jealous of an 
 Indian; but if he himself were in Antonio's 
 place, destitute, oppressed, appealing hourly to 
 her sympathies, meeting her constantly, what 
 opportunities might he riot enjoy, and how 
 richly he should make them yield advantage ! 
 
 As it was, what could he do? How undo 
 what was done? How justify himself against a 
 prejudice founded upon his own actions? 
 Should he become the champion of Antonio's 
 tribe, and argue upon their side in the appeal? 
 
 He gave an uneasy laugh, recognizing the 
 length of folly to which love may lead a man ; 
 and with despair in his heart he made his way 
 to the white house, avoiding the music and 
 dancers, and reached his room to seek his bed, 
 but not to sleep. 
 
 95 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 When he entered the breakfast room next 
 morning the clock marked the hour of ten, and 
 Mrs. Jennings alone was waiting to pour his 
 coffee. 
 
 "How good of you!" he said, noticing her 
 pale face and heavy eyes, and the tremor of her 
 hands as she busied herself to serve him. 
 
 "The servants are all in a huff to-day," she 
 said. "I wonder we dare trust them not to 
 poison us. What can you expect if you employ 
 Indians, savages, whose civilization will never 
 be more than skin deep?" 
 
 Burke gave an uneasy glance at the form of 
 the Indian cook, who was vindictively clattering 
 the dishes in the pantry. 
 
 "Oh, never mind Leonore," continued Mrs. 
 Jennings. "She has been discharged for 
 impertinence an hour ago. She had some 
 trouble with Bessie, and perhaps it is Bessie 
 who is the savage. She is a storm-cloud, a 
 cyclone, this morning. You would better keep 
 out of her way, Harry. It is you who have 
 offended her, and the rest of us must suffer." 
 
 "What have I done?" asked Burke. 
 97 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 44 You do not remember last night? Bessie 
 gave a party in your honor; she invited Miss 
 Fairfax to please you ; she made every conces- 
 sion. And how did you treat her? Miss Fair- 
 fax left with hardly a good-night to us all. 
 You went with her, and did not reappear." 
 
 "I plead guilty," said Burke. 
 
 "It is not I who am angry with you," said 
 Mrs. Jennings, with a sudden change of tone. 
 U I have been talking against time. Now that 
 Leonore is out of hearing I have something to 
 say. Look there." 
 
 She pushed back the heavy hair which she 
 wore crimped low upon the forehead, a new and 
 unbecoming fashion, and revealed a deep red 
 wound cut in the flesh just above the temple. 
 
 "Sam struck me with his whip," she ex- 
 plained; "struck me like a dog." 
 
 Burke exclaimed in indignant anger. 
 
 "Yes, it has come to that," she continued. 
 "I shall get my divorce now without trouble. 
 But, Harry, my heart is broken. I am 
 degraded in my own eyes to think that I have 
 been the wife of such a man. He accused me 
 of caring for you, and you of coming here to 
 visit me. I can not tell you what he said ; and 
 it is all such nonsense. You never loved me 
 like that, even in the old days." 
 98 
 
A SOUL in BBONZE 
 
 There was eager interrogation in her voice, 
 but Burke did not note it. He was frowning 
 and tracing patterns on the tablecloth. 
 
 "No, no," he answered. "We were good 
 friends, that was all." 
 
 She drew a long, quavering breath, and sat 
 bending forward with her hands tightly clasped, 
 and her shining eyes keenly regarding him. 
 
 "You kissed me once under the mistletoe, I 
 remember," she declared. 
 
 Burke looked up quickly. 
 
 "But such a kiss means nothing," she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "I have done many foolish things in my life," 
 said Burke, "but nothing, I hope, that does 
 not prove me your true friend." 
 
 "I give you credit for that," she answered. 
 "You are not the sort of a man to know a great 
 love. It is perhaps because your ideals are too 
 high. Most women seem to you like empty- 
 headed dolls. You might make them your 
 playthings, but not your wife." 
 
 "Have I been that sort of a man?" said 
 Burke. "It is a despicable character, I think. 
 Perhaps I have not known myself. At any 
 rate, my punishment has come. At thirty-two 
 I am deeply, passionately, hopelessly in love." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings sank back upon her chair. 
 99 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Her breath came quickly between parted lips. 
 Her eyes were suffused with tender tears. 
 
 4 'I love Dorothea Fairfax," he added, avert- 
 ing his look from her tell-tale face. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings sprang from her seat and 
 energetically tugged the bell-rope. 
 
 "I am sure that Leonore will not answer," 
 she said, with a half -hysterical laugh; "but if 
 she conies please make her wait on you. It is 
 so late, and I am very busy. Forgive me if I 
 leave you." 
 
 She swept out of the room, the rustle of her 
 silken morning-gown dying away upon the stairs. 
 
 Burke sat as she had left him, with his head 
 upon his hands. Bessie presently appeared 
 upon the threshold, fresh from contact with the 
 outer air, a waft of which she brought with 
 her. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Burke," she said. 
 "You look blue enough to put me in a good 
 humor. I have been in a devil of a temper all 
 the morning. If you are sad I am glad. Let 
 us make up." 
 
 She held out her hand, and Burke took it. 
 "I did not know that we had quarreled," he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, every one has been upset," she 
 answered. "The Indians are making things 
 100 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 hideous at the reserve. Nell and Sam have 
 had another fight. This time she means to get 
 a divorce, but that is an old story. You offended 
 me deeply last night; but on second thoughts I 
 will not scold you. I am easily vexed, but I do 
 not bear malice. And Miss Fairfax has gone, 
 and to-day I shall have you all to myself. So 
 that is revenge enough." 
 
 She sat down beside him, and laughed at his 
 look of eager inquiry. " Where has she gone? 
 I don't know. She did not confide in me. 
 She went with her aunt for chaperon, and 
 Antonio Lachusa for escort ; and they had a lot 
 of luggage, and seemed to be starting as tour- 
 ists. Jose drove them in the farm wagon, and 
 they went early enough to meet the stage. So I 
 have told you all I know. Thank me for that. " 
 
 "I do thank you, Bessie," said Burke, "for 
 that and for everything. You have been better 
 to me than I deserve. And now you must for- 
 give me for hurrying off to catch the train. I 
 have not a moment to lose. Please make my 
 farewells to your mother." 
 
 Bessie walked to the window and watched 
 him with gloomy eyes as he rode post-haste 
 down the avenue and disappeared beyond the 
 turning in the road. 
 
 "So this is the end of it all, Mr. Burke," she 
 101 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 exclaimed under her breath, "for I shall not 
 pine as Nell does. I shall not wear my heart 
 upon my sleeve for anybody. Good-bye and 
 good riddance!" 
 
 Saying which, she sank into a chair, buried 
 her head upon her folded arms, and burst into a 
 passion of tears. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar, together with her niece and 
 Antonio Lachusa, had hardly descended from 
 the stage-coach at the station, where the train 
 stood waiting, when Burke rode up and joined 
 them, lifting his hat for greeting. The condi- 
 tion! of his horse caused great concern among 
 the stable-men and coterie of idlers on the plat- 
 form. 
 
 "I thought better of you, Mr. Burke," said 
 the hostler, shaking his head. "So fine a piece 
 of horse-flesh." 
 
 "It was a hard ride," Burke answered, "but 
 with care he will be all right. I know his 
 mettle. Men and horses can do better than 
 their best if need be." 
 
 He leaped aboard as the cars started, and took 
 a seat directly opposite Dorothea, who blushed 
 and averted her eyes after responding to his 
 bow. She sat alone. Her aunt was engaged 
 in conversation with a friend at the further end 
 102 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 of the car. Antonio was near the door riding 
 backwards and facing Dorothea, so that he 
 observed a motion which she made and came at 
 her command. 
 
 "Do you wish to speak to me?" he asked, 
 raising his hat. 
 
 "Yes, sit down beside me, Antonio," she 
 replied. "I have something to say to you." 
 
 Burke wondered if she were conscious of the 
 chagrin he felt in the situation and had deliber- 
 ately planned it. Was it for his benefit that 
 she talked to Antonio with frank upward 
 glances of confidence and goodfellowship given 
 as to an equal? Was she willing that he should 
 overhear the subject of the discussion which 
 seemed to absorb her soul, the consideration of 
 ways and means for raising the six thousand 
 dollars necessary to furnish bonds for the 
 Indians? 
 
 He rose and retreated to the rear of the car, 
 taking the now vacant place by Mrs. Aguilar, 
 who received him with a start of surprise. 
 
 "I am fortunate in meeting you," said 
 Burke. "Where are you going?" 
 
 She hesitated a little before replying. "We 
 are going to visit our lawyer and his wife, the 
 Herefords, at Magnolia ranch, six miles from 
 town." 
 
 103 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I know the place," said Burke. "Hereford 
 is one of my best friends, and his wife is like a 
 sister to me. I am glad you are to be there." 
 
 44 She is a dear friend of mine," said Mrs. 
 Aguilar, "and I want Dolly to know her. Mr. 
 Hereford is to advise us how we can best raise 
 the money for an appeal. You are our enemy, 
 yet I suppose there is no harm in telling you 
 that." 
 
 "I have been working against Hereford in the 
 case, yet he does not consider me an enemy," 
 said Burke, in a voice hoarse with vexation. 
 "I wonder why you should make it a personal 
 matter." 
 
 "Oh, Dolly and I can never forgive you if the 
 Indians are evicted," she answered. "Logic or 
 no logic, that is the way we feel." 
 
 "I hope there may be an appeal," said Burke. 
 "Rather than suffer such injustice from you 
 and your niece, I would myself furnish the 
 bonds." 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar smiled grimly. "You are mak- 
 ing a joke of it," she said, "but you will find 
 that with us it is serious earnest." 
 
 "I wish to talk to your niece about it," he 
 said. "Please tell her, if I have not the oppor- 
 tunity, that I hope to call upon her at Magnolia 
 ranch. How long shall you be there?" 
 104 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "A week, perhaps," she answered, uneasily. 
 "But I can tell you frankly, Mr. Burke, that 
 you will not be welcome. ' ' 
 
 "A man should have the opportunity to plead 
 his own cause," said Burke. "I am coming 
 out this evening to see Hereford on business. 
 I am not joking, Mrs. Aguilar. To please your 
 niece I am ready to furnish the bonds if you can 
 not raise them otherwise." 
 
 "But this is too absurd," she said, with 
 brightening eyes. 
 
 "Absurd and illogical," he answered; "but I 
 love Dorothea better than my reputation for 
 consistency, of which I shall have little left, 
 I own. Still, Hereford need not disclose the 
 identity of his bondsman." 
 
 "It seems impossible that you are in earnest, 
 but if that is your reason I must believe you," 
 she answered, with eager interest, glancing from 
 him to Dorothea, upon whom his eyes rested 
 with an expression which could not be mis- 
 understood. "Dolly will be hard to win," she 
 added. 
 
 "I only ask the chance," he said. "You can 
 help me now. Call Lachusa to you, and allow 
 me an hour's talk with her." 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar shook her head. "It is not safe 
 to play providence in these matters," she said. 
 105 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 
 
 "You have no confidence in me," he com- 
 plained. 
 
 "It does no man harm to wait. Perhaps 
 Antonio, too, is counting on this hour's talk." 
 
 Burke looked down upon her with dilated 
 eyes. "Do I understand that you consider that 
 the Indian yonder, by any conceivable circum- 
 stance, could be my rival?" he asked. 
 
 The scorn and indignation in his look and 
 tone roused Mrs. Aguilar to the defence of her 
 pet theories, yet shook her soul a little. There 
 is nothing so formidable to a woman as the 
 power of offended conventionality. 
 
 "Not that exactly," she replied. "He is 
 most humble, most deferential ; he would never 
 presume ; and Dorothea is in every way above 
 him in birth, position, and inherited culture. 
 Yet, still I beg you to remember that Antonio 
 Lachusa is a gentleman in every sense of the 
 word. He is a college graduate, widely trav- 
 elled, widely read, with the nicest, most refined 
 sensibilities. I have seen him daily, he has 
 opened his heart to me as a friend, and it is the 
 heart of a man for dignity and that of a child 
 for purity. He is my friend, I am proud to call 
 him that; and he is my niece's friend since he 
 saved her life." 
 
 "How so?" demanded Burke, with head 
 106 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 erect, and with little patience for the answer. 
 The situation seemed to him intolerable. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar related the adventure of the 
 rattlesnake. 
 
 " Dolly wears the snake skin in a band about 
 her hat, you see," she said. "It is a perpetual 
 reminder of what she owes him." 
 
 Burke looked uneasily at the broad sombrero 
 which crowned Dorothea's sunny hair. It was 
 trimmed in fantastic style with a band of 
 mottled rattlesnake skin. She wore an outing 
 suit with shirtwaist and jacket, and about her 
 throat a crimson silk handkerchief was loosely 
 knotted. Antonio also wore a sombrero, and a 
 bright silk handkerchief. So did a jolly group 
 of Indian youths in the rear of the car, who 
 sat three in a seat by preference, with arms 
 about each others' waists. It was the pictur- 
 esque fashion of the country. Dorothea thus 
 proclaimed herself a daughter of the soil. Burke, 
 whose snpersensitive feelings were now alive to 
 every thorn-prick, groaned in spirit. 
 
 "Do you realize, Mrs. Aguilar," he said, 
 "that you are responsible to Dorothea's father 
 for the acquaintances she makes and the influ- 
 ence they may exert upon her?" 
 
 "My dear boy," she answered, "I pray every 
 night that I may be guided in my duty to her 
 107 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 and others. Dolly's father is the worst influ- 
 ence her life has ever known, but she has passed 
 unhurt through the furnace, and believes him a 
 hero and a saint. Antonio Lachusa will never 
 do her harm. I would trust him far sooner 
 than many a so-called gentleman whose past is 
 too black a thing for an innocent girl to dream 
 of. He is as pure as Galahad." 
 
 "To what length would your prepossession 
 go?" asked Burke, knitting his brow. "At 
 what limit would you stop?" 
 
 "I would trust my niece to set the limit," 
 she answered, with dignity. "I feel no author- 
 ity to interfere." 
 
 * ' Then I shall interfere, ' ' he exclaimed. He 
 bit his lip, and caught his breath convulsively. 
 "Excuse me, Mrs. Aguilar," he added, "but I 
 love Dorothea." 
 
 "And I love her," she answered, "and I trust 
 her, too. Your heroics only amuse me. The 
 surest way to awaken a fancy which is now 
 quite dormant would be for you to show injus- 
 tice to Antonio. Dorothea, like most women, 
 has an ardent love of the oppressed, and hatred 
 of the oppressor. Place yourself in one category 
 and Antonio in the other." 
 
 "I see," said Burke. "I will be patient, and 
 I will cultivate a love for the Indian race. I 
 108 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 will pay the bonds. What more can I do? 
 Wear a sombrero and a pink handkerchief? I 
 will buy one to-morrow." 
 
 He rose with a formal bow, and retreated into 
 the smoking compartment, where, with hat 
 pulled low over his brows, he meditated long, 
 an unlighted cigar between his teeth. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar sighed as she watched him 
 depart, but there was a light of pleased excite- 
 ment in her eyes. Life is occasionally more 
 interesting than a novel; and Mrs. Aguilar had 
 no fictitious interests, since she had no time to 
 read novels. 
 
 109 
 
CHAPTEE VII 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hereford had been for ten years 
 married lovers. Theirs was the rare and ideal 
 union in which time draws the bond closer. 
 They had no children, which circumstance, in 
 their case, wrought a tenderer mutual depend- 
 ence. 
 
 Environment may have had its share in pro- 
 moting their happiness. Love in a cottage, 
 where poverty and care are constant guests, may 
 be dust and ashes ; but love in a cottage em- 
 bowered in roses which bloom perennially in the 
 land of sunshine ; a cottage set in the midst of 
 orange groves which yield an ample income ; its 
 gardens adorned with tropical plants ; its lawns 
 kept green by exhaustless irrigation ; the vine 
 and fig-tree a literal shade ; in such conditions 
 joy takes no hurried flight. 
 
 Mr. Hereford's study was furnished with the 
 luxurious simplicity in which the masculine 
 mind delights. Burke was welcomed and 
 made comfortable in an easy chair by an open 
 window where the night air penetrated fra- 
 grantly, and he was given his choice of a long 
 111 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 array of pipes and a stock of superlative 
 tobacco. The circumstances made his con- 
 fession easier. 
 
 4 'Don't think me a fool, Hereford," he was 
 saying. "I have not quite lost my senses, and 
 I am too old to act upon impulse. It may seem 
 insane to you, but I have a reason." 
 
 "And a very good reason, a very pretty 
 reason," rejoined his friend, archly; "a reason 
 with a pair of beautiful eyes, and a smile that 
 would make it easy for any man to perjure 
 himself. I have always thought you invincible, 
 Burke, and I can not tell you how glad I am to 
 have you hit and hard hit at last." 
 
 "I don't know how you have guessed it," 
 said Burke, behind a cloud of smoke. 
 
 "Oh, when Lachusa got the discouraging 
 answer which was awaiting him at the telegraph 
 office, Miss Fairfax was desperately disap- 
 pointed," said Hereford. "Then her aunt 
 confided to us your remarkable proposition, and 
 gave us a hint of your reason, a hint sufficient 
 for me, and perhaps for Miss Dolly, for she 
 grew as red as a rose." 
 
 "Well," said Burke, "I have a check ready 
 
 in your name for the amount. I suppose I may 
 
 trust you for the sake of my reputation as a 
 
 business man to keep the secret. Credit it to 
 
 112 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 an Eastern sympathizer, to the Indian Associa- 
 tion, anything you please. And now, if you 
 can help me to ten words with Miss Fairfax 
 I will bless you forever." 
 
 "You deserve as much as that," said Here- 
 ford. "A man of your age who will give up 
 prejudice, conviction everything for love is a 
 rare bird in these days. I like you the better 
 for it, Burke." 
 
 He spoke as the man, the happy husband; 
 but the habit of the lawyer reasserted itself as 
 he took Burke's check and locked it in his 
 desk. A comical expression of anxiety and 
 regret showed itself in his face. He looked 
 after the broad-shouldered form of his friend, 
 who was impatiently preceding him, shook his 
 head mournfully, and exclaimed under his 
 breath, "Good Lord, what fools we mortals be!" 
 
 Dorothea had been walking in the garden 
 with Mrs. Hereford. It was nine o'clock, and 
 the full moon shone gloriously, flinging the 
 shadow of broad palm leaves across the path. 
 Suddenly Mrs. Hereford raised her head. 
 "John is calling me," she said. "Excuse me; 
 I will be back in a moment." 
 
 Dorothea was not unwilling to be alone. 
 The beauty of the night the mountains rising 
 pearly-tinted on one side, the silver waves of 
 113 
 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 the Pacific shining on the other, the calm of 
 the sleeping garden sweet with the breath of 
 orange blossoms filled her soul with the joy 
 that borders upon tears. She seated herself 
 upon a bench and waited, smiling at her 
 thoughts, until at the sound of approaching 
 footsteps she exclaimed with enthusiasm: "I 
 think you are a happy woman, Mrs. Hereford. 
 Life must be easy in a home like this." 
 
 It was Burke who stood before her. 
 
 "Make such a home and share it with me, 
 Dorothea," he exclaimed. 
 
 She looked about her quickly, as if seeking to 
 escape. 
 
 "I love you, dear," said Burke, bending over 
 her. "I have loved you, I believe, from the 
 first moment. It seems that I have loved you 
 all my life. I will be very patient, but tell me 
 there is hope for me." 
 
 Her look of grave surprise, the denial in her 
 gesture, cut him to the heart. He continued 
 his wooing with eager persistency. The 
 luminous seclusion of the night, the soft, pas- 
 sionate air, wooed for him, but her heart was 
 steeled against him. 
 
 "I can hardly think that this is true all that 
 you say. You have known me so short a time. 
 I do not mean to be unkind," she added, in 
 114 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 reply to his ardent protestations. "You may 
 deceive yourself. You will come to know, as I 
 do, that there can be no real sympathy between 
 us." 
 
 "In what can I not sympathize?" he ex- 
 claimed. "There is nothing of value to me 
 compared to your happiness. I would gladly 
 sacrifice my opinions and prejudices to fulfill a 
 wish of yours. Do you doubt me, Dorothea? 
 I will prove it this way : It is such a little thing 
 compared to what I would like to do, not more 
 than if I should pick this rose and give it to 
 you; but Hereford has my check for six thou- 
 sand dollars for the appeal. I have just handed 
 it to him." 
 
 A slight flush mounted to the girl's cheek, 
 and she looked at him with sparkling eyes. 
 
 "I believe I would thank you more for the 
 rose, Mr. Burke," she said. "I am not sure 
 that a man has the right to sacrifice his convic- 
 tions and the interests of his client just to please 
 a foolish girl. I am afraid I am very ungrate- 
 ful, for I am not pleased. If it had been your 
 own wish, your real opinion, that would have 
 pleased me." 
 
 "Oh, Dorothea, be less severe," he cried. 
 "Love me a little, then you will not exact so 
 much." 
 
 115 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "From your point of view I must seem un- 
 reasonable," she replied. "I thank you for 
 what you have given up for my sake, and for 
 what you offer me ; but if there were no other 
 reason, there would be one thing between us, 
 Mr. Burke, my father. It shows how short 
 our acquaintance has been, that I have never 
 spoken to you of my father." 
 
 Burke remembered what he had heard of 
 Dorothea's father, but the thought filled him 
 with added tenderness, foreshadowing the dis- 
 appointment that must some day await her. 
 
 "Tell me about him," he said. 
 
 "I shall never marry while my father lives," 
 she continued. "He is planning to follow me 
 to California, and I have promised to make a 
 home for him where he may be happy at last. 
 He has had a hard life, a battle with the world, 
 and with false friends and unkind tongues. I 
 am the only one who really knows and appre- 
 ciates him. Even Mrs. Aguilar is unjust to 
 him. You know there are some natures, rash, 
 impulsive, independent natures, that are always 
 misunderstood." 
 
 Burke assented. 
 
 "I love him so well," she continued, "that it 
 will be my greatest happiness to give up my 
 life to him. As for you, Mr. Burke, I like you 
 116 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 very much as a friend. Why need you think 
 of anything else?" 
 
 Burke sighed. "You do not know your own 
 heart, Dorothea," he said. "There is love 
 there waiting to be awakened like the sleeping 
 princess with a kiss. Your father will wish you 
 to marry some day. I will wait for you as 
 long as need he, and some day we will have a 
 home like this and share it with him." 
 
 Dorothea hardly heard these words. Her 
 thoughts were far away, and anxiety clouded 
 her face as she said: "I am very much worried 
 about papa. It is so long since I have heard 
 from him, and last night I had a horrid dream. 
 I thought I saw him stand beneath the gallows 
 with a rope about his neck, and there was a 
 great crowd looking on, and all were waiting 
 for a pardon that might come ; and it was you 
 who were to bring it from the judge, but you 
 would not, and I was on my knees before you, 
 begging you to hurry, till at last they drew the 
 rope up. Oh! it was so terrible!" 
 
 Burke sank upon his knees before her. 
 "Dreams go by contraries," he said. "This is 
 what it meant. I was to kneel to you, begging 
 you for just one kiss, and you would not, oh, 
 no, for you were cruel; and the pain in my 
 heart grew worse and worse, until at last you 
 117 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 took pity on me, and leaned forward ever so 
 little, and put one hand on my shoulder, and 
 gave me your dear lips for my very own, my 
 darling, my wife." 
 
 His arm was about her waist, his breath was 
 on her cheek, and his eyes drew her pleadingly, 
 imperiously, to his will. Dorothea, dismayed 
 yet passive, like a fascinated bird, looked at 
 him in alarm; when the gravel crunched 
 beneath a footstep, and the spell was broken. 
 
 Burke started to his feet, and turned to face 
 Antonio Lachusa. 
 
 "I beg pardon," said Antonio, with his eyes 
 on Dorothea. "Mrs. Aguilar told me that I 
 should find you here. I have spent hours at 
 the telegraph office, and a good deal of money 
 too. The telegraph is expensive. But at last 
 I have succeeded. The Indian Association has 
 decided to go security, and the Associated Loan 
 Company will advance the amount of the bonds. 
 Our case will be appealed." 
 
 Dorothea sprang from her seat. "Oh, I am 
 so glad, Antonio," she exclaimed, in a tone of 
 hearty delight. "How clever you have been to 
 do all that!" 
 
 Burke read in her expression the bitterness of 
 a double rejection. She had forgotten him and 
 his gift in her satisfaction at Antonio's mes- 
 118 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 sage, and her eyes, if they spoke the truth, 
 declared a personal interest in the messenger, a 
 stalwart, handsome, manly figure, but an 
 Indian. 
 
 Antonio received her praises modestly, calmly 
 ignoring Burke's wrathful and impatient pose. 
 
 "Marta will be glad," he said. "Fernando 's 
 grave will still be hers, and Pedro will die in 
 the home that has been his for ninety years. 
 I thought I would first bring the news of it to 
 you, and then hire a horse and ride home to- 
 night with the tidings." 
 
 "It is a long ride, and you will be quite worn 
 out," she said. 
 
 "I am strong," replied Antonio. "Look 
 here." 
 
 He grasped by one round the bench which 
 stood before him, and raised it by a straight 
 uplifted arm high above his head. "I could 
 do that, too, with your weight upon it," he 
 added. 
 
 "Pray don't try," she said, with a merry 
 laugh, a spark of admiration in her eyes. 
 "You are a Hercules." 
 
 "It is an argument against civilization," said 
 Burke, "that the average physical strength in 
 savage races is superior to our own." 
 
 Some offences bring swift retribution. At 
 119 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 this speech the flame of indignation glowed in 
 Dorothea's eyes. "Come into the house, An- 
 tonio," she said, "and tell Mrs. Hereford the 
 good news. I suspect you have taken little 
 time for your meals to-day, and you must have 
 a good supper before you start. Mrs. Hereford 
 will gladly contribute it to the cause, I am 
 sure." 
 
 She preceded him through the garden and 
 into the lighted dining-room, where Burke saw 
 her engaged in smiling conversation with 
 Lachusa, and actually waiting upon him with 
 her own hands. 
 
 Antonio accepted all with due humility. If 
 joy and triumph were in his heart his dark eyes 
 did not show it. The dignity and decorum of 
 his manners could not be surpassed by an East 
 Indian prince of highest caste. He talked 
 well, and he listened with that gratifying 
 deference of attention which is a less common 
 art. Mrs. Hereford was delighted with him as 
 if he were a new discovery, a rare anthropolog- 
 ical specimen. She assisted Dorothea to pre- 
 pare his supper, lent him a horse, and speeded 
 his departure through the moonlit night. 
 
 Burke had before this taken refuge with his 
 friend. He was in cynical mood, and Here- 
 ford, with sympathetic tact, made no inquiries. 
 120 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "That check will not be needed after all, it 
 seems," said Burke, when at last he rose to go. 
 
 Hereford opened the drawer and returned the 
 paper, which Burke tore into fragments. 
 Dorothea and her aunt had disappeared, and 
 his host and hostess followed him to where his 
 light carriage stood waiting. 
 
 "I suppose Miss Fairfax did not take your 
 call to herself," said Mrs. Hereford. "She was 
 tired and has said good-night." 
 
 "May Nora know your secret?" asked Here- 
 ford. 
 
 "I have asked Dorothea to be my wife," 
 Burke explained to the lady, whose eyes now 
 eagerly interrogated him, "but she will give me 
 no hope." 
 
 "Oh, she will say yes in time," said Mrs. 
 Hereford. "She must. I shall insist upon it ; 
 such a good fellow as you are!" 
 
 "If you wish to help me, keep her with you," 
 he urged. "I shall not intrude too much 
 upon her, but I feel that she will be safe under 
 your influence. At Casa Blanca there are cer- 
 tain things which raise a barrier between us 
 her interest in the Indians, my lack of sympathy 
 with her enthusiasms, heaven knows what." 
 
 "We will do our best to help you," was the 
 reply. * ' I love her already myself. ' ' 
 121 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 At this declaration Burke would have lin- 
 gefed to enter upon the subject dearest to the 
 lover's heart, the perfections of the beloved; 
 but Hereford bade him a laughing farewell, 
 holding up his watch as a reminder of the hour, 
 and his hostess called friendly good-nights and 
 waved her hand till he was out of sight, 
 
 122 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 It was two o'clock when Antonio rode up 
 Johnson's grade in the dazzling moonlight, 
 which, reflected from the white granite walls of 
 the canon, was like the glare of a calcium 
 light, throwing densely black shadows beneath 
 every tree and buttressed cliff. The stillness of 
 the night was intensified rather than broken by 
 the occasional hoot of an owl, and the wailing 
 bark of the coyote. 
 
 His horse's hoof -beats echoed sharply on the 
 rocky way. Antonio spared him the steepest 
 grades by walking with the bridle flung across 
 his arm. 
 
 This was the theatre of the hold-up. Here, 
 for the first time, Dorothea had spoken to him. 
 He remembered her brave eyes and the pathetic 
 pallor of her face. He recalled, too, the 
 tumultuous emotion that had stirred his heart 
 at the soft pressure of her unconscious head 
 upon his shoulder. He had loved her at that 
 moment ; but how much more truly now that 
 she had so often blessed him with her smiles 
 and friendly words, each one of which was like 
 123 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 a strand in a woven cable, that no shock of fate 
 nor strain of time could break ! His love was 
 the breath of his life, the sustaining power of 
 his being. He could not resist it nor reason 
 against it, any more than he could resist the 
 impulse that filled his lungs. 
 
 As he walked with uplifted head in the full 
 consciousness of his manhood, he was ready to 
 do and dare all that a man may. In the vast 
 serenity of the wilderness the petty conven- 
 tions of life shrank into nothingness. Circum- 
 stance and condition were things within a 
 man's shaping. The daring of his hopes had 
 overleaped the chasm of race lines. Baring his 
 soul to the glorious light of heaven, he felt that 
 he was worthy and might be blessed. 
 
 It was not Dorothea's kindness which had 
 suddenly transformed his thought; rather, it 
 was the jealous apprehension which he had 
 recognized in Burke's glance. It was not scorn 
 alone that he had read there, but a certain 
 terror of his influence. One is not feared with- 
 out a cause. Antonio began to sing an old 
 half -for gotten Spanish love-song. At the top 
 of the grade he remounted his horse, and rode 
 down the slope and over the level plain like an 
 arrow shot from a bow. 
 
 It is good to live ; to be a man, conscious of 
 124 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 youth and strength and the power of the human 
 will. It is good to love, and to feel the death- 
 less impulse which urges the union of soul with 
 soul as dewdrop blends with dewdrop on the 
 rose-leaf, obeying the compelling force that 
 moves the worlds. 
 
 The day was .broad and bright when he 
 entered the rancheria at Casa Blanca. As he 
 rode down the hill he was struck with the si- 
 lence and desolation of the spot. No men were 
 abroad in the fields. No smoke wreaths rose 
 above the chimneys; and on nearer view the 
 place was empty of its inhabitants. An old 
 gaunt dog, ownerless, and befriended only by 
 Antonio, crawled out from his bed by a 
 smouldering hearth-fire and licked the new- 
 comer's feet. 
 
 u Hallo, Odysseus," said Antonio, and the 
 dog recognized the title his new master had 
 bestowed upon him and responded by such 
 grateful motions as his stiff form would allow. 
 " Where are the rest? Are you the only one 
 expecting me?" 
 
 It hurt him that the tribe should have so 
 little confidence in the success of his mission. 
 He had fancied that eager outposts would recog- 
 nize him, and give the first report of his 
 arrival. He had promised to return without 
 125 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 delay if he should succeed in his expectation of 
 raising the amount of the bonds. This, too, 
 was the day of election, and Antonio had set 
 his heart upon gaining that first stepping-stone 
 in his new ambitions, the office of Captain of 
 the tribe. 
 
 He fed and stabled his weary horse, then 
 made his way to a deep well -like pool, exhaust- 
 less in the longest droughts, where he stripped 
 and plunged in the icy waters, out of which he 
 rose refreshed. Making his toilet with what 
 care he might, he breakfasted on the sandwiches 
 which Dorothea's hands had prepared, worship- 
 ping her goodness as he ate ; then took his way 
 to the village, looking for such stray bits of 
 information as come unasked in a country 
 neighborhood. 
 
 The first rusty-coated farmer whom he met 
 fulfilled his expectations. " Hallo, Lachusa," 
 he said. "We want you for the grape harvest- 
 ing. I come down this morning to hire a lot of 
 Indians, and find the hull lot of 'em off to 
 Leona at a fiesta where that low-lived Marco has 
 led them and set up a rebellion, I should call it. 
 The bucks are dancing in their war-paint, and 
 they've bought a keg of whiskey at Jennings 's 
 store. The women have gone too, and they'll 
 make a week of it. Meantime, my grapes will 
 126 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 be rotting on the vines. They're bursting with 
 ripeness, and the bees are at 'em. One hand 
 hardly counts, but you're a good worker. Will 
 you come? I '11 give you a dollar and a half a 
 day." 
 
 "I should be glad to, but I have business on 
 hand," replied Antonio. 
 
 "Want a taste of that whiskey, I suppose. 
 Well, one don't count, no way. I'll go over 
 Hilton way and hire." 
 
 He whipped up his nag and was soon out of 
 sight. Antonio stood irresolute. He walked 
 past the school-house, a spot beloved for its 
 associations with Dorothea, and he mused 
 awhile in the shadow of the fig-tree where he 
 had first met Mrs. Leigh. 
 
 Retracing his steps, he paused in surprise, 
 observing that the school -house door stood ajar. 
 He looked within, wondering what interloper 
 had intruded in the absence of the owners. 
 Perhaps Marta had remained behind the others 
 to sweep and clean in preparation for Mrs. 
 Aguilar's return. 
 
 The two-roomed cottage which was attached 
 to the school -building proper gave limited 
 accommodation to the teacher's family. A low 
 table in the living-room was spread with Doro- 
 thea's silver toilet articles, and it held the 
 127 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 photographs which Antonio knew well by sight, 
 the most conspicuous among them being that of 
 an elderly man with a handsome sensual face, 
 which bore traces of dissipation, yet preserved a 
 certain inborn grace. This was Dorothea's 
 father. She had enshrined him in a heavy sil- 
 ver frame. The flowers which Antonio gathered 
 for her on the mountains she placed in a crystal 
 vase before the picture, as if doing homage to 
 her love. She talked constantly of her father. 
 Antonio knew that she adored him, and he 
 admired in her a trait common in the Indian 
 race, with whom family affection is deep and 
 ardent. 
 
 Antonio now saw to his surprise a stranger, 
 dust-stained and weary, seated in Dorothea's 
 chair ; and with even greater surprise he recog- 
 nized that he was the original of the silver- 
 framed portrait. Mr. Fairfax had arrived in 
 his daughter's absence, unexpected and unan- 
 nounced. 
 
 Antonio pushed the door, and the stranger 
 sprang to his feet, a look of expectation, almost 
 of fear, in his eyes. 
 
 "Are you employed by Mrs. Aguilar?" he 
 asked. "I came to see her and Miss Fairfax. 
 Are they not at home?" 
 
 "They are making a short visit at Magnolia 
 128 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ranch, six miles from town, and fifty miles from 
 here," replied Antonio, eager to be of service to 
 Dorothea's father. 
 
 "I came in, since no one answered my knock, 
 and the door was insecurely fastened," explained 
 Fairfax. "The neighborhood seems deserted. 
 I met no one on the way. I planned my com- 
 ing as a surprise, but I might be regarded as an 
 intruder. If you are here to guard the premises 
 you may fancy I am planning to fill my pockets 
 with these nicknacks. One degenerates into 
 a tramp after a long drive over these dusty 
 roads." 
 
 As he spoke he pointed to the silver orna- 
 ments upon the table, then paused and blushed, 
 recognizing his own portrait among them, and 
 observing that the Indian had also become 
 cognizant of the likeness. He continued 
 hurriedly: "If I can not see the ladies I will 
 attend to a matter of business which I have on 
 hand. Can you tell me where I can find a man 
 called Samuel K. Jennings?" 
 
 Antonio's look darkened quickly. "Mr. 
 Jennings is postmaster," he answered, "and 
 keeps the store and saloon attached to it." 
 
 "Yes," said Fairfax, "that is the man. Is 
 he in the store, I wonder?" 
 
 "You can easily find out," said Antonio. 
 129 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "It is half a mile over yonder, in the direction 
 of the meeting-house. Any one will show you 
 the way." 
 
 "I should prefer to meet Mr. Jennings else- 
 where than at the store," said Fairfax. "Will 
 you do me the favor of inquiring if he is there? 
 Give him this card, if you please." 
 
 He took a card from his pocket, wrote a few 
 words on it, and placed it in an envelope, which 
 he sealed and handed to Antonio. "I will wait 
 here till your return," he added. 
 
 Antonio reluctantly undertook the commis- 
 sion. He never willingly set foot in Jennings 's 
 store, nor interchanged a word with the man 
 whom he loathed as worse than a venomous 
 reptile ; but he would have sacrificed much for 
 Dorothea's father, and he went quickly on his 
 errand. 
 
 It was unsuccessful. Mr. Jennings had gone 
 to Hilton, and was not expected to return until 
 evening. 
 
 Fairfax heard this discontentedly. He 
 seemed ill at ease, and consumed by feverish 
 impatience. 
 
 "You say the ladies will not return to-day?" 
 
 he said. "Well, I will spend the day here. 
 
 I do not care to tell you my name, but I may 
 
 say that I have a right to Mrs. Aguilar's hos- 
 
 130 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 pitality. You see, she has my photograph 
 there. I am a friend." 
 
 Antonio nodded his comprehension. 
 
 "I shall sleep all day, no doubt," continued 
 Fairfax. "I have travelled far, and have had 
 little rest. Can I depend on you to find out the 
 exact hour of Mr. Jennings 's return, to deliver 
 that envelope to him at the very moment of his 
 setting foot in this place, and then to come back 
 to me and show me the way to the Bonanza 
 mine, where I have asked him to meet me? It 
 is near here, I believe." 
 
 Antonio nodded again. "A mile to the east, 
 over the hill," he answered. 
 
 "I wish to keep my presence here a secret, at 
 least till I have seen Jennings," continued Fair- 
 fax. "Can I depend on you?" 
 
 4 ' Most assuredly," replied Antonio. "I will 
 watch for his coming and deliver the note. 
 Then I will come back and be at your com- 
 mand." 
 
 "I will pay you well for your trouble," said 
 Fairfax. 
 
 The light came into Antonio's eyes. "It is a 
 pleasure to me to serve you," he said. "The 
 service is freely given." 
 
 Left alone, Fairfax flung himself upon a 
 couch and tried to sleep, but miserable thoughts 
 131 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 intruded and kept him waking. So this was 
 the home-coming that he had pictured in lively 
 colors. He came unannounced, meaning to see 
 Dorothea secretly and win her consent to an 
 immediate departure for Europe, on the plea of 
 a sudden business necessity. He would sell the 
 gold mine and give up all his plans rather than 
 live in a neighborhood made hateful by the 
 presence of Samuel K. Jennings. 
 
 Guilty fear had tortured him when he had 
 read that well-remembered name upon the page 
 of Dolly's letter. It was as if fate pursued him 
 with an ironical revenge. He had placed his 
 dearest hostage all unwittingly in the very camp 
 of the enemy. It was possible to remain at a 
 distance and send for his daughter to join him. 
 This would have been the part of prudence ; but 
 his affairs were in order, his ticket was bought, 
 the surprise he had prepared for her was 
 planned before her letter came ; and a certain 
 manly shrinking from the acknowledgment of 
 defeat made him unwilling to confess even to 
 himself the weakness of his position. 
 
 It was still possible to avoid the meeting with 
 his enemy, or to carry it off with a high hand. 
 Jennings 's reputation was such as to discredit 
 any statements that he could make ; and as for 
 actual evidence, what had he now that he could 
 132 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 not have used any time in the last twenty years? 
 Threats there had been in plenty. They were 
 the spittings of that inward volcano of rage of 
 whose existence Fairfax was well aware. 
 
 "I have given the creature cause to hate me," 
 he confessed. "That is no reason why I should 
 fear him. He is a coward himself at heart." 
 
 It was, however, with a desperate conscious- 
 ness of an approaching crisis that Fairfax en- 
 trusted to Antonio the note which asked a 
 meeting of the man whom he had spent the 
 ingenuity of years in successfully avoiding. It 
 was an act which he already regretted. Why 
 had he not left Casa Blanca as secretly as he 
 had come, joining his daughter and making his 
 way to the harbor, where the ocean offered him 
 a wide refuge? It was not yet too late to do 
 this. A horse could be hired in the village to 
 replace the weary animal that had brought him 
 over the mountains. He could not recall his 
 note, but Jennings might visit the gold mine 
 on a fruitless quest. More than once he placed 
 his hand upon the door-knob, meaning to make 
 good his retreat, but something held him back. 
 
 It was, in fact, the latent instinct of the man 
 
 of honor who can not turn his back upon a foe. 
 
 Fairfax had long since lost the finer qualities of 
 
 the soul. He had squandered his best endow- 
 
 133 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ments. Even his courage had yielded to the 
 base alarms that are the consequence of guilt. 
 But some premonition told him that he stood in 
 the last ditch. He must conquer or yield to 
 ignominy. He wished to face the worst from 
 very impatience of the threat of it; and he 
 hoped against hope that he should once more 
 have the upper hand, once more prove himself 
 more fertile in resource than the lesser mind 
 that had opposed him. 
 
 It was both pain and pleasure to him to spend 
 this time in a room which Dolly had lately in- 
 habited, tracing the tokens of her dainty pres- 
 ence. How he loved her ; how every wish and 
 purpose in life was bound up in her ; how he 
 prayed day and night for the chance to live and 
 die unsullied in her thought of him ! He did 
 not fear God's judgment; he shrank only from 
 that judgment day when Dorothea should know 
 him as he was. 
 
 At last he fell asleep, and dreamed of long- 
 forgotten days and scenes known in childhood ; 
 and thought that he felt his mother's kiss upon 
 his forehead. 
 
 134 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Antonio had much to do before he could 
 think of rest. He must cross the mountains to 
 Leona, he must confront Marco, win the elec- 
 tion, and be back in time to keep his promise to 
 Mr. Fairfax. 
 
 He was weary enough before he reached his 
 destination ; but this he would not acknowledge 
 to himself. The chaparral that defended the 
 slopes like chevaux-de-frise did not discourage 
 him. He glided sinuously through the thickets ; 
 or, swinging himself over the cliffs, took the 
 more open courses of the mountain streams, 
 long since shrunken from their places, and 
 leaving their boulder -strewn pathways bare. 
 
 The fiesta grounds at Leona were well chosen 
 on a grassy plateau, and for the temporary 
 accommodation of the revellers the men had 
 built a village of brush houses, those idyllic 
 sylvan huts, which an Indian with an ax and a 
 forest at hand can construct at will almost as 
 readily as the Arab pitches his tent. 
 
 The uprights are firm and strong. The walls 
 and roofs are of green wattled boughs. The 
 135 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 sunshine falls through the interstices with a 
 subdued light, as if it came through stained- 
 glass windows. A few boards make tables and 
 chairs ; blankets furnish a bed ; and in such a 
 hut, beneath such a sky, the world-worn pessi- 
 mist might forget his cares and learn new joy 
 in living. 
 
 Since it was not yet noon, and the night's 
 potations had been heavy, most of the men were 
 within doors sleeping off their excesses. The 
 women, whose superior moral qualities enabled 
 them to continue the orderly conduct of affairs, 
 ignoring the dereliction of their spouses, were 
 abroad washing garments in the brook, carrying 
 water, and chopping firewood for the prepara- 
 tion of the noonday meal. Marta met Antonio 
 with a cry of delight. 
 
 "Do you bring good news?" she asked. 
 
 "Good news," he answered. "The amount 
 of the bonds has been raised, and we shall have 
 a new hearing of our case." 
 
 Marta carried the tidings from hut to hut. 
 Several of the younger men roused themselves 
 and followed her to learn from Antonio the 
 details of his success. 
 
 "I suppose you are counting on our promise 
 to you," said Felipe, who buttoned up his coat 
 to conceal the loss of his watch and chain, 
 136 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 which flaunted openly on the red blouse of 
 Manuel. 
 
 "Yes," said Antonio, "and I had counted on 
 your promise not to gamble. You have been 
 playing peon last night." 
 
 "And what if we did play peon?" retorted 
 Felipe, with the pugnacity born of the after- 
 effects of bad whiskey. "You are not the one 
 who shall stop us. And Diego said that if you 
 had been here you would not have wanted us to 
 dance the catamount dance. You are a white 
 man at heart, that is what is the matter with 
 you. You are a white man, and you are in love 
 with a white girl. I have heard from those 
 that ought to know." 
 
 Fire flamed in Antonio's eyes. "What did 
 you hear?" he asked, in a voice that awed 
 Felipe^ in spite of himself. "Tell me," he 
 commanded. 
 
 "It was Marco, who heard it at Jennings 's 
 saloon," said Felipe, in a surly tone. "Miss 
 Bessie Wilson was talking to Jennings in the 
 store. She was angry because Mr. Burke rode 
 like mad after the stage you went in, and Jen- 
 nings, who hates Burke, was questioning her as 
 to what made him do it. He would not believe 
 her when she said that he was in love with Miss 
 Dolly Fairfax. 'Oh, no,' said Jennings, 'she 
 137 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 has a red man for a lover, that precious sneak 
 Lachusa, who is trying to fool the Indians by 
 playing white man and red man both. She's 
 no better than she should be, and he's good 
 enough for her. ' ' ' 
 
 The world spun round before Antonio's vis- 
 ion. The blood sang in his ears. It was well 
 for Samuel Jennings that he was thirty miles 
 away. 
 
 Felipe shrank away affrighted. "It was not 
 I who said it," he exclaimed. "You told me 
 to tell you of it." 
 
 Antonio bit his lip till the blood came. 
 "Yes, I told you to tell me," he repeated. "I 
 did not guess that I must hear that reptile's 
 lies. Well, Felipe, ask Diego to sound the call 
 for the voting. I will make a speech before it 
 begins." 
 
 "There are two other candidates," said 
 Felipe. "Marco has put up a man, since he 
 can not run himself Diego's son, Carlos." 
 
 "A half-witted drunkard no one will vote 
 for him," remarked Antonio. "Who is the 
 other?" 
 
 Felipe hesitated. "I never break a promise, 
 and I will vote for you," he said. "I could not 
 prevent it that the others put up my name." 
 
 Antonio laughed loudly. "Eeally, Felipe," 
 138 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 he said, "I could almost believe that you had 
 lived among the white men and learned their 
 notions of political honor." 
 
 Felipe went off with a lowering brow, and 
 Diego, at his request, brought out the flat stave 
 of seasoned wood attached to a twisted thong, 
 which, by rapid whirling in a practiced hand, 
 produces a dull, resonant vibration, unlike any 
 other sound in nature or art the most effectual 
 summons to a gathering. Sleepy men tumbled 
 forth into the sunshine. Marco, wide-awake 
 and alert as ever, came smiling at the followers 
 by whom he was surrounded. Carlos, his 
 dummy, was in his usual state of silent 
 inebriety, and sure to commit himself to noth- 
 ing, either for or against his interests. 
 
 "He is a safe man," Marco declared. "He 
 knows more drunk than half the others sober. 
 He will never interfere with your right as free 
 men to gamble if you choose. You may be 
 sure of that." 
 
 This argument was well thought of, nothing 
 being so dear to the heart as the favorite game 
 of peon. But Felipe's adherents suggested that 
 he also had no prejudices, and yet was a more 
 decent man to represent the interests of the 
 tribe. The conservatives were in favor of 
 Felipe. The hot-heads would vote for Carlos. 
 139 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Antonio's chances seemed reduced to the num- 
 ber of those who had promised him their sup- 
 port beneath the oak-tree. He was sure of 
 them, for an Indian never breaks his word. 
 
 Antonio realized the situation at a glance, 
 but he did not allow himself to be disturbed by 
 it. The people of the tribe, who had gathered 
 together from a radius of fifty miles, were pre- 
 pared to listen to him with the stolid attention 
 which discloses nothing of its purpose till the 
 time is ripe for action. Marco was the only one 
 who betrayed his antagonism to the speaker by 
 his gestures of dissent or impatience. 
 
 Antonio mounted upon an empty cart which 
 stood disused in the centre of the level sward, 
 and turned to face his audience, a stern excite- 
 ment thrilling his nerves. It had been one of 
 his youthful dreams (an ambition that haunted 
 him no less for his realization of its futility) to 
 stand one day on the floor of Congress, with a 
 nation's future depending upon the impulse his 
 choice might give the swinging balance, a hush 
 of breathless suspense about him, the listening 
 throng hanging eagerly upon his words. 
 
 The sunbeams quivered through the oak 
 
 leaves and fell upon his head; the tall dry 
 
 grasses rustled in the wind. The empty mesas 
 
 stretched on either side and lost themselves 
 
 140 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 among the desolate hills ; but even here there 
 was a theatre for human thought and action, a 
 first step to be made in the path of his ambi- 
 tion. 
 
 What he spoke he could not recollect, for no 
 stenographer recorded the words that sprang 
 burning to his lips, words of wit and grace, of 
 irony and persuasive eloquence, of pathos and 
 of power. He pleaded the lessons of the past, 
 the hopes of the future, the wide horizons that 
 lie beyond the individual life, the duty to the 
 tribe, to the race, to the ideal. 
 
 The old men listened in attitudes of non- 
 committal deliberation. The young men stood 
 tense, alert, resisting. Antonio felt a stricture 
 at his throat. Was he alone among his tribe? 
 isolated by his elevation above their thoughts 
 and sympathies? He felt the strong ties of 
 blood and kindred, and was ready to give his 
 life for their advancement ; but they held aloof 
 in the suspicion which ignorance bears to knowl- 
 edge. They doubted his enthusiasms, and 
 questioned his motives. 
 
 He continued his address by descending from 
 the general to the particular, explaining his 
 projects for the future; how the borax mine 
 might be exploited, how a university might be 
 founded to supplement the education of the 
 141 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 government school. He was ready to be its 
 teacher. His time and knowledge were at their 
 service. All that he asked was confidence, 
 co-operation, and the power to test the prac- 
 ticability of his schemes. 
 
 He told them simple stories of his daily life, 
 touching recollections of his childhood. He 
 referred to the folk-lore of the tribe, finding a 
 meaning in their myths, a prophecy in their 
 sacred hymns. Poetry, religion, family love 
 were themes he touched upon as a harper tries 
 his instrument, string by string. 
 
 He paused and looked about among his audi- 
 tors. How far had he conquered their preju- 
 dices? To test the question he beckoned to one 
 of the younger men who stood with an uplifted 
 intelligent face in the front rank of the spec- 
 tators. 
 
 "What have you decided, Samuel?" he 
 asked, in a low voice. "Do you believe what I 
 have told you? Do you mean to give me your 
 vote?" 
 
 "You speak well, Antonio," was the reply. 
 "But Marco speaks well, too. It is all words 
 words. Felipe is the man for me." 
 
 Marco in the background was already clamor- 
 ing for a hearing. Antonio waved his hand and 
 demanded silence. 
 
 142 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Only a word and I have done," he said. 
 "You have heard me patiently, but you doubt 
 and hesitate. You are not ready to follow 
 me, for you think I lead you in uncertain 
 paths." 
 
 Silence gave assent. 
 
 "Then let me recommend a Captain who is 
 the man to suit you; not Marco's cat's-paw, not 
 a drunken reprobate, but a young, true, strong 
 man, who has grown up with you from child- 
 hood, one whom you know and trust. I refer 
 to my friend, Felipe Curo, and I herewith with- 
 draw my own in favor of his nomination, and 
 beg that it may be made unanimous. " 
 
 He had touched at last a sympathetic chord. 
 The suddenness of the surprise, the generosity 
 of this appeal, won the quick appreciation of his 
 hearers. The younger men cheered; the older 
 men nodded approval. Marco mounted the 
 rostrum and tried to speak ; but was dragged 
 and hustled from the field. Carlos followed 
 him, offering consolation from the inevitable 
 bottle. A circle was formed, the votes were 
 cast, and without a dissenting voice Felipe was 
 chosen Captain of the tribe. 
 
 Antonio entered the ramada which his cousin 
 Manuel had built, and stretching himself in a 
 corner pulled his hat over his eyes. 
 143 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "He has not slept for two days and nights," 
 explained Marta, and she came and sat beside 
 him, and insisted on his eating a portion of a 
 sayory stew, redolent of garlic, before she would 
 leave him to repose. When she had gone Felipe 
 entered, and crouching in sitting posture upon 
 his heels near Antonio he asked in a low voice : 
 "What did you do it for? Are you angry with 
 me? Do you believe me to be a traitor?" 
 
 "No, you are a good fellow, and will make a 
 good Captain. I did it to defeat Marco, unite 
 the tribe, and snatch success out of the jaws of 
 failure. For, after all, Felipe, the real success 
 is not always the personal success, and no one 
 can rise very high in this world who can not 
 adapt himself to circumstances, and yield in 
 view of future gain." 
 
 Felipe held out his hand. "I am your 
 friend," he said. "You know more than any 
 of us. You have a brain; so have I; but yours 
 is trained and supple as a wrestler's muscles; 
 mine is rusty and slow. If you will help me 
 with your advice, Antonio, I will do my best to 
 carry out your plans. And I came to tell you 
 that if you will be Judge I will nominate you, 
 and you can be elected." 
 
 "I had thought of that," answered Antonio, 
 "but I would rather take no office now. I am 
 144 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 young, and have plenty of time before me. 
 Another year it may be different." 
 
 His smile was bright, his look determined. 
 Felipe watched him with growing admiration. 
 Education indeed was good. Felipe also sus- 
 pected that there is such a thing as native 
 endowment which education can supplement 
 but can not supply. 
 
 Antonio slept in the midst of the noisy gaiety 
 of the fiesta, in a hut where men and women, 
 children and dogs had free ingress and egress, 
 where the noonday meal was cooked and served, 
 and plans were discussed for the evening's 
 festivities. Marta had promised to wake him, 
 and at the appointed hour she bent over him, 
 reluctant to break his heavy slumber. 
 
 A neighbor's daughter followed her and stood 
 with her at Antonio's side. "Is he not muy 
 bonito?" she exclaimed. "He is the handsom- 
 est man in the tribe, and still unmarried. I 
 wonder, Marta, if he will dance with me 
 to-night." 
 
 Marta flung her a sidelong look of scorn. 
 "You are not the only girl who is sighing for 
 Antonio," she said, "but all may sigh in vain. 
 He is as ambitious as a prince. Some day he 
 will be Captain, if not to-day. He has a great 
 future before him." 
 
 145 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 u Who will he marry?" asked the girl. 
 
 "Why should he marry any one?" said 
 Marta. "Some men are great enough not to 
 care for women." 
 
 "But that is a pity," sighed her companion. 
 "A man with such a mouth, and such eyes, 
 with a straight nose like a white man, and 
 strong as a lion " 
 
 "Oh, begone!" cried Marta. "You would 
 sicken him if he could hear you. Go make up 
 to Carlos. He has no wife. I am going to 
 wake my brother now, and he is not going to 
 stay for the dance. He has business at home. ' ' 
 
 Antonio awoke at her call and sprang at once 
 to his feet, finding that he had barely time for 
 the return. As he hastened on his way he 
 turned more than once to look back at Marta, 
 and to wave his hand in response to her hand- 
 kerchief, which fluttered till he was out of sight. 
 
 146 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Antonio reached the store just as Jennings 
 descended from his carriage at the door. At 
 his approach the postmaster started and shrank 
 away with the sudden flinching of the coward, 
 ever ready with suspicion. 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked, in a loud, 
 surly voice, which interested the loungers on the 
 steps. 
 
 "Here is a note which I was asked to hand 
 you," replied Antonio, presenting the missive. 
 
 Jennings took it with a swaggering air, tore it 
 open and read the words written on the card. 
 His face changed quickly from surprised appre- 
 hension to a vindictive delight. 
 
 "All right, I'll be there. Was that what you 
 were to tell him? Where is he, by the way?" 
 
 Antonio gave no sign of comprehension. "I 
 was to give you the note," he said. 
 
 "Well, curse yon, you have done it. If he's 
 hiding about here tell him I'm ready for him 
 anywhere and at any time, but perhaps it is just 
 as well our first interview should be without 
 witnesses." 
 
 147 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He smiled, showing the pointed edges of his 
 teeth. "I'll come to the place he appoints," 
 he added, and, springing into the store, he went 
 to his desk, from which he took a couple of 
 folded papers and a pair of revolvers, depositing 
 these in the inner and outer pockets of his coat. 
 Antonio saw the action, and went at his swiftest 
 stride to the school-house, where Fairfax was 
 watching for him in a fever of impatience. 
 
 "Mr. Jennings is back, and will meet you 
 immediately at the mine," said Antonio. 
 "Perhaps you would better let me keep near 
 you. Mr. Jennings is sheriff of the district. 
 Perhaps that is the reason he always carries a 
 loaded revolver." 
 
 Fan-fax blenched and trembled. "Sheriff!" 
 he exclaimed. "Set a thief to catch a thief!" 
 
 His trepidation was so evident that Antonio 
 repeated his offer. Fairfax looked at him with 
 quick suspicion. 
 
 "An Indian spy lurking within earshot ! No, 
 indeed! Perhaps you are in Jennings 's pay." 
 
 Antonio made no reply. His face spoke for 
 him. 
 
 "Show me the way as quickly as you can," 
 commanded Fairfax. "There is a bill for you. 
 Keep out of the way, then, till I have done 
 with him." 
 
 148 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I wish no money," said Antonio. "I am in 
 no man's pay, but I will do anything I can to 
 oblige you." 
 
 "Well, make haste," cried Fairfax. "I'd 
 like to get there first." 
 
 "I will take you by a short cut," replied 
 Antonio, and with the elder man pushing 
 breathlessly after he descended the slope of the 
 canon and came upon the site of the gold 
 mine; then, at Fairfax's repeated command, he 
 retreated to a distance, leaving him alone. 
 
 Fairfax approached the entrance of an aban- 
 doned stamping-mill, whose door hung on one 
 hinge, while dust and rust invaded the motion- 
 less machinery within. He walked across to 
 the power-house, and looked down the shaft, 
 which was half -full of water, while the iron cage 
 lay on its side half-detached from a broken 
 cable. He picked up a piece of ore which was 
 at his feet, and examined it with the eye of a 
 connoisseur. 
 
 "It is not exactly like the samples which were 
 sent me," he said, smiling grimly. 
 
 As he turned he came face to face upon the 
 postmaster, who swaggered up to him, his hat 
 pushed down upon his head, and his hands deep 
 in the pockets of his coat. 
 
 "Well, Teddy, we meet again," he said. 
 149 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "Have you come to examine your new property? 
 I hope you find it in good shape." 
 
 ' 4 Quite as good as I should have expected if 
 I had known that you were concerned in the 
 sale." 
 
 "Oh, I have laid low," said Jennings, with a 
 loud guffaw. "I am a sleeping partner here. 
 I have done pretty well since you last saw me. 
 I have taken to a legitimate business, and 
 married a rich man's daughter. But how goes 
 it with you, Teddy? You paid up well for the 
 mine. It was cash we were after. 'A valuable 
 mine of high-grade ore, with an exhaustless 
 ledge in the heart of the gold-bearing mountains 
 of California.' How does it run?" 
 
 "Drop that, "said Fairfax. "The mine is 
 sold, and so am I." 
 
 Jennings laughed till the tears stood in his 
 
 "You can appreciate the beauty of it so well," 
 he said. "You have so often done the thing 
 yourself. The biter is bit with a vengeance. 
 Well, to business. You knew I was here when 
 you arrived. I meant that it should be a sur- 
 prise, a pleasant surprise to you. But I am 
 ready for you either way. What are your pres- 
 ent intentions?" 
 
 "I am waiting to hear yours, " replied Fairfax. 
 150 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Then we may as well come at once to the 
 point," said Jennings, pressing closer to him. 
 Fairfax had his hand upon the butt of his 
 revolver as it rested in his belt, but his com- 
 panion had not appeared to notice it. Now he 
 continued in a drawling voice, "I wish to re- 
 mark, Teddy, that I've got the drop on you. 
 I have a revolver in each side coat pocket. My 
 finger is on the trigger, and the muzzle is press- 
 ing against your side. Stand perfectly still, 
 please, and oblige me by throwing that pretty 
 little weapon of yours down on the grass there, 
 where it will be out of reach. Is that all you 
 have about you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Fairfax, with a gasp of angry 
 desperation. "I don't go doubly armed as 
 cowards must." 
 
 "I have to, you know," said Jennings, con- 
 fidentially. "It is in the way of business. I 
 am sheriff here, Teddy. Perhaps you did not 
 know what a great man I am, and thought me 
 only a country store-keeper. My father-in-law 
 got me the place. It is convenient in my deal- 
 ings with the Indians. We have some lively 
 times here, and I must confess when I tried for 
 the place I was thinking a little of you. I don't 
 forget old pals, even when they have betrayed 
 
 151 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "For God's sake, stop your talk and tell me 
 what you want," said Fairfax. "You are hold- 
 ing me up for something, I suppose." 
 
 "We are coming to that," said Jennings. 
 "Don't be in a hurry. If my hands were not 
 occupied I could show you a document I have 
 had ready ever since I had reason to expect yoii 
 at Casa Blanca. It is on an old count, but it is 
 not yet out of date. I have seen to that. It is 
 a warrant for your arrest on the charge of 
 murder." 
 
 Fairfax had trembled like a leaf, but he now 
 recovered himself. 
 
 "That is absurd," he said. "I can not be 
 held for that." 
 
 "There are other charges forgery, con- 
 spiracy and the like which I could have used 
 as well," said Jennings, "but there is more red 
 tape about their execution, and they can be 
 brought up if this fails; but you can't get off, 
 I tell you. The old book-keeper, you know, 
 was found gagged and half -strangled, and he 
 died of the injuries a week after the bank was 
 robbed. I proved my innocence of that, but 
 you fastened the robbery on me, and got off 
 through your father's connivance, while I was 
 put behind the bars. I owe you something for 
 that; and I've waited till I could pay the debt. 
 152 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Now I think I can do it handsomely. For 
 some time I was not at liberty to carry on 
 detective work, and when I got out my effects 
 were scattered. It took me several years to 
 recover a letter you wrote me the day of the 
 robbery. You knew the letter never reached 
 me, and you thought my sister had destroyed 
 it. She did a good many things for your sake, 
 but she kept that for mine. You remember 
 the contents of the letter. You asked me to go 
 early to the bank and unbind the old man. 
 You had had to hit him harder than you 
 meant. He fought like a tiger. You feared 
 the effect might be fatal. Oh, it is all there in 
 black and white, proving that you struck the 
 fatal blow, proving that your testimony against 
 me was perjury, proving that I was the victim 
 of conspiracy. There is mighty little that 
 precious letter does not prove. I would not 
 part with it for the price you paid for the 
 Bonanza mine twice over." 
 
 Fairfax reeled like a drunken man. 
 
 "Now, all I ask is this," continued Jennings. 
 "Walk quietly along beside me in just this 
 position. March up to the store and place 
 yourself in the carriage I have ready for you. 
 My men will drive you to the station, and to- 
 morrow you will be comfortably lodged in town 
 153 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 at the expense of the state till we can bring 
 your affairs to the attention of the authorities in 
 New York. I won't make a scene if you won't. 
 I won't even clap the handcuffs on you, as I 
 have a right to." 
 
 Fairfax groaned like a baited bull. He 
 suddenly remembered Dorothea, and desper- 
 ation shook his soul. He cringed to his 
 enemy. 
 
 "Let me off this time, Jennings," he said, 
 with half a sob. "I'll pay yon well. You've 
 earned all you care to ask. You're a clever 
 fellow, but you can't make much out of this 
 thing, unless you've done it as a bluff, and want 
 a ransom. I'll give you all I have." 
 
 "That's handsome, but won't go down," 
 replied Jennings. "I want exactly what I've 
 got the chance for revenge. Do you think a 
 man is a log of wood to spend years in a state 
 prison on a false charge without being willing 
 to sell his soul for revenge?" 
 
 "You know you were not an innocent man," 
 said Fairfax. "You contrived the robbery and 
 I executed it. I was your tool, ' ' 
 
 "And now you are my prisoner," said Jen- 
 nings drily. "I'm getting tired of this. Please 
 walk along in the direction of the store. It is 
 necessary that I should keep my position, and 
 154 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 keep the drop on you ; but I don't want to be 
 obliged to hurry your steps." 
 
 Fairfax obeyed, and the two men proceeded 
 at a leisurely pace down the uneven rocky road, 
 long disused and washed into deep gullies by 
 the winter storms. Fairfax felt the tortures of 
 the damned. It was not the fear of the extrem- 
 est penalty of the law which daunted him, 
 but fear of the look which he must meet in 
 Dorothea's eyes, and the consciousness of the 
 grief and desolation which must overwhelm her. 
 
 Jennings held his right hand with its weapon 
 still in his pocket pressed close against Fair- 
 fax's side. He had drawn the other revolver 
 from his pocket, and held it tightly in his 
 grasp, but he kept a constant watch upon his 
 prisoner, seeming to fear him even in his dis- 
 armed condition. Fairfax walked along as if 
 oblivious to outward circumstance, but in reality 
 he was keenly alive to the slightest detail of his 
 position. Every sense was sharpened to a 
 preternatural acuteness. He observed that, as 
 the difficulties of the path increased, Jennings 
 found it impossible to preserve his attitude, and 
 relaxing the intensity of his precautions, he 
 covered his prisoner with the weapon held in his 
 left hand, while he attempted to disengage the 
 other from his pocket. At the same time, a 
 155 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 jagged boulder caught his foot and caused him 
 to stumble forward. 
 
 It was the moment Fairfax had awaited. 
 With the rapidity of a tiger that leaps upon its 
 prey, he drew a slender Spanish stiletto from 
 the sheath which hung unobserved at his side 
 beneath his coat, and bending, struck his 
 enemy in the neck at the very instant of his 
 forward movement ; and before Jennings could 
 recover his momentary loss of balance he was 
 overborne by the fury of the attack, and fell 
 face downward on the dusty ground. The 
 useless weapon dropped from his nerveless 
 hand. Fan-fax bent over him and stirred him 
 with his foot, taunting him; but no groan 
 escaped him, no muscle quivered. 
 
 "It is not possible," said Fairfax, half -aloud, 
 "I can not have killed him in a second like 
 that." 
 
 He stooped and lifted the inert form, rolling 
 it over upon the sward by the roadside. 
 
 Jennings was dead, with wide-open eyes, and 
 lips parted as if to speak. He had died so sud- 
 denly that his face was not distorted with a look 
 of pain. In an instant, from a breathing man 
 he had become a lifeless image of clay. 
 
 "It was fate or providence that guided my 
 stroke," thought Fairfax. 
 156 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He was cool and stolid in the moment of his 
 great escape. He fumbled in the pockets of 
 the corpse until he found the warrant and the 
 letter, at the sight of which he exclaimed in 
 triumph: "Yes, it was the hand of God. He 
 did not will that my innocent child should 
 suffer." 
 
 He tore the papers into tiny fragments and 
 scattered them on the ground; and not content 
 with this, he tramped upon them and buried 
 them with his heel, as if he feared that the 
 wind might carry them abroad. His whole 
 mind was concentrated on this task. He felt 
 that he must throw himself heart and soul into 
 trifling details of action, to avoid the lurking 
 threat of fate. But he could not avoid it. It 
 came with the sound of an approaching foot- 
 step. Fairfax looked up and listened, and the 
 cold sweat broke out upon his brow. At that 
 instant the mark of Cain- was set upon him, and 
 he knew himself to be a murderer. 
 
 No purpose now of meeting Dorothea; no 
 hope of exoneration ; he was filled with a selfish 
 fear, the overpowering dread of detection. He 
 looked about him and saw no ready means of 
 escape. The roughly-made road ended at the 
 gold mine. The canon was a cul-de-sac in the 
 mountains. The slopes were steep and rocky. 
 157 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 To scale the open rise of ground was to make 
 himself a target for observation. He thought 
 of taking refuge in a tunnel of the mine, but as 
 he turned and stood hesitating the newcomer 
 was upon him. It was the Indian who had 
 done his errand. 
 
 Fairfax drew a breath of relief. An impulse 
 more evil than that which had guided his dag- 
 ger, slid into his mind. The Indian was alone 
 and without witnesses. He was by the impli- 
 cation of an instinctive race-prejudice more open 
 to suspicion than a white man. Who could 
 prove that he was not the murderer? 
 
 Fairfax faced the horrified look in Antonio's 
 eyes with an evil smile. He pointed to the pis- 
 tols which were thrown upon the grass. 
 
 * * This man attempted my life, ' ' he said. * ' In 
 self-defense I struck him, and this is the 
 result." 
 
 Antonio bent over the form of his dead 
 enemy. The glassy eyes staring up at him 
 seemed to accuse him of participation in the 
 crime. Antonio had an inborn respect for the 
 dead. He stooped and closed the eyes and 
 straightened the limbs. Then he looked up 
 at Fairfax with quick appreciation of his 
 danger. "Will you give yourself up?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 158 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 " Shall I put my head in a lion's jaw?" was 
 the answer. "Do you mean to betray me?" 
 
 There was cruel hostility in his look. He had 
 become a man to be shunned and dreaded ; but 
 Antonio remembered only that he was Doro- 
 thea's father. 
 
 44 You wish, then, to make your escape," he 
 said. 44 The main road runs north and south 
 at the foot of the canon. To avoid that you 
 must climb the hill to the west where you see 
 that dry watercourse, and by following its lead 
 you will reach the higher mountain. By still 
 continuing westward you will strike the stage- 
 road over beyond Leona." 
 
 He gave these directions in a monotonous 
 voice, with head averted. It was as if he were 
 making a compact with evil. The blood which 
 had flowed in a tiny stream from the neck of 
 the murdered man had made a bright red stain 
 upon the flat granite rock where he had lain. 
 Antonio watched it as if fascinated. Blood thus 
 shed cries aloud for vengeance, and he was aid- 
 ing the murderer to escape. Fairfax made no 
 further delay. To his strained ears it seemed 
 that there were distant voices and the noise of 
 wheels. He fled as if already pursued, and 
 Antonio was left alone in the presence of the 
 dead. 
 
 159 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 His head swam, and his limbs trembled. He 
 sank upon a rock and bent his head upon his 
 hands. He was weary and overworn, and this 
 new thing had struck him like a blow upon a 
 vital organ. His strength was gone. 
 
 The sky of a sudden had become overcast, 
 and the wind, which blew in fitful gusts, had 
 veered from the sea, and now came from the 
 desert, with the breath of a furnace and the 
 tension of imprisoned electricities. This desert 
 wind, like the Fohn wind of the Swiss moun- 
 tains, shrivels the herbage, sends the wild beast 
 panting to his lair, and makes the heart of man 
 weary as he lags at work. 
 
 Antonio thought of Dorothea with a keen 
 pang of apprehension. The shadow of sin 
 must fall upon her innocent head. A mur- 
 derer's child, the daughter of a felon, she would 
 be an outcast from that world which was her 
 lawful place. She would know, as Antonio's 
 people did, what it is to stand outside the gates 
 of happy humanity, to see honors, dignity and 
 the applause of men placed out of reach behind 
 barriers as impalpable as air, yet as strong as 
 steel. A hundred shafts of scorn would fall 
 upon her heart, not hardened like Antonio's to 
 suffer them in patience. 
 
 Upon this a flash of thought revealed to him, 
 160 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 that, for the first time, the practical aspects of 
 life were allied upon the side of his love and 
 hope. He had believed that he might win 
 Dorothea's heart, now it seemed possible that 
 he might honor rather than dishonor her by 
 offering her protection as his wife. 
 
 He was sure that Burke, the ambitious law- 
 yer, proud of his family, hating the unconven- 
 tional, would never love so blindly as to wed 
 even the remote implication of disgrace. Doro- 
 thea, then, must stand alone, unless she would 
 accept that adoring affection which should make 
 the thorny places blossom with the rose of 
 passion, and crown her like a queen with wor- 
 ship such, as few men know or give. 
 
 Antonio sprang to his feet and stretched his 
 arms into the air, a blissful smile upon his lips. 
 Is not that life complete which can count one 
 fair and radiant moment, even though it can 
 not bid it stay? 
 
 Two men came hurrying up the canon. 
 Antonio recognized them as Jennings 's clerks. 
 They saw him, and they saw the body of the 
 murdered man, and Antonio read his future in 
 the look that leaped into their eyes. 
 
 The first impulse of a tremendous emotion 
 with men of a certain class is towards blas- 
 phemy. Both men swore in a breath as they 
 161 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 bent above the motionless form lying in its 
 blood. Both by a. common purpose threw them- 
 selves upon the unresisting Indian, overwhelm- 
 ing him with curses. There was still time for 
 Antonio to declare the murderer and to point to 
 his detection, for Fairfax's unpracticed feet 
 were slipping on the loose boulders of the pain- 
 ful path that led him upwards. An agile pur- 
 suit would easily have overtaken him. The 
 weapon, which remained wedged in the joint 
 where it had dealt the fatal blow, would have 
 sufficed for his conviction, since he wore the 
 sheath which fitted it. Antonio's quick wit 
 realized this and more; but an instinct of 
 fidelity led him to keep silence. Let the 
 consequences be what they might, he could not 
 betray Dorothea's father. 
 
 The men, surprised at his immobility, found 
 their task an easier one than they had hoped. 
 The young Samson of his tribe could readily 
 have broken their improvised bonds. Resist- 
 ance at the first moment would have been 
 effectual ; but in the next each man had pos- 
 sessed himself of a revolver, and, strong in 
 bravado, presented it on either side of the pris- 
 oner's head, urging him brutally forward. 
 
 It was only a mile to the village, and in this 
 distance ill news, which flies fast, had drawn 
 162 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 from the apparent emptiness of a country 
 neighborhood an ever-increasing and clamorous 
 mob. They followed at Antonio's heels like 
 snapping curs. He knew to the full the bitter- 
 ness of public execration. It was forgotten 
 that the dead man had few friends and many 
 enemies. His vices were forgiven him in view 
 of the fact that he had been murdered by an 
 Indian. 
 
 Of a sudden he had become a hero, a repre- 
 sentative man, a focus for that sentiment which 
 is the mockery of patriotism yet sometimes con- 
 founded with it, race hatred, latent in some 
 breasts, yet existing in all and answerable for 
 some of the cruellest tragedies of history. 
 
 It was suggested that the prisoner be strung 
 without trial to the nearest oak tree ; but lynch 
 law is less popular when the regular courts give 
 satisfaction, and when had an Indian ever been 
 acquitted in a court? 
 
 Popular opinion was satisfied when handcuffs 
 were produced and placed upon him, and he was 
 thrown into a jolting cart for quick conveyance 
 to Hilton. Haste was the more necessary, since 
 the hot and fitful breezes promised an electric 
 storm, and the sun was already sinking in a 
 lurid sky behind the mountains. 
 
 163 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Fairfax had climbed beyond sight of the 
 canon and that which was transpiring there; 
 and as he hurried on his way he had forgotten 
 the probability of which he had been clearly 
 conscious, that the Indian might be suspected 
 of his crime. His brain was confused with 
 many contradictory thoughts. Fear clutched 
 at his throat and put reason to flight. 
 
 The oppressive heat made progress difficult. 
 He stumbled on the rocky way, yet pushed 
 unceasingly forward as if there were danger in a 
 moment's delay. The course of the mountain 
 stream became ever more difficult and choked 
 with gigantic boulders where in winter the rush- 
 ing water tumbled in cascades from rock to 
 rock. Sometimes there were passageways be- 
 tween them, sometimes he must clamber over 
 and around them. To take to the tangled 
 thickets at the sides offered only a change of 
 difficulties. A lynx crept soft-footed across a 
 grassy level, and disappeared with a bound at 
 the noise of his approach. A buzzard sat upon 
 a tree above his head, blinking its reddened eyes 
 165 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 and craning its hideous naked neck as if in 
 search of prey. 
 
 He came at last upon a stretch of open mesa 
 where the wide horizon seemed set with spying 
 eyes, and he longed for the shelter of the 
 thicket. It was growing dusk, however, and 
 darkness would soon cover his flight. From 
 the height where he now stood he caught a 
 glimpse, through an opening in the mountains, 
 of the distant ocean with a rocky islet rising 
 from it like a drifting sail. 
 
 The sun was sinking in a crimson sky, as if 
 in a sea of blood. In the east, where the 
 mountains rose steeply, a thunderstorm was 
 massing great heaps of lurid clouds. 
 
 His path now led upward upon the face of a 
 granite cliff, where the erosion of storm and 
 weather had worn a natural causeway. At the 
 top of the cliff, and on the brow of the moun- 
 tain, he was safe to pause and take his rest, and 
 look about him like an eagle perched upon an 
 inaccessible eyrie. 
 
 Here he was free from pursuit, or if it came 
 he could baffle detection by taking refuge in the 
 countless hiding-places formed by rocky caves, 
 deep chasms and winding canons, which gave 
 variety to the mountain side that from a dis- 
 tance had the appearance of an even slope. 
 166 
 
A SOUL in BBONZE 
 
 Only a goat could climb over some of the nar- 
 row ledges which bridged these perilous depths, 
 and he realized thafc in the darkness his progress 
 must be full of danger, unless he could deter- 
 mine on a route less difficult than the one he was 
 pursuing. He was anxious to make his way 
 with little delay to the stage-road indicated by 
 Antonio as his safest point of communication 
 with the world; but he began to realize that 
 what might seem a feasible journey to the 
 Indian was attended for him with all the perils 
 of hopeless wandering in a labyrinth of savage 
 hills, where a false step might threaten his life, 
 and thirst and hunger wear fatally upon his 
 strength. 
 
 At whatever danger of detection, he must 
 descend to the level of the valleys, where a 
 ranch house would afford him food and shelter. 
 "When he saw to what a height he had climbed 
 and how the night was closing in upon him, he 
 began to suspect the Indian of purposely mis- 
 directing him. The loneliness of the vast soli- 
 tude appalled him, and he started in physical 
 terror as a tremendous noise, like the burst of a 
 volley of artillery, shook the very ground at his 
 feet. 
 
 The thunder clouds had rolled upward to the 
 zenith, and flash after flash of zigzag lightning 
 167 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 more vivid than any he had known before 
 dazzled and blinded him, while his ears were 
 filled with the continuous roar of a mighty 
 whirlwind, driving in its course not torrents of 
 rain but columns of sand and gravel that beat 
 like hail upon every unprotected surface. 
 
 The lightning was continuous, the thunder 
 echoed from rock to rock, with repeated 
 reverberations that could not die upon the ear, 
 so rapidly was each succeeded by the next ; but 
 what daunted Fairfax was the unfamiliar thing, 
 the fierce beating of that rain of sand upon 
 him. 
 
 It drove into his eyes and choked his mouth ; 
 he rolled upon his face, and submitted to its 
 pelting ; then, realizing that no strength could 
 hold but long against the ever -increasing fury 
 of the hurricane, the sucking of his life-breath 
 from his lungs in that deadly atmosphere, he 
 crawled like a wounded creature in search of 
 shelter, but found none. Voices shouted to 
 him through the hurly-burly. Dorothea was 
 calling his name. Jennings stood outlined in 
 fire against the sky and waved his hand and 
 jeered at him. Fairfax staggered to his feet. 
 On the opposite slope he would be in the lee of 
 the mountain ridge. He must reach that 
 refuge or die. He reeled helplessly against the 
 168 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 pressure of the mighty force which upbore him 
 and carried him along. One foot was on the 
 ground, the other trod on nothingness, and still 
 the wind carried him like a leaf. 
 
 There was a flaw in the tempest, a sudden 
 veering of the gale, and Fairfax fell, striking 
 against jagged, bruising rock-walls, fell within 
 a deep abyss, a long narrow gully made by some 
 rending earthquake in primeval times, serving 
 now as a shelter from the storm a quiet grave 
 for the dead. 
 
 Dorothea sat upon the eastern portico of the 
 vine-covered cottage at Magnolia ranch. The 
 night air was so still and breathless that a pin- 
 fall could have been heard. Her pulses beat 
 quickly from some inner excitement caused by 
 the electric tension in the air. The stars shone 
 overhead through rents in fleecy vapor; and the 
 ocean was silvered by a late lingering glow in a 
 pallid sky; but over the mountains, fifty miles 
 distant, great piles of clouds of an inky black- 
 ness rose and mounted ever higher towards the 
 zenith, obscuring the stars. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Hereford had been called to town on a matter 
 of business. Mrs. Aguilar had taken to her bed 
 directly after supper with the nervous headache 
 which was the consequence with her of a desert 
 169 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 wind. She was the less unwilling to leave 
 Dorothea alone as she was assured that Burke 
 was to call that evening, and she momentarily 
 expected to hear the sound of his horse's feet. 
 All her animosity had vanished, and was re- 
 placed by a fervent wish that he might prosper 
 in his wooing. She could foresee no happier 
 future for her niece than that which he offered 
 her. 
 
 Dorothea blushed and started at the sound 
 of his footstep on the porch. It seemed un- 
 maidenly that she should thus wait for him 
 alone. She feared that he might think it pre- 
 arranged, and she was shy and distant in her 
 greeting. Burke did not notice this. He was 
 weary and absent-minded, and he sank into a 
 chair with hardly a glance at her face. 
 
 4 * They are having a tremendous storm at 
 Casa Blanca," he said, "an electric storm which 
 affects the telegraph wires. They tried to tele- 
 phone me just now from Hilton; but I could 
 not make out what they said. I am almost sure 
 I did not understand it rightly. At any rate, 
 I am quite willing to wait until to-morrow for 
 the message." 
 
 "Did it concern any of our friends?" asked 
 Dorothea. 
 
 Burke looked at her quickly. "Yes, and 
 170 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 no," lie said. "But, as I say, I could not hear 
 the words connectedly." 
 
 The darkness grew inky of a sudden. The 
 clouds had swept the stars out of sight. A 
 sudden flash of zigzag lightning rent the heav- 
 ens, but in silence, for there was no thunder peal. 
 
 "The storm is too distant for us to hear the 
 thunder," said Burke. "It is fifty miles away, 
 yet the lightning is instantaneous. Look how 
 it flashes and quivers! Do you not enjoy 
 watching it?" 
 
 "I do not know," replied Dorothea, uneasily. 
 "The storm makes me very nervous. I believe 
 it is the silence of it. It is so unnatural. Not 
 a leaf stirs on the loquat tree there. It is as if 
 the night were holding its breath." 
 
 Burke sighed. "I believe it has that effect 
 on me," he said. "We are only children of 
 nature, after all, and she frightens us with her 
 ill tempers. How helpless we are to control 
 events ! Life sometimes becomes a storm or a 
 cyclone, and rends our plans and wishes and 
 makes nothing of our human wills." 
 
 Dorothea caught her breath with a laugh. 
 "How blue you are!" she said. "As for myself 
 I feel as if I wanted to cry. I feel like a child 
 in the dark, who wants some one's hand to 
 hold." 
 
 171 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "Hold mine, dear," said Burke, offering it. 
 
 "How can you?" she exclaimed, with an 
 angry blush. "I thought you knew that we 
 were to be only friends." 
 
 "You are too hard on me," said Burke. "I 
 am sure I do the best I can, but it is a hard 
 task you have set me ; to be with you and not to 
 tell you how I love you ; or to live in lonely 
 misery without the chance to see you. Has 
 not every man the right, Dorothea, to speak for 
 himself, to woo the woman he loves? A girl of 
 your age hardly knows her own heart. She 
 sometimes says no and spends a lifetime in 
 regretting it." 
 
 "Oh, how vain you are to imagine that that 
 could be! "retorted Dorothea. "She may find 
 some one she loves much better, some one who 
 is the very ideal of her soul, and without whom 
 all her life would have been lonely if she said 
 yes to the first man." 
 
 Burke moved closer to Dorothea, and bent to 
 look into her eyes by the shifting light of the 
 thunderbolts. 
 
 "Is there such another, Dorothea?" he asked. 
 
 She panted in alarm. "I did not mean it of 
 myself," she answered. 
 
 "I think you did," said Burke, growing pale 
 and speaking slowly. "No woman ever yet 
 172 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 dealt in generalities. All her philosophy is 
 taken out of her own heart. You owe it to me 
 to answer me. Do you love, could you love, 
 Antonio Lachusa?" 
 
 Dorothea gave a little cry of defiance. "You 
 ask me two questions in one," she said, "and 
 you have no right, no shadow of a right, to ask 
 either ; but I will tell you that I could love such 
 a man. I will not say I do." 
 
 Burke 's face changed quickly. 
 
 "I can never let him know it," she con- 
 tinued, with burning cheeks. "I shall never 
 give him the slightest sign of it ; and yet, in 
 spite of myself, I can not feel when he is near 
 me that he is an outcast simply because he is of 
 another race. I can not shut my eyes to the 
 beauty of his nature, the finest, most unselfish 
 nature I have ever known. I can not fail to 
 read all that his eyes tell me, and to realize that 
 he gives me a love for which I might thank God 
 on my knees if it were given by another man, 
 and yet no other man could be capable of it. 
 I shall carefully obey the conventions which 
 men have made, do not be uneasy about that. 
 I should do this for my father's sake, for every 
 reason except the innermost voice of my being, 
 and that I must not listen to. But in my heart 
 I despise and defy these narrow rules. A great 
 173 
 
^ A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 soul like Antonio's might make its own con- 
 ventions." 
 
 Burke 's immovable attitude vexed her almost 
 to tears. 
 
 "You said I owed it to you to tell you the 
 truth," she said. "Now I have done so, tell 
 me you hate me if you choose. Anything "is 
 better than silent contempt." 
 
 "I can not hate you, though you wound me 
 cruelly," he replied. "I can not even think of 
 my own pain, in view of the misery you may 
 suffer. Be patient with me when I tell you that 
 your fancy will not last. It is founded upon 
 pity, and the very pathos of it, its unusual con- 
 ditions, are necessary to its existence. It is a 
 hot-house plant. It will not bear the rude 
 breath of reality. And when it shall perish, as 
 it certainly will, you may turn to me as one who 
 has always been your friend. Remember that 
 whatever happens I have this claim upon you. 
 I shall never relinquish my right to repeat my 
 offer until you belong to another." 
 
 Dorothea's eyes were wet. "You are better 
 to me than I deserve," she said. "I feel that I 
 may trust you, and I am grateful for that." 
 
 "God knows you may trust my love," he 
 answered. "Life is hard. Its storms rend our 
 illusions. If there are storms ahead for you, 
 174 
 
SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 remember that my arms are always ready for 
 your refuge. 'My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd 
 shelter thee.' " 
 
 He rose to take leave, and held out his hand. 
 
 "You are going," she said, "and oh ! I am so 
 afraid of the storm. Stay only a little longer. 
 It is not late. I feel as if I should choke with 
 fright sitting here and watching the lightning 
 alone, and yet I could not sleep. Auntie has a 
 headache, and must not be spoken to. The 
 servants are not about. I am in actual terror 
 all of a sudden, as if some fearful thing had 
 happened, or was about to happen." 
 
 Burke resumed his seat. "Take my hand, 
 dear," he said again. "Then you will not be 
 frightened." 
 
 Her cold fingers stole shyly within his ; and 
 soon the friendly grasp of the strong hand 
 quieted her fears. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hereford, returning, found 
 the two seated together in quiet confidence, 
 which they interpreted as meaning all that they 
 hoped for both. The cheer of their lively 
 presence restored Dorothea to herself. Burke 
 rode back to town through the night, feeling 
 some stray gusty eddies of the storm which was 
 dying into silence and darkness over the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 175 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Burke started at early dawn for Hilton. The 
 telephone message had been repeated to him, 
 and he found that he had heard aright. That 
 which he had refused to credit, and which he 
 dreaded as a complication of evils for his friends, 
 particularly for Dorothea, was sad and sober 
 fact. Samuel K. Jennings had been found 
 murdered in an unfrequented spot. Antonio 
 Lachusa was accused of the crime. 
 
 Mr. Hereford read the morning paper at the 
 breakfast table, and handed it in silence to his 
 wife, who in turn contrived that Mrs. Aguilar 
 should see it before her niece. The latter, how- 
 ever, had not the self-control of the lawyer and 
 his wife. She exclaimed in indignant horror : 
 "As well accuse me," she said. "Oh, it is 
 shameful, horrible!" and she burst into tears. 
 
 It was her niece who comforted her. The 
 sudden blow of fate was only a challenge to 
 Dorothea's courage. No doubt by the time 
 they reached Hilton Antonio would be free, and 
 the real murderer discovered. They must go at 
 once. All her hopes were centred upon Burke's 
 177 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 skill as a lawyer and fidelity as a friend. She 
 must see him immediately and engage him in 
 Antonio's defence. 
 
 The prisoner had been kept closely guarded 
 in the station-house at Hilton, and he had slept 
 manacled as ho was, while his guards watched 
 and the hurricane raged without. 
 
 "An Indian has no more feeling than a dog," 
 said one of the men. "He can murder a man 
 in cold blood, and then lie down and sleep like 
 that." 
 
 The possibility of the innocence of the 
 accused occurred to no one, though legally he 
 was entitled to the benefit of the doubt. The 
 evidence, it was understood, would suffice to 
 hang him twice over ; and the case had been 
 tried and sentence passed in the popular opin- 
 ion, before the phlegmatic little justice who was 
 to conduct the preliminary hearing had finished 
 his dinner. This important event concluded, 
 he was as indisposed as any one for delay. 
 
 The court was opened and the crowd of spec- 
 tators who clamored for admission were denied 
 entrance only because of the limited space, and 
 the fact that the justice, being scant of breath, 
 must consider his comfort. The room was well 
 filled with the witnesses and the court officials. 
 The prisoner was brought into court, and the 
 178 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 weapon with which the crime had been com- 
 mitted, a long slender dagger of Ferrara steel, 
 with a chased silver handle, was laid on the desk 
 of the prosecuting attorney, Judson Bradford, 
 a young man with an enviable record of swift 
 success in criminal cases. 
 
 Burke, who was present as spectator, looked 
 at this weapon with curious interest. 
 
 Antonio, as he entered, cast a hasty glance 
 about the room, as if searching for a friend. 
 He saw only Burke, who sat with downcast eyes, 
 playing absent-mindedly with a paper-cutter. 
 The young lawyer was determined not to betray 
 the interest he took in the case, and he listened 
 with an air of unconcern which struck Antonio 
 as the refinement of cynicism. 
 
 The clerk read the charge of murder in the 
 first degree, and Antonio, being put to the plea, 
 replied in a clear voice, "Not guilty." 
 
 The coroner, whose presence in the neighbor- 
 hood had made it possible to grant the popular 
 demand for an immediate hearing of the case, 
 was the first witness. He described the appear- 
 ance of the body, which had been removed from 
 the place where it had fallen upon an exigency 
 arising from the tremendous sand-storm which 
 had burst over Casa Blanca that night, and 
 which made it inexpedient to^ leave the dead 
 179 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 exposed. The body, however, had been as 
 little as possible disturbed. The stiletto was 
 still in the place where it had given the fatal 
 blow, wedged tightly into the joint between the 
 vertebra and the skull, a vulnerable spot diffi- 
 cult of attainment by any but a practiced hand. 
 Chance, of course, might have favored the 
 direction of the blow. Death had been instan- 
 taneous. 
 
 John Evans and Henry Brown, employed as 
 clerks in the store and post-office, followed as 
 witnesses. They described the finding of the 
 body of their late employer in the canon near 
 the gold mine, where the prisoner stood close 
 by as if gloating over his deed. 
 
 They told how Jennings had been decoyed to 
 the spot half an hour before by the prisoner, 
 who had called more than once at the store to 
 inquire for him, and had been present at the 
 very moment of Jennings's return from Hilton. 
 He had given the postmaster a sealed note, 
 which had evidently contained a forged letter 
 appointing a meeting with some friend unex- 
 pected at the time, for Jennings had shown sur- 
 prise and apprehension, and, as if suspecting 
 foul play, had armed himself with two loaded 
 revolvers ; and had said to his clerks when he 
 started, "Boys, if I am not back in half an hour 
 180 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 come after me. I may have business on hand 
 that will need your help. I am going down to 
 the gold mine to meet a friend." 
 
 A dozen men had seen Antonio hanging about 
 the store, and had witnessed his giving the 
 sealed envelope to Jennings. Some of them 
 averred that it contained a card with pencilled 
 words upon it. 
 
 Others deposed that Antonio had more than 
 once shown hatred of the postmaster. Noth- 
 ing would induce him to make purchases at the 
 store. He rode or walked the ten miles to Hil- 
 ton, in preference. The cause of this hatred 
 was well known. It was not necessary to refer 
 to the fact that the dead man was universally 
 regarded as the father of Marta Lachusa's child. 
 
 The prisoner was askedif he wished to testify 
 in his own behalf. Antonio looked around 
 among the unsympathetic spectators, eager only 
 for his conviction; he looked at Burke 's averted 
 face, and slightly shook his head. 
 
 "I have said all that I care to say," he 
 answered. "I am not guilty of the murder of 
 this man." 
 
 To some further questioning he refused 
 
 response, and Bradford confronted the judge 
 
 with an impatient frown, as if to protest against 
 
 delay. The hearing was forthwith concluded, 
 
 181 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 the court holding the prisoner for the December 
 term of the superior court without bail. 
 
 Antonio, handcuffed and surrounded by a 
 hooting mob, was led to the stage that was wait- 
 ing for passengers bound for the town. He was 
 hustled into a seat between two guards. 
 
 Just as the stage was about to start a loaded 
 farm -wagon drove into the village, and a num- 
 ber of Indians still in festal costume descended 
 and looked about them in bewilderment. 
 
 Antonio recognized his sister, and leaning 
 forward called her name. Marta rushed to the 
 side of the stage, waving her hands with dis- 
 tracted gestures. She tried to reach her 
 brother; she tried to clamber upon the step; 
 but the coach starting at the moment, she was 
 forced back, and would have fallen beneath the 
 wheels if a bystander had not caught her by 
 the arm and dragged her out of danger. 
 
 Antonio called a comforting message as he 
 passed, but his guard, interrupting, struck him 
 roughly on the mouth. 
 
 4 'Hold your gab, murderer," he said, with 
 an oath. 
 
 Burke was seated in his office at Hilton. His 
 desk was piled with accumulated correspond- 
 ence, but he had not begun his work. He was 
 
 183 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 sunk in moody revery, and he started as if from 
 a dream when, after a quick tap at the door, 
 Dorothea stood before him. He sprang to his 
 feet, and looked at her with keen solicitude. 
 Her eyes were bright with tears, her lips were 
 quivering, and she struggled with the sobs that 
 choked her voice, as she began hurriedly: 
 "I have come at once to you, Mr. Burke. 
 You will help us, I am sure. I have come to 
 beg you to defend Antonio." 
 
 Burke stood rigid with surprise. The light 
 died slowly from his eyes, and his lips became 
 compressed into a stern rigidity. 
 
 Dorothea, watching him closely, made a 
 little eager gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Do not refuse. Wait a moment. I have 
 come to tell you something else. I will give 
 you all, all you ask, if you will save his life." 
 
 "You mean " began Burke. 
 
 "I mean that I will marry you, if you still 
 wish it, anything, anything to save him." 
 
 Burke clenched his hands until the nails 
 made little rosy marks in the flesh of the palms. 
 So a man might brace himself to immobility as 
 he heard his death sentence. 
 
 "It was your love I asked you to give me, 
 Dorothea," he said, in a tone whose emphasis 
 was eloquent enough. 
 
 183 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Oh, I will love you if yon save him," she 
 cried wildly. "He must not die that fearful 
 death." 
 
 She moved closer to him and laid her hand 
 upon his arm. He trembled at the touch. 
 "For my sake," she pleaded. 
 
 "Good Gk>d, Dorothea!" he exclaimed. "Can 
 you so forget yourself for this man, an Indian, 
 a murderer?" 
 
 She started in horror. "Is it possible that 
 you believe him guilty?" she cried. 
 
 "Yes, I believe him guilty," he answered. 
 
 "Oh, how can you?" she exclaimed. "Oh, 
 what shall I do?" 
 
 Burke's heart was wrung with pity for her grief. 
 
 "I have not yet refused your request," he 
 said. "For your sake I will defend him. I 
 believe that the Indian had great provocation ; 
 but he planned the murder coolly and deliber- 
 ately. I do not think that it is possible to save 
 his life ; but I will yield to your wishes, and do 
 my best with the case." 
 
 His tone was cold and indifferent, but she did 
 not notice this in the joy his words gave her. 
 She held out her hand to him, smiling through 
 her tears. 
 
 "You will succeed," she said. "You always 
 do. How can I ever thank you?" 
 184 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke took her hand and stood looking down 
 upon her with mournful eyes. She seemed so 
 weak and defenceless in the storm that had 
 broken upon her that he was roused from his 
 own bitter grief to a sudden recognition of her 
 position. Let the world but once suspect the 
 enthusiasm of her interest in the Indian, and 
 its judgment would not spare her. To a woman 
 the world's condemnation is social death. In a 
 lightning flash he saw her future revealed, and 
 his own duty as clearly defined. He put his 
 arm about her, and drawing her towards him 
 he kissed her passive lips. 
 
 "This is my retaining fee," he said. "I will 
 accept all that you will grant me. I believe 
 Lachusa guilty, and there is only one thing that 
 can give me courage to throw myself heart and 
 soul into the case. You have guessed what that 
 is. I hesitated, for I feared to take advantage 
 of a momentary feeling, something you might 
 regret. If you are really sure of yourself, 
 Dorothea, I will do my best to save Lachusa's 
 life, on condition that you allow me to an- 
 nounce our engagement to-day." 
 
 "As you please," she answered. "What does 
 it matter now?" 
 
 It was impossible for Dorothea, in the youth- 
 ful self-absorption of her grief, to understand 
 185 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 the complexity of emotion which swelled 
 Burke's heart. He was realizing in bitterness 
 of sonl the irony of fate, and for that sorrow 
 there is no consolation. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar's entrance at this moment filled 
 the room with the clamors of woe. 
 
 4 'What can be done, Harry, oh, what can be 
 done?" she cried. "Every one is against him. 
 They say there is not a break in the testimony, 
 not a loophole for escape." 
 
 "We shall see," answered Burke. "I must 
 have time to work it up. I am engaged to con- 
 duct the case, and I do it to please Dorothea, 
 who has promised to be my wife. Please tell 
 the news to our friends." 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar embraced her niece with con- 
 gratulations, mingled with tears. This was no 
 time for joy, but the bright and the dark are 
 strangely mingled in life. 
 
 "If I could see Antonio," said Dorothea, 
 "I think I could make him speak in his own 
 defence. They say he will not open his mouth. 
 I feel sure that he is concealing the truth from 
 some good and generous motive. It would be 
 like him to suffer for the sake of saving 
 another. I wonder if it could be possible that 
 Marta " 
 
 "Dolly, how can you?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 186 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Aguilar. "Marta has been patient for so long, 
 How could she do a deed like that?" 
 
 14 Oh, I do not know what to think," said 
 Dorothea. 
 
 "It is hardly possible that you should see 
 Lachusa," said Burke, "but I will go at once 
 to town, and make the preparations for the 
 defence. I will see him, and see what I can get 
 out of him, and I will tell you how I prosper." 
 
 "I will go back to Casa Blanca, and I will 
 find some clue," said Dorothea, earnestly. 
 "There must be a clue that will lead in an 
 opposite direction if we follow it before it is too 
 late. I will give my whole heart to finding it. 
 You shall see what a detective I will make, Mr. 
 Burke. Together we will work up a strong 
 case for our client." 
 
 Her eyes shone for the first time with the 
 light of hope. 
 
 Burke detained her to whisper in her ear: 
 "When we are with others remember that we 
 are betrothed. When we are alone, I will exact 
 nothing." 
 
 "How good you are!" she answered. "Oh, 
 how I feel it ! I will try so hard to do my duty 
 to you." 
 
 When the door was shut behind her Burke 
 seated himself again at his desk, laid his head 
 187 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 upon his arms, and exclaimed with half a sob: 
 "God help me to be content with that. I am 
 too old to cherish illusions. I ought to know 
 that fortune never gives us more than half our 
 wish. The hopes and dreams of youth mock a 
 man of my age. Courage, patience and duty, 
 that is all there is to life, after all." 
 
 188 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A week later Burke met Judson Bradford on 
 the street in town. 
 
 4 'Oh, I say, Burke," exclaimed the prosecut- 
 ing attorney, "I should like to have two words 
 with you, if you have the time. About that 
 criminal prosecution : You have not the ghost 
 of a case, you know. Now, I have more evi- 
 dence than I need. It may be expedient to dis- 
 pense with some of it. But first tell me if what 
 I hear is true. Are you engaged to Miss Doro- 
 thea Fairfax?" 
 
 "It is true," Burke replied, paling a little in 
 expectation of he knew not what. 
 
 "Oh, that is all right. I congratulate yon. 
 That is all I wanted to know." 
 
 "Tell me what you mean," said Burke, 
 determinedly. 
 
 "Only that I will not call a certain witness. 
 I can get on very well without him. My case 
 is already made up from beginning to end." 
 
 "I must insist that you explain," persisted 
 Burke. 
 
 "No use, waste of time, hurt your feelings; 
 189 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 but if you insist: I've been making inquiries 
 among the Indians; have every moment of 
 prisoner's time accounted for on the day of the 
 murder. He went over to the fiesta at Leona 
 and tried to win the election as Captain. 
 Madly ambitious, always in hot water, he 
 quarrelled with Felipe, a friend of his, on 
 account of an injurious slander he had referred 
 to. Jennings had made a derogatory allusion 
 to Miss Dorothea Fairfax, it seems. He had 
 declared in his saloon that she encouraged an 
 Indian lover, 4 the sneak Lachusa,' as he said." 
 
 Burke took a step forward, anger flaming in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Just so Lachusa sprang upon Felipe with 
 fury in his look; then recollecting, as you 
 must, that he had forced his friend to repeat it, 
 he went straight back to Casa Blanca, where he 
 murdered Samuel Jennings, the slanderer. 
 This story was told to me by that smooth- 
 tongued Marco, who overheard Jennings make 
 the remark, and also overheard Lachusa's con- 
 versation with Felipe on the subject. But I 
 will take pains not to call Marco as a witness 
 for your sake, Burke." 
 
 It was impossible for Burke to forget this 
 conversation. He pondered it painfully during 
 the day, and lay awake at night recalling it. 
 190 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He was now absolutely convinced of Lachusa's 
 guilt. He was also conscious that in his inmost 
 heart he justified and applauded the deed. 
 
 The next day's mail brought him a letter from 
 Dorothea. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Burke," she wrote. "I have a 
 clue, a very important one. A stranger was at 
 Casa Blanca on the day of the murder. He 
 came and went in a mysterious manner, evi- 
 dently desiring to avoid recognition. Mr. 
 Beverly's hired man saw him driving alone in a 
 light wagon on the road near Casa Blanca, and 
 gave him some information about the distance 
 to that place. The stranger was dressed in a 
 rough outing suit, and wore a soft hat pulled 
 down well over his face. He was a middle-aged 
 man, and looked like a foreigner. When he 
 reached Casa Blanca he left his wagon, tying 
 the horse under the shed near the blacksmith's 
 shop. The shop was shut up, the blacksmith 
 being away. The horse was left untended there 
 all day. When the storm came on the horse 
 became terrified by the lightning, broke his 
 bridle, and ran furiously down the road, demol- 
 ishing the carriage and freeing himself from the 
 harness, and finally took refuge in an open barn 
 half-way to Hilton. An account of the run- 
 away was in the daily paper. It was discovered 
 191 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 that the horse belonged to the Crescent livery 
 stable in town. One of the employees of the 
 stable came after it, and took it back. If you 
 question him you will be able to obtain a de- 
 scription of the stranger, who has not been seen 
 or heard of since. I am convinced that this 
 was the man who sent the note to Jennings by 
 Antonio. I am convinced that the stranger was 
 the murderer. Why Antonio wishes to shield 
 him by his silence I can not imagine. Perhaps 
 he gave his promise to say nothing. Antonio 
 would not deliberately aid a criminal, but an 
 Indian attaches great importance to a promise. 
 He will keep faith at any cost." 
 
 Burke smiled at the gap between Dorothea's 
 premise and conclusion; but he considered the 
 matter worth looking into, and went at once to 
 the Crescent livery stable. 
 
 Yes, the man who brought back the horse 
 hired it to the stranger, who paid for its use in 
 advance, promising to return next day. He 
 was going on a business trip in the mountains, 
 he said. He was a middle-aged man, and 
 looked like a gentleman, though he was dressed 
 in a roughish sort of foreign suit. He wore a 
 belt about his waist, with a broad silver buckle. 
 No, it was not a cartridge belt. 
 
 Burke began to take more interest in Doro- 
 192 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 thea's clue, and he went at once to the jail to 
 call upon Antonio. As the key turned in the 
 heavy lock, Antonio looked up from his seat on 
 the bench, which served for bed and chair alike, 
 and greeted his lawyer with a smile. Any 
 change was a welcome relief from the dreadful 
 monotony of his days, and Burke was the only 
 link between his present and the outer world. 
 There was no ray of direct sunlight in the place. 
 The only window, a high loophole, gave on a 
 narrow court; and a feeble glimmer came 
 through the grated door from the corridor, on 
 which similar cells fronted. This was mur- 
 derers 5 row. 
 
 To Burke the situation seemed for the first 
 time intolerably sad. It was as if a strong 
 young eagle nursed on sunny heights were shut 
 up in a dark cage to die. He took a seat beside 
 the prisoner, and he addressed him with a new 
 ring of sympathy in his voice which Antonio 
 was quick to detect. 
 
 "I hope you are going to speak to-day, 
 Lachusa. Your friends are working for you. 
 I am going to do my best, but I am hampered 
 from the start by your unwillingness to give me 
 your version of the story. Surely you can have 
 confidence in your lawyer. If you tell me you 
 did the deed, I shall still defend you. Will 
 193 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 you not tell me who murdered Samuel 
 Jennings?" 
 
 Antonio quickly reviewed the situation. He 
 saw that there was no rescue for him unless 
 Fairfax should confess the crime and give him- 
 self up to justice; for since suspicion had not 
 attached to him his escape was assured. By 
 this time he was already at the coast, and the 
 world was open to his flight. Accusation of 
 him would contain no proof. If there were no 
 hope why should he struggle against his fate? 
 Silence would best serve Dorothea. 
 
 Burke watched him in perplexity, then he 
 drew a letter from his pocket. 
 
 "I may as well tell you that we have a clue," 
 he continued, since his question remained 
 unanswered. "Miss Fairfax is greatly inter- 
 ested in your case. She has been working 
 indefatigably in your behalf, for she is firmly 
 persuaded of your innocence." 
 
 Antonio's eyes shone with delight. 
 
 Burke felt that the position of each must be 
 clearly defined, and he added deliberately, 
 "Miss Fairfax has promised to become my 
 wife." 
 
 Antonio's look did not falter, though a subtle 
 change came over his face. 
 
 "This letter is from her concerning you," 
 194 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke went on, in an incisive voice, as if 
 utterance were an effort. "I will read it to you. " 
 Antonio listened with parted lips and dilated 
 eyes. He was divided between joy and terror, 
 joy that Dorothea believed in him, and terror 
 lest her efforts to discover the murderer should 
 be rewarded with success. She could not fore- 
 see the horror that lay in wait for her. Burke 
 must not know that his promised wife was the 
 daughter of a criminal. Through Antonio they 
 should never know. He realized that it was not 
 only Dorothea's promise to Burke that had now 
 forever divided them. The future of which he 
 had dreamed had no reality. There was no 
 honorable career open to an Indian; no outlet 
 for his ambition. Life could offer nothing 
 which might efface the memory of a felon's cell. 
 He had yielded from the first to that unwritten 
 law which debarred him from equality with the 
 white man. He had sought for means of 
 advancement among his people, moved by an 
 instinct of loyalty to them. He had tested 
 them and found them lacking. He felt within 
 himself the genius of organization, the power of 
 a political chief strong in patience and invinci- 
 ble in pursuit of a just success ; but he stood 
 alone. He was a monarch without a country; 
 a leader without a party. 
 195 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 At the moment when he had allowed his 
 hands to be bound with undeserved fetters he 
 made the irrevocable decision which parted him 
 from hope and love. He made it, as life's most 
 momentous decisions are often made, in igno- 
 rance of all the issues that hung upon his choice : 
 but he knew that if that moment could be 
 repeated his act would be the same, his relin- 
 quishment as complete. 
 
 "I am grateful for your kindness, Mr. 
 Burke," he said. "Please give Miss Fairfax 
 the assurance of my gratitude. Assure her, 
 too, that she does me no more than justice. 
 I am innocent of that man's death. I have had 
 cause to wish him dead, but I have never 
 planned or executed anything to his hurt. 
 I am innocent, and I do not fear death. I 
 fear only that she should grieve for me. Please 
 tell her that I rejoice in her happiness, I am 
 sure that you will make her happy." 
 
 Burke did not allow the instinct of an 
 alarmed pride to rise beyond the surface 
 of his thought. He remembered Dorothea's 
 look when she had confessed her love for 
 this man, now almost beneath the world's 
 scorn., yet bearing himself as bravely as if 
 he were Burke's equal, and sending mes- 
 sages to Burke's betrothed; and he kept 
 196 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 his patience, giving himself credit for his 
 forbearance. 
 
 "I will tell Miss Fairfax what you say," he 
 replied, "but as a matter of fact, this is far 
 from the point. Are you going to answer my 
 questions? Do you know anything of this 
 stranger? Can you elucidate the matter? It is 
 an injustice to your lawyer to keep him in the 
 dark. Give me, at any rate, a reason for your 
 silence." 
 
 Antonio pondered before he replied. "I can 
 only say, Mr. Burke, that I hope you will not 
 follow up that clue. I hope you will persuade 
 Miss Fairfax to do no more on my behalf. I 
 am bound, as she imagines, by a certain obliga- 
 tion to secrecy. No one but my friends will 
 believe in my innocence if I persist in this 
 course ; and yet I doubt if my giving you the 
 fullest information in my power could change 
 the course of the trial or alter the sentence that 
 will be given. If it does not insure my safety 
 why should I speak? Others would suffer, yet 
 I would not be free. I am determined to say 
 no more." 
 
 "You can not tell how much help your infor- 
 mation would give me," said Burke, impatiently. 
 "If you are innocent you should speak for truth 
 and justice. Leave the result to circumstances. ' ' 
 197 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Antonio shook his head. "I appear obsti- 
 nate and unreasonable," he said, with a smile. 
 "That is not my real character, but I must sub- 
 mit to being misunderstood." 
 
 Burke rose to take leave, more perplexed than 
 he cared to own by the complications of the 
 situation. "I will see the warden and ask that 
 you be put into a better cell," he said. "After 
 the trial I may not be able to save you from 
 murderers' row." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Antonio. "I would 
 like light enough to read, and I would like to 
 be allowed some books. It will be a great favor 
 if you obtain that for me. As for the result of 
 the trial, do not worry about that, Mr. Burke. 
 A death by hanging is to be dreaded chiefly 
 because of its ignominy; and I hope to learn 
 enough philosophy to forget that part of it." 
 
 Burke found ~ lit tie to occupy him in town. 
 He determined to return to Casa Blanca, and 
 endeavor to secure witnesses for his side of the 
 case. He must see Mr. Beverly's hired man; 
 incidentally he must also see Dorothea. Long 
 hours of solitary musing had changed the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts from a resigned despair to 
 courage, and even hope. He had convinced 
 himself that Dorothea's love for Antonio was no 
 198 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 more than a fancy founded upon pity. The 
 tragic interest of his present position worked 
 strongly upon her sympathies ; but her feeling 
 for him could not bear the strain of time and 
 change. 
 
 All the orderly conventions of life, all prac- 
 tical rules of conduct and duty, were on Burke's 
 side; and what woman can long hold out 
 against these influences? 
 
 So he set himself to his daily task without 
 wasting time in much self-pity. His profession 
 had taught him confidence in his own abilities. 
 The stubbornest of jurymen had more than once 
 resigned his convictions to the young lawyer's 
 persuasions, all unconscious of defeat. With the 
 happiness of his life hanging upon the issue, 
 Burke promised himself that he should prove 
 no laggard in his wooing. 
 
 As he passed the gates of the white house he 
 rode slowly and looked curiously at the place, 
 which had a strangely deserted air. The blinds 
 were closed at most of the windows. There was 
 no life about the grounds. Only in the garden 
 he caught a glimpse of a moving figure, and at 
 his approach two hands parted the hedge, and 
 a white face appeared in the gap. 
 
 It was Mrs. Jennings, pale and changed in 
 her widow's weeds. 
 
 199 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "Are you coming to see me?" she asked. 
 "I have been waiting for you." He could do 
 no less than dismount and advance to meet her. 
 
 "You wrote me a letter of sympathy," she 
 said. "I should thank you, I suppose. Now 
 you are on your way to see Miss Fairfax. 
 I hear you are engaged; and I hear that you 
 are going to defend my husband's murderer. 
 I have been longing to see you only to tell you 
 how I hate you for that." 
 
 Burke started in surprise at her tone, noting 
 the wild gleam in her eyes. 
 
 "I have not lost my reason, though I see you 
 suspect it," she added quickly. "It is a won- 
 der I have not. Here I am, all alone in this big 
 house, with only my memories, and the sug- 
 gestion of Sam's presence everywhere about; 
 and it is as if I had murdered him. My divorce 
 was easily obtained! And you are going to 
 defend the murderer!" 
 
 Burke saw that she was half beside herself, 
 and answered soothingly : 
 
 "You ought not to be alone, Nellie. Where 
 are the others?" 
 
 "Papa and Bessie left the day after the 
 funeral, and mother had already gone," she 
 answered. "They have gone on visits, any- 
 where to escape the talk and the miserable 
 200 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 notoriety. Papa is going to sell the place. He 
 does not intend to return. The gold mine is 
 already sold, as I suppose you know. It is Miss 
 Fairfax's dowry." She laughed with a savage 
 gleam of white teeth through her parted lips. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Burke. 
 
 "Why, her dear papa bought it of father and 
 Sam, meaning it as a surprise to his daughter, 
 and intending to come here and live ; and this 
 is one reason why I wanted to see you, Harry. 
 Mr. Fairfax is a hardened criminal. I will tell 
 you that for your comfort, now that you are 
 going to be his son-in-law. He and Sam had 
 dealings in the past, and they hated each other 
 as criminals will. My dear departed served a 
 term in the penitentiary. I found that out 
 after his death. Mr. Fairfax deserved the 
 same, I know from Sam's hints. He did not 
 know when he bought the mine here that Sam 
 was the biggest part of the Company. He did 
 not know Sam lived here at all ; and my hus- 
 band begged me to see that Dorothea did not 
 inform him of the fact. It might not have 
 occurred to her to mention it if I had not 
 deliberately disobeyed my husband, and put it 
 into her mind to send just that news in her 
 letters to her father. I have been thinking it 
 over, and I believe that indirectly I am Sam's 
 201 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 murderer. I believe that it was Mr. Fairfax 
 who hired the Indian to kill my husband." 
 
 Burke was more than ever convinced that 
 solitude and unhappy thoughts had unhinged 
 her mind. 
 
 "You must not stay here alone," he repeated. 
 1 ' Will you not join your family? You will be 
 ill if you remain here. Promise me you will 
 take care of yourself and leave detective work 
 to those responsible. You did your best, 
 Nellie. You have had a hard life. " 
 
 The friendly solicitude of his tone did not 
 melt her mood. 
 
 "I have been staying here to meet you. I 
 knew you must come sooner or later. I wanted 
 to tell you all about the miserable matter. I 
 did not dream you would take any bribe to 
 defend the wretch who murdered my husband, 
 whether or not he was a hired assassin. And 
 could you bring yourself to marry this girl, 
 Harry, if you knew her father to be a criminal?" 
 
 "You are not yourself, Nellie," said Burke 
 firmly. "You must let me take you to your 
 mother. Promise me you will go this very 
 day." 
 
 "I see you will not listen to such an unwel- 
 come suggestion," she retorted. "You would 
 rather believe me mad for harboring the thought ; 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 but evil can come as close to your beloved as it 
 has to me. There is no magic circle drawn 
 about her for her protection. Once I was a 
 light-hearted girl; and then you might have 
 thought one mad who had predicted that I 
 should be the widow of a murdered man, a man 
 bad enough to deserve his fate. Your Dorothea 
 may be the daughter of a man bad enough to do 
 the deed, or, worse yet, to plan it, and hire it 
 done. I say there is something in the fact that 
 the man to whom Sam sold the gold-mine, 
 cheating him, as you must know, was an old 
 acquaintance and a deadly enemy ; and I warn 
 you as a friend to avoid a marriage which may 
 bring you nothing but sorrow and disgrace. ' ' 
 
 With this she turned away, and resisting 
 Burke 's repeated offers of service, silenced him 
 with a distant wave of the hand, and disap- 
 peared like a fleeting ghost in the shadowy lone- 
 liness of the deserted house. 
 
 Burke turned away in gloomy thought, lead- 
 ing his horse by the bridle. It is a misfortune 
 of the logically inductive mind, trained to 
 link cause and effect, and to search for the 
 hidden springs of action, that even improbable 
 suggestions have a certain effect. By a flash of 
 intuition outstripping the processes of reason, 
 Burke saw that, given the possibility of this 
 203 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 horrible suspicion, Lachusa's conduct acquired 
 sudden consistency. He loved Dorothea; he 
 would not implicate her father in the crime. 
 In the next moment common-sense asserted 
 itself; and Burke wondered that he could have 
 submitted his thought for the fraction of a 
 moment to the influence of a mind diseased by 
 grief and jealousy* 
 
 204 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Burke found Dorothea alone. She was pale 
 and sad, but a rosy color mounted to the roots 
 of her shining hair as he bent and kissed her 
 hand in foreign fashion. Burke saw that she 
 was trembling with repressed impatience, and 
 following a new line of policy, he came at once 
 to the point. 
 
 'I went yesterday to see Lachusa," he said. 
 "I spent some time in his cell. It was a dismal 
 place, dark and unhealthy, not suited to his 
 strong young frame, that seems made for free- 
 dom and athletic exercise. He looked as if he 
 were able to carry off the gates, like Samson at 
 Gaza; but IIQ submits to his fate, as if from a 
 sense of duty, and refuses absolutely to speak. 
 I followed up the clue you gave me. It is pos- 
 sible that there is something in it. We will hope 
 for the best. I wonder what his future would 
 be if he were freed from this charge?" 
 
 "What future is there for any man who has 
 been accused and imprisoned?" said Dorothea. 
 "That is the worst of it. It is so wickedly 
 unjust." 
 
 205 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "He might live it down, but there is no open- 
 ing for one of his race," said Burke. "I won- 
 der that he has not tried to make more of his 
 education. Put him and me to a competitive 
 examination, and no doubt he would carry off 
 all the honors ; yet I live by my brains, and he 
 hag been content to be a day -laborer. " 
 
 "He did it from a consistent purpose," ex- 
 plained Dorothea. "He thinks all labor is 
 noble, and he wanted his people to believe in 
 him, and to realize that he did not hold himself 
 above them, while at the same time he was 
 planning to give his life to their advancement. 
 He was going about it by degrees. He has a 
 masterly mind, and always sees the end from the 
 beginning, and has patience as well as foresight. " 
 
 "That is a characteristic of the Indian," re- 
 marked Burke. "There ought to be a great 
 future for the red man. I blush for my own 
 race when I see the result of their boasted civili- 
 zation in its effect upon the so-called inferior 
 races. Mrs. Aguilar is right when she says that 
 the Indian's virtues are all his own ; his vices 
 those of the white man." 
 
 "You have learned something since I have 
 seen you," said Dorothea. 
 
 "No one could be with Lachusa and not 
 recognize the latent possibilities of his char- 
 206 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 acter," said Burke. He was speaking with a 
 purpose, yet not insincerely. "Even if lie did 
 the crime, I believe he did it from a motive that 
 would almost extenuate it." 
 
 "He did not doit, of course," she replied. 
 "But what could that motive be?" 
 
 "Excuse me if I do not tell you," he said. 
 "Lawyers never tell their wives the secrets of 
 their cases." 
 
 Dorothea blushed and kept silence. 
 
 Burke seated himself near the table and 
 began to play with the trinkets upon it. It 
 assisted his thought if his fingers were busy with 
 some small object. He touched the picture 
 frame, and took it up and looked at it. 
 
 "My father," commented Dorothea. "I be- 
 lieve I have shown it to you." 
 
 Burke nodded and looked curiously at the 
 face before him. 
 
 '"I am so worried about papa," she continued. 
 "It is so long since I have heard. I fear that 
 he is ill, perhaps dead. I can not rid my mind 
 of the thought ; and it is such a curious thing, 
 last night I lay awake here, as I thought, and 
 the moonlight shone into the room, and as plain 
 as I see you now I saw him there seated in that 
 very chair before my dressing-table. It did 
 not seem a dream, it was so real ; but I cried 
 207 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 out and woke my aunt, and she told me I had 
 had a nightmare. Oh, Harry, what do you 
 think has happened to him?" 
 
 "He is probably away on a long trip. You 
 will hear soon." 
 
 "He does not even know of my engagement," 
 slier continued. "It seems like treason to him. 
 Of course, if he objects, that is the end of it." 
 
 "Of course," answered Burke. "I shall sub- 
 mit to his will, but I have great confidence in 
 his taste and judgment. I believe he will think 
 his Dolly could do worse." 
 
 "I did not know that you were so vain," said 
 Dorothea, and her heart grew a little lighter in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 Burke was in a gay mood, and he was pleased 
 to find that Dorothea was alone. School was 
 not in session, but the little pupils had left their 
 books and maps behind them in the large airy 
 room where Mrs. Aguilar had presided over the 
 shooting of the young aboriginal idea from the 
 time of its earliest sprouting. 
 
 Burke declaimed pieces from the Third 
 Reader, drew pictures upon the board, and put 
 Dorothea through an examination in geography. 
 Then, observing the hour, he asked if her house- 
 keeping did not include a mid-day meal, and if 
 he were not expected to stay and share it. 
 208 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I wonder what I can offer you," she replied. 
 "I was to have some fruit, and there is bread 
 and butter." 
 
 "What more do we need?" he asked. "Bread 
 and butter spread by your hands, and figs and 
 grapes and guavas. I will make some guava 
 fool. It is food for the gods. Get me a 
 strainer and a bowl, and a big spoon and some 
 sugar, and tie an apron around iny neck for the 
 salvation of my shirt front ; and do you whip 
 the cream. I am glad there is plenty of cream. ' ' 
 
 Dorothea obeyed his instructions, smiling as 
 she tied a large white apron close about his 
 neck. She felt the stirring of an almost mater- 
 nal tenderness as she touched his curly locks, 
 and looked down upon his well -poised handsome 
 head. It was as if she were already his wife, 
 content to share life's homely duties with him, 
 though her youth, with its illusions, was dead 
 and buried, and the purple light of love had 
 faded forever from her soul. 
 
 Burke took her faith for granted, and every 
 moment wove closer the tie that bound her to him. 
 
 It is an instinct with unselfish women to find 
 a certain pleasure in renunciation. Let duty 
 command in unmistakable tones, and they will 
 prove with bleeding feet the ordeal of the 
 ploughshares. 
 
 209 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke was well pleased with the progress he 
 had made. He did not make the mistake of 
 overstaying his time, but took his leave while 
 Dorothea's eyes and ears were still at his com- 
 mand. He left her uncertain of the time of his 
 return. He was to ride over to Leona and pass 
 a day or two in the neighborhood ; but would 
 return to town by the stage-road and not by 
 Casa Blanca. He must give his time now to 
 the conduct of his case ; business before pleas- 
 ure ; duty before love. 
 
 He stood hat and whip in hand, as he lingered 
 to say farewell, and Dorothea with averted eyes 
 gave him the shy, fleeting touch of her hand. 
 
 A shadow of repressed emotion fell across his 
 face and his lips trembled. 
 
 "Some day, perhaps, our meeting and our 
 parting will be different," he said. "I ask 
 nothing now. You have given me your prom- 
 ise, and I thank you every day of my life. All 
 else must come freely from your heart. It must 
 be your joy to give, or I have no pleasure in 
 receiving." 
 
 He sprang to the saddle and was off like a flash. 
 Dorothea watched him with a strange mingling 
 of emotions. He had always possessed the power 
 to stir and trouble her heart, and now she was his 
 promised wife. She owed him a life's fidelity. 
 210 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 She went to her desk and took out a faded 
 bunch of flowers. Antonio had gathered them 
 for her on an almost inaccessible cliff where an 
 eagle had built its nest. With reluctant hands 
 she placed the flowers upon the coals that 
 smouldered in the grate, where she watched 
 them until they were consumed ; then turned with 
 streaming eyes to resume her interrupted duties. 
 
 As the season waned the nights grew chill at 
 Casa Blanca. Mrs. Aguilar was occupied with 
 cares that were no part of her official duties, but 
 became pressing with each returning winter, the 
 need of providing food and clothing for the poor 
 old people who were pensioners on an un- 
 friendly soil and an indifferent national govern- 
 ment. The noonday December sun was hot, 
 but there was a skimming of ice over the spring 
 in the hollow in the early morning. The chil- 
 dren came shivering to school. A bed upon the 
 ground, with one blanket for covering, chills 
 even the blood of childhood. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar made sacrifices and gave time 
 and money which she could ill spare. She was 
 therefore quite beside herself with indignation 
 when a rumor reached her ears that the people 
 of the tribe were planning an offering of gar- 
 ments to the dead. 
 
 211 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 This was a custom which, in its present form, 
 was a survival of certain primitive rites now dis- 
 couraged and inveighed against by those friends 
 of the Indians who had at heart the progress of 
 civilization among them. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar called upon Felipe to use his 
 authority to forbid the proposed celebration, 
 but he would make no promises and answer no 
 questions. It was evident that he was not will- 
 ing to risk his newly acquired popularity. 
 There was a general reticence in regard to the 
 plan. No one was disposed to give informa- 
 tion. Marta, when closely questioned, acknowl- 
 edged that she was heart and soul in favor of it. 
 
 "I can not sleep at night," she said, "for 
 thinking how cold my little Fernando must be 
 without my bosom to lie in. Should I not be 
 willing to go without my winter shawl for the 
 sake of warming his little body?" 
 
 To all representations as to the inutility of 
 the sacrifice, she turned a deaf ear, and she 
 maintained an impassive air when Mrs. Aguilar 
 invoked the authority of the church. 
 
 "Our religion is good, too," said Marta, 
 boldly heretical, "as good as the priest's. We 
 love our dead people. They are still alive ; but 
 it is in no place of flames. It is like this world; 
 and my Fernando must go cold unless I send 
 212 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 him something to keep him warm. We have 
 not done this for years, and the spirits of our 
 people vex us." 
 
 Realizing the opposition which they were 
 likely to encounter, the Indians made all their 
 preparations secretly. Marta and Angela met 
 by stealth one day in the gathering twilight at 
 the deserted hut of boughs which Antonio had 
 built for his sleeping place, and where his pos- 
 sessions were still stored undisturbed, though no 
 lock was on the door. They entered the hut 
 and looked awe-struck about them. 
 
 His cot bed stood neatly made, a shelf of 
 books above it. A trunk full of clothes was at 
 the further end. There was a chair and a 
 table made of pine boards, and on pegs driven 
 into the wall hung his rifle and cartridge belt. 
 All was as he had left it, except that storms had 
 rent the walls, and drifted sand and the stains 
 of rain gave token of desolation and neglect. 
 
 "I have not been in here before," said Marta. 
 "It made me too sad. I am afraid to touch his 
 clothes. It is like stealing from my brother, 
 who has always been good to me." 
 
 "He will never need the clothes now," said 
 
 Angela who had opened the trunk and was 
 
 making eager selection from its contents. 
 
 "Here is a thick, warm overcoat, just the thing 
 
 213 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 for my old husband. He used to suffer when 
 he lived with rheumatism of the joints. I do 
 not know that he is any better where he is, for 
 not a thing have I sent him in all these years. 
 I may as well take a whole suit. Antonio will 
 not send for his best clothes for the hanging, 
 and they will not take much pains with his lay- 
 ing-out." 
 
 Marta began to weep violently. "How can 
 you say such things?" she cried. "You have 
 no heart nor feeling. Come away. You shall 
 not have the things. Not a stitch of clothing 
 shall you touch, wicked woman that you are." 
 
 Angela smiled cynically. "You will not gain 
 by speaking ill of your elders, ' ' she said. * ' You 
 can best serve Antonio by sending his things 
 before him to the other world. If he grudges 
 them to my husband they may settle it between 
 them there ; but Antonio always had a generous 
 heart." 
 
 Marta continued to sob, but mindful of Fer- 
 nando's interests, and sure of Antonio's affec- 
 tion for his little nephew, she made choice of 
 such garments as would serve her turn. 
 
 The night was chill, and a wailing wind sang 
 
 in the tree tops. On the level sward before old 
 
 Diego's house, a great fire of oak logs had been 
 
 built as soon as darkness fell, protected on one 
 
 214 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 side by a windbreak of wattled boughs. Around 
 the fire and watching its fierce flaming, a crowd 
 of picturesque dark-skinned figures were col- 
 lected, while in an outer circle the women sat 
 upon the ground, wrapped in brightly-colored 
 shawls and blankets. 
 
 At nine o'clock a wailing chant was started. 
 It began like the sighing of the wind in the 
 trees. Its minor cadences were reminiscent of 
 the very music of nature herself, the noise of 
 the elements, the voices of the waves, the lan- 
 guage of the beasts of the forest. Then it rose 
 higher into wild lamentations for the dead. 
 Each heart recalled its sorrow and mourned for 
 the departed. 
 
 Meantime, old Diego was bringing from his 
 house roll after roll of bright new calico and 
 shining muslin fresh from the store. He stood 
 with uplifted arms while a circle of the older 
 Indians knelt bare-headed before him. He in- 
 voked the gods of the air and the invisible 
 regions of the dead ; then he gave to the heads 
 of each family a portion of the cloth thus dedi- 
 cated, in which they wrapped the garments to 
 be sent to the departed. 
 
 The leaders of the ceremony moved back and 
 forth before the fire, keeping rhythmic time to 
 the sound of the sacred rattle which Diego 
 215 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 wielded with ever -increasing fervor. The words 
 which they loudly chanted were apostrophes to 
 their friends in the spirit world, asking their 
 acceptance of the gifts they brought. 
 
 The women, meantime, had prepared their 
 offerings, and they cast the garments and calico 
 over the heads of the men who knelt in a circle 
 about the fire, now a bed of glowing coals. The 
 prayers and chants continued, and when all the 
 clothing had been presented it was collected and 
 deposited upon the fire, which leaped to con- 
 sume it. 
 
 The ashes were collected and buried in a nar- 
 row trench. Money was flung upon the ground 
 by some mourners more rashly generous than 
 the rest. It made no difference to these brave 
 souls that the hoardings of a month were 
 scrambled for by shouting urchins. They had 
 done their part, and left the rest to the gods of 
 the dead. 
 
 Since the gifts were accepted and the shades 
 propitiated, the wails of mourning were re- 
 placed by shouts of joy. The young people took 
 their places in the circle. They were now free 
 to conclude the fiesta as they pleased, and each 
 sought his favorite pastime. The elder men 
 began the war-dance, that reminder of the past 
 which stirred the heart with thoughts of the 
 216 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 wild freedom of the days of power and plenty 
 and national greatness ; and the younger genera- 
 tion watched them, wondering vaguely what 
 relation these symbolic acts could bear to the 
 prospects of the future and the present condi- 
 tions of their life. Then by common consent 
 the hearts of the young men turned to their first 
 love, the gambling game of peon. 
 
 "I shall write to Father Gaspara," said Mrs. 
 Aguilar severely next day to Felipe, who stood 
 shamefacedly before her. "He must know 
 what is going on here. You are all baptized 
 members of the Catholic church; but on the 
 whole you are no better than heathen. You 
 gamble and dance the war -dances, and you go 
 cold and naked to burn up yards and yards of 
 valuable cloth and hats and coats and trousers ; 
 and you fling away money while the children's 
 stomachs are weak from fasting. It is a shame, 
 Felipe. How are you ever going to keep pace 
 with the new ideas? How are you ever to im- 
 prove and hold your own in the struggle for 
 existence among the white men when you act 
 like foolish children?" 
 
 4 'Let Father Gaspara come if he will," replied 
 Felipe, in a surly tone. "It is now three years 
 since we have seen him, and every year there 
 217 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 have been rumors of his coming, and we have 
 strained our eyes to look for him, and each time 
 he has disappointed us. How can we mind the 
 priest if he forgets us?" 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar, finding herself put upon the 
 defensive, compromised matters by gaining 
 Felipe's promise that the practices she disliked 
 should be stopped. This promise was the easier 
 to make since in reaction from their late enthu- 
 siasm the people were more occupied than 
 before with mundane considerations, and inter- 
 est centred chiefly upon the trial of Antonio 
 Lachusa, which was to take place within the 
 week. 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar believed that Father Gaspara 
 would be willing to improve the occasion by an 
 immediate parochial visit; and the reply which 
 she received from him proved that she was not 
 mistaken. 
 
 218 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Father Gaspara descended from the wagon 
 which had brought him np the mountain, 
 and was greeted by the crowding, smiling faces 
 of his dark-skinned parishioners. The padre 
 might delay years in his coming, and at the first 
 sight of him the old reverence of affection would 
 awaken among his proteges, whose love once 
 gained is of a fidelity seldom seen among men. 
 
 It has been said of Father Gaspara that his 
 nature contained the three warring elements of 
 poet, soldier and priest. Time had dealt hardly 
 with the poetical tendency, though the soldier 
 still spoke in the erect carriage of the vigorous 
 form, the flash of the commanding eye, and the 
 alert decision with which he confronted the 
 problems of life. 
 
 At Mrs. Aguilar's appeal he had come at once 
 to seek and save such wandering sheep as had 
 escaped his fold, to uproot the tares which 
 Marco, for his own ends, had been mischievously 
 sowing, and to confirm the faithful in their 
 allegiance to their mother Church. 
 
 Although the notice of his coming had been 
 219 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 too sudden to allow of elaborate preparation, all 
 had been done that was possible for his com- 
 fort. A ramada, or brush -hut, had been built 
 for his accommodation, a bed and chairs had 
 been borrowed from the school-house, and the 
 church itself, of which only one wall was stand- 
 ing, had been repaired with sapling beams and 
 wattled walls ; and within it an altar was set up, 
 decked with drawn-work hangings, the blessed 
 candles and the piaster figure of the patron 
 saint. 
 
 All day the Indians thronged this rude sanc- 
 tuary for service and confession, for baptism and 
 marriage, and all the delayed sacraments of the 
 church. They came from far and near, old and 
 young, eager for the offices of religion. At 
 night they had a fiesta with races and games ; 
 but they did not gamble, and they did not 
 dance, for the padre's eye was upon them. 
 
 Father Gaspara supped at the school-house 
 with Mrs. Aguilar and her niece. Dorothea 
 regarded the priest with the ardent hero-wor- 
 ship of youth, for she knew that he had sat for 
 a character in her favorite book, "Ramona," a 
 book which in pathos, tenderness, and humanity 
 comes close to, if it does not deserve, the first 
 place among the few great American novels. 
 
 Father Gaspara's hair had been glossy black 
 220 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 when he had married Eamona to her Alessan- 
 dro. It was now streaked with gray. He had 
 then been disheartened by the outrages heaped 
 upon the harmless Mission Indians, who were 
 every year further exiled from their homes by 
 the constant aggression of the white man's 
 greed. He had long since ceased to hope that 
 this could end: except with the extermination 
 of the race. 
 
 Being a practical man, and not given to use- 
 less sentimentality, he made no moan and wrote 
 no book. The poem that was shaped in thought 
 in the days of his ardent youth might have been 
 the epic of a dying race; but the song remained 
 unsung. The interests of life change with in- 
 creasing years from the general to the partic- 
 ular. Father Gaspara to-day was concerning 
 himself with Angela's rheumatism, Marco's 
 incendiary talk, Pedro's need of extreme unc- 
 tion, and the future of the Indians was not the 
 subject of his speculations. 
 
 Dorothea, however, idealized him with all the 
 ardor of a youthful imagination. He reminded 
 her of Michael Angeio's Moses, with the grand 
 head and flowing beard. He, too, was a law- 
 giver to these simple people who knew him as 
 their friend and trusted him infinitely. She 
 knew that he had the will to serve them. She 
 221 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 wondered if he could have the influence to help 
 Antonio in his peril. 
 
 In the terrible labyrinth of the law, sympathy 
 is of little avail ; but perhaps he could win An- 
 tonio's confidence, and command him by the 
 authority of the Church to speak. Dorothea 
 was sure that Antonio's safety depended on his 
 revealing the name of the stranger who had been 
 present so mysteriously at Casa Blanca, the 
 stranger who was, she was convinced, the mur- 
 derer of Samuel Jennings. 
 
 Father Gaspara had heard of the murder. It 
 was the chief subject of conversation among the 
 Indians. He listened with interest to Mrs. 
 Aguilar's account of Antonio's history, with 
 which he was already partially acquainted. 
 
 "I met Mrs. Leigh years ago," he said. 
 "She came to see me, as so many tourists do, 
 out of curiosity as readers of Mrs. Jackson's 
 book; but she was not like the rest. She had a 
 real interest in the Indians. She told me of 
 her plans for her Indian charge, and showed me 
 his picture and some of his examination papers. 
 He was then a little lad, and she was as proud 
 of him as if she were his mother. I doubted 
 then the success of her experiment. Yes, I am 
 sorry to say it, I doubted. I have never seen 
 much accomplished by individual enthusiasm. 
 222 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Mrs. Jackson, too, was an enthusiast. She put 
 her heart's blood into her books ; yet what good 
 have they done? Have they changed public 
 opinion? To a slight extent, perhaps ; but for 
 practical justice in public affairs there is too 
 much politics in this country, my friend. A 
 message of the angel Gabriel would not be 
 heeded, if he stood in the way of the election of 
 some third-rate congressman in his district. 
 Yet I hoped, I really hoped, that it would turn 
 out better than this; a murderer caught red- 
 handed, that is too much!" 
 
 Both ladies protested, and Dorothea said 
 quickly, "I beg your pardon, Father Gaspara, 
 but Antonio was not caught red-handed. If he 
 is convicted it will be a crime against truth." 
 
 The padre fastened his keen eyes upon her. 
 "I wish you might plead as his lawyer," he 
 said. "It would be like that lady in your poet 
 Shakespeare's play ; but things do not happen 
 that way nowadays. I have .talked with 
 people in town about the murder, and they 
 think the Indian deserves to be hung." 
 
 Dorothea clasped her hands together beneath 
 the table. She tried to control the expression 
 of the anguish that wrung her heart. 
 
 "There is one thing that I would like to beg 
 of you," she said. "When you return to town 
 223 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 will you not visit Antonio in his cell? The law- 
 yer who defends him is a friend of mine, and he 
 thinks that if Antonio could be forced to break 
 his silence and give his own account of all that 
 happened on the day of the murder, it would 
 give him the clue that he is looking for. With- 
 out it he is handicapped. There is some reason 
 why Antonio will not speak, an obligation to 
 secrecy, as he himself has acknowledged; but 
 the obligation to truth is greater. An innocent 
 man should not be allowed to suffer that the 
 guilty one may go free." 
 
 "Nor is it very likely to happen," said Father 
 Gaspara. He talked with an evident Spanish 
 accent, and he had a strong, penetrating voice, 
 like one accustomed to speak with authority. 
 "No, my dear young lady. I am afraid your 
 enthusiasm misleads you. I will visit the 
 Indian, and in the worst event prepare him for 
 death ; but that I can help him to escape the 
 gallows I very much doubt. I would do it if I 
 could, for the sake of Mrs. Leigh and her ex- 
 periment, which has been watched quite curi- 
 ously by friends of the Indians in all parts of 
 the country. The result of it will give those 
 people satisfaction who repeat that brutal say- 
 ing, 'There is no good Indian but a dead 
 Indian.' It is a pity. I am sorry, indeed." 
 224 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 The padre's words stabbed Dorothea like the 
 wounds of malice. It was hard for her to maintain 
 her composure, and Mrs. Aguilar, coming to her 
 rescue, changed the subject of the conversation. 
 
 It was in consequence of Dorothea's sugges- 
 tion that Antonio received, a few days later, a 
 call from Father Gaspara. He was surprised at 
 the entrance of a priest into his cell, and at the 
 first moment it seemed to him that the fatal 
 sentence had already been pronounced, and that 
 his visitor had come to prepare him for the end. 
 Then he chided himself for the nervous weak- 
 ness which such a fancy evidenced. In reality, 
 the strain of suspense was beginning to tell upon 
 him. He pined for freedom and the fresh air 
 of the hills ; for active use of his strong young 
 limbs, and something of human interest to 
 occupy his thought. He was cut off from his 
 kind in terrible isolation ; and he almost longed 
 for the moment that should bring the end, let 
 it be what it might. 
 
 The priest introduced himself and explained 
 the reason of his visit. "You are one of my 
 flock," he said. "I read the funeral service 
 over your mother, and I baptized you. I also 
 knew your patroness, Mrs. Leigh." 
 
 At the mention of this name Antonio's face 
 brightened. 
 
 225 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I am glad that she is not now alive," con- 
 tinued the padre. "This would have been a 
 terrible disappointment to her." 
 
 "I have thought of that," said Antonio, 
 sadly. "Yes, it is well that she can not know." 
 
 "You should have thought of that before," 
 replied Father Gaspara. "Your life should 
 have been lived as if in the presence of a cloud 
 of witnesses. You were selected as a represent- 
 ative man. Upon the success of Mrs. Leigh's 
 experiment may have hung the future of your 
 race; who knows? If you had made yourself 
 what she hoped when she gave you your educa- 
 tion, others might have been emboldened to 
 point to you and say, * Behold what an Indian 
 may become. Shall we not work for their 
 advancement? Shall we not give them citizen- 
 ship?' It may be that you would not have this 
 influence upon the world, but no one has a 
 right to do less than his best, leaving the result 
 with God." 
 
 Antonio bent his head before this lecture, as 
 if before a tempest from which he could not 
 escape. 
 
 '"If you die upon the gallows," continued 
 
 Father Gaspara, "it will be well that Mrs. Leigh 
 
 was left in ignorance of your failure to fulfill 
 
 her hopes. Is there any chance that you may 
 
 226 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 escape? Have you anything to say in your own 
 defence?" 
 
 "Only that I am innocent," replied Antonio. 
 
 "Can you prove this?" 
 
 Antonio shook his head. "I can give no evi- 
 dence as to the real criminal," he said, "not 
 even for the sake of saving my credit, and all 
 that seems to you to be involved in it. There 
 are duties higher than the duty we owe to our- 
 selves and our reputation. There was once a 
 perfect man who made himself of no reputa- 
 tion." 
 
 Father Gaspara was somewhat displeased that 
 the weapons of Holy Writ should thus be turned 
 against him. He believed that the Indian's 
 education had made him only a hardened 
 sophist. 
 
 "If the worst comes I will wish to prepare 
 you for death," he said, ignoring the remark. 
 "I hope you may be ready to confess." 
 
 "I am not a Catholic," answered Antonio. 
 "I should confess to you only as to a man, and 
 that I have resolved for the sake of others not to 
 do even in view of death." 
 
 "I am sorry then that I can not help you," 
 
 said the padre. "Sorry, very sorry, that you 
 
 have left the fold in which you were placed by 
 
 baptism. I will pray that your heart may be 
 
 227 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 softened, and that you may be restored 
 to it." 
 
 He looked with keen, kindly eyes full of the 
 shadow of a real regret at the young reprobate, 
 the possible hope of his race, who was to be cut 
 off in his prime by the shameful death of the 
 gallows; and he left him, promising to repeat 
 his visit. 
 
 This conversation had not served to enliven 
 Antonio's sunken spirits. It pained him to 
 think that his end must reflect discredit upon 
 his patroness. "But she has the larger vision," 
 he said to himself. "I have tried to do my 
 duty. She will know and understand. 
 
 " 
 
 228 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Burke was pacing his office floor with head 
 bent and hands clasped behind him, a favorite 
 attitude when in deep reflection. Antonio's 
 trial would open that day at two o'clock. The 
 young lawyer felt like a general who goes into 
 battle as the leader of a forlorn hope. He 
 could foresee no possibility of success. He had 
 traveled far and near to secure witnesses. He 
 had followed clues which ended like desert 
 streams that sink into the sand. 
 
 "If it were not for that unfortunate note call- 
 ing Jennings to the gold-mine I should have 
 some expectation of talking over the jury," he 
 thought. "As it is I fear I can not avoid the 
 evidence of malice aforethought. No one can 
 be made to doubt that Antonio struck the blow ; 
 and with the other conclusion he is already con- 
 demned. I will do my best, but I never con- 
 ducted so weak a case." He felt the more 
 poignant regret since he had himself learned to 
 believe in his client's innocence. It was not 
 his habit to allow his sympathies to outweigh his 
 judgment ; but the vague impressions that come 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 from personal association are evidence decisive 
 enough, though not of a sort to be formulated 
 in court. 
 
 Burke had studied Antonio's character with 
 keen impartiality, and had reached the con- 
 clusion that he was incapable of planning 
 deliberate murder. 
 
 A tap at the door announced visitors, and 
 Mr. Wilson and his younger daughter entered. 
 It was the first time that Burke had seen them 
 since the murder, and all felt a shade of uneasy 
 constraint. 
 
 "We want you to help us, Burke," said 
 Mr. Wilson, with an effort to resume his old 
 manner of intimate cordiality. "We are just 
 leaving for San Francisco, and I have bought 
 Nellie's ticket with the rest. We want to get 
 off before this trial begins ; but at the eleventh 
 hour Mrs. Jennings refuses to go. More than 
 that, she insists that she will be present at the 
 trial. She seems to find her only satisfaction in 
 the hope of revenge rather than justice. Her 
 mind is a little unsettled, I think. I wonder if 
 you would be willing to try to influence her." 
 
 "I am afraid I should be the last one for 
 that," replied Burke. "She is very angry with 
 me for undertaking the defence." 
 
 "We are all disappointed, and hurt," said 
 230 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Bessie. "We thought we could count on you 
 as a friend of the family. After this we do not 
 feel that there can be any sympathy between 
 us." 
 
 "I am sorry for that," said Burke. "A 
 lawyer can not consider personal feelings, or 
 pick and choose his cases." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Wilson, impatiently, "I 
 understand that well enough. The women are 
 all wrought up over it, as is natural. But we 
 must not miss our train. My wife is to meet 
 us in San Francisco, and we are going to take 
 the steamer to Vancouver. If Nellie still 
 refuses to leave, will you have an oversight of 
 her, keep her from the trial, if you can, and see 
 that she does not make a display of her feelings 
 there." 
 
 "I will do my best," Burke promised, and 
 after a short conversation, in which Bessie 
 refused to join, Mr. Wilson arose and took 
 leave, preceded by his daughter, who vouchsafed 
 only a distant farewell. 
 
 At lunch, for which Burke had little appe- 
 tite, he met one of his brethren of the bar. 
 
 "If you lose your case, will you appeal?" 
 
 asked his friend. "I suppose if you choose to 
 
 take advantage of all possible technicalities you 
 
 may prolong your client's life two or three 
 
 231 
 
A SOUL wr BRONZE 
 
 years, as is the fashion lately. I wondered if 
 you were prepared to do this. It takes money, 
 for one thing.' 1 
 
 "As a rule I do not discuss my plans before- 
 hand," replied Burke, "but I don't mind tell- 
 ing you that my client has forbidden me to 
 move for a new trial of the case, or to attempt 
 any sort of stay of proceedings. He has no 
 money ; he does not wish his friends to use any 
 extraordinary means to raise money; and he 
 wishes the decision of this court to be final, let 
 it be what it may." 
 
 44 Well, I am sorry to have you connected with 
 this case, Burke. Your reputation has been a 
 brilliant one chiefly because you have used care 
 in the selection of those whom you have de- 
 fended; and a young lawyer should consider 
 that. He should choose his clients as he 
 chooses his wife. You will sink in the popular 
 esteem from the moment you appear as counsel 
 for an Indian murderer. What possible motive 
 could lead you to undertake it?" 
 
 "Some one must defend him," replied Burke. 
 
 "Then let it not be a young man with a repu- 
 tation to make. If you lose your case it will 
 not advance your credit ; if you gain it you will 
 incur the popular ill-will, and it will stick to 
 you. The feeling is very strong in town 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 against the murderer. The wife of the mur- 
 dered man has been seen in the hotel and on 
 the streets, in her deep mourning with her white 
 haggard face, and the very sight of her is a 
 piteous appeal for justice. If you know what 
 is good for you, you will not let her appear in 
 court. Let her fix those eyes on the jurymen 
 and they will vote for conviction to a man." 
 
 Burke began to suspect that this was Elea- 
 nor's purpose in opposing the wishes of her 
 family. She owed him a grudge, and wounded 
 pride would operate more forcibly with her than 
 regard for her husband's memory. This was 
 an added source of uneasiness, and an hour be- 
 fore the hearing of his case Burke sent up his 
 card to Mrs. Jennings. He was at once ad- 
 mitted to the parlor, where she was seated 
 alone. 
 
 "I did not expect to see you until we met in 
 the court-room," she said, after greeting him 
 distantly. "I suppose you know that I am one 
 of Mr. Bradford's witnesses." 
 
 "No," said Burke, in surprise. "I did not 
 know that, nor did your father, whom I saw 
 this morning. It will be very painful for you, 
 and very unnecessary. I can even now arrange 
 with Bradford that you need not appear." 
 
 "I am determined to be present," she re- 
 233 ' 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 plied. "It is quite useless to discuss the 
 matter." 
 
 "Can I have no hope of influencing you?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "You have no influence with me," she 
 answered. "There is a deep chasm forever 
 between us. You are dead to me as much as 
 Sam is." 
 
 Antonio was so weary of the monotony of his 
 imprisonment that he found relief in the open- 
 ing of his trial ; and took a sort of impersonal 
 interest in the proceedings, as if it concerned 
 some other man, or as if he were benumbed to 
 the consciousness of the danger in which he 
 stood, like the traveller who lies down in the 
 snow-drift and almost welcomes the coming of 
 the end. 
 
 He watched the faces of the men upon whom 
 his fate depended, and he saw in their stolid, 
 unintelligent countenances no recognition of 
 the responsibility of their position. The people 
 who crowded the visitors' seats were idle loung- 
 ers and women of the morbidly emotional class 
 who attend a murder trial for the thrill of ex- 
 citement which breaks the dead level of a sordid 
 existence. 
 
 There was no manifestation of sympathy for 
 234 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 him. He was only an Indian. When he went 
 back to his cell its emptiness was more than 
 ever hateful to him. He wondered if he should 
 see Dorothea before the end. He did not dare 
 to ask it, but at night he slept peacefully and 
 dreamed of her. 
 
 The witnesses for the prosecution occupied 
 much time in the telling of their story, Burke 
 submitting them to a minute cross-examination 
 with no effective result. In the first day or 
 two little was developed that had not been 
 brought to light in the preliminary hearing; 
 but every detail of the evidence, adroitly manip- 
 ulated by the prosecuting attorney, told steadily 
 against the prisoner. Bradford was proud of 
 the impregnability of his case, and of the logical 
 consistency with which each fact had been 
 made to bear upon the other, but he was care- 
 less of no advantage and unrelaxing in vigi- 
 lance, for Burke was an opponent not to be 
 despised. 
 
 It was Bradford's professional creed that the 
 judgment is influenced unconsciously by the 
 emotions, and that the dramatic element is one 
 that should never be neglected in the conduct 
 of a case. Two of his witnesses had been chosen 
 with this idea in mind, and the effect produced 
 by their appearance justified his calculations. 
 235 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Mrs. Jennings entered shrouded in crape, an 
 eloquent example of widowed devotion. When 
 she lifted her veil and turned her appealing 
 eyes from judge to jury, there was something in 
 the wild fervor of the look which moved the 
 heart from its judicial equilibrium. Her state- 
 ment was of little consequence, but the manner 
 of its utterance the voice breaking into a sob, 
 the little hand clenched in an appeal for justice 
 told powerfully upon her hearers. 
 
 When she left the court-room, an Indian 
 woman was called into the witness-box. An- 
 tonio started as he recognized his sister. Marta 
 was as haggard and worn with grief as if she 
 herself stood in peril of death. She fixed her 
 eyes upon her brother, while tears streamed 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 Burke could not conceal his astonishment at 
 this appearance, and he looked at Bradford with 
 the keen defiance of the duellist who meets an 
 unexpected coup. It had been Burke 's decision 
 that Marta's absence was advisable at this time, 
 and he had contrived that she should spend a 
 fortnight in the shelter of her cousin's house in 
 the remote Indian village of Leona, where she 
 would be far from the rumors of the trial, and 
 free from the necessity of listening or replying 
 to painful suggestions. 
 
 236 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He roused himself now to defeat Bradford's 
 purpose, resorting to every legal device of 
 objection, appeal and counter-question to shield 
 the helplessly harassed victim of the prosecu- 
 tion's cross-examination. But Bradford knew 
 his witness well. Marta's exaggerated fear of 
 the power of the law, her desire to propitiate it 
 by any sacrifice, her adoring affection for her 
 brother, these feelings, mingled, opposed, con- 
 fused, in her tortured and ignorant mind, were 
 played upon unfeelingly until she was led into a 
 wild incongruity of admission, implication and 
 denial. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney scored the points he 
 made and bade the jury note them. Burke, 
 who was pale to the lips, protested in vain. 
 The court was with the prosecution. Marta 
 was led weeping from the box, having declared 
 that her brother, the noblest of men, had always 
 been her truest friend, that he had hated her 
 betrayer, and had one day expressed a wish that 
 he might kill him. Beyond this she defied 
 judge and jury, appealed to our Lady in 
 heaven, was ready to lay down her life, to be 
 cut to pieces inch by inch, to submit to any 
 proof in protestation of Antonio's innocence. 
 
 It was unfortunate for Burke that time did 
 not allow the calling of a witness for the defence 
 237 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 until the morning ; and, as Bradford had nicely 
 calculated, the impression thus made must 
 remain till then uncombated. Burke was not 
 accustomed to defeat, and he smarted under it. 
 
 Antonio did not sleep that night. He felt 
 that his case was hopeless, and for the first time 
 an unconquerable longing for freedom and for 
 life awoke within him. It was the cry of his 
 strong young manhood outraged by the prospect 
 of so cruel an end. He flung himself upon his 
 narrow bed and wept and groaned, torn by the 
 storm of feeling. A strong man's tears are ter- 
 rible. In them there is no healing, but only 
 bitterness and despair. 
 
 At dawn he rose, ashamed to face the sun- 
 light, calling himself a coward, and wondering 
 whether a woman's soul had taken possession of 
 his body. The warden with his breakfast 
 brought him a small box and grinned as he 
 handed it to him. 
 
 * 'Flowers, by the smell," he remarked. 
 "Some woman sent 'em, I'll be bound. It's 
 wonderful what a notion women have of send- 
 ing flowers to murderers. The last one we 
 hanged here, and he was no beauty either, you 
 might say he was buried in flowers." 
 
 Antonio waited till he was alone, and then 
 opened the box with trembling fingers. Upon 
 238 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 a bed of lemon blossoms whose fragrance filled 
 the cell lay a folded paper containing these 
 words: "Be brave, Antonio. There are worse 
 things than to suffer innocently. Death is 
 swallowed up in the victory of faith. There is 
 no shame except the shame of sin. Judge and 
 jury may make a mistake, but your heart 
 knows and I know that you are innocent. 
 Therefore, my friend, be brave." 
 
 No name was signed, but Antonio knew the 
 writer, and he kissed the words with a great 
 uplifting of the heart. This was what he 
 needed. This was that for which he had been 
 waiting, the lack of which had made him 
 recreant. To doubt her faith in him was to des- 
 pair. Once sure of that he was a man strong to 
 face and conquer the worst that life can send. 
 
 He placed the note close to his heart, he 
 kissed the flowers and laid his face upon them 
 and drank their fragrance as a solace to his soul. 
 It was as if Dorothea herself were near him. 
 He smiled with calm confidence as he would 
 have smiled to reassure her if he could have met 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I will be brave," he said. "You need not 
 fear for me after this. A knight with his 
 lady's favor on his heart will go gladly down 
 among the lions." 
 
 239 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 The testimony for the defence began with 
 some show of hope for Antonio. Burke had 
 several witnesses to testify to the visit to Casa 
 Blanca, on the day of the murder, of the 
 mysterious stranger who had suddenly disap- 
 peared. He had been traced to the hotel in 
 town where he had spent the preceding night. 
 His name was found upon the register as Wil- 
 liam Thompson. The precautions which Fair- 
 fax had taken to conceal his identity made any 
 clue difficult to follow. 
 
 A porter at the hotel testified that the 
 stranger had evidently wished to escape notice. 
 His baggage consisted only of a travelling case, 
 which he carried in his hand. The porter had 
 observed that the numerous labels with which 
 this case had once been covered had been 
 removed. 
 
 When the horse was recovered the carriage 
 was found to be demolished by the runaway, 
 and the travelling case, together with the whip 
 and lap -robe, had disappeared, having evidently 
 been appropriated by some chance thief. 
 
 The foreign-looking belt with the silver 
 buckle was alluded to. The stiletto with the 
 wrought silver handle was produced, and a pos- 
 sible resemblance was detected between it and 
 the buckle of the belt. 
 
 240 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Witnesses from among the Indians and other 
 acquaintances of Antonio testified that they had 
 never seen such a weapon in the possession of 
 the prisoner. 
 
 The weight of evidence remained in favor of 
 the prosecution. Bradford made a short plea in 
 which every word told. He pitilessly exposed 
 the weakness of the defence. He showed how a 
 deep-rooted animosity had existed in the mind 
 of the prisoner against the postmaster, from the 
 day of his arrival at Casa Blanca. He would 
 not deny that the motive was a powerful one. 
 The prisoner had suffered family wrongs, but it 
 was not given to him to avenge such wrongs. 
 
 An emotional nature had been carried off its 
 balance, but there was nothing emotional in the 
 method of the deed. It was characterized by 
 cold-blooded malice. A plot was laid. Jen- 
 nings was decoyed to a lonely spot. The sur- 
 prise had been complete. The Indian had 
 sprung upon him from the rear, overborne him 
 in the fury of his attack, and plunged a knife 
 into the spot where death would be the certain 
 result of the blow. 
 
 The postmaster had gone armed from a 
 
 habit of caution; but suspecting nothing from 
 
 the messenger who had brought the note, he 
 
 had allowed his close approach. He had had no 
 
 241 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 opportunity to defend himself, but had sud- 
 denly been sent into eternity with all his sins 
 upon his head. Cold-blooded deliberation had 
 characterized each feature of this revolting 
 crime. The attorney left justice in the hands 
 of intelligent men to whom blood thus shed by 
 treachery should not cry out in vain. 
 
 The speech produced a great sensation. It 
 was with difficulty that applause was repressed 
 among the spectators. 
 
 As Burke began his plea, Dorothea and her 
 aunt entered the court-room and took the seats 
 which had been reserved for them among the 
 visitors. Antonio met Dorothea's eyes. They 
 were full of heroic encouragement. Mrs. 
 Aguilar was thickly veiled to hide her tears. 
 
 Burke spoke eloquently and well, but he 
 spoke on a losing side. He needed only the 
 link that should connect the stranger with the 
 crime, but the lack of it was fatally evident. 
 He reminded the jury of the circumstantial 
 nature of the evidence. No eye had seen the 
 prisoner commit the crime. As for motive, 
 there were various motives in many minds that 
 might be adduced in this connection, for the 
 dead man had been almost universally hated. 
 It was not his purpose to speak evil of the dead ; 
 but to remind them that it was not as if a man 
 243 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 of blameless life had perished, or a man so 
 popular that admitted hatred would fasten sus- 
 picion upon an enemy. 
 
 Who was this mysterious stranger who had 
 come and gone like a thief in the night, who 
 had been traced from the time he had left town 
 to the very time of the commission of the mur- 
 der, but who had baffled detection by the elab- 
 orate preparations he had made to escape it? 
 Not until this man had been found and enabled 
 to defend himself from the suspicion which 
 must attach to such evidence of guilt as secrecy 
 implies, should another man, the horrified wit- 
 ness of the crime, be accused of complicity in 
 it, much less be suspected as the principal. 
 The stranger arrives at Casa Blanca, following 
 some well-matured and pre-determined plan. 
 The Indian met by chance becomes his mes- 
 senger. The crime is done, and the murderer 
 escapes unpursued. The Indian, who remains 
 with the daring of innocence alone with the 
 dead, bends over the corpse in pity and closes 
 the glazed eyes. The man is dead whom he, 
 with many others who had suffered injustice or 
 abuse at his hands, had more than once had 
 reason to wish punished; but he is punished by 
 another hand. Only pity remains. Strong in 
 innocence, he allows himself to be bound and 
 243 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 committed, relying upon the justice of that law 
 which condemns no man until crime is proved 
 against him. What has been proved in this 
 case that would not as well apply to the stranger 
 if at this moment he should present himself here 
 at the bar of justice confessing his guilt? Shall 
 a man be sent into eternity to answer for an- 
 other's crime simply because the cry for ven- 
 geance would demand a victim, some victim, 
 any victim, to satisfy a popular clamor? Let 
 this clamor die into silence. Let the voices of 
 right and reason prevail ; and let no man give 
 consent to a sentence which he would not 
 willingly incur if chance should make him the 
 solitary spectator of a fearful crime. 
 
 The closing arguments of the state were terse 
 and effectual; the judge's charge was a brief 
 resume of the law applicable to the case; then 
 came the moment when the jury retired to 
 make their conclusion of life or death for the 
 prisoner. Dorothea's heart beat to suffocation. 
 Moments seemed like hours, and she had lived 
 ages in the time that elapsed before the return 
 of the foreman to announce the verdict which 
 had in reality been reached with unusual 
 celerity. 
 
 The verdict was: " Guilty of murder in the 
 first degree." 
 
 244 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Antonio's eyes met Dorothea's. They said to 
 her, "Be brave for my sake. I am not afraid." 
 
 Dorothea's spoke to him. Their message 
 was: "Be brave for my sake. I will help you 
 by my courage." 
 
 Mrs. Aguilar fainted away. In the confusion 
 consequent upon her removal into the open air, 
 Burke stood by Dorothea and took her hand. 
 "The sentence will be given Tuesday," he said. 
 "I should prefer that you did not hear it." 
 
 "As you please," said Dorothea quietly. 
 "My aunt is better now, and Mrs. Hereford is 
 waiting for us in her carriage. We are going to 
 spend some time at Magnolia ranch." 
 
 "lam glad to have you there," he replied. 
 "I am glad you are so strong. I hope you will 
 keep up for my sake." 
 
 "I will keep up," she answered, and she 
 allowed him to press her hand and say his fare- 
 wells almost unanswered. Her eyes regarded 
 him, but her thoughts were far away. 
 
 As they drove through the fragrant twilight 
 beside the shining water, the evening star send- 
 ing a tremulous path of light across the western 
 waves, the mountains rising afar in the glamour 
 of purple mists, Dorothea saw only a manly 
 figure standing alone to hear the terrible words : 
 "To be hung by the neck till he is dead." She 
 245 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 saw the gallows, and a shapely head crowned 
 with the fatal black cap. She saw the tightened 
 noose, the quivering limbs. 
 
 The world might deck itself with stars and 
 purple sunsets. There was no joy that could 
 atone for its injustices. 
 
 246 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Burke did not intrude upon Dorothea. He 
 felt that time and absence might be his most 
 powerful allies. By his advice Mrs. Hereford 
 had taken her guest to a seaside resort far 
 enough from the associations of the last few 
 months to remove Dorothea into a new sphere 
 of thought. Mrs. Aguilar returned to her 
 school, and Burke was well content that her 
 influence should be for the time in abeyance. 
 He felt that Dorothea had been under a potent 
 spell which had rapt her into a world of un- 
 realities where the conventions of ordinary life 
 had no force ; and it would be well for her that 
 this dream world should fade into the light of 
 common day. He had stood near Antonio when 
 sentence was pronounced ; he had followed him 
 to press his hand in sympathy ; and he had then 
 tried to take up the interrupted current of daily 
 affairs, finding it difficult to give them his 
 attention. 
 
 He avoided his friends who might discuss the 
 subject of his thoughts. He changed the hour 
 of his meals to a time at which the restaurant 
 247 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 was unfrequented ; and by this means he found 
 himself alone at table one evening with a man 
 who had eagerly followed his movements and at 
 last seated himself near him with the evident 
 purpose of entering into conversation. 
 
 "Mr. Burke?" asked the stranger. "I have 
 been trying to meet you ever since I read the 
 paper containing the account of the trial of the 
 Indian for murder, and I natter myself that I 
 am the man you were looking for without know- 
 ing it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired Burke. 
 
 "Well, I have a piece of evidence that would 
 have helped your case. I don't know but that 
 you might get a new hearing on the strength 
 of it." 
 
 "What is that?" asked Burke, with eager 
 interest. 
 
 "My name is Josiah Jackson," said the 
 stranger. "I'm a commission merchant at 
 Mazatlan, and I often run up and down on 
 these coast steamers. The last time I landed 
 here was on the nineteenth of September, the 
 day but one before this murder was committed, 
 and I sold a dagger like the one described in 
 this paper here to a man on board the steamer 
 who would answer well enough to the descrip- 
 tion of the man you were trying to find. Ilis 
 248 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 name, however, was John Seymour, not William 
 Thompson. Both may have been aliases. He 
 was not dressed in a rough outing suit, but quite 
 richly, like a man of wealth. He looked like a 
 gentleman, and he smoked first-class cigars. 
 He was an unsociable chap, and kept off by him- 
 self until the very last day, when he noticed me 
 and the Spanish dagger that I was using as a 
 paper-cutter. It is of the best Ferrara steel, 
 and will bend like a willow wand. He asked 
 me to sell it to him; said he was collecting 
 curious weapons, and had a South American 
 belt with a silver buckle made to reproduce the 
 sacred stone of the Incas which would suit the 
 silver handle and sheath to a T. As he had set 
 his heart on it I let him have it for a good 
 price." 
 
 4 'You would recognize the dagger?" 
 
 "You bet," was the reply. 
 
 Burke left his supper untasted. "Come with 
 me," he said briefly. "I will make it worth 
 your while." 
 
 "I will do it just to satisfy my curiosity," 
 replied Mr. Jackson. 
 
 As they went he minutely described the 
 
 weapon, particularizing a small notch in the 
 
 blade and relating the history connected with 
 
 it. When Burke drew the dagger from his 
 
 249 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 desk and held it before his eyes the identifica- 
 tion was complete. 
 
 "It only remains to find the sheath," said 
 Mr. Jackson, and he drew a picture of it with 
 the skill of a practiced draughtsman, added 
 some verbal memoranda to the sketch, and 
 handed it to Burke triumphantly. 
 
 "With that little bit of information you 
 might have come out better, ' ' he said. 
 
 "This is extremely important, Mr. Jackson," 
 said Burke, "and I thank you heartily. If you 
 will leave me your address I will send for you if 
 I should need you as a witness. I suppose I 
 may count on you?" 
 
 "I'll be glad to help you out," he answered. 
 4 'One Indian more or less in the world don't 
 signify; but I'd really like to know if that high- 
 bred, unsociable chap was planning a murder all 
 the time he was smoking his cigars." 
 
 Antonio heard with alarm that the identifica- 
 tion of the dagger pointed to that of the mur- 
 derer. He absolutely refused to allow his 
 lawyer to petition for a new trial. His mind 
 was attuned to the heroic serenity of a martyr 
 inspired by his faith to die with smiling lips. 
 To waver in his purpose would be to falter in 
 devotion to Dorothea. He realized more prac- 
 tically than before the nature of that disgrace 
 250 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 and contumely, from association with which he 
 had delivered her. Through Burke he had 
 begged her not to visit him before the end. 
 "She must not be seen speaking to an Indian 
 convict," he had said, and Burke had agreed 
 with him. 
 
 Failing to persuade his unreasonable client, 
 Burke did not communicate to him another 
 possibility which he had been considering, and 
 without announcing his intention he left on the 
 night train for Sacramento. The Governor's 
 wife was his cousin. This was a fact of minor 
 importance where abstract justice was con- 
 cerned. The Govirnor was not a man to yield 
 to personal influence, least of all to feminine 
 persuasions, but his wife was a woman of infinite 
 tact, and by those indirect methods which 
 clever women can employ unsuspected, she was 
 able to advance causes which she had deeply at 
 heart, even in the realm of politics. Burke's 
 family was one of the most influential in the 
 state, with an enviable record of public services. 
 He was the last survivor in his line, but his 
 name had weight, and his father's memory was 
 still a power to conjure with in a society warm- 
 hearted enough to preserve the ties of friendship 
 beyond one generation. 
 
 Burke was enabled to reach the Governor's 
 251 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ear. He was given such time as was needed for 
 the full presentation of the subject he had at 
 heart. The Governor listened with strict 
 impartiality; yefc, in spite of himself, his knowl- 
 edge of Burke 's absolute honesty and unemo- 
 tional rectitude led him to yield an easier 
 credence to his view of the case. He entered 
 into it heart and soul. It possessed peculiar 
 features which interested him. He sat up at 
 night alone reviewing the evidence. 
 
 Burke did not dare to urge haste. He spent 
 a couple of weeks with his cousin, being feasted 
 and lionized, and condemned to dance attend- 
 ance at balls, concerts and public receptions. 
 He became decidedly popular and was offered a 
 lucrative position in the state government by 
 the father of one of the pretty girls with whom 
 he danced. There are avenues of advancement 
 open to a man who is related to the Governor, 
 and has handsome brown eyes which say far 
 more than he intends. 
 
 But Burke's heart was with Dorothea by the 
 seashore, and his thoughts were often with 
 Antonio in his cell. He was impatient for 
 release ; and at last the Governor admitted him 
 to a private interview. 
 
 "I have taken all the time you have given 
 me," he said. "I suppose you are growing as 
 252 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 nervous as if your own neck was in peril. 
 Well, I can not grant a pardon. I do not con- 
 sider myself justified by the evidence. How did 
 the Indian become possessed of the dagger, still 
 supposing that he committed the crime? The 
 stranger disappeared. Who can say that he was 
 not himself murdered and robbed in the moun- 
 tains? The Indians were most of them drunk 
 that day. On the other hand, it is possible, 
 quite possible, that your suppositions are correct. 
 We can not proceed upon a mere supposition ; 
 but I do feel justified in commuting the sentence 
 from hanging to imprisonment for life. Person- 
 ally I am opposed to capital punishment; and 
 such a sentence satisfies my idea of extreme jus- 
 tice. I hope it will in a measure satisfy you." 
 
 Burke expressed his gratitude. As a lawyer 
 this was as much as he had dared to hope. He 
 was so full of joy in his success and in the pros- 
 pect of his return to Dorothea with the news, 
 that he showed far less sorrow than was fitting 
 in his parting with the pretty girl, who forth- 
 with dismissed him not unregretted from her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Father Gaspara was with Antonio in his dis- 
 mal cell when the news of the commutation of 
 the sentence reached him, grudgingly an- 
 253 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 nounced by the warden, who felt the chagrin of 
 a stage manager whose star actor disappoints 
 him at the eleventh hour, requiring the return 
 of all tickets at the door. Several hundred 
 spectators would be disappointed in a promised 
 sensation. "And what's the good of it?" he 
 queried. "A man might as well be dead as 
 buried alive in a prison." 
 
 Father Gaspara wrung Antonio's hand with 
 kindly sympathy, feeling an emotion which sur- 
 prised himself. This Indian heretic had won 
 the heart of the soldier-like priest by the genu- 
 ine manliness of his patience. "I prayed that 
 you might be given space to repent and to find 
 the way home into the Church," he said. 
 "Now you will have time, a lifetime, for 
 thought and reflection. There may be grace, 
 not punishment, in that." 
 
 Antonio was glad. The instinct of youthful 
 strength rejoiced in the grant of a new life, any 
 life, the narrowest, most fettered, in exchange 
 for the cruel ignominy of the halter and the 
 convict's grave. His thoughts sang a pgean of 
 joy as he considered Dorothea's satisfaction. 
 She had escaped a lifelong regret. He had 
 been willing to give his life that she might be 
 free from an inherited curse which would brand 
 her and her children with disgrace, but his own 
 254 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 death upon the gallows, he had foreseen, would 
 cast a haunting shadow into the background of 
 her happiest thought. Now she would be able 
 to forget him. The convict in a distant prison 
 would have her sympathy, but his image would 
 fade little by little from the heart that would be 
 full of other loves and interests. Antonio had 
 walked too far within the shadows of the dark 
 valley to feel a selfish sadness upon reaching 
 this conclusion. On the contrary, he was up- 
 lifted as far beyond the things of earth as if 
 he had already died, and could survey the 
 future with the clear vision of a disembodied 
 spirit. 
 
 He rejoiced in the success of the sacrifice 
 which he had made. Each day that he should 
 spend in prison would be a day dedicated to her 
 service. His life could not be useless, vague 
 and empty lived in the inspiration of this con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 Dorothea was seated on the sand watching the 
 waves of the surf in their slow retreat across 
 the shelving beach, where they spread out a 
 wide strip of foam like a flounce of delicate lace 
 upon the swaying garment of a Nereid advanced 
 and withdrawn to the rhythm of her dancing 
 feet. There was a peachy bloom in the eky, 
 255 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 and the water shone with opalescent tints, melt- 
 ing into the soft color of the distant headlands. 
 In front of her the sky-line was broken here and 
 there by a white sail, receding into the space 
 beyond the curving shoulder of the ocean. 
 
 She was sunk in a melancholy revery, and 
 glad of loneliness and the wide outlook over the 
 water. There is consolation in vast spaces 
 where the soul can lose itself in a realization of 
 the pettiness of life's grinding cares. 
 
 "Like as the waves make to the pebbly shore, 
 so do our moments hasten to their end." These 
 words sang themselves over and over in her 
 mind. Yes, there was an end to everything, 
 to joy, and grief, and life, and love, and every 
 passion of the restless human heart, beating as 
 ineffectually against the barriers of fate as these 
 fretted waves against the shore. 
 
 There was a step upon the gravel, and 
 Dorothea looked up in surprise as Burke 's 
 voice spoke her name. He threw himself beside 
 her and took her hand and kissed it, allowing 
 her time to recover her composure before he 
 met her eyes. 
 
 "I bring good news," he said quickly. 
 "The sentence is commuted to life imprison- 
 ment." 
 
 To his surprise Dorothea burst into tears. 
 256 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "It is almost as cruel," she said, "and quite as 
 unjust. He is innocent." 
 
 "But that can not be proved," said Burke. 
 "I have worked hard to save him, and this is 
 the best that I could do." 
 
 "Thank you," she answered. "It was good 
 of you." 
 
 Her tone and the manner in which she 
 accepted his work, thinking far less of him 
 than of Antonio, gave Burke a keen pang of 
 jealousy. He rose and walked along the shore 
 as if absorbingly interested in the shells and 
 seaweed tossed out of reach of the ebbing tide, 
 until, at a distance from Dorothea, he seated 
 himself upon a rock and began flinging pebbles 
 into the sea. His thoughts were in a tumult. 
 He had been patient, but patience was at an 
 end. The personal side of love, its eager de- 
 mands, its imperious desires, absorbed him; 
 and he felt self-pity and a deep chagrin. 
 
 Dorothea watched him wonderingly at first, 
 then, with a quick comprehension of his mood, 
 she followed him and stood beside him. 
 
 "My friend, I have done you an injustice," 
 she said, in a constrained voice. "I made you 
 a promise which I can not keep. I won your 
 assistance under false pretences. I have con- 
 ceded too much, and I have been false to you. 
 257 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 There is the ring you gave me. I ask my free- 
 dom and I give you yours." 
 
 Burke took the ring, looked at it as it lay 
 within his palm, looked up into Dorothea's eyes ; 
 then turned and with a quick motion flung the 
 shining circlet into the sea after the pebbles. 
 Dorothea regarded him with grave wonder, as 
 one might observe the action of a pettish child. 
 
 "You have reason to be angry," she said. 
 "I have treated you very badly. I humbly ask 
 your pardon ; but I meant no harm. I did not 
 know that my heart would turn to dust and 
 ashes. I can never love you, and you would not 
 wish a wife who gave only duty." 
 
 "No, no," said Burke. "I wish you, heart 
 and soul, all for my own. I wonder how I 
 could be so patient, could consent to such an 
 unnatural position." Here he paused, re- 
 membering the unselfish impulse which had 
 moved him to offer her the protection of his 
 name. He had descended far from that lofty 
 plane. He hesitated, regretting his words ; but 
 Dorothea had turned away. 
 
 "I thank you heartily for all your kindness to 
 me and to Antonio," she said, over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 At the sound of this name Burke drew his 
 brows together into a frown, as if a physical 
 258 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 pain had pierced his heart. He did not move 
 nor speak, but sat with bent head, intently 
 watching the shining gravel as if looking among 
 it for the return of the diamond which he had 
 flung into the waves. 
 
 259 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Burke returned to Hilton and resumed his 
 practice in the district, and his attendance upon 
 the court in town. He found that he had lost 
 the popularity which is conditional upon phe- 
 nomenal success, and that he had a certain 
 amount of prejudice to live down; but with 
 dogged fidelity of purpose he set himself to this 
 end. He realized that youth was over, and was 
 conscious of his three or four gray hairs. At 
 such a time business possesses an absorbing 
 interest. A man takes to it as he might take to 
 drink to escape reflection. 
 
 Hard work well directed never fails of its end. 
 He soon regained his prestige, and was regarded 
 as a rising man. His friends urged him to live in 
 town, considering that he was buried in a little 
 country place. When he was in the city he 
 was made much of, and invited about, and 
 maids and widows, with shy persistence, set 
 their caps for him. It was universally con- 
 ceded that such a man should not be allowed to 
 die a bachelor. 
 
 Habit, which crystallizes fast at thirty-five, 
 261 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 attached Burke to Hilton and its neighborhood. 
 When Mr. Wilson sold the place which he had 
 long since deserted, Burke became the pur- 
 chaser. Its former owners now lived in San 
 Francisco. Bessie was married, and Mrs. Jen- 
 nings, who had become mildly deranged, was in 
 a private sanitarium, her recovery not being 
 considered hopeless. 
 
 As owner of Casa Blanca, Burke withdrew 
 the suit from the superior court against the 
 Indians ; and they were allowed to exist undis- 
 turbed upon the barren reservation, where each 
 year the ratio of deaths exceeded that of births, 
 and the slow process of the extermination of the 
 race continued. Mrs. Aguilar's health having 
 failed, she had taken a reluctant farewell of her 
 charges, and had gone to live with a relative 
 upon a ranch near the coast. Her place was 
 supplied by a young woman who had red hair, 
 wore eye-glasses, and knew no Spanish, which 
 conjunction of circumstances made her univer- 
 sally unpopular. 
 
 In his leisure hours Burke devoted himself in 
 his new character of land-owner to the improve- 
 ment of his property. He remodelled and 
 refurnished the house; replanted the grounds, 
 and by the introduction of an elaborate irrigat- 
 ing system he transformed the garden into a 
 263 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 wilderness of palms and roses. His orchards 
 doubled their yield of plums and peaches, apri- 
 cots and figs. His vineyard spread where the 
 chaparral had once grown undisturbed ; and the 
 winery which he started, under the direction of 
 an Italian foreman, bade fair to gain a reputa- 
 tion for its vintage. 
 
 Mrs. Hereford was hia regular correspondent, 
 and through her he learned of Dorothea's move- 
 ments. She was travelling abroad with friends, 
 but had completed her three years' tour and was 
 soon to return to California. Burke thought of 
 her constantly. He kept her photograph in a 
 conspicuous place upon his dressing-table. 
 When he planned for the future, she was fore- 
 most in his dreams. When he fancied the 
 pressure of children's forms against his shoul- 
 der, it was with her eyes that they regarded 
 him. 
 
 One day in early spring he was strolling 
 over the mesas of Casa Blanca, enjoying the 
 exhilarating quality of the air, which was of a 
 crystalline purity. As far as the eye could 
 reach, the blue lilac had spread a mantle of 
 tenderest azure upon the hillsides until the color 
 of the sky was reflected from the earth as if 
 from a mirror. He walked upon a carpet of 
 many-colored flowers, and as he descended the 
 263 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 slope, guided by a mountain brook, he trod on 
 verdurous grass, while lace-like ferns hung sus- 
 pended within touch of the rushing water, that 
 plunged and tumbled over the rocks until it 
 flowed in a sober stream at the bottom of the 
 canon. Following its course, Burke came upon 
 the site of the Bonanza mine. The path which 
 he had descended was the one which Fairfax 
 had climbed, hounded by terror, when the long 
 drought had dried the waterfall, and flowers and 
 grass were dead and sere. 
 
 The Bonanza mine was no longer a scene of 
 desolation and decay. Men and horses were 
 busy here. Carts were being loaded and un- 
 loaded; a steam pump was noisily at work, and 
 carpenters' hammers were resounding within 
 the stamping-mill. 
 
 Burke paused in surprise to inquire the cause 
 of the sudden transformation of the scene. 
 
 "Haven't you heard, Mr. Burke?" said the 
 foreman. "The mine is to be pumped out and 
 set to running again. There is the boss and 
 her engineer over on the rock yonder. The 
 boss is a lady, Miss Dorothea Fairfax." 
 
 Burke colored in boyish agitation as he saw 
 
 Dorothea, and was aware that although she had 
 
 recognized him, she delayed to greet him, being 
 
 in earnest conversation with a young man whose 
 
 264 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 remarks were demanding her attention. He 
 was a well-dressed and self-assertive young man, 
 who carried a note-book and pencil, and was 
 earnestly enlarging on a subject which seemed 
 to be of equal interest to both. 
 
 Burke sat down on a heap of stones and 
 waited. Dorothea gradually approached him, 
 and he had time to observe every detail of her 
 appearance, the trim dark dress, the straw hat 
 set upon the shining hair, the face and figure 
 which had grown rounder and more mature, 
 and endowed with the subtle charm which years 
 bring to the woman whose girlhood has just 
 been left behind. There was more alertness in 
 her movements, more decision in her looks. 
 Her smile was bright, but there was a tender 
 melancholy in the curves of her mouth. To 
 Burke she was in an instant what she had always 
 been, the dearest object in life. 
 
 He felt a pang of misery in the thought that 
 she could be near him, yet not his to claim and 
 cherish. He chided the folly of the pride which 
 had kept him silent during the absence of years. 
 Other influences had crowded him from the 
 place that might have been his if he had 
 deserved to keep it. 
 
 Dorothea stood before him, pronounced his 
 name and gave him her hand. She introduced 
 265 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 Mr. Hamilton of San Francisco, for whom 
 Burke immediately felt an instinctive ill-will. 
 
 "Perhaps yon do not know that I am to be 
 your neighbor, Mr. Burke," she said. "I heard 
 long ago that you had bought Casa Blanca. 
 I am going to operate the gold mine in what 
 you will consider, no doubt, a very foolish way. 
 The Indians are to work it for me, and the 
 profits are to be divided on the co-operative 
 plan. For some time there will be no profits ; 
 but the Indians will get their wages as 
 day -laborers. It will be a great help to 
 them." 
 
 Burke had noticed that the foreman alone was 
 a white man. Indians wielded the shovel, pick 
 and hammer. 
 
 "Of course, it is going to be immensely 
 expensive," said Mr. Hamilton, with the air of 
 one who conferred a favor by the explanation, 
 "to pump out the mine, and put in new 
 machinery ; and the ore is low grade ; but we 
 are going to use a new process that will save a 
 great deal after the first outlay is accounted for. 
 We do not expect to make our fortune, do we, 
 Miss Fairfax? but in two years I venture to say 
 we will be making our running expenses, in five 
 years a good profit." 
 
 Burke looked keenly at Dorothea, who 
 266 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 blushed a little, reading jealous interrogation in 
 his eyes. Burke did not know that this assump- 
 tion of partnership applied only in a business 
 sense; that Mr. Hamilton was the least senti- 
 mental of men; and that Dorothea tolerated a 
 certain amount of familiarity only on the score 
 of his value to her as a man of absolute reli- 
 ability in his particular line of work. 
 
 Burke became suddenly conscious of middle 
 age, of awkwardness, of miserable inferiority to 
 this active young man of affairs, who sprang 
 about at Dorothea's side, up and down banks of 
 slippery shale, tracing the course of a new cause- 
 way, of a new tunnel ; describing new and im- 
 proved machinery for the stamping-mill, and 
 insisting that she should know and understand 
 each detail of the undertaking. Dorothea's 
 spirits drooped at last under the influence of an 
 unsympathetic presence. She looked anxiously 
 at Burke, who felfc ashamed of his ill-humor and 
 was trying to appear at ease. 
 
 "When you are tired of it down here perhaps 
 you will both come up to my house to lunch- 
 eon," he said. "I am just settled for a month's 
 vacation at Casa Blanca. You remember the 
 house, Doro Miss Fairfax ; but you would not 
 know it, it is quite transformed. Leonore is 
 my cook, and she will be happy to serve you and 
 267 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 your friend, I am sure, with the best of her 
 ability." 
 
 Dorothea hesitated. "I am staying at the 
 school-house," she replied. "Mr. Hamilton is 
 camping with some friends in the neighbor- 
 hood. I fancy he will accept your invitation. 
 I must decline." 
 
 "If it is for lack of a chaperon," said Burke, 
 "I will invite the red-haired schoolteacher." 
 
 "Some other time," said Dorothea. "Yes, 
 I think I am tired, and I will go home now. 
 The school-house still seems like home." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton also declined Burke 's invita- 
 tion, greatly to the relief of the latter, and 
 as the young engineer refused to be diverted 
 from his occupation, Burke found himself walk- 
 ing down the narrow path at Dorothea's side. 
 Half-way to the road she paused and hesitated. 
 
 "It was on this spot they tell me the murder 
 was committed," she said; and she stood fasci- 
 nated, looking at the ground as if she could 
 detect the trace of blood. "I could hardly 
 bring myself at first to pass the spot, " she con- 
 tinued. "A horrible nervous dread took pos- 
 session of me every time I came into the canon ; 
 but I determined to overcome it, and have in a 
 measure succeeded. ' ' 
 
 "Do you remember the time of the sand- 
 268 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 storm?" asked Burke, "and how you sat beside 
 me and held my hand when you were nervous?" 
 
 Dorothea grew rosy red. "It is impossible to 
 meet again without those old days coming back 
 to memory," she said. "It makes our position 
 very difficult. I dreaded that, too, when I 
 came back to Casa Blanca ; but since I mean to 
 live here we may as well become accustomed to 
 it. I am to build a house on my land in the 
 canon, and Mrs. Aguilar is coming to live with 
 me again." 
 
 It was Burke 's turn to feel the shudder of a 
 nervous dread. 
 
 "Oh, Dorothea, not on that land, not in the 
 canon where the murder was committed," he 
 said urgently. "I can not allow you to do 
 that." 
 
 "It is my own feeling," she said, looking at 
 him in surprise, "but I thought it a foolish 
 weakness." 
 
 "I will tell you what I will do," he con- 
 tinued. "I have been looking for a tenant for 
 my house. It is absurd for a lonely bachelor to 
 occupy a place like that. I will move out to- 
 morrow and rent it to you and Mrs. Aguilar at 
 your own terms." 
 
 "Are you in earnest?" she asked. "Are you 
 really meaning to rent?" 
 269 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "To the first comer," said Burke, stoutly. 
 "I should prefer a good tenant like yourself. It 
 will be a convenience to both of us." 
 
 Dorothea invited him into the school-house to 
 discuss the proposition. 
 
 "In the presence of the red hair?" asked 
 Burke, reluctantly. "No, come to the white 
 house with me, Miss Fairfax. Leonore will be 
 chaperon, if you need one ; and on the spot you 
 can decide more satisfactorily whether you like 
 the place. " 
 
 Dorothea assented, her heart beating fast as 
 she followed him along the garden path which 
 she had last trodden so long ago. She ex- 
 claimed with delight at the changes he had 
 made, wandering about the garden among the 
 tropical plants, and dipping her fingers in the 
 spouting water of the restored fountain that 
 plashed upon a bed of blue and yellow water 
 lilies among which the Egyptian lotus reared its 
 stately pink blossoms. 
 
 "How beautiful it is!" she exclaimed. 
 "Exactly as I used to fancy it must have been 
 in the Englishman's time. I used to believe he 
 had planned it for some one he cared for, and 
 that he was disappointed in love. How strange 
 it is to think that I am now the owner of his 
 gold mine and am going to live in his house! 
 270 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Are yon very sure you do not wish to live here 
 yourself, Mr. Burke?" 
 
 Burke 's heart yearned with its unspoken 
 eloquence; but he answered grimly, "A man 
 who lays out the money which a water system 
 costs in California can not afford to gratify his 
 wishes." 
 
 Dorothea forthwith plunged into business. 
 She offered a generous rent, and Burke let her 
 have it for a third less, considering that she 
 would be a careful tenant. He added that he 
 would require a lease, and, Dorothea consenting, 
 he led her into the ground-floor office, where he 
 prepared to draw it up. The office was trans- 
 formed into a luxurious study, but upon the 
 wall still hung the map upon which Mr. Wilson 
 had traced the boundary of the Indians' land. 
 Dorothea paced the floor as Burke wrote, now 
 and then pausing in her walk to look at the map 
 and the pictures on the wall. 
 
 "How strange, how very strange!" she re- 
 peated ; then with a change of tone she added, 
 "I have not told you of my great sorrow in 
 papa's loss. He disappeared. He never came 
 to his Dorothea as he promised. His friends do 
 not know whether he is alive or dead, but I 
 know. My papa would not desert me if he 
 lived." 
 
 271 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke stopped in his writing and watched the 
 tears that stole upon her cheeks, feeling an 
 almost irresistible impulse to kiss them away. 
 
 "Never mind," she said, stifling her grief. 
 "Go on with your writing. I must be going 
 home." 
 
 "Shall I make it for a year?" he inquired. 
 "Can I count on you for as long as that?" 
 
 "I shall spend my life here," she answered, 
 "but you may make it for a year, and I will 
 renew it annually if you are willing. My trip 
 about the world was my last outing. I mean 
 to give my life, the rest of it, to work among 
 these Indians." 
 
 Burke 's look clouded a little. The invincible 
 barrier was still between them. He had hoped 
 that Dorothea had forgotten. 
 
 "I started to tell you," she continued, "that 
 papa's gold mines in South America have 
 realized a fortune, and through Mr. Hereford's 
 kindness in going down there and looking after 
 my affairs, I have been able to prove a claim to 
 them and receive a share of the profits. You 
 need not have given me the rent so cheaply, Mr. 
 Burke. I am a rich woman. I wanted to give 
 a great deal to these Indians here, but Antonio 
 advised me to give nothing but work. The 
 gold mine scheme is his plan." She hesitated 
 272 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 and blushed, meeting Burke's sombre look. 
 "I have not seen him since he has been in 
 prison," she added, "but he writes to me once 
 a month." 
 
 Burke signed the lease and handed her the 
 pen in silence. She affixed her name and 
 turned quickly away. "Miss Green will be 
 waiting for me," she said. 
 
 "I was going to offer to show you the house," 
 said Burke, "but another time will do." 
 
 "I am rather curious about it, too," she 
 replied, retracing her steps. "Suppose we look 
 about a little." 
 
 "Come, Leonore," called Burke. "I want 
 you to show a lady over the house. " 
 
 The dusky maid-servant appeared beaming 
 welcome. Dorothea gave her her hand. "You 
 are the only one I have not seen," she said. 
 "Your mother told me you were working here." 
 
 "Yes," said Leonore, in Spanish. "I am 
 keeping house for Mr. Burke." 
 
 u And now you will keep house for me," said 
 Dorothea. "Mr. Burke has rented the house 
 to me." 
 
 "Are you going to marry him?" asked 
 Leonore. 
 
 Dorothea blushed and shook her head. 
 Burke was out of sight, but not out of hearing. 
 273 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 He dropped into a chair and stared reflectively 
 into the distance. "Shall I ever dare to ask her 
 that question again," he murmured, "and how 
 will she answer me?" 
 
 Leonore, full of importance, led the guest of 
 honor from room to room, expatiating on the 
 changes and improvements, a new window here, 
 a balcony there, furniture and carpets in the 
 latest style from town. She flung open the 
 door of a beautiful bedroom, which was 
 the object of her especial pride. "This is 
 his room," she said. "There is his desk and 
 chair by the window. He likes to look down 
 yonder at the school-house and the ranch eria. 
 It is a pretty view. And this is his dressing- 
 table, and he has silver things like yours, 
 Sefiorita ; and that is your picture in the frame. 
 I dust it every morning." 
 
 Dorothea looked with some emotion at the 
 semblance of herself thus honored and cher- 
 ished ; and feeling that her presence here was an 
 intrusion, she hurried from the room, and left 
 the house without again encountering its owner. 
 
 274 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A week later, Dorothea and her aunt were 
 settled as residents in the white house on the 
 hill ; and life went on in a smooth and orderly 
 course, as it does after the most violent disturb- 
 ance of routine, the new immediately becoming 
 the customary. 
 
 In the midst of crowding interests, Dorothea 
 was conscious of a vague regret. Something 
 was lacking in her life, and it was'not Antonio's 
 presence, for she had long since adjusted herself 
 to the inevitable. 
 
 The uneasiness she felt was caused by the 
 consciousness that Burke still loved her and 
 blamed her for the ruin of his happiness. 
 There was exquisite flattery in this constancy of 
 devotion. It was inevitable that in return her 
 thoughts should dwell upon the pathos of his 
 lonely life, and that she should recognize with a 
 quickened appreciation all that was admirable 
 in his character. It seemed to her now that she 
 had never really known him, so much was 
 revealed in the light of tender sympathy. 
 
 The little broken tendril of her destiny was 
 275 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 quickened into new life, and fixed itself with 
 gentle strength upon the object of its earliest 
 attachment. Antonio was not forgotten ; but a 
 heavy shadow hung where the prison doors had 
 closed, and it was impossible for her thoughts 
 to bridge the gulf between the past and present. 
 
 It was to Burke that the warm tide of living 
 affection turned, for the first time conscious of 
 itself and rejoicing in its power to bless. She 
 loved him the more for the new humility which 
 kept him silent while his eyes spoke a language 
 which she could not misunderstand; but she 
 wondered that he could not with equal astute- 
 ness read her heart ; and it vexed her that he 
 chose to be a formal and infrequent visitor, 
 relinquishing the claim of old acquaintance with 
 the habits of the past. 
 
 "I believe that Harry Burke agrees with our 
 gossiping neighbors that you are interested in 
 Mr. Hamilton," said Mrs. Aguilar one day 
 when she was alone with her niece. 
 
 "Impossible!" cried Dorothea, with indig- 
 nant warmth. "How could he imagine such a 
 thing?" 
 
 "It is natural enough, I am sure," was the 
 
 reply. "I do not wonder people think of it. 
 
 If Harry did not have some such idea he would 
 
 not keep so much in the background, when it is 
 
 276 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 easy to see he loves you as much as ever. I am 
 sorry for him, for I think he is a very unhappy 
 man." 
 
 Sweet and bitter were mingled for Dorothea 
 in these suggestions ; but a girlish shyness over- 
 came her under the necessity of justifying her 
 position to her aunt. 
 
 "If Harry Burke knows me no better than to 
 believe that, I think he deserves to be un- 
 happy," she said, while an enigmatical smile 
 dimpled the corners of her mouth. 
 
 She rose and looked out of the window across 
 the reaches of green hills and winding hollows 
 bathed in the dazzling radiance of noon. 
 
 "What a day for a ride!" she added irrel- 
 evantly. "I think Dandy needs the exercise as 
 well as I. Do not wait for me, dear, if I am 
 late to lunch;" and she escaped from the room 
 like a truant child. 
 
 Conscious, as she rode from the gate, that her 
 aunt's eyes were upon her, she made a wide 
 detour before taking the road to Hilton. 
 
 "Why did I do that?" she asked herself 
 guiltily; and for answer she smiled and blushed, 
 and patted her horse's neck. "You will never 
 tell, will you, Dandy?" she said. 
 
 The ten miles were quickly passed; but 
 within sight of the uninteresting little town set 
 277 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 in the midst of a level mesa upon which the 
 sunlight blazed unrelieved by the shade of trees, 
 she drew rein and rode slowly. Why had she 
 come? She wished to make no purchases at the 
 store, for the store at Casa Blanca, now owned 
 by Burke and made respectable by the elimina- 
 tion of the gin-shop, was always ready to supply 
 her commissions by orders far and wide. She 
 had no acquaintance in Hilton to whom she 
 stood sufficiently in debt to make the idea of a 
 morning call tolerable. She might visit her 
 landlord. During a sudden rain-storm the 
 woodshed roof had sprung a leak. It was 
 hardly of more pressing importance than the 
 leaky roof of the Arkansas farmer, for there 
 might not be another rain in months. Still, 
 a careful housekeeper will prepare for emer- 
 gencies. 
 
 She entered the town and descended by 
 Burke 's office door, where she tied her horse at 
 a post, looking carefully about her the while, 
 but unperceived by any one but the Argus-eyed 
 landlady of the hotel opposite, who appeared to 
 Dorothea's uneasy consciousness to take the 
 avenging form of Mrs. Grundy herself. 
 
 Defying her, she entered the office, the door 
 standing conveniently ajar. Burke was absent. 
 There was a superadded smell of fresh tobacco 
 278 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 in the air. His desk was strewn with books and 
 papers. He would no doubt soon return. She 
 seated herself in the arm-chair where he had sat 
 when she had engaged him to defend Antonio 
 at what price? She had made him a promise ; 
 he had kissed her lips to seal it; she had 
 accepted his work, the best results of his skill, 
 only to resume the gift and break the promise. 
 
 She rose and moved restlessly about. Upon 
 the desk lay a fresh sheet of paper originally 
 intended for some important legal document; 
 but across its surface Burke had scrawled a 
 name, scribbling idly in some pause of work, or 
 in the vacancy of a lonely moment. The name 
 repeated with many curls and flourishes was 
 always the same, Dorothea. 
 
 She felt the stirring of a deep remorse 
 mingled with a swelling tide of tender joy. "I 
 owe him all that I promised," she thought, 
 "and I will give him much, much more than I 
 could dream of then." 
 
 She bent above the paper where his hand had 
 rested, took up the pen which he had used, and 
 across the blank surface of the sheet she wrote 
 his name, Harry, Harry, twenty times repeated. 
 
 "How foolish he will think me !" she thought, 
 smilingly. "What will he say if he finds me 
 here?" 
 
 279 
 
A SOUL in BBONZE 
 
 The door opened, and a rusty -garbed client, 
 wearing a battered sombrero, stuck his head 
 within. "Mr. Burke in?" he asked. 
 
 "He is out," stammered Dorothea. "He 
 will soon be in;" and she fled, pursued by 
 shame, and remounting, took the hill-road to 
 Casa Blanca at the best speed of her fleet-limbed 
 horse. 
 
 As the cool wind fanned her blushing cheeks, 
 she asked herself again and again, "What will 
 he think of me? What will he say? What will 
 he do?" 
 
 Burke came into his office, found his client 
 waiting, and sat down to hear his story. It was 
 while he was listening to a rambling disserta- 
 tion, from which strict attention alone could 
 elucidate a coherent connection, that Burke's 
 eye fell upon the sheet, where he recognized 
 Dorothea's handwriting. He took the paper 
 within his hands and stared at it, while the 
 murmur of his client's voice L fell upon his ears 
 like the unregarded sighing of the wind. 
 
 In the first pause Burke roused himself and 
 said, "Come again to-morrow, Mr. Simons." 
 
 "Impossible," was the reply. "I came 
 down thirty mile to see you to-day, Mr. 
 Burke." 
 
 "I am called away on important business," 
 280 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 said Burke. "Not a moment to spare. Stay 
 all night at the hotel at my expense. We must 
 take time to look into your case." 
 
 "I thought it was simple enough. I thought 
 you could give me an hour's time and finish it 
 up." 
 
 "Very complicated, important to go slow," 
 called Burke over his shoulder. He was already 
 half-way to the door. "Stay a week at my 
 expense, if necessary. I will be back when I 
 can." 
 
 Burke was quick in deduction, and quick in 
 action. He ran to the stable, flung the saddle 
 on his horse, and was half-way across the mesa 
 before his client had recovered from his aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "He must be in a hurry, I vow. Somebody 
 must be dying, and sent for him to make a 
 will." Mr. Simons had reached this conclusion 
 slowly, after the consumption of his third pipe. 
 Burke by that time was within sight of Doro- 
 thea and gaining rapidly upon her. 
 
 When she saw that she was pursued, her first 
 impulse was to flee yet faster, her second to 
 draw rein out of consideration for Dandy's wind 
 and for Burke's chestnut, which flung flecks of 
 foam upon the breeze as he tossed his head, 
 resenting the urgency of spur and whip. 
 281 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 She waited, trembling and blushing, but 
 steadying herself with joyful resolution. 
 
 1 'Why did you run away?" called Burke. 
 "Am I to take my wife by capture as the savages 
 do?" He rode close to her and bent and looked 
 into the eyes which she lifted shyly to his face. 
 "Speak, Dorothea," he added. "Tell me what 
 you meant. I am not to be trifled with. Dis- 
 appointment now would make me desperate." 
 
 "I meant what you did when you wrote my 
 name," she answered. 
 
 He put his arm about her waist. The horses 
 stood close together, head to head, questioning 
 each other with sensitive nostrils. 
 
 "I am under avow," said Burke, in a broken 
 voice. "Did I not promise never to kiss my 
 betrothed until she offered me a kiss?" 
 
 "Take it," said Dorothea. "Take me. I 
 love you, Harry, and am lonely without you." 
 
 The horses wondered that, after putting their 
 mettle so severely to the test, their riders let 
 them have then* way during the remainder of 
 the ascent. If they chose to swerve aside and 
 nibble at the fresh young shoots in the thicket 
 there was no one to resent the dereliction. 
 
 "You must wear the blue lilac in your wed- 
 ding veil," said Burke, and he plucked a spray 
 of ceanothus and fastened it in her hair. 
 282 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 "It will soon be out of bloom," she answered. 
 "The orange blossoms last all the year." 
 
 "But I am not going to wait all the year," 
 he responded. "Our engagement now has 
 lasted four years. I believe in God's sight it 
 has never been broken." 
 
 Her hand trembled within his. She remem- 
 bered the diamond that had been flung into the 
 sea ; she remembered the grief of those days ; 
 she remembered Antonio. 
 
 "Will you marry me to-morrow?" he asked. 
 
 With a quick change of feeling she laughed 
 merrily. "I can not marry till my lease is up," 
 she said. "You have no house to offer me." 
 
 "I will beg you to share your house with me," 
 he replied. "Seriously, Dorothea, I have made 
 up my mind to an immediate marriage." 
 
 "It takes two to make a bargain," she re- 
 minded him. 
 
 "You offered yourself to me," he declared. 
 
 "But next year will do as well as to-morrow," 
 she answered ; then, as Burke gave her a look of 
 real reproach, she raised her eyes to his and 
 declared, "It shall be before the lilac is out of 
 bloom." 
 
 Marta Lachusa, with Felipe for amanuensis, 
 wrote one day the following letter to her brother : 
 
 283 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I will tell you about the wedding. We all 
 worked to gather the blue lilac for the church 
 until it was so thick you could not see the 
 green, though the boughs were fresh cut, and 
 she wore a wreath of it over her white veil. 
 The priest was not Father Gaspara, but he 
 blessed them as well as if he was a Catholic. 
 
 "She was the happiest bride I ever saw, for 
 she did not shed a tear. He made the promises 
 as if he meant it, and when they came out of 
 church he laughed and joked and shook hands 
 with all of us. They went off in a carriage. 
 I saw him kiss her as he got in. "We had a 
 grand dinner out of doors on big tables. 
 
 "Felipe is tired, so no more from 
 
 "YOUR SISTER MARTA." 
 
 284 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Dorothea's son was born the following year, 
 at the time of the blossoming of the lilac, and 
 she declared that his name was to be Anthony, 
 the less melodious English equivalent for a name 
 still dear to her. "We can call him Tony," she 
 said to Burke, who looked his objections, but 
 did not dare to formulate them. What will a 
 man deny to the wife who holds his first-born in 
 her arms? 
 
 Life at Casa Blanca ran on like a peaceful 
 stream from year to year, becoming ever more 
 and more absorbed into the growing life of the 
 little Anthony. Its anniversaries were all con- 
 nected with his history, the day his first tooth 
 came, the day he took his first step alone, the 
 day he first rode out before his father on his 
 horse; and it was well for all when this sole 
 despotism ceased at the birth of his sister 
 Dora. 
 
 Tony was now five years old, and could talk 
 in English and Spanish, and lorded it over the 
 little Indians as he did over his parents and his 
 godmother, Mrs. Aguilar; but he was shy and 
 reserved in the presence of the newcomer, and 
 285 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 confided to his father that he was afraid to touch 
 the baby for fear of breaking her. 
 
 Burke was now allowed the more frequent 
 company of his son and heir, since he had be- 
 come a big boy upon sudden promotion ; and he 
 took him trips with him about the country; 
 took him to court, and was proud of his answers 
 and his sunny sociability ; took him to his office 
 at Hilton, and let him sit upon the desk where 
 his father and mother had scribbled their mutual 
 declaration of love ; and gave him the freedom 
 of his pencils and a delightful old ledger to 
 write in. Tony looked and listened with a 
 deep-rooted purpose. It was his plan to be a 
 lawyer, and one more famous than his father. 
 
 One day Burke rode to Hilton, feeling the 
 loneliness of an unaccustomed solitude. This 
 reminded him of the blessings with which his 
 life was crowned. He was sorry for any man 
 who had to live alone. He was sorry for his old 
 chum Nelson, who was walking towards him 
 along the road in the same old hat he had worn 
 a year ago, in a coat unbrushed and fringed at 
 the lining, the sorry picture of an unambitious 
 bachelor. 
 
 Nelson, upon perceiving him, ran towards him 
 with an excited air. 
 
 "I was looking for you, Burke," he said. 
 286 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I knew you would be going to Hilton, and I 
 waited here to meet you. I want you to leave 
 your horse at my house yonder, and come back 
 with me up into the mountains. I want to 
 show you something." 
 
 To all questionings he refused an answer. 
 44 You must see for yourself," he said. "I was 
 hunting up there on the mountain, and I left 
 my rifle and game bag to mark the spot. It is 
 something that will interest you. I want you to 
 see it before any one else." 
 
 Burke was impatient of this mystery; and 
 unwilling to scramble on a wild-goose chase up 
 precipitous heights and through tangled thick- 
 ets; but Nelson's impatience urged him on. 
 "I tell you, it is important," he said. " There 
 are legal complications connected with it. You 
 would have given all your old boots and shoes at 
 this time ten years ago for a sight of what I am 
 going to show you, though time has changed it 
 a little. "We all change with time," and he 
 laughed grimly. 
 
 Burke followed with uneasy curiosity, until, 
 after an hour's upward progress, Nelson led him 
 to the edge of a steep declivity, where he found 
 his rifle and game bag as he had left them. 
 "This is the spot," he said. "Look down 
 there and tell me what you see." 
 287 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Burke craned his neck over the wall of a 
 natural chasm in the rocky mountain side, and 
 started in surprise. "A human skeleton!'' he 
 said. 
 
 "That is it," said Nelson. "I saw it first 
 from this place, and then I went down and took 
 a nearer look. Come on. I want you to do 
 the same." 
 
 Burke obeyed eagerly, swinging himself over 
 the cliffs until he reached the flat rock which 
 had been for many years an open sepulchre. 
 The bones were white and clean. The vultures 
 had seen to that. 
 
 "A couple of bones are broken," remarked 
 Nelson. "The man met his death by a fall. 
 Now this is what I wish you to observe. He 
 wears a belt which once was leather strength- 
 ened by silver, and the silver buckle still re- 
 mains, and here at the side is a silver sheath, 
 which is empty. It once held a dagger, and as 
 soon as I saw it I knew who this man was. He 
 was the murderer of Samuel Jennings. He 
 stabbed him with his dagger, and he took to the 
 mountains to escape. Straight down yonder, 
 you look into the canon of the Bonanza mine. 
 You can see the roof of the power house. A 
 climb up by the waterfall and over the mesa 
 would bring you to the rise of the mountain. 
 288 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 It was evening, you will remember, and you 
 know what a storm there was that night. 
 Wandering about here he lost his footing and 
 fell into this cleft of the rocks, where he would 
 remain unseen by any one approaching except 
 in the direction I happened to come. A man 
 might lie in such a spot till doomsday undiscov- 
 ered. It was by a mere chance I climbed so far. 
 Now, I thought you were the one who would be 
 interested. You still have the dagger. All 
 you need to do is to fit it to the sheath." 
 
 Burke had stooped and was quickly removing 
 the belt. He held it in his hand, and rubbed 
 the buckle free from the dust and sand which 
 had encumbered it. , It was black with oxidiza- 
 tion, but he could trace the figures deeply 
 engraved upon it. It appeared to answer the 
 description given by the man who had sold 
 the silver -handled dagger to the owner of the 
 belt. 
 
 ''This comes just ten years too late," he said, 
 "but it will secure the Indian's release. I will 
 take immediate steps to that end." He looked 
 up quickly at his friend. "This will make a 
 nine-days' wonder," he added. "I want to 
 have time to arrange matters undisturbed. 
 Please say nothing about it until I give you 
 leave." 
 
 289 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "As you please," replied Nelson. "It will 
 make a thrilling article for the papers." 
 
 "It is a strange thing," Burke reflected. 
 "Murder will out at last." 
 
 "But the strangest thing is that the Indian 
 should allow him to escape if he saw the mur- 
 der done," remarked Nelson. "He must have 
 been an accomplice and bribed to keep quiet, 
 but even then it is curious that he should risk 
 his life to do it. I have almost forgotten the 
 details of the trial, but I distinctly remember 
 that you showed me the picture of the sheath 
 drawn by the man who sold the dagger. That 
 was all that was needed to complete your line of 
 argument." 
 
 A few hours later the two men were together 
 in Burke's office at Hilton, where the lawyer 
 unlocked an unused drawer and took out the 
 famous dagger. It fitted the sheath as a hand 
 fits a glove. 
 
 Burke sat and mused, while Nelson went to a 
 closet where a rifle stood and where materials for 
 cleaning it were stored, and extracting the latter 
 he busied himself with rubbing up the silver 
 buckle, sheath and handle until all shone as 
 bright as new. Burke, arousing himself, went 
 to his desk and began to write hastily. Time 
 had flown during the long tramp up and down 
 290 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 the mountain. Dorothea had promised to call 
 for him in her low cart and drive him home. 
 It was the first time that she had heen so far in 
 months, and it was to be a gala occasion. She 
 would be disappointed to find him still busy in 
 his office. 
 
 A tap came at the door, and Dorothea herself 
 entered. "I meant to take you by surprise, " 
 she said. "I fastened the horse at the store. 
 How do you do, Mr. Nelson? I have not seen 
 you for a very long time. I hope you will come 
 oftener now to Casa Blanca. We have a little 
 new lady in the house to help do the honors." 
 
 While Nelson answered her with his brightest 
 smiles, Burke hastily gathered up his papers as 
 well as the dagger and its sheath, and thrust 
 them within the desk, which he locked, forget- 
 ting the buckle which Nelson still held. 
 
 Dorothea smiled at her husband, then turned 
 at some remark of Nelson's and noticed the 
 shining object in his hand. 
 
 "What have you there?" she asked, while 
 Nelson, responding to Burke's warning frown, 
 refrained from explanation. "Why, where in 
 the world did you get this?" she continued, in 
 an agitated tone, taking the buckle from him. 
 "It looks like, yes, it is, papa's belt buckle. I 
 can not mistake it. There could not be another 
 291 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 like it. It was given to him by an old Peruvian 
 silversmith, who made it with his own hands, 
 engraving on it a copy of the inscription of the 
 sacred stone of the Incas ; and here are papa's 
 initials on the back, 'E. F.' What does it 
 mean, Harry? What are you keeping from 
 me?" Her voice rose almost to a scream. 
 
 "Wait forme outside," whispered Burke to 
 Nelson. "Say nothing till you see me again." 
 
 4 ' Tell me, tell me, " urged Dorothea. * ' Have 
 you news of him. Tell me what you have dis- 
 covered." 
 
 Burke had quickly grasped the situation, and 
 decided on his course. 
 
 "Sit down here, dearest," he said, taking her 
 cold fingers and leading her to a seat. "Yes, 
 your father has been found. His dead body 
 was discovered in a cleft of the high Andes, 
 where it had lain for years undiscovered. He 
 must have been travelling alone in an unfre- 
 quented and dangerous part of the mountains, 
 and have missed his footing and fallen to his 
 death. The remains had become only clean 
 white bones, which were buried where they 
 were discovered, the identity having been proved 
 by this belt buckle, which, after some round- 
 about wanderings, was sent to me. I was won- 
 dering how I could best break the news to yon." 
 292 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Dorothea did not weep, but she asked eager 
 questions which Burke found it hard to answer, 
 though his quick invention under the pressure 
 of necessity contrived a plausible and coherent 
 story, with which his wife was satisfied. She 
 ceased to question, and she gazed into the dis- 
 tance with an absent-minded look, as if she saw 
 in fancy the whitening bones upon the desolate 
 mountain-side. 
 
 "It is no new grief, " she said. "In fact, it 
 is in some ways a relief. No one now can 
 accuse him of a broken faith, or imply anything 
 against him, as they do when a man mysteriously 
 disappears. He was on a journey to the gold 
 mines which he meant should make my fortune, 
 and he was planning to return to me and make 
 me happy always. Dear, dear papa, what a sad, 
 lonely death ! Some day we must make a pil- 
 grimage to that spot, no matter how inaccessible 
 and remote it is. Sometime we will visit his 
 grave together." 
 
 Burke held her hand and pressed her head 
 against his bosom, and tried to soothe her grief; 
 until, at last, she looked up at him with a 
 smile. "It is not as if he were my only love," 
 she added. "I have you and the children; but 
 it pains me that they can never know their 
 grandfather; that he can never see them." 
 293 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 Before driving home with his wife, Burke 
 found means to speak to Nelson, and to make 
 an appointment with him; and after he had 
 taken dinner with Dorothea, romped with Tony 
 and seen him safe in bed, visited the little Dora 
 in her crib, and expatiated, in response to Doro- 
 thea's eager exclamations, upon the subject of 
 her miniature perfections, he looked at his 
 watch and said, "I have just time to catch the 
 night train if I ride back to Hilton. I thought 
 you would not be happy to have me miss the 
 children's good-nights, but I learned this after- 
 noon of an important piece of business that will 
 keep me till to-morrow noon in town, and after 
 that require an absence of several days. I will 
 be back to-morrow to say good-bye, so now 
 it is only good-night." 
 
 Dorothea was too good a wife to interfere in 
 her husband's business engagements, and her con- 
 fidence in him was too absolute to require that he 
 should enter with her into the details of his affairs. 
 She was lonely when he was absent, and the sun 
 shone brightest for her when each day's joys and 
 cares could be shared together ; but she meant 
 that her love should never fetter his freedom. 
 
 "Be careful, dearest, as you ride down the 
 hills," she said. "The road is stony, and it is 
 very dark." 
 
 294 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 " There is a waning moon," he answered, 
 "and it will soon be up. I am counting upon 
 its light." 
 
 She set the lamp in the window and waved a 
 farewell until he was out of sight. 
 
 Nelson was expecting him at his house in the 
 valley, and here Burke stabled his horse and 
 joined his friend, who wore thick overalls and 
 carried a bag which contained a pick and shovel. 
 Burke divided the load with him, and together 
 they took again the difficult path over the hills, 
 which led them, as it had done earlier in the 
 day, to the mountain's almost inaccessible 
 heights. When they reached the most broken 
 part of the ascent, it was necessary to wait for 
 the rising of the moon to light the way. 
 
 "It is good of you, Nelson, to help me in 
 this," said Burke; "and I thank God it was you 
 and not another man who found the skeleton. 
 My thoughts are still in great confusion. I 
 would give worlds to be able to keep the truth 
 from Dorothea. I made up a story to-day that 
 served the purpose ; but sooner or later it must 
 come upon her like a thunderbolt. She loves 
 her father so dearly that I do not know that she 
 can be made to believe that it was he who was 
 the murderer. If she should believe it the 
 shock would almost kill her. Then there is the 
 295 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 thought of the disgrace for her and for our chil- 
 dren. The hand of God must have pointed the 
 way to this discovery ; but I feel as if the same 
 hand had smitten me. This is the greatest trial 
 of my life," 
 
 Nelson looked at the bowed head of his friend 
 with keen concern. "Why go any further in 
 the matter?" he asked. "We will bury the 
 remains as you have planned, and we will bury 
 the secret in our hearts. We are not even now 
 sure of the facts in the case. Some one may 
 have stolen Edward Fairfax's belt. These may 
 not be his bones. Why stir up a storm of 
 misery for your innocent wife and children when 
 the whole matter lies in your own choice? You 
 can command my silence. You are sure of 
 yourself. Who else is there to be considered?" 
 
 "There is the innocent prisoner at San 
 Quentin," replied Burke. 
 
 "He may not be an innocent man," said Nel- 
 son. "He is most likely an accomplice. It is 
 known that he carried the note that decoyed 
 Jennings to the spot of his assassination. Why 
 concern yourself with him? He is housed and 
 fed for a lifetime at the expense of the state. 
 What more could an Indian ask?" 
 
 Burke sighed heavily. "He is innocent," he 
 said. "A hundred forgotten things come back 
 296 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 to me, all pointing one way. I was even warned 
 that Fairfax had cause to wish for Jennings 's 
 death. There was a long-standing enmity 
 between them. Fairfax had just completed the 
 purchase of the Bonanza mine. That was the 
 reason he chose that spot for a meeting. Jen- 
 nings had cheated him in the sale and they 
 quarrelled over it. He was planning his coming 
 as a surprise to his daughter, and arrived at 
 Casa Blanca on the day of the murder, making 
 use of the horse that afterwards ran away. 
 The Indian saw him, carried his note to Jen- 
 nings, and connived at his escape, allowing him- 
 self to be committed in his place. ' ' 
 
 "What could have induced him to do that?" 
 asked Nelson, incredulously. 
 
 Burke made no answer to the question. 
 
 " Fairfax loved his daughter devotedly," he 
 continued. u He disappeared from that time. 
 If living, he would long ago have made the fact 
 known to her." 
 
 "All that is strong circumstantial evidence, 
 but no proof," said Nelson. "There is only 
 one man who could testify to the truth, and 
 that is the Indian himself ; and there is the one 
 weak link in your chain of suppositions. No 
 innocent man would yield without a struggle to 
 the chance of death on the gallows. I remem- 
 297 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 her that it impressed me as strong evidence of 
 his guilt that the prisoner had not a word to say 
 in his own defence. He could give no explana- 
 tion of his presence at the scene of the murder, 
 but kept up a dogged silence." 
 
 Burke knew at last the reason for Antonio's 
 silence. This to him was the strongest link in 
 the chain of evidence. Antonio had loved 
 Dorothea with a love which had been stronger 
 than the fear of death. Burke made no com- 
 ment on Nelson's last remarks. 
 
 "To me it is all as clear as day," he said, 
 4 'and my duty is plain. I must take immediate 
 steps to arrange for a re-opening of the case. 
 You can keep silence, Nelson, for the present. 
 I will go to-morrow to visit Lachusa, and find 
 out the truth of the matter. He will be willing 
 now to speak. His vicarious punishment has 
 been a long one." 
 
 "Don't be obstinate, Burke," said Nelson. 
 "A man's first duty is to his family. With the 
 Indian's testimony, supposing that he is inno- 
 cent as you believe, you can procure his pardon 
 from the Governor, and you will have influence 
 enough to arrange that the reason for it shall 
 not transpire. The Indian has kept the secret 
 for some reason, and he will keep it longer, 
 since he can ask no more than freedom. Your 
 298 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 conscience will be satisfied, and your wife and 
 children spared disgrace and sorrow." 
 
 "But the Indian will always bear the stain of 
 guilt," answered Burke. 
 
 "An Indian!" said Nelson, scornfully. 
 "How can it matter if he does?" 
 
 "Perhaps my wife has converted me," said 
 Burke, with a sad smile. "I am beginning to 
 believe that Indians are beings like ourselves, 
 with human affections and human feelings." 
 
 Nelson gave a scornful snort. "You are the 
 last man I thought likely to become a senti- 
 mentalist," he said. "Your good, hard sense 
 was one of your greatest virtues." 
 
 "You will lay it to the effect of marriage, and 
 become more than ever confirmed in bachelor- 
 hood. Well, the moon is rising. Let us go 
 on." 
 
 The waning moon appeared with more than 
 its customary suggestion of dismal deformity. 
 Burke felt that he was moving in a miserable 
 dream as he and Nelson, guided by the uncer- 
 tain light, made their way over the dangerous 
 cliffs to the bottom of the glen where the white 
 bones gleamed from the shadow which obscured 
 all other objects. The gradual disintegration 
 of the mountain-side and the silting of debris 
 by wind and water had filled the bottom of the 
 299 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 little canon with a bed of earth. Here the two 
 men fell to work to dig a grave ; and when it 
 was finished the remains were taken up as 
 reverently as might be and deposited within it. 
 
 They built a cairn of stones above the grave, 
 and Burke tied two sticks together in the shape 
 of a cross and set it up to mark the spot. 
 
 " Shall you say a prayer?" whispered Nelson, 
 awed by the unusual character of the task he 
 was engaged in, and by the hush of the night 
 in that lonely spot. 
 
 "God be merciful to the sin of man," said 
 Burke, as he stood with uncovered head and 
 eyes uplifted to the bright strip of sky that 
 roofed their cavern of shadow, 
 
 300 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Tony went with his father on his trip to San 
 Francisco and the north. It was his first 
 adventure into the great world, and Burke's 
 melancholy thoughts were diverted by the 
 necessity of seeing everything with his son's eyes 
 and responding to his enthusiasms. 
 
 Nothing could daunt Tony's youthful cour- 
 age. He found the gloom of a prison interest- 
 ing; but when his father left him in the 
 warden's parlor while he went to visit a prisoner 
 in his cell, the boy endured in silence the name- 
 less terrors of imagination which assail child- 
 hood, fancying himself forgotten and immured 
 there, and rehearsing the details of grewsome 
 events while the warden's wife believed her 
 silent guest to be engrossed in a picture book. 
 
 Burke was conducted through echoing cor- 
 ridors to a distant wing of the building, where 
 he was introduced into Antonio's cell. 
 
 "It is not visiting hours, but we give him 
 
 extra privileges," said the turnkey on the way. 
 
 "He must have been drunk when he did the 
 
 crime. It's the only way we can explain it, for 
 
 301 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 he's the finest man we've ever had within these 
 walls. Two years ago he quelled a mutiny 
 among the convicts and saved our lives. We 
 haven't forgotten it. We give him the best we 
 can, but that's not enough. He ought to be 
 pardoned out for good behavior." 
 
 The door was unlocked, opened, and locked 
 again behind him, and Burke, with some em- 
 barrassment, found himself alone with Antonio 
 the convict. 
 
 The Indian's glossy black hair was cropped 
 close, his tall, athletic figure was disfigured by 
 the hideous striped suit, but his eyes were 
 bright and his look serene. 
 
 "Mr. Burke!" he said in surprise, bowing as 
 if to do the honors of his cell, while he took the 
 hand which his visitor extended, and looked 
 with anxiety into his agitated face. "Is all 
 well?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 "My wife is well," said Burke, answering 
 the inner purpose of the question. "She does 
 not know of my visit to you." 
 
 Eelieved from his one fear, Antonio smiled 
 and waited for Burke to speak. 
 
 "I will proceed at once to the point," said 
 
 the latter. "I have come to arrange matters 
 
 with you so that I may at once petition for a 
 
 new trial of your case. The murderer of Sam- 
 
 302 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 uel Jennings has been discovered, himself a 
 corpse, a mouldering skeleton on the mountain 
 where he met his death on the night of the 
 sand-storm so long ago. He was identified by 
 the belt he wore. His name was Edward Fair- 
 fax. He was my wife's father. " 
 
 Antonio clutched at the back of the chair 
 before him. His head swam giddily. "Does 
 she know it?" he asked breathlessly. 
 
 "I have not yet told her," said Burke. 
 "That will come later. I will break it by 
 degrees. I want first of all to take down your 
 testimony. Are you ready to give me the exact 
 account of your meeting with Fairfax and all 
 that followed it?" 
 
 "Wait a moment," said Antonio. "Let me 
 know what it is you offer me. ' ' 
 
 "Eelease and exoneration," replied Burke. 
 "A new trial and public vindication. That will 
 be little in return for what you have already 
 suffered." 
 
 "Mr. Burke," said Antonio, "do you know 
 now why I kept silence?" 
 
 "I can guess," said Burke, with averted eyes. 
 
 "You do not blame me?" asked Antonio 
 
 "Only for injustice to yourself," replied 
 Burke. 
 
 "Then put yourself in my place. After risk- 
 303 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 ing death, and gladly accepting life imprison- 
 ment, is it likely that I would give up my 
 purpose at this late day? What new motive 
 could there be to induce me to purchase my 
 freedom at the cost of her suffering?" 
 
 "It is simple justice. You owe it to your- 
 self." 
 
 "I refuse once and for all," answered An- 
 tonio. "I even prefer that you should remain 
 in ignorance of the details of the murder. The 
 dead man is beyond the reach of justice. Let 
 his crime be forgotten." 
 
 In spite of himself, Burke felt an immense 
 lightening of the heart. He knew by Antonio's 
 look and tone that it would be useless to combat 
 this resolution. 
 
 "There is another way," he said. "I should 
 be satisfied with nothing less than your complete 
 exoneration; but I can obtain the Governor's 
 pardon for you, and. the few who must be 
 acquainted with the reasons for it will keep 
 silence for my sake. You will be free. If you 
 insist that it must be so, my wife need never 
 know the truth. I am ashamed to offer this 
 compromise with justice, but it is my most 
 earnest wish to secure your release." 
 
 Antonio turned away and walked to the win- 
 dow, where he stood looking out over the wide 
 304 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 prospect of hill and dale, interrupted in the 
 foreground by the formidably impassable prison 
 wall. His heart bounded with the thought of 
 recovered freedom. He longed to realize the 
 dreams that haunted him day and night; 
 dreams of the open mesa stretching on and on 
 to the horizon, bounded above by the fathom- 
 less vault of sky, and on either side by the ever- 
 receding hills, bounded at its furthest limit only 
 by the circumference of the round world; 
 dreams of the open ocean where the wind blew 
 strong and free, dashing the salt spray into his 
 face, and where the vastness of the horizon was 
 that of infinity; dreams of the smell of the 
 white sage and the murmur of bees and the 
 warmth of the bosom of mother earth ; dreams 
 of friendly intercourse with his kind, and the 
 commonplace activities of life. 
 
 Across these fancies there fell one haunting 
 shadow, and turning to meet Burke's look this 
 shadow was upon his face. 
 
 "No, Mr. Burke," he said. "There is no 
 place in this wide world where a man with the 
 stain of blood upon him can find peace. I must 
 go out free from that or I must stay and bide 
 my time. The first I refuse, for I would be a 
 faithless man to let ten years alter my mind in 
 that. I made the sacrifice willingly and I have 
 305 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 been happy in it. I am young and strong yet. 
 I am thirty-three. There may be forty years of 
 prison life before me, but each one of those I 
 freely offer to the woman whom I have loved, as 
 I would have offered them in duty and devotion 
 to her if God had willed that my soul should 
 inhabit a white man's body." 
 
 Burke bowed his head, feeling both touched 
 and humbled, and conscious of a choking sensa- 
 tion in his throat. He paused long before he 
 spoke; then he said, "Do nothing rashly. 
 Take time to reconsider your decision. " 
 
 "I need no time," replied Antonio. "It is 
 not as if I had not thought of everything. You 
 men in the world act, but yon do not reflect. 
 A prisoner or a monk alone has time for medi- 
 tation. On any subject that you could suggest 
 I have already prepared a line of reasoning and 
 arrived at a conclusion. I have considered 
 what my position might be if, after long years 
 and in consequence of good behavior, the Gov- 
 ernor should pardon me. I would be free. 
 The mere thought has been a joy. But after 
 that? After the strangeness had grown to 
 familiarity, and I had ceased to recognize the 
 blessing of wide spaces and unfettered move- 
 ments, what place would there be for me upon 
 earth? 
 
 306 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I might go back to Casa Blanca. Your 
 noble wife might give me work there. She 
 might meet me as a friend. But you would be 
 uneasy if by any look she showed acquaintance 
 with the Indian ex-convict. For her sake and 
 out of regard for your generosity I must plan to 
 keep beyond her sight. Your children would 
 shudder if they should chance to touch my 
 hand, for they would be told that it was stained 
 with blood. People would draw aside from me. 
 My fellow workmen would avoid me. Marta, 
 my poor disgraced sister, would be faithful to 
 me, but my presence would bring a deeper 
 shadow upon her home. I might go into the 
 world. What opening is there for an Indian? 
 I am fitted to be a professor of dead languages. 
 Would the position await me? I would take 
 most interest in a political career. I have not 
 even a vote. I might enlist in the army and 
 join an Indian regiment, or be appointed as an 
 Indian police, but the stain of blood would still 
 be upon me. I would be a marked man, cut off 
 from the confidence of my superiors. I would 
 at last find the loneliness of solitude among a 
 crowd a hundred-fold more desolate than the 
 loneliness of my cell. 
 
 "On the other hand, Mr. Burke," and here 
 his tone grew cheerful and the light came back 
 307 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 into his eyes, "I have many blessings here. No 
 man looks upon me as especially disgraced. My 
 keepers are kind and generous, and grant me as 
 many privileges as the law allows. My fellow 
 convicts have many of them become my friends. 
 They consult me as if they valued my advice. 
 I have influence with them. I have the blessing 
 of regular work. "We are not forced to sit in 
 idleness ; but my task is easy, and when it grows 
 wearisome from repetition I am permitted to 
 vary it. I am allowed to have that fixed bar 
 and swinging trapeze for exercise in my cell. 
 That is a great favor specially procured for me 
 as a reward for my conduct at the time of the 
 mutiny. By regular exercise, I am able to keep 
 my body in good condition. I have books to 
 read, and in my spare moments I am translating 
 the Greek Septuagint. When one looks for- 
 ward to forty years of routine it is well to take 
 up some study that has matter in it. After 
 that I will begin on the Hebrew. I am not so 
 good in that. Then, as you see, I have a box 
 of plants in my window, which is one of the 
 best in the prison. I am making experiments 
 in the germination of seeds." 
 
 Here he paused, and after a slight hesitation 
 continued: " There is another thing. You 
 have been so nobly generous, Mr. Burke, that I 
 308 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 am willing to speak from the heart ; and that is 
 the great advantage of my position. You toler- 
 ate from the life prisoner, who is almost, like a 
 disembodied spirit, what you would deeply 
 resent from any man, most of all from an 
 Indian. Your wife allows me to write to her 
 once a month, and she answers my letters. 
 There is little that is personal in them ; but she 
 has made me her overseer among the Indians ; 
 and at this distance I am still able to help my 
 people. I give advice ; I regulate the distribu- 
 tion of her charity ; and this is all unknown to 
 them. 
 
 "As for any deeper feeling, I have never in my 
 life admitted to her, as I have to you to-day, 
 that I have loved her. How could I dare pre- 
 sume, since I could offer her nothing but my 
 heart, and that is given in silence as we worship 
 the infinite? But my letters are a help to her. 
 She tells me so ; and this consciousness and the 
 slender link of sympathy which unites our 
 thoughts make for me the joy of living. Free- 
 dom could give me nothing in exchange for it." 
 
 Burke sat in meditative silence. Antonio, 
 having said his say, spoke no more. To him 
 there was nothing irksome in inarticulate mus- 
 ing. He did not make haste, as restless world- 
 lings do, to fill a void of words. 
 309 
 
A SOUL in BKONZE 
 
 Burke at last rose heavily, like a man who 
 bears unwilling guilt upon his conscience. He 
 offered his hand to Antonio, and the Indian, 
 grasping it warmly, saw with wonder that there 
 were tears in the older man's eyes. 
 
 "Count me as your friend," said Burke, "and 
 your lifelong debtor. My children owe their 
 future to you. We owe you the happiness of 
 our family life. I can never pay the debt. My 
 little son is here with me. He is waiting in the 
 warden's parlor. I will bring him to see you, 
 and ask him to thank you for us." 
 
 Antonio waited with a throbbing heart while 
 Burke was gone upon this errand. He looked 
 into his little mirror, anxious for the first time 
 in years as to the impression which he should 
 make. He glanced regretfully at his striped 
 suit, thinking it might startle a child's fancy; 
 but Burke had prepared his son for this, and 
 the little Tony had inborn tact. 
 
 When he entered he brought a beam of sun- 
 shine with him. In all these years Antonio had 
 seen no children, and he had a strong man's 
 instinctive love for them. 
 
 The warmth of welcome in his eyes spoke 
 straight to Tony's heart. The child walked up 
 to the prisoner and held out his hand, which 
 Antonio grasped with a thrill of pleasure. 
 310 
 
A SOUL in BRONZE 
 
 "I did not know it was yon my papa came to 
 see," said Tony, "or I would have been up here 
 before. I was playing prisoner downstairs, and 
 I did not like it at all. I am sorry you have to 
 be shut up here. I know a lot about you. 
 Why, I was named after you, so you must be 
 my god-father." 
 
 He took a chair and looked with serious 
 friendliness into Antonio's beaming face. 
 
 "What are you here for, anyway?" continued 
 Tony, since it appeared that the burden of the 
 conversation fell on him. 
 
 "On a false charge," his father hastened to 
 reply. "Men are sometimes imprisoned by 
 mistake." 
 
 "Oh, papa, you must get him out," said Tony. 
 
 "Never mind that, dear child," answered 
 Antonio. "It is possible to be quite happy in 
 prison." 
 
 Tony looked at the high, barred window, the 
 bare floor, the cheerless walls, and his little lip 
 quivered. He put his hand in his pocket, and 
 drew out a new two-bladed knife, his greatest 
 treasure. 
 
 "Take that," he said to Antonio, averting hia 
 look to hide his tearful eyes, as well as to avoid 
 the full consciousness of the sacrifice he was 
 making. 
 
 311 
 
A SOUL in BEONZE 
 
 Antonio held the present in his palm, uncer- 
 tain how he might accept or refuse the gift. 
 
 "You have done well, Tony," said Burke. 
 "There is nothing I can give Mr. Lachusa that 
 can repay him for what he has done for me and 
 for you." 
 
 "Then we are even," said Tony, with a sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 He was now quite ready to go, but after 
 Burke had again shaken Antonio's hand, Tony 
 hesitated and whispered to his father. 
 
 "Tony is not quite sure but that he is too 
 much of a man for kisses," Burke explained, 
 "but he says that as long as you are his god- 
 father he would like to kiss you good-bye." 
 
 Antonio stooped and pressed the child's form 
 to his heart and his lips to his own. The door 
 closed behind his visitors, and they were gone. 
 He was once more alone ; alone for a lifetime. 
 
 He flung himself upon his knees. 
 
 "God grant me patience, and the victory of 
 peace," he prayed, resisting the wild uprising 
 of thoughts and wishes long since stifled. "Let 
 it be enough for my life's joy that I have felt 
 upon my lips the kiss of her child. ' ' 
 
 THE END 
 
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