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money enough to buy a meal with. Mac brought them to Auburn, gave them their food, furnished them with mining tools, and sheltered them in his tent, all without charge. Aleck had already decamped. Tom swore eternal fidelity to their benefactor.

Early in the morning following the Indian alarm Mac went down the ravine to ascertain what amount of blood had been shed, leaving Tom to get breakfast when he felt like it. He noticed that Tom seemed somewhat indifferent about matters, but thought nothing of it. It turned out that the alarm had its origin in the imaginations of a camp of English sailors who were always drunk when they were not sober-and they were never sober. Mac returned in less than an hour. The pigmy tent and its occupant had disappeared. Tom had gone. The two pouches of gold-dust and nuggets, Mac's pistols and a few other articles were missing. Nothing of any value that could be

conveniently carried away was left. He called for Tom, but received no answer. Then setting out post-haste toward Auburn, he overtook the Arkansas nondescript in company with Stewart. They had no further interest in the mines and were emigrating. Tom appeared to be perfectly unconcerned about the robbery, and both professed a profound ignorance respecting it. That was the last Mac ever saw of either of them. He returned to his lonely and despoiled camp. Jabe and his companions had struck their tent and were leaving. They commiserated the Cincinnatian's forlorn condition and offered him material aid, which was declined. He spent one more night in the ravine alone, and the following morning turned sadly from the spot where he had spent some happy days. His remaining effects were disposed of at Auburn and Mac bade farewell to the mines forever. Stewart was afterward hung by the Vigilantes in San Francisco.

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BARASSO, THE FOOL OF SAN ROQUÉ

BY PIERRE N. BERINGER

OON after the declaration of war against Spain was made public, Senator Fairbanks of Indiana was instrumental in securing a colonelcy in the volunteers for Lawyer Jewett of Indianapolis. Judge Jewett had long been noted as a votary of the blind goddess, as a gentleman and a scholar, and as an epicure. After he received his commission he was ordered to the Philippines, where he arrived with the first expedition. Men's lives being shaped along certain lines, it was but natural that Colonel Jewett should be made Judge-Advocate of the Eighth Army Corps, as the expeditionary force became classified. While stationed at Kavite, Colonel Jewett's duties were not of so engrossing a character as to spoil his peace of mind or his geniality of demeanor, and it was not until he was duly installed, pending better arrangements, as Supreme Judge of the islands.

in the courtroom of the Palacio Intramuros, that his troubles began.

Judge Jewett is an exceedingly goodlooking man, and when he was seated below the great painting of the Spanish monarchs thanking Magellan for his work in circumnavigating the world he did not seem at all out of place. I believe that for the first few days he really enjoyed being the central figure in all that massive mahogany carving, among the armorial bearings of Aragon and Castile, backed by the tapestries of ancient Spain, and flanked by the graven heraldry detailing the deeds of chivalry of the days of the Great Navigators.

Jewett's troubles began and ended with Spanish legal lore. He had been requested to deal with the miscreants brought to the bar of justice with the ancient law of the land, and any one who

has had experience with the jurisprudence of the Dons may realize his terrible predicament. It is not that Spanish law is less decipherable to an American than to a Castilian. It is that the Castilian takes it paragraph by paragraph and studies it, and while he conscientiously defers judgment, the delinquent is out of all danger, in some snug dungeon, out of the way of his creditors and the ordinary temptations of life. It is true the Spanish jurists take so long in raveling a point that the defendant generally dies of old age; but this is really no miscarriage of justice, because the Awful Visitant comes alike in prison and in home, and the really loyal subjects of their most Catholic majesties bow their heads in acceptance of the dictum of fate.

To Jewett was consigned the trying of every case in the criminal calendar, from the petty pilferer to that of the Morro murderer, or of him that was tried for treason to the State. He was police judge, justice of the peace, superior judge, and supreme judge all rolled into one, and all this pending the establishment of municipal and provincial courts. Occasionally I would ride down to the Ayuntamiento to hear one of Jewett's little after-dinner stories, and we would sit in that awesome place and our laugh would jar discordantly at some fin de siècle jest. Old Magellan would scowl at us, and Columbus had a fixed sneer on his face, but the jokes went on just the same. After Judge Jewett had wrestled with the Spanish code for eight days, there came a change. He was perceptibly thinner. He looked haggard and wild. One day he buttonOne day he buttonholed me in the hall and dragged me in under the dais. I could see that his "serene excellence" was rattled.

"Look here, Beringer," he said, "I'll be good and d-d if I have n't had enough of this Spanish law. I can't make head I can't make head or tail of it, and I am not going to destroy my health. You see that pile of books? Well, each one of those is a contradiction of the others. It is a most remarkable thing. I have made a resolution."

And here he got up and walked the length of the great justice chamber. He came back to where I was sitting and spread his legs apart, squared himself, and

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said: "I am going to administer laws dictated by my common sense and my conscience. I am blowed if I don't-and there's no appeal from my decisions!"

I looked over at Magellan and Columbus, and for the first time since I had come to know them so familiarly there was a change on their countenances. They were both grinning!

From that time on Jewett regained his appetite. Case after case would come up; the Spanish lawyer would make his plea, expecting a continuance, while the judge considered the motion. Contrary to the written law, and as quick as a flash, came the judgment,-off to prison, or to liberty, went the defendant. Oftentimes the complainant would get a sentence of imprisonment. But it was always justice, straight, clear, and honest. The complainants' attorneys would go into a paroxysm, and some had to be carried out for air.

This was the state of things when the real story I am trying to tell occurred.

One day the orderly came in, mechanically raised his hand to a salute, dropped it to his side, and stood at attention, "like a wooden Indian." The judge glanced up from the pile of papers before him.

"Well, Sergeant?"

"A case o' counterfeiting, sir !” "Trot them in, Sergeant."

Up came the hand again, the right knee was slightly bent, the hand was dropped to the side, the weight of the body was thrown on the left heel, the right foot was slid back until the hollow of the foot was opposite the left heel, the soldier turned on the left heel, swinging the body to the right. The two tapestry figures of the great navigators nodded in approval, and the soldier left the room. I thought I heard Columbus counting off, leftright-left-right—but I may have been

mistaken.

I have described this ceremonial with such nicety because it was the most elaborate affected before the highest tribunal in our new possessions. It sort of added dignity to the proceedings.

The sergeant came back with a man and a woman in tow. Old acquaintances they were of mine-Barasso and his wife. I

have had occasion in the sketches of my life in the Philippines to tell of the several kinds of fools Barasso is, was, and ever will be, as have the gods decreed; so the reader will not be surprised when he learns. what the interpreter said. Barasso looked up at me as I sat by the side of the judge, and he did not or would not recognize me. In the large beautiful brown eyes of the little woman there was a great fear. But with the instinct of a woman when she feels a friend, she gave me a quick, almost imperceptible head-jerk of recognition.

I glanced at the judge. His face was stern, implacable. There was a vast amount of counterfeit silver in circulation, and lately some of the yellow bills of the Bank of Spain had been pronounced forgeries. The preliminaries were gone through. The names and residence of the accused were secured, and then the interpreter proceeded to examine the witnesses. The accused had been caught red-handed, -he with several bills which he was attempting to pass, she with some Mexican dollars which she was essaying to have changed into smaller silver.

The judge listened patiently to the evidence, and after waiting until the attorney, an American, appointed for the occasion, began an elaborate introduction, he suddenly cut him short with: "That'll do now, Mr. Platt! The man gets seven years in Bilibid. Let the woman go."

Poor Barasso was led away. The little woman retired to the side of the council chamber where she found a seat on one of the great carved chairs. She was singularly out of place, and her eyes were lined with red, but she did not cry. Other cases were called and dispatched with the usual speed.

Presently I crossed over to the bundle of piña in the great chair and bent low and whispered, "Is there anything I can do for you?" But she shook her head.

It was now time for closing court, and the judge was sorting his papers. Juanita spoke to the interpreter, and the whispering could be plainly heard from the bench. "What is it she wants ?" asked Jewett. "She says they are both innocent and " -here the interpreter hesitated—" she says she wants you to make an agreement with her."

The judge frowned. There was a long

silence, broken suddenly by a torrent of words in Tagalog from Juanita. The address began by the formula of " Pamanhik Ginong," which means, "My forehead in the dust before you, sir," but the rest of the speech was not so respectful. On Jewett it was all lost. It made an impression, and a deep one, on me, for I understood her language well enough to follow her protestations of innocence and of deep love, which she was proud to declare before strangers, for Barasso, Fool of San Roqué." She said the money was given them at the Kavite ferry landing by one Alfredo Gonzales y Murieta, who lived at the Baradero a man of good family to take to Manila and secure small change. She wanted to know, if she brought Gonzales to the judge, whether he would free her "marido," her dear, dear Barasso!

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A knowledge of various languages has served me in many an emergency, and I believe the cosmopolitanism engendered in my nature by my travels gives me an entrée to the hearts and the homes of Oriental people. There is, too, an unknown language of sympathy which is transmitted by the air and which these people feel, and I have sometimes been surprised suddenly by the force with which intelligence of motives, of men, and of things has come to me. I have had no desire to analyze this feeling. I have heard a Buddhist fanatic tell of a storm and the loss of a vessel on the north coast several days' journey away, and the next day the cable from Hongkong corroborated his words. I did not doubt him, because I felt that strange uncanny power in the air, that link which connects all the tribes of the brown race in the Southern Archipelago.

One night I was in my quarters on the

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Calle Alix in Sampaloc, lying in a long reclining-chair, sipping a brandy-andsoda. All the others had gone to bed. I felt that I could not sleep, and still I was drowsy. I saw the Frenchwoman across the street slide the windows, and then later I knew she had gone to bed. Up the street the viuda, who so royally entertained the Americans, had also retired. What beautiful hair that woman had! Ah me! ... Pepé's voice (my faithful boy) wakened me from my doze.

"Does the master sleep?" he whispered. "No. What is it?"

"The master is not thinking of going out this night?"

There was fear in his voice. The night before, up the street, an American sentry had his throat cut. There was no crywe found him in the morning. Pepé and I were in touch, and how, I shall never know.

"Pepé, have you saddled my horse?" "Yes, master."

"Give me my revolver." I buckled on my belt and gun and started for the staircase. Montrose Kinney rolled over in the bed. I stood over him and listened. He was one of my housemates and I was curious to know of his dreams.

He opened his eyes suddenly and said, "I'll sit up and read till you come back." Strange! that power had been with him

too.

Pepé slid back the great front door, the stallion's hoofs clattered on the paving. Once more the boy looked at me.

"Are you sure, master, you will meet her?"

Now, I was startled. There had never been a thought of a woman in my mind. I had been moving at random, obeying an unseen power.

"Lock the door, and get to bed, you little imp! Mr. Kinney will remain on watch."

I gave the horse his head, throwing the lines on his neck. Down the road he clattered, past Colonel Hale's headquarters, when the sentry called out a halt. The stallion stopped mechanically. I gave the countersign and the stallion moved on. Instead of taking his usual course, he turned into the grand esplanade to the Rosario. The breeze was blowing freshly from the ocean and the scent of that sweetest of all flowers was on the air -the ylang-ylang. No lights anywhere and the night dark. Suddenly there was a sound of naked feet falling, flip, flap, flip, flapperty, flap! The stallion stopped. I could hear his breathing. Close to one side passed a man in white, on a dog-trot, melting immediately into the night. Behind him came two more. From their shoulders stretched a black cloth into the blackness beyond to the shoulders of two other white figures. They were all on the trot. They passed. Beyond the flapping of their feet nothing came from the inky night. A poor man's funeral! The rich man is buried with more pomp.

The stallion trembled as I gave him the spur. Far down the street there was a light. When we reached the spot, I brought him close to the wall of the house and standing in the saddle I looked in through the iron bars between which the

light was streaming. It was a dance. I dropped back into the saddle, dismounted, and telling my horse to follow, I passed on to an ornamental iron gate. There a man was waiting. Silently the gate swung open and I passed in. A servant took the horse by the bridle. When I came into the main room of the building I found it brilliantly lighted. Old Buen Camino, afterwards Prime Minister for Aguinaldo, came forward to welcome me. He introduced me to the gentlemen present as The Frenchman." The only other American present was Lieutenant Hutton of the Intelligence Department. He was not in uniform,-probably on business,-and did not recognize me. I looked about. The men were certainly all of the best class. As to the women, there was not one I knew.

Her

Remembering Pepé's words, "Are you sure, master, you will meet her?" I looked again. Laughing and showing all her pearly teeth, shrinking behind a companion, was Juanita, Barasso's wife. camisa was shockingly low, and it had slipped from one shoulder, displaying physical charms with as much abandon as is the habit of the average American society woman. A man was with her, and he was leaning toward her with an amatory leer on his face. I talked with some of the gentlemen, and they chaffed me as to my habits of prowling around among the natives in the dark.

I crossed over to Juanita and sat down. She gave me a toss of the head and began a recital of how much she was enjoying herself. I stopped her with, "And Barasso is in prison." To which she replied, "O! you are a spoil-feast,-I am out for fun," and off she went on the arm of her cavalier. She danced well, and so did he.

Very sadly I left the place. As I passed out, Juanita and the Spanish Mestizo who had been so attentive clambered into a karamatta. The light from the open window streamed full upon them. She turned to face me, and flung the words out, "Adios, Don Quixote mio!" The gentleman laughed.

As I slowly made my way homeward the beauty was out of the night. The lizard croaked incessantly, and I felt that surely

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