The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 8, 1895, Page 13

i ghost of Banquo again arises at the feast of fat things taken from the confiding Queen of Hawaii and her simple people. This time it wears a German mustache an English accent. Now again turns > the idle and exhausted theme, ‘‘the Ha nd Berlin. The new German navy ot be idle. The English navy never en idle and will not be idle row. and bluntly, the islands will never nexed” while the present little ligarchy and family of office-wearers there at the head of affairs. Why? Because emselves have made it impossible. nd why have they made it impossible? ause they do not desire annexation. ,1 know they keep sending annexation ieputations to Washington, but that is to please and keep quiet real-estate dealers and other people who sce money in an- ation, to say nothing of some few un- h American patriots who really desire annexation. But this shrewd little family of usurpers has no intention at all of step- ping down and out of their high honors and fat offices. They never had, else they never would have made annexation under their lead impossible. And how have they made it impossible? In the first place, and mainly, by the very act of sei the peaceful and pros- perous little Government and betraying the Queen, under whom they or the most of them were, at the time of their treason, holding lucrative offices. And then they outraged all decency by the trick of re- storing the flag to the natives to pacify the United States, but at the same time hold- ing on to the money, lands and offices of the plundered woman they had betrayed. The Senate of the United States—black or white, Republican or Democrat—is per- aps the most humane body of men ever thered under one roof, and will not con- e robbery.. How was it that President nt, with all his powerful influence and ge, faled in his really humane and tic effort to annex warlike and conten- us San Domingo? Why, some of the Senators—Sumner at their head—detected a speculation in it. “It is plunder, not patriotism,” cried Sumner from his high place to the people of the United States, and the scheme, which rezlly would have been a good thing for San Domingo, Grant nd indeed the whole United States as well, was at once ‘‘a dead cock in the pit.” In the second place this little family of office-holders and high-salaried sons of missionaries, not to say robbers of a confid- ing woman, are really all there is of their “republic,’” with a little bodyguard of natives in petty places on small pay. Wis- dom, had they desired annexation, would have called at least a few natives and men of other parts of the union to the front. But here you see that you can cover the branch and stock of the whole family on the map with the point of your finger. This means indifference at least, if noth- ing more orless, from all the Southern States and all the Western States. 1n the second place they have continuaily angered one of the great political parties by insult- ing its head, to say nothing of the head of the nation. In the third place the envious attacks on the good name of the one most revered man of this century has aroused the in- dignation of every Catholic in Congress or out of Congress, too, as to that, to say nothing of fairminded Protestants. Lastly, back of all these things lies the cooly labor or slave system of the islands, and a far more depressing form of slavery it is said to be than was ever that of the South. The poor slaves receive hardly enough to sustain life, and of course are left to shift as they may when overtaken by age or illness, and at best are generally keptin debt at the company stores, and although both the Portuguese and Jap- anese laborers are willing and patient their condition is deplorable if not Woope But let us suppose all was swept aside and that not one of these many grave mat- ters stood in the way of this consumma- aiian Inslands,” this time from Lon- | \ | as wool shepherded above the multiplying IHE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1895. 13 was 8o sorry he cried, and so the sharp- and see that none roam away.’ I said to shooters took him prisoner. him: ‘Don Antonio, you take my hide ifa tion of annexation. What then? Would this Nation’s Senators favor it in such | force as to make it a fact? I hope so, but I believe the Southern States would re- quire as a condition that the islands of the Spanish Main and all sorts of lands and places be made also a portion of the Union. Then the Northern States would call aloud for Canada. All of which ought to come, and I hope will come, in the course of time, but the Hawaiian Islands could hardly slip in alone, at least as they now stand. So this continual talk of an- nexation by the little money-getting oligarchy is simply blank nonsense. The Queen’s lands alone, which they seized, brought her the best half of a quar- ter of a million. The Honolulu Water ‘Works, perfected under the late King, and being the property of the crown, bring $100,000 clear profit. The custom- house is a mine of gold. But I set out to talk of the glory, not the shame, of the islands and islanders. The first thing a European asks a Cali- fornian about, as a general rule, is the islands—our islands—out yonder beyond: the watch-towers of our Golden Gate, the seas, the scenery, and then he asks if they | are still fighting there, as in South | America or Cuba. And then his voice | drops and in a kindly key heasks about the | lepers. Let us briefly consider these three things in their order. The one and only ocean, with long, strong, sweeping, gleam- ing, glorious glide and swing of wave, is this ocean that thunders at our doors. | You literaily sleep and dream and dream and sleep the full six days here where ““The spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,” till on the morning of the seventh when you see the purple heavens | piked by lava-peaks to your right, and the far, lorn, gray levels of the leper island to your left. Between these two you glide into the dreamful harbor of Honolulu,with rainbows above the town, clouds as white rainbows, and away up and beyond the scattered, silvery, drifting flecks upon the sky, emerald fields of corn, fields so steep below the lava-peaks that they Jook as | if they might rolt up and slide down into the banana and tamarind and mango and algeroba set city of everlasting flowers. This panorama alone is worth the voyage. Rainbows and rainbows and rainbows! It | is the land of rainbows and the sea of rain- bows. Some are in completed circles, some broad. some narrow asribbons. The sud- | den showers, the trade winds, the wool- white clouds—these are the factors of the phenomena. Birds! The birds not only sing and ring and cling continuously, but they simply roar as you pass through the parks along the sea beach or above the city. | Up the steeps and around the mountain beyond the little corn fields set on edge you ride under great beetling cliffs that are hung with heavy verdure and almost hidden by snowy clouds. Down out of these clouds, as if rooted in the heavens, hang great, trumpet-laden vines. These trumpets are yellow—brighter than bright- est gold—and they reach down out of the clouds almost into your face, as 1if an in- visible and inaudible band of angels were trumpeting a welcome from this cloud- built bastion of God’s house. It is said that Tennyson asked an Amer- ican, who had begged to be presented, how the first sight of Niagara Falls had impressed him; that the American answered that it was no longer the fashion to visit Niagara, and so he had never been there. It is further stated that this same American instantly had a chance to meas- ure the length and latitude of Tennyson’s back. ‘We Californians cannot afford to ignore our conservatory of flowers and our pan- orama of rainbows out there in the warm, sapphire waters, even if we want to, with- out being despised for doing it, as was that vulgar American. And now as to the wars. Will these un- warlike natives and the bellizerent sons of missionaries make another San Domingo of the far, fair islands? Let us look at their late great civil war. Two voluminous histories have already appeared, publisbed by two little comic newspapers there—offi- cial organs, both of them. My own his- tory is as yet unpublished; but I fought and led all through that great and gory war of glory, and so when it does appear please read it. Captain Kidd led the infantry in the first hot day’s fight. It was the hottest of all the five-days war; for the mercury rose far above par. King led the infantry. I led the horse. He was a borrowed horse and I bhad to lead him—in places where the mosquitoes were thickest. The dead of this day’s fighting were never counted. We shad no wounded. The enemy was five miles away up & mountain; but still we charged the enemy and the battle raged till we all went into the restaurant close by, where the landlord had to charge us. The second day’s fight was led by Cap- tain Smith. This time we got much nearer to the fearful canmbal foe—three miles being my estimate. The only reason why we did not utterly destroy the enemy was, we did not bave three-mile guns, for we fired at him and he at us from morn to dewy eve. No wounded on either side, the dead not estimated. On the third day the battle was resumed as soon as we could get back to the battle- ground after a bivouac at the hotel and a breakfast on ham and eggs, at about the same range and with the same fury. As night descended on the two contend- ing armies at about the same hour some cattle passed within range of our park of artillery and three milch cows fell on the =Y Jorsin Mier. resume the fight next morring we found that the enemy had descended from the lava caves and skinned and roasted and were literally devouring these cows. Gen- eral Wilcox, commanding the non-office- holding forces, requested to not be dis- turbed at his breakfast. The President, after consulting with his Cabinet, which he always carried with him, as well as a silk parasol and a saber, said it would have a good effect abroad and so ordered that the enemy should not be disturbed at breakfast. We slept on our arms in a banana grove till it was cool enough to go back to town. But the great fifth and final day of this fearful civil war was now upon us, and a bloody day it was, as you shall see. The sharpshooters, all young men of the first office-holder families and well up in the Greek roots, had found the enemy in- trenched on a mountain above the eastern gate of the city and the united forces of the Hawaiian army moved forth at dawn to dislodge or destroy him. Too much cannot be said of these brave, brave young sharpshooters. They were nearly all white. If there was any one among them of mixed blood he was at least a prince in his own right, and all so young, so young! and all so learned, so learned! They were infantry and all spoke either Greek or Kanaka. Some of them had their nurses with them. These pretty little native nurses carried their little bottles or rolled them along in little baby carts while the pretty little sharpshooters prattled and played with their Greek roots as they strode defiantly to the deadly front. Infantry in arms! The Portuguese troops were barefooted, but the ladies of Honolulu stood by the gate as they passed out to battle and handed each man a pair of their second- best shoes. These brave men tied the shoes together by the sfrings and swung them on their guns. General Boper, com- mander-in-chief of all the office-holders’ armies of the twelve Hawaiian Islands, drew his sword, and halting the Portu- guese soldiers at the point of his sword commanded them to put on their shoes. The brave men hesitated—almost revolted, but at last they reluctantly obeyed. That sword was mightier than the men. How- ever, they did not march as well after that. At least, when in sight of the enemy they all sat flat down in the road and began taking off their shoes. The general again drew that terrible sword, and as he did so he roared out: “What in hell are you taking off your shoes for?” “What for in hell take off shoe? If no take off shoe how hell can run?” roared the Portuguese captain in return. At this the President, who also marched barefooted to the scene of conflict—the bet- ter to encourage his men and not at all to imitate Washington at Valley Forge, orto be able to go to town the faster, as his ene- mies have said—now whispered in the ear of his Attorney-General. “The point is well taken,” answered the astute Attorney-General. “It is a legal question, and the law is with the lJame soldiers.” So they all marched along barefooted till within the usual three miles of our mu- tuzal enemies. And here the first and, let us thankfully say, the last blood of this fratricidal war was shed. The captain of the brave German troops was now sud- denlv and without warning shot low down on the bottom of his back; but whether he did it in attempting to draw his pistol or replace it in the scabbard historians differ. When we laid him on his face to dress the wound this noble soldier shed scarce a tear. Then the President came np, leaning on the arm of his favorite Cab- inet Minister, both with swords in their right hands and beautiful little pink Paris- ian parasols in their left. When the Pres- ident saw how the man was wounded he promoted him on the spot. The enemy on the distant mountain, sus- pecting that some one of the brave little sharpshooters might have got lost in the brush, and that we were grouped together in a Cabinet meeting to determine what was best to do, suddenly ceased firing and hoisted the poi flag. Immediately the President called a Cabinet meeting to de- cide what course of action would have the best influence abroad. Of course, he didn’t care about the President of the United States, but the Emperor of Germany, one of whose brave subjects lay there in his own gore, and “our cousin,” to putitin diplomatic language, the Empress of In- dia, and also the Czar of all the Russias— these must be awed! awed! The Cabinet decided that it must stand on its dig- nity. It accordingly stood, the Greek root infantry formed in a hollow square around the nurse maids, bottles and baby car- riages as the fearful half-biack and quarter- black and freckled and red-headed non- office holders approached, having left their rifles leaning against the rocks on the mountain side. General Wilcox, theirleader, who spends his summers at Newport and his winters in Italy because of a slight cough, now coughed slightly. The Cabinet was like a rock around the President—a wave-washed rock, where waves roar and roll and—but let us suspend suspense. After coughing several times General Wilcox said he should like to see Attorney-General Smith. Smith blushed modestly and pointed his silk Par- isian parasol up at the towering President. It was enough, enough. The President raised his parasol to its full height, and told Wilcox that he should have to sentence him to death for a few days. “For see what you have done,” said the President tearfully. “This poor man may be able 1 to walk about to-morrow, but he will not tion and we stood fairly facing the ques- | field. When we came back from town to | be able to sit up fora month.” Wilcox Bearing our wounded we slowly returned from the field of battle through the great gnte’ and found that the enemy had pre- ceded us and had surrendered as prisoners of war, and all asking for an office if only as police or to work on the roads. And thus ended the one and only war of the Hawaiian Islands. The dead were never numbered, but our wounded was counted and cared for. He was a carriage-trimmer by trade and so the pension allowed him was not so great as it would have been had he been a messenger-boy or anybody else who has to make his living sitting down. This war wears the belt as the most civil cvil war that was ever foaghtinall the annals of history, ancient or modern, on all this gory globe; and if ever thereis another civil war on these islands, which heaven forbid, it will be even more civil than this, for there is only one German carriage-trimmer in Honolula and he will not again be required to carry a pistol. He has done enough. And now let us leave this most langh- able war ever heard of and turn seriously to a sad, but not hopeless, subject. To begin with, you hear less about lepers in Honolulu than in almost any other part of the world, and you see nothing at all of them. They are no longer sent directly from the city and the wail of the departing wretches is no longer heard above the din of trade at the wharf. They, the few, the very few now, are kept at and sent from a receiving station a few miles out of town. But the pleasant thing to contemplate is the fact that the spread of the dread malady is arrested, on the decrease. More than that, eminent English medical authorities report two cases actually cured in India; and in forty cases, taken in early stages as an experiment, the disease bas been, and it is hoped permanently, arrested. You must know that the lepers of Hawaii are but a tithe of those on the globe. There are lepers in London. Lord Ten- nyson has a leper in the play he wrote for Irving. One of our own Southern States only last year had to make provision for the care of 100 lepers. They are found as far north in Europe as civilization reaches. But the sudden increase and spread of the scourge in the islands a few years back, caused by unwisely inoculating natives when the smallpox raged there with mat- ter taken from Chinese who were unclean, directed the attention of the world there, and the idea still obtains that the deadly blight prevails there as nowhere else. But I find this paper already beyord limits, and to treat this subject fully Picturesque and beautiful, with its rich rolling hills of grain, its rock-ribbed canyons, its sparkle and splash of crystal waters, its little flower-studded glen, Sunol Valley, nestling at the foot of the Liver- more range of hills, is one of picturesque California’s flawless if lesser gems. The road which winds down from the orchards and meadow-lands of the San Antonio meets that which, with many a twist and bend, follows the ceaseless mur- mur of the stream, just at the point where that same stream emerges from the canyon into the wide sweep of the valley. Westward winds the dusty stretch, far up among the Mission hills. But here, a few hundred feet from the west bank of the stream, it divides, only to meet again a few rods away. Within the small in- closure thus made stands a stunted oak. its straggling branches bent and twisted toward the east, making it look like a pettish child, who, in a fit of the sulks, has thrown her hair over her face to hide he'rl look of discontent under the friendly veil. A blot upon the landscape it surely is, and yet may no careless hand ever strike down its dusty, ragged branches, but let it live on, homely memorial of the loyalty and heroism of a simple-minded, simple- hearted Digger Indian, noble old Chute. As well would you have looked for the - | scribe and voyage across the sea to California had taken such a hold of his fancy that he dreamed, and at length grew to believe, that he had shared it, and he would de- it all with wonderful dramatic vower; and we, loyal little souls that we were, loved old Chute better for his fancy. ‘We were so proud of that grand old Don Antonio, whose early boyhood had been spent in the French camps of war, whose martial spirit had been crushed with the great Napoleon’s, and who, when his hero’s star had set, turned his face away from home and kindred, and here in the new land by the setting sun carved out his own fortune and handed down an honored name to his posterity. Though that pioneer grandfather was never anything but a memory to us we treasured up and hugeged to our hearts every word of eulogy we ever heard pro- nounced upon his name. We knew that because of his chivalry, his lavish gener- osity, his exalted sense of honor, his great nobility of heart he ranked among the foremost of California’s pioneers, and we so gloried in the thought that Chute’s oft repeated tale found each time not only ready but intensely sympathetic listeners, who loved the old Indian even more than before, because of the absorbing devotion that made him lose his own identity in that of his master’s. We smiled most indulgently, as with supreme inconsistency the next moment would find him exclaiming, “Yo soy Chute, el Indio mas grande de California” (I am Chute, the biggest Indian in Cali- fornia). When the warm spring days came Chute pitched a tent on the edge of the cornfield the better to wreak summary justice upon trespassing squirrels and that invidious foe, the gopher. His grotesque figure looked strikingly picturesque as he paced slowly down the long green lanes chanting in a Jow monotone. We wandered down one evening and founda him squatted upon his blanket in the full glow of the sunset. ‘We would have swooped down upon him with joyous clamor, but raising a warning finger he whispered, “Hush! you flock of ‘“IT WAS AT ONE OF MADE HIM A HERO AND INVESTED THE “HESE FEAS.S THAT CSUTE TOLD US THE STORY THAT FOREVER AFTER STUNTED OAEK WITH A HALO IN OUR EYES.” would require a subsequent Enough to say now that while the numier of lepers gathered together has increased, owing mainly, now, to the willingness of the stricken ones to join their afilicted fellows, the disease is really arrested and on the decrease. The stricken ones do not suffer the least pain, except in one of the three forms, and it may truly be set down that since Father Damien so wisely led the way to their temporal as well as spiritual comfort, there is more real happiness to the square mile in the leper settlement than in San Francisco. They have their property there, horses, cows, pigs, hens, gardens, and no care whatever, being supplied with what they need, and they have almost no pain. Reverting again to the little family oligarchy, which has been masquerading under the name of a republic, it is safe to say that, because of its misrepresentations and money-getting propensities, it is al- most as odious abroad as it is at home, where the grass is beginning to grow in the streets because of stagnation. And that is why London and Berlin are hint- ing to Washingten thatif we don’t want the islands the present Government should be quietly laid aside, as a misfit shoe, and the little Princess placed at the head, in case the Queen still refuses to make fur- ther claim to her once prosperous and happy Hawaii. The Queen spent every- thing that came to hand, and at home, while her tinsel baby court drew much travel and money. All this made times good. The present rulers do not attract trav- elers, for they spend nothing, but, like Chinamen, hoard the last cent and send it out of the country for safe keeping. This makes times hard. As Honolulu was built by trade, trade is demanding a return to the old days and ways of prosperity. This is the voice of shops, ships, hotels, every- thing and everybody not receiving pay or protit under the little family of officers which we were once made to believe was a republic. Any sort of decent regard for the good of the people or the will of the people would induce these new rulers, seeing how entirely they have failed, to quietly quit. Or are they waiting for another gory civil war and another history of it with pictures taken on the spot? In Waldron, Nebr., when a young man sees his best girl out walking with the other fellow he doesn’t shoot himself. He gets a lasso, snakes the rival away, and then conciliates the girl with icecream. article. | hero in the plain old Indian as for the monument of heroism in the stunted,wind- tossed oak. As far back as my remembrance goes Chute was a familiar figure in my child- hooa life. Far down the level stretch of road the dust would rise, fold upon fold, out of which a'speck would evolve, which, growing larger and larger, would finally determine itself into a queer, squat figure astride a buckskin bronco. Wi&l a whoop and a whirl the figure and the bronco would trot into our midst, while our child- ish voices raised a shout of welcome. Could a Digger be anything but ugly, and dirty, and repulsive? Yes; undeni- ably old Chute was both artistically and humanly attractive. A thick, squat figure, clothed 'in such heterogeneous apparel as would have put a scarecrow to the blush; but, on the whole, artistically striking. The round brown face positivel{ ugly, with the usual Indian features—thick lips, flat nose and low forehead. Nature had been even cruel here, for to this was added the disfigurement of smallpox. You would naturally conjure up a picture of utter hideousness. ~ Not so, however. One glance at the twinkling, beady little black eyes, and you loved him; one look at the honest, good-humored, kindly expression of the ugly old face, and intuitively you trusted him. And we did. We trusted and we loved our dear old comrade, even though we sometimes smiled incredulously over his quaint old legends, solemnly related to us as absolute facts of California history. His small, black eves would twinkle at the most improbable passage of the narrative; but we must not pretend to see it or to doubt, or old Chute’s dignity was offended and story-telling cut short for the day. I wish I could Paint him as he often stood in the middle of the kitchen floor and with a natural, courtly grace doffed his much-betrimmed old sombrero with a “Buenos dias, Semora Patrona.” Then, with the battered sombrero under his arm, he would prance about like a clumsy danc- infi bear, smgini“Mannniuu; Mananitas,”” a little Spanish love ditty,in a husky, squeaking chant, anding sucdenly with the invariable ha-ya! which sent us chil- dren flying while he shook and rolled his big head in silent laughter. ¥ ow we reveled in the old man’s tales! all the more charming to us because truth and fancy and superstition were sp inter- mingled that they rivaled the most ex- travagant fairy tale that ever imagination wove in the dim recesses of a subtle brain. He loved to tell us of the great white ships that spread their wings like the beautiful pizeon of the woods and flew for days and days over the water. !‘k'ane you seen one, Chute?” we would ask. “Have I ever seen one!” in accents of the deepest scorn. “Why, don’tyou know that Don Antonio and I came over in one ears ago from a land they call La ;‘nncia ’? And then, with id, excited gestnren,!l:: wm;l\;{ “‘l;lol %m .m‘ \uin‘fli; way the story of Napoleon’s e an defeat in that far-away France. : The story of Dog Antonio’s soldier life chattering blackbirds!” We stopped and listened. Down the green ranks the silken tassels were waving and a soft murmuring rustle answered the light play of the south wind upon the leaves. ‘“The harvest will be rich this autumn,” said Chute. “It is the spirit Mayan; his whisper is the breath of life; he comes softly on the south wind; he whispers in each wai ear. Ah, yes, the harvest will be rich this autumn time. “Sometimes Cucusuy—the wicked, envi- ous Cucusuy, who follows fast each year upon the footsteps of Mayan—sometimes he reaches the cornfields first—his breath 1s death—each growing grain is blighted— and the cold frosts find the Indian hungry. His poor squaw looks pinched—her step grows heavy, and the little children cry, cry, cry, through all the winter. But Mayayp 18 here, the harvest will be rich this year. What delightful litlle gypsy picnics we children had with old Chute out under the shade of the sycamore, our fire built upon the flat stones of the creek. Chute would capture tender young squirrels, and with our kneesdrawn up to our chins we sat and watched him skin them and pin them through with the spit improvised from a peeled sapling, while we listened to his chants and songs as if they were wholly new to us. Our only plates and dishes were large, smooth sycamore leaves, each with its I tle mound of salt; and when the juicy meat was done a tender brown Chute would unsheathe the knife he always car- ried at the belt, and, holding the spitaloft, dexterously cut off and with a flourish throw the juicy morsel into our out- stretched leaves. How merry we were as we caught them up in our fingers and tried to bite as large mouthfuls, or smack our lips with as much noise as Chute, It was at one of these feasts that Chute told us the story that forever after made him a hero and invested the stunted oak with a halo 1n our eyes. The feast ended, Chute gave a final relishing smack, wiped his knife carefully upon one of the sycamore leaves, replaced the knife in its sheath and drew his knees up to his chin like the rest of the little | tribe, who clamored for their story. Half closing his eyes he said, in a quiet voice: I will tell you of the only time this old Indian was ever afraid. Many years ago, when your father was a little boy, there was a Gringo named Fremont came across the great mountains with, oh, so many men, all carrying guns, and mounted on horses. “I have heard Don Antonio say that Fremont was a good man. I do not know; I do not think a Gringo can be veriy good. His men with the guns were not all good. Huh! They call the Indians thieves! ‘What thieves those Gringos were! They knew no difference between a common roanand a caballero. Don Antonio had a band of horses, beautiful horses, pasturing on these hills. I was very proud when he it me in charge of the band. He was go- ing to San Jose, and he came to me and d: ‘There are more than $1000, Chute, on those hills, Watch your me closely single one of those horses is missing.’ eno (bueno), the first day I watched, and the horses just comé, comé, comé, &eat, eat, eat), all very quiet; at night I rove them into the corral; I wrapped myself up in my blanket and slept by the bars.” All this was told with many halts, husky ejaculations, explanatory gestures and grimaces. “Weno! the next morning I drove the horses out to the hillside by the canada. I walked around, I talked to them and then I lay down on my blanket. Icounld not haye snored only once or twice when I heard something—I looked up, and there stood Manuel, the Mexican boy, his eyes so big they looked like the eyesof the brown owl in the aark. ‘Que hay, Manuel? (What's up, Manuel?) ‘The horses, Chute, the horses! Some Gringo soldiers came down the Mission road in a big cloud of dust. They want the horses, Chute!” “Manuel could speak the we-re-we-re’! (English). ‘¢ ‘Diablo! tell the Gringos these are Don Antonio’s horses.”” I thought, of course, no one would think of touching anything belonging to Don Antonio. “'I'did, and, Chute,” Manuel whispered, ‘the man snapped his fingers and said, “That’s nothing, they belong to nobody but a greaser, anyway.” Think of it, Chute, to call a caballero like our Don Antonio a greaser.’ " Here Chute jumped to his feet, and the rest of the story was told with intensely thrilling effect. ‘“‘Diablos! Here, Muchacho, take the best horse in the,stable and ride away as if a thousand devils were after you! Brin Don Antonio home. Cut through the hol- low there. Vamos, Muchacho, vamos!’ The boy was gone like a comet that leaves only a misty trail behind it. I jumped on my pony and rode to the corral, where the Gringos were, like a whirlwind. “Two of them were just taking down the new saddle my master had given me from its resting-place in a tree. Huh! I was mad. Irode upand talked to them even like a good Spaniard, but they only Jaughed. I never saw my saddle again, for very soon I had other things to think about. They talked to me, and I knew it was about the horses, so I only said, shak- ing my head, ‘No se; yo soy Indio’ (I do not know; I am an Indian). After a while they got angry. Huh! how they talked! I listened”—here his voice sank to & whisper—“and I watched. Over there on the side of the hill I could see the heads of some of that band of horses! They never dreamed those were the horses they were seeking. “I took the Gringos out to the corral, where we had about forty broncos. 1L waved my arm and nodded my head to let them know that they could take those if they wanted them, for, you see, I wanted to get the Gringos away. I was afraid some of the band might stray further up and be seen. I could still see a few heads over the low hills! “The Gringos grew very nniry and dragged me out to the gate and threw me into the dusty road. One of them, el demonio se lo lleve (the devil take him), threw out a rope, caught me by the nec! and dragged me over to the stunted oak. It was not stunted then, it was a fresh voung tree. How I trembled! Yes, I was afraid; I did not want to die. But I thought of how my master trusted me, and I whispered, ‘Bravo, Indio!’ ” Here his face took on a tense look and the restof the story was told in husky, broken whispers. “I felt the rope tighten round my neck, tighter, tighter”’—his breath grew labored, his features rigidly tense—'‘and then, with the noise of angry, rushing, roaring tor- rents in my ear and a million shooting- stars before” my eyes, I felt myself drawn up. I thoughta big bat had caught me by the neck and was rushing through the black night with me. The roar ceased— I opened my eyes—I stupidly wondered how that snake came there up in the oak tree. Then it came to me that it was a | dangling rope. I lifted my hand and felt its coils around my neck. I tried tosit up. I heard voices. knew that they were | talking to me. I tried to speak. Some of | the faces around me bent over me and laughed. I wanted to shriek, but I only whispered, ‘Jesus, Jesus, Maria Santis- sima!” I heard them speak again—about | the horses. I say, ‘No se, no_se,” and | then again the rope grows tight. I thought | my nead would burst—it split into a thousand pieces. I burned, I froze; I saw hell and demons dancing all around me, and then—and then I could feel the ground beneath me. I did not stir. I hoped that they would kill me at once. My tongue was like burning lead.” Here he clutched his throat convulsively and gasped as if he would choke. ‘“The diablos were not satis- | fied. Again—the thira time—the rope grew tight. They strung me up again. This time — ah! this time!’ He clutched wildly at his throat. His eyes grew bloodshot, his lips foamed. Then in strangled, husky tones: “They went away — the demonios. Ay, they thought that I was dead! Ah-a- ah! am I alive? Yes, yes, I can see the nills around me! I can feel the warm sun- shine all about me—itis good tolive! 1 feel a pain about my neck—yes, yes, the Gringos! Iraise myself on my elbow—L can see the dust winding away up the Livermore road. Ah!I am alive! I am well! the horses? the horses! I stagger over toa corral—I jump on a horse—any horse—I ride, somehow—I don’t know how—over to the band. All safe! I throw myself on the ground—I cannot stand—I cannot see—the horses are safe!— *When I open my eyes again, Don An- tonio is beside me, the shadows of the hills lie long upon the meadows. I get \'?. and bogefizer we take the horses home. e says nothing, only, ‘Pobre Chute, buen Indio!’ (Poor Chute, good Indian). but the next day little master, your father, comes over and puts his own silver- | mounted saddle on my pony. You have seen the saddle. Ah! Chute is proud of it A happy dreamy expression creeps over the ugly face, another grunt, and we know the story is ended. Speechless with horror and admiration we steal off to bed. It is now yearssince Chute sleeps among his own people within sound ot the Mis- sion bells, but his memory lives in many a sxcture of our happy childhood dnys. and I never hear the oft-repeated tales against the Digger Indian’s truth and faith and honor, but that my heart rises in indignant, rebellious protest for this my hero of early Californian days. FRANCES A. SUNOL-ANGUS. A British steamer put in at Rangoon, m India, recently, whose officers were Germans and the apprentices all Japanese. — { BOOK of individual experiences. and rambling vations of all classes, by Wm. H. Cham- perplates and ~ Photo- Dbliss. fiwm Im 50 coj , includin society sketch Laura Engl:olm. and g caricatures Jullnl?nh.'::., fllustrating the differe ability ..:f vulgar mm',’.fi%n'.""'““ oAl irespene: of Curious foundation and ridiculous make-m high society,—the so-called “ Four < the all Hundred.” Absurdities of the Parvenucracy. Cloth, 410 pages, $1.00, by mall of agent. CHAMBLISS & COMPANY, Publishers, Pulitzer Building, New Yorky, _ ™ Books published for authors.