the ship throws loose without him, he's marked, "missin'," on the company's books.If he's a private, now, it would have been "deserted;" but bein' Spencer's an officer, they makes it "missin'."An' they gets it right, at that; Spencer is shorely missin'.Spencer not only don't come back to Tennessee none; he don't even send no word nor make so much as a signal smoke to let on whar he's at.This yere, to some, is more or less disapp'intin'."'Thar's a lady back in Tennessee which Spencer's made overtures to.before he goes to war that time, to wed.Young she is; beautiful, high-grade, corn-fed, an' all that; an' comes of one of the most clean-bred fam'lies of the whole Cumberland country.I will interject right yere to say that thar's ladies of two sorts.If a loved one, tender an' troo, turns up missin' at roll-call, an' the phenomenon ain't accompanied with explanations, one sort thinks he's quit, an' the other thinks he's killed.Spencer's inamorata is of the former.She's got what the neighbors calls "hoss sense." She listens to what little thar is to tell of Spencer fadin' from our midst that Plaza Perdita day, shrugs her shoulders, an' turns her back on Spencer's mem'ry.An'
the next news you gets is of how, inside of three months, she jumps some gent--who's off his gyard an' is lulled into feelin's of false secoority--ropes, throws, ties an' weds him a heap, an' he wakes up to find he's a gone fawn-skin, an' to realize his peril after he's onder its hoofs.That's what this Cumberland lady does.I makes no comments; I simply relates it an' opens a door an' lets her out.
"'I'm back in Tennessee mighty nigh a year before ever I hears ag'in of Lootenant Jack Spencer of the Pine Knot Cavaliers.It's this a-way: I'm stoppin' with my old gent near Warwhoop Crossin', the same bein' a sister village to Pine Knot, when he's recalled to my boyish mind.It looks like Spencer ain't got no kin nearer than a aunt, an'
mebby a stragglin' herd of cousins.He never does have no brothers nor sisters; an' as for fathers an' mothers an' sech, they all cashes in before ever Spencer stampedes off for skelps in that Mexican War at all."'These yere kin of Spencer's stands his absence ca'mly, an' no one hears of their settin' up nights, or losin'
sleep, wonderin' where he's at.Which I don't reckon now they'd felt the least cur'ous concernin' him--for they're as cold-blooded as channel catfish--if it ain't that Spencer's got what them law coyotes calls a "estate," an' this property sort o' presses their hands.So it falls out like, that along at the last of the year, a black-coat party-lawyer he is-comes breezin' up to me in Warwhoop an' says he's got to track this yere Spencer to his last camp, dead or alive, an' allows I'd better sign for the round-up an' accompany the expedition as guide, feclos'pher an' friend--kind o' go 'long an' scout for the campaign."'Two months later me an' that law sharp is in the Plaza Perdita.We heads up for the padre.It's my view from the first dash outen the box that the short cut to find Spencer is to acc'rately discover the Donna Anna; so we makes a line for the padre.In Mexico, the priests is the only folks who saveys anythin';an', as if to make up for the hoomiliatin' ignorance of the balance of the herd, an' promote a average, these yere priests jest about knows everythin'.An' I has hopes of this partic'lar padre speshul;for I notes that, doorin' them times when Spencer an' the Donna Anna is dazzlin' one another at the Plaza Perdita, the padre is sort o'
keepin' cases on the deal, an' tryin' as well as he can to hold the bars an' fences up through some covert steers he vouchsafes from time to time to the old Magdalena."'No; you bet this padre don't at that time wax vocif'rous or p'inted none about Spencer an' the Donna Anna.Which he's afraid if he gets obnoxious that a-way, the Pine Knot Cavaliers will rope him up a lot an' trade him for beef.Shore don't you-all know that? When we're down in Mexico that time, with old Zach Taylor, an' needs meat, we don't go ridin' our mounts to death combin' the hills for steers.All we does is round up a band of padres, or monks, an' then trade 'em to their par'lyzed congregations for cattle.We used to get about ten steers for a padre; an' we doles out them divines, one at a time, as we needs the beef.It's shorely a affectin' sight to see them parish'ners, with tears runnin' down their faces, drivin' up the cattle an' takin'
them religious directors of theirs out o' hock.
"'We finds the padre out back of his wickeyup, trimmin' up a game-cock that he's matched to fight the next day.The padre is little, fat, round, an' amiable as owls.Nacherally, I has to translate for him an' the law sport.
"'"You do well to come to me, my children," he says."The Senor Juan"--that's what the padre calls Spencer--"the Senor Juan is dead.
It is ten days since he passed.The Donna Anna? She also is dead an'
with the Senor Juan.We must go to the Hacienda Tulorosa, which is the house of the Donna Anna.That will be to-morrow.Meanwhile, who is to protect Juarez, my beloved chicken, in his battle when I will be away? Ah! I remember! The Don Jose Miguel will do.He is skilful of cocks of the game.Also he has bet money on Juarez; so he will be faithful.Therefore, to-morrow, my children, we will go to the Donna Anna's house.There I will tell you the story of the Senor Juan.""'The Hacienda Tulorosa is twenty miles back further in the hills.
The padre, the law sharp an' me is started before sun-up, an' a good road-gait fetches us to the Hacienda Tulorosa in a couple of hours.
It's the sort of a ranch which a high grade Mexican with a strong bank-roll would throw up.It's built all 'round a court, with a flower garden and a fountain in the centre.As we comes up, Iobserves the old Magdalena projectin' about the main door of the casa, stirrin' up some lazy peonies to their daily toil--which, to use the word "toil," however, in connection with a Greaser, is plumb sarcastic.The padre leads us into the cases, an' the bitter-lookin'
