ake a panorama of a later day. It is just before the fall of Spanish
rule. The Governor sits in his Palace at Santa Fe, a mightier autocrat
than the Pope in Rome; for, as the Russians say, "God is high in His
Heavens," and the King is far away, and those who want justice in Santa
Fe, must pay--pay--pay--pay in gold coin that can be put in the iron
chest of the viceroy. (You can see specimens of those iron chests all
through New Mexico yet--chests with a dozen secret springs to guard the
family fortune of the hidden gold bullion.) A woman bursts into the
presence of the Viceroy, and throws herself on her knees. It is a
terrible tale--the kind of tale we are too finical to tell in these
modern days, though that is not saying there are not many such tales to
be told. The woman's young sister has married an officer of the
Viceroy's ring. He has beaten her as he would a slave. He has treated
her to vile indecencies of which only Hell keeps record. She had fled to
her father; but the father, fearing the power of the Viceroy, had sent
her back to the man; and the man has killed her with his brutalities. (I
have this whole story from a lineal descendant of the family.) The woman
throws back her _rebozo_, drops to her knees before the Viceroy, and
demands justice. The Viceroy thinks and thinks. A woman more or less!
What does it matter? The woman's father had been afraid to act,
evidently. The husband is a member of the government ring. Interference
might stir up an ugly mess--revelations of extortion and so on! Besides,
justice is worth so much per; and this woman--what has she to pay? This
Viceroy will do nothing. The woman rises slowly, incredulous. Is this
justice? She denounces the Viceroy in fiery, impassioned speech. The
Viceroy smiles and twirls his mustachios. What can a woman do? The woman
proclaims her imprecation of a court that fails of justice. (Do our
courts fail of justice? Is there no lesson in that past for us?) Do you
know what she did? She did what not one woman in a million could do
to-day, when conditions are a thousand fold easier. She went back to her
home. It was just about where the pretty Spanish house of Mr. Morley of
the Archaeological School stands to-day. She gathered up all the loose
gold she could and bound it in a belt around her waist. Then she took
the most powerful horse she had from the kraal, saddled him and rode
out absolutely alone for the city of Old Mexico--900 miles as the trail
ran. Apa