The last act of our drama is recorded, the last sanguinary scene. All
red enough, the reader will say, while the keenly susceptible one may
deem them too red. Alas! the writer is not answerable for this. He but
depicts life as it exists on the borderland between Mexico and Texas.
Those who doubt its reality, and would deem him drawing upon
imagination, should read the Texan newspapers of that time, or those of
this very day. In either he will find recorded occurrences as strange,
incidents as improbable, episodes as romantic, and tragedies of hue
sanguinary as any recorded in this mere romance.
Not always with such a satisfactory termination. Fortunately for our
tale and its readers, Nemesis, in dealing out death and meting
vengeance, has necessarily allied herself with Justice. The fallen
deserved their fate--all, save the teamsters of the caravan, and those
Texans who on Pecan Creek succumbed to the Comanche spears.
These victims, like stage supernumeraries, living nameless and dying
unknown, though their fate may stir our sympathy it does not appeal to
the painful depths of sorrow. More easily can it be borne, reflecting
on the brighter fate of the survivors.
It can give no painful sensation to tell that Colonel Miranda and his
sister accompanied Frank Hamersley on his return to the States, Don
Prospero and the New Mexican damsel, Conchita, being of the party, which
had for escort across the plains Captain Haynes and his company of Texan
Rangers, their old comrade, Walt Wilder, travelling along, and, with Nat
Cully, narrating around their nightly camp fires many a strange "scrape"
of the mountains and prairies. Two subsequent scenes alone seem worthy
of record, both fairly deserving it.
The first occurs in a little country church in the celebrated "Blue
Grass district" of Kentucky. Within its walls have assembled some
scores of the very bluest blood of this blue grass country--stalwart,
handsome men, alongside a like number of lovely women. They are
assisting at a marriage ceremony, not an uncommon occurrence in a
church. But in the Kentuckian place of worship--a little rural edifice,
far away from any town--it is something unusual to see three couples
standing before the altar. In the present case there is this number,
none of the pairs strangers to the other two, but all three, by mutual
agreement and understanding, to take Hymen's oath at the same time.
Foremost and first to put the ring on his bride's finger is Frank
Hamersley. She who holds out her hand to receive it is Adela Miranda.
Of the couple coming next, the bridegroom is known to the reader. A
handsome man, of dark complexion and pure Spanish features, remarked by
the spectators as having resemblance to those of Hamersley's new-made
bride. Not strange, he being her brother.
But who is the lady, the tall, fair girl consenting to make Don Valerian
happy, so like Hamersley himself.
No one asks this question, all present knowing she is his sister.
A fair exchange between the brothers of the bride; each equally quick to
fall in love with the sister of the other. On the sterile Llano
Estacado it took scarce a minute for the dark Mexican maiden to subdue
the heart of Hamersley. Almost as soon, in the fertile State of
Kentucky, has his bright-skinned, blonde-haired sister made conquest of
the Mexican Colonel.
The third pair that presents itself to be made man and wife--who are
they? The bridegroom stands six feet two in his boots; the bride, in
her satin slippers, far under five. Without thinking of the
disproportion in their stature, the reader will recognise Walt Wilder
and Conchita.
As the ex-Ranger puts the ring on the finger of his blushing bride, he
accompanies the act with certain ludicrous protestations of fidelity not
to be found in the printed ritual of the Church.
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Another scene ends our tale; a simple episode of every-day life; but
life in a strange land, remote from the ordinary centres of
civilisation.
It occurs in New Mexico, in itself a sort of oasis in the great middle
desert of North America. Locally, the scene takes place near
Albuquerque, on the azotea of a handsome house, which commands a view of
the town.
It is the mansion once belonging to Don Valerian Miranda.
That its former master has retained possession of it is evident from the
fact of his being again on its roof, tranquilly smoking a cigaretto;
while near by him is his sister. Though one dearer stands between--his
wife. Adela is not distressed by her brother's preference for the new
mistress of the mansion. She has a mansion of her own, independent.
Though far off, its master, Frank Hamersley, is near.
Near, also, in the court-yard below is Walt Wilder, in his grotesque way
playing Benedict to Conchita. While up and down moves the doctor,
sharing the general joy.
Outside, upon the plain, the white tilts of twenty waggons, with the
smoke of camp-fires rising over them, tell of a trader's caravan. It is
Hamersley's--late arrived--_en route_ for the Rio Abajo and El Paso del
Norte.
Its teamsters take their siesta, reposing in full confidence. No fear
of Indian attacks now, nor impost exactions from the tyrant Governor of
New Mexico, Don Manuel Armijo!
A war has swept the land; a new flag floats over it. Seen streaming
above the towers of Albuquerque, it promises security to all. For it is
the banner of the "Stars and Stripes!"