PADRE MIGUEL’S STORY

When they reappeared on the piazza in simple tailor-made suits, they found the young men already there. Sandy was engaged in an interesting conversation with an aged old priest who had stopped at the mission with some newspapers. He smiled divinely at the group of girl scouts and his salute, as he lifted his trembling right hand, seemed like a benediction.

He went indoors, and instantly Julie turned to her companions and whispered: “You-all wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” Before the Captain could reply the girl disappeared behind the swingdoors. A few moments later she returned, followed by the mild-looking old priest.

“Captain, this is Padre Miguel of the little ancient chapel we passed just before coming to the city. He says he would be pleased to tell us many interesting things which he personally remembers since he came to Santa FÉ in his youth. Padre, this is my scout Captain, Mrs. Vernon, and these are my friends, Joan, Hester, and my twin-sister, Betty. Scouts this is Padre Miguel,” was Julie’s explanation. “The young men you know already.”

The priest acknowledged the introduction in English, but the Spanish accent was noticeable.

Adair instantly pulled out a wooden chair for the Padre, who very courteously placed it for Mrs. Vernon, and she, smiling, thanked him and sat down. At the same time Sandy had discovered a second chair at the end of the narrow piazza, and now ran to fetch it. The scouts sat on the top step of the entrance from the pathway, and were anxiously waiting for the promised tale. The young men seated themselves Indian fashion, upon the grass at the foot of the steps and seemed more interested in the girls than in the Padre’s words.

“What a wonderful story you could tell, Padre, if you have lived in Santa FÉ so many years,” began the Captain, encouragingly.

The wrinkled old priest nodded his head.

“Yes, my children, I can. Many, many miracles I see in this city since I come to be shepherd to my flock in leetle mission seventy year ago. I now eighty-eight, my children, and it’s mos’ time I called home to render account of my work.”

“How wonderful! to watch the growth of this city,” breathed Mrs. Vernon.

“Ye’es; to-day she have t’ree railroads, many mails a day, ’lectric lights an’ telephones, with plenty fine improvement, but then, ah!” the Padre’s tone was significant.

“The Old Palace—that long, one-story building of Spanish-Moorish architecture at the Plaza—tell many story if its walls could spik. You might hear all about our Spanish Warriors of the olden times—so far back as when the pueblo people use the stone meal-bins and corn caves still to be seen there, and lived on that same place long before the Spanish Conquerors came in 1605 to use the site for their own fort.

“So lately as 1912 when Santa FÉ say it must cut through some arch and change inside to make more room, they fine conical fireplaces such like you see in prehistoric caves in New Mexico—mebbe some Indian t’ousand years back use dis cave dwelling.

“But Santa FÉ not like ’Merican city, and she never will be, ’cause she child of Old Spain adopted by United States. She not used to ’Merican ways, so she keep Spanish customs.”

“We haven’t visited your city yet, Padre, but I can judge from the general view we had, and from this unique mission ranch, that we shall be intensely interested in all we see and hear at Santa FÉ,” remarked the Captain.

“That old Governor Palace see many tragedy, many melodrama acted—many by savages, many by Mexican rulers, such tales I could tell—ah!” The Padre sighed and crossed himself devoutly.

“One tale what mek gr-rand play for history picture, all about Spanish lady who have seester what marry officer of Viceroy. Thees officer no good. He beat wife, he take all her gold what is dower, he kill her with his brutal way. Then seester come to Old Palace, demand justice, but Viceroy he laugh. What nex’? Do lady sit an’ cry? No, No! she get horse, tek her money, ride all long trail to Mexico City and tell big men of King. Then she mek justice come to Santa FÉ, and every one feel better for leetle time.

“Oh, ye’es! Many, many such tragedy, many drama, what go on in Old Palace where history make the West,” repeated the Padre, his weak black eyes gazing at the famous old building which was just visible beyond the houses in the foreground.

“You know, signoras, our old Santa FÉ trail one of mos’ famous in world history. Picture, if you please, the Fonda where American caravans come to exchange goods. Near, too near, the Fonda stand the customs and jail building. Walls in those days were build five to six feet through of solid adobe. Walls then have to be refuge for men. In the prison wall you go see bullet holes, where the gun what shoot at prisoner not kill him. The man who have charge of Fonda Exchange, he run everything. If he say to trader ‘$100 duty,’ then trader pay, or go to jail nex’ door. Mebbe he come out some day, mebbe he get bullet in cell—in brain cell,” laughed the toothless old Padre, showing he appreciated a sense of humor.

“You see, Signoras, he mus’ alius pay duty. Why not? If he no pay, he go to prison an’ somebody tak all his goods for cost of storage. Mebbe he never come out! So he pay—see?” the Padre shrugged his shoulders, and the scouts saw only too well.

“Can you shut your eyes, Signoras, as I can, and see a caravan topping yon ridge. I see white-tented wagons with great heavy wheels, drawn by yokes of oxen—five, six yokes hitch tandem, with extra mule-teams tie behind wagon to help out in need. I hear driver swear and shout, ‘stretch out there!’—then he lash a bull-whip what reach first yoke and all along backs of yokes behind leader, like a serpent covering slimy trail to hole in groun’. Every caravan have scout out-riders and a Capitaine what command; and Capitaine have twoscore wagons to look after. That trip take forty-fifty days to mak over desert and dune. It were no fun to trek across Indian land those days, where Ute Warriors, or Comanche savages, lay wait to attack and scalp men, then steal beasts and burdens—Ye’es, I see it all!” Even so, the scouts, too, saw the mirage which the Padre painted in such telling words.

“I can see the Old Palace when the grandees have a ball, or a reception. Such costumes I never see in Madrid, or Granada, or other cities of Spain. I see them promenade in silks, and velvets, and bejeweled from crown to ankle. I have seen all such drop to their knees when I have ring vesper bell. All, all, are gone long ago, yet Padre Miguel remains.”

The Padre sat humped in his chair, his thin hands clasped laxly between his knees. The scouts were afraid to speak lest they break the spell woven by the old man. Finally the priest sighed, then smiled and looked up.

“You have viseet the pueblo cities of Jemez and Pecos and Taos—yess!” asked he of Mrs. Vernon.

“No, Padre, only Pecos CaÑon, and up to Taos Mountain,” returned the Captain.

“Ha! you must sure see Jemez, my fren’s. Such wise men have these Pueblo Indians! No knave there, but hones’, fine rulers. Now some men what play politics, he try mek all pueblo dwellers bankrupt so they move out and leave claims to schemers who want such land for money—ah, ye’es—Padre Miguel know how money make demon of white man!”

“We have a young Ranger in our party who is here with a man from Chicago—they are about to investigate the bare facts of the situation regarding this Bursum Bill,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.

“Ye’es! I like to meet him, to tell him much I know ’bout such business,” said the priest, eagerly. “’Mericans must not let such work go on, or the day will come when the land about to be stolen from the Indians will be haunted even as Isleta is—it is protected in times of danger by the holy friar. You hear of him?” said the priest

“No, what is it, Padre?” returned Mrs. Vernon.

“Every fife-ten year the friar come back to warn his peepul what best to do. Sometimes the river floods coming bad, and always he warn his flock in time for them to escape. When we tell unbelievers this they laugh. However, a number of ’Mericans get permit a few years back, and dig up grave where holy father’s body rest. They find the heavy log coffin and friar’s earth-body jus’ so good as when his spirit leave it. All I say is truth, ’cause I am Padre here, and cannot mistell you this.”

Further reminiscences were impossible, because a number of men were seen coming up the foot-path to the piazza.

“Well, scouts, how did you pass the hour I left you to your resources?” called the hearty voice of Mr. Gilroy, as he approached.

“We never thought of you once,” laughed Joan.

“That shows how much we missed you,” added Julie.

“If I was a fine young man in green uniform I suppose I’d have all the girls sighing for me,” retorted Mr. Gilroy.

That evening, after supper, Sanderson and Burt devoted their time and attention to Padre Miguel and the important information about the Pueblos which he gave them. The scouts gathered around and listened for a time, then, finding that Adair and Chase were equally interested in the Padre’s tales, they said good-night and went to bed.

“You know, Gilly,” said Mr. Vernon, in an undertone that night, “I think we’ll let the horses eat their heads off here, where the fodder is the cheapest thing we can buy, while we hire a touring-car to visit the places about Santa FÉ. We’ll really save money, and in the end, give us more time to see the really wonderful places when we get to them, instead of using the time on the road if we use horses,” said Mr. Vernon.

“Do you know, Verny, I was thinking the same thing to-day, when I saw the numerous cars go through the city on the way to points of interest in New Mexico. I was half wishing we had left the horses out of the plan for this summer and had chosen the automobile instead,” remarked Mr. Gilroy.

“Don’t regret having decided on horses, Gilly; we can never go in a car where the four sure feet of mountain-climbing horses can carry us,” declared Mr. Vernon, emphatically. “But now, I really believe we can do better by using a machine to cover these long trips, such as forty to sixty miles a day. In this way we need not miss a single thing around Santa FÉ, and still be on hand in order to meet the other girl scouts the first of August.”

“That is, if they are allowed to come out here,” added Mr. Gilroy, doubtfully.

“I’m sure of their joining us later. I wrote letters to their fathers and expressed myself quite plainly about the way their daughters were being deprived of traveling and seeing what most young ladies would give their hats to see. But I haven’t mentioned my letters to the Missus, or the girls here, understand?”

Mr. Gilroy chuckled. Yes, he understood perfectly!

“Well, I’ll authorize you to go hunt up two large enough cars early to-morrow morning, to accommodate our party. Then we can compare notes in a few days, and see if we cover the field better than with horses,” agreed Mr. Gilroy.

“All right—done!” exclaimed Mr. Vernon, as they got up and started for their respective rooms to sleep.

At breakfast the following morning, the plan of securing two automobiles to drive to the points of interest within a radius of Santa FÉ was heartily approved by every one in the party.

“Let me do the bargaining for you,” said the Ranger. “Every one in the town knows me by sight, and I am sure I will be able to secure better rates.”

“All right,” agreed Mr. Gilroy; “glad to get rid of the trouble.”

“We’ll go with you, Sandy,” offered Burt, including Adair and Chase in his glance.

For a few hours that morning, therefore, the scouts were left to amuse themselves. Sandy had promised to get back with the cars, if they should find any, before noon. The host of the ranch house had promised to look after the horses and burros whenever the owners should be absent. Fodder was cheap and the weather was fine, consequently there was no reason why the animals should not fare well.

While the young men were absent on their search for two comfortable cars the two elder men with the scouts were planning various excursions to the points of interest around Santa FÉ. One of these excursions would follow the trail past Buckman, taking in the Water and Ancho CaÑons, and so on to the Bandelier National Monument. On this route they would continue to the Frijoles CaÑon, thence to the Painted Cave, and further down the trail visit CaÑon de Cochita; the next point of interest would be a visit to the San Felipe Indian Reservation, and then trail eastward to the Tiffany Turquoise Mines and the San Marquis Pueblo Ruins.

Within an hour after leaving the ranch house, Sandy and his friends returned in two comfortable touring cars. The camping outfits were stowed away, and a supply of food packed in hampers; then having said good-by to the host, the scout-party got into the two cars and drove away. Sandy acted as chauffeur in the car where Julie, Hester, Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Chase were seated. Tally drove the car in which were the Captain and Mr. Vernon, Betty and Joan, Mr. Burt and Mr. Adair. The latter car being a seven passenger model, while the former was a five passenger car.