Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 May 1904 — The Road Mia Chose [ARTICLE]

The Road Mia Chose

By SARAH COMSTOCK

Regarding the overdraft of the Rensselaer Stock Farm, which went out of business several years ago. Delos Thompson, partner with T. J. McCoy and W. A. Rinehart in the conducting of said farm, claims to have paid his onethird of the over-draft long ago, and has a receipt from the McCoy bank for such payment. Whether or not he will have to make this whole amount good as it now appears on the bank’s ledger, is a mooted legal question. Assignee Chapman has procured an order from the court to continue the management of the Jordan township farm for the coming year, and to sell such personal property on said farm not needed for the management of same Walter Porter, manager of said farm, has given his consent to the sale of such property. Porter will continue in charge of this farm. Orders of court have been made for the disposition of all the lands and other property, the lands to be farmed this year uuder existing contracts and sold in tracts to suit the purchasers. An unexpected run would force almost every bank in the country to close its doors, temporarilly, at least. But the solvent bank would have its notes and securities left. The failure of the McCoy bank was not the result of anything of this kind, but it continued “prosperous” so long as the people handed in the money to keep it going, and when its patrons could bring in no more cash it went busted. Its notes and securities, where are they? Unsecured notes for $39,000, worth about 25 cents on the dollar, are all that are here, and the personal account of the McCoys and their families over drawn for nearly $300,000! The patrons carried in the money and the McCoys helped themselves to it.

“Uow slow you are, Candida l” "Yes.” It was entirely good tempered. Therefore the other voice became crosser. “What’s the use primping two hours for that mere nobody of a Filtberto?” “To be sure, what is the use?” Candida’s good temper was maddening. Her mother was at the remote end of the bouse, but she could see mentally the smiling, tantalizing fuce that she knew' so well. Candida's mirt%r smiled back at her. It was a tiny mirror with a shabby frame, but it held the loveliest and most famous picture In all Alta California. The portrait was that of a slxteen-year-old girl, stropgly built and exquisitely rounded, as those Castilian girls of old California were—the complexion a pure Castilian olive without a tinge of rose; the eyes a sparkling, vivid black; the hair as black as the eyes, a splendid mass colled high and caught with a comb. “Ah, but It is of use, even if Filiberto Is a mere nobody. What do you think, lovely senorita?” she said to the face In the mirror. The face laughed back at her. Candles were fastened to the wall on each side of the mirror, so that a strong light was thrown on the face therein. Candida could watch It to good advantage as It grew lovelier under her skillful touch. , A lock of hair did not suit her. She brushed it, pulled it, unfastened it, refastened it, finally pulled down the whole mass of hair in a heap and began coiling It all over from the beginning. “You’re the slowest of all my girls,” fretted her mother In the dining room. It made no difference to her whether Candida was slow or not on this occasion, but she was out of sorts with all the world. She hud expected that the comandante would invite her daughter to accompany him to the fandango tonight. She had watched in vain for the message. She Saw her matchmaking blighted after being brought to a critical point , “Where’s the girl?” growled a terrific voice. It was that of her husband. “She’s dressing.” "What for. when she’s going with nobody but Yorba? She had as well wear her working gown.” “Ah, Dios—after all our hopes!” Seuora Barrajas wrung her fat bands. “It’s of no avail to whimper about it The girl’s been a fool, you may count on that no matter what she says. She’s done something to annoy the Comandante it’s like her. Stubborn as her mother. She will reap as she sows.” "My stubbornness made me marry you,” put in the senora. “And you got better than you ever deserved.” lie strode out of the room grumbling like a thunderstorm. Candida, adjusting her comb, heard it all and smiled. “Ah, madre mla, how blind you are in spite of your lynx eyes,” she said and took a note from her bosom. “Contrary to custom, I send this to you instead of to your mother,” she reread with satisfaction. "For it is your answer I desire. Will you accompany me to the fandango? If not I shall go to Santa Barbara on business, for the fandango without you would hold no charms.” Below was any girl In California would have given her black eyes for—the signature of the popular comandante. No member of the famliy had seen the messenger ride up and deliver this note to Tland{da. Nor had any one seen her send back her answer which read: "I must beg to be excused from this fandango, for my ankle Is still weak since Pero threw me, and I dare not risk a dance.” Nor did any one know that she sent another message to a certain “nobody.” “The coast is clfear. The comandante is going to Santa Barbara, so he will never know that I go to the dance. Father will let me go with you for the once, for he thinks I have no other invitation.” v, Candida’s conscience shook off fibs as a duck shakes off water. There was not a cloud on her brow as she made herself lovely for the ball. Iler father had given a grumbling “yes” to Filiberto’s invitation. He had refused over and over to let the girl accompany this young man, whose fault was poverty, but now pique played its part, and as he realized that the comandante was not inviting Candida after all his promising attentions be resolved that she should not be left at home. # “I don’t care; take her to the dance if you want to,” he said to Filiberto Yorba. Then he went off muttering curses on the head of the comandante. They had gambled together many a time, and they had lain side by side In their cups when the aguardiente was plenty. “Now the man la jilting my daughter, is he?’ Candida tucked the note In her bosom again. It would be fun to show tt to'Filiberto wbea they had a little time alone. \ "Tell Filiberto I’ll be ready in a minute,” she called as she heard the light hoofs of Mia. She moved the comb to the other aide, then bade to its original position. Behind her ear she fastened a great crimson rose. . “Yon are lovelier than ever,” Flßberto whispered as she gave him a glimpse of the picture she was. Then

• H she threw a white mantilla over ber head and shoulders, ber face and the rose peeping ont from the snowy lace. "Good evening, Mia,” she said, patting the little horse’s nose. It gave a happy whinny, for It knew Candida. Her father and mother came from the house and said a surly good evening to the handsome young Spaniard. To them be was entirely objectionable In that he had no property, no influential father, nothing bnt his own deverness and courage to depend upon. Furthermore, they strongly suspected their daughter of preferring him to the shrewd old political fox to whom they were trying to marry her. "Permit me to thank you both for intrusting your daughter to my care tonight,” he said blithely In spite of the frowns that greeted him. Candida' patted the restless pony again. “Are you In a hurry, Mia?” she said. “Come, Filiberto. we must start. Mla says she will not wait.” The girl put her little red slippered foot into the stirrup, Filiberto helped her ns she sprang, and she was perched aloft in the gala day saddle, all carved and besilvered. With a bow to the old people he sprang up behind her, as was the Californian custom. He reached forward to adjust the reins. Mia fumed to be off. But the word had not been given when a clatter of hoofs sounded beyond the house. All turned to see who the arrival was. The hoofs clattered more sharply as the gallop slowed. Up rode the comandante. At the sight of Candida about to ride away he turned white with anger, as his way was. “Ah, senorita, may I inquire who your physician may be that your ankle heals so quickly?’ The father and mother stood silent, looking from one to the other. Suspicion, fear, rage, were creeping upon them. It was no time to parry, the girl knew. “There Is but one physician who can heal every hurt,” she replied. “He Is love., I am in his charge. Off, Mla.” And the pony was away with them. “You mean it?’ said Filiberto. She only tossed him a teasing laugh now. “How Mla flies!” she said, dodging his question. “There are the lights of the fandango.” Far away glittered the brilliaift lights in a great ranch bouse. Suddenly the road divided. At the end of one branch were the lights of the gay ball; at the end of the other, one lamp shone from the mission. "Listen!” said Filiberto and stopped the horse. A strange blending of sounds came to their ears; guitar and violin sounded faintly from the left; from the right came the faraway chime of the mission bell. “To the left lies the dance,” he said slowly. “After It—home again, a storm of wrath, you and I separate forever.” "Yes,” she said, the merriment gone out of her eyes. “To the right,” he went on, “Father Juan, our old priest and friend. He knows ns and loves us. He will marry us tonight.” “Oh!” she cried with a little shudder. “Shall It not be the right road?” "Ob—l’m afraid—l can’t”— “Say the right” She hesitated, perplexed. Then she cried: “I know, I’ll let Mia decide. We shall see which way she chooses.” She pushed his hands from the reins, drew Mla to the middle of the fork and stopped her. “Now go, Mla,” she said. The horse flung up her head and galloped Into the dark road on the right "Mla, you shall feed upon sugar lumps for the rest of your life,” Filiberto said. It was not for many years that Candida made a confession to her husband. "I tweaked the right rein,” she owned then. '1 was so afraid Mia might make a mistake.”