Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 73, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 December 1910 — THE STATEMENT OF THE ACCUSED [ARTICLE]

THE STATEMENT OF THE ACCUSED

A New Year’s Tragedv In the Sierra Madre Foothills.

It was the day of the new year. I heard the mellow ring of old Juan’s horn lingering faint and sweet on the heavy scented air of afternoon, and the sheep on the foothills were scampering gayly away from the pathway of the herder and his broncho. I noticed that Jim was not as eager as once he had been to enter the cool and cavernous depths of the winding gorge. He had for some time been silent and. as it seemed to. me. embarrassed. ever since, indeed. 1 had welcomed him at the Mission San Gabriel, and now, I thought, he was almost unwilling to enter the familiar place, endeared as it was to both of us by crowding memories of overwhelming joy apd perfect happiness. 1 was always quick to comprehend, for Concha Ramirez has in her veins Castilian blood, and Jim’s thoughts, through my long association with him and my constant study of his moods, were almost as soon communicated to my' brain as given birth by his. And so, had I been less occupied with my delight at once more seeing him I loved. I might have been spared much of the pain that was to come. He was the same darling Jim as of old. His year's absence in the icebound east had served to pale his cheek a little, but in all else, except the ex change of the ranchero’s coarse clothing for the attire of the gentleman, he was Jim. my Jim, who would love me always and whom in return I loved as they say only Spanish women can. Ah, how often I have striven to picture while I prayed the pitying face of Jesu! But it was always Jim's—always. If I dreamed it was Jim who occupied my fancy, and in the morning when I gave thanks to the blessed Virgin for preserving me throughout the night I was grateful not that life was still vouchsafed to me, but that for yet another day I might love him who was my life. But at last as month followed month and I heard no word from him I began to fear, and when a woman, fears she doubts. It was a full year before a letter came, and when Padre Antonio read the sentence which told me he was in Los Angeles and would come to the mission the following day I put aside my evil thoughts and was overcome with delight. And now he was by my side! Together we were treading the familiar places. Together we were about to call up the happy past and make it real once more. We seated ourselves upon the moss grown ledge where so often we, had spoken words of’love, and again I felt his arms around me, again bis lips pressed mine; Yet it was not the same —this kiss. There was no sweet violence. It was as if the frost of the east had numbed his heart as it had numbed his body. I thought to warm him with the fervor of my love and so drew closer. Nombre de dios!, What was this? He shrank away! I kissed him once again. He repulsed the! But I contained myself.’ I did not strike him. Then he put on a serious air an.l said: - . “Concha, forgive me. It is my father. He has persuaded me. I have promised to marry an American girl, a girl of the gringo nation. As I say. I consented.” Mark this—l did not interrupt him. I only looked. Well, he went on: “I thought I could do it I thought I could forget you,' so I promised. But now I retract that promise. I cannot live without you.” I said nothing. He embraced me and caressed me, and I accepted his caresses and embraces. it grew dark. Above the pines sang the dirge of day. The brook hastened by to enjoy the last warm smile of the departing sun. Far up the canyon a mocking bird was rehearsing the vesper hymn of nature. He lay in my arms asleep, be who had been faithless to me. It is true he was faithless but in thought, in impulse. Nevertheless he had been faithless. It is the unpardonable sin. It was a keen knife, and as I drew it from my bosom it caught the rays of the rising moon. Slowly, as I gazed, they grew less and less bright Passed a cloud across the heavens? No, not so; the moon was brilliant overhead. It was the steel that was dulled. The moisture of death had covered it He slyieked as I plunged the blade into his breast. “Concha!” he cried. His eyes opened, and when they closed my image was painted upon each of them—not the gringo woman’s, you see. Influenced by an unaccountable impulse, I threw myself upon him. I kissed his lips, his cheeks, his brow, his eyelids. “Concha!” he whispered. It was my name—his last word. But he was yet alive; he breathed, though faintly. I leaned over and spoke softly in his ear. He had ceased to breathe. Carefully I bathed his wound with, the icy water of the brook, which was chattering like old Mother Lugo at a fiesta: stanched the blood with a piece of my best red petticoat, which I had put • , in honor of his coming, and made o the moss a pillow for his head. Am then for the last time I kissed him. Just as Our lips met the bells of the mission began to toll the funeral knell When I passed the church I saw the mission squirreli on the wall, all sitting erect as a major domo at a rodeo. They did not know of the other bod’’ lying uncoffined in the canyon. -