Dark cavern chat gone

19 Jun

A little, wiry, twisted fellow, twenty years older than herself, with brown eyes and greying hair, who had come to America a scrap of a wastrel, from Holland, years ago, as a tiny boy, and from the gold-mines of the west had been kicked south into Mexico, and now was more or less rich, owning silver-mines in the wilds of the Sierra Madre: it was obvious that the adventure lay in his circumstances, rather than his person.But he was still a little dynamo of energy, in spite of accidents survived, and what he had accomplished he had accomplished alone.This e Book is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at Contents The Woman Who Rode Away Two Blue Birds Sun Smile The Border-Line Jimmy and the Desperate Woman The Last Laugh In Love The Man Who Loved Islands Glad Ghosts None of That!

Dark cavern chat gone-81

So the years went by, in the adobe house strung round the sunny patio, with the silver-works overhead. When the silver went dead, he ran a ranch lower down, some twenty miles away, and raised pure-bred hogs, splendid creatures. He was a squeamish waif of an idealist, and really hated the physical side of life. His marriage, his children, were something he was making, part of his business, but with a sentimental income this time. And sometimes her husband brought visitors, Spaniards or Mexicans or occasionally white men.

There was supposed to be one tribe, the Chilchuis, living in a high valley to the south, who were the sacred tribe of all the Indians. She set off without a qualm, riding astride on her strong roan horse, and wearing a riding suit of coarse linen, a riding skirt over her linen breeches, a scarlet neck-tie over her white blouse, and a black felt hat on her head.

The descendants of Montezuma and of the old Aztec or Totonac kings still lived among them, and the old priests still kept up the ancient religion, and offered human sacrifices--so it was said. But she had her own horse, and she dreamed of being free as she had been as a girl, among the hills of California. She had food in her saddle-bags, an army canteen with water, and a large, native blanket tied on behind the saddle.

Her husband had never become real to her, neither mentally nor physically.

In spite of his late sort of passion for her, he never meant anything to her, physically. The three months ended: back she was, just the same, in her adobe house among those eternal green or pinky-brown hills, void as only the undiscovered is void.