sure enough, was the litter, followed by a crowd of
miners, which contained the body of the ix)or lad
who had fallen a victim to a quarrelsome drunkard's
knife — a knife that had, ere now, taken one human
life. Just ahead of the litter was a cloud of dust,
slowly receding. It was the body of Municipal
Guards, escorting the murderer to the prison, there
to lie, perhapis, for months or even years, awaiting
the doom of human law in Spain — not death, but
imprisonment. Slowly I dragged my sickening heart
and weary footsteps toward home. The shades of
evening were falling, and I had yet a mile of lonely
road to travel with my one companion. Suddenly,
rising up silently from behind a block of granite, two
men, the brass plates upon their breasts and leather
shoulder-belt proclaiming them Guards of the Canipo,
drew near me, and, gun in hand, one on either side,
began to accompany me. I asked what it meant,
and the chief answered, quietly, ^^ It is a bad time of
day, and a bad day for crime ; we will see you to
the outskirts of your pueblo." This they did, and
departed as silently as they had joined me.
