THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 125 



Why is this landscape so sorrowful? 



Close at hand, against the western glow, moves 

 sedately the profile of Evangelista, who eschews 

 mental effort and leads the simple life in large let- 

 ters. Yet her masque is eloquent of tragedy historic 

 and prehistoric, of interminable desert marches, of 

 flight and capture, of murder and outrage. 

 Evangelista cares for none of these things. That 

 her inherited aspect provides the Senora with food 

 for thought would astound her. 



TO THE UNKNOWN DEAD 



Thus is the stage set for peace, yet in past and 

 present very human emotions trail their length 

 along, and just now swell the breasts of the two 

 little dogs seated on either side of me on the porch 

 step. They also possess a past wrapped in some 

 mystery. 



On a cloth spread at my feet a pair of wee pups, 

 offspring of said dogs, make merry, regardless of 

 the raging jealousy of one parent and the agoniz- 

 ing anxiety of the other. Each pup is tiny enough 

 to sit in the palm of the hand, and to sit up comes 

 by right of birth to the true bred Chihuahua. There- 

 fore these little chaps are as erect upon their hinder- 

 ends as tenderness of age permits, and they are 

 cuffing one another's ears with the like permissible 

 vigor, emitting small fiendish sounds intended to 

 be growls of wrath and falling backward after each 

 buffet given and received. Betsinda, on my right, 

 trembles, and seeks my countenance for reassurance 

 with her immense dark gaze. Not so Cortes. His 



