OVER THE BORDER 193 



to the cemetery fence and looked over. The 

 monuments were mostly, if not wholly, wooden 

 crosses, with the ordinary run of affectionate 

 epitaphs. A man, who appeared to be the keeper 

 of the place, came out of the one house near at 

 hand, and asked me something in Spanish, to 

 which I replied in English. We were unable to 

 communicate with each other till finally I said, 

 " JV6 sabe." It was not precisely what I intended 

 to teU him ; but it was aU one. He saw for him- 

 self that I spoke no Spanish, and with that left 

 me to myself. 



I returned to El Paso on foot, and as I reached 

 the northern end of the bridge, walking, as it 

 happened, on the far side of the road, with my 

 overcoat on my arm, as careless as could be, I 

 was hailed by an officer in uniform. I halted, 

 and he approached. Then he waited. It was my 

 place to speak first, as it seemed, and I began : 



" Do you vnsh to inspect me ? " 



"Well, what did you buy in Mexico?" he 

 asked. 



" A postal card, and mailed it." 



" Was that all you bought ? " 



"Yes." 



« AH right." 



The souvenir postal-card industry, though 

 comparatively infantile, is not "protected," it 



