CHAPTER XXIII

Darkness so dense lay over the Fernandez plain that not the faintest
outline of the rimming mountains penetrated its blackness. Like some
palpable, suffocating substance it filled the plain and mounted far up
into the air, even to the blue-black sky, whence a million gemming
stars pierced it with their diamond lances.

Perched alone among the foothills of the Fernandez range, Juan
Garcia's gray adobe house glimmered faintly through the darkness.
Every sound about the house was hushed, and only the burro in the
_jacal_ down the hillside made known to the silent plain that he was
still awake. The door into the _portal_ opened softly, and with a
quick, gliding, silent movement a dark figure came hastily out, closed
the door, listened a moment, and then trod lightly across the _portal_
and down to the road. There it paused, and Amada Garcia's face,
anxious and wistful, framed in the black folds of her mantilla, looked
back at the silent house. A deep, dry sob shook all her frame and she
half turned back, as if irresolute. Then she drew from her breast a
folded bit of paper, pressed it to her heart and her cheek, and kissed
it again and again. She cast another regretful, longing look at the
gray adobe house, and started off in the direction of Muletown. The
faintly glimmering track of the sandy road opened slowly before her in
the darkness, and, drawing her mantilla closely around her shoulders,
she walked briskly along the dusty highway.

She kept the folded paper in her hand, pressing it to her lips and
cheek with little cooing sounds of love. Once, standing still in the
darkness and silence of the wide, black plain, she unfolded the letter
and kissed the open sheet. It was too dark for her to see a single
word upon the page, but she knew just where were "_mi esposa_," and
"_mi querida_," and "_mi corazon_."

That afternoon, as she filled her _olla_ at the spring, a young
Mexican came riding by in brave attire of braided jacket and trousers
and silver trimmed sombrero. She knew him well. Indeed, she had often
bantered back his compliments and adroitly turned to merriment the
sweet speeches he would rather have had her take in earnest. He
stopped and gave her the letter, which he had brought all the way from
the post-office at Muletown solely for excuse to see her. She poised
the _olla_ full of water upon her head and he walked up the hill to
the house by her side, and while he talked to her mo