n first--TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!"

The editor's start of impatient incredulity was checked by the
unmistakable sincerity of Enriquez's face. "It is so," he went on
gravely; "it is an old story--it is a long story. I shall make him
short--and new."

He stopped and lit a cigarette without changing his odd expression.

"It was when the padres first have the mission, and take the heathen and
convert him--and save his soul. It was their business, you comprehend,
my Pancho? The more heathen they convert, the more soul they save, the
better business for their mission shop. But the heathen do not always
wish to be 'convert;' the heathen fly, the heathen skidaddle, the
heathen will not remain, or will backslide. What will you do? So the
holy fathers make a little game. You do not of a possibility comprehend
how the holy fathers make a convert, my leetle brother?" he added
gravely.

"No," said the editor.

"I shall tell to you. They take from the presidio five or six
dragons--you comprehend--the cavalry soldiers, and they pursue the
heathen from his little hut. When they cannot surround him and he fly,
they catch him with the lasso, like the wild hoss. The lasso catch
him around the neck; he is obliged to remain. Sometime he is strangle.
Sometime he is dead, but the soul is save! You believe not, Pancho? I
see you wrinkle the brow--you flash the eye; you like it not? Believe
me, I like it not, neither, but it is so!"

He shrugged his shoulders, threw away his half smoked cigarette, and
went on.

"One time a padre who have the zeal excessif for the saving of soul,
when he find the heathen, who is a young girl, have escape the soldiers,
he of himself have seize the lasso and flung it! He is lucky; he catch
her--but look you! She stop not--she still fly! She not only fly, but of
a surety she drag the good padre with her! He cannot loose himself, for
his riata is fast to the saddle; the dragons cannot help, for he is drag
so fast. On the instant she have gone--and so have the padre. For why?
It is not a young girl he have lasso, but the devil! You comprehend--it
is a punishment--a retribution--he is feenish! And forever!

"For every year he must come back a spirit--on a spirit hoss--and swing
the lasso, and make as if to catch the heathen. He is condemn ever to
play his little game; now there is no heathen more to convert, he catch
what he can. My grandfather have once seen him--it is night and a storm,
and he pass by like a