no white woman ever ventured. I turned to beat a hasty retreat, when I
heard my name, and looking up saw Charlie Reynolds, apparently very
drunk, issuing from the door of a dance saloon. One or two of his
friends were smoking in the doorway. "Good evening, Mish Spencer," he
said, with an aggravated bow. "Thish bad place for lady. See you home,
Mish Spencer?"

"No," I said, "you can't see me home, but I will see you home. You
walk on before me, and I will follow."

To my surprise he obeyed, and across the plaza and down the street of
_adobe_ houses I steered my drunken companion, until I saw him safe
within the doors of the Eldorado House, where I was assured that he
would be put to bed.

That night my son was detained at the mines, and I sat at my window
alone in the marvellous moonlight so clear, so brilliant in that
rarefied atmosphere, that I could see the round blue lines of the
mountains in Mexico, sixty miles away. Sounds from different parts of
the town came up with startling distinctness. I could distinguish
every word of sentences spoken two squares away, and the barking of
coyotes out in the mesquit brush that surrounded the town seemed to
come from under my window. I seemed to be far from the rest of the
earth, on some desolate peak that stood in vast solitude, for the
stars were so large and bright, and the great glowing moon seemed to
hang just overhead.

There were no trees on the great blue mountains, no grass in the stony
valleys, and I realized in their absence how much we owe to the
mission of the green and growing. There was no sense of companionship
in the babel of sounds and languages that came up from the wicked
little town. I am afraid that a few homesick tears came to my eyes.

Suddenly one of the grand old hymns of my church struck the intense
air. A clear, strong, manly voice. How familiar it sounded, ringing
out alone! I sat spellbound, for it was, as my son had said, not the
effort of a tyro, but the cultivated voice of a cultivated man. Coming
just at this moment in the grandly solemn night, its effect upon me
was indescribable, and a new thought flashed into my mind, which I am
ashamed to confess was not there before. Why cannot this young man,
whatever he may have done, be saved through this early training? I
could not sleep for this thought, and waited impatiently for the
morning, resolved to undertake some missionary work in behalf of
Charlie Reynolds.

II.

The Chester Man