“How wonderful! to watch the growth of this city,” breathed Mrs. Vernon.
“Ye’es; to-day she have t’ree railroads, many mails a day, ’lectric lights an’ telephones, with plenty fine improvement, but then, ah!” the Padre’s tone was significant.
“The Old Palace—that long, one-story building of Spanish-Moorish architecture at the Plaza—tell many story if its walls could spik. You might hear all about our Spanish Warriors of the olden times—so far back as when the pueblo people use the stone meal-bins and corn caves still to be seen there, and lived on that same place long before the Spanish Conquerors came in 1605 to use the site for their own fort.
“So lately as 1912 when Santa Fé say it must cut through some arch and change inside to make more room, they fine conical fireplaces such like you see in prehistoric caves in New Mexico—mebbe some Indian t’ousand years back use dis cave dwelling.
“But Santa Fé not like ’Merican city, and she never will be, ’cause she child of Old Spain adopted by United States. She not used to ’Merican ways, so she keep Spanish customs.”
“We haven’t visited your city yet, Padre, but I can judge from the general view we had, and from this unique mission ranch, that we shall be intensely interested in all we see and hear at Santa Fé,” remarked the Captain.
“That old Governor Palace see many tragedy, many melodrama acted—many by savages, many by Mexican rulers, such tales I could tell—ah!” The Padre sighed and crossed himself devoutly.
“One tale what mek gr-rand play for history picture, all about Spanish lady who have seester what marry officer of Viceroy. Thees officer no good. He beat wife, he take all her gold what is dower, he kill her with his brutal way. Then seester come to Old Palace, demand justice, but Viceroy he laugh. What nex’? Do lady sit an’ cry? No, No! she get horse, tek her money, ride all long trail to Mexico City and tell big men of King. Then she mek justice come to Santa Fé, and every one feel better for leetle time.
“Oh, ye’es! Many, many such tragedy, many drama, what go on in Old Palace where history make the West,” repeated the Padre, his weak black eyes gazing at the famous old building which was just visible beyond the houses in the foreground.
“You know, signoras, our old Santa Fé trail one of mos’ famous in world history. Picture, if you please, the Fonda where American caravans come to exchange goods. Near, too near, the Fonda stand the customs and jail building. Walls in those days were build five to six feet through of solid adobe. Walls then have to be refuge for men. In the prison wall you go see bullet holes, where the gun what shoot at prisoner not kill him. The man who have charge of Fonda Exchange, he run everything. If he say to trader ‘$100 duty,’ then trader pay, or go to jail nex’ door. Mebbe he come out some day, mebbe he get bullet in cell—in brain cell,” laughed the toothless old Padre, showing he appreciated a sense of humor.