While the small crowd were talking, the cry of: “All about the Revolutionists,” “Prisoners accused of Treason against the United States of America,” from a hundred or more news-carriers, rang out loud and long.
Every person present bought a paper, the great daily Chihuahuan.
Marriet Motuble opened her paper, and as she walked hurriedly toward the Mexican Annex, read to herself:
“Seventy-five of the revolutionary party traced by detectives to the home of Governor Lehumada, where all but a few, who escaped during the trouble which occurred while the arrests were being made, are now lodged behind the prison bars awaiting trial. The object of these fanatics was to take the life of the Governor, which would precipitate the State into a fearful excitement, and aid them in getting a hold upon the ignorant, and in increasing their nefarious deeds. The promoters of the revolutionary sentiments: Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, Father Hernandez, and the Rev. J. T. Note, who were arrested and placed in jail on a charge of treason against the Government, have escaped.”
“Escaped!” exclaimed Marriet Motuble. “Escaped, and I did not know it till now. Well, I never will tell The Chihuahuan where I got the first knowledge of the affair. Ha! ha! I would bet on J. T. Note every time. He was slick in the other life that I knew him. He was a foreign missionary. He came down to this country, which was then a part of the fastly waning Republic of Mexico, to teach the descendants of the Aztecs and the Spanish conquerors the Protestant faith. He represented a large body of proselytes who were jealous of the hold the Catholic Church had on the Mexican Republic. He exhorted and pleaded with the poor, downtrodden people, to believe as the Protestants believed; to renounce their faith in catholicism. He without question wanted the centavos the ignorant creatures stole and begged for, and he got them, many of them at that. And he built himself a fine place of worship and clothed himself and family in purple and fine linen, as the Bible expresses it, and lived off the fat of the land from the sale of the zarapas which were donated for the use of the poor, ignorant peons whom he had converted. Yes, he is slick. Now he is in the same boat that the priests were in then. The faith in the teachings of the lazy creatures is waning. There should be more corn-fields to plough and ditches to dig, and everyone who subscribes himself priest or pastor should be compelled to dig so many hundred feet every year, even if they missed part of their prayers and confessions. Yes, J. T. Note will wiggle out of this affair somehow, as he has out of jail. It may be, through the instrumentality of the present régime he and his associates will be ebonized and put in a museum, where they will be of much interest to the future generations.
“The treatise on ‘Uses of Ebony Fluid,’ which I found lying on the Governor’s desk in his private office the first day I called there, speaks of using it to preserve the body in its present shape, after the spirit of life has passed out. The use of a few drops of ‘Ebony Fluid’ turns all such animal matter black as ebony, and preserves it through all eternity. This gives me an idea. The copy of his treatise on ‘Mental Fotography,’ which I took with me from the room, will enable me to experiment with this lightning process of fotography known only to his Honor, Messrs. Julio Murillo and Guillermo Gonzales, and to spring a surprise upon them. Well, these meditations will save for another time. What is this: ‘The Governor Spirited Away! He has not been seen at the Mansion since eleven-thirty last night. Much fear is entertained that foul play has been done. At this hour no news of his whereabouts can be had. Much rioting and plundering by sympathizers from both the Catholic and Protestant faith in many of the States. Those who are opposed to free thought and the scientific demonstration of spiritualistic advancement constitute a large body of the revolutionists.’”
Folding up The Chihuahuan, and placing it in her coat-pocket, after the fashion of business men, she increased her pace.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, as she turned a corner which put her on the street facing the Mexican Annex; “if there is not the child Catalina. Something is taking place which I cannot ferret. She must not see me. I will hurry to the Annex, disguise myself, and follow this child, who is wiser than her years,” concluded the invincible Marriet Motuble, as she hurried on with lightning tread.
Catalina Martinet walked slowly on, now and then glancing around as if she expected some one. On reaching the Alameda she increased her steps and walked up to the magnificent statue of George Washington. After viewing it intently for a moment, she sat down on a rustic seat near by. “I will sit here and watch for her. She must be punished in this life for her misdeeds. She, as well as ‘The Plunger from Kansas,’ escaped in the other life. She was a peace disturber then, and who can say she is not a peace disturber now? Ah, here comes a person who makes one feel like there is no ill in the world. Her presence has the same effect on me, after seeing Marriet Motuble, that oil does on a deep burn. It heals and cools the fever caused by evil thoughts. I love her; she is my angel of light,” concluded Catalina Martinet, as she sprang from her seat in eager excitement, and ran to meet the object of her love.
Helen Hinckley clasped her fondly in her arms, and exclaimed: “It is a very early hour, sweet child, for you to be out and alone. I knew you would be here; that is why I came this way.”