“Upon what ground do you base your information concerning prehistoric Mexico?” asked Señor Jose M. Martinez.
“Upon the fact that all light since the beginning of time has come to man from the East. Knowing such to be the case, early in the nineteenth century, then a young man eager for knowledge, I journeyed to Calcutta, and from thence to the remotest of the Himalayas, where I studied with the most learned of the Hindoos. They taught me from charts, maps and sign-writings, that centuries before, a people had gone from Persia and settled along the west and southwest coast-line of Mexico. But this new country was like the ‘Vale of Siddim, full of lime-pits,’ and the leaders of this tribe fell to fighting amongst themselves, after having founded large cities. Excavating amongst the ruins of their once great and populous cities, I discovered they had made great progress in science, art and literature. Those of the Persian tribe left, fled to the mountains and valleys of the interior, where they show evidence of having united with different races, by whom they were afterwards extinguished. These facts, friends, are of profound interest ethnologically,” concluded the learned doctor of divinity.
“To be sure, to be sure,” repeated Don Enrique Arellano. “What a wonderful fund of knowledge you have, Reverend Tombstone. Some day not far distant I hope to have you at my house as a guest, when dear Mexico is restored to us again and we are happy.”
“And my guest as well, when that good time comes,” joined in Señor Martinez; while Reverend Tombstone mentally added: “Then I will never be your guests, gentlemen. Ah, but this is a great comedy some others besides myself are helping to play. These two men are a puzzle to me, as well as Leo Leander. I was afraid not to accompany him because he pierced my disguise. He said: ‘You are “The Plunger from Kansas.” Walk right up, young man, and take your medicine. I need your help in the little farce I am playing, and woe is your name, if you betray me.’ Well, I walked up, and here I am taking my medicine. Such seems to be life in this the twenty-first century. I pulled through two other lives without getting behind the bars, and they will have a lively chase if they overtake and arrest me in this life, ‘Memory Fluid’ or no memory fluid, notwithstanding the great advance there has been since my previous life, in scientific investigations. Well, what is going to happen now? The cab is stopping.” Then aloud he asked: “The cab stops; is this the city of the dead?”
“No, your Reverence,” said Leo Leander, “this is not the necropolis. However, I will leave you here and join you in a few moments at the Motuble tomb. Here is the key to the tomb, Señor Jose Martinez. It admits you to the tomb with one turn. If I am not there on your arrival, enter at once—do not wait for me—and gaze upon the placid features of Marriet Motuble seen through the glass on her metallic coffin. Gaze upon her and envy her brave act, but pity those of us left without her benevolent heart and sweet influence. Gaze upon her, friend, and do not wait for me. I may overtake you, however. Good-bye; good-bye for a short time,” he concluded, as the cab came to a standstill and Leo Leander stepped from the carriage.
Almost instantly the cab with its three occupants bound for the city of the dead moved rapidly on, and Leo Leander disappeared from sight.
“How unfortunate for us that Mr. Leander felt duty bound to leave us at a time so propitious for seeing the ancient tomb,” said Señor Martinez.
“It is unfortunate for us,” calmly replied Rev. Isaac Tombstone; “although the bad fortune does not fall upon us alone.”
“How is that, friend?” asked Don Enrique Arellano.
“He was in good company, I mean,” smiled the preacher; “in very learned company, and with old friends; or I would better say, with those whom I hope some day to be classed as old friends. Heigh-ho, here comes a physician’s cab at breakneck speed,” concluded Rev. Isaac Tombstone.