Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Don Miguel Lehumada
DISCOVERER OF LIQUID FROM THE SUN’S RAYS
AN OCCULT ROMANCE OF MEXICO AND THE UNITED STATES

BY

SUE GREENLEAF

NEW YORK

B. W. DODGE AND COMPANY

Copyright, 1906, by

B. W. DODGE AND COMPANY

WITH SORROW IN MY HEART

AND

MUCH PITY FOR THE WEAK

WHO PUT STUMBLING BLOCKS IN MY PATH

AND

WISHED MY LIFE A PERPETUAL

SLOUGH OF DESPOND,

I RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE THIS VOLUME.

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

DON MIGUEL LEHUMADA

Discoverer of Liquid from the Sun’s Rays.

CHAPTER I.
IN THE SCIENTIST’S STUDY.

The private study of Señor Guillermo Gonzales, in the State House of Chihuahua, always had an air conducive to study.

His fame as a scientist, as a man of great moral force, as a man who lived his daily life in a highly spiritual manner, was broadcast in the land.

His most casual acquaintances unconsciously grew thoughtful, studious, and better by knowing him.

He was of purely Mexican origin, and his friends delighted in calling him “Señor” Gonzales—as was the custom of the people when Chihuahua was one of the States of “The Republic of Mexico,” a nation long since only known as having existed by reading from the pages of history.

The great love and respect constantly shown him by his daily associates proved the exception to the rule that “A prophet is not without honor save in his own country and amongst his own kin.”

He was not honored as mankind was honored in the nineteenth century—for his social, political or financial position—but for his moral, intellectual, and spiritual development.

Julio Murillo, a fellow student who acted in the capacity of office-man, was a small but well-built typical Mexican, nearing the end of his fifth incarnation.

He spent no time regretting his past actions, nor fearing the future.

Every moment he lived the best in him, and studied to make “the best” better on the morrow.

On the morning our story opens he had finished his regular rounds of tidying the reception-chamber, and was at work in a small alcove room adjoining, on the properties extracted from the sun’s rays, by means of a glass chemical instrument. At the focus the rays were liquidized, separated, and blended into “Memory Fluid.”

Although the analysis under way was exceedingly interesting to him, he was not in the least disturbed, when a noise much resembling the faint tingling of a small silver bell announced that he must leave his pleasant occupation and receive some visitor.

When he reached the reception-room he stood with his hand upon the knob of the door, which he was about to open to admit a visitor, when a beautiful smile overspread his countenance and he murmured: “It is his Honor.”

The door opened noiselessly and a man in every way worthy the name of man stood before him.

“Your Honor,” he said, extending his hand in greeting, which was eagerly seized by the visitor, “pass, sir, and be seated; Señor Gonzales will receive you in a very short time. There—the clock is striking the half hour; in fifteen minutes he will be at your Honor’s service. The morning paper, your Honor? Wonderful discoveries in Science, in Art, in Man.”

The visitor thanked Julio Murillo as he took the paper, and seating himself in one of the many comfortable chairs in the room, he said:

“I have read the paper, sir; others than our kind are no doubt astonished at its contents. There will be more convincing statements made within thirty days. In fact, I believe our evidence will be so strong, that everyone will believe the history of the case and the matter will be forever settled soon.

“I am sure your investigations, Julio, will strengthen our case materially. Now, sir, I beg of you to continue your absorbing study, and I will remain here in meditation until Señor Gonzales grants me an interview. One cannot give too much time to thought, so do me the favor not to detain yourself longer.”

Julio Murillo shook hands with the distinguished visitor, and with much the same smile he had on entering the room, he left to resume his scientific investigations.

The large, handsome, princely looking visitor walked the richly covered floor thoroughly wrapped in pleasant and highly scientific meditations.

He was not long kept waiting for his host’s welcome.

He stooped to pick up a nosegay which dropped from his coat, and when he raised his head, Guillermo Gonzales stood before him, by the side of his writing-table, with outstretched hands.

The partition separating the two rooms had disappeared as if by magic, and they stood alone in one grand room.

A giant was not at hand, nor neither were the powers of a magician employed to make the partition disappear so quickly. It was constructed on the same plan as sliding-doors, but it moved with more rapidity and much less noise.

The two distinguished men greeted each other with the embrace and handshake characteristic of their ancient Mexican ancestors.

In the privacy of his study Guillermo Gonzales always addressed the friend of his youth,—and his friend during the other lives which they had lived generations ago in the Republic of Mexico, ay, in the same city where they now lived—the capital of Chihuahua—in the most familiar schoolboy fashion.

“Miguey, my boy, this is indeed a most pleasant surprise. You returned when?”

The friend of the scientist was none other than the renowned man of letters and the Governor of Chihuahua, Señor Don Miguel Lehumada.

“Last night, only, my friend. I have much to tell you,—much to tell you.”

The scientist drew a large, comfortable chair on either side of the table on which he had been conducting his most recent experiments, and motioning his friend to the seat, they sat down facing each other.

“I, too, have things of importance to relate. Your Honor, proceed; my whole attention is yours.”

The Governor leaned his handsome head on the back of his chair with a grace befitting the man he was, and said:

“What I have to tell will not startle you, nor did it surprise me when I learned it.

“A volcanic eruption could not have created more of a sensation over the entire United States, or in all Europe, than is now taking place on account of the knowledge they have of our scientific discoveries. However, to come to the point, I positively located, during my recent visit to the North, ‘The Plunger from Kansas.’”

Guillermo Gonzales arose from his chair and clasped his friend in his arms.

“Miguey, dear, dear Miguey, victory is ours! Pardon my enthusiasm! While I know we are working the right clue, I am overjoyed that you should have the pleasure of locating ‘The Plunger!’”

The scientist did not resume his seat; but instead walked somewhat nervously and in deep thought back and forth before his honored guest.

The Governor continued: “I met him on the streets of Kansas City. It was a mutual recognition. He even stopped, and said in a confused manner:

“‘Pardon me, sir, but are you not Governor of Chihuahua? You do not know me?’

“‘Yes,’ I replied, without a moment’s reflection: ‘You are the “Plunger from Kansas.”’

“He turned very white and shook like an aspen leaf.

“‘It is retribution,’ he exclaimed, ‘and it came after death. O God, is there no peace for me in this life or any future life? Am I to be an outcast and a wanderer as I was in my second physical state, because of the small offence I committed? There is no justice in torturing a man through several existences, because he took a few hundred thousand dollars from his fellowman, and did some other similar tricks, which were termed business shrewdness in those days. Governor, I will now say good-bye. Retribution seems to be following me; do not aid its progress, I pray you!’

“In a moment he was gone. With the assistance of two detectives, we searched for him the greater part of three days and nights. No clue whatever could we find of him.

“Were I not convinced of the truth of our scientific investigations, I would be annoyed by his sudden disappearance; but it is of no use to be disturbed, for we know it is only a question of time until he will revisit the city to which he fled, it being the capital of a State of a foreign nation then, to escape the wrath of his creditors.”

The scientist continued his walk back and forth, listening intently to every word his friend spoke, now and then smiling his approval and exclaiming: “True, Miguey; true.”

“For those in touch with the past and to whom the Hidden is revealed, there is no mystery connected with the appearance and sudden disappearance of the Plunger,” concluded the Governor.

Seating himself facing his visitor, the scientist said:

“Various lengths of time are necessary to teach people of different degrees of spiritual development that Nature demands her equilibrium restored, no matter at whose seeming expense.

“In your book, ‘Liquid from the Sun’s Rays,’ Restoration of Equilibrium is fully explained. True, my dear Miguey, we must give people time to grow. The poor little minds warped for centuries by credal teachings, abandon of morals, cannot be expected to grasp Truth at a glance.

“We must feed them ‘Memory Fluid.’ All knowledge of the Hidden must come through Self, and our discovery so wonderfully described in your work, now of international repute, is the only known means to that greatly desired end.

“Come, Miguey, tell me of your reception in the northern states. No such a wave of discovery has swept across the world since the time of Galileo, as that produced by our researches made known to the public by your works.”

“My reception,” began the distinguished author, and leader of his people, “was an ovation from my exit from this city until my return.

“In my lecture at K——, I hinted at the clue we were at work on to right the wrongs committed by ‘The Plunger from Kansas.’ Enthusiasm ran high, and at the end of my lecture I was carried from the assembly room in a white velvet chair, beautifully decorated with flowers and lace, supported on the shoulders of the mayor and three other prominent citizens.

“They wish to organize a society, under our supervision, to experiment with our ‘Memory Fluid.’ The masses are, I believe, intolerant with our discoveries, yet they read my work and the newspapers comments concerning it, no doubt out of curiosity alone.”

“It makes no difference,” added Guillermo Gonzales, “why they read it or by what means their attention is drawn to Truth; the result is the same,—investigations follow at no distant time.

“A desire to learn must be awakened in the mind of every creature before he is in a condition to develop.

“Come, look through this window. See those three men writing at that long table?”

“I certainly do,” replied the Governor; “what new clue is this that you are at work upon? Ah, some of those persons I certainly have seen before. Can it be that they took part in the Plunger’s drama, one hundred and fifty years ago?”

“It is quite true, your Honor. Julio recognized them on the street a few days after your departure for the States.”—(A term Mexicans occasionally use.)

“They are men of some learning, and at Julio’s invitation called here to take observation of our investigations. He gave them a few drops of ‘Memory Fluid’ every time they called, for one week, which was every day. At the end of the week, the tall man at the right of the other two, Mr. Niksab, called Julio aside and told him in the most confidential air that he had undergone a most wonderful experience.

“Scarcely able to control his joy at the information about to be imparted to him, Julio asked him to write his experience and give it to him for future reference. Niksab did so, and on the file in Julio’s study hangs the written statement of his first experience after taking ‘Memory Fluid.’

“Since that morning the other two have made a similar confession to Julio. Now they come here every morning and write their remembrances of the doings of ‘The Plunger from Kansas,’ which is put on our file of evidence to be used at the final reckoning.

“Niksab is the man who found a hiding place for the Plunger on the occasion of his flight from justice, to Chihuahua in the year 1898.”

“I remember the time well,” said the Governor. “I was then, as now, Governor of the State. How anxious we were then for advancement. How proud we were of our city. How eagerly our peons grasped the advantages given them then for education.

“Look at their descendants and some of our then most common menials, who are fortunate to be doing their third and fourth existence since that time; how they have developed!

“Who are they now? Our most noted judges, lawyers, teachers, men of science and letters.

“Come, Guillermo, I wish to pay a quiet visit to the den of our coworker, Julio. Join me; otherwise we will be delayed in bringing about the desired results from investigations which will take place here and elsewhere in the morning.”

Arm in arm the two great and noble men—working for the same cause, the spiritual elevation of man—left the studio of the Scientist Gonzales, and entered the lesser apartment of their coworker, Julio Murillo.

CHAPTER II.
HIS FIRST INCARNATION.

Early the next morning Julio Murillo was unlocking the side door which led into his quiet study adjoining the reception-room of the great scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, when he was surprised to hear some one, evidently a stranger, call him by his given name. He pushed the door he had been unlocking open, and as he stepped inside, faced the person who addressed him.

A tall, fair-haired, rather masculine looking woman stood before him with extended hand.

“Good morning, Señor Julio; good morning. It is with much pleasure I find you so well and so famous. My card, señor.”

“Pass, señorita, pass. You do me great honor. Be seated. In what way can I be of service to you?”

He scanned the card closely, as he wheeled a comfortable armchair in front of a large window which he opened, and repeated: “Be seated.”

The fair visitor stood in front of the open window some minutes before taking the proffered chair, gazing with great admiration at the rare and costly flowers and foliage, growing in the patio.

She seemed to be in no hurry to tell the object of her visit, if she had an object, neither did she seem to be a stranger to the scene around her.

Julio Murillo stood a little at her back, his eyes riveted upon her card.

“Marriet Motuble! Marriet Motuble,” he mentally exclaimed. “The name means nothing to me; it does not even give me food for reflection. But the magnificent señorita fills me with unpleasant memories of the past. Can it be that she was in anyway associated in times gone by with—with——”

His mental comments were suddenly brought to an end by Miss Motuble seating herself, at the same moment drawing a chair close to the one she occupied, and saying: “Sit here by me, friend Julio. I want to study your face while I talk to you. I am impressed that we will not long be alone, and as there are many things I have to say that must be known to no one but yourself, I will delay no longer telling them.”

Julio felt the truth of her statements, and bent his head toward her, as he seated himself by her side, that he might not lose a word she spoke.

“You are the son of Señora Suzzan Carriles, of Colima. Your father was a priest, while the husband of your mother was Señor Carlos Carriles, a man of quiet manners, but strong feeling and ardent sentiment when convinced or aroused.

“Your strong resemblance to the priest, your father, was so noticeable when you reached the age of six years, that your mother’s guilt needed no accuser, and in a fit of religious enthusiasm she made a confession of her guilt to her husband.

“Señor Carriles’ sympathies in your behalf were greatly aroused. He sought the priest, a man of much wealth and prominence in the State, and told him of his knowledge of the great sin he and your mother had committed.

“Under the threat of publicly making known his sins to the clergy and State, he agreed to take you under his guidance and to rear you in a manner befitting his own son.

“This promise he religiously kept for five years. Up to that age you were in ignorance of your birth. The priest became very ill and fearing death near by, made a full confession to you.

“He afterward recovered, and seriously regretted having made you his confidant.

“Instead of treating you as a beloved son, his love had during his short illness turned to hate and he compelled you to act in the capacity of the most common menial. You rebelled at the change affairs had taken, but by so doing you only made your existence the more intolerable.

“A lady tourist came to your city one day, and visited the monastery where you lived, it being one of the many places of interest in the city.

“She overheard a conversation between yourself and the priest, wherein he threatened to murder you if you made known his treatment of you and the relation he bore to you.

“This same lady met you on the street some days later, and took you at once to the palace of the kind and high-minded Governor.

“To him she told what she knew concerning you, and besought the noble leader of the people to allow you to speak, which he did.

“In a very quiet way he had the priest arraigned before the Church and State, with the result of the priest’s condemnation and sentence of life.

“He was found dead the next day after he was acquainted with the court’s decision.

“Half of his large fortune was given to you by the Church and State, acknowledging you, thereby, his legal heir. Is there anything I have left out of this recital which you recall, Julio?”

Julio straightened himself in the chair, the first move he had made since Marriet Motuble began her recitation, and said:

“The gist of the subject you have told perfectly. A few minor things happened which I will later recount. How natural you seem to me now. How astonishingly clear you have related that incident which happened one hundred and fifty years ago, and which caused me to go abroad to study; with the result that I departed from the faith of my father.

“You caused much trouble then, but I have to thank you for getting me out of the dreadful mire of ignorance into which I was born and where the priest held me.

“I will repeat your own words at that time. You said: ‘I will make things warm for the person who commits crimes, and takes advantage of the inexperienced, young or aged.’ Crimes are various, however. Your success in that life was not without laurels; in this, I hope your mission is different and on a higher plane. You did much harm. You are now here to aid us in securing proof which will eventually bring the ‘Plunger from Kansas’ to meet justice—for spite. He went out of the other life like a flash—whether by his own hand or by the hand of some wrathy creditor, man never knew.

“The many homes made desolate by his dishonest schemes must eventually be compensated for their losses. Time is the great adjuster of all wrongs; and the Plunger’s time is not far distant.”

“Your statements are true, my friend Julio, in every detail. You have partially only guessed my mission to Chihuahua, however. Yes, I did harm. I am searching for one I loved in that life, who suffered much from the abuse of certain countrymen of her own, then residing in Chihuahua. Aye, from myself.”

“In truth,” said Julio, “I am certain you will locate her in this city before long.”

“The great circle in which Time moves shows our planet nearing its perihelion, and for the next ninety days the great scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, and his able assistant, to whom I am now speaking, will be able to demonstrate to the world the effect of your great discovery, ‘The Liquid from the Sun’s Rays,’ or perhaps better known as ‘Memory Fluid,’” said Miss Motuble.

“Aye,” assented Julio. “No such means has ever been in the hands of man, by which he can effectually bring the perpetrators of crimes to justice.”

“And it matters not,” continued Miss Motuble, “of how long standing the crime is.”

“Not in the least; not in the least,” continued her host. “In fact, we are thinking of trying to run down every person who participated in that ancient and inhuman crime of silencing the musical voice of Lot’s wife.”

“If that is done,” laughed Miss Motuble, “the truth of the story will be proven; but to spend one’s time trying to prove such an absurd story is a sin. Besides I admit that the story is of too long standing, for you and me to interest ourselves in it. I am here for the sole purpose of making existence warm for the many I knew in other lives, who failed to get justice meted out to them then. Indirectly only am I connected with the punishment of the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’ Yet revenge prompts the motive.”

Further conversation between them was interrupted by the entrance of first, a little girl with beautiful flowers to sell, followed by Mr. Niksab, and two other men, one an elderly, bald-headed, dissipated looking man, who carried his hand on the side of his cheek. His face was spotted and his mouth stood open.

His surprise was very noticeable when he saw Miss Motuble. His lips quivered and tears began to flow from his eyes, like water from a fountain.

Julio Murillo shook hands with the three men, asked them to be seated, and then turned his attention to the little girl, who stood modestly by the door waiting to tell the object of her call.

“How many posies must I buy from my little flower girl this morning?” said Julio.

“One,” replied the child, “if it so pleases your honor, for it will please thy mother, Señora Suzzan Carriles, for you to do so.”

“Bless the dear one,” cried Marriet Motuble, “we will buy every posy she has. Come, gentlemen, now is the opportunity to show your gratitude to science through this child, who is the living proof of our friend’s investigations. Come, gentlemen, who will bid on this child’s posies? One dollar for each flower. One dollar once, one dollar twice——”

“Three dollars for each flower,” cried a voice from Guillermo Gonzales’ reception-room.

Julio Murillo greeted the bidder as he stepped into the little study, with great joy. He was accompanied by the scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, who was no stranger to the three men, they wasted no time to show their good will and great respect for him.

The flower-girl curtesied to the two distinguished men. She was something more than a simple child to them. She was the living proof of their scientific investigations.

The fair auctioneer continued crying: “Three dollars for each posy once; three dollars for each posy twice; three dollars for each posy——”

“Four dollars I bid!” cried the blear-eyed, spotted faced, bald-headed, dissipated looking man. “Four dollars, I say. Four dollars, I say.”

The pretty child made a curtesy to the fair auctioneer, and cried: “No, no, señorita, take not the money of so bad a man.”

Prostrating herself before the great benefactor of his people, she continued:

“Your Honor, shield me from so bad a man! I would go hungry and sleep en la calle sooner than live well, from the dinero of so bad a man. Tengo hambre, tengo hambre! But let me die for want of food; let me die. I cannot look in the face of so vile a man.” The child turned her face, so full of fright and abhorrence, toward the man she loathed, and as she cried in a voice full of agony: “Go, great demon, go!” she fainted away.

The great good man to whom she so piteously appealed, lifted her tenderly in his arms and laid her on the couch in Julio Murillo’s little study.

The fair auctioneer followed and devoted her time immediately to restoring the child, aided by Julio Murillo.

The Governor returned to the reception-room and placing himself in front of the repulsive stranger, said:

“Give an account of the strange actions of the little girl toward you. If you have done that fair child, who is modesty and purity itself, an injury, it must be repaired at once, and on your bended knees at that. Explain matters, sir!”

“I do not know the child,” began the man.

“That is not the case,” quickly responded Guillermo Gonzales and Mr. Niksab in one voice.

“I beg of your Honor, and you, my friends, to believe me. I, J. Ecarg, have never injured a child in my life. I never saw the girl until this moment. I beg of your Honor to have faith in my statements. I know nothing of this child whatever.”

“Remember,” said Mr. Niksab, as he handed him a glass of liquid, which he put to his lips and quickly drained. “Remember,” he again repeated, as he took the empty glass and placed it on the stand. “It is Memory we are cultivating. Memory, John; Memory.”

“With your Honor’s consent we will take this subject into the reflection-room,” said the great scientist. “He is one with whom we have been experimenting.”

Mr. Niksab and the scientist supported Mr. Ecarg on either side.

“‘Memory Fluid’ is beginning to do its work, and remorse of conscience makes him limp,” said Mr. Niksab.

“This is a great world—a wonderful age of scientific discovery. Pass, gentlemen, into the reflection-room. Pass at once. I am rejoiced to know that we have another clue which may in some way lead to valuable information concerning the one subject which is consuming the greater part of our present investigations,” concluded the Governor.

Mr. Ecarg very much resembled a man who, after years of dissipation was now entering upon one of his big monthly or weekly drunks.

As the trio was passing from the Governor’s presence, the scientist said:

“Does memory not recall this man, your Honor? I am sure of him. A glorious victory is close at hand.”

In a thoughtful mood the Governor followed them to the door, through which they disappeared from view, but he made no response to the scientist’s question.

CHAPTER III.
THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT DIAZ.

The two great scientists, Señor Don Miguel Lehumada and Señor Guillermo Gonzales, had been more successful in their treatment with “Liquid from the Sun’s Rays”—or “Memory Fluid,” as their wonderful discovery had become to be known—than their most sanguine hope for its success could have been in the start.

Their belief in the first place was that they had secured a fluid from the Sun, which would under proper conditions destroy every species of bacteria in man; that while the death of disease was taking place, each of the mental faculties and the spiritual nature of man as well, would begin taking on its normal condition, and when the body became freed from all depleting causes, these faculties would be in a condition to rise to a high degree of development. Further, they believed that the fluid they had discovered would have a particular effect upon the memory; not only in restoring it to its normal condition, but in causing it to bring to mind every incident in one’s life.

But strange to say, their wonderful fluid went further in its effect upon memory, than the present life of the person upon whom the experiments were being carried. It penetrated the sarcophagus of every previous existence and resurrected every thought and experience. It mirrored all the physical, social and spiritual environments, of each life of the person as plainly to him as if they were occurrences of yesterday instead of the remembrances of events in one’s other lives; which he had lived perhaps ages and ages ago.

It was not until many experiments had been performed successfully, and the remembrances of each subject faithfully recorded, that they let the public know of their wonderful achievements.

Then it received its first knowledge of the scientific investigations and the results, of the two scholarly men of Chihuahua through the medium of the work—“Liquid from the Sun’s Rays” by the distinguished Governor of the State.

The eyes of the entire world were centered upon them at this time, watching intently for their great test case to be concluded. A case which they claimed would furnish the world sufficient proof to convince it, that their great discovery, “Memory Fluid,” accomplished all they claimed for it and very much more.

On his return from “the States,” the Governor had said, that in twenty-four-hours’ time they would have sufficient proof collected to enable them to give the results of their test case to the public. And in truth, they did have; but complications had arisen which would result in them being able to give stronger proof of the effect of “Memory Fluid” upon mind and matter.

But these very complications would require time for arrangement, and the public must wait. The eager, avaricious public, tale-bearing public, panted with suspense, caused by the delay.

The two great men were in no hurry; they had reached their present plane of advancement by a succession of lives carefully planned during one hundred and fifty years.

Fifty years seems a long time for the single life of one man, and it is. But when a person with a mind so full of desire for knowledge is cut off at the end of fifty years, the time seems short. He is cut off at an age in which he is in a condition to begin to take on higher and better knowledge. It is the desire for a continuance, on a higher plane, in a physical life that causes one to return to earth and take up the new life where the old left off.

The press spoke of the two scientists as marvels of the day. It claimed that history did not record any great discovery to have been made by men so young as the discoverers of “Memory Fluid,” hence they were spoken of—not without satire, however—as being inspired—and their discovery—if it contained a grain of truth—as a miracle.

Ten years previous these two great men, living in the same city, meeting only occasionally and then as strangers, had for many years secretly recognized each other as a compatriot, a fellow-student; a friend in other lives, two other lives long since passed away. Yet for the want of more confidence in self; for the courage to confront his fellowman and avow his knowledge of a superior soul development, and physical advancement, each held aloof.

The occasion for mutual acknowledgment arrived. It was a supreme moment. They fell on each other’s necks and wept for pure joy. From that moment they spent hours each day reviewing events of their past; studying to develop the present, to bring about by scientific discoveries, a means which would show to the world that the sins committed in this body must be appeased on earth; if not in the life in which the sins were committed, then in another life. Perhaps the guilty one would pass through several lives unmolested; but the day of reckoning, however, certainly would come, retribution would surely overtake every evil doer.

The result of their investigations was the famous “Memory Fluid,” which accomplished for them more than they hoped.

It was with much amusement often, that the two wise men discussed the subject of their youth, at which the public marveled. How well they knew they were not young in experience, or years. It was laughable to read the statements of the credulous editors, credulous from a materialistic point of view; but wholly incredulous when it came to questions of spiritualistic discussion.

The age in which they now lived was more in sympathy with materialistic ideas than in any of their previous existences. They were not surprised, for it seemed prophetic that evil, that materialistic views, should reach the pinnacle of fame before a revolution would occur which would demolish their false ideas. And they had hoped that the revolution was near at hand—and they prayed that it might be brought about by their wonderful discovery. Victory was sure to follow. And what a glorious victory it would be! A victory of life over death; of health over disease; of spirit over flesh; of the righting of all wrong; of the assurance of everlasting life.

Events which pointed very plainly to materialistic and spiritualistic controversy were taking place on every hand, yet the masses adhered to materialistic views or to the dogmatic teachings of the churches.

A hundred and thirty-eight years had passed since the American Continent was convulsed by an internal revolution. This revolution took place immediately upon the death of President Diaz, of the Republic of Mexico.

It was a short and terrible conflict. At the earnest solicitation of all State officials; of the entire army; of a large majority of the professional fraternity; of prominent people of wealth and business, the United States interfered in behalf of the law-abiding citizens of the Republic; and quelled the internal revolt.

The mere presence of the army of the United States upon Mexican soil, the fact of the army of so great a nation occupying their soil, not by force, but by the earnest pleadings of many of the best citizens of Mexico, those who wished to see the republican form of government, established by General Diaz, continued, was enough within itself to keep the small parties of revolutionists in each state quelled.

Only a small number of fights occurred, and in each but very few lives were lost.

During the year the American army occupied Mexico, and many of her best war ships were anchored off the Mexican coast for further protection, the Mexican people convinced themselves thoroughly of their impossibility to maintain a republican form of government when there were so many small factions fighting for the rulership of the nation; and there was not a man in the army or in any other vocation of life, who had the confidence of the educated sufficiently to unite them, or the power to hold the peons and rabble in submission.

Toward the close of the year the state of their unsettled condition was awful to behold. Something must be done, and that quickly; or a fearful struggle, a long war would take place.

It was finally decided to ask, to petition the American government to annex the Mexican Republic to the United States of America, without any delay, provided three-fourths of the States of Mexico and a majority of voters in the Federal District desired it.

The day set on which votes for and against annexation should be cast was the same day of the month on which occurred the birth of General Porfirio Diaz—the greatest leader they had ever known; the maintainer of peace and progress in their land—the fifteenth of September.

The scenes enacted on the day of voting made another black page in the history of the Mexican people.

The combined effort of the Mexican army in favor of annexation and the army of occupation saved the country from a most fearful homicide.

The rabble set to work by the priesthood, who seemed to think the day especially set apart for them to gain prominence by helping to defeat the annexation question, caused the trouble. Their people plundered, murdered, set fire to the homes and business houses of prominent people whom they knew were in favor of annexation.

It certainly required months for the vast army of rabble to be organized and drilled, to be able to accomplish so much evil before their nefarious deeds became known, before they started out upon their grand parade of open revolt. Notwithstanding there was an organization of this kind in the capital of every state in the Republic, a very large majority of the States went for annexation.

A petition for immediate annexation was presented to the Government of the United States by a large and representative body of Mexican citizens, which pleaded for an extra session of Congress to convene, which occurred with results satisfactory to each nation. And Mexico became a part of the United States of America without further delay. More than one hundred years had passed since the memorable event, and Mexico had grown to be possibly the most important part of the United States.

There had been a long reign of peace and prosperity, and the fact that this part of the United States had been, long ago, a hot-bed for internal revolution, was only known to the present generation by reading from the pages of history an account of her brave people struggling for independence—struggling for enlightenment; for the maintenance of a republican form of government.

The two great scientists and their most able coworker were of purely Mexican origin; in no existence previous to this one had there ever been any mixing of blood.

Governor Lehumada took no especial pride in the fact that there was no Anglo-Saxon or other than his native Latin blood in his veins.

Neither did the other two great scientists—Guillermo Gonzales or Julio Murillo. They had no prejudices; they were too intelligent and learned. They advocated intermarriage of the races. They believed that it was necessary for a high degree of intelligence to be preserved.

However, their own existence—the very high degree of their intellectuality and spiritual development was an exception to the rule they advocated.

There are people who without apparent cause carry prejudices in families for hundreds of years, and while their real feeling may not have any publicity, is only due to the fact that no occasion presented itself for them to declare their opinions.

There are a few of this class of people living in the capital of Chihuahua, who pride themselves on the fact that they have never crossed the Rio Grande; that they do not speak the English language; that they have no associates amongst the Anglo-Saxon American people. These persons are not without influence, often being people of wealth and position; and they now believed their time had come to make known their views concerning the race question.

Many of the large newspapers were full of the absurd ideas of these people. They claimed that the wonderful discoveries of their two townsmen were due to the fact that through their veins coursed no foreign blood. They claimed they could see through the shadows events which foretold the complete extinction of the Anglo-Saxon race on American soil and the re-establishment of the Mexican Republic. Sensational papers published their articles, and wise people laughed at them over their morning meal.

When questioned about the opinions of their countrymen, the Governor and Señor Guillermo Gonzales impressed their interviewers with the fact that they were perfectly intolerant of such restricted ideas. That it was very embarrassing to them, being of purely Mexican descent, and striving to bring about a means for the improvement of man, to be held up for a target at which the known world would hurl its anathemas.

They now knew no nativity save the United States of America; they knew no Master but God.

They held in esteem only such people who were striving to improve their physical and spiritual state. They held no one in contempt because he was poor, ignorant, dissipated; full of disease and depravity. They knew the time was close at hand when a desire would be born within the soul of each for a knowledge of Truth; that the scales of disease which obscured the light from their soul would decay, and victory would cry out. These very people who secretly hated their foster-mother were the stumbling-blocks to every enterprise, headed by a person of Anglo-Saxon origin, particularly if the advocator be of American parentage and was born in the United States north of the Rio Grande.

They aided and abetted the clergy. They fought strenuously against any modern improvements in the Catholic Church. Their ancestors were so bold once, that they held a meeting of indignation, when some of their brethren of more modern ideas were determined that the poor of the church, as well as the rich, should have comfortable seats; they contended that it was a relic of slavery and heathenism for people to prostrate themselves on a dirty floor to worship.

The voluptuous, avaricious priests hated to see the innovation. They knew it meant a waning of their power. Yet when questioned by the advanced members of their flock, they could not refuse their consent.

The opposing party were petted and pampered by the priest, who consoled them by saying—and truthfully—that upon them the salvation of the church rested. It was a terrible, terrible day when the long, barren church, save for the candelabras, the paintings of the saints and images of Marie and Jesus, and its wonderful altar of purple and gold, was furnished with comfortable seats for the poor; the very poor, who with their centavos, centavos (which they obtained mostly by begging and plundering), helped to build the magnificent cathedrals, and entirely supported a vast army of parasitic creatures called priests, in idleness and voluptuousness.

The few in Chihuahua who were so unfortunate as to have for their ancestors a class of people wedded to catholicism as practiced in Mexico in 1899, and adhered to it, needed the sympathy of every enlightened person seeking for spiritual knowledge.

Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir was the most prominent member of the few who resented the present régime of things, simply because his forefathers did a hundred and thirty-eight years ago. He was a man of great wealth. He insisted on the “Don” before his name and invariably signed his mother’s name, Falomir, to his own, as was the custom then.

His family ate tortillas and frijoles three times a day; drank pulque, aqua miel, mescal, and aguar’diente—the latter two when they wished their troubles drowned; both of which are powerful intoxicants.

The male members of the family wore sombreros, short ornamental coats, sashes of many colors; and skin-tight trousers of light colors. The women and girls of the family wore black rebozos, and lace mantillas over their heads; the criada cooked on the brasero, and never failed to serve ensaladas and tomales on holidays and feast days as was the custom from time immemorial up to the date the Republic became a part of the United States. This family was spoken of by their townsmen as oddities and were rather liked for their old-fashioned ideas; they were hospitable to the extreme with their own countrymen, and generous to a fault to the poor of Mexican lineage who adhered to the religion of their fathers. They were unobtrusive in social affairs and political affairs, but interfered in everything commercial where it was possible.

Their interference was always in a quiet way, however, and attracted the attention of no one but those directly interested. They inherited the cunning and silence of their ancestors and acquired more unconsciously, by long contact with races which held them in submission. It required no effort to conceal their real feeling toward the country of which they were now a part, which took them under its protecting wing at the earnest solicitation of their best people at a time when the growing Republic was bereft of its main support; the great and noble leader, Diaz, who caused every avenue of progress to be opened up for his people. A man who loved the Mexican people, for whom he had fought and labored, next to his God. The American people claimed him as one of their heroes, and even the present generation honor his memory with as much fervor as if he had been one of them, as if the Republic he established and maintained had been a part of the States.

Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir’s ancestors belonged to the faction which strove to make the Church stronger; to the faction opposed to Diazism, to progress. He seemed to take an uncanny pride in nourishing the frightful skeleton he had inherited.

Little did he think that the very fact that he made bold to step out and hold an indignation meeting, like his ancestors, against the “powers that be,” that the cherished skeleton would be brought forth and aired with a result of disaster to his present life, that is, disaster in a certain way. As much as Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir hated, or pretended to hate, the Americans and their language, he had now in his employ a poor, but highly educated young American woman, Helen Hinckley. She spoke his language and understood it as perfectly as if it were her native tongue.

She had no prejudices against the race from which her employer claimed to have sprung. She rather admired the quaint, old-fashioned customs to which he and his family adhered.

She was evidently of strictly American origin. She had no relative, no home, and no money but what she earned. She described herself as a lost spirit roving over the world in search of friends and a permanent abiding-place. That was the only answer she gave herself or anyone else, when questioned why she was alone and in Chihuahua or any other place. She had been in Chihuahua only one night, when she read in the great daily, The Chihuahuan, the next morning, the advertisement of her present employer, which stated that he wanted an educated American who understood the Spanish as well as his own tongue, who was quiet and unobtrusive, to act as secretary. He preferred a person with no family ties; and one who would consent to live in his family for a year. Whatever salary such a person required for his services would be forthcoming at the end of each month.

When Helen Hinckley walked into the old-fashioned adobe house standing in the center of a large garden, around which was the old-time high adobe wall, and stood in the magnificent patio gazing at the rare flowers, beautiful birds and sparkling fountain, she felt as if she were not a stranger to these very scenes. She was startled and yet made very happy, neither of which feelings could she account for.

When shown into the long reception-room she showed her surprise, to see it full of applicants eager to get the position for which she had come to apply.

She was about to retire, for she was sorry for these earnest breadwinners, whose only happiness seemed to be in material existence. Besides, she felt intuitively that if she applied, all of those present, who needed the position worse than herself, would go away with a heavy heart, still she lingered in the patio.

To the left of the room where the many applicants breathlessly waited to know their fate, was the small but well-appointed office of Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, where, one at a time, he examined the applicants.

When he saw Helen, he stepped to the open door and said: “Oblige me, señorita, by passing into my private office.” He immediately dismissed the other applicants with the quiet and polite information that he had secured one whose recommendations were all he required. He further told them that he hoped they would soon secure employment, as no doubt they were all competent, and (with a ring of satire in his voice), being Americanos, were deserving. No great change had come over Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, yet judging by the great enthusiasm and cordiality with which he greeted Helen Hinckley, on his return to his private office, it seemed to indicate quite differently.

“Pardon me, señorita,” he said in greeting, “but I took the liberty to say to the other applicants that I had employed a competent person as my secretary, meaning you. I hope you will do me the honor to serve me in this capacity. In fact, you are the person whom I have had in mind. Your duties will be light; in fact, for some time to come, all the day will be yours. I have only one request to make, and that is, while in my house, you will have no social intercourse with my wife and children; that you will stay closely in your own room or in some quiet spot in the garden which my family do not frequent. When I want your services I will send the mozo for you. A mozo, saddle horse, and carriage are at your disposal. You are from this moment to be at no expense. Every comfort of home life we will supply you free, and your salary I will pay now. How much do you require? Will you stay?”

Helen Hinckley replied without any hesitation: “Sir, you are courteous and generous to the extreme. I thank you. I will enter into your employment at once. I want for my services, five hundred dollars a month.”

Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir stepped to his desk and handed her the first month’s salary in shining gold; directed a dreamy-eyed criada to show the señorita to her room, and sent un mozo de cordel to the hotel for all of her belongings.

CHAPTER IV.
THE PLUNGER FROM KANSAS.

Events of great importance were crowding themselves thick and fast upon the attention of more people in the capital of Chihuahua than the leader of his people, the Governor, and his able coworker, Guillermo Gonzales, and Julio Murillo, his assistant.

Governor Lehumada had long been practicing to make his personal desires subordinate to a very high standard of right. He had fixed his sole purpose of thought upon a desire to bring about a means for the recovery of memory.

He had received many impressions through the gift he had of placing the spiritual world first in his thoughts and his actions.

Evil he believed to be the result of a microbic condition of matter. The happy results obtained by the rise of the “Memory Fluid,” were turning the tide of thought into a more spiritual channel, the fact of which was in itself sufficient compensation for the years of labor the great men had had in bringing about their scientific discovery of “Memory Fluid.”

The name of Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir had within the last ten days become a household word. At first most every one looked upon his ideas, as portrayed by the press, as a big joke; but now the clergy had made bold (for they believed their staunch supporter had a big following,) to attack “Memory Fluid” as an enemy of life, as a messenger of evil. Yet they hailed it as their mascot, for they claimed to believe that, though a great evil within itself, through it would come a revolution which would result in the re-establishment of the Church and the Mexican Republic, which would be controlled by the former.

The very audacity of such statements made the public stop to pant; and a few stopped a little longer to think.

Governor Lehumada was reviewing the ideas advanced by Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, and hoped to be given the light which would enable him to see the outcome. So intent was he with “his feast with his soul,” as he termed his moments of abstraction, that he did not notice that Mr. Niksab had returned to the reception-room. “Your Honor,” spoken in a rather loud voice, caused the Governor to start and look around.

“Pardon me,” he said, “I did not hear you, so intent was I reflecting upon all that we have just witnessed.”

Mr. Niksab bowed, and continued: “The scientist requests me to say to you that the subject now under treatment is undergoing some wonderful changes, and your Honor will do him a great favor by witnessing the workings of ‘Memory Fluid.’”

“With much pleasure. We will enter at once. It is the eternal spirit that is calling out to him. He hears, thank God, he hears.”

Guillermo Gonzales waved the Governor and Mr. Niksab to seats near the table upon which J. Ecarg lay. His body was undergoing great pain; convulsion after convulsion shook his frame. His face was ghastly and his features contorted.

Mr. Niksab’s whole nervous system was wrought up to the highest pitch, out of sympathy for his friend. Not able to sit by calmly and witness the fearful convulsions, he arose:

“Great God!” he exclaimed. “It is death!”

“It is death,” quietly assented the scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, which statement was approved by a nod from the heads of the Governor and Julio Murillo.

Mr. Niksab knelt by the side of his friend, and cried aloud: “Great God, spare him a while longer, that he may have time to repent.”

“Arise, my friend,” said the Governor—“This is not the passing away of your friend. It is only the death of diseases which have been holding him down to darkness more than two hundred years.”

“Give yourself no uneasiness,” added Guillermo Gonzales—“your friend is only reaching the point where he can live.”

“Hark!” said Julio Murillo. “Victory is close at hand. Memory will assert itself soon.”

The prophecy of the Mexican was soon to be fulfilled. J. Ecarg drew himself up and said without the least hesitation: “I remember the circumstances perfectly. I kept a hostelry of some repute in this city then. That was in the fall of the year 1898. Being the largest city within only a short distance of the Rio Grande, the beautiful and progressive Mexican city had become known, and not without much regret from the law-abiding Mexicans, as a rendezvous for many Americans who were refugees from justice. As a rule I was not in favor of shielding my countrymen; but my heart went out to a young man who was in such distress, such great mental torture. He called upon me late the very night of his arrival in Chihuahua, and on bended knee begged me to shield him from the fury of the law. He had no remorse of conscience for the wrongs he had committed. His only fear was the juzado. He most likely would have committed the same offences upon Mexican soil the day of his arrival, if there had been the slightest opportunity, and if he had not felt sure that he would have to face the four bare walls of a prison for the remainder of his life. There was a man in the city—an American, of good birth and education, a prospector and railroad man—who was my friend in every sense of the word. He spoke the Mexican tongue without a flaw. I appealed to him to find a place of refuge on some hacienda, for our distressed countryman. My friend said:

“‘Your will is mine. But tell me, John, what is the name of this refugee from justice?’

“‘He is known,’ I replied, ‘as “The Plunger from Kansas.”’”

A cry rang out through the room, as if some animal of high mettle had been wounded.

Every one jumped to his feet and the look of pain and surprise was quite visible on each face.

From whence had the unearthly cry come? was the unspoken question on the white lips of all save Mr. Niksab. They soon understood.

“He is my friend. John, do you not remember? It was I, Niksab, who took ‘The Plunger from Kansas’ in a coach, on a dark, rainy night, to a cabin in the mountains on the hacienda of Don Alberto Ulloa. I supplied him with the necessities of life, and there he remained for many weeks in fear and trembling. You know me, now, John, don’t you?”

John did not reply; he had lapsed into a cataleptic state, and his anxious listeners were doomed to wait for further evidence, which would help to conclude their test case.

Mr. Niksab walked the floor and wrung his hands: “He is dead now, I am sure,” he cried; but the great author of “Memory Fluid” put his hand upon his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, and in a quiet, reassuring voice said:

“Again you are mistaken. It is only a further death of the millions of microbes which breed disease in his body.”

“Ah, I forget,” said Mr. Niksab.

“You are not freed from the awful gnawings of the creatures yourself; but it is not to forget that you are here. It is, on the other hand, to remember,” replied the Governor.

Marriet Motuble had entered the room unobserved by all, and now astonished them by saying: “You’re right, Governor; you’re right. It is memory we must cultivate while under your roof. It’s a good thing for John that he has sunk into his present state of semiconsciousness, or I am afraid I would be compelled to make him acknowledge his great sins by means of physical force, which is a shorter route to punishment than your ‘Memory Fluid.’ I think a good thumping would do John good; or a bullet through his head might be better.”

These coarse remarks were not joined in by anyone, but she was in nowise abashed. They pitied her for her coarse, vulgar mind. They knew her time was not far distant, however. The scientists busied themselves quietly with their chemical instruments, now and then glancing up (out of courtesy) at some remark she made, to which, however, they made no response.

Mr. Niksab sat in a corner of the same room, his head between his hands in deep thought, lost, it seemed, to everything around him. The fair-haired, aggressive señorita walked, or rather stalked back and forth in the room, her thumbs in a pocket on either side of her short coat.

“I remember, too, that blear-eyed reprobate, the subject yonder—that was the name by which the medical students called such people in years gone by. They called them that in the year of 1898–’99, did they not, friend Niksab?”

Mr. Niksab started from his reverie, looked at the señorita with a strange look in his eyes, and said: “I believe so,” and at once lapsed into another silence.

“You are correct,” said the Governor. “You have been, I believe, a Subject here also. I am not mistaken, am I? For our ‘Memory Fluid’ we can claim another victory, then.”

Marriet Motuble stood in her favorite position, a smile of amusement on her face, listening to the Governor. She openly respected and secretly admired him. All the impulses of her loving heart, which were many, went out to the great man. Hers was a terrible love, and woe to the man who aroused her love and failed to reciprocate it. She did not take her eyes from his handsome face,—her eyes which spoke volumes of love, and shone with the light of a furious passion.

In this frame of mind she approached him closely, and said: “Your Honor is mistaken. I have never been a ‘subject’ in your illustrious institution.”

“But,” interrupted the Governor, “you remember.”

“Yes, ’tis true; and more, perhaps, than many would care to hear,” she replied.

“Can you explain how this great memory came to be a part of you? Aye, it is possible you do remember many things which evil-doers in the great life of the past, did those who are here again for a purpose by Divine arrangement who would prefer not to have their past brought to light. But the just management of all things eternal cannot be changed. Physical man must be the adjuster of all evil, through the awakening of his soul. It matters not how strongly they fight against it, it is the inevitable. And it is a struggle often.”

“You are dead right there, Governor,” replied Marriet Motuble. “Our friend John over there is undergoing a great struggle now,” and she laughed a fiendish laugh, as she continued promenading back and forth in the room. “Poor devil; if he were in his right mind now, he no doubt, would prefer to die and go straight to that place the orthodox ministers said existed, many years ago, to terrify their flocks into submission—possibly, if he thought he would be allowed to stay there forever, rather than be a ‘Subject’ and undergo what is now taking place.”

In an earnest and serious tone Guillermo Gonzales said: “Your argument, dear señorita, is false. A seeking for the Eternal—after the things not comprehended by the senses—cannot be brought about by compulsion; no physical force can make the change. It is the desire for a knowledge of the Eternal; for a communion with spirits, which causes the change; the death of disease; the return of memory, the final life.”

Marriet Motuble, on hearing this, was again convulsed with laughter; but finally controlling herself, said: “That is all very fine, and sounds well, and might apply very well to most every one, but to John—ha! ha!—to John—never! The only way to cure him, to be sure of him, is to put him into a yawning abyss of that Ebony Fluid you extract from the ‘Sun’s Rays,’ and which, I believe, you claim, if it can be produced in sufficient quantities, would be able to destroy not only all things physical, but those very things which are thought now by everybody, except possibly your honored selves, to be Eternal.”

The three wise men dropped the instruments they were casually examining, on the hard, polished floor, where they were broken into a thousand pieces. Her statement confounded them. With questioning looks they gazed into each other’s faces, and then at the implacable señorita. They knew that besides themselves no one on earth had been told of the “Ebony Fluid.” In fact, they had discussed the probable use to which it could be put in hushed tones, in the sanctity of their most private study.

Julio Murillo was the first to gain control of himself, and addressing the señorita, said: “If we were living in the year of 1898—at that time when Hermannism was in vogue, when the ignorant, the credulous often employed these delvers in mechanical spirits, and paid them large sums to look into the future and disclose their fate—I say, if we were back in that infant age of spiritualistic progress—I would at once avow that you had been to see one of those prophets.”

Marriet Motuble replied: “You forget, friend Julio, that I, as well as yourself, existed years ago. Then you were not so distinguished as now. We lived in the very year about which you have just spoken. Women were then said to be mysterious beings, as well as the beings who could fathom all secrets. The Great One to whom you pay silent tribute, has seen fit through all these years to perpetuate the gentler (?) sex, and with much the same disposition she then had. But really, gentlemen, it is unbecoming in me to be telling three renowned scientists, discoverers of ‘Memory Fluid,’ about what existed at a previous age, or how I came into possession of a knowledge of your ‘Ebony Fluid.’ Besides, I am lingering longer than my time admits. Pour some more ‘Memory Fluid’ down John, so he will call to mind his own offspring lying in a semi-conscious state in the adjoining room.”

“What is the meaning of your words, Miss Motuble? Let me entreat you to linger a few moments longer and explain. You can aid us materially in making this affair clear.”

Miss Motuble’s eyes shone with love, and with outstretched hands she started toward the object of her affection, and in a low voice, yet plainly audible to all present, said: “Dearie!”

Her whole nature changed outwardly in an instant. She whirled her large frame around as easily as if it worked on pivots, and walking to the door, said: “There are other days, gentlemen, other days. Patience is a necessary requisite to success. You will pardon me if I leave now. Julio, thy mother’s seducer, thy father, is heading the present movement against the State.”

“Impossible!” they exclaimed in one breath. “Retribution overtook him in his first existence. Impossible!”

Again she gave way to a fit of laughter, and said: “Impossible, hey? nothing is impossible. Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir has evidently not been recognized by you. Ha! ha! Well, this is an age of discovery!” Stepping up to Mr. Niksab (who still sat on a low chair, his face buried in his hands, seemingly unconscious to everything taking place around him), she slapped him soundly on the shoulder, a custom with men of bad breeding, in the nineteenth century, who were very friendly with each other and demonstrated their friendliness by this coarse greeting. He sprang to his feet and looked in a bewildered way all around him. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! Friend Niksab, you can have your hand in the righting of a few other wrongs, if you say so.”

“I am aiding the great scientists,” he interrupted, “by helping to find living proofs of the wrongs committed by the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’”

“The poor Plunger is getting it on every side; getting thumped by this scientific hail,” she replied.

“In what way, Miss Motuble,” quietly asked the Governor, “can Mr. Niksab be of further assistance to our scientific investigations?”

She made him no immediate reply, but laughingly said in a familiar tone: “Nicky, the fellow who murdered your brother, rifled your safe, stole all those cántaras of pulque, and mescal, and skins of tequila, when you ‘kept bar’ at the Palacio, is here now, less a notch or so as things go in social affairs at present. You remember him, don’t you, Nicky?”

“There seems to be coming over me a dim remembrance of the person you speak of and the circumstance you relate; but I am not clear.”

“Governor, give him more ‘Memory Fluid,’ and he will nail the villain in twenty-four hours.”

“What position does he now occupy?” asked Guillermo Gonzales. “I am anxious to know, as you say he is a notch higher in the social scale than in his other life.”

“He is president of the Maguey Paper Factory, and is as dishonest now, in a polite way, as he was in that memorable year, in an uproarious fashion. He is not contented with the immense profit he derives from the sale of the superior paper he manufactures, but he takes the dry maguey leaves, boils them for days—until they are in a pulp—strains it; ferments the liquid and sells it for a kind of rum, which he claims will cure insanity, and I, for one, believe him. I have personally known a dozen or more credulous people—those who are always taking something to aid digestion or strengthen the mind—I say, I believe in this drink—because they lived only a few days after taking it ‘according to directions.’ The poor demented creatures are now ‘cured’ for one existence at least. It is called ‘Perpetuity Miel.’”

“Ah, let me think,” said the Governor; “let me think. I—have received some samples of this rum, with a request to partake of it sparingly, and recommend it to the public.” (He opened a small glass cabinet and took out a large bottle). “Yes, here it is: ‘Perpetuity Miel.’ A strange name, composed of a Latin and Anglo-Saxon word, meaning a sweet, endless duration.”

“Do you, Miguey, recall the name of the president of the ‘Maguey Paper Company’?”

“I do not; I do not. Strange, I do not know, he being so prominent a man in the various commercial fields,” replied the Governor.

Julio Murillo said: “His name in a previous existence was Henry Lexort.”

Mr. Niksab cried, as he clutched his fists and fought at some unseen foes in the air, “The same, the same; he was killed at the Jockey Club for cheating in roulette. He had returned to the city, in disguise, after successfully evading the rurales—for many months. The great desire again to see the scene of his crime led him back to Chihuahua, with the result I have just mentioned.”

“That is a strange truth,” said the Governor, “that criminals more often than otherwise return to the scene of their crimes. More than one has walked to his doom by such rash actions.”

“That is why I have such perfect confidence that the ‘Plunger from Kansas,’ although living his third life since the date of his life in which he committed his famous cattle robbery, will return to the scene of his operations and to the city to which he fled to escape the clutches of the law. But to return to the president of the Maguey Paper Factory. It is quite unusual that the name of so prominent a man in our midst is unknown to five people of intelligence and education.”

“I will ascertain at once,” said Julio. “I will speak over the fluid and have his secretary to give me his full name and address. We may need it for future reference.”

“Do not give yourself so much useless work, friend Julio. I know the man’s genealogy as well as his present name. I make it my business to find out the pedigree of all such animals, such scorpions, and to air their old skeletons, in the hope of helping them to take on a new life; to hide their dry, marrowless bones with new flesh and blood.”

The “Subject” on the table moved; then sat upright; rubbed his eyes; looked beseechingly towards the door and cried out: “Marriet, Marriet, have you forgotten that I loved you in that time long ago?”

The four other occupants of the room turned to face the woman he was thus beseeching, and behold, she was gone.

CHAPTER V.
LIQUID FROM THE SUN’S RAYS.

Early the next morning the beautiful and progressive capital of Chihuahua was in a state of more than usual bustle.

Some time previous to this day a large body of her representative citizens, amongst whom were more than a thousand progressive women, had called upon the Governor en masse, and secured his consent to lecture upon, “Liquid from the Sun’s Rays.”

Chihuahua is a magnificently built city of over more than one-half a million inhabitants. It is a large mining center, railroad center, and educational center. Recently its fame had spread abroad. The eyes of the entire civilized world are riveted upon it. It is the home and abiding-place of the greatest scientists the world had ever known.

Scientific men and women from all over the world came every day to see the city; the country which produced such marvels of scientific wonder and spiritualistic progress. The object in gathering such a large body together to call upon and entreat the Governor to deliver an address upon his and his coworkers’ great scientific discovery, was their knowledge of his great timidity; of how he personally disliked to appear before the public and recount the wonders accomplished by their “Memory Fluid.”

Through his book, “Liquid from the Sun’s Rays,” they had gained their first and only knowledge of their brilliant townsmen’s discovery. Committees of from ten to one hundred had at various times since reading the Governor’s wonderful book, besought him to deliver a public address upon the subject, for their benefit. Invariably he put them off in a polite way, saying: “At some future time.” Hoping, of course, that they would weary at his many refusals, and cease to ask for a personal explanation; that they would be satisfied with reading his work.

Such was not the case. Persistence on the part of his fellow-citizens won.