"José Maria Melgares, you have heard the finding of the jury," began the judge, and waited for the sonorous voice of the court interpreter to send the words rolling in musical Spanish over the room, "and it is now necessary for me to pronounce upon you the sentence of this court. The rains will soon be here, José Maria Melgares, the grass will spring forth, the flowers bloom, and all the plains and hillsides grow green and luxuriant. But you will not be here to see and enjoy their beauty, José Maria Melgares. The rains of Summer, the golden days of October, the storms of Winter, will all alike pass unknown and unheeded over your head. Spring will come again with its new life, and the lambs will frolic beside their mothers and the little calves bleat in the valleys. But your eyes will not see the sights, nor your ears hear the sounds, José Maria Melgares. It will not matter to you that the skies of New Mexico bend blue and beautiful above your head. The stars will march across the midnight heavens, proclaiming that God is good, and that He holds the universe in the hollow of His hand. Day after day the sun will rise in his fiery might and blazon forth upon earth and sky the goodness and the glory of the Almighty. The moon will swim across the violet skies of night, wax from slender crescent to fair white disk, and wane again. But to you, José Maria Melgares, it will all be as nothing. For you, life is a tale that has been told; there is nothing more for you now, José Maria Melgares, save the moral, and even that is no longer of interest to you. For you have been guilty of a heinous crime, José Maria Melgares; you have taken the life of your fellow-man, and therefore your life is forfeit. It is the sentence of this court, José Maria Melgares, that you be hanged by the neck until dead. And may God have mercy upon your soul!" The last melodious syllables of the interpreter's voice resounded through the room, and died in sudden silence. Then the moment's hush was broken by a shriek as Señora Melgares sprang to her feet, stretching her arms out wildly to the judge. "No, no, Señor Judge! It is not right that my husband should die," she cried out in Spanish. "He was made to steal the mare, and the man who hired him to do it and brought all this trouble upon us--he is the one who should die! There he sits over there! Señor Jenkins, Don Rutherford Jenkins! He is the one who made my husband steal the mare, who gave him money to do it, because he had a grudge against Señor Conrad; and he is the one--"