“When we entered the corral the sun was just sinking behind the Sangre de Cristo Range, and flooding the valley with light. The major came out when he heard our horses, and, recognizing me, at once bade us welcome. When I saw his poor daughter I was shocked beyond measure. She lay on a sofa looking at the western mountains. She knew me and gave me her poor little hand, so thin that it seemed almost transparent. Her face was pallid, and deep purple rings were under her eyes. I said a few commonplace words of sympathy, and then turned away. The major followed me into the house, and, coming up and taking my offered hand, said, ‘They call it quick consumption. I know better than that--it is a broken heart!’ His grasp tightened painfully on my hand. ‘My God!’ he cried, ‘how can I bear it!’ The scene was painful in the extreme. I found Manuel and told him that we must go on, and that he had best lead the horses outside of the corral, where I would join him. The major’s life-long instincts of hospitality flashed out in a momentary protest at my departure, but he did not press me to stay. I knew that he had kind neighbors, and the ranch seemed no place for us. I went to say farewell to the dying girl, but finding her lying with closed eyes and folded hands, I dared not disturb her, although I knew that I saw her for the last time. Major G---- walked mechanically to the gate, and bade us good-bye. I saw the tears in old Manuel’s eyes as we mounted and rode some distance in silence. Two weeks after this, coming from Fort Garland, I bought a Denver paper from the newsboy on the train, and saw that I had rightly judged of the poor child’s inability to bear a rude shock, for I read that she had ‘entered into rest.’ “Now, gentlemen, I am afraid that you will think I am spinning a sensational yarn, but it is only a few months since, just as we are sitting here, I was sitting with a party of gentlemen at the door of the fonda at the corner of the plaza in Santa Fé. We were admiring the gorgeous sunset, and listening to the band playing under the trees, when the ‘buckboard’ of the Transportation Company arrived from the South. It was with a start that I rose to salute, in the only passenger, my poor friend Major G----. He had changed sadly; his hair had grown white, and his cheeks were sunken. Then he had a habit of pressing his hand to his forehead, which gave one a vivid impression of despair. “He greeted me warmly, as of old, and mentioned that he had come from Mesilla, and was going on to Fort Garland in the morning, but he said little more at first, and I dreaded any recurrence to the past. In the evening I induced him to take a cigar, and to drink a little from my flask. Soon he seemed restored to a temporary animation, and after asking me if I proposed accompanying him on his journey, and expressing gratification at my willingness so to do, he went on as follows: