a spot marked by a white stone, turned and rode away.

We were now passing down the central street of the town, which I noticed
seemed very deserted. As we drew near to the _plaza_ or market square
we met a cart drawn by two mules and led by a man who had a _serape_
wrapped about his nose and mouth as though it were still the hour before
the dawn. Over the contents of this cart a black cloth was thrown,
beneath which were outlined shapes that suggested--but, no, it could not
be. Only why did Antonio cross himself and mutter _Muerte!_ or some such
word?

Now we were in the _plaza_. This _plaza_, where in happier times the
band would play, for all Mexicans are musical, and the population of
San Jose was wont to traffic in the day and enjoy itself at night, was
bordered by an arched colonnade. In its centre stood a basin of water
flowing from a stone fountain of quaint and charming design.

"Look at all those people sleeping," said Emma, as we passed five or six
forms that, very small and quiet, lay each under a blanket beneath one
of the arches. "Why, there are a lot more just lying down over there.
What funny folk to go to bed in public in the afternoon," and she
pointed to a number of men, women and children who seemed to be getting
up, throwing themselves down and turning round and round upon mattresses
and beds of leaves in the shadow of the arcade which we approached.

Presently we were within three paces of this arcade, and as we rode up
an aged hag drew a blanket from one of the prostrate forms, revealing
a young woman, over whom she proceeded to pour water that she had drawn
from a fountain. One glance was enough for me. The poor creature's face
was shapeless with confluent smallpox, and her body a sight which I will