THE SONG OF THE LARK
was the same moon up yonder, and panting at her elbow was the same Johnny—fooled by the same old things!
When they had finished, Famos, the barytone, murmured something to Johnny; who replied, "Sure we can sing Trovatore. We have no alto, but all the girls can sing alto and make some noise."
The women laughed. Mexican women of the poorer class do not sing like the men. Perhaps they are too indolent. In the evening, when the men are singing their throats dry on the doorstep, or around the camp-fire beside the work-train, the women usually sit and comb their hair.
While Johnny was gesticulating and telling everybody what to sing and how to sing it, Thea put out her foot and touched the corpse of Silvo with the toe of her slipper. "Are n't you going to sing, Silvo?" she asked teasingly.
The boy turned on his side and raised himself on his elbow for a moment. "Not this night, señorita," he pleaded softly, "not this night!" He dropped back again, and lay with his cheek on his right arm, the hand lying passive on the sand above his head.
"How does he flatten himself into the ground like that?" Thea asked herself. "I wish I knew. It 's very effective, somehow."
Across the gulch the Kohlers' little house slept among its trees, a dark spot on the white face of the desert. The windows of their upstairs bedroom were open, and Paulina had listened to the dance music for a long while before she drowsed off. She was a light sleeper, and when she woke again, after midnight, Johnny's concert was at its height. She lay still until she could bear it no longer. Then she wakened Fritz and they went over to the window and leaned out. They could hear clearly there.
"Die Thea," whispered Mrs. Kohler; "it must be. Ach, wunderschön!"
Fritz was not so wide awake as his wife. He grunted and
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