Update header semantics
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Alex Cabal
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<article id="hostages-to-momus" epub:type="se:short-story">
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<h2 epub:type="title">Hostages to Momus</h2>
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<section id="hostages-to-momus-1" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3 epub:type="z3998:roman">I</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
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<p>I never got inside of the legitimate line of graft but once. But, one time, as I say, I reversed the decision of the revised statutes and undertook a thing that I’d have to apologize for even under the New Jersey trust laws.</p>
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<p>Me and Caligula Polk, of Muskogee in the Creek Nation, was down in the Mexican State of Tamaulipas running a peripatetic lottery and monte game. Now, selling lottery tickets is a government graft in Mexico, just like selling forty-eight cents’ worth of postage-stamps for forty-nine cents is over here. So Uncle Porfirio he instructs the <span xml:lang="es">rurales</span> to attend to our case.</p>
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<p><span xml:lang="es">Rurales</span>? They’re a sort of country police; but don’t draw any mental crayon portraits of the worthy constables with a tin star and a gray goatee. The <span xml:lang="es">rurales</span>—well, if we’d mount our Supreme Court on broncos, arm ’em with Winchesters, and start ’em out after John Doe <abbr>et al.</abbr> we’d have about the same thing.</p>
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@ -33,7 +33,7 @@
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<p>“I’ve heard it was,” says Caligula. “But I reckon I wouldn’t. I can polish my fingernails all they need myself.”</p>
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</section>
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<section id="hostages-to-momus-2" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3 epub:type="z3998:roman">II</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
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<p>After breakfast we went out on the front porch, lighted up two of the landlord’s <i xml:lang="es">flor de upas</i> perfectos, and took a look at Georgia.</p>
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<p>The installment of scenery visible to the eye looked mighty poor. As far as we could see was red hills all washed down with gullies and scattered over with patches of piny woods. Blackberry bushes was all that kept the rail fences from falling down. About fifteen miles over to the north was a little range of well-timbered mountains.</p>
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<p>That town of Mountain Valley wasn’t going. About a dozen people permeated along the sidewalks; but what you saw mostly was rain-barrels and roosters, and boys poking around with sticks in piles of ashes made by burning the scenery of Uncle Tom shows.</p>
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@ -58,7 +58,7 @@
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<p>“Well, you seldom little redheaded territorial terror,” I answers, “you can’t bluff your uncle Tecumseh Pickens! I’ll be your company in this graft. But I misdoubt if you’ve absorbed the inwardness of this Burdick Harris case, Calig; and if on any morning we get a telegram from the Secretary of State asking about the health of the scheme, I propose to acquire the most propinquitous and celeritous mule in this section and gallop diplomatically over into the neighboring and peaceful nation of Alabama.”</p>
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</section>
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<section id="hostages-to-momus-3" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3 epub:type="z3998:roman">III</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
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<p>Me and Caligula spent the next three days investigating the bunch of mountains into which we proposed to kidnap Colonel Jackson <abbr class="name">T.</abbr> Rockingham. We finally selected an upright slice of topography covered with bushes and trees that you could only reach by a secret path that we cut out up the side of it. And the only way to reach the mountain was to follow up the bend of a branch that wound among the elevations.</p>
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<p>Then I took in hand an important subdivision of the proceedings. I went up to Atlanta on the train and laid in a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar supply of the most gratifying and efficient lines of grub that money could buy. I always was an admirer of viands in their more palliative and revised stages. Hog and hominy are not only inartistic to my stomach, but they give indigestion to my moral sentiments. And I thought of Colonel Jackson <abbr class="name">T.</abbr> Rockingham, president of the Sunrise & Edenville Tap Railroad, and how he would miss the luxury of his home fare as is so famous among wealthy Southerners. So I sunk half of mine and Caligula’s capital in as elegant a layout of fresh and canned provisions as Burdick Harris or any other professional kidnappee ever saw in a camp.</p>
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<p>I put another hundred in a couple of cases of Bordeaux, two quarts of cognac, two hundred Havana regalias with gold bands, and a camp stove and stools and folding cots. I wanted Colonel Rockingham to be comfortable; and I hoped after he gave up the ten thousand dollars he would give me and Caligula as good a name for gentlemen and entertainers as the Greek man did the friend of his that made the United States his bill collector against Africa.</p>
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@ -91,7 +91,7 @@
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<p>I took the letter over to the Mountain Valley road and watched for a messenger. By and by a colored equestrian came along on horseback, riding toward Edenville. I gave him a dollar to take the letter to the railroad offices; and then I went back to camp.</p>
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</section>
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<section id="hostages-to-momus-4" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3 epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
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<p>About four o’clock in the afternoon, Caligula, who was acting as lookout, calls to me:</p>
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<p>“I have to report a white shirt signalling on the starboard bow, sir.”</p>
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<p>I went down the mountain and brought back a fat, red man in an alpaca coat and no collar.</p>
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<p>The marquis, implacable and huge, the lady wrapped again in the mystery of her cloak, the postilion bearing the weapons—all moved out to the waiting carriage. The sound of its ponderous wheels rolling away echoed through the slumbering village. In the hall of the Silver Flagon the distracted landlord wrung his hands above the slain poet’s body, while the flames of the four and twenty candles danced and flickered on the table.</p>
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</section>
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<section id="roads-of-destiny-2" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3>The Right Branch</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="title">The Right Branch</h3>
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<blockquote>
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<p>
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<i>Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turned into a puzzle. It joined with another and a larger road at right angles. David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then took the road to the right.</i>
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<p>Now, with loyal reinforcements at hand, the street rang with cries and the rasp of steel, but the frightened horses had dashed away. Upon the cushions lay the dead body of the poor mock king and poet, slain by a ball from the pistol of Monseigneur, the Marquis de Beaupertuys.</p>
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</section>
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<section id="roads-of-destiny-3" epub:type="chapter">
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<h3>The Main Road</h3>
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<h3 epub:type="title">The Main Road</h3>
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<blockquote>
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<p>
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<i>Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turned into a puzzle. It joined with another and a larger road at right angles. David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then sat himself to rest upon its side.</i>
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