Although the author had promoted his lady love from the obscure position of third person to the station of second person in the space of a second, yet even this was not enough to induce Grace to remain longer; for she fled away with burning blushes, while Mora still continued to read lines, the syntax of which disclosed the revolting fact that their author had throttled his own mother tongue, had slain persons without regard to sex or condition, and, like a vandal, had cut off the feet of his best subject at some critical moment.
At the close Miss Estill folded the paper, and as she placed it in a cabinet she said, it would yet serve to pay off some old scores with Hugh. She must have kept her word, for on his return he was immeasurably shocked on opening his county paper to see, staring at him from the first page: "A Poem To My Love. By H. E."
After Mr. Estill had praised the dappled Normans and cared for them in a very hospitable manner, he led the young men out to a near-by pasture to show them his Jersey cows. While they were admiring the graceful animals, their host said:—
"For twenty-five years we had either depended on Texan cows for milk, or had used the concentrated article without even once thinking of the folly of such a course. We had so long been accustomed to seeing the herders lasso the wild, infuriated creatures before milking them, that we had actually forgotten there was any other way. It may have been owing to our trusting the operation wholly to the cow-boys that no progress was made in subduing the animals or reducing them to a domestic state; but we never had thought it safe to allow a woman inside of the corral since that morning, a score of years ago, when my wife had been kicked insensible by a beast that she had attempted to milk. One evening, after Mora had returned from Cincinnati, she witnessed the usual proceedings in the milk-yard,—two broad-hatted and bespurred herders lassoing a cow. Then, after tying her head to one post and hind-foot to another, one of the valiant milk-men stripped a few streams of the precious fluid into a cup, while his partner stood by, whip in hand, ready to punish any movement on the part of the bellowing brute. Only then did she realize how infamously undairy-like the affair really was. When I met her a few moments later, she said with a shade of contempt in her tone:—
"'Oh, why do you allow such barbarous work on the ranch?'
"'But, my dear,' I replied, 'there is no other way. Why, I would rather tackle a mountain lion than one of those fiery creatures while she is loose.'
"'Then, why not buy some Jerseys?' Mora said.
"Yes, indeed, why not? I thought, and so I lost no time over deliberations, but wrote at once to Major Kingsbury, who sent me these gentle creatures, which now we value above anything else on the ranch."
Nothing was said about the vast herds, the thousands of fat cattle grazing out over the great pastures around; but the visitors were impressed with the evidence of great wealth visible on every hand. The capacious corral and innumerable ricks of prairie-hay bore mute testimony to the thrift and opulence which reigned at the Estill ranch.
As Mr. Estill led the way back to the dwelling he said:—
"Hugh will be greatly disappointed when he learns that he has missed your visit. I have been away with him for the last fortnight, and only returned last evening, when I learned from my wife that—that—my children had a very pleasant day up at your place." Then in a constrained voice he added: "I would like to meet your father, Mr. Warlow; for there is a subject which I would like very much to discuss with him."
"My father expressed a wish to make your acquaintance also; for it appears that he is anxious to discuss the early history of this country with you," Clifford replied.
Mr. Estill seemed greatly agitated on hearing this; but when about to reply, dinner was announced, and he arose and led the way into the long, walnut-paneled dining-room. All this time Clifford was mutely wondering why the wealthy old ranchman should be so anxious to meet his father.
"Can it be that the cattle-king is opposed to the intimacy growing up between myself and his daughter?" young Warlow asked himself. Then he thought of the friendly manner of his host, and rejected the idea at once.
They were soon gaily chatting over the soup; but as Clifford's eye glanced along the wall his attention was attracted by a painting, which hung where the light fell upon it in such a way as to bring out every detail with perfect clearness. In its foreground was a mammoth tree, shading the gables of a stone cottage; a ruined wall, half smothered by vines. Across the stream, which had half encircled the knoll where the building stood, were fields of ripening grain, that rippled in the billowy waves, stirred and tossed by the summer breeze, wheat of coppery red or palest gold, the silvery sheen of rye and oats contrasting with the tawny prairie and dark, green groves, through which shimmered the brook and pools that he recognized as old friends.
As his eye sought the author of this delicate compliment, which was a truthful picture of his place—the Old Corral—he caught Miss Estill's amused look; for she had been watching the pleased surprise which had grown upon his face as he realized what the picture really was. His glance must have been very expressive in reply; for a blush swept over her face, usually serene in its quiet dignity, or vivacious with blithesome wit, and her blue eyes retreated behind their long lashes—a guilty admission that she was the artist who had painted the scene.
This silent by-play was not unnoticed, quiet as it all seemed; for as Clifford turned to take the plate of rare good things which the host passed to him, he encountered the eyes of Mrs. Estill fixed upon him; but the lady smiled with a look of such evident enjoyment of the situation that he half forgot that Mr. Estill still held the plate, which young Warlow seized with an air which was neither as graceful nor self-possessed as a hero should have worn.
With ready tact Mrs. Estill came to the rescue by saying:—
"It all looks strange, no doubt, that I treat you to a ranch fare of canned beef from St. Louis, and vegetables from Baltimore and Rochester, but if it were not for our Jerseys we should have been compelled to call on Chicago for condensed milk also. I never realized the absurdity of this course until Mora told me of the luxuriant gardens and fields of grain which you are raising in the upper valley. Why, Hugh says it is a marvel how prosperous everything appears up there."
"We never before have regarded this as a farming country; it has remained for your brave colony to explode that fallacy; and I hope your prosperity may be as lasting as it is merited," said Mr. Estill.
An hour was spent in the parlor after dinner; then a long stroll followed out among the cedars to the north of the dwelling. Here Mora and Clifford soon found themselves deserted by their companions, and were left to their own resources for entertainment.
They had been longing, no doubt, for this moment to arrive; so we will not intrude—a proceeding that would be alike odious to the couple and cruel to the reader; but when they emerged an hour later from the jungle of evergreens, Mora was heard to say:—
"I can not imagine why mamma was so agitated when I told her. She never was affected by anything before. But she positively forbade my mentioning the subject again in her presence. When I begged her to tell why she talked so strangely, she replied that the story of the old tragedy had completely unnerved her; and then she again questioned me as to every detail of that terrible affair."
"No doubt the remembrance of those early days, their danger and trials, all recurred with painful minuteness as you related the story, Miss Estill, for your parents were residing here at the time of that sorrowful event," Clifford replied.
"No; I fear that there is some deeper reason yet; for when papa returned from Abilene—whither he had been with Hugh shipping cattle—mother sought an interview alone with him, and when I came into the room he said that I must be very careful to avoid the subject in the future. My parents never could be taxed with being sentimental—of that I am certain. But what the mystery can be—for a mystery it certainly is—I am at a loss to conjecture."
"The air seems full of mystery since you and my father met," replied Clifford; "but I hope it will soon be all explained, Miss Estill."
"I was very glad to see you come to-day; for although papa only arrived last night, he had concluded to go up to see Colonel Warlow at once.
"I can't guess why he seems so anxious about meeting him. I tried bribery with a kiss; but he would not tell me why he was going—would always evade my question by replying that it was business, only, that prompted the visit."
"He must be very obdurate, indeed, not to yield on such terms," Clifford replied, with a look which betrayed how willingly he would surrender at such a proposition.
You have discovered, no doubt, that although our friend Warlow often spoke with his eyes, yet he allowed the lady to do three-fourths of the talking. This is a very dangerous experiment for an unfettered youth to indulge in; for I have always observed that when a fluent, silvery-tongued woman finds a ready listener, provided the victim be young, handsome, and manly, she first becomes more fluent, then, when answered in monosyllables, she shows her admiration of his "great conversational powers," and proceeds to make herself irresistible and captivating at once—all of which ends in chains and slavery for the brilliant listener.
After a moment's silence, Miss Estill said:—
"I notice a strange change has come over you since we last met, Mr. Warlow. Is it possible that you, also, have been seized by that strange infection of mystery which seems to possess all my friends in the last few weeks?"
"Why, Miss Estill, do you really think me changed?" Clifford replied, with due regard to the three-fourths rule.
At that moment the other members of the party came up and proposed returning, thus precluding Miss Estill's answer.
As the guests were taking their leave, Mr. Estill said, in reply to their cordial invitations to visit them, that he would drive up the next day in company with his wife, that he had business with Colonel Warlow, and that himself and wife would call upon the Moreland family, if it would be agreeable to that family to receive them.
On hearing nothing but great pleasure expressed at this announcement, the matter was settled definitely in that way; then the guests took their leave, and drove home through the cool twilight, vaguely wondering what business Mr. Estill could have to transact with Colonel Warlow.
Early next morning Clifford rode away, on the pretext that he was going to buy cattle of a ranchman in the next county; but his absence was mainly owing to the fact that he suspected the Estill visit was in some way connected with his intimacy with Mora; so he had decided that he would take himself off, and thereby avoid a disagreeable scene.
The cattle-king and his wife arrived at an early hour, although they had called a moment at the Moreland homestead and given a promise that they would stop for an early tea on their return homeward from the Warlows. When they had been introduced by Maud, the colonel and Mr. Estill went to the stable to care for the team, and when that important rite of hospitality had been duly observed the gentlemen rejoined their wives in the Warlow parlor.
Robbie was away in the fields with the farm men; Maud was busy with household cares, on the plea of which she had absented herself from the parlor. The kitchen, which was the scene of her culinary operations, was situated in an ell of the building, and as she stood by a window that looked directly through into one in the parlor, she could see and hear a great deal that was transpiring therein.
An hour after the arrival of the guests she was standing by this open window, putting the last touches of frosting on a cocoa-nut cake, and so deeply, indeed, was she engrossed with her labors that she had failed to observe what the situation really was in the parlor, until she heard a hoarse cry:—
"Oh God! it is Bruce and Ivarene!" and as she glanced hastily into the room she beheld a sight that perplexed and mystified her for long days thereafter. Her father stood by the window holding a jeweled locket in his hand; but at that moment he lowered the window-curtain, thus shutting off all view of the parlor.
When, an hour later, Mrs. Warlow came into the kitchen, traces of tears were visible on her usually placid face; and when Maud, unable any longer to restrain her curiosity, eagerly asked the meaning of the mysterious conclave in the parlor, her mother evaded answering; so Maud wisely concluded to await her parents' confidence, which she felt certain of sharing at the proper time.
At dinner Colonel Warlow ate but little of the tempting food; and the guests, although they praised the roast-chicken with its savory dressing, the delicate float and frosted cake, left their plates almost untouched.
When the constrained and quiet meal was finished, and all had returned to the parlor but Maud, Rob came back again to the table, and as that youth, with an unappeasable appetite, helped himself to a plateful of "stuffing" and gravy, he turned to his sister and said:—
"What's the matter now, Maud? The colonel seems to be all broke up; and that old Lady Estill—by grab!—she looked like death on a—a—white pony! Mother, too, appeared as if she might have been sniffling; but that's nothing but a common pastime with her. You know that all women, more or less—yourself included, madam—are very much given to the chicken-hearted habit of dribbling at the nose."
"Chicken-hearted, indeed! It is a great wonder, then, that you did not devour us long ago, sir!" said Maud, with a great show of asperity, but very glad to lead the subject into other channels and elude further questioning; for she saw by her mother's manner that there was something about the Estill visit which they wished, for unknown reasons, to keep secret, and it was a matter of honor with the noble-hearted girl to help them conceal what she herself was longing to know.
"Well, big guns of the Estill calibre don't go off on slight occasions," persisted Rob, with his mouth half-full of the adored "stuffing," and as he reached for a tall glass of ruby-colored plum-jelly, Maud quickly said:—
"Won't you have a bit of the cake, Rob?"
"Thanks—yes," said he, as he helped himself to the last solitary quarter of that frosted dainty; "and I would be pleased to taste a morsel of that chicken also," he mumbled.
"What choice, sir?" she asked sarcastically.
"The running-gears, if you please," he replied with polite gravity.
With a gesture of scorn and disgust, Maud passed him the carcass of the fowl; then, after filling a large platter with crusts, bones, and egg-shells, she placed them before him with the injunction to help himself. Retiring to the window, she watched him devour cake, chicken, jam, and potatoes with an appetite that knew no discrimination.
"I am afraid you have not done justice to my dishes," she said, as Rob at length arose from the table.
"Oh, now don't give us any more sarcasm," said he, while picking his teeth with a broom-split. "It is so long from breakfast to noon, Maud, that I just get faint waiting on that slow old dinner-bell."
"No doubt; but you remember how ravenously hungry you were last week, when the pup got the bell-rope in his mouth and summoned you in from the field at nine in the morning," she retorted, laughingly.
"Well, that was a cloudy day," he said, good-naturedly; then, taking his straw hat from its hook on the porch, he hurried away to the field.
After finishing her domestic duties, Maud joined the guests in the parlor, with a faint hope of learning something further of the mystery which seemed to enshroud their visit, of which she had got such a tantalizing glimpse an hour before; but her expectations were, however, sadly doomed to disappointment, for nothing was said that would throw any light on the subject; and, after spending a while at the piano, she invited the guests out to look at her flowers.
The party thereupon adjourned to the garden; and when they had admired the flowers and shrubs, they sauntered on to the barn-yard, to look at the peacocks and other fowls, of which Mrs. Warlow was justly proud.
"I should like to take a nearer view of your crops, Colonel. It has been so long since I saw a well-conducted farm, that it appears quite a novelty to me," said Mr. Estill, with evident interest.
In a few moments they all embarked in the boat, and were rowed up to Clifford's dwelling; for if there was one thing of which the colonel was vain it was his son's farming.
As they stood in the level valley south of the river, a scene of perfect rural beauty was visible. On the north was Clifford's gothic cottage, half hidden by the drooping elm; to the east, the chimneys and gables of the Warlow homestead peeped above the trees; while out to the south, on a green knoll, stood the stone school-house, with its tower and rose-window.
The yellow wheat-stubble shone like gold beside the silvery oats, fast ripening for the harvest; the rank corn stood in clean, dark rows—great squares of waving green; scores of ricks were standing along the valley; while the clank of the header and shouts of the workmen were borne on the breeze from the neighboring field.
"Ah! this is a very home-like scene, indeed—a great contrast to the one presented here just two years ago when last I visited this spot," said Mr. Estill. "My ranch, ten miles below here, was then the last settlement on the frontier. There was not a human habitation in sight—only antelope and buffalo to vary the monotony of perfect solitude. In fact, there had never been an owner for the land nor a furrow turned here since the dawn of creation. Marvelous change!" he added.
After crossing the stream on a foot-log, which here formed a rustic bridge, they all walked up to Clifford's dwelling, and while standing by the vine-mantled wall of the Old Corral, the colonel said in a musing tone:—
"If this inanimate ruin could but speak, we might learn the sequel to that tragedy which has risen again, as it were, from the grave of the past. The robbers were led by white men, who no doubt divided the treasure among themselves while the savages were stupefied with liquor."
He was interrupted by a cry of wonder from Maud, who could not repress her astonishment at his assertion that white men had led the Indians—a fact which Hugh Estill seemed to have been aware of also, and which, taken in connection with the incident of the miniature, led her to believe that the Estills were in some way connected with the massacre.
"Maud, dear, will you go and see how Clifford's young catalpa-trees, down the drive, are growing? and if they need cultivating again, we will send one of the boys over with a plow soon," said Mrs. Warlow, with a warning glance; and Miss Maud moved quickly away, somewhat chagrined at her summary dismissal.
As she passed along, she was pondering over the strange fact that her father had at last obtained a clue to the perpetrators of the outrage at the corral; and she became so deeply engrossed with the thought that she was quite unmindful which way her steps led, until her eye was attracted to a place where the earth appeared to have been recently disturbed, and she paused a moment, vaguely wondering what could have been buried there.
The tall blue stem-grass was tangled and dead, while the square outlines of a cavity showed through the mass of dead vines and leaves, which had been suspiciously strewn over the place, with a view, it seemed, of concealing all trace of the disturbance. She became also aware of a most disgusting odor near the old cottonwood-tree; but, unmindful of this, she raked away the grass and litter to examine more closely the cavity in which the soil had been firmly trampled, but her curiosity was in no wise abated when she discovered that it was Clifford's boot-tracks that were visible in the soft, yielding earth.
"What has he buried here, that he seems so anxious to conceal?" she was asking herself, when a puff of wind brought the odor with such added strength that she nearly fainted, and was hastily retreating from the proximity of that mysterious place, where she feared some strange, dead thing was buried, when she saw the bloated and mottled form of that hideous reptile which the reader may remember as having greeted a "Young Fortune Hunter" one weird and murky night the week before.
With a stifled shriek, Maud fled by the vile-smelling and repulsive object, which she saw at a glance was mangled and dead; then, as she slowly returned and walked south of the reptile, she surveyed it carefully, and saw, with a shudder, that it was a hideous rattlesnake, with its head severed from the body. Appalled at the thought that it was her brother who had slain this formidable monster, the bite of which, while living, she knew meant certain death, she was retreating again from the place, pale and trembling, but paused at the excavation, to wonder, even then, what it meant, when her eye, which was scanning the ground carefully, caught sight of a curious, small object lying at her feet.
Stooping and picking it up, she was disgusted and surprised to see that it was a human tooth. She was about to dash it down again, when a thought seemed to occur that caused her to look carefully about for some minutes; then, as nothing else was found, she stripped some leaves from a grape-vine near, and, after wrapping them about the tooth, she put it carefully away in her purse, and then returned to where her parents and guests were embarking for home. As they rowed down the willow-fringed stream, nothing was said concerning the strange discoveries that had been made that day, and on arriving at the house, the visitors prepared to take an early departure. As Mrs. Estill stepped into the carriage, Mrs. Warlow gave a promise that she would drive down to the Estill ranch one day that week.
Clifford returned late that evening with some animals which he had bought; and, as all was hurry and bustle, and several laborers remained over night, there was no chance for confidential conversation among the younger members of the Warlow family. But the next morning broke with a lowering sky, and the misty rain which followed precluded any effort at farm-work; so the laborers went to their respective homes, leaving the house to its customary quiet.
As Rob was plodding about in the rain and whistling shrill as a locust, he was signaled by Maud, who stood out by the gate, and when the youth joined her they held a low, hurried conversation for a few minutes; then Bob darted down to the boat, and rowed rapidly up the stream.
He was gone but a few minutes, however, when he returned flushed and excited, and placed something, which was wrapped in leaves, into Maud's outstretched hand.
"How did you manage it?" she said in a low tone, as they paused under an ash-tree near the river.
"Why, that was easy enough—I just put my boot on his snakeship's tail, then taking hold of the rattles with a handful of leaves—and—here they are. But—oh fury!—how it did smell, though!" he added in disgust. "Fourteen rattles and a button! Don't that beat the snake-tale of the oldest inhabitant, Maud?"
Then, without awaiting a reply, he added, out of breath with excitement:—
"Cliff had a shocking time of it up there last Friday night, for this is only a small part of his experience."
"Rob—what—oh, what can you mean?" cried Maud, in wildest excitement.
"Well, I don't know much; but this much I did learn by guessing at it first, then making him own up; for Cliff is as close-mouthed as an oyster. From what I could learn, it appears that, while prowling about that night like a vagrant tom-cat, our good-looking brother ran into that old spectre which shrieked so like a demon that night by the camp-fire. This time, of course, it gave him the slip, as it always does," he answered.
"You do not mean to say that horrible sight has been seen again, Rob?"
After cautioning her not to raise such a racket, Rob proceeded to tell of his encounter, and also what he had learned of Clifford's experience likewise.
"Oh, Rob—what a horribly unreal thing it all seems! But everywhere there is so much of mystery that I am almost wild," she cried, with a good deal of incoherence.
"Why was Clifford digging about the old cottonwood that night, Rob?" she added, after a moment's pause; but, as her brother only expressed both surprise and ignorance, she continued: "But this is not all, Robbie; for I made a most startling discovery to-day—one which throws a gloomy light on the old tragedy of Bruce and his wife."
"Why, thicker and thicker!" cried Rob. "But what kind of a mare's-nest did you run into this time, Maud?" he added.
In reply, Maud told of seeing the locket, and of hearing her father exclaim that it contained the pictures of Bruce and his wife, and the strange assertion which he had made while the Estills were standing by the ruined wall.
"But how did the locket ever get into the Estills' hands?" Rob said, with a perplexed look; then, after a moment, he added, excitedly:—
"Oh, now I know what father and Mr. Estill were talking about in the barn. I had just stepped into the upper hall-way to lay a fork on the rack—you know how strict father always was about our putting everything in its proper place—so, to save myself a blowing up, I went out of my way and had left the fork there, and was about to hurry on to the well for a jug of water, when I heard Mr. Estill say:—
"'This must be a matter of sacred confidence between us, Colonel; for if it were known that any one of my people had participated in that affair, or had been engaged in the murder, there are people who are malicious enough, no doubt, to connect myself and wife with the crime; and for that reason alone I have always kept the matter a profound secret, even from Hugh and Mora. The locket was set with rubies and engraved with the name which, you see, we have used, and have only shortened; but she has never learned its origin, nor anything of the tragedy.'
"Then, after a moment, he continued, after father had said something which I could not quite catch:—
"'If Olin Estill had only lived, the mystery might have been explained; but I found him dead and mangled beyond all resemblance to a human—nothing to identify his remains but the tattered clothing, which I recognized; for the wolves had torn his limbs away, and left his skeleton bleaching out on the prairie. Yet the strangest part of it all is the mysterious resemblance of the faces in that miniature to Mora and your son. Why, my wife was terribly agitated when she first met that boy of yours; for he is the perfect counterpart of the picture of your friend, who must have died years before either of those children were born. Mora's resemblance to Ivarene—'
"About that time I grew weary of such rot, and did not pay any further attention to what they said. How much more I might have heard I can't guess; for I hurried away to the well, as I was mortal thirsty and tired. I am sorry now that I didn't stay and hear it out, for there certainly is something up."
While talking thus they had sauntered on into the house; and while they stood by the parlor door Rob had made the concluding remark, which Clifford chanced to overhear, as he came upon them silently through the carpeted hall.
"Here, you young conspirators—out with it, and confess at once 'what's up,' as this bold robber says with such an air of deep mystery," Clifford said, with a smile of curiosity.
Maud looked up with a flash of resentment in her honest Warlow eyes; for she did not half like the idea of this Adonis-like brother keeping anything from her. Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew out her porte-monnaie, as he continued:—
"Well, Maud, did you learn anything yesterday?" while an anxious look crept into his face.
"Yes, I learned this!" she replied, while holding out her hand, in which, resting on a piece of muslin, was a human tooth, and that long, reticulated tissue, which he saw at a glance was the rattles of the enormous reptile he had encountered while digging for the treasure.
He looked at them in a startled, wondering way for a moment; then, as if comprehending it all, he said:—
"Ah, yes—the rattles! But the tooth—that is the hardest part of all."
Maud and Rob could not restrain a smile at the ghastly pun; but the former replied:—
"I found them where you had been digging, near the old cottonwood-tree. We know about the rattlesnake and that gray-robed figure, which was the same one that startled us by the camp-fire, I really believe. But that human tooth?—I shall certainly go raving mad if you keep anything further from me."
Clifford glanced from her pale face to that of Rob, which wore a look of startled perplexity.
"I find it impossible to keep anything from your sharp eyes. So it is myself, after all, who has to confess!" he said, seating himself on the divan.
Then, while the rain lashed the windows and the chill wind wailed through the tree-tops without, he told that story of midnight horror. When he finished, Maud was pale and tearful, and Rob's hazel eyes were round with mute astonishment.
"But Maud, did you learn the reason of Mr. Ess—that is Mora's folks—well—why they came up yesterday?" Clifford managed at length to say in a confused manner, that revealed a great deal of uneasiness on his part, which was not at all lost on the sharp-eyed couple beside him.
Then, drying her tears, Maud told of the strange revelations which the visit of the Estills had disclosed; and when she repeated the singular conversation which Robbie had overheard in the barn, Clifford cried out excitedly:—
"Ah! that was the mysterious kinsman who Mora said was buried on the hill-top at Estill Ranch. He was one of the robbers who perpetrated the outrage at the corral years ago. A bandit and murderer! 'Tis no wonder that nothing but nettles ever grow on that grave. It was through him, Maud, that they obtained the locket, with its picture of Bruce and Ivarene. But it can not be that Mr. Estill derived his great wealth from the same source! If so, he never would have betrayed himself by showing the pictures of the people that were murdered by his own kinsman. What, then, became of the great treasure?" he sadly asked. But no one seemed able to answer his question; for the whole affair had now assumed a tone of mystery such as it had never worn before.
"Why should they have given 'her' the name which was on the locket? and who was the mysterious female that never had learned of the tragical circumstance?" said Maud, with a puzzled face.
"I am unable to answer your question, Maud," Clifford replied; but there was something in his manner that led the sharp-eyed couple before him to suspect he had detected some clue which had eluded them in their investigations of the mystery.
"Cliff, what the deuce was that old skull doing in the cask?" said Rob, innocently; but, seeing the look of amusement on his brother's face, he added: "Or I mean to ask, how came it there?"
"To answer your first question I shall have to remind you that a dead man's skull has a very limited field of action, confined principally to the pastime of rolling over and rattling its teeth when touched; but how or why it was there, seems only known to the ill-natured ophidian which kept it such close company," Clifford replied, with his usual strain of jocular sarcasm.
"Oh dear!" said Maud, drearily, while drumming on the misty window-pane. "It is very exasperating to be shut up in a house on such a day, where every closet is full of skeletons, and not dare to peep into one of them," she added.
"But Cliff has been peeping, and with wonderful luck, too," Rob observed, dryly.
"Oh, I am not the first fortune hunter who has found a skull or serpent where he had hoped to find gold!" Clifford replied, with perfect good nature.
"Oh, Clifford, I shudder to think of the danger you passed through on that terrible night—all alone in that dismal place, fighting that venomous monster, with death in its fangs, while the gray-robed demon hovered near with its fiery eyes and blood-chilling scream," said Maud, tearfully, while winding her arm about her brother's neck.
"Now, dear, soft-hearted Maud, you must remember that the path of those who strive for pelf is thickly beset by demons and serpents, although they may wear the human guise and lurk in the shadow of friendship. Many, many are the skeletons of dead hopes and buried dreams that start up as the graves of the past are disturbed," Clifford replied.
"But you shall never spend another night alone up at that ill-omened dwelling, Clifford; for Rob shall go with you hereafter," she said, while drying her tears.
"Well, but suppose I might choose some fair lady to grace my spectre-haunted home—that would answer as well?" he replied, gaily.
"Oh! that would be a capital plan indeed; but I shall insist on the right to choose her," his sister cried, with returning animation.
"Oh! you are growing very liberal, to say the least, Miss Maud. I guess you will have to be satisfied with second choice," said Cliff.
After talking awhile over the mystery which had woven such a tangled web about their home in the last few days, Maud exclaimed:—
"Robbie, dear, won't you go and ask father what name was engraved on the locket? Also learn all that is possible, for I am just dying of anxiety;" but as he began to smile with derision, she added, coaxingly: "Now do go, Rob, please; that's a man; father never refuses you anything."
"Catch me at it!" cried Rob, with a shrug. "I don't hanker much after the dry job of pumping the colonel," he added, winking at Clifford significantly.
"No, no, Maud, that would never do. Let us await the confidence of our parents, and try, in the meantime, to pick up what facts we can. Who knows," he added, "but we may stumble on to some great discovery?"
Little, indeed, did he suspect the great revelations which the day held in store for them, and that events were about to transpire which would change the tenor of their whole lives.
At Mrs. Warlow's entrance the conversation took on a less sombre hue, and when she told of the news confirming the great land-sale which was soon to be held at the land office—a fact which she had learned from the Estills—it was proposed to take a drive out over the country north-east, and find a section for Maud and Rob, which the colonel would buy for their benefit at the sale.
Accordingly, after dinner, as the weather had cleared, the Warlow family drove out and viewed a well-watered, rolling tract, equal in extent to the farms of the colonel and Clifford. After an hour spent thus, it was thought advisable to drive on westward and examine a country which, in their busy farm-life, had never been viewed, save at a distance.
On arriving at a point about three miles west of their home, they drove down into a narrow valley or glen, clothed with tall blue-stem and rank sunflowers, now beginning to unfold their golden blossoms. This jungle of vegetation was woven together by the slender, leafless tendrils of the love-vine, which threw a veil of coppery red over the brilliant green of the other vegetation.
While driving slowly through this almost impervious mass of vegetation, they discovered a winding but well-beaten trail or pathway, leading on down the valley, and which, out of pure curiosity, they followed until it disappeared in a thicket of plum-trees at the base of a low cliff of magnesian limestone.
As they paused at the scrubby grove, wondering what could have made the path, Clifford sprang out of the carriage, saying he would like to investigate the matter, and disappeared among the trees. He was gone so long that, after they had called him repeatedly, Rob was on the point of starting in search, when Clifford reappeared. As he sprang into the carriage their questioning was forestalled by his saying that the path was possibly made by wolves, and that he had been examining the cliff, but had not succeeded in finding their den.
He appeared so pale and agitated, however, that Maud regarded him suspiciously; and when the horses flew up the glen along the winding pathway and through tangled thickets of blue-stem and sunflowers, she managed to ask in a whisper:—
"What have you discovered, Cliff?"
"A clue to the old mystery—but wait," he whispered in reply; and in silence they drove rapidly back to the Warlow homestead.
As the boys were leading the horses into the barn, Maud called for them to assist her in nailing up some of the lattice which the wind had shaken down in her arbor; and when they joined her a few minutes later in the vine-clad bower, she cried in a low, eager tone:—
"Clifford—Clifford! what did you see in that thicket?"
"Yes, out with it—quick!" said Rob; "for I know by your looks that you saw something queer up there."
"The pathway," said Clifford, hurriedly, "plunged into the thicket of plums; then, after winding about in a mazy labyrinth, it led up to the base of a low cliff of limestone, and there ended so abruptly that I was puzzled to know what to make of it, but noticing that the heavy festoon of grapevines that hung down from the soil above, looked as if they had been disturbed, I hastily drew them aside. Imagine my surprise when a rough door was revealed, hung in the face of the cliff. Drawing it open, there was disclosed a low cell or cavern, which had been partly carved out of the soft magnesian limestone. Peering into the room, I became satisfied that it was empty of human occupants.
"The room was not more than a dozen feet square, the little furniture which it contained being dilapidated beyond description. As I stepped into the room to examine things more closely, the fact became very plain that some one had occupied it recently, for the mouldy couch still showed the imprint of a human form.
"Some broken utensils stood about on the hearth, where a fire-place had been hewn out of the soft rock. The ashes and charred wood, the bones of fish and birds, scattered about on the floor, confirmed the fact that it was used, in a desultory manner, as a habitation.
"I was turning to leave, thinking perhaps that I had invaded the private dwelling of some squatter, when my attention was arrested by seeing a vial half concealed in a cleft in the rocky wall. Inly wondering why any one should wish to conceal such a trifle, I drew it forth, rubbing the grime and dust from it as I did so.
"What was my surprise to see that there was a paper within. In eager haste I uncorked the bottle and drew out this document," said he, holding up with trembling hands a sheet that was discolored with age and blotted with mildew, but covered closely with writing, still faintly legible. "I had only time to glance at the startling title when I heard your voices calling, so I closed the door, drew the vines carefully over the entrance, and joined you, feeling like one in a dream.
"Now let's hasten," he said, "and read this document, which will, I believe, unveil the mystery of Bruce and Ivarene." Then, unrolling the time-worn paper again, with bated breath and loudly beating heart, he read aloud as follows:—
September 14, 1849,
"Near the Stone Corral, on the Santa Fe Trail."This is written by Ivarene Walraven, late of the City of Mexico, who offers prayers that it may fall into hands of kindness, who will convey to my kinsman, Herr Von Brunn, of Vera Cruz—to him this missive, full of grief and misfortune.
"We were attacked by savages on the night of August 22d, our servants slain, our wealth all gone, and our kind and tender friend, Senor Warlow, murdered. Bruce, my noble husband, he did me wrap within the folds of a serape, and dashed away out on the dark prairie with me in his arms, far, far away from the noise of murder and savagery. He watched by my side in the tall grass all that day next come; for I was ill to death's gate.
"Then, near eventide, there came to us a hunter strange, who said he slay the bison-flesh for trailers by, and beg we go to his hidden cell in a cliffy rock. His evil eyes I much mistrust; but he seem friendly be, and food prepare for us when there we go. On morning rise my babe is born—a daughter sweet—and darling Bruce he tenderly nurses me while the hunter watches near the trail for wagons go by; but day by day nothing sees he; then Bruce he say, 'I shall go myself to-morrow day.' The hunter frown when this he say. That morning, as the hunter go, he say, with cunning smile: 'A flask of wine for senora and senor.' Then leaves he it and go away as at all time. When him had disappeared, I scent a strangeness in the flask, and Bruce poured out a larger part; then broke he the glassen flask upon the floor. When a cup he bring, and say: 'What is the scent of this wine he gave?' I perceive the deadly loco's odor there, and say it poison is; it drives them mad for evermore. Bruce he frown, and meat and drink prepare; and when the hunter he return he say: 'The flask is broken all! give us wine some more.' But the hunter rudely began the meat to eat, waiting not at all. After him did partake in his rude way of the food he threw his coat by; then sat he strangely still awhile. Sprang he at length to his feet with loud shriek and cry, then rushed away into the night. 'Ah! the wine I put into his food is poison be,' Bruce he say while bar the door. In the hunter's coat we find a little book for writing some, and one leaf did have these letter writ:—
"'Eagle Beak,—Take all the braves to Pawnee Rock, and there I will go soon. Several jugs of wine are ready for you to take along; but do not let them taste until there; I have put deadly loco in the wine, which will kill them all, or drive them mad; so there will be the less to share the cask of gold—'
"Then it was left unfinished, and another leaf had been torn—some out.
"September 15th.
"I shall write it more for Bruce; he go to the trail to watch for travelers go. I am all by me, and my blue-eyed, dark-haired daughter here, with barred door I am much secured; but lonely so for darling Bruce.
"I try so hard to plainly use this English tongue, but strange it seems. My baby dear I deck with my mother's locket, where is the picture of dear Bruce and me—my dear mother's name on it: Morelia. Oh, time is lonely now while Bruce away. I will lay this aside, its vial in, and will write it again after I unbar the door and watch for him."
"Oh! they were murdered by the wild hunter,—and this is all that remains to tell the fate of our father's friends," cried Maud, tearfully. "But do you think, Clifford—" She paused a moment, leaving her question unfinished; then, springing to her feet in wildest excitement, she exclaimed:—
"We have been blind—blind! but it is all clear now!" and as Rob stood by, dumb with astonishment, she said, in a hoarse whisper, while she wrung her hands in the intensity of her great emotion: "Bruce's daughter—Morelia—Mora!"
"Yes, yes! I have suspected it since the day father called her Ivarene. I always felt, from the moment that we met, as though I had known her all my life. There seemed to be a look of recognition beaming from the eyes of Mora Estill that has haunted me for months. My God! is it possible I have only known her three short weeks? it seems like an eternity," said Clifford, in a musing tone, while Rob exclaimed, hurriedly:—
"That mad hunter was Olin Estill; and it was he who must have stolen Mora at the cavern from Ivarene, and left her at the Estill Ranch before he met his tragic fate. His is the haunted, lonesome grave on the hill-top, of which Mora spoke."
"But, oh, what a terrible retribution!—his limbs torn away by wrangling wolves, and his grinning skull left bleaching on the wild prairie," said Maud, tearfully. "Dear Bruce and Ivarene," she continued, with a sob—"must their history end in silence and oblivion?"
"Do you think, Maud, that the hunter, with all the devilish cunning of madness, could have crept back and poisoned them, and then stolen the child?"
"Ah! it is too sad to contemplate," she replied. "Their fate would have been worse than death; for I now remember having read how ill-starred Carlotta, Maximilian's unhappy empress, was poisoned by some terrible Mexican drug, and all the world knows of her hopeless madness, which will last until death."
"I shudder to think who that gray-robed, ghastly creature, with its tangled locks and glassy eyes, may be," said Clifford, hoarse with emotion.
"Not Bruce! Oh no, no! it can not be! Oh God! what a fate!" cried Maud, with another flood of tears, as she thought of the hideous contrast with the smiling, handsome lover in the flower-entwined balcony of Monteluma.
"I will go and take a more extended search up at that cavern," said Clifford. "It may be possible to make some more discoveries. But let us keep this matter secret, and when our parents are willing to give us their confidence, then we will divulge it, but not before," to which the others agreed; and while Maud was still cautioning him to be very careful of danger, our young hero rode up by his dwelling, then galloped rapidly along the winding pathway to the cliff where the cavern was concealed.
Alighting, and securing his horse to a low plum-tree in the thicket, he went to the door of the cell, and, finding all as he had left it, began searching the room critically.
He was reasoning in his mind the probabilities of finding the treasure, which the letter of the hunter led him to suspect was hidden near; for he had got a very clear glimpse of that villain's nature, when he read the part that was crossed out after he had written: "The fewer to share, the greater the gain."
Clifford felt certain that Olin Estill had remained with the treasure after he had induced his confederate in crime, Eagle Beak (who was, no doubt, an Indian chief), to decoy the Indians away to Pawnee Rock. The wretch must have decided to poison Eagle Beak when he marked the letter over, and no doubt he had suppressed the fact of the wine being drugged, so that his confederate would also drink of the liquor.
"Eagle Beak must have been a white man, disguised as an Indian, or he would never have been able to read," thought Clifford; but as he knew a great many half-breeds had become prominent Indian chiefs, he reconciled this fact with the position which that marauder held. Allowing such to have been the case, young Warlow knew that he could have been no match in cunning deviltry for the educated scoundrel, Estill; so he must certainly have fallen into the diabolical trap which the latter villain had laid for him, and, with all his Indians, he had drunk himself to madness and death from the flasks and jugs of drugged and poisoned liquor. They had all shared a common fate long before reaching that towering and legendary land-mark of Pawnee Rock. All the actors in that dire tragedy had met with such swift retribution that no one was left, in a few days after the robbery, to care for the great treasure.
"Yes; the mighty fortune of Monteluma, its red gold and gleaming gems, is hidden away near by, only waiting to be restored to their rightful heir, Mora Estill," said Clifford aloud, as he clenched his hand, and the blood surged to his face in a crimson glow.
The gold, he believed, had been hastily buried near the Stone Corral by the leaders while the savages were stupefied with liquor; but the casket of gems, our hero believed, was concealed in the cavern; so it was with a wildly beating heart that our young friend began searching the mouldy pallet of straw, but nothing rewarded his scrutiny.
He had provided himself with a large dirk-knife, which his father had carried in the turbulent mining days, and with the heavy metal handle of the weapon Clifford proceeded to sound the walls of the cavern; but no hollow echo replied, to betray the cavity which he hoped to discover. The fire-place, chimney, and the ceiling, also were subjected to the same scrutiny, but with no better result. Then he began near the door, and sounded the solid floor until he arrived at the old couch; but the stone seemed to be a solid sheet of limestone, on which the hilt of the weapon rang with a clear, metallic clang, resonant but disheartening.
Hastily removing the old mattress, young Warlow resumed his explorations; and as he vainly searched the floor his heart sank like lead, and he paused to wipe the cold sweat from his face before finishing the last remaining spot in one corner. A feeling of dread and apprehension overcame him, and he shrank from the ordeal. Hope deferred began to dampen the enthusiasm of our young "Fortune Hunter," and he could scarcely summon his courage to the final test of searching that one remaining spot; but, drawing a long sigh, he resumed the operation, and the very first blow caused his brain to reel and the blood to bound madly in his veins; for the hollow sound which the blow elicited proved that the hidden cavity was reached at last.
The bottom of the cavern was thickly incrusted with filth and damp earth at that place; but he dug with frantic energy, and soon the dim outline of a square flag-stone was visible. Breathless and panting, young Warlow pried at the stone, and as it slowly arose he closed his eyes, as if fearing to glance down into the cavity below.
"Ah, if this is the casket of gems, Mora will be the greatest heiress in all the land, and the gulf which the riches of the cattle-king made between myself and her will only be widened by this great wealth," Clifford thought; and he now, for the first time, regretted having come out on a search which might lead to his life-long misery.
For one moment the tempter whispered in his ear; but quickly the Warlow honor triumphed, and he looked down resolutely into the cavity.
Yes! there was the casket, and beside it a roll of papers.
Fate had been fickle and cold so long; but now, when her smile was worse than a frown, she could easily relent.
Catching up the papers and casket, he sprang across the room to the door with a hoarse cry of delight. Upon the decayed old parchment he could only discern one faint word, Monteluma; then the casket dropped from his nerveless grasp and fell to the stone floor with a crash.
An exclamation of delight escaped him as the gems which had fallen upon the floor, flashed back the sun-rays in scintillating splendor, and the low, dull room was lit by a glare like the lightning-riven storm-cloud.
It was a scene of bewildering beauty—of fascinating splendor—that met his gaze:—great diamonds, that shot broad flashes of rainbow light; strands of pale pearls, glinting in fitful splendor; burning rubies, that poured forth flames of crimson, which mingled with the rays shed by the amethysts of rose, purple, and lilac; while the lurid, baleful fire of opals and emeralds flickered and glimmered in the sunlight.
Stooping down, young Warlow gathered up the priceless gems, trembling meanwhile at the strange, unreal event, and after securely placing them again within the casket, and rearranging the room, he mounted his horse and galloped back over the swelling hills.
As the hoofs of his gray Norman tore through the thickets of rank grass, tangled and woven in a maze of golden, leafless tendrils by the slender love-vine, or bruised the mignonette until all the moist, sultry air was rich with its pungent fragrance, Clifford was revolving in his mind several plans for concealing the mighty treasure of which he had just become the guardian. He concluded that he must find a secure hiding-place at his dwelling, where the casket might remain until the proper moment should arrive when he could reveal the discovery, and restore the property to its rightful owner.
On arriving at his dwelling, Clifford tied his horse in the stable, then entered the house, locking the door and drawing the blinds, so as to be safe from intrusion while he pondered over the situation.
The room was a tastefully-furnished apartment, carpeted with a rich, dark carpet, a remnant of luxury that had once adorned the old plantation home, and supplied with easy chairs, a book-case, well filled, and some good paintings, which were gifts from his early friends.
This room was the gathering-place for the men and boys of Clifford's neighborhood on rainy days and lonesome Sundays, and here it was that he spent most of his leisure time in reading or study.
At length he arose and went to the attic, from which place he soon returned with a case of tools. Then, taking up the carpet in the corner of the room, he sawed out a place in the floor large enough to admit the strong, iron-bound chest, which he had dragged out from the adjoining room.
After hastily tacking some cleats on the boards, which he had sawed out of the floor, thus providing a lid for the cavity, he placed the chest within the aperture. The bottom of the strong box rested on the earth below, and its top came nearly even with the floor. In a small compartment of this chest young Warlow placed the jewels; then he paused awhile to look at the roll of parchments.
These documents proved to be the patents to the estate of Monteluma, and Clifford could dimly see the signatures of Charles V and Philip II, with the broad seal of the Spanish crown on the mildewed, discolored, yet precious parchments.
There was, in addition, a large envelope, heavily sealed, on which the superscription was quite dim. In the waning light young Warlow failed to decipher it; but promising himself that he would soon examine this mystery-hinting missive at greater leisure, he placed all the papers in the chest, which he securely locked, closed the trap-door, and tacked down the carpet; then, fastening up the house with great care, he hurried down to his father's dwelling.
Maud and Rob met Clifford at the gate, and as he passed under the latticed arch where the trumpet-vine clambered with succulent ambition, its sprays of flame-red bugles mottled with spots of velvety black, Maud said eagerly:—
"I was growing uneasy about you, Cliff. Did you see nothing of that strange, gray-robed creature up at the cell?"
"Nothing whatever; but I am led to believe that mysterious being often stays there. We must keep a sharp watch on the place hereafter, and perhaps we may unravel the mystery," he replied, anxious to lead the subject away from his recent search.
As he stood, dreading further questioning, the supper-bell sounded, and he quickly moved on into the house, determined that he would conceal his discovery until he had made a search for the gold also.
The Warlow family retired early that night; but as the clock struck two Clifford arose, and listening to be certain that Rob was safe in the arms of Morpheus, he then stepped lightly out on to the veranda, and, after pausing a moment at the foot of the steps to draw on his boots, hurried down to the barn.
After saddling one of his Norman horses, he rode up to his dwelling, where he secured the iron rod and spade with which he had prosecuted his former search, and then galloped on down to the old cottonwood-tree.
Tying his horse to an ash-tree on the river bank, he began digging on the very spot where he had unearthed the cask with all its attending horrors. While throwing the soil out of the pit, he soon forgot the dangers and disappointment which had attended that adventure, and in his eagerness to reach the shattered cask, still remaining below him, he labored with such energy that he soon reached the object of his search.
As he began to clear the dirt from the shattered cask, he often listened to hear the warning rattle that would announce the presence of the mate to that venomous reptile which he had slain here a few weeks previous; but no trace of the serpent was found. While removing the last spadeful of earth, the thought came to him like a flash of sunlight that the snake had been placed within the cask for the very purpose of terrifying and discouraging any one from searching deeper after he had unearthed it.
He remembered having read of circumstances where reptiles had been found imprisoned in rock, where they had survived the confinement of an era of time to which twenty-seven years was a short period in comparison; so it appeared that the snake might have been placed there when the cask was buried, and had lived and developed into the enormous reptile which had served to unnerve him and arrest his search on the first occasion.
It had occurred to him, before digging, that the cask had been buried by the wretches who were engaged in the massacre at the corral, and that the treasure was secreted just below the cask. This belief had resulted from his successful search at the cavern, and had ripened now into almost conviction; so he had resolved to search deeper on the same spot where he had met with his first signal failure.
"How true it is that we should always look below the surface of treachery, enmity, and failure for the true gold of success!" said young Warlow, meanwhile removing the last stave of the old cask, and boring down with the iron rod into the bottom of the pit.
As the instrument struck hard against some resisting object, but two feet below, he felt the shock of a hot thrill of excitement; then grasping his spade with trembling hands, he soon reached the goal of his labors.
Another cask was revealed!
Yes; there was the treasure, he felt with all the conviction of certainty, that he had so long vainly hoped to recover. He struck the head of the cask several blows with his spade, and as the wood crushed in, he paused with the same old feeling of vacillation and dread that had seized him when the precious casket lay unopened before him at the secret cavern,—the irresolute, wavering sensation, the fear of disappointment, which so often assails us when fortune's phantom stands dimly near, and we hesitate to grasp her beckoning hand, fearing vaguely that a buffet may await us. It was in such a mood young Warlow stood, while the hopes and fears coursed dreamily through his soul. The sweat-drops rained from his brow, and fell trickling down through the pale moonlight. At last, with shaking hand, he lit his lantern and peered down into the cask below; and as he slowly cleared out the fragments of the shattered head, he saw that there was a mass of fleecy wool filling the cask completely. Tearing this aside with nerveless fingers and panting haste, there was revealed row after row of deer-skin bags, with the words,
"George Warlow, 1849."
plainly lettered upon their sides. With his knife he quickly severed the thong that bound one of them, and the dull, red gold gleamed back in the flickering light!
"Oh God! at last—at last!" cried our hero (who certainly has earned his title), as broken sobs shook his frame, and he leaned faint and dizzy against the side of the pit. But while he stood, weak and panting, a wild, frightened snort from his horse caused him to bound out of the pit, and hurry forward to where he had fastened the animal. When he reached the tree the usually quiet creature was found to be trembling with fear or excitement. After caressing the sleek Norman for a moment, and speaking in a soothing tone to quiet the creature, Clifford walked back toward the pit; but as he came into the moonlight, he paused a moment to take a full breath of the light breeze, which was rippling the water and whispering among the trees.
Far down the valley he could trace the silvery veil of vapor, revealing the course of the narrow stream, and among the dense shadows of willow and vines the fire-flies wove their webs of glimmering light. The midsummer night was still and tranquil, the silence only broken by the moan of the brook and the chirp of insects; the heavy dew-drops on tree and shrub glinted and flashed in the moonbeams that sifted through the willows in a sheen of wavering silver.
The quavering scream of a wolf on some dismal hill-top—a sound heard nightly all over the Western prairies, but one that never fails to send a cold thrill of horror through the lone traveler—startled Clifford from the momentary reverie into which he had fallen, and brought back vividly the remembrance of that night of terror and danger, which now seemed so long ago; and, as if the very thought had conjured up the spirits of the past, that well-remembered spectre, gray-robed, with snaky locks and glaring eyes, darted from among the shadows and with its bony, talon-like fingers clutched at young Warlow's throat.
Not a sound came from the lips that were drawn back from its snaggled fangs, but with its loathsome, grave-like breath full on his cheek, it closed in a death grapple with the startled and horrified youth. A wild struggle ensued; the rank vines and slender willows were trampled to the earth; and soon the combatants stood on the banks of the stream, by a deep, dark pool, and the fierce, unearthly creature, tried to force Clifford's head beneath the water.
As the fiendish, murderous intention of his assailant became apparent, young Warlow sprang back from the danger that yawned before him, and tore loose from the fury-blinded wretch, which again darted at Clifford, grappling with him in all the frenzy and desperation of a maniac.
The failing strength of the strange creature became more apparent every moment; so Clifford determined to first exhaust it by a violent struggle, then bind it with the lariat which hung at his saddle; and soon it was an easy matter for our athletic and vigorous young hero to drag the panting wretch to where his horse stood trembling with terror and wild with fright. Clifford spoke in a soothing tone, and when the horse became once more quiet, he reached for the lariat, while holding the maniac with one hand; but with a desperate wrench the spectral being tore loose from his grasp, and bounded away with a loud yell. Then, as it fled swiftly away over the prairie, at every step it would shriek like a mangled hound—the sound growing fainter, until at length it died out in silence on the grassy hills.
With a prolonged shiver, Clifford started like one awakened from a terrible night-mare; then remembering the new-found treasure, he hurried back to the pit, and peered down—as though fearful that he should find it all a dream.
But no—there was the red gold, resting where it had lain so long.
Clifford paused a moment, irresolute and uncertain what course to pursue. How should he remove this vast treasure to a place of security? he was asking himself, when there recurred to his mind the fact that there was harness in his stable, and an old, stout sled there also. The latter had been used in transporting stone from the old wall to build his dwelling, and was admirably adapted to just such a purpose as bearing up the heavy sacks of coin. So young Warlow lost no time in hurrying down to the stable.
As he nervously harnessed the horse by the dim light of the lantern, he was devoured with anxiety, lest something should occur that would yet rob him of the fruits of his great discovery. "What if that uncanny demon should return, and undo all his labor by some diabolical plan or act?" he found himself saying in a half-audible tone, as with trembling haste he hurried back to the treasure—and found all his fears were groundless, for every thing remained as he had left it.
When he attempted to lift the sacks of coin he found that it was no light task, for each one of the stout bags weighed fully forty pounds; but with great difficulty he loaded ten of them on to the low vehicle, then led the horse up to the dwelling, close to the door, where, unhitching the animal and securing him to the stone post near by, he proceeded to carry the sacks into the dwelling.
Five of the first were lettered with the name of his father. These he placed by themselves. Then, taking up the carpet and the floor where he had concealed the chest, he untied the remaining five sacks, and emptied their glittering contents into the iron-bound box. When all this was completed, he returned for another load, but not without again entertaining grave fears for the safety of the precious cask, which he found still undisturbed.
Four more loads of the coin emptied the cask. Then came the work of refilling the pit, and obliterating all trace of the search. Then, after returning the sled and harness to their accustomed places, Clifford sat down, faint and weary, to feast his eyes on the grand sight, the enormous wealth that was displayed by the lamp-light.
More than four hundred thousand dollars in gold lay in a glittering, red mass before him! The coin almost filled the chest, while in the shallow compartment were the gems, which he had taken from their casket, that he might once more admire them and feast his eyes on their splendor.
The gems—he remembered having heard his father say—represented more than half a million dollars; and he tried to realize what this vast aggregation of wealth meant—this million of treasure that he had restored to the light since the last sunrise; but only faintly could the young "Fortune Hunter" comprehend the power and grandeur of the treasure before him.
Out among the mass of red and yellow gold trailed a strand of frosty, glimmering pearls. The great diamonds, that flashed their rivers of light; and rubies, that mingled their rays of rose and crimson with the green glint of emeralds; lurid opals, sapphires of sparkling blue or violet red; amethysts of pink, purple, and lilac,—all spoke in proudest tones of the wealth of Monteluma; and, with a weary sigh, Clifford thought of the wide social gulf which now yawned between himself and the heiress of all this splendor.
After securing all the treasure in the chest, and locking the door securely behind, young Warlow rode stealthily homeward as the first blush of crimson was mantling the eastern sky, and the great planets were growing pale.