A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail
by John Dunloe Carteret · English · Gutenberg #40546 · 428,904 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail
Author: John Dunloe Carteret
Release date: August 20, 2012 [eBook #40546]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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A FORTUNE HUNTER;
OR,
THE OLD STONE CORRAL.
A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail.
by
JOHN DUNLOE CARTERET.
Cincinnati:
Printed for the Author.
1888.
Copyrighted, 1886.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Nature's Blank Page--The Old Stone Corral--The Lost Treasure
of Monteluma--Camp-fires--The Warlow and Moreland Families--The
Camp on the Cottonwood--A Tale of the Camp-fire 7
CHAPTER II.
Colonel Warlow's Story--Bruce Walraven--The Heiress of
Monteluma--The Vale of Mexico--Bandits--The Rescue--The
Web of Destiny 19
CHAPTER III.
Breakfast on the Plains--Colonel Warlow's Story
Continued--Bruce Walraven's Creed--Blood-drenched Malvern
Hill--The Dim Crest of Orizaba--Roses and Thorns--The
Wealth of Monteluma--A Cask of Gold--The Casket of
Gems--The Overland Journey--A Dark Tragedy 29
CHAPTER IV.
Colonel Warlow's Story Continued--Los Angeles--A Friend
in Need--A Storm on the Pacific--Shipwreck--Under the
Waves 48
CHAPTER V.
Colonel Warlow's Story Continued--Alone--The Castaway--The
Golden Gate to Home Sweet Home--Acapulco--Roger--The
Isthmus of Panama 57
CHAPTER VI.
Colonel Warlow's Story Continued--The Tropical Groves
of Cuba--The Coffee Plantation--A Blooming Christmas--The
Tomb of Columbus--The Roses and Passion-flowers of
Cuba--The Warm Hearts of Home--Ah! Such a Day can never
come Again--Snow-drifts, Sleigh-bells, and
Sweethearts--Mary, etc. 71
CHAPTER VII.
Colonel Warlow's Story Concluded--The Wool-picking--The
Squire's Harrow--Wedding Bells--Profit and Loss--The
Spectre of the Stone Corral 79
CHAPTER VIII.
The Monotony of Frontier Life--New Homes--Voting
Bonds--The Grasshopper Raid--Back to the Land of the
Mother-in-law--Grim Famine's Shadow--The Flood--A
Strange Weird Sight 87
CHAPTER IX.
A Raging Torrent--The Crows' Nest--An Aerial
Family--"Kansis oR buST" 100
CHAPTER X.
The Picnic--A Biled Vest--A Dark-eyed Maid with her Sweet
Guitar--Mora Estill--Fishing, etc., but Principally the
Latter--"We have met before"--The Gray Spectre--The
Mystery-wrapped Grave of the Hill-top--Rough as a
Farmer--Transmigration of Souls 108
CHAPTER XI.
A Western Call--Mystery--The Call lengthens into a Western
Visit--Spring Chicken and Mystery 126
CHAPTER XII.
False Riches--A Young Fortune Hunter--The Santa Fe
Trail--Searching for the Gold of Monteluma--The Serpent's
Warning Rattle--The Stare of Death--The Gray Spectre 144
CHAPTER XIII.
A Western Wheat-field--A Visit to Estill's Ranch--A
Skeleton in the Estill Closet--An Art Critic who was "Beef
to the Heel"--Very Undairy-like--A Trace of Mystery 159
CHAPTER XIV.
Phantoms of the Past--That "Unspeakable" Rob Warlow--The
Running-gears, if you please--The Clouds thicken--A
Glimpse of the Past 179
CHAPTER XV.
The Mysterious Trail--The Secret Cell--A Voice from
the Past--The Journal of Ivarene 194
CHAPTER XVI.
The Web of Mystery--The Gems of Monteluma--A Scene of
Bewildering Beauty 203
CHAPTER XVII.
The Red Gold of Monteluma--My Father's Doubloons--The
Phantom--A Million of Treasure 211
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Course of True Love--The Cattle-king's
Daughter--Flirtation and Practicing--"Your Music makes me
Home-sick"--A Dubious Compliment--A Western View of Classic
Music--Schubert's Serenade, in which Rob has the "Cheek"
to assert that he can recognize the very Bar in that
Masterpiece, where the Old Man turns the Bull-dog loose--A
Couple of Idiots--Where Grace's Fingers itch to pull
Cliff's Ears--A Lover whose Lip hangs Very Low--That
Contemptible Thing, a Fortune Hunter 220
CHAPTER XIX.
A Strange Theory--Our Bodies may be tenanted by Souls
that have lived before--Farewell, my Native Land--A
Glimmering Circle of Phantom Warriors--A Haunted Spot--The
Crossing of the Santa Fe and Abilene Trails--The
Picnic--A Scene that was too Rich for my Blood 239
CHAPTER XX.
My Long-lost Gold--A Hero who dripped at the Nose like a
Hydrant--An Embarrassment of Riches--The Mirage--The Valley
of the Smoky Hill--The Iron Mound and Soldier's Cap--The
Mennonite Colony--A Gigantic Land-sale--Eagle Beak--The
Wailing Wolf of the Hill-top--A Strange Creed--A Stately
Mansion--The Grave-lights of Antelope Butte--A Comforting
and Seductive Theory--We may be re-born and live again to
enjoy the Happiness lost by Death 259
CHAPTER XXI.
The Skeletons on Antelope Butte--The Serene Wedding Morn
at the Stone Corral--We Live Again--Wedding
Festivities--The End 285
A FORTUNE HUNTER:
OR,
THE OLD STONE CORRAL.
Chapter I.
The sinking sun threw its amber beams over the wide valley, rolling
hills, and the dim buttes, wreathed in the blue haze of distance and
looming with vague outlines in the wavering shimmer of the evening
mirage.
A silvery stream, half hidden by fringing trees, wound through the
prairie valley, but was lost to sight where a lofty butte shouldered
boldly down from the highland on the south, as if to catch a view of the
Eden-like landscape that dreamed below, while far away to the north a
line of galloping hills bounded the vision, their mantles of tender
green dappled by the shadow and sunshine of the fleecy clouds that
floated overhead. On the south the level prairie melted away into the
limitless distance, clothed in the tender grasses and flowers of early
spring-time, while on every hand stretched away the horizon-bound
prairies of the Western plains.
A wide meadow-land, made perfect by the hand of nature, but lacking that
soul and animation which human occupancy alone can impart to any scene.
No homes are visible; nothing but the blank page of nature, waiting to
be written over with the histories of the people, which, something
whispers to me, will soon invade this peaceful scene, over which now
broods the unnatural calm of utter solitude.
Out beyond that blue line of hills, which flame up in the east, is
raging the fierce conflict which we call civilization; but the shock and
din, the roar and turmoil of the mighty battle die fitfully away long
before reaching the quivering line of that dim horizon. I stand alone
upon the crest of a breeze-kissed hill, listening to the moan and
whisper of the wind sighing through the grasses at my feet, or the notes
of a meadow lark, thrilling and sweet, as it flits by.
To the westward, on a lofty knoll, are visible the broken arches and
ruined walls of the Old Stone Corral; rank vines now veil the loop-holes
where once had flashed forth the leaden death-messenger for many a
savage warrior that had tried to storm the impregnable inclosure, which
had been built as a place of refuge for travelers on the Santa Fe Trail,
that here crossed the Cottonwood on a stony ford. A giant elm, centuries
old, stood amid the ruins, its drooping boughs of feathery spray weeping
like a fountain of verdure over the spring that welled out from among
its roots, then went gurgling away, a purling brook, to join the narrow
stream in the valley.
The river here at the ruins had nearly encircled the hill on which they
stood, and after half embracing the knoll in its timber-fringed course
had wound away down the valley, but where the groves grew in masses of
darkest green, there the stream had widened to miniature lakelets that
flashed like silver in the slanting sunbeams.
On a low mound near by I see a great stone, like a rude monument, and
drawing near I can barely decipher this dim and weather-worn
inscription, carved on the red sandstone:
Erected to the Memory
OF
FIFTY-THREE VICTIMS OF THE CHEYENNES,
AUGUST 22, 1849.
NAMES ALL UNKNOWN.
Here is a dim, dark tragedy, buried within this grassy knoll, but within
these pages all the mystery which haunts the flower-bespangled hillock
will be cleared away. A difficult task indeed; but without those graves
my story would never have been written.
I stand silent and thoughtful, gazing out over the tranquil landscape,
which had once witnessed a scene of revolting horror here on this quiet
spot; but all is peaceful now, the only sign of life visible being the
long file of antelope that hurry by from the north. Halting on a lofty
headland, they pause a moment, stretching their graceful necks to gaze
back along their pathway, then with loud snorts wheeling and swiftly
fleeing away.
At this moment the distant sound of hoofs was heard, becoming
momentarily louder; then a group of riders dash up on their sleek,
superb horses, and draw rein at the rude monument.
"It must be here, Clifford, at this low mound," said one of the riders,
a graceful girl of seventeen, with nut-brown hair and blue eyes.
"Yes, Maud, I recognize the knoll from father's and Uncle Roger's
description. It was uncle who carved this inscription upon the stone,
little dreaming then that we should all come here a quarter of a century
later to secure a new home," replied a youth of near twenty years;
handsome, golden-haired, and symmetrical, with eyes of pansy blue, and a
look of pride and good birth about him which showed plain through the
dust and tan of a long journey.
"Ah, dear Bruce and Ivarene! how sad to end their romance with such a
tragedy!" said Maud tearfully, as Clifford dismounted; then, as he
helped her to alight, they stood for a moment in mute sorrow while
deciphering the inscription upon the stone.
"Maud, it is hard to believe that the heiress of grand old Monteluma,
with her millions of gold and gems at command, who wedded noble Bruce in
the great cathedral before the dignitaries and ambassadors of half
Christendom with a pomp and splendor new to even luxury-steeped Mexico,
is sleeping with her husband in the silence of this lonesome grave,"
Clifford said in a tone of deep sadness.
"Oh! how vivid the picture returns, of the silken and lace-robed
heiress, who threw back the gilded lattice of her window, and with
pearls glinting, and rubies burning in her raven hair, smiled as her
handsome lover, in his uniform of gray and gold lace, swung himself up
to her window by the passion-vines and fuchsias, that rained a shower of
purple, white, and rose on his sunny hair. I can almost see the
love-look in his blue eyes yet," said Maud with a flood of tears, as she
leaned against the rude monument and covered her face with her hands.
"I have sometimes fancied that they escaped; for there was no one left
but father to inquire, and you know how long he was covered with the
stones of that old wall, remaining delirious for months after Uncle
Roger found him," said Clifford, "and that million of their gold and
gems, with father's store of gold, I have often fancied, Maud, was
hidden near here; for there has never been a search made since the
terrible massacre."
"That looks so improbable, Clifford. If the savages murdered them for
plunder, as they certainly did, then it is idle to think that they would
have left anything of value behind. Even the jewels would have been
fought for, as savages are very fond of glitter and splendor," Maud
replied.
"Yes, that very disposition of theirs to wrangle over their booty has
given me a hope that the leader might have buried the gold, for the
reason that it would have been impossible to carry away a ton of coin
without first dividing it. I shall make the search at any rate, though
it does look like a forlorn hope," he added with a sigh.
"Miss Warlow, there seems to have been a great tragedy enacted here in
the past," said a young man of near Clifford's age, who had been
silently regarding them from a distance, in company with a
flaxen-haired girl, younger than Maud, who still sat upon her horse by
his side.
"Yes, Mr. Moreland, and it nearly concerns us; for our father, here on
this spot, once lost a great fortune, and at the same time those two
friends of whom we have been speaking. This all was long before Clifford
and I were born; but father has told us so often of the tragedy that the
names of Bruce and Ivarene Walraven are dear and sacred to us all," Maud
replied.
"Oh, Ralph! I wonder if Colonel Warlow would tell us the particulars of
that terrible affair?" said the younger girl.
"It would be doubly interesting here upon the closing scene of the
tragedy," the young man replied.
"Will you ask your father, Maud, to tell us to-night?" the young girl
inquired eagerly.
"Yes, Grace: it will help to while away our first Sabbath here, which
will be a lonesome day to-morrow," Maud made answer as they remounted
and rode down to the stream to water their horses.
"What a lovely camp-ground!" exclaimed Grace. "Shall we not stop here,
Ralph?"
"Yes, sister, if the others are willing. It is not only a fine camping
ground, but it is more: This is a grand home-land, or will be when we
select our 'claims,' Monday. I never before have seen a more beautiful
or fertile valley than this."
Soon a long line of white covered wagons and a comfortable carriage
appeared, coming down the Santa Fe trail, which wound its travel-worn
course over the hills from the north-east; and where solitude had
reigned but an hour before there now re-echoed the sounds of a busy
camp, and ruddy fires leaped and sparkled, about which female forms
flitted to and fro, preparing their evening meal. But while all was
bustle and animation within the camp, a solitary figure could be seen
standing at the long grave, bowed in an attitude of silent grief.
As he walked slowly back within the glare of the camp-fire, it was
apparent that he was a man past middle life, of grave and dignified
appearance; the lines of care, on his still handsome face, were deepened
as if by grief as he seated himself by a tree, away from the glare of
the light.
As he sat thus--lost in reverie--Maud came softly by, and, passing her
hand over his hair in a caressing way, said:--
"What a lovely country this is! I am charmed with it already."
"Yes, Maud, my daughter, it is a fertile and picturesque region; but it
will be hard to inure myself to living on this spot, for it is haunted
by very bitter memories."
"Oh, it is sad, indeed, to think of the fate of Bruce and his graceful
bride; but we will deck their grave with flowers, and I shall never
cease to grieve for them," she said, dropping a kiss on her father's
cheek, then hurrying away to the camp-fire.
He was roused from his gloomy reverie, a few minutes later, by his wife,
who came to his side, and, as her hand rested fondly on his shoulder,
she said, in a sweet voice of womanly sympathy, in which could be
traced a sub-tone of strength and resolution:--
"George, dear, this is no time for repining; instead we should feel
happy and grateful that we have found such a delightful country as this
in which to select our future home. Oh, this valley is more beautiful
than even my wildest dreams had ever pictured. I had felt apprehensive,
husband, that your impressions of this place had been colored by your
youthful enthusiasm of twenty, and own that I had made ample allowance
for the quarter of a century which has passed since then; but it is
certainly the most charming spot I have ever beheld."
"My dear, brave wife," he replied joyfully, "you lift a heavy burden
from my heart; we will select a home near here early Monday morning, and
begin building at once. I shall leave the selection with you, Mary,
however."
"Oh, we are too late," she replied, with a cheerful smile. "Robbie has
found the spot already; he has just returned from down the valley, where
Scott Moreland and himself had driven the stock, and they report having
found a perfect paradise. They are both boiling over with enthusiasm,
and are bareheaded, having left their hats hanging on trees to mark the
location of their respective 'claims,' and when I left the camp-fire
they were inveighing against the injustice of a law that would not
permit fifteen-year-old boys to take a 'homestead.'"
In a more cheerful mood the couple now sought the camp-fire, which was
surrounded by more than a dozen persons of both sexes, all animated and
happy over the termination of their long and toilsome journey.
The two who have just entered the circle are Colonel Warlow and his
wife, while the handsome youth of fifteen, with hazel eyes and auburn
hair, which has a faint tinge of red, that accounts for the reputation
he has earned within the Warlow circle, is Robbie, their youngest; while
that golden-haired young Adonis, who, in a fit of grave abstraction,
sits leaning against a tree, his white and tapering hands clasped about
his knee, the firelight glimmering over a small and well-shaped boot
resting on the round of his chair, is their oldest son, Clifford, whom
we have met before; while Maud, their only daughter, is easily
recognized as she flits about, busy and graceful.
Next we see the family of Squire Moreland, from the valley of the
Merrimac--the squire himself being a representative Puritan, plain and
grave; his wife, a type of the live and thorough-going New England
woman, deeply imbued with the "thingness of is," able to discuss apples
or algebra, beans or baptism, or in fact any subject down to zymology.
Then Ralph, principally to be recommended for being "general good
fellow." Next in their family is Scott, quiet and grave, addressed by
Rob Warlow as the "Young Squire;" and their only daughter, Grace, in
whose make-up there is more than a faint spice of the tomboy.
Colonel Warlow's family had left their old Missouri home, the tobacco
and hemp plantation on which the children had all been born, and,
having met the Morelands on their rout, bound for that indefinite
region "out West," they had journeyed on together to this spot,
attracted by Colonel Warlow's remembrance of its great beauty and
natural fertility, which had deeply impressed him when he was here a
quarter of a century before.
Learning, at Council Grove, that the valley was open to homestead entry,
they had hastened on, miles ahead of other settlements, to locate here
on a spot that was beyond the utmost limit of civilization.
Soon the hungry travelers were seated at the cloth that was spread on
the downy buffalo-grass, and were partaking of the broiled quail and
antelope steak, the appetizing odors of which now pervaded the whole
camp; but as the company ranged themselves about the tempting repast,
Maud and Grace retired to a seat by the fire, declaring as they did so,
that they would not sacrifice their precious lives by sitting at a table
with thirteen other sinners.
"Give us a song, then," cried some one from the table, at which Grace
sprang up and brought Maud's guitar from the carriage, and soon the
sweet strains,
"Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chains have bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me,"
re-echoed through the tranquil valley. As Maud's tender soprano mingled
with the luscious alto of Grace's voice the listeners almost forgot the
tempting feast spread before them, and cries of "Bravo!" "Encore!"
etc., greeted the close of the pathetic song, which was wholly lost, as
to its sentiment, upon the younger members of the company.
"Pass the hat," cried Bob, whereupon Grace handed her sunshade around
among the laughing group, but after inspecting the collection, she said
with an air of contempt:--
"A wish-bone and five bread-crusts! Why, a _prima donna_ would starve on
such a meagre salary. I've a notion to play Herodias's daughter and
dance off your heads;" and when Maud struck up a lively fandango, she
shook her curls in a threatening manner, and then whirled off into an
amazing waltz.
Jeers and hoots from the boys resounded at her last _pas seul_, and
Clifford's voice was heard in the gay tumult saying: "Mademoiselle dis
Grace must have learned her step at an Irish wake."
"Let us no longer serve an ungrateful public," said Maud, as they sat
down to the table, where their gayety chased away all traces of care or
sorrow. When the meal was finished, Maud and Grace begged Colonel Warlow
to relate his early history. Their request was eagerly seconded by the
other members of the company, who were anxious to learn the particulars
of that tragedy, hinted at by the inscription on the mound, and how he
came to be connected with the actors in that terrible drama, and to lose
a great fortune on that spot so long ago. Then the colonel, after
sitting for a few moments wrapped in serious thought, replied that it
was a long story, and would require more than one evening to relate all
the particulars of that great tragedy, that would always be fresh in his
memory as long as life endured.
The company reminded him that it would be rather lonesome on their first
Sabbath, and entreated him so eagerly that at length he consented; then,
as the firelight leaped and sparkled, and the beams of the rising moon
silvered the waters of the stream, moaning and fretting over the stony
ford, they all gathered about the colonel, still and expectant. The
quavering scream of a lone wolf died out on the hills in a plaintive
wail; then only the faint whisper of the wind sighing though the willow
was heard, and the colonel said:--
Chapter II.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY.
"When a boy of twenty I joined the army that soon invaded Mexico, and
carried victory with its banners into the Aztec capital--the
world-renowned halls of the Montezumas.
"It was before Vera Cruz--when our ranks were swept by the iron hail,
rained upon our storming columns by scores of cannon from San Juan de
Ulloa--that I first saw Bruce Walraven, whom I was thenceforth to regard
as a brother.
"An exploding shell had killed my horse, which had fallen upon me in
such a way that made it impossible for me to rise without assistance;
and while I was yet vainly struggling to extricate myself from the
dangerous position, a squadron of cavalry rushed by, charging a company
of Mexican infantry intrenched behind a light breastwork of sand-bags. I
held up my hand with an imploring gesture--a human voice was lost in the
wild thunder and roar of artillery--and the leader of the cavalry saw my
sad plight. He wavered a moment as though struggling with discipline;
but the sight of a fellow-soldier in distress seemed to outweigh all
else, even the pride of leading his men, for he dashed to my side and
helped me to rise; then, as a riderless horse galloped by, he caught its
dangling rein, and by his help, in a moment more I was again in the
saddle.
"By rapid riding we soon overtook the command, and were greeted by a
ringing cheer from the soldiers, who quickly showed their appreciation
of his humanity. Later in the war I would not have been so fortunate;
but we were new, as yet, to scenes of bloodshed and carnage, which
accounted for the laxity of discipline, but evidence of humanity, shown
in this incident.
"After the successful storming of the enemy's slight earthworks, which,
with their usual lack of military science, had been but half manned and
illy constructed, I had a long talk with young Lieutenant Walraven, and
in a short time I had managed to be exchanged into his company; and we
soon became inseparable companions, sharing the same blanket at night
and rude fare during the day, or riding side by side through the battles
of that glorious campaign, and finally reaching the valley of Mexico
safely.
"Here, while engaged in a slight skirmish with the enemy, Walraven was
wounded in the arm, and was immediately conveyed to the old hacienda of
Monteluma, near by. At his urgent request I was detailed to stay with
him as a guard. In the courts of that princely villa he rapidly
convalesced; and one day, while seated by the great fountain, where
myrtle and jasmine, oleander and roses, mingled their fragrance, he saw
two beautiful Spanish ladies loitering near, and being concealed by the
luxuriant foliage himself, he could see and hear all that passed
without being discovered.
"He always afterward declared to me that at first he had no intention of
playing the eavesdropper; but when he learned from their talk that it
was himself they were discussing, then the temptation became too great
to resist, so he sat very still while the following dialogue took place,
and which, with his usual boyish frankness, he related to me an hour
later. This was in Spanish; but Bruce was now quite proficient in that
language, and readily understood all that was said:--
"'But, Ivarene, my dear, it does not become Don Rozarro's daughter and
heiress--last, alas! of the proud line of Monteluma--to become
infatuated with the blue eyes and golden hair of this wounded soldier;
and if he is as handsome as a Norse king, to which you so foolishly
compare him, he still is no less our country's enemy,' said the elder
lady, who seemed to be a duenna, whose sole care consisted in keeping
the younger and more beautiful lady hidden from the eyes of her
unwelcome guests, but with what success you may readily perceive.
"'But, Labella, cousin dear, he is alone, wounded and ill in a foreign
land--no mother, sister, or sweetheart near to soothe his long days of
pain! (I wonder if he has a sweetheart in that cold Northland!) And
then, Labella, does not the good Book command us to do good to those who
hate us, and to love our enemies?' she replied with a mischievous
smile.
"'Oh, the command, my darling, does not apply to every sunny-haired
trooper who, invades our country--'
"'No--no; not every one, true!' retorted Ivarene, archly, to which the
duenna quickly replied:--
"'I fear, Ivarene, that your English education, and your much reading of
those Northern books, have turned your head.'
"Here the ladies passed on through a latticed arcade, and their voices
were lost in the distance; but my friend had seen and heard enough to
lose his heart completely, and in the evening, as we sat on the balcony
without, he was so quiet and thoughtful that I began to realize the fact
that he was deeply entangled in the meshes of love at first sight.
"Leaving him to his reflections, I walked to the edge of the balcony to
gaze out over the matchless landscape which the lofty mansion commanded.
"The tropic moon poured a flood of silvery radiance over the Vale of
Mexico, while low down on the horizon burned the fiery Southern Cross.
The bubbling domes of the great capital seemed to float upon the lakes
which environ its walls, and her myriad lights twinkled and flashed back
from their waters like stars on a frosty night.
"Old Chapultepec, with its castellated walls, towered out on the lofty
headland; and the dark forests of cypress, that had witnessed the
tragedies and pageants of Aztec splendor for a thousand years past,
clothed the base of the hill in a sombre mantle, peopled by the
spectres, I thought, of long dead princes and Montezumas that in the
dim past had lived their lives of inconceivable luxury in those ancient
groves.
"Over all loomed the old volcanoes, white and ghostly, with their
mantles of eternal snow and hearts of hidden fire. Shrouded in mystery,
they seemed a fit emblem of the Aztec past, whose buried histories still
haunt this ancient land.
"Near by, at the foot of the lofty terrace, the groves of olive and
orange were sombre in shade. In the soft wind the myrtle rustled
faintly, and on the roses at our feet the dew-drops glinted in fitful
splendor.
"In an angle of the old wall, where the murky shadows were deepest, the
glow-worms burned in the damp grass, and the fire-flies glimmered
incessantly. There I half fancied that I could see strange forms
hovering; and when a figure flitted out into the moonlight, then was
quickly lost again in the black shade of an aloe, I was startled for a
moment; but concluding it was one of the peons belonging to the estate,
I turned my eyes to again feast on the glorious view.
"There were numberless fountains pouring down their sheen of waters,
that, after flashing a moment in the moonlight, rippled away in
rivulets, which gurgled and sang as they leaped over the terraces in
mimic cascades, where they joined the waters of the fairy-like lakes
that slumbered in the grounds below. These tranquil sheets of water were
the reservoirs which served to irrigate the vast estate, and were decked
with floating gardens, on which were gilded arbors or lattices of
white, with beds of bright-hued tropic flowers.
"On every hand lay league upon league of land, all owned by the young
mistress of Monteluma. The long avenue of cypress only ending close to
the walls of the capital, the villages of peons, the pasturages where
the numerous flocks grazed, groves of orange and lemon, and the fields
of wheat,--all these I knew were the undisputed estate of our hostess,
of whom Bruce was now dreaming.
"I was aroused from my reverie by an exclamation from my companion, who
had now sprung up excitedly and was pointing down toward the entrance,
while he grasped the pistols that hung in his belt--weapons that were
never lost sight of in this turbulent country. As I looked toward the
spot where he was pointing I could see the long line of a hundred
steps--which led up to the only entrance to the hacienda--lined and
thronging with armed men:
"In a moment the situation flashed upon us: they were banditti or
marauders, emboldened by the unprotected state of the rich villa, and
were now attacking the great iron-studded door. If they effected an
entrance, I shuddered with apprehension to think of the fate of its
inmates; but we lost no time while we were thus speculating, but quickly
barring the door on the balcony we rushed down into the court, and while
I grasped the bell-rope and sent forth a wild alarm from the brazen bell
that hung in the lofty tower, Bruce hurried on through the long hall
toward the door of entrance.
"As he was fastening the chains and bars across the entrance a crowd of
frightened peons came flocking into the hall, and while we were hastily
arming them with the guns that hung upon the wall and directing them to
guard the upper windows and doors that opened out upon the lofty
balconies, the door of the great saloon was hurriedly thrown open, and
Senora Labella asked in a trembling voice the reason of the commotion.
"When she learned that the bandits were at the door she fled back into
the room, and as we followed, assuring her of our protection, we saw her
fly to where the young heiress stood, her arm yet resting upon the
gilded harp which she had but just that moment ceased playing, and the
light from the silver chandelier falling softly upon her raven hair and
the lustrous white silk that fell in graceful folds about her slender
form.
"While the excited duenna clung to the more youthful lady, and gave way
to incoherent cries of fear and moans of distress, we begged them to
retire to a tower of great strength, and we would surely repel the
attack; but Ivarene declared she would stay and help defend her
home--saying she would not have it said that the last Rozarro was the
first to flee from danger.
"After the senora had been given over to the care of a bevy of badly
frightened maids, Ivarene hurried fearlessly out into the hall and
showed Bruce where several loop-holes were concealed by slides of iron.
These commanded the entrance, and while we rained a galling fire upon
the enemy, she stood in an angle of the thick wall and reloaded the
guns for us, which we as rapidly discharged again with telling effect.
The blows upon the door soon ceased, and we could see the marauders
retreating down the steps; then, as a parting salute followed them, they
could be heard galloping swiftly away.
"When all was still again, we accompanied the brave young heiress back
to the saloon, where she thanked us earnestly for the rescue of her home
from the hands of the marauders. Of course, we quickly assured her that
the honors and glory of the occasion rested in her bravery and
resolution. When she gave her hand to my handsome, sunny-haired friend,
I think something stronger than admiration shone in his deep-blue eyes
as he gazed upon the beautiful creole face, now suffused with blushes
and lit by eyes of midnight blackness.
"The senora had now recovered from her agitation, and was voluble and
profuse in her thanks and compliments. At a sign from her the servants
brought great silver trays, loaded with cake of white and gold, with
decanters of ruby wine, glittering in the flasks of cut glass like
liquid fire. For an hour or more the dark-eyed young heiress sang songs
of Spain in a voice of cultured melody, while her white fingers swept
the gilded harp, that vibrated in tones of sweetest harmony under her
skillful touch.
"As a compliment to us she also sang several Scotch and English ballads,
and we were pleasantly surprised to learn that she had received an
education in England, and spoke our own tongue with remarkable fluency.
"From that night we were accorded all the privileges of honored guests
in the great hacienda."
Here the colonel paused, remarking that as the hour was growing late his
hearers would excuse him, which they promised to do providing he would
continue his narrative on the morrow. As the party arose from about the
camp-fire, Robbie said he felt heroic enough to eat several Mexicans,
not to mention such relishes as wine, cake, and peons, at which very
broad hint the tea-kettle was soon humming on the embers; and when the
cups of the soothing beverage were handed around, Grace passed a basket,
which, if not filled with such luxuries as those which had graced the
Mexican saloon, were at least very acceptable to our friends.
Scott, whose attention was divided between a chicken-bone and reverie,
suddenly inquired if they thought there would ever be another war with
Mexico. As the party broke up with a laugh at his expense, the quiet of
nature once more reigned over the valley, broken only by the hoarse
croak of the frogs in the dark pools and the shrill cry of the cicada in
the grass.
The moon threw a pale, silvery light upon the row of white tents, where
our friends were soon dreaming of the new homes that they would build in
this tranquil valley; yet no vision of the strange events which fate
held in store for them came to prepare them for the life of trial and
adventure which they were now entering upon.
One day more of quiet rest, then would begin a life new and strange for
them all. They had left their old selves forever behind; their past was
a blank; new faces and new friends awaited them here in their future
home, which had never been even claimed as the property of any man since
the dawn of creation.
Yes, fate is both unkind and compassionate in withholding a knowledge of
the blessings and trials that await them here; so they slumber on, while
unseen destiny begins to weave her web, checkered and mysterious as the
veil of moonlight that wavers through the willows.
Chapter III.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONTINUED.
The morning of that Sabbath broke calm and serene. A warm haze brooded
over the valley or danced in lines of quivering heat across the green
prairies of the upland, and the dew had long since ceased to glitter on
the rank blue-stem grass when our friends awoke.
The breakfast which followed almost caused them to forget the fact that
they were out upon the borders of the "Great American Desert," and they
might have fancied that they were once more but picnicking under the
shade of their native groves; for it was a meal that had exhausted the
culinary art of both matrons. Wild mushrooms, stewed in sweet cream,
deliciously fragrant and hinting of the wild-wood near by, delicate
brook-trout from the stream, mingled their aroma with the elder-bloom
fritters which Maud was preparing; and on the snowy damask, spread on
the grass, Mrs. Moreland's golden honey-comb vied with the Warlow jelly
and crimson marmalade, while the coffee would make one dream of Araby
the blest.
An hour after the morning meal we find our friends seated under the
shade of the great elm among the ruins, the sunlight struggling faintly
through the verdant canopy and weaving a golden veil over the ashen
buffalo-grass, starred by daisies and violets. The spring welled out
with a sleepy murmur, and overhead an oriole, near its swinging nest,
caroled forth a stream of bubbling melody.
"A month passed," continued the colonel, "and we still lingered in the
stately mansion, daily and hourly meeting the young heiress, who was
always accompanied by her matronly kinswoman. But one morning, as Bruce
was loitering in the court, he glanced up and saw the smiling face of
Ivarene, framed by the passion-flowers, fuchsias, and jasmine which
festooned the walls within the court and wreathed the lattice above her
balcony.
"With an impulse which he could not resist our young hero swung himself
up by the vines, and stood, with his sunny hair and smiling blue eyes,
within the balcony. He wore the uniform of a captain of cavalry--soft
gray, with cords and lace of frosted gilt over the breast--top-boots,
embossed with gold, and a hat half concealed by the drooping plumes.
"She threw back the gilded jalousies which guarded her window, and,
smiling graciously, held out her hand, which he clasped with all the
rapture of an infatuated lover.
"She was robed in soft, rose-colored India muslin, embroidered in white
lilies, and over her breast and arms fell a cascade of lace, caught
lightly over her raven tresses, in that graceful manner which the ladies
of Spanish America wear the mantilla; gleaming through its filmy folds
could be seen the rubies which burned in her hair.
"Within that flower-entwined balcony was re-enacted that tender
scene--old as the dawn of creation, still ever new. How he told the
tale, or how she answered, I can not say, but may readily surmise from
the brilliant wedding which followed in the old cathedral a few months
later.
"Bruce had become very popular with the young officers of our army, and
I have often seen him riding about the city with McClellan, and--"
"What! not our 'Little Mac?'" cried Squire Moreland, springing to his
feet, transformed into an impetuous soldier by the magic of a name, and
while the others regarded him with amazement, as he paced back and forth
with clenched hands, he continued in a tone of repressed vehemence: "If
there is one name that would cause me to leap from the grave, it is that
of 'Little Mac,' the Giant of Antietam; and, as there is a God above, I
believe it was McClellan who led us to victory at Gettysburg. Oh, can I
ever forget that terrible day when the host of Lee beat and broke in
thunder over the hills like the ocean on a rocky shore, drenching our
ranks in a surf of blood--when reckless Longstreet charged like a
whirlwind through smoke and flame, while our columns staggered under the
shock? The scream of countless shells and the stunning belch and roar of
a thousand cannon mingled with the trample of the Southern cavalry as it
hurled its squadrons upon us like the throes of an earthquake, their
storm of rebel yells rising above the notes of Dixie and all the din of
conflict with the roar of a hurricane. Oh, Heaven! how then we longed
for one hour of 'Little Mac!' That day our Nation's fate trembled in
the balance; a few more shocks and all would be lost; then this fierce
army--another such the world has never seen--would sweep over the North
like an avalanche! Every moment hurried myriads into eternity, wringing
loving hearts and breaking many a home from Maine to Texas. But when the
word, like an electric shock, flashed along our hopeless ranks, '_Little
Mac has come_,' can I ever, ever, forget the shout of delight that burst
from the parched lips of threescore thousand men? the rapid rush of
marching ranks as they hurried to death, shouting, 'Little Mac, Little
Mac!' when squadrons flashed by to the cannon's mouth, shaking the earth
with their thunders of that mighty name? Oh! the wild delight and glory
of that hour, when the fierce but baffled hosts of Lee broke and fled!
But at the battle's close they claimed that it was only a ruse, and that
McClellan was not there. Yet I shall always believe he did lead us that
day; but, unwilling to impair the laurels of Meade, he has kept silent
all these years--only such a man is capable of that grand heroism. I
have interrupted you, Colonel. Please excuse me, and proceed with your
narrative."
After a moment's silence, the colonel said:
"Bruce Walraven was descended from a noble English family that had
settled in New York in the earliest colonial days, but their fortunes
had waned until himself and his sword were all that remained of that
once powerful house. He was an orphan, who had graduated with honor at
West Point Military Academy, and was utterly alone in the world, with
no one to love but Ivarene and myself, yet no brothers could have been
more deeply attached than we soon became to each other.
"I have never yet described him to you, from the fact that--that--Well,
I feel a strange reluctance to say that Clifford, here, is the very
image of that friend who died four years before my boy was born; but as
I look at my son now, I almost fancy that Bruce is with me again, and
that all my manhood's troubled years are only a fitful dream.
"Since his boyhood I have noticed Clifford's resemblance to Bruce, and
as my boy grew older he seemed to almost take the place of my lost
friend, which has resulted, you perceive, in a sort of companionship
between us which leads strangers to take us for brothers, instead of
father and son. But to my story again.
"The wedding-day dawned fair and serene, and at noon a company of young
cadets from Chapultepec, all of whom were sons of the highest Mexican
aristocracy, filed out on the avenue of cypresses that led to Monteluma,
their snow-white horses trapped with gold and purple, and their steel
helmets a mass of tossing plumes; their high top-boots of glossy black
were embossed with gilt, and on the breasts of their white tunics the
Mexican eagle flashed in silver, as two and two they galloped out to the
great hacienda.
"An hour later Ivarene entered her low, open carriage, which was richly
gilded and drawn by four white horses that were almost hidden by
garlands of bright-hued flowers. She wore a robe of white satin, while
a tiara and necklace of pearls glimmered through the filmy veil that
trailed like a mist about her form. Behind her, there rode in separate
carriages, each drawn by two white horses, her seven bridesmaids, who
were likewise dressed in white. Senora Labella sat by the side of
Ivarene, and a grand dame also occupied each carriage with a bridesmaid;
their sumptuous toilets of satin, velvet, and brocade were of purple and
cream-rose, emerald and lilac.
"As this brilliant company filed out on the avenue, four cadets riding
in double file between each carriage, flowers were strewn in the road by
long lines of peon children dressed in white. At the city gates a double
guard of Mexican and American soldiers, riding white horses and gorgeous
with military trappings, escorted them through the city to the grand
plaza, where the old cathedral was thronged with the proud and great of
two nations, while the ministers and foreign ambassadors of nearly all
of Europe and the Americas, waited in pomp of state with their wives and
daughters, all attired in the extreme of luxury. I shall not try to
depict the splendor of the final scene when the cardinal in his robes of
scarlet pronounced the solemn service, and pale, handsome Bruce, wearing
his uniform of a colonel, received his bride from the hand of Don
Hernando Rozarro, the Spanish ambassador.
"Haughty Santa Anna was there, and General Taylor looked happily on,
while all around were grouped our gallant officers, graceful and young,
whose names now thunder down the galleries of fame linked with Antietam,
Shiloh, and blood-drenched Malvern Hill. Grant and Lee, those slumbering
lions, that in after years were to shake the continent with appalling
conflict, now stood side by side, each carrying the wedding favor of
their friend.
"A scene of splendor ensued that recalled the old pageants of the
Montezumas, when a long line of gilded coaches and prancing white horses
filed out in the twilight, along the avenue returning to Monteluma. The
sun had set, but a parting gleam was yet crimsoning the snow on the
volcano of Toluco, while the sombre cypresses were aglow with the green
and rosy light of torches, carried by the double line of peons in their
ancient Aztec garb. Old Monteluma glimmered like a jewel from terrace to
turret with colored lights, while out upon the broad esplanades, where
thousands of the peons were feasting, the fountains flashed white and
misty, like the snow-storms of my Northern home.
"When Ivarene, leaning on Bruce's arm, walked up the long flight of
steps to the doorway of her old home, the marble beneath her feet was
hidden by the rose-leaves strewn by peon girls in white, while her train
was borne by four small Indian pages in feather costumes, gorgeous as
humming-birds. Within, the halls were blazing with light, and garlanded
by tropic flowers. Tables were loaded with gold, silver, and crystal;
wine flowed like water; while the viol and harp, gay dance and song,
caused the hours to speed swiftly by, and the tired but happy revelers
only sought their homes when the snowy summit of Popocatapetl was
flushed with rose, and bars of pale gold flashed out from behind the dim
crest of Orizaba.
"After a brief honey-moon, which was spent at La Puebla, Bruce and his
bride returned to Monteluma, and so urgent was the invitation which they
extended for me to make my home with them until I should decide to
return northward, that I immediately joined them in their princely
abode.
"My friend soon discovered that his rosy path was beset thickly with
thorns, for every day he was made aware of the aversion in which his
Mexican neighbors held him; their cold neglect cut deeper than their
swords. So it was with growing alarm that his wife beheld these
symptoms, for she well knew how the fine speeches and grave courtesy of
her countrymen often covered hearts of hate and tiger-like rage; and
when she saw the covert hostility of her former friends she became
apprehensive, indeed, for the safety of her husband.
"One day she startled us by proposing that we should all go North to her
husband's former home on the Hudson, and she then proceeded to say that
she had grown to view her native land with something of the feelings
with which it was regarded abroad. She had resided in England several
years, and now longed again for the life and freedom of the
Anglo-Saxons.
"Although Bruce was overjoyed at the prospect, he still said he would
not insist on taking her from her native land and kindred; but when she
said that her only relative living now was Labella, who was soon to
marry Herr Von Brunn, a merchant of the capital, and that she had
determined to sell Monteluma to an Englishman for seventy thousand
doubloons, or over a million dollars, then he reluctantly consented to
the change, only stipulating that the immediate park, grounds, and
mansion should be reserved, so that if she grew tired of her Northern
home they would find her old mansion awaiting their return.
"Kissing him tenderly, she declared he was a Rozarro in spirit, if not
in name. It was decided to leave the villa in charge of Labella, and in
a short time a sale of the estate was consummated for the sum of fifty
thousand doubloons, or seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in
gold--the mansion and park being reserved.
"Senora Labella was dowered by Ivarene with a gift of several thousand
doubloons on her wedding Von Brunn, after which event we set to work
earnestly preparing for our overland journey northward. A long train of
wagons were loaded with dry-goods for the markets of Northern Mexico.
The price of such articles there had been enhanced enormously by the
war, and Von Brunn shrewdly advised us to pursue this course. When
Ivarene kindly offered to loan me money to invest in this manner, I
gladly accepted fifty thousand dollars, with which I bought linen and
cotton goods at the port of Vera Cruz, which was then crowded by the
ships of all nations.
"I might be pardoned for digressing a moment while speaking of the
strange belief in a future state which Bruce entertained. There was a
vein of seriousness and grave, quiet religion running through the nature
of my friend, and often, while we were stretched on our blanket with no
canopy but the dewless Mexican sky, studded by the Southern Cross, and
bespangled by constellations that were new and strange to our
eyes--often, I say, he would talk of that weird belief, which then was
very enigmatical to me, but which in my maturer life has recurred with a
sweet solace to my declining years.
"Bruce believed that the soul was an individual, invisible as air and
imperishable as time itself, and that the spirit was a progressive,
rational being, which could never leave this earth until the great
Judgment-day, at which time our planet would be as unfit for a human
abode as the moon is at present.
"After death, which, he said, was only a wearing out of the outer
garment of the soul or spirit, the animating principle, or life, would
still inhabit the earth, invisible to human eyes, but yet an
intelligent, observing being; subtile as air, yet powerful as
electricity. Whenever the newly released soul chose to do so, it could
take on a new form by being re-born. He thought that before birth we
were possessed of a life akin to that of the vegetable kingdom, but at
birth a spirit that had lived before took possession of our bodies, and
used us as a habitation until our bodies became either worn through age,
or distasteful to the occupant--death ensuing in either case.
"His highest idea of heaven, he said, would be to have the power to live
again, and again meet those friends whom he had loved best in the prior
life, guided to them unerringly by the mystic ties of love and affinity.
Memory of the past life, he thought, was that sense which we call
instinct, conscience, or intuition, being only a feeble glimmer, as it
were, of the previous state in which we had lived.
"I remember well, the night before the battle of Churubusco, how Bruce
and I talked of these things; for he said, as we sat beneath a
palm-tree, while the tropic moon flooded the earth with a dreamy
splendor, that we were to fight the last great battle of the war on the
morrow--a conflict in which one or both of us might perish--and all that
reconciled him to such a fate was the belief that we should live again,
and meet each other in this world, which was the only heaven we were yet
fitted for.
"I would not have you entertain the thought for one instant that Bruce
was skeptical or irreligious. On the contrary, his fearless piety was
often commented upon; for I have seen him kneel on the bloody fields of
Cerro Gordo and Contreras, and thank God in a trembling voice for his
gracious preservation of my life and his own, while the rude soldiery
stood by with mute respect, remembering his reckless daring and
lion-like bravery in the hours of deadliest peril to which human life
can be exposed.
"No; his creed was a very strange one, though one that is old as history
itself; he appeared to differ from the general belief only in his
definition of heaven and its location. He often said that if a man
retrograded and became brutal he would meet his punishment in the next
life, for his brutal instincts would seek their affinity after death and
he could only be re-born as a brute, in which state he would remain
until his new life exhausted the brutal element from his soul.
"I fancy he imbibed his doctrines from his father, who had been an
officer in India. It might have been that the elder Walraven had there
caught glimpses of a belief somewhat akin to Buddhism. When I pressed
Bruce for his proof of this strange theory he referred me to the
Bible--Matthew xvi; 13, 14: 'When Jesus came to Cesarea Philippi, he
asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am?
And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; and
others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.' All of which goes to prove
how ancient the belief really is; for it is apparent that people
believed Christ to be the reincarnation of a spirit of one of those
people who had been dead many years.
"Ivarene soon became converted to Bruce's creed, while I often find
myself, even yet, taking solace in this strange belief.
"Early in the spring of 1848, the long caravan started northward, and
when we arrived at Chihuahua, a ready market was found for the goods,
after disposing of which I found that I had more than doubled the sum
invested; so when the debt was repaid to my kind benefactors, with the
addition of a liberal interest for the use of the money, there was
still left me, as clear profit, fifty thousand dollars in gold.
"We spent the winter in Santa Fe, but early the next spring resumed our
journey, I having in the meantime bought a few wagon-loads of wool to
take through to Independence, Missouri, which was then the eastern
terminus of the Santa Fe Trail; but the money which I had saved from my
speculation remained intact, and was deposited with fifty sacks of
doubloons (which were the property of Bruce and Ivarene) in a large
iron-bound cask of cypress-wood, each sack plainly marked with the name
of its owner, and the whole tightly packed in wool within the cask.
"This vast treasure, more than half a million of dollars in gold coin,
only represented a portion of my friend's wealth; for there were chests
of costly silks, brocades, velvets, and priceless laces, all the
accumulation of centuries of luxury and boundless riches; paintings by
Murillo and Velasquez, that for ages had adorned the long gallery at
Monteluma; books of vellum, and richly bound volumes from its
marble-paved library, together with a dozen wagon-loads of carved ebony,
mahogany, and rosewood furniture from the same stately home.
"I shall never forget that glorious scene, the last evening in
Chihuahua, when the sinking sun lit up the low room where we three sat,
with an open casket before us and the stone table ablaze with glimmering
gems.
"There were scores of great, pure diamonds, flashing back a quivering
glare of rainbow hues; rubies glowing like fire with rose and crimson
light; white, frosty pearls, glinting beside the baleful emeralds, that
emitted fitful gleams of green and gold. Over all flickered the wavering
shimmer of opal and blood-stones, mingling with the violet, lilac, and
purple rays of sapphires and amethysts.
"A great many of these gems had been purchased by my friends through the
advice and assistance of Von Brunn; but the most precious of the lot
were heir-looms, of which Ivarene was justly proud, and for an hour she
recounted their histories:--
"The great blood-stone had once shone in the war-club of an Aztec
prince, who was slain in battle by the first Baron of Monteluma, one of
those adventurous spirits that came over and shared the glory of the
conquest with Cortez.
"The carcanet of pearls was a gift from Queen Isabella to the bride of
the same brave knight.
"A diamond cross that had been bestowed by Leo X. upon a cardinal of the
house of Rozarro.
"A ruby dragon that carried in its mouth the Order of the Golden Fleece.
This was a mark of the highest honor that a Spanish king could confer
upon his subject, a viceroy of Mexico, also a member of the same
illustrious family at Monteluma.
"There was a chain of rose-colored coral, to which was attached an
enormous pearl of the same delicate hue; this bauble had been bestowed
by the Doge of Genoa upon Don Arven Rozarro while the latter was
ambassador of Spain at that superb though decaying city, and it was
through this elegant gift that the then all-powerful Spanish sword was
induced to interpose its terrible edge as a shield against the
aggressions of France.
"A pair of golden spurs, won long ago in the first Crusade by the Knight
of Rozarro, and ropes of pearls that had adorned many a proud but long
forgotten mistress of the great castle.
"All these were placed within the steel casket, and the only jewel that
Ivarene reserved for her personal use on the journey was a locket with a
long gold chain. This was the most precious _souvenir_ in the whole
collection, so she averred, for it was set in gems with the name of her
mother, and contained the miniature portraits of Bruce and Ivarene.
"The precious casket was kept in the large carriage, where Ivarene, her
two maids, and Bruce rode on cushioned seats, that were constructed so
as to serve as couches when the inmates of the vehicle became fatigued.
Everything that wealth and loving care could secure was provided by
Bruce to lessen the tedium of the journey.
"The gold was placed in a large, strong wagon, drawn by twelve mules,
and in addition to the treasure-cask, several barrels of wine and other
liquors were placed in the wagon for the purpose of warding off
suspicion. This vehicle was my special charge, and I carefully guarded
it at night, but spent a portion of the day in sleep.
"We arrived in Santa Fe in the fall of 1848, and early the following
spring our long caravan started out on the monotonous course across the
plains, by the route to Independence, Missouri, the quiet routine of
our journey only relieved by meeting with great trains of freighters on
the broad trail, or when Ivarene would take her guitar and sit out in
the starry evening playing the sweet airs of her home-land, old Spanish
ballads full of pathos and melody. Thus we journeyed until we reached
this very spot on the 22d of August, 1849. The night was dark and
cloudy, while a strange silence brooded over all nature, broken only by
the dismal howl of the wolf as it prowled on the lonely hills.
"We had remarked during the day that no teams were met--a most unusual
occurrence on that great thoroughfare, the Santa Fe Trail--and we
vaguely wondered why the corral should be silent and deserted; for it
was a camping place that was renowned all along the trail for its safety
and convenience.
"The corral was an inclosure of about an acre, surrounded by lofty stone
walls that were pierced by loop-holes on every side; two large doors, or
gates, opened to the north and south, which, after the teams of
freighters had been drawn inside, were locked in times of danger. This
fort-like corral had been built by the government as a place of refuge
for travelers, but our long journey had been so free from trouble that
we had become careless, and, as the night was very sultry and the air
oppressive, we preferred camping outside the walls on the level land,
where we are now sitting, near the bank of the Cottonwood.
"Ivarene had been feeling unwell that day, and we were all very
solicitous for her comfort and welfare at that time; for it was known
that an interesting event would soon occur, that would give my dear
friend Bruce the title of father. In deference to her condition the
usual noise and hilarity of the camp were not indulged in; but a sense
of coming disaster, a foreboding of some great calamity, seemed to weigh
on the spirits of our party on that fatal evening.
"How strange it is that when the sky is serene and clear we may feel the
approaching storm! Who can explain that shock of repulsion we feel when
we meet a secret foe? The same Providence whispered, that murky night,
of the danger and disaster lurking near.
"But each one tried to shake off the feeling of apprehension; and as a
storm was rising in the north-west we attributed our depression to that
state of the atmosphere which precedes the thunderstorm.
"I did not sleep for several hours after retiring to the wagon, but
remained wakeful and restless, listening to the jabbering of the wolves
and rumble of the distant thunder. The fitful slumber into which I at
length fell was pervaded by hideous dreams, and when I was awakened by
the yell of savages it seemed, for a moment, only the continuation of
the strange phantasms that had haunted my sleep.
"But I sprang out, a pistol in each hand, and was soon struggling in the
whirlpool of confusion and terror that prevailed around. The crack of
rifles and whistling of arrows, the shrieks of the wounded and dying,
the blood-chilling whoops of the Indians, all commingled with the
bellowing of the frightened cattle in hideous clamor.
"With a feeling of sickening dread I thought of Bruce and his wife as I
dashed toward their wagon. As I neared it a vivid flash of lightning
from the cloud which had arisen revealed a scene of such revolting
horror that its remembrance causes me yet to turn faint and dizzy. More
than a quarter of a century has rolled by, fraught with war and sorrow,
but that scene of woe is burned deep within my heart, to rankle long as
life endures."
Here the colonel's voice broke to a whisper, while the sobs of Maud and
Grace mingled with their mother's soft weeping. Then, after a moment of
silent anguish, while his hands hung clenched in an agony of intense
grief, with bowed head and a voice so husky that it was barely audible,
the colonel continued:--
"By the dazzling light I saw Ivarene kneeling in her white robe, a look
of imploring agony upon her pale, uplifted face. Over her, with a poised
tomahawk, glared a powerful, painted demon. Bruce, struggling in the
grasp of two hideous savages, was driving his glittering dirk into the
breast of one of his assailants. I fired at the heart of the wretch who
stood over Ivarene. With a dying yell he bounded into the air. Then, as
darkness was once again settling down over the scene, I felt the shock
of a stunning blow--then a long oblivion."
The colonel was too visibly affected to proceed further with the
narrative, and as he relapsed into silence the listeners slowly
dispersed, some to the duties of camp-life; others strolled out to the
long, grass-grown grave, leaving Colonel Warlow alone, lost in
meditation.
Chapter IV.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONTINUED.
The listeners had seated themselves on the buffalo-robes which Scott
Moreland's thoughtfulness had provided, and the colonel resumed the
thread of his narrative.
"The blow was followed by unconsciousness, and when I awoke, as it were,
from a long and fevered sleep, I was seated in an easy-chair on a shaded
veranda, and before me stretched the limitless ocean, its restless waves
purling in foam on the sandy beach at my feet. Beside the porch on which
I was seated grew luxuriant lime and orange trees, loaded with fruit and
bloom, and the air was heavy with the sensuous odors of tropical
flowers.
"A ray of memory gleamed feebly across my confused and cloudy mind, and
I vaguely wondered why my hands should be so wasted and thin. Then a
wavering sensation swept over my mental faculties like a dark cloud. The
glimmer of memory once again struggled and flickered, then flashed forth
with a dazzling light, piercing through the fog and haze which had so
long obscured the light of reason, and I felt as if the sun had just
arisen.
"As I sat with closed eyes, gently rocking to and fro, I remembered
dimly, like some half-forgotten dream, my long journey across the
continent with Walraven, our camping beside the Kansas stream at the
Stone Corral; and then with surprise I looked out on the ocean before
me. Suddenly the memory of that night of horror came vividly to my mind,
and with a loud cry I sprang to my feet; but a firm hand was laid on my
shoulder, and a kind voice requested me to be calm, and pressed me to
drink the glass of wine which was held to my lips.
"I obeyed mechanically, and as I drained the cup of its sparkling
contents I glanced up at the bronzed though handsome stranger beside me,
who, with joy and gratification beaming in his blue eyes, said in answer
to my look of inquiry:--
"'Old boy, you will soon be yourself again; but you must not talk too
much, nor ask questions just now.'
"'But where am I, and what does it all mean?' I exclaimed in a dazed
sort of way.
"'You are near Los Angeles, and this is the Pacific Ocean which lies
before you,' he answered slowly.
"When he had made this strange statement, I felt a wavering sensation
once more cross my brain, as if madness were about to seize me.
"'You should not talk, nor think of the past,' said he anxiously, 'but
brace up and recover; then we will go up to the mines, and dig out
nuggets like nigger-heads.'
"'But at least tell me how I came here,' I entreated.
"'Well,' said he in a faltering manner, 'if you will be composed I will
do so; but you must not give way to your emotions.'
"I sank back in the chair, motioning for him to proceed, as the suspense
was unbearable; and he then related the following, in soothing tones,
like one who had long humored and tenderly nursed a suffering invalid:--
"'My name is Roger Coble, and my home is near Springfield, Ill., from
which place I started to the gold-fields of the Sacramento River, which
had thrown our quiet rural community into a great excitement by the
rumor of their fabulous richness. Our train had only traveled a few
days' drive westward from the Missouri, when we came to the Stone Corral
on the bank of the Cottonwood. There we found you, wounded and
delirious. I placed you on a canvas bed in one of my wagons, and brought
you on to Santa Fe.
"'As you were still delirious and in a helpless condition, I could not
bear the thought of leaving you at the latter place, but brought you
along with the train to this place, where we arrived last week, and I am
overjoyed to see you on your feet again.'
"'But what was the fate of Walraven and his wife?' I cried, in great
excitement.
"Seeing the wild look again coming into my eyes, he said, with a
saddened expression:--
"'Do not ask any more questions, my boy. When you become stronger I will
tell you all. But now, my friend, do try to think of pleasanter themes.
If you do not, you will surely relapse into your former deplorable
state.'
"Therefore I took his kindly advice, and ignored the past with all its
bitter memories, and listened with growing interest to his hopeful plans
for the future. As he told of the great gold-fields that had been
discovered in the newly acquired California, that were of such fabulous
richness, he said, that all the world was wild with excitement and
wonder, I began to feel the infection of his enthusiasm, and almost
forgot the fact that I was penniless and two thousand miles from home.
"The next day I felt still stronger; but the ugly wound on my head was
not yet entirely healed, being a painful reminder of the terrible blow
which I had received the night of the attack at the corral.
"As the days passed by I rapidly convalesced, and erelong was able to
walk through the orange-groves, or sail with Roger out on the tranquil
water; but whenever I had nerved myself up to the point of asking the
fate of my friends, to my horror I would find that same old sickening,
wavering sensation steal over my brain that I remembered so well, and I
would shudder to think that I stood, as it were, upon the brink of
madness.
"So in our long rambles on the sea-shore or drives on the beach, we
shunned all allusion to the fateful past, tacitly ignoring the
unexplained sequel to that terrible tragedy; but the suspense and strain
were so great that it is a blissful thing that events followed which
diverted my mind from the painful subject, or perhaps my reason may have
been utterly overthrown.
"Roger had disposed of his teams, and, after consulting me, procured
tickets to San Francisco, a small village that had sprung up on the
coast to the north, and as he gave me my ticket he said with a smile:--
"'We will be pards, George, and divide profit and loss up in the mines,
and when you strike it "rich," why, you can repay me; and as for
interest--guess we will smoke that out at your expense.'
"I replied, through my tears, that all the gold of this earth could not
repay his kindness and generosity.
"Before sailing on the _Lapwing_ I wrote to my friends in Missouri,
telling them briefly of the disaster which had befallen me, but that I
was with the best fellow alive; and in my letter to sister Amy I told
her how nobly Roger had cared for me in my direst hour of trial and
need, and I hinted that she must wait for me to bring him back, which I
would do when I had regained my lost fortune by working in the mines, to
which we were now just starting, full of hope and enthusiasm.
"Our first day out on the Pacific proved that body of water to be
woefully misnamed indeed; for the weather was just as vile and fickle as
I ever saw on the much maligned Atlantic. In the evening Roger and
myself were seated on deck, watching the sun set in a pile of black
clouds, which, as the broad streams of amber and violet flamed up from
behind the sombre mass, slowly changed to purple, rose, and crimson,
edged with gold.
"When the brilliant hues had faded, the dusky clouds rested on a sullen
sea, that was only ruffled by the fitful breeze, which rose and fell,
then died away, leaving a death-like calm, oppressive as it was
foreboding.
"The frightened sea-birds flew screaming by, flapping their broad white
wings, then fading swiftly away. The captain now came on deck, and, by
his quick orders and restless movements, we knew that he anticipated
danger from the storm which we could see rapidly rising, and the rigging
was soon in order to meet the heavy gale.
"A fiery moon rose in the pale eastern sky, and out to the south-west
hung the bow-shaped cloud, black as ebony, save when veined by the
blood-red lightning; but as the majestic mass towered to the zenith, it
changed to green, edged by a roll of fleecy white, which rose and fell
as if weaving a shroud for sea and sky.
"We lashed ourselves to the rigging, so we could get the full benefit,
as Roger said, of our first storm at sea. We had not long to wait, for
soon a wall of waves, like a troop of war-horses, came tossing their
snowy manes on the gale, and when the mad surge struck us the old ship
quivered in every timber. The clouds wrapped us about, and the blinding
spray and rain drenched the deck; the lightning glimmered fitfully
through the mist, or hissed in zigzag streams of molten gold along the
surging waves. A lull, then again the blinding flash, followed by the
bellowing thunder, crashing down, it seemed, to the caverns beneath, the
wind shrieking through the rigging, the tumult of waves, rising in
hoarse clamor and deafening roar--followed again by blinding stroke and
maddening crash.
"I have stood on old Chapultepec's crumbling wall, when mortar and
cannon hurled their iron hail; when screaming shells and belching roar
mingled with the shrieks of mangled and dying men, and the sullen boom
of exploding mines shocked and dulled the ear; but never had I known an
hour like this.
"The poor old vessel, like a hunted doe, bounded away, followed by all
the hounds of the gale, climbing the dizzy cliff or leaping the yawning
chasm, and throwing the foam from off her sides; then hiding in the
gorges below, where the glassy wall towered far above with combing
crest, scattering the spray out over the tossing sea. Again, as the ship
climbed the watery hill, she seemed to pause one brief moment on the
foamy height, then plunged into the swishing whirlpool beneath.
"The night wore on, yet still our vessel staggered along in her wild
flight; but the winds began to abate their fury somewhat, and the
flashes grew more dim and fitful until the storm rolled away to the
east. Then the moon peered with white face through the rift of clouds;
but as her spectral light only served to make more weird and appalling
the waste of heaving billows, she quickly hid behind her fleecy veil, as
if to shut the wild scene from view.
"Although the wind had died to a gentle gale, the frightened waves still
galloped madly along as though fleeing from a grizzly horror they dared
not face, and the ship labored like some jaded cavalry horse, that
staggers and reels after the fierce charge.
"The deck had been a scene of great confusion ever since the storm had
abated, and, although the waves and spray broke over the vessel, the
crew were rushing about wildly, and to our surprise we saw them
launching the boats; so we unlashed ourselves and hurried forward--only
to hear the despairing cry: 'The vessel is sinking!'
"I looked out upon the waves, which even now seemed nearer, and with a
clammy shudder comprehended what horror they were fleeing. Death rode
those cold waters, and every billow was a yawning grave.
"What a dread alternative--to cast ourselves out on that boiling,
foaming sea, with only a frail boat between us and eternity, or remain
on deck and feel the ship slowly settling under us!
"But the boats were quickly manned, and into them were thrown a few
casks of spirits and water, with a small quantity of food; then we
pushed off from the fast-sinking ship, and in a moment were riding the
waves.
"We had left a light burning on the vessel, to enable us to steer away
from it, and thus avoid being run down or ingulfed by the final
whirlpool of the wreck; and after tossing about on the troubled waters
for half an hour, trying to keep the boats together, we heard a loud
report, caused by the compressed air blowing up the deck of the vessel;
then the light on the old ship went out forever, and the sea closed over
her shattered form.
"It may have been an hour before dawn, when suddenly we found ourselves
among the breakers, and the coast looming dimly through the mist. Before
we had time to realize our situation our boat was capsized and we were
struggling with the waves.
"I shouted to Roger, but no answer. Then I saw a head appear above the
water, and swam toward it, hoping it was he; but the form was carried
around the headland by the rapid current, so I struck out for the
frowning cliff.
"Diving under the largest waves, I saw, to my great joy, that I was
gaining and soon was thrown on the rocks with terrible force; but I lost
my hold on the stony ledge that I had clutched, and was being carried
back to sea; but a thought struck me which I instantly recognized as
being the only chance of escape, and to which I am certain I owe the
preservation of my life: I dived to the bottom, and began walking toward
the cliff, which was not more than a rod away.
"Oh, the horror and agony of those few moments under the sea! The
seconds seemed to lengthen to hours. Brief as the time and short as the
distance may have been, I've traveled many a thousand miles through the
sandy deserts of the West and suffered less than in that one minute at
the bottom of the ocean."
Chapter V.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONTINUED.
"Let me see--where was I?" said the colonel, who had paused to light his
pipe at this critical juncture of the narrative.
"Twenty thousand leagues under the sea," replied Grace Moreland, gaily.
"Well, I certainly could not have suffered more in the same time if I
had been," said he with a grim smile. "But just when I had given up all
hope, and thought my lungs would burst, I straightened up, determined to
come to the surface at any risk. Lo! I had been groping along in four
feet of water--and only a step from the shore!
"I had only time to plunge forward and clutch a jagged rock, when a
mighty wave swept in, nearly tearing me from my place; but this time I
held fast, and when the wave had receded I clambered up out of further
danger, and there I lay, too utterly exhausted to move until dawn.
"I had hoped that daylight would reveal the presence of my companion;
but the sun struggled up over a lone stretch of rocky, barren
shore--nothing living was visible. I strained my eyes, gazing out over
the long line of breakers. It was a fruitless quest; I was alone.
"Then I climbed up to the table-land. A sandy plain, broken by patches
of sage-brush and thickets of chapparal was before me, and out toward
the rising sun rose a lofty chain of mountains, as though to shut me out
from all the world.
"I walked around the promontory and along the coast for several miles,
still hoping I might find my friend; in vain. I shouted repeatedly; no
answer. So with a heavy heart I turned and walked inland.
"After assuaging my thirst at a cavity in the rocks, where the
rain-water had collected, and satisfying my hunger with the eggs of a
wild fowl, the nest of which I found near a sage-brush, I continued my
explorations inland toward a pass which seemed to open in the mountains
toward the east.
"As I neared the glen, trees, a brook, and a flock of sheep became
visible. Then, to my great delight, a house showed through the trees;
and when a woman appeared in the doorway, I hurried forward and
addressed her in Spanish, to which she replied in the same tongue.
"I told my story of shipwreck, and the kind-hearted peasant woman bade
me welcome to the humble dwelling, and proceeded to set before me a
repast of omelet and frijoles. While I was still seated at the table,
her husband, Pedro, came in from herding his flock, and we soon were on
our way to the village to make inquiries regarding my lost friend and
the crew of the _Lapwing_. But nothing could be learned of them; so I
retired to rest, and that night slept the dreamless sleep of sheer
exhaustion.
"In the morning I renewed the search, but with no better results; and
although I traveled along the coast for more than a score of miles,
nothing could be found but the bodies of three sailors that I recognized
as having been among the crew of the ill-fated ship. At last, weary and
heart-sore, I joined a party of miners, and proceeded to San Francisco;
but as my inquiries there also proved fruitless, I immediately went to
the diggings, where my fortunes soon mended, and I was able to send a
small purse to honest Pedro.
"During my stay in the mines I had frequent letters from home, and
sister Amy expressed great sorrow at the fate of my noble friend Roger;
but I wrote that it might yet be possible he was living, and we still
hoped on. The greatest comfort to me, however, were the letters from
Mary, who urged me to return and not wait to acquire more gold; and as
my luck was 'jes powerful,' as the miners averred, I found at the end of
two years I had saved $50,000, and deciding to 'let well-enough alone,'
set sail for home.
"As we were sailing out through the now world-renowned Golden Gate, the
captain, to whom I had just intrusted my money, remarked that I did not
seem to enter into the spirit of joy that pervaded the throng of
returning miners; and in reply to his look of inquiry and tone of
interest, I said that the last time I was on a ship I had witnessed a
terrible storm, in which the vessel was wrecked, the crew and a dear,
kind friend were lost, and I alone was saved; and now the sight of the
ocean, once again, recalled it all so vividly that I was sad and
grieved, even in the hour when I should rejoice that all my toil was
over. I was too affected to talk further, but looked wistfully out over
the cruel sea that had closed over Roger, my best and truest friend.
"The captain, after a few moments of silence, asked in a tone of
sympathy:--
"'What was the name of the vessel that was wrecked?'
"'The _Lapwing_,' I replied.
"'But the crew and passengers were saved,' said he quickly.
"'Saved!--Roger saved!' I shouted, dizzy with joy; then as I sank into a
seat, weak and unnerved, the officer continued:--
"'Yes, the crew was saved. They were picked up by a vessel bound for
Acapulco. You can learn the particulars by calling on the American
consul at that port, as I believe he took charge of them and assisted
them on to their respective destinations.'
"'I'll give you a thousand gold dollars to put me off at Acapulco,' I
cried impulsively.
"'Agreed,' said he, with a laugh. 'We always do stop there, and take a
day to revictual and water. No, my friend, keep your hard-earned
dollars; but if you find your gratitude burdensome, why, just name your
next boy after me;' then he left me with a good-natured smile.
"I will say that I found it a very pleasant way of discharging the debt
by naming my oldest son here after the good old sea-dog, Captain
Clifford; and some way I always associate the name with the thought of
that day when I heard the good news.
"How interminable seemed the long, bright days, as we sailed southward!
I paced the deck for hours, and grew morose and nervous, chafing under
the slowness of the stout craft. 'But all things have an end'--an adage,
by the way, which my dealings and travel in the tropics has led me to
doubt--and when, one evening, we sailed into the long-wished for harbor,
I was so impatient to land that only the thought of sharks prevented me
from swimming ashore.
"After night-fall, however, I found myself in a crooked, winding alley,
termed a street in the florid courtesy of that tropic land, and offering
a coin to a villainous-looking native--the only guide I could
procure--asked him to show me the way to the American consulate; and we
were soon _en route_ thitherward, I, meanwhile, taking the precaution to
cover my vile-looking guide with a pistol in one hand and a bowie-knife
in the other.
"For an age, it seemed, we tramped through the murky, unlighted streets,
until at last we arrived before a fortress-like building, at the gate of
which blinked one solitary lamp.
"At my request to see the consul, the servant informed me that 'his
worshipful master had driven out this morning to dine with the noble Don
Pablo de Zorilla, and that he would remain to the ball at the mansion of
that illustrious senor,' etc.
"I could barely refrain from kicking the miserable flunky, and the air
grew thick and maroon with the expressions in which my disappointment
found utterance. Telling the porter that I hoped his lazy master would
not stop the 'wheels of commerce' to-morrow to eat garlic and capsicum
with the aristocracy, I returned to the vessel."
"Next morning I called again at the consulate, and the scowling porter,
after conducting me to a room, said that his master was sleeping, but he
was instructed to say 'to the insolent American' that his excellency
'was too lazy to see me until he had slept off the effect of the garlic,
capsicum, and other kindred delicacies, of which he had been partaking.'
Then, grinning derisively, the servant left the room, banging the door
behind him.
"Well, I just stormed up and down that room for two long hours, fuming,
raving, and hurling invectives at all the tribe of official sluggards.
At length, hearing footsteps without, I clenched my hands in rage,
vowing wrath and vengeance on the insulting and self-sufficient officer;
but when the servant opened the door and announced, 'Senor Consul,' my
anger was all forgotten, and, instead of greeting that functionary with
a thwack on the ear, I sprang forward with a wild cry:--
"'Roger--Oh, Roger--am I dreaming?'
"'George--George--is it possible? Alive and well? I've mourned you as
dead for years. Thank God--at last!'
"As I stood there wringing his hand and gazing on his dear face through
my tears, it is needless to say all my belligerent designs oozed
magically away.
"We were soon interrupted, however, by the porter, who, at the first
strange demonstration on my part, had fled shrieking 'Murder! murder!'
his outcry bringing a whole brood of slipshod servants down upon my
devoted head. They came swarming in, armed with gridirons, tongs, and
gourds. One sallow, emaciated peon carried a crucifix, which he had
evidently snatched as he flew to the rescue. A burly fellow was just on
the eve of disemboweling me with a pot-metal poniard, when Roger
hastened to explain that we were old friends who had not met for years,
and as they retreated in a crestfallen manner, with many grunts and
shrugs, we both smiled at the ludicrous phase of our meeting; yes, I
believe that 'smiled' is a very mild term to apply to our hilarity on
that occasion.
"Reminding Roger that the vessel sailed at four P. M., and my stay
therefore was limited, I begged him to tell me the particulars of his
happy escape, and when we were comfortably seated on the easy-chairs in
the secluded court, he told briefly how he, with several others, clung
to the capsized boat, and had been rescued by a passing vessel, bound
southward. On reaching Acapulco he had called at the American consulate,
but found the consul prostrated with yellow-fever, and (as Roger had
passed through an attack of that dread scourge at New Orleans a few
years previous to this) he had volunteered to nurse the stricken
officer, who slowly recovered from the fearful malady.
"While that grateful invalid was convalescing, Roger had been intrusted
with the accumulated business of the post. Having discharged the duties
devolving on him to the satisfaction of his employer, that gentleman had
deputized him as vice-consul, and then returned to the States.
"Finally the consul resigned, and Roger, on his recommendation, was
appointed to the office as his successor, meantime receiving a hint from
the home government to make himself as agreeable as possible to the
natives.
"'Which you see, George,' said he with a merry smile, 'meant to acquire
a taste for "garlic and capsicum."'
"Then, at his request, I related my experience; how I had searched in
vain for him along the coast; had gone to the mines and made my 'pile,'
and on embarking for home had learned of the rescue of the crew and
passengers of the _Lapwing_; the long days of suspense that had
followed, and my impatience to learn something of his fate. I did not
omit telling how narrowly he escaped a sound flogging at my hands after
I had been kept waiting so long, which caused him great merriment.
"During our brief conversation I had been conscious of an undercurrent
of burning anxiety to learn the fate of Bruce Walraven and his wife. The
suspense and uncertainty which had haunted me for two long years--the
mystery of their fate--would now vanish forever, I knew; but I shrank
with a strange foreboding from asking the truth which my heart had so
long been vainly seeking. My dry lips and parched tongue could only
feebly articulate as I begged Roger to tell me the sequel of that
terrible tragedy at the Old Corral.
"With a look of pain on his handsome face, he said, in a faltering
voice:--
"'I was journeying along on the Santa Fe Trail from Independence,
Missouri, to California. Our large train had been delayed at Council
Grove by a rumor that the Cheyennes were on the war-path; but nothing
having been seen of the marauders, we started out, after a few days,
trusting to our numbers for defense, and when we arrived at the Stone
Corral, on the bank of the Cottonwood, a scene of revolting horror met
our startled sight--a scene that will live forever in my memory.
"'The stone walls of the corral had been hurled down, and near the side
of the stream were the charred and crisped remains of at least fifty
human victims, mingled with the irons of the wagons, which evidently had
been fired and the bodies thrown into the blaze.'
"'There were fifty-four persons in our train--How many bodies were
found?' I asked, breathlessly.
"'We counted the smouldering skeletons, and found that fifty-three
persons had fallen victims to the diabolical fury of the Indians.'
"'Oh, God--all gone!' I cried, hoarse with the misery of their certain
destruction--'gallant Bruce and beautiful, kind Ivarene! What a terrible
fate!'
"'We were burying the skeletons on a knoll a few hundred paces westward
from the Old Corral,' continued Roger, 'and were carrying stone from the
confused mass of its ruined wall to place about the long trench, in
which the remains were laid, when moans, like some one in pain, were
heard as if issuing from the earth.
"'The mournful scene through which we had just passed had so utterly
shocked and unnerved us, that it is little wonder we felt it might be
the spectres of the victims still haunting the scene of the awful
tragedy; but a moment's reflection set us to searching among the ruins,
which resulted in our finding you, wounded and delirious, buried under
the fallen wall.
"'Several large stones had rested against the lower part of the wall,
and thus, in a providential manner, shielded you from the avalanche of
stone which had fallen when the savages had thrown down the wall by
prying with the wagon tongues, that were still lying about as they had
left them.
"'We placed you on a canvas stretcher, and put you in one of my wagons.
As there was a physician in our train, you did not lack for medical
attention; but that dreadful gash on your head was very slow in healing.
As your mind was completely shattered, and you remained delirious all
the long journey to Santa Fe, we could not bear the thought of leaving
you there among strangers, but brought you on to Los Angeles with the
train.'
"'I never before have told you, Roger, that there was more than one
hundred thousand dollars in gold and gems with our train; but such was
the case;' and as he sprang up in amazement, I told him briefly the
history of Bruce and Ivarene, and how I had lost my fortune of fifty
thousand dollars in gold with that of my dear friends on that night of
horror and despair.
"'It is needless to say,' replied Roger, 'that no trace of the treasure
was found; but it seems incredible that so vast a sum could have been
carried away by the savages! Did you have any liquor with the train?' he
asked in a thoughtful manner.
"'Yes, several barrels of wine and brandy,' I answered.
"'Then that accounts for the blood on the grass, near several newly made
graves close by. The Indians had found the brandy, no doubt, and the
massacre ended in a drunken row among themselves, in which several of
them had died a violent death. It is a mystery, though,' he added, 'how
a pack of drunken, wrangling savages could have divided such an amount
of coin without leaving some trace. And, George, I would advise you to
make a systematic search on your return,' he continued; 'for it may have
been that the treasure was buried there.'"
"Did you ever make the search?" asked Clifford Warlow of his father, in
an eager tone.
"No; certainly not," replied the colonel; "it would have been folly to
suppose that the band of pilfering, murderous savages would have left
anything valuable behind."
But the answer did not satisfy his son, who looked out toward the knoll
where the Old Corral, with its broken walls, cast long shadows in the
slanting sunbeams; and as the colonel proceeded with his story it was
noticed, by more than one of the group, that Sabbath afternoon, that
Clifford remained lost in thought, and his eyes roamed from the speaker
out over the scene of that tragedy of bygone years.
"At the end of that mournful story," pursued the colonel, "I was pressed
by Roger to remain with him until the next vessel passed; but I
declined, thanking him, and telling him that Mary was waiting for me on
the banks of the Missouri, and I could tarry no longer than a few brief
hours, until the craft would sail. Then, as we stood on the ship,
whither he had accompanied me, I told him to remain in the cabin for a
moment until I could return. Then going to the captain, I asked him for
the money which I had deposited with him.
"The fifty thousand dollars was carried into the room where Roger was
waiting, and when the sailors had retired, I said, in answer to his look
of inquiry, that I was prepared to execute the compact which we entered
into at Los Angeles, to be 'pards,' and divide profit and loss; and I
tendered him there on the spot twenty-five thousand dollars, which was
one-half of my savings in the mines. Roger would not hear to the
proposition; he scouted the idea of 'robbing me of my hard earnings,'
and all my pleadings were in vain,--he was obdurate.
"I reminded him how I owed my life to his care and kindness; but my
entreaties all were unavailing, as he would only ridicule the offer,
saying that he had now more than enough for an old bachelor. So I
finally desisted, but told him that should he ever need assistance or
the services of a friend, to call on me, for I felt a debt of gratitude
which I could never repay him.
"I smile even yet to think how I blushed when I showed him Mary's
picture; and while he was looking with undisguised admiration at the
miniature of sister Amy, I told him how she had never ceased to regret
his sad fate, and that in her last letter, which I handed him, she had
written that she still vaguely hoped he might some time return; that he
may have escaped--'such things sometimes do occur--and she could yet
thank him for his care and tenderness to her brother.' When the dear
fellow beamed with such delight, I proceeded to say how delighted she
and my mother would be to have him make us a long visit soon, which he
readily promised to do within the year. As he still held the picture of
my beautiful sister, and seemed so reluctant to surrender it, I ignored
it entirely or pretended to do so, and as we proceeded with our talk, I
saw, with half an eye, that he furtively slipped it into his pocket, at
which I was so gratified, I had to pinch myself to keep from dancing a
jig of delight.
"It was hard indeed to part with Roger, and not before he again promised
to visit me within a year did I say farewell; then we were again sailing
out on our homeward voyage. We tarried but a short time on the Isthmus
of Panama; for, in fact, I had but an indifferent opinion of that little
neck of land, made up, it seemed, of snakes, centipedes, and bad smells.
Whew! it makes me faint, even yet, to remember how those nasty, vile,
old swamps radiated their bad odors! There had just been an earthquake
to roil up the concentrated filth which was packed away in those slimy
bayous, and as every whiff of wind came loaded with its own peculiar
stench, the variety became so wearying that I grew at length tired of
the 'nasal panorama,' and vainly yearned for the friendly precincts of a
glue factory.
"It always seemed to me that Nature had aimed to make a sea of the
isthmus, but had taken the flux or cholera, and left her work but half
completed."
Chapter VI.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONTINUED.
"Our ship touched at Havana, and in company with several other
passengers, who lived in the Mississippi Valley, I decided to stop here
until a vessel sailed for New Orleans, which would not occur for ten
days yet; but years might be passed in that beautiful city of
enchantment, the 'Queen of the Antilles,' and we found our stay one
round of perpetual delight.
"A day was devoted to a sail around the sunlit harbor, environed by
mansions, castles, and palm-decked hills--the sapphire sky bounded only
by the purple mountains or pale-green sea. Then we visited Old Moro
Castle, its portcullis, donjon-keep, and 'sounding barbacan,' its gloomy
grandeur of turret and tower--
'Its loop-holed grates, where captives weep,'--
all recalling the feudal days of Scotland and Spain. Next we drove
through the Prado of San Isabel, with its triumphal arches of snowy
marble, its rose-decked alamedas lined with palm, cypress, and magnolia,
its clear fountains foaming amid thickets of acacia and blooming
oleander; and then on to the great theater of Tacon, where the evening
was passed as if in fairy-land.
"Christmas-day we drove out to visit a coffee-plantation a dozen miles
from the city walls. The dew was still glittering on the foliage as we
whirled rapidly along in our easy volantas, and the air was rich with
the odor of orange-blossoms and a myriad of other tropic flowers. We
halted at the Bishop's Gardens for an hour, and I can but faintly
describe their gorgeous floral wealth. These gardens are centuries old,
dating back to the days of Charles V., when the Spanish banner of
crimson and gold waved around the world.
"There were palm, myrtle, and mangoe trees growing beside canals where
the clear rushing water rippled along over the bottom of gaily-colored
tiles. Then there were plantations of yucca, the broad-leaved
bread-fruit, lemons, guavas, and figs, with great basins of marble
brimming with water, on which floated lilies white as snow. But,
entrancing as were those avenues of whispering myrtle, orange, and pine,
we drove on through the warm sunlight until near noon, when we arrived
at our destination.
"The coffee-plantation contained a league of land--three miles
square--and was divided into innumerable plats by long avenues that cut
each other at right angles, like streets, extending through the
plantation. These avenues were lined on either side by palms of a
hundred different species, and in their great width of full fifty paces,
and three miles long, they were set in Bermuda-grass, mown like a carpet
of velvet. The squares, however, were carefully cultivated, and no weeds
were visible in the red, mellow soil.
"Next to the row of palms grew a line of orange-trees; then lemons,
almonds, pomegranates, and olives, followed by a row of evergreens of
infinite variety, the remainder of the square being planted to
coffee-trees.
"It was a sight never to be forgotten that unfolded to our view as we
drove down one of those long colonnades of palm, over which the
parasites trailed, linking tree to tree with garlands of scarlet, rose,
and golden blossoms--the snowy orange-flowers contrasting with its
coppery fruit--gloomy pine, spruce, and cypress, with glimpses between
of the coffee-trees loaded with their crimson berries.
"Thousands of birds flitted about, lending animation to the gorgeous
tropical scene,--gaudy parrots, white doves, orioles, and blue-birds;
while myriads of humming-birds of rose and emerald, gold and purple,
wove and flashed among the trees.
"We, who live in these dull northern climes, can not fancy the pictures
of life and color that adorn the forests of tropical America; but as I
sat that Christmas-day amid the Cuban groves, and ate the most luscious
fruits, fresh from the tree, the glorious sunlight sifting down through
the feathery, fern-like palm-leaves, and over all the cloudless blue of
the southern skies, I thought of the snow and ice which wrapped the
hills and meadows of my northern home. But a feeling of longing stole
over me for the brooks, bound by their crystal fetters and sheltered by
the oak-clad hills, the merry jingling sleigh-bells in the frosty air,
and, amid all this wealth of bloom and tropic life, my heart turned
back to the memory of rustic joys in my boyhood's home,--the roaring
fire on the hearth-stone, when the frost-rime crept over the
window-pane; the rushing of the storm-king, as he piled the ghostly
drift without, or fled shrieking by, shaking the gables in his wild
wrath. Then fancy came thronging on with dear faces of the home-folk
that I had not seen for years; and when I awoke, with a start, to the
thought that the ocean rolled between me and my distant home, do not
blame me that a tear-drop went trickling down through the sunlight of
that foreign tropic land.
"After loitering for a few hours among the coffee-trees, we ascended a
mountain to drink of the waters of a famous mineral spring, which gushes
from among the lofty cliffs; and as I stood on the verge of a precipice,
before me there spread a landscape of matchless grandeur,--the wide
savannas with their fields of cane, tobacco, and fruit, the dim city,
begirt with its walls and grim fortresses, and the blue harbor, crowded
with the ships of all nations; while far away to the north, stretching
out, it seemed, to eternity, lay the trackless ocean, dotted with white
winged ships and those gem-like islands, 'The Queen's Gardens.'
"Driving back to the city, we paid a moonlight visit to the tomb of
Columbus. I stood long and silently by the urn where rests all that
remains of the Great Mariner--all save the Columbian spirit, which will
pervade the people of America as long as this continent endures.
"Yes; you and I are actuated by the same spirit that guided the
illustrious pioneers out toward the setting sun--enterprise, ambition,
and energy. As I noted the humble monument, I bitterly recalled the
ingratitude and perfidy of Spain; but when there rose to my mind a
vision of the grand and powerful nations, the splendid cities and happy
homes of the thronging millions from Montreal to Buenos Ayres,--these, I
mused, are the monuments befitting the noble hero, and it matters not
that the lowly urn in the old cathedral holds the ashes of mortality.
"Coming forth into the mellow moonlight, I paused a moment to gather a
spray from the roses and passion-flowers, blooming in dew-drenched
clusters amid the orange and myrtle of the Paseo hard by; and as I stood
drinking, as it were, the odors of that perfume-laden air, afar off
could be heard the sullen boom of the breakers as the sea broke in
thunder on the walls of Moro Castle, while the faint, sweet notes of a
guitar floated out upon the night, mingling with the diapason of old
ocean's roar as it chanted its hymn of eternity on the rocky beach.
"Two weeks later I drove up to my father's gate, through the snow and
ice of a Northern winter. The white drift wrapped the hills and meadows,
and the gurgle of the brook in the sheltered valley sang faint and
muffled within its crystal prison; the dear old cedars bent low under
their white burden, and from the eaves of the time-worn, red brick
homestead, the icicles hung glittering like spears in the frosty light.
"When I left home four years before, I was a smooth-faced boy of twenty,
but while in the mines I had grown a beard like a Turk; and although in
San Francisco I had passed under the sway of the barber, who despoiled
me of more locks than Samson ever lost, yet enough remained to complete
my disguise; and I was smiling at the surprise I had in store for the
home-folks, when the door opened, and lo! Amy came flying down the path
with such an outcry that all the family came rushing upon the scene, Amy
saying, between smiles and tears:--
"'Oh, George, you thought we wouldn't know you; but I was watching, and
when you paused at the gate and looked so wistfully towards the house, I
knew--oh, it must be you!'
"Ah well--such a day will never come again! How I followed mother and
Amy about, or sat in the kitchen with father on one hand and Dick on the
other--all of us talking at once! Such a homecoming is known in all of
its keen delight by only the long-absent miner or returning soldier. And
the dinner which followed, where all the culinary treasures of earth,
sky, land, and sea were laid under contribution, was a meal which caused
me to say they certainly meant to stuff me as a curiosity, after the
manner of a taxidermist.
"'There must be some means devised to keep you at home hereafter,'
replied my mother.
"I said I was through with rambling; for I had brought enough money home
for the whole family--unless we indulged in such dinners every day.
"Dick replied with a laugh that 'wealthy people could certainly afford
salt for the potatoes.'
"'Oh, that is not a luxury, for I find it in both the fruit and coffee,'
replied my father.
"In the evening I took Dick's grays and sleigh to drive over to Mary's
home, and at starting was charged by Amy to be sure and bring Mary over
to the 'wool-picking' at Widow Hawley's--a semi-festive meeting of the
best society in that primitive but happy neighborhood. Promising to do
my best to meet Dick and her that evening at the designated place of
festivity, I touched the horses, and shot down the drive just in time to
dodge the slipper, which, with a gay laugh, she hurled at my back; and
as I rounded the curve of the stone wall into the highway, she and Dick
cheered me very encouragingly.
"As I drove along the sparkling, crusted road, the west was still
blushing faintly, and the moon peeped through the snowy tree-tops, that
drooped in feathery sprays of frost and ice, sweeping the drifts below
with their creaking, rattling branches, and the stars winked knowingly
in the clear, cold sky as my sleigh-bells awoke the jingling echoes
among the well-remembered hills that flanked the valley on either side.
"When I reached the door of Mary's dwelling the windows threw out a
ruddy light from the great fire-place, where the flames leaped and
crackled, and showers of sparks flashed up the wide chimney, while back
and forth in the flickering light tripped Mary, singing as she spun on
the roaring wheel.
"At my rap the wheel ceased its hum, a light footfall was heard,
and--well, I'll just close the door, as it was only a private
matter--but in a moment I was kissing her mother, who hugged me almost
as hard--that is, she and the old gentleman did--no--no--I mean to say
that Towser and all the rest of the--There--there I go again"--said the
colonel, joining in the merriment of his hearers, who were shouting with
laughter at the absurd flounders of the colonel's narrative; but when
the last giggle of Grace and Rob had subsided, and cries of "hear,
hear," resounded on every hand, then our friend Warlow resumed, as he
cast a fond look toward his wife, who had been busy at the camp-fire
preparing the evening meal while the shades of twilight were thickening
among the trees.
"I only wished to say that I was highly gratified with my reception on
that happy evening, and Mary and I were soon on the road to the
residence of Mrs. Hawley, where we found a merry throng of old friends;
and, after such a greeting as only one who meets his childhood's friends
after long years of absence can appreciate, we were allotted a quiet
corner, and our share of the evening's labor."
At this moment a summons to supper was heard, and the party adjourned to
the camp-fire, to discuss the savory prairie-chicken and quail on toast,
with which Mrs. Warlow celebrated the close of that Sabbath-day.
Chapter VII.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONCLUDED.
An hour later the party sat under the drooping boughs of an elm, near
thickets of snowy elder and blooming wild-roses, which filled all the
air with their delicious fragrance; the shallow stream murmured and
gurgled along between its willow-fringed banks, glimmering like silver
under the beams of the rising moon.
At the request of the group, the colonel resumed, as follows:--
"When the wool had been allotted to the captains, in equal proportions,
the leaders divided the company in two parties. It was understood that
the side first finishing its task of picking the burrs and other foreign
matter from the fleeces of wool, should crown its captain and carry her
in triumph around the room on a chair; then she should be awarded the
honor of opening the ball, which was to follow in the wide kitchen.
"Mary and I were the last to finish, but were helped through our task by
several smiling friends. Then our captain--wild, saucy Peg
Sickle--bounded up with the cry, 'Crown the captain!' which was
re-echoed by her noisy followers, who proceeded, with ludicrous
ceremony, to carry the order into execution.
"The violins struck up a lively air, and the gay Peg, wearing her
towering head-dress of wool, led off in the inspiriting quadrille; but
the lively dance was watched ruefully through the open doorway by the
other party, who still were at their unfinished task; but our hilarity
was interrupted by cries of--
"'Fraud!--Shame!--Peggy has been hiding the fleece!'
"It transpired that the treacherous Peg had concealed nearly half the
wool allotted to our party, and it had been discovered, in its
hiding-place, under the bed; so poor Peg was dragged ignominiously from
the unfinished set, and made to abdicate her woolly crown, which was
quickly replaced by a diadem of cockle-burrs, with which her irate foes
decked her brow, with the taunting reminder that 'uneasy _lies_ the head
that wears a crown.'
"We slunk back to our unfinished task, as our opponents finished theirs,
and re-enacted the mummery; but we toiled faithfully, notwithstanding
their jeers, and soon were allowed to join the revelers.
"I noticed, with gratification, that Amy appeared to still be
heart-free; and as we were dancing together, later in the evening, I
told her of finding Roger at Acapulco, and when she almost cried with
delight at his escape, I began at once to build 'castles in Spain,' but
prudently omitted mentioning the incident of the picture.
"Dancing and singing continued until a late hour, relieved, however, by
huge baskets of hickory-nuts and apples, with supplementary pitchers of
cider. Of that ride home through the moonlight I'll say nothing, in
deference to that lady by the camp-fire yonder; but suffice it that she
was the heroine of that very happy occasion, and the 10th of May was set
for our wedding, which, in view of my four years' probation, I thought
an age to wait.
"Next day I bought the 'Nolan farm,' which was only three miles from
Mary's home, and at once proceeded to put the place in thorough repair.
The premises were rather tumble-down, and 'the bildin's a leetle
shackelty,' as the fox-hunting squire remarked; but I put such a force
of workmen on the old stone house and broken-backed barn that the place
was soon completely transformed.
"The fences were the most demoralized and dilapidated that I have ever
beheld. In fact, brother Dick asserted that the 'Nolan boys, Bill and
Ike, were never known to open a gap,' but rode their horses at the
rail-fence, knocking it down for rods; then half of the next day would
be devoted to repairing the unpicturesque nuisance--said repairs
consisting of a load of brush, dumped where the festive youths had made
the floundering leap.
"Often I would come upon an unsightly place in the fields--the squire's
'barrier,' a great thornbush, spiked to the earth with brambles and
thistle--and I would smile at the vision of the sport-loving farmer
unhitching his team amid-field to chase the venturesome coon or
stiff-legged deer that had caught his roving eye.
"My carpenters were finishing a stile and two large gates in front of
the house, which was temporarily occupied by its former owner, when
Master Dave Nolan, a scion of the old stock, came upon the scene. He
viewed the improvements with great displeasure, and, crawling under one
of the large gates, he said, as he wriggled out, lizard style:--
"'Gates is all nonsense; aint half as handy as a gap in the fence and a
slick rail!'
"The 10th of May found the house thoroughly renovated and furnished
newly throughout; so, after the wedding ceremony, when we had discussed
the dinner, Mary and I took a 'bridal tour' by going to our new home,
and in the evening our neighbors and relatives gathered in to give us a
house-warming.
"Soon after, I wrote Roger an invitation to spend the summer with us,
Mary and Amy adding a feminine postscript, in which they expressed their
valuation of one who had proved so noble a friend in my distress, and
earnestly begging him to give them an opportunity of thanking him
personally.
"To which he responded that he would 'do himself the honor' of paying
his respects in person the following July--a visit which terminated in a
wedding between my old friend and sister Amy. On their bridal day I gave
them the deed to the Maple Dale plantation, which adjoined our own, and
as I handed the astonished pair the papers I remarked that it was in
fulfillment of the contract which Roger and I had made at Los Angeles,
and they might charge it to 'Profit and Loss.'
"The newly-wedded pair left the plantation in charge of an overseer, and
returned to Acapulco; but Roger resigned his position after a few
months, and returned home to the quiet life of a planter.
"We enjoyed a long period of uninterrupted prosperity; but when the War
of the Rebellion began, I raised a company and joined the Southern army.
At the close of that terrible conflict all that was left me was my title
and family, with the wreck of my once comfortable fortune.
"I shall hurry over the history of the struggling years that followed;
how on returning from the war I found Mary and the children had fled to
the city, and how I gathered them once more together on the farm, where
the dear old homestead lay, a blackened ruin. But earnestly we tried to
retrieve the lost years.
"The county in which I lived was 'reconstructed,' and from the bonds
issued by the officers, and the taxes levied to run the costly, corrupt
machine, there followed wide-spread financial distress.
"A treasurer had been appointed to finger our money. He was a
hawk-nosed, black-haired little reprobate, named Toler, and the way he
tolled all the grists which came to his tax-mill led us to believe that
he was well named indeed. It was reported that he had once held the post
of sutler in a regiment of Eastern troops. Whether that was true or not,
he was undoubtedly the most subtle villain that ever sold scabby sheep
or slipped a flag-stone into a sack of bacon. Finally, this 'patriotic'
officer, having stuffed his 'grip-sack' with county funds, one dark
night took an excursion for his health, considerately leaving the
county, which he only refrained from stealing from the fact that it was
not portable.
"The reckless extravagance of that class of men, cursed and abhorred by
both parties, led eventually to wide-spread ruin and bankruptcy; but out
of the wreck of my once comfortable fortune I saved a few thousands,
and, hearing favorable reports from the fertile Kansas prairies, we
turned our steps westward toward the setting sun. Fate seemed to lead me
here; so I will begin the life-struggle over again on the spot where I
lost my friends and the gold doubloons here, near the shadows of the Old
Stone Corral."
* * * * *
When the colonel had finished the long and eventful history of his past
life, a silence fell on the group--a silence tinged with sadness as they
thought of the fate of Walraven and his wife; and as the camp-fire
mingled its flickering light with the pale moonbeams, throwing an
uncertain, wavering shimmer over the tangled vines and milk-white
elder-blooms, a sense of their lone, isolated position slowly dawned
upon them. They were far out on the verge of an untried, mysterious
land, no evidences of civilization for miles around, and all the future,
with its trials and struggles, looming grimly on the morrow. Is it any
wonder that a feeling of dread, awe, and fear stole over the stoutest
heart at the thought of the direful, tragic past haunting the spot with
its painful memories, and the black veil of futurity hovering over
them--hiding the joys and fears, the tears and graves, that lay beyond?
The colonel sat gazing, sad and thoughtful, out toward the knoll, where,
resting in the moonlight, the victims of that horrible tragedy now slept
their sleep of eternity in the lone, grassy grave.
The winds whispered softly among the trees; a song-bird twittered
drowsily in its nest; then a long, mournful howl from a wolf on the
distant hills broke the silence of the summer night. Maud, looking
wistfully out to the west, where the great planets, those mute sentinels
of time, kept their watch in the sky, repeated the sweet, pathetic
"Dirge" of Tennyson:--
"Round thee blow, self pleached deep,
Bramble-roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale,--
Let them rave;
These in every shower creep
Through the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.
Chanteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?"
A wild cry from Mrs. Moreland startled the group from their reverie and
broke in abruptly upon their musing. As they lifted their eyes or sprang
to their feet in dismay, she pointed, with trembling finger, to where
the uncertain moonlight flickered through the willows, and there they
beheld a sight which froze them with horror, and haunted them with its
mystery for long months thereafter.
But a few paces from where they sat stood the form of a strange, gray
figure, in a loose, long robe, its locks and flowing beard of snowy
white, its wildly gleaming eyes and snaggled fangs, showing dimly in
the spectral light. With a long, bony finger pointed at the group, the
figure stood for a brief moment; then, with a blood-chilling scream, it
faded away amid the shadows.
Clifford Warlow and Ralph Moreland sprang after the vanishing figure,
unheeding the wild shrieks of Maud and Grace, who begged them not to
follow the frightful apparition. As the young men disappeared among the
trees, Mrs. Warlow fell prone upon the earth with a low moan; and while
all of the party that remained forgot their terror in their efforts to
restore her from the death-like swoon in which she had fallen, the young
men returned, reporting a fruitless search.
It was now proposed, as Mrs. Warlow had revived, that the
boys--Clifford, Ralph, Scott, and Robbie--should make a more extended
search with the three dogs; but they could not force the terror-stricken
animals to leave the camp-fire, where they cowered trembling with fear.
So the search again proved unavailing.
Chapter VIII.
Those were busy days which followed--days all too short for the years of
labor that loomed so drearily before the pioneers; but they set to work
bravely, plowing, building, and planning, and the manifold cares of
their new, strange life left no time for repining over the events of the
past, or even to investigate the nature of that strange visitant which
had so startled them with its fleeting appearance.
Although a hurried search was made near the Old Corral, no trace of the
lost treasure could be discovered; and whenever the subject was
mentioned, or the hope expressed of the ultimate recovery of the
princely treasure, the colonel would discourage it as delusive and
visionary, and would say that the surest way to recover the lost fortune
was to extract the gold from the soil through the medium of the plow and
an application of good "horse sense" to their farming.
Several masons were employed from the nearest town, forty miles distant,
and, after tearing down the walls of the Old Corral, the stone was
utilized in building, first, a dwelling for Colonel Warlow in the grove
in the river's bend; next, a cottage for Clifford on the site of the old
stronghold, which had been entirely obliterated, save that portion which
had fallen over Colonel Warlow years ago, and which had so
providentially shielded him from death. The entire party had decided
that it should remain as a monument of the past, and accordingly the
stones which had been hurled down by the drunken fury of the Indians,
were replaced carefully; so the wall now appeared as it did a quarter of
a century before, on the night of that terrible tragedy.
Squire Moreland and his son Ralph also built, from the same confused
stone-heap, comfortable dwellings a mile down the valley, but situated
on the opposite side of the river from the Warlows; and, as all of the
buildings were located near natural timber, they presented a very
home-like appearance when completed.
But during all the while the plows were kept busily turning the fertile
valley sod, which was planted in corn and millet, thus providing feed
for the stock the ensuing winter.
Yet it must not be supposed by the reader that incessant toil alone
occupied the time of the settlers, to the exclusion of all pleasure; for
many were the pleasant fishing parties and excursions to the Sand Hills,
far off to the north-west, where the delicious sand-plums crimsoned the
low shrubs which clothed the hills, relieving, on these occasions, their
life of monotony.
An occasional antelope-hunt on the Flats to the south was indulged in by
the sporting members of the colony, varied by the excitement of a
wolf-chase or the sight of a stray buffalo.
Then the ceaseless tide of travel on the Santa Fe Trail, thronging with
settlers bound for the rich prairies to the south, was in itself a link
to the past and an endless source of interest to the colonists.
One of the first moves of the Warlow and Moreland families was to
organize a school district, a proceeding which is never omitted by the
first settler of the western prairies, who, the very day he "files,"
begins planning more or less secretly, to secure the location of a
school-house on his "claim."
So, according to pioneer traditions, the district was organized,
consisting of a territory ten miles square, and a meeting was called at
the house of Colonel Warlow, at which assemblage of the settlers it was
decided "to vote bonds to build a school-house immediately."
All the voters present agreed, with perfect unanimity, that "bonding"
was the only feasible method of accomplishing the object which they had
in view; but when it came to specifying the time for which the bonds
were to run, or, in other words, were to mature, then a stormy scene
ensued, and with varying degrees of eloquence the subject was hotly
discussed by the local orators.
It was proposed by one embryo politician--whose speeches were said by
Robbie to be longer than his furrows--"that the bonds be made payable in
one year," in which event the entire amount would have to be met by a
direct tax on all the assessible property in the district; and as the
lands of the settlers would not be subject to taxation for the period of
the next five years, the burden would fall upon the railroad land, which
constituted one-half of all the territory embraced within the limits of
the district; and the aforementioned "political economist" proceeded to
demonstrate to his hearers the beauty and fitness (?) of making a
company of friendly capitalists, who lived, as he averred, over in New
England, not only pay the two thousand dollars which was to build their
school-house, but, in addition to this, be taxed to maintain the school
for the next five years; and he closed his brilliant peroration by
asserting "that his policy was to make all bloated bondholders and
corporation scamps squeal when he had the _chaince_."
The squire and colonel both opposed the measure, the latter replying in
a speech of some length, in which he vigorously attacked the principles
advocated by the "_chaince orator_" saying that it would be both immoral
and unwise to take such a rascally advantage of a company that were
doing so much to help the State and develop its resources. Then he
warned his hearers of the consequences of so unjust a course, telling
them plainly it was little better than highway robbery, and the railroad
company would retaliate by raising the rates of shipping, whereby all
would suffer alike.
But his appeal was disregarded by the rampant majority, and, although he
pleaded with the audience to make the bonds payable in thirty years,
which, he said, was but equitable, the motion to make the bonds payable
in one year was sustained, and one ardent supporter of that _iniquitous_
measure, a man in a coon-skin cap, was heard to remark, as he mounted
his mule, which had one crank leg:--
"Good enough fur them railroad fellers; they just haint got no business
a-comin' out hyur with their bulljine a-spilin' of our freightin'."
Although the free discussion at the meeting led to a feeling of
animosity, the work of building was begun and rapidly pushed forward to
completion, soon as the bonds which had been voted for the purpose could
be disposed of to those same "bloated bondholders" of the East, and by
the middle of August, the large stone school-house, with a bell-tower
and rose window, crowned a knoll just across the river from the Old
Corral.
* * * * *
THE GRASSHOPPER RAID.
A short time after the day on which the new school-house had been
dedicated by a public dinner, in which all the colonists participated, a
peculiar haziness was noticed in the air, and, on looking up at the sun,
swarms of gauzy-winged insects were seen floating southward on the light
breeze; but they were too high for Clifford and Rob--who stood in the
barn-yard wondering what they were--to conjecture the terrible import of
the phenomenon.
Thicker and more dense became the haze, now almost obscuring the sun, or
again thinning out to a silvery mist, which quickly changed to fleecy
clouds again, drifting overhead like the scud of a summer storm.
Mrs. Warlow, who stood on the latticed balcony that ran along the
eastern front of the dwelling, and on which there opened glass doors,
instead of windows, from the long range of dormer gables in the upper
story of that picturesque homestead, was looking out to the north, and
as she saw a dark, strange cloud quickly rising, she called to the boys
to come in at once as a storm was almost upon them.
As the boys glanced out towards the north-west they could see the
unnatural, black cloud stretching across the northern horizon, but
momentarily growing nearer, like a dense shadow on a summer landscape.
Their father, who had been reading on the porch, laid aside his paper on
hearing the unusual commotion, and stepped out in the yard.
"What can it be?" said Clifford anxiously.
"A dust-storm, probably," replied the colonel, as the weather had been
dry and parching hot for several weeks past.
On came the threatening cloud, filling the air from the earth to an
incredible height, and a low muffled roar grew louder every moment;
then, as the startled family sought the shelter of the dwelling, a
seething mass of insects filled the air.
"Grasshoppers! grasshoppers!" cried Rob, dancing about in wild
excitement.
"Locusts!" exclaimed the colonel in great consternation; but even then
no one but himself realized the terrible disaster and wide-spread ruin
which their visit portended; but as he said, gravely, that they were the
dreaded locusts or grasshoppers which often laid waste whole nations of
Spanish-America, devouring every vestige of the growing crops of those
countries and in one day leaving the land like a desert, then the
meaning of the appalling calamity slowly dawned upon them.
It was truly an awe-inspiring scene that met their sight, as they stood
by the wide windows and looked out on the storm of insect life that
raged by, darkening the sun itself as they swarmed along in countless
billions.
One who sees the feeble "hopper" spring aside from his path through the
Eastern meadows can but dimly comprehend the terrible sight--the cubic
miles of winged pests that rush by with a hurtling roar, filling the air
all that day like the drifting snow-flakes, through which the sunlight
dimly glimmered, or rolling by like the rack of some fierce storm.
As the dew-drop that glints quivering in the morning may be a thing of
beauty, but when multiplied by the waters of old ocean becomes grand and
imposing, so it was with this feeble insect when re-enforced by his
multitudinous kinsmen; and when our friends saw his hordes darkening the
sun, and earth and sky swarming with his hosts, they realized, as
Clifford said, "that neither corn nor cotton, but 'hopper,' was king,"
and thenceforth that once reviled insect was held in great respect,
though still regarded as an unmitigated nuisance by all the members of
our colony.
Next morning every tree, shrub, and building was covered by the insects
in huge, dark masses, which flew up in disgusting swarms as the settlers
walked along, and the fields of sod-corn were soon stripped clear of
every ear and blade by the winged pests, and all the vegetables, also,
fell victims to their rapacious appetites--save, perhaps, the warty old
radishes, that stood bravely up in the ruined garden, rejoicing in their
"strength." The woolly stems of the millet, likewise, defied their
insatiable appetites.
The grasshoppers hung about until late in the fall, as if loath to leave
such hospitable friends; and when it became apparent that the pests were
depositing their eggs in the ground, honey-combing the roads, fields,
and banks of the streams with their cells, then the outlook became truly
discouraging; for it was known that the young brood, which the next
summer's sun would hatch out, would work greater havoc and ruin than
that which the settler had just witnessed,--all of which disheartening
prospects only served still more to weaken the vertebræ of those
settlers not endowed by nature with spines like an oak-tree.
Accordingly, near the end of September, this faint-hearted class
inaugurated an hegira back to the Land of the Mother-in-law, and by
their haste it was to be inferred that the much-maligned lady of story
and song had changed her traditional spots, and now stood waiting to
receive them with open hand, on the digital members of which no longer
were visible the "claws" of malicious metaphor.
The long caravan, as it wended its eastward course, was headed by the
"chaince" orator, and the coon-skin cap and crank-legged mule, of
"bulljine" memory, guarded the rear of the retreating host.
It appeared as if the exodus of the settlers was regarded as a signal
of departure by the grasshoppers also; for one fine morning they rose up
in darkening swarms and departed to the south-west.
The Warlow and Moreland families, who had preferred to remain when their
more faint-hearted neighbors left, now proceeded to sow their fields in
wheat and rye, and the autumn rains and warm sunshine soon clothed the
fields with a rank growth of the cereals, which, with the millet,
prairie-hay, and the pasture the wheat-fields afforded, served to keep
their stock in good condition during the mild winter that followed.
Our friends devoted the early winter to building stone barns and
corrals, or pens for the stock, and so busy, indeed, were the energetic
settlers that they could scarcely realize that March was with them
again; but the way in which that wayward jade proceeded to demonstrate
the fact left no doubt in the minds of those who tried to withstand her
windy arguments. Although the weather was very dry, the wheat and rye
fields were green and rank; but when April passed, and had neglected to
shed the customary tears over the frolics of her wayward younger sister,
and the drouth still continued, even the stoical colonel became alarmed
and fearful for the future.
To add to the gloom of the outlook, the warm sunshine had so operated as
an incubator that the earth fairly squirmed with the newly hatched brood
of young grasshoppers; and as May came on still warm and dry, and the
young pests began their dread ravages on the tender young vegetables
and fields of grain, then grim famine, with all its horrors, stared the
settlers in the face.
But on May 16th, a change was noticed in the atmosphere. The barometer
denoted a rain; and as Rob limped about, he said that he could feel a
storm in his bones; but Clifford thought that was owing to his tight
boots.
A north-east wind began to blow, cold and chilly, and a mist wrapped the
earth in its foggy folds until all the hills grew faint and dim; then a
fine, drizzling rain followed, which before noon merged into a perfect
deluge, and the rivulets as they poured down from the highlands, mingled
their gurgling songs with the river's low bass, raging and roaring over
its rocky bed, all making sweet music to the ear of the anxious
colonist.
The Warlow homestead stood, as I have heretofore explained, in a grove
that grew in the river's bend; and as the house was situated on low
ground, some apprehension was felt by the family lest the river should
reach the dwelling; and as the barn was on still lower ground, on the
bank of the stream, it was suggested that the stock should be taken to
the upland pasture; a field that was inclosed with a fence of barbed
wire, and connected with the barn-yard by a lane.
Accordingly, Clifford and Rob drove the horses and mules, with the
cattle, up to the pasture, and after closing the gate started on their
return through the pouring rain; but when they reached the margin of
what was, but an hour before, a shallow, grass-bedded brook, babbling
away through the meadow, they found now a wide glassy stream, to wade
which they knew was impossible; so divesting themselves of their
superfluous clothing, they tied their boots up in bundles to throw
across.
Clifford's budget landed safely; but Rob was not so fortunate, he having
undershot the mark, and he cried:--
"There go my Sundiest boots!"
At the rueful outcry, Clifford turned, just in time to see the bobbing
bundle disappear in the muddy water.
The boys swam over safely (but Robbie's bundle was not recovered until
several days had elapsed, but then found to be sadly water-logged), and
as poor Rob stood shivering in the rain, Clifford gave him his overcoat.
"Oh, a fellow only needs a pair of sandals and a plantain-leaf to keep
off the dew in this dry region," said Rob, as he buttoned the welcome
garment around him.
The boys, after changing their wet garments when they reached home, went
down into the parlor where Maud sat, twanging her guitar and singing:--
"Oh, gentle, gentle summer rain!
Let not the drooping lily pine;"
But Rob interrupted, and with an air of tragedy, sang:--
"Oh, cats and pitchforks cease to rain
And trickle down my chilly spine."
Then, his mother coming in, he proceeded to tell about their "cruise,"
and the sad fate of his bundle.
"Oh, you might have been drowned in that horrid stream!" said Maud,
dropping her guitar in consternation.
"About the only way a fellow can escape such a fate out-doors to-day is
to jump into the river," said Clifford, in high good-humor. "Talk about
the 'dry belt,'" he continued; "I hope that geographical girdle will
soon prove all too short to span this western 'waste.'"
The colonel, who had just come in, said with an anxious face:--
"I am afraid the only dry belt left by morning will be the upstairs,
unless this flood ceases soon."
At this announcement Mrs. Warlow and Maud flew into a panic, saying they
would all be drowned; to which gloomy predictions the colonel and
Clifford replied with arguments to the effect that the house being of
stone would resist any flood, and all that was necessary to insure their
safety, would be to retire to the upper story of the dwelling in case
the water rose into the house; and the feminine portion of the household
was soon reassured, and busied themselves preparing an early supper,
while the stronger members of the family were busy carrying the
furniture up to that place of refuge.
The books, pictures, carpets, and other "household goods," were soon
beyond danger; but the old rosewood piano was a load which nearly defied
their united efforts, though it, too, was successfully drawn up the
stairway with the aid of block and tackle, and finally the store of
provisions--a very slender store indeed--was carried to the upper rooms.
After the hasty supper, Clifford and Bob went to the stream, lantern in
hand, to take a survey of the situation. They found the river lacked now
but a foot of reaching the upper bank, and as it was still raining in
torrents they realized the gravity of their position.
It was a strange, weird sight--the sullen, roaring stream; but yesterday
a silvery chain, scarce linking the shallow pools where pebbles and
shells had shown in the clear, quiet depths--now a mad, dark river,
boiling and swirling along in the red glare of the light.
When they had returned to the dwelling and reported the situation, the
colonel looked very grave, and they began to canvass the prospect of a
retreat. There was Clifford's dwelling, they remembered, at the Old
Corral, situated high and dry; but to reach it they would have to cross
a stream that was a foaming torrent, and the wild, swift river on the
south completely cut them off from retreat in that direction; while away
to the north stretched the limitless prairie, with not a habitation for
more than a score of miles to shelter them from the cold and driving
rain.
Chapter IX.
But when they thought of the wide valley and the vast quantity of water
necessary to raise one foot after the river left its banks, they
dismissed the thought of danger, and retired to rest.
The rain now poured down with greater fury than ever; the wind lashed
the roof with the limbs of the old elm that drooped over the chimneys
and gables of the dwelling; and the groaning and creaking added a
gruesome feeling to the drowsiness which the plashing rain-drops caused
to steal over the inmates of that danger-threatened household.
"It makes me think of spectres and shrieking ghosts," said Robbie, as he
drew the cover up closer, and cuddled down by Clifford.
"Yes; it recalls the lines of 'Tam O'Shanter,'" replied his older
brother, repeating a verse from that masterpiece of Burns:--
"The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed.
That night a child might understand
The devil had business on his hand."
"If the Old Gent ventures from his fireside to-night, he'll get his tail
wet," said Rob; then rolling over, the lad was soon in the "land of
Nod."
But Clifford lay for hours listening to the hoarse roar of wind, river,
trees, and pelting rain; but finally he was lulled to sleep, though even
in slumber he was weighed down and haunted by a sense of danger; and
when the clock chimed the hour of twelve he arose, and stole down the
stairs. As he reached the next to the last step his foot plashed in the
water. He knew at once that the river was now out over all the wide
valley, and had risen in a stealthy flow, invading the house, where it
was at least two feet deep.
Watching the water by the light which he had returned and procured, he
saw it was rising in an alarming manner; so he hastily dressed himself
and went to the window, and opening the sash, which was all in one piece
and hung on hinges, he looked out on the glaring, boiling flood below.
As he stood thus, looking down on the terrible, raging whirlpool, he was
rapidly revolving in his mind plans of escape from their perilous
position; but every avenue of retreat seemed closed. As he cast his eyes
about in despair, he started joyfully at the thought of the "Crows'
Nest" up in the great elm--a place which could be reached by a flight of
steps springing from the window ledge and leading far up into the forks
of the tree.
Smiling at the fact that he had not thought of it before, he sprang up
the stairs into the fanciful retreat, which Robbie in his boyish fancy
had planned and built in the top of the lofty tree, and which, on warm,
sultry days, had proved to be an aerial lounging-place as comfortable as
it was novel. It was a stout platform about eight feet square, railed
about, and provided with seats, hammocks, and even a rocking-chair. It
was with a feeling of relief that Clifford stood on the floor of the
lofty perch and glanced down at the glare of water.
Springing down the steps, which were also safely railed, he went to the
mark which he had made on the wall and found the water had risen a full
step, and, knowing there was no time to lose, he ran to the bed and
awakened Robbie, telling him of the situation, and in a few minutes that
resolute young chap was dressed and ready to lend a willing hand in the
plan which Clifford unfolded.
Taking a wagon-cover from one of the stow-aways which flanked the room,
and a piece of scantling from the same catch-all, the boys cut the ropes
from the wagon-sheet, and after tying the scantling securely to the
limbs above the platform, at a distance of six or seven feet overhead,
they next drew the canvas, tent-fashion, over it, then brought the ends
down in such a manner that the rain was excluded from the "Nest," and
tacking the sheet to the floor and making a flap for the doorway, the
interior was quite impervious to the rain, which still raged without.
Some blankets were next carried up and spread on the floor, and then two
beds were made hastily, and the busy fellows did not omit the pillows
and sheets; so the place wore a very cozy appearance. Then, when all was
complete, they awakened their parents and Maud, telling them of the safe
retreat into which they would be compelled to remove.
In a few moments they were all safely up in the "Nest," and then the
provisions and a few valuables were carried thither, Rob cautioning them
not to forget a jug of water. Then the boys went down to the hall
stairway and found that the water lacked but two feet of reaching the
upper floor.
Alarmed and in great suspense, Clifford stood watching the flood, and
was relieved to see that the water crept more slowly up the stair; then
Robbie, coming up, said that the rain was about over and the stars were
twinkling through the rifts above.
As the boys gazed at the water; a faint wet line became visible on the
wall just above the flood. Breathless with suspense, they watched until
the band widened; then Clifford shouted in wild excitement,
"Falling--falling!"
"She's falling, falling!" shrieked Rob as he flew up to the "Nest" with
the joyful news.
Yes; it was a blissful fact that the water was subsiding, and, that too,
at a rate which soon promised relief from the danger which had
threatened them with total ruin.
Clifford, ever thoughtful of the comfort of others, now built a fire in
the warming stove which stood in his room, and proceeded to make coffee
for the weary and chilly party that still remained up in their "Nest;"
and as the young man remembered Rob's caution regarding the water-jug,
he hastily tied a rope to a bucket, and reaching over the window-ledge,
soon secured a supply of the necessary fluid. A steaming hot cup of the
fragrant beverage was declared by the nestlings to be "prime and
delicious" in the extreme.
Warmed and refreshed now, the family looked out upon the strange scene
which began to emerge in the dawning light. The valley was submerged
from hill to hill; but they could see the cattle patiently grazing on
the highlands, and the poultry on the accustomed trees were roosting
serenely, far above the danger-line.
The surrounding country was quite rolling, and the stream headed among
the hills on the west, only a few miles distant; so after the rain
ceased, the flood subsided as rapidly as it had risen--a peculiarity of
all Western streams.
The family watched the water subside until all the old land-marks were
once more visible. The fields were still covered in shallow water; but
soon the wild river shrank back into its narrow channel once again.
There had been great anxiety felt for the safety of the Moreland family,
although it was known that their dwelling was situated on higher ground
than the Warlow house; yet no sign of life was visible at the homestead
of their neighbor, and when a loud halloo was heard from Ralph Moreland,
who had ridden over to the top of one of the hills which shouldered down
to the opposite side of the river, a glad cry in response was raised
from the inmates of the "Nest."
It was amusing to see the bewildered way in which he peered over, trying
to discover their whereabouts; and when he finally discovered the aerial
family, he eagerly asked after their welfare.
When he learned of their safety, he laughed in a relieved and hearty
way at their "elevated station in life."
In answer to their inquiries regarding his father's family, he said that
the water had not reached the dwelling; but he was too uneasy thinking
of their danger to wait longer than daylight to ride over, and, although
he did not mention the fact, they saw that his horse was wet to the
saddle-bow, and knew that he had swam a dangerous side-stream to gain
the hill.
Maud begged him not to return until the water subsided, and she kept
shouting their experience across the river, while the equally noisy
youth replied in tones like a fog-horn.
Mrs. Warlow and the colonel had now descended to the "lower regions," as
Clifford termed the first story of the dwelling, where he and Rob were
removing a mountain of mud from the floor, and their mother soon
prepared a breakfast which those hungry youths pronounced a royal
banquet.
But Maud still carried on her loud flirtation from the tree-top in tones
which, Rob said, "could be heard in the next county," and the way she
managed, with her lengthened description of their experience, to detain
Ralph until all danger of high water on his return had passed, showed
she felt a greater interest in the rider than in the high-toned subject.
After he had at length ridden away, Maud descended to the rooms below,
where her mother was, saying that "this inundation would be long
remembered, and would become legendary and traditional."
"Yes," replied Clifford, gravely, "Rob and I will carry the memory of
the event down to our 'remotest ancestors.'"
"Oh, I daresay it will lose nothing in the way of variations in the
transmission," said Maud; "but here, you superior being, bring me a pail
of water;" and Clifford marched off obediently to the muddy well.
"Why, madam," cried Rob, mockingly, as he scraped the mud from the
floor, "have you regained your voice? I was afraid it was utterly lost;"
and he giggled at the thought of how her tones had wandered away over
the prairie.
"More scrubbing and less sarcasm, young man!" she replied, with a blush,
as she vigorously attacked the wall, which was stained by the water, or
frescoed with mud and slime; but as the plastering was of hard coat, it
soon regained its wonted purity under the drenching which was
administered by the energetic and busy workers, and long before
night-fall the usual neatness and order reigned in the Warlow household.
The young brood of grasshoppers had all been swept away in the flood, or
perished in the long, cold storm. Pious Mrs. Warlow said, "The hand of
the Lord is revealed in freeing the land of those pests;" and indeed it
appeared the work of Providence, which had so effectually destroyed them
that no further trace was visible of the scourge which only a brief day
before had threatened both the Missouri and Arkansas valleys with famine
and desolation.
The weather, that for the past year had played the fickle jade, now
tried to atone for her folly, and often would she burst into tears of
remorse, and veil her face in summer clouds, at remembrance of the wild
tantrums which had marred her equinoctial history.
In the propitious rain and sunshine which followed, the fields of grain
emerged from their coat of rich sediment, and the lush, dank growth of
the cereals ripened into great level fields of waving grain, the bronze
and golden wheat and silvery sheen of barley and oats contrasting
happily with the long rows of corn and emerald millet.
How often it is thus, that misfortune, on reaching a climax of
superlative disaster, then assumes the form of diminutive comparison!
The migratory settlers, that had been sojourning in the Land of the
Mother-in-law, now returned, re-enforced by cousins to a remote degree,
and on their tattered old wagon-covers, on which had glared in letters
of blue, black, and red, the legend "Kansas or BusT," and which on their
subsequent flitting had been partially erased and the assertion "buStud
by--" printed instead, now there glared the dauntless assertion,
"kansiss is the bEsT lAnd unDur the suNn."
Chapter X.
One delightful day in June the Warlow and Moreland families, or the
younger members of those households, attended a picnic which was held in
a grove on the river seven miles below the Old Corral.
At an early hour Clifford, Maud, and Robbie drove down in their
three-seated carriage, drawn by Clifford's iron grays, and at Squire
Moreland's the party was re-enforced by Ralph, Grace, and Scott. Baskets
and fishing-lines were stowed away under the seats, and the frying-pan,
also, was given a place of honor in the same promiscuous stow-away.
The dew was sparkling like gems on the bearded wheat, so soon to fall
before the reaper's stroke, and the tender grass and softly-fluttering
trees were all bathed in the mellow sunlight, as they sped down the
winding road.
When our friends arrived at the grove they found that the platform,
which had been erected among the trees close to the river, was crowded
with a well-dressed throng, who were merrily dancing to the music of
violin, organ, and guitar. After the carriage-load had been deposited on
the platform, and Rob and Scott had returned from caring for the team,
the boys found Clifford, Grace, Ralph, and Maud busily improving the
shining moments in the mazes of a cotillion.
When the music ceased, Maud was requested by one of the amateur
musicians to second on the organ, which was a mere labor of love; and as
she acceded to the request, she saw Rob and Grace spinning away in a
waltz, dizzily gyrating about the platform with a full score of couples,
all equally giddy and alike bent on extracting the most enjoyment out of
the least possible time.
Clifford, who stood leaning against a tree, surveying the varied groups
with that mingling of interest, amusement, and indifference, which we
experience in viewing the movements of strangers who may soon become
acquaintance, and possibly friends, was accosted by a handsome young man
of near his own age, who greeted him very cordially.
The new-comer was Hugh Estill, the son of a wealthy ranchman who lived
near, or at least but a few miles further down the valley. The two young
men had become acquainted in a business way while Clifford had been
buying cattle at the Estill ranch some weeks before, and it was to young
Estill they owed the invitation to the picnic; so it was with a feeling
of gratitude, not unmixed with respect in remembrance of the lordly
ranch-house and its princely domain, that young Warlow shook hands and
thanked the young ranchman for his thoughtful remembrance of them on
this pleasant occasion.
Robbie had by this time surrendered his partner to a young cow-boy, a
son of the greatest "cattle king" in the valley, and as the young
"prince" led Miss Grace out through the changes of the quadrille he
seemed totally oblivious of the fact that his leather "leggins,"
jingling spurs, and silver-mounted revolver hanging from a
cartridge-belt, were not wholly in keeping with the festive occasion;
and as they paused in the dance, the bovine princeling, after blowing a
long breath and wiping his glowing brow on his sleeve, observed:--
"That was a terrible swell--the young blood with a biled vest, who just
waltzed with you. Ha! ha!--a wild rose in his button-hole! Guess I'll
have to get one also--by shot!"
But Miss Grace bluntly told him that a gourdvine would be far more
suitable.
Robbie, who was happily unconscious of the disparaging remarks which
were being made at the expense of his purple and fine linen, had joined
Clifford and been introduced to the new friend, who passed some
good-natured compliments on that urchin's dancing, to which Rob replied
that he was but re-dedicating his boots that so lately had been
resurrected; and he proceeded to tell in his inimitable manner of the
mishap that had carried his best and dearly-beloved boots to a watery
grave, from which they were at length "resurrected," all filled with mud
and sand. Laughing heartily, Hugh said he hoped he would shine as
brightly on the resurrection morn as those same "Sunday boots."
While Hugh and Bobbie had been engaged in the above frivolous and wholly
unprofitable conversation, Clifford was improving the time in furtively
staring at a radiant and superbly beautiful young lady who was playing
the guitar near Maud; and, indeed, young Warlow might have been excused
if we had detected him in the rude act, for it was a face which once
seen would never be forgotten.
Her eyes of softest blue were veiled by silken, jetty lashes, and a
wealth of raven-black hair rippled low on a face of creamy olive. An
expression of pride mingled with the spirited vivacity of her charming
face, which he thought was the most fascinating he had ever beheld.
Every detail of her dress, from the wide straw hat with its drooping
spray of lilies, the creamy grenadine with its tangled pattern of the
same snowy flowers and cascades of foamy lace, the cross and chain of
palest coral, with ribbons of the same faint rose-hue, evinced the taste
and refined instincts of a well-born and cultured lady.
There seemed to be the ineffable charm of grace and elegance in her very
attitude, as she stood by the organ and swept the guitar with white,
tapering fingers, while through all the melody there thrilled the sweet,
dripping notes, like the memory of some half-forgotten dream, which,
though elusive and vague, still haunts our waking hours through all the
turmoil of a busy day.
"Where have I seen that form and face before?" said Clifford, half
audibly, as the last faint notes died away, and he awoke from a reverie,
while a look of surprise and delight broke over his handsome face; then
turning to young Estill he said, in an eager tone:--
"Who is that divine young creature who played the guitar until she set
me to dreaming of old Spain?"
"Why, that musical divinity," said Estill, with a hearty laugh, "is my
only sister Morelia; or Mora, as we have become used to calling her. I
shall be pleased to present you, for I am truly relieved to find some
one who can appreciate her music, which always sounded to me very much
like cats fighting."
A moment later the young men were upon the platform, and young Estill
said, in his easy, good-humored way:--
"Sister Mora, let me present my friend, Mr. Warlow, on whom your music
has had the strange effect of setting him to dreaming, not of cats on
the roof, but of castles in Spain,--which I have by his own confession."
She gave young Warlow a fair, dimpled hand, on which flashed one ring of
rose-colored amethyst, and, after he had bowed very low, their eyes met
in a swift glance of half-puzzled recognition and surprise, while a
magnetic shock caused them both to tremble; but quickly recovering, she
said, with a smile, while toying with a bracelet of carved Neapolitan
coral:--
"My brother's criticisms are not of much value, for the sweetest sounds
to his ears are the bellowings of beef-cattle."
Then, as she and Clifford sauntered out to a seat under a tree, he
said:--
"How strange it is, Miss Estill, that I have never met you before, for
it seems as though I have known you for years!"
"Why, Mr. Warlow, I was just trying to recall the time and place where I
had seen you. It must have been while we were traveling that we have
been thrown together for a moment; yet I can not now remember the
circumstance," she replied, with a look of interest dawning in her blue
eyes.
"If we had I would not have forgotten such a pleasant incident, Miss
Estill. But I am puzzled to think why I remember even your tone and
manner so well, for I can't recall any chance meeting with you in the
past."
At that moment Grace and Hugh Estill came up, and proposed that they
should repair to the river, near by, and spend an hour fishing; so they
soon were seated under the shade of an enormous cottonwood-tree on the
banks of a deep pool, while Hugh and Grace, who had been introduced at
some former meeting, strayed along the stream in quest of a "better
place," which they did not discover in _sight or hearing_ of Miss Estill
and Clifford.
After casting their hooks into the quiet water, they sat down upon the
shady bank, and Miss Estill said:--
"Hugh has often spoken of you lately, and we had discussed the subject
of calling on your sister and Miss Moreland, but decided that we would
send you an invitation to our picnic, at which I hoped to become
acquainted with them." Then, seeing a shade of disappointment flit over
his face, she added, archly: "And you also. But I assure you that the
call will not be deferred a great while longer; for I am delighted to
find such charming girls for neighbors."
"The invitation was very kind and thoughtful of you, Miss Estill. We
had been longing to meet congenial companions, and hailed the news of
the picnic with all the delight of people who have been isolated from
society for a year or more. I hope you will believe it is no vain
compliment when I tell you that I have already met new friends here that
I value higher than any of my old ones," Clifford replied, as he knotted
a bunch of elder-bloom, snowy and fragrant, with the blossoms of the
wild heart's-ease, azure and gold, which grew on the sandy stretch at
their feet. Then, adding a fern-like tuft of meadow-fescue, he held it
toward Miss Estill, while a look of undisguised admiration shone in his
clear blue eyes, saying:--
"In memory of my deep gratitude."
Fastening the flowers among the meshes of lace on her breast, she busied
herself a moment with the fishing-tackle as she drew the hook from the
water with a dangerous movement. Then, with a smile dimpling her face,
she said:--
"If you feel such a deep sense of gratitude, Mr. Warlow, you may
discharge the debt by baiting my hook, which some wary turtle or other
aquatic creature, has been investigating."
With ready alacrity, Clifford performed the desired service; and as he
let go the hook, Miss Estill began a series of manoeuvres with the
fish-pole that were as womanly as they were threatening. Finally, after
the hook had performed for some time around his head with a dangerous
"s-w-i-s-h," it fortunately landed plump into the water, with a thud
and splash loud enough to scare all the fish upon dry land.
They stood a moment, silently watching the widening ripple; then, as
they seated themselves on the bank again, Miss Estill said, with a
smile:--
"You are very brave, indeed, Mr. Warlow, never to wince. But perhaps you
were not aware of the great risk a man runs who fishes with a woman. I
never should have forgiven myself if that awkward hook had caught in
your eye."
"Or my ear," he added, with such a look of comic distress that she
dropped her fish-pole into the water with a merry laugh; then, as he
joined in the merriment, the startled mocking-bird overhead hushed its
song, and flitted away to some quieter nook.
"Now, if we are not more careful, we will have to dine on humility
to-day," she said, as he recovered the fishing-tackle. "But do you
really grow lonesome in your new home, Mr. Warlow?" she added.
"Yes, indeed I did," said Clifford, with an emphasis on the past tense
that indicated the remoteness of those days. "But we were very busy
until recently, and I did not fully realize what a hermit I had become
until I came here into the crowd, and found myself growing hot and cold
by turns, my heart palpitating, and my hands and feet getting heavy.
Then I knew it would only be a matter of time when I should fly, like a
South Sea Islander, at very sight of a human face, much less the
presence of a fashionable young lady;" and he joined Miss Estill's
merriment at his charming candor, with an easy laugh.
"Oh, I appreciate the situation," she replied; "for when they sent me to
Cincinnati to the boarding-school, where all was so strange, and the
only ray of sunshine in the long weeks, months, and years was a flitting
call from my fashionable aunt, or the yearly visits to my Western home,
I felt desolate and miserable. Why, I was so shy, and possibly a bit
wild, that I gained the name of Antelope among my school-mates;" and
Miss Estill smiled somewhat sadly at remembrance of those past days.
"When you returned to your home, it certainly must have seemed lonely
after the life in that 'American Florence,'" said young Warlow.
"Oh, it was paradise! I could scarcely believe that the old days of
banishment were over; and indeed I half feared, sometimes, that they
would pack me off again. It was such a perfect joy to be back at the
dear old ranch once more with Hugh and my parents, that I vowed I should
never leave again. But when I had been back a year I did sometimes long
for a good, confidential chat with my girl friends, and would be a bit
lonesome while Hugh was away; but our life is one ceaseless round of
labor, toil, and care, so I have short time for repining. Would you
believe, Mr. Warlow, that more than half the time all the duties of
housekeeper, unaided, devolve upon me? Our house has been a constant
panorama of 'domestic' weddings since I returned from school; yes, and
for years before also. No sooner would we begin to appreciate some
household treasure--a Nora, Ruth, or Nelly, who had come from the East
to lessen our domestic burdens--than along would come some spruce
ranchman or handsome young homesteader, and--presto!--our domestic was
courted away in a twinkling to brighten a new home. And what with the
wedding which mamma always insists upon, and the bridal finery she
bestows, the burden is redoubled. My weary shoulders fairly ache as we
pass through the constant, or tri-yearly, recurrence of the same
experience. Hugh says that he believes the servant-girls of the East
have finally come to look upon our house as a matrimonial agency."
"Do you not think, Miss Estill, that the bright new homes, which are a
result of your charities, are sufficient reward for your domestic
martyrdom?"
"Oh, if you think our providing wives for the miscellaneous ranchers,
herders, and homesteaders could be called a charity, I will have to say
that our furthering of those matches has proved a mixed blessing indeed;
for I recall a world of conjugal infelicity which has followed those
hasty and ofttimes ill-assorted matches. 'Marry at pleasure,' etc., is a
maxim true as it is trite, Mr. Warlow."
"Yes; it is undeniable that unhappy matings do occur; but I can not see
how a lonesome bachelor, who eats his own vile cooking and goes through
the vain ceremony of laundry-work, could ever aggravate his deplorable
condition, Miss Estill."
"But the fact remains that he certainly does," she replied, with a low
gurgling laugh, like the ripple of some sweet, clear brook. "Why, Mr.
Warlow, I recall a scene of which I was the innocent witness one evening
last month. I was riding by the ranch of Mr. Blank, who had wooed and
won our cook after a courtship that was as brief as it was fervid. I
have reason to believe he pines for his former state of untrammeled
freedom; for, in some argument which they seemed to be discussing that
evening, she, his faithful helpmeet, hurled the milk-stool at his head.
I rode quickly away, mentally washing my hands of any further
matrimonial schemes.
"Mr. Warlow! a fish, a fish!" she cried in a low tone, and he turned his
eyes reluctantly to the sadly neglected fishing-tackle, which he had
"set" by thrusting the poles into the bank, and which they, in their
long and absorbing conversation, had totally forgotten. There he saw the
flash of a finny monster in the water, and the fish-pole violently
threshing in the air above the pond, and as he drew the glittering perch
from the pool, he found that it had become entangled in Miss Estill's
fish-line also.
"It is our fish, is it not?--and a good omen," he said, as he secured
the prize which fluttered at her feet.
"It is our 'luck,'" she replied gaily; "but we can boast of little skill
in angling;" at which they both laughed, low but heartily, at the
thought how far into foreign fields they had rambled, leaving their
fishing to chance, and in that merry glance was laid the foundation of
sympathy, appreciation, and friendship.
When they returned to the grove they were joined by Hugh, Grace, Maud,
and Ralph, whose success had been most woefully indifferent. Those
discomfited anglers looked with undisguised envy on the great
piscatorial prize, and while it was frying on the fire, which Scott and
Robbie kindled, they all lent a ready ear to the malicious story which
the latter urchin told--"That Cliff had brought a mackerel to the
picnic, and it was that same identical fish which they were frying."
When the cloth was spread on the grass, and the great fish, garnished
with elder-blooms and wild-roses, was given the place of honor at the
feast, Hugh Estill said:--
"Now, Mora, please pass the mackerel."
Only then was the fact made plain that Robbie was a boy, given to
telling "fish stories," and could be trusted and relied upon only at the
dinner-table.
Ah! it was a gleeful hour at that _al fresco_ meal,--the soft breeze
stirring the tree-tops, and the bright sunlight sifting down through the
fluttering leaves on the silver and crystal, the frosty cake and
quivering jelly, the crimson and gold, and, above all, the happy faces
of our young friends.
Dancing and an impromptu concert, followed by charades on a temporary
stage, served to pass away a few more blissful hours: then the revelers
broke into groups and couples, sauntering into shady nooks, and engaging
in those long and confidential chats which are totally devoid of
interest to any save themselves.
Miss Estill and young Warlow were seated upon a bank where the mingled
sunlight and pale shadows flickered softly over the lush and tender
sward, and their conversation steered away from the shoals and quagmires
of match-making and matrimony to the vague and mystic fields of
metaphysics.
"Do you know, Miss Estill, that I have--a dim impression, shall I call
it?--of having met you somewhere before?"
"Yes; I remember distinctly of your having not only met me, but also
kindly helping me catch a fish, before," she replied, archly.
Clifford said, in a laughing manner, that he was not so ungallant as to
forget that thrilling adventure, then he continued in an earnest tone:--
"I feel like we had met long years ago; and somehow, Miss Estill, it all
appears so natural to be with you, to hear your tones and see your face,
that it is like the return of some dear friend whom you have longed to
see for years."
"You almost make me believe in the theory of the transmigration of
souls, Mr. Warlow. How very possible it may have been that in some dim,
pre-historic age you and I were a pair of giant king-fishers, who to-day
were reunited on the banks of our favorite stream after the lapse of
untold ages!--and what is more natural than we should take to our
antediluvian occupation at once?" and she peered down into the pool with
a sidelong glance as though searching for her finny prey, while
Clifford shook with merriment at her happy imitation of that uncanny
bird.
"I never was a firm believer in Swedenborg; yet the thought haunts me
still that I certainly have met you before to-day, although, as you say,
it may have been in some previous happy state, Miss Estill."
"Now, to be frank, Mr. Warlow, I confess to being a bit superstitious,
which may be owing, however, to my living so isolated from society all
these years that I even welcomed company of a supernatural nature,
which, you know, is better than none."
"Why, it can not be that your vicinity is peopled by shrieking ghosts,
too?" said Clifford quickly, as the memory of the spectre of the Stone
Corral came to mind, which in the turmoil of their busy lives had been
nearly forgotten.
"I can not see why I should revert to such a subject to-day; but some
way the mention of transmigration of souls brought the remembrance of
the Gray Spectre to my mind," said she, glancing furtively over her
shoulder; then, as she caught young Warlow's amused look, she smiled
responsively, and continued:--
"You too have a skeleton in the family, I perceive; so let's unburden
our souls and exchange confidences."
"With all my heart," said Clifford; "I am glad we have such a mutual
bond of sympathy."
Then he told how the gray-robed figure had startled the group at the
camp-fire, and fled shrieking away, that memorable evening more than a
year before; and although all of their family had maintained an
apprehensive outlook for a second visit from his spookship, they never
had been molested further; and he concluded by saying:--
"But I hope, Miss Estill, your experience will throw some light on the
mystery."
"It is undoubtedly the same spectral being which has haunted our ranch
for the past twenty-five years, and which has eluded pursuit on every
occasion, although papa, Hugh, and several herders have endeavored, more
or less bravely, to trace it; but the mysterious apparition always
vanishes into the night without leaving a trace. Why, I have become so
fearful that, like the daughter of the bold Glengyle,--
'Alone I dare not venture there,
Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost,'--
and I often fly at the sight of my own shadow," said Miss Estill. "One
evening, Mr. Warlow, I was riding by a peculiarly lonesome spot near
home,--a lofty hill on which there is the grave of a mysterious
relative, who died near a quarter of a century since, and of whose
history I can learn but little. Although Hugh and I often question our
parents about him, they seem to evade our inquiries. I had reached a
point close to the grave,--which is all overgrown with thistles,
notwithstanding the fact that I had repeatedly planted flowers and roses
there that had always refused to grow,--when that same hideous,
gray-robed creature emerged from the thicket about the grave, and as I
halted, frozen with horror at the sight, the gaunt wretch glared a
moment, then fled shrieking away in the darkling twilight. Oh, I never
paused to investigate, you may believe, but gave rein to my pony, which
was as badly frightened as myself, and flew home like the wind," said
Miss Estill with a shiver.
"Have you ever been up to the corral, Miss Estill?" Clifford asked.
"Not for three years, Mr. Warlow. Now, while we are speaking of
supernatural things, I must tell you how strangely I always felt at that
place. I can never go about the old ruin without being assailed by an
uncanny feeling--something like one might be expected to feel who walks
over her own grave, you know!" she added with a smile; then continuing
she said earnestly: "It always seems that something terrible haunts the
very air there, and I feel a weight of grief and misery that horrifies
me whenever I pass the spot. If I had lost my dearest friend there, I
should have very much the same sensation, I believe, at sight of the
ruin. I struggle with my memory to recall some event with which I seem
to have been connected there; but it is all in vain, for it is as
intangible as a moonbeam."
"That is very mysterious indeed, Miss Estill; for I often feel very much
that way myself there, but not in so marked a degree as when I pass that
great hill three miles up the valley, known as Antelope Butte. I am
often overpowered by a feeling of deepest melancholy and grief while
only passing that hill. The first time I saw the place I was shocked to
think how familiar it all seemed; for I found the spring near its base
just where my instinct seemed to tell me that the water bubbled forth
from the rocky cleft. But a feeling of unutterable longing and an
uncontrollable yearning to see some one, the name even of whom I can not
recall, always seizes me there, and I am both perplexed and horrified at
the sensation," Clifford replied.
Gradually the tone of their conversation lost its gloomy hue, and
rambled away into the realms of art, history, and song, of the fair
foreign lands beyond that blue, quivering horizon; and as Miss Estill
fluttered her fan of carved ivory and rose-plumes, talking in her sweet
vivacious way, the sunlight threw a halo about the golden hair and
Grecian face of the youth reclining on the bank, suffusing with rose the
handsome features that even a western sun in all its fierceness could
not rob of its fresh glow.
As the fastidious Miss Estill noted every detail of his faultless
attire, neither old nor new, from the tips of his shapely fingers to his
glossy boots bearing the undeniable stamp of gentleman, she thought how
utterly effete was the comparison, "Rough as a farmer;" and as
admiration shone in his boyish face, illuminated with those honest blue
eyes, fringed by their lashes of dead gold, is it any wonder that
romance threw its glamour over the scene, and they half forgot to roam
in fancy through foreign lands, thinking of the joyful present, which,
alas! we seldom value until it has become a sweet memory only.
The long shadows which stole down from the hill-tops warned our young
friends that they would soon part, and reluctantly they returned to the
platform, where preparations for starting were being made. Grace
Moreland and Hugh Estill still appeared to be deeply engrossed with each
other's society, and it was not remarkable that young Estill should
hover about the vivacious and bewitching Grace; for she was a sparkling,
graceful creature, the picture of innocence and youth, in her dress of
fleecy white.
As Clifford stood by Miss Estill at parting, he said, while his hand
rested on the mane of her creamy horse:--
"Ah, Miss Estill, I little thought what this morning held in store. This
has been a day that repays the many dark years of the past, and I shall
treasure its memory forever."
"Yes; a blissful day indeed, Mr. Warlow; and it almost makes me sad to
think I shall ever grow old," she replied, as she gave her hand, which
he held longer--yes, I shall have to confess the fact, much longer--than
the laws of conventionality demanded.
As the Warlow carriage drove up the broad valley, the coolness of
twilight was brooding over the prairies, and the twittering songsters
fluttered down from the highlands to the sheltering thickets which
belted the stream, and the fire-flies gemmed the dusky groves and
meadows when they alighted at their homes.
Chapter XI.
On a clear, serene Sabbath following the picnic, Miss Estill and Hugh
rode up to Squire Moreland's, excusing the call on that holy day by
saying that they were too busy to spare one day of six; and after dinner
at that hospitable home, they walked up to Colonel Warlow's, being
accompanied by Grace, Ralph, and Scott.
They paused at the great latticed and arched gate to glance into the
yard, which was inclosed by a low stone wall, over which the grapes and
wild-roses clambered in heavy clusters of tangled foliage. Two gaudy
peacocks were sunning their glittering plumage on the grass plat in
front of the long stone dwelling resting so cool under the great
elm--that same historical tree which had served as place of refuge
during the "flood"--drooping low over the quaint gables, dormer windows,
and chimneys wreathed by the transplanted wild vines which festooned the
rough walls.
The colonel was asleep in a hammock, which was slung in the latticed
porch, and his placid wife sat near, reading the Bible, as she rocked
softly in the easy-chair. Clifford, clad in a cool white suit, was
reading also; but I fear the work, in which he was so absorbed that he
had not seen the approaching guests, was not of such a sacred nature as
befitted the Lord's-day. Maud and Bob, swinging in a swing which was
fastened to the limbs of the great elm, were likewise perusing the pages
of some entertaining book, which Maud dropped with a little feminine
squeak of delight as she saw her friends; then she flew down the path,
and greeted the new-comers with unfeigned pleasure.
As she kissed Miss Estill and Grace in true girlish fashion, Rob, the
handsome rogue, came forward and gravely offered to salute the ladies in
the same manner; but his cordial advances were declined with thanks,
whereupon he turned to the young men of the party and kissed them
effusively, amid their merry peals of laughter at his sly way of
ridiculing the feminine mode of greeting.
Mrs. Marlow said in her low, sweet voice, as she led the guests into the
house, after they had been presented in due form by Clifford,--
"It is very kind of you, hunting us up this lonesome afternoon."
"We should have done so long before this if we had known what very
agreeable neighbors lived so near," replied young Estill.
"You will smile, possibly, at our thinking twelve miles a neighborly
distance, Mrs. Warlow, but I assure you it seems only a trifle when we
remember that for years we have considered the people of Abilene and
Lawrence our neighbors," said Miss Estill as she sank into an
easy-chair, after Maud had relieved her of the jaunty black hat with its
drooping white plume.
"We will freely forgive you, Miss Estill, if you will atone for your
past neglect," said Mrs. Warlow, with a pleased smile. "The lack of
society has been the greatest privation attending our Western life, and
but for the unvarying kindness and sympathy of Squire Moreland's family,
I fear we should have found it quite monotonous."
The room where they were seated was a wide, many-windowed apartment,
with cool lace curtains sweeping the dark, rich carpet. The walls were
graced by a few pictures and portraits, and on the brackets of walnut
and mahogany were vases of wild-flowers. A wide bay-window at one end
was half screened by the curtains of lace, and through their filmy
meshes could be seen the cherished geraniums and fuchsias that were so
dear to Maud as a memento of the old Missouri home. A great beveled
mirror, framed in heavy gilt moulding, reached from the mantel to the
ceiling; and strangest sight in this Western land was a wide fire-place;
but instead of the glowing coals and crackling flames which one always
associates with the hearth-stone, there were banks of blooming plants.
The rich old piano and Maud's guitar occupied one corner, and a low,
velvet divan the other, on each side of the mantel. It was a room which,
Miss Estill and her brother perceived, was redolent with the refinement
and harmony of the family, as simply elegant and devoid of sham and
pretense as its owners.
Miss Estill gave a sigh of gratification as her glance swept the
apartment, and rested out on the shady, well-kept lawn, where the hum of
bees and songs of wild-birds seemed so wholly in keeping with the tone
of happiness and industry which pervaded the Warlow household.
"How strange it seems that you have been here so short a time! It is
almost like enchantment--this evolving such a perfect home from the
wild, lonesome prairies and tangled woodland, where the wolf and buffalo
roamed unmolested not two short years ago."
"We have to thank nature for the trees and flowers, the vines also, Miss
Estill; but you see we had little else to occupy our time but the
improvements of our new home; though I believe we can truly say that we
have not been idle the past year," replied Clifford.
"It is wonderful what a change your taste and energy have made in that
brief time. We can not blame our Eastern friends, who never have beheld
a wide, desolate prairie transformed into such a charming home-land as
this in a short year, if they do vilify the average Kansan, and tax him
with boastfulness and other vices not akin to truth."
At request of her guests, Maud was soon seated at the rich, mellow-toned
piano, and the strains of "The Bridge" floated out through the open
windows, as her sweet contralto rose, freighted with the heart-throbs
and regret which thrill through the melody of that pathetic song.
"Ah! Tennyson never had heard this sad, weird poem when he gave the
title 'Lord of Human Tears' to Victor Hugo, or our own Longfellow would
have won it," said Miss Estill with a sigh.
"Yes; Longfellow is the poet that seems nearest in all our moments of
retrospection. I never stand at the crossing of the old Santa Fe and
Abilene Trails, on that hill yonder, without his lines recurring,--
'Like an odor of brine from the ocean,
Comes the thought of other years;'--
and I must tell you, Miss Estill, that whenever I meet you I feel that
same remembrance, vague and evanescent, of a time when you and I were
very happy, and were all--at least we were very great friends. But it is
so shadowy and indistinct that I can not grasp its meaning. It is like
the memory of some half-forgotten dream or the dim recollections of a
former life," replied young Warlow, in a low tone, as the pulsing waves
of music, the "Blue Danube," throbbed through the vines and lace
curtains of the bay-window where they sat.
"If you were less thrifty, Mr. Warlow, I would suspect you were too fond
of poetry to be practical. But I should not throw sarcastic stones at
your glass house, for it has been no longer than a month ago that mamma
scolded me roundly for forgetting the yeast in my batch of light bread.
I had to lay all the blame at the 'open door' of the 'Moated Grange,'
which I had been reading. Poor Mariana might well have said, after
looking on my leaden loaves:--
'I am aweary, aweary,--
I would that I were dead!'"
While Clifford was making some laughing reply to this bucket of poetical
cold water, he and Miss Estill were summoned to the piano, where our
young friends were floundering hopelessly through the intricacies of a
glee, in which Grace's alto would persist in getting all tangled up with
Hugh's baritone, and the cat-calls of Rob's bastard bass and Scott's
frantic tenor only served to heighten the confusion, that finally
collapsed in subdued shrieks of laughter. But when Miss Estill's dainty
fingers rippled over the guitar, and their voices blended with varying
degrees of melody as its twanging notes mingled with the mellow tones of
the piano, then something like harmony prevailed again. Yet she and
Clifford would still exchange amused glances whenever Rob gave vent to a
more pronounced caterwaul than usual, or Scott's gosling tenor squawked
a wild note of alarm.
"Miss Estill, I am longing to hear you render a Spanish solo; for I
never can help the picture of a Castilian maiden playing amid the courts
of the Alhambra, rising whenever you take the guitar," said young
Warlow, in a low tone.
"My broken Spanish would soon dispel the illusion," she replied, with a
soft blush; "but I will give you, instead, a poor translation of a
Mexican song;" and in a voice rich with melody and feeling, she sang:--
"There blooms no rose upon the plain,
But costs the night a thousand tears,"--
while the guitar rained a shower of soft-dripping music, veined with a
thrill of sadness. As her bosom rose and fell with the sweet strains,
the ruby heart which clasped the ruff at her slender throat flashed
rays of crimson and rose in the stray sunbeams that glinted through the
room.
Clifford remained rapt in a reverie as the dreamy music, with a low
minor ripple, died away, and the listeners sat in silence a moment,
paying a mute tribute to the graceful singer who now was idly toying
with the guitar.
One white arm was half revealed by the wide-flowing sleeve, with its
fall of creamy lace; a cluster of fuchsias drooped among the waves of
her hair, and the wide ruff gave a graceful finish to the close-fitting
riding-habit of black velvet which she wore.
Young Warlow was aroused by his mother saying:--
"Miss Estill, the colonel, my husband."
He turned quickly, and saw his father standing in the doorway, staring
as if he had seen a sheeted ghost. Yes; it was undeniable that the
courtly and urbane colonel was positively staring with a white face at
the beautiful guest, and as he came forward he said, in an agitated
voice:--
"Ivarene? No--no--impossible! Pardon, Miss Estill; but your face reminds
me so strongly of a dear, kind friend, 'who passed over the dark river
long years ago,' that I was quite unnerved;" and as he held her slender
hand he looked hungrily into the blue eyes that were regarding him with
a look of shy wonder. When Hugh was presented, the colonel glanced
keenly from the blonde, hazel-eyed young man back to the creole face of
the young lady, and he again murmured brokenly, and in an incredulous
tone, "Brother and sister? Strange--mystery!" and in the hearts of that
group for many a day echoed and re-echoed his words: "Mystery, mystery!"
A constraint seemed to fall immediately upon the inmates of the room,
and Maud, perceiving the traces of social frost in the atmosphere,
suggested that they should take a look at her flowers; and the guests
rose and followed in a confused group out into the flower-garden, that
was surrounded with a low stone wall.
The paths, which divided the small plat into four subdivisions, were
interrupted at their intersection by a circular path, where a succession
of terraces of the same figure rose to the height of half a dozen feet,
the whole forming a circular mound, crowned by a tiny latticed arbor,
which was reached by a flight of white stone steps, flanked by vases of
the same alabaster-like material.
The terraces were sodded with the dainty, short buffalo-grass, and each
offset was planted with a profusion of flowers, now beginning to unfold
their blossoms. This unique ornament was the work of Clifford and
Robbie, who had in their "idle" moments thus transformed the unsightly
pile of earth, which had resulted from excavating the cellar, into a
"hanging garden to please Maud," and she felt justly proud of the
compliments which the guests bestowed on the attractive feature of her
trim garden, with its wealth of lilies, roses, and gladioluses.
Although the group had emerged from the house in a confused manner, it
was remarkable how soon order was restored, and the young people paired
off into couples after the law of affinity--Maud and Ralph, Grace and
Hugh, leaving Clifford and Miss Estill to either mate with Rob and
Scott, or to choose each other for partners in the ramble; and it is
also strange how quickly they chose the latter alternative, and
sauntered away with appalling _sang-froid_, leaving those youths to
their own resources without even the ghost of an apology. But the
youngsters had ample revenge for this heartless, cold neglect, when, a
few moments later, Rob was seen leaning on Scott's arm in a languishing
manner, with a hollyhock perched daintily just above his nose, in
semblance of a most coquettish hat, his bob-tailed coat embellished with
an enormous petticoat of rhubarb-leaves, while Scott alternately cast
admiring glances upon his frail "lady," or fanned the mock beauty with a
catalpa-leaf fully half a yard broad.
And while Maud and Grace regarded their manoeuvres with furtive scorn
and ill-concealed disgust, this precious pair sauntered conspicuously
after their friends, who could see "Miss Rob" mince along with
exaggerated airs and graces, often pausing to sniff of the enormous
water-pot, carried in imitation of a lady's scent-bottle.
Finally the party eluded the persecution of this devoted couple by going
back into the house, and ascending to the "Crows' Nest" in the top of
the old elm; and as Maud recounted the thrilling adventure of the
"flood," she felt certain that Rob was too well acquainted with his
paternal discipline to venture upon any nonsense about the house. But
half an hour later, as they were strolling down to the boat, the party,
in turning an abrupt curve in the path, surprised the infatuated Scott
on his knees kissing the hand of the shy he-damsel, who, with affected
modesty, was hiding her face in the dainty fan and the last view our
friends caught of them while rowing up the river, the fascinating Rob
was sinking into the outstretched arms of his ostentatious lover.
Clifford rowed up the winding stream, which, although only a few feet
deep, was here several rods in width. As they passed along, an old
beaver, which had built a dam below, stuck its snout up through the
tangled grass that trailed into the water; then, after gazing a moment
at the intruders, it sank quietly from sight.
The pleasant ride suggested a boating song, and a concert followed,
which scared many a gray old musk-rat to his den, and the frightened
wild-fowls scurried with whizzing wings out from the dark, sedgy nooks,
shaded by the elms and willows, as the unwonted sounds floated out over
the water.
Our friends walked up to Clifford's dwelling, after landing and mooring
the boat to a tree, and while they rested on the pale ashen-green
buffalo-grass in the shadow of a mighty elm that smothered the gables of
the stone cottage with its wide-spread branches, Clifford pointed out
the stone wall, which was half concealed by the vines, where his father
had so narrowly escaped death a quarter of a century before; and as they
sat, he told of the terrible tragedy that had here been enacted, which
explained why Maud had so tenderly trained the roses over the ruined
wall--the wall that had sheltered their father on that tragic night.
At the close of the mournful story Miss Estill exclaimed:--
"Oh, what a cruel fate. Poor, ill-starred Ivarene! It was that
unfortunate bride that I so strangely resemble. But how mysterious that
it should be so! Now I do not wonder at your father's agitation at
meeting one who reminded him of his lost friend and benefactress. That
was why he gazed so pathetically into my eyes:--I recalled the days of
his youth, his lost fortune, and the tragic fate of his dear friends."
Hugh Estill said:--
"Oh, this is not the first time I have heard the particulars of that
tragedy. It was often talked of in the days of my boyhood; but I was a
child at the time when it was still fresh in the memory of the few
settlers in the upper valley of the Cottonwood. It was fully ten years
after the event that I heard the version from one of our herders, who
said it was whispered that white men were engaged in the massacre.
Father was unnecessarily irritated, I thought, when I repeated what the
fellow said, and he went so far as to discharge him, and forbade me ever
mentioning the subject again."
"Your parents were living on your ranch at that time?" said Clifford, in
a strange eager tone of inquiry.
"Yes; we have lived on the same place for the past twenty-seven years,
and both Mora and myself were born on the old ranch," replied Hugh.
After remaining rapt in silence a moment, Miss Estill said, as she and
Clifford stood apart from the others, while he stooped to gather a spray
of the sensitive-plant:--
"What is this strange, haunting sense of danger and grief that always
assails me on this spot? It is like the dim remembrance of some tragic
event connected with my own life--a half-forgotten night-mare, as it
were--the very elusiveness of which is distressing to me. I feel that
same sensation now which I mentioned having always felt on this spot,
when you told me how strangely you were affected when passing Antelope
Butte."
"I often experience that peculiar sentiment here, also, Miss Estill,--a
kind of perception or impression of some dire calamity with which not
only myself, but you likewise, have been connected here," Clifford
replied with troubled face.
"I am afraid we shall mould if we stay in this gloomy shade any longer,"
cried Grace, springing up with a little shiver; but the bright look
which young Estill beamed upon her showed plainly that he, at least, was
in no danger of such a blighting fate.
It was a beautiful scene that burst upon their view as they emerged from
under the low, sweeping boughs, and stood in the sunlight south of the
gothic cottage. Around the knoll, on which they were standing, purled
and gurgled the stream, fringed by feathery willows and stately elms,
and, after half embracing the hill in its tortuous folds, winding away
down the widening valley. Where the timber, which skirted the serpentine
river, grew in groves of deepest green, there the stream had expanded
into placid lakelets, which flashed like silver in the slanting
sunbeams.
On the south, in the smooth, level valley, were fields of ripening
grain,--wheat of coppery red or creamy gold, silvery sheen of rye and
oats, set in a frame of emerald where the wild prairies came sheer up to
the clear-cut fields, that were _innocent_ of fence or hedge. Then their
vision roamed out to the north, where the rolling hills melted away on
the dim horizon.
As they stood silently gazing on the tranquil landscape, the bell in the
latticed belfry of the Warlow homestead rang out in mellow clang, and
Maud said:--
"Let's return, for it is the supper-bell. I do hope, though, that mother
has prepared something more substantial for her guests than Clifford has
done for us this afternoon."
"Why, have we not reveled in mystery?" cried Grace.
"And feasted on landscape?" said Miss Estill.
"And did he not hospitably entertain us with legend, mellow and old?"
chimed Ralph.
"Sorry that I could not have treated you to fresher puns," retorted
Clifford, laughingly.
On rowing down the tranquil stream, and coming once more into the shady
yard of the Warlows, our young friends found the tea-table spread under
the boughs of the ever-serviceable elm, and Rob and Scott busy assisting
Mrs. Warlow with the evening meal.
As with deft fingers Maud culled choice bouquets from her garden, and
decked the table, she felt a thrill of pardonable pride in the snowy
damask, the crystal and silver that glittered with the polish of good
housewifery, and the tempting, dainty dishes which her mother had, with
true Western hospitality, prepared in honor of the guests.
Ah, hungry reader, I wish that you could have been there also; for my
mouth vainly waters, even yet, at the remembrance of asparagus and green
peas, spring-chicken smothered in cream (which I hasten to explain was
not the fowl of boarding-house memory and tradition, with which the
frosts of December had "monkeyed;" no barn-yard champion was it, with
cotton-like breast and sinewy limb, but a tender daughter of the
May-time, that had perished on the threshold of a bright young
pullethood), and frosty lemon-pie, just tinged with bronze, flanked by
the crimson moulds of plum-jelly.
An hour later, in the gloomy twilight, as the guests were taking leave,
Miss Estill said:--
"Your son has told me of the old tragedy that has saddened your life,
Colonel; but it is very strange that I should resemble that ill-fated
Mexican bride."
"Ah, Miss Estill, every hour you recall the memory of my lost friends;
just such a daughter might have blessed them, _if they had lived_," he
replied, with a sigh, as he searched the young face with his wistful
blue eyes.
"It is only a chance resemblance, of course--a mere coincidence," she
replied, in a tone of uneasiness. "My parents were living here at the
time of the massacre; but I never have heard of the dreadful occurrence
until to-day," she added.
"I would like very much to meet your father, and talk over the early
history of this country," said the colonel, eagerly. "I sometimes find
myself hoping that they might have escaped," he continued, in a
half-musing tone, like one whose mind is wholly engrossed by an
overmastering subject. She overlooked his incoherence, knowing well that
he referred to Bruce and Ivarene. "Since I have been here on the scene
of the tragedy, the thought often recurs that I took it for granted that
they perished, and have trusted too readily to circumstantial evidence
in confirmation of that belief."
"How strange it is that no trace of that enormous treasure of gold and
gems was ever obtained!" she replied. "But, then, the horde of
Cheyennes, which Hugh said to-day were reported as having been led by
white men, found it an easy task enough, no doubt, to carry away even
that great amount of coin after their murderous work."
"Ah! it is all a strange, dark mystery," he replied; "and to-day it is
more impenetrable than ever. But if I could see your father he might
remember."
Here the colonel paused abruptly, and threw up one hand with an
involuntary start, and Miss Estill saw by the faint light that he was
ashen pale. But as the others were now passing out through the gate, she
reluctantly shook hands with the colonel, who, she saw, was trembling
with repressed emotion; and then she took leave of the other members of
the family, vaguely wondering why the courtly old gentleman should be so
affected by events which had occurred more than a quarter of a century
before.
When, an hour later, Clifford returned from Squire Moreland's, whither
he had accompanied Miss Estill, he was accosted by Rob in the following
vein:--
"What's up, Cliff?"
"Up where?" replied his brother, evasively.
"On the porch, if you have eyes for anything less attractive than a
young lady with a mop of blue hair," said the indignant Rob.
"Oh--father and mother! Why, I can't see anything strange in our parents
sitting on the porch," replied his brother, in a tone of feigned
indifference.
"Well, but they have had their heads together and been plotting for an
hour; but Maud keeps up such an everlasting racket with her singing and
dish-clattering that I can't hear a word they say. That girl positively
is noisier than a fire-engine. Now, just listen at that!" as Maud's
voice sang in sweet crescendo:--
"Stars are shining, Mollie darling." (Crash, rattle.)
_Mrs. Warlow._--"Do you think it possible that they were saved?"
_Maud_ (diminuendo).--
"Through the mystic veil of night." (Rinkety-clink.)
_Colonel._--"She may be their daughter, who survived." (Splatter.)
_Maud_ (piano).--
"No one listens but the flowers,
As they hang their heads in shame." (Klinkety-klink.)
_Rob._--
"Yes, Miss Maud, you noisy magpie.
I hang ditto and the same."
_Clifford._--"If you don't keep quiet, I'll--"
(Klutter-terattle-tering.)
_Coffee-mill_, etc.--"Kr-rrrrr-r-rrr (Mollie) r-r-r (dar) rrrr-r-rrrr."
_Colonel._--"She is the very image of Ivarene; and I am almost converted
to Bruce's strange creed when I see them."
_Maud_ (at the well).--"Ke-pump, ke-pump, ke-pump!"
_Colonel._--"I saw them together to-day. I was perfectly bewildered; for
they are the very picture of Bruce and Ivarene on their wedding-day."
_Maud._--
"Mollie, fairest, sweetest, dearest!
Look up, darling, tell me this--"
_Rob._--
"Miss Maud Warlow, you're a bull-frog,
And I'd like to have a hook in your nose."
But, as his rhyme ended with such an ignominious fizzle, he hur
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