by Zane Grey
XVII. The Lost Mine of the Padres
In the cool, starry evenings the campers sat around a blazing fire andtold and listened to stories thrillingly fitted to the dark crags andthe wild solitude.
Monty Price had come to shine brilliantly as a storyteller. He wasan atrocious liar, but this fact would not have been evident to hisenthralled listeners if his cowboy comrades, in base jealousy, had notbetrayed him. The truth about his remarkable fabrications, however,had not become known to Castleton, solely because of the Englishman'sobtuseness. And there was another thing much stranger than this andquite as amusing. Dorothy Coombs knew Monty was a liar; but she wasso fascinated by the glittering, basilisk eyes he riveted upon her, sotaken in by his horrible tales of blood, that despite her knowledge shecould not help believing them.
Manifestly Monty was very proud of his suddenly acquired gift. Formerlyhe had hardly been known to open his lips in the presence of strangers.Monty had developed more than one singular and hitherto unknown traitsince his supremacy at golf had revealed his possibilities. He wasas sober and vain and pompous about his capacity for lying as aboutanything else. Some of the cowboys were jealous of him because he heldthe attention and, apparently, the admiration of the ladies; and Nelswas jealous, not because Monty made himself out to be a wonderfulgun-man, but because Monty could tell a story. Nels really had been thehero of a hundred fights; he had never been known to talk about them;but Dorothy's eyes and Helen's smile had somehow upset his modesty.Whenever Monty would begin to talk Nels would growl and knock his pipeon a log, and make it appear he could not stay and listen, though henever really left the charmed circle of the camp-fire. Wild horses couldnot have dragged him away.
One evening at twilight, as Madeline was leaving her tent, sheencountered Monty. Evidently, he had way-laid her. With the mostmysterious of signs and whispers he led her a little aside.
"Miss Hammond, I'm makin' bold to ask a favor of you," he said.
Madeline smiled her willingness.
"To-night, when they've all shot off their chins an' it's quiet-like,I want you to ask me, jest this way, 'Monty, seein' as you've hed moreadventures than all them cow-punchers put together, tell us about themost turrible time you ever hed.' Will you ask me, Miss Hammond, jestkinda sincere like?"
"Certainly I will, Monty," she replied.
His dark, seared face had no more warmth than a piece of cold, volcanicrock, which it resembled. Madeline appreciated how monstrous Dorothyfound this burned and distorted visage, how deformed the little manlooked to a woman of refined sensibilities. It was difficult forMadeline to look into his face. But she saw behind the blackened mask.And now she saw in Monty's deep eyes a spirit of pure fun.
So, true to her word, Madeline remembered at an opportune moment, whenconversation had hushed and only the long, dismal wail of coyotes brokethe silence, to turn toward the little cowboy.
"Monty," she said, and paused for effect--"Monty, seeing that you havehad more adventures than all the cowboys together, tell us about themost terrible time you ever had."
Monty appeared startled at the question that fastened all eyes upon him.He waved a deprecatory hand.
"Aw, Miss Hammond, thankin' you all modest-like fer the compliment, I'llhev to refuse," replied Monty, laboring in distress. "It's too harrowin'fer tender-hearted gurls to listen to."
"Go on?" cried everybody except the cowboys. Nels began to nod his headas if he, as well as Monty, understood human nature. Dorothy hugged herknees with a kind of shudder. Monty had fastened the hypnotic eyes uponher. Castleton ceased smoking, adjusted his eyeglass, and prepared tolisten in great earnestness.
Monty changed his seat to one where the light from the blazing logsfell upon his face; and he appeared plunged into melancholy and profoundthought.
"Now I tax myself, I can't jest decide which was the orfulest time Iever hed," he said, reflectively.
Here Nels blew forth an immense cloud of smoke, as if he desired to hidehimself from sight. Monty pondered, and then when the smoke rolled awayhe turned to Nels.
"See hyar, old pard, me an' you seen somethin' of each other in thePanhandle, more 'n thirty years ago--"
"Which we didn't," interrupted Nels, bluntly. "Shore you can't make meout an ole man."
"Mebbe it wasn't so darn long. Anyhow, Nels, you recollect them threehoss-thieves I hung all on one cottonwood-tree, an' likewise thetboo-tiful blond gurl I rescooed from a band of cutthroats who murderedher paw, ole Bill Warren, the buffalo-hunter? Now, which of them twoscraps was the turriblest, in your idee?"
"Monty, my memory's shore bad," replied the unimpeachable Nels.
"Tell us about the beautiful blonde," cried at least three of theladies. Dorothy, who had suffered from nightmare because of a formerstory of hanging men on trees, had voicelessly appealed to Monty tospare her more of that.
"All right, we'll hev the blond gurl," said Monty, settling back,"though I ain't thinkin' her story is most turrible of the two, an'it'll rake over tender affections long slumberin' in my breast."
As he paused there came a sharp, rapping sound. This appeared to be Nelsknocking the ashes out of his pipe on a stump--a true indication of thepassing of content from that jealous cowboy.
"It was down in the Panhandle, 'way over in the west end of thetComanche huntin'-ground, an' all the redskins an' outlaws in thetcountry were hidin' in the river-bottoms, an' chasin' some of the lastbuffalo herds thet hed wintered in there. I was a young buck them days,an' purty much of a desperado, I'm thinkin'. Though of all the seventeennotches on my gun--an' each notch meant a man killed face to face--therewas only one thet I was ashamed of. Thet one was fer an expressmessenger who I hit on the head most unprofessional like, jest becausehe wouldn't hand over a leetle package. I hed the kind of a reputashunthet made all the fellers in saloons smile an' buy drinks.
"Well, I dropped into a place named Taylor's Bend, an' was peacefulstandin' to the bar when three cow-punchers come in, an', me bein' withmy back turned, they didn't recognize me an' got playful. I didn't stopdrinkin', an' I didn't turn square round; but when I stopped shootin'under my arm the saloon-keeper hed to go over to the sawmill an' fetcha heap of sawdust to cover up what was left of them three cow-punchers,after they was hauled out. You see, I was rough them days, an' wouldshoot ears off an' noses off an' hands off; when in later days I'd jestkill a man quick, same as Wild Bill.
"News drifts into town thet night thet a gang of cut-throats hedmurdered ole Bill Warren an' carried off his gurl. I gathers up a fewgood gun-men, an' we rid out an' down the river-bottom, to an ole logcabin, where the outlaws hed a rondevoo. We rid up boldlike, an' made ahell of a racket. Then the gang began to throw lead from the cabin, an'we all hunted cover. Fightin' went on all night. In the mornin' all myoutfit was killed but two, an' they was shot up bad. We fought all daywithout eatin' or drinkin', except some whisky I hed, an' at night I wason the job by my lonesome.
"Bein' bunged up some myself, I laid off an' went down to the river towash the blood off, tie up my wounds, an' drink a leetle. While I wasdown there along comes one of the cutthroats with a bucket. Instead ofgettin' water he got lead, an' as he was about to croak he tells me awhole bunch of outlaws was headin' in there, doo to-morrer. An' if Iwanted to rescoo the gurl I hed to be hurryin'. There was five fellersleft in the cabin.
"I went back to the thicket where I hed left my hoss, an' loaded up withtwo more guns an' another belt, an' busted a fresh box of shells. If Irecollect proper, I got some cigarettes, too. Well, I mozied back to thecabin. It was a boo-tiful moonshiny night, an' I wondered if ole Bill'sgun was as purty as I'd heerd. The grass growed long round the cabin,an' I crawled up to the door without startin' anythin'. Then I figgered.There was only one door in thet cabin, an' it was black dark inside. Ijest grabbed open the door an' slipped in quick. It worked all right.They heerd me, but hedn't been quick enough to ketch me in the light ofthe door. Of course there was some shots, but I ducked too quick, an'changed my position.
; "Ladies an' gentlemen, thet there was some dool by night. An' I wasn'toften in the place where they shot. I was most wonderful patient, an'jest waited until one of them darned ruffians would get so nervous he'dhev to hunt me up. When mornin' come there they was all piled up onthe floor, all shot to pieces. I found the gurl. Purty! Say, she wasboo-tiful. We went down to the river, where she begun to bathe mywounds. I'd collected a dozen more or so, an' the sight of tears in herlovely eyes, an' my blood a-stainin' of her little hands, jest nat'rallywakened a trembly spell in my heart. I seen she was took the same way,an' thet settled it.
"We was comin' up from the river, an' I hed jest straddled my hoss, withthe gurl behind, when we run right into thet cutthroat gang thet wasdoo about then. Bein' some handicapped, I couldn't drop more 'n onegun-round of them, an' then I hed to slope. The whole gang folleredme, an' some miles out chased me over a ridge right into a big herd ofbuffalo. Before I knowed what was what thet herd broke into a stampede,with me in the middle. Purty soon the buffalo closed in tight. I knowedI was in some peril then. But the gurl trusted me somethin' pitiful. Iseen again thet she hed fell in love with me. I could tell from the wayshe hugged me an' yelled. Before long I was some put to it to keep myhoss on his feet. Far as I could see was dusty, black, bobbin', shaggyhumps. A huge cloud of dust went along over our heads. The roar oftramplin' hoofs was turrible. My hoss weakened, went down, an' wascarried along a leetle while I slipped off with the gurl on to the backsof the buffalo.
"Ladies, I ain't denyin' that then Monty Price was some scairt. Fusttime in my life! But the trustin' face of thet boo-tiful gurl, as shelay in my arms an' hugged me an' yelled, made my spirit leap like ashootin' star. I just began to jump from buffalo to buffalo. I must hevjumped a mile of them bobbin' backs before I come to open places. An'here's where I performed the greatest stunts of my life. I hed on mybig spurs, an' I jest sit down an' rid an' spurred till thet perticklerbuffalo I was on got near another, an' then I'd flop over. Thusly I gotto the edge of the herd, tumbled off'n the last one, an' rescooed thegurl.
"Well, as my memory takes me back, thet was a most affectin' walk hometo the little town where she lived. But she wasn't troo to me, an'married another feller. I was too much a sport to kill him. But thetlow-down trick rankled in my breast. Gurls is strange. I've neverstopped wonderin' how any gurl who has been hugged an' kissed by one mancould marry another. But matoor experience teaches me thet sich is thecase."
The cowboys roared; Helen and Mrs. Beck and Edith laughed till theycried; Madeline found repression absolutely impossible; Dorothy sathugging her knees, her horror at the story no greater than at Monty'sunmistakable reference to her and to the fickleness of women;and Castleton for the first time appeared to be moved out of hisimperturbability, though not in any sense by humor. Indeed, when he cameto notice it, he was dumfounded by the mirth.
"By Jove! you Americans are an extraordinary people," he said. "I don'tsee anything blooming funny in Mr. Price's story of his adventure. ByJove! that was a bally warm occasion. Mr. Price, when you speak of beingfrightened for the only time in your life, I appreciate what you mean. Ihave experienced that. I was frightened once."
"Dook, I wouldn't hev thought it of you," replied Monty. "I'm suretolerable curious to hear about it."
Madeline and her friends dared not break the spell, for fear that theEnglishman might hold to his usual modest reticence. He had exploredin Brazil, seen service in the Boer War, hunted in India andAfrica--matters of experience of which he never spoke. Upon thisoccasion, however, evidently taking Monty's recital word for word asliteral truth, and excited by it into a Homeric mood, he might tell astory. The cowboys almost fell upon their knees in their importunity.There was a suppressed eagerness in their solicitations, a hint ofsomething that meant more than desire, great as it was, to hear a storytold by an English lord. Madeline divined instantly that the cowboyshad suddenly fancied that Castleton was not the dense and easily fooledperson they had made such game of; that he had played his part well;that he was having fun at their expense; that he meant to tell a story,a lie which would simply dwarf Monty's. Nels's keen, bright expectationsuggested how he would welcome the joke turned upon Monty. The slowclosing of Monty's cavernous smile, the gradual sinking of his proudbearing, the doubt with which he began to regard Castleton--these wereproofs of his fears.
"I have faced charging tigers and elephants in India, and chargingrhinos and lions in Africa," began Castleton, his quick and fluentspeech so different from the drawl of his ordinary conversation; "but Inever was frightened but once. It will not do to hunt those wild beastsif you are easily balled up. This adventure I have in mind happened inBritish East Africa, in Uganda. I was out with safari, and we were in anative district much infested by man-eating lions. Perhaps I may as wellstate that man-eaters are very different from ordinary lions. They arealways matured beasts, and sometimes--indeed, mostly--are old. Theybecome man-eaters most likely by accident or necessity. When old theyfind it more difficult to make a kill, being slower, probably, and withpoorer teeth. Driven by hunger, they stalk and kill a native, and, oncehaving tasted human blood, they want no other. They become absolutelyfearless and terrible in their attacks.
"The natives of this village near where we camped were in a terrorizedstate owing to depredations of two or more man-eaters. The night ofour arrival a lion leaped a stockade fence, seized a native fromamong others sitting round a fire, and leaped out again, carrying thescreaming fellow away into the darkness. I determined to kill theselions, and made a permanent camp in the village for that purpose. Byday I sent beaters into the brush and rocks of the river-valley, andby night I watched. Every night the lions visited us, but I did not seeone. I discovered that when they roared around the camp they were not soliable to attack as when they were silent. It was indeed remarkable howsilently they could stalk a man. They could creep through a thicketso dense you would not believe a rabbit could get through, and do itwithout the slightest sound. Then, when ready to charge, they did sowith terrible onslaught and roar. They leaped right into a circle offires, tore down huts, even dragged natives from the low trees. Therewas no way to tell at which point they would make an attack.
"After ten days or more of this I was worn out by loss of sleep. And onenight, when tired out with watching, I fell asleep. My gun-bearerwas alone in the tent with me. A terrible roar awakened me, then anunearthly scream pierced right into my ears. I always slept with myrifle in my hands, and, grasping it, I tried to rise. But I could notfor the reason that a lion was standing over me. Then I lay still. Thescreams of my gun-bearer told me that the lion had him. I was fond ofthis fellow and wanted to save him. I thought it best, however, not tomove while the lion stood over me. Suddenly he stepped, and I felt poorLuki's feet dragging across me. He screamed, 'Save me, master!' Andinstinctively I grasped at him and caught his foot. The lion walked outof the tent dragging me as I held to Luki's foot. The night was brightmoonlight. I could see the lion distinctly. He was a huge, black-manedbrute, and he held Luki by the shoulder. The poor lad kept screamingfrightfully. The man-eater must have dragged me forty yards before hebecame aware of a double incumbrance to his progress. Then he haltedand turned. By Jove! he made a devilish fierce object with his shaggy,massive head, his green-fire eyes, and his huge jaws holding Luki. I letgo of Luki's foot and bethought myself of the gun. But as I lay there onmy side, before attempting to rise, I made a horrible discovery. I didnot have my rifle at all. I had Luki's iron spear, which he always hadnear him. My rifle had slipped out of the hollow of my arm, and when thelion awakened me, in my confusion I picked up Luki's spear instead. Thebloody brute dropped Luki and uttered a roar that shook the ground. Itwas then I felt frightened. For an instant I was almost paralyzed.The lion meant to charge, and in one spring he could reach me. Undercircumstances like those a man can think many things in little time. Iknew to try to run would be fatal. I remembered how strangely lions hadbeen known to act upon occasion. One had been frightened by an umbrella;one had been frightened
by a blast from a cow-horn; another had beenfrightened by a native who in running from one lion ran right at theother which he had not seen. Accordingly, I wondered if I could frightenthe lion that meant to leap at me. Acting upon wild impulse, I proddedhim in the hind quarters with the spear. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ablooming idiot if that lion did not cower like a whipped dog, put histail down, and begin to slink away. Quick to see my chance, I jumpedup yelling, and made after him, prodding him again. He let out a bellowsuch as you could imagine would come from an outraged king of beasts.I prodded again, and then he loped off. I found Luki not badly hurt. Infact, he got well. But I've never forgotten that scare."
When Castleton finished his narrative there was a trenchant silence. Alleyes were upon Monty. He looked beaten, disgraced, a disgusted man. Yetthere shone from his face a wonderful admiration for Castleton.
"Dook, you win!" he said; and, dropping his head, he left the camp-firecircle with the manner of a deposed emperor.
Then the cowboys exploded. The quiet, serene, low-voiced Nels yelledlike a madman and he stood upon his head. All the other cowboys wentthrough marvelous contortions. Mere noise was insufficient to relievetheir joy at what they considered the fall and humiliation of the tyrantMonty.
The Englishman stood there and watched them in amused consternation.They baffled his understanding. Plain it was to Madeline and her friendsthat Castleton had told the simple truth. But never on the earth, oranywhere else, could Nels and his comrades have been persuaded thatCastleton had not lied deliberately to humble their great exponent ofAnanias.
Everybody seemed reluctant to break the camp-fire spell. The logs hadburned out to a great heap of opal and gold and red coals, in the heartof which quivered a glow alluring to the spirit of dreams. As the blazesubsided the shadows of the pines encroached darker and darker upon thecircle of fading light. A cool wind fanned the embers, whipped up flakesof white ashes, and moaned through the trees. The wild yelps of coyoteswere dying in the distance, and the sky was a wonderful dark-blue domespangled with white stars.
"What a perfect night!" said Madeline. "This is a night to understandthe dream, the mystery, the wonder of the Southwest. Florence, for longyou have promised to tell us the story of the lost mine of the padres.It will give us all pleasure, make us understand something of the thrallin which this land held the Spaniards who discovered it so many yearsago. It will be especially interesting now, because this mountain hidessomewhere under its crags the treasures of the lost mine of the padres."
*****
"In the sixteenth century," Florence began, in her soft, slow voice sosuited to the nature of the legend, "a poor young padre of New Spain wasshepherding his goats upon a hill when the Virgin appeared before him.He prostrated himself at her feet, and when he looked up she was gone.But upon the maguey plant near where she had stood there were goldenashes of a strange and wonderful substance. He took the incident as agood omen and went again to the hilltop. Under the maguey had sprungup slender stalks of white, bearing delicate gold flowers, and as theseflowers waved in the wind a fine golden dust, as fine as powdered ashes,blew away toward the north. Padre Juan was mystified, but believed thatgreat fortune attended upon him and his poor people. So he went againand again to the hilltop in hope that the Virgin would appear to him.
"One morning, as the sun rose gloriously, he looked across the windyhill toward the waving grass and golden flowers under the maguey, andhe saw the Virgin beckoning to him. Again he fell upon his knees; butshe lifted him and gave him of the golden flowers, and bade him leavehis home and people to follow where these blowing golden ashes led.There he would find gold--pure gold--wonderful fortune to bring back tohis poor people to build a church for them, and a city.
"Padre Juan took the flowers and left his home, promising to return,and he traveled northward over the hot and dusty desert, through themountain passes, to a new country where fierce and warlike Indiansmenaced his life. He was gentle and good, and of a persuasive speech.Moreover, he was young and handsome of person. The Indians were Apaches,and among them he became a missionary, while always he was searching forthe flowers of gold. He heard of gold lying in pebbles upon the mountainslopes, but he never found any. A few of the Apaches he converted; themost of them, however, were prone to be hostile to him and his religion.But Padre Juan prayed and worked on.
"There came a time when the old Apache chief, imagining the padre haddesigns upon his influence with the tribe, sought to put him to deathby fire. The chief's daughter, a beautiful, dark-eyed maiden, secretlyloved Juan and believed in his mission, and she interceded for hislife and saved him. Juan fell in love with her. One day she came tohim wearing golden flowers in her dark hair, and as the wind blew theflowers a golden dust blew upon it. Juan asked her where to find suchflowers, and she told him that upon a certain day she would take himto the mountain to look for them. And upon the day she led up to themountain-top from which they could see beautiful valleys and great treesand cool waters. There at the top of a wonderful slope that looked downupon the world, she showed Juan the flowers. And Juan found gold in suchabundance that he thought he would go out of his mind. Dust of gold!Grains of gold! Pebbles of gold! Rocks of gold! He was rich beyond alldreams. He remembered the Virgin and her words. He must return to hispeople and build their church, and the great city that would bear hisname.
"But Juan tarried. Always he was going manana. He loved the dark-eyedApache girl so well that he could not leave her. He hated himself forhis infidelity to his Virgin, to his people. He was weak and false,a sinner. But he could not go, and he gave himself up to love of theIndian maiden.
"The old Apache chief discovered the secret love of his daughter and thepadre. And, fierce in his anger, he took her up into the mountains andburned her alive and cast her ashes upon the wind. He did not kill PadreJuan. He was too wise, and perhaps too cruel, for he saw the strengthof Juan's love. Besides, many of his tribe had learned much from theSpaniard.
"Padre Juan fell into despair. He had no desire to live. He faded andwasted away. But before he died he went to the old Indians who hadburned the maiden, and he begged them, when he was dead, to burn hisbody and to cast his ashes to the wind from that wonderful slope,where they would blow away to mingle forever with those of his Indiansweetheart.
"The Indians promised, and when Padre Juan died they burned his body andtook his ashes to the mountain heights and cast them to the wind, wherethey drifted and fell to mix with the ashes of the Indian girl he hadloved.
"Years passed. More padres traveled across the desert to the home ofthe Apaches, and they heard the story of Juan. Among their number wasa padre who in his youth had been one of Juan's people. He set forth tofind Juan's grave, where he believed he would also find the gold. And hecame back with pebbles of gold and flowers that shed a golden dust,and he told a wonderful story. He had climbed and climbed into themountains, and he had come to a wonderful slope under the crags. Thatslope was yellow with golden flowers. When he touched them golden ashesdrifted from them and blew down among the rocks. There the padre founddust of gold, grains of gold, pebbles of gold, rocks of gold.
"Then all the padres went into the mountains. But the discoverer of themine lost his way. They searched and searched until they were old andgray, but never found the wonderful slope and flowers that marked thegrave and the mine of Padre Juan.
"In the succeeding years the story was handed down from father to son.But of the many who hunted for the lost mine of the padres there wasnever a Mexican or an Apache. For the Apache the mountain slopes werehaunted by the spirit of an Indian maiden who had been false to hertribe and forever accursed. For the Mexican the mountain slopes werehaunted by the spirit of the false padre who rolled stones upon theheads of those adventurers who sought to find his grave and his accursedgold."
