“Permission?”
“It is true, señor. I could not attempt it without the word of General Rotil,” announced Padre Andreas. “Of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the German if you say no.”
“Damn the German!” swore Perez.
“Good Father,” said Marto, “you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. Make your talk of fewer words.”
“Shall I go to the German?” repeated the priest.
“No,––let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were rebels who raided ranches in Altar,––political prisoners. Take General Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and–––”
“Señor, the sun is too high for idle talk,” said Marto briefly, “and your saddle waits.”
The priest held the stirrup for José Perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.
“To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover––two other lovers!––is not the game of a man,” he growled moodily. “If it was to do over, I–––”
“Take other thoughts with you,” said Padre Andreas sadly, “and my son, go with God!”
He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.
The men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to the portal.
“Padre, is this ammunition a gift of Don José, or is it magic from the old monks who hid the red gold of El Alisal and come back here to guard it and haunt Soledad?” inquired one of the boldest.
“There are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray in the desert. It is best forgotten.”
“But strange things do come about,” insisted another man. “Marto Cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of Doña Jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from God knows where!”
“It may be the Americano knows,” hazarded the first speaker. “He took her from Marto, and rides ever beside her. Who proves which is the enchanter?”
“It is ill work to put the name of ‘enchantment’ against any mortal,” chided the priest.
“That may be,” conceded the soldier, “but we have had speech of this thing, and look you!––Doña Jocasta rode in chains until the Americano crossed her trail, and Don Ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for the American guns, until the Americano rode to Soledad! Enchantment or not, he has luck for his friends!”
“As you please!” conceded the priest with more indifference than he felt. The Americano certainly did not belong to Soledad, and the wonder was that Ramon Rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady. Padre Andreas could easily perceive how the followers of Rotil thought it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil.
Instinctively he disapproved of Rhodes’ position in the group; his care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at Soledad. Before the stealing away of Doña Jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked; her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her behavior was different. She rode like a queen, and even the marriage was accepted as a justice! Padre Andreas secretly credited the heretic Americano with the change, and Mexican girls put no such dependence on a man outside of her own family,––unless that man was a lover!
He saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel leader, and with Doña Jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful things now that Rotil had given her power.
He found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the letter Kit was writing to the south. It was her first act as the wife of José Perez, and it was being written to the girl whom Perez had hoped to marry!
Kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows:
To
Señorita Dolores Terain,
Linda Vista Rancho, Sonora,
Honored Señorita:
As a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor peons of our district of Altar, I venture to address you, to whom womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness.
This is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in law courts by men.
I send with this the names of those poor people who were herded south for slavery by Adolf Conrad, a German who calls himself American. To your father, the illustrious General Terain, this man Conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this region. It is not true. They were simple peaceful workers on little ranches.
They were given shelter at your rancho of Linda Vista to work for their food until they could be deported, but I send with this a payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or any debts incurred. If it is not enough, I pledge myself to the amount you will regard as justice.
Dear Señorita, my husband, Don José, warns me that women cannot manage such affairs, but we can at least try. Parents wait here for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their parents. Will you aid in the Christian task of bringing them together quickly?
At your service with all respect,
Jocasta Benicia Perez,
Soledad Rancho, Sonora.
“But you write here of gold sent by messenger, señor!––I have no gold, only words can I send,” protested Doña Jocasta helplessly.
“Ah, but the words are more precious than all,” Kit assured her. “It is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it, señora. These people have held the gold ransom while waiting that word, and this child can bring it when the time is right.”
Doña Jocasta regarded Tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo.
“You,––the little one to whom even the Deliverer listens?” she said kindly. “But the wealth of a little Indian ranch would not seem riches to this illustrious lady, the Doña Dolores Terain.”
“Yet will I bring riches to her or to you, Excellencia, if only my mother and my sister are coming again to Palomitas,” said Tula earnestly.
“But whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer wealth for anyone?”
Kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre entered. It was a direct question, and to be answered with directness, and he watched Tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. But she told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question.
“Long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother and sister buy freedom. That is all, Excellencia, but the gold is good gold.”
She slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather strings of the burro-skin belt,––it fell heavily on the tile floor. She untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table.
“You see, señora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but never enough to pay for them.”
“Santa Maria!” cried the amazed priest. “That is red gold! In what place was it found?”
Tula laid her hand over the nuggets and faced him.
“That secret was the secret of Miguel who is dead.”
“But––some old Indian must know–––”
Tula shook her head with absolute finality.
“No old Indian in all the world knows that!” she said. “This was a secret of the youth of Miguel, and only when old and dying did he give it for his people. This I,––Tula, child of Miguel tell you.”
Padre Andreas looked from the girl to Kit and back again, knowing that the death of Miguel was a r
ecent thing since it had occurred after the stealing of the women.
“Where did your father die?” he asked.
“In the hills of the desert.”
“And––who had absolving and burial of him?”
“Absolving I do not know, but this man, his friend, had the making of the grave,” she said, indicating Kit, and the eyes of the priest rested again on Kit with a most curious searching regard. Evidently even this little Indian stray of the desert arrived at good fortune under the friendship of the American stranger,––and it was another added to the list of enchantings!
“Ah,” he murmured meaningly, “then this strange señor also has the knowing of this Indian gold? Is it truly gold of the earth, or witches’ gold of red clay?” and he went nearer, reaching his hand to touch it.
“Why all this question when the child offers it for a good Christian use?” demanded Doña Jocasta. “See, here is a piece of it heavy enough to weigh down many lumps of clay, and north or south it will prove welcome ransom. It is a miracle sent by the saints at this time.”
“Would the saints send the red gold of El Alisal to a heretic instead of a son of the church?” he asked. “And this is that gold for which the padres of Soledad paid with their lives long ago. There was never such red gold found in Sonora as that, and the church had its own claim on it;––it is mission gold!”
“No, not now,” said Tula, addressing Doña Jocasta,––“truly not now! They claimed it long ago, but the holding of it was a thing not for them. Fire came out of the clouds to kill them there, and no one saw them alive anymore, and no other priest ever found the gold. This much is found by Miguel, for a dead man’s promise!”
“The girl speaks straight, señora,” ventured Kit. “I have already told General Rotil of the promise, but no good will come of much talk over the quality of gold for that ransom. To carry that message south and bring back the women is a task for council, but outside these walls, no tongue must speak of the gold, else there would be no safety for this maid.”
“Yet a priest may ask how an Americano comes far from his home to guard gold and a maid in Sonora?” retorted Padre Andreas. “Strange affairs move these days in Altar––guns, ammunition, and the gold of dead men! In all these things you have a say, señor, yet you are but young in years, and–––”
“Padre,” interrupted Doña Jocasta with a note of command, “he was old enough to save this child from starvation in the desert, and he was old enough to save me when even you could no longer save me, so why object because he has guarded wealth, and means to use it in a way of mercy? Heretic he may be, but he has the trust of Ramon Rotil, and of me. Also it is forbidden to mention this belt or what it covers. I have given my word, and this is no time to halt the task we have set. It would better serve those lost people if you help us find a messenger who is safe.”
It was the first time the new Señora Perez assumed a tone of authority at Soledad, and Kit Rhodes thanked his lucky stars that she was arrayed with him instead of against him, for her eyes glowed green lightning on the priest whose curiosity had gotten him into trouble. Kit could not really blame him, for there was neither priest nor peon of the land who had not had visions of conquest if only the red gold of the Alisal should be conveniently stumbled upon!
And Tula listened to the words of Doña Jocasta as she would have listened to a god.
“I go,” she said eagerly. “The trail it is strange to me, but I will find that way. I think I find in the dark that trail on which the mother of me was going!”
Doña Jocasta patted the hand of the girl, but looked at Kit. “That trail is not for a maid,” she said meaningly. “I came over it, and know.”
“I think it is for me,” he answered. “The promise was mine. I know none of the people, but the names are written. It is eighty miles.”
“Three days.”
“More, double that,” he said thoughtfully, and the eyes of Tula met his in disapproval. It was the merest hint of a frown, but it served. She could do the errand better than she could guard the rest of the gold. If her little belt was lost it was little, but if his store should be found it would be enough to start a new revolution in Sonora;––the men of Rotil and the suspicious padre would unite on the treasure trail. It was the padre who gave him most uneasiness, because the padre was guessing correctly! The dream of a mighty church of the desert to commemorate all the ruined missions of the wilderness, was a great dream for the priest of a little pueblo, and the eyes of the Padre Andreas were alight with keen,––too keen, anticipation.
“I go,” stated Tula again. “No other one is knowing my people.”
“That is a true word,” decided Padre Andreas, “a major-domo of evil mind at Linda Vista could take the gold and send north whatever unruly vagabonds he had wished to be free from. Let the maid go, and I can arrange to see her there safe.”
This kind offer did not receive the approval deserved. Kit wished no man on the trail with Tula who knew of the gold, and Tula herself was not eager to journey into unknown regions with a man of religion, who had already learned from Valencia of the elaborate ceremony planned for a “Judas day!” Little though Tula knew of churchly observances, she had an instinctive fear that she would be detained in the south too long to officiate in this special ceremony on which she had set her heart.
“Not with a priest will I go,” she announced. “He would shut me in a school, and in that place I would die. Clodomiro can go, or Isidro, who is so good and knowing all our people.”
“That is a good thought,” agreed Doña Jocasta, who had no desire that Padre Andreas meet the family of Terain and recount details of the Perez marriage,––not at least until she had worn her official title a little longer and tested the authority it gave her. “That is a good thought, for I have no wish that my house be left without a priest. Señor Rhodes, which man is best?”
But before Kit could answer Ramon Rotil stood in the door, and his eyes went to the papers on the table. Tula had recovered her belt, and fastened it under the manta she wore.
“So! you are working in council, eh?” he asked. “And have arrived at plans? First your own safety, señora?”
“No, señor,––first the bringing back of the people driven off by the slavers. The letter is written; this child is to take it because the people are her people, but a safe man is wanted, and these two I cannot let go. You know José Perez, and his wife must not be without a man of religion as guard, yet he alone would not save me from others, hence the American señor–––”
“Sure, that is a safe thought,” and he took the seat offered by Kit. But he shook his head after listening to their suggestions.
“No. Isidro is too old, and Clodomiro with his flying ribbands of a would-be lover, is too young for that trail. You want––you want–––”
He paused as his mind evidently went searching among his men for one dependable. Then he smiled at Kit.
“You saved me the right man, señor! Who would be better than the foreman of Soledad? Would it not be expected that Señora Perez would send the most important of the ranchmen? Very well then. Marto is safe, he will go.”
“But Marto––” began Padre Andreas, when Rotil faced about, staring him into silence.
“Marto will return here to Soledad today,” he said, and the face of the priest went pale. It was as if he had said that the task of Marto on the east trail would be ended.
“Yes, Marto Cavayso has been at Hermosillo,” assented Doña Jocasta. “He will know all the ways to arrive quickly.”
“That will be attended to. Will you, señor, see to it that horse and provision are made ready for the trail? And you, señora? Soledad in the wilderness is no good place for a lady. When this matter of the slaves is arranged, will it please you to ride south, or north? Troops of the south will be coming this way;––it will be a land of soldiers and foraging.”
“How shall I answer that?” murmured Doña Jocasta miserably. “In the south José Perez may make
life a not possible thing for me,––and in the north I would be a stranger.”
“José Perez will not make trouble; yet trouble might be made,––at first,” said Rotil avoiding her eyes, and turning again to Kit. “Señor, by the time Marto gets back from the south, the pack mules will be here again. Until they are gone from Soledad I trust you in charge of Señora Perez. She must have a manager, and there is none so near as you.”
“At her service,” said Kit promptly, “but this place–––”
“Ai, that is it,” agreed Rotil. “North is the safer place for women alone, and you––did you not say that on Granados there were friends?”
“Why, yes, General,” replied Kit. “My friend, Captain Pike, is somewhere near, and the owner of Granados is a lady, and among us we’ll do our best. But it’s a hard trip, and I’ve only one gun.”
“You will take your choice of guns, horses, or men,” decided Rotil. “That is your work. Also you will take with you the evidence of Señora Perez on that matter of the murder. The padre can also come in on that,––so it will be service all around.”
Chappo came to the door to report that all was ready for the trail, and Rotil stood up, and handed to Doña Jocasta the marriage contract.
“Consider the best way of protecting this until you reach an alcalde and have a copy made and witnessed,” he said warningly. “It protects your future. The fortunes of war may take all the rest of us, but the wife of Perez needs the record of our names; see to it!”
She looked up at him as if to speak, but no words came. He gazed curiously at her bent head, and the slender hands over the papers. In his life of turmoil and bloodshed he had halted to secure for her the right to a principality. In setting his face to the east, and the battle line, he knew the chance was faint that he would ever see her again, and his smile had in it a touch of self-derision at the thought,––for after all he was nothing to her!
“So––that is all,” he said, turning away. “You come with me a little ways, señor, and to you, señora, adios!”
“Go with God, Ramon Rotil,” she murmured, “and if ever a friend is of need to you, remember the woman to whom you gave justice and a name!”
The Treasure Trail Page 26
