Chapter XII.
The week which followed brought sad tidings to the Warlow family. Ablack-bordered letter came, bearing the post-mark of San Francisco; butbefore it was opened the family knew its import.
Mrs. Warlow's only brother, William, had been in the mines for severalyears, but since his health had failed he had been making the greatcoast city his home; and, although grieved at the announcement of hisdeath, they were not unprepared for the sad news.
The lawyer wrote that he held a few thousand dollars of the deceased'smoney, which was left by the will to Mrs. Warlow, and they were alsoinformed that the "Redwood" mine was left to Robbie, who was a greatfavorite with his uncle; but this latter property was as yetunproductive, though the attorney conveyed an intimation that it mightsome day prove very valuable, as there were mines of fabulous richnessnear by.
Soon the rumor went flying through the colony that the Warlows hadfallen heirs to an immense estate, and as usual the report lost nothingby traveling; so our friends soon found themselves invested by the haloof riches without any of its substantial benefits.
Speculations and conjectures were rife among the neighbors as to the"best manner of investing their friend Warlow's fortune;" and, in fact,it became impossible for any member of the colonel's family to meet anacquaintance without being informed of some great opening for ajudicious investment, that was only waiting capital and enterprise todevelop the fact that there was "millions in it."
As Clifford paused one day to discuss the state of the weather in aneighborly way with a male member of this well-meaning but misguidedclass, he learned that all the vast tract of vacant land to the north,which still belonged to the government, had been condemned as being,"unfit for agricultural purposes," and would be "offered" at public salethe following August at the local land-office.
When young Warlow parted with his informant the matter was dismissed;but whenever he glanced away to the north or east at the billowy hillsand level, rich dales, he would begin planning how he could secure atract of the land before it passed into the hands of relentlessspeculators; and one day he actually rode out over the fertile,picturesque country for miles, and with a blush found himself dreaminghow that long, narrow valley should be sown to grain, and the gallopinghills, clothed with rich grasses, could provide pasturage for his vast,imaginary flocks and herds.
Alas, that the lack of a few handfuls of "filthy lucre" only, stoodbetween himself and the ownership of the broad acres on every hand! Witha dreary sigh he realized, for the first time in his life, how bitter isthe lot of the poor but ambitious man, who sees the avenues to wealthbarred by his lack of capital.
As he stood on the spot where his father had lost his fortune so manyyears before, Clifford thought how many hundred thousand acres of thatrolling, fertile country the lost wealth represented; and while hishorse grazed quietly near, the youth threw himself down in the coolshadow of the ruined wall, dreaming and planning how he might recoverthe vast wealth that he had long suspected was buried here near thescene of the tragedy.
But when he calmly began to analyze the evidence on which his suspicionswere based, he was disappointed to see how visionary it all seemed inthe clear light of reason. But it was too dear and cherished a theory tobe relinquished without a mental struggle; so again he began to persuadehimself that those scheming white men, of whom young Estill hadspoken--those inhuman villains--might have secreted the gold from thedrunken Indians, and it might have been that the blood-stained,avaricious leaders had died a violent death in those turbulent days, andthe great wealth was still sleeping, undisturbed, all these years, whilehis father was suffering under the heavy load of poverty and fallenfortune. As Clifford still mused, there flashed across his mind thelines of Rokeby:--
"Then dig and tomb your precious heap, And bid the dead your treasure keep."
Springing to his feet, young Warlow cried aloud in his excitement:--
"Ah! it is all clear now--the blood on the grass and the newly madegraves, of which Uncle Roger spoke! Yes, yes--they buried the dead andthe gold in the same grave, and then decoyed the savages away! It may bethat those bright doubloons, the red gold of the Walravens and myfather, are buried but a few steps from where I stand."
Flinging aside doubt and uncertainty, he hurried down the hill to thespot where his father had said the treasure-laden vehicle had stood onthat fatal night, and long and eagerly young Warlow searched for a traceof the graves. But it was all in vain; for the vast tide of travel thathad flowed for a quarter of a century over the spot had not onlyobliterated all trace of those lowly mounds, but had also worn themellow soil into deep gullies, down the sloping sides of which theknotted buffalo-grass crept like webs of pale-green lace.
In the old trail, where once the cannon of Phil Kearney had rumbled, aswith his army he hurried forward to Santa Fe, and along where Coronado,Lee, Fremont, and Kit Carson had ridden, now the wild mignonette, inspikes of purple, fragrant blossoms, grew, loading the sultry air withtheir rich odors. The sensitive-rose, its fern-like foliage tufted withrosy balls of gold-flecked down, closed its leaves as Clifford hurriedlybrushed by; but in the tangled thickets of wild indigo, now blooming insprays of violet and creamy flowers, or among the tall, lush, bluestem-grass the young "fortune hunter" found no traces of the lostwealth--no sunken graves were visible to tell of that tragedy of longago; so it was with a slow step and feeling of despondency that ourfriend sought the shelter of his latticed porch.
While he sat, lost in speculation as to the best method of prosecutinghis search, which he was too resolute to give up easily, his eyes restedon an implement that at a glance showed its adaptability for the verypurpose. It was a long rod of iron, tipped with twisted steel. Heremembered having had it made the year before for the men who weresearching for a vein of water before sinking his wells. As he seized iteagerly, and started once again down the hill, he felt gratified andelated to perceive how easily he could now test the earth to the depthof five feet, and ascertain if there was any foreign substance in themellow, loamy soil, which throughout the valley was a bed of rich, blackloam, entirely free from stone or boulders.
He had but reached the spot near the river, when he saw his fatherriding through the wheat-field toward where our young schemer stood; andhastily tossing the iron rod into a thicket, Clifford met his fatherwith an assumption of careless indifference; for all his allusions inthe past to the lost fortune had only met with the sarcastic disapprovalof his parent, who, being an intensely practical man himself, could nottolerate any thing so visionary as a search for the treasure seemed tobe; and young Warlow had decided to keep his investigations secret, thusavoiding the censure and ridicule of the colonel. After a briefdiscussion in regard to the condition of the ripening grain, Cliffordremarked:--
"It seems very strange, father, that no trace can be found of thosegraves which Uncle Roger mentioned having seen near the Old Corral, whenhe found you after the robbery and massacre."
"This is too busy a time for us to speculate on the past, my boy. Thewheat has ripened splendidly--I never saw a field to equal that valleyyonder--and we will have to start the header to-morrow; so if you willride out on to the Flats and engage three more teams, I will go down toSquire Moreland's and tell them we shall begin early in the morning,"said the colonel.
"But, father, first tell me as nearly as possible where those graveswere located; for I have a strange curiosity regarding them of late. Itmust be near this very spot?"
"Yes, yes; near that old cottonwood-tree, or on the level space of sodjust this side. But Clifford," continued he in a tone of suspicion quiteforeign to the kindly colonel, "what nonsense are you meditating now?You are not still counting on that lost fortune?"
"Well, father, there has been a growing belief in my mind of late thatthe treasure is secreted near here. Think how impossible it would havebeen for a leader of such a band as those savages were, to divide thebooty satisfactorily among the pack of drunken monsters. If the leaderhad the acumen that I belie
ve he possessed, he, no doubt, buried thegold, at least, in one of those graves while the others were stupefiedby the liquor; and there is a chance that he may never have returned,owing to the dangers to which such turbulent villains are alwaysexposed. I have thought this over carefully, until at last I amconvinced--"
"That your father has a damned fool for a son!" broke in the colonelhotly, as he rode away.
After supper Clifford said he would go up to his house and spend thenight--an announcement which caused no surprise, as he frequently stayedthere; but on this occasion Robbie remarked to Maud:--
"Cliff must be _schooling his courage_ by staying of nights up at thatold spook-ranch; but a fellow who can stand that, could pop the questionto the witch of Macbeth without faltering."
"What do you mean by his popping the question, Rob?" said Maud, settingher pail of foamy milk down on the cellar-steps, while she regarded thehandsome youth with a puzzled look from her round, blue eyes.
"Why just this," he replied, after "swigging" down a pint of fresh milkfrom his own pail, and deliberately wiping his lips with hisshirt-sleeve; "Cliff has got more sand in his gizzard than most fellows;but I guess he feels too poor, or something, to talk _marry_ to MoraEstill, so he goes mooning off up there to that old spectre's nest--justlike fellows do in novels, you know," he added, lucidly.
But here the peremptory tones of his father called the young philosopherto take the colts down to the lower pasture.
When Clifford arrived at his dwelling he prepared several stakes, andfastened bits of white paper to their tops; then, securing the iron rod,he placed it with the small sticks, which he had left in the porch, andsought the dainty and comfortable bed which he owed to the thoughtfulkindness of Maud and his mother.
Sinking into a profound slumber, he was only awakened by the alarm whichsounded as the clock struck one. As its chime died away, he arose andstole forth into the tranquil night.
A waning moon had risen, and in its faint light the water of the brookglimmered coldly as it wimpled over the stony ford. The flutteringleaves of the old cottonwood flashed like silver, and the hoary form ofthe great tree, every limb of which seemed outlined in white, toweredvague and ghostly above the shadows cast by the more dense foliage ofash and willows.
Clifford paused in the level glade where his father had said the gravesmust have been when Roger Coble passed the spot twenty-six years before.Thrusting the rod deep into the soft, loamy soil, young Warlow threw hiswhole weight on the instrument, which penetrated to the depth of severalfeet with little difficulty. On meeting with no obstruction, he withdrewthe rod; and after marking the spot with one of the stakes which he hadprovided, he began again to prosecute the search one step further south.
The precaution of marking the place where he had sunk the rod was forthe purpose of systematizing the search, thus avoiding confusion. Infact, these careful details were but an indication of the practicalnature of the young Fortune Hunter, which, even on this weird night,strongly asserted its sway.
While the leaves murmured and whispered, as if striving to tell of thetragedies that had marred this spot--of the mystery that seemed to hauntthe very air around--Clifford still pursued his investigations,patiently and in silence, only pausing to draw a deeper breath or a sighof disappointment at each fruitless effort, as he toiled onward into thedeep shadows near the bank of the stream.
At length, tired and weary, our young friend stood on the verge of thestream over the bank of which the dank grass trailed, and the rank vineof the wild-gourd, with its silvery leaves, rioted in wildest luxurianceand profusion.
Glancing up through the branches of the hoary old cottonwood, he couldsee the glittering constellation of Scorpio far out on the south-westernhorizon, the fiery star Antares, which forms its heart, glowing like aruby in the blue vault of heaven.
For a moment Clifford rested on the handle of the deep-sunkeninstrument, and, lifting his heavy felt hat with its leathern band--abadge of the ranchman throughout all the West--he drew a deep breath ofthe cool air that swayed the wild hop-vines and pendulous branches ofthe willows to and fro in the moonlight.
Around, a thousand wild-flowers distilled their odors. Thesensitive-plant nodded softly in dew-drenched sprays, its rosy ballsflecked with drops that glinted like gems, while all the air was heavywith its perfume of spices and honey.
The foamy elder-blooms exhaled an odor of entrancing sweetness, and overthe senses stole the fragrance from pond-lilies and water-mint,wild-hyacinths and mignonette.
A large prairie-owl flitted by, lending a note of discord to thetranquillity which had reigned, with its dismal hoot, that mellowed awayinto a plaintive shriek as it lit in some far-off, sombre nook.
Then again silence brooded over the valley, broken only by the croak offrogs along the rush-lined shore, or the soft chirp of insects in thegrass; but suddenly the jabbering wail of a lone wolf, distant yetdistinct, pierced through the gloom, startling into silence all theminor voices of the night, and adding with its wild echoes a doublesense of loneliness to the weird night.
Clifford turned to the iron rod, and with a few vigorous efforts sent itdeep into the yielding earth; and as the quiet of nature once morereigned over the wild glade, he kept turning the handle mechanically,and listening to the gruesome sound of the answering wolves--faint criesthat made him shudder--when, lo! the steel point grated harshly againstsome obstruction beneath his feet.
Quickly withdrawing the rod, he seized the sharp spade and begandigging, throwing the black soil out of the pit with frantic haste as hesank rapidly down into the earth at each stroke. As he neared the goalhe became dizzy and faint, his breath coming in quick gasps, and theblinding sweat streaming from his face, from which it fell in greatdrops like rain.
Pausing a moment, while the weird, horned moon peered through a rift inthe boughs overhead, and gleamed coldly on his upturned, haggard face,he thought of the wealth that might lie below,--his father's lostfortune; the wealth of Monteluma; its gems and red gold, with all thepower that great treasure represented; then, quivering with excitement,he dashed the spade into the earth, and in a moment more the head of acask was dimly outlined at his feet.
Breathless and panting, he paused, leaning on his spade, while the hopesand fears, which so often, often, assail us on the threshold of somegreat enterprise, came thronging on with their mockery, causing him tostand irresolute, as if fearing to solve the mystery; but at length,after summoning all his strength, he struck the cask with his sharpspade, and the head fell in with a dull crash.
As he stooped to peer down into the gloom below, a pair of fiery eyesglared at him from the cavity, and, as he sprang back with a shudder, asharp, whizzing rattle in the cask announced the presence of that dreadreptile, the rattlesnake--a new and terrible danger, worse than thesting of poverty with all its terrors.
As Clifford stood frozen with horror, the slimy monster rose from outthe cask, still sounding its angry alarm. A moment more, enraged andwrithing, it coiled at his feet, its head erected, slowly swaying to andfro--a gigantic, threatening monster.
Its eyes glowed like coals of fire, and in the bright light shed by thelantern Clifford could see it darting its tongue and glaring with a lookof indescribable ferocity and malignant hatred, to which nothing else inthe world can be compared. Those who have faced an angry rattlesnake,and who still turn pale at its remembrance, or start from sleep with acry of fear at the returning vision of terrible danger, will recall theawful rage and menace that glared from the eye of the angry serpent--aglance that unnerves the bravest man in the world instantly. The reptileonly seemed to await a motion on Clifford's part to strike like a flashof lightning. Then, with a clammy shudder, young Warlow thought of theagony and speedy death that was certain to follow. At the tremor whichinvoluntarily shook his frame at the thought, the hideous serpentcrested its head and paused in its vibrations. "Now all is over," ouryoung friend thought, and breathlessly awaited the shock.
Instantly the face of Mora Estill rose
before him, a fleeting vision ofloveliness; and with it came a realization of the love for her that hadrapidly grown into an all-absorbing passion in their short acquaintance.He knew at once what had sent him out on this midnight search, and whyhe had begun to wish for wealth so eagerly of late:--It was because becraved fortune and a position which would equal that of the "CattleKing's" daughter. Yet even in this moment of deadliest peril he thought,with a grim smile, of the irony of fate--the reward of his first attemptat "fortune hunting."
While death stared at him from those glaring eyes, and the momentsseemed to lengthen out to years, he thought of his friends at home, allunconscious of the dire fate that he was facing; then a wild longing forlife seized him, and for the first time since the encounter he began toplan a way of escape.
The spade on which his hand rested was sharp and bright; but to raise itbefore the serpent could strike he knew was impossible; so he stoodimmovably eying the formidable reptile, which at length slowly uncoiledand glided away from his feet to an opposite corner of the pit. With asigh of relief Clifford saw that the danger was lessened, yet he beganto more fully realize the size of his deadly antagonist, which nowreached twice across the yard-wide pit.
In moments of great danger we are apt to think with lightning-likerapidity, and quickly see any advantage that may arise. So it was withClifford, who remembered that the rattlesnake always throws itself intoa coil before striking; and as he saw it thus off its guard, with aquick movement he struck a violent blow at the snake's head and pinionedit to the earth--then throwing his full weight on the handle he felt thebones crunch beneath the sharp blade, while the reptile madly threshedits now headless body about and wrapped its jangling tail around hisboot.
Springing out of the pit, with a desperate leap, young Warlow disengagedthe writhing, heavy monster from his foot, and with the iron rod threwit away into the grass; then sinking down upon the ground, unnerved andexhausted, he lay, too weak to move for several minutes. But when heremembered the unexplored cask, he sprang to his feet again, and afterlistening cautiously a moment, and hearing no further evidence ofdanger, he dropped lightly down into the pit, carelessly tramping on thegrim serpent-head that but a few moments before was so full ofthreatening danger.
Anxiously he thrust the long rod down into the cask. No rattleresponded; but the despairing fact became apparent: the cask was empty!
With a sinking heart he groped about the bottom of the cask with therod, and when its iron point struck against a round object that rolledover with a harsh sound on the bottom, he quickly thought of the casketof gems, and reaching down, with a thrill of excitement he clutched themysterious, smooth object, and sprang out of the pit into the moonlight.
By the pale beams of the gibbous moon, now sinking low in the westernsky, but throwing a path of shimmering silver on the bosom of therippling brook, he saw--not the gems of Monteluma, but a human skull,that, with its wide, eyeless sockets, seemed to glare derisively, andwith great white teeth laugh mockingly, at this ending of his "fortunehunting." With a cry of despair, the disheartened youth dashed theloathsome object to the earth; but, as if the sound of his voice hadevoked its former spirit, there glided from out the wavering shadows atall, gaunt form, gray-robed and silent, with tangled, flowing hair, andburning eyes, its lips drawn back from its snaggled fangs in a horridlook of hate and ferocity. With noiseless tread it seemed to float intothe moonlit space; then snatching the skull from the ground and claspingit close to its breast, with an unearthly scream it faded away among thewhispering willows.
A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail Page 13
