CHAPTER X
SIGNS AND OMENS
When a man like Bible-Back Murray, the biggest man in the country--asheep-owner, a store-keeper, a political power--goes out of his way tobreak up a trade there is something significant behind it. Denver hadcome to Pinal in response to a prophecy, in search of two hiddentreasures between which he must make his choice; and now, added to that,was the further question of whether he should venture to oppose Murray.If he did, he could proceed in the spirit of the prophecy and choosebetween the silver and gold treasures; but if he did not there would beno real choice at all, but simply an elimination. He must turn away fromthe silver treasure, that precious vein of metal which led so temptinglyinto the hill, and take the little stringer of quartz which theProfessor had offered as a gold mine. Denver thought it all over out infront of his cave that night and at last he came back to the prophecy.
"Courage and constancy," it said, "will attend you through life, but inthe end will prove your undoing, for you will meet your death at thehands of your dearest friend."
Denver's heart fell again at the thought of that hard fate but it didnot divert him from his purpose. Mother Trigedgo had said that he shouldbe brave, nevertheless--very well then, he would dare oppose Murray. Butnow to choose between the two, between the Professor's stringer of goldand Bunker's vein of silver--with the ill will of Murray attached.Denver pondered them well and at last he lit a candle and referred it toNapoleon's Oraculum.
In the front of the Book of Fate were thirty-two questions the answersto which, on the succeeding pages, would give counsel on every problemof life. The questions, at first sight, seemed more adapted to love-sickswains than to the practical problem before Denver, but he came back tonumber nine.
"Shall I be SUCCESSFUL in my present undertaking?"
All he had to do was to decide to buy the silver claim and then put thematter to the test. He spread a sheet of fair paper on the clear cornerof his table and made five rows of short lines across it, eachcontaining more than the requisite twelve marks. Then he counted eachrow and, opposite every one that came even, he placed two dots; oppositeevery line that came odd, one dot. This made a series of five dots, oneabove the other, of which the first two were double and the last threesingle, and he turned to the fateful Key.
It was spread across two pages, a solid mass of signs and letters,arranged in a curious order; and along the side were the numbers of thequestions, across the top the different combinations of dots. Againstthe thirty-two questions there were thirty-two combinations in which theodd and even dots could be arranged, and Denver's series was the seventhin order. The number of his question was nine. Where the seventh linefrom the side met the ninth from the top there occurred the letter O.Denver turned to the Oraculum and on the page marked O he foundthirty-two answers, each starred with a different combination of dots.The seventh answer from the top was the one he sought--it said:
"Fear not, if thou are prudent."
"Good enough!" exclaimed Denver, shutting the book with a slap; but ashe went out into the night a sudden doubt assailed him--what did it meanby: "If thou art prudent?"
"Fear not!" he understood, it was the first and only motto in thebright, brief lexicon of his life; but what was the meaning of"prudent?" Did it mean he was to refrain from opposing Old Bible-Back,or merely that he should oppose him within reason? That was the troublewith all these prophecies--you never could tell what they meant. Takethe silver and golden treasures--how would he know them when he sawthem? And he had to choose wisely between the two. And now, when hereferred the whole business to the Oraculum it said: "Fear not, if thouart prudent."
He paced up and down on the smooth ledge of rock that made up theentrance to his home and as he sunk his head in thought a voice came upto him out of the blackness of the town below. It was the girl again,singing, high and clear as a flute, as pure and ethereal as an angel,and now she was singing a song. Denver roused up and listened, thenlowered his head and tramped back and forth on the ledge. The voice cameagain in a song that he knew--it was one that he had on a record--and hepaused in his impatient striding. She could sing, this girl of Bunk's,she knew something besides scales and running up and down. It was a songthat he knew well, only he never remembered the names on the records.They were in German and French and strange, foreign languages, while allthat he cared for was the music. He listened again, for her singing wasdifferent; and then, as she began another operatic selection he startedoff down the trail. It was a rough one at best and he felt his waycarefully, avoiding the cactus and thorns; but as he crossed the creekhe suddenly took shame and stopped in the shadow of the sycamore.
What if the Professor, that old prowler, should come along and find him,peeping in through Bunker's open door? What if the ray of light whichstruck out through the door-frame should reveal him to the singerwithin? And yet he was curious to see her. Since his first brusquerefusal to go in and meet her, Bunker had not mentioned his daughteragain--perhaps he remembered what was said. For Denver had stated thathe had plenty of music himself, if he could ever get his phonograph fromGlobe. Yet he had had the instrument for nearly a week and neverunpacked the records. They were all good records, no cheap stuff orrag-time; but somehow, with her singing, it didn't seem right to startup a machine against her. And especially when he had refused to comedown and meet her--a fine lady, practicing for grand opera.
He sat down in the black shadow of the mighty sycamore and strained hisears to hear; but a chorus of tree-frogs, silenced for the moment by hiscoming, drowned the music with their eerie refrain. He hurled a rockinto the depths of the pool and the frog chorus ceased abruptly, but themusic from the house had been clearer from his cave-mouth than it wasfrom the bed of the creek. For half an hour he sat, gazing out into theghostly moonlight for some sign of the snooping Diffenderfer; and thenby degrees he edged up the trail until he stood in the shadow of thestore. The music was impressive--it was Marguerite's part, in "Faust,"sung consecutively, aria by aria--and as Denver lay listening itsuddenly came over him that life was tragic and inexorable. He felt agreat longing, a great unrest, a sense of disaster and despair; and thenabruptly the singing ceased, and with it passed the mood.
There was a murmur of voices, a strumming on the piano, a passing ofshadows to and fro; and then from the doorway there came gay andspritely music--and at last a song that he knew. Denver listenedintently, trying to remember the record which had contained this liltingair. He had it--the "Barcarolle," the boat-song from the "Tales ofHoffmann!" And she was singing the words in English. He left the shadowand stepped out into the open, forgetful of everything but the singer,and the words came out to him clearly.
"Night divine, O night of love, O smile on our enchantment; Moon and stars keep watch above This radiant night of love!"
She came to the end, riding up and down in an ecstatic series of "Ahs!"and as the song floated away into piano and pianissimo Denver braved thelight to see her.
She was standing by the piano, swaying like a flower to the music; and alamp behind made her face like a cameo, her hair like a mass of gold.That was all he saw in the swift, stolen moment before he retreated in apanic to his cave. It was she, the beautiful woman that the seeress hadpredicted, the one he should fall in love with! She had won his heartbefore he even saw her, but how could he hope to win her? She was asinger, an artist as Mother Trigedgo had said, and he was a hobo miner.He stood by his cavern looking down on the town and up at the moon andstars and the words of her song came back to his ears in a continual,haunting refrain.
"Ah! smile on our enchantment, Night of Love, O night of love! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah! Ah, Ah!"
It floated away in a lilting diminuendo, a joyous, mocking refrain; andlong after the night was quiet again the music still ran through hishead. It possessed him, it broke his sleep, it followed him in dreams;and with it all went the vision of the singer, surrounded like St.Cecilia with a golden halo of light. He woke up at dawn wi
th a fire inhis brain, a tumult of unrest in his breast; and like a buck when hefeels the first sting of a wound he turned his face towards the heights.The valley seemed to oppress him, to cabin him in; but up on the cliffswhere the eagles soared there was space and the breath of free winds. Hetoiled up tirelessly, a fierce energy in his limbs, a mill-race ofthoughts in his mind, and at last on the summit he turned and lookeddown on the house that sheltered his beloved.
She was the woman, he knew it, for his heart had told him long before hehad thought of the prophecy; and now the choice between the gold andsilver treasures seemed as nothing compared to winning her. Of all theadmonitions which had been laid upon him by the words of the Cornishseeress, none seemed more onerous than this about the woman that hewould love.
"You will fall in love with a beautiful woman who is an artist," MotherTrigedgo had written, "but beware how you reveal your affection or shewill confer her hand upon another."
On another! This woman, whom he had worshipped from the moment he hadseen her, would flaunt him if he revealed his love! That was the thoughtwhich had tortured him and driven him to the heights, where he couldwrestle with his problem alone. How could he meet her without herreading in his eyes the secret he must not reveal? And yet he waspossessed with a mad desire to see her--to see her and hear her sing.All her scales and roulades, her runs and trills, had passed by him likeso much smoke; but when the mood had come and she had sung hersong-of-songs he had lost his heart to her instantly. But if, in herpresence, he revealed this new love she would confer her hand uponanother!
He stood on the edge of Apache Leap and gazed down at the valley below,then he looked far away where peak piled on peak and the desert slopedaway to the horizon. It was hot, barren land, every ridge spiked withgiant cactus, every gulch a bruising tangle of brush and rocks; butPinal lay sleeping in the cool shadow of the Leap, and Drusilla sleptthere too. But who would think to look for her in a place like that, orfor the treasures of silver and gold? The finger of destiny had pointedhim plain, for he stood on the Place of Death. It was lifeless yet, savefor the uneasy eagles who watched him from a splintered crag; and theclean, black shadow that lapped out over the plain held the woman andthe treasures in its compass.
A sense of awe, of religious exaltation, came over Denver as heconsidered the prophecy, and from somewhere within him there came a newstrength which stilled the fierce tumult in his breast. Since the starshad willed it that he should have this woman if he veiled his love fromher eyes he would be brave then, and constant, and steel his boy's heartto resist her matchless charms. He would watch over her from afar,feeding his love in secret, and when the time came he would reap hisreward and the prophecy would be fulfilled. And while he stood aloof,stealing a glimpse of her at night or listening to the magic of hersongs; he must win the two treasures, both the silver and the gold, tolay as an offering at her feet.
The shadow of the Leap drew back from the town, leaving the housessun-struck and bare, and as his mind went back to the choice between thetreasures he watched the moving objects below. He saw a steer wanderingdown the empty street, and Old Bunk going across to the store; and thenin the walled garden that lay behind the house he beheld a woman's form.It was draped in white and it moved about rhythmically, bending slowlyfrom side to side; and then with the graceful ethereal lightness itleapt and whirled in a dance. In the profundity of the distance all waslost but the grace of it, the fairy-like flitting to and fro; and, asDenver watched, the tears leapt to his eyes at the thought of herperfect beauty.
She was a woman from another world, which a horny-handed miner couldhardly hope to enter; yet if he won the two treasures, which would makethem both rich, the doors would swing open before him. All it needed wasa wise choice between the silver and the gold, and destiny would attendto the rest. Well--if he chose the gold he would offend her own father,who was urgently in need of funds; and if he chose the silver he wouldoffend Bible-Back Murray, and Diffenderfer as well. He considered thetwo claims from every standpoint, looking hopefully about for some sign;and as he stepped to the edge and looked down into the depths, the maleeagle left his crag.
Riding high on the wind which, striking against the face of the cliff,floated him up into the spaces above; he wheeled in a smooth circle,turning his head from side to side as he watched the invader of hiseyrie. And at each turn of his head Denver caught the flash of gold,though he was loath to accept it as a sign. He waited, fighting againstit, marshaling reasons to sustain him; and then, folding his wings, theeagle descended like a plummet, shooting past him with a shrill, defiantscream. Denver flinched and stepped back, then he leaned forward eagerlyto watch where the bird's flight would take him. No Roman legionary,going into unequal battle with his war eagle wheeling above itsstandard, ever watched its swift course with higher hopes or believedmore fully in the omen. The eagle spread his wings and glided off to thewest, flying low as he approached the plain; and as he passed over Pinaland the claim by Queen Creek, Denver laughed and slapped his leg.
"It's a go!" he exulted, "the silver wins!"
And he bounded off down the trail.
Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp Page 10
