MABEL GUILFORD.
Returning to camp, Chicot's party found that the other bands had
already returned without having discovered any thing. That night the
body of the murdered man was buried, after an earnest discussion as
to whether another day should be devoted to a search for the supposed
criminals. Now that the first fervor had cooled down, the vote was
almost unanimous to continue their journey, all fearing lest they
should be caught by the winter storms in the mountains.
So with the dawn of another day the wagon-train once more took up
its due progress, toiling wearily along over the dreary trail, only
cheered by the thought that each step taken was so much nearer to the
fabulous heaps of pure gold that only awaited the gathering. For such
were the wild visions that haunted even the most sensible, during that
never-to-be-forgotten epidemic--the _gold-fever_.
For two days they toiled on, without any event of moment to break the
killing monotony. But then came a second blow, even more crushing
than the one recorded in the preceding pages, because it left the
wagon-train without a head--in much the same situation as a vessel
would be on losing the only man capable of steering it aright.
In a word, Paul Chicot suddenly disappeared, without leaving any trace
behind him. At dark he had taken his position among the sentinels. At
daybreak the train was discovered to be totally unguarded! Not only had
Chicot vanished during the night, but with him had gone two others.
This was just three mornings after the discovery of the first desertion.
A few words will explain the circumstances leading to this defection.
Nathan Upshur was at the bottom of it all. Since his eavesdropping,
when he learned of the golden pocket discovered by Paley Duplin, he
had been busy shaping a way by which he could gain a share, if not the
whole, of the treasure. And so well had he done his work that no one
suspected his purpose until the blow was dealt.
He knew that he must have companions in the venture, as none of the
deserters would willingly admit him to share in their profits. In fine,
they despised, if not hated him, as he well knew.
Paul Chicot was the man he first selected as a comrade, knowing him to
be brave and not over-scrupulous, as well as thoroughly acquainted with
the country for hundreds of miles around. And, too, he knew that he was
avaricious beyond the common.
The subject was first broached on the night preceding their desertion.
Upshur visited the point where Chicot was standing guard, and together
they smoked their pipes, idly conversing. Then Nate suddenly said:
"Why do you follow this life, Paul?"
"I won't, no longer'n I git to the mines. Then I'll go back to St. Joe,
on the Blacksnake Hills, with gold enough to keep the old woman an'
gals in fine style. No more trampin' fer me _then_--not much."
"But if you had an opportunity of getting rich _before_ you went to
California, would you refuse it?"
Chicot keenly eyed Upshur, as though seeking to read his secret
meaning, for the man's voice had lowered to a confidential tone, and a
peculiar expression rested upon his face.
"That depends--not in such a way as made whoever it was rub out poor
Dutchy," slowly returned Chicot.
"Bah! why bring up such things? Of course, I don't mean any thing of
the sort. But now, for instance, supposing another train would come
along and offer you more--ten times as much as you get for guiding
_this_ train--would you accept it?"
"Be I a fool? Of course I would, onless this 'ne was to raise thar
pile. I work for _money_, an' the biggest pile takes my eye," quietly
added Paul.
"Well then, supposing I could take you to a gold-mine, within a day's
tramp from here, would you desert the train? I say only supposing I
could do this."
"That's all bosh. Don't I _know_ thar's none sech 'round here?"
contemptuously snorted Chicot.
"But _would_ you?"
"Yas--in a hurry, too."
"Swear it on this," and Upshur adroitly twitched a small metal crucifix
from Chicot's bosom, where it hung by a string. "Swear to keep all
secret that I tell you now, and never to betray it until I give you
free permission."
Chicot, deeply impressed by Upshur's earnestness, obeyed, though still
skeptical. And then, after first carefully assuring himself that there
were no eavesdroppers near, Upshur unfolded his secret, telling all.
How he had first struck scent of the secret, of his eavesdropping,
of how he followed the deserters until he had a fair idea of their
destination; of all save his connection with the dastardly blow in the
dark, and the attempt to fix the crime upon Burr Wythe, for reasons
that may hereafter appear.
"Now you know all," he added, "and it is for you to decide whether we
are to slave on like dogs, while those three, not a whit better than
we, are making themselves rich for life. What do you say?"
"They'd never 'gree to share 'th us," muttered Paul, reflectively, yet
with his eyes glowing and his breath quickening.
"They _must_, if we say so. I, for one, am willing to fight for it.
Just think--Duplin said he found nuggets as large as his fist! And
hundreds of them, too! Just think, man--why, there's enough to make us
the richest men in the United States! They must share--_or else we'll
take the whole_!"
"That'll be the best way," hoarsely added Chicot, now fully yielding to
the power of the yellow fiend. "There won't be enough for all--fer we
must take another. They're strong men, and will fight fer their--fer
_our_ gold. It is ours--it _must_ be ours!"
"Good! but the other--who shall we select?"
"Tim Dooley--I know him well. For gold he would pawn his soul to the
devil--and then blarney him out of his pay afterward."
And so it was settled. On the succeeding night the three men, who were
standing guard, deserted and took up the back-trail, forgetful of
the dangers that threatened the wagon-train in being left without a
competent guide. Upshur chuckled with devilish glee as he hoped the
worst would befall them.
He had proposed to Lottie Mitchell, and she had rejected him. Her
father also had forbidden him ever again addressing his child, under
penalty of a thrashing. For this reason, seeing that all hope of
success in that direction was gone, he hoped that the entire train
might be attacked and destroyed by the Indians or mountain outlaws,
that infested the Overland Route, almost from end to end.
Caleb Mitchell was at his wit's end when the truly alarming tidings
were generally made known on the morning following Chicot's
disappearance. And not without good cause for apprehension, for the
train was now fairly in among the mountains, where a deviation from the
right trail--at times wholly undiscernible--might well result in total
destruction.
As wagon-master, head of the train, only second to the regular guide,
he was naturally the one to whom all now looked, when in truth he was
no more capable than any other member, except from his great coolness
and superior judgment. All were equally ignorant of the trail, since
this was the first venture across the plains.
Mitchell's first move was to send in pursuit of the deserters, with
orders to bring them in at all hazards, if found. That last clause was
well put in, for Paul Chicot had an easy task in that wild, broken
region, in blinding his trail, so that all pursuit was useless. And,
with so many long hours the start, it was like sending a horse to run
down the locomotive.
Long after dark, the different bands straggled in, weary and dejected.
Not even a foot-trace had been found to indicate the direction in which
the deserters had gone: and now, that faint hope gone, the greater
portion of the emigrants gave way to despair.
In vain Mitchell strove to cheer them up. He said that it was only a
matter of time and patience; that before long some other train must
come along which they could join. But the answer came, quick and
crushing, because it was the one that was chilling his own heart.
It was late in the season. Their train, drawn wholly by oxen, had been
long upon the road, and the halt at the "sick-camp" had still further
delayed them. They might be the last train on the road--very probably
were, since the mountains of California could not be crossed after
winter set in. A train might not come along until the spring--and that
would be too late. How many of the party could live through a winter in
the mountains? The looked-for train would only find their bones.
Harassed by such arguments and fears as these, Caleb Mitchell resolved
upon a bold course, and yet apparently the only one that was left them.
He would make the attempt to guide the train through the mountains
himself, at least until they could gain a spot more favorable for a
winter's residence than here, if worst came to worst.
Fearing to lose more precious time, long before daybreak the next day,
the wagon-train was slowly following the lead of Caleb Mitchell, who
rode in advance, his heart troubled with fears and doubts, for behind
him was the sole remaining tie that made life dear to him, and its fate
in a great measure depended upon his skill and prudence.
Several hours later, as he saw the crest of a rocky hill, over which
the trail led, he abruptly reined in his horse and gazed keenly across
the valley before him. He had distinguished the slowly-moving form
of human beings, evidently afoot, and the hope that these were the
returning deserters set his heart afire.
But all too soon this delusion was dispelled, for he now could
distinguish the flowing drapery of _a woman_. Anxiously enough he
awaited their approach, but as they paused on discovering his figure
outlined against the clear sky, he impatiently rode forward. He could
now see that there were only two, and the formation of the trail forbid
the supposition of an ambush being possible there.
As he approached them, the man stood before the woman, with drawn and
leveled pistol, a look of stern despair imprinted upon his worn but
handsome features. His voice rung with the desperation of a hunted
fugitive turned at bay, as he spoke:
"Keep your distance--we will not be taken alive."
"What do you mean? Who's trying to take you alive--or dead either, for
that matter?" ejaculated Mitchell, surprised at the man's tone and
action.
"Then you don't--you're not one of those from whom we escaped? You
haven't been chasing us?" doubtfully added the stranger.
"Scarcely--else I would not be coming from this direction," laughed
Mitchell. "You have nothing to fear from me, if it is as I surmise. I
claim to be a gentleman, though in rather rough guise just now--but
that matters little. Yonder comes my train. You are welcome to all it
affords, sir. As for the lady, my daughter will be pleased to supply
her wants as far as she can."
"Thank God!" murmured the woman, springing forward, and, seizing
Mitchell's hardened hand, she moistened it with tears. "You will
protect us from that--from those dreadful men?"
"With my life, lady," warmly returned the wagon-master, deeply
affected, yet feeling not a little curiosity regarding the strangers,
wondering to what he was pledging himself, and who "those dreadful men"
could be.
"You are very kind, sir, but my heart is too full of gratitude to
thank you now as you deserve. When you hear our sad story, you will
not wonder that we are weary and worn out and need rest. Bear up,
daughter--we are safe with good friends, at last!"
"But, father--these men--they must have perceived us?" answered the
woman, tremblingly.
"Perhaps not, but--"
"If there is any danger, sir, tell me what it is, so that I can put
my friends upon their guard. We all know how to handle a rifle, and
it must be a strong force to trouble us while on guard," proudly
interrupted Mitchell.
"There may be danger, but I hardly think it will come near. We were
pursued by a party of mountain outlaws, at least until a short time
since. But they don't number over a dozen, at most. They would never
dare attack here, unless joined by their comrades at the Retreat."
"We will be on the look-out for them. But you must need refreshments.
Such as we can offer is at your command. After that, I should like to
hear your story. Naturally, this strange meeting has greatly excited my
curiosity."
"I do not need much--only a drink of water, or something stronger, if
it is handy. As for my daughter Mabel, here, she is entirely worn out.
If you will be so kind--you spoke of a daughter?"
"I will introduce them. Though Lottie is far from well--her poor
mother's death has nearly killed the child--she will gladly do all that
is in her power to comfort your daughter."
"I too have lost my mother," softly murmured Mabel, her large eyes
filling with tears, as she glanced up into the stalwart emigrant's face.
"Poor child!" muttered Mitchell, yielding to a sudden and
uncontrollable impulse, and bending low in his saddle, he imprinted a
fatherly kiss upon the smooth white forehead of the maiden.
Mabel's face flushed, but she did not appear to take offense at the
abrupt action, though she cast a swift glance toward her father. Then,
with an effort, Mitchell recovered himself, and soon explained the
facts of the strange meeting to the wondering emigrants, the train
having caught up during the delay.
Mabel was kindly greeted by Lottie, and then the white-tilted wagons
hid them from view. The father was furnished with the beverage he
desired, and then, seemingly forgetful of fatigue and weariness in his
anxiety for the welfare of the wagon-train, he rode along ahead of the
train on Mitchell's horse, while the latter walked.
"You say you have no regular guide?"
"He deserted us night before last," moodily replied Mitchell, his brow
lowering.
"Can it be that he is in league with these devils?" mused the other,
half to himself. "It looks black--very black!"
Mitchell glanced impatiently at his companion. These vague hints were
alarming, when coupled with the still unexplained appearance of the
couple in that wild and apparently unsettled region.
"Mr. Mitchell," abruptly uttered the stranger, "I am about to tell
you a very strange story, and you would do well to listen to it very
closely, as, if I mistake not, it concerns you and yours deeply. First,
my name is Guilford; I am a retired officer of the regular army, and
Mabel is my only child. Why we left a comfortable home in the East to
journey overland to California, does not matter just now--suffice that
we did.
"The wagon-train which we joined passed over this spot full two weeks
ago. Thus far, all had worked smoothly and agreeably. The company was a
strong one, formed of intelligent and agreeable people. The guide was
thoroughly capable, and gave perfect satisfaction. And yet--I and my
child alone remain to tell the fate of all that company!"
Mitchell could not repress a cry of horror.
"Wait. You must have heard of the devils in human shape that haunt
portions of the overland trail? Though they do not often attack full
trains, they do much of the mischief that is wrongly attributed to the
Indians, disguising themselves as such, the better to carry out their
nefarious schemes. Well, we fell into the hands of a company of these
demons.
"Our guide betrayed us. As I now know, he belonged to the band of
outlaws, and only joined our train to betray it into the clutches of
his comrades. All that he done, I learned afterward. No one suspected
his fidelity until all was lost.
"He led us from the right trail. None thought of doubting him, and we
walked blindly into the trap. I was mostly in company with Mabel, who
was just recovering from a fit of illness, else I might have detected
the change, for I had once before passed over the route.
"Well, just before dusk, the end came. The foremost wagon was suddenly
checked by a rocky barricade, that completely filled the narrow
passage. The guide had vanished. Then came the shock, as the teamsters
and passengers flocked ahead to see what was wrong.
"From the hillside above us came a deadly storm of rifle and
pistol-bullets. On every side was death. Not a foeman was to be seen,
and yet the withering storm swept man after man to death. And not alone
the men. Women and children, even the toddling babes, were shot down.
None were spared. In ten minutes all was over.
"Taken so by surprise what could we do? Nothing. Scarcely one had a
weapon at hand. Such as had, were too astounded to think of using them.
And even had this been different, what could they have done when not
a foeman was visible? The rocks above seemed to be raining down death
upon us. Not a form could be seen; not a voice mingled with the din of
fire-arms, save from the dying as they fell in heaps. My God! it was
terrible!" and Guilford covered his eyes and groaned aloud as one in
mental agony.
"Pardon my emotion, Mr. Mitchell. Though an old soldier, never before
had I witnessed such a frightful sight. My heart bleeds again at the
mere thought." And Guilford shuddered again.
"But you--how did you escape unhurt?" curiously asked Mitchell.
"I can explain that now, though at the time I believed it a proof
of Providence. But that was part of the plan. I spoke of our guide.
That man was none other than the chief of the outlaws. He had joined
us and acted as guide, the better to entrap us. He was a handsome,
dashing fellow and it seems now that he took a sudden fancy to my
daughter--curse the villain!
"I was with Mabel, in the wagon, and he knew this. He pointed it out
to his men, and cautioned them against injuring its inmates. With
the first shot, I started to give my aid to our friends, but Mabel,
half-crazed, seized me, and I dared not leave her. It would have killed
her, in her weak state.
"When the guide came to the wagon and ordered us to dismount, I
realized the truth, and fired at him. But in my haste, the bullet that
should have bored his treacherous brain, missed its mark, killing a man
standing just beyond him. I was seized and bound, though I struggled
desperately. Only for the guide--Yellow Jack--I would have been killed
on the spot. But he had a purpose for saving me, for that time. Through
her love for me, he hoped to bend my daughter to his will.
"We--Mabel and I--were carried away into the mountains, and so were
spared the horrible scene that must have followed. Yellow Jack told me
of it, afterward. The wounded were put out of their misery, and then
tossed down a deep ravine hard by, where the wolves and vultures would
soon hide them from mortal sight. The wagons were burned, after being
plundered, and the ashes scattered to the winds. All traces of the
horrible massacre were obliterated, leaving the trap ready for other
victims.
"Well, 'tis an unpleasant subject to dwell upon, and I hasten on
as fast as possible, yet telling all that is necessary for you to
understand the matter. We--Mabel and I--were taken to the hill retreat
of this Yellow Jack, and were, for a time at least, treated reasonably
well. Then, however, as Mabel gave no signs of softening her manner
toward him, he began to show his devilish nature by torturing her with
fears for me. Finally, he gave her two days to decide; either to become
his bride or see me murdered before her very eyes.
"But we had a friend that he little suspected, in his wife--a beautiful
woman who appeared to fairly worship the monster. The fear that Mabel
would entirely supplant her in Yellow Jack's love, gave her the courage
to foil his purpose by a daring stroke. In the middle of the night she
set us both free and led us beyond the line of guards, then giving us
the clue to finding the trail, she bade us begone--to suffer death
rather than recapture, for after this her hands would be tied. She gave
me these pistols, and a small package of food. Then she left us.
"We journeyed by night, and lay hid among the rocks by day, well
knowing that we would be pursued, and that the entire country would be
scoured. To-day, for the first time, we ventured forth during daylight.
You know the rest--how we found you, and how warmly we were welcomed by
all," concluded Guilford, evidently deeply affected.
"Then, if this band is so near, this train is in danger!" uttered
Mitchell, in a troubled tone.
"No, I think not. The band is not strong enough to openly attack such
a train, and they would scarcely dare to form an ambush along the
_regular_ trail. We only suffered through our traitorous guide. You are
safe so long as you keep the main trail and see that your sentinels do
not neglect their duty. True, you may chance to lose some stock, and
care must be taken that stragglers do not wander far from the train,
else the outlaws might wreak their spite upon them."
"But our guide is gone--has deserted. How do we know whether we keep
the right trail or not? Indeed, we may be straggling from it this very
moment!"
"You are right so far. The only danger of straying will be during the
next two or three days. After that the route is plain and broad. But do
you mean to say that you are _all_ new hands--that there are none here
who have ever passed over the trail before?"
"That is the fact."
"Well, we must do the best we can. Though I have made one trip before
this, I paid comparatively little attention to the trace, and don't
suppose my judgment is much, if any, better than yours. Still, between
us, I think we can manage to pick out the right course."
Meantime the two maidens, Lottie Mitchell and Mabel Guilford, had
already become fast friends, and picturing great enjoyment in each
other's company during the remainder of the journey.