ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS
Oliver Drew had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between
the Old Ivison Place and the American River. He stood contemplating it,
watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole
in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to
work for him.
Far below him, down a precipitous pine-studded slope, the green American
River raced toward the ocean. There had been a week of late rains, and
good grass for the summer was assured.
Away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along,
cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the
drying lowlands. Now and then he saw a horseman galloping along a mile
distant. He heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft
spring wind. The Seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer
pastures.
He turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of hoofs. Six horsemen were
approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between
clumps of the sparse chaparral.
In the lead, straight and sturdy as some ancient oak, rode a tall man
with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. He
wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held
in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high-heeled boots
and chaps. He rode a gaunt grey horse. His tapaderos flapped loosely
against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed
almost to scrape the ground. A holstered Colt hung at the rider's side.
Silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient
chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors.
Those who followed him were younger men, plainly _vaqueros_. They lolled
in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. But Oliver's eyes were alone
for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor
paid any attention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an
expedition into dangerous and unknown lands.
Undoubtedly this was Old Man Selden and his four sons, together with
other members of the Poison Oakers Gang. They had left the cows to
themselves and were making their way homeward after the drive. Oliver's
first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he
should forego no chance of a strategic advantage. Then he decided that
it was not for him to begin manoeuvring, and stood boldly in full
view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him.
They did not. He heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old
man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of knowing that he
was not riding alone. He slued about in his saddle. A hand pointed in
Oliver's direction. The old man reined in his grey horse and looked
toward Oliver and the bee tree. The other horsemen drew up around him.
There was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in
their saddles and galloped over the uneven land.
They reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking
clan they were. Keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no
mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners.
A quick glance Oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their
leader.
Adam Selden was a powerful man. His nose was of the Bourbon type, large
and deeply pitted. His eyes were blue and strong and dominating.
"Howdy?" boomed a deep bass voice.
Oliver smiled. "How do you do?" he replied.
Then silence fell, while old Adam Selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco
in his mouth and studying the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes.
"I've found a bee tree," said Oliver when the tensity grew almost
unbearable. "I was just figuring on the best way to hive the little
rascals."
Selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating
exaggeration.
"Stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked.
"Well, I've been here over a month," Oliver answered. "I own the Old
Tabor Ivison Place, down there in the valley. My name is Oliver Drew,
and I guess you're Mr. Selden."
Another long pause, then--
"Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river
bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here summers for a
good many years. Just so!"
"I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say.
"Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are
friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows
'round here?"
"I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him.
"Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?"
"Not at all. I'm immune."
"It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and
think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and
itchier than ever."
"I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated.
"And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?"
"Not in the least."
The gang was grinning, but the chief of the
Poison Oakers maintained a straight face.
"Ain't scared of it, then," he drawled on. "Well, now, that's handy. I
like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. Got yer place
fenced, I reckon?"
"Yes, I've repaired the fence."
"That's right. That's always the best way. O' course the law says we got
to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. Whether that there's a
good and just law or not I ain't prepared to say right now. But we got
to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks'
pasture. But it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not.
Pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his
neighbours. But the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. O'
course, though, you know that. Now what're ye gonta do down there on the
Old Ivison Place?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
"Have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. Put a few stands of
bees to work for me, if I can find enough swarms in the woods. I have a
saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. I don't intend to
do a great deal in the way of farming."
"I'd think not," Selden drawled. "Land about here's good fer nothin' but
grazin' a few months outa the year. Man would be a fool to try and farm
down where you're at. How ye gonta make a livin'?--if I'm not too bold
in askin'."
"I intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said Oliver.
Silence greeted this. So far as their experience was concerned, Oliver
might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufacture of
tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed
partnership.
"How long ye owned this forty?" Old Man Selden asked.
"Only since my father's death, this year."
"Yer father, eh? Who was yer father?"
"Peter Drew, of the southern part of the state."
"How long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?"
"He owned it for some time, I understand," said Oliver patiently.
The grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I can show ye, down to
the county seat, that Nancy Fleet--who was an Ivison and sister o' the
woman I married here about four year ago--owned that land up until the
first o' the year, anyway. It was left to her by old Tabor Ivison when
he died. That was fifteen year ago, and I've paid the taxes on it ever
since for Nancy Fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. I paid
the taxes last year. What 'a' ye got to say to that?"
Oliver Drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. He could only stare at
the gaunt old man.
"But I have the deed!" he burst out at last.
"And I've got last year's tax receipts," drawled Adam Selden. "Ye better
go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added,
swinging his horse about. "Then when ye've done that, I'd like a talk
with ye. Just so! Just so!"
He rode off without another word, the gang following.
Early next morning Oliver was in the saddle. As Poche picked his way out
of the canyon Oliver espied Jessamy Selden on her white mare, standing
still in the county road.
"Good morning," said the girl. "You're late. I've been waiting for you
ten minutes."
Oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly.
"I thought you'd be riding out early this morning," she explained, "so I
rode down to meet you. I feel as if a long ride in the saddle would
benefit me today. Do you mind if I travel with you to the county seat?"
He had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand.
"You like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "The answer to
your question is, I do not mind if you travel with me to the county
seat. But let me tell you--you'll have to travel. This is a horse that
I'm riding."
She turned up her nose at him. "I like to have a man talk that way to
me," she said. "Don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down
when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that."
"I wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "You
noticed that I let you mount unaided the other day. I might have walked
ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off."
"That's why I did it," she demurely confessed. "I'm rather proud of
being able to take care of myself. And as for that wonderful horse of
yours, he does look leggy and capable. But, then, White Ann has a point
or two herself. Let's go!"
Their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side
toward Halfmoon Flat.
"Well," Oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know I've
had an encounter with Adam Selden, and that he has told you he doubts if
I am the rightful owner of the Tabor Ivison Place."
"Yes, I overheard his conversation with Hurlock last night," she told
him. "So I thought I'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be
worried and would hit the trail this morning."
"I am worried," he said. "I can't imagine why your step-father made that
statement."
"Just call him Adam or Old Man Selden when you're speaking of him to
me," she prompted. "Even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take
away the bad taste. And you might at least _think_ of me as Jessamy
Lomax. I will lie in the bed I made when I espoused the name of Selden,
for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that I have gone
back to Lomax again. My case is not altogether hopeless, however. You
are witness that I have a fair chance of some day acquiring the name of
Foss, at any rate. So you are worried about the land tangle?"
"What can it mean?" he puzzled.
"This probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been
recorded promptly," she ventured. "That won't affect your ownership.
Personally I know that Aunt Nancy Fleet's name appears in the records
down at the county seat as the owner of the property. She sold it to
your father, doubtless, and the transfer never was recorded. Where is
your deed?"
He slapped his breast.
"See that you keep it there," she said significantly.
"You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the
property in the county records?"
She nodded.
"Then she has allowed Adam Selden to believe that she still owns it!" he
cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay
the taxes for the right to run stock on the land."
She nodded again.
He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against
Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and--" He paused.
"And who?"
"Well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go
unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I
must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old Adam. But what
is the meaning of it, Miss Selden?"
"I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some
day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take
you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calamity Gap--about ten miles to
the north of Halfmoon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain."
He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though
he could not say that this was intentional on her part.
"By George, I believe _you_ can explain it!" he accused.
"I?"
"You heard me the first time."
"Did you learn that expression at the University of California or in
France?"
"I stick to my statement," he grumbled.
"Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten
you. But I promise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to
go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want
to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a
riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration
and elaborate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've
been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so
busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't mention them. I've seen some
pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's
old, too. Where did you get it?"
"They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his
death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up
in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the
'Forty-niner?"
She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle.
Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw
the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in
the silver _conchas_.
She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly:
"The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan
Smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of
gold--the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell
me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told."
"I'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of Peter Drew and
his last message to his son.
Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the
message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at
her.
"Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried.
"You're a man of mystery--a knight on a secret quest! Oh, if I could
only help you! Will you let me try?"
"I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question
and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said.
"Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a
plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!"
Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought
the county recorder's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his
land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close
together.
To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the
second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent
date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy
Fleet.
"Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy.
"They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it
over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty
mysterious, Miss Selden."
"Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come
along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd
better eat and be starting back."