A CONFESSED CRIME.
Governor Lehumada did not faint, nor was he in the least injured by the
passionate embrace of Miss Motuble. He was speechless from surprise
only, and he allowed his men to assist him to his room, realizing that a
few moments of quiet for reflection was what he needed.
He assured Juan that all was well, and that he wished to be alone for a
few minutes. Juan shook his head as though he had many misgivings, and
quietly left the room. He walked slowly down the hall in deep
meditation. He wished that he were off duty, so he could follow the
strange señorita. He went into the yard and gazed wistfully up and down
the street, in the hope of seeing her. Heaving a sigh, he turned to
enter the house again, and murmured to himself: “It must be the evil in
the fluid that is causing the trouble.”
Some one startled him from his reverie, by saying: “You are his Honor’s
man Juan, are you not?”
“I certainly am,” he replied.
“I was told to give you this letter, and request of you to give it to
his Honor at one o’clock this afternoon sharp.” With that he handed Juan
an official-looking envelope, and hurried away.
Juan turned the large letter over and over, and read the address on the
back, several times: “To His Honor, Governor of Chihuahua.” “Humph!
Well, for once in my life, I wish I was ‘His Honor.’ I would make quick
work of seeing on the inside of this letter. Association with these
scientists has caused me to be a man of much thought. I, too, have great
ideas. I know a thing or two. Ha! ha! It does not take a scientist; a
Governor or a President, to know that ‘His Honor’ is in love, or that
there is pending (he straightened himself up and smiled at the big
sentence he was framing) a fearful calamity, and the greatest violence
of it will fall upon this town.”
At that moment the child Catalina ran up to him, and said: “Oh, Juan,
let me go to him at once. He is in great trouble; the town has gone
wrong. Juan, guard his Honor night and day. Do not let anyone enter the
house without his knowledge. Watch for Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir.
You know him, do you not?”
“The great Don,—ha! ha! I do know him, señorita.”
“And the priest, Father Hernandez?”
“Him, too, _niña_. I tell my sins to him every week,” said Juan.
“Oh, Juan, how can you?”
“Because, _niña_, I am still a Catholic. It is not popular to be, I
know; but so long as ‘His Honor’ knows I am, and still keeps me in his
service, I will be true to the religion of my fathers.”
“His Honor is too wise and too great a man to interfere in anyone’s
religious beliefs,” said Catalina.
“Yet he is a man, and loves,” quietly remarked Juan, with a twinkle in
his eye.
“He does love. His is a great love; it extends over all humanity. Had
you lived before, Juan, and _remembered_ it, you would understand,”
replied the child, with deep pathos in her voice.
Juan laughed heartily, and said: “Pardon me, _niña_, but what can a
_child_ know of another life? If ‘Memory Fluid’ makes _señoras viejas_
out of _niñas_, it is not good. What would homes be without the innocent
coo and laughter of babies?”
“I am happier now than before I remembered, Juan. It is because you do
not understand what it is to _remember_, that makes you say such
things.”
“Maybe so; maybe so, _niña_, but Juan is glad he does not _remember_.”
“My dear _hombre viejo_, you must _remember_ what I told you about Don
Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir and the priest,” cried Catalina, as she ran
into the house.
“Good-bye, Juan; watch out for the minister, J. T. Note—the Rev. J. T.
Note, as he calls himself, and his followers. He is also a foe to
progress. Guard him, Juan; guard him well. No harm must come to his
Honor.”
Juan’s reply was upon his lips, but the charming child was gone before
he could voice it. He looked curiously at the big envelope in his hand,
and while reading the address again and again, disappeared into the
house.
No sooner had Juan and the Governor’s other man left him alone, than he
arose from the bed upon which he was reclining and walked back and forth
rapidly in an abstracted manner. He was a man who prided himself upon
his personal appearance, and now as he stopped before the long
plate-mirror and surveyed himself he said: “Dearest Helen, is there
anything in my manner of dress, my gait, or tone of voice that
displeases? If so, I will rectify it to suit you. I cannot see myself as
you see me; oh, my love, that I could! Oh, for the power to see into the
future as I now can look into the past. Ye wise and everlasting Force,
grant me the boon of greater knowledge. All I get will be used for the
uplifting of humanity. I feel the presence of a great force in our
midst, which will bring about a change; a change so wonderful that were
I to prophesy, no one would believe me. Each would declare that the day
of miracles is past. Poor, deluded creatures, there will nothing happen
which will be of a miraculous nature. Simply the natural results of the
present condition of affairs will take place. The mere fact that
President Mortingo submitted himself as a subject, to further
demonstrate the use of ‘Memory Fluid,’ will hasten the change. We must
be prepared to meet it. We must be able to preserve peace at home and
abroad. I must not defer ’till morning to tell my fears to the heads of
departments.” He stepped to an ivory tube by the side of his great
mirror, and said, speaking through it: “Convey to the head of each
department the following:
“‘Prepare for trouble. Try to avert it. Help me generate a great soul
wave, that we may quell the disturbers of peace and enemies of progress
without force or bloodshed. If trouble comes, it will be by the brewing
of Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, Father Hernandez, Rev. J. T. Note,
and the husband of Mrs. Grange, who is assistant Freight Agent of the
Chihuahua Air Motor Railroad Company, at this city. If he joins the
peace disturbers it will be in an underhand way. He has not the courage
of the other gentlemen just mentioned. The prime movers in any trouble
that may arise will be the three first mentioned. Others will join them.
Many well-known and prominent citizens, who writhe in envy at the
success of our administration, because the one in which they figured was
a failure from more points of view than one, will be glad of the
opportunity to join the rebels and to assist in a cause against us. Not
because they believe in the leaders, Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir
and faction—not by any means—it is because they are our enemies and wish
to make us trouble, to create discord, to overthrow our rule. No blood
must be shed. We do not care to repeat the old story. The theories we
advocate and practice must not be thrust upon humanity at the point of
the bayonet. In ages gone by, the Christian religion was carried into
all lands, the sword in one hand, and the cross they wished to implant,
in the other. There must be an awakening of the spirit of God within man
first. It never comes by force. Love is the upbuilding of the race. It
grows within the breast of man after its awakening, and spreads its
perfume all around, like a beautiful, fragrant rose in a well-attended
garden. Remember, force must only be employed to protect the lives and
property of our citizens, should an uprising occur. That is all the
instructions I care to give. Adios, gentlemen.’”
At the moment he ceased talking, Catalina Martinet entered the room,
unannounced. “Dear papa,” she said, “I thought I never would find you.”
“But you succeeded. Come, tell me how you enjoyed yourself in the
Alameda,” replied the Governor, placing a chair by his side for the
strange child. He felt a delicacy in asking about Helen Hinckley, yet he
secretly hoped she would speak only of the object of his heart’s desire.
“Oh, your Honor, it is about what I heard at the Alameda I came to see.
First, does J. Ecarg repent? Is he doing any good now?” said Catalina.
“I have secured an excellent position for him. He works early and late,
and has not been known to frequent any low places of resort since he
first took ‘Memory Fluid.’ He has certainly repented of the great wrong
he did you in your previous existence, as well as your mother. A
criminal at the bar of justice could not feel any greater remorse of
conscience than he now does from the mere fact that he in nowise gave
aid to your support or to your mother’s. He now wishes to help you.”
“I cannot have help from him; my soul is yet sore. Dear papa, Helen
Hinckley, the most beautiful and the truest of women, is to adopt me.”
“Bless her,” cried the Governor. “That is a happy thought.”
“She says that Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir and followers are
excited very much this morning. Hundreds and hundreds of people have
been there to-day to see him. She was asked, late last night, after the
banquet closed, to spend the day away from the house, but to return not
later than eight o’clock to-night. Before she left, those people began
to come. She believes their object is to formulate plans to overthrow
the state rule. She fears your life will be in danger. She asked me to
say to you to use every precaution to avoid evil,” concluded Catalina.
She seemed to possess the very soul of Helen Hinckley.
The Governor looked into the face of the beautiful child, and as he
wiped a mist away, that seemed to gather in his eyes, said: “This is the
return of love. I am contented. She loves me now, I am certain. All is
well; all is well. It could not be otherwise in the end. Truth is
everlasting; it endureth forever and forever. In the end it triumphs.
The waiting for the end often seems an eternity. Without the one I love,
every day is as an eternity. The end is near at hand. Yet before it
comes, a fearful struggle will take place. Thou great One, from whom all
light comes, bear witness to my integrity of purpose.”
The Governor spoke aloud and gesticulated much, yet he was unconscious,
seemingly, of the fact, or that he had company. A slight knock at the
door stopped his soliloquy, and glancing around the room in a confused
manner, he discovered the child sound asleep upon the chair on which she
sat. “Poor little darling; after all, you are a healthy, natural child.
Exhausted from last night’s dissipation, nature demands her rights, and
is now getting them. If my Helen has adopted you, dear, you are mine,
too, I will be your papa after all.” He kissed her fondly on each full,
red cheek, and quietly opened the door.
It was Juan who was seeking admittance. He stepped quickly into the
room, after looking up and down the hall nervously, and closed the door.
“Your actions, Juan, are strange. Explain,” said the Governor.
Juan stood shaking and speechless, and glaring with wide-open eyes at
Catalina.
“What is it, man, what is it? Why do you stand gaping like a man from
whom all reason had fled? Come, good man, be natural. I cannot lose my
old friend. Come, come, sit down; I must do something for you,”
entreated the Governor, getting very nervous. The only sign of life Juan
had shown since he entered the room, now appeared. He raised his long,
gaunt hand, and pointed with his index finger to Catalina.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Governor. “You are surprised to find the sweet child
here. She is no cause for your being so frightened. Come, Juan, explain
yourself,” he entreated, taking his old servant’s arm.
“Your Honor,” he whispered, “she is not a child—she is a woman, and a
ghost-woman at that.”
“Nonsense; nonsense, man. Now I am afraid of your reason. She is very
much of a child. See how soundly she sleeps, and the glow of health upon
her cheeks,” the Governor replied lightly, notwithstanding the fact that
he felt slightly annoyed by the strange actions of his man, as well as
his remarks concerning the child.
“She may be a child, your Honor, but she prophesies. And I am afraid of
people of her size, who make prophecies that come true.”
“Explain yourself, Juan, explain yourself; do not talk in riddles. What
did the child prophesy?”
“It was this way, your Honor. You remember I carried her in my arms from
the carriage into the house, when you and her came home from the banquet
last night?”
“I certainly do,” assented Governor Lehumada; “also how surprised you
were to find her wide-awake, instead of sound asleep.”
“I was, your Honor; but was more surprised when she whispered in my ear,
and said: ‘Juan, I saw the “Plunger from Kansas” to-night.’”
“‘Who is he?’ I asked.
“‘Have you not heard of him, Juan?’
“‘No,’ I said. ‘Does he plunge in a Kansas river?’
“‘Oh, how stupid. No, he does not _plunge_ at all now. He made a big
_plunge_ about one hundred and fifty years ago—but not in a river—oh,
no, not in a river. You are a funny man, Juan; but then, you do not
_remember_.’
“‘Yes, I do remember much; but not anything about this man who
_plunged_, and not into a river, one hundred and fifty years ago. Say,
chile, you is dreaming, honey. Come, Juanita will put the precious
_niña_ in bed.’ I led her to the housekeeper’s room, and as we went, she
said:
“‘You are funny, Juan. I am awake, not dreaming. You will see the
“Plunger from Kansas” to-morrow.’”
“‘How will I know him when I see him?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, he will come to this house to see Governor Lehumada in the
morning, and when he gets here he will say: “You are Juan, the
Governor’s man? Is his Honor in?” and when you say he is, the ‘Plunger’
will reply: “I came to see him, but I will not call this day. Please
hand him this, with my compliments,” and he will hand you a package.’
“Well, he did come, and he did say just what the child prophesied, and
he did give me this package, your Honor. Take it, please. I am afraid of
it. The devil is let loose, as certain as fate. And I think this fluid
you tell about in your great book, is the cause of so much trouble.”
The Governor had an interested and amused smile on his face as he opened
the package handed him by his man.
“You are no doubt quite right about the book I wrote, and the public
demonstrations and proofs we have given of the results of our great
fluid upon matter and mind, being the cause of so much trouble. On that
score, Juan, you are right. But there have been no evil results, and
there will be none. But what is this? Look, Juan, look; who is this the
picture of? Don’t be mistaken, man; don’t. Be sure you speak correctly.
Have you seen the face before?”
“My sight is not good, your Honor. It’s failing,” replied the frightened
man, getting further away from his master, out of pure fear. “My sight
is nigh gone, your Honor.”
“Can it be? Can it be the face of the one I loved? Of the one I now
love?”
“It is Helen Hinckley’s picture, papa, taken in that life long gone by,”
cried Catalina, grasping the Governor’s hand.
“Child, how do you know? You have not seen it.”
“Oh, I do know, I knew last night he was going to bring it. I heard him
say so at your lecture last night. He _remembers_, you know. He is
trying to palliate the wrongs he did in that day long gone by. He is
afraid that retribution will overtake him, that he will be reduced to
poverty.”
“Did I not tell you, your Honor, that she was no child. That she is a
ghost a-talking like a grown woman philosopher,” ventured Juan, edging
nearer the Governor, while he glared at Catalina as if she were a spook.
“Be sensible, Juan. Be sensible. I do admit, however, that the child is
a wonder even to me; that she has a power of speech that would be the
envy of many a collegian. But she is a child of flesh and blood,
nevertheless, and a wonderful creation, too,” concluded the Governor.
Catalina put an end to further remarks by him, by saying: “What is it,
dear papa, written on the back of the picture?”
The Governor turned the photograph around, and said: “To be sure, child,
there is something written on it. It is very dim. One moment—I will use
some of our restorative liquid, and then read it.”
In the center of his bedroom stood a beautifully carved rosewood table,
on which was a magnificently beautiful piece of sculpture. It
represented a little girl, about eight years old, distributing the olive
leaves from a branch which seemed to be always full. The Governor placed
his hand fondly upon the head of the statue, and at the same moment held
the back of the photograph over the mouth of the marble representation
of the child. A vapor spread over the pasteboard, yellow and stained by
time, and in three seconds, every word written thereon stood out in bold
relief.
He read aloud: “My baby girl, Helen Hinckley, July 3d, 1898. Boston,
Massachusetts. Age, eight.”
“The same, the same,” replied the Governor, his voice full of emotion.
“But it does not tell me enough! How am I to know that this was brought
here by the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’”
“On the paper in your hand,” said Catalina, “is a message from the
‘Plunger.’”
“She is no child, I say,” cried Juan, his knees fairly shaking with
fright. “With your Honor’s permission, I will go out of the room. That
child is too much for me.” When he opened the door to leave, Governor
Lehumada called:
“Juan, I will not repeat what I have said to you, twice before within
the last few minutes. The child is of flesh and blood as ourselves.
There is nothing uncanny about her; so I command you to remain in this
room until I dismiss you.”
Catalina looked up pathetically into the face of the Governor, and said:
“Don’t scold him, papa; he does not remember.”
The Governor pressed her hand, and kissed her rosy cheek time and again.
“You are right, sweet child. I should not be harsh with Juan. He does
not remember,” he kindly replied.
“How much is written, papa dear?”
“To be sure, child; I have not read what is written on the paper. This
is a strange handwriting also. It reads:
“‘The photograph was given to me by the father of the child, Honorable
E. Willard Hinckley, in his own home in Kansas City, August, 1898. That
very day I got more than one-half million dollars from him, and gave him
as security a mortgage on fifty thousand cattle I never owned. In less
than sixty days he was a bankrupt; in ninety days he was dead; his wife
and child were penniless and homeless. Despite the long number of years
which have passed, that photograph has been preserved in a way nothing
short of a miracle. Five times have I put it on the burning coals; three
times in black, muddy water. Out of each it came unsullied. Out of a
superstitious fear I resolved to keep it, to preserve and guard it with
the same care as one would an ancient heirloom of untold value. It has
ever been a thorn in my side. In that life one hundred and fifty years
ago—the time I made my memorable plunge in cattle, the thought that I
could not get rid of the picture of little Helen, drove me wild with
rage. It was in a fit of frenzy, brought on by not being able to destroy
the picture, that made me take my life. I was then in South America. My
wife had perished in an epidemic shortly before, and no one knew just
what destiny befell me, “The Plunger from Kansas,” and no one but those
whom I had wronged, cared. Before committing the deed that sent me out
of the body to try to find relief, I sent a large package to a relative
in Kansas. Amongst the things it contained was the picture. Thus it was
preserved in the great iron safe in which various documents and family
curios were put for safety. On my return to earth after an absence of
half of a century this photograph fell to my part of the family
keepsakes. And while in that life I never knew its history, it always
filled me with fear and trembling when I saw it. At the age of
thirty-five I passed again out of the physical body—and lay in a state
of unconsciousness for fifty-six years. I was awakened by a voice which
seemed to say: “Helen is here. Have you no desire to rectify the wrongs
you did her in that life long since passed away?” I did not understand,
yet I prayed to be allowed to live, that I might be better and wiser.
And I was born again. Fortune favored me from my birth. I was born to
wealth, and the faculty I have of acquiring it is a wonder to many. I am
now twenty-eight years old, the same age I was when I performed the feat
in cattle-plunging. I bring you this photograph with the strange feeling
that to you it belongs, and when it is securely in your hands, the
dreadful nightmare the sight of it gives me, will leave me. This town
has a fascination for me, of which I cannot get rid. I feel nervous, as
I did one hundred and fifty years ago, when I was here a refugee,
whenever I see an armed officer of the law, or a strange face that gives
me more than a passing glance. Retribution, you say, is going to
overtake me. If the law can get me, handle me; but to use a slang phrase
of the nineteenth century, I will close by saying: “Catch me if you can;
but I think I am too _swift_ for you in this life, as well as I was
then.”
“‘I am, your obedient servant,
“‘THE PLUNGER FROM KANSAS.’”