THE MINE--AND THE DEPARTURE
Larry Kildene went around behind the stall where he kept his own horse
and returned with a hollow tube of burnt clay about a foot long. Into
this he thrust a pine knot heavy with pitch, and, carrying a bunch of
matches in his hand, he led the way back of the fodder.
"I made these clay handles for my torches myself. They are my
invention, and I am quite proud of them. You can hold this burning
knot until it is quite consumed, and that's a convenience." He stooped
and crept under the fodder, and then Harry King saw why he kept more
there than his horse could eat, and never let the store run low. It
was to conceal the opening of a long, low passage that might at first
be taken for a natural cave under the projecting mass of rock above
them, which formed one side and part of the roof of the shed.
Quivering with excitement, although sad at heart, Harry King followed
his guide, who went rapidly forward, talking and explaining as he
went. Under his feet the way was rough and made frequent turns, and
for the most part seemed to climb upward.
"There you see it. I discovered a vein of ore back there at the place
we entered, and assayed it and found it rich, and see how I worked
it out! Here it seemed to end, and then I was still sane enough to
think I had enough gold for my life; I left the digging for a
while, and went to find my boy. I learned that he was living and had
gone into the army with his cousin, and I knew we would be of little
use to each other then, but reasoned that the time was to come when
the war would be over, and then he would have to find a place for
himself, and his father's gold would help. However it was--I saw I
must wait. Sit here a bit on this ledge, I want to tell you, but not
in self-justification, mind you, not that.
"I had been in India, and had had my fill of wars and fighting. I
had no mind to it. I went off and bought stores and seed, and
thought I would make more of my garden and not show myself again in
Leauvite until my boy was back. It was in my thought, if the lad
survived the army, to send for him and give him gold to hold his
head above--well--to start him in life, and let him know his
father,--but when I returned, the great madness came on me.
"I had built the shed and stabled my horse there, and purposely
located my cabin below. The trail up here from the plain is a blind
one, because of the wash from the hills at times, and I didn't fear
much from white men,--still I concealed my tracks like this. Gold
often turns men into devils."
He was silent for a time, and Harry King wondered much why he had made
no further effort to find his son before making to himself the offer
he had, but he dared not question him, and preferred to let Larry take
his own way of telling what he would. As if divining his thought Larry
said quietly: "Something held me back from going down again to find my
son. The way is long, and in the old way of traveling over the plains
it would take a year or more to make the journey and return here, and
somehow a superstition seized me that my boy would set out sometime to
find me, and I would make the way easy for him to do it. And here on
the mountain the years slip by like a long sleep."
He began moving the torch about to show the walls of the cave in which
they sat, and as he did so he threw the light strongly on the young
man's face, and scrutinized it sharply. He saw again that terrible
look of sadness as if his soul were dying within him. He saw great
drops of sweat on his brow, and his eyes narrowed and fixed, and he
hurried on with the narrative. He could not bear the sight.
"Now here, look how this hole widens out? Here was where I prospected
about to find the vein again, and there is where I took it up. All
this overhead is full of gold. Think what it would mean if a man had
the right apparatus for getting it out--I mean separating it! I only
took what was free; that is, what could be easily freed from the
quartz. Sometimes I found it in fine nuggets, and then I would go
wild, and work until I was so weak I could hardly crawl back to the
entrance. I often lay down here and slept with fatigue before I could
get back and cook my supper."
As they went on a strange roaring seemed gradually to fill the
passage, and Harry spoke for the first time since they had entered. He
feared the sound of his own voice, as though if he began to speak, he
might scream out, or reveal something he was determined to hide. He
thought the roaring sound might be in his own ears from the surging of
blood in his veins and the tumultuous beating of his heart.
"What is it I hear? Is my head right?"
"The roaring? Yes, you're all right. I thought when I was working
here and slowly burrowing farther and farther that it might be the
lack of air, and tried to contrive some way of getting it from the
outside. I thought all the time that I was working farther into the
mountain, and that I would have to stop or die here like a rat in a
hole. But you just wait. You'll be surprised in a minute."
Then Harry laughed, and the laugh, unexpected to himself, woke him
from the trancelike feeling that possessed him, and he walked more
steadily. "I've been being more surprised each minute. Am I in
Aladdin's cave--or whose is it?"
"Only mine. Just one more turn here and then--! It was not in the
night I came here, and it was not all at once, as you are coming--hold
on! Let me go in front of you. The hole was made gradually, until, one
morning about ten o'clock, a great mass of rock--gold bearing, I tell
you--rich in nuggets--I was crazed to lose it--fell out into space,
and there I stood on the very verge of eternity."
They rounded the turn as he talked, and Larry Kildene stood forward
under the stars and waved the torch over his head and held Harry back
from the edge with his other hand. The air over their heads was sweet
and pure and cold, and full of the roar of falling water. They could
see it in a long, vast ribbon of luminous whiteness against the black
abyss--moving--and waving--coming out from nothingness far above them,
and reaching down to the nethermost depths--in that weird gloom of
night--into nothingness again.
Harry stepped back, and back, into the hole from which they had
emerged, and watched his companion stand holding the torch, which lit
his features with a deep red light until he looked as if he might be
the very alchemist of gold--red gold--and turning all he looked upon
into the metal which closes around men's hearts. The red light flashed
on the white ribbon of water, and this way and that, as he waved it
around, on the sides of the passage behind him, turning each point of
projecting rock into red gold.
"Do you know where we are? No. We're right under the fall--right
behind it. No one can ever see this hole from the outside. It is as
completely hidden as if the hand of the Almighty were stretched over
it. The rush of this body of water always in front of it keeps the air
in the passage always pure. It's wonderful--wonderful!"
He turned to look at Harry, and saw a wild man crouched in the
darkness of the passage, glaring, and preparing to leap. He seized and
shook him. "What ails you, man? Hold on. Hold on. Keep your head, I
say. There! I've got you. Turn about. Now! It's over now. That's
enough. It won't come again."
Harry moaned. "Oh, let me go. Let me get away from it."
The big man still gripped him and held him with his face toward the
darkness. "Tell me what you see," he commanded.
Still Harry moaned, and sank upon his knees. "Lord, forgive,
forgive!"
"Tell me what you see," Larry still commanded. He would try to break
up this vision seeing.
"God! It is the eye. It follows me. It is gone." He heaved a great
sigh of relief, but still remained upon his knees, quivering and weak.
"Did you see it? You must have seen it."
"I saw nothing, and you saw nothing. It's in your brain, and your
brain is sick. You must heal it. You must stop it. Stand now, and
conquer it."
Harry stood, shivering. "I wanted to end it. It would have been so
easy, and all over so soon," he murmured.
"And you would die a coward, and so add one more crime to the first.
You'd shirk a duty, and desert those who need you. You'd leave me in
the lurch, and those women dependent on me--wake up--"
"I'm awake. Let's go away." Harry put his hand to his forehead and
wiped away the cold drops that stood out like glistening beads of
blood in the red light of the torch.
Larry grieved for him, in spite of the harshness of his words and
tone, and taking him by the elbow, he led him kindly back into the
passage.
"Don't trouble about me now," Harry said at last. "You've given me a
thought to clutch to--if you really do need me--if I could believe
it."
"Well, you may! Didn't you say you'd do for me more than sons do
for their fathers? I ask you to do just that for me. Live for me. It's
a hard thing to ask of you, for, as you say, the other would be
easier, but it's a coward's way. Don't let it tempt you. Stand to
your guns like a man, and if the time comes and you can't see things
differently, go back and make your confession and die the death--as
a brave man should. Meantime, live to some purpose and do it
cheerfully." Larry paused. His words sank in, as he meant they should.
He guided Harry slowly back to the place from which they had diverged,
his arm across the younger man's shoulder.
"Now I've more to show you. When I saw what I had done, I set myself
to find another vein, and see this large room? I groveled all about
here, this way and that. A year of this, see. It took patience, and in
the meantime I went out into the world--as far as San Francisco, and
wasted a year or more; then back I came.
"I tell you there is a lure in the gold, and the mountains are powers
of peace to a man. It seemed there was no other place where I could
rest in peace of mind. The longing for my son was on me,--but the war
still raged, and I had no mind for that,--yet I was glad my boy was
taking his part in the world out of which I had dropped. For one thing
it seemed as if he were more my own than if he lived in Leauvite on
the banker's bounty. I would not go back there and meet the contempt
of Peter Craigmile, for he never could forget that I had taken his
sister out of hand, and she gone--man--it was all too sad. How did I
know how my son had been taught to think on me? I could not go back
when I would.
"His name was Richard--my boy's. If he came alive from the army I do
not know,--See? Here is where I found another vein, and I have
followed it on there to the end of this other branch of the passage,
and not exhausted it yet. Here's maybe another twenty years' work for
some man. Now, wasn't it a great work for one man alone, to tunnel
through that rock to the fall? No one man needs all that wealth. I've
often thought of Ireland and the poverty we left there. If I had my
boy to hearten me, I could do something for them now. We'll go back
and sleep, for it's the trail for me to-morrow, and to go and come
quickly, before the snow falls. Come!"
They returned in silence to the shed. The torch had burned well down
into the clay handle, and Larry Kildene extinguished the last sparks
before they crept through the fodder to their room in the shed. The
fire of logs was almost out, and the place growing cold.
"You'll find the gold in a strong box made of hewn logs, buried in the
ground underneath the wood in the addition to the cabin. There's no
need to go to it yet, not until you need money. I'll show you how I
prepare it for use, in the morning. I do it in the room I made there
near the fall. It's the most secret place a man ever had for such
work."
Larry stretched himself in his bunk and was soon sleeping soundly. Not
so the younger man. He could not compose himself after the excitement
of the evening. He tossed and turned until morning found him weary and
worn, but with his troubled mind more at rest than it had been for
many months. He had fought out his battle, at least for the time
being, and was at peace.
Harry King rose and went out into the cold morning air and was
refreshed. He brought in a large handful of pine cones and made a
roaring fire in the chimney he had built, before Larry roused himself.
Then he, too, went out and surveyed the sky with practiced eye.
"Clear and cool--that argues well for me. If it were warm, now, I'd
hardly like to start. Sometimes the snow holds off for weeks in this
weather."
They stood in the pallid light of the early morning an hour before the
sun, and the wind lifted Larry's hair and flapped his shirt sleeves
about his arms. It was a tingling, sharp breeze, and when they
returned to the cave, where they went for Harry's lesson in smelting,
the old man's cheeks were ruddy.
The sun had barely risen when the lesson was over, and they descended
for breakfast. Amalia had all ready for them, and greeted Larry from
the doorway.
"Good morning, Sir Kildene. You start soon. I have many good things to
eat all prepare to put in your bag, and when you sit to your dinner on
the long way, it is that you must think of Amalia and know that she
says a prayer to the sweet Christ, that he send his good angels to
watch over you all the way you go. A prayer to follow you all the way
is good, is not?" Amalia's frank and untrammeled way of referring to
Divinity always precipitated a shyness on Larry,--a shyness that
showed itself in smiles and stammering.
"Good--good--yes. Good, maybe so." Harry had turned back to bring down
Larry's horse and pack mule. "Now, while we eat,--Harry will be down
soon, we won't wait for him,--while we eat, let me go over the things
I'm to find for you down below. I must learn the list well by heart,
or you may send me back for the things I've missed bringing."
As they talked Amalia took from her wrist a heavy bracelet of gold,
and from a small leather bag hidden in her clothing, a brooch of
emeralds, quaintly set and very precious. Her mother sat in one of her
trancelike moods, apparently seeing nothing around her, and Amalia
took Larry to one side and spoke in low tones.
"Sir Kildene, I have thought much, and at last it seems to me right to
part with these. It is little that we have--and no money, only these.
What they are worth I have no knowledge. Mother may know, but to her I
say nothing. They are a memory of the days when my father was noble
and lived at the court. If you can sell them--it is that this brooch
should bring much money--my father has told me. It was saved for my
dowry, with a few other jewels of less worth. I have no need of dowry.
It is that I never will marry. Until my mother is gone I can well care
for her with the lace I make,--and then--"
"Lass, I can't take these. I have no knowledge of their worth--or--"
He knew he was saying what was not true, for he knew well the value of
what she laid so trustingly in his palm, and his hand quivered under
the shining jewels. He cleared his throat and began again. "I say, I
can't take jewels so valuable over the trail and run the risk of
losing them. Never! Put them by as before."
"But how can I ask of you the things I wish? I have no money to return
for them, and none for all you have done for my mother and me. Please,
Sir Kildene, take of this, then, only enough to buy for our need. It
is little to take. Do not be hard with me." She pleaded sweetly,
placing one hand under his great one, and the other over the jewels,
holding them pressed to his palm. "Will you go away and leave my heart
heavy?"
"Look here, now--" Again he cleared his throat. "You put them by until
I come back, and then--"
But she would not, and tying them in her handkerchief, she thrust them
in the pocket of his flannel shirt.
"There! It is not safe in such a place. Be sure you take care, Sir
Kildene. I have many thoughts in my mind. It is not all the money of
these you will need now, and of the rest I may take my mother to a
large city, where are people who understand the fine lace. There I may
sell enough to keep us well. But of money will I need first a little
to get us there. It is well for me, you take these--see? Is not?"
"No, it is not well." He spoke gruffly in his effort to overcome his
emotion. "Where under heaven can I sell these?"
"You go not to the great city?" she asked sadly. "How must we then so
long intrude us upon you! It is very sad." She clasped her hands and
looked in his eyes, her own brimming with tears; then he turned away.
Tears in a woman's eyes! He could not stand it.
"See here. I'll tell you what I'll do. If that railroad is through
anywhere--so--so--I can reach San Francisco--" He thought he knew that
to be an impossibility, and that she would be satisfied. "I say--if
it's where I can reach San Francisco, I'll see what can be done." He
cleared his throat a great many times, and stood awkwardly, hardly
daring to move with the precious jewels in his pocket. "See here.
They'll joggle out of here. Can't you--"
She turned on him radiantly. "You may have my bag of leather. In that
will they be safe."
She removed the string from her neck and by it pulled the small
embossed case from her bosom, shook out the few rings and unset stones
left in it, and returned the larger jewels to it, and gave it into his
hand, still warm from its soft resting place. At the same moment Harry
arrived, leading the animals. He lifted his head courageously and his
eyes shone as with an inspiration.
"Will you let me accompany you a bit of the way, sir? I'd like to go."
Larry accepted gladly. He knew then what he would do with Amalia's
dowry. "Then I'll bring Goldbug. Thank you, Amalia, yes. I'll drink my
coffee now, and eat as I ride." He ran back for his horse and soon
returned, and then drank his coffee and snatched a bite, while Amalia
and Larry slung the bags of food and the water on the mule and made
all ready for the start. As he ate, he tried to arouse and encourage
the mother, but she remained stolid until they were in the saddle,
when she rose and followed them a few steps, and said in her deep
voice: "Yes, I ask a thing. You will find Paul, my 'usband. Tell him
to come to me--it is best--no more,--I cannot in English." Then
turning to her daughter she spoke volubly in her own tongue, and waved
her hand imperiously toward the men.
"Yes, mamma. I tell all you say." Amalia took a step away from the
door, and her mother returned to her seat by the fire.
"It is so sad. My mother thinks my father is returned to our own
country and that you go there. She thinks you are our friend Sir
McBride in disguise, and that you go to help my father. She fears you
will be taken and sent to Siberia, and says tell my father it is
enough. He must no more try to save our fatherland: that our noblemen
are full of ingratitude, and that he must return to her and live
hereafter in peace."
"Let be so. It's a saving hallucination. Tell her if I find your
father, I will surely deliver the message." And the two men rode away
up the trail, conversing earnestly.
Larry Kildene explained to Harry about the jewels, and turned them
over to his keeping. "I had to take them, you see. You hide them in
that chamber I showed you, along with the gold bars. Hang it around
your neck, man, until you get back. It has rested on her bosom, and
if I were a young man like you, that fact alone would make it sacred
to me. It's her dowry, she said. I'd sooner part with my right hand
than take it from her."
"So would I." Harry took the case tenderly, and hid it as directed,
and went on to ask the favor he had accompanied Larry to ask. It was
that he might go down and bring the box from the wagon.
"Early this morning, before I woke you, I led the brown horse you
brought the mother up the mountain on out toward the trail; we'll find
him over the ridge, all packed ready, and when I ran back for my
horse, I left a letter written in charcoal on the hearth there in the
shed--Amalia will be sure to go there and find it, if I don't return
now--telling her what I'm after and that I'll only be gone a few days.
She's brave, and can get along without us." Larry did not reply at
once, and Harry continued.
"It will only take us a day and a half to reach it, and with your
help, a sling can be made of the canvas top of the wagon, and the two
animals can 'tote it' as the darkies down South say. I can walk back
up the trail, or even ride one of the horses. We'll take the tongue
and the reach from the wagon and make a sort of affair to hang to the
beasts, I know how it can be done. There may not be much of value in
the box, but then--there may be. I see Amalia wishes it of all things,
and that's enough for--us."
Thus it came that the two women were alone for five days. Madam
Manovska did not seem to heed the absence of the two men at first, and
waited in a contentment she had not shown before. It would seem that,
as Larry had said, there was saving in her hallucination, but Amalia
was troubled by it.
"Mother is so sure they will bring my father back," she thought. She
tried to forestall any such catastrophe as she feared by explaining
that they might not find her father or he might not return, even if he
got her message, not surely, for he had always done what he thought
his duty before anything else, and he might think it his duty to stay
where he could find something to do.
When Harry King did not return that night, Amalia did as he had
laughingly suggested to her, when he left, "You'll find a letter out
in the shed," was all he said. So she went up to the shed, and there
she lighted a torch, and kneeling on the stones of the wide hearth,
she read what he had written for her.
"To the Lady Amalia Manovska:
"Mr. Kildene will help me get your box. It will not be hard, for
the two of us, and after it is drawn out and loaded I can get up
with it myself and he can go on. I will soon be with you again,
never fear. Do not be afraid of Indians. If there were any danger,
I would not leave you. There is no way by which they would be
likely to reach you except by the trail on which we go, and we
will know if they are about before they can possibly get up the
trail. I have seen you brave on the plains, and you will be as
brave on the mountain top. Good-by for a few days.
"Yours to serve you,
"Harry King."
The tears ran fast down her cheeks as she read. "Oh, why did I speak
of it--why? He may be killed. He may die of this attempt." She threw
the torch from her into the fireplace, and clasping her hands began to
pray, first in English her own words, then the prayers for those in
peril which she had learned in the convent. Then, lying on her face,
she prayed frantically in her own tongue for Harry's safety. At last,
comforted a little, she took up the torch and, flushed and tearful,
walked down in the darkness to the cabin and crept into bed.