XV

Who was Richard Yankton? Many had asked that question, foremost of whom

was Dick himself; but years of unremitting search had failed to reveal

his origin.

In the spring of 1870 Colonel Yankton, who with his regiment of cavalry

was stationed in Arizona, came one day upon the smoldering remains of an

immigrant train--the work of the Apache Indians.

The scalped and mutilated remains of men, women and children lay

scattered over the plain where they had fallen. It was a melancholy

sight; one with which the Colonel had long become familiar during years

of campaigning against the Red man. His scouts had picked up the trail

and just as he was about to start in pursuit of the depredators, he

fancied he heard a cry, causing him to pause and listen.

Presently the cry was repeated, and riding in the direction whence the

sound proceeded, he came upon a little child of about two and a half

years of age sitting on the ground among the sage-brush; the sole

survivor of the disaster. It was a pretty, rosy-cheeked, dark-eyed

baby--a boy. He was frightened at being left alone so long and was

crying bitterly. But when he saw the Colonel looking down at him from

the back of his horse, the little fellow brightened up. He forgot his

troubles, and ceasing to cry, began to laugh and stretch out his tiny

hands, and in his incoherent baby way, began to babble.

"Horsie, horsie, widie!" he cried, in the most beseeching, irresistible

manner, just as he must have been accustomed to ask the men of the camp

for a ride whenever they appeared with a horse. In an instant the

Colonel was on the ground and had the little fellow in his arms. As no

clew to the child's parents or relatives was ever found, the Colonel

adopted him, giving him his own name.

Dick received an excellent schooling up to his sixteenth year and

probably would have entered West Point had not his benefactor suddenly

died. Strange to say, the life of a soldier with which he had become

familiar during the years spent at the different posts assigned to the

Colonel, did not appeal to him. The restraint and routine of the life

appeared irksome, and a year later the then great undeveloped West

numbered him among her sons.

Indeed, as subsequent events proved, it was fortunate that he had

renounced the life of a soldier. The success which later attended his

efforts in the search for wealth far overshadowed that which he probably

would have attained in the army, especially as his heart was not in the

life.

Dick was a born miner and prospector, and passed successively through

New Mexico, Arizona and California in his search for the precious

metals, finally drifting into old Mexico where he met with his first

important success.

It seemed as though he were directed by an invisible power. For weeks

and months at a time he would idle--read and smoke and ride or travel.

Then suddenly the spirit would move him, and without saying a word to

any one, he would quietly slip away into the mountains by himself in

whichever direction he seemed most impelled to go. Where other men

paused and lingered in the hope of finding gold, he passed on and

discovered the metal where others least expected to find it.

Perhaps one of the chief reasons for his success lay in the fact that he

did not assert his own will by planning a systematic search for the

metal, but allowed himself to be drawn by that mysterious, attractive

affinity that existed between him and the precious metals. Dick became

aware of the existence of this strange affinity early in his career and

acted upon it. Already at the age of thirty he possessed two of the

greatest gold and silver mines in the world and began to find it

difficult to know what to do with his income.

The fact that he cared nothing for money beyond the simple comforts of

life which it afforded, was perhaps another inscrutable reason why he

was permitted during the course of the next eight years to add two more

rich mines to his possessions.

At thirty-eight he owned four mines, the possession of any one of which

would have caused the average man to see visions. For example, Dick

would have regarded Colonel Van Ashton's fortune, handsome though it

was, as mere loose change in his pocket.

But this modern young Croesus was not unworthy of the fortune that

had been showered upon him so bountifully as the majority of men who

acquire great wealth invariably become. He not only constantly strove to

improve his mind, but maintained a pension-roll and list of public

charities and beneficiaries that would have done credit to a small

European Principality. In short, he thoroughly realized what the

responsibility of great wealth entailed.

True to his supersensitive nature and fastidious taste, he always

dressed in the height of fashion. This was the only extravagance he

allowed himself which, considering his fortune, was reasonable enough.

Experience had taught him that the majority of men and women were fakirs

pure and simple, whose chief motives were prompted solely by

self-interest; and any suggestion to reform the world he invariably

greeted with laughter. In fact, the world in his opinion, was not worth

reforming; yet, in spite of this melancholy truth, he had remained human

to the core, and took a live interest in that world of men which he knew

to be nothing more nor less than a great gamble. And therein lay the

chief distinction between him and Captain Forest, for they were

otherwise strangely alike. Dick was still more or less interested in

molding the clay--the Captain had done with it. Possibly because the

latter had fallen heir to that which Dick had acquired through effort

and, therefore, set less store upon it.

There were few countries which he had not visited. After making his

first rich strike, he attempted to settle in New York, but was unable to

do so. To use his own words, "he was only able to sit down, but there

wasn't room enough for him to stretch his arms and legs."

During his travels he had collected numerous works of art; tapestries,

paintings, marbles and bronzes by the best modern masters, which he

placed in a beautiful Spanish _hacienda_ especially designed by one of

the foremost architects of the day. The house occupied the site of an

old Spanish _rancho_ situated in a beautiful valley about ten miles from

Santa Fé and was generally conceded to be the most attractive estate in

Chihuahua, though not the largest and most valuable; Don Felipe Ramirez

possessed that. Both house and garden were a living monument to Dick's

natural refinement and good taste. There were no jarring notes or

lavish, tawdry display, the pitfalls into which the parvenue and petit

bourgeois invariably fall. This was his only hobby, and just why he

indulged it, he himself would have found it difficult to answer, for in

reality, he cared but little for it.

He regarded it chiefly as a precaution against old age. He would

continue to improve and beautify the place until the day arrived when he

would retire from the world to pass the few remaining years of life amid

the quiet and seclusion which the country afforded. And he often

pictured himself when alone and musing over his cigar, as a lonely,

white-haired patriarch, without offspring to perpetuate his name, seated

in the center of his _patio_, smiling benignly upon the frolicsome

little brown children of his Indian retainers as they laughed and

disported themselves about him.

"Ah!" cries the world. "Mr. Yankton has a history!" Of course. What man

or woman has not, even though they dare not admit it? Had he loved too

much or too little? There were even some who attributed that exquisite

vein of melancholy in his nature to the shadow of a married woman. Was

he haunted by the fear that some fair, false one might marry him for his

fortune, not for himself? Or, was his aversion to marriage due solely to

the fact that the right woman had not yet arrived?

These and many other questions had been asked and thoroughly discussed

by the matrons and daughters of Santa Fé, especially by the latter, to

all of whom he had made love and sent flowers and serenaded in turn

until, out of sheer desperation, they called alternately upon God and

the devil to keep or punish this gay Lothario who loved all and yet

none, and who gave such exquisite _fiestas_ in his beautiful _hacienda_.

Now it so chanced that, at the same hour Don Felipe was conducting

Blanch and Bessie to the cañon, Dick was returning to Santa Fé on

horseback from his _hacienda_ where he had passed the night. As there

was no particular reason why he should reach the _Posada_ before noon,

he decided to indulge his fancy by lingering in the cooling shade of the

cañon close to the river's edge, where he might listen to the voices of

the waters as they went singing by him on their way to the old town and

thence to the sea.

He accordingly dismounted, and after lighting a fresh cigar, stretched

himself at full length upon the grass which grew on the river's bank,

allowing his horse to graze at will. Just behind him rose the abrupt

wall of the cañon some thirty or forty feet in height which, at this

hour of the morning, cast a deep shadow over the spot where he lay and

halfway across the river in front of him. It was just the sort of place

for an Indian or one of Dick's nature to linger in and dream and muse.

The tips of the tall grass and reeds which grew close to the water's

edge, swayed gently in the fresh morning breeze. The song of the finch

and linnet issued from the thick, low willow copse growing along the

river's banks.

How peaceful it was, and how sweetly the waters sang! No wonder the

Indian prized the peace and beauty of nature above all else. What was

his _hacienda_ to this? He was never really happy when the roof of a

house intervened between himself and the sky.

Suddenly his attention was attracted by a noise overhead, and glancing

upward, he sprang to his feet just in time to avoid a mass of earth and

stones that came rolling down over the face of the cliff and fell on the

very spot where he had been lying. The next instant, before he had time

to realize what was happening, a soft, fluffy mass dropped into his arms

with an impact that nearly brought him to his knees. For some seconds

Dick looked hard at the object in his arms in order to assure himself

that he really was awake and not still dreaming in the grass by the side

of the river.

There was no doubt about it; the woman had arrived.

Miss Van Ashton lay quite still in his arms; she had fainted. For the

first time in his life, a panic seized him.

"Miss Van Ashton!" he cried excitedly, bending over her. She seemed like

nothing, as light as a feather as she lay so still and pale in his

strong arms. It seemed as though he could have held her thus forever,

and he was almost beginning to wish that he might as he watched the

pallor of her face slowly give way to its natural pink and white glow,

delicate as the lining of a conch-shell. Strange that he had not noted

this peculiarly piquant and attractive face before.

"Miss Van Ashton!" he cried once more. But again there was no response.

He lowered her gently on one knee in order that she might breathe more

freely. As he did so, one of her hands came into sudden contact with his

own. Instinctively his hand closed over it and held it captive; it was

so soft and warm, just like a little bird. His soul was sorely tempted,

and sad to relate, he raised it to his lips and held it there, at which

juncture Bessie Van Ashton slowly opened her eyes.

With a cry, she was on her feet--flushed and furious.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Van Ashton!" he exclaimed, quite unconscious of

the cause of her sudden fright. "You're not hurt a bit; you didn't touch

the ground. You only fainted."

"How dare you hold me in your arms?" she cried.

"I couldn't help it, Miss Van Ashton; you dropped right into them."

"How dare you kiss me, sir?"

"I couldn't help that either," stammered Dick, covered with confusion

and blushing like a school-boy.

"Insolence!" cried Bessie with increased vehemence, stamping her small

foot furiously on the ground.

"Miss Van Ashton," stammered Dick again, "I apologize! I--I beg your

pardon--"

"For taking advantage of a helpless woman while in an unconscious

state!" she interrupted. "A most gentlemanly act!" she added

contemptuously. Her words cut him like the lash of a whip, causing him

to wince, his face turning a deep red.

"I'm sorry--" he began.

"You know you're not sorry at all!" she broke in again with unabated

fury.

"Miss Van Ashton," he said again, with increasing embarrassment, "when

you fell into my arms I was so surprised and frightened--"

"Frightened?" She laughed in his face. "A man who single handed held a

furious crowd of men at bay as you did--frightened? You mean that you

were so overcome with weakness and the joy at finding a helpless woman

in your power you could think of nothing better to do than to kiss her,"

she answered with all the sarcasm she could command.

A twinkle came into Dick's dark eyes as he regarded her for some time in

silence.

"Miss Van Ashton," he said, "if you only knew it, you are far more

dangerous than a tame mob of boys."

"Pshaw!" she exclaimed, turning her back upon him, and tapping the

ground nervously with her daintily shod foot. Dick regarded her narrowly

during the pause that ensued. She seemed taller than he at first had

thought her, and was as slender as a birch. The sun, which by this time

had begun to peep over the top of the cañon wall, cast a golden aureole

about her head. Again he heard the waters sing and the notes of the

birds issuing from the willow copse.

"Well! how much longer are you going to stand there? Why don't you say

something?" she snapped, still keeping her back turned toward him. Her

words inspired him with fresh confidence. He recognized in them a faint

glimmer of interest which even her fierce spirit of resentment had not

entirely succeeded in overcoming.

"Miss Van Ashton, ignore me, trample me in the dust if you like, but do

you know, if it had been any other woman than yourself, I should have

laid her quietly down upon the ground and left her to regain

consciousness as best she could!" She wheeled around abruptly, looking

him straight in the eyes. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his

words, or the look that accompanied them. And she instinctively felt

that an impulsive, passionate nature like his could not have helped

doing what he did.

"I don't believe a word you say," she said, softening somewhat, a faint

smile lurking about the corners of her mouth. Then, as the ludicrousness

of the situation came over her, she burst into fit after fit of laughter

until the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed at length.

"You do forgive me!" he pleaded, picking up her dainty straw hat which

lay on the ground close by and handing it to her.

"No, I don't forgive you. I don't think I ever shall," she answered in

the severest tone she could command. "It was foolish of me to wander

away from the others," she continued. "I might have known that something

would happen, because something is always happening in this country.

It's perfectly marvelous!" Then, after a pause, during which she placed

her hat rakishly on one side of her head, she added: "As a punishment,

Mr. Yankton, I'll allow you to accompany me back to the _Posada_." Her

words caused his heart to jump.

"I don't deserve it," he answered, assuming an air and tone of humility.

"I'm glad you realize that," she returned. "I suppose I'm indebted to

you for saving my life," she went on. "And I don't want you to think me

ungrateful. Perhaps it would have been better though--" She broke off

abruptly, and then laughed a strange little laugh that puzzled him

greatly. She had at least grown communicative again, and he heaved a

sigh of relief. He had gotten off so much easier than he expected.

"One moment, Miss Van Ashton," he said, as she was about to take the

lead. He turned and gave a shrill whistle. His horse which had been

feeding quietly the while on the grass a short distance from them,

raised his head at the sound, and giving a low whinny, came trotting up

to them.

"Won't you ride?" he asked, turning to her. "He's quite gentle."

"No," she answered rather curtly, "I prefer to walk."

"Just as you say," he answered in a tone of complete submission, taking

his place quietly by her side.

"No--not that way!" she said. "We'll keep the horse's head between us."