Apparently dissatisfied with the result of an investigation, which
proved that the cavity was unfit as a treasure hoard for a discreet
squirrel, whatever its value as a receptacle for the love-tokens of
incautious humanity, the little animal at once set about to put things
in order. He began by whisking out an immense quantity of dead leaves,
disturbed a family of tree-spiders, dissipated a drove of patient
aphides browsing in the bark, as well as their attendant dairymen, the
ants, and otherwise ruled it with the high hand of dispossession and a
contemptuous opinion of the previous incumbents. It must not be
supposed, however, that his proceedings were altogether free from
contemporaneous criticism; a venerable crow sitting on a branch above
him displayed great interest in his occupation, and, hopping down a few
moments afterwards, disposed of some worm-eaten nuts, a few larvae, and
an insect or two, with languid dignity and without prejudice. Certain
incumbrances, however, still resisted the squirrel's general eviction;
among them a folded square of paper with sharply defined edges, that
declined investigation, and, owing to a nauseous smell of tobacco,
escaped nibbling as it had apparently escaped insect ravages. This,
owing to its sharp angles, which persisted in catching in the soft
decaying wood in his whirlwind of house-cleaning, he allowed to remain.
Having thus, in a general way, prepared for the coming winter, the
self-satisfied little rodent dismissed the subject from his active mind.
His rage and indignation a few days later may be readily conceived,
when he found, on returning to his new-made home, another square of
paper, folded like the first, but much fresher and whiter, lying within
the cavity, on top of some moss which had evidently been placed there
for the purpose. This he felt was really more than he could bear, but
it was smaller, and with a few energetic kicks and whisks of his tail
he managed to finally dislodge it through the opening, where it fell
ignominiously to the earth. The eager eyes of the ever-attendant crow,
however, instantly detected it; he flew to the ground, and, turning it
over, examined it gravely. It was certainly not edible, but it was
exceedingly rare, and, as an old collector of curios, he felt he could
not pass it by. He lifted it in his beak, and, with a desperate
struggle against the superincumbent weight, regained the branch with
his prize. Here, by one of those delicious vagaries of animal nature,
he apparently at once discharged his mind of the whole affair, became
utterly oblivious of it, allowed it to drop without the least concern,
and eventually flew away with an abstracted air, as if he had been
another bird entirely. The paper got into a manzanita bush, where it
remained suspended until the evening, when, being dislodged by a
passing wild-cat on its way to Mulrady's hen-roost, it gave that
delicately sensitive marauder such a turn that she fled into the
adjacent county.
But the troubles of the squirrel were not yet over. On the following
day the young man who had accompanied the young woman returned to the
trunk, and the squirrel had barely time to make his escape before the
impatient visitor approached the opening of the cavity, peered into it,
and even passed his hand through its recesses. The delight visible
upon his anxious and serious face at the disappearance of the letter,
and the apparent proof that it had been called for, showed him to have
been its original depositor, and probably awakened a remorseful
recollection in the dark bosom of the omnipresent crow, who uttered a
conscious-stricken croak from the bough above him. But the young man
quickly disappeared again, and the squirrel was once more left in
undisputed possession.
A week passed. A weary, anxious interval to Don Caesar, who had
neither seen nor heard from Mamie since their last meeting. Too
conscious of his own self-respect to call at the house after the
equivocal conduct of Mrs. Mulrady, and too proud to haunt the lanes and
approaches in the hope of meeting her daughter, like an ordinary lover,
he hid his gloomy thoughts in the monastic shadows of the courtyard at
Los Gatos, or found relief in furious riding at night and early morning
on the highway. Once or twice the up-stage had been overtaken and
passed by a rushing figure as shadowy as a phantom horseman, with only
the star-like point of a cigarette to indicate its humanity. It was in
one of these fierce recreations that he was obliged to stop in early
morning at the blacksmith's shop at Rough-and-Ready, to have a loosened
horseshoe replaced, and while waiting picked up a newspaper. Don
Caesar seldom read the papers, but noticing that this was the "Record,"
he glanced at its columns. A familiar name suddenly flashed out of the
dark type like a spark from the anvil. With a brain and heart that
seemed to be beating in unison with the blacksmith's sledge, he read as
follows:--
"Our distinguished fellow-townsman, Alvin Mulrady, Esq., left town day
before yesterday to attend an important meeting of directors of the Red
Dog Ditch Company, in San Francisco. Society will regret to hear that
Mrs. Mulrady and her beautiful and accomplished daughter, who are
expecting to depart for Europe at the end of the month, anticipated the
event nearly a fortnight, by taking this opportunity of accompanying
Mr. Mulrady as far as San Francisco, on their way to the East. Mrs.
and Miss Mulrady intend to visit London, Paris, and Berlin, and will be
absent three years. It is possible that Mr. Mulrady may join them
later at one or other of those capitals. Considerable disappointment
is felt that a more extended leave-taking was not possible, and that,
under the circumstances, no opportunity was offered for a 'send off'
suitable to the condition of the parties and the esteem in which they
are held in Rough-and-Ready."
The paper dropped from his hands. Gone! and without a word! No, that
was impossible! There must be some mistake; she had written; the
letter had miscarried; she must have sent word to Los Gatos, and the
stupid messenger had blundered; she had probably appointed another
meeting, or expected him to follow to San Francisco. "The day before
yesterday!" It was the morning's paper--she had been gone scarcely two
days--it was not too late yet to receive a delayed message by post, by
some forgetful hand--by--ah--the tree!
Of course it was in the tree, and he had not been there for a week! Why
had he not thought of it before? The fault was his, not hers. Perhaps
she had gone away, believing him faithless, or a country boor.
"In the name of the Devil, will you keep me here till eternity!"
The blacksmith stared at him. Don Caesar suddenly remembered that he
was speaking, as he was thinking--in Spanish.
"Ten dollars, my friend, if you have done in five minutes!"
The man laughed. "That's good enough American," he said, beginning to
quicken his efforts. Don Caesar again took up the paper. There was
another paragraph that recalled his last interview with Mamie:--
"Mr. Harry Slinn, Jr., the editor of this paper, has just moved into
the pioneer house formerly occupied by Alvin Mulrady, Esq., which has
already become historic in the annals of the county. Mr. Slinn brings
with him his father--H. J. Slinn, Esq.,--and his two sisters. Mr.
Slinn, Sen., who has been suffering for many years from complete
paralysis, we understand is slowly improving; and it is by the advice
of his physicians that he has chosen the invigorating air of the
foothills as a change to the debilitating heat of Sacramento."
The affair had been quickly settled, certainly, reflected Don Caesar,
with a slight chill of jealousy, as he thought of Mamie's interest in
the young editor. But the next moment he dismissed it from his mind;
all except a dull consciousness that, if she really loved him--Don
Caesar--as he loved her, she could not have assisted in throwing into
his society the young sisters of the editor, who she expected might be
so attractive.
Within the five minutes the horse was ready, and Don Caesar in the
saddle again. In less than half an hour he was at the wayside boulder.
Here he picketed his horse, and took the narrow foot-trail through the
hollow. It did not take him long to reach their old trysting-place.
With a beating heart he approached the decaying trunk and looked into
the cavity. There was no letter there!
A few blackened nuts and some of the dry moss he had put there were
lying on the ground at its roots. He could not remember whether they
were there when he had last visited the spot. He began to grope in the
cavity with both hands. His fingers struck against the sharp angles of
a flat paper packet: a thrill of joy ran through them and stopped his
beating heart; he drew out the hidden object, and was chilled with
disappointment.
It was an ordinary-sized envelope of yellowish-brown paper, bearing,
besides the usual government stamp, the official legend of an express
company, and showing its age as much by this record of a now obsolete
carrying service as by the discoloration of time and atmosphere. Its
weight, which was heavier than that of any ordinary letter of the same
size and thickness, was evidently due to some loose enclosures, that
slightly rustled and could be felt by the fingers, like minute pieces
of metal or grains of gravel. It was within Don Caesar's experience
that gold specimens were often sent in that manner. It was in a state
of singular preservation, except the address, which, being written in
pencil, was scarcely discernible, and even when deciphered appeared to
be incoherent and unfinished. The unknown correspondent had written
"dear Mary," and then "Mrs. Mary Slinn," with an unintelligible scrawl
following for the direction. If Don Caesar's mind had not been lately
preoccupied with the name of the editor, he would hardly have guessed
the superscription.
In his cruel disappointment and fully aroused indignation, he at once
began to suspect a connection of circumstances which at any other
moment he would have thought purely accidental, or perhaps not have
considered at all. The cavity in the tree had evidently been used as a
secret receptacle for letters before; did Mamie know it at the time,
and how did she know it? The apparent age of the letter made it
preposterous to suppose that it pointed to any secret correspondence of
hers with young Mr. Slinn; and the address was not in her handwriting.
Was there any secret previous intimacy between the families? There was
but one way in which he could connect this letter with Mamie's
faithlessness. It was an infamous, a grotesquely horrible idea, a
thought which sprang as much from his inexperience of the world and his
habitual suspiciousness of all humor as anything else! It was that the
letter was a brutal joke of Slinn's--a joke perhaps concocted by Mamie
and himself--a parting insult that should at the last moment proclaim
their treachery and his own credulity. Doubtless it contained a
declaration of their shame, and the reason why she had fled from him
without a word of explanation. And the enclosure, of course, was some
significant and degrading illustration. Those Americans are full of
those low conceits; it was their national vulgarity.
He had the letter in his angry hand. He could break it open if he
wished and satisfy himself; but it was not addressed to HIM, and the
instinct of honor, strong even in his rage, was the instinct of an
adversary as well. No; Slinn should open the letter before him. Slinn
should explain everything, and answer for it. If it was nothing--a
mere accident--it would lead to some general explanation, and perhaps
even news of Mamie. But he would arraign Slinn, and at once. He put
the letter in his pocket, quickly retraced his steps to his horse, and,
putting spurs to the animal, followed the high road to the gate of
Mulrady's pioneer cabin.
He remembered it well enough. To a cultivated taste, it was superior
to the more pretentious "new house." During the first year of
Mulrady's tenancy, the plain square log-cabin had received those
additions and attractions which only a tenant can conceive and actual
experience suggest; and in this way the hideous right angles were
broken with sheds, "lean-to" extensions, until a certain
picturesqueness was given to the irregularity of outline, and a
home-like security and companionship to the congregated buildings. It
typified the former life of the great capitalist, as the tall new house
illustrated the loneliness and isolation that wealth had given him.
But the real points of vantage were the years of cultivation and
habitation that had warmed and enriched the soil, and evoked the
climbing vines and roses that already hid its unpainted boards, rounded
its hard outlines, and gave projection and shadow from the pitiless
glare of a summer's long sun, or broke the steady beating of the winter
rains. It was true that pea and bean poles surrounded it on one side,
and the only access to the house was through the cabbage rows that once
were the pride and sustenance of the Mulradys. It was this fact, more
than any other, that had impelled Mrs. Mulrady to abandon its site; she
did not like to read the history of their humble origin reflected in
the faces of their visitors as they entered.
Don Caesar tied his horse to the fence, and hurriedly approached the
house. The door, however, hospitably opened when he was a few paces
from it, and when he reached the threshold he found himself
unexpectedly in the presence of two pretty girls. They were evidently
Slinn's sisters, whom he had neither thought of nor included in the
meeting he had prepared. In spite of his preoccupation, he felt
himself suddenly embarrassed, not only by the actual distinction of
their beauty, but by a kind of likeness that they seemed to bear to
Mamie.
"We saw you coming," said the elder, unaffectedly. "You are Don Caesar
Alvarado. My brother has spoken of you."
The words recalled Don Caesar to himself and a sense of courtesy. He
was not here to quarrel with these fair strangers at their first
meeting; he must seek Slinn elsewhere, and at another time. The
frankness of his reception and the allusion to their brother made it
appear impossible that they should be either a party to his
disappointment, or even aware of it. His excitement melted away before
a certain lazy ease, which the consciousness of their beauty seemed to
give them. He was able to put a few courteous inquiries, and, thanks
to the paragraph in the "Record," to congratulate them upon their
father's improvement.
"Oh, pa is a great deal better in his health, and has picked up even in
the last few days, so that he is able to walk round with crutches,"
said the elder sister. "The air here seems to invigorate him
wonderfully."
"And you know, Esther," said the younger, "I think he begins to take
more notice of things, especially when he is out-of-doors. He looks
around on the scenery, and his eye brightens, as if he knew all about
it; and sometimes he knits his brows, and looks down so, as if he was
trying to remember."
"You know, I suppose," exclaimed Esther, "that since his seizure his
memory has been a blank--that is, three or four years of his life seem
to have been dropped out of his recollection."
"It might be a mercy sometimes, Senora," said Don Caesar, with a grave
sigh, as he looked at the delicate features before him, which recalled
the face of the absent Mamie.
"That's not very complimentary," said the younger girl, laughingly;
"for pa didn't recognize us, and only remembered us as little girls."
"Vashti!" interrupted Esther, rebukingly; then, turning to Don Caesar,
she added, "My sister, Vashti, means that father remembers more what
happened before he came to California, when we were quite young, than
he does of the interval that elapsed. Dr. Duchesne says it's a
singular case. He thinks that, with his present progress, he will
recover the perfect use of his limbs; though his memory may never come
back again."
"Unless-- You forget what the doctor told us this morning,"
interrupted Vashti again, briskly.
"I was going to say it," said Esther, a little curtly. "UNLESS he has
another stroke. Then he will either die or recover his mind entirely."
Don Caesar glanced at the bright faces, a trifle heightened in color by
their eager recital and the slight rivalry of narration, and looked
grave. He was a little shocked at a certain lack of sympathy and
tenderness towards their unhappy parent. They seemed to him not only
to have caught that dry, curious toleration of helplessness which
characterizes even relationship in its attendance upon chronic
suffering and weakness, but to have acquired an unconscious habit of
turning it to account. In his present sensitive condition, he even
fancied that they flirted mildly over their parent's infirmity.
"My brother Harry has gone to Red Dog," continued Esther; "he'll be
right sorry to have missed you. Mrs. Mulrady spoke to him about you;
you seem to have been great friends. I s'pose you knew her daughter,
Mamie; I hear she is very pretty."
Although Don Caesar was now satisfied that the Slinns knew nothing of
Mamie's singular behavior to him, he felt embarrassed by this
conversation. "Miss Mulrady is very pretty," he said, with grave
courtesy; "it is a custom of her race. She left suddenly," he added
with affected calmness.
"I reckon she did calculate to stay here longer--so her mother said;
but the whole thing was settled a week ago. I know my brother was
quite surprised to hear from Mr. Mulrady that if we were going to
decide about this house we must do it at once; he had an idea himself
about moving out of the big one into this when they left."
"Mamie Mulrady hadn't much to keep her here, considerin' the money and
the good looks she has, I reckon," said Vashti. "She isn't the sort of
girl to throw herself away in the wilderness, when she can pick and
choose elsewhere. I only wonder she ever come back from Sacramento.
They talk about papa Mulrady having BUSINESS at San Francisco, and THAT
hurrying them off! Depend upon it, that 'business' was Mamie herself.
Her wish is gospel to them. If she'd wanted to stay and have a
farewell party, old Mulrady's business would have been nowhere."
"Ain't you a little rough on Mamie," said Esther, who had been quietly
watching the young man's face with her large languid eyes, "considering
that we don't know her, and haven't even the right of friends to
criticise?"
"I don't call it rough," returned Vashti, frankly, "for I'd do the same
if I were in her shoes--and they're four-and-a-halves, for Harry told
me so. Give me her money and her looks, and you wouldn't catch me
hanging round these diggings--goin' to choir meetings Saturdays, church
Sundays, and buggy-riding once a month--for society! No--Mamie's head
was level--you bet!"
Don Caesar rose hurriedly. They would present his compliments to their
father, and he would endeavor to find their brother at Red Dog. He,
alas! had neither father, mother, nor sister, but if they would receive
his aunt, the Dona Inez Sepulvida, the next Sunday, when she came from
mass, she should be honored and he would be delighted. It required all
his self-possession to deliver himself of this formal courtesy before
he could take his leave, and on the back of his mustang give way to the
rage, disgust and hatred of everything connected with Mamie that filled
his heart. Conscious of his disturbance, but not entirely appreciating
their own share in it, the two girls somewhat wickedly prolonged the
interview by following him into the garden.
"Well, if you MUST leave now," said Esther, at last, languidly, "it
ain't much out of your way to go down through the garden and take a
look at pa as you go. He's somewhere down there, near the woods, and
we don't like to leave him alone too long. You might pass the time of
day with him; see if he's right side up. Vashti and I have got a heap
of things to fix here yet; but if anything's wrong with him, you can
call us. So-long."
Don Caesar was about to excuse himself hurriedly; but that sudden and
acute perception of all kindred sorrow which belongs to refined
suffering, checked his speech. The loneliness of the helpless old man
in this atmosphere of active and youthful selfishness touched him. He
bowed assent, and turned aside into one of the long perspectives of
bean-poles. The girls watched him until out of sight.
"Well," said Vashti, "don't tell ME. But if there wasn't something
between him and that Mamie Mulrady, I don't know a jilted man when I
see him."
"Well, you needn't have let him SEE that you knew it, so that any
civility of ours would look as if we were ready to take up with her
leavings," responded Esther, astutely, as the girls reentered the house.
Meantime, the unconscious object of their criticism walked sadly down
the old market-garden, whose rude outlines and homely details he once
clothed with the poetry of a sensitive man's first love. Well, it was a
common cabbage field and potato patch after all. In his disgust he
felt conscious of even the loss of that sense of patronage and
superiority which had invested his affection for a girl of meaner
condition. His self-respect was humiliated with his love. The soil
and dirt of those wretched cabbages had clung to him, but not to her.
It was she who had gone higher; it was he who was left in the vulgar
ruins of his misplaced passion.
He reached the bottom of the garden without observing any sign of the
lonely invalid. He looked up and down the cabbage rows, and through
the long perspective of pea-vines, without result. There was a newer
trail leading from a gap in the pines to the wooded hollow, which
undoubtedly intersected the little path that he and Mamie had once
followed from the high road. If the old man had taken this trail he
had possibly over-tasked his strength, and there was the more reason
why he should continue his search, and render any assistance if
required. There was another idea that occurred to him, which
eventually decided him to go on. It was that both these trails led to
the decayed sycamore stump, and that the older Slinn might have
something to do with the mysterious letter. Quickening his steps
through the field, he entered the hollow, and reached the intersecting
trail as he expected. To the right it lost itself in the dense woods
in the direction of the ominous stump; to the left it descended in
nearly a straight line to the highway, now plainly visible, as was
equally the boulder on which he had last discovered Mamie sitting with
young Slinn. If he were not mistaken, there was a figure sitting there
now; it was surely a man. And by that half-bowed, helpless attitude,
the object of his search!
It did not take him long to descend the track to the highway and
approach the stranger. He was seated with his hands upon his knees,
gazing in a vague, absorbed fashion upon the hillside, now crowned with
the engine-house and chimney that marked the site of Mulrady's shaft.
He started slightly, and looked up, as Don Caesar paused before him.
The young man was surprised to see that the unfortunate man was not as
old as he had expected, and that his expression was one of quiet and
beatified contentment.
"Your daughters told me you were here," said Don Caesar, with gentle
respect. "I am Caesar Alvarado, your not very far neighbor; very happy
to pay his respects to you as he has to them."
"My daughters?" said the old man, vaguely. "Oh, yes! nice little
girls. And my boy Harry. Did you see Harry? Fine little fellow,
Harry."
"I am glad to hear that you are better," said Don Caesar, hastily, "and
that the air of our country does you no harm. God benefit you, senor,"
he added, with a profoundly reverential gesture, dropping unconsciously
into the religious habit of his youth. "May he protect you, and bring
you back to health and happiness!"
"Happiness?" said Slinn, amazedly. "I am happy--very happy! I have
everything I want: good air, good food, good clothes, pretty little
children, kind friends--" He smiled benignantly at Don Caesar. "God
is very good to me!"
Indeed, he seemed very happy; and his face, albeit crowned with white
hair, unmarked by care and any disturbing impression, had so much of
satisfied youth in it that the grave features of his questioner made
him appear the elder. Nevertheless, Don Caesar noticed that his eyes,
when withdrawn from him, sought the hillside with the same visionary
abstraction.
"It is a fine view, Senor Esslinn," said Don Caesar.
"It is a beautiful view, sir," said Slinn, turning his happy eyes upon
him for a moment, only to rest them again on the green slope opposite.
"Beyond that hill which you are looking at--not far, Senor Esslinn--I
live. You shall come and see me there--you and your family."
"You--you--live there?" stammered the invalid, with a troubled
expression--the first and only change to the complete happiness that
had hitherto suffused his face. "You--and your name is--is Ma--"
"Alvarado," said Don Caesar, gently. "Caesar Alvarado."
"You said Masters," said the old man, with sudden querulousness.
"No, good friend. I said Alvarado," returned Don Caesar, gravely.
"If you didn't say Masters, how could I say it? I don't know any
Masters."
Don Caesar was silent. In another moment the happy tranquillity
returned to Slinn's face; and Don Caesar continued:--
"It is not a long walk over the hill, though it is far by the road.
When you are better you shall try it. Yonder little trail leads to the
top of the hill, and then--"
He stopped, for the invalid's face had again assumed its troubled
expression. Partly to change his thoughts, and partly for some
inexplicable idea that had suddenly seized him, Don Caesar continued:--
"There is a strange old stump near the trail, and in it a hole. In the
hole I found this letter." He stopped again--this time in alarm.
Slinn had staggered to his feet with ashen and distorted features, and
was glancing at the letter which Don Caesar had drawn from his pocket.
The muscles of his throat swelled as if he was swallowing; his lips
moved, but no sound issued from them. At last, with a convulsive
effort, he regained a disjointed speech, in a voice scarcely audible.
"My letter! my letter! It's mine! Give it me! It's my fortune--all
mine! In the tunnel--hill! Masters stole it--stole my fortune! Stole
it all! See, see!"
He seized the letter from Don Caesar with trembling hands, and tore it
open forcibly: a few dull yellow grains fell from it heavily, like
shot, to the ground.
"See, it's true! My letter! My gold! My strike! My--my--my God!"
A tremor passed over his face. The hand that held the letter suddenly
dropped sheer and heavy as the gold had fallen. The whole side of his
face and body nearest Don Caesar seemed to drop and sink into itself as
suddenly. At the same moment, and without a word, he slipped through
Don Caesar's outstretched hands to the ground. Don Caesar bent quickly
over him, but no longer than to satisfy himself that he lived and
breathed, although helpless. He then caught up the fallen letter, and,
glancing over it with flashing eyes, thrust it and the few specimens in
his pocket. He then sprang to his feet, so transformed with energy and
intelligence that he seemed to have added the lost vitality of the man
before him to his own. He glanced quickly up and down the highway.
Every moment to him was precious now; but he could not leave the
stricken man in the dust of the road; nor could he carry him to the
house; nor, having alarmed his daughters, could he abandon his
helplessness to their feeble arms. He remembered that his horse was
still tied to the garden fence. He would fetch it, and carry the
unfortunate man across the saddle to the gate. He lifted him with
difficulty to the boulder, and ran rapidly up the road in the direction
of his tethered steed. He had not proceeded far when he heard the
noise of wheels behind him. It was the up stage coming furiously
along. He would have called to the driver for assistance, but even
through that fast-sweeping cloud of dust and motion he could see that
the man was utterly oblivious of anything but the speed of his rushing
chariot, and had even risen in his box to lash the infuriated and
frightened animals forward.
An hour later, when the coach drew up at the Red Dog Hotel, the driver
descended from the box, white, but taciturn. When he had swallowed a
glass of whiskey at a single gulp, he turned to the astonished express
agent, who had followed him in.
"One of two things, Jim, hez got to happen," he said, huskily. "Either
that there rock hez got to get off the road, or I have. I've seed HIM
on it agin!"