It is an established but peculiar trait of human nature, by which most
of us desire to be that which we are not, or to do that for which we
have no talent. I, who write, may aspire to be a great engineer; you,
who read, may aspire to the study of the stars. We reach out toward that
which we may never grasp.
Sandy Mackintavers was a wealthy and a powerful man; his hands were
gripped hard in both the politics and the mining properties of the
state. Self-made and self-educated, he had accomplished a good job of
it. He had, of necessity, seen a good deal of those men who were ever
radiating out from Santa Fe; those men who, on behalf of many
universities and great museums, were ever delving amid the thousands of
pre-historic ruins which lay in and between the valleys of the Pecos and
the Rio Grande.
Slowly, Sandy had discovered that these men were digging in the earth
for science, and that science and the world of letters honoured them. He
had learned something of their "patter" and of the things they were
seeking; he had studied their work and methods and ideals, and he had
found within himself the makings of a scientist. In short, he had formed
the stupendous ambition of becoming, at one fell stroke, a renowned
ethnologist!
Do not smile. In the course of thirty years a man can pick up a great
many divers things, and it was the way of Mackintavers to pick up
everything in sight. Sandy knew a great deal more than he appeared to
know. He had mining properties all over, and he was a silent partner in
a chain of Mormon trading stores that ran north from the Mexican border
through three states. His sources of information were varied.
Being unmarried and loving his ease when he was in the city,
Mackintavers maintained a suite at the Aztec House. He had entertained
many men in that place, some to their eternal sorrow. Never had he
entertained a more distinguished visitor, however, than the Smithsonian
professor with whom he was speaking on this Sunday morning--a scientist
known around the world, and a man of supreme authority in ethnologic
circles.
"Now, professor," said Mackintavers, bluntly, "I ain't a
college-educated man, but I've knocked around this country for thirty
year, and I know a few things. When I die, I aim to be remembered as
something more than a mining man, see?"
The other, in puzzled suspense, nodded tacit understanding.
"Now," pursued Sandy, chewing hard on a cigar, "if I had something to
give the Smithsonian or some other museum, something that would be a
tenstrike for science, something that 'ud make every scientific shark in
the country water at the eyes for envy, what 'ud the Smithsonian do for
_me_?"
The professor cleared his throat and registered hesitation.
"I--ah--I do not exactly apprehend your meaning, Mr. Mackintavers. You
do not speak in a financial sense, I presume?"
"Of course not. I tell you, I want to be known as a scientist! Man, I've
got the biggest thing up my sleeve that you ever struck! Can your
museum, or any other, make me famous as a scientist? That is, if I turn
over a regular tenstrike?"
"Ah--that is exceedingly difficult to answer. A scientific reputation,
Mr. Mackintavers, is founded upon solid bases, upon research or
discoveries. If your--ah--contribution were a thing of such merit as you
say, it would undoubtedly be published far and wide. Your name,
naturally, would be attached to it, according as your work justified."
"In other words," amended Sandy, "if I turn over a complete job, I'd get
full credit and publicity?"
"Yes."
"That's what I want. I'm interested in this ethnology stuff, and I can
do you sharks a whopping good turn. I want to get the credit, that's
all. Folks call me a hard-fisted old mining crab, and I want to show 'em
that I'm something more."
"A highly laudable ambition, sir. You understand, however, that what to
a lay mind might appear to be a most interesting ethnological fact, to a
scientist might prove well known or insufficiently supported----"
Mackintavers waved his square hand.
"This thing is all assayed and fire tested, professor, and I'm no fool.
May I give you an outline of it?"
"If you care to, by all means do so!"
"You know where the San Marcos pueblo is--away down south of Bonanza?"
Mackintavers struck into his subject without further parley. "It was
abandoned about 1680 because of attacks from the Comanches, who
destroyed several pueblos down in that country. There's a tradition that
the Injuns migrated west of the Rio Grande and settled the Cochiti and
Domingo pueblos. Has that tradition ever been proved up?"
The professor evinced an awakening interest.
"No, sir. We know that the survivors of the Pecos pueblo went to Jimez,
but the older migrations are hidden in the mists of time, unfortunately.
Where the present Pueblos came from we do not know. The migrations----"
"They won't be hid very long," said Mackintavers, complacently.
"Aiblins, now, we'll clear 'em up a bit, eh?"
The only Scottish evidences which remained from Sandy's youth were an
uncanny acquisitiveness and a habit of interjecting the word "aiblins"
into the conversation at random. When Sandy used that word, it betrayed
mental effort.
"Some time ago," he resumed, "a man found seven stone idols in a bit of
the adobe ruins at San Marcos. They had been walled up and buried alive,
ye might say. The heavy rains last year, which took out some pieces of
the adobe walls, washed 'em out. I've got 'em now, down to my ranch near
Magdalena."
At this announcement the professor displayed mild disappointment. He had
been more than interested in Sandy's preamble, but this supposed climax
caused him to shake his gray head regretfully.
"My dear sir, these idols are of course very rare things, but not
exceptionally so. I fail to see how they would give any proof of
migration----"
"Hold on; I ain't done yet! A drunken Injun from Cochiti seen those
idols and spilled a good deal of information, calling them by name and
so on. That is not evidence which would stand on a scientific basis, I
reckon. But if a Cochiti man could be made to talk, and if he was to
recognize those idols first crack as his ancestral gods----"
"And not be drunk at the time," interjected the other, smiling.
"Sure. If he was to name 'em like old friends, and they corresponded
with the same idols from Cochiti which are in various museums--then
wouldn't all this go to show mighty plain that the migration theory was
true?"
Mackintavers leaned back, breathless and triumphant. The scientist
nodded quickly.
"Sir, this is an unusual and surprising proposal, but I cannot deny your
premises. I do believe that such evidence would go a long way, could it
be secured. That, of course, is the doubtful point, for these red men
can very seldom be made to talk. However, you have an astounding
perception of ethnologic values in merely conceiving the scheme!"
"Taken by and large, that's nothing but human nature. Well?"
"If this proof could really be adduced, it would be epochal! The
possibilities, sir, would be tremendous in their application!"
"It ain't proved up yet," returned Sandy, drily, "but it will be. It may
take a bit of time gettin' things in shape--a week or so, maybe. Ye
know, professor, these Injuns are touchy about questions o' deity, and
they have to be handled wi' gloves. But I'll do it! A bag of silver
dollars will loom mighty big to them. If ye care to be on hand when the
time comes, I'd be glad to have ye as a guest at my ranch----"
In many ways the professor had an extended knowledge of New Mexico. It
is quite possible that he knew all about the playful habits of Sandy
Mackintavers in regard to testimony along mining and mineral lines. So,
while he did not restrain his enthusiasm over the ambition of his host,
he made it plain that he certainly did wish to be on hand when the
testimony in this case was obtained.
Mackintavers agreed readily, for in this instance he was more or less
resolved to play fair; and the interview ended.
Scarcely had the scientist departed, than the door opened to admit an
individual of striking appearance. This gentleman was the satellite, the
adherent, and field marshal, the _ame damnee_, of Mackintavers.
Mormon progenitors had given him a stocky, massive front and splendid
build, a steely eye and projecting lower jaw. A touch of Mexican blood
had given him coarse black hair, a swart complexion, and sinister mental
attributes. He had much the appearance of a west-coast Irishman, with
his black hair and gray eyes, but there the resemblance ended. Such was
Abel Dorales, a man of reputation and education.
"Well?" greeted Mackintavers, abruptly. "What's up now?"
"Trouble," was the response. "Rodrigo Cota wants to see you. Also, I got
a telegram from Ben Aimes, at Zacaton City, but haven't decoded it yet.
I think it's about the Crump woman."
"Then hurry it along," snapped Mackintavers. "Send Cota in here pronto."
A moment later entered the room a nervous native, the same legislator
who had briefly interviewed Coravel Tio regarding the moving of the
capital. Mr. Cota stood mopping his brow and glancing around.
"Well, Cota?" exploded Sandy, transfixing him with frowning gaze.
"What's the matter now? Need more money to swing it?"
"Senor," blurted the legislator in desperation, "it cannot be swung!"
"Oh! And why not, Mr. Cota?"
"I do not know. Three weeks ago we had a clear majority. The measure was
to be presented to-morrow--but our men have gone to pieces!"
"Do they want more money?" snapped Sandy, savagely.
The native shrugged. "I have done my best! It is a question of the
people. In some way, I know not how, word has been spread abroad that
the capital is to be changed. Our people are furious. Our natives, sir,
have sentiment about this----"
"Sentiment, hell!" snarled Mackintavers, as his fist crashed down. "I
tell ye, it's goin' to be done! Ain't there plenty in it for all, ye
fool? Ain't new state buildings got to be built at Albuquerque?
Ain't----"
"Senor, it is no question of money; it cannot be done! I myself dare not
propose this bill without voting for it; and I cannot vote for it."
"Why not?" The face of Mackintavers was purpled, seething with furious
passions. Livid, the native glared back at him.
"Because I am afraid for my life."
Mackintavers leaped to his feet in a whirlwind of rage at what he
considered a palpable lie. The native shrank back, but doggedly, as
though a greater fear were beside him than any fear of this political
master of his.
At this instant the door opened and Abel Dorales appeared. He made a
slight gesture, a gesture of command, of authority. The empurpled
countenance of Mackintavers composed itself by a mighty effort.
"Very well, Mr. Cota," he said, thickly. "Let the bill pass over for
this time, since I got more important business on hand than chasing down
you native senators. But let me tell you this: When it comes up again,
there'll be no more talk like you've just handed out--or I'll know the
reason why. Get out!"
Cota took his hat and left, thankfully. Dorales closed the door, while a
flood of oaths burst from the lips of Mackintavers. With extended hand,
Dorales checked the flood.
"Never mind that, Sandy," he said, calmly. "We'll probably find later
that the railroad is double-crossing us. There's no rush--we can get to
the bottom of it in time. The more important affair is this of the Crump
woman, so far as money goes. There's a bigger fortune in this mine than
in any political game!"
Uncouth bear that he was, Mackintavers could be swayed by this more
polished tongue; he knew this tongue was devoted absolutely to his own
interests, and he forced himself to accept the dictum of Dorales at the
moment.
"Well?" he growled. "Ye don't mean to say she's down at Zacaton?"
"The wire was from your store manager there, Aimes. He said merely that
he had smashed the Crump outfit flat, and that I had better get there in
a hurry to take charge of things."
"Aiblins, yes!" The thin lips of Sandy curled back. "We hadn't looked
for such quick action, Abel. That Aimes is a good man! I s'pose this
news don't grieve ye none, after what the lady done to you. How's your
head?"
A fleeting contraction passed across the face of Dorales. His eyes
narrowed to thin slits. His nose quivered like the nose of a dog
sniffing game.
"Thank you, it's quite well," his voice was low and cruel. "If you think
best, I shall go down there immediately."
Mackintavers crammed a cigar between his teeth and chewed at it for a
moment.
"Aiblins, yes," he mused aloud. "Somebody has blocked us on this
moving-the-capital bill. I won't get hold of the skunk right away,
neither; we might's well call it off until the next session.
"Tell ye what, Abel! I'm fixing to spend a while at my ranch, so I'll go
south with ye. I'll need ye mighty bad to get that business of the Injun
gods moving along, because I got my heart set on doin' that up brown.
But as ye say, this mine means millions--the biggest strike in the state
in a long time. The assayer was positive it was strontianite and not
merely barytes?"
"Dead certain," assented Dorales.
"Well, it won't be such a long job; I'll be at the ranch where ye can
reach me quick. We'll have to find out what Aimes has done, then make
plans and go ahead. If there's one thing that the Lord gave me ability
to do, it was to handle mining deals!"
"With a cold deck," added Dorales. "Very well. If we go by auto, we can
save a good deal of time."
Mackintavers grimaced. "I ain't built for long trips, but go ahead. Get
the big car, Abel. Want to run her yourself? All right. Land me at the
ranch, then go on to Zacaton City with the ranch flivver, unless ye want
the big car."
"The flivver is the thing down there."
"Aiblins, yes. And mind! What we got to do is to get that Crump female
clear off'n her location; that's all. Aimes has evidently found some
means of gettin' her arrested. We can take that for granted. By the time
you get there, she'll be in the calaboose.
"You telephone me at the ranch with a full account of what's happened,
and I'll have a scheme ready for ye. The main thing is to get possession
of the property; maybe we can frame a deal on this fellow Shea--it's all
held in his name, ain't it? That was a foxy move, but not foxy enough to
fool us long! Get possession, Abel, and the law will do the rest for
us."
"It ought to!" Dorales showed white and even teeth as he smiled.
Mackintavers met those steely eyes beneath their strangely black brows,
and his square mouth unfolded in a grin.
"Get possession, that's all!" he uttered.
"Consider it done, Sandy. If you'll be ready in an hour, I'll be around
with the car."