The week which followed brought sad tidings to the Warlow family. A
black-bordered letter came, bearing the post-mark of San Francisco; but
before it was opened the family knew its import.
Mrs. Warlow's only brother, William, had been in the mines for several
years, but since his health had failed he had been making the great
coast city his home; and, although grieved at the announcement of his
death, they were not unprepared for the sad news.
The lawyer wrote that he held a few thousand dollars of the deceased's
money, which was left by the will to Mrs. Warlow, and they were also
informed that the "Redwood" mine was left to Robbie, who was a great
favorite with his uncle; but this latter property was as yet
unproductive, though the attorney conveyed an intimation that it might
some day prove very valuable, as there were mines of fabulous richness
near by.
Soon the rumor went flying through the colony that the Warlows had
fallen heirs to an immense estate, and as usual the report lost nothing
by traveling; so our friends soon found themselves invested by the halo
of riches without any of its substantial benefits.
Speculations and conjectures were rife among the neighbors as to the
"best manner of investing their friend Warlow's fortune;" and, in fact,
it became impossible for any member of the colonel's family to meet an
acquaintance without being informed of some great opening for a
judicious investment, that was only waiting capital and enterprise to
develop the fact that there was "millions in it."
As Clifford paused one day to discuss the state of the weather in a
neighborly way with a male member of this well-meaning but misguided
class, he learned that all the vast tract of vacant land to the north,
which still belonged to the government, had been condemned as being,
"unfit for agricultural purposes," and would be "offered" at public sale
the following August at the local land-office.
When young Warlow parted with his informant the matter was dismissed;
but whenever he glanced away to the north or east at the billowy hills
and level, rich dales, he would begin planning how he could secure a
tract of the land before it passed into the hands of relentless
speculators; and one day he actually rode out over the fertile,
picturesque country for miles, and with a blush found himself dreaming
how that long, narrow valley should be sown to grain, and the galloping
hills, clothed with rich grasses, could provide pasturage for his vast,
imaginary flocks and herds.
Alas, that the lack of a few handfuls of "filthy lucre" only, stood
between himself and the ownership of the broad acres on every hand! With
a dreary sigh he realized, for the first time in his life, how bitter is
the lot of the poor but ambitious man, who sees the avenues to wealth
barred by his lack of capital.
As he stood on the spot where his father had lost his fortune so many
years before, Clifford thought how many hundred thousand acres of that
rolling, fertile country the lost wealth represented; and while his
horse grazed quietly near, the youth threw himself down in the cool
shadow of the ruined wall, dreaming and planning how he might recover
the vast wealth that he had long suspected was buried here near the
scene of the tragedy.
But when he calmly began to analyze the evidence on which his suspicions
were based, he was disappointed to see how visionary it all seemed in
the clear light of reason. But it was too dear and cherished a theory to
be relinquished without a mental struggle; so again he began to persuade
himself that those scheming white men, of whom young Estill had
spoken--those inhuman villains--might have secreted the gold from the
drunken Indians, and it might have been that the blood-stained,
avaricious leaders had died a violent death in those turbulent days, and
the great wealth was still sleeping, undisturbed, all these years, while
his father was suffering under the heavy load of poverty and fallen
fortune. As Clifford still mused, there flashed across his mind the
lines of Rokeby:--
"Then dig and tomb your precious heap,
And bid the dead your treasure keep."
Springing to his feet, young Warlow cried aloud in his excitement:--
"Ah! it is all clear now--the blood on the grass and the newly made
graves, of which Uncle Roger spoke! Yes, yes--they buried the dead and
the gold in the same grave, and then decoyed the savages away! It may be
that those bright doubloons, the red gold of the Walravens and my
father, are buried but a few steps from where I stand."
Flinging aside doubt and uncertainty, he hurried down the hill to the
spot where his father had said the treasure-laden vehicle had stood on
that fatal night, and long and eagerly young Warlow searched for a trace
of the graves. But it was all in vain; for the vast tide of travel that
had flowed for a quarter of a century over the spot had not only
obliterated all trace of those lowly mounds, but had also worn the
mellow soil into deep gullies, down the sloping sides of which the
knotted buffalo-grass crept like webs of pale-green lace.
In the old trail, where once the cannon of Phil Kearney had rumbled, as
with his army he hurried forward to Santa Fe, and along where Coronado,
Lee, Fremont, and Kit Carson had ridden, now the wild mignonette, in
spikes of purple, fragrant blossoms, grew, loading the sultry air with
their rich odors. The sensitive-rose, its fern-like foliage tufted with
rosy balls of gold-flecked down, closed its leaves as Clifford hurriedly
brushed by; but in the tangled thickets of wild indigo, now blooming in
sprays of violet and creamy flowers, or among the tall, lush, blue
stem-grass the young "fortune hunter" found no traces of the lost
wealth--no sunken graves were visible to tell of that tragedy of long
ago; so it was with a slow step and feeling of despondency that our
friend sought the shelter of his latticed porch.
While he sat, lost in speculation as to the best method of prosecuting
his search, which he was too resolute to give up easily, his eyes rested
on an implement that at a glance showed its adaptability for the very
purpose. It was a long rod of iron, tipped with twisted steel. He
remembered having had it made the year before for the men who were
searching for a vein of water before sinking his wells. As he seized it
eagerly, and started once again down the hill, he felt gratified and
elated to perceive how easily he could now test the earth to the depth
of five feet, and ascertain if there was any foreign substance in the
mellow, loamy soil, which throughout the valley was a bed of rich, black
loam, entirely free from stone or boulders.
He had but reached the spot near the river, when he saw his father
riding through the wheat-field toward where our young schemer stood; and
hastily tossing the iron rod into a thicket, Clifford met his father
with an assumption of careless indifference; for all his allusions in
the past to the lost fortune had only met with the sarcastic disapproval
of his parent, who, being an intensely practical man himself, could not
tolerate any thing so visionary as a search for the treasure seemed to
be; and young Warlow had decided to keep his investigations secret, thus
avoiding the censure and ridicule of the colonel. After a brief
discussion in regard to the condition of the ripening grain, Clifford
remarked:--
"It seems very strange, father, that no trace can be found of those
graves which Uncle Roger mentioned having seen near the Old Corral, when
he found you after the robbery and massacre."
"This is too busy a time for us to speculate on the past, my boy. The
wheat has ripened splendidly--I never saw a field to equal that valley
yonder--and we will have to start the header to-morrow; so if you will
ride out on to the Flats and engage three more teams, I will go down to
Squire Moreland's and tell them we shall begin early in the morning,"
said the colonel.
"But, father, first tell me as nearly as possible where those graves
were located; for I have a strange curiosity regarding them of late. It
must be near this very spot?"
"Yes, yes; near that old cottonwood-tree, or on the level space of sod
just this side. But Clifford," continued he in a tone of suspicion quite
foreign to the kindly colonel, "what nonsense are you meditating now?
You are not still counting on that lost fortune?"
"Well, father, there has been a growing belief in my mind of late that
the treasure is secreted near here. Think how impossible it would have
been for a leader of such a band as those savages were, to divide the
booty satisfactorily among the pack of drunken monsters. If the leader
had the acumen that I believe he possessed, he, no doubt, buried the
gold, at least, in one of those graves while the others were stupefied
by the liquor; and there is a chance that he may never have returned,
owing to the dangers to which such turbulent villains are always
exposed. I have thought this over carefully, until at last I am
convinced--"
"That your father has a damned fool for a son!" broke in the colonel
hotly, as he rode away.
After supper Clifford said he would go up to his house and spend the
night--an announcement which caused no surprise, as he frequently stayed
there; but on this occasion Robbie remarked to Maud:--
"Cliff must be _schooling his courage_ by staying of nights up at that
old spook-ranch; but a fellow who can stand that, could pop the question
to the witch of Macbeth without faltering."
"What do you mean by his popping the question, Rob?" said Maud, setting
her pail of foamy milk down on the cellar-steps, while she regarded the
handsome youth with a puzzled look from her round, blue eyes.
"Why just this," he replied, after "swigging" down a pint of fresh milk
from his own pail, and deliberately wiping his lips with his
shirt-sleeve; "Cliff has got more sand in his gizzard than most fellows;
but I guess he feels too poor, or something, to talk _marry_ to Mora
Estill, so he goes mooning off up there to that old spectre's nest--just
like fellows do in novels, you know," he added, lucidly.
But here the peremptory tones of his father called the young philosopher
to take the colts down to the lower pasture.
When Clifford arrived at his dwelling he prepared several stakes, and
fastened bits of white paper to their tops; then, securing the iron rod,
he placed it with the small sticks, which he had left in the porch, and
sought the dainty and comfortable bed which he owed to the thoughtful
kindness of Maud and his mother.
Sinking into a profound slumber, he was only awakened by the alarm which
sounded as the clock struck one. As its chime died away, he arose and
stole forth into the tranquil night.
A waning moon had risen, and in its faint light the water of the brook
glimmered coldly as it wimpled over the stony ford. The fluttering
leaves of the old cottonwood flashed like silver, and the hoary form of
the great tree, every limb of which seemed outlined in white, towered
vague and ghostly above the shadows cast by the more dense foliage of
ash and willows.
Clifford paused in the level glade where his father had said the graves
must have been when Roger Coble passed the spot twenty-six years before.
Thrusting the rod deep into the soft, loamy soil, young Warlow threw his
whole weight on the instrument, which penetrated to the depth of several
feet with little difficulty. On meeting with no obstruction, he withdrew
the rod; and after marking the spot with one of the stakes which he had
provided, he began again to prosecute the search one step further south.
The precaution of marking the place where he had sunk the rod was for
the purpose of systematizing the search, thus avoiding confusion. In
fact, these careful details were but an indication of the practical
nature of the young Fortune Hunter, which, even on this weird night,
strongly asserted its sway.
While the leaves murmured and whispered, as if striving to tell of the
tragedies that had marred this spot--of the mystery that seemed to haunt
the very air around--Clifford still pursued his investigations,
patiently and in silence, only pausing to draw a deeper breath or a sigh
of disappointment at each fruitless effort, as he toiled onward into the
deep shadows near the bank of the stream.
At length, tired and weary, our young friend stood on the verge of the
stream over the bank of which the dank grass trailed, and the rank vine
of the wild-gourd, with its silvery leaves, rioted in wildest luxuriance
and profusion.
Glancing up through the branches of the hoary old cottonwood, he could
see the glittering constellation of Scorpio far out on the south-western
horizon, the fiery star Antares, which forms its heart, glowing like a
ruby in the blue vault of heaven.
For a moment Clifford rested on the handle of the deep-sunken
instrument, and, lifting his heavy felt hat with its leathern band--a
badge of the ranchman throughout all the West--he drew a deep breath of
the cool air that swayed the wild hop-vines and pendulous branches of
the willows to and fro in the moonlight.
Around, a thousand wild-flowers distilled their odors. The
sensitive-plant nodded softly in dew-drenched sprays, its rosy balls
flecked with drops that glinted like gems, while all the air was heavy
with its perfume of spices and honey.
The foamy elder-blooms exhaled an odor of entrancing sweetness, and over
the senses stole the fragrance from pond-lilies and water-mint,
wild-hyacinths and mignonette.
A large prairie-owl flitted by, lending a note of discord to the
tranquillity which had reigned, with its dismal hoot, that mellowed away
into a plaintive shriek as it lit in some far-off, sombre nook.
Then again silence brooded over the valley, broken only by the croak of
frogs along the rush-lined shore, or the soft chirp of insects in the
grass; but suddenly the jabbering wail of a lone wolf, distant yet
distinct, pierced through the gloom, startling into silence all the
minor voices of the night, and adding with its wild echoes a double
sense of loneliness to the weird night.
Clifford turned to the iron rod, and with a few vigorous efforts sent it
deep into the yielding earth; and as the quiet of nature once more
reigned over the wild glade, he kept turning the handle mechanically,
and listening to the gruesome sound of the answering wolves--faint cries
that made him shudder--when, lo! the steel point grated harshly against
some obstruction beneath his feet.
Quickly withdrawing the rod, he seized the sharp spade and began
digging, throwing the black soil out of the pit with frantic haste as he
sank rapidly down into the earth at each stroke. As he neared the goal
he became dizzy and faint, his breath coming in quick gasps, and the
blinding sweat streaming from his face, from which it fell in great
drops like rain.
Pausing a moment, while the weird, horned moon peered through a rift in
the boughs overhead, and gleamed coldly on his upturned, haggard face,
he thought of the wealth that might lie below,--his father's lost
fortune; the wealth of Monteluma; its gems and red gold, with all the
power that great treasure represented; then, quivering with excitement,
he dashed the spade into the earth, and in a moment more the head of a
cask was dimly outlined at his feet.
Breathless and panting, he paused, leaning on his spade, while the hopes
and fears, which so often, often, assail us on the threshold of some
great enterprise, came thronging on with their mockery, causing him to
stand irresolute, as if fearing to solve the mystery; but at length,
after summoning all his strength, he struck the cask with his sharp
spade, and the head fell in with a dull crash.
As he stooped to peer down into the gloom below, a pair of fiery eyes
glared at him from the cavity, and, as he sprang back with a shudder, a
sharp, whizzing rattle in the cask announced the presence of that dread
reptile, the rattlesnake--a new and terrible danger, worse than the
sting of poverty with all its terrors.
As Clifford stood frozen with horror, the slimy monster rose from out
the cask, still sounding its angry alarm. A moment more, enraged and
writhing, it coiled at his feet, its head erected, slowly swaying to and
fro--a gigantic, threatening monster.
Its eyes glowed like coals of fire, and in the bright light shed by the
lantern Clifford could see it darting its tongue and glaring with a look
of indescribable ferocity and malignant hatred, to which nothing else in
the world can be compared. Those who have faced an angry rattlesnake,
and who still turn pale at its remembrance, or start from sleep with a
cry of fear at the returning vision of terrible danger, will recall the
awful rage and menace that glared from the eye of the angry serpent--a
glance that unnerves the bravest man in the world instantly. The reptile
only seemed to await a motion on Clifford's part to strike like a flash
of lightning. Then, with a clammy shudder, young Warlow thought of the
agony and speedy death that was certain to follow. At the tremor which
involuntarily shook his frame at the thought, the hideous serpent
crested its head and paused in its vibrations. "Now all is over," our
young friend thought, and breathlessly awaited the shock.
Instantly the face of Mora Estill rose before him, a fleeting vision of
loveliness; and with it came a realization of the love for her that had
rapidly grown into an all-absorbing passion in their short acquaintance.
He knew at once what had sent him out on this midnight search, and why
he had begun to wish for wealth so eagerly of late:--It was because be
craved fortune and a position which would equal that of the "Cattle
King's" daughter. Yet even in this moment of deadliest peril he thought,
with a grim smile, of the irony of fate--the reward of his first attempt
at "fortune hunting."
While death stared at him from those glaring eyes, and the moments
seemed to lengthen out to years, he thought of his friends at home, all
unconscious of the dire fate that he was facing; then a wild longing for
life seized him, and for the first time since the encounter he began to
plan a way of escape.
The spade on which his hand rested was sharp and bright; but to raise it
before the serpent could strike he knew was impossible; so he stood
immovably eying the formidable reptile, which at length slowly uncoiled
and glided away from his feet to an opposite corner of the pit. With a
sigh of relief Clifford saw that the danger was lessened, yet he began
to more fully realize the size of his deadly antagonist, which now
reached twice across the yard-wide pit.
In moments of great danger we are apt to think with lightning-like
rapidity, and quickly see any advantage that may arise. So it was with
Clifford, who remembered that the rattlesnake always throws itself into
a coil before striking; and as he saw it thus off its guard, with a
quick movement he struck a violent blow at the snake's head and pinioned
it to the earth--then throwing his full weight on the handle he felt the
bones crunch beneath the sharp blade, while the reptile madly threshed
its now headless body about and wrapped its jangling tail around his
boot.
Springing out of the pit, with a desperate leap, young Warlow disengaged
the writhing, heavy monster from his foot, and with the iron rod threw
it away into the grass; then sinking down upon the ground, unnerved and
exhausted, he lay, too weak to move for several minutes. But when he
remembered the unexplored cask, he sprang to his feet again, and after
listening cautiously a moment, and hearing no further evidence of
danger, he dropped lightly down into the pit, carelessly tramping on the
grim serpent-head that but a few moments before was so full of
threatening danger.
Anxiously he thrust the long rod down into the cask. No rattle
responded; but the despairing fact became apparent: the cask was empty!
With a sinking heart he groped about the bottom of the cask with the
rod, and when its iron point struck against a round object that rolled
over with a harsh sound on the bottom, he quickly thought of the casket
of gems, and reaching down, with a thrill of excitement he clutched the
mysterious, smooth object, and sprang out of the pit into the moonlight.
By the pale beams of the gibbous moon, now sinking low in the western
sky, but throwing a path of shimmering silver on the bosom of the
rippling brook, he saw--not the gems of Monteluma, but a human skull,
that, with its wide, eyeless sockets, seemed to glare derisively, and
with great white teeth laugh mockingly, at this ending of his "fortune
hunting." With a cry of despair, the disheartened youth dashed the
loathsome object to the earth; but, as if the sound of his voice had
evoked its former spirit, there glided from out the wavering shadows a
tall, gaunt form, gray-robed and silent, with tangled, flowing hair, and
burning eyes, its lips drawn back from its snaggled fangs in a horrid
look of hate and ferocity. With noiseless tread it seemed to float into
the moonlit space; then snatching the skull from the ground and clasping
it close to its breast, with an unearthly scream it faded away among the
whispering willows.