Maud and Rob met Clifford at the gate, and as he passed under the
latticed arch where the trumpet-vine clambered with succulent ambition,
its sprays of flame-red bugles mottled with spots of velvety black, Maud
said eagerly:--
"I was growing uneasy about you, Cliff. Did you see nothing of that
strange, gray-robed creature up at the cell?"
"Nothing whatever; but I am led to believe that mysterious being often
stays there. We must keep a sharp watch on the place hereafter, and
perhaps we may unravel the mystery," he replied, anxious to lead the
subject away from his recent search.
As he stood, dreading further questioning, the supper-bell sounded, and
he quickly moved on into the house, determined that he would conceal his
discovery until he had made a search for the gold also.
The Warlow family retired early that night; but as the clock struck two
Clifford arose, and listening to be certain that Rob was safe in the
arms of Morpheus, he then stepped lightly out on to the veranda, and,
after pausing a moment at the foot of the steps to draw on his boots,
hurried down to the barn.
After saddling one of his Norman horses, he rode up to his dwelling,
where he secured the iron rod and spade with which he had prosecuted
his former search, and then galloped on down to the old cottonwood-tree.
Tying his horse to an ash-tree on the river bank, he began digging on
the very spot where he had unearthed the cask with all its attending
horrors. While throwing the soil out of the pit, he soon forgot the
dangers and disappointment which had attended that adventure, and in his
eagerness to reach the shattered cask, still remaining below him, he
labored with such energy that he soon reached the object of his search.
As he began to clear the dirt from the shattered cask, he often listened
to hear the warning rattle that would announce the presence of the mate
to that venomous reptile which he had slain here a few weeks previous;
but no trace of the serpent was found. While removing the last spadeful
of earth, the thought came to him like a flash of sunlight that the
snake had been placed within the cask for the very purpose of terrifying
and discouraging any one from searching deeper after he had unearthed
it.
He remembered having read of circumstances where reptiles had been found
imprisoned in rock, where they had survived the confinement of an era of
time to which twenty-seven years was a short period in comparison; so it
appeared that the snake might have been placed there when the cask was
buried, and had lived and developed into the enormous reptile which had
served to unnerve him and arrest his search on the first occasion.
It had occurred to him, before digging, that the cask had been buried
by the wretches who were engaged in the massacre at the corral, and that
the treasure was secreted just below the cask. This belief had resulted
from his successful search at the cavern, and had ripened now into
almost conviction; so he had resolved to search deeper on the same spot
where he had met with his first signal failure.
"How true it is that we should always look below the surface of
treachery, enmity, and failure for the true gold of success!" said young
Warlow, meanwhile removing the last stave of the old cask, and boring
down with the iron rod into the bottom of the pit.
As the instrument struck hard against some resisting object, but two
feet below, he felt the shock of a hot thrill of excitement; then
grasping his spade with trembling hands, he soon reached the goal of his
labors.
Another cask was revealed!
Yes; there was the treasure, he felt with all the conviction of
certainty, that he had so long vainly hoped to recover. He struck the
head of the cask several blows with his spade, and as the wood crushed
in, he paused with the same old feeling of vacillation and dread that
had seized him when the precious casket lay unopened before him at the
secret cavern,--the irresolute, wavering sensation, the fear of
disappointment, which so often assails us when fortune's phantom stands
dimly near, and we hesitate to grasp her beckoning hand, fearing vaguely
that a buffet may await us. It was in such a mood young Warlow stood,
while the hopes and fears coursed dreamily through his soul. The
sweat-drops rained from his brow, and fell trickling down through the
pale moonlight. At last, with shaking hand, he lit his lantern and
peered down into the cask below; and as he slowly cleared out the
fragments of the shattered head, he saw that there was a mass of fleecy
wool filling the cask completely. Tearing this aside with nerveless
fingers and panting haste, there was revealed row after row of deer-skin
bags, with the words,
"George Warlow, 1849."
plainly lettered upon their sides. With his knife he quickly severed the
thong that bound one of them, and the dull, red gold gleamed back in the
flickering light!
"Oh God! at last--at last!" cried our hero (who certainly has earned his
title), as broken sobs shook his frame, and he leaned faint and dizzy
against the side of the pit. But while he stood, weak and panting, a
wild, frightened snort from his horse caused him to bound out of the
pit, and hurry forward to where he had fastened the animal. When he
reached the tree the usually quiet creature was found to be trembling
with fear or excitement. After caressing the sleek Norman for a moment,
and speaking in a soothing tone to quiet the creature, Clifford walked
back toward the pit; but as he came into the moonlight, he paused a
moment to take a full breath of the light breeze, which was rippling the
water and whispering among the trees.
Far down the valley he could trace the silvery veil of vapor, revealing
the course of the narrow stream, and among the dense shadows of willow
and vines the fire-flies wove their webs of glimmering light. The
midsummer night was still and tranquil, the silence only broken by the
moan of the brook and the chirp of insects; the heavy dew-drops on tree
and shrub glinted and flashed in the moonbeams that sifted through the
willows in a sheen of wavering silver.
The quavering scream of a wolf on some dismal hill-top--a sound heard
nightly all over the Western prairies, but one that never fails to send
a cold thrill of horror through the lone traveler--startled Clifford
from the momentary reverie into which he had fallen, and brought back
vividly the remembrance of that night of terror and danger, which now
seemed so long ago; and, as if the very thought had conjured up the
spirits of the past, that well-remembered spectre, gray-robed, with
snaky locks and glaring eyes, darted from among the shadows and with its
bony, talon-like fingers clutched at young Warlow's throat.
Not a sound came from the lips that were drawn back from its snaggled
fangs, but with its loathsome, grave-like breath full on his cheek, it
closed in a death grapple with the startled and horrified youth. A wild
struggle ensued; the rank vines and slender willows were trampled to the
earth; and soon the combatants stood on the banks of the stream, by a
deep, dark pool, and the fierce, unearthly creature, tried to force
Clifford's head beneath the water.
As the fiendish, murderous intention of his assailant became apparent,
young Warlow sprang back from the danger that yawned before him, and
tore loose from the fury-blinded wretch, which again darted at Clifford,
grappling with him in all the frenzy and desperation of a maniac.
The failing strength of the strange creature became more apparent every
moment; so Clifford determined to first exhaust it by a violent
struggle, then bind it with the lariat which hung at his saddle; and
soon it was an easy matter for our athletic and vigorous young hero to
drag the panting wretch to where his horse stood trembling with terror
and wild with fright. Clifford spoke in a soothing tone, and when the
horse became once more quiet, he reached for the lariat, while holding
the maniac with one hand; but with a desperate wrench the spectral being
tore loose from his grasp, and bounded away with a loud yell. Then, as
it fled swiftly away over the prairie, at every step it would shriek
like a mangled hound--the sound growing fainter, until at length it died
out in silence on the grassy hills.
With a prolonged shiver, Clifford started like one awakened from a
terrible night-mare; then remembering the new-found treasure, he hurried
back to the pit, and peered down--as though fearful that he should find
it all a dream.
But no--there was the red gold, resting where it had lain so long.
Clifford paused a moment, irresolute and uncertain what course to
pursue. How should he remove this vast treasure to a place of security?
he was asking himself, when there recurred to his mind the fact that
there was harness in his stable, and an old, stout sled there also. The
latter had been used in transporting stone from the old wall to build
his dwelling, and was admirably adapted to just such a purpose as
bearing up the heavy sacks of coin. So young Warlow lost no time in
hurrying down to the stable.
As he nervously harnessed the horse by the dim light of the lantern, he
was devoured with anxiety, lest something should occur that would yet
rob him of the fruits of his great discovery. "What if that uncanny
demon should return, and undo all his labor by some diabolical plan or
act?" he found himself saying in a half-audible tone, as with trembling
haste he hurried back to the treasure--and found all his fears were
groundless, for every thing remained as he had left it.
When he attempted to lift the sacks of coin he found that it was no
light task, for each one of the stout bags weighed fully forty pounds;
but with great difficulty he loaded ten of them on to the low vehicle,
then led the horse up to the dwelling, close to the door, where,
unhitching the animal and securing him to the stone post near by, he
proceeded to carry the sacks into the dwelling.
Five of the first were lettered with the name of his father. These he
placed by themselves. Then, taking up the carpet and the floor where he
had concealed the chest, he untied the remaining five sacks, and emptied
their glittering contents into the iron-bound box. When all this was
completed, he returned for another load, but not without again
entertaining grave fears for the safety of the precious cask, which he
found still undisturbed.
Four more loads of the coin emptied the cask. Then came the work of
refilling the pit, and obliterating all trace of the search. Then, after
returning the sled and harness to their accustomed places, Clifford sat
down, faint and weary, to feast his eyes on the grand sight, the
enormous wealth that was displayed by the lamp-light.
More than four hundred thousand dollars in gold lay in a glittering, red
mass before him! The coin almost filled the chest, while in the shallow
compartment were the gems, which he had taken from their casket, that he
might once more admire them and feast his eyes on their splendor.
The gems--he remembered having heard his father say--represented more
than half a million dollars; and he tried to realize what this vast
aggregation of wealth meant--this million of treasure that he had
restored to the light since the last sunrise; but only faintly could the
young "Fortune Hunter" comprehend the power and grandeur of the treasure
before him.
Out among the mass of red and yellow gold trailed a strand of frosty,
glimmering pearls. The great diamonds, that flashed their rivers of
light; and rubies, that mingled their rays of rose and crimson with the
green glint of emeralds; lurid opals, sapphires of sparkling blue or
violet red; amethysts of pink, purple, and lilac,--all spoke in proudest
tones of the wealth of Monteluma; and, with a weary sigh, Clifford
thought of the wide social gulf which now yawned between himself and the
heiress of all this splendor.
After securing all the treasure in the chest, and locking the door
securely behind, young Warlow rode stealthily homeward as the first
blush of crimson was mantling the eastern sky, and the great planets
were growing pale.