A DEAD MAN’S GHOST.
On the day after Pedro left the Gila he arrived at the old robber
hillock. As he rode up to it, he mechanically looked for a skeleton he
expected to see there--the skeleton of the Trailer. To his surprise not
a bone of it was there, where he left the body.
Could the Trailer have come to life? impossible--he was killed
instantly. Pedro had shot him from behind, the ball entering his back
and penetrating to his heart. No--it could not be possible.
But the skeleton--where was it? of course the body had been devoured
by carnivorous animals--as a matter of course it had been; but animals
never swallow the bones--they should be there still.
Pedro was perplexed and looked off over the plain, as if for an answer.
He got none. Everywhere, in every direction, it was the same monotonous
expanse--always yellow, dry and quiet, always spectral and forbidding;
he was in the heart of the Land of Silence.
“The skeleton--where in the world can it be?” he muttered, glancing
about. “Curse it, I begin to feel awkward and uneasy already. This is
a cursed quiet place--this plain; and such a name as it has, too; just
the place for spirits to roam about in. I am beginning to believe they
have tampered with the Trailer’s bones--I do, indeed. Ha! what’s that?”
He had espied something white at a distance away--something which
looked dry and bleached, like bones long exposed to the elements. He
rode slowly toward it; it (or they) was a bunch of bones clustered
together, as if thrown hastily in a pile.
He took them one by one in his hands and narrowly examined them. They
were human, he could tell--might they not be the Trailer’s? They
were much too small, he thought, still one is deceived ofttimes by
appearances. The Trailer had been a large man--a giant; these bones
were rather small.
Still he knew he had not seen them when here a year ago--they had not
been there then. These bones were about a year old; that is, exposed to
the elements. A year ago he had killed the Trailer, the last robber on
the spot--the bones must be his.
“They are the Trailer’s--they must be,” he said, and idly kicking them,
mounted and rode back to the hill or mound.
To describe this singular place would be a long task, so we will skim
briefly over it. About forty feet long by twenty in hight, it was a
mere shell--probably a hiding-place contrived centuries ago. It was
entered in this manner by Pedro.
Scattered over the surface of the knoll were a large number of flat
stones. Lifting one of the largest of these, he hurled it against one
imbedded in the ground, dented in the form of a cross. The ground
suddenly gave way and disclosed an opening sufficient to admit a horse.
It was a plank-trap; cunningly covered with earth, its existence would
never have been suspected by the uninitiated. It was hung on stout
leathern hinges fastened to two upright posts.
The hollow hill was divided into two chambers, one within the other.
The first was dark and was only lighted by the opening of the door. The
floor was the ground, the walls the hillside, the ceiling the summit.
The only furniture it contained was a huge water-bucket, a rusty gun
or two, several tattered blankets, and a resinous, partially-consumed
torch.
Pedro noticed this torch, and his eyes sparkled.
“Just where I left it a year ago--in this chink. Now I am certain I was
the last one here--now am I certain of finding the hidden treasure.”
He lighted the torch, and after looking out into the plain, started
toward the inner chamber. But suddenly stopping, he went back to the
entrance.
“I might as well bring the horse inside now,” he said. “Perhaps I may
be obliged to spend a week here. He will be out of sight, too.”
Going out he brought in the horse, and then tightly closed the
entrance. Then his eyes fell on the water-vessel.
“I wish I had some water,” he said; “and no doubt the horse thinks the
same. But there is a stream ten miles north--Alkali Creek. The water is
not very good, but it is wet. I will go after I’ve searched awhile.”
Unsaddling the horse, and leaving him to roam at will about the
chamber, he again took up the torch and went to the entrance of the
inner one.
This was a mere slit in the hillside, barely large enough for him to
enter. However, his pliant body enabled him to glide through, and
standing in the entrance, he threw the light over the apartment.
It was empty, just as he had expected. It was unchanged, too--further
evidence that there had been no one there since he had left. His
spirits rose at every step, and his way was becoming certain.
This chamber was somewhat larger than the other, and was lighter, the
chinks above being larger. It was also scantily furnished, and in the
same manner as the first.
A pile of blankets lay in one corner, and were evidently long unused. A
single gun stood by them--a rifle. Otherwise the room was empty.
Pedro, after satisfying himself as to other occupants, with his
habitual energy began at once to work. Drawing his revolver, he hastily
uncapped the tubes, then, lighted by his torch, commenced to sound the
wall, the ceiling, the floor--in fact, everything which might conceal
the treasure he knew was there.
Outside the sun still shone upon the bare plain, blinding with its heat
the few small animals which stole about, the only moving objects on the
plain.
The _only_ moving objects? Not so; there was another one--a man riding
a black horse. Several miles away from the hillock, he was coming, at a
slow walk, from the south; going north and to the hillock.
An hour passed. Pedro was working steadily inside, at intervals
muttering disjointed sentences. The solitary rider drew near, and
halted close to the hillock.
He was dressed in a tight-fitting suit of buck-skin, and in his black,
conical hat, a black plume drooped. Armed to the teeth, he was a
desperate-appearing person. His face, bearing the marks of license to
strong and evil passions, was pale in the extreme--even ghastly.
He halted before the entrance, and just then Pedro exclaimed below--he
was excited about something. Then he rode round to the opposite side of
the hillock, and drawing up, facing it, sat like a statue on his black
horse.
* * * * *
A fierce cry came from the cavern--a cry of wild delight. This was
followed by a series of disjointed exclamations, expressive of the
wildest joy. Then came hurried tramping to and fro--then dead silence.
Outside the rider still sat on his sable steed, and remained grim and
quiet, never changing a muscle. All was quiet in the Land of Silence.
* * * * *
It was toward the middle of the afternoon when Pedro burst out
of the entrance gesticulating extravagantly, and fairly shouting
under the influence of some strong emotion. In his hand he held his
horse-blanket, tied into a rude bag; it was loaded with something that
chinked musically.
“Found! found!” he cried. “What fortune--what extraordinary luck! Only
three hours’ searching, too. Oh, holy mother! what shall I do with
all this wealth? Pedro, Pedro Felipe, you are as rich as the richest.
Blessed be all the saints! what fortune, what fortune!”
This grave, demure man of forty, fairly danced in excitement, and shook
the bag violently.
Chink, chink! a musical rattle that. More than one man has gone crazy
over less. Huzzah! huzzah! the treasure is found.
He has feasted his eyes on it before; but, wild with excitement, can
not keep his eyes off from it. In his agitation he had forgotten his
horse, and with the bag on his shoulder, had been starting on foot for
Mexico. But now he sunk on his knees, and opening the blanket-bag,
shook it.
Heavens! what a sight. Rolling out in a sparkling cascade came coin,
gold and silver, ornaments of the same metals, costly watches, splendid
rings, and guards, and above all, gleaming, sparkling diamonds.
Diamonds set in magnificent rings; diamonds garnishing costly
brooches; diamonds cut and rough, large and tiny; what a fortune, what
beautiful, bewitching riches was there.
Spread out on the ground, Pedro gazed fascinated upon his precious
treasure, and well he might. Here a deep amethyst glimmered and
shone, hob-nobbing, as it were, with a brilliant diamond; yonder a
sparkling seal clung closely with a shining watch guard. Diamonds
were sprinkled about pell-mell among all sorts and sizes of costly
jewels, expensive watches, and piles of golden and silver coin of large
denominations; here a solitary ruby flashed and shimmered; but, above
all, outstripping all, was a huge topaz, mocking the sun by its deep,
transparent yellow tint; it was a gem among gems.
Pedro had not formed any idea of the value of his treasure--his brain
was so demented he could not have counted twenty correctly. But he
saw the coins were all among the highest ever sent from the mint, and
nearly all gold; but he had not the slightest idea of the value of the
jewels--he only knew he was immensely rich.
“Ah, my yellow, shining, pretty pets!” he exclaimed, filling the bag
again. “My darlings! you have made me the richest man in the wide
world. Brave, yellow, sparkling boys!”
A horse stamped close by. He listened intently.
Another stamp and a shrill neigh from a strange horse. Pedro turned
sick, his brain reeled, and a deadly nausea seized him.
Suddenly recovering, he threw the bag into the entrance, and drew his
jeweled dagger--his rifle was inside.
“Who’s there?” he hoarsely said, peering off into the plain. “Speak!
man or ghost! who is near--who is there?”
Nothing--no one; the plain is bare. All is quiet in the Land of Silence.
“Murder! help! who’s there? Oh, heaven, my gold!”
He saw the plain was bare, and that he was alone. He drew a breath of
relief--might he not have been deceived?
Perhaps. He prayed so. But stay--the hillock hid a part of the plain
from view. He would ascend it and discover evil if it was at hand.
With a hoarse cry he brandished his dagger, and with two gigantic
strides stood on the summit.
But only for a moment, he stood there with a pale, terrified face,
staring eye and shaking limbs. Then reeling, with a loud cry he rushed
down into the cave and closed the entrance, terrified almost beyond his
senses.
What was the matter--what had happened? Enough. There, on his old black
horse, under his plumed black hat, sat _the ghost of the Trailer_.