As it was still some hours before dawn, and Freeman was too weak to
travel, it was decided to encamp beside the pyramid till the following
evening, and then make the trip across the desert in the comparative
coolness of starlight. Meanwhile, there was something to be done, and
much to be explained.
The spirit of Kamaiakan had passed away, apparently at the same moment
that the peculiar case of “possession” under which Miriam had suffered
came to an end. They determined to bury him at the foot of the great
pyramid, which would form a fitting monument of his antique character
and virtues.
Miriam, after her struggle, had lapsed into a state of partial lethargy,
from which she was aroused gradually. It was then found that she could
give no account what ever of how or why she came there. The last thing
she distinctly remembered was standing on the veranda at the ranch and
looking towards the east. She was under the impression that Kamaiakan
had approached and spoken with her, but of that she was not certain. The
next fact in her consciousness was that she was held in Freeman’s arms,
with a feeling that she had barely escaped from some great peril. She
could recall nothing of the journey down the gorge, of the adventure
at the bottom of it, or of the return. It was only by degrees that some
partial light was thrown upon this matter. Freeman knew that he was at
the entrance of the cave when the earthquake began, and he remembered
receiving a blow on the head. Consequently it must have been at
that spot that Miriam and the Indian found him. He had, too, a vague
impression of seeing Miriam coming out of the cave, dragging the chest;
and there, sure enough, was a metal box, strapped to the saddle of the
pack-mule. But the mystery remained very dense. And although the
reader is in a position to analyze events more closely than the actors
themselves could do, it may be doubted whether the essential mystery is
much clearer to him than it was to them.
“We know that the ancient Aztecan priests were adepts in magic,”
observed the professor, “and it’s natural that some of their learning
should have descended to their posterity. We have been clever in giving
names to such phenomena, but we know perhaps even less about their
esoteric meaning than the Aztecans did. I should judge that Miriam would
be what is called a good ‘subject.’ Kamaiakan discovered that fact;
and as for what followed, we can only infer it from the results. I was
always an admirer of Kamaiakan; but I must say I am the better resigned
to his departure, from the reflection that Miriam will henceforth be
undisturbed in the possession of her own individuality.”
“As near as I could make out, she called herself Semitzin,” put in
Freeman.
“Semitzin?” repeated the general. “Why, if I’m not mistaken, there are
accounts of an Aztecan princess of that name, an ancestress of my wife’s
family, in some old documents that I have in a box, at home.”
“That would only add the marvel of heredity to the other marvels,” said
Meschines. “Suppose we leave the things we can’t understand, and come to
those we can?”
“I have something to say, General Trednoke,” said Freeman.
“I think I have already guessed what it may be, Mr. Freeman,” returned
the general, gravely. “Old people have eyes, and hearts too, as well as
young ones.”
“Come, Trednoke,” interposed the professor, with a chuckle, “your eyes
might not have seen so much, if I hadn’t held the lantern.”
“I love your daughter, and I told her so yesterday morning,” went on
Freeman, after a pause. “I meant to tell you on my return. I know
I don’t appear desirable as a son-in-law. But I came here on a
commission----”
“Meschines and I have talked it all over,” the general said. “When
an old West-Pointer and a professor of physics get together, they are
sometimes able to put two and two together. And, to tell the truth,
I received a letter from a member of your syndicate, who is also
an acquaintance of mine, which explained your position. Under the
circumstances, I consider your course to have been honorable. You and
I were both in search of the same thing, and now, as it appears, nature
has sent an earthquake to do our affair for us. No operations of ours
could have achieved such a result as last night’s disturbance did; and
if that do not prove effective, nothing else will.”
“If it turns out well, I was promised a share in the benefits,” said
Freeman, “and that would put me in a rather better condition, from a
worldly point of view.”
“After all,” interrupted Meschines, “you found your way to the spot from
which the waters broke forth, and may fairly be entitled to the credit
of the discovery.--Eh, Trednoke? At any rate, we found nothing.--Yes,
I think they’ll have to admit you to partnership, Harvey: and Miriam
too,--who, by the way, seems to be the only one who actually penetrated
into this cave you speak of. Maybe the removal of the chest pulled
the plug out of the bung-hole, as it were: the escape of confined air
through such a vent would be apt to draw water along with it. By the
way, let’s have a look at this same chest: it looks solid enough to hold
something valuable.”
“I would like, in the first place, to hear what General Trednoke has to
say about what I have told him,” said Freeman, clearing his throat.
“Miriam,” said the general, “do you wish to be married to this young
man?”
The old soldier was sitting with her hand in his, and he turned to her
as he spoke. She threw her arms round his neck, and pressed her face
against his shoulder. “He is to me what you were to mamma,” she said, so
that only he could hear.
“Then be to him what she was to me,” answered the general, kissing her.
“Ah me, little girl! I am old, but perhaps this is the right way for
me to grow young again. Well, if you are of the same mind six months
hence----”
“Worse; it will be much worse, then,” murmured the professor. “Better
make it three.”
The chest was made of some alloy of steel and nickel, impervious to
rust, and very hard. It resisted all gentle methods of attack, and it
was finally found necessary to force the lock with a charge of powder.
Within was found another case, which was pried open with the point of
the general’s bowie-knife.
It was filled to the brim with precious stones, most of them removed
from their settings. But such of the gold-work as remained showed the
jewels to be of ancient Aztecan origin. There was value enough in the
box to buy and stock a dozen ranches as big as the general’s, and leave
heirlooms enough to decorate a family larger than that of the most
fruitful of the ancient patriarchs.
“I call that quite a respectable dowry,” remarked Meschines. “Upon my
soul, Miriam, if I had known what you had up your sleeve, I should have
thought twice before allowing a ‘civil engineer’--do you remember?--to
run off with you so easily.”
At dawn, they prepared the body of old Kamaiakan for its interment. In
doing this, the professor noted the peculiar appearance of the corpse.
“The flesh is absolutely withered,” said he, “especially those parts
which were uncovered. It must have been subjected to the action of some
destructive vapor or gas, fatal not only to breathe, but to come in
contact with. I have heard of poisonous emanations proceeding from the
ground in these regions, but I never saw an instance of their effects
before. That skull that you say you found, Harvey, was probably that of
a victim of the same cause. But it is strange that Miriam, who must have
remained some time in the very midst of it, should have escaped without
a mark, or even any inconvenience.”
“Kamaiakan ascribed it to the magic of the Golden Fleece,” said Freeman.
“Well,” rejoined the other, “he may have been right; but, for my part,
the only magic that I can find in it lies in the fact that it is made of
pure wool, which undoubtedly possesses remarkable sanative properties;
or maybe the fiery soul of Semitzin was powerful enough to repel all
harmful influences. The poor old fellow himself, being clad in cotton,
and with no soul but his own, was destroyed. Let us wrap him in his
blanket, and bid him farewell--and with him, I hope, to all that is
uncanny and abnormal in the lives of you young folks!”
The last rites having been paid to the dead, the party mounted their
horses and rode out of the gorge on to the long levels of the desert.
“Who come yonder?” said Freeman.
“A couple of Mexicans, I think,” said the general.
“One of them is a woman,” said Meschines.
“They look very weary,” remarked Freeman.
Miriam fixed her eyes on the approaching pair for a moment, and then
said, “They are Senor de Mendoza and Grace Parsloe.”
And so, indeed, they were; and thus, in this lonely spot, all the
dramatis personae of this history found themselves united.
In answer to the obvious question, how Grace and De Mendoza happened
to be there, it transpired that, left to their own devices, they had
undertaken no less an enterprise than to discover the hidden treasure.
Grace had communicated to the Mexican such bits of information as she
had picked up and such surmises as she had formed, and he had been able
to supplement her knowledge to an extent that seemed to justify them in
attempting the adventure,--not to mention the fact that Don Miguel (such
was the ardor of his sentiment for Grace) would, had she desired it,
have gone with her into a fiery furnace or a den of lions. Grace, who
was ambitious as well as romantic, and who longed for the power and
independence that wealth would give, was all alight with the idea of
capturing the hoard of Montezuma: her social position would be altered
at a stroke, and the world would be at her feet. Whether she would then
have rewarded Don Miguel for his devotion, is possibly open to doubt:
the sudden acquisition of boundless wealth has been known to turn larger
heads than hers. Fortunately, however, this temptation was withheld from
her: so far from finding the treasure, she and Don Miguel very soon
lost themselves in the desert, and had been wandering about ever since,
dolely uncomfortable, and in no small danger of losing their lives. They
were already at the end of their last resource when they happened to
encounter the other party, as we have seen; and immeasurable was their
joy at the unlooked-for deliverance. So there was another halt, to
enable them to rest and recuperate; and it was not until the evening of
that day that the journey was finally resumed.
Meanwhile, Grace had time to think over all that happened, and to arrive
at certain conclusions. She was at bottom a good girl, though liable
to be led away by her imagination, her vanity, and her temperament. Don
Miguel’s best qualities had revealed themselves to her in the desert: he
had always thought of her before himself, had done all that in him lay
to save her from fatigue and suffering, and had stuck to her faithfully
when he might perhaps have increased his own chances of escape by
abandoning her. Did not such a man deserve to be rewarded?--especially
as he was a handsome fellow, of good family, and possessed of quite a
respectable income. Moreover, Harvey Freeman was now beyond her reach:
he was going to marry Miriam, and she had realized that her own brief
infatuation for him had had no very deep root after all. Accordingly,
she smiled encouragingly upon Don Miguel, and before they set out on
their homeward ride she had vouchsafed him the bliss of knowing that he
might call her his.
The general, as her guardian, did not withhold his approval; but when
Grace drew him aside and besought him never to reveal to her intended
the fact that she had once been a shop-girl, the old warrior smiled.
“You can depend upon me to keep your secret, if you wish it, my dear,”
said he; “but I warn you that such concealments between husband and wife
are not wise. He loves you and would only love you the more for your
frankness in confessing what you seem to consider a discreditable
episode: though I for my part am free to tell you that you will be lucky
if your future life affords you the opportunity of doing anything else
so much to your credit. But the chances are that he will find it out
sooner or later; and that may not be so agreeable, either to him or to
you. Better tell him all now.”
But Grace pictured to herself the aristocratic pride of an hidalgo
shocked by the suggestion of the plebeianism of trade; and she would not
consent to the revelation. But the general’s prediction was fulfilled
sooner than might have been expected.
For, after they were married, Don Miguel decided to visit the Atlantic
coast on the wedding journey; and one of the first notable places they
reached was, of course, New York. Don Miguel was delighted, and was
never weary of strolling up Fifth Avenue and down Broadway, with his
beautiful wife on his arm. He marvelled at the vast white pile of
the Fifth Avenue Hotel; he frowned at the Worth Monument; he stared
inexhaustibly into the shop-windows; he exclaimed with admiration at
the stupendous piles of masonry which contained the goods of New York’s
merchant princes. It seemed to be his opinion that the possessors of so
much palpable wealth must be the true aristocracy of the country.
And one afternoon it happened that as they were strolling along
Broadway, between Twenty-third Street and Union Square, and were
crossing one of the side-streets, a horse belonging to one of Lord and
Taylor’s delivery-wagons became frightened, and bolted round the corner.
One of the hind wheels of the vehicle came in contact with Grace’s
shoulder, and knocked her down. The blow and the fall stunned her. Don
Miguel’s grief and indignation were expressed with tropical energy; and
a by-stander said, “Better carry her into the store, mister; it’s their
wagon run her down, and they can’t do less than look after her.”
The counsel seemed reasonable, and Don Miguel, with the assistance of
a policeman, lifted his wife and bore her into the stately shop. One
of the floor-walkers met them at the door; he cast a glance at their
burden, and exclaimed, “Why, it’s Miss Parsloe!” And immediately a
number of the employees gathered round, all regarding her with interest
and sympathy, all anxious to help, and--which was what mystified Don
Miguel--all calling her by name! How came they to know Grace Parsloe?
Nay, they even glanced at Don Miguel, as if to ask what was HIS business
with the beautiful unconscious one!
“This lady are my wife,” he said, with dignity. “She not any more Miss
Parsloe.”
“Oh, Grace has got married!” exclaimed the young ladies, one to another;
and then an elderly man, evidently in authority, came forward and said,
“I suppose you are aware, sir, that Miss Parsloe was formerly one of our
girls here; and a very clever and useful girl she was. I need not say
how sorry we are for this accident: I have sent for the physician: but
I cannot but be glad that the misfortune has at least given me the
opportunity of telling you how highly your wife was valued and respected
here.”
At this juncture, Grace opened her eyes: she looked from one face to
another, and knew that fate had brought the truth to light. But the
physical shock tempered the severity of the mental one: besides, she
could not help being pleased at the sight of so many well-remembered and
friendly faces; and, finally, her husband did not look by any means so
angry and scandalized as she had feared he would. Indeed, he appeared
almost gratified. The truth probably was, he was flattered to see his
wife the centre of so much interest and attention, and at the discovery
that she had been in some way an honored appanage of so imposing an
establishment. So, by the time Grace was well enough to be driven back
to her hotel, the senor was prattling cheerfully and familiarly with all
and sundry, and was promising to bring his wife back there the next day,
to talk over old times with her former associates.
Such was Grace’s punishment: it was not very severe; but then her fault
had been a venial one; and the episode was of much moral benefit to her.
She liked her husband all the better for having nothing more to conceal
from him; her vanity was rebuked, and her false pride chastened;
and when, in after-years, her pretty daughters and black-haired sons
gathered about her knees, she was wont to warn them sagely against the
un-American absurdity of fearing to work for their living, or being
ashamed to have it known.
But the married life of Miriam and Harvey Freeman was characteristically
American in its happiness. The representatives of the oldest and of the
latest inhabitants of this continent, their union seemed to produce the
flower of what was best in both. Their wedding is still remembered in
that region, as being everything that a Southern Californian wedding
should be; and the bride, as she stood at the altar, looked what she
was,--one of those women who, more than anything else in this world,
are fitted to bring back to earth the gentle splendors of the Garden
of Eden. In her dark eyes, as she fixed them upon Freeman, there was
a mystic light, telling of fathomless depths of tenderness and
intelligence: it seemed to her husband that love had expanded and
uplifted her; or perhaps that other spirit in her, which had battled
with her own, had now become reconciled, and therefore yielded up
whatever it had of good and noble to aggrandize the gentle victory of
its conqueror. Somehow, somewhere, in Miriam’s nature, Semitzin lived;
and, as a symbol of the peace and atonement that were the issue of
her strange interior story, her husband preserves with reverence and
affection the mysterious garment called the Golden Fleece.