his investigations in anything but a thankful mood. "There ain't no
doubt of it _now_," he said presently in a most melancholy tone. "That
old king o' yours must 'a' been just as crazy as a loon. Look here: this
thing ain't even a fool arrow-head; it's nothin' but a bit o' green
glass! I reckon it's part o' th' bottom of a porter-bottle. Nice sort o'
stuff this is t' call treasure, an' t' take such an all-fired lot o'
trouble t' hide away! Why, I should jedge that that king must 'a' spent
most of his time settin' up nights a-puzzlin' over plans for makin' sure
that he was th' very d----dest biggest fool that ever lived!--an' that's
just what he was, for sure! It's tough, gettin' left this way; but it
wouldn't begin t' be as tough as 't is if 't wasn't for all them
car-loads an' car-loads o' gold right clost by us here that we might 'a'
got away with as easy as rollin' off a log if we'd only ketched on to
this back-door racket in time. An' see here, Professor," he went on in a
very earnest tone, "I don't believe there's anybody in there now; why
shouldn't we just chance things a little an' go back an' get some of it?
We've got our guns; an' even if we do strike a crowd too big for us t'
tackle, an' have t' run for it, we won't be no worse off 'an we are now.
Come, let's try it on!"
While Young spoke I had been looking closely at the object that so
violently had excited his indignation, and instead of replying to him I
asked, "Are there any more pieces of that porter-bottle in the jar?"
"It's full of 'em," he answered with a contemptuous brevity.
"And the next?"
"That's full of 'em too. All th' jars on this side o' th' room are full
of 'em," he added, as he rapidly thrust his hand into one after
another--and so set the dust to flying that we both fell to sneezing as
though we would sneeze our heads off. "Oh come along, Professor: what's
th' use o' foolin' over this rubbish; let's go for th' stuff that's good
for its weight in spot cash every time!"
"Wait till we see what is in these gold vases over here," I answered,
turning as I spoke to the side of the room that as yet we had not
examined.
"What's th' good?" he asked, sulkily. But he lifted down one of the
vases, and with his thumb and finger brought forth from it a little
round black ball. "Worse an' worse," he said, as he handed the ball to
me. "We've got down t' what looks like lumps o' shoemaker's wax now.
That's about th' sickest lookin' thing t' call itself treasure I ever
did see!"
It did not seem to me probable that the little ball was shoemaker's wax;
but in order to settle this point experimentally I cut into it with my
penknife. Under the gummy exterior I found a layer of cotton-wool, and
enclosed in this a hard substance about the size of a hazel-nut. While I
was making this examination, Young investigated into the contents of
the remaining vases--which themselves were exceedingly interesting,
being made of hammered gold and most curiously engraved.
"They're no good," he said, "except I s'pose th' mugs must be worth
somethin'. Shoemaker's wax in 'em all! It's worse 'an th'
porter-bottles--for what's th' use o' shoemaker's wax t' folks who don't
rightly know what a shoe is? Come along, I say, Professor, an' let's
have a whack at them piles o' gold. If we don't tackle 'em we might just
as well never have come on this treasure-hunt at all. Some o' the stuff
in here's worth havin'--th' gold mugs an' boxes, an' that old gold
bow-gun that you're so busted about--but what does th' whole of it
amount to, anyway, when you come t' divide it up among four men an' a
jackass? I guess even th' jackass ud turn up his nose at it if he knowed
what a lot more there was that was t' be had just for grabbin' it an'
packin' it along. It's somethin', I s'pose, that we've pulled through
without losin' our hair; but we _have_ pulled through all right, an' now
we want t' make this business pay; an' unless we go for that gold this
business won't 'a' paid worth a cuss--an' instead o' comin' out on top
we'll be left th' very worst kind!"
As Young was delivered of this dismal remonstrance I handed him the
small object that I had extracted from the pitch-coated ball. "Before
you make up your mind that we are likely to be 'left,' as you term it,
suppose you look at this," I said.
He held out his hand carelessly; but as he saw what I had placed in it
his expression suddenly changed, and he burst forth excitedly: "Great
Scott! where did this come from? Why--why, Professor, it _looks_ like it
was a pearl; but if 't truly is one it's about th' bustin'est biggest
one that Godamighty ever made! Do you truly size it up for a pearl
yourself?"
"Most assuredly," I answered. "And it is a fair assumption, I think,
that there is a pearl in each one of all these little pitch-covered
balls. As to what you called bits of green glass, they are neither more
nor less than extraordinarily fine emeralds; I should say that the
smallest of them must be worth more dollars than you could carry at a
single load. Of course, all the emeralds and pearls together are not
worth a single one of these manuscripts"--here Young gave a sceptical
grunt--"but in the way of vulgar material riches I am confident that the
value of what is in these jars is greater than that of all the gold
together that we saw in the Valley of Aztlan. Without a shadow of doubt,
you and I at this moment are standing in the midst of the most enormous
treasure that ever has been brought together since the world was made!"
"Honest Injun, Professor?"
"Certainly," I answered; "and if this is your notion of getting 'left'
on a treasure-hunt," I continued, "it assuredly is not mine."
"Left?" Young repeated after me, while his eyes ranged exultantly over
the rows of jars in which this vast wealth was contained. "Well, I
should smile! I take it all back about that old king bein' crazy. He was
just as level-headed as George Washington an' Dan'l Webster rolled into
one. These pots full of arrow-heads an' such stuff was only one of his
little jokes, showin' that he must 'a' been a good-natured, comical old
cuss, th' kind I always did like, anyway. Left? Not much we ain't left!
We've just everlastin'ly got there with all four feet to onct!
Professor, shake!"
EPILOGUE.
Throughout my whole life I have been saddened, as each well-defined
section of it has come to an end, by the thought that during the period
that has then slipped away from me forever I have wasted more
opportunities than I have improved. As I write these final lines,
therefore, I feel a sorrowful regret, which, in a way, is akin to the
regret that weighed upon me when Young and I, having carried into the
cave the contents of the treasure-chamber, removed the prop wherewith
was upheld the swinging statue, and so suffered to fall into place again
that ponderous mass of stone. From below, where we were, lifting it was
impossible; and by heaping fragments of rock under the forward end of it
we presently made it equally immovable from above. Thus for outlet or
for inlet that way was irrevocable barred; and as I write now I know
that I am not less irrevocable severing myself from one portion of my
past. For, says the Persian poet, "A finished book is a sealed casket.
To it nothing can be added. From it nothing can be taken away.
Therefore should we pray to Allah that its contents may be good."
The record that I am now ending was begun partly that I might find in
the writing of it relief from the more serious work in which I have been
engaged, and partly because I perceived that I could properly include in
a personal narrative many matters which were too trivial or too entirely
personal to be incorporated into my extended scientific treatise, but
which, I was persuaded, were of a sufficient interest to be preserved.
But I certainly should not have finished this history of our adventures
nearly so expeditiously had not Rayburn and Young taken a very lively
interest in it, and pressed me constantly to bring it to an end.
"You see, Professor," said Young, "I don't want t' say anything against
that big book you're writin'. I don't doubt that in its way it'll be a
daisy; but you know yourself there won't be more'n about three cranks in
th' whole o' God's universe who'll ever read more'n about ten lines of
it; an' that's why I want you t' rush ahead with th' little book--that
stands some chance o' bein' read outside o' lunatic asylums--so's
folks'll know what a powerful queer time we've had. Don't be too cussed
particular t' say just where that valley is--for, while it's not likely,
we might want t' take a fightin' crowd along an' dynamite our way back
there some day after more cash; but, exceptin' that, just give 'em th'
cold facts. I reckon they'll make some folks open their eyes."
From times to time, as my narrative has grown beneath my hand, I have
read aloud to my fellow-adventurers what I have written, and have
received from them suggestions in accordance with which it has been
corrected or amended in its several parts; and it is but just to add, in
this connection, that in every case where I have referred (as it seems
to me now in words not nearly strong enough) to the loyalty to our
common interests, and to the splendid bravery which Rayburn and Young
constantly exhibited throughout that trying time, I have been compelled
to exert the whole of my authority over them in order to win their
grumbling permission that my words might stand. Even Pablo--for the love
that there was between this boy and me was far too strong to permit me
to leave him behind in Mexico, and we are like to live together as long
as we live at all--has taken issue with me concerning what I have
written of his steadfast faithfulness and courage; and this on the
ground that he could not possibly be anything but faithful to those whom
he loved, and that it is only natural for a man to fight for his own
life, and for the lives of his friends. In thus applying the word
_hombre_ to himself Pablo spoke a little doubtfully, as though he feared
that I might question his right to it; yet did he roll it so relishingly
under his tongue, and so well had he proved his manliness, that I
suffered it to pass.
In point of fact, the only member of our party who has accepted my just
tribute of praise with entire equanimity has been El Sabio. It was
Pablo's notion, of course, that El Sabio should hear what I had written
about him. "Not the whole of it, you know, señor," the boy said,
earnestly; "for some of what you have written--while I know that it is
true, and therefore must be told--would hurt his tender heart. It was
not his fault--the angel!--that he gave us so much trouble when we swung
him across the cañon; and to tell him that there was even a thought of
eating him, while we were in that dreadful valley where every one was
dead, assuredly would turn him gray before his time. No; we will hide
all such unpleasant parts of the book from him; but we will read to him
what you have said concerning his beauty and his wisdom--and, surely,
you might have said of those a great deal more; and also about his
gallant fight with the priests, when, all alone, he slew so many of them
with his heels. And it would have been fairer to El Sabio, señor," Pablo
added, a little reproachfully, as we walked out together to the paddock
in which the ass, grown to be very fat, was living a life of most royal
ease, "had you told in the book how well he served us in bringing all
the treasure, in many weary journeys, out through that dismal cave; and
also how carefully he carried the Señor Rayburn down that steep
mountain-side, and so to the little town beside the railway, and never
hurt his wound."
However, El Sabio did not seem to notice these omissions from my
narrative, though he certainly did exhibit a most curious air of
interest and understanding as I read to him those laudatory portions of
it which Pablo desired that he should hear. According to Pablo's
understanding of his language, he even thanked me for speaking well of
him; for when the reading was ended he thrust his nose far forward, laid
his long ears back upon his neck, planted his little legs firmly, and
as he erected in triumph his scrag of a tail, he uttered a most
thunderous bray. "And now, Wise One," Pablo said, tenderly, as he
infolded the head of the ass in his arms and hugged it to his breast,
"thou knowest that we not only love thee for thy goodness and thy
wisdom, but that we also honor thee for thy noble deeds."
Rayburn's fancy was mightily tickled by this performance in which El
Sabio and Pablo and I had engaged--though Young evidently thought it but
another proof of the addled state of my brains--when I told about it
that evening as we all sat smoking comfortably in my library before the
open fire. This was to be our last meeting for some time to come; for
Rayburn was to start the next day for Idaho to look after some mining
matters, and Young suddenly had decided that he would accompany him. In
truth, Young was rather at a loss to know what to do with himself; for
his plan for buying the Old Colony Railroad, in order to be in a
position to discharge its superintendent, had been abandoned. "I'd like
t' do it, of course," he said. "Bouncin' that chump th' same way that he
bounced me would do me a lot o' good; but I've made up my mind it
wouldn't be th' square thing t' do, considerin' that if he hadn't
bounced me I'd still be foolin' round on top o' freight-cars, in all
sorts o' weather, handlin' brakes. So I've let up on him, an' he can
stay. What I want now is t' do some good with this all-fired big pile o'
money that I've got. That's one reason why I'm goin' out with Rayburn t'
Idaho. Right straight along from here t' Boisé City I mean t' set up
drinks for every railroader I meet. That'll be doin' good, for sure."
[Illustration: IN THE LIBRARY BEFORE THE OPEN FIRE]
Rayburn and I laughed a little at this odd method for benefiting
humanity that Young had got hold of; and then Rayburn's face grew grave
as he said: "Well, we're doing a little good, I suppose, in putting that
old church in Morelia in good shape. I'm glad you thought of that,
Professor. I don't suppose that anything we could have done would have
pleased the Padre more than to have that church, that he loved so much,
made as handsome as money can make it all the way through."
"Yes," Young added, "an' I guess th' Professor's head was level in
havin' all th' new stuff that we've put in it made t' look like 't was
about two hundred years old. I did kick at that at first, I'll allow.
What I wanted t' do was t' build a first-class new church, with a
rattlin' tall steeple, an' steam heat, an' electric lights, an' an organ
big enough t' bust the roof off every time she was played. But th' Padre
was as keen as th' Professor, a'most, for old-fashioned things; an' so I
guess we've done that job just about as he'd 'a' done it himself. It
makes me feel queer, though, puttin' up money on a Catholic church that
way; an' when I was tellin' an old aunt o' mine, down t' Milton, about
it, she just riz up an' rared. An' she didn't feel a bit better when I
told her that if I thought it ud please th' Padre t' have me do it, I'd
go smack off t' Rome an' shake hands with th' Pope. And I truly would do
that very same thing," Young continued, earnestly, while his voice
trembled a little, "for this side o' heaven I never expect t' meet
anybody that's so near t' bein' a first-class angel as th' Padre was.
An' when I think how he saved our mis'rable lives for us, as he surely
did, by givin' away his own--that was worth more'n all of ours put
together, an' ten times over--I don't care a continental what his
religious politics was; an' I'll punch th' head of anybody who don't say
that he was th' pluckiest an' th' best man that ever lived!"
Pablo had caught the word Padre in Young's talk, and as the lad looked
up from the corner in which he was sitting, I saw that his eyes were
full of tears; Rayburn's eyes also had an odd glistening look about them
as he turned away suddenly, and emptied the ashes from his pipe into the
fire; and I know that I could not see very clearly just then, as very
tender, yet very poignant memories surged suddenly into my heart.
And when the others left me--as they did presently, for we could not
fall again into commonplace talk--I bade Pablo be off to bed, and so sat
there for a while alone. What I had planned to do that night was to
revise an address that I was shortly to deliver before the Archæological
Institute; but the pen that I had taken into my hand lay idle there,
while my thoughts went backward through the channels of the past.
In that still season of darkness I seemed to live again through all the
time that Fray Antonio and I had been together--from the moment when I
first caught sight of him, as he knelt before the crucifix in the
sacristy, to my last sad look at the dead body whence his soul had sped
back again to God.
As my thoughts dwelt upon this most loving and most tender
companionship, the like of which for perfectness I am confident was
never known, and then upon the cruel violence that brought it to an end,
so searching a pain went through my soul that I knew that either it must
cease or I must die of it in a very little while. And then was borne in
upon me the strong conviction--and so has it since been always, when
thus my thoughts have been engaged--that because of my very love for
Fray Antonio must I rejoice that he had died so savage a death;
believing confidently that what he prayed for when first I found him in
the Christian church of San Francisco was, in truth, that very crown of
martyrdom that God granted to him when at last I lost him in the heathen
city of Colhuacan. And with the pressing in upon me thus strangely of
this strange thought, it seemed as though he himself said again to me,
"I go to win the life, glorious and eternal, into which neither death
nor sin nor sorrow evermore can come."
THE END.