OLD CENTURY TAKES THE TRAIL
The clatter of horse's hoofs on the dry sward made Pedro, the
shepherd, lift his eyes from his basket weaving, but only for an
instant. The sight of Samson, the herder, mounted upon the fleetest
animal of the Sobrante stables, was nothing compared to the working
out of the intricate pattern he had set himself to follow. Even the
centenarian, dwelling in his lofty solitude, knew that there was
approaching the blessed Navidad, whereon all good Christians exchanged
gifts, in memory of the great gift the Son of God; and what could he
do but put forth his utmost ingenuity to please his heart's dearest,
even Jessica of the sunny face?
Like Aunt Sally, at the ranch, he had, at last, caught a feeling of
haste and wished not to be disturbed; so he did not even look up again
when he was accosted.
"Hello, old man! Hard at it, still?"
No reply forthcoming, Samson shouted, as if the shepherd were deaf:
"Where's Capt. Jess, abuleo (grandfather)?"
The deferential title won the attention which the loud voice could not
gain, and Pedro glanced carelessly upon the mighty herder, a mere
youth of sixty summers, and replied, with equal carelessness:
"Am I the nina's[A] keeper? But, no," then resumed his weaving.
In another instant the delicate, finely split rushes had been snatched
from the weaver's hands, and he exhorted:
"By all that's great, old man! Tell me, has Jessica Trent passed this
way?"
"Why for? Once, but once, since the long journey and the finding of
that bad Antonio came she to Pedro's hut. Give back the basket. For
her, of the bright hair, it is; my finest, and, maybe, my last. Why
not? Yet still again I will keep the fiesta, si. The child. Many have
I loved, but none like my little maid. The basket."
This was a long speech for the silent dweller on the mesa, and there
was more of anger in his usually calm eyes than Samson had never seen
there, as he rose and extended his skinny hands for his treasure.
The herder restored it, his heart growing heavier as he did so.
"Think fast, good Pedro. The old are wise, and hark ye! These many
hours the child is from home. The mistress--you love her?"
"She is my mistress," answered the shepherd, in a tone which conveyed
all his deep feeling. To him his "mistress" represented a material
Providence. From her hand came all the simple necessaries of his life.
From her, on the approaching nativity, would also come some things
which were not necessaries, but infinitely more precious to the
centenarian than such could be. On the nativity he would be sent, upon
the gentlest mount his lady owned, to the mission service which he
loved. Thereafter he would ride back to Sobrante, his own priest
beside him, to feast his fill on such food as he tasted but once a
year. At nightfall of that blessed day he would gather the ranchmen
about him, in that old corridor where once he had seen the ancient
padres walk, breviary in hand, and tell his marvelous tales of the
days when the land was new, when whole tribes of redfaces came to be
taught at the padres' feet, and when the things which now were had not
been dreamed of. Some who listened to these Christmas stories believed
that the secrets at which the shepherd hinted were vagaries of his
enfeebled mind, but others, and among them Samson, gave credence to
them, and yearly did their best to worm from him their explanation.
That mention of the "mistress" had touched him, also, to anxiety, and
he motioned the herder to repeat his statement. He then straightened
himself to almost the erectness of the younger man, and begun at once
to gather his rushes and rap them carefully in a moistened cloth. With
an expressive gesture toward his cabin, he suggested that Samson was
free to enter it and provide such entertainment for himself as he
chose, or could find. And so well did the herder know the shepherd
that he fully understood this significant wave of the hand, and
replied to it in words:
"Thanks, old man, but some other time. At present I'm keener on the
scent for my captain than for even your good coffee. If she comes,
report, will you?"
The other did not notice what he heard, but himself proceeded to the
cabin and safely deposited his handiwork within it. Then he came out
again, whistled for his dog, Keno, whose head he stroked for some
time, and into whose attentive ear he seemed to be whispering some
instruction.
A shade of amusement, merging into wonder, crossed the herder's
countenance, and he communed with himself thus:
"Blow my stripes, if Old Century isn't going to take the trail
himself! He's telling that canine what to do while he's gone, and,
ahoy, there! If the knowin' creatur' doesn't understand him! All
right, grand sir! Yet, not all so right, either. It takes a deal of
business to move Pedro off his mesa, and if he's riled enough to leave
it now, it's because he sees more danger to Lady Jess than even I do.
Hello! what's he waiting for?"
Evidently for Samson to depart, which that gentleman presently did,
grimly considering:
"Old chap thinks the whole mesa belongs to him, and 'pears to suspect
I might rob him if he left me behind. Well, friend, I've no call to
tarry. Since my lady isn't here, I must seek her elsewhere," and down
the canyon Samson dashed, his sure-footed beast passing safely where a
more careful animal would have stumbled.
All this had happened soon after the dispersing of the ranchmen to
search for Jessica, and Samson had now taken that turn of the trail
which led to the miner's cabin.
"'Tisn't likely she's there, though. She'd never travel afoot that
long distance, and Buster's in the stable."
The Winklers received him with gloom. The hilarious gayety that had
once distinguished their small household had vanished with the loss of
Elsa's money. Their son, and idol, had been defrauded of a rich future
for which they had toiled, and life now seemed to them but an irksome
round of humdrum duties, to be gotten through with as easily as
possible. Over the cabin hung an air of neglect which even Samson was
swift to note, and most significant of all, Elsa's knitting had fallen
to the floor and become the plaything of a kitten, which evoked no
reprimand, tangle the yarn as she would.
"Hello, neighbors! Ain't lookin' over and above cheerful, are you?
What's wrong?"
"Good-day, herder. How's all?"
"Glum, I should say. Where's Lady Jess?"
Wolfgang elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders and made a
gesture of ignorance, but said no word.
"Lost your tongues, mostly, hey? I say--where's the captain?"
Elsa lumbered forward to the doorway, and dully regarded the visitor;
then, after a time, replied:
"Not here."
Her brevity was another contrast to her former volubility, but it was
sufficient to thrill the questioner's heart with fresh dismay.
"Has she been here to-day?"
Elsa shook her head. Otto came out from the shed and glanced
disconsolately at Samson, then slowly returned whence he had come.
The herder's temper flamed, and, snapping his whip at the air, he
cried out, hotly:
"Look at me, you passel of idiots! You think you know what trouble is
just because you've lost a handful of money? Well, you don't! You
haven't even guessed at it. Money! The world's full of that, but there
never was more than one Lady Jess, and I tell you--I tell you--she's
lost!"
He had spoken out at last the fear he had scarcely acknowledged, and
the shock of his own plain speech held him silent thereafter. His head
drooped, his great body settled in the saddle, as if the whole burden
of his sixty years had fallen upon him in that moment. His attitude,
even more than his words, conveyed his meaning to his hearers, and, in
a flash, the real values of what they had loved, and now lost, fell
into their rightful places.
"Money? The little lady?" Ah! what, after all, was the one compared to
the other?
"Man--you lie!" retorted Wolfgang, clinching his fist and advancing
with a threatening air. Elsa stepped to his side, her wide face
turning even paler than it had been, and a startled look dawning in
her eyes. Even Otto, the six-foot "child," reappeared from his retreat
and regarded the horseman reproachfully.
As for him, he roused from his momentary despondency and glared upon
the trio of spectators as if they, and they alone, were to blame for
the calamity which had befallen.
Question and answer followed swiftly, and again Samson was off down
the slope, headed now for distant Marion, the least likely of all
places wherein his darling might be found. Once he was out of sight,
the Winkler household resolved itself into an additional search party;
and it was noticeable that, whereas formerly, when they were leaving
the home, they would carefully secure the cabin against intruders,
they now disdained any further preparation than kicking the kitten out
of doors, and removing the kettle of boiling stew from the fireplace
to the ground before the door. A fleeting smile did cross Elsa's face,
as she reflected that the meddler with her knitting would probably
scald itself in the pot, but she didn't care. Her whole mind was now
set upon Sobrante and its mistress, and so eager was she to reach the
spot that she set off on her long walk with an alacrity she had not
shown since the discovery of the robbery.
Wolfgang and Otto armed himself each with a sharp, iron-pointed staff,
and silently, with one accord, started toward El Desierto. Why, even
they could not have explained, beyond the fact that it seemed a place
for hiding things. It was a long walk, and so weary had the "little
boy" become by the time the deserted ranch was reached that Wolfgang
left it unfatherly to force a return trip on that same day, although
no signs of recent occupancy had rewarded their search.
So it was in every case. Jessica had simply and completely disappeared,
and there settled upon the home the darkest night it had ever known.
Even that on which its master had been brought back dead did not
equal in intensity of anguish the uncertainty which drove the waiting
mother frantic. At times she would call for a horse and ride wildly
to and fro, peering into every shadowed spot and call pitifully upon
her child, at others she would hasten to the house, eagerly
demanding of Aunt Sally, "has she come?"
"Not yet, honey. Not quite yet. Just wait a spell, and you'll see her
all right. Best be here at home when she does come, Gabriella. You'd
hate to have anybody else the first to meet her, you know."
This advice, uttered in tones so gentle they were hardly recognizable
as Mrs. Benton's, would be followed for the moment, till the torture
of dreadful possibilities would send the distracted ranch mistress
again afield.
So the night wore away, and sunrise came, and still there was no
returning party that brought good cheer. Each tarried, for a brief
time, to attend to the live stock under his immediate care, and some
even to snatch a morsel of food, but mostly they were off and away
again, a flask of water and a bit of hardtack in pocket, oftener than
not forgetting even this meager nourishment.
By the end of the second day the sorrowful news had spread all over
the countryside, and other ranches were well-nigh as deserted as
Sobrante, while their forces joined in the apparently hopeless
search.
By then, also, Mrs. Trent had resigned herself to a quiet acceptance
of the worst, and sat for hours at a time rigidly motionless, with
only her sense of hearing intensely alert, strained to its utmost for
whatever news might come. As each party came back to consult the
others, and for the refreshment that human nature could no longer do
without, it reported to the waiting woman, who received the message in
silence, yet with the courteous bow which acknowledged the other's
effort on her behalf.
Aunt Sally now rose to the occasion as only her great heart could
suggest. All the petty fussiness which had annoyed her neighbors
dropped away from her as she moved softly, keen-eyed and solicitous,
among them all. The steaming bowl of coffee and strengthening
sandwich, ready on the instant for each arrival the unshaken
hopefulness of her eyes, and her wordless control of the awestruck
little boys, were comforts scarcely realized in that dark time; yet
comforts truly. Even Gabriella could not refuse the nourishment so
lovingly pressed upon her, and mechanically drank the cup of broth
which her friend had taken care should be of the strongest. To one
and all this homely ministering angel affirmed, with unshaken
persistence:
"Jessica Trent is safe. Jessica Trent is coming back."
Meanwhile, old Pedro, for the first time in nearly a twelvemonth, had
turned his back upon the mesa which he loved and set out on a toilsome
path. In his hand he carried a curious, notched stick, upon which he
sometimes leaned, but oftener bore upon his shoulder, as it were a
precious possession that he must guard. Old as he was, his staff was
older still. It had come to him when the valley mission had been
abandoned, and the padre who bestowed it upon this, his faithful
servant, had also given into his keeping a valuable secret. This
metal-pointed rod was one thing Pedro never left behind him when he
journeyed from home.
Starting from the east side of the mesa, he dipped into the canyon;
not by the trail over which Jessica had ridden the ostrich on the day
of her eventful meeting with Morris Hale, but by the farther, ragged
wall where it seemed as if feet so old could never make their way. Yet
make it they did, as surely if not as swiftly as in their younger
days. There was not the slightest hesitation in their direction,
though there were indeed, frequent pauses during which the Indian's
keen hearing was strained for an expected sound. After each such halt
Pedro would resume his path, climbing over rocks which looked
insurmountable and skirting others by ledges less than a span's width.
Over this part of the canyon wall none of the Sobrante ranchmen had
ever come; though below it, along a smoother portion, ran the flume
that watered the ranch in the valley.
Darkness found the shepherd still among the overhanging crags, and
with true Indian stolidity he rested for the night. His blanket
wrapped around him, his staff on the safe inner side, he lay down upon
a shelf of stone and slept as peacefully as in his cabin on the level
mesa, from which two motives had driven him abroad.
Something had warned him that this approaching Christmastide might be
his last, and that the time of which he had often dreamed was to come.
He would now test the truth of the secret he had received, and, if it
proved what had been promised, would share it with his beloved
mistress, his priceless Navidad gift to her and hers.
Also sitting solitary at his basket, weaving on the isolated island,
Pedro had still observed much. Each trifle was an event to him, and of
late these trifles had gathered thick about him. With annoying
frequency Ferd, the dwarf, had invaded and contaminated his solitude.
The hints which the misshapen creature had dropped, though receiving
no outward attention, had, nevertheless, remained in the Indian's mind
to disturb it. It was to hunt for this wretched fellow, as well as to
prove his "secret," that he was now in the canyon, believing that when
he was found, there would be Jessica also.
When morning came he rose and tightened his belt about him and set out
afresh. The long sleep had restored his vigor and his eye gleamed with
satisfaction. The muscles that had stiffened from long disuse--he
would not have admitted that the stiffness came from age--were limber
as of old, and he felt that, after all, it was good to be once more
upon the trail. But even his confidence would have been rudely shaken
could he have foreseen the peril wherein that trail would end.
[A] Little one.