The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral, by John Dunloe Carteret

A Fortune Hunter;

OR,

THE OLD STONE CORRAL.

A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail.

BY JOHN DUNLOE CARTERET.

CINCINNATI:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
1888.

COPYRIGHTED, 1886.

CONTENTS.

[CHAPTER I.]

[CHAPTER II.]

[CHAPTER III.]

[CHAPTER IV.]

[CHAPTER V.]

[CHAPTER VI.]

[CHAPTER VII.]

[CHAPTER VIII.]

[CHAPTER IX.]

[CHAPTER X.]

[CHAPTER XI.]

[CHAPTER XII.]

[CHAPTER XIII.]

[CHAPTER XIV.]

[CHAPTER XV.]

[CHAPTER XVI.]

[CHAPTER XVII.]

[CHAPTER XVIII.]

[CHAPTER XIX.]

[CHAPTER XX.]

[CHAPTER XXI.]

A FORTUNE HUNTER:

OR,

THE OLD STONE CORRAL.

Chapter I.

The sinking sun threw its amber beams over the wide valley, rolling hills, and the dim buttes, wreathed in the blue haze of distance and looming with vague outlines in the wavering shimmer of the evening mirage.

A silvery stream, half hidden by fringing trees, wound through the prairie valley, but was lost to sight where a lofty butte shouldered boldly down from the highland on the south, as if to catch a view of the Eden-like landscape that dreamed below, while far away to the north a line of galloping hills bounded the vision, their mantles of tender green dappled by the shadow and sunshine of the fleecy clouds that floated overhead. On the south the level prairie melted away into the limitless distance, clothed in the tender grasses and flowers of early spring-time, while on every hand stretched away the horizon-bound prairies of the Western plains.

A wide meadow-land, made perfect by the hand of nature, but lacking that soul and animation which human occupancy alone can impart to any scene. No homes are visible; nothing but the blank page of nature, waiting to be written over with the histories of the people, which, something whispers to me, will soon invade this peaceful scene, over which now broods the unnatural calm of utter solitude.

Out beyond that blue line of hills, which flame up in the east, is raging the fierce conflict which we call civilization; but the shock and din, the roar and turmoil of the mighty battle die fitfully away long before reaching the quivering line of that dim horizon. I stand alone upon the crest of a breeze-kissed hill, listening to the moan and whisper of the wind sighing through the grasses at my feet, or the notes of a meadow lark, thrilling and sweet, as it flits by.

To the westward, on a lofty knoll, are visible the broken arches and ruined walls of the Old Stone Corral; rank vines now veil the loop-holes where once had flashed forth the leaden death-messenger for many a savage warrior that had tried to storm the impregnable inclosure, which had been built as a place of refuge for travelers on the Santa Fe Trail, that here crossed the Cottonwood on a stony ford. A giant elm, centuries old, stood amid the ruins, its drooping boughs of feathery spray weeping like a fountain of verdure over the spring that welled out from among its roots, then went gurgling away, a purling brook, to join the narrow stream in the valley.

The river here at the ruins had nearly encircled the hill on which they stood, and after half embracing the knoll in its timber-fringed course had wound away down the valley, but where the groves grew in masses of darkest green, there the stream had widened to miniature lakelets that flashed like silver in the slanting sunbeams.

On a low mound near by I see a great stone, like a rude monument, and drawing near I can barely decipher this dim and weather-worn inscription, carved on the red sandstone:

Erected to the Memory
OF
FIFTY-THREE VICTIMS OF THE CHEYENNES,
August 22, 1849.
NAMES ALL UNKNOWN.

Here is a dim, dark tragedy, buried within this grassy knoll, but within these pages all the mystery which haunts the flower-bespangled hillock will be cleared away. A difficult task indeed; but without those graves my story would never have been written.

I stand silent and thoughtful, gazing out over the tranquil landscape, which had once witnessed a scene of revolting horror here on this quiet spot; but all is peaceful now, the only sign of life visible being the long file of antelope that hurry by from the north. Halting on a lofty headland, they pause a moment, stretching their graceful necks to gaze back along their pathway, then with loud snorts wheeling and swiftly fleeing away.

At this moment the distant sound of hoofs was heard, becoming momentarily louder; then a group of riders dash up on their sleek, superb horses, and draw rein at the rude monument.

"It must be here, Clifford, at this low mound," said one of the riders, a graceful girl of seventeen, with nut-brown hair and blue eyes.

"Yes, Maud, I recognize the knoll from father's and Uncle Roger's description. It was uncle who carved this inscription upon the stone, little dreaming then that we should all come here a quarter of a century later to secure a new home," replied a youth of near twenty years; handsome, golden-haired, and symmetrical, with eyes of pansy blue, and a look of pride and good birth about him which showed plain through the dust and tan of a long journey.

"Ah, dear Bruce and Ivarene! how sad to end their romance with such a tragedy!" said Maud tearfully, as Clifford dismounted; then, as he helped her to alight, they stood for a moment in mute sorrow while deciphering the inscription upon the stone.

"Maud, it is hard to believe that the heiress of grand old Monteluma, with her millions of gold and gems at command, who wedded noble Bruce in the great cathedral before the dignitaries and ambassadors of half Christendom with a pomp and splendor new to even luxury-steeped Mexico, is sleeping with her husband in the silence of this lonesome grave," Clifford said in a tone of deep sadness.

"Oh! how vivid the picture returns, of the silken and lace-robed heiress, who threw back the gilded lattice of her window, and with pearls glinting, and rubies burning in her raven hair, smiled as her handsome lover, in his uniform of gray and gold lace, swung himself up to her window by the passion-vines and fuchsias, that rained a shower of purple, white, and rose on his sunny hair. I can almost see the love-look in his blue eyes yet," said Maud with a flood of tears, as she leaned against the rude monument and covered her face with her hands.

"I have sometimes fancied that they escaped; for there was no one left but father to inquire, and you know how long he was covered with the stones of that old wall, remaining delirious for months after Uncle Roger found him," said Clifford, "and that million of their gold and gems, with father's store of gold, I have often fancied, Maud, was hidden near here; for there has never been a search made since the terrible massacre."

"That looks so improbable, Clifford. If the savages murdered them for plunder, as they certainly did, then it is idle to think that they would have left anything of value behind. Even the jewels would have been fought for, as savages are very fond of glitter and splendor," Maud replied.

"Yes, that very disposition of theirs to wrangle over their booty has given me a hope that the leader might have buried the gold, for the reason that it would have been impossible to carry away a ton of coin without first dividing it. I shall make the search at any rate, though it does look like a forlorn hope," he added with a sigh.

"Miss Warlow, there seems to have been a great tragedy enacted here in the past," said a young man of near Clifford's age, who had been silently regarding them from a distance, in company with a flaxen-haired girl, younger than Maud, who still sat upon her horse by his side.

"Yes, Mr. Moreland, and it nearly concerns us; for our father, here on this spot, once lost a great fortune, and at the same time those two friends of whom we have been speaking. This all was long before Clifford and I were born; but father has told us so often of the tragedy that the names of Bruce and Ivarene Walraven are dear and sacred to us all," Maud replied.

"Oh, Ralph! I wonder if Colonel Warlow would tell us the particulars of that terrible affair?" said the younger girl.

"It would be doubly interesting here upon the closing scene of the tragedy," the young man replied.

"Will you ask your father, Maud, to tell us to-night?" the young girl inquired eagerly.

"Yes, Grace: it will help to while away our first Sabbath here, which will be a lonesome day to-morrow," Maud made answer as they remounted and rode down to the stream to water their horses.

"What a lovely camp-ground!" exclaimed Grace. "Shall we not stop here, Ralph?"

"Yes, sister, if the others are willing. It is not only a fine camping ground, but it is more: This is a grand home-land, or will be when we select our 'claims,' Monday. I never before have seen a more beautiful or fertile valley than this."

Soon a long line of white covered wagons and a comfortable carriage appeared, coming down the Santa Fe trail, which wound its travel-worn course over the hills from the north-east; and where solitude had reigned but an hour before there now re-echoed the sounds of a busy camp, and ruddy fires leaped and sparkled, about which female forms flitted to and fro, preparing their evening meal. But while all was bustle and animation within the camp, a solitary figure could be seen standing at the long grave, bowed in an attitude of silent grief.

As he walked slowly back within the glare of the camp-fire, it was apparent that he was a man past middle life, of grave and dignified appearance; the lines of care, on his still handsome face, were deepened as if by grief as he seated himself by a tree, away from the glare of the light.

As he sat thus—lost in reverie—Maud came softly by, and, passing her hand over his hair in a caressing way, said:—

"What a lovely country this is! I am charmed with it already."

"Yes, Maud, my daughter, it is a fertile and picturesque region; but it will be hard to inure myself to living on this spot, for it is haunted by very bitter memories."

"Oh, it is sad, indeed, to think of the fate of Bruce and his graceful bride; but we will deck their grave with flowers, and I shall never cease to grieve for them," she said, dropping a kiss on her father's cheek, then hurrying away to the camp-fire.

He was roused from his gloomy reverie, a few minutes later, by his wife, who came to his side, and, as her hand rested fondly on his shoulder, she said, in a sweet voice of womanly sympathy, in which could be traced a sub-tone of strength and resolution:—

"George, dear, this is no time for repining; instead we should feel happy and grateful that we have found such a delightful country as this in which to select our future home. Oh, this valley is more beautiful than even my wildest dreams had ever pictured. I had felt apprehensive, husband, that your impressions of this place had been colored by your youthful enthusiasm of twenty, and own that I had made ample allowance for the quarter of a century which has passed since then; but it is certainly the most charming spot I have ever beheld."

"My dear, brave wife," he replied joyfully, "you lift a heavy burden from my heart; we will select a home near here early Monday morning, and begin building at once. I shall leave the selection with you, Mary, however."

"Oh, we are too late," she replied, with a cheerful smile. "Robbie has found the spot already; he has just returned from down the valley, where Scott Moreland and himself had driven the stock, and they report having found a perfect paradise. They are both boiling over with enthusiasm, and are bareheaded, having left their hats hanging on trees to mark the location of their respective 'claims,' and when I left the camp-fire they were inveighing against the injustice of a law that would not permit fifteen-year-old boys to take a 'homestead.'"

In a more cheerful mood the couple now sought the camp-fire, which was surrounded by more than a dozen persons of both sexes, all animated and happy over the termination of their long and toilsome journey.

The two who have just entered the circle are Colonel Warlow and his wife, while the handsome youth of fifteen, with hazel eyes and auburn hair, which has a faint tinge of red, that accounts for the reputation he has earned within the Warlow circle, is Robbie, their youngest; while that golden-haired young Adonis, who, in a fit of grave abstraction, sits leaning against a tree, his white and tapering hands clasped about his knee, the firelight glimmering over a small and well-shaped boot resting on the round of his chair, is their oldest son, Clifford, whom we have met before; while Maud, their only daughter, is easily recognized as she flits about, busy and graceful.

Next we see the family of Squire Moreland, from the valley of the Merrimac—the squire himself being a representative Puritan, plain and grave; his wife, a type of the live and thorough-going New England woman, deeply imbued with the "thingness of is," able to discuss apples or algebra, beans or baptism, or in fact any subject down to zymology. Then Ralph, principally to be recommended for being "general good fellow." Next in their family is Scott, quiet and grave, addressed by Rob Warlow as the "Young Squire;" and their only daughter, Grace, in whose make-up there is more than a faint spice of the tomboy.

Colonel Warlow's family had left their old Missouri home, the tobacco and hemp plantation on which the children had all been born, and, having met the Morelands on their rout, bound for that indefinite region "out West," they had journeyed on together to this spot, attracted by Colonel Warlow's remembrance of its great beauty and natural fertility, which had deeply impressed him when he was here a quarter of a century before.

Learning, at Council Grove, that the valley was open to homestead entry, they had hastened on, miles ahead of other settlements, to locate here on a spot that was beyond the utmost limit of civilization.

Soon the hungry travelers were seated at the cloth that was spread on the downy buffalo-grass, and were partaking of the broiled quail and antelope steak, the appetizing odors of which now pervaded the whole camp; but as the company ranged themselves about the tempting repast, Maud and Grace retired to a seat by the fire, declaring as they did so, that they would not sacrifice their precious lives by sitting at a table with thirteen other sinners.

"Give us a song, then," cried some one from the table, at which Grace sprang up and brought Maud's guitar from the carriage, and soon the sweet strains,

"Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chains have bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me,"

re-echoed through the tranquil valley. As Maud's tender soprano mingled with the luscious alto of Grace's voice the listeners almost forgot the tempting feast spread before them, and cries of "Bravo!" "Encore!" etc., greeted the close of the pathetic song, which was wholly lost, as to its sentiment, upon the younger members of the company.

"Pass the hat," cried Bob, whereupon Grace handed her sunshade around among the laughing group, but after inspecting the collection, she said with an air of contempt:—

"A wish-bone and five bread-crusts! Why, a prima donna would starve on such a meagre salary. I've a notion to play Herodias's daughter and dance off your heads;" and when Maud struck up a lively fandango, she shook her curls in a threatening manner, and then whirled off into an amazing waltz.

Jeers and hoots from the boys resounded at her last pas seul, and Clifford's voice was heard in the gay tumult saying: "Mademoiselle dis Grace must have learned her step at an Irish wake."

"Let us no longer serve an ungrateful public," said Maud, as they sat down to the table, where their gayety chased away all traces of care or sorrow. When the meal was finished, Maud and Grace begged Colonel Warlow to relate his early history. Their request was eagerly seconded by the other members of the company, who were anxious to learn the particulars of that tragedy, hinted at by the inscription on the mound, and how he came to be connected with the actors in that terrible drama, and to lose a great fortune on that spot so long ago. Then the colonel, after sitting for a few moments wrapped in serious thought, replied that it was a long story, and would require more than one evening to relate all the particulars of that great tragedy, that would always be fresh in his memory as long as life endured.

The company reminded him that it would be rather lonesome on their first Sabbath, and entreated him so eagerly that at length he consented; then, as the firelight leaped and sparkled, and the beams of the rising moon silvered the waters of the stream, moaning and fretting over the stony ford, they all gathered about the colonel, still and expectant. The quavering scream of a lone wolf died out on the hills in a plaintive wail; then only the faint whisper of the wind sighing though the willow was heard, and the colonel said:—

Chapter II.

COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY.

"When a boy of twenty I joined the army that soon invaded Mexico, and carried victory with its banners into the Aztec capital—the world-renowned halls of the Montezumas.

"It was before Vera Cruz—when our ranks were swept by the iron hail, rained upon our storming columns by scores of cannon from San Juan de Ulloa—that I first saw Bruce Walraven, whom I was thenceforth to regard as a brother.

"An exploding shell had killed my horse, which had fallen upon me in such a way that made it impossible for me to rise without assistance; and while I was yet vainly struggling to extricate myself from the dangerous position, a squadron of cavalry rushed by, charging a company of Mexican infantry intrenched behind a light breastwork of sand-bags. I held up my hand with an imploring gesture—a human voice was lost in the wild thunder and roar of artillery—and the leader of the cavalry saw my sad plight. He wavered a moment as though struggling with discipline; but the sight of a fellow-soldier in distress seemed to outweigh all else, even the pride of leading his men, for he dashed to my side and helped me to rise; then, as a riderless horse galloped by, he caught its dangling rein, and by his help, in a moment more I was again in the saddle.

"By rapid riding we soon overtook the command, and were greeted by a ringing cheer from the soldiers, who quickly showed their appreciation of his humanity. Later in the war I would not have been so fortunate; but we were new, as yet, to scenes of bloodshed and carnage, which accounted for the laxity of discipline, but evidence of humanity, shown in this incident.

"After the successful storming of the enemy's slight earthworks, which, with their usual lack of military science, had been but half manned and illy constructed, I had a long talk with young Lieutenant Walraven, and in a short time I had managed to be exchanged into his company; and we soon became inseparable companions, sharing the same blanket at night and rude fare during the day, or riding side by side through the battles of that glorious campaign, and finally reaching the valley of Mexico safely.

"Here, while engaged in a slight skirmish with the enemy, Walraven was wounded in the arm, and was immediately conveyed to the old hacienda of Monteluma, near by. At his urgent request I was detailed to stay with him as a guard. In the courts of that princely villa he rapidly convalesced; and one day, while seated by the great fountain, where myrtle and jasmine, oleander and roses, mingled their fragrance, he saw two beautiful Spanish ladies loitering near, and being concealed by the luxuriant foliage himself, he could see and hear all that passed without being discovered.

"He always afterward declared to me that at first he had no intention of playing the eavesdropper; but when he learned from their talk that it was himself they were discussing, then the temptation became too great to resist, so he sat very still while the following dialogue took place, and which, with his usual boyish frankness, he related to me an hour later. This was in Spanish; but Bruce was now quite proficient in that language, and readily understood all that was said:—

"'But, Ivarene, my dear, it does not become Don Rozarro's daughter and heiress—last, alas! of the proud line of Monteluma—to become infatuated with the blue eyes and golden hair of this wounded soldier; and if he is as handsome as a Norse king, to which you so foolishly compare him, he still is no less our country's enemy,' said the elder lady, who seemed to be a duenna, whose sole care consisted in keeping the younger and more beautiful lady hidden from the eyes of her unwelcome guests, but with what success you may readily perceive.

"'But, Labella, cousin dear, he is alone, wounded and ill in a foreign land—no mother, sister, or sweetheart near to soothe his long days of pain! (I wonder if he has a sweetheart in that cold Northland!) And then, Labella, does not the good Book command us to do good to those who hate us, and to love our enemies?' she replied with a mischievous smile.

"'Oh, the command, my darling, does not apply to every sunny-haired trooper who, invades our country—'

"'No—no; not every one, true!' retorted Ivarene, archly, to which the duenna quickly replied:—

"'I fear, Ivarene, that your English education, and your much reading of those Northern books, have turned your head.'

"Here the ladies passed on through a latticed arcade, and their voices were lost in the distance; but my friend had seen and heard enough to lose his heart completely, and in the evening, as we sat on the balcony without, he was so quiet and thoughtful that I began to realize the fact that he was deeply entangled in the meshes of love at first sight.

"Leaving him to his reflections, I walked to the edge of the balcony to gaze out over the matchless landscape which the lofty mansion commanded.

"The tropic moon poured a flood of silvery radiance over the Vale of Mexico, while low down on the horizon burned the fiery Southern Cross. The bubbling domes of the great capital seemed to float upon the lakes which environ its walls, and her myriad lights twinkled and flashed back from their waters like stars on a frosty night.

"Old Chapultepec, with its castellated walls, towered out on the lofty headland; and the dark forests of cypress, that had witnessed the tragedies and pageants of Aztec splendor for a thousand years past, clothed the base of the hill in a sombre mantle, peopled by the spectres, I thought, of long dead princes and Montezumas that in the dim past had lived their lives of inconceivable luxury in those ancient groves.

"Over all loomed the old volcanoes, white and ghostly, with their mantles of eternal snow and hearts of hidden fire. Shrouded in mystery, they seemed a fit emblem of the Aztec past, whose buried histories still haunt this ancient land.

"Near by, at the foot of the lofty terrace, the groves of olive and orange were sombre in shade. In the soft wind the myrtle rustled faintly, and on the roses at our feet the dew-drops glinted in fitful splendor.

"In an angle of the old wall, where the murky shadows were deepest, the glow-worms burned in the damp grass, and the fire-flies glimmered incessantly. There I half fancied that I could see strange forms hovering; and when a figure flitted out into the moonlight, then was quickly lost again in the black shade of an aloe, I was startled for a moment; but concluding it was one of the peons belonging to the estate, I turned my eyes to again feast on the glorious view.

"There were numberless fountains pouring down their sheen of waters, that, after flashing a moment in the moonlight, rippled away in rivulets, which gurgled and sang as they leaped over the terraces in mimic cascades, where they joined the waters of the fairy-like lakes that slumbered in the grounds below. These tranquil sheets of water were the reservoirs which served to irrigate the vast estate, and were decked with floating gardens, on which were gilded arbors or lattices of white, with beds of bright-hued tropic flowers.

"On every hand lay league upon league of land, all owned by the young mistress of Monteluma. The long avenue of cypress only ending close to the walls of the capital, the villages of peons, the pasturages where the numerous flocks grazed, groves of orange and lemon, and the fields of wheat,—all these I knew were the undisputed estate of our hostess, of whom Bruce was now dreaming.

"I was aroused from my reverie by an exclamation from my companion, who had now sprung up excitedly and was pointing down toward the entrance, while he grasped the pistols that hung in his belt—weapons that were never lost sight of in this turbulent country. As I looked toward the spot where he was pointing I could see the long line of a hundred steps—which led up to the only entrance to the hacienda—lined and thronging with armed men:

"In a moment the situation flashed upon us: they were banditti or marauders, emboldened by the unprotected state of the rich villa, and were now attacking the great iron-studded door. If they effected an entrance, I shuddered with apprehension to think of the fate of its inmates; but we lost no time while we were thus speculating, but quickly barring the door on the balcony we rushed down into the court, and while I grasped the bell-rope and sent forth a wild alarm from the brazen bell that hung in the lofty tower, Bruce hurried on through the long hall toward the door of entrance.

"As he was fastening the chains and bars across the entrance a crowd of frightened peons came flocking into the hall, and while we were hastily arming them with the guns that hung upon the wall and directing them to guard the upper windows and doors that opened out upon the lofty balconies, the door of the great saloon was hurriedly thrown open, and Senora Labella asked in a trembling voice the reason of the commotion.

"When she learned that the bandits were at the door she fled back into the room, and as we followed, assuring her of our protection, we saw her fly to where the young heiress stood, her arm yet resting upon the gilded harp which she had but just that moment ceased playing, and the light from the silver chandelier falling softly upon her raven hair and the lustrous white silk that fell in graceful folds about her slender form.

"While the excited duenna clung to the more youthful lady, and gave way to incoherent cries of fear and moans of distress, we begged them to retire to a tower of great strength, and we would surely repel the attack; but Ivarene declared she would stay and help defend her home—saying she would not have it said that the last Rozarro was the first to flee from danger.

"After the senora had been given over to the care of a bevy of badly frightened maids, Ivarene hurried fearlessly out into the hall and showed Bruce where several loop-holes were concealed by slides of iron. These commanded the entrance, and while we rained a galling fire upon the enemy, she stood in an angle of the thick wall and reloaded the guns for us, which we as rapidly discharged again with telling effect. The blows upon the door soon ceased, and we could see the marauders retreating down the steps; then, as a parting salute followed them, they could be heard galloping swiftly away.

"When all was still again, we accompanied the brave young heiress back to the saloon, where she thanked us earnestly for the rescue of her home from the hands of the marauders. Of course, we quickly assured her that the honors and glory of the occasion rested in her bravery and resolution. When she gave her hand to my handsome, sunny-haired friend, I think something stronger than admiration shone in his deep-blue eyes as he gazed upon the beautiful creole face, now suffused with blushes and lit by eyes of midnight blackness.

"The senora had now recovered from her agitation, and was voluble and profuse in her thanks and compliments. At a sign from her the servants brought great silver trays, loaded with cake of white and gold, with decanters of ruby wine, glittering in the flasks of cut glass like liquid fire. For an hour or more the dark-eyed young heiress sang songs of Spain in a voice of cultured melody, while her white fingers swept the gilded harp, that vibrated in tones of sweetest harmony under her skillful touch.

"As a compliment to us she also sang several Scotch and English ballads, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn that she had received an education in England, and spoke our own tongue with remarkable fluency.

"From that night we were accorded all the privileges of honored guests in the great hacienda."

Here the colonel paused, remarking that as the hour was growing late his hearers would excuse him, which they promised to do providing he would continue his narrative on the morrow. As the party arose from about the camp-fire, Robbie said he felt heroic enough to eat several Mexicans, not to mention such relishes as wine, cake, and peons, at which very broad hint the tea-kettle was soon humming on the embers; and when the cups of the soothing beverage were handed around, Grace passed a basket, which, if not filled with such luxuries as those which had graced the Mexican saloon, were at least very acceptable to our friends.

Scott, whose attention was divided between a chicken-bone and reverie, suddenly inquired if they thought there would ever be another war with Mexico. As the party broke up with a laugh at his expense, the quiet of nature once more reigned over the valley, broken only by the hoarse croak of the frogs in the dark pools and the shrill cry of the cicada in the grass.

The moon threw a pale, silvery light upon the row of white tents, where our friends were soon dreaming of the new homes that they would build in this tranquil valley; yet no vision of the strange events which fate held in store for them came to prepare them for the life of trial and adventure which they were now entering upon.

One day more of quiet rest, then would begin a life new and strange for them all. They had left their old selves forever behind; their past was a blank; new faces and new friends awaited them here in their future home, which had never been even claimed as the property of any man since the dawn of creation.

Yes, fate is both unkind and compassionate in withholding a knowledge of the blessings and trials that await them here; so they slumber on, while unseen destiny begins to weave her web, checkered and mysterious as the veil of moonlight that wavers through the willows.

Chapter III.

COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY—CONTINUED.

The morning of that Sabbath broke calm and serene. A warm haze brooded over the valley or danced in lines of quivering heat across the green prairies of the upland, and the dew had long since ceased to glitter on the rank blue-stem grass when our friends awoke.

The breakfast which followed almost caused them to forget the fact that they were out upon the borders of the "Great American Desert," and they might have fancied that they were once more but picnicking under the shade of their native groves; for it was a meal that had exhausted the culinary art of both matrons. Wild mushrooms, stewed in sweet cream, deliciously fragrant and hinting of the wild-wood near by, delicate brook-trout from the stream, mingled their aroma with the elder-bloom fritters which Maud was preparing; and on the snowy damask, spread on the grass, Mrs. Moreland's golden honey-comb vied with the Warlow jelly and crimson marmalade, while the coffee would make one dream of Araby the blest.

An hour after the morning meal we find our friends seated under the shade of the great elm among the ruins, the sunlight struggling faintly through the verdant canopy and weaving a golden veil over the ashen buffalo-grass, starred by daisies and violets. The spring welled out with a sleepy murmur, and overhead an oriole, near its swinging nest, caroled forth a stream of bubbling melody.

"A month passed," continued the colonel, "and we still lingered in the stately mansion, daily and hourly meeting the young heiress, who was always accompanied by her matronly kinswoman. But one morning, as Bruce was loitering in the court, he glanced up and saw the smiling face of Ivarene, framed by the passion-flowers, fuchsias, and jasmine which festooned the walls within the court and wreathed the lattice above her balcony.

"With an impulse which he could not resist our young hero swung himself up by the vines, and stood, with his sunny hair and smiling blue eyes, within the balcony. He wore the uniform of a captain of cavalry—soft gray, with cords and lace of frosted gilt over the breast—top-boots, embossed with gold, and a hat half concealed by the drooping plumes.

"She threw back the gilded jalousies which guarded her window, and, smiling graciously, held out her hand, which he clasped with all the rapture of an infatuated lover.

"She was robed in soft, rose-colored India muslin, embroidered in white lilies, and over her breast and arms fell a cascade of lace, caught lightly over her raven tresses, in that graceful manner which the ladies of Spanish America wear the mantilla; gleaming through its filmy folds could be seen the rubies which burned in her hair.

"Within that flower-entwined balcony was re-enacted that tender scene—old as the dawn of creation, still ever new. How he told the tale, or how she answered, I can not say, but may readily surmise from the brilliant wedding which followed in the old cathedral a few months later.

"Bruce had become very popular with the young officers of our army, and I have often seen him riding about the city with McClellan, and—"

"What! not our 'Little Mac?'" cried Squire Moreland, springing to his feet, transformed into an impetuous soldier by the magic of a name, and while the others regarded him with amazement, as he paced back and forth with clenched hands, he continued in a tone of repressed vehemence: "If there is one name that would cause me to leap from the grave, it is that of 'Little Mac,' the Giant of Antietam; and, as there is a God above, I believe it was McClellan who led us to victory at Gettysburg. Oh, can I ever forget that terrible day when the host of Lee beat and broke in thunder over the hills like the ocean on a rocky shore, drenching our ranks in a surf of blood—when reckless Longstreet charged like a whirlwind through smoke and flame, while our columns staggered under the shock? The scream of countless shells and the stunning belch and roar of a thousand cannon mingled with the trample of the Southern cavalry as it hurled its squadrons upon us like the throes of an earthquake, their storm of rebel yells rising above the notes of Dixie and all the din of conflict with the roar of a hurricane. Oh, Heaven! how then we longed for one hour of 'Little Mac!' That day our Nation's fate trembled in the balance; a few more shocks and all would be lost; then this fierce army—another such the world has never seen—would sweep over the North like an avalanche! Every moment hurried myriads into eternity, wringing loving hearts and breaking many a home from Maine to Texas. But when the word, like an electric shock, flashed along our hopeless ranks, 'Little Mac has come,' can I ever, ever, forget the shout of delight that burst from the parched lips of threescore thousand men? the rapid rush of marching ranks as they hurried to death, shouting, 'Little Mac, Little Mac!' when squadrons flashed by to the cannon's mouth, shaking the earth with their thunders of that mighty name? Oh! the wild delight and glory of that hour, when the fierce but baffled hosts of Lee broke and fled! But at the battle's close they claimed that it was only a ruse, and that McClellan was not there. Yet I shall always believe he did lead us that day; but, unwilling to impair the laurels of Meade, he has kept silent all these years—only such a man is capable of that grand heroism. I have interrupted you, Colonel. Please excuse me, and proceed with your narrative."

After a moment's silence, the colonel said:

"Bruce Walraven was descended from a noble English family that had settled in New York in the earliest colonial days, but their fortunes had waned until himself and his sword were all that remained of that once powerful house. He was an orphan, who had graduated with honor at West Point Military Academy, and was utterly alone in the world, with no one to love but Ivarene and myself, yet no brothers could have been more deeply attached than we soon became to each other.

"I have never yet described him to you, from the fact that—that—Well, I feel a strange reluctance to say that Clifford, here, is the very image of that friend who died four years before my boy was born; but as I look at my son now, I almost fancy that Bruce is with me again, and that all my manhood's troubled years are only a fitful dream.

"Since his boyhood I have noticed Clifford's resemblance to Bruce, and as my boy grew older he seemed to almost take the place of my lost friend, which has resulted, you perceive, in a sort of companionship between us which leads strangers to take us for brothers, instead of father and son. But to my story again.

"The wedding-day dawned fair and serene, and at noon a company of young cadets from Chapultepec, all of whom were sons of the highest Mexican aristocracy, filed out on the avenue of cypresses that led to Monteluma, their snow-white horses trapped with gold and purple, and their steel helmets a mass of tossing plumes; their high top-boots of glossy black were embossed with gilt, and on the breasts of their white tunics the Mexican eagle flashed in silver, as two and two they galloped out to the great hacienda.

"An hour later Ivarene entered her low, open carriage, which was richly gilded and drawn by four white horses that were almost hidden by garlands of bright-hued flowers. She wore a robe of white satin, while a tiara and necklace of pearls glimmered through the filmy veil that trailed like a mist about her form. Behind her, there rode in separate carriages, each drawn by two white horses, her seven bridesmaids, who were likewise dressed in white. Senora Labella sat by the side of Ivarene, and a grand dame also occupied each carriage with a bridesmaid; their sumptuous toilets of satin, velvet, and brocade were of purple and cream-rose, emerald and lilac.

"As this brilliant company filed out on the avenue, four cadets riding in double file between each carriage, flowers were strewn in the road by long lines of peon children dressed in white. At the city gates a double guard of Mexican and American soldiers, riding white horses and gorgeous with military trappings, escorted them through the city to the grand plaza, where the old cathedral was thronged with the proud and great of two nations, while the ministers and foreign ambassadors of nearly all of Europe and the Americas, waited in pomp of state with their wives and daughters, all attired in the extreme of luxury. I shall not try to depict the splendor of the final scene when the cardinal in his robes of scarlet pronounced the solemn service, and pale, handsome Bruce, wearing his uniform of a colonel, received his bride from the hand of Don Hernando Rozarro, the Spanish ambassador.

"Haughty Santa Anna was there, and General Taylor looked happily on, while all around were grouped our gallant officers, graceful and young, whose names now thunder down the galleries of fame linked with Antietam, Shiloh, and blood-drenched Malvern Hill. Grant and Lee, those slumbering lions, that in after years were to shake the continent with appalling conflict, now stood side by side, each carrying the wedding favor of their friend.

"A scene of splendor ensued that recalled the old pageants of the Montezumas, when a long line of gilded coaches and prancing white horses filed out in the twilight, along the avenue returning to Monteluma. The sun had set, but a parting gleam was yet crimsoning the snow on the volcano of Toluco, while the sombre cypresses were aglow with the green and rosy light of torches, carried by the double line of peons in their ancient Aztec garb. Old Monteluma glimmered like a jewel from terrace to turret with colored lights, while out upon the broad esplanades, where thousands of the peons were feasting, the fountains flashed white and misty, like the snow-storms of my Northern home.

"When Ivarene, leaning on Bruce's arm, walked up the long flight of steps to the doorway of her old home, the marble beneath her feet was hidden by the rose-leaves strewn by peon girls in white, while her train was borne by four small Indian pages in feather costumes, gorgeous as humming-birds. Within, the halls were blazing with light, and garlanded by tropic flowers. Tables were loaded with gold, silver, and crystal; wine flowed like water; while the viol and harp, gay dance and song, caused the hours to speed swiftly by, and the tired but happy revelers only sought their homes when the snowy summit of Popocatapetl was flushed with rose, and bars of pale gold flashed out from behind the dim crest of Orizaba.

"After a brief honey-moon, which was spent at La Puebla, Bruce and his bride returned to Monteluma, and so urgent was the invitation which they extended for me to make my home with them until I should decide to return northward, that I immediately joined them in their princely abode.

"My friend soon discovered that his rosy path was beset thickly with thorns, for every day he was made aware of the aversion in which his Mexican neighbors held him; their cold neglect cut deeper than their swords. So it was with growing alarm that his wife beheld these symptoms, for she well knew how the fine speeches and grave courtesy of her countrymen often covered hearts of hate and tiger-like rage; and when she saw the covert hostility of her former friends she became apprehensive, indeed, for the safety of her husband.

"One day she startled us by proposing that we should all go North to her husband's former home on the Hudson, and she then proceeded to say that she had grown to view her native land with something of the feelings with which it was regarded abroad. She had resided in England several years, and now longed again for the life and freedom of the Anglo-Saxons.

"Although Bruce was overjoyed at the prospect, he still said he would not insist on taking her from her native land and kindred; but when she said that her only relative living now was Labella, who was soon to marry Herr Von Brunn, a merchant of the capital, and that she had determined to sell Monteluma to an Englishman for seventy thousand doubloons, or over a million dollars, then he reluctantly consented to the change, only stipulating that the immediate park, grounds, and mansion should be reserved, so that if she grew tired of her Northern home they would find her old mansion awaiting their return.

"Kissing him tenderly, she declared he was a Rozarro in spirit, if not in name. It was decided to leave the villa in charge of Labella, and in a short time a sale of the estate was consummated for the sum of fifty thousand doubloons, or seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in gold—the mansion and park being reserved.

"Senora Labella was dowered by Ivarene with a gift of several thousand doubloons on her wedding Von Brunn, after which event we set to work earnestly preparing for our overland journey northward. A long train of wagons were loaded with dry-goods for the markets of Northern Mexico. The price of such articles there had been enhanced enormously by the war, and Von Brunn shrewdly advised us to pursue this course. When Ivarene kindly offered to loan me money to invest in this manner, I gladly accepted fifty thousand dollars, with which I bought linen and cotton goods at the port of Vera Cruz, which was then crowded by the ships of all nations.

"I might be pardoned for digressing a moment while speaking of the strange belief in a future state which Bruce entertained. There was a vein of seriousness and grave, quiet religion running through the nature of my friend, and often, while we were stretched on our blanket with no canopy but the dewless Mexican sky, studded by the Southern Cross, and bespangled by constellations that were new and strange to our eyes—often, I say, he would talk of that weird belief, which then was very enigmatical to me, but which in my maturer life has recurred with a sweet solace to my declining years.

"Bruce believed that the soul was an individual, invisible as air and imperishable as time itself, and that the spirit was a progressive, rational being, which could never leave this earth until the great Judgment-day, at which time our planet would be as unfit for a human abode as the moon is at present.

"After death, which, he said, was only a wearing out of the outer garment of the soul or spirit, the animating principle, or life, would still inhabit the earth, invisible to human eyes, but yet an intelligent, observing being; subtile as air, yet powerful as electricity. Whenever the newly released soul chose to do so, it could take on a new form by being re-born. He thought that before birth we were possessed of a life akin to that of the vegetable kingdom, but at birth a spirit that had lived before took possession of our bodies, and used us as a habitation until our bodies became either worn through age, or distasteful to the occupant—death ensuing in either case.

"His highest idea of heaven, he said, would be to have the power to live again, and again meet those friends whom he had loved best in the prior life, guided to them unerringly by the mystic ties of love and affinity. Memory of the past life, he thought, was that sense which we call instinct, conscience, or intuition, being only a feeble glimmer, as it were, of the previous state in which we had lived.

"I remember well, the night before the battle of Churubusco, how Bruce and I talked of these things; for he said, as we sat beneath a palm-tree, while the tropic moon flooded the earth with a dreamy splendor, that we were to fight the last great battle of the war on the morrow—a conflict in which one or both of us might perish—and all that reconciled him to such a fate was the belief that we should live again, and meet each other in this world, which was the only heaven we were yet fitted for.

"I would not have you entertain the thought for one instant that Bruce was skeptical or irreligious. On the contrary, his fearless piety was often commented upon; for I have seen him kneel on the bloody fields of Cerro Gordo and Contreras, and thank God in a trembling voice for his gracious preservation of my life and his own, while the rude soldiery stood by with mute respect, remembering his reckless daring and lion-like bravery in the hours of deadliest peril to which human life can be exposed.

"No; his creed was a very strange one, though one that is old as history itself; he appeared to differ from the general belief only in his definition of heaven and its location. He often said that if a man retrograded and became brutal he would meet his punishment in the next life, for his brutal instincts would seek their affinity after death and he could only be re-born as a brute, in which state he would remain until his new life exhausted the brutal element from his soul.

"I fancy he imbibed his doctrines from his father, who had been an officer in India. It might have been that the elder Walraven had there caught glimpses of a belief somewhat akin to Buddhism. When I pressed Bruce for his proof of this strange theory he referred me to the Bible—Matthew xvi; 13, 14: 'When Jesus came to Cesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am? And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.' All of which goes to prove how ancient the belief really is; for it is apparent that people believed Christ to be the reincarnation of a spirit of one of those people who had been dead many years.

"Ivarene soon became converted to Bruce's creed, while I often find myself, even yet, taking solace in this strange belief.

"Early in the spring of 1848, the long caravan started northward, and when we arrived at Chihuahua, a ready market was found for the goods, after disposing of which I found that I had more than doubled the sum invested; so when the debt was repaid to my kind benefactors, with the addition of a liberal interest for the use of the money, there was still left me, as clear profit, fifty thousand dollars in gold.

"We spent the winter in Santa Fe, but early the next spring resumed our journey, I having in the meantime bought a few wagon-loads of wool to take through to Independence, Missouri, which was then the eastern terminus of the Santa Fe Trail; but the money which I had saved from my speculation remained intact, and was deposited with fifty sacks of doubloons (which were the property of Bruce and Ivarene) in a large iron-bound cask of cypress-wood, each sack plainly marked with the name of its owner, and the whole tightly packed in wool within the cask.

"This vast treasure, more than half a million of dollars in gold coin, only represented a portion of my friend's wealth; for there were chests of costly silks, brocades, velvets, and priceless laces, all the accumulation of centuries of luxury and boundless riches; paintings by Murillo and Velasquez, that for ages had adorned the long gallery at Monteluma; books of vellum, and richly bound volumes from its marble-paved library, together with a dozen wagon-loads of carved ebony, mahogany, and rosewood furniture from the same stately home.

"I shall never forget that glorious scene, the last evening in Chihuahua, when the sinking sun lit up the low room where we three sat, with an open casket before us and the stone table ablaze with glimmering gems.

"There were scores of great, pure diamonds, flashing back a quivering glare of rainbow hues; rubies glowing like fire with rose and crimson light; white, frosty pearls, glinting beside the baleful emeralds, that emitted fitful gleams of green and gold. Over all flickered the wavering shimmer of opal and blood-stones, mingling with the violet, lilac, and purple rays of sapphires and amethysts.

"A great many of these gems had been purchased by my friends through the advice and assistance of Von Brunn; but the most precious of the lot were heir-looms, of which Ivarene was justly proud, and for an hour she recounted their histories:—

"The great blood-stone had once shone in the war-club of an Aztec prince, who was slain in battle by the first Baron of Monteluma, one of those adventurous spirits that came over and shared the glory of the conquest with Cortez.

"The carcanet of pearls was a gift from Queen Isabella to the bride of the same brave knight.

"A diamond cross that had been bestowed by Leo X. upon a cardinal of the house of Rozarro.

"A ruby dragon that carried in its mouth the Order of the Golden Fleece. This was a mark of the highest honor that a Spanish king could confer upon his subject, a viceroy of Mexico, also a member of the same illustrious family at Monteluma.

"There was a chain of rose-colored coral, to which was attached an enormous pearl of the same delicate hue; this bauble had been bestowed by the Doge of Genoa upon Don Arven Rozarro while the latter was ambassador of Spain at that superb though decaying city, and it was through this elegant gift that the then all-powerful Spanish sword was induced to interpose its terrible edge as a shield against the aggressions of France.

"A pair of golden spurs, won long ago in the first Crusade by the Knight of Rozarro, and ropes of pearls that had adorned many a proud but long forgotten mistress of the great castle.

"All these were placed within the steel casket, and the only jewel that Ivarene reserved for her personal use on the journey was a locket with a long gold chain. This was the most precious souvenir in the whole collection, so she averred, for it was set in gems with the name of her mother, and contained the miniature portraits of Bruce and Ivarene.

"The precious casket was kept in the large carriage, where Ivarene, her two maids, and Bruce rode on cushioned seats, that were constructed so as to serve as couches when the inmates of the vehicle became fatigued. Everything that wealth and loving care could secure was provided by Bruce to lessen the tedium of the journey.

"The gold was placed in a large, strong wagon, drawn by twelve mules, and in addition to the treasure-cask, several barrels of wine and other liquors were placed in the wagon for the purpose of warding off suspicion. This vehicle was my special charge, and I carefully guarded it at night, but spent a portion of the day in sleep.

"We arrived in Santa Fe in the fall of 1848, and early the following spring our long caravan started out on the monotonous course across the plains, by the route to Independence, Missouri, the quiet routine of our journey only relieved by meeting with great trains of freighters on the broad trail, or when Ivarene would take her guitar and sit out in the starry evening playing the sweet airs of her home-land, old Spanish ballads full of pathos and melody. Thus we journeyed until we reached this very spot on the 22d of August, 1849. The night was dark and cloudy, while a strange silence brooded over all nature, broken only by the dismal howl of the wolf as it prowled on the lonely hills.

"We had remarked during the day that no teams were met—a most unusual occurrence on that great thoroughfare, the Santa Fe Trail—and we vaguely wondered why the corral should be silent and deserted; for it was a camping place that was renowned all along the trail for its safety and convenience.

"The corral was an inclosure of about an acre, surrounded by lofty stone walls that were pierced by loop-holes on every side; two large doors, or gates, opened to the north and south, which, after the teams of freighters had been drawn inside, were locked in times of danger. This fort-like corral had been built by the government as a place of refuge for travelers, but our long journey had been so free from trouble that we had become careless, and, as the night was very sultry and the air oppressive, we preferred camping outside the walls on the level land, where we are now sitting, near the bank of the Cottonwood.

"Ivarene had been feeling unwell that day, and we were all very solicitous for her comfort and welfare at that time; for it was known that an interesting event would soon occur, that would give my dear friend Bruce the title of father. In deference to her condition the usual noise and hilarity of the camp were not indulged in; but a sense of coming disaster, a foreboding of some great calamity, seemed to weigh on the spirits of our party on that fatal evening.

"How strange it is that when the sky is serene and clear we may feel the approaching storm! Who can explain that shock of repulsion we feel when we meet a secret foe? The same Providence whispered, that murky night, of the danger and disaster lurking near.

"But each one tried to shake off the feeling of apprehension; and as a storm was rising in the north-west we attributed our depression to that state of the atmosphere which precedes the thunderstorm.

"I did not sleep for several hours after retiring to the wagon, but remained wakeful and restless, listening to the jabbering of the wolves and rumble of the distant thunder. The fitful slumber into which I at length fell was pervaded by hideous dreams, and when I was awakened by the yell of savages it seemed, for a moment, only the continuation of the strange phantasms that had haunted my sleep.

"But I sprang out, a pistol in each hand, and was soon struggling in the whirlpool of confusion and terror that prevailed around. The crack of rifles and whistling of arrows, the shrieks of the wounded and dying, the blood-chilling whoops of the Indians, all commingled with the bellowing of the frightened cattle in hideous clamor.

"With a feeling of sickening dread I thought of Bruce and his wife as I dashed toward their wagon. As I neared it a vivid flash of lightning from the cloud which had arisen revealed a scene of such revolting horror that its remembrance causes me yet to turn faint and dizzy. More than a quarter of a century has rolled by, fraught with war and sorrow, but that scene of woe is burned deep within my heart, to rankle long as life endures."

Here the colonel's voice broke to a whisper, while the sobs of Maud and Grace mingled with their mother's soft weeping. Then, after a moment of silent anguish, while his hands hung clenched in an agony of intense grief, with bowed head and a voice so husky that it was barely audible, the colonel continued:—

"By the dazzling light I saw Ivarene kneeling in her white robe, a look of imploring agony upon her pale, uplifted face. Over her, with a poised tomahawk, glared a powerful, painted demon. Bruce, struggling in the grasp of two hideous savages, was driving his glittering dirk into the breast of one of his assailants. I fired at the heart of the wretch who stood over Ivarene. With a dying yell he bounded into the air. Then, as darkness was once again settling down over the scene, I felt the shock of a stunning blow—then a long oblivion."

The colonel was too visibly affected to proceed further with the narrative, and as he relapsed into silence the listeners slowly dispersed, some to the duties of camp-life; others strolled out to the long, grass-grown grave, leaving Colonel Warlow alone, lost in meditation.

Chapter IV.

COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY—CONTINUED.

The listeners had seated themselves on the buffalo-robes which Scott Moreland's thoughtfulness had provided, and the colonel resumed the thread of his narrative.

"The blow was followed by unconsciousness, and when I awoke, as it were, from a long and fevered sleep, I was seated in an easy-chair on a shaded veranda, and before me stretched the limitless ocean, its restless waves purling in foam on the sandy beach at my feet. Beside the porch on which I was seated grew luxuriant lime and orange trees, loaded with fruit and bloom, and the air was heavy with the sensuous odors of tropical flowers.

"A ray of memory gleamed feebly across my confused and cloudy mind, and I vaguely wondered why my hands should be so wasted and thin. Then a wavering sensation swept over my mental faculties like a dark cloud. The glimmer of memory once again struggled and flickered, then flashed forth with a dazzling light, piercing through the fog and haze which had so long obscured the light of reason, and I felt as if the sun had just arisen.

"As I sat with closed eyes, gently rocking to and fro, I remembered dimly, like some half-forgotten dream, my long journey across the continent with Walraven, our camping beside the Kansas stream at the Stone Corral; and then with surprise I looked out on the ocean before me. Suddenly the memory of that night of horror came vividly to my mind, and with a loud cry I sprang to my feet; but a firm hand was laid on my shoulder, and a kind voice requested me to be calm, and pressed me to drink the glass of wine which was held to my lips.

"I obeyed mechanically, and as I drained the cup of its sparkling contents I glanced up at the bronzed though handsome stranger beside me, who, with joy and gratification beaming in his blue eyes, said in answer to my look of inquiry:—

"'Old boy, you will soon be yourself again; but you must not talk too much, nor ask questions just now.'

"'But where am I, and what does it all mean?' I exclaimed in a dazed sort of way.

"'You are near Los Angeles, and this is the Pacific Ocean which lies before you,' he answered slowly.

"When he had made this strange statement, I felt a wavering sensation once more cross my brain, as if madness were about to seize me.

"'You should not talk, nor think of the past,' said he anxiously, 'but brace up and recover; then we will go up to the mines, and dig out nuggets like nigger-heads.'

"'But at least tell me how I came here,' I entreated.

"'Well,' said he in a faltering manner, 'if you will be composed I will do so; but you must not give way to your emotions.'

"I sank back in the chair, motioning for him to proceed, as the suspense was unbearable; and he then related the following, in soothing tones, like one who had long humored and tenderly nursed a suffering invalid:—

"'My name is Roger Coble, and my home is near Springfield, Ill., from which place I started to the gold-fields of the Sacramento River, which had thrown our quiet rural community into a great excitement by the rumor of their fabulous richness. Our train had only traveled a few days' drive westward from the Missouri, when we came to the Stone Corral on the bank of the Cottonwood. There we found you, wounded and delirious. I placed you on a canvas bed in one of my wagons, and brought you on to Santa Fe.

"'As you were still delirious and in a helpless condition, I could not bear the thought of leaving you at the latter place, but brought you along with the train to this place, where we arrived last week, and I am overjoyed to see you on your feet again.'

"'But what was the fate of Walraven and his wife?' I cried, in great excitement.

"Seeing the wild look again coming into my eyes, he said, with a saddened expression:—

"'Do not ask any more questions, my boy. When you become stronger I will tell you all. But now, my friend, do try to think of pleasanter themes. If you do not, you will surely relapse into your former deplorable state.'

"Therefore I took his kindly advice, and ignored the past with all its bitter memories, and listened with growing interest to his hopeful plans for the future. As he told of the great gold-fields that had been discovered in the newly acquired California, that were of such fabulous richness, he said, that all the world was wild with excitement and wonder, I began to feel the infection of his enthusiasm, and almost forgot the fact that I was penniless and two thousand miles from home.

"The next day I felt still stronger; but the ugly wound on my head was not yet entirely healed, being a painful reminder of the terrible blow which I had received the night of the attack at the corral.

"As the days passed by I rapidly convalesced, and erelong was able to walk through the orange-groves, or sail with Roger out on the tranquil water; but whenever I had nerved myself up to the point of asking the fate of my friends, to my horror I would find that same old sickening, wavering sensation steal over my brain that I remembered so well, and I would shudder to think that I stood, as it were, upon the brink of madness.

"So in our long rambles on the sea-shore or drives on the beach, we shunned all allusion to the fateful past, tacitly ignoring the unexplained sequel to that terrible tragedy; but the suspense and strain were so great that it is a blissful thing that events followed which diverted my mind from the painful subject, or perhaps my reason may have been utterly overthrown.

"Roger had disposed of his teams, and, after consulting me, procured tickets to San Francisco, a small village that had sprung up on the coast to the north, and as he gave me my ticket he said with a smile:—

"'We will be pards, George, and divide profit and loss up in the mines, and when you strike it "rich," why, you can repay me; and as for interest—guess we will smoke that out at your expense.'

"I replied, through my tears, that all the gold of this earth could not repay his kindness and generosity.

"Before sailing on the Lapwing I wrote to my friends in Missouri, telling them briefly of the disaster which had befallen me, but that I was with the best fellow alive; and in my letter to sister Amy I told her how nobly Roger had cared for me in my direst hour of trial and need, and I hinted that she must wait for me to bring him back, which I would do when I had regained my lost fortune by working in the mines, to which we were now just starting, full of hope and enthusiasm.

"Our first day out on the Pacific proved that body of water to be woefully misnamed indeed; for the weather was just as vile and fickle as I ever saw on the much maligned Atlantic. In the evening Roger and myself were seated on deck, watching the sun set in a pile of black clouds, which, as the broad streams of amber and violet flamed up from behind the sombre mass, slowly changed to purple, rose, and crimson, edged with gold.

"When the brilliant hues had faded, the dusky clouds rested on a sullen sea, that was only ruffled by the fitful breeze, which rose and fell, then died away, leaving a death-like calm, oppressive as it was foreboding.

"The frightened sea-birds flew screaming by, flapping their broad white wings, then fading swiftly away. The captain now came on deck, and, by his quick orders and restless movements, we knew that he anticipated danger from the storm which we could see rapidly rising, and the rigging was soon in order to meet the heavy gale.

"A fiery moon rose in the pale eastern sky, and out to the south-west hung the bow-shaped cloud, black as ebony, save when veined by the blood-red lightning; but as the majestic mass towered to the zenith, it changed to green, edged by a roll of fleecy white, which rose and fell as if weaving a shroud for sea and sky.

"We lashed ourselves to the rigging, so we could get the full benefit, as Roger said, of our first storm at sea. We had not long to wait, for soon a wall of waves, like a troop of war-horses, came tossing their snowy manes on the gale, and when the mad surge struck us the old ship quivered in every timber. The clouds wrapped us about, and the blinding spray and rain drenched the deck; the lightning glimmered fitfully through the mist, or hissed in zigzag streams of molten gold along the surging waves. A lull, then again the blinding flash, followed by the bellowing thunder, crashing down, it seemed, to the caverns beneath, the wind shrieking through the rigging, the tumult of waves, rising in hoarse clamor and deafening roar—followed again by blinding stroke and maddening crash.

"I have stood on old Chapultepec's crumbling wall, when mortar and cannon hurled their iron hail; when screaming shells and belching roar mingled with the shrieks of mangled and dying men, and the sullen boom of exploding mines shocked and dulled the ear; but never had I known an hour like this.

"The poor old vessel, like a hunted doe, bounded away, followed by all the hounds of the gale, climbing the dizzy cliff or leaping the yawning chasm, and throwing the foam from off her sides; then hiding in the gorges below, where the glassy wall towered far above with combing crest, scattering the spray out over the tossing sea. Again, as the ship climbed the watery hill, she seemed to pause one brief moment on the foamy height, then plunged into the swishing whirlpool beneath.

"The night wore on, yet still our vessel staggered along in her wild flight; but the winds began to abate their fury somewhat, and the flashes grew more dim and fitful until the storm rolled away to the east. Then the moon peered with white face through the rift of clouds; but as her spectral light only served to make more weird and appalling the waste of heaving billows, she quickly hid behind her fleecy veil, as if to shut the wild scene from view.

"Although the wind had died to a gentle gale, the frightened waves still galloped madly along as though fleeing from a grizzly horror they dared not face, and the ship labored like some jaded cavalry horse, that staggers and reels after the fierce charge.

"The deck had been a scene of great confusion ever since the storm had abated, and, although the waves and spray broke over the vessel, the crew were rushing about wildly, and to our surprise we saw them launching the boats; so we unlashed ourselves and hurried forward—only to hear the despairing cry: 'The vessel is sinking!'

"I looked out upon the waves, which even now seemed nearer, and with a clammy shudder comprehended what horror they were fleeing. Death rode those cold waters, and every billow was a yawning grave.

"What a dread alternative—to cast ourselves out on that boiling, foaming sea, with only a frail boat between us and eternity, or remain on deck and feel the ship slowly settling under us!

"But the boats were quickly manned, and into them were thrown a few casks of spirits and water, with a small quantity of food; then we pushed off from the fast-sinking ship, and in a moment were riding the waves.

"We had left a light burning on the vessel, to enable us to steer away from it, and thus avoid being run down or ingulfed by the final whirlpool of the wreck; and after tossing about on the troubled waters for half an hour, trying to keep the boats together, we heard a loud report, caused by the compressed air blowing up the deck of the vessel; then the light on the old ship went out forever, and the sea closed over her shattered form.

"It may have been an hour before dawn, when suddenly we found ourselves among the breakers, and the coast looming dimly through the mist. Before we had time to realize our situation our boat was capsized and we were struggling with the waves.

"I shouted to Roger, but no answer. Then I saw a head appear above the water, and swam toward it, hoping it was he; but the form was carried around the headland by the rapid current, so I struck out for the frowning cliff.

"Diving under the largest waves, I saw, to my great joy, that I was gaining and soon was thrown on the rocks with terrible force; but I lost my hold on the stony ledge that I had clutched, and was being carried back to sea; but a thought struck me which I instantly recognized as being the only chance of escape, and to which I am certain I owe the preservation of my life: I dived to the bottom, and began walking toward the cliff, which was not more than a rod away.

"Oh, the horror and agony of those few moments under the sea! The seconds seemed to lengthen to hours. Brief as the time and short as the distance may have been, I've traveled many a thousand miles through the sandy deserts of the West and suffered less than in that one minute at the bottom of the ocean."

Chapter V.

COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY—CONTINUED.

"Let me see—where was I?" said the colonel, who had paused to light his pipe at this critical juncture of the narrative.

"Twenty thousand leagues under the sea," replied Grace Moreland, gaily.

"Well, I certainly could not have suffered more in the same time if I had been," said he with a grim smile. "But just when I had given up all hope, and thought my lungs would burst, I straightened up, determined to come to the surface at any risk. Lo! I had been groping along in four feet of water—and only a step from the shore!

"I had only time to plunge forward and clutch a jagged rock, when a mighty wave swept in, nearly tearing me from my place; but this time I held fast, and when the wave had receded I clambered up out of further danger, and there I lay, too utterly exhausted to move until dawn.

"I had hoped that daylight would reveal the presence of my companion; but the sun struggled up over a lone stretch of rocky, barren shore—nothing living was visible. I strained my eyes, gazing out over the long line of breakers. It was a fruitless quest; I was alone.

"Then I climbed up to the table-land. A sandy plain, broken by patches of sage-brush and thickets of chapparal was before me, and out toward the rising sun rose a lofty chain of mountains, as though to shut me out from all the world.

"I walked around the promontory and along the coast for several miles, still hoping I might find my friend; in vain. I shouted repeatedly; no answer. So with a heavy heart I turned and walked inland.

"After assuaging my thirst at a cavity in the rocks, where the rain-water had collected, and satisfying my hunger with the eggs of a wild fowl, the nest of which I found near a sage-brush, I continued my explorations inland toward a pass which seemed to open in the mountains toward the east.

"As I neared the glen, trees, a brook, and a flock of sheep became visible. Then, to my great delight, a house showed through the trees; and when a woman appeared in the doorway, I hurried forward and addressed her in Spanish, to which she replied in the same tongue.

"I told my story of shipwreck, and the kind-hearted peasant woman bade me welcome to the humble dwelling, and proceeded to set before me a repast of omelet and frijoles. While I was still seated at the table, her husband, Pedro, came in from herding his flock, and we soon were on our way to the village to make inquiries regarding my lost friend and the crew of the Lapwing. But nothing could be learned of them; so I retired to rest, and that night slept the dreamless sleep of sheer exhaustion.

"In the morning I renewed the search, but with no better results; and although I traveled along the coast for more than a score of miles, nothing could be found but the bodies of three sailors that I recognized as having been among the crew of the ill-fated ship. At last, weary and heart-sore, I joined a party of miners, and proceeded to San Francisco; but as my inquiries there also proved fruitless, I immediately went to the diggings, where my fortunes soon mended, and I was able to send a small purse to honest Pedro.

"During my stay in the mines I had frequent letters from home, and sister Amy expressed great sorrow at the fate of my noble friend Roger; but I wrote that it might yet be possible he was living, and we still hoped on. The greatest comfort to me, however, were the letters from Mary, who urged me to return and not wait to acquire more gold; and as my luck was 'jes powerful,' as the miners averred, I found at the end of two years I had saved $50,000, and deciding to 'let well-enough alone,' set sail for home.

"As we were sailing out through the now world-renowned Golden Gate, the captain, to whom I had just intrusted my money, remarked that I did not seem to enter into the spirit of joy that pervaded the throng of returning miners; and in reply to his look of inquiry and tone of interest, I said that the last time I was on a ship I had witnessed a terrible storm, in which the vessel was wrecked, the crew and a dear, kind friend were lost, and I alone was saved; and now the sight of the ocean, once again, recalled it all so vividly that I was sad and grieved, even in the hour when I should rejoice that all my toil was over. I was too affected to talk further, but looked wistfully out over the cruel sea that had closed over Roger, my best and truest friend.

"The captain, after a few moments of silence, asked in a tone of sympathy:—

"'What was the name of the vessel that was wrecked?'

"'The Lapwing,' I replied.

"'But the crew and passengers were saved,' said he quickly.

"'Saved!—Roger saved!' I shouted, dizzy with joy; then as I sank into a seat, weak and unnerved, the officer continued:—

"'Yes, the crew was saved. They were picked up by a vessel bound for Acapulco. You can learn the particulars by calling on the American consul at that port, as I believe he took charge of them and assisted them on to their respective destinations.'

"'I'll give you a thousand gold dollars to put me off at Acapulco,' I cried impulsively.

"'Agreed,' said he, with a laugh. 'We always do stop there, and take a day to revictual and water. No, my friend, keep your hard-earned dollars; but if you find your gratitude burdensome, why, just name your next boy after me;' then he left me with a good-natured smile.

"I will say that I found it a very pleasant way of discharging the debt by naming my oldest son here after the good old sea-dog, Captain Clifford; and some way I always associate the name with the thought of that day when I heard the good news.

"How interminable seemed the long, bright days, as we sailed southward! I paced the deck for hours, and grew morose and nervous, chafing under the slowness of the stout craft. 'But all things have an end'—an adage, by the way, which my dealings and travel in the tropics has led me to doubt—and when, one evening, we sailed into the long-wished for harbor, I was so impatient to land that only the thought of sharks prevented me from swimming ashore.

"After night-fall, however, I found myself in a crooked, winding alley, termed a street in the florid courtesy of that tropic land, and offering a coin to a villainous-looking native—the only guide I could procure—asked him to show me the way to the American consulate; and we were soon en route thitherward, I, meanwhile, taking the precaution to cover my vile-looking guide with a pistol in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other.

"For an age, it seemed, we tramped through the murky, unlighted streets, until at last we arrived before a fortress-like building, at the gate of which blinked one solitary lamp.

"At my request to see the consul, the servant informed me that 'his worshipful master had driven out this morning to dine with the noble Don Pablo de Zorilla, and that he would remain to the ball at the mansion of that illustrious senor,' etc.

"I could barely refrain from kicking the miserable flunky, and the air grew thick and maroon with the expressions in which my disappointment found utterance. Telling the porter that I hoped his lazy master would not stop the 'wheels of commerce' to-morrow to eat garlic and capsicum with the aristocracy, I returned to the vessel."

"Next morning I called again at the consulate, and the scowling porter, after conducting me to a room, said that his master was sleeping, but he was instructed to say 'to the insolent American' that his excellency 'was too lazy to see me until he had slept off the effect of the garlic, capsicum, and other kindred delicacies, of which he had been partaking.' Then, grinning derisively, the servant left the room, banging the door behind him.

"Well, I just stormed up and down that room for two long hours, fuming, raving, and hurling invectives at all the tribe of official sluggards. At length, hearing footsteps without, I clenched my hands in rage, vowing wrath and vengeance on the insulting and self-sufficient officer; but when the servant opened the door and announced, 'Senor Consul,' my anger was all forgotten, and, instead of greeting that functionary with a thwack on the ear, I sprang forward with a wild cry:—

"'Roger—Oh, Roger—am I dreaming?'

"'George—George—is it possible? Alive and well? I've mourned you as dead for years. Thank God—at last!'

"As I stood there wringing his hand and gazing on his dear face through my tears, it is needless to say all my belligerent designs oozed magically away.

"We were soon interrupted, however, by the porter, who, at the first strange demonstration on my part, had fled shrieking 'Murder! murder!' his outcry bringing a whole brood of slipshod servants down upon my devoted head. They came swarming in, armed with gridirons, tongs, and gourds. One sallow, emaciated peon carried a crucifix, which he had evidently snatched as he flew to the rescue. A burly fellow was just on the eve of disemboweling me with a pot-metal poniard, when Roger hastened to explain that we were old friends who had not met for years, and as they retreated in a crestfallen manner, with many grunts and shrugs, we both smiled at the ludicrous phase of our meeting; yes, I believe that 'smiled' is a very mild term to apply to our hilarity on that occasion.