Kitabı oku: «Jessica, the Heiress», sayfa 11
“Where then? Hate him as we may, we can’t let him die on our hands,” said Samson, looking as black as he could.
“Don’t you fret yourselves, ‘boys,’” said a cheerful voice near the group. “Mr. Ma’sh and me, or me and Mr. Ma’sh–for I had to put it to him pretty plain, ’fore he’d seed it right–me and him will take that misguided creatur’ into our hands, and–”
“May the Lord have mercy on his soul!” ejaculated Marty, fervently.
“Me and Ephraim will ’tend him, turn and turn about,” continued Mrs. Benton, ignorant of Marty’s irreverent remark. “He’s to be put into Mr. Ma’sh’s room at the quarters, and I’ll take this first night’s job. I shall begin it with a dose of picra, and the first page of the Westminster catechism; and if that don’t put him in good shape for the doctor and Ephraim, in the morning, my name ain’t Sally Benton, nor never was. The doctor, he’s rode home for his instruments and such, and hopes to get the bullet out in the course of time. But it’s my opinion, and his, too, I reckon, ’cause he didn’t deny it when I put the question plain, it’s our opinion that Antonio Bernal will never walk another step in his life. But he’ll live. He’ll live everlastin’. Them old Californy folks always do. He’ll simply be paralyzed from his waist down.”
Despite their antipathy to him, a thrill of pity ran through every one who heard her; and to most of those stalwart men it seemed that this was a punishment they could not have endured. Death would have been far preferable to them.
So it befell that the late manager’s fate was in the hands of his enemies, so to speak; and while Mrs. Benton and “Forty-niner” would faithfully perform their duty toward him, they elected to do it along lines of their own.
CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION
Events crowded one another at Sobrante.
Under the compulsion of his brother’s will, so soon as that brother was able to think of anything beyond his own suffering, Ferd led a party of the ranchmen, with Ninian Sharp at their head, to the canyon cave and the pit where the little captain had been imprisoned. They shuddered as they beheld it; yet could but rejoice that Old Century had sought her there, and had, so opportunely, revealed its precious secret. They also took good care to blaze their path as they went, for it was most intricate and bewildering. They had the curiosity to test the powers of the wonderful staff, which John had carefully fitted with a new top, and were amazed at its curious behavior, as it zigzagged over the floor of the almost unsupported. Whatever the metal, or compound of metals, on the point, it was certainly attracted by, and indicated the presence of, copper in the earth beneath.
Returning to the house after this trip of exploration, Marty was promptly mounted upon the “ghost horse” Nero, and sent to Marion with telegrams for Ninian’s expert friends in Los Angeles, and to bring back the mail. The unhappy animal had been treated to a liberal bath of gasoline and soap suds, and had come out of it a sort of mongrel; but with the phosphorus gone from about his eyes and face, and with a reasonable prospect that he might some day be restored to his original ebony hue. Yet his spirit seemed broken, as if he had felt the disgrace of the part he had been forced to play in the late escapades of Antonio and his fellow-conspirators.
“It’s what one might call the irony of fate that the man who caused the death of Comanche should thus be forced to supply Comanche’s place with his own beloved Nero,” commented the reporter, as the messenger rode away.
“Yes. Things generally do even up in this world, if a body has patience to wait a spell,” answered Samson. “And though I’ve no love for him, and wouldn’t trust him across this plaza, without watchin’, I can’t help pitying poor ‘top-lofty,’ and thinking he was more fool than knave. The idee! Them plans and performances of his savor more of the ‘middle ages,’ that I’ve heard about, than of these days. But it just takes my breath away to think of what Sobrante will be, some time, if that ‘find’ in the canyon turns out what we imagine. Why–but there! No use talking. Wait and see. How long you think before you get an answer back from the town, tellin’ what your friend’ll do?”
“Oh! I expect Marty will bring that answer. He’s to wait an hour or two, you know, and give a chance. If Cornell–that’s the expert’s name–is in the city, he’ll probably come himself by the evening train. In that case, you and I might drive over to meet him.”
“Wh-e-w!” ejaculated the ex-sailor, astonished. “You newspaper fellows beat the world for hustling, don’t you? So quick as that? H’m! If you fly as much sail as that so sudden, looks like we’d reach port ahead of time.”
“When a thing’s to be done–why, do it! If there’s copper enough to pay for mining, why–mine it,” answered the other, coolly.
“Young man, mining costs money. Talkin’ is cheap,” retorted Samson, sententiously.
“Of course. One must put in a little capital if one expects to get results, in any business. The money will be found easily enough. Trust me to see to that. Or my friends and me.”
Already the journalist was as eager as possible on this new matter. His brief rest had restored his overtaxed nerves, and he was more than ready to push any enterprise that commended itself to his keen judgment. Now, all depended upon the expert’s arrival at the ranch. He would then be taken in person to examine the discovered vein, and on his opinion great affairs would depend. Yet Ninian felt that even if Henry Cornell’s opinion was averse, he should not let the subject rest there. He would consult with others. Mrs. Trent’s interests must be forwarded to the utmost, and no possible chance of her realizing a fortune lost through any lukewarmness of his own.
Marty duly returned. He brought the expected message from the great expert, and that gentleman would arrive at Marion by that very evening’s train. He brought, as well, several letters for the ranch mistress, and these Jessica joyously carried to her as she sat quietly sewing. Most of them were business communications, which were promptly read and laid aside, to be answered at once; but there was one which the mother dropped in her workbasket unopened, though it was the thickest and plumpest of the lot, and, also, bore the postmark “New York.” In ordinary, all New York mail was the most eagerly read of all that came; and this fact caused Jessica to exclaim:
“Why, mother, dear! Why don’t you read it? Or are you like me when I have something extra nice for dinner, leaving it to by and by?”
“Yes, darling, I’m leaving it–a while. It will keep. I know what is in it, or nearly so. It’s not the first of the sort has come lately, and I’ll have courage soon.”
“Courage, mother? Do you need courage to read your letters? What harm can come to us now, out of that far away city? My father’s name is cleared, we owe nobody, we–why, we may be going to be very, very rich, if things turn out as Mr. Ninian thinks they will turn out, and–Oh, dear! I’m not saying it very clear, only seems to me we ought to be perfectly, perfectly happy now; and if there’s anything bad in the letter, please give it to me, and let me burn it up right away.”
For answer, the mother caught her daughter close within her arms, kissed her passionately, and asked:
“Oh, little captain! If you go so far from me, how shall I live?”
“I–go so far–from you!” repeated Lady Jess, in utter astonishment. “Why, what can you mean?”
Mrs. Trent recovered her composure, even smiled–if not very gayly–and answered, tenderly: “Whatever come, my sunshine, remember that, of all things, your mother desires your welfare before her own. But more than that I cannot tell you now. So, run to Aunt Sally, dear, and ask if she can be spared from her nursing a few hours. I think one of the other men will relieve Ephraim, if he is tired, in waiting upon Antonio. I want she should help me get up an extra fine supper for Mr. Ninian’s friend. Ah! my child, how much we owe to that young man’s goodness and enterprise!”
“Indeed, indeed, we do. But seems to me we do nothing but cook here, nowadays. It’s always company, isn’t it?”
“And glad I am of that. So long as the larder has anything in it, I love to share it with–friends. Not strangers, who do not care, but with anybody else, the best we have. If a luxury well; and if but a crust, still well. Now–to Aunt Sally.”
Jessica guessed that as soon as she was out of sight the disagreeable letter from the other side of the continent would be promptly read, and wondered not a little concerning its contents. And she was right. Mrs. Trent had barely finished its perusal, when Mrs. Benton appeared, but from her the mother had nothing to hide. She looked up quietly, and said:
“Another more urgent entreaty from old Cousin Margaret. She puts the matter so strongly as my duty that I’m compelled to acknowledge she is–may be–right.”
“Humph! She’s been wrong enough, sometimes,” returned Aunt Sally, peevishly. “That’s when she got angry with you for marrying Cass’us.”
“That was mostly from indignation at losing me, her one loved relative. There could never have been a kinder guardian–”
“Nor a queerer, as I’ve gathered from your own talk. I never saw Margaret Dalrymple, and I never want to. Anyhow, nothin’ can be done at present; but I’ve brought one comfortin’ word across from the quarters with me, Gabriella.”
“What’s that, Aunt Sally? Is Antonio better?”
“Oh! bother Antonio. He’ll get well, of course. That kind always does. Of that I never had a misdoubt. The word is this, and I begin to think that old Fra Sebastian may be a real Christian, after all. He not only offers, but he says it must be this way: As soon as ‘top-lofty’ can be safely moved, he wants him to the sannytarium to his mission. Him and Ferd, the dwarf, likewise. He says them old Californys all belong to him, and he will look after them. Antonio is to be in the sanny-house, and Ferd is to be put into the mission school. Though he’s a man in years, he’s a child in learning–’cept evil. So Fra proposes to oust the evil if he can–I wager he’ll find he’s got a job–and put in good. He’ll make Antonio earn his keep a-writin’ up the books and accounts, for, with all his silliness, he’s a master hand at figurin’–for himself. So that settles them, and don’t you dast say no to the arrangement when it’s perposed to you, Gabriella Trent, or I’ll never let you hear the last of it. It’s the Lord’s own way of disposing things, and a better one than I could cipher out, if I do say it.”
Certainly Mrs. Trent had no objection to make to so comfortable a settlement of a perplexing question; and in due time the Bernals left Sobrante forever; and of their lives at the mission those whom they had known so long were henceforth to hear little, “and care less,” according to the satisfied ranchmen.
Mr. Cornell, the expert, came, inspected, reserved his opinion, and departed; but Ninian Sharp had gathered enough from the visitor’s few sentences, idly dropped, to feel quite convinced that the thing was worth carrying farther. So he, too, left Sobrante; but, after a brief sojourn in Los Angeles, reappeared, in company with Morris Hale and a trio of prospectors, representing much capital. All this was very exciting to the simple household; and Mrs. Trent, at least, felt infinite relief when, on the eve of Navidad, there were left in it only those two strangers, who had now become less strangers than familiar friends.
Gathered about the fireside, which the first of the rainy nights made doubly enticing, the New York lawyer discussed at length the decision which the prospectors had made. They considered the mine well worth working. “In fact, I have reason to believe it will turn out one of the richest in the whole country. They are willing to advance all money needed upon certain conditions,” and he named them.
These seemed extremely liberal and just to both sides, but Mrs. Trent did not greatly surprise her listeners when she quietly interposed a clause to the effect that:
“My husband believed in profit-sharing. It was his ambition to put Sobrante and its various interests into such an operation. I want all our ‘boys’ to enjoy the benefits of that which God has given us. They will contribute their labor and share in its results; share richly if I can have my will.”
“Your will is doubtless law, madam,” answered Mr. Hale, courteously.
“And if the mine is worked, I want our dear friend, Ninian Sharp, to come here and act as its manager, on behalf of the Sobrante side. He”–she raised her hand gently, as he started to interrupt–“he must be paid a much larger salary than he could earn upon the staff of the Lancet, and would have, I hope, sufficient leisure time to use his pen in other literary work, such as he tells me he has never had the chance to do.”
For the first time in his life, maybe, the alert reporter was taken off guard, and hadn’t a word to say, except the very ordinary one of “Thank you”; but he said it, bending over the lady’s hand, and with such an expression of delight upon his thin, intellectual face, that no greater eloquence was needed.
“And now,” said Aunt Sally, “it’s time to begin that there decorating which Gabriell’ thinks is a part of Christmas. Pasqually’s been real good. He’s been up to the dreen, where you planted them calla lilies, Jessie, and he’s fetched a good many bushels. Seven hundred, I guess he said. And he’s cut poinsetty enough to turn us blind with its redness; and my boy, John, hitched up and went along under the flume and druv his pushcart back full of the biggest maidenhair ferns and sweet brakes I ever see. So now, youngsters, set to and trim. Then we’ll hang up our stockings, every one; and I’ll give you the nicest Christmas dinner can be cooked, if I have to cuff Wun Lungy into basting them turkeys as they ought to be basted. Come, Neddy; come, little Echo; I saw Santy Claus’ wife–that’s me, shove a pan full of gingerbread men into the wall oven, and if they’re done, I’ll give each of you a soldier of dough to drive you to bed. Stockings first? Of course, of course. Why, what would Christmas be without its stockings? Here’s a brand-new pair auntie’s knit for you, one a piece; and if you don’t find ’em stuffed with rods in the morning, it won’t be because you don’t deserve it, you precious, precious, naughty little lambs!”
Off went the good creature, a boy on either arm, her patchwork streaming behind her, her spectacles on the top of her head, and her ruddy countenance as beaming as if she were, indeed, that mythical person–Santa Claus’ wife.
Oh! what a Christmas followed! With everybody from far and near who had any claim upon Sobrante hastening thither to share its open hospitalities; Wolfgang and Elsa, with their “little” six-foot son; the genial McLeods, Dr. Kimball and his sweet-faced invalid sister, Louise, for whose benefit he had left their fine Boston home to live in this lonely, lovely southland. These, and many more, not only came, but did such justice to Mrs. Benton’s and Wan Lung’s cookery that, as she said, next morning:
“Land suz! There ain’t scraps enough left to make a decent soup, even! But never mind, we had a royal time, every single soul of us. Christmas is over, and I’m glad it’s so well over. Now, we can settle down and rest a spell.”
Indeed, there was rest for the household itself, but for Ninian Sharp and his coadjutors. The mining scheme was rapidly put into practical operation; Mr. Hale lingering all that winter to further its interests, and to enjoy what he had coveted early in his acquaintance with it, a few months of ranch life at ideal Sobrante.
Then came the glorious springtime, when the mesa was alive with flowers; the canyon was fragrant with perfume, and the whole countryside became an earthly paradise. The springtime, when the Easterner could no longer delay his homeward trip, nor Mrs. Trent the revelation of what her New York letters had contained, though Jessica had almost forgotten them.
One week before the lawyer was to leave them, mother and child sat, hand in hand, beside the father’s grave, whither the widow had purposely withdrawn, as if the precious dust within might still support and counsel her. Taking the little captain’s hand in hers, and speaking as calmly as if her heart were not desperately sad, she said:
“My darling, when Mr. Hale goes home to New York you will go with him.”
“Mother! Oh! Why?”
“Because it is right. My Cousin Margaret, whose letters you have seen me read, sometimes with ungrateful tears, offers you a home and an education. She was a mother to me in my youth, and I owe her much. Now that she is old and desolate, she begs for you. It may be that I should still have declined to please her at so much pain to–us, but the discovery of this copper mine of ours, and the fact that you will one day be one of America’s richest daughters, forces me to comply.”
“But, why, mother? Why should that matter? I’d rather give it up. Say no! Oh, please, say no!”
“I cannot now. I dare not. Upon your dear shoulders will rest a great trust and responsibility. You must be fitted to discharge that trust by the best education possible. This education you cannot gain here. You must seek it elsewhere. We must not make it harder for each other, this bitter parting, but we must bear it bravely for–father’s sake.”
Thus ended Jessica’s early childhood; and of what befell her in that widely different life at school it must be left to another volume to relate.
