Kitabı oku: «Jessica, the Heiress», sayfa 4

CHAPTER VII.
A ROYAL GIFT

Wolfgang took the bit of stone in his own fingers and examined it critically. Always deliberate in his words and actions, he was now doubly so, and Mrs. Trent grew impatient of a situation which seemed unimportant, and that delayed for others, as well as herself, a much needed supper.

But Pedro was not impatient. He stood with folded arms and triumphant bearing, ready for the miner’s reply, whether it came soon or late; also, quite ready to disregard it should it be different from that expected.

“Well, Wolfgang?” asked the ranch mistress.

The miner heaved a prodigious sigh, and returned the ambiguous answer:

“That is what I have thought already, is it not?”

“What have you thought, good Wolfgang?” demanded the lady, looking toward the Indian’s glowing eyes.

“Copper. Copper, without alloy.”

“Ugh!” grunted Pedro, with satisfaction, and taking the metal again in his hand bowed low and gravely presented it to his mistress.

She received it without enthusiasm, wondering what significance could attach to a bit of stone that might have been picked up anywhere. Her husband had believed that everything valuable would, sooner or later, be unearthed from the mountains of the State he so loyally loved, but her own interest in the subject was slight. However, she must say something grateful or again offend the dignity of her venerable servitor.

“Thank you, Pedro. It is very pretty. I will add it to the case of minerals that your master arranged yonder.”

The shepherd cast one contemptuous glance toward the shelves she indicated, and straightened himself indignantly. He had loved and revered her, ever since she came a bride to Sobrante, and had tended him through a scourge of smallpox, unafraid and unscathed. Though she was a woman, the sex of whose intelligence he had small opinion, he had regarded her as an exception, and his disappointment was great.

“Is it but a ‘thank you,’ si? Does not the senorita know what this gift means?”

“I confess that I do not, Pedro. Please explain.”

“Were the old padres wise, mistress?”

“So I have always understood.”

“Listen. From them it came; from the last who left the mission here for another–to me, his son and friend. Into the heart of the world we went, and he showed me. Down low, so low none dream of it, lies that will make you rich. Will there be anybody anywhere so rich as the senorita and her little ones? No. But no, not one. This I give you. It is for the Navidad, the last old Pedro will ever see. And the senorita answers, ‘thank you’!”

He was deeply hurt, and his manner was now full of an eloquent scorn. He was returning the stone to his breast, when she asked for it again, saying, gently:

“You are so old and wise, good Pedro, you must bear with my ignorance and teach me. This is copper, you say. It is very pretty, but how can it make me rich? I do not understand.”

Wolfgang answered for the other, and his phlegmatic face had lost its ordinary expression for one of keen delight.

“It is true, what the old man tells you, mistress. He means–he must mean–somewhere on your property lies a vein of this metal. The dead master thought the coal was fine already. Ay, so, so. But copper! Mistress Trent, when this vein is mined, what Pedro says–yes, yes. In all this big country is not one so rich as he who owns a copper mine. Ach, himmel! It is a queen he has made you, and you say, ‘Thank you!’”

He had fully caught the shepherd’s enthusiasm and feeling, and for the first time in his life looked upon the lady of Sobrante as a dull-witted person.

But she was no longer dull. Even if it seemed an impossibility that even this “vein” could be mined, since she had no money to waste in an experiment so costly, still she realized, at last, what Pedro’s will had been. Catching his hand between her own soft palms, she pressed it gratefully, and beamed upon him till he smiled again.

“Whatever comes of it. Pedro, you have given us a royal aguinaldo², and I do appreciate it. Come now, and share our rejoicing over that greater good that you have brought to Sobrante–the salvation of its little captain. For that–for that–I have not even the ‘thank you’; my feeling is too deep.”

Though he showed it little, the old man was almost as moved as she, and he followed her as proudly as if he were the “king” his fellow ranchmen called him. Yet even pride did not prevent his being cautious still, and he carried the basket and staff away with him, though Wolfgang protested, and asked, angrily now:

“The money? Is it not my Elsa’s, yes? Would you break her heart already, and the little one so needing it?”

Mrs. Trent laughed. She, too, wondered that the Indian had not at once surrendered the other’s property, but understood that he could not be hurried. So she merely suggested that Wolfgang bring his family around to the living room immediately after sunset, when, doubtless, he would receive his own again.

At that time, also, she meant to have John Benton present, to hear what Pedro had to say about this copper find, and to comfort him in his disappointment, for between these two there had always been close friendship.

However, to her surprise, John attempted no comfort. He was instantly and heartily on the shepherd’s side, and demanded, excitedly:

“Begging pardon for plain words, as you are a woman with growing children, can you sit there calm as molasses and say ‘you wish you could do something about it,’ yet say no more. ‘Wish!’ Why, land of Goshen! this ain’t a wishin’ sort of business, this ain’t! It’s ‘Hurray for old Sobrante! Hurray, hurray, hurray!’ Call ’em in, captain, dearie! Call in the whole crowd! That was the luckiest gettin’ lost anybody ever had! Oh, won’t somebody call ’em in?”

To the group about the table it seemed that the sensible carpenter had suddenly gone mad. Nobody had ever heard him so address the mistress whom he loved, and his excited prancing around the room, alternately hugging and examining the mineral in his hand, added to the impression. While the captain departed to summon the other “boys,” Aunt Sally attempted to reduce her hilarious son to sanity by a sharp box on the ear, and the sharper reprimand:

“You, John Benton! Do you mean to bring my gray hairs with sorrer to the grave? What’s the reason of these goings on, I’d like to know? I never was so disgraced in all my life, never. Now, quit! Quit to once, or–”

He paid no heed to her, but laid his hand on Pedro’s shoulder and shook it vigorously, demanding:

“What kind of a feller are you, anyway? Why in the name of sense didn’t you tell this thing while the boss was alive? Shucks! Half of you is Indian, and that means dirt. Known it all this time, and kept it hid! You’d ought to be drawn and quartered, that’s what you had!”

Mrs. Benton advanced with threatening hand, and from force of habit he retreated before her, and sank into the nearest chair; so that, when his mates entered, they found him sitting with bent head and down-hanging hands, as limp and inert as if his vitality had been sapped by the news he had heard.

“What’s up?” asked “Marty,” making his respectful salutation to the mistress, but looking past her toward the carpenter, who, with another change of mood, sprang again to his feet and waved the fragment of mineral overhead, exclaiming:

“This is ‘up’! Copper’s ‘up’! Sobrante’s ‘up’! And lucky the men that belong to it. Only–that old villain, yonder, has known it even since forever, and was mean enough to keep his secret. That’s what he is, that Pedro, yonder!”

Yet, with another whimsical change, he seized the shepherd’s hand and wrung it till even that hardened member ached. But the Indian remained as calm and undisturbed, amid the torrent of blame or praise, as if he had been sitting alone at his weaving on the mesa. His soul was satisfied at last. He had done that which he had pondered doing for many years, without being able, heretofore, to bring his thought to action. Surely he had known that, locked within his own breast, his “secret” was worthless; yet he had clung to it tenaciously. Now he had imparted it to others, and behold! all the world knew it, even so soon. Well, that did not matter. It was no longer his. His part was ended. Meanwhile, on his beloved upland, there was a faithful collie watching for his return, and lambs bleating, needing his care. Suddenly he rose, placed his cherished staff in Mrs. Trent’s hands, and bowing low, said:

“Keep this, as I have kept it, where none but you may find. At the Navidad I come once more, the last. Adios.”

His departure was so unexpected that, at first, they did not try to prevent it, but Jessica was swift to follow and protest:

“Not to-night, dear Pedro! Please not to-night. You have been so good to me, you must stay and be glad with us this one night. In the morning–”

“In the morning the sheep will need new pasture. Adios, nina.”

“Then, if go you must, it shall not be on foot. Wait! I know! Prince, Mr. Hale’s horse, that he left with you on the mesa. It is here. The naughty children painted him, but I saw him in the corral, just now, and you shall ride him home. That is if you will not stay, even for me.”

“The Navidad. Till then, adios.”

She had never heard him talk so much nor so well as since these few hours among his friends. He seemed to be almost another Pedro than the silent shepherd of the mesa, and as she followed him, taking his direct way to the paddock, she wondered at the uprightness of his bearing and the unconscious dignity which clothed him like a garment. Then she remembered something else–his blanket, and sprang to his side again, entreating:

“Just one five minutes more, Pedro. Your blanket. You must have a new one.”

He hesitated and sighed. Then shook his head sadly. That which he had torn, to bind the dwarf, had been a Navajo weave, so fine and faultless that even he, the wonderful weaver, knew it for a marvel. There could not be its mate in all that country, nor had been since the old padres went and took with them, as he believed, all the wisdom of the world.

Before he had caught and bridled the horse, Jessica was back, and playfully enveloped in a wonderful piece of cloth that made the Indian stare. If it were not the mate to his lost treasure, it was quite as fine and soft, as generous in size, and far cleaner.

“See, dear old fellow. This was my father’s. My mother sends it to you with her love. Put it on, so I may see how fine you look. Oh, grand! When the children play ‘Indian’ why can’t they copy you, and not those dirty Diggers, that Ferd teaches them to be like! Pedro, you are splendid, and–I love you! I love you!”

All at once, as she gazed upon him, there returned to her a memory of that dark time in the cavern’s pit, where he had found her, and which, in the general rejoicing over her safety she had, for the present, almost forgotten. By now, save for this old man, she might have been dead.

He received the onslaught of her embrace exactly as he had accepted the gift of the blanket–in silence. There was a momentary lighting of his somber eyes, but no word, as, putting her quietly down upon the ground, he mounted the barebacked Prince and loped swiftly away into the darkness and solitude.

Brighter by contrast was the room to which the little captain returned, after Prince and his rider had vanished into the night, and the circle of lamp-lighted faces gleamed with excitement. Everybody seemed trying to outtalk his neighbor, and only one glowering countenance showed dark by contrast; the face of Elsa Winkler, with its eyes angrily fixed upon the basket which Mrs. Trent held on her lap, quite forgetting what it contained in her listening to the others’ words.

Suddenly, Samson brought his fist down upon the table, enforcing a brief silence, while demanding:

“What’s amiss with using the capital on hand? There sits our ‘admiral,’ with money enough in that basket to start the whole business. Set Wolfgang to manage, and the rest of us to dig and delve. More’n one here has tried mining for a yellower metal than this”–holding up the bit of copper–“’twould do us proud to give the first pick to Sobrante’s fortune! Lads, what say?”

“Ay, and right off! That’s what we say!” cried somebody, but Mrs. Trent lifted her hand, and they were silent.

She had become as interested now as any of the others; far more, indeed, since if this amazing tale of Pedro’s proved true she would be able, at last, to fulfill her husband’s interrupted life-work, and make Sobrante a power for good in the world.

“What does Elsa say? Will she lend us this money?”

CHAPTER VIII.
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

All waited breathlessly for Elsa’s answer. They knew her greed, or, rather, why she hoarded her money so closely, and were not so surprised, after all, when it came.

“No, I cannot.”

“Can’t? I should like to know why you can’t?” demanded John Benton, indignantly, though Mrs. Trent protested against his urgency by a nod of her head.

“It is for the little one. It is mine. I want it already.”

The ranch mistress at once extended the basket, but it was now the carpenter’s turn to object.

“Please, ‘admiral,’ not so fast. Let her tell us, first, how much money she lost.”

Elsa caught her breath. To save her life she could not have stated in exact figures the sum, because, though she had known to a dime before the robbery, at, and after that time, she had recklessly tossed aside the little that remained. This wasted portion belonged with the whole amount, and being as truthful as she was penurious, she hesitated. Her color came and went, as she looked anxiously into John’s face, realizing that he had laid a trap for her and caught her in it.

But the mistress confronted her, saying:

“Never mind that, Elsa. I do not blame you for refusing to try experiments with what you have so hardly earned and so nearly lost. These are certainly your own little money bags, as I judge from their knitted covers; but it is just possible there may have been other money added to that was taken from you. So, tell me as nearly as you can, what you had, and we will examine them all together.”

This was wise, and commended itself even to the eager Elsa, who stated promptly and proudly:

“Three t’ousand of the dollars it was. All gold. Big gold and littles ones. In them bags was lost entirely. In the others–I don’t know. Oh! I don’t know. It was much, much!”

It was Wolfgang’s turn to interpose, and he did so, sternly:

“Elsa, wife! Three thousand dollars, and I not know it! How dare you?”

“Ach! how not dare I? It was the new pick, or the new pushcart, or the new everything, is it not so? Well, then, if one would save one need not tell.”

Mrs. Trent’s face saddened, and, seeing this, Jessica impatiently exclaimed:

“Oh, I hate money! It’s always that which makes the trouble. It was about money that those New York folks made such wicked charges against my father. It was for a little money that you ‘boys’ were so quick to ruin ‘Forty-niner’s’ character. It was money, and the greed for it, that changed Antonio from a good to a bad man.”

“Hold on, captain. There wasn’t ever any ‘change’ in him. He was born that way.”

“He was born a baby, wasn’t he, John? All babies are good, I s’pose. It’s loving money has made Ferd do such dreadful things; and now, over a little money, Wolfgang and Elsa are quarreling, though I never heard them speak crossly to each other before. Oh, I hate it! Give it all back to her, mother dear, and let us forget all that Pedro said. I, for my part, hope his old copper mine will never be dug out.”

Some who heard her laughed, but the mother grew even graver than at first, and looked searchingly into her daughter’s face. Again there came to her mind the consciousness that the little girl was growing up in a strange fashion; seeming both too wise and too simple for her years. It could never be any different at Sobrante, where one and all conspired to spoil her, though innocently enough, and from pure affection. How could she, single-handed, combat these hurtful influences?

The answer came swiftly enough in a second thought: “Money.”

If there were but a little more of that power for good as well as evil in her possession she could send the child to some fine school and have her educated properly. The separation would be like death in life to herself, but what true mother ever thought of self where her child was concerned? Certainly, not Gabriella Trent. It was with a little sigh that she put her arm about Lady Jess and drew her to her side, saying:

“Here, daughter, you and John examine these bags together, while the rest of us look on and tally for you. I want Elsa to have her own, at once.”

They moved the books and papers from the table, and Jessica emptied the contents of the bags into one gleaming heap near the big lamp, whose light gave an added radiance to the coins, making more than one pair of eyes sparkle and stare. None could remember ever to have seen so large an amount displayed outside a bank window.

Even John’s hands trembled slightly as he began to count the double eagles first, pushing each five of these toward his small co-laborer and reckoning:

“One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred–one thousand!”

“One thousand!” echoed Jessica, in turn handing the pile to her mother, while the others watched, counting each for himself in silence, ready to check any blunder that might be made.

That is, the men were silent, but Elsa and Aunt Sally rather disturbed the proceedings; the former, by eagerly reaching out for the piles as each was arranged before the mistress, and being as regularly rebuked by the latter.

“There you go again, woman! How can they count right if you don’t have patience? Keep your hands still, do,” said Mrs. Benton.

“Keep your tongue, mother, too. Two thousand!” rejoined John.

“Two–thousand!” cried Jessica, tallying. But her voice had now lost its impatience, and she began to have a very different feeling in regard to this “money,” which looked so real, and was so much needed at Sobrante. If Pedro’s “copper” could be transmuted into shining golden eagles, why, after all, she guessed she didn’t hate it quite so much.

“Three–thousand–and–ain’t half–touched yet!” gasped Samson, throwing up his great hands in a gesture of astonishment.

Elsa was also gasping then, and the expression of her face was changing into one from which Mrs. Trent involuntarily turned her eyes. Cunning and avarice predominated, and in the woman’s throat was a curious clicking sound, as if she had lost and were trying to find her voice. Which, when found, seemed not to belong to the good-natured Elsa, so changed it was:

“Ach, me! But I forgot already. I guess–it was not three t’ousand; it was two times so much. That was seven t’ousand, is it not? The money of this America–it so confuse, yes,” and she tapped her forehead with one fat finger, while her eyes grew beady, and seemed to shrink in size as they gazed upon the wealth she coveted.

But Wolfgang would have none of this. He was as honest as the sun, and, till that moment, had supposed his wife to be of one mind with him. Indeed, honest she had been, in thought and deed, until that terrible temptation was spread before her.

“Elsa! Elsa Winkler! Is it my wife you was and would lie–lie–for a bit of that rubbish!”

“‘Rubbish’ is good,” commented “Marty,” under his breath, but nobody smiled.

The woman cowered. Accustomed as she was to domineer over the seemingly weak-willed man, there had been times, within her memory, when he had thrown off her rule and asserted himself to a degree that terrified her. She had stumbled upon one of those times now, and sank back in her place with a deprecating gesture, advancing the flimsy protest:

“Are they not my bags, so? Sewed I them not with my own hands out of the skin of the little kid was killed? The covers I knitted with–”

The miner raised his hand, and she dropped her eyes before him.

“Give her what belongs, if you will, good lady, and let us be gone,” he said, pulling his forelock respectfully to Mrs. Trent.

“Gone! Why no, Wolfgang, not to-night. It’s a long way, and you should wait till morning. Indeed, you should,” she replied, at the same time sending a questioning glance toward John Benton, and pushing toward Elsa all the empty bags and three of the thousand dollar piles.

For the carpenter nodded swift acquiescence, on his part longing to be rid of “them miserly Dutchmen, barring the man.”

Elsa rapidly recounted, and bestowed the eagles within their receptacles, and these again, wrapped in a handkerchief, within her bosom. Then, as coolly as if she had not made an unpleasant exhibition of herself, she turned to her hostess and smiled:

“I go now, mistress. I thank you already for one good time I have. It is to buy the mine, one day, for my child. I must be going. Yes, I must. The stew! Ach! how I forgot! The cat–it was a good stew, no? And the cat has eat the stew!”

“Then you’d better stew the cat!” suggested Marty, with a facetiousness to which she paid no heed.

Holding out her hand for Otto to take it, she commanded:

“Little heart, but come. It is in bed you should be, yes. Good-by, all,” adding in German, “May you sleep well!”

Wolfgang followed the retreating pair, but turned on the threshold to make his obeisance to the ranch mistress, and to say, “At your service, good lady. My pick and my head.” Then, bowing again toward all the company, he disappeared.

Everybody felt the relief of their departure, and Aunt Sally humorously threw a kiss after them, remarking, with a sniff:

“Blessed be nothing, if somethin’ is going to make a hog out of a decent woman. That there Elsy’d been content with half she got if she hadn’t seen the rest that heap. I’m a good deal like Jessie, here. I think money’s the root of all evil.”

“That ain’t an original observation, mother, though you do speak as if it was. Money’s the root of a pretty consid’able comfort, too; and I’d like to know, for one, where in creation all this that’s left came from,” returned John.

“There’s no doubt in my mind, that it came out of the Trent pocketbook, every dollar of it!” said Samson. “But how it came into Ferd’s fist is more’n I can guess. Seems if even a half-wit would steal from his own brother, and it must have passed through Antonio’s hands first.”

“Antonio’s brother!” cried Marty, incredulously.

“That’s the true word. Pedro knew it, and the master knew it. The ‘admiral’ heard it, first, to-day; along with that other secret about the copper. Ain’t any harm in mentioning it, is there?” said Samson.

The lady laughed, and answered:

“Even if there were the harm is done, herder. But that’s right. I wish no secrets at Sobrante. I like to feel that we are all one family in interests and affection, as my husband wished. And now remains this gold. What is to be done with it? Where shall we bestow it that it may be both safe and ready when needed?”

Aunt Sally immediately went and closed the door and locked it; then fastened the windows and pulled the shades over them. At which a shout arose that the old lady heeded not a whit. She clasped her hands over her breast and her round face turned pale, as she whispered shrilly enough for all to hear:

“We’re undone! We’re all undone! We’re a passel of fools–and–and– Oh, suz!”

Down she dropped into a chair, and there was no more laughter. She was not a timid woman, and her fright was evident. Her son stepped to her side and laid his hand on her shaking shoulder, demanding:

“What ails you, mother? What did you see? Why did you lock the doors?”

“I–I–”

“Quit chattering your teeth together. What did you see?”

“Oh, son! I seen a–a–ghost!”

“Trash!”

Her courage began to return, and her anger to rise. She retorted promptly:

“No trash! A ghost. A spirit! As sure as I’m a-settin’ here this minute; the spirit of–of–”

It aggravated John that she should pause and peep behind her, to be sure the windows were still covered.

“The spirit of what tomfoolery has possessed you, mother, I’d like to know? What’s the use of scarin’ folks half to death? As if we hadn’t had enough things happen without your cuttin’ up, too!”

“Hold your tongue, John Benton, you sassy boy. As sure as I’m alive, I saw the ghost of Antonio Bernal peeking in at that open window afore I shut it. He was so white I couldn’t tell him from paper, and so thin I ’peared to see clean through him.”

“Pshaw, mother! You’re overtired, and for once in your life really nervous. I reckon it’s the sight of more money than ever come your way before. Well, forget it. ’Tisn’t yours nor mine. We’ve no cause to worry. I’ll step and get you a drink of water and then you’ll feel all right, and would better go to bed.”

“I don’t want water, and I shan’t go to bed. I shan’t close my eyes this night, John Benton, and you needn’t touch to tell me so.”

“All right. Stay awake if you like. It’s nothing to me,” answered the exasperated man, who, in spite of his strong common sense, had been more startled than he cared to admit, even to himself. But, glancing at Mrs. Trent and Jessica, he now felt that it would be wiser to express his own fear, which was of nothing supernatural.

“Mother’s upset, ‘admiral,’ and don’t you let her upset you, too. The fact is, we’re a very careless set at Sobrante, where everything is–or used to be–all open and above board. It’s a new thing for keys to be turned on this ranch, and it’s a new thing for us to go suspecting one another of sneak notions. I, for one, am ashamed enough of the way I’ve felt about old Ephraim Marsh, and if he don’t show up pretty soon, I’ll make a special trip to Los Angeles to tell him so. Even if I have to foot it the heft of the way.

“Howsomever, all the world ain’t as honest as them that had the honor of knowin’ Cassius Trent. There’s been a power of strangers on these premises durin’ these last days; and it stands to reason that among ’em one villain might have crept in. I ain’t sayin’ there was. I’ll never accuse nobody again–’cept–’cept–”

Here the honest fellow interrupted himself with a laugh; remembering his ingrained suspicion of the two Bernals, which he would never even try to overcome. But he went on again:

“Mother thinks she’s seen somethin’, and like enough she has. There might be some scamp hangin’ around; and if there was, and he looked through that window and saw all this gold, I don’t wonder his face was ghosty-lookin’, nor–Somebody stop me talking and answer this: Where’s the safest place to stow that pile?”

For a moment nobody replied. Mrs. Trent was wishing, most heartily, that the money had never come into her possession, since she did not know to whom she should restore it; and beginning to feel, with Jessica, that “money” did carry discord and danger with it.

But the little captain was now all eagerness, and exclaimed:

“Oh! how I wish I’d seen it! Aunt Sally, I never saw a ghost in all my life, never! I thought they were just make-believes, but if you saw one, of course they’re true. Do you s’pose we could see it again if we went out to look? Will you go with me?”

“I? I! Well, I guess not. Not a step will I step–”

“But several steps I’ll step, Mrs. Benton. I advise the money going into the office safe, that old Ephraim uses when he’s at home. One of us better camp out on the lounge in the room there till we get rid of whoever’s cash that is. I’ll bunk there myself, if you like, Mrs. Trent, after I step outside and see if all’s serene with my prisoner,” said Samson, cheerfully.

“May I go with you, Samson? May I, mother?” asked Jessica.

The mother’s consent was somewhat reluctant, for now she could not bear to have her darling out of sight. Yet if anybody on earth was to be trusted with so precious a charge it was the herder. Besides, she was annoyed at this talk of “ghosts,” and knew that the shortest way to convince Jessica how nonsensical it was, would be by allowing her to go out and seek for them herself.

But Samson answered cordially:

“You do me proud, little one. Suppose you take your rifle, and then, if we see any specter you can pin it to the mission wall, and we’ll have a show, charging ten pins’ admission.”

They went out, laughing and gay; the child clinging to the giant’s hand, and hoping that she might really see the phantom of Aunt Sally’s story, for she had no fear concerning it. They came back, five minutes later, looking grave and seriously alarmed.