Chapter XII.

The week which followed brought sad tidings to the Warlow family. A black-bordered letter came, bearing the post-mark of San Francisco; but before it was opened the family knew its import.

Mrs. Warlow's only brother, William, had been in the mines for several years, but since his health had failed he had been making the great coast city his home; and, although grieved at the announcement of his death, they were not unprepared for the sad news.

The lawyer wrote that he held a few thousand dollars of the deceased's money, which was left by the will to Mrs. Warlow, and they were also informed that the "Redwood" mine was left to Robbie, who was a great favorite with his uncle; but this latter property was as yet unproductive, though the attorney conveyed an intimation that it might some day prove very valuable, as there were mines of fabulous richness near by.

Soon the rumor went flying through the colony that the Warlows had fallen heirs to an immense estate, and as usual the report lost nothing by traveling; so our friends soon found themselves invested by the halo of riches without any of its substantial benefits.

Speculations and conjectures were rife among the neighbors as to the "best manner of investing their friend Warlow's fortune;" and, in fact, it became impossible for any member of the colonel's family to meet an acquaintance without being informed of some great opening for a judicious investment, that was only waiting capital and enterprise to develop the fact that there was "millions in it."

As Clifford paused one day to discuss the state of the weather in a neighborly way with a male member of this well-meaning but misguided class, he learned that all the vast tract of vacant land to the north, which still belonged to the government, had been condemned as being, "unfit for agricultural purposes," and would be "offered" at public sale the following August at the local land-office.

When young Warlow parted with his informant the matter was dismissed; but whenever he glanced away to the north or east at the billowy hills and level, rich dales, he would begin planning how he could secure a tract of the land before it passed into the hands of relentless speculators; and one day he actually rode out over the fertile, picturesque country for miles, and with a blush found himself dreaming how that long, narrow valley should be sown to grain, and the galloping hills, clothed with rich grasses, could provide pasturage for his vast, imaginary flocks and herds.

Alas, that the lack of a few handfuls of "filthy lucre" only, stood between himself and the ownership of the broad acres on every hand! With a dreary sigh he realized, for the first time in his life, how bitter is the lot of the poor but ambitious man, who sees the avenues to wealth barred by his lack of capital.

As he stood on the spot where his father had lost his fortune so many years before, Clifford thought how many hundred thousand acres of that rolling, fertile country the lost wealth represented; and while his horse grazed quietly near, the youth threw himself down in the cool shadow of the ruined wall, dreaming and planning how he might recover the vast wealth that he had long suspected was buried here near the scene of the tragedy.

But when he calmly began to analyze the evidence on which his suspicions were based, he was disappointed to see how visionary it all seemed in the clear light of reason. But it was too dear and cherished a theory to be relinquished without a mental struggle; so again he began to persuade himself that those scheming white men, of whom young Estill had spoken--those inhuman villains--might have secreted the gold from the drunken Indians, and it might have been that the blood-stained, avaricious leaders had died a violent death in those turbulent days, and the great wealth was still sleeping, undisturbed, all these years, while his father was suffering under the heavy load of poverty and fallen fortune. As Clifford still mused, there flashed across his mind the lines of Rokeby:--

"Then dig and tomb your precious heap, And bid the dead your treasure keep."

Springing to his feet, young Warlow cried aloud in his excitement:--

"Ah! it is all clear now--the blood on the grass and the newly made graves, of which Uncle Roger spoke! Yes, yes--they buried the dead and the gold in the same grave, and then decoyed the savages away! It may be that those bright doubloons, the red gold of the Walravens and my father, are buried but a few steps from where I stand."

Flinging aside doubt and uncertainty, he hurried down the hill to the spot where his father had said the treasure-laden vehicle had stood on that fatal night, and long and eagerly young Warlow searched for a trace of the graves. But it was all in vain; for the vast tide of travel that had flowed for a quarter of a century over the spot had not only obliterated all trace of those lowly mounds, but had also worn the mellow soil into deep gullies, down the sloping sides of which the knotted buffalo-grass crept like webs of pale-green lace.

In the old trail, where once the cannon of Phil Kearney had rumbled, as with his army he hurried forward to Santa Fe, and along where Coronado, Lee, Fremont, and Kit Carson had ridden, now the wild mignonette, in spikes of purple, fragrant blossoms, grew, loading the sultry air with their rich odors. The sensitive-rose, its fern-like foliage tufted with rosy balls of gold-flecked down, closed its leaves as Clifford hurriedly brushed by; but in the tangled thickets of wild indigo, now blooming in sprays of violet and creamy flowers, or among the tall, lush, blue stem-grass the young "fortune hunter" found no traces of the lost wealth--no sunken graves were visible to tell of that tragedy of long ago; so it was with a slow step and feeling of despondency that our friend sought the shelter of his latticed porch.

While he sat, lost in speculation as to the best method of prosecuting his search, which he was too resolute to give up easily, his eyes rested on an implement that at a glance showed its adaptability for the very purpose. It was a long rod of iron, tipped with twisted steel. He remembered having had it made the year before for the men who were searching for a vein of water before sinking his wells. As he seized it eagerly, and started once again down the hill, he felt gratified and elated to perceive how easily he could now test the earth to the depth of five feet, and ascertain if there was any foreign substance in the mellow, loamy soil, which throughout the valley was a bed of rich, black loam, entirely free from stone or boulders.

He had but reached the spot near the river, when he saw his father riding through the wheat-field toward where our young schemer stood; and hastily tossing the iron rod into a thicket, Clifford met his father with an assumption of careless indifference; for all his allusions in the past to the lost fortune had only met with the sarcastic disapproval of his parent, who, being an intensely practical man himself, could not tolerate any thing so visionary as a search for the treasure seemed to be; and young Warlow had decided to keep his investigations secret, thus avoiding the censure and ridicule of the colonel. After a brief discussion in regard to the condition of the ripening grain, Clifford remarked:--

"It seems very strange, father, that no trace can be found of those graves which Uncle Roger mentioned having seen near the Old Corral, when he found you after the robbery and massacre."

"This is too busy a time for us to speculate on the past, my boy. The wheat has ripened splendidly--I never saw a field to equal that valley yonder--and we will have to start the header to-morrow; so if you will ride out on to the Flats and engage three more teams, I will go down to Squire Moreland's and tell them we shall begin early in the morning," said the colonel.

"But, father, first tell me as nearly as possible where those graves were located; for I have a strange curiosity regarding them of late. It must be near this very spot?"

"Yes, yes; near that old cottonwood-tree, or on the level space of sod just this side. But Clifford," continued he in a tone of suspicion quite foreign to the kindly colonel, "what nonsense are you meditating now? You are not still counting on that lost fortune?"

"Well, father, there has been a growing belief in my mind of late that the treasure is secreted near here. Think how impossible it would have been for a leader of such a band as those savages were, to divide the booty satisfactorily among the pack of drunken monsters. If the leader had the acumen that I believe he possessed, he, no doubt, buried the gold, at least, in one of those graves while the others were stupefied by the liquor; and there is a chance that he may never have returned, owing to the dangers to which such turbulent villains are always exposed. I have thought this over carefully, until at last I am convinced--"

"That your father has a damned fool for a son!" broke in the colonel hotly, as he rode away.

After supper Clifford said he would go up to his house and spend the night--an announcement which caused no surprise, as he frequently stayed there; but on this occasion Robbie remarked to Maud:--

"Cliff must be _schooling his courage_ by staying of nights up at that old spook-ranch; but a fellow who can stand that, could pop the question to the witch of Macbeth without faltering."

"What do you mean by his popping the question, Rob?" said Maud, setting her pail of foamy milk down on the cellar-steps, while she regarded the handsome youth with a puzzled look from her round, blue eyes.

"Why just this," he replied, after "swigging" down a pint of fresh milk from his own pail, and deliberately wiping his lips with his shirt-sleeve; "Cliff has got more sand in his gizzard than most fellows; but I guess he feels too poor, or something, to talk _marry_ to Mora Estill, so he goes mooning off up there to that old spectre's nest--just like fellows do in novels, you know," he added, lucidly.

But here the peremptory tones of his father called the young philosopher to take the colts down to the lower pasture.

When Clifford arrived at his dwelling he prepared several stakes, and fastened bits of white paper to their tops; then, securing the iron rod, he placed it with the small sticks, which he had left in the porch, and sought the dainty and comfortable bed which he owed to the thoughtful kindness of Maud and his mother.

Sinking into a profound slumber, he was only awakened by the alarm which sounded as the clock struck one. As its chime died away, he arose and stole forth into the tranquil night.

A waning moon had risen, and in its faint light the water of the brook glimmered coldly as it wimpled over the stony ford. The fluttering leaves of the old cottonwood flashed like silver, and the hoary form of the great tree, every limb of which seemed outlined in white, towered vague and ghostly above the shadows cast by the more dense foliage of ash and willows.

Clifford paused in the level glade where his father had said the graves must have been when Roger Coble passed the spot twenty-six years before. Thrusting the rod deep into the soft, loamy soil, young Warlow threw his whole weight on the instrument, which penetrated to the depth of several feet with little difficulty. On meeting with no obstruction, he withdrew the rod; and after marking the spot with one of the stakes which he had provided, he began again to prosecute the search one step further south.

The precaution of marking the place where he had sunk the rod was for the purpose of systematizing the search, thus avoiding confusion. In fact, these careful details were but an indication of the practical nature of the young Fortune Hunter, which, even on this weird night, strongly asserted its sway.

While the leaves murmured and whispered, as if striving to tell of the tragedies that had marred this spot--of the mystery that seemed to haunt the very air around--Clifford still pursued his investigations, patiently and in silence, only pausing to draw a deeper breath or a sigh of disappointment at each fruitless effort, as he toiled onward into the deep shadows near the bank of the stream.

At length, tired and weary, our young friend stood on the verge of the stream over the bank of which the dank grass trailed, and the rank vine of the wild-gourd, with its silvery leaves, rioted in wildest luxuriance and profusion.

Glancing up through the branches of the hoary old cottonwood, he could see the glittering constellation of Scorpio far out on the south-western horizon, the fiery star Antares, which forms its heart, glowing like a ruby in the blue vault of heaven.

For a moment Clifford rested on the handle of the deep-sunken instrument, and, lifting his heavy felt hat with its leathern band--a badge of the ranchman throughout all the West--he drew a deep breath of the cool air that swayed the wild hop-vines and pendulous branches of the willows to and fro in the moonlight.

Around, a thousand wild-flowers distilled their odors. The sensitive-plant nodded softly in dew-drenched sprays, its rosy balls flecked with drops that glinted like gems, while all the air was heavy with its perfume of spices and honey.

The foamy elder-blooms exhaled an odor of entrancing sweetness, and over the senses stole the fragrance from pond-lilies and water-mint, wild-hyacinths and mignonette.

A large prairie-owl flitted by, lending a note of discord to the tranquillity which had reigned, with its dismal hoot, that mellowed away into a plaintive shriek as it lit in some far-off, sombre nook.

Then again silence brooded over the valley, broken only by the croak of frogs along the rush-lined shore, or the soft chirp of insects in the grass; but suddenly the jabbering wail of a lone wolf, distant yet distinct, pierced through the gloom, startling into silence all the minor voices of the night, and adding with its wild echoes a double sense of loneliness to the weird night.

Clifford turned to the iron rod, and with a few vigorous efforts sent it deep into the yielding earth; and as the quiet of nature once more reigned over the wild glade, he kept turning the handle mechanically, and listening to the gruesome sound of the answering wolves--faint cries that made him shudder--when, lo! the steel point grated harshly against some obstruction beneath his feet.

Quickly withdrawing the rod, he seized the sharp spade and began digging, throwing the black soil out of the pit with frantic haste as he sank rapidly down into the earth at each stroke. As he neared the goal he became dizzy and faint, his breath coming in quick gasps, and the blinding sweat streaming from his face, from which it fell in great drops like rain.

Pausing a moment, while the weird, horned moon peered through a rift in the boughs overhead, and gleamed coldly on his upturned, haggard face, he thought of the wealth that might lie below,--his father's lost fortune; the wealth of Monteluma; its gems and red gold, with all the power that great treasure represented; then, quivering with excitement, he dashed the spade into the earth, and in a moment more the head of a cask was dimly outlined at his feet.

Breathless and panting, he paused, leaning on his spade, while the hopes and fears, which so often, often, assail us on the threshold of some great enterprise, came thronging on with their mockery, causing him to stand irresolute, as if fearing to solve the mystery; but at length, after summoning all his strength, he struck the cask with his sharp spade, and the head fell in with a dull crash.

As he stooped to peer down into the gloom below, a pair of fiery eyes glared at him from the cavity, and, as he sprang back with a shudder, a sharp, whizzing rattle in the cask announced the presence of that dread reptile, the rattlesnake--a new and terrible danger, worse than the sting of poverty with all its terrors.

As Clifford stood frozen with horror, the slimy monster rose from out the cask, still sounding its angry alarm. A moment more, enraged and writhing, it coiled at his feet, its head erected, slowly swaying to and fro--a gigantic, threatening monster.

Its eyes glowed like coals of fire, and in the bright light shed by the lantern Clifford could see it darting its tongue and glaring with a look of indescribable ferocity and malignant hatred, to which nothing else in the world can be compared. Those who have faced an angry rattlesnake, and who still turn pale at its remembrance, or start from sleep with a cry of fear at the returning vision of terrible danger, will recall the awful rage and menace that glared from the eye of the angry serpent--a glance that unnerves the bravest man in the world instantly. The reptile only seemed to await a motion on Clifford's part to strike like a flash of lightning. Then, with a clammy shudder, young Warlow thought of the agony and speedy death that was certain to follow. At the tremor which involuntarily shook his frame at the thought, the hideous serpent crested its head and paused in its vibrations. "Now all is over," our young friend thought, and breathlessly awaited the shock.

Instantly the face of Mora Estill rose before him, a fleeting vision of loveliness; and with it came a realization of the love for her that had rapidly grown into an all-absorbing passion in their short acquaintance. He knew at once what had sent him out on this midnight search, and why he had begun to wish for wealth so eagerly of late:--It was because be craved fortune and a position which would equal that of the "Cattle King's" daughter. Yet even in this moment of deadliest peril he thought, with a grim smile, of the irony of fate--the reward of his first attempt at "fortune hunting."

While death stared at him from those glaring eyes, and the moments seemed to lengthen out to years, he thought of his friends at home, all unconscious of the dire fate that he was facing; then a wild longing for life seized him, and for the first time since the encounter he began to plan a way of escape.

The spade on which his hand rested was sharp and bright; but to raise it before the serpent could strike he knew was impossible; so he stood immovably eying the formidable reptile, which at length slowly uncoiled and glided away from his feet to an opposite corner of the pit. With a sigh of relief Clifford saw that the danger was lessened, yet he began to more fully realize the size of his deadly antagonist, which now reached twice across the yard-wide pit.

In moments of great danger we are apt to think with lightning-like rapidity, and quickly see any advantage that may arise. So it was with Clifford, who remembered that the rattlesnake always throws itself into a coil before striking; and as he saw it thus off its guard, with a quick movement he struck a violent blow at the snake's head and pinioned it to the earth--then throwing his full weight on the handle he felt the bones crunch beneath the sharp blade, while the reptile madly threshed its now headless body about and wrapped its jangling tail around his boot.

Springing out of the pit, with a desperate leap, young Warlow disengaged the writhing, heavy monster from his foot, and with the iron rod threw it away into the grass; then sinking down upon the ground, unnerved and exhausted, he lay, too weak to move for several minutes. But when he remembered the unexplored cask, he sprang to his feet again, and after listening cautiously a moment, and hearing no further evidence of danger, he dropped lightly down into the pit, carelessly tramping on the grim serpent-head that but a few moments before was so full of threatening danger.

Anxiously he thrust the long rod down into the cask. No rattle responded; but the despairing fact became apparent: the cask was empty!

With a sinking heart he groped about the bottom of the cask with the rod, and when its iron point struck against a round object that rolled over with a harsh sound on the bottom, he quickly thought of the casket of gems, and reaching down, with a thrill of excitement he clutched the mysterious, smooth object, and sprang out of the pit into the moonlight.

By the pale beams of the gibbous moon, now sinking low in the western sky, but throwing a path of shimmering silver on the bosom of the rippling brook, he saw--not the gems of Monteluma, but a human skull, that, with its wide, eyeless sockets, seemed to glare derisively, and with great white teeth laugh mockingly, at this ending of his "fortune hunting." With a cry of despair, the disheartened youth dashed the loathsome object to the earth; but, as if the sound of his voice had evoked its former spirit, there glided from out the wavering shadows a tall, gaunt form, gray-robed and silent, with tangled, flowing hair, and burning eyes, its lips drawn back from its snaggled fangs in a horrid look of hate and ferocity. With noiseless tread it seemed to float into the moonlit space; then snatching the skull from the ground and clasping it close to its breast, with an unearthly scream it faded away among the whispering willows.