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diff --git a/old/52289-0.txt b/old/52289-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4237b05..0000000 --- a/old/52289-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9496 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52289 *** - -A VENDETTA OF THE HILLS - -By Willis George Emerson - -Author of “The Treasure of Hidden Valley,” “Buell Hampton,” “The -Builders,” etc. - -Illustrated by A. Hutchins - -Boston: The Chappie Publishing Company, Ltd. - -1917 - - - -TO MY WIFE BONNIE O’NEAL EMERSON - - -Our enchanting years of pleasure, dear, are speeding all too fast, - -As our ever-fleeting joys become blest mem’ries of the past. - -Heaven’s blessings, glad and golden, strew with bliss the paths of life - -When a sweetheart, fond and cheery, - -Has her “hubby” for her dearie, - -And her “hubby” has a sweetheart for his wife. - -—The Author. - -January 18, 1917. - - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAPTER I—Guadalupe - -CHAPTER II—Charmed Lives - -CHAPTER III—Feminine Attractions - -CHAPTER IV—Back to the Soil - -CHAPTER V—At La Siesta - -CHAPTER VI—The Quarrel - -CHAPTER VII—Old Bandit Days - -CHAPTER VIII—A Letter from San Quentin - -CHAPTER IX—Tia Teresa - -CHAPTER X—The Home of the Recluse - -CHAPTER XI—A Rejected Suitor - -CHAPTER XII—The Sped Bullet - -CHAPTER XIII—Accused - -CHAPTER XIV—Entanglements - -CHAPTER XV—Behind the Bars - -CHAPTER XVI—Pierre Luzon Returns - -CHAPTER XVII—The Bitter Bit - -CHAPTER XVIII—Elusive Riches - -CHAPTER XIX—The Jail Delivery - -CHAPTER XX—In the Cavern - -CHAPTER XXI—A Debt of Honor - -CHAPTER XXII—Underqround Wonders - -CHAPTER XXIII—The Unexpected Visitor - -CHAPTER XXIV—In a Tight Corner - -CHAPTER XXV—Love and Revenge - -CHAPTER XXVI—A Date is Fixed - -CHAPTER XXVII—Among the Old Oaks - -CHAPTER XXVIII—The Prize Winner - -CHAPTER XXIX—-The Rendezvous - -CHAPTER XXX—Don Manuel Appears - -CHAPTER XXXI—Shadows of the Past - -CHAPTER XXXII—Forebodings - -CHAPTER XXXIII—Old Friends - -CHAPTER XXXIV—Heart Searchings - -CHAPTER XXXV—At Comanche Point - -CHAPTER XXXVI—-Outwitted - -CHAPTER XXXVII—The Dawn of Comprehension - -CHAPTER XXXVIII—Exit Leach Sharkey - -CHAPTER XXXIX—The Fight on the Cliff - -CHAPTER XL—Revelation - -CHAPTER XLI—Beneath the Precipice - -CHAPTER XLII—Wedding Bells - - - - -CHAPTER I—Guadalupe - -IT was a June morning in mid-California. The sun was just rising over -the rim of the horizon, dissipating the purple haze of dawn and bathing -in golden sunshine a great valley spread out like a parchment scroll. It -was a rural scene of magnificent grandeur—encircling mountains, rolling -foothills, and then the vast expanse of plain dotted here and there with -clumps of trees and clothed with luxuriant grasses. - -Thousands of cattle were bestirring themselves from their slumbers—some -sniffing the air and bellowing lowly, others paving the earth in an -indifferent way, and all moving slowly toward one or other of the -mountain streams that wound serpent-like through the valley, as if they -deemed it proper to begin the day with a morning libation. - -To the south, commanding a narrow pass that pierced the Tehachapi -mountain range, stood old Fort Tejon, dismantled now and partly in -ruins, picturesque if no longer formidable—a romantic relic of old -frontier fighting days. In the foreground of the crumbling adobe walls, -sheltered under giant oaks, was a trading store and postoffice combined. - -Within this building half a dozen men were in earnest conversation, -swapping yarns even at that early hour. Perhaps they, too, like the -cattle, had felt the call for their “morning’s morning.” - -A young army officer, Lieutenant Chester Munson, was telling of a rough -experience he had had a few days before with a mountain lion in one of -the near-by rugged canyons. - -The story was interrupted by a sound of galloping hoofs. - -“Here’s Dick Willoughby,” someone announced. - -The rider brought his mustang to a panting stop, threw the bridle rein -over its head, and, leaping lightly from his saddle, entered the store. - -Dick Willoughby was a tall, athletic, square-jawed, grey-eyed young -fellow who looked determinedly purposeful. He was originally an -architect from New York City, but during the last five years had become -an adopted son of the West—had made the sacrifice, or rather gone -through the improving metamorphosis, of assimilation. - -“Good morning, Ches, old boy,” he shouted to the lieutenant. - -The latter returned the salutation with a friendly nod. - -“The camp was lonely without you last night, Dick,” he said. “Who is the -fair senorita that keeps you away?” - -“That’s all right,” replied Willoughby, smiling. “I will tell you -later.” Then after a genial allround greeting for the others present, he -eagerly exclaimed: “Boys, she is coming.” - -“What! Guadalupe?” shouted everyone in chorus of surprise. - -“Yes, Guadalupe is headed this way. I spied her on the mountain trail -an hour ago, and thanks to my field glasses, was able to determine the -moving speck was none other than the old squaw herself. She is just -beyond yon clump of trees and will be here shortly.” - -“I am wonderin’ if she’s got her apron filled again with them there gold -nuggets,” remarked Tom Baker inquiringly, while a smile flitted over -his grey-bearded countenance. “That squaw is a regular free-gold placer -proposition.” - -“She would have been held up before now in the old days, eh, sheriff?” -laughed one of the cowboys. Tom Baker had been sheriff for a long term -of years in early times, and, although no longer in office, the title -had still clung to him. - -“By gad!” exclaimed Jack Rover, another cowboy, and a gentlemanly young -fellow in manner and appearance. “She’s not going to get back to her -hiding-place this time, nor to that will-o’-the-wisp placer gold mine of -hers unless she shows me.” - -“That will do for you,” said Dick Willoughby with an admonishing look. -“Don’t you forget that Guadalupe, although an old Indian squaw, is also -a human being. There is going to be no violence if I can prevent it.” - -“Well,” laughed Jack, pushing his hat back as if to acknowledge that he -had been checkmated, “you’re my boss on the cattle ranch, and I’ll have -to take your tip, I guess.” - -“I say, Dick,” asked the other cowboy, “did you see anything of the -white wolf?” - -“Do you mean the real wolf?” interjected Jack Rover, “or the bandit, Don -Manuel?” - -Willoughby was looking along the road and took no notice. - -“I guess both are real,” mused Tom Baker, grimly smiling, and a general -laugh followed. - -“Well, I for one will subscribe to that,” exclaimed Buck Ashley, -storekeeper, postmaster, bartender, and all-round generalissimo of the -trading establishment. “If Don Manuel is not a wolf in human form, and -a bigger outlaw than Joaquin Murietta ever thought of being, why you may -take my head for a football.” - -“But he’s dead, ain’t he?” asked the cowboy who had introduced the -subject of the white wolf. - -“Just one thing that I want to emphasize good and plenty to you -fellers,” said Tom Baker, “and that is—” - -“Here she comes!” interrupted Dick Willoughby. - -A hush fell over the group as the bent, aged figure of an Indian woman -was seen approaching the store. Her features were hidden by a shawl that -closely muffled her head and shoulders. - -Buck Ashley saluted Guadalupe with a “How?” The squaw answered with the -same abrupt salutation, shuffled up to the counter and said brokenly, -“Coffee—sugar—tea—rice.” With her left hand she had gathered up the -lower portion of her calico apron and held it pouch fashion. She thrust -her right hand into the pocket so formed, and bringing forth a handful -of gold nuggets, laid them on the counter. Some were the size of peas, -and others as large as hulled hickory nuts. Not a word was spoken by the -onlookers, who were wild-eyed in their astonishment. Soon interest rose -to high tension. - -Buck Ashley tied up a large package of sugar and pushed it toward the -bent form of his customer; then resting his hand on the counter, he -looked fixedly at the squaw and said, “More gold.” - -Again she thrust her hand into the apron pocket and brought out another -handful of nuggets, whereupon Ashley proceeded to tie up a large -package of coffee. This done, he repeated the request for more gold. -Old Guadalupe added another handful of nuggets to those already on the -counter, and Ashley tied up a package of rice. - -The squaw looked up at the storekeeper for a moment and then said, -“Tea.” - -Buck Ashley’s laconic response was “More gold,” and immediately another -handful of nuggets was brought forth, whereupon a fourth package was -deposited on the counter. - -Old Guadalupe stowed the parcels in her apron on top of any remaining -gold nuggets she might have brought. Then she turned and walked -limpingly away, through the low brushwood toward a little grove of -gnarled and twisted sycamores close to the ruined fort. - -When she had gone Buck Ashley observed, “No use following her—not a -damn bit of use in the world! She’ll make camp out there under the trees -until some time tonight, and then vanish like a shadow into the dark.” - -While speaking, Ashley had been gathering up the gold. - -“I say, Buck,” observed Dick Willoughby, winking at his friend -Lieutenant Munson, “it is my private opinion that that bandit, the White -Wolf, has nothing on you.” - -Tom Baker laughingly chimed in: “If I am any judge, and I allow as how -I am, Buck here would make that pound-of-flesh Shylock feller look like -thirty cents Mex.” - -Ashley smiled greedily, but in a satisfied way, as he said with -unruffled calm: “Guess I’d better weigh them nuggets and see how much -the old squaw’s groceries cost her.” - -“The treacherous Indian and the honest paleface,” laughed Dick -Willoughby in a half-rebuking tone. - -Buck Ashley bridled up. His voice rang with deep feeling. - -“Boys,” he said, “you think I’m a Shylock, a robber, a devil I expect, -and everything that’s bad. I don’t talk much about myself, but just -so you’ll not think too blamed hard of me, I’ll ask you a question. -Supposen when you was only about fifteen years old, you stood by, tied -hand and foot, and saw a lot of redskins scalp and kill your father and -mother and two little sisters, and then rob your dead father of over -ten thousand dollars in gold, run off the family stock, and take you to -their camp to burn at the stake as a sort of incidental diversion at one -of their pow-wow dances; and supposen you performed a miracle and got -away and took an oath to kill and rob every derned Indian you might see -throughout the remaining days of your life—what, then, if I reformed and -gave up the kilin’ and stuck to robbin’, would you blame me?” - -During this tragic recital of his wrongs the old storekeeper had become -noticeably excited. - -Dick Willoughby got up from the cracker-box where he had been resting, -and advancing with hand extended, said: “Buck, what you have told us -presents the whole matter in a new light. Shake!” - -“Thanks,” replied the storekeeper as he turned away to wipe a mist from -his eyes. - -Then quickly facing about, he called out in his usual gruff, hale and -hearty manner: “Say, boys, what’ll you all have? This round is on the -house.” They drank in silence. A fragment of Buck Ashley’s history had -cleared away a good deal of previous misunderstanding. - - - - -CHAPTER II—Charmed Lives - -THE spell of restraint that resulted from Buck Ashley’s story was at -last broken by the cowboy, Jack Rover. - -“Look here, Dick,” he exclaimed, “I’ll give a month’s salary if you will -let me take a chance and follow old Guadalupe. I’ve simply got to find -out and locate that sand-bar in some mountain stream from which she -brings in all this gold. This is the third time I’ve seen our friend -Buck Ashley collect a grocery bill from the old squaw, and the whole -business, gold nuggets and all, is getting on my nerves. Why, I dreamed -about it for a week last time I saw her forking out whole handfuls of -gold.” - -“Very well,” replied Willoughby, “if you want to take the chance, Jack, -go ahead. But it is a mad project which will end in my expressing your -remains back East or else planting you in the cemetery on the hill. It’s -up to you to make your choice before you tackle the job. You certainly -know what happened to four or five others who attempted to follow the -old squaw. Each mother’s son of them was buried the next day.” - -“Oh, that’s ancient history,” Jack retorted. - -“Not such very ancient hist’ry,” remarked Tom Baker. “I myself saw young -Bill McNab drilled through the heart with a bullet that seemed to come -from nowhere. After that I’ll allow I wasn’t filled up with too much -curiosity as to where Guadalupe hiked over the mountains.” - -“There was a regular sharp-shootin’ outfit,” concurred Buck Ashley. - -“And there wasn’t a sheriff in the country would have led a posse into -that damned ambush,” Tom went on. “There wasn’t a sportin’ chance along -that narrow ledge round which Guadalupe always disappeared. And with all -them outlaws in the mountains!” - -“But the outlaws have been wiped out years ago,” persisted Jack Rover. - -“Mebbe,” said Tom Baker, sententiously. - -“You forget the White Wolf,” added Buck Ashley. - -“Which white wolf?” asked Jack. “I put that question before but got no -answer.” - -“Both,” replied Tom. “To begin with I don’t believe that Don Manuel is -dead at all. That was only a newspaper story. You may take it from me -that the bandit won’t pass in his checks till he gets old Ben Thurston. -I’m allowin’ as how Ben Thurston would quick enough give a thousand head -of his fattest beeves just to rest easy in his mind on that score. He’ll -find out, sure enough, some day.” - -“Yes, when the White Wolf finds him,” interjected the storekeeper with a -terse emphasis. - -“What’s that old feud anyway?” queried Lieutenant Munson. “Tell me, -Tom.” - -“Oh, it is an old story,” the sheriff answered. “I thought everybody -knew about it, but of course you’re a newcomer. Well, you see,” -he continued, clearing his throat and expectorating a copious and -accurately aimed pit-tew of tobacco juice toward a knot-hole in the -floor, “the White Wolf’s father, Don Antonio de Valencia, a reg’lar -high-toned grandee from Spain, had settled in these here parts away -back longer than anyone could remember. He claimed this whole stretch of -country from horizon to horizon. Then came the Americans, among them -a government surveyor named Thurston. He had a pull at Washington and -managed to get a legal grant to the San Antonio property. Of course the -old Spaniard had no real title—his was just a sort of squatter’s claim. -But they do say as how he had lived in this here valley more than half a -century, so it was mighty hard luck to lose the land. And the boy Manuel -never would admit the Thurstons had any right to call it theirs.” - -“Don Manuel had a younger sister,” interposed Buck Ashley. “Rosetta, -a beautiful girl—looked like a morning-glory. Gad! but she sure had a -purty face. You remember, Tom, don’t you?” - -“Oh, yes,” replied Tom Baker, “it’s not likely I should forget the poor -girl. It was ‘cause of her the quarrel became a bitter blood feud—the -Vendetta of the Hills, as we got to calling it. You see,” he went on, -resuming the thread of his story, “old man Thurston’s son, Ben, the -present owner of the rancho, was in his younger days a gay Lothario -scamp, and he came from the East to his new home in California loaded -down with a college education and a mighty intimate knowledge of -the ways of the world that decent folks don’t talk about, much less -practice. He had not been here a month until he commenced makin’ love -to little Senorita Rosetta. Before the second sheep-shearin’ time came -around, she was—well, in a delicate condition. To save himself and, -as he thought, cover up the disgrace—you see he was engaged to a rich -Eastern girl of prominent family—why, the young scoundrel conceived the -hellish plot of lurin’ little Rosetta to Comanche Point one dark night. -And when he got her there he threw her over the cliff—at least that’s -the way the story goes. Guess Don Manuel was about twenty-five years old -at that time, and Ben Thurston two or three years his junior. Well, -the disgrace killed Rosetta’s father and mother. They died of grief -and shame soon after the affair, almost on the same day, and Don Manuel -buried them together in the old churchyard on the hill by the side of -his murdered sister. And it was there and then, they say, that he took -an oath to kill Ben Thurston. That was mor’n thirty years ago and the -feud has been on ever since, and all us old-timers know hell will be -poppin’ ‘round here one of these days.” - -“But nobody ever sees the White Wolf, Don Manuel,” added Buck Ashley. -“That’s the ex-tr’ornery part of it.” - -“Oh, you yourself are likely to see him one of these dark nights, Buck,” -laughed Jack Rover, as he winked at the other boys. “A storekeeper -that’ll work night and day stacking up money year in and year out is -liable to have a call sooner or later from the bandit and his friends.” - -“Oh, hell!” was the laconic response of Buck Ashley. “Guess I sure can -take care of myself.” - -“But Don Manuel may not be alive,” suggested the young lieutenant. - -“He’s alive right enough, make no mistake,” said Tom Baker, “although -I’ll allow I don’t know a single soul who has actually seen him -personally for more’n twenty years. He is a kind o’ shadowy cuss. -Everybody knows him by his old-time deeds of high-way robbin’ and -all-round murderin’ for golden loot. I heard of a feller last year who -claims to have seen the White Wolf when he was makin’ that last big -stage delivery over by Tulare Lake. He was masked, and had all the -passengers out on the roadside with their hands thrown up over their -heads while he was takin’ their valuables away from them.” - -“It’s a dead cinch,” Buck Ashley observed, “that whenever there was a -hold-up or a robbery, or a murder in cold blood for money, why everybody -knew that the White Wolf was again in the hills and playin’ his -cut-throat game for pelf and plunder, or mebbe just for revenge against -the gringos, whom he hated like hell. Sometimes he was not heard of -in these parts for two or three years, and then he showed up more -blood-thirsty than ever. His hand was agin every man, and it looked like -as every man’s hand was agin him.” - -“I’ve been told,” said Dick Willoughby, “that when the White Wolf was a -boy he saved the life of the old highwayman, Joaquin Murietta.” - -“Yes, them are facts,” replied Tom Baker. “Leastways I’ve heard say so. -They claim that he saved Murietta’s life from a posse of deputies one -night, and altho’ the White Wolf was only a boy at that time, yet a heap -of people think he’s the only livin’ soul who knows the whereabouts and -location of the secret cavern where Joaquin Murietta planted his loot, -amountin’, they say, to millions of dollars in gold and jewels and -valuables of all kinds. The retreat always proved a safe one for the -murderin’ gang, and now they’re gone no one even to this day can find -the place. It’s somewhere on San Antonio Rancho, but where? The White -Wolf kept his secret well.” - -“If old Pierre Luzon ever gets out of San Quentin,” remarked the -storekeeper, “I guess he could tell, but he’s up for life. He was nabbed -in that same Tulare Lake affair ‘bout which Tom had been talkin’.” - -“Yes,” said the sheriff, “two others were shot dead before they got back -to the mountains. The White Wolf and Pierre were ridin’ alone when the -Frenchie’s horse stumbled. They picked him up insensible, a broken leg -and concussion of the brain, and he was the only one of the gang who -ever went to jail.” - -“God ‘lmighty,” exclaimed Buck, “old Pierre used to sit around in this -here store day after day, smokin’ an old foreign-lookin’ pipe, and -hardly speakin’ a word. He used to pretend he knew no English. We never -once suspected that he was one of Don Manuel’s bunch—always thought -of him as an old sheepherder, a bit off his nut, who had saved a few -dollars and was takin’ things easy. And hell, all the time he was the -White Wolf’s look-out man, makin’ note of everything and passin’ the -word o’ warnin’ when there was talk of the sheriff gettin’ busy.” - -“I’ll allow Pierre Luzon fooled me proper,” concurred Tom Baker. -“However, he got what was cornin’ to him all right, a life sentence, -though he ought to have been hanged. Well, perhaps it is only the White -Wolf and Pierre Luzon who now know the cave where Joaquin Murietta -cached his treasure.” - -“And Guadalupe perhaps as well,” remarked Buck Ashley. - -“Yes, perhaps Guadalupe also,” assented the sheriff. “But the White Wolf -keeps guard over her.” - -“That’s the real White Wolf this time,” laughed - -Dick Willoughby, with a nod toward the young lieutenant, who had been -listening intently to the tale of weird romance. - -“The real White Wolf?” replied Munson, enquiringly. “You’ve got me all -tangled up. What do you mean?” - -“Don’t you know how Don Manuel came by his name of the White Wolf?” -asked the sheriff. - -“No, all this folk lore is new to me.” - -“Why, gosh all hemlock! He is named because of a darn big white wolf -that has been seen at different times in this here country for a hundred -years.” - -“Wolves don’t live so long,” protested the lieutenant incredulously. - -“Well, this one does,” retorted Tom, curtly. “Leastwise he’s been seen -from time to time since ever I can remember. In the old days they named -the White Wolf Rancho after this monster animal. It has a charmed life. -No one can kill this big fellow, altho’ lots of shots have been fired -at him. And the same was true of Don Manuel de Valencia. He escaped so -often that folks believed his life a charmed one. And so they called him -the White Wolf.” - -“I saw the white wolf once myself,” said Buck Ashley, “the real white -wolf that even now, as Tom says, guards old Guadalupe and makes it best -for young fellows like you, Jack Rover, to leave the squaw alone when -she makes back for her hidin’ place in the mountains. I’ll never forget -that morning, although it’s more or less twenty years ago. The great -shaggy brute was following Guadalupe along the trail like a Newfoundland -dog. In those days I was out on the hills roundin’ up some mavericks. -One of the calves broke from the herd and scampered along a trail that -led directly in front of the old squaw. And say, boys, would you believe -it? From less than half a mile away I saw with my own eyes that monster -devil of a white wolf—white as the driven snow—make one terrific mad -leap and grab that yearlin’ by the neck. Guadalupe spotted me and -disappeared, and the white wolf trotted after her round the bend, -carryin’ the dead calf in its jaws as a cat carries a mouse.” - -“Did you not shoot at the wolf?” excitedly asked Lieutenant Munson. - -“Shoot, hell! What would have been the use? Didn’t you hear what Tom -Baker said? White wolves have charmed lives whether they go on two legs -or four.” - - - - -CHAPTER III—Feminine Attractions - -TOM BAKER, the sheriff, cleared his throat. “You fellers, I’m assoomin’, -are all boys. I have been loafin’ ‘round in this man’s land for forty -years. I was here the day Don Manuel had been buryin’ his old father -and mother from the little Mission Church, less than a quarter of a mile -from where we are settin’. He was standin’ right in front of this store -when young Ben Thurston and two of his ranch hands rode up. If ever I -saw real bravery it was that mornin’. Don’t take much bravery to do some -things heroic when you have your artillery handy, but it requires the -real stuff when you’re gunless. - -“Young Thurston spoke to his companions and they drew their guns and -kept them leveled at Don Manuel as their boss dismounted. - -“Don Manuel was one of the handsomest young fellers I ever laid my two -eyes on. He walked straight up to Thurston, and notwithstandin’ the two -loaded pieces of artillery was pintin’ straight at him said: - -“‘Ben Thurston, you are the man who killed my sister.’ - -“‘You are a damned liar!’ retorted Thurston. - -“‘Yes, you killed her,’ went on Don Manuel. I found this button in her -dead hand, and right there, by God! is where it came from. Look at your -coat. Your life shall pay for this dastardly murder. If I had my gun -I would settle the matter now, notwithstandin’ that today I have been -burying my beloved father and mother.’ - -“When young Thurston heard about there bein’ no gun, he snatched the -tell-tale button from his accuser’s hand, swung himself into his saddle, -laughed mockingly, and with his quirt struck Don Manuel across the face; -then he wheeled round his pony and rode away with his bodyguards in a -cloud of dust. - -“God! I will never forget it. Don Manuel stood there, as white as a -piece of paper, and never moved for a whole minute. The quirt had drawn -the blood from his face in one long streak. At last he turned away with -a resolve in his eyes—one of them there terrible resolves that change -the life of a man, and went back to the little church to finish the -last sad rites to his people. It’s my opinion Don Manuel, from that very -hour, turned bandit in his heart and took oath to murder all the gringos -in California. - -“As I said before, that was thirty years back, and mebbe a little -more, and I have never seen him since. But we all heard of him good and -plenty. He certainly left a red trail.” - -A silence followed. Presently Buck Ashley in the way of explanation, -said: - -“That tombstone on his sister’s grave was put up one night. Nobody saw -it done, but everyone knows, of course, it was the work of Don Manuel. -It has just one word—’Hermana’—chiseled on the cross of white marble. -That’s the Mexican for ‘sister,’ guess you all know. So the name Rosetta -is only remembered by old-stagers here, like Tom Baker and me. And we -ain’t forgotten her pretty face either. Poor little girl!” - -“A doggoned shame,” muttered the sheriff, meditatively, his eyes cast -down. - -“How about the law?” asked Lieutenant Munson. “The law!” exclaimed -Baker, raising his eyes and flashing a look of withering contempt. -“What kind o’ law was there in those days and in these parts? A gun -was usually both judge and jury. Besides, with the only bit of evidence -gone, how could Don Manuel prove anything agin a rich young feller like -Ben Thurston?” - -“But if he was laying for him all the time, how is it that the White -Wolf never got his man all through those thirty years?” - -“Because Ben Thurston lit out—he was too demed scared to live on the -rancho any longer. But that’s another story.” - -“Let’s have it, sheriff.” - -“Well, it’s a longish yarn, and p’raps you fellers are about tired of -hearing me.” - -No one protested; there was rather a movement of settling down in -pleased expectancy of something worth listening to. So Tom Baker -continued: - -“Ben Thurston had one warnin’, good and plenty, and he didn’t wait -around for a second one. After Don Manuel’s threat, he seldom left his -home, and a little later went back East again. It wasn’t till more’n a -year that he showed up agin at the rancho. This time he brought with him -his Eastern bride, a fine slap-dash young woman who could ride a horse -and handle a team in good shape. But we could all see that she wasn’t -too happy, for Ben Thurston started in to drink heavily, and she was -ashamed of him and showed it.” - -“Guess it was to drown his conscience and keep from thinkin’ about -Rosetta,” interjected Buck Ashley. - -“Like as not,” assented Tom. “Well, anyhow, he hadn’t been here very -long afore Don Manuel got him—yes, got him fair and square, although he -managed to save his neck at the last moment. There was card-playin’ and -drinkin’ one night at the rancho—Thurston had got a bunch o’ gay young -dogs down from San Francisco. Mrs. Thurston had left the room, and was -sittin’ out alone in the moonlight on the verandah. Suddenly she heard -a sound that made her sit up and listen—the clatter o’ twenty pairs -o’ gallopin’ hoofs a-comin’ straight for the house. She must ha’ known -something about the vendetta, for she rushed in terror to her husband -and gave him warnin’. He escaped by a back door, and a minute later the -place was surrounded. The shootin’ came first from some of the ranch -hands, who had tumbled out of the bunk house and were spyin’ around -corners. They said later that the hold-up party numbered more’n twenty, -some of them masked with handkerchiefs tied around their faces, but -others bold as brass and not carin’ a dang who saw ‘em. Among these last -was Don Manuel. But Pierre Luzon was a downy duck, for no one spotted -him, although later on we came to know that he played the principal part -that night, next to the leader of the gang. - -“Well, after the shootin’-scrap became general, there was a pretty scare -in the ranch house—one of the card-players dropped, and the others -were hiding under tables, when Don Manuel appeared and asked for Ben -Thurston. His wife, mighty brave, denied that he was there—he had left -that afternoon for Visalia to buy some cattle, she boldly declared. Don -Manuel, always the true gentleman, mark ye, was for believin’ her when -Pierre, his face masked, came in from the verandah and in a low voice -passed some words to his chief. Mrs. Thurston knew in a moment that her -bluff was goin’ to be called, and, while the outlaws were confabbin’, -darted from the room. - -“But Pierre was just as quick out by the verandah, and before she got to -the door o’ the woolshed beyond the horse corral, he was there to block -her passage. It was Pierre who had caught a glimpse of the fugitive -sneakin’ into this outbuilding, and now he knew for certain that -Thurston was hiding among the bags o’ wool inside. But a cornered man is -a dangerous animal, and it might mean a good few lives if the door was -opened and any attempt made to rush the place. - -“The gang was soon buzzin’ all around; the woman, now almost in -hysterics, was hustled aside, and a few bundles of loose hay was being -dumped into the shed through an open window. A match did the rest. -Within three minutes the door opened and Thurston came staggerin’ out -through thick clouds of smoke. Pierre grabbed him and had a noose around -his neck in doublequick time. - -“The shootin’ was over before this, and some of the ranch hands were -lookin’ on from a little distance, for now everyone knew that it was -only the boss that the night-riders were after. So more’n one was able -afterwards to tell the story—how the young wife threw herself at Don -Manuel’s feet, and with sobs and tears pleaded for mercy. And by the -living God she won out even after the rope, with her husband at the end -of it, had been swung over the limb of a near-by sycamore. - -“The White Wolf stood stock-still for perhaps a minute, weighin’ things -like, his arms folded across his breast. Then he raised the weepin’ -woman, and, turnin’ to Thurston, now half-dead with fear, laid hold of -him by the shoulder and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Then with -his other hand he flung the noose from around his neck. ‘Take your -miserable life, then, this time’—that’s what Don Manuel said. ‘Take -it, but the day will come when we shall meet again, man to man, with no -woman’s tears to save you.’ And he pushed Thurston away contemptuously, -topplin’ him over like a ninepin, and a minute later rode off at the -head of his men.” - -The narrator paused, and there was a general murmur of repressed -excitement. - -“My word, that’s a peach of a story,” exclaimed Jack Rover. - -“He certainly was a chivalrous fellow, this oldtime Don Manuel,” -remarked the lieutenant. - -“And don’t you see,” said the sheriff, “that, when a man acted like that -and spoke like that, his words must come true? Don’t tell me that Don -Manuel today is dead while Ben Thurston is still alive. But he has taken -mighty good care of himself ever since that day. He an’ his wife skipped -East the very next morning, and I’m told they never stopped till they -got to Europe. Nobody knows where exactly they lived during the time -that followed, but news came through years later that the wife had died, -somewhere in the south of England, leaving a son behind. That’s young -Marshall who has come West with his dad now—the young man’s first visit -and his father’s last one, I reckon, if he sells the ranch, as I’m told -he’s trying to do.” - -“But I say, boys,” observed Jack Rover, “what do you suppose the White -Wolf did with all the gold he took away from the people? It’s said that -in one stage robbery he got over fifty thousand dollars of the yellow -stuff.” - -“Hid it,” replied Buck Ashley, “with Joaquin Murietta’s hoarded gold. -For it’s sure as sure can be that Don Manuel came to know the secret o’ -the bandits’ cave where Murietta used to store his loot. The only thing -anybody else knows is that it is around here somewheres.” - -“But they do say,” observed one of the cowboys, “whatever Sheriff Baker -may think, and you, too, Buck, that Don Manuel is sure ‘nuff dead. Most -folks herabouts believe that the White Wolf has gone to his long restin’ -place, sort a j’ined forces with old Joaquin Murietta. The Tulare Lake -affair was, I guess, his last raid.” - -“He ain’t dead,” muttered Tom, determinedly, while Buck Ashley also -shook his head in repudiation of the cowboy’s theory. - -“Well, I happen to know,” observed Dick Willoughby, “that Mr. Thurston -has run down the story of the White Wolf’s death in that Seattle saloon -brawl pretty thoroughly, and he is of the opinion that the big-featured -articles in the San Francisco and Los Angeles papers were correct—that -the dead man’s identity was absolutely established.” - -“That’s how he’d wish it to be, at all events,” said Buck Ashley. “But -even now, when Ben Thurston ventures to come home to the rancho, he -brings with him a great big hulking bodyguard—Leach Sharkey, I’m told is -the fellow’s name. That don’t look much like believin’ the White Wolf -to be dead and the vendetta played out, does it? You can see it in his -hang-dog face that it isn’t any real pleasure for him to be around in -these parts. He ain’t once paid me a visit at the store. Guess he thinks -his hide’ll last longer by stickin’ close to home. You owe your job o’ -runnin’ his cattle, Dick Willoughby, to the fact that he’s still plumb -scared.” - -“Oh, well, I am in his employ,” said Dick loyally, “and I’m inclined to -give him the benefit of the doubt as regards these ugly rumors and idle -stories. He has always been on the square with me. But perhaps he’ll -stick to the rancho, now he believes the White Wolf to be dead.” - -“He may believe it, but, as Buck says, why then the bodyguard?” -commented the sheriff as he relighted his pipe. - -“Yes.” replied Dick Willoughby, “but I believe he is thinking of letting -Leach Sharkey go. Personally I would be willing to wager that Don -Manuel, whom no one has seen since that last raid on the stage coach, is -dead and sleeping with his sires.” - -“Well, dead or alive,” exclaimed Jack Rover, “I don’t care a hang for -the White Wolf and his-buried treasure. But what I would like to know -is the exact location of that rippling mountain stream, the identical -sandbar where the old squaw Guadalupe gathers up her pocket change with -which to buy groceries. That would be a heap better than any blooming -cave. Them’s my sentiments.” - -As he said this he threw some silver on the bar and invited everybody to -lubricate. - -“Just nominate your poison, boys, and let’s drink to my finding old -Guadalupe’s gold mine.” - -They all laughed good-naturedly, and Lieutenant Munson declared that he -thought he would put in the balance of his furlough days prospecting. -“You know,” he explained in an aside to the storekeeper while the latter -was preparing the drinks, “I am only here to visit my old college pal, -Dick Willoughby, and incidentally see the place where my father was a -soldier in the early California days. He was stationed several years in -Fort Tejon.” - -“That was before my time,” said Buck Ashley. - -“The soldiers had abandoned the old fort when I came first into these -parts.” - -Meanwhile Dick Willoughby was clinking glasses with Jack Hover. - -“There are some mighty pretty little senoritas hereabouts,” said Dick, -“good American blood mixed with Spanish blood, you know, and all that. -If a fellow could only find the right one—understand, I say the right -one, Jack—he wouldn’t be losing any time in chasing after the old -squaw’s secret gold mine or the White Wolf’s buried millions.” - -Jack Rover laughed outright. - -“I say, Dick, what are you reddening up about? Gee, if I had as fine a -lead as you have staked out, I’d feel the same way. Ain’t that right, -Buck?” Buck Ashley winked at Jack Rover and said: “If you mean who I -think you mean, you sure are righter than right. I speak wide open and -unrestrained when I give it as my opinion that Miss Merle Farnsworth is -the finest specimen of young womanhood that I ever set eyes on, and I -have seen some girls East as well as West. Take it from me, she is a -jewel, she is a regular beauty rose. Yes,” he went on, “and too damned -good for that young Thurston whelp, who hangs around tryin’ to act smart -whenever she and that old duenna chaperon of hers comes here to trade. -I’ll simply boot him out of the store one of these days.” - -Dick Willoughby smiled in a satisfied way as he moved toward the door. - -“Well, hold on, Dick,” called out Jack Rover, “don’t be in such a -dangnation hurry. I’ll ride with you in a minute. I’ve just got this -to say to you, Buck Ashley, that I like you better than ever for what -you’ve said about Marshall Thurston. Even though I’m working for the -Thurston outfit, I’m free to express my opinion that that young feller -is about the meanest specimen of low-down humanity I’ve ever struck.” - -“It’s a case of the second decadency, I suppose,” remarked Munson. “The -worthless profligate, spawn of the rich old roué, Ben Thurston.” - -“Such a drunken pup,” continued Rover, “aint’ good enough for a -half-breed Indian, much less for the likes of the young ladies of La -Siesta. Gee, if I thought there was one chance in a thousand for me with -either of them, why goodbye to that placer gold mine ambition that’s -eating my vitals, or to the planted millions of the White Wolf.” - -As he spoke the last words, he followed Dick Willoughby into the open. -Dick was standing by his pony. - -“You’re superlatively in earnest, aren’t you?” he said as he laughed -good-naturedly at the cowboy. - -“You bet your life I’m in earnest,” replied Jack. “And if you don’t -get busy with that love affair of yours, well, take it from me, you had -better look out, for somebody will be picking the peach right from under -your very nose. Well, so long, Dick; I’ve changed my mind; I’ll not ride -with you. I’ll see to that bit of fence repairing up on the range. And -who knows but I may find a sand-bar and a riffle sparkling with yellow -gold?” He laughed like a big overgrown boy as he touched the rowel to -his pony and galloped away across the valley. - - - - -CHAPTER IV—Back to the Soil - -JACK ROVER is a great boy,” said Dick Willoughby to Lieutenant Munson as -the two rode off at a leisurely pace toward the group of ranch buildings -peeping through a clump of trees at the edge of the foothills. - -“A type of Western character,” replied Munson, “that in a way is quite -new to me. And yet, do you know, I rather like this Western atmosphere.” - -“Like it!” exclaimed Dick. “Why, man, it is the atmosphere in which to -live, move and have one’s being.” - -They both laughed at his enthusiasm. - -“Really,” continued Dick, soberly, “I would not live another year in New -York City for all the property fronting on the Circle, the coming centre -of old Gotham. Out here a man is a man for what he is worth. You grow -bigger, you think broader thoughts, you are not confined to following -precedents or taking orders from the man higher up.” - -“Oh, I know,” replied Munson, “or at least I am beginning to understand -something of what you mean. I have only been here ten days and I am -already feeling loath to return to my post.” - -“Ches,” exclaimed Dick, turning abruptly and facing his companion, -“give it all up, old fellow, and come and live in this glorious -country—California! There’s music in the very name. It is the land of -sunshine, of fruits and flowers, and of pretty girls into the bargain.” - -“You keep telling me of the pretty girls, but when am I to see them?” -questioned Munson. “If you have any real senoritas who will cause a -fellow to forsake his Eastern home and send in his resignation to army -headquarters, let me get a peep at them.” - -Again they both laughed, this time at the challenge in Munson’s words. - -“All right,” said Dick, “you shall see them. And, by the way, don’t -you remember that this is the very day we have arranged to call on Mrs. -Darlington at the Rancho La Siesta? It is a beautiful place, this little -rancho, and Mrs. Darlington you will find to be a most admirable woman. -But just wait until you see Grace Darlington.” - -“How about Miss Farnsworth?” - -“Not for you, old man,” replied the other quickly, reddening at the -temples. “Not as long as my name is Dick Willoughby—providing, you -understand, always providing that I shall prove successful in my -wooing.” - -“Is it as bad as that, Dick?” - -“Well,”—his laughing tone was only a mask to deeper feelings—“I cannot -deny that I am pretty hard hit.” - -“My, but you do whet my impatience,” said the lieutenant. “And I am -about as anxious to be paying that afternoon call as I am to have my -breakfast. I don’t know how you feel, Dick, but I’m as hungry as a lean -coyote.” He paused a moment, then asked in a musing tone: “How far away -is this wonderful La Siesta Rancho?” - -“Oh, only about twenty miles.” - -“Twenty miles! You speak of miles out here in the same way as we speak -of city blocks back in New York. Surely it must be quite a farm.” - -“Quite a farm? I should say! You musn’t confound our Californian ranchos -with Eastern farms, old man. Why, this rancho of San Antonio covers over -four hundred square miles of territory.” - -“You astonish me.” - -“La Siesta Rancho adjoins the great San Antonio possession and contains -comparatively few acres, just under three thousand. But it surely is -a beautiful little place, fixed up like a nobleman’s park in the old -world. And then the ladies—” - -“Aha, the ladies,” repeated Munson, doffing his hat in courtly fashion -and smiling audaciously. - -Dick touched the flank of his pony with his spur, and for a few -miles they rode on at a quicker pace and in silence. Soon they were -approaching the ranch buildings. On the outer edge was a little cottage, -covered with vines and surrounded by fruit trees, the place which Dick -Willoughby, the cattle foreman, had called “home” for the past five -years. - -After turning their horses into a corral, they passed by way of a broad -verandah into a big room, roughly but comfortably furnished. Some logs -were smouldering in the fireplace, and quickly started into a bright -blaze when Dick kicked them together. The warmth was grateful, for while -out of doors everything was now bathed in genial sunshine, here the -morning air was still keen. - -A Chinaman appeared from the back quarters, and smiled expectantly. - -“Breakfast, Sing Ling,” called out Dick, “and just as quick as you can -serve it.” - -Sing Ling departed as noiselessly as he had come. - -“These are certainly great quarters,” observed Munson, settling himself -in a big Old Mission rocker and glancing around. - -The walls, curiously enough, were pretty well covered with pen-and-ink -sketches and designs of buildings that might have adorned an architect’s -office, while there was a partly completed landscape painting in oils -standing on a rudely fashioned easel. - -“And you’ve certainly stuck to the old line of work, Dick,” the -lieutenant went on. - -“Of course one must have something to think about when he is all alone -in a new country,” replied Willoughby. “But most of that stuff I did -in my first year here,” he added, following the other’s survey of the -walls. - -“You still paint, however,” remarked Munson, his eyes resting on the -unfinished canvas. - -“Or try to,” was the laughing response. - -“Oh, that’s a modest way of putting it. Do you know, old man,” Munson -went on, “since I came here I have often thought what a marvelous change -has been wrought in you—what a transplanting has taken place? You were -a chronic New Yorker, except for that one year you spent in the Latin -Quarter of gay Paree. You thought then you were going to make a great -painter. And, by gad, I almost believe so myself,” he added, bending -forward to make a more critical scrutiny of the work on the easel. “By -jove, that’s really fine, Dick.” - -“I’m afraid that’s flattery, Chester, my boy,” responded Willoughby. -“However, it sounds good to hear you say so. A word of appreciation -is what all hearts hunger for. Personally I even believe in a moderate -amount of flattery. Its psychic influence is more potent in arousing and -causing the heart to throb with ambition than all the stimulants, drugs -or reasoning in the world. Indeed, without a certain amount of flattery -one becomes ambitionless, languid, and perishes; whereas the unexpected -caress or kindly words of praise from loved ones, just or unjust, adds -more strength to the good right arm of the breadwinner than all the beef -in Christendom, and makes the sunshine seem brighter and earth’s every -breeze a south wind blowing across beds of violets.” - -“A bit of a poet, too, I see,” smiled Munson. - -Willoughby made no reply. He had crossed over to the open door and was -looking out on the valley that stretched away for miles—great oak trees -in the foreground, with cattle-dotted pasture lands beyond. Waving his -hand toward the vast expanse, he said: - -“Just look at that for a picture, and see how tame a man-made gallery is -as compared with this great art gallery of Nature. Do you know, Ches, I -despise New York? There was a time, when I first came here, that I felt -I should die of ennui, yearning for the Great White Way once again. But -I have outgrown all that. I know now, thank God, there’s nothing to it. -Here a man can fill his lungs with pure air, and at the same time feast -his soul all day long with beautiful things.” - -There followed a brief interval of silence. Munson had risen and joined -his comrade at the door. Both were gazing over the glorious sunlit sweep -of territory rimmed by the distant, pine-clad hills. In the heart of -Dick Willoughby was supreme contentment, in that of Chester Munson a -vague longing to get away from red-tape army routine and breathe the -exhilarating and inspiring freedom of life in the open. - -“Blakeflast,” bleated a soft voice behind them, and turning round they -found the suave, smiling Chinaman with hand outstretched toward the -smoking viands upon the table. Sentiment was instantly forgotten in -favor of lamb chops grilled to a turn, a great fluffled omelette with -fine herbs that would have done credit to a Parisian chef, and coffee -that was veritable nectar. - -At last appetite was satisfied. The lieutenant had produced his cigar -case, Dick was filling his briar-root pipe with tobacco from the -humidor. The latter spoke: - -“Say, Ches, we were talking about New York. Do you want me to give you a -toast on that modern Babylon?” - -“Sure, old man, go ahead! You know I haven’t lost my interest in old -Gotham, by any manner of means. It may the a modern Babylon. But to me -it is none the less the greatest of American cities.” - -“That’s just the trouble,” said Dick, seriously. “It is too great. There -identities are swallowed up. Individualism cannot survive. It is all one -great composite.” - -“Well, let us hear the toast.” - -Dick raised his cup of coffee and said: “Very well, here it is; here is -my opinion of New York: - - -‘Vulgar in manners; overfed, - -Over-dressed and under-bred; - -Heartless, godless, hell’s delight, - -Rude by day and lewd by night. - -Bedwarfed the man, enlarged the brute; - -Ruled by boss and prostitute. - -Purple robed and pauper clad; - -Raving, rotten, money mad; - -A squirming herd in Mammon’s mesh; - -A wilderness of human flesh; - -Crazed by avarice, lust and rum— - -New York! thy name’s delirium.’.rdquo; - - -“Great Heavens, old man,” exclaimed Munson, when Dick had finished, “you -are severe, to say the least.” - -Willoughby laughed good-naturedly as he passed the match box to his -friend. - -“Not severe, only truthful,” he said. “You see, in New York no man -dares think for himself. Everything is controlled by a machine-appointed -chairman, secretary and committee, and you must hear the resolutions -read before you know the doctrine you are perforce to advocate.” - -Then he lit his pipe and rose from the table. - -“Now, I have a lot of things to attend to, old fellow,” he resumed. -“Make yourself comfortable. Here’s a bunch of Eastern newspapers—oh, I -read them regularly, haven’t got rid of that bad habit yet. I’ll tell -Sing Ling to have lunch ready on the stroke of noon. Then we’ll be in -good time to start out for the Rancho La Siesta. So long!” - - - - -CHAPTER V—At La Siesta - -SOON after one o’clock Dick Willoughby and Chester Munson were again in -the saddle. They galloped along the foothills for some time in silence. -But coming to the boulder-strewn wash of a mountain stream, they had -perforce to rein their horses to a walk. Conversation was now possible. - -“Dick, will you give me a job as a cowboy if I quit the army?” asked -Munson abruptly. - -“Surest thing you know,” replied Dick. “But why try to kid me like -that?” - -“Oh,” laughed the other, “I am not jesting.” - -“Well, by gad, if you feel that way already, the chances are you will -write out your resignation when you get back to the shack tonight.” - -“You mean by that—” - -“I mean,” said Dick, smiling benignly at his friend, “that when you have -once seen Grace Darlington you will feel like browsing on the California -range until you have learned to throw a riata.” - -“Oh, it is not the thought of any mere girl that will influence my -decision. I feel like getting back to Nature—back to the soil—back to a -life of untrammeled freedom.” - -“Back to unspoiled womanhood,” added Dick sententiously. - -“Well, you’ve certainly got my curiosity aroused over these young ladies -at La Siesta. How much farther do we have to go?” - -“Within an hour, sir, within the hour, my lord, shall you see the lady -fair. But remember,” Dick went on banteringly, “that you are not to -practise any riata-throwing on Miss Merle Farnsworth.” - -“I understand. But we won’t fall out over her. You may have your -beautiful brunette. I have always been partial to blondes.” - -“In the plural number,” grinned Dick. “But Grace Darlington will dim the -light of all your previous flames. She is the most perfect blonde you -have ever yet encountered.” - -“You are certainly enthusiastic—for a disinterested party.” - -“Well, you’ll say the same thing, Ches, my boy, when you see her.” - -It was not yet four o’clock when they approached the Rancho La Siesta. -The house was of a style quite unusual in California—a miniature castle -that might have been planned by some European architect of renown. It -stood amid noble oak trees, old and gnarled and of gigantic size, but -not too numerous to hide the architectural features of the building. To -the rear the trees grew more thickly till they finally merged into one -great forest that covered the lower ridge of the mountain beyond. Far -up, just within the timber line, could be seen the red-tiled roof of a -house which Dick told his friend was the home of a Mr. Ricardo Robles. -Beneath the forest, the gently undulating lands sloped away to a -considerable stream that dashed down from one of the mountain canyons -and debouched into the great valley. - -“Whew!” exclaimed Munson admiringly, as they rode up and turned their -horses over to an attendant. “Some swell architecture around here! Is -this your work, Dick?” - - - -0055 - -“Oh, no!” replied Willoughby. “I had nothing to do with it. But I do -like the architectural lines of Mrs. Darlington’s home. She’s English -and has English tastes, and transplanted ideas are not always successful -in a new country. But in this case the building just seems to fit the -scenery. It has always delighted me.” - -“It is certainly beautiful,” concurred Munson as they walked along a -winding graveled pathway that climbed the gentle slope and led to the -portico of the mansion. - -Around them were gay beds of flowers dotting the greensward. Almost -hiding the columns of the portico were climbing roses, one bush of the -purest white, the other of deep crimson. - -As they passed under the porch roof, a handsome and well-preserved lady -of middle age appeared at the top of the steps with a welcoming smile. -She descended to give them gracious greeting. - -“How glad I am to see you, Mr. Willoughby. No one could be more welcome -at La Siesta.” - -“Thank you,” said Dick with marked chivalry. - -“Mrs. Darlington, permit me to present my friend, Lieutenant Munson.” - -The introduction over, they ascended the steps together, and passed -into a spacious courtyard, with broad verandahs running all around and a -fountain playing in the centre. The hostess conducted her visitors to -a cosy corner, screened by glass panels from the open air and furnished -with rich Persian rugs, divans, cushions, tapestries, carved ebony -tabarets, all in oriental fashion. When they were comfortably settled, -she opened the conversation. - -“Lieutenant, the young ladies of La Siesta are most impatient to meet -you. Mr. Willoughby has told us so much about you and yet has been so -very dilatory—yes, really you have, Mr. Willoughby—in bringing you over, -that we have put down several black marks against his name.” - -“Oh, thank you,” stammered the young officer, reddening. “I quite agree -with you about Willoughby, for I have been pleading with him to present -me from the very first day of my arrival.” Turning to Mrs. Darlington, -Dick laughingly protested: “My dear Mrs. Darlington, that is the first -whopper you have heard from my esteemed friend. You have yet to learn -that he always speaks in the superlative degree.” - -At this moment Grace Darlington stepped through one of the French -windows. As she stood hesitating for a moment, Chester Munson there -and then agreed with all the preliminary praise Dick Willoughby had -bestowed. She was certainly a vision of loveliness, with a wealth of -golden hair and eyes of sapphire blue; petite, her figure plump but -beautifully molded, her cheeks aglow with the red roses of health and -youth and happiness. - -“My daughter Grace,” announced Mrs. Darlington, rising and formally -introducing the lieutenant to her as she joined the group. - -Again Munson blushed and stammered. Dick was chuckling; he saw that -the gallant son of battle, with a penchant for blonde beauties, had -succumbed to the first glance from Grace Darlington’s eyes. - -“Delighted to meet you, Lieutenant Munson,” she declared with frank -friendliness as they shook hands. - -“Where’s Merle?” asked Dick almost before Grace had time to turn to him. - -“There now, Mr. Impatience,” she replied, shaking her finger teasingly -at, him, “Merle will be here in her own good time. She’s busy with Bob -just now.” - -“Who the dickens is Bob?” asked Dick, visibly disconcerted. - -“Oh, her new Irish terrier,” laughed Grace, her voice ringing with -mischievous merriment. “And such a beauty!” - -Dick breathed again. The lieutenant had recovered his composure; it was -his turn now to bestow a sardonic smile upon his comrade. - -“We’ll have afternoon tea,” suggested Mrs. Darlington. “And of course -you two young men will stay for dinner.” - -Both uttered a simultaneous protest—they were only in riding clothes. -But Mrs. Darlington made short work of the argument, and touched a -pushbutton by her side. A maid responded, the extra covers for dinner -were ordered, and meanwhile tea was to be sent on to the verandah. -Pleasant small talk succeeded, the lieutenant being called upon for his -first impressions of California. - -Of a sudden Grace exclaimed in a voice, half of joy, half of surprise: - -“Why, here comes Mr. Robles!” - -Advancing along the verandah, hat in hand, was a man of striking -presence and dignity, perhaps fifty years of age. His jet black hair was -streaked with gray, the full beard almost verging on whiteness. Olive -complexion and brown eyes, together with the courtly manner of his -salutation, indicated the thoroughbred Castilian. - -He bowed and raised to his lips the hand of his hostess. To Grace he -paid the same deference. Next he turned to Dick Willoughby and extended -his hand. - -“I have met Mr. Willoughby. I am pleased, sir, to see you again.” - -Then his eyes rested on Lieutenant Munson, and Mrs. Darlington presented -the young army officer. - -“And where, I pray, is Miss Merle?” Mr. Robles finally asked, glancing -around. - -“That’s what I want to know,” blurted out Dick. Then he reddened just a -little. - -The older man looked kindly at Dick, and smilingly said: “The audacity -of youth.” - -“Yes,” put in Grace, “the audacity and the impatience as well.” - -But just at that moment there floated from the recesses of the home the -fragment of a song: “I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and -serfs at my side.” - -“Ah, here comes the recreant now,” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington. - -The song stopped abruptly, and a moment later Merle Farnsworth appeared. -She went first of all to Mr. Robles and greeted him warmly, giving him -both her hands, which he kissed in his princely fashion. For Willoughby -she had a pleasant smile, and for his friend, the lieutenant, a kindly -welcome to California. - -The tea tray had meanwhile arrived, and soon both the young ladies -were busy attending to their guests. While he sipped his tea, Munson -completed his inspection of Merle Farnsworth—dispassionately, for the -brunette type of beauty had never yet made his pulses beat faster. But -he could none the less admire. She was a stately girl, taller than Grace -Darlington, with fine, regular features and brown eyes that matched the -dark heavy braids of her hair. Her manner was alert and vivacious, yet -there was the quiet dignity of gentle breeding even in her smile. - -After half an hour of general conversation, Mr. Robles arose to take -his leave, notwithstanding Mrs. Darlington’s pressing invitation that he -should remain and join the dinner party. - -“My home is not far away,” he said when shaking hands with Munson, “up -in the woods yonder. Perhaps you may have seen it as you came along the -road.” - -“Yes,” observed Dick, “I pointed it out to the lieutenant.” - -“Well, both you gentlemen are cordially invited to pay me a visit any -time you are riding through this part of the country. Although I live -far away from the busy world, and am a recluse by choice, I have some -things that may interest you—pictures, old manuscripts and books of the -Spanish days.” - -“Pictures?” interposed Dick, inquiringly. - -“Yes, a few that I picked up during several visits to Europe.” - -“If people only knew it,” remarked Mrs. Darlington, “Mr. Robles has -perhaps one of the finest private picture galleries in America.” - -“Then I’m certainly coming to see you,” said Dick, eagerly. - -“Me or my pictures?” asked Mr. Robles with a quizzical smile. - -“Both,” and the young fellow showed he meant it by a cordial hand grip. - -“You will pass our door, Mr. Willoughby?” exclaimed Merle in -half-laughing reproachfulness. “You will dare to give the go-by to La -Siesta?” - -“Well, art is art,” replied Dick sturdily, although he did not trust -himself to look at Merle while he answered. - -“But perhaps the young ladies will show you the way through the oak -forest,” suggested Mr. Robles. - -“That would be great,” said Lieutenant Munson, with his eyes fixed on -Grace Darlington. - -“Delightful,” she blushingly assented. - -“Well, arrange it among yourselves. For the present, adios.” And with a -sweeping bow the senor took his departure. - -A stroll through the gardens and orchards, dinner and sprightly -conversation, an hour of piano-playing and singing to follow—altogether -a delightful evening was spent. The nearly full moon had risen before -the young men found themselves on the homeward trail. - -As side by side they rode down into the valley, Munson said: - -“Dick, boy, there’s no use talking. You have introduced me to some -perfectly charming people today—they’re wonderful.” - -“What did I tell you?” asked Dick. - -“You surely did not tell me the half,” replied the other. “I think Grace -Darlington is the prettiest girl I have ever seen.” - -“Guess you’ll be writing out your resignation and sending it to army -headquarters,” laughed Dick. “Quien sabe?” - -The lieutenant made no reply, and quickening their pace, they pushed on -in silence. - -At last they were nearing home—passing round the last spur of the -mountain. The moon was now riding high overhead, bathing the whole -landscape in bright effulgence. Willoughby brought his pony to a walk, -and Munson, coming up behind, soon joined him. - -“How do you like riding by the light of the California moon?” asked -Willoughby. - -“Really, Dick, you call even the moon a California moon, as if the same -moon didn’t shine in New York City or in Paris.” - -“Not in the same way,” said Dick soberly. “The truth is, the moon really -looks larger and brighter here, and the stars, too, are more brilliant. -Haven’t you noticed it?” - -“I have noticed that the atmosphere is exceedingly clear,” replied -Munson, and, as if to verify his observation, he cast a glance up to the -rock-ribbed flank of the mountain above the belt of timber. - -“Good God, what’s that?” he added breathlessly grasping the arm of his -friend. - -Instinctively both halted their horses as they continued to gaze. - - - -0105 - -The bent form of the old Indian squaw Guadalupe was unmistakable as she -toiled slowly along a narrow ledge on the face of the precipice. But -following close behind her was a vague, shadowy figure—the figure of -some four-footed beast, bigger than a big dog. - -“The white wolf!” gasped Dick. - -“Is it real, or is it a spectre?” whispered Munson. - -Just then a scudding cloud momentarily obscured the moon, and when the -full light again shone forth, both woman and wolf had vanished. - -The young men looked into each other’s eyes in awe and wonderment. - - - - -CHAPTER VI—The Quarrel - -THE following days were busy ones on San Antonio Rancho. Dick Willoughby -was constantly in the saddle, looking after his subordinates, watching -the line fences, and generally keeping track of the vast herds. -Lieutenant Munson was becoming acclimated. He not only accompanied -Willoughby on many of his rides, but had also paid several visits to -La Siesta, and one afternoon in particular had enjoyed immensely a -successful trout fishing expedition with the young ladies along the -mountain stream that flowed through the property. - -One morning there was great excitement at San Antonio headquarters. Ben -Thurston returned from a visit he had been paying to Los Angeles, and -with him floated in a circumstantial story that the rancho had been -really sold. As usual, he was attended by the plain-clothes detective -whom he retained as bodyguard. Leach Sharkey was a big, hulking fellow, -more than six feet in height, with a tousled shock of reddish hair, a -stubby red mustache, and teeth that showed even when his face was in -repose. Bulging hip pockets indicated the brace of heavy revolvers which -he invariably carried. - -Within an hour of Mr. Thurston’s coming, Dick Willoughby, as foreman, -was summoned to an interview at the ranch house. The owner received him -alone in his office. - -Ben Thurston was a squat, solidly built man, and despite his life -of idle luxury, carried his fifty odd years well. He was sullen and -taciturn in manner, but brusque and imperious when he did choose to -speak. Two features were markedly characteristic—the chin was weak and -the eyes had the restless, alert look of one who constantly lived in an -atmosphere of fear and suspicion. - -Thurston opened the conversation without any preliminaries. - -“Willoughby, I want an accurate count of all the cattle and horses on -the ranch; and especially I require a fair idea as to the number of -fatted beeves—those ready for the market, you understand.” - -“Very well,” replied Dick, “your orders shall be carried out as -expeditiously as possible, but it will require a few days to complete -the work.” - -“How many days?” - -“If I make use of all the force it may take a week—perhaps a little -longer.” - -“All right, use all the help you can get. I must have these figures -promptly. There is a Los Angeles syndicate who are after an option on -the rancho. They are counting on buying me out—lock, stock and barrel.” -Ben Thurston smiled, squinted his shifty eyes and blew his nose -vigorously. - -“It always makes me laugh,” he added pompously, “to have these fellows -come around this great principality of mine and try to buy me out.” - -Just then someone outside flitted past the window, and, quick as -lightning, Thurston turned and exclaimed in a startled tone: “Who was -that?” - -“That was Jack Rover,” replied Dick, “one of our cowboys.” - -“Oh,” and the frightened look in the eyes subsided. - -“Tomorrow then,” Dick went on, returning to their former topic of -conversation, “we’ll begin a round-up of the stock at this end of the -range. I’ll put the boys on the job right now.” - -“I’ll join you tomorrow myself.” - -“All right, Mr. Thurston.” - -“What time?” - -“At any time agreeable to you.” - -“Well, say eight o’clock in the morning. You see,” he continued, “I want -to get through with this damned business in a hurry and start back East. -I have friends who are waiting for me. Of course I will have to stay -here until the representatives of this syndicate come up from Los -Angeles, but I will make short work of them, believe me.” - -This time Ben Thurston laughed outright and rubbed his hands together in -a satisfied way. For once he seemed inclined to be communicative, and, -turning to Willoughby, resumed: - -“Do you know, I have collected over three hundred thousand dollars, -first and last, selling options on this San Antonio Rancho? It is quite -a joke. They all fall down. They make a first payment of twenty-five -or fifty thousand dollars, and then,” throwing up both his hands and -shrugging his shoulders, “their payments cease and I am just that much -ahead of the game.” Willoughby listened in frigid silence; there was not -even the flicker of a responsive smile on his face. - -Thurston, eyeing him for a moment, looked disconcerted. He drew himself -up stiffly in his chair. His voice assumed its usual gruff tone. - -“That’s all; get to work then,” he said curtly as he lifted some papers -to show that the interview was at an end. - -The first round-up was held some twenty miles southwest of the ranch -house, at the base of the foothills across the valley from La Siesta. -Ben Thurston, attended closely by his bodyguard, was there, his shifting -eyes scanning each new face. Not fewer than ten thousand head of cattle -were milling about, pawing the earth and bellowing in low tones of -irritation at being herded together and held away from their accustomed -haunts of juicy grasses. - -From a knoll at a little distance Lieutenant Munson, seated on a fine -riding pony, watched the great performance, which to him was more -wonderful than any hippodrome show or military parade. He was so -engrossed with the spectacle that he did not hear the patter of -approaching hoofs. - -“Good morning, Senor Lieutenant,” came a lady’s voice in cheery -greeting. - -Turning quickly in his saddle he saw Grace Darlington and Merle -Farnsworth on their ponies, which had been brought to a sudden halt -close behind him. - -“Really, Mr. Munson,” said Grace Darlington, “one would think you were -so completely lost in contemplation of a mob of cattle that you had no -eyes for your friends.” - -Chester bowed and raised his hat as he replied with a bright smile: - -“It is certainly a great scene, isn’t it? But you are none the less -welcome. Indeed when one is witnessing something unusual, it always adds -to the interest to have the companionship of friends.” - -“Very prettily put,” observed Merle Farnsworth. “Fortunately the place -selected for the round-up this year isn’t very far from La Siesta, so we -rode across the valley.” - -“Have you anything in New York,” asked Grace, “to compare with this?” - -“Indeed we have not,” replied the lieutenant with conviction. “I am -beginning to think that the West is a pretty good place in which to -live. By the way,” he went on, taking a newspaper clipping from his -pocket, “here is something that our mutual friend, Dick, gave me, and -said I should read once a day for a month, and then—well, then, he says -I will never go East again, but remain in this great picture country. -Shall I read it?” - -“Oh, do, by all means,” said the girls in unison. “Well, here goes! -‘Every idea we have in the East is run with a convention. We cannot -think without a chairman. Our whims have secretaries; our fads have -by-laws. Literature is a club. Philosophy is a society. Our reforms -are mass meetings. We cannot mourn our mighty dead without some great -chairman and a half hundred vice-presidents. We remember our novelists -and poets with trustees, while the immortality of a dead genius is -looked after by a standing committee. Charity is an association, and -theology at best only a set of resolutions.’.rdquo; - -“What do you think of that?” he asked, laughing. “Isn’t that an awful -slam on the East?” - -“It is rather severe,” smiled Merle. “But you know, Mr. Willoughby has -become a thorough Westerner. The lure of the hills and the valleys has -taken complete possession of him.” - -“And yet he remains unspoiled.” exclaimed the lieutenant. “But are you -aware he is trying to tamper with my old allegiance to the East?” - -“Indeed,” asked Grace, “in what way?” - -“He wants me to resign my commission and take pot luck with him, as he -terms it.” - -“You couldn’t do better,” exclaimed Grace enthusiastically. - -While this conversation was going on, an exciting incident was taking -place only a short distance away. Young Marshall Thurston had come -with his father to the round-up, and was riding about watching the -operations. Chancing to pass near, Dick Willoughby overheard him use -an insulting epithet in regard to Miss Farnsworth—the young man was -evidently peeved that the ladies had not sought him out instead of -Munson, and it was obvious, too, that he had been drinking even at that -early hour in the morning. - -Swiftly wheeling, Dick rode up to him with a look of anger so intense -that even the cowboys who knew him were taken aback. - -“You foul-mouthed beast!” he hissed, as he pushed his quirt into the -slanderer’s face. “Just let me overhear you make a rude remark again -about Miss Farnsworth and I will hammer the life out of you. You are -nothing better than a drunken hobo, not fit to associate with ladies.” - -The outburst was so sudden that young Thurston was cowed and attempted -no reply. But as Willoughby rode off he sent after him a look of sullen -and resentful hatred. Two or three of the cowboys, who really were good -friends of Dick Willoughby, but were nevertheless not above fawning for -the favor of the heir to the great rancho, indicated that they were on -Marshall’s side. - -“Guess two can play at the hammering game,” remarked one. - -“He don’t come any of his rough-house business over you, Marshall, while -I’m around,” affirmed another, pugnaciously. - -But the young man, still without uttering a word, turned gloomily away -and started his pony in the direction of home. - -“Guess he feels like another drink,” grinned an irreverent youth. - -“Hell,” exclaimed an elderly man, the blacksmith at the rancho, “if the -Thurston family don’t beat the band for quarrels and bloody feuds!” - -But just then a bunch of cattle broke from the main herd and the group -of cowboys dispersed in a galloping scamper. - -Munson and the young ladies, engrossed in their light conversation, knew -nothing of this unpleasant episode. They were now discussing the date -of the projected visit to the home of Mr. Ricardo Robles among the oaks -above La Siesta. It was decided to fix it for the first Sunday after the -cattle muster was completed, when Dick Willoughby would be free to make -one of the party. - -“But hold a moment,” exclaimed the lieutenant suddenly, “unless I’m to -be court-martialled for absence without leave, I must take the train -East next Saturday, or—or—” - -His eyes fixed on Grace, he hesitated to complete the alternative. - -“Or what?” she inquired. - -“Follow Dick’s advice and send in my resignation.” As he spoke he thrust -a hand into his breast pocket and drew forth a letter, sealed, addressed -and stamped, all ready for the mail. “I really can’t quite make up my -mind,” he added, dubiously. - - - -0155 - -“Let me help you,” said Grace with a gay smile as she extended her hand -for the letter. - -“How?” he asked. - -“I’ll mail your resignation for you. We shall be riding home by La -Siesta postoffice.” - -“Oh, Grace!” murmured Merle in timid protest. “Think of the -responsibility you are taking.” - -“A woman’s mission in life is to encourage men to do the proper thing,” -replied Grace with roguish defiance. “Our friend here is enamored of -the West, and the West is the very best place for him. I’ll post your -letter, lieutenant.” - -He placed it between her fingers, doffed his hat, and bowed gallantly. - -“Be it so. Let the gods—or should I say, a fair goddess?—decide.” - -“Thanks for the compliment,” cried Grace, with a pretty flush on her -face. “Good-bye, then, for the present. Get ready for Sunday’s picnic -among the oaks. Come along, Merle, my dear.” - -And with a touch of the quirt she started her pony into a canter. - -“Great guns, but she’s worth while,” exclaimed Munson as he gazed after -the retreating figures. - - - - -CHAPTER VII—Old Bandit Days - -ON the evening of the day that followed the big round-up of cattle, Dick -Willoughby and Chester Munson rode over to the store. As they cantered -along, both men were pre-occupied with their thoughts. - -Dick was not worrying over his sharp passage of words with his -employer’s son, for he knew that his services at the present time were -quite indispensable, more especially if the rancho was to be sold to the -best advantage. The owner had spoken lightly of the negotiations, and -had chuckled in a sinister way about the money he had frequently made -over unexercised options. But this time it was a Los Angeles syndicate -that was seeking the property, composed of men whose financial -reputation and keen business ability Willoughby knew well. For he had -learned their names after his interview with Ben Thurston, and he felt -certain that this particular group of capitalists would have entered -into no serious negotiations without having both the cash and the -intention to put the deal through. Therefore he scented a change of -ownership in the rancho, and consequently, perhaps, the necessity for -his looking around to find employment elsewhere. He hated to think of -leaving a place that he had come to look on as home and parting from -all the friends he had made throughout the countryside. Unconsciously to -himself, the greatest tie of all was proximity to La Siesta and to Merle -Farnsworth. But Dick was not thinking of Merle just then—he was merely -turning things over generally in his mind as he rode across the valley. - -Munson also was cogitating the change in his own outlook that had -been brought about by the mailing of the letter of resignation to army -headquarters. He was recalling the many years he had striven to reach -the lieutenancy now voluntarily surrendered—of his youthful zeal and -ambition for an army career which had been powerless to withstand -the witching call of the West. And although Grace Darlington’s act of -putting the letter in the post had been only the last feather to tip an -evenly balanced scale, he could not but feel that thereby this beautiful -girl of the West had entered into his life and into all his future -plans, hopes, and aspirations. The thought gave him joy; he was more -pleased than ever that the decisive step had at last been taken. - -Arriving at the store, they found old Tom Baker seated on a dry goods -box, while Buck Ashley leaned against the counter, waiting for the -stage coach and the mails. Already two or three others were beginning to -congregate under the trees, in readiness for the distribution of letters -and newspapers. - -“Hello, Dick,” called out the sheriff, “I heard of your scrap yesterday -morning with that young ne’er-do-well, Marshall Thurston. My God, I’m -glad you gave him hell.” - -“Please don’t speak about it,” replied Willoughby quietly. “That was my -affair and mine alone. I guess we can find some more agreeable topic.” - -“Wal,” drawled Buck Ashley, “Tom here was just a-tellin’ me a yarn -that’ll interest both you boys a heap, or the lieutenant at all events, -for he’s new to these parts and don’t know the local hist’ry yet. Of -course I’ve heard the story before, but not all the pertic’lars the way -Tom can tell ‘em. And its a dangnation good story. So start from the -beginnin’ again, Tom.” - -Thus addressed, the sheriff, after taking a bite from his tobacco plug, -began: - -“The yarn has to do with the old-time bandit Joaquin Murietta, about -whom we were speakin’ the other morn in’. Well, the way it all happened -was this: On a neighboring ranch, over Ventura way, beyond the Lagunita -Rancho, owned at that time by Senor Olivas, a rich cattle dealer comes -down from ‘Frisco to buy a bunch of beeves. The stock had all been -driven up on a mesa near the Olivas ranch house, and for several days -the herders had been cuttin’ out the cows and the young calves from the -steers, ‘cause this feller was only goin’ to buy the steers. - -“The great herd was bellerin’ and pawin’ in a big cloud of dust, through -which the vaqueros—cowboys, you know, lieutenant—could be seen ridin’ -round and round. Of course roundin’ up cattle is always more or less -excitin’ work, but this rich chap had come down from ‘Frisco with his -saddle bags bulgin’ out with gold, and this sorta added a mighty sight -to the interest of the doin’s. Part of the bargain was that the deal -was to be for spot cash, all in gold, too, mind you, and it was arranged -that the buyer and Senor Olivas were to take their stations at one side -of the narrow gate, and every time a steer was driven through that gate -a twenty-dollar gold piece was to be tossed into a big bag which Senor -Olivas was holdin’. - -“They do say as how the work continued all day, from early mornin’ until -dark, afore the last blamed steer passed that ‘ere gate, and they claim -that there was eighty thousand dollars in the Senor’s bag as pay for the -day’s drive. They say, too, that Joaquin Murietta, disguised, was one -of the vaqueros doin’ the drivin’. Anyway that very night old Olivas was -waked up mighty abruptly by feelin’ the cold nose of a revolver shoved -against his own nose. - -“Well, the long and short of it all was that Senor Olivas and his wife -were both gagged and bound hand and foot, while Murietta ransacked the -house, found the strong box and carried away every blamed gold coin that -Olivas had received for the sale of his steers. The outlaw succeeded in -makin’ his escape into the Tehachapi mountains with his cut-throat gang, -and they found a hidin’ place in the robbers’ cave that is somewhere -hereabouts on the San Antonio Rancho. It sure was as slick a piece of -rascality as was ever pulled off in the old lawless days.” - -“Well,” observed Buck Ashley, as he shook his head reflectively, “I’m -assoomin’ some of the cowboy fellers around here will find that cave one -of these days. I’ve put in a good many Sundays huntin’ for it myself.” - -Just then there was the sound of horses’ hoofs outside, and a moment -later Jack Rover strolled into the store. Over his shoulder was slung -the big leather bag for the rancho mails. - -“Hallo, everybody,” was his greeting. “I’m ahead of time Buck, but the -stage will be here in five minutes. I saw its dust above the ridge. I -hear, lieutenant,” he went on, “you’re going to stick to the West and be -one of us.” - -“Quit the army?” exclaimed Tom Baker in surprise. - -“That is so,” replied Munson. “California has fairly got hold of me, and -I intend to make my home in the West.” - -“Then you just stick here, young man,” said the sheriff, rising to his -feet and extending his hand. “California is the pick of the States, and -our valley the pick of California. Don’t you forget it. We’re proud to -welcome you as a new resident.” - -“That’s what I say, too,” concurred Buck Ashley, cordially. - -Munson smiled. “Well, I don’t know if you can put me in the resident -class all at once,” he observed, diffidently. “Guess I’ve got to join -the cowboy brigade first, if Dick and Jack here will break me in.” - -“Sure thing,” assented Jack Hover. “You’re a good rider now—for an army -man.” - -“An ex-army man,” corrected Willoughby, laughing. - -“It strikes me we should put you in as postmaster, Munson,” suggested -the sheriff, a sly gleam of mischief in his eye. “Buck Ashley here is -growin’ old.” - -“Yes, but not too old to hold down his job till your tombstone’s in the -cemetery, Tom Baker,” retorted the storekeeper, with a grin. “No man -takes the Tejon postmastership while I’m alive,” he added defiantly. - -“I’m forewarned and won’t apply for your job, Buck,” laughed Munson. -“But here comes the stage, so show your spryness, old fellow, by getting -us our mail.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—A Letter from San Quentin - -BUCK ASHLEY had retired into the partitioned-off section of the store -that formed the postoffice, and was busy stamping and sorting out -the mail. The scattered loiterers outside crowded into the building -expectantly, and the local parliament was in session. Amid the buzz -of conversation Willoughby could not but hear his own name mentioned, -coupled with that of Marshall Thurston. He understood quite well that -all manner of gossip was flying around in regard to the quarrel at the -round-up. But he remained stoically indifferent, shut his ears, and -leaning against the counter busied himself with an old Saturday Evening -Post that had been lying there. - -At last the wicket was shoved up with a bang, and those present began to -move toward the little aperture through which Buck Ashley proceeded to -hand out correspondence and newspapers. One by one the throng melted -away. Jack Rover was examining the big bunch of mail for San Antonio -Rancho as he stowed it into the letter bag. Munson was opening and -gleaning the contents of two or three letters that had come to him from -New York. Dick Willoughby continued his reading, unconcerned; Jack would -pass over any correspondence for him. Old Tom Baker had not risen from -his accustomed seat on an empty box; he had few correspondents, and -the mail did not worry him, although he invariably assisted with his -presence at its distribution. - -These four were now the only ones in the store besides Buck Ashley, who -still remained behind the partition. At last the postmaster appeared, -holding in his hand an open letter. His face showed great agitation as -he glanced around to take stock of those who might be present. - -“Say, boys,” he whispered in a mysterious manner, as he held up the -letter, “this is the most dangnation extr’ornery thing that has ever -happened to me. You’re just the bunch of fellers I’d like to consult. -Close the door, Tom.” - -“What’s up, Buck?” asked the sheriff as he rose to comply. “You look as -if you had the ague shakes.” - -“No ague in this here land of California,” laughed Jack Rover. “Is it a -proposal of marriage you’ve been getting, Buck?” - -“A derned heap better’n that. God ‘lmighty, boys, this may mean millions -for all of us. Shoot the bolt, Tom; I’ll hand out no more groceries -tonight. Come close together, all of you. You read the letter aloud, -Dick. My hand’s a-tremb-lin’, and I can’t get the Frenchie’s lingo just -right.” - -“The Frenchie?” echoed Tom Baker in puzzled surprise. - -“It’s a letter from Pierre Luzon,” explained Buck. - -“Good God!” The sheriff was now as deeply stirred as his old crony. - -“The bandit scout you were telling us about the other morning?” -exclaimed Jack Rover, also fired with excitement. - -“I thought that fellow was in San Quentin for life.” remarked Munson, -composedly. - -“Wal, and ain’t this letter from San Quentin?” retorted Buck. “See the -headin’. But Dick’ll read it aloud. I feel clean knocked out.” And the -old man sank back on his chair behind the counter. - -The four others were now clustered around Dick Willoughby. The latter, -deputized to do the reading, had nonchalantly taken the epistle from -Buck Ashley’s trembling hand. While the others were speaking he had -bestowed a preliminary glance, and from his lips there escaped a murmur -of surprise. - -“Great Caesar!” As he uttered the ejaculation Dick sat up, keenly alert. - -“Well, what’s it all about?” inquired Munson, by this time the only cool -man in the bunch. - -“Read, read!” cried the storekeeper hoarsely. - -Dick Willoughby began: - -“Mr. Buck Ashley, Storekeeper, Tejon, California. - -“If God in His goodness permits this letter to come to your hands, -remember it is from old Pierre, the Frenchman, who used to be about your -store sometimes a half a day at a time, smoking his pipe. You never knew -much about me or where I lived. But I will tell you. - -“I am an old man now—very old. I was born in the South of France, came -to this country in the ‘40’. and entered into the service of Joaquin -Murietta, who was one great man, but a big bandit. Peace to his soul! -Well, he was good to me, and I was faithful to him, taking care of the -cave, the big grotto, the cavern among the Tehachapi mountains where he -many times hid from the sheriff’s posse, and also, where he brought all -his gold to stack up and keep from everybody. - -“You also know Don Manuel, him whom the people call White Wolf. Well, -once when a boy, Don Manuel he save Marietta’s life from the sheriff by -helping him to escape from one close place. Murietta was very grateful, -and one day he bring the boy to the grotto cave, and there I see him and -like him very much. That was while Murietta still lived. - -“Afterward when the little boy grow up and was one man, and turned -bitter against the gringos because they wrong his sister, Senorita -Rosetta, and his old father and mother die of grief, he say to me, ‘I -will become a bandit like Joaquin Murietta.’ He came to the cavern one -night and tell me and say, ‘You be my servant.’ So I say, ‘All right,’ -because Don Manuel one brave man. - -“So that night of the great stage robbery over near Lake of Tulare, -I hold horses. That’s all I do, but all the same they put me in this -horrid prison, and here I am. The other two men, Felix Vasquez and Fox -Cassidy, were shot by the posse and I have been told by a Portugee in -the jail here about the White Wolf being killed away north in Seattle, -and he is no more. - -“Don Manuel de Valencia, he was one great man. Peace to his soul! - -“I am alone. I want to get away from this terrible prison. I have -promised one of my guards—a good Frenchman who comes from my town in -France—$5,000 in gold if he can secretly get this letter into postoffice -to you and get me away from this living hell. You do this and I show you -the cavern. Nobody knows where it is but me. - -“Come and get me, please, my good Mr. Ashley, come, and may the spirit -of the Virgin Mary reward you. All I say here is truth. You come get me -and I show you the secret grotto. I show you the great stacks of gold -hidden by Joaquin Murietta and Don Manuel. Also the sand-bar in the -hidden stream where Guadalupe gathered up much gold. - -“I beg and pray you to keep what I say in this letter secret. I am old -and weak and sick. Come and get me. - -“Obedient servant, - -“Pierre Luzon.” - -“Ain’t that just one hell of a letter, boys?” exclaimed Buck Ashley. - -“Gospel truth, every word,” cried Tom Baker, emphatically. - -“It certainly reads like the truth,” concurred Munson. - -“Then what are we going to do about it?” asked Jack Rover. - -Dick Willoughby spoke now with the quiet and quick decision that marks -the leader of men: - -“What we will do is this. We five are partners in this secret, and, if -Buck is willing, we’ll play the game together for all it is worth. To -begin with, we’ll put up one hundred dollars apiece to send Tom Baker to -Sacramento. He will try to get a pardon or a parole for Pierre Luzon.” - -“That can be managed,” assented the sheriff. “I’ve got a political pull, -you know, boys.” - -“Well,” continued Dick, “we’ll bring old Pierre here and we’ll get from -him the information he promises about the secret grotto.” - -“Not forgetting Guadalupe’s placer mine,” interjected Jack Rover. - -“Everything will be attended to in its turn,” replied Dick. “One thing -at a time, and the first thing to be done is to get the Frenchman out of -San Quentin. When can you start, Tom?” - -“The day after tomorrow.” - -“Well, we’ll have the cash ready for you by tomorrow night. You must -bring Pierre Luzon here without anyone else besides ourselves knowing -his name or getting next to him.” - -“I’ll fix up a cot for him in my own room behind the store,” suggested -Buck Ashley. - -“That’s a good plan,” assented Dick. “When the Frenchman’s here, it -will be time then to discuss our next move. Meanwhile, it’s an honorable -promise of secrecy all round, and to begin with I give my word.” - -While speaking the last words, Dick solemnly raised his hand, and each -man in turn followed his example as he gave the pledge required. - - - - -CHAPTER IX—Tia Teresa - -TEN days had passed and the count of the stock on San Antonio Rancho had -been completed, every canyon searched, the last wandering maverick -roped and branded, the number of fat beeves accurately estimated. Three -members of the Los Angeles syndicate had arrived in a big automobile and -remained over night at the ranch house. Most of the time they had been -closeted with Ben Thurston in his office, and had finally taken their -departure without exchanging a word with anyone else on the rancho. -Nobody knew whether the deal had gone through or not, but rumor said -that, after some disagreement on the first day, terms had been arranged -next morning. - -Dick Willoughby, although he discussed the question with no one, made -his own inferences. The very fact that the visitors had not made any -inspection of the property proved that they already knew it thoroughly -well. The counting of the cattle and horses had been the final factor -in the negotiations, and the figures had enabled the deal to advance a -further stage toward completion. Ben Thurston might fool himself about -easy option money put up only to be forfeited, but Dick Willoughby was -not fooled. The days of closer settlement in California had come, and -these Los Angeles men were the most enterprising and skilful subdividers -in the West. They dealt only in big propositions, and after mopping -up all the available tracts in the southern end of the State, were -extending their operations northward. This vast so-called “Spanish -grant,” an empire in itself, had no doubt for several years been in -their eye, and now they were prepared to handle the San Antonio Rancho -with the lavish expenditure it deserved and required to transform the -great sweep of cattle range—rich agricultural land, as the luxuriant -native grasses showed—into smiling orchards and alfalfa farms, each -provided with the irrigation water which intelligent conservation would -ensure in abundance. - -Dick knew in his heart that the era of transformation had at last come, -that the roaming herds were to be pushed back into regions more remote, -that homes and schoolhouses and garden cities would soon be dotting the -landscape, that the passing of Ben Thurston, the cattle king, and of his -hard-riding, devil-may-care vaqueros was at hand. - -Yet Thurston spoke no word—in fact, he seemed to be more grouchy and -taciturn than ever. Not even his son Marshall was in his confidence, for -the young man was seldom with his father, preferring to spend his -time in the drinking saloons and dance halls of Bakersfield, where the -activity of oil-developing operations attracted all sorts and conditions -of men, among whom the dissipated decadent had readily found friends to -his liking. - -Ben Thurston who had gone the pace himself in his early days, did not -seek to interfere with his son’s pursuit of pleasures, but he had very -promptly squelched any interference from Marshall with his own business -operations. On the evening of the quarrel with Dick Willoughby at the -round-up, Marshall had attempted to tell his father about the affair and -suggest Dick’s dismissal. But the old man had at once silenced him -by saying: “Why, damn you! I brought you out to this country to enjoy -yourself and not to get into trouble. So far as Willoughby is concerned, -I can’t afford to quarrel with him. He is my foreman, and I am right -in the midst of a big business transaction. So just you mind your own -business, my boy, and leave him alone.” - -Accordingly, Marshall Thurston, a coward at heart, had not sought to -pursue the feud singlehanded, and Dick had seen but little of him during -the rest of the mustering work. When they did happen to meet, it was a -case of a black scowl of hate from the one and a contemptuous smile of -indifference from the other. And so the days had passed until the task -was finished. - -It was the Sunday morning that had been fixed for the visit to the -home of Mr. Ricardo Robles, when the cattle foreman could at last -conscientiously take a day of recreation. With the first break of dawn -he and Munson were in the saddle, for they had been invited to breakfast -at La Siesta before starting with the young ladies on the ride through -the oak forest. - -The visitors arrived early, but not too early for their hostesses. Grace -and Merle were waiting to welcome them in the portico, looking more -charming than ever in their neat riding suits of khaki. - -“We saw you cross the bridge,” declared Grace, “and mother has gone in -to order breakfast to be served. You must be hungry after your early -start.” - -“Oh, Sing Ling didn’t let us go without a cup of coffee,” laughed Dick. -“But I fancy we’ll do full justice, all right, to the bountiful fare of -La Siesta.” - -It proved to be a delightful meal in every way, the viands seasoned with -gay repartee and laughter. A full hour had sped before Dick recalled the -real object of the day’s excursion. - -“We usually walk to Mr. Robles’ place,” remarked Merle. “It is only a -mile or so by the short cuts up the hill, but by the winding road it is -very much longer. So we ordered our ponies.” - -“I see,” smiled Munson, “to prolong the pleasure of our foursome among -the oaks.” - -“Not at all, sir,” retorted Grace. “The climb on foot is a stiff one, -and we knew that you must be out of condition from the lazy life you are -living.” - -“I am only waiting for Willoughby to give me a cowboy’s job,” replied -the ex-lieutenant. - -“I don’t know if there will be any cowboy jobs going,” observed -Willoughby. “It’s my belief that San Antonio Rancho is sold and is going -to be broken up into small holdings.” - -“Oh, what a pity!” exclaimed Merle. - -“From one point of view, perhaps,” answered Dick. “But from a hundred -other points of view, what a blessing! There will be a dozen happy homes -for every steer the range now feeds!” - -“But La Siesta will remain just as it is,” cried Grace. - -“That will be all right,” replied Dick, gallantly, “It’s already a happy -home.” - -The ladies smiled pleasantly. - -“Then this will mean the elimination of Mr. Ben Thurston,” observed Mrs. -Darlington. - -“The greatest blessing of all,” declared Merle, clapping her hands. “You -see, I am already converted to the change, Mr. Willoughby,” she added -merrily. - -“But what about my job?” asked Munson in mock dolefulness. - -“Consult Mr. Robles,” laughed Grace. “He may take pity on you, and find -you a place as handy man on his estate.” - -In merry mood they all sallied forth. The saddle horses were waiting, -and standing beside them was an elderly Spanish woman. - -“Tia Teresa, Mr. Munson,” said Mrs. Darlington by way of introduction. - -Munson had often enough heard the name, and in answer to an inquiry, -Willoughby had told him that the old dame had been the personal -attendant of the two young ladies ever since they could remember. Tia -or Aunt Teresa was now more a friend of the family than a servant of the -house, and, taking her hand in salutation, Munson treated her with the -affable courtesy that was her due. - -“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” he said, raising his hat. - -Tia Teresa looked pleased. Despite her seventy years, she was a buxom -and splendidly preserved woman, and there was still the flash of -youthfulness in her big dark eyes. - -“You will look after my little girls,” she said, as she gathered -together the folds of her black lace mantilla. “By rights I should -be coming with you, too,” she added, in the manner of a true Spanish -duenna. - -“You forget that we are home again—in free America,” laughed Merle as -she settled herself in the saddle. - -“Too free, I sometimes think,” rejoined Tia Teresa. “But there is safety -in four,” she added, turning with a smile to Mrs. Darlington. - -And as the young folks rode away she waved them a pleasant adios. - - - - -CHAPTER X—The Home of the Recluse - -AT a gentle pace they wound their way through the forest of magnificent -old oaks. - -As for Munson, riding by Grace Darlington’s side, the miles were the -shortest he had ever before traversed. It seemed only a few minutes -before the red tiled roof and towers of a house built in the California -Mission style were gleaming through the trees only a short distance -ahead. - -Great oaken doors closed the arched gateway, but at the clatter of hoofs -and the sound of voices, a little peep-hole wicket was withdrawn. The -inspection by unseen eyes apparently was satisfactory, for a moment -later a postern was opened, and two men, Mexicans obviously by their -garb and deferential manner, emerged to take and lead away the horses. -Within the patio stood Senor Robles, his usually grave face lighted by a -smile of cordial welcome. - -“Let me tell you, young men,” he said while shaking hands, “that while -Grace and Merle are quite at home here, you are the very first strangers -who have passed through my portals.” - -“Strangers no longer then,” said Dick, good-naturedly. - -“Precisely,” replied Mr. Robles, “or you would not be here. But I -foresee that all of us are going to be very close friends. Isn’t that -so, Grace, my dear?” - -“I’m sure I cannot say,” replied Grace, with a smile of demure innocence -toward Mr. Munson. Then she turned to Mr. Robles with a roguish twinkle -in her eye. “But I’ve news for you. Mr. Munson has resigned from the -army and is looking for a job.” - -“Both facts are already known to me,” answered Robles, smiling. - -“Oh,” exclaimed Grace, “one can never surprise you, Mr. Robles. Although -you live the life of a hermit, you seem to be always the first to learn -everything that is going on.” - -“A hermit, my dear, need not necessarily be out of touch with the -world,” replied Robles, playfully pinching her ear. “And now, Mr. -Willoughby, you came specially to see my pictures. Lead the way, Merle. -Gentlemen, I say again—welcome to my mountain home.” - -They lingered awhile in the patio to admire the marble columns of the -cloister that ran all around, the playing fountains at each of the four -comers, with groups of symbolical statuary, the wealth of beautiful -shrubs and flowers. On the side opposite to the gateway rose a tall -tower, fashioned like the campanile of an Old Mission and crowned with -bright red tiles. - -“We shall ascend there later on,” remarked Mr. Robles, following Dick’s -upward glance. - -Then they passed through the wide-opened French window into the living -rooms. - -The first was a great apartment that occupied one entire side of the -building. In the centre was a large globe of the world. Here and there -were glass cases displaying manuscripts and illuminated missals. Along -the walls were finely-carved bookcases filled with several thousands of -volumes. - -“When you have the leisure you can come and browse here,” said the -host, addressing both young men. “Meanwhile you may care to look at the -bronzes and statuary”—this with a sweep of the hand that indicated the -art treasures distributed about the apartment. - -On the side of the house beneath the tower were the dining room and the -billiard and smoking room. Passing through these, the visitors came to -the picture gallery, a room corresponding in size to the library. Here -were hung treasures of the painter’s art, masterpieces signed by names -that are immortal. These, as their owner again explained, had been -acquired by him during several prolonged visits to Europe. - -“Count this just as a preliminary survey, Mr. Willoughby,” he said -finally. “Then come again. There are guest chambers on either side of -the gateway, and one of these will always be at your disposal when I am -at home. I extend the same invitation to you, Mr. Munson.” - -“My word, but you may feel honored,” exclaimed Grace, in unconcealed -amazement. - -“When I open my gates, I open my heart as well,” said Mr. Robles, with a -courtly little bow to his new friends. - -Next they ascended the tower. Its first floor, above the living rooms, -was a delightful den filled with curios of all kinds. From this sprang a -winding iron staircase, up which Mr. Robles led the way. - -The upper chamber, extending on all sides some distance beyond the -supporting tower, proved larger than might have been expected. Its one -conspicuous article of furniture was a great terrestrial telescope. The -sliding panels of glass which formed a complete window all around the -room showed that the instrument could be used without obstruction in any -direction. - -Here a Mexican boy was on duty. When the visitors entered, his hand was -resting on the telescope. A bright red sash around his waist imparted a -touch of picturesqueness to his costume. He was perhaps only twelve or -thirteen years of age, but wonderfully keen and alert-looking for his -years. At a glance from his master, the youngster took his departure, -closing the door behind him. - -“Gentlemen,” remarked Mr. Robles, when they were again alone, “perhaps -before I brought you here I should have exacted the promise I am now -going to ask you to make. Grace and Merle know that I am a recluse and -wish to live undisturbed by curiosity-mongers or tittle-tattlers. I want -nobody but the friends I deliberately choose to know about my habits -of living or the contents of my home. Only in this way can I hope to -be left alone. Therefore, please give me your word, Mr. Willoughby and -Lieutenant Munson, that you will not speak with any outsider about the -things I am showing you today.” - -The promise was instantly given and sealed by a hearty hand clasp. - -“Now,” resumed the host in lighter tone, “perhaps you would like to view -the landscape. I may explain that I had this observatory, as I call it, -specially built and equipped so that I could sweep the valley from end -to end. For example, I saw you two young men riding along the road this -morning,” he went on, with a smile. “I saw one of you alight, about -twelve miles from here—it was you, lieutenant—and tighten the girths of -your saddle.” - -“Great Scott!” murmured Munson, in half-incredulous surprise. - -“Test the glass for yourself,” continued Robles, as, placing one eye -at the lens, he adjusted the instrument. “Look”—and he stepped back, -motioning Munson to approach. - -Munson peeped through the long tube and there came from his lips a cry -of mingled delight and amazement. - -“Dick, Dick, there’s the store as large as life—Buck Ashley standing -at the door and lighting a cigar. Geewhizz, and it must be twenty miles -away.” - -He rose erect and made room for Dick. The latter gazed in silence for a -few moments. When he turned to Mr. Robles he said: - -“It’s really wonderful—it is the most wonderful glass I ever looked -through.” - -There was the glimmer of an exultant smile on the face of Ricardo -Robles. - -“I saw you at the round-up across the valley the other day,” he -remarked. “You were much nearer to me than is the store. And while I do -not invite any confidence, Mr. Willoughby, you certainly engaged in -a very spirited conversation, to say the least, with young Marshall -Thurston. Indeed, I half expected to see you come to blows.” - -“What was that?” asked Merle in some trepidation. - -Willoughby had reddened. - -“Nothing of consequence,” he responded, almost curtly. “I had to tell -the young cub to mind his own business. That was all.” - -“You certainly have the whole valley under observation,” remarked -Munson, considerately diverting the conversation. - -“Yes,” assented Mr. Robles, with an almost grim smile of satisfaction. -“The telescope teaches one not merely to observe, but to reason from the -facts observed. Tia Teresa evidently thought that she should have come -along today to play duenna, eh, Merle?” - -“You don’t say you guessed that?” exclaimed Merle in great astonishment. - -“Guessed it! I knew it when she raised her protesting finger.” - -“You are a magician, Mr. Robles,” cried Grace. - -“No, only a logician,” was the sententious rejoinder. - -“Please let me peep at our garden,” asked Merle. “I wonder if mother is -among her roses.” - -Without a word Robles swung round the instrument on its pivot and -changed the focus. - -“That’s about right,” he said, stepping back. “There is no one out -of doors at present. Move the glass slightly and you can see over the -entire garden.” - -Each girl in turn made a prolonged scrutiny; they were enchanted with -the clearness and marvellous detail of the picture. - -“Henceforth we’ll have to be on our best behavior, Dick,” laughed -Munson, as they turned toward the winding stairway. “We’ve got to -remember Mr. Robles has a constant eye on us.” - -“Perhaps I’ve had you under observation quite a while,” laughed the -senor, tapping the young fellow on the shoulder. - -Then he threw open the door, and, with a slight bow and extended hand, -motioned to his visitors to descend. At the foot of the narrow, winding -staircase they found the Mexican youth standing on guard. He bowed low -as the ladies passed, and when Mr. Robles followed last of all, saluted, -and then immediately returned to the chamber above, again without -a single word of instruction from his master. Munson and Willoughby -exchanged meaning looks; obviously a well-disciplined outlook was kept -from the observatory all the time, as if from the conning-tower of a -battleship. - -Again the party was in the patio. Mr. Robles turned to Willoughby. - -“I hope Grace and Merle have explained to you that at present I do not -entertain. My own fare is of the simplest.” - -“Mother is to have luncheon ready at one,” interposed Grace. “I caught -the broiled trout myself this morning.” - -“You caught them ready broiled, eh?” laughed Munson. - -“Oh, you know what I mean,” rejoined Grace, with a pretty little moue. - -“Broiled trout!” exclaimed Dick, appreciatively. “Then I think we’ll -be hurrying down the hill, senor.” He had recognized with intuitive -courtesy that the interview was at an end. - -“Is he not delightful?” asked Merle, as their horses started off at a -walk. “And you would never guess how sweet and kind he can be.” - -“I don’t doubt it,” assented Willoughby. “A polished gentleman, but a -man of mystery, isn’t he?” - -“Not when you come to know him. A recluse always has his little -idiosyncrasies.” As she spoke, she set her pony at a canter down the -gentle incline. - -After luncheon, Dick found himself tête-à -tête with Mrs. Darlington -in the music room. The mystery attaching to the personality of the -recluse was still uppermost in his mind. But for the present the music -claimed his attention. - -Merle had seated herself at the grand piano and was softly fingering the -keys, striking a chord here and there, until finally she drifted into -Chopin’s Fifth Nocturne. There was something almost divine in her -interpretation. The music fairly rippled from her deft fingers, as they -glided on from one beautiful cadence to another until at last, note by -note, as if sobbing a reluctant adieu, the melody died away. - -Both the visitors were generous in their tributes of congratulation. - -“Thank you,” said Merle, as she arose from the piano and proceeded to -unfasten the clasps of a violin case. - -“What now?” exclaimed Munson. - -“Oh, I am not the performer; I am merely the accompanist,” and she -held out a beautiful old violin to Grace. As Merle sounded a key on the -piano, Grace touched the strings of the Stradivarius. When all was ready -she tenderly caressed the violin with her chin, and, her bow sweeping -across the instrument, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata trembled from the -strings, in soft and plaintive melody, filling the room with echoing -and re-echoing notes of sweetness, while Merle’s accompanying notes lent -support, in blending harmony, to the rich cadences. - -“Splendid! magnificent!” exclaimed the young men in unison. - -Munson was now called upon to sing, and Dick felt himself at full -liberty to converse with Mrs. Darlington. He broached the subject that -had been occupying his thoughts. - -“What is known of Senor Ricardo Robles?” he enquired. “Have you been -long acquainted?” - -“Oh, I have known him for many, many years,” replied Mrs. Darlington. -“We used to be next door neighbors in Los Angeles. That was twenty years -ago. Then we returned to England—Mr. Darlington had fallen heir to the -family estates. Mr. Robles used to visit us off and on. He is, as you -have seen, very fond of Grace”—she paused a moment, then went on—“and of -my adopted daughter Merle as well. Merle, you know, was the child of my -dearest girl friend who died a year after her baby was born.” - -“Yes, Merle has told me this.” - -“Well, six years ago my dear husband died, and it was Mr. Robles who -persuaded me to return to California. He selected this beautiful ranch -for us, near to his own home. And we have all been so happy here at La -Siesta.” - -“Mr. Robles is certainly a wonderful man, with all those art treasures -around him.” - -“He has princely tastes and princely wealth as well—this you will have -seen for yourself today. He travels a great deal abroad, sometimes for a -whole year at a time, and then returns quietly to his hermitage. He has -taken a great fancy to you, Mr. Willoughby. You are lucky in gaining the -friendship of such a man.” - -“I think I’ll like him, too—when I know him better,” replied Willoughby, -with cautious reserve. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—A Rejected Suitor - -IN Dick Willoughby’s presence Marshall Thurston contented himself with -sullen looks. But beyond his sight and hearing he spoke truculently of -what he was going to do some day to get level with “the hired hand who -had had the infernal insolence to call him down in public.” So all the -little world on the rancho knew, or at least believed, that a bitter -feud was in progress. - -Two or three of the cowboys fostered young Marshall’s feelings of -animosity, partly out of sheer devilment, partly because they deemed -it good policy to keep in the good graces of the heir to the rancho. -Moreover, so long as old Ben Thurston knew nothing about it, they were -always willing to break a bottle with the dissipated spendthrift, not -only because good liquor was not to be despised at any time, but also -for the sake of the amusement afforded by Marshall, in his cups, with -his stories of fast life in New York and his apparently inexhaustible -fund of highly spiced anecdotes. Even his braggart threats against -Willoughby had an element of fun. - -“Why don’t you cut him out with the girl?” one of his boon companions -had suggested on an occasion of this kind. - -“By gad, I will,” Marshall had responded with vehemence. “You just watch -me.” - -Thenceforward this thought was uppermost in his alcohol-sodden brain. - -Marshall Thurston had met Mrs. Darlington and her daughter on several -occasions, but, although he had been formally introduced, he had never -been invited to call at La Siesta. Nor up to the present had he felt any -inducement to take the initiative. Like clings to like, and these people -were not of his kind—in the presence of pure and refined womanhood the -human toad becomes uncomfortably conscious of his own loathsomeness. - -But now there was a valid reason to egg him on. He would show Dick -Willoughby who was who on the San Antonio Rancho. If the heir to all -those broad acres chose to pay court to Merle Farnsworth, the girl would -only be too glad to jump at him and his millions. He would tell her, -too, that Willoughby was going to be fired and that the fellow was not -worth a moment’s consideration. - -Such was his mood one afternoon when, his motor car being in the repair -shop, he had not made his usual trip to Bakersfield. “Yes, he would -ride over that very day to La Siesta;” and he proceeded to fortify the -resolve by opening a bottle of champagne in the solitary seclusion of -his den. After gulping down the wine he felt brave enough to face -the devil himself. Yet, when mounted on his horse, he still evinced -sufficient discretion to make a wide detour lest Willoughby should catch -sight of him and divine his intentions. - -As he rode along young Thurston nursed his wrath to keep it warm. At -the same time the desire to possess the girl for her own sake began to -inflame his imagination. Unscrupulous passion had been bred in the very -bone of this worthless degenerate. Just as his father, Ben Thurston, had -thirty years before trampled on the virtue of the young Spanish beauty, -Senorita Rosetta, the sister of Don Manuel, so now was the son hatching -in his brain a foul plot of spoliation. - -“I’ll get even with Willoughby, by God, in the very way that will -hurt his pride the most. Women!—pshaw, they’re all alike. And she’s a -peacherino all right—those flashing dark eyes—she sure looks good to -me.” This was now the tenor of his musing as his pony cantered up the -slope to La Siesta. - -He advanced on foot to the portico with a swagger and a smile, and -there, as luck would have it, he found Merle seated in a rocker, -reading, and alone. She rose with quiet courtesy and returned his -greeting. - -“I am sorry,” she said, “mother is not at home. She and my sister Grace -have driven over to the dairy. We have a model dairy, you know, on La -Siesta,” she went on, anxious to make conversation that would not prove -embarrassing. For already she divined some particular object in the -young man’s visit, knowing as she did that he and Willoughby had -recently exchanged angry words. - -“Won’t you show me your famous rose gardens?” asked Thurston, boldly. - -“With pleasure,” she replied, assenting with a sweet smile of -politeness, although there was sore reluctance in her heart, as she -stepped from under the portico. - -But, unknown to herself, she did not go unattended, for as Merle and her -visitor passed round the house and through the shrubberies there glided -after them the figure of a woman, clothed in black, wearing over her -head and shoulders a Spanish mantilla. It was Tia Teresa, the ever -watchful duenna. - -The roses of La Siesta, as Marshall Thurston had said, were indeed -famous. Here were all the finest varieties, growing in the perfection -to which only care and scientific skill applied under ideal climatic -conditions can attain. Merle was glad to point out the different blooms -and give them their names—the topic was certainly an innocuous one, -and she smiled at the thought as they strolled along. She was vaguely -wondering, too, whether Dick Willoughby would approve even this slight -measure of courtesy toward the visitor to her home. Although she had -as yet not the remotest conception that the quarrel at the round-up had -been in any way connected with her name, she knew that the two young men -were at daggers drawn, and toward Dick there was the instinctive loyalty -in her heart that prompted her to count his enemies as her enemies, his -friends as her friends. - -The young girl was too unversed in the ways of the world to notice -that Marshall Thurston was under the influence of wine. He was too -experienced a toper to show any signs of unsteadiness on his feet, but -all the same there was undoubted tipsiness in his leering side-glances -and occasional slurring of his words. Of this Merle in her maidenly -innocence was supremely unconscious, nor did she dream that the very -sparkle of her eyes was completing the intoxication of wine fumes. - -Once she cast a look up the hill and asked herself whether the wizard -of the red-tiled tower had his spy-glass on La Siesta and was even -then quietly surveying the scene in the gardens. The thought made her -uncomfortable; she felt sure that her kind friend, Mr. Robles, would -not look with favor on her condescending to show even the slightest -attention to one whose evil ways of living were notorious. - -Suddenly she came to a halt, close beside a little clump of oleander -trees laden with rich blossoms. - -“I am sorry I must leave you now,” she said, quite abruptly. - -“Leave me?” stammered Thurston. “What for?” - -“I have other things to attend to,” she replied. - -“Oh, I say, Miss Farnsworth”—the inebriate as he spoke made a gesture of -appeal—“I hope you are not angry with me. If that scalawag of a fellow -Willoughby told you I said anything disrespectful of you the other -day, he is a demed liar—that’s what he is, a derned liar, and a poor -penniless beggar as well, whom my father’s going to fire off the ranch.” - -Merle stood speechless. She stepped back when Thurston advanced with -outstretched hands. - -“The truth of the whole matter is,” he rambled on, with growing -incoherence, “I am madly in love with you myself. That’s what I am, and -I’m going to have you, too.” And he grabbed her fiercely and attempted -to draw her to him. - -Merle screamed both in fear and in repulsion as she tried to push him -away. - -Just then, from among the oleanders, rushed Tia Teresa. The old duenna -came like a cyclone. Her eyes blazed with anger. Grasping the young -libertine by the collar of his coat, she pulled him madly from the now -half-fainting girl. Then, whirling him around, she rushed him, with -the strength and ferocity of a tigress defending her whelps, down the -gravelled path and flung him bodily over the low retaining wall along -the embankment that separated the rose gardens from the public road. She -spat upon his prostrate figure below and rained down on him a torrent of -imprecations in the Spanish tongue. - -It was all over in one brief minute. When young Thurston picked himself -up, it was to see the aged fury half-leading, half-carrying Merle away -in the direction of the house. - -“The hell cat,” he murmured. - -Then he brushed the dirt from his coat and straightened out his tumbled -appearance as best he could. His horse was tied to the gate post a -hundred yards along the road. He slunk toward it, climbed into the -saddle, and rode slowly away in the falling twilight. He had been -thoroughly sobered by the incident, yet continued somewhat dazed, for -his horse was headed toward the woods and hills and not in the direction -of home. - - - - -CHAPTER XII—The Sped Bullet - -MEANWHILE events had been happening in the conning tower high up -among the hills. The Mexican boy on duty had observed the lone rider -approaching the gateway at La Siesta, and for a brief few moments had -put the figure under observation by the telescope. He had then sprung -alertly erect and pressed a button on the wall. Mr. Robles had quickly -responded to the summons, and it was he who had had his eye to the -lens during the scene in the rose garden which had terminated in the -ignominious expulsion of young Thurston at the hands of the infuriated -duenna. - -When the recluse at last withdrew his gaze, his hands were clenched and -he stood absolutely rigid in the tenseness of his indignation. He had -seen Merle’s insultor ride toward the hills and Merle herself taken -indoors under Tia Teresa’s protecting care. For almost a minute the -storm of rage held him, then he relaxed and his look changed to one of -terrible determination. He seized a rifle that was hanging on one of the -walls and swiftly departed. - -At the arched gateway he spoke a few words to the two retainers on -guard, and when he passed through the postern one of them, also equipped -with a rifle, followed. Taking a cross-cut from the high road, together -they descended the wooded hillside. - -In a little canyon just below the forest Dick Willoughby was rounding -up a bunch of vagrant steers. He was alone, riding at a walking pace, -driving a dozen or more beasts in front of him, and keeping an eye among -the brushwood searching for more. - -On the roadway through the woods Marshall Thurston ambled along. He was -a poor and awkward rider at all times, the discreetly-veiled jest of -the nimble cowboys, to whom reins, saddle, and spurs were all as second -nature. Now, when he imagined himself free from observation, he did not -take pains to display even a semblance of horsemanship and, with bridle -dropped, steadied himself by a grip on the saddle horn. - -In her bedroom Merle had soon recovered from her distress of mind. -Dashing the tears from her eyes, she had enjoined Tia Teresa to say -nothing to anyone about the unpleasant incident. Mrs. Darlington would -be angered and would certainly tell Mr. Robles, while if the story ever -reached Dick’s ears there could be no saying what further trouble might -not ensue—a horse-whipping at least, with jeopardy to Dick’s position -at the rancho and embitterment of an already dangerous quarrel. So Tia -Teresa, to complete the comforting process, had assented to secrecy. - -On the pathway down through the forest the Mexican, now in advance, -uttered a low “hist,” halted, and held out a warning hand toward his -master. The gaze of both was now fixed in the same direction. Below them -could be seen the figure of the horseman coming around a bend in the -roadway. The Mexican raised his rifle to the shoulder, but the hand of -Robles detained him. The time was not yet—the distance was too great in -view of the obstructing timber. - -Robles turned away and rested an arm against a tree trunk. His eyes were -downcast; for the moment his mind was far away. He saw once again the -little cemetery on the hill, with the marble cross inscribed “Hermana,” -and the other gravestone at the head of the twin mounds that marked the -resting place of his parents whose hearts had been broken by Rosetta’s -tragic end. The fingers of the man who had long years ago sworn the -vendetta worked nervously, closing and unclosing themselves. - -The rider was nearer now, in a higher loop of the road where the trees -were more scattered than below. Merle, drowsy from the reaction of her -emotions, had dropped off asleep on her sofa. Tia Teresa had returned to -the portico, to make sure that the interloper had taken himself off -for good and would not return. In the little canyon Dick Willoughby was -quietly riding behind his accumulating drove of cattle. - -Suddenly a shot from among the woods rang through the air. Tia Teresa -heard it, and after the start of first surprise, into her eyes came the -light of swift comprehension and her whole face was illumed by fierce -vindictive joy. “At last, at last,” she murmured, “vengeance begins.” -And in the fervor of her triumph she threw up her extended arms, as if -to give benediction to a righteous deed. - -Dick also heard the sharp detonation which his experienced ear knew at -once to be from a rifle, not from the shot-gun that some sportsman -after quail or rabbits might have been using. He betrayed no great -surprise—just the unspoken word “curious” hovered on his lips as, -halting his horse, he turned in his saddle to glance upward in the -direction whence the sound had come. Then after a moment he wheeled the -pony round, and, abandoning his drove for the present, ascended at a -leisurely pace the narrow pathway which he knew communicated with the -winding highroad above. - -When the bullet had reached its fated billet, Marshall Thurston’s -fingers were still gripping the saddle horn. And right there the missile -of death struck, glancing upward from the metal crown and piercing -the victim right through the heart. Not a cry—just an outflung arm, a -swaying figure slipping down onto the roadway, and a terrified riderless -horse pivoting quickly round on its haunches, then galloping madly for -home. - -Dick, glancing upward through the timber, caught a glimpse of the -fleeing steed, and he touched his own pony with the spur so that it, -too, darted forward. - -Farther along the road Tia Teresa heard the clatter of the hoofs and saw -the animal in its swift stride disappear in the direction of the rancho. -She knew now for certain that her surmise was correct, and the first -flush of triumph on her fact settled down into an expression of grim -satisfaction. “It served him right in any case.” she muttered. “It was -just what the young villain deserved.” Then she re-entered the house and -passed upstairs. Her young mistress was placidly asleep, smiling in her -dreams. The duenna nodded her head in a satisfied sort of way; Merle -would learn the news at the proper time, and would not meanwhile be -agitated by wild conjectures. So she tiptoed from the room, and was soon -busied with domestic duties as if nothing had happened. - -Dick, emerging on foot from the last steep ascent of the canyon, -promptly swung himself again into the saddle and started at a loping -canter up the winding roadway through the woods. After rounding the -first comer he spied the huddled figure on the ground. Before he turned -the body over he knew that the man was dead. But when the dead face -looked up at his, it was with a terrible shock of surprise that he -recognized Marshall Thurston. - -Dick stood for a few moments, gazing around in utter bewilderment. One -hand of the dead man was shattered and bloody, while a big splurge -of red on the shirt showed where the bullet had completed its work. -Murder—palpable murder! But who could have done this deed? Who had any -valid motive to rid the world of this stray piece of humanity—and in -such coldblooded manner, not in the heat of some angry quarrel, but by a -deliberate act of assassination in a place so lonely as these pine-clad -hills? Dick sat him down by the roadside and pondered these questions. - -There was no real pity in his heart. Young Thurston had been utterly -bad—not big-brained enough to belong to the social dregs, but just -equally worthless scum, the more repellent because it made itself -visible all the time. He would pass almost without a tear except from -the father whose own record had been so foully besmeared that there -could be scant sympathy even for him in the hour of his bereavement. - -Dick just wondered and wondered. For the time being he had quite -forgotten that old legend—the Vendetta of the Hills. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—Accused - -AROUND the horse corral at the San Antonio Rancho some half-dozen -cowboys were squatted on their heels, cowboy-fashion, swapping the news -of the day. They had ridden in from various points of the compass, and -two or three of their horses, those of the latest comers, still stood -saddled outside the enclosure, the reins dropped loosely over their -heads, which for the trained cow-pony is just as effective an anchorage -as any stake and rope. - -Two or three cigarettes were a-light, and the “makings” were passing -from hand to hand among those not yet engaged in the leisurely blowing -of smoke rings. The topic of conversation was the rumored sale of the -ranch, which some declared to be assuredly impending, while others -dismissed the possibility of such a big deal going through as the merest -moonshine. - -Jack Rover was among those who had no illusions as to the future. - -“Believe me, fellers,” he was remarking, “it’s no false alarm this time. -The old rancho is as good as sold, the stock is a-going to be shipped -out, the farmers is a-coming in, and in a few months’ time we’ll all be -hunting jobs if there’s any more cow-punching jobs left in this blamed -new topsy-turvy world. And that’s the straight goods—hell!” - -Just as this terse and vigorous summation of the whole dispute found -utterance, all eyes were turned in a particular direction. It was young -Thurston’s riderless steed that had attracted attention as it swept -toward its accustomed quarters in the corral. - -“It’s Marshall’s horse,” observed one of the boys. - -“Off again, on again, gone again, Flannigan,” laughed another—an -adaptation of a popular story that evoked a general grin. - -But one youth had sprung to his feet, and skilfully caught the bridle of -the panting animal as it passed him. - -“Whoa, beauty!” - -The others had not stirred. The involuntary dismounting of the young -boss was too familiar an episode to provoke anything more than a laugh -tinctured with mild satisfaction— - -“No Easterner can ride a Western broncho, anyhow.” - -“Pass your baccy, Bob,” came a voice from the ring. But the cowboy -holding the riderless horse now brought them all to instant attention. - -“By God, he’s been shot! There’s blood on the horn, and here’s the rip -of the bullet.” - -Everyone was on their feet now, and the situation was being eagerly -discussed while the saddle was undergoing confirmatory inspection. - -“Something’s happened, boys,” exclaimed the big husky fellow addressed -as Bob, conclusively, if somewhat obviously. “And I guess we’d better -investigate.” - -As he spoke he swung himself into his saddle—he had been one of the late -arrivals and his horse was all ready for the road or the range. - -“Up toward the hills then,” remarked another, indicating the direction -whence the riderless horse had come. And a moment later he, too, was -astride his broncho. - -“I’ll borrow your pony, Ted,” cried out Jack Rover as he jumped astride -a third mustang. - -And a moment later all three riders were pelting along the road leading -to La Siesta. There was no difficulty whatever in picking up the long -galloping strides on the dusty highway, and the speed of the trackers -depended only on the swiftness and endurance of their mounts. - -Meanwhile the boy who had caught Marshall’s horse had disencumbered it -of saddle and bridle, and turned it into the corral with a kindly pat on -its heaving flank. - -“Guess I’ll report to the boss,” he called out, as he picked up the -saddle and moved away toward the ranch home. - -“Look out for yourself,” shouted one of the group. “Old Thurston will be -madder than hell.” - -But it was terror, selfish terror, not anger nor grief, that came into -Ben Thurston’s eyes when he saw the saddle horn smeared with fresh blood -and scarred by a bullet. - -“My God, and I believed Don Manuel was dead,” he whispered in a hoarse -voice to Leach Sharkey. - -The two had been, as usual, in close companionship; Sharkey reading a -weekly newspaper, while the employer he was paid to protect, restlessly, -as was his wont, paced the room. - -“Disappeared and dead ain’t exactly the same thing,” replied the -sleuth as he critically examined the saddle. “And there may be another -explanation to this. What about Dick Willoughby?” - -“Yes, yes, Dick Willoughby,” eagerly assented the trembling man. - -“You saw them quarreling the other day—they hate each other like -poison,” continued Sharkey. “Where’s Dick Willoughby now?” he enquired, -with a swift glance at the cowboy. - -“Good Lord, that’s just where he is—searching the canyons below the -forest for mavericks,” was the reply. - -Sharkey smiled blandly; the informant looked disappointed, yet -confident. - -“I couldn’t have believed that of Dick,” he added, regretfully. - -“Well, clear out now,” said Sharkey. “Mr. Thurston and I will want to be -alone. You say Jack Rover and two others have gone out to search? Well, -we can’t do more till they bring us in some news. Let us know at once -when they return.” - -Ben Thurston had collapsed onto a chair, then raised himself, and was -leaning eagerly forward now. He met Sharkey’s glance of hardly concealed -contempt. - -“That’s right,” he murmured, “It has been Dick Willoughby’s work. I knew -Don Manuel was dead.” - -“And what about your boy?” asked the sleuth curtly. - -“Oh, yes, poor Marshall! I forgot about him. But perhaps he’s only -wounded. We’ll send to Bakersfield for a doctor.” And he half rose from -his seat. - -“You’ll just wait patiently here,” replied Sharkey, as he pushed -Thurston back into his chair. “All that is possible for the present is -being done.” - -And the rôles were now reversed—it was the bodyguard who slowly and -meditatively paced the room. - -Meanwhile Dick Willoughby had ceased from his ruminations, and was -beginning to take practical steps for getting Marshall’s body home. He -had no thought of coroner’s regulations that a corpse should be left -undisturbed till the proper official investigation had been made. He -had got his riata ready, and was just going to sling the body across -his saddle and tie it there, when the rhythmic thud of clattering hoofs -smote upon his ear. Thank God! Help was coming. There would be others -to assist him in his gruesome task. So Dick patiently waited while the -sound grew nearer and nearer, until at last the three cowboys dashed -round the bend. - -“I heard the rifle shot,” Dick explained, “and rode up from the canyon -below to have a look. I found him here, huddled up just as you see him -by the side of the road.” - -“Who the devil did this?” asked Jack Rover, contemplating the corpse. - -“God only knows,” replied Dick. “You take him on your saddle, Bob,” he -added, addressing the big cowboy, whose horse was a full hand taller -than the other ponies and more stalwart in proportion. - -And so the cortege was formed, Jack Rover leading the way, with Bob and -the body following and Dick Willoughby bringing up the rear. - -The sun was low when at last they gained the rancho. They made their way -quietly round to the bunk house and quite tenderly swathed the mortal -remains of the young boss in a blanket, before carrying it to his -father’s home. - -At the sound of approaching footsteps old Ben Thurston, with Leach -Sharkey close on his heels, emerged onto the verandah. There was no need -to announce the death of his son—the ominous bundle told its own sad -tale. The ranch owner stared at it, horrified, inarticulate from a -conflict of emotions, the hunted look of terror again in his eyes. Leach -Sharkey took up the work of interrogation. - -“How did it happen?” He was addressing Jack Rover, who chanced to stand -next to him after helping to deposit the body on a bench that stood -conveniently against the wall. - -“Dick Willoughby heard the shot up among the woods, and found him lying -dead on the road.” - -Sharkey advanced a pace or two and confronted Dick. - -“Who fired the shot?” - -“How should I know?” retorted Dick, reddening slightly from the -brusqueness of the enquiry. - -“I reckon I can tell,” cried Sharkey. And with a swift, experienced -movement he grabbed Dick by both arms and clicked a pair of handcuffs on -his wrists before anyone, Dick least of all, had fathomed his intention. - -Dick Willoughby was a square-shouldered, powerful fellow, but the great -husky bodyguard, Leach Sharkey, towered above him. In the first flush of -anger and surprise Dick struggled to break the shackles of ignominy. But -the sleuth grabbed him by both shoulders with a grip that rendered its -recipient absolutely powerless. - -“Go easy, young man.” - -Dick’s muscles relaxed, and Sharkey was content to release his hold. - -“Go easy. If you have any answer to make to the charge of murdering that -boy, you’ll have the chance all in good time.” - -“What right have you to arrest me?” demanded Dick, somewhat recovering -his poise. - -“Oh, I’ve a special constable’s star all right,” replied Sharkey, -throwing open his coat and displaying, close to his armpit, the badge of -the office he had claimed. - -“Guess that’s good enough for you and all others here. And now take my -advice, Willoughby. You’ll come quietly with me to Bakersfield. I’ve -no special grudge against you, but have my obvious duty to perform. You -threatened young Marshall more than once in all our hearing, and it will -be up to you to prove yourself guiltless of his death. You bring round -Mr. Thurston’s automobile, Rover. We start right now.” - -Everything had happened so rapidly that none of the cowboys, had they -so desired, could have protested or interfered. Meanwhile the news had -spread, for others among the ranch hands were coming up and crowding -toward the verandah rails. General sympathy was obviously with Dick -Several of the onlookers advanced and shook his manacled hands. “All -right, Mr. Willoughby.” “You’ll be home again tomorrow,” “Buck up, -it’s a ridiculous charge”—these were among their expressions of -encouragement. Dick just smiled his thanks—a wan, wistful smile. He now -had himself under perfect control—even his resentment toward Sharkey had -been allowed to evaporate. - -“Very well,” he said quietly, addressing the sleuth. “I’ll give you no -trouble, Sharkey. Let us get away from here as quickly as possible.” - -Just then Lieutenant Munson came hurriedly onto the scene. For a moment -he looked thunderstruck when he saw the handcuffs around Dick’s wrists. - -“Great Scott, Dick! What’s the meaning of this?” Then without waiting -for a reply he turned to the sleuth. - -“I’ve just heard about young Thurston’s death, but you’re surely not -going to mix up Dick Willoughby’s name with it, Mr. Sharkey? You must -know that he would have nothing to do with such a cowardly crime.” - -“He can prove all that at the proper time and place,” was the cool, -determined rejoinder. - -“Don’t interfere, Munson,” interposed Dick. “Mr. Sharkey considers -that he is doing his duty. That’s an end to all argument. I’ll have no -difficulty in obtaining my release once we get to Bakersfield.” - -“And the lieutenant can come along with us if he likes,” observed the -sleuth, conciliated by his prisoner’s sensible view of things. “As Mr. -Willoughby’s best friend, you can see that everything’s done right, Mr. -Munson.” - -“But why these handcuffs?” - -“I know my own business,” replied the sleuth, with returning severity, -as he touched the constable’s star on his breast. “And as a soldier you -should know the wisdom of letting it go at that, sir.” - -Munson turned to Mr. Thurston. All through the colloquy the ranch-owner -had spoken not a word. He had dropped onto the bench beside the still -swathed body of his son, and was sitting there with bowed head and -stolidly fixed eyes. - -“You are no party to this accusation, Mr. Thurston?” the lieutenant -enquired. “I am sorry for the blow that has fallen on you. But you can’t -seriously believe that Dick Willoughby’s the man who fired that shot.” -As he spoke he pointed at the dead rigid form. - -Thurston raised his eyes. There was a dull glare of fury in them, a -savage snarl on his parted lips. - -“Mind your own business, young man. He killed my boy, and by God he’ll -hang for it.” While speaking he rose to his feet, holding forth a -denouncing arm toward Willoughby, “Yes, he’ll hang for it,” he growled -again with savage determination, turning round to the open door. - -With a gesture to the cowboys standing nearest, he bade them carry the -body within. He stood aside to let them pass with their burden, then -followed and slammed the door behind him with an angry bang. - -Despite the tragedy of it all, a little smile went round the group -of onlookers. It meant to say that that was just Ben Thurston all -over—irascible and vindictive. But some faces looked grave. - -“May go mighty hard with Willoughby,” murmured one voice, that of the -old grey-headed man, the blacksmith at the rancho for twenty years or -more. “I wouldn’t like to feel the weight of the old devil’s hand.” - -But just then the automobile came round the house, piloted by Jack -Rover. Sharkey began to make his dispositions for the journey. - -“Do you want to take anything with you, Willoughby?” he asked in a -considerate manner. - -“Nothing,” was the prompt reply. - -“Well then, you’ll ride with me on the front seat. Lieutenant, you can -share the tonneau with Mr. Thurston.” There was a slight grin on the -sleuth’s face as he signified the arrangement. - -“Mr. Thurston?” queried Munson, taken somewhat aback. “Does he come, -too?” - -“Sure,” replied Sharkey. “Who’s going to make the charge, I’d like to -know? Willoughby, I just need your promise that you won’t move from this -verandah till I return.” - -Dick nodded assent. “You have my word,” he said with quiet dignity. - -“Then I’ll be back in a minute,” added the sleuth, his hand on the door -knob. - -Ben Thurston was standing alone in the centre of the living room, the -body with its bearers having passed to an inner apartment. His arms were -folded across his breast in an attitude of deep dejection. But it was -with the scared look of a hunted beast that he started away at the touch -of Leach Sharkey’s hand upon his shoulder. - -The sleuth smiled understandingly. - -“You don’t want to be left here all alone, do you?” - -“No, no. For God’s sake, no. I had forgotten that.” - -“Then you’ve got to come with me to Bakersfield. In any case you will be -wanted to swear the information. And you can also make arrangements for -the funeral. So get your hat and overcoat. We are all ready outside.” - -“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” faltered Thurston. “Wait for me, Sharkey,” he -added, as with nervous fingers he detached his overcoat from a rack on -the wall. - -And a few minutes later the automobile, with Sharkey at the wheel, the -handcuffed prisoner by his side, and Thurston and the lieutenant seated -frigidly apart in opposite comers of the tonneau, was spinning -through the gathering dusk of evening on its way to the county town of -Bakersfield. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—Entanglements - -FROM the observatory high up among the hills, Mr. Robles had witnessed -the arrest and the departure of the prisoner. He had understood every -move just as if he had been present on the verandah down below and had -heard each spoken word. - -As he stood erect, his hand still rested on the telescope. For a few -moments he pondered, then murmured to himself as he turned to leave the -room: “A bad complication! I must break the news tonight to Merle. Poor -little girl!” - -But it was two hours later before he wended his way down through the -moonlit forest in the direction of La Siesta. - -There dinner was over. No word of untoward happenings had as yet -come from the outside world to disturb the tranquillity of the little -household. In the drawing room Merle was at the piano, while Grace, -close by, was curled on a sofa reading the latest novel. At -some distance from the young girls was Mrs. Darlington, occupied -intermittently over a piece of embroidery. - -She was seated in semi-darkness, only her hands and her work illumed by -the soft pink radiance of a shaded lamp resting on a little table by -her side. In the evening costume of the chatelaine of La Siesta was the -suggestion of old lace and old-time lavender—the old lace at her bosom -and around her neck, the subtle fragrance of lavender exhaled from her -garments that gave to her a sort of personal atmosphere. And as she sat -musingly, with the skeins of silk passing through her fingers, she might -have formed a picture of some Penelope seated at the loom of pensive -memory. - -The music from the piano was in harmony with both her mood and her -attitude—the soft dreamy melodies of Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words” -to which she was vaguely listening while busy with her thoughts and her -stitches. - -Downstairs amid the oriental luxuriousness of the cosy corner sat Tia -Teresa, waiting in the dark to intercept the visitor of whose coming -she had been apprized by a secret messenger. And at last Ricardo Robles -came, with the noiseless footfall that was characteristic of the man and -imparted to him an air of mystery. He was standing by the old duenna’s -side before she had realized his presence. - -“I wanted a few words with you first of all, Tia Teresa,” he murmured, -as she grasped his hand in both her own and affectionately kissed it. -“Something has happened.” - -“I know what has happened, Don Manuel,” she whispered. “The young man -deserved his fate, for I am sure you saw what occurred in the rose -garden during the afternoon. For one of his breed to have dared even to -touch my little girl!” She hissed the words venomously, then added in -calmer tone: “So all is well. He brought down his doom upon his own -head, and vengeance for Rosetta begins.” - -Robles pressed her hand as he disengaged his own from her almost -fiercely caressing touch. - -“I nursed you both,” continued the duenna in a low impassioned voice. -“Your people were my people, you children were my very life, and your -revenge has come to be my own. So I rejoice that the young ruffian -died.” - -He had seated himself by her side on the divan. “We shall say no more -then about that,” he responded. “In some ways I am sorry over the day’s -work. At times I find it difficult to reconcile my firmness with my -softness.” - -“But you cannot forget that you are no longer the owner of your father’s -lands and flocks, and are virtually childless besides.” She breathed the -words with intense repressed fury, intensified as she added: “And all -through the accursed gringo who wrecked our happy lives—Rosetta’s, -yours, your beloved parents’ as well. While that abominable wretch -lives, the vendetta can never end.” - -For a moment Robles remained silent. Then he spoke resolutely: - -“I know it, Tia Teresa. Today my work only begins. Rest assured that it -will be carried to the bitter finish. For this I have waited all through -those long years. But I wanted to tell you of another matter—to warn you -of a very serious complication. Dick Willoughby has been arrested -for the slaying of Marshall Thurston.” The duenna sat bolt upright in -shocked surprise. “Oh, my! What will this mean?” she murmured. - -“Terrible grief for my little girl—possibly much suffering for him until -I choose to take the responsibility upon myself.” - -“You must not do that.” - -“No. Not yet, at all events. Or the victory will be his—my enemy’s.” - -He mused again. She, too, remained silent. At last he broke the spell. - -“But I have already devised measures for his safety. Now I must go -upstairs. They have heard nothing yet?” - -“Not a word.” - -“Then I must tell them of the mysterious shooting in the woods, and at -the same time reassure Merle that her lover is in no real danger.” - -“And Mrs. Darlington?” asked Tia Teresa. “How much is she to know?” - -“Nothing! The vendetta is for us Spaniards. It is ours and ours alone. -No one knows of my vow but you and I. Let it remain so. Adios, my dear -friend.” - -In the darkness he stooped and kissed her on both cheeks. For a moment -she clung to him, but he gently liberated himself from her embrace. He -moved toward the stairway, and Tia Teresa followed him cautiously up to -the drawing room door, outside of which she remained. Knowing that she -was there, he left the door ajar. The soft music was still playing, but -suddenly ceased when Robles advanced into the apartment. - -“My word, but this is an unexpected pleasure,” exclaimed Merle, as she -came from the piano with outstretched hands. - -He took them both in his own, and bestowed on her a grave but kindly -smile. He also nodded to Grace, who had dropped her book and risen in -courteous greeting. - -“But you look sad and serious,” Merle went on, with quick intuition that -his coming at this late hour meant something more than a mere neighborly -visit. - -“Something sad and serious has happened,” he replied. - -Mrs. Darlington had advanced from her lamp-lit table. - -“What?” she enquired eagerly. “Somehow I had a sense of impending -trouble all day long.” - -“Young Thurston of the rancho has met with an accident.” - -“Dead?” gasped Merle, her hands clasped against her bosom. - -“Yes, dead, I am afraid. He was mysteriously shot this afternoon when -riding through the pine woods.” - -Merle was stricken dumb. Grace glided to her side and listened in silent -expectancy. - -“Shot! By whom?” asked Mrs. Darlington. - -“That I cannot tell,” gravely replied Robles. Then he smiled faintly. -“But an amazingly stupid blunder has been made. By some combination -of circumstances suspicion is being fastened on our dear friend Dick -Willoughby.” - -“Dick!” exclaimed Merle. “Who dares to suggest such a thing?” she added -indignantly. - -“I infer that Mr. Thurston is his accuser,” replied Robles. - -“The two young men quarreled,” murmured Mrs. Darlington, in a voice of -deep agitation. - -“Mother!” cried Merle reprovingly. “Even to think for one moment that -Dick, whatever the provocation, could have done such a thing! He is -absolutely innocent, Mr. Robles,” she went on decisively, again turning -to their visitor. - -“Of course he is innocent—absolutely innocent. No one knows that better -than myself.” And he gave an enigmatic smile as he spoke the words of -reassuring confidence. - -“Where is Mr. Willoughby now?” queried Grace. - -“He has been compelled to go to Bakersfield.” - -“To Bakersfield?” exclaimed Merle, half wonderingly. - -“There to prove his innocence,” replied Robles. - -But Mrs. Darlington had probed the real significance of his words. - -“You don’t mean to say that they have—arrested him?” - -Robles nodded gravely. “That’s how the law acts. A man under suspicion -must be taken into custody—he must be charged so that he can refute the -shameful calumny.” - -Merle had dropped into a settee—white and speechless. Her lips trembled. -Then she burst into a passion of weeping, burying her face against an -arm flung across the upholstery. - -Mrs. Darlington moved forward quickly to comfort the sobbing girl. - -“Oh, don’t take on like this, my dear child. The arrest was a mere -formality. He will be immediately set at liberty.” - -Merle raised her tear-stained face. She spoke in gulping sobs. - -“But, mother, I never told you—I shrank from telling any of you. While -you and Grace were away this afternoon, Marshall Thurston called and -wanted to make love to me—he even dared to try to kiss me. Tia Teresa -flung him out of the rose garden. It was I who made Tia Teresa promise -to say nothing about it to anyone. I feared trouble. And, oh, trouble, -terrible trouble, has already come.” Again she bowed her head and -continued weeping, but quietly weeping now. Grace was bending over her, -patting her shoulder in soothing sympathy. - -Mrs. Darlington’s eyes met those of Robles. - -“This may prove serious,” she said softly, that Merle might not -overhear. - -“It is decidedly unfortunate,” replied Robles; “an unfortunate -complication that may, of course, strengthen the suspicion against -Willoughby and so render it more difficult for us to help him.” - -Merle sprang to her feet, and with a hand dashed away her tears. - -“Suspicion!” she exclaimed. “There can be not one moment’s suspicion.” -And she gazed up into Robles’ face in ardent appeal. - -“Of course not, my dear, among us—among all those who know Dick -Willoughby. But there is the harshly judging world to reckon with -besides. They may say that this discloses a motive for the crime.” - -“However, Merle has just told us,” commented Mrs. Darlington, “that only -she and Tia Teresa know anything about this unhappy episode in the rose -garden. Mr. Willoughby has not been here at all today.” - -“But I happen to know that he was not far away this afternoon—that he -was rounding up some cattle in the near-by canyons. Malice may suggest -that he was a witness of Thurston’s insolent behavior.” - -“Then we should all keep silent on the subject.” - -“Which might be compromising in the long run, my dear Mrs. Darlington. -Altogether it is a difficult situation.” - -Merle had been hardly listening to this conversation. She had been -thinking, and with thinking had regained her composure. Her mind was -quickly made up as to the line of prompt action that must be taken. She -spoke quite calmly now. - -“He is in prison. You have not spoken the word, Mr. Robles, but I know -the truth all the same. We shall go to him tonight.” - -“Not tonight, my dear,” replied Robles, with gentle firmness. “But -tomorrow morning, certainly, I would suggest that you drive over to -Bakersfield. He will appreciate your kindness in paying him this prompt -visit, and you can at the same time convey to him my message of absolute -belief in his innocence.” - -“You will not come, too?” - -“I can do more for him, Merle, by not going to Bakersfield for the -present. Do not forget that for reasons of my own I live in seclusion. -My name must be mentioned to no one but Mr. Willoughby. Trust me, all -three of you, and leave me to work quietly alone and by my own methods. -There, I give my promise. The captive will be set free within a short -time. My hand on that, and you know that I never break my word.” - -There was a joyous smile of confidence on his face as he spoke the -words. Merle took the extended hand gratefully, trustfully, and pressed -it to her lips. Robles went on: - -“My advice is—try to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, or within a few brief -tomorrows, all will be well. Good night.” - -Tia Teresa followed him from the open door down into the outer hall. - -“You heard everything,” he said as he paused to speak a final word of -parting. “Comfort her, but at the same time guard our secret closer than -ever. Not one hair of Willoughby’s head will be touched—make her know -that for certain. And everything will come right in a very little time.” - -“My poor little girl,” he murmured to himself as he strode down the -silent tree-shadowed avenue. - - - - -CHAPTER XV—Behind the Bars - -Dick Willoughby had been lodged in the county jail at Bakersfield, duly -charged by Ben Thurston as the murderer of his son. To his surprise, and -indeed to his dismay, the prisoner was informed that, the crime alleged -being a capital one, no bail could be accepted. This was first of all -a blow to Willoughby’s pride. Here he was under the stigma of -imprisonment, but with no possibility of redress. It was not the loss of -comforts, the deprivation of personal liberty, the hardships to body and -to soul, inseparable from such restraint, that he resented, so much as -the semiconviction of guilt implied by the durance vile to which he was -to be subjected, although absolutely innocent of the deed of which he -was accused. - -However, after first chagrin came manly philosophy. The law might be -right or wrong, wise or unwise, necessary or superfluous. But all the -same it was the law of the state and had therefore to be obeyed. So, -when the situation was finally reviewed, it was Lieutenant Munson who, -when bidding his friend good-night, had been the angry man, fretting -and fuming over such an abominable act of injustice, while the prisoner -himself was tranquilly resigned to the ordeal through which he must -pass and to which unkind fate was subjecting him for reasons that he was -powerless to fathom. - -“Good night, Ches, old man. You’ll see me again in the morning. It’s -mighty kind of you to stay in town all night. But we can decide on the -best lawyer to employ, and then you must hasten back to break the bad -news at La Siesta.” - -Such had been Dick’s quiet words when their colloquy had been broken up, -and he had been ordered to the retirement of his prison cell. To enter -that place was for Dick a horrible experience. But he accepted the -experience calmly, bade the turnkey a cheerful good-night, and laid him -down to sleep on the narrow mattress resting upon the hard bench, at -peace with himself and the world, even with the bitter enemy who had all -so unexpectedly appeared on his path. - -Although Munson was back in the jail betimes next morning, he found Dick -already conferring with a lawyer—the best and most honored in the town, -as Munson knew the moment his name was mentioned. - -“Let me introduce you to Mr. Bradley,” said Dick, presenting him. “Some -kind friend whose name he declines to reveal for the present, sent him a -special message last night retaining his services for my defence.” - -“Mrs. Darlington, I bet,” interjected the lieutenant. - -“No, not Mrs. Darlington, let me assure you,” rejoined the lawyer, -“although undoubtedly she would be willing to do the same thing. But I -am not permitted to say any more.” - -“And he has carte blanche for all expenses,” smiled Dick. “Although I -should not think there will be much money required to clear an innocent -man,” he added. - -“Wait till you see,” said the lawyer crisply. “We have to reckon with a -malignant persecutor, I am already informed.” - -“Well, I’ve got a bit to my bank credit,” Dick replied. “And we’ll draw -on that first before I accept the generosity of an unknown friend. It -will be quite a saving here,” he went on with a humorous twinkle in his -eye as he glanced around. “Free board and lodging at the state’s expense -for a week at all events.” - -“Much longer than that, I am afraid,” gravely remarked the lawyer. -“You see, Mr. Munson, just before you arrived we were discussing -the decidedly unfortunate coincidence that at the time the shooting -occurred, Mr. Willoughby, by his own admission, was in the little canyon -below the scene of the tragedy.” - -“Rounding up some cattle,” observed Dick. “Of course. But all the same, -open to suspicion as being on the ground, and indeed being the first to -reach the dead man’s side.” - -“That should be proof of innocence,” observed Munson. - -“Or may be taken as evidence of well-reasoned audacity to throw accusers -off the trail,” retorted the attorney. “You see we have to look at -everything, not from our own point of view, but from the other side. Now -I want to learn something more about that quarrel between you and young -Thurston at the cattle muster.” - -“He made an insulting remark about one of the young ladies from La -Siesta,” replied Dick. “I told him I would tan his hide if he ever did -it again. That’s all. But the last thing I want is that these ladies’ -names should be dragged into the case.” - -“But his remark and your reproof were overheard by others,” commented -the attorney. - -“Oh, yes, by a bunch of ranch hands.” - -“Whose evidence will undoubtedly be called for the prosecution, -necessitating, perhaps, the evidence of the young ladies on our side.” - -“By God, I won’t stand for that,” exclaimed Dick hotly. “I can defend -myself without their being called to the witness stand. Think, Munson, -of subjecting Merle or Grace to any such thing”—and his indignant face -appealed to the lieutenant’s. - -“I saw nothing of the quarrel,” observed Munson, addressing the lawyer, -“although, of course, I heard something about it later on—not from -Willoughby, however, for he has never once referred to the matter in -conversation with me. But I say, Dick, old fellow, you know that Merle -Farnsworth and Grace Darlington, too, will be only too proud and happy -to stand up for you in a law court or anywhere else.” - -“That may be,” replied Dick gloomily, “but I don’t propose that they -shall be made the objects of vulgar curiosity in a crowded court-room, -or that their ears should ever hear the vile words that fell from that -miserable degenerate who has at last met the fate he properly deserved.” - -“Well, it is a point that we shall have to consider carefully,” spoke -the lawyer as he rose to take his departure. “I have all the main facts -of the case now, Mr. Willoughby. Of course I shall apply formally to -the court for bail, but I know it is bound to be refused. I’ll make all -arrangements outside for your comfort here—meals, etc., and no -doubt your friend, Mr. Munson, will bring you over clothing, toilet -requisites, and the other little things you will require. I’ll see you -again later on today.” - -The lawyer was gone, and the two comrades were alone in the little room, -stone-walled and bare of furniture except for a few chairs, where the -consultation had been held. Beyond the open door stood a constable, just -out of earshot. But he now took his stand within the room. - -“Well, Munson, old chap,” said Dick with cheerful alacrity, “you get -back to the rancho in double-quick time. Then go on to La Siesta and -tell Merle not to worry on my account. Tell her that I’m bright and -happy, and just enjoying a good rest, and will be set at liberty within -a week or so. But remember, she is not to come here. Good Lord, I -never want her to see me in a place like this.” And he glanced around -forlornly, and in a measure ashamed. - -But at the very moment there was a flutter along the corridor—the sound -of voices, and women’s voices, too. A moment later the superintendent of -the jail appeared, bringing with him Mrs. Darlington and Merle. At the -doorway he spoke to the officer on guard; the man withdrew. - -“Mr. Willoughby, here are some more friends,” said the superintendent -as he ushered in the ladies. “I am going to interpret the regulations as -leniently as possible—that’s a matter which can rest between ourselves. -I’ll come back for you, Mrs. Darlington, in half an hour.” - -Merle advanced toward Dick with outstretched hand. In her other hand was -a fine bouquet of roses. - -“What a shame that you should be here,” she exclaimed. “But I realize -that the only thing to do is to submit as cheerfully as possible to the -inevitable. Mother and I came over to give you our sympathy and proffer -our help in every possible way. Grace also sends her very kindest -regards, and I was bidden by Mr. Robles, whom we saw last night, to -assure you of his complete belief in your innocence.” - -“Oh, I’m not afraid of any real friend thinking me capable of a cowardly -deed like that,” replied Willoughby. “But it is nice to have these kind -messages, although I could have wished, Miss Farnsworth, that you had -not seen me amid such surroundings.” - -“Do you think that we would desert you in such a time of trouble as -this?” replied Merle, as she sat down. “But seeing that our visit is -to be restricted to half an hour, it is well that we should get to -the important points without delay. I have been talking over a certain -matter both with mother and Mr. Robles, and although I shrink from -telling it, they have decided that you must know about the affair.” - -She then proceeded, in a low voice and with lips that trembled, to tell -how young Thurston had forced his attentions on her just a little time -before the shooting occurred and how Tia Teresa had rescued her from his -clutches. - -This was the first that Dick had heard of the incident and his face -flushed with anger. But Merle quieted him at once. “You need not be -angry now, Mr. Willoughby. It is all over. But your lawyer will want to -consider what bearing this may possibly have upon the case.” - -“It can have no bearing at all,” maintained Dick. “In the first place I -didn’t even know till now that Marshall had been visiting at La Siesta. -And in the second place, just as I was saying to Munson a few minutes -ago, I am determined that the names of you ladies shall not be dragged -into this miserable affair. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Darlington?” - -“In a measure. But all the same we are ready to stand by you so as to -establish your innocence with the least possible delay. I heard this -morning that Mr. Thurston is very bitter against you, keeps vowing -vengeance, and announces that no money will be spared to bring the -slayer of his son to retribution.” - -“Well, I hope he’ll find him without loss of time,” smiled Dick. “That -will be the quickest and easiest way to get me out of confinement. -But at this moment I have not the faintest idea on whom to fasten the -charge. Lots of the cowboys despised young Thurston, but none were -really his enemies, and I don’t know any one among the bunch who would -have shot him in that dastardly, cold-blooded manner.” - -“Which makes the situation for you all the more disagreeable,” commented -Munson. “You had been known to threaten him, and if there is no one else -to whom suspicion can point, you may be kept here, Dick, for quite a -time—for months, perhaps, until the case goes to trial.” - -Dick’s face fell. “For months!” he exclaimed. “Surely that would be an -outrage.” - -“Oh, I wouldn’t be too despondent,” protested Merle. “Besides, Mr. -Robles has pledged his word to me that you will be free in a very brief -time.” - -“Then he may know who the culprit is,” remarked Dick eagerly. - -“No,” interposed Mrs. Darlington. “He is like ourselves—quite in the -dark. But you may rest assured that Mr. Robles will leave no stone -unturned to solve the mystery and restore you to liberty, Mr. -Willoughby, for I happen to know that he holds you in highest esteem.” - -“I’m glad of that,” replied Dick. “Well, I want you to tell him from me -how keen I am that you ladies shall be spared from all association -with this case. You know that I am exercising great self-denial, Miss -Farnsworth, when I say that you are never to come here again. This is no -place for you.” - -“Pardon me,” laughed Merle, “but we are interested in you and will -excuse the hotel you have chosen to patronize. We brought these -roses for you from La Siesta”—as she spoke she presented him with the -beautiful blooms—“and if Lieutenant Munson will be kind enough to come -out to our automobile he will find there some books, also a box of fruit -and a few delicacies which we hope will help to make your stay here just -a little more tolerable.” - -“You’re kind indeed,” murmured Dick gratefully. “Don’t worry about me,” -he added cheerfully, “I’ll have a fine rest here, and will be able to -catch up with my arrears of reading.” - -And in this philosophic frame of mind the prisoner was left to begin his -holiday. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI—Pierre Luzon Returns - -IN the outside world the question on everybody’s lips was—who had -fired the fatal shot among the pine woods? The young reprobate had been -thoroughly despised, but he had no known enemies except Willoughby. So -while Willoughby’s staunch friends could only reiterate the question -in vain perplexity, most people were inclined to answer it with Dick’s -name. The angry quarrel between the two young men was universally -known and had been subjected to sundry embellishments—for example, the -threatened horse-whipping had become an actual recorded event, and so -on. And even there were whispers about rivalry in some love affair—that -Marshall had had his eye on one of the young ladies at La Siesta where -Dick for some time had been a constant caller. - -So among the cowboys on the ranch, the oil drillers who frequented -the Bakersfield saloons and had often enough stood around while young -Thurston had set up the drinks, the newspaper reading public generally -for whom all the facts had been set forth in elaborate detail—the -universal concensus of opinion seemed to be that Dick Willoughby was the -man. Not that this verdict of popular opinion carried with it any real -reprobation. Everyone agreed that the worthless degenerate had met even -a kindlier fate than he merited. Had he lived, not all his father’s -millions could have long saved him either from the penitentiary or an -asylum for the insane. - -A week passed. Thurston brooded in solitude, but at his bidding Leach -Sharkey kept up active investigations with a view to nose out every bit -of evidence that could tell against the accused man. Sharkey worked, -not from any special animosity against Willoughby, but from keen -professional pride. - -Dick accepted his confinement with manly fortitude. It. was one of those -untoward happenings that come into some people’s lives for no obvious -reason, but he was calm in the confidence that everything would be made -clear in a very short time. - -Moreover he was clear to his own conscience, which was the main thing. -Next in importance was that Merle, Grace and Mrs. Darlington, Robles and -Munson, all the friends whom he held in highest esteem, had never for -one moment doubted him. In their unshaken friendship was sufficient -reward for all the tribulations through which he was passing. - -Meanwhile word had reached Buck Ashley that old Tom Baker was on his way -home in company with Pierre Luzon, to whom the Governor of the State -had at last granted parole. In view of Dick’s imprisonment Munson had -well-nigh lost all interest in the romance of the buried treasure. But -it had been Dick himself who had insisted that his friend must attend to -their joint interests during his period of enforced sequestration. - -Thus it had come about that Munson found himself one evening at the -store, awaiting with Jack Rover and Buck Ashley the arrival of the -automobile in which the sheriff was bringing the liberated convict -from San Quentin. In a brief letter Tom Baker had explained that he had -decided on this manner of transportation both because of its ensuring -privacy and also because Pierre Luzon was so enfeebled by age, sickness -and prolonged confinement that he could not travel by train. “I’ve -rigged up a stretcher,” wrote Tom, “but the poor old Frenchie is as weak -as a kitten, and we’ll have to run slow.” - -Nine o’clock that night was the scheduled hour around which the -automobile might be expected. Buck Ashley had the extra cot for the -invalid all ready in his own bedroom at the rear of the store. - -It was close on ten o’clock, however, before the headlight of the -automobile showed across the valley on the high-road. Buck piled another -big log on the fire in the sitting room. He saw that the doors were all -carefully closed and the shades pulled down. Then he brought in from the -bar a tray with glasses and a bottle of whisky. - -“Kentucky bourbon—that was old Pierre Luzon’s favorite lotion,” he said -as he set down the tray. “And I guess he’ll be glad of a good stiff -drink on a cold night like this.” - -At last the automobile entered the yard, and the invalid was carried in -on the stretcher and propped up comfortably in a rocking chair near the -cheerful blaze. His teeth were chattering from cold, and he gratefully -gulped down the stiff glass of bourbon which Buck lost no time in -proffering him. - -“You see,” explained Tom Baker, as he bustled around, “the Governor just -grants paroles; he can’t grant pardons. Some sort of a board has to pass -on the pardons. But I got him out all right, and that’s the main thing. -Eh, Pierre, old man?” - -The sheriff nodded with great friendliness to his protégé. Luzon -responded with a wan smile that silently spoke his thankfulness. His -face was deathly pale, but there was wonderful snap and vitality in -the black bead-like eyes that roamed around the room and searched each -countenance. - -Buck was now standing by the rocker. He laid a hand familiarly on the -Frenchman’s shoulder. - -“You see, Pierre, old scout, I don’t forget you”—he pointed to the -bottle on the table. “Kentucky bourbon, the best I’ve got in the house, -and the very label you used to call for. Now we’ve got to drink to your -speedy recovery. Fill up all round, boys. The drinks are on me tonight.” - -“Hip, hip, hooray!” shouted Tom, as the glasses tinkled. - -“Hush!” exclaimed Buck, warningly. “We don’t want to bring any booze -fighters prowlin’ around here tonight. You see, Pierre, we four are in -cahoots and understand each other. You know Tom and myself—we ain’t in -need of any guarantee. And you can trust Mr. Chester Munson and Jack -Rover here to the limit.” - -Luzon bowed acknowledgment of the informal introduction. - -“It was we who put up the cash to get you out of San Quentin,” continued -Buck, as he dropped into a chair close beside Tom Baker. - -“Together with Dick Willoughby,” interjected Munson. - -“Oh, yes, not forgettin’ Dick,” resumed the storekeeper, “as fine a -young feller as ever walked on shoe leather. But, by God, he’s in jail -just now.” - -“Eh?” ejaculated the ex-convict, with a look of awakening, almost -fraternal, interest. - -Buck turned to the sheriff. - -“Of course, Tom, you’ll have read all about that terrible affair in the -newspapers?” - -The sheriff surreptitiously grabbed Buck’s arm. He spoke in a -confidential whisper. - -“Drop that subject for the present. I’ve said nothin’ about it to old -Pierre in case it might upset him. I ain’t dared to mention the name -Thurston to him, for he shared the White Wolf’s hatred of the breed.” -Then Tom gave a little cough and glanced across the fireplace at the -Frenchman. “Just a little cowboy shootin’ scrap, Pierre, in which our -chum Dick Willoughby has got himself temporarily involved. But say, -boys,” he went on, casting his eyes toward Munson and Rover, “I just -thanked the Lord it wasn’t me as had to arrest Dick. Of course if I had -still been sheriff I’d a done it—when I was a sworn-in officer, duty was -duty all the time with me, as every damned horse-thief within a hundred -miles knows. But to take an honest man into custody for shootin’ a -miserable human coyote like that young—” - -“Well, we’re not a-goin’ to speak about him just now,” interrupted Buck, -bestowing a cautioning kick on the sheriff’s shins. - -Tom took the timely reminder. - -“That would have gone sore against the grain,” he said emphatically, as -he reached for the whisky bottle and replenished his tumbler. - -“Glad to be back?” asked Buck, beaming pleasantly on old Pierre. - -The Frenchman lifted one thin hand and smiled. - -“Here I will become once more strong,” he murmured. “No place in ze -world like ze dear old Tehachapi mountains.” - -“Wal, I see you’ve begun to let your beard grow again,” continued Buck, -pointing to the gray stubbled chin. “And when your hair comes along, -too, you’ll just be lookin’ fine and dandy. The same old Pierre that -used to sit for hours at a time in the store.” - -He paused a moment, surveying the visitor. - -“A leetle more whisky, please,” murmured Pierre, as he watched the -sheriff lay down his glass. - -“All the whisky you want, old fellow,” exclaimed Buck, with effusive -hospitality. “By gunnies, you’re entitled to a good few nips after all -the long years you’ve been locked up. Ain’t that so, boys?” - -“I should say,” declared Tom, fervently, wiping his lips with the back -of his hand. - -The Frenchman drank gratefully, and as he felt the warm alcoholic glow -in his vitals, uttered a deep-drawn “Ah!” of appreciation. - -“Tastes good, don’t it?” observed Buck. “You never turned down a drink -of good whisky in the old days, did you, Pierre? Great times then! And -gosh almighty, don’t it beat hell, I never suspected who you were all -those years you used to sit around the store smokin’ that big-bowled -pipe of yourn? And you knew about the cave then?” - -“Oh, Pierre Luzon, he know how to keep one secret,” responded the -Frenchman, smiling. - -“Yes, and good for us all you kept it, old man,” exclaimed the sheriff. -“He’s a-goin’ to show us the cave tomorrow, Buck. There will be six in -the divvy-up now, boys, for of course Pierre Luzon stands in. That’s -agreeable all round, fellers?” - -“Sure, sure,” responded the others in unison. Tom turned to the -Frenchman. - -“I told you, Pierre, we’d play the game fair and square with you. Ain’t -that right?” - -“I trust you all,” replied Luzon. “I show ze cave tomorrow to my friend, -Tom Baker, and you gentlemen who have been so kind to make up one purse -to bring me back here from zat horrid prison.” - -“Guess you’re about the only feller that knows where it is?” enquired -Buck, cautiously. - -Luzon looked at his questioner and spoke just one word: “Guadalupe.” - -“Does Gaudalupe know?” exclaimed Jack Rover. “I thought her long suit -was the riffle where she gets her placer gold.” - -“Guadalupe,” answered Pierre, speaking slowly, “she know ze cave, but -she not know where ze treasure is buried. Ze cave her home. She live -zere. Lots and lots of times she come out, and nobody ever track her -when she go back. Ze outlaws they sharp-shoot from places in ze hills -nobody could see. But I show you,” he continued, nodding his head at -Jack Rover, “I, Pierre, show you where zat riffle is. I know both where -Guadalupe wash out placer gold and ze secret chamber in ze big cave -where Joaquin Murietta bury him money and where ze White Wolf, Don -Manuel—peace to his soul!”—Pierre Luzon crossed himself—“hide sacks and -sacks of ze yellow gold. Oh, yes!” - -This long speech had exhausted the old man. He dropped his head wearily. - -“What you need now is a good long sleep,” exclaimed Tom Baker. “Another -jolt of bourbon Pierre, and then you get in between the blankets, old -fellow.” - -“I’ve got your bed all ready in the next room,” observed Buck. - -“I guess I go to bed zen,” assented Luzon. - -He gulped down with relish a nightcap of the old whisky. Then Buck and -Tom helped him from his chair. - -“It is good to be here,” murmured the Frenchman. “I grow strong again -among ze mountains. I never go back—never go back to San Quentin, that -one horrid prison.” - -“We’ll nurse you like a baby,” said Buck assuringly, as he led the -feeble old man into the adjoining room. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII—The Bitter Bit - -ON the very night of Pierre Luzon’s return, Ben Thurston was in close -colloquy with his attorney, summoned specially from New York. It was not -only the murder of his son that had brought about this consultation. -The owner of San Antonio Rancho, while filled with fury against Dick -Willoughby, was also gravely perturbed over other things. Immediately -after dinner the two men shut themselves up in Thurston’s office. - -Thurston opened the safe and produced a little bundle of neatly-folded, -legal-looking documents. - -“These are the option papers,” he said gruffly, as he tossed them across -the table to the lawyer. “Look them over, Mr. Hawkins.” - -The attorney glanced through the documents in a preliminary way. - -“I see the first big payment falls due on April 1st,” he remarked. - -“Yes, April 1st,” responded Thurston, “and I was a damned fool, too, -to let that Trust Company fellow inveigle me into making the date April -1st, instead of March 1st. You see,” he went on, “the taxes come due -on March 1st, and on this principality they amount to quite a pretty -figure, I can tell you.” - -“How much?” - -“Oh, about $18,000.” - -The lawyer again read the papers through, this time more carefully. - -“Well, Mr. Thurston,” he said, as he lighted a cigar and sat back in his -chair, “I left some very important matters to come to you in answer to -your imperative message. What’s the work in hand?” - -“Why, this option for one thing; and then, too, I want you to help me -put the noose around the neck of that scoundrel who killed my son.” - -“We’ll take one thing at a time, please,” replied the attorney, speaking -slowly and quietly. “So far as this option on the rancho is concerned, -it seems to be quite regular. Nevertheless, five million dollars is a -whole lot of money. Is there any danger of their forfeiting their option -payment of $100,000?” - -“Danger? Forfeiting?” ejaculated Ben Thurston. “Well, I’m not at all -afraid of that. My fear now is that they may take up the option.” - -“Why, didn’t you wish to make the sale?” - -“Yes, but I am not getting money enough. The ranch is really worth -ten million dollars today, in cold cash. I have recently had some San -Francisco capitalists down here appraising it for me, but I had already -given the option.” - -“I see that the agreement provides for your cattle and horses going in -at the stipulated price.” - -“Yes, I don’t know why I should have been so infernally stupid. But you -see those Los Angeles fellows came over here one day in an automobile -and stayed all night. We had a sort of a tiff—didn’t agree very well—and -I let them start away the next morning without their breakfast—rather -uncivil, I’ll admit. After they had gone I got to thinking matters over, -and I sent a telephone message along the road to stop them and ask them -to come back. They returned all right. There was one of their number, -this fellow from some Title and Trust Company, who was pretty warm under -the collar, and, if I do say it myself, was as peeved as hell at me. -Well, he was the one who drew up the agreement, sitting here at this -table. The paper looked all right to me, and so I just went ahead and -signed. I know now they caught me for the $18,000 of taxes because I -didn’t just insist on having the option expire March 1st, instead of -April 1st. But, to be frank with you, I really didn’t much mind, for at -that time I was only keen to get their $100,000 for the option, -never believing for a moment that they would come across with the -million-dollar first payment due April 1st. You see the cattle and -horses and all the stock on the ranch was a sort of sheaf of oats that I -hung out in order to get them to put up their option money—just so much -bait.” - -Mr. Hawkins shrugged his shoulders and said: “Well, Mr. Thurston, -judging from this inventory before me, you certainly hung up a most -generous bait.” - -“I didn’t stop to think—that’s all there is to be said. All these -details hadn’t been worked out into cold figures at the time I gave the -option. When these men were here I just wanted to wheedle them into a -bargain which would leave a cool $100,000 in my hands. I never for one -moment believed they could make the million-dollar payment, although, by -God, I begin to realize the danger of their doing so now.” - -The lawyer looked up in silent surprise. Thurston continued: - -“Of course I should have had this detailed valuation made before I went -into the deal. Up to the time I read that inventory I had no real idea -of the increased value of the property and what was on it. Oh, you may -shake your head; I’m not a good business man—never cared a damn for -business—and I know quite well I haven’t given enough attention to the -ranch. You see I have been living mostly in the East, for good reasons. -I don’t like it here at all—I’ve never felt safe in California,” and -he glanced nervously at the window of the room, as if some enemy were -lurking there. - -Mr. Hawkins once more reached for the inventory, and carefully examined -the figures. Finally he said: “Pardon me, Mr. Thurston, for the -observation. But you should have sent for me before the option was -signed, if you did not really intend to carry out its terms. I find that -you have twenty-six thousand head of cattle, and you say that the price -of cattle is very high just now—that the whole herd ought to average -forty dollars a head. This item alone makes one million and forty -thousand dollars, or, in other words, if they exercise the option and -pay you the first million dollars, they will have forty thousand -dollars more than the payment which they make at that time.” The lawyer -pencilled down the figures while he spoke. - -Ben Thurston had been listening with a gloomy look on his brow. But when -he saw the figures translated into dollars he fairly bounced from his -chair, walked rapidly up and down the room, and then, coming to a sudden -halt, shouted: “By God, that’s where they got me again. I see it all -now; these fellows were a damned sight too smart for me. Well, Hawkins, -you are my attorney. I don’t want to go on with this deal, even if they -are able to dig up the money.” - -The lawyer puffed at his cigar, wholly undisturbed, and then replied: -“Mr. Thurston, you have already made a sale.” - -“No, by God, I haven’t; nothing of the kind,” replied Thurston. “The -truth is that I should get ten million dollars for this ranch, and keep -all my horses and cattle, too. I don’t propose to be fleeced by that -Los Angeles outfit either,” he continued, running his hands through his -hair. “I have it; we’ll break the contract. I’ll bet that option is so -faulty that you can drive a load of hay right through it. Hunt up a -flaw and we will send them back their option money. I don’t want their -$100,000 now.” - -“I have already carefully studied the paper,” replied Hawkins, “and can -find no flaw in it. It was evidently drawn by a master hand.” - -“Master hand be damned,” thundered Thurston. “Why, the stiff wasn’t even -a lawyer. He was just one of the syndicate—the one I told you about a -while back. He knows so cussed much about titles that the other fellows -let him write the option.” - -“I see,” replied the attorney, as a half-smile flitted over his face; -“about all you seemingly had to do was to sign the option papers and -count the option money. The sole hope you have now, Mr. Thurston, in my -opinion, is for those Los Angeles gentlemen to let this valuable option -lapse. You have only a few days to wait.” - -“But I haven’t told you the worst yet,” said Thurston sullenly, dropping -again into his chair. - -“What do you mean?” - -“I had a long-distance telephone this morning from the First National -Bank at Los Angeles saying that the million dollars due April 1st has -been already paid in to my credit. But I won’t touch the money—I’ll be -damned if I do.” - -“You have no choice but to accept it,” said the lawyer. “It would be -foolish to deceive yourself; San Antonio Rancho is sold, and with the -payment just made, you, by the terms of your contract, are compelled to -give immediate possession. I can only advise you to take your medicine -like a man, but don’t let those Los Angeles gentlemen know that you -are swallowing a bitter dose.” He refolded the papers, and pushed them -across the table. “Now, Mr. Thurston, if there is anything I can do to -assist you in the prosecution of your son’s murderer, I stand ready to -do so.” Ben Thurston arose. - -“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. I’ll hang Dick Willoughby right enough -in good time. Meanwhile you tell me the rancho is sold—that I have lost -my great estate for less than half its value? Hell! Isn’t that enough -for one night?” And he stalked wrathfully out of the room, slamming the -door behind him. - -“He sold at the wrong price,” mused the lawyer with a quiet smile. -“Perhaps he’ll be trying next to hang the wrong man.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII—Elusive Riches - -IN the meantime the quartet at the store were making a night of it. With -old Pierre Luzon peacefully asleep in the adjoining room, there were -many things to speak about. Tom Baker recounted in elaborate detail his -story of interviews with the governor and state officials at Sacramento, -the weary and harassing delays before parole was finally granted, his -own dogged determination, together with the artful pulling of political -strings that had finally brought about the results desired. Then there -was the trip to San Quentin, the breaking of the joyful news to Pierre -Luzon in his cell, the delivery of the paroled convict into Tom’s -hands, and the clever solution of all further difficulties by hiring -an automobile for the journey south. The narrative was all very -interesting, each listener eagerly followed every word, and at the close -Tom Baker’s chest had expanded several inches. - -“I tell you boys, there’s no man alive could have done what I did. The -business was in the right hands. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t -have Pierre Luzon here tonight.” - -“But if Pierre Luzon hadn’t written that letter,” growled Buck Ashley, -“you would never have started for Sacramento and San Quentin.” - -“Well, all’s well that ends well,” discreetly interposed Munson, as he -raked the smouldering wood ashes together. “Gee, but its cold tonight.” -Jack Rover rose and tossed another log onto the fire. In a moment a -bright flame sprang up. - -“The bottle’s empty,” observed the sheriff. “The next one’s on me, -Buck.” - -“Guess we’ll charge it to syndicate account,” grinned the storekeeper, -whose momentary grouch seemed to have been dissipated by the cheerful -blaze. “We’ll have to open books, boys, and go about things in a reg’lar -way,” he added, as he drew the bolt of the door that communicated with -the store and groped his way into the darkness beyond. - -Buck needed no candle, and was soon back with another bottle of the -Kentucky bourbon. Glasses were filled and clinked and pledges of -brotherhood renewed. - -“It’s champagne we’ll be drinkin’ tomorrow night, Buck, old sport,” -exclaimed Tom, slapping his old crony on the shoulder. - -“I’ll long-distance Bakersfield for a case in the morning,” responded -Buck, genially. “By gosh, we’ll be swimmin’ in wine afore long, boys. -First thing I’ve got to do is to sell out this ‘ere store.” - -“Sell it!” cried the sheriff, contemptuously. “You can afford to give it -away, Buck. We ain’t a-goin’ to be pikers in our old age, are we now?” - -“I ain’t old by a danged sight,” snapped back the storekeeper, for Tom -had touched a sore spot once again. “Besides, when I’ve got a barrel of -Joaquin Murietta’s gold safe in the bank, you’ll see me friskin’ around -like a two-year-old colt,” he added, his momentary surliness changing to -a smile. - -“And it ain’t only gold, boys,” said Tom Baker. “That ‘ere story old -Pierre told me about the grotto cavern havin’ a lake of oil in it as big -as a city block, sure ‘nuff got me goin’. Why, we’ll be able to blossom -out into oil kings.” - -“What’s that?” asked Munson. - -“Why, the Frenchie told me, you know, confidential like, comin’ along on -our motor car that since fifty years back those bandit fellers skimmed -oil from the surface of that lake and burned it in lamps down in that -cavern.” - -“By Jove, that’s interesting,” replied Munson. - -“We know there is oil to the west, oil to the north, and oil to the -south, and it stands to reason there must be oil here as well.” - -“Yes,” interposed Buck, “but old Ben Thurston would never allow any -drillin’ on his place.” - -“Who the hell wants oil anyhow?” exclaimed Jack Rover. “We’ll have all -the money we need with the buried gold and Guadalupe’s placer mine.” - -“Yes, but oil is oil,” replied the storekeeper, with a shrewd nod of his -head. “They say Rockefeller has only to raise the price a quarter of a -cent a gallon whenever he wants to give away another million or so to a -university or a hospital.” - -“Well, we ain’t interested in universities or hospitals,” said Tom -Baker. “But I agree with Buck that oil’s oil, and I, for one, intend to -take everything that’s comin’ to me. My God, we can afford to buy Ben -Thurston out and do some drillin’ for ourselves on San Antonio Rancho. -It’ll help to pass the time anyways.” As he finished, he began to pour -out another round of drinks. - -“Help to keep you from the booze,” muttered Buck, in an inaudible aside. -But he drained his own glass and smacked his lips with satisfaction. -“Guess I’ll be gettin’ another bottle, boys,” he said aloud, genially. - -“Oh, we’ve had enough,” mildly protested Munson. - -“Not by a jugful,” replied Buck. “You and Jack ain’t goin’ to ride home -till mornin’, and there’s lots of things to be talked over yet.” - -“Great Scott, it’s already two o’clock,” remarked Munson, consulting his -watch. - -“Then the night’s still young, boys,” exclaimed Tom Baker, hilariously. -“Get the brew, Buck. The empty bottles will keep the tally. Come on, -lieutenant, drain your glass. No heel taps in this crowd.” - -They had started their conversation in low tones so as not to disturb -the slumbers of Pierre Luzon. But this precaution, or act of delicate -consideration, had been long since forgotten. They were talking loud -now, and often all together, and when Buck Ashley had returned from yet -another pilgrimage to the store, none heard or noticed the door of the -bedroom being cautiously pushed open by just the fraction of an inch. - -All four chairs had been again drawn around the cheerful log fire. - -“You were talking, Tom, of buying out Ben Thurston,” remarked Jack -Rover. “Then you haven’t heard there’s an option been given to a Los -Angeles syndicate? Guess mebbe Ben Thurston won’t be the owner of the -big rancho very much longer.” - -“And a good job, too,” replied the sheriff, as he helped himself to yet -another drink. - -Buck Ashley shook his head incredulously. “Oh, lots of fellers have paid -down money for an option, as they call it, on the Thurston property, and -finally when the rub came they didn’t come across and live up to their -bargain, and so they just naturally lost their option money.” - -“I was talking to a geologist,” intervened Munson, in whose mind the -oil question seemed to be still uppermost, “and he says there is every -indication that the Midway Oil fields, a few miles north, are not one -whit better than wells that can be opened up right here.” - -“But what’s the use,” said Tom Baker, “of all the oil fields in -California to us fellers if we are about to be let into the secret -door of a big cavern where they’ve got twelve or fifteen millions of -twenty-dollar gold pieces stacked up, jest awaitin’ for us to take ‘em.” -The whisky was beginning to do its work; he had already forgotten his -aspirations of being an oil king. - -“That’s right,” said Jack Rover, “and don’t forget, while you’re -counting them twenty-dollar gold pieces, that Pierre Luzon has promised -to show us the shallow riffle in the mountain stream where Guadalupe -gets all that placer gold.” In the cowboy’s case the alcohol was making -only still more fixed the one fixed idea in his brain. - -“Damn this store business anyway,” said Buck Ashley, inconsequentially -returning to the theme that appealed to him most directly. “Do you -‘spose I’m goin’ to work my fingers off tying up groceries after we find -old Murietta’s money and the White Wolf’s treasure? Not by one hell of -a sight, if I know myself, and I ‘low as how I do.” And at the slightly -opened bedroom door old Pierre, Luzon whom they all thought to be fast -asleep, was listening to every word! - -“But there is one thing,” cried Tom Baker, striking the table fiercely -as he set down his glass, “I want you fellers to get next to yourselves -now and make up your mind to.” - -“Wa’al, don’t stop, Tom,” said Rover. “Go on and tell us what you’re -thinking about. Get it off your chest, old man.” - -“It’s just this way. By God, you fellers are not entitled to as much of -this ‘ere twelve or fifteen million dollars as I am, for I’m the feller -that went to the governor and got his parole and brought Pierre back -here to Tejon. Do you get me?” Buck Ashley had straightened up and -looked at Tom Baker with an ugly scowl on his face. “It was me,” he -said, “got that letter from Pierre Luzon and we all throwed in, share -and share alike, all five of us. And we’ll cut what we find, too, -whether it’s one million or fifteen million, into five equal parts, or -there’ll be blood flowin good and plenty.” - -Baker staggered to his feet, steadied himself for a moment and began to -roll up his sleeves. - -“There be some things,” he ejaculated, “that you jest can’t let wait and -settle up when the deal is all closed. I know what my rights are and you -fellers can’t bluff me, not by a derned sight.” - -“Hold on, hold on, gentlemen,” interposed Munson. “Let’s not commence -quarreling about something we are not even sure we shall ever see. Of -course we hope to be escorted into the cavern by old Pierre Luzon, and -we likewise hope that he’ll find a hidden treasure. And by the way, -Buck, this reminds me—the cut has to be into six equal parts, not five, -for we owe Luzon the squarest of square deals.” - -“Oh, I’m not agin’ that,” muttered Buck. “I just didn’t remember him.” - -“Well,” resumed Munson, “why quarrel about something that is as yet -nothing but a myth? It occurs to me that we should rather, individually -and collectively, be exceedingly thankful that Pierre Luzon is alive, -and that the White Wolf is dead, and that the one man who holds the -secret has promised to show us this treasure.” - -“I’ve never believed one cussed word about the White Wolf being dead,” -growled Buck Ashley. - -“Well, it sure was in the newspapers,” said Tom Baker, turning down his -sleeves and resuming his seat. - -“Yes, it sure was in the newspapers,” replied Buck, “and they jest -seemed to settle the fact, leastways to their own satisfaction. But I’ve -been a-thinkin’ about Dick Willoughby. I don’t believe he ever killed -Marshall Thurston, I don’t.” - -“Whoever did kill him,” put in Jack Rover, “did it good and plenty. Put -the shot right square through his heart.” - -“Well,” said Tom Baker, reaching for more whisky, “I ain’t got much to -say, but what I says I stands to on this ‘ere subject, and that is—” -Almost with one accord all turned at the creaking of the bedroom door, -and there was Pierre Luzon, looking as if he had seen a ghost. His short -prison-cropped hair seemed to be standing on end like bristles, and his -eyes stared wildly at the four men. At last he cried out in a shrill -voice that was almost a scream: - -“Ze son of Ben Thurston killed! Ah, ha!” he laughed, hysterically. “Shot -through ze heart!—vengeance at last begins! Ze White Wolf is not dead! -He is one live man!” - - - -0205 - -The door was hastily closed with a loud bang, and the weird figure -vanished like an apparition. - -For a few moments the revellers sat in stupefied silence. Finally Buck -Ashley said in a low voice: “Damn that whisky anyhow. It has made us -talk too loud.” - -“Yes,” remarked Tom Baker, “and also too dangnation much, I’m -a-thinkin’.” - -Both were sober men now. - -“Believe I’ll have a snooze,” said Jack rover, seating himself on an old -lounge in a corner of the room. But he did not lie down. - -Nothing more was said for perhaps a full half hour; all were nodding or -busy with their brooding thoughts. - -At last Buck Ashley rose and tiptoed toward the bedroom. - -“Guess I’ll see if poor Pierre has gone to sleep again,” he murmured. - -A moment later he shouted out from the inner chamber: - -“Hell, boys!—he’s gone! He’s given us the slip—the damned old -jail-bird!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX—The Jail Delivery - -AROUND Dick Willoughby there had been woven a web of circumstantial -evidence that even before his trial had convinced most people of his -guilt. Only a few tried friends who absolutely refused to believe him -capable of shooting down an unarmed man from ambush clung to their -faith that he had had nothing to do with the slaying of young Marshall -Thurston. Among the general public the only question in discussion was -whether the jury were likely to find extenuating circumstances and, -should the life of the prisoner come to be spared, how long would be his -sentence. - -Ben Thurston had lavished money with a free hand toward securing every -possible piece of testimony in support of the prosecution, and before -his return home even the cautious New York lawyer, Mr. Hawkins, had -admitted that the case against Willoughby appeared to be conclusive. It -was only a matter of a few weeks now when Thurston would be leaving the -district. - -Already San Antonio Rancho was in possession of the syndicate; their -foreman was in charge, the stock under their control, and it was only -out of consideration that the former owner was being permitted to linger -a little longer in residence. But for the gloomy and morose man there -seemed to be gloating satisfaction in the grim thought that before -shaking off forever the dust of his old home he would first of all -ensure the hanging of his son’s murderer. - -Among the most regular visitors at the jail were the ladies of La -Siesta, and rumor now began to run around that Miss Merle Farnsworth, -despite Willoughby’s pleading that she should not mix her name up in -the case, would offer some surprising evidence in favor of the accused -man—evidence that might not exonerate Willoughby from responsibility for -the deed, but perhaps would fully justify his act to the minds of the -jurymen. - -It was now only three days from the trial, and the whole county was agog -with expectation. - -That night in the small hours five masked men rode very quietly through -the streets to the vicinity of the jail. All were heavily armed, and one -of them was leading an extra saddle horse. The party dismounted under -the shadow of some trees. One man held the horses, while his four -companions, with drawn revolvers, advanced to the gateway. Whether it -was a simple case of cowardly yielding to threats, or whether there had -been preliminary financial greasing of locks and bolts, aided perhaps -by sympathy for the prisoner, the fact remains that within a very few -minutes Dick Willoughby had been brought from his cell. - -“You are a free man, Mr. Willoughby,” said the leader of the masked band -in a low voice. “You will come with us.” - -“Who are you?” asked Dick. - -“We are friends—that is enough.” - -“I have no wish to go,” protested Dick in the hearing of the jailers. -“The jury must acquit me—I am ready to remain here until they do acquit -me.” - -“Take care. The man with the money can put the rope round your neck.” - -“I am not afraid.” - -“There is another reason. The name of a certain young lady must not be -introduced into this case.” - -“I have begged her not to testify.” - -“But she will testify if this trial goes on—that you know well. Now you -will come with us, for her sake if not for your own.” - -“Be it so then,” replied Dick. “Lead the way.” Just as quietly as they -had come the little band of riders rode through the silent and deserted -streets. They took the southern road, and for the first few miles kept -to the thoroughfare. Then, reaching a stretch of unreclaimed land, they -started across country. The night was moonless and dark, but Dick knew -instinctively that they were making for the mountainous country to the -north of the Tejon Pass. - -The leader rode a short distance ahead. Not a word was spoken. In about -two hours they were among the foothills. The pace slackened, and then, -as they reached a clump of oaks, a halt was called. From under the -shadow of the trees a man appeared, leading two sturdy little mountain -ponies. The newcomer wore no mask. - -“This man will be your guide from now on,” announced the leader, whose -features were still concealed by the strip of black cloth tied around -the lower part of his face. “I am sorry we must ask you to wear a -blindfold, Mr. Willoughby. But you are among friends, and I feel sure -you will help us all by your ready assent.” - -“I am in your hands,” replied Dick, quietly. A few minutes later he was -seated on one of the ponies, his eyes securely bandaged. The saddle was -a big comfortable Mexican one, and he rested his hands on the horn; for -there was no bridle, only a leading rein held by the man mounted on the -other pony. - -“Adios!” - -It was the leader’s voice again, and now once more Dick was on the move, -the nimble little pony cantering gently over the turf. 0006 - -Hour succeeded hour. The sun had risen, as the blindfolded rider could -tell from the warmth of the atmosphere. The canter had long since -changed to a walk, and Dick knew that they had been climbing steadily, -with many a turn and sometimes up precipitous slopes. - -At last a strange chilliness came into the air. Dick imagined that he -heard a growl, as of some savage animal. Then there came a stop, and -he caught some whispered words—a woman’s voice he could have sworn, -speaking in some strange tongue. After a few minutes his pony started -again. - -But they had not gone more than a hundred yards further when his guide -called out. - -“Here we are, sir. I will help you to descend. Zen I take ze bandage -away. You see again.” - -The voice had a quaint foreign accent. For a little time Willoughby -remained blind. Then he began to see things, and involuntarily rubbed -his eyes in amazement. - -He was in a vast vaulted cavern with no visible entrance revealed by -the dim light of several lanterns suspended from the roof. In the far -distance a log fire was burning, and silhouetted against its ruddy -glow was the figure of the aged Indian squaw, Guadalupe, with a great -dog-like creature standing by her side. - -“Guadalupe!” exclaimed Dick in profound surprise, turning to his guide. - -This man he now saw was old, with short gray hair and a short gray -beard. His face was pale, but there was a pleasant gleam in his eyes. - -“Yes, Guadalupe,” the guide replied. “Guadalupe, she guard ze entrance -to our cave—she and ze white wolf. No one can get past ze white wolf -unless Guadalupe speaks ze word.” - -“And who are you?” - -“Oh, call me Pierre. I am Mr. Willoughby’s servant. Here are fine -beefsteaks ready for breakfast. Come.” - -“Pierre!” murmured Dick. “Pierre Luzon?” - -“Zat is my name. I am Pierre Luzon.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX—In the Cavern - -WHEN Dick proceeded to follow Pierre Luzon he found that the ponies had -already trotted away through the semidarkness, evidently quite capable -on their own account of finding their accustomed stable. Leading the -way across the cavern, Pierre entered a corridor at the far end of which -bright lights were burning. Soon, Dick, to his great wonderment, found -himself in a comfortably, almost luxuriously furnished apartment. - -There were big thick rugs on the floor, and the rock walls were -completely hidden by tapestries. The dining table in the centre was set -with napery, china, glass, cutlery and silverware that would have done -credit to a first-class hotel. Above swung a bronze lamp of antique -pattern. Another table was laden with books, newspapers and magazines. -In one corner gleamed the snow-white counterpane of a massive bedstead -built of oak in Old Mission style. Here and there portable oil stoves -were burning, diffusing a genial warmth throughout the grotto. - -Pierre watched the guest’s look of bewilderment as he gazed around him. - -“You will be very comfortable here,” said the Frenchman. “I have orders -to attend to all your wants.” - -“Orders, from whom?” asked Dick abruptly. “After breakfast you will -know. I have one letter for you in my pocket.” - -With characteristic philosophy Dick accepted the situation. The very -mention of breakfast gave a keener edge to an already sharply whetted -appetite. Pierre departed and presently returned with a superb sirloin -steak sizzling on a hot platter. Under his arm was tucked a bottle -of wine. As he set down the latter, Dick noted that it was dusty and -cobwebby, as if it had emerged from some ancient cellar. - -“Zis is not ze vintage of California,” remarked Pierre, as he drew the -cork. “It is rare old Burgundy—all ze way from my beloved France.” - -“La belle France,” murmured Dick. “I spent a year there, Pierre, most of -the time in Paris.” - -“Ah, monsieur knows France and Paris,” exclaimed the old man in great -delight. “Zen you speak French, too?” - -“Un peu,” laughed Dick. “Mais je fais beaucoup de fautes, mon ami.” - -“Non, non, monsieur,” cried Pierre, breaking into voluble French. “Your -accent is perfect—it is delightful to hear my native language again. -We shall be great friends, Mr. Willoughby. Already I am your devoted -servant.” He bowed deferentially, as he held Dick’s chair ready for him -to be seated. - -“You will breakfast with me, Pierre?” asked Dick, still in his best -French. - -“No, no. I wait on monsieur. I shall breakfast in good time.” - -Pierre was not to be persuaded to take a place at the table, so Dick sat -down in solitary state and was served in lordly fashion. - -With the demi-tasse of black coffee at the close of the meal came a box -of cigars—cigars fit for a prince, as Dick knew from the first fragrant -whiff. - -The table was now cleared and Pierre ready to withdraw. He had taken a -letter from his pocket and was holding it in his hand. But Dick, warmed -and fed and supremely contented, was watching the ascending rings of -tobacco smoke. - -“Do you know, Pierre,” he said between complacent puffs, “that I was one -of the bunch that helped to get you out of San Quentin?” He had lapsed -into English. - -“Oh, yes, I know,” replied Pierre, also dropping his French. “Ze five -men who made up ze purse—I am very grateful to you all.” - -“Then what about the hidden treasure?” - -“Ah, I was to show ze hidden treasure. But one great change come about. -I made one big mistake.” - -“Then the story of all this gold was a frame-up, was it?” laughed -Willoughby. - -“No, no,” protested Pierre earnestly. “Ze cave—you are here in ze cave, -although you do not know ze secret hiding place. Ze treasure, it is -here, too. But I can no longer show ze gold, for ze man to whom it all -belong he is not dead—he is alive.” - -“Whom do you mean?” - -“Don Manuel de Valencia—him you call ze White Wolf.” - -“Great guns! So he has appeared again. The newspaper stories were all -wrong?” - -“Zat is how I made my mistake. But I did not know until I came back to -Tehachapi. Ze White Wolf is alive. It is he who has brought you here -as his guest. Now you will read zis letter, and zen all things you will -comprehend.” - -Pierre laid the missive on the damask table cloth in front of Dick. -The latter fastened his eyes on it in speechless surprise. Before -he recovered himself Pierre, lifting the tray of empty dishes, had -noiselessly disappeared. - -“Mystery upon mystery,” murmured Dick as he broke the seal. The letter -was a brief one, and began without any of the usual forms of personal -address: - -“You are in safe and honorable keeping. Have no care. Nor need you worry -about your friends—they will be informed of your safety. - -“Just as soon as possible the real slayer of Marshall Thurston will be -revealed. You will be completely exonerated and can then return to the -world, a free man. By this means a certain young lady will be spared -from the gossip and the publicity which, although she has been brave -enough to say it does not matter, would bring for her annoyance and -pain. - -“If she is dear to you, as the writer of this letter believes, you will -help to shield her from vulgar curiosity by remaining quietly where -you are until the proper hour for your deliverance comes. It is only -necessary for you to give your word of honor to Pierre Luzon that -you will make no attempt to escape or reveal your whereabouts. Your -trustfulness will be rewarded—this is the solemn promise of - -“Don Manuel de Valencia, - -“Your friend.” - -Dick read and re-read the strange message. All at once he became -conscious that Pierre Luzon was again standing by his chair. Their eyes -met. - -“Does Mr. Willoughby give ze promise required?” asked Pierre. - -Dick rose to his feet and extended his hand. - -“I promise, Pierre. You have my word of honor. The letter says that is -enough.” - -“I have read ze letter before it was sealed. We all know Mr. -Willoughby’s word is enough—it is as good as one gold bond.” - -“I’d do anything for Merle Farnsworth,” continued Dick, carried away by -his fervid emotion. “I would die for her, if need be, to save her from -one moment’s pain.” - -“Don Manuel he know that,” replied Pierre. Dick paused and his look -changed. - -“How the devil does he know I love the girl?” - -“Ah!” The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Ah! Don Manuel -he know everything. But now, I am under orders not to speak. Over there -you will find ze latest newspapers, sir,” he went on, pointing to the -table laden with literature, “and every few days more will be brought -for you—not only ze newspapers of Los Angeles and San Francisco, but -also, ze newspapers of New York and London and Paris, all of which -monsieur is accustomed to read.” - -“Great Scott, you seem to know,” exclaimed Dick in a low voice. - -Pierre continued placidly: - -“And you play chess. There is a box of chess—échecs we call it in -France, you will remember. I too play ze game. Don Manuel and I used to -spend many hours over ze board. After I have had my breakfast, I, Pierre -Luzon, challenge you to one game of chess.” - -“Be it so,” laughed Dick. “But you must be hungry, man. For heaven’s -sake go and eat. We’ll yarn later on. Meanwhile, I’ll have a glance -through the newspapers.” - -Dick handled the newspapers with renewed surprise—the very New York -papers he was accustomed to receive regularly, also the old familiar. -Times Weekly from London and the Paris Figaro to which he had subscribed -ever since the old Quartier Latin days! The same with the magazines—all -his favorites were on the table. - -“Well, I’ll be blowed! Is it the guileless Sing Ling whom Don Manuel has -been tapping for information? This certainly looks like home,” and again -he glanced over the table. He looked at the titles of the books—several -of the latest novels, a volume on socialism, another on the history of -architecture. - -“Seems to know my book tastes, too. I won’t be lonesome, that’s certain. -Well, I can’t do better than make a start with the newspapers. I’ve -fallen quite behind the times.” - -He stretched himself out on a long rattan chair, and started with a Los -Angeles daily. He had read lazily on for nearly an hour, when there came -from his lips a little cry of surprise. - -Starting up into a sitting posture, Dick again perused the paragraph -that had excited his special interest. - -It was an announcement stating that an ideal city was about to be built -in the Tehachapi valley, and that a prize of ten thousand dollars was to -be awarded to the designer of the best plans for laying out such a -town. Reference was made to an advertisement on another page giving the -details and the rules of the competition. To this Dick eagerly turned. - -The advertisement set forth that the model city was to be located -somewhere near the centre of San Antonio Rancho, that the land was -traversed by the state highway, by two railroads, by two electric power -lines and two oil-carrying pipe lines, also the great Owen’s River -aqueduct that supplied Los Angeles, some two hundred miles away, with -water from the high Sierras. It was further stated that the entire ranch -was to be subdivided into small tracts, and that already hundreds of -applicants were waiting to make choice of home sites just so soon as the -survey work was completed and the land thrown open to selection. - -The plans required, and for which the prize of ten thousand dollars was -offered, were to show the finest landscape effects, the most impressive -and convenient location of public buildings, the most attractive ideas -for bringing into being a veritable ideal city provided with all the -most modern conveniences and sanitary equipment. - -“By gad, I’d like to have a shot at that,” murmured Willoughby as he lay -back in his chair and meditated. - -After a time he picked up the London journal, and the very first thing -that met his eye was the identical advertisement on the back of the -cover. He rose and began to search through the week’s file of the -Figaro, and there again he found the announcement of the contest. He was -too keenly excited now for more reading. He began to pace the chamber. -What a clever head had planned all this world-wide publicity! - -“That Los Angeles bunch of fellows are certainly great. They are -evidently going into this thing right. Doubtless they are determined to -build the ideal—the model—city of California. They want the best brains -of all lands to help beautify the place. Gee! but I’d like to be in this -contest game. But perhaps it would be presumption on my part. Yet, who -knows the country better than I do? When it comes to landscape effects, -I’m Johnny-on-the-spot all right. And they’re in a hurry—only sixty days -for the drawings. Unusual, such a short time. But I guess they’re -going to make the dust fly without a week’s unnecessary delay. They are -certainly live wires—they began by getting old Ben Thurston on the run.” - -He was chuckling to himself at the thought when Pierre reappeared. - -“Pierre, old fellow,” cried Dick, “would you be able to get me a drawing -board, a box of instruments, india ink, water-colors, drawing paper, and -so on?” - -“What are you going to do?” asked the old man with a smile. “Do you -think you are again in ze Quartier Latin, Mr. Willoughby?” - -“No. But while I’m here I’m going back to the old Quartier Latin life, -that’s a cinch. Can you buy me that stuff?” he added, diving into his -hip pocket. - -But he had forgotten—he had come out of jail, and his personal -possessions had been left behind. - -Pierre Luzon, however, had interpreted both the gesture and the thought -that had prompted it. - -“You need no money here, Mr. Willoughby,” he said. “My orders are to get -you everything you call for. Write all you need on a piece of paper. I -send a trusty messenger, and we have ze drawing paper, ze instruments, -ze ink and ze paints here very soon—yes, very soon.” - -“Then, by thunder, I’m going to win that ten-thousand-dollar prize.” - -“But she is worth millions of dollars.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Ze young lady—she very rich young lady, Miss Merle.” - -Dick laughed. - -“Oh, that’s quite another prize, Pierre,” he replied. “And if she is so -very rich, as you say, why that puts her further out of my reach than -ever.” - -Pierre nodded his head determinedly. - -“If I was you, Mr. Willoughby, ze prize I would try to win is ze -beautiful young lady.” - -When Pierre had gone, Dick again lay back in the long chair. But he was -day-dreaming and love-dreaming now, wondering whether Merle Farnsworth -really cared for him, whether he might dare whisper to her the story of -his passionate love. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI—A Debt of Honor - -PUBLIC excitement had been running high over the approaching trial of -Dick Willoughby, but his delivery from jail by the masked night-riders -came as the culminating climax. Mystery and romance were piling up. -Despite the strength of the circumstantial evidence, the sudden fate -that had overtaken the young heir to San Antonio rancho had been -shrouded with uncertainty; no witness had seen the actual doing of -the murderous deed. The sensational arrest of Dick Willoughby had been -followed by his still more sensational disappearance; for he seemed to -have vanished from the face of the earth—he had been spirited to some -place of concealment to which there was not the slightest clue, while -also the identity of his rescuers remained a profound enigma. - -All sorts of speculations were rife, and it was small wonder that the -name of the famous bandit, Don Manuel, came to be revived. This was just -the sort of audacious work the White Wolf would have gloried in—breaking -into a prison, defying the authorities, leaving behind him a trail of -mystery and vague terror. But shrewd old-timers pointed out that Don -Manuel had never in his whole career helped a gringo—that his hand had -been against every American, and that in his earlier days at all events -he had killed ruthlessly, out of sheer lust for vengeance against the -race of newcomers who had despoiled him of his ancestral acres. What -reason, therefore, could he have had to help Dick Willoughby to liberty? -Even if it had been the outlaw’s hand that had pulled the trigger -against the son of his hated enemy, Ben Thurston, little would he have -cared if a score of gringos had come to their end, justly or unjustly, -as an aftermath of the tragedy. - -Old Ben Thurston had discussed this very question with himself. The -slaying of his only son, the clever business deal that had called his -own tricky and dishonest bluff and lost him his principality, the -sight of his herds being driven away, the approaching eviction from his -home—all these events crowding one upon the other had exasperated -him beyond measure and completed the change of the already grouchy, -disgruntled man into a veritable wild beast snapping and snarling at -everyone. Yet his mind was completely obsessed by the idea that it was -Dick Willoughby, and Dick Willoughby alone, who had shot his son, so -there was no room in his small and obfuscated brain for any seriously -renewed apprehension that his old enemy, the White Wolf, had come to -life again. - -Dick’s escape from jail almost gave Ben Thurston a fit of apoplexy. It -was the sleuth, Leach Sharkey, who alone of those around him ventured -to break the news. After his first paroxysm of wrath, Thurston paced the -room like a caged animal. He had begun to make a confidant of this man, -his constant attendant, the protector with the handy guns in his hip -pockets on whom he had come to rely night and day, the one associate who -phlegmatically endured his irritable moods and abusive language. - -So, in Leach Sharkey’s presence, Thurston, as he walked to and fro, -spoke his thoughts aloud. - -“Damn all pretty faces, anyhow. First and last they have cost me a fine -sum. And now it is a pretty face that has cost me my boy’s life. It’s -hell, that’s what it is. But I will have my revenge. I’ll hang Dick -Willoughby with my own hands if necessary—even if it is the last act of -my life I’ll have his neck stretched for him.” - -He was glaring down at the sleuth, and the pause seemed to call for some -reply. - -“Well, he’s given us the slip for the present,” Sharkey ventured. Then -he caught the gathering fury in the other’s eyes, and hurriedly went on: -“But there is no question in the world we’ll run the scoundrel down. I -myself will shoot him like the dog he is the moment I lay my two eyes on -him.” - -“Well, don’t waste your breath telling me you are going to do it,” -growled Thurston. “Hunt him down. Take all the money you need. Get all -the men you can. Search every canyon. Guard every road out of the hill -country. And don’t be misled by that damn fool talk about the White Wolf -of which you’ve been telling me. That cursed outlaw is dead—dead as a -herring. I ran the story of his death to earth—stood on his very grave -in the potters’ field at Seattle. Dick Willoughby’s the outlaw now. Get -him at any cost. Get him, or, by God, lose your own job, Leach Sharkey. -Do you follow me?” - -“Oh, I follow you,” replied the sleuth, a sardonic smile still further -exposing the teeth that were the most prominent feature of his face and -at all times gave him a hyena-like appearance. “I’ll get him, make no -mistake, Mr. Thurston. Just draw me that check, and I’ll have twenty -more men out on the range before morning.” - -At the store, Dick Willoughby’s disappearance was for days the sole -topic of conversation. One morning Tom Baker and Buck Ashley were -gossiping together. - -“What beats me,” remarked the storekeeper, “is that Chester Munson wears -such a spry look. He was Dick’s closest chum, yet he don’t seem to be -one bit anxious.” - -“Oh, he’s got the word, make no mistake,” replied Tom. “Although the -lieutenant is as close as wax, he knows Dick’s all right, for sure. -And I’m told that up at La Siesta, where Dick has his girl, you know, -they’re still a-playin’ the pianner and the fiddle all the time. Mark my -words—there’s been some wireless telephone at work. Munson don’t worry, -his lady friends don’t worry, so I begin to think we’re a couple of -derned old fools to fret ourselves on Dick’s account.” - -“It’s about Pierre Luzon I’m frettin’ most,” Buck Ashley rejoined. “To -think that that damned Frenchman should have done us in the eye, got -clean away and robbed us of our share of the buried treasure—that’s what -worries me, Tom Baker. And you’ll allow now you made a mess of things by -not havin’ the old convict shackled to the bedpost.” - -“A mess of things!” cried the sheriff, rising anger in his voice and -eyes. “You won’t keep your mouth shut till I teach you—” - -But just then there was the clatter of hoofs outside, and Tom stopped in -the middle of his sentence. A moment later Munson and Jack Rover entered -in a state of visible excitement. Munson carried in his arms a rotund -canvas sack tied at the neck. The package was not very big, but clearly -of considerable weight. - -“Great Caesar,” exclaimed the lieutenant, without pausing to give any -greeting. “A most surprising thing has happened. When I awoke this -morning I found this bag lying on my table. And what do you think it -contains?” As he asked the question he dumped the sack on the counter -with a heavy thud. - -“You’ve got us guessin’,” drawled Tom. - -“Ten thousand, five hundred dollars in gold!” announced Munson. - -“Good Lord!” ejaculated the sheriff in great surprise. - -Munson went on: - -“Five thousand dollars are for the French warder at San Quentin who -smuggled Pierre Luzon’s letter out of the prison, and the balance is for -the syndicate.” - -“What syndicate?” gasped Buck, for the moment quite bewildered. - -“The Hidden Treasure Syndicate, of course,” exclaimed Jack Rover. -“Pierre Luzon has sent each man back the hundred dollars he put up to -get him out of the pen, and five thousand dollars extra to divide among -us.” - -Buck and Tom sprang simultaneously to their feet. - -“Hooroosh!” shouted the sheriff. “I always knew there was no yellow -streak in old Pierre Luzon.” - -“And I always said I liked him, too,” observed Buck. “But come into the -parlor, boys,” he went on, with a cautious look around. “Let’s count the -money.” - -“And divvy it up,” added Tom eagerly. “Gosh ‘lmighty, boys! I’ve never -yet seen a thousand dollars in gold at one time outside a bank cashier’s -window. And to think there’s that amount cornin’ to me right now!” - -“One thousand, one hundred, pal, to be exact,” laughed Jack Rover, -lifting the package and following the storekeeper into the sanctum -beyond the counter. - -The gold was in United States twenty-dollar pieces, bearing dates which -showed they had been minted more than twenty years ago. - -“Some of Joaquin Murietta’s loot,” remarked Jack Rover, when attention -had been drawn to this detail. - -“No,” observed Tom Baker, holding up the coin he had been examining, -“Murietta wasn’t alive when this ‘ere gold piece came from the mint. -This is some of Don Manuel’s stuff.” - -“The White Wolf!” exclaimed Munson. - -“Yes, the White Wolf,” continued the sheriff. “So if the White Wolf -ain’t dead, as Pierre declared that night—” Tom gazed at the bedroom -door as if the spectral figure might reappear—“he’s honorin’ the -Frenchie’s sight draft, that’s sure.” - -“I see,” said Munson. “He is paying the five thousand dollars old Pierre -promised in his letter if he was helped to freedom and five thousand -dollars besides.” - -“Precisely,” Tom Baker replied. “But if the White Wolf is dead, as most -folks say, then the Frenchie’s got the key to the treasure vault, all -right.” - -“So we’ve got to get him back here again, boys,” murmured Buck, rubbing -his hands while his eyes feasted upon the heap of gold. “I don’t mind -boardin’ Pierre Luzon for a spell, and he can have all the bourbon he -wants.” - -“Till he tells us where Guadalupe gets her nuggets,” grinned Jack. “But -you’ve forgotten to show ‘em, Munson, the card that came with the coin.” - -“Oh, yes,” rejoined Munson, drawing a small piece of pasteboard from his -pocket. “It is brief enough. Luzon gives his countryman’s family address -in Marseilles where the first five thousand dollars is to be mailed. -Then he writes down our five names, Dick Willoughby’s first, and says -the five of us are to share equally.” He passed the card to Tom Baker -for inspection, and went on: “Jack and I are going to ride over to -Bakersfield, get the French bank draft and put Dick’s money in the bank -along with our own.” - -“Where’s Dick?” asked Buck, with a quick uplift of his eyes into -Munson’s face. - -But the latter was not to be betrayed into divulging any information -that might be in his possession. - -“I have not the slightest idea,” he replied airily. “But I feel sure -Dick’s all right. He is the sort of fellow well able to look after -himself. Meanwhile, Jack and I will attend to his financial interests,” -he added with a laugh, as he began to count the gold. - -In silence the task proceeded, five thousand dollars first being set -aside, and then the balance divided into five separate heaps. When all -were satisfied as to the correctness of the distribution, Munson swept -the gold back into the sack, except for the two little piles allotted to -Ashley and Baker. Then he securely tied the package, ready for the ride -to Bakersfield. - -“Buck will lock mine in his safe, boys,” exclaimed Tom Baker. “Gosh me, -but I’ll want to look at it two or three times a day.” - -“Oh, I’m drivin’ over to the bank myself tomorrer,” declared Buck. “I’ve -got a bit more to add to this pile.” - -“A few handfuls of nuggets, I suppose,” laughed Rover. - -“Well, I’ll allow Guadalupe always pays her grocery bills. But this ‘ere -store ain’t goin’ to be a safe deposit vault, not on your demed life, -with bandits around again. So you’d better arrange to come with me to -town tomorrer, Tom.” - -“You’ll need me to help you home, perhaps,” grinned the sheriff. “But, I -say, Munson, you ain’t told us yet how this sack came to be delivered at -your place.” - -“There’s a proper mystery for you!” cried Munson. “As I said before, I -found the bag this morning, lying on my dressing table. Sing Ling was -the only one besides myself in the shack, and he never heard a sound all -night.” - -“You’re still in Dick’s old home?” asked Buck. “Yes, but I leave -tomorrow—have notice to quit, for some surveyor chaps are coming in. I’m -moving up to Mr. Robles’ place. He wants me to catalog the books in his -library.” - -“And Sing Ling?” queried Tom. - -“He goes, too. You see, Mr. Robles needs a crackerjack cook, now I’ll be -boarding with him,” Munson laughed, gaily. “You don’t happen to have a -porterhouse steak about the place, Buck?” - -“I can heat you up a can of pork and beans.” - -“Nothing doing! Jack and I wouldn’t spoil our appetites with such truck -as that. We’re going to set up a chicken dinner in Bakersfield.” - -“Chicken and champagne,” chimed in Jack, as he swung the sack over his -shoulder. - -“You’re beginning to get big bugs these days,” called out the -storekeeper as the young men left the room. “Guess, Tom,” he went on, -turning to the sheriff, “we could do with a jolt of Kentucky.” - -“Make it a bottle of bourbon,” gurgled Tom, “to remind us of our absent -friend.” - -“Dear old Pierre,” murmured Buck, as he fumbled in his pocket for the -key of the safe, his eyes glued all the time on the two little heaps of -gold. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII—Underqround Wonders - -Dick Willoughby was in a way happy in his retreat. At first he had been -inclined to regret the jail delivery—it might have been the manlier part -to have faced the music and cleared his name before the whole world. But -then he reflected on the uncertainties of a trial, the cases of innocent -men having suffered because of damning circumstantial evidence piled up -against them, the vindictiveness of Ben Thurston and the undoubted power -of his money to press the criminal charge by every unscrupulous means. -So Dick soon came round to the belief that he might be safer for the -time being in the guardianship of the White Wolf than at the mercy of a -fallible jury. - -Then there was Merle Farnsworth to consider. Yes; to have brought her -into a public court, to have allowed her to plead for him by telling the -story of Marshall Thurston’s loathsome advances—that was a thing that -could never have been tolerated. The leader of the jail-breaking gang -had been right; Dick owed it to Merle to save her from such a cruel -ordeal. - -Finally Dick’s contentment over his change of quarters was completed -when Pierre Luzon appeared with a superb equipment of drawing -instruments and materials. There was no time to worry now over surmises -as to the wisdom of this course or the other course. Work lay to his -hand—work of the most absorbing and delightful kind; and with all the -ambitious enthusiasm of his temperament he tackled it whole-heartedly -there and then. Hour after hour, day after day, Pierre watched in -contemplative silence the methodical advancement of the task to which -the young architect had applied himself. - -But there were frequent intervals for conversation, sometimes in French, -sometimes in English, as the mood prompted. Occasionally Pierre drifted -into semi-confidential reminiscences, and Willoughby soon came to know -in close detail the story of Don Manuel’s life—the tragedy of his sister -Rosetta’s death, the vow of vengeance against Ben Thurston, the early -bandit days when the White Wolf counted every gringo in the land his -natural enemy, the often hairbreadth escapes of the outlaw, his sublime -courage and nerve in the direst emergencies. - -“Don Manuel was one great man,” remarked Pierre at the close of one of -these confidences—the phrase was a favorite one with the old Frenchman. -“Many and many a time he could have shot his enemy from a distance -and got away. But Don Manuel had vowed zat he would kill him hand to -hand—zat ze villain must die with a last malediction in his ear, and -knowing zat it was he, ze White Wolf, who in ze end had revenged his -sister’s shame.” - -“He felt, too, didn’t he, that his father had been wronged in being -driven from San Antonio Rancho?” - -“Sure—zat was another great wrong—zat was why Don Manuel was so bitter -against all ze Americans. But he made zem pay for ze land many and many -times over.” Then Pierre, as was now his custom in Dick’s presence when -speaking at any length, lapsed into French as he continued: “But the -White Wolf was a man of high honor. He never used any of the proceeds of -his robberies for himself. True, he spent the money to pay his band, to -pay the numerous scouts and spies whose services he secretly retained, -to plan and accomplish further hold-ups, to defy and outwit the -authorities. But on his own needs—never—not one dollar!” - -Pierre went on to explain that after Ben Thurston had fled from -California and kept away in hiding, Don Manuel had visited Spain, to -claim the family estates in Valencia to which his father’s death had -left him the sole heir. These he had sold for many millions of dollars, -and most of that money he kept in banks in London and Paris. So he was -a very rich man, and had no need to rob anyone except to gratify his -vengeance. Even the hoarded gold of Joaquin Murietta he had never -touched. It remained intact today in the treasure vault of the cave, -boxes and sacks of gold and jewels. - -“Won’t I be allowed to see this wonderful treasure?” asked Dick, half -jesting. - -“Perhaps, some day, if the White Wolf chooses to show you. But it is not -for me to do that—I swore an oath of secrecy when the White Wolf trusted -me—me and Felix Vasquez, who was also his confidant. But Vasquez was -killed at Tulare Lake. So now only we two know the secret, and until the -White Wolf himself dies my lips are sealed by the solemn oath I swore to -the Virgin Mary.” The old man crossed himself devoutly. - -“Then where does the White Wolf live now?” - -“Ah, that is another secret. Again I would break my oath if I spoke one -word.” - -“And Guadalupe—does she know these things?” asked Dick in English. - -“Guadalupe? Oh, no,” responded Pierre, politely adopting the change of -language, “she is just one servant, our cook—one very excellent cook, as -monsieur knows—and ze guardian of ze cave. For ze real white wolf guards -Guadalupe—ze big animal is just like one tame dog to ze old squaw, but -with his fierce jaws he would kill anyone who dared to approach her or -come near ze hidden entrance to zis cavern. No man can ever find zat -while ze white wolf is alive. In ze old days he killed several men when -zey dared to follow Guadalupe.” - -“Then the white wolf must be very old?” - -“As old as Guadalupe—as old as the Tehachapi mountains,” exclaimed -Pierre, again crossing himself and thereby revealing the superstitious -dread in which he held the savage animal. - -“But you can pass the white wolf, can’t you?’ asked Dick. - -“Never—except when Guadalupe give permission. Then ze wolf lies down and -I can come out of ze cave or enter. Ah! ze white wolf is one terrible -beast. But he never shows his teeth to Don Manuel. Only Don Manuel can -pass when Guadalupe is not there.” - -“Then where is Guadalupe’s riffle of gold—where is the lake of oil about -which you told Tom Baker?” - -“Come, I will show you zese,” replied Pierre. As he rose he picked up -the lantern he usually carried. - -Dick jumped to his feet with alacrity and followed his guide. - -They crossed the main cavern, then entered another side gallery. This -had many windings and from it ran several diverging rock corridors. But -Pierre led the way unfalteringly. - -Fully half a mile must have been traversed when at last the Frenchman -halted and swung his lantern aloft. - -“Zere!” was all he said. - -Dick followed the flash of the lantern, and there before him was a dark -pool stretching away indefinitely into the blackness beyond. He bent -down and scooped up a little of the fluid in his palm. It was a brown -oil, as thin as water, and therefore capable of use without any refining -process. - -“Great Scott, this is wonderful!” exclaimed Dick in profound amazement. - -“Very wonderful,” concurred Pierre. “In zis cavern are oil and water, -also gold—Guadalupe’s gold. Ze gold is close to here. Come.” - -Pierre turned and again led the way through dark and winding corridors. -At a little distance Dick became conscious of the purling of a running -stream. Pierre stopped once more, but this time held the lantern close -to the ground. - -“Here Guadalupe come to wash out ze nuggets of gold, and since I have -been in prison she buy with zem, so Mr. Baker say to me, groceries at -ze store. Don Manuel, when I tell him, he very angry—she never do zat -again.” - -“Poor old Buck Ashley!” laughed Dick. “He lost you, Pierre, and now -he’ll be losing his best paying customer, too.” - -While speaking, he knelt and dipped his hands into the stream, bringing -up some gravel into the lantern rays. But Pierre shook his head. - -“You no find ze gold. Guadalupe wash many hours to get, perhaps, just -one nugget. But there is heaps and heaps, if ze miners came with spades -and cradles.” - -“Great guns, there must be the reef, too, from which the nuggets have -come!” exclaimed Dick, rising erect and dropping the handful of pebbles. - -“Now, we must go back,” said Pierre, “for zis evening you are to be -allowed to come for a ride with me down ze mountains.” - -“You don’t say?” Dick cried, surprised and delighted. - -“Yes; Don manuel he send word today that he give permission. But you -must wear ze bandage round your eyes, and you must promise to return -when I give ze word.” - -“Don’t for one moment think, old fellow, that I would leave my drawings. -But where are we going tonight?” - -“To La Siesta,” replied Pierre. - -“Hurrah!” shouted Dick. “Hurry up, Pierre! I’m mighty glad you got -me those ties and things from Los Angeles. You say you can give me a -hair-cut?” - -“Ze old-time bandit learned to trim ze hair of his friends as well as ze -pocket-books of his enemies,” was the laughing answer. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII—The Unexpected Visitor - -MOST of the cattle had been driven off the land. The vaqueros had -dispersed to the four points of the compass. Chester Munson had vacated -his room in Dick Willoughby’s old home, and had taken up his residence -and library duties at Mr. Robles’ mansion on the hill. Sing Ling had -folded his tent like the Arab and silently stolen away in the same -direction. A small army of surveyors had appeared on the scene and were -quartered in the rancho buildings. - -The only one of the old-timers who still lingered on was Ben Thurston, -more gloomy and morose than ever, seldom stirring out of doors now, but -conducting all his business by telephone or through the agency of the -sleuth, Leach Sharkey, his only companion. - -Jack Rover had pitched his camp temporarily at the store. Buck Ashley -had assigned him Pierre’s cot, but the cowboy had fixed it under a -wide-spreading sycamore, preferring to sleep in the open rather than -share the grocery-perfumed atmosphere of the store building. - -Tom Baker was around most of the time. The three men clung together with -a vague sense that they had a common interest in the vast treasure which -had so far eluded them, but which might any day come again within reach -of their eager claws. It afforded an endless theme of conversation, -varied by talk about the passing of the rancho and all the train of -changes which were bound to follow the close settlement of the valley. - -One morning Jack Rover found Buck at the door of the store, with a pair -of antiquated-looking field glasses at his eyes. - -“Where did you get the goggles, Buck?” asked Jack. - -“Oh, I rummaged ‘em out of a trunk—had almost forgot I had the blamed -things. But we used to keep a sharp lookout in the old bandit days—got -kinda ready for any suspicious lookin’ riders on the road.” He had -spoken while still peering through the binoculars, but now he turned to -Jack and proffered him the glasses. “I do wonder what ‘n hell we’re all -cornin’ to anyway. This here ranch that we’ve bragged up as bein’ -the biggest in all California! Ugh!” The grunt was one of unspeakable -disgust. “Take a look for yourself.” - -Jack turned the glasses in the direction Buck had been gazing, and began -to adjust the focus. - -“What’s the matter now?” he asked. - -“Matter ‘nough,” growled the storekeeper. “San Antonio Rancho is goin’ -to the dogs. Do you see them specks away out yonder in the valley? -That’s another band of surveyors. One feller’s peekin’ through a -spy-glass set on a tripod; another feller goes ahead and puts up tall -stakes with big figgers on ‘em, and the other fellers are chainin’ off -the distances. This ‘ere ranch ‘ll surely look like a checker-board -blamed soon.” - -“Progress,” said Jack, laconically. - -“Progress, hell!” snapped Ashley. “These new fellers that bought the -ranch have sure ‘nuff driv’ off all the cattle and now they’re dividin’ -up the land. I bet they’ll take the postoffice away from me—not that -it pays much, for the Lord knows it don’t—but it brings customers to my -store.” - -“Well, Buck,” said the cowboy, consolingly, “there are lots worse things -than moving a postoffice. What’s to prevent your setting up the finest -grocery store in the new model city the advertisements speak about?” - -“That would suit me fine, wouldn’t it?” cried the old storekeeper, -with scathing contempt. “Goin’ around in a biled shirt, and handin’ out -pencils and chewin’ gum to the little school gals that’ll be swarmin’ -all over the place. Not on your life, Jack! I’ll be losin’ both my -postoffice and my store in these new-fangled times.” He paused a moment, -then his tone changed to one of aggressiveness. “However, they ain’t -built their doggoned new town yet, and it’s my belief all this boom talk -is just so much hot air.” - -“In any case you won’t need to worry, Buck, after we get on the tracks -of Pierre Luzon again. I intend to find the old squaw’s sand-bar, or my -name isn’t Jack Rover.” - -“And I betche I’m a-goin’ to find Joaquin Murietta’s cache,” concurred -the old man with equal determination. - -Just then Tom Baker slouched out of the store, where he had overheard -the conversation. - -“Oh, things are a-goin’ to turn out all right in the end, boys, don’t -fret over that. And there’s one thing gol-dern certain, there’ll be some -great things doin’ in this ‘ere valley once they get started on buildin’ -the town. The new place will just spring up like Oklahomy City, or -Liberal, Kansas, or some of them big towns that had twenty thousand -people livin’ in ‘em inside o’ thirty days from the time they were -surveyed and laid out.” - -“That seems quite impossible,” commented Jack. - -“Not impossible by a derned sight. My brother was at Liberal, Kansas, -down there on the Rock Island, near No Man’s Land, you know. The new -town had been talked of and talked of for mebbe three or four months, -just as this new town is bein’ talked about today. Then finally the -mornin’ came when the new town of Liberal was to be opened up. There -was to be a regular town openin’, so to speak, and a sale of lots. -Why, great guns, when the management of that town company rode into the -station, on the early train, they found more’n ten thousand people right -there campin’ in covered wagons, tents and all that sorta business, just -awaitin’ for the auctioneerin’ to start.” - -Tom paused to take a fresh chew of tobacco and then rambled on: - -“I tell you, boys, that within thirty days there was twenty thousand -people livin’ in that ‘ere town. Two banks were established, and one of -them had one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars in deposits, too. -Oh, there’s lots of people who remember the rush to Liberal, and the -boomin’ of Oklahomy City also. And history’s fixin’ to repeat itself -right here on this ‘ere ranch. Things will be sizzlin’ when the town -site is finally located and the rush starts pourin’ in from Portland, -Oregon, on the north, to San Diego on the south, with a few thousands -from Texas and other states this side o’ the Rocky Mountains. They’ll -sure be great doin’s when the Los Angeles syndicate announce they’ve -awarded to some feller that ten-thousand-dollar prize for the best plans -for their ideal city, as they keep on callin’ it.” - -“Munson and I were speaking about the contest and the prize,” remarked -Jack, “and were saying that if Dick Willoughby were only here, he’d -about win, hands down. You know he was an architect once, before he came -West.” - -“Dick Willoughby,” snorted Ashley, “How can he compete when he don’t -know anything about the blamed business? He’s hid away, right enough.” - -“Munson knows a thing or two,” remarked Tom Baker. “If he’d only apeak, -he could tell us where Dick is. That’s my opinion.” - -“And there once again you’re dead wrong,” retorted Jack, warmly. “If -Munson only knew where Dick is hiding, he would have got that very prize -competition advertisement into his hands long before now. He’s sore -because he can’t send Dick the word. Where is Dick Willoughby? By gad, -it’s a mystery.” - -“I guess you’re right,” said the sheriff. “That sort o’ exonerates -Munson from keepin’ things from his partners. I think I owe it to -Chester Munson to drink his health—just for ever doubtin’ him. What -shall it be, boys?” - -And the open-air meeting adjourned. - -It was the very evening of the day on which this conversation had been -held in Buck Ashley’s store that Dick Willoughby rode forth from the -cavern blindfolded and under the guidance of Pierre Luzon. For the first -hour progress was slow—round many turnings, down steep declivities, with -just here and there a few miles of easier trail. But then there had been -a swift canter for another hour over grass land, and now at last the -riders were upon a well-made road. Dick divined that this must be the -highway leading to La Siesta, but from what point of the compass they -had come he had not the remotest conception. - -Very soon Pierre Luzon, still riding ahead with the leading rein, came -to a halt. - -“Here we are. Dismount, please,” he said. “You are free to remove ze -bandage.” - -Dick looked; they were right below the knoll on which the Darlington -home stood. Lights were gleaming from the windows. Dick could even hear -the faint tinkle of the piano. - -“I hide ze ponies here in zis little grove of trees,” Pierre continued, -pointing to a coppice not fifty yards from the main road. “In two -hours’ time, at eleven o’clock”—Pierre looked at his watch in the bright -moonlight—“monsieur will return. I have your word?” - -“My word as a gentleman, Pierre,” exclaimed Dick, extending his hand. -“So long then, old fellow. I’ve got to make the best use of my time.” - -The piano playing stopped abruptly when Willoughby, unannounced, -appeared at the door of the music room. - -“Dick!” exclaimed Merle delightedly, leaving the instrument and rushing -toward him. If they had been alone Dick felt that right then she would -have jumped into his arms. But at the distance of a few paces she halted -and clasped her hands. - -“How ever did you get here, Mr. Willoughby?” she asked intensely. - -“I rode here,” he answered, as they shook hands. “But it is only a brief -visit. Hallo, Miss Grace! I’m delighted to see you again. And you, Ches, -old sport—why this is great luck to find you here! Mrs. Darlington, I’m -mighty glad to see you all once more.” - -The whole bevy were crowding around him, shaking hands and expressing -their joyful surprise. - -“We knew you were safe, that was all,” explained Munson. - -“So you were having just the same jolly good times,” laughed Dick, -glancing at the piano. “I’m simply dying for some music.” - -“But wait a minute,” exclaimed Munson, drawing a fat wad of newspaper -cuttings from his pocket. “I’ve got to tell you about a competition you -must get into—new plans for an ideal city here—” - -“In the heart of the old rancho,” smiled Dick, as he completed the -sentence. While he spoke, he placed his arm affectionately across his -chum’s shoulders. “I know all about it, old man. I’m working hard on my -plans—they are already more than half done.” - -“Bravo!” shouted Munson. “That’s great news.” - -“But here, too, is Mr. Robles,” exclaimed Dick, breaking from the group -and stepping across the room. “Excuse me, senor, but I did not notice -you were here till this moment.” - -“No excuse needed, my friend. You were better engaged”—this with a -humorous side-glance at the young ladies. “But I am glad to see you -looking so well.” - -“Where have you been, Mr. Willoughby?” asked Grace. - -“That I cannot tell you,” replied Dick gravely. “I have pledged my -solemn word. I must leave you at eleven o’clock, returning whence I -came. And meanwhile nobody must ask me a single question about my place -of hiding. There now—that’s all. What shall it be first, Miss Merle, a -piano solo or a duet with the violin?” - -“Supper, I should say,” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, as she left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV—In a Tight Corner - -DICK’S after-dark visit to La Siesta was only the first of several that -followed at intervals of a few days. He came and departed mysteriously, -and during his brief stay every precaution was taken that no one except -his few trusted friends should know of his presence. But by some means -or other a whisper had reached the ear of the sleuth, Leach Sharkey, -that the fugitive had been seen at the home of Mrs. Darlington. - -When the news was imparted to Ben Thurston, the old man quivered from -excitement. - -“At La Siesta, do you tell me? Let us ride over there at once, and -search the place from basement to attic.” - -“No, no,” replied Sharkey. “I’ve got my scouts out. Don’t you worry. We -must wait till the night bird comes back. Then we’ll trap him like a fat -quail.” - -“All right. Have my automobile ready, and a bunch of well-armed fellows -right here, so that we can make a rush over at a moment’s notice. By -God, I’ve been disappointed in everything else—lost my son, lost my -ranch, lost my home. But I’m not going to lose that man. I’m going to -get him, even if we shoot him down on sight as an outlawed fugitive from -justice with a price on his head.” - -“We’ll get him,” answered Sharkey, with a grim smile. “You may count him -a dead bird. I guessed he wouldn’t keep away from his girl very long.” - -“His girl! Curse her—it was she who lured my son to his death. But I’ll -be avenged. If she has been harboring an outlaw, she, too, has broken -the law and shall go to jail.” - -“Well, she no doubt thinks him innocent,” suggested the sleuth. - -“Innocent! All women are alike—treacherous devils at heart. I would give -them the vote—yes, but the rope at the same time,” he went on, growling -in savage incoherence. - -And Sharkey, knowing that discussion or contradiction only added fresh -fuel to his vile temper, left him alone. - -At last, a few nights later, a rider dashed up to Ben Thurston’s house -with the news that Dick Willoughby had been seen entering La Siesta, and -that, following Sharkey’s instructions, every avenue of escape was now -guarded. - -“Hurry, hurry! I’ve got to be in at the death,” fairly screamed the old -man. - -Five minutes later the big seven-passenger automobile, carrying three or -four armed men besides its owner and his personal guard, Leach Sharkey, -was devouring the twenty miles of road that lay between the two ranch -homes. - -That evening the four young people were quietly chatting in the cosy -corner on the interior verandah—the comfortable little nook fixed up -with rugs and tapestries and oriental divans. It was summer now, and -after a sultry day the night air was sweet and balmy. Willoughby was -smoking a cigar in languid contentment with his surroundings, when all -at once he sprang to his feet. - -Tia Teresa had rushed in, frantic with excitement. - -“A great big automobile is coming along the road,” she cried, “and -there are men watching outside the portico. Come with me,” she went on, -addressing Dick. “I know where your horses are hid. I can take you by a -secret path through the oleanders.” - -Dick vaguely wondered why the duenna should know anything about his mode -of coming. But there was no time to question, for just then there came -the sound of voices outside. - -Mrs. Darlington, pale and agitated, emerged from the drawing room. - -“What has happened?” she asked breathlessly. - -“I guess I’m trapped,” replied Dick quietly. “No doubt it’s old -Thurston. There will be shooting if I resist. So there is nothing for it -but to surrender.” - -“No, no,” exclaimed Merle. “I dread that vindictive man. He must never -get you in his power again. We must gain time to smuggle you out of -the house. I have it. Tia Teresa—give me your mantilla and your cloak. -Quick, quick!” - -A first loud knocking had come on the door at the head of the portico -steps. The duenna in a moment had divested herself of her loose black -robe and heavy lace veil. - -“Get something else to wear and meet us at the oleanders,” continued -Merle, taking the garments from Tia Teresa. “Put these on, Dick, and -sit right there in that corner. Mr. Munson, turn off two or three of the -lights. Mother, dear, control yourself. Take this book and be reading. -Now, that will do. They will be here in a moment.” - -A second knock had been heard, and now they knew that the door was being -opened without further ceremony, for at placid La Siesta there were no -bolts or bars against unwelcome visitors. - -In that brief minute a wonderful transformation scene had taken place in -the cosy corner. Tia Teresa had disappeared. Munson was stretched on -a sofa, puffing his cigar. Merle and Grace had been playing patience -during the afternoon and had left the cards in scattered confusion. Mrs. -Darlington, beneath the single incandescent aglow, was quietly reading. -From the darksome corner the pretended duenna surveyed this peaceful -scene of domesticity. - -It was Ben Thurston himself who led the way for his swarm of myrmidons. - -He began without formality; his tone was coarse and rude. - -“We want the outlaw, Dick Willoughby. We know he is here. So make no -fuss. Deliver him over.” - -Mrs. Darlington had risen to her feet, and Munson, too, had sprung -erect. - -“What do you mean?” asked the lady with quiet dignity. - -“You know darned well what I mean.” - -Munson stepped forward, but he played the game best by keeping himself -under perfect control. - -“You will speak civilly, Mr. Thurston, or leave this house. What is -wanted?” he added, turning to Leach Sharkey. - -“We want Dick Willoughby, of course,” the sleuth replied, politely -enough. “We have reason to believe he is here.” - -“Well, you can see for yourself whether he is here or not,” said Munson, -glancing around. “But if you wish to look through the house, I don’t -suppose Mrs. Darlington will refuse you permission.” - -The lady bowed her acquiescence. - -“With your consent, Mrs. Darlington,” Munson went on, “I’ll show these -gentlemen round and save you the annoyance. Come along then.” - -Ben Thurston had been fairly silenced by the army man’s suave courtesy. -He was glowering at him, dully conscious of having been suppressed. - -Munson turned from the sleuth. - -“Perhaps Mr. Thurston would prefer to remain with the ladies?” he asked, -with a touch of smiling irony. - -“I don’t leave my man Sharkey,” replied Thurston gruffly. “Sharkey, keep -close watch on me. We’ll search the place, but you stay near me all -the time.” Once again there was the old hunted look in his eyes as he -glanced apprehensively into the courtyard. - -“Then follow me,” said Munson quietly. - -“You have left a guard at the door of course?” asked Thurston of -Sharkey. - -“Oh, you just allow me to know my business,” replied the detective -sharply. He bowed to Mrs. Darlington and her daughters. “I am really -sorry to disturb you, ladies.” - -“Then get the business over as soon as possible,” said Munson. “Come -along.” - -The moment the coast was clear, Merle jumped up. - -“Quick! Mr. Willoughby. Follow me downstairs. I’ll take you through the -kitchen to the rose gardens.” - -It was a strange looking duenna that stalked after Merle, with a robe -reaching only to the knees. But at the head of the kitchen stairway Dick -discarded the now useless garments, flinging them across the balustrade. - -“We must trust to our good luck now, Merle,” he said. - -“Never fear. It won’t desert us. Hurry on.” - -At the clump of oleanders they found Tia Teresa, provided with another -shawl. Not a moment was to be wasted in words. Merle just pressed Dick’s -hand by way of farewell. As he hastened away down the dark path, she, -too, sped from the spot. - -Perhaps fifteen minutes later Ben Thurston, going the round of the -house, came to the head of the kitchen stairs. He saw the black cloak -and mantilla on the balustrade. - -“By God!” he cried with swift inspiration of what had happened. “We’ve -been properly fooled! Where is that old hag of a duenna?” - -Gathering the vestments in his hands he rushed through the house to the -verandah. Merle was quietly seated with her mother and Grace. But there -was no sign now of Tia Teresa. - -Sharkey had followed close on his employer’s heels. Munson came a few -paces behind. - -Ben Thurston glared for a moment at the vacant place where the -black-robed figure had been seated. Then he turned round and, addressing -Mrs. Darlington, fairly shouted: - -“Where is Dick Willoughby? It was he who was wearing these damned -clothes.” And he flung the garments on the rug before her. - -“No swearing, please,” said Munson, tapping him on the shoulder. - -“To hell! Who wouldn’t swear? Where is the man I’m after?” - -“An innocent man,” exclaimed Merle, rising to her feet and proudly -folding her arms. - -“Looks like it—breaking jail and hiding in the hills,” sneered Thurston. -“He is nothing but a murderer and an outlaw. And I’m going to get him, -dead or alive.” - -“Then catch him if you can,” cried Merle, pointing toward the door that -opened on the portico. - -Under the girl’s fearless gaze Ben Thurston wilted. Baffled, humiliated, -speechless in his impotent rage, he allowed the sleuth to take him by -the arm and hustle him from the scene. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV—Love and Revenge - -BEYOND the oleanders a tall thick hedge of cypress favored the flight -of the fugitive. At the end of the gardens Tia Teresa took a little path -that dipped into the river bed, and when they ascended again out of the -hollow, Dick found himself quite close to the grove where Pierre was in -hiding with the ponies. - -By this time the young fellow was angry with himself for having fled -so precipitately. He was full of solicitude for Merle. Why had not he -remained to defend her from the brutality of that ruffian, Ben Thurston? -This was the question that was now making him both ashamed and anxious. - -“Hush!” - -The caution came from Pierre, and showed that the Frenchman was alive to -what had happened. - -“I saw ze automobile rush by,” he whispered. “We will ride across -country, so zat it cannot follow us.” He pointed in the direction he -would go. - -“Not yet,” replied Dick, determinedly. “I’m off back to the house to see -that they are all safe there.” - -“No, no, Mr. Willoughby,” protested the duenna earnestly. “You heard -what Miss Merle said—she is afraid of that raging old man. Besides I -know. He has vowed that he and his hired gunmen will shoot you on sight. -For my little girl’s sake you must not go back,” she implored. - -“Besides your word of honor is pledged to me,” added Luzon. “You must -return wiz me. I have your parole.” - -“Parole be hanged,” muttered Dick between his teeth. - -The old Frenchman laid a kindly hand on the young man’s shoulder. - -“No, no. Monsieur is a man of honor. And honor comes before -love—always.” - -“If you love her,” insisted Tia Teresa, “you will save yourself tonight. -We will look after her. You need not worry on her account.” - -Dick for the moment was silenced, but unconvinced. - -“Well, at all events we’ll wait a bit. I don’t leave this spot till I’m -sure that Ben Thurston himself has cleared.” - -“All right,” assented Pierre. “Stay where you are, Tia Teresa. You must -not be seen. Zey may be searching in ze gardens.” - -Even as he spoke there was the flash of a lantern among the rose bushes. - -In tense silence they waited and watched. The leaden-winged minutes -stole on. For a time lights flitted about, then vanished. At last came -the “honk-honk” of the automobile, and a minute later the great machine -with its flaring headlights swept down the roadway. They could just see -that it was crowded with men. Then in a few seconds it had disappeared -around the bend. - -“Now we go,” said Pierre. - -“Just a minute longer, please,” replied Dick in a firm tone. “Tia -Teresa, you slip back to the house. I will stay here till you bring me -word from Merle that she is safe and that all is well.” - -“I will soon return,” said the duenna as she hurried away on her -mission. - -Again an interval of high-tensioned waiting. Neither Dick nor Pierre -spoke a word. At last there came a rustle of the bushes from the -direction of the river bed, and a moment later Tia Teresa was again by -their side. - -“Mr. Willoughby,” she said, breathless from the speed she had made, -“Miss Merle begs you to make good your escape. She is well, and happy -because you are safe. She sends this rose and”—the old lady hesitated a -moment—“her love.” - -“She said that?” murmured Dick, tremblingly, as he took the white -blossom and breathed its fragrance. - -“Well, does not the flower speak her love?” replied the duenna. “Now go, -go.” - -“Come,” said Pierre, as he raised himself into the saddle. “We shall fix -the blindfold later on.” Dick furtively kissed the rose before he placed -it in the breast pocket of his coat. Then he mounted, and, bringing his -pony alongside of Pierre’s, started off at a canter across the starlit -plain. - -Ben Thurston did not feel inclined to sleep that night. He paced his -sitting room like an angry bear, and kept Leach Sharkey out of bed to -listen to his growls and threatenings. - -“By God, I’ll have that girl shoved into jail. Harboring an outlaw! It’s -a criminal offence.” - -“You can’t do it,” objected the sleuth. - -“Can’t do it?” shouted Thurston, halting and glowering down upon the man -who had dared to contradict him. “You’ll see damned quick if I can’t.” - -“Not one of us could swear that Willoughby was there. Neither you nor I -could. We never saw him.” - -“He wore that disguise,” thundered Thurston. “So you think. But thinking -ain’t proof—not by a long chalk.” - -Thurston was now almost speechless from rage. Half articulate words of -blasphemy were upon his stuttering lips. But Sharkey went coolly on. - -“Besides the sympathy of everyone would be with the girl. You can’t -succeed that way. You yourself would be covered with ridicule.” - -At last the torrent of curses broke forth. “Damn you, Leach Sharkey! -That’s what I pay you for, is it? To let that scoundrel slip through our -very fingers? And you had the nerve to ask me for another big check this -evening. It’s all a confounded plot. You’re bleeding me. Leach is your -name, and leech is your nature.” Leach Sharkey rose to his feet. His -white teeth gleamed as his short upper lip curled in a contemptuous -smile. He raised a threatening finger. It was his turn now to give free -vent to profanity. - -“Stop right there, you doggoned old fool. I bleed you, do I? Well, take -my resignation. All your pay ain’t worth another five minutes of your -infernal temper. No man ever dared to browbeat me and insult me as you -have done. And now you may go to hell—where you belong.” - -The sleuth turned on his heel, and strode to the doorway. But Thurston -was after him in an instant, penitent, trembling, ashen pale. He grabbed -Sharkey by the coat sleeve. - -“No, no, don’t go, I beg of you,” he whined, “I was wrong. I spoke in -anger. I apologize. Good God, some one or other will get me within an -hour if you leave me unprotected. I haven’t a single friend—no one to -stand by me.” There was craven fear in his eyes as he looked timidly -around. “I hear the prowling footsteps of my enemies in the night. You -alone can save me, Mr. Sharkey.” - -“Your damned civility comes too late,” replied the sleuth, as he shook -the clutching hands from his shoulder. - -“No, no. Don’t say that. Sit down again. See, here is my check book. -I’ll pay you that money now—I’ll double the amount—I’ll never haggle -with you again. Stay with me till we go East together.” - -Sharkey showed himself somewhat mollified. He had played his game well, -for after all, cash with him was the main consideration. So smiling over -the success of his bluff, he watched the unnerved coward as he tottered -to his desk, dropped into a chair and drew the check with slow and -painful effort, and then returned with it between his still trembling -fingers. - -“You’ll stand by me, Mr. Sharkey, won’t you?” - -“Well, no more of that nonsense,” was the curt reply, as the sleuth -glanced at the slip of paper, then thrust it in his waistcoat pocket. - -To Thurston the reconciliation brought instant relief. He drew himself -up; he rubbed his hands; he even attempted a smile. - -“That’s a good fellow, Sharkey. You know I’ve always held you in high -esteem. And we’ll get that man yet”—the glare of vindictiveness was -again in his eyes, the rasp of accustomed irritability was returning to -his voice. “We’ll get him, I say, even if it costs double the money I’ve -already spent. And that devil of a girl, too—I hate her more than ever -now. She’ll pay for her insults tonight with her lover’s life. Remember, -Sharkey, no more chances. When you get the scoundrel within gunshot, -it’s up to you to shoot. That will be best in any case. It will save the -cost of a judge and jury. You understand me?” - -“I understand,” nodded Sharkey. “Then, as you’re speaking about -doubling. Mr. Thurston, I suppose that ten-thousand-dollar reward coming -to me goes up to twenty thousand.” - -“Yes; twenty thousand if you shoot him like a dog, and let me get away -from this damned place. I have come to loathe the very name of it. Well, -spread your cot now across my door. I’ll try to get an hour’s sleep. -Good night.” - -And Ben Thurston disappeared into the inner room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI—A Date is Fixed - -ON the morning after the exciting episode at La Siesta, Chester Munson -was in the library of Mr. Robles’ home ready for his day’s duties. But -he was in no mood for the routine work of cataloging and classifying the -volumes on the bookshelves. Up to now the task had been one of absorbing -interest, for Munson, although not a scholar, had always been fond of -reading, and it was a treat to dip at times into the contents of the -rare and curious works which wealth and the educated taste of a true -bibliophile had accumulated. - -But today the amateur librarian was thinking of other things. He was -feverishly awaiting the usual morning visit of his employer, so that he -might tell him the story of the previous night’s happenings. At last Mr. -Robles made his appearance, and gave his usual quiet greetings. - -“I see you are making great progress with your work,” he remarked, -glancing at the pile of classified volumes resting temporarily on the -library table. - -“Oh, I’m getting along,” replied Munson. “But I have most surprising -news for you, Mr. Robles.” - -“Indeed?” The recluse arched his eyebrows in expectant curiosity as he -took a chair beside the desk at which Munson had been seated. “Sit down, -please. Let me hear the story.” - -“You know that I was at La Siesta yesterday evening?” - -“I know that you are very often there,” replied Mr. Robles, smiling. -“I understand the attraction and congratulate you on your good fortune. -Grace Darlington is certainly a charming young lady.” - -Munson flushed and bowed his acquiescence in the compliment as he said: - -“It was not of her, however, that I was going to speak. I want to say -to you, Mr. Robles, that Miss Farnsworth did one of the bravest and -cleverest things imaginable last evening.” - -“Tell me about it. I am all attention.” Munson then proceeded to relate -in full detail the events of the preceding evening—the surprise visit -of Ben Thurston, the brutality of the man, the quick wit of Merle, the -escape of Dick Willoughby, and his final message by Tia Teresa that he -was safe and, in obedience to Merle’s injunction, was returning to his -place of hiding. During the narrative only once did the listener betray -emotion; when Thurston’s rude insults were repeated there came a -flash into Robles’ eyes, and he clenched his hands to restrain his -indignation. But he interrupted with no word, and at the end spoke no -comment. - -Munson was a little taken aback at this silence and impassivity. - -“My story does not seem to surprise you?” he remarked, with a note of -interrogation. - -“No,” was the quiet reply, “I already knew it.” - -“How?” exclaimed Munson, wonderingly. - -“You have forgotten, young man, that there is a private telephone -between my home here and La Siesta. Mrs. Darlington has already told me -about the matter. But I am pleased to have your version, and -delighted more than I can tell to know that Merle proved equal to the -emergency—that it was she who may be truly said to have saved Dick -Willoughby.” There was a ring of pride and admiration in his voice as he -spoke the words. - -“She’s the real stuff,” cried Munson, enthusiastically. - -“It was well done,” continued Mr. Robles, his tone taking a graver note. -“For I want to warn you, Munson, as Willoughby’s closest friend, that -Ben Thurston or one of his hired assassins will certainly shoot on sight -the instant they get the chance to do so. But by the Lord, if anything -like that happens, I will hang that villain Thurston to the highest tree -in Tejon for the buzzards to pick his bones.” And the upraised hand, -the voice vibrating with passionate determination, showed that Ricardo -Robles meant just what he said. - -Mr. Robles had risen to his feet. For a moment he turned his face away. -Then he again spoke, but now in his customary, sedate manner. - -“This morning, Mr. Munson, I leave home for a few days. Go on with your -work, of course, but remember that it is quite a minor consideration. -During my absence I shall rely on you to see that Ben Thurston, on any -pretence of searching for Willoughby, does not cross my door.” - -“He shall never do that, so long as I’m here,” declared the young army -man, with quiet confidence. - -“I don’t think he will, either,” replied Robles. “I have given orders -for him to be shot down,” he added grimly, “if he should dare to -approach my gates. But I’ll count on you all the same as a second guard -to the sanctity of my home.” - -“You may count on me to the death,” responded Munson, extending his -hand. - -“I know it, and therefore I go away on a necessary duty with an easy -mind. But I have good news for you, Munson. I have instructed Sing Ling -to prepare luncheon for the ladies of La Siesta every day they choose -to come. So, while I prefer you to remain here on guard while I am -gone, you need not be lonely. Perhaps you’ll hardly wish me to come back -again,” he added with a smile. - -“Oh, don’t say that. But you’re mighty kind thinking of such things at -all.” - -“Well, you may expect our friends today about one o’clock. Now, -goodbye—but not for long.” - -The library work proceeded but slowly during the hours that followed. -Munson was all impatience now for Grace and Merle to arrive. Books were -of little account, for there was none ever printed that could rival -for him the charm of a certain pair of laughing blue eyes. And it was a -self-confessed pseudo man-of-letters who at last rushed to the gateway -to greet the fair visitors. - -“Mother couldn’t come,” cried Grace, as she jumped from her horse and -flung the bridle to a Mexican groom. “She’s putting up fruit with Tia -Teresa, and I think she really believes everything would go wrong if she -didn’t superintend.” - -Munson, as he led the girls through the arched gateway, was inclined to -bless both the fruit and the fallacy. - -Sing Ling came across the patio with a welcoming smile. - -“Dinnel all leady,” he announced in tinkling syllables. - -“And we’re all ready, too, Sing Ling,” laughed Merle, as she went up and -shook the Chinaman’s hand. - -“Me vely glad to see you again, missie.” - -“I didn’t know you were old friends,” exclaimed Munson, in some -surprise. - -“Oh, didn’t you? Sing Ling has been Mr. Robles’ cook off and on for -nearly twenty years. When Mr. Robles is abroad of course he works -elsewhere. That’s why you found him at San Antonio Rancho.” - -“But Dick told me he was his cook—had been for several years.” - -“With Mr. Robles’ tacit consent, then,” replied Merle. - -The Chinaman was grinning in a vacuous sort of way, as if all the -conversation was so much Greek to him. - -“Sing Ling, you scamp,” cried Munson, “I begin to understand now how Mr. -Robles comes to know so much about Dick and myself. You’ve been telling -tales out of school.” - -“Oh, no; me cookee allee time; me no go school,” replied the Celestial, -in guileless incomprehension. - -After the dainty luncheon, Merle proposed that they should visit the -watch tower. There they found the Mexican lad on duty. He had been -strumming a guitar to pass the time, but at the sound of voices -had sprung erect and alert. Munson noticed at a glance that the big -telescope was ready trained on San Antonio Rancho. - -“Como estas, Francisco?” asked Merle, addressing the boy in Spanish. - -“Bien, gracias, senorita,” he replied, with a deferential bow. But he -averted his glance instantly, and gazed out on the landscape. - -Merle turned to Munson: “We are not allowed to converse with the -servants here,” she explained. “Just a word of greeting—that is all.” - -“I’m under similar orders,” replied Munson. “Not that it much matters -in my case, for I haven’t your accomplishment of knowing the Spanish -language.” - -“Oh, Grace and I speak Spanish almost as well as English. You see, Mr. -Robles, who has always been interested in us two girls, insisted that we -should be taught his native tongue.” - -“And we’ve been all over Spain, too,” interposed Grace. “Lived there -a whole year. That’s where I fell in love with the violin and took my -first lessons.” - -“An inspiring country obviously,” remarked Munson with a flattering -gesture. - -“Thank you for the subtle compliment,” laughed Grace, tossing the -vagrant, wind-blown curls from her face. - -“I never come here but I love to gaze at the view,” observed Merle. “Is -it not glorious—this valley of Tehachapi?” - -It was indeed a glorious scene—that noble sweep of verdured plain, -stretching north far as the eye could reach, on the south guarded by the -rugged pass, east and west embosoming hills twenty miles apart etching -the sky with peaks and domes and lines of beauty. For a few moments all -three visitors to the tower remained silent and enraptured. - -Grace was the one to break the spell. - -“I’m going down now to the library to inspect your work, lieutenant,” -she announced with a roguish smile. - -“Spare me,” protested Munson. “But perhaps you would help me with some -of those Spanish books,” he added as an afterthought. - -“Delighted! Come along.” And she led the way down the winding iron -staircase. - -In the library the three were for the first time during the visit quite -alone. Munson carefully closed the door. - -“Now I’ve got the chance, Miss Merle,” he began, “I want to compliment -you on your splendid bravery last night.” - -“Bravery!” she laughed. “Why I was so scared I could hardly stand.” - -“Well, you deceived us all finely, then.” - -“And that Ben Thurston—what an old ruffian!” cried Grace. “But I agree -with you, Mr. Munson; Merle was a hero.” - -“A heroine,” suggested the lieutenant. - -“Oh, in these days we don’t make such fine sex distinctions,” laughed -Grace. “A real hero, that’s what I call her.” - -“Rubbish,” protested Merle. “I just did what anyone else would have done -in the circumstances.” - -“I’m afraid men are not so ready of wit in an emergency as are women,” -remarked Munson. - -“Just listen to that, Merle,” exclaimed Grace. “I verily believe the -lieutenant is a suffragette.” - -“A suffragist,” corrected Munson, emphatically this time. “I’m hanged -if I’m going to wear a petticoat even if the women are determined to -don—the other things.” - -They all laughed merrily. - -Grace turned and began examining the carefully written library cards. - -“Any more news from Mr. Willoughby?” asked Merle, with a look of -solicitude in her eyes. - -“Nothing,” replied Munson. “But I’m beginning to put two and two -together,” he continued. “Early every morning a horseman comes down here -from the mountains and evidently brings a report of some kind to Mr. -Robles. And when he rides off again Sing Ling has always ready a basket -of grub, all sorts of nice things, fried chicken, spiced beef—” - -“Sounds quite epicurean,” interrupted Grace, tossing away the card she -had been pretending to examine. - -“Yes, hang it all—just the little delicacies Dick used to like.” - -“I never knew you fared so bountifully at San Antonio Rancho,” remarked -Merle with a smile. - -“Oh, Dick’s no candy kid, as you know well,” replied Munson. “It was -mostly rough and ready fare all right, but Sing Ling had a knack of -adding a few dainty trifles to our meals, and it strikes me that for the -purposes of this mysterious and capacious lunch basket he is trying to -excel himself.” - -“No doubt it goes to Mr. Willoughby,” said Merle. “Well, I’m real glad -to know that they are making him comfortable.” - -“I guess, though, he’ll miss his occasional visits to La Siesta. Mr. -Robles says you were quite right, Miss Merle. Dick is in real danger. -Those gunmen of old Thurston have orders to shoot him on sight.” - -“I knew it,” exclaimed Merle. “Oh, I’m so thankful he got away. Even -though we miss seeing him, he must never run such a risk again.” - -“It is all very mysterious,” said Munson, in a musing tone. “And I had -no idea, too, that this was such a lovely place. Mr. Robles has taken -me around several times. He has the choicest dairy cattle, the finest -blooded horses, rare trees and plants from every corner of the world.” - -“These are his hobbies,” commented Merle. - -“He says he wants to give me some practical lessons in estate -management.” - -“Why?” asked Grace. - -“Well,” laughed Munson, “he thinks I may some day own a rancho of my -own. But that will be a mighty long time.” - -“Who can tell?” said Merle, glancing mischievously from the lieutenant -to Grace. “Even in these humdrum days soldiers have been known to come -in and conquer.” - -Grace blushed crimson. - -“Merle, how dare you?” she exclaimed, half angry, half laughing. “Next -time we visit you, Mr. Munson, I’ll have to bring along Tia Teresa.” - -“Oh, dear Aunt Teresa has a soft side for the lieutenant,” retorted -Merle, with merry audacity. - -But Grace had recovered from her momentary confusion. - -“Then I’ll help you all I can, Mr. Munson, with dear Aunt Teresa,” -she laughingly said. “We’ll send her along tomorrow instead of coming -ourselves.” - -“Heaven forbid!” murmured the lieutenant, with pious fervor. He, too, -had been looking and feeling awkward. - -“So we’ll say goodbye for the present,” continued Grace, frankly -extending her hand. - -“I hope I haven’t said anything to offend you,” stammered Munson. - -“It is perhaps what you haven’t said that is the cause of trouble,” -laughed the irrepressible Merle. - -But Grace had fled from the room, and as the others followed, Merle went -on: - -“I said when we left home that two would be company but three—a -complication. Wasn’t I right, lieutenant?” - -“You are always right,” murmured Munson, too bewildered to think of -anything else but the obvious gallant reply. - -He stood at the gateway watching the two young ladies as they cantered -away. At the bend of the road Merle turned round in the saddle and waved -her hand. But Grace rode steadily on. - -“By jove, that’s as good as telling me that I can sail in and win,” he -said to himself. “Thank you, Merle, little girl. Next time Grace and I -are alone, my fate will be sealed.” - -But no one called again during Mr. Robles’ absence—not even Tia Teresa. - -It was toward evening a few days later when the recluse strolled into -the library. Munson did not know that he had returned, and rose from his -seat in some surprise. - -“Still hard at work?” said Mr. Robles, as he nodded and shook hands. - -“When did you get back, sir?” - -“Last night. And today I have been busy with some important letters.” - -“Any word of Dick?” - -“There is nothing new so far as I am aware.” - -“Mr. Robles, excuse me,” said Munson earnestly. “But I’m anxious on -Dick’s account. You know of his whereabouts, of course?” - -“I have indicated as much, although for the present I prefer to say -nothing.” - -“Well, when is he to be restored to liberty?” - -“In due time. At latest he will be free on the eleventh of October.” - -“Oh, that’s months ahead yet. But why the eleventh of October? You -excite my curiosity.” - -“The date is not of my choosing—it was fixed many years ago, by another -than myself.” - -The enigmatic reply puzzled Chester Munson—not only the words -themselves, but the tremor of deep emotion in the voice of Ricardo -Robles as he gave them utterance. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII—Among the Old Oaks - -PIERRE, now my sketches and plans are finished, how am I going to pass -the time?” It was some ten days after the affair at La Siesta, and -Dick had spent the interval in close and absorbed work over his drawing -board. Happy in his occupation, he had not felt the restraints of -confinement. - -But now that the task was completed, and the big cardboard cylinder -containing the set of drawings rested on the ledge of the easel all -ready to be sent away on its mission, a feeling of chafing restlessness -had ensued. - -“Good Lord, a fellow can’t read all day,” Dick went on, half in -soliloquy, half addressing his companion. - -“Monsieur is comfortable here?” asked the latter solicitously. - -“I should say, old fellow. I was never in better quarters in all my -life.” - -“And zere is nothing more I could get for ze table?” - -“For goodness sake, don’t talk like that, Pierre! In any ease I don’t -worry about what I eat. But this is a regular Delmonico’s. Guadalupe -is certainly a crackerjack cook. She is even better than Sing Ling. -Wherever did she learn to turn out all these little delicacies? And just -my favorite dishes, too.” - -Pierre smiled enigmatically. - -“Guadalupe very clever old squaw,” he remarked. - -“I would like to know her better. But she keeps out of my sight all the -time.” - -“Guadalupe is very old. She has her fixed ideas.” - -“I suppose that means she does not love the Americans.” - -“No doubt. She prefer to be alone—alone with ze white wolf all ze time. -And where the white wolf is, monsieur dare not go.” - -“I understand that all right,” laughed Willoughby. “I strolled only -once toward the log fire, and the brute showed me a set of teeth which I -never wish to see again.” - -“Ze white wolf guard ze cave well,” remarked Pierre, sententiously. - -“Oh, I’m not thinking of trying to run away. You know I would never -break my word. But what the dickens am I to do all day long?” - -“What do you say? Suppose we go to ze riffle and wash out some gold.” - -“Great Scott!” exclaimed Dick eagerly. “That’s not a bad suggestion. But -Don Manuel won’t mind?” - -“He will be very pleased—he has no use for ze gold.” - -“And Guadalupe?” - -“Long ago she would have killed you if you had gone zere. But not now. -She very old, and all her people are dead.” - -“And the white wolf? That confounded beast won’t interfere?” - -“No, no. Ze white wolf stay near Guadalupe all ze time.” - -“Then, by jove, it’s a bully idea,” cried Dick. “It gets me all right. -We’ll turn miners, Pierre, and we’ll have a rare old sack of nuggets to -divide when the time comes for me to go free. I’ll be better off in the -end than if I were holding down my old job at the rancho,” he laughed -gaily. - -“I will find ze spades and ze pans to wash ze gravel. When shall we -begin?” - -“Well, wait now,” replied Dick, glancing reflectively at the roll of -drawings. “I’ve got to send these plans away. I want you to get them -at once into the hands of my friend, Lieutenant Chester Munson. He will -know how to forward them to their proper destination.” - -“May I suggest one zing?” - -“Go ahead, Pierre. What’s in your mind?” - -“I venture to make one little suggestion. Why not ask ze young lady to -take ze plans to your friend?” - -“Miss Merle Farnsworth?” asked Dick in surprise. “But how am I to do -that?” - -“I will promise to arrange a meeting—zat is, if you are not afraid of -Mr. Thurston and his men.” - -“Afraid!” shouted Dick. “You give me the chance to see Merle again, and -old Ben Thurston and all his sleuths may go to blazes.” - -“Zen I will arrange, and I zink it will please ze young lady very much -to have ze honor of taking care of ze plans.” - -“You mean it will be a mighty honor for the plans to be in her care, -Pierre. But I know she will gladly do me this service. How and when can -I see her?” - -“Be ready tomorrow morning by ten o’clock. I will take you to a quiet -place among ze old oak trees.” - -“Pierre, you’re a regular brick,” cried Dick, as he slapped the old -Frenchman on the shoulder in the exuberance of his delight. - -The following morning they started out for the trysting place. Dick -without demur submitted to the usual precautions. He was blindfolded -before mounting his pony in the great central domed cavern and it was -not until a couple of hours later, after a veritable switchback ride up -and down and round about in a bewildering maze, that he was permitted -to remove the bandage. Dismounting, he found himself in the heart of a -great oak forest, in what precise locality he could not tell, for there -was nothing in sight but endless vistas of tree trunks under their thick -canopy of green leaves. - -Pierre touched him on the shoulder, and he followed the direction of -the Frenchman’s eyes. There, advancing through the sylvan twilight, was -Merle Farnsworth, her hands eagerly extended, her face lighted with joy. -Following at a little distance came Tia Teresa. - -Dick, hastening to meet Merle, took both her hands into his, and gazed -deep into her eyes. - -“Oh, it’s great to meet you again,” he exclaimed. “And this is my first -chance to thank you for having saved me the other night. My word, but -you were quick to think and to act. You cannot know how I admired your -courage and coolness.” - -“Nonsense, nonsense,” protested Merle, in sweet blushing confusion. “You -make far too much of the little I did.” - -“You saved my life,” said Dick, determinedly. “You can call that a -little thing if you choose.” - -“No, no,” she replied, earnestly. “If I really did that, then it was -truly a big thing.” - -“For me.” - -“And for all of us,” she added, with face half-averted. - -“And you, too?” pressed Dick. - -“Yes, for me, too,” answered Merle, turning round and frankly meeting -his gaze. “I should never have been happy again had any harm come to you -there—that night—in my very home—without a proper effort to get you away -to a place of safety.” - -“God bless you, Merle, dear,” exclaimed Dick, as again he pressed her -hands. He had been carried away by his fervent emotions, but she did not -resent the familiar and endearing manner of his address. - -He would have taken her in his arms there and then, but Merle drew back -and gave a little glance aside. Then Dick remembered Tia Teresa. To his -astonishment he found her chatting with Pierre Luzon as if they were old -friends. - -Dick left Merle for the moment to greet the duenna. - -“And I have to thank you, too, for helping me,” he said. Then he added -with a laugh: “When am I to be privileged to wear that mantilla again?” - -“You are not to be allowed to endanger yourself again,” replied Tia -Teresa. “And I warn you now. We remain here only half an hour—these are -our orders.” - -“Whose orders?” - -“Never mind. Just one half hour, that is all.” - -“Then I’ll make the best of my time,” exclaimed Dick, turning toward -Merle. “I see you won’t be lonely with my gallant friend, Pierre Luzon,” -he added with a smile. - -“Oh, I knew Pierre when he was just as handsome a young fellow as -yourself,” retorted Tia Teresa. “But we’ll excuse you, and Pierre will -keep the time.” - -Dick led Merle down a glade of the forest, but before doing so he had -unstrapped the roll of drawings from the horn of his saddle. - -“What are you carrying so very carefully?” asked Merle. - -“My plans for the ideal city. I told you I was going to have a try in -that competition.” - -“I hope you’ll have good luck.” - -“Well, I want you to help me. Will you take this package, please, to -Chester Munson and ask him to send it to the proper address?” - -“With the greatest of pleasure, Mr. Willoughby,”—and she put forth her -hands for the roll. - -“No—we’ll lay it down here for the present. This log will serve as a -seat. See, this twisted, limb makes quite a comfortable nook for you.” -He had halted at a fallen tree, had dropped the drawing on the turf, and -was now dusting away the twigs and leaves from the seat he had chosen. - -“Cannot I look at the drawings?” she asked, after settling herself -cosily. - -“Before handing them to Munson, if you like. But there are other things -to talk about now.” As he spoke he tossed his hat on the ground at her -feet. - -“Are you growing impatient over your confinement?” she asked. - -“Impatient—it is hardly the word. I long to be out in the world again. -I could never have endured the long seclusion but for my work over these -drawings and my thoughts of you.” - -“Why me?” - -“I have felt that I am doing the best for your sake as well as my own. -I would not have had you subjected to the vulgar gaze of a crowded court -room—not for worlds. The very thought that I have saved you from that -has made me contented with my enforced idleness.” - -“Not idleness,” she said, tapping the roll of drawings with the toe of -her shoe. - -“Well, no, not idleness exactly.” - -“And I do hope you’ll win the prize,” she added, looking up into his -eyes. - -“So do I. But perhaps you don’t know what I count to be the real prize.” - - - -0255 - -“Pray, what is that?” - -Dick thrust a hand into the breast of his coat and brought forth a -pocket book. From this he produced a little package, and opening the -folds of paper disclosed the white rose which she had sent him on the -night of his escape from La Siesta. - -“Where did you get that?” she asked demurely. - -“It is your rose—the rose you sent me.” - -“I did not know you were so partial to roses as to keep them after they -are withered.” Her voice trembled; she bravely tried to keep up the -pretence of not understanding. - -“It is not the gift I treasure—it is the thought of who was the giver.” - -A blush stole over her beautiful face, while the long drooping eyelashes -half concealed her brown eyes. Dick’s arms slipped around the girl’s -slender waist. - -“Merle, my dear, I love you. For months past I have known that there is -no woman on earth for me but you. I would have spoken before, but I have -always been afraid that you could not love me, and that talk of such a -thing might terminate a friendship that had become my greatest pleasure -in life.” - -For reply, placing one hand on his shoulder, she just buried her face in -his breast and gave way to tears—tears of joy, he knew, as he kissed her -hair again and again, and then at last her lips when she allowed him to -raise her face toward his. - -“My darling,” he murmured, and the kiss she gave him back accepted and -returned the words of fond endearment. - -A moment of restful bliss followed; then Merle gently disengaged herself -and rose to her feet. - -“What will Tia Teresa say?” she asked, laughingly, as she glanced over -her shoulder. - -“I think Tia Teresa knew all about my love long ago,” replied Dick. -“Yes, both she and Pierre Luzon, too.” - -“Then you have been wearing your heart on your sleeve.” - -“Or we have been surrounded by very observant people. But, I say, Merle, -this reminds me of a thing I had quite forgotten for the moment.” His -face fell. “There is one great barrier that stands between us.” - -“What do you mean? You are surely too strong and purposeful a man to -care for barriers.” - -“I never knew until the other day that you are so very rich.” - -“Rich!” laughed Merle. “Who ever told you such a foolish thing? While -of course I have never felt poverty, don’t you know that I am absolutely -dependent upon Mrs. Darlington’s kindness and generosity to me, her -adopted daughter?” - -A smile of understanding broke over Dick’s face. - -“You tell me that? I am so delighted,” he exclaimed. - -“You surely know my story well enough,” continued Merle, “not to have -mistaken me for an heiress. I lost both father and mother when I was -a baby. Mrs. Darlington took me to her heart, and no mother could have -been dearer and sweeter than she, no sister kinder and more loving than -Grace. But I am proud to think they have loved me for my own sake, not -for any wealth I might have owned.” - -“Then there is no barrier,” cried Dick, as once again he drew her to -him. “Unless my poverty is a barrier,” he added. “But won’t I work hard -all my life to give you every comfort you can desire!” - -“Well, we’ll have a good start at all events,” said Merle, with a merry -little upglance. - -“How’s that?” - -“The ten-thousand-dollar prize for the best plans. Have you forgotten -about that already?” - -“But it is not won yet.” - -“Oh, I have the firm presentiment that you are going to win, Dick, dear. -I am sure of it—sure!” she repeated in a tone of conviction. - -Her face was aglow and Dick caught the spirit of her enthusiasm. - -“Then I’m sure, too. And, by jove, won’t we have one grand honeymoon -trip, dearest?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII—The Prize Winner - -DICK WILLOUGHBY’S sensational escape from La Siesta had added another -thrill to the mystery surrounding the murder of Marshall Thurston. But -as week succeeded week without further incident, the affair gradually -faded away as a topic of conversation. All the talk now was about the -coming of the new town. The fever of speculation was in the air. - -“Say, boys,” remarked Jack Rover one evening to his two cronies at the -store, “I’m sure getting crazy about the new town. I’ve got a thousand -bones of my own savings besides the money from old Pierre Luzon, and I’m -going to invest every dangnation cent of it in town lots on opening day. -You bet I’ll be there mighty early in the morning when the sale starts.” - -“I’m sorta locoed myself,” said Baker, “about them lots in the new -town. Guess I’ll grab off a few good corners. I look for an early -rise—prices’ll go up like blazes,’ I’m ‘lowin’.” - -Buck Ashley snorted contemptuously. “Say, you fellers are two dippy -ones. That new town talk is a lot o’ hot air, d’you hear? Jest the -agitatin’ work of them pesky town boomers. Won’t ‘mount to nothin’.” - -Jack Rover started a defence, but was quickly motioned to silence by -old Tom Baker, who, after clearing his throat, pushed his hat back and -glared at Buck Ashley. - -“Buck,” said he, “you’re a thick-headed fool. The openin’ of that town -will amount to one hell of a sight, don’t you fergit it. Why, that Los -Angeles syndicate cuss who’s a-runnin’ the machine is sharper than a -razor blade. Just think for one little puny moment,” Tom Baker went -on, enthusiastically, “of that printed notice being in every blamed -newspaper in the whole country—yes, and on the other side of the -Atlantic pond—offerin’ ten thousand dollars for the best plans for an -ideal city. Gosh all hemlock, they do say as how the mails were just -chuck full of answers—architect fellers as well as them as ain’t -architects, a-tryin’ to get their hooks on that ten-thousand-dollar -prize. It was a mighty smart business notion, I’m a-tellin’ you, and has -boomed the town to beat the band.” - -“But,” inquired Buck Ashley, in a sarcastic way, “who is confounded fool -enough to buy lots in such a wild-cat scheme, no matter how much they -advertise it? That’s what I’m askin’.” - -“I will, for one,” said Jack Rover. “As I said before, I’m going to put -in my last dollar.” - -“As for me,” chimed in Tom Baker, “I will lay my money on this ‘ere -proposed new town bein’ the biggest town in the whole dangnation State -of California outside of sea-board towns.” - -Just then through the gathering darkness a lone horseman rode up to the -store, dismounted and came hurriedly in. It was none other than Chester -Munson, flushed and excited, as he sang out a good-natured salute: -“Hallo, boys. I have news for you.” - -As he spoke he pulled a Bakersfield daily paper from his pocket. “The -new town!” he fairly shouted. “All about it, right on the front -page, pictures and all. And it is Dick Willoughby who wins the -ten-thousand-dollar prize!” - -“That’s great news, sure,” cried Jack. - -“It’s a mighty pity Dick ain’t here to celebrate,” growled the sheriff. - -“What’s to be the name of the town?” asked Buck Ashley, in a -disbelieving tone. - -“Tejon, after the old fort here,” replied Munson, as he pointed to the -featured article with its big-type headlines and started to cull a few -sentences. - -“It says that the new city of Tejon, right here in the heart of a rich -horticultural valley, is bound to be one of the top-notch towns of -California. And the opening day is going to be immense. Next Tuesday -is the date fixed. Maps and plans of the new town will be ready for -distribution from the land company’s office, corner Main Street and -Broadway, at nine o’clock Monday morning. Let me see,” he went on, -looking up from the paper, “this is Wednesday. Mighty few days to wait, -boys. You just ought to see the excitement in Bakersfield.” - -“Well, I say there ain’t no such town,” snapped Buck Ashley, “nor no -such a company’s office buildin’, ‘cause I was down there day before -yesterday myself, right where them surveyin’ fellers have been foolin’ -‘round for weeks, peekin’ through spy-glasses at each other and -measurin’ off so many feet this way and so many feet that way, like a -bunch o’ kids playin’ some game. No, siree, there’s nothin’ but long -rows of white stakes driv in the ground. Looks to me as if they was -a-gettin’ ready to build a lot of henhouses. Of course the railroad’s -there, and the only thing changed that I could see was a lot of -side-tracks they’ve put in.” - -“Well, things have been humming the last two days,” laughed Munson. -“This afternoon I found all the side-tracks filled with trains of -lumber, carload after carload, and not less than two or three hundred -workmen, all as busy as nailers. Looked to me as if a three-ring circus -were getting ready for a big show. They are already running up electric -light poles and stringing the wires. Some of the men are unloading cars, -some stacking up lumber, others are putting up tents, and the entire -business reminded me of a hive of extremely busy bees. Go down and look -for yourself, Buck, and you’ll be convinced at last that the new town -has arrived.” - -The old storekeeper had come from behind the counter, and stood leaning -against a stack of boxes. - -“I’ve been here for more’n a quarter of a century, boys,” he said, in -a tone of seriousness that approached to sadness, “and this old store -seems like home to me. I’m some fighter and I’m some stayer. But, hell, -I reckon I know when I’m licked. I guess this new town puts a crimp in -me and my business, and—” - -“Honk-honk; honk-honk”—it was the distant warning of an automobile that -interrupted Buck’s speech, and drew all four present to the doorway. -There was the glare of twin headlights on the southern road. - -“Some of the Los Angeles buyers, most likely,” suggested the sheriff. - -And so the travellers proved to be. The automobile halted at the -store, but only one of the party of four or five descended.. He was a -bright-faced, clean-shaven man, of dapper build and faultlessly attired. -In his hand was a bunch of papers. - -“Mr. Buck Ashley?” he inquired. - -“I’m your man,” replied Buck, stepping from the doorway. - -“Well, we can’t stop tonight. But we wanted to say ‘how-do.’ I represent -the Los Angeles Trust Syndicate, and these documents just arrived -yesterday from Washington, D. C.” - -“Can’t be for me, then,” replied Buck, hesitating to take the proffered -papers. - -“But they are,” replied the stranger with a laugh. “Oh, we haven’t -forgotten the interests of the old identities. We’ve had your name in -mind all the time, and this is a removal order from the Government to -change your postoffice over to the new town of Tejon.” - -Buck was speechless as his fingers closed on the documents. - -“We’ll hope to see you over on Tuesday morning, Mr. Ashley, so that you -can secure a good site for your new store. Now I must be going. We have -got to be in Bakersfield by eleven o’clock.” - -“Honk-honk,” and the automobile was gone. - -“Hell, Buck, have you lost your tongue?” cried Tom Baker, slipping the -storekeeper on the shoulder. “Don’t you see what it all means? You’re -goin’ to shift camp, old man; you’re goin’ into the new town.” - -“Gosh ‘lmighty!” murmured Buck, at last recovering the power of -articulation. “I think the first thing to do is to lubricate.” - -“A taste from the mystery keg,” suggested the sheriff, as they all -crowded back into the store. - -“The mystery keg? What’s that?” asked Munson. - -Buck laid his hand on a small barrel at the end of the counter. - -“We call it the mystery keg,” he replied, “because we just found it -yesterday mornin’ settin’ at my back door. It has come to us sorta like -manna from heaven.” - -“And tastes like manna, too,” interjected Baker. - -“It means free drinks for all this pertic’lar bunch,” continued Buck, -“for there is no question as to where the keg came from. Look at the -date on the top—1853. This ‘ere barrel came out of Joaquin Murietta’s -wine cellar.” - -“You don’t say?” exclaimed Munson, pressing forward eagerly to examine -the little brass-hooped keg, looking bright and sound despite its -antiquity. - -“This whisky is sixty years old at least,” Buck went on, turning the tap -and filling a small pitcher. - -“Tastes like it might be a hundred years older,” remarked the sheriff. -“Mellow as fresh drawn milk.” - -Buck handed Munson a pony glass of the rare old beverage. - -“By jove, it is fine,” said the lieutenant, judicially smacking his -lips. - -“Just makes my internals feel as soft and roly-poly as a ripe -pomegranate,” murmured Tom, as he set down his empty glass and rubbed -his belt-line in a complacent way. - -“Well, we’ll fill up again, boys,” cried Buck. “Here’s to dear old -Pierre Luzon, for it was sure him who sent us the mystery keg.” - -“And to Dick Willoughby who won the prize,” cried Jack Rover. - -“And to our host,” added Munson in a courtly way. “To Buck Ashley, boys, -the postmaster of the new city of Tejon.” - -“Hip, hip, hurrah!”—all four voices shouted the triple toast as the -upraised glasses clinked merrily. - -Buck resumed his former position, with his back against the cracker -boxes. - -“As I was sayin’, boys, when that automobile interrupted us, I know when -I’m licked. But I know, too, that the fightin’ blood is still left in -me, and I was a-goin’ to remark that this new town sure ‘nuff looks a -winner. I’ve got plenty of lumber right in my back yard, and tomorrer -mornin’ I begin to have the scantlin’s cut, for, by jingoes, I’ll be the -chap who will build the first buildin’ in the new town.” - -“Bully for you,” cried Munson. - -“I say what I mean,” continued Buck, his face aglow with enthusiasm, -“and on Tuesday mornin’ I’ll buy the first town lot if I have to stand -in line for forty-eight hours to get it.” - -“Life in the old dog yet,” laughed Jack Rover. “It’s wonderful the -effect of Pierre Luzon’s brew,” smiled the sheriff. “I think we’ll just -have four more spoonfuls, Buck, of that distilled nectar of sunshine. -Success to the new store, old man!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX—-The Rendezvous - -SUMMER had come and gone and it was now the early days of October. The -mystery of Dick Willoughby’s disappearance had remained unsolved, yet it -was on his plans that the new city of Tejon had been laid out, and, like -the fabled palace in the Arabian Nights’ tale, had sprung into being -with such rapidity that men rubbed their eyes to satisfy themselves -whether the transformation scene were an actuality or the baseless -fabric of a dream. Within three months of the opening day auction of -lots Tejon was a thriving, hustling centre of population, with whole -avenues of beautiful homes, several blocks of stores on the main street, -schoolhouse and other public buildings well on the way to completion. - -Electricity had helped to the accomplishment of the miracle, for it had -been only necessary to tap the great power cables running across the old -rancho from the Kern River canyon to secure the supplies of “juice” both -for lighting and traction purposes. So there was already an interurban -tramway service connecting with the county seat, Bakersfield, while at -night the new town was a blaze of electricity. All around country homes -were going up, and ten and twenty acre holdings were being planted to -fruit trees or ploughed for alfalfa. - -Ben Thurston still clung to the ranch house, although it was definitely -understood now between him and the new owners that Thanksgiving Day was -to be the extreme limit of his occupancy. The hue and cry after Dick -Willoughby had in a measure subsided, but, if the authorities -had relaxed their efforts, Thurston still sought relentlessly and -indefatigably for the man accused of the slaying of his son. - -One night at a lonely road-house on the outskirts of Bakersfield, the -sleuth, Leach Sharkey, was in close and secret conference with a bent -and bowed old man. This was none other than Pierre Luzon, although his -physical condition seemed to have greatly changed and he answered now to -the name of José. - -The two men had met a few days before on the range; Pierre had spoken of -the scant living he was making from a herd of goats he pastured on the -mountains, and in the course of conversation had thrown out a hint for -information as to the amount of the reward that Mr. Thurston would be -willing to pay if Dick Willoughby were handed over to him. Sharkey had -eagerly followed the lead thus given. Hence this midnight meeting in the -road-house parlor for the discussion of terms and conditions over the -bottle of whisky that helps so efficaciously to dispel distrust and -unloosen tongues. - -More than an hour had been spent in skirmishing preliminaries, but now -Leach Sharkey was congratulating himself that he had got his man fixed -just right. He was running over the final arrangements so as to make -sure that everything was clearly understood. - -“Then Mr. Thurston and myself are to come to Comanche Point. You will -take us from there to the place where we’ll find Willoughby. That’s the -understanding, José?” - -Pierre nodded in acquiescence. - -“And you will bring wiz you ze reward of five tousand dollars—not gold -or silver, remember, but treasury bills, for I am not strong enough now -to carry a very heavy weight. Zen when you have paid me ze money, I will -lead you to Mr. Willoughby.” - -“All right. I’m going to trust you and take my chances. But bear in -mind that you don’t get away with the cash until I have actually put the -handcuffs on the man I’m after.” - -“Oh, I will not run away, Mr. Sharkey.” - -“By God, if you try any monkey tricks on me, I’ll shoot you in your -tracks. Make no mistake about that, José. And it will be hands up first -to prove to me you have no gun.” - -“As I have promised,” replied Pierre with some dignity, “I shall come -unarmed. But remember, Mr. Thurston and you must be alone. If zere are -any ozers I will not show myself—I will give no sign.” - -“Don’t worry about that. We’ll be alone. I need no other protection than -the two guns I always carry.” As he spoke, the sleuth slipped a hand to -one of his hip pockets, and with a grim smile, laid a vicious-looking -revolver on the table. - -Luzon evinced no disquietude; he merely smiled. - -“Mr. Sharkey he is ze famous man wiz ze two guns. I would take no risk -wiz him. But I wish to win ze reward.” - -“Well, then, the reward is yours if you play the game straight. Thurston -and I will be there, and you will be there unarmed. The hour?” - -“Four o’clock. I will watch you come to Comanche Point all alone along -ze road.” - -“You’re certainly a cautious old duck,” laughed Sharkey. “However, -that’s all right. Four o’clock, then. And you said Tuesday next week, -didn’t you?” - -“Yes, Tuesday.” - -Sharkey glanced at a big advertisement calendar on the wall. - -“That will be the eleventh of the month. Then I think everything is -understood. Now I want to be off. I can just catch the last car to -Tejon. Shake. You can finish that drop of whisky by yourself, old man.” - -They shook hands and Sharkey was gone. - -The other waited for a few moments, cautiously and cunningly listening -to the retreating footsteps. Then he sprang erect, transformed in an -instant into a hale and vigorous man. Into his eyes there leapt a flash -of joy, in his heart was a song of triumph. - -“So the villain Ben Thurston will be there at Comanche Point on the very -anniversary of the night, just thirty years ago, when he committed that -foul crime—at the very spot where the poor little Senorita Rosetta and -her unborn babe perished at his hands. Glory be to God! At last the hour -of vengeance comes!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX—Don Manuel Appears - -A GOODLY little sack of water-worn nuggets of gold had been washed out -of the subterranean stream by Pierre Luzon and Dick Willoughby. The -captive had found in the work both an exciting pastime and the ease -of mind that comes from the thought that his time was being spent to -profitable account. So week after week he had toiled on cheerfully, -setting for himself each day a full day’s task. In this way also, -although the want of sunshine had paled his cheeks, he had maintained -his health by the regular physical exercise. - -But as the appointed date of his release drew near, Dick’s mining -enthusiasm suffered an eclipse. The gold no longer tempted him, -the eight-hour day became a burden to his soul, his whole being was -possessed with feverish restlessness. He was not only filled with eager -excitement at the thought of again folding Merle in his arms, but he was -fired with curiosity to know what events were happening outside -which would enable him to step forth a free man, exculpated from all -connection with the crime of which he had been suspected, restored to an -honorable place among his fellow men. - -But Pierre remained obstinately deaf to all hints for information. - -“I can say nozing,” was his invariable reply. Then, to divert Dick’s -mind, he would challenge him at chess, a game in which they had proved -to be pretty equally matched, or he would produce the latest batch of -newspapers. - -The young fellow had read with great delight the announcement that his -plans for the ideal city had been awarded the prize of ten thousand -dollars. Still more welcome had been the warmly congratulatory note -received from Merle at the hands of Pierre; for this letter, while it -made no reference to the point, virtually sealed the pact between the -two lovers that the money would provide for a glorious honeymoon trip to -Europe. Dick had sent instructions to Munson to notify the Los Angeles -syndicate in his name that the reward was to remain to the credit of -the winner until he would come personally to Tejon to claim it, probably -about the middle of October. - -It wanted now only two days of the fateful date, the eleventh of that -month. Dick had already gathered together his personal belongings ready -for removal. He was pacing the grotto, when his eye chanced to fall upon -the sack of gold. - -“I forgot about that, Pierre, old fellow,” he remarked. “We have to -divide this spoil.” - -“No,” replied Pierre, with quiet determination, “it is all yours, Mr. -Willoughby, honestly earned, too. I have no need for any of ze gold. I -have all ze money I can ever spend during ze rest of my life.” - -No amount of argument could shake the old Frenchman’s resolution. - -“Then what is to be done with the sack? By jove, I’ll share it with our -Hidden Treasure Syndicate. By the way, where is Jack Rover now, Pierre?” - -“He is living in Buck Ashley’s old store. Buck, you know, is ze -postmaster at Tejon, and has a splendid store in ze new city. But Jack -Rover, he just hang about ze old place.” - -“Well, Pierre, I’ve got a plan. You say it will not be until Tuesday -afternoon that I leave these quarters?” - -“Zat is so, and I am sorry you must still wear ze blindfold, but it will -be for ze last time now.” - -“Oh, I’m not kicking about that. I know the conditions under which I -came here. But it will be evening when we get clear of the hills, and I -won’t have any particular place to go to. Next morning it will be best -for me to ride right over to Bakersfield, to surrender myself and -secure my formal discharge. When, did you say, am I to get the necessary -documents for all this?” - -“Before you depart from ze cave.” - -“Well, everything will fit in fine. Tomorrow you have kindly promised -to take out my things. Just carry the nuggets along with you also, and -leave everything in Jack’s charge. But tell him that nothing must be -opened or disturbed until I arrive. I’m going to give Jack Rover the -surprise of his life when he sees that gold. The sack is too heavy -to handle, but I guess we can make it into several packages. Jack was -always crazy to find Guadalupe’s sand-bar.” - -“So were lots of ozers,” grinned Pierre. “But they have never found it -yet. Even you will not be able to find it again when you are led out of -zese hills wearing ze blindfold.” - -“I am fully aware of that, old man,” laughed Dick in reply. “I suppose -I couldn’t discover the place again in a hundred years. But Jack’s eyes -will fairly pop when he sees that bunch of gold marbles. He will be -mighty pleased to show the nuggets around to some of the boys who have -laughed over his enthusiasm, always declaring that Guadalupe’s gold -simply came from some old-timer’s sack of dust that had been part of -Joaquin Murietta’s plunder.” - -“Oh, no. All ze bandits get out much gold from ze riffle in zose -days—Don Manuel himself had plenty.” - -“Well, Pierre, you just pack all my belongings to Buck Ashley’s old -store. And you tell Jack Rover to expect me about six o’clock the night -after tomorrow—that’s Tuesday. And I wish Munson to be there, too—I’ll -want him to accompany me to Bakersfield.” - -“If you write a leetle note to ze lieutenant,” suggested Pierre, “I will -see zat it reaches his hands. But you must say very leetle—just a few -words. For nozing must be told to anyone outside until you are free.” - -“All right, Pierre. Here goes.” And Dick seated himself at the writing -table. In a very few moments he had completed his task. - -“See,” he said, returning to Pierre’s side. “I wish you to know exactly -what I have written—just a hurried scrawl.” And he read aloud while the -old Frenchman’s eyes rested on the paper: - -“On Tuesday night next, about six o’clock, meet me at Buck Ashley’s -old store. I shall want you to ride over to Bakersfield with me next -morning, where my acquittal is assured. Give Merle the glad news. Yours, -Dick.” - -“Guess that’s all right?” he added, as he folded the note and placed it -in an envelope on which he had already inscribed the name of Lieutenant -Munson. - -Pierre had signified his approval with a nod, and now he carefully -bestowed the letter in the pocket of his shirt. - -“He will get ze letter—he will surely be zere.” - -“Then you say I cannot write to Merle—Miss Farnsworth, I mean?” - -“I have ze strictest orders,” replied Pierre. “Nozing must be told just -yet. Bah! It is only two days more.” - -“Two mighty long days for me, old sport,” said Dick, half in jest and -half in sober earnest, as he sat down and began cutting at a plug of -tobacco. - -Most of next day Willoughby was alone. But at the regular dinner hour -Pierre appeared, and announced that he had safely packed the valise and -the gold in four bags to the old store, and Jack Rover had been apprised -of Dick’s coming on the following night. - -“He knew what was in ze sacks,” laughed Pierre. “Zey were so very heavy, -oh my! But I told him I would come back and shoot him like a jack-rabbit -if he opened zem before you came.” - -“Guess it needed an old bandit like you to scare Jack Rover,” replied -Dick, jocularly. But he was very happy—everything was going along -well—only another four-and-twenty hours now and his captivity would be -at an end. - -That night Dick could hardly sleep a wink, and next morning he was too -restless and impatient for his approaching liberation to keep within the -confines of the little grotto. In the darkness of the big central cavern -he walked up and down, casting occasional glances at the distant glow of -the log fire where, as he could see, both the aged squaw and the white -wolf were on vigilant and ceaseless guard. - -Suddenly his steps were arrested. With great surprise he gazed toward -the log fire. There, with Guadalupe and the white wolf, stood the figure -of a strange man, cloaked and wearing a big sombrero. All their shapes -were outlined against the ruddy glow, and the monstrous beast was -actually fawning at the newcomer’s feet. A moment later the stranger, -with a parting wave of his hand to Guadalupe, advanced toward the spot -where Dick was standing. Close by was an oil lantern set in a socket of -the rock wall to mark the entrance to the inner grotto. - -For a minute the approaching figure had been swallowed up in the -darkness, but now came the sound of his footsteps crunching on the sandy -floor, and a few seconds later he appeared in the flickering radiance. -Dick Willoughby had already made his inference as to the identity of -the newcomer—he had been so often told that no living man but the bandit -chief, Don Manuel, could pass the white wolf with impunity. - -But the name Dick pronounced was quite a different one. - -“Senor Ricardo Robles—it is you—you?” - -“It is I,” replied the Spaniard, quietly, as he extended his hand. - -“Then you are—Don Manuel—the—” - -Dick faltered and paused. - -“Yes, I am Don Manuel de Valencia, the outlaw, the bandit of Tehachapi, -the White Wolf, as he is commonly called. Come within, my friend. I have -matters of importance to communicate.” And the visitor led the way -with an ease that showed his perfect familiarity with every opening and -turning in the great subterranean series of chambers. - -“I cannot remain with you very long,” said Mr. Robles, when they were -seated in the inner grotto, “for I have a number of things to attend to -during the few hours that still remain at my disposal.” - -“I must not ask questions,” remarked Dick, although his words belied the -questioning look in his eyes. - -“Oh, although I speak in confidence,” Mr. Robles replied, “having -learned to trust you, I shall make no secret of my contemplated -movements. Tonight I hope to settle my last score”—he paused, then -corrected himself—“my last piece of business in California. If all goes -well, within twenty-four hours I shall be on the high seas. Never -mind my exact route, but my final destination is Spain, the land of my -fathers. There, perhaps, you and I may meet again.” - -“I hope so. I have come to be deeply interested in you, Mr. Robles.” - -“And I in you, young man, all the more because you are now engaged -to one I hold very dear. Since her birth, Merle Farnsworth has been -a—little protégée of mine.” Again he had hesitated, and his voice had -vibrated from emotion. But he was smiling now as he went on: “I have -watched with sympathetic interest and approval the progress of your love -affair.” - -“Through your spy-glass on the tower?” laughed Dick. - -“Well, partly in that way, perhaps,” replied Mr. Robles, with eyebrows -humorously upraised. “You have had my quiet support from beginning to -end, and now that you have won the young lady’s heart, you have my most -sincere congratulations. May you have long years together, and every -happiness.” - -He had clasped Dick’s hand, and placed his disengaged hand -affectionately on the young man’s shoulder. - -“You are really very kind,” said Dick, cordially responding to the hand -clasp. - -“Because I have counted you worthy of your great good fortune in winning -such a girl as Merle. And I have taken much the same liking to your -friend, Chester Munson. Have you heard the news: - -“No, but I can guess it.” - -“Yes, he and Grace Darlington are engaged. And to them I give my -heartiest blessing just as I have given it to you and Merle. For Grace, -like her adopted sister, has been always very dear to me. I have loved -them both very dearly indeed all through their young lives.” - -“And both are devoted to you, as I happen to know,” affirmed Dick with -warm conviction. - -“I believe it,” replied Mr. Robles. His hand sought an inner pocket and -drew forth a legal-looking document. “I came here not only to bid you -good-bye, but more important still to place this in your possession.” - -“My release?” exclaimed Dick eagerly, as his fingers closed on the -paper. - -“Well, not exactly—but it will lead to that, never fear. It is an -affidavit which has been properly sworn to before a San Francisco notary -public. It briefly sets out my confession. It was I, Don Manuel de -Valencia, who killed Marshall Thurston, or at least was responsible for -his killing.” - -As he spoke the words, the outlaw drew himself proudly erect. Dick was -too overwhelmed with amazement to reply. - -“The young ruffian was shot partly because he deserved his fate for -insulting Merle, partly because, as you cannot but know, Don Manuel, the -White Wolf, had sworn a vendetta against the whole Thurston brood.” - -“Then Ben Thurston—is he dead, too?” gasped the listener. - -“Not yet,” was the grim reply. Then he paused and changed his tone. - -“But I want to speak not another word about this. What happens to Ben -Thurston is nothing of your concern—must be nothing of your concern. For -this document here frees you from all legal entanglements, and I have no -wish that you should by any chance become enmeshed again. So we dismiss -Ben Thurston from our talk and from our minds. When you lodge this paper -with the authorities at Bakersfield, it will be a matter only of a few -formalities to secure dismissal of the charge against you. For I even -put it on sworn record that your jail delivery that night was against -your will.” - -“I have forgotten to thank you for that same delivery. I never dreamed -you were my liberator, Mr. Robles.” - -“Because that night I was Don Manuel de Valencia. But at present I -am Ricardo Robles, and in that capacity it is for me to thank you for -having so chivalrously protected our dear Merle from the necessity of -associating her name in any way with the death of that worthless young -scoundrel. I appreciate the cheerful manner in which you have, for her -sake, and let me add, for my sake, too, borne your long imprisonment -here.” - -“I’ve been mighty comfortable,” laughed Dick, with a glance around his -luxurious quarters. “And Pierre Luzon has been a treasure—a good comrade -all the time.” - -“Ah, yes, Pierre,” exclaimed the outlaw, musingly. “Pierre is a very -good fellow. He has been faithful to me for thirty long years.” - -“And where does he go after tonight?” asked Dick. “He cannot stay here, -all alone except for Guadalupe.” - -“Everything is arranged. Guadalupe is accustomed to live alone. But -tonight Pierre accompanies me on my long journey.” - -“So we may all meet again?” - -“Yes, we may all meet again,” responded Robles, slowly and gravely, -“far, far away from the Tehachapi mountains. But now I must go,” he went -on in a brisk tone, “for I have to make some final preparations. You -have the affidavit; see that you do not lose it on your ride down the -mountains.” - -“You just bet I won’t,” replied Dick, as he held tightly to the precious -document with both hands. - -“Pierre will come for you here early in the afternoon. Be prepared to go -with him then. As for myself, Willoughby, there is for the present only -one word more to be spoken. Adios!” Again they clasped hands, and a -moment later Don Manuel was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI—Shadows of the Past - -IN a little summer-house at the edge of the rose garden of La Siesta, -Tia Teresa was seated all alone. She was awaiting the coming of Mr. -Robles to a rendezvous which he had arranged by a confidential message -sent on the previous evening. It wanted some time yet of the appointed -hour, but in her state of deep emotion and repressed excitement she had -gladly sought the solitude of this secluded corner. Deep in thought, her -mind was divided between the faraway past and the near-impending future. - -Each recurring year this day to her had always been a sad and tragic -anniversary. In the early hours of the morning she had been to the old -Mexican cemetery on the hillside, and had bedecked with flowers the -grave marked by the marble cross bearing the single word “Hermana,” -also the graves close by of the parents of Don Manuel and Rosetta, the -children she had nursed and tended and fondled from infancy to early -manhood and womanhood, through twenty years of unalloyed happiness until -the gringo had come, the ancestral acres had been filched away, and -dishonor and death been brought to the slumbrously peaceful home. - -And from that slumbrous peace what a sudden and terrible change! On this -day thirty years ago poor little Rosetta had been found done to death -beneath the precipice at Comanche Point. No less done to death by the -shock and shame of the pitiful story thus revealed, the aged parents of -the beautiful young girl were, within a few days, sleeping their long -last sleep by her side in the churchyard on the hill. A whole family -blighted and withered as by the blast of some death-laden sirocco. - -Then had followed the years of terror during which Don Manuel, the White -Wolf, the dreaded outlaw, had wreaked his vengeance on the whole race -of gringos. She had never seen him all through that time, although at -intervals money had reached her by Pierre Luzon’s trusted hand, enabling -her to maintain herself in the little Mexican village near the old fort -of Tejon. At last had come the fight when the band of outlaws had been -finally dispersed, Pierre Luzon wounded and dragged away to serve the -rest of his days in prison, Don Manuel vanished like a wraith in the -mist, gone where no man could tell. - -But through the years that succeeded, Tia Teresa had known that he -lived—had known in her heart of hearts that he would live until the -vendetta he had sworn against Ben Thurston would be accomplished. The -remittances that arrived from time to time, first from Spain, then -from England, needed no signature to show that they were from her young -master of former years and that he still held his faithful old nurse in -affectionate remembrance. And at last had come the crowning surprise of -all. - -Tia Teresa had been bidden to come to Los Angeles by a letter which bore -a strange signature, but the handwriting of which she had immediately -recognized. And there, in a fine home beneath the foothills that skirt -the city to the north, she had found Don Manuel again, much older in -manner than by lapse of years—quiet, reserved, tinged with a sadness -of which she knew the cause, but happy withal, for he was married to a -beautiful English girl and had a little baby daughter. And as nurse to -this child Tia Teresa, to her great joy, was promptly installed. - -Thus again she had become the trusted servant in Don Manuel’s home, -the only one around him possessing his full confidence and knowing the -secret story of his past. For, amid these changed surroundings, his -name was Ricardo Robles, his standing that of a Spaniard or Mexican of -wealth, of scholarly tastes, and devoted to the seclusion of his home -with its spacious surrounding gardens. - -Their next door neighbors were an English family named Darlington, Mrs. -Darlington and Mrs. Robles having been life-long friends. And here, too, -was another tiny child in the home, likewise a daughter. - -Seated in the summer-house, Tia Teresa was going over in her mind the -whole chain of happenings—the new era that had dawned and had brought -the hope of restored and abiding happiness for Don Manuel. But it had -been fated not so to be. Within a year his young wife had died, his -child was motherless, he himself, if not alone in the world, was -broken-hearted. For a spell he had fits of brooding, then all of a -sudden he had sold the home that could only henceforth be for him a -place of saddening memories. - -His daughter Merle, taking her English mother’s maiden name of -Farnsworth, was transferred to the loving care of Mrs. Darlington. Thus -had it come about that Grace Darlington and Merle Farnsworth had been -brought up as sisters, with Tia Teresa their nurse, and in later years -their devoted attendant. - -Ricardo Robles had resolved to travel, but Tia Teresa had quickly -divined that the vendetta was again in his heart. For no other reason -could he have decided on masking the paternity of his infant daughter -by giving her the maternal name. And from Tia Teresa Don Manuel had -no secret to conceal. “Yes.” He had sworn he would hunt Ben Thurston -through Europe, and it was to protect the future life of his child from -any association with future consequences of the blood feud that he had -handed her over to his friends under their solemn promise that, as Merle -grew up, she should never know anything more than that both her parents -had died. - -So once again Don Manuel had gone his way and disappeared. Some years -later the Darlington home had been transferred to England, where Mr. -Darlington had fallen heir to some ancestral estates. Again, after a -lapse of years, another change had occurred—Mr. Darlington dying, and -Mrs. Darlington being left a widow in the big, now gloomy, English -country-house, with Grace and Merle approaching young womanhood, and -all of them, Tia Teresa included, longing again for the sunshine of -California. - -Intermittently during those years in England, Ricardo Robles had visited -his friends, but the secret about his real relationship to Merle had -always been preserved. Both daughters in the home had been brought up -alike to regard him simply as a dear and valued friend, whose comings -brought much happiness to their lives in the shape of gifts which -preserved fond memories during his prolonged spells of absence. - -And while the little family was still plunged in deep sorrow for the -death of Mr. Darlington, Mr. Robles had reappeared as the messenger -of great joy. For he brought the news that the beautiful rancho of -La Siesta, lying in mid-California, among the foothills of the Tejon -Valley, had been purchased for the express purpose that the widow and -children should make it their future place of abode. In this way had -come about the return to the land which each and all already loved best -and regarded as truly “home.” - -“Five years ago!” murmured Tia Teresa pensively. And they had been all -so happy here, the young girls growing up with every accomplishment -money and the best governesses could bestow, Don Manuel not far away -watching the progress and developing beauty of his daughter, always -hovering near for acts of helpful kindness. - -Five years of placid enjoyment, of unbroken tranquility, till all of a -sudden the old enemy had returned and all the rankling wounds of the old -vendetta had been reopened! - -In the Spanish soul of Tia Teresa there was bitter hate still, and -fierce joy even now that the hour of retribution was approaching—that at -last after all those years her little Rosetta would be avenged. Yet -time had had some mellowing influences, for in her musings now she -experienced a vague sense of uneasiness for possible consequences that -in former times had never for a moment been tolerated. The true spirit -of the vendetta had always been in her very blood—strike when you can, -without thought of what may happen next. - -But now she was thinking of coming happenings—of sorrow perhaps for -Merle, of the undoubted danger for Don Manuel himself. - -And while thus she conned the chances, her head bent in deep meditation, -her eyes half closed, Ricardo Robles, approaching with noiseless step, -stood by her side and laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder. - -“I have come, Tia Teresa,” he said simply, as he sat down at the edge of -the little rustic table. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII—Forebodings - -FOR this last hour, Don Manuel,” she said, placing a hand on his, “I -have been going over all the long story of the past, from the days when -you were a little boy and Rosetta was suckled at my bosom. Why should I -not have loved her?” asked the old duenna almost fiercely. “Why should -I not love her still?” she added, in a lower tone, as she bowed her head -and covered her eyes with her disengaged hand. “There is love that can -never die, Don Manuel.” - -“Nor should we wish it otherwise,” he said gently, caressing the hand -extended toward him. “And this very night our undying love for dear -little Rosetta will be proved—tonight at last she will be avenged.” - -With a start Tia Teresa sat erect. - -“Then it is all arranged?” she asked breathlessly. - -“Yes, all finally arranged,” was his quiet rejoinder. “We meet this -evening on Comanche Point—the place where I have always vowed he should -answer for his crime. And you remember what day this is?” - -“I remember—can I ever forget?—the very day we found her dead beneath -the cliff.” - -“The very day, Tia Teresa. So my vengeance will be complete. Before now -I could have shot him a dozen times. But he would never have known that -his death was by my hand. Tonight, however, he will know. And he will -realize that the vendetta is the law of God—an eye for an eye, a tooth -for a tooth; his life, so precious to himself, for hers so dear to us in -the happy old-time days.” - -“But you, Don Manuel?” she asked fearfully. - -“It does not matter much about me,” he answered. “But all the same I -have come to speak a little in regard to myself. Tonight Ben Thurston -assuredly will die, and should I perish with him, the story of the -vendetta cannot fail to be revived and the identity of the recluse, -Ricardo Robles, with Don Manuel, the outlaw, will be established. This -will come as a great shock to all my dear friends at La Siesta—to Mrs. -Darlington as well as to Grace and Merle. But this counts for little—the -name of Don Manuel is just as honorable a name as that of Robles. And -you can tell them further that all the loot I ever took from the gringos -lies today untouched in Joaquin Murietta’s cave. I sullied my hands -with none of it. I was made rich by the sale of, my ancestral estates in -Spain. And that wealth the law cannot confiscate, for I have been only -its trustee during all those years. Everything I possess has been vested -from the first in the names of Merle Farnsworth and Grace Darlington.” - -“Grace as well?” murmured Tia Teresa, enquiringly. - -“Certainly, for I love both the girls dearly; there is ample to divide -between them, and by ranking them together I guard Merle from the -thought that I was anything more to her than to Grace. To both alike I -was just a deeply attached friend.” He paused a moment, then regarded -Tia Teresa fixedly. “For my little girl must never know that her father -was an outlaw, with a price on his head; yes, with blood on his hands, -if it is only the blood of the worthless Thurston breed.” - -“That is no stain—it is an honor—it is a duty that you owed,” exclaimed -the duenna with fervency, her hands clenched against her bosom as she -spoke. - -“You understand—we understand the vendetta, you and I, Tia Teresa. But -the Americanos do not understand. And I have brought up my little girl -as an American, for her own happiness I long ago realized. So she would -never understand. When she comes to know that her old friend Ricardo -Robles was Don Manuel de Valencia as well, she will breathe a gentle -prayer of rest for his soul. But she will not be distressed by the -knowledge that her father was the bandit and outlaw—she will not have to -face the cruel world with that stigma attached to her name. For that I -have contrived, for that I have suffered the dumb agony of childlessness -all these years.” - -“And that, in God’s name,” exclaimed Tia Teresa, “is part of the price -Ben Thurston, thrice accursed, has to pay.” - -“And tonight will pay,” responded Don Manuel, determinedly. “But I speak -of all this just to put you on your guard. It will be necessary for me -to say something to Mrs. Darlington as well. I have brought for her the -papers that will establish the rights of Merle and Grace to all I leave -behind.” As he spoke he touched his coat where the shape of a packet in -an inner pocket showed. - -“Your will?” - -“No. As I have explained, I require no will. The property is theirs -already. And I do not need to tell you, my dear Tia Teresa, my beloved -friend, that you, too, have not been forgotten.” As he spoke he raised -her hand and pressed it reverently to his lips. - -“Don’t speak like that, Don Manuel,” she protested. - -“I know that all I owe to you can never be repaid,” he continued, -humbly, gratefully—“the devoted life-service for me and for Rosetta and -our beloved parents as well.” - -Again he kissed her hand, and this time she accepted the seal of his -high-souled and chivalrous regard. There were tears in her eyes now. - -“But, Don Manuel, you need not die tonight. Death for him—that is right. -But why for you?” - -“Perhaps not for me—most certainly,” he replied with a little, -reassuring smile. “Oh, do not imagine that I deliberately court death -for tonight. On the contrary, I have all my plans carefully laid. An -automobile is ready for the road, and I have a yacht waiting for me at -a quiet spot on the coast, and if all is well, by tomorrow’s dawn Pierre -and I will be on the ocean. No one around here except at La Siesta will -miss Ricardo Robles, and if the name of Don Manuel is associated with -the death of Ben Thurston, only once more will the White Wolf have -strangely disappeared just as he used to do in the old times.” - -He was laughing, not loudly, but just with carefree, almost joyous -triumph, as he rose to say good-bye. - -“Then, Tia Teresa, if events work out just as I have planned, we may all -meet again, somewhere, somehow—I cannot say more at present. For I shall -be happy to see my little girl happy in her married love, and later on -I shall close my eyes contentedly when I can feel assured that nothing -from the past will ever emerge to spoil her life or bring to her -distress of mind.” - -Tia Teresa, too, had arisen. - -“God grant it may be so,” she fervently exclaimed. “But somehow my mind -misgives me. Today I am softened as I have never been before. Even for -the sake of our dear Rosetta in Heaven I feel inclined to plead with you -to let Thurston go his way and the vendetta be forgotten.” And she clung -to his arm imploringly. - -“Never!” cried Don Manuel, putting her gently but resolutely aside. -“That can never be, Tia Teresa. You know it. A vow sworn over my wronged -and murdered sister’s grave, over the graves of my parents as well, must -be fulfilled. To break it at the very moment when it is in my power to -give it fulfillment would be the act of a coward—a sacrilege that could -never be atoned. No more words like that. I must not even listen.” - -She was sobbing as she dropped back into her chair. Her silence was the -confession that she was powerless to argue against the unwritten law of -the vendetta. - -“So I kiss you good-bye for the present, Tia Teresa.” He suited the -action to the word, and, stooping, saluted her first on one cheek, then -on the other. “Be your old brave and resolute self again. Where shall I -find Mrs. Darlington?” - -“Alone in her boudoir. This is her day for correspondence,” replied the -duenna, resolutely striving to repress her tears. - -“Then I’ll leave you here. Let your best wishes go with me.” - -Almost lightly he touched her hand and was gone, disappearing among the -roses. - -Tia Teresa bowed her head across her folded arms. She was thinking not -of the past now, but solely of the future. - -“How would it all end?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII—Old Friends - -AM glad to find you alone,” spoke Mr. Robles, as he advanced into the -subdued light of Mrs. Darlington’s boudoir. - -She was seated at her escritoire. Around her were letters lying open -for answer, others sealed and ready for the mail, also sundry books of -account which indicated that the chatelaine of La Siesta was a business -woman who paid attention to the running of her household and the -management of her estate. - -“Always so pleased to see you,” she replied, as she rose to give her -visitor welcome. - -“Pray, keep your seat, Mrs. Darlington. You form an attractive -picture—the lady who is not too much of a lady to neglect her -correspondence and her business affairs. And it is about some business -matters that I have come to talk with you this evening.” - -She smiled pleasedly over the compliment paid in the old-fashioned -courtly style of the true Spanish grandee. She herself always suggested -the old-time, old-world lady of fashion—one belonging to the old lace -and sweet lavender era that has so nearly passed away. - -“Business matters?” echoed Mrs. Darlington. “That sounds quite serious. -We have had no cause to talk business for years and years. La Siesta has -certainly justified its name.” - -“But even the most pleasant siesta must in time come to an end,” he -replied with a grave smile. “There are things in this world that must be -accomplished—calls of duty that interfere sadly with continuous repose. -I am leaving tonight on a journey—perhaps a long journey,” he added -slowly and thoughtfully. - -“Oh, going abroad? The wanderlust again? That’s too bad. We shall all -miss you so much.” She spoke the words with real concern in her tone and -in her eyes. - -“Not exactly the wanderlust,” he responded. “But there is a certain task -I must perform. And it takes me away—far away from your delightful La -Siesta.” - -“And for a long time?” - -“That will be decided by events. I shall write you a long letter when -once I am on the ocean. Meanwhile there are certain documents I wish to -leave in your charge, my good kind friend.” - -He drew the packet from the breast pocket of his coat. “They are -important papers, and I wish them to be locked in your safe.” - -“Under seal, I see,” she remarked, indicating the big circle of wax that -closed the cover. - -“Yes, sealed with my signet,” he answered, touching the ring on his -finger. “But all the same I wish you to know the nature of their -contents. That is why I have sought this little private talk.” - -Silently she settled herself to listen, and he went on: - -“You are aware that many years ago I sold out all my interests in -Spain—lands and flocks and mines. Well, except for the money I used in -building and furnishing my home, I invested the whole amount so realized -in British Government bonds. But not in my own name. They stand in the -names of Merle Farnsworth and Grace Darlington.” - -Mrs. Darlington showed some surprise. - -“Merle, of course. But why Grace, Mr. Robles? I need not tell you that -she is already well provided for.” - -“That I fully understand. But I preferred it so. To me both children -were very dear, and have always continued to be very dear. There was -more than a sufficiency to divide. I wished them to share my patrimony, -even though the one might have a greater claim on me than the other. But -it was precisely, to guard against such a thought occurring to the mind -of any outsider that I have treated Merle and Grace exactly alike. The -secret that Merle is my daughter is known only to you and Tia Teresa and -me, and, as I have always wished, it must be kept from Merle herself and -from all others—now, more than ever,” he added after a little pause. - -“I have never sought to pry into this mystery,” replied Mrs. Darlington. -“You had valid reasons for it, I well understood. But I was glad for the -wee baby’s sake to take her to my heart—the child of the dearest friend -of my girlhood days. And it was nice, too, for her to have her mother’s -maiden name—Merle Farnsworth. So, from the very first, I loved her just -as much as my own baby, Grace.” - -“That I know,” said Robles, gratefully touching her hand. “I can never -adequately thank you for the mother love you have so generously bestowed -on my child. And I have always been grateful, too, for the chivalrous -manner in which you have never sought to have me explain my actions in -this matter—my virtual separation from the daughter whom, while -hiding our relationship, I have loved all through her young life with -passionate devotion.” - -Mr. Robles was deeply moved. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with -his hand. In sympathy, Mrs. Darlington also was greatly affected. - -“You have been the best of fathers to Merle,” she said in a trembling -voice, “even though Merle little dreams of what she really means to your -life. But oh, Mr. Robles, how often have I not pitied you when I have -seen you restraining in her presence the natural impulses of your -heart!” - -“It was my duty,” he replied, regaining his composure by stern -self-command and sitting erect again. “My bounden duty to her,” he -added, resolutely. “So, as you have so kindly done before, we shall -leave that subject alone. You call it a mystery. Be it so. Just let -it abide a mystery to the end. Now, Mrs. Darlington,” he went on in a -changed tone, “please lock up these papers. If I ever want them again I -shall come to you. But if anything should happen to me, the seal is to -be broken. You are my trustee. But there is no troublesome will to -prove and execute. As I have already indicated, all the property I die -possessed of, all the property that is inalienably and rightfully mine, -including my home on the hill—everything is already apportioned between -Merle and Grace, and stands in their names by a deed that dates back -almost to their days of infancy.” - -“It is unheard-of generosity,” protested Mrs. Darlington. “I mean so far -as Grace is concerned.” - -“Not another word, I beg of you. I have already given valid reasons -besides those of affection and gratitude. Now, Mrs. Darlington, let me -see you lock up these documents, and my mind will be at rest.” - -Without further speech she took the packet of papers from his hand, -crossed the room, and, standing before a safe inset into the wall and -already open, deposited the papers in a little drawer. Then she swung -back the safe door, and the click of the combination as she turned the -knob told that her visitor’s wishes had been fully complied with. Slowly -she returned to her seat at the desk. - -“Thank you,” said Mr. Robles, pressing her hand. - -“Then I am not to ask why you are leaving us tonight?” enquired Mrs. -Darlington. - -“Please not. I just came to you, as I have many times done before, to -speak the little word—Adios. And it has always been spoken brightly -between us, my dear friend. For have I not returned again and again like -the proverbial bad penny?” he continued with a smile. - -“And so it will be yet again, I hope,” she replied. “Bad pennies of your -kind, Mr. Robles, are better than minted gold. And you must think of the -young people. Engagements should not be too long. Everything is settled -so far as Dick and Merle are concerned—with your full approval?” - -“With my fullest approval, and to my great joy and peace of mind.” - -“Well, and you know, too, that it is just the same old story as regards -Chester Munson and my little girl.” - -“Munson has so informed me. He wanted my congratulations on his good -fortune. Chester Munson is certainly a fine fellow, and Grace could have -made no better choice for the bestowal of her love. Again I am filled -with happiness at the turn events have taken.” - -“But if there are to be wedding bells for four, their peal will not be -so joyous if you are absent, my dear Mr. Robles.” - -“I shall try to be present,” he replied, with a little wistful smile. -“Who knows? Wouldn’t it be fine if the wedding bells were to ring in -Spain?” - -“No, no, my friend. You forget that all four are young Americans. -The honeymoons in Spain, if you like. But the weddings in California, -please.” - -“So be it,” he answered. “Then if I cannot get back for the wedding -bells, we may have a family reunion during the honeymoons.” He laughed -almost gaily as he rose. “Now, where are our young Americans? I wish to -say good-bye to them, too.” - -“Where Dick Willoughby is, I cannot say. But he is safe—you still assure -me of his safety, Mr. Robles?” - -“Assuredly. And I have good news for our dear Merle. Tomorrow Willoughby -will be free, with every suspicion removed from his name.” - -“Oh, that will be glad tidings indeed for Merle—for both the girls.” - -“Then let us take the news to them. Where shall we find them?” - -“As usual, I fancy, in their favorite cosy corner. And Mr. Munson is -here, too. He is to have luncheon with us. He said you had given him a -day off from his onerous library duties.” - -“Quite correct. I told him I would meet him here, for I have a message -for him as well. Come then, let us join the young people.” - -Again, like the courtly hidalgo, he presented a hand to his hostess and -led her from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV—Heart Searchings - -AS Mrs. Darlington had anticipated, the trio of young Americans were -discovered in the cosy corner. Grace and Munson were engaged in a -tête-à -tête that was obviously very delightful to themselves, while -Merle at a discreet distance was busily engaged in watering the pot -plants and flowers. She was the first to sound a note of warning. - -“Here comes mother, and Mr. Robles, also, I do declare.” - -The young lovers started a little apart, and Grace in a moment was -demurely busy over a bit of sewing that had been resting undisturbed in -her lap during the previous half hour. - -Merle advanced toward Mr. Robles. - -“This is delightful,” she exclaimed, as she warmly shook hands. “You -will stay to luncheon, of course.” - -“No, my dear. This is to be only a brief visit, I am sorry to say.” - -Grace had also come forward, and he saluted her in his usual quiet, -kindly manner. But for Munson he had a word of sly banter. - -“Better than drilling a squad or cataloguing musty old books,” he -remarked, bestowing a significant side glance in Grace’s direction. - -“Infinitely better,” replied the ex-soldier and amateur librarian, with -frank and unabashed satisfaction. - -Mr. Robles took a seat close to Merle. - -“I came to bring you two pieces of news,” he said, taking her hand, -yet addressing his words to all the company. “First and foremost, by -tomorrow the charge against Dick Willoughby will be withdrawn, and he -will be a free man.” - -“Oh, that is good news indeed,” cried Merle, fairly hugging its bearer. - -“Then they have at last discovered the murderer of young Thurston?” -enquired Munson in a tone of eager satisfaction. - -“Yes, or rather he has discovered himself, I believe. Oh, you need -not ask me for the name. It will only be made public when Willoughby -formally claims his liberty.” - -“I am so thankful,” murmured Grace. “But of course Dick’s complete -exoneration was bound to come.” - -“And I am the bearer of a special message to you, Mr. Munson. I have -not read it. But it was given to me as the one most likely to get it -promptly into your hands.” - -Speaking thus, he passed over to Munson the hasty scrawl that Dick had -written in the cavern and entrusted to Pierre Luzon for delivery. - -Munson ripped open the envelope, first scanned the contents, then read -aloud: - -“On Tuesday night next, about six o’clock, meet me at Buck Ashley’s -old store. I shall want you to ride over to Bakersfield with me next -morning, where my acquittal is assured. Give Merle the glad news. Yours, -Dick.” - -“That I have already been privileged to do,” said Mr. Robles, as he -smiled down on the young girl by his side. Their eyes met, and a look of -grave earnestness came into Merle’s. - -“And the second item of news, Mr. Robles?” she asked, in a low tone. “I -hope it is also gladsome tidings.” - -“Oh, it is of comparative unimportance,” he answered. “Simply that I am -going away on a long journey, and may not see all you happy young people -again for quite awhile.” - -Merle’s face fell. “I am so sorry,” she murmured, a note of real feeling -in the softly-spoken words. - -“As you grow older you will realize that the world is full of partings, -Merle,” he answered. - -“But why should there be partings among us?” she protested. “Now that -Dick is free, there is not a shadow on all our happiness. And we do so -wish you to share it, Mr. Robles. It will not be just the same if you -are gone.” - -“It is very kind of you to think like that.” - -“That’s just how we all think,” interjected Grace. “But when duty calls, -one must needs answer,” replied Robles. “Right there is an end to all -argument.” - -“And where are you going this time, Mr. Robles?” enquired Merle. - -“On a long journey—as far as Europe, I hope. But my plans are not -quite certain, except that I start tonight. However, I shall be in -correspondence with Mrs. Darlington, and I trust that when you young -people come to make that contemplated foreign tour, your footsteps -will be turned in my direction. Meanwhile you have, all of you, as you -already know, my warmest congratulations and heartiest good wishes.” - -As he spoke, Mr. Robles rose. His manner indicated that he wished no -further questioning. After a comprehensive glance around, he advanced, -first of all, to Munson and extended his hand. - -“Mr. Munson, you will receive a letter tomorrow that contains an offer -for you to continue your work in my library, which I hope will prove -acceptable, at least for the present. Grace, my dear, I take the liberty -of an old friend.” And he kissed her brow. “With your mother I -already have had a good long talk,” he continued, as he pressed Mrs. -Darlington’s hand and looked into her eyes. “And now, Merle, dear, I am -going to ask you to gather me some roses in your garden. I want them for -a particular purpose, and, as you know, there are no roses like those of -La Siesta.” - -Merle was standing eager and happy to do his bidding—privileged to have -the chance of conferring such a little service on her dear old friend, -her friend from the earliest childhood days of her remembrance. With -impulsive good-nature, Grace was ready to help as well. But a quiet look -from her mother restrained her, and Merle and Mr. Robles passed from the -verandah, hand in hand. - -For nearly an hour they wandered among the rose bushes, picking the -choicest blooms, talking a little on many things, silent at times, but -both happy in each other’s companionship. At last Mr. Robles looked at -his watch. The hour of parting had come. - -Merle had deftly tied the roses in a bunch, and now she placed them in -his hands. - -“A bouquet from me—from your little friend Merle,” she murmured, with a -wistful attempt at a smile. - -“From my dear little friend, Merle,” he replied, gravely repeating her -words as he looked down into her upraised face. It was a beautiful -face, in its fresh youthfulness, its eager joy of living, the sublime -unconsciousness of self that reveals the spotless soul. For an instant -their eyes met. - -During that brief spell Robles’ whole being trembled. His arms moved as -if to enfold the sweet girl to his breast. But with a mighty effort he -controlled himself, and he simply kissed her on the brow, just as he had -done to Grace in the cosy corner. - -“God bless you, Merle, my dear,” he murmured as he turned away with a -final wave of his hand. - -In a moment he was gone from her view. But the girl’s gaze remained -fixed—still directed down the avenue of trees along which the figure -of her life-long friend had disappeared. There was a look of dazed -wonderment in her eyes. - -“Oh, can it be so—could it be so?” she faltered, as she raised a hand to -hold back the tears. - -An hour later Robles was in the little Mexican churchyard, scattering -the rose blooms gathered by his daughter Merle on the graves of the dead -relatives whose names she would never know as such. Already there were -the flowers that Tia Teresa had that morning brought—a garland of white -arum lilies around the cross that marked the sleeping place of Rosetta, -wreaths of rich red carnations on the tombstone inscribed with the -father’s and the mother’s names. - -And now on the turf beneath the memorials Don Manuel, with lingering -fingers, dropped the roses here and there, as if to rest with their -beauty and their fragrance on the forms of his beloved dead. The last -bloom fluttered to the ground. Then, standing erect, hands upraised, no -words uttered, but with the unspoken words none the less reverberating -through his very soul, he vowed once again the vendetta which he had -sworn on the identical spot thirty long years before. - -When he turned to leave the tiny hamlet of the dead, a wonderful -transformation had come over his countenance. The placid calm was gone; -the fierce fire of implacable hatred and unswervable resolve burned in -his eyes. He had bidden adieu to all the softer things in this life. His -sole concern now was with the enemy whom he had marked down for death -that night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV—At Comanche Point - -BEN THURSTON, during the afternoon, seated in his big armchair, had -first nodded over a newspaper and then dropped off to sleep. He was -awakened by a touch on the shoulder—rudely awakened, for he jumped to -his feet, and in a dazed way glared at the disturber. - -“Excuse me,” apologized Leach Sharkey, “but I want to remind you that -this is the afternoon when we are to meet that old Portugee I told you -about.” - -“I need no reminder,” was the gruff reply. “I am ready to start when you -are. By the way, what’s the fellow’s name?” - -“José, he said. He claims to know every nook and corner in the range. -Has lived in the mountains for many years; keeps goats and bees, and -shoots a mountain lion occasionally, earning the bounty as well as -getting the skin.” - -“Shoots,” echoed Thurston, somewhat nervously. - -“Oh, that was in his younger days mostly, I fancy. Today he is a -tottering old man who couldn’t hold a rifle straight if he tried. But -he’s well acquainted with the mountains, that’s the main thing. He tells -me he has known where Dick Willoughby is hiding since the very day after -he broke jail.” - -“Then why didn’t he come to me?” - -“Because he knew nothing about the reward. But at our very first chance -meeting among the hills I very soon made five thousand dollars look -mighty good to him. By gad, you should have seen his eyes pop and his -hands tremble.” - -“It is a fortune for such a man.” - -“That’s what got him. He has been supplying Willoughby with goats’ -milk, but is paid only two bits a quart. So he grabbed at my bait like -a hungry coyote. You have the money ready, I suppose? Treasury -bills—that’s what he stipulated for, because he’s too frail to hump a -sack of gold around.” - -“The money is in that wallet on my desk. You had better carry it.” - -Sharkey stepped across the room and shoved a fat leather wallet into the -breast pocket of his coat. - -“So frail, is he?” Thurston went on, musingly. “Well, I needn’t take a -gun.” - -Sharkey smiled. He knew Ben Thurston’s timidity in even handling a -revolver, and the man’s abject reliance on his armed bodyguard. - -“Not the slightest necessity,” assented the sleuth. “I’ve always got -my brace of bulldogs ready;” and the professional gunman, touching -the broad leather belt to which his holsters were attached, grinned -complacently. - -“And no danger to be feared from Willoughby himself, you said?” - -“None whatever. In fact, he don’t have a gun, José declares. So he only -sneaks out after dark for a constitutional. The old fellow will take us -to the spot where we can grab him by the neck.” - -“That sounds like business,” replied Thurston, rubbing his hands. “And -shoot him down, Sharkey, if he runs.” - -“He won’t give us the slip this time—you can bet dollars to doughnuts -on that. But of course he’s got to have the chance of hands-up before -I fire. Killing is killing, and I prefer the handcuffs. There is really -less trouble in the long run.” - -“Well, perhaps I, too, would prefer to see him hanged,” murmured -Thurston, with gloating satisfaction. “But don’t forget that we must get -him this afternoon, dead or alive. I’m sick of this life of watching and -waiting.” - -“The end’s in sight at last.” - -“Then we’ll go back East—after I have had my revenge. It will be sweeter -to me after all the trouble we’ve encountered. And by God, we’ll drag -that Farnsworth girl, too, through the mire. Hell to all of them! I’ve -never had anyone but enemies around me here.” - -While speaking, Thurston reached for his overcoat thrown across the back -of a chair. - -“All right, we’ll start,” said Sharkey. “I’ll go and get the horses -ready.” - -It was about half past three o’clock when the riders reached the base of -the mountain barrier not far from the entrance to Tejon Pass. - -“We’ve got to make it on foot now,” remarked Sharkey, as he swung -himself from the saddle. “I’ll tether the horses to this manzanita.” -Thurston dismounted, and while his companion led the animals under the -trees, he gazed aloft at the precipice beetling in front of them. - -“Damn it, I wish you had chosen any other place than Comanche Point,” he -exclaimed irritably. - -“We had to come to the spot where we can find our man,” replied Sharkey -complacently. “It is on the ridge above that Willoughby has his place of -hiding. Come along, we have a good stiff climb before us.” - -He led the way up the first slope of the winding trail and Ben Thurston -followed, reluctantly now, half doubting the wisdom of his having left -his home for such an adventure. - -Meanwhile there had been two other riders on the range that afternoon, -mounted on little hill ponies. The one man was blindfolded; the other -rode in advance and guided the second pony by a leading rein. It had -been the usual experience to which Dick Willoughby had now become -accustomed—hour after hour along winding, maze-like trails. At last the -call had come to dismount, and the bandage had been removed from Dick’s -eyes. He saw that he was in a little box-like nook in the mountains. - -“You will remain here,” said Pierre Luzon, “until I whistle for you—you -know my signal. Zen you will lead ze ponies along zis path. When -you come to me, I will put you on ze road for home, and we will say -good-bye.” - -“I suppose I may smoke,” laughed Dick, philosophically. The day of -surprises had left him dulled to any further wonderment. - -“Sure, smoke,” replied Pierre. “But remember ze forest regulations,” he -added with a chuckle, “and do not set ze brush on fire.” - -“Oh, I’m no green tenderfoot,” laughed - -Willoughby, as he drew his briar-root from his pocket. “And it’s quite a -balmy afternoon for October.” - -He sat down and propped his back against a moss-grown rock. - -“You must not stir from here,” continued Pierre. “Remember I have to -find you again.” - -“Guess I’ve learned to obey orders. I’m quite comfortable where I am.” -And Dick started contentedly smoking. - -Pierre, following the little path to which he had drawn Dick’s -attention, pushed through the brushwood and disappeared. - -Just ten minutes later Pierre Luzon stood on Comanche Point and gazed -down the trail leading up from the pass below. - -“Zey are coming, zey are coming!” he exclaimed eagerly to himself, with -finger outpointed in the direction of the two climbers on foot half -way up the ascent. Then he slipped back into the shadow of a clump of -stunted pines that grew close to the cliff. - -Fifteen minutes or so passed. Then the heads of Ben Thurston and Leach -Sharkey showed above the final steep ascent that led directly on to the -projecting spur known as Comanche Point. Thurston was breathing hard -after the difficult climb. - -“Here we are at last,” remarked Sharkey cheerfully, as he glanced -around. - -Even as he spoke, a tottering figure came forth from among the pines. A -few minutes before, Pierre Luzon had been erect and vigorous and nimble -on his feet, but now he seemed to be indeed a frail and bowed old man. - -“I have come,” he said, as he approached the figures on the cliff. - -“Hands up, then,” cried the sleuth, half laughing. “You remember, I said -I would search you for a gun.” - -“I have no gun,” Pierre answered, as he halted and elevated his arms. - -Sharkey advanced and, without taking the trouble to draw either of his -own weapons, ran his fingers with the quick touch of experience over the -old man’s clothes. - -“I knew you were on the square, José,” said the bodyguard, quickly -satisfied. “Well, I’ve brought the mazuma.” - -He drew from his pocket the fat wallet, opening it for a moment to -display the wads of greenbacks. Then he put it back again. - -“Now where is our man?” - -“He is down here, just a little distance,” replied Pierre, in a cautious -whisper. “I am not strong enough to hold him. But you come. Ze boss, he -can remain here for ze present.” - -Ben Thurston had turned away and was looking down into the valley. - -“We’ll be back in a short time,” called out Sharkey. - -But Thurston, if he had heard, made no reply. - -“Now show the way, old fellow,” continued the sleuth, addressing his -guide. - -A moment later Ben Thurston was alone. - -Alone on Comanche Point—gazing over the broad sweep of lands that had -been his princely heritage, but which he had now lost forever! The -valley lay beneath him, bathed in the mellow evening sunshine. But his -eyes were riveted on a single spot. And what a transformation scene for -the erstwhile cattle king—this new city with its checkerboard of streets -and all around it new homes amid plots of young fruit trees and meadows -of alfalfa! - -The whole picture was one of fascinating beauty—the city itself the -finishing touch that gave it human interest. But in Ben Thurston’s soul -there was nothing but bitterness and disgust. He had kept on complaining -that he had been unscrupulously plundered by the Los Angeles syndicate, -and with the realization now of what enterprise and enlightened progress -could achieve, he began to feel that he had been mercilessly stripped -of what was rightfully his. Greed and envy and vain regrets were all -commingled in his surge of envenomed thoughts. But avarice predominated. - -“Good God, to think I parted with the rancho at a beggarly acreage -price, when I might have been selling town lots today. There will be a -dozen other towns springing up to follow this one.” - -In his agony he groaned aloud and covered his eyes with his hands to -shut out the hateful sight. - -Just at that moment the sound of a twig crackling underfoot smote his -ear. He turned round; into his face stole an ashen look of terror as he -watched an approaching figure wrapped in a Spanish cloak and crowned by -a broad-brimmed sombrero. His haggard eyes asked: “Is it man or ghost?” -He would have screamed aloud, but found himself voiceless from fear. - -At last the figure stood before him with proudly folded arms. - -“The White Wolf!” gasped Thurston, in a faint whisper. - -“Yes, Don Manuel de Valencia—the White Wolf, as you choose to call him. -And now at last, Ben Thurston, we meet face to face, and alone—after -thirty long years, and without a woman’s tears this time to save you!” - -Ben Thurston sank to the ground, a huddled heap, trembling in every -limb. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI—-Outwitted - -PIERRE LUZON led Leach Sharkey along the trail. Beyond Comanche Point it -dipped again owing to the contour of the mountain, then at a distance of -about fifty yards, took a sharp turn round an abrupt face of rock. - -“Where the hell are you taking me?” asked the sleuth, as they approached -this bend. - -“Only a little further,” replied the guide, in a feeble quavering voice -as he glanced over his shoulder. - -The men were only a few paces apart. In the shadow cast by the cliff, -Pierre’s pallid face with its stubbly white beard looked like that of a -veritable ancient, and his bent form and tottering steps completed the -picture. The sleuth smiled at his momentary discomposure. - -Around the turn, however, Pierre grabbed at a revolver lying ready to -his hand on a ledge of rock, and when Sharkey followed, it was to find -a hale and stalwart man, erect, alert, with the flash of conscious power -in his eyes. - -“Hands up!” cried Pierre, in a voice of stern command. Leach Sharkey was -standing three short steps away and was looking now into the muzzle of -a big automatic pistol. Over his countenance there stole a sickly smile. -But he knew the rules of the game too well to attempt any resistance. -His hands went slowly above his head until both arms were fully -extended. - -“You’ve got the drop on me all right, José,” he murmured, in -self-apology. - -“Face the rock,” came the next curt order—the very tone was reminiscent -of old bandit days. - -Sharkey obeyed in silence, and in a trice both his guns were withdrawn -from their holsters and flung among the brushwood. - -“You go ahead now,” said Pierre, stepping aside to let the other pass. -“You can drop your hands, but if you cry out or attempt to run, zen you -are one dead man.” - -The discomfited sleuth meekly complied, although there was now a black -scowl on his face as he stepped on ahead. In all his professional -career, Leach Sharkey had never before fallen so ignominiously into a -trap like this. - -Not a word was spoken while a distance of some two hundred yards was -being traversed. Then Pierre called out the one word: “Halt!” - -Sharkey did not dare even to look round. He stood still as a piece of -statuary. - -“You sit on zat stone over zere,” continued Pierre, “and do not rise -until I give you permission. Now we will proceed to business.” - -Sharkey sat down as ordered. - -“Hell, you can have your five thousand dollars right enough,” he said, -pulling the wallet from his pocket. - -“No, my friend. I did not bring you here to rob you. I am out on parole, -and I never break my word. I am Pierre Luzon!” He spoke the name with -triumphant pride. - -“Good God!” exclaimed Sharkey, in dumfounded surprise. “You belonged to -the White Wolf’s gang?” - -“I belong now to ze gang. Ze White Wolf is alive!” - -Leach Sharkey had looked sick before, but a ghastly grey pallor came -into his face now. - -“Then he has got hold of Ben Thurston—at last?” he faltered. - -“Yes, at last,” replied Pierre, with a grim smile of joy. “Don Manuel -and Ben Thurston are alone on Comanche Point just now. Zey will settle -old scores—zat is zeir affair. Now, I attend to my affair.” - -Sharkey looked up enquiringly, but said no more. - -“Leach Sharkey,” continued the old Frenchman, “you are one strong man. -You will now take ze handcuffs from your pocket—I know you carry zem—and -drop zem over your shoulder. Zere, zat is right. I am glad you obey -wizout giving me any further trouble. Now, you will hold out your hands, -behind your back—you know exactly how.” - -Yes, Leach Sharkey knew exactly how. And he also knew what the business -end of a big revolver meant, with the forefinger of a daring bandit like -Pierre Luzon on the trigger. He was handcuffed and helpless right enough -in very short order. For the first time in his life the man who had so -often slipped the bracelets on others, found the bracelets around his -own wrists. - -“Next I want ze key of ze handcuffs,” Pierre resumed. “Which pocket, -please?” - -Sharkey, with a downward thrust of his chin, indicated the waistcoat -pocket. - -“Zank you,” said Pierre, as he thrust in his fingers and produced the -key. “Now, we will throw zis zing away”—as he spoke it went whizzing -through the air—“and when you get home to ze rancho, ze blacksmith zere -will set you free.” - -“Oh, I’m going home, am I?” said the sleuth, considerably reassured. - -“Yes, Pierre Luzon no longer rob or kill or break ze law. He keep his -word of honor always. And I promised to bring Dick Willoughby to you -tonight. Now I shall be true to zat promise, too.” - -And through his teeth he blew a shrill whistle. - -At the sound Dick Willoughby started up, and shook the ashes from his -pipe. Following Pierre’s instructions, he led the two ponies along the -little trail through the chaparral. Within five minutes he emerged on a -broader trail, right at the spot where the Frenchman was standing. - -“Hello, Pierre!” Then Dick’s eyes fell on Leach Sharkey, and at the very -first glance he saw the shackled hands. “But what’s the meaning of all -this?” he asked in bewildered surprise. - -“It means zat you will take zis man down ze mountains. He came to arrest -you, but you can tell him now zat you are one free man. You can show him -ze paper which proves it was not you, but Don Manuel, who is responsible -for ze death of young Thurston.” - -“Great Caesar!” muttered the sleuth, “I thought that from the first, but -the old fool would not listen to me.” - -“Mr. Sharkey,” said Dick, “you and I have no quarrel. What Pierre says -is true—I have a sworn affidavit in my pocket, fixing the responsibility -for that unhappy affair where it belongs.” - -“I believe you, Mr. Willoughby,” replied the sleuth. “I’m glad you -are innocent, but I was only doing my duty in trying to arrest the man -charged with the crime.” - -“I understand all that. I bear you no ill will.” - -“And I’d shake hands if it were not for these damned bracelets,” -continued Sharkey. - -“Pierre, there is no need of handcuffs,” said Dick, turning to the -Frenchman. “Set him free. We will go peaceably home together.” - -“No, no,” replied Pierre, determinedly. “Leach Sharkey, he is one giant -in strength. He will go home as he is. Besides, I have trown ze key -away.” And he laughed aloud. - -Sharkey nodded in helpless admission of his sorry plight. - -“Too bad,” murmured Dick. - -“And now,” continued Pierre, “zere is no time to be lost. We will help -zis man onto your pony, and you will ride my pony and hold ze leading -rein.” - -“But he can’t ride with his hands behind his back like that,” objected -Dick. - -“Oh, yes, he can,” grinned Pierre. “Ze good horseman ride wid his knees, -and most of ze road you can be by his side and hold him on. And it is ze -only way, for ze key, as I have said, is gone.” - -“I suppose we’ve got to accept the situation,” said Dick, with a glance -at Sharkey’s lugubrious countenance. The man of strength was obviously -crestfallen at his almost ridiculous plight of powerlessness. - -Pierre resumed his instructions. “You will not go back to Comanche -Point, but will take ze mule trail down into ze valley. You know it, Mr. -Willoughby—it is about one mile furzer on.” - -“I know it,” replied Dick. - -“You will leave Mr. Sharkey at the rancho and zen ride to ze place where -your friends are waiting for you. Now, zat is all. I must go. We -have already said our adios, my dear young friend.” Dick grasped the -proffered hand and warmly pressed it. - -“Good-bye, Pierre. I can never thank you enough for all you have done -for me. Good-bye.” Leach Sharkey was assisted into the saddle, and the -horsemen started on their way. - -“Good-bye,” shouted back Dick Willoughby, yet once again. - -“Adios!” - -And as the two figures disappeared around a bend, the Frenchman uttered -a deep sigh. “A splendid young fellow! I wonder shall we ever meet -again!”—this was the thought in his mind as for just a moment he stood -in an attitude of deep dejection. - -Then swinging around, he started back at a run for Comanche Point. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII—The Dawn of Comprehension - -ALL through the afternoon at La Siesta, Merle was in a meditative mood. -After luncheon Mrs. Darlington had returned to her letter-writing and -her book-keeping. Munson and Grace had departed for a walk through the -pine woods, after vain but not too strenuous endeavors to get Merle to -accompany them. Left to her own resources she had retired to the drawing -room, had tried to interest herself at the piano, but after a little -while had given up the attempt; and, coiled in a big chair, had -surrendered herself to a “big think,” as she mentally termed it. - -In that momentary searching of the eyes between her and Mr. Robles -just before their parting in the rose garden, there had come a flash of -revelation to her soul. She had divined a yearning in his gaze that was -surely more than the affection of an old and devoted friend. There was -passionate tenderness that belied the gentle yet almost perfunctory kiss -on the brow that he had finally bestowed at parting. Nor had she failed -to notice the restraint which the strong man had imposed upon himself. -And strangely enough, her own momentary impulse had been to throw her -arms around his neck and kiss him, just as a fond daughter might -have kissed a father at such an emotional moment—on the eve of a long -journey, the whither unrevealed, the return all so uncertain. - -She recalled, too, their previous conversation while she was gathering -the roses—his words of kindly wisdom, his little bits of advice that now -seemed to be weighted by more than mere friendly interest in her future -happiness. Then her mind traveled back slowly, step by step, all the way -to childhood days—a long vista marked by his comings and his goings, his -prolonged absences, his unexpected but always welcome reappearances, his -numberless acts of thoughtful kindness. Once she had been seriously ill, -when a little girl, and the memory of that illness had ever been the -memory of his face hovering over her cot, night and day, till the crisis -had been passed and she had been on the way to assured convalescence. - -There had always been an air of mystery about Mr. Robles, but she had -never sought to penetrate it, instinctively recognizing that there had -been some great sorrow in his life, and almost unconsciously accepting -the affectionate regard he had lavished on Grace and herself as some -sort of consolation for him in his loneliness. She knew that Grace -was only her sister in name, but none the less Grace was to her a real -sister, just as Mrs. Darlington was a real mother—the only mother she -had ever known. Weaving together now the threads of memory, she became -conscious of the mystery in her own life. There was assuredly some -fuller story than the story she had been told in the past and had always -tacitly accepted—that her parents had been neighbors and dear friends of -Mrs. Darlington in the long ago, and when they had died, the baby girl -left behind had been bequeathed to her motherly care. - -At this stage in her ruminations Merle sat bolt upright in her chair. -The shadows of evening were beginning to close around her, but the dawn -of revelation was in her heart. - -Would Mrs. Darlington still be alone in her boudoir? Merle answered the -unspoken thought by stealing from the room. - -Yes, Mrs. Darlington was at her writing table, lighted now by candles -on each side which, covered by little red shades, only dimly illuminated -the apartment. Merle flitted in without her coming being observed. - -Mrs. Darlington was no longer writing—her elbows were resting on the -table and both hands were covering her eyes in an attitude of deep -thought, perhaps of sleep, as Merle for a moment imagined when she had -noiselessly gained her side. - -“Mother dear,” she said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. - -“You here, my child?” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington. There was no trace of -slumber in her eyes. - -“Yes, and I want to have a little talk with you—all alone,” said -Merle, as she dropped into a chair, the very chair which Mr. Robles had -previously occupied. - -The look of vague sadness and anxiety in Mrs. Darlington’s face -deepened. - -“What about, dear?” she asked. - -Merle’s mind had been made up, and she came to the issue with -point-blank abruptness. - -“Is Mr. Robles my father?” - -The startled look on the other’s face was almost in itself an admission -of the truth—Mrs. Darlington had been caught off her guard. But she made -a desperate attempt to parry the question. - -“What makes you fancy such a thing?” she faltered. - -“Because there is certainty in my heart,” replied - -Merle bravely. “It came to me first when he bade me good-bye in the -garden. And now I see it in your face.” - -The young girl dropped on her knees, and, an arm around her mother’s -waist, gazed up imploringly. - -Eyes met eyes. Falsehood was impossible in either case. Mrs. Darlington -stooped and folded the kneeling girl in a fond embrace. Both were -weeping now. No word had been spoken, but Merle knew that she had -correctly divined. - -It was a few minutes before there was sufficient self-control for the -conversation to be resumed. But then, Merle still kneeling by her side, -Mrs. Darlington spoke: - -“I had promised to keep this secret, dear,” she began, fondling the -girl’s tresses. “But you have gained your knowledge apart from me, so -I cannot be held to have betrayed my trust. Yes, Mr. Robles is your -father—your loving and devoted father. Your real name is his—Merle -Robles you should always have been called.” - -“And why not?” asked Merle. “Oh, I am proud and overjoyed to think of -him as my father.” - -“Because he has some important reason to have the world think otherwise. -I know you will believe me, dear Merle, when I say I do not know that -reason. He is too grand and honorable a man for me to have ever pressed -for an explanation. I just accepted you as a gift from his hands—his -child and the child of my girlhood chum, named Merle, as you know, like -yourself.” - -“So, if I have solved one mystery, there is still another mystery -beyond,” murmured Merle. - -She rose, seated herself, and remained silent for a moment, her hands -locked across her knees, her brows knit in thought. - -“But why distress your heart over unknown things?” said Mrs. Darlington. -“As you have learned by your today’s experience, mysteries solve -themselves in due time.” - -“Yes,” replied Merle, “but somehow I feel that this is the due time that -I should know everything—for my dear father’s sake,” she added, “not for -my own. Oh, mother, you should have seen his face of anguish just before -he parted from me this afternoon. It was revealed to me only for -an instant. But now I feel sure that something terrible is going to -happen—to him.” - -She was sobbing again, as she flung her arms impulsively around Mrs. -Darlington’s neck and sat in her lap, just as if once again she had -become a little child. - -“Oh, mother mine—I shall always call you mother mine, for you have been -a dear, sweet, kind mother to me ever since I can remember. But don’t -you see that today I have also found a father whom I deeply love? -Nothing must happen to him.” - -“Why should anything happen to him?” - -“I do not know. Where is Tia Teresa?” - -The question came with startling suddenness as Merle started up with -another ray of illumination in her mind. - -“I haven’t seen her since morning,” replied Mrs. Darlington. - -“Nor have I,” said Merle, standing erect, wiping away the traces of her -tears, and with a few pats adjusting her rumpled hair. “That is very -strange.” - -“No. I happen to know that this day, the eleventh of October, is always -a sad anniversary for Tia Teresa—the death of some dear friend who -lies buried in the little Mexican cemetery on the hill. She has always -refused to tell me the story. But early this morning she went, as usual, -to place flowers upon the grave.” - -“Flowers—for a grave!” exclaimed Merle. She was thinking of the roses -she had gathered that afternoon for Mr. Robles—for her father—because -he specially wanted the most beautiful blooms. But she did not give her -thought to Mrs. Darlington. - -“It is all so strange,” continued Merle. Then her air of decisiveness -returned. “I’ll go and see if Tia Teresa is in her room.” - -Mrs. Darlington was gravely perturbed at this persistency. Oh, if only -the mysteries of the past could be left alone, the joys of the present -accepted for themselves! Probing into trouble cannot but lead to further -trouble—that, for her, had been the secret of contentment. But she was -powerless to intervene. Merle had already departed on her mission of -enquiry. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII—Exit Leach Sharkey - -THE ponies were jogging down the trail, Leach Sharkey uncomfortably -lurching in his saddle when some sudden bend or dip was encountered, -Dick Willoughby good-humoredly holding him on when such emergencies -rendered the service advisable if an ignominious fall were to be -avoided. There was a song of joy in Dick’s heart—liberty was at hand; -he was riding down from the hills to join his loved one again. But there -was sullen brooding in the soul of the outwitted sleuth—growing more -sullen with every mile traversed, with every kindness rendered, with the -very realization of his own ridiculous predicament and the contrast of -his companion’s light-hearted happiness. - -At last they reached the foot of the trail, leading on to the road that -crossed the plain. At the distance of a few miles the Rancho San Antonio -showed amid its clustering shade and orchard trees. - -“Let us dismount for a bit,” suggested Sharkey. “I feel all in—dead beat -and tired.” - -“But how will I get you on to your horse again?” replied Dick, a trifle -dubiously. - -“Oh, we’ll manage that. Please help me down.” Dick sprang to the ground, -dropped the reins over his pony’s head, and soon had Leach Sharkey on -terra firma. - -“You’re no light weight to handle,” he laughed. “By the way, Sharkey, I -forgot to ask: Where’s your boss this afternoon?” - -Sharkey eyed Dick curiously. - -“You don’t know?” - -“Why should I know? It’s quite a time since I met the gentleman.” - -“You are aware who Pierre Luzon is?” - -“Certainly. Pierre has come to be quite a friend of mine. He’s a good -fellow all right.” There was a moment’s pause. Dick was rolling a -cigarette, Sharkey furtively watching every expression on his face. - -“Well, the Frenchie played me a dirty trick when he threw that key -away,” remarked the sleuth, rattling, the handcuffs behind his back. - -“I guess Pierre was resolved to take no chances,” replied Dick, grinning -through the tobacco smoke as he surveyed the helpless bodyguard. “He -only needed a pair of hobbles to complete the job.” - -A muttered curse came from Sharkey’s lips—but this was an aside. For -Dick he had an insinuating smile. - -“You might get these blamed handcuffs off all right, Willoughby. Look -at that big boulder there. If I set my hands across it, you might hammer -through the chain. Or if you have a pistol, that might do the trick.” - -“No, I’ve got no pistol,” Dick replied. - -He did not notice the gleam of satisfaction in Sharkey’s eyes—the -wolfish smile at the corners of his wolf-like teeth. At the moment he -was looking around for a convenient stone that might serve as a hammer. - -“But I think I might break that chain all right with this,” he went on, -as he stooped and picked up a heavy, sharp-edged fragment of granite -from the rock-strewn ground. “Come along, then. Set your wrists just -here. At least, we can try.” - -The trial succeeded—the slender steel strain stretched across the -boulder soon yielded to the succession of battering blows. - -Sharkey flung his great big brawny arms aloft. He was still wearing the -bracelets, but his hands were free. - -“Feels better, don’t it?” said Dick, with a sympathetic smile. - -“A damned sight better,” roared the sleuth, as he turned quickly round. -“Now, young man, you are my prisoner. I arrest you for jail-breaking. -There’s my star. I don’t say hands up, for I know you haven’t a gun.” - -As he spoke, Sharkey opened his coat so that the official badge might be -displayed. - -Dick in his amazement stepped back, just one pace. Sharkey advanced, his -high hands outstretched. - -“Make no trouble, now. You know I am only doing my duty.” - -“Duty be hanged,” cried Dick, as with a swift uppercut he caught -his would-be captor on the jaw. Sharkey staggered, and Dick, with a -right-arm swing, banged him on the temple, bowling him over like a -ninepin. - -Sharkey was soon on his hands and knees; then dazed and tottering, he -got onto his feet again. But Dick was watchfully waiting, and with sharp -jabs, right and left, sent him down once more. The sleuth lay motionless -now. - -Like a flash Dick grabbed the riata hanging from the saddle-horn of his -pony, and without a moment’s loss of time had its coils around the arms -and chest of the prostrate man, roping him like a thrown steer with all -the skill of the trained cowboy. In a brief minute the knots were tied, -and with the final clove-hitch the fallen Samson was turned over on his -back. Sharkey’s eyes opened, glaring dully at his conqueror. - -“You contemptible hound!” exclaimed Dick, as he tossed the loose end of -the lariat from him. “By God, I’ve seen a few low-down things done in -my lifetime, but this is certainly the limit. I suppose you would have -betrayed me for the sake of the reward, even though you know now for -certain that I was wrongfully arrested at the start. You damned Judas! -You deserve to be hanged like a horse-thief, Leach Sharkey—that’s about -your proper finish.” - -And Dick in his righteous indignation glanced around as if in search of -a convenient tree for the operation. - -“I’ll give no further trouble,” mumbled Sharkey. - -“It will be my particular care that you don’t,” replied Dick. “Get -up, you hulking brute.” And grabbing the coils of the riata, he fairly -lifted Sharkey to his feet. - -“Now, I wouldn’t shame the pony by putting you on his back again. Follow -me.” - -Picking up the free end of the rope, and gathering the leading rein of -Sharkey’s horse into the same hand, Willoughby vaulted into his saddle. - -“Come along,” he called out, turning round as the riata came taut. And -thus, a dozen paces behind, the sleuth, discomfited again a second -time that day, and humiliated worse than ever, followed perforce in his -victor’s trail. - -Perhaps half a mile of the open road was thus traversed, Dick speaking -not another word, but looking round occasionally and giving an energetic -yank at the rope whenever there was evidence of laggard steps. Sharkey -stumbled along, his chin buried in his breast, his eyes half-closed to -conceal their dumb, vicious glare of concentrated but impotent fury. - -They had now reached a gate; Dick dismounted and threw it open, pointing -the way for Sharkey to take. - -“It’s about five miles to the rancho,” he said. “I don’t know how you’ll -get through the other gates, but I reckon you can crawl under them, like -the snake you’ve proved yourself to be. Now, off you go,” and with -the words he looped the loose end of the riata around the victim’s -shoulders. “That’s a better necktie than you deserve, Leach Sharkey. -If it was any one but myself, you would be helped to a start by a few -vigorous kicks behind.” - -The sleuth shambled through the gateway, with shamed, averted face. With -a click the gate was closed. For just a few minutes Dick watched the -figure moving away through the now gathering dusk. Then he laid a hand -on his saddle-horn. - -“I hope it’s the last I’ll see of that animal,” he murmured to himself, -as he sprang lightly into the saddle. And at a canter he started along -the road, the led pony, after a few heel-kicks as if in joy at being -relieved of its burden, soon dropping into the swinging stride. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX—The Fight on the Cliff - -FOR a few moments Don Manuel contemplated the cowering figure of Ben -Thurston in contemptuous silence. His end was accomplished; his enemy -was in his power; like the cat with the mouse just a few inches from its -paw, he could strike at any moment. He spoke now with measured calm. - -“Do you remember what day this is? The eleventh of October.” - -He paused for a reply. Thurston’s lips were parted but remained dumb. -Don Manuel resumed: - -“Thirty years ago this very night—here at this very spot, you brutally -killed my poor little sister, Rosetta.” - -Thurston shrank back. His lips moved, but no sound came. - -“Oh, attempt no denial,” continued Don Manuel, for the moment clenching -a menacing fist over him. “You cannot forget the tell-tale button which -you snatched from my hand to hide the proof. Nor have I forgotten the -lash of your quirt that drew blood from my cheek”—and he wiped his face -with the tips of his fingers as if to rub away the memory of the deadly -insult—“the very day on which I buried my dear father and mother,” he -added, in a voice vibrant with emotion. - -He bowed his head; there was another brief period of silence. Then he -recovered himself and went on: - -“The deaths of my beloved parents are just as much on your head, Ben -Thurston, as the death of the guileless, innocent, young girl whom you -betrayed, and then with coward hands pushed over this cliff, mangling -her body on the rocks below. My vengeance has been slow in coming, but -after all, I am glad of the delay. For all through these years you have -not only suffered the agony of constant fear, but I have lived to see -you landless, bereft of the broad rich acres which belonged to my father -and were never rightfully yours.” - -“That’s not so—my claim was established in the law courts.” Thurston -managed to articulate the words. The sound of his voice seemed to -restore some little measure of courage, for he sat up, and leaning an -elbow on a rock, adjusted himself in a more comfortable position. But -he did not seek to gain his feet—the bandit’s figure still towered over -him. - -“Law courts—your American law courts!” exclaimed Don Manuel, with -ineffable scorn. “You know you bribed the judge who gave the decision. -Dare you deny it?” - -Thurston ventured no denial—his dropped jaw proclaimed his consciousness -of guilt. - -“Nothing was too base for you,” Don Manuel proceeded. “You robbed, -despoiled, destroyed my home. But now at last your hour has come. I have -waited patiently for this hour. On many an occasion, Ben Thurston, -I could have shot you dead from a distance. But I have -waited—waited—waited for the time when you would know that it was I, the -White Wolf, who was sending you to your doom just as I have already sent -your ruffian son to his.” - -“So it was really you—who murdered my boy?” stammered Thurston. - -“Don’t call it murder—it was righteous retribution for both him and you. -Oh, I can tell you something tonight, for a secret does not pass from a -dead man’s lips.” - -The victim so confidently doomed, shuddered. Don Manuel continued: - -“Merle Farnsworth is my daughter; your vile and debauched son dared to -insult her, and so he died—rightly died. Yes, at my hands—I take full -responsibility. And I am glad to tell you this before you follow him out -of the world. Tonight, Ben Thurston, you go over this cliff—you die the -death you gave to my sister.” - -As he spoke, Don Manuel cast loose his Spanish cloak, and dropped both -it and his sombrero to the ground. - -Thurston at last staggered to his feet. - -“So get ready now to fight for your life,” Don Manuel resumed, folding -his arms across his breast as he surveyed his victim. - -“But I am unarmed,” cried Thurston, pointing to the revolver at the -other’s belt. His outstretched hand trembled, his voice was a terrified -shriek. - -“Then I, too, shall be unarmed,” replied Don Manuel, as he unbuckled his -belt and tossed it lightly from him. “Come along, then—it is man to -man with naked hands.” His tone now was one of concentrated passion and -hate, and he advanced with arms extended for an enfolding embrace. - -Now did Ben Thurston realize that his only chance for life lay in his -superior weight, possibly his superior strength. At the thought, craven -fear changed of a sudden to the courage of desperation, and like a wild -cat he leaped at the throat of his adversary. - -Then began a terrible struggle—two strong men writhing in each other’s -grip like savage beasts. Soon their clothes were torn, their bodies -begrimed with sweat and mud, their faces and naked arms bespattered -with blood, for Ben Thurston’s nose had been broken in one of the first -falls. Thurston, besides his extra pounds, had also the advantage of -being younger by a few years. But Don Manuel was in better physical -condition and his muscles were like bands of steel. So it was pretty -much of a level match in this grim fight to the death. - - - -0305 - -As they tugged at each other, as each attempted to bear the other down -or trip and throw him, as at times, each tried in their locked embrace -to crush in his adversary’s ribs and squeeze the last breath out of his -body, as they milled round and round, swayed and fell and rolled over -and then for a moment regained a kneeling or an upright position—both -men realized that it was the one who could last the longest with whom -the mastery would rest. - -Pierre Luzon, running up the trail, came to the edge of the open space -where the desperate contest was in progress. But the onlooker did not -attempt to interfere—he had had his orders; he just crouched and watched -the swaying, writhing figures. - -For an hour or more the fight proceeded, at times fast and furious, -with breathing spells to follow, during which grips were tenaciously -maintained. Points of advantage alternated now to the one side, now -to the other, but after each succeeding tussle both combatants were -exhausted without victory being pronounced for either. Every vestige -of clothing above the belt line had long since been torn away, and they -were sweating like lathered horses. - -The milling and wrestling had gradually grown weaker, and it was clear -now that the final test of endurance could not be much longer delayed. -Yet again Don Manuel renewed the attack, and had forced Thurston to his -knees, when the latter by a supreme effort raised himself again, and -then by sheer weight pressed his opponent back a pace or two. But just -at this moment Thurston’s strength seemed to give out, for he dropped -down sideways, dragging his enemy after him. - -Then Pierre Luzon saw the object of the manoeuvre. Thurston had gained -the spot where Don Manuel’s discarded pistol belt was lying, and now he -was reaching out with a disengaged hand to grab the gun. - -The Frenchman darted forward. - -“Keep out of this,” cried Don Manuel, peremptorily, although he was -breathing hard. - -“Look out! Your gun!” screamed Pierre, as he seized Thurston’s wrist in -a vice-like grip. - -Just an instant too late, however, for Thurston’s fingers had already -closed round the weapon and it went off with a bang. - -Pierre dropped to his knees. It was he who had received the -bullet—through one of his lungs. But he had wrested the pistol from -the treacherous villain’s grasp and now it fell, still smoking, to the -ground. - -The wounded man coughed a great mouthful of crimson blood on to the slab -of rock. Then he recovered himself and raised his head. Thurston and -Don Manuel, even in their weakened state, were fighting more desperately -than ever, blinded by hate to every sense of danger, and Pierre was just -in time to see them slip on some loosened stones and then, still locked -in the death clench, go rolling over the edge of the precipice. - -“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” murmured the Frenchman. He staggered to his feet -and without waiting turned and started down the steep trail, stumbling -like a drunken man. - -At the foot of the zig-zag pathway he gazed helplessly around. He would -have pushed his way through the brushwood to seek his beloved chief. -Dead! He must be dead. No one could have dropped that sheer three -hundred feet onto the cruel jagged rocks below and live. Yet, who knows? -A tree might have broken the fall—Don Manuel might still be alive. - -Pierre, however, was incapable of further effort. His limbs trembled -beneath him, and again he was spitting blood. - -All of a sudden he spied the two horses tethered under the manzanita -tree. He tottered toward them, untied the first one he reached, and with -difficulty pulled himself up into the saddle. - -To reach Dick Willoughby and get help—that was the thought in the -reeling brain of Pierre Luzon as with a final effort, leaning forward -over the saddle, he turned his steed in the direction of Buck Ashley’s -old store, and urged it to a canter. - - - - -CHAPTER XL—Revelation - -MERLE paused at the foot of the stairway leading up to one of the towers -where Tia Teresa had her room. She deliberated for a moment, consulted -the tiny watch on her wrist, then turned to retrace her footsteps. - -“There will be plenty of time,” she murmured to herself. “I shall be -best able to manage Tia Teresa when I know still more than I do now.” -She repaired to her own room and put on her automobile cloak, cap, and -veil. Without telling anyone of her plan, she left the house, went to -the garage, selected a runabout that was specially her own, and was soon -speeding along the highway in the direction of the cluster of hills amid -which the little Mexican cemetery was nestled. - -She had been there just once before, several years ago, and she knew -that her machine would have no difficulty in ascending the trail. Within -less than an hour, indeed, she was at her destination. - -In the grey evening twilight the place looked very dismal and desolate. -The tiny adobe chapel in one corner was falling into ruins because of -disuse and neglect. A tall rank growth of weeds overran most of the -graves. But there were two that showed marks of loving attention, and -toward these Merle advanced. Here she found the fresh wreaths around the -headstones, and her own roses scattered on the turf. - -“Hermana”—she read the single word on the white marble cross adorned -with spotless arum lilies. “Sister,” Merle murmured, translating the -word. - -Then she turned to the big gravestone close at hand, and moved the -wreaths of red carnations so that she might read the words inscribed. -From these she soon knew that this was the family burial place of the de -Valencias—that here rested the former owners of the San Antonio Rancho, -the beloved parents of two children, Manuel and Rosetta. - -“Manuel,” - -“Rosetta”—she repeated the names. The latter awakened no memory, -but when she filled out the former to “Don Manuel de Valencia,” she -instantly recalled the old-time bandit of whom she had heard many a -tale. - -“The White Wolf,” she murmured eagerly. - -“Yes, yes. His father once owned the rancho, and that was the cause of -the deadly feud—the Vendetta of the Hills. But I thought all that was -forgotten. Yet here are the beautiful fresh flowers.” - -Seating herself on a flat monument near by, Merle pondered, piecing -things together. “Sister”—the cross must mark the grave of the girl -Rosetta, and have been erected by her brother, Don Manuel. Then whose -hand had strewn the roses? Mr. Robles! In a flash she knew that Mr. -Robles was Don Manuel. - -And her father, too! The further thought came with such suddenness, -with such absolute conviction of certainty, that for a moment she felt -appalled. Her father the notorious robber chief, the desperado on whose -head a price had been set, the outlaw who had defied the whole state -of California to arrest him. Somehow she felt no shame—Don Manuel de -Valencia had been a sort of heroic knight-errant in all the stories she -had heard—his hand only against the rich, his heart always for the poor -and oppressed, his attitude toward the intrusive gringos quite justified -by the sharp practice whereby he had been robbed of his patrimonial -acres. It was this very story of wrong which had been one of the reasons -that had from the first predisposed the household at La Siesta to -despise the Thurston family at the Rancho San Antonio. - -Then from thinking of Don Manuel, Merle’s mind passed to Ricardo -Robles—the courteous, dignified, generous, lovable man she had known all -her life, the very man whom she had rejoiced that day to call her own -father. Don Manuel could be judged only by this standard, and her heart -went out again to Mr. Robles, whatever the name which he had formerly -worn. - -The shadows were closing around her, the night air bit sharply, and -Merle arose. Two or three of the rose blooms had fallen beyond the lines -of white stones that marked the graves. Merle advanced, and picking -these up gently, placed them on the breasts of the sleeping dead. Her -own kith and kin! Now she realized how she came to have brown eyes and -raven tresses—the blood of Spain was in her veins. With this thought -throbbing in her heart, she left the cemetery and hurried away for home. - -Tia Teresa was the only Roman Catholic at La Siesta, a devout member -of the faith of her fathers and of her childhood days with which no -one around her had ever sought to interfere. Her room was her private -chapel, a curtained recess at one end being fitted up with a crucifix, a -small altar, and a prie-dieu. - -Here Tia Teresa was kneeling and praying, the only light in the -apartment coming from the altar candles, when Merle softly tiptoed -in, still wearing her automobile cloak. She hesitated to advance, and -momentarily turned to withdraw. But Tia Teresa had seen her, and by a -gesture had bidden her to remain. For a few moments the old duenna’s -lips continued to move, then she told another bead on her rosary, arose -from her knees, crossed herself devoutly, and with a final prostration -before the crucifix, terminated her devotional exercises. - -“What brought you here, my child?” she asked, approaching Merle. - -“Why are you engaged in prayer tonight?” asked Merle, answering question -with question. - -“You know I often pray,” replied Tia Teresa. “You have seen me many, -many times.” - -“Yes, but not at this hour, when you are always with my mother.” - -“She will be wondering where I am. I had better go to her now.” - -“No,” rejoined Merle. “I wish to speak to you. Come here, Tia Teresa; -sit down by my side, and treat me once again as the little girl of the -long ago whom you used to pet and fondle.” - -“That’s very easily done,” responded Tia Teresa, with a pleased smile, -seating herself on the low sofa close to Merle. “Come to my heart, my -darling, as in the long ago.” - -And the duenna drew the girl to her loving, protecting bosom. She -noticed now that Merle was trembling under the influence of some deep -emotion. - -“What is wrong with you, my dear?” she asked anxiously. - -“I have learned many things today, Tia Teresa,” replied Merle, taking -her old nurse’s hands and softly stroking them. “First, that Mr. Robles -is my father”—the duenna started, but Merle went quietly on—“and that he -is really Don Manuel de Valencia, the famous outlaw.” - -“Whoever told you that?” fairly gasped Tia Teresa. - -“No one. I found everything out for myself. After I had looked into Mr. -Robles’ eyes at our parting this afternoon, I knew the truth. It was -impossible for mother to deny it, but it is not she who has told me -anything. I have just returned from the little Mexican cemetery on the -hillside where Mr. Robles, my father, had taken the flowers for which he -asked me.” - -“And you saw his flowers—and my flowers, too?” faltered the duenna, -realizing now how Merle had gleaned her knowledge. - -“Yes; I inferred that the wreaths were yours, and of course I knew that -the scattered roses were from my father. He is Don Manuel. But I want -you to tell me a little about Rosetta.” It was Merle now who put her -arms around Tia Teresa and drew her affectionately to her. - -“You have always loved me, you know, my dear,” the girl went on -coaxingly. “Now I understand why you were so deeply attached to Mr. -Robles, for you told me once that you had nursed Don Manuel. And that -is why I have been, perhaps, just a little closer to you than -Grace”—the pressure of Tia Teresa’s arms told that Merle had correctly -divined—“because I was of the blood of your old master. But why has -there been all this secrecy toward me?” - -“Don Manuel’s name could not be revealed—he had been outlawed.” - -“And Rosetta—tell me about Rosetta?” - -“She was the real cause of the feud between Mr. Thurston and Don -Manuel.” - -The duenna had spoken the words before she had realized how much they -told. With unfaltering intuition Merle guessed their meaning. - -“You mean to tell me that Thurston wronged Rosetta—betrayed her?” - -Tia Teresa nodded assent—she was too deeply agitated to speak another -word. - -“And this day—the eleventh of October—the day when you decorate her -grave?” enquired Merle, in a tone and with a look that compelled an -answer. - -“Is the day she was found dead on the rocks below Comanche Point,” -replied Tia Teresa. - -At the same moment the duenna started to her feet. A wonderful and -terrible transition came over her usually placid countenance. Her eyes -fairly blazed with mingled fury and hatred. Her fists were clenched by -her side. Her whole frame trembled. - -“Murdered by Ben Thurston!” she added, the words hissing like hot lava -from her lips. - -“Murdered?” cried Merle, incredulously. She too, had risen. - -“Yes, pushed over the cliff by his coward hands. His torn coat, one of -the buttons between her dead fingers, proclaimed his guilt before God -and man. But there was no justice in the land in those days—the -days when the gringos broke up our Spanish homes. Now you know -everything—that was the real reason of the Vendetta of the Hills.” - -Tia Teresa was calm again—it was Merle who was deeply agitated, too -deeply agitated for a moment to speak. - -The duenna went on triumphantly. “But the vendetta once sworn will -always be fulfilled. Tonight at Comanche Point—” - -Then she stopped short, as she saw the look of terror and horror on -Merle’s pale face. - -“Tonight?” queried the young girl tremulously. “They meet tonight? Then -that is where Mr. Robles is going—that is why he bade us all that sad -good-bye? My father, oh, my dear father!” And dropping down again on the -sofa, she burst into a passion of weeping. - -Tia Teresa sought to soothe her. But Merle was not to be comforted. -Yet while she sobbed she was thinking, for suddenly she rose again and -dashed away her tears. - -“At what hour tonight?” she asked. - -“I do not know,” answered the duenna. - -“Then he is in danger—perhaps at this very moment he is in danger. Don -Manuel’s life—my father’s life is worth a hundred lives of such a man -as Ben Thurston. Quick, quick, Teresa. Get your mantilla and cloak. My -runabout is in readiness. There, let me help you.” - -Merle was speaking with swift insistence. - -“Where are you going?” whispered Tia Teresa, as the girl’s fingers were -buttoning her cloak. - -“To Comanche Point. We may not be too late to save him.” - -A minute later the two women had stolen down the narrow stairway of the -tower and were speeding through the gathering darkness of the night. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI—Beneath the Precipice - -WILLOUGHBY had found his friends Munson and Jack Rover at Buck Ashley’s -old store, eagerly awaiting his coming, with a fine supper sizzling on -the cook stove, prepared in Jack’s finest professional cowboy style. - -“We’ve got to feed you up a bit, I reckon,” grinned Jack, as he slipped -the Gargantuan slab of beef-steak from the griller on to the big hot -dish waiting for its reception. - -“And some potatoes, too,” he went on, “not forgetting the fried onions -that beat all your newfangled sauces to a frazzle.” - -Dick was nothing loth to fall to. He had been too excited to do more -than taste the midday meal that Pierre Luzon had prepared for him in the -cavern. It had been a long hard day, and now he was hungry as a wolf. -In ordinary circumstances he had no objection to fried onions, but, -with delicate regard for possible contingencies, he left to the others a -monopoly over this item in the bill-of-fare. - -There were so many things to talk about that it was a difficult matter -to know where to begin. But at the close of the meal Jack Rover solved -the question by sweeping the supper things from the table, and emptying -thereon the contents of one of the bags of gold. - -“Good old Guadalupe!” exclaimed the delighted cowboy, as he patted the -nuggets with a loving hand. “I always told you that the ancient squaw -had a real gold mine. I guess we’ll be able to stake out our claims -tomorrow, eh, Dick, my boy?” - -“I’m afraid not,” smiled Willoughby. “The fact is that, although I -helped to wash out that gold, I have not the faintest idea where the -riffle is up among the hills.” - -Jack’s face fell. There was a moment of disappointed silence, and just -then there came the sound of a faint tapping at the outer door. - -“What’s that?” asked Munson. The faces of all three showed that they had -heard simultaneously. - -Dick rose, crossed over, and threw the door wide open. - -“My God, who’s this?” he asked, as he stooped over the figure lying -prone across the steps. “Pierre, Pierre!” he added, as he turned over -the face. “It’s Pierre Luzon, boys, and desperately wounded!” - -The others were pressed together in the doorway. - -“Looks as if he had crawled here on his hands and knees,” remarked -Munson. - -“There’s his horse out among the chaparral,” exclaimed Jack, pointing to -the shadowy form of the animal from which the wounded man had obviously -tumbled. - -“Stand clear,” cried Dick, gathering up Pierre in his arms. “He has -fainted, but is still alive.” - -And Dick, carrying the senseless form, passed into the bedroom beyond -the living room, and there laid poor old Pierre on the very cot which -he had occupied once before—on the eventful night when Tom Baker had -brought the paroled convict from San Quentin. - -A few drops of whisky brought the wounded man back to consciousness. -Dick leaned over him and caught the faintly whispered words. Piérre was -speaking in the French of his childhood days. - -“He is dead—he is dead! At last Rosetta is avenged!” - -Dick motioned his companions to silence. He bent down close to the dying -bandit. - -“Who is dead, Pierre? Ben Thurston?” - -“Yes, yes. Ben Thurston. Glory be to God! Don Manuel is avenged!” - -“And how did you come to be shot, Pierre? Where is Don Manuel?” - -“Dead—dead, too!” The wounded man this time cried out the words and -struggled to sit up. His eyes opened wide, and fastened themselves on -Dick. His voice again dropped to a whisper; he was speaking lucidly now. -“But perhaps he lives. Who knows? Go and save him, Dick—Don Manuel—go, -go.” - -Exhausted, Pierre sank back on the pillow. His eyes closed. The death -rattle was in his throat. “Where is he—where shall I find Don Manuel?” -Dick uttered the words close to Pierre’s ear. He alone caught the faint -answer. Pierre Luzon was dead. - -“He’s gone, Chester,” said Dick, standing erect. Munson stooped, put his -ear to Pierre’s breast, then pressed apart one pair of the eyelids. - -“Yes, it’s all over,” he said solemnly, as he folded the coverlet over -the already marble-like face. - -In stricken silence the three men passed to the outer room, shutting the -door softly behind them. - -“What’s happened?” asked Jack Rover, “I couldn’t catch his bloomin’ -lingo.” - -“Something terrible. There has evidently been a fight to the death on -Comanche Point between Ben Thurston and Don Manuel. Looks as if both of -them had gone over the cliff in the struggle.” - -“Gee!” muttered the cowboy. - -Dick remained just a moment in deep thought. His plan of action was -promptly decided on. - -“Munson, old man, you saddle my pony, and ride to Tejon for help. Jack, -you remain here with the body.” - -“And with the nuggets,” remarked the cowboy drily. - -Dick paid no heed to the interruption. He continued: - -“I’ll take the horse outside, and ride back to Comanche Point. That’s -the best we can do, and the main thing is to do it quickly. Pass me that -flask of whisky—it may come in handy. I’m off now, boys. You’ll find me -at the cliff. Bring a doctor, Ches. So long!” - -The moon had now risen, and while Dick was galloping toward Comanche -Point from the one direction, the runabout, with Merle at the wheel and -Tia Teresa by her side, was speeding from the other end of the valley -toward the same destination. The horseman was the first to arrive. - -Willoughby had no need to search long beneath the precipice. A loud, -continuous cry of lamentation guided him to the spot. There, wailing -over the corpse of Don Manuel, was the old Indian squaw, Guadalupe. Even -in death the two bodies were locked in each other’s embrace, and Dick -noted with horror that Ben Thurston’s teeth were buried in the flesh of -his enemy’s shoulder. Guadalupe was in the act of trying to separate the -dead men when Dick intervened. - -Great heavens, what a withered, aged face was raised toward his own! -It was the first time he had ever seen Guadalupe unveiled and at close -quarters. Her cheeks were wrinkled into a hundred folds; her eyes were -sunken in deep cavernous hollows. When he touched her, she rose and, -jabbering furiously for all the world like an angry ape, reviled him -with curses, her meaning unmistakable, although she spoke in some -strange Indian tongue. - -Just then Dick caught the distant chug-chug of the automobile. He looked -up the valley, wondering who might be passing at that hour of night. -This was not the main highway; nobody ever came to Comanche Point after -dark. Some intervening spur of the foothills dulled the sound; all was -still and silent. - -He became conscious that Guadalupe’s fury had spent itself, and turned -round. The squaw was gone. His eyes searched the scrub; at one place he -saw the twigs bending, and he even fancied he could detect the outline -of the white wolf gliding away through the brushwood. But that was all. - -Again the sound of the automobile smote his ears; louder now, and only a -few hundred yards away he beheld the headlights sweeping toward the spot -where he stood. He resolved to intercept the vehicle and stepped across -the belt of chaparral that intervened between him and the roadway. -Gaining the thoroughfare, he called aloud and the machine slowed down. - -But what was his utter amazement when Merle jumped’ from the runabout. -To her there could be no more surprises on this night of surprises. - -“Dick,” she exclaimed, as she accepted his embrace almost as a matter of -course. - -“How do you come to be here, Merle, my darling?” he asked, holding her -in his arms. - -“Something terrible is going to happen. I have come to try to prevent -it. Have you seen Don Manuel?” - -“Don Manuel!” He repeated the name in great surprise. - -“Mr. Robles is Don Manuel,” she gasped by way of explanation. - -“I am aware. He told me so today.” - -“Well, where is he now? And his enemy, Mr. Thurston?” - -Dick still had an arm on her shoulder. She was gazing up into his face, -her voice trembling with emotion as she breathlessly plied him with her -questions. - -“You have come too late, dearest,” Willoughby gently replied. - -“Dead!” she exclaimed. - -“Both are dead. They fought and rolled over the precipice. I have just -found their bodies lying in the chaparral back there.” - -Merle leaned forward, sobbing on his breast. - -“Take me to him, take me to him,” she cried. - -“No, Merle, my dear. It is better not. You must go home. Tia Teresa,” -he added, addressing the duenna who had drawn near, “she must go home. -Munson has gone to Tejon for help. There will be people arriving here -very soon now.” - -“He is really dead—Don Manuel?” asked Tia Teresa in a voice of awed -sadness. - -“There can be nothing but the one answer,” replied Dick. “Don Manuel has -passed on.” - -“Take me to him,” moaned Merle. - -“No, no, Merle. This is no sight for you.” - -“But, Dick, Dick, don’t you know one other thing?” she pleaded, raising -her tearful eyes. - -“What other thing?” - -“Don Manuel—was my father—my dear, dear father.” - -Again Willoughby was overwhelmed with amazement. - -“Your father?” he murmured. - -“Yes, I only came to know it today. So, Dick, dear, even though he is -dead, let me kiss him now, let me kneel by his side and tell him that I -loved him, and will always love and revere his memory. Let me watch by -him until the others come.” - -Dick drew the sobbing girl close to him. His eyes sought those of Tia -Teresa. He shook his head, telling the duenna in an unmistakable way -that Merle must be taken home—that she must not be shocked by the -gruesome spectacle hidden in the chaparral. - -Even as their eyes met, the faint throb of an automobile was heard, and -glancing across the plain Dick saw the far-away headlights twinkling -like twin stars. With a gesture he directed Tia Teresa’s attention to -the coming help. - -“I shall watch by our beloved dead one,” said the duenna. “My place is -by his side. Come, dearie,” she went on, placing an arm around Merle’s -waist. “Mr. Willoughby will drive you back to La Siesta, and I shall -see that your father’s body is taken to his home. There we shall pay all -honor to the dead.” - -Together they led Merle, unresisting now, to the runabout. Dick got in -beside her, and took the wheel. - -“They will be here very soon now,” he said to Tia Teresa. “Mr. Munson -will give you all the help you require. I’ll look after Merle.” He -backed the machine, turned, and the little red light swept up the -roadway into the distance. From across the valley the headlights of -a big automobile were now glaring like flashing suns in the soft -moonlight. - -It was the hands of Tia Teresa that separated the bodies. That of Ben -Thurston she flung from her as if it had been carrion for the buzzards -and coyotes. Then she knelt down and stroked with loving hand the brow -of Don Manuel. On the dead face was a look of ineffable calm. - -“Manuel, my Manuel, the little child I nursed! My beautiful, brave -Manuel!” - -Thus lamenting, she awaited the coming of Munson and his friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII—Wedding Bells - -A FULL year had passed, and the good people of Tejon had at last -ceased to speak daily about Dick Willoughby’s exciting adventures, Ben -Thurston’s inglorious death, and the romantic and now indubitable ending -of the famous outlaw, Don Manuel. - -Both the victims of the desperate fight on Comanche Point had been laid -to rest—Don Manuel, in the little Mission churchyard above the hill, -side by side with the beloved sister of his youthful days, whose -betrayal and death he had at last avenged, although at the cost of his -own life; Ben Thurston, in the modern cemetery beside his son, the poor -weak youth in whom the once sturdy family of pioneers had sunk to final -decadency. Pierre Luzon, the brave and chivalrous old Frenchman, slept -near the grave of the chief he had served so loyally, and, according to -the old-time bandit code of ethics, so nobly and so well. In the God’s -acres where all feuds pass to oblivion there was perfect peace. - -Sing Ling had unobtrusively departed for China, a wealthy man, as the -bank manager at Bakersfield could have told, no doubt destined to become -a leading magnate in the Flowery Land. Guadalupe was never seen again; -the aged squaw had probably died in her secret cave. The white wolf, -too, had perished; a cowboy riding the range had been attracted by some -buzzards flying and circling round and round far up on the mountain -side, and on making his way to the indicated spot, had found the -animal’s carcass picked almost to the bones. The old days were forever -gone. - -But in the beautiful city of Tejon a glorious era of happiness was in -progress. Christmas-tide had come round again, and had been made gay -with a tournament of roses, and then with the dawning of the New Year -had followed a round of festivities in honor of the double wedding -of Dick Willoughby and Merle Farnsworth, Chester Munson and Grace -Darlington. - -In no place was there more sincere and hilarious rejoicing than in the -back parlor of Buck Ashley’s fine new store, where the mystery keg, -sacredly reserved for this great occasion, was once more on tap and the -postmaster, assisted by Tom Baker and Jack Rover, dispensed hospitality -to a few chosen friends. But all good things come to an end, and it was -with a regretful sigh that the sheriff squeezed out the last few drops -from the tilted keg and sipped for the last time “the blessed nectar” -that had served to keep green the memory of “dear old Pierre.” - -The marriage ceremonies had been performed in a fine little church that -sheltered all denominations in the new town, and amidst a shower of rice -and old shoes the happy couples had departed for the wedding breakfast -at La Siesta. - -To Merle the day was one of blissful joy, but of tender regrets as well. -During the quiet afternoon hours she and Dick had conversed about their -dear old friend, Mr. Robles—the gallant and chivalrous Don Manuel—the -beloved father whose identity as such was known only to their own two -selves besides Mrs. Darlington and Tia Teresa. - -And now the hour of departure on the honeymoon trail had come. The -idea of a trip to Europe had been abandoned for the present. The young -couples were going up among the Canadian Rockies, by divergent routes -which would meet a little later on, and all were full of enthusiasm at -the thought of seeing the mighty mountains in their wintry grandeur. - -Mrs. Darlington accompanied the young people to the railway station, -but Tia Teresa was too deeply affected to trust herself away from home. -Merle had kissed her a tender good-bye in the apartment in the tower, -and, despite the joyful promise that they would soon meet again, had -left the old duenna in prayerful tears before her little altar. - -At last they were pulling out from the depot, where the church crowd -of the morning had reassembled in full force, with fresh supplies of -good-luck munitions. - - - -0371 - -Thus, like a disbanding company of players, the actors in this tale of -California, pass into history. The olden days of bandits are no more, -while the hatred of the gringo is only a tradition. The broad acres of -the San Antonio Rancho no longer lie comparatively fallow in Nature’s -pasture, but are tilled by the thrifty plowman as he labors afield with -fullest confidence of a bountiful reward. Meanwhile, the mountains -that look down upon the beauteous valley guard their secret well. But -searching eyes will yet, undoubtedly, sometime, somewhere, rediscover -the mysterious cavern with its hoarded millions of loot, stored by the -rapacious hands of Joaquin Murietta, the White Wolf, and their brigand -bands, its lake of oil from which outlaws fed their lamps, and its -subterranean river from whose shallow riffles Guadalupe, and Dick -Willoughby also, gathered a wealth of golden spoil. - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 52289 *** |