The Treasure Trail: A Romance of the Land of Gold and Sunshine

“Pardon, I’m but a clumsy Americano, not wise to your meanings,” he ventured, “and beautiful hands look better without gloves of any color.”

“It may be so, yet I have heard that no matter how handsome a headsman may be, he wears a black mask, and hands are not stretched out to touch his.”

“Señora!”

“Señor, we arrive at nothing when making speech of me,” she said with a little sigh. “Our ride was hard, and rest is best for all of us. Our friend here tells me there is supper, and if you will eat with me, we will know more of how all this has come about. It is strange that you, a lone Americano in this land, should plan this adventure like a bandit, and steal not only the major-domo of Soledad, but the woman he would steal!”

“It was so simple that the matter is not worth words except as concerns Clodomiro, who was the only one in danger.”

“Ah! if ever they had suspected him! You have not seen that band of men, they are terrible! Of all the men of José Perez they are the blackest hearts, and if it had not been for the poor padre–”

“Tell me of him,” said Kit who perceived she was willing enough to speak plainly of all things except herself. “He is a good man?”

“A blessing to me, señor!” she asserted earnestly as they were seated at the table so carefully prepared by Valencia. “Look you! I broke away from those animals and in a little mountain village,–such a one as I was born in, señor!–I ran to the altar of the little chapel, and that priest was a shield for me. Against all the men he spoke curses if they touched me. Well, after that there was only one task to do, and that was to carry him along. I think they wanted to kill him, and had not the courage. And after all that I came away from Soledad without saving him;–that was bad of me, very bad! I–I think I went wild in the head when I saw the men play games of cards, and I to go to the winner! Not even a knife for food would they give me, for they knew–”

She shuddered, and laid down quickly the knife she had lifted from beside her plate, and glanced away when she found him regarding her.

“It has been long weeks since I was trusted as you are trusting me here,” she continued quietly. “See! On my wrists were chains at first.”

“And this Marto Cavayso did that?” demanded Kit as she showed her scarred slender wrist over which Valencia had wept.

“No, it was before Cavayso–he is a new man–so I think this was when Conrad was first helping to plan me as an insane woman and have me put secretly to prison, but some fear struck José Perez, and that plan would not serve. In the dark of night I was half smothered in wraps and put in an ox-cart of a countryman and hauled north out of the city. Two men rode as guard. They chained me in the day and slept, traveling only in the night until they met Cavayso and his men. After that I remember little, I was so weary of life! One alcalde asked about me and Cavayso said I was his wife who had run away with a gypsy fiddler, and he was taking me home to my children. Of what use to speak? A dozen men would have added their testimony to his, and had sport in making other romance against me. They were sullen because they thought I had jewels hid under my clothes, and Cavayso would not let them search me. It has been hell in these hills of Sonora, Señor Pajarito.”

“That is easy to understand,” agreed Kit wondering at her endurance, and wondering at the poise and beauty of her after such experience. There was no trace of nervousness, or of tears, or self-pity. It was as if all this of which she told had been a minor affair, dwarfed by some tragic thing to which he had no key.

“So, Conrad was in this plot against you?” he asked, and knew that Tula, standing back of his chair had missed no word. “You mean the German Conrad who is manager of Granados ranches across the border?”

“Señor, I mean the beast whose trail is red with the blood of innocence, and whose poison is sinking into the veins of Mexico like a serpent, striking secretly, now here, now there, until the blood of the land is black with that venom. Ay! I know, señor;–the earth is acrawl with the German lizards creeping into the shining sun of Mexico! This so excellent Don Adolf Conrad is only one, and José Perez is his target–I am the one to know that! A year ago, and Don José was a man, with faults perhaps; but who is perfect on this earth? Then came Don Adolf riding south and is very great gentleman and makes friends. His home in Hermosillo becomes little by little the house of Perez, and little by little Perez goes on crooked paths. That is true! First it was to buy a ship for coast trade, then selling rifles in secret where they should not be sold, then–shame it is to tell–men and women were sold and carried on that ship like cattle! Not rebels, señor, not prisoners of battle,–but herdsmen and ranch people, poor Indian farmers whom only devils would harm! Thus it was, señor, until little by little Don Adolf knew so much that José Perez awoke to find he had a master, and a strong one! It was not one man alone who caught him in the net; it was the German comrades of Don Adolf who never forgot their task, even when he was north in the States. They needed a man of name in Hermosillo, and José Perez is now that man. When the whip of the German cracks, he must jump to serve their will.”

“But José Perez is a strong man. Before this day he has wiped many a man from his trail if the man made him trouble,” ventured Kit.

“You have right in that, señor, but I am telling you it is a wide net they spread and in that net he is snared. Also his household is no longer his own. The Indian house servants are gone, and outlaw Japanese are there instead. That is true and their dress is the dress of Indians. They are Japanese men of crimes, and German men gave aid that they escape from justice in Japan. It is because they need such men for German work in Mexico, men who have been taught German and dare not turn rebel. Not an hour of the life of José Perez is free from the eyes of a spy who is a man of crimes. And there are other snares. They tell him that he is to be a governor by their help;–that is a rich bait to float before the eyes of a man! His feet are set on a trail made by Adolph Conrad,–He is trapped, and there is no going back. Poison and shame and slavery and death have come upon that trail like black mushrooms grown in a night, and what the end of the trail will be is hid in the heart of God.”

“But your sympathy is with those women in slavery there in the south, and not with the evil friend of José Perez?” asked Kit.

“Can you doubt, señor? Am I not as truly a victim as they? I have not worked under a whip, but there are other punishments–for a woman!”

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she rested her chin on her hand, staring out into the shadows of the patio, oblivious of them all. Tula gazed at her as if fascinated, and there was a difference in her regard. That she was linked in hate against Conrad gave the Indian girl common cause with the jewel-eyed woman whose beauty had been the boast of a province. Kit noticed it and was vastly comforted. The absolute stolidity of Tula had left him in doubt as to the outcome if his little partner had disapproved of his fascinating protégée. He knew the thing she wanted to know, and asked it.

“Señora, the last band of Indian slaves from Sonora were driven from the little pueblo of Palomitas at the edge of this ranch. And there are sisters and mothers here with sick hearts over that raid. Can you tell me where those women were sent?”

“Which raid was that, and when?” asked Jocasta arousing herself from some memory in which she had been submerged. “Pardon, señor, I am but a doleful guest at supper, thinking too deeply of that which sent me here. Your question?”

He repeated it, and she strove to remember.

“There were many, and no one was told whence they came. It was supposed they were war prisoners who had to be fed, and were being sent to grow their own maize. If it were the last band then it would be the time Conrad had the wound in the face, here, like a knife thrust, and that–”

“That was the time,” interrupted Kit eagerly. “If you can tell us where those people were sent you will prove the best of blessings to Mesa Blanca this night.”

She smiled sadly at that and looked from him to Tula, whom she evidently noted for the first time.

“It is long since the word of blessing has been given to Jocasta,” she said wistfully. “It would be a comfort to earn it in this house. But that band was not sent away,–not far. Something went wrong with the boat down the coast, I forgot what it was, but there was much trouble, and the Indians were sent to a plantation of the General Terain until the boat was ready. I do not know what plantation, except that Conrad raged about it. He and Don José had a quarrel, very terrible! That wound given to him by a woman made him very difficult; then the quarrel ended by them drinking together too much. And after that many things happened very fast, and–I was brought north.”

“And the Indians?”

“Señor, I do not think anyone thought again of those Indians. They are planting maize or cane somewhere along the Rio Sonora.”

Tula sank down weeping against the wall, while Valencia stroked her hair and patted her. Doña Jocasta regarded her curiously.

“To be young enough to weep like that over a sorrow!” she murmured wistfully. “It is to envy her, and not mourn over her.”

“But this weeping is of joy,” explained Valencia. “It is as the señor says, a blessing has come with you over the hard road. This child was also stolen, and was clever to escape. Her mother and her sister are yet there in that place where the maize is planted. If the boat has not taken them, then they also may get back. It is a hope!”

“Poor little one! and now that I could make good use of power, it is no longer mine,” said Jocasta, looking at Kit regretfully. “A young maid with courage to escape has earned the right to be given help.”

“She will be given it,” he answered quietly, “and since your patience has been great with my questions, I would ask more of this Cavayso we have trapped tonight. He is raging of curious things there across the patio. Isidro holds a gun on him that he subdue his shouts, and his offer is of rich bribes for quick freedom. He is as mad to get back to Soledad as he was to leave it, and he tells of a trap set there for someone. It concerns ammunition for the revolutionists.”

“No, not for them, but for trade in the south,” said Jocasta promptly. “Yes, Soledad has long been the place for hiding of arms. It was the task of Don Adolf to get them across the border, and then a man of Don José finds a safe trail for them. Sometimes a German officer from Tucson is of much help there in the north. I have heard Don José and Conrad laugh about the so easily deceived Americanos,–your pardon, señor!”

“Oh, we are used to that,” agreed Kit easily, “and it is quite true. We have a whole flock of peace doves up there helping the Hohenzollern game. What was the officer’s name?”

“A name difficult and long,” she mused, striving to recall it. “But that name was a secret, and another was used. He was known only as a simple advocate–James, the name; I remember that for they told me it was the English for Diego, which was amusing to me,–there is no sound alike in them!”

“That’s true, there isn’t,” said Kit, who had no special interest in any advocate named James. “But to get back to the man in the cell over there and the ammunition, may I ask if he confided to you anything of that place of storage? I mean Cavayso?”

“No, señor; and for a reason of the best. He knows nothing, and all his days and nights were spent searching secretly for the entrance to that dungeon,–if it is a dungeon! He thought I should know, and made threats against me because I would not tell. Myself, I think José Perez tells no one that hiding place, not even Conrad, though Conrad has long wanted it! I told Don José that if he told that he was as good as a dead man, and I believe it. But now,” and she shook her head fatefully, “now he is sure to get it!”

“But he swears he must get back to Soledad by sunrise for a trap is set. A trap for whom?” persisted Kit.

Doña Jocasta shook her head uncomprehendingly.

“God forbid he should get free to put those wolves on my track; then indeed I would need a knife, señor! He held them back from me on the trail, but now he would not hold them back.”

“But the trap, señora?” repeated the puzzled Kit. “That man was in earnest,–dead in earnest! He did not know I was listening, his words were only for an Indian,–for Isidro. Who could he trap? Was he expecting anyone at Soledad?”

Doña Jocasta looked up with a little gasp of remembrance.

“It is true, a courier did come two days ago from the south, and Cavayso told me he meant to take me to the desert and hide me before Don José arrived. Also more mules and wagons came in. And Elena scolded about men who came to eat but not to work. Yes, they smoked, and talked, and talked, and waited! I never thought of them except to have a great fear. Yesterday after the lad brought me that letter I had not one thought, but to count the hours, and watch the sun. But it may be Cavayso told the truth, and that Don José was indeed coming. He told me he had promised Perez to lose me in the Arroya Maldioso if in no other way, and he had to manage that I never be seen again.”

“Arroya Maldioso?” repeated Kit, “I don’t understand.”

“It is the great quicksand of Soledad, green things grow and blossom there but no living thing can cross over. It is beautiful–that little arroya, and very bad.”

“I had heard of it, but forgot,” acknowledged Kit, “but that is not the trap of which he is raving now. It is some other thing.”

Doña Jocasta did not know. She confessed that her mind was dark and past thinking. The ways of Don José and Conrad were not easy for other men of different lives to understand;–there was a great net of war and scheming and barter, and Don José was snared in that net, and the end no man could see!

“Have you ever heard that Marto Cavayso was once a lieutenant of General Rotil?” Kit asked.

“The Deliverer!” she gasped, leaning forward and staring at him. A deep flush went over her face and receded, leaving her as deathly pale as when the bullet had been forced from the white shoulder. Her regard was curious, for her brows were contracted and there was domination and command in her eyes. “Why do you say this to me, señor? And why do you think it?”

Kit was astonished at the effect of his words, and quite as much astonished to hear anyone of the Perez household refer to Rotil as “the Deliverer.”

“Señora, if you saw him ride side by side with Rotil, drinking from the same cup in the desert, would you not also think it?”

Tula rose to her feet, and moved closer to Kit.

“I too was seeing them together, señora,” she said. “It was at the Yaqui well; I drew the water, and they drank it. This man of the loud curses is the man.”

Doña Jocasta covered her eyes with her hand, and she seemed shaken. No one else spoke, and the silence was only broken by the muffled tones of Marto in the cell, and the brief bark of Clodomiro’s dog at the corral.

“God knows what may be moving forward,” she said at last, “but there is some terrible thing afoot. Take me to this man.”

“It may not be a pleasant thing to do,” advised Kit. “This is a man’s game, señora, and his words might offend, for his rage is very great against you.”

“Words!” she said with a note of disdain, and arose to her feet. She swayed slightly, and Valencia steadied her, and begged her to wait until morning, for her strength was gone and the night was late.

“Peace, woman! Who of us is sure of a morning? This minute is all the time that is ours, and–I must know.”

She leaned on Valencia as they crossed the patio, and Tula moved a seat outside the door of Marto’s room. Kit fastened a torch in the holder of the brick pillar and opened the door without being seen, and stood watching the prisoner.

Marto Cavayso, who had been pleading with Isidro, whirled only to find the barrel of another gun thrust through the carved grill in the top of the door.

“Isidro,” said Kit, “this man is to answer questions of the señora. If he is uncivil you can singe him with a bullet at your own will.”

“Many thanks, señor,” returned Isidro promptly. “That is a pleasant work to think of, for the talk of this shameless gentleman is poison to the air.”

“You!” burst out Marto, pointing a hand at Jocasta in the corridor. “You put witchcraft of hell on me, and wall me in here with an old lunatic for guard, and now–”

Bing! A bullet from Isidro’s rifle whistled past Marto’s ear and buried itself in the adobe, scattering plaster and causing the prisoner to crouch back in the corner.

Jocasta regarded him as if waiting further speech, but none came.

“That is better,” she said. “No one wishes to do you harm, but you need a lesson very badly. Now Marto Cavayso,–if that be your name!–why did you carry me away? Was it your own doing, or were you under orders of your General Rotil?”

“I should have let the men have you,” he muttered. “I was a bewitched man, or you never would have traveled alive to see Soledad. Rotil? Do not the handsome women everywhere offer him love and comradeship? Would he risk a good man to steal a woman of whom José Perez is tired?”

“You are not the one to give judgment,” said a strange voice outside the barred window.–“That I did not send you to steal women is very true, and the task I did send you for has been better done by other men in your absence.”

Cavayso swore, and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. Outside the window there were voices in friendly speech, that of Clodomiro very clear as he told his grandfather the dogs did not bark but once, because some of the Mesa Blanca boys were with the general, who was wounded.

Kit closed and bolted again the door of Cavayso, feeling that the guardianship of beauty in Sonora involved a man in many awkward and entangling situations. If it was indeed Rotil–

But a curious choking moan in the corridor caused him to turn quickly, but not quickly enough.

Doña Jocasta, who had been as a reed of steel against other dangers, had risen to her feet as if for flight at sound of the voice, and she crumpled down on the floor and lay, white as a dead woman, in a faint so deep that even her heartbeat seemed stilled.

Kit gathered her up, limp as a branch of willow, and preceded by Tula with the torch, bore her back to the chamber prepared for her. Valencia swept back the covers of the bed, and with many mutterings of fear and ejaculations to the saints, proceeded to the work of resuscitation.

“To think that she came over that black road and held fast to a heart of bravery,–and now at a word from the Deliverer, she falls dead in fear! So it is with many who hear his name; yet he is not bad to his friends. Every Indian in Sonora is knowing that,” stated Valencia.

CHAPTER XIV

THE HAWK OF THE SIERRAS

“That is what we get, Tula, by gathering beauty in distress into our outfit,” sighed Kit. “She seems good foundation for a civil war here. Helen of Troy,–a lady of an eastern clan!–started a war on less, and the cards are stacked against us if they start scrapping. When Mexican gentry begin hostilities, the innocent bystander gets the worst of it,–especially the Americano. So it is just as well the latest Richard in the field does not know whose bullet hit him in the leg, and brought his horse down.”

Tula, who since their entrance to the civilized surroundings of Mesa Blanca, had apparently dropped all initiative, and was simply a little Indian girl under orders, listened impassively to this curious monologue. She evidently thought white people use many words for a little meaning.

“The Deliverer says will you graciously come?” she stated for the second time.

“Neither graciously, gracefully or gratefully, but I’ll arrive,” he conceded. “His politeness sounds ominous. It is puzzling why I, a mere trifle of an American ranch hand, should be given audience instead of his distinguished lieutenant.”

“Isidro and Clodomiro are talking much with him, and the man Marto is silent, needing no guard,” said Tula.

“Sure,–Rotil has the whole show buffaloed. Well, let’s hope, child, that he is not a mind reader, for we have need of all the ore we brought out, and can’t spare any for revolutionary subscriptions.”

Kit followed Tula into the sala where a rawhide cot had been placed, and stretched on it was the man of Yaqui Spring.

One leg of his trousers was ripped up, and there was the odor of a greasewood unguent in the room. Isidro was beside him, winding a bandage below the knee. A yellow silk banda around the head of Rotil was stained with red.

But he had evidently been made comfortable, for he was rolling a cigarette and was calling Isidro “doctor.” Two former vaqueros of Mesa Blanca were there, and they nodded recognition to Kit. Rotil regarded him with a puzzled frown, and then remembered, and waved his hand in salute.

“Good day, señor, we meet again!” he said. “I am told that you are my host and the friend of Señor Whitely. What is it you do here? Is it now a prison, or a hospital for unfortunates?”

“Only a hospital for you, General, and I trust a serviceable one,” Kit hastened to assure him. “More of comfort might have been yours had you sent a courier to permit of preparation.”

“The service is of the best,” and Rotil pointed to Isidro. “I’ve a mind to take him along, old as he is! The boys told me he was the best medico this side the range, and I believe it. As to courier,” and he grinned, “I think you had one, if you had read the message right.”

“The surprises of the night were confusing, and a simple man could not dare prophesy what might follow,” said Kit, who had drawn up a chair and easily fell into Rotil’s manner of jest. “But I fancy if that courier had known who would follow after, he would have spent the night by preference at Soledad.”

“Sure he would,–hell’s fire shrivel him! That shot of his scraped a bone for me, and put my horse out of business. For that reason we came on quietly, and these good fellows listened at the window of Marto before they carried me in. It is a good joke on me. My men rounded up Perez and his German slaver at Soledad today–yesterday now!–and when we rode up the little cañon to be in at the finish what did we see but an escape with a woman? Some word had come my way of a Perez woman there, and only one thought was with me, that the woman had helped Perez out of the trap as quickly as he had ridden into it! After that there was nothing to do but catch them again. No thought came to me that Marto might be stealing a woman for himself, the fool! Perez made better time than we figured on, and is a day ahead. Marto meant to hide the woman and get back in time. It’s a great joke that an Americano took the woman from him. I hope she is worth the trouble,” and he smiled, lifting his brows questioningly.

“So that was the ‘trap’ that Marto raved and stormed to get back to?” remarked Kit. “I am still in the dark, though there are some glimmers of light coming. If Marto knew of that trap it explains–”

“There were three others of my men on the Soledad rancho, drawing pay from Perez. It is the first time that fox came in when we could spread the net tight. To get him at another place would not serve so well, for if Soledad was the casket of our treasure, at Soledad we make a three strike,–the cattle, the ammunition, and Perez there to show the hiding place! It is the finish of four months’ trailing, and is worth the time, and but for Marto running loco over a girl, there would have been a beautiful quiet finish at Soledad ranch house last night.”

“But, if your men have Perez–”

“Like that!” and Rotil stretched out his open hand, and closed it significantly, with a cruel smile in his black, swift-glancing eyes. “This time there is no mistake. For over a week men and stout mules have been going in;–it is a conducta and it is to take the ammunition. Well, señor, it is all well managed for me; also we have much need of that ammunition for our own lads.”

“And it was done without a fight?” asked Kit. “I have heard that the men picked for Soledad were not the gentlest band Señor Perez could gather.”

“We had their number,” said Rotil placidly. “Good men enough, but with their cartridges doctored what could they do? I sent in two machine guns, and they were not needed. A signal smoke went up to show me all was well, and in another minute I heard the horses of Marto and his girl. He must have started an hour before Perez arrived. It is a trick of Don José’s that no one can count on his engagements, but this time every hill had its sentinels for his trail, not anything was left to chance.”