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

But Tula didn’t know what “mascot” meant, and was very much occupied with the advertisement of a suit and cloak house in the old Nogales paper in which some trader at the railroad had wrapped Fidelio’s tobacco. It had the picture of an alluring lady in a dress of much material slipping from the shoulders and dragging around the feet. To the aboriginal mind that seemed a very great waste, for woven material was hard to come by in the desert.

She attempted an inquiry concerning that wastefulness of Americanas, but got no satisfactory reply. Kit took the tattered old paper from her hand, and turned it over because of the face of Singleton staring at him from the other side of the page. It was the account of the inquest, and in the endeavor to add interest the local reporters had written up a column concerning Singleton’s quarrel with the range boss, Rhodes,–and the mysterious disappearance of the latter across the border!

There was sympathetic mention made of Miss Wilfreda Bernard, heiress of Granados, and appreciative mention of the efficient manager, Conrad, who had offered all possible assistance to the authorities in the sad affair. The general expression of the article was regret that the present situation along the border prevented further investigation concerning Rhodes. The said Rhodes appeared to be a stranger in the locality, and had been engaged by the victim of the crime despite the objections of Manager Conrad.

There followed the usual praise and list of virtues of the dead man, together with reference to the illustrious Spanish pioneer family from whom his wife had been descended. It was the first time Kit had been aware of the importance of Billie’s genealogy, and remembering the generally accepted estimates of Spanish pride, he muttered something about a “rose leaf princess, and a Tennessee hill-billy!”

“It’s some jolt, two of them!” he conceded.

Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are!

“They say bunches of stars and planets get on a jamboree and cross each other’s trail at times, and that our days are rough or smooth according to their tantrums. Wish I knew the name of the luminary raising hell for me this morning! It must be doing a highland fling with a full moon, and I’m being plunked by every scattered spark!”

CHAPTER XVI

THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL

It took considerable persuasion to prevail upon Doña Jocasta that a return to Soledad would be of any advantage to anybody. To her it was a place fearful and accursed.

“But, señora, a padre who sought to be of service to you is still there, a prisoner. In the warring of those wild men who will speak for him? The men of Soledad would have killed him but for their superstitions, and Rotil is notorious for his dislike of priests.”

“I know,” she murmured sadly. “There are some good ones, but he will never believe. In his scales the bad ones weigh them down.”

“But this one at Soledad?”

“Ah, yes, señor, he spoke for me,–Padre Andreas.”

“And a prisoner because of you?”

“That is true. You do well to remind me of that. My own sorrows sink me in selfishness, and it is a good friend who shows me my duty. Yes, we will go. God only knows what is in the heart of Ramon Rotil that he wishes it, but that which he says is law today wherever his men ride, and I want no more sorrow in the world because of me. We will go.”

Valencia had gone placidly about preparations for the journey from the moment Kit had expressed the will of the Deliverer. To hesitate when he spoke seemed a foolish thing, for in the end he always did the thing he willed, and to form part of the escort for Doña Jocasta filled her with pride. She approved promptly the suggestion that certain bed and table furnishings go to Soledad for use of the señora, and later be carried north to Mrs. Whitely, whose property they were.

As capitan of the outfit, Kit bade her lay out all such additions to their state and comfort, and he would personally make all packs and decide what animals, chests, or provisions could be taken.

This was easier managed than he dared hope. Clodomiro rode after mules and returned with Benito and Mariano at his heels, both joyously content to leave the planting of fields and offer their young lives to the army of the Deliverer. Isidro was busy with the duties of the ranch stock, and there was only Tula to see bags of nuggets distributed where they would be least noticed among the linen, Indian rugs, baskets and such family possessions easiest carried to their owner.

He marked the packs to be opened, and Tula, watching, did not need to be told.

The emotions of the night and the uncertainty of what lay ahead left Rhodes and Doña Jocasta rather silent as they took the trail to the gruesome old hacienda called by Doña Jocasta so fearful and accursed. Many miles went by with only an occasional word of warning between them where the way was bad, or a word of command for the animals following.

“In the night I rode without fear where I dare not look in the sunlight,” said Jocasta drawing back from a narrow ledge where stones slipped under the hoofs of the horses to fall a hundred feet below in a dry cañon.

“Yes, señora, the night was kind to all of us,” returned Kit politely. “Even the accidents worked for good except for the pain to you.”

“That is but little, and my shoulder of no use to anyone. General Rotil is very different,–a wound to a soldier means loss of time. It is well that shot found him among friends for it is said that when a wolf has wounds the pack unites to tear him to pieces, and there are many,–many pesos offered to the traitor who will trap Rotil by any lucky accident.”

“Yet he took no special care at Mesa Blanca.”

“Who knows? He brought with him only men of the district as guard. Be sure they knew every hidden trail, and every family. Ramon Rotil is a coyote for the knowing of traps.”

She spoke as all Altar spoke, with a certain pride in the ability of the man she had known as a burro driver of the sierras. For three years he had been an outlaw with a price on his head, and as a rebel general the price had doubled many times.

“With so many poor, how comes it that no informer has been found? The reward would be riches untold to a poor paisano.”

“It might be to his widow,” said Doña Jocasta, “but no sons of his, and no brothers would be left alive.”

“True. I reckon the friends of Rotil would see to that! Faithful hearts are the ones he picks for comrades. I heard an old-timer say the Deliverer has that gift.”

She looked at him quickly, and away again, and went silent. He wondered if it was true that there had been love between these two, and she had been unfaithful. Love and Doña Jocasta were fruitful themes for the imagination of any man.

Valencia was having the great adventure of her life in her journey to Soledad, and she chattered to Tula as a maiden going to a marriage. Three people illustrious in her small world were at once to be centered on the stage of war before her eyes. She told Tula it was a thing to make songs of,–the two men and the most beautiful woman!

When they emerged from the cañon into the wide spreading plain, with the sierras looming high and blue beyond, the eyes of Kit and Tula met, and then turned toward their own little camp in the lap of the mother range. All was flat blue against the sky there, and no indications of cañon or gulch or pocket discernible. Even as they drew nearer to the hacienda, and Kit surreptitiously used the precious field glasses, thus far concealed from all new friends of the desert, he found difficulty in locating their hill of the treasure, and realized that their fears of discovery in the little cañon had been groundless. In the far-away time when the giant aliso had flourished there by the cañon stream, its height might have served to mark the special ravine where it grew, but the lightning sent by pagan gods had annihilated that landmark forever, and there was no other.

The glint of tears shone in the eyes of Tula, and she rode with downcast eyes, crooning a vagrant Indian air in which there were bird calls, and a whimpering long-drawn tremulo of a baby coyote caught in a trap, a weird ungodly improvisation to hear even with the shining sun warming the world.

Kit concluded she was sending her brand of harmony to Miguel and the ghosts on guard over the hidden trail.–And he rather wished she would stop it!

Even the chatter of Valencia grew silent under the spell of the girl’s gruesome intonings,–ill music for her entrance to a new portal of adventure.

“It sounds of death,” murmured Doña Jocasta, and made the sign of the cross. “The saints send that the soul to go next has made peace with God! See, señor, we are truly crossing a place of death as she sings. That beautiful valley of the green border is the sumidero,–the quicksands from hidden springs somewhere above,” and she pointed to the blue sierras. “I think that is the grave José meant for me at Soledad.”

“Nice cheerful end of the trail–not!” gloomed Kit strictly to himself. “That little imp is whining of trouble like some be-deviled prophetess.”

Afterwards he remembered that thought, and wished he could forget!

Blue shadows stretched eastward across the wide zacatan meadows, and the hacienda on the far mesa, with its white and cream adobe walls, shone opal-like in the lavender haze of the setting sun.

Kit Rhodes had timed the trip well and according to instruction of the general, but was a bit surprised to find that his little cavalcade was merely part of a more elaborate plan arranged for sunset at Soledad.

A double line of horsemen rode out from the hacienda to meet them, a rather formidable reception committee as they filed in soldier-like formation over the three miles of yellow and green of the spring growths, and halted where the glint of water shone in a dam filled from wells above.

Their officer saluted and rode forward, his hat in his hand as he bowed before Doña Jocasta.

“General Rotil presents to you his compliments, Señora Perez, and sends his guard as a mark of respect when you are pleased to ride once more across your own lands.”

“My thanks are without words, señor. I appreciate the honor shown to me. My generalissimo will answer for me.”

She indicated Kit with a wan smile, and her moment of hesitation over, his title reminded him that no name but El Pajarito had been given him by his Indian friends. That, and the office of manager of Mesa Blanca, was all that served as his introduction to her, and to Rotil. With the old newspaper in his pocket indicating that Kit Rhodes was the only name connected with the murder at Granados, he concluded it was just as well.

The guard drew to either side, and the officer and Kit, with Doña Jocasta between them, rode between the two lines, followed by Tula and Valencia. Then the guard fell in back of them, leaving Clodomiro with the pack animals and the Indian boys to follow after in the dust.

Doña Jocasta was pale, and her eyes sought Kit’s in troubled question, but she held her head very erect, and the shrouding lace veil hid all but her eyes from the strangers.

“Señor Pajarito,” she murmured doubtfully. “The sun is still shining, and there are no chains on my wrists,–otherwise this guard gives much likeness to my first arrival at the hacienda of Soledad!”

“I have a strong belief that no harm is meant to you by the general commanding,” he answered, “else I would have sought another trail, and these men look friendly.”

“God send they be so!”

“They have all the earmarks,–and look!”

They were near enough the hacienda to see men emerge from the portal, and one who limped and leaned on a cane, moved ahead of the others and stood waiting.

“It is an honor that I may bid you welcome to your own estate, Doña Jocasta,” he said grimly. “We have only fare of soldiers to offer you at first, but a few days and good couriers can remedy that.”

“I beg that you accept my thanks, Commandante,” she murmured lowly. “The trail was not of my choosing, and it is an ill time for women to come journeying.”

“The time is a good time,” he said bluntly, “for there is a limit to my hours here. And in one of them I may do service for you.”

His men stood at either side watching. There were wild tales told of Ramon Rotil and women who crossed or followed his trail, but here was the most beautiful of all women riding to his door and he gave her no smile,–merely motioned to the Americano that he assist her from the saddle.

“The supper is ready, and your woman and the priest will see that care is given for your comfort,” he continued. “Afterwards, in the sala–”

She bent her head, and with Kit beside her passed on to the inner portal. There a dark priest met her and reached out his hand.

“No welcome is due me, Padre Andreas,” she said brokenly. “I turned coward and tried to save myself.”

“Daughter,” he returned with a wry smile at Kit, and a touch of cynic humor, “you had right in going. The lieutenant would have had no pleasure in adding me to his elopement, and, as we hear,–your stolen trail carried you to good friends.”

Kit left them there and gave his attention to space for the packs and outfit, but learned that the general had allotted to him the small corral used in happier days for the saddle horses of the family. There was a gate to it and a lock to the gate. Chappo had been given charge, and when all was safely bestowed, he gave the key to the American.

The brief twilight crept over the world, and candles were lit when Kit returned to the corridor. Rotil was seated, giving orders to men who rode in and dismounted, and others who came out from supper, mounted and rode away. It was the guard from a wide-flung arc bringing report of sentinels stationed at every pass and water hole.

Padre Andreas was there presenting some appeal, and to judge by his manner he was not hopeful of success. Yet spoke as a duty of his office and said so.

“What is your office to me?” asked Rotil coldly. “Do your duty and confess him when the time comes if that is his wish. It is more than he would have given to her or the foreman who stored the ammunition. Him he had killed as the German had Miguel Herrara killed on the border,–and Herrara had been faithful to that gun running for months. When man or woman is faithful to José Perez long enough to learn secrets, he rewards them with death. A dose of his own brew will be fit medicine.”

“But the woman,–she is safe. She is–”

“Yes, very safe!” agreed Rotil, sneering. “Shall I tell you, pious Father, how safe she is? The cholo who took food to Perez and that German dog has brought me a message. See, it is on paper, and is clear for any to read. You–no not you, but Don Pajarito here shall read it. He is a neutral, and not a padre scheming to save the soul of a man who never had a soul!”

Kit held it to the light, read it, and returned it to Rotil.

“I agree with you, General. He offers her to you in exchange for his own freedom.”

“Yes, and to pay for that writing I had him chained where he could see her enter the plaza as a queen, if we had queens in Mexico! You had an unseen audience for your arrival. The guard reports that the German friend of Perez seems to love you, Don Pajarito, very much indeed.”

“Sure he does. Here is the mark of one of his little love pats with a monkey wrench,” and Kit parted his hair to show the scar of the Granados assault. “I got that for interfering when he was trying to kill his employer’s herds with ground glass in their feed.”

“So? no wonder if he goes in a rage to see you riding as a lady’s caballero while he feels the weight of chains in a prison. This world is but a little place!”

“That is true,” said Padre Andreas, regarding Kit, for the story of the horses was told to me by Doña Jocasta here in Soledad!”

“How could that be?” demanded Rotil. “Is it not true you met the lady first at Mesa Blanca?”

“As you say,” said Kit, alert at the note of suspicion, “if the lady knows aught of Granados, it is a mystery to me, and is of interest.”

“Not so much a mystery,” said the priest. “Conrad boasted much when glasses were emptied with Perez on the Hermosillo rancho, and Doña Jocasta heard. He told the number of cavalry horses killed by his men, also the owner of that ranch of Granados who had to be silenced for the cause.”

“Thanks for those kind words, Padre,” said Kit. “If Doña Jocasta has a clear memory of that boasting, she may save a life for me.”

“So?” said Rotil speculatively. “We seem finding new trails at Soledad. Whose life?”

“The partner of a chum of mine,” stated Kit lightly, as he did some quick thinking concerning the complications likely to arise if he was regarded as a possible murderer hiding from the law. “My own hunch is that Conrad himself did it.”

“Have you any idea of a trap for him?”

“N-no, General, unless he was led to believe that I was under guard here. He might express his sentiments more freely if he thought I would never get back across the border alive.”

“Good enough! This offer from Perez is to go into the keeping of Doña Jocasta. You’ve the duty of taking it to her. We have not yet found that ammunition.”

“Well, it did cross the border, and somebody got it.”

“He says it was moved to Hermosillo before Juan Gonsalvo, the overseer, died.”

“Was shot, you mean, after it was cached.”

“Maybe so, but he offers to trade part of it for his liberty, and deliver the goods north of Querobabi.”

“Yes, General,–into the bodies of your men if you trust him.”

Rotil chuckled. “You are not so young as you look, Don Pajarito, and need no warning. It is the room next the sala where I will have Perez and Conrad brought. The señora can easily overhear what is said. It may be she will have the mind to help when she sees that offer he made.”

“It would seem so, yet–women are strange! They go like the padre, to prayers when a life is at stake.”

“Some women, and some priests, boy,” said the dark priest. “It may be that you do not know Doña Jocasta well.”

This remark appeared to amuse Rotil, for he smiled grimly and with a gesture indicated that they were to join Doña Jocasta.

She was rested and refreshed by a good supper. Valencia and Elena, the cook, had waited upon her and the latter waxed eloquent over the stupendous changes at Soledad from the time of Doña Jocasta’s supper the previous day. Many of the angry men had been ready to start after Marto who had cheated them, when a courier rode in with the word that Don José and Señor Conrad were close behind. Then the surprise of all when Don José was captured, and it was seen that Elena had been cooking these many days, not for simple vaqueros, but for some soldiers of the revolution by which peace and plenty was to come to all the land! It was a beautiful dream, and the Deliverer was to make it come true!

Tula sat in the shadow against the wall, like some slender Indian carving, mute and expressionless while the eyes of the woman rolled as the two old friends exchanged their wonder tales of the night and day! Elena made definite engagement to be with the “Judas” trailers on the dark Friday, and both breathed blessings on Rotil who had promised them the right man for the hanging.

It was this cheerful topic Kit entered upon with the written note from Perez to the general. He had no liking for his task, as his eyes rested on Doña Jocasta, beautiful, resigned and detached from the scene about her. He remembered what Rotil had said scoffingly of saints lifted from shrines–a man never forgot that shrine was empty!

“Mine is a thankless task, señora, but the general decided you are the best keeper of this,” and he gave to her the scribbled page torn from a note book.

She took it and held it unread, looking at him with dark tragic eyes.

“I have fear of written words, señor, and would rather hear them spoken. So many changes have come that I dread new changes. No matter where my cage is moved, it is still a cage to me,” she said wistfully.

“I’ve a hunch, Doña Jocasta, that the bars of that cage are going to be broken for you,” ventured Kit, taking the seat she indicated, “and this note may be one of the weapons to do it. Evidently Señor Perez has had some mistaken information concerning the stealing of you from here;–he thought it was by the general’s order. So mistaken was he that he thought you were the object of Rotil’s raid on Soledad, and for his own freedom he has offered to give you, and half his stock of ammunition, to General Ramon Rotil, and agree to a truce between their factions.”

“Ah! he offers to make gift of me to the man he hates,” she said after a long silence. “And the guns and ammunition,–he also surrenders them?”

“He offers–but it is written here! Since the guns, however, have been taken south, he cannot give them; he can only promise them, until such time–”

“Ho!” she said scornfully. “Is that the tale he tells? It is true there are guns in the south, but guns are also elsewhere! He forgets, does José Perez,–or else he plays for time. This offer,” and she referred to the note, “it is not written since we arrived–no. It was written earlier, when he thought I was held by that renegade far in the desert.”

“I reckon that is true, señora, for after receiving it, Rotil had him chained in a room fronting the plaza that he might see you enter Soledad with honors.”

“Ramon Rotil did that?” she mused, looking at the note thoughtfully, “and he gives to me the evidence against José? Señor, in the Perez lands we hear only evil things and very different things about Rotil. They would say this paper was for sale, but not for a gift. And–he gives it to me!”

Kit also remembered different things and evil things told of Rotil, but they were not for discussion with a lady. He had wondered a bit that it was not the padre who was given the message to transmit, yet suddenly he realized that even the padre might have tried to make it a question of barter, for the padre wanted help for his priestly office in the saving of Perez’ soul, and incidentally of his life.

“Yes, señora, it seems a free-will offering, and he said to tell you it would be in the room adjoining this that Perez would be questioned as to the war material. Rotil’s men have searched, and his officers have questioned, but Perez evidently thinks Rotil will not execute him, as a ransom will pay much better.”

“That is true, death pays no one–no one!”

Her voice was weighted with sadness, and Kit wondered what the cloud was under which she lived. The padre evidently knew, but none of Rotil’s men. It could not be the mere irregularity of her life with Perez, for to the peon mind she was the great lady of a great hacienda, and wife of the padrone. No,–he realized that the sin of Doña Jocasta had been a different thing, and that the shadow of it enveloped her as a dark cloak of silence.

“It is true, señora, that death pays no one, except that the death of one man may save other lives more valuable. That often happens,” remarked Kit, with the idea of distracting her from her own woe, whatever it was. “It might have seemed a crime if one of his nurses had chucked a double dose of laudanum into Bill Hohenzollern’s baby feed, but that nurse would have saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents, so you never can tell whether a murderer is a devil, or a man doing work of the angels.”

“Bill?” Evidently the name was a new one to Doña Jocasta.

“That’s the name of the Prussian pirate of the Huns across the water. Your friend Conrad belongs to them.”

“My friend! My friend, señor!” and Doña Jocasta was on her feet, white and furious, her eyes flaming hatred. Kit Rhodes was appalled at the spirit he had carelessly wakened. He remembered the statement of the priest that he evidently did not know the lady well, and realized in a flash that he certainly did not, also that he would feel more comfortable elsewhere.

“Señora, I beg a thousand pardons for my foolishness,” he implored. “My–my faulty Spanish caused me to speak the wrong word. Will you not forgive me such a stupid blunder? Everyone knows the German brute could not be a friend of yours, and that you could have only hatred of his kind.”

She regarded him steadily with the ever ready suspicion against an Americano showing in her eyes, but his regret was so evident, and his devotion to her interests so sincere, that the tension relaxed, and she sank back in her chair, her hand trembling as she covered her eyes for a moment.