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

“I am pledged to that, General,” stated Kit simply.

“Who has your pledge?”

“A dead man who cannot free me from it.”

“By God!” remarked Rotil in a surprised tone. “By God, Don Pajarito, that is good! And it may be when that pledge is kept, you may be free to join my children in the fight? I make you a capitan at once, señor.”

“Perhaps, after–”

“Sure,–after,” agreed Rotil chuckling. “For I tell you there is work of importance here, and when I am gone the thinking will be up to you! What message did you give the muleteers?”

“To bring the animals to the plaza, and pack for the trail all the provisions found there.”

“Provisions is good! They will burn with curiosity. There could be fun in that if we had time to laugh and watch them, but there is no time. Marto!”

Marto, on guard at the door, came forward.

“Has the Señor Don José Perez received my message for conference?”

“Yes, my General. Except that he wished your messenger in hell, he will be happy to join you according to order.”

“Good!” grinned Rotil, “it is well to conduct these matters with grace and ceremony where a lady is concerned. Take him to the sala; it is illuminated in his honor. Come, señor, I want for witness an Americano who is free from Sonora influence.”

“Am I?” queried Kit dubiously. “I’m not so sure! I seem all tangled up with Sonora influences of all shades and varieties.”

Rotil’s jocularity disappeared as he entered the sala where quill pen and ink and some blank sheets from an old account book gave a business-like look to the table where four candles made a radiance.

Perez was there, plainly nervous by reason of the mocking civility of Marto. His eyes followed Rotil,–questioning, fearful!

The latter passed him without notice and seated himself at the table.

“Call the padre,” he said to Marto. But that was scarce needed as the padre was hovering near the door waiting for the word. He seated himself by the table at a motion from Rotil.

The latter turned for the first time to Perez, and bestowed on him a long, curious look.

“They tell me, señor, that you were about to take as bride a lovely lady?”

Perez frowned in perplexity. Evidently this was the last subject he had expected to hear touched upon.

“Perhaps so,” he said at last, “but if this is a question of ransom we will not trouble the lady. I will arrange your figures for that.”

“This is not a matter of figures, Señor Perez. It is a marriage we are interested in, and it is all well arranged for you. The padre here will draw up the contract of marriage in the old form; it is better than the manner of today. You will give him your name, the names of your parents, the name of your parish and abode.”

“I will see you damned first!”

“And, Padre,” continued Rotil, giving no heed to that heartfelt remark, “use less than one-third of the page, for there must be space for the record of the bride, and below that the contract between the happy two with all witnesses added.”

“If you think–” began Perez furiously.

“I do not think; I know, señor! Later you also will know,” Rotil promised with grim certainty. “This marriage is of interest to me, and has been too long delayed. It is now for you to say if you will be a bridegroom in chains, or if it please you to have the irons off.”

“This cannot be! I tell you a marriage is not legal if–”

“Oh, señor! Your experience is less than I thought,” interrupted Rotil, “and you are much mistaken,–much! We are all witnesses here. Señor Rhodes will be pleased to unfasten those heavy chains to oblige the lady. The chains might not be a pleasant memory to her. Women have curious prejudices about such things! But it must be understood that you stand quiet for the ceremony. If not, this gun of mine will manage it that you stay quiet forever.”

Perez stood up, baffled and beaten, but threatening.

“Take them off, you!” he snarled, “though it is a hell of a ransom,–and that woman will pay. Let no one forget that her pay will be heavy!”

“That paying is for afterwards!” decided Rotil airily, “but here and now we men would see a wedding before we leave Soledad. Capitan Rhodes, will you bring in Doña Jocasta?”

Kit, in some wonder, went on the errand, and found the women eager to deck her with blossoms and give some joyous note to the wedding of the dawn, but she sat cold and white with the flowers of the desert springtime about her, and forbade them.

“He terrifies me much in sending that word to wake me with this morning,” she protested. “I tell you I will kill myself before I live one more day of life with José Perez! I told him all my heart in the sala last night, and it means not anything to Ramon Rotil;–he would tie me in slavery to that man I hate!”

“Señora, I do not know what the general means, but I know it is not that. His work is for your service, even though appearance is otherwise.”

“You think that?”

“I almost know it.”

“Then I go,” she decided. “I think I would have to go anyway, but the heart would be more heavy, Santa Maria!–but this place of Soledad is strange in its ways.”

It was the first time he had seen her frightened, but her mouth trembled, and her eyes sought the floor.

He reached out and took her hand; it was terribly cold.

“Courage, and trust Rotil,” he said reassuringly. “When you sift out the whole situation that is about all left to any of us here in the desert.”

He led her along the corridor, the women following. Men with pack animals were gathering in wonder around the cases in the plaza, and through the portal they saw the impromptu bridal procession, and fell silent. The Americano appeared to have a hand in every game,–and that was a matter of wonder.

As they entered, Padre Andreas was reading aloud the brief history of Jocasta Benicia Sandoval, eldest daughter of Teresa Sandoval and Ignatius Sanchez of Santa Ysobel in the Sierras. Padre Andreas had balked at writing the paternity of children of Teresa Sandoval, but a revolver in Rotil’s hand was the final persuader.

“This is to be all an honest record for which there are witnesses in plenty,” he stated. “Teresa Sandoval had only one lover,–even though Padre Ignatius Sanchez did call her daughters nieces of his! But the marriage record of Señora Jocasta Sandoval shall have only truth.” Jocasta wrote her name to the statement as directed, and noted that José had already signed.

She did not look at him, but moved nearer to Rotil and kept her eyes on the table. He noted her shrinking and turned to the priest.

“Señor,” he said, “these two people will write their names together on the contract, but this is a marriage without kisses or clasping of hands. It is a civil contract bound by word of mouth, and written promise, under witness of the church. Read the service.”

There was a slight hesitation on the part of Perez when asked if he would take Jocasta Sandoval as wife, but the gun of Rotil hastened his decision, and his voice was defiantly loud. Jocasta followed quietly, and then in a benediction which was emptiest mockery, José Perez and Jocasta Sandoval were pronounced man and wife.

“May I now go?” she murmured, but the contract was signed by all present before Rotil nodded to Kit.

“You will have the honor of conducting the Doña Jocasta Perez to breakfast,” he said. “The rest of us have other business here. Señora, will you do us the favor to outline to this gentleman the special tasks you would like attention given at once. There are some Indian slaves in the south for whom the Palomitas people ask help. You are now in a position to be of service there, and it would be a good act with which to establish a new rule at Soledad.”

“Thanks, General Rotil,” she answered, rather bewildered by the swiftness with which he turned over to her the duties devolving upon her newly acquired position. “I am not wise in law, but what I can I will do.”

“And that will be nothing!” volunteered Perez. “A woman of my name will not make herself common in the markets or law courts,–to have her Indian ancestry cast in my teeth!”

“As to that,” said Rotil humorously, “there is not so much! The father of Teresa Sandoval was the priestly son of a marquise of Spain! only one drop of Indian to three of the church in the veins of Señora Perez, so you perceive she has done honor to your house. You will leave your name in good hands when God calls you to judgment.”

Kit noted the sudden tension of Perez at the last sentence, and a look of furtive, fearful questioning in his eyes as he looked at Rotil, who was folding the marriage contract carefully, wrapping it in a sheet of paper for lack of an envelope.

But, as squire of dames, Kit was too much occupied to give further heed to business in the sala. Doña Jocasta expressed silently a desire to get away from there as soon as might be; she looked white and worn, and cast at Rotil a frightened imploring glance as she clung to Kit’s arm. He thought he would have to carry her before they crossed the patio.

“When Ramon laughs like that–” she began and then went silent, shuddering. Kit, remembering the look in the eyes of Perez, did not care to ask questions.

The older women went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and gossip over the amazing morning, but Tula remained near Doña Jocasta,–seeing all and her ears ever open.

Padre Andreas followed, under orders from Rotil, who told him to do any writing required of him by the Señora Perez, and arrange for safe couriers south when she had messages ready. His knowledge of villages and rancheros was more dependable than that of the vaqueros; he would know the names of safe men.

Doña Jocasta sighed, and looked from one to the other appealingly.

“It is much, very much to plan for before the sun is showing,” she murmured. “Is there not some little time to think and consider?”

“Even now the men of Ramon Rotil are packing the beasts for the trail,” said the priest, “and he wants all your plans and desires stated before he goes east.”

“My desires!” and her smile held bitterness as she turned to Kit. “You, señor, have never seen the extent of the Perez holdings in Sonora. They are so vast that one simple woman like me would be lost in any plans of change there. José Perez meant what he said;–no woman can take control while he lives.”

“Still, there are some things a woman could do best,” ventured Kit, “the things of mercy;” and he mentioned the Palomitas slaves–

“That is true. Also I am in debt for much friendship, and this child of Palomitas must have the thing she asks. Tell me the best way.”

“Learn from Perez which ranch of General Estaban Terain shelters the political prisoners taken from the district of Altar,” suggested Kit. “Either Perez or Conrad can tell.”

Doña Jocasta looked at the priest.

“José Perez will hate you for this marriage, and we must seek safety for you in some other place,” she said kindly, “but you are the one most able to learn this thing. Will it please you to try?”

Padre Andreas went out without a word. In his heart he resented the manner of the marriage ceremony, and scarce hoped Perez would be acquiescent or disposed to further converse, and he personally had no inclination to ask help of the General Rotil.

He was surprised as he crossed the patio to see Perez, still free from chains, walking through the portal to the plaza with Marto Cavayso beside him. He was led past the ammunition cases, and the men in their jubilant work of packing the mules. Far out up the valley to the north a cloud of dust caught the red glow of sunrise, and the priest knew the vaqueros with the Soledad cattle were already on the trail for the main body of revolutionists in the field.

Saddle horses were held a little apart in the plaza, and Padre Andreas hastened his steps lest they mount and be gone, but Marto spoke to him sharply.

“Walk in front to do your talking,” he suggested. “This gentleman is not inviting company for his pasear.”

José Perez turned a startled, piercing look on the priest.

“Did Rotil send you?” he demanded.

“No, señor, I came back to ask a simple thing concerning the Altar people who went south for Yucatan. Can you give me the name of the ranch where they are held?”

“I can,–but I give nothing for nothing!” he said bitterly. “Already I am caught in a trap by that marriage, and I will see that the archbishop hears of your share in it. Nothing for nothing!”

“Yet there may be some service I can give, or send south, for you,” said the priest.

Perez regarded him doubtfully.

“Yes–you might get a message to General Terain that I am a prisoner, on my own estate–if Rotil does not have you killed on the road!”

“I could try,” agreed the priest. “I–I might secure permission.”

“Permission?”

“It is true, señor. I could not attempt it without the word of General Rotil,” announced Padre Andreas. “Of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the German if you say no.”

“Damn the German!” swore Perez.

“Good Father,” said Marto, “you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. Make your talk of fewer words.”

“Shall I go to the German?” repeated the priest.

“No,–let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were rebels who raided ranches in Altar,–political prisoners. Take General Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and–”

“Señor, the sun is too high for idle talk,” said Marto briefly, “and your saddle waits.”

The priest held the stirrup for José Perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.

“To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover–two other lovers!–is not the game of a man,” he growled moodily. “If it was to do over, I–”

“Take other thoughts with you,” said Padre Andreas sadly, “and my son, go with God!”

He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.

The men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to the portal.

“Padre, is this ammunition a gift of Don José, or is it magic from the old monks who hid the red gold of El Alisal and come back here to guard it and haunt Soledad?” inquired one of the boldest.

“There are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray in the desert. It is best forgotten.”

“But strange things do come about,” insisted another man. “Marto Cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of Doña Jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from God knows where!”

“It may be the Americano knows,” hazarded the first speaker. “He took her from Marto, and rides ever beside her. Who proves which is the enchanter?”

“It is ill work to put the name of ‘enchantment’ against any mortal,” chided the priest.

“That may be,” conceded the soldier, “but we have had speech of this thing, and look you!–Doña Jocasta rode in chains until the Americano crossed her trail, and Don Ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for the American guns, until the Americano rode to Soledad! Enchantment or not, he has luck for his friends!”

“As you please!” conceded the priest with more indifference than he felt. The Americano certainly did not belong to Soledad, and the wonder was that Ramon Rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady. Padre Andreas could easily perceive how the followers of Rotil thought it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil.

Instinctively he disapproved of Rhodes’ position in the group; his care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at Soledad. Before the stealing away of Doña Jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked; her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her behavior was different. She rode like a queen, and even the marriage was accepted as a justice! Padre Andreas secretly credited the heretic Americano with the change, and Mexican girls put no such dependence on a man outside of her own family,–unless that man was a lover!

He saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel leader, and with Doña Jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful things now that Rotil had given her power.

He found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the letter Kit was writing to the south. It was her first act as the wife of José Perez, and it was being written to the girl whom Perez had hoped to marry!

Kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows:

To

Señorita Dolores Terain,

Linda Vista Rancho, Sonora,

Honored Señorita:

As a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor peons of our district of Altar, I venture to address you, to whom womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness.

This is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in law courts by men.

I send with this the names of those poor people who were herded south for slavery by Adolf Conrad, a German who calls himself American. To your father, the illustrious General Terain, this man Conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this region. It is not true. They were simple peaceful workers on little ranches.

They were given shelter at your rancho of Linda Vista to work for their food until they could be deported, but I send with this a payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or any debts incurred. If it is not enough, I pledge myself to the amount you will regard as justice.

Dear Señorita, my husband, Don José, warns me that women cannot manage such affairs, but we can at least try. Parents wait here for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their parents. Will you aid in the Christian task of bringing them together quickly?

At your service with all respect,Jocasta Benicia Perez,Soledad Rancho, Sonora.

“But you write here of gold sent by messenger, señor!–I have no gold, only words can I send,” protested Doña Jocasta helplessly.

“Ah, but the words are more precious than all,” Kit assured her. “It is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it, señora. These people have held the gold ransom while waiting that word, and this child can bring it when the time is right.”

Doña Jocasta regarded Tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo.

“You,–the little one to whom even the Deliverer listens?” she said kindly. “But the wealth of a little Indian ranch would not seem riches to this illustrious lady, the Doña Dolores Terain.”

“Yet will I bring riches to her or to you, Excellencia, if only my mother and my sister are coming again to Palomitas,” said Tula earnestly.

“But whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer wealth for anyone?”

Kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre entered. It was a direct question, and to be answered with directness, and he watched Tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. But she told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question.

“Long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother and sister buy freedom. That is all, Excellencia, but the gold is good gold.”

She slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather strings of the burro-skin belt,–it fell heavily on the tile floor. She untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table.

“You see, señora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but never enough to pay for them.”

“Santa Maria!” cried the amazed priest. “That is red gold! In what place was it found?”

Tula laid her hand over the nuggets and faced him.

“That secret was the secret of Miguel who is dead.”

“But–some old Indian must know–”

Tula shook her head with absolute finality.

“No old Indian in all the world knows that!” she said. “This was a secret of the youth of Miguel, and only when old and dying did he give it for his people. This I,–Tula, child of Miguel tell you.”

Padre Andreas looked from the girl to Kit and back again, knowing that the death of Miguel was a recent thing since it had occurred after the stealing of the women.

“Where did your father die?” he asked.

“In the hills of the desert.”

“And–who had absolving and burial of him?”

“Absolving I do not know, but this man, his friend, had the making of the grave,” she said, indicating Kit, and the eyes of the priest rested again on Kit with a most curious searching regard. Evidently even this little Indian stray of the desert arrived at good fortune under the friendship of the American stranger,–and it was another added to the list of enchantings!

“Ah,” he murmured meaningly, “then this strange señor also has the knowing of this Indian gold? Is it truly gold of the earth, or witches’ gold of red clay?” and he went nearer, reaching his hand to touch it.

“Why all this question when the child offers it for a good Christian use?” demanded Doña Jocasta. “See, here is a piece of it heavy enough to weigh down many lumps of clay, and north or south it will prove welcome ransom. It is a miracle sent by the saints at this time.”

“Would the saints send the red gold of El Alisal to a heretic instead of a son of the church?” he asked. “And this is that gold for which the padres of Soledad paid with their lives long ago. There was never such red gold found in Sonora as that, and the church had its own claim on it;–it is mission gold!”

“No, not now,” said Tula, addressing Doña Jocasta,–“truly not now! They claimed it long ago, but the holding of it was a thing not for them. Fire came out of the clouds to kill them there, and no one saw them alive anymore, and no other priest ever found the gold. This much is found by Miguel, for a dead man’s promise!”

“The girl speaks straight, señora,” ventured Kit. “I have already told General Rotil of the promise, but no good will come of much talk over the quality of gold for that ransom. To carry that message south and bring back the women is a task for council, but outside these walls, no tongue must speak of the gold, else there would be no safety for this maid.”

“Yet a priest may ask how an Americano comes far from his home to guard gold and a maid in Sonora?” retorted Padre Andreas. “Strange affairs move these days in Altar–guns, ammunition, and the gold of dead men! In all these things you have a say, señor, yet you are but young in years, and–”

“Padre,” interrupted Doña Jocasta with a note of command, “he was old enough to save this child from starvation in the desert, and he was old enough to save me when even you could no longer save me, so why object because he has guarded wealth, and means to use it in a way of mercy? Heretic he may be, but he has the trust of Ramon Rotil, and of me. Also it is forbidden to mention this belt or what it covers. I have given my word, and this is no time to halt the task we have set. It would better serve those lost people if you help us find a messenger who is safe.”

It was the first time the new Señora Perez assumed a tone of authority at Soledad, and Kit Rhodes thanked his lucky stars that she was arrayed with him instead of against him, for her eyes glowed green lightning on the priest whose curiosity had gotten him into trouble. Kit could not really blame him, for there was neither priest nor peon of the land who had not had visions of conquest if only the red gold of the Alisal should be conveniently stumbled upon!

And Tula listened to the words of Doña Jocasta as she would have listened to a god.

“I go,” she said eagerly. “The trail it is strange to me, but I will find that way. I think I find in the dark that trail on which the mother of me was going!”

Doña Jocasta patted the hand of the girl, but looked at Kit. “That trail is not for a maid,” she said meaningly. “I came over it, and know.”