She received it without enthusiasm, wondering what significance could attach to a bit of stone that might have been picked up anywhere. Her husband had believed that everything valuable would, sooner or later, be unearthed from the mountains of the State he so loyally loved, but her own interest in the subject was slight. However, she must say something grateful or again offend the dignity of her venerable servitor.

"Thank you, Pedro. It is very pretty. I will add it to the case of minerals that your master arranged yonder."

The shepherd cast one contemptuous glance toward the shelves she indicated, and straightened himself indignantly. He had loved and revered her, ever since she came a bride to Sobrante, and had tended him through a scourge of smallpox, unafraid and unscathed. Though she was a woman, the sex of whose intelligence he had small opinion, he had regarded her as an exception, and his disappointment was great.

"Is it but a 'thank you,' si? Does not the senorita know what this gift means?"

"I confess that I do not, Pedro. Please explain."

"Were the old padres wise, mistress?"

"So I have always understood."

"Listen. From them it came; from the last who left the mission here for another—to me, his son and friend. Into the heart of the world we went, and he showed me. Down low, so low none dream of it, lies that will make you rich. Will there be anybody anywhere so rich as the senorita and her little ones? No. But no, not one. This I give you. It is for the Navidad, the last old Pedro will ever see. And the senorita answers, 'thank you'!"

He was deeply hurt, and his manner was now full of an eloquent scorn. He was returning the stone to his breast, when she asked for it again, saying, gently:

"You are so old and wise, good Pedro, you must bear with my ignorance and teach me. This is copper, you say. It is very pretty, but how can it make me rich? I do not understand."

Wolfgang answered for the other, and his phlegmatic face had lost its ordinary expression for one of keen delight.

"It is true, what the old man tells you, mistress. He means—he must mean—somewhere on your property lies a vein of this metal. The dead master thought the coal was fine already. Ay, so, so. But copper! Mistress Trent, when this vein is mined, what Pedro says—yes, yes. In all this big country is not one so rich as he who owns a copper mine. Ach, himmel! It is a queen he has made you, and you say, 'Thank you!'"

He had fully caught the shepherd's enthusiasm and feeling, and for the first time in his life looked upon the lady of Sobrante as a dull-witted person.

But she was no longer dull. Even if it seemed an impossibility that even this "vein" could be mined, since she had no money to waste in an experiment so costly, still she realized, at last, what Pedro's will had been. Catching his hand between her own soft palms, she pressed it gratefully, and beamed upon him till he smiled again.

"Whatever comes of it. Pedro, you have given us a royal aguinaldo[B], and I do appreciate it. Come now, and share our rejoicing over that greater good that you have brought to Sobrante—the salvation of its little captain. For that—for that—I have not even the 'thank you'; my feeling is too deep."

Though he showed it little, the old man was almost as moved as she, and he followed her as proudly as if he were the "king" his fellow ranchmen called him. Yet even pride did not prevent his being cautious still, and he carried the basket and staff away with him, though Wolfgang protested, and asked, angrily now:

"The money? Is it not my Elsa's, yes? Would you break her heart already, and the little one so needing it?"

Mrs. Trent laughed. She, too, wondered that the Indian had not at once surrendered the other's property, but understood that he could not be hurried. So she merely suggested that Wolfgang bring his family around to the living room immediately after sunset, when, doubtless, he would receive his own again.

At that time, also, she meant to have John Benton present, to hear what Pedro had to say about this copper find, and to comfort him in his disappointment, for between these two there had always been close friendship.

However, to her surprise, John attempted no comfort. He was instantly and heartily on the shepherd's side, and demanded, excitedly:

"Begging pardon for plain words, as you are a woman with growing children, can you sit there calm as molasses and say 'you wish you could do something about it,' yet say no more. 'Wish!' Why, land of Goshen! this ain't a wishin' sort of business, this ain't! It's 'Hurray for old Sobrante! Hurray, hurray, hurray!' Call 'em in, captain, dearie! Call in the whole crowd! That was the luckiest gettin' lost anybody ever had! Oh, won't somebody call 'em in?"

To the group about the table it seemed that the sensible carpenter had suddenly gone mad. Nobody had ever heard him so address the mistress whom he loved, and his excited prancing around the room, alternately hugging and examining the mineral in his hand, added to the impression. While the captain departed to summon the other "boys," Aunt Sally attempted to reduce her hilarious son to sanity by a sharp box on the ear, and the sharper reprimand:

"You, John Benton! Do you mean to bring my gray hairs with sorrer to the grave? What's the reason of these goings on, I'd like to know? I never was so disgraced in all my life, never. Now, quit! Quit to once, or——"

He paid no heed to her, but laid his hand on Pedro's shoulder and shook it vigorously, demanding:

"What kind of a feller are you, anyway? Why in the name of sense didn't you tell this thing while the boss was alive? Shucks! Half of you is Indian, and that means dirt. Known it all this time, and kept it hid! You'd ought to be drawn and quartered, that's what you had!"

Mrs. Benton advanced with threatening hand, and from force of habit he retreated before her, and sank into the nearest chair; so that, when his mates entered, they found him sitting with bent head and down-hanging hands, as limp and inert as if his vitality had been sapped by the news he had heard.

"What's up?" asked "Marty," making his respectful salutation to the mistress, but looking past her toward the carpenter, who, with another change of mood, sprang again to his feet and waved the fragment of mineral overhead, exclaiming:

"This is 'up'! Copper's 'up'! Sobrante's 'up'! And lucky the men that belong to it. Only—that old villain, yonder, has known it even since forever, and was mean enough to keep his secret. That's what he is, that Pedro, yonder!"

Yet, with another whimsical change, he seized the shepherd's hand and wrung it till even that hardened member ached. But the Indian remained as calm and undisturbed, amid the torrent of blame or praise, as if he had been sitting alone at his weaving on the mesa. His soul was satisfied at last. He had done that which he had pondered doing for many years, without being able, heretofore, to bring his thought to action. Surely he had known that, locked within his own breast, his "secret" was worthless; yet he had clung to it tenaciously. Now he had imparted it to others, and behold! all the world knew it, even so soon. Well, that did not matter. It was no longer his. His part was ended. Meanwhile, on his beloved upland, there was a faithful collie watching for his return, and lambs bleating, needing his care. Suddenly he rose, placed his cherished staff in Mrs. Trent's hands, and bowing low, said:

"Keep this, as I have kept it, where none but you may find. At the Navidad I come once more, the last. Adios."

His departure was so unexpected that, at first, they did not try to prevent it, but Jessica was swift to follow and protest:

"Not to-night, dear Pedro! Please not to-night. You have been so good to me, you must stay and be glad with us this one night. In the morning——"

"In the morning the sheep will need new pasture. Adios, nina."

"Then, if go you must, it shall not be on foot. Wait! I know! Prince, Mr. Hale's horse, that he left with you on the mesa. It is here. The naughty children painted him, but I saw him in the corral, just now, and you shall ride him home. That is if you will not stay, even for me."

"The Navidad. Till then, adios."

She had never heard him talk so much nor so well as since these few hours among his friends. He seemed to be almost another Pedro than the silent shepherd of the mesa, and as she followed him, taking his direct way to the paddock, she wondered at the uprightness of his bearing and the unconscious dignity which clothed him like a garment. Then she remembered something else—his blanket, and sprang to his side again, entreating:

"Just one five minutes more, Pedro. Your blanket. You must have a new one."

He hesitated and sighed. Then shook his head sadly. That which he had torn, to bind the dwarf, had been a Navajo weave, so fine and faultless that even he, the wonderful weaver, knew it for a marvel. There could not be its mate in all that country, nor had been since the old padres went and took with them, as he believed, all the wisdom of the world.

Before he had caught and bridled the horse, Jessica was back, and playfully enveloped in a wonderful piece of cloth that made the Indian stare. If it were not the mate to his lost treasure, it was quite as fine and soft, as generous in size, and far cleaner.

"See, dear old fellow. This was my father's. My mother sends it to you with her love. Put it on, so I may see how fine you look. Oh, grand! When the children play 'Indian' why can't they copy you, and not those dirty Diggers, that Ferd teaches them to be like! Pedro, you are splendid, and—I love you! I love you!"

All at once, as she gazed upon him, there returned to her a memory of that dark time in the cavern's pit, where he had found her, and which, in the general rejoicing over her safety she had, for the present, almost forgotten. By now, save for this old man, she might have been dead.

He received the onslaught of her embrace exactly as he had accepted the gift of the blanket—in silence. There was a momentary lighting of his somber eyes, but no word, as, putting her quietly down upon the ground, he mounted the barebacked Prince and loped swiftly away into the darkness and solitude.

Brighter by contrast was the room to which the little captain returned, after Prince and his rider had vanished into the night, and the circle of lamp-lighted faces gleamed with excitement. Everybody seemed trying to outtalk his neighbor, and only one glowering countenance showed dark by contrast; the face of Elsa Winkler, with its eyes angrily fixed upon the basket which Mrs. Trent held on her lap, quite forgetting what it contained in her listening to the others' words.

Suddenly, Samson brought his fist down upon the table, enforcing a brief silence, while demanding:

"What's amiss with using the capital on hand? There sits our 'admiral,' with money enough in that basket to start the whole business. Set Wolfgang to manage, and the rest of us to dig and delve. More'n one here has tried mining for a yellower metal than this"—holding up the bit of copper—"'twould do us proud to give the first pick to Sobrante's fortune! Lads, what say?"

"Ay, and right off! That's what we say!" cried somebody, but Mrs. Trent lifted her hand, and they were silent.

She had become as interested now as any of the others; far more, indeed, since if this amazing tale of Pedro's proved true she would be able, at last, to fulfill her husband's interrupted life-work, and make Sobrante a power for good in the world.

"What does Elsa say? Will she lend us this money?"

[B] Christmas box or gift.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

All waited breathlessly for Elsa's answer. They knew her greed, or, rather, why she hoarded her money so closely, and were not so surprised, after all, when it came.

"No, I cannot."

"Can't? I should like to know why you can't?" demanded John Benton, indignantly, though Mrs. Trent protested against his urgency by a nod of her head.

"It is for the little one. It is mine. I want it already."

The ranch mistress at once extended the basket, but it was now the carpenter's turn to object.

"Please, 'admiral,' not so fast. Let her tell us, first, how much money she lost."

Elsa caught her breath. To save her life she could not have stated in exact figures the sum, because, though she had known to a dime before the robbery, at, and after that time, she had recklessly tossed aside the little that remained. This wasted portion belonged with the whole amount, and being as truthful as she was penurious, she hesitated. Her color came and went, as she looked anxiously into John's face, realizing that he had laid a trap for her and caught her in it.

But the mistress confronted her, saying:

"Never mind that, Elsa. I do not blame you for refusing to try experiments with what you have so hardly earned and so nearly lost. These are certainly your own little money bags, as I judge from their knitted covers; but it is just possible there may have been other money added to that was taken from you. So, tell me as nearly as you can, what you had, and we will examine them all together."

This was wise, and commended itself even to the eager Elsa, who stated promptly and proudly:

"Three t'ousand of the dollars it was. All gold. Big gold and littles ones. In them bags was lost entirely. In the others—I don't know. Oh! I don't know. It was much, much!"

It was Wolfgang's turn to interpose, and he did so, sternly:

"Elsa, wife! Three thousand dollars, and I not know it! How dare you?"

"Ach! how not dare I? It was the new pick, or the new pushcart, or the new everything, is it not so? Well, then, if one would save one need not tell."

Mrs. Trent's face saddened, and, seeing this, Jessica impatiently exclaimed:

"Oh, I hate money! It's always that which makes the trouble. It was about money that those New York folks made such wicked charges against my father. It was for a little money that you 'boys' were so quick to ruin 'Forty-niner's' character. It was money, and the greed for it, that changed Antonio from a good to a bad man."

"Hold on, captain. There wasn't ever any 'change' in him. He was born that way."

"He was born a baby, wasn't he, John? All babies are good, I s'pose. It's loving money has made Ferd do such dreadful things; and now, over a little money, Wolfgang and Elsa are quarreling, though I never heard them speak crossly to each other before. Oh, I hate it! Give it all back to her, mother dear, and let us forget all that Pedro said. I, for my part, hope his old copper mine will never be dug out."

Some who heard her laughed, but the mother grew even graver than at first, and looked searchingly into her daughter's face. Again there came to her mind the consciousness that the little girl was growing up in a strange fashion; seeming both too wise and too simple for her years. It could never be any different at Sobrante, where one and all conspired to spoil her, though innocently enough, and from pure affection. How could she, single-handed, combat these hurtful influences?

The answer came swiftly enough in a second thought: "Money."

If there were but a little more of that power for good as well as evil in her possession she could send the child to some fine school and have her educated properly. The separation would be like death in life to herself, but what true mother ever thought of self where her child was concerned? Certainly, not Gabriella Trent. It was with a little sigh that she put her arm about Lady Jess and drew her to her side, saying:

"Here, daughter, you and John examine these bags together, while the rest of us look on and tally for you. I want Elsa to have her own, at once."

They moved the books and papers from the table, and Jessica emptied the contents of the bags into one gleaming heap near the big lamp, whose light gave an added radiance to the coins, making more than one pair of eyes sparkle and stare. None could remember ever to have seen so large an amount displayed outside a bank window.

Even John's hands trembled slightly as he began to count the double eagles first, pushing each five of these toward his small co-laborer and reckoning:

"One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred—one thousand!"

"One thousand!" echoed Jessica, in turn handing the pile to her mother, while the others watched, counting each for himself in silence, ready to check any blunder that might be made.

That is, the men were silent, but Elsa and Aunt Sally rather disturbed the proceedings; the former, by eagerly reaching out for the piles as each was arranged before the mistress, and being as regularly rebuked by the latter.

"There you go again, woman! How can they count right if you don't have patience? Keep your hands still, do," said Mrs. Benton.

"Keep your tongue, mother, too. Two thousand!" rejoined John.

"Two—thousand!" cried Jessica, tallying. But her voice had now lost its impatience, and she began to have a very different feeling in regard to this "money," which looked so real, and was so much needed at Sobrante. If Pedro's "copper" could be transmuted into shining golden eagles, why, after all, she guessed she didn't hate it quite so much.

"Three—thousand—and—ain't half—touched yet!" gasped Samson, throwing up his great hands in a gesture of astonishment.

Elsa was also gasping then, and the expression of her face was changing into one from which Mrs. Trent involuntarily turned her eyes. Cunning and avarice predominated, and in the woman's throat was a curious clicking sound, as if she had lost and were trying to find her voice. Which, when found, seemed not to belong to the good-natured Elsa, so changed it was:

"Ach, me! But I forgot already. I guess—it was not three t'ousand; it was two times so much. That was seven t'ousand, is it not? The money of this America—it so confuse, yes," and she tapped her forehead with one fat finger, while her eyes grew beady, and seemed to shrink in size as they gazed upon the wealth she coveted.

But Wolfgang would have none of this. He was as honest as the sun, and, till that moment, had supposed his wife to be of one mind with him. Indeed, honest she had been, in thought and deed, until that terrible temptation was spread before her.

"Elsa! Elsa Winkler! Is it my wife you was and would lie—lie—for a bit of that rubbish!"

"'Rubbish' is good," commented "Marty," under his breath, but nobody smiled.

The woman cowered. Accustomed as she was to domineer over the seemingly weak-willed man, there had been times, within her memory, when he had thrown off her rule and asserted himself to a degree that terrified her. She had stumbled upon one of those times now, and sank back in her place with a deprecating gesture, advancing the flimsy protest:

"Are they not my bags, so? Sewed I them not with my own hands out of the skin of the little kid was killed? The covers I knitted with——"

The miner raised his hand, and she dropped her eyes before him.

"Give her what belongs, if you will, good lady, and let us be gone," he said, pulling his forelock respectfully to Mrs. Trent.

"Gone! Why no, Wolfgang, not to-night. It's a long way, and you should wait till morning. Indeed, you should," she replied, at the same time sending a questioning glance toward John Benton, and pushing toward Elsa all the empty bags and three of the thousand dollar piles.

For the carpenter nodded swift acquiescence, on his part longing to be rid of "them miserly Dutchmen, barring the man."

Elsa rapidly recounted, and bestowed the eagles within their receptacles, and these again, wrapped in a handkerchief, within her bosom. Then, as coolly as if she had not made an unpleasant exhibition of herself, she turned to her hostess and smiled:

"I go now, mistress. I thank you already for one good time I have. It is to buy the mine, one day, for my child. I must be going. Yes, I must. The stew! Ach! how I forgot! The cat—it was a good stew, no? And the cat has eat the stew!"

"Then you'd better stew the cat!" suggested Marty, with a facetiousness to which she paid no heed.

Holding out her hand for Otto to take it, she commanded:

"Little heart, but come. It is in bed you should be, yes. Good-by, all," adding in German, "May you sleep well!"

Wolfgang followed the retreating pair, but turned on the threshold to make his obeisance to the ranch mistress, and to say, "At your service, good lady. My pick and my head." Then, bowing again toward all the company, he disappeared.

Everybody felt the relief of their departure, and Aunt Sally humorously threw a kiss after them, remarking, with a sniff:

"Blessed be nothing, if somethin' is going to make a hog out of a decent woman. That there Elsy'd been content with half she got if she hadn't seen the rest that heap. I'm a good deal like Jessie, here. I think money's the root of all evil."

"That ain't an original observation, mother, though you do speak as if it was. Money's the root of a pretty consid'able comfort, too; and I'd like to know, for one, where in creation all this that's left came from," returned John.

"There's no doubt in my mind, that it came out of the Trent pocketbook, every dollar of it!" said Samson. "But how it came into Ferd's fist is more'n I can guess. Seems if even a half-wit would steal from his own brother, and it must have passed through Antonio's hands first."

"Antonio's brother!" cried Marty, incredulously.

"That's the true word. Pedro knew it, and the master knew it. The 'admiral' heard it, first, to-day; along with that other secret about the copper. Ain't any harm in mentioning it, is there?" said Samson.

The lady laughed, and answered:

"Even if there were the harm is done, herder. But that's right. I wish no secrets at Sobrante. I like to feel that we are all one family in interests and affection, as my husband wished. And now remains this gold. What is to be done with it? Where shall we bestow it that it may be both safe and ready when needed?"

Aunt Sally immediately went and closed the door and locked it; then fastened the windows and pulled the shades over them. At which a shout arose that the old lady heeded not a whit. She clasped her hands over her breast and her round face turned pale, as she whispered shrilly enough for all to hear:

"We're undone! We're all undone! We're a passel of fools—and—and—— Oh, suz!"

Down she dropped into a chair, and there was no more laughter. She was not a timid woman, and her fright was evident. Her son stepped to her side and laid his hand on her shaking shoulder, demanding:

"What ails you, mother? What did you see? Why did you lock the doors?"

"I—I——"

"Quit chattering your teeth together. What did you see?"

"Oh, son! I seen a—a—ghost!"

"Trash!"

Her courage began to return, and her anger to rise. She retorted promptly:

"No trash! A ghost. A spirit! As sure as I'm a-settin' here this minute; the spirit of—of——"

It aggravated John that she should pause and peep behind her, to be sure the windows were still covered.

"The spirit of what tomfoolery has possessed you, mother, I'd like to know? What's the use of scarin' folks half to death? As if we hadn't had enough things happen without your cuttin' up, too!"

"Hold your tongue, John Benton, you sassy boy. As sure as I'm alive, I saw the ghost of Antonio Bernal peeking in at that open window afore I shut it. He was so white I couldn't tell him from paper, and so thin I 'peared to see clean through him."

"Pshaw, mother! You're overtired, and for once in your life really nervous. I reckon it's the sight of more money than ever come your way before. Well, forget it. 'Tisn't yours nor mine. We've no cause to worry. I'll step and get you a drink of water and then you'll feel all right, and would better go to bed."

"I don't want water, and I shan't go to bed. I shan't close my eyes this night, John Benton, and you needn't touch to tell me so."

"All right. Stay awake if you like. It's nothing to me," answered the exasperated man, who, in spite of his strong common sense, had been more startled than he cared to admit, even to himself. But, glancing at Mrs. Trent and Jessica, he now felt that it would be wiser to express his own fear, which was of nothing supernatural.

"Mother's upset, 'admiral,' and don't you let her upset you, too. The fact is, we're a very careless set at Sobrante, where everything is—or used to be—all open and above board. It's a new thing for keys to be turned on this ranch, and it's a new thing for us to go suspecting one another of sneak notions. I, for one, am ashamed enough of the way I've felt about old Ephraim Marsh, and if he don't show up pretty soon, I'll make a special trip to Los Angeles to tell him so. Even if I have to foot it the heft of the way.

"Howsomever, all the world ain't as honest as them that had the honor of knowin' Cassius Trent. There's been a power of strangers on these premises durin' these last days; and it stands to reason that among 'em one villain might have crept in. I ain't sayin' there was. I'll never accuse nobody again—'cept—'cept——"

Here the honest fellow interrupted himself with a laugh; remembering his ingrained suspicion of the two Bernals, which he would never even try to overcome. But he went on again:

"Mother thinks she's seen somethin', and like enough she has. There might be some scamp hangin' around; and if there was, and he looked through that window and saw all this gold, I don't wonder his face was ghosty-lookin', nor—Somebody stop me talking and answer this: Where's the safest place to stow that pile?"

For a moment nobody replied. Mrs. Trent was wishing, most heartily, that the money had never come into her possession, since she did not know to whom she should restore it; and beginning to feel, with Jessica, that "money" did carry discord and danger with it.

But the little captain was now all eagerness, and exclaimed:

"Oh! how I wish I'd seen it! Aunt Sally, I never saw a ghost in all my life, never! I thought they were just make-believes, but if you saw one, of course they're true. Do you s'pose we could see it again if we went out to look? Will you go with me?"

"I? I! Well, I guess not. Not a step will I step——"

"But several steps I'll step, Mrs. Benton. I advise the money going into the office safe, that old Ephraim uses when he's at home. One of us better camp out on the lounge in the room there till we get rid of whoever's cash that is. I'll bunk there myself, if you like, Mrs. Trent, after I step outside and see if all's serene with my prisoner," said Samson, cheerfully.

"May I go with you, Samson? May I, mother?" asked Jessica.

The mother's consent was somewhat reluctant, for now she could not bear to have her darling out of sight. Yet if anybody on earth was to be trusted with so precious a charge it was the herder. Besides, she was annoyed at this talk of "ghosts," and knew that the shortest way to convince Jessica how nonsensical it was, would be by allowing her to go out and seek for them herself.

But Samson answered cordially:

"You do me proud, little one. Suppose you take your rifle, and then, if we see any specter you can pin it to the mission wall, and we'll have a show, charging ten pins' admission."

They went out, laughing and gay; the child clinging to the giant's hand, and hoping that she might really see the phantom of Aunt Sally's story, for she had no fear concerning it. They came back, five minutes later, looking grave and seriously alarmed.



CHAPTER IX.

THE PRISONER DISAPPEARS

"What's happened?" asked Mrs. Trent, foreboding fresh trouble, since, of late, trouble had become so familiar a visitor.

"Well, ma'am, the bird has flown."

"Please explain, Samson," she anxiously urged.

"That bird of dark plumage—Ferd, the dwarf. He's escaped, vamoosed, took wings and flew."

"Oh, Samson! I'm so sorry. I hoped you would look after him until I could find some suitable institution in which to place him. It's time he should be helped, for if he's so sharp to do evil, he must have equal capacity for better things."

"Yes, ma'am. So I allow; and I had them same hopes myself, not ten minutes ago. I hadn't said a word to anybody, but after you gave him to me, I remembered what the little captain had commanded, for it sort of struck home, that did. I ain't overly saintlike, myself, but what of goodness I'd catched from you all I meant to pass on to the coyote—I mean, Ferdinand Bernal. I reckon it was his face, 'stead of a ghost's, that Aunt Sally saw by the window."

"I thought you locked him in some room?"

"Lock and double-locked. Bolted, besides. Worst is, all bolts and locks are just as I left 'em. Had the key in my pocket and went in, saluting, and there wasn't anybody to salute. Well, ma'am, if he's out, and 'twas him saw that money, there'd better two of us sleep beside it, rather than one. He's the uncanniest creature ever I met, and I hope never to meet his mate."

"Very well. I do not see what harm he can do, after all, except to himself, now. Jessica, dear, please bring the key, and John can put this money in the safe. If it weren't for Elsa's satisfaction, I should regret that Pedro ever found it. Then we must all to sleep. It's been a most eventful day, and we are tired."

Before long the whole household was asleep; but the last to seek her rest was Mrs. Benton; nor did she do that until she had locked whatever locks would fasten, peeped under every bed, and invaded the sacredness of Wun Lung's "heatheny den." Then she placed her Bible on one side her bed, a broom and horsewhip on the other, and lay down to watch, explaining:

"'Cause I'm goin' to watch, even if I am resting my body horizontal. I'm so tired I can't set up straight, nohow, and I shan't wink a wink till daylight comes and the rest are moving."

Having called out this valiant resolution to Mrs. Trent, in the adjoining room, she instantly closed her heavy lids, and opened them no more till a series of thumps upon her shoulders aroused her. Then she realized that Ned and Luis were reminding her of yesterday's promise that, if they'd eat no more plum cake overnight they should have some for their breakfasts.

"Land of love! What you doing? Is it daylight? Why, 'twas dark as Egypt when I lay down, and I——Can it be that I—I—have overslept?"

"Plum cake, Aunt Sally," reminded Ned.

"Plumsally!" cried Luis, with a forcible whack. Which was instantly returned, and with such added interest that he ran howling away, leaving the disturbed matron to scold herself at leisure for her lapse from duty, while she hurriedly dressed.

Naturally, she had to submit to some teasing on account of her valiant resolution of the previous night that she "wouldn't wink a wink," but Mrs. Trent was delighted that the faithful woman had, at last, enjoyed a needed rest. Besides, everything was bright at the ranch on that happy morning. Even Wun Lung had caught the infection of Christmas preparations, and was intent upon providing some dainties of his own, against the approaching festival, which should so far outshine the homelier pies and puddings of Mrs. Benton, as his own revered country outshone, in his opinion, even this pleasant one in which, at present, his lot was cast. He had also felt good-natured enough to put aside a plentiful breakfast for his mate—or foe—of the kitchen; and since it was such a time of happiness, Aunt Sally condescended not only to eat it, but to pronounce it "good."

Hearing this unexpected praise, the Chinaman wound and unwound his precious queue, after a fashion he had of expressing satisfaction; and smilingly advised Mrs. Benton to "step black polch," where she would find things to do.

So to the back porch the good lady retreated, carrying with her great dishes of fruit to prepare, and not forgetting two enormous slices of the rich plum cake she had promised the little boys, and which would have made less active, hardily reared children ill.

Mrs. Trent had moved her sewing machine to the porch, and Jessica sat near, with a little table before her, trying to write the Christmas invitations that had been so delayed, and to express them after a style which should not too painfully expose her own ignorance. The result was not so bad, considering the slight training the child had had, and her few years, yet it did not satisfy the mother, who felt that education was the one good thing, and who longed to have her child's bright intellect developed as it should be.

Poor Jessica had written and rewritten the note intended for Mr. Hale a number of times, and still had it returned to her with many corrections, after Mrs. Trent's reading of it, and now laid it aside with a sigh of discouragement.

"Can't that wait a while, mother? If I may write to my darling Ninian Sharp, I'll get myself rested. He doesn't mind trifles like wrong capitals in the right places—oh! dear, I mean—I don't know what I mean. But may I?"

"Certainly, dear. Though, first, come here and let me try the length of this sleeve."

Lady Jess obeyed readily, for new clothes were rare events in her simple life. This natty little "Christmas frock" was white, with scarlet trimmings, and quite sufficiently in contrast with the plain blue flannel ones of everyday use to captivate her fancy and make her patient under the tedious process of "fitting." Yet she was glad to return to her table and her letter to Ninian Sharp, which she found no difficulty in composing, since she was free to do as she chose.

And this was the epistle which, after some delay, reached the newspaper man, at a time when he happened to need cheering up, and brought new life and interest into his overworked brain:

"MY VERY DEAR MISTER SHARP: My mother and the children and aunt sally, and Me and all the rest the Boys, are well and send Their LUV. We are Now Inviteing you To come and Spend the holidays at dear Sobrante. everybody is Coming, most, and i Got lost and was found in a Hole. The Hole is in the ground. there was Money in It, that the Boys said my fortynineer stole and He Didn't. It was elsa winklers and wolfgang was mad at her, and there was a Ghost, but it got away, else samson and Me would have shot it against the mission cordiror wall and had a nexibition. and ferd that was lock up got away two; and say, please my dear mister sharp, Will you see if this stone that's in the package is any good? Pedro, thats a hundred years, says it's copper and copper is worth money. We need some money bad, and i hope it is, and I don't no anybody as clever as you. so Please write write away and tell us if you will come and tell ephraim Marsh, that the Boys will be at marion railway station with a buckborde and horses enough. i am Making something to put in everybodys stocking. i Began to make the things after last Christmas, that ever was, and i Have more than twenty-five presunts to Make and i Have got three done, one of Them is Yours. your Loving friend,

"JESSICA TRENT."

When the letters were completed, the little captain felt that she needed recreation, and her mother agreed with her; but, unlike her former habit, could not consent to the child's going anywhere alone. The recent terrible experience had banished from Mrs. Trent's heart that comfortable sense of security which had prevented life on the isolated ranch from being a lonely one. She now felt, as Aunt Sally phrased it:

"Afraid of your own shadder, ain't you, Gabriell', and well you may be. In the midst of life we are in the hands of them Bernals, and no knowin'. That son John of mine may try to hoodwink me that 'twasn't no ghost I saw last night, but ghost it was if ever one walked this earth. It wasn't, so to speak, a spooky ghost, neither; it was an avaricious one, and it wasn't after no folks, but 'twas after that money, sharp. Ain't disappeared, for good, neither. Liable to spring up and out anywhere happens; and you do well, Gabriell', not to trust our girl off alone again. Not right to once. Where's she hankerin' to travel now? She'd ought to be learnt to sew patchwork, instead of riding all over the country, hitherty-yender, a bareback on a broncho or a burro. If she was my girl——"

"If she was your girl, dear Aunt Sally, you couldn't have been more anxious than you were while she was lost. And the life is good for her. It's right for all women to understand sewing and household arts, but the captain isn't a woman yet, and I have faith she'll acquire all fitting knowledge in due time. She's anxious to ride to Pedro's. She says there was something different in his manner, last night, from ordinary, and, indeed, I fancied so myself. She's gone to find which one of the boys can best leave his work to ride with her."

"It'll be John Benton, Gabriella Trent. You see if it ain't. That man just sees the world through Jessica's eyes, and he's never got over being jealous 'at he wasn't the one took her to Los Angeles that time. If he had all the work in creation piled up before him, and she happened to say 'Come,' some other whither, whither, 'twould be, and not a minute's hesitation. Anyhow, it's Marty's day for mailridin', and there he lopes this instant."

The ranchmen took turns in riding to the post, each esteeming it a privilege, and finding nothing but pleasure in the sixty miles' gallop to Marion and back. At that moment, indeed, Marty was swinging out of sight on his own fine mount, the mailbag before him on his heavy Mexican saddle, the wind created by the swift motion of the beast raising the brim of his broad hat and thrilling him with that sense of abounding life and freedom which comes so forcibly to men in the wide spaces of the earth.

He was the youngest of the "boys," even though past his first youth, and the "life" of the ranchmen's quarters, where all liked and some loved him.

The women on the porch watched him till he became a mere speck in the distance, and Aunt Sally sighed:

"That George Cromarty is as likely a youth as ever I knew. He's that good to his old mother, back in the East, I tell my own son John, he ought to profit by such an example. I should hate to have anything happen to him. Yes, indeedy, I should hate to have a single bad thing happen to poor George Cromarty."

A little nervous shiver ran through Mrs. Trent's slender frame, yet she turned upon her companion, as she threaded her needle, with a laugh, exclaiming:

"Oh! you dear old croaker! Why can't you let well enough alone, without mentioning more evil? You know the old saying that to speak of trouble is to invite its visitation. Surely, there was nothing about to-day's postman to suggest disaster. George is a typical ranchman, and my husband used to point him out to visitors as what a man might be, who grew up, or old, where 'there was room enough.' Big-hearted, full of fun, tender as a woman, but intolerant of meanness and evil doing. It would be a dark day for Sobrante if ill befell our 'Marty.'"

"Well, I don't know. Something's going to go wrong somewhere. I feel it in my bones, seems if. There, I told you so! Yonder comes that lazy boy of mine and Jessie. There's more things needing him here on this place than you could shake a stick at, yet off he'll go traipsing just at a nod from his captain."

"Don't begrudge them their happiness, Aunt Sally. Certainly, after grief, it is their due. Well, John, will you act escort for the little lady of Sobrante?" asked its mistress.

"Will I not? And do me proud. She ain't to be trusted with any of the flighty ones, Samson now, or——"

Mrs. Trent's laughter—that morning as heart-whole and free as a girl's—interrupted the ranchman's disparaging comments on his fellows, sedate grayheads as most of them were; for well she understood the universal devotion of all to their darling captain.

"Oh, John, I can scarcely associate the idea of frivolity or carelessness with our big Samson; but wait a moment, please, before you start. There's such a store of good things left, though in fragments, that I'd like to pack a basket for Pedro. I wish he did not insist upon living so alone. He is so old and I feel, as the native Californians used, that the older a person grew the more precious. I wish you'd try to persuade him to let somebody else take his place with the sheep, and to arrange his small affairs so that when he comes down for his Navidad he will remain. There's enough to keep him busy and happy here."

"I'll try, mistress. But he'll not be persuaded. Old Pedro wouldn't think he could breathe down here in the valley, for long at a time. Well, good-by. Ready, captain?"

"Ready, John, as soon as mother gets the basket. Quiet, Buster. I believe you're more eager for a canter than I am, even."

Then when the basket had been handed up to John, the pair merrily saluted the women on the porch and rode away; but Mrs. Benton called shrilly after them:

"Turn back and start over again! Turn back, I say! Both your horses set off left feet first. That means bad luck as sure as you are born!"

But nobody paid any heed to Aunt Sally's forecasts of evil, save to laugh at them. Only Mrs. Trent again felt that nervous shiver seize her, and but for shame's sake would have begged her daughter to defer her ride until another day.

However, shame prevailed; or common sense, which is far better; and well it was—or ill—that the riders kept serenely on their way, indifferent to "signs" and ignorant of what lay before them.



CHAPTER X.

ON THE ROAD HOME

The train from Los Angeles rolled slowly up to the little station at Marion and the asthmatic engine seemed to wheeze its relief that its labor was ended, as an old man stepped from the last car and looked eagerly along the platform. Then a certain degree of disappointment overspread his fine face, and shouldering a heavy parcel, strapped round with leather to give a holding place, he strode rather unsteadily forward over the same sandy road, or street, which had tried Ninian Sharp's patience on his first visit to the post town.

Yet, after a little, the man grew accustomed to his own stiffness of limb and moved with a sort of halting swiftness which soon brought him to the little hostelry of one Aleck McLeod, where a group of ranchmen were sunning themselves while they waited the distribution of the mail.

It was noticeable that the porch was spotlessly clean and that none of the idlers profaned its cleanliness by so much as one expectoration of tobacco juice, though all were either smoking or chewing that weed. They had far too great respect for Janet, Aleck's wife, and for the labor that cleanliness meant in that waterless region. They were all deep in the discussion of the late events at Sobrante and none heard the old traveler's approach over the soft ground, till he stood close beside them with his foot on the lower step.

But he heard them and their eager talk; and, pausing a bit, the more completely to surprise them by an intended halloo, he forgot that and all else save what they were saying.

"It was ten to one she was never found. 'Pears like a miracle to me, that old Pedro was led to find that very cave just when he did. My wife claims it was a miracle, same as used to be in Bible days, and you can't talk her out of it. You know how women are," said one ranchman, who had aided in the search for Jessica.

"Well, first and last, them Trents have done a heap for this section of our 'native.' And they're square folks, every identical of them. Even the little tacker, that boy Ned. There's more in his head than he gets credit for, and one these days he'll show there is. He's a master hand with a gun, baby as he is, and if he'd had one handy I wager he'd have put some shot into the ugly carcass of that Ferd—— But he hadn't the iron and he didn't," added another smoker.

"It was a prime spread Mis' Trent gave us. Must have took about all the provisions she had in store, but nothing was too good for them that helped her in her trouble. Or tried to help, same thing; since it was her own man, Pedro, found the child. Away down in the bottom of a pit in the depth of an unknown cave! Think of it, somebody! It just makes my hair rise on end, known' there is such a fool and scoundrel joined in one dwarf's body—Hello! hel—lo!"

The last speaker's words ended in a sort of screech of astonishment and recognition, as a hard hand was laid upon his shoulder, and Ephraim Marsh demanded, fiercely:

"What's that you say, neighbor?"

"Why, hello, Marsh! Where'd you drop from?" cried one, rising and extending a hand in greeting.

"You're a sight to cure sick folks!" shouted another, pressing to "Forty-niner's" side, and slapping the veteran's shoulder in high good will.

But Ephraim had no feeling at present, save anxiety to know what their discussion had meant; and, all talking, they laid a succinct history of the last few days before him. He listened in increasing alarm and amazement and his old limbs tottered beneath him, so that he called out, hastily:

"Give me a seat, somebody, quick, before I fall. I—I—to think of my little gell—my own sweet-faced, lovin' little gell——Oh, I can't believe it! I can't and I won't. It's some plaguey Californy yarn' you're passin' the time with. Atlantic! But you might have chose a likelier subject to fool over, you might."

But Aleck himself had seen the arrival through the window and came out to greet him with the heartiness accorded all the Sobrante people, and to assure him that the story was all true; and that, after all, it were better that he had not been at home when the trouble came; "for it would have broke your heart, 'Forty-niner,' into more pieces than old Stiffleg broke your bones, and it wouldn't have healed so soon, neither. But, come in, come in, boy, and have a mouthful of dinner. Janet has as fine a dish of haggis as ever I tasted in Aberdeen at home, and it should relish to you, after all that hospital fare and so on. Janet! Janet! Here's Ephraim Marsh! Come welcome him!"

And Janet came quickly, like her husband cordial and sympathetic, and led the deeply moved frontiersman into her own kitchen, where no uninvited ranchman dared intrude, and there served him well with good things, including the haggis. And as she served she talked in a wise, womanly way that soothed his agitation and turned his thoughts from enmity against the dwarf into thanksgiving that now all was well.

"For since it is over and done with we can reckon the gain. The sweet bit bairnie has won for herself fresh friends. In all the countryside there was but one feeling, 'The child must be found.' No other thing was of any moment, and found she was, by a man so much older than any of the rest that nobody, not even you, can grudge him the honor. More hot milk? Oat cake? Nothing? Well, well; for a man that's traveling you've a small appetite. Must be off already and pack your own bundle? Why, friend, you would better leave that till one the boys rides up for the mail. Due before this, indeed, for Sobrante ranchers are ever keen for their post stuff. No? A horse, then? Aleck was going to do a bit of plowing with her, later on, but he'll eagerly give over that for you."

But Ephraim felt that he could delay for nothing more, not even for the arrival of a Sobrante messenger; and as for Jean, the sorrel mare—he and she were old acquaintances, and he declined her services with a grim smile, saying:

"Thank you, Janet, it's kindly offered, but I'm in haste and I'd rather trust my own lame leg than her four lagging ones. Besides, if Aleck has been afield in this search he'll be behindhand in his work, and he's a hand to keep things up to the level line. Good-by, good-by. Oh! wait a bit, though. I'd clean forgot that I put a scrap of white Scotch linen and a yard or two of plaid bodice stuff in my pack for you. This business of my captain getting lost has shaken my wits."

Though Janet protested against the trouble her face glowed at prospect of her gifts, and as she assisted him to unstrap and refasten his canvas sack, and even begged to be shown the simple remembrances he had procured for everybody he knew "at home;" not least among them being calicoes of brilliantly unwashable colors for Aunt Sally's patchwork. Then he set off alone, staff in hand, stolidly yet swiftly covering the ground with that halting stride of his that soon took him out of sight.

The assembled ranchmen received their own mail matter, mounted and rode away; and there settled over the little town that monotonous quiet which would not be broken again until the arrival of the evening train, when, possibly, some chance passenger might alight on the deserted platform.

Meanwhile, Ephraim was passing over the level road toward "home," feeling keener delight and longing with each step's advance, and when he came to a little branch trail, where a rude signpost stated the fact that he had come "Five miles from Marion," he made his first halt, sitting to rest for a few moments under the eucalyptus trees bordering the arroyo. The branch road led to and disappeared among a group of buildings, some distance to the north, on the ranch of one Miguel Solano, a friend of Antonio Bernal, and a Mexican of ill-repute. The ranch was comparatively new and was rich in olive orchards and all the conveniences for producing a fine quality of oil, and had been bought and arranged by an easterner with all the accessories of profitable farming. Death had put an end to the settler's industry, and the property had come, at a low figure, into Solano's hands; whereupon everything industrious lapsed, neglect and discomfort usurping the place of thrifty comfort.

Gazing toward this place, Ephraim reflected that; "If that Greaser had half as much snap as he has wickedness he'd be a rich man. As 'tis, honest folks sort of give Solano's a wide berth. I'm thirsty as a dog and wouldn't mind havin' a drink out that artesian well they have there, but—Atlantic! There's somebody already stoopin' over it; looks mighty familiar!"

Then the old man stood up and shielded his eyes with his hand as he peered into the distance, ending his scrutiny with a shake of his fist in the direction he had gazed, and muttering aloud:

"No, I'm better off here. Queer how you can recognize a snake, no matter how far off! That's Ferd, the dwarf; and if I was near enough to touch him I couldn't keep my fingers off his dirty throat, nohow, till I'd choked the life out of him! Ugh! When I think—— But I mustn't think. I must just get up and jog on till I see a prettier sight than that. If I can spy the hunchback at one mile off I can see my little captain's bonny head at ten. Home, old 'Forty-niner'! Home's the word!"

As if the thought of Jessica had put new strength into his body Ephraim again shouldered his pack and started forward; but he had proceeded a short distance only when he again halted and this time in consternation. On the road before him, where it dipped slightly into a hollow, lay the prostrate figure of a man, face downward in the dust; and from the shrubbery near by came the helpless floundering of some big animal and its occasional cry of distress, than which there is no sound more pitiful in all the world.

Away flew the pack, and Ephraim bent over the man, gently turning him over, and crying in fresh dismay:

"It's Marty! George Cromarty, of all men, dead as a doornail!"

Alas! Ephraim's home-coming was proving anything but the delight he had anticipated. To be met first by the story of the trouble which had visited Sobrante and now by this dreadful discovery almost unnerved him; but he was a man of action and his hand flew to Marty's breast to feel if his heart still beat. With the other hand he softly brushed the dust from the rigid features and rubbed the colorless temples. After a second or two his face brightened, and he cried aloud, as if the other might hear and be cheered:

"Well, you aren't a dead man, after all, Marty, my lad! But I'd give a heap, this minute, for a bit of cold water to give you. And, Atlantic! I believe I'm losing my wits. 'Course, he's got it himself, handy. All the boys carry a flask in their pockets, even on the short ride to post, but Marty, being teetotal, fills his with water and gets laughed at for his notions. A mighty good notion it'll prove for him if it saves his life, and here goes!"

Raising Marty's lean body so that his head rested on the fallen bundle, Ephraim secured the flask, found it full, and began to moisten the white lips; then, cautiously, to force a few drops down the stiffening throat. Success soon crowned his efforts since, fortunately, the ranchman was merely stunned, not killed, by the ugly fall he had taken when his horse so suddenly pitched forward and tossed him overhead against the pile of rocks.

For it was a horse in agony which sent that moving appeal from the thicket near by, and as soon as "Forty-niner" was sure that the man was recovering, though he could not as yet speak, he sought the poor beast and saw, to his distress, that for it there was no respite save in death.

"Well, well, well! This is a bad job all round, but better a horse than a man, and lucky for both I came when I did. If I had a gun I'd end the misery of one, straight off. And maybe Marty has. I'll look and see."

Returning to the road he was greeted by a prolonged stare from the dazed ranchman, who had, indeed, been able to drag his body to a sitting posture, but vainly sought to understand what had happened.

Ephraim spoke to him, asking in a matter-of-fact tone:

"Got a revolver with you, lad?"

"Eh? W-h-a-t?" returned Marty, wonder drawing upon him at finding who his companion was. "You—Eph?"

"Course. Who else! Been quite a spell since we two met, but better late than never. Got a pistol, I say?"

"What for?"

The sharpshooter hesitated, then gave an evasive answer:

"Powerful long since I done any practicin', and feel like I better try my hand."

At that instant there was another heavy floundering behind the bushes and another brutish moan of pain. With this full consciousness came to the injured ranchman and he tried to rise, crying in his own distress:

"That's Comanche!"

"Forty-niner" gravely nodded.

"He's hurt?" demanded Marty, as if he defied the answer to be affirmative.

Ephraim turned away his face. To them, horses were almost as human beings, and the love of a master for his beast was something fraternal.

"Help me to him," said the ranchman, staggering to his feet.

"Better not, lad. Best trust to me," protested the elder man.

"Trust—what?"

The look in Ephraim's eyes was all the answer needed to this fierce question, and Marty turned away his own gaze as he faltered the next one:

"Yes, mate, but take it like a man. Better him than you, and—give me the gun."

Marty straightened and stiffened himself.

"Help me to him. Something's wrong with my legs. I'll see for myself. If it must be, I'll do it for myself."

The frontiersman understood the sentiment and respected it. He had had to do a like hard duty for his own horseflesh before that, and he had always felt it a sort of murder. He did not look at Marty's face as he carefully guided his wavering steps into the thicket and the presence of the suffering Comanche, where one look sufficed his master.

"Oh, you poor fellow!"

For an instant the tall head stooped to the level of the struggling animal, and a strange, expressive look passed between the great equine eyes and the misty ones of the man. Then Marty's hand went swiftly around to his pocket, there was the click of a weapon, a flash and report, and Comanche moved no more.

More shaken and ill from this deed than from his terrible fall, Marty sat long in silence by Ephraim's side beneath the eucalyptus trees; then suddenly rousing, exclaimed:

"Now, to find out the cause!"

It was not far to seek, though difficult to understand. Of all men in that countryside, gay, big-hearted George Cromarty had most friends and fewest enemies. He took life lightly, merrily, with a good word for the virtues of others and silence for their vices; yet there before them, unmistakably plain, was the trap that had been set for his life. A pit had been dug across the whole width of the road, shallow, indeed, but sufficiently deep to throw any horse passing over it. Its top had been screened with interlacing twigs, over which had been scattered soil and dust enough to hide them. One who rode with his eyes on the ground, as Antonio used, might easily, perhaps, have discovered the fiendish work; but he who rode with head upraised and his gaze on the distance would ride to his ruin as Marty had done. To make the treachery more secure, some sprays of wild grapes had been tightly stretched beneath the whole, and this showed a deliberation of evil that turned Ephraim sick, but the other man furious.

"Who did that will pay the price! I swear it!" he cried.

"It surely was meant for a Sobrante man, for they're few besides who ride this way," answered "Forty-niner," thoughtfully. "And, Atlantic! Here's the mail pouch! Maybe 'twas robbery, pure and simple. Was it a money day, for supplies or such?"

"Reckon it was. The mistress herself locked and gave the bag to me, bidding me be careful. As if I was ever careless; but there was one letter in it I heard about, that the little captain wrote to Ninian Sharp. Wrote herself, an invite to the Christmas doings. Try it."

Examination proved that the bag had been tampered with, though the lock was a spring and now securely fastened; but a small leather flap, intended to cover the keyhole, had been torn from its fastenings and lay on the ground. The pouch itself had been flung slightly out of the way, under the bushes, as if the trespasser had satisfied himself with and concerning it and had no further use for it.

"Well, there used to be three keys to this concern. One the mistress has; one the postmaster keeps at the office; and the other was Antonio's, since he always was wanting to open and put something extra in the bag after Mrs. Trent had done with it. I never liked the look of that, and it's my opinion that it's the very key has unlocked this bag, if unlocked it's been. Which is more'n likely."

Cromarty's head was again beginning to grow dizzy, and he sat again upon the rock to recover himself, making no answer to Ephraim's words than the exclamation:

"How am I going to get that bag to post in time?"



CHAPTER XI.

THE PASSING OF OLD CENTURY

Jessica and her escort, John Benton, rode swiftly up the canyon trail and over the brow of the mesa toward the shepherd's cabin; but they had not proceeded far along the upland before a sense of the strangeness of things oppressed them both.

John's keen eye detected the neglect of the sheep, which were still huddled in the corral, though long past their hour for pasturage; while their bleating expressed hunger as well as dislike of their unusual imprisonment. But Jessica saw first the abject attitude of the collie, Keno, who came reluctantly to greet them with down-hanging head and tail and a reproachful upward glance of his brown eyes.

"Why, you poor doggie! What's happened you? You look as if you'd been beaten. Where's your master, good Keno? Keno, where's Pedro?"

The Indian was nowhere visible, and as if he fully understood the question, the collie answered by a long, lugubrious whine.

"Something's wrong. That's as plain as preachin'!" cried John, and hurried to the little house, whose door stood open, but about which there was no sign of life.

He had tossed his bridle to the captain, meaning that if aught were amiss within she should be detained for the present by holding the horses. However, she saw through this ruse, and, leaping from Buster, swiftly hobbled both animals and ran after the carpenter.

Keno kept close at her heels, the very presentment of canine misery, and uttering at every few steps that doleful whine which was so unusual to him. But, arrived at the cabin, he left her and with one bound had reached the Indian's side, where he still sat beside his window, his head against its casing and his blanket—Jessica's gift—closely wrapped about him. He did not move when they entered, nor respond even by objection to the collie's frantic blandishments, but John raised his hand for silence, as she stood sorrowfully gazing downward upon the face of death.

Yes, it was that. He had more than rounded his century of years, he had lived uprightly, as the good padres had taught; he had bestowed upon those he loved the secret of great wealth, and he had gone to keep his precious Navidad in the home of eternal youth.

Jessica comprehended the truth at once, and her eyes filled with the tears which, as yet, did not overflow; for as she gazed upon the sleeper's face it filled her with amazement and something akin to delight; and at last she exclaimed:

"Why, how young and glad he looks! He's even nobler than he was when he rode away from me last night, and I'd never seen him so dignified and grand as he was then. It's—it's as if he had done with everything is hard, like worries, and evil, and loneliness, and—all."

"Ay, lassie; he has done with all—that you or I know aught about; and every inch a man he seems as he sits there in the majesty of death."

By then the child's tears had begun to flow, and she caught up Pedro's hand with an outburst of grief and love.

"Poor, poor Pedro! To have been here all alone when it came! What shall I do without him who was always so good, so good to me? Oh, I can't have it so, John! I can't, I can't!"

He was wise enough to attempt no consolation, knowing well how small a part of her life the venerable Indian had been and how easily youth accustoms itself to such a loss. But, after he had allowed her to sob for a time, he gently touched her shoulder, and said:

"Come. Pedro has finished his work and has passed it on to us. Those poor sheep must be cared for, and somebody must ride home at once; or, rather, should ride at once to Marion to make the necessary arrangements. I wish——" And he paused in perplexity, regarding her as if in doubt what was best to be done.

They left the cottage with that quiet tread which seems natural in the presence of those whom no sound can trouble, and, hand in hand, walked sadly to the fold, where the penned sheep greeted them with eager cries and restless movements.

"Pedro used to say they talked and he knew what they said. I begin to believe he did, for, listen! This sound isn't like that other first one, which told us they were hungry. This says: 'I'm glad you've come!' Doesn't it?"

"So it sounds to me, lassie; and I, too, am glad we came. It's queer, though, how set you were on it, even against the mistress' wish that you should wait."

"Yes, John, I had to come. I just had to. And this is what I think: When we've taken care of the sheep, we'll lay Pedro on his bed and lock the door. Keno will keep guard, if we tell him; though whoever comes here, anyway? Then you must ride to Marion to see about—about"—here, for a moment, grief interrupted her again, but she suppressed her tears as soon as possible and went on quite calmly—"about what always has to be at such a time. I remember—I remember it all when my father——No, no, John, I'm not going to cry again. I won't make bad worse, never, if I can help it. But this I say: You ride to Marion and send word to the mission so that a priest may come; and do all the rest. I will ride home and the boys will come up and fetch him to Sobrante. It must be in the little old chapel that we never use, because my father said he would not put to a common service a room that had once been given to God. Pedro always loved it. It was there he used to say his 'devotions' and there he must lie—in state—isn't that what they call it when great folks die? Pedro was great. He had lived so very long and he had always been so devout. What do you say?"

"What do I say, little captain, but that you've a long head on your young shoulders, and I'm sorry this load of grief had to rest on it so early. More than that; I undertook to be your guardeen to-day, and I've no notion of shirking the job—even now. I passed my word to the 'admiral' that I'd fetch you home safe, and so I will. It won't take much longer and it's right. Home first, and Marion afterward."

"Well, maybe, that is best; and surely it is pleasantest. I didn't want to be selfish, but I'd rather you stayed with me. Are you ready? Shall we leave him just as he is?"

"Just so. We'll close the window and the door, and then—home."

But it was with widely different feelings that they cantered down the canyon from those with which they had ridden up it, and when she saw them returning so soon and so swiftly, Mrs. Trent went out to meet them, saying nothing, indeed, yet asking the question with her eyes:

"What trouble now?"

Then John told their story speedily and suggested that some of the men ride to the mesa and attend to what was needful. Also, repeated Jessica's opinion about the chapel, with which the lady instantly agreed; then, clasping her daughter's hand very close, returned with her to the porch and began to fold away her sewing.

But both Aunt Sally, when she came and heard the news, and the little girl asked:

"Why do you put it away, mother, dear? If Pedro is happy now, as we believe, why shouldn't we be, too? All the rest must have their holiday, and I think—I think he'd like to have me look nice. He always did."

"Jessie is right, Gabriell'. Things do happen terrible upsettin' lately, seems to me; but by the time you and me get to be a hundred odd, I reckon we shan't care a mite whether folks wear red and white dresses or horrid humbly ones. I'm goin' on just the same as ever, for that's the only way I'll ever keep my common senses in this spooky place. I knew when they two started off, left hoof foremost, they was ridin', to trouble; and this morning my hen chicken crowed to beat any rooster I ever heard, and that's a sure sign of death."

"Aunt Sally, don't!" protested Mrs. Trent, glancing anxiously at her daughter's face. But she need not have feared; for the child smiled back upon her, serene and happy, despite the traces of tears that still marked her bright eyes.

"It's all right, mother, dear; and I'm thinking how glad Pedro must be now, to have found all those he'd so long outlived. He just went to sleep, you see, alone, and waked up with them around him. I think it was beautiful—beautiful; and his last deed was to find me and to tell you how you could grow rich if you want to. Where are the little boys, I wonder?"

They presently appeared, in wild excitement, having been at the men's quarters when John rode thither to impart his news and directions; yet in this excitement was not a vestige of grief. They seemed to feel relieved of some dread, and Ned more than once punched Luis, whispering shrilly enough for all to hear:

"We can do it now, and not get caught! Yes, siree! We can do it now! Don't you tell!"

And Luis responded by an ecstatic hug and the customary echo:

"Do it now; don't you tell! Yes, siree!"

John Benton had nearly covered the distance to Marion, when he perceived two men slowly advancing toward him along the level road. For a moment, engrossed by thoughts of recent happenings, he paid slight attention to the fact, though idly wondering what strangers might be having business, and on foot, with Sobrante, at which point the road ended. But, as he drew nearer to them, something familiar in the bearing of the taller man, and startling in the appearance of the other, caused him to shield his eyes from the sunshine and peer critically into the distance. Then he slapped his thigh so excitedly that his horse suddenly stopped, reared and nearly unseated him.

"Oh, you idiot! Can't a feller slap himself without your takin' it to heart? If I ain't a blind man, and maybe I am, that's old 'Forty-niner' hoofing himself home, and——Whew! That's Marty, limpin' and leanin' alongside. Well, I 'low! More trouble and plenty of it. Seems if all creation was just a-happenin' our way, blamed if it don't. Giddap there, Moses!"

In a few minutes he had reached the pedestrians and saluted them with unfeigned astonishment, and Ephraim with great friendliness of expression, but also the question:

"What fresh calamities you two fetchin', now?"

They told him, as briefly as possible, and he found his own perplexity increased as he demanded:

"What in creation is to be done? Here's Pedro gone and died in the most unhandy place and time; and here be you two, with not a decent leg between you, twenty miles from home, and one horse for the three of us!"

At the word "horse" poor Marty winced, as from a personal blow, while both he and Ephraim were greatly amazed at the news of the shepherd's death. They began to feel, as John had said, that "nothing save disaster was meant for Sobrante folks;" yet, after a moment, "Forty-niner" perceived another side of the matter, and expressed himself thus:

"What's got into the pack of us? Seems if we'd lost our gumption. After all, couldn't anything have happened likelier, so far forth as I see. John Benton, you light off Moses and help this man into your saddle. He'll ride home and I'll walk alongside, whilst you tramp on to Marion. There's a mare there, named Jean. She was offered to me, but I was in a hurry and didn't accept. However, the offer is due to hold good for any of our folks. Light, I tell you. Marty's about played out."

Indeed, the respite came none too soon. The worst injury the gardener had sustained was, apparently, of the head, and a terrible dizziness rendered his progress on foot almost impossible. He would not have been able to accomplish this much of the journey, save for the continual help of Ephraim, who was himself burdened with the heavy pack and unwilling to relinquish it.

John stepped down and swung his fellow ranchman up to Moses' back; then placed the bundle before the rider, turned the animal's head toward Sobrante, and chirruped:

"Giddap! Home's the word!"

Moses needed no second urging, but was off at a gallop, leaving the others to discuss the situation a bit further, and Ephraim to follow at his leisure.

There was little more to be said, however, and soon each was pursuing diverging routes and each at his swiftest pace.

At Marion, John had the mail pouch unlocked and examined, and was satisfied that some letters had been tampered with. These contained orders for house supplies and had been accompanied by checks, as was evident from the wording of the orders. The checks had been removed, and this fact proved to the carpenter that the hand of Antonio Bernal was in the matter, because the late manager might indorse them without arousing the bank's suspicion, as nobody else could.

Yet there was one thing he did not mention, even to the postmaster; and that was the package which Jessica's letter to Ninian Sharp had spoken of. This had disappeared entirely. The fact troubled him more than the loss of the checks, for he could stop the payment of these, but whether the little captain had sent the whole of their only specimen of the copper to her city friend or not was a serious question.

However, he did what he could; and almost for the first time in his life used the telegraph as well as the post. To pay for his long and rather ambiguous messages he borrowed money of the mystified Aleck McLeod; and the local operator found himself busier than he had ever been since the establishment of the office.

The other sad business that had brought him to the town was also transacted; and by the time all was arranged John was very glad to avail himself of Jean's services, slow though she was. Upon her sedate back he arrived at Sobrante, just as the sun was setting, and found that the household had temporarily forgotten their grief for Pedro in their rejoicing over Ephraim.

"It's an up and a down in this world," quoth Aunt Sally, spreading and admiring the brilliant bits of calico which "Forty-niner" had given her. "Life ain't all catnip anyway you stew it. Them that laugh in the morning gen'ally cry before night, and vicy-versy. But, Gabriella, do, for goodness' sake, just fetch out that queer kind of stick that old Indian made a sort of graven image of and show it to Mr. Ma'sh. It's a curiosity, being so old, if it ain't no more. Worth cherishin', anyhow, 'count of him that give it. I always did admire keepsakes of the departed."

Mrs. Trent smiled, though sadly, and Jessica asked:

"May I get it, mother?"

"Surely. For safety I put it on the top of the tallest bookcase, behind the files of newspapers. You'll likely have to take the little library ladder to reach it; and when you've shown it, put it back in exactly the same spot. It's doubly valuable now, and could not be replaced."

The little captain had scarcely once relinquished the hand of her beloved sharpshooter, since he appeared before them all, and now led him, as if he were another happy playmate, to the designated place. But when she had reached it, mounted the ladder and carefully felt all over the top of the case, even moving the files in order to examine it the better, she could not find the metal-pointed staff.

Standing on the floor beneath, Ephraim watched her face growing sober and disappointed, as she exclaimed:

"It's gone! It's completely gone!"

"It has, dearie? Well, maybe your mother forgot and put it somewhere else. The likeliest thing in the world to happen, with her mind so upset as it has been. We'll go back and ask her. Don't fret. Probably it wasn't of much account, anyway."

"Oh! but, dear Ephraim, it was! It could point the way to our big fortune that's to be dug out of the ground!"

"What? What is that you say, child? Nonsense. We don't live in the days of witchcraft, and that's what such a performance would mean."

Yet when they had returned to Mrs. Trent and related their misadventure he was startled by hearing that sensible woman tragically exclaim, in contradiction to his own assertion:

"Lost! Then Sobrante is certainly bewitched!"



CHAPTER XII.

THE REBELLION OF THE LADS

"Thank my stars, I haven't lost my faculty of doing two things to once, nor seein' a dozen!" cried Aunt Sally, as if in response to Mrs. Trent's exclamation. Then she rose so hastily that her beloved "pieces" fell on the floor and her spectacles slid from the end of her nose, their habitual resting place. "There never was witches on this ranch before, and I reckon I can deal with a few of them that's here now. Edward Trent, Luis Garcia! Where you goin' at? Hey? Hear me? Come right straight back to me this minute, if you know what's good for yourselves!"

All were surprised by this outburst and awaited its result with curiosity.

The two little boys had been suspiciously quiet on the farther end of that long porch where the household practically lived. Mrs. Trent had glanced their way, occasionally, but supposed them to be engrossed by the patent whistle and top which had been found in Ephraim's pack, neatly marked with their respective names. Yet one could not eat tops nor whistles, and their elbows had been seen, from the rear, to move in a suggestive manner.

"They're eatin' somethin' all this time. I wonder what!" had been Mrs. Benton's private reflection. But when Jessica came back with her report of the lost wand, the elbow action had suddenly ceased; and, after what appeared to be a brief whispered consultation, they had slunk away down the path, Ned trying to help Luis hide something within his blouse, though not, apparently, succeeding.

At the sound of Aunt Sally's voice, indeed, they dropped the box they had been secreting and burst into a paroxysm of giggling, as was their customary receipt of her chiding. The giggle was always destined to end in tears, but this never prevented its recurrence.

"Neddy Trent! If that bad little Garcia boy is doing wrong, it's no need you should be naughty, too. Come back here and show poor auntie what you've got in your blouses."

Wheedling had no more effect than scolding, for with one hug of each other's necks, the children scampered onward, leaving their spoils behind them.

Then Jessica followed to see what this might be, and exclaimed, in some surprise:

"Candy! Where did it come from?"

Now, it happened that such sweets, except of homemade manufacture and on rare occasions, were forbidden the lads, because they were always made ill by them. That is, Luis suffered and Ned was not allowed anything his playmate could not share. All the ranchmen knew Mrs. Trent's wishes on the subject and heretofore none had ever gone against them. Who had done it now?

Of course, suspicion instantly pointed to "Forty-niner," who indignantly denied that he had brought, or even thought of bringing, anything home which his beloved mistress did not wish there.

"Doesn't anybody trust me any more about anything?" he concluded, wistfully.

The accusation had come from Mrs. Benton, but Gabriella hastened to soothe the sharpshooter, saying:

"We're making mountains out of mole hills, I fear. There, Aunt Sally, never mind. They have left so much behind them on the path that they can hardly have eaten enough to harm them, anyway. Let them go, please."

But the good woman would not drop the subject. Her sharp eyes had not been given her for nothing, and her son always asserted that if his mother had been a man she would have made a first-class detective. Panting and puffing in her haste and curiosity, she hurried to the spilled confections and carefully picked them up; then returned to the porch, significantly holding forth, upon her palm, a specimen of what she had discovered.

"Needn't tell me I didn't smell peppymint! Them's them peppymint rounds with chocolate outsides that I never seen nobody eat, on this ranch, 'cept Antonio Bernal. They ain't kept in the store to Marion, and the storekeeper used to send for 'em to Los Angeles, 'specially for his one customer. I know, Antonio offered me some, time and again, on my other visits, but I always thanked him polite and said no. I never did lay out to eat a snake's victuals, and that's what his'n was."

"Oh, what a woman you are, Aunt Sally!" laughed Ephraim.

"Thank you. I hope I be; enough of one, anyhow, to see through a millstone, when there's a hole in it. But you've come back so peart and sassy, sharpshooter, I reckon I best go steep you a fresh dose of picra. After I've learnt all them tackers can tell."

"Please, don't be stern with them, Aunt Sally," protested the mother. "Whatever they've done is but natural. It would be too much to expect them to refuse such a treat if it were offered them, and, maybe, John brought it to them."

"John? My boy, John? After the raisin' he had! Well, you're on the wrong track there and I'm on the right one. Antonio Bernal, or some feller sneak of his, has been here at Sobrante, and you needn't touch to tell me he hasn't. Wait; I'll find out now!" she ended, in triumph, and again the others were obliged to laugh, though Mrs. Trent's brief mirth closed with a sigh, which Jessica heard and understood.

"Oh! don't you fear, mother, dear. Aunt Sally wouldn't hurt either of them, really; and, indeed, I don't know who would keep them in order if she didn't try. What mischief one can't think of the other does, and I'll run after her and see the thing out. Who knows but that they can tell us something about the missing staff?"

The runaways had made a detour by way of the kitchen, and adjoining the kitchen was the "cold closet," which was the refuge they sought, and where already were stored some of the Christmas goodies. This closet had but one door and a securely shuttered window, and once the door was gained by the pursuer she would have the small miscreants in a trap. This she had seen and this it was which had given her that triumphant expression.

The captain also gained the pantry door just after it had closed behind Mrs. Benton and her prisoners, and to her repeated request to be admitted, received the enigmatical answer:

"Time enough when I've pumped these little cisterns dry."

"Are the children in there with you?"

"Certain."

"You won't hurt them, will you? Please don't punish them to-day. I can't bear it."

To which the grim jailer responded:

"You go along back to 'Forty-niner,' Jessie darlin, and be happy. We're all mighty comfortable in here and lots of good victuals, if so be we get hungry. Plenty to drink, too, for I just brought in a crock of fresh water to cool my eggs in. I've got my knittin' work and am as happy as an oyster. Go back, for I ain't ready to talk yet. When I am I'll come out and bring these naughty children with me."

So Jessica returned to her old friend's side; and in listening to his talk about the hospital and the friends she had made there for herself, as well as about Mr. Ninian Sharp and the lawyer, Morris Hale, the evening quickly passed and bedtime came.

When the ranch mistress rose to say good-night, she went to the still closed door of the closet, and asked:

"Aren't you coming out now, Aunt Sally?"

The old lady opened the door and pointed complacently to a distant corner of the roomy apartment where, upon a pile of soft blankets that had been stored within, lay the two little boys, sound asleep and the picture of innocent comfort.

"There, Gabriella, you see they're all right. I wouldn't hurt a hair of their bonny heads, not for another ranch as fine as this one. But here them and me stay till I worm the truth out of 'em about that candy and that magic staff. Where that candy come from that there staff has gone. You hear me and believe me. Oh, I know what I know! Good-night. Don't you worry. Me and them is all right, as I said, and my head's level. I went to sleep a-watchin' t'other time, but I shan't this. There's more in my mind than nonsense. This chair is as comfortable as a lounge. I slipped out and got it from the settin'-room when you all was talkin' so lively, just now, and we're fixed. I may come out before daylight and I may stay till doomsday; but come I shan't a single step, not to please even you for whom I'd do and dare a good deal, and don't you doubt it, but when my mind is sot it's sot, and sot it is this minute, an don't you dast to let on to John Benton, or that sassy boy'd plague the very life out of me, and you go right along to your own bed and take Jessie with you, and——"

But Mrs. Trent stayed to hear no more. When Aunt Sally got started on such a harangue as this, exhaustion of breath was her only limit. The lady did not anticipate more than an hour's further imprisonment of the children, if so long, and was sure that they would be even tenderly cared for, no matter what their misdemeanors, if she did not herself interfere. Yet daylight came and found the odd trio still behind that closed door, and it opened only at breakfast time; when, leading two very penitent-looking small boys and herself wearing the air of a Roman conqueror, Mrs. Benton emerged from her seclusion upon an expectant household.

"Well, Aunt Sally, haven't you 'wormed' them, as you promised? Poor little tackers! they've lost their pride and spirit, and I love them. Come to sister, darlings, and get your morning hugs!" cried Jessica, as they appeared. Ephraim, close at hand, winked at them solemnly and held up behind Mrs. Benton's back two most alluring marbles. But they did not wink in response, nor give more than a furtive smile, as they reluctantly dragged along under their guardian's forcible guidance. Her route was direct to the watering trough where, without ado, she promptly stripped, bathed and rubbed dry, each shivering little figure. Then she reclothed and led them back to the kitchen, placing them in high chairs beside the big deal table, while she proceeded to cook their oatmeal and serve it to them, with a bad-as-you-are-you-shan't-starve sort of air which would have amused Jessica, had she not so heartily pitied her playmates.

After a time she could endure the sight no longer, but sped to Ned's chair and clasped him fondly in her arms.

"What is the matter, brotherkin? Tell sister, do. Is it nothing but that miserable candy? What else have you done to make auntie so angry with you?"

Ned's bosom heaved and a mighty sob burst forth. But he instantly repressed this sign of weakness, though unfortunately, not soon enough to prevent Luis from echoing it with redoubled intensity.

Now nothing so quickly restores the self-possession, even of grown-ups, as the sight of another's collapse; and no sooner had Luis given vent to his emotion than Ned's spirit returned to him. Throwing back his pretty head, with an air of unconquerable resolution, he reached forth and pounded his mate smartly on the back.

"You, Luis Garcia, what you crying for? Isn't none of your staffs, anyway."

"Ain't my old staffs, ain't," sobbed the "echo," for such he was often nicknamed.

"Then you needn't cry, you needn't. I ain't crying, I ain't. Hate old Aunt Sally. Hate 'Tonio. Hate Ferd. Hate everybody. Give me my breakfast, old Aunt Sally Benton!"

"Hate Bentons!" agreed Luis, and flung his arms about his little tyrant's throat till he choked from outward expression whatever more might have issued thence.

"Ned! Why, Ned! I never, never knew you so naughty! Do tell me; what has happened?"

Mrs. Benton glared at the culprit over her down-dropped spectacles in a truly formidable manner, but the result was only a settled stubbornness which nothing moved.

Seeing that pleading was hopeless, at present, and that Ned was in one of his dogged fits, Jessica quietly walked away and began to help in the preparation of the elder people's meal, as her mother liked to have her do.

Meanwhile, Aunt Sally waited upon the children, piling their saucers with the tasty porridge, moistened with Blandina's yellow cream and plentifully sprinkled with sugar. They were healthy and unused to grief, and the palatable food soon restored their good humor. They seemed to forgive their venerable tormentor and fell to their accustomed scrimmage with the utmost enjoyment; and this was pleasanter for all concerned. However, even when they had eaten all they could and were ready for outdoors and their morning fun, their plans were nipped in the bud. Aunt Sally had a spare hand for each of them and conducted them firmly to the dining room and a place upon its lounge, while the family took their own food in what comfort they could.