By this time Natan had slouched forward and stood stolidly awaiting an expected as well as merited reproof, because of stalls imperfectly cleaned and harnesses left in other than their own places; for John was orderly to the last degree and a very martinet in disciplining his subordinates. However, it was no neglect of duty that was now to be scored, but a question was fairly hurled at the young groom and in a voice sharp with anxiety:

"Natan, did you saddle Buster just now?"

"But yes," answered the lad, greatly relieved.

"Where is he? And Nimrod?"

"Nimrod is at the 'house' horse block, is it not? Si. Groomed to the highest, and a beauty we're all glad to see back where he belongs."

"Your opinion wasn't asked. Where is Buster?"

"Where the captain wills. I know not, I," with a shrug of his lean shoulders.

"Did she mount him?"

"Why else should he be saddled, no?" returned the groom, with an insolent laugh.

John's temper flamed and he turned away with a disgusted snort, meaning to seek information elsewhere on a case he felt permitted no delay. But Ninian was cooler, if equally suspicious that Natan was concealing something that should be known; so, laying his hand not unkindly upon the youth's shoulder, he said:

"If you know anything of this, where Miss Jessica has gone and with whom, or if alone, it will be worth your while to tell me and at once. I'm pretty good pay for seasonable articles," he finished, in his journalistic manner.

He had taken a dollar from his pocket and was carelessly tossing it from hand to hand, nor was he disappointed when Natan fixed his black eyes greedily upon the coin. Still the lad said nothing, only pondered in his own dull mind which of two masters it would benefit him most to serve; and annoyed by this hesitation, Ninian hazarded a guess:

"Oh, well, if you prefer to work for Antonio Bernal, it's all one to me."

Natan's mouth flew open and his eyes grew wild:

"You know it, then, already, you?"

"I know many things," was the sententious answer.

"But it is a pity, yes. The so fine man and such a rider. He will ride no more, poor Antonio, si."

Ninian's blood ran chill, yet he asked, still quietly, though foreseeing evil he dared not contemplate:

"Who brought the word?"

"Ferd, the dwarf," came the reply, as the dollar exchanged owners.



CHAPTER XIX.

ANTONIO'S CONFESSION

These were the facts: Natan had been grooming the horses, Nimrod and Buster, when suddenly and soundlessly there appeared before the window in the stables' rear, the misshapen head and shoulders of typo Ferdinand Bernal. He was mounted on a snow-white horse and seemed to the superstitious stable boy to have risen out of the ground. Buster, also, had appeared to be frightened for a few seconds, though he speedily recovered his equine calmness and merely whinnied his delight, while he attempted to secure another mouthful of alfalfa before the bridle slipped into place over his head.

"Natan, the little captain," whispered Ferd, through the narrow casement.

"Well, yes; the little captain," returned the other, in a louder tone, and grinning at his own astuteness in discovering that this was a white horse so very like the "spook horse" that it might be one and the same. Some of Antonio's schemes he had fathomed, being himself a sort of schemer in his own stupid way.

"I want her. She must come. Antonio dies."

"Antonio—fiddles!" retorted the other, contemptuously. Then saw, to his surprise, that Ferd's head had dropped upon that of his strange steed and that he was whimpering and sobbing in a pitiful fashion, well calculated to deceive the unwary. It was at this juncture that, fancying to see her beloved Buster made ready for her ride, Jessica ran singing into the stable, and paused amazed at sight of Ferd, weeping, and so oddly mounted. Horses there were galore in the Sobrante stables and pastures, but never one like this; so white, so spirited, and yet so marvelously marked. For even by the daylight, there in the slight shadow of the wall, the animal's eyes glowed with an unearthly light, terrifying to Natan and startling even to her fearless self. Indeed it had not been until the moment of her appearance and Buster's whinnied welcome, that Ferd's horse had turned its face toward them and revealed his curious visage.

"Why, Ferdinand Bernal!" she cried, giving him his full title, and thereby mystifying still further the wondering groom. "I do believe that's the very creature that's been scaring such a lot of people everywhere! How came you by it and what ails its eyes?"

Ferd lifted a face that was grimy with dirt and streaked with tears. His misery was evident and needed no words to impress it upon the tenderhearted girl, who ran to the window, begging:

"What is the matter, Ferd? Poor Ferd! are you ill? In trouble? What?"

"The death. It is the accursed house. Where death comes once—he is always there. He told me—you must come. Come; now, right away, si. Before—too late. He said it. Antonio, my brother."

"You know that, then—about your relationship? But what has happened to him?"

The dwarf glanced at Natan and motioned to her to send him away. For reasons of his own, the groom was glad enough to obey, because dire had been the threats of the mighty-fisted Samson, as well as the stern John Benton, against any on that ranch who should be caught "consorting with that low-lived Ferd or the late manager." Besides, in spite of Jessica's apparent indifference to the glowing eyes of the white horse they infected him with a horrible fear; so he made his escape at the first chance; leading Nimrod around to the house and tying him there to await Ninian's pleasure, while he himself resorted to the most distant and safest spot he could find. This had seemed, in his mind, the mission corridor; but he found it already occupied by a party of the ranchmen who had no desire for his society, and after a short delay frankly told him so. It was in passing from this ancient structure to his own room in another building that he had been intercepted by John, and called to account.

Yet, sometime before this, Jessica had finished her interview with the unhappy Ferd; had written her note of explanation to Ninian, though keeping her destination secret, as the hunchback implored, in accordance with Antonio's wish; had dispatched her message by Ned and Luis; and, unknown to them, had rapidly ridden away in company with the white horse and her treacherous guide—to comfort the dying.

That death should have come again to the cabin on the mesa, whither she was led, seemed natural enough to her; remembering with such keen sorrow the passing of old Pedro.

And for once Antonio Bernal had told the truth. Lying helpless, almost motionless, on the narrow bed in the shepherd's home, he greeted his visitor with a pitiful smile on his white face, and a tone from which the last vestige of his old bravado had departed: "The Captain! si. You did well to come, my Lady Jess. But you are not afraid?"

"Why should I be afraid, Antonio? You are ill, I see that. What's wrong? What can I do to help you?"

"Nothing. There is nothing. I played my game and I lost. I—I saw you last night at the window."

"And I saw you; I knew you; but I did not know why you were fixed like that and had painted your poor horse all white."

"Ha! You saw that? You, when nobody—older—well, I lost."

"Are you hurt? What can have happened to you since then?"

"Shot. On the way here, fearing nothing, a passing horseman, unknown, braver or quicker than the rest, thought he could rid the country of its ghost. Ah, yes! it was merry—for a time. It is past."

Jessica was crying softly, unable to endure the sight of agony, even his who had tried to injure her and hers. The sick man perceived this and something of the affection he had once felt for his master's child, before he had betrayed that master's trust, stirred him to speak and thrilled him with compunction. He felt himself to be doomed; he had already sent Ferd away again to summon a priest; and according to his faith he meant to make his peace with the world; but these preparations had been on his own account only. Now he began to feel something for her also.

Suddenly she ceased crying and stood up to bend over him and beg that she might be allowed to help him. "A drink of water—some coffee? You were always so fond of coffee, Antonio, and I know where Pedro kept all his things. So many, many times we drank it here together, he and I. And you—how came you here, Antonio?"

"Where better or nearer could I be? Pedro, the most obliging, yes. Just when I needed his house he left it. Si. Why, but I am better still, is it not, I?"

Indeed his color had improved and his voice grown stronger since Jessica's arrival; and he was able to take the cup of coffee which she made him. This was more palatable than anything Ferd had prepared and stimulated him still further. For a few moments after he had taken it he felt so improved that he almost gave up the doing of that for which he had summoned her. But a sudden return of pain again alarmed him, and as soon as that spasm was past, he motioned her to the bedside.

"In the cupboard—look, quick!" he whispered, pointing to a set of shelves built upon the wall and behind whose locked doors Pedro had been accustomed to store his baskets.

Jessica tried the little door, which refused to open, and to her inquiry for the key, Antonio pointed to his own pillow. After a slight hesitation she approached and secured the key from beneath it; but when she had opened the cupboard found that all the Indian's exquisite weaving had been removed. In its place was the metal-pointed staff, with its shank broken in half, and she exclaimed, indignantly:

"Oh! how could you do that, Antonio? And how could you be so mean as to take it from two children?"

"Ha! Once it was all mine—this land. The copper in the canyon, mine, also. Si. The padres' secret which the shepherd kept was mine——No, no; not yet!" he broke off, with a sudden, delirious scream, fancying he saw the head of a man appearing without the door.

His outcry set Jessica shivering with fear at being alone in that isolated spot with a possible madman; but a second glance into his pallid face restored her natural courage and assured her that he was powerless to injure her, even had he wished to do so. Just then, too, Buster whinnied and she felt that he was company. It sounded as if he had seen some stable companion of his own and had welcomed it; yet this could not be, of course, since nobody knew of her whereabouts or would be likely to come to the mesa now. Therefore, she did not follow Antonio's glance doorward, but sought at once to relieve his distress.

"Won't you drink another cup of coffee, Antonio? Or shall I make you a bit of porridge? There's hot water still in the kettle and I know how. I've made it for my mother, often, when she was ill; and the little boys always have it. Oh, I can do it quite well!"

She was so eager to serve him, and the pain had once more so greatly lessened for the time being, that the late manager graciously consented, and with such an absurd assumption of his old "top-lofty" manner that Jessica laughed even while she hastened to put on the tiny porringer and seek the meal. The little oil stove blazed merrily, and so deft was she that, in a very few minutes more, she had a dish of the steaming mush beside the cot and had thinned a cup of condensed milk with which to make it the more palatable. Sugar there was in plenty, for Pedro had loved sweets; so that nothing was wanted, save appetite, to render the repast all that was desirable; yet when it was quite ready Antonio could not take it.

The pain had returned and with added intensity; and it was due to that fact that he no longer delayed the confession he had sent for her to hear.

"Hark! Behold! I talk."

"Yes, Antonio, I'm listening."

"Well, I—how begin? It is a story long, not pleasant."

"Wait. Open your mouth and I will feed you. Yes, do."

His black eyes stared at her, astonished. In her place had anybody done him the ill that he had done her, he would have let his enemy starve and have rejoiced at a suffering well deserved. But this child—he wished she would turn her face away, and not look upon him with that innocent compassion. She was too like her dead father, and his one best friend; whom in life he had really loved and in death had not scrupled to despoil.

"Come, Antonio, eat. Afterward you'll be stronger to talk," she said, as coaxingly as if he had been her little brother, Ned; and thus persuaded, he opened his mouth and received the morsel she forced upon him. Thus it continued; she feeding, he resting and with halting eagerness relating the story of his own misdeeds.

"For I must go to pay the price. Si. But the poor lad, my half-wit brother Ferd, ugly, sinful, desolate—he will be left alone. Is it not? For him, if I restore all, there may still be kindness and a home at Sobrante, that should all be his—if——"

"No, Antonio; you know better. That is a poor, foolish notion that has been put into your head. You know; for Mr. Hale, who is a lawyer and understands everything like that, told you and us that you hadn't a bit of right to a bit of land anywhere in this world. Unless, indeed, you may have bought it since that little while ago in Los Angeles. And if you have, where did you get the money?"

"Lo dicho dicho," he muttered the Spanish phrase: "What I have said I have said," and sighed profoundly, as one hopelessly aggrieved.

Jessica lost her temper. She forgot that he was ill and remembered only that he was imputing treachery to her parents and to others whom she loved, and retorted, warmly:

"What you have 'said' doesn't make the truth, Senor Bernal. And if you have anything to tell me I wish you would tell it now. I ought to be at home with Mr. Sharp, who's come to make us a visit. My mother is away, and it's rude to leave guests alone like that. I, who want to be a perfect lady, do hate to be rude. So tell, please, and quick."

"It was he, then, whom I saw on the road with old Ephraim, yes?" cried Antonio, in a voice which was certainly much stronger than it had been when Lady Jess arrived.

"Yes, it was he. Now begin, please. What first?"

Neither the man on the bed nor the girl who listened to him so intently suspected that other ears were as eager to hear this dying confession. Yet so it was, and Buster's short whinny of welcome had been a real one. For John, on Moses, and Ninian, on Nimrod, had lost but little time in riding to the mesa; though because of the reporter's poor horsemanship, the carpenter felt that they would really save time by taking the longer level road around by the north, and not the narrow canyon trail, which was dangerous for the inexperienced. This had consumed some time, but each felt a thrill of relief, when they at last arrived, to see Buster calmly nibbling at the dry herbage near the shepherd's cabin.

"Where Buster is Jessica is, this time," said the carpenter, softly. "And I was right. I'd heard of this spook being seen up here, and fool folks layin' it to poor Old Century. That's why I came. We didn't make any mistake, did we?"

Then as they approached nearer to the house and quietly dismounted to hobble their horses, he added:

"Let's go up sly. Everything seems terrible still, and I'd like to take a peek through that back window 'fore we let on we've come."

Ninian was not so cautious; or, rather, he was more anxious about the little captain, and protested:

"How do we know but that this silence means mischief? If he has sent for her to harm her——"

"Hark! She's all right. Thank God for that. I can hear her laughing, and he's a coward. She isn't; and, anyway, he'd think twice 'fore he hurt a hair of that child's head. Why, man, his life wouldn't be worth a minute's purchase if he dared! He'd be hunted to his own destruction so quick you couldn't say 'scat.' Humph! He may be after mischief—'cause he hasn't been after anything else since Cass'us died—but he'll keep within bounds. Now, this way. Lucky the grass is thick; but even so, don't tread too heavy. Right behind that rear wall, close against the east, is the place to hear all and not be seen."

Therefore, as noiselessly and hastily as possible, they placed themselves within earshot of what was said within the house; and the story they heard, reduced to simplest facts, was to the effect, as follows:

Upon receiving his discharge from legal detention at Los Angeles, Antonio had felt a homesick longing for his old haunts. He had returned without telling anybody of his intention and had taken up his abode at Solano's ranch, where his unfortunate brother and the only person for whom he still cared was frequently to be found. There the dwarf had joined him, though rambling away again, from time to time, on errands of his own of which he neither spoke nor was questioned.

"Money, money! That's the one thing, the only thing, no! Get money, Ferd whenever, however, wherever you can and what you get you keep. Hear me," had been Antonio's constant instruction during all the years of the hunchback's life; and to the dwarf's limited understanding, his adored brother typified incarnate wisdom.

He had anticipated high praise when, one day, he came back to Solano's and reported his hiding of the little captain in the canyon cave. The praise was not so ready at first, for Antonio was astute enough to see whither such a hazardous scheme might lead; but the approbation came unstained when, later, Ferd again appeared, describing Pedro's behavior at the time of the rescue and of the curious action of the ancient staff. Sent back alone to bring fresh specimens of the mineral Pedro had unearthed, Ferd had suddenly turned stubborn and refused to go more than halfway. Pedro had died suddenly, and Pedro's ghost would haunt the spot; no, even Antonio should not compel him thither. He would do anything, everything else, but go to the canyon cave again he would not.

Indeed Antonio now felt that it was hardly necessary he should. The poor lad's superstition had suggested a better way. With Solano's aid, the deluded "top-lofty" hatched a notable scheme. He would himself impersonate Old Century's uneasy spirit, which could not rest because he had betrayed the secret of the ancient padres. Nero could be made as white as any ghost horse by the application of a little paint; and shod with rubber could pass over the sandy roads with almost as little noise as any spectral steed. It was easy to bribe and terrify two small boys into securing and restoring to him the pointed wand, even if by their effort to obtain it they might happen to fall and break it. That mattered little, however, since the point was all that he wanted; but it was just as well to have that money he had seen through the window, that night of his first appearance on Sobrante grounds. That, too, was easy to get if one watched his opportunity in that cactus tunnel Ferd had scooped for his brother's convenience. An unsuspecting, busy household left many chances for entering an open-windowed room, and who had ever been so familiar as he with the supposed safety secret place in which the key was kept? With the money he had found also the bit of copper Pedro had procured; and he knew enough of mining matters to rejoice, indeed. He had meant to do great things. He would prosecute his land claim to the uttermost; and there were plenty of unscrupulous men who would undertake his cause for a share in the profits of a copper mine. This very mesa would have been the scene of their first operations. Here the mill would have been built, and here——

"But what the use? The hand of punishment is upon me, yes. The money, it is there. Ferd shall tell of all the rest that he has put somewhere, I know not. His poor brain cannot carry out the plan, and to me it avails no more. Ay de mi! But Solano—beware. Of some things he knows, and of more he suspects, is it not? Ah! I weary, I languish, I die, I, Antonio Bernal, heir to wealth so boundless. It was so fine a plan—so most wonderful and simple. The fools, how they feared! Oh! the laughter I had! and the wild, rides on my so splendid ghost horse, yes. But I die—I die; and the great big plan for the copper turned to gold—I—who else will have the so great intellect, you call it, to make it real? Well, I have done. The staff I return—useless, save to me. The money—I cannot carry whither I must ride on the white horse of death—whiter than—the pity! The pity! Poor Antonio! Poor, poor Antonio!"

His long talk had, indeed, wearied him to faintness; but while his own tears rained down his cheeks in his self-pity, even as Jessica's in sympathetic sorrow, a cheerful and hearty voice cried through the window:

"Don't fret yourself, top-lofty! There's one or two other smart men left, my friend, to carry out that noble scheme of yours, and my name ain't John Benton, if they don't do it! More'n that, I'll promise you a few more years to spend in wickedness, if you like. On one condition."

Antonio's eyes almost leaped from his head in amaze at this interruption and greater amazement at this astounding promise; and John was swift to press his advantage:

"I'll save your life—on one condition!"



CHAPTER XX.

THE VERDICT

"Benton!" warned Ninian Sharp, aghast at the audacity of a man who would trifle with the apparent death-hour of any man.

"Oh! that's all right. Come around and in with me. I never yet heard a voice as lusty as that from a dying man, and I've been acquainted with Senor Bernal some little spell. He's scared nigh to death—it's just possible—but he ain't sick nor wounded to death, or I'm mistook. Come in!"

Jessica met him at the door, and impulsively threw her arms about them at her relief in their presence. She had not been afraid of anything which could harm herself, but she had believed the man's own statement that he was dying, and his suffering had been evidently intense at times. She had been saddened and awe-stricken, and she now shared Ninian's indignation at the carpenter's apparently heartless promise. How was it possible for him to bestow life where death had set its seal?

Nothing abashed by the reproachful looks cast upon him, John walked straight to the bed and demanded, in the most ordinary tone:

"Where you hurt, neighbor?"

Antonio caught at the straw the ranchman seemed to extend, and feebly pointed to the wound in his back.

What followed astonished Ninian far more than it did Jessica, who knew the carpenter's ways. As tenderly, perhaps, because of his greater strength, the old man lifted the injured one and critically examined his wound; his face growing graver as he did so, yet not losing its expression of confidence and decision. When the examination was over, he replaced Antonio on the hard pillow, which had been Pedro's one luxury, and quietly replied to the poor fellow's unspoken question, burning in his great dark eyes:

"It's a bad job, my son. A mighty bad job, and a sneaky one. I've seen such before in my time, and they didn't mean death. To some folks, though, they meant what was worse."

Nobody would now have recognized the voice which uttered this dictum, it had become so infinitely compassionate and gentle.

Antonio caught one meaning only: "I will not die? I need not die? It is you who will save me, yes? O'santos Dios!"

He had half risen from the bed, but now sank back, exhausted by the shock of emotion as well as by the physical effort; and Jessica sprang forward, terrified by the sudden pallor of his swarthy face. But John put her quietly aside and himself placed a flask to Antonio's lips, saying:

"You've done your part well, my noble little captain, and you've done me proud. It's my place now."

The senor soon rallied, and again fixed his eyes imploringly on Benton's face, as he sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Yes, top-lofty, I promise to help you. But first you must help yourself. You must pledge your word, the word of a dying man, that he dare not break. You will restore everything that you have taken from the mistress of Sobrante—or anybody else—so far as it will hereafter be in your power; you shall compel your Brother Ferd to guide a party of prospectors to that secret spot in the canyon where that piece of copper came from; and you shall do all that it is possible to do for the good, and not the evil, of your neighbors. That all clear?"

"But, yes, yes!" whispered Antonio, frantically. "Haste! Oh, haste!"

"I'm a-hasting, but I ain't a-hurrin'. Which is a good thing for you, 'cause so I can think this thing over. That ball in your back will have to come out. I've taken some from folks myself, once or twice, but this one is in a ticklish place. A doctor is what we want, and the nearest one is ten miles away on Kimball's ranch. He'd rather potter with his roses than other folks' bullets, and I'll have a tough piece of work to drag him up here, especially to see—you."

With an impressive emphasis on the word "you" John paused, and waited some rejoinder. None came, and though Jessica again exclaimed against the carpenter's contemptuous tone, Antonio neither resented it, nor felt it undeserved. Then Benton continued:

"Sharp, here, is a writin' fellow, and knows what's what every time. In the jerk of a lamb's tail he'll draw up a paper which'll explain what you promise, and you've got strength enough to sign your name to it. The minute you do that I'm off for Kimball, and I'll fetch him up here fast as horses can travel—if I have to carry him on my back!"

"Quick! The paper! I sign—I live!"

"Quick" it was, and though Ninian was no lawyer, he was always well provided with pads and fountain pens. Also, he was clever enough to use the longest and most impressive words wherever possible, and thus convinced the senor that the document sounded legally important. Indeed, the injured manager could scarcely wait to affix his signature, so eager was he that John should be off on his errand of salvation.

An hour later the padre came, and Jessica led Ninian away, that the pair might have the cottage to themselves. Then, when this visitation was over, the good man lingered, that he might hear for himself the doctor's opinion when he should arrive. He, too, had listened to another confession from the truly repentant Antonio; but there was still a sacred office to perform if this awaited opinion should be for death, not life. But he had ridden far, and was tired, having come directly from his own church service at the distant mission, and Jessica's hospitality could not endure to see the look of weariness on the old man's kindly face.

"Beg pardon, Fra Sebastian, but would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Ah! my daughter, would I like the impossible? But, yes, I am famished, indeed, for the good dinner of Marta, my housekeeper," he answered, with a shrug of his plump shoulders.

"Well, father, I cannot give you a dinner, but I can make you a pot of fresh coffee; and in Pedro's little storeroom are cans of meat, and beans and biscuit. Oh! I tell you! I'll bring the plates out here—there are two whole ones—and dear Mr. Sharp and you shall have a picnic."

Already, with the light-heartedness of childhood, she had almost forgotten the sorrowful errand upon which she had come to the mesa. Besides, to her, a thing that was possible was, also, probable, and John would never have raised false hopes in Antonio's breast. She was sure of that, and already the senor's recovery a matter of but a little while. Moreover, to serve others was her dearest happiness, and though Fra Sebastian's faith was different from her parents', she had been trained to know all good people as the children of God. And he was especially such, for his benefactions and self-sacrifices were widespread, and he had been an honored guest at her father's table.

"Oh! I am so happy to do anything for so holy a man, and I am so glad—so glad we came!" she whispered to Ninian, tripping away to relight the little stove and fill her kettle afresh.

"But I must be allowed to help, too, my captain," he returned, eagerly entering into the altered spirit of things; and so merry were they over their preparations, so gay and bright the reverend guest became, that Antonio was helped over his own tedious time of waiting, and scarce knew how the time passed before John's return.

This was sooner than could have been anticipated. The physician was already halfway on the road, intending a neighborly call at Sobrante, when the carpenter met and literally collared him.

"Come you must, Dr. Kimball. I shan't take 'no' for an answer," was the decisive retort to the rose-grower's prompt refusal.

"I shall do nothing of the sort. I'm not a practicing physician now, and I never was a surgeon. As for that scalawag, Bernal, if he's got himself shot, he's met exactly what he deserved. Giddap!" he cried, to his horse, and was dashing past, just as John's long arm reached out and clutched the ranchman's coat.

"It isn't so much for him as for our Lady Jess. You're not in such a tearin' hurry, neighbor, and if you are—well, just let your hurry wait."

Whereupon, in a few brief, telling sentences, Dr. Kimball was put in possession of the facts Antonio had revealed, and had wheeled his horse about, with a whimsical snarl:

"Well, forge ahead. For anybody named Trent I'd break my own resolutions a dozen times a day."

It is probable that the kind-hearted man would have gone anyway, even if he had ridden some miles still farther on an opposite road. The knowledge that somebody was suffering and needing him was an appeal to his professional instinct he would scarcely have resisted, but he had to make a protest first.

All merriment ceased when he entered the cabin on the mesa, and Jessica instinctively sought the reporter's hand, needing his sympathy during the anxious few minutes that ensued upon the doctor's arrival. Fra Sebastian and John had followed the surgeon indoors, but Ferd, who had brought the priest to the upland, still remained within the deserted fold, whither he had retreated as soon as his errand was accomplished. To him death of any sort, even that of an animal brought a horrible fear, and nothing would induce him to leave his shelter; till, when the conference was over, Jessica ran to him, exclaiming:

"Cheer up, Ferd! Oh, Ferd! He's going to live, though, maybe—maybe he will never walk again. Come and see him, Ferd. He wants you. He needs you."

The dwarf came reluctantly, still adoring his brother and still shrinking from him and the sight of his agony. The examination had been painful, of course; and the condition upon which life might still remain a bitter one. However, it was—life! And to Antonio, at that present moment, that was all he craved.

"We must make a litter or stretcher and take him to the valley. He will need the closest care and watching. He couldn't stay up here, and have a single chance of recovery. Let's see, there are five men of us, counting the dwarf. We'll have to walk with the stretcher, and he shall lead the horses, all but Buster, whom Jessica can ride. One at a time he'll 'spell' us, and the one released will take his place at the beasts," was the doctor's decision.

So it was done. A blanket was speedily fastened about two poles drawn from the corral, and over these Pedro's hard mattress was laid; and thus, placed as comfortably upon it as might be, Antonio was once more conveyed to his old home at Sobrante.

And there, that Sunday night, was wild rejoicing and much speculation concerning the outcome of his confession.

"Sharp's the man to put the thing in trim. He's the very chap! He knows all about minerals, and he says that this copper we've struck is the very purest article he ever saw! Hurray! Hurray! Three cheers and a tiger for the Sobrante Copper Mine!" shouted the hilarious Marty.

Meanwhile, there had been short but heated discussion among her loyal henchmen as to whether Mrs. Trent should be forced to receive and care for, under her immediate roof, a man who had done her so much injury; and the decision had been unanimous: "No!"

Even John, who had helped to bring him thither, joined his voice to this assertion; and to the next question propounded, as to who would attend him and where, had as loudly answered: "I don't know."

Temporarily, the senor was resting in the household sitting-room, but it was evident should not long remain there.

"Where then? Hate him as we may, we can't let him die on our hands," said Samson, looking as black as he could.

"Don't you fret yourselves, 'boys,'" said a cheerful voice near the group. "Mr. Ma'sh and me, or me and Mr. Ma'sh—for I had to put it to him pretty plain, 'fore he'd seed it right—me and him will take that misguided creatur' into our hands, and——"

"May the Lord have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Marty, fervently.

"Me and Ephraim will 'tend him, turn and turn about," continued Mrs. Benton, ignorant of Marty's irreverent remark. "He's to be put into Mr. Ma'sh's room at the quarters, and I'll take this first night's job. I shall begin it with a dose of picra, and the first page of the Westminster catechism; and if that don't put him in good shape for the doctor and Ephraim, in the morning, my name ain't Sally Benton, nor never was. The doctor, he's rode home for his instruments and such, and hopes to get the bullet out in the course of time. But it's my opinion, and his, too, I reckon, 'cause he didn't deny it when I put the question plain, it's our opinion that Antonio Bernal will never walk another step in his life. But he'll live. He'll live everlastin'. Them old Californy folks always do. He'll simply be paralyzed from his waist down."

Despite their antipathy to him, a thrill of pity ran through every one who heard her; and to most of those stalwart men it seemed that this was a punishment they could not have endured. Death would have been far preferable to them.

So it befell that the late manager's fate was in the hands of his enemies, so to speak; and while Mrs. Benton and "Forty-niner" would faithfully perform their duty toward him, they elected to do it along lines of their own.



CHAPTER XXI.

CONCLUSION

Events crowded one another at Sobrante.

Under the compulsion of his brother's will, so soon as that brother was able to think of anything beyond his own suffering, Ferd led a party of the ranchmen, with Ninian Sharp at their head, to the canyon cave and the pit where the little captain had been imprisoned. They shuddered as they beheld it; yet could but rejoice that Old Century had sought her there, and had, so opportunely, revealed its precious secret. They also took good care to blaze their path as they went, for it was most intricate and bewildering. They had the curiosity to test the powers of the wonderful staff, which John had carefully fitted with a new top, and were amazed at its curious behavior, as it zigzagged over the floor of the almost unsupported. Whatever the metal, or compound of metals, on the point, it was certainly attracted by, and indicated the presence of, copper in the earth beneath.

Returning to the house after this trip of exploration, Marty was promptly mounted upon the "ghost horse" Nero, and sent to Marion with telegrams for Ninian's expert friends in Los Angeles, and to bring back the mail. The unhappy animal had been treated to a liberal bath of gasoline and soap suds, and had come out of it a sort of mongrel; but with the phosphorus gone from about his eyes and face, and with a reasonable prospect that he might some day be restored to his original ebony hue. Yet his spirit seemed broken, as if he had felt the disgrace of the part he had been forced to play in the late escapades of Antonio and his fellow-conspirators.

"It's what one might call the irony of fate that the man who caused the death of Comanche should thus be forced to supply Comanche's place with his own beloved Nero," commented the reporter, as the messenger rode away.

"Yes. Things generally do even up in this world, if a body has patience to wait a spell," answered Samson. "And though I've no love for him, and wouldn't trust him across this plaza, without watchin', I can't help pitying poor 'top-lofty,' and thinking he was more fool than knave. The idee! Them plans and performances of his savor more of the 'middle ages,' that I've heard about, than of these days. But it just takes my breath away to think of what Sobrante will be, some time, if that 'find' in the canyon turns out what we imagine. Why—but there! No use talking. Wait and see. How long you think before you get an answer back from the town, tellin' what your friend'll do?"

"Oh! I expect Marty will bring that answer. He's to wait an hour or two, you know, and give a chance. If Cornell—that's the expert's name—is in the city, he'll probably come himself by the evening train. In that case, you and I might drive over to meet him."

"Wh-e-w!" ejaculated the ex-sailor, astonished. "You newspaper fellows beat the world for hustling, don't you? So quick as that? H'm! If you fly as much sail as that so sudden, looks like we'd reach port ahead of time."

"When a thing's to be done—why, do it! If there's copper enough to pay for mining, why—mine it," answered the other, coolly.

"Young man, mining costs money. Talkin' is cheap," retorted Samson, sententiously.

"Of course. One must put in a little capital if one expects to get results, in any business. The money will be found easily enough. Trust me to see to that. Or my friends and me."

Already the journalist was as eager as possible on this new matter. His brief rest had restored his overtaxed nerves, and he was more than ready to push any enterprise that commended itself to his keen judgment. Now, all depended upon the expert's arrival at the ranch. He would then be taken in person to examine the discovered vein, and on his opinion great affairs would depend. Yet Ninian felt that even if Henry Cornell's opinion was averse, he should not let the subject rest there. He would consult with others. Mrs. Trent's interests must be forwarded to the utmost, and no possible chance of her realizing a fortune lost through any lukewarmness of his own.

Marty duly returned. He brought the expected message from the great expert, and that gentleman would arrive at Marion by that very evening's train. He brought, as well, several letters for the ranch mistress, and these Jessica joyously carried to her as she sat quietly sewing. Most of them were business communications, which were promptly read and laid aside, to be answered at once; but there was one which the mother dropped in her workbasket unopened, though it was the thickest and plumpest of the lot, and, also, bore the postmark "New York." In ordinary, all New York mail was the most eagerly read of all that came; and this fact caused Jessica to exclaim:

"Why, mother, dear! Why don't you read it? Or are you like me when I have something extra nice for dinner, leaving it to by and by?"

"Yes, darling, I'm leaving it—a while. It will keep. I know what is in it, or nearly so. It's not the first of the sort has come lately, and I'll have courage soon."

"Courage, mother? Do you need courage to read your letters? What harm can come to us now, out of that far away city? My father's name is cleared, we owe nobody, we—why, we may be going to be very, very rich, if things turn out as Mr. Ninian thinks they will turn out, and——Oh, dear! I'm not saying it very clear, only seems to me we ought to be perfectly, perfectly happy now; and if there's anything bad in the letter, please give it to me, and let me burn it up right away."

For answer, the mother caught her daughter close within her arms, kissed her passionately, and asked:

"Oh, little captain! If you go so far from me, how shall I live?"

"I—go so far—from you!" repeated Lady Jess, in utter astonishment. "Why, what can you mean?"

Mrs. Trent recovered her composure, even smiled—if not very gayly—and answered, tenderly: "Whatever come, my sunshine, remember that, of all things, your mother desires your welfare before her own. But more than that I cannot tell you now. So, run to Aunt Sally, dear, and ask if she can be spared from her nursing a few hours. I think one of the other men will relieve Ephraim, if he is tired, in waiting upon Antonio. I want she should help me get up an extra fine supper for Mr. Ninian's friend. Ah! my child, how much we owe to that young man's goodness and enterprise!"

"Indeed, indeed, we do. But seems to me we do nothing but cook here, nowadays. It's always company, isn't it?"

"And glad I am of that. So long as the larder has anything in it, I love to share it with—friends. Not strangers, who do not care, but with anybody else, the best we have. If a luxury well; and if but a crust, still well. Now—to Aunt Sally."

Jessica guessed that as soon as she was out of sight the disagreeable letter from the other side of the continent would be promptly read, and wondered not a little concerning its contents. And she was right. Mrs. Trent had barely finished its perusal, when Mrs. Benton appeared, but from her the mother had nothing to hide. She looked up quietly, and said:

"Another more urgent entreaty from old Cousin Margaret. She puts the matter so strongly as my duty that I'm compelled to acknowledge she is—may be—right."

"Humph! She's been wrong enough, sometimes," returned Aunt Sally, peevishly. "That's when she got angry with you for marrying Cass'us."

"That was mostly from indignation at losing me, her one loved relative. There could never have been a kinder guardian——"

"Nor a queerer, as I've gathered from your own talk. I never saw Margaret Dalrymple, and I never want to. Anyhow, nothin' can be done at present; but I've brought one comfortin' word across from the quarters with me, Gabriella."

"What's that, Aunt Sally? Is Antonio better?"

"Oh! bother Antonio. He'll get well, of course. That kind always does. Of that I never had a misdoubt. The word is this, and I begin to think that old Fra Sebastian may be a real Christian, after all. He not only offers, but he says it must be this way: As soon as 'top-lofty' can be safely moved, he wants him to the sannytarium to his mission. Him and Ferd, the dwarf, likewise. He says them old Californys all belong to him, and he will look after them. Antonio is to be in the sanny-house, and Ferd is to be put into the mission school. Though he's a man in years, he's a child in learning—'cept evil. So Fra proposes to oust the evil if he can—I wager he'll find he's got a job—and put in good. He'll make Antonio earn his keep a-writin' up the books and accounts, for, with all his silliness, he's a master hand at figurin'—for himself. So that settles them, and don't you dast say no to the arrangement when it's perposed to you, Gabriella Trent, or I'll never let you hear the last of it. It's the Lord's own way of disposing things, and a better one than I could cipher out, if I do say it."

Certainly Mrs. Trent had no objection to make to so comfortable a settlement of a perplexing question; and in due time the Bernals left Sobrante forever; and of their lives at the mission those whom they had known so long were henceforth to hear little, "and care less," according to the satisfied ranchmen.

Mr. Cornell, the expert, came, inspected, reserved his opinion, and departed; but Ninian Sharp had gathered enough from the visitor's few sentences, idly dropped, to feel quite convinced that the thing was worth carrying farther. So he, too, left Sobrante; but, after a brief sojourn in Los Angeles, reappeared, in company with Morris Hale and a trio of prospectors, representing much capital. All this was very exciting to the simple household; and Mrs. Trent, at least, felt infinite relief when, on the eve of Navidad, there were left in it only those two strangers, who had now become less strangers than familiar friends.

Gathered about the fireside, which the first of the rainy nights made doubly enticing, the New York lawyer discussed at length the decision which the prospectors had made. They considered the mine well worth working. "In fact, I have reason to believe it will turn out one of the richest in the whole country. They are willing to advance all money needed upon certain conditions," and he named them.

These seemed extremely liberal and just to both sides, but Mrs. Trent did not greatly surprise her listeners when she quietly interposed a clause to the effect that:

"My husband believed in profit-sharing. It was his ambition to put Sobrante and its various interests into such an operation. I want all our 'boys' to enjoy the benefits of that which God has given us. They will contribute their labor and share in its results; share richly if I can have my will."

"Your will is doubtless law, madam," answered Mr. Hale, courteously.

"And if the mine is worked, I want our dear friend, Ninian Sharp, to come here and act as its manager, on behalf of the Sobrante side. He"—she raised her hand gently, as he started to interrupt—"he must be paid a much larger salary than he could earn upon the staff of the Lancet, and would have, I hope, sufficient leisure time to use his pen in other literary work, such as he tells me he has never had the chance to do."

For the first time in his life, maybe, the alert reporter was taken off guard, and hadn't a word to say, except the very ordinary one of "Thank you"; but he said it, bending over the lady's hand, and with such an expression of delight upon his thin, intellectual face, that no greater eloquence was needed.

"And now," said Aunt Sally, "it's time to begin that there decorating which Gabriell' thinks is a part of Christmas. Pasqually's been real good. He's been up to the dreen, where you planted them calla lilies, Jessie, and he's fetched a good many bushels. Seven hundred, I guess he said. And he's cut poinsetty enough to turn us blind with its redness; and my boy, John, hitched up and went along under the flume and druv his pushcart back full of the biggest maidenhair ferns and sweet brakes I ever see. So now, youngsters, set to and trim. Then we'll hang up our stockings, every one; and I'll give you the nicest Christmas dinner can be cooked, if I have to cuff Wun Lungy into basting them turkeys as they ought to be basted. Come, Neddy; come, little Echo; I saw Santy Claus' wife—that's me, shove a pan full of gingerbread men into the wall oven, and if they're done, I'll give each of you a soldier of dough to drive you to bed. Stockings first? Of course, of course. Why, what would Christmas be without its stockings? Here's a brand-new pair auntie's knit for you, one a piece; and if you don't find 'em stuffed with rods in the morning, it won't be because you don't deserve it, you precious, precious, naughty little lambs!"

Off went the good creature, a boy on either arm, her patchwork streaming behind her, her spectacles on the top of her head, and her ruddy countenance as beaming as if she were, indeed, that mythical person—Santa Claus' wife.

Oh! what a Christmas followed! With everybody from far and near who had any claim upon Sobrante hastening thither to share its open hospitalities; Wolfgang and Elsa, with their "little" six-foot son; the genial McLeods, Dr. Kimball and his sweet-faced invalid sister, Louise, for whose benefit he had left their fine Boston home to live in this lonely, lovely southland. These, and many more, not only came, but did such justice to Mrs. Benton's and Wan Lung's cookery that, as she said, next morning:

"Land suz! There ain't scraps enough left to make a decent soup, even! But never mind, we had a royal time, every single soul of us. Christmas is over, and I'm glad it's so well over. Now, we can settle down and rest a spell."

Indeed, there was rest for the household itself, but for Ninian Sharp and his coadjutors. The mining scheme was rapidly put into practical operation; Mr. Hale lingering all that winter to further its interests, and to enjoy what he had coveted early in his acquaintance with it, a few months of ranch life at ideal Sobrante.

Then came the glorious springtime, when the mesa was alive with flowers; the canyon was fragrant with perfume, and the whole countryside became an earthly paradise. The springtime, when the Easterner could no longer delay his homeward trip, nor Mrs. Trent the revelation of what her New York letters had contained, though Jessica had almost forgotten them.

One week before the lawyer was to leave them, mother and child sat, hand in hand, beside the father's grave, whither the widow had purposely withdrawn, as if the precious dust within might still support and counsel her. Taking the little captain's hand in hers, and speaking as calmly as if her heart were not desperately sad, she said:

"My darling, when Mr. Hale goes home to New York you will go with him."

"Mother! Oh! Why?"

"Because it is right. My Cousin Margaret, whose letters you have seen me read, sometimes with ungrateful tears, offers you a home and an education. She was a mother to me in my youth, and I owe her much. Now that she is old and desolate, she begs for you. It may be that I should still have declined to please her at so much pain to—us, but the discovery of this copper mine of ours, and the fact that you will one day be one of America's richest daughters, forces me to comply."

"But, why, mother? Why should that matter? I'd rather give it up. Say no! Oh, please, say no!"

"I cannot now. I dare not. Upon your dear shoulders will rest a great trust and responsibility. You must be fitted to discharge that trust by the best education possible. This education you cannot gain here. You must seek it elsewhere. We must not make it harder for each other, this bitter parting, but we must bear it bravely for—father's sake."

Thus ended Jessica's early childhood; and of what befell her in that widely different life at school it must be left to another volume to relate.

THE END