Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

"No, indeed, Sooshiuamo," said the boy; "how could I?"

"No, no, of course you couldn't," said the prospector; "and I haven't any neither. If we had a quart of whiskey here we might be able to save him. The only thing we can do is to keep him moving. Look here, Felipe, you lift him under the right shoulder and I'll lift him under the left; we must walk him around. Now then, up!" Between them they raised the unhappy man to his feet.

"Come on," cried Stephens, "hold him up. Steady now."

They walked forward as steadily as they could in the direction of the cave-dwelling, Backus staggering along between them. His legs went through the motions of walking almost mechanically, but his weight rested entirely on his two supporters, and he was a heavy man to carry.

"Stick to it, Felipe," said Stephens, "it's the only chance for him. Keep him going." They reached the cave. "Set him down here a minute before the fire," said Stephens, putting aside his rifle, and with both hands lowering the patient to the ground, after spreading his blanket for him to lie on. Backus was in a state of appalling collapse; the swelling increased so rapidly that it seemed as if his head must burst; the inflamed skin was horribly mottled with red and green and yellow, and a cold sweat broke out on him. Stephens knelt beside him and felt his pulse; it was rapid, fluttering, and feeble.

Felipe looked on, awestruck and speechless. That the prospector should try to preserve the life of his enemy did not appeal to him at all; it seemed to him only one more of the unaccountable things these Americans did. But the frightful state of the storekeeper, and the agonising pains he was suffering were the work of the dread reptile he had been taught to reverence from his earliest days. The gods were angry with Backus, and this was their doing.

Stephens felt that the stricken man's hands were growing deadly cold. He sprang up. "Come on, Felipe!" he exclaimed, rising quickly again to his feet. "He's at the last gasp, I think. We must try to walk him up and down again. It's the one thing we can do."

They raised him to his feet once more, Stephens putting his right arm round his waist, and steadying him with the other, and, Felipe aiding, they walked him to and fro on the meadow, trying to counteract the fatal lethargy produced by the bite.

"He must have got an awful dose of poison into him," said Stephens, as they struggled along with their now nearly unconscious burden. "I guess it must have been a snake that had been lying up for the winter, and had only just come out now the warm weather's beginning. They're worst of all then; their poison-bag has a full charge in it."

But Felipe made no answer; he was not affected by the scientific question as to how many drops of venom there might be in a serpent's poison-gland. For him the question was, "Had the god struck to kill? or would he be content to punish and pardon?" But as he looked at the lolling head and dragging limbs of the victim he felt that the god had struck to kill.

At this moment the moon sank beneath the horizon.

"I guess he's come to the jumping-off place," said Stephens, as Backus sank into absolute unconsciousness. "Let's carry him right back to the fire."

Once more they laid him down beside that prehistoric hearth, and the ruddy glow lit up the horrid spectacle of his distorted face. They tried to warm him and keep the life in him a little longer; but it was in vain. The laboured breath came slower and slower; the feeble pulse waxed fainter and fainter; the chill hand of death was there, and nought that they could do was of any avail; and after a little while Stephens was aware that the thing that lay in front of the fire was but a disfigured corpse.

Between them, he and Felipe raised it, and laid it at one side of the dwelling, and covered it from sight with the blanket. When they returned to the fire, they stood there side by side gazing at the embers in a long silence. They stood as it were in the presence of death, and neither the white man nor the red had any mind to break the solemnity of the scene.

Suddenly there came a low, rustling, slithering sound from the stones in the corner behind them, as a large snake glided out across the floor, and swiftly vanished into the darkness without.

Stephens gave an involuntary shudder. "That brute must have been in the corner there all the time I was here," he said.

"Yes, Sooshiuamo," answered Felipe in an awestruck voice, "he was there, but he did not touch you. Now he has gone to tell his brother who struck your enemy that he is dead. The snakes must be your friends; they do not hurt you; they only kill your enemies for you"; and as if impelled to penitence by what he regarded as a supernatural warning, he turned to the prospector and poured out in a flood a full confession of all he had heard and seen and suspected of Backus's schemes, and of his dealings with the Navajos.

Stephens listened aghast. Mahletonkwa certainly had told him that his message to the governor had been stopped, but he had been loath to believe that a white man could play such a treacherous game, and side with savages against his own countryman. It was natural for the American to prefer to think that the Navajo had lied; but, if Felipe spoke true, the wretched man who lay dead before them had really and actually sold him into the hands of the Navajos. Then arose the question – what had been his object? There might be more dangers around, more plots that Felipe knew nothing of? "I never liked him, it's true, but why should he play such a mean trick merely for that? If he really did destroy my letters asking for the soldiers, he must have done it that very hour that I gave them to him. It wasn't till the next day that I knocked him into the ditch, so he couldn't have done it out of revenge for that blow I gave him. I wonder, now, if he could have kept a grudge against me for that old wound at Apache Cañon? Some folks find it mighty hard to forgive."

"Well," he continued aloud, addressing Felipe, "I sha'n't bear any malice against you, young 'un. I reckon that – well – that fellow just used you, and you aint much more to blame than an idiot – pity you hadn't got more sense; but that's enough – I'll never think of it again."

Felipe looked up at him with dumb gratitude in his eyes.

"And now," said the prospector, when the misunderstanding between them had been thus settled, "the morning star is up, and it will be dawn directly. We must take the body down to San Remo that it may be buried by his own people."

He went out to the meadow and brought up the horse and put the saddle on him. With no small difficulty they lifted the corpse on to it and made it fast there, and then, with Felipe at the horse's head, and Stephens holding the sad burden in place, they made their way back to the trail, and so down once more from the sierra to the village.

CHAPTER XXVII

AULD ACQUAINTANCE

The sun was already well up in the eastern sky when the strange funeral procession entered San Remo. The news of the event spread like wildfire, and friendly hands were ready to aid Stephens in lifting down the dead man's corpse at the door of what yesterday had been his home, while kind-hearted women full of sympathy went into the house to break the tidings to her whose hearth was made desolate. Then a dreadful sound broke upon his ears; it was the cry of agony that told that the wife knew that she was a wife no more but a widow. It was a piercing cry, that wounded the hearts of all who heard it, for the ring of mortal pain was there.

Unaccustomed to all violent appeals to feeling, Stephens found this heart-rending wail unbearable. Duty to the dead claimed him no longer, and he must hurry away.

"Thanks, friends," he said to the Mexicans who had aided him to lift the body down, "a thousand thanks for your kindness in this aid. Adios, amigos, I must be going. Adios." He led the horse, now lightened of his burden, away from the door, Felipe following. He could not mount in the saddle which Death had just vacated; it seemed to him as if it would be a sort of sacrilege. That agonised cry of the bereaved woman haunted him still. Loathing Backus though he did, this evidence that to one soul, at least, in this incomprehensible world, he had been all in all, struck home to him. Likely enough the man had been good to her, scoundrel though he was; but what an amazing thing must be this bond of marriage that could thus link heart to heart, even when one of the pair was no better than a treacherous coward.

At Don Nepomuceno's he found Manuelita, but not alone. Not only were her aunt and Juana there – that was of course – but the visits of interested friends had not yet ceased, seeing that everyone naturally wanted to hear the exciting story from her own lips. And now it came the American's turn to entertain the company; while food was being hospitably prepared for him, he had to come in and sit down among the ladies, and give some account of what had befallen him while searching for the bones of the murdered prospector. He passed over Felipe's attempt on his life in silence and merely spoke of having met him at the old ruined pueblo, where they heard through the darkness the cry of the dying victim of the rattlesnake, and vainly endeavoured to help him to resist the fatal venom. He told the tale at length, and with a freedom and fulness of detail that surprised himself. But all the time there was one thing present before his mind, and that was the very thing that he could whisper no word of to the eager circle around him; it must be kept for one and one only; but ever as he talked his eyes sought those of the Mexican girl, not once but many times, and they spoke to her silently and ardently.

"What is it that has come to him?" she asked herself. "Here is a look in his eyes to-day that never was there before. Perhaps he has a secret to keep – or to tell; perhaps he has found that mine that he is always searching for." She blushed and looked down as she caught his glance flashed quickly upon her. Her heart told her that he had a secret to tell – but that it did not concern any mine of silver or gold. Again their eyes met, and again unwillingly they parted; it seemed dangerous to look longer, as if the meaning that they had for each other must betray itself to all around. And this was the man that she had been deeming cold and hard! "Hombre muy frio," as her aunt had called him. "Cold as the snows of his own frozen North," as her father had said – said it of him! Perhaps so, perhaps he had been cold, but if it were so, the ice had melted now.

Stephens lingered over his story longer than he had intended; questions flowed in upon him, and he had to answer them and fill in many things that he had omitted, for the storekeeper's strange and dreadful end was a matter that excited intense interest. He half hoped that by exciting their curiosity he might impel these people to go away and visit the house of the deceased in order to learn what more they could. Anything to make them move. But nothing seemed to have the desired effect. The more he told them the more they wanted to know. The chance to see the girl alone and tell her what was in his heart seemed to grow more remote than ever. He ached to speak to her, were it but a few words – a few words he told himself were all that were needful, so little did he know of love – and yet the opportunity was denied.

At last in despair he rose; he would go away himself for a little and then return. Perhaps meantime the visitors might disperse. "I have to take my leave now, ladies," he said, excusing himself. "It is already the hour for the mail to arrive from Santa Fé, and I am expecting letters of importance. I do not know how they will manage in view of the unhappy death of the postmaster, but I had better be there to see what is to be done about opening the mail-bag. By your permission, then, Don Nepomuceno," and he bowed himself out. The words he had come to say to her were still unsaid. The thought occurred to him as he moved away, – should he speak to the girl's father? To speak to the girl's father first would be quite the correct thing according to Mexican fashions; or, rather, if he wanted to do the thing in proper style, he should go and get a friend to take a message to her father for him. But no; he was not a Mexican, and why should he adopt their fashions in this? He was an American, and he would woo his wife in American style for himself.

Faro started to come with him, but was ordered back.

"Stay where you are, old man, till I come for you. I see you're not so tender-footed as you were, but you stay here." He felt a sort of prejudice against taking the dog to the house of mourning. He hated to go there at all, but he had to have his mail and there was no other way to get it. And he would see if he could find out anything about the fate of the letters he had entrusted to Backus.

He went out and saddled up Morgana, who put her pretty head round and pretended to bite him as he pulled on the latigo strap to draw the cinch.

"Easy, old lady, now; come, none of that"; as she nearly nipped him. "Pedro's been giving you too much of Don Nepomuceno's corn, I'm thinking, and it's got into your head." He slung his Winchester into its case under the off-stirrup leather, and swinging himself into the saddle departed on his errand.

The mail waggon had just drawn up as usual before the door of the post-office, now shut and locked, and the stage-driver was leading his team around the back of the house towards the stable as Stephens came in sight. Two passengers had dismounted from the waggon, and were stretching their tired limbs and looking disconsolately at the closed house with its shuttered window, which seemed to offer small promise of a meal.

Stephens loped forward with the idea of relieving their discomfiture. As he did so one of the figures seemed strangely familiar. "Was it – could it be possible? No. Yes. By George, it was!" With a shout of welcome he sprang off the mare, slipping her bridle over the saddle-horn, and reached out both hands to the newcomer.

"Rocky! well, by gum!"

"Jack, old pard! why, you haint changed a mite!"

Stephens and Rockyfeller shook hands for about three minutes by the clock.

"Say," said Stephens, when the first greetings were over, "what brings you down here so sudden-like? Thar aint nothing wrong?"

"Not with me," answered Rocky; "I got your telegram, though, and it struck me that as you thought it worth while telegraphing for them dollars, you might p'r'aps be in some sort of a fix, so as I happened to be free and foot-loose I just jumped on the cars as far as South Pueblo, and took the stage, and here I am. And I was curious to see how you were making it down here. You're looking A1, I will say. New Mexico kinder seems to agree with you. Say, look at here," – he dropped his voice slightly, – "how about them velvet-eyed Mexican señoritas? Aint none of them been too much for you yet?" He gave his former partner a rallying look as he spoke.

"Ah, I may have a word to say to you about that presently," rejoined the other in a guarded tone. "But say, you're going to stop here, aint you? You're not bound for Wingate?"

"No, of course I'm not," laughed Rocky, "not unless you turn me adrift. I've come down to see you – that is, if it's quite convenient." It was characteristic of Rocky that it only now occurred to him that if his former partner had started an establishment down here a casual visitor might be de trop. "Of course," he added hastily, "I can go on to Wingate with the stage, quite well, along with my friend here, Doctor Benton. Excuse me, Doctor," – he turned to his fellow-traveller, who had been regarding the meeting of the two old friends with no other interest than considering how it affected his chances of getting a meal, – "allow me to introduce you two gentlemen. Doctor, this is my old friend, Mr. John Stephens, at present a resident of this neighbourhood. Jack, this is Doctor Benton, who is doctor to the Post at Fort Wingate and is now on his way there."

The army doctor and the prospector exchanged greetings.

"Perhaps, Mr. Stephens," said the doctor, who was uncommonly hungry, "you can inform me of what I am anxious to discover, namely, what possibility there is of our getting a meal here before proceeding."

Stephens explained that the keeper of the stage station had just been killed by a rattlesnake. "But I think," he continued, "that if you will put yourself in my hands I can manage to procure you a meal with some friends of mine near here. I'd like to ask you to come up to my place at Santiago, but the stage don't wait but an hour here, and there wouldn't be time, as it's a good three miles off." He paused and hesitated for a moment. "I should like to say that these friends of mine are Mexicans," he added; "there are no Americans resident in this part of the Territory." The fact was, that he felt slightly embarrassed for two reasons. He was afraid that Doctor Benton would try to offer payment to Don Nepomuceno for his meal, which wouldn't do at all; and he wanted to explain to Rocky his footing in the house, and his position with regard to Manuelita, before taking him there, so as to shut off beforehand any further unseasonable jests about velvet-eyed señoritas. But to explain this to him before a stranger like Doctor Benton was an impossibility. He must contrive somehow to get a chance to speak to Rocky for a few minutes alone.

His eye fell upon Felipe, who had followed him from the Sanchez house. "See here, young 'un," he said, "I wish you'd go back to Don Nepomuceno's for me, and tell him, with my compliments, that two friends of mine have just come, and that by his permission I should like to bring them to his house, and that I should be very much obliged if he could give them something to eat. Off you go. We'll follow you."

Felipe was off like a shot.

"That'll be all right now, I guess," said Stephens, looking after his retreating figure, "but if you'll excuse me a moment, Doctor Benton, before we follow him, I've got to see about my mail first. I expect there may be something of importance for me, but I feel there may be a little difficulty about getting it, seeing that the responsible postmaster's dead, and the poor woman in yonder," – he dropped his voice slightly, – "who represents him now, is in no condition to transact business. I guess I'll go and speak to the stage-driver first. Will you come around with me, Rocky?"

"Why, the mail-bags are in here," cut in the doctor, pointing to the stage, "and the driver never has the key. You'll have to get it out of the widow, somehow, I expect."

"Ah," said the prospector suddenly, a fresh idea flashing across him, "you might be able to tell me perhaps about one thing that I'm curious to know. You are just from headquarters at Santa Fé, Doctor, aren't you?"

The doctor nodded assent.

"Well, do you know of any detail of soldiers being despatched in this direction to look after the Navajos? There's a band of Navajos have left their reservation, and there was very serious trouble with them here some four days back, and I wrote to the governor and the general who is in command of the troops at Santa Fé to ask for protection for the citizens here. I wrote by the last mail that went in from here on this same stage, driven by this man. I know that he must have delivered a letter I gave him addressed to the First National Bank of Santa Fé, because I had enclosed in it a telegram to my old pard here, and the bank forwarded it to him all O. K. But I'm a little doubtful as to what became of those letters to the governor and the general. I want to know why those soldiers weren't sent."

"Hm-m," said the army doctor; "it so happens that I was conversing with both Governor Stone and General Merewether only yesterday before starting, and we were talking about the route by here to Wingate, and the difficulty of the Rio Grande being in flood, but they never said a word about any report of trouble with the Navajos."

"You don't say!" said Stephens; "and you didn't pass any troops on the road anywhere along?"

"Certainly not," said the other; "in fact, if any troops had been coming this way, I should probably have accompanied them. But I am in a position to state that no detail of troops of any kind has left Santa Fé for a week or more."

"Well, I'm dashed!" said the prospector; "they would have said something to you about it, sure, if they ever got my letters." He was silent.

"Mahletonkwa must have told the straight truth for once in his life," he reflected, "and that rascal of a postmaster must have actually had the face to burn those letters I gave him, and, what's more, now he's dead we'll never prove it on him in God's world. Not that it would be any use if we could. The mischief's done now so far as he could do it, but it's the last he'll ever do, sure. The letter I gave the stage-driver was all right. He couldn't get at that."

Stephens never knew how near his letter to the Bank, with the telegram for Rocky, had come to sharing the fate of the others. But the stage-driver, though he might talk and bluster, had no real motive for destroying it, and he did have a healthy fear of the Post-Office Department. Mr. Backus had a motive, and did not share the other's wholesome dread of his official superiors.

While Stephens was pondering over the fate of his letters, he slipped one hand in an absent-minded way into his side pocket, and there he stumbled on exactly what he most wanted at that moment, a good excuse for taking Rocky apart. The first thing his fingers had encountered was the paper containing the specimens of the outcrop at the Lone Pine rock that he had brought away with him. Excellent! here was the very thing; he produced it somewhat mysteriously, and handing it to Rocky, said apologetically to the other man, "One moment by your leave, Doctor, if you please. There's something here I want just to have my old partner look at," and he drew Rocky a little to one side.

"Why, certainly," said the Doctor, turning round and proceeding to climb into the stage; "I'll just see if I can rout out that mail-bag for you before the stage-driver comes."

"I wanted to tell you, Rocky, about my friends at this house where I'm taking you," began Stephens hurriedly, in a low voice; "I don't want you to make any error: there's a girl there that I think – " But his ex-partner, who had already opened the paper, interrupted him with the greatest excitement.

"Why, burn my skin!" he exclaimed, "do you know what you've got hold of here? You've got some of that same ore they've gone crazy over up at Mohawk. Didn't you spot the horn silver in it? If you've got a good lode of this stuff, by thunder, you've got a soft thing! Is it a good vein? If it's three or four foot wide you'll just have the world by the tail."

"That so?" said his friend, "you don't say! I guess I must have stumbled on to that hidden mine of the Indians I've been hunting for, at last. But that'll keep."

Rocky, remembering his old friend's former ardour in prospecting, was amazed at the cool way in which he took the news that he had made this highly valuable strike.

"Look at here, Rocky; the thing I was really aiming to say to you," continued Stephens, his colour rising as he spoke, "was about that young lady," – at this Rocky's lips curved into a knowing smile and his eyes twinkled; – "don't laugh, old man, I'm dead in earnest over this thing, and I think a heap of her. She's a lady, mind you, right down to the ground."

"Why, to be sure, she must be," cut in Rocky, with portentous seriousness, though his eyes danced with merriment; "she wouldn't be your style no other way. You always was high-toned, Jack; I'll say that for you."

"That's all right," returned Stephens, colouring more furiously than ever; he knew he was blushing, though the experience was entirely strange to him, and he was dreadfully ashamed of not being able to help it. "But indeed I'm not joking, Rocky. Her family's not very rich, but they're kind of way-up people, I want you to understand, old Spanish blood and that sort of thing; not any of the low-down, half-caste Indian stock, you know."

"That so?" said Rocky, keenly; "wal', I'm glad to hear it. I thought Mexicans was all one quality straight through – leastways, all I ever seen were." Rocky's knowledge of the race was limited to the bull-whackers of the big waggon-trains on the freighting roads, and Mexican stock was considerably below par by his estimate.