A Daughter of the Dons: A Story of New Mexico Today
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Bruce Thomas and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at www.pgdp.net.
Little hands caught hold of him and fought with thecurrent. Frontispiece. Page 30]
A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS
_A Story of New Mexico Today_
BY
WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE
AUTHOR OF
WYOMING, BUCKY O'CONNOR, MAVERICKS, A TEXAS RANGER, BRAND BLOTTERS,RIDGWAY OF MONTANA, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
D.C. HUTCHISON
Colophon.]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
_A Daughter of the Dons._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DON MANUEL INTRODUCES HIMSELF 5
II. THE TWO GRANTS 15
III. FISHERMAN'S LUCK 27
IV. AT THE YUSTE HACIENDA 42
V. "AN OPTIMISTIC GUY" 61
VI. JUANITA 76
VII. TWO MESSAGES 88
VIII. TAMING AN OUTLAW 101
IX. OF DON MANUEL AND MOONLIGHT 111
X. MR. AINSA DELIVERS A MESSAGE 123
XI. THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY AND THE TWENTIETH 137
XII. "I BELIEVE YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER TOO" 149
XIII. AMBUSHED 159
XIV. MANUEL TO THE RESCUE 173
XV. ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD 193
XVI. VALENCIA MAKES A PROMISE 201
XVII. AN OBSTINATE MAN 213
XVIII. MANUEL INTERFERES 230
XIX. VALENCIA ACCEPTS A RING 240
XX. DICK LIGHTS A CIGARETTE 246
XXI. WHEN THE WIRES WERE CUT 259
XXII. THE ATTACK 269
XXIII. THE TIN BOX 287
XXIV. DICK GORDON APOLOGIZES 298
XXV. THE PRINCE CONSORT 307
A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS
CHAPTER I
DON MANUEL INTRODUCES HIMSELF
For hours Manuel Pesquiera had been rolling up the roof of the continentin an observation-car of the "Short Line."
His train had wound in and out through a maze of bewildering scenery,and was at last dipping down into the basin of the famous gold camp.
The alert black eyes of the young New Mexican wandered discontentedlyover the raw ugliness of the camp. Towns straggled here and thereuntidily at haphazard, mushroom growths of a day born of a lucky"strike." Into the valleys and up and down the hillsides ran a networkof rails for trolley and steam cars. Everywhere were the open tunnelmouths or the frame shaft-houses perched above the gray Titan dumpbeards.
The magic that had wonderfully brought all these manifold activitiesinto being had its talisman in the word "Gold"; but, since Pesquiera hadcome neither as a prospector nor investor, he heard with onlyhalf-concealed impatience the easy gossip of his fellow travelers aboutthe famous ore producers of the district.
It was not until his inattentive ears caught the name of Dick Gordonthat he found interest in the conversation.
"Pardon, sir! Are you acquaint' with Mr. Richard Gordon?" he asked, atouch of the gentle Spanish accent in his voice.
The man to whom he had spoken, a grizzled, weather-beaten little fellowin a corduroy suit and white, broad-brimmed felt hat, turned his steadyblue eyes on his questioner a moment before he answered:
"I ought to know him, seeing as I'm his partner."
"Then you can tell me where I may find him?"
"Yes, sir, I can do that. See that streak of red there on the hill--theone above the big dump. That's the shafthouse of the Last Dollar. Dropdown it about nine hundred feet and strike an airline west by north forabout a quarter of a mile, and you'd be right close to him. He's downthere, tackling a mighty uncertain proposition. The shaft and theworkings of the Last Dollar are full of water. He's running a crosscutfrom an upraise in the Radley drift, so as to tap the west tunnel of theLast Dollar."
"It is dangerous, you inform me?"
"Dangerous ain't the word. It's suicide, the way I look at it. See here,my friend. His drill goes through and lets loose about 'steen milliongallons of water. How is he going to get in out of the rain about thattime?"
The New Mexican showed a double row of pearly teeth in a bland smile.
"Pardon, sir. If you would explain a leetle more fully I would thencomprehend."
"Sure. Here's the way it is. Dick and his three men are plugging away atthe breast of the drift with air-drills. Every day he gits closeter tothat lake dammed up there. Right now there can't be more'n a few feet ofgranite 'twixt him and it. He don't know how many any more'n a rabbit,because he's going by old maps that ain't any too reliable. The questionis whether the wall will hold till he dynamites it through, or whetherthe weight of water will crumple up that granite and come pouring out ina flood."
"Your friend, then, is in peril, is it not so?"
"You've said it. He's shooting dice with death. That's the way I size itup. If the wall holds till it's blown up, Dick has got to get back alongthe crosscut, lower himself down the upraise, and travel nearly a milethrough tunnelings before he reaches a shaft to git out. That don'tleave them any too much time at the best. But if the water breaksthrough on them, it's Heaven help Dick, and good-by to this world."
"Then Mr. Gordon is what you call brave?"
"He's the gamest man that ever walked into this camp. There ain't aninch of him that ain't clear grit through and through. Get into a tightplace, and he's your one best bet to tie to."
"Mr. Gordon is fortunate in his friend," bowed the New Mexican politely.
The little miner looked at him with shining eyes.
"Nothing like that. Me, I figure the luck's all on my side. Onct youmeet Dick you'll see why we boost for him. Hello, here's where we getoff at. If you're looking for Dick, stranger, you better follow me. I'mgoing right up to the mine. Dick had ought to be coming up from belowany minute now."
Pesquiera checked his suitcase at the depot newsstand and walked up asteep hill trail with his guide. The miner asked no questions of the NewMexican as to his business with Gordon, nor did the latter volunteer anyinformation. They discussed instead the output of the camp for thepreceding year, comparing it with that of the other famous golddistricts of the world.
Just as they entered the shafthouse the cage shot to the surface. Fromit stepped two men.
Several miners crowded toward them with eager greetings, but they movedaside at sight of Pesquiera's companion, who made straight for thosefrom below.
"What's new, Tregarth?" he asked of one of them, a huge Cornishman.
"The drill have brook into the Last Dollar tunnel.
The watter of un dobe leaking through, Measter Davis. The boss sent us oop while Tom andhim stayed to put the charges in the drill holes to blow oot the wall.He wouldna coom and let me stay."
Davis thought a moment.
"I'll go down the shaft and wait at the foot of it. There'll besomething doing soon. Keep your eye peeled for signals, Smith, and whenyou git the bell to raise, shoot her up sudden. If the water's coming,we'll be in a hurry, and don't you forget it. Want to come down with me,Tregarth?"
"I do that, sir." The man stepped into the cage and grinned. "We'llbring the byes back all right. Bet un we do, lads."
The cage shot down, and the New Mexican sat on a bench to wait itsreturn. Beside him was a young doctor, who had come prepared for apossible disaster. Such conversation as the men carried on was in lowtones, for all felt the strain of the long minutes. The engineer's eyewas glued to his machinery, his hand constantly on the lever.
It must have been an hour before the bell rang sharply in the silenceand the lever swept back instantly. A dozen men started to their feetand waited tensely. Next moment there was a wild, exultant cheer.
For Tregarth had stepped from the cage with a limp figure in his arms,and after him Davis, his arm around the shoulder of a drenched,staggering youth, who had a bleeding cut across his cheek. Through allthe grime that covered the wounded miner the pallor of exhaustion showeditself.
But beaten and buffeted as the man had plainly been in his fight forlife, the clean, supple strength and the invincible courage of him stillshone in his eye and trod in his bearing. It was even now the salientthing about him, though he had but come, alive and no more, from awrestle with death itself.
He sank to a bench, and looked around on his friends with shining eyes.
"'Twas nip and tuck, boys. The water caught us in the tunnel, and Ithought we were gone. It swept us right to the cage," he panted.
"She didn't sweep Tom there, boss; ye went back after un," corrected theCornishman.
"Anyhow, we made it in the nick o' time. Tom all right, Doctor?"
The doctor looked up from his examination.
"No bones broken. He seems sound. If there are no internal injuries itwill be a matter of only a day or two in bed."
"Good. That's the way to talk. You got to make him good as new, Doctor.You ought to have seen the way he stayed by that drill when the waterwas pouring through the cracks in the granite. Have him taken to thehospital, and send the bill to me."
Tregarth boomed out in a heavy bass:
"What's the matter with the boss? Both of un? They be all right. Bean'tthey, lads?"
It was just after the answering chorus that Pesquiera came forward andbowed magnificently to the young mine operator. The New Mexican's eyeswere blazing with admiration, for he was of Castilian blood andcherished courage as the chief of virtues.
"I have the honor to salute a hero, _senor_" he cried enthusiastically."Your deed is of a most fine bravery. I, Manuel Pesquiera, say it. HaveI the right in thinking him of the name of Mr. Richard Gordon?"
Something that was almost disgust filmed the gray eyes of the youngminer. He had the Anglo-Saxon horror of heroics. What he had done wasall in the day's work, and he was the last man in the world to enjoyhaving a fuss made over it.
"My name is Gordon," he said quietly.
The Spaniard bowed again.
"I have the honor to be your servant to command, Don Manuel Pesquiera. Ibelieve myself to be, sir, a messenger of fortune to you--a Mercury fromthe favoring gods, with news of good import. I, therefore, ask the honorof an audience at your convenience."
Dick flung the wet hat from his curly head and took a look at the cardwhich the Spaniard had presented him. From it his humorous gaze wentback to the posturing owner of the pasteboard. Suppressing a grin, heanswered with perfect gravity.
"If you will happen round to the palace about noon to-morrow, _Senor_Pesquiera, you will be admitted to the presence by the court flunkies.When you're inquiring for the whereabouts of the palace, better call itroom 14, Gold Nugget Rooming-House."
He excused himself and stepped lightly across to his companion in theadventure, who had by this time recovered consciousness.
"How goes it, Tom? Feel as if you'd been run through a sausage-grinder?"he asked cheerily.
The man smiled faintly. "I'm all right, boss. The boys tell me you wentback and saved me."
"Sho! I just grabbed you and slung you in the cage. No trick at all,Tom. Now, don't you worry, boy. Just lie there in the hospital and resteasy. We're settling the bill, and there's a hundred plunks waiting youwhen you get well."
Tom's hand pressed his feebly.
"I always knew you were white, boss."
The doctor laughed as he came forward with a basin of water andbandages.
"I'm afraid he'll be whiter than he need be if I don't stop thatbleeding. I think we're ready for it now, Mr. Gordon."
"All right. It's only a scratch," answered Gordon indifferently.
Pesquiera, feeling that he was out of the picture, departed in search ofa hotel for the night. He was conscious of a strong admiration for thisfair brown-faced Anglo-Saxon who faced death so lightly for one of hismen. Whatever else he might prove to be, Richard Gordon was a man.
The New Mexican had an uneasy prescience that his mission was foredoomedto failure and that it might start currents destined to affect potentlythe lives of many in the Rio Chama Valley.