The Heritage of the Hills

by Arthur Preston Hankins

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE QUESTION

  The morning following the Feast of the Dead, Oliver Drew rode Poche outof Clinker Creek Canyon, driving Smith ahead of them, on the way toHalfmoon Flat for supplies. Over the hills above the American River hesaw a white horse galloping toward him.

  This was to be a chance meeting with Jessamy. He had an idea she wouldnot be anxious to face him, after her attempted subterfuge of the nightbefore; so he slipped from the saddle, captured Smith, and led the twoanimals back into the woods.

  Then he hurried to a tree on the outskirts and hid behind it.

  On galloped White Ann, with the straight, sturdy figure in the saddle.As they came closer Oliver knew by her face that Jessamy had not seenhim; and as they came abreast he stepped out quickly and shouted.

  Jessamy turned red, reined in, and faced him, her lips twitching.

  "Good morning, my Star of Destiny!" he said.

  A flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lipscontinued to twitch mischievously.

  "_Buenos dias_, Watchman of the Dead!" she shot back at him.

  Oliver's eyes widened.

  "Got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? Just so!--if you'llpermit a Seldenism. Tit for tat, as the fella says! Your move again."

  And then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her.

  "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "Ridin'."

  "You weren't headed for the Old Ivison Place."

  "No, not this morning. I was not seeking you. But since I've met you,and the worst is over, I'll not avoid you."

  "Help me pack a load of grub down the canyon; then I'll go 'ridin' withyou."

  She nodded assent.

  "I thought so," she observed, as he led Poche and Smith from hiding.

  "I thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead ofyou," he made confession.

  "I might have done that," she told him as they herded Smith into theroad and followed him.

  They said nothing more about what had taken place the night before untilthe bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and Smith was rolling hispack from side to side on the homeward trail. Then Oliver askedabruptly:

  "Who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the _olla_ at The FourPools yesterday?"

  "Please, sir, I done it," she replied.

  "When?"

  "Just before I rode to your cabin last evening."

  "Uh-huh!" he grunted, and fell silent again.

  At the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload thepackbags. Then the shaggy Smith was left to his own devices--much to hisloudly voiced disapproval--and Jessamy and Oliver rode off into thehills.

  "Which way?" he asked as they topped the ridge.

  "Lime Rock," she replied.

  Tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparralpatches and rocky canyons till they reached the old trail that led toLime Rock.

  Lime Rock upreared itself on the lip of a thousand-foot precipice thatoverhung the river. It was three hundred feet in height, a giganticwhite pencil pointing toward the sky. At its base was a small levelspace, large enough for a wagon and team to turn, but the remainder ofthe land about and above it was hillside, too steep for cows to climb.And from the edge of the level land the canyonside dropped straightdownward, a mass of craggy rocks and ill-nourished growth. The trailthat led to Lime Rock wound its way over a shelf four feet in width,hacked in the hillside. One false step on this trail and details of whatmust inevitably ensue would be hideous.

  Oliver led the way when they reached the beginning of the trail. BothPoche and White Ann were mountain bred animals, sure-footed andunconcerned over Nature's threatening eccentricities. For a quarter of amile the bay and the white threaded the narrow path, their riderssilent. Then they came to Lime Rock and the security of the level landabout it.

  Here Oliver and Jessamy sat their horses and gazed down the dizzyprecipice at the rushing river, and up the steep, rocky wall on theother side.

  "Do you know who owns the land on which our horses are standing?"Jessamy finally asked.

  "I've never given it a thought," said Oliver.

  "It belongs to Damon Tamroy."

  "That so? I didn't know he owned anything over this way."

  "Yes, Damon owns it. But I have an option on it."

  "You! Have an option on it!"

  "Yes, a year's option. It was rather an underhanded trick that I playedon old Damon, but he's not very angry about it. It's my first businessventure.

  "You see, I learned through a letter from a girl friend in San Franciscothat a big cement company was thinking of invading this country. Shewrote it merely as a bit of entertaining news, but I looked at itdifferently.

  "I knew where they'd begin their invasion. Right here! That magnificentmonument there is solid limestone, and the hills back of it are thesame, though covered by a thin layer of soil. So I went to the owner ofthe land, Damon Tamroy, and got a year's option on it for twenty-fivedollars--a hundred and sixty acres.

  "How Damon laughed at me! I told him outright why I wanted to buy theland, if ever I could scrape enough together. He didn't consider it veryvaluable, and it may become mine any day this year that I can pungle upfour hundred and seventy-five bucks more. When he quizzed me, I told himfrankly that I was doing it in an effort to preserve Lime Rock forposterity, and he laughed louder than ever.

  "But he changed his tune when a representative of the cement companyapproached him with an offer of fifteen dollars an acre. He took hisloss good-naturedly enough, but accused me of putting over a slicklittle business deal on him. I had done so, in a way, and admitted it;and ever since I've been talking myself blue in the face when I meethim, trying to convince him that it's not the money I'm after at all.

  "Think of an old hog of a cement company coming in here and erecting arumbling old plant, with the noon whistle deriding the reverential calmof this magnificent canyon, and their old drills and dynamite and thingsripping Lime Rock from its throne! Bah! I'm going to San Francisco soonto get a job. I may decide to go this week. It will keep me hustling toput away four hundred and seventy-five dollars between now and the daymy option expires."

  Oliver sat looking gravely at the young idealist, suppressing hisdisappointment over the possibility of her early departure.

  "But we have to have cement," he pointed out.

  "Do we? Maybe so. But there's lots of limestone in the west. Men don'tneed to search out such spots as this in which to get it. There are lesspicturesque places, which will yield enough cement material for all ourneeds. Sometimes I think these big money-grabbers just love to ruinNature with their old picks and powder. You may agree with me or not--Idon't care. I'm not utilitarian, and don't care who knows it. Theworld's against me in my big fight to keep the money hogs from robbinglife of all its poetry; but it's a fight to the last ditch! I'll saveLime Rock, anyway, if I have to beg and borrow."

  "I don't know that I disagree with you at all," he told her softly."Money doesn't mean a great deal to me. I've shed no idle tears over myfailure to inherit the money that I expected would be mine at Dad'sdeath. I hold no ill will toward Dad. There's too much wampum in theworld today. It won't buy much. The more people have the more they want.The so-called 'standard of living' continues to rise, and with it theills of our civilization steadily increase. Luxuries ruin health.Automobiles make our muscles sluggish. Moving pictures clog our thinkingapparatus. Telephones make us lazy. Phonographs and piano-players reduceour appreciation of the technique of music, which can come only by studyand practice. What flying machines will do to us remains to be seen, butthey'll never carry us to heaven!

  "No, money means little enough to me. Give me the big outdoors and aregular horse, a keen zest in life, and true appreciation of everycreature and rock and tree and blade that God has created, and I'llstruggle along."

  As he talked the colour had been mounting to her face. When he ceasedshe turned starry ey
es upon him, her white teeth showing betweenslightly parted lips.

  "Oliver Drew," she said, "you have made me very happy. I--"

  A rush of blood throbbed suddenly at Oliver's temples, and once again heswung his horse close to hers.

  "I'll try to make you happy always," he said low-voiced. "Jessamy--"Again he opened his arms for her, but as before she drew herself awayfrom him.

  "Don't! Not--not now! Wait--Oliver!"

  "Wait! Always wait! Why?"

  "I--I must tell you something first. I can tell you now--after--afterlast night."

  "Then tell me quickly," he demanded.

  She rested both hands on her saddle horn and rose in her stirrups. For along time her black eyes gazed down the precipice below them, while thewind whipped wisps of hair about her forehead. Oliver waited, drunk withthe thought of his nearness to her.

  "Watchman of the Dead!" she murmured at last.

  Oliver started.

  "Two years ago," she went on softly, "I met the second Watchman of theDead. You are the third. The first was murdered in this forest. His namewas Bolivio, and he made silver-mounted saddles and hair-tasseledbridles."

  Oliver scarce dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell thatseemed to have come over her. She did not look at him. She continued togaze into her beloved canyon and at her beloved hills beyond.

  "Oh, where shall I begin!" she cried at last. "Where is the beginning? Aman would begin at the first, I suppose, but a woman just can't! But Iwon't be true to the feminine method and begin at the end. I won't be acopy-cat. I'll begin in the middle, anyway."

  A smile flickered across her red lips; but still she gazed away fromhim.

  "Two years ago," she said, "I met the dearest man."

  Oliver straightened, and lumps shuttled at the hinges of his jaws.

  "I was riding White Ann on one of my lonely wanderings through thewoods. I met him on the ridge above the Old Ivison Place and the river.

  "After that I met him many times, in the forest and elsewhere; and themore I talked with him the more I liked him. He was my idea of a man."

  Oliver, too, was now gazing into the canyon, but he saw neither crags nortrees nor rushing green river.

  "And he grew to like me," her low tones continued. "We talked on manysubjects, but mostly of what we've been talking about today.

  "He was an idealist, this man. He was comparatively wealthy, but thereare things in life that he placed above money and its accumulation. Byand by he grew to like me more and more, and finally he told me pointblank that I was his ideal woman; and then he grew confidential and toldme all about himself--his past, present, and what he hoped for in thefuture. And in my hands he placed a trust. Please God, I have tried tokeep the faith!"

  She threw back her head and followed the flight of an eagle soaringserenely over Lime Rock. And with her eyes thus lifted she softly said:

  "That man was Peter Drew--your father."

  Oliver's breast heaved, but he made no sound. Once more her eyes weresweeping the abyss.

  "That's the middle," she said. "Now I'll go back to the beginning andtell you what Peter Drew entrusted to my keeping.

  "Thirty years ago Peter Drew, who then called himself Dan Smeed, was thepartner of Adam Selden. They mined and hunted and trapped togetherthroughout this country.

  "There were other activities, too, which I shall not mention. Youunderstand. Your father told me all about it, kept nothing back.Remember that I said he was my idea of a man; and if in his youth he hadbeen wild and--well, seemed criminally inclined--I found that easy toforget. Certainly the manliness and sacrifice of his later years wipedout all this a thousand times.

  "Well, to proceed: Peter Drew and Adam Selden married Indian girls.Peter Drew won out in the fire dance and became a member of the ShowutPoche-dakas. Adam Selden failed, and, according to the custom, took hiswife from the tribe and lived with her elsewhere. Six months afterwardthe wife of Selden died.

  "Peter Drew, however, having become a recognized member of the tribe,was taken into their full confidence. According to their simple belief,he had conquered all obstacles that stood between him and thisaffiliation; therefore the gods had ordained that full trust should beplaced in him. And with their beautiful faith and simplicity they didnot question his honesty. So according to an old, old tradition of thetribe the white man was appointed Watchman of the Dead.

  "I know little of this story. All of the traditions of the ShowutPoche-dakas are clouded, so far as our interpretation of them goes. Butit appears, from what your father told me, that ages ago a white-skinnedchief had been Watchman of the Dead. Mercy knows where he came from,for, so far as history goes, the whites had not then invaded thecountry. But after him, whenever a white-skinned man conquered the evilspirits of the fire and became a member, he was appointed Watchman ofthe Dead. So in the natural order of things the honour came to PeterDrew.

  "Up to this time the only other Watchman of the Dead remembered by evenold Maquaquish and Chupurosa was the man called Bolivio. Holding thissimple office, it seems that Bolivio had stumbled upon the secret sojealously guarded by the Showut Poche-dakas. He tried to turn thissecret information to his own advantage, and in so doing he broke faithwith the tribe that had adopted him as a brother. Found dead in theforest with a knife in his heart, is the abrupt climax of his tale oftreachery. And so the tradition of the lost mine of Bolivio had itsbirth.

  "Centuries ago, no doubt, the Showut Poche-dakas discovered thespodumene gems which were responsible for the fiction concerning thelost mine of Bolivio. They polished them crudely and worshipped them.Spodumene gems always are found in pockets in the rock, and they arealways hidden in wet clay in these pockets. Solid stone will be allabout them, with no trace of disintegrated matter, until a pocket isstruck. Therein will be found separate stones of varying sizes, alwayssealed in a natural vacuum, which in some way forever retains moisturein the clay.

  "This peculiarity appealed to the superstitious natures of the ShowutPoche-dakas. It is their age-old custom to bury their dead in pocketshacked in cliffs of solid stones, sealing them with a cement of clay andpulverized granite. One can readily see how the discovery of thesebeautiful gems, sealed in pockets as they sealed their dead, mightaffect them. They determined that the glittering stones represented thebodies of their ancestors, and from that time on the lilac-tinted gemsbecame something to be worshipped and guarded faithfully.

  "Doubtless when Bolivio was appointed Watchman of the Dead he was toldthis secret, and learned where the stones were to be found. He got someof them, and sent them East to find out whether they were valuable. Hepolished two, and placed them in bridle _conchas_. Then before word camefrom New York the Indians stabbed him for his deceit.

  "His elaborate equestrian outfit remained with the tribe, and yourfather acquired it when he became Watchman of the Dead. For some reasonunknown to him, the stones were allowed to remain in the _conchas_; andhe told me that he always imagined them to be a symbol of his office.Anyway, you, Oliver Drew, are the Watchman of the Dead, and your rightto own and use that gem-mounted bridle goes unchallenged by the ShowutPoche-dakas."

  She paused reflectively.

  "All this your father told me," she presently continued. "He told me,too, that the secret place where the gems are to be found is on the OldIvison Place. It was unclaimed land then, and your father camped therewith his Indian wife, as was demanded of the Watchman of the Dead.Before his time, Bolivio had camped there. Later, Old Man Ivisonhomesteaded the place, knowing nothing of its strange history. He was akindly old man, liked by everybody; and each year he allowed the Indiansto hold their Mona Fiesta at The Four Pools. Though he had no idea whythey held it in this exact spot each time--that up the slope above themwas a hidden treasure that would have made the struggling homesteaderrich for life.

  "Then your father told me the worst part of it all. He and Selden, itseems, had found out more of the story of Bolivio than is to beunravelled today, with most of the old-timers dead and gone a
nd theIndians always closemouthed. Anyway, they two found out about the secretgems and the significance of the fire dance. So they had planneddeliberately to marry Indian girls to further their knowledge of thismatter.

  "It was understood between them that Adam Selden would intentionallyfail to win out in the fire dance, and that Peter Drew, who was aHercules for endurance and strength, would win if he could, and thusbecome Watchman of the Dead and learn the whereabouts of the brilliants.This scheme they carried out, and Peter Drew took up residence with hisbrown-skinned bride on what is today the Old Ivison Place.

  "Then he redeemed himself by falling in love with his wife. In time hefound out where the gem pockets were situated. But when Selden came tohim to see if he'd stumbled on to the secret, he put him off and said,'Not yet.'

  "From the date of the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio until the nightof the Mona Fiesta he remained undecided what to do. Somehow or other,he told me, though he had been a highwayman and was then protected fromthe flimsy law of that day only by his Indian brothers, he could notbring himself to break faith with them.

  "Then came the night of the first Mona Fiesta since he became Watchmanof the Dead; and that night temporarily decided him.

  "When he squatted in the circle about the fire and saw the rapt,tear-stained, brown faces of these people who had placed absolute faithin him, he fell under the spell of their simplicity, and swore that solong as he lived he would not betray their trust.

  "And he lived up to it, with his partner, Adam Selden importuning himdaily to get the stones and skip the country. And finally to be rid ofSelden and the double game he was obliged to play, Peter Drew left withhis wife one night and did not return for fifteen years.

  "And since then there has been no Watchman of the Dead until the nightyou defeated the evil spirits in the fire dance.

  "Out in the world of white men Peter Drew settled down to ranching. HisIndian wife had died two years after he left this country. With hergone, and the new order of things all about him, he began to wonder ifhe had not been a fool.

  "Up here in the lonesome hills was wealth untold, so far as he knew, andhe renounced it for an ideal. To secure those gems he had only to showingratitude to the Showut Poche-dakas, had only to break faith with ahandful of ignorant, simple-minded Indians. What did they and theirridiculous beliefs amount to in this great scheme of life as he now sawit? Each day men on every hand were breaking faith to become wealthy,were trampling traditions and ideals underfoot to gain their goldenends. Business was business--money was money! Had he not been a fool?Was he not still a fool--to renounce a fortune that was his for thetaking?

  "He called himself an ignorant man. He told himself--and truly,too--that countless men whom he knew, who had read a thousand books toone merely opened by him--men of education, men of affairs--would laughat him, and themselves would have wrested the treasure from its hidingplace without a qualm of conscience. Civilization was stalking on in itsunconquerable march. Should a handful of uncouth Indians, asuperstitious, dwindling tribe of near-savages, be permitted to handicaphis part in this triumphal march? No--never!

  "But always, when he made ready to return to the scenes of his youngmanhood, there came before him the picture of brown, tear-stained facesabout a fire, and of an old blind man speaking softly as if telling astory to eager children. Highwayman Peter Drew had been, but never inhis life had he broken faith with a friend. Loyalty was the verybackbone of my idealist, and he turned away from temptation and doggedlyfollowed his plough.

  "For thirty years and more the question faced him. Should he get thegems and be wealthy, and break faith with those who had entrusted himwith the greatest thing in their lives--these people who had called himbrother, whose last remnant of food or shelter was his for the asking?Or should he remain an idealist, a poor man, but loyal to his trust? Theanswer was No or Yes!

  "Can't your imagination place you in his shoes? Unlettered, not sure ofhimself, ashamed of what he doubtless termed his chicken-heartedness.Don't you know that all of us are constantly ashamed of our secretideals--ashamed of the best that is in us? We fear the ridicule ofcoarser minds, and hide what is Godlike in our hearts. And on top ofthis, your father was ignorant, according to present day standards, andknew it. But for thirty years, Oliver Drew, he prospered while hisidealism fought the battle against the lust for wealth. Idealism won,but Peter Drew died not knowing whether he had been a wise man or afool. He died a conqueror. Give us more of such ignorance!

  "And he educated you, left you penniless, and placed his momentousquestion in your keeping.

  "Fifteen years ago he bought the Old Ivison Place, though the Indians donot know it. Adam Selden has searched for the gems without result eversince Peter Drew left the country; and it was because of him that yourfather kept his purchase a secret. Two years ago, while you were inFrance, Peter Drew came here, met me and liked me, and told me all thatI have told you.

  "He knew that when you rode into this country with the saddle and bridleof Bolivio that the Showut Poche-dakas would know who you were, andwould take you in and make you Watchman of the Dead. Peter Drew wantedyou to be penniless, as he had been when he first faced the question. Hegave me money with which to help along the cause. So far I've only hadto use it for liquid courtplaster, an _olla_, and a few bolts of calico.You were to learn nothing of the story from my lips. You were to facethe question blindly, with no other influences about you save those thathe had experienced.

  "I have done my best to carry out his wishes. You are the Watchman ofthe Dead. You own the land on which the treasure lies. You are brotherof the Showut Poche-dakas. The treasure is yours almost for the liftingof a hand. You are almost penniless.

  "There's your question, Oliver Drew. Say Yes and the gems are yours. SayNo, and you have forty acres of almost worthless land, a saddle horseand outfit, and youth and health, and the lifetime office of Watchman ofthe Dead!"

  She ceased speaking. There were tears in her great black eyes as shelooked at him levelly.

  "But--but--" Oliver floundered. "I don't know where the gems are. Seldenhas hunted them for thirty years, and has failed to find them. I've seenmany evidences of his search. Will the Showut Poche-dakas tell me wherethey are?"

  "Your father thought that perhaps, after what has passed in connectionwith former Watchmen of the Dead, you might not be told the exactlocation. So he made provision for that."

  She reached in her bosom and handed him an envelope sealed with wax.

  On it he read in his father's hand:

  "Map showing exact location of what is known as the lost mine ofBolivio."

  "If you open it," she said, "your answer probably will be No, and youbecome owner of the gems. If you destroy it unopened, your answer isYes, and you are a poor man. Yes or No, Oliver Drew? Think over ittonight, and I'll meet you here tomorrow at noon."

  "What do _you_ want my answer to be?" he asked.

  "I have no right to express my wishes in the matter," she said. "Andyour answer is not to be told to me, you must remember, but to yourfather's lawyers."

  Then she turned White Ann into the narrow trail that led from Lime Rock.