CHAPTER XXV
THE ANSWER
Two weeks had passed since the battle of the Poison Oakers. Thatorganization was now no more. Jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse tostop the fight had proved fruitless. Only the constable and Damon Tamroyrode back with her with first aid packages, for Halfmoon Flat had voicedits indifference in a single sentence--"Let 'em fight it out!" Thosewhom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce.
So the Poison Oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "Finis"to the annals of their gang. Old Man Selden died two days after thebattle. Winthrop was killed outright, and Moffat was seriously wounded,but might recover. Obed Pence was dead; Digger Foss was dead. JayMuenster was dead. Thus half of their numbers were wiped out, and amongthem the controlling genius of the gang, Old Man Selden. And without himthose remaining, already split into two factions, were as a ship withouta rudder.
And all because of Oliver Drew!
Oliver stepped from the train at Halfmoon Flat this afternoon, two weeksafter the fight. He had helped Jessamy and her mother through thedifficulties arising from the tragedy, had appeared as witness at theinquest, and had then hurried to Los Angeles with his sealed envelope.Now, returning, he caught Poche in a pasture close to the village andsaddled him.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon. He had lunched on the diner, so atonce he lifted Poche into his mile-devouring lope and headed straightfor Poison Oak Ranch.
What changes had taken place since first he galloped along that road,barely four months before! Few with whom he had come in contact werestill pursuing the even tenor of their ways, as then. He thought of thefight and of the spectacular death of Digger Foss. At the inquest he hadbeen unable to throw any light on the identity of the halfbreed'smurderer. He was an Indian--beyond this Oliver could say no more. Thecoroner had quizzed him sharply. Whereupon Oliver had asked thatofficial if he himself thought it likely that he could have looked intothe muzzle of a Colt revolver in the hands of Digger Foss, and at thesame time make sure of the identity of a man stealing up behind him. Thecoroner had scratched his head. "I reckon I'd 'a' been tol'ableint'rested in that gun o' Digger's," was his confession.
And Oliver had told the truth. To this day he does not know who killedthe gunman--but he knows that in all probability his own life was savedwhen it occurred, and that it was a Showut Poche-daka who struck theblow.
At Poison Oak Ranch he found Jessamy awaiting him. He had sent her awire the day before, telling her he was coming, and the hour he wouldarrive.
They shook hands soberly, and after a short conversation with Mrs.Selden, Oliver saddled White Ann for Jessamy and they rode away into thehills. They were for the most part silent as their horses jogged alongmanzanita-bordered trails. Instinctively they avoided Lime Rock and itsvicinity, and made toward the north, up over the hog-back hills, nowsear and yellow, which climbed in interminable ranks to the snowy peaks.They came to a ledge that overlooked the river, and here they haltedwhile the girl gazed down on scenes that never wearied her.
They dismounted presently and seated themselves on two great greystones. Jessamy rested her round chin in her hand, and from under longlashes watched the green river winding about its serpentine curvesbelow.
The tragedy of death had left its mark on her face. There was a sober,half-pathetic droop to the red lips. The comradely black eyes werethoughtful. But the self-reliant poise of the sturdy shoulders still washers, and the sense of strength that she exhaled was not impaired.
Her dress today was not rugged, as was ordinarily the case when she rodeinto the hills. She wore a black divided skirt, and a low-neckyellow-silk waist, trimmed with black, and a black-silk sailor'sneckerchief. To further this effect a yellow rose nestled in hernight-black hair. She looked like a gorgeous California oriole, so trimwas her figure, so like that bird's were the contrast of colours shedisplayed. And her voice when she spoke, low and clear and throbbingmelodiously, reminded him of the notes of this same sweet songster atnesting time.
Oliver sat looking at the profile of her face, with the wind-whippedhair about it. More fully than ever now he realized that she waseverything in life to him. And today--now!--smilingly, unabashed.
"Well, Jessamy," he began, "I have seen Dad's lawyers." She turned herface toward him, but still rested her elbow on her knee, one cheek nowcupped by her hand.
"Yes," she said softly. "Tell me all about it."
"And I gave them my answer to the question."
For several moments her level glance searched his face, a little smileon her lips.
"And what is your answer?" she asked.
He rose and moved to the stone on which she sat, seating himself besideher.
"Don't you know what my answer is?" he asked softly.
She continued to look at him fearlessly, smilingly, unabashed.
"I think I know," she said. "But tell me."
"My answer," he said, "is the same that dear old Dad kept repeating forthirty years. I shall not enrich myself by sacrificing the confidenceplaced in me. I shall remain loyal to my simple trust. I am the Watchmanof the Dead."
Her lips quivered and her eyes glowed warmly, and two tears trickleddown her cheeks. Oliver took from his shirt the envelope and showed herthe black seals, still unbroken. Then on a flat rock before them he madea tiny fire of grass and twigs, and placed the envelope on top of it.Then he lighted a match.
"The funeral pyre of my worldly fortune!" he apostrophized. "The lostmine of Bolivio will be lost indeed when the map has burned."
Together they watched the tiny fire in silence, till the black waxsputtered and dripped down on the stone, and the eager flames crinkledthe envelope and its contents and reduced them to ashes.
"And now?" said Oliver.
"And now!" echoed Jessamy.
He slowly placed both arms about her and lifted her, unresisting, to herfeet. He drew her close, brushed back her hair, and looked deep intoeyes from which tears streamed unrestrained. Then she threw her armsabout his shoulders, and, with a glad laugh, half hysterical, she drewhis head down and kissed him time and again.
His hour had come. Oliver Drew had captured the star that had led him onand on--his Star of Destiny. Warm were her lips and tremulous--glowingwere her eyes for love of him. His pulse leaped madly as she gaveherself to him in absolute surrender.
"There's another matter," he said five minutes later, as she lay silentin his arms, with the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils. "OldDanforth, the head of the firm of attorneys that attended to Dad'saffairs, looked at me keenly from under shaggy brows when I gave myanswer.
"'So it's No, is it, young man?' he said.
"'No it is,' I told him.
"'In that case,' he said, 'you are to come with me.'
"He took me to a bank and opened a safe-deposit box in the vaults. Heshowed me bonds totalling over a hundred thousand dollars, and cash thatrepresented the interest coupons the firm had been clipping since Daddied.
"'Here's the key,' he told me. 'If your answer had been yes, thesebonds, too, would have gone to the church. For then you would have hadthe gems. Your father didn't mean to leave you penniless. You would havebeen fairly well off, I imagine, whether your answer had been Yes or No.Your father wanted his question answered by a man of education, and Ithink he would be pleased at your decision.'"
Jessamy had straightened and twisted in his arms till her face was closeto his.
"Peter Drew never hinted at that to me!" she cried. "I--I suppose you'dhave nothing but the Old Ivison Place if you answered No. Oh, myromantic Old Peter Drew! God rest his soul! I'm so glad."
"Glad, eh?" He smiled whimsically at her, and she quickly interpretedhis thoughts.
"Oh, but, Oliver--you don't understand! It's not that you're wealthy,after all--but now you can give Damon Tamroy just what the cementcompany would have paid him for Lime Rock!"
"Lime Rock shall be your wedding gift," he laughed.
"Oh, Oliver! And--and when we're--married,
you won't take me away fromthe Poison Oak Country, will you, dear! I'll go anywhere you say--butthese hills, and the river, and Lime Rock, and Old Dad Sloan, and--myHummingbird--and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms inspring--and--oh, I love my country next to you, dear heart! And in mydreams I loved you even before you came riding to me in thesilver-mounted saddle of Bolivio, like a knight out of the past. This ismy country--and if we must go, I'll pine for it--and maybe die like theIndian bride. I want to stay here, Oliver dear--with you--down on thedear Old Ivison Place!"
Oliver tenderly kissed his Star of Destiny. "I have no other plans," hewhispered into her ear. "My place is there.... I am the Watchman of theDead!"
THE END
The Heritage of the Hills Page 25