A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail

by John Dunloe Carteret

  Chapter X.

  One delightful day in June the Warlow and Moreland families, or theyounger members of those households, attended a picnic which was held ina grove on the river seven miles below the Old Corral.

  At an early hour Clifford, Maud, and Robbie drove down in theirthree-seated carriage, drawn by Clifford's iron grays, and at SquireMoreland's the party was re-enforced by Ralph, Grace, and Scott. Basketsand fishing-lines were stowed away under the seats, and the frying-pan,also, was given a place of honor in the same promiscuous stow-away.

  The dew was sparkling like gems on the bearded wheat, so soon to fallbefore the reaper's stroke, and the tender grass and softly-flutteringtrees were all bathed in the mellow sunlight, as they sped down thewinding road.

  When our friends arrived at the grove they found that the platform,which had been erected among the trees close to the river, was crowdedwith a well-dressed throng, who were merrily dancing to the music ofviolin, organ, and guitar. After the carriage-load had been deposited onthe platform, and Rob and Scott had returned from caring for the team,the boys found Clifford, Grace, Ralph, and Maud busily improving theshining moments in the mazes of a cotillion.

  When the music ceased, Maud was requested by one of the amateurmusicians to second on the organ, which was a mere labor of love; and asshe acceded to the request, she saw Rob and Grace spinning away in awaltz, dizzily gyrating about the platform with a full score of couples,all equally giddy and alike bent on extracting the most enjoyment out ofthe least possible time.

  Clifford, who stood leaning against a tree, surveying the varied groupswith that mingling of interest, amusement, and indifference, which weexperience in viewing the movements of strangers who may soon becomeacquaintance, and possibly friends, was accosted by a handsome young manof near his own age, who greeted him very cordially.

  The new-comer was Hugh Estill, the son of a wealthy ranchman who livednear, or at least but a few miles further down the valley. The two youngmen had become acquainted in a business way while Clifford had beenbuying cattle at the Estill ranch some weeks before, and it was to youngEstill they owed the invitation to the picnic; so it was with a feelingof gratitude, not unmixed with respect in remembrance of the lordlyranch-house and its princely domain, that young Warlow shook hands andthanked the young ranchman for his thoughtful remembrance of them onthis pleasant occasion.

  Robbie had by this time surrendered his partner to a young cow-boy, ason of the greatest "cattle king" in the valley, and as the young"prince" led Miss Grace out through the changes of the quadrille heseemed totally oblivious of the fact that his leather "leggins,"jingling spurs, and silver-mounted revolver hanging from acartridge-belt, were not wholly in keeping with the festive occasion;and as they paused in the dance, the bovine princeling, after blowing along breath and wiping his glowing brow on his sleeve, observed:--

  "That was a terrible swell--the young blood with a biled vest, who justwaltzed with you. Ha! ha!--a wild rose in his button-hole! Guess I'llhave to get one also--by shot!"

  But Miss Grace bluntly told him that a gourdvine would be far moresuitable.

  Robbie, who was happily unconscious of the disparaging remarks whichwere being made at the expense of his purple and fine linen, had joinedClifford and been introduced to the new friend, who passed somegood-natured compliments on that urchin's dancing, to which Rob repliedthat he was but re-dedicating his boots that so lately had beenresurrected; and he proceeded to tell in his inimitable manner of themishap that had carried his best and dearly-beloved boots to a waterygrave, from which they were at length "resurrected," all filled with mudand sand. Laughing heartily, Hugh said he hoped he would shine asbrightly on the resurrection morn as those same "Sunday boots."

  While Hugh and Bobbie had been engaged in the above frivolous and whollyunprofitable conversation, Clifford was improving the time in furtivelystaring at a radiant and superbly beautiful young lady who was playingthe guitar near Maud; and, indeed, young Warlow might have been excusedif we had detected him in the rude act, for it was a face which onceseen would never be forgotten.

  Her eyes of softest blue were veiled by silken, jetty lashes, and awealth of raven-black hair rippled low on a face of creamy olive. Anexpression of pride mingled with the spirited vivacity of her charmingface, which he thought was the most fascinating he had ever beheld.

  Every detail of her dress, from the wide straw hat with its droopingspray of lilies, the creamy grenadine with its tangled pattern of thesame snowy flowers and cascades of foamy lace, the cross and chain ofpalest coral, with ribbons of the same faint rose-hue, evinced the tasteand refined instincts of a well-born and cultured lady.

  There seemed to be the ineffable charm of grace and elegance in her veryattitude, as she stood by the organ and swept the guitar with white,tapering fingers, while through all the melody there thrilled the sweet,dripping notes, like the memory of some half-forgotten dream, which,though elusive and vague, still haunts our waking hours through all theturmoil of a busy day.

  "Where have I seen that form and face before?" said Clifford, halfaudibly, as the last faint notes died away, and he awoke from a reverie,while a look of surprise and delight broke over his handsome face; thenturning to young Estill he said, in an eager tone:--

  "Who is that divine young creature who played the guitar until she setme to dreaming of old Spain?"

  "Why, that musical divinity," said Estill, with a hearty laugh, "is myonly sister Morelia; or Mora, as we have become used to calling her. Ishall be pleased to present you, for I am truly relieved to find someone who can appreciate her music, which always sounded to me very muchlike cats fighting."

  A moment later the young men were upon the platform, and young Estillsaid, in his easy, good-humored way:--

  "Sister Mora, let me present my friend, Mr. Warlow, on whom your musichas had the strange effect of setting him to dreaming, not of cats onthe roof, but of castles in Spain,--which I have by his own confession."

  She gave young Warlow a fair, dimpled hand, on which flashed one ring ofrose-colored amethyst, and, after he had bowed very low, their eyes metin a swift glance of half-puzzled recognition and surprise, while amagnetic shock caused them both to tremble; but quickly recovering, shesaid, with a smile, while toying with a bracelet of carved Neapolitancoral:--

  "My brother's criticisms are not of much value, for the sweetest soundsto his ears are the bellowings of beef-cattle."

  Then, as she and Clifford sauntered out to a seat under a tree, hesaid:--

  "How strange it is, Miss Estill, that I have never met you before, forit seems as though I have known you for years!"

  "Why, Mr. Warlow, I was just trying to recall the time and place where Ihad seen you. It must have been while we were traveling that we havebeen thrown together for a moment; yet I can not now remember thecircumstance," she replied, with a look of interest dawning in her blueeyes.

  "If we had I would not have forgotten such a pleasant incident, MissEstill. But I am puzzled to think why I remember even your tone andmanner so well, for I can't recall any chance meeting with you in thepast."

  At that moment Grace and Hugh Estill came up, and proposed that theyshould repair to the river, near by, and spend an hour fishing; so theysoon were seated under the shade of an enormous cottonwood-tree on thebanks of a deep pool, while Hugh and Grace, who had been introduced atsome former meeting, strayed along the stream in quest of a "betterplace," which they did not discover in _sight or hearing_ of Miss Estilland Clifford.

  After casting their hooks into the quiet water, they sat down upon theshady bank, and Miss Estill said:--

  "Hugh has often spoken of you lately, and we had discussed the subjectof calling on your sister and Miss Moreland, but decided that we wouldsend you an invitation to our picnic, at which I hoped to becomeacquainted with them." Then, seeing a shade of disappointment flit overhis face, she added, archly: "And you also. But I assure you that thecall will not be deferred a great while longer; for I am delighted tofin
d such charming girls for neighbors."

  "The invitation was very kind and thoughtful of you, Miss Estill. Wehad been longing to meet congenial companions, and hailed the news ofthe picnic with all the delight of people who have been isolated fromsociety for a year or more. I hope you will believe it is no vaincompliment when I tell you that I have already met new friends here thatI value higher than any of my old ones," Clifford replied, as he knotteda bunch of elder-bloom, snowy and fragrant, with the blossoms of thewild heart's-ease, azure and gold, which grew on the sandy stretch attheir feet. Then, adding a fern-like tuft of meadow-fescue, he held ittoward Miss Estill, while a look of undisguised admiration shone in hisclear blue eyes, saying:--

  "In memory of my deep gratitude."

  Fastening the flowers among the meshes of lace on her breast, she busiedherself a moment with the fishing-tackle as she drew the hook from thewater with a dangerous movement. Then, with a smile dimpling her face,she said:--

  "If you feel such a deep sense of gratitude, Mr. Warlow, you maydischarge the debt by baiting my hook, which some wary turtle or otheraquatic creature, has been investigating."

  With ready alacrity, Clifford performed the desired service; and as helet go the hook, Miss Estill began a series of manoeuvres with thefish-pole that were as womanly as they were threatening. Finally, afterthe hook had performed for some time around his head with a dangerous"s-w-i-s-h," it fortunately landed plump into the water, with a thudand splash loud enough to scare all the fish upon dry land.

  They stood a moment, silently watching the widening ripple; then, asthey seated themselves on the bank again, Miss Estill said, with asmile:--

  "You are very brave, indeed, Mr. Warlow, never to wince. But perhaps youwere not aware of the great risk a man runs who fishes with a woman. Inever should have forgiven myself if that awkward hook had caught inyour eye."

  "Or my ear," he added, with such a look of comic distress that shedropped her fish-pole into the water with a merry laugh; then, as hejoined in the merriment, the startled mocking-bird overhead hushed itssong, and flitted away to some quieter nook.

  "Now, if we are not more careful, we will have to dine on humilityto-day," she said, as he recovered the fishing-tackle. "But do youreally grow lonesome in your new home, Mr. Warlow?" she added.

  "Yes, indeed I did," said Clifford, with an emphasis on the past tensethat indicated the remoteness of those days. "But we were very busyuntil recently, and I did not fully realize what a hermit I had becomeuntil I came here into the crowd, and found myself growing hot and coldby turns, my heart palpitating, and my hands and feet getting heavy.Then I knew it would only be a matter of time when I should fly, like aSouth Sea Islander, at very sight of a human face, much less thepresence of a fashionable young lady;" and he joined Miss Estill'smerriment at his charming candor, with an easy laugh.

  "Oh, I appreciate the situation," she replied; "for when they sent me toCincinnati to the boarding-school, where all was so strange, and theonly ray of sunshine in the long weeks, months, and years was a flittingcall from my fashionable aunt, or the yearly visits to my Western home,I felt desolate and miserable. Why, I was so shy, and possibly a bitwild, that I gained the name of Antelope among my school-mates;" andMiss Estill smiled somewhat sadly at remembrance of those past days.

  "When you returned to your home, it certainly must have seemed lonelyafter the life in that 'American Florence,'" said young Warlow.

  "Oh, it was paradise! I could scarcely believe that the old days ofbanishment were over; and indeed I half feared, sometimes, that theywould pack me off again. It was such a perfect joy to be back at thedear old ranch once more with Hugh and my parents, that I vowed I shouldnever leave again. But when I had been back a year I did sometimes longfor a good, confidential chat with my girl friends, and would be a bitlonesome while Hugh was away; but our life is one ceaseless round oflabor, toil, and care, so I have short time for repining. Would youbelieve, Mr. Warlow, that more than half the time all the duties ofhousekeeper, unaided, devolve upon me? Our house has been a constantpanorama of 'domestic' weddings since I returned from school; yes, andfor years before also. No sooner would we begin to appreciate somehousehold treasure--a Nora, Ruth, or Nelly, who had come from the Eastto lessen our domestic burdens--than along would come some spruceranchman or handsome young homesteader, and--presto!--our domestic wascourted away in a twinkling to brighten a new home. And what with thewedding which mamma always insists upon, and the bridal finery shebestows, the burden is redoubled. My weary shoulders fairly ache as wepass through the constant, or tri-yearly, recurrence of the sameexperience. Hugh says that he believes the servant-girls of the Easthave finally come to look upon our house as a matrimonial agency."

  "Do you not think, Miss Estill, that the bright new homes, which are aresult of your charities, are sufficient reward for your domesticmartyrdom?"

  "Oh, if you think our providing wives for the miscellaneous ranchers,herders, and homesteaders could be called a charity, I will have to saythat our furthering of those matches has proved a mixed blessing indeed;for I recall a world of conjugal infelicity which has followed thosehasty and ofttimes ill-assorted matches. 'Marry at pleasure,' etc., is amaxim true as it is trite, Mr. Warlow."

  "Yes; it is undeniable that unhappy matings do occur; but I can not seehow a lonesome bachelor, who eats his own vile cooking and goes throughthe vain ceremony of laundry-work, could ever aggravate his deplorablecondition, Miss Estill."

  "But the fact remains that he certainly does," she replied, with a lowgurgling laugh, like the ripple of some sweet, clear brook. "Why, Mr.Warlow, I recall a scene of which I was the innocent witness one eveninglast month. I was riding by the ranch of Mr. Blank, who had wooed andwon our cook after a courtship that was as brief as it was fervid. Ihave reason to believe he pines for his former state of untrammeledfreedom; for, in some argument which they seemed to be discussing thatevening, she, his faithful helpmeet, hurled the milk-stool at his head.I rode quickly away, mentally washing my hands of any furthermatrimonial schemes.

  "Mr. Warlow! a fish, a fish!" she cried in a low tone, and he turned hiseyes reluctantly to the sadly neglected fishing-tackle, which he had"set" by thrusting the poles into the bank, and which they, in theirlong and absorbing conversation, had totally forgotten. There he saw theflash of a finny monster in the water, and the fish-pole violentlythreshing in the air above the pond, and as he drew the glittering perchfrom the pool, he found that it had become entangled in Miss Estill'sfish-line also.

  "It is our fish, is it not?--and a good omen," he said, as he securedthe prize which fluttered at her feet.

  "It is our 'luck,'" she replied gaily; "but we can boast of little skillin angling;" at which they both laughed, low but heartily, at thethought how far into foreign fields they had rambled, leaving theirfishing to chance, and in that merry glance was laid the foundation ofsympathy, appreciation, and friendship.

  When they returned to the grove they were joined by Hugh, Grace, Maud,and Ralph, whose success had been most woefully indifferent. Thosediscomfited anglers looked with undisguised envy on the greatpiscatorial prize, and while it was frying on the fire, which Scott andRobbie kindled, they all lent a ready ear to the malicious story whichthe latter urchin told--"That Cliff had brought a mackerel to thepicnic, and it was that same identical fish which they were frying."

  When the cloth was spread on the grass, and the great fish, garnishedwith elder-blooms and wild-roses, was given the place of honor at thefeast, Hugh Estill said:--

  "Now, Mora, please pass the mackerel."

  Only then was the fact made plain that Robbie was a boy, given totelling "fish stories," and could be trusted and relied upon only at thedinner-table.

  Ah! it was a gleeful hour at that _al fresco_ meal,--the soft breezestirring the tree-tops, and the bright sunlight sifting down through thefluttering leaves on the silver and crystal, the frosty cake andquivering jelly, the crimson and gold, and, above all, the happy facesof our young friends.


  Dancing and an impromptu concert, followed by charades on a temporarystage, served to pass away a few more blissful hours: then the revelersbroke into groups and couples, sauntering into shady nooks, and engagingin those long and confidential chats which are totally devoid ofinterest to any save themselves.

  Miss Estill and young Warlow were seated upon a bank where the mingledsunlight and pale shadows flickered softly over the lush and tendersward, and their conversation steered away from the shoals and quagmiresof match-making and matrimony to the vague and mystic fields ofmetaphysics.

  "Do you know, Miss Estill, that I have--a dim impression, shall I callit?--of having met you somewhere before?"

  "Yes; I remember distinctly of your having not only met me, but alsokindly helping me catch a fish, before," she replied, archly.

  Clifford said, in a laughing manner, that he was not so ungallant as toforget that thrilling adventure, then he continued in an earnest tone:--

  "I feel like we had met long years ago; and somehow, Miss Estill, it allappears so natural to be with you, to hear your tones and see your face,that it is like the return of some dear friend whom you have longed tosee for years."

  "You almost make me believe in the theory of the transmigration ofsouls, Mr. Warlow. How very possible it may have been that in some dim,pre-historic age you and I were a pair of giant king-fishers, who to-daywere reunited on the banks of our favorite stream after the lapse ofuntold ages!--and what is more natural than we should take to ourantediluvian occupation at once?" and she peered down into the pool witha sidelong glance as though searching for her finny prey, whileClifford shook with merriment at her happy imitation of that uncannybird.

  "I never was a firm believer in Swedenborg; yet the thought haunts mestill that I certainly have met you before to-day, although, as you say,it may have been in some previous happy state, Miss Estill."

  "Now, to be frank, Mr. Warlow, I confess to being a bit superstitious,which may be owing, however, to my living so isolated from society allthese years that I even welcomed company of a supernatural nature,which, you know, is better than none."

  "Why, it can not be that your vicinity is peopled by shrieking ghosts,too?" said Clifford quickly, as the memory of the spectre of the StoneCorral came to mind, which in the turmoil of their busy lives had beennearly forgotten.

  "I can not see why I should revert to such a subject to-day; but someway the mention of transmigration of souls brought the remembrance ofthe Gray Spectre to my mind," said she, glancing furtively over hershoulder; then, as she caught young Warlow's amused look, she smiledresponsively, and continued:--

  "You too have a skeleton in the family, I perceive; so let's unburdenour souls and exchange confidences."

  "With all my heart," said Clifford; "I am glad we have such a mutualbond of sympathy."

  Then he told how the gray-robed figure had startled the group at thecamp-fire, and fled shrieking away, that memorable evening more than ayear before; and although all of their family had maintained anapprehensive outlook for a second visit from his spookship, they neverhad been molested further; and he concluded by saying:--

  "But I hope, Miss Estill, your experience will throw some light on themystery."

  "It is undoubtedly the same spectral being which has haunted our ranchfor the past twenty-five years, and which has eluded pursuit on everyoccasion, although papa, Hugh, and several herders have endeavored, moreor less bravely, to trace it; but the mysterious apparition alwaysvanishes into the night without leaving a trace. Why, I have become sofearful that, like the daughter of the bold Glengyle,--

  'Alone I dare not venture there, Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost,'--

  and I often fly at the sight of my own shadow," said Miss Estill. "Oneevening, Mr. Warlow, I was riding by a peculiarly lonesome spot nearhome,--a lofty hill on which there is the grave of a mysteriousrelative, who died near a quarter of a century since, and of whosehistory I can learn but little. Although Hugh and I often question ourparents about him, they seem to evade our inquiries. I had reached apoint close to the grave,--which is all overgrown with thistles,notwithstanding the fact that I had repeatedly planted flowers and rosesthere that had always refused to grow,--when that same hideous,gray-robed creature emerged from the thicket about the grave, and as Ihalted, frozen with horror at the sight, the gaunt wretch glared amoment, then fled shrieking away in the darkling twilight. Oh, I neverpaused to investigate, you may believe, but gave rein to my pony, whichwas as badly frightened as myself, and flew home like the wind," saidMiss Estill with a shiver.

  "Have you ever been up to the corral, Miss Estill?" Clifford asked.

  "Not for three years, Mr. Warlow. Now, while we are speaking ofsupernatural things, I must tell you how strangely I always felt at thatplace. I can never go about the old ruin without being assailed by anuncanny feeling--something like one might be expected to feel who walksover her own grave, you know!" she added with a smile; then continuingshe said earnestly: "It always seems that something terrible haunts thevery air there, and I feel a weight of grief and misery that horrifiesme whenever I pass the spot. If I had lost my dearest friend there, Ishould have very much the same sensation, I believe, at sight of theruin. I struggle with my memory to recall some event with which I seemto have been connected there; but it is all in vain, for it is asintangible as a moonbeam."

  "That is very mysterious indeed, Miss Estill; for I often feel very muchthat way myself there, but not in so marked a degree as when I pass thatgreat hill three miles up the valley, known as Antelope Butte. I amoften overpowered by a feeling of deepest melancholy and grief whileonly passing that hill. The first time I saw the place I was shocked tothink how familiar it all seemed; for I found the spring near its basejust where my instinct seemed to tell me that the water bubbled forthfrom the rocky cleft. But a feeling of unutterable longing and anuncontrollable yearning to see some one, the name even of whom I can notrecall, always seizes me there, and I am both perplexed and horrified atthe sensation," Clifford replied.

  Gradually the tone of their conversation lost its gloomy hue, andrambled away into the realms of art, history, and song, of the fairforeign lands beyond that blue, quivering horizon; and as Miss Estillfluttered her fan of carved ivory and rose-plumes, talking in her sweetvivacious way, the sunlight threw a halo about the golden hair andGrecian face of the youth reclining on the bank, suffusing with rose thehandsome features that even a western sun in all its fierceness couldnot rob of its fresh glow.

  As the fastidious Miss Estill noted every detail of his faultlessattire, neither old nor new, from the tips of his shapely fingers to hisglossy boots bearing the undeniable stamp of gentleman, she thought howutterly effete was the comparison, "Rough as a farmer;" and asadmiration shone in his boyish face, illuminated with those honest blueeyes, fringed by their lashes of dead gold, is it any wonder thatromance threw its glamour over the scene, and they half forgot to roamin fancy through foreign lands, thinking of the joyful present, which,alas! we seldom value until it has become a sweet memory only.

  The long shadows which stole down from the hill-tops warned our youngfriends that they would soon part, and reluctantly they returned to theplatform, where preparations for starting were being made. GraceMoreland and Hugh Estill still appeared to be deeply engrossed with eachother's society, and it was not remarkable that young Estill shouldhover about the vivacious and bewitching Grace; for she was a sparkling,graceful creature, the picture of innocence and youth, in her dress offleecy white.

  As Clifford stood by Miss Estill at parting, he said, while his handrested on the mane of her creamy horse:--

  "Ah, Miss Estill, I little thought what this morning held in store. Thishas been a day that repays the many dark years of the past, and I shalltreasure its memory forever."

  "Yes; a blissful day indeed, Mr. Warlow; and it almost makes me sad tothink I shall ever grow old," she replied, as she gave her hand, whichhe held longer--yes, I shall have to confess the fact, much lo
nger--thanthe laws of conventionality demanded.

  As the Warlow carriage drove up the broad valley, the coolness oftwilight was brooding over the prairies, and the twittering songstersfluttered down from the highlands to the sheltering thickets whichbelted the stream, and the fire-flies gemmed the dusky groves andmeadows when they alighted at their homes.