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

by John Dunloe Carteret

  Chapter XI.

  On a clear, serene Sabbath following the picnic, Miss Estill and Hughrode up to Squire Moreland's, excusing the call on that holy day bysaying that they were too busy to spare one day of six; and after dinnerat that hospitable home, they walked up to Colonel Warlow's, beingaccompanied by Grace, Ralph, and Scott.

  They paused at the great latticed and arched gate to glance into theyard, which was inclosed by a low stone wall, over which the grapes andwild-roses clambered in heavy clusters of tangled foliage. Two gaudypeacocks were sunning their glittering plumage on the grass plat infront of the long stone dwelling resting so cool under the greatelm--that same historical tree which had served as place of refugeduring the "flood"--drooping low over the quaint gables, dormer windows,and chimneys wreathed by the transplanted wild vines which festooned therough walls.

  The colonel was asleep in a hammock, which was slung in the latticedporch, and his placid wife sat near, reading the Bible, as she rockedsoftly in the easy-chair. Clifford, clad in a cool white suit, wasreading also; but I fear the work, in which he was so absorbed that hehad not seen the approaching guests, was not of such a sacred nature asbefitted the Lord's-day. Maud and Bob, swinging in a swing which wasfastened to the limbs of the great elm, were likewise perusing the pagesof some entertaining book, which Maud dropped with a little femininesqueak of delight as she saw her friends; then she flew down the path,and greeted the new-comers with unfeigned pleasure.

  As she kissed Miss Estill and Grace in true girlish fashion, Rob, thehandsome rogue, came forward and gravely offered to salute the ladies inthe same manner; but his cordial advances were declined with thanks,whereupon he turned to the young men of the party and kissed themeffusively, amid their merry peals of laughter at his sly way ofridiculing the feminine mode of greeting.

  Mrs. Marlow said in her low, sweet voice, as she led the guests into thehouse, after they had been presented in due form by Clifford,--

  "It is very kind of you, hunting us up this lonesome afternoon."

  "We should have done so long before this if we had known what veryagreeable neighbors lived so near," replied young Estill.

  "You will smile, possibly, at our thinking twelve miles a neighborlydistance, Mrs. Warlow, but I assure you it seems only a trifle when weremember that for years we have considered the people of Abilene andLawrence our neighbors," said Miss Estill as she sank into aneasy-chair, after Maud had relieved her of the jaunty black hat with itsdrooping white plume.

  "We will freely forgive you, Miss Estill, if you will atone for yourpast neglect," said Mrs. Warlow, with a pleased smile. "The lack ofsociety has been the greatest privation attending our Western life, andbut for the unvarying kindness and sympathy of Squire Moreland's family,I fear we should have found it quite monotonous."

  The room where they were seated was a wide, many-windowed apartment,with cool lace curtains sweeping the dark, rich carpet. The walls weregraced by a few pictures and portraits, and on the brackets of walnutand mahogany were vases of wild-flowers. A wide bay-window at one endwas half screened by the curtains of lace, and through their filmymeshes could be seen the cherished geraniums and fuchsias that were sodear to Maud as a memento of the old Missouri home. A great beveledmirror, framed in heavy gilt moulding, reached from the mantel to theceiling; and strangest sight in this Western land was a wide fire-place;but instead of the glowing coals and crackling flames which one alwaysassociates with the hearth-stone, there were banks of blooming plants.The rich old piano and Maud's guitar occupied one corner, and a low,velvet divan the other, on each side of the mantel. It was a room which,Miss Estill and her brother perceived, was redolent with the refinementand harmony of the family, as simply elegant and devoid of sham andpretense as its owners.

  Miss Estill gave a sigh of gratification as her glance swept theapartment, and rested out on the shady, well-kept lawn, where the hum ofbees and songs of wild-birds seemed so wholly in keeping with the toneof happiness and industry which pervaded the Warlow household.

  "How strange it seems that you have been here so short a time! It isalmost like enchantment--this evolving such a perfect home from thewild, lonesome prairies and tangled woodland, where the wolf and buffaloroamed unmolested not two short years ago."

  "We have to thank nature for the trees and flowers, the vines also, MissEstill; but you see we had little else to occupy our time but theimprovements of our new home; though I believe we can truly say that wehave not been idle the past year," replied Clifford.

  "It is wonderful what a change your taste and energy have made in thatbrief time. We can not blame our Eastern friends, who never have behelda wide, desolate prairie transformed into such a charming home-land asthis in a short year, if they do vilify the average Kansan, and tax himwith boastfulness and other vices not akin to truth."

  At request of her guests, Maud was soon seated at the rich, mellow-tonedpiano, and the strains of "The Bridge" floated out through the openwindows, as her sweet contralto rose, freighted with the heart-throbsand regret which thrill through the melody of that pathetic song.

  "Ah! Tennyson never had heard this sad, weird poem when he gave thetitle 'Lord of Human Tears' to Victor Hugo, or our own Longfellow wouldhave won it," said Miss Estill with a sigh.

  "Yes; Longfellow is the poet that seems nearest in all our moments ofretrospection. I never stand at the crossing of the old Santa Fe andAbilene Trails, on that hill yonder, without his lines recurring,--

  'Like an odor of brine from the ocean, Comes the thought of other years;'--

  and I must tell you, Miss Estill, that whenever I meet you I feel thatsame remembrance, vague and evanescent, of a time when you and I werevery happy, and were all--at least we were very great friends. But it isso shadowy and indistinct that I can not grasp its meaning. It is likethe memory of some half-forgotten dream or the dim recollections of aformer life," replied young Warlow, in a low tone, as the pulsing wavesof music, the "Blue Danube," throbbed through the vines and lacecurtains of the bay-window where they sat.

  "If you were less thrifty, Mr. Warlow, I would suspect you were too fondof poetry to be practical. But I should not throw sarcastic stones atyour glass house, for it has been no longer than a month ago that mammascolded me roundly for forgetting the yeast in my batch of light bread.I had to lay all the blame at the 'open door' of the 'Moated Grange,'which I had been reading. Poor Mariana might well have said, afterlooking on my leaden loaves:--

  'I am aweary, aweary,-- I would that I were dead!'"

  While Clifford was making some laughing reply to this bucket of poeticalcold water, he and Miss Estill were summoned to the piano, where ouryoung friends were floundering hopelessly through the intricacies of aglee, in which Grace's alto would persist in getting all tangled up withHugh's baritone, and the cat-calls of Rob's bastard bass and Scott'sfrantic tenor only served to heighten the confusion, that finallycollapsed in subdued shrieks of laughter. But when Miss Estill's daintyfingers rippled over the guitar, and their voices blended with varyingdegrees of melody as its twanging notes mingled with the mellow tones ofthe piano, then something like harmony prevailed again. Yet she andClifford would still exchange amused glances whenever Rob gave vent to amore pronounced caterwaul than usual, or Scott's gosling tenor squawkeda wild note of alarm.

  "Miss Estill, I am longing to hear you render a Spanish solo; for Inever can help the picture of a Castilian maiden playing amid the courtsof the Alhambra, rising whenever you take the guitar," said youngWarlow, in a low tone.

  "My broken Spanish would soon dispel the illusion," she replied, with asoft blush; "but I will give you, instead, a poor translation of aMexican song;" and in a voice rich with melody and feeling, she sang:--

  "There blooms no rose upon the plain, But costs the night a thousand tears,"--

  while the guitar rained a shower of soft-dripping music, veined with athrill of sadness. As her bosom rose and fell with the sweet strains,the ruby heart which clasped the ruff at her slende
r throat flashedrays of crimson and rose in the stray sunbeams that glinted through theroom.

  Clifford remained rapt in a reverie as the dreamy music, with a lowminor ripple, died away, and the listeners sat in silence a moment,paying a mute tribute to the graceful singer who now was idly toyingwith the guitar.

  One white arm was half revealed by the wide-flowing sleeve, with itsfall of creamy lace; a cluster of fuchsias drooped among the waves ofher hair, and the wide ruff gave a graceful finish to the close-fittingriding-habit of black velvet which she wore.

  Young Warlow was aroused by his mother saying:--

  "Miss Estill, the colonel, my husband."

  He turned quickly, and saw his father standing in the doorway, staringas if he had seen a sheeted ghost. Yes; it was undeniable that thecourtly and urbane colonel was positively staring with a white face atthe beautiful guest, and as he came forward he said, in an agitatedvoice:--

  "Ivarene? No--no--impossible! Pardon, Miss Estill; but your face remindsme so strongly of a dear, kind friend, 'who passed over the dark riverlong years ago,' that I was quite unnerved;" and as he held her slenderhand he looked hungrily into the blue eyes that were regarding him witha look of shy wonder. When Hugh was presented, the colonel glancedkeenly from the blonde, hazel-eyed young man back to the creole face ofthe young lady, and he again murmured brokenly, and in an increduloustone, "Brother and sister? Strange--mystery!" and in the hearts of thatgroup for many a day echoed and re-echoed his words: "Mystery, mystery!"

  A constraint seemed to fall immediately upon the inmates of the room,and Maud, perceiving the traces of social frost in the atmosphere,suggested that they should take a look at her flowers; and the guestsrose and followed in a confused group out into the flower-garden, thatwas surrounded with a low stone wall.

  The paths, which divided the small plat into four subdivisions, wereinterrupted at their intersection by a circular path, where a successionof terraces of the same figure rose to the height of half a dozen feet,the whole forming a circular mound, crowned by a tiny latticed arbor,which was reached by a flight of white stone steps, flanked by vases ofthe same alabaster-like material.

  The terraces were sodded with the dainty, short buffalo-grass, and eachoffset was planted with a profusion of flowers, now beginning to unfoldtheir blossoms. This unique ornament was the work of Clifford andRobbie, who had in their "idle" moments thus transformed the unsightlypile of earth, which had resulted from excavating the cellar, into a"hanging garden to please Maud," and she felt justly proud of thecompliments which the guests bestowed on the attractive feature of hertrim garden, with its wealth of lilies, roses, and gladioluses.

  Although the group had emerged from the house in a confused manner, itwas remarkable how soon order was restored, and the young people pairedoff into couples after the law of affinity--Maud and Ralph, Grace andHugh, leaving Clifford and Miss Estill to either mate with Rob andScott, or to choose each other for partners in the ramble; and it isalso strange how quickly they chose the latter alternative, andsauntered away with appalling _sang-froid_, leaving those youths totheir own resources without even the ghost of an apology. But theyoungsters had ample revenge for this heartless, cold neglect, when, afew moments later, Rob was seen leaning on Scott's arm in a languishingmanner, with a hollyhock perched daintily just above his nose, insemblance of a most coquettish hat, his bob-tailed coat embellished withan enormous petticoat of rhubarb-leaves, while Scott alternately castadmiring glances upon his frail "lady," or fanned the mock beauty with acatalpa-leaf fully half a yard broad.

  And while Maud and Grace regarded their manoeuvres with furtive scornand ill-concealed disgust, this precious pair sauntered conspicuouslyafter their friends, who could see "Miss Rob" mince along withexaggerated airs and graces, often pausing to sniff of the enormouswater-pot, carried in imitation of a lady's scent-bottle.

  Finally the party eluded the persecution of this devoted couple by goingback into the house, and ascending to the "Crows' Nest" in the top ofthe old elm; and as Maud recounted the thrilling adventure of the"flood," she felt certain that Rob was too well acquainted with hispaternal discipline to venture upon any nonsense about the house. Buthalf an hour later, as they were strolling down to the boat, the party,in turning an abrupt curve in the path, surprised the infatuated Scotton his knees kissing the hand of the shy he-damsel, who, with affectedmodesty, was hiding her face in the dainty fan and the last view ourfriends caught of them while rowing up the river, the fascinating Robwas sinking into the outstretched arms of his ostentatious lover.

  Clifford rowed up the winding stream, which, although only a few feetdeep, was here several rods in width. As they passed along, an oldbeaver, which had built a dam below, stuck its snout up through thetangled grass that trailed into the water; then, after gazing a momentat the intruders, it sank quietly from sight.

  The pleasant ride suggested a boating song, and a concert followed,which scared many a gray old musk-rat to his den, and the frightenedwild-fowls scurried with whizzing wings out from the dark, sedgy nooks,shaded by the elms and willows, as the unwonted sounds floated out overthe water.

  Our friends walked up to Clifford's dwelling, after landing and mooringthe boat to a tree, and while they rested on the pale ashen-greenbuffalo-grass in the shadow of a mighty elm that smothered the gables ofthe stone cottage with its wide-spread branches, Clifford pointed outthe stone wall, which was half concealed by the vines, where his fatherhad so narrowly escaped death a quarter of a century before; and as theysat, he told of the terrible tragedy that had here been enacted, whichexplained why Maud had so tenderly trained the roses over the ruinedwall--the wall that had sheltered their father on that tragic night.

  At the close of the mournful story Miss Estill exclaimed:--

  "Oh, what a cruel fate. Poor, ill-starred Ivarene! It was thatunfortunate bride that I so strangely resemble. But how mysterious thatit should be so! Now I do not wonder at your father's agitation atmeeting one who reminded him of his lost friend and benefactress. Thatwas why he gazed so pathetically into my eyes:--I recalled the days ofhis youth, his lost fortune, and the tragic fate of his dear friends."

  Hugh Estill said:--

  "Oh, this is not the first time I have heard the particulars of thattragedy. It was often talked of in the days of my boyhood; but I was achild at the time when it was still fresh in the memory of the fewsettlers in the upper valley of the Cottonwood. It was fully ten yearsafter the event that I heard the version from one of our herders, whosaid it was whispered that white men were engaged in the massacre.Father was unnecessarily irritated, I thought, when I repeated what thefellow said, and he went so far as to discharge him, and forbade me evermentioning the subject again."

  "Your parents were living on your ranch at that time?" said Clifford, ina strange eager tone of inquiry.

  "Yes; we have lived on the same place for the past twenty-seven years,and both Mora and myself were born on the old ranch," replied Hugh.

  After remaining rapt in silence a moment, Miss Estill said, as she andClifford stood apart from the others, while he stooped to gather a sprayof the sensitive-plant:--

  "What is this strange, haunting sense of danger and grief that alwaysassails me on this spot? It is like the dim remembrance of some tragicevent connected with my own life--a half-forgotten night-mare, as itwere--the very elusiveness of which is distressing to me. I feel thatsame sensation now which I mentioned having always felt on this spot,when you told me how strangely you were affected when passing AntelopeButte."

  "I often experience that peculiar sentiment here, also, Miss Estill,--akind of perception or impression of some dire calamity with which notonly myself, but you likewise, have been connected here," Cliffordreplied with troubled face.

  "I am afraid we shall mould if we stay in this gloomy shade any longer,"cried Grace, springing up with a little shiver; but the bright lookwhich young Estill beamed upon her showed plainly that he, at least, wasin no danger of such a blighting fate.

&
nbsp; It was a beautiful scene that burst upon their view as they emerged fromunder the low, sweeping boughs, and stood in the sunlight south of thegothic cottage. Around the knoll, on which they were standing, purledand gurgled the stream, fringed by feathery willows and stately elms,and, after half embracing the hill in its tortuous folds, winding awaydown the widening valley. Where the timber, which skirted the serpentineriver, grew in groves of deepest green, there the stream had expandedinto placid lakelets, which flashed like silver in the slantingsunbeams.

  On the south, in the smooth, level valley, were fields of ripeninggrain,--wheat of coppery red or creamy gold, silvery sheen of rye andoats, set in a frame of emerald where the wild prairies came sheer up tothe clear-cut fields, that were _innocent_ of fence or hedge. Then theirvision roamed out to the north, where the rolling hills melted away onthe dim horizon.

  As they stood silently gazing on the tranquil landscape, the bell in thelatticed belfry of the Warlow homestead rang out in mellow clang, andMaud said:--

  "Let's return, for it is the supper-bell. I do hope, though, that motherhas prepared something more substantial for her guests than Clifford hasdone for us this afternoon."

  "Why, have we not reveled in mystery?" cried Grace.

  "And feasted on landscape?" said Miss Estill.

  "And did he not hospitably entertain us with legend, mellow and old?"chimed Ralph.

  "Sorry that I could not have treated you to fresher puns," retortedClifford, laughingly.

  On rowing down the tranquil stream, and coming once more into the shadyyard of the Warlows, our young friends found the tea-table spread underthe boughs of the ever-serviceable elm, and Rob and Scott busy assistingMrs. Warlow with the evening meal.

  As with deft fingers Maud culled choice bouquets from her garden, anddecked the table, she felt a thrill of pardonable pride in the snowydamask, the crystal and silver that glittered with the polish of goodhousewifery, and the tempting, dainty dishes which her mother had, withtrue Western hospitality, prepared in honor of the guests.

  Ah, hungry reader, I wish that you could have been there also; for mymouth vainly waters, even yet, at the remembrance of asparagus and greenpeas, spring-chicken smothered in cream (which I hasten to explain wasnot the fowl of boarding-house memory and tradition, with which thefrosts of December had "monkeyed;" no barn-yard champion was it, withcotton-like breast and sinewy limb, but a tender daughter of theMay-time, that had perished on the threshold of a bright youngpullethood), and frosty lemon-pie, just tinged with bronze, flanked bythe crimson moulds of plum-jelly.

  An hour later, in the gloomy twilight, as the guests were taking leave,Miss Estill said:--

  "Your son has told me of the old tragedy that has saddened your life,Colonel; but it is very strange that I should resemble that ill-fatedMexican bride."

  "Ah, Miss Estill, every hour you recall the memory of my lost friends;just such a daughter might have blessed them, _if they had lived_," hereplied, with a sigh, as he searched the young face with his wistfulblue eyes.

  "It is only a chance resemblance, of course--a mere coincidence," shereplied, in a tone of uneasiness. "My parents were living here at thetime of the massacre; but I never have heard of the dreadful occurrenceuntil to-day," she added.

  "I would like very much to meet your father, and talk over the earlyhistory of this country," said the colonel, eagerly. "I sometimes findmyself hoping that they might have escaped," he continued, in ahalf-musing tone, like one whose mind is wholly engrossed by anovermastering subject. She overlooked his incoherence, knowing well thathe referred to Bruce and Ivarene. "Since I have been here on the sceneof the tragedy, the thought often recurs that I took it for granted thatthey perished, and have trusted too readily to circumstantial evidencein confirmation of that belief."

  "How strange it is that no trace of that enormous treasure of gold andgems was ever obtained!" she replied. "But, then, the horde ofCheyennes, which Hugh said to-day were reported as having been led bywhite men, found it an easy task enough, no doubt, to carry away eventhat great amount of coin after their murderous work."

  "Ah! it is all a strange, dark mystery," he replied; "and to-day it ismore impenetrable than ever. But if I could see your father he mightremember."

  Here the colonel paused abruptly, and threw up one hand with aninvoluntary start, and Miss Estill saw by the faint light that he wasashen pale. But as the others were now passing out through the gate, shereluctantly shook hands with the colonel, who, she saw, was tremblingwith repressed emotion; and then she took leave of the other members ofthe family, vaguely wondering why the courtly old gentleman should be soaffected by events which had occurred more than a quarter of a centurybefore.

  When, an hour later, Clifford returned from Squire Moreland's, whitherhe had accompanied Miss Estill, he was accosted by Rob in the followingvein:--

  "What's up, Cliff?"

  "Up where?" replied his brother, evasively.

  "On the porch, if you have eyes for anything less attractive than ayoung lady with a mop of blue hair," said the indignant Rob.

  "Oh--father and mother! Why, I can't see anything strange in our parentssitting on the porch," replied his brother, in a tone of feignedindifference.

  "Well, but they have had their heads together and been plotting for anhour; but Maud keeps up such an everlasting racket with her singing anddish-clattering that I can't hear a word they say. That girl positivelyis noisier than a fire-engine. Now, just listen at that!" as Maud'svoice sang in sweet crescendo:--

  "Stars are shining, Mollie darling." (Crash, rattle.)

  _Mrs. Warlow._--"Do you think it possible that they were saved?"

  _Maud_ (diminuendo).--

  "Through the mystic veil of night." (Rinkety-clink.)

  _Colonel._--"She may be their daughter, who survived." (Splatter.)

  _Maud_ (piano).--

  "No one listens but the flowers, As they hang their heads in shame." (Klinkety-klink.)

  _Rob._--

  "Yes, Miss Maud, you noisy magpie. I hang ditto and the same."

  _Clifford._--"If you don't keep quiet, I'll--"(Klutter-terattle-tering.)

  _Coffee-mill_, etc.--"Kr-rrrrr-r-rrr (Mollie) r-r-r (dar) rrrr-r-rrrr."

  _Colonel._--"She is the very image of Ivarene; and I am almost convertedto Bruce's strange creed when I see them."

  _Maud_ (at the well).--"Ke-pump, ke-pump, ke-pump!"

  _Colonel._--"I saw them together to-day. I was perfectly bewildered; forthey are the very picture of Bruce and Ivarene on their wedding-day."

  _Maud._--

  "Mollie, fairest, sweetest, dearest! Look up, darling, tell me this--"

  _Rob._--

  "Miss Maud Warlow, you're a bull-frog, And I'd like to have a hook in your nose."

  But, as his rhyme ended with such an ignominious fizzle, he hurried awaywith a snort of disgust. Clifford lingered a moment, hoping to hearmore; but his parents rose soon after, and entered the house; so, in athoughtful mood, he went about his farm duties.

  Out in the wheat a quail called "Bob White," while down in the pasture aflock of prairie-chickens or grouse disturbed the twilight calm withtheir melancholy "ku-boom;" but, as the evening faded into night, thequiet of early slumber brooded over the Warlow household.