Part 79

“Oh, Lord, Danny! I’m afraid to say. Look, Miss Majesty, jest look at the gold. I’ve lived among prospectors an’ gold-mines fer thirty years, an’ I never seen the beat of this.”

“The Lost Mine of the Padres!” cried Danny, in stentorian voice. “An’ it belongs to me!”

Stillwell made some incoherent sound as he sat up fascinated, quite beside himself.

“Bill, it was some long time ago since you saw me,” said Danny. “Fact is, I know how you felt, because Gene kept me posted. I happened to run across Bonita, an’ I wasn’t goin’ to let her ride away alone, when she told me she was in trouble. We hit the trail for the Peloncillos. Bonita had Gene’s horse, an’ she was to meet him up on the trail. We got to the mountains all right, an’ nearly starved for a few days till Gene found us. He had got in trouble himself an’ couldn’t fetch much with him.

“We made for the crags an’ built a cabin. I come down that day Gene sent his horse Majesty to you. Never saw Gene so broken-hearted. Well, after he sloped for the border Bonita an’ I were hard put to it to keep alive. But we got along, an’ I think it was then she began to care a little for me. Because I was decent. I killed cougars an’ went down to Rodeo to get bounties for the skins, an’ bought grub an’ supplies I needed. Once I went to El Cajon an’ run plumb into Gene. He was back from the revolution an’ cuttin’ up some. But I got away from him after doin’ all I could to drag him out of town. A long time after that Gene trailed up to the crags an’ found us. Gene had stopped drinkin’, he’d changed wonderful, was fine an’ dandy. It was then he began to pester the life out of me to make me marry Bonita. I was happy, so was she, an’ I was some scared of spoilin’ it. Bonita had been a little flirt, an’ I was afraid she’d get shy of a halter, so I bucked against Gene. But I was all locoed, as it turned out. Gene would come up occasionally, packin’ supplies for us, an’ always he’d get after me to do the right thing by Bonita. Gene’s so dog-gone hard to buck against! I had to give in, an’ I asked Bonita to marry me. Well, she wouldn’t at first—said she wasn’t good enough for me. But I saw the marriage idea was workin’ deep, an’ I just kept on bein’ as decent as I knew how. So it was my wantin’ to marry Bonita—my bein’ glad to marry her—that made her grow soft an’ sweet an’ pretty as—as a mountain quail. Gene fetched up Padre Marcos, an’ he married us.”

Danny paused in his narrative, breathing hard, as if the memory of the incident described had stirred strong and thrilling feeling in him. Stillwell’s smile was rapturous. Madeline leaned toward Danny with her eyes shining.

“Miss Hammond, an’ you, Bill Stillwell, now listen, for this is strange I’ve got to tell you. The afternoon Bonita an’ I were married, when Gene an’ the padre had gone, I was happy one minute an’ low-hearted the next. I was miserable because I had a bad name. I couldn’t buy even a decent dress for my pretty wife. Bonita heard me, an’ she was some mysterious. She told me the story of the lost mine of the padres, an’ she kissed me an made joyful over me in the strangest way. I knew marriage went to women’s heads, an’ I thought even Bonita had a spell.

“Well, she left me for a little, an’ when she came back she wore some pretty yellow flowers in her hair. Her eyes were big an’ black an’ beautiful. She said some queer things about spirits rollin’ rocks down the canyon. Then she said she wanted to show me where she always sat an’ waited an’ watched for me when I was away.

“She led me around under the crags to a long slope. It was some pretty there—clear an’ open, with a long sweep, an’ the desert yawnin’ deep an’ red. There were yellow flowers on that slope, the same kind she had in her hair—the same kind that Apache girl wore hundreds of years ago when she led the padre to the gold-mine.

“When I thought of that, an’ saw Bonita’s eyes, an’ then heard the strange crack of rollin’ rocks—heard them rattle down an’ roll an’ grow faint—I was some out of my head. But not for long. Them rocks were rollin’ all right, only it was the weatherin’ of the cliffs.

“An’ there under the crags was a gold pocket.

“Then I was worse than locoed. I went gold-crazy. I worked like seventeen burros. Bill, I dug a lot of goldbearin’ quartz. Bonita watched the trails for me, brought me water. That was how she come to get caught by Pat Hawe an’ his guerrillas. Sure! Pat Hawe was so set on doin’ Gene dirt that he mixed up with Don Carlos. Bonita will tell you some staggerin’ news about that outfit. Just now my story is all gold.”

Danny Mains got up and kicked back his chair. Blue lightning gleamed from his eyes as he thrust a hand toward Stillwell.

“Bill, old pal, put her there—give me your hand,” he said. “You were always my friend. You had faith in me. Well, Danny Mains owes you, an’ he owes Gene Stewart a good deal, an’ Danny Mains pays. I want two pardners to help me work my gold-mine. You an’ Gene. If there’s any ranch hereabouts that takes your fancy I’ll buy it. If Miss Hammond ever gets tired of her range an stock an’ home I’ll buy them for Gene. If there’s any railroad or town round here that she likes I’ll buy it. If I see anythin’ myself that I like I’ll buy it. Go out; find Gene for me. I’m achin’ to see him, to tell him. Go fetch him; an’ right here in this house, with my wife an’ Miss Hammond as witnesses, we’ll draw up a pardnership. Go find him, Bill. I want to show him this gold, show him how Danny Mains pays! An’ the only bitter drop in my cup to-day is that I can’t ever pay Monty Price.”

*****

Madeline’s lips tremblingly formed to tell Danny Mains and Stillwell that the cowboy they wanted so much had left the ranch; but the flame of fine loyalty that burned in Danny’s eyes, the happiness that made the old cattleman’s face at once amazing and beautiful, stiffened her lips. She watched the huge Stillwell and the little cowboy, both talking wildly, as they walked off arm in arm to find Stewart. She imagined something of what Danny’s disappointment would be, of the elder man’s consternation and grief, when he learned Stewart had left for the border. At this juncture she looked up to see a strange, yet familiar figure approaching. Padre Marcos! Certain it was that Madeline felt herself trembling. What did his presence mean on this day? He had always avoided meeting her whenever possible. He had been exceedingly grateful for all she had done for his people, his church, and himself; but he had never thanked her in person. Perhaps he had come for that purpose now. But Madeline did not believe so.

Mention of Padre Marcos, sight of him, had always occasioned Madeline a little indefinable shock; and now, as he stepped to the porch, a shrunken, stooped, and sad-faced man, she was startled.

The padre bowed low to her.

“Senora, will you grant me audience?” he asked, in perfect English, and his voice was low-toned and grave.

“Certainly, Padre Marcos,” replied Madeline; and she led him into her office.

“May I beg to close the doors?” he asked. “It is a matter of great moment, which you might not care to have any one hear.”

Wonderingly Madeline inclined her head. The padre gently closed one door and then the others.

“Senora, I have come to disclose a secret—my own sinfulness in keeping it—and to implore your pardon. Do you remember that night Senor Stewart dragged me before you in the waiting-room at El Cajon?”

“Yes,” replied Madeline.

“Senora, since that night you have been Senor Stewart’s wife!”

Madeline became as motionless as stone. She seemed to feel nothing, only to hear.

“You are Senor Stewart’s wife. I have kept the secret under fear of death. But I could keep it no longer. Senor Stewart may kill me now. Ah, Senora, it is very strange to you. You were so frightened that night, you knew not what happened. Senor Stewart threatened me. He forced you. He made me speak the service. He made you speak the Spanish yes. And I, Senora, knowing the deeds of these sinful cowboys, fearing worse than disgrace to one so beautiful and so good as you, I could not do less than marry you truly. At least you should be his wife. So I married you, truly, in the service of my church.”

“My God!” cried Madeline, rising.