Chapter XX.
"My boy, it is a sad day for us all when you leave the home nest. Weshall miss you more than I can express," said the colonel at length."Ah! I had hoped to see you settled near us in our old age in this grandcountry. Clifford, I have seen a great many regions on this continentfamous for their beauty and fertility, but this is the only place that Ihave ever seen where I would be perfectly content to live and die. Youhave yet to learn that 'distant hills' are no greener than those ofhome, and you will travel the wide world over and find no other place tocompare with this, my son. I have been thinking to-day, Clifford,"continued his father, as he pushed his plate of untasted food back onthe table and folded his napkin--"that if I had only a tithe of thefortune that I once lost on this spot, it might be enhanced anhundred-fold at the great land-sale Monday; for I learn by to-day's_Times_ that the Mastodon Bank has failed, carrying down in its collapseall the parties who had the lands condemned for sale, so now they areunable to bid at the auction, and hundreds of thousands of acres will besold at a few cents an acre without competition. Oh, I realize that itis bitter, indeed, to be poor, my boy, for it is only your ambition thatdrives you from us," and, rising, he paced back and forth with bowedhead, while Mrs. Warlow's tears flowed unchecked as she thought of thelong, dreary years that might drag on before her beloved boy returned.
The Warlow family were never demonstrative. There was always amatter-of-fact regard for each other; but this moment of sorrow broughtto the surface a depth of family affection of which Clifford had neverdreamed, and, as his father proceeded, he became more deeply affectedthan he ever had been before.
He thought, "The old days of trial and poverty are over forever," and asthe realization of the great change, and his narrow escape from themisery, of self-exile flashed upon him, he leaned his head upon hishands, and a great sob shook his frame, while hot tears--yes, tears,which danger and the despair of a hopeless love had failed to wring--nowfell in a torrent, as the storm of emotion, new and strange, surged inhis breast.
"Oh, Clifford--Clifford! I thought you were not going," cried Maud,white with anguish.
"Cliff, I can't bear to see you leave," sobbed Robbie, while he clung toClifford with the desperation born of his grief at the very thought ofparting with his only brother.
"Clifford, what does this mean?" said Maud, seized by a nameless dread;but Clifford only answered by pushing back the table, the cover of whichswept the floor and had concealed the object that was now revealed inthe lamp-light.
"Gold! gold!" cried Maud in amazement, as her eyes caught the glitterof doubloons heaped upon the floor.
"Oh God!--my lost fortune!" said the colonel in a hoarse whisper, as heknelt beside the half-emptied sacks, which he remembered at a glance.
"My brother--Clifford--you are a grand hero," shrieked Maud, wild withexcitement and relief, and then ensued a contest between herself andmother who should first strangle our young friend in their embraces.
"Hero, nothing!" said Rob, who had just blown his nose upon thetable-cloth with a snort like a porpoise, and who was still blubberingin a suspicious manner; "heroes don't drip at the nose like a hydrant;but all the same he is a damn good fellow," he added, with a vigorousslap on his brother's back.
"I have something else to show you over at my dwelling," said Clifford,recovering from his emotion, and smiling up at Rob; "and, if you willdrive around there, I will row ahead and light the lamps;" then, withoutwaiting to explain, he hurried out into the night. Although they weredevoured by curiosity, they soon concealed the gold, and were drivenrapidly up to the corral.
"I bet my boot-heels that Cliff has got that old spook chained up here,feeding him like a pauper," said Rob, in a tone of confidence, toMaud--a remark which elicited no reply, however, for she was puzzlingover the strange discovery which she knew Clifford had made.
When they arrived at his dwelling he met them at the door, which heclosely locked behind them; then, going to the sunken chest, he threwback the lid, and a wavering glare of gems and red gold flashed out witha splendor which dazzled and almost blinded the astonished group.
"The treasure of Monteluma!" exclaimed the colonel, in a tone of deepemotion.
"Oh, those frosty, glimmering pearls!" said Maud, exulting in thesplendor of the jewels that she loved so well, and had always dreamed ofowning.
"What a pile of lucre!" cried Rob, dancing about in delight. "Lordy! ifI owned all this tin, I'd make the shekels fly for awhile, you bet!First, I'd swap that slow, flea-bitten broncho for Ed Porter's whitepony, if I had to give even _twenty dollars_ to boot; then next I'd haveme a brand-new hat--a broad brim, too--none of your flimsy old woolthings, but an eight-dollar sombrero, thick as a board, with a leatherband an inch wide; then two cravats--and--"
"And?" said Clifford with a quizzical smile, as Rob began to show signsof an embarrassment of riches.
"Well, that's all, unless it is a pair of high-top boots, like JohnnieRussell's--with stars and new moons of red and yellow leather on 'em."
"You are a reckless spendthrift, Rob. Thirty-five dollars gone already!"said Clifford, laughingly, as his young brother's eyes continued togloat over the million of heaped-up riches in the chest.
"Clifford, my son, how did you find all this treasure? It seems likeenchantment," Mrs. Warlow asked, in an anxious tone.
"Mother, it is too long a story to relate now; but when I return fromAbilene I'll give all the particulars. It is ten now," he said, glancingat his watch, "and we must start at six sharp, in the morning, so thereis but little time to spare."
"Yes," said the colonel, recovering from the stupor of amazement intowhich he had fallen, "we will start to the land-office early in themorning; for I have determined to invest twenty thousand of ournew-found money in land; it seems providential that it should come justnow. I had been grieving so much of late that this golden opportunitywould pass by; but, thank God! it will come out right yet."
Maud, ever tactful and alert, seeing that Clifford was unwilling toexplain the particulars of the discovery, hurried their departure forhome. When they had all driven away, young Warlow filled one of thesacks with coin, and placed it in a trunk of clothing that was readypacked, locked the door behind, and slowly rowed down; but he haddelayed long enough to be certain of finding that they had all retiredwhen he arrived home.
In the morning Colonel Warlow was too unwell to appear at thebreakfast-table, and finding that his indisposition was of too serious anature to admit of his traveling that day, Clifford received twentythousand dollars--nearly thirteen hundred Mexican doubloons--from hisfather, with the instruction to invest it in land at his discretion. Thecolonel told Clifford at parting to consider half of the money as hisown; so with a light heart the youth started out on his third essay at"fortune hunting."
Accompanied by Squire Moreland and Ralph, who had unconsciously helpedto load the Warlow carriage with more than seventy thousand dollars ingold, secreted in two innocent-looking trunks, Clifford took the windingtrail for Abilene just as the sun appeared above the rim of the easternhills. It was a cool, dry July morning, very favorable for producingthat Western phenomenon, the mirage; and as they emerged from thecorn-fields and tall thickets of blue-stem of the valley onto therolling uplands, carpeted with buffalo-grass, a scene of mysteriousgrandeur burst upon their sight.
Objects that were miles away appeared close at hand, plain and distinctin the pure, clear air; and although a lofty ridge twenty miles wideinterposed, all the valley of the Smoky Hill was rolled out like a mapbefore them. The winding river, fringed by trees and groves; the wideprairie valley, flecked with white villages; a long train on the UnionPacific, "fleeing like a dragon through the level fields and leaving abreath of smoke behind," seemed but a few miles away.
The Iron Mound, sixty miles distant, loomed off to the north-west, andfar beyond appeared the faint outline of the Soldier's Cap--a toweringheadland, that, like a giant's helmet, seemed to guard all the SalineValley, but now dwarfed, by the hundred mile
s which intervened, to amere dot upon the horizon.
The Smoky Hills flamed up in a long line of purple, jagged buttes on thewest, while to the south stretched away the fat prairies of the RussianMennonite colony, their quaint, old-world villages of thatch andwhite-plastered adobe clustering thickly over the level plain that wasbegemmed by lakes of waving water, or what appeared to be such, butwhich in reality was only an optical illusion caused by a glare ofrarefied atmosphere. Soon these phantom lakes began to flood the prairiewith a wavering shimmer. Broad rivers became momentarily wider, untilall the landscape was submerged and the villages swam in a sea of watera moment, sinking down at length like foundered ships, the whitebuildings towering up strangely like masts, which, at last, all sankfrom sight, leaving only a glare of silver behind.
Soon nature resumed her wonted aspect, though it seemed strangely unrealto see the Iron Mound sink slowly as they ascended the ridge, until itwas lost to view, and what had been the Smoky Valley but a moment beforewas now the rolling highland which they had to traverse for hours beforereaching their destination. For a space of twenty miles square, not asolitary house was to be seen. In fact, after leaving the valley theonly sign of life visible was a distant herd along some timber-fringedstream, by which the picturesque and fertile tract was threaded, or along line of antelope, that would cautiously keep to the highest ridgesas they loped away in single file.
The ridged and travel worn-trail, where in former years the herds ofTexas and New Mexico had been driven along to Abilene, was now disusedand lonely, as the traffic had been transferred to more western points;so our friends were relieved on reaching their destination after amonotonous drive of half a day.
Driving to a bank, Clifford deposited the unsealed bags of gold withinthe safe of that institution, while his two companions were looking fora hotel; then, next, young Warlow wrote a long and carefully wordeddispatch to the American minister at Mexico, inquiring for informationconcerning Bruce Walraven and his wife, Herr Von Brunn and his wifeLabella, and also the status of Monteluma, with a request for animmediate reply, that was no doubt facilitated by the information whichthe banker telegraphed, at Clifford's request, for the privilege ofreference.
Without difficulty Clifford perfected the title to his homestead beforethe land officers. Then, in a fever of restlessness, our hero passed theintervening time until Monday morning, when he received a dispatch fromthe minister at the City of Mexico, stating that no trace could be foundof either of the parties inquired for; that the old mansion of Montelumahad been confiscated during the "French invasion," but the estate washeld by a wealthy foreign nobleman; that the agent of that nobleman wasabsent at Durango, so no further particulars could be learned until hisreturn, etc.
"This is the last evidence in the proof that Mora is heiress to all thenew-found treasure," mentally exclaimed young Warlow as he hurried intothe land-office and elbowed his way through the dense throng ofspectators to the desk, where the receiver was gloomily saying, "thatthe sale would be a failure, unless the agent of Lord Scholeigh arrived,which was improbable now, owing to the storm near St. Louis, that hadprostrated the wires and stopped travel."
"Proceed with the sale, if you please; I would like to bid in a tract,"said Clifford quietly. Then, after several tracts in small bodies hadbeen purchased by the bystanders, he began to bid in section aftersection at fifty cents an acre; and when the amount ran up to ten,twenty, and twenty-three thousand acres, the crowd began to growcurious, and jostled each other to get a better view of the man whocould bid in so quietly a six-mile square tract without faltering; butthe grave-faced and gray-clad young ranchman, with no ornament about himsave a gold buckle to the collar of his brown flannel shirt, keptsteadily on, without any opposition, perfectly heedless of the scrutiny.
"He is a son of Colonel Warlow on the Cottonwood, who fell heir to acool million from California, the other day," said a man, in a tone justloud enough to reach Clifford's ears, and the receiver wondered what thehandsome young man found to smile at as he bid in the last section ofsixty-nine thousand acres; but how should he know that Clifford wasamused at the remark, thinking that the small legacy had grown, like thestory of the "five black crows."
"Young man," said the receiver, in a tone of arrogant suspicion. "Ishall insist on some proof of your ability to pay such a large sumbefore I proceed further."
"Very well, sir," replied Clifford, blowing a wreath of cigar-smoke intothe official's face as he coolly handed him his certificate of deposit,subject to check of seventy thousand dollars, given Saturday eveningafter the banker had counted the gold. Then, young Warlow began torealize the prestige which wealth gives, as he saw the look of insolenceon the officer's face quickly give place to respectful wonder, as heproceeded at once with the auction.
When the figures had reached a hundred thousand acres the crowd gave wayto cheers, which swelled to a perfect tumult when six townships--nearlyone hundred and thirty-nine thousand acres--were knocked down to theyoung bidder, who refused to bid any further, and the sale closed.
Clifford wrote out a check for the sum of sixty-nine thousand onehundred and twenty dollars, and received the receiver's certificate,which entitled the purchaser to a deed for the tract. As the officerclosed the sale and the papers changed hands in the bank, a noted"wheat-king" hurried in and told Clifford that the New York agent ofLord Scholeigh was coming on a special train, fast as steam could carryhim, and requested our young friend to await the arrival, as the agenthad been detained by storms and wash-outs while _en route_ to the sale;and the kingly real estate agent further intimated that a fine profiton the purchase could be realized if Clifford was willing to sell.
So our hero consented to remain, and when the agent arrived he wasalmost stunned by the offer of double the price he had paid; the agentoffering to take the entire tract at one dollar an acre. After somedeliberation Clifford consummated a sale of seventy-five thousand acres,keeping a township, six miles square, for himself, and forty thousandacres for his father; and finding that he had seventy-five thousanddollars left. "Equal," the wheat-king said, "to the Dutchman's profit often per schent."
Clifford found it was an easy matter to induce the receiver to acceptthe agent's certified check on New York in exchange for his own. Then hearranged to leave the bag of doubloons, sealed, and only left for safetyuntil he could return them to the chest; but the twenty-five thousanddollars of profit he deposited with the bank, subject to check. Havingbought a heavy steel safe, with time-lock, and leaving orders for it tobe delivered at once, he returned home on Tuesday morning, proud andhappy over the result of his transaction.
When he arrived at home, he was met by Rob, who was pale and excited.When Clifford had hurriedly asked after his father's welfare, Robreplied that their parent was well, but a strange accident had occurredout near the secret cavern. He proceeded to tell how the gray-robedspectre had darted out from among the tall blue-stem, while one oftheir workmen was mowing near there. The apparition had so startled thehorses that they became unmanageable, and when the strange figure, in areckless manner, had sprung at their heads, they had whirled, throwingthe crazied being under the sickle and mangling him so horribly that heonly lived a moment. His body was carried to the cell, where it was nowlying. This had occurred only a few hours before, and all the familywere up there awaiting Clifford's return.
Mounting a fresh horse, Clifford galloped rapidly up the windingpathway, fearing--he hardly dared to think what. "Could it be that hewould soon stand beside the mangled form of Bruce Walraven, Mora'sfather?" he was thinking as he dismounted at the well-rememberedplum-thicket, and hitched his horse to a tree.
A moment later Maud flew out with a low cry of delight, and whileembracing Clifford, she cried tearfully:--
"Oh, I am inexpressibly relieved. It is not Bruce, as we feared, butit's that blood-stained Eagle Beak, Olin Estill's partner in crime andfinal victim."
"Why, Maud! how do you know?" said he, breathless with suspense.
"They found
a silver breastplate, such as were worn by chiefs in theearly days, and on the medal was an engraving of the beak of an eagle;while on the reverse, now worn dim, was the name, 'Eagle Beak.' Thislarge plate was hung about his neck by a heavy chain of silver, whichwas riveted so it is impossible to remove it without filing it through,and the links have worn into the flesh--oh, horrible!" she replied, witha shudder of disgust.
With reluctant steps Clifford sought the cavern, where his parents andthe Moreland family were grouped about the door; and after a few minutesof greeting, he went in alone to where the corpse was lying cold andstill; and when he had removed the white sheet from its face, he stoodlong and silently regarding the revolting picture of depravity andferocious cunning that even yet showed on every feature, frozen in therigid calm of death.
"No, thank God! this is not the face of noble Bruce; but still it isthat of a white man--some wretched desperado, who had fled from theavenging arm of justice, and had gained sway over a band of savages asbrutal and vicious, but less daring and cunning than himself," thoughtyoung Warlow. "This certainly is a sermon on the retribution whichProvidence holds in store for those who perpetrate such crimes ofinhuman atrocity as this wretch is stained with," he said, as Maud cameinto the cell.
They buried the remains upon a lofty hill near by, the top of which wasvisible from their homes in the valley; no ceremony was observed, butthe horrible details of burial were delegated to a few workmen from thehay-field, and by three that afternoon only a small mound of clayremained to tell of a life that had been but a fever of bloody deeds.
Once--long years after--as Clifford stood in the twilight with Maud,they heard the jabbering wail of a wolf on the grave-crowned hill, andClifford said:--
"If the departed soul does hover about the grave after death, seekingre-embodiment, then Eagle Beak has surely been born again in the form ofa wolf; for he was the very incarnation, no doubt, of such a beastduring his existence here. I never pass by that thistle-grown andnettle-hidden grave without a shudder; and often in the dismal night,when just such a piercing howl resounds from that hill-top, I vaguelyfancy it is the soul of Eagle Beak mourning because of the limitedsphere of deviltry in which his 'wolf-life' constrains his savagespirit."
"Oh, Clifford! will you never outgrow such idle fancies?" Maudexclaimed.
"No, never so long as I meet foxes, jackals, and hyenas every day, thatare only veiled by a human form--very thinly disguised often--and it isGod's goodness, alone, that finally denies them that mask."
"Clifford, my brother, what a strange belief for 'Deacon' Warlow, pillarof the Church, and first in all good deeds of Christian charity andenterprise in his community, to entertain and express," she replied,with a look of strange interest dawning in her beautiful but matronlyface.
"Well, Maud, I find abundant proof in the Bible to substantiate thisfaith," he answered, gravely, "while our lives teem with the evidence ofits truth."
But I have digressed too long already, and will return to my theme.
As they drove back home from the death-haunted cell, Clifford told hisparents of his search for the treasure; how, after discovering the gems,he had been convinced that the gold was also secreted near, and hisultimate success in discovering it buried in the grave that Roger Coblehad noticed when he rescued his father after the massacre. The findingof Ivarene's Journal, his engagement to Mora, and discovery that she wasthe daughter of Bruce and his ill-fated wife, and the successfulspeculation in which he had figured with such great profit at Abilene,were left unrevealed, as Clifford thought his father was not strongenough to bear the strain of such excitement yet.
With Maud he was not so reticent, and after supper he told of thesuccess at the land-office, and the use he had made at Mora's request ofpart of the recovered treasure.
After Maud had expressed her unbounded joy at the substantial results ofthat venture, Clifford noticed a shade of anxiety and sadness settledown on her face, and he hastened to say, while reaching up to gather aspray of trumpet-flowers that swung its blossoms of black, crimson, andsalmon in heavy festoons over the latticed gateway: "Maud, you dear,unselfish creature, I know that you and Ralph are about to begin lifetogether, and, when father offered me half of the twenty thousanddollars, I just mentally concluded to give you the benefit of it. Itseems to me you ought to keep the pot boiling with twenty thousandacres of good land."
While Maud hung about his neck, her tearful face hidden on his shoulder,her brother continued:--
"Poor Ralph will need a great deal of encouragement from you. I havebeen in that very kind of a boat myself lately, and know how tosympathize with him."
Soon he was galloping down to the Estill ranch; but I will not intrudeupon the privacy of that meeting between himself and Mora, only leavingit all to the imagination of the reader. Mr. Estill had not returnedyet, so they still deferred making any explanation of the strangediscoveries made since his departure. It was agreed, however, to revealall on his return. Plans for the future were discussed as they strolledout on the terrace; and before he left, young Warlow had won a promisethat their wedding-day would be an early one--some time in September,Mora said.
"I have had such a strange dream, twice on successive nights, lately,Clifford. It seemed as though I was Ivarene, and that I led a dual sortof an existence, part of the time as myself, and at other times I wasthat ill-fated Mexican bride, longing to meet Bruce once more. Some way,Clifford, I never can reconcile myself to the belief that they are myparents, and the suspense of this uncertainty is growing unbearable."
Clifford was very thoughtful for a long while after this; but at lengthhe begged her to await the return of Mr. Estill before they divulgedthe secret. Then, after a lingering parting, he returned home to begin,on the morrow, preparations for the new life that was before him.
Before leaving Abilene he had engaged a skillful stone-mason, who was tobegin enlarging his dwelling at once with a large force of workmen athis command; and I will only briefly tell how soon the cottage grew intoa many-gabled mansion of red sandstone, with bay-windows and long wings,terraces of stone, with balustrades of white magnesia, and marble vasesfilled with blooming plants, that trailed down their sides with blossomsof rose, creamy white and scarlet.
A thousand head of cattle were bought, and hurrying workmen were busystacking vast ricks of prairie-hay near the large barn that was risinglike magic under the trowels of a score of masons.
In these details I have anticipated somewhat, but will return to thethread of my story.
The suspicions of the colonel and Mrs. Warlow were at once aroused byseeing a force of workmen beginning to enlarge Clifford's dwelling; andon perceiving this, Clifford hastened to reveal all the discoveries andtransactions of the past few weeks. The journal deeply afflicted hisfather, who at once came to the same conclusion which the youngermembers of the family had arrived at on reading that document,--thatBruce and his wife had been murdered by Olin Estill, who had stolentheir child and had left it at the Estill ranch; that Mora was thatchild, and that the family had raised her as their own daughter. WhenClifford told of his success in the land transaction and of wishing thatMaud should have the twenty thousand acres meant for himself, hisparents seemed both pleased and proud of his course, although his fathercautioned him against using any more of the treasure until Mr. Estillwas made aware of the discovery.
"Did not the Estills tell you that Mora was the daughter of Bruce andIvarene when they made their first visit here?" said Clifford, insurprise.
"Why, no, indeed!" replied his father; "they told us of the part whichthey feared their nephew took in the massacre. They believed he murderedthe originals of the pictures which he left at their house soon afterthat tragedy, but he appeared to be insane and they never saw him aliveagain. It was months after when his skeleton was found on the prairie,barely recognizable, which they buried on a hill near the ranch."
"And that was all?" said Clifford, in a tone of anxiety. "But do you notthink that Mora is Bruce's daughter?"
/> "I have no doubt of it; for she is the perfect counterpart of Ivarene invoice, face, and expression, although her eyes are blue while those ofIvarene were black. Still the same look is there that I shall neverforget. Why, when I meet her gaze, it always seems that Ivarene istrying to speak to me once more," said the colonel with deep emotion.
After this interview, Clifford lost no time in hurrying down to theEstill ranch to seek an interview with Mora; and after they had met,with all the demonstrations peculiar to lovers, he noticed a strangelook of trouble on her face, and when he tenderly asked its cause, shefaltered a moment, then bursting into tears, and hiding her face on hisbreast, she confessed that the suspense of awaiting her father's returnhad become at last unendurable, and she had told her mother all theparticulars of their engagement, the discovery of the treasure, theirsubsequent use of a portion of it, and their well-founded belief thatshe was the daughter of Bruce and Ivarene Walraven.
"She confessed, then, that it was true?" said Clifford, in a tone ofsuspense.
"No, stranger still!" said Mora, as she raised a tear-stained face tohis--"no, Clifford, she seemed struck dumb with astonishment, andreiterated the assertion solemnly that I was her only daughter, bornfive years after that tragedy. I am convinced that it is true, Clifford;nothing can convince me that she is trying to deceive us, for she is toosincere to keep the truth from us now. Yes, I am an Estill; but she saidthat my strange resemblance to the picture in the locket had alwaysperplexed her, and my father and they were very sensitive on thesubject. She saw you were startled by my lack of resemblance to any oneof the family, when you made your first visit here; but she is glad toknow that you are to be her son at last, Clifford." Had a thunderboltfallen at his feet, young Warlow could not have been more startled thanhe was at this announcement. Then, after a moment of silence, he said:"Ah! Mora darling, it does not matter whose daughter you may be, soyour heart is mine; but how strange it is that we should have arrived atsuch a wrong conclusion!" Then, as he began to reflect, he found thather mysterious resemblance to Ivarene was their strongest proof that shewas not an Estill.
An interview with Mrs. Estill followed, in which she gave a willingassent to the lovers' union; then she again asserted, with truth andsincerity stamped upon her face and tone, that Mora was her onlydaughter, born of her own flesh and blood, but that there was a mysteryconnected with her birth which she had never revealed to any one but herhusband.
"Mother! mother! what is it?" said Mora in great agitation, whileClifford sprang up with a look of intense interest depicted upon hisface.
"It is a strange and unreal thing to relate in this enlightened andskeptical age, and I should never divulge it but for the events of thelast few days; but Mora's unaccountable resemblance to the face in thelocket, which is that of Ivarene, is not the only mystery that surroundsher birth. In the autumn of 1849, September 16th--I remember the dateperfectly--one of our herders came in at night very much terrified by asight which he had just witnessed. He had seen two mysterious lightsflitting about the base of Antelope Butte, several miles up the valley,where he had been looking after our cattle that had become scatteredwhile we were at Fort Riley--driven to take refuge there from theCheyenne Indians that were raiding the frontier settlements duringAugust. Why I remember the date so distinctly is from the fact that wehad only returned that day, finding our cabin in ashes.
"Fearing it might be some signal of lurking savages, Mr. Estill andmyself ran with the herder to the bluff which overlooks the house on thenorth, and saw a sight that was full of mystery; and which, in fact, wasnever explained.
"There were two large blue lights, of such an unnatural color andappearance as to attract instant attention, flitting about up thevalley. They would seem to skim along in long, undulating swells, likethe flight of swallows, often rising hundreds of feet in the air, butalways darting back to the base of the butte. We were relieved to knowit was not Indians, and thinking it was one of those gaseous or igneousphenomena peculiar to water-courses, we did not investigate further, butonly regarded their appearance with curiosity.
"Their visits finally reached our premises, and I was horrified to seethem hovering about the house later in the season; but all our attemptsto approach them were frustrated, for they would recede as we advanced;then we really began to feel how very unaccountable they were, andbecame perplexed with the mystery. This state of affairs continued untilChristmas eve, 1852. As I was standing at a window with Hugh in my arms,I saw the two lights come flitting down the valley together. When theyreached a point close to the house they halted, and, after hoveringabout together for a while, the larger light darted off eastward, andwas never seen again. The lesser one remained flitting about the house,or to and fro between here and Antelope Butte. Until, one night in May,1854, the light, after hovering near by, disappeared forever. _That verynight Mora was born._ Seeing a resemblance in her childish face to thatwithin the locket--a likeness that has increased with her age, until nowshe is the very image of poor, dead Ivarene--we named her Morelia(shortened to Mora by her friends), a name that was engraved and setwith rubies upon the locket. We thought this the name, of course, of thefemale face within the locket, but from the Journal of Ivarene it isapparent that it was the name of her dead mother instead.
"This precious locket had been flung at my feet by Olin Estill, arenegade nephew of my husband, whom he had discarded on account of hisvicious tendencies, and who had been leading a mysterious existence,connected, I now fear, with a band of outlaws that committed themassacre at the corral. He had been absent from our house severalmonths, until the day after our return he suddenly appeared at thetent-door, and, after glaring at me a moment, had flung the locket at myfeet, then, with a blood-chilling shriek, had fled away. We never sawhim alive after that day; but his skeleton, torn asunder by wolves andbarely recognizable, was found months after, and buried upon a hill-topnear here."
"Did you never search Antelope Butte?" Clifford asked, with gravethoughtfulness depicted in his face.
"No; we never did, although we once talked of doing so, but forgot itsoon in the anxiety and care of our life," she answered.
"I shall do so to-morrow," he said, "for I believe the mystery of theirfate is hidden there. Yes, Bruce and Ivarene must have died someterrible death there at that bluff, and I shall never rest until thecloud that wraps their fate is dispelled."
On his return home he related to his parents the story which Mrs. Estillhad told. When he had finished, his mother was pale with a strangeexcitement; and his father exclaimed in a hoarse voice of agitation:--
"Clifford, you should make a careful search on Antelope Butte in themorning. I fear that Bruce and Ivarene perished there."
"My son, I never have told you that only a few months before you wereborn just such a light flashed into my room as the one that flittedabout the Estill ranch," said Mrs. Warlow, pale and trembling withemotion. "It was on Christmas Eve, 1852, that I was sitting in thefirelit room waiting your father's return, when I saw a pale blue hazedart past the window, hover a moment, then return; and as I raised thesash I seemed to be smothered by a flash of thick, luminous fog, andfell prostrated as by a stroke of lightning. I did not loseconsciousness, however, but called one of the negro women, who helped meto a lounge, and lit the lamp. I was nervous about the occurrence; butyour father explained the phenomenon as being only a collection ofnatural gas, generated in damp localities. The light flitted about for afew months; but on the night of your birth, Clifford, it disappeared,and was never seen again. How strange that one of those lights shoulddisappear from her house that night, and appear at mine, hundreds ofmiles away! Then the similar circumstances under which those mysterioushalos vanished--the very night, it appears, of your birth and that ofMora! She was born in May, 1854, so Mrs. Estill says."
"We must search Antelope Butte in the morning," said Clifford, trying toconceal his agitation and to speak calmly; "for I fear that the finaltragedy of Bruce and Ivarene was enacted there. I dread the discoveryt
hat we may make, while, at the same time, I long to unravel the darkmystery which enwraps their fate." Then he hurriedly left the room andsought slumber in the quiet of his own bed-chamber; but it was in vain,for strange fancies kept him awake and thoughtful while the hours slowlydragged by.
Since the night when he had seen that weird and unearthly phantomwar-dance around the long grave, Clifford had begun to entertain somestrange fancies, which slowly grew upon him as he reviewed the storieswhich Mrs. Estill and his mother had told that evening, until finally hesaid, as the gray of morning began to tinge the eastern sky with itsashy pallor:--
"I am almost convinced that Bruce's theory is a true one. Father haslong believed me to be the reincarnation of the spirit of BruceWalraven. This, if true, will account for my strange resemblance to aman who died, in all probability, long before I was born, and will alsoaccount for the mysterious memories which always haunt me, like theglimpses of a former life. Can it be possible that the soul, at will,can take on a new body again after death, and profit by its pastmistakes? That would be a resurrection, indeed! Can it be that all theair about us is peopled by the spiritual outlines of dead andhalf-forgotten friends, only waiting their time to be re-born, and weourselves may be but bodies that are inhabited by the souls of peoplewho have lived before? If this theory is as correct as it is comforting,then death has lost all its terrors; for what could inspire more delightin the heart of an aged and care-worn person than the knowledge that,after he had cast off his faded and wrinkled body, by that process whichwe call death, he could walk again in all the freshness of youth andbeauty on earth, which, say what we may, is dearer than any other placecan ever be.
"This theory I shall put to the test to-day," our hero said; "for if theremains of Bruce and Ivarene are found near Antelope Butte--as I amconvinced that they will be--then my conjectures are confirmed and themystery of eternity, which has mocked and puzzled man from his creation,is revealed. It will prove that those mysterious lights were theirspirits still hovering about their grave, waiting their opportunity tobe re-born. This looks no more improbable than many of the mysteries ofscience did a few years ago. But, then, life itself would still remain agrand mystery, as would sight, sound, and hearing."
By this time he had arisen, and, after dressing, he seated himselfbefore the tall mirror.
"This strange belief has been growing upon me since I heard Mrs.Estill's and mother's revelations until it has become almost conviction,and if we find that on Antelope Butte, which I feel we will--then itwill convince me that Mora is--God how strange that sounds!--Ivareneborn again to enjoy the happiness which her untimely fate prevented hersecuring in her brief life."
As he scanned his own reflection in the mirror, by the sunlight, whichnow was flooding the eastern hills in its golden mantle, while a look ofgrowing wonder and strange curiosity came over his face, he exclaimed,with a start: "Then Bruce Walraven is--myself!"
After a moment of serious reflection, he continued: "Well, there isnothing so very improbable or uncanny in the thought, at last; for it isjust as probable that God may have given me a soul that had livedbefore, as one that had not. No; human nature has too much wisdom toever have gained it by one life."
If our hero's theory was true, then Bruce could not have asked a betterfate than to live his life again as the handsome youth reflected there,with his crisp golden hair, eyes of pansy blue, and the flush of youngmanhood on his glossy cheeks.