Part 24 (2/2)
”Yes,” said the colonel, recovering from the stupor of amazement into which he had fallen, ”we will start to the land-office early in the morning; for I have determined to invest twenty thousand of our new-found money in land; it seems providential that it should come just now. I had been grieving so much of late that this golden opportunity would pa.s.s by; but, thank G.o.d! it will come out right yet.”
Maud, ever tactful and alert, seeing that Clifford was unwilling to explain the particulars of the discovery, hurried their departure for home. When they had all driven away, young Warlow filled one of the sacks with coin, and placed it in a trunk of clothing that was ready packed, locked the door behind, and slowly rowed down; but he had delayed long enough to be certain of finding that they had all retired when he arrived home.
In the morning Colonel Warlow was too unwell to appear at the breakfast-table, and finding that his indisposition was of too serious a nature to admit of his traveling that day, Clifford received twenty thousand dollars--nearly thirteen hundred Mexican doubloons--from his father, with the instruction to invest it in land at his discretion. The colonel told Clifford at parting to consider half of the money as his own; 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 helped to load the Warlow carriage with more than seventy thousand dollars in gold, secreted in two innocent-looking trunks, Clifford took the winding trail for Abilene just as the sun appeared above the rim of the eastern hills. It was a cool, dry July morning, very favorable for producing that Western phenomenon, the mirage; and as they emerged from the corn-fields and tall thickets of blue-stem of the valley onto the rolling uplands, carpeted with buffalo-gra.s.s, a scene of mysterious grandeur burst upon their sight.
Objects that were miles away appeared close at hand, plain and distinct in the pure, clear air; and although a lofty ridge twenty miles wide interposed, all the valley of the Smoky Hill was rolled out like a map before them. The winding river, fringed by trees and groves; the wide prairie valley, flecked with white villages; a long train on the Union Pacific, ”fleeing like a dragon through the level fields and leaving a breath of smoke behind,” seemed but a few miles away.
The Iron Mound, sixty miles distant, loomed off to the north-west, and far beyond appeared the faint outline of the Soldier's Cap--a towering headland, that, like a giant's helmet, seemed to guard all the Saline Valley, but now dwarfed, by the hundred miles which intervened, to a mere dot upon the horizon.
The Smoky Hills flamed up in a long line of purple, jagged b.u.t.tes on the west, while to the south stretched away the fat prairies of the Russian Mennonite colony, their quaint, old-world villages of thatch and white-plastered adobe cl.u.s.tering thickly over the level plain that was begemmed by lakes of waving water, or what appeared to be such, but which in reality was only an optical illusion caused by a glare of rarefied atmosphere. Soon these phantom lakes began to flood the prairie with a wavering s.h.i.+mmer. Broad rivers became momentarily wider, until all the landscape was submerged and the villages swam in a sea of water a moment, sinking down at length like foundered s.h.i.+ps, the white buildings towering up strangely like masts, which, at last, all sank from sight, leaving only a glare of silver behind.
Soon nature resumed her wonted aspect, though it seemed strangely unreal to see the Iron Mound sink slowly as they ascended the ridge, until it was lost to view, and what had been the Smoky Valley but a moment before was now the rolling highland which they had to traverse for hours before reaching their destination. For a s.p.a.ce of twenty miles square, not a solitary house was to be seen. In fact, after leaving the valley the only sign of life visible was a distant herd along some timber-fringed stream, by which the picturesque and fertile tract was threaded, or a long line of antelope, that would cautiously keep to the highest ridges as they loped away in single file.
The ridged and travel worn-trail, where in former years the herds of Texas and New Mexico had been driven along to Abilene, was now disused and lonely, as the traffic had been transferred to more western points; so our friends were relieved on reaching their destination after a monotonous drive of half a day.
Driving to a bank, Clifford deposited the unsealed bags of gold within the safe of that inst.i.tution, while his two companions were looking for a hotel; then, next, young Warlow wrote a long and carefully worded dispatch to the American minister at Mexico, inquiring for information concerning Bruce Walraven and his wife, Herr Von Brunn and his wife Labella, and also the status of Monteluma, with a request for an immediate reply, that was no doubt facilitated by the information which the banker telegraphed, at Clifford's request, for the privilege of reference.
Without difficulty Clifford perfected the t.i.tle to his homestead before the land officers. Then, in a fever of restlessness, our hero pa.s.sed the intervening time until Monday morning, when he received a dispatch from the minister at the City of Mexico, stating that no trace could be found of either of the parties inquired for; that the old mansion of Monteluma had been confiscated during the ”French invasion,” but the estate was held by a wealthy foreign n.o.bleman; that the agent of that n.o.bleman was absent at Durango, so no further particulars could be learned until his return, etc.
”This is the last evidence in the proof that Mora is heiress to all the new-found treasure,” mentally exclaimed young Warlow as he hurried into the land-office and elbowed his way through the dense throng of spectators to the desk, where the receiver was gloomily saying, ”that the sale would be a failure, unless the agent of Lord Scholeigh arrived, which was improbable now, owing to the storm near St. Louis, that had prostrated 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 had been purchased by the bystanders, he began to bid in section after section at fifty cents an acre; and when the amount ran up to ten, twenty, and twenty-three thousand acres, the crowd began to grow curious, and jostled each other to get a better view of the man who could bid in so quietly a six-mile square tract without faltering; but the grave-faced and gray-clad young ranchman, with no ornament about him save a gold buckle to the collar of his brown flannel s.h.i.+rt, kept steadily on, without any opposition, perfectly heedless of the scrutiny.
”He is a son of Colonel Warlow on the Cottonwood, who fell heir to a cool million from California, the other day,” said a man, in a tone just loud enough to reach Clifford's ears, and the receiver wondered what the handsome young man found to smile at as he bid in the last section of sixty-nine thousand acres; but how should he know that Clifford was amused at the remark, thinking that the small legacy had grown, like the story of the ”five black crows.”
”Young man,” said the receiver, in a tone of arrogant suspicion. ”I shall insist on some proof of your ability to pay such a large sum before I proceed further.”
”Very well, sir,” replied Clifford, blowing a wreath of cigar-smoke into the official's face as he coolly handed him his certificate of deposit, subject to check of seventy thousand dollars, given Sat.u.r.day evening after the banker had counted the gold. Then, young Warlow began to realize the prestige which wealth gives, as he saw the look of insolence on the officer's face quickly give place to respectful wonder, as he proceeded at once with the auction.
When the figures had reached a hundred thousand acres the crowd gave way to cheers, which swelled to a perfect tumult when six towns.h.i.+ps--nearly one hundred and thirty-nine thousand acres--were knocked down to the young bidder, who refused to bid any further, and the sale closed.
Clifford wrote out a check for the sum of sixty-nine thousand one hundred and twenty dollars, and received the receiver's certificate, which ent.i.tled the purchaser to a deed for the tract. As the officer closed the sale and the papers changed hands in the bank, a noted ”wheat-king” hurried in and told Clifford that the New York agent of Lord Scholeigh was coming on a special train, fast as steam could carry him, and requested our young friend to await the arrival, as the agent had been detained by storms and wash-outs while _en route_ to the sale; and the kingly real estate agent further intimated that a fine profit on the purchase could be realized if Clifford was willing to sell.
So our hero consented to remain, and when the agent arrived he was almost stunned by the offer of double the price he had paid; the agent offering to take the entire tract at one dollar an acre. After some deliberation Clifford consummated a sale of seventy-five thousand acres, keeping a towns.h.i.+p, six miles square, for himself, and forty thousand acres for his father; and finding that he had seventy-five thousand dollars left. ”Equal,” the wheat-king said, ”to the Dutchman's profit of ten per schent.”
Clifford found it was an easy matter to induce the receiver to accept the agent's certified check on New York in exchange for his own. Then he arranged to leave the bag of doubloons, sealed, and only left for safety until he could return them to the chest; but the twenty-five thousand dollars of profit he deposited with the bank, subject to check. Having bought a heavy steel safe, with time-lock, and leaving orders for it to be delivered at once, he returned home on Tuesday morning, proud and happy 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, Rob replied that their parent was well, but a strange accident had occurred out near the secret cavern. He proceeded to tell how the gray-robed spectre had darted out from among the tall blue-stem, while one of their workmen was mowing near there. The apparition had so startled the horses that they became unmanageable, and when the strange figure, in a reckless manner, had sprung at their heads, they had whirled, throwing the crazied being under the sickle and mangling him so horribly that he only lived a moment. His body was carried to the cell, where it was now lying. This had occurred only a few hours before, and all the family were up there awaiting Clifford's return.
Mounting a fresh horse, Clifford galloped rapidly up the winding pathway, fearing--he hardly dared to think what. ”Could it be that he would soon stand beside the mangled form of Bruce Walraven, Mora's father?” he was thinking as he dismounted at the well-remembered plum-thicket, and hitched his horse to a tree.
A moment later Maud flew out with a low cry of delight, and while embracing Clifford, she cried tearfully:--
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