No, only base metal. But here, Concho, emboldened by Wiless experiment, attempted to seize a handful of the glistening mass, that instantly broke through his fingers in a thousand tiny spherules, and even sent a few globules up his shirt sleeves, until he danced around in mingled fear and childish pleasure.
And it is not worth the taking? queried Pedro of Wiles.
Wiless right eye and bland face were turned toward the speaker, but his malevolent left was glancing at the dull red-brown rock on the hill side.
No!and turning abruptly away, he proceeded to saddle his mule.
Manuel, Miguel, and Pedro, left to themselves, began talking earnestly together, while Concho, now mindful of his crippled mule, made his way back to the trail where he had left her. But she was no longer there. Constant to her master through beatings and bullyings, she could not stand incivility and inattention. There are certain qualities of the sex that belong to all animated nature.
Inconsolable, footsore, and remorseful, Concho returned to the camp and furnace, three miles across the rocky ridge. But what was his astonishment on arriving to find the place deserted of man, mule, and camp equipage. Concho called aloud. Only the echoing rocks grimly answered him. Was it a trick? Concho tried to laugh. Ahyesa good one,a joke,nonothey HAD deserted him. And then poor Concho bowed his head to the ground, and falling on his face, cried as if his honest heart would break.
The tempest passed in a moment; it was not Conchos nature to suffer long nor brood over an injury. As he raised his head again his eye caught the shimmer of the quicksilver,that pool of merry antic metal that had so delighted him an hour before. In a few moments Concho was again disporting with it; chasing it here and there, rolling it in his palms and laughing with boy-like glee at its elusive freaks and fancies. Ah, sprightly one,skipjack,there thou goest,come here. This way,now I have thee, little one,come, muchacha,come and kiss me, until he had quite forgotten the defection of his companions. And even when he shouldered his sorry pack, he was fain to carry his playmate away with him in his empty leathern flask.
And yet I fancy the sun looked kindly on him as he strode cheerily down the black mountain side, and his step was none the less free nor light that he carried with him neither the brilliant prospects nor the crime of his late comrades.
CHAPTER III
WHO CLAIMED IT
The fog had already closed in on Monterey, and was now rolling, a white, billowy sea above, that soon shut out the blue breakers below. Once or twice in descending the mountain Concho had overhung the cliff and looked down upon the curving horse-shoe of a bay below him,distant yet many miles. Earlier in the afternoon he had seen the gilt cross on the white-faced Mission flare in the sunlight, but now all was gone. By the time he reached the highway of the town it was quite dark, and he plunged into the first fonda at the wayside, and endeavored to forget his woes and his weariness in aguardiente. But Conchos head ached, and his back ached, and he was so generally distressed that he bethought him of a medico,an American doctor,lately come into the town, who had once treated Concho and his mule with apparently the same medicine, and after the same heroic fashion. Concho reasoned, not illogically, that if he were to be physicked at all he ought to get the worth of his money. The grotesque extravagance of life, of fruit and vegetables, in California was inconsistent with infinitesimal doses. In Conchos previous illness the doctor had given him a dozen 4 grain quinine powders.
The following day the grateful Mexican walked into the Doctors officecured. The Doctor was gratified until, on examination, it appeared that to save trouble, and because his memory was poor, Concho had taken all the powders in one dose. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders andaltered his practice.
Well, said Dr. Guild, as Concho sank down exhaustedly in one of the Doctors two chairs, what now? Have you been sleeping again in the tule marshes, or are you upset with commissary whisky? Come, have it out.
But Concho declared that the devil was in his stomach, that Judas Iscariot had possessed himself of his spine, that imps were in his forehead, and that his feet had been scourged by Pontius Pilate.
That means blue mass, said the Doctor. And gave it to him,a bolus as large as a musket ball, and as heavy.
Concho took it on the spot, and turned to go.
I have no money, Senor Medico.
Never mind. Its only a dollar, the price of the medicine.
Concho looked guilty at having gulped down so much cash. Then he said timidly:
I have no money, but I have got here what is fine and jolly. It is yours. And he handed over the contents of the precious tin can he had brought with him.
The Doctor took it, looked at the shivering volatile mass and said, Why this is quicksilver!
Concho laughed, Yes, very quick silver, so! and he snapped his fingers to show its sprightliness.
The Doctors face grew earnest; Where did you get this, Concho? he finally asked.
It ran from the pot in the mountains beyond.
The Doctor looked incredulous. Then Concho related the whole story.
Could you find that spot again?
Madre de Dios, yes,I have a mule there; may the devil fly away with her!
And you say your comrades saw this?
Why not?
And you say they afterwards left you,deserted you?
They did, ingrates!
The Doctor arose and shut his office door. Hark ye, Concho, he said, that bit of medicine I gave you just now was worth a dollar, it was worth a dollar because the material of which it was composed was made from the stuff you have in that can,quicksilver or mercury. It is one of the most valuable of metals, especially in a gold-mining country. My good fellow, if you know where to find enough of it, your fortune is made.
Concho rose to his feet.
Tell me, was the rock you built your furnace of red?
Si, Senor.
And brown?
Si, Senor.
And crumbled under the heat?
As to nothing.
And did you see much of this red rock?
The mountain mother is in travail with it.
Are you sure that your comrades have not taken possession of the mountain mother?
As how?
By claiming its discovery under the mining laws, or by pre-emption?
They shall not.
But how will you, single-handed, fight the four; for I doubt not your scientific friend has a hand in it?
I will fight.
Yes, my Concho, but suppose I take the fight off your hands. Now, heres a proposition: I will get half a dozen Americanos to go in with you. You will have to get money to work the mine,you will need funds. You shall share half with them. They will take the risk, raise the money, and protect you.
I see, said Concho, nodding his head and winking his eyes rapidly. Bueno!
I will return in ten minutes, said the Doctor, taking his hat.
He was as good as his word. In ten minutes he returned with six original locaters, a board of directors, a president, secretary, and a deed of incorporation of the Blue Mass Quicksilver Mining Co. This latter was a delicate compliment to the Doctor, who was popular. The President added to these necessary articles a revolver.
Take it, he said, handing over the weapon to Concho. Take it; my horse is outside; take that, ride like hl and hang on to the claim until we come!
In another moment Concho was in the saddle. Then the mining director lapsed into the physician.
I hardly know, said Dr. Guild, doubtfully, if in your present condition you ought to travel. You have just taken a powerful medicine, and the Doctor looked hypocritically concerned.
Ah,the devil! laughed Concho, what is the quicksilver that is IN to that which is OUT? Hoopa, la Mula! and, with a clatter of hoofs and jingle of spurs, was presently lost in the darkness.
You were none too soon, gentlemen, said the American Alcalde, as he drew up before the Doctors door. Another company has just been incorporated for the same location, I reckon.
Who are they?
Three Mexicans,Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel, headed by that dd cock-eyed Sydney Duck, Wiles.
Are they here?
Manuel and Miguel, only. The others are over at Tres Pinos lally-gaging Roscommon and trying to rope him in to pay off their whisky bills at his grocery.
If thats so we neednt start before sunrise, for theyre sure to get roaring drunk.
And this legitimate successor of the grave Mexican Alcaldes, having thus delivered his impartial opinion, rode away.
Meanwhile, Concho the redoubtable, Concho the fortunate, spared neither riata nor spur. The way was dark, the trail obscure and at times even dangerous, and Concho, familiar as he was with these mountain fastnesses, often regretted his sure-footed Francisquita. Care not, O Concho, he would say to himself, tis but a little while, only a little while, and thou shalt have another Francisquita to bless thee. Eh, skipjack, there was a fine music to thy dancing. A dollar for an ounce,tis as good as silver, and merrier. Yet for all his good spirits he kept a sharp lookout at certain bends of the mountain trail; not for assassins or brigands, for Concho was physically courageous, but for the Evil One, who, in various forms, was said to lurk in the Santa Cruz Range, to the great discomfort of all true Catholics. He recalled the incident of Ignacio, a muleteer of the Franciscan Friars, who, stopping at the Angelus to repeat the Credo, saw Luzbel plainly in the likeness of a monstrous grizzly bear, mocking him by sitting on his haunches and lifting his paws, clasped together, as if in prayer. Nevertheless, with one hand grasping his reins and his rosary, and the other clutching his whisky flask and revolver, he fared on so rapidly that he reached the summit as the earlier streaks of dawn were outlining the far-off Sierran peaks. Tethering his horse on a strip of tableland, he descended cautiously afoot until he reached the bench, the wall of red rock and the crumbled and dismantled furnace. It was as he had left it that morning; there was no trace of recent human visitation. Revolver in hand, Concho examined every cave, gully, and recess, peered behind trees, penetrated copses of buckeye and manzanita, and listened. There was no sound but the faint soughing of the wind over the pines below him. For a while he paced backward and forward with a vague sense of being a sentinel, but his mercurial nature soon rebelled against this monotony, and soon the fatigues of the day began to tell upon him. Recourse to his whisky flask only made him the drowsier, until at last he was fain to lie down and roll himself up tightly in his blanket. The next moment he was sound asleep.
His horse neighed twice from the summit, but Concho heard him not. Then the brush crackled on the ledge above him, a small fragment of rock rolled near his feet, but he stirred not. And then two black figures were outlined on the crags beyond.
St-t-t! whispered a voice. There is one lying beside the furnace. The speech was Spanish, but the voice was Wiless.
The other figure crept cautiously to the edge of the crag and looked over. It is Concho, the imbecile, said Pedro, contemptuously.
But if he should not be alone, or if he should waken?
I will watch and wait. Go you and affix the notification.
Wiles disappeared. Pedro began to creep down the face of the rocky ledge, supporting himself by chemisal and brush-wood.
The next moment Pedro stood beside the unconscious man. Then he looked cautiously around. The figure of his companion was lost in the shadow of the rocks above; only a slight crackle of brush betrayed his whereabouts. Suddenly Pedro flung his serape over the sleepers head, and then threw his powerful frame and tremendous weight full upon Conchos upturned face, while his strong arms clasped the blanket-pinioned limbs of his victim. There was a momentary upheaval, a spasm, and a struggle; but the tightly-rolled blanket clung to the unfortunate man like cerements.
There was no noise, no outcry, no sound of struggle. There was nothing to be seen but the peaceful, prostrate figures of the two men darkly outlined on the ledge. They might have been sleeping in each others arms. In the black silence the stealthy tread of Wiles in the brush above was distinctly audible.
Gradually the struggles grew fainter. Then a whisper from the crags:
I cant see you. What are you doing?
Watching!
Sleeps he?
He sleeps!
Soundly?
Soundly.
After the manner of the dead?
After the fashion of the dead!
The last tremor had ceased. Pedro rose as Wiles descended.
All is ready, said Wiles; you are a witness of my placing the notifications?
I am a witness.
But of this one? pointing to Concho. Shall we leave him here?
A drunken imbecile,why not?
Wiles turned his left eye on the speaker. They chanced to be standing nearly in the same attitude they had stood the preceding night. Pedro uttered a cry and an imprecation, Carramba! Take your devils eye from me! What see you? Eh,what?
Nothing, good Pedro, said Wiles, turning his bland right cheek to Pedro. The infuriated and half-frightened ex-vaquero returned the long knife he had half-drawn from its sheath, and growled surlily: Go on then! But keep thou on that side, and I will on this. And so, side by side, listening, watching, distrustful of all things, but mainly of each other, they stole back and up into those shadows from which they might like evil spirits have been poetically evoked.
A half hour passed, in which the east brightened, flashed, and again melted into gold. And then the sun came up haughtily, and a fog that had stolen across the summit in the night arose and fled up the mountain side, tearing its white robes in its guilty haste, and leaving them fluttering from tree and crag and scar. A thousand tiny blades, nestling in the crevices of rocks, nurtured in storms and rocked by the trade winds, stretched their wan and feeble arms toward Him; but Concho the strong, Concho the brave, Concho the light-hearted spake not nor stirred.
CHAPTER IV
WHO TOOK IT
There was persistent neighing on the summit. Conchos horse wanted his breakfast.
This protestation reached the ears of a party ascending the mountain from its western face. To one of the party it was familiar.
Why, blank it all, thats Chiquita. That dd Mexicans lying drunk somewhere, said the President of the B. M. Co.
I dont like the look of this at all, said Dr. Guild, as they rode up beside the indignant animal. If it had been an American, it might have been carelessness, but no Mexican ever forgets his beast. Drive ahead, boys; we may be too late.
In half an hour they came in sight of the ledge below, the crumbled furnace, and the motionless figure of Concho, wrapped in a blanket, lying prone in the sunlight.