Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew

What surprised me at first was the absence of soldiers until I came to understand the peace-loving disposition of the people, and learned that in the hour of the country’s need, all men became her defenders.

It was one of those balmy afternoons, so characteristic of southern California, when Hattie and I were seated in a park overlooking the beautiful Los Ossis valley. Our plans were made for the future, and I was to leave that night for Arizona. It was the tender parting of man and woman whose lives had been seared by the hot irons of adversity, and each felt that the other was the one and all upon this planet.

Here Buchan’s narrative was broken short. He was writing the last chapter on a pair of ladies’ dainty cuffs, when he stopped and listened. He arose to his feet. “Do you know,” he said, “I thought a moment ago I heard something–her voice.”

XX.

A DAUGHTER OF THE CHEROKEES

Mary Greenwater was not the ugly, coarse-featured woman that many squaws are. She possessed many of the fine features of her white sisters. She had been well educated at the Carlisle Indian school, and had traveled much. While, with other Cherokee Indians, she drew her annuities from the government, yet she was known to be the wealthiest woman of the tribe. She was lavish in the expenditure of money. Her home in the Cherokee hills was elaborately furnished with the richest of carpets and furniture; even a grand piano adorned her parlor. But with all its costly appointments, the house was a wilderness of disorder. Like other of her race, she despised anything akin to neatness. Her dresses were gaudy in color and extravagant in style. Pearl necklaces, diamond brooches and rings were worn on all occasions. She owned fine carriages and many spirited horses. As a horsewoman, she was an expert and as a pistol shot she was accounted the best in the Cherokee nation. Her servants were the half-breed Indian Negroes to whom her word was as absolute a law as any Caliph ever possessed over a tribe. She was accustomed to command, and if disobeyed she enforced her orders at the point of the revolver she always carried.

The source of Mary Greenwater’s wealth was a mystery. Those of her tribe gave themselves no concern about it, but the matter was a subject of much comment among the few white men in the territory. Mercer, a young man of adventurous spirit, hearing of her fabulous wealth, sought her hand in marriage. After the wedding, he used all his arts to wring from her the secret of her riches. Once when she started on one of her lone journeys to the hills of the Grand River, he attempted to follow and that was the last ever seen or heard of him. That the woman possessed the secret of a vast amount of lost treasure was evident, as she spent many Spanish gold coins of ancient date as months rolled on, and this induced Grim, a farm hand, to marry her. She elevated him from a menial position, to overseer of her ranch. She gave him money, which he recklessly spent at the faro tables at the Garrison. When she refused to further indulge him in his reckless expenditures, he, like Mercer, attempted to follow her on her journey to the Grand River hills one night. He was missed by his companions who went in numbers to search for him, taking an Indian guide. They were led in an opposite direction from the way he went and his fate remained a mystery, until many months later his body was found in the Grand River, with a bullet in the brain.

Two years after the death of Grim, Carson and a negro were hunting in the Grand River country and were encamped one night in the hills. While seated beside their campfire, they heard a cry of distress. Upon going to the spot, they found a lone Indian woman pinioned beneath her pony, which had stepped into a wolf hole and broke its leg. The woman was badly injured and they carried her to their campfire and made her comfortable. The next day they constructed a rude litter and carried her twenty miles to a place where she could receive medical attention.

The woman was Mary Greenwater, and this was, perhaps, the first act of kindness she had ever received.

A certain escapade at the close of Carson’s college days had caused him to migrate to the West, where, like many others, he became a soldier of fortune, drifting whither the strongest tide wind blew. When Mary Greenwater recovered she sought him, and in her gratitude made him the overseer of her ranch at a princely salary.

In course of time they were married by the ancient Indian ceremony of the Fastest Horse. When the days of feasting were over, and Mary Greenwater’s relatives had returned to their cabins richer by a number of ponies, Mary told Carson a wondrous story of how, many summers ago, when her grandfather was a boy, a Spanish caravan came from Santa Fe and was besieged in the Grand river hills for many days, and of how, finding that they would eventually be starved to death if they remained, the travelers had hidden their possessions among the lime rocks and undertaken to cut their way through the Indian hordes to a place of safety. Her grandfather had found the hiding place of the treasure and had kept it a profound secret from all except herself, to whom he told it only when he began to sing his death song.

Mary Greenwater swore to Carson that the hiding place of the Spanish treasure would never be known except to one other member of her tribe, and then not until after her death. She told him there were valuable papers which she knew none of her people could ever use, and which she later gave to Carson.

The documents were discolored and the ink faded and this much Carson was able to decipher: “Jean Maldonado visited a far distant country north of Santa Fe–a wide valley through which flowed a stream, along the banks were bushes that bore fruit like unto those of Spain–in the valley were herds of oxen of the bigness and color of our bulls–their horns are not so great–they have a great bunch upon their fore shoulders and more hair on the forepart than on the hindpart; they have a horse’s mane upon their backbone and much hair and very long from the knees downward–they have great tufts of hair hanging from their foreheads and it seemeth they have beards–they push with their horns–they overtake and kill a horse–finally it is a fierce beast of countenance and form of body–we feared these beasts and stayed near the mountains named the Sangre de Christo… Climbed the mountain to a great flat rock that stood on end like a platter… Jean Maldonado, commander of an expedition reached this place 1750… The mine yielded much gold in a rock like white china–Babtiste beat it out with–Mattheo returned from Santa Fe with more donkeys–loaded donkeys with much unbeaten rock–returned to Santa Fe”–

Here the ink was so faded that nothing more could be made of the manuscript. The accompanying map was more perfect. The tracings showed the mountain ranges. It had been drawn almost with the precision of an engineer. The route from Santa Fe through the mountain passes was clearly shown; there were marks of each day’s stops. Where the map showed the end of the journey there was the rude drawing of a cliff set on edge and below it was marked “Gold.”

Carson pondered over the quaint document for many days. The Indian marriage with Mary Greenwater had become a matter of regret. While the woman loved him, yet her love was like a new bowie knife, to be handled with care. He decided to leave the Grand River country and bide his time until Mary Greenwater should make one of her long visits to the hills. One night he mounted the best horse on the ranch and driving thirty others ahead of him, set out for Colorado. On the way he sold most of the horses to ranchmen and cattlemen and netted a neat sum.

When Mary Greenwater returned and found her spouse had vanished, her fury knew no bounds. Ordinarily the Indian squaw might be deserted by her lord and she would stoically accept her fate. Mary might have done so had she not been spoiled by being educated at Carlisle. Her savage blood grew hot for revenge. She made another trip to the Grand river hills, presumably for a larger amount of money, placed her affairs in the hands of her Indian-Negro servants, and started on the trail of Carson, believing she would have no trouble in overtaking a man driving that many head of horses. Meanwhile the fall rains set in and the shallow rivers of the plains became raging torrents. But to a woman of Mary Greenwater’s determined character, these things were obstacles only for the time being. Her heart was bad and her love of revenge strong.

XXI.

CARSON’S BLANK PAGES IN LIFE

When Carson left the cabin he followed the winding trail that led to the valley below. The road to Saguache showed the hoofprints of a prospector’s outfit, and the marks of a sleigh leading to Del Norte. The glare of the sun on the reflected snow was blinding and he drew his hat down over his eyes. He was thinking of his worthless life since leaving college. Once he had builded lofty hopes of future doings in the world, but he had allowed himself to drift; his ship of fate had gone wherever the strongest tide wind carried. He saw now that he might have marked out some honorable career and piloted his course toward it. Others of his class in college were in a fair way to make their mark in the world. Why was it not so with him? It was born in him, as it had been in his father, to choose the wild life of the frontier in preference to holding the presidency of a bank in Atlanta. He felt that the world in its wildest freedom was his for his pleasure. The cords of restraint which society demanded were to him the fetters of a tyrant ruler, and so, as Sampson broke the green withes which bound him, Carson broke the laws of society–nay civilization, and married a squaw according to the ceremony of her people. He repented the act to some extent, and then cast his cares aside, with the comforting knowledge that the world was too busy a place for people to give themselves much concern over his affairs. Long ago he realized that if he threw himself into the swirl of humanity and allowed himself to become a part of its motives and its emotions, that it would require a herculean effort to attain a position where he could look over the heads of other men. That position, he argued, was not worth the life-long effort required. Withal, he could not bring himself to quite understand why he had married Mary Greenwater, unless that she possessed some occult power and gained control over forces of his nature which he did not understand. True, there was but little or no obligation to the ceremony. It held good in the Cherokee Indian nation, that government within a government. Outside that limited space of ground it was null and void. He was a free man under the laws of his own government. Yet that act, of his own creation, somehow seemed to stand over him like a Frankenstein with an uplifted axe.

The snow was deep, and as he plodded along with these thoughts running through his mind, he heard a cry. Glancing backwards he saw a horse drawing a sleigh, plunging madly down the road. The reins were held by a woman, frantically urging the horse forward. Some distance behind four huge mountain lions were in hot pursuit, their heavy bodies crouching and springing forward many feet at a leap. Carson took in the situation at a glance and, raising his hand as a signal to the girl in the sleigh to rein in, he sprang into the vehicle as she passed. The momentary pause had given the beasts a chance to gain, when, drawing his revolver, he fired at the foremost and sent it rolling in the snow. Another shot and a second lion paused with a mighty roar. At this the other two turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Carson now took the reins and stopped the horse. The animal was trembling with fright, while the girl was calm but pale.

“Rather a close shave, eh, Sis?”

“Truly,” she replied, “how fortunate you were here. I was driving to Del Norte when I met the lions. They were gamboling in the snow like kittens. When I turned Bess, they pursued. I want the one you have just killed, I want to have him mounted to remember today,–and–and–you.”

“By all means, Miss, you shall have it, but where are you going now?”

“Back to Saguache after this fright. Poor Old Bess could not have stood the race much farther. See how she trembles. I am the niece of Mr. Amos. My name is Annie Amos. I have friends in Del Norte, whom I intended to visit. I shall wait now until I have an escort.”

“Ah–my name is Carson–Jack Carson. I was going to Saguache to see Mr. Amos, the assayer, to have him test a jug handle,–er, that is, to have the jug handle test him. I don’t mean that; I mean our mine is named the Jug Handle, I will get it right after awhile, and I want him to make a test of the ore.”

“Confound it,” he thought as he turned the horse, “I haven’t the sense of a jackrabbit to make a break like that.”

One of the lions lay pawing the snow in its death struggle and as Carson came near, it reared itself as if to make one last leap. Its eyes gleamed in savage yellow, foam fell in flecks from its mouth, while a tiny stream of crimson stained the snow. Carson’s weapon spit fire and the creature rolled over motionless. He dragged the carcass to the end of the sleigh and, lifting it upon the edge of the box, made it fast.

“If you are going to Saguache to see my uncle, I fear you will be disappointed as he left this morning for an absence of several days.”

“That does not matter as I have other business anyway. Most any time will do, as I am in town quite often. We would better not drive so fast. Your horse is in a foam.”

Carson was fast becoming interested in the girl at his side. Her calm poise, after the exciting adventures with the mountain lions, surprised him. Other women would have been hysterical, but here by his side sat a girl not yet out of her teens, as calm and collected as a veteran soldier after the battle. And Amos, the man he was going to see and intended to kill if he proved to be the villain he suspected him to be, was her uncle.

The white billows rose rank on rank on the distant mountains, while the snow of the valley shrunk visibly away, leaving the grey rocks naked and protuberant.

The newly-made acquaintances chatted gaily as the horse jogged along.

“I was thinking of your remark awhile ago,” said Carson, “that you would go to Del Norte tomorrow if you had an escort, and as I have some time to idle away it would give me pleasure to drive you over.”

“It would give me equal pleasure to have you do so,” she replied with admirable frankness, “that is, if you are going there anyway.”

“I may need to purchase some new implements with which to work the Aberdeen–I mean the Jug Handle mine,” he explained. “I have heard of a new drill they are working over there and it may be just the thing for the formation we are now in.”

“I see,” said the girl, as a mischievous smile flitted about her lips, “and I am very glad you will accompany me. I shall make you acquainted with some of my very dear friends.”

Carson was forgetting his millions in the mine and letting his mind wander to the expected joys of entertaining and being entertained by people of real worth once more. He felt returning pride, and then the thought of the Frankenstein with the uplifted axe made him groan inwardly. But pshaw! she did not know–never would know, and what people do not know will not hurt them, he reasoned.

He felt an increasing admiration for the girl beside him. They were alone in the wide expanse of valley and had known each other only an hour, yet this girl was willing to trust to his honor and manhood. And be it said for Carson, as it may be said for thousands of other men on the American frontier, he would have yielded his life rather than betray that sacred trust. Instances like this are common in the West.

As they drove down the main street of Saguache, the passers looked curiously at the pair in the sleigh and at the dead lion strapped behind. When they stopped in front of the postoffice, a crowd gathered around the sleigh. A supple figure edged through the crowd and addressed the girl:

“Kill it all by yourself, Annie?”

The familiarity with which he spoke nettled the girl, and she turned her head without answering. The supple figure felt the rebuff and all the more because others noticed it. He stood his ground, however, until Carson returned and when he saw his face he quickly drew out of sight.

“Tomorrow at seven,” said Carson, as he bade her good-bye at her house.

Carson went to his hotel with a lighter heart than he had had for months. He lit a cigar and sat by the window, then felt for something in his pocket, and threw it in the wood-box. “There are other jug handles,” he said to himself.

He walked the streets aimlessly until supper. He retired early and tried to sleep, but his thoughts ran wild on the events of the day. He could think of no one except Annie. It was still early in the night, when he arose from a restless bed and went out on the streets. Lights blazed from the Lone Tree saloon, and as he entered he saw a crowd about the faro table. The sudden exclamations of many voices told that some one was winning heavily. He pressed forward through the crowd and saw the form of a woman. When she partially turned her face, he felt his heart give a great throb, and he fled into the street.

The remainder of the night he walked through the crunching snow, while the silent stars seemed to gaze with tearful eyes upon him in this, the greatest misery he had ever known. He walked several miles out of town to avoid meeting anyone he knew and then presented himself at the Amos residence.

“I believe it is seven o’clock, Miss Annie,” he said, when she answered his call.

“Yes, and I am ready,” was the cheerful answer.

XXII.

A VOICE FROM CENTURIES PAST