Jessica, the Heiress

“Come you must, Dr. Kimball. I shan’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” was the decisive retort to the rose-grower’s prompt refusal.

“I shall do nothing of the sort. I’m not a practicing physician now, and I never was a surgeon. As for that scalawag, Bernal, if he’s got himself shot, he’s met exactly what he deserved. Giddap!” he cried, to his horse, and was dashing past, just as John’s long arm reached out and clutched the ranchman’s coat.

“It isn’t so much for him as for our Lady Jess. You’re not in such a tearin’ hurry, neighbor, and if you are–well, just let your hurry wait.”

Whereupon, in a few brief, telling sentences, Dr. Kimball was put in possession of the facts Antonio had revealed, and had wheeled his horse about, with a whimsical snarl:

“Well, forge ahead. For anybody named Trent I’d break my own resolutions a dozen times a day.”

It is probable that the kind-hearted man would have gone anyway, even if he had ridden some miles still farther on an opposite road. The knowledge that somebody was suffering and needing him was an appeal to his professional instinct he would scarcely have resisted, but he had to make a protest first.

All merriment ceased when he entered the cabin on the mesa, and Jessica instinctively sought the reporter’s hand, needing his sympathy during the anxious few minutes that ensued upon the doctor’s arrival. Fra Sebastian and John had followed the surgeon indoors, but Ferd, who had brought the priest to the upland, still remained within the deserted fold, whither he had retreated as soon as his errand was accomplished. To him death of any sort, even that of an animal brought a horrible fear, and nothing would induce him to leave his shelter; till, when the conference was over, Jessica ran to him, exclaiming:

“Cheer up, Ferd! Oh, Ferd! He’s going to live, though, maybe–maybe he will never walk again. Come and see him, Ferd. He wants you. He needs you.”

The dwarf came reluctantly, still adoring his brother and still shrinking from him and the sight of his agony. The examination had been painful, of course; and the condition upon which life might still remain a bitter one. However, it was–life! And to Antonio, at that present moment, that was all he craved.

“We must make a litter or stretcher and take him to the valley. He will need the closest care and watching. He couldn’t stay up here, and have a single chance of recovery. Let’s see, there are five men of us, counting the dwarf. We’ll have to walk with the stretcher, and he shall lead the horses, all but Buster, whom Jessica can ride. One at a time he’ll ‘spell’ us, and the one released will take his place at the beasts,” was the doctor’s decision.

So it was done. A blanket was speedily fastened about two poles drawn from the corral, and over these Pedro’s hard mattress was laid; and thus, placed as comfortably upon it as might be, Antonio was once more conveyed to his old home at Sobrante.

And there, that Sunday night, was wild rejoicing and much speculation concerning the outcome of his confession.

“Sharp’s the man to put the thing in trim. He’s the very chap! He knows all about minerals, and he says that this copper we’ve struck is the very purest article he ever saw! Hurray! Hurray! Three cheers and a tiger for the Sobrante Copper Mine!” shouted the hilarious Marty.

Meanwhile, there had been short but heated discussion among her loyal henchmen as to whether Mrs. Trent should be forced to receive and care for, under her immediate roof, a man who had done her so much injury; and the decision had been unanimous: “No!”

Even John, who had helped to bring him thither, joined his voice to this assertion; and to the next question propounded, as to who would attend him and where, had as loudly answered: “I don’t know.”

Temporarily, the senor was resting in the household sitting-room, but it was evident should not long remain there.

“Where then? Hate him as we may, we can’t let him die on our hands,” said Samson, looking as black as he could.

“Don’t you fret yourselves, ‘boys,’” said a cheerful voice near the group. “Mr. Ma’sh and me, or me and Mr. Ma’sh–for I had to put it to him pretty plain, ’fore he’d seed it right–me and him will take that misguided creatur’ into our hands, and–”

“May the Lord have mercy on his soul!” ejaculated Marty, fervently.

“Me and Ephraim will ’tend him, turn and turn about,” continued Mrs. Benton, ignorant of Marty’s irreverent remark. “He’s to be put into Mr. Ma’sh’s room at the quarters, and I’ll take this first night’s job. I shall begin it with a dose of picra, and the first page of the Westminster catechism; and if that don’t put him in good shape for the doctor and Ephraim, in the morning, my name ain’t Sally Benton, nor never was. The doctor, he’s rode home for his instruments and such, and hopes to get the bullet out in the course of time. But it’s my opinion, and his, too, I reckon, ’cause he didn’t deny it when I put the question plain, it’s our opinion that Antonio Bernal will never walk another step in his life. But he’ll live. He’ll live everlastin’. Them old Californy folks always do. He’ll simply be paralyzed from his waist down.”

Despite their antipathy to him, a thrill of pity ran through every one who heard her; and to most of those stalwart men it seemed that this was a punishment they could not have endured. Death would have been far preferable to them.

So it befell that the late manager’s fate was in the hands of his enemies, so to speak; and while Mrs. Benton and “Forty-niner” would faithfully perform their duty toward him, they elected to do it along lines of their own.

CHAPTER XXI.

CONCLUSION

Events crowded one another at Sobrante.

Under the compulsion of his brother’s will, so soon as that brother was able to think of anything beyond his own suffering, Ferd led a party of the ranchmen, with Ninian Sharp at their head, to the canyon cave and the pit where the little captain had been imprisoned. They shuddered as they beheld it; yet could but rejoice that Old Century had sought her there, and had, so opportunely, revealed its precious secret. They also took good care to blaze their path as they went, for it was most intricate and bewildering. They had the curiosity to test the powers of the wonderful staff, which John had carefully fitted with a new top, and were amazed at its curious behavior, as it zigzagged over the floor of the almost unsupported. Whatever the metal, or compound of metals, on the point, it was certainly attracted by, and indicated the presence of, copper in the earth beneath.

Returning to the house after this trip of exploration, Marty was promptly mounted upon the “ghost horse” Nero, and sent to Marion with telegrams for Ninian’s expert friends in Los Angeles, and to bring back the mail. The unhappy animal had been treated to a liberal bath of gasoline and soap suds, and had come out of it a sort of mongrel; but with the phosphorus gone from about his eyes and face, and with a reasonable prospect that he might some day be restored to his original ebony hue. Yet his spirit seemed broken, as if he had felt the disgrace of the part he had been forced to play in the late escapades of Antonio and his fellow-conspirators.

“It’s what one might call the irony of fate that the man who caused the death of Comanche should thus be forced to supply Comanche’s place with his own beloved Nero,” commented the reporter, as the messenger rode away.

“Yes. Things generally do even up in this world, if a body has patience to wait a spell,” answered Samson. “And though I’ve no love for him, and wouldn’t trust him across this plaza, without watchin’, I can’t help pitying poor ‘top-lofty,’ and thinking he was more fool than knave. The idee! Them plans and performances of his savor more of the ‘middle ages,’ that I’ve heard about, than of these days. But it just takes my breath away to think of what Sobrante will be, some time, if that ‘find’ in the canyon turns out what we imagine. Why–but there! No use talking. Wait and see. How long you think before you get an answer back from the town, tellin’ what your friend’ll do?”

“Oh! I expect Marty will bring that answer. He’s to wait an hour or two, you know, and give a chance. If Cornell–that’s the expert’s name–is in the city, he’ll probably come himself by the evening train. In that case, you and I might drive over to meet him.”

“Wh-e-w!” ejaculated the ex-sailor, astonished. “You newspaper fellows beat the world for hustling, don’t you? So quick as that? H’m! If you fly as much sail as that so sudden, looks like we’d reach port ahead of time.”

“When a thing’s to be done–why, do it! If there’s copper enough to pay for mining, why–mine it,” answered the other, coolly.

“Young man, mining costs money. Talkin’ is cheap,” retorted Samson, sententiously.

“Of course. One must put in a little capital if one expects to get results, in any business. The money will be found easily enough. Trust me to see to that. Or my friends and me.”

Already the journalist was as eager as possible on this new matter. His brief rest had restored his overtaxed nerves, and he was more than ready to push any enterprise that commended itself to his keen judgment. Now, all depended upon the expert’s arrival at the ranch. He would then be taken in person to examine the discovered vein, and on his opinion great affairs would depend. Yet Ninian felt that even if Henry Cornell’s opinion was averse, he should not let the subject rest there. He would consult with others. Mrs. Trent’s interests must be forwarded to the utmost, and no possible chance of her realizing a fortune lost through any lukewarmness of his own.

Marty duly returned. He brought the expected message from the great expert, and that gentleman would arrive at Marion by that very evening’s train. He brought, as well, several letters for the ranch mistress, and these Jessica joyously carried to her as she sat quietly sewing. Most of them were business communications, which were promptly read and laid aside, to be answered at once; but there was one which the mother dropped in her workbasket unopened, though it was the thickest and plumpest of the lot, and, also, bore the postmark “New York.” In ordinary, all New York mail was the most eagerly read of all that came; and this fact caused Jessica to exclaim:

“Why, mother, dear! Why don’t you read it? Or are you like me when I have something extra nice for dinner, leaving it to by and by?”

“Yes, darling, I’m leaving it–a while. It will keep. I know what is in it, or nearly so. It’s not the first of the sort has come lately, and I’ll have courage soon.”

“Courage, mother? Do you need courage to read your letters? What harm can come to us now, out of that far away city? My father’s name is cleared, we owe nobody, we–why, we may be going to be very, very rich, if things turn out as Mr. Ninian thinks they will turn out, and–Oh, dear! I’m not saying it very clear, only seems to me we ought to be perfectly, perfectly happy now; and if there’s anything bad in the letter, please give it to me, and let me burn it up right away.”

For answer, the mother caught her daughter close within her arms, kissed her passionately, and asked:

“Oh, little captain! If you go so far from me, how shall I live?”

“I–go so far–from you!” repeated Lady Jess, in utter astonishment. “Why, what can you mean?”

Mrs. Trent recovered her composure, even smiled–if not very gayly–and answered, tenderly: “Whatever come, my sunshine, remember that, of all things, your mother desires your welfare before her own. But more than that I cannot tell you now. So, run to Aunt Sally, dear, and ask if she can be spared from her nursing a few hours. I think one of the other men will relieve Ephraim, if he is tired, in waiting upon Antonio. I want she should help me get up an extra fine supper for Mr. Ninian’s friend. Ah! my child, how much we owe to that young man’s goodness and enterprise!”

“Indeed, indeed, we do. But seems to me we do nothing but cook here, nowadays. It’s always company, isn’t it?”

“And glad I am of that. So long as the larder has anything in it, I love to share it with–friends. Not strangers, who do not care, but with anybody else, the best we have. If a luxury well; and if but a crust, still well. Now–to Aunt Sally.”

Jessica guessed that as soon as she was out of sight the disagreeable letter from the other side of the continent would be promptly read, and wondered not a little concerning its contents. And she was right. Mrs. Trent had barely finished its perusal, when Mrs. Benton appeared, but from her the mother had nothing to hide. She looked up quietly, and said:

“Another more urgent entreaty from old Cousin Margaret. She puts the matter so strongly as my duty that I’m compelled to acknowledge she is–may be–right.”

“Humph! She’s been wrong enough, sometimes,” returned Aunt Sally, peevishly. “That’s when she got angry with you for marrying Cass’us.”

“That was mostly from indignation at losing me, her one loved relative. There could never have been a kinder guardian–”

“Nor a queerer, as I’ve gathered from your own talk. I never saw Margaret Dalrymple, and I never want to. Anyhow, nothin’ can be done at present; but I’ve brought one comfortin’ word across from the quarters with me, Gabriella.”