CHAPTER IV.

A DESERT MYSTERY.

Upon this enjoinder of so eminently practical a nature, and thoroughly

aware of the necessity of haste, the fallen Mexican rapidly drew with

his ramrod end, upon a space of earth smoothed by his foot in its

deerskin boot, like an antique tablet under the stylus, a map--rude,

but, to a navigator, plain and ample.

"At this point," said he, "a sunken reef trends north and south, with

a break at a little bow a quarter mile from the black rock that juts

out all but flush with its ripple. Deep water in 'the pot,' and there

we anchored to ride to a submerged buoy, so that the cankerworm would

not attack the metal or the borer the wood--a chest, bound with yellow

metal. If it shall have broke away, its weight would only have sunk it

deep in the oyster bed, all the shells there smashed to powdery scales

by the drags. A diver will find it for you, then."

"Now, swear to me!" he went on, forcing his weakening voice to keep

an even tenor. "Swear that one-half the contents of that hiding place

shall be Ignacio Santamaria's, my brother-in-law's, who will give

enough to his sister, my Angela. And the rest--be it yours, brave and

Christian heart."

Whether he was only fostering a delusion, or accepting a commission

that would enrich him, Gladsden nodded assent.

"But, swear!"

"I give you my word, as an English gentleman," said he, obstinately.

"I am content."

"And what is there stowed there away?" with a smile of his former

discredit, "Copper bolts?"

"Pearls! The choicest from Carmen Island to Acapulco."

"Well, that sounds natural enough. The next thing is, where shall I

find your brother Ignacio and the rest of the family, Master Pepillo

Santamaria?"

Poignant anguish rendered the other unconscious of external matter

for a period; he clutched his head with both hands as if to prevent

the bones flying asunder, then recovering his senses, as the paroxysm

quitted him, he said:

"You have not far to go for my brother. As for the dear ones, they are

at the old town of Guaymas. My brother is here--"

"Here! The devil!" looking round and falling on guard.

"At the Mound Tower." He pointed with a wavering finger to the

northeast. "Not two hours' ride, our rendezvous--a robber's

rendezvous--but have no fear! Ignacio is second of the band,--remember,

his sister's fortune is at stake! Call him out from among the crew--the

signal, our private signal, two meows of the catamount--Ignacio is

known as the _Gato de montes_, mark! Have mercy! Remember the pearls!

My wife--my little angels! Pity!"

Gladsden averted his gaze not to witness an agony which he could not

stay relieve or bid cease. When he looked on Pepillo again, he was dead.

As it threatened to come on dark, not only by the disappearance of the

sun, but by a storm, which the seaman divined, rather than perceived

in progress, he bent a silver coin, so as to make a species of pencil,

with the point at the double, and using some cigarette paper, copied

off, "in silver point," the map which the dead pirate, _cum_ pearl

fisher, _plus_ highwayman, had designed on the ground bedewed with his

blood. Whilst so employed, the Englishman repeated to himself, like a

scholar beating a lesson into his brain, the instructions connected

with this singular testament.

Recalling his intention before the robber's appeal had distracted him,

Gladsden, gun in hand, marched with a determination not to be cried

"halt!" to again, towards the huge cottonwood stump, by which he marked

the scene of the Mexican standing at bay against the Apache.

The latter's remains were there, a fresh made grave (covered with

stones and brambles to prevent the attack of the quadrupedal ghouls

to which the luckless red man was consigned, in most probability),

concealed don José de Miranda from the searcher's eyes. A fragment of

Dolores' attire was all that prevented Gladsden from supposing he had

been the prey of an illusion as to a woman having also occupied that

natural pedestal. To complete the puzzle a spade of North American make

was carelessly lying by the fresh mound.

"Hilli-ho! Ahoy there!" cried the Englishman, fortified against fear

of the bandits by the claim he had upon the lieutenant of the band,

and caring not a jot for Indians or others, since he had his gun in

shooting order.

But save the mocking of birds there was no rejoinder.

Afar he heard thunder, though.

"A mound tower must be prominent," he mused, "and this thicket in a

torrent rain and a tornado is worse accommodation than the toughest

highwayman must accord the bearer of an inheritance. I'll make for the

Mound Tower, and implore señor don El Sostenedor, of the most glorious

robber chief What's-his-name, for a corner of his stronghold, a chunk

of deer's meat, and a swig of pulque."

He returned to the two dead men, loaded his belt with such of their

weapons as completed, not to say replete, a portable arsenal, which an

Albanian janissary would have envied, and, with the same heedlessness

as to southwestern travelling precautions which had heretofore

distinguished him, stepped manfully away from the haunt of murder. Ere

he had taken half a dozen strides, he heard many a soft padded foot

in the bushes; the volunteer sextons of the prairie were flocking to

entomb the dead in their unscrupulous maw.

The thunder boomed more audible, and the eagle screamed defiance over

the lonely adventurer's head.