A DEAD MAN’S GHOST.
On the day after Pedro left the Gila he arrived at the old robber hillock. As he rode up to it, he mechanically looked for a skeleton he expected to see there—the skeleton of the Trailer. To his surprise not a bone of it was there, where he left the body.
Could the Trailer have come to life? impossible—he was killed instantly. Pedro had shot him from behind, the ball entering his back and penetrating to his heart. No—it could not be possible.
But the skeleton—where was it? of course the body had been devoured by carnivorous animals—as a matter of course it had been; but animals never swallow the bones—they should be there still.
Pedro was perplexed and looked off over the plain, as if for an answer. He got none. Everywhere, in every direction, it was the same monotonous expanse—always yellow, dry and quiet, always spectral and forbidding; he was in the heart of the Land of Silence.
“The skeleton—where in the world can it be?” he muttered, glancing about. “Curse it, I begin to feel awkward and uneasy already. This is a cursed quiet place—this plain; and such a name as it has, too; just the place for spirits to roam about in. I am beginning to believe they have tampered with the Trailer’s bones—I do, indeed. Ha! what’s that?”
He had espied something white at a distance away—something which looked dry and bleached, like bones long exposed to the elements. He rode slowly toward it; it (or they) was a bunch of bones clustered together, as if thrown hastily in a pile.
He took them one by one in his hands and narrowly examined them. They were human, he could tell—might they not be the Trailer’s? They were much too small, he thought, still one is deceived ofttimes by appearances. The Trailer had been a large man—a giant; these bones were rather small.
Still he knew he had not seen them when here a year ago—they had not been there then. These bones were about a year old; that is, exposed to the elements. A year ago he had killed the Trailer, the last robber on the spot—the bones must be his.
“They are the Trailer’s—they must be,” he said, and idly kicking them, mounted and rode back to the hill or mound.
To describe this singular place would be a long task, so we will skim briefly over it. About forty feet long by twenty in hight, it was a mere shell—probably a hiding-place contrived centuries ago. It was entered in this manner by Pedro.
Scattered over the surface of the knoll were a large number of flat stones. Lifting one of the largest of these, he hurled it against one imbedded in the ground, dented in the form of a cross. The ground suddenly gave way and disclosed an opening sufficient to admit a horse.
It was a plank-trap; cunningly covered with earth, its existence would never have been suspected by the uninitiated. It was hung on stout leathern hinges fastened to two upright posts.
The hollow hill was divided into two chambers, one within the other. The first was dark and was only lighted by the opening of the door. The floor was the ground, the walls the hillside, the ceiling the summit. The only furniture it contained was a huge water-bucket, a rusty gun or two, several tattered blankets, and a resinous, partially-consumed torch.
Pedro noticed this torch, and his eyes sparkled.
“Just where I left it a year ago—in this chink. Now I am certain I was the last one here—now am I certain of finding the hidden treasure.”
He lighted the torch, and after looking out into the plain, started toward the inner chamber. But suddenly stopping, he went back to the entrance.
“I might as well bring the horse inside now,” he said. “Perhaps I may be obliged to spend a week here. He will be out of sight, too.”
Going out he brought in the horse, and then tightly closed the entrance. Then his eyes fell on the water-vessel.
“I wish I had some water,” he said; “and no doubt the horse thinks the same. But there is a stream ten miles north—Alkali Creek. The water is not very good, but it is wet. I will go after I’ve searched awhile.”
Unsaddling the horse, and leaving him to roam at will about the chamber, he again took up the torch and went to the entrance of the inner one.
This was a mere slit in the hillside, barely large enough for him to enter. However, his pliant body enabled him to glide through, and standing in the entrance, he threw the light over the apartment.
It was empty, just as he had expected. It was unchanged, too—further evidence that there had been no one there since he had left. His spirits rose at every step, and his way was becoming certain.
This chamber was somewhat larger than the other, and was lighter, the chinks above being larger. It was also scantily furnished, and in the same manner as the first.
A pile of blankets lay in one corner, and were evidently long unused. A single gun stood by them—a rifle. Otherwise the room was empty.
Pedro, after satisfying himself as to other occupants, with his habitual energy began at once to work. Drawing his revolver, he hastily uncapped the tubes, then, lighted by his torch, commenced to sound the wall, the ceiling, the floor—in fact, everything which might conceal the treasure he knew was there.
Outside the sun still shone upon the bare plain, blinding with its heat the few small animals which stole about, the only moving objects on the plain.
The only moving objects? Not so; there was another one—a man riding a black horse. Several miles away from the hillock, he was coming, at a slow walk, from the south; going north and to the hillock.
An hour passed. Pedro was working steadily inside, at intervals muttering disjointed sentences. The solitary rider drew near, and halted close to the hillock.
He was dressed in a tight-fitting suit of buck-skin, and in his black, conical hat, a black plume drooped. Armed to the teeth, he was a desperate-appearing person. His face, bearing the marks of license to strong and evil passions, was pale in the extreme—even ghastly.
He halted before the entrance, and just then Pedro exclaimed below—he was excited about something. Then he rode round to the opposite side of the hillock, and drawing up, facing it, sat like a statue on his black horse.
A fierce cry came from the cavern—a cry of wild delight. This was followed by a series of disjointed exclamations, expressive of the wildest joy. Then came hurried tramping to and fro—then dead silence. Outside the rider still sat on his sable steed, and remained grim and quiet, never changing a muscle. All was quiet in the Land of Silence.
It was toward the middle of the afternoon when Pedro burst out of the entrance gesticulating extravagantly, and fairly shouting under the influence of some strong emotion. In his hand he held his horse-blanket, tied into a rude bag; it was loaded with something that chinked musically.
“Found! found!” he cried. “What fortune—what extraordinary luck! Only three hours’ searching, too. Oh, holy mother! what shall I do with all this wealth? Pedro, Pedro Felipe, you are as rich as the richest. Blessed be all the saints! what fortune, what fortune!”
This grave, demure man of forty, fairly danced in excitement, and shook the bag violently.
Chink, chink! a musical rattle that. More than one man has gone crazy over less. Huzzah! huzzah! the treasure is found.
He has feasted his eyes on it before; but, wild with excitement, can not keep his eyes off from it. In his agitation he had forgotten his horse, and with the bag on his shoulder, had been starting on foot for Mexico. But now he sunk on his knees, and opening the blanket-bag, shook it.
Heavens! what a sight. Rolling out in a sparkling cascade came coin, gold and silver, ornaments of the same metals, costly watches, splendid rings, and guards, and above all, gleaming, sparkling diamonds. Diamonds set in magnificent rings; diamonds garnishing costly brooches; diamonds cut and rough, large and tiny; what a fortune, what beautiful, bewitching riches was there.
Spread out on the ground, Pedro gazed fascinated upon his precious treasure, and well he might. Here a deep amethyst glimmered and shone, hob-nobbing, as it were, with a brilliant diamond; yonder a sparkling seal clung closely with a shining watch guard. Diamonds were sprinkled about pell-mell among all sorts and sizes of costly jewels, expensive watches, and piles of golden and silver coin of large denominations; here a solitary ruby flashed and shimmered; but, above all, outstripping all, was a huge topaz, mocking the sun by its deep, transparent yellow tint; it was a gem among gems.
Pedro had not formed any idea of the value of his treasure—his brain was so demented he could not have counted twenty correctly. But he saw the coins were all among the highest ever sent from the mint, and nearly all gold; but he had not the slightest idea of the value of the jewels—he only knew he was immensely rich.
“Ah, my yellow, shining, pretty pets!” he exclaimed, filling the bag again. “My darlings! you have made me the richest man in the wide world. Brave, yellow, sparkling boys!”
A horse stamped close by. He listened intently.
Another stamp and a shrill neigh from a strange horse. Pedro turned sick, his brain reeled, and a deadly nausea seized him.
Suddenly recovering, he threw the bag into the entrance, and drew his jeweled dagger—his rifle was inside.
“Who’s there?” he hoarsely said, peering off into the plain. “Speak! man or ghost! who is near—who is there?”
Nothing—no one; the plain is bare. All is quiet in the Land of Silence.
“Murder! help! who’s there? Oh, heaven, my gold!”
He saw the plain was bare, and that he was alone. He drew a breath of relief—might he not have been deceived?
Perhaps. He prayed so. But stay—the hillock hid a part of the plain from view. He would ascend it and discover evil if it was at hand.
With a hoarse cry he brandished his dagger, and with two gigantic strides stood on the summit.
But only for a moment, he stood there with a pale, terrified face, staring eye and shaking limbs. Then reeling, with a loud cry he rushed down into the cave and closed the entrance, terrified almost beyond his senses.
What was the matter—what had happened? Enough. There, on his old black horse, under his plumed black hat, sat the ghost of the Trailer.