As he began to clear the dirt from the shattered cask, he often listened to hear the warning rattle that would announce the presence of the mate to that venomous reptile which he had slain here a few weeks previous; but no trace of the serpent was found. While removing the last spadeful of earth, the thought came to him like a flash of sunlight that the snake had been placed within the cask for the very purpose of terrifying and discouraging any one from searching deeper after he had unearthed it.

He remembered having read of circ.u.mstances where reptiles had been found imprisoned in rock, where they had survived the confinement of an era of time to which twenty-seven years was a short period in comparison; so it appeared that the snake might have been placed there when the cask was buried, and had lived and developed into the enormous reptile which had served to unnerve him and arrest his search on the first occasion.

It had occurred to him, before digging, that the cask had been buried by the wretches who were engaged in the ma.s.sacre at the corral, and that the treasure was secreted just below the cask. This belief had resulted from his successful search at the cavern, and had ripened now into almost conviction; so he had resolved to search deeper on the same spot where he had met with his first signal failure.

"How true it is that we should always look below the surface of treachery, enmity, and failure for the true gold of success!" said young Warlow, meanwhile removing the last stave of the old cask, and boring down with the iron rod into the bottom of the pit.

As the instrument struck hard against some resisting object, but two feet below, he felt the shock of a hot thrill of excitement; then grasping his spade with trembling hands, he soon reached the goal of his labors.

Another cask was revealed!

Yes; there was the treasure, he felt with all the conviction of certainty, that he had so long vainly hoped to recover. He struck the head of the cask several blows with his spade, and as the wood crushed in, he paused with the same old feeling of vacillation and dread that had seized him when the precious casket lay unopened before him at the secret cavern,--the irresolute, wavering sensation, the fear of disappointment, which so often a.s.sails us when fortune's phantom stands dimly near, and we hesitate to grasp her beckoning hand, fearing vaguely that a buffet may await us. It was in such a mood young Warlow stood, while the hopes and fears coursed dreamily through his soul. The sweat-drops rained from his brow, and fell trickling down through the pale moonlight. At last, with shaking hand, he lit his lantern and peered down into the cask below; and as he slowly cleared out the fragments of the shattered head, he saw that there was a ma.s.s of fleecy wool filling the cask completely. Tearing this aside with nerveless fingers and panting haste, there was revealed row after row of deer-skin bags, with the words,

"George Warlow, 1849."

plainly lettered upon their sides. With his knife he quickly severed the thong that bound one of them, and the dull, red gold gleamed back in the flickering light!

"Oh G.o.d! at last--at last!" cried our hero (who certainly has earned his t.i.tle), as broken sobs shook his frame, and he leaned faint and dizzy against the side of the pit. But while he stood, weak and panting, a wild, frightened snort from his horse caused him to bound out of the pit, and hurry forward to where he had fastened the animal. When he reached the tree the usually quiet creature was found to be trembling with fear or excitement. After caressing the sleek Norman for a moment, and speaking in a soothing tone to quiet the creature, Clifford walked back toward the pit; but as he came into the moonlight, he paused a moment to take a full breath of the light breeze, which was rippling the water and whispering among the trees.

Far down the valley he could trace the silvery veil of vapor, revealing the course of the narrow stream, and among the dense shadows of willow and vines the fire-flies wove their webs of glimmering light. The midsummer night was still and tranquil, the silence only broken by the moan of the brook and the chirp of insects; the heavy dew-drops on tree and shrub glinted and flashed in the moonbeams that sifted through the willows in a sheen of wavering silver.

The quavering scream of a wolf on some dismal hill-top--a sound heard nightly all over the Western prairies, but one that never fails to send a cold thrill of horror through the lone traveler--startled Clifford from the momentary reverie into which he had fallen, and brought back vividly the remembrance of that night of terror and danger, which now seemed so long ago; and, as if the very thought had conjured up the spirits of the past, that well-remembered spectre, gray-robed, with snaky locks and glaring eyes, darted from among the shadows and with its bony, talon-like fingers clutched at young Warlow's throat.

Not a sound came from the lips that were drawn back from its snaggled fangs, but with its loathsome, grave-like breath full on his cheek, it closed in a death grapple with the startled and horrified youth. A wild struggle ensued; the rank vines and slender willows were trampled to the earth; and soon the combatants stood on the banks of the stream, by a deep, dark pool, and the fierce, unearthly creature, tried to force Clifford's head beneath the water.

As the fiendish, murderous intention of his a.s.sailant became apparent, young Warlow sprang back from the danger that yawned before him, and tore loose from the fury-blinded wretch, which again darted at Clifford, grappling with him in all the frenzy and desperation of a maniac.

The failing strength of the strange creature became more apparent every moment; so Clifford determined to first exhaust it by a violent struggle, then bind it with the lariat which hung at his saddle; and soon it was an easy matter for our athletic and vigorous young hero to drag the panting wretch to where his horse stood trembling with terror and wild with fright. Clifford spoke in a soothing tone, and when the horse became once more quiet, he reached for the lariat, while holding the maniac with one hand; but with a desperate wrench the spectral being tore loose from his grasp, and bounded away with a loud yell. Then, as it fled swiftly away over the prairie, at every step it would shriek like a mangled hound--the sound growing fainter, until at length it died out in silence on the gra.s.sy hills.

With a prolonged shiver, Clifford started like one awakened from a terrible night-mare; then remembering the new-found treasure, he hurried back to the pit, and peered down--as though fearful that he should find it all a dream.

But no--there was the red gold, resting where it had lain so long.

Clifford paused a moment, irresolute and uncertain what course to pursue. How should he remove this vast treasure to a place of security?

he was asking himself, when there recurred to his mind the fact that there was harness in his stable, and an old, stout sled there also. The latter had been used in transporting stone from the old wall to build his dwelling, and was admirably adapted to just such a purpose as bearing up the heavy sacks of coin. So young Warlow lost no time in hurrying down to the stable.

As he nervously harnessed the horse by the dim light of the lantern, he was devoured with anxiety, lest something should occur that would yet rob him of the fruits of his great discovery. "What if that uncanny demon should return, and undo all his labor by some diabolical plan or act?" he found himself saying in a half-audible tone, as with trembling haste he hurried back to the treasure--and found all his fears were groundless, for every thing remained as he had left it.

When he attempted to lift the sacks of coin he found that it was no light task, for each one of the stout bags weighed fully forty pounds; but with great difficulty he loaded ten of them on to the low vehicle, then led the horse up to the dwelling, close to the door, where, unhitching the animal and securing him to the stone post near by, he proceeded to carry the sacks into the dwelling.

Five of the first were lettered with the name of his father. These he placed by themselves. Then, taking up the carpet and the floor where he had concealed the chest, he untied the remaining five sacks, and emptied their glittering contents into the iron-bound box. When all this was completed, he returned for another load, but not without again entertaining grave fears for the safety of the precious cask, which he found still undisturbed.

Four more loads of the coin emptied the cask. Then came the work of refilling the pit, and obliterating all trace of the search. Then, after returning the sled and harness to their accustomed places, Clifford sat down, faint and weary, to feast his eyes on the grand sight, the enormous wealth that was displayed by the lamp-light.

More than four hundred thousand dollars in gold lay in a glittering, red ma.s.s before him! The coin almost filled the chest, while in the shallow compartment were the gems, which he had taken from their casket, that he might once more admire them and feast his eyes on their splendor.

The gems--he remembered having heard his father say--represented more than half a million dollars; and he tried to realize what this vast aggregation of wealth meant--this million of treasure that he had restored to the light since the last sunrise; but only faintly could the young "Fortune Hunter" comprehend the power and grandeur of the treasure before him.

Out among the ma.s.s of red and yellow gold trailed a strand of frosty, glimmering pearls. The great diamonds, that flashed their rivers of light; and rubies, that mingled their rays of rose and crimson with the green glint of emeralds; lurid opals, sapphires of sparkling blue or violet red; amethysts of pink, purple, and lilac,--all spoke in proudest tones of the wealth of Monteluma; and, with a weary sigh, Clifford thought of the wide social gulf which now yawned between himself and the heiress of all this splendor.

After securing all the treasure in the chest, and locking the door securely behind, young Warlow rode stealthily homeward as the first blush of crimson was mantling the eastern sky, and the great planets were growing pale.

Chapter XVIII.

In the cool of the following evening we find Clifford swinging dreamily in a hammock on the porch, while near by is ever-busy Maud, preparing a basket of martynias for the pickle-jar. As she deftly snipped off the curling ends of the green pods, locally known as "Devil Claws"--a very appropriate name indeed, when applied to the mature fruit--she cast a glance of suspicion toward her brother, and said:--

"I never like to see you so quiet, Clifford. I have always noticed that silent people need watching. Now, here is Rob, for instance:--Just so long as we can hear him whistling or singing, we rest contentedly; but the very moment he becomes quiet--ah! look out! There is mischief on hand every time; and we are likely to miss pie from the pantry soon, or find that the rogue has filched a bowl of cream down cellar. No, sir; you have been so suspiciously reticent to-day that I am led to think you have learned something since we had our talk yesterday."

"I always endeavor to store up some treasure of wisdom daily, my sister," Clifford replied, with lazy evasion, as he swung a polished boot to and fro over the hammock's side, and turned a feverish face toward Maud. Then, while a look of sarcasm gleamed in his half-closed eyes, he added, as she continued to glance askance: "Who was the philosopher, sage, or poet that said--or should have said, at least--something about the moral obloquy of groping through life with a cross eye?"

"Whoever that fellow was who strangled on such a proverb, I'll bet my boots he never clanked round of nights, like a loose horse, all the while fancying himself sly," said Rob, with a knowing chuckle, as he c.o.c.ked his head on one side to view the horse-hair bridle-rein which he was braiding while seated on the edge of the porch.

A loud-mouthed clamor from the dogs precluded an answer to this thrust, and as the group on the porch looked toward the gate, Grace, Ralph, and Scott Moreland came into the yard, and they were all soon eagerly discussing the plan of holding a picnic in the Warlow pasture, on the opposite side of the river from the colonel's dwelling.

Before their neighbors left it was decided that the event should take place the last of the following week; but in the excitement of agreeing on a programme, and the wordy debate as to the propriety of including dancing in the list of amus.e.m.e.nts, all the leisure time of the next two days was consumed; so nothing more was said regarding the great discoveries which the week had revealed.

Verbal and written invitations were sown broadcast throughout the colony, bidding their friends to the picnic; and not many days had elapsed before Clifford had ridden down to the Estill Ranch to deliver the compliment in person to the members of that aristocratic household.

At the door he met Hugh, who was as cordial and genial as ever, and entered into the scheme of the picnic with his customary zest of pleasure, sharpened now, no doubt, with the desire to meet the fascinating Grace once again.

The call lengthened out astonishingly, as Clifford strolled back and forth on the star-lit terrace with the vivacious heiress of Monteluma and Estill Ranch, who promised to come up with Hugh the next day, to practice, with a dozen others, who were to meet at Moreland's, and agree on the music for the entertainment.

"What a delightful evening this has been!" said Clifford at a very late hour, as they walked down to the steps, at the base of which his horse was tied.

"Oh, charming indeed! I And don't you think that we are progressing well with our "practicing," for here we have had all the elements of a flirtation without the aid of either a moon or a gate," she said gaily, as he unfastened the chain at the steps, which served to bar the way at the top of the stairs, which led down from the terrace.

A cool "Good evening, Miss Estill," was all the answer this sally elicited from young Warlow, as he rode away, thinking gloomily that the proud heiress meant to show him, under the cover of her levity, that she was only amusing herself or "practicing" the arts of "flirtation" at his expense; and he determined that when they met again he would show her that he understood the hint, and would give her no further opportunity to repulse his advances.

So, accordingly, it was with a great deal of hauteur he met Miss Estill the following afternoon at Morelands'; but either that young lady was too indifferent to notice his behavior or had been gratified at the result of her light remark, for she was as gay and unchanged as ever.

All of our hero's stern resolves dissolved into smiles and admiration while he stood talking with the charming young lady; but when the wealthy, dissolute aristocrat, Major Stork, of Devondale, came up, and proceeded to monopolize Miss Estill, Clifford froze up completely, and became so polite and attentive to Grace that she at length declared she would box his ears if he did not quit persecuting her so; which persecutions consisted merely in keeping Hugh Estill away from her side--a crime which Clifford told her, hotly, was worse than murder in her eyes.

"Cliff Warlow, you are a b.o.o.by!" said Miss Grace, with astonishing candor; "and you needn't come round me with any of your second-hand attentions; for I've got a pair of eyes in my head, and know how to use them too. The idea of your being jealous of that hawk-billed old reprobate. Why, it's perfectly absurd," she continued, casting a glance of scorn toward the spot where the stately major and Miss Estill were talking. "Oh, you should remember, Cliff, that a girl who is worth having is not going to fall into a fellow's mouth like a ripe persimmon whenever he shakes the tree."

Then in a tone of confidence she continued, with a look of wisdom, which Clifford thought, with an ill-concealed smile, resembled that of a prairie-owl: "Girls are very apt to pretend a great coldness toward a fellow that they want to catch; that is, after they see they have made a safe impression on him; and to see such a girl begin manoeuvring around another fellow, one too that you know she can't care a straw for, why, it always shows plain enough that it is only to decoy fellow number one."

"There you are now far beyond my comprehension," Clifford interrupted, with returning good humor; and as Hugh Estill joined them he added: "I will now retire in favor of number one."

Emboldened by Grace's homily, young Warlow sought Miss Estill's side, and in her vivacious friendliness he soon found the happiness that had taken flight on the appearance of the major; but the returning bud of confidence, which her smiles had called forth, was nipped by a most untimely frost in the appearance of a new rival--John Downels, of Diamond Springs.

Mr. Downels was a _debonair_, graceful specimen of the gilded youth of New York, from whose make-up the last remaining trace of effeminacy had been eliminated by a stern course of ranch-life in the West. He appeared to be an old friend of Miss Estill, who presented him to Clifford; but after a moment's civility, young Warlow took his leave and retired, while the late comer devoted himself to the heiress.

While pretending to discuss music with Mrs. Warfield, Clifford watched the pair furtively. He began to realize that now he had just cause for uneasiness; for there was an air of culture and polished ease about the blonde-haired young ranchman which made him very attractive, and young Warlow became so absorbed and miserable that he only half realized what he was saying.

"Do you think we shall have time at the picnic to sing all the songs on the programme before dinner?" Mrs. Warfield inquired.