PRESTON # THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS BY ARTHUR P. HANKINS Author of "THE JUBILEE GIRL," Etc. NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1922 COPYEIOHT, 1921, 1922 BY DODD. MEAD AND COMPANY, Iico. PRINTED IN U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I AT HONEYMOON FLAT 1 II PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE 14 III B FOR BOLIVIO 23 IV THE FIRST CALLER 29 V "AND I'LL HELP You !" 45 VI ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 50 VII LILAC SPODUMENE 64 VIII POISON OAK RANCH 74 IX NANCY FIELD'S WINDFALL 88 X JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD 101 XI CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWTJT POCHE- DAKA 112 XII THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 130 XIII SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 145 XIV HIGH POWER 156 XV THE FIRE DANCE 165 XVI A GUEST AT THE RANCHO 174 XVII THE GIRL IN RED 193 XVIII SPIES 205 XIX CONTENTIONS . . . 216 2130042 CONTENTS CHAPTZB PAQ XX "WAIT!" 227 XXI "WHEN WE MEET AGAIN !" 237 XXII THE WATCHMAN OP THE DEAD 248 XXIII THE QUESTION 264 XXIV IN THE DEER PATH 285 XXV THE ANSWER 300 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS The Heritage of the Hills CHAPTER I AT HALFMOON FLAT THE road wound ever upward through pines and spruce and several varieties of oak. Some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all massive. Now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond green pasture lands, and other hills covered with dense growths of buckhorn and manzanita. Poison oak grew everywhere, and, at this time of year early spring was most prolific, most beautiful in its dark rich green, most poisonous. Occasionally the lone horseman crossed a riot- ous stream, plunging down from the snow- topped Sierras in the far distance. Rail fences, for the most part in a tumbledown condition, paralleled the dirt road here and there. At long intervals they passed tall, old-fashioned l 2 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ranch houses, with their accompanying stables, deciduous orchards and still dormant vineyards, wandering turkeys and mud-incrusted pigs. An air of decay and haphazard ambition pervaded all these evidences of the dwelling places of men. "Well, Poche," remarked Oliver Drew, "it's been a long, hard trip, but we're getting close to home." The man spoke the word "home" with a touch of bitterness. The rangy bay saddler slanted his left ear back at Oliver Drew and quickened his walking- trot. "No, no !" laughed Oliver, tightening the reins. "All the more reason we should take it easy to- day, old horse. Don't you ever tire?" For an hour Poche climbed steadily. Now he topped the summit of the miniature mountain, and Oliver stopped him to gaze down fifteen hundred feet into the timbered canon of the American Kiver. Even the cow-pony seemed enthralled with the grandeur of the scene the wooded hills climbing shelf by shelf to the far- away mist-hung mountains; the green river winding its serpentine course far below. Far up the river a gold dredger was at work, the low rumble of its machinery carried on the soft morning breeze. Half an hour later Poche ambled briskly into AT HALFMOON FLAT 3 the little town of Halfmoon Flat, snuggled away in the pines and spruces, sunflecked, indolent, content. It suited Oliver's mood, this lazy old- fashioned Halfmoon Flat, with its one shady "business" street, its false-front, one-story shops and stores, redolent still of the glamorous days of '49. He drew up before a saloon to inquire after the road he should take out of town to reach his destination. The loungers about the door of the place all proved to be French- or Spanish- Basque sheep herders; and their agglutinative language was as a closed book to the traveler. So he dropped the reins from Poche's neck and entered the dark, low-ceiled bar-room, with its many decorations of dusty deer antlers on fly- specked walls. All was strangely quiet within. There were no patrons, no bartender behind the black, stained bar. He saw this white-aproned person- age, however, a fat, wide, sandy-haired man, standing framed by the rear door, his back to- ward the front. Through a dirty rear window Oliver saw men in the back yard silent, mo- tionless men, with faces intent on something of captivating interest, some silent, muscle-tens- ing event. With awakened wonder he walked to the 4 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS fat bartender's back and looked out over his shoulder. Strange indeed was the scene that was revealed. Perhaps twenty men were in an unfenced por- tion of the lot behind the saloon. Some of them had been pitching horeshoes, for two stood with the iron semicircles still in hand. Every man there gazed with silent intensity at two central figures, who furnished the drama. The first, a squat, dark, slit-eyed man of about twenty-five, lazed in a big Western saddle on a lean roan horse. His left spurred heel stood straight out at right angles to the direction in which his horse faced. He hung in the saddle by the bend in his right leg, the foot out of the stirrup, the motionless man facing to the right, a leering grin on his face, half whimsical, half sar- donic. That he was a fatalist was evidenced by every line on his swarthy, hairless face; for he looked sneering indifference into the wavering muzzle of a Colt .45, in the hand of the other actor in the pantomime. His own Colt lay pas- sive against his hip. His right forearm rested across his thigh, the hand far from the butt of the weapon. A cigarette drooped lazily from his grinning lips. Yet for all his indifferent calm, there was in his glittering, Mongolic eyes an eagle watchfulness that bespoke the fires of hatred within him. AT HALFMOON FLAT 5 The dismounted man who had the drop on him was of another type. Tall, angular, countrified, he personified the popular conception of a Con- necticut yankee. He boiled with silent rage as he stood, with long body bent forward, threaten- ing the other with his enormous gun. Despite the present superiority of his position, there was something of pathos in his lean, bronzed face, something of a nature downtrodden, of the worm suddenly turned. For seconds that seemed like ages the two statuesque figures confronted each other. Men breathed in short inhalations, as if fearful of breaking the spell. Then the threatened man in the saddle puffed out a cloud of cigarette smoke, and drawled sarcastically: "Well, why don't you shoot, ol'-timer? You got the drop." Complete indifference to his fate marked the squat man's tone and attitude. Only those small black eyes, gleaming like points of jet from under the lowered Chinamanlike lids, pro- claimed that the other had better make a thor- ough piece of work of this thing that he had started. The lank man found his tongue at the sound of the other's voice. "Why don't I shoot, you coyote whelp ! Why don't I shoot ! You know why ! Because they's 6 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS a law in this land, that's why ! I oughta kill ye, an' everybody here knows it, but I'd hang for it." The man on the roan blew another puff of smoke. "You oughta thought o' that when you threw down on me," he lazily reminded the other. "You ain't got no license packin' a gun, pardner." The expression that crossed his antagonist's face was one of torture, bafflement. It proved that he knew the mounted man had spoken truth. He was no killer. In a fit of rage he had drawn his weapon and got the drop on his enemy, only to shrink from the thought of tak- ing a human life and from the consequences of such an act. But he essayed to bluster his way out of the situation in which his uncontrollable wrath had inveigled him. "I can't shoot ye in cold blood!" he hotly cried. "I'm not the skunk that you are. I'm too much of a man. I'll let ye go this time. But mind me if you or any o' your thievin' gang pesters me ag'in, I'll I'll kill ye!" "Better attend to that little business right now, pardner," came the fatalist's smooth ad- monition. "Don't rile me too far!" fumed the other. "God knows I could kill ye an' never fear for the hereafter. But I'm a law-abidin' man, an' " AT HALFMOON FLAT 7 the six-shooter in his hand was wavering "an' I'm a law-abidin' man," he repeated, floundering. "So this time I'll let ye" A fierce clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Down the street, across the board sidewalk, into the lot back of the saloon dashed a white horse, a black-haired girl astride in the saddle. She reined her horse to its haunches, scattering spec- tators right and left. "Don't lower that gun!" she shrieked. "Shoot! Kill him!" Her warning came too late. It may have been, even, that instead of a warning it was a knell. For a loud report sent the echoes gal- loping through the sleepy little town. The man on the ground, who had half lowered his gun as the girl raced in, threw up both hands, and went reeling about drunkenly. Another shot rang out. The squat man still lolled in his saddle, facing to the right. The gun that he had drawn in a flash when the other's indecision had reached a climax was levelled rigidly from his hip, the muzzle slowly following his staggering, twice-wounded enemy. In horror the watchers gazed, silent. The stricken man reeled against the legs of the girl's horse, strove to clasp them. The animal snorted at the smell of blood and reared. His tempo- rary support removed, the man collapsed, face 8 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS downward, on the ground, turned over once, lay still. The squat man slowly bolstered his gun. Then the first sound to break the silence since the shots was his voice as he spoke to the girl. "Much obliged, Jess' my," he said; then straightened in his saddle, spurred the roan, and dashed across the sidewalk to disappear around the corner of the building. A longdrawn, deri- sive "Hi-yi !" floated back, and the clatter of the roan's hoofbeats died away. The girl had sprung from her mare and was bending over the fallen man. The others crowded about her now, all talking at once. She lifted a white, tragic face to them, a face so wildly beautiful that, even under the stress of the moment, Oliver Drew felt that sudden fierce pang of desire which the first startled sight of "the one woman" brings to a healthy, manly man. "He's dead ! I've killed him !" she cried. "No, no, no, Miss Jessamy," protested a hoarse voice quickly. "You wasn't to blame." "O' course not!" chorused a dozen. "He'd 'a' lowered that gun," went on her first consoler. "He was backin' out when you come, Miss Jessamy. An' as sure as he'd took his gun off Digger Foss, Digger'd 'a' killed 'im. It was a fool business from the start, Miss Jessamy." AT HALFMOON FLAT 9 "Then why didn't some of you warn this man?" she flamed. "You cowards! Are you afraid of Digger Foss? Oh, I" "Now, looky-here, Miss Jessamy," soothed the spokesman, "bein' afraid o' Digger Foss ain't got anything to do with it. It wasn't our fight. We had no call to butt in. Men don't do that in a gun country, Miss Jessamy you know that. This fella pulled on Digger, then lost his nerve. What you told 'im to do, Miss Jessamy, was right. Man ain't got no call to throw down on another one unless he intends to shoot. You know that, Miss Jessamy you as much as said so." For answer the girl burst into tears. She rose, and the silent men stood back for her. She mounted and rode away without another word, wiping fiercely at her eyes with a handker- chief. Four men carried the dead man away. The rest, obviously in need of a stimulant, crowded in and up to the black bar. Oliver joined them. The weird sight that he had witnessed had left him weak and sick at the stomach. Silently the fat, blond bartender set out whisky glasses, then looked hesitatingly at the stranger. "Go ahead, Swede," encouraged a big fellow at Oliver's left. "He needs one, too. He saw it." The bartender shrugged, thumped a glass to- ward Oliver, and broke the laws of the land. "What was it all about?" Oliver, encouraged by this confidence, asked of the big, goodnatured man who had vouched for him on sight. The other looked him over. "This fella Dodd," he said, "started something he couldn't finish that's all. Dodd's had it in for Digger Foss and the Selden boys and some more of 'em for a year. Selden was runnin' cattle on Dodd's land, and Dodd claimed they cut fences to get 'em on. I don't know what all was between 'em. There's always bad blood between Old Man Selden and his boys and the rest o' the Poison Oakers, and somebody. "Anyway," he went on, "this mornin' Henry Dodd comes in and gets the drop on Digger Foss, who's thick with the Seldens, and is one o' the Poison Oakers; and then Dodd ain't got the nerve to shoot. You saw what it cost him. Fill 'em up again, boys." "I can't understand that girl," Oliver re- marked. "Why, she rode in and told the man to shoot to kill." "And wasn't she right?" "None of the rest of you did it, as she pointed out to you." "No men wouldn't do that, I reckon. But AT HALFMOON FLAT 11 a woman's different. They butt in for what they think's right, regardless. But I look at it like this, pardner: Dodd's a grown man and is packin' a hip gun. Why's he packin' it if he don't mean to use it? Only a kid ought to be excused from flourishin' iron like he did. He was just lettin' off steam. But he picked the wrong man to relieve himself on. If he'd 'a' killed Digger, as Miss Jessamy told him to, maybe he'd a hung for it. But he'd a had a chance with a jury. Where if he took his gat offen Digger Foss, it was sure death. I knew it ; all of us knew it. And I knew he was goin' to lower it after he'd painted pictures in the air with it and thought he'd convinced all of us he was a bad man, and all that. He'd never pulled the trigger, and Digger Foss knew it." "Then if this Digger Foss knew he was only bluffing, he why, he practically shot the man in cold blood !" cried Oliver. "Not practically but ab-so-lutely. Digger knew he was within the law, as they say. While he knew Dodd wouldn't shoot, no prosecutin' attorney can prove that he knew it. Dodd had held a gun on him and threatened to kill 'im. When Digger gets the chance he takes it makes his lightin' draw and kills Dodd. On the face of it it's self-defence, pure and simple, and Dig- 12 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ger'll be acquitted. He'll be in tonight and give himself up to the constable. He knows just where he stands." Oliver's informant tossed off his liquor. "And Miss Jessamy knew all this see?" he continued. "She savvies gunmen. She ought to, bein' a Selden. At least she calls herself a Selden, but her right name's Lomax. Old Man Selden married a widow, and this girl's her daughter. Well, she rides in and tells Dodd to shoot. She knew it was his life or Digger's, after he'd made that crack. But the poor fool ! Well, you saw what happened. Don't belong about here, do you, pardner?" "I do now," Oliver returned. "I'm just mov- ing in, as it were. I own forty acres down on Clinker Creek. I came in here to inquire the way, and stumbled onto this tragedy." "On Clinker Creek! What forty?" "It's called the Old Tabor Ivison Place." "Heavens above! You own the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" "So the recorder's office says or ought to." For fully ten seconds the big fellow faced Oliver, his blue eyes studying him carefully, ap- praisingly. "Well, by thunder!" he muttered at last. "Tell me about it, pardner. My name's Damon Tamroy." AT HALFMOON FLAT 13 "Mine is Oliver Drew," said Oliver, offering his hand. "Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Tamroy in a low voice, his eyes, wide with curiosity, devour- ing Oliver. "The Old Ivison Place!" "You seem surprised." "Surprised ! Hump ! Say le'me tell you right here, pardner ; don't you ever pull a gun on any o' the Poison Oakers and act like Henry Dodd did. Maybe it's well you saw what was pulled off today if you'll only remember when you get down there on the Tabor Ivison Place." CHAPTER II PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE I'LL take a seegar," Mr. Damon Tamroy re- plied in response to Oliver's invitation. They lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy saloon. "You speak of this as a gun country," re- marked Oliver. "Well, it's at least got traditions," returned Mr. Tamroy, adding the unlettered man's apol- ogy for his little fanciful flight, " 'as the fella says.' Like father like son, you know. The Seldens are gunmen. Old Adam Selden's dad was a 'Forty-niner; and Adam Selden the Old Man Selden of today was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five years old. Le's see that makes Old Adam 'round about seventy. But he's spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country. "He takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o' 'Forty-nine, and his boys take after him. They're a bad outfit, takin' 'em all in all. The boys are Hurlock, Moffat, Bolar, and Winthrop four of 'em. All gunmen. 14 PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE 15 Then there's Jessamy Selden the only girl who ain't rightly a Selden at all. None o' the old man's blood in Jessamy, o' course. Mis' Selden she was an Ivison before she married Lomax Mrytle Ivison was her name she's a fine lady. But she won't leave the old man for all his wickedness, and Miss Jessamy won't leave her mother. So there you are!" "I see," said Oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present subject of conversa- tion. "Now, here's this Digger Foss," Tamroy went on. "He's half-American, quarter-Chinaman, and quarter-Digger-Indian. The last's what gives him his name. There's a tribe o' Digger Indians close to here. He's killed two men and got away with it. Now he's added a third to his list, and likely he'll get away with that. The rest o' the Poison Oakers are Obed Pence, Ed Buchanan, Jay Muenster, and Chuck Alle- gan ten in all." "Just what are the Poison Oakers?'' Oliver asked as Damon Tamroy paused reflectively. "Well, anybody who lives in this country is called a Poison Oaker. You're one now. The woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and that's where we get the name. That's what outsiders call us. But when we ourselves speak of Poison Oakers we mean Old Man Selden's 16 THE HEKITAGE OF THE HILLS gang him, his four sons, and the hombres I just mentioned a regular old back-country gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. You know what I mean. "They just drifted together by natural in- stinct, I reckon. Old Man Selden shot a man up around Willow Twig, and come clean at the trial. Obed Pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about three years ago. Chuck and Ed have both done something to make 'em eligible knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. And the Selden boys are chips off the old block." "But what is the gang's particular purpose?" "Meanness, s'far's I c'n see! Just meanness! Old Man Selden owns a ranch down your way that you can get to only by a trail. No wheeled vehicle can get in. All the boys live there with him. Kind of a colony, for two o' the boys are married. The other Poison Oakers live here and there about the country, on ranches. Am- bition don't worry none of 'em much. Old Man Selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been proved." "Now about the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" said Oliver. "Well, it's there yet, I reckon; but I ain't been down that way for years. Now and then a deer hunt leads me into Clinker Creek Canon, but not often. "It's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. Several families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been abandoned long since, and all the folks gone God knows where. It's a pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and rough; but down in that canon it's too cold for pears and such fruit and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills. "Old Tabor Ivison homesteaded your place. He's been dead matter o' fifteen years. Died down there. For years he'd lived there all by 'imself. Good old man. Asked for little in life and got it. "But for years now all that country's been abandoned. There's pretty good pickin's down in there ; and Old Man Selden and some more o' the Poison Oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it." "I'm glad there's pasture," Oliver interposed. "Oh, pasture's all right. But Selden's outfit has looked at that land as theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. You're bound to have trouble with the Poison Oakers, Mr Drew, and I'd consider the land not worth it. Why, I can buy a thousan' acres down 18 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS in there for two and a half an acre! You'll starve to death if you have to depend on that forty for a livin'. How come you to own the place?" "My father willed it to me," Oliver replied. "Your father?" "Yes, Peter Drew. Have you ever heard of him?" "No," returned Damon Tamroy. "I reckon he was here before my time. How'd he come by the place? I thought one o' the Ivison girls Nancy still owned it." "I'm sure I can't tell you how Dad came to own it," Oliver made answer. "I haven't an abstract of title. I know, though, that Dad owned it for some time before his death." "Well, well!" Damon Tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man once more. They steadied themselves on the silver-mounted Span- ish spurs on Oliver's riding boots. "Travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and his look of puzzlement deepened. "Yes," said Oliver a little bitterly. "I'm rid- ing about all that I possess in this world, since you have pronounced the Old Tabor Ivison Place next to worthless." He grew thoughtful. "You're puzzled over me," he smiled at last. "Frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than I am over myself and my rather odd sit- uation. I'm a man of mystery." He laughed. "I think I'll tell you all about it. "As far back as I can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the southern part of the state. I can't remember my mother, who died when I was very young. I always thought my father wealthy until he died, two weeks ago, and his will was read to me. He had orange and lemon groves besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country bank. I was graduated at the State University, and went from there to France. Since, I've been resting up and sort of managing Dad's property. "My father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with me. He was uneducated, as the term is understood today a rough-and-ready old Westerner who had made his strike and settled down to peaceful days or so I always imagined. But two weeks ago he died suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me I got a jolt from which I haven't yet recovered. "The home ranch and the other real estate, to- gether with all livestock and appurtenances with one exception, which I shall mention later were willed to the Catholic Church, to be 20 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS handled as they saw fit. It seemed that there was little else to be disposed of. I w r as left five hundred dollars in cash, a saddle horse named Poche, a silver-mounted bridle and saddle and martingales, the old Spanish spurs you see on my feet, and the Old Tabor Ivison Place, in Chaparral County, of which I knew almost noth- ing. That was all with the exception of the written instructions in my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. Maybe you can throw some light on the matter, Mr. Tam- roy. Would you care to hear my father's last message to me?" Tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping for- ward his chair. Oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "I don't know that I ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, I'll never learn the mystery of it if I keep the matter from people about here. So here goes: " 'My dear sen Oliver: " 'As you know perfectly well, I am an igncrant old Westerner. There is no use mincing matters in regard to this. When I was young I didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but when I grew up and married, and you was born, I said you'd never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like I did. So I tried to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.' PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE 21 " 'I did this for a double purpose, Oliver. I knew that I was going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. For pretty near thirty years, Oliver, I've had a problem to fight; and I never knew how to settle the matter because I wasn't educated. So I let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and go through college. And now that's happened; and you're educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for nearly half my life. The answer is either Yes or No, and you've got to find out which is right.' " 'I'm leaving you Poche, the best cow horse in Southern California, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me thousands of miles, the martin- gales, and my old silver-mounted bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the vaqueros of the Clinker Creek Country over thirty years ago, and my Spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. These things, Oliver, and five hundred dollars in cash, and forty acres of land on Clinker Creek, in Chaparral county, called the Old Tabor Ivison Place ' " 'They are all you'll need to find the answer to the question that's bothered me for thirty years. Buckle on the spurs, throw the saddle on Poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars and the deed to the Old Tabor Ivison Place in your jeans, and hit the trail for Clinker Creek. Stay there till you know whether the answer is Yes or No. Then go to my 22 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS lawyers and tell them which it is. And the God of your mother go with you ! ' " 'Your affectionate father,' " 'PETER DREW.' " 'In his seventy-third year.' ' Oliver folded the paper. Damon Tamroy only sat and stared at him. CHAPTER III B FOR BOLIVIO "1 ^JOY," said the kindly Mr. Tamroy, lean- ~"^ ing forward toward Oliver Drew, "those -*^--^ are the queerest last words of a father to his son that I ever listened to. What on earth you goin' to do?" Oliver shrugged and spread his hands. "Keep on obeying instructions," he said. "I've followed them to the letter so far. I'm only a few miles from my destination, and I've ridden in the silver-mounted saddle on Poche's back the entire five hundred miles and over. My father was not a fool. He was of sound mind, I fully believe, when he wrote that message for me. There's some deep meaning underlying all this. I must simply stay on the Old Tabor Ivi- son Place till I know what puzzled old Dad all those years, and find out whether the answer is Yes or No." "Heavens above!" muttered Mr. Tamroy. "But how you goin' to live? What' re you goin' to do down in there? Gonta get a job? It's 23 24 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS too far away from everything for you to go and come to a job, Mr. Drew." "I'll tell you," said Oliver. "At the Univer- sity I took an agricultural course. Since my graduation I have written not a few articles and sold them to leading farm journals. If the Old Tabor Ivison Place is of any value at all, I want to experiment in raising all sorts of things on a small scale, and write articles about my re- sults. I'll have a few stands of bees, and maybe a cow. I'll try all sorts of things, get a second- hand typewriter, and go to it. I think I can live while I'm waiting for my father's big ques- tion to crop up." "You can raise a garden all right, I reckon," Oliver's new friend told him, following him as he rose to continue his journey. "But you got to irrigate, and there ain't the water in Clinker Creek there used to be. Folks up near the headwaters use nearly all of it, and in the hot months what they turn back will all go up in evaporation before it gets down to you. There's a good spring, though, but it strikes me it don't flow anything like it did when Old Ta bor Ivison lived on the land." "Is there a house on the place?" "Only an old cabin. At least there was last time I chased a buck down in there. And some- thing of a fence, if I remember right. But fif- B FOR BOLIVIO 25 teen years is a long time I reckon everything left is next to worthless." They came to a pause at the edge of the side- walk beside an aged villager, who stood lean- ing on his crooked manzanita cane as he gazed at Poche and his silver-mounted trappings. "That's Old Dad Sloan," whispered Damon Tamroy. "He's one o' the last of the 'Forty- niners. Just hobbles about on his cane, livin' off the county, and waitin' to die. Never saw him take much interest in anything before, but that outfit o' yours has caught his eye. Little wonder, by golly!" Oliver stepped into the street and lifted the hair-tassled reins of the famous bridle. He turned to find the watery blue eyes of the patri- arch fixed on him intently. With a trembling left hand the old man brushed back his long grey hair, then the fingers shakily caressed a grizzled beard, flaring and wiry as excelsior. A long finger at length pointed to the horse. "Where'd you get that outfit, young feller?" came the quavering tones. Mr. Tamroy winked knowingly at Oliver. "It was 'my father's," said Oliver in eager tones. The 'Forty-niner cupped a hand back of his ear. "Hey?" he shrilled. Oliver lifted his voice and repeated. 26 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Yer papy's hey?" He tottered into the street and fingered the heavily silvered Spanish half- breed bit, which, Oliver had been told, was very valuable intrinsically and as a relic. Then the knotty fingers travelled up an intri- cately plaited cheekstrap to one of the glitter- ing silver-bordered conchas. The old fellow fumbled for his glasses, placed them on his nose, and studied the last named conceit with careful, lengthy scrutiny. "Is that there glass, young feller?" he croaked at last, pointing to the set- ting of the concha, a lilac-hued crystal about two inches in diameter. "I think it is," Oliver shouted. The old man shook his head. "I can't see well any more," he quavered. "But this don't look like glass to me." "I've never had it examined," Oliver told him. "I supposed the settings of the conchas to be glass or some sort of quartz." "Quartz?" "Yes, sir." The grey head slowly shook back and forth. "Young man," came the piping tones, "is they a *B' cut in the metal that holds them stones in place?" Oliver's eyes widened. "There is," he said. "On the inside of each one." The old man stared at him, and his bearded B FOR BOLIVIO 27 lips trembled. "Bolivio!" he croaked weirdly. "I don't understand," said Oliver. "Bolivio made them conchas, young feller. Bolivio made that bit. Bolivio plaited that bridle. Bolivio made them martingales." "And who is Bolivio?" puzzled the stranger. "Dead and gone dead and gone!" crooned the ancient. "That outfit's maybe a hundred years old, young feller part of it, 'tleast. And that ain't glass in there and it ain't quartz in in there and there's only one man ever in this country ever had a bridle like that." "And who was he?" asked Oliver almost breathlessly. "Dan Smeed that's who! Dan Smeed outlaw, highwayman, squawman! Dan Smeed gone these thirty years and more. That's his bridle that's his saddle all made by Bolivio, maybe a hundred years ago. And them stones in them conchas are gems from the lost mine o* Bolivio. The lost gems o' Bolivio, young fel- ler!" Oliver and Tamroy stared into each other's eyes as the old man tottered back to the side- walk. "Tell me more!" cried Oliver, as the ancient began tapping his crooked cane along the street. There was no answer. "He didn't hear," said Tamroy. "We'll get 28 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS at him again sometime. Maybe he'll tell what he knows and maybe he won't. He's awful childish awful headstrong. For days at a time he won't speak to a soul." Oliver stood in deep thought, mystified be- yond measure, yet thrilled with the thought that he was nearing the beginning of the trail to the mysterious question. He roused himself at length. "Well, I must be getting along," he said. "I'll go right down to Clinker Creek now, if you'll point the way. I've enough grub behind my saddle for tonight and tomorrow morning. There's grass for the horse at present?" "Oh, yes horse'll get along all right." "Then I'll go down and give my property the once-over, and be up tomorrow to get what I need." Damon Tamroy showed him the road and shook hands with him. "Ride up and get ac- quainted regular someday," he invited. "I got a little ranch up the line pears and apples and things. Give you some cherries a little later on. Well, so-long. Remember the Poison Oak- ers !" Oliver galloped away, his flashing equipment the target of all eyes, on the road that led to the Old Tabor Ivison Place, his brain in a whirl of excitement. CHAPTER IV THE FIRST CALLER TOWARD noon Poche was carefully feel- ing his way down the rocky canon of Clinker Creek, over a forgotten road. Oliver walked, for Poche needs must scramble over huge boulders, fallen pines, and tangles of driftwood. The road followed the course of the creek for the most part, and in many places the creek had broken through and washed great gaps. But the country was delightful. Wild grape- vines grew in profusion at the creekside, grace- fully festooned from overhanging buckeye limbs. Odorous alders, several varieties of willow, and white oak also followed the watercourse; and up on the hills on either side were black oaks and live oaks, together with yellow and sugar and digger pines, and spruce. Every- where grew the now significant poison oak. Finally Poche scraped through chaparral that almost hid the road and came out in a clearing. Oliver at last stood looking at his fu- ture home. 29 30 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS A quaint old cabin, with a high peaked roof, apparently in better repair than he had ex- pected, stood on a little rise above the creek. The canon widened here, and narrowed again farther down. The creek bowed and followed the base of the steep hills to the west. A level strip of land comprising about an acre paral- leled the creek, and invited tillage. All about the clearing, perhaps fifteen acres in area, stood tall pines and spruce, and magnificent oaks rose aljove the cabin, their great limbs sprawled over it protectingly. Acres and acres of heavy, im- penetrable chaparral covered both steep slopes beyond the conifers. For several minutes Oliver drank in the beauty of it, then heaved himself into the saddle and galloped to the cabin over the unobstructed land. He loosed Poche when the saddle and bridle were off, and the horse eagerly buried his muzzle in the tall green grass. Up in the branches paired California linnets, red breasted for their love season, went over plans and specifications for nest-building with much conversation and flit-flit of feathered wings. Wild canaries en- gaged in a like pursuit. Overhead in the heav- ens an eagle sailed. From the sunny chapar- ral came the scolding quit-quit-quit of mother THE FIRST CALLER 31 quail, while the pompous cocks perched them- selves at the tops of manzanita bushes and whistled, "Cut that out! Cut that out!" All Nature was home-building; and Oliver forgot the loss of the fortune he had expected at his father's death and caught the spirit. He collected oak limbs and built a fire. He carried water from the creek and set it on to boil. While waiting for this he strolled about, revelling in the soft spring air, fragrant with the smell of wild flowers. That the cabin had been occupied often by hunters and other wanderers in the canon was evidenced by the many carvings on the door and signs of bygone campflres all about. He stepped upon the rotting porch and studied the mon- ograms, initials, and flippant messages of the lonely men who had passed that way. "'All hope abandon, ye who enter here" was carved in ancient letters just under the lintel of the door. Next he was informed that "Fools names, like their faces, Are always seen in pub- lic places." "Only a sucker would live here" was the parting decision of some disgruntled guest. "Home, Sweet Home" adorned the bot- tom of the door. One panel had proved an ex- cellent target, and no less than twenty bullet holes had made a sieve of it. "Welcome, Wan- derer!" and "Dew Drop Inn" and "Though lost 32 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS to sight to memory dear" occupied conspicuous places. Then on the right-hand frame he no- ticed this: The carving was neatly executed. The leaves represented were indisputably those of the poi- son oak. Had some one carved this in a jocular effort to warn chance visitors to the place of the dan- ger of the poison weed? Or did the carving rep- resent the emblem of the Poison Oakers? Oliver smiled grimly and opened the door. He passed through the three small rooms of the house and investigated the loft. The struc- ture seemed solid. A new roof would be neces- sary, and new windows and frames and a new porch ; and as Oliver was no mean carpenter, he thought he could make the cabin snug and tight for seventy-five dollars. THE FIRST CALLER 33 The front door had closed of itself, he found, when he started back to his campflre. He stopped in the main room, and a smile, slightly bitter, flickered across his lips. As neatly carved as was the symbol of the Poison Oakers outside if that was what it was and evidently executed by the same hand, was this, on the in- side of the door : JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART Oliver went on out and squatted over his fire, peeling potatoes. His blue eyes grew studious. In the flickering blaze he saw the picture of a black-eyed, black-haired girl on a white horse crouched on its haunches. "Great Scott!" he muttered. "I'll have to forget that!" In the month that followed, Oliver Drew, spurred by feverish enthusiasm, worked mira- cles on the Old Tabor Ivison Place. He re- paired the line fences and rehabilitated the cabin; bought a burro and pack-saddle and packed in lumber and tools and household ne- cessities; fenced off his experimental garden on the level land with rabbit-tight netting; cleaned and boxed the spring; and early in May was following the spading up of his garden plot by planting vegetable seed. 34 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS With all this behind him, he went at the clear- ing of the road that connected him with his kind. Today as he laboured with pick and shovel and bar he was cheerful, though his thoughts clung to the subject of his father's death and the odd situation in which it had left him. He had fully expected to inherit proper- ties and money to the extent of a hundred thou- sand dollars. He was not particularly resent- ful because this had not come to pass, for he never had been a pampered young man ; but the mystery of his father's last message puzzled and chagrined him. He would always remember Peter Drew as a peculiar man. He had been a kindly father, but a reticent one. There were many pages in his past that never had been opened to his son. Oliver was the child of Peter Drew's second wife. About the queer old Westerner's former marriage he had been told practically nothing. Believing his father to have been of sound mind when he penned that last strange commu- nication, Oliver could not hold that the situa- tion which it imposed was not for the best. Surely old Peter Drew had had some wise rea- son for his act, and in the end Oliver would know what it was. He had been told to seek the Clinker Creek Country to learn the question THE FIRST CALLER 35 that had puzzled his father for thirty years, to decide whether the proper answer was Yes or No, and communicate his decision to his father's lawyers. That was all. When in the wisdom which his father had supposed would be the nat- ural result of his son's university training he had made his decision and placed it before these legal gentlemen, what would happen? Specula- tion over this led nowhere. At first it had seemed to Oliver that the mis- sion with which he had been intrusted was more or less a secret matter, and that he must keep still about it. Then as the staunch cow-pony bore him nearer and nearer to the Clinker Creek Country it gradually dawned upon him that, by so doing, he might stand a poor chance of even finding out what had puzzled his sire. To say nothing of the answer which he was to seek. It was then he decided that he had noth- ing to hide and must place his situation before the people of the country who would likely be able to help him. Hence his confidences to Mr. Damon Tamroy. Tamroy had aided him not at all; but the 'Forty-niner, Old Dad Sloan, knew something. Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, had owned a saddle and bridle like Oliver's. The old man had mysteriously mentioned the lost mine of Bolivio, and had said the settings in Oliver's 36 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS conchas were gems. If only the old man could be made to talk! The muffled thud of a horse's hoofs came be- tween the strokes of Oliver's pick. With an odd and unfamiliar sensation he glimpsed a white horse and rider approaching through the pines. It was she Jessamy Selden the black- haired, black-eyed girl of whom he reluctantly had thought so often since his first day in the Clinker Creek Country. She was riding straight down the canon, the white mare gingerly picking her way between boulders and snarls of driftwood. The girl looked up. Oliver felt that she saw him. Her ears could not have been insensible to the ring of his pick on the flinty stones. She did not leave the trail, however, but continued on in his direction. He rested on the handle of his tool and waited. "Good morning," he ventured, sweeping off his battered hat, as the mare stopped without pres- sure on the reins and gravely contemplated him. The girl smiled and returned his greeting brightly. "If you had waited a few days longer for THE FIRST CALLER 37 your ride down here," said Oliver, "I'd have had a better trail for you." "Oh, I don't know that I want it any better," she laughed. "I like things pretty much as they are, when Old Mother Nature has built them. I ride down this way frequently." She was no fragile reed, this girl. She was rather more substantially built than most mem- bers of her sex. Her figure was straight and tall and rounded, and her strong, graceful neck upreared itself proudly between sturdy should- ers. Grace and strength, rather than purely feminine beauty, predominated in the impres- sion she created in Oliver. She wore a man's Stetson hat over her lavish crown of coal-black hair, a man's flannel shirt, a whipcord divided skirt, and dark-russet riding boots. The sad- dle that she rode in had not been built for a woman to handle, and, with its long, pointed tapaderos, must have weighed close to fifty pounds. The steady, friendly, confident gaze of her large black eyes was thrilling. A man instinctively felt that, if he could win this woman, he would have acquired a wife among a thousand, a loyal friend and comrade, and a partner who could and would shoulder more than a woman's share of their load. Still, Oliver knew nothing at all about her. 38 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS What he had heard of her was not exactly of the best. Yet he felt that she was gloriously all right, and did not try to argue otherwise. "Well, I suppose I must introduce myself first," she was saying in her full, ringing tones. "I'm Jessamy Selden. My name is not Selden, though, but Lomax. When my mother married Adam Selden I took her new name. I heard somebody had moved onto the Old Ivison Place, and I deliberately rode down to get acquainted." "You waited a month, I notice," Oliver laugh- ingly reproached. "My name is Oliver Drew. If you'll get off your horse I'll tell you what a wonderful man I am." She swung to the ground and held out a strong, brown, ungloved hand. "I'll walk to your cabin with you," she said, "if you'll invite me. I'd like to see how you've been improving your time since your arrival." Scarce able to find words with which to meet such delightful frankness, Oliver walked beside her, the white mare following and nosing at his pockets to prove that she was a privileged char- acter. The girl loosed her within the inclosure, and let her drag her reins. Poche trotted up to make the white's acquaintance, followed by the new mouse-coloured burro, Smith, who long THE FIRST CALLER 39 since had assumed a "where thou goest I will go" affection for the bay saddler. Jessamy Selden came to a stop before the cabin, her black eyes dancing. "Who would have thought," she said in low tones, "that the Clinker Creek people ever would see the old Ivison cabin rebuilt arid inhabited once more! How sturdily it must have been built to stand up against wind and storm all these years. Are you going to invite me in and show me around?" She levelled that direct glance at him and showed her white teeth in a smile. Oliver was thinking of the carving on the in- side of the old door, "Jessamy, My Sweetheart." He had not replaced the door with a new r one, for every penny counted. It still was service- able; and, besides, there seemed to be a sort of companionship about the carved observations of the unknowns who had been sheltered by the old cabin during the past fifteen years. "You've been in the house often, I suppose?" He made it a question. "Oh, yes," she said. "I've lunched in it many a time, and have run in out of the rain during winter months. I slept in it all night once." "You seem to be an independent sort of young woman," suggested Oliver. 40 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "I'm a rather lonely sort of woman, if that's what you mean," she replied. "Yes, I ride about lots alone. I like it. Don't you want me to go in?" "Er why, certainly," he stammered. "Please don't think me inhospitable. Come on." He led the way, and stood back for her at the door. He would leave the door open, swung back into the corner, he thought, so that she would not see the carving. She had been in the cabin many times. Did she know the carving to be there? Of course it might have been executed since her last visit, though it did not seem very fresh. Who had carved the words? Oliver could imagine any of the young Clinker Creek swains as being secretly in love with this marvel- lous girl, and pouring out his tortured soul through the blade of his jack-knife when se- curely hidden from profane eyes in this vast wilderness. She passed complimentary remarks about his practically built home-made furniture, and the neatness and necessary simplicity of everything. "What an old maid you are for one so young !" she laughed. "And, please, what's the type- writer for if I'm not too bold?" "Well," said Oliver, "it occurred to me that I must make a living down here. I'm a graduate of the State College of Agriculture, and I like to THE FIRST CALLER 41 farm and write about it. I've sold several arti- cles to agricultural papers. I'm going to experi- ment here, and try to make a living by writing up the results!" "Why, how perfectly fine!" she cried enthu- siastically. "I couldn't imagine anything more engrossing. I'm a State University girl." "You don't say!" And this furnished a topic for ten minutes' conversation. "If you're as good a writer and farmer as you are tinker and carpenter," she observed, passing into the front room again, "you'll do splendidly." She was standing, straight as a young spruce, hands on hips, looking with twinkling eyes at the open door. "The old door still hangs, I Bee," she murmured. "Now just why didn't you replace it, Mr. Drew?" Oliver looked apprehensive. "Well," he re- plied hesitatingly, "for several reasons. First, a new door costs money, and so would the lumber with which to make one and I haven't much of that article. Second, I get some amusement from looking at those old carvings and speculat- ing on the possible personalities of the carvers. For all I know, some great celebrities' ideas may be among those expressed there some future great man, at any rate. The boy one meets in the Street may one day be president, you know. 42 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Then there's a sort of companionship about those names and monograms and quotations. The fellow that informs me that only suckers live here I'd like to meet. He was so blunt about it, so sure. He er " Smiling, she had stepped to the door and, arms still akimbo, allowed her glance to travel from one design to another. She raised an arm and levelled a finger. "What do you think of that one?" she asked. "Well," said Oliver, "that's a rather well exe- cuted poison oak leaf. The hills are covered with the plant. I imagine that some wanderer not immune from the poison came into contact with it, and, though his eyes were swelled half shut and his fingers itched and tingled, his right hand had not lost its cunning. So he took out his trusty blade and carved a warning for all future pilgrims who chanced this way to beware of this tree that is in the midst of the garden, and to not touch it lest they " "Itch," Jessamy gravely put in. "Quite pretty and poetic," she supplemented. "But you are entirely wrong, Mr. Drew. That carving is, first of all, a copy of the brand of Old Man Sel- den, and you'll find it on all his cows. All but the word 'Beware,' of course, you understand. Second, it represents the silly symbol of a gang that infests this country known as the Poison THE FIRST CALLER 43 Oakers. Oh, you've heard of them!" she had turned suddenly and surprised the look on his face. "It sounds very bloodthirsty," he laughed con- fusedly. "I'll tell you more, then, when I know you better," she said. "No, I'll tell you today," she added quickly. Then before he could make a move she had closed the door to examine what might be carved on the inner side. "Tell me now," said Oliver quickly. "Try this chair here by the window. I'm rather proud of this one. It's my first attempt at a morris ch " "Come here, please," she commanded, standing with her back to him. "Don't act so like a boy," she reproved as he dutifully stepped up behind her. "Anybody would know you are clumsily trying to detract my attention from that." The brown finger was pointing straight at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART. She turned and levelled her frank, unabashed eyes straight at his. "So that's why you hesitated about inviting me in," she stated, her lips twitching and dim- ples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks. "Frankly, yes," he told her gravely. 44 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Her glance did not leave him. "Mr. Tamroy told me he had mentioned me to you/' she said. "So of course you knew, when you saw this carv- ing, that I was the subject of the raving. And when you saw me you wished to spare me embar- rassment. Thank you. But you see I'm not at all embarrassed. I have never before seen this masterpiece in wood, and imagine it has been done since I was in the cabin last. Let's see I doubt if I've been inside for a year or more. I think perhaps Mr. Digger Foss is the one who tried to make his emotions deathless by this work of art. 'Jessamy, My Sweetheart/ eh?" She threw back her glorious head and laughed till two tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. "Poor Digger !" she said soberly at last. "I suppose he does love me." "Who wouldn't," thought Oliver, but bit his lips instead of speaking. "You may leave that, Mr. Drew," she told him, "until you get ready to replace the old door with a new one. I would not have the irrefuta- ble evidence of at least one conquest blotted out for worlds. Now let's go out in that glorious sunlight, and I'll tell you about Old Man Selden and the Poison Oakers." CHAPTER V "AND I'LL HELP YOU !" WHAT Jessamy Selden told Oliver Drew of the Poison Oakers was about the same as he had heard from Damon Tamroy. She used his sawbuck for a seat, and sat with one booted ankle resting on a knee, idly spin- ning the rowel of her spur as she talked. Oliver listened without interruption until she finished and once more levelled that straightforward glance at him. "The cows have been down below on winter pasture," she added. "Adam Selden and the boys rode out yesterday to start the spring drive into the foothills. You'll awake some morning soon to find red cattle all about you, and they'll be here till August." "Well," he said, "I don't know that I shall mind them. My fence is pretty fair, and with a little more repairing will turn them, I think." She twirled her rowel in silence for a time, her eyes fixed on it. Then she said: "It isn't that, Mr. Drew. I may as well tell 45 46 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS you right now what I came down here purposely to tell you. You're not wanted here. All of this land has been abandoned so long that Adam Selden and the gang have come to consider it their property or at least free range." "But they'll respect my right of ownership." "I don't know I don't know. I'm afraid they won't. They're a law unto themselves down in here. They'll try to run you out." "How?" "Any way every way. If nothing else oc- curs to them, they'll begin a studied system of persecution with the idea of making you so sick of your bargain that you'll pull stakes and hit the trail. That poor man Dodd! Mr. Tamroy told me you happened into the saloon in time to see the shooting. Wasn't it terrible! And how they persecuted him fairly drove him into the rash act that cost him his life!" She lifted her glance again. "Mr. Tamroy tells me that you were shocked at me that day." "I guess I didn't fully understand the circum- stances." "I did," she firmly declared, her lips setting in what would have been a grim smile but for the dimples that came with it. "I understood the situation," she went on. "Digger Foss had been waiting for just that chance. There's just enough Indian and Chinese blood in him to "AND I'LL HELP YOU!" 47 make him a fatalist. He's therefore deadly. Has no fear of death. He's cruel, merciless. I knew when I saw Henry Dodd covering him with that gun that, if he didn't finish what he'd started, he was a dead man. He ccmldn't even have backed off gracefully, keeping Digger cov- ered, and got away alive. Digger is so quick on the draw, and his aim is so deadly. He's a master gunman. Even had Dotld succeeded in getting away then, he would have been a marked man. He had thrown down on Digger Foss. Digger would have got the drop on him next time they met and killed him as you would a coyote. So in my excitement I rushed in with my well meant warning, and Oh, it was horri- ble!" "And you meant actually for Dodd to kill Foss?" Her black eyes dilated, and an angry flush blended with the tan on her cheeks. "It was one or the other of them," she told him coldly. "Mr. Dodd was an honest, plod- ding man a good citizen. Foss is a renegade. Was I so very bloodthirsty in trying to make the best of a bad situation by choosing, on the spur of the moment, which man ought to live on? I'm not the fainting kind of woman, Mr. Drew. One must be practical, if he can, even over matters like that." 48 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "I'm not condemning," he said. "I'm only wondering that a woman could be so practical in such a situation." "Digger Foss hasn't seen me since then," she observed. "He's in jail, awaiting trial, at the county seat. He'll be acquitted, of course. I'm wondering what he'll have to say to me when he is free again." Oliver said nothing to this. "I must be going," she declared, rising sud- denly. "As I said, I came down to warn you to be on your guard against the Poison Oakers." He caught her pony and led it to her. She swung into the saddle, then slued toward him, leaned an elbow on the horn and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. Once more that direct gaze of her frank black eyes looked him through and through. "Well," she asked, "will the Poison Oakers run you off?" "Oh, I think not," he laughed lightly. "They'll be ten against one, Mr. Drew." "There's law in the land." "Yes, there's law," she mused. "But it's so easy for unscrupulous people to get around the law. They can subject you to no end of perse- cution, and you won't even be able to prove that one of them is behind it." She looked him over deliberately. "AND I'LL HELP YOU!" 49 "I'm glad you've come," she said. "You're an educated man, and blessed with a higher order of character than has been anybody else who stood to cross the Poison Oakers. Somehow, I feel that you are destined to be their undoing. They must be corralled and their atrocities brought to an end. You must be the one to put the quietus on that gang. And I'll help you. Good-bye !" She lifted the white mare into a lope, opened the gate, rode through and closed it without leaving the saddle, then, waving back at him, disappeared in the chaparral. CHAPTER VI ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS OLIVER DREW had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between the Old Ivison Place and the American River. He stood contemplating it, watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to work for him. Far below him, down a precipitous pine-stud- ded slope, the green American River raced to- ward the ocean. There had been a week of late rains, and good grass for the summer was as- sured. Away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along, cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the drying lowlands. Now and then he saw a horse- man galloping along a mile distant. He heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft spring wind. The Seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer pastures. He turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of 50 ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 51 hoofs. Six horsemen were approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between clumps of the sparse chaparral. In the lead, straight and sturdy as some an- cient oak, rode a tall man with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. He wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high- heeled boots and chaps. He rode a gaunt grey horse. His tapaderos flapped loosely against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed almost to scrape the ground. A bolstered Colt hung at the rider's side. Silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors. Those who followed him were younger men, plainly vaqueros. They lolled in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. But Oliver's eyes were alone for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor paid any at- tention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an expedition into dangerous and un- known lands. Undoubtedly this was Old Man Selden and his four sons, together with other members of the Poison Oakers Gang. They had left the cows to themselves and were making their way home- 52 ward after the drive. Oliver's first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he should forego no chance of a strategic ad- vantage. Then he decided that it was not for him to begin manoeuvring, and stood boldly in full view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him. They did not. He heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of know- ing that he was not riding alone. He slued about in his saddle. A hand pointed in Oliver's direction. The old man reined in his grey horse and looked toward Oliver and the bee tree. The other horsemen drew up around him. There was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in their saddles and galloped over the uneven land. They reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking clan they were. Keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners. A quick glance Oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their leader. Adam Selden was a powerful man. His nose was of the Bourbon type, large and deeply pitted. His eyes were blue and strong and dom- inating. ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 53 "Howdy?" boomed a deep^bass voice. Oliver smiled. "How do you do?" he replied. Then silence fell, while old Adam Selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco in his mouth and study- ing the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes. "I've found a bee tree," said Oliver when the tensity grew almost unbearable. "I was just figuring on the best way to hive the little rascals." Selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating exaggeration. "Stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked. "Well, I've been here over a month," Oliver answered. "I own the Old Tabor Ivison Place, down there in the valley. My name is Oliver Drew, and I guess you're Mr. Selden." Another long pause, then "Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here sum- mers for a good many years. Just so!" "I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say. "Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows 'round here?" "I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him. 54 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?" "Not at all. I'm immune." "It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and itchier than ever." "I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated. "And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?" "Not in the least." The gang was grinning, but the chief of the Poison Oakers maintained a straight face. "Ain't scared of it, then,'' he drawled on. "Well, now, that's handy. I like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. Got yer place fenced, I reckon?" "Yes, I've repaired the fence." "That's right. That's always the best way. O' course the law says we got to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. Whether that there's a good and just law or not I ain't pre- pared to say right now. But we got to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks' pasture. But it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not. Pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his neighbours. But the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. O' course, though, you know that. Now what're ye gonta do down there on the Old Ivison Place? if I ain't too bold in askin.' ' "Have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. Put a few stands of bees to work for me, if I can find enough swarms in the woods. I have a saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. I don't intend to do a great deal in the way of farming." "I'd think not," Selden drawled. "Land about here's good fer nothin' but grazin' a few months outa the year. Man would be a fool to try and farm down where you're at. How ye gonta make a livin'? if I'm not too bold in askin'." "I intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said Oliver. Silence greeted this. So far as their experi- ence was concerned, Oliver might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufac- ture of tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed partnership. "How long ye owned this forty?" Old Man Selden asked. "Only since my father's death, this year." "Yer father, eh? Who was yer father?" "Peter Drew, of the southern part of the state." "How long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?" 56 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "He owned it for some time, I understand," said Oliver patiently. The grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I can show ye, down to the county seat, that Nancy Fleet who was an Ivison and sister o' the woman I married here about four year ago owned that land up until the first o' the year, anyway. It was left to her by old Tabor Ivison when he died. That was fifteen year ago, and I've paid the taxes on it ever since for Nancy Fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. I paid the taxes last year. What ? a' ye got to say to that?" Oliver Drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. He could only stare at the gaunt old man. "But I have the deed!" he burst out at last. "And I've got last year's tax receipts," drawled Adam Selden. "Ye better go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added, swinging his horse about. "Then when ye've done that, I'd like a talk with ye. Just so! Just so!" He rode off without another word, the gang following. Early next morning Oliver was in the saddle. As Poche picked his way out of the canon Oliver espied Jessamy Selden on her white mare, stand- ing still in the county road. ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 57 "Good morning," said the girl. "You're late. I've been waiting for you ten minutes." Oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly. "I thought you'd be riding out early this morn- ing," she explained, "so I rode down to meet you. I feel as if a long ride in the saddle would benefit me today. Do you mind if I travel with you to the county seat?" He had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand. "You like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "The answer to your question is, I do not mind if you travel with me to the county seat. But let me tell you you'll have to travel. This is a horse that I'm riding." She turned up her nose at him. "I like to have a man talk that way to me," she said. "Don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that." "I wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "You noticed that I let you mount unaided the other day. I might have walked ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off." "That's why I did it," she demurely confessed. "I'm rather proud of being able to take care of 58 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS myself. And as for that wonderful horse of yours, he does look leggy and capable. But, then, White Ann has a point or two herself. Let's go !" Their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side toward Halfmoon Flat. "Well," Oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know I've had an encounter with Adam Selden, and that he has told you he doubts if I am the rightful owner of the Tabor Ivison Place." "Yes, I overheard his conversation with Hur- lock last night," she told him. "So I thought I'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be worried and would hit the trail this morning." "I am worried," he said. "I can't imagine why your stepfather made that statement." "Just call him Adam or Old Man Selden when you're speaking of him to me," she prompted. "Even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take away the bad taste. And you might at least think of me as Jessamy Lomax. I will lie in the bed I made when I espoused the name of Selden, for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that I have gone back to Lomax again. My case is not altogether hopeless, how- ever. You are witness that I have a fair chance ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 59 of some day acquiring the name of Foss, at any rate. So you are worried about the land tangle?" "What can it mean?" he puzzled. "This probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been recorded promptly," she ventured. "That won't affect your owner- ship. Personally I know that Aunt Nancy Fleet's name appears in the records down at the county seat as the owner of the property. She sold it to your father, doubtless, and the trans- fer never was recorded. Where is your deed?" He slapped his breast. "See that you keep it there," she said signif- icantly. "You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the property in the county records?" She nodded. "Then she has allowed Adam Selden to be- lieve that she still owns it!" he cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay the taxes for the right to run stock on the land." She nodded again. He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and " He paused. "And who?" 60 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Well, it's not like my father's business meth- ods to allow a deed to go unrecorded for fif- teen years/' he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I must name him as a party to this conspir- acy against old Adam. But what is the mean- ing of it, Miss Selden? 1 ' "I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calam- ity Gap about ten miles to the north of Half- moon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain." He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though he could not say that this was intentional on her part. "By George, I believe you can explain it !" he accused. "I?" "You heard me the first time." "Did you learn that expression at the Univer- sity of California or in France?" "I stick to my statement," he grumbled. "Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten you. But I prom- ise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a riding outfit or two that will run ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 61 close seconds to yours for decoration and elabo- rate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't men- tion them. I've seen some pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's old, too. Where did you get it?" "They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the 'Forty-niner?" She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle. Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in the silver conchas. She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly: "The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan Smeed, squaw- man, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of gold the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told." "I'll do it," he said ; and out came the strange 62 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS story of Peter Drew and his last message to his son. Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at her. "Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours !" she cried. "You're a man of mystery a knight on a secret quest! "Oh, if I could only help you! Will you let me try?" "I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said. "Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!" Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought the county record- er's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close together. To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy Fleet. "Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy. "They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS 63 turning it over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty mys- terious, Miss Selden." "Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd better eat and be starting back." CHAPTER VII LILAC SPODUMENE ONCE more Oliver Drew rode out of Clinker Creek Canon to find Jessamy Selden, straight and strong and depend- able looking, waiting for him in her saddle. On this occasion he joined her by appointment. She looked especially fresh and contrasty to- day. Her black hair and eyes and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling. This morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side. Oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admira- tion. "How do you do it?" he laughed. "Do what?" "Make yourself so spectacular and er out- standing, without leaving any traces of art?" "Am I spectacular?" "Rather. Different, anyway to use a badly overworked expression. But what puzzles me 64 LILAC SPODUMENE 65 is what makes you look like that. You seem perfectly normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. You're not beauti- ful, and you're too big both physically and men- tally to be pretty. But I'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this section !" She regarded him soberly. "Are you through ?" she asked. "I've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her. "Then we'd better be riding," she said. He swung Poche to the side of White Ann, and they moved off along the road, knee and knee. "You're not offended?" he asked. She threw back her head and laughed till Oliver thought of meadow larks, and robins call- ing before a shower. "Offended! You must think me some sort of freak. Who ever heard of a woman being of- fended when a man admires her? I like it im- mensely, Mr. Oliver Drew. And if you can beat that for square shooting, there's no truth in me. But if you'll analyse my 'difference' you'll find it's only because I'm big and strong and healthy, and try always to shoot straight from the shoulder and look folks straight in the eye. That's all. Let's let 'em out!" They broke into a smart gallop, and continued 66 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS it up and down pine-toothed hills till they clat- tered into Halfmoon Flat. Curious eyes met them, old men stopped in their tracks and leaned on their canes to watch, and folks came to windows and doors as they loped through the village. " 'Whispering tongues can poison truth,' ' Jessamy quoted as they turned a corner and can- tered up a hill toward a grove of pines on the outskirts of the town. "It seems odd that Adam Selden has not mentioned you to me. Surely some one has seen us together who would tell some one else who would tell Old Man Sel- den all about it. But not a cheep from him as yet." "Have you any bosom friends in the Clinker Creek district?" he asked, not altogether irrele- vantly. "No, none at all. But I'm friends with everybody, though I have nothing in common with any one. I don't consider myself superior to the natives here about, but, just the same, they don't interest me. I'm speaking of the women. I like most of the men. I guess I'm what they call a man's woman. I can't sit and talk about clothes and dances, and gossip, and what one did on one's vacation last summer. It all bores me stiff, so I don't pretend it doesn't. Men, now they can talk about horses and sad- LILAC SPODUMENE 67 dies and cows and cutting wood and prizefights and poker games and election " "And women and Fords," he interrupted. She laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in the foliage. They dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. Jessamy tapped vigorously on the panels. Again and again and then there was heard a shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. Presently the door opened, and Old Dad Sloan bleared out at them from behind his flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers. "How do you do, Mr. Sloan!" cried Jessamy almost at the top of her voice. A veined hand shook its way to form a cup be- hind the ancient's ear. "Hey?" he squealed. Jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again. "I say How do you do !" The effort left her neck red but for a blue outstanding artery. "Oh !" exclaimed Dad Sloan, with a look of re- lief. "Why, howdy?" Jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way. 68 "We've come to make you a call/' she an- nounced. "I want you to-meet a friend of mine ; and we want to ask you some questions." The grey head nodded slowly up and down, more to indicate that its owner heard and under- stood than to signify acquiescence. But he tot- tered back and held the door wide open; and Jessamy and Oliver went into the cabin. Dad Sloan managed to live all alone in this sequestered little nook by reason of the coun- ty's generosity. He was old and feeble, and at times irritatingly childish and petulant. Jes- samy Selden often brought him cakes, fried chicken, and the like; and, provided he was in the right mood, he would be more likely to be confidential with her than with anybody else in the country. But the girl's task was difficult. The old man shook hands listlessly with Oliver at her bid- ding, but seemed entirely to have forgotten their previous meeting. They sat in the uncomfort- able straight-backed, thong-bottom chairs while Jessamy shrieked the conversation into the de- sired channel. The old eyes gathered a more intelligent look as she spoke of the lost mine of Bolivio. Pieced together, the fragments that fell from the bearded lips of Old Dad Sloan made some such narrative as follows: LILAC SPODUMENE 09 Bolivio had been a Portugese or a Spaniard, or some "black furriner," who had been in the country in the memorable days of '49 and after- ward. His knowledge of some tongue based on the Latin had made it easy for him to communi- cate with the Pauba Indians that inhabited the country, as some of them had learned Spanish from the Franciscan Fathers down at the coast. Bolivio mingled with the tribe, and finally be- came a squawman. One day he appeared at the Clinker Creek bar and exhibited a beautiful stone. A gold miner who was present had once followed mining in South Africa, and knew something of diamonds. He examined Bolivio's stone, and gave it such simple tests as were at his command, then ad- vised the owner to send it to New York to find out if it was possessed of value. It required months in those days to communi- cate with the Atlantic seaboard. Bolivio's stone was started on its long journey around the Horn. He hinted that there were more of the stones where he had found this one, and created the impression that his Indian brethren had showed them to him. More they could not get out of him. Nor did anybody try very hard to learn his secret, for no one imagined the find of much intrinsic value. Bolivio was a saddler, and was skilled in the 70 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS art of the silversmith. Gold dust was plentiful in the country in that day, and the foreigner found ready buyers for his masterpieces in leather and precious metals. The finest eques- trian outfit that he made was finally acquired from the Indians by Dan Smeed, a miner who afterward turned, highwayman, married an In- dian girl, became an outlaw, and finally disap- peared altogether. In the conchas with which the plaited bridle was adorned Bolivio had set two large stones from his secret store, which he himself had crudely polished. One day, a month QT more before word came from New York regarding the stone, Bolivio was found dead in the forest. A knife had been plunged into his heart. The secret of the bril- liant stones had died with him. Then came the answer. The stone was said to be spodumene, of a very high class, and had a a lilac tint theretofore unknown. It was the finest of its kind ever to have been reported as found in the United States. The finder was of- fered a thousand dollars for the sample sent; one hundred dollars a pound was offered for all stones that would grade up to the sample. But Bolivio was dead, and no one knew from whence the stone had come. Efforts were made, of course, to find the source of this wealth. The Indians were tried time and LILAC SPODUMENE 71 again, but not one word would they speak regard- ing the matter. The new quest was finally dropped; for those were the days of gold, gold, gold, and so frenzied were men and women to find it that other precious minerals were cast aside as worthless. None had time to seek for stones worth a hundred dollars a pound, with gold worth more than twice 'as much. So the lost mine of Bolivio became only a memory. Years later this same stone was discovered six hundred miles farther south. It is now on the market as kunzite, and a cut stone of one karat in weight sells for fifty dollars and more. The San Diego County discovery was supposed to mark the introduction of the stone in the United States, for the lost mine of Bolivio was all but forgotten. Old Dad Sloan thumped out at Jessamy's re- quest and once again critically examined Oliver's saddle and bridle and the brilliants in the conchas. "It's the same fine outfit Bolivio made, and that afterwards belonged to Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, and squawman," he pronounced. "They never was another outfit like it in this country." "Tell us more about Dan Smeed!" screamed the girl. The patriarch shook his head. "Bad egg; 72 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS bad egg!" he said sonorously. "He married a squaw, and that's how come it he got the grand- est saddle and bridle Bolivio ever made. Bolivio's squaw kep' it after Bolivio was knifed. And by and by along come this Dan Smeed and his partner to this country. And when Dan Smeed married into the tribe he got the saddle and bridle and martingales somehow. That was later years later. Bolivio's been dead over seventy year." "Have you ever heard the name Peter Drew?" Oliver asked him. But the old eyes remained blank, and the grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I rec- ollect clear as day what happened sixty to seventy year ago, but I can't recollect what I did last week or where I went," Dad Sloan said pathetically. "If I'd ever heard o' Peter Drew in the days o' forty-nine to seventy, I'd recollect it." "You mentioned Dan Smeed's partner," prompted Jessamy. "Can you recall his name?" "Yes, Dan Smeed had a partner," mused Dad Sloan. "Bad egg, Dan Smeed. Squawman. highwayman, outlaw. Disappeared with his fine saddle and bridle and martingales and the stones from the lost mine o' Bolivio." "But his partner's name?" the girl persisted. The old mind seemed to be wandering once LILAC SPODUMENE 73 more. "Bad eggs both of 'em. Bad eggs," was the only answer she could get. ''Well, we're progressing slowly," Jessamy observed as they rode away. "Our next step must be to visit the Indians. I know a number of them. Filipe Maquaquish, for instance, and Chupurosa are as old or older than Old Dad Sloan. Chupurosa's face is a pattern in crinkled leather. When we go to see Aunt Nancy Fleet we'll visit the Indian village. And that will be when?" "Tomorrow, if you say so," Oliver replied. "I meant to irrigate my garden tomorrow, but it can wait a day." "By the way," she asked, ."have you written that letter to Mr. Selden, telling him what we found out down at the county seat?" "I have it in my pocket," he told her. "Give it to me," she ordered. "I'll hand it in at the post office, get them to stamp the postmark on it, and take it home with me when I go." "Will you dare do that? Won't the post- master scent a conspiracy against Old Man Selden?" "Let him scent!" said Jessamy. "I'm dying to see Selden's face when he reads that letter." They parted at the headwaters of Clinker Creek, with the understanding that she would meet him in the county road next morning for the ride to her aunt's and the Indian reservation. CHAPTER VIII POISON OAK RANCH THE trail that meandered down Clinker Creek Canon extended at right angles to the one that led to the Selden ranch. The latter climbed a baldpate hill ; then, winding its narrow way through dense locked chaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down pre- cipitously into the deep canon of the American Eiver. Jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways and lifted White Ann in- to her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill. For a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, rugged scar that marked the course of the river was visible. Eagged and rocky and covered with trees and chaparral, the canonside slanted down dizzily for over fifteen hundred feet. At the bottom the deep green river rushed pell-mell to the lower levels. A moment and the view was lost to the girl, as White Ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swift descent. 74 POISON OAK RANCH 75 At last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and began clambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. Soon the river was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cut through a seemingly impene- trable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita and scrub oak. Around and about tributary canons they wound their way, and at last reached the end of the steep climb. For a quarter of a mile now the trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a canon that eventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountain- side. Just ahead lay Poison Oak Ranch. Be- yond, the deep, dark forest extended in miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the Sierra Nevada range. While it was possible to reach Poison Oak Ranch from this side of the river, the journey on Shank's mare would have taken on something of the nature of an exploring expedition into un- mapped lands. Occasionally hunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side ; but for the most part any one who fancied that he had business at Poison Oak Ranch came over the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization. Few entertained such a fancy, however, for Poison Oak Ranch, secluded, hidden from sight, tucked away in the Hills of Nowhere, and diffi- cult of access, was owned and controlled by a 76 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS clannish family that had little in common with the world. There was a large log house that Adam Selden's father had built in the days of '49, in which the Old Man Selden of today had first opened his eyes on life. There were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup, two of which were occupied by Hurlock Selden and Winthrop Selden and their families. The re- maining two boys, Moffat and Bolar, lived in the big house with Jessamy, her mother, and the wicked Old Man of the Hills. There was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushed picturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. There were perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. Little more in the way of agricultural land. The Seldens merely made this place their home and headquarters their cattle ranged the hills outside, and most of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away from home. Selden owned a thousand acres over in the Clinker Creek Country and a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. He moved his herds three times in a year from the winter pastures to the Clinker Creek Country for the spring grass, keeping them there till August, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at an altitude of POISON OAK RANCH 77 six thousand feet; and from tlfence, in October, to winter range once more. The Clinker Creek range, however, was comprised of several thousand acres beside the thousand owned by Selden. This represented lands long since de- serted by their owners as useless for agricultural purposes, and upon which Selden kept up the taxes, or appropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. Oliver Drew's forty had been a part of this until Oliver's inopportune arrival. Jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsad- dled her mare. Then she hurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comely woman of fifty-eight. Mrs. Selden had been an Ivison a sister of Old Tabor Ivison, who had homesteaded Oliver's forty acres thirty years before. As a girl she had married Herman Lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. He had done fairly well in the mercantile business in San Fran- cisco, and Jessamy, the only child, was born to them. The girl had been raised to young womanhood and attended the State University. Then her father had died, leaving his business in an involved condition ; and in the end the widow and her daughter found there was little left for them. They returned to the scene of Mrs. Lomax's 78 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS girlhood, where they tried without success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim, the widow had fallen heir. Then to the sur- prise of every one Jessamy most of all Mrs. Lomax consented to marry Old Adam Selden, the father of four strapping sons and "the mean- est man in the country." At the time Jessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now. However, such an independent young woman as Jessamy would not consent to suffer a great deal at the hands of a stepfather. She stayed on with the family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living room and bedroom and went her own way entirely. It must end someday. Old Adam Selden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live for ever. Her mother would not divorce him. So Jessamy stayed and waited, and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent. She was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, with its black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served as dining room and living room as well, when Adam Selden, Bolar, and Moffat rode in from the trail and corraled their horses. Supper was ready as the three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily in basins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. Then Jessamy took Oliver Drew's letter from her POISON OAK RANCH 79 bosom and propped it against old Adam's coffee cup. Selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table. Mail for any Selden was an unusual occurrence. "What's this here?" Adam's thick fingers held the envelope before his eyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower. "Mail," indifferently answered Jessamy, set- ting a pan of steaming biscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table. "Fer me?" " 'Adam Selden, Esquire,' " she quoted. "'Esquire,' eh? Who's she from?" "It's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from," said Jessamy lightly. "In this instance, however, you will find a notation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'From Oliver Drew, Halfmoon Flat, California.' " "Huh!" Selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance on the girl. "D'he give it to ye?" "It is postmarked Halfmoon Flat," said Jes- samy, taking her seat beside Bolar, who, indif- ferent to his father's difficulties, had already consumed three fluffy biscuits spread with but- ter and wild honey. "Ye got her out o' the office, then?" The cold blue eyes were challenging. 80 "Oh, certainly, certainly!" Jessamy chirruped impatiently. "One might imagine you'd never received a letter before." Adam fingered it thoughtfully. "Yes," he said deliberatingly at last, reverting to his cus- tomary drawl, "I got letters before now. But I was just wonderin' if this Drew fella give thisun to you to give to me." Jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference. "Coffee, Moffat?" she asked. "Sure Mike," said Moffat. "Did he?" Selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which marked certain moods. "Oh, dear!" Jessamy complained good-natur- edly. "What's the use? Can't you see the post- mark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?" Selden contemplated them. "Yes, I see 'em," he admitted; "I see 'em. But I thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might 'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you." "That being satisfactorily decided," chirped Jessamy, "let us now open the missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate." "Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!" growled Moffat, his mouth full of potato. "I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in !" thundered Selden. POISON OAK KANCH 81 Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the light from a win- dow flooded the single sheet which the envel- ope contained. He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread angrily. "Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar." "Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jes- samy. "But if you don't wish to, go down into the canon of the American." " 'Adam Selden, Esquire,' " Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's bantering. " 'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:' "'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say, who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My dear Mr. Selden:' " 'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the records in the of- fice of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my 82 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS father, but that the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.' " 'With kindest regards/ " 'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.' " Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with a typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's a liar by the clock!" Jessamy threw back her head in that whole- souled laughter that made every one who heard her laugh. "He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits. "Jess'my" Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his stepdaughter "What're ye laughin' at?" "At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy. "Does that mean me?" "Me, too, Pete !" she rippled. "Looky-here" he leaned toward her "there's some funny business goin' on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down on the Old Ivison Place." "Two times is right," she slangily agreed. "And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the records. Just so!" "Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl. "What for?" "What for?" She levelled her disconcerting POISON OAK RANCH 83 gaze at him. "Well, I like that, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs." "Ye wanted to, eh? Ye wanted to! Did ye see the records?" "I did." "Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it. "It is not." He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yer maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?" "Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, ac- cording to the recorder's office. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?" "It's a lie!" roared Selden. "Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you, are calling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattle whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get the worst of it, but " "Shut up !" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The whole dam' thing's a lie!" "Tell it to the county recorder, then," Jes- samy advised serenely. "Have another piece of steak, Mother." "I'll ride right up to Nancy Fleet's tomorrow. 84 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS I'll get to the bottom o' this business. And you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, Jess'my!" "Oh, I'll do that gladly. That's easy." "Just so! Then keep her outa this fella Drew's, too!" "That's another matter entirely," she told him. "And I may as well add right here, while we're on the subject, that I wish you to keep your nose out of my affairs. There, now we've ruined our digestions by quarrelling at meal- time. Bolar hasn't, though I'm glad some- body appreciates my biscuits." Bolar grinned, and his face grew red. Bolar w r as deeply in love with his step-sister, four years his senior ; but a day in the saddle, with a sharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce per- mit the tender passion to interfere with a lover's appetite. Old Adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. He was a holy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; but ordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. He would not have hesitated to ap- ply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son Mof- fat, as he had threatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born of experi- ence to refrain from defying him. But with his stepdaughter it was different. For some inex- plicable reason he "took more sass" from her POISON OAK RANCH 85 than from any other person living. Deep down in his scarred old heart, perhaps, there was hid- den a deferential respect and fatherly admira- tion for this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune had placed him in daily contact. "Please eat your supper, Mr. Selden," Jes samy at last sincerely pleaded, when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes. Dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table and fell to noisily. But he did not join in the conversation, which now became general. It was a custom in the House of Selden for each diner to leave the table when he had fin- ished eating a custom antedating Jessamy's ad- vent in th.e family, which she never had been able to correct. Bolar had long since bolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach would permit, and had hurried to a half-com- pleted rawhide lariat. Moffat soon followed him out. Then Jessamy's mother arose and left the room. This left together at the table the deliberate eater, Jessamy, and the old man, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter. He too finished before the girl, having com- pleted his supper in the same untalkative mood. 86 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back his chair and rose. "Jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "I want to tell ye one thing. Ye know that I shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip, whichever's handiest and I don't shoot to scare." He waited. Jessamy nodded. "I'll have to admit that," she said. "I think it's the thing I like most about you." He pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pitted nose. "I didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at length said bluntly. "Oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers at him. "I like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way you sit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run and the other thing I men- tioned before." Again he grew thoughtful. "Well, that's something" he finally chuckled. "Ye like my way o' sayin' what I think, then. Well, get this: I'm the boss o' this country, from Red Mountain to the Gap. I been the boss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. So it's the boss o' the Poison Oak Country that's talkin'. And he says this : That new fella Drew POISON OAK RANCH 87 that's made camp down on the Old Tabor Ivison Place can't make a livin' there, can't raise nothing don't belong there. And if by some funny business, that I'm gonta look into right away, he's got a-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail." "Why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "Where do you think you are, Mr. Selden? In Russia Germany? King Selden Second, Czar of all the Poison Oak Provinces! Mr. Drew, owning that land in his own right, must hit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!" "Ye heard what I said, Jess'my" and he clanked out of the room. CHAPTER IX NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL JESS AMY SELDEN stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom, in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two long, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sitting room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps. The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch. The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself ; and with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door and ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room. Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their respective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy as she hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rode away. When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speed 88 NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 89 they swung into the trail and plunged hazard- ously down the mountainside along the serpen- tine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on the other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring mount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of cold baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered upward. At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the headwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw a bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew. "Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that some devilment was afoot, ca- vorted and humped her back and shied from side to side while she bore down swiftly on the wait- ing pair. For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and the bay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At a gallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challenging metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to do that of which "angels could do no more." 90 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?" "Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's to- day," she shouted back. "Good morning!" "Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's tell- ing the world she can." Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning for- ward, caressed the mare's smooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this; a sign of abet- ment, for she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo rival. "There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that old flea-bitten relic so far be- hind it would be cruelty to animals to do it. Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even chance; for I really be- lieve the man wants to be fair." Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her in the saddle. The dew of the morn- ing was on her lips; the flush of it on her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind like streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made was the most en- grossing one he had ever looked on. They slowed to a walk after a mile of it. NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 91 "Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your let- ter." "Yes? Go on. That's a good start." "It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't can't believe that you own the Old Ivi- son Place. So that's why he's fogging 1 it up to Aunt Nancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be at the reserva- tion by the time he reaches the house." "Is he angry?" "Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he has?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and sunburned skin. "Well?" "He says that, whether you own the place cr not, you'll have to leave." "M'm-m ! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would be called fighting talk." "Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning her dark, serious eyes upon him. "But I didn't come up here to fight!" "Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed on his face. "Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thought- ful pause, "I guess I can fight. They didn't 92 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS send me back from France as entirely useless. But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss Selden how many acres of grass does your step er Old Man Selden run cows on for the summer grazing? how many acres in the Clinker Creek Country, in short?" Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after thought. "Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fif- teen acres, all told, that represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen acres added to four thousand makes four thou- sand fifteen acres. The addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the country for that?" She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!" He gave a short laugh of unbelief. "Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this matter too lightly, Mr. Drew." "But heavens !" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pen- nies in his cup ! I've had a short interview with NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 93 Old Man Selden. Corrupt he may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be cor- rupt on a big scale. I couldn't think of the mas- terful old reprobate I talked with as a piker." Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of him as big in many ways." Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all." "Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now. "No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you maintain that he is not a piker." "Yes." Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say: "Well, you haven't explained yet." She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras. For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his? And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in the sky? 94 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS She turned to him then suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame. "I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all. Opened my mouth and put my foot in it." "But can't you tell me how you did that even?" "I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, I went too far on dangerous ground." Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his neck. "I pass," he said. "That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game of draw last night. There was " "Wh-what!" "And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have to admit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw a chance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse off than before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked." He gave this thirty seconds of study. "I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little redder. "I'm not ac- customed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 95 at a dandy little game of draw' just like that. But I'm sure I went too far when I showed sur- prise." "And what's your final opinion on the mat- ter?" She was amused Not worried, not de- fiant. "Well, I I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great deal of thought." "Do so now, please." Obediently he tried as they rode along. "One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business." "Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on." A minute later he asked : "Do you like to play poker?" "Yes." "For er money ?" " 'For er money/ What d'ye suppose crochet needles?" Then he took up his studies once more. Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and straightened in the saddle. "Settled at last!" she cried. "And the an- swer is . . . ?" "The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do." "You approve, then?" "Of everything you do." "Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. 96 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "I don't, and I do. But listen here : One of the few quotations that I think I spout accurately is 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills. I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm a gregarious creature. We have no piano, few books not even a phonograph. Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano in other words an accordion. Of late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the arts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept pace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about 'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!" Ugh! He gives me the jim-jams. "So the one and only indoor pastime of Sel- denvilla is draw poker. Now, if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?" "I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack." "And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirty cents last night." "That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered far afield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranch in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?" NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 97 "I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, I blundered and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn the ans- wer to it today. We'll see. Be patient." "But I'll not learn from you direct." "I'm afraid not." "I think I understand partly," he said after another intermission. "It must be that there's another a bigger reason why he wants me out of Clinker Creek Canon." "You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tell you more now. Don't ask me to." After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the subject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged into Calamity Gap. Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the same traditions. Jes- samy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake- covered cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad tracks. It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate in marrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sisters besides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost hus- bands. Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and Jessamy's black 98 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three were seated in her stuffy little parlour. Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, after stating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answer to his questions. Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew something like fifteen years be- fore. She had never met him till he called on her, and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything! about him. He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep her word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told her that he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree to keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her that secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of his wishes in, this- connection he told her that he was willing to pay a*good price for the land. As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave consent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property for five hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away by offering twenty- five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount, he claimed, and was willing NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL 99 to do so to gain her co-operation in the matter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property was made under the seal of a no- tary public at the county seat, and the money was promptly paid. Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she had made the in- habitants of the country think that she still owned the Old Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had been told to accept any rentals that she might be able to de- rive from it to use it as her own. For sev- eral years Peter Drew had regularly forwarded her a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to pay the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew to that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice. Since that date she had heard no more from the mys- terious purchaser of the land. She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded, but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings. She took a motherly interest in Oliver be- cause of his father, whose generosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn't for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money. "And whatever shall I say, dearie, when 100 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Adam Selden comes to me today?'' she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man just afraid of him." "Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, and the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you free to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr. Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say, don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie." "Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her callers out. "Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the reservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of your mystery by now, Mr. Drew?" "It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused. CHAPTER X JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD A STEEP, tall mountain, heavily wooded, reared itself above the Indian reserva- tion. A creek tumbled over the bould- ers in the mountainside and raced through the village of huts ; and the combined millions of all the irrigation and power companies in the West could not have bought a drop of its water until Uncle Sam's charges had finished with it and set it free again. It was a picturesque spot. Huge liveoaks, centuries old, sprawled over the cabins. Tiny gardens dotted the sunny land. Horses and dogs were anything but scarce, and up the moun- tainside goats and burros browsed off the chap- arral. Wrinkled old squaws washed clothes at the creekside, or pounded last season's acorns into bellota the native dish in mortars hol- lowed in solid stone. Some made earthen olios of red clay; some weaved baskets. Over all hung that weird, indescribable odour which only Indians or their much-handled belongings can produce. 101 102 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "This is peace," smiled Oliver to Jessamy, as their horses leaped the stream side by side and cantered toward the cluster of dark, squat huts. "What do they call this reservation?" "It is named after an age-old dweller in our midst whom, since you are a Westerner, you must have often met." "Who is that?" "Mr. Rattlesnake." "Oh, certainly. I've met him on many oc- casions mostly to his sorrow, I fancy. Rat- tlesnake Reservation, eh?" "Well, that would be it in English. But in the Pauba tongue Mr. Rattlesnake becomes Showut Poche-daka." "What's that!" Oliver turned quickly in his saddle to find her dark wide eyes fixed on him intently. "Say that again, please." "Showut Poche-daka," she repeated slowly." "M'm-m! Strikes me as something of a coin- cidence a part of that name." "Showut is one word," she said, still watch- ing him. "Poche and daka are two words hy- phenated." "And how do the English-speaking people spell the second word, Poche?" he asked. "P-o-c-h-e," she spelled distinctly. "Long o, accent on the first syllable." Oliver reined in. "Stop a 4 second," he ordered JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD 103 crisply. "Why, that's the way my horse's name is spelled. Say, that's funny!" "Is your trail growing plainer?" He looked at her earnestly. "Look here," he said bluntly. "I distinctly remember telling you the other day that my horse's name is Poche. Didn't you connect it with the name of the res- ervation at the time?" "I did." He looked at her in silence. "You did, eh?" he remarked finally. "I don't even know what my horse's name means. Dad bought him while I was away at college. I understood the horse was named that when Dad got hold of him, and that he merely hadn't changed it. Now, I won't say that Dad told me as much outright, but I gathered that impression somehow. I knew it was an Indian name, but had no idea of the meaning." "Literally Poche means bob-tailed short- tailed. That's why it occurs in the title of our friend Mr. Rattlesnake. While your Poche- horse is not bob-tailed, his tail is rather heavy and short, you ; ll admit. Has nothing of the length and graceful sweep of White Ann's tail, if you'll pardon me." ""You can't lead me into joshing just now, young lady. Answer this: Why didn't you tell me, when I told you my caballo's name, that you 104 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS knew what it meant? Most everybody asks me what it means when I tell 'em his name; but you did not even show surprise over the oddity of it and I wondered. And before, when you spoke of this tribe of Indians, you called them the Paubas." "Certainly I showed no surprise, for I am familiar with the word poche and have just proved that I know its meaning. And I'm not very clever at simulating an emotion that I don't feel. I didn't tell you, moreover, because I wanted you to find out for yourself. I thought you'd do so here. Yes and I deliberately called these people the Paubas. They are Pau- bas a branch of the Pauba tribe." "I thought you were to help me," he grumbled. "You're adding to the mystery, it seems to me.'' "Not at all. I'm showing you the trail. You must follow it yourself. Knowing the country, I see bits here and there that tell me where to go to help you out. Poche's name is one of them. Keep your eyes and ears open, while I'm steering you around." "All right," he agreed after a pause. "Lead on!" "Then we'll make a call on Chupurosa Hatch- inguish," she proposed. "Chupurosa means hummingbird, as you doubtless know, since it JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD 105 is Spanish. And if my Chupurosa isn't a bird and also a hummer, I never hope to see one." Oliver's riding outfit created a sensation as the two entered the village. Faces appeared in doorways. Squat, dark men, their black-felt hats invariably two sizes too large, came from nowhere, it seemed, to gaze silently. Dogs barked. Women ceased their simple activities and chattered noisily to one another. Jessamy reined in before a black low door presently, and left the saddle. Oliver followed her. Through a profusion of morning-glories the girl led the way to the* door and knocked. From within came a guttural response, and, with a smile at her companion, she passed through the entrance. It was so dark within that for a little Oliver, coming from the bright sunlight, could see almost nothing. Then the light filtering in through the vines that covered the hut grew brighter. The floor was of earth, beaten brick-hard by the padding of tough bare feet. In the centre was a fire-place little more than a circle of blackened stones from which the smoke was sucked out through a hole in the roof, presum- ably after it had considerately asphyxiated the occupants of the dwelling. Red earthenware and beautifully woven baskets represented the household utensils. There were a few old splint- bottom chairs, a pack-saddle hanging on the wall, a bed of green willow boughs in one corner. These simple items he noticed later, and one by one. For the time being his interested at- tention was demanded by the figure that sat humped over the fire, smoking a black clay pipe. Chupurosa Hatchinguish, headman of the Showut Poche-dakas and a prominent figure in the fiestas and yearly councils of the Pauba tribes, was a treasure for anthropologists. Years beyond the ken of most human beings had wrought their fabric in his face. It was cross- hatched, tattooed, pitted, knurled, and wrinkled till one was reminded of the surface of some strange, intricately veined leaf killed and mum- mified by the frost. From this crunched-leather frame two little jet-black eyes blazed out with the unquenched fires of youth and all the wis- dom in the world. A black felt hat, set straight on his iron-grey hair and almost touching ears and eyebrows, faded-blue overalls, and a dingy flannel shirt completed his garb, as he wore nothing on his feet. "Hello, my Hummingbird!" Jessamy cried merrily in the Spanish tongue. Chupurosa seemed not to be the stoic, "How- Ugh!" sort of Indian with which fiction has JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD 107 made the world familiar. All the tragedy and unsolvable mystery of his race was written in his face, but he could smile and laugh and talk, and seemed to enjoy life hugely. His leathery face now parted in a grin, and, though he did not rise, he extended a rawhide hand and made his callers welcome. Then he waved them to seats. Much as any other human being would do, he politely inquired after the girl's health and that of her family. Asked as to his own, he shook his head and made a rheumatic grimace. "I've brought a friend to see you, Chupurosa," said Jessamy at last, as, for some reason or other, she had not yet exactly introduced Oliver. Chupurosa looked at the man inquiringly and waited. "This is Oliver Drew," said the girl in what Oliver thought were unnatural, rather tense tones. He saw Jessamy's lips part slightly after his name, and that she was watching the old man intently. Chupurosa nodded in an exaggerated way, and extended a hand, though the two had al- ready gone through the handshake formality. Oliver arose and did his part again, then stood a bit awkwardly before their host. He heard a half-sigh escape the girl. "Senor 108 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Drew has not been in our country long," she in- formed the old man. "He comes from the southern part of the state from San Bernar- dino County." Again the exaggerated nodding on the part of Chupurosa. Then there was a pause, which the girl at length broke "Did you catch the name, Chupurosa? Oliver Drew." Chupurosa politely but haltingly repeated it, and grinned accommodatingly. Jessamy tried again. "Do you know a piece of land down in Clinker Creek Canon that is called the Old Ivison Place, Chupurosa?" His nod this time was thoughtful. "Senor Drew now owns that, and lives there," she added. Both Jessamy and Oliver were watching him keenly. It seemed to Oliver that there was the faintest suggestion of dilation of the eye-pupils as this last bit of information was imparted. Still, it may have meant nothing. The Indian crumbled natural-leaf with heel of hand and palm, and refilled his terrible pipe. "Any friend of yours is welcome to this coun- try and to my hospitality," he said. "Senor Drew rode all the way up here horse- back," the girl pushed on. "You like good 109 horses, Chupurosa. Senor Drew has a fine one. His name is Poche." For the fraction of a second the match that Oliver had handed Chupurosa stood stationary on its trip to the tobacco in his pipe. Chupu- rosa nodded in his slow way again, and the match completed its mission and fell between the blackened stones. "And you like saddles and bridles, too, I know. You should see Senor Drew's equip- ment, Chupurosa." Several thoughtful puffs. Then "Is it here, Senorita?" "Yes," said the girl breathlessly. "Will you go out and look at it?" This time the headman puffed for nearly a minute; then suddenly he rose with surprising briskness. "I will look at this horse called Poche," he announced, and stalked out ahead of them. A number of Indians, old and young, had gathered about the horses outside the little gate. They were silent but for a low, seemingly guarded word to one another now and then. Every black eye there was fixed on the gorgeous saddle and bridle of Poche in awe and admira- tion. Then came Chupurosa, tall, dignified as the distant mountain peaks, and they backed off in- 110 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS stantly. At his heels were Oliver and the girl, whose cheeks now glowed like sunset clouds and whose eyes spoke volumes. Thrice in absolute silence the headman walked round the horse. Completing the third trip, he stepped to Poche's head and stood attentively looking at the left-hand concha with its glisten- ing stone. Then Chupurosa lifted his hands, slipped the chased-silver keeper that held the throatlatch in place, and let the throatlatch drop. Both hands grasped the cheekstrap near the brow-band, and turned this part of the bridle inside out. Oliver felt a slight trembling, it was all so weird, so portentous. He almost knew that the jet eyes were searching for the "B" chiselled into the silver on the inside of the concha, knew posi- tively by the quick dilation of the pupils when they found it. At once the old man released the bridle and readjusted the throatlatch. He turned to them then, and silently motioned toward the hut. Jessamy cast a triumphant glance at Oliver as they followed him inside. To Oliver's surprise he closed the door after them. Then, though it was now so dark inside that Oliver could scarce see at all, Chupurosa stood directly before him and looked him up and down. JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD 111 He spoke now in the melodious Spanish. "Senor," he asked, "is there in the middle of your body, on the left side, the scar of a wound like a man's eye?" Oliver caught his breath. "Yes," he replied. "I brought it back from France. A bayonet wound." Up and down went the iron-grey head of the sage. "I have never seen the weapon nor the sort of wound it makes," he informed Oliver gravely. "Take off your shirt." "Oh, Chupu-ro-sa !" screamed Jessamy as she threw open the door and slammed it after her. CHAPTER XI CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA IT was evident to Oliver Drew that Clinker Creek was lowering fast, as Damon Tamroy had predicted that it would do. He feared that it would go entirely dry just when certain vegetables would need it most. Again, also following Tamroy's prophecy, the flow from his spring proved insufficient to keep all of his plantings alive, even though he had impounded the surplus in a small clay-lined reservoir. He stood with hands on hips today, frowning at the tinkling stream of water running from the rusty length of pipe into the reservoir. "There's just one thing to do," he remarked to it, "and that's to see if I can't increase your putter-putter. I want to write an article on making the most of a flow of spring water, any- way ; and I guess I'll use you for a foundation." Whereupon he secured pick and shovel and sledge and set about removing the box he had so carefully set in the ground to hold his domestic water. When the box was out he enlarged the hole, and, when the water had cleared, studied the 112 CONCERNING SPRINGS 113 flow. It seeped out from a fissure in the bed- rock or what he supposed was the bedrock and it seemed a difficult matter to "get at it.' ? However, he began digging above the point of egress in the resistant blue clay, and late that afternoon was down to bedrock again. And now when he had washed off the rock he discovered a strange thing. This was that the supposed bedrock was not bedrock at all, but a wall of large stones built by the hand of man. Through a crevice in this wall the water seeped, and when he had gouged out the puttylike blue clay the flow increased fivefold. He sat down and puzzled over it, expecting the flow to return to normal after some tiny un- seen reservoir had been drained of its surplus. But it did not lessen, and had not lessened when night came. At midnight, thinking about it in bed and un- able to sleep, he arose, lighted a lantern, and went down to the spring. The water was flow- ing just the same as when he had left it. He was not surprised to find the work of hu- man hands in and about his spring, but this wall of stones was highly irregular. It ap- peared that, instead of having been built to con- serve the water, it was designed to dam up the flow entirely. The old flow was merely seepage through the wall. He was at it again early next morning, and soon had torn down the wall entirely and thrown out the stones. At least five times as much water was running still. He recalled that Damon Tamroy had said the spring had given more water in Tabor Ivison's day than now. There was but one answer to the puzzle. For some strange reason somebody since Tabor Ivi- son's day had seen fit to try to stop the flow from the spring altogether. But who would go to such pains to do this, and hide the results of his work, as these had been hidden? And, above all, why? It is useless to deny that Oliver Drew at once thought of the Poison Oakers. But what excuse could they produce for such an act? Surely, with the creek dry and the American Kiver sev- eral miles away, they would encourage the flow of water everywhere in the Clinker Creek Coun- try for their cattle to drink. It was beyond him then and he gave it up. He laid more pipe and covered it all to the land level again, and viewed with satisfaction the in- creased supply of water for the dry summer months to come. And it was not until a week later that Jessamy Selden unconsciously gave him an answer to the question. CONCERNING SPRINGS 115 He was scrambling up the hill to the west of the cabin that day to another bee tree that he had discovered, when he heard her shrill shout- ing down below. He turned and saw her and the white mare before the cabin, and the girl was looking about for him. He returned her shout, and stood on a black- ened stump in the chaparral, waving his hat above the foliage. "I get you!" she shrilled at last. "Stay there ! I'm coming up !" Fifteen minutes later, panting, now on hands and knees, now crawling flat, she drew near to him. A bird can go through California "locked" chaparral if it will be content to hop from twig to twig, but the ponderous human ani- mal must emulate Nebuchadnezzar if he or she would penetrate its mysteries. "What a delightful route you chose for your morning crawl," she puffed, as at last she lay gasping at the foot of the stump on which he sat and laughed at her. Oliver lighted a cigarette and inhaled indo- lently as he watched her lying there with heav- ing breast, her arms thrown wide. She did everything as naturally as does a child. She wore fringed leather chaps today, and remarked, when she sat up and dusted the trash from her 116 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS hair, that she was glad she had done so since he had made her come crawling to his feet. "And that reminds me of something that I've decided to ask you," she added. "Has it oc- curred to you that I am throwing myself at you?" She looked straight into his face as she put the naive question to him. "Why do you ask that?" he countered, eyes on the tip of his cigarette. "I'll tell you why when you've answered." "Then of course not." "I suppose I am SL bit crude," she mused. "At least it must look that way to the natives here- about. I was fairly confident, though, that you wouldn't think me unmaidenly. I sought you out deliberately. I was lonely and wanted a friend. I had heard that you were a Univer- sity man. You told Mr. Tamroy, you know. It's perfectly proper deliberately to try and make a friend of a person, isn't it? if you think both of you may be benefited. And does it make a great deal of difference if the subject chances to be of the other sex?" "I'm more than satisfied, so far as I come in on the deal," Oliver assured her. "I thank you, sir. And now I've been ac- cused to my face of throwing myself at you which expression means a lot and which you doubtless fully understand." CONCERNING SPRINGS 117 "Who is your accuser?" "The author of 'Jessamy, My Sweetheart.' ' "Digger Foss, eh?" She closed both eyes tightly and bobbed her head up and down several times, then opened her eyes. "He's a free man again tried and ac- quitted." "No !" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" He puffed his cigarette meditatively. "Doesn't it strike you as strange that you and I were not subpoenaed as witnesses?" "I've been expecting that from you. No, sir it doesn't. Digger's counsel didn't want you and me as witnesses." "But the prosecuting attorney." "He didn't want us either." "Then there's corruption." "If I could think of a worse word than cor- ruption I'd correct you, so I'll let that stand. Digger Foss is Old Man Selden's right hand; and Old Man Selden is Pythias to the prosecut- ing attorney of this man's county." Oliver's eyes widened. "Elmer Standard is the gentleman in ques- tion. What connection there can be between him and Adam Selden is too many for me; but Selden goes to see him whenever he rides to the county seat. Only the right witnesses were al- 118 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS lowed to take the stand, you may be confident. I knew the halfbreed's acquittal was a fore- gone conclusion before the smoke from his gat had cleared." Both were silent for a time, then she said: "Elmer Standard runs things down at the county seat. I've heard that he allows open gambling, and that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places." "But there are no saloons now." "Indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "I didn't know. I never have frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. Anyway, Digger Foss is as free as the day he was born ; and Henry Dodd, the man he murdered, lies in the little cemetery in the pines near Half moon Flat. But there's another piece of news: Adam Sel- den has " "Pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with Digger Foss." "Oh, that! Well, I met him on the trail be- tween Clinker Creek and the American yester- day. He accused me of being untrue to him while he was in jail." "Yes?" "I admitted my guilt. Never having had the slightest inclination to be true to him, I told him, it naturally followed that I was untrue to him and wasn't it a glorious day? How on CONCERNING SPRINGS 119 earth the boy ever got the idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is beyond me. I don't scold him, and I don't send him packing nor do I give him the least encour- agement. I simply treat him civilly when he ap- proaches me on a commonplace matter, and ig- nore him when he tries to get funny. And he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. How can he be so stupid ! I haven't been supe- rior enough with him but I hate to be superior, even to a halfbi-eed. And he's quarter China- man. Heavens, what am I coming to !" "How did the meeting end?" queried Oliver. "Well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. He attempted to kiss me, and I attempted to cut his face open with my quirt. Both of us missed by about six inches, I'm thankful to say. And the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. By the way, I've never seen you pack a gun, Mr. Drew." He shrugged. "I used to down on the cow ranch in San Bernardino County, but I think I grew up over in France." "You have one, of course." "Yes a 'forty-five." "Can you handle a gun fairly well?" "I know which end to look into to see if it's loaded." "Can you ^pin a dollar in air with your left 120 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS hand, draw, and hit it before it strikes the ground?'' "Aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "I'm after another colony of bees. Come on up and look at 'em." "Sit still," she ordered. "Can you do what I asked about?" "I don't know I've never tried." "Digger Foss can," she claimed. "Well, that's shooting." "It is. I'd strap that gun on if I were you and practice up a bit." "Cartridges are too high-priced," he laughed. "What's the rest of the news?" "The store up at Cliffbert, about fourteen miles from here and off the railroad, was broken into three days ago and robbed of cutlery, revol- vers, and other things to the tune of several hun- dred dollars." "M'm-m ! Do they have any idea who did it?" "Oh, yes. The Poison Oakers." "They know it?" "Of course everybody knows it. But it can't be proved. It's nothing new." "I didn't know the gang ever went to such a limit." "Humph !" she sniffed significantly. "And the next piece of news is that Sulphur Spring has CONCERNING SPRINGS 121 gone dry for the first time in many years. And here it's only May !" "Where is Sulphur Spring?" "About a mile below your south line, in this canon. I heard Old Man Selden complaining about it last night, and thought I'd ride around that way this morning. It's as he said en- tirely dry, so far as new water running into the basin is concerned." "Well," said Oliver, "my piece of news is just the opposite of that. My spring is running a stream five times as large as heretofore " She straightened. "What caused that?" she demanded quickly. He explained in detail. "So!" she murmured. "So! I understand. Listen: I have heard the menfolks at the ranch say that all these canon springs are connected. That is, they all are outbreaks from one large vein that follows the canon. If you shut off one, then, you may increase the flow of the next one below it. And if you open one up and increase its output, the next below it may go entirely dry. The flow from yours has been cut off in time gone by to increase the flow of Sulphur Spring. And now that you've taken away the obstruc- tion, your spring gets all the water, while Sul- phur Spring gets none." 122 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "I believe you're right," asserted Oliver. "And do you think it might have been the Poison Oakers who closed my spring to increase the flow down there?" "Undoubtedly." "But why? They were running cows on my land, too, before I came. Wouldn't it be handier to have a good flow of water in both places?" "No doubt of that," she answered. "And I can't enlighten you, I'm sorry to say. All I know is that Old Man Selden is hopping mad angrier than the situation seems to call for, as springs are by no means scarce in Clinker Canon." Jessamy's disclosures had ended now, so they scrambled on up the hill toward the bee tree. The colony had settled in a dead hollow white- oak. The tree had been broken off close to the ground by high winds after the colony had taken up residence therein. The hole by which they made entrance to the hollow trunk, how- ever, was left uppermost after the fall, and ap- parently the little zealots had not been seriously disturbed. Anyway, here they were still winging their way to and from the prostrate tree, the sentries keeping watch at the entrance to their increas- ing store of honey. Oliver had found the tree two weeks before, CONCERNING SPRINGS 123 purely by accident. At that time the hole at which the workers entered had been unob- structed. Now, though, tall weeds had grown up about the tree, making a screen before the hole and preventing the nectar-laden insects from entering readily. "This won't do at-all-at-all," he said to Jes- samy, as she took her seat on a limb of the bee tree. "There must be nothing to obstruct them in entering, for sometimes they drop with thier loads when they have difficulty in winging di- rectly in, and can't get up again.' "Uh-huh," she concurred. She had unlaid one of her black braids and was replaiting it again after the havoc wrought by the prickly bushes. Oliver lighted his bee-smoker and sent several soft puffs into the hole to quiet the bees. Then without gloves or veil, which the experienced beeman seldom uses, he laid hold of the tall weeds and began uprooting them. Thus en- gaged, he kneeled down and reached under the tree trunk to get at the roots of certain obsti- nate plants; and in that instant he felt a sharp sting in the fleshy part of his wrist. "Ouch ! Holy Moses !" he croaked. "I didn't expect to find a bee under there!" "Get stung?" "Did I! Mother of Mike! I've been stung 124 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS many times, but that lady must have been the grandmother of Why, I'm getting sick dizzy ! " He came to a pause, swayed on his knees, and closed his eyes. Then came that heart-chilling sound which, once heard, will never be forgot- ten, and will ever bring cold terror to mankind the rattlebone whir-r-r-r-r of the diamond- back rattlesnake. Oliver caught himself, licked dry lips, and was gazing in horror at two bleeding, jagged inci- sions in his wrist. The girl, with a scream of comprehension, darted toward him. He bal- anced himself and smiled grimly as she grabbed his arm with shaking hands. "Got me," he said, "the son-of -a-gun ! And I'd have stuck my hand right back for another dose if he hadn't rattled." Jessamy grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to force him to the ground. "Sit down and keep quiet!" she ordered, sternly, her nerves now firm and steady, her face white and determined. "No, not that way !" She grasped him under the arms and with the strength of a young Amazon slued him about as if he had been a sack of flour. Deftly she bound his handkerchief about Ms CONCERNING SPRINGS 125 arm, drawing it taut with all her strength. Something found its way into his left hand. "Drink that!" she commanded. "All of it. Pour it down !" Then her lips sought the flaming wound; and she clamped her white teeth in his flesh and be- gan sucking out the poison. At intervals she raised her head for breath and to spit out the deadly fluid. "Drink!" she would urge then. "And don't worry. Not a chance in the world of your be- ing any the worse after I get through with you." Oliver obeyed her without question, taking great swallows from the flask of fiery liquor and closing his eyes after each. His senses swam and he felt weak and delirious, though he could not tell whether this last was because of the poi- son or the liquor he had consumed. At last Jessamy leaned back and fumbled in a pocket of her chaps. She produced a tiny round box, from which she took a bottle of dry permanganate of potash and a small lancet. With the keen instrument she hacked a deep x in his arm, just over the wound. Then she wet the red powder with saliva and worked a paste into the cuts with the lancet. This done, she sat back and regarded her pa- tient complacently. 126 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Just take it easy," she counselled. "And, whatever you do, don't worry. You won't know you were bitten in an hour. Sip that whisky now and then. It won't kill the poison, as some folks seem to believe, but it will make you light- hearted and you'll forget to worry. That's the part it plays in a case like this. Now if I can trust you to keep quiet and serene, I'll seek re- venge." He nodded weakly. She arose, and presently again came that sick- ening whir-r-r-r-r-r miscalled a rattle, followed immediately by a vicious thud-thud-thud. "There, you horried creature!" he heard in a low, triumphant tone. "You thought I was afraid of you, did you? Bring total collapse on all your fictitious traditions and bite before you rattle, will you! Requiescat in pace, Mr. Showut Poche-daka!" Half an hour afterward Oliver Drew was on his feet, but he staggered drunkenly. To this day he is not just sure whether he was intoxi- cated or raving from the effects of the snakebite. Anyway, as Jessamy took hold of him to steady him, his reason left him, and he swept her into his arms and kissed her lips time and again, though she struggled valiantly to free herself. Ultimately she ducked under his arms and CONCERNING SPRINGS 127 sprang away from him backward, her face crim- son, her bosom heaving. "Sit down again!" she ordered chokingly. "Shame on you, to take advantage of me like that!" "Won't sit down !" he babbled, reaching about for her blindly. "I love you an' I'm gonta have you!" "You're out of your head! Sit down again! Please, now." Her tone changed to a soothing note. "You're I'm afraid you're drunk." He was groping for her, staggering toward a threatening outcropping of rock. With a rapid leap she closed in on him unexpectedly, heaved desperately to the right and left, and threw him flat on his back. Then she scrambled on top of his knees as he strove to rise again. "Now, looky-here, mister," she warned, "you've gone just about far enough! In a sec- ond I'll get that bee-smoker and put you out of business. Please please, now, be good !" He seemed partially stunned by the fall, for he lay now without a move, eyes closed, his mind wandering dreamily. And thus he lay for half an hour longer, when he suddenly raised his head and looked at her, still propped up on his knees, with eyes that were sane. "Golly!" he breathed. 128 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Golly is right," she agreed drolly. "Were you drunk or crazy?" "Both, I guess. I'm mighty sorry." His face was red as fire. "Do you wish to get up?" "If you please." He stood on his feet. He was still weak and pale and dizzy. "Heavens! That liquor!" he panted. "What is it? Where did you get it?" "At home. Old Adam gave me the flask over a year ago. It's only whisky. I always carry a flask for just such an emergency as this. And I never go a step out of the house in the summer without my snakebite kit. Nobody ought to in the West." He shook his head. "That's not whisky," he said. "I'm not exactly a stranger to the taste of whisky. That's brimstone !" "I was told it was whisky," she replied. "I know nothing about whisky. I've never even tasted it." He held the flask to the sun, but it was leather- covered and no light shone through. He un- screwed the metal cap and poured some of the liquor into it. It was colourless as water. "Moonshine!" he cried. "And I know 'now CONCERNING SPRINGS 129 why the flow from my spring was cut off. A still calls for running water!" "You may be right," she said without excite- ment. "You will remember that I told you there is another reason besides Selden's covet- ousness of your grass land why you are wanted out of the Clinker Creek Country." THE POISON OAKERS RIDE A RED-HEADED, red-breasted male lin- net sat on the topmost branch of the old, gnarled liveoak near Oliver's window and tried to burst his throat to the accompani- ment of Oliver's typewriter. When the keys ceased their clicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more the dicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody. "Well, I like to be accommodating," remarked Oliver, leaning back from his machine, "but I can't accompany you all day; and it happens that I'm through right now." He surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaning of springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article com- pleted, his mind was no longer engrossed by it. Other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the soft spring air won- dering about old Chupurosa Hatchinguish and his strange behaviour on seeing the gem- mounted conchas stamped with the letter B. 130 THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 131 When Oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar that a German bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by the ancient chief. Oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in his inscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirt again. He had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at all until the young man had finished dressing. Then he had stepped to the door and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest's presence in the hut was no longer necessary. As Oliver passed out he had spoken : "When next the moon is full," he said, "the Showut Poche-dakas will observe the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio, as taught them years ago by the padres who came from Spain. Then will the Showut Poche-dakas dance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by the wise men of their ancestors. Ride here to the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio on the first night that the moon is full. Adios, amlgo!" That was all; and Oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight and found Jessamy Selden. The two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, but neither could throw any light on the matter. But the first night of the full moon was not far distant now, and Oliver and the girl were awaiting it impatiently. 132 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gain an inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father for thirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this country to find out whether its answer was Yes or No. Oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. Out in the liveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintively occasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. But Oliver's thoughts were far from his work. That burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain was undoubtedly moon- shine and redistilled at that, no doubt. Jes- samy had told him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since old Adam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea that the flask had not contained amber- coloured whisky. Was this in reality the rea- son why the Poison Oakers wished him to be gone? Had they been distilling moonshine whisky down at Sulphur Spring to supply the blind pigs controlled by the prosecuting at- torney at the county seat? And had his inad- vertent shutting off of Sulphur Spring's supply of water stopped their illicit activities? They had known, perhaps, that eventually he would discover that his own spring had been choked THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 133 by some one and would rectify the condition. Whereupon Sulphur Spring would cease to flow and automatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. Oliver decided to look for Sulphur Spring at his earliest opportunity. His brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, when either the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back's fangs or both had deprived him of his senses. He remembered perfectly what he had said what he had done. He had heard sometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. But had he been drunk, or rabid from the hypo- dermic injections of Showut Poche-daka? Or, again both? One thing he knew that he thrilled yet at remembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again. Had he told the truth? Had he said that day what he would not have revealed for anything at that time? Hia brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips. His teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. Had he told the truth? He rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung to him to the years of his young manhood. He stalked to the cheap rectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in the flawed glass. Blue eye 134 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked the question : "Did I tell the truth when I said I loved her?" His eyes answered him. He knew that he had told the truth. Then if this was true and he knew it to be true what of the halfbreed, Digger Foss? He remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reeling against the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindly for support re- membered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzle of whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra's head sways back and forth to the charmer's music remem- bered the cruel insolence of the Mongolic eyes, mere slits. He swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knothole in the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. He noted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. He hurled the pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled '45 that lay there, wheeled, and fired at the knothole. There had been no appreciable pause between his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw no bullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away. He chuckled grimly. "I might get out my THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 135 army medals for markmanship and pin 'em on my breast for a target," he said. Then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of the house. "Ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?'' it boomed. There was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. It was Old Man Selden who had called to him. Oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door, which always stood open these days, inviting the countless little liz- ards that hisi invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter and make themselves at home. The gaunt old boss of the Clinker Creek Country stood, with chap-protected legs wide apart, on Oliver's little porch. His broad- brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, and his cold blue eyes were pierc- ing and direct, as always. In his hands he held the reins of his horse's bridle. Back of the grey seven men lounged in their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. Digger Foss was not among the number. "How d'ye do, Mr. Selden," said Oliver in cor- dial tones, thrusting forth a strong brown hand. Selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that he had not noticed it. 136 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumps showed over the hinges of his jaws. He changed his tone immediately. "Well, what can I do for you gentlemen?" he inquired brusquely. "We was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said Selden. "So I dropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt." "I beg your pardon," Oliver returned, "but you must have been dismounted when I fired. This being the case, you already had decided to call on me. So, once more, how can I be of serv- ice to you?" The grins of the men who rode with Adam Sel- den disappeared. There was no mistaking the businesslike hostility of Oliver's attitude. "Peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the rider whose knee pressed his. Oliver looked straight at Old Man Selden, and to him he spoke. "I am not peeved about anything," he said. "But when a man comes to my door, and I come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my in- ference is that the call isn't a friendly one. So if you have any business to transact with me, let's get it off our chests." Oliver noted with a certain amount of satis- faction the quick, surprised looks that were THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 137 flashed among the Poison Oakers. Apparently they had met a tougher customer than they had expected. All this time the cold blue eyes of Adam Sel- den had been looking over the pitted Bourbon nose at Oliver. Selden's tones were unruffled as he said: "Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot yerself." "I don't care to listen to subtle threats," Oliver returned promptly. "Poison oak does not trouble me at all neither the vegetable var- iety nor the other variety. I'm never in favour of bandying words. If I have anything to say I try to say it in the best American-English at my command. So I'll make no pretence, Mr. Selden, that I have not heard you don't want me here in the canon. And I'll add that I am here, on my own land, and intend to do my best to remain till I see fit to leave." Selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the young man was not without an element of admiration. No anger showed in his voice as he said: "Just so ! Just so ! I wanted to tell ye that I been down to the recorder's office and up to see Nancy Fleet, my wife's sister. Seems that you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; but I thought, so long's we was 138 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ridin' along this way, I'd drop off an' have a word with ye." "I'm waiting to hear it." "No use gettin' riled, now, because " "If you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that I have." "Just so!" Selden drawled. "Well, then, I'll accept her now if I ain't too bold." "You will not," clicked Oliver. "Will you please state your business and ride on?" "Friendly cuss, ain't he, Dad?" remarked one of the Selden boys which one Oliver did not know. "You close yer face!" admonished Selden smoothly, in his deep bass. "Well, Mr. Drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that's none o' my concern. And if ye got money to live on comin' from somewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. But when ye stop the run o' water from a spring that I'm dependin' on to water my critters in dry months, it is my con- cern an' that's why I dropped off for a word with ye." "How do you know I have done that?" Oliver asked. "Well, 'tain't likely that a spring like Sulphur Spring would go dry the last o' May. Most o' these springs along here are fed from the same vein. You move in, and Sulphur Spring goes THE POISON OAKERS RIDE 139 dry. So that's what I dropped off to talk to ye about. Just so!" "I suppose," said Oliver, "that the work I did on my spring has in reality stopped the flow of Sulphur Spring. But " "Ye do? What makes ye suppose so? if I ain't too bold in askin'." Oliver's lips straightened. Plainly Selden suspected that Jessamy had told him of the pecu- liarity of the canon springs, and was trying to make him implicate her. But the old man was not the crafty intriguer he seemed to fancy him- self to be. He already had said too much if he wished to make Oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel. "Why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what I did to clean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "But, as I was about to remark when you inter- rupted me, I can't see that that is any concern of mine. That's putting it rather bluntly, per- haps; but I am entirely within my rights in de- veloping all the water that I can on my land, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me." "Right there's the point," retorted Selden. "I'm a pretty good friend o' the prosecutin' at- torney down at the county seat. He tells me ye can't take my water away from me like that." 140 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Then I should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on the laws governing the development and disposition of water in this state," Oliver promptly told him. "I wrote him," said Selden, "an' I'll show ye the letter if ye'll invite me in." For the first time Oliver hesitated. Why did Selden wish to enter the cabin? Could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? It flashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside so that some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out the volume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increase it. This only added to his belief that the Poison Oakers were responsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. Well, why not let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard? "Certainly," he invited. "Come in." And he stood back from the door. Selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. At the same time he was reaching in- to his shirtfront for the letter. Then an odd thing occurred. He was about to take the chair that Oliver had pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridle which had come to stand for so much in Oliver's life, hanging from a thong in one corner of the room. THE POISON OAKEKS RIDE 141 The old Poison Oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he was moved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils be- gan dilating. But almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again. "I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked. "Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look her over?" "Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to the big question and its answer. Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the martingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside, Oliver heard foot- steps, and suspected that the investigation of his spring was on. At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that his spacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to one side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward the gem-mounted concha on the left-hand side of the bridle saw thumb and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out. Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, and Oliver grew tense 142 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the old man's face. "That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and laid a letter on the oilcloth- covered table. The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and was signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, re- marking : "He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to look into the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly, and fortunately am better posted than most lay- men are on the subject." But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blue eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his face. Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, a smile crossed his bearded lips. "Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew I judge ye're right," he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to fuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' I oughtn't to butted in. But us ol'- timers, ye know, we Well, I guess we oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't trouble ye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, THE POISON OAKERS HIDE 143 I reckon. Ye might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter but I guess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up some day they'll be glad to see ye." And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than when he had first faced him on the porch. The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up the canon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutes after they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in the opposite di- rection, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached the south line of his property. An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and canons for Sulphur Spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it. It was hidden away in a little wooded canon, with high hills all about, and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it. While cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond the heavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had been designed to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring. Moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapid evapo- rating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course below the bushes. 144 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. Cold water remained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had ceased entirely. He bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of the basin. Almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece of three- quarter-inch iron pipe. Then in the pool before his face there came a sudden chug, and a little geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. Oliver drew back instinctively. His face blanched, and his muscles tightened. Then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of a heavy-calibre rifle. CHAPTER XIII SHINPLASTBR AND CREEDS WHITE ANN and Poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the ridge that upreared itself between Clinker Creek Canon and the American. Oc- casionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn steers, each branded with the insignia of the Poison Oakers. Once a deer crashed away through thick chaparral. Young jackrabbits went leaping over the grassy knolls at their approach. Down the timbered hillsides grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. Next day would mark the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of June. Jessamy Selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. Her hat lay over her saddle horn. Her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear, after the constant fashion of the Indian girls. So far Oliver Drew had not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did her hair. 145 146 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "What are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected question. "So we're going to be heavy thfe morning, eh?" "Oh, no not particularly. There's usually a smattering of method in my madness. You haven't answered." "Seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question. If you could narrow down a bit be more specific " "Well, then, do you believe in that?" She raised her arm sharply and pointed down the pre- cipitous slopes to the green American rushing pell-mell down its rugged canon. They had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of debris behind the craft in the middle of the river. "That dredge?" he asked. "What's it to do with religion?" "To me it personifies the greed of all man- kind," she replied. "It makes me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny particles of gold in the earth and rocks. Ugh ! I detest the sight of the thing. The gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 147 flashing there in that filaree blossom! It will buy silk gowns, and any spider can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. It will build tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? Bah, I hate the sight of the thing!" "Gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her. "I suppose so," she sighed. "We've gotten to a point where gold is necessary. But, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as God intended us to be! I detest anything util- itarian. I hate orchards because they supplant the trees and chaparral that Nature has planted. I hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they demand ruin rugged canons and valleys. I hate railroads, because their hideous old trains go screeching through God's peaceful solitudes. I hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into God's chapels." "But they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he said. "And all of them are not irreverent." "Oh, yes I know. I'm selfish there. And I'm not at all practical. But I do hate 'em!" "And what do you like in life?" he asked amusedly. 148 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "Well, I have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing," she laughed. "But I'm only halfway approaching my subject. Do you like missionaries?" "I think I've never eaten any," he told her gravely. But she would not laugh. "I don't like 'em," she claimed. "I don't believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to force if necessary the believers in other religions to trample under foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. All peoples, it seems to me, be- lieve in a creator. That's enough. Let 'em alone in their various creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion. Are you with me there?" "I think so. Only extreme bigotry and ego- tism can be responsible for the zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to try and bend them to his way of thinking." "I respect all religions all beliefs," she said. "But those who go preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other fellow's faith. And that's not Christlike in the first place." He knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time disclose, but he won- dered not a little at her trend of thought this morning. SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 149 "The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply reli- gious," she declared suddenly. "Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were grad- ually pushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influence of the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of Catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. I have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the Sun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in a su- preme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiesta tomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is in readi- ness. The ramadas are all built, and the dance floor is up, and Indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away." "Will you ride up with me tomorrow after- noon?" he asked. "Yes, I think so that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to say about you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes, all the whites attend the fiestas. The Cali- fornia Indian is crude and not very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the fiestas are fascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; but they're interesting, even, if they don't show a great deal of imagination. 150 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat the other day." She unbottoned the flap on a pocket of her chaparejos, and handed him a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper. "Am I to open it now or wait till dhristmas?" he asked. "Now," she said. The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster. "Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned a blank face to her. "Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coat dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is exhausted." She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes. "It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she ex- plained. "I had a bottle of the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. It seems* to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a decollette ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's fin- gers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisible when it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit to you in the fire dance." SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 151 "Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got my feet wet. Come across !" "Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinion that you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio tomorrow night." "I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss you have the wrong number. I don't dance the fire dance at all." "I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplaster might help pro- tect your feet and legs. I put some on my sec- ond finger and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove." "Yes?" "Well, I took it off again. But, honestly, the finger that had none on at all felt a little hotter, I imagined. I'm sure it did, and I only had two coats on. I know you'll be glad you tried it, and the Indians will never know it's there." "I'm getting just a bit interested," he re- marked. "Well," she said, "after what passed between you and Chupurosa Hatchinguish that day, I'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. And I know the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to mem- 152 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS bership. White men who have married Indian women are about the only ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the Showut Poche-da- kas ; so in your case it is a distinct honour. "I have seen this fire dance. While a white person cannot accurately interpret its signifi- cance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your endeavour to ally yourself with the Showut Poche-dakas. "For instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs, what you have been taught and, oh, everything that might be against the alliance. All this, I say, is represented by the fire. And in the fire dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your bare feet if you would be- come brother to the Showut Poche-dakas." "With my bare feet? Stamp out these ob- jections?" "Yes as represented by the fire." "You mean I must stamp out a fire with my bare feet? Actually?" "Actually literally honest-to-goodnessly !" "Good night!" cried Oliver. "I'll cleave to my kith and kin." "And never learn the question that puzzled SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 153 your idealistic father for thirty years? Nor whether the correct answer is Yes or No?" "But, heavens, I don't put out a fire that way !" "It's not so dreadful as it sounds," she con- soled. "You join the tribe, and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and hours and hours, till the fire is con- veniently low. Then the one who is to be admit- ted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe the champion fire-dancer, in short jump on what is left of the fire and stamp it out. Of course there are objections to you from the view- point of the Showut Poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative of them. If the fire proves too much for your bare feet the ob- jections are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary Showut Poche-daka. But if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet the ceremony is over, and you're It. And when the other Indians see that you two Indians" her eyes twinkled "are getting the better of the fire, they'll jump in and help you/' "A very entertaining ceremony for the grandstand," was Oliver's dry opinion. "Of course the Indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on you there. Hence this liquid courtplaster. It's worth a trial. Honestly, I held my finger on the stove oh, ever so long! A full second, I'd say." Back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as, drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking laughter out over the hills and canons. "I'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last. "I can do so openly now since you've won the heart of Adam Sel- den. What do you think? He told me to in- vite you over sometime! But all this doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled Colt I see on your hip today for the first time. Ex- plain both, please." "Well," he said, "Selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined Poche's bridle and saw the B on the back of a, concha." "Ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips. "And then he grew nice as pie and that's all there is to that." "And the six?" "Well, I buckled it on this morning, thinking I might practice up a bit, as you advised." "So far so good. Now amend it and tell the truth." "I went down to Sulphur Spring after the Poison Oakers left me, and as I was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and I got my eyebrows wet. As .1 don't like to SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS 155 have anybody but myself wet my eyebrows, I'm totin' a six. And I rather like the weight of it against my leg again. It reminds me!" "Who shot at you?" He shrugged. "At you, do you think? or into the water to frighten you?" "Whoever fired could not see me, but knew I was in the bushes about the spring. Took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a touch of highlife, don't you think?" "I wonder if the bullet is still in the basin.'* "I never thought of that. I ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as nobody showed up, rode back home." She lifted White Ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks. "We'll ride to Sulphur Spring and look for that bullet," she announced. "And be ambushed," he added, as Poche fol- lowed White Ann's lead. CHAPTER XIV HIGH POWER JESSAMY and Oliver had wheeled their horses with smch unexpected suddenness that the man who was trailing them was caught off his guard. He stood plainly revealed for a moment in the open ; then he found his wits and plunged indiscriminately into the shield- ing chaparral. "Oh-ho!" cried Jessamy in a low tone. "The plot thickens! Did you see him?" "I'm going after him," declared her compan- ion. "Stop !" she commanded, as he lifted Poche for a leap toward the skulker's vanishing point. He reined in quickly. "Why?" "What good will come of it? Why try to nose him out? We may be ahead in the end if we play the game as they do. We have more chance of finding out what they're up to by leav- ing them alone, I'd say." "Play the game, eh?" he repeated. "So there's a game being played. I didn't just know. Thought all that's afoot was the big idea 156 HIGH POWER 157 of chasing me over the hills and far away. And from Selden's latest attitude, it looks as if that had been abandoned. Game, eh?" "That's what I'd call it. Quite evidently the man was spying on us." "Did you recognize him?" "I can't make sure." "But you think you know him," he said with conviction. "Yes. I imagined it was Digger Foss. But he got to cover pretty quickly." "His horse can't be far away. Maybe we can locate him somewhere along the back trail. I'd know that rawboned roan." "So should I. Let's send 'em along a little faster." They had by this time reached the opening in the chaparral into which their shadow had dodged. By common consent they passed it without looking to right or left. "He may imagine we didn't see him," whis- pered Jessamy. "I hope he does." There was an open stretch ahead of them, and across it they galloped, the girl piercing the thickets on the right in search of a saddle horse, Oliver sweeping the slopes that descended to the river. But neither saw a horse, and in the trail were no hoofprints not made by their own mounts. 158 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS "He has been afoot from the start," decided Jessamy. "I wish I knew whether or not it was Digger Foss." They wound their way down to Sulphur Spring presently, and came to a halt in the ra- vine below it. "Now," said Oliver, "who knows but that my sniper is not hidden up there in the hills?" "I'll look for that bullet," she purposed, and swung out of her saddle. "Oh, no you won't!" His foot touched the ground with hers. "Yes listen! No one would shoot at me. But they might take another crack at you, even with me along to witness it. If they were hid- den and could get away unseen, you know. But they'd not shoot at me." "How do you know?" "Well, I'm one of them after a fashion. They all like* me and at least one of them wants to gather me to his manly breast and fly with me." "But things are different since I came. You've taken sides with me. If any one looks for that slug, I'm the one that'll do it." He started toward the spring. "Stop!" she ordered, and grasped his shirt- sleeves. "Listen here : I'd bet a dollar against a HIGH POWER 159 saddle string that that was Digger Foss we saw up on the ridge." "Well?" "He's afoot. He can't have had time to get down here and guard Sulphur Spring." "All right. Well?" "And I know positively that Adam Selden and the boys are up north today after a bunch of drifters. So none of them can be here. That eliminates six of the Poison Oakers. There would be left only Obed Pence, Ed Buchanan, Chuck Allegan, and Jay Muenster all privates, next to outsiders. None of them would shoot at me, and " She came to a full stop and eyed him speculatively. "And I'm going to look for that bullet," she finished limpingly. Oliver looked her over thoughtfully. "I can't say that I get what you're driving at at all," he observed. "But it seems to me that you're try- ing to convey that, with the Seldens and Digger Foss eliminated, there is no danger." She closed her eyes and gave him several vig- orous, exaggerated nods. "But aren't all of the Poison Oakers con- cerned in my speedy removal from this country?" "Well yes" hesitatingly. "That's right. But the four will not molest me. I know. Please let's not argue about what I know is right!" 160 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS His lips twitched amusedly. "But one of the four might take a pot-shot at me. Is that it?" Again the series of nods, eyes closed. "You see," she said, "only the Seldens and Digger Foss accuse me of being on your side. So if any one of the other four were to see me go to the spring he'd think I was merely after water, or something. But if you were to go, why why, it might be different." Saying which she unexpectedly darted away from him up the ravine, left the shelter of the trees, and walked boldly to the spring. She parted the bushes and disappeared from sight. Oliver stole quickly to the edge of the cover and hid behind a tree, his Colt unholstered and hanging in his hand. His eyes scoured the tim- bered hills on both sides of the spring, but not a movement did he see. He puzzled over Jessamy's speech as he watched for evidences of a hostile demonstra- tion. "It smacks of a counter-plot," he mused. "All of the Poison Oakers want me out of here, but only the Seldens and the halfbreed are aware that Jessamy is friendly with me. But these four must know it everybody in the country does by now. It would look as if Old Man Sel- den and his chosen five are the only ones who sus- HIGH POWER 161 pect her of having an interest in me beyond pure friendship, then. That's it! She said there was another reason other than the grazing mat- ter why Old Man Selden wants me away. And that can't be moonshining, after all; for if Pense and the others are likely to shoot me at the spring, they're in on that. But now ap- parently Selden wants to appear friendly. I can't get it! Jessamy's not playing just fair with me. She's keeping something back. She's too honest and straightforward to be a good dis- sembler; she's bungling all the way." She was returning swiftly down the ravine be- fore he had reached the end of his conclusions. She held up something between dripping fingers as she entered the concealment of the trees. "It's perfect still," she announced. "I thought it wouldn't be flattened or bent, since it struck the water." Oliver took the small, soft-pointed, steel- banded projectile from her hands and studied it. "M'm-m!" he muttered. "What's this? Looks no larger than a twenty-two." She nodded. "So I'd say. A twenty-two high-power wicked little pill." "And which of the Poison Oakers packs a twenty-two high-power rifle? Do you know?" "It happens that I do. I've taken the pains to acquaint myself with the various guns of the 162 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS Poison Oakers. Most of them use twenty-five- thirty-fives. Old Man Selden, Bolar, and Jay Muenster use thirty-thirties. There's one twen- ty-two high-power Savage in the gang, and it's a new one. They say it's a devilish weapon." "Who owns it?" "Digger Foss." "Then it was Foss who shot?" "Yes and it's he who was following us to- day. You see, Digger 'lives closer to this part of the country than any of the rest. He'd be the only one likely to come in afoot." "Do you think he tried to lay me out?" She looked off through the trees, and her face was troubled. "I'm afraid he did," she replied in a strained, hushed key. "Had you been in sight, we might determine that he had shot at the water before your face to put the fear of the Poison Oakers into your heart. But he couldn't see you, in there hidden by the dense growth. It was a fifty-fifty chance whether he got you or not. If he'd merely wished to bully you, he'd never taken the chance of killing you by firing into the growth." "I guess that's right," he said. "And now what's to be done? I'll never be able to forget the picture of Henry Dodd clutching at White Ann's legs for support in his death struggle. The situation is graver than I thought. I ex- HIGH POWER 163 pec ted to be bullied and tormented; but I didn't expect a deliberate attempt on my life." With an impetuous movement she threw her bare forearm horizontally against a tree trunk, and hid her eyes against it. "Oh, I wish, you hadn't come !" she half sobbed. "But you had to you had to! And now you can't leave because that would be running away. And you're as good as dead if this side- winder gets the right chance at you. What can we do!" Oliver was silent in the face of her distress. What could he do indeed ! All the chances were against him, with his enemies ready and will- ing to take any unfair advantage, while his man- liness would not let him stoop to the use of such tactics. They probably would avoid an out-and-out quarrel, where the chances would be even for a quick draw and quick trigger work. They would ambush him, as the halfbreed had attempted to do. He believed now that only the density of the growth about Sulphur Spring had stood between him and death, for Digger Foss was accounted an expert shot. He gently pulled Jessamy Selden from the tree. "There, there!" he soothed. "Let's not bor- row trouble. They haven't got me yet. Let's ride on. And I think you'd better give me a little more of your confidence. I feel that you're keeping me in the dark about some phases of the deal." She mounted in silence, and they turned up Clinker Creek toward Oliver's cabin. "I'd never make a successful vamp, even if I were beautiful," she smiled at last. "I can't hide things. I give myself away. I'm always bungling. But I can play poker, just the same !" she added triumphantly. "Don't try to hide things, then," he pleaded. "Tell me all that's troubling you." She shook her head. "That's the greatest dif- ficulty," she complained. "I shouldn't have let you know that I have a secret, but I bungled and let it out. And I must keep it. But just the same, I'm with you heart and soul. I'm on your side from start to finish, and I want you to believe it." "I do," he said simply. As they reached the cabin he asked : "Did you feel the end of the pipe under the water in the spring?" She nodded. Then with the promise to meet him next morning for their ride to the fiesta, she moved her mare slowly up the canon and disap- peared in the trees. CHAPTER XV THE FIRE DANCE' THE round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that Oliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy pictured. The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines and spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in the distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune. In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost impenetrable chaparral and tim- ber, a hundred or more human beings were clus- tered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now and then an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the hill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the fire in a great circle, 165 166 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's edge. Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle of brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and in the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the skins of those who danced with him. For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and directly oppo- site him in the circle, always across the fire from him as the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian, like- wise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash upon the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed from their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and leaped at them in- cessantly. For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an old squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rank would THE FIKE DANCE 167 close and fill the vacancy; and this automati- cally made the circle smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must touch each other always as they circled slowly. Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red and yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell, with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whose ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattling of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It "was the toy of childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of the hills and canons, simple-minded and serene. Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled the fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the con- stant thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they broke into chanting a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel heathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their feet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained over the last stamp- ing step. It required many long minutes for the entire circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and on till the 168 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in real- ity took on the aspect of a tormenting, threaten- ing ogre which this rite must crush. Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands, growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dance would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on. When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that blazed ; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to the end of time. At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent, almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people. His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut where he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then hehad been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then the slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he must surely lose his reason. On his feet and legs was the liquid court- plaster, and Chupurosa had not obserred it. THE FIRE DANCE 169 Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling of being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man oppo- site, any of the mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning feet. He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at him encouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces that danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the circle went slowly round and round. An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. From beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged him out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closer to the fire by the breadth of one human body. Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered with doleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face a young woman. She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body as they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that he scarce could lift his feet so high. Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reek- ing with sweat caused by the intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at 170 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS once one inward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away; fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the turtle shell. Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew the outlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still the passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in. The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and dripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and the white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames. But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism responsible for this or- deal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, though obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Some- thing of the fierce, dogged nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dying by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him, became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and, held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he stamped on crazily, his THE FIEE DANCE 171 teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight for- gotten. And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dy- ing enemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a Chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine. Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. His brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the fire that the weird chanting and the strange- ness of it all had brought about. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills the moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the fire gleamed. Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now the only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional heartrending grunt. On and on round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand. Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of grey showed in the eastern sky. Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plod- ded now about the failing fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen Showut Poche-dakas and Oliver Drew ! All were men, 172 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS young men in life's full vigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn. Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent assemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling. At once, back of the circle of tottering danc- ers, a weird chant arose till it drummed in Oli- ver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep. Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands were jerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and he thought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotous shouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and spite- ful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were locked with those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they two were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet. How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreated muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long, concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid. Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at THE FIRE DANCE 173 the fire, and a herd of dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction. A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming dawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high in words which in English are these : "The evil fire god has been defeated. No bar- rier stands between the white man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of time he who has danced the fire dance to- night and conquered the evil spirit shall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!" Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English : "Seven hours and twenty minutes the long- est fire dance in the history of the tribe!" And the new brother of the Showut Poche- dakas heard no more. CHAPTER XVI A GUEST AT THE RANCHO THEN there was feasting and racing and dancing and much ado. Dice clicked ; cards sputtered; the pawn passed in the ancient peon game. There was a barbecued steer, athletic contests, and competitions in markmanship. The Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio was to continue throughout the entire period of the full moon, and there must be diver- sion for every day and every night. Oliver Drew awoke the next day after the fire dance in the ramada which had been assigned to him. He felt as if he had been passed through a stamp mill, so sore were his muscles and so burned and blistered w r ere feet and legs. He had been carried to his bed of green willow boughs directly after the dance, where he had slept until nearly nightfall. Then he had been awakened and given food. After eating he fell asleep once more, and slept all night, his head in the silver-mounted saddle that Bolivio had made. He dragged himself from the shakedown and 174 A GUEST AT THE KANCHO 175 went and sat at an opening in the booth. The ramada of the California Indian is merely an arbourlike structure built of newly cut limbs of trees, their still unwithered leaves serving to screen the occupants from outside eyes. The birds were singing. Up the steep moun- tainside back of the reservation the goats and burros of the Showut Poche-dakas browsed con- tentedly on buckthorn and manzanita bushes. There was the smell of flowers in the drowsy air, mingling strangely with that indescribable odour that permeates an Indian village. It was noticeably quiet outside. Doubtless the Indians were enjoying an early-morning siesta after some grilling orgy of the night be- fore. Oliver groaned with the movements nec- essary to searching his pockets for cigarette materials. His groan was mimicked by a familiar voice in the doorway. Jessamy Selden entered. "I've been listening for a sound from you," she chirruped. "My, how you slept! All in?" "Pretty nearly," he said. She came and sat beside him on a box. "Are you badly burned?" "Oh, no. I guess your courtplaster helped some. But I'm terribly sore. And, worst of all, I feel like an utter ass !" "Why, how so?" 176 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS He snorted indignantly. "I went nutty," he laughed shortly. "I have lost the supreme contempt which I have always had for people who go batty in any sort of fanatical demon- stration, like that last night. I've seen sup- posedly intelligent white folks go absolutely wild at religious camp meetings in the South, and I always marvelled at their loss of control. Now I guess I understand. Hour after hour of what I went through the other night, with the chanting and wailing and the constant rattle of those con- founded cherry stones, and the terrible heat, and men and women giving out all about me, and the perpetual thud-thud of bare feet ugh! I wouldn't go through it again for ten thousand dollars." "I thought it best not to warn you of the severity of it beforehand," she announced com- placently. "Very few white men have ever danced the fire dance, and only one or two have held out to the end. Of course failure to do so signifies that the powers working against the affiliation are too strong to be overcome. These men who failed, then, did not become brothers of the Showut Poche-dakas." "Lucky devils!" "Here, here!" she cried. "Don't talk that way. You're glad, aren't you?" A GUEST AT THE RANCHO 177 "I'm tickled half to death." "Is it possible that you do not take this seri- ously, Mr. Drew?" "Look here," he said : "why didn't you tell me more of what I might expect at this fool per- formance?" "I was afraid you might look at the matter much as you're looking at it now/' she answered. "I knew you'd go through with it, though, if you once got started. I knew it to be a terrible ordeal, but I was confident that you would win." "I thank you, I'm sure. Win what, though? The reputation of being a half-baked simpleton?" "Do you imagine that the white people who saw you are ridiculing you?" "Aren't they " "Absolutely nothing of the sort! You're the hero of the hour. People about here always attend the fiestas, and you'll be surprised to note the seriousness and lack of levity that they show in regard to the rites and ceremonies of the Showut Poche-dakas. It's an inheritance from the old days, I suppose, when the few white men who were here found it decidedly to their ad- vantage to be friendly with the Indians. They glory in your grit, and everybody is talking about you. You should have heard Old Man Selden. 'There's a regular man,' he loudly informed 178 THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS every one after the dance. And folks about here listen to what Old Man Selden says, for one reason or another." "But it was such an assinine proceeding!" "Was it? I thought you respected the other fellow's beliefs and religious practices." "Was that a religious dance?" "Decidedly. All of their dances are religious at bottom. You were trying to overcome the evil spirit, represented by the fire, that stood between you and your union with the Showut Poche- dakas. You are one of the few who have weathered this ordeal and won. And now you're a recognized member of the tribe." "And is that an enviable distinction?" "What do you think about that?" Oliver was silent a time. "Tell the truth," he said at last, "I've been thinking more of my sore muscles and scorched legs, and of the ridiculous figure I supposed I had cut the other night. I suppose, though, that when a hundred or more fellow creatures unamimously admit a rank out- sider to the plane of brotherhood, one would be shallow minded indeed to look upon it too lightly." "Exactly. Just what I wanted to hear you say. And the more simple natured and trusting they are, the more it devolves upon you to treat their brotherhood with respect and reverence. A GUEST AT THE RANCHO 179 You are now brother to the Showut Poche-dakas ; and you'll be a wiser man before you're older by many days. In this little village you have always a refuge, no matter what the world out- side may do to you. Nothing that you could do against your own race can make you an utter outcast, for here are your brothers, always eager to shelter you. If you owned a cow and lost it, a word from you would send fifty mounted men scouring the hills till the cow had been found and restored to you. Will the people of your own race do that? If the forest was burning throughout the country, rest assured your property would be made safe before your brothers turned their efforts to protecting the homes of other white men. Is it trivial, my friend?" "No," said Oliver shortly. "You have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "You are the first white man on record who has been adopted by the Showut Poche-dakas without first marrying an Indian girl. And even then they must win out in the fire dance. If they fail, their brides must go away with them, ostracized from their people for ever." "How many white men have been honoured with membership?" he asked.