A Daughter of the Dons | Page 3

Tom there, boss; ye went back after un," corrected
the Cornishman.
"Anyhow, we made it in the nick o' time. Tom all right, Doctor?"
The doctor looked up from his examination.
"No bones broken. He seems sound. If there are no internal injuries it
will be a matter of only a day or two in bed."
"Good. That's the way to talk. You got to make him good as new,
Doctor. You ought to have seen the way he stayed by that drill when
the water was pouring through the cracks in the granite. Have him
taken to the hospital, and send the bill to me."
Tregarth boomed out in a heavy bass:
"What's the matter with the boss? Both of un? They be all right. Bean't
they, lads?"
It was just after the answering chorus that Pesquiera came forward and
bowed magnificently to the young mine operator. The New Mexican's
eyes were blazing with admiration, for he was of Castilian blood and
cherished courage as the chief of virtues.
"I have the honor to salute a hero, señor" he cried enthusiastically.

"Your deed is of a most fine bravery. I, Manuel Pesquiera, say it. Have
I the right in thinking him of the name of Mr. Richard Gordon?"
Something that was almost disgust filmed the gray eyes of the young
miner. He had the Anglo-Saxon horror of heroics. What he had done
was all in the day's work, and he was the last man in the world to enjoy
having a fuss made over it.
"My name is Gordon," he said quietly.
The Spaniard bowed again.
"I have the honor to be your servant to command, Don Manuel
Pesquiera. I believe myself to be, sir, a messenger of fortune to you--a
Mercury from the favoring gods, with news of good import. I, therefore,
ask the honor of an audience at your convenience."
Dick flung the wet hat from his curly head and took a look at the card
which the Spaniard had presented him. From it his humorous gaze went
back to the posturing owner of the pasteboard. Suppressing a grin, he
answered with perfect gravity.
"If you will happen round to the palace about noon to-morrow, Señor
Pesquiera, you will be admitted to the presence by the court flunkies.
When you're inquiring for the whereabouts of the palace, better call it
room 14, Gold Nugget Rooming-House."
He excused himself and stepped lightly across to his companion in the
adventure, who had by this time recovered consciousness.
"How goes it, Tom? Feel as if you'd been run through a
sausage-grinder?" he asked cheerily.
The man smiled faintly. "I'm all right, boss. The boys tell me you went
back and saved me."
"Sho! I just grabbed you and slung you in the cage. No trick at all, Tom.
Now, don't you worry, boy. Just lie there in the hospital and rest easy.

We're settling the bill, and there's a hundred plunks waiting you when
you get well."
Tom's hand pressed his feebly.
"I always knew you were white, boss."
The doctor laughed as he came forward with a basin of water and
bandages.
"I'm afraid he'll be whiter than he need be if I don't stop that bleeding. I
think we're ready for it now, Mr. Gordon."
"All right. It's only a scratch," answered Gordon indifferently.
Pesquiera, feeling that he was out of the picture, departed in search of a
hotel for the night. He was conscious of a strong admiration for this fair
brown-faced Anglo-Saxon who faced death so lightly for one of his
men. Whatever else he might prove to be, Richard Gordon was a man.
The New Mexican had an uneasy prescience that his mission was
foredoomed to failure and that it might start currents destined to affect
potently the lives of many in the Rio Chama Valley.
CHAPTER II
THE TWO GRANTS
The clock in the depot tower registered just twelve, and the noon
whistles were blowing when Pesquiera knocked at apartment 14, of the
Gold Nugget Rooming-House.
In answer to an invitation to "Come in," he entered an apartment which
seemed to be a combination office and living-room. A door opened into
what the New Mexican assumed to be a sleeping chamber, adjoining
which was evidently a bath, judging from the sound of splashing water.
"With you in a minute," a voice from within assured the guest.

The splashing ceased. There was the sound of a towel in vigorous
motion. This was followed by the rustling of garments as the bather
dressed. In an astonishingly short time the owner of the rooms appeared
in the doorway.
He was a well-set-up youth, broad of shoulder and compact of muscle.
The ruddy bloom that beat through the tanned cheeks and the elasticity
of his tread hinted at an age not