The Story of a Mine | Page 5

bound. I've an extra pack mule above here; you can ride on her,
and lead me into camp, and to-morrow come back for your beast."
Poor honest Concho's heart sickened at the prospect of leaving behind
the tired servant he had objurgated so strongly a moment before, but
the love of gold was uppermost. "I will come back to thee, little one,
to-morrow, a rich man. Meanwhile, wait thou here, patient
one,--Adios!--thou smallest of mules,--Adios!"
And, seizing the stranger's hand, he clambered up the rocky ledge until
they reached the summit. Then the stranger turned and gave one sweep
of his malevolent eye over the valley.
Wherefore, in after years, when their story was related, with the
devotion of true Catholic pioneers, they named the mountain "La
Canada de la Visitacion del Diablo," "The Gulch of the Visitation of
the Devil," the same being now the boundary lines of one of the famous
Mexican land grants.
CHAPTER II
WHO FOUND IT
Concho was so impatient to reach the camp and deliver his good news
to his companions that more than once the stranger was obliged to
command him to slacken his pace. "Is it not enough, you infernal
Greaser, that you lame your own mule, but you must try your hand on
mine? Or am I to put Jinny down among the expenses?" he added with
a grin and a slight lifting of his baleful eyelid.
When they had ridden a mile along the ridge, they began to descend
again toward the valley. Vegetation now sparingly bordered the trail,
clumps of chemisal, an occasional manzanita bush, and one or two
dwarfed "buckeyes" rooted their way between the interstices of the
black-gray rock. Now and then, in crossing some dry gully, worn by

the overflow of winter torrents from above, the grayish rock gloom was
relieved by dull red and brown masses of color, and almost every
overhanging rock bore the mark of a miner's pick. Presently, as they
rounded the curving flank of the mountain, from a rocky bench below
them, a thin ghost-like stream of smoke seemed to be steadily drawn by
invisible hands into the invisible ether. "It is the camp," said Concho,
gleefully; "I will myself forward to prepare them for the stranger," and
before his companion could detain him, he had disappeared at a sharp
canter around the curve of the trail.
Left to himself, the stranger took a more leisurely pace, which left him
ample time for reflection. Scamp as he was, there was something in the
simple credulity of poor Concho that made him uneasy. Not that his
moral consciousness was touched, but he feared that Concho's
companions might, knowing Concho's simplicity, instantly suspect him
of trading upon it. He rode on in a deep study. Was he reviewing his
past life? A vagabond by birth and education, a swindler by profession,
an outcast by reputation, without absolutely turning his back upon
respectability, he had trembled on the perilous edge of criminality ever
since his boyhood. He did not scruple to cheat these Mexicans,--they
were a degraded race,--and for a moment he felt almost an accredited
agent of progress and civilization. We never really understand the
meaning of enlightenment until we begin to use it aggressively.
A few paces further on four figures appeared in the now gathering
darkness of the trail. The stranger quickly recognized the beaming
smile of Concho, foremost of the party. A quick glance at the faces of
the others satisfied him that while they lacked Concho's good humor,
they certainly did not surpass him in intellect. "Pedro" was a stout
vaquero. "Manuel" was a slim half-breed and ex-convert of the Mission
of San Carmel, and "Miguel" a recent butcher of Monterey. Under the
benign influences of Concho that suspicion with which the ignorant
regard strangers died away, and the whole party escorted the
stranger--who had given his name as Mr. Joseph Wiles--to their
camp-fire. So anxious were they to begin their experiments that even
the instincts of hospitality were forgotten, and it was not until Mr.
Wiles--now known as "Don Jose"-- sharply reminded them that he

wanted some "grub," that they came to their senses. When the frugal
meal of tortillas, frijoles, salt pork, and chocolate was over, an oven
was built of the dark-red rock brought from the ledge before them, and
an earthenware jar, glazed by some peculiar local process, tightly fitted
over it, and packed with clay and sods. A fire was speedily built of pine
boughs continually brought from a wooded ravine below, and in a few
moments the furnace was in full blast. Mr. Wiles did not participate in
these active preparations, except to give occasional directions between
his teeth, which were contemplatively fixed over a clay pipe as he lay
comfortably on his back on