CHAPTER IV.THE PLUNGER FROM KANSAS.
Events of great importance were crowding themselves thick and fast upon the attention of more people in the capital of Chihuahua than the leader of his people, the Governor, and his able coworker, Guillermo Gonzales, and Julio Murillo, his assistant.
Governor Lehumada had long been practicing to make his personal desires subordinate to a very high standard of right. He had fixed his sole purpose of thought upon a desire to bring about a means for the recovery of memory.
He had received many impressions through the gift he had of placing the spiritual world first in his thoughts and his actions.
Evil he believed to be the result of a microbic condition of matter. The happy results obtained by the rise of the “Memory Fluid,” were turning the tide of thought into a more spiritual channel, the fact of which was in itself sufficient compensation for the years of labor the great men had had in bringing about their scientific discovery of “Memory Fluid.”
The name of Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir had within the last ten days become a household word. At first most every one looked upon his ideas, as portrayedby the press, as a big joke; but now the clergy had made bold (for they believed their staunch supporter had a big following,) to attack “Memory Fluid” as an enemy of life, as a messenger of evil. Yet they hailed it as their mascot, for they claimed to believe that, though a great evil within itself, through it would come a revolution which would result in the re-establishment of the Church and the Mexican Republic, which would be controlled by the former.
The very audacity of such statements made the public stop to pant; and a few stopped a little longer tothink.
Governor Lehumada was reviewing the ideas advanced by Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, and hoped to be given the light which would enable him to see the outcome. So intent was he with “his feast with his soul,” as he termed his moments of abstraction, that he did not notice that Mr. Niksab had returned to the reception-room. “Your Honor,” spoken in a rather loud voice, caused the Governor to start and look around.
“Pardon me,” he said, “I did not hear you, so intent was I reflecting upon all that we have just witnessed.”
Mr. Niksab bowed, and continued: “The scientist requests me to say to you that the subject now under treatment is undergoing some wonderful changes, and your Honor will do him a great favor by witnessing the workings of ‘Memory Fluid.’”
“With much pleasure. We will enter at once. It is the eternal spirit that is calling out to him. He hears, thank God, he hears.”
Guillermo Gonzales waved the Governor and Mr.Niksab to seats near the table upon which J. Ecarg lay. His body was undergoing great pain; convulsion after convulsion shook his frame. His face was ghastly and his features contorted.
Mr. Niksab’s whole nervous system was wrought up to the highest pitch, out of sympathy for his friend. Not able to sit by calmly and witness the fearful convulsions, he arose:
“Great God!” he exclaimed. “It is death!”
“It is death,” quietly assented the scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, which statement was approved by a nod from the heads of the Governor and Julio Murillo.
Mr. Niksab knelt by the side of his friend, and cried aloud: “Great God, spare him a while longer, that he may have time to repent.”
“Arise, my friend,” said the Governor—“This is not the passing away of your friend. It is only the death of diseases which have been holding him down to darkness more than two hundred years.”
“Give yourself no uneasiness,” added Guillermo Gonzales—“your friend is only reaching the point where he can live.”
“Hark!” said Julio Murillo. “Victory is close at hand. Memory will assert itself soon.”
The prophecy of the Mexican was soon to be fulfilled. J. Ecarg drew himself up and said without the least hesitation: “I remember the circumstances perfectly. I kept a hostelry of some repute in this city then. That was in the fall of the year 1898. Being the largest city within only a short distance of the Rio Grande, the beautiful and progressive Mexican city hadbecome known, and not without much regret from the law-abiding Mexicans, as a rendezvous for many Americans who were refugees from justice. As a rule I was not in favor of shielding my countrymen; but my heart went out to a young man who was in such distress, such great mental torture. He called upon me late the very night of his arrival in Chihuahua, and on bended knee begged me to shield him from the fury of the law. He had no remorse of conscience for the wrongs he had committed. His only fear was the juzado. He most likely would have committed the same offences upon Mexican soil the day of his arrival, if there had been the slightest opportunity, and if he had not felt sure that he would have to face the four bare walls of a prison for the remainder of his life. There was a man in the city—an American, of good birth and education, a prospector and railroad man—who was my friend in every sense of the word. He spoke the Mexican tongue without a flaw. I appealed to him to find a place of refuge on somehacienda, for our distressed countryman. My friend said:
“‘Your will is mine. But tell me, John, what is the name of this refugee from justice?’
“‘He is known,’ I replied, ‘as “The Plunger from Kansas.”’”
A cry rang out through the room, as if some animal of high mettle had been wounded.
Every one jumped to his feet and the look of pain and surprise was quite visible on each face.
From whence had the unearthly cry come? was the unspoken question on the white lips of all save Mr. Niksab. They soon understood.
“He is my friend. John, do you not remember? It was I, Niksab, who took ‘The Plunger from Kansas’ in a coach, on a dark, rainy night, to a cabin in the mountains on thehaciendaof Don Alberto Ulloa. I supplied him with the necessities of life, and there he remained for many weeks in fear and trembling. You know me, now, John, don’t you?”
John did not reply; he had lapsed into a cataleptic state, and his anxious listeners were doomed to wait for further evidence, which would help to conclude their test case.
Mr. Niksab walked the floor and wrung his hands: “He is dead now, I am sure,” he cried; but the great author of “Memory Fluid” put his hand upon his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, and in a quiet, reassuring voice said:
“Again you are mistaken. It is only a further death of the millions of microbes which breed disease in his body.”
“Ah, I forget,” said Mr. Niksab.
“You are not freed from the awful gnawings of the creatures yourself; but it is not toforgetthat you are here. It is, on the other hand,to remember,” replied the Governor.
Marriet Motuble had entered the room unobserved by all, and now astonished them by saying: “You’re right, Governor; you’re right. It is memory we must cultivate while under your roof. It’s a good thing for John that he has sunk into his present state of semiconsciousness, or I am afraid I would be compelled to make him acknowledge his great sins by means ofphysical force, which is a shorter route to punishment than your ‘Memory Fluid.’ I think a good thumping would do John good; or a bullet through his head might be better.”
These coarse remarks were not joined in by anyone, but she was in nowise abashed. They pitied her for her coarse, vulgar mind. They knew her time was not far distant, however. The scientists busied themselves quietly with their chemical instruments, now and then glancing up (out of courtesy) at some remark she made, to which, however, they made no response.
Mr. Niksab sat in a corner of the same room, his head between his hands in deep thought, lost, it seemed, to everything around him. The fair-haired, aggressive señorita walked, or rather stalked back and forth in the room, her thumbs in a pocket on either side of her short coat.
“I remember, too, that blear-eyed reprobate, thesubjectyonder—that was the name by which the medical students called such people in years gone by. They called them that in the year of 1898–’99, did they not, friend Niksab?”
Mr. Niksab started from his reverie, looked at the señorita with a strange look in his eyes, and said: “I believe so,” and at once lapsed into another silence.
“You are correct,” said the Governor. “You have been, I believe, a Subject here also. I am not mistaken, am I? For our ‘Memory Fluid’ we can claim another victory, then.”
Marriet Motuble stood in her favorite position, a smile of amusement on her face, listening to the Governor.She openly respected and secretly admired him. All the impulses of her loving heart, which were many, went out to the great man. Hers was a terrible love, and woe to the man who aroused her love and failed to reciprocate it. She did not take her eyes from his handsome face,—her eyes which spoke volumes of love, and shone with the light of a furious passion.
In this frame of mind she approached him closely, and said: “Your Honor is mistaken. I have never been a ‘subject’ in your illustrious institution.”
“But,” interrupted the Governor, “you remember.”
“Yes, ’tis true; and more, perhaps, than many would care to hear,” she replied.
“Can you explain how this great memory came to be a part of you? Aye, it is possible you do remember many things which evil-doers in the great life of the past, did those who are here again for a purpose by Divine arrangement who would prefer not to have their past brought to light. But the just management of all things eternal cannot be changed. Physical man must be the adjuster of all evil, through the awakening of his soul. It matters not how strongly they fight against it, it is the inevitable. And it is a struggle often.”
“You are dead right there, Governor,” replied Marriet Motuble. “Our friend John over there is undergoing a great struggle now,” and she laughed a fiendish laugh, as she continued promenading back and forth in the room. “Poor devil; if he were in his right mind now, he no doubt, would prefer to die and go straight to that place the orthodox ministers said existed, many years ago, to terrify their flocks into submission—possibly,if he thought he would be allowed to stay there forever, rather than be a ‘Subject’ and undergo what is now taking place.”
In an earnest and serious tone Guillermo Gonzales said: “Your argument, dear señorita, is false. A seeking for the Eternal—after the things not comprehended by the senses—cannot be brought about by compulsion; no physical force can make the change. It is the desire for a knowledge of the Eternal; for a communion with spirits, which causes the change; the death of disease; the return of memory, the final life.”
Marriet Motuble, on hearing this, was again convulsed with laughter; but finally controlling herself, said: “That is all very fine, and sounds well, and might apply very well to most every one, but toJohn—ha! ha!—to John—never! The only way to cure him, to be sure of him, is to put him into a yawning abyss of that Ebony Fluid you extract from the ‘Sun’s Rays,’ and which, I believe, you claim, if it can be produced in sufficient quantities, would be able to destroy not only all things physical, but those very things which are thought now by everybody, except possibly your honored selves, to be Eternal.”
The three wise men dropped the instruments they were casually examining, on the hard, polished floor, where they were broken into a thousand pieces. Her statement confounded them. With questioning looks they gazed into each other’s faces, and then at the implacable señorita. They knew that besides themselves no one on earth had been told of the “Ebony Fluid.” In fact, they had discussed the probable use to whichit could be put in hushed tones, in the sanctity of their most private study.
Julio Murillo was the first to gain control of himself, and addressing the señorita, said: “If we were living in the year of 1898—at that time when Hermannism was in vogue, when the ignorant, the credulous often employed these delvers in mechanical spirits, and paid them large sums to look into the future and disclose their fate—I say, if we were back in that infant age of spiritualistic progress—I would at once avow that you had been to see one of those prophets.”
Marriet Motuble replied: “You forget, friend Julio, that I, as well as yourself, existed years ago. Then you were not so distinguished as now. We lived in the very year about which you have just spoken. Women were then said to be mysterious beings, as well as the beings who could fathom all secrets. The Great One to whom you pay silent tribute, has seen fit through all these years to perpetuate the gentler (?) sex, and with much the same disposition she then had. But really, gentlemen, it is unbecoming in me to be telling three renowned scientists, discoverers of ‘Memory Fluid,’ about what existed at a previous age, or how I came into possession of a knowledge of your ‘Ebony Fluid.’ Besides, I am lingering longer than my time admits. Pour some more ‘Memory Fluid’ down John, so he will call to mind his own offspring lying in a semi-conscious state in the adjoining room.”
“What is the meaning of your words, Miss Motuble? Let me entreat you to linger a few moments longer and explain. You can aid us materially in making this affair clear.”
Miss Motuble’s eyes shone with love, and with outstretched hands she started toward the object of her affection, and in a low voice, yet plainly audible to all present, said: “Dearie!”
Her whole nature changed outwardly in an instant. She whirled her large frame around as easily as if it worked on pivots, and walking to the door, said: “There are other days, gentlemen, other days. Patience is a necessary requisite to success. You will pardon me if I leave now. Julio, thy mother’s seducer, thy father, is heading the present movement against the State.”
“Impossible!” they exclaimed in one breath. “Retribution overtook him in his first existence. Impossible!”
Again she gave way to a fit of laughter, and said: “Impossible, hey? nothing is impossible. Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir has evidently not been recognized by you. Ha! ha! Well, this is an age of discovery!” Stepping up to Mr. Niksab (who still sat on a low chair, his face buried in his hands, seemingly unconscious to everything taking place around him), she slapped him soundly on the shoulder, a custom with men of bad breeding, in the nineteenth century, who were very friendly with each other and demonstrated their friendliness by this coarse greeting. He sprang to his feet and looked in a bewildered way all around him. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! Friend Niksab, you can have your hand in the righting of a few other wrongs, if you say so.”
“I am aiding the great scientists,” he interrupted, “by helping to find living proofs of the wrongs committed by the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’”
“The poor Plunger is getting it on every side; getting thumped by this scientific hail,” she replied.
“In what way, Miss Motuble,” quietly asked the Governor, “can Mr. Niksab be of further assistance to our scientific investigations?”
She made him no immediate reply, but laughingly said in a familiar tone: “Nicky, the fellow who murdered your brother, rifled your safe, stole all thosecántarasofpulque, andmescal, and skins oftequila, when you ‘kept bar’ at the Palacio, is here now, less a notch or so as things go in social affairs at present. You remember him, don’t you, Nicky?”
“There seems to be coming over me a dim remembrance of the person you speak of and the circumstance you relate; but I am not clear.”
“Governor, give him more ‘Memory Fluid,’ and he will nail the villain in twenty-four hours.”
“What position does he now occupy?” asked Guillermo Gonzales. “I am anxious to know, as you say he is a notch higher in the social scale than in his other life.”
“He is president of the Maguey Paper Factory, and is as dishonest now, in a polite way, as he was in that memorable year, in an uproarious fashion. He is not contented with the immense profit he derives from the sale of the superior paper he manufactures, but he takes the dry maguey leaves, boils them for days—until they are in a pulp—strains it; ferments the liquid and sells it for a kind of rum, which he claims will cure insanity, and I, for one, believe him. I have personally known a dozen or more credulous people—those who arealways taking something to aid digestion or strengthen the mind—I say, I believe in this drink—because they lived only a few days after taking it ‘according to directions.’ The poor demented creatures are now ‘cured’ for one existence at least. It is called ‘Perpetuity Miel.’”
“Ah, let me think,” said the Governor; “let me think. I—have received some samples of this rum, with a request to partake of it sparingly, and recommend it to the public.” (He opened a small glass cabinet and took out a large bottle). “Yes, here it is: ‘Perpetuity Miel.’ A strange name, composed of a Latin and Anglo-Saxon word, meaning a sweet, endless duration.”
“Do you, Miguey, recall the name of the president of the ‘Maguey Paper Company’?”
“I do not; I do not. Strange, I do not know, he being so prominent a man in the various commercial fields,” replied the Governor.
Julio Murillo said: “His name in a previous existence was Henry Lexort.”
Mr. Niksab cried, as he clutched his fists and fought at some unseen foes in the air, “The same, the same; he was killed at the Jockey Club for cheating in roulette. He had returned to the city, in disguise, after successfully evading therurales—for many months. The great desire again to see the scene of his crime led him back to Chihuahua, with the result I have just mentioned.”
“That is a strange truth,” said the Governor, “that criminals more often than otherwise return to the sceneof their crimes. More than one has walked to his doom by such rash actions.”
“That is why I have such perfect confidence that the ‘Plunger from Kansas,’ although living his third life since the date of his life in which he committed his famous cattle robbery, will return to the scene of his operations and to the city to which he fled to escape the clutches of the law. But to return to the president of the Maguey Paper Factory. It is quite unusual that the name of so prominent a man in our midst is unknown to five people of intelligence and education.”
“I will ascertain at once,” said Julio. “I will speak over the fluid and have his secretary to give me his full name and address. We may need it for future reference.”
“Do not give yourself so much useless work, friend Julio. I know the man’s genealogy as well as his present name. I make it my business to find out the pedigree of all such animals, such scorpions, and to air their old skeletons, in the hope of helping them to take on a new life; to hide their dry, marrowless bones with new flesh and blood.”
The “Subject” on the table moved; then sat upright; rubbed his eyes; looked beseechingly towards the door and cried out: “Marriet, Marriet, have you forgotten that I loved you in that time long ago?”
The four other occupants of the room turned to face the woman he was thus beseeching, and behold, she was gone.