CHAPTER XII.DELORES UNMASKS.
The suspicions of Juan Delores were allayed at last, and he left the boys with Felicia, while he retired to an adjoining room to prepare the supper. Frank and Bart were given something to talk about.
“Mescal is near,” said Merry. “He may have that message on his person. If fate will only bring us face to face once more!”
“If fate had directed one of my bullets!” exclaimed Hodge. “What do you suppose that message contains?”
“You have asked me a question to which I cannot imagine the answer.”
“Your father was very rich.”
“Yes.”
“And peculiar.”
“True.”
“Where is his wealth?”
“Heaven knows.”
“Where is his will?”
“Give it up.”
“That message must have told where to find his wealth and the will he has left.”
“Perhaps so. But something tells me that was not all. I am certain the message held something more—a secret of great importance.”
“Mescal is a desperate scoundrel. He will not be driven away easily.”
“I hope not.”
Felicia came and climbed on Frank’s knee once more.
“You have had trouble,” she said, in her tender, sympathetic way. “Your papa is dead. Was the Good Stranger your papa?”
“I think so, little one,” said Frank.
“He was kind to me,” said she; “but he loved Dick most.”
“Dick—who is Dick?”
“Dick is my cousin. He lives here.”
“Here? Why, I have not seen him.”
“Oh, no! He is away now.”
“Away where?”
“He has gone with Old Joe. Once before he went away with Old Joe, and was gone a whole month. But I miss him so much, for I love him.”
“Is his name Dick Delores?”
“I don’t know. All I ever called him was just Dick. Oh, but he can shoot and ride, and Joe is teaching him everything he knows.”
“How old is Dick?”
“One year older than I am.”
“The boy we saw with the old Indian!” exclaimed Bart.
“The boy who saved my life!” said Merry, who then told Felicia what had happened at the entrance to the valley.
“That was Dick!” she cried, “and that was Old Joe! But why did Old Joe want to shoot at you?” she speculated, her face clouding. “He is papa’s friend.”
“He must have thought me your father’s enemy,” spoke Frank.
“He must,” nodded Felicia gravely. “Old Joe would not wish to shoot a friend.”
“The mystery of the Indian and the boy is solved,” said Merry.
“Still, it’s rather singular,” muttered Bart. “Why should Delores let the boy go with that old savage?”
“Papa sent Dick away with Old Joe,” put in Felicia.
“Sent him away?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but I think he was afraid the bad men would carry Dick off, same as they tried to carry me.”
Frank’s face showed that he was thinking deeply.
“Why should they carry Dick off?” he asked himself.“It must be that there is treasure buried near here, and they are seeking to wring it from Delores. But the man took extra precautions to protect the boy, while he did not seem to fear for the safety of his own child, as he left her entirely alone. There is much about this affair that is not clear to me.”
Then Delores appeared at the door and announced that supper was ready. They went back to the dining-room, Merry carrying little Felicia in his arms.
The room was quite as pretty as the living-room. In the center stood the table, covered by a clean, white cloth, with the dishes and food upon it. A sideboard had been built in the wall. The chairs were of the rustic variety, plainly also the handiwork of Delores. The cook-room, in an ell-like part of the cabin, was shut off from view by a swinging spring-door.
“Welcome,” said Delores.
“Thank you,” bowed Frank. “Your hospitality is appreciated, you may be sure.”
“That’s right,” said Bart, as his eyes ran over the table. “Don’t believe I was ever hungrier.”
They sat down, Delores at the head, with Felicia opposite. Frank and Bart sat on the opposite sides of the table. When they were seated, the little girl placed her soft white hands together, bowed her head, and said “grace” in a simple, touching way.
Then, when the “amen” had risen from the lips ofthe three men at the table, Delores lifted the cover of a platter and revealed to view some broiled steak, the sight of which made Bart Hodge positively ravenous.
That supper was enjoyed by all. Delores smiled when he realized how hungry his visitors were, and he was pleased to see them satisfy the cravings of their appetites.
Merry sought to satisfy Delores that he was no impostor; but the man was on his guard, and it was not easy to tell what thoughts were passing through his mind. Then Frank told of the adventures at the entrance to the valley, relating how the old Indian had tried to frighten them from entering, and had declared that Juan Delores lived far away to the north.
“He faithful old fellow!” exclaimed Delores. “Once, long time ago, he come here very sick—just able to crawl to door. My wife, she take him in an’ doctor him; she get him well, though he have da fever. He never forget. He do anyt’ing for us.”
“Even to commit murder,” said Hodge. “He would have shot one or both of us if the boy had not hurled a rock and struck the barrel of his rifle.”
Felicia clapped her hands.
“Dick can throw a rock just as straight!” she exclaimed. “Oh, he can do lots of things, and Old Joe has promised to teach him all the things he knows about the mountains, the prairies, and the woods.”
“His education is well begun,” said Frank, “but it is the finishing off that will count.”
“Oh, he can read and write and all dat!” quickly exclaimed Juan. “My wife, she be educated American, and she teach Dick and Felicia.”
The laughter passed swiftly from the face of the girl, and she sadly said:
“Yes, mama used to teach us every day, but Dick was so hard to teach—he was so wild. Now mama is gone, and I have tried to teach myself; but Dick will not study at all.”
Frank felt like asking Delores some questions about the mysterious boy with the old Indian, but, feeling that he had no right to do so, he refrained. It seemed that Delores felt like explaining a part of the mystery, which led him to volunteer:
“Anton Mescal, he come after Dick. Dat why I let Old Joe take da boy. Old Joe protec’ him.”
“Then it is Dick, not Felicia, that Mescal wants?”
Delores nodded.
“If you have da word, you would know dat,” he declared.
And then it was that Merriwell began to feel that there was some strange, invisible link that connected himself with this wild boy of the mountains.
Delores had talked far more than usual with him, and he suddenly showed a disposition to close up likea clam. Merry fancied it must be because he thought the conversation was getting on dangerous ground, and this caused Frank to lead it in another direction.
“How did you happen to settle here in this out-of-the-way place, Mr. Delores?” he asked. “Why did you build your home here in this thick piece of woods?”
“Hard to see it here,” was the answer.
“Then you did not wish it seen?”
“No.”
“And that was why you selected this valley, which might be passed and repassed without finding a good way of descending into it?”
Delores nodded.
“It is a good place for a man who chooses the life of a hermit,” said Bart, “but one is out of the world here.”
“Dat not true,” said Juan. “Dis is God’s world here! Da mountain, da blue sky, da wild flower, da sweet air, da birds—it is God’s world.”
“It is beautiful!” murmured Felicia.
“But monotonous!” muttered Bart.
“Some men cannot choose,” said Juan. “I was one of dat kind. I have to make my home where I can be safe.”
“That’s different,” said Frank.
Somehow, Delores seemed to fancy that both visitorslooked on him with suspicion after that speech, and he hastened to add:
“I do no crime—no. I do not’ing in this country to make me hide-a.”
They looked at him in silence. Somehow, that seemed to sting him deeply, for he suddenly burst forth:
“If you knew! I have kep’ da secret long—I have kep’ da silence. Now Mescal, he know all ’bout it. How he find it out I do not know; but he will tell it everywhere. Da secret will be no longer one. Soon I shall have to go ’way from dis valley. I have t’ought dat some time.”
“Oh, papa—oh, no, no, no!” cried Felicia, springing from her place and running round to him. “Go away from here? Leave my dear mama out there all alone? Oh, no, no, no!”
Her distress was great, and the tears appeared in her deep, dark eyes. He caught her up and kissed her hair, holding her close to him.
“My little Felicia!” he said huskily. “I ’fraid da time come when we must go; but, some time, mebbe, we come back to put da sweet flower on mama’s grave.”
“Oh, why should we go, papa?”
“Papa have great many enemy. Now da bad manknow him here da enemy may find out soon. Papa go ’way, so him not be hurt.”
“Your cattle—what will you do with them?” asked Frank. “I suppose those are your cattle in the valley?”
“Yes, dem mine. I know way to drive dem out. I sell dem.”
But still little Felicia was greatly distressed over the thought of going away and leaving her home. She knew no other home, and that one was very dear to her.
“Must we go, papa?” she sobbed. “Must we go?”
“I am ’fraid of dat,” he nodded. “We find some place else to live.”
Again he saw the visitors looking at him curiously.
“You t’ink I do somet’ing wrong?” he cried. “I do not’ing but fight for liberty. I make enemies dat swear to kill me if da follow me to da hot place. At first I feel no fear of dem. Den da gov’ment pronounce me outlaw—put da price on me! I have to fly from my country. My enemy follow. I have to fight for my life. I kill one, two, t’ree. Dat make dem worse. All da relation swear to find me an’ take my head to da gov’ment. I find myself hunted man night an’ day. Den, at last, when I marry beautiful American wife, for her sake I have to find placewhere we can live quiet. Den I come here, and we live here happy together.”
It was an interesting and tragic story, and Merry did not doubt its truth. So this man, Juan Delores as he called himself, had been married to an American woman, who was the mother of Felicia.
Delores looked from one to the other of his visitors.
“You believe me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Frank, while Bart bowed.
“I tell you who I am,” said the man. “Perhap’ you have heard ’bout me.”
He rose to his feet and stood there before them, looking proudly at them. There was in his pose now the manner of the born aristocrat. He smiled a little.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am da Don Jose Maria Queypo de Llano Ruiz y de Saravia, of Spain!”