CHAPTER XXXPARDNERS STILL

And Marta gave a low cry of delight when, far away to the northeast, they saw the blue heights of the Santa Catalinas.

And Marta gave a low cry of delight when, far away to the northeast, they saw the blue heights of the Santa Catalinas.

FOR a moment Marta could not speak. Then in spite of herself she gave a low cry of joy which brought another whispered warning from the Indian.

Moving closer, he said:

“Hugh Edwards is waiting with the horses. We have the pinto and your saddle but I fear you must leave everything else. Not all the men are in there gambling and drinking. There are three in front of the house at the farther end of the ramada. They are sitting with their backs toward your door so I was able to get in. I dared not wait longer because, from their talk, they are expecting some one to come any minute. Then the party in the next room will break up and it will be too late for us to move. We must hurry.”

“I am ready,” whispered the girl.

“You will be brave and do exactly what I say?”

“Yes.”

“Good!—Come.”

There was a burst of angry voices in the next room. The Indian waited until he was satisfied that thegamblers were continuing their play, then, leading Marta to the window in the end of the building toward the west, he slipped through, and from the outside helped the girl to follow.

At that moment they heard the sound of feet on the hard earth floor of the ramada. Some one was coming toward that end of the house. With his lips to the girl’s ear, Natachee bade her lie down. She obeyed instantly, and the Indian, knife in hand, crept to the corner of the building, toward which the sound was approaching, where he stood, flattened against the wall.

The man who was coming along the front of the house walked leisurely to the end of the ramada and stood almost within reach of the Indian’s hand, looking out toward the west and toward the corrals. Natachee was as motionless as the wall against which he stood. Had the fellow gone a step farther or turned his head to look past the corner of the building, he would have died that same instant. Presently he turned and started back toward his companions, calling to them in Mexican as he did so:

“It is strange that they are so late. They should have been here an hour ago.”

In a flash Natachee was again at Marta’s side. Lifting her to her feet, he whispered:

“Follow me and do as I do.”

A hundred feet away, a hollow in the uneven ground made a deeper shadow. Lying prone, the Indian crawled to the little depression. The girl followed close behind. For a moment they lay sideby side in the hollow, then the Indian rose and stooping low ran for the dark mass of a mesquite tree some fifty yards farther on.

Again Marta imitated his movements.

“Good!” whispered the Indian as she crouched, breathless, beside him. “But from here on there are too many dry sticks and things for you to stumble over and we must go swiftly.”

Before she realized his purpose, he had caught her up in his arms, and keeping the tree between them and the house, was running swift and silent as a wolf through the brush. When they were at a safe distance, the Indian circled to the right and so gained the shelter of the corral fence, with the corral which was north of the house between them and the ramada where the three men were still sitting. Putting the girl down, he whispered:

“If you should make any noise now, they will think it is the horses, but be careful.”

Following the back fence of the corral, they were soon some distance east of the house. Then, still keeping the fences between them and the three men on the ramada, Natachee led the way toward a mesquite thicket in a sandy wash between two low ridges where Hugh was waiting with the horses.

There was no time for greetings. Scarcely had they gained their saddles when a yell came from the house, and in the light that streamed from the open door of the room where the gamblers had been carousing, they could see the dark forms of themen gather in answer to the alarm. Clearly they heard the voice of Sonora Jack crying:

“Se fue la muchacha! Los caballos! A seguir la!—The girl is gone! The horses! To follow her!”

When the Indian made no move to go, but sat calmly watching the lights and listening to the voices of the outlaws as they called to one another while saddling their horses, Edwards said impatiently:

“Come, Natachee, we are losing valuable time here. If we go now, we will have a good start ahead of them.”

“No,” returned the Indian. “That is exactly what they expect us to do and their horses are much faster and fresher than ours. They think that we are making for the United States by the most direct route, which is there due north between those two mountain ranges—the Santa Rosas to the left and the Nariz to the east. They will not waste time trying to find our trail in the darkness but will try to outride us to the line and, by scattering, to cover the country so as to prevent us from crossing. Be patient and you will see.”

Very soon the Indian’s judgment was proved sound. The outlaws dashed away as fast as their horses could run toward that gap in the mountains through which Sonora Jack had brought Marta the day before. When the last rider was gone and the rolling thunder of the horses’ feet had died away in the darkness, Natachee spoke again.

“Good; now we will go. When the day comes, wemust be on the northern side of the Nariz Mountains and a little to the east of where Edwards and I struck the hills yesterday. As we start behind the outlaws, we need not fear pursuit, at least until daybreak.”

For two or three miles the Indian followed the northern course taken by the outlaws, then, turning aside from the broad, well-traveled trail, he led the way at a leisurely but steady pace to the northeast. Another hour and they were well into the Nariz hills. By daylight they were on the northern side of the range—in the United States.

Leaving their horses, they climbed to a point from which they could look out over the wide plains of the Papago Reservation, with its scattered groups of hills and small mountain ranges bounded by the mighty bulwark of the Baboquivaris and the Coyotes on the east and by the Santa Rosa and Gunsight Mountains on the west. And Marta gave a low cry of delight when, far away to the northeast, they saw the blue heights of the Santa Catalinas lifting boldly into the morning sky.

For some time the Indian scanned the country at the foot of the hills where they stood. There was not a living creature moving within range of his vision. With a smile, Natachee turned to his companions and pointing to the west, said:

“Sonora Jack and his friends are very busy looking for us over there between these hills and the Santa Rosas yonder.”

“Thanks to you, Natachee,” the girl answered with deep feeling.

As if he had not heard, the Indian pointed more to the north and continued:

“That smoke which you see over there is from a little ranch—Mexican, I think—toward which we trailed you and Sonora Jack yesterday. Did you stop there?”

Marta told them briefly of her experience—of the old Mexican woman who was evidently Sonora Jack’s mother, and of her conviction that it was from those people that the old prospectors had taken her when she was a little girl.

Hugh Edwards heard her story with many exclamations, comments and questions. The Indian, who continued to scan the country before them with ceaseless vigilance, listened without a word.

When Marta had finished her story, Natachee said:

“It is time we were moving, friends. Sonora Jack will be on our trail. When he has made sure that we did not take the course he thought we would take, he will ride east along the Mexico side of this range until he picks up our trail; for he will know that we would not go into the Santa Rosa Mountains. I think he will bring with him only one or two men, because he will not wish to share the profit of his venture with so many when one or two are all that he needs, now that it is no longer a question of heading us off before we cross the border. There would be a greater risk, too, with a large company—in the United States. He will know that there areonly three of us and will plan to follow and pick us off at a safe distance when the opportunity offers or attack us to-night. When he has again taken his prisoner, he can easily rid himself of one or two helpers as he disposed of the Lizard.”

A quarter of a mile from where they had left their horses, the low ridge, beyond which lay the open country, was broken by a narrow, sandy wash. One side of this natural gateway of these hills is an irregular cliff some twenty feet in height. The Indian, leading the way straight to this opening, passed close under the cliff and, leaving the hills behind, set their course straight toward the distant Santa Catalinas.

They had ridden but a short way when the Indian again halted. Pointing to a peak in the northern end of the Baboquivaris, he said to Hugh:

“That is Kits Peak. If you ride toward it, you will come to Indian Oasis. There is a store there where you can water and feed your horses and purchase something to eat for yourselves. I am going back to wait for Sonora Jack. I will overtake you later.”

He was turning his horse to ride away, when Edwards cried:

“Wait a minute. Do you mean that you are going back to meet those outlaws?”

“Sonora Jack must be stopped,” returned the Indian.

“All right,” agreed Hugh, “but Sonora Jack is not alone. Do you think I am going to ride on and leave you to face those fellows single-handed?”

“You faced three of them single-handed for me. I, Natachee, do not forget.”

“But that was different,” argued Edwards. “There were several things in my favor. No—no, Natachee, it won’t do. When you meet those fellows who are following our trail, I must be there to do my little bit with you.”

“But Miss Hillgrove,” said the Indian.

Marta spoke quickly. “Hugh is right, Natachee.”

The Indian yielded.

“Come, then, we must not delay longer, or it will be too late.”

Swinging in a wide circle to the right, Natachee led the way swiftly back to a point at the foot of the ridge, a short distance east of that rocky gateway. They dismounted at a spot that was well hidden and the Indian, directing Marta to stay with the horses and telling Edwards to follow, ran quickly along the ridge to the top of the cliff directly above the tracks they had made when first leaving the hills.

When he had assured himself that there was no one in sight following their trail, the Indian stood before his companion and Hugh knew that it was not the Natachee of the schools that was about to speak. Drawing himself up proudly, the red man said:

“Hugh Edwards, listen—seven days ago this stealer of women, Sonora Jack, and his companions, crawled like three snakes into Natachee’s hut. Hiding, they struck, when Natachee alone crossed the threshold of his home. In the night, they boundthe Indian to a rock, and but for you would have put live coals from their fire on his naked breast. One of the three who did that thing is dying in the Cañon of Gold—is even now, perhaps, dead, but I, Natachee, did not strike him. The body of another is over there in the Vaca Hills. He did not die by the hand of the Indian he had trapped. Sonora Jack alone is left. He is left for me. Do you understand?”

The white man, remembering the Indian’s face and manner when he had found the Lizard’s body, understood. Slowly—reluctantly, he said:

“This is your affair, Natachee, have it your own way.”

They had not waited long when Natachee saw Sonora Jack and a Mexican riding down through the hills. The Indian, fitting an arrow to his bow, said to his companion:

“When I give the word, stand up and cover Sonora Jack with your rifle.”

With their eyes on the tracks they were following, the outlaws rode swiftly toward the rocks where Natachee and Edwards were waiting. Sonora Jack was a little in advance. They were just past the cliff when the Mexican, with a cry, tumbled from his saddle. Sonora Jack pulled his horse up sharply and whirled about to see what had happened. At the moment he caught sight of the arrow in the body of his fallen companion, Natachee’s voice rang out from the rock above with the familiar command: “Put up your hands.”

And looking up, the outlaw saw the Indian with another arrow drawn to its head, and the white man with his menacing rifle.

While Edwards covered the trapped outlaw, the Indian relieved their captive of his guns and ordered him to dismount. Then Natachee motioned for Edwards to lower his rifle and stood face to face with Sonora Jack. From his position on the rocks, Hugh Edwards looked down upon them with intense interest.

At last the red man spoke.

“The snake that crawled into Natachee’s hut to strike when the Indian was not looking is caught. One of his brother snakes he left to die in the home he robbed. Another, he killed with his own hand. It is not well that even one of the three snakes that hid in Natachee’s hut should remain alive. When Sonora Jack, with the help of his two brother snakes, had bound Natachee to a rock, Sonora Jack was very brave. He was so brave that he dared even to strike the helpless Indian. Now, he shall strike the Indian again—if he can.

“When the snake, Sonora Jack, would have put his coals of fire on the naked breast of the Indian, he required the help of two others. If I, Natachee, could not alone kill a snake, I would die of shame. The one who frightened Sonora Jack and his brave friends so that they ran like rabbits into the brush is here. But Natachee is not bound to a rock now. Sonora Jack need not fear the one from whom he and his brothers ran in such haste. Hugh Edwardswill not point his rifle toward the snake that I, Natachee, will kill.

“Sonora Jack boasted that with live coals of fire he would burn the heart out of Natachee’s breast. There is no fire here, but here is a knife. Sonora Jack also has a knife. Let the snake, who was so brave with his two brother snakes when they hid in Natachee’s hut and bound the Indian to a rock, keep his heart from the knife of the Indian now—if he can.”

The two men were by no means unevenly matched in stature or in strength. Both were men whose muscles had been hardened by their active lives in the desert and the mountains. Both were skilled in the use of the knife as a weapon. Sonora Jack fought with the desperate fury of a cornered animal. The Indian, cool and calculating, seemed in no haste to finish that which in his savage pride he had set himself to accomplish. So swiftly did the duelists change positions, so closely were they locked together as they wheeled and twisted in their struggles, that the white man, who was trembling with tense excitement, could not have used his rifle if he would. At his repeated failures to touch the Indian with his knife, the outlaw lost, more and more, his self-control, until he was fighting with reckless and ungoverned madness. Natachee, wary and collected, smiled grimly as he saw the fear in the straining face of his enemy.

Then twice, in quick succession, the point of the Indian’s knife reached the outlaw’s breast but withno effect. Edwards gasped in dismay as he saw the baffled look which came into Natachee’s face. Again the Indian, with all the strength of his arm, drove his weapon at the outlaw’s heart and again Sonora Jack was unharmed. Suddenly the Indian changed his method of attack. To Edwards, the duel seemed to become a wrestling match. For a moment they struggled, locked in each other’s arms, their limbs entwined, writhing and straining. Then they fell, and to Edwards’ horror, the Indian was under the outlaw. But the next instant, while Sonora Jack was struggling to free his knife arm for a death blow, the Indian, hugging his antagonist close, forced his weapon between Sonora Jack’s shoulders.

The muscles of the outlaw relaxed—his body became limp. Natachee rolled to one side and leaped to his feet. As if he had forgotten the solitary witness of the combat, the Indian calmly recovered his knife and stood looking down at the man who was already dead.

Sick with horror of the thing he had been forced to witness, Hugh Edwards called to the Indian:

“Come, Natachee, for God’s sake let’s get away from here.”

“The snake that crawled into Natachee’s hut is dead,” returned the Indian. “The stealer of women will not again steal the woman Hugh Edwards loves.”

Hugh was already starting back to the place where they had left Marta. When he noticed that the Indian was not following, he paused to call again:

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Go on,” returned Natachee, “I will join you in a moment.”

And Hugh Edwards, from where he now stood, could not see that Natachee was examining the body of the outlaw to learn why the point of his knife had three times been kept from Sonora Jack’s breast.

When Hugh reached Marta, the Indian was just behind him. To the girl, Natachee said simply:

“You can ride home in peace now. There is no one to follow our trail. Sonora Jack will never come for you again.”

And Marta asked no questions.

On the homeward journey, Natachee did not follow the course they had come, but took a more direct route. Near Indian Oasis they stopped, while Natachee went to the store to purchase food. When they camped for the night, Marta would let them rest only an hour or two, insisting that she must push on.

In the excitement and dangers of that first night, there had been no opportunity for Hugh Edwards to speak to Marta of his love. And now, as the hours of their long, trying journey passed, he still did not speak. There really was no need for him to speak—they both knew so well. The girl was so distressed by her anxiety for Thad and by her grief over Bob’s death and so worn by her terrible experience, that Hugh could not bring himself to talk of the plans that meant so much to him.

When they were safely back in the Cañon of Gold and Marta was rested—when she had found comfort and strength in Mother Burton’s arms, then he would tell her his love and ask her to go with him to a place of freedom and happiness.

Every day he spent the greater part of his time under the mesquite trees with Bob, and in the night, they would hear him going out “to see,” as he said, “if his pardner was all right.”

Every day he spent the greater part of his time under the mesquite trees with Bob, and in the night, they would hear him going out “to see,” as he said, “if his pardner was all right.”

IN the Cañada del Oro, Doctor Burton and his mother watched beside the old prospector and the wounded Mexican.

The man who had been so heartlessly abandoned by his outlaw leader did not speak; but his eyes, like the eyes of a wounded animal, followed every movement of Saint Jimmy and Mother Burton. But as the days and nights of suffering passed, and he received nothing but the gentlest and most attentive care from the two good Samaritans into whose hands he had fallen, the expression of suspicion and fear which had at first marked his every glance gave way to a look of wondering and pathetic gratitude.

It was late in the afternoon of that first day following the tragedy, when Thad regained consciousness. Saint Jimmy, who was at the bedside when the sturdy old prospector looked up at him with a smile of recognition, said cheerfully:

“Good morning, neighbor. How are you? Had a good sleep?”

There was the suggestion of a twinkle in those faded blue eyes as Thad returned:

“There ain’t no need for you to pretend none with me, Doc. I come to, quite a spell back. Got a peek at you, though, first thing when you weren’t lookin’ an’ I jest naterally shut my eyes again quick. I been layin’ here, figgerin’ things out. Got ’em about figgered, I reckon.” His leathery, wrinkled, old face twisted in a grimace of pain and his gray lips quivered as he added: “They got my gal, didn’t they?”

Saint Jimmy returned gravely:

“You must be careful not to excite yourself, Thad. You have had a dangerous injury.”

“Holy Cats! You don’t need to think this is the first time I ever been knocked out. My old head is tougher than you know. You don’t need to worry about me gettin’ rattled neither. I tell you I know what happened up to the time that half Mex devil hit me with his gun. I know they must a-got her or she would a-been settin’ right here, certain sure—tell me.”

“Yes, they took her away, but Hugh Edwards and Natachee are on their trail.”

“What time did the boys start after them?”

“About noon.”

“Good enough. They won’t throw the Injun off, an’ him an’ Hugh will be able to handle them if they ain’t too many.”

“There are only two with Marta—Sonora Jack and the Lizard.”

“The Lizard, you say? Is he in on this deal too?”

“Yes.”

“Huh, I always knowed he’d do some real meanness if he ever worked up nerve enough. That made three of them, then?”

“Yes.”

“I got one of them, didn’t I?”

“Yes, he is lying in the other room.”

“Pretty sick, is he?”

“He is going to die, Thad.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I expected him to do when I took a shot at him.”

The old prospector looked at Doctor Burton appealingly, as if there was another question which he longed, yet dreaded to ask.

Saint Jimmy evaded the unspoken question by asking:

“Have you guessed who that fellow, John Holt, really is, Thad?”

“He certain sure ain’t no decent prospector or he wouldn’t be tryin’ to carry away my gal like he’s doin’—that’s all I know.”

“He is Sonora Jack the outlaw. Natachee found it out.”

“Holy Cats! An’ I wasted a shot on a measly Mex when I might jest as well a-picked the king himself first. But what do you figger he wants to carry off my gal that-a-way for?”

“I wish we knew,” said Saint Jimmy.

“Wal, there ain’t no good tryin’ to guess. We’llknow what we know when Natachee and Hugh comes back with her—But, say, Doc——“

The old prospector hesitated, and his gaze roamed about the room.

Saint Jimmy swallowed a lump in his throat.

“What, Thad?”

“Where—why—“ the gnarled fingers plucked at the bedding nervously, and the faded blue eyes at last met the eyes of the younger man with such pathetic fear that Saint Jimmy’s eyes filled.

“Why ain’t my Pardner Bob here? Where is he? He didn’t go with the Injun an’ the boy?”

“No, Thad, Bob did not go with Hugh and Natachee.”

The old prospector put out his trembling hand as if to cling to Saint Jimmy, and Doctor Burton caught it in both his own.

“They—they didn’t get my pardner—Bob ain’t cashed in?”

Saint Jimmy bowed his head.

Then his mother came to the door and the Doctor willingly made an excuse to leave his patient for a little. When he returned an hour later and Mother Burton had yielded her place to him and left the room, old Thad smiled up at him.

“That mother of yourn is a plumb wonder, sir. I always suspicioned it on account of what she’s done for Marta, but I know now that I hadn’t even begun to appreciate it. I reckon I’ll be gettin’ up now.”

“And I reckon you won’t,” retorted the Doctor, putting out a firm hand and pushing him back onthe pillow. “You’ll stay right where you are until to-morrow morning. You have already talked too much. Here, let me fix the bandage. There, that will do. Now take this and turn your face to the wall—and keep quiet.”

The old prospector obeyed.

But the next morning he was out of the house before either Saint Jimmy or his mother had left their beds. When Mrs. Burton went to call him for breakfast, she found him beside the grave under the mesquite trees.

“You see, ma’am,” he explained with childish confusion, “I got to imaginin’ ’long in the night that my Pardner Bob must be feelin’ all-fired lonesome an’ left-out like, with me sleepin’ in the house an’ him out here all alone. Bob an’ me ain’t never been very far apart, you see, for a good many years now, an’ so I felt like he’d kind of want me ’round somewheres. It’s funny, ain’t it, how an old desert rat like me could get fussed up that-a-way! I think mebby that Bob would feel some better too if only our gal was here. I’m plumb sure I would. But I know she’ll be back all right. That Injun can hang to a trail like the smell follers a skunk, an’ the boy will be here too, with both feet, when it comes to gettin’ her away from them again. That half Mex an’ the Lizard won’t stand a show agin Natachee an’ our Hugh. I wish they’d hurry back, though.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m comin’.

“So long, Pardner, I got to get my breakfast. I’ll be back again directly.”

Every day he spent the greater part of his time under the mesquite trees with Bob, and in the night they would hear him going out “to see,” as he said, “if his pardner was all right.”

It was there that Marta found him the morning of her return with Hugh and Natachee.

Later, when Mother Burton had put the tired girl to bed, old Thad roamed contentedly about the place, petting Nugget and going often to the door of Marta’s room to listen with a smile for any sound that would tell him the girl was awake. And that night he did not leave the house.

“You see, ma’am,” he explained to Mother Burton in the morning, “Bob he’s all right now that our gal is safe home again and there ain’t nobody ever goin’ to steal her no more. It’s a good thing the Lizard is gone an’ that the Injun done for that Sonora Jack, ’cause if they hadn’t a-got what was comin’ to ’em, I’d be obliged to take a try for them myself, old as I be. I couldn’t never a-looked Bob in the face again nohow, if I’d a-let them hombres get away with such a job as that. But it’s all right now—it’s sure all right.”

During the forenoon of the day following Marta’s return, the Mexican at last spoke to Doctor Burton, who was dressing his patient’s wound. As the man spoke in his native tongue, Saint Jimmy could not understand. Going to the door, he called Natachee. When the Mexican had repeated what he had said, the Indian interpreted his words for Saint Jimmy.

“He says he thinks he is going to die and wants to know if it is so.”

“Shall I tell him the truth, Natachee?”

“Why not?” returned the Indian coldly. “He may have something that he wishes to say. Perhaps it is something the friends of Miss Hillgrove should know.”

“Tell him, then, that there is no hope for his life. Death is certain. It may come any time now.”

When Natachee had repeated the Doctor’s words in the Mexican tongue and the dying man had replied, the Indian said:

“There is something that he wants to tell. He says that you and your mother have been so kind that he will not die without speaking of the girl you both love so much. I think you should call the others. It may be in the nature of a confession and it would be well to have them.”

He spoke again to the Mexican and the man answered:

“Si, habla le a la muchacha y sus amigos.”

Natachee interpreted:

“Yes, call the girl and her friends.”

A few minutes later Mother Burton, Thad, Hugh Edwards and Marta were with Saint Jimmy and the Indian in the presence of the dying Mexican.

It was well that no one in the room, save Natachee and the Mexican, could at that moment see Saint Jimmy’s face.

It was well that no one in the room, save Natachee and the Mexican, could at that moment see Saint Jimmy’s face.

SLOWLY the eyes of the Mexican turned from face to face of the silent group. But it was upon Saint Jimmy’s face that his gaze finally rested, and it was to Saint Jimmy that he addressed himself. The Indian, as coldly impersonal and impassive as a mechanical instrument, translated:

“He says that you, Doctor Burton, are a man who lives very close to God. When you are near him, he can feel God.”

“God is never far from any man,” returned Saint Jimmy.

Natachee translated the Doctor’s words, and the Mexican replied in his mother tongue, which the Indian rendered in English.

“He says, yes, sir, that is true, but some men keep their backs toward God and refuse to see or listen to Him. He says he is one who has lived with his face away from God.”

“Tell him, then, to turn around.”

Again the Indian translated Saint Jimmy’s words and received the Mexican’s answer.

“He says he sees God when he looks at you—that if you will remain with him when he dies he can go with his face toward God.”

“I will not leave him,” returned Saint Jimmy. “Tell him not to fear.”

When he received this message from the Indian, the man smiled and made the sign of the cross. Then he spoke again and Natachee translated:

“He says to thank you, and that now he will tell you all he knows about the girl you love.”

It was well that no one in the room, save Natachee and the Mexican, could at that moment see Saint Jimmy’s face.

“Tell him that we are listening.”

With frequent pauses to gather strength or to shape the things he would say, the Mexican told his story. In those intervals Natachee’s deep voice, without a trace of feeling, made the message clear to the little company.

“His name is Chico Alvarez. He was a member of Sonora Jack’s band of outlaws in the years when they were active here in this part of Arizona.

“About twenty years ago they held up a man and woman who were driving in a covered wagon on the road from Tucson to Yuma and California. The man and woman were killed. There was a little girl hiding in the bottom of the wagon. They did not know the baby was there when they shot the man and woman.

“When Sonora Jack was searching the outfit for money and valuables, he found papers and lettersthat told him about the little girl. She was not the child of the people who were killed. They had stolen her, when she was a little baby, from her real parents who lived in the east.

“Sonora Jack saved all the papers and letters that told about the child, but burned everything else in the outfit so that no one would know there had been a child with the man and woman. He took the baby with him. He said her parents were very rich and would pay much money to have their little girl again.

“The officers were close after the outlaws who were escaping to their place across the border, and Sonora Jack left the little girl with his mother, who was Mexican and lived with her man, not Jack’s father, on a little ranch near the border. When Sonora Jack went back to his mother for the child, after the sheriff and his men had given up trying to catch him that time, he found that two prospectors had taken the little girl away.

“Sonora Jack dared not come again into the United States because of the reward that was offered for him, so he could not follow the prospectors, and the little girl was lost to him. Sonora Jack went south in Mexico and stayed there where he was safe.

“Last year a man showed him an old Spanish map of the Cañada del Oro and the Mine with the Iron Door. Sonora Jack and this man, Chico, came to find the mine. They did not find the mine but they found again the little girl, whose people would pay so much money to have her back. Sonora Jackplanned to steal the girl. He said they would take her into Mexico and keep her until her people paid much money. If it should be that her people were dead, then he and Chico would make from her enough money in another way to pay them for their trouble. That is all.”

The Mexican closed his eyes wearily.

Saint Jimmy spoke quickly:

“Ask him what became of the things that told about the little girl’s parents, and how she was stolen from them.”

The Indian spoke to the man and received his reply.

“He says, ‘I do not know. Sonora Jack he always keep those things for himself.’”

Hugh Edwards cried hoarsely:

“But the name, Natachee, ask him the name.”

The dying Mexican opened his eyes as the Indian, bending over him, repeated the question. He answered:

“Eso nunca me dijo Sonora Jack,” and with a look toward Saint Jimmy, sank into unconsciousness.

Natachee faced toward that little company of agitated listeners.

“He says, ‘Sonora Jack never did tell me that.’”

Mother Burton led Marta from the room. Old Thad, muttering to himself, followed.

Doctor Burton turned from the bedside, saying quietly:

“It is all over. He is gone.”

Natachee spoke:

“You, Doctor Burton—and you, Hugh Edwards, wait here for me. The others will not come again into this room for a little while. Wait, I will come back in a moment.”

The Indian left the room.

Hugh Edwards and Saint Jimmy looked at each other in wondering silence.

When Natachee returned, he held in his hand a flat package, some six inches wide by eight inches long and about an inch in thickness. The envelope was of leather, laced securely, and there were straps attached. The straps had been cut.

The Indian addressed Hugh:

“As I fought with Sonora Jack, did you see that when I struck his breast my knife drew no blood?”

“Yes,” returned Edwards, “I saw it and wondered about it at the time. But what happened immediately after made me forget. Now that you mention it, I remember distinctly.”

“Good! When you had gone back to Miss Hillgrove, I looked to see why my knife had refused to touch the snake’s heart until I found the way between his shoulders. This package was fastened to Sonora Jack’s breast under his shirt. This strap was over his shoulder to support it. This other strap was around his chest to hold the packet in place. Look, there are the marks of my knife. Three times I struck—there and there and there.”

The two white men exclaimed with amazement at the Indian’s statement.

“I think,” said Natachee slowly, “that you would do well to see what this thing is, that the stealer of little girls hid so carefully under his clothing and fastened so securely to his body.”

Hugh Edwards drew back with an appealing look at Saint Jimmy, who took the packet from the Indian.

“Must this thing be opened?” said Edwards.

“Yes, Hugh, I think so,” returned the Doctor gently. “Anything else would hardly be fair to Marta, would it?”

“No, I suppose not,” answered Edwards with a groan. “All right, go ahead. You can tell me when you have finished.”

He turned away and went to the window where he sat with his back toward Saint Jimmy, who seated himself at the table. Natachee stood near the door with his arms folded, as motionless as a statue.

Undoing the lacing of the leather envelope, Saint Jimmy found a number of newspaper clippings, so cut as to preserve the name and date line of the paper—several letters—and a diary, with various entries under different dates, rather poorly written but legible.

Swiftly he scanned the printed articles. The diary and the letters he read with more care.

Hugh Edwards was like a man condemned already in his own mind, awaiting the formality of the verdict.

When Marta’s birth and the character of her parents had been under a cloud, the man who wasbranded before the world a criminal had felt that their love was right and that there was no obstacle to their marriage. He had reasoned, indeed, that their happiness would in a measure lighten the shadow that lay over the girl’s life, and in a degree would atone for the injustice under which he himself had suffered. The unjust shame and humiliation that the girl had felt so keenly—the dishonor and shame that injustice had brought upon him, had been to them a common bond; while the knowledge of what each had innocently suffered and the sympathy of each for the other had deepened and strengthened their love.

But as he listened to the dying Mexican’s story, he saw the barrier that was being raised to his happiness with the girl he loved. Marta’s birth and parentage were not, after all, what the old prospectors, Saint Jimmy, and Marta herself had believed. What, then, was left to justify him in asking her to become the wife of a convict? If, indeed, her birth and name were without a shadow, how could he ask her to accept his name—dishonored as it was? And if it should be shown that her people were living—if they were people of importance and honor, how then could the convict who loved her ask her to share his life of dishonor?

When the Mexican had been unable to give the name, hope had again risen in Edwards’ heart. But when Natachee brought the packet which Sonora Jack had treasured with such care, Hugh Edwards knew that it was only a matter of minutesuntil the identity of the woman he loved would be established, which meant that now he could never ask her to be his wife.

Saint Jimmy finished reading the papers and carefully placed them again in the leather envelope. To the watching Indian, he seemed undecided. He had the air of one not quite sure of his hand.

At last, looking up, he said slowly:

“You are right, Natachee, this envelope completes the Mexican’s story and establishes the identity of the girl we have always known as Marta Hillgrove.”

Natachee remembered

Natachee remembered

HUGH EDWARDS rose to his feet.

“Well,” he said desperately, “let’s have it.”

Saint Jimmy answered in an odd musing tone:

“Marta, or Martha, for that is her name, was born in a little city in southwestern Missouri—in the lead and zinc mining district. Her parents were both held in the highest esteem in the community where their families had lived for three generations.

“About the time Marta was born, her father, who was a real-estate speculator and trader on a rather small scale, purchased a tract of land from some people who could barely make a living on it. The land was hilly and stony and covered mostly with scrub oak, which made it almost worthless for farming and the man and his wife were glad to get the usual market price for such property.

“But shortly after, this same cheap farm land was developed as a very valuable mineral property—about the richest, in fact, in that district.”

Hugh Edwards interrupted:

“Wait a minute—did you learn all this just now from the contents of that package?”

“No, Hugh, the fact is, I was born and grew up in that same Missouri town. It was the home of my people, and even after I went to St. Louis, I was in close touch with the old place. These papers here merely fill in some of the missing details of a story that I have known for years. I am trying to tell it to you so that you will understand everything clearly.”

“Go on, please.”

“When the property they had sold proved so valuable, the people who had been glad to receive the price they did for their supposedly worthless farm lands were very bitter. They considered themselves swindled and, being the sort they were, brooded over their fancied wrongs until they formed a plan of revenge. They stole the baby, Martha.

“The plan of the kidnappers, as it is shown here,” Saint Jimmy touched the packet on the table, “was to hold the little girl until her father had made a fortune from the mineral lands he had purchased from them, and then to force him to pay a large part of that wealth back to them as a ransom for the child.

“The man and woman, with the baby, traveled west by wagon. They always camped. When supplies were needed, the man would go alone to purchase them. They rarely entered a town except to pass through, and then of course took every precaution to hide the child. Their plan to extort money from the father, led them to preserve carefully the evidence that would later prove the identity of the little girl. Their fears of arrest led themto conceal their own identity as carefully. It was more than a year later when they reached Tucson. The rest of the story we have heard.

“I should add that Marta’s mother died six months after the baby was stolen. George Clinton, after his wife’s death, sold his mining interests and moved to California.”

Hugh Edwards started forward. His face was ghastly. His lips trembled so that he could scarcely form the words. “George Clinton, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“George Willard Clinton?”

“Yes, do you know of him?”

Hugh Edwards, fighting for self-control, became very still. Turning his back on the others, he walked to the window and stood looking out.

“Yes,” he said at last, and his voice was steady now, “yes, I know him. He lives in Los Angeles. I had heard that he was at one time interested in mines in Missouri. But of course I knew nothing of this story that you have told. He is a very wealthy man.”

“What a splendid thing for Marta,” exclaimed Saint Jimmy.

Hugh Edwards left the window and went to stand beside the body of the Mexican.

“Yes, it will be very fine for her.”

And suddenly, as he stood looking down at the dead man, Hugh Edwards laughed.

Saint Jimmy sprang to his feet. Such laughter was not good to hear.

“Hugh!”

The man whirled on him. “You win, Saint Jimmy—congratulations.” He rushed madly from the room.

Saint Jimmy gazed at Natachee, speechless with amazement.

“What on earth did he mean by that!” he said at last.

“Is it possible you do not know?”

The other shook his head.

Natachee said slowly:

“When everybody believed that the woman Hugh Edwards loved was one who had no real right to even the name she bore, then he could ask her to become his wife. Now that the woman is the daughter of honor and wealth, how can the convict expect her to go with him? Hugh Edwards is not blind. He sees it is now more fitting that the woman he loves become the wife of his friend, Saint Jimmy, upon whose name there is no shadow.”

But Natachee, with the cunning of his Indian nature, had not given Saint Jimmy the whole truth in his explanation of Hugh Edwards’ manner.

Natachee remembered that the man who had promoted that investment company, and who had used his power, as the president of the institution, to rob the people of their savings, and who, to shield himself, had sent Donald Payne, an innocent man, to prison, was George Willard Clinton.

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