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The Little Lady of Lagunitas

R >> Richard Henry Savage >> The Little Lady of Lagunitas




"I see you do remember," says Lee, throwing away his cigar. "Now
be frank, old man. Tell me your whole game."

Woods hands him the list of the passengers. He is keenly eying Lee.

"Who was that Madame de Santos?" he says eagerly.

"Is it worth five thousand to know?" says the detective, quietly.

"On the dead square," replies Joe, "Cash ready."

"Do you remember the 'Queen of the El Dorado'?" Lee simply says.

"Here! Great God, man!" cries Lee, for Joe Woods' fist comes down
on the table. Flying cigars, shattered glasses, and foaming wine
make a rare havoc around.

"By God!" shouts the oblivious Joe," the woman Hardin killed 'French
Charlie' for."

"The same," says Lee, steadily, as he picks some splintered glass
out of his goatee. "Joe, you can add a suit of clothes to that
check."

"Stop your nonsense," says the happy Joe, ringing for the waiter
to clear away the wreck of his cyclonic fist. "The clothes are
O.K."

"Where did she come from to take that boat?" demands Woods.

"From Hardin's house," says Lee.

A light breaks in on Colonel Joe's brain.

"And that woman with her?"

"Was her maid, who stayed with her from the time she left the El
Dorado, and ran the little nest on the hill. The mistress never
showed up in public."

"And the child who went with the maid?" Joe's voice trembles.

"Was Hardin's child. Its mother was the 'Queen of the El Dorado.'"

Woods looks at Lee.

"Can you give me a report, from the time of the killing of 'French
Charlie' down to the sailing?"

"Yes, I can," says the inscrutable Lee.

"Let me have it, to-morrow morning. Not a word to Hardin."

"All right, Colonel Joe," is the answer of silent Lee.

Joseph chokes down his feelings, orders a fresh bottle of wine,
some cigars, and calls for pen and ink.

While the waiter uncorks the wine, Joe says: "What do you pay for
your clothes, Lee?"

"Oh, a hundred and fifty will do," is the modest answer. "That
carries an overcoat."

Joe laughs as he beautifies a blank check with his order to himself,
to pay to himself, five thousand one hundred and fifty dollars,
and neatly indorses it, "Joseph Woods." "I guess that's the caper,
Captain," he says. This "little formality" over, the wine goes to
the right place THIS TIME.

"Now I don't want to see you any more till I get your reminiscences
of that lady," remarks Joe, reaching for his gold-headed club.

"On time, ten o'clock," is the response of the police captain.

"Have you seen her since, Joe? She was a high stepper," muses the
Captain. He has been a great connoisseur of loveliness. Many fair
ones have passed under his hands in public duty or private seance.

"That's my business," sturdy Joe mutters, with an unearthly wink.
"You give me back my check, old man, and I'll tell you what _I_
know."

Lee laughs. "I'm not so curious, Colonel."

They shake hands, and the gray old wolf goes to his den to muse
over what has sent Joe Woods on a quest for this "fallen star."

Lee wastes no time in mooning. The check is a "pleasing reality."
The memories of Hortense Duval are dearer to Joe than to him. His
pen indites the results of that watchful espionage which covers
so many unread leaves of private life in San Francisco.

There is an innocent smile on Woods' face when he strolls into
his own office and asks Peyton to give him the evening in quiet.
Strongly attracted by the Virginian, Woods has now a double interest
in his new friend.

In the sanctum, Woods says, "Peyton, I am going to tell you a
story, but you must first show me the papers you have kept so long
of poor Valois."

Peyton rises without a word. He returns with a packet.

"Here you are, Woods. I have not examined them yet. Now, what is
it?"

"You told me Valois made a will before he died, Peyton," begins
Woods.

"He did, and wrote to Hardin. He wrote to the French priest at his
ranch."

Woods starts. "Ha, the damned scoundrel! Go on; go on." Joe knows
PŠre Fran‡ois never got that letter. "I read those documents. His
letter of last wishes to Hardin. When I was in Havana, I found
Hardin never acknowledged the papers."

Woods sees it all. He listens as Peyton tells the story.

"We have to do with a villain," says Joe. "He destroyed the papers
or has hidden them. Colonel, open this packet." Joe's voice is
solemn.

With reverent hand, Peyton spreads the papers before the miner.
There are stains upon them. Separating them, he arranges them one
by one. Suddenly he gives a gasp.

"My God! Colonel Joe, look there!"

Woods springs to his side.

It is a "message from the dead."

Yes, lying for years unread, between the last letters of his wife
and the tidings of her death, is an envelop addressed:

Major Henry Peyton,
Fourteenth Louisiana Inf'y,
C.S.A."

Tears trickle through Peyton's fingers, as he raises his head, and
breaks the seal.

"Read it, Major," says Woods huskily. He is moved to the core of
his heart. It brings old days back.

Peyton reads:

Atlanta--In the field,
July 21, 1864.

My Dear Peyton:--I am oppressed with a strange unrest about my
child! I do not fear to meet death to-morrow. I feel it will take
me away from my sadness. I am ready. Our flag is falling. I do not
wish to live to see it in the dust. But I am a father. As I honor
you, for the brotherhood of our life together, I charge you to
watch over my child. Hardin is old; something might happen to him.
I forgot a second appointment in the will; I name you as co-executor
with him. Show him this. It is my dying wish. He is a man of honor.
I have left all my estate to my beloved child, Isabel Valois. It
is only right; the property came by my marriage with my wife, her
dead mother. In the case of the death of my child, search out the
heirs of Judge Valois and see the property fairly divided among
them. Hardin is the soul of honor, and will aid you in all. I desire
this to be a codicil to my will, and regarded as such. I could not
ask you to ride out again for me this wild night before my last
battle.

The will you witnessed, is the necessary act of the death of my
wife. If you live through the war, never forget

Your friend and comrade, MAXIME VALOIS.

P.S. If you go to California, look up Joe Woods. He is as true a
man as ever breathed, and would be kind to my little girl. Padre
Francisco Ribaut married me at Lagunitas to my Dolores. Good-bye
and good-night. M.V.

The men gaze at each other across the table, touched by this solemn
voice sweeping down the path of dead years. That lonely grave by
the lines of Atlanta seemed to have opened to a dead father's love.
Peyton saw the past in a new light. Valois' reckless gallantry that
day was an immolation. His wife's death had unsettled him.

Joe Woods' rugged breast heaved in sorrow as he said, "Peyton,
I will stand by that child. So help me, God! And he thought of me
at the last--he thought of me!" The old miner chokes down a rising
sob. Both are in tears.

"Look here, Colonel!" said Woods briskly. "This will never do! You
will want to cheer up a little, for your trip, you know."

"Trip?" says the wondering Virginian.

"Why, yes," innocently remarks Joseph Woods. "You are going to
New Orleans to look up about the Valois boy. Then you are to see
those bankers at Havana, and get proof before the Consul-General
about the documents. I want you to send your affidavit to me. I've
got a lawyer in New York, who is a man. I'll write him. You can
tell him all. I'm coming on there soon. After you get to New York
from Havana, you will go to Paris and stay there till I come."

Peyton smiles even in his sadness. "That's a long journey, but I
am yours, Colonel. Why do I go to Paris?"

"You are going to answer the letter of that dead man," impressively
remarks Joseph.

"How?" murmurs Peyton.

"By being a father to his lonely child and watching over her.
There's two girls there. You can keep an eye on them both. I'll
trap this old scoundrel here. You've got to leave this town. He
might suspect YOU when I start MY machinery.

"I'll plow deep here. I'll meet you in New York. Now, I want you
to take to-morrow's train. I'll run your stock account, Colonel
Henry," Woods remarks, with a laugh.

The next day, Peyton speeds away on his errand after receiving the
old miner's last orders. His whispered adieu was: "I'm going to
stand by my dead pardner's kid, for he thought of me at the last."






CHAPTER XVII.

WEAVING SPIDERS.--A COWARD BLOW.--MARIE B�RARD'S DOOM.





Peyton's good-bye rings in Woods' ears as the train leaves. The
boxes and parcels forced on the Confederate veteran, are tokens
of his affection. The cognac and cigars are of his own selection.
Joe's taste in creature comforts is excellent, and better than his
grammar.

On the ferry, Joe surveys San Francisco complacently from the
steamer.

"I've got those documents in the vaults. I'll have Peyton's evidence.
I rather fancy Captain Lee's biography will interest that dame in
Paris. I will prospect my friend Hardin's surroundings. He must
have some devil to do his dirty work. I will do a bit of 'coyote
work' myself. It's a case of dog eat dog, here."

Joseph classes all underhand business as "coyote work." He appreciates
the neatness with which that furtive Western beast has taken his
boots, soap, his breakfast and camp treasures under his nose.

Invincible, invisible, is the coyote.

"By Heavens! I'll make that old wolf Hardin jump yet!" Joseph swears
a pardonable oath.

After writing several telling letters to the Padre and Vimont, he
feels like a little stroll. He ordered Vimont to guard Louise Moreau
at any cost. "No funny business," he mutters.

"If she's the girl, that scoundrel might try to remove her from
this world," thinks Joseph. "As for the other girl, he's got a
tiger cat to fight in the 'de Santos.'"

Colonel Woods beams in upon the clerks of Judge Hardin. That magnate
is absent. The senatorial contest is presaged by much wire-pulling.

"I don't see the young man who used to run this shebang," carelessly
remarks the Croesus.

"Mr. Jaggers is not here any longer," smartly replies his pert
successor, to whom the fall of Jaggers was a veritable bonanza.

"What's the matter with him?" says Woods. "I wanted him to do a
job of copying for me."

The incumbent airily indicates the pantomime of conveying the too
frequent Bourbon to his lips.

"Oh, I see! The old thing," calmly says Woods. "Fired out for
drinking."

The youth nods. "He is around Montgomery Street. You 'most always
will catch him around the 'old corner' saloon."

Joseph Woods is familiar with that resort of bibulous lawyers. He
wanders out aimlessly.

While Barney McFadden, the barkeeper, surveys Colonel Joseph
swallowing his extra cocktail, he admires himself in the mirror.
He dusts off his diamond pin with a silk handkerchief.

"Jaggers! Oh, yes; know him well. In back room playing pedro. Want
him?"

Woods bows. The laconic Ganymede drags Jaggers away from his ten-cent
game.

Impelled by a telegraphic wink, Barney deftly duplicates the favorite
tipple of the Californian. The Golden State has been sustained in
its growth, by myriads of cocktails. It is the State coat of arms.

"Want to see me? Certainly, Colonel." Jaggers is aroused.

In a private room, Jaggers wails over his discharge. His pocket
is his only fear. Otherwise, he is in Heaven. His life now, is all
"Cocktails and poker!" "Poker and cocktails!" It leaves him little
time for business. Woods knows his man--a useful tool.

"Look here, Jaggers; I know your time is valuable." Jaggers bows
gravely; he smells a new twenty-dollar piece; it will extend his
"cocktail account." "I want you to do some business for me." Jaggers
looks stately.

"I'm your man, Colonel," says Jaggers, who is, strange to say, very
expert in his line. The trouble with Jaggers is, the saloon is not
near enough to Judge Hardin's office. The OFFICE should be in the
SALOON. It would save useless walking.

"I want you to search a title for me," says Colonel Joe, from
behind a cloud of smoke. Jaggers sniffs the aroma. Joseph hands
him several "Excepcionales."

Jaggers becomes dignified and cool. "Is there money in it, Colonel?"
he says, with a gleam of his ferret eyes.

"Big money," decisively says Woods.

"I'm very busy now," objects Jaggers. He thinks of his ten-cent
ante in that pedro game.

"I want you to give me your idea of the title to the Lagunitas
mine. I am thinking of buying in," continues Joe. "I'll give you
five hundred dollars, in cold twenties, if you tell me what you
know."

"How soon?" Jaggers says, with a gasp.

"Right off!" ejaculates Woods, banging the bell for two more
cocktails.

Jaggers drains the fiery compound. He whispers with burning breath
in Woods' ears:

"Make it a cool thousand, and swear you'll look out for me. I'll
give the thing dead away. You know what a son-of-a-gun Hardin is?"

Woods bows. He DON'T know, but he is going to find out. "I'll give
you a job in my mine (the Golden Chariot), as time-keeper. You can
keep drunk all your life, except at roll-call. If Hardin hunts you
up there, I'll have the foreman pitch him down the shaft. Is this
square?"

"Honor bright!" says Jaggers, extending his palm. "Honor bright!"
says Joseph, who dares not look too joyous.

Jaggers muses over another cocktail. "You go to the bank, and get
a thousand dollars clean stuff. Give me a coup‚. I'll give you the
things you want, in half an hour. I've got 'em stowed away. Don't
follow me!"

Woods nods, and throws him a double-eagle. "I'll be here when
you come back. Keep sober till we're done. I'll give you a pass
to Virginia City, so you can finish your drunk in high altitudes.
It's healthier, my boy!" Joe winks.

Jaggers is off like a shot. Colonel Joseph walks two blocks to the
bank. He returns with fifty yellow double-eagles.

"Got to fight coyote style to catch a coyote!" is the murmur
of Colonel Woods to his inward monitor. "It's for the fatherless
kid."

"Barney," impressively says Joseph, "make me a good cocktail this
time! Send 'em in, ANY WAY, when that young man returns. His life
is insured. _I_ have to work for a living. Make one for yourself.
YOU are responsible."

Barney's chef d'oeuvre wins a smile from the genial son of Missouri.
As the last drops trickle down his throat, Jaggers enters. He has
had external cocktails. He is flushed, but triumphant.

"Colonel, you're a man of honor. There's your stuff." He throws an
envelope on the table.

Joseph Woods opens the packet. "Just count that, young man, while
I look at these."

He peruses the papers handed him, with interest. Jaggers follows
him.

"This is all you have. Anything else in the office?" says Woods.

"Not a scratch. Colonel, I thought they would come in handy."
Jaggers' work is done.

"Take care of your money, my lad. It is yours," says Woods. He
rings for Barney, and indites a note to his foreman at the "Golden
Chariot." "You better get up there, to-night, Jaggers," he says,
handing him the note and a pass. "Your appointment is only good
for that train. You give that note to Hank Daly. He'll supply you
all the whiskey you want, free. By the way, the boys up there play
poker pretty well. Now you keep cool, or you'll get shot as well
as lose your money. Don't you forget to stay there, if it's ten
years till I want you. Daly will have orders for you.

"If you come back here, Hardin will kill you like a dog, if he
finds this out."

"And you?" murmurs Jaggers, who is imbibing the stirrup cup.

"Oh, I'll look out for that!" remarks cheerful Joe Woods. Armed
with substantial "persuaders," Jaggers leaves with an agent of
Barney's. He has orders to see Jaggers and his "baggage," started
for Virginia City.

Jaggers beams. Joe Woods never drops a friend. His future smiles
before him. Exit Jaggers.

Woods reads the documents. One is a press copy of a letter dated
January, 1864, addressed to Colonel Maxime Valois, from Hardin,
asking him to sell him the quartz claims on the Lagunitas grant.

The answer of Valois is written while recovering from his wounds.
It reads:

"TALLULAH, GEORGIA, March 1, 1864.

"MY DEAR HARDIN: I have your letter, asking me to sell you the
quartz leads on the Lagunitas grant. I am still suffering from my
wound, and must be brief.

"I cannot do this. My title is the title of my wife. I have no right
to dispose of her property by inheritance, without her consent.
She has my child to look after. As the ranch income may fail some
day, I will not cut off her chances to sell. It is her property. I
would not cloud it. I will join my regiment soon. If the war ends
and I live to return, I will arrange with you. I have no power to
do this, now, as my wife would have to join in the sale. I will
not ask her to diminish the value of the tract. I leave no lien on
this property. My wife and child have it free from incumbrance if
I die.

"Address me at Atlanta, Georgia.

"YOURS, MAXIME VALOIS."

"I think I hold four aces now, Mr. Philip Hardin," says Woods,
contemplating himself in the mirror over the bar as he settles with
the gorgeous Barney.

"By the way," remarks Woods, "Barney; if that young man owes you a
bill, send it around to my office." Barney escorts his visitor to
the door, bowing gratefully. Woods departs in a quandary.

"I guess I'll gather up all my documents, and take a look over
things. New York is the place for me to get a square opinion."

When Woods reaches New York he meets Peyton, successful in his
tour for evidence. On consultation with Judge Davis, his adviser,
Woods sends Peyton to Tallulah. It is likely Valois' papers may be
found, for the Colonel "joined" hurriedly on the last advance of
Sherman. Colonel Joseph imparts his ideas to his counsel. A certified
copy of the transfer recorded by Hardin, of the Lagunitas mine,
is sent on by Jaggers, directed in his trip by Hank Daly from the
mine.

In five days a despatch from Tallulah gladdens the miner, who longs
for Paris:

"Found and examined baggage. Original letter in my hands. Coming
with all. Many other papers.

"PEYTON."

On the Virginian's arrival Judge Davis instructs the friends. Woods
insists on Peyton taking joint charge of the quest for the orphan's
fortune.

"Hardin is responsible under his trusteeship. You can't force
Peyton on him as co-executor. He has concealed the will. A suit
now would warn the villain and endanger the child's life. Take the
certified copy of the transfer to Paris. Get the priest's deposition
that the document is forged; then guard the girl as if she were
your life. In a few years the heiress will be entitled to claim her
estate. Keep the child near Paris, but change her residence often.
Watch the maid and Madame de Santos. Follow them to California.
Produce the girl you claim to be the heiress. I will give you a
letter to an advocate in Paris, who will close up the proof. Beware
of Hardin! If he suspects, the child's life may be in danger!"

"I'll kill him myself if there is any foul play!" roars Joe Woods.

"My dear Colonel, that would not bring the child back," remarks
Judge Davis, smiling at his handsome counsel fee. "Count on me!
Use the cable."

On the Atlantic the guardians agree on their duties. "I will
interview Madame de Santos when I close some business in London,"
says Woods grimly.

Peyton, with credentials to Padre Francisco, speeds from Liverpool
to Paris. He arrives none too soon.

Philip Hardin's villany strikes from afar!

Judge Hardin, passing the county seat, on his way to the mine,
looks in to obtain his annual tax papers. A voluble official remarks:

"Going to sell your mine, Judge?"

"Certainly not, sir," replies the would-be Senator, with hauteur.

"Excuse me. You sent for certified copies of the title. We thought
you were putting it on the market."

Hardin grows paler than his wont. Some one has been on the trail.
He asks no questions. His cipher-book is at San Francisco. Who is
on the track? He cannot divine. The man applying was a stranger
who attracted no attention. The Judge telegraphs to the mine for
his foreman to come to San Francisco. He returns to his house on
the hill. From his private safe he extracts the last letters of
Natalie de Santos.

Since her urgent appeal, she has been brief and cold. She is
waiting. Is this her stroke? He will see. Has anyone seen the child
and made disclosures? His heart flutters. He must now placate
Natalie. The child must be quickly removed from Paris. He dare not
give a reason. No, but he can use a bribe.

After several futile attempts he pens this cipher:

Remove child instantly to Dresden. Telegraph your address on
arrival. Definite settlement as you wished. Remember your promise.
Directions by mail. Imperative.

PHILIP.

Hardin chafes anxiously before a reply reaches him. When he reads
it, he rages like a fiend. It clearly reads:

I will not obey. Marry me first. Come here. Keep your oath. I will
keep my promise. A settlement on the other child is no safeguard
to me. She must have a name. Letters final. Useless to telegraph.
HORTENSE.

When Hardin's rage subsides, he reviews the situation in his
palace. He is safe for years from an accounting, yet it is coming
on. If he brings the heiress to California, it will precipitate it.
Secret plans for the Senate of the United States are now maturing.
Marriage with Hortense. Impossible. His friends urge his giving
his name to an ambitious lady of the "blue blood" of his Southern
home. She is a relative of the head of the Democratic capitalists.
This is a "sine qua non." The lady has claims on these honors.
It has been a secret bargain to give his hand in return for that
seat. Hortense talks madness. Never.

As for facing her, he dare not. He has established her. She is
too subtle to risk herself out of the lines she has found safe.
Who can be the "Deus ex machina"?

Ah, that Italian meddler, Villa Rocca! Hardin weaves a scheme. He
will wait her letters. If the Italian is his enemy, he will lure
him to California and then----

Ah, yes, till then, patience--the patience of the tiger crouching
at the water-pool for his coming prey.

Peyton loses no time in Paris. He reaches the home of Aristide
Dauvray. He is welcomed by the circle. The young artists are busy
with brush and modelling tool. Woods' patronage has been a blessing.
The fame of his orders has been extended by the exhibition of the
works ordered by him. His bankers have directed the attention of
the travelling Americans to the young man.

Louise Moreau is no longer a bud, but an opening rose. So fair is
she, so lovely, that Armand feels his heart beat quicker when the
girl nears his canvas to admire his skill. By the direction of PŠre
Fran‡ois, she leaves the house no more for her lessons. There is
a secret guard of loving hearts around her.

PŠre Fran‡ois meets Peyton with open arms. They are to be joint
guardians over the innocent child of destiny.

At Peyton's hotel, the men commune. It is not strange that the
ex-Confederate is comfortably settled opposite the Dauvray mansion!
In an exchange of opinion with the able Josephine, it is agreed
that one of the young men or the Colonel shall be always at hand.

Woods meditates a "coup de maŒtre." He intends, on his arrival, to
remove the girl Louise where no malignity of Hardin can reach her,
to some place where even Marie B‚rard will be powerless. He will
force some one to show a hand. Then, God keep the villain who
leaves his tree to fight in the open! It is war to the death. Woods
directs Peyton to use his bankers and the police, telegraphing him
at London. He has a fear they have been followed to Europe. The
bankers understand that Peyton and the priest are Woods' ambassadors.

Marie B‚rard comes no more to the home of her charge. Her letters
are sent by a commissionaire. Peyton reads in this a danger signal.
The soldier is on the watch for treachery. His quiet habits are
easily satisfied. He has his books, daily journals, and also French
lessons from charming Louise.

It is sunny splendor at the house on the Champs Elys‚es, where
Natalie de Santos moves in her charmed circle of luxury. While
Peyton waits for the "Comstock Colonel," an anxious woman sits in
her queenly boudoir.

Natalie's beauty is ravishing. The exquisite elegance of her manner
is in keeping with the charms of the shining loveliness which makes
her a cynosure in the "Bois."

Face to face with a dilemma, the fair "chƒtelaine" racks her brain
for a new expedient. Her woman's wit is nonplussed.

Villa Rocca DEMANDS, URGES, PLEADS, SUES for marriage. Is it love?
Of all her swains he is the only one who touches her heart. At his
approach, her tell-tale pulse beats high. She dare not yet quit
Hardin. There is a campaign before her. To force Hardin to marry
her, even secretly, is the main attack. He is now old. Then, to
establish her daughter as the heiress of Lagunitas. After Hardin's
death, marriage with Villa Rocca. That is the goal. But how to
restrain his lover-like ardor.

She smiles at her reflection in the glass. She knows "the fatal
gift of beauty." It is another woman than the "queen of the gambling
hell" who smiles back at her. The pearls on her neck rise and fall.
Hardin! Ah, yes; his possible treachery! Would he dare to take the
convent pupil away from her? Perhaps.

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