CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION
Events crowded one another at Sobrante.
Under the compulsion of his brother’s will, so soon as that brother was able to think of anything beyond his own suffering, Ferd led a party of the ranchmen, with Ninian Sharp at their head, to the canyon cave and the pit where the little captain had been imprisoned. They shuddered as they beheld it; yet could but rejoice that Old Century had sought her there, and had, so opportunely, revealed its precious secret. They also took good care to blaze their path as they went, for it was most intricate and bewildering. They had the curiosity to test the powers of the wonderful staff, which John had carefully fitted with a new top, and were amazed at its curious behavior, as it zigzagged over the floor of the almost unsupported. Whatever the metal, or compound of metals, on the point, it was certainly attracted by, and indicated the presence of, copper in the earth beneath.
Returning to the house after this trip of exploration, Marty was promptly mounted upon the “ghost horse” Nero, and sent to Marion with telegrams for Ninian’s expert friends in Los Angeles, and to bring back the mail. The unhappy animal had been treated to a liberal bath of gasoline and soap suds, and had come out of it a sort of mongrel; but with the phosphorus gone from about his eyes and face, and with a reasonable prospect that he might some 211 day be restored to his original ebony hue. Yet his spirit seemed broken, as if he had felt the disgrace of the part he had been forced to play in the late escapades of Antonio and his fellow-conspirators.
“It’s what one might call the irony of fate that the man who caused the death of Comanche should thus be forced to supply Comanche’s place with his own beloved Nero,” commented the reporter, as the messenger rode away.
“Yes. Things generally do even up in this world, if a body has patience to wait a spell,” answered Samson. “And though I’ve no love for him, and wouldn’t trust him across this plaza, without watchin’, I can’t help pitying poor ‘top-lofty,’ and thinking he was more fool than knave. The idee! Them plans and performances of his savor more of the ‘middle ages,’ that I’ve heard about, than of these days. But it just takes my breath away to think of what Sobrante will be, some time, if that ‘find’ in the canyon turns out what we imagine. Why––but there! No use talking. Wait and see. How long you think before you get an answer back from the town, tellin’ what your friend’ll do?”
“Oh! I expect Marty will bring that answer. He’s to wait an hour or two, you know, and give a chance. If Cornell––that’s the expert’s name––is in the city, he’ll probably come himself by the evening train. In that case, you and I might drive over to meet him.”