CHAPTER XXIII. EVERET MAPLESON TAKES A JOURNEY AND MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 312, 31 October 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXIII. EVERET MAPLESON TAKES A JOURNEY AND MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

Eveket M.vrLESox spent the next week mostly in hunting and fishing, occupying* however, a portion of one day in looking over the Hermitage again, although with" out the slightest return for his labour in finding anything new. At the end of that time he began to grow very restless, and a feeling of depression and loneliness took possession of him. A few days more of the same kind of life, and he declared he could stand it no longor. Still he could not make up his mind what he really wanted to do, and was miserable and discontented. He would have been glad to go to Brooklyn, ascertain where (Jladys had gone for the summer, and I hen follow. But he reasoned that Gcoflrey would be with her this year, and, knowing it would be simply maddening to see them together, he felt that it was best that he should keep away. But something he mint do to kill time and amuse himself : he had an unaccountable distaste for gay society, and yet longed ioi some excitement. '1 believe I will take a Western trip,' he suddenly said one morning, after having read in his piper an interesting account of a certain route taken by a party of travellers going to California and the Yosemite Valley. Acting upon the impulse of the moment he packed his portmanteau, dashed oft" a few lines to his mother, informing her of his project, and was westward bound before noon. He reached Chicago the second morning after starting, and took a room at the Palmer House, to rest for a few days while he was deciding what direction he would take from that point. The following day, after a good night's sleep and a fine breakfast, ho strolled into the smoking-room with a morning paper to idle awaj r an hour or so and read the news. There were several people in the room, but he paid no attention to them more than to cast a sweeping glance around ; then, seating himself by a window, he lighted a cigar and was soon buried in the contents of his paper. He looked through one half of it, and then laid it aside, takine up the other, when a deep, gruff voice just behind him remarked : ' I say, stranger, could you spare a part of that there paper ? I've read yesterday's "Inter-Ocean" about through, and would like something a trifle fresher.' Everet turned to see who was addressing him, and found a man every bit ac rough looking as his voice had sounded, sitting near him. He was evidently a miner or ranger, but had an honest, open face which at once attrnoted the young Southerner. He passed him that portion of his paper which he had read, receiving hib brief thanks with a courteous bow, and then resumed his interrupted reading. He sat there for perhaps an hour longer, until he grew tired of keeping still, and was contemplating going out for a stroll, ■when the man addressed him again : ' I take it you're a stranger in these part?,' he remarked, with a comprehensive glance over the young man. ' Yes, lam from the South,' Everefc re plied, politely. ' Travellin' for pleasure ?' *Y- 0-9— partly.' ' Any special route laid out . ' Nb ; I thought I'd like to see something of the far West. I think I shall visit the principal cities on my way, and the chief points of interest, and pei'haps take a look at some of the mines ; I've always had something of a curiosity regarding mining.' ' Have you now V asked the man, with delighted emphasis, his face brightening with pleasure. • Perhaps I can be of use to you in that line then, for I've been a miner all my life and knosv.the ins and outs about as well any man living. I'll be glad to give you any points about the business." 'Thank yon,' Eveiet returned, looking interested. ' What mines have you been connected with ?' ' I've been in Nevada, Colorado, Kew Mexico, and California,' answered the man, with an air of pride. 'Indeed, you have surely seen a good deal of that kind of life,' Everet remarked, smiling. ' When were you in New Mexico ? I know a man who once owned stock in f-ome mines there.' 'I -\vext to Mexico in 18—,' replied the stranger, in answei to Everet's question, ' and did tip-top for ten years, and after that I tried Nevada. What was your friend's name, sir ?' ' Mapleson ' ' Mapleson ?' repeated the miner, reflectively. ' I don't think I ever heard the name before, leastwise not in the diggings. What mine did he work ?' ' He had some snares in the Moreno mines on the east side of ohe Rocky Mountains." ' Wall, I wasn't located in the Moreno mines myself. I wa* farther up among the mountains, though I've been theie; but I never met a man by the name of Maple.son : though there's nothing strange about that, where so many people own shares. I worked for a man named Dale — ' ' Dolt ." interrupted Everet, with n sudden shock. ' es, and a fine man he was — handsome chap too ; altogether too much of a fine gentleman to be' roughing it as a miner, I ufeed to think.' ' Where did he come from ?' the young man inquiied, trying to repress ttie eagerness that possessed him. ' I couldn't tell you. I was in Santa Fe one day looking for a job and he wa? looking for a man, to sort of superintend a claim. We took to each other, struck a bargain on the spot, and I went back to his diggings with him that very night. He couldn't or wouldn't wait till the next day, though I'd been glad to, and afterward I found out the reason— he had the trappiest little wife up there that I ever set eyes on — a sweet, white-livered little thing with eyeei as blue its the sky and hair as bright ixn the gold we dug out of the bowels of the earth. ' The miner was woxlng eloquent over the reminiscences. ' 'Tisn't often that ,a man cares to take &uch a dainty piece of humanity into such a wild, outlandish place as a miner's camp, and goodness knows that it's rare enough for a rough set like us to see a beautiful woman, let alone having her right among us all the time. But there wasn't a that wouldn't, have risked his life to defend her from any cvii or danger, for she always had a kind smile and a gentle word for the worst of us.' Everet Mapleson sat suddenly erect and looked the astonishment he felt. His face had grown as white as his shirt front while his companion wns speaking, and his heart was beating with great heavy

throbs that almost suffocated him ; .for a wild suspicion had suddenly taken possession of him. ' You say the man's name was Dale ?' ho asked. < ' Yes, William Dale — or Captain Dale, as we all called him. You see he was only newly married, and had just brought the little woman there, and that was the reason he didn't like to leave her alone over night I in that wild region,' the miner explained, ' beginning to notice his listener's strange manner. ' You are sure that they were married — that she was 1 eally Ins wife ?' said Everet, in an excited tone. The miner looked the surprise he felt at such a question 1 Why, yes ; at least everybody supposed she was his wife ; he said she was ; while they seemed to set the world by each other, and the poor captain grieved like one bereft of his reason when she died.' ' Died ?' gasped hi» listener. 'Yes, poor little lady ! she was in the camp just one blessed year, then bhe little shaver came and the mother never got up again.' ' There was a child !' ejaculated Everet Mapleson, losing his self-possession moic and more. ' Stiange,' said the man, with a cuiious staie; ' you seem wonderfully moved over my story — did you ever hear of these people before ?'* ' I'll tell you by-and-by. But go on— tell me about this child,' Everet eagerly urged. ' Well, there was a fine boy,' continued the miner, 'and he was. the pride of the camp ; you see it was a rare thing for a set of rough mineis to have a baby among us, and every man Jack of us took is much intprest in him as if he'd been our veiy own : but it ca&b a gloom over the whole lot when it came to be known that the gentle little mother had to £0. E never saw a fellow &o upset as Dale was over it; he went about ■with a face as white as a sheet., and all bowed down like an old man. Not one of us dared to speak to him he looked so awful, and we all kept out of his way as much as we could. It came or last — the final blow : the captain's lovely wite— pretty Annie Dale, wns dead, and the only baby in the place was motherless.' ' AvHie Dale I' breathed Everet Mapleson, actually growing di/zy as he caught the name. It seemed thestrangest thing in the world to him that he should have come to Chicago and stumbled thus upon the very information which he had been so anxious to gam. There \va& not a doubt in his mind that the sweet and beautiful woman, of whom the miner had been telling him, was the same unfortunate girl who had disappeared so suddenly irom Richmond years ago, and ' whose subsequent mysterious history he i had been so eager to trace. ' Yfes, that was her name,' the man answered with a sigh, 'and I shall ne\er forget the day they buried her. They had a parson over from Fort Union, a gra\espoken but pleasant-faced man, and he almost took us right into heaven where that sweet woman had gone, with the beautiful, solemn words he spoke. The coffin was solid rosewood, and came from Santa Fe, with another great box of sweet-smelling flowers. The captain never showed himself that day ; he just «at alone by the coffin in the front room of his house and never made a sound until the men went in to take it away, when he gave a groan that I shall never forget as long as I live, and fell on his face to the floor, where he was picked up in a dead faint. Poor fellow ! he was worn out with watching, to say nothing of his grief. I tell you that it was a sorry day for the camp, for there wasn't more'n a halt-do/en women in the place, and most of them were none of the best: though aftei the captain's wite came there they seemed to take more pride in being kind ot decent. Well, she wa-. buried under a great cypress tree wheie bhe loved to sib on warm days, and the captain had it all fenced oft, after a while, and put a white stone up by the grave with just her first name on it, and the miners rough as • they weie, never let the flowers wither on that crave as long ab 1 stayed there. I don't know how it was afterward, for it's more than twenty years ago since the poor thing died..' The man had to stop and use his handkerchief vigorously just here, and Everet could see that he was deeply moved over the memory of that sad time. ' What became ot the child ?' the young man a^ked, aftei a moment. | ' Well, when the Dales first went theie to live, they hired a girl to serve Mrs Dale, tor she was so delicate, and the captain wouldn't permit her to do any woik, and she — the girl — had the caie ot the boy after the mother died. But they didn't stay long in the place, only about a month. The captain didn't seem to have any hcait foi anything; appealed wretched and half crazed, and finally, when the girl w;is married to a man named Jack Henly, who was going to California, to be a farmer, the cottage was shut up, its furniture sold, and they all went away together.' ' What was this girl's name V Eve ret demanded. 'Margery something: can't remember her other name just now,' said the miner. E\ en though Everet Mapleson had been expecting ju?t this reply, it gave him a shock when he heard that name pronounced. He had at la&t, he believed, traced Geoffrey Huntress's birth. It was proved that Annie Dale was his mother. When she left Itichmond she had doubtless gone to the man whom she loved, and who had enticed her, with smooth words and fair promises, to go with him to that wild mining region where they had lived together as husband and wife. That they were nob really so, Everefc felt quite sure, else the man would never ha\'c taken the gill's name, instead of giving her his own. 'What did they name the child?' he a&ked. The miner looked perplexed. € I'll be dashed if I can think,' he said, after a moment's reflection, as he scratched his head. ' 'Twas a sort of queer, highpounding name— Jeff— CeofF — or something after that sort with a tail to it.' Everet had heard enough to confirm all suspicions, but he did not enlighten his companion as to the rest of his name ; he did not care to seem to know too much. ' Did Captain Dale over- return to his mine afrer that?' he inquired. ' Not while I was there ; an agent came once 01 twice, to act for him, and finally bought him out. I've never seen him since, though I've often wondered what became of the little motheiless chap that we were all so fond of.' The young Southerner &at with bowed head and thoughtful mien for several moments, then taking a ca&e from his pocket, he opened it, and held it before the miner. ' Did Annie Dale look anything like thi&?' he a&ked. The man gave his companion a look of questioning surprise as he took the picture, and turning it towards the light, examined it critically for a moment. ' It does, and it doesn't,' he said, at last. 'It ain't so delicate like as she was; ,bhe eyes are a little smaller, and the face fuller and rounder. I should say this might be a sister or some relation, but it> ain'b the captain's wile. I say, youngster,' J

' he added, looking Evovet full in the eye, ' it's mighty queer that you should have this picture, and it strikes mo that I've been firing arrows at a mark J'd no notion of hitting. Who be you any way ?' 'My name is Mapleson,' Everet returned, l and the name of the young lady whose picture I have shown you was Miss Nannie Davenport. She married a man by the name of Dale, a distant cbnncctiou of my father's family. They had one child,' a daughter, whom they named Annie. After her parents' death, she suddenly left the place where she had lived, and no one ever heard anything of her afterward, and her disappearance was a matter of mystery to all who had ever known her.' ' You don't say ! Welt, Tarn beat!' exclaimed the miner in astonishment. ' Things do come about qucei enough sometimos, and 1 reckon there ain't much , doubt that the woman I've been telling you of was the daughter of the one in the picture. But — you say hei oini name was Annie Date ? ' he concluded, looking puzzled, ' That's queer, too. Then who was Captain Dale ?' ' I do not know ; pesoib'y some 1 dative,' Everet said, not caring to destroy the man's romance by arousing his suspicions that there had been a story of shame enacted in that mountain camp. But in his own heart lie belie\cd that the girl had been led astray, and the man who had been guilty of the deed had adopted her name to cover his own dishonour. He thought of that portion of a letter which lay tucked away in his wallet, while a shiver of horror ran down hi? back. Had the man who wrote that been the one who had done this thing ': ' What sorb of a looking man was this Dale ?' lie inquired. ' He was a tall, broad-shouldeied, stately looking chap, a little abo\e your height, I should say, and a good deal thicker set. His hair was about the colour of a ripe chestnut, and he had a beard that \vu> the envy of the whole camp — thick and hea\y, long and silky. His eyes weic blue He was n miyhty fine-looking fellow, and about the smoothest-spoken man it was over my lot to meet For all th.it, lie knew wheie to dra.v the line ; he could hold his men at aim?' length and keep them up to the mark better than any bo»r> 1 e\cr worked under. But I can't understand about/ both their names being Dale. Vei hap*, though, they were cousins, and cousins often many,' the miner concluded, rolleethely. ' You say he was e.xtieincly loud of hi* wife ?' said Everet. ' I never *a\v a man louder of a woman. He couldn't do enough tor her ; he wouldn't let her lift her finger to do anything, unless it was something fancj — at least, I've heard Maigery, the gill, say that — and he kept her looking like a little qjcen. When the youngster came, a proudei man you never saw, and eveiy miner undei him had a boitle of wine all to himsolt to drink to the little gentleman's health. I d give considerable to know what became of I hem after they left the camp.' * I'm ijoiiuj to know," Eveiet Maplcoon said to himself, with an inflexible purpose ; then he added aloud, in a lighter stiain than he had yet spoken : 'It was quite a romance foi that country, wa&n'tit ?' ' That* a fact, young man, only I wish it could have tui ned out a little buttei . 'Twas kind of hard to have that pretty young thing die, when life was so bright beioie her,' returned his companion, with a sigh. ' True. Are you still in the mining business "?' the young man asked, feeling as if he would like to change the subject. He did not care to be questioned too closely over what he knew. ' Well, I own two or three c!aim«, but I don't da much at working 'em myself. I've made a pretty comfortable pile, and I'm going to enjoy life for a- while. Tin just on my -way now to New Mexico to try to sell out my claim there,' ' Would you like company on your trip ':' Everet. inquired, a sudden resoh c taking shape in his mind. 'I've a notion l\\ like to see something ot that country.' ' I'd a*k nothing better than to have yon come along with me, if that is your mind,' replied the man, a look of satisfaction settling over his face ; ' and I reckon,' he added, 'I can give } on some points about the country, and the mining business, too, that you couldn't rind out for yourself.' ' Thank you ; but if we are to be travelling companions, it would peihaps be pleasanter foi both of us if we could know each other's name. Mine ii 1 * Everet Mapleson, and lam ficm Richmond, Vitginia ;' and the young Southerner smiled ;is he thus intioduced himself. ' Well, I'm beat ' Here I've been talk ing to you for morc'n an hour and never told you who /be •' said the miner looking blank. ' There ain't nothing high-sound-ing about m>t name, but Bob Whibtako is an honest one, and I'm fiom most anywhere, iuct as it happens. T gue-s now we can hitch houses and go along without any more ceicmony.'