University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

TWO horsemen, one of whom led a third horse, carrying a pack-saddle, had reached the borders of the desert just as the earthquake began. When the first shock came, they were riding past a grove of live-oaks: they immediately dismounted, made fast their horses, and lay down beside some bushes that skirted the grove. Neither the earthquake nor the storm was so severe as was the case farther eastward. In an hour all was over, and they remounted and continued their journey, guiding their course by the stars.

“It was thus that we rode before, Kamaiakan,” remarked the younger of the two travellers. “Yonder bright star stood as it

does now, and the hour of the night was the same. But this shaking of the earth makes me fear for the safety of that youth. The sands of the desert may have swept over him; or he may have perished in the hills.”

“The purposes of the gods cannot be altered, Semitzin,” replied the old Indian, who perhaps would not have much regretted such a calamity as she suggested: it would be a simple solution of difficulties which might otherwise prove embarrassing. “It is my prayer, at all events, that the entrance to the treasure may not be closed.”

“I care nothing for the treasure, unless I may share it with him,” she returned. “Since we spoke together beside the fountain, I have seen him. He looked upon me doubtfully, being, perhaps, perplexed because of these features of the child Miriam, which I am compelled to wear.”

“Truly, princess, what is he, that you should think of him?” muttered Kamaiakan.

“He satisfies my heart,” was the reply.

“And I am resolved never again to give up this mortal habitation to her you call its rightful owner. I will never again leave this world, which I enjoy, for the unknown darkness out of which you called me.”

“Princess, the gods do not permit such dealings. They may, indeed, suffer you to live again; but you must return as an infant, in flesh and bones of your own.”

“The gods have permitted me to return as I have returned; and you well know, Kamaiakan, that, except you use your art to banish me and restore Miriam, there is nothing else that can work a change.”

“Murder is not lawful, Semitzin; and to do as you desire would be an act not different from murder.”

“On my head be it, then!” exclaimed the princess. “Would it be less a murder to send me back to nothingness than to let her remain there? Mine is the stronger spirit, and has therefore the better right to live. I ask of you only to do nothing. None need ever know that Miriam has vanished

and that Semitzin lives in her place. I wear her body and her features, and I am content to wear her name also, if it must be so.”

Kamaiakan was silent. He may well be pardoned for feeling troubled in the presence of a situation which had perhaps never before confronted a human being. Two women, both tenants of the same body, both in love with the same man, and therefore rivals of each other, and each claiming a right to existence: it was a difficult problem. The old Indian heartily wished that a separate tenement might be provided for each of these two souls, that they might fight out their quarrel in the ordinary way. But his magic arts did not extend to the creation of flesh and blood. At the same time, he could not but feel to blame for having brought this strenuous spirit of Semitzin once more into the world, and he was fain to admit that her claim was not without justification. His motives had been excellent, but he had not foreseen the consequences

in which the act was to land him. Yet he more shrank from wronging Miriam than from disappointing Semitzin.

But the latter was not to be put off by silence.

“There has been a change since you and I last spoke together,” she said. “I am aware of it, though I know not how; but, in some manner, the things which Miriam has done are perceptible to me. When I was here before, she did but lean towards this youth; now she has given herself to him. She means to be united to him; and, if I again should vanish, I should never again find my way back. But it shall not be so; and there is a way, Kamaiakan, by which I can surely prevent it, even though you refuse to aid me.”

“Indeed, princess, I think you mistake regarding the love of Miriam for this young man; they have seen little of each other; and it may be, as you yourself said, that he has perished in the wilderness.”

“I believe he lives,” she answered: “I

should know it, were it otherwise. But if I cannot have him, neither shall she. I have told you already that, unless you swear to me not to put forth your power upon me to dismiss me, I will not lead you to the treasure. But that is not enough; for men deceive, and you are a man. But if at any time hereafter I feel within me those pangs that tell me you are about to separate me from this world, at that moment, Kamaiakan, I will drive this knife through the heart of Miriam! If I cannot keep her body, at least it shall be but a corpse when I leave it. You know Semitzin; and you know that she will keep her word!”

She reined in her horse, as she spoke, and sat gazing upon her companion with flashing eyes. The Indian, after a pause, made a gesture of gloomy resignation. “It shall be as you say, then, Semitzin; and upon your head be it! Henceforth, Miriam is no more. But do you beware of the vengeance of the gods, whose laws you have defied.”

“Let the gods deal with me as they will,”

replied the Aztecan. “A day of happiness with the man I love is worth an age of punishment.”

Kamaiakan made no answer, and the two rode forward in silence.

It was midnight, and a bright star, nearly in the zenith, seemed to hang precisely above the summit of the great white pyramid at the mouth of the gorge.

“It was here that we stopped,” observed Semitzin. “We tied our horses among the shrubbery round yonder point. Thence we must go on foot. Follow me.”

She struck her heels against her horse's sides, and went forward. The long ride seemed to have wearied her not a whit. The lean and wiry Indian had already betrayed symptoms of fatigue; but the young princess appeared as fresh as when she started. Not once had she even taken a draught from her canteen; and yet she was closely clad, from head to foot, in the doublet and leggings of the Golden Fleece. One might have thought it had some magic virtue to preserve its

wearer's vitality; and possibly, as is sometimes seen in trance, the energy and concentration of the spirit reacted upon the body.

She turned the corner of the pyramid, but had not ridden far when an object lying in her path caused her to halt and spring from the saddle. Kamaiakan also dismounted and came forward.

The dead body of a mustang lay on the ground, crushed beneath the weight of a fragment of rock, which had evidently fallen upon it from a height. He had apparently been dead for some hours. He was without either saddle or bridle.

“Do you know him?” demanded Semitzin.

“It is Diego,” replied Kamaiakan. “I know him by the white star on his muzzle. He was ridden by the Señor Freeman. They must have come here before the earthquake. And there lie the saddle and the bridle. But where is Señor Freeman?”

“He can be nowhere else than in this valley,” said Semitzin, confidently. “I knew that I should find him here. Through

all the centuries, and across all spaces, we were destined to meet. His horse was killed, but he has escaped. I shall save him. Could Miriam have done this? Is he not mine by right?”

“It is at least certain, princess,” responded the old man rather dryly, “that had it not been for Miriam you would never have met the Señor Freeman at all.”

“I thank her for so much; and some time, perhaps, I will reward her by permitting her to have a glimpse of him for an hour,—or, at least, a minute. But not now, Kamaiakan, —not till I am well assured that no thought but of me can ever find its way into his heart. Come, let us go forward. We will find the treasure, and I will give it to my lord and lover.”

“Shall we bring the pack-horse with us?” asked the Indian.

“Yes, if he can find his way among these rocks. The earthquake has made changes here. See how the water pours from this spring! It has already made a stream down

the valley. It shall guide us whither we are going.”

Leaving their own horses, they advanced with the mule. But the trail, rough enough at best, was now well-nigh impassable. Masses of rock had fallen from above; large fissures and crevasses had been formed in the floor of the gorge, from some of which steaming vapors escaped, while others gave forth streams of water. The darkness added to the difficulties of the way, for, although the sky was now clear, the gloom was deceptive, and things distant seemed near. Occasionally a heavy, irregular sound would break the stillness, as some projection of a cliff became loosened and tumbled down the steep declivity.

Semitzin, however, held on her way fearlessly and without hesitation, and the Indian, with the pack-horse, followed as best he might, now and then losing sight for a moment of the slight, grayish figure in front of him. At length she disappeared behind the jutting profile of a great promontory which

formed a main angle of the gorge. When he came up with her, she was kneeling beside the prostrate form of a man, supporting his head upon her knee.

Kamaiakan approached, and looked at the face of the man, which was pale; the eyes were closed. A streak of blood, from a wound on the head, descended over the right side of the forehead.

“Is he dead?” the Indian asked.

“He is not dead,” replied Semitzin. “A flying stone has struck him; but his heart beats: he will be well again.” She poured some water from her canteen over his face, and bent her ear over his lips. “He breathes,” she said. Slipping one arm beneath his neck, she loosened the shirt at his throat and then stooped and kissed him. “Be alive for me, love,” she murmured. “My life is yours.”

This exhortation seemed to have some effect. The man stirred slightly, and emitted a sigh. Presently he muttered, “I can— lick him—yet!”

“He will live, princess,” remarked Kamaiakan. “But where is the treasure?”

“My treasure is here!” was her reply; and again she bent to kiss the half-conscious man, who knew not of his good fortune. After an interval she added, “It is in the hollow beneath that archway. Go down three paces: on the wall at the left you will feel a ring. Pull it outwards, and the stone will give way. Behind it lies the chest in which the jewels are. But remember your promise!”

Kamaiakan peered into the hollow, shook his head as one who loves not his errand, and stepped in. The black shadow swallowed him up. Semitzin paid no further attention to him, but was absorbed in ministering to her patient, whose strength was every moment being augmented, though he was not yet aware of his position. But all at once a choking sound came from within the cave, and in a few moments Kamaiakan staggered up out of the shadow, and sank down across the threshold of the arch.

“Semitzin,” he gasped, in a faint voice, “the curse of the gods is upon the spot! The air within is poisonous. It withers the limbs and stops the breath. No one may touch the treasure and live. Let us go!”

“The gods do not love those who fear,” replied the princess, contemptuously. “But the treasure is mine, and it may well be that no other hand may touch it. Fold that blanket, and lay it beneath his head. I will bring the jewels.”

“Do not attempt it: it will be death!” exclaimed the old man.

“Shall a princess come to her lover empty-handed? Do you watch beside him while I go. Ah, if your Miriam were here, I would not fear to have him choose between us!”

With these words, Semitzin stepped across the threshold of the crypt, and vanished in its depths. The Indian, still dizzy and faint, knelt on the rock without, bowed down by sinister forebodings.

Several minutes passed. “She has perished!” muttered Kamaiakan.

Freeman raised himself on one elbow, and gazed giddily about him. “What the deuce has happened?” he demanded, in a sluggish voice. “Is that you, professor?”

Suddenly, a rending and rushing sound burst from the cave. Following it, Semitzin appeared at the entrance, dragging a heavy metal box, which she grasped by a handle at one end. Immediately in her steps broke forth a great volume of water, boiling up as if from a caldron. It filled the cave, and poured like a cataract into the gorge. The foundations of the great deep seemed to be let loose.

Semitzin lifted from her face the woollen mask, or visor, which she had closed on entering the cave. She was panting from exertion, but neither her physical nor her mental faculties were abated. She spoke sharply and imperiously:

“Bring up the mule, and help me fasten the chest upon him. We must reach higher

ground before the waters overtake us. And now—” She turned to Freeman, who by this time was sitting up and regarding her with stupefaction.

“Miriam!” was all he could utter.

She shook her head, and smiled. “I am she who loves you, and whom you will love. I give you life, and fortune, and myself. But come: can you mount and ride?”

“I can't make this out,” he said, struggling, with her assistance, to his feet. “I have read fairy-tales, but this . . . Kamaiakan, too!”

Semitzin, meanwhile, brought him to the mule, and half mechanically he scrambled into the saddle, the chest being made fast to the crupper. Semitzin seized the bridle, and started up the gorge, Kamaiakan bringing up the rear. The lower levels were already filling with water, which came pouring out through the archway in a full flood, seemingly inexhaustible.

“I see how it is,” mumbled Freeman, half to himself. “The earthquake—I remember!

I got hit somehow. They came from the ranch to hunt me up. But where are the general and Professor Meschines? How long ago was it? And how came Miriam . . . Could the mirage have had anything to do with it?—Here, let me walk,” he called out to her, “and you get up and ride.”

She turned her head, smiling again, but hurried on without speaking. The roar of the torrent followed them. Once or twice the mule came near losing his footing. Freeman, whose head was swimming, and his brains buzzing like a hive of bees, had all he could do to maintain his equilibrium in the saddle. He was excruciatingly thirsty, and the gurgling of waters round about made him wish he might dismount and plunge into them. But he lacked power to form a decided purpose, and permitted the more energetic will to control him. It might have been minutes, or it might have been hours, for all he knew: at last they halted, near the base of the white pyramid.

“Here we are safe,” said Semitzin, coming to his side. “Lean on me, my love, and I will lift you down.”

“Oh, I'm not quite so bad as that, you know,” said Freeman, with a feeble laugh; and, to prove it, he blundered off the saddle, and came down on the ground with a thwack. He picked himself up, however, and recollecting that he had a flask with brandy in it, he felt for it, found it intact, and, with an inarticulate murmur of apology, raised it to his lips. It was like the veritable elixir of life: never in his life before had Freeman quaffed so deep a draught of the fiery spirit. It was just what he wanted.

But he felt oddly embarrassed. He did not know what to make of Miriam. It was not her strange costume merely, but she seemed to have put on—or put off—something with it that made a difference in her. She was assertive, imperious; as loving, certainly, as lover could wish, but not in the manner of the Miriam he knew. He might

have liked the new Miriam better, had he not previously fallen in love with the former one. He could not make advances to her: he had no opportunity to do so: she was making advances to him!

“My love,” she said, standing before him, “I have come back to the world for your sake. Before Semitzin first saw you, her heart was yours. And I come to you, not poor, but with the riches and power of the princes of Tenochtitlan. You shall see them: they are yours!—Kamaiakan, take down the chest.”

“What's that about Semitzin?” inquired Freeman. “I'm not aware that I knew any such person.”

“Kamaiakan!” repeated the other, raising her voice, and not hearing Freeman's last words. Kamaiakan was nowhere to be seen. Both Freeman and she had supposed that he was following on behind the mule; but he had either dropped behind, or had withdrawn somewhere. “O Kamaiakan!” shouted Freeman, as loud as he could.

A distant hail, from the direction of the desert, seemed to reply.

“That can't be he,” said Freeman. “It was at least a quarter of a mile off, and the wrong direction, too. He's in the gorge, if he's anywhere.”

“Hark!” said Semitzin.

They listened, and detected a low murmur, this time from the gorge.

“He's fallen down and hurt himself,” said Freeman. “Let's go after him.”

In a few moments they stumbled upon the old Indian, reclining with his shoulders against a rock, and gasping heavily.

“My princess,” he whispered, as she bent over him, “I am dying. The poisonous air in the cave was fatal to me, though the spell that is upon the Golden Fleece protected you. I have done what the gods commanded. I am absolved of my vow. The treasure is safe.”

“Nonsense! you're all right!” exclaimed Freeman. “Here, take a pull at this flask. It did me all the good in the world!”

But the old man put it aside, with a feeble gesture of the hand. “My time is come,—” said he.—“Semitzin, I have been faithful.”

“Semitzin, again!” muttered Freeman. “What does it mean?”

“But what is this?” cried the girl, suddenly starting to her feet. “I feel the sleep coming on me again! I feel Miriam returning! Kamaiakan, have you betrayed me at the last?”

“No, no, princess, I have done nothing,” said he, in a voice scarcely audible. “But, with death, the strength of my will goes from me, and I can no longer keep you in this world. The spirit of Miriam claims her rightful body, and you must struggle against her alone. The gods will not be defied: it is the law!”

His voice sank away into nothing, and his beard drooped upon his breast.

“He's dying, sure enough, poor old chap,” said Freeman. “But what is all this about? I never heard anything like this language you two talk together.”

Semitzin turned towards him, and her eyes were blazing.

“She shall not have you!” she cried. “I have won you—I have saved you—you are mine! What is Miriam? Can she be to you what I could be?—You shall never have him!” she continued, seeming to address some presence invisible to all eyes but hers. “If I must go, you shall go with me!” She fumbled in her belt, caught the handle of a knife there, and drew it. She lifted it against her heart; but even then there was an uncertainty in her movement, as if her mind were divided against itself, or had failed fully to retain the thread of its purpose. But Freeman, who had passed rapidly from one degree of bewilderment to another, was actually relieved to see, at last, something that he could understand. Miriam— for some reason best known to herself—was about to do herself a mischief. He leaped forward, caught her in his arms, and snatched the knife from her grasp.

For a few moments she struggled like a

young tiger. And it was marvellous and appalling to hear two voices come from her, in alternation, or confusedly mingled. One said, “Let me kill her! I will not go! Keep back, you pale-faced girl!” and then a lower, troubled voice, “Do not let her come! Her face is terrible! What are those strange creatures with her? Harvey, where are you?”

At last, with a fierce cry, that died away in a shuddering sigh, the form of flesh and blood, so mysteriously possessed, ceased to struggle, and sank back in Freeman's arms. His own strength was well-nigh at an end. He laid her on the ground, and, sitting beside her, drew her head on his knee. He had been in the land of spirits, contending with unknown powers, and he was faint in mind and body.

Yet he was conscious of the approaching tread of horses' feet, and recollected the hail that had come from the desert. Soon loomed up the shadowy figures of mounted men, and they came so near that he was

constrained to call out, “Mind where you're going! You'll be over us!”

“Who are you?” said a voice, which sounded like that of General Trednoke, as they reined up.

“There's Kamaiakan, who's dead; and Miriam Trednoke, who has been out of her mind, but she's got over it now, I guess; and I,—Harvey Freeman.”

“My daughter!” exclaimed General Trednoke.

“My boy!” cried Professor Meschines. “Well, thank God we've found you, and that some of you are alive, at any rate!”