Jessica Trent: Her Life On A Ranch Part 29

A pitiful smile spread over the pain-racked features, and the man glanced significantly toward the nurse. She smiled encouragingly upon him, but he was not misled. After a moment of silence, during which Jessica anxiously watched his drawn face, he spoke.

"Go, child. Your mission is done. Send a lawyer, quick. Quick. The man I wronged--the savior of my son! A lawyer, quick. Bring the suit case--the case! Let none open it but the child. Quick. Quick!"

Higher authority even than her own convinced the nurse that obedience to his urgency was the only way now to allay the patient's rising excitement. The accident which had crushed the lower part of his body, so that his life was but a question of hours, had left his head clear for the present; and here, indeed, seemed a case for more than surgical treatment.

Fortunately, the needed "lawyer" was close at hand, waiting with the reporter and the half-distraught Antonio whose shriek of recognition had been Luis Garcia's welcome to the hospital. Unceasingly, the manager had declared that this was the man all three of them were seeking; had insisted upon returning to the ante-room of the hospital, and avowed that he would never leave the spot until the "villain" had been apprehended.

"He has misled and cheated me. I, Antonio! He has all my money. He has the savings of my life, yes. He has all that I did not yet pay, of the crops so good, to the Senora Trent. More, more. That money--which, ah, me! He told me, yes, a thousand million times, that I, and not that New York company, to me alone was the inheritance of Paraiso d'Oro.

My money was to prove it, that inheritance, yes. To me was the power of attorney, was it not? of Ca.s.sius Trent, who was the so good man and the so poor fool at business."

"Look out, there, neighbor! Speaking of fools and business, you don't appear to have been so brilliant yourself," corrected Ninian, promptly.

Antonio continued, heedless of the interruption:

"He was the great banker, Garcia, no? What then? Who would so safe keep the money from that far New York? With the master's wish I gave it to that bank. And the letters--_Caramba!_ So high, to one's knees, to one's waist I pile them, the letters! All wrote of his own hand. All say by-and-by, _manana_, he give me the perfect t.i.tle and send back that which belongs, after all expenses, no? To them in New York."

"A pretty scheme. You don't seem to have profited by it greatly, as yet."

"I, profit? But I am now the beggar, I, poor Antonio. This day I come from resting in the houses of my friends and I find--what do I find?

The bank is not. The banker is not, yes. His house where he lived more plain than our adobes at Sobrante, that house is closed. His man tell me this: 'He has gone away. One little, little trip, a journey. Across the sea. He will come back. Have patience, Antonio.' But my money? my papers? my inheritance so all but proved? Tush. He told me not that.

'When he comes back you can ask him, himself.' So. Good. He has come back. Here. I see him, sure. I----"

A summons to Mr. Hale cut short this fierce harangue, which had been repeated till their ears were tired.

The banker had come back, indeed, poor creature. By the very train on which he was to depart with his plunder--all rendered into the solid cash which would tell no tales, as he fancied--by this swift-moving juggernaut he was overtaken and crushed down. A moment earlier he would have been in time. But in haste and by a misstep he had ended all his earthly journeyings.

When the lawyer was called the reporter followed his friend and Antonio followed him, and when these three approached the little room in which the dying man lay, the nurse would have sent them back; but Garcia himself pleaded: "Let them be. What matters it how many hear or see?

The dress-suit case. Bring it, and bring the child."

They obeyed and he bade them place the key in Jessica's small hand.

"Open it, little one."

But her fingers shook so that the nurse, in pity, pushed them from the lock and herself unfastened the heavily laden case. It contained no clothing, such as might have been looked for within; but rolls and packets neatly tied.

"Open them, child."

"Oh! please! I do not want to; I am afraid!"

"Afraid, Jessica Trent? Do you not yet understand? That is money, money--of which your father stood accused before the world as having stolen. Afraid to prove your father what you know him--an honest man!"

cried Ninian in anger.

She understood him then, and in frantic haste obeyed. Roll after roll, till Mr. Hale said:

"Enough. His strength is failing. This scene is too much for him."

At that she pushed the gold away and, falling on her knees beside the bed, caught Luis Garcia's hand and covered it with kisses.

"Oh! thank you, Luis' father! G.o.d bless you, G.o.d take care of you!"

"Oh! the divine pity of childhood," murmured Ninian, huskily. "She forgets that it was he who wronged her in the fact that he has now set her right."

The sick man's face brightened, nor did he withdraw his hand.

"_You forgive me?_"

"Yes, yes."

"The little Luis. The son I never saw. What shall you tell him of his father?"

"That he was good to me, and that he suffered."

"More. Tell the boy this: I never knew he lived. I should have known, I should have searched. I did not. Ask him, too, to forgive me. And because of me, turn him not away."

The nurse motioned all the others to go out, and they went, Ninian Sharp himself standing guard over the dress-suit case the attendant had relocked until it was once more safely deposited in the strong box of the hospital, where even Antonio's greedy eyes could see it no longer.

But Jessica knelt on, awed and silent, yet now quite unafraid. And Luis Garcia still clasped her hand and fixed his fading gaze upon her pitying face.

"The mother--Ysandra. Where lies she now? Little one, do you know that?"

"Do I not? In the consecrated ground of the old mission itself. With all the good dead priests sleeping about her. Rose vines cover her grave and my own mother tends them herself. Little Luis is made to water it, sometimes, though, for that is a good way to keep her memory green, my mother says. Near by is where my father rests. Would--would you wish to sleep there, too, beside them both, and where Luis could bring flowers to you as to her?"

"I may? You--are--willing? Would--your mother--so kind--little Luis----"

"My mother pities and helps all who suffer. You suffer, poor man, and I wish that she were here to tell you 'yes' herself."

But he had closed his eyes and she could not know if he had heard her, though she was glad to see that the look of pain had almost left his features. She did not speak again but sat quite still until, at last, her hand grew numb and she turned toward the nurse, whispering:

"Can I move it? Will it disturb him? He seems to be asleep."

The nurse bent over her patient, then gently answered:

"Yes, darling. Your task is over. Nothing will ever trouble him again.

He is at peace--_asleep_."

CHAPTER XIX

ANTONIO'S MESSAGE

Jessica went back to Ephraim's room, to tell him this wonderful ending of their once almost hopeless search, and for long they discussed the story that was at once so strange, so moving, and yet so simple.

"Man proposes, G.o.d disposes," quoted "Forty-niner," with all the emphasis of an original philosophy. "If we'd set out to make up a fairy story we couldn't have beat this. But I'm so glad, it seems like I could get right up and dance a jig, smashed leg and all."

"Glad! Ephraim, I'm so glad, too, and the gladness is so deep, deep down that I don't want to dance. I just want to cry. And that poor man is little Luis' father. Oh! it is pitiful."