Silver and Gold Part 26

"You did?" he cried and then he sat up and the old fire came back into his eyes. "That's right," he laughed, "you must have beat him to it--I thought that pardon came quick! This'll cost old Murray a million."

"No, you haven't lost your mine," she went on, smiling curiously. "You think a lot of it, don't you?"

"Well, I don't know," grumbled Denver, "whether I do or not now. I believe that mine was a Jonah. I believe I made a mistake and chose the wrong treasure--I should have taken the gold."

"Oh, Denver!" she beamed, "do you really think so? I've always just hated that mine. I've always had the feeling that you thought more of it than you did of me--or anybody."

"Well, I did," confessed Denver, "it seemed to kind of draw me--to make me forget everything else. And Drusilla, I'm sorry I didn't come down--that night when you went away."

"It was the mine," she frowned, "I believe it was accursed. It always came between us. But you must sell it now, and not work for a while--I want you to entertain me."

"I'll do it!" exclaimed Denver, "I'll sell out for what I can get and then we can be together. How did you get along on your trip?"

"Oh, fine!" she burst out radiantly, "Oh, I had such _luck_. I was only the understudy, and doing minor parts, when the soprano was taken ill in the second act and I went in and scored a triumph. It was 'Love Tales of Hoffmann' and when I sang the 'Barcarolle' they recalled me seven times! That is they recalled us both--it's sung as a duet, you know."

"Um," nodded Denver and listened in glum silence as she related the details of her premier. "And how about those tenors?" he asked at last, "did any of 'em steal my kiss?"

"No--or that is--well, we won't talk about that now. But of course I have to act my parts."

"Oh, sure, sure!" he answered rebelliously and a triumphant twinkle came into her eyes.

"Do you still believe in the prophecy?" she asked, "and in all that Mother Trigedgo told you? Because if you do, I've got some news--you won't die until you're past eighty."

"I won't?" challenged Denver and then he stopped and waited as she smiled back at him mischievously.

"She's a nice old woman," went on Drusilla demurely, "but I wouldn't take her too seriously. She told me, for instance, that I'd give up a great career in order to marry for love. Yes, I went over to see her, myself."

"But what about me?" demanded Denver eagerly, "did she say I'd live till I was eighty?"

"Yes, she did; and she told me some other things, including the color of your eyes. But don't you see, Denver, that you made a mistake when you took what she said so seriously? Why, you wouldn't even speak to me or let us be friends for fear that I'd rise up and kill you; and now it appears that it was all a mistake and you're going to live till you're eighty."

"Well, all the same," responded Denver sighing and stretching his great arms, "I'm awful glad she said it. And a man could live to be eighty and still be killed by his friend. No, I believe that prophecy was true!"

"Very well," she a.s.sented, "but you don't need to worry about our friendship, and that's the princ.i.p.al thing. I just did it to set your mind at rest."

"Yes, it _was_ true," he went on rousing up from a reverie, "but I was wrong--I should have taken the gold."

"Is that all you think of?" she asked impatiently, "is there nothing but silver and gold?"

"Yes, there is," he acknowledged, "but--say, Drusilla I'm going to buy out the Dutchman. I believe that stringer of his is rich."

"What stringer?" she demanded looking up from her own musings and then she nodded and sighed. "Yes, I know," she said, "you're back at your mining--but you promised you'd think only of me. I may not be here long and you want to be nice to me; because I almost hated you, once. Now listen, Denver, and let _me_ interpret--don't you know you've got everything wrong?"

"No!" declared Denver, "it has all come out perfectly. I've lived clear through it, already. Only I chose the wrong treasure and so I lost them both and suffered a great disgrace. I should have taken the gold."

"No; listen Denver," she went on patiently, "and don't always be thinking of _things_. A golden treasure isn't necessarily of gold, it might be even--me."

"You?" echoed Denver and then he clutched his hands and stared about him wildly.

"Why, yes," she answered evenly, "haven't you noticed my hair? Other men are not so blind--and one of them said it reminded him of fine-spun gold. Yes, I was the golden treasure in the shadow of Apache Leap, but all you could think of was mines. The mine was your silver treasure, and you had to choose between us--and you always chose the mine. No matter how I sang, or did up my hair or came around where you were at work; you always went into that black, hateful hole, and I used to go home and cry. But--no, listen, Denver--when you saw me come back, and you wanted to see me, and there was no other way to do it; then you threw away your mine and told Murray to take it--and I knew that you really loved me.

You loved me even more than your mine, and so you won us both. Do you like your golden treasure?"

"I was a fool!" moaned Denver but she stroked his rumpled hair and raised his face from his hands.

"We've both of us been foolish," she whispered, "I nearly hated you once, and nearly gave your kiss to a tenor. But--oh Denver, I'll never sing with those men again! I know you wouldn't like it."

"No, I wouldn't," he admitted, "and if you'll only----"

"There it is," she interrupted, giving him the long-treasured kiss. "I saved it just for you."