Hearts of Three 50

Hearts of Three 50

“The Senorita!” she was finally able to whisper hoarsely, as she

indicated the side piazza with a nod of head and glance of eyes. “The

Senorita!”

 

And Yi Poon and his secret were forgotten. Enrico and his sons streamed

out to the side piazza to behold Leoncia and the Queen and the two

Morgans, dropping dust-covered off the backs of riding mules

recognizable as from the pastures of the mouth of the Gualaca River. At

the same time two Indian man-servants, summoned by the maid, cleared the

house and grounds of the fat Chinaman and his old crone of a companion.

 

“Come some other time,” they told him. “Just now the Senor Solano is

very importantly busy.”

 

“Sure, I come some other time,” Yi Poon assured them pleasantly, without

resentment and without betrayal of the disappointment that was his at

his deal interrupted just ere the money was paid into his hand.

 

But he departed reluctantly. The place was good for his business. It was

sprouting secrets. Never was there a riper harvest in Canaan out of

which, sickle in hand, a husbandman was driven! Had it not been for the

zealous Indian attendants, Yi Poon would have darted around the corner

of the hacienda to note the newcomers. As it was, half way down the

hill, finding the weight of the crone too fatiguing, he put into her the

life and ability to carry her own weight a little farther by feeding her

a double teaspoonful of brandy from his screw-top flask.

 

Enrico swept Leoncia off her mule ere she could dismount, so

passionately eager was he to fold her in his arms. For several minutes

ensued naught but noisy Latin affection as her brothers all strove to

greet and embrace her at once. When they recollected themselves, Francis

had already helped the Lady Who Dreams from her mount, and beside her,

her hand in his, was waiting recognition.

 

“This is my wife,” Francis told Enrico. “I went into the Cordilleras

after treasure, and behold what I found. Was there ever better fortune?”

 

“And she sacrificed a great treasure herself,” Leoncia murmured bravely.

 

“She was queen of a little kingdom,” Francis added, with a grateful and

admiring flash of eyes to Leoncia, who quickly added:

 

“And she saved all our lives but sacrificed her little kingdom in so

doing.”

 

And Leoncia, in an exaltation of generousness, put her arm around the

Queen’s waist, took her away from Francis, and led the way into the

hacienda.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIII

 

 

In all the magnificence of medieval Spanish and New World costume such

as was still affected by certain of the great haciendados of Panama,

Torres rode along the beach-road to the home of the Solanos. Running

with him, at so easy a lope that it promised an extension that would

outspeed the best of Torres’ steed, was the great white hound that had

followed him down the subterranean river. As Torres turned to take the

winding road up the hill to the hacienda, he passed Yi Poon, who had

paused to let the old crone gather strength. He merely noticed the

strange couple as dirt of the common people. The hauteur that he put on

with his magnificence of apparel forbade that he should betray any

interest further than an unseeing glance.

 

But him Yi Poon noted with slant Oriental eyes that missed no details.

And Yi Poon thought: He looks very rich. He is a friend of the Solanos.

He rides to the house. He may even be a lover of the Senorita

Leoncia.—Or a worsted rival for her love. In almost any case, he might

be expected to buy the secret of the Senorita Leoncia’s birth, and he

certainly looks rich, most rich.

 

Inside the hacienda, assembled in the living room, were the returned

adventurers and all the Solanos. The Queen, taking her turn in piecing

out the narrative of all that had occurred, with flashing eyes was

denouncing Torres for his theft of her jewels and describing his fall

into the whirlpool before the onslaught of the hound, when Leoncia, at

the window with Henry, uttered a sharp exclamation.

 

“Speak of the devil!” said Henry. “Here comes Torres himself.”

 

“Me first!” Francis cried, doubling his fist and flexing his biceps

significantly.

 

“No,” decreed Leoncia. “He is a wonderful liar. He is a very wonderful

liar, as we’ve all found out. Let us have some fun. He is dismounting

now. Let the four of us disappear.—Father!” With a wave of hand she

indicated Enrico and all his sons. “You will sit around desolated over

the loss of me. This scoundrel Torres will enter. You will be thirsty

for information. He will tell you no one can guess what astounding lies

about us. As for us, we’ll hide behind the screen there.—Come! All of

you!”

 

And, catching the Queen by the hand and leading the way, with her eyes

she commanded Francis and Henry to follow to the hiding place.

 

And Torres entered upon a scene of sorrow which had been so recently

real that Enrico and his sons had no difficulty in acting it. Enrico

started up from his chair in eagerness of welcome and sank weakly back.

Torres caught the other’s hand in both his own and manifested deep

sympathy and could not speak from emotion.

 

“Alas!” he finally managed heart-brokenly. “They are dead. She is dead,

your beautiful daughter, Leoncia. And the two Gringo Morgans are dead

with her. As Ricardo, there, must know, they died in the heart of the

Maya Mountain.

 

“It is the home of mystery,” he continued, after giving due time for the

subsidence of the first violent outburst of Enrico’s grief. “I was with

them when they died. Had they followed my counsel, they would all have

lived. But not even Leoncia would listen to the old friend of the

Solanos. No, she must listen to the two Gringos. After incredible

dangers I won my way out through the heart of the mountain, gazed down

into the Valley of Lost Souls, and returned into the mountain to find

them dying——”

 

Here, pursued by an Indian man-servant, the white hound bounded into the

room, trembling and whining in excitement as with its nose it quested

the multitudinous scents of the room that advertised his mistress.

Before he could follow up to where the Queen hid behind the screen,

Torres caught him by the neck and turned him over to a couple of the

Indian house-men to hold.

 

“Let the brute remain,” said Torres. “I will tell you about him

afterward. But first look at this.” He pulled forth a handful of gems.

“I knocked on the doors of the dead, and, behold, the Maya treasure is

mine. I am the richest man in Panama, in all the Americas. I shall be

powerful——”

 

“But you were with my daughter when she died,” Enrico interrupted to

sob. “Had she no word for me?”

 

“Yes,” Torres sobbed back, genuinely affected by the death-scene of his

fancy. “She died with your name on her lips. Her last words were——”

 

But, with bulging eyes, he failed to complete his sentence, for he was

watching Henry and Leoncia, in the most natural, casual manner in the

world stroll down the room, immersed in quiet conversation. Not noticing

Torres, they crossed over to the window still deep in talk.

 

“You were telling me her last words were ...?” Enrico prompted.

 

“I ... I have lied to you,” Torres stammered, while he sparred for time

in which to get himself out of the scrape. “I was confident that they

were as good as dead and would never find their way to the world again.

And I thought to soften the blow to you, Senor Solano, by telling what I

am confident would be her last words were she dying. Also, this man

Francis, whom you have elected to like. I thought it better for you to

believe him dead than know him for the Gringo cur he is.”

 

Here the hound barked joyfully at the screen, giving the two Indians all

they could do to hold him back. But Torres, instead of suspecting,

blundered on to his fate.

 

“In the Valley there is a silly weak demented creature who pretends to

read the future by magic. An altogether atrocious and blood-thirsty

female is she. I am not denying that in physical beauty she is

beautiful. For beautiful she is, as a centipede is beautiful to those

who think centipedes are beautiful. You see what has happened. She has

sent Henry and Leoncia out of the Valley by some secret way, while

Francis has elected to remain there with her in sin——for sin it is,

since there exists in the valley no Catholic priest to make their

relation lawful. Oh, not that Francis is infatuated with the terrible

creature. But he is infatuated with a paltry treasure the creature

possesses. And this is the Gringo Francis you have welcomed into the

bosom of your family, the slimy snake of a Gringo Francis who has even

dared to sully the fair Leoncia by casting upon her the looks of a

lover. Oh, I know of what I speak. I have seen——”

 

A joyous outburst from the hound drowned his voice, and he beheld

Francis and the Queen, as deep in conversation as the two who had

preceded them, walk down the room. The Queen paused to caress the hound,

who stood so tall against her that his forepaws, on her shoulders,

elevated his head above hers; while Torres licked his suddenly dry lips

and vainly cudgeled his brains for some fresh lie with which to

extricate himself from the impossible situation.

 

Enrico Solano was the first to break down in mirth. All his sons joined

him, while tears of sheer delight welled out of his eyes.

 

“I could have married her myself,” Torres sneered malignantly. “She

begged me on her knees.”

 

“And now,” said Francis, “I shall save you all a dirty job by throwing

him out.”