Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew

  WHERE STRONGEST TIDE WINDS BLEW

  by

  ROBERT McREYNOLDS

  Author of

  "Thirty Years on the Frontier," "Rodney Wilkes,""The Luxury of Poverty," "A Modern Jean Valjean,""Facts and Fancies," Etc.

  Gowdy-Simmons Publishing Co.Colorado Springs, Colo.1907

  Copyright 1907By Robert McReynolds.

  To Honorable John B. Stephen and his estimable wife, from the romantic story of whose lives, the principal incidents of this work are taken.

  Colorado City, Colorado 1907

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  SOUNDING THE DEPTHS 24 WRECK OF THE SPANISH SLOOP SEVILLE. 36 THE EARTH BEGAN TO ROCK AND REEL. 84 THE HOME VOYAGE OF THE AVEN WAS FRAUGHT WITH ALL THE DANGERS OF THE SEA. 148 FLIGHT OF THE TORPEDO BOAT. 166 THE AREGUIPENA. 212

  CONTENTS

  I UNDER THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES 9 II IN DAYS OF INNOCENCE 24 III THROUGH MISTS OF THE SEA 31 IV GRAVES GAVE UP THEIR DEAD 41 V FAIREST FLOWER OF THE CORDILLERAS 50 VI A HUMILIATING INCIDENT 56 VII IN THE THROES OF REVOLUTION 64 VIII VIVA GENERALISSIMO PIEROLA 72 IX AMID THE DIN OF BATTLE 80 X WE MEET AGAIN, FELICITA 90 XI THE MASQUE BALL AT TIRAVAYA 98 XII COWARDLY ACT OF A VILLAIN 107 XIII MURDEROUS PLAN OF THE INSURGENTS 115 XIV FOR THE SAKE OF HUMANITY 125 XV IN DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 135 XVI THE SCREAMING WINDS OF NIGHT 143 XVII THE BARBARIAN MEETS HIS INGOMAR 151 XVIII ON SUNNY SEAS BOUND NORTH 159 XIX DEATH SHIPS OF THE SEA 167 XX A DAUGHTER OF THE CHEROKEES 176 XXI CARSON'S BLANK PAGES IN LIFE 185 XXII A VOICE FROM CENTURIES PAST 195 XXIII THE TWO OLD BLACK CROWS 205 XXIV THE RECKLESS HAND OF FATE 214 XXV CORDS OF LOVE ARE STRONG 223 XXVI WHEN THE DEATH GLOOM GATHERS 231 XXVII A NIGHT OF TRAGEDIES 240 XXVIII FROM OUT THE SHADOWY PAST 249

  WHERE STRONGEST TIDE WINDS BLEW

  I.

  UNDER THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

  We built our cabin high on the slopes of the Sangre de Christo range,overlooking the broad, level San Luis Valley, in Colorado. At the rearof the cabin rose a towering cliff or rather a huge slab of rockstanding edgewise more than two hundred feet high, apparently theupheaval of some mighty convulsion of nature in ages gone. Near thebase of this cliff flowed a clear crystal spring.

  Some hundred yards west of the cabin was the mouth of a tunnel intowhich we had drifted with pick, shovel and giant powder, a distance of300 feet in five months of hard toil. A trail led from the tunnel tothe cabin along the mountain side, which was thickly studded with tallpines. Another trail led down the mountain slopes in a winding way tothe valley, almost a mile below. Above, reaching far into the bluedome of the sky, rose the peaks of the snow-capped Sangre de Christo,glistening in the morning sunlight, which threw gaunt, fantasticshadows in canyon and deep ravine.

  It was a wild, weird scene, where man, in strength and vigor, seems toimbibe a portion of the divine essence that lives, and moves, and hasits being in the vast solitudes.

  We struck pay rock at the first thirty feet of tunneling, so Amos'assay showed, and the rock had gradually increased in value, week byweek. Buchan would take samples of the ore every week or ten days andwalk a distance of twenty-five miles to Saguache, where old man Amos,expert geologist and assayer, would for two dollars and fifty centsmake out a clean printed slip with figures in red ink, showing somany ounces of lead, copper, silver and gold to the ton.

  The ore had not yet reached a value which would pay to ship it, butthe increase of values was so steady, and Amos was so extravagantlyencouraging, that we were always in buoyant expectation of rich ore.He would say, "You boys have a wonderful prospect. Keep right on withyour work; it is getting richer with every stroke of your pick and youare likely to uncover a million dollar drift any day."

  Buchan would bring the assay certificate back to the cabin, where wewould sit late by the light of the pine knots in the fire place andtalk of the golden millions which capitalists would yet gladly pay fora half interest in the "Aberdeen."

  That was the name Buchan had given the mine, after his home town inScotland, of which he always spoke with a fond tenderness.

  Winter had come and we, John Buchan, Will Carson, and myself, hadchipped in almost our last dollar and brought a wagon load of flour,bacon and canned goods from Saguache to the foot of the mountains,then carried them on our backs to the cabin. We quit work on the minefor ten days and chopped firewood, which we corded at the rear of ourhouse. All hands felt that we were as snugly housed for the winter asthe big grizzly bears in their lairs among the rocks.

  Snow had been falling for several days and it lay deep on the mountainslopes and in the wide expanse of the valley below. We had not had anassay for two weeks and all were anxious for another report from Amos.Buchan wanted his mail also, and he took a small bag of the rock andtramped the twenty-five miles to Saguache. It was a three days' tripwading through the unbroken snow drifts, and it was night when hereturned, weary, footsore and angry.

  I can see him yet, tears trickling down his honest face, as he triedto tell something about Amos. He spoke of "the scamp, the villain, androbber," and then choked with rage. Like all Scotchmen, the more hethought of the wrong done him, the angrier he became; he would be moreangry tomorrow and it would be the day after that his anger wouldreach the climax, and begin to subside. This was not a peculiarity ofBuchan. It is a characteristic of the Scotch.

  We made him a cup of coffee and seated him comfortably before thefire. When he calmed down somewhat, he explained.

  "The first thing I did the next morning after reaching Saguache, wasto eat breakfast, and then I took the samples of ore to Amos' assayoffice. He was garrulous as usual, and said to come in two hours andhe would have the certificate of the assay ready for me. When I againcalled he handed me the certificate and I paid him the usual twodollars and fifty cents. It showed nine dollars and ninety cents tothe ton. The usual increase of ten per cent. over the last assay.

  "I crossed over to the postoffice, and while waiting for my mail, Inoticed the snow standing ten inches high on the cap of the flue ofAmos' assay furnace. I thought, how in the deuce did he assay our orewithout melting the snow on the cap of the flue? The more I thoughtabout it the more I was mystified. I went across to his office andsaid, 'Amos, I suppose you gave us the usual fire test on this ore?''Yep,' he answered. 'Then tell me,' I cried, 'how in the devil did youmake the fire test without melting the snow off the cap of yourfurnace flue?' 'Too cold to melt,' he replied.

  "Then I rushed past him into the back room. The furnace was cold andthe frost had gathered on the iron door. I don't suppose there hadbeen a fire in it for a week. I took Amos by the whiskers and told himto own up that he had not mad
e a fire test of our ore. Then heacknowledged that he had been guessing at it all along."

  "You don't mean there is a doubt about us having pay rock?" we yelledin a chorus.

  "All kinds of doubt," said Buchan. "I am told there is a suspicionthat Amos gives everybody an assay showing values, where there are novalues--this for the purpose of keeping up work in the district--andto those who have found values, he gives them an assay showingnothing. At the same time he gives Rayder, the Denver capitalist, atip and he buys up the property for a song, giving Amos a fatcommission for his part in the deal. The chances are that we have nomore gold in our rock than there is in that jug handle."

  The news was astounding. We sat for a while by the fire like menstricken dumb. There was no doubting Buchan's statement. Deception wasno part of his nature. He was nearly twenty-six years of age,athletic, strong and quick of perception. He had seen much of theworld and knew men. No, there could be no doubt; he was not mistaken.

  We were heartsick. Almost our last dollar had gone to pay for thebogus assay. Our golden dream of months was vanishing. Carson brokethe silence.

  "I will go to Saguache tomorrow. I shall pulverize that jug handle andtake it to Amos; he does not know me; I shall have him assay it, andif he gives me gold values there will be trouble!"

  I was awakened the next morning by the sound of a hammer. Carson waspulverizing the jug handle. After a hasty breakfast, he buckled on hiscartridge belt with a Colt 44-six shooter in his holster, and was soonwading through the snow-drifts down the trail towards Saguache. Iwatched him through the window until he was lost to view.

  The sun rose in a clear sky; the glistening peaks of the Sangre deChristo shone white against a turquoise blue; clumps of snow meltedfrom the branches of the pines and made hollows in the smooth banks ofwhite where they fell.

  I turned to Buchan. He was tossing restlessly in his bunk.

  "I would hate to be Amos if he gives Carson an assay of values fromthat jug handle.

  "Yes, yes," he muttered incoherently. "The day of reckoning comes toall. I have seen it. I have seen the sky turn black, the waves risemountain-high out of the sea, the earth rock and reel, the dead rollout of their coffins in the cerements of their graves, the living fallupon their faces to hide from the wrath of Almighty God! I have seenit just as Paul tells about it. I have heard the roar of the winds,seen palaces crumble and fall--like John of Patmos, I lift up myvoice--I, John."

  I was at his side in a moment, and saw that he was delirious. Theexertion through the snow the day before, the loss of sleep andintense anger, had made him ill. I knew of a few simple remedies athand, and in a little while I had him sleeping soundly.

  The sun became warmer as the day advanced. The snow melted on thecabin roof and froze in drooping icicles at the eaves. All day I wentnoiselessly about the cabin, letting Buchan sleep. A premonition ofimpending danger crept over me. I tried to throw off the dread feelingby reading, but I could not concentrate my thoughts on the pages ofthe book. Strange thoughts came like they did to the man who was beingtaken to the guillotine and begged time of his captors to put histhoughts on paper. I thought I would write mine that day, or rememberthem at least, but I cannot recall them. I only know they were strangeand fascinating, as if I was living another life, on another planet.

  I brought in wood and water for the night. The sound of the doorslamming awoke Buchan. He arose and sat by the fire, which blazed upbrightly from its fresh supply of pine logs.

  "Better, I see," I observed, "but heavens you were locoed thismorning! talking about the resurrection, the quaking earth, and thedead rolling out from their graves!"

  "All true," he said, quietly. "I have seen those things, and what hashappened once may happen again."

  I was standing by the window, looking out over the snow covered SanLuis valley, when even as he spoke I felt the ground tremble. Therewas a rush of air and the cabin became filled with a fine snow thatwas stifling, then a thunderous roar, and all was utter darkness.

  I was choking with the snow particles. I groped to the door and openedit and felt a solid bank of snow.

  I realized then that we were buried beneath a snow slide.

  We worked for hours, in silence and darkness, digging our way throughthe snow and shoveling it back into the cabin as we tunneled towardthe cliff. It was early morning when we saw the light of day.

  Once in the open where we could breathe the pure air we beheld a sightthat would appall the strongest heart. The great flat rock, that hadstood on edge at the back of the cabin, was now slanting at a sharpangle above our heads. The avalanche from near the summit of theSangre de Christo had struck the cliff and with its incalculable tonstilted it, piling itself hundreds of feet in the depth about us. Thecliff might fall at any moment and blot us out of existence.

  Reaching a point of sight near the open space at the edge of the baseof the cliff we could see something of the awful havoc wrought by theavalanche. Huge rocks had been loosened from their foundations andwith the speed of a meteor dashed to the valley below. Great pines onehundred feet in height had been torn up by their roots and hurled downthe mountain side by the tremendous weight of the avalanche.

  The cliff had sheltered our cabin and saved our lives.

  We cleared the snow away from the chimney and out of the cabin. Ourwood was dry and we soon had a cheerful fire blazing and the teakettle boiling. But living under that slanting cliff, from which wecould not escape, we felt, indeed that the sword of Damocles hung by aspider web above our heads.

  When we had rested some and refreshed ourselves with coffee, wetunneled from the open space under the cliff to near the entrance ofthe mine, intending to live in the tunnel until the melting snows ofthe spring released us from our prison. But when we had tunneledthrough the snow to near the entrance of the mine, we found our wayblocked by a debris of rock and trees which would require weeks oflabor to remove. Tunnels in other directions gave us no betterresults, and we became resigned to our fate, returning to the cabin towhile away the dreary hours until the hanging cliff above shouldbecome our grave stone.

  Days of gloom and monotony came and went. We dug the snow away fromour windows and tunneled a hole to the top which gave us a glare ofreflected light.

  Buchan had hitherto been silent as to his past life. By a few strayremarks we had caught glimpses of his romantic career, but now hebegan relating in detail incidents of his early life in Scotland, oron the high seas, and later in Peru. His stories were so full of humaninterest and replete with love and romance, that I became more thanever interested in him. But my hearing was bad, and it had beengetting worse since the day of the avalanche, so I prevailed upon himto write. I could read better than listen, besides he would write hisbetter thoughts and nobler sentiments when he would not speak them.

  It was writing these memoirs of his eventful life that furnished himpastime and I was employed in reading them, during the two months ofour imprisonment in our snow bound cabin.

  By the dim light of the window by day and the blaze of a pine log atnight, he wrote upon the scraps of paper found about the cabin. As Inow review the pile I find it made up of paper bags, margins ofnewspapers, fly leaves from a few old books, and much of it on stripsof a yellow window shade, also on the backs of fancy calendars withwhich Carson had adorned our cabin, and almost a whole chapter I findpenciled finely on a pair of lady's cuffs that were strangely out ofplace in a miner's hut.

  Buchan does not know that I am going to give his story to the publicand I shall have to take chances and risk his displeasure. In thatevent I have the defence of pleading that no man has the right towithhold so good a tale from the world.