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The Treasure Trail A Romance of the Land of Gold and Sunshine   By: (1866-1934)

Book cover

First Page:

[Illustration: "I'll hit any trail with you barring Mexican politics." [Page 19]]

THE TREASURE TRAIL

A ROMANCE OF THE LAND OF GOLD AND SUNSHINE

By

MARAH ELLIS RYAN

Illustrated by Robert Amick

Publishers Chicago

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918

Copyright

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918

Published November, 1918

Copyrighted in Great Britain

To Kalatoka of the brown tent

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL 1 II THE RED GOLD LEGEND 15 III A VERIFIED PROPHECY OF SEÑORITA BILLIE 54 IV IN THE ADOBE OF PEDRO VIJIL 66 V AN "ADIOS" AND AFTER 73 VI A DEAD MAN UNDER THE COTTONWOODS 90 VII IN THE PROVINCE OF ALTAR 107 VIII THE SLAVE TRAIL 124 IX A MEETING AT YAQUI WELL 133 X A MEXICAN EAGLET 144 XI GLOOM OF BILLIE 161 XII COVERING THE TRAIL 167 XIII A WOMAN OF EMERALD EYES 186 XIV THE HAWK OF THE SIERRAS 217 XV THE "JUDAS" PRAYER AT MESA BLANCA 230 XVI THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL 256 XVII THE STORY OF DOÑA JOCASTA 288 XVIII RAMON ROTIL DECIDES 300 XIX THE RETURN OF TULA 328 XX EAGLE AND SERPENT 346 XXI EACH TO HIS OWN 360

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE "I'll hit any trail with you barring Mexican politics." Frontispiece "You poor kid, you have a hard time with the disreputables you pick up." 76 "No, Ramon! No!" she cried, and flung herself between him and his victims. 280 The Indian girl was steadily gaining on the German. 356

THE TREASURE TRAIL

CHAPTER I

KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL

In the shade of Pedro Vijil's little brown adobe on the Granados rancho, a horseman squatted to repair a broken cinch with strips of rawhide, while his horse a strong dappled roan with a smutty face stood near, the rawhide bridle over his head and the quirt trailing the ground.

The horseman's frame of mind was evidently not of the sweetest, for to Vijil he had expressed himself in forcible Mexican which is supposed to be Spanish and often isn't condemning the luck by which the cinch had gone bad at the wrong time, and as he tinkered he sang softly an old southern ditty:

Oh oh! I'm a good old rebel, Now that's just what I am! For I won't be reconstructed And I don't care a damn!

He varied this musical gem occasionally by whistling the air as he punched holes and wove the rawhide thongs in and out through the spliced leather.

Once he halted in the midst of a strain and lifted his head, listening. Something like an echo of his own notes sounded very close, a mere shadow of a whistle.

Directly over his head was a window, unglazed and wooden barred. A fat brown olla, dripping moisture, almost filled the deep window sill, but the interior was all in shadow. Its one door was closed. The Vijil family was scattered around in the open, most of them under the ramada , and after a frowning moment of mystification the young fellow resumed his task, but in silence... Continue reading book >>




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