The Little Lady of Lagunitas by Richard Henry Savage

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In his local legal experience, he has many times seen wilder schemes
succeed. Spanish grants have been shifted leagues to suit the occasion.
Boundaries are removed bodily. Witnesses are manufactured under
golden pressure. The eyes of Justice are blinded with opaque weights
of the yellow treasure.

But he must work rapidly. It is now only a short week to the trial.
The court-house and records are regularly watched. Not a move
indicates any prying into the matter beyond the mere identity of
the heiress. But who has set up the other claimant?

It would be madness for Natalie to raise this quarrel! Some schemers
have imposed a strange girl on the other party. Hardin recalls
Natalie's wild astonishment at the apparition of another "Isabel
Valois."

And the second girl did not even know who Natalie was. What devil's
work is this?

Hardin decides to "burn his ships." Alone in the home of the
Peraltas, he prepares for a campaign "a l'outrance." That crafty
priest might know too much. The evening before his departure he
burns up every paper at the ranch which would cause any remark, even
in case of his death. Next morning, as he rides out of Lagunitas,
he gazes on the fair domain. The last thing he sees is the chapel
cross. A chill suddenly strikes him. He gallops on. Rapidly
journeying to Mariposa, he installs himself in the headquarters
of his friends. His ablest counsel has provided the bought Judge,
with full secret instructions to meet every contingency.

Sober and serious in final judgment, Philip Hardin quickly summons
a discreet friend. He requests a last personal interview with
Natalie de Santos. The ambassador is received by good-humored Joe
Woods. He declines an interview, by the lady's orders, unless its
object is stated.

Hardin requests that some friend other than the Missouri miner,
may be named to represent Natalie.

His eyes gleam when the selection is made of Pere Francois. Just
what he would wish.

It lacks now but three days of the final hearing. An hour after the
message, Hardin and the priest are seated, in quiet commune. There
are no papers. There is no time lost, none to lose. No witnesses,
no interlopers.

Hardin opens his proposals. The priest seems tractable. "I do not
wish to refer to any present legal matters. I speak only of the
past. I will refer only to the future of 'Madame de Santos.' You
may say to her that if she will grant me a brief interview, I feel
I can make her a proposition she will accept, as very advantageous.
In justice to her, I cannot communicate its details, even to you.
But if she wishes to advise with you, I have no objection to giving
you the guarantees of my provision for her future. You shall know
as much of our whole arrangement as she wishes you to. She can
have you or other friends, in an adjoining room. You can be called
in to witness the papers, and examine the details."

The grave priest returns in half an hour. Hardin ponders uneasily.
The priest plays an unimpassioned part. "Madame de Santos will
receive Judge Hardin on his terms, with the condition, that if there
is any exciting difference, Judge Hardin will retire at once, and
not renew his proposals." Hardin accepts. Now for work.

Side by side, the new-made senator and the old priest walk across
the plaza. Success smiles on Hardin.

Local quid-nuncs mutter "Compromise," as they seek the spiritual
consolation of the Magnolia Saloon and Palace Varieties. Is there
to be no pistol practice after all?

Alas, these degenerate days! The camp has lost its glory. Betting
has been two to one that Colonel Joe Woods riddles the Judge before
the trial is over.

Now these bets will be off. A fraud on the innocent public. The
decadence of Mariposa.

Yet, Hardin is not easy. In the first struggle of his life with a
priest, Hardin feels himself no match for his passionless antagonist.
The waxen mask of the Church hides the inner soul of the man.

Only when Pere Francois turns his searching gaze on the Judge,
parrying every move, does the lawyer feel how the immobility of
the clergyman is proof against his wiles and professional ambushes.

Pere Francois conducts Hardin into the room whence Natalie dismissed
him, in her roused but sadly wounded spirit. She is there, waiting.
Her face is marble in pallor.

With a grave bow, the old ecclesiastic retires to an adjoining room
and leaves them alone. There is a writing table.

"Madame, to spare you discussion," Hardin remarks seriously, "I
will write on two sheets of paper what I ask and what I offer. You
may confer with your adviser. I will retire. You can add to either
anything you propose. We can then, at once, observe if we can
approach each other."

Natalie's stately head bows assent in silence. In five minutes
Hardin hands her the two sheets.

Natalie's face puzzles him. Calm and unmoved, she looks him quietly
in the eyes, as if in a mute farewell. She has simply uttered
monosyllables, in answer to his few explanations.

Hardin walks up and down upon the veranda, while Natalie, the priest,
and Colonel Joe scan the two sheets. His heart beats quickly while
the trio read his proposals.

They are simple enough. What he gets and what he gives. Madame de
Santos is to absent herself from the trial. She is to leave Isabel
Valois, her charge, with the priest. She is to be silent as to the
entire past.

Hardin's lawyers are to stipulate, in case of Isabel Valois being
defeated in any of her rights, she shall be free to receive a fund
equal to that settled on the absent child of Natalie. Her freedom
comes with her majority in any case.

Judge Hardin offers, on the other hand:

To give a written recognition of the private marriage, and to
fully legalize the absent Irene.

To admit her to his succession, and to surrender all control to
the mother.

On condition of Natalie de Santos ceasing all marital claims
and disappearing at once, she is to receive five hundred thousand
dollars, in bankers' drafts to her order in Paris, six months after
the legal separation.

Hardin's tread re-echoes on the porch. His mind is busied. Is he
to have a closing career of unsullied honor in the Senate? He is
yet in a firm, if frosty age. A dignified halo will surround his
second marriage. It is better thus. Peace and silence at any cost.
And Lagunitas' millions to come. The mine--his dear-bought treasure.
It is coming, Philip Hardin. Peace and rest? it will be peace and
silence. He starts! The black-robed priest is at the door. Father
Francois has now resumed his soutane.

"Will you kindly enter?" he says.

Hardin, with unmoved face, seats himself opposite Natalie. Pere
Francois remains.

"I will accept your terms, Judge Hardin," she steadily says,
"with the addition that the advice of Judge Davis be at my service
regarding the papers, and that I leave to-morrow for San Francisco.

"You are to send an agent, also. The money to be transferred by
telegraph, payable absolutely to me at Paris, by my bankers, at
the appointed time. Your agent may accompany me to the frontier
of the State. I will leave as soon as the bankers acknowledge the
transfer.

"In case of any failure on your part, the obligation to keep silent
ceases. I retain the marriage papers."

Hardin bows his head. The priest is silent. In a few moments, the
senator-elect says:

"I agree to all." His senatorial debut pictures itself in his mind.

Madame de Santos rises, "I authorize Pere Francois to remain with
you, on my behalf. Let the papers be at once prepared. I am ready
to leave to-morrow morning. I only insist the two papers which would
affect my child, be duplicated, and both witnessed by our lawyers."

Hardin bows assent. Natalie de Santos walks toward the door of her
rooms. Her last words fall on his ear: "Pere Francois will represent
me in all." She is going. Hardin springs to the door: "And I shall
see you again?" His voice quivers slightly. Old days throng back
to his memory. "Is it for ever?" His iron heart softens a moment.

"I pray God, never! Philip Hardin, you are dead to me. The past is
dead. I can only think of you with your cruel grasp on my throat!"
She is gone.

As the door closes, Hardin buries his face in his hands. Thoughts
of other days are rending his heart-strings.

Before three hours, the papers are all executed. The morning stage
takes Natalie de Santos, with the priest, and guarded by Armand
Valois, away from the scene of the coming legal battle.

In the early gray of the dawn, Philip Hardin only catches a glimpse
of a muffled form in a coach. He will see the mother of his child
no more. With a wild dash, the stage sweeps away. It is all over.

His agent, in a special conveyance, is already on the road. He has
orders to telegraph the completion of the transfer. He is to verify
the departure for New York, of the ex-queen of the El Dorado.

On the day of the hearing, the court-house is crowded. Pere Francois
and Armand Valois have not yet returned. Both sides have received,
by telegraph, the news of the completion of the work. By stipulation,
the newly-acknowledged marriage is not to be made public.

Hardin, pale and thoughtful, enters the court with his supporters.
There is but one young lady present. With her, Peyton, Judge Davis,
and Joseph Woods are seated. Raoul Dauvray seats himself quietly
between the two parties.

When the case is reached, there is the repression of a deathly
silence. Hardin, by the advice of his lawyers, will stand strictly
on the defensive. He has decided to acknowledge his entire readiness
to close his guardianship. He will leave the heirship to be finally
adjusted by the Court. The Court is under his thumb.

His senatorial duties call for this relief. It will take public
attention from the unpleasant matter. Rid of the burden of the
ranch, still the "bonanza of Lagunitas" will be his, as always.

The great lawyer he relies on states plausibly this entire
willingness to such a relief, and requests the Court to appoint a
successor to the distinguished trustee. Hardin feels that he has
now covered his past with a solid barrier. Safe at last. No living
man can roll away the huge rock from the "tomb of the dead past."
It would need a voice from the grave. He can defy the whole world.
No thought of his dead friend haunts him.

When the advocate ceases speaking, while the Judge ponders over
the disputed heirship, and the contest as to the legitimacy of
Maxime Valois' child, when clearly identified, Judge Davis rises
quietly to address the Court. Philip Hardin feels a slight chill
icing down his veins, as he notes the gravity of the Eastern
lawyer's manner. Is there a masked battery?

"Your Honor," begins Davis, "we oppose any action tending to
discharge or relieve the present guardian of Isabel Valois.

"A most important discovery of new matters in the affairs of this
estate, makes it my duty to lay some startling facts before your
Honor."

There is a pause. Hardin's heart flutters madly. He sees a stony
look gather on Joe Woods' face. There is a peculiar grimness also
in the visage of the watchful Peyton. Everyone in the room is on
the alert. Crowding to the front, Hardin is elbowed by a man who
seats himself in a chair reserved by Judge Davis.

His eyes are blinded for a moment. Great Heavens! It is his old
law-clerk. The wily and once hilarious Jaggers.

He is here for some purpose. That devil Woods' work.

Hardin's hand clutches a revolver in his pocket. He glares uneasily
at Joe Woods, at Peyton, at the ex-clerk. He breathlessly waits
for the solemn voice of Davis:

"We propose, your Honor, to introduce evidence that the late Maxime
Valois left a will. We propose to prove that the estate has been
maladministered. We will prove to your Honor that a gigantic fraud
has been perpetrated during the minority of the child of Colonel
Valois. The most valuable element of the estate, the Lagunitas
mine, has been fraudulently enjoyed by the administrator."

Hardin springs to his feet. He is forced into his chair by his
counsel. There is the paleness of death on his face, but murder
lurks in his heart. Away with patience now. A hundred eyes are
gazing in his direction. The Judge is anchored, in amazement, on
the bench. Woods and Peyton are facing Hardin, with steady defiance.

As he struggles to rise, he feels his blood boiling like molten
iron.

He has been trapped by this devil, Woods. Davis resumes: "I shall
show your Honor, by the man who held Colonel Valois in his arms on
the battlefield as he lay dying, that a will was duly forwarded
to the guardian and administrator, who concealed it. I will also
prove, your Honor, that Colonel Valois repeated that will in a
document taken from his dead body, in which he acknowledged his
marriage, and the legitimacy of his true child. I will file these
papers, and prove them by testimony of the gallant officer who
buried him, and who succeeded to his regiment."

A deep growl from Hardin is heard. He knows now who Peyton is. What
avenging fiends are on his track? But the mine, the mine is safe.
Always the mine, The deeds will hold. Davis resumes, his voice
ringing cold and clear:

"I shall also prove by documents, concealed by the administrator,
that Maxime Valois never parted with the title to the Lagunitas
mine; that the millions have been stolen, which it has yielded.
I will bring in the evidence of the clerk who received these last
letters from the absent owner in the field, that they are genuine.
They state his utter inability to sell the mine, as the whole
property belonged to his wife."

There is a blood-red film before Hardin's eyes now. Prudence flies
after patience. It is his Waterloo. All is lost, even honor.

"I venture to remind your Honor, that even if the daughter, whom
I produce here, is proved illegitimate, that she takes the whole
property, including the mine, as the legal heir of her mother,
under the laws of California." A murmur is suppressed by the clerk's
hammer.

There is an awful silence as Judge Davis adds: "I will further
produce before your Honor, Armand Valois, the only other heir of
the decedent, to whom the succession would fall by law. He is named
in the will I will establish, made twelve hours before the writer
was killed at the battle of Peachtree Creek.

"I am aware," Judge Davis concludes, "that some one has forged
the titles to the Lagunitas mine. I will prove the forgery to have
been executed in the interest of Philip Hardin, the administrator,
whom I now formally ask you to remove pending this trial, as a
man false to his trust. He has robbed the orphan daughter of his
friend. He deceived the man who laid his life down for the cause
of the South, while he plotted in the safe security of distant
California homes. Colonel Valois was robbed by his trusted friend."

A mighty shudder shakes the crowd. Men gaze at each other, wildly.
The blinking Judge is dazed on the bench he pollutes. Before any
one can draw a breath in relief, Hardin, bending himself below the
restraining arms, springs to his feet and levels a pistol full at
Joe Woods' breast.

"You hound!" he yells. His arm is struck up; Raoul Dauvray has
edged every moment nearer the disgraced millionaire. The explosion
of the heavy pistol deafens those near. When the smoke floats away,
a gaping wound tells where its ball crashed through Hardin's brain.
Slain by his own hand. Dead and disgraced. The senatorial laurels
never touch his brow!

In five minutes the court is cleared. An adjournment to the next
day is forced by the sudden tragedy. The wild mob are thronging
the plaza.

Silent in death lies the man who realized at last how the awful
voice of the dead Confederate called down the vengeance of God on
the despoiler of the orphan.

The telegraph, lightning-winged, bears the news far and wide. By
the evening Pere Francois and Armand Valois return. In a few hours
Natalie de Santos turns backward. The swift wheels speeding down the
Truckee are slower than the electric spark bearing to the ex-queen
of the El Dorado, the wife of a day, the news of her legal widowhood.

Henry Peyton brings back the traveller, whose presence is now
absolutely needed.

A lonely grave on the red hillside claims the last remains of the
dark Chief of the Golden Circle. Few stand by its yawning mouth,
to see the last of the man whose name has been just hailed everywhere
with wild enthusiasm.

Unloved, unhonored, unregretted, unshriven, with all his imperfections
on his head, he waits the last trump. Alone in death, as in life.

In the brief and formal verification of all these facts, the Court
finds an opportunity to at once establish the identity of the
heiress of Lagunitas. For, there is no contest now.

In formal devotion to the profession, Hardin's lawyer represents
the estate of the dark schemer.

The legal tangles yield to final proofs.

There is a family party at Lagunitas once more. Judge Davis and Peyton
guard the interests of the girl who has only lost the millions of
Lagunitas to inherit a fortune from the father who scorned to even
gaze upon her face. Joseph Woods joyfully guides the beautiful
heiress of the domain, who kneels besides the grave of Dolores
Peralta, her unknown mother, with her lover by her side. The last
of the Valois stand there, hand in hand. She is Louise Moreau no
more.

Pere Francois is again in his old home by the little chapel, where
twenty years ago he raised his voice in the daily supplication for
God's sinful children.

While Raoul Dauvray and Armand ride in voyages of discovery over
the great domain, the two heiresses are happy with each other.
There is no question between them. They are innocent of each other's
sorrows. They now know much of the shadowy past with its chequered
romance. The transfer of all the mine and its profits to the young
girl, who finds the domain in the hills a fairyland, is accomplished.

Judge Davis hies himself away to the splendid excitement of his
Eastern metropolitan practise. His "honorarium" causes him to
have an added and tender feeling for the all-conquering Joe Woods.
Henry Peyton is charged with the general supervision of the Lagunitas
estate. He is aided by a mine superintendent selected by that wary
old Argonaut, Joe.

Natalie de Santos leaves the refuge of lovely Lagunitas in a few
weeks. There is a shadow resting on her heart which will never
be lifted. In vain, beside the old chapel, seated under the giant
rose-vines, Pere Francois urges her to witness the marriage of
her daughter. Under the care of Joseph Woods, she leaves for San
Francisco. Her daughter, who is soon to take a rightful name, learns
from Pere Francois the agreed-on reasons of her absence. Natalie
will not make a dark background to the happiness to come. Silence
and expiation await her beyond the surges of the Atlantic.

Joseph Woods and Pere Francois have buried all awkward references
to past history. Irene Dauvray will never know the story of the
lovely "Queen of the El Dorado."

There are no joy bells at Lagunitas on the day when the old priest
unites Armand and Isabel Valois in marriage. The same solemn
consecration gives gallant Raoul Dauvray, the woman he adores. It
is a sacrament of future promise. Peyton and Joe Woods are the men
who stand in place of the fathers of these two dark-eyed brides.
It is a solemn and tender righting of the old wrongs. A funeral of
the past--a birth of a brighter day, for all.

The load of care and strife has been taken from the shoulders of
the three elders, who gravely watch the four glowing and enraptured
lovers.

In a few weeks, Raoul Dauvray and his bride leave for San Francisco.
Fittingly they choose France for their home. In San Francisco,
Joseph Woods leads the young bride through the silent halls of the
old house on the hill. The Missourian gravely bids the young wife
remember that it was here her feet wandered over the now neglected
paths.

Joseph Woods convoys the departing voyagers to the border of the
State. The ample fortune secured to them, will engage his occasional
leisure in advice as to its local management.

Natalie de Santos goes forth with them. Her home in Paris awaits
her. The Golden State knows her no more. Her feet will never wander
back to the shores where her stormy youth was passed.

A lover's pilgrimage to beloved Paris and the old castle by the
blue waters of Lake Geneva claims the Lord and Lady of Lagunitas.
For, they will return to dwell in the mountains of Mariposa. Before
they cross the broad Atlantic, they have a sacred duty to perform.
It is to visit the grave of the soldier of the Lost Cause and lay
their wreaths upon the turf which covers his gallant breast.

The old padre sits on the porch of his house at Lagunitas. He
waits only for the last solemn act. Henry Peyton is to follow the
travellers East, and remove the soldier of the gray to the little
chapel grounds of Lagunitas.

When Padre Francisco has seen the master come home, and raised his
weakening voice in requiem over the friend of his youth, he will
seek once more his dear Paris, and find again his cloistered home
near Notre Dame.

He has, as a memorial of mother and daughter, a deed of the old home
of Philip Hardin. It is given to the Church for a hospital. It is
well so. None of the living ever wish to pass again its shadowed
portals.

While waiting the time for their departure, the priest and Henry
Peyton watch the splendid beauties of Lagunitas, in peaceful
brotherhood. The man of war and the servant of peace are drawn
towards each other strangely.

The Virginian often gazes on the sword of Maxime Valois, hanging now
over the hearthplace he left in his devotion to the Lost Cause. He
thanks God that the children of the old blood are in the enjoyment
of their birthright.

Padre Francisco, telling his beads, or whiling an hour away with
his breviary, begins to nod easily as the lovely summer days deepen
in splendor. He is an old man now, yet his heart is touched with
the knowledge of God's infinite mercy as he looks over the low wall
to where the roses bloom around: the grave of Dolores Valois.

He hopes to live yet to know, that gallant father and patient
mother will live over again in the happy faces of the children of
their orphaned child.

In the United States of America, at this particular juncture,
no happier man than Colonel and State Senator Joseph Woods can be
found. His mines are unfailing in their yield; his bachelor bungalow,
in its splendor, will extinguish certain ambitious rivals, and he
is freed from the nightmare of investigating the tangled web of the
mysterious struggle for the millions of Lagunitas. He is confirmed
in his resolve to remain a bachelor.

"I have two home camps now, one in Paris and one in California,
where I am a sort of a brevet father. I won't be lonely," Joe
merrily says.

Joseph's cheery path in life is illuminated by his gorgeous diamonds,
and roped in with his massive watch-chains. More precious than the
gold and gems is the rough and ready manhood of the old Argonaut.
He seriously thinks of eschewing the carrying of weapons, and
abandoning social adventures, becoming staid and serene like Father
Francois.

He often consoles himself in his loneliness by the thought that
Henry Peyton is also a man without family. "I will capture Peyton
when he gets the young people in good shape, and they are tired
of Paris style," Joe muses. "He's a man and a brother, and we will
spend our old days in peace together."

One haunting, sad regret touches Colonel Joe's heart. He learns
of the intention of Natalie to spend her days in retirement and in
helping others.

Thinking of her splendid beauty, her daring struggle for her
friendless child's rights, and all that is good of the only woman
he ever could have desperately loved, he guards her secret in his
breast. He dare not confess to his own heart that if there had
been an honorable way, he would fain have laid his fortune at the
feet of the peerless "Queen of the El Dorado."

Francois Ribaut, walking the deck of the steamer, gazes on the
great white stars above him. The old man is peaceful, and calmly
thankful. The night breezes moan over the lonely Atlantic! As the
steamer bravely dashes the spray aside, his heart bounds with a
new happiness. Every hour brings the beloved France nearer to him.
Looking back at the life and land he leaves behind him, the old
priest marvels at the utter uselessness of Philip Hardin's life.
Apples of Sodom were all his treasures. His wasted gifts, his dark
schemes, his sly plans, all gone for naught. Blindly driven along
in the darkness of evil, his own hand pulled down his palace of sin
on his head. And even "French Charlie" was avenged by the murderer's
self-executed sentence. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will
repay." The innocent and helpless have wandered past each dark
pitfall dug by the wily Hardin, and enjoy their own. Pere Francois,
with his eyes cast backward on his own life path, feels that he
has not fought the good fight in vain. His gentle heart throbs in
sympathy, filled with an infinite compassion for the lonely Natalie
de Santos. Sinned against and sinning. A free lance, with only
her love for her child to hallow and redeem her. Her own plans,
founded in guile, have all miscarried. Blood stains the gold bestowed
on her by Philip Hardin's death. Her life has been a stormy sea.
Yet, to her innocent child, a name and fortune have been given by
the hand of Providence. In turning away her face from the vain and
glittering world she has adorned, the chase and plaything of men,
one pure white flower will bloom from the red ashes of her dead
life. The unshaken affection of the child for whom she struggled,
who can always, in ignorance of the dark past, lift happy eyes to
hers and call her in love, by the holy name of mother. With bowed
head and thankful heart, Padre Francisco's thoughts linger around
beautiful Lagunitas. Its groves and forest arches, its mirrored
lake, its smiling beauties and fruitful fields, return to him. The
old priest murmurs: "God made Lagunitas; but man made California
what it has been."

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