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Title: The Hidden Cabin: a pathetic story in condensed form

Author: David W. Edwards

Release date: August 8, 2021 [eBook #66008]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HIDDEN CABIN: A PATHETIC STORY IN CONDENSED FORM ***

THE HIDDEN CABIN

THE

HIDDEN CABIN

A PATHETIC STORY

IN CONDENSED

FORM

BY

DAVID W. EDWARDS

AUTHOR OF “BILLY BIRDSALL,”

“UP THE GRADE,” ETC.

COVER DESIGN, ZOLA AND ZIMBO

BY DRURY VICTOR HAIGHT

LOS ANGELES

COMMERCIAL PRINTING HOUSE

PUBLISHERS

1909

COPYRIGHT, 1909

BY

DAVID W. EDWARDS

ALL RIGHTS

RESERVED

THE STORY.

The Legend of Palomar.

The Hidden Cabin.

Cedric Vaughn.

Homer Lee.

Dora Lee.

Lola Vail.

The Voyage.

The Mines.

Ben Rubideaux.

The Wedding.

The Mystic Token.

The Stolen Child.

The Wanderers.

In The Mountains.

“Peg Leg, The Miner.”

Gilbert.

Zola And Zimbo.

The Midnight Ride.

Gilbert’s Journey.

Conclusion.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Palomar Mountain is one of the grandest natural attractions of Southern California. It is more than a mile in height. From its lofty “look-outs” the beautiful bay of San Diego may be descried, and also the distant islands of Santa Catalina and San Clemente. It abounds with gushing springs, richly timbered table-lands, deep, rocky canyons, and rugged peaks. It is one of the favorite resorts of the writer, who has spent many pleasant hours in camp near the mysterious hidden cabin above the “snow white clouds,” in company with his friend, the Rev. John L. Pitner, D. D., to whom these lines are inscribed.

D. W. E.

BIMINI SPRINGS LOS ANGELES, CAL.

PALOMAR.

mile above the ocean’s level brim

Tow’rs Palomar, the monarch of the range.

Along its western base are frostless hills

With verdure crowned, and valleys green, where bloom

And fruitage fill the air with sweet perfume.

Green pastures, rich with herbage and bright flowers,

Bedeck the eastern slopes which fall away

A lone and weary desert land to meet;

To meet a lone and weary desert land—

A rich and rocky land where mines of wealth

Have slumbered long beneath its arid wastes.

So stands in majesty this mountain grand

Between the desert and the western sea.

From ocean’s heaving breast, she upward sent

A humid vapor, in the skies to meet

And woo the softer breezes that ascend

From off the heated earth at eventide.

A gentle zephyr was at play among

The cacti beds and yuccas tall, that lift

Their spiny leaves and tufted fronds above

The burning sands; she softly breathed a sigh,

And floating upward in the milky way

She met and wed the vapor from the sea;

For each had found a true affinity.

The moon withdrew and hid her face behind

The distant isles; and from the blushing east

A ray of sunlight came and kissed the bride.

Together in the skies, these twain have wrought

A mantle, soft as down, of spotless white;

And often as the evening twilight falls,

Or dewy morning sheds her purple tints,

They come and spread it over Palomar.

Thus runs the legend which has oft been told;

And which the Indian maiden whispers low

When snow white clouds hang over Palomar.

THE HIDDEN CABIN.

The rugged sides of Palomar are deep

With canyons cleft, where raging floods have made

Their downward path and held their course unchained.

Beyond the eagle’s nest and rocky crag,

Where giant arborvitaes throw their plumes

Athwart the sky; and crystal waters cold

And pure, come sparkling from a mountain spring;

By bending boughs and tangled vines shut out

From view, the hidden cabin stood; and there

Today it stands, and there has stood unkept,

In mystery wrapped, a hundred years or more

Since its last tenant left it there alone.

It stands where it was builded long ago;

Yet not the same as in the days of old,

For long disuse and winters’ storms and rain

Have left their mark; but still enough remains

To show that in the hands of him who built

No joiner’s tools were held; divested of

All metals with sharp edge save only axe

And auger, which he plied with master hand

To hew the timbers smooth, and cut and fit

The doors and frames; and fitting, through these sent

The auger’s teeth to clear the way for pins

Of wood with which he made all fast and strong.

A strange, pathetic story centers round

This lonely spot; the story of a true

And faithful soul who counted life best spent

By those who strive to crucify the flesh,

And emulate—as best poor mortal may—

The life of Him who lived and died for love;

For love of those who loved and hated Him.

CEDRIC VAUGHN.

Classmates were Cedric Vaughn and Homer Lee.

Cedric from the southland came, and in his

Veins there flowed—tho’ mixed with Anglo-Saxon—

A trace of Montezuma blood, the same

As that of those who met with sharpened steel

The hosts of Cortez on the bloody plains

Of Otumba. In the lightsome morning

Of his happy youth, he saw that twain who

Gave him life and love, with all his kindred,

By savage hands struck down! struck down and flung

Amid the blazing ruins of their home.

With superhuman strength he stood beside

His father ’till he fell; and then fought on

Like wounded tiger, grimly courting death.

Filled with pagan superstition, that wild

Robber chief—when he saw brave Cedric’s blade

Cleave skull and flesh, and break like slender reeds

The spears of those who came upon him three

To one—thought him protected by the gods

And made immune to blows of mortal hands;

Stricken with fear lest in revengeful wrath

They turn on him, fell on his spear and died.

Then the others fled and Cedric’s life was

Spared. He, wand’ring aimless o’er the waste

Scarce knowing where his footsteps led, came where

Terraced hills sloped to a narrow harbor.

He knew the place and knew his father had

Been well known there and much respected for

Fair dealing, when in trade he bought and sold;

Not many days before, they together

Had come down this dusty trail and returned

With family stores. Sadly he walked on, his

Poor heart bleeding at remembrance of those

Happy hours now gone, when suddenly he

Came upon the spot where they had rested

By a spring and led their horses down;

Here lay the branch his father’s hand had used

To urge the horses on; and half trodden

In the mold, and scattered round, the paper

Which he had seen his mother’s loving hands

Wrap ’round the food prepared by her for them.

Now, for the first, he realized his loss.

Upon the cold, damp bosom of the earth

He laid his head and wept—alone! Beneath

The bending skies and sighing boughs; no loving

Hand upon his brow; no ear to hear the

Groans that shook his iron frame; nor knew he

How near in that dark hour the heart of Him

Who suffered in the garden all alone

Was bending down to his. The soul may weep

And still the flesh demand its own: Too proud

To eat the bread of charity, he sought

And found employment in the mines. He worked

With heavy heart, crushed for a time by dark

Despair; and giving way to hunger for

Revenge, he well-nigh fell; but when at last

A kindly light broke thro’ the gloom of his

Black night of grief, and he could say, “Thy will

Be done”; in him awoke new life and hope

And high resolve to make of his own life

A memorial to them; and to strive

To reach the measure of their highest hope.

To this end he hoarded all his earnings,

And with the salvage from the wreck of their

Estate, went bravely forth, determined to

Fulfill their wish so oft expres’d that he

Might go away to school—they named the school—

The greatest in the northland, whence they hoped

To see him come one day with cultured mind.

HOMER LEE.

Homer Lee was born and reared upon the

Sacred ground where beacon lights were kindl’d

On the hills, before the war that broke the

Chains of monarchy and set this nation

Free. His father owned ships and lands and

Merchandise; and the son—the eldest born—

Had never known a wish ungratified.

Albeit, he was not puffed up, or vain,

Or churlish by over-much indulgence,

For he was nurtured in the Quaker faith,

And early taught to draw the line ’twixt

Right and wrong; and measure men by what

They are and not by what they have or say.

Unlike in all respects were Cedric Vaughn

And Homer Lee, save in those noble traits

Of character which make men strong and brave

And true. Homer, lighter built and younger,

But noted for his prowess—when he met

The tall, dark, princely stranger from the south,

As by the power of some magnetic chain

Was strangely drawn to him. Touched by the kind

Demeanor of this fair-haired, happy youth,

Cedric’s heart went out to him. So, as the

Years went by, between them grew a friendship

Strong as that of Pythias and his friend.

DORA LEE.

Homer’s sister, Dora Lee, rejoiced at

Their success, or wept when disappointment

Crossed their path. Likewise, she shared in all their

Happy leisure hours, when sailing on the

Bay, or riding horseback o’er the hills. And

When their united strength their pennant saved,

The campus rang with shouts of victory

And plaudits for the heroes of the day,

She wept for joy. Dora Lee loved Cedric,

But he knew it not nor dreamed that she whose

Faithful heart could never love but one,

Had consecrated that one love to him.

Their college days were drawing to a close;

And nearer came the day when these two friends

Must each go out to meet the sterner life—

The one to fill the place prepared for him;

The other, empty handed and alone.

Their intercourse—to each a priceless boon—

Had ne’er been marred by shadow of distrust.

A diamond careless thrown upon the sand,

May change the gentle current of a stream.

And so it chanced the even current of

Their fellowship was broken.

LOLA VAIL.

Lola Vail,—

Her father, a rich planter, owned a vast

Estate upon the banks of that great stream

Which gathers up the waters of the land

And sweeps them onward to the gulf. Half way

To that strange southern land whence Cedric came

Was Lola born—a schoolmate, friend and guest

Of Dora Lee, and much like her; or as she

Would appear with three more years of summers’

Sun to paint with ruddier glow the bloom of

Health upon her cheek, and tint with deeper

Gold her ample braids; in purity of

Thought and loyalty, they also were alike.

Lola’s mother died when she was young, and

Her father, bringing home a Creole wife,

Unwittingly neglected her; and thought

His duty done when he provided for

The child a nurse—an aged Octoroon—

A pious soul, who gave to Lola all

The love she knew in her sweet childhood life;

And filled the tender mind with holy thoughts

And pure. And Lola daily gathered flowers

And, weeping, laid them on her mother’s grave.

When she was older grown, her father took

Her to the north, she and her faithful nurse,

To bide until she grew to womanhood.

Her education finished, her father

Called her home, but she begged to tarry, yet

A few more days and visit with her friend.

Thus it chanced to come about that Cedric

Vaughn and Homer Lee met sweet Lola Vail

And loved her, each in his own way—Cedric,

With all the fervor of his sincere soul—

And Homer worship’d her, forgetting for

The time his own betrothed. Cedric told her

All, she sitting by his side in shady

Bower, upon a wooded isle, their boat drawn

Up below upon the pebbly beach. He

Told the story of his life, as one a

Painful duty would perform. “She must know

The truth.” And keeping nothing back, he told

Her of his birth and lineage—which was

Equal to her own—his loss of home and

Wealth; his lofty aspirations; high hopes

Now partly realized, though penniless;

But he was going back to that same land

Where he had delved; and there would he employ

The knowledge gained of placer, drift and ledge,

And engineering, to locate and bring

Forth rich treasure from the earth, and in a

Few short years would he return with wealth and

Build a costly home for her in some great

City,—she might name the place. “Could she love

Him? Would she wait for him?” She answered not

By spoken word, but when she lifted her

Fond eyes to his, he read the sweet response.

By his strong arms encircled tenderly,

Her head upon his breast, she wept for joy;

And speaking through her tears: “Oh, leave me not,

But let me share your lot whate’er it be—

A palace or a cot—I would leave all

The world, my Cedric, dear, and go with thee.”

But Cedric kindly told her of the place,

Its roughness, the peons there; and frankly,

But perhaps unwise, he spoke of dangers

From the wild bandits. It was no place for

One so sweet and gentle as his own dear

Lola; it were better she obey her

Father’s call. That day, a week, the ship that

He expected her to take, would leave that

Port. It would not be long; he would stop there

On his way and see her father, speak to

Him, as man to man should speak, all fair and

honorable. The wisdom of his speech

She saw and cheerful yielded to his will.

With fervid kiss their pledges sealed, they sat

In sweet converse till lengthening shadows called;

Then spread their sail and shoreward set the prow

Of their light craft. With rosy finger tips

She swept the strings of her guitar and sang:

“What fairy-like music steals over the sea,

Entrancing the senses with calm melody?

’Tis the voice of the mermaid as she floats o’er the main,

And mingles her notes with the gondolier’s strain.”

Homer and his sister, waiting at the

Mooring, by their merry laughter and love

Glances, half concealed, each read their secret;

And reading, saw the fading shadows of

Their hope. Each concealed the pang; and laughing,

Teased the truants for their tardiness. Then

Timidly the lovers made confession.

“And we will pray,” said Homer, “that to you

Be given the fullness of all earthly

Joy, and then the sweetest bliss of heaven.”

Lola left them; and the three in silence

Watched her waving from the deck; and saw the

Good ship fading in the offing vanish,

Where bending skies come down to meet the sea;

Then sadly turned away—each heart, wounded

By a shaft from Cupid’s bow; arrows from

His quiver, unaimed, ofttimes fly amiss.

Too high born and proud were Dora Lee

And Homer to harbor in their minds dark

Jealousies, or thoughts unkind; but Homer

Was disconsolate; and Dora, cheering,

Said: “You surely will forget your grief; and

Going back to your first love will marry

Her and love her evermore; for no true

Heart can ever love but one.” So it was

Her prophecy came true. Dora loved with

Woman’s constancy; and womanlike found

Comfort in the secret hope (while wishing

Naught but good for Lola Vail), the idle hope

That she one day would marry Cedric Vaughn.

If in the spirit world departed ones

Can see with joy a loved one plodding on,

And faithful to the end, achieve at last

The worthy object sought, then there was joy

Above when Cedric led the class and gained

The highest meed of praise for work well done.

Cedric saw, or tho’t he saw, a shorter

Way to competence than any of the

Kindly offers of a place which, without

His asking, came to him; a great law firm

Wanted him; a professorship in that

Same college he could have; in the counting

House and busy marts of commerce there were

Many op’nings for one as he so well

Endowed and popular. He declined them

All; and yet so gracefully, with thanks, that

They were urged upon him all the more; but

He had fixed his mind on going back, see

Lola on his way, then hasten on to

Carry out his plans; for each hour improved

Would bring them nearer to their wedding day.

On the morn of his departure, a throng

Of gay young friends came, bearing tokens of

Their friendship, souvenirs of college days,

And bidding him God-speed upon his way.

He keenly felt the sting of parting with

His friends; but when he came to say good-bye

To Homer, that was hardest of it all.

When Dora gave the parting hand, and in

Her large blue eyes he saw the gathering

Tears, that tell-tale look of love she fain would

Hide; that yearning look of hopeless love

Like arrow pierced his soul with deep regret,

And haunted him thro’ all the coming years.

THE VOYAGE.

With varying winds the good ship sailed thro’

Summer sea. At times translucent clouds were

Flung across its way like twilight mists, and

Then anon the sun burst forth. With lowering

Winds and listless sail they drifted dreamily

Beneath the turquoise skies. When at night the

Mellow moonlight made its path across the

Waves, Cedric paced the deck impatiently;

And in his restless dreams he saw the face

And form of Lola; felt her soft breath on

His cheek, her arms entwined about his neck

In heavenly bliss.

At some port discharging

Freightage, the ship would often linger for

A day, and those on board would wander thro’

The town. Once they saw a vessel that plied

Between that southern coast and Africa

Unload its cargo—human souls, who had

Been stolen from their home and brought to this

Free country to be sold to servitude.

The buyers, richly dressed and bedecked with

Diamonds, stood like drovers waiting at the

Cattle pens to buy. One gentleman with

Pistol at his belt, true type of southern

Cavalier, took a mother from her child;

Cedric pled with him to buy the baby

Too. He was answered by an insult, and

Derided for his pity for “the brat.”

Unmindful of the insult to himself,

He persevered and gained consent to buy

The child and place it in its mother’s arms.

Off the south-most coast they saw the isle,

The magic isle of Bimini, where the

Indian sages told De Leon he

Would find the fountain of eternal youth.

Thence onward thro’ the gulf, and near that quaint

Old Crescent City, he found his darling

Lola. Near the city in a lovely

Urban villa on the rich plantation

Of her father, where the oleanders

Bloom, and palmettos wave their fronded plumes,

They met once more. Her father, Colonel Vail,

Was absent; would return in one week more.

Six days, six blissful days, from early morn

Till eve, the lovers wandered ’mid the scenes

To her, so rich in hallowed memories.

Sitting by her mother’s grave, she told him

How unlike the days of old she found her

Home. Her father, with advancing age and

Growing wealth, had changed; become more like the

One who filled her mother’s place, purse-proud and

Haughty. He had hinted at a union

That he desired for her, and she feared he

Would not look with favor on her Cedric.

Like as the vine twines with the sturdy oak

And clings the stronger when the north wind blows,

So she, as moved by some foreboding, clung

To him, and begged that she might go with him

To that far land; and coaxingly she said:

“Who will spread the table for my Cedric?

Or smooth his pillow? Or if mishap befall,

Nurse him back to health? If he goes alone,

I ne’er shall look upon his face again.”

He kissed away her tears and playfully

Made light of her misgiving; yet he was

Sorely tempted, and well-nigh gave way to

His desire; but that high sense of honor,

And solicitude for her, gave him the

Mastery over self. And from that hour

He never knew a thought of selfishness.

He soothed her fears; and by words of wisdom,

(As before) soon brought her judgment into

Sweet accord with his. But it was agreed

That if her father answered his request

With scorn, or treated him unkindly, there

Would be no angry words. That he would go

And never ask again. When he returned,

Would take her as his rightful own; and then

He held her to his breast, and laid upon

Her lips what they both well knew might be his

Farewell kiss. For even then they saw her

Father’s carriage coming up the drive. When

They met and she presented her betrothed,

Cedric recognized the man who bought the

Slave and would have torn the infant from its

Mother’s breast. Yet, speaking calmly, told him

Who he was, whence and why he came; told all

Manfully; and the Colonel heard him thro’.

Then, with derisive laugh, he taunted him

For his presumption: “A pauper, begging

For a queen! Nay, nay! The one who gains my

Daughter’s hand must have a bank account or

Property in land or slaves.” The hot blood

Rushing to his brow, he boldly answered:

“I go, accepting these conditions, but

Surely will return.” Then, taking Lola’s

Hand, said cheerfully: “ ’Till then, good-bye.” With

Tearless eyes she proudly looked upon her

Cedric, and stood as strong and brave as he.

THE MINES.

When Cedric reached that country where precious

Metals and bright gems, by nature’s cunning

Hand are tucked away and hidden in the

Rocks or scattered in the sands, he found a

Dusky peon—Jose Morales—whom he

Had known and trusted, and took him with his

Train of donkeys packed with stores; with miner’s

Pick and spade and crucible, he bravely

Plunged into the wilderness. For many

Long and weary days he sought among the

Dry Lomitas, sought in vain beneath a

Tropic sun, lured on by prospects that proved

Valueless. And when at last he found a

Vein of quartz that sparkled with the golden

Grains, he was compelled to leave it there, to

Wait thro’ long decades for other hands to

Come with stamp and chemicals to crush the

Rock and bear away the millions he had

Found. He working, saw the months pass by, but

Labored on with Lola ever in his

Mind. Anon there crept before his sight

A vision of that peaceful shore where first

They met,—a cottage home—his Lola with

A blue-eyed baby kneeling by her side,

White robed, with golden curls, in attitude

Of prayer—that evening prayer by mother taught;

Then he saw the blessings of the simpler,

Holy life; saw that wealth is least of all.

One day Morales in quest of water

Sent, returned in great excitement, crying

“Oro grande, señor! Oro grande!”

In a deep arroyo in the sands for

Ages washed by floods from mountain storm,

Jose had discovered as he said, “much

Gold.” In cup-like hollows of the rocks by

Falling waters worn away—in yellow

Nuggets buried in the sand—he found the

Glittering fortune they so long had sought.

This he changed for currency of lighter

Weight and coin, in that old city where his

Forbears died; then to the seaport sped, there

Impatient waited for the ship to come

And carry him in triumph to his bride.

BEN RUBIDEAUX.

The consul, seeking Cedric, told him he

Had sent a messenger in search of him

With letters, and gave him one from Lola,

Requesting that the messenger be sent.

Cedric sent Morales to intercept

The messenger and bring the letters back.

This the faithful fellow did, and Cedric

Read them with dismay. Morales saw the

Troubled look on Cedric’s face and begged to

Go with him. With his tamales, and his

Mascal, and being Cedric’s servant, he

Was satisfied. He cared not for his share;

Would leave it all with him. Cedric, with real

Affection, grateful for his faithfulness,

Told him he might go and evermore abide

With him.

He read the letters o’er and

O’er with sinking heart, read Lola’s letters.

Beginning at the first, he read how proud

Of him she was when he “so grandly stood

Before her father, with the bearing of

A king, and faced him in his wrath;” then of

Her sad and lonely days when he was gone;

How her father sought by gentleness to

Mould her to his will and bring her to forget

The one she loved. Of the attention paid

By Simon Blake, her father’s friend and boon

Companion, the man he wanted her to

Wed,—a vile, besotted wretch who knew no

God but gold; she hated gold and wished that

He might come back poor in all but love and

Purity of soul, with which no other

Riches can compare.

This man had urged his

Suit until she had exhausted all the

Harmless arts of womanhood to evade

His coarse advances, praying daily that

Her Cedric would return; when he boldly

Claimed her hand, she told him, “No;” he bro’t her

Father who commanded that she wed him;

She, helpless in their hands, had pled for time—

One more year; then, if Cedric had not come,

Her answer they should have. One day she, in

An arbor half hidden in the trellis,

Had heard her father’s overseer, Ben

Rubideaux, and Simon Blake make bargain

That for a sum the overseer would watch

For Cedric and murder him if he should

Come. She knew he did not fear them all, but

For her sake, she begged him not to venture

There. She gave a number in the city

Where he would find a friend, a lady friend,

Of hers. It was arranged that she should come

For her. Then, as his lawful wife, he could

Defend her and himself, if needs must be.

’Twere best that he should come with pistols, armed;

Ben Rubideaux and Blake were desperate

And wicked men. She wrote, fearing lest her

Letters would not be received; since he left,

She had received no word from him; she knew

That he would write, but they had come between.

THE WEDDING.

This plan was not to Cedric’s liking for

He would fain have gone openly and claimed

His bride, but for her sake he acquiesced,

And in his servant’s name he took a house,

A lovely house, in quiet place apart.

There Lola came, and as the light of slow

Descending sun proclaimed the dying day,

And zephyrs laden with the breath of bloom

And tuneful with the song of mocking bird,

Were wafted from the sea, then from the mission

Came the parish priest, and in soft accents

Of the Spanish tongue, pronounced the holy

Words that made them one. No other witness

Than his servant and her friend. And there thro’

Long and dreamy, blissful days, they passed their

Honeymoon.

Morales, with his native

Instinct, saw that danger hovered over

Cedric; and, unknown to him, he shadowed

All his steps. One night a messenger in

Haste came to the door, told Cedric that his

Servant was in trouble, needed him; he

Went, not knowing that his faithful Jose

Shadowed them. When near the water front the

Stranger fled; and from the cotton bales and

Freightage piled upon the dock, two ruffians

Sprang on Cedric. When the light of morning

Dawned, the lifeless forms of Simon Blake, Ben

Rubideaux and poor Morales were found

Lying on the bloody dock.

All night Lola

Paced the floor in anguish, list’ning for the

Footsteps that came not. Nor knew she of the

Tragedy until she read: “Murdered! In the

Night! Two citizens of high repute shot down!

But not until one of the murderers

(A bearded foreigner) was killed by them.

The other has escaped, but the mob is

On his track and he will soon be taken.”

The paper gave a good description of

Her husband, which she doubted not, was given

By the man who called for him. If she should

Speak, it would bring harm to Cedric; he might

Escape and come to her; so, taking hope,

With one trusty servant she in hiding

Waited there. Her friend had gone and no one

Knew of her abiding place.

The weary

Weeks and months rolled by; she pined, and passing

Near the gates of death, awoke to find a

Blue-eyed baby by her side—the child of

Cedric’s dreams. The months passed by and still

No word from Cedric came. She, yielding to

Her grief and drooping, faded as a flower

That withering in decadence fades away.

The rosy seraph sent—so kindly sent—

From heaven to be the precious idol of

Her solitude, and his, grew strong and more

Angelic as the passing days went by.

When the ruffians from the darkness sprang on

Cedric, with ready shot, the foremost fell;

But the bludgeon of the other laid him

Low; then, as the fatal blow was falling,

Morales coming, threw himself between;

And in deadly combat grappled with Ben

Rubideaux. With bowie knives they struggled,

Each receiving fatal thrusts, nor yielded

Until weak from loss of blood, they parting

Fell; Morales’ bowie buried in the

Heart of Rubideaux. Cedric lay for hours,

Unconscious; then, his strength returning, he

Rose, and dazed, bewildered, groped along the

Frontage, stag’ring like a drunken man; the

Stevedores thought him one returning from a

Night’s debauch. He in the early morning,

Came where a boat was loosening its cables

From the wharf; and unnoticed, stumbled on

And fell among the luggage in a swoon.

THE MYSTIC TOKEN.

The boat—bound for the Indies—was well out

On the gulf before they found and lifted

Him; nor knew they of the tragedy upon

The dock, or that he was hunted as a

Murderer. They finding on his person

The token of a craft which they reveréd,

They cared for him and left him safely in

An island city of the Southern Sea.

There his brother craftsmen gathering round him,

Nursing—raised him—raised him as one from the

Dead. From the “Valley of the Shadows” brought

Him forth to perfect health and vigor; but

Alas! the silken cord that erstwhile bound

Him to the past, was broken! Memory

Was gone! Nor, with active mind and clear, could

He recall the past, tell his name or whence

He came. He strove to lift the veil and look

Beyond the wall of night that intervened.

That cruel blow had caused a lesion of

The brain—a lapse of memory complete.

As the wire that bears the hidden current

Broken, swaying in the breeze, connecting

Sends a gleam across the night, so at times

Bright gleams of memory, almost taking

Shape, would light his way; then leaving him in

Greater darkness, would as quickly fly away.

Gradually came before his sight, as

Dimly seen thro’ nebulae, the outlines

Of a form and face came from the misty

Moonlight of the past. At last, came back to

Him, that picture which had made the deepest

Imprint on his mind—his Lola, as he

Saw her standing by her father’s side. But

When was this? And where? And who was she?

By exercise of all the strength of his

Great will, her name once more came back to him,

And then her father’s; then the city where

They lived; and then it was borne in on him

That she was his betrothed; that he had gone

To that fair isle to make a home for her.

Now, having gained the wherewithal, he could

Go and bring her. With this thought, the flame of

Love rekindled blazed anew, as clearly

He remembered those six happy days of

Love with her—what she said, his promises;

And now—his hot blood leaping to the call,

He hastened on his way. Arriving there,

He straightway went to find her father’s

Home and claim her as he swore to do the

Day he left her there. The Colonel met him

With a scornful smile and said: “So you have

Come? You may have her, if you wish for such

As she.” Breaking forth in rage, he cried—with

Oaths—“Go! Find her at the hospital”—he

Told the driver where—“Go! Find her with her

Child of shame; they are good enough for you!

I care not if she fills a harlot’s grave.”

THE STOLEN CHILD.

Cedric, smitten almost to the death, bade

The driver go with haste. He found her and

She, smiling, whispered low: “My Cedric, you

Have come to meet me. Is this heaven?” then placed

The baby hand in his and falling back,

She was indeed in heaven. Cedric, tearless,

For a moment stood as one struck dumb; then

Took the baby in his arms. She too young

To understand, or lisp her mother’s name

Or his, as though instinctively, she threw

Her rosy arms about his neck and kissed

Him. Then confiding, laid her golden curls

Upon his breast. The nurses, thinking him

A base deserter, hoping he at least

Would own the child, and seeing him caress

It—placed tenderly its costly wrappings

’Round, and quickly packed its ample clothing,

Gave it him. He kissed the marble brow and

Turning to the one who had the right to

Speak for all, he inquired about the rites

And ceremonies of her faith, “Were they

Performed?” “Yes,” the matron said, “the good priest

Has been often by her side, left her just

Before you came; the one who married her.”

He paced the hall and pondered, mystified.

What he had heard and seen had set his brain

Awhirl. So she was married! Then to whom?

Her husband might at any moment come

And claim his child—claim Lola’s child—he quick

Resolved to take the babe and give his life

To her—to care for her, for Lola’s sake;

For she was Lola’s child, if not his own.

They must not know that he was not the one

Who married her. He must not see the priest.

He, in his frenzy, cast aside all thought

Of right or wrong—decided he would

Steal—yea, lie or even die before that

One who had deserted her should have her

Child. He gave them gold, and speaking calmly,

(Falsely, too, as he supposed) said: “Tell them

Her husband ordered that her last resting

Place shall be a mausoleum grand, and

To him you gave the child—the one to whom

It rightfully belongs; say that he loved

Her to the last, and would that he had died;

That she had mourned for him—not he for her.”

Then, with a farewell kiss, he took the child,

Believing he was stealing it away.

The baby clung to him and was content.

But for the child his life had ended there;

Then there had been no tie to bind, no one

To love. The past almost a blank, and in

The future no alluring hope, he fain

Had snap’d the slender thread of life, to be

With Lola evermore. Or, had he been

One of the weaker kind, complaining at

His fate, he had perchance by slower

Process, ended all in low debauchery.

THE WANDERERS.

But those confiding arms, that baby kiss

Upon his cheek, sent thro’ the aisles of his

Great, generous heart, a flood of newborn

Love. To part with her would be indeed to

Part with life itself. He, thinking quickly

And as quickly acting, fled—took the first

Ship that sailed, nor asking whither it was

Bound; rejoicing when it cleared the dock and

Seaward turned its prow. When learning that its

Course lay to the north, he changed to one bound

For the South Sea Isles.

Sailing to and fro,

The changing seasons passed while they upon

The ocean cruised like wanderers without

A guide; he thinking only of his charge,

And where he, in her tender years, the

Best could care for her. Willing hands he found—

Mothers’ hands outstretched to take the cherub

From his arms. She, growing, Cedric saw in

Her the image of her mother—the same

Blue eyes and wavy hair which fell about

Her shoulders; high arching brows and lashes

Long but darker shaded, like his own. He

Had thought to call her Lola; but when the

Stranger asked her name, she lisping answered,

“Zola,” he left it so.

Tho’ long before

The day when ox-carts plowed their dusty way

Across the plains to reach the sun land slopes,

The Eldorado of the west, he knew

Of that fair land beside the sunset sea—

That sunny, southern California.

There they would go, where none would ever hear

The story of the stolen, nameless child;

And where the recreant father ne’er would

Come. There would he seek and find in sylvan

Quietude, the sweetest spot where Mother

Nature reigns and in her lap, among the

Birds and flowers, would she be reared in spotless

Purity—educated—taught by him—

As wise men of the olden times received

Their learning from the doctors of the law.

Thitherward they sailed; and thro’ the rocky

Gateways of the cape—tho’ roughly shaken—

Safely passed; then to the north thro’ calmer

Waters, borne by Etesian winds, oft-times

Delayed by traffic at the ports, or on

A glassy sea becalmed. And once their ship

Was overtaken by an ugly craft

That bore the pirates’ flag; and every man

On board was called to arms; then they were

Well nigh overwhelmed and taken. Cedric,

Joining with the crew, fought valiantly. Thro’

The thickest of the battle, Zola clung

To him. When they would have taken her below,

She cried, “Let me stay wiz papa; if he

Go, zen me go too.” Cedric answered, “Be

It so; we live or die together.” But

Their fears were turned to great rejoicing when

A shot crashed thro’ the pirate craft. They sailed

Away and left it sinking in the deep.

Cedric, by his bravery and coolness

In the time of danger, won respect and

Friendship of officers and crew. When they

Left him at the mission of the holy

Padres, on the bay of San Diego,

Loaded him with costly presents, forced them

On him, presents for himself and Zola.

The angelic child had won the hearts of all.

Cedric told the good Franciscan fathers

He was going northward overland, and

Joyously he set about preparing

For the journey, she ever at his side,

With childish prattle, asking, “What is zis?”

“What is zat?” and “What for?” He answering

Cheerfully and evermore explaining—

Teaching her.

In her sweet companionship

And the certainty of keeping her, he

Laid aside his sadness and became as

Light of heart and happy as herself. At

Last they were all ready to begin their

Wild and free nomadic life—a dozen

Gentle burros, packed with all that they might

Need for months to come; a tent with costly

Furs and rugs, and blankets of bright colors

Bo’t from the Indians, with toys and gaudy

Trinkets; a snow-white pony, showily

Equip’d with Spanish bit and bridle,

Upon its back a basket, sedan-like,

With crimson canopy, lined with softest

Silken draperies, for his “Gypsy queen.”

A princess of the Romany was ne’er

Provided with such luxuries as she.

In the early morning, long before the

Ringing of the mission bells, Zola and

Her strange retinue set forth; the pony,

With its precious burden, led by Cedric’s

Hand; then came the white milk goats with tinkling

Bells; to the sound, the meek-faced burros, trained

To follow, trailed patiently behind; and

Then a faithful shepherd dog to keep them

All in line. They moved by easy stages,

Stopping often in some shady dell to

Rest and let their burros feed upon the

Grassy slopes. Then would Zola gather flowers,

Or chase the yellow butterflies, with shouts

Of childish glee that echoed thro’ the glen;

To him a sweeter music than the chime

Of great cathedral bells or orchestra.

IN THE MOUNTAINS.

They exploring, crossed the great Cuyamaca

Range, traversed its broad plateaus, and thro’ the

Silence of its lofty domes and canyons;

Then beyond, where boiling waters gurgling

Flowed thro’ Indian villages. They saw

The waving pines upon the lofty crest

Of Palomar; and wandering, vainly sought

Along its base for passage leading to

Its heights. They often reached an eminence,

And thought they neared the goal, when overhanging

Walls of granite turned them back. At last, by

Persevering, came upon its table-

Lands; and pressing forward found the place he

Long had pictured in his mind—the sheltering

Boughs of giant trees, the gushing fountain,

Level plot of fertile land below, well

Watered by the rivulets that trickled

From the springs. Here he sowed the garden seeds

And grain; and from the chaparral he bro’t

The antlered buck and lesser game. The sweets

The toiling honey bee had stored away,

Drip’d from the boles of sycamore and oak.

They happy lived in Nature’s luxury.

Lest in their quietude he might become

Indifferent or wasteful of the time,

He took up an ancient system which they

Faithfully observed thro’ all their years of

Hermitage—eight hours for labor, eight for

Rest, and eight for study and improvement

Of his mind, and teaching Zola.

He was

The builder of the hidden cabin; for

Zola it was builded, for her boudoir.

With loving hands, he axe and auger plied,

Without compass, square or trestle board,

But with all the tenderness that ever

Mother bird provided for her nestling.

He building, furnished it with draperies—

Bright Indian blankets, rugs and robes of

Fur, arranging all as beautiful as

Tho’ her mother’s spirit hands had guided

His. Perchance they did. If love be spirit,

And spirit love—or soul—then such as hers

Might overleap the balustrades of

Heaven and find its own; or such unselfish

Soul as his might rise and view the palace

Of the skies. He teaching, opened first the

Book of Nature, and strolled with her among

The flowers and botanized. Then to the rocks;

He told her of the slow formations of

The ages. From the books selected in

The days when she was cradled on the sea,

He, in learning, carried her beyond her

Years.

“PEG LEG, THE MINER.”

They marked the changing moons until a

Score had glided by and yet had seen no

Other human face save one—and he, an

Honest miner whom they found in sorry

Plight, with broken limb, where he had fallen

From an overhanging ledge. They succored

Him until, returned to strength, he rose with

One limb twisted hopelessly. They made—as

Best they could—a wooden substitute, and

Strap’d with buckskin bandage, he soon learned to

Use it cleverly. Jokingly, he called

Himself “Peg-leg, the miner.” He told them

Of a mine that out upon the desert

He had found, where three large buttes stood side by

Side. Cedric gave him burros from his herd,

And packs, and sent him on his way. He came

Again with well-filled sacks of pellets round

As shot and black as ebony, which proved

To be pure gold. He left it there, and leaving,

Nevermore returned. Miners to this day

In vain have sought that “Peg-leg Mine,” and those

Three buttes; and some have left their bones to bleach

Upon the desert sand. The miner told

Them of a nearer passage, a hidden

Trail, that led downward to the valley. They

Going, tarried there and Cedric sent the

Indians to the mission for supplies.

Once a cougar sprang across their path with

Blazing eyes and crouching for a spring; when

Cedric sent a bullet thro’ its brain; and

From its den he took a pair of baby

Mountain lions, made orphans by the shot.

Zola, pitying, took them home and one,

Surviving, grew to monstrous size, became

Obedient to her command, and like

A faithful watch dog, followed her. She

Called him Zimbo. Other pets she had—white

Kids of silken fleece, birds and animals,

But Zimbo was the monarch of them all.

As the circling years went ’round and she could

See beyond the golden morning of her

Sunny life the ripening noonday coming

On, she longed to see the world beyond her

Mountain home; but named it not to Cedric.

With her years she grew more fearless, wild and

Venturesome. With Zimbo and her rifle,

She scaled the dizzy heights of rock and crag

Where condors built their nests, and knew the

Devious windings of the wild doe’s trail,

Thro’ manzanita groves and chaparral.

In a seat of granite, nature fashioned,

Like a throne, shaded by a giant oak

Upon a summit looking oceanward,

She would sit in dreamy mood and watch the

Silvery line of surf that fringed the far-off

Fading stretch of blue. Once she saw a sail

Appear, then slowly vanish in the offing;

And in the quiet of an early morn,

She heard the low sweet chime of mission bells.

GILBERT.

To that same port where Cedric landed with

His Zola, others came from distant parts.

Some came to seek their fortunes, others came

To buy and till the soil, some to obey

The inborn instinct of the pioneer.

One family, leaving all behind, had bro’t

A sickly child. Rich and prosperous they

Had been, and with children blessed; but a dread

Contagion had swept them all away save

One; and he, left delicate and frail, the

Idol of their hopes—no other left to

Keep the family name. From those who best could

Speak, they learned there was no hope unless it be

In taking him to that fair, sunny clime.

They hastened there and gave him for his home

A quaint old hacienda of the Dons;

With many leagues of land that lay between

The mountains and the sea. There amid the

Orange groves and vineyards, in the freedom

Of the range where roamed his father’s flocks and

Herds, young Gilbert soon became a gay young

Caballero—grew as strong and fearless

As vaqueros of the range—could twirl the

Lariat or aim the rifle true as they.

Sunburned, strong and handsome was Gilbert, in

Showy costume of the Dons, with clanking

Spurs, gold-mounted trappings on his coal-black

Leo, ambling thro’ the massive arches

Of the mission. Señoritas smiled on

Him; he returned their loving glances. This

His parents seeing, feared their Angelo

Blood be mixed with that of darker hue, besought

Him to return to their old home and there

To find a bride of his own faith and kind.

He quieted their fears and said that he

Was wedded to the mesa and the hills.

He loved the mountains more than ever

Bridegroom loved his bride, his heart was free;

But kind and true and dutiful to them,

He promised solemnly that he would do

As they desired before he took a wife;

For ne’er could he repay the love and care

By them bestowed on him, their sacrifice.

Foremost in all manly sports, he reckless

Rode along the beach where foaming breakers

Lashed the cliffs, fleet-footed Leo dashed between.

His black horse was known on El Camino

Real—far beyond the shady groves of

Monte Vista. He loved the mountains

And on their bosom laid his head beneath

The starlit skies, companion of their silence,

Partaker of their rest. In midnight darkness

Could he thread the winding Indian trail

Across the high Cuyamacas, and often

Had he reached the base of Palomar, and

Longed to see beyond its frowning granite

Walls. At last, undaunted, came nearly to

The summit—came where a deep-walled canyon held

Him back, there rested. The autumn sun was

Slowly sinking to the sea and bathed the

Mountain side in flood of rosy-tinted

Brilliancy.

ZOLA AND ZIMBO.

Upon a shelving rock near

By, a being of angelic beauty

Stood; posed statue-like, her eyes fix’t on the

Distant sea; one hand spread gracefully

Across her brow, the other holding back

A monster mountain lion that crouching

At her feet, lay watching him; a robe of

Softest fabric, yielding to the breeze, revealed

The ample fulness of her shapely form;

Caught back by strand of sparkling gems, a mass

Of golden hair fell nearly to her feet.

She unconscious of his presence, Gilbert

Stood in speechless adoration, as one

Entranced,—lost in wonderment. Who was this

Personage divine? This apparition

Come to him on that lone mountain side? Was

She some fairy elf come to bewitch him?

Some mountain sprite? Or angel from the throne?

With throbbing temples, arms outstretched, as tho’

He fain would leap the chasm that lay between,

Pressed slowly to its edge. The lion rising

Angrily to spring, she saw him standing

There and vanished from his sight. Then from the

Rocks, he heard her voice call softly, sternly:

“Come, Zimbo, come! Come here!” The spell was

Broken; by those words in his own tongue

He knew that she was of the earth—one like

Himself—and not a native of that land.

Day after day did he return to that

Same spot and, waiting patient, watch for her;

Once for a moment saw her on the heights,

And again, he saw the eyes of that great

Lion fixed on him and knew that she was

Near. Like knight of old he scaled the highest

Peaks and stood upon the spot her feet had

Pressed. With throbbing pulse and palpitating

Heart he followed in pursuit. The kindly

Rocks revealed no tell-tale foot prints where her

Feet had touched them in her flight. The summer

Wore away and autumn came again; yet

She cunningly evaded him. Growing

Desperate, he traversed all the length and

Breadth of Palomar; at times he heard her

Voice in song, heard her speak to Zimbo, she

Near him; for a precious moment saw her,

But in finesse she more than equalled him.

Gilbert’s parents missed his merry laugh and

Jest; marvelled at his absence; feared that

He was ill and questioned him. He told them

He was hunting in the mountains, but he

Mentioned not the object of his quest; misled

Them by tales of condor’s nest and mountain

Lion he had seen.

Likewise was Cedric

Troubled by the change he saw in Zola.

She loved Gilbert—loved him wildly, madly.

She had watched him when he knew it not, and

Knew that he loved her; but frightened at the

Thought, was minded to keep the secret

Locked in her own breast and fly from him; so

Timidly she asked if some day they might

Go away, and sailing o’er the ocean

Find another home. Cedric answered, “Yes,

Some day.” He had long expected this and

Unknown to her, had in a way, prepared

Her for the change. From that lone mountain top

Letters had been sent to shops and houses

Of the east, and yearly in return had

Come by Indian carriers from the port

Clothing for himself and Zola, made to

Measure sent, and always in their study

Hours they dressed resplendently, that she might

Grace a drawing-room and feel at ease—not

Show that she in wilderness was reared.

She had mastered music and languages

In travel needed most, and was withal

A finished scholar. Not for himself but

Her, he feared to take her hence—knew full well

That one so beautiful would soon be wooed,

And he had never told her of the cloud

That hung around her birth—the cloud of

Mystery. As for himself, he loved her

All the better for it—she blameless—he

In tenderness postponed the hour; but the

Longer left undone, he dreading knew that

One day it must come; in honor must he

Speak—must tell her, though it break her heart, to

Know that he was not her father. Often

Did he wish that in her childhood had he

Told her all. Yet, in his weakness, promised

Her that some day they would go: “Yes; some day.”

Gilbert, growing wise in woodcraft and in

The art of making love, on the farther

Side went up the mountain, rode Leo up

The winding trail; Zola watching, waited

Disappointed while he—galloping o’er the

Table-land—came on Cedric busy in

His garden. They with kindly greeting met,

Conversing, found each the other to his

Liking. He too manly to dissemble,

Gilbert came out openly: The one so

Coy and beautiful, was she his daughter?

Cedric troubled, sternly answered: “She is mine,

Indeed, my Zola.” How learned the young man of

Her presence on the mountain? Had he met

Her? Had they met clandestinely? Gilbert,

Speaking plainly, said: Tho’ strangers,

Yet they knew each other well; he long had

Worship’d her afar; well she knew and well

Had she evaded him. Now, at last, had

He found the one to ask if he might meet and

Woo her, would he give consent? Cedric saw

His good intent, sincerity and truth,

Looked upon him with the feeling of the

Father for the son. Then like a phantom

Came that secret terror of his life,—he

Spoke unlike himself—severe, unkindly.

“She obeys her father’s will and he would

Will that she remain unseen, unknown

To strange intruder. The young man makes bold

In asking.”

Answered Gilbert, manfully:

“May not a true heart be emboldened by

The hope of winning one so beautiful?

The asking honorable? Perchance the

Señor has himself in days gone by made

Like request?” Spoke of his family

Old and honored, lived on the Gilbert rancho

In the valley. Would he offer them rebuke

Unwittingly? Cedric by his words the

More determined they should never meet, for

Zola’s sake and his, resolved to flee

With her, so spoke deceitfully. He must

Go and wait six days and on the seventh

Come; if she were there then he might speak with

Her. Gilbert said respectfully: “ ’Tis well!

With such a hope I well may add to my

Long waiting one more week.” And with a smile

Of hopefulness, he rode away. Cedric

Pitying, watched him disappear among

The ceanothus bloom and drooping boughs.

Zola coming, on her face the look of

Sadness,—signs of weeping,—Cedric knowing

Now the secret of the change in her—the

Absence of the rippling laughter noticed

In the months gone by—his kind heart melted

And well-nigh did he repent and tell her

All, tell Gilbert; but the specter haunting

Fixed his purpose; she must go or face a

Deeper sorrow. So, despite his feeling,

Smilingly and cheerful, told her they would

Go and sail across the ocean—sail to

Foreign lands. Thus seeking to beguile and

Turn her from the tie that bound her heart to

Palomar, spake he of the people and

The sights that they would see. Long had they

Remained in Nature’s parlor; now going,

Would they view the halls and palaces of

Splendor they had read about. She smiling

Sadly, kissed and thanked him for his kindness.

She daily strolled where she had seen the face

Of Gilbert, vainly waiting with the hope

That he would come once more—pensively, with

Tears—and prayed that she might see him once

Again before she went away. The sun

From out its saffron-tinted bed burst forth

And kissed the mountain peaks. She weeping, heard

The matin song of birds and cooing doves,

The melody of Nature’s minstrelsy—

Heard, and yet not heard, for today must she

Decide among her treasures, which to take

And which to leave behind. Came Zimbo and

Her pets for breakfast from her hand, the last

But one, for early on the morrow she

Would go. “Shall we never come again to

This dear spot?” she asked. Cedric feigning

Cheerfulness, his sadness ill-concealed,—ran

On assuringly: “Of course, we will return

And rest from our long journey ’round the world;

Come, bring your bric-a-brac, my girl, and we

Will pack it snugly in the cabin, bar

The doors and leave all safe and sound. We may

Find Zimbo and the other pets all waiting

When we come. Cheer up, my darling; dry your

Tears, for wondrous sights are waiting for those

Eyes to feast upon.” Thus talking, while he

Packed her treasures in the hidden cabin.

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.

Gilbert, sleepless, counted yet the slowly

Dragging hours—three more days, and then

The promised one; pondered o’er the words of

That strange man on Palomar,—words so oft

Repeated: “If she be here, then you may

Speak with her.” “If she be here!” Their meaning—

His intention—dawned upon him. “She will

Not be there!” In frantic haste he rose and

Threw his saddle on his fastest horse and

Sent the spurs along his quivering flanks;

His adolescent blood in angry throbs,

His eyes ablaze, he wildly flew across

The mesa, through the foothills, brave Bonita

Stag’ring, bore him up the trail. In early

Morning came to where he spoke with Cedric.

On the slope he saw the tethered burros,

Well-filled packs and camping equipage near

By. Then from the curtained maze of trailing

Vines and boughs, he heard the gurgling waters

Of the spring and sound of axe. Pressing thro’

He came upon the hidden cabin, Cedric

Placing bars before the door, and Zola

By his side. At sight of him came bounding

Zimbo, stop’d by Zola’s voice. Then, with head

Uncovered—bowed, as one in reverential

Attitude before a shrine—addressed her:

“We have been acquainted long, if not by

Spoken word, then by the cords that bind two

Hearts as one. This man who calls you daughter,

He may tell you of his promise—explain

The breaking—doubting not his motive, I

Believe him kind and true.”

“Calls you daughter!”

Smote poor Cedric’s soul; a deadly pallor

Swept across his kindly face. The time had

Come when he must speak—must tell the secret

Of his life—her life. Then he recited

All that he remembered,—Zola’s unknown

Parentage; his stealing her, and fear that

She be taken; how he had suffered with

The dread of making known to her that he

Was not her father. Speaking, the strong man

Breaking, wept. Her love and true devotion

Setting all aside, she sprang to him and

Clinging, cried: “He is my own dear father!”

Her dazzling beauty now intensified.

As one enchanted, Gilbert looked upon

The scene; such filial love revealed a depth

Of soul beyond his ken; thought he of those

Who called him son—what they had done for him—

And of the promise he had made to them.

Yes, he would die for them; yet in their pride

Of name and family might they not spurn

This nameless one? Thus in the balance weighed

His love for her was satisfied; fortune,

Name and family were all as naught to

Him compared with Zola. He proudly asked

Again to woo the hermit’s daughter and

Winning, give to her his name.

“No, no,” she

Answered for the father, “until this cloud

Is lifted—mystery solved—my name is

Zola Vaughn.” With her words, a light broke in

On Gilbert. Joyously he spoke; as he

Had promised would he go back to the states

And seek a bride, solve the mystery and

Return triumphant, claim her—his Zola—

As his bride. Would take the ship now in

The harbor, sail tomorrow. Cedric gave

The name of Colonel Vail, but his memory

Yielded meagerly of information

Needed. He well remembered all his life

Up to the day that he left Lola at

Her father’s home, and from the day she died,

The gap between in mystery wrapt, all blank.

Gilbert, taking Cedric’s hand, said: “From this

Day your life shall be a pattern for my

Own. God bless you.” And to Zola: “You are

Mine whate’er my journey may reveal;” and

Unmindful of her sweet rebuke, he held

Her to his breast and kissed her. That life-long

Fear for her still haunting, Cedric followed

Him aside and whispered: “The father, if

He be found, pray name her not to him.” From

The mountain top she watched him out of sight;

Then, alone on Palomar, the hermit’s

Daughter wept.

When their only son went forth

To seek a bride—to keep his vow—there was

Great rejoicing at the Gilbert rancho.

GILBERT’S JOURNEY.

After journey long and wearisome, he

Reached the Crescent City and the home of

Colonel Vail. The aged man now mellowed

By weight of years, remorseful, mourning

And alone, received him kindly, answered:

“Her father’s name was Simon Blake, he was

Murdered by a Mexican upon the

Dock. The child, my grandchild’s name was Blake.

The man who loved my daughter came and found her

Dying. ’Twas he who took the child away,

And they were lost at sea.” Gilbert had the

Story of her life—her name was Zola

Blake.

With heavy heart he homeward turned, yet

No less loyal to his Zola. With sad

Misgivings waited for the coming of

The ship—long overdue—by stormy sea

Kept back. Waiting, pondered gloomily; he

Must go and bear the tidings that would solve

The mystery of her name, but leave a

Darker shadow than before. Still would she

Refuse his name they would go away from

Palomar. They at the rancho, left so

Happily, what would he say to them? At

Last with tattered sail and broken, came

The ship. He hastening, learned that it would

Lay at anchor there yet two days more in

Mending. Hopeless, yet with strange desire to

Linger there, again he visited the

Hospital where Zola’s mother died; but

As before, no voice could answer aught of

Her; yet caught a thread of hope—an aged

Priest in near-by parish might remember.

The father heard him,—listened eagerly;

Then in his book of records found the date

When Lola Vail and Cedric Vaughn were wed;

And the christening of her daughter—their child.

Left with him for Cedric, left by Lola,

The treasure he had brought from Mexico,

Lola’s diary, presents he had given,

And a miniature of Cedric done by

Her own hand; then to the house where they were

Married and her resting place. Gilbert took

The proof to Colonel Vail and together

They rejoiced. He begged that he would bring his

Grandchild there when they were wed, and Cedric

Vaughn, that he might grasp the hand of that true

Man. Now, to Gilbert’s happy heart attuned

By hope’s fruition, Nature brought a new

Glad song. The bird notes rang with sweeter

Melody—sunshine brighter—bluer skies—

Even in the tumbling troughs of ocean’s

Depth, he read the mirrored light of love and

Joy. Thro’ long and dreary days beneath a

Tropic sun,—in calm, or fog, or buffeted

By winds adverse, the good ship sped ’til thro’

The mild Pacific’s purple haze, Point

Loma came in view and then, across the

Mesa, to the hacienda, home again.

With mysterious air, and teasing told,

Or partly told the story. Yes; he had

Found a fairy queen and when again the

Great round moon came o’er the mountain top, she,

Riding on its silvery beams, would come in

State,—would come with him—come to the rancho.

They must “ ’bide-a-wee” and trusting him, wait

Patiently. So he left them wondering.

CONCLUSION.

To Palomar he flew—told all that he

Had learned—laid the proof before them—described

The house where Cedric lived—told of the battle on

The dock—how Morales died—the bags of

Gold from Mexico. Thus aided, Cedric

Woke as from a dream, remembered all; then

Placing Zola’s hand in his, withdrew to

Be alone with sacred memories.

Hand

In hand the lovers blissful roved among

The crags and overhanging boughs where she

Had watched unseen, for him. Led him thro’ the

Brake, in forest solitudes, where lemon

Lilies nestling grow, and clinging vines

And nodding ceanothus plumes bedrape

The foliage in Nature’s millinery.

With love and kisses roamed until the day

When proudly and triumphant, Gilbert led

Them thro’ the avenues of spreading palms and

Vine-clad arches of the hacienda.

His mother welcomed her with tears of joy,

“Her daughter”—then met the fathers—met in

Glad surprise—for Cedric Vaughn and Homer

Lee stood face to face; again renewed the

Old time bonds of love and friendship made the

Stronger.

Then came another presence on

The scene. Radiant in the ripened bloom

Of womanhood—as beautiful as in

The happy days of old—came Dora Lee

To welcome Cedric Vaughn and Lola’s child.

On the Gilbert rancho (named for him), in the

Dreamy quiet of a summer eve, while

Softly chimed the distant mission bells,

At the hacienda, sweet Zola Vaughn

And Gilbert Lee were wed. And when the

Autumn came, and vine, and bough and field gave

Forth their richest fruitage, and falling leaves

Betokened ripeness—the sure reward

Of patient waiting—two faithful souls were

Joined as one. Again rang forth the silvery

Chime of wedding bells—old mission bells—that

Echoed from the gilded cross above its

Hoary walls, a benediction sweet as

Incense from its altars.

Long, long ago

Back to the happy scenes of youth they sailed,

And left the hidden cabin to decay.

A New Book

Up the Grade

BY

DAVID W. EDWARDS

Author of

“The Hidden Cabin,”

“Billy Birdsall,” etc.

A strong romance, natural and absorbing.

It has a special message to young men.

Both young and old will find pleasure and profit in its pages.

The hero is a fine type of manhood.

A healthful and helpful story with inspiration to human betterment.

Illustrated, $1.50

At all Book Stores

The C. M. Clark Publishing Company

BOSTON, MASS.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HIDDEN CABIN: A PATHETIC STORY IN CONDENSED FORM ***

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Table of Contents

THE Hidden Cabin A PATHETIC STORY

THE STORY.

PALOMAR.

THE HIDDEN CABIN.

CEDRIC VAUGHN.

HOMER LEE.

DORA LEE.

LOLA VAIL.

THE VOYAGE.

THE MINES.

BEN RUBIDEAUX.

THE WEDDING.

THE MYSTIC TOKEN.

THE STOLEN CHILD.

THE WANDERERS.

IN THE MOUNTAINS.

“PEG LEG, THE MINER.”

GILBERT.

ZOLA AND ZIMBO.

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.

GILBERT’S JOURNEY.

CONCLUSION.

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE