CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN EXPERT.

A COLD, gray fog had that night stolen noiselessly in from the sea, and, after possessing the town, had apparently intruded itself in the long, low plain before the hacienda of the Rancho of the Blessed Trinity, where it sullenly lingered even after the morning sun had driven in its eastern outposts. Viewed from the Mission towers, it broke a cold gray sea against the corral of the hacienda and half hid the white walls of the hacienda itself. It was characteristic of the Rancho that, under such conditions, at certain times it seemed to vanish entirely from the sight, or rather to lose and melt itself into the outlines of the low foot-hills; and Mr. Perkins, the English translator, driving a buggy that morning in that direction was forced once or twice to stop and take his bearings anew, until the gray sea fell and the hacienda again heaved slowly into view.

Although Mr. Perkins's transformations were well known to his intimate associates, it might have been difficult for any stranger to have recognized the slovenly drudge of Pacific street in the antique dandy who drove the buggy. Mr. Perkins's hair was brushed, curled, and darkened by dye. A high stock of a remote fashion encompassed his neck, above which his face, whitened by cosmetics to conceal his high complexion, rested stiffly and expressionless as a mask. A light blue coat buttoned tightly over his breast, and a pair of close-fitting trowsers strapped over his japanned leather boots, completed his remarkable ensemble. It was a figure well known on Montgomery street after three o'clock-seldom connected with the frouzy visitor of the Pacific street den, and totally unrecognizable on the plains of San Antonio.

It was evident, however, that this figure, eccentric as it was, was expected at the hacienda, and recognized as having an importance beyond its antique social distinction. For when Mr. Perkins drew up in the court-yard, the grave major-domo at once ushered him into the formal, low-studded

drawing-room already described in these pages, and in another instant the Donna Dolores Salvatierra stood before him.

With a refined woman's delicacy of perception, Donna Dolores instantly detected under this bizarre exterior something that atoned for it, which she indicated by the depth of the half-formal courtesy she made it. Mr. Perkins met the salutation with a bow equally formal and respectful. He was evidently agreeably surprised at his reception and impressed with her manner. But, like most men of ill-assured social position, he was a trifle suspicious, and on the defensive. With a graceful gesture of her fan the Donna pointed to a chair, but her guest remained standing.

"I am a stranger to you, Señor, but you are none to me," she said, with a gracious smile. "Before I ventured upon the boldness of seeking this interview, your intelligence, your experience, your honorable report was already made known to me by your friends. Let me call myself one of these-even before I break the business for which I have summoned you."

The absurd figure bowed again, but, even through the pitiable chalk and cosmetics of its complexion, an embarrassed color showed itself. Donna Dolores noticed it, but delicately turned toward an old-fashioned secretary, and opened it, to give her visitor time to recover himself. She drew from a little drawer a folded, legal-looking document, and then, placing two chairs beside the secretary, seated herself in one. Thus practically reminded of his duty, Mr. Perkins could no longer decline the proffered seat.

"I suppose," said Donna Dolores, "that my business, although familiar to you generally-for you are habitually consulted upon just such questions-may seem strange to you, when you frankly learn my motives. Here is a grant purporting to have been made to my-father-the late Don José Salvatierra. Examine it carefully and answer me a single question to the best of your judgment." She hesitated, and then added: "Let me say, before you answer yes or no, that to me there are no pecuniary interests involved-nothing that should

make you hesitate to express an opinion which you might be called upon legally to prove. That you will never be required to give. Your answer will be accepted by me in confidence; will not, as far as the world is concerned, alter the money value of this document; will leave you free hereafter to express a different opinion, or even to reverse your judgment publicly if the occasion requires it. You seem astounded, Señor Perkins. But I am a rich woman. no need to ask your judgment to increase my wealth."

I have

"Your question is-" said Mr. Perkins, speaking for the first time without embar

rassment.

"Is that document a forgery ?"

He took it out of her hand, opened it with a kind of professional carelessness, barely glanced at the signature and seals, and returned it.

"The signatures are genuine," he said, with business-like brevity; then he added, as if in explanation of that brevity, "I have seen it before."

Donna Dolores moved her chair with the least show of uneasiness. The movement attracted Mr. Perkins's attention. It was something novel. Here was a woman who appeared actually annoyed that her claim to a valuable property was valid. He fixed his eyes upon her curiously.

"Then you think it is a genuine grant," she said with a slight sigh.

"As genuine as any that receives a patent at Washington," he replied promptly.

"Ah!" said Donna Dolores simply. The feminine interjection appeared to put a construction upon Señor Perkins's reply that both annoyed and challenged him. He assumed the defensive.

"Have you any reason to doubt the genuineness of this particular document ?"

"Yes. It was only recently discovered among Don José's papers, and there is another in existence."

Señor Perkins again reached out his hand, took the paper, examined it attentively, held it to the light and then laid it down.

"It is all right," he said. "Where is the other ?"

"I have it not," said Donna Dolores.

Señor Perkins shrugged his shoulders respectfully as to Donna Dolores but scornfully of an unbusiness-like sex.

"How did you expect me to institute a comparison?""

"There is no comparison necessary if that document is genuine," said the Donna quickly. VOL. XI.-54.

It was Donna Dolores's turn to be embarrassed. She bit her lip and slightly contracted her eyebrows. For a moment they both stood on the defensive.

"I have heard the name before," Mr. Perkins said at last, with a forced laugh.

Yes, it is the name of a distinguished savant," said Donna Dolores, composedly. "Well he is dead. But he gave this grant to a young girl named-named "—she paused as if to recall the name--" named Grace Conroy."

She stopped and raised her eyes quickly to her companion, but his face was unmoved, and his momentary excitement seemed to have passed. He nodded his head for her to proceed.

"Named Grace Conroy," repeated Donna Dolores, more rapidly, and with freer breath. "After the lapse of five years a woman-an impostor-appears to claim the grant under the name of Grace Conroy. But perhaps finding difficulty in carrying out her infamous scheme, by some wicked, wicked art, she gains the affections of the brother of this Grace, and marries him as the next surviving heir." And Donna Dolores paused, a little out of breath, with a glow under her burnished cheek and a slight metallic quality in her voice. It was perhaps no more than the natural indignation of a quickly sympathizing nature, but Mr. Perkins did not seem to notice it. In fact within the last few seconds his whole manner had become absent and preoccupied ; the stare which he had fixed a moment before on Donna Dolores was now turned to the wall, and his old face, under its juvenile mask, looked still older.

"Certainly, certainly," he said at last, recalling himself with an effort. "But all this only goes to prove that the grant may be as fraudulent as the owner. Then, you have nothing really to make you suspicious of your own claim but the fact of its recent

discovery? Well, that I don't think need | trouble you. Remember your grant was given when lands were not valuable, and your late father might have overlooked it as unimportant." He rose with a slight suggestion in his manner that the interview had closed. He appeared anxious to withdraw, and not entirely free from the same painful pre-absorption that he had lately shown. With a slight shade of disappointment in her face, Donna Dolores also rose.

In another moment he would have been gone, and the lives of these two people, thus brought into natural yet mysterious contact, have flowed on unchanged in each monotonous current. But as he reached the door he turned to ask a trivial question. On that question trembled the future of both.

"This real Grace Conroy, then, I suppose, has disappeared. And this-Doctor-Devarges "—he hesitated at the name as something equally fictitious-"you say is dead. How then did this impostor gain the knowledge necessary to set up the claim? is she?"

"Oh, she is that is-she married Gabriel Conroy under the name of the widow of Dr. Devarges. Pardon me! I did not hear what you said. Holy Virgin! What is the matter? You are ill! Let me call Sanchez! Sit here!"

He dropped into a chair, but only for an instant. As she turned to call assistance he rose and caught her by the arm.

"I am better," he said. "It is nothingI am often taken in this way. Don't look at me. Don't call anybody except to get me a glass of water-there! that will do."

business." He drew up his chair, without the least trace of his former diffidence, beside Donna Dolores. "Let's take another look at your grant." He took it up, drew a small magnifying glass from his pocket and examined the signature. "Yes, yes! signature all right. Seal of the Custom House. Paper all regular." He rustled it in his fingers. "You're all right-the swindle is with Madame Devarges. There's the forgery-there's this spurious grant." "I think not," said Donna Dolores, quietly. "Why?"

'Suppose the grant is exactly like this in everything, paper, signature, seal and all.” "That proves nothing," said Mr. Perkins quickly. "Look you. When this grant was drawn-in the early days-there were numbers of these grants lying in the Custom House like waste paper, drawn and signed by the Governor, in blank, only wanting filling in by a clerk to make them a valid document. She !-this impostor-this Madame Devarges, has had access to these blanks, as many have since the American Conquest, and that grant is the result. But she is not wise, no! I know the handwriting of the several copyists and clerks-I was one myself. Put me on the stand, Donna Dolores-put me on the stand and I'll confront her as I have the others."

"You forget," said Donna Dolores coldly, "that I have no desire to legally test this document. And if Spanish grants are so easily made, why might not this one of mine be a fabrication? You say you know the handwriting of the copyists-look at this."

Mr. Perkins seized the grant impatiently, and ran his eye quickly over the interlineations between the printed portions.

ment.

"Rush of blood to the head," he said, quietly; "felt it coming on all the morning. Gone now. Nothing like cold water and sitting posture. Hope I didn't spoil your carpet. And now to come back to your

"Strange!" he muttered. "This is not my own nor Sanchez; nor Ruiz; it is a new hand. Ah! what have we here-a correction in the date-in still another hand. And this-surely I have seen something like it in the office. But where ?" he stopped, ran his fingers through his hair, but after an effort at recollection abandoned the attempt. But why," he said abruptly, "why should this be forged ?"

"Suppose that the other were genuine, and suppose that this woman got possession of it in some wicked way. Suppose that some one, knowing of this, endeavored by this clever forgery to put difficulties in her way without exposing her."

"But who would do that ?"

"Perhaps the brother-her husband!

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res embarrassedly, with the color struggling through her copper cheek, some-onewho did not believe that the real Grace Conroy was dead or missing!"

"Suppose the devil!-I beg your pardon. But people don't forge documents in the interests of humanity and justice. And why should it be given to you?"

"I am known to be a rich woman," said Donna Dolores. "I believe," she added, dropping her eyes with a certain proud diffidence that troubled even the preoccupied man before her, “I—believe—that is I am told that I have a reputation for being liberal, and—and just!"

Mr. Perkins looked at her for a moment with undisguised admiration. "But suppose," he said with a bitterness that seemed to grow out of that very contemplation, "suppose this woman, this adventuress! this impostor! were a creature that made any such theory impossible. Suppose she were one who could poison the very life and soul of any man-to say nothing of the man who was legally bound to her; suppose she were a devil who could deceive the mind and heart, who could make the very man she was betraying most believe her guiltless and sinned against; suppose she were capable of not even the weakness of passion; but that all her acts were shrewd, selfish, pre-calculated even to a smile or a tear-do you think such a woman-whom, thank God! such as you cannot even imaginedo you suppose such a woman would not have guarded against even this! No! no!"

"Unless," said Donna Dolores, leaning against the secretary with the glow gone from her dark face and a strange expression trembling over her mouth, "unless it were the revenge of some rival."

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Her companion started. "Good! It is so," he muttered to himself. "I would have done it. I could have done it! You are right, Donna Dolores." He walked to the window and then came hurriedly back, buttoning his coat as he did so and rebuckling his stock. "Some one is coming! Leave this matter with me. I will satisfy you and myself concerning this affair. Will you trust this paper with me?" Donna Dolores without a word placed it in his hand. "Thank you," he said with a slight return of his former embarrassment that seemed to belong to his ridiculous stock and his buttoned coat rather than any physical or moral quality. "Don't believe me

"Well!" said that little lady, as soon as she recovered her breath. "For a religiously inclined young person and a notorious recluse, I must say you certainly have more masculine company than falls to the lot of the worldly. Here I ran across a couple of fellows hanging around the casa as I drove up, and come in only to find you closeted with an old exquisite. Who was it-another lawyer, dear? I declare, it's too bad. I have only one!"

"And that one is enough, eh?" smiled Donna Dolores somewhat gravely, as she playfully tapped Mrs. Sepulvida's fair cheek with her fan.

"O yes!" she blushed, a little coquettishly-" of course! And here I rode over, post haste, to tell you the news. But first, tell me who is that wicked, dashing-looking fellow outside the court-yard? It can't be the lawyer's clerk.

"I don't know who you mean; but it is, I suppose," said Donna Dolores, a little wearily. "But tell me the news. I am all attention."

But Mrs. Sepulvida ran to the deep embrasured window and peeped out. "It isn't the lawyer, for he is driving away in his buggy, as if he were hurrying to get out of the fog, and my gentleman still remains. Dolores!" said Mrs. Sepulvida, suddenly facing her friend with an expression of mock gravity and humor, "this won't do! Who is that cavalier?"

With a terrible feeling that she was about to meet the keen eyes of Victor, Donna Dolores drew near the window from the side where she could look out without being herself seen. Her first glance at the figure of the stranger satisfied her that her fears were unfounded; it was not Victor. Reassured, she drew the curtain more boldly. At that instant the mysterious horseman wheeled, and she met full in her own the black eyes of Mr. Jack Hamlin. Donna Dolores instantly dropped the curtain and turned to her friend.

"I don't know!" "Truly, Dolores ?" "Truly, Maria."

I suppose, then, it

"Well, I believe you. must be me!" Donna Dolores smiled, and playfully patted Mrs. Sepulvida's joyous face.

"Well then?" she said invitingly. "Well then," responded Mrs. Sepulvida, half in embarrassment and half in satisfaction.

"The news!" said Donna Dolores. "Oh-well," said Mrs. Sepulvida, with mock deliberation. "It has come at last!" "It has ?" said Donna Dolores, looking gravely at her friend.

"Yes. He has been there again to-day." "And he asked you," ," said Donna Dolores, opening her fan and turning her face toward the window.

"He asked me."

"And you said—”

that Mr. Peter Dumphy being called by other business to One Horse Gulch, while walking with Gabriel Conroy one day had picked up a singular piece of rock on Gabriel's claim, and had said, "this looks like silver;" that Gabriel Conroy had laughed at the suggestion, whereat Mr. Peter Dumphy, who never laughed, had turned about curtly and demanded in his usual sharp business way, "Will you take seventeen millions for all your right and title to this claim ?" That Gabriel-" you know what a blank fool Gabe is!"-had assented," and this way, sir, actually disposed of a property worth on the lowest calculation one hundred and fifty millions"-this was the generally accepted theory of the other and more imaginative portion of One Horse Gulch.

Howbeit, within the next few weeks fol

“I said—”

"What?" "NO!"

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN WHICH GABRIEL RECOGNIZES THE PRO

PRIETIES.

AFTER the visit of Mr. Peter Dumphy, One Horse Gulch was not surprised at the news of any stroke of good fortune. It was enough that he, the great capitalist, the successful speculator, had been there! The The information that a company had been formed to develop a rich silver mine recently discovered on Conroy's Hill was received as a matter of course. Already the theories of the discovery were perfectly well established. That it was simply a grand speculative coup of Dumphy's-that upon a boldly conceived plan this man intended to build up the town of One Horse Gulch-that he had invented "the lead" and backed it by an ostentatious display of capital in mills and smelting works solely for a speculative purpose; that five years before he had selected Gabriel Conroy as a simple-minded tool for this design; that Gabriel's two and one-half millions was merely an exaggerated form of expressing the exact wages-one thousand dollars a year, which was all Dumphy had paid him for the use of his name, and that it was the duty of every man to endeavor to realize quickly on the advance of property before this enormous bubble burst-this was the theory of one half the people of One Horse Gulch. On the other hand, there was a large party who knew exactly the reverse. That the whole thing was purely accidental;

soil seemed to have quickened through that sunshine, and all over the settlement pieces of plank and scantling-the thin blades of new dwellings-started up under that beneficent presence. On the bleak hill-sides the more extensive foundations of the Conroy Smelting Works were laid. The modest boarding-house and restaurant of Mrs. Markle was found inadequate to the wants and inconsistent with the greatness of One Horse Gulch, and a new hotel was erected. But here I am anticipating another evidence of progress-namely, the daily newspaper

in which these wants were reported with a combination of ease and elegance I shall endeavor to transcribe. Said the "Times:"

"The Grand Conroy House, now being inaugutalents as a chef de cuisine are as well known to One rated, will be managed by Mrs. Susan Markle, whose Horse Gulch as her rare social graces and magnificent personal charms. She will be aided by her former accomplished assistant, Miss Sarah Clark. weight in Plumas." As a hash slinger, Sal can walk over anything of her

With these and other evidences of an improvement in public taste, the old baleful title of "One Horse Gulch" was deemed incongruous. It was proposed to change that name to "Silveropolis," there being, in the figurative language of the Gulch, "more than one horse could draw."

Meanwhile, the nominal and responsible position of superintendent of the new works was filled by Gabriel, although the actual business and executive duty was performed by a sharp, snappy young fellow of about half Gabriel's size, supplied by the Company. This was in accordance with the wishes of Gabriel, who could not bear idleness; and