Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 17

Although Frank was confident the man was a Spaniard, he spoke with scarcely a hint of an accent. In his speech, if not in his manner, he was more like an American.

"Seems rather singular," questioned Frank, "that you should be traveling alone through this desolate region."

"The same question in reference to you has been troubling me, sir,"

retorted the stranger, puffing lightly at his cigarette. "To me it seems altogether remarkable to find you here."

"In that case, we are something of a mystery to each other."

"Very true. As far as I am concerned, the mystery is easily solved. My name is Felipe Dulzura. I am from Santa Barbara. I own some vineyards there."

Having made this apparently frank explanation, the man paused and looked inquiringly at Merry, as if expecting at least as much in return.

Frank did not hesitate.

"My name is Frank Merriwell," he said, "and I am a miner."

"A miner?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can't have any mines in this vicinity."

"Possibly I am looking the country over for an investment."

"It's possible," nodded Dulzura. "But from your intelligent appearance, I should fancy it hardly probable."

"Thanks for the compliment. In regard to you, being a planter, it seems quite unlikely that you should be surveying this region in search of a vineyard. It seems to me that I have been fully as frank, sir, as you have."

Felipe Dulzura lifted an objecting hand.

"I have not finished," he protested. "I didn't mean to give you the impression that I was seeking vineyards here. Far from it. On the contrary, having a little leisure, I am visiting the old missions in this part of the country. They interest me greatly. There was a time, long ago, you know, when this land belonged to my ancestors. My grandfather owned a vast tract of it. That was before gold was discovered and the great rush of 'forty-nine occurred.

"I presume it is needless to state that my grandfather's t.i.tle to his lands was regarded as worthless after that and he lost everything. He died a poor man. My father was always very bitter about it, and he retired to Old Mexico where he spent his last days. I am happy to say that he did not transfer his bitterness toward the people of this country to me, and I have found it to my advantage to return here and engage in my present occupation. You should see my vineyard, Mr.

Merriwell. I think I have one of the finest in the State."

The manner in which this statement was made seemed frankly open and aboveboard. To all appearances, Felipe Dulzura had nothing to conceal and was unhesitating in telling his business.

"I, too," declared Merry, "am interested in the old Spanish missions.

They remind me of the days of romance, which seem so far removed."

"Ah!" cried Dulzura, "then it may happen that we can journey a while in company. That will be agreeable to me. I confess that the trail has been lonely."

The planter was most agreeable and friendly in his manner, and his smile was exceedingly pleasant. In every way he seemed a most harmless individual, but experience had taught Merry the danger of always trusting to outward appearances.

"Company of the right sort will not be disagreeable to me," a.s.sured Frank.

"Good!" laughed Dulzura. "I am sick of talking to myself, to my horse, or to the landscape. I am a sociable chap, and I like some one to whom I can talk. Do you smoke, Mr. Merriwell? I have tobacco and papers."

"Thank you; I don't smoke."

"Ah, you miss one of the soothing friends of life. When I have no other company, my cigarette serves as one. This beastly valley is hot enough!

The mountains shut it in and cut off all the cool breezes. However, ere nightfall we should get safely out of it and come to San Monica Mission.

It lies yonder near the old Indian reservation. I have heard my father tell of it, and it has long been my object to see it."

For some little time they chatted, Dulzura seeming to be in the most communicative mood, but finally they prepared to go on together. When they were ready Frank suggested that his companion lead the way, as it was far more likely that he knew the trail better.

"No, no, Mr. Merriwell," was the protest. "There is but one trail here.

Like you, I have never pa.s.sed over it. You were in advance; it would scarcely be polite for me to take the lead."

Frank, however, had no thought of placing himself with his back turned on the self-styled planter, and, therefore, he insisted that Dulzura should proceed in advance, to which the latter acquiesced. As they rode on through the somewhat stifling heat of the valley, the Spaniard continued to talk profusely, now and then turning his head and smiling back at Merry.

"Next year," he said, "I mean to visit Spain. I have never been there, you know. Years and years ago my ancestors lived there. I trust you will pardon the seeming egotism, Mr. Merriwell, if I say it's not poor blood that runs in my veins. My ancestors far back were grandees. Did you ever hear of the Costolas? It's likely not. There were three branches of the family. I am a descendant of one branch."

"Costola?" murmured Frank. "The name seems familiar to me, but I presume there are many who bear it."

"Quite true. As for our family, however, an old feud has nearly wiped it out. It started in politics, and it divided the Costolas against themselves. A divided house, you know, cannot stand. My grandmother was a Costola. She was compelled to leave Spain. At that time another branch of the family was in power. Since then things have changed. Since then that powerful branch of the family has declined and fallen. It was not so many years ago that the sole surviving member was compelled, like my grandmother, to escape secretly from Spain. He came to this country and here lived under another name, taking that of his mother's family. I don't even remember the name he a.s.sumed after reaching America; but I did know that the surviving Costolas hunted him persistently, although he managed to evade and avoid them. What has become of him now is likewise a mystery. Perhaps he is dead."

The speaker suddenly turned so that he could look fairly into Frank's face, smiling a little, and said:

"It's not likely this interests you, sir."

"On the contrary," Merry smiled back, "I find it quite interesting. To me Spain is a land of romance. Being a plain American, the tales of those deadly feuds are fascinating to me. I presume the Costolas must have possessed large estates in Spain?"

"Once they did."

"And the one you speak of--the one who was compelled to flee from the country--was he wealthy?"

"I believe he was reckoned so at one time."

"And now," said Frank, "if this feud were ended, if any offense of his were pardoned, could he not claim his property?"

"That I don't know," declared Dulzura, shaking his head.

"Well, then, if he has any descendants, surely they must be the rightful heirs to his estate."

"I doubt, sir, if they could ever possess it. It must eventually be divided among his living relatives."

"Ah!" cried Merry. "I understand, Mr. Dulzura, why you must have a particular interest in visiting Spain. It seems probable that you, being distantly related to this exiled n.o.bleman, may finally come into possession of a portion of his property."

"It's not impossible," was the confession, as the man in advance rolled a fresh cigarette. "But I am not counting on such uncertainties.

Although my grandfather and my father both died poor, I am not a pauper myself. To be sure, I am not immensely rich, but my vineyards support me well. I have lived in this country and in Mexico all my life. In fact, I feel that I am more American than anything else. My father could not understand the democracy of the Americans. He could not understand their disregard of t.i.tle and royalty."

Frank laughed.

"Had he lived in these days," he said, "and a.s.sociated with a certain cla.s.s of degenerate Americans, he would have discovered that they are the greatest wors.h.i.+pers of t.i.tles and royal blood in the whole world."

"I think that may be true," agreed the Spaniard, puffing at his cigarette. "I have seen some of it. I know that many of your rich American girls sell themselves for the sake of t.i.tles to broken-down and rakish n.o.blemen of other countries. I think most Americans are ashamed of this."