DIY History | Transcribe | World War I Diaries and Letters | Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919 | 1916-12-10 Des Moines Sunday Register Clipping: ""The Girl Of Temple Hill"" By William Tillinghast Eldridge Page 1

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Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919

1916-12-10 Des Moines Sunday Register Clipping: ""The Girl Of Temple Hill"" By William Tillinghast Eldridge Page 1

THE GIRL OF TEMPLE HILL-By William Tillinghast Eldridge. COMPLETE NOVEL IN THIS ISSUE OF THE SUNDAY REGISTER.
CHAPTER I.
I sat bemoaning the fact that those troubled with legal questions show no inclination to turn for help to young lawyers, when my office door flew open with a bang. 
The next second a breathless, over large and immaculately clad gentleman deposited a dress suitcase on my toe and flopped down on the edge of my desk so close that I was forced to push back my chair.
"Hi, Jack Halaway alive and kicking, I see!" exclaimed the effusive one.
"Exactly," I smiled. "Just alive, but very much kicking, Tom."
"Sure," Brooks nodded, "I know. No practice, nix clients. The ways of a young lawyer are sad, now ain't they?"
"If you just dropped in to remind me of that fact, drop out. There is no need; I know it." I laughed and got up.
"What's doing, Tom?" I demanded, surveying my old roommate critically.
Tom kicked his bag. "Off west," he said. Then, tilting his hat back and mopping his florid brow, he added: "Chase up and see Uncle Samuel at 6 tonight; something doing, perhaps."
"Mr. Samuel Godkin?" I questioned.
"The same," nodded Tom. "I saw him last night. He's just back from South America. It was South America where you hung for four years, yes."
"Yucatan," I corrected. "Merida."
"That's it!" said Tom, leaping to his feet. "Those are the names. He was down there."
"Your uncle?"
"Sure, and my cousin, his niece. You go see him."
"What's the game?"
"Search me," whispered Tom. "You never can pick the colors on Uncle Samuel. Say," -- dropping back onto the desk-- "I've told you about him. Rich, " he went on as I nodded. "Richer'n Midas if all the stolen goods were in the great fireplace. And say, Jack, he's as cranky and queer and funny, as he's rich. Go see him."
"He's a collector, isn't he?" I ventured.
"He sure is. Put your eyes on his house tonight and you'll think so. I've told you. Why, he's got it bad. He keeps half a dozen men chasing around the country after old art treasures and such stuff. Got a big museum full. Grand sale when he goes, if he wills the stuff to me."
"Does he want to add me to his half dozen searchers?" I smiled.
"You've got me. But you see him. He's looking for a young lawyer without practice--"
"That's me!" i managed to smile again.
"Sure. I told him-- how you was the big football man at Harvard in your day, all about the fade-a-way your father's fortune did and how you worked through law school and worked your health to the bad. Then I said you hit it for South America. Yucatan, I mean, and hung out down there for a while with a cousin. Right?"
"Quite," I admitted.
"Well, he told me to ship you to him. Make it, boy," finished Tom in his beautiful patronizing way. "S. G. is a good thing to [illeg.]."
"At 6 tonight," I said.
"At 6," nodded Tom from the doorway. "He's queer, but don't mind him. Just get next if you can. Worth while." Then Tom fired the address at me and bolted for the elevator.
So it happened that at 6 o'clock that evening I presented myself at Mr. Godkin's residence. I had absolutely no more information as to the reason for my call than had been imparted by my effusive and likable old college chum, and was consequently decidedly curious.
As well, I had hope. I needed clients, for, as Tom had suggested, and as my pocketbook did daily, I was far from being in a prosperous condition. My father's fortune had vanished with his death. I was quite alone in the world, save for my friends.
Four years in Yucatan with my cousin, Jim Walker, had restored my health completely and now I was only too ready to break into the legal fray and make my mark. But to do that a man needs clients. Here perhaps was an opportunity-- one in a thousand. Samuel Godkin would be that. I resolved to accept his commission at his own terms, if he would have me, before I had set foot inside the door.
I was shown from the hall into a large room, littered from one end to the other with specimens which confirmed Tom's words in a single glance. Cabinets overflowed with bits of ivory; tapestries hung one upon another. On innumerable tables were rare vases, swords, cups of pewter, gold and silver; an ugly god grinned diabolically from a corner, while an endless number of boxes and chests of rare design stood about. Every available spot was filled to overflowing; even the chairs contained their share.
As a [sic] gazed about me in astonishment, there was a sound in the hall. I turned as Samuel Godkin entered the room. He was a tall, raw-boned man, his cheeks touched with a healthy tan, and his eyes beamed with a scintillating brightness. He stood straight, head forward, and his shaggy white brows were drawn into a scowl that gave to his face a rather disagreeable expression. Yet beneath this mask—so I considered the scowling sharpness of his regard—I felt a lurking well of pleasantry and mirth only awaiting the touching of the proper chord to sweep aside the overbearing brusqueness of his manner.
“Brooks told you, I dare say? I want a lawyer to go south. What do you say?” Thus abruptlyt and with a disagreeable rise to the voice and a sharp lowering of the heavy brows he opened fire on me.
“I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do so,” I replied, more surprised at the suddenness of his proposal than the disapproving tone in his voice.
“But are there any reasons?”
Then I found it hard to suppress a smile. “I should suppose it would be rather necessary for me to know the nature of the work and for us to arrange on terms.”
“Terms! There won’t be any quarrelling on that point. As to what I want: in Yucatan there is an old tumbled-down ruin. In it or under it there are a certain number of art treasures; you’re to get them.”
I hardly know what I had anticipated, but certainly I had not expected to be called upon to assist Mr. Godkin in adding to his already over-large collection. Besides, the work was not exactly of a nature which required an attorney, and I tolk the liberty of mentioning the fact.
“Huh! That’s got nothing to do with it,” growled Godkin. “If I want to hire a lawyer to dig, that’s my business.”
There was no question but what he was quite right. Mentioning the amount of my compensation I should expect and having my figure agreed to, I asked for further particulars.
“I’ll tell you, but first I want you to understand that I’ve already tried two lawyers on this job. One was a fool, the other a rogue. The fool has gone. He came after the rogue—Sunman—and I call him a fool because he was scared off.”
“Scared off?” I queried, my interest quickening.
“So you prick up your ears, do you?” chuckled Godwin. “Well, as Sunman is still down there—fifteen miles across the valley from Temple Hill—I may as well tell you he is waiting for a chance to  dig out my property.”
“I should think if the ‘fool’ of whom you speak had left, he would have ample opportunity.”
“Oh, I’ve got a man down there, Terry McLuff, an old servant of mine. He’s holding the fort and I dare say being kept pretty busy. Now, ten to one, when you get there, Sunman will try to run you out. If you are going to be scared you might as well say so right now and save starting.”
It was no longer possible for me to suppress my mirth. The strangeness of the mission, the oddity in Godkin’s manner, compelled me to laugh outright.
He wheeled like a hawk. “What do you mean by haw-hawing like that?”
I swallowed my smile. “The proposition is so different from what I expected that it struck me as rather amusing.”
“You may laugh a different tune before you get back.”
“Why do you offer to engage me and attempt to frighten me at the same time?” I demanded.
“Because I’m looking for a man. This is no lawyer’s work, but what comes afterward, if you are successful, will be. I want an attorney with some nerve. I’m a collector”—with a gesture about the room. “Those who work for me have odd undertakings to handle. A young lawyer who can devote his time to my affairs is what I’m after. First, however, he must come to the mark—to the mark I set. No need of your going down there if you are chicken hearted. Tom Brooks says you’ll do, but Tom Brooks, because he is my nephew, is no more to be depended on in his judgment of a man than anyone else. I find things out for myself.”
This was fired at me with a rapidity of speech quite startling. Samuel Godkin’s gray eyes were set sternly upon my face and his white shock of hair seemed literally to stand on end. His neck, very long, struck out from his low collar, red, wrinkled, the flesh in folds. Altogether in appearance and manner he was an odd person.
“Saturday, my niece and I expect to sail for Europe, and I want you to start by first boat. Progreso is your port, and here”—unfolding a small map which he spread on the table before me—“is the spot. You make Merida by rail and then fifty odd miles up the coast to the north, in the tablelands, is Temple hill, that bleak spot on the map. Fifteen miles across the valley is a settlement—huts, ruins, a few haciendas scattered about—and there Sunman is holding forth. Here”—leaning over the map—“this black spot to the left of Temple hill is another hacienda owned by a professor, one of those fellows, I dare say, who pokes around in the ruins down there—lots of ruins you know. He lives there with his daughter. They will be your nearest neighbors short of Sunman’s friends across the valley. That is a fair map, and good enough for you to make the trip by. On Temple hill is an old ruin. McLuff is quartered in it. He’ll tell you where to dig.”
“And I am to go down there and—dig.” I spoke slowly, not even yet quite reconciled to the unexpected nature of the work. 
“Exactly, “growled Godkin.
I considered the ceiling reflectively. “Wouldn’t the quickest way be to put half a dozen men to work?” I suggested.
Godkin snorted, remarking: “Two are enough. I don’t want the countryside knowing what’s going on and the place is not near enough any town to get men. Besides, those natives down there would cut your throat and steal all you found. It’s got to be done between you two. McLuff can cook and he can dig. You have got to be able to do the same.”
“I rather fear that I should make a mess of the cooking,” I suggested.
For one instant there was the merest suspicion of mirth in the steel gray eyes. Then he said succinctly: “Do for all I care; but don’t of the digging.”
CHAPTER II
My arrangements to leave New York were quickly made. I received a check fro Mr. Godkin the next day, supplying me with necessary funds, and caught the first steamer south.
There had been a boat sailing the day following my talk with my strange client, but I was unable to get off so soon. Thus it was just about a week after my interview with Samuel Godkin that I saw New York become a speck on the horizon and finally fall from view. 
I had cabled my cousin of my sailing, and he came down from Merida to Progreso, the capital’s seaport, to meet me. 
Again I viewed that low, coral shore line with its shallow lagoon stretching mile upon mile. I cannot say I was over enthusiastic. During the trip I had asked myself many times why I had undertaken the matter at all. A fine job for one who had dreamed he would some day shine at the New York bar! A sorry alternative for a starving lawyer.
Jim Walker was delighted to get my by the hand again. His enthusiasm hinted at his desolation far from home, and it made me think I’d find it a sad undertaking, digging for hammered goblets. If they were formed of purest gold and studded with rare stones, I knew I should still have no enthusiasm over the matter.
We got the first train back for Merida, and the trip gave me plenty of time in which to answer all of Jim’s questions. He was as surprised as I and felt doubtful over the purpose of my mission.
That there is good ground for the collector and archaeologist in and around Merida, and clear through the stretch of northern country was no news to Jim. The novelty lay in the fact that I should be employed in such a matter.
Merida looked no different than when I had left it but a short time before. Its wide streets and low buildings gave it an appearance of great openness, and there was rather a Moorish effect on the whole which was quite pleasing.
We drove by the cathedral, the bishop’s palace, and then passed the great government house—all these buildings look out on the wide main square—and finally turned up a broad cross avenue, and to Jim’s “shack,” as he called it.
Again I was plied with question upon question, for my cousin’s wife was as anxious to hear from America as I was reluctant to speak about it. It was a queer feeling that had its hold upon me that first night at Merida—I was just plain homesick.
The next morning I felt better. I knew the city well and actually found myself glad—after a night’s sleep—to be back again in that warm, lazy and languid environment. But I gave myself no time to look about. Despite the combined protest of my cousin and wife, I made my arrangements, secured, the necessary supplies for the trip, a good horse, some directions—which confirmed Godkin’s map—and set off.
There was no difficulty about the undertaking, for roads, good or bad, run down from hacienda to hacienda, and I had but to follow my directions and make sure that night did not overtake me in the open. I was welcome wherever I stopped, and once or twice during the three days into which I divided the trip, I fell in with some herder who rode a way with me.
The last night was spent at a rather small hacienda among the coral-like hills well along on the northern coast. When I started out in the morning the beaten trail was behind me. Godkin’s map now came into service, and following its directions, I crossed a broad plateau and headed toward the hills beyond. Somewhere among their many defiles was Temple hill.
I ate my luncheon in the open and and pushed on late in the afternoon when the terrible heat of midday had passed. There was little variety to the scenery. It was a dry season, and the powdered, coral-like formation which makes up the tablelands lay in dust on the trail. Few trees offered any shade until I got in among the hills, and then the shelter came only from small clumps. The trail led through a narrow break in the hills and came out in a small valley. To my left was another deep defile, and once through that, there opened before me a rolling plain touched with the last rays of the setting sun. Far away rose the dark hills, to my right a low range of plateaus. 
Turning, I followed a path which skirted the rising ground. It was growing dusk and I kept a sharp lookout for a light which would mark the partly inhabitated ruins on Temple hill, or the hacienda of which Mr. Godkin had spoken and which was marked on my map. Finally, at a rough bit of ground my pony slowed down to a walk. A clump of low trees shut out the view ahead, and I had risen in my stirrups to look beyond when something stirred at the side of the trail. Pulling up, I peered into the shadows.
CHAPTER III
For a second I was in doubt, and then I caught a flash of white, and the next moment the girl stepped out into the trail.
More than surprised, I studied her in the gathering dusk. I had a glimpse of a khaki skirt barely reaching the top of high tan boots, a white shirt waist, open at the neck, and a gray felt hat perched jauntily on light brown hair. A decidedly attractive picture, intensified by the dimness of the light. But what an odd place to come upon one who was unquestionably an American.
She was the first to speak and her tone was naively innocent. "I hope I didn't frighten you?"
"You surprised me," I admitted. "What in the world are you doing here?"
"I was about to ask the same question myself," she said with a side glance from under the rim of her gray hat.
"I am looking for a ruin called, I believe, Temple hill," I replied.
"That old ruin." And then with a glance up the trail: "You've a long ride before you."
"A long ride?" I exclaimed in some surprise. "it certainly seems to me that i have come far enough to be close to the end of my journey."
"To be sure," she agreed with another glance into my face, "yet you are twenty miles from your destination."
I could only stare in amazement. Either I was off the trail or my fair informant was quite at fault. I mentioned that i hardly saw how distance left me to travel could be so great.
"To one who is not accustomed to this country a few miles seems a very long way," she suggested innocently.
"But i have come a great many miles, " I retorted.
Her manner nettled me. The impression that beneath her innocent regard there lurked a hidden smile was very pronounced.
"Have I offended? I though that you were a stranger in these parts."
"And so I am," I admitted as a flush stole into my cheeks at her superior tone, "yet even a stranger should be able to tell something of distances."
She looked me over critically. "I forget," she exclaimed suddenly. "You are a stranger and we see so few. Won't you stop for a moment? My father would be very glad if you would pause. We lives on the hill."
I glanced over her head. "Your father is a professor?"
Her eyes spoke her astonishment. "I thought you said you were a stranger."
"And so I am," I admitted, swinging to the ground. "That is why I asked for directions."
"But you know of us."
"When one starts on an unfamiliar trail in this country he naturally inquires as to landmarks."
She nodded as if my explanation quite satisfied her, although I was sure it did not.
"My father would be very much disappointed if you didn't stop," she suggested.
"I shall be very glad to stop, although if I am twenty miles from my destination I ought to be hurrying on."
"As you please."
"I'll stop. Where's the hacienda?"
She led the way round a clump of trees and turned through a path that led up the hillside. A little distance over the rising ground brought us to a low, rambling building which covered considerable area and was surrounded by a wide veranda and upper balcony. The building looked as if it had seen its best days and was only partially usable. I surmised at once -- as i afterward found was correct-- that it had long ago been deserted by the original builder, and later restored to an extent barely sufficient for his use.
As we came to the steps she ran up them lightly and paused at the top. I halted at the bottom as a native boy came running around the building to take my pony.
"There's no need," I protested. "He'll stand. I'll just pay my respects to your father and be on my way."
"You must permit us at least to be hospitable," she urged.
She stood above me, tall and slender. A light breeze touched her skirts and draped them about her graceful figure. The invitation was put almost pleadingly, and as in through there was no real reason why I should hurry on, I tossed the bridle rein to the boy and leaped to her side.
She led the way down the veranda, lined with couches and huge chars. The place looked decidedly attractive. A table laid for two stood at the corner.
She paused beside it. "I will speak to my father," -- indicating a chair with an easy, indolent gesture.
My eyes followed her as she hurried away. There was a graceful swing to her walk; suppleness and self-reliance were suggested. But I was puzzled. Her charm was not so much a matter to be thought of as her questions and the manner in which she had put them. There was something in her actions which I couldn't quite comprehend, but above even that discrepancy in distance between her figures and Mr. Godkin's concerning the distance to Temple hill bothered me.
She was back again very soon. "My father, Professor Burton, is feeling a trifle indisposed. Yet i should be glad if you would stop for a moment," she added, as a servant appeared with a tray.
I agreed with alacrity and sat down. Again her glance swept my face, and now in the better light of the overhead lamp, I was positive there lurked a hidden laughter in the brown inquisitive depths of her eyes.
"I trust you will not mind if i ask how you happen to be going to Temple hill? "You see," she hurried on as if her question needed some explanation, "we see so few strangers. We are so far away from everyone that you must pardon my curiosity."
"I am from New York, "I explained, and down on a trifling matter of business."
She leaned forward, elbows against the table, her cheek resting against her clasped hands.
"New York! Do tell me all about it."
"You are from New York?"
"I have read so much about it that I should like to hear more from one who has lived there."
I scowled in perplexity. "I fear that I am a poor one to supply any information. I have been in New York very little, six months in the last half-dozen years."
"And before that, you lived ---?" She halted without completing her question.
I studied the girl searchingly. It struck me that she was endeavoring to obtain my history, although I could not conceive any possible reason why her interest should be so aroused. Certainly the mere fact that strangers were few and far between in this uninhabited waste of country was not a sufficient excuse.
"I have lived in Merida for four years. I have been back in New York a very short time."
"And now you have decided to return here?"
"I am going to Temple hill," I admitted.
"Oh, to be sure" -- nodding quickly -- "you are going to Temple hill. Do you mean to say that you expect to stop there?"
"For some time, I imagine.
She straightened. There was no mistaking the fact that an expression of marked coolness touched her face.
"I didn't suppose you were going to stay there."
"Would that be such a terrible thing to do??"
"Possibly."
"I must ask for enlightenment."
"I am afraid that I cannot be as obliging as you have been." She rose from her chair and for a second stood regarding me almost rigidly. "I might have known when you spoke of Temple hill that you were going there to stay."
It would have been pardonable if I had stared. But I didn't. I simply pushed back my chair and rose to my feet.
"I am afraid that I fail to understand," I ventured.
Her eyes met mine unflinchingly. "I think we had better go no further discussing your reasons for going to Temple hill." There was a sting in the words that brought an angry flush to my cheeks.
In one step I had gathered up my broad sombrero." I regret exceedingly that my ignorance makes me unable to appreciate the error into which I have blundered. I trust your father's indisposition will be nothing serious. Please accept my thanks for your hospitality. Goodday!"
With just one glance I turned, ran down the steps and leaped into the saddle.

CHAPTER IV.

To put it mildly, I was angry as I rode out into the trail. I had been urged to tarry, questioned as to my past and present, and then haughtily informed that I was an undesirable guest if I was planning to stop at Temple hill. What was the explanation?
I puzzled over it, for there seemed to lurk a certain amount of interest in the situation.
And then reflections were given a new turn when, but a half a mile from the Burton hacienda, I caught a light on the hill. It marked four windows and I was thoroughly satisfied that I was within sight of my destination.
Now my puzzle was greater than ever. Why had i been told that it was twenty miles, when it was less than one? The statement had apparently been made for the purpose of prevailing upon me to stop. Had there been some deeper motive than I had supposed in Miss Burton's wish to talk with me? Her questions took on a new significance.
I found the narrow trail up the hillside and was soon on level plateau. At the top, a row of ghost-like posts me my gaze. To the right were the dim outlines of masonry, topped by a low tower, while on the left at the end of the posts which I had made out as ruined pergola, were the walls of a rambling low studded building, lighted at the further end.
I rode in between the posts and through a gap in the wall. Straight ahead of me was an open doorway through which a flood of light touched the ground at my pony's feet. Learning against the casing was a short, stockily built man with a rifle swung carelessly across his arm.
"Who's there?" came the challenge in a voice unmistakably touched with a brogue.
"McLuff?" I questioned.
"Faith and you've got me name. What's yours?"
"Halaway."
The rifle was set down and the Irishman advanced. "By the saints above us, I was thinking ye were lost or not come at all."
I swung to the ground and held out my hand. "How are you?"
"Fine, sir. Go in." He nodded over his should. "I'll care for the animal."
As McLuff turned away with the pony I entered and crossed the tiled floor. Overhead huge beams supported the thatched roof. The walls were of stone newly whitewashed. A heavy table occupied the middle of the room, and with half a dozen chairs made up the furniture. In one corner there was a pile of tools; a couple of saddles hung on pegs; here and there an attempt had been made to break the bareness of the walls with a color print or two.
I threw myself into a chair and awaited the return of the Irishman. He came in presently, tossed the saddle into a corner and moved to where I sat. He was a middle aged man with a seamed face crossed with uncountable lines. The bullet shaped head was topped with hair unmistakably red, while in his eyes there lurked a laughing touch of humor.
"Ye must be hungry, sir."
"A little, though I did have a bite down the trail. By the was, McLuff, who is this Professor Burton?"
"Oh, ye stopped there, did ye, sir? And who is he, you're asking? Faith, I know little about him. I've seen his daughter, but not himself."
As I made away with the food put before me, we discussed the odd circumstances that made us fellow workers. McLuff gave me a rough description of the place.
The main portion of the building was an irreparable ruin. The room in which we sat, and three small ones behind it, was the only part at all inhabitable, save the remains of the old Maya temple which stood at the further end of the pergola.
As McLuff paused, I turned my eyes to his face. "What do you think of this treasure we are to hunt for?" I demanded.
"Sure, sir, and I haven't troubled my head about it at all, at all. Mr. Godkin sent for me, sir; I was in New York, and I came down. He met me at the steamer and fetched me along to here, sire, a week ago, saying you were coming. He arranged for mail to be sent along by a banker of his in Merida. It's not regular service, but we hear from the world now and then."
"An advantage," I nodded, with a sour smile.
"It is that," agreed McLuff.
"But this treasure?" I inquired.
"I know little, and still I'm thinking down underneath we'll find something, for Sunman hangs around, and I'd give him credit for scenting the almighty dollar a dozen leagues away."
I leaned across the table. "What about Sunman?"
"He's the chap that kept me from meeting you in Merida as I had thought to do."
"How so?"
McLuff studied space with a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh, he's a rare rascal. I'll say that I was fooled by his blarney at first. Then, sir, I caught the black look in the corner of his eyes, and I watched him. He was digging by himself -- wouldn't have me soiling me hands with at ask the like of that. I felt he was after the stuff and when he found it he'd have sneaked out. I was responsible for his going, for I dropped a line to Mr. Godkin and along came a meek little Dorman --- Dorman? Sure, sir, it should have been dormouse they called him. He had been here but two days when Sunman rode over, had a talk with him and Dorman cur for cover as though the divil himself was close at his coattails."
"Sunman scared him off and he's thinking he would like to get hold of what were are after," i mused.
"Faith, and he's doing no less. He's setting over there at one Pedro's hacienda, across the valley, waiting like a vulture with one eye on the carcass, meaning no disrespect to yourself."
"And I suppose he'll come over to see me as soon as he learns I am here?" I suggested.
"No doubt ye'll have a call from him, sir, and he'll be after trying to send you quick like he did Dormouse."
"And suppose I won't move?" I queried, beginning to think the affair promised more than I had looked for.
McLuff leaned forward with a whimsical, pleading light in his eyes, "Sure, sir, do ye like to fight?"
I shrugged. "If the other fellow will fight, why, I dare say I would be willing to accommodate him."
"Fairly said, sir."
"But why do you ask? Do you think that Sunman wants a fight?"
"There ye are, sir, and now I'm coming to the reasons why I could't be after meeting ye. The first of the week the scoundrel did me the honor of calling. He rode up as calm as ye please, and after passing the time of day suggested, as though the dum place belonged to him, that I should pack up and get out.
"Indeed!
"and that's why I have been sitting tight."
"And what did he suggest would follow if you didn't get out?"
McLuff's lips parted in a broad grin. For a second he blew huge clouds of smoke into the air, and then, taking his chopped off pipe out of his mouth, he favored me with a very expressive wink.
"Sure, sir, he told me he'd fill me old carcuss so full of lead I couldn't swim in a salt sea. That, sir, was one of the reasons why I inquired, casual like, if you any love for a bit of a scrap."
":If he gets objectionable,McLuff, we can resort to the law."
"Law!" The Irishman's disgust was as much for me as the suggestion.
"This kind of law!" I tapped my holstered revolver.
McLuff dropped back in his chair. "Sure, sir, may I sat it, there's after being a drop of Celtic in yer veins."

CHAPTER V

The morning after my arrival found me up early. The valley was painted in gorgeous sunlight, but still had a barren, deserted look. There was not enough green to break the sameness of the colorings, and the hot sun gave a pronounced hint of unbearable hours to come.
McLuff was an excellent cook and after breakfast, while I waited for him to take me on a tour of inspection, I studied the panorama that opened before me from a seat by the well-curbing under the ruined pergola.
My eyes turned to the left. A faint wreath of smoke floated in the clear air.
"Twenty miles!" I ejaculated, thinking suddenly of Miss Burton. A flush stole into my cheeks.
McLuff came strolling up and together we entered the ruined temple.
The building was little less than four high walls with the roof gone. The door at the front through which we passed was in fair condition, for McLuff had rehung it. Beside a mass of masonry at the far end -- it was the ruins of an old stone altar-- an opening in the floor led underground.
With a lantern apiece, we went below and explored a long passage which apparently led eastward and in a straight line corresponding to the pergola. There was a turn as we went along, apparently necessary to avoid the well -- which, I had observed by tossing a stone into it, was exceedingly deep.
A room or two opened from the passage, and at one spot the daylight filtered through a small crack.
Our search revealed nothing of special interest, even when we went to a lower level, making our way down a flight of roughly hewn steps. The place was dark and damp and the heavy atmosphere sent a chill through the body.
"Are there any more passages below?" I queried.
"None that I know of, though there should be a way up if we are to believe in the cave."
"Cave?" I questioned.
McLuff nodded and led the way above ground. "Here's the story, sir. I have it from Mr. Godkin's note that he left it to me to tell you the facts."
"He assuredly did," I agreed. " He told me nothing save that I was to find some treasures somewhere about here. I gathered you had all the particulars."
McLuff nodded, "Right enough, sir, but it's slim information; Mr. Godkin hears from somewhere that in this place particular the old Maya chaps hid away a big pile of stuff. The Lord only knows where he got the story from, for he didn't tell me that. As you know, sir, I fancy the old fellows who lived around here afore the likes of us or our grandfathers were thought of, were great people."
I nodded. This was no news to me, for during my four years in Merida I had taken the trouble to look into the early history of the country to a considerable extent, even if my interest had not led me to explore any of the thousands of ruins covering the countryside about the capital.
"I know only what Mr. Godkin told me, sir," went on McLuff. "He says these Maya people built great temples and palaces and even cities and the ruins one passes on the way to this particular spot is all that's left of 'em."
"Sure," I agreed, "and this whole section which is now such a barren waste was once under rich cultivation. Our well" -- nodding toward the broken masonry in the center of the pergola -- "is an evidence of their methods. They built long underground passages, tapped hidden streams and thus irrigated the countryside. Some of these hidden rivers are to be reached even now, four to five hundred feet underground. Passages thousands of feel long have been unearthed."
"Sure, you have the whole matter at your finger ends," nodded McLuff.
"But there is," I protested. "You spoke of a cave. What have I mentioned is common to all the old ruins. We have to deal with this one; what about it?"
"Well, sir, it's just this. Mr. Godkin took me down where I took you, and he said that the stuff he wanted was deeper down -- that the passage should go on clean through the rocks and come out in a cave somewhere. His way of thinking was to find the cave and work up. Below some flight of steps, which he said was to be come on, was the place to dig."
"And you have looked for this cave," I ventured.
"Looked for it Faith, and we have! Me and Sunman and Mr. Godkin himself."
I rose. The task was slowly awakening my interest. I felt the fascination bound to follow an explosion of secret passages hewn from solid rock thousands of years before. And after the finale of the hunt, a pot of gold! The old quest for the end of the rainbow still had its fascination. "The thing to do is to find the cave, "I said.
"It will be a glorious hunt, sir!" the Irishman exclaimed heartily. Gradually he was beginning to communicate his enthusiasm in me also.
"But the shortest way to accomplish out task will be for me to take the right and you the left of the hill, from the trail going down," I suggested.
"perhaps the cave's in the back of the hill. The ground here leads off through the brush and falls away at the back into a small valley no more than a ravine."
"You may be right," I acquiesced, "but I should say offhand that there's more likelihood of the entrance to these passages being on this side. If we fail to find it here we can search at the back."
We separated at once and began a careful search of the hillside, dotted with clumps of brush, any one of which might hide the entrance to the cave. It was necessarily slow work if it was to be done thoroughly, and by evening, while I had covered a good deal of ground, no success had crowned my efforts. McLuff had also failed in his search.
The Irishman appeared to be rather disgusted. "Faith, and it's more provender we'll have to be ordering. The climbing takes away a man's victuals like eating does his appetite."
"Right you are," I agreed, " and speaking of provender--"
After the meal I sat down at the centertable to write a letter to Jim Walker, which McLuff informed me might be sent in when a messenger arrived with our next batch of mail.
The Irishman had wandered out to have a look at the ponies, stabled in an old ruin among the trees back on the hillside. Half an hour passed, when suddenly out of the stillness there came a cry and the sound of hurrying steps. The next instant the door flew open, and McLuff, white-faced, paused on the threshold, shaking like a man with palsy.
I was on my feet in an instant.
"What's wrong man,?" I demanded.
"I've seen it again sir; I've seen it again," cried McLuff.

CHAPTER VI

[Note, there is a large tear obscuring and otherwise eliminating words from the following few paragraphs. {   } indicates where and, if possible, best guess on wording.]

There was no question about {it,} McLuff was thoroughly frightened. While I, when he announced { that } he had seen a ghost come { from } the old temple, was convulsing with laughter. Then, becoming convinced that the Irishman {truly] saw something, I bolted from the {  }.
We hunted about, but {found} nothing. Questioning Mc{Luff, I } learned that this was not {the first} time he had witnessed a {ghostly} visitor. This convinced me {that} some one -- undoubtedly {Sunman}-- was interested in our under{ground} passages. But McLuff {would not} have it; whatever he had seen {could} not have been human. It f{?} the air, he declared and {was} flickery and white.
I resolved to lay a trap {for the } purpose of convincing my {companion}, if for nothing else. Ge{tting a} bag of flour, I spread white {powder} from the head of the steps {to the} rear of the alter to the {?} door. We would at least learn the size of our visitor's footprints.
The next morning we again {took} up our search on the hillside. {The} forenoon brought no results. {Late} in the afternoon, as I was about to turn back toward the temple, having search the hill nearly to the bast, I cam to an abrupt pause. Along the trail rode Miss Burton.
I stepped onto a projecting rock to watch her approach. She drew rein directly below me, and glancing up, regarded me with considerable interest. As I studied her face and the picture she made sitting there on her pony, I forgot the manner in which I had been treated and was rather pleased to think that she paused instead of riding straight on. I lifted my hat, and, with the merest inclination of her head, she acknowledged my presence.
"Have you lost anything?" she queried.
"Thank you -- no." And then I couldn't resist the temptation to add. "Are you not overfar from home? Twenty miles is a rather long ride."
She nodded in an absent minded way, but apparently without the least sign of confusion. "True," she admitted," It is a long ride back and I must be going."
Then she shook out the bridle rein and her pony broke into a canter. She sat her saddle with perfect ease, her body swaying to the swinging gait. There was a touch of self-reliance about her that was tantalizingly attractive.
The morning following we hurried through the pergola, and searched the trail of flour. There

CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE.

Saving...

THE GIRL OF TEMPLE HILL-By William Tillinghast Eldridge. COMPLETE NOVEL IN THIS ISSUE OF THE SUNDAY REGISTER. CHAPTER I. I sat bemoaning the fact that those troubled with legal questions show no inclination to turn for help to young lawyers, when my office door flew open with a bang. The next second a breathless, over large and immaculately clad gentleman deposited a dress suitcase on my toe and flopped down on the edge of my desk so close that I was forced to push back my chair. "Hi, Jack Halaway alive and kicking, I see!" exclaimed the effusive one. "Exactly," I smiled. "Just alive, but very much kicking, Tom." "Sure," Brooks nodded, "I know. No practice, nix clients. The ways of a young lawyer are sad, now ain't they?" "If you just dropped in to remind me of that fact, drop out. There is no need; I know it." I laughed and got up. "What's doing, Tom?" I demanded, surveying my old roommate critically. Tom kicked his bag. "Off west," he said. Then, tilting his hat back and mopping his florid brow, he added: "Chase up and see Uncle Samuel at 6 tonight; something doing, perhaps." "Mr. Samuel Godkin?" I questioned. "The same," nodded Tom. "I saw him last night. He's just back from South America. It was South America where you hung for four years, yes." "Yucatan," I corrected. "Merida." "That's it!" said Tom, leaping to his feet. "Those are the names. He was down there." "Your uncle?" "Sure, and my cousin, his niece. You go see him." "What's the game?" "Search me," whispered Tom. "You never can pick the colors on Uncle Samuel. Say," -- dropping back onto the desk-- "I've told you about him. Rich, " he went on as I nodded. "Richer'n Midas if all the stolen goods were in the great fireplace. And say, Jack, he's as cranky and queer and funny, as he's rich. Go see him." "He's a collector, isn't he?" I ventured. "He sure is. Put your eyes on his house tonight and you'll think so. I've told you. Why, he's got it bad. He keeps half a dozen men chasing around the country after old art treasures and such stuff. Got a big museum full. Grand sale when he goes, if he wills the stuff to me." "Does he want to add me to his half dozen searchers?" I smiled. "You've got me. But you see him. He's looking for a young lawyer without practice--" "That's me!" i managed to smile again. "Sure. I told him-- how you was the big football man at Harvard in your day, all about the fade-a-way your father's fortune did and how you worked through law school and worked your health to the bad. Then I said you hit it for South America. Yucatan, I mean, and hung out down there for a while with a cousin. Right?" "Quite," I admitted. "Well, he told me to ship you to him. Make it, boy," finished Tom in his beautiful patronizing way. "S. G. is a good thing to [illeg.]." "At 6 tonight," I said. "At 6," nodded Tom from the doorway. "He's queer, but don't mind him. Just get next if you can. Worth while." Then Tom fired the address at me and bolted for the elevator. So it happened that at 6 o'clock that evening I presented myself at Mr. Godkin's residence. I had absolutely no more information as to the reason for my call than had been imparted by my effusive and likable old college chum, and was consequently decidedly curious. As well, I had hope. I needed clients, for, as Tom had suggested, and as my pocketbook did daily, I was far from being in a prosperous condition. My father's fortune had vanished with his death. I was quite alone in the world, save for my friends. Four years in Yucatan with my cousin, Jim Walker, had restored my health completely and now I was only too ready to break into the legal fray and make my mark. But to do that a man needs clients. Here perhaps was an opportunity-- one in a thousand. Samuel Godkin would be that. I resolved to accept his commission at his own terms, if he would have me, before I had set foot inside the door. I was shown from the hall into a large room, littered from one end to the other with specimens which confirmed Tom's words in a single glance. Cabinets overflowed with bits of ivory; tapestries hung one upon another. On innumerable tables were rare vases, swords, cups of pewter, gold and silver; an ugly god grinned diabolically from a corner, while an endless number of boxes and chests of rare design stood about. Every available spot was filled to overflowing; even the chairs contained their share. As a [sic] gazed about me in astonishment, there was a sound in the hall. I turned as Samuel Godkin entered the room. He was a tall, raw-boned man, his cheeks touched with a healthy tan, and his eyes beamed with a scintillating brightness. He stood straight, head forward, and his shaggy white brows were drawn into a scowl that gave to his face a rather disagreeable expression. Yet beneath this mask—so I considered the scowling sharpness of his regard—I felt a lurking well of pleasantry and mirth only awaiting the touching of the proper chord to sweep aside the overbearing brusqueness of his manner. “Brooks told you, I dare say? I want a lawyer to go south. What do you say?” Thus abruptlyt and with a disagreeable rise to the voice and a sharp lowering of the heavy brows he opened fire on me. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do so,” I replied, more surprised at the suddenness of his proposal than the disapproving tone in his voice. “But are there any reasons?” Then I found it hard to suppress a smile. “I should suppose it would be rather necessary for me to know the nature of the work and for us to arrange on terms.” “Terms! There won’t be any quarrelling on that point. As to what I want: in Yucatan there is an old tumbled-down ruin. In it or under it there are a certain number of art treasures; you’re to get them.” I hardly know what I had anticipated, but certainly I had not expected to be called upon to assist Mr. Godkin in adding to his already over-large collection. Besides, the work was not exactly of a nature which required an attorney, and I tolk the liberty of mentioning the fact. “Huh! That’s got nothing to do with it,” growled Godkin. “If I want to hire a lawyer to dig, that’s my business.” There was no question but what he was quite right. Mentioning the amount of my compensation I should expect and having my figure agreed to, I asked for further particulars. “I’ll tell you, but first I want you to understand that I’ve already tried two lawyers on this job. One was a fool, the other a rogue. The fool has gone. He came after the rogue—Sunman—and I call him a fool because he was scared off.” “Scared off?” I queried, my interest quickening. “So you prick up your ears, do you?” chuckled Godwin. “Well, as Sunman is still down there—fifteen miles across the valley from Temple Hill—I may as well tell you he is waiting for a chance to dig out my property.” “I should think if the ‘fool’ of whom you speak had left, he would have ample opportunity.” “Oh, I’ve got a man down there, Terry McLuff, an old servant of mine. He’s holding the fort and I dare say being kept pretty busy. Now, ten to one, when you get there, Sunman will try to run you out. If you are going to be scared you might as well say so right now and save starting.” It was no longer possible for me to suppress my mirth. The strangeness of the mission, the oddity in Godkin’s manner, compelled me to laugh outright. He wheeled like a hawk. “What do you mean by haw-hawing like that?” I swallowed my smile. “The proposition is so different from what I expected that it struck me as rather amusing.” “You may laugh a different tune before you get back.” “Why do you offer to engage me and attempt to frighten me at the same time?” I demanded. “Because I’m looking for a man. This is no lawyer’s work, but what comes afterward, if you are successful, will be. I want an attorney with some nerve. I’m a collector”—with a gesture about the room. “Those who work for me have odd undertakings to handle. A young lawyer who can devote his time to my affairs is what I’m after. First, however, he must come to the mark—to the mark I set. No need of your going down there if you are chicken hearted. Tom Brooks says you’ll do, but Tom Brooks, because he is my nephew, is no more to be depended on in his judgment of a man than anyone else. I find things out for myself.” This was fired at me with a rapidity of speech quite startling. Samuel Godkin’s gray eyes were set sternly upon my face and his white shock of hair seemed literally to stand on end. His neck, very long, struck out from his low collar, red, wrinkled, the flesh in folds. Altogether in appearance and manner he was an odd person. “Saturday, my niece and I expect to sail for Europe, and I want you to start by first boat. Progreso is your port, and here”—unfolding a small map which he spread on the table before me—“is the spot. You make Merida by rail and then fifty odd miles up the coast to the north, in the tablelands, is Temple hill, that bleak spot on the map. Fifteen miles across the valley is a settlement—huts, ruins, a few haciendas scattered about—and there Sunman is holding forth. Here”—leaning over the map—“this black spot to the left of Temple hill is another hacienda owned by a professor, one of those fellows, I dare say, who pokes around in the ruins down there—lots of ruins you know. He lives there with his daughter. They will be your nearest neighbors short of Sunman’s friends across the valley. That is a fair map, and good enough for you to make the trip by. On Temple hill is an old ruin. McLuff is quartered in it. He’ll tell you where to dig.” “And I am to go down there and—dig.” I spoke slowly, not even yet quite reconciled to the unexpected nature of the work. “Exactly, “growled Godkin. I considered the ceiling reflectively. “Wouldn’t the quickest way be to put half a dozen men to work?” I suggested. Godkin snorted, remarking: “Two are enough. I don’t want the countryside knowing what’s going on and the place is not near enough any town to get men. Besides, those natives down there would cut your throat and steal all you found. It’s got to be done between you two. McLuff can cook and he can dig. You have got to be able to do the same.” “I rather fear that I should make a mess of the cooking,” I suggested. For one instant there was the merest suspicion of mirth in the steel gray eyes. Then he said succinctly: “Do for all I care; but don’t of the digging.” CHAPTER II My arrangements to leave New York were quickly made. I received a check fro Mr. Godkin the next day, supplying me with necessary funds, and caught the first steamer south. There had been a boat sailing the day following my talk with my strange client, but I was unable to get off so soon. Thus it was just about a week after my interview with Samuel Godkin that I saw New York become a speck on the horizon and finally fall from view. I had cabled my cousin of my sailing, and he came down from Merida to Progreso, the capital’s seaport, to meet me. Again I viewed that low, coral shore line with its shallow lagoon stretching mile upon mile. I cannot say I was over enthusiastic. During the trip I had asked myself many times why I had undertaken the matter at all. A fine job for one who had dreamed he would some day shine at the New York bar! A sorry alternative for a starving lawyer. Jim Walker was delighted to get my by the hand again. His enthusiasm hinted at his desolation far from home, and it made me think I’d find it a sad undertaking, digging for hammered goblets. If they were formed of purest gold and studded with rare stones, I knew I should still have no enthusiasm over the matter. We got the first train back for Merida, and the trip gave me plenty of time in which to answer all of Jim’s questions. He was as surprised as I and felt doubtful over the purpose of my mission. That there is good ground for the collector and archaeologist in and around Merida, and clear through the stretch of northern country was no news to Jim. The novelty lay in the fact that I should be employed in such a matter. Merida looked no different than when I had left it but a short time before. Its wide streets and low buildings gave it an appearance of great openness, and there was rather a Moorish effect on the whole which was quite pleasing. We drove by the cathedral, the bishop’s palace, and then passed the great government house—all these buildings look out on the wide main square—and finally turned up a broad cross avenue, and to Jim’s “shack,” as he called it. Again I was plied with question upon question, for my cousin’s wife was as anxious to hear from America as I was reluctant to speak about it. It was a queer feeling that had its hold upon me that first night at Merida—I was just plain homesick. The next morning I felt better. I knew the city well and actually found myself glad—after a night’s sleep—to be back again in that warm, lazy and languid environment. But I gave myself no time to look about. Despite the combined protest of my cousin and wife, I made my arrangements, secured, the necessary supplies for the trip, a good horse, some directions—which confirmed Godkin’s map—and set off. There was no difficulty about the undertaking, for roads, good or bad, run down from hacienda to hacienda, and I had but to follow my directions and make sure that night did not overtake me in the open. I was welcome wherever I stopped, and once or twice during the three days into which I divided the trip, I fell in with some herder who rode a way with me. The last night was spent at a rather small hacienda among the coral-like hills well along on the northern coast. When I started out in the morning the beaten trail was behind me. Godkin’s map now came into service, and following its directions, I crossed a broad plateau and headed toward the hills beyond. Somewhere among their many defiles was Temple hill. I ate my luncheon in the open and and pushed on late in the afternoon when the terrible heat of midday had passed. There was little variety to the scenery. It was a dry season, and the powdered, coral-like formation which makes up the tablelands lay in dust on the trail. Few trees offered any shade until I got in among the hills, and then the shelter came only from small clumps. The trail led through a narrow break in the hills and came out in a small valley. To my left was another deep defile, and once through that, there opened before me a rolling plain touched with the last rays of the setting sun. Far away rose the dark hills, to my right a low range of plateaus. Turning, I followed a path which skirted the rising ground. It was growing dusk and I kept a sharp lookout for a light which would mark the partly inhabitated ruins on Temple hill, or the hacienda of which Mr. Godkin had spoken and which was marked on my map. Finally, at a rough bit of ground my pony slowed down to a walk. A clump of low trees shut out the view ahead, and I had risen in my stirrups to look beyond when something stirred at the side of the trail. Pulling up, I peered into the shadows. CHAPTER III For a second I was in doubt, and then I caught a flash of white, and the next moment the girl stepped out into the trail. More than surprised, I studied her in the gathering dusk. I had a glimpse of a khaki skirt barely reaching the top of high tan boots, a white shirt waist, open at the neck, and a gray felt hat perched jauntily on light brown hair. A decidedly attractive picture, intensified by the dimness of the light. But what an odd place to come upon one who was unquestionably an American. She was the first to speak and her tone was naively innocent. "I hope I didn't frighten you?" "You surprised me," I admitted. "What in the world are you doing here?" "I was about to ask the same question myself," she said with a side glance from under the rim of her gray hat. "I am looking for a ruin called, I believe, Temple hill," I replied. "That old ruin." And then with a glance up the trail: "You've a long ride before you." "A long ride?" I exclaimed in some surprise. "it certainly seems to me that i have come far enough to be close to the end of my journey." "To be sure," she agreed with another glance into my face, "yet you are twenty miles from your destination." I could only stare in amazement. Either I was off the trail or my fair informant was quite at fault. I mentioned that i hardly saw how distance left me to travel could be so great. "To one who is not accustomed to this country a few miles seems a very long way," she suggested innocently. "But i have come a great many miles, " I retorted. Her manner nettled me. The impression that beneath her innocent regard there lurked a hidden smile was very pronounced. "Have I offended? I though that you were a stranger in these parts." "And so I am," I admitted as a flush stole into my cheeks at her superior tone, "yet even a stranger should be able to tell something of distances." She looked me over critically. "I forget," she exclaimed suddenly. "You are a stranger and we see so few. Won't you stop for a moment? My father would be very glad if you would pause. We lives on the hill." I glanced over her head. "Your father is a professor?" Her eyes spoke her astonishment. "I thought you said you were a stranger." "And so I am," I admitted, swinging to the ground. "That is why I asked for directions." "But you know of us." "When one starts on an unfamiliar trail in this country he naturally inquires as to landmarks." She nodded as if my explanation quite satisfied her, although I was sure it did not. "My father would be very much disappointed if you didn't stop," she suggested. "I shall be very glad to stop, although if I am twenty miles from my destination I ought to be hurrying on." "As you please." "I'll stop. Where's the hacienda?" She led the way round a clump of trees and turned through a path that led up the hillside. A little distance over the rising ground brought us to a low, rambling building which covered considerable area and was surrounded by a wide veranda and upper balcony. The building looked as if it had seen its best days and was only partially usable. I surmised at once -- as i afterward found was correct-- that it had long ago been deserted by the original builder, and later restored to an extent barely sufficient for his use. As we came to the steps she ran up them lightly and paused at the top. I halted at the bottom as a native boy came running around the building to take my pony. "There's no need," I protested. "He'll stand. I'll just pay my respects to your father and be on my way." "You must permit us at least to be hospitable," she urged. She stood above me, tall and slender. A light breeze touched her skirts and draped them about her graceful figure. The invitation was put almost pleadingly, and as in through there was no real reason why I should hurry on, I tossed the bridle rein to the boy and leaped to her side. She led the way down the veranda, lined with couches and huge chars. The place looked decidedly attractive. A table laid for two stood at the corner. She paused beside it. "I will speak to my father," -- indicating a chair with an easy, indolent gesture. My eyes followed her as she hurried away. There was a graceful swing to her walk; suppleness and self-reliance were suggested. But I was puzzled. Her charm was not so much a matter to be thought of as her questions and the manner in which she had put them. There was something in her actions which I couldn't quite comprehend, but above even that discrepancy in distance between her figures and Mr. Godkin's concerning the distance to Temple hill bothered me. She was back again very soon. "My father, Professor Burton, is feeling a trifle indisposed. Yet i should be glad if you would stop for a moment," she added, as a servant appeared with a tray. I agreed with alacrity and sat down. Again her glance swept my face, and now in the better light of the overhead lamp, I was positive there lurked a hidden laughter in the brown inquisitive depths of her eyes. "I trust you will not mind if i ask how you happen to be going to Temple hill? "You see," she hurried on as if her question needed some explanation, "we see so few strangers. We are so far away from everyone that you must pardon my curiosity." "I am from New York, "I explained, and down on a trifling matter of business." She leaned forward, elbows against the table, her cheek resting against her clasped hands. "New York! Do tell me all about it." "You are from New York?" "I have read so much about it that I should like to hear more from one who has lived there." I scowled in perplexity. "I fear that I am a poor one to supply any information. I have been in New York very little, six months in the last half-dozen years." "And before that, you lived ---?" She halted without completing her question. I studied the girl searchingly. It struck me that she was endeavoring to obtain my history, although I could not conceive any possible reason why her interest should be so aroused. Certainly the mere fact that strangers were few and far between in this uninhabited waste of country was not a sufficient excuse. "I have lived in Merida for four years. I have been back in New York a very short time." "And now you have decided to return here?" "I am going to Temple hill," I admitted. "Oh, to be sure" -- nodding quickly -- "you are going to Temple hill. Do you mean to say that you expect to stop there?" "For some time, I imagine. She straightened. There was no mistaking the fact that an expression of marked coolness touched her face. "I didn't suppose you were going to stay there." "Would that be such a terrible thing to do??" "Possibly." "I must ask for enlightenment." "I am afraid that I cannot be as obliging as you have been." She rose from her chair and for a second stood regarding me almost rigidly. "I might have known when you spoke of Temple hill that you were going there to stay." It would have been pardonable if I had stared. But I didn't. I simply pushed back my chair and rose to my feet. "I am afraid that I fail to understand," I ventured. Her eyes met mine unflinchingly. "I think we had better go no further discussing your reasons for going to Temple hill." There was a sting in the words that brought an angry flush to my cheeks. In one step I had gathered up my broad sombrero." I regret exceedingly that my ignorance makes me unable to appreciate the error into which I have blundered. I trust your father's indisposition will be nothing serious. Please accept my thanks for your hospitality. Goodday!" With just one glance I turned, ran down the steps and leaped into the saddle. CHAPTER IV. To put it mildly, I was angry as I rode out into the trail. I had been urged to tarry, questioned as to my past and present, and then haughtily informed that I was an undesirable guest if I was planning to stop at Temple hill. What was the explanation? I puzzled over it, for there seemed to lurk a certain amount of interest in the situation. And then reflections were given a new turn when, but a half a mile from the Burton hacienda, I caught a light on the hill. It marked four windows and I was thoroughly satisfied that I was within sight of my destination. Now my puzzle was greater than ever. Why had i been told that it was twenty miles, when it was less than one? The statement had apparently been made for the purpose of prevailing upon me to stop. Had there been some deeper motive than I had supposed in Miss Burton's wish to talk with me? Her questions took on a new significance. I found the narrow trail up the hillside and was soon on level plateau. At the top, a row of ghost-like posts me my gaze. To the right were the dim outlines of masonry, topped by a low tower, while on the left at the end of the posts which I had made out as ruined pergola, were the walls of a rambling low studded building, lighted at the further end. I rode in between the posts and through a gap in the wall. Straight ahead of me was an open doorway through which a flood of light touched the ground at my pony's feet. Learning against the casing was a short, stockily built man with a rifle swung carelessly across his arm. "Who's there?" came the challenge in a voice unmistakably touched with a brogue. "McLuff?" I questioned. "Faith and you've got me name. What's yours?" "Halaway." The rifle was set down and the Irishman advanced. "By the saints above us, I was thinking ye were lost or not come at all." I swung to the ground and held out my hand. "How are you?" "Fine, sir. Go in." He nodded over his should. "I'll care for the animal." As McLuff turned away with the pony I entered and crossed the tiled floor. Overhead huge beams supported the thatched roof. The walls were of stone newly whitewashed. A heavy table occupied the middle of the room, and with half a dozen chairs made up the furniture. In one corner there was a pile of tools; a couple of saddles hung on pegs; here and there an attempt had been made to break the bareness of the walls with a color print or two. I threw myself into a chair and awaited the return of the Irishman. He came in presently, tossed the saddle into a corner and moved to where I sat. He was a middle aged man with a seamed face crossed with uncountable lines. The bullet shaped head was topped with hair unmistakably red, while in his eyes there lurked a laughing touch of humor. "Ye must be hungry, sir." "A little, though I did have a bite down the trail. By the was, McLuff, who is this Professor Burton?" "Oh, ye stopped there, did ye, sir? And who is he, you're asking? Faith, I know little about him. I've seen his daughter, but not himself." As I made away with the food put before me, we discussed the odd circumstances that made us fellow workers. McLuff gave me a rough description of the place. The main portion of the building was an irreparable ruin. The room in which we sat, and three small ones behind it, was the only part at all inhabitable, save the remains of the old Maya temple which stood at the further end of the pergola. As McLuff paused, I turned my eyes to his face. "What do you think of this treasure we are to hunt for?" I demanded. "Sure, sir, and I haven't troubled my head about it at all, at all. Mr. Godkin sent for me, sir; I was in New York, and I came down. He met me at the steamer and fetched me along to here, sire, a week ago, saying you were coming. He arranged for mail to be sent along by a banker of his in Merida. It's not regular service, but we hear from the world now and then." "An advantage," I nodded, with a sour smile. "It is that," agreed McLuff. "But this treasure?" I inquired. "I know little, and still I'm thinking down underneath we'll find something, for Sunman hangs around, and I'd give him credit for scenting the almighty dollar a dozen leagues away." I leaned across the table. "What about Sunman?" "He's the chap that kept me from meeting you in Merida as I had thought to do." "How so?" McLuff studied space with a faraway look in his eyes. "Oh, he's a rare rascal. I'll say that I was fooled by his blarney at first. Then, sir, I caught the black look in the corner of his eyes, and I watched him. He was digging by himself -- wouldn't have me soiling me hands with at ask the like of that. I felt he was after the stuff and when he found it he'd have sneaked out. I was responsible for his going, for I dropped a line to Mr. Godkin and along came a meek little Dorman --- Dorman? Sure, sir, it should have been dormouse they called him. He had been here but two days when Sunman rode over, had a talk with him and Dorman cur for cover as though the divil himself was close at his coattails." "Sunman scared him off and he's thinking he would like to get hold of what were are after," i mused. "Faith, and he's doing no less. He's setting over there at one Pedro's hacienda, across the valley, waiting like a vulture with one eye on the carcass, meaning no disrespect to yourself." "And I suppose he'll come over to see me as soon as he learns I am here?" I suggested. "No doubt ye'll have a call from him, sir, and he'll be after trying to send you quick like he did Dormouse." "And suppose I won't move?" I queried, beginning to think the affair promised more than I had looked for. McLuff leaned forward with a whimsical, pleading light in his eyes, "Sure, sir, do ye like to fight?" I shrugged. "If the other fellow will fight, why, I dare say I would be willing to accommodate him." "Fairly said, sir." "But why do you ask? Do you think that Sunman wants a fight?" "There ye are, sir, and now I'm coming to the reasons why I could't be after meeting ye. The first of the week the scoundrel did me the honor of calling. He rode up as calm as ye please, and after passing the time of day suggested, as though the dum place belonged to him, that I should pack up and get out. "Indeed! "and that's why I have been sitting tight." "And what did he suggest would follow if you didn't get out?" McLuff's lips parted in a broad grin. For a second he blew huge clouds of smoke into the air, and then, taking his chopped off pipe out of his mouth, he favored me with a very expressive wink. "Sure, sir, he told me he'd fill me old carcuss so full of lead I couldn't swim in a salt sea. That, sir, was one of the reasons why I inquired, casual like, if you any love for a bit of a scrap." ":If he gets objectionable,McLuff, we can resort to the law." "Law!" The Irishman's disgust was as much for me as the suggestion. "This kind of law!" I tapped my holstered revolver. McLuff dropped back in his chair. "Sure, sir, may I sat it, there's after being a drop of Celtic in yer veins." CHAPTER V The morning after my arrival found me up early. The valley was painted in gorgeous sunlight, but still had a barren, deserted look. There was not enough green to break the sameness of the colorings, and the hot sun gave a pronounced hint of unbearable hours to come. McLuff was an excellent cook and after breakfast, while I waited for him to take me on a tour of inspection, I studied the panorama that opened before me from a seat by the well-curbing under the ruined pergola. My eyes turned to the left. A faint wreath of smoke floated in the clear air. "Twenty miles!" I ejaculated, thinking suddenly of Miss Burton. A flush stole into my cheeks. McLuff came strolling up and together we entered the ruined temple. The building was little less than four high walls with the roof gone. The door at the front through which we passed was in fair condition, for McLuff had rehung it. Beside a mass of masonry at the far end -- it was the ruins of an old stone altar-- an opening in the floor led underground. With a lantern apiece, we went below and explored a long passage which apparently led eastward and in a straight line corresponding to the pergola. There was a turn as we went along, apparently necessary to avoid the well -- which, I had observed by tossing a stone into it, was exceedingly deep. A room or two opened from the passage, and at one spot the daylight filtered through a small crack. Our search revealed nothing of special interest, even when we went to a lower level, making our way down a flight of roughly hewn steps. The place was dark and damp and the heavy atmosphere sent a chill through the body. "Are there any more passages below?" I queried. "None that I know of, though there should be a way up if we are to believe in the cave." "Cave?" I questioned. McLuff nodded and led the way above ground. "Here's the story, sir. I have it from Mr. Godkin's note that he left it to me to tell you the facts." "He assuredly did," I agreed. " He told me nothing save that I was to find some treasures somewhere about here. I gathered you had all the particulars." McLuff nodded, "Right enough, sir, but it's slim information; Mr. Godkin hears from somewhere that in this place particular the old Maya chaps hid away a big pile of stuff. The Lord only knows where he got the story from, for he didn't tell me that. As you know, sir, I fancy the old fellows who lived around here afore the likes of us or our grandfathers were thought of, were great people." I nodded. This was no news to me, for during my four years in Merida I had taken the trouble to look into the early history of the country to a considerable extent, even if my interest had not led me to explore any of the thousands of ruins covering the countryside about the capital. "I know only what Mr. Godkin told me, sir," went on McLuff. "He says these Maya people built great temples and palaces and even cities and the ruins one passes on the way to this particular spot is all that's left of 'em." "Sure," I agreed, "and this whole section which is now such a barren waste was once under rich cultivation. Our well" -- nodding toward the broken masonry in the center of the pergola -- "is an evidence of their methods. They built long underground passages, tapped hidden streams and thus irrigated the countryside. Some of these hidden rivers are to be reached even now, four to five hundred feet underground. Passages thousands of feel long have been unearthed." "Sure, you have the whole matter at your finger ends," nodded McLuff. "But there is," I protested. "You spoke of a cave. What have I mentioned is common to all the old ruins. We have to deal with this one; what about it?" "Well, sir, it's just this. Mr. Godkin took me down where I took you, and he said that the stuff he wanted was deeper down -- that the passage should go on clean through the rocks and come out in a cave somewhere. His way of thinking was to find the cave and work up. Below some flight of steps, which he said was to be come on, was the place to dig." "And you have looked for this cave," I ventured. "Looked for it Faith, and we have! Me and Sunman and Mr. Godkin himself." I rose. The task was slowly awakening my interest. I felt the fascination bound to follow an explosion of secret passages hewn from solid rock thousands of years before. And after the finale of the hunt, a pot of gold! The old quest for the end of the rainbow still had its fascination. "The thing to do is to find the cave, "I said. "It will be a glorious hunt, sir!" the Irishman exclaimed heartily. Gradually he was beginning to communicate his enthusiasm in me also. "But the shortest way to accomplish out task will be for me to take the right and you the left of the hill, from the trail going down," I suggested. "perhaps the cave's in the back of the hill. The ground here leads off through the brush and falls away at the back into a small valley no more than a ravine." "You may be right," I acquiesced, "but I should say offhand that there's more likelihood of the entrance to these passages being on this side. If we fail to find it here we can search at the back." We separated at once and began a careful search of the hillside, dotted with clumps of brush, any one of which might hide the entrance to the cave. It was necessarily slow work if it was to be done thoroughly, and by evening, while I had covered a good deal of ground, no success had crowned my efforts. McLuff had also failed in his search. The Irishman appeared to be rather disgusted. "Faith, and it's more provender we'll have to be ordering. The climbing takes away a man's victuals like eating does his appetite." "Right you are," I agreed, " and speaking of provender--" After the meal I sat down at the centertable to write a letter to Jim Walker, which McLuff informed me might be sent in when a messenger arrived with our next batch of mail. The Irishman had wandered out to have a look at the ponies, stabled in an old ruin among the trees back on the hillside. Half an hour passed, when suddenly out of the stillness there came a cry and the sound of hurrying steps. The next instant the door flew open, and McLuff, white-faced, paused on the threshold, shaking like a man with palsy. I was on my feet in an instant. "What's wrong man,?" I demanded. "I've seen it again sir; I've seen it again," cried McLuff. CHAPTER VI [Note, there is a large tear obscuring and otherwise eliminating words from the following few paragraphs. { } indicates where and, if possible, best guess on wording.] There was no question about {it,} McLuff was thoroughly frightened. While I, when he announced { that } he had seen a ghost come { from } the old temple, was convulsing with laughter. Then, becoming convinced that the Irishman {truly] saw something, I bolted from the { }. We hunted about, but {found} nothing. Questioning Mc{Luff, I } learned that this was not {the first} time he had witnessed a {ghostly} visitor. This convinced me {that} some one -- undoubtedly {Sunman}-- was interested in our under{ground} passages. But McLuff {would not} have it; whatever he had seen {could} not have been human. It f{?} the air, he declared and {was} flickery and white. I resolved to lay a trap {for the } purpose of convincing my {companion}, if for nothing else. Ge{tting a} bag of flour, I spread white {powder} from the head of the steps {to the} rear of the alter to the {?} door. We would at least learn the size of our visitor's footprints. The next morning we again {took} up our search on the hillside. {The} forenoon brought no results. {Late} in the afternoon, as I was about to turn back toward the temple, having search the hill nearly to the bast, I cam to an abrupt pause. Along the trail rode Miss Burton. I stepped onto a projecting rock to watch her approach. She drew rein directly below me, and glancing up, regarded me with considerable interest. As I studied her face and the picture she made sitting there on her pony, I forgot the manner in which I had been treated and was rather pleased to think that she paused instead of riding straight on. I lifted my hat, and, with the merest inclination of her head, she acknowledged my presence. "Have you lost anything?" she queried. "Thank you -- no." And then I couldn't resist the temptation to add. "Are you not overfar from home? Twenty miles is a rather long ride." She nodded in an absent minded way, but apparently without the least sign of confusion. "True," she admitted," It is a long ride back and I must be going." Then she shook out the bridle rein and her pony broke into a canter. She sat her saddle with perfect ease, her body swaying to the swinging gait. There was a touch of self-reliance about her that was tantalizingly attractive. The morning following we hurried through the pergola, and searched the trail of flour. There CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE.