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‘HE DAILY + AM: 4 ] ’ wt 1 nv y AILY EXAMINER CHARLOTTETOWN, JULY 22, 1899 —_ ’ — 4 —— a ’ ‘ Try y . ree : ' Oe et a ae eT ne ee ee xg ' A yy(i]) company, $10,000,000 pz Ww e on 1 ' i { \ i hreadbai mpany, $10,000,000 paid in, a few our AVA UL AT ALUUD | As we talked little Fenton wonta | SB2mces at 50 cents.” | ily and would « near U **Listen, you fool,’’ said Fenton eager- 2 - . + se” vt : we ** T . . . . _ . <.s* \ Ai ; i Ey OLINTON ROSS. the -s ope to the monastery f ly. Here 1s what 18 written ; Stran had made an acca taintane “I, the monk Ambrose, once Miguel Santos, ‘Copyright, 1899. by t} Tr | there, and every day he won!) rat do confess: When I am 70, and in security, I rgnt, J » Dy the J 10F. } with nat ola n “4 wr tt : fe : ee bethink myself that death cannot be far away. How I came to Corpus Christi in So- librar : anus ripts f1 m th The church declares that the wicked shall be ; : lorary of the place, rec ds—fo1 tten burned forever. If that be indeed true—and nora [ need not tell, andI am glad I | by schol -of the early hi : ¢ | BO man ever came back to deny it—it behooves ; ; | . ‘ : all Iii ry oO ‘ it : I 11 for 1¢ 1s at the best a shame- | Sonora. Then Dorden let i Aa me to prepare. I have thought me of the ; Tat Geis 3 . ei as oe ALOp 1 OF treasure I gained evilly. Should I restore it ful f nere fancied I could ny 0 rk | ver had abont 1 past to those whence I had taken? But the lust for nast aw I was ire t se ] | 1wasa hola » lit gold makes more crime than the lust for wo ' : : , : man. It has seemed to me, then, that I should i Ww Ww { x e ° pI i OCU t I : : ! \ ir, | oY AL & AN I put this treasure away where no man should i t sat i } afe}| fr SN gseiettenteneeenree. |} find it. I know now my sin. I could not part from his memories, for memories now with that which has cost me so much—per ’ : ay “~) haps even my soul. To the cave of the under- end then would come, w: auld bother Me joa ground river I had the casks carried. Then I Then I longed for money with which cane | hada wall built 20 rads from the cave’s en- RE, . ; | \ ' trance, and I walled the treasure there against make restitution with a hurried d sire, ; ; the roar of the stream that sees no licht. for what I had left was but a pittance ' Twenty men worked at this, and I watched, : ; eaving a guard dow re slope a WE to keep me for ? any years in this sim- dea zB 2 ua d dc wn the sk pe. In the wall le Mexican villag : + is un Iron door, which opens if you touch it at Pp ex n vill ge. I had lest mest ; @ certain spot. When the work was done, I CTSTSCCS SUSU that I had stolen in many ventures, | gave the laborers poison, and in the morning

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A Story of Newfoundland by Benjamin Davies ,

When we gan to K ick—III (Illustrated) by J. M. Sullivar Belle Marie (; Story ) by Jessie Hogg

taken in the vain hope.

Have you ever been in Mexico? Can you imagine that village far away over the border—its long sunny street be- tween the adobe honses; its listless folk, with more of the Indian than the Spaniard. High above on both sidos were the street scattered slopes of the mountains, and a quarter mile up the valley on a rounded hill stood the old monsstery of Corpus Christi, builded, it was said, by a generation that had known Montezuma. Who knows? Per- haps the monks did—these few brown cowled brothers, the survivors of the great order. AsI sat idly smoking I wondered at them, thinking how much easier a monastery might have been for me.

I myself did not make the acquaint- ance of the monks. The villagers some- times chatted with me. I knew all the affairs of my fat landlady and her black eyed daughter, about whom three young fellows were passionate. These folk had been curious when I had appeared on donkey back from over the slope. But habit stifles cyriosity, and I lived on almost the sole guest of the old inn. for the mountain village was out of the way of travel. Centuries had pass- ed since it had been a station on the route to the now long abandoned silver mines of the mountains, and days and months passed for me as they will in such au out of the way place, where the events and talk of the world seem of no moment, and, as I say, I lonzed with aun ever increasing desire for all | had frittered away—honor and positton and love I had lost in the New Englaud town, where the winters might be bit- ter and the summers fierce, but wher: the old habit of my Anglo-Saxon blood called. Ah if I only had money to re pair that wrong! For gold I ionged and of its potentiality I dreamed

I had been at Corpus Christi a year before the two who were to be my coin rades appeared. One—I knew him a: John Fenton—was a little clerkly bookish man with a certain fright al ways in his sunken eyes, yet plainly a man of gentle breeding. The other, whe called himself Dorden, was his antith- esis, a burly, red faced, oath flinging bravo. What interests, I wondered, did they have incommon? But I did not dare ask them of their past, of their bond of union, lest they should ask of mine. Possibly they had the same rea son, for they never inquired. We knew that we belonged somewhere over the border. Isolation and the same condi- tions of past make strange companion- ship. In desperation—among these sim- ple village folk—I struck up a friend- ship with Dorden. Many asunny day we passed in the shaded court of the inn, playing gloomily with a greasy pack Dorden had. Onone thing we agreed—we wanted money. That alone

—-———--— _ -—

There are men who imagine that out-door work 1s a sovereign cure for all ills. They work like slaves at their business, take insuffi- cient time to rest and sleep, and abuse and neglect their on in every af way. Then, when they break down. | they keep on just | as before, except ! that in addition to iin, their usual work,

. they go out every day and spade a little in their gar- dens, or try to imitate Mr. Glad-

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“Listen, you fool,” said Fenton eagerly. land ec had brought together these two so dis- similar.

Uege. Again I wondered what

One evening—ah, I never may forget it!—we were sitting by flickering can- dles in my room, Dorden and I, at our gaming, and Fenton reading a manu- script he had brought that day from the monastery. The monks, an illiterate

lot, did not care or note their treasures of the time when Spain was great and her venturesome gentlemen were about these far mountains—seeking gold and its power. Possibly these brothers of Corpus Christi wondered at this pale, little faced man who amnsed his exile with papers that to them had no value, for, as I have said, scholarship had died in that cloister.

“If it were so,’’ said Fenton, looking at us suddenly.

**Eh, what’s so, Bob?’’ said Dorden.

‘‘That Miguel Santos left his treas- tre in the mountains back from Corpus Christi. ’’

“Stop your foolish lingo,”’ said Dor- den. ‘‘No such luck.’’

‘“‘Luck!”’ said I wearily, maligning my own.

‘‘Listen,’’ said the little man, whose past I say I wondered at, and he read:

‘In those days the governor ruled Sonora not somuch as Miguel Santos. Nay, Santos’ laid tribute of the governor and of al! who passed, and Miguel Santos’ wealth was great beyond imagination. Yet every piece of gold, they say, was blood stained!"’

‘“‘There are others,’’ dealing the cards.

‘‘Listen,’’ said the other rather eager- ly:

“But in his old age remorse seized Santos, end he retired into the monastery of Corpus Christi, where he led in every respect a saint- ly life—save in the single one that he made no restitution. To this day the treasure is hid in the monntains—wealth greater than all the king of Spain ever had from Peru.”’

“‘Eh,’’ said Dorden, ‘‘I wish I'd it. It’s something, Bob, to know as much as you about languages. ’’

But Fenton looked at us both as if he knew still more. From the table he took a piece of yellowed parchment and | held it against the candle.

‘*He seems to have been,”’ said Dor- den, ‘‘a sort of Cap’n Kidd. I s’pose they’ve been diggin and diggin in ‘em mountains. ’’

‘‘Wait,’’ said Fenton quietly. ‘‘Up there in the library of Corpus Christi there’sa pile of ancient manuscripts that no one seems to care at all about —the account books of forgotten abbots, things of no earthly use except to the antiquarian or the historian. But they’ve amused me.”’

‘‘You fellows ’re easily amused with ’em books,’’ said Dorden. ‘‘Now, I'd rather see a Sunday New York paper, with the murders and divorces and pol- itics.’’ ;

‘‘Well,” said Fenton, ‘I hadn't, you know. So I’ve found some fun up there nosing about. I’ve almost been able to forget.’”’

‘““You’re chicken livered,’’ said Dor- den.

‘Well, I wish I’d money.”

‘““We'd go back, eh, and buy up some- body,”’ said Dorden. ‘‘We’d have a house on Fifth avenue and another at Newport, and we'd run horses at Sheepshead, and we'd have our wives’ and darters’ dresses and diamonds all listed in the papers.”’

“Shut up ’’ said Fenton. ‘‘Don’t talk about wives and daughters!’’

‘‘He’s a bit ticklish on some sub- jects,’’ said Dorden. ‘‘Well, go on with your yarn, little un.”

‘‘Well,’’ said Fenton, ‘‘I said to my- self, if this Miguel Santos became a monk at Corpus Christi there’s probably somewhere or other about this pile of papers something more about him Finally I came to some papers of the Abbot Pedro Juan. I knew he was the abbot of Santo’s time. So I broke open the seal. Then I found this paper writ- ten by the dying Santos.’”’

‘*You don’t say! Who'd have thought it?’’ Dorden exclaimed.

“TIT had some trouble in making it eut,’’ Fenton went on.

‘Well, what of it?’’ said Dorden “Does he tell where the money’s to be had? We can go back to New York and

said Dorden,

all lay dead. (God rest my soul!) One by one I took the bodies’’—

‘‘He took the bodies!’’ said Dorden,

leaning over. ‘‘All that stuff is buried up in ‘em mountains!’’

“I took the bodies through the door in the walltothe cliff over the underground river and dropped them in one by « Then I re turned to my followers, who guarded below, saying I had sent the other score into Chihua- hua. And then I discharged all and came Gown the mountain to the monastery, and to the abbot I said: ‘I would repent me of my sins!’ ‘First,’ he answered, ‘thou must give ell thy treasure to mother church.’ Then] lied and told him I had squandered it all.

‘‘I said to myself that ‘for one who has com- mitted so many sins the death of 20 men and the lie to the abbot cannot add to the burden.’ For from that time on I should lead me a life of prayer, of repentance. So in truth have J] tried to live save twice a year, when I have visited the cave of the river. Then I have gloated over the coffers on the cliff in the cave. Then voices have come up from the river and said, ‘Accursed, accursed!’ Yea, ac- cursed is it. May it curse some other as it has me; any monk or man who may find it.

(To be Continued )

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