THE DELUGE
By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIRS, Author of “THZ’GQSZVA'
ico&bwv isos' tv#* Bcms-imporu. ctn&yvyo
CHAPTER XIV—Continued.
She gazed at me without flinching.
“And I suppose,” she said satirically,
“you wonder why I-—why you are re
pellent to me. Haven’t you learned
that, though I may have been made in
to a moral coward, I’m not a physical
coward? Don't bully and threaten.
It's useless.”
I put my hand strongly on her
shoulder—taunts and jeers do not
turn me aside. "What did you
mean?” I repeated.
"Take your hand off me,” she com
manded.
“What did you mean?” I repeated
sternly. "Don't be afraid to answer.”
She was very young—so the taunt
stung her. “I was about to tell you,”
said she, “when you began to make
it impossible.”
I took advantage of this to extri
cate myself from the awkward po
sition in which she had put me—I
took my hand from her shoulder.
"I am going to leave,” she an
nounced.
"You forgot that you are my wife,”
said J.
"I am not your wdfe," was her an
swer, and if she had not looked so
childlike, there in the moonlight all
in white, I could not have held myself
In check, so Insolent wras the tone and
so helpless of ever being able to win
her did she make me feel.
"You are my wife and you will stay
here with me,” I reiterated, my brain
on fire.
"1 am my own, and i shall go where
I please, and do what I please,” was
her contemptuous retort. “Why won't
you be reasonable? Why won't you
see how utterly unsuited we are? I
don't ask you to be a gentleman—but
just a man, and be ashamed even to
wish to detain a woman against her
will.”
I drew up a chair so close to her
that to retreat, she was forced to sit
in the broad window-seat. Then 1
seated myself. “By all means, let
us be reasonable,” said I. “Now, let
me explain iny position. I have heard
you and your friends discussing the
views of marriage you've just been
expressing. Their views may be
right, maybe more civilized, more
‘advanced’ than mine. N'o matter.
They are not mine. I hold by the
old standards—and you are my wife
—mine. Do you understand?” All
this as tranquilly as if we were dis
cussing fair weather. “And you will
live up to the obligation which the
marriage service has put upon you.”
She might have been a marble stat
ue pedestaled in that window seat.
"You married me of your own free
will—for you could have protested to
the preacher and he would have sus
tained you. You tacitly put certain con
ditions on our marriage. I assented to
them. I have respected them. 1
shall continue to respect them. But
—when you married me, you didn't
marry a dawdling dude chattering
‘advanced ideas’ with his head full
of libertinism. You married a man.
And that man is your husband.”
1 w'aited, but she made no comment
—not even by gesture or movement.
She simply sat, her hands interlaced
in her lap, her eyes straight upon
mine.
"You say let us be reasonable,” 1
went on. “Well, let us be reasonable.
There may come a time when woman
can be free and independent, but
that time is a long way off yet. The
world is organized on the baisis of
every woman's having a protector—
of every decent woman's having a
husband, unless she remains in the
home oi some of her blood-relations.
There may be women strong enough
to set the world at defiance. But you
are not one of them—and you know it.
^ ou have shown it to yourself again
and again in the last forty-eight hours.
Your bringing-up has kept you a child
in real knowledge of real life, as
distinguished from life in that fash
ionable hothouse. If you tried to as
sert your so-called independence, you
would be the easy prey of a scound
rel or scoundrels. When I, who have
lived in the thick of the fight all my
life, who have learned by many a sur«
prise and defeat never to sleep ex
cept. with the sword and gun in hand,
and one eye open—when I have been
trapped as Roebuck and Langdon
have just trapped me—what chance
would a woman like you have?”
She did not answer or change ex
pressioh.
“Is what 1 say reasonable or un
reasonable?” I asked gently.
“Reasonable — from your stand
point,” she said.
She gazed out into the moonlight,
up into the sky. And at the look in
her face, the primeval savage in me
strained to close round that slender
white throat of hers and crush and
crush until it had killed in her the
thought of that other man which was
transforming her from marble to flesh
that glowed and blood that surged. 1
pushed back my chair with a sudden
noise; by the way she trembled I
gaged how tense her nerves must be.
I rose and in a fairly calm tone, said;
“We understand each other?”
“Yes,” she answered. “As before.”
I ignored this. "Think it over, An
ita,” I urged—she seemed to me so
lige a sweet, spoiled child again. I
longed to go straight at her about
that other man. I stood for a moment
with Tom Langdon’s name on my lips,
but I could not truBt myself. I went
away to my own rooms.
I thrust thoughts of her from my
jnind. I spent the night gnawing upon
the ropes with which Mowbray Lang
don and Roebuck had bound me, hand
and foot. I now say they were ropes
of steel—-and it had long been broad
day before I found that weak strand
which is in every rope of human
make.
XXV.
THE WEAK STRAND. —
No sane creature, not even a sane
bulldog, will fight simply from love of
fighting. When a man is attacked,
he may be sure he has excited either
fear or cupidity, or both. As far as
I could see, it was absurd that cu
pidity was inciting Langdon and Roe
buck against me. I hadn’t enough to
tempt them. Thus, I was forced to
conclude that I must possess a
strength of which I was unaware, and
I which stirred even Roebuck's fears
But what could it be?
Besides Langdon and Roebuck and
! me there were six principals in the
i proposed Coal combine, three of them
richer and more influential in finance
than even Langdon, all of them ex
cept possibly Dykeman, the lawyer,
or navigating oflicer of the combine,
more formidable figures than I. Vet
none of these men was being assailed.
"Why am I singled out?” I asked
myself, and I felt that if I could an
swer, I should find I had the means
wholly or partly to defeat them But
— ...- . r . ■ .
THE PRIMEVAL SAVAGE IN ME STRAINED TO CLOSE ROUND
THAT SLENDER WHITE THROAT AND CRUSH AND CRUSH.
i couia not explain to my satisi action
| even Langdon’s activities against me.
! felt that Anita wad somehow, in part
at least, the cause; but, even so, how
had he succeeded in convincing Roe
buck that I must be clipped and
plucked into a groundling?
“It must have something to do with
the Manasquale mines,” I decided.
"I thought I had given over my con
trol of them, but somehow I must
still have a control that makes me
too powerful for Roebuck to be at
ease so long as I am afoot and armed.”
And I resolved to take my lawyers
and search the whole Manasquale
transaction—to explore it from attic
to underneath the cellar flooring.
“We'll go through it,” said I, “like
ferrets through a ship's hold.” As I
was finishing breakfast, Anita came
in. She had evidently slept well, and
I regarded that as ominous. At her
age, a crisis means little sleep until
a decision has been reached. I rose,
but her manner warned me not to
advance and try to shake hands with
her.
“I have asked Alva to stop with
me here for a few days,” she said
formally.
“Alva!" said I, much surprised.
She had not asked one of her own
friends; she had asked a girl she
had met less than two days before,
and that girl my partner’s daughter.
"She was here yesterday morning,”
Anita explained. And 1 now wondered
how7 much Alva there was in Anita's
firm stand against her parents.
“Why don't you take her down to
our place on Long Island?" said I,
most carefully concealing my delight
—for Alva near her meant a friend
of mine and an advocate and example
of real womanhood near her. ' Every
thing's ready for you there and I’m
going to be busy the next few days
—busy day and night.”
She reflected. “Very well,” she as
sented presently. And she gave me
a puzzled glance she thought I did not
se—as if she were wondering whether
th enemy was not hiding new and
deeper guile under an apparently
harmless suggestion.
“Then I'll not see you again for sev
eral days,” said I, most businesslike.
"If you want anything, there will be
Monson out at the stables where he
at peace for five years, and most con
siderate and polite about each other’s
“rights.” But while our country’s in
dustrial territory is vast, the interests
of the few great controllers who de
termine wages and prices for al! are
equally vast, and each plutocrat is
tormented incessantly by jealousy and
suspicion; not a day passes without
conflicts of interest that adroit di
plomacy couud turn into ferocious
warfare. And in this matter of mo
nopolizing the coal, despite Roebuck's
earnest assurances to Galloway that
the combine was purely defensive, and
was really concerned only with the
labor question, Galloway, h great man
ufacturer, or, rather, a huge levier
of the taxes of dividends and interest
upon manufacturing enterprises, could
not but be uneasy.
Before I rose that morning I had a
tentative plan for stirring him to ac
Had a Reason for His Request for
Information.
The steamer Morning Star, com
manded by Capt. Brown, in the sum
mer of 1904, while on a trip up the
Maine coast with a party of excursion
ists, was caught in a severe storm,
and the waves washed the decks re
peatedly. The captain assured the
passengers that there was no immedi
ate danger. Most of the passengers
were satisfied with this answer, but a
little gentleman with an excited face
stepped forward and asked the cap
tain, time and time again, the same
question: “Do you think we shall be
wrecked?”
After the captain answered many
times, he at la§t became tired at the
persistent passenger, and said: "Don’t
you hear what I say? Look at the oth
er passengers, they do not seem at all
disturbed. If there should be danger,
I will inform you in time.”
The passenger, in reply, said: “I
want to know in time, if we are going
to be lost, because there is a friend of
mine on board.”
“Do you want to say good-by to
him?” inquired the captain.
can’t annoy you. Or you can get me
on the ‘long distance.' Good-by. Good
luck.”
And I nodded carelessly and friend
lily to her, and went away, enjoying
the pleasure of having startled her
into visible astonishment. "There’s
a better game than icy hostility, you
very young, young lady,” said 1 to
myself, “and that game is friendly
indifference.”
Alva would be with her. So she
was secure for the present and my
mind was free for "finance.”
At that time the two most powerful
men in finance were Galloway and
Roebuck. In Spain I once saw a
fight between a bull and a tiger—or,
rather the beginning of a fight. They
were released into a huge iron cage.
After circling it several times in the
same direction, searching for a way
out, they came face to face. The bull
tossed the tiger; the tiger clawed the
bull. The bull roared; the tiger
screamed. Each retreated to his own
side of the cage. The bull pawed and
snorted as if he could hardly wait
to get at the tiger; the tiger crouched
and quivered and glared murderously,
as if he were going instantly to spring
upon the bull. But the bull did not
rush, neither did the tiger spring.
That was the Roebuck-Galloway sit
uation.
How to bait Tiger Galloway to at
tack Bull Roebuck—that was the prob
lem I must solve, and solve straight
way. If I could bring about war be
tween the giants, spreading confusion
over the whole field of finance and
filling all men with dread and fear,
there was a chance, that in the con
fusion I might bear off part of my
fortune. Certainly, conditions would
result in which I could more easily
get myself intrenched again; then, too,
there would be a by no means small
satisfaction in seeing Roebuck clawed
and bitten in punishment for having
plotted against me.
Mutual fear had kept these two
tion. I was elaborating it on the way
down town in my electric. It shows
how badly Anita was crippling my
brain, that not until I was almost at
my office did it occur to me: ‘‘That
was a tremendous luxury Roebuck in
dulged his conscience in last night.
It isn't like him to forewarn a man,
even when lie’s sure he can’t escape.
Though his prayers were hot in his
mouth, still, it’s strange he didn’t try
to fool me. In fact, it’s suspicious.
In fact—”
Suspicious? The instant the idea
was fairly before my mind, I knew
I had let his canting fool me once
more. I entered my offices, feeling
that the blow had already fallen; and
I was surprised, but not relieved,
when I found everything calm. ‘‘But
fall it will within an hour or so—be
fore I can move to avert it,” said I
to myself. i
And fall it did. At eleven o’clock,
just as I was setting out to make my
first move toward heating old Gallo
way’s heels for the war-path, Joe came
in with the news: “A general lock
out’s declared in the coal regions. The
operators have stolen a march on the
men who, so they allege, were secret
ly getting ready to strike. By night
every coal road will be tied up and
every mine shut down.”
Joe knew our coal interests were
heavy, but he did not dream his news
meant that before the day was over
we would be bankrupt and not able
to pay fifteen cents on the dollar.
However, he knew enough to throw
him into a fever of fright. He watched
my calmness with terror. ‘‘Coal stocks
are dropping like a thermometer in
a cold wave,” he said, like a fireman
at a sleeper in a burning house.
“Naturally.” said I, unruffled, appar
ently. “What can we do about it?”
“We must do something!” he ex
claimed.
“Yes, we must,” I admitted. “For
instance, we must keep cool, espe
cially when two or three dozen peo
ple are watching us. Also, you
must attend to your usual routine.”
“What are you going to do?” he
cried. “For God's sake, Matt, don’t
keep me in suspense!”
“Go to your desk," I commanded.
And he quieted down and went. I
hadn’t been schooling him in the tire
drill for fifteen years in vain.
I went up the street and into the
great banking and brokerage house of
Galloway and Company. 1 made my
way through the small army of guards,
behind which the old beast of prey
was intrenched, and into his private
den. There he sat, at a small, plain
table, in the middle of the room with
out any article of furniture in it but
his table and his chair. On the table
was a small inkstand, perfectly clean,
a steel pen equally clean, on the rest
attached to it. And that was all—
not a letter, not a scrap of paper, not
a sign of work or of intention to
work. It might have been the desk
of a man who did nothing; in fact,
it was the desk of a man who had so
much to do that his only nope of es
cape from being overwhelmed was
to despatch and clear away each mat
ter the instant it was presented to
him. Many things could be read from
the powerful form, bolt upright in that
stiff chair, and from the cynical, mas
terful old face. But to me the chief
quality there revealed was that qual
ity of qualities, decision—the great
est power a mau can have, except
only courage. And old .Tames Gallo
way had both.
He pierced me with his blue eyes,
keen as a youth's, though his face was
seamed with scars of seventy tumul
tuous years. He extended toward me
over the table his broad, stubby white
hand—the hand of a builder, of a con
structive genius. “How are you,
Blacklock?” said he. “What can I
do for you?” He just touched my
hand before dropping it, and resumed
that idol-like pose. But although
there was only repose and delibera
tion in his manner, and not a sugges
tion of haste, I, like every one who
came into that room and that pres
ence, had a sense of an interminable
procession behind me, a procession
of men who must be seen by this
master-mover that they might submit
important and pressing affairs to him
for decision. It was unnecessary for
him to tell any one to be brief and
pointed.
“I shall have to go to the wall to
day," said I, taking a paper from my
pocket, "unless you save me. Here
is a statement of my assets and lia
bilities. I call to your attention my
Coal holdings. I was one of the
eight men whom Roebuck got round
him for the new combine—it is a se
cret, but I assume you know all about
it.”
He laid the paper before him, put
on his noseglasses and looked at it.
(To be Continued.)
Zebra Would Be Useful.
Of all wild animals the zebra would
be most useful to man If domesti
cated. It is not liable to horse fever
or tsetse fly.
Why He Wanted to Know
“No, not exactly that,” answered the
frightened man. “You see, the thing
of it is, he has shamefully deceived
me, and if we are going to the bottom
I just want to tell him what I think of
him.”
To Cure Neuralgia.
Here is a simple method of curing
facial neuralgia: If the neuralgia is in
the right side of the face the left
hand should be placed in a basin of
water as hot as can be borne. Or if
neuralgia is in the left side of the
face then the right hand should be
placed in the hot water. It is assert
ed that in this way relief may be ob
tained in less than five minutes.—In
dian Review.
Memorial to Irish Novelist.
A centenary memorial In honor of
Charles Lever, the Irish novelist, will
be In the form of a chancel to be
erected at Ardmurcher church, Moate.
County Westmeath, of which Rev.
John Lever, the author’s brother, was
the rector from 1844 till his death
there In 1864. Charles Lever paid long
visits there, worshiped In the church
and found material for some of his
books in the vicinity.
FEUD IS RESULT
OF A REFUSAL
TO KISS BABY
Whole Section in Trouble Because
of Unappreciative Man
with Grouch.
COMMUNITY TAKES SIDES
Bill Dunham Open in His Declaration
That Ollie Kebler Shall Yet Beg for
Privilege He Scornfully Refused—
Kebler Had Loved Pretty Little
One’s Mother, and There Is the Root
of the Whole Trouble—Fight So Far
Has Been Interesting, with Further
Developments Expected.
Cynthiana, O.—Four hundred and
Bixty-tliree persons have kissed little
Miss Margaret Dunham, aged four
months and three days. The tally in
cludes Dave Downing, who travels for
McKeehan, Heistand & Company's
grocery, and the five candidates for
office in Pike county, Ohio, who vis
*ted during the recent campaign,
which are about all the visitors the
little hamlet, set down in the beauti
ful Brush creek hills, has had recent
: ly, or at least as recently as the com
ing of Miss Dunham into the world
that has welcomed her with kisses.
But despite the fact that she has been
kissed by more persons than any girl
in Pike county (and most of them are
kissable), the fact that Ollie Kibler
has not kissed her has started trouble,
divided the town into two factions and
almost caused a feud between the
Dunhams and the Kibler family.
Everybody in Cynthiana, over the
age of five months excepting Kibler,
has kissed Miss Dunham; Kibler alone
has refused to fall in love with her.
How Kibler can refuse to kiss her no
one else in town can understand, for
she is the prettiest, plumpest, sweet
est baby ever born. That is what her
mother says, and besides that 463 per
sons, including Dave Downing, who
aught to be unprejudiced, being a
bachelor, have said the same thing,
j She is so soft and satiny, and so pink
and white, and her blue eyes open
with such amazed and delighted
stares, and her. dimples evolve such
unexpected and wonderful smiles, and
her soft, little rosebud hands flut
ter so confidingly into even the horny
hands of the loggers, that any per
son, it seems, who has any human
blood in his veins wants to grab her
1 right into his arms and just squeeze
her and kiss her—and then look
ashamed and say "I always liked ba
bies,” and sneak away and wish he
had one just like it.
Where Ollie Kibler Lost Out.
That is the way little Miss Dunham
has affected everybody—except Ollie
Kibler. He has not kissed her and
will not kiss her.
Therefore, there rs trouble.
it appears, from the facts that are
ascertainable, that Miss Margaret
Shannon, who was better known as
Madge, was the belle of the entire dis
trict around Cynthiana by the time
she was 18 years old. Not only that,
but the young men from Bainbridge
drove down to call on her, and once
it was rumored that she was engaged
to a wealthy young man up at Wav
erly, the county seat. Everybody
knew that Fred Cravens, from Sink
ing Springs, was wildly in love with
her. Almost all the town boys were
and especially Ollie Kibler, who owns
a big farm over Cameron's mountain,
besides his house in Cynthiana.
Then Bill Dunham, big, hearty, good
natured, and with a laugh that could
be heard over half the town fell a
victim to the prettiness of Margaret
Shannon—and that settled it. They
were married and Ollie Kibler became
a sort of woman hater. People with
college educations would have called
him misanthropic, but Cynthiana sim
ply referred to it as grouch, except
Uncle Billy Newell, who said Ollie
was peevish.
At any rate, Ollie ceased to be the
Beau Brummel of Cynthiana and set
tled down to business and was as hard
as flint, and, as Uncle Billy Newell
vowed, “as closs as his paw was. and
14 shoemakers couldn’t have got a
bristle between his fingers and a dol
lar.”
Story About the Baby.
All those things happened years
ago, possibly ten. Bill Dunham got
along pretty well in the lumber busi
ness, running a sawmill over Newell
Mills way, and hauling to Bainbridge,
and his wife was just as pretty as
when she tvas a girl, although in a
different sort of way. They were hap
py. but until a few months ago their
happiness was incomplete.
Bill Dunham’s friends said he hadn’t
an enemy on earth. He was one of
the most popular men in Pike county
and a lot of the Republicans up at
Cynthiana wanted Bill to run for coun
ty supervisor and try to wrest the con
trol of old Pike county from the Dem
ocrats, but Bill said he didn’t care
for politics and refused to run, al
though he let them make him an al
ternate to the state convention, which
was quite an honor. He took his wife
with him to Columbus and tLey visit
ed the penitentiary and the blind asy
lum and—but that is another story.
This story is about the baby.
When the baby arrived everybody
said It would be a pretty baby, for
its father was big and handsome and
its mother so pretty. Grandma Shan
non said it took after the Shannons
and Grandpa Dunham vowed it fav
ored the Dunhams, but almost every
body said it resembled both. Its eyes
were blue like its father's and the
upper part of its face was his—one
could see that by putting a hand over
the mouth. But its nose and mouth
were just like its mother’s, only pret
tier, she said, although, of course,
Bill denied that.
Anyhow, it was the prettiest baby
that ever came to Cynthiana. Every
body conceded that, but no one sus
pected that it was going to cause
so much trouble.
• The First Great Event.
When it—or she rather (her mother
gets mad when anybody calls her
"it”)—was just one month old they
took her to the Campbellite church
and christened her Margaret, after her
mother and her mother’s Aunt Mag,
who sent the little turquoise ring and
the knit jacket for the baby.
Dunham was so hurt she almost cried.
She went straight home and at supper
she told her husband and Bill w"is hot
under the collar. Of course, he didn't
care whether Ollie Kibler ever kissed
his baby or not. In fact, he'd rathei
he wouldn't, but that didn't make it
any better.
Swore Kibler Should Be Sorry.
And then and there Bill swore that
Ollie would kiss the baby or be sorry
for it. He went right up to the store
and told Ollie what he thought of him
before all the men and repeated his
vow that Oilie would be begging for a
chance to kiss the baby before he got
through with him. Ollie was just as
mad as Bill was and swore he would
n't kiss anybody's squawking, colicky
brat. The idea of saying that when
Margaret never had colic but once
and that was when Lizzie Muntz gave
her a lump of sugar.
Bill and Ollie came near fighting
and would have fought if Mr. Wick
ersharn hadn’t told them to dry up or
else go out in the street and fight it
out.
The trouble grew serious at once.
Half the people in town declared that
Ollie ought to be tarred and feath
ered. A few said that the Dunhams
oughtn’t to be so touchy. The rest
just, kept quiet.
A few days later Bill came out as a
candidate for township trustee on the
Republican ticket, just to beat Ollie,
who was a Democrat. He only had
three weeks to campaign in, but he
swept the township and it went Re.
The real trouble didn't start until
Margaret was over two months old.
Her mamma had her out riding in her
new go-cart (the one with the front
that lets down, and the blue silk para
sol, with a robe to match, all covered
with blue ribbon) when, right in front
of Wickersham’s store, they met Ollie
Kibler. He was standing there talk
ing to Nate Giddiugs, from over at
Paint.
Kibler Refused Precious Boon.
Nate never had seen the baby, so,
of course, he spoke to it, and began
playing with it, and when it cooed
and laughed and wrinkled up its dim
pled little face he didn’t do a thing
but stoop down and kiss her. Nate
is a family man himself and has three
or four kids at home and likes them.
Hut Ollie never moved. He just stood
there and looked disgusted and Nate
and Mrs. Dunham talked baby end she
asked how Mrs. Giddings was. Then
Nate, not meaning to make any trou
ble, laughed and said, “Ollie, come and
kiss the baby. Ye ain't afraid, are
ye?” Ollie said something about not
making a fool of himself over any
slobbery brat and walked away.
Nate said afterwards he was so mad
he could have kicked Ollie, and Mrs.
publican for the first time in years.
Bill didn't boast much. He simply
repeated his assertion that Oilie would
beg to kiss the baby before he got
through with him. Then he went up
to Bainbridge on business and caught
the train for Waverly, and what did
he do but buy a tax claim on a piece
of land that belonged to Kibler. Ollle
had neglected to pay the taxes and it
was advertised among the delin
quents, so Bill bought it, just to spite
Oilie and make him spend money.
People began to say that Bill Dunham
could be just as bad an enemy as he
was a good friend, but they didn't
know him until he had two of Ollie’s
stray cows that were feeding along
the roadside taken to the pound.
When Oilie had to pay one dollar each
fine he was so mad he threatened to
lick Bill.
That’s the way the feud stands now.
Bill still vows that Ollle must kiss
his baby and ask his wife's permission
to do it. But Oilie swears he’ll law
Bill out of Pike county before he'll
do it.
As for little Miss Dunham, she is
growing prettier each day and from
j present signs about the time she gets
i to be 17 Oilie or any other human
1 being will beg for the chance.
RICH MINES LOST
TO HUMAN GREED
Forgotten Drifts, Known to Be Valua
ble, That Keep the Gold Seeker
Constantly on Edge—Locality of
Famous Talopa Mine a Secret Hid
den in the Breast of Uncommuni
cative Indians.
_
:
Among the rich mines worked by
the Spaniards was the Tarasca in So-’
nora, of which Humboldt writes so
fascinatingly and Ward and other his
torians mention favorably. The history
I of Tarasca is one of evil deeds, of du
plicity, of theft, of greed and all the
base passions incited by the love of
gold, says Modern Mexico. The mine
was worked long before the Spaniards
arrived in Mexico and the gold and
silver fashioned into ornaments by the
aborigines. A family in Guaymas has
a necklace of flying fish bought from
a Pima Indian chief, who stated that
: the metal was dug from Tarasca. The
mine was worked by various Span
iards and later acquired for the crown
of Spain. It was extensively worked,
barring certain periods during Apache
wars, until the epoch of the French
intervention, when the shafts and
tunnels are said to have been con
cealed by the administrator, Don Juan
Moreno, an imperialist, who was
forced to seek safety in flight. After
the restoration of peace Tarasca was
looked for in vain, and to the present
time no one is certain of its location,
though the mine now known as Ubar
bo had been extensively worked when
rediscovered years ago, and the shafts
and tunnels concealed under earth
and brush.
But the mine about which tradition
gathers thickest is Talopa, supposed
to be located in the Shahuaripa dis
trict in Sonora. Little documentary
evidence exists to prove Talopa’s real
ity, and that has evidently been manu
factured by unscrupulous manipulat
ors. A wealthy Mexican recently made
a trip to Madrid, and after minute
search at great expense found abso
lutely no data to prove that such a
mine was worked for the crowrn of
Spain and no reliable data in the Mex
ican archives or elsewhere to prove
that such a mine was ever known. But
quite as’trustworthy as most w'ritten
documents are the traditions gathered
from the Pima Indians.
They stoutly maintain that Talopa
exists and a few claim to know its lo
cality. Small quantities of very rich
ore are occasionally sold at the moun
tain mining camps and all attempts to
follow the Indians to the spot where
it is found or bribe them to reveal it
have failed. Wanting but little in ad
dition te the corn they grow, they are
imbued with a superstition that if they
reveal the locality of a mine they will
instantly drop dead. To one unac
quainted with the Indian character
this statement may seem incredible,
but any prospector or miner in the
Sierra Madre will affirm its truth.
Large sums of money have been of
fered the Pimas to tell where the lost
mine is. They scorn money and the
only open sesame is mescal, by the
liberal use of which the Indian may
be made to disclose many things, but
so far he has held inviolate his vow to
reveal to no man the famous Talopa.
