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[Illustration: SHE GLIDED AND WHIRLED IN THE MOONLIGHT, GRACEFUL AS A
WIND-BLOWN ROSE. _PAGE 284_]




                         WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

                                  BY

                             RITTER BROWN
                     AUTHOR OF "MAN'S BIRTHRIGHT"

                             ILLUSTRATED BY
                              W. M. BERGER

                                New York
                        Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.




                            Copyright, 1912
                      By Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.




                                   TO
                                 MY SON




ILLUSTRATIONS

    "She glided and whirled in the moonlight, graceful
        as a wind-blown rose"                     _Frontispiece_
                                                         FACING
                                                           PAGE
    "The picture which she presented was one he carried
        with him for many a day"                            130

    "Instinctively he raised the casket with both hands"    272

    "'Madre! Madre _mia_!' she cried and flung herself
        into Chiquita's arms"                               292

    "They were startled by a low moan and saw Blanch
        sink slowly to the bench"                           330




    There is a tradition extant among the Indians of the Southwest,
    extending from Arizona to the Isthmus of Panama, to the effect
    that, Montezuma will one day return on the back of an eagle,
    wearing a golden crown, and rule the land once more; typifying
    the return of the Messiah and the rebirth and renewal of the race.




WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE




I


The beauty of midsummer lay upon the land--the mountains and plains of
Chihuahua. It was August, the month of melons and ripening corn. High
aloft in the pale blue vault of heaven, a solitary eagle soared in ever
widening circles in its flight toward the sun. Far out upon the plains
the lone wolf skulked among the sage and cactus in search of the rabbit
and antelope, or lay panting in the scanty shade of the yucca.

By most persons this little known land of the great Southwest is
regarded as the one which God forgot. But to those who are familiar with
its vast expanse of plain and horizon, its rugged sierras, its wild
desolate _mesas_ and solitary peaks of half-decayed mountains--its tawny
stretches of desert marked with the occasional skeletons of animal and
human remains--its golden wealth of sunshine and opalescent skies, and
have felt the brooding death-like silence which seems to hold as in a
spell all things living as well as dead, this land becomes one of
mystery and enchantment--a mute witness of some unknown or forgotten
past when the children of men were young, whose secrets it still
withholds, and with whose dust is mingled not only that of unnumbered
and unknown generations of men, but that of Montezuma and the hardy
daring _Conquistadores_ of old Spain.

But whatever may be the general consensus of opinion concerning this
land, such at least was the light in which it was viewed by Captain
Forest, as he and his Indian attendant, Jose, drew rein on the rim of a
broken, wind-swept _mesa_ in the heart of the Chihuahuan desert, a full
day's ride from Santa Fe whither they were bound, to witness the
_Fiesta_, the Feast of the Corn, which was celebrated annually at this
season.

The point where they halted commanded a sweeping view of the surrounding
country. Just opposite, some five leagues distant, on the farther side
of the valley which lay below them, towered the sharp ragged crest of
the Mexican Sierras; their sides and foothills clothed in a thin growth
of chaparral, pine and juniper and other low-growing bushes. Deep,
rugged _arroyos_, the work of the rain and mountain torrents, cut and
scarred the foothills which descended in precipitous <DW72>s to the
valley and plains below. Solitary giant cactus dotted the landscape,
adding to the general desolation of the scene, relieved only by the
glitter of the silvery sage, white poppy and yucca, and yellow and
scarlet cactus bloom which glistened in the slanting rays of the
afternoon sun and the intense radiation of heat in which was mirrored
the distant mirage; transforming the desert into wonderful lakes of
limpid waters that faded in turn on the ever receding horizon.

Below them numerous Indian encampments of some half-wild hill tribe
straggled along the banks of the almost dry stream which wound through
the valley until lost in the thirsty sands of the desert beyond.

"'Tis the very spot, _Capitan_--the place of the skull!" ejaculated
Jose, the first to break the silence. "See--yonder it lies just as we
left it!" and he pointed toward the foot of the _mesa_ where a spring
trickled from the rock, a short distance from which lay a human skull
bleached white by long exposure to the sun.

Instinctively the Captain's thoughts reverted to the incidents of the
previous year when he lay in the desert sick unto death with fever and
his horse, Starlight, had stood over his prostrate body and fought the
wolves and vultures for a whole day and night until Jose returned with
help from the Indian _pueblo_, La Guna. Involuntarily his hand slipped
caressingly to the animal's neck, a chestnut with four white feet and a
white mane and tail that swept the ground and a forelock that hung to
his nostrils, concealing the star on his forehead; a magnificent animal,
lithe and graceful as a lady's silken scarf, untiring and enduring as a
Damascus blade. A horse that comes but once during twenty generations of
Spanish-Arabian stock, and then is rare, and which, through some trick
of nature or reversion, blossoms forth in all the beauty of an original
type, taking upon himself the color and markings of some shy, wild-eyed
dam, the pride of the Bedouin tribe and is known as the "Pearl of the
Desert." The type of horse that bore Alexander and Jenghis Khan and the
Prophet's War Chieftains to victory. As a colt he had escaped the
_rodeo_. No mark of the branding-irons scarred his shoulder or thin
transparent flanks. Again the Captain's thoughts traveled backward and
he beheld a band of wild horses driven past him in review by a troup of
Mexican _vaqueros_, and the beautiful chestnut stallion emerge from the
cloud of dust on their rim and tossing his great white mane in the
breeze, neigh loudly and defiantly as he swept by lithe and supple of
limb.

"Bring me that horse!" he had cried.

"That horse? _Jose y Maria, Capitan!_ He cannot be broken. Besides, it
will take ten men to tie him."

"Then let ten men tie him!" he had replied, flinging a handful of golden
eagles among them.

Many attempts had been made to steal the Arab since he had come into the
Captain's possession. It was a dangerous undertaking, for the horse had
the naive habit of relegating man to his proper place, either by
ignoring his presence, or by quietly kicking him into eternity with the
same indifference that he would switch a fly with his tail. Jose might
feed and groom and saddle him, but not mount him. To one only would he
submit; to him to whom a common destiny had linked him--his master.

"_Sangre de Dios, Capitan!_" began Jose again, breaking in upon the
latter's musings. "Is it not better that we rest yonder by the spring
than sit here in this infernal sun, gazing at nothing? 'Tis hot as the
breath of hell where the Padres tell us all heretics will go after
death!" The grim expression of the Captain's face relaxed for a moment
and he turned toward him with a laugh.

"Aye, who knows," he replied, "we too, may go there some day," and
dismounting, he began to loosen his saddle girths.

"The gods forbid!" answered Jose, making the sign of the cross, as if to
ward off the influence of some evil spell. "I do not understand you
_Americanos_," he continued, also dismounting and untying a small pack
at the back of his saddle. "You are strange--you are ever gay when you
should be sober. You laugh at the gods and the saints and frown at the
_corridos_, and yet toss alms to the most worthless beggar."

The foregoing conversation was carried on in Spanish. Although Jose had
acquired a liberal smattering of English during his service with the
Captain, he nevertheless detested it; obstinately adhering to Spanish
which, though only his mother-tongue by adoption, was in his estimation
at least a language for _Caballeros_.

The two men were superb specimens of their respective races. Their
rugged appearance, height and breadth of shoulder would have attracted
attention anywhere. The Captain wore a gray felt hat and a rough gray
suit of tweed--his trousers tucked in his long riding boots. Jose was
clad in the typical _vaquero's_ costume--buff leggins and jacket of
goat-skin, slashed and ornamented with silver threads and buttons, and a
red worsted sash about his middle in which he carried a knife and
pistol. From beneath the broad brim of his _sombrero_ peeped the knot of
the yellow silken kerchief which he wore bound about his head and under
which lay coiled his long black hair.

Captain Forest was unusually tall and stalwart, deep chested and robust
in appearance, with not a superfluous ounce of flesh on his body,
hardened by the rigors of long months of camp-life. His head was large
and shapely, well poised and carried high on a full neck that sprang
from the great breadth of his shoulders. His face, smooth and sensitive,
and large and regular in feature with high cheek-bones and slightly
hollowed cheeks, was bronzed by long exposure to the sun and weather,
adding to the ruggedness of his appearance. The high arching forehead,
acquiline nose and firm set mouth and chin denoted alertness, action and
decision, while from his eyes, large and dark and piercing, shone that
strange light so characteristic of the dreamer and genius. And yet, in
spite of this alertness of mind and body and general appearance of
strength and power which his presence inspired, there lurked about him
an air of repose indicative of confidence in self and the full knowledge
of his powers. Sensitive to a degree, keen and alive at all times, the
strength of his personality, suggestive of his mastery over men,
impressed the most unobservant. Yet owing to his poise and self-control
those about him did not realize wholly his power until such moments when
justice was violated. Then the latent force within him asserted itself
and he became as inexorable as a law of nature in his demands. An
intense spirit of democracy oddly combined with fastidiousness made an
unusual and attractive personality in which the mundane and the
spiritual were strangely blended. Outwardly he was a man of the world,
yet inwardly he had advanced so far into the domain of sheer
spirituality he scarcely realized that others groped their way among the
most obvious material modes of expression.

Having removed their saddles and turned their horses loose to find what
scant cropping the desert afforded, the two sought the shelter of the
narrow strip of shade beside the spring at the foot of the _mesa_. Here
they would rest until the heat of the day had passed, resuming their
journey that evening. Jose unwound his _zerape_ from his shoulders and
spreading it on the ground between them, deposited two tin cups and a
package of sandwiches upon it which, with the addition of a flask of
_aguardiente_ which the Captain drew from his pocket, formed their meal.

Two years previous the Captain had rescued his companion from a street
mob in Hermosillo, the result of a feud that had broken out between her
citizens and the Yaqui Indians; Jose having been mistaken for one of the
latter. With his back against a wall and the blood streaming from his
wounds, he was making a desperate stand. Three citizens who had run upon
his knife, lay squirming at his feet; but the odds were too great. In
another moment all would have been over with him had it not been for the
Captain who chanced upon him in the nick of time. Snatching a club from
one of his assailants and accompanying each blow with a volley of
Spanish oaths, he rushed through the mob, scattering it in all
directions. Whether it was the oaths or the Captain's exhibition of his
fighting qualities that impressed Jose most it is difficult to say. Be
that as it may, from that hour he belonged to Captain Forest body and
soul. He was the grand senor, the _Hidalgo_, in comparison to whom
other men were as nothing.

The meal over, Jose with head and shoulders on one end of the _zerape_,
stretched himself at full length upon the ground and, as was his wont,
fell asleep almost immediately. Captain Forest swallowed a last draught
of liquor. Then leisurely rolling a cigarette he lit it, and with back
against the cliff and gaze fixed abstractedly on the mountains opposite,
smoked in silence.




II


Jack Forest's life was rich and full to overflowing with the things of
this world which are generally considered to make for happiness and
culture. Into the measure of his life, the comparatively short span of
thirty-five years, had been crowded a wealth of incident and experience
that seldom falls to the lot of the most fortunate men in this
commercialized era whose tendency is to pull nations like individuals
down to a common level of mediocrity, and seems bent upon extinguishing
even their few remaining national traits and characteristics.

Born in Washington and a graduate of Harvard, he had traveled to the
four corners of the earth, and hunted big game from the arctic circle to
the equator. During a winter's sojourn in Egypt he made the acquaintance
of Lord X----, then Consul-General of Egypt, upon whose advice he
entered the diplomatic service of his country. Five years were
subsequently spent as first Secretary of the American legations in
London and St. Petersburg. The enthusiasm with which he threw himself
into the work and the natural executive ability which he displayed soon
marked him as a coming man in diplomatic circles. But the speculations
of his friends concerning his future career were destined to be rudely
shattered by one of those inexplicable tricks of fate which, in the
twinkling of an eye, so often change the lives of individuals.

The spirit of adventure which had lain dormant within him ever since his
decision to adopt diplomacy as a profession was suddenly awakened by the
outbreak of hostilities between Spain and the United States. Through the
influence of his father, General Forest, a Civil War veteran, and that
of his uncle, Colonel Van Ashton, retired, he received the appointment
of Second Lieutenant of Volunteers and shipped with his regiment for
Cuba. He was wounded at the battle of Santiago, though not seriously. At
the close of the campaign in the West Indies his regiment was ordered to
the Philippines, where, at the end of a year, he was promoted to a
captaincy in the regular army. At this juncture in his career the sudden
death of his father necessitated his return to America on leave of
absence.

The estate to which he and his mother fell heirs was an unusually large
one, the administration of which demanded his immediate and entire
attention if they wished to keep their holdings intact. But as this was
clearly incompatible to the life of a soldier, he was forced to resign
from the army. He took this step without great reluctance, for brief
though his career as a soldier had been, it was a brilliant and
satisfactory one. It was not for the glory of the profession that he had
entered the army, but purely in the spirit of the patriot; and he had
fought his battles and returned with newly won laurels and a fund of
interesting experiences. Besides, campaigning in the Philippines had
convinced him that diplomacy, though perhaps not always so exciting,
was preferable to a life whose daily routine was enlivened only by
target practice, dress-parades and the occasional diversion of chasing
naked men about in the bush.

As soon as the estate was settled it was his intention to reenter the
diplomatic service for which he knew himself to be better fitted than
before his two years experience in the army.

The bulk of the fortune consisted of mines in Mexico, whither he was
called to superintend his interests. At the end of a year, however, he
received word from his uncle informing him that the Ministry to Greece
would be open to him if he chose to accept it. Jubilant over the
prospect of reentering the world of Diplomacy so soon, he immediately
telegraphed his acceptance, and the following day addressed a letter to
the girl he had known from his youth, Blanch Lennox, whose character,
personal charm and ambition marked her as the one to share the future
with him. There was as little doubt in his mind that she would accept
him, as there was in hers that he would make the proposal; and when a
week later, he received a telegram confirming his conjecture, the answer
came as a matter of course.

The business at the mines was settled, but Mexico and her people were a
new experience. Its vast expanse of plains, virgin forests and wild
sierras lured him on; and in the company of a friend whose acquaintance
he had made at the mines, he passed the remaining time left at his
disposal traveling in the interior of the country, gathering data and
visiting the wild tribes who, though of the same blood, were in
characteristics a distinct people from the slavish _peon_ classes. A
people that have never actually submitted to the rule of the White man,
and have held tenaciously to the ancient beliefs and customs of their
forefathers.

He was impressed by the fact that, although living entirely independent
of the outside world, they were nevertheless self-supporting and in
certain instances