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[Illustration: "I'll hit any trail with you--barring Mexican politics."
[Page 19]]




THE TREASURE TRAIL

A ROMANCE OF THE LAND OF GOLD AND SUNSHINE

By

MARAH ELLIS RYAN

Illustrated by Robert Amick

Publishers Chicago

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918




Copyright

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918

Published November, 1918

Copyrighted in Great Britain




To Kalatoka of the brown tent




CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                                                          PAGE
       I KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL                           1
      II THE RED GOLD LEGEND                                        15
     III A VERIFIED PROPHECY OF SENORITA BILLIE                     54
      IV IN THE ADOBE OF PEDRO VIJIL                                66
       V AN "ADIOS"--AND AFTER                                      73
      VI A DEAD MAN UNDER THE COTTONWOODS                           90
     VII IN THE PROVINCE OF ALTAR                                  107
    VIII THE SLAVE TRAIL                                           124
      IX A MEETING AT YAQUI WELL                                   133
       X A MEXICAN EAGLET                                          144
      XI GLOOM OF BILLIE                                           161
     XII COVERING THE TRAIL                                        167
    XIII A WOMAN OF EMERALD EYES                                   186
     XIV THE HAWK OF THE SIERRAS                                   217
      XV THE "JUDAS" PRAYER AT MESA BLANCA                         230
     XVI THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL                              256
    XVII THE STORY OF DONA JOCASTA                                 288
   XVIII RAMON ROTIL DECIDES                                       300
     XIX THE RETURN OF TULA                                        328
      XX EAGLE AND SERPENT                                         346
     XXI EACH TO HIS OWN                                           360




ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                                  PAGE
 "I'll hit any trail with you--barring Mexican
     politics."                                         _Frontispiece_
 "You poor kid, you have a hard time with the
     disreputables you pick up."                                    76
 "No, Ramon! No!" she cried, and flung herself between
     him and his victims.                                          280
 The Indian girl was steadily gaining on the German.               356




THE TREASURE TRAIL

CHAPTER I

KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL


In the shade of Pedro Vijil's little brown adobe on the Granados
rancho, a horseman squatted to repair a broken cinch with strips of
rawhide, while his horse--a strong dappled roan with a smutty
face--stood near, the rawhide bridle over his head and the quirt
trailing the ground.

The horseman's frame of mind was evidently not of the sweetest, for to
Vijil he had expressed himself in forcible Mexican--which is supposed
to be Spanish and often isn't--condemning the luck by which the cinch
had gone bad at the wrong time, and as he tinkered he sang softly an
old southern ditty:

                    _Oh--oh! I'm a good old rebel,
                      Now that's just what I am!
                    For I won't be reconstructed
                      And I don't care a damn!_

He varied this musical gem occasionally by whistling the air as he
punched holes and wove the rawhide thongs in and out through the
spliced leather.

Once he halted in the midst of a strain and lifted his head,
listening. Something like an echo of his own notes sounded very close,
a mere shadow of a whistle.

Directly over his head was a window, unglazed and wooden barred. A fat
brown olla, dripping moisture, almost filled the deep window sill, but
the interior was all in shadow. Its one door was closed. The Vijil
family was scattered around in the open, most of them under the
_ramada_, and after a frowning moment of mystification the young
fellow resumed his task, but in silence.

Then, after a still minute, more than the whisper of a whistle came to
him--the subdued sweet call of a meadow lark. It was so sweet it might
have been mate to any he had heard on the range that morning.

Only an instant he hesitated, then with equal care he gave the
duplicate call, and held his breath to listen--not a sound came back.

"We've gone loco, Pardner," he observed to the smutty-faced roan
moving near him. "That jolt from the bay outlaw this morning has
jingled my brain pans--we don't hear birds call us--we only think