Title: The Treasure of Hidden Valley
Author: Emerson, Willis George
Language: English
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THE TREASURE OF HIDDEN VALLEY

By Willis George Emerson

Chicago: Forbes & Company

1915



               Sons of the rugged, rock-ribbed hills,

                   Far from the gaudy show

               Of Fashion's world-its shams and frills

                   Brothers of rain and snow:

               Kith of the crags and the forest pines,

                   Kin of the herd and flock;

               Wise in the lore of Nature signs

                   Writ in the grass and rock.


               Beings of lithe and lusty limb,

                   Breathing the broad, new life,

               Chanting the forest's primal hymn

                   Free from the world's crude strife.

               Your witching lure my being thrills,

                   O rugged sons! O rugged hills!



[Illustration: 0002]


[Illustration: 0010]



DEDICATED

TO

THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER

REVEREND STEPHEN LAFAYETTE EMERSON

(The Flockmaster of this story)



THE TREASURE OF HIDDEN VALLEY



CHAPTER I--AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS


IT was a dear, crisp October morning. There was a shrill whistle of a
locomotive, and then a westbound passenger train dashed into the depot
of an Iowa town. A young man descended the car steps with an armful of
luggage. He deposited his parcels on the platform, and half expectantly
looked about him.

Just then there was a "honk! honk!" from a huge automobile as it came to
a palpitating halt, and a familiar voice called out: "Hello, Roderick,
old man!" And a moment later Roderick Warfield was shaking hands with
his boon friend of former college days, Whitley Adams. Both were in
their early twenties, stalwart, well set up, clean-cut young fellows.

Whitley's face was all aglow in the happiness of reunion. But Roderick,
after the first cordial greeting, wore a graver look. He listened
quietly while his comrade rambled on.

"Mighty glad to receive your wire last night at the club. But what
brings you home so unexpectedly? We've been hearing all sorts of glowing
stories--about your being in the thick of affairs in little old New York
and rolling in the shekels to beat the band."

"Fairy tales," was the laconic reply, accompanied by a look that was
compounded of a sigh and a wistful smile.

"How's that?" asked young Adams, glancing up into the other's face
and for the first time noticing its serious expression. "Don't tell
me you've struck a financial snag thus early in your Stock Exchange
career."

"Several financial snags--and struck 'em pretty badly too, I'm afraid."

"Whew!" exclaimed Adams.

"Oh, I'm not down and out," laughed Roderick, half amused at the look of
utter discomfiture on his companion's countenance. "Not by a long chalk!
I'm in on several good deals, and six months from date will be standing
on velvet. That is to say," he added, somewhat dubiously, "if Uncle
Allen opens up his money bags to tide me over meanwhile."

"A pretty big 'if,' eh?" For the moment there was sympathetic sobriety
in the youth's tone, but he quickly regained his cheerfulness. "However,
he'll come through probably all right, Rod, dear boy. It's the older
fellows' privilege, isn't it? My good dad has had the same experience,
as you will no doubt have guessed. There, let me see; how long have you
been away? Eight months! Gee! However, I have just gotten home
myself. My old man was a bit furious at my tardiness in coming and the
geometrical increase of my expense account. To do Los Angeles and
San Francisco thoroughly, you know, runs into a pot of money. But now
everything is fixed up after a fashion with no evidence in sight of
further squalls." He laughed the laugh of an overgrown boy laboring
under the delusion that because he has finished a collegiate course he
is a "man."

"Of course," he continued with a swagger, "we chaps who put in four long
years at college should not be expected to settle down without having
some sort of a valedictory fling."

"There has not been much of a fling in my case," protested Warfield. "I
tackled life seriously in New York from the start."

"But got a tumble all the same," grinned Adams. "However, there's no
use in pulling a long face--at least not until your Uncle Allen has been
interviewed and judiciously put through his paces. Come now, let us get
your things aboard."

The conversation was halted while the young owner of the big 60 H. P.
car helped his chauffeur to stow away the luggage. "To the club,"
he called out as he seated himself in the tonneau with his boyhood
friend--college chum and classmate.

"Not this morning!" exclaimed Roderick, shaking his head as he looked
frankly and a bit nervously into the eyes of Whitley Adams. "No club for
me until I have squared things up on the hill."

"Oh, well, just as you say; if it's as bad as that, why of course--" He
broke off and did not finish the sentence, but directed the chauffeur to
the residence of Allen Miller, the banker.

They rode a little way in silence and then Whitley Adams observed:
"You've made a muddle of things, no doubt," and he turned with a knowing
look and a smile toward Roderick, who in turn flushed, as though hit.

"No doubt," he concurred curtly.

"Then when shall I see you?" asked Whitley as the auto slowed down at
the approach to the stately Miller home.

"I'll 'phone you," replied Roderick. "Think I can arrange to be at the
club this evening."

"Very well," said his friend, and a minute later he had whirled away
leaving a cloud of dust in the trail of the machine.

Roderick Warfield met with a motherly reception at the hands of his Aunt
Lois, Mrs. Allen Miller. The greetings over and a score of solicitous
questions by his Aunt Lois answered, he went to his room for a bath and
a change of clothes. Then without further delay he presented himself at
the bank, and in a few moments was closeted in the president's private
room with his uncle and guardian, Allen Miller.

The first friendly greetings were soon followed by the banker skidding
from social to business considerations. "Yes," said Allen Miller, "I am
glad to see you, Roderick, mighty glad. But what do you mean by writing
a day ahead that a good big sum is required immediately, this without
mention of securities or explanation of any kind?". He held up in his
hand a letter that ran to just a few niggardly lines. "This apology for
a business communication only reached me by last night's mail."

The kindly look of greeting had changed to one that was fairly flinty in
its hardness. "What am I to expect from such a demand? A bunch of unpaid
accounts, I suppose." As he uttered this last sentence, there was a
wicked twang in his voice--a suggestion of the snarl of an angry wolf
ready for a fierce encounter. It at least proved him a financier.

A flush of resentment stole over Roderick's brow. His look was more
than half-defiant. On his side it showed at once that there would be no
cringing for the favor he had come to ask.

But he controlled himself, and spoke with perfect calm.

"My obligations are not necessarily disgraceful ones, as your manner and
tone, Uncle, might imply. As for any detailed explanation by letter,
I thought it best to come and put the whole business before you
personally."

"And the nature of the business?" asked the banker in a dry harsh voice.

"I am in a big deal and have to find my _pro ratâ_ contribution
immediately."

"A speculative deal?" rasped the old man.

"Yes; I suppose it would be called speculative, but it is gilt-edged
all the same. I have all the papers here, and will show them to you." He
plunged a hand into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a neatly
folded little bundle of documents.

"Stop," exclaimed the banker. "You need not even undo that piece of tape
until you have answered my questions. A speculative deal, you admit."

"Be it so."

"A mining deal, may I ask?"

Roderick's face showed some confusion. But he faced the issue promptly
and squarely.

"Yes, sir, a mining deal."

The banker's eyes fairly glittered with steely wrathfulness.

"As I expected. By gad, it seems to run in the blood! Did I not warn
you, when you insisted on risking your meagre capital of two thousand
dollars in New York instead of settling down with what would have been
a comfortable nest egg here, that if you ever touched mining it would
be your ruin? Did I not tell you your father's story, how the lure
of prospecting possessed him, how he could never throw it off, how it
doomed him to a life of hardship and poverty, and how it would have left
you, his child, a pauper but for an insurance policy which it was his
one redeeming act of prudence in carrying?"

"Please do not speak like that of my father," protested Roderick,
drawing himself up with proud