e name, or names, of those with whom he did business at Los Angeles.
I wish now that Senor Bernal were here. His knowledge would be worth
everything in this emergency, if--he would give it. Well, he is not
here, and we must do the best we can without him. I'm going to get up
now and begin to look."

"Aunt Sally thought you ought to rest."

"This talk will rest me most of all."

The mother was now as eager as the child, and together they were soon
engaged in opening Mr. Trent's desk and secretary, which his wife had
not before touched since he himself closed them.

Alas! the search was an easy matter, and came swiftly to an end. Beyond a
few personal letters from relatives and friends, there was not a scrap of
writing anywhere. Even the ledgers and account books had been removed,
and at this discovery the same thought came to both:

"Antonio."

"Yet, why? and so secretly. He was really the master here, and if, as
he now claims, Sobrante is his, he has but to prove it, and we will go
away," said the widow, trembling for the first time.

"Let us try the safe. That night before he went off in such grief,
Ephraim gave me the key. He thought he was going forever, and I was to
look in it some time--when I needed. We'll look now."

Mrs. Trent herself unlocked the clumsy iron box and found it empty, save
for one small parcel. This, wrapped in a bit of canvas, was securely tied
and addressed to "Jessica Trent."

The mother passed it to her.

"You open it, please, mother. It may be--it must be--that deed and
maybe some other things--I couldn't wait to pick the knots, and I've
no knife."

CHAPTER XIII

THE START

Nothing resembling a legal document was found inside the package; but,
instead, were several neatly-arranged rolls of gold and silver money,
with the denomination of each roll carefully marked outside; dollars,
eagles, double eagles. With these was a scrap of paper, saying:

"All my savings for my captain. God bless them to
her. E. M."

"Oh, mother! That big-hearted Ephraim! Was anybody ever so unselfish
as he?"

"Or as unjust as I have been."

"How? What can you mean?"

Mrs. Trent did not answer, save by the tears in her eyes, though she was
tempted to show her child all the base suspicion that had, for a brief
space, dwelt in her own mind concerning "Forty-niner." A suspicion
which Antonio had suggested, and her trouble made her too ready to
accept. Then she reflected it were wi