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The Treasure of Hidden Valley
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!
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.”