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diff --git a/26984-h/26984-h.htm b/26984-h/26984-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09219da --- /dev/null +++ b/26984-h/26984-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10249 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Across the Mesa, by Jarvis Hall. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.8em; margin-bottom: 0.8em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Across the Mesa, by Jarvis Hall + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Across the Mesa + +Author: Jarvis Hall + +Illustrator: Henry Pitz + +Release Date: October 21, 2008 [EBook #26984] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS THE MESA *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 365px; height: 540px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 365px;'> +THE PONY PUT HER TWO FOREFEET OVER THE EDGE OF THE DESCENT.<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:2.2em; margin-top:2.2em; margin-bottom:2em;'>Across the Mesa</p> +<p style=' font-variant:small-caps;'>By</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>JARVIS HALL</p> +<p style=' font-variant:small-caps;'>Author of “Through Mocking Bird Gap”</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>Frontispiece by</p> +<p style=' margin-bottom:3em;'>HENRY PITZ</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>THE PENN PUBLISHING</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>COMPANY PHILADELPHIA</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:2em;'>1922</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>COPYRIGHT</p> +<p>1922 BY</p> +<p>THE PENN</p> +<p>PUBLISHING</p> +<p>COMPANY</p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-emb.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 90px; height: 85px;' /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>Across the Mesa</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>Made in the U. S. A.</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Why Not?</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_WHY_NOT'>7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Athens</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_ATHENS'>14</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>En Route</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_EN_ROUTE'>30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Juan Pachuca</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_JUAN_PACHUCA'>48</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Polly Arrives</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_POLLY_ARRIVES'>65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Local Activities</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_LOCAL_ACTIVITIES'>80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Miss Chicago</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_MISS_CHICAGO'>97</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Prisoner</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_THE_PRISONER'>109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At Liberty</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_AT_LIBERTY'>126</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Discovery</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_THE_DISCOVERY'>142</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Casa Grande</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_CASA_GRANDE'>159</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Night Ride</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_A_NIGHT_RIDE'>179</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Wagon</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_THE_WAGON'>188</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Trail</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_TRAIL'>208</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Angel</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_ANGEL'>222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Tom Does a Marathon</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_TOM_DOES_A_MARATHON'>238</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At Soria’s</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_AT_SORIA_S'>251</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Back to Athens</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_BACK_TO_ATHENS'>276</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Polly Makes a New Acquaintance</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_POLLY_MAKES_A_NEW_ACQUAINTANCE'>283</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Treasure Trove</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_TREASURE_TROVE'>303</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span></div> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>Across the Mesa</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_WHY_NOT' id='I_WHY_NOT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>WHY NOT?</h3> +</div> + +<p>Polly Street drove her little electric down Michigan +Boulevard, with bitterness in her heart.</p> +<p>It was a cold wet day in the early spring of 1920, +and Chicago was doing her best to show her utter +indifference to anyone’s opinion as to what spring +weather ought to be. It was the sort of day when, if +you had any ambition left after a dreary winter, you +began to plot desperate things.</p> +<p>Polly hated driving the electric—her soul yearned +for a gas car. Mrs. Street, however, did not like a +gas car without a man to drive it; the son of the family +was in Athens, Mexico, at a coal mine; and Mr. Street, +Sr., considered that his income did not run to a chauffeur +at the present scale of wage. Therefore, Polly +tried to forget her prejudice and to imagine that the +neat little car was a real machine.</p> +<p>Second among her grievances was the fact that this +was Bob’s wedding day and she, his adored and adoring +sister, was not with him. Bob had been engaged +for some months to a girl in Douglas, Arizona. The +date of the wedding had been set twice and each time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +difficulties in Mexico had made it seem unwise either +that Bob should leave Athens, where he held the position +of superintendent of one of Fiske, Doane & Co.’s +mines, or that the bride should venture into the disturbed +region.</p> +<p>This time they expected, as Bob wrote, to “pull it +off on schedule.” Polly had hoped either to go to +Douglas for the wedding or to have the bride and +groom in Chicago; but Father had been unable to get +away, Mother hadn’t been well, and the trip had been +given up. Then the young couple planned to go immediately +to Athens without the formality of a honeymoon. +To quote Bob again: “People go on honeymoons +to be lonesome, and if anybody can find a better +place to be lonesome in than Athens, let him trot it +out.”</p> +<p>The third grievance held an element of publicity +particularly galling to a young lady who was known to +her friends not only as a daring horsewoman, a crack +swimmer and a golf champion, but as a bit of a belle +besides. She and Joyce Henderson had agreed a week +ago to break their engagement. The engagement had +been a mistake—both young people admitted it frankly +to each other. The irritating part of it was that Joyce +was admitting it to the world.</p> +<p>Instead of taking the matter seriously and considering +himself, outwardly at least, as the victim of an unhappy +love affair, Joyce had escorted another girl, who +shall be nameless, for she does not enter this story except +as an element of conflict, to the Mandarin Ball. +Now the Mandarin Ball is not the frivolous affair that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +its name suggests, but a perennial of deep importance, +a function to which young men are in the habit of +taking their wives, their fiancées, or the girls they +rather hope may be their fiancées. It is one of the few +social affairs left of the old order.</p> +<p>Thus you can see that it was a pointed action on +Joyce’s part; an indication that he regarded himself as +a free man, and after the habit of free men was about +to put on new chains. It was humiliating, to say the +least. During the war the engagement had seemed +quite natural, quite a part of things. All the young +people were engaged—except those who were married.</p> +<p>“That, at least, I had sense enough not to do!” +raged Polly, as she narrowly missed a pedestrian’s heel.</p> +<p>It is hard for older people to realize how important +it is at twenty-three to be doing exactly what others +are doing; the absolute anguish of being the only man +in the A. E. F. without a wife or sweetheart, or the +only girl at home without a soldier husband or lover. +A bit of such understanding would make clear not only +the number of divorces and broken engagements which +resulted from the war and had their share in the production +of the unrest of the times, but would also elucidate +a good many other happenings to youth.</p> +<p>So much for Polly Street and Joyce Henderson, +who were fortunate enough to find out before marriage +that they were unsuited for each other. Polly, however, +preferred to look upon the dark side. Joyce had +behaved like a cad.</p> +<p>“And the worst of it is that everybody will say +it serves me right,” she went on to herself, “just because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +I’ve flirted a bit here and there. It’s not my +fault if people never turn out as I expect them to. I +guess I’m like Grandfather Street was in his religion. +He thought the Baptists were wonderful until he joined +them and then the Presbyterians looked more interesting +to him. After he’d been with them a while he +couldn’t see how anybody could be a Presbyterian, so +he joined the Unitarians. People thought he was a +turncoat, but he wasn’t—he was just a sort of religious +Mormon. One church wasn’t enough for him.</p> +<p>“Oh dear, I wish I’d gone to Douglas alone! Bob +would understand. I believe I’ll go to Athens. Why +not? It’s safe enough or Emma’s parents wouldn’t +let her go. Of course it’s a bit soon after their wedding, +but I’ll be tactful and keep out of their way.”</p> +<p>The light of determination was in Polly’s dark eyes. +They were big lovely eyes that looked at you wistfully +from under arched brows. They seldom laughed +or twinkled and the nose that kept them company was +equally sedate, being purely aquiline, but a mouth with +dimpled corners upset the scheme entirely, while +ripples of golden brown hair completed the picture of +a healthy, happy youngster—not radiantly beautiful +but what people like to call “winsome,” which is after +all as good a word as most.</p> +<p>She parked the electric on the Lake Front and +crossed the Boulevard. The policeman on the crossing +nodded to her and she smiled at him. Polly had what +her father called a “stand in” with the force. It was +unnecessary, for she was a good driver when her feelings +were not agitated, but there was something about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +policemen that appealed to her. They were so big and +pink and forceful that you felt rather important when +they nodded to you—a bit after the fashion of a man +who is recognized by the head waiter.</p> +<p>She was still smiling when she entered the building +in which was located a club to which she belonged. It +was a serious-minded club of clever women, and most +people had been amused when Polly Street joined it. +Nobody expected serious-minded things of Polly, +though here and there someone was willing to admit +that she was “clever enough in her way.”</p> +<p>Finding the writing-room empty, Polly sat down to +write a letter. Several times in her career she had +decided upon courses of procedure which had seemed +to her eminently practical, only to be talked out of +them by her family. This time she would take no such +chances. She would write to Bob, and Bob, being +much like her, understood her—as well at any rate as +any brother understands a sister. Then she would go +over to the bank and get some money on her Liberty +Bonds. Polly was as usual broke, Mr. Street being a +man who provided credit liberally for his family but +who had learned from experience that money was safer +in his own hands.</p> +<p>A trip to the ticket office to make reservations and +the thing would be done. A vague remembrance that +Mexico was a place which demanded passports upon +entrance came into her mind but was dismissed airily. +Father would attend to that. The fact that Mexico +was a troublous region where an American girl might +meet with a good many disagreeable adventures was as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +airily dismissed. All that anyone needed to go anywhere, +according to Polly’s simple code, was common +sense and money. The first she had, the second she +intended to get, so why worry?</p> +<p>As she sat at the writing-table a slightly martial air +came over Polly. Bob must be made to understand the +situation. Because a man took it upon himself to +dwell in or on a coal mine, Polly was never quite sure +of the phrase, in the remote Southwest, he was not +absolved from all family duties. The fact that he had +married the handsomest girl in Arizona and was indulging +in a honeymoon need not prevent an oppressed +sister from demanding sympathy. She wrote rapidly.</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Bob</span>:</p> +<p>“I know it’s awfully nervy of me to drop in on +you and Emma right at the beginning of your honeymoon, +but I am coming just the same. Joyce Henderson +has behaved atrociously to me. I’ll explain when I +see you. You needn’t show this to Emma; you can +read her scraps of it.”</p> +<p>Polly paused. A mental picture of Emma, demure +and pretty, came before her. Bob Street was a lucky +man to have found a girl like Emma. A dreamy look +succeeded the martial one. Visions of a flower-bedecked +hacienda—was that what they called them, it +didn’t sound exactly right—surrounded by peons dozing +in the sun succeeded the dimpled vision of Emma. +Polly drew her ideas of Mexico entirely from the +movies, Bob’s short letters being quite lacking in atmosphere. +She saw herself leaning over a balcony, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +listening to the strains of a mandolin, played by a tall, +slim youth, who resembled a composite photograph of +several of her favorite movie idols. Poor Joyce Henderson, +how unimportant he seemed by the side of that +radiant vision! Polly scribbled furiously.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_ATHENS' id='II_ATHENS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>ATHENS</h3> +</div> + +<p>In the northern part of Mexico, in the state of +Sonora, lies the little mining town of Athens, ironically +named by someone whose sense of beauty was offended +by the yellow stretches of desert sand, broken by hills, +dotted here and there by cactus and mesquite, and +frowned upon by gaunt and angular mountains.</p> +<p>Athens, when the mining industry was running full +time, was a busy if not a beautiful spot. Its row of +shacks housed workers, male and a few female, to a +generous number, while its busy little train of cars—for +Athens owned a tiny spur of railroad connecting +with the neighboring town of Conejo and operated for +reasons germane to the coal industry—gave it, if you +were very temperamental, something of the air of a +metropolis seen through a diminishing glass.</p> +<p>The plant and offices which boasted two stories, and +the general merchandise store which was long and +rambling, were larger than the shacks; otherwise +Athens was a true democracy. The company house in +which the superintendent, the manager and the chief +engineer “bached” only differed from the others by +an added cleanliness, for Mrs. Van Zandt, the energetic +woman who ran the boarding-house, gave an eye to its +welfare. The little houses were arranged in one long +street and that street was Athens. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>Several days after the invasion of Athens suggested +itself to Miss Polly Street in far-off Chicago, a prominent +citizen strode from the offices in the direction of +the boarding-house. He moved with decision, for he +was hungry, and Mrs. Van Zandt was fastidious as to +hours. The office force ate its supper at six, and the +fact that Marc Scott was the assistant superintendent +and, in the absence of the superintendent on affairs +matrimonial, in charge altogether, was no reason in the +eyes of Mrs. Van Zandt why he should be late to his +meals.</p> +<p>Scott paused outside the boarding-house to look into +the distance where an accustomed but always interesting +sight met his eyes. Away in the distance, between +two foothills, appeared the tiny thread of smoke which +marked the approach of the little train from Conejo. +It was fascinating to watch it; at first so indistinct, +then plainer, and finally to see the little engine puffing +its way along, dragging the small cars. There would +be no one on it but the train gang and nothing more +exciting than the mail, but its bi-weekly arrival never +lost interest for Marc Scott.</p> +<p>“Johnson’s late to-night,” he muttered, and pushed +open the door which led immediately to the dining-room. +Three men had just begun eating. There was +Henry Hard, the chief engineer; Jimmy Adams, the +bookkeeper, and Jack Williams, who ran the company +store; they, with young Street, Scott, the doctor—who +a month ago had taken an ailing wife back to Cincinnati—and +the train gang, formed the little group of +Americans who had held the mining camp together. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<p>While their location had been freer from trouble +than many parts of Mexico, both in regard to bandit +and federal persecution, they had borne a part in the +general unrest. Once the town had been attacked by +Indians; another time, lying in the path of one of +Villa’s hurried retreats, it had endured a week-end +visit from that gentleman, after which horses and +canned goods had been scarce for a while.</p> +<p>The worst trouble they had had, however, had been +with labor. They worked the mine with Mexicans, +and the Mexicans were an uncertain quantity. Athens +was too far from the border to admit of hiring labor +from the other side and allowing it to go back and +forth, and the men they got were a discouraged lot, +ready to abandon the job for anything that came up, +from joining the newest bandit to enlisting in the army. +Fighting seemed their <i>metier</i> and most of them preferred +it to the monotony of working a mine. A few +who were married and had hungry families stayed +longer than the rest but it was always a problem.</p> +<p>Just now the mine was running three days a week +and no one knew when orders would come to shut +down entirely. There were the usual rumors afloat in +regard to the coming election in July and a good many +people who had seen other elections in Mexico expected +trouble. The Athens people were looking to +Street’s return for news from headquarters, but already +several days had gone by since the wedding and +they had heard nothing.</p> +<p>The men looked up and nodded as Scott entered and +Mrs. Van Zandt, peering in from the kitchen through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +a square hole which served as a means of communication, +brought him his coffee. Mrs. Van Zandt had a +weak spot in her heart for Marc Scott—most women +and children had. One did not at first see why. He +was not good looking, except that he was well made +and well kept; not particularly pleasing in his manner, +being given to an abruptness of speech which most +people found disconcerting; and he liked his own way +more than is conducive to social harmony.</p> +<p>He was, however, straight as a die; was afraid of +few things and no persons; and if he liked you, he had +an especial manner for you which took the edge off his +gruffness so that you wondered why you had ever +thought him disagreeable. His hair and skin were as +brown as each other, which was saying a good deal; +his eyes were gray; his teeth white and strong; and he +had the healthy look of a man who lives in the open, +bathes a good deal and does not overeat.</p> +<p>“Late as usual,” remarked Mrs. Van Zandt, pessimistically, +as she set the coffee down beside him. +“The less a man has to do in this world, the harder it +seems to be for him to get to his meals on time.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t it the truth?” remarked Adams, with feeling. +He was a short, chubby youngster, with a twinkling +blue eye. “If it was me, I could whistle for my +supper, but seeing it’s him, he gets fed up, the beggar!”</p> +<p>“Too bad about you!” sniffed Mrs. Van Zandt. “I +thought you’d cut out that second cup of coffee?”</p> +<p>“I’m aiming to cut it out during the heated term,” +was the cheerful reply. “There’s something about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +your coffee, Mrs. Van, that’s like some folks—refuses +to be cut.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” Mrs. Van was not inaccessible to flattery. +“Dolores,” this to a black-haired girl whose +face appeared at the hole. “You can cut the pies like +I told you—in fours. If that girl stays with me another +month I’ll make something out of her; but, Lord, +why should I think she’ll stay? They never do. +Mexicans must be born with an itch for travel.”</p> +<p>“I notice,” suggested Hard, “that in the haunts of +civilization they are cutting pies in sixes.” Hard was +a Bostonian—tall, spare, and muscular. He came of a +fine old Massachusetts family, and his gray eyes, surrounded +by a dozen kindly little wrinkles, his clean-cut +mouth, wide but firm and thin lipped, showed marks +of breeding absent in the other men.</p> +<p>“Hush, don’t tell her!” growled Adams. “A +woman just naturally can’t help trying to follow the +styles, and I can use more pie than a sixth, let me tell +you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van, having attended to the distribution of the +pie, sat down at the foot of the table for a bit of conversation. +She was a good-looking woman with dark +hair and eyes, and features which, though they were +hard, were not disagreeable. Her figure was restrained +with much care from its inclination to over +fleshiness. Mrs. Van scorned the sort of woman who +let herself get fat and fought the enemy daily. I could +not possibly tell you her age, for no one but herself +knew it. It might be thirty-five and on the other hand +it might easily be ten or fifteen years more. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>She had led a roving life, beginning somewhere in +the Middle West, carrying on for a time in the East, +where it involved a bit of stage life to which she loved +to refer. There had been a short spasm of matrimony, +not entirely satisfactory, the late Van Zandt having had +his full share of his sex’s weaknesses, and a final career +of keeping a boarding-house in New York. After that +she had drifted West and finally into Mexico. She +had been a veritable godsend to the Athens mining +company which had undergone the agonies of native +cooking until the digestions of the American portion of +the working force were in a condition resembling half +extinct craters.</p> +<p>“What I’m wonderin’ is if Bob Street and his girl +got married or not and when they’re coming home,” +she remarked as she sat down. One of Mrs. Van’s +little peculiarities, saved probably from the wreck of +her theatrical career, was a tendency toward calling +people by their first names when they were not there +to protect themselves and sometimes even when they +were.</p> +<p>“If they’ve got any sense at all they’ll wait,” said +Scott, placidly. “This is no time to be bringin’ more +women into the country.”</p> +<p>“That’s so,” agreed Williams, a confirmed bachelor. +“It was good luck the Doc took his wife and kids off +when he did. There’ll be trouble here when them elections +is held.”</p> +<p>“Pick up your skirts and run, Mrs. Van!” suggested +Adams. “You may be cooking for a Mexicano +yet.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></p> +<p>“If I do he’ll know it,” was the prompt reply. “I +ain’t the runnin’ kind. Anybody who’s staved off the +landlord in New York as many times as I have ain’t +going to worry about Mexicans. What I think those +young folks ought to do is to go East for their honeymoon.”</p> +<p>“They can’t,” replied Adams, with a grin. “It +wouldn’t look sporting for the Supe to leave his underlings +without protection in such a crisis.”</p> +<p>“I like Bob Street as well as any young chap I +know,” said Mrs. Van Zandt, meditatively, “but I +don’t know as I’d want him standin’ between me and +Angel Gonzales—if Angel was much mad.” Angel +Gonzales was a local bandit; a man of many crimes +and much history. “But, of course, it wouldn’t look +well for the Sup’rintendent to run away.”</p> +<p>“Street’s not the running kind, either; don’t fool +yourself about that,” remarked Scott, quietly.</p> +<p>“He’s a good kid. I don’t care if he is a rich man’s +son,” said Adams with sincerity. “If my Dad had +money I wouldn’t be keeping books, you bet.”</p> +<p>“No, son, you’d be playing the ponies up at Juarez,” +responded Hard, cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Not ponies, Henry dear, roulette,” replied Jimmy, +pleasantly. “Me and Mrs. Van are going to get +spliced just as soon as the Ouija board tells her the +winning system.”</p> +<p>“It’s all very well for you to make fun of things +you don’t know any more about than a baby, Jim +Adams.” Mrs. Van’s scorn was intense. “If you’d +read that article I showed you in the magazine about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +the man that talked to his mother-in-law by the +Ouija——”</p> +<p>“Mother-in-law? Great guns, is that the best the +thing can do?”</p> +<p>The reply was cut short by the entrance of the train +gang, hot and hungry, clamoring for food.</p> +<p>“How’s Conejo?”</p> +<p>“Sand-storm. Windy as a parson. Say, you fellows +eat up all the pie?” Conversation was suspended +while the demands of hunger were satisfied, and Scott +distributed the mail which the late comers had brought.</p> +<p>“From Bob?” Hard looked up from his Boston +paper as Scott grunted over his letter. Scott nodded +and then as the others looked their curiosity, he read +the brief note aloud.</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Scotty</span>:</p> +<p>“Have just had a summons from the directors +to go East at once; guess they’re uneasy about something +they’ve heard and want first-hand information. +Emma and I are starting for Chicago to-morrow. +Open all mail and wire anything important.</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Bob</span>.”</p> +<p>“Just what I said they’d ought to do,” breathed Mrs. +Van, happily. “Well, that girl’s got a good husband—I’ll +say she has.”</p> +<p>“Directors would be a heap more uneasy if they +knew what we know,” remarked Williams, sententiously. +“Hear anything more about the Chihuahua +troops bein’ ordered in, Johnson?”</p> +<p>“Nope,” replied the engineer, his mouth full of pie. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +“Everybody crawled into their holes in Conejo. +Didn’t you never see a sand-storm, Jack?”</p> +<p>“I wish I’d known he was going to Chicago. I’d +have asked him to look in on my girl,” said Jimmy, +folding up his letter. “I don’t like the way she writes—all +jazz and picture shows. Some cuss is trying to +cut me out with her.”</p> +<p>“More likely she’s heard about you and the little +Mexican over to Conejo,” remarked the fireman, unsympathetically.</p> +<p>“If you’d had her address she sure would have,” +replied Adams, promptly. “That Mexican girl——”</p> +<p>“Yes, we remember her. She was a looker but she +used too much powder—they all do.” Hard’s voice +was judicial. “She always reminded me of a chocolate +cake caught out in a snow-storm.”</p> +<p>“Hush up!” Mrs. Van’s voice was tragic. “Do +you want Dolores to get mad and quit? They’ve got +their feelings same as we have. I guess I’ve got to +catch a deaf and dumb one if I want to keep her on +this place!”</p> +<p>Marc Scott sat in his place, a pile of letters before +him, when the others had gone, and Mrs. Van was +helping Dolores with the dishes.</p> +<p>“Say, Mrs. Van, when you get through with those +dishes come outside a minute; I want to talk to you,” +he said as he threw open the door.</p> +<p>The shack boasted no veranda, but there were three +small steps. Scott seated himself on the top one and +rolled a cigarette. The air was chilly. The sun had +sunk behind the mountains and outlined their rugged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +shapes with golden lines against the purple. Everything +was very still—there was not a sound except for +the faint strains of the victrola, which Jimmy Adams +always played for an hour after supper. A few figures +moved about in and out of the other cabins; not +many—for the working force was light these days. A +light in the store showed that Williams was keeping +open house as usual.</p> +<p>The door opened and Mrs. Van came out and sat +beside him on the step.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, quietly, “what’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“I’m in the deuce of a mess,” replied Scott.</p> +<p>“You mean Indians?”</p> +<p>“Worse than that—it’s a woman, Mrs. Van.”</p> +<p>“A woman!” Mrs. Van was plainly shocked. +“My land, Marc Scott, you ain’t been foolin’ with that +heathen in the kitchen?”</p> +<p>Scott chuckled. “Listen, Mrs. Van, I oughtn’t to +string you like that—it is a woman, though. You +heard me read that letter of Bob’s?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“He said to read the mail.”</p> +<p>“Well, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and the first one I tumbled into feet foremost +was a confidential one from his sister. She says she’s +coming down here. She thinks he’s here.”</p> +<p>“What? You mean here? Athens?”</p> +<p>“That’s what she says. The letter’s been lying over +at Conejo since Tuesday and the chances are she’s +there by this time.”</p> +<p>“But——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></p> +<p>“Oh, that ain’t the worst. It was a confidential letter. +She said——” Scott paused in embarrassment.</p> +<p>“I’m not telling you this for fun, Mrs. Van Zandt, but +because I don’t know what to do. You’re a lady——”</p> +<p>“Oh, go on, what’s the matter with you? I guess if +you know it it ain’t going to hurt me. Has she run off +with somebody, or has her Pa lost his money, or +what?”</p> +<p>“I’ll show you.” Scott fished out Polly’s letter +apologetically. “I stopped reading it directly I saw +it was confidential,” he continued, “but I got this much +at one swallow.”</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Bob</span>:</p> +<p>“I know it’s awfully nervy of me to drop in on +you and Emma right at the beginning of your honeymoon, +but I am coming just the same. Joyce Henderson +has behaved atrociously to me.”</p> +<p>“That’s all I read,” concluded Scott, penitently. +“Joyce Henderson is the fellow she’s engaged to—Bob +told me that. I had to look at the end to see if she said +when she was coming, and by George, if she started +when she said she was going to, she ought to be in +Conejo right now.”</p> +<p>“Now!!”</p> +<p>“What we’re going to do with her, I don’t know, do +you?”</p> +<p>“She and the wedding couple have just crossed each +other!”</p> +<p>“Looks like it. Look here, Mrs. Van, what am I +going to do? If I don’t look her up, God knows what’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +happen to her over in Conejo, unless she has sense +enough to go to the Morgans. If I do, she’s going to +raise merry heck because I read that letter about the +fellow jilting her. Now I thought maybe if you’d let +on that you read it—a girl wouldn’t mind another +woman’s knowing a thing like that as much as she +would a man.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt surveyed Scott pityingly.</p> +<p>“It always seems so queer to me that a man can +have so much muscle and so little horse sense,” she +said at length.</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<p>“There ain’t any use my explaining; you wouldn’t +get me,” she went on, impatiently. “But here’s something +even you can understand. I’d look nice opening +the boss’s mail, wouldn’t I? Now you’ve read the +worst of it you might as well dip into it far enough to +find out just when she’s coming. Somebody’ll have to +drive over to Conejo for her as long as the machine’s +busted.”</p> +<p>“I’ve read all I’m going to,” said Scott, doggedly. +“You can do the finding out.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt grunted, arranged a pair of eyeglasses +which sat uneasily on a nose ill adapted to +them, and glanced at the letter. She gave a sigh of +relief.</p> +<p>“She says she’s going straight to the Morgans’ when +she gets to Conejo. Bob’s told her about them. +Prob’ly Morgan’ll run her over in his car. She ain’t +very definite about time; don’t seem to know just how +long she’ll be detained at the border.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></p> +<p>“Unless they’re all fools up there she’ll be detained +some time,” said Scott, disgustedly. “Well, I’ll go +and get the Morgans on the wire and see if they’ve +seen anything of her,” and he strode away toward the +office.</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt sat watching him as he swung down +the street. The sun’s gilding had faded from the +mountains and it was growing dark. Here and there +a star peeped out as though to commiserate Athens +upon its loneliness.</p> +<p>“It is lonely,” Mrs. Van said to herself. “I don’t +know as I ever felt it so much before. I hope it don’t +mean that we’re going to have trouble. Sometimes I +think I must be psychic—I seem to sense things so. +Wish that girl had stayed at home, but, Lord, I’d of +done the same thing at her age. That’s a youngster’s +first idea when things go wrong—to run away. As +though you could run away from things!”</p> +<p>The lady shook her head pessimistically and drew +her sweater more closely about her as the air grew +chillier. A short plump figure with a shawl wrapped +around its head came out from the back of the house +and melted into the darkness.</p> +<p>“Is that you, Dolores?”</p> +<p>“Si. The deeshes all feenish,” said Dolores, +promptly.</p> +<p>“Did you wash out the dish towels?”</p> +<p>“Si. All done. I go to bed.” Dolores disappeared.</p> +<p>“You’re a liar,” breathed Mrs. Van, softly. “You +ain’t goin’ to bed, you’re goin’ to set and spoon with +that good-looking cousin of yours. Well, go to it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +You’re only young once and this country’d drive a +woman to most anything.” Her eyes twinkled humorously. +When Mrs. Van’s eyes twinkled you forgot +that her face was hard.</p> +<p>“My, but they’re hittin’ it up on Broadway about +this time! Let’s see—it’ll be about eleven—the theatres +just lettin’ out, crowds going up and down and +pouring into restaurants. Say, ain’t it queer the difference +in people’s lives? There’s them sitting on plush +and eating lobster, and here’s me looking into emptiness +and half expecting to see a Yaqui grinning at me +from behind a bush! Hullo, you back?”</p> +<p>Scott, accompanied by Hard, came down the street +again. Both seemed disturbed.</p> +<p>“Well,” remarked the former, grimly. “She’s +started.”</p> +<p>“Started?” Mrs. Van rose. “What do you mean +by that?”</p> +<p>“I got Jack Morgan’s mother on the ’phone,” said +Scott. “Seems she’d been trying to get us. The girl +got into Conejo about six—just after our train pulled +out—tried to get us on the ’phone and couldn’t; so she +got a machine and is on the way over.”</p> +<p>“Got a machine!” Mrs. Van gasped. “Are the +Morgans crazy?”</p> +<p>“Jack and his wife have gone over to Mescal with +their car and there’s nobody home but the old lady and +the youngsters. Old lady Morgan’s deaf and hollers +over the wire so I couldn’t get much of what she said,” +continued Scott, ruefully. “I made up my mind that +she’d got old Mendoza to bring her over in his Ford. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +Guess it’s up to me to harness up and go over to meet +them.”</p> +<p>“I should say so. That girl must be scared to death +if nothing worse has happened to her.”</p> +<p>“Nothing worse will happen to her with Mendoza—unless +he runs her into an arroyo. Mendoza’s principles +are better than his eyesight. But, believe me, +she deserves to be scared. It might put a little sense +into her.”</p> +<p>“Shall I drive over with you?” queried Hard.</p> +<p>“No, but you might help Mrs. Van move our things +down to Jimmy’s. I thought we’d put her in our +shack, Mrs. Van, and you could come up and stay with +her.” And Scott swung off into the direction of the +corral.</p> +<p>The other two proceeded to the company house, as +the superintendent’s quarters were called.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the lady, as they began to pack the two +men’s belongings, “I expected to get this house ready +for a bride and groom but I must say I wasn’t looking +for a lone woman. And yet if I’d had my wits about +me I might have known. Only last night Dolores and +me were running the Ouija and it says—look out for +trouble—just as plain as that!”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t call her anything as bad as that,” said +Hard, crossing to where the photograph of Polly Street +hung over the fireplace.</p> +<p>The picture showed a small girl, probably about ten +or eleven; a fat little girl with chubby legs only half +covered with socks, and with dimples in the knees; a +little girl with very wide open eyes and a plump face, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +a firmly shaped mouth and a serious expression; a little +girl with frizzly hair and freckles that the photographer +had failed to retouch, in a costume consisting of +a short skirt, middy, and tam-o’-shanter.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t call her a trouble maker,” said Hard, +laughing, “unless she’s changed a lot in ten years.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_EN_ROUTE' id='III_EN_ROUTE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>EN ROUTE</h3> +</div> + +<p>To say that the days which followed Miss Street’s +unconventional decision passed in a whirl is to be both +trite and truthful. In fact, it was not until she had +crossed the border that she found leisure to reflect.</p> +<p>To begin with, the parents had been difficult, as good +parents usually are when youth begins to chafe at restriction, +especially if youth happens to belong to the +weaker but no longer the less adventurous sex. The +Streets were easy-going people who liked to live by the +way. They were not ambitious and they were not adventurous +and they hated letting go of their children. +It was bad enough to have a son marooned in a mining +camp without losing a daughter in the same way. +Only downright persuasion by the daughter, combined +with remembrance of quite unalarming letters from the +son resulted in the desired permission.</p> +<p>“After all, if Emma’s parents let her go down there, +I suppose we needn’t be afraid,” said Mrs. Street, who +disliked argument.</p> +<p>“In my opinion, Emma’s parents are fools,” replied +Mr. Street, sternly. “Or else, like us, they’ve raised +a daughter they can’t control.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t put it that way, Elbridge!”</p> +<p>“I would. You might as well look things in the +face.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>“But, Father, you know Bob’s part of the country +has been very calm; and I never get a chance to do +anything interesting! You sat down on me when I +wanted to drive a motor truck in France——”</p> +<p>Any father can continue this lament from memory. +The discussion had ended as discussions with spoiled +children usually end. There had been a hurried packing +and the familiar trip across the continent. It was +only when she alighted at a border town and after +some anxious hours waiting to have her passports viséd +and her transportation arranged, embarked on the +shabby south-bound train on the other side, that Polly +fully realized the expedition to which she was committed.</p> +<p>Up to this time her thoughts had been of the life she +was leaving, and, it must be admitted, of Joyce Henderson. +From Illinois to Texas she told herself exactly +what she thought of a man who could so boldly +and plainly and with such an evident relief accept his +dismissal at the hands of the girl he had claimed to +love; but by the time the train had jogged through +miles of queer brownish yellow country, dotted with +mesquite and punctured with cactus, relieved here and +there by foothills, and frowned upon by distant mountains, +her meditations assumed a more cheerful complexion.</p> +<p>The outlook, monotonous as it was, fascinated her. +There were adobe houses with brown youngsters playing +in the scanty shade, much as one sees them in New +Mexico and Arizona; there were uprooted rails and the +ruins of burned cars—evidences of civil war unknown +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +on our side of the line. There was a strong wind +blowing—the early spring wind of the Southwest, but +the sun shone hotly and one felt stuffy and uncomfortable +in the car. The sand which was caught up by +the wind blew in one’s face and down one’s throat and +made closed windows a necessity.</p> +<p>There were a good many people traveling, for a +country in a reputedly unsettled condition, Polly +thought, and wished that she could understand the +fragments of conversation that she heard.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t I take Spanish instead of French at +school? I always seem to have chosen the most useless +things to study! I wish I knew what those two +fat women without any hats on are talking about—me, +I suppose, for they keep looking over here. That man +is American—or English. If I were Bob, I’d amble +over and get up a conversation with him and find out +all the interesting things I’m missing. I’ll bet he owns +a mine down here somewhere. How fascinating!”</p> +<p>Polly’s imagination immediately forsook the American +and indulged in a rosy picture of herself as the +owner of a mine—a gold mine—coal was too unromantic. +She saw herself in a short skirt and a sombrero +superintending the exertions of a number of dusky +workers who were loading neat little gold bars on the +backs of patient burros.</p> +<p>This delightful picture occupied her fully until the +train stopped and she had to get out. This train did +not go all the way to Conejo, but left one at a junction +called Pecos where twice a week if convenient for all +parties a smaller train rattled its way across the plain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +and into the mountains among which Conejo nestled. +It is not necessary to describe Pecos; its only reason +for existence was the fact that it owned and operated +a smelter.</p> +<p>This second train was the shortest that Polly had +ever seen. It consisted of an engine, two coal cars, a +baggage car, and one passenger coach—this last very +dirty as to floor and windows and very creaky as to +joints. There were on this occasion but four passengers +beside Polly; the two fat ladies, who were, if she +had only known it, members of the first families of +Conejo; an old man who sat in a corner and read a +German paper; and a young Mexican, well dressed and +of a gentlemanly appearance, who sat across the narrow +aisle from Polly, smoking innumerable cigarettes +and glancing at her whenever he thought she was not +looking.</p> +<p>Polly, however, was too much interested in the +changes of scenery to notice anything as ordinary as a +good-looking young man. The country was changing, +gradually, but still unmistakably changing, from a desert, +flat and stifling, to a region of small hills and valleys; +still brownish yellow, but with the monotony of +mesquite varied by live oaks, and in some cases by +shallow little streams along whose banks grew cottonwoods, +their green foliage restful to the eye weary of +desert bareness.</p> +<p>Many of the cacti were in their beautiful bloom and +gave to the country the needed dash of color. Occasionally +one saw small herds of cattle feeding off the +short stubby vegetation. They were drawing near the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +mountains, whose gauntness seemed less when approached.</p> +<p>“They’re like ugly people—grow better looking as +you get to know them,” mused Polly. “Oh, my gracious, +what’s the matter now?” The puffing little engine +had given up trying to make the steep grade it had +been negotiating, and had stopped with one last desperate +wheeze. No one seemed surprised. The fat ladies +went on talking and the old man continued to read his +paper. The trainmen were outside, doing something, +Polly couldn’t make out what, perhaps only talking +about doing something. “Oh, dear, I wonder what +has happened!”</p> +<p>In her excitement she must have said it aloud, for +the young man across the way sprang to his feet and +was at her side instantly. A keen observer might have +drawn the conclusion that he had been waiting for +some such opportunity.</p> +<p>“I beg pardon, señorita, but it is that the engine cannot +make the grade,” he volunteered, politely, in English +almost without an accent—or perhaps I should say +with an intonation English rather than American, +though with a slightly Latin arrangement of phrase.</p> +<p>“Oh, I see,” Polly replied blankly. The young +man had been rather sudden, and he continued to stand +in a disconcerting way, hat in hand, in the aisle. He +appeared to be very young, hardly more than nineteen, +Polly thought, and handsome in a dark way. He had +large dark eyes, very white teeth, a smooth olive skin +without the mustache which so many Spaniards wear, +and a rather prominent under jaw and chin. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p> +<p>“You see,” he continued, “they take the first car +over to Conejo and then come back for us.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that they’ll leave us here, +perched on the side of this hill, while they run off with +the engine?” demanded Polly, eyeing the trainmen indignantly. +In fact, she was so busy being indignant +with them that she omitted to notice that the young +man had slipped into the seat opposite her. That fact, +however, had not escaped the fat ladies in the rear, one +of whom said to the other in shocked Spanish:</p> +<p>“It is Juan Pachuca!”</p> +<p>“So it is,” replied the other. “I had thought him +in the South.”</p> +<p>“Who knows where he is? A wicked person, my +dear, a very wicked person. My sister’s husband says +he will get himself shot before he finishes.”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly,” said the other, placidly. “So many +young men are being shot these days. I thought +that young woman was an actress—now I am sure of +it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Juan Pachuca to Polly’s question. +“But do not be alarmed. They will come back in a +couple of hours.”</p> +<p>“A couple of hours!” The girl’s voice was horrified. +“But I expected to be in Conejo in a couple of +hours. I’m in a hurry.”</p> +<p>“One should never be in a hurry in Mexico, señorita, +it does not—what is it you say—it does not pay.”</p> +<p>“Apparently.” Polly replied coolly, realizing suddenly +that this good-looking boy was regarding the +conversation as a thing established. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>The stranger was correct in his guess. Uncoupled +from the rest of the train, their coach remained poised +uncomfortably half-way up the hill, while the engine, +still puffing and wheezing like a stout man going upstairs, +pulled the open cars and the baggage car up the +grade and, disappearing through a gap in the hill, became +only a faint noise and a trail of thin smoke. +Polly laughed in spite of herself and the young man +responded with a smile that revealed two dazzling rows +of teeth.</p> +<p>“<i>Mañana</i>!” he laughed. “So we say down here +and so we do. You find it amusing, señorita, after +your country?”</p> +<p>“It’s different, you must admit. We at least aim to +reach places on time.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that is the difference—you aim, we do not,” +replied the other, thoughtfully. “Some day—but perhaps +the señorita will get out and have a breath of +fresh air? There is, alas, plenty of time.”</p> +<p>A mischievous impulse seized the girl. She felt as +she used to feel when as a small, fat, freckled youngster +she had sat still as long as she possibly could in +school and then despite the teacher’s stern eye her +nervous energy had got the better of her.</p> +<p>“After all he’s only a boy,” she told herself. “I’ll +bet he isn’t any older than my freshmen cousins. +What’s the harm?”</p> +<p>Outside the sun was hot but the wind was fresh and +cool.</p> +<p>“Through that cut in the mountains and around a +curve is Conejo,” said Juan Pachuca, as Polly, glad to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +be out of the hot car, drew long breaths of the splendid +air. “You have friends there?”</p> +<p>“In Conejo? Oh no, my brother lives in Athens. +That’s where I am going. He is superintendent of a +coal mine there.”</p> +<p>“Athens? That is some distance from Conejo. Of +course your brother will meet you?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” replied Polly, with the faith of the +American girl in the male of the species. “They +have a little coal train that runs to Conejo and he’ll +probably come in on that.”</p> +<p>“I think you must be Señorita Street?” mused the +young man.</p> +<p>“Oh,” Polly dimpled pleasantly. “You know Bob +then?”</p> +<p>Juan Pachuca’s dark eyes smiled. “Not exactly—but +I have met him. Me, I have a place south of +Conejo—quite a long way—I am what you might call +a long-distance neighbor. My name is Pachuca—Juan +Pachuca.”</p> +<p>“I see. Are you in the mining business, too?”</p> +<p>“Not now. Oh, I have mining property, but further +south. My people live in Mexico City. In Sonora I +have a small ranch.”</p> +<p>“You speak English rather wonderfully, you know, +señor,” said the girl. “But more like an Englishman +than an American.”</p> +<p>“It is very likely. My sister—she is much older +than I—married an Englishman, and her children had +English governesses. When I was young I had my +lessons with them.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></p> +<p>So from one thing to another the conversation ran, +very much as it does with two young people of any +nationalities, granted a common language. Polly talked +a good deal about Bob. Juan Pachuca seemed interested +in all the details that she could give him about +the mine. His manner was very respectful. If he +had not met many American girls he had evidently +heard much about them, for he did not seem to misunderstand +the situation as many Latins would have +done. Before the girl had realized it the two hours +were over and the little engine reappeared.</p> +<p>Conejo should, I believe, be called a town. The +people who live in it always dignify it by that name +and they probably have a reason for so doing. To +one holding advanced ideas as to towns, it seems at a +first glance to be only a collection of pinkish looking +adobes which on inspection turn out to be a church, a +store, a jail, a saloon, a hotel—at which no one stays +who has a friend to take him in—and some private +houses. It is Juarez without the bull ring, the racetrack +or the gambling places.</p> +<p>It is situated rather flatly between two ranges of +mountains and when Polly Street landed there at +about six o’clock—a trying hour in itself—it was in +the grip of a sand-storm. One’s first sand-storm is +always a surprise. It looks so innocent from behind +a window pane; just sand—blowing about rather +swiftly, whirling in spirals, beating against the glass, +piling itself up in drifts—an interesting sight but not a +terrifying one.</p> +<p>Polly had been a little surprised to see the fat ladies +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +array themselves in goggles before descending from +the train, and had laughingly refused an offer of his +own from Juan Pachuca, who promptly put them on +himself. But when she alighted from the train onto +the platform which extended from the rear end of the +general merchandise store, and which served as station, +waiting parlor and baggage-room, she gasped in +dismay. It was as though thousands of tiny pieces of +glass had struck her in the face and throat.</p> +<p>Before she could get her breath they struck her +again and again; sharp, vindictive, piercing little particles +they were. She shut her eyes and put her hands +to her bare throat to protect it. Suddenly she felt a +hand on her arm and Juan Pachuca’s voice said:</p> +<p>“Keep them shut and let me lead you. I told you +what sand-storms were—you’d better have taken the +goggles.”</p> +<p>Polly succumbed and felt herself being led along the +platform.</p> +<p>“There, we’re in the store,” said the young man. +“Rather nasty, eh?”</p> +<p>“Awful! I never felt anything like it,” gasped the +girl, shaking the sand from her clothes. “And it +isn’t sand, it’s gravel. No wonder you wear goggles!”</p> +<p>“I find them most convenient for many purposes,” +was the reply.</p> +<p>Polly noticed that he still had them on though they +were in the store. They gave him a queer, oldish appearance +and quite spoiled his good looks. Polly herself +was beginning to feel disturbed. She wanted Bob +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +and she wanted him immediately. She looked about +her anxiously.</p> +<p>The store was larger than it appeared from without +and carried a varied line of goods piled up on shelves +or displayed on counters. On one side, it seemed to +be a grocery store; on the other, dry-goods, shoes, and +hats were set forth, while in the rear were saddles, +bridles and other paraphernalia in leather. A big +stove in the middle of the room gave out a cheerful +warmth, for the air was growing very cool as the sun +went down.</p> +<p>There were a few people, Mexicans and Indians, in +the place and they all stared curiously at the pretty +American. Polly did not realize, though she was not +in the habit of underrating her attractions, how very +noticeable she was in that environment, as she stood +there, her tan traveling coat thrown open showing her +dainty white waist, her short, trim skirt with its big +plaid squares, and her neat brown silk stockings and +oxfords. Conejo had not seen her like in many moons +and it stared its full.</p> +<p>“I think Bob would be at the station. If I could +go there——” Polly began, with a little lump in her +throat.</p> +<p>“This is the station,” said Pachuca. “It is Jacob +Swartz’ store and the station as well.”</p> +<p>“Then something has happened to my letter. He +never would have disappointed me like this,” said the +girl, despairingly.</p> +<p>“That is quite possible. If you would let me serve +you in this matter, señorita? I have a car at the house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +of a friend just out of town. I am driving to my ranch +in it to-morrow. If you would let me drive you to +Athens——”</p> +<p>“Drive in an open car in that?” the girl pointed to +the whirling sand outside. “How could we?”</p> +<p>“Easily. Once on our way into the mountains we +will leave it behind us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you very much, señor, you’re very kind, +but if Bob doesn’t come I can go to some friends of +his, English people, the Morgans, and they will drive +me over in the morning.” She was conscious of a +sudden desire to get away from this polite youth who +stuck so tightly. It was all very well to let him amuse +her on the train—that was adventure; but to drive with +him through a strange country at night would be pure +madness. She thought he stiffened a bit at her words.</p> +<p>“English people? Oh, yes, undoubtedly that will +be wise. Swartz can probably tell you where to find +them.”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course.” Polly was glad to see that he was +going to leave her. “Thank you again, señor, for +your kindness.”</p> +<p>“It has been a great pleasure,” and the young man +was gone.</p> +<p>Polly clenched her hands nervously. Where, oh, +where was Bob? Why hadn’t she telegraphed instead +of trusting to a letter? At this juncture her glance fell +upon a small counter over which the sign P. O. was +displayed. Behind the counter sat a stout man in spectacles—Jacob +Swartz, undoubtedly. Polly accosted +him timidly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“Has anyone been in from Athens to-day?” she +said.</p> +<p>“Athens? Sure, dere train come up dis morning; +dey wendt back an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Was Mr. Street here—Mr. Robert Street?”</p> +<p>“No, joost the train gang. Dey wendt back when +dey got dere mail.”</p> +<p>“Do—do they come every day for the mail?”</p> +<p>“No, joost twice a week. Dere mail ain’t so heavy +it can’t wait dat long.” Swartz peered benevolently +over his spectacles.</p> +<p>“I’m Mr. Street’s sister. I wrote him I was coming, +but I suppose if he only gets his mail twice a +week he hasn’t had my letter.” Polly bit her lip impatiently. +“I want to go over to the Morgans—Mr. +Jack Morgan. Can you show me where they +live?”</p> +<p>“Sure can I,” replied Swartz, lumbering to his feet. +“You can from the door see it.”</p> +<p>Polly followed him in relief, when suddenly the door +opened and a little old lady literally blew in. She +stamped her feet as though it were snow instead of +sand that clung to her, and disengaged her head from +the thick white veil in which she had wrapped it.</p> +<p>“Mein Gott, it is old lady Morgan, herself,” said +Swartz, nudging Polly, pleasantly.</p> +<p>“What’s that? Somebody wanting me?” replied +the lady, still occupied with the veil. “Where’s that +tea I told you to send me this morning, Swartz? A +fine thing to make me come out in all this for a pound +of tea, just because I’ve nobody to send and two sick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +children on my hands! What? Oh, I can’t hear you! +Who d’you say wants me?”</p> +<p>She was a thin, bent old lady with straggly gray hair +and a very sharp penetrating voice. Polly felt the +lump in her throat growing larger. Was this the jolly +pretty Mrs. Jack Morgan that Bob had written about +so often?</p> +<p>“Dis young voman——” began Swartz, heavily.</p> +<p>Polly stepped forward.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Morgan, this is Bob Street’s sister. He has +often written us about you and your husband.”</p> +<p>“Husband? She ain’t got no husband,” interrupted +Mr. Swartz, heatedly. “Ain’t I told you dis iss de old +lady—Jack Morgan’s mother?”</p> +<p>“I’m a little hard of hearing, my dear. Who did +you say you were?” asked Jack Morgan’s mother, patiently.</p> +<p>Polly repeated her explanation, adding a few more +particulars, all as loudly as possible. They had now +an interested audience of Mexicans and Indians, male +and female, old and young, who found the scene none +the less attractive because they did not understand it.</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose he didn’t get your letter,” said +Mrs. Morgan. “Jack and his wife have gone over to +spend a few days with some friends in Mescal or +they’d run you over in the car.” There was a pause +as Polly digested this unwelcome bit of news, then the +old lady continued: “They’d only been gone two days +when both the children came down with mumps, and +my Mexican woman’s husband had to take that time +to join the army, so, of course, she had to leave. If +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +things weren’t so messed up I’d take you home with +me——”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” said Polly, promptly. “I couldn’t think +of it. If I could just get somebody to drive me +over——” Both she and Mrs. Morgan looked at +Swartz.</p> +<p>“Mendoza might if he ain’t drunk—sometimes he +ain’t,” volunteered that gentleman.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, I don’t think I’d like him,” shivered Polly. +“Isn’t there anybody else?”</p> +<p>“Nobody with a car,” replied Mrs. Morgan. “It’d +take you till morning to drive over—the roads are awful. +Mendoza is a very decent old thing. You go +and see if you can get him, Swartz,” and Swartz lumbered +away. Old lady Morgan understood how to +make herself obeyed. “Have you tried to get Athens +on the ’phone?”</p> +<p>“Telephone?” A smile broke over Polly’s unhappy +face. “Why, I never thought of that.”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, child, where do you think you are? +Here, I’ll get them for you.”</p> +<p>She led the way to the office.</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen your brother since he went up to +Douglas to get married,” she said. “Didn’t know +they’d come home.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, they must be home,” said Polly, an awful +doubt coming into her mind. “They—they must be +home!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Morgan seized the receiver and began exchanging +insults with the invisible Central. After several +minutes she gave up the effort. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“It’s no use, I can’t raise them—our service is +dreadful down here,” she said. “Now, I’ll tell you +what to do. I’ve got to run home before the baby +wakes up; if he can’t get Mendoza, you come on down +to the house and stay the night with me. See, it’s the +last house—got a Union Jack flying from it. If I +don’t see you in half an hour I’ll know you’ve gone +with Mendoza. You needn’t be afraid of him—he’s +half dead but he can drive a Ford,” and the voluble +old lady was gone.</p> +<p>Polly wondered for a moment whether she most +wanted to laugh or cry. Homesickness and fatigue +suggested the latter, but a wild sense of humor +poised between the decrepit Mendoza and the deaf +Mrs. Morgan won the day. Polly chuckled. Then +realizing that it was nearly seven and that she had had +nothing to eat since noon, she went to the counter and +bought of a Mexican youth, evidently a helper, some +crackers. They were in a box and looked a degree +cleaner than anything else. The population had +wearied of the American lady and had gone its various +ways. Polly sat forlornly on a high stool and +munched her crackers until Swartz returned.</p> +<p>“No good,” he said. “Mendoza’s sick and he +won’t let nobody else drive de car. You better go +stay mit de old lady.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said the girl, rising. “I suppose I can +leave my trunk on your back porch?”</p> +<p>“Vy not? Ain’t it der station? Vere should you +leaf it?” replied Swartz, hospitably.</p> +<p>Polly stepped out of the front door. The sand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +blizzard was undoubtedly on the wane. The wind +was less violent but much cooler. The sun had +dropped behind the mountains and the dusk was descending +upon the little Mexican town. A few of the +houses showed a light, but more of them were dark. +The Morgan house, a very long way down the street, +it seemed to the girl, was lit and she started to go +toward it. A sense of desolation, a forlornness greater +than she had ever known in all her short life descended +upon her. She swallowed quickly and increased her +pace. It wasn’t fear, she reflected, it was worse than +fear; it was the awful loneliness of one who had never +been really alone in her life.</p> +<p>“It’s the first night at boarding-school multiplied by +a thousand,” she sobbed softly. “Oh, why did I come +to this awful place? I simply can’t stay all night with +that deaf woman and those mumpy children! I——”</p> +<p>She jumped back in time to avoid an automobile +which seemed to flash out of nothingness at her elbow. +As she stood looking after it a wild hope came into +her head that it might be Bob after all. The car +stopped and a man jumped out.</p> +<p>“Is it you, señorita?” he exclaimed, “alone and in +the dark?”</p> +<p>It was Juan Pachuca. Polly sighed, disappointed to +tears. She tried to explain the situation.</p> +<p>“But in two hours I will have you in Athens,” he +begged. “Or is it that you wish to stay with these +people?”</p> +<p>“Of course I don’t wish to stay! The children +have the mumps and the poor old lady is nearly wild.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p> +<p>“Come. Give me that bag. So—I thought all +Americans were sensible people!” And before Polly +could object she found herself seated in the car with +Juan Pachuca driving silently at her side.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_JUAN_PACHUCA' id='IV_JUAN_PACHUCA'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>JUAN PACHUCA</h3> +</div> + +<p>About half an hour after his conversation with Mrs. +Van Zandt, Marc Scott drove the buckboard with its +two lively horses out on the Conejo road. Beside him +sat a blond dog of mixed genealogy answering to the +name of “Yellow.” Scott had put on a coat over his +flannel shirt, tucked his trousers into a pair of riding +boots, and replaced his sombrero with a soft cloth hat. +These changes having been made in honor of the visitor, +he felt that his duty had been fulfilled and he addressed +Yellow ruminatively:</p> +<p>“Well, I expect we got to brush up a bit on our +manners if we’re going to have a young lady around, +eh, Yellow? Going to be some strain on us both, I’ll +say. Funny idea to run off to a place like this just +because you’ve quarreled with your young man! Got +the temper that goes with red hair, I guess. I remember +a red-haired girl I used to know in Detroit——” A +grin succeeded the worried look on Scott’s face; evidently +the adventure with the red-haired girl had had +its humorous side.</p> +<p>“Well, get up, Romeo, we’ve got to reach that girl +before Mendoza dumps her in the ditch and gets her +mussed up or the boss’ll fire us both.”</p> +<p>Romeo, a good-looking gray, with an excitable nature, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +snorted as he felt the touch of the whip and +dragged his gentler mate into a lively trot. A new +moon, clear cut and beautiful, was rising behind them, +over the tall mountains, making the valley—so bare by +day—lovely and mysterious in its half light.</p> +<p>“No kind of a night to be driving around with a +dog, Yellow,” remarked the driver, reproachfully. +“Men and moonlight are made for better things.”</p> +<p>The horses trotted briskly; they were covering +ground rapidly. They ought, Marc figured, to meet +the machine this side of Junipero Hill, a steep and cruel +grade which he would be glad to spare his horses if +he could. If Mendoza was making any sort of speed +he ought to have come that far. He began to watch +for the lights of the machine. The girl must be +plucky, even if she was foolish, to dare a trip like this +with a strange Mexican.</p> +<p>Well, he was glad Bob’s sister was nervy; he liked +nervy girls and he liked Bob. Usually fellows who +came out from college and took positions over other +men’s heads made fools of themselves; but Bob was +not a fool. He was a decent, likable young chap, who +knew he had been luckier than the next fellow and +who took no advantage of it.</p> +<p>“Which is more than you can say of most rich +men’s sons,” soliloquized Scott. “But then why +should you expect sense from a rich man’s son? +Where’d they get it? It’s hard knocks gives a man +sense—if he’s ever going to get it, which most of them +ain’t!”</p> +<p>There was loneliness in the air. Scott, who was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +temperamental, as out-of-doors men often are, felt it +keenly. It brought before him more clearly the loneliness +of his own life, a life spent in out-of-the-way +places, largely among men; a life with no roots, he +sometimes felt. Yet he would not have traded his +freedom, he would have told you, for any woman, for +a home or for children. To be foot loose, to go where +fancy called him, to have no ties—no clogs upon his +precious liberty, that was what he loved.</p> +<p>He was fond of women, too. He liked being with +them and he liked measuring each one he met with +his ideal, a hazy creature who probably did not exist. +Well, he rather hoped she didn’t, or if she did that +he would never meet her. He had known too many +men who had traded their freedom for a home and a +fireside and who, once bound, had never been able to +go back to the old life. It had not always been the +women who had held them, either; the men themselves +had seemed to change—to deteriorate, Scott +would have said—to have lost the energy and the vigor +that made life worth while. You cannot get anything +for nothing and you paid for the happiness you might +find in marriage with the loss of the one thing which +was to him the most important thing in all life—liberty.</p> +<p>So they jogged along, Scott whistling to keep himself +company. Occasionally, Yellow would insist upon +getting out for a run, but he seemed glad to return. +After a while it began to seem odd to Scott that he did +not see the lights of Mendoza’s car. Even a cautious +driver should have made the distance by this time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Suddenly, an idea popped into his head—one of those +clammy ideas, which come instantly, and come with a +chill; ideas that are positively physical in the way in +which they affect one. Suppose it was Mendoza’s car +with someone else driving it? Someone of the score +of half-breeds who hung around the livery stable where +the car was kept? Scott leaned over and laid the whip +on the innocent Romeo.</p> +<p>“My God, horse, we’ve got to go some the rest of +the way! If——”</p> +<p>He did not finish the sentence. They had reached +the top of a hill and he put on the brake as they +started down. At the foot of the hill stood an automobile—not +Mendoza’s shabby little Ford—but a big +car with two large headlights. It was turned across +the road and not a soul was in sight. Scott took his +foot off the brake and with a muttered curse let the +buckboard rattle down the hill.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Polly’s first sensation, as she sank into the comfortable +seat next the driver and buried her face in the +collar of her coat, was one of intense relief. This was +something that seemed like home. She felt herself +being whirled up the streets of Conejo with the feeling +of one who is escaping, the flight being for the time +of more importance than the fashion in which one flies.</p> +<p>“I think you will be cold,” said a polite voice at her +elbow. “Wait—I have a robe.” And a blanket which +smelled of the stable rather than of the garage was +wrapped carefully around her. “In a few moments +we shall be out of this sand.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></p> +<p>For a while they rode in silence, then the girl said, +apologetically:</p> +<p>“I am so sorry. I didn’t want you to go to all this +trouble—but I couldn’t stay in that awful place when +Bob is so near!”</p> +<p>“If you think Conejo is bad I wonder what you +would think of some of our towns further south? +They are ruins.”</p> +<p>“Ruins?”</p> +<p>“Ten years of revolution—they do not improve a +country.”</p> +<p>Polly did not reply. She peeped out of her collar +and saw that Pachuca’s prophecy was fulfilled. They +had ridden out of the area of the sand-storm and were +getting into the foothills where the air was cold and +clear. They faced the new moon which gave an eerie +look to everything—the distant mountains, the foothills +with their weird patches of vegetation, tall cacti +and dark looking arroyos. Far, far in their rear could +be seen the few feeble lights of Conejo. It began to +dawn upon an awed Polly that she was doing not an +unconventional but a distinctly risky thing.</p> +<p>What did she know about this good-looking boy +who sat beside her, guiding the car so expertly through +the ruts and chuck holes that chopped up the road? +Suppose he turned out to be—she caught her breath +angrily! He was no common Mexican but a gentleman +and one was not afraid of men of one’s own +class, she told herself. She would not be afraid. She +hated people who were afraid. She was having a +wonderful experience; the sort of an experience that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +girls read about but didn’t have, and she was going to +enjoy it.</p> +<p>“I forgot to ask you if you had anything to eat,” +said Juan Pachuca. “You didn’t, did you?”</p> +<p>“I had crackers,” said Polly. “What did you +have?”</p> +<p>“I was more fortunate. I found my friend at +dinner,” replied the young man.</p> +<p>“Where were you going when you met me?”</p> +<p>“Eventually to my ranch, but first to find you. I +did not think you would stay with the Señora Morgan.”</p> +<p>Polly laughed in spite of herself.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t,” she confessed. “Do you know, she +seemed to think it doubtful that Bob and Emma had +come back to Athens? I wonder why?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” replied the Mexican, “she thought the +country not quite safe for a young lady.”</p> +<p>“But I thought things were settling down?”</p> +<p>“There will be no settling down until after the +elections.”</p> +<p>“The elections?”</p> +<p>“You would not understand. Americans never do.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps some of us might if you gave us a chance; +but when you go rearing and pitching around, killing us +and raiding border towns like that murderous +Villa——”</p> +<p>“In war there is no murder,” said Juan Pachuca, +calmly. “And Villa is a friend of mine.”</p> +<p>“Well, I can’t help it, and I think it’s very strange +for a well brought up boy like you to be friends with +a man like Villa.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>Pachuca laughed as he glanced at the girl’s wrathful +face.</p> +<p>“Why do you call me a well brought up boy?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Because you are, aren’t you? You remind me a +lot of a cousin of mine who’s just entering college.”</p> +<p>“How old is the cousin?”</p> +<p>“Nineteen.”</p> +<p>“When I was nineteen I was a colonel in the army,” +said Juan Pachuca, whimsically. “That was six +years ago.”</p> +<p>“Good gracious!”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Well, in our country we don’t take boys of nineteen +very seriously,” said Polly, a little upset. “Did +you fight much?”</p> +<p>“A good deal. I suppose then that young men of +nineteen do not fall in love either in your country?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, they do, but nobody pays much attention +to them. We call it puppy love.”</p> +<p>“Puppy love!” Juan frowned. “You are a +strange people—you Americans.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose we are but we like ourselves that +way. Do you think that engine of yours is all right? +It sounds queer to me.”</p> +<p>Pachuca shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“It gives me trouble sometimes. It needs what +you call an overhauling, but it will take us to +Athens.”</p> +<p>Polly, with an ear trained to engine sounds, wondered +whether it would. She felt that the last straw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +would be to be stranded in the middle of the night in +a lonely spot with this good-looking young man, who, +to make matters worse, had turned out to be twenty-five +instead of nineteen. Again they sat in silence +while the machine wrenched itself in and out of ruts +and through arroyos.</p> +<p>She found herself wondering what his life had been? +A colonel at nineteen! She remembered the boys she +had known in our own army, boys she had fed and +sewed for on their way to France. They, too, had +seemed young, but she felt a great difference. This +young man suggested things of which Polly knew little. +She wondered whether it was imagination that +made her fancy that he had played a part in life which +does not usually fall to twenty-five, except in a country +so disordered, so desperate as Mexico.</p> +<p>Some of her boy friends who had come back from +France and Belgium had carried in their faces some +such suggestion, but only a few. For the most part +they had come back as they went over, those who had +returned whole; husky, lively, youngish chaps—more +restless, less satisfied with life at home, perhaps, but +not older particularly.</p> +<p>“That’s why he seems odd to me,” she concluded. +“He’s done and seen things that a fellow his age +hasn’t any business to have done and seen—that is, the +way we look at it at home. Oh dear, I wonder if we’re +ever going to get there? I can’t keep still much longer +and yet I hate to stir him up.”</p> +<p>“The girls in your country, do they fall in love at +nineteen?” said Juan Pachuca, suddenly. There was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +a softness in his voice that under other conditions—say, +in a ballroom—Polly would probably have described +as melting. In her present environment it +struck her less pleasantly.</p> +<p>“Girls? Oh, yes, of course they do; but not in the +desperate, hot-headed way your young ladies do. At +least, not usually. Of course some girls do queer +things and get into the newspapers.”</p> +<p>“Ah, our young ladies do not get into the newspapers,” +commented Juan Pachuca. “They are guarded +quite carefully; that is, our girls of good family. Most +of them are very beautiful.”</p> +<p>“But aren’t they just a little bit tiresome? I mean, +just being beautiful and guarded and all that sort of +thing. At home we like a girl who has seen a little of +life,” apologetically.</p> +<p>“Not a young lady of family!” said Pachuca, decidedly.</p> +<p>“Well, of course, in America we don’t think a lot +about family, though it’s nice to have it if you can. +We think more of education and getting on in the +world. Señor, I wish you would get down and look +at that engine; there’s something awfully wrong with +it.”</p> +<p>Polly spoke suddenly for Juan Pachuca was leaning +very close to her.</p> +<p>“Your young ladies are charming,” he said, softly. +“I had always heard it and now I know it is true.” +His black eyes were dancing; it would have taken +some guessing to know whether with excitement or +laughter or both. “Do they ever forget themselves so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +far as to allow themselves a love affair on a silver +night when——”</p> +<p>“No, they do not,” said Polly, half severely and +half amused. It was difficult to take Juan Pachuca’s +rudeness seriously and yet—oh, why had she come?</p> +<p>“Not a desperate, hot-headed love affair such as +pleases the young ladies of my country,” he pursued, +seizing the hand so near him. “But one of those—what +do you call them in your tongue—flirtations?”</p> +<p>He was laughing but there was a smoldering fire +back of the laughter, and the grasp of his hand was +strong.</p> +<p>“Señor, now please—remember that I didn’t come +with you because I wanted to, but because I had to! +Please!” For Pachuca’s arm had slid itself deftly +around her and was drawing her toward him, gently, +but with an exceeding firmness, while the dancing dark +eyes continued to laugh into hers. “There, see what +you’ve done!”</p> +<p>The big car had given a most unwieldy lurch, +wedged a tire in a rut, bounced a couple of times, +and stopped—providentially—on the edge of the deep +gully that fringed the road.</p> +<p>“It is nothing,” declared the young man, a bit +stunned by the suddenness of the affair. The car, +however, refusing to back, gave him the lie. Polly +tore herself from his detaining arm and was out in the +road.</p> +<p>“If you had an electric torch I could tell you what +it is,” she said, trying to control both nerves and temper, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +for she was both frightened and angry. “Have +you?”</p> +<p>“I think so,” replied Pachuca, a little stiffly. “But, +please, dear lady, do not get down in the dirt! I beg +of you!”</p> +<p>“I don’t mind. I know every little pain an engine +can have. I drove an emergency car at home during +the war,” said Polly, curtly.</p> +<p>“Indeed?” Juan Pachuca’s voice was cool. The +young lady was business-like—too business-like to flirt +with—and yet——</p> +<p>“No, it’s not that.” Polly shook the curls out of +her eyes and slammed the cover of the radiator. +“Where do you think it is? You ought to know something +about this car; you’ve been driving it.”</p> +<p>Pachuca’s eyes danced. What was the use of being +stiff with an American? They were all alike—the men +after money, and the women after what they called +independence!</p> +<p>“I think,” he said, demurely, “that it must be +attacked from underneath, if you will hold the +torch.”</p> +<p>“All right.” Polly smiled. “Go ahead. If you +can’t find it, I’ll try.”</p> +<p>Thus it was that Marc Scott’s first acquaintance +with Polly Street came as he pulled the excited team +to its haunches within a few feet of the automobile, +and she, holding Juan Pachuca’s torch, jumped to her +feet and faced him.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, eagerly, “is that you, Bob?” +Then, seeing more clearly, “I beg your pardon! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +We’ve had trouble with the car, but we’ve fixed it and +we’ll be out of the way in a moment.”</p> +<p>“I’m not Bob Street, but I’m from Athens, and I’m +looking for Bob’s sister. I guess you must be her,” +replied Scott. “Well, who are you?” he added, as +Juan Pachuca’s legs emerged from the car, followed by +his body.</p> +<p>“It’s not Mendoza—he’s sick,” volunteered Polly. +“It’s a gentleman who was in the train and who kindly +drove me over. Where is my brother?”</p> +<p>“Your letter only came to-night,” stammered Scott, +“and in the same mail we had one from your brother +in Douglas, saying he had been called East——”</p> +<p>“East!” The blow was too sudden; Polly’s legs +collapsed. She sat down on the running-board of the +machine and gasped. In the meantime Juan Pachuca +stepped to the buckboard.</p> +<p>“It is Señor Scott?” he said pleasantly. “We have +met before.”</p> +<p>Scott surveyed him thoughtfully. “Well, by +the Lord, if it ain’t Johnny Pachuca! Of all the +nerve——”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” grinned Pachuca, appreciatively. “You +are surprised, eh? What are you going to do about +it?”</p> +<p>“That depends upon how you’ve treated the young +lady,” said Marc, quietly, “and on your general behavior,” +he added, with a reciprocal grin.</p> +<p>“Haven’t I told you that he was kind enough to +drive me over?” said Polly, impatiently. “And +if——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></p> +<p>“That being the case,” replied Scott, “I don’t know +as there’s anything I can do except say much obliged, +and keep my eye on my horse-flesh. If you’ll get into +the wagon, Miss ——”</p> +<p>“Oh, he’s all right,” said Pachuca, airily, as the girl +hesitated. “He’s the manager of the Athens mine—Marc +Scott—a very decent fellow. I regret being deprived +of your company, señorita, but he evidently intends +to take you back with him.”</p> +<p>“Any baggage?” demanded Scott, gruffly.</p> +<p>“One trunk,” replied Polly, rather dazed by the suddenness +of the affair. “But it’s back at Conejo.”</p> +<p>“Want any help with that car?”</p> +<p>“No, thank you, the young lady and I have remedied +the trouble.”</p> +<p>“Of course there’s no use in my asking if there’s +any particular reason for your being in this neighborhood, +Pachuca?”</p> +<p>“There is always a reason for my being where I +am,” was the suave reply. “This time it does not +concern you.”</p> +<p>“That’s good. No revolutions up your sleeve, +eh?”</p> +<p>Pachuca chuckled. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, +<i>amigo</i>,” he said. “Would you take the advice of a +friend, Marc Scott?”</p> +<p>“I might, if you’d guarantee he ain’t lying.”</p> +<p>“Then tell your people to close up their mine, take +their women and get out of the country. There is +trouble coming,” and the young Mexican bowed politely +to the girl and returned to his machine. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></p> +<p>“Now, what do you suppose the young devil meant +by that?” demanded Scott, as he turned the team and +faced the hill again. Polly’s eyes were wide open.</p> +<p>“Who is he?” she said, eagerly. “You seemed to +know him. Does he really live near here?”</p> +<p>“I believe he has a ranch about here somewhere—some +ways south. As to where he lives I reckon he +could hardly tell you that himself.”</p> +<p>“But where did you know him?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know him. I don’t want to know him. +The last time I saw him was when Villa stopped over +with us on one of his retreats. This guy was with +him. That little visit cost us a dozen good horses, +two hundred dollars, and our winter’s supply of canned +goods. He’s an expensive acquaintance, that fellow.”</p> +<p>Polly’s face was full of horror. “Do you mean,” +she gasped, “that I’ve been riding around the country +with a Mexican bandit?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know as I’d call him a bandit.”</p> +<p>“He told me that he was a colonel in the army!” +indignantly.</p> +<p>“Well, he was, so I’ve heard. He’s been quite a +lot of things. Maybe we’d better not talk about him +any more to-night. It’s kind of exciting for you after +all you’ve been through.”</p> +<p>“Exciting!” Polly sank back in her seat limply.</p> +<p>“He was all right to you, wasn’t he?” continued +Scott, a little shyly. “Wasn’t fresh or anything like +that?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he was all right,” murmured the girl, +quickly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>“These Mexicans are queer. You can’t tell what +they’ll do,” went on Scott. “Sometimes they’ve got +manners like the President of the United States, and +the next time they’ll do something that’d disgrace a +pirate. Take ’em all around as they go, I guess Pachuca +stacks up pretty well. He’s educated and comes +of good folks. But how the deuce did you happen——”</p> +<p>“Oh, I suppose it does sound awful!” Polly said, +in a rush. “But he was on the train and when the +horrid little thing stopped on the side of a hill for two +hours, he came along and explained what was the +matter.”</p> +<p>“He talks English like a Bostonese,” said Scott.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t he? And anything that sounds like Boston +just naturally puts confidence in a Chicagoan, don’t +you know? Then when I landed at Conejo in that +wild sand-storm with no one to meet me and the Morgans +out of town, he offered to drive me over, and I +let him. It didn’t seem far; why, at home we often +drive that far in an evening.”</p> +<p>“Well, driving around the boulevard with your +friends is one thing, and around this sort of country +with a strange Mexican is another.” Scott paused at the +sight of the girl’s penitent face, and changed the subject. +“As for your brother, we had a letter from him +to-night saying that he and the bride had gone East. +The directors sent for him, so they started pronto. I +reckon Miss Emma’s folks coaxed them to stay in +Douglas a few days after the wedding—we had expected +them here before this.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></p> +<p>“But how did you know——”</p> +<p>Scott cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you see, +he wrote me to read all his mail——” he stopped, +abruptly. “Go on, Romeo!”</p> +<p>“I see. You opened my letter and found out that I +was coming, and came to meet me. I am very much +obliged to you.” The words were pleasant enough +but the tone was cool.</p> +<p>“She’s on the trail,” Scott thought, disconsolately. +“She’s running over in her mind what she said in +that letter, and when she remembers, it’s going to be a +good idea to get home as soon as possible.”</p> +<p>After this, the silence was extremely marked. Scott, +feeling the discomfort of it, continued:</p> +<p>“It’s too bad for you to have had this long trip and +then miss your brother after all, but I guess he’ll be +back soon, the way things are looking.”</p> +<p>More silence, but Scott was not going to be scared +out of his good intentions.</p> +<p>“I reckon we can make you pretty comfortable till +he comes. We’ve got a mighty pleasant lady running +the boarding-house just now and she’ll be glad enough +to have another white woman on the place.”</p> +<p>The silence still continuing, he gave up. “Hang it, +if she won’t talk, she won’t,” he thought. Then as he +turned to tuck in a flying end of robe he saw the girl’s +face. “Great guns, she’s asleep—poor kid!”</p> +<p>The end of a far from perfect day had come for +Polly Street, and even an uncomfortable seat with a +hard back and the joltings of a rough road had failed +to keep her awake. She was asleep, sitting up, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +head drooping, her body relaxed. In a few seconds +she would be leaning comfortably on the broad shoulder +next her. Without interrupting the team’s even +trot, Scott leaned down, fished another blanket from +under the seat and arranged it on the back of the seat +between them just in time to receive Polly’s sleepy +head, so that she rested half on the blanket, and half +on his own steady bulk for the rest of the trip.</p> +<p>“Poor youngster, she has had a day of it,” the man +said softly, as he arranged the blanket carefully around +her. “And, by gum, I’ll bet she hasn’t had a mouthful +to eat since noon! Well, women have endurance, +I’ll say they have. Built like Angora kittens and with +the constitutions of beef critters. Go on, Romeo—I +don’t want her fainting with hunger on my hands, +she’s mad enough at me now.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_POLLY_ARRIVES' id='V_POLLY_ARRIVES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>POLLY ARRIVES</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was midnight when the buckboard stopped in +front of the company house where Mrs. Van Zandt and +Henry Hard assisted the drowsy Polly out of the +wagon, while Scott painstakingly performed the introductions.</p> +<p>“Nothing to eat since noon!” gasped Mrs. Van +Zandt, in horror. “What on earth was old lady Morgan +thinking of? Mr. Hard, if you’ll throw some +more wood into the stove, I’ll put on the percolator +and run down to the dining-room for some sandwiches.” +She ran off in one direction, while Scott +drove the team in another, leaving Hard to do the +honors.</p> +<p>“It’s a shame to have things happen this way,” he +said. “A thousand times I’ve heard Bob talk about +having you come down here, and now that you’ve +come, he’s flying in another direction.”</p> +<p>“It’s my own fault,” admitted Polly, honestly. +“We are all so sudden in our family—make up our +minds and hardly wait to write or telegraph. I might +have known that Bob would be doing something just +as queer as I was. How comfortably you have this +place fixed! Am I turning you out of it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>“Oh, we’re tramps, Scott and I. We thought it +would be pleasanter for you to be here with Mrs. Van +Zandt, so we moved ourselves out. We rather like +changing about.” He built up the fire and adjusted +the percolator, while Polly divested herself of her hat +and coat and sat down in a comfortable chair.</p> +<p>“It won’t be for long,” she said, decidedly. “I +shall go back as soon as I can now that Bob and Emma +are home.”</p> +<p>“I hope you won’t. Apart from the very great +pleasure that it gives us all to see someone from home, +it would be a pity to let you go back without seeing +some of the country.”</p> +<p>Polly laughed in spite of her weariness.</p> +<p>“It seems to me as though I’d seen the entire country +of Mexico to-day,” she said. “Such a trip!”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it, though? The first time I made it I said: +‘Here is where I locate for life and found a colony. +I’ll never have the courage to go home.’ But I got +over it.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt bustling in, followed by Scott, their +hands full of provisions, found the two chatting sociably.</p> +<p>“I’d have had cake for you,” volunteered the former, +“if Dolores and her beau hadn’t ate it all on me.”</p> +<p>“It’s like a midnight feast at boarding-school,” +chuckled the visitor, waked up by the coffee.</p> +<p>“It’s like the spreads we used to have when we was +on the road,” said Mrs. Van Zandt, meditatively.</p> +<p>“On the road?” Polly’s eyes opened wide.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Van was one of the original ‘Floradora Sextette,’” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +remarked Scott, soberly. “The only one who +didn’t marry a millionaire.”</p> +<p>“A lot you know about it,” retorted the lady. “I +was in the ‘Prince of Pilsen,’” she informed Polly, +confidentially. “I understudied the ‘Widow’ on the +road. It was an interesting life,” she concluded, +thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“It must have been,” replied Polly, politely. “How +did you happen to come West?”</p> +<p>“Me? Oh, I came West with an invalid,” replied +Mrs. Van, easily. “She was one of the cranky kind—middle-aged +and none of her family could live with +her. You’ve seen that kind? They wanted she should +have a trained nurse and the trained nurse never was +born that she could get along with. Trained nurses +are awful bossy—they can’t help it, they’re supposed to +be; that’s all the difference there is between them and +the ones that ain’t trained. So I come out to look +after her.”</p> +<p>“Did she die?”</p> +<p>“Not she. Get it out of your head that lungers always +die—they don’t. She got well and went home +and nagged the life out of her family for years. Last +I heard of her, she’d taken up with a young fellow she +met at a skating rink and her folks were wild for fear +she’d marry him.”</p> +<p>“Then you stayed out West?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and sometimes I’ve regretted it. New York’s +the place to live. I had a swell flat in a good neighborhood +and rented rooms to single gents and business +women—they’re the ones that have the money. It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +interesting, too. I’d put an ‘ad’ in the Sunday paper +and all day Monday folks would be coming to see my +rooms; I met some real nice people that way. Well, I +think you’d better be turning in; you’ll feel this to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Scott and Hard rose and said good-night.</p> +<p>“That’s a plucky girl, Scott,” said the latter, as they +walked down the silent road together.</p> +<p>“Do you know who brought her over from Conejo?” +demanded Scott, with a chuckle.</p> +<p>“I thought you said Mendoza did.”</p> +<p>“Mendoza’s sick and she took a dislike to old Mrs. +Morgan, so she came over with Juan Pachuca in his +car.”</p> +<p>“You’re joking.”</p> +<p>“I am not. I drove as far as Junipero Hill and +when I got to the top of it I saw a big car at the foot, +twisted about, almost in the ditch. I found Johnny +on his stomach under the car and the girl holding an +electric torch for him. She said she’d been underneath +giving him a hand with it. I wouldn’t put it past her.”</p> +<p>“But the child must be out of her head,” protested +Hard, weakly. “They don’t do those things—even in +these degenerate days.”</p> +<p>“I guess you and me are behind the times, Henry. +And then, you know Pachuca’s manners. Something +between the King of Spain and Chauncey Depew. Any +woman’d fall for them.”</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<p>“But nothing. Pachuca brought her over and he +behaved himself while he was doing it as near as I can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +find out. What I want to know is what the smooth +young devil wants around here?”</p> +<p>“If there’s a revolution in the air, Pachuca would +throw in his lot with Obregon and De la Huerta. +What he thinks about the First Chief is unprintable.”</p> +<p>“He had the cheek to tell me to close up the mine +and get out of the country,” grinned Scott.</p> +<p>“That may mean something and it may not. +They’re keen about their bit of melodrama, these chaps. +My El Paso paper says that there is a rumor again +about troops having been ordered in from Chihuahua. +That looks as though they were afraid of something.”</p> +<p>“Or else were trying to stir up something,” replied +the other. “Obregon’s never going to stand for Carranza’s +candidate for the election. His own chances +are too good. It might be a wise plan for the Government +to stir up a little revolution on its own hook and +get in the first hits.”</p> +<p>“Might be. Anything might be down here; that’s +why it’s such an interesting place to live. Still, I don’t +altogether like the idea of Pachuca roaming the country +like a lion escaped from a circus.”</p> +<p>“Those lions never do much harm,” observed Scott, +cheerfully. “Of course, if he hitches up with +Villa——”</p> +<p>“I seem to have heard that he and Villa had a row. +I should say he was more likely to try to organize a +crowd of his own and get in on the fireworks.”</p> +<p>“If he does it’s good-bye to our fellows,” said Scott. +“It would be a case of the Pied Piper and the rats; +and Johnny’s a mighty good piper.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>Hard glanced at his companion in some amusement. +Scott, who was a man of little education, had periodic +spells of promiscuous reading, and frequently surprised +his friend with his references.</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t be only our men, either,” he said, a +moment later.</p> +<p>“I was thinking of that,” replied Scott. “Old Herrick’s +would go, too. I wish you could persuade him +to go back to England, Hard; that ranch of his is no +place for an artist.”</p> +<p>Hard nodded. “I doubt if I could,” he said. +“Herrick’s obstinate.”</p> +<p>They had reached the cabin where they were to sleep +and were hailed drowsily but inquisitively by Adams.</p> +<p>“Hullo, you guys! Did you find the lady?”</p> +<p>“We did, and she asked warmly after you,” replied +Scott. Then, in a low tone to Hard: “No use saying +anything about Pachuca to the boys.”</p> +<p>Hard nodded. “Better not,” he agreed.</p> +<p>“Did she? I think you lie,” replied Adams, sleepily. +“Don’t be any noisier than you can help, you two, getting +to bed. I’ve lost two hours of my beauty sleep +now waitin’ up for you and I need my rest.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“I’m going over to my place to give the men their +breakfast,” said Mrs. Van Zandt, looking into Polly’s +bedroom the next morning. “Just you lay in bed until +you’re rested.”</p> +<p>“I’m rested now,” said the girl, sitting up. “Is +there—no, of course there isn’t a bathtub on the +place?” she laughed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“Bathtub? Well, I should say not, but your pitcher’s +full, I guess. You’ll get used to being without +bathtubs after a while. They ain’t half as important +as folks think.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mind. I’ve camped,” said Polly, heroically. +“What I really wanted to ask you was how soon you +thought I could get away?”</p> +<p>“Get away? Why, ain’t you just come?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I thought Bob was here. I never would +have dumped myself down upon a lot of strangers like +this.”</p> +<p>“If that’s all that bothers you, turn over and get +another nap. If the Superintendent’s own sister ain’t +got a right to a few weeks’ board and lodging, I don’t +know who has. As for the boys, don’t worry about +them. I’m an honest-to-goodness widow and I guess +I can chaperon you all right.”</p> +<p>Polly laughed again. Mrs. Van Zandt’s eye took in +her appearance thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Do you sleep in those things all the time?” she +said. “I mean, are they all you brought?”</p> +<p>Polly glanced at her diaphanous pajamas and nodded +cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll see that you have an extra blanket. +Nights are cold here,” and Mrs. Van hurried away. +Polly called after her. “Well?” she said, reappearing +in the doorway.</p> +<p>“Is this Bob’s room, Mrs. Van Zandt?” the girl +asked.</p> +<p>“No, it’s Mr. Hard’s, but you needn’t worry about +him. He’ll be quite comfortable at the other house.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></p> +<p>“I was wondering——” Polly blushed. One hates +to be curious, and yet—“I was wondering who that +was?” pointing to a photograph on the dresser.</p> +<p>“Her name’s Conrad—she’s a widow woman from +Boston, an old friend of his. Pretty, ain’t she?”</p> +<p>“Very.”</p> +<p>“He never told me anything about her,” admitted +Mrs. Van, candidly. “Mr. Hard ain’t one to chatter +about his private affairs, but I got it out of Marc +Scott.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“He said she was a singer; married an Englishman +and lived down near Mexico City. Husband died two +or three years ago. I’ve a notion she’s an old sweetheart +of Henry Hard’s—you can tell from her clothes +it’s an old picture.”</p> +<p>“I like her looks,” commented Polly.</p> +<p>“So do I. Give me a wide-awake looking woman +every time,” agreed Mrs. Van Zandt. “There, I must +hustle or Dolores will put red pepper in the eggs.”</p> +<p>Polly stared at the photograph. It was of a tall, +slender woman, with large dark eyes, and obviously of +a personality distinctly pleasing. She had, even in the +photograph, an air of vitality which accounted for Mrs. +Van’s comment.</p> +<p>“And he looks like the sort of man who would stay +single for a woman,” she said, pensively. Then her +thoughts returned to her own position. Her eyes filled.</p> +<p>“Oh, why did I come? Why did I?” she asked +herself for the fiftieth time. “Because I was a coward +and didn’t want to hear what people were going to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +say about me. As though it mattered what the kind of +people I know think of anybody! And now I’ve marooned +myself in this dreadful place and I’ll have to +stay till Bob comes—we can’t go chasing each other +across the country like this. And that miserable Scott +man knows why I came! Well, I can snub him, anyhow.”</p> +<p>Polly planted both feet firmly on the floor and +reached for her stockings. A few minutes later she +stood in the doorway, a dark sweater drawn over her +lacy waist, her plaid skirt blowing in the breeze, and +her vivid hair covered only with a net. The air was +cool and bracing, the sun just beginning to be a bit +warm, the mountains emerging from behind fleecy +clouds, and the sky as blue as that of Italy.</p> +<p>“Not bad, eh?” Hard stopped beside her, thinking +how her splendid youth and vibrant coloring harmonized +with the surroundings.</p> +<p>“Not bad at all,” laughed the girl. “You only need +a few wild looking Mexicans prowling about to give a +touch of life.”</p> +<p>Hard pointed toward the mine. Some dark-skinned +men wearing big straw sombreros were running a hand +car up the track while another group lounged in a +doorway.</p> +<p>“There are your Mexicans, but I’m afraid they’re +too lazy to be very wild. Nothing but a revolution excites +them these days and sometimes I think they’re +getting a bit blasé over them. Now and then they +wake up over a cock-fight.” They walked down the +street toward the boarding-house. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“I wish, Mr. Hard, that you would tell me something +about the young man who drove me over last +night,” the girl said.</p> +<p>“Who? Scotty?”</p> +<p>“No,” a little indignantly. “I mean Señor Pachuca. +Oh, I forgot that I hadn’t told you!”</p> +<p>“Scott told me. He and I thought, if you don’t +mind, that we wouldn’t say anything about it before +the others. I mean about his being in the neighborhood.”</p> +<p>“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” replied Polly, +with unusual docility. “But please tell me about him. +Mr. Scott didn’t seem to want to.”</p> +<p>“Well, no, Scotty didn’t want to frighten you, I +suppose.”</p> +<p>“Frighten me? As if I was that kind of girl!”</p> +<p>“It’s just a little difficult these days to know what +one may or may not tell a young lady,” smiled Hard. +“But about Johnny Pachuca. A good many people +call him ‘Don Juan’—I don’t know whether it’s because +he claims to be of pure Spanish blood, or whether +it’s a subtle recognition of his popularity with the +ladies.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“A few years ago, he was a captain or a colonel or +something equally fancy in the army. He’s a dashing +young scamp, and he had the good luck or the bad luck +whatever you want to call it to engage the affections +of a good-looking young actress who was supposed to +be bestowing those affections on a man higher up. +Naturally, the man higher up looked about for a way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +of getting even. He dug up a scandal about some +army funds. Young Pachuca had been doing what +seems to have been the usual thing down in Mexico +City—padding his accounts—so they got him.</p> +<p>“Not that they couldn’t have got anybody on the +staff on the same charge; but they were after Juan. +Juan had to choose between retiring to private life or +turning bandit. Having a taste for action, he did the +latter.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean like Villa?”</p> +<p>“Well, no, Villa’s in a class by himself. You can’t +call a man who has controlled a state and who has +dictated to presidents, a bandit, can you? He’s on too +big a scale. Pachuca took up banditry, in a gentlemanly +sort of way; at least they say he did; nobody’s +proved it on him. He was undoubtedly with Villa at +one time. He was with him when he stopped here and +nabbed our horses. I was away at the time. I’ve +never seen the fellow. Then, gossip says, they quarreled +and Pachuca went back to his people in the +South. I haven’t a doubt, however, that if another +revolution should break out, Johnny would climb into +the band-wagon against the government and land in +the army again.”</p> +<p>“And that’s the man I undertook to drive alone in +the dark with!” gasped the girl. “Mr. Hard, promise +me you’ll never tell Bob?”</p> +<p>“I promise,” replied Hard, laughing. “And here +we are at breakfast. Miss Street, this is Mr. Williams, +who runs our store, Mr. Adams, of the office +force——” and so on until each had very consciously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +greeted the newcomer. Scott, who sat at the end of +the table, looked up and bowed, receiving a cool little +response. He returned unconcerned to his ham and +eggs. If the new arrival was going to be disagreeable, +he would keep out of her way.</p> +<p>Breakfast went off pleasantly. The food was excellent +and with the exception of Scott, who kept his distance, +everyone was quite evidently trying to put the +girl at her ease. From the train crew, who announced +their intention of running over to Conejo for her trunk, +to Adams who spoke for the privilege of taking her +over the plant, and Williams, who begged for an early +opportunity to show his collection of baskets and pottery, +each had something to offer. Even the black-eyed +Dolores peeped admiringly through the hole in the +wall, gathering items about the visitor to retail to the +eager ears of relatives and friends at the next <i>baile</i>.</p> +<p>After breakfast, Adams piloted Polly over the +premises, from the corral to the office. He showed her +the automobile lying idle because an important part +was broken and the new one though ordered from the +factory had not come.</p> +<p>“I hope you ride?” he said, and as she nodded: +“that’s good. Maybe we can get up a party to ride +across the mesa to Casa Grande. That’s Herrick’s +place.”</p> +<p>“Herrick?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Queer chap—part German and part English. +Artistic, you know—plays the piano and sings.”</p> +<p>“What’s he doing here if he’s an artist?” demanded +Polly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>“Runs a ranch and writes music. His wife died +suddenly—she used to travel around with him and sing +his songs—they made a pile of money, I guess.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean Victor Herrick!” gasped the girl.</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s him. He went to pieces when she died +and packed up his piano and his music and came down +here and buried himself on the ranch. Queer customer, +but you’ll like him.”</p> +<p>“And to think that Bob Street never wrote me that +Victor Herrick was a neighbor of his—and then wrote +pages of stuff about those old Morgans!” said Polly, +indignantly. “Why, I’ve heard the Herricks sing—they +were wonderful! Men haven’t any sense.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, he likes the Morgans. She’s a jolly kind +of woman, invites a fellow to dinner and feeds him +up, you know,” said Jimmy, seriously. “They’re real +folks, the Morgans are, and Herrick’s a sort of a nut, +don’t you see?” He threw open the door of the office +abruptly. “Here’s the office, where the manager +sits with his feet on the desk while the rest of us +work.”</p> +<p>Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly.</p> +<p>“Hullo, Jimmy,” he said, with a grin. “Do you +know whether Johnson’s gone yet? Well, go over and +tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan’s and tell her that +the young lady got here safely; I can’t get Conejo on +the wire.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!” said the girl, +eagerly. “She meant to be awfully kind but she was +worried to death about those children. I was too tired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get +away from Conejo.”</p> +<p>“You’re not the first person who’s been struck that +way,” grinned Adams, as he left the office.</p> +<p>“Hard tells me he has been talking to you about +Juan Pachuca,” said Scott, smiling.</p> +<p>“Well, you wouldn’t, so I had to ask somebody +else,” replied Polly. “I’m interested in him.”</p> +<p>“So I noticed. Can’t you pick out something a little +more like home-folks to be interested in? Remember +the fellow who tried to bring up the tiger +cub?”</p> +<p>“What happened to him?” Polly smiled up into +Scott’s face. There was something about Scotty that +appealed to you even when you were actively engaged +in disliking him.</p> +<p>“It grew up and bit him.”</p> +<p>“Oh, and Juan Pachuca seemed so nice and friendly. +But I suppose a tiger cub feels soft and furry when +it isn’t scratching or biting.”</p> +<p>“Exactly. You can’t tell about these fellows down +here. Maybe Pachuca would have brought you over +here safe and sound, and maybe he would have taken +the south fork of the road down yonder and carried +you off to his ranch to hold for a ransom.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Polly, faintly, “what a dreadful country!”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s no place for tenderfeet. That’s what +I’m always telling our neighbor—Herrick, over at Casa +Grande. Bob ever write you about him?”</p> +<p>“Bob never writes me about anything—except +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +Emma,” said the girl. “But Mr. Adams has been telling +me about him. Does he live there all alone?”</p> +<p>“No, he’s got a Chinese boy to cook for him and a +lot of greasers working on the place, but no white men +around.”</p> +<p>“I wish I could meet him.”</p> +<p>“You can. I’ll drive you over there any time you +say.”</p> +<p>Polly’s face hardened. “I won’t bother you,” she +said. “I don’t know how long I’ll stay here. I want +to telegraph Bob.”</p> +<p>“I told Johnson to wire him from Conejo,” said +Scott, a bit coolly on his side. “He may bring the +return message back with him to-night.”</p> +<p>Polly felt suddenly ashamed of herself. She rose +and held out her hand.</p> +<p>“That was awfully thoughtful of you, Mr. Scott,” +she said. “I’m ever and ever so much obliged to you, +both for that and for last night. I suppose if it hadn’t +been for you Señor Pachuca might have been sending +pieces of my fingers to Bob for a ransom.”</p> +<p>Scott laughed but he took the hand awkwardly.</p> +<p>“I don’t think Pachuca would do anything quite as +raw as that—especially with a lady,” he said. “But +I’m glad I went just the same. I don’t take chances +with these chaps. Shall we walk down to dinner? +Mrs. Van gets pretty peeved if we’re late to meals.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_LOCAL_ACTIVITIES' id='VI_LOCAL_ACTIVITIES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>LOCAL ACTIVITIES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Johnson did not bring a return message from Chicago.</p> +<p>“Family ain’t got its breath yet, I reckon,” he said, +as he and Scott discussed the matter. “She looks to +me like the sort of youngster who could keep a family +pretty well stirred up,” he added, candidly. “Girls +have changed sence you and me was young, Scotty.”</p> +<p>“You’ve said it,” was the terse reply.</p> +<p>“If you can believe what these magazine fellers +write,” went on the engineer, pensively, “the girl of to-day +is a sort of mixture of bronc, ostrich, and rattlesnake +thrown in. Smokes, drinks—say, Scotty, I wonder +do they chew?”</p> +<p>“Search me,” responded Scott. “I don’t go into +society much these days. I reckon, though, you’ve got +to take these writing chaps with a grain of salt. +There’s probably a few plain, ordinary girls left.”</p> +<p>“There’s plenty of plain ones, if the newspapers +ain’t lyin’,” said Johnson, opening his home paper at +the society page and revealing three emaciated damsels, +clad in extremely short skirts, and with huge bird +cages over their ears. “Not that Miss Polly’s like +them,” he added, generously. “She’s a looker and a +lady, too. I like her.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>“That’s lucky, Tom,” remarked Scott. “I’ll tell +her she can stay on.”</p> +<p>Polly did stay on. The next day a telegram came +from the happy bridegroom.</p> +<p>“For Heaven’s sake stay where you are. Stop racing +around the country. Returning shortly. Bob.”</p> +<p>In the meantime, the days passed like hours. Polly +rode with Scott, walked with Adams, chatted with +Hard, and helped Mrs. Van Zandt with the housework +when the latter would let her, which wasn’t often. +Now and then she remembered Joyce Henderson, and +when she did, her manner would cool toward Scott; +but one couldn’t go on holding a grudge long in that +climate. The glorious sun, coming after months of +dark chilly weather, seemed to melt anything in one’s +heart that was unfriendly. Joyce Henderson soon +faded into half-tones.</p> +<p>There were a dozen interesting things to do everyday. +A Mexican saddle with its high pommel and +cantle, was fascinating after an English one. Foothills +and arroyos were a charming part of one’s walk +after the boulevards and parks of Chicago. She +hugely enjoyed chatting in sign language with the +Mexicans and Indians on the place, and before a week +had passed she had picked up a number of Spanish +phrases which she used with delighted inaccuracy.</p> +<p>She believed that of the men she liked Hard the best. +He was the type of man she had always admired; the +best type of an American gentleman, a man of good old +family traditions, quiet and unassuming and yet full of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +a pleasant humor. She wondered what had brought +him to Mexico—an unhappy love affair with the lady +who sang? But Hard was not a man of whom one +asked personal questions so she did not find out.</p> +<p>Scott, however, was the man who really interested +Polly Street though she did not realize it. Much of +that interest was due to the fact that he apparently did +not care whether he interested her or not. One moment +they would be on excellent terms, and the next +he would have forgotten her.</p> +<p>“That young man,” said Polly, sagely, “understands +the art of making himself popular. He knows +it irritates a woman to see a man absolutely indifferent +to her. It’s more than flesh and blood can stand. So +he acts that way, for it’s a pose, of course. Just for +that I’m going to make him like me—if I can spare +the time.”</p> +<p>In this she wronged Marc Scott, who was quite +innocent of the art of posing, and whose mind was on +other things these days than young women.</p> +<p>One day, about a fortnight after Polly’s arrival, she +and Scott rode over to a little village hidden in the +mountains some ten miles away. It was a warm day +and they were long on the road. It was nearing sundown +when they came within sight of Athens. Polly, +as usual, was talking:</p> +<p>“They’re such queer people—Mexicans. They +can’t run their own country and they don’t want anybody +else to come in and run it for them.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t call that queer,” replied Scott. +“Chances are that if they let someone else in, there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +wouldn’t be enough country left for them to put in their +eye, and they darn well know it.”</p> +<p>“Not necessarily,” replied the girl, sturdily. “We +didn’t gobble up Cuba. We just helped them to get +on their feet.”</p> +<p>“Cuba’s a different proposition. Cuba was being +coerced by an European power and, of course, we had +to stop it. Mexico is in the hands of her own people +and if you give them time they may make something of +her. Then, there’s the oil question. That’s sort of +soured the native population on us. You’d never persuade +a live Mexican that the U. S. came over here for +anything in the world but to grab the oil lands—whether +the U. S. was innocent or not.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not, and a good many of us wouldn’t be +innocent, would we?”</p> +<p>“Afraid not. You see, the oil business has developed +to an importance far beyond everything else +down here. When this man, Carranza, went into +office, he went in under what they call the Constitution +of 1917. It provides that the State is entitled to +retain what they call ‘subsoil rights.’ That is, they +don’t want to sell oil lands or mines outright, they +just lease them.</p> +<p>“Now, if they should decide, and a lot of them want +to, that that Constitution is retroactive—and undermines +the titles of land that’s already owned by foreign +capital, there’d be a lot of influence brought to bear to +make trouble.”</p> +<p>“That would affect our mine, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but mines are pretty small potatoes compared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +to oil. People down here will tell you that the Constitution +is merely a matter of form and that if the oil +men will go on paying their taxes nothing will happen; +but, of course, that sort of assurance doesn’t go far +when a man’s putting up his money. If they get a new +government down here, and we get a new one at home, +the chances are that the United States will demand +guarantees of some kind. It’s a bad question, take it +any way you like.</p> +<p>“The Mexican says: ‘These oil lands are mine.’ +And they are. The American says: ‘What good were +they to anybody when you had them?’ None whatever, +and the world needs oil, so there you are.”</p> +<p>They rode on for a few minutes in silence. Scott +watched, with the mixed pleasure of the horseman and +the admiring male, the girl’s graceful figure adapt itself +to the jog of the horse. He reflected that there +was something very clean-cut and alive about her, +from the way her hair sprang in its tight little waves +away from her firm white neck, to the quick flash of +her dark eyes; there was a vividness and a health +about her which appealed strongly to the out-of-doors +man.</p> +<p>Nothing could have been further from his idea of +a rich man’s daughter; a pampered being, all nerves +and affectations, helpless and parasitic. Of course she +was spoiled—used to being waited upon a good deal, +and with rather a good opinion of herself. One could +see that. On the other hand, it did not seem to go +very deep; seemed, rather, the sort of thing that might +rub off when it came in contact with life. Even the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +rich sometimes came into contact with life, he reflected, +with a feeling of satisfaction. They dodged +a good many rough knocks that the poor couldn’t +dodge, but something usually came along to even up +the score, if nothing else—the old boy with the scythe.</p> +<p>“Mr. Scott, when are you going to take me over to +see Casa Grande?” said the object of his meditations, +suddenly.</p> +<p>“Me?” Scott turned on her in well simulated surprise. +“Thought you didn’t want to go last time we +talked about it.”</p> +<p>“Well,” Polly blushed, “I’ve changed my mind. I +want to meet the celebrity.”</p> +<p>“Who? Victor Herrick? I don’t think you’ll care +much for him if you go over there looking for a celebrity. +He’s not that kind.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“He’s not the kind that likes to go to pink teas and +have a lot of women hanging around him,” explained +Scott, promptly. “Not a society woman’s pet. Too +good a musician, I guess.”</p> +<p>“You don’t like society people very much, do you?”</p> +<p>“Not much,” candidly. “And I guess they wouldn’t +care much for me, so that squares it.”</p> +<p>“I suppose the sort of people you mean by ‘society’ +wouldn’t care for you,” said the girl, frankly. “But +there are people, you know, even among the rich who +have sense enough to know a worth-while man when +they meet him.”</p> +<p>It was Scott’s turn to show confusion. “I don’t +mean that there aren’t any decent rich folks. I’m not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +such a blamed idiot as that,” he said. “You, yourself, +have a lot more sense than an heiress has any +right to,” he added, with a smile.</p> +<p>“Me? I’m not an heiress. Father has a big salary, +of course, but we spend every cent of it. We don’t +mean to but we always do. Somehow, our expenses +crawl up every time the salary crawls. Of course, +there’s insurance, but that would go to Mother. You +see, they’ve educated both Bob and me well enough so +that we can support ourselves; I could be athletic instructor +in a girls’ college to-morrow if I wanted to; +and Father’s invested a good deal in this mine on +Bob’s account. He thinks he’s done his duty by us +and I do, too.”</p> +<p>“So do I,” said Scott, soberly. “I don’t believe in +these handed-down fortunes—money tied up for generations.”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Polly, shyly, “that you’re a bit of a +socialist.”</p> +<p>“So do I—only I’ve never found exactly the brand +of socialism that I believe in. Maybe they haven’t +discovered it yet. But I do believe that we’ve got to +do better by each other than we’re doing now if we’re +ever going to make a success of living. Whether it’s +got to come by individual reform or by some new +system of government, I don’t know, but things have +got to improve, and, by gum, I believe they will! +We’re too good, all of us, to be wasted the way most +of us are.”</p> +<p>He spoke with a fire that Polly had never seen in +him before. She had thought him phlegmatic, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +here was something temperamental—something that +kindled enthusiasm in her. She was too hampered by +her own inexperience of life to know what to say to +him; she felt helpless in the presence of feelings that +she had never had and could not feel sure that she understood; +and she feared to say the wrong thing—she, +Polly Street, who had always said what she liked to +men and let them take it as they chose! It was a +queer feeling and she wondered——</p> +<p>“Hold on, what’s that?” Scott stopped his horse +suddenly.</p> +<p>“What’s what?” demanded the girl, startled. Then +as he did not answer, but continued to stare in the +direction of Athens, she cried impatiently: “What +are you looking at? Tell me now—this minute!”</p> +<p>Scott took a pair of field-glasses from a case on his +saddle. He handed them to the girl.</p> +<p>“Does that look to you like Juan Pachuca’s car down +by the store?”</p> +<p>Polly looked. “It does, doesn’t it?” she said. +“But it’s too far to be sure. Who do you suppose +those men are on horseback?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Scott, shortly, as he took the +glasses and looked again. “But I don’t like the looks +of it. Let’s whip up and get to that arroyo that runs +back of the camp. We’ll ride the rest of the way in +it.”</p> +<p>They descended into the arroyo which was a deep +one with sheltering sides that rose above them fully ten +feet.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t go all the way,” objected the girl, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +was beginning to know the geography of the place already.</p> +<p>“I don’t want it to,” replied Scott. “It turns off +and runs at an angle—just above the dining-room. +I’m going to leave you and the horses there out of +sight.”</p> +<p>“Leave us!”</p> +<p>“You didn’t think I was going to turn tail and run +when the boys were being held up, did you?”</p> +<p>Polly’s eyes shone with a mixture of fear and excitement.</p> +<p>“Do you mean it’s a real hold-up?” she gasped.</p> +<p>“Haven’t the least idea, but it sure does look like +one, especially if that’s Pachuca, himself, on that +sorrel. Then, again, it may be the Federal Government +quartering men on us. In either case ladies and +horse-flesh are better out of the way.”</p> +<p>“But I’m not afraid,” cried the girl, her teeth chattering +with excitement. “At least, I don’t think I am—much. +Anyhow, I’ll be lots more scared down here +in this hole alone.”</p> +<p>“You won’t be alone; you’ve got two good horses +to take care of. Thank the Lord, Hard is out of it—that’s +three horses we can save.”</p> +<p>Hard had ridden to Conejo the day before and had +not returned.</p> +<p>“I’m going to leave you this.” Scott took his revolver +from the holster and handed it to the girl, who +took it reluctantly.</p> +<p>“I’m more afraid of it than I am of Juan Pachuca,” +she pleaded. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></p> +<p>“You’ve no call to be,” was the reply. “Don’t be +a baby—brace up and stay here with these horses. +They’re not looking for you and they’ll never come +down here. These are the two best horses we’ve got +and I’m cussed if I’m going to hand ’em over to a +bunch of greasers.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” Polly gasped again. No one had ever +spoken to her quite like this before. “You can’t go +unarmed, can you?”</p> +<p>“Never mind me. You stay here till I come for +you. If anybody bothers you, you shoot. Understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> +<p>Scott proceeded to climb cautiously out of the arroyo +and in a moment was out of Polly’s sight. He looked +back once and saw the girl standing where he had left +her, holding the reins of the two horses, her eyes +big with excitement, watching his every movement. +He waved his hand, then turned his back upon +her.</p> +<p>“That’s a good youngster,” he said to himself. +“Plenty of spunk but knows when to mind. I’m +afraid that if I was ten years younger I might make a +fool of myself—for she’d never look at me.”</p> +<p>The spot at which he had left the sheltering arroyo +was two or three hundred feet from the cabin in which +he was living with Hard and Adams. His idea was +to steal into the house from the rear, arm himself, and +then see what he could do, though, of course, he realized +that their small force could do little against Pachuca, +who not only had some twenty-five or thirty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +men of his own, but who could easily count on the +Mexicans who worked on the place.</p> +<p>As he walked quickly in the direction of the house, +he noticed Pachuca, for he it was on the sorrel horse, +giving orders loudly in Spanish to his men who were +scattered around the place—many of them down at the +corral. He did not see any of his own people, which +puzzled him a little. As he entered his cabin and +crossed the living-room to go to the bedroom, where +he kept an extra gun, he nearly stumbled over the +body of a man.</p> +<p>It was Adams, lying in the middle of the room, dead—or +had the boy only fainted? Scott rummaged in +the cupboard for the whiskey bottle and poured a bit +of the liquor down his throat. Jimmy opened his eyes +and stared dizzily around. Scott saw that the floor +around him was covered with blood.</p> +<p>“What is it, boy? Those hounds shoot you?” he +demanded. Adams grinned shakily.</p> +<p>“You’ve hit it, brainy one,” he muttered. “Help me +into a chair, Scotty, I ain’t dead, only winged in the +left hin’ leg.”</p> +<p>Scott lifted him gently and placed him in the chair, +then went into his room and secured the gun. He +brought a towel back with him and staunched the flow +of blood from the leg with a clumsily fashioned bandage.</p> +<p>“He busted in on us while we were taking our afternoon +naps,” said Jimmy, weakly. “I happened to be +taking mine in the office as per usual. I saw Pachuca +riding up so I grabbed my gun and beat it for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +door. They had me covered, about ten of them before +I could show my face. They asked for the cash box +and when I said we hadn’t one, one of ’em blazed away +and hit me in the leg. When I toppled over they made +a rush for the office—most of ’em over me.”</p> +<p>“The safe?”</p> +<p>“I thought of that and it occurred to me that I’d +better clear out before it struck them that I might +know the combination. So while they were enjoying +themselves inside, I crawled down here. I hadn’t gone +half-way before I heard ’em blow it up. Oh, yes, they +got the pay chest all right, all right.”</p> +<p>“Well, what then?” grunted Scott.</p> +<p>“Part of the crowd had gone down to the corral +and the rest were down at the store. Just as I crawled +in here, I saw Williams come out of the store and get +it in the gun arm—the train gang were caught without +their guns, and they’ve got ’em all lined up outside the +store. They’ve looted the store and the corral and +they’ve got all our greasers stirred up to join ’em. +Say, there’s no use your mixing in—you can’t do anything.”</p> +<p>“I can spoil Don Juan’s pretty looks, I guess!” +snarled Scott. “That’ll be something.”</p> +<p>“Hold on—give me some more of that whiskey before +you go. Thanks. Now go and get your fool +head shot off if you want to.”</p> +<p>With a growl of rage, Scott flung out of the house. +He strode in the direction of the store where the prisoners +still stood helplessly. They had seen firearms, +dry-goods, canned food, and Williams’ cash box carried +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +out and deposited in the automobile which stood +at the side of the store. Now they awaited the next +move. Pachuca was evidently gathering his forces for +departure. The Athens Mexicans had collected their +families, their household goods, and whatever else they +could lay their hands on and were ready to follow.</p> +<p>These preparations for a general exodus were the +first things to strike Scott as he came out of the cabin. +It was exasperating, but what could you expect? +There was no knowing what rosy tale Pachuca had +told them; more than likely that the American army +had crossed the border and that they were striking for +their altars and their fires. He saw women, babies, +and household goods loaded upon his good horse-flesh +and disappearing down the road.</p> +<p>Scott’s blood boiled. His impulse was to shoot Juan +Pachuca without warning. He raised his arm and +then he paused. One does not shoot men in the back +easily unless one is used to doing it. At that moment +a Mexican saw him and yelled. Instantly everyone +saw him. Pachuca whirled his horse about. It reared +and plunged. Its rider laughed loudly.</p> +<p>“Ah, there you are, friend Scott!” he called. “I +told you——” He brought his gun from his hip with +a sudden twist. The two men fired simultaneously. +Scott thought—hoped—that he saw Pachuca waver, +but the air was full of smoke and he was dazed. He +fired again.</p> +<p>Pachuca’s horse began to pitch violently; it took all +its rider’s famous horsemanship to keep in the saddle. +At the same moment, two men stole up behind Scott, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +who was rushing forward, seized him, threw him to +the ground, and disarmed him. One of them took his +rope and bound the American, while both of them +grinned and muttered in Spanish.</p> +<p>By this time, Pachuca had defeated the evident intentions +of the sorrel to buck himself through the +store window, and uttering a cry dashed off in the +direction of the automobile.</p> +<p>“Adios, Señor Scott!” he cried, as he went. +“Next time you will take a neighbor’s good word, eh?”</p> +<p>“Next time I’ll take a soft-nosed bullet and get you +back of the ear, you rotten little half-breed!” yelled +Scott, maddened with helplessness and rage, rolling in +the dust.</p> +<p>“Marc Scott, ain’t you got any sense? Keep your +mouth shut!” screamed Mrs. Van Zandt in terror as +they gathered around the prostrate man and untied him +while the last of the raiders rode off.</p> +<p>“Did they get everything?” he demanded as he got +to his feet.</p> +<p>“All except honor and they didn’t leave enough of +that to stick in your eye,” responded Mrs. Van, bitterly. +“They got Adams in the leg and Williams in +the arm and took off the whole greaser population. +Here, wipe your face off with this handkerchief before +you rub all that sand in your eyes.”</p> +<p>Scott obeyed meekly.</p> +<p>“Where’s the girl?” demanded Williams.</p> +<p>“Down the arroyo with the horses,” replied Scott. +“We saw the outfit in time or Pachuca’d have had her, +too.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>“He asked me where she was and I told him she’d +gone home,” said Mrs. Van. “I was awful scared +Dolores would give me away but I reckon she didn’t +hear.”</p> +<p>They stared malevolently at the vanishing auto. +Pachuca had turned the sorrel over to another man +and was driving the car himself. Suddenly, they saw +him stop and give an order. Several of the men dismounted +and were laying something along the track. +Then with a yell, they all bolted, the auto in the lead, +the horsemen following. A few seconds and they had +disappeared around a curve in the road.</p> +<p>“Now, what the ——” began Williams, when +he was answered—there was a crash, the sight of +rocks and sand flying, and a thunderous reverberation.</p> +<p>“The mutts have blown up the track!” burst from +the engineer, furiously.</p> +<p>“They would,” replied Scott, sourly. “Want to +cut us off from Conejo till they’ve made their getaway! +Probably cut the wires, too. Go and see, Miller. If +they haven’t, get Morgan and tell him Pachuca’s on the +rampage. Did he say what was up? What he was +doing this for?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Not him,” said O’Grady, disgustedly. “Bring out +your dead—that’s Johnny Pachuca—no flourishes +about him.”</p> +<p>“You come in here with me and look at Joe Williams’ +arm,” commanded Mrs. Van. “It don’t look to +me as if it was broke, do you think so?”</p> +<p>“I’ll see to Adams,” said Scott. “Johnson, you go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +down to the arroyo and get the girl.” And he went +down the street to the cabin.</p> +<p>“Well, did he get everything?” demanded Adams, +as Scott entered.</p> +<p>“All he could carry. He left the victrola for you, +Jimmy, and the stove for Mrs. Van.”</p> +<p>“Gosh! What did you do with Miss Polly?”</p> +<p>“Left her with the horses in the arroyo.”</p> +<p>“That was smart of you, Scotty. I’ll bet she wanted +to come?”</p> +<p>“I’ll bet she did, but she didn’t get to come. Let’s +have another look at the leg, Jimmy.”</p> +<p>They bathed it as well as they could. It had stopped +bleeding and they bandaged it carefully with another +towel.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe the bone’s broke, Jimmy, but I don’t +like the looks of it,” said the amateur surgeon. “You +need a doctor.”</p> +<p>“There ain’t any except that greaser over at +Conejo,” said Adams, gloomily. “Morgan says he’s +so dirty he won’t let him touch his kids. I don’t want +blood poisoning, you bet. Did they blow up the +track?”</p> +<p>Scott nodded. “There’s Johnson,” he exclaimed, +looking out of the window. “He’s got the horses but +not the girl. Hey, there, Tom, where’s Miss Polly?” +he cried as the engineer dismounted and came into the +house.</p> +<p>“She wasn’t there, Scotty. I found the horses tied +to a branch of a tree that grew out of the side of the +arroyo but there wasn’t no sign of the girl anywhere.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>Scott’s face darkened. “She was scared and went +further up,” he said. “Did you look?”</p> +<p>“Looked and hollered and then some, but she was +clean gone.”</p> +<p>Scott muttered something, flung out of the house and +threw himself on his horse. In a moment he was tearing +up the road.</p> +<p>“Where’s that ugly devil going?” said Johnson, disgustedly. +“Didn’t I tell him she’d gone? Is he going +to try to chase Johnny Pachuca into the mountains +after her?”</p> +<p>“Gone clean nuts!” remarked Adams, gloomily.</p> +<p>“I knew that when I seen him rolling in the dirt +and yelling ‘half-breed,’” replied Johnson. “You +might as well poison a Mexican as to call him ‘half-breed.’ +According to them they’re all second cousins +to the King of Spain. Does your leg hurt much, +Jimmy?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve had legs that felt better,” said Adams, +cheerfully. “Where you going, Tom?” as the long, +lank engineer swung out of the room.</p> +<p>“To see the boss get his throat cut,” was the reply. +“Pachuca’s got the money, the guns and the girl; it +don’t seem very good sense to hand him the whole office +force but if the boss says so, here goes.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_MISS_CHICAGO' id='VII_MISS_CHICAGO'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>MISS CHICAGO</h3> +</div> + +<p>Polly stood where Scott left her, gazing after him +with a mixture of horror and excitement; horror at the +thought that one of the terrible raids of which she had +so often heard was taking place scarce two hundred +yards from where she stood, and excitement because +she was there—she, Polly Street, who had so far in +her life never met with any adventure more thrilling +than a punctured tire or a lost golf match.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, it dawned upon her that Scott had +left her his only weapon; had gone empty-handed into +the trouble! The thought carried a double meaning. +He had told her that she was safe, but he had left her +his gun. Then there was danger—the Mexicans might +come and find her; secondly, he had gone unarmed for +her sake. He, the indifferent, the uncaring, the man +who didn’t mind whether she smiled on him or snubbed +him! Was it only because she was a girl and he a +man, or did he, after all, care a little bit?</p> +<p>She had threatened, boastingly, to make him care, +but she realized that she was beginning to care a little +herself; that she could not stay quietly in the arroyo +without knowing what was happening to him; that she +must see and hear no matter what the risk.</p> +<p>She looked about her in some perplexity. She had +been told that a western horse would stand contentedly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +if his reins were thrown over his head; but she doubted +the universal truth of this statement.</p> +<p>“They might if there was grass for them to nibble,” +she decided. “But they never would in this hole. +Come on, ponies, let’s see what we can do.” And +gathering up the reins she led the horses in the direction +Scott had gone. She saw the place where he had +scrambled out of the arroyo, and, oh, good luck, a +clump of mesquite growing out of the crumbling wall +further down. She fastened the bridle reins to the +mesquite and left the horses contentedly chewing at it.</p> +<p>Very cautiously she crept up the incline and took a +peek at the situation. She was just in time to see +Scott disappear into the cabin where Adams lay +wounded. Polly’s face fell. That didn’t look very +heroic—crawling in by the back door! No wonder he +didn’t want her to see him. Then she took another +look. She saw the crowd down by the corral, catching +and saddling unwilling horses. Women were +hurrying in and out of cabins, dragging household +goods and children with them.</p> +<p>The little crowd before the store she could not see +as the building itself prevented, but she saw Pachuca +with several of his men riding up and down, and she +also saw several unmounted Mexicans who had been +looting the store, carry the goods out and throw them +in the car which stood at the side of the building. Instinctively +the girl reconstructed the action of the bandits.</p> +<p>“A lot of them came on horseback and the rest in +the car. They’re going to carry what they’ve taken in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +the car and they’re taking the horses for the extra +men. Our Mexicans and their women are going with +them and are helping themselves to whatever they +want. But where are our men? I didn’t think they’d +sit down and be plundered without putting up some +kind of a fight.”</p> +<p>She saw the crowd which had been looting the store +start for the corral. The car stood alone. Without +doubt they had stopped it a little way from the street +and made a dash on horseback. Polly’s eyes shone.</p> +<p>She glanced at the sun; it was going down rapidly. +It would soon be dusk. She crept cautiously out of +the arroyo. If only none of the men on horseback saw +her she might manage it, wild as her plan was. She +shook with fear but she did not falter; a girl does not +have an obstinate chin for nothing. She glanced both +ways; Pachuca was still riding up and down, issuing +orders which were obeyed noisily but cheerfully. She +saw him point toward the corral and saw the men who +had been loading the car with plunder start toward the +corral on a run.</p> +<p>“Going after more horses,” thought the girl, stopping +and crouching back of one of the cabins. If they +should see her—she held her breath. The next moment +she was running for the car, still sheltered by +the cabins. It was this moment that Scott chose to +walk down the street and draw the attention of the +raiders. Polly saw him and her heart warmed.</p> +<p>“I knew he wasn’t a coward!” she almost sobbed. +“Oh, I’m glad—but he needn’t be such an idiot as +that. He’ll be shot as sure as I’m here.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></p> +<p>Panic stricken, she increased her pace and in a minute +had reached the shelter of the car. Then the shots +burst upon her ears. She turned white and clung to +the door of the car. If they had killed him! She saw +Scott’s face as he had left her—friendly, ugly, determined—and +she knew that if they had killed him +nothing else would matter—anything might happen +and she would not care. Mechanically, she opened the +door of the car and hastily moved some of the plunder +from the floor to the seat. The Mexicans had tossed +in canned goods, blankets, rifles, a couple of cash +boxes and even a box of victrola records. Then she +crawled into the space she had made and seizing one of +the blankets, drew it over herself and over a part of +the loot, giving the tonneau of the car the appearance +of being full of plunder which was protected from the +dust by a blanket.</p> +<p>There was a clatter of hoofs and Polly heard Scott’s +parting yell. It brought a glorious relief to her mind +for surely no one who was badly hurt could be as mad +as that! She heard the answering yells of the Mexicans, +then she felt and heard the door of the car flung +open; someone had jumped in and was starting the +engine. Something struck her—a man had thrown his +bundle into the car that he might take a howling +youngster on his saddle. Polly’s teeth chattered with +fear; she was realizing with every throb of the engine +the awful risk she was taking.</p> +<p>Suddenly the car moved. Polly cowered in her uncomfortable +position. Cold with terror she clutched +the revolver Scott had given her. Suppose at the last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +minute some of the other men should decide to get into +the car?</p> +<p>“But I won’t suppose! There wouldn’t have been +any time to suppose if I’d gone to war to drive an +ambulance. The boys didn’t suppose when they went +over the top—they just went! I hope to goodness +none of these guns I’m sitting on are loaded.”</p> +<p>The car bumped along on the rutty road and the +noise of the riders died away.</p> +<p>“I knew it,” the girl said triumphantly. “I knew +the horseback people would take to the trail as soon +as they could, and the automobile can’t, of course. +I’ve scored one point——”</p> +<p>The car stopped. Polly’s breathing apparatus +stopped simultaneously. What was it? Had he seen +her? Or was he about to pull the loot to pieces and +discover her? She listened with her whole body, but +heard nothing from the driver. Instead, came the +detonation of the dynamited tracks. The ground beneath +the car trembled. Then she heard the man +laugh as he started the car again.</p> +<p>“They’ve blown up something! That sounds like +Don Juan’s voice, too. If I could only see!”</p> +<p>The car soon moved at its former speed. On and +on it went. Sometimes the road would be smooth, the +driver having found wagon ruts and stayed in them. +Again, it would be full of bumps and jars. It was +very uncomfortable, her position being wretchedly +cramped. Once she was startled to hear the driver +break into song. It sounded like a Spanish love song +and his voice was a lyric tenor and very musical. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +was Pachuca! She determined to know what was going +on.</p> +<p>Pushing aside a corner of the blanket she saw that +it was beginning to grow dusky. Cautiously she raised +herself until she could see. Pachuca was bent over +the wheel. Looking back she saw the road empty of +riders.</p> +<p>She looked ahead again. They were in the foothills +already. Polly drew a long breath, then leaning +over the back of the seat said desperately:</p> +<p>“Señor Pachuca, would you mind turning round a +moment?”</p> +<p>If she had exploded the revolver in his ear, Pachuca +could not have given a greater start.</p> +<p>“<i>Madre di Dios!</i>” he gasped, as the machine +swerved.</p> +<p>“Please, do mind the wheel—that was an awful +curve!”</p> +<p>“Where did you come from?” demanded the young +man.</p> +<p>“I have been hidden among the stolen goods,” replied +Polly. “I’ve heard a lot about you lately, señor, +but I honestly didn’t believe you were a thief until I +saw with my own eyes.”</p> +<p>Pachuca stopped the machine and turning glared at +the girl, also at the weapon which she pointed with a +very unsteady hand in his direction.</p> +<p>“If you’ll put that thing down I’ll try to explain to +you the difference between stealing and requisitioning +property in war times,” he said, angrily.</p> +<p>“If you’ll turn the car around you can explain all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +the way back to Athens,” said Polly, sharply. “I’m +awfully tired and stiff and my hand is shaky—the man +who gave me this gun told me it was ready to go off. +I don’t want it to go off but if it does I can’t help it. +Will you please turn around?”</p> +<p>“No, I won’t. The road is too narrow.”</p> +<p>“I’ve turned a Red Cross ambulance around in a +lane no wider than this out near Fort Sheridan and I +didn’t spill anybody either. You’re a better driver +than I am.”</p> +<p>Pachuca shrugged his shoulders but he turned the +car. There was an ugly look in his eyes and Polly +clutched her weapon tightly. She tried to keep her +voice steady but it quavered desperately.</p> +<p>“If you try to do anything mean—upset the car or +anything like that, I’m going to fire—I certainly will—as +sure as I’m red-headed.”</p> +<p>The car sped on. Suddenly Pachuca’s shoulders began +to shake. He turned a laughing face toward +Polly.</p> +<p>“You are so pretty and so disagreeable,” he said. +“Are all Chicago ladies like you?”</p> +<p>“No. Some of them are not so pretty and are +more agreeable,” replied the girl, nervously. “Please—you +just missed that chuck-hole!”</p> +<p>“Why should I care? I do not want to go to +Athens.”</p> +<p>“No, but you don’t want to go to Heaven, either, do +you? Or—well, you know what I mean. I don’t +know how much of a jar it would take to make this +thing go off. A chuck-hole might do it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></p> +<p>Pachuca, evidently depressed, relapsed into silence. +It was growing colder and darker—would they never +get there? However, she would not have been Polly +had she kept still.</p> +<p>“Señor Pachuca, what did you mean by requisitioning +goods? You aren’t working for the government, +are you?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Has another revolution broken out?”</p> +<p>“My dear young lady, Sonora has seceded and +other states will follow. Mexico is about to throw off +Carranza and his government. Is that clear?”</p> +<p>“Pretty clear—only I don’t understand why you +should take our things.”</p> +<p>“I am raising a regiment. When it is complete I +shall lead it into the field to fight for Mexico.”</p> +<p>“I see. That’s why you wanted our men?”</p> +<p>“A regiment means men, señorita.”</p> +<p>“And our blankets and money and guns and victrola +records?”</p> +<p>“Why not? You Americans make your profit from +us, why should you not share in our obligations? Did +your generals spare the South when you had your Civil +War? War is not a pretty thing, señorita.”</p> +<p>“They were at war with the South and they +took——”</p> +<p>“Exactly. They took. An American has but one +code of morals, and that is to take. I do not quarrel +with it, I like it. I also take.”</p> +<p>Polly did not reply. She was tired and cold and +she wanted to get home. Her hand was cramped and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +shaky—her threat had not been an idle one. She realized +also that Pachuca for all his docility was only +waiting the opportunity to turn the tables on her. He +was a young man most fertile in expedients and it behooved +her to be extremely vigilant. He would be +quite capable of shooting up the wrong road and carrying +her miles in a strange direction.</p> +<p>The thought made her feel panicky. She tried to +remember the turns in the road, only to realize that +she had not seen the road—she had been in the bottom +of the car, her head covered with a blanket when she +had traveled it so short a time ago. Everything looked +ghostly and unreal to her in the half light, while Pachuca, +she firmly believed, could see in the dark with +those handsome eyes of his quite as well as any family +cat out for a run.</p> +<p>“Go faster, please,” she said, sharply, for wherever +they were going it might be as well to get there before +dark. “It’s getting late and I’m cold.”</p> +<p>Obediently Pachuca swung into the next speed and +the car bumped cheerfully along, the big lights casting +a bewildering glare before them.</p> +<p>“If I only knew where we were and what he has up +his sleeve!” the girl groaned inwardly. “I know he +has something because he isn’t making any fuss. This +road is rougher than it was when we came, too; he has +taken a wrong turn—I know he has!”</p> +<p>Pachuca, apparently resigned to his fate, began to +hum melodiously.</p> +<p>“Señor!” Polly’s voice was sharp with apprehension +and weariness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></p> +<p>“Señorita?”</p> +<p>“We are on the wrong road; I am sure of it. Go +back to the place where you left it.”</p> +<p>“With perfect willingness, dear lady, but where +shall I go? The road leads to Athens. Is that not +where we want to go—I mean where you want to go?”</p> +<p>“No—I don’t know—I think you’re tricking me. +This isn’t the way we came. It doesn’t look to me like +a road at all—I think you’re going over the open country. +I——” The girl paused. It was disheartening—to +go through so much and then to fail at last. She +peered ahead into the dim light, trying to see what lay +beyond the bright lights of the car. It did look like +open country. Ahead lay a hill—a tall hill. Would +Pachuca try to make it or would he climb around the +side of it? Something—it looked like a man on horseback—was +coming rapidly down the hill. Had she +miscalculated and were some of Pachuca’s men still +on the road? Perhaps the same thought struck the +Mexican, for he slowed the car down and peered +eagerly ahead. Polly clutched the revolver feverishly.</p> +<p>“If it’s one of your men and you stop—I shall fire!” +she said, quickly.</p> +<p>Both stared into the dusk in silence. The rider came +almost into the glare of the lamps.</p> +<p>“Stop!” cried the girl, loudly. “It’s Mr. Scott!”</p> +<p>The car stopped, the horse was drawn to his +haunches, and Scott stared at the couple over his +gun.</p> +<p>“Game’s up, Pachuca,” he said, shortly. “You’re +my prisoner.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Polly, jumping out of the car and running +to Scott. “I knew he hadn’t killed you—but I +wouldn’t ask him for fear he’d say he had! I +knew——” She clutched his stirrup desperately.</p> +<p>Scott stared. “Well. I’m——!” he said, and reaching +down he caught the swaying girl by the arm.</p> +<p>“I’m not going to faint—I never do,” she cried, +clinging to his arm. “Don’t let him get away.”</p> +<p>“Keep him covered. He’s not going to get away.” +Scott swung himself out of the saddle, wound the bridle +reins around the pommel and gave the horse a clap +which started him toward home. “Well, old man, I’ll +take the gun, I reckon. Thanks. What’s up? Getting +up a revolution?”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t have to; it’s already got up,” said Polly, +as she climbed into her place again. “I hid in the car +and made him come back,” she added. “But I was +afraid we were off the road.”</p> +<p>“You were,” said Scott, briefly. “I saw your lights +from the hilltop and came over this way. He was putting +one over on you all right.” He tossed into the +back of the car some of the stuff which was in his way +and took the seat beside Pachuca who preserved a sullen +silence. “Well, I guess we’ve had enough of +this. Home, James!”</p> +<p>There was not much conversation. Pachuca was in +a bad humor and confined his attention to the wheel, a +precaution which the increasing darkness rendered +highly prudent; Scott was intent upon watching the +young Mexican, determined to have no tricks played +upon him; while Polly, exhausted by the excitement of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +the past hour, crouched quietly in the crowded tonneau. +A long way in the rear the patient pony trotted +on his homeward way, wondering, no doubt, why +things that moved on wheels could go so much faster +than those traveling on plain, old-fashioned legs.</p> +<p>Out of the dark came a figure on horseback—as +unexpectedly as Scott himself had done a few moments +ago. Scott tightened his grasp on his revolver.</p> +<p>“If he’s a friend of yours, señor, I’m afraid you’ll +have to go by without recognizing him,” he said.</p> +<p>“He is not,” replied Pachuca. “My friends are +better horsemen than that.”</p> +<p>“It’s Tom,” laughed Scott, suddenly. “He’s come +after me. Slow down, señor, if you please.”</p> +<p>Johnson, riding rapidly, swerved suddenly to one +side as the big machine without lights came toward +him.</p> +<p>“What the——” he began.</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s us,” said Scott, drily. “We’ve made a +haul and we’re bringing it in. Suppose you wait for +that horse of mine, will you, Tom, and see that he gets +home all right? Thanks to this gentleman and his +friends we’ve only got three head of cattle left, so +we’d best be careful of them.”</p> +<p>“You bet,” responded Johnson, heartily. “How’d +you do it, old man?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I didn’t, the lady in the case did it,” responded +Scott. “She’ll tell you about it later. Whoop her up, +will you, señor? It’s getting chilly around here.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_THE_PRISONER' id='VIII_THE_PRISONER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>THE PRISONER</h3> +</div> + +<p>Athens was dark and lonely-looking as the big machine +reëntered it. There was the usual light in the +store and one in the house occupied by Mrs. Van Zandt +and Polly. Scott motioned to Pachuca to draw up in +front of the cabin. Mrs. Van Zandt came out as the +machine stopped; evidently she was in doubt as to +whether or not it was another invasion, for she stopped +in the doorway and peered out anxiously.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Mrs. Van!” cried Scott, cheerfully. +“I’ve brought her back.”</p> +<p>Polly jumped out and ran to the astonished woman. +“It’s all right,” she reiterated.</p> +<p>“Yes, I see it is; but where did you get that car?”</p> +<p>“It’s Señor Pachuca’s and we’ve got him, too,” replied +the girl, in an undertone. “And we’ve brought +back some of the things they took.”</p> +<p>“Has Hard come back?” demanded Scott, as Mrs. +Van came out to the machine.</p> +<p>“No, and I wish he would. I’m worried about +Jimmy Adams. Where are you going to put that +chap?” asked Mrs. Van, eyeing Pachuca resentfully.</p> +<p>“I think I’ll ask him to spend the night in Hard’s +office,” replied Scott, thoughtfully. “It’s the only place +we’ve got that isn’t on the ground floor, and I guess +nobody wants to put in the night doing sentry duty. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +Just bring over a couple of blankets, will you, Mrs. +Van?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt and Polly went into the house and +Scott with his prisoner walked across to the office +where they fell in with O’Grady, who grinned pleasantly +when the state of affairs was explained to him.</p> +<p>“Come back to spend the night with us? Sure we +can make him comfy! Up-stairs, son. You can have +the engineer’s office to yourself,” he added, hospitably.</p> +<p>“I don’t like leaving you here, Pachuca,” said Scott, +as he threw open the door of Hard’s office. “It’s not +my idea of entertaining the aristocracy, but it’s the best +I can do for a gentleman of your peculiar habits.”</p> +<p>“What is your idea?” remarked Pachuca, surveying +the small room nonchalantly. “Don’t you think +it would be more practical to let me go? I can’t do +any more harm to-day, you know.”</p> +<p>“That’s just what I don’t know,” replied Scott, +quietly. “I know you can’t do any harm to anyone +but yourself while you’re locked up here, and I want +to turn you over in my mind a little.”</p> +<p>“I’ll make it worth your while to let me drive that +car off the place while you’re all asleep,” proposed Pachuca, +smiling.</p> +<p>“You’re a persuasive cuss, but we need that car.”</p> +<p>“Going to do a little banditing on our own hook,” +put in O’Grady, cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Shut up, Matt! We’ll send you over some supper, +Pachuca, and some bedding by and by,” and locking +the door behind them, the two men went downstairs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“You think he can’t slide out?” suggested Matt, +doubtfully. “He’s a crafty devil.”</p> +<p>“If he wants to risk breaking a bone or two jumping +out of the window, let him try,” said Scott, easily. +“How’s Williams?”</p> +<p>“Pretty good. No bones broke and Mrs. Van +bandaged him up. He’s sore as the devil about his +stuff.”</p> +<p>“We got a good deal of it back. We’ll run the car +down to the store and see just what we did get.” And +Scott related Polly’s adventure with much enjoyment.</p> +<p>“She’s a mighty game youngster,” declared +O’Grady, admiringly. “I didn’t know they raised ’em +like that in the East.”</p> +<p>“I’ll swear I didn’t. Lucky for His Nobs she didn’t +let a bullet into him by mistake.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a case of ‘eventually, why +not now?’”</p> +<p>A search of the machine revealed the more important +part of the loot—the money taken from the +safe in the office, Williams’ cash box, and a good many +firearms, blankets and small items. Horses, saddles, +bridles, canned goods and innumerable other effects +had been carried off by the horseback riders, never to +be regained, unless, as Scott suggested, Pachuca could +be traded off for them. And, of course, the mine +would have to be closed down until more workers +could be obtained, rather an improbable thing in the +present state of the country.</p> +<p>“What beats me is, how did you happen to think +of it?” demanded O’Grady of Polly a little later as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +they sat around the dining-room table eating a hastily +improvised supper.</p> +<p>Polly chuckled. “Well, you see,” she said, modestly, +“we’ve been having a lot of auto hold-ups in +Chicago this winter and one of them happened to a +friend of mine.</p> +<p>“She and a friend were coming home from a party +one afternoon, and when she drew up at the house, +two young men popped into the car, pointed revolvers +at her and told her to drive up the avenue. Well, she +drove up the avenue! She said the feel of that cold +thing on the back of her neck kept her awake at night +for months. Then when they had gone a little way, +they stopped, dumped both the women out, and went +off with the car.”</p> +<p>“Gosh, Chicago must be a great little place!” remarked +Matt, admiringly.</p> +<p>“It just came to me when I saw them putting all +those things into the car that if anybody could hide in +it and make whoever was driving return the goods it +would be—well—rather a nice thing to do. Of course, +I took an awful chance. The horseback people might +not have taken the trail—but even then the machine +would have outdistanced them. I felt sure I could get +Pachuca alone.”</p> +<p>“You took a chance you’d no business to take,” +growled Scott. “When I told you to stay down in +that arroyo, I meant stay.”</p> +<p>“I know you did but I couldn’t,” apologized Polly.</p> +<p>“The only thing you did wrong was not leaving that +young reptile in the middle of the road like the thieves +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +did those women,” pronounced Mrs. Van Zandt, authoritatively.</p> +<p>“I thought of it but I didn’t have the heart,” said +Polly. “After all, he’d been kind to me, and he is a +gentleman.”</p> +<p>“Gentleman! My God!” Scott’s profanity was +innocent with true horror.</p> +<p>“First time I ever heard a hoss-thief called a gentleman,” +chuckled Matt.</p> +<p>“Well,” Polly looked a bit crestfallen. “I mean, +he’s educated and he comes of good family.”</p> +<p>“I don’t go much on family,” said Mrs. Van, wisely. +“I’ve seen some mighty mean skunks hangin’ around +stage doors who were as blue-blooded as dogs in a +show. Why, even your own family you can’t be too +sure about! I had an old auntie who used to say +she never went back of second cousins—’twasn’t +safe.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s true, too,” pronounced Matt. “Some +don’t feel easy even with seconds.” He gathered up +his dishes and followed Mrs. Van into the kitchen with +them. Polly ate industriously, while Scott stalked to +the window and stood lighting a cigarette.</p> +<p>“Mr. Scott,” she said, after a long pause, “are you +worried about Jimmy Adams?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am,” was the curt reply.</p> +<p>“Isn’t there a doctor in Conejo?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but he’s a dirty scoundrel; I’d hate to have +him handle a case like this. We may have to, though, +thanks to your gentleman friend.”</p> +<p>“You’re rather a rude person, aren’t you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>“I reckon so. Anyhow, if he’s a gentleman, I’m +afraid I’d never pass muster.”</p> +<p>“Still,” persisted Polly, pleasantly, “you will admit +that he is agreeable?”</p> +<p>“Agreeable nothing!” growled Scott. “He’s a +disreputable young varmint, and no decent girl ought +to speak to him.”</p> +<p>Polly smiled and rising, gathered up her plate and +cup and carried them to the hole in the wall. Then +she walked over to the window and said confidentially:</p> +<p>“I think it would be fun if you would tell me some +of the things he’s done. Not the yarn about the +actress and the man higher up—Mr. Hard told me that—but +some other really exciting ones.”</p> +<p>“I’m not sufficiently interested in the chap,” replied +Scott, gruffly. “Perhaps you’d like to carry him his +dinner and ask him to tell you himself.”</p> +<p>“I would,” replied the girl, promptly. “I thought +perhaps you were thinking of starving him.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t care to starve him. I want to swap +him off for our horses, if I can. He ain’t worth a +dozen or two good horses, but we can try.”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, we have the car to make things +square.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we have the car, in case we have to quit in a +hurry.”</p> +<p>“Quit? You mean before Bob comes back?” the +girl’s face was a bit scared.</p> +<p>“We may get orders to close up the mine. You +heard what he said—that the state had seceded? Well, +that means civil war, and civil war in Mexico can mean +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +a good many things. I’m not sure that I want two +women on my hands under the circumstances.”</p> +<p>“What are you talking about, Marc Scott? Is it a +Yaqui rising?” Mrs. Van Zandt thrust her head +through the hole in the wall.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what it is. Pachuca says there’s a +revolution on. I’m hoping to get more news about it +when Hard comes back.”</p> +<p>“I don’t take much stock in these Yaqui yarns,” +said Matt, coming back with another supply of food.</p> +<p>“Them Indians ain’t half as bad as the greasers like to +make out. Of course, they feel like they had a right +to raise thunder now and then because they know they +ain’t been treated white. But you take it from me, +I’ve been knockin’ around Mexico for some time, and +nine times out of ten there’s a greaser back of everything +that’s laid at a Yaqui’s door.”</p> +<p>“That’s true enough,” nodded Mrs. Van.</p> +<p>“I made up my mind when I read in that El Paso +paper that there was going to be a Yaqui rising and +that the gov’ment was orderin’ troops into Sonora, that +the gov’ment most probably had somethin’ up its +sleeve.”</p> +<p>“Most likely,” acceded Scott.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t expect to understand Mexican politics,” +said Polly, “but why, if Mr. Carranza wants to +be president again, doesn’t he come out like a little man +and say so, instead of trying to stir up things with +troops?”</p> +<p>“He can’t be president again. The constitution under +which he took office forbids a second term,” replied +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +Scott. “He might be military dictator, however, if he +stirred up a revolution and came out on top. That’s +what the Sonora people say. But you can’t tell; it +may be a square deal and there may be a Yaqui +rising.”</p> +<p>“Even then this ain’t the place for women folks,” +grumbled O’Grady.</p> +<p>“Nor men neither,” retorted Mrs. Van Zandt. +“I’ve been trying to get Mr. Herrick on the ’phone to +let him know there was trouble on board, but I couldn’t +even get Central.”</p> +<p>“Pachuca would attend to that, of course,” said +Scott. “We’ll drive over there in the morning and +see if he doesn’t want to come back with us.”</p> +<p>“Am I really going to see that fascinating person?” +sighed Polly. “I’m beginning to think he’s just hot +air.”</p> +<p>“Mighty little hot air about old Herrick,” chuckled +Matt. “All wool and a yard wide, I’d say.”</p> +<p>“Well, he is. That’s more than I’d say about a +good many artistic chaps,” remarked Mrs. Van. +“Most of ’em I hate—they’re so crooked. The Lord +starts ’em weak and the women finish ’em. He sure +can play, though. Regular pictures—some of the +things he composes. I can see the cows grazing on the +hills in some of ’em.”</p> +<p>“How queer of him to stay down here!” said the +girl, wonderingly.</p> +<p>“Why?” demanded Scott, warmly. “It seems to +me that a country like this has a lot more to offer +that kind of man than your cities have. What’s New +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +York or Chicago got to give him like these grim old +mountains, and the lonesome little canyons with the +cows feeding up and down hunting for water holes, +and the Mexican folks with their soft voices and fancy +manners and all the rest of it?”</p> +<p>“Cows are queer,” continued Mrs. Van, pursuing +her own thought cheerfully. “Ever see the old ones +get between you and the calves when you rode by ’em? +Awful kind of human, they are.”</p> +<p>Scott chuckled. “One summer I was up in New +Mexico on a ranch when they were rounding up. +They brought in the cattle from all over the place; for +days they were getting in strays out of the canyons. +Among them were two old bulls. Funny old codgers +they were, and as much alike as two peas in a pod—fat, +chunky, ragged looking old rascals.</p> +<p>“Well, all during the round-up those old boys +stayed together—in the bull pen and out. We named +them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. By George, after +they’d been turned out on the range again, I was riding +down a canyon about a couple of miles from the ranch, +and who should I see but those two old pals, hoofing +it together as chummy as two old men walking in the +park.”</p> +<p>“Well, how’s the chow?” Johnson’s voice came +from the doorway. “Not much left, I should +say, judging from the happy faces I see around +me.”</p> +<p>“Come in, Tommy, I’m just gettin’ something ready +for that Mexican, but there’s plenty for you,” said +Mrs. Van. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>“Where’d you put the feller?”</p> +<p>“In Hard’s office,” said Scott. “Will you cart him +his grub, Matt?”</p> +<p>“You said I might. I want to,” protested Polly.</p> +<p>“Certainly.” Scott handed her the key ceremoniously. +“You’ve earned the right to have your own +way to-night, but Matt goes with you. He’s not above +throttling you to make a getaway.”</p> +<p>“It’s a funny world,” mused Polly, as she walked +along beside Matt, who carried the tray balanced aloft +on one outstretched palm. “Three weeks ago I was +going to teas at the Blackstone; now I’m carrying grub +to a Mexican bandit with the assistance of a fireman. +How awfully well you carry that tray!” she said, admiringly.</p> +<p>“Sure! Learned to do that one winter in Minneapolis +when I was out of a job. Handy sort of thing +to know.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” gasped the girl. Then to herself: “Why +should I think it queer? Cousin Ben put himself +through college by waiting on the students at table +and we thought he had a lot of pep to do it.”</p> +<p>“You go on up and holler to the guy that we’re +coming but don’t you open the door till I get there. +He might paste you one.”</p> +<p>Polly complied. She sprang up the stairs with a +freedom of motion that won O’Grady’s silent admiration.</p> +<p>“Some action!” he commented. “Takes them +stairs as easy as a pussy-cat goes up a tree. Some +girl that! Old Scotty’s jealous of the greaser—do him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +good—he’s gettin’ to be a regular old settin’ hen. Hope +she shakes him up a bit.”</p> +<p>“Señor Pachuca!” called Polly at the top of the +stairs. “We’ve brought you some supper. May we +come in?”</p> +<p>“Gracias, señorita, but that rests with you,” was the +response.</p> +<p>“I’m going to open it. He won’t do anything,” said +Polly, decidedly.</p> +<p>The room was dimly lighted. In the open window +sat Pachuca—outside lay the open country, moonlit +and lovely, the grim coloring of the day now touched +with silvery softness. Pachuca leaped to his feet and +relieved the girl of the tray which he placed on the +desk.</p> +<p>“I am obliged,” he said, with a touch of a sneer. +“The services of a major domo and a beautiful waitress +are more than I expected.”</p> +<p>“If you ask me, I’d say it was more than you deserve,” +replied Matt, tersely. “I’m going out to sit +on the stairs. If the lady wants to stop and visit with +you she can, but don’t you try no monkey tricks because +they won’t go down. I’m heeled.”</p> +<p>Pachuca shrugged his shapely shoulders, seated himself +and began to eat.</p> +<p>“I am hungry,” he admitted. “I have had what +you call a hard day’s work.”</p> +<p>“I wish,” said the girl, severely, “that you’d tell +me why you do such things? You’re a gentleman—not +a bandit.”</p> +<p>“Of course I’m not a bandit.” Pachuca’s composure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +appeared to be deserting him. “You do not seem +to understand—you Americans—that Mexico is our +country and that we must deal with its political situations +independently of you and your affairs.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” innocently, “I didn’t know that political situations +demanded blankets and victrola records.”</p> +<p>“You must make allowances for my people. They +are poor and ignorant.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t the people we complain about. They only +do what you tell them to. Why should you come and +tell them to stop working for us?”</p> +<p>“In your country it is only the walking delegate who +does that?” grinned Pachuca.</p> +<p>“That’s different. This wasn’t a strike. These +men didn’t want to stop work.”</p> +<p>“My dear girl, you seem to have lost sight of the +fact that a revolution is taking place. It is their duty +to stop working and to fight.”</p> +<p>“It always seems to be their duty to fight and they +never get anything out of it!”</p> +<p>“They do get something out of it. They got their +land when they overthrew Diaz. With Carranza, they +got a new constitution. With Obregon, they will get +peace and a good government.”</p> +<p>“Then you are for Obregon?”</p> +<p>“Naturally. But I must have men and horses and +munitions. I—Juan Pachuca—cannot fight in the +ranks.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why not,” said Polly, candidly. “My +brother fought in the ranks and he’s a college man. +He didn’t mind.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></p> +<p>“Oh, well, in America—that is different! You have +no ideas as to family. I beg your pardon, what I mean +is, that your people are different.”</p> +<p>“Well, I hope we are,” replied Polly, piously. +“But I’m afraid some of us aren’t as different as we +ought to be.”</p> +<p>“Now we are even,” said the Mexican, showing his +white teeth. “And you know why I took your men +and horses. They will be made good to you when the +country becomes settled.”</p> +<p>“I hope so, but it seems to me you’re going to have +so many people to settle with that some of us are going +to come out at the little end. Of course, your car will +help some.”</p> +<p>Pachuca frowned. “Señorita,” he said, gravely, “I +must have the car and I must get away from here to-night. +Much depends upon it. Won’t you help me?” +He leaned toward her as he spoke, his dark eyes luminous, +his voice soft and caressing.</p> +<p>“The tiger kitty is purring,” thought Polly. “It’s +a nice kitty but I mustn’t pet it. Señor,” she said, +“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”</p> +<p>“Say rather that you won’t.”</p> +<p>Polly fingered the key which she had taken from +Matt. Then she put it in the pocket of her sweater.</p> +<p>“It would be easy,” said Pachuca, persuasively. +“You could throw it into the window there when +everyone was asleep.”</p> +<p>“It would be easy,” agreed Polly, “but it wouldn’t +be nice.”</p> +<p>Pachuca ate for a moment in silence. “I suppose,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +he said, finally, “that an American girl never does +anything that is not nice?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’d hardly go as far as to say that,” replied +Polly, “but I don’t think you’d find many who would +be as dishonest as—oh, what’s the use? You know I’d +like to do it for you because you were kind to me, and +I do not believe you meant to kidnap me——”</p> +<p>“Kidnap you!” wrathfully. “Who said I meant to +kidnap you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nobody, only——”</p> +<p>Pachuca began to laugh; gently at first, then wholeheartedly.</p> +<p>“He is jealous—that good Marc Scott! He told +you I wanted to kidnap you—like Villa, eh? Does he +think a Spanish gentleman so unattractive that he has +to kidnap a young lady in order to make love to her?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what he thinks and I don’t care,” said +Polly, angrily. “And I wouldn’t have come here if I +had thought you were going to be foolish. I wanted to +show you that I wasn’t ungrateful——”</p> +<p>Pachuca had jumped to his feet and stood between +her and the door. His manner was respectful and +apologetic.</p> +<p>“Señorita, I beg your pardon! Indeed——”</p> +<p>“It’s not necessary,” said the girl, coldly, trying to +pass him.</p> +<p>“No, no, I beg—do not go.” Then, in a lower tone, +“I had a double reason for asking your help. I can be +of help to you and to your brother.”</p> +<p>Polly paused in some surprise. From the stairway +came the sound of energetic whistling—a medley of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +“Wearin’ of the Green” and the “Long, Long Trail.” +Pachuca continued eagerly.</p> +<p>“Yes, it sounds very extravagant, I know; what my +brother-in-law used to call a bit thick. But I can help +you—to a treasure.”</p> +<p>“A treasure?” incredulously.</p> +<p>“Exactly. You have heard that I was for a time +with Villa?”</p> +<p>Polly nodded.</p> +<p>“Well, in his camp I met some very strange people—among +them a fellow named Gasca—what you call a +bad lot. He told me one night when he was very +drunk—you know, señorita, how some people talk +about their affairs when they are drunk?”</p> +<p>Polly’s eyes were beginning to shine with excitement.</p> +<p>“He told me that he and his brother had hidden a +treasure over in New Mexico.”</p> +<p>“A treasure! Do you mean pieces-of-eight and +Spanish doubloons?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, I am afraid not. It would be bullion—ore. +They took it from one of the Fiske, Doane Co. +mines in Chihuahua. That is why your brother would +be interested. Perhaps you have heard of the Sant +Ynez mine?”</p> +<p>“Bullion!” Polly’s face dropped.</p> +<p>“For me, I would not object to bullion if I could get +my hands on it, but I can’t,” said Pachuca, candidly. +“Gasca, you understand, had this brother who lived in +New Mexico, in a lonely sort of a spot on the border, +with an Indian woman that he had stolen from her +people. He helped Gasca get the treasure across +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +the border—and they hid it in the canyon where he +lived.</p> +<p>“Shortly after that they quarreled and the brother +threatened to shoot Gasca if he came near the place. +Also, he told the border patrol some things about Gasca +so that he was afraid to go over any more. Just after +I met Gasca, he had heard, in a roundabout way as my +people hear things, that the brother had been killed and +the Indian woman had died of a sickness. Gasca +wanted me to go over with him to find out if the treasure +was still there—he felt sure that it was because he +said the brother would be afraid to dispose of it without +his help—but I had what you call other fish to fry. +Afterward, Gasca himself was shot for disobeying a +command of the general. If you will help me to +get away I will tell you exactly where that treasure +is.”</p> +<p>Polly rose suddenly, the light of determination in her +eyes.</p> +<p>“No,” she said, firmly. “I won’t. Mr. O’Grady, +will you come and help me with this tray, please?”</p> +<p>“Sure Mike!” In two strides the fireman was in +the room, his eyes looking searchingly at both the man +and the girl. Pachuca, with a shrug of his shoulders, +put his hands in his pockets and strode to the window. +The dishes were piled up in silence, the door was +locked—the key returning to Polly’s sweater pocket, +and the two went back to the dining-room.</p> +<p>“Say, was that guy tryin’ to get fresh with you?” +demanded Matt, as they went along. “I set out there +on the steps because I thought mebbe you wanted to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +chat with the crittur, being acquaintances like, but if +I’d of thought that he——”</p> +<p>“No, no, he was trying to bribe me to let him go.”</p> +<p>“Let him go? Well, if he ain’t got a nerve! What’d +he offer you—a castle in Spain?”</p> +<p>“No,” replied the girl, “a buried treasure in New +Mexico.”</p> +<p>“What? Well, say, he must have thought you was +green to fall for that stuff. A bright, wide-awake girl +like you, too. Was it under an elm tree fifty paces off +by moonlight?”</p> +<p>“Why? Couldn’t there be a buried treasure in New +Mexico?”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose there could if there’s been a fool +to bury it; but it seems to me I’d of tried something +snappier if I’d been him. An oil well, or shares in a +gold mine, or somethin’ first class in the bunk line.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_AT_LIBERTY' id='IX_AT_LIBERTY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>AT LIBERTY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Polly and Matt continued their walk in silence until +they reached the dining-room. They found Scott sitting +as they had left him, smoking and thinking; while, +through the hole in the wall, Mrs. Van Zandt could be +seen and heard busy with the dishes.</p> +<p>“Well, did His Nobs enjoy his tea?” asked Scott.</p> +<p>“He did that! Kicked into it like a little man,” replied +Matt, cheerfully. “Also he made the young lady +a real sporting proposition.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t be absurd!” snapped Polly, disgustedly. +“Anybody’d suppose you were college boys at thé dansant.” And she went into the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Well, you see what you get, Matt; you would horn +in. What do you mean—a sporting proposition?”</p> +<p>“Oh, a rich one. Buried treasure up in New Mexico—secret +chart handed down to Juan Pachuca by a +maiden aunt—I don’t know what all—just to get the +key of the office, but she was too sharp for him.”</p> +<p>“I should hope so. Is that Hard?” Scott went to +the window as the sound of hoof-beats was heard. +Down the street came a man on horseback. Silhouetted +against the moonlight, the tall Bostonian acquired +a picturesqueness lacking in daylight. “I’ve got to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +take Hard out one of these days and teach him how to +ride,” remarked Scott, meditatively. “Jolt some of +that Boston stiffness out of him.”</p> +<p>“You can’t,” replied the Irishman, placidly. “It’s +in his blood. His ancestors brought it over in the +<i>Mayflower</i> with ’em from England. I’ll bet you Paul +Revere rode just like Hard does.”</p> +<p>“Shucks, Matt, those English guys can ride—stands +to reason they can. Look at the cross-country stuff +they do! And on an English saddle at that.”</p> +<p>“Country? The country they ride over’s nothing to +what the Irish do. A feller told me——”</p> +<p>“Hello, boys, what’s up? Why the theatre supper?” +demanded Hard, entering.</p> +<p>He listened to the particulars which poured upon +him. “Well,” he said, finally, “I’m sorry I missed the +excitement. ’Twas ever thus. The only time our +house ever burned down I was at a matinée of the +‘Black Crook.’ Well, you saved the cash?”</p> +<p>“Miss Polly did,” grinned Scott. “And we’ve got +the boy that made the mischief.”</p> +<p>“Jimmy much hurt?”</p> +<p>“Afraid so.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid something like this would happen,” +said Hard. “They told me over in Conejo that there +was trouble on. They had an all-night session at Hermosillo +and the state seceded.”</p> +<p>“That’s what Pachuca says.”</p> +<p>“Morgan’s taken his family up to Douglas.”</p> +<p>“Any news from Bob?”</p> +<p>“Just a letter for Miss Polly.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p> +<p>“We won’t desert until we have orders, but I’m +rather glad to have the car,” continued Scott. “I +thought we’d run over and see Herrick in the morning.”</p> +<p>“I say, Scott, that Chinaman of Herrick’s is a +doctor. Why not have him take a look at Jimmy’s +leg?”</p> +<p>“A Chinaman!” Polly had come in with Hard’s +coffee.</p> +<p>“Sure!” cried Scott. “Just the thing. I’d forgotten +about him. When a Chink is scientific, he’s as +scientific as the devil.”</p> +<p>“He came over to practice medicine; you know how +the Mexicans feel about the Chinese? His money +went and he had to do what he could. Herrick picked +him up somewhere and he’s been there ever since,” said +Hard.</p> +<p>“We’ll get him over here for Jimmy. He’s clean +at any rate.”</p> +<p>“Listen to this!” Polly had opened her letter. +“It’s from Mother,” she explained. “Poor old Bob’s +in the hospital—just been operated on for appendicitis! +Isn’t that the limit? On a honeymoon!”</p> +<p>“Hard luck,” commented Scott. “How’s he coming +on?”</p> +<p>“She says he’s doing splendidly. You see, he’s been +dodging that operation for the last ten years, and now +it’s got him, poor boy. Mother says they’re worried to +death about me.”</p> +<p>“And well they may be,” remarked Mrs. Van Zandt, +heartily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p> +<p>“She says the directors have met but didn’t do anything.”</p> +<p>“That sounds natural,” said Hard. “They’ve been +doing that for the last three years.”</p> +<p>“Trying to figure out which costs less; to give up +the property, or to pay us our salaries to hold it down,” +chuckled Scott.</p> +<p>“She says I am to come home at once,” continued +Polly, “but that I am not to try to travel alone. Either +Mr. Scott or Mr. Hard is to go with me to the border.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad somebody in your family has got good +sense,” said Scott, grimly. “It’s a pity those things +aren’t hereditary.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. I think I prefer to have Mr. Hard +go.”</p> +<p>Hard bowed solemnly. “Bob coming back?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“As soon as they’ll let him,” said Bob’s sister, +promptly.</p> +<p>“Yes, he likes a scrap,” remarked Scott. “I hope +they keep the papers away from him this next week. +Well, it’s lucky for you, Miss Polly, that we’ve got +Pachuca’s car. Traveling on these railroads is bad +enough at any time, but with a brand new revolution +on hand, it’ll be the deuce.”</p> +<p>“I think it’s rather horrid of them not to care +whether I go home or not,” Polly told herself, as she +undressed for bed. “They might at least pretend they +don’t want me to go! I always supposed that the one +girl in a mining camp would be dazzlingly popular—but +this doesn’t look much like it. And yet—he likes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +me, I know he does! He liked my bringing the car +back; I saw it in his eyes, if he did make fun of me.</p> +<p>“He’s jealous of Don Juan, too. Well, that won’t +do him any harm. He’s so determined not to fall in +love with me that he’s going to need a little outside interference +to make him change his mind. He’s got to +change his mind because I—yes, I do care for him—a +lot. People may think these things don’t come suddenly +outside of books, but they do—oh, they do!” +And, worn out by the exertions of the day, Polly curled +herself in a knot and prepared to sleep.</p> +<p>Juan Baptisto Pachuca had not availed himself of +the shakedown made for him by Mrs. Van Zandt’s +blankets. He had put out his light because he wanted +to think and he preferred thinking by moonlight. He +sat in Hard’s office chair by the window, closed now, +for the night was cool, and drummed impatiently upon +the arm of it.</p> +<p>Mentally, Pachuca was more than impatient; he was +outraged. His plans had been spoiled, his liberty restricted +and his dignity impaired. He had been made +to look ridiculous. Of all the offenses against him the +latter was the most serious. He hated giving up anything +he had put his mind on, but he hated a great deal +more being made ridiculous.</p> +<p>Nor was it pleasant to be triumphed over by a girl. +Juan Pachuca liked girls, especially good-looking ones, +but he liked them in their places, not in the larger +affairs of life. When they insisted upon mixing themselves +up with such affairs, they ceased, in his estimation, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +to be pretty girls and became merely tiresome +members of the other sex.</p> +<p>Had Polly Street given in to his proposals of escape +he would have felt in a better temper with her, but he +would not have been at all tempted to fall in love with +her. He had been in the mood for that once—the +night they had come over from Conejo together—but +Fate, or the girl herself, or Marc Scott, he had hardly +taken the time to decide which, had interfered and that +was over.</p> +<p>Pachuca bore Polly no ill will for her part in that +affair. That was her province—a love affair. A lady +had the privilege of granting or denying her favors; +it was not always because she wanted to that she denied +them. He knew a good deal about that sort of thing +and he was willing to give and take very agreeably in +the game of love, without repining if things didn’t seem +to be going his way.</p> +<p>This, however, was a question of business and Juan +Pachuca considered that any woman who could get +ahead of him in a matter of business would have to +get up exceedingly early in the morning. He would +get out of that room or he would know the reason why. +It was highly important that he should. In fact, his +plans for the next few days depended absolutely upon +his so doing.</p> +<p>Pachuca’s business head, for all his conceit about it, +was exceedingly primitive. His had been rather a +primitive career from its beginning. Hard’s story of +the actress, while not entirely correct, had its foundation +in fact. Pachuca had been disgraced; to be disgraced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +in any manner is bad enough, but to be disgraced +for doing something that you know quite well +is being done in perfect security by most of the people +with whom you are connected is particularly galling.</p> +<p>Aching to thwart the government he hated, Pachuca +hastened to ally himself with its particular enemy and +to work against it with all the impetuosity of his nature. +But Francisco Villa was not an easy man for +anyone as heady as Juan Pachuca to get on with. +There were quarrels and more quarrels, and finally +Pachuca, again disgusted with the world and its people, +retired to private life.</p> +<p>He was not, however, built for private life. Some +of us are like that. We need the excitement and the +stimulus of action to bring out our better points. Also, +Pachuca’s friends were not of the sort who cared much +for the quiet life. In those few months of association +with the great Villa, he had met men of various kinds; +men who were honestly trying to do something for +Mexico; men who were dishonestly trying to do something +for themselves; and men who were in such a +truly desperate frame of mind after ten years of revolution, +banditry, and general upset, that they scarcely +knew what they were doing.</p> +<p>Pachuca, who for all his aristocratic blood, was an +exceedingly good mixer, had enjoyed these various and +sundry associations and in the quiet of private life he +yearned for them. Very much as a celebrated actress +feels the lure of the footlights after she has left them +for matrimony and the fireside, very much as the superannuated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +fire horse is said to react to the alarm, so +Pachuca yearned for the agreeable persons with whom +he had foregathered since leaving the army.</p> +<p>When there were rumors of another revolution, he +began to think of looking up some of these exceedingly +live wires, and seeing what could be done for Freedom, +Mexico, and Juan Pachuca. It was with the idea of +informing himself as to these matters that he had taken +the journey which had resulted in his meeting with +Polly Street, and the fortnight which she had spent in +Athens had been used to accomplish a number of +things.</p> +<p>Himself rather a good judge of which way the political +cat might be expected to jump at this particular +crisis, Pachuca had decided to throw in his lot with the +Obregonistas. He knew Obregon, knew his hold on +the people, his popularity with the labor party, and it +looked to him very much as though that general of +fascinating Irish ancestry had a good chance of being +Mexico’s next president.</p> +<p>At the same time he realized perfectly that his own +reputation with the Obregonistas was not good. Various +tales current among Mexicans of political standing, +in regard to his relations with Villa, would be very +much against him, and services rendered the Carranza +government would hardly be likely to stand him in +good stead. Pachuca wanted to stand well with the +new party if he stood with them at all. He intended +that the next president of Mexico should confer upon +him an office of distinction, and offices of this sort must +be earned, not only in Mexico but anywhere. In the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +great republic near by which Pachuca hoped some day +to visit, preferably on a state mission, things were handled +in this way also. If he could bring to the revolutionary +chiefs of the new party men, arms, and money, +he might hope for a warm reception.</p> +<p>During the fortnight referred to he had communicated +with one Angel Gonzales, previously mentioned, +who had also quarreled with Villa and been rigorously +persecuted by him. Gonzales was at the head of a +small band which he was quite willing to consolidate +with Pachuca’s men, and they had agreed to meet and +discuss ways and means. It was toward this rendezvous +that Pachuca had been journeying when he +stopped to raid the Athens mining camp.</p> +<p>To be stopped at such a time was not to be endured. +Pachuca looked around the small room angrily. He +looked out of the window. It was a bad drop but not +an impossible one. An athlete might manage it, he +supposed, but he was not an athlete—he was a gentleman +and a soldier. It would be a nasty thing to try it +and to break a leg. He had never tried breaking a leg +but he remembered having heard the family physician +say that a broken leg meant a six weeks’ vacation and +he had no mind for a vacation on those terms.</p> +<p>He went to the door—locked, of course, he had +heard the girl turn the key, but one might burst it open. +He tried, several times, but the door held maddeningly. +There was no transom, no other door—nothing but the +plastered walls and the window. He turned again to +the window, and threw it open. The cool night air +came in refreshingly. In the distance, the dark shapes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +of the mountains stood out forbiddingly in the moonlight. +Millions of stars winked and twinkled. Gaunt +cacti reared their ungainly shapes—beautiful because +of their very ugliness.</p> +<p>Somewhere over in those mountains Angel Gonzales +was wending a torturous path to meet him. Angel +would swear and rage when he did not come. Then +he would probably annex Pachuca’s men and their +plunder and go cheerfully on his way. That would be +Angel’s idea of the philosophical manner of handling +the situation. Juan ground his white teeth in a fury. +Again he hung out of the window. The moonlight was +so glaring that he was easily visible had anyone been +watching, but all the lights in Athens were out and the +inhabitants in bed.</p> +<p>Pachuca swung lightly out of the window and with a +very cattish agility caught the sill with both hands and +lowered himself. He looked down. It was the devil +of a drop. Ten chances to one he would turn an ankle +at the very least. He made a wry face. One does not +do things successfully when one does them in this +frame of mind. With an effort surprising in one so +slight he drew himself back into the window again. +There must be another way. It was positively not on +the cards for him to be fooled in this stupid manner. +He could see his car standing near the corral and the +sight urged him to greater efforts.</p> +<p>He paced angrily up and down the floor. It was a +very solid floor. As far as he was concerned it might +be regarded as an invincible floor. If he had a pick, +perhaps—Pachuca’s eyes brightened, and a roguish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +look came into them. He had been thinking as he +often did in English, being practically bi-lingual, and +the word suggested something to him. Why not pick +the lock? He felt eagerly in his pocket for his knife—left, +alas, in the pocket of his leather coat in the machine. +Still, there might be one somewhere about. In +the desk, perhaps. The saints would help a good +Spaniard, undoubtedly. Pachuca was not unduly religious, +and he could not recall at the moment any saint +renowned for picking locks, so he let it go at that and +began to hunt. Some sort of tool might be found in +the desk.</p> +<p>The desk yielded pencils, pens, erasers, and other +harmless implements without number, but nothing even +remotely resembling a knife. Pachuca slammed the +drawers angrily and resumed his tramping. The night +was getting on and he was apparently no nearer freedom +than when the girl had left him. He cursed volubly +and disgustedly.</p> +<p>“I suppose if I had the shoulders of that abominable +Scott I could break the door!” he muttered. “On the +other hand,” he mused, grimly, “if I had had his brains +I would not be here. It was a foolish business—trying +to confiscate American property. It rarely pays.” +Pachuca, like the famous Mr. Pecksniff, believed in +keeping up appearances even with one’s self. His attempt +was confiscation distinctly and not robbery. “It +was talking with the American girl that day on the +train that put it into my head. She would talk about +her brother and his mine. Juan Pachuca, when will +you learn to let women alone? Every time a woman +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +comes upon the scene something disagreeable happens—and +usually to you.”</p> +<p>He paused by the window and surveyed it distastefully. +“If I have to go out by that window, I will—but +I do not like it. If I could bribe someone to put up +a ladder! But they are all asleep—the lazy fools.”</p> +<p>He glanced at the shakedown which Mrs. Van Zandt +had sent over by Miller, the idea of a rope ladder made +of sheets having floated idly through his head. Alas, +the shakedown consisted of a small hard mattress and a +couple of blankets, army blankets at that. Anyone +who can make a rope ladder of army blankets, with +nothing more solid to fasten them to than a rickety old +desk, must be cleverer than even Juan Pachuca considered +himself.</p> +<p>With a sigh of surrender he returned to the window. +It was the only way; broken bones or no broken bones, +it must be attempted. If he were unlucky enough to +meet with disaster, he must crawl as far as the car, and +once in the car he defied anyone, white, brown or black +to stop him. If only they had left him his gun!</p> +<p>Carefully Pachuca balanced himself once more on +the window and swung himself out, still clinging to the +sill. The drop looked easier than it had before; he +felt almost cheerful about it. Give him five minutes +alone in the moonlight and he would have his liberty, +his car and his triumph over Gringo carelessness. At +the same moment, there arose out of the stillness the +loud and penetrating bark of an aroused dog.</p> +<p>Yellow, who slept anywhere, being a tramp dog by +nature, had elected to pass the night outside Scott’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +window, and the cabin in which Scott was sleeping was +across the street and only a few feet away from the +window from which Pachuca was trying to escape. +Not content with barking, the interfering Yellow +started on a gallop for the peculiar looking person +hanging out of the window. Almost instantly, a light +flashed in Scott’s room and a head was thrust out of +the window.</p> +<p>With an exasperated groan Pachuca drew himself +back again and waited. Scott’s head was withdrawn, +and two seconds later, Scott, himself, clad in pajamas +and a bathrobe, dashed out of the cabin and was met +by another figure which seemed to spring from nowhere. +Pachuca thought the second figure looked like +Miller, the man who had brought his blankets, but he +was not sure. By this time the dog had stopped barking +and was following the two men. Pachuca stood in +the window, waiting developments. Scott looked up +with evident relief.</p> +<p>“You’re there, are you?” he said.</p> +<p>“So it appears,” disgustedly. “Am I a cat to +scramble out of a window?”</p> +<p>“Well, Yellow was barking at something,” replied +Scott, with a grin. “Might have been a plain, four-footed +one, and it might have been a human puss. If +you don’t mind, I reckon I’ll tie him to the front door +down here. He’s rough on cats.”</p> +<p>“Suit yourself, <i>amigo</i>, I’m going to sleep,” was the +disdainful reply.</p> +<p>Well, that ended going out by the window. Pachuca, +having a Latin dislike for fresh air in the sleeping-room, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +closed the window angrily and threw himself +down on the mattress. It was hard and there was no +pillow. The blankets he would need to keep him +warm. Pachuca, though used to hardships, dearly +loved his comfort. He glanced around the room +again; an old office coat hanging on a peg in a corner +caught his eye. It would do for a pillow. He took it +down and rolled it into a wad. As he did so, a clinking +sound became audible. He reached into the pocket—a +bunch of keys and an old hunting-knife came to +light.</p> +<p>Pachuca grinned. Well, Heaven was looking out +for its own; it was not in the nature of things that a +Pachuca should be trampled in the dust by the proletariat! +Patiently, one after another, he tried the keys—ah, +the right one at last! He turned it and the door +opened. Pachuca chuckled delightedly; it pleased his +whimsicality to think that so apparently unsurmountable +a difficulty should be solved in so plain and unromantic +a fashion.</p> +<p>He returned to the window and saw Scott and Miller +standing outside Scott’s cabin; saw Scott go inside and +the cabin become dark once more and Miller go on +down the street, stopping at the last house near the +corral. Pachuca frowned. Was the fellow going in +and going to bed like a Christian, or was he going to +hang around and keep an eye on the car? This last +would be extremely awkward. Miller, however, +turned in at the house and disappeared.</p> +<p>Pachuca spent five minutes at the window watching, +but he did not reappear. “Ah well, one must risk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +something!” he mused, and glanced down at the sleeping +Yellow. Cautiously and with the soft step of one +who has learned the wisdom of a silent tread, the +young man slid down the stairway. The door at the +foot of the stairs was open; it opened outward and +they had tied the dog back of it.</p> +<p>Juan Pachuca opened the hunting-knife and surveyed +it in a business-like fashion. There was a sudden +movement of his arm and poor Yellow shivered +and crumpled up noiselessly. Quietly, the knife still +in his hand, Pachuca slipped behind the building and +continued his way toward the corral. He reached the +car unhindered and breathed a sigh of relief; the rest +would be plain sailing. A peep into the tonneau +showed him that the plunder had been removed; but +that, of course, he had expected. He jumped into the +car and started the engine. At the same moment, a +burly figure rushed out of the house near by, caught at +the car as it started, clung to the running-board and, +leaning over, seized Pachuca by the arm.</p> +<p>It was Miller; Miller, who had indeed gone to bed, +but whose bed was near the window of the little cabin, +and who had been keeping one eye on the car and had +emerged, scantily attired in a nightshirt tucked into a +pair of trousers, to put a spoke in the Mexican’s wheel. +Pachuca set his teeth! It was too much—to be so near +liberty and then to lose it. A desperate look came into +his eyes; he paid no attention to the angry demand of +his assailant that he stop the car, but, making a sudden +lunge, he drove the hunting-knife into the shoulder of +the big man. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>“Damn you, put up that knife!” choked Miller, seeing +the blow coming but not quickly enough to dodge +it. With one hand clutching the car and one holding +Pachuca, he was too late to reach his gun. By the +time he loosed his hold on the Mexican, the knife had +reached its mark; a knife none too sharp, but driven +by a practiced hand, it pierced the flesh, and with a +groan, Miller dropped off the running-board into the +road.</p> +<p>Ah, the good car! Pachuca sang with joy as it +leaped ahead into the darkness. They would be awake +in a moment, the lazy Gringos, but what of it? He +would be out of their reach. He laughed as he flew +past the house where Polly slept.</p> +<p>“Adieu, pretty American! I kiss your hand—until +we meet again!”</p> +<p>Something struck the back of the car with a sharp, +tearing sound. Pachuca turned with a grin. A light +had sprung up in the house into which he had seen +Scott go. With another chuckle, the young Mexican +bent over the wheel and whirled down the road toward +freedom.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_THE_DISCOVERY' id='X_THE_DISCOVERY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>THE DISCOVERY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Marc Scott was slow in falling asleep on the night +of Pachuca’s escape. He was in the habit of rolling +over a few times and losing himself; but on this particular +night he was tormented by half a dozen ugly +little worries. He was worried about Adams, whose +leg had a nasty look to the unprofessional eye; he was +worried about Pachuca, whose case was going to require +a good deal of finesse; and he was worried about +Polly Street, who had to be conveyed to the border, +revolution or no revolution.</p> +<p>The most pressing danger on his horizon, Scott did +not worry about because he did not recognize it. He +was like one of those patients in whose system a deadly +disease has started, but who remains in perfect health +to all outward appearances. He was in happy ignorance +of his feelings for Polly Street. He had been in +love times enough, he would have told you, to know +the symptoms; all of which was quite true, but the fact +remained that this time he did not know them.</p> +<p>Polly Street was so exactly the sort of girl that Marc +Scott had not the faintest idea of falling in love with, +much less marrying, that he would have dismissed the +possibility with a shrug. He, who valued his freedom +above everything, to throw it away for exactly the kind +of woman who would take the greatest pleasure in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +trampling on it? As for his jealousy of Juan Pachuca, +which should have opened his eyes, he put it aside +easily. He didn’t like the fellow—never had—and it +annoyed him to see a decent girl allowing herself to be +humbugged by his good looks and oily tongue.</p> +<p>It was a pity, for she was a plucky young thing. She +had done well to bring back the prisoner and his car; +mighty few girls would have had the courage to try it. +It was foolish, of course, a regular kid trick—wouldn’t +have succeeded once in a dozen times, but nevertheless, +she had shown pluck. It was at this stage in his reflections +that he had been disturbed by Yellow’s barking +and had gone out to investigate. The air and the +action had changed his circulation and his thought and +when he went to bed the second time he dropped off +easily.</p> +<p>This time he was aroused by the noise of the engine +started by Pachuca on his escape. At first he hardly +realized what it was that had wakened him, but as it +dawned on his consciousness, he jumped to his feet and +rushed to the window in time to see the car tear down +the road. With a muttered exclamation, Scott seized +his gun and sent a bullet wildly in the direction of the +escaping prisoner. Then he drew on his trousers, calling +to Hard at the same time.</p> +<p>“What’s wrong? Another raid?” growled the +sleepy Bostonian, who had dozed peacefully through +Pachuca’s first attempt.</p> +<p>“No. The guy’s got away,” snapped Scott, angrily.</p> +<p>“Well, we didn’t particularly need him, did we?” +observed Hard, sitting up reluctantly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>“We needed his car and needed it bad,” said Scott, +viciously. He tramped out of the room, while Hard +reached drowsily for his clothes.</p> +<p>“By George, he must have made it through the window!” +he muttered as he crossed the street, then as +he came upon the body of the dog, thrown aside behind +the open door, “The dirty butcher!” he growled, +furiously. “And I didn’t have sense enough to search +him for a knife!”</p> +<p>Outside, he met O’Grady and Johnson, sketchily +dressed and wrathful.</p> +<p>“You heard him, too, did you?” he growled. “He +got out by the window. This is some of his work,” he +continued, pointing to Yellow.</p> +<p>“He did not,” said O’Grady, promptly. “Did you +ever hear of a guy jumping out of a second-story winder +and shutting it after him?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Sure—it’s shut,” grinned Johnson. “He come out +of the door all right. It’s wide open, and not hurt, +either.”</p> +<p>“Who let him out? Where’s the key? You had +it, O’Grady.”</p> +<p>“I did not—you handed it to the girl, yourself. She +locked him in all right; I heard her do it,” replied +O’Grady quickly.</p> +<p>“That explains it,” said Scott, shortly. “She came +over here and let him out. Might have expected it, I +suppose, with a flighty youngster and a smooth talker +like Pachuca.” He turned away in the direction of the +house. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>“He’s mad!” murmured Johnson, admiringly. He +liked a little excitement himself.</p> +<p>“Mad? He’s jealous, the fool!” Matt offered, disgustedly.</p> +<p>“Jealous? Who of? The greaser?”</p> +<p>“Sure. Good-looking, Juan is, and a winner with +the dames.”</p> +<p>“Scott’s one of them woman haters. What d’ye +mean—jealous?”</p> +<p>“Woman haters?” Matt spat disdainfully. “There +ain’t no such thing as a woman hater, Tommy, in the +whole animal kingdom. Don’t you fall for none of +that stuff. But, believe me, that girl never opened that +door. She’s a straight, honest, smart girl, if she is +flighty.”</p> +<p>“Well, if she didn’t, who did?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I ain’t sleuthed around enough yet +to find out. Hullo, here’s Boston—half asleep, too.”</p> +<p>Scott was angry clear through. He did not stop to +analyze his emotions—he was not of an analytical mind—and +he did not care why he was angry. He felt that +Polly Street, a girl of whom he was beginning to think +rather highly, had done an unsportsmanlike thing; a +thing that Bob’s sister ought to have been ashamed to +do; had disgraced the family, so to speak, and had seriously +inconvenienced him into the bargain.</p> +<p>Scott had depended on that automobile for various +things. He wanted it to fetch a doctor for Jimmy, and +to take Polly, herself, to the border in comfort. Both +these important things she had jeopardized because she +had been coaxed into it by a soft-spoken young man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +with dark eyes. The treasure story he put aside. +Even a girl from the East would hardly have taken +that stuff seriously, he thought.</p> +<p>He would have felt just the same, he reasoned, had +the culprit been Bob instead of Bob’s sister. There +was, thank Heaven, nothing soft about him! He could +see and hear and even enjoy a good-looking girl without +making a fool of himself. That was the beauty of +being on the way to forty—one saw things in their +right light—and did not make a fool of one’s self over +girls.</p> +<p>“Marc Scott, are we being raided again or what? +Did I hear a shot and a machine going by or was I +dreaming?” demanded Mrs. Van, who, clad in a blanket +kimono, her feet thrust into moccasins, and a gay-looking +pink boudoir cap on her head, came to the door +before Scott reached it. In her rear could be dimly +seen another figure, wrapped in a gray blanket.</p> +<p>“You ought to know,” said Scott, rudely; focussing +his attention on the pink cap and ignoring the blanketed +figure in the rear.</p> +<p>“What do you mean—I ought to know?” indignantly.</p> +<p>“Somebody has unlocked the office door and let that +half-breed get away and he’s taken his car with him,” +said Scott. “The key’s in your house—that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Of course it’s in this house. It’s in the pocket of +my sweater,” answered Polly, indignantly. “If you +think I let him out——” She was too angry to continue.</p> +<p>“Well, he didn’t get out by the window because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +it’s shut, and there’s no chimney for him to melt out +of.”</p> +<p>“Look here, Marc Scott, ain’t you ashamed of yourself? +Coming here and talking to ladies like that—and +in the middle of the night, too.” Mrs. Van Zandt +was as angry as the other two. “That key couldn’t +get out of this house to-night without my knowing it. +He’s brainy enough to get out without help, that fellow.”</p> +<p>“He may be brainy, but he’s hardly brilliant enough +to go through a locked door,” said Scott, obstinately. +“Somebody let him out, that’s all. If you’ll be kind +enough to look for the key, Miss Street, and see if it’s +been taken away——”</p> +<p>“How could it be? From my room?” demanded +Polly, angrily.</p> +<p>“Are you going to hold an inquest over it?” +asked Mrs. Van, cuttingly. “I see the jury coming +along.”</p> +<p>Johnson, O’Grady and Hard were coming across the +street. Polly drew her blanket closely around her and +tucked one bare foot behind the other. Her reddish +colored braids gave her a squaw-like appearance in the +darkness.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Scotty, don’t stir up the community,” +called Hard, cheerfully. “I’m the guilty party.”</p> +<p>“You!”</p> +<p>“It never dawned on me till I saw the unlocked +door,” confessed Hard, with a chuckle. “The chap +must have found that old bunch of keys that’s been +knocking around in the pocket of my old office coat. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +I’m afraid that’s where he got the knife that did for +poor Yellow, too.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean there was a duplicate key?” demanded +Scott.</p> +<p>“There must have been. Clever chap to ferret it +out,” replied Hard, breezily.</p> +<p>“Mighty clever. I could open a door myself with +a key in my hand,” muttered Scott, as he turned away. +“Well, he’s gone and the car’s gone and we might as +well go back to bed.”</p> +<p>“Just one moment.” Polly’s voice was clear and +firm. “I think you owe me an apology, Mr. Scott.”</p> +<p>There was a suppressed chuckle from the rear where +the train gang still lingered. Scott stiffened and +cleared his throat consciously.</p> +<p>“I apologize,” he said; then, as he saw the others +disappear down the street, “Will you shake hands?”</p> +<p>“Not right now; I’m going to think it over,” said the +girl, coolly. “I think you should have known that I +wouldn’t do a thing like that.”</p> +<p>“Well, I did know it, of course,” confessed Scott, +helplessly. “But——”</p> +<p>“But you didn’t believe it.” Polly’s voice was cutting. +“Well, next time have a little more faith in your +friends, Mr. Scott,” and the blanketed figure disappeared +into the house.</p> +<p>“She had you there,” observed Mrs. Van. “Well, +go home to bed before you wake up Jimmy—it’s a +wonder he’s slept through this all right.”</p> +<p>She went into the house and knocked softly at the +girl’s door—after listening a moment and assuring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +herself that Adams had not wakened. Polly’s room +was dark and she was standing, still wrapped in the +blanket, by the window in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, rather curtly.</p> +<p>“Nothing—only——” Mrs. Van’s usually glib +tongue faltered. “I was just going to say that you +mustn’t take Marc Scott too—too—I mean, you +mustn’t be too hard on him.”</p> +<p>“Hard!”</p> +<p>“Yes. It’s just his way; he don’t mean to be ugly. +He’s queer, Scotty is, kind of—oh, I don’t know +how to put it, but he didn’t mean to be rude to +you.”</p> +<p>“He was, though, very rude.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s what I mean. It sort of shocked him +to think you’d do a thing like that and he didn’t stop +to think.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he’ll stop to think next time.”</p> +<p>“Maybe, but I don’t reckon so. Folks like that you +can’t change much; you have to take ’em or leave ’em +as they are. He’s awful square, though. I’d trust him +with anything; money, liquor, or women. When +you’ve been around as much as I have, you’ll know +that means something.”</p> +<p>In the meantime, Scott, Hard, and the train gang, +going down to the corral to investigate, found Miller +lying as Pachuca had left him, in the middle of the +road. He was regaining consciousness as they came +along, and did not seem to be badly hurt, the knife +having entered the fleshy part of the arm near the +shoulder. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<p>“Serves me damn right, bein’ so slow with my gun,” +he said. “I suppose the guy got away?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he got away!” muttered Scott, as they +helped Miller to bed. “That’s the kind of luck we’re +playing in just now around here.”</p> +<p>Breakfast next morning was not a particularly +cheerful meal. Adams was still in bed, and Williams +was feverish and cross. Miller seemed little the worse +for his accident, but he was blue; he had been particularly +attached to the dog and felt its death more +than his own misadventure.</p> +<p>“Blankets, canned goods, saddles—everything they +could grab,” muttered Williams, resentfully. “Nice +condition to be in with a revolution looming.”</p> +<p>“Not looming, loomed,” said O’Grady, cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Wish I could get hold of an <i>Omaha Bee</i>,” murmured +Johnson. “I never somehow feel like I had a +grip on a situation till I’ve seen my home paper.”</p> +<p>“I think I’ll ride over to Casa Grande this morning +and get the doctor,” said Hard. “That leg of Jimmy’s +needs advice.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go with you.” Scott looked at Polly. “Want +to go?” he said; then as she hesitated, he looked at +her penitently, smiling as Scott did not often smile, +and whispered: “Please do!”</p> +<p>“How mean of him! He knows I’m dying to. +How’s anybody going to stay mad when they want +to do things?” said the girl to herself.</p> +<p>“It’s too far for her,” objected Mrs. Van.</p> +<p>“We’ll send the Chink back,” said Scott, persuasively, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +“and we’ll stay all night with Herrick. We’ll +make him play for you,” he added, as Polly smiled in +spite of herself. “Will you go?”</p> +<p>“She must,” said Hard. “It’s her last chance to see +the country.” And so the matter was settled.</p> +<p>“That Chink’ll ride the whole twenty miles on a +dead run—he’ll be here to dinner,” said Matt. “Ever +see a Chinaman ride?”</p> +<p>“He’ll ride his own horse, then,” replied Scott, as +he left the room. “Perhaps we’ll bring Herrick back +with us, Mrs. Van.”</p> +<p>“He won’t leave that piano of his,” prophesied Mrs. +Van Zandt. “No more than a mother’d leave her +baby when there was danger around.”</p> +<p>It was ten o’clock when the three riders started on +their trip, Scott preserving a reasonably cheerful face, +in spite of the fact that he hated late starts. It was a +beautiful morning; the sky, blue and cloudless, the air +fresh and invigorating with the crispness of early +spring, the radiant clearness of the atmosphere making +neighbors of the mountains, all combined to make +a tonic which showed signs of going to Polly’s head. +After all, there are few sensations like the starting out +upon a horseback trip; the mare’s springy trot, the +freshness of her own healthy body, even the feel of +the bridle reins brought her joy.</p> +<p>“You look mighty happy,” commented Hard. “It +must be pleasant to be twenty-three.”</p> +<p>Polly laughed. “It is,” she admitted. “But I’m +going to be just as happy at forty-three. I’ve found +the recipe.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>“Will you sell it to me? My next one happens to +be my forty-second. I’ll be needing it soon.”</p> +<p>“I’ll make you a present of it. Stay out-of-doors and +keep on doing things. Of course, I haven’t tried it for +forty-three years, but I feel in my bones that it will +work.”</p> +<p>“I never could see, myself, how people could spend +twenty-two out of their twenty-four hours under a +roof, the way most of them do,” said Scott, thoughtfully. +“Here, we turn now into the trail.”</p> +<p>“That’s where Pachuca’s men went yesterday,” said +Polly. “I hope we don’t meet them.”</p> +<p>“No danger of that. Those fly-by-nights are a long +way from here by this time.”</p> +<p>“They told me yesterday in Conejo that Obregon +had been put under arrest in Mexico City. If that’s +true it may put a cog in the revolutionary machinery,” +said Hard.</p> +<p>“I wish we’d managed to keep our hands on that +automobile,” remarked Scott, wistfully. “I don’t +half fancy trying to make the border in a wagon, and +no one knows how the railroads will be.”</p> +<p>The trail debouched from the road, running over +ground very slightly elevated. There was for some +distance no particular reason as far as Polly could see +for its being a trail at all except that it hadn’t been +sufficiently traveled to make it a road. It was merely +a narrow little path leading over some very barren-looking +country, but leading ever upward, gradually +but surely, toward the hills.</p> +<p>“You see, the regular road runs fairly straight along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +toward Conejo for maybe twenty miles, and then +meets a crossroad which runs past Casa Grande,” explained +Scott. “Now, with this trail, we cut directly +across those foothills, over a couple of ranges of mountains, +across a big mesa and down. Casa Grande is +almost in a straight line from here and we cut off a +lot.”</p> +<p>“Casa Grande is an awfully fancy sort of name. +Is it a wonderful place?”</p> +<p>“Just a good little ranch. These Latins like big +sounding names,” replied Scott. “Casa Grande is +very common down here.”</p> +<p>A dip in the trail took them into an arroyo and out +the other side, where they lost sight entirely of Athens. +A few moments later, they wound their way through +some brush into a narrow canyon, walled on one side +by hills and with a drop of some fifteen feet on the +other side into a ravine. Out of the ravine grew more +brush so densely that it almost crowded the little trail +out of existence.</p> +<p>Here it was necessary to go single file and Polly +noticed how naturally Scott took the lead, leaving her +to follow and Hard to bring up the rear. She noted +with some amusement that it seemed characteristic of +him to take the lead everywhere, just as it seemed +quite in keeping with Hard’s easy-going nature to fall +into the rear.</p> +<p>“And yet of the two Mr. Hard has the education +and the brains,” thought the girl. “No, that’s not +fair. I believe you can have just as good a brain without +education—only you’re hampered in the use of it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +Marc Scott has what the psychologists call ‘initiative.’ +Oh, look!”</p> +<p>High up in the air a bird had flown out from among +the tree-tops on the other side of the canyon—a big +bird with wide spreading wings.</p> +<p>“It’s an eagle.”</p> +<p>“An eagle!” Polly was awed.</p> +<p>“There’s a nest up there somewhere,” said Scott, +shading his eyes with his hand and peering upward. +“Last year I was riding over this trail with Gomez, +an Indian we had working for us. We were just about +here when an eagle, a young one, flew out from the +trees. Before I could speak, Gomez up with his gun +and shot it.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“I wanted to kill the geezer—but Lord, what can +you expect of an Indian?”</p> +<p>As they proceeded, Polly found herself riding closer +to Scott, while Hard lagged behind. She was not displeased. +Scott on horseback and in the woods was +Scott at his best as she was beginning to know.</p> +<p>“I’m wondering,” she said, as the mare pushed her +nose along the big bay’s flank, “how you know so +much about the country. You aren’t a Westerner, are +you?”</p> +<p>“Me? No, indeed. Born in New York State and +raised in Michigan. Never laid eyes on anything west +of the Mississippi until I came out to Colorado to work +in the mines. Then I drifted into New Mexico and +down here.” Scott was riding with his knee around +the pommel and talking meditatively over his shoulder. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“You see, I’ve got mining in my blood. My grandfather +was a Forty-Niner.”</p> +<p>“Did he get rich?” asked Polly, interestedly.</p> +<p>“Not so’s you’d notice it. Spent all he had and +died trying to get home.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“Hard luck, wasn’t it? My folks went to Detroit +when I was a little codger and they both died there. +I was adopted by an uncle—an uncle who was the +whitest man God ever made,” declared Scott, solemnly.</p> +<p>“Why was he—I mean, how was he?” Polly had +by nature that healthy capacity for asking questions, +which is one of the most flattering characteristics that +a woman can have or assume.</p> +<p>“He was always doing decent things. Didn’t have +much money, either, but somehow he always made it +do for a lot of folks who didn’t have any. He adopted +a girl that wasn’t any kin to him, had her educated and +then married her. She made him a fine wife, too, +thought the world of him. Well, he adopted me and +sent me to school and when he saw I had the roving +instinct and couldn’t stick to the books, he gave me a +lift to go West to the mines. He knew that there was +no use arguing.</p> +<p>“He was queer, too. Didn’t like city folks nor their +ways. He owned one of those big farms out near +what’s now Grosse Pointe—ran down to the river—and +when the town began to grow out toward them, +instead of holding on to his land as it began to get +valuable, he’d sell out and go further away. Died, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +leaving Aunt Mary just enough to live comfortably on—might +have been a millionaire. But Uncle Silas was +a wise man.</p> +<p>“Sometimes when I look at these tight-fisted old +guys who make their millions and tie ’em up into +estates to hand down, and then remember Uncle Silas—not +giving a hoot for money and always pulling +along a dozen or two poor relations and setting ’em +on their feet, living comfortable and happy, leaving a +wife that’s as fond of him to-day as she was the day +he died—well, I sort of wonder if money and success +mean as much as folks think they do.”</p> +<p>Scott’s autobiography was halted by the view which +met their eyes as they rounded the turn at the top of +the canyon. Turning, the narrow trail wound its way +around the mountainside until one looked down upon +the tops of foothills, green with scrubby vegetation. +Then it stretched in an irregular line down the mountainside, +to disappear in their midst. Beyond lay another +range of mountains.</p> +<p>“Back of that range and across the mesa is where +Herrick’s place is,” said Scott, as they drew rein and +waited for Hard to come along. Polly gazed in silence. +It was the first view she had had of the wilder +part of the country and it thrilled her.</p> +<p>Hard came up with them. “Don’t you think we’d +better make a little speed when we hit the level?” he +said.</p> +<p>“We’ve only crossed one stream since we started,” +observed Polly.</p> +<p>“We cross another just before we get to Herrick’s,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +said Hard, “but it never has much water in it except +in the rainy season.”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen plenty in it then,” said Scott, laughing. +“I was caught on the wrong side once when they’d +had a cloudburst in the mountains. Oh boy, you +should have seen her come down! Swept away a +wagon with two horses and the Mexican who was +driving it in just two minutes.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how could it—in two minutes?”</p> +<p>“Well, it could and did. Before that there wasn’t +a foot of water in the river bed. When the water +came thundering down there was eight or ten. Picked +up trees, bushes, chicken coops, greasers—anything in +its way, and whirled ’em down the canyon.”</p> +<p>It was the middle of the afternoon when they crossed +the second range, which they did by means of a trail +which went through a gap, thus cutting off the worst +of the ascent. Once through the gap, they came out +upon a huge mesa from which they looked down upon +the valley in which Casa Grande was located. On the +mesa, the tired horses broke into the little easy-going +jog which mountain ponies love.</p> +<p>Scott watched Polly’s sparkling eyes with real gratification. +He had chosen to go by trail rather than by +road very largely that she might have this experience. +He wanted her to see more of the country before she +went back to the city and its ways.</p> +<p>“She’s a natural out-of-doors woman, and she’s +never had the chance to find it out,” he mused. “Better +than a golf course?” he asked, as they trotted +across the broad mesa. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, reproachfully. “It’s like the +happy hunting grounds! I never understood before +why the Indians called their Heaven that. It was because +they were thinking of space and openness and +freedom. I think it beats our kind of Heaven all +hollow,” finished the cheerful product of 1920.</p> +<p>Finally they came out on the other side of the little +river bed, which lay below the mesa and was entered +by means of a rocky staircase, crossed a round-topped +hill, and there, in a flat little valley surrounded by hills, +the rear view of the Casa Grande ranch-house became +visible. Two or three smaller buildings stood near it +and a fence marked the corral.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_CASA_GRANDE' id='XI_CASA_GRANDE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>CASA GRANDE</h3> +</div> + +<p>There was a great stillness about the place; the +whole panorama suggested a picture rather than an +actuality, except for the white clouds sailing slowly +about in the blue sky, and an occasional bird flying +from one tree or bush to another.</p> +<p>“I don’t like things being so still,” said Scott. +“Let’s push on.” Riding around to the front of the +house—a long, narrow, adobe building, they came upon +the first real sign of habitation; a brown hen, who, accompanied +by her family, was scratching around the +walk with an immense show of industry; while on the +veranda sat two men. One was a white man; the +other, a Chinese, dressed in the dark blue shirt and +trousers of his people. As the newcomers dismounted, +the white man came forward.</p> +<p>“Humph, it’s you!” he remarked, with evident relief. +“Well, here is what is left of a once prosperous +household.”</p> +<p>He was a little man, thin and wiry, with bushy brown +hair and beard, and keen dark eyes. His hands, slender +and with long white fingers, played nervously +with a quirt which he held, apparently for no purpose +than that those nervous members might have occupation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></p> +<p>“What’s happened?” demanded Scott. “How do, +Li Yow?” as the Chinaman came forward smilingly +to take the horses.</p> +<p>“All gone,” he said, blandly. “Laided. One hen, +some shickens—notting else left.”</p> +<p>“Raided! Did that young rascal——” began Hard, +when Herrick interrupted impatiently.</p> +<p>“Oh, he has been to you, too? He makes a clean +sweep of it! He comes here at noon with a score, +perhaps, of men; and if there is anything they do not +take, it is because it is broken—like my wagon. Men, +money, and stock—our neighbor is thorough and no +mistake!”</p> +<p>“I was afraid of it,” said Scott. “He’s cleaning +up the community. Herrick, I want you to know Bob +Street’s sister, Miss Polly Street.” He added a few +words of explanation of the girl’s presence. Herrick +surveyed her with interest.</p> +<p>“You are unlucky to strike this country at such a +time,” he said. “Unless you like experiences?”</p> +<p>“I do,” said Polly, promptly. “That’s why they’re +sending me home.”</p> +<p>The little man smiled. “After all, most experience +is worth while,” he said. “Sit down and rest—you +will stay, all of you, won’t you? For the night? +There is some food left.”</p> +<p>Scott and Li Yow walked away with the horses to +the barn which stood not a great way from the house, +surrounded by a good-sized corral. Polly sank into +an easy chair which commanded through a window a +view of a part of the living-room. She caught a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +glimpse of a grand piano, bright colored rugs, bookcases +overflowing with books, and other evidences of +comfort. Hard gave their host an account of the +Athens hold-up, not forgetting the part Polly had +played in it.</p> +<p>“I remembered,” he said, “that Li was a doctor, +and thought perhaps you’d loan him to us for Jimmy. +We don’t think much of the Conejo medico.”</p> +<p>“Himmel, no!” responded Herrick, quickly. “You +shall have Li, of course.”</p> +<p>Polly leaned back with a little sigh of content. +Herrick smiled.</p> +<p>“You are tired,” he said, “and by and by you will +be chilly. Henry, as Li is busy, suppose you build up +a fire in the living-room?”</p> +<p>Polly looked a bit surprised, but Hard laughed as he +went into the house.</p> +<p>“Herrick never does any rough work,” he said, indulgently. +“He has to take care of his hands.”</p> +<p>“So!” replied their host, “my fingers are my good +friends, consequently I take good care of them. Why +not? Some day I may need their services again.”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” said Polly, frankly. “I think it’s +rather dreadful for an artist to bury himself in a place +like this.”</p> +<p>“One does not bury oneself, my child, one rests and +creates,” said the musician, gently. “Ah, here is +Scott! He has been looking at my wagon.”</p> +<p>Scott tossed Polly her long cloak which she had left +on her saddle.</p> +<p>“Yes, I took a look at the wagon, while Li turned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +the horses out,” he said. “I think I can patch it up +so that we can drive to Athens in it. You see, Herrick, +we’ve only got three horses and I have to send +Li back on one of them to-night.”</p> +<p>“Can he make it—the horse?”</p> +<p>“With a little rest and a feed—if Li takes it easy. +Of course, it’s not the way I like to treat my horses, +but Jimmy’s leg is in a bad state.”</p> +<p>“Very well. You may have Li and also the wagon,” +replied Herrick. “The more willingly because I have +a favor to ask of you.”</p> +<p>“Of course. What is it?”</p> +<p>“I have a guest,” said the other, slowly. “A lady, +from the South. She has had to leave her plantation +and is on her way back to the United States. I had +intended taking her to the border, but since you are +sending this young lady——” He stopped, and Polly +thought she saw a look of understanding pass between +them.</p> +<p>“We’ll see her through, of course,” said Scott, readily. +“Can she be ready to go in the morning?”</p> +<p>“I should think so,” replied the little man; “we will +ask her.” To Polly’s disappointment, the talk passed +on to the revolution and other political subjects, and +nothing more was said about the mysterious guest. +“If they’re going to tack a Mexican refugee to me, +they might at least tell me something about her!” she +thought.</p> +<p>In the meantime, Hard had entered the living-room +and was examining the contents of the wood-box.</p> +<p>“Empty, of course!” he said, with a smile. “The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +household is quite evidently off its balance.” He went +out through the kitchen and returned in a few minutes +with a basket of logs from the wood-pile. As he re-entered +the living-room, a woman—a tall, slender, +graceful woman, with black hair and eyes, entered it +from the hall. There was a moment’s silence and +then the basket of wood dropped crashingly from +Hard’s arms. The woman smiled.</p> +<p>“Henry!” she exclaimed, coming forward, both +hands outstretched. “Henry! I heard your voice—I’d +have known it anywhere, even if Victor hadn’t told +me that you lived near here. You haven’t changed +one bit in—how many years is it since I saw you?”</p> +<p>“Fifteen years, six months, and twenty-seven days, +Clara,” replied the tall Bostonian, taking her hands and +leading her to the light. Something in her easy, +friendly manner had softened both the shock of the +surprise and the embarrassment of the situation. He +looked long into her face and then dropped her hands. +She sank into a chair by the fireplace.</p> +<p>“It is a long time, isn’t it?” she said, smiling.</p> +<p>“No one would think so to look at you,” said Hard, +sincerely. “You are the same Clara Mallory who +went to Paris fifteen years ago to study music.” He +picked up the basket of wood and proceeded to build +the fire. She watched him, her eyes misty.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s odd that I haven’t changed for I’ve been +through a lot,” she said, with a little smile. “And +you?”</p> +<p>“Just the same easy-going, good-for-nothing chap, I +reckon,” replied Hard. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>“But this mining business? But, of course, you +were educated for it at the Tech——”</p> +<p>“Yes, without much idea of using it.”</p> +<p>“But, being a Hard, you weren’t contented with doing +nothing,” said Mrs. Conrad. “You know why I’m +here, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“No. Herrick told me some time ago that you +were living down near Mexico City—and that Dick +Conrad had died, and how.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Conrad was silent for a moment. “Two years +ago,” she said, quietly. “While he lived, we managed +to hold down the plantation fairly well. He got on +well with the government, and he organized the peons +and fought off the bandits. Since then, things have +gone rather badly; it takes a man to handle that kind +of a situation. I’ve been raided six times in two years +and my patience is almost gone.</p> +<p>“I wrote up here to Victor; he’s always been a +good friend of mine—I studied with him in London, +you know, and knew his wife well. He advised me to +sell and go home. I didn’t take his advice about selling; +I couldn’t get anything decent for the place right +now, and I’ve a fairly good man running it for me. +I have faith in this country and I intend to come back +some day and go on with my plantation.”</p> +<p>“You always were plucky, Clara.” Hard touched +a match to his fire. “But Mexico’s no place for you. +Where are you going?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” admitted Clara, frankly. “Back to +the States, of course, but where and for what I don’t +know. But I hope—my music.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>“Your music?”</p> +<p>“Victor says it’s not too late—but—well, perhaps. +I’m out of the way of cities, and I’ve enough so that +I don’t have to do anything, but—oh, I would love to +be at it again!”</p> +<p>Hard smiled. “You will, Clara. You’re not an +idler—as I am. You’ll be in the thick of it in no +time.”</p> +<p>“Ah, you have found one another! I thought perhaps +you would.” Herrick’s voice broke in upon their +talk. He was followed by Polly and Scott, and introductions +and explanations came naturally.</p> +<p>“It’s not a Mexican refugee, and it is the lady of the +photograph!” Polly said to herself, triumphantly. +“But it doesn’t look to me much like a love affair. +They’ve got over it evidently.”</p> +<p>“So you also were raided by Juan Pachuca?” said +Mrs. Conrad, as Scott seated himself beside her. The +latter nodded.</p> +<p>“I happened to hear him talking to one of my men,” +said Herrick, “and telling him that he had a rendezvous +with Angel Gonzales, somewhere in the vicinity—not +too near, I hope. I don’t want Angel Gonzales +on my place; I’d rather entertain the devil.”</p> +<p>“What a queer name—Angel! Who is he?” asked +Polly, curiously. She was beginning to realize, since +she had gotten off her horse and relaxed into the comfort +of an easy chair near the fire, how very tired she +was.</p> +<p>“A young ruffian with a price on his head,” replied +Herrick. “He’s half Indian and half Mexican +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +and they tell me that both halves are very bad indeed.”</p> +<p>“If Gonzales—by the way, Miss Polly, don’t mix +him up with Pablo Gonzales who is a general of note +and one of the candidates for the next presidency——” said +Hard, laughing. “If Gonzales is +trying to get in with the new party, he must have inside +information that the revolution is going to be a success.”</p> +<p>“Well, its first work had better be to line Angel +and a few more of his kind up against a wall and settle +’em with a firing squad,” said Scott.</p> +<p>“That’s what I think,” declared Mrs. Conrad. “I +don’t put much faith in this regiment business. I +think Pachuca has simply gone back to first principles +and run amuck.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe——” Polly stopped, consciously.</p> +<p>“Miss Polly thinks he’s a gentleman and that ends +it,” said Scott, drily.</p> +<p>“She’s young, and the wretch has a way with him. +I liked him myself when I was young and frivolous,” +said Mrs. Conrad, cheerfully. “I’ve entertained him +many a time in Mexico City. Suppose you go into +my room, my dear, and have a nice rest and clean up +while I go and help Li rustle us a dinner out of the +remnants?” she continued, taking the girl by the +hand.</p> +<p>“If Angel Gonzales is playing around this neighborhood, +the sooner we get away the better,” said Scott to +Hard as the three men were left together. “Come +and cast your weather eye over the wagon. For a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +quiet part of the country, we seem to have struck a bad +gait.”</p> +<p>It was nearly eight o’clock when they sat down to +their dinner; a dinner contrived with Oriental thrift +from materials scorned by the marauders.</p> +<p>“Give a Chinaman a handful of rice and a few vegetables +and he’ll make you a feast, so my husband used +to say,” remarked Mrs. Conrad. “You simply can’t +starve them.”</p> +<p>“Li wants to start right after dinner,” said Scott.</p> +<p>“And ride all night?” asked Herrick.</p> +<p>“He says so. He says he knows the trail, and, of +course, he’s got the moon.”</p> +<p>A little later, as they sat around the fire, they heard +the sound of his horse’s feet on the stones and knew +that the Chinaman had started.</p> +<p>Polly began to feel the charm of the quaint room, +with its dim lighting, the low fire, the fantastic patterns +of rug and basket showing faintly, and through the +windows the mountains and the stars. As the conversation +began to yield to the quiet of the place, Herrick +went to the piano and played softly. It had never +fallen to the lot of the girl to hear such music; the +revelation of a man’s soul, poured out through an absolute +mastery of the art. The little man, with the +brown beard and the long nervous hands, sat hunched +up in his low chair, knees crossed, eyes half closed, +drawing from the keyboard the chords which carried to +each one the message of his own heart.</p> +<p>Presently, Clara Conrad rose, and, standing back of +the piano, leaning over it, her hands clasped, began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +sing—softly and easily—her voice, a rich contralto, +blending with Herrick’s small but exquisite baritone, +in an old song. Polly looked at Hard, seated in a dim +corner, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes fixed on +the two at the piano. She wondered what he was +thinking and what the woman meant to him. There +was something almost too intimate about the whole +scene and she was glad when Scott rose and went +toward the door, speaking to her as he passed her.</p> +<p>“Want to see a pretty sight?” he said. She nodded +and followed him out. For miles in front of them +stretched the hilly country, dotted here and there in +the half light by clumps of trees and bushes showing +inky black in the night, while in the distance stretched +the mountains, irregular, dark, and mysterious looking. +Over all shone the moon, while the stars—but +who can describe the stars in a desert country?</p> +<p>“Makes you feel like you’d never seen stars before, +doesn’t it?” asked Scott, as the girl stood, drinking in +the scene.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t it? So many, so bright and so twinkly! +Do you know, I don’t wonder that Mrs. Conrad’s +rather a wonderful woman—living all the time with +this.”</p> +<p>“Well, she is, rather. She’s had a hard life, too; +lots of trouble.”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t her husband—I mean, weren’t they happy +together?” asked the girl.</p> +<p>“Why, yes, I guess they were,” replied Scott, +cautiously. “I reckon they were like most married +folks, rubbed along together pretty well.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>“But you said she’d had lots of trouble.”</p> +<p>Scott smiled. “And you made up your mind right +off that it was a love affair, eh? You’re a good deal +of a kid, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>Polly flushed. “I think you’re rather inconsiderate,” +she said, crossly. “You start up my curiosity +and then you make fun of me. I don’t think I like +the way you treat me, most of the time.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think it’s fair, myself,” said Scott, penitently. +“I suppose a girl brought up as you’ve been +oughtn’t to be blamed for seeing a love affair behind +every bush.”</p> +<p>“Why do you say brought up as I’ve been?”</p> +<p>“I mean having everything easy; everything done +for you. No real hard knocks in life.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, if that’s all, I’ll probably have hard +knocks enough before I get through. Most people do, +I’ve noticed,” replied Polly, easily. “I’ll probably +marry somebody who’ll spend all his money and leave +me eight children to support, or else I’ll die a rheumaticky +old maid. Will that satisfy you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk that way,” said Scott, sharply. “It’s +unlucky.”</p> +<p>“Unlucky? Are you superstitious?”</p> +<p>“No, but I’ve noticed that people who are always +expecting bad luck usually get it. I’d hate to have +you——” he stopped, and Polly caught a look in his +eyes that startled her.</p> +<p>“Die a rheumaticky old maid?” she said, nervously. +“Well, I don’t want to, either, but it seems to me that +the number of people who get out of this world without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +a lot of trouble of some kind or other is a pretty small +one, so you needn’t begrudge me a few years of easy +going. What was Mrs. Conrad’s trouble?”</p> +<p>“She’s had a good deal of it first and last, but I was +thinking of her husband’s death, two years ago.”</p> +<p>“Did you know her then?”</p> +<p>“Me? No, indeed, I never met her before to-night, +but Hard told me, and so did Herrick. I don’t reckon +Hard would mind my telling you her story, now +you’ve met her. You see, he and she were young folks +together in Boston. I guess they sort of played at being +in love with each other, like young folks do. Then +her father died, and left her with hardly anything, and +that woke ’em up. It made things look more serious.</p> +<p>“Hard wanted to marry her, but she wouldn’t. She +had a voice and she wanted a career; so she went to +Europe. That’s where she met Herrick and took lessons +of him. Then, suddenly, instead of going on the +stage, she married one of those floating Englishmen. +Met him in Paris, married him, and came over here +with him.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t she care for Mr. Hard?”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s pretty hard sometimes to know who a +woman does care for,” said Scott, candidly. “But if +she did, she must have got over it. Or maybe she got +tired of the singing business and took Conrad in a fit +of the blues. I’ve known ’em to do that.”</p> +<p>“Men, I suppose, never marry for reasons of that +sort!”</p> +<p>“Men? Lord, yes, men’ll do anything—most of +’em,” grinned Scott, cheerfully. “We’re a rum lot. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +Anyhow, Mrs. Conrad married her Englishman and +came over to the coffee plantation with him. I guess +they had some trouble like everybody else has had these +last few years, but they managed to weather it. Then, +about two years ago, they went on a hunting trip, up in +the mountains, just the two of them and a Mexican +boy. While they were there, Conrad shot himself +while he was cleaning his gun.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“It was hopeless from the first and she knew it, but +she stayed alone with him and sent the boy back to the +ranch for a doctor. He died while they were there +alone.”</p> +<p>Polly’s eyes had tears in them. She was staring +wistfully at the mountains. “I’m trying to think what +it would mean—being up there, alone, with someone +you loved who was dying,” she said at last. “No +wonder little things don’t bother a woman who’s been +through a thing like that.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s those things that make character, I guess,” +said Scott, thoughtfully. “Or break it.”</p> +<p>“Hasn’t Mr. Hard ever been down there to see +her?”</p> +<p>“No, there’s a proud streak in Hard—or maybe he’s +got over his feeling for her. He never would let her +know he was in the country. I rather guess Herrick +planned this.”</p> +<p>“I wonder? Oh, what is it? What do you see?” +she cried, as she noticed that Scott’s attention was no +longer on her, but was fastened upon the dark foothills +which rose between them and the mountains. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“I don’t know; wish I had my glasses! Looks to +me like fellows riding—do you see ’em? Over there, +coming through that darkish spot between the foothills? +Wonder if we’re in for another row?”</p> +<p>“No—yes, it is! Coming this way!”</p> +<p>“Go in and tell them to put out the lights and stop +that noise quick!” Scott’s voice was hard and sharp. +Polly darted into the house. Scott strained his eyes to +watch the party of riders racking recklessly down the +dark roadway from the hills. “It can’t be Pachuca!” +he muttered. “He wouldn’t come back. It must be +that damned young Angel. Well, I guess we’re in for +trouble before daybreak.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” Hard was at his elbow. Scott +turned and saw that the house was dark.</p> +<p>“It’s a bunch on horseback—see, over yonder? +They’re making good time; they’ll be on us in half a +minute. Where’s Herrick?”</p> +<p>“Getting the rifles. Where are the horses?”</p> +<p>“In the pasture, up by the river. They’ll not find +them in a hurry.”</p> +<p>“Hadn’t we better have the women go up there, +too?” said Hard, anxiously.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe so. If they’re bound for us, there’s +no time. I think——”</p> +<p>“Mr. Scott,” Clara Conrad’s voice came softly from +the dark doorway, “if that’s Angel Gonzales why can’t +we all go——”</p> +<p>“I don’t know who it is, and the moon’s too strong +out there—they’d spot you in a minute.”</p> +<p>“But we can’t sit here and do nothing!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“You can do as you please.” Scott’s voice was +ugly with the ugliness of strained nerves. “I say stick +to shelter while you’ve got it.” He drew his revolver +as he spoke and examined it.</p> +<p>“They’re coming fast.” Hard’s voice was tense. +Herrick carrying three rifles came out.</p> +<p>“Get inside—everybody!” ordered Scott. The +party had turned in from the road and were dashing +toward them. Mrs. Conrad and Polly were already in +the house. The men followed. “They ride like Indians, +Hard; I believe it’s Yaquis on the warpath!” +He and Hard stationed themselves at the open windows +in the darkness. “I’m for waiting till they attack us; +what do you think?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Let them make the first move.”</p> +<p>The intruders were at the gate. Now they swept in, +a couple of score of them. They whirled and made +for the barn.</p> +<p>“They’re Indians, all right,” whispered Scott. +“They’re after the horses.”</p> +<p>The silence was complete for a few seconds, the +women obediently crouching in the darkest corner +scarcely seeming to breathe, Scott and Hard, hidden +behind the light curtains, keeping their eyes fixed upon +the swiftly moving figures outside, Herrick standing +just within the doorway. Suddenly, cries broke the +stillness. Two of the Yaquis who had entered the +barn came out with the news. The yells were of rage.</p> +<p>“No horses!” grinned Scott. “Their feelings are +hurt. Here’s where the play begins.”</p> +<p>“They’re firing the barn,” said Hard, grimly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>They were. It blazed like a child’s bonfire and the +shouts and curses of the disappointed Yaquis rose +with the flames.</p> +<p>In another moment the Indians had ridden toward +the house. Polly, who in spite of orders, had crept +toward the window saw them in amazement. Between +the moon and the light of the blazing barn, they were +distinctly visible.</p> +<p>“But they can’t be Indians!” she exclaimed, at +Scott’s elbow. “They’re just like our Mexicans!”</p> +<p>“Did you expect them to wear scalp locks? Get out +of range, quick! Hard, cover the second chap, there. +I’m going to give the first boy a shock. They’ll be in +here in half a minute if I don’t.”</p> +<p>His shot rang out and the bullet flew over the Indian’s +head. It was close enough to make him pull his +horse to its haunches while those behind him did the +same.</p> +<p>“While I’m talking to him, you women slide out +the back door,” muttered Scott, hurriedly. “Make +for the stream and the horses while they’re watching +us. Hello, out there, what do you want?” he said in +Spanish.</p> +<p>Mrs. Conrad gripped Polly’s arm. “Come!” she +said.</p> +<p>“We can’t!” demurred the girl. “We can’t leave +them like this.”</p> +<p>“Come!” repeated Clara, angrily. “Do you want to +fall into their hands?” Polly, too frightened by her +tone to resist, crept softly behind her. They heard the +Indian at whom Scott had fired answer. To Polly it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +meant nothing, but Clara’s ears, accustomed to the +tongue, caught an angry demand for horses, food and +money.</p> +<p>“We haven’t any of those things. We’ve just been +raided—cleaned out—we’re as poor as you are,” was +Scott’s reply. The Indians conferred together. “It’s +a question of whether they think we’re lying or not,” +said Scott, drily.</p> +<p>“Exactly. And they have unfortunately every reason +to believe that a white man usually is,” replied +Hard. “What’s the play if they come at us?”</p> +<p>“Shoot as many as we can,” said Scott. “They’ll +do the rest. That’s why I sent the women off.”</p> +<p>“I thought so. Well, here goes. I ought to be +able to get a couple before I cash in though I’m not +considered very dangerous with firearms,” replied +Hard, calmly, though his heart was registering something +approaching acute blood pressure.</p> +<p>From the leader came in angry Spanish: “We don’t +believe you! We’ll come and get it.”</p> +<p>“Come on!” yelled Herrick. Instantly, a dozen +Yaquis were off their horses and running toward the +house, shooting as they came. As instantly, two of +the leaders fell in the path of the others.</p> +<p>“Good boy, Herrick!” cried Scott. “Let ’em have +it again!” he yelled, as the Indians, halted for a moment +by the fall of their men, came on again. The +shots rang out again but this time no one fell. Hard +felt something sing by him in the darkness and thanked +God that the women were not there. Herrick rushed +over for more cartridges. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>“They’re coming!” he shouted, excitedly.</p> +<p>“Let ’em come. Some of ’em are coming to something +they won’t like,” growled Scott. “Look out—in +the doorway!”</p> +<p>Two Indians had burst their way into the house, but +disconcerted by its utter darkness after the moonlight +outside, paused a moment to get their bearings. Scott, +Hard and Herrick shot with one accord. One Indian +came on; the other uttered a cry of pain; then both +dashed outside for the shelter of the veranda. There +was silence; the Indians hesitating in doubt as to their +companions’ fate, the white men uncertain as to what +form the attack would take next.</p> +<p>“Are the women gone?” Herrick called softly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Hard. “Are you all right?”</p> +<p>“So. They whistle through my hair but they do +not touch me,” replied the musician, cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Here they come!” cried Scott, impatiently. +“Watch your shots!”</p> +<p>The Indians were coming, and coming in a body.</p> +<p>“Gosh, it’s going to be all day with us in half a +minute!” gasped Scott. “Let ’em have it as hard as +you can, boys. We may be able to hold ’em long +enough to give the women a chance to get the horses.”</p> +<p>Hard clenched his teeth and bent his eye on his +rifle. In another moment the invaders would be upon +them—when, sharp and decisive came the sound of +shots; shots from among the foothills, followed by +yells. There was a cry from the Indian who led the +rush; a wavering of the line; and a stop. They broke +into loud talk. In the meantime, the shots and yells +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +continued. They seemed to come from two directions.</p> +<p>“There’s another crowd back in the hills. They’ve +got another fight on their hands,” muttered Scott, +listening. “It’s a flank attack and these fellows don’t +like it.”</p> +<p>“If it is——”</p> +<p>“It is. Hear that!”</p> +<p>There were more yells; the Yaquis outside flung +themselves into their saddles and in another moment +the two wounded men lying near the windows were all +that remained of the attack.</p> +<p>“By golly, I’ve heard of luck before, but this is a +case of the pure and unadulterated article,” said Scott, +awed.</p> +<p>Hard did not reply. He was taking a deep breath—the +first in several minutes. Herrick whistled cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Unless it’s Angel Gonzales,” continued Scott, pensively. +“In that case it’s a question of ‘Go it, old +woman; go it, b’ar.’”</p> +<p>“Let’s go after the horses and the women,” said +Hard. “The quicker we hit the trail for home the +better my circulation’s going to be. I think the Hards +must have deteriorated considerably since the battle +of Lexington. I’m getting to be a regular old +woman.”</p> +<p>Scott laughed. “You’re a pretty good pal in a fight, +old man,” he said, simply. “I think you winged one +of those birds outside. Shall we go and have a look?”</p> +<p>“Not I,” replied Hard, decidedly. “It’s unpleasant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +enough to me to kill a man without pawing him over +afterward.”</p> +<p>Scott went outside and looked over the victims of +the fight.</p> +<p>“Dead, both of them,” he said, briefly. “Come on, +let’s get out of this before their friends come back.” +And to the sounds of yells and shots in the distance +they made their way toward the stream.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_A_NIGHT_RIDE' id='XII_A_NIGHT_RIDE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>A NIGHT RIDE</h3> +</div> + +<p>When Li Yow clattered up the trail leading out of +the river bed and up the mesa, he was a happy man, +in spite of the fact that a horse was to him the last +means of locomotion that he would have chosen for an +all night trip, with the possible exception of a camel +or an elephant. Except as objects for his scientific +skill, horses were not dear to his heart. A wagon, a +train, an automobile, these were sensible conveyances +for an intellectual man of an old and distinguished +family going about his business, but a horse, never!</p> +<p>Not that Li would have admitted that his family was +old. Distinguished, perhaps, but scarcely old when it +only counted its ancestry through some eight or nine +hundred years. In China that is to be classed among +the blatantly new. He was happy, however, because +he was being given a chance to use his skill for that +great purpose for which it had been acquired, the alleviation +of pain.</p> +<p>Li was a student, and for five years he had had very +little opportunity for the work that he loved. With +the patience of the Oriental, he had toiled at an inferior +art; now opportunity had come, and so eager +was he to grasp it, that a twenty-mile ride on an uncongenial +animal, in the night, did not deter him. Not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +that he was afraid of the dark as we like to think the +Chinese are. Li Yow had a philosophy, old when the +Christian philosophy was born, which amply sufficed to +relieve his mind of any superstitious terrors. Mexicans +on the rampage, and Yaquis on the warpath, did not, +however, come under the category of superstitious +fears, and he heartily hoped he might accomplish his +journey without meeting either of them.</p> +<p>He rode Scott’s big roan, Cochise, a common-sense +animal which could be trusted to the tender mercies +of what its master called “a crazy Chink.” This excellent +beast understood thoroughly the art of saving +his strength, and curbing any foolish enthusiasm on +the part of a rider to race up-hill or to exhaust one’s +wind too early in the game.</p> +<p>“Spirit and a bit of deviltry are all right in a horse +or a woman, I’ll grant you,” Scott used to say when +anyone derided the roan. “But the horse or the +woman who lives with me has got to have common +sense.”</p> +<p>So Li Yow and Cochise trotted placidly along the +mesa, one thinking of the joys of surgery, and the +other of the pleasure of feeding in one’s own corral. +They had been out a couple of hours perhaps, and Li, +moved by the beauty of the night, quoted a fragment +of eighth century poetry and turned in his saddle to +see how far he had come—when, suddenly, he gave an +exclamation of horror!</p> +<p>Back of him, across the river bed, back of the +round-topped hill, from exactly the spot where Casa +Grande stood, he saw the tops of flames shooting up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +against the sky line! Something was being burned. +Something sizable, or its flames would not rise so +high. It must be either Casa Grande, its barn, or +both. Li’s heart stood still. He stopped Cochise in +sympathy with that important organ. What to do? +At Casa Grande was a friend to whom he was attached. +Things of a most unpleasant nature might be happening +to him—could he ride away and leave him?</p> +<p>On the other hand, what could he do—a lone +Chinese, unarmed except for a formidable surgical apparatus? +After all, they had two horses and perhaps +they had seen the brigands coming and had escaped. +Still, if he went back they would have three horses. +The women could ride and the men could ride and +tie. Li groaned in spirit. He hated walking more +than he hated riding.</p> +<p>Obviously his duty was to go back and offer his help +such as it was. If they were fighting, it would not be +worth much, unless he could persuade a Mexican or +two to stand still while he stabbed them with a lancet. +With a sigh, Li turned Cochise in the direction of +Casa Grande and applied an encouraging dig of the +heel.</p> +<p>Cochise, however, saw things differently. He had +started for Athens. Athens was home and a good +place at that. He saw no reason for going back just +to please an ignoramus who didn’t know how to ride +and who would probably change his mind again before +they had gone a mile. Consequently, when Li kicked, +Cochise threw his head in the air and made crab-like +motions with his legs. Li pulled and Cochise reared. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +Li, mindful of past instructions, loosed the reins and +Cochise whirled. Li leaned over and patted the horse’s +neck and Cochise bucked.</p> +<p>It was a nice exhibition of obstinacy on the part of +both man and beast, and no one there but the moon to +witness it. The buck, however, did the business. A +bump and a rattle reminded Li Yow of his precious +medical chest—absolutely unreplaceable—and with a +frightened:</p> +<p>“Whoa, thou son of evil, thou animal of ill omen!” +he gave in; and Cochise, secure in his victory, settled +down to a trot again. “Ah, well, a sensible man +spends no time in weeping over the inevitable,” meditated +Li. “What is to be, will be. The young man +with the injured leg is the gainer by thy obstinacy, oh, +vile beast!”</p> +<p>At daybreak a tired man and a stiff horse arrived at +Athens. Mrs. Van Zandt saw them because she was +up attending to Adams who was suffering. She hailed +the Chinaman from her doorway, bathrobed and +boudoir capped as she was.</p> +<p>“Is that you, Marc Scott?” she called anxiously, as +she recognized Cochise.</p> +<p>“No, lady,” replied Li, in his professional manner. +“This not Mr. Scott, this Li Yow from Casa Grande. +I come see sick boy,” and he rolled off the horse.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s good, he needs you! Leave the horse +and come in.” Li complied and Cochise, released, +started wearily for the corral. “See here,” Mrs. Van +Zandt led the way to the bedroom, “I guess you’re +pretty well used up, ain’t you? I’m going to get you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +something to eat in a minute. Did you have a hard +ride?” She had got a light and looked at him curiously. +Li Yow did look very much used up.</p> +<p>“I hurry a great lot,” he said, simply. “I want go +back but the horse he want come on.”</p> +<p>“What did you want to go back for?”</p> +<p>“Fire. I see big fire at Casa Grande,” replied the +Chinaman, gravely. “I much afraid the bandits burn +the house.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt pulled him suddenly from the bedroom +door.</p> +<p>“Good land, man, don’t let the boy hear you! He’s +half out of his head now. What do you mean? Has +Casa Grande been raided?”</p> +<p>Li nodded.</p> +<p>“By Pachuca?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He come morning, take everything—horses, +chow, money, everything! Then Mr. Scott’s folks +they come in afternoon. Only thlee horse for +everybody. Mr. Scott say he mend wagon and they +come over to-morrow. I come to-night to see sick boy. +When I get up on mesa I see fire—don’t know who +make him but mebbe bandits.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt turned pale. Clutching her bathrobe +tightly she made for the door. “Look here,” she +called, over her shoulder, “you look after the boy and +mind you don’t spill any of that news before him. I’ll +get you some breakfast and see what’s to be done.”</p> +<p>Then she came back. “They were all right when +you left them? The young lady, too?” she queried, +anxiously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></p> +<p>“Yes, they all light. Both them ladies all light.”</p> +<p>“Both! Who’s the other?” demanded Mrs. Van +Zandt, instantly.</p> +<p>“Mr. Hellick got flend—Mrs. Conlad,” said Li, +wearily. “She come day before yest’day—from +Mexico City. Mr. Hard’s flend, too.”</p> +<p>“Good Heavens, now what do you suppose the +heathen means by that?” gasped the astonished +woman. “Come here,” she added, sternly, and seizing +the Chinaman by the sleeve of his blouse, she led him +into the room occupied by Polly. Dramatically, she +pointed to the photograph on the wall. “Is that the +woman you’re talking about?”</p> +<p>Li examined the face gravely and nodded. “Yes,” +he said, “only younger here.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van released him suddenly. “All right, go +on in and see the boy,” she said, and hurried down +the street. “Fire and bandits—and I let that poor +girl go over there with those men!” she gasped. +“And what on earth is that woman doing at Casa +Grande? It’s either a scandal or a romance, that’s a +cinch!”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter? Whose horse was that? +Great snakes, Mrs. Van, what the devil——” Johnson, +hastily and scantily attired, came down the street, +followed by the others. Cochise had waked up the +camp. Mrs. Van looked at them tragically.</p> +<p>“It’s the Casa Grande Chinaman come over to see +Jimmy. He rode Cochise,” she sobbed.</p> +<p>“What’d he ride Cochise for? What’s come over +Marc Scott, lendin’ Cochise to a Chink?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>“Tom, something awful has happened,” and she +burst into the story.</p> +<p>“Didn’t the heathen go back to help?”</p> +<p>“I guess he tried to, but Cochise got scared and +wouldn’t go. What do you suppose it is ?”</p> +<p>“Gosh, I dunno! Don’t sound like Pachuca; he +wouldn’t come back a second time. Sure looks +bad.”</p> +<p>“And the feller says Mrs. Conrad’s there. What’s +he mean by that, do you think?”</p> +<p>“Who’s she?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Hard’s friend; the widow woman that lives +down South. Upon my word, Tom Johnson, I do believe +that’s the woman and the trouble that the ouija +meant and I thought all the time it was talking about +Polly Street!”</p> +<p>“Dunno, I’m sure. Where’s Cochise?”</p> +<p>“Gone down to the corral.”</p> +<p>“Guess I’d better go down and give him the once +over. They’ve probably rode him to death between +’em. Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that news!” and Tom +strode off, sadly, followed by the others. “Poor old +chap,” he murmured, a few minutes later, as he took +the saddle off Cochise. “Can’t do nothin’ for your +boss, so I’ll do what I can for you. Pretty well petered +out, ain’t you?”</p> +<p>“Say, Tom, what are we going to do about this +Casa Grande business, anyhow?” demanded O’Grady.</p> +<p>“Well, with a dynamited track, a busted auto, a +smashed ’phone connection and a foundered horse, +what would you suggest doing?” demanded Johnson, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +pessimistically. “Walkin’ ain’t so durned good in this +country.”</p> +<p>“If we could get to Conejo we could get Mendoza +to drive us over to Casa Grande,” hazarded Williams.</p> +<p>“Well, that ain’t a bad idea for you, Jack,” said +Tom, patronizingly. “I reckon I’ll stretch my legs in +that direction after breakfast. Suppose we go up and +see what the Doc says about Jimmy?”</p> +<p>In the meantime, the doctor had examined his patient’s +leg, quietly ignoring the flood of excited questions +hurled at him by the boy.</p> +<p>“Him velly bad,” he declared at length. “You +keep him still while I get bullet out, mebbe he get well. +You talk a heap and mebbe I cut him off.”</p> +<p>“You cut him off and I’ll cut your liver out, Li, you +sabe?” grinned Adams, gamely. “Anyhow, it’s +blamed good of you to ride over here. I’ll bet you’re +sore, eh?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt coming up the road with the tray +in her arms met the men coming up from the corral.</p> +<p>“I never did suppose I’d see myself carrying breakfast +to a Chinese,” she said, wearily, “but you can’t +tell these days what’ll come your way. I know exactly +how that poor guy feels. I rode over to Casa Grande +once on Cochise. He’s wide and he’s rough and anyone +who wants to ride him twenty miles is welcome to +him as far as I’m concerned.”</p> +<p>The train gang hung around to hear the verdict on +Jimmy Adams. They were much relieved to hear that +the operation was to be one of probing rather than of +cutting. They had had some gloomy discussions on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +that point which had ended in consulting the mail order +catalogue in order to see whether it advertised artificial +limbs.</p> +<p>“He wants one of you to help,” said Mrs. Van, coming +out of the room. “I wisht you would. I feel that +nasty this morning that the sight of blood would just +about finish me. Go on in, Tom.” Tom went in. +Mrs. Van set the tray on the table. “Seems funny to +be waiting on a cook, don’t it? But I suppose it’s different +when he’s tending the sick, and I’ll say he’s +clean. He washed his hands before he touched Jimmy. +I watched him.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s more than old Estrada over in Conejo +does,” said O’Grady. “He pulled a tooth for me last +winter and he come in from feedin’ his pigs to do it. +Right plumb into my mouth he started to put his dirty +fist. ‘No,’ says I, ‘you wash that mitt first. Afterward +you can suit yourself.’”</p> +<p>“You better get a swig of whiskey ready for Tom,” +suggested the brakeman, solicitously. “Them operations +is ugly things.”</p> +<p>“I will,” said Mrs. Van, hurrying to the cabinet and +taking down the bottle.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_THE_WAGON' id='XIII_THE_WAGON'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>THE WAGON</h3> +</div> + +<p>Herrick stopped before they had gone a dozen +yards from the house.</p> +<p>“Go on and find the women,” he said, curtly. “I +have something to do before they come.”</p> +<p>“Something——” Scott stared at the little man +uncomprehendingly.</p> +<p>“So. Do you want them to see those ugly bodies?” +he pointed to the two dead Yaquis, stretched ghastly +and plain in the moonlight. “I shall pull them into the +shadow of the bushes.”</p> +<p>“Well, he’s nervy for a piano player, ain’t he?” +murmured Scott, as he and Hard turned the corner of +the house.</p> +<p>“I think, myself, that there’s a lot of rot talked +about the artistic temperament,” replied Hard, drily. +“The war showed us that poets could fight as courageously +as plumbers, and I’ve always thought that +when you got the real unadulterated article in artistic +temperament, you usually got with it a distinctly cruel +streak. I believe that you and I hated killing those +Indians a lot more than Herrick did, though he’ll +probably throw a nervous chill over it after a while +and compose a piece about it.”</p> +<p>“Well, maybe so,” assented Scott. “He’s the only +artistic chap I ever got real close to and I don’t mind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +admitting he’s mighty queer—but he ain’t yellow. I’ll +say that for him after to-night.”</p> +<p>They were passing a clump of bushes as he spoke +and two dark figures started forth. Scott instinctively +put his hand on his gun.</p> +<p>“Oh,” gasped the shorter figure, “what has happened? +Are you shot? Who is running away—you +or they?” She seized Scott’s wrists with a clutching +hold.</p> +<p>Scott laughed. “That’s how you obey orders, is it? +Where are the horses?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. We stayed right here,” faltered +Polly. “I want to know if you’re hurt!”</p> +<p>“No, not if I know it, and I usually recognize bullets +when they hit me.”</p> +<p>“What happened?” insisted the other woman. +“Have they gone?”</p> +<p>“They’re fighting somebody over in the hills—we +don’t know who it is,” replied Hard. “Probably +Angel Gonzales. These fellows were evidently an advance +guard.”</p> +<p>“We ought to get out of here before they come +back,” said Scott. “You can’t tell how long that will +last—and whoever licks, we don’t want to be hanging +around here.”</p> +<p>“They’ll burn the place, I suppose,” said Mrs. Conrad, +wearily. “May I go back and get some things?”</p> +<p>Scott hesitated. “I think we ought to get away,” +he said. “But one of us will have to go back to get +Herrick and the saddles—if you can hurry—go with +her, Hard, and I’ll go after the horses.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>“Saddles?” Polly spoke suddenly. “Weren’t they +in the barn?”</p> +<p>“No; luckily I put them in the wagon when I was +tinkering with it,” said Scott. “We’ve only two +horses, you know, and I want you women to ride +them.”</p> +<p>“By—by ourselves?” Mrs. Conrad’s usually cheerful +voice sounded a little frightened. “I couldn’t find +that trail in the dark; I’m not Li Yow, you know.”</p> +<p>“The horses will take you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, please let’s keep together!” pleaded Polly. +“Why can’t we all go in the wagon the way you +planned?”</p> +<p>“Well, for one reason, the harness was in the +barn and was burned,” said Scott, with some irritation.</p> +<p>“Herrick has a lot of old junk of that sort in his +storeroom,” volunteered Hard. “I believe you could +patch up one. Those sounds have died away—the +fight’s over,” he added. “Let’s go back and have a +look, and see what Herrick says.”</p> +<p>There was a pause and the two men consulted anxiously +together. It was very still—not a sound from +the direction of the hills. It really did look as though +the attack had been followed by flight. Scott, against +what he afterward called his better judgment, but what +was really only a disinclination to change his mind, +gave in, and the two men walked on ahead.</p> +<p>“If we’re going in the wagon, Hard, we’ve got to +go by the road, and I don’t stir a step on that road till +I know whether this deviltry is over for the night or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +not. We’ll camp down here for a few hours, and +start by daybreak.”</p> +<p>“Why not? The horses need the rest and so do we. +I say camp, by all means.”</p> +<p>Everything seemed harmless at the ranch house. +Herrick, who had performed his unpleasant task, was +studying the extent of the damage, which seemed to be +confined to broken windows. When consulted, he approved +of the idea of an early morning start in the +wagon and believed that out of the odds and ends of +harness in the storeroom something could be patched +up and made to do.</p> +<p>“All right then.” Scott’s voice was emphatic. “I’ll +fix the wagon first thing in the morning. And now, +let’s all turn in and catch a few winks before daybreak.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe I’ll sleep a minute,” said Polly, as +the two women were left alone in the room which +Clara Conrad had been occupying. “I’ll throw my +cloak around me and lie down on the couch. I feel +awfully strung up, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the older woman. “But I’m going to +try to sleep, and so must you.”</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, Clara did not expect to sleep. +The meeting with Henry Hard had brought up old +memories—memories both happy and sad. He had +changed little, the tall, thin, sandy-haired man. It was +good, oh so good, to have something back again from +the old life! As she closed her eyes and put away +from her the events of the day, old scenes came back +with a clearness that they had not worn for many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +years. The old houses; the quiet, cultured, elderly +men and women, the gayer young ones, herself and +Hard among them; the dinners, dances, concerts; the +summer days on the water, and the rides—all came +back as though they had been but yesterday, and all on +account of this one man who had played so important +a part in them.</p> +<p>She realized, as she lay there in the darkness, that +without putting the thought clearly, she had had deeply +imbedded in her mind the idea that she would see him +or hear something about him when she went back to +Boston. She was not in love with him, but she had +never forgotten him and she would never feel about +him as she did about so many of the others who had +played parts in her old life. Soothed by the thought, +she drifted into a calm and restful sleep.</p> +<p>Polly, however, was too unskilled in the management +of her thoughts to be able to relax at will. She lay +quietly, so as not to disturb the other woman, but her +mind was whirling. She lived again each event of the +past two days; the raid on the mine, the ride with +Pachuca, his escape, the trip to Casa Grande, and the +growing companionship with Scott—the look she had +surprised in his eyes only an hour ago when she had +stood with him on the veranda, looking at the distant +mountains; and then the dreadful minutes spent behind +the bushes, listening to the guns of the attacking +Yaquis.</p> +<p>“And I thought a golf tournament was exciting!” +she said, smiling in the dark. Softly she rose and crept +to the window. It was very beautiful out there; mountains, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +hills, bushes, all a study in absolute stillness. +The only sound that came to her ears was the howl of +a wolf in the distance.</p> +<p>“Coming in at just the right moment,” smiled the +girl. “What a country for effects! Oh dear, I believe +I could sleep out there in the hammock if it wasn’t +too chilly.”</p> +<p>Taking the couch cover over her arm she crept softly +out of the door and out on to the veranda where the +hammock swayed gently in the breeze. Polly adjusted +herself in it with care; a fall would bring all the occupants +of the house out with a bound.</p> +<p>“First they’d bound and then they’d fuss,” she said +to herself. “I don’t want to be fussed at, I just want +to snatch a few winks out under this gorgeous sky. I +don’t understand how when skies and stars and +mountains are all laid out for them, artists want to do +the red and green futurist horrors that they love so. +Now, what’s that noise?”</p> +<p>A queer kind of noise it was. Polly sat up quite +suddenly. It seemed to come from behind a clump of +bushes some distance to the right. It was a pounding, +scraping sort of noise, not very loud, but distinctly disconcerting. +You got the impression that whoever was +doing it was trying not to make any more noise than he +could help. Polly’s heart beat rapidly. She must call +one of the men. She rose unsteadily and at the same +moment the noise stopped. A tall figure stepped +out from behind the bushes and came toward the +house.</p> +<p>Polly stepped back into the shadow of the porch. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +She was about to dive into the open window when another +sound caught her ear. The man was whistling +softly—whistling the Slumber Motif from Die Walküre! +Polly laughed aloud. She had taken Henry +Hard for a bandit.</p> +<p>“Hello, what are you doing up on deck?” he said, +whimsically. “I thought we’d sent the passengers below +and battened down the hatches.”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here. What are +you doing with that pick? Was it you I heard digging?”</p> +<p>“Scott and me. I came up for a match.”</p> +<p>“But what can you be digging for at this time of +night? Not buried treasure?” eagerly.</p> +<p>“My dear child, I hate to disappoint you, knowing +your feelings on the subject. If you must know, we +killed a couple of Yaquis and we’re burying them on +what we’d call at home ‘the lawn.’ It’s rather awful, +but we can’t help it.”</p> +<p>“Killed them!” Polly’s eyes were wide with horror.</p> +<p>“It’s a rotten business, if you ask me, both killing +and burying. I’m just beginning to form a faint idea +of the sort of thing the youngsters we sent abroad had +to face. I was keeping up my courage by whistling. +Won’t you go to bed like a nice girl?”</p> +<p>“No. I couldn’t stand it in there in the dark. It +doesn’t seem so bad out here. Go on—don’t bother +about me.”</p> +<p>After Hard had got his match and joined Scott +again behind the bushes, Polly sat and listened to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +ominous sounds, her pleasant reflections quite at an +end.</p> +<p>“That’s how it always goes. You begin to feel +comfortable and pleased with your philosophy and +yourself and then reality comes along and swats you +one in the eye. I will not think of those Indians! I’ll +think of Bob and Emma. Wonder what kind of a +nurse Emma makes? Not that she’ll have a chance to +try, poor lamb. Those trained ones will shoo her off +and flirt with Bob themselves.”</p> +<p>It was some time before the two men finished their +ugly job. Polly saw them come out from behind the +bushes and go into the house by the back door. She +stretched herself sleepily—it was beginning to be a bit +chilly, even when wrapped in a coat and a serape. +Perhaps it would be wiser to go in. She folded the +serape and started for the door, only to stop midway as +Scott came out.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, “I thought you’d all gone to bed.”</p> +<p>“And you know you ought to,” said he. “I don’t +blame you for not wanting to. Those mountains get +one, don’t they?”</p> +<p>They were standing exactly where they had stood so +short a time ago, but so much had happened since that +it seemed hours gone by. It wasn’t to be expected, the +girl thought, that they could go on from where they +had left off. She looked up. He was staring at the +mountains. She felt a ridiculous mixture of relief and +disappointment.</p> +<p>“They get me,” she answered. “I never knew I +was so fond of mountains.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>“It’s the mystery of them. You have the feeling +that things are going on in and about them that you +don’t know—that nobody’ll ever know. I remember +the first time I climbed a big mountain—up in Colorado. +When I was about three-quarters of the way up +I looked down on one of those little mountain lakes—just +as blue as that ring of yours—set in the brown of +the mountain. It made me feel as if I’d struck gold. +I couldn’t believe that anybody but the Indians and I +had ever seen that lake.”</p> +<p>Scott was leaning against the post of the veranda, +still looking at the mountains. Suddenly he turned.</p> +<p>“Little girl, I think you’d better be going in and getting +a few hours of sleep,” he said. “Four o’clock +comes along awfully early in the morning.”</p> +<p>Polly said nothing. She picked up the serape again +and turned to go. Then she came back again, holding +out her hand.</p> +<p>“Mr. Scott, I haven’t said a word to show that I’m +grateful for what you did to-night. You saved my +life, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>Scott took the hand and smiled down into the serious +eyes.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “Those fellows +who horned into our fight did that, I reckon. I sure +tried to, though, if you’d like to shake hands on that.”</p> +<p>“You risked your own life, anyhow, so please don’t +spoil my story.”</p> +<p>“Well, put it that I’ll be delighted to save your life +any time you say, even if I get my hide full of holes +for doing it. How’s that?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p> +<p>“That’s all right,” agreed Polly, heartily. “You +may call me at twenty minutes of four, if you please,” +and she disappeared into the house.</p> +<p>Scott stood a moment after she was gone, an odd +little smile on his lips.</p> +<p>“I wonder if she’d care—or would it be another case +of Joyce Henderson?” he said. “Well, serve me +right for a fool if it was!” He kicked a stick out of +his way as he made for the wagon. “What have you +got to offer a girl, anyhow?” He took a pocket torch +out and examined the wheel of the wagon. “I’ve seen +better looking wheels and then again I’ve seen worse,” +he decided, pessimistically. “If our luck holds we’ll +make it. Doggone it, being civilized makes an awful +idiot of a man. I’m going to dream of those poor +Yaquis we’ve just buried, sure as shoe leather.”</p> +<p>Four o’clock does indeed come along early when you +have not closed your eyes before midnight. It also +comes along chilly and dark and generally uncomfortable. +The women were awakened by Hard, who had +to knock loudly on their door in order to accomplish it. +They tumbled to their feet and performed the necessary +dressing operations in the dark, except for a candle +which Clara lighted cautiously.</p> +<p>“And to think that people once lived by candlelight!” +murmured Polly, sleepily. “Were born, married, +and finally died by it. Well, the race has come +up a peg, I’ll say that for it.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Conrad was ready first. She was very rapid, +in a quiet, unhurried fashion. In her corduroy skirt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +and jacket, she looked very girlish. Polly mentally +took five years off her estimate of her new acquaintance’s +age.</p> +<p>“Awfully natural looking woman, too,” she commented, +silently. “Most of the pretty women I know +at home are always doing things to themselves—fussing +over their looks; but she just seems to keep herself +fresh and neat and let it go at that, and she manages to +look young and handsome. As for me, I’m a rag and +I look it, but perhaps as there are no tremendous beauties +around, I’ll pass.”</p> +<p>She followed Mrs. Conrad into the kitchen, where +she found her busy with Herrick over the breakfast. +The pleasant odors of burning wood and boiling coffee +had already made themselves noticed. Scott, in a corner +of the kitchen, was working over the harness which +he was getting into a condition possible for use. He +looked up and nodded as Polly entered.</p> +<p>“Your gentleman friend left a few things; we won’t +have to starve on the road,” he said, drily. “There’s +a side of bacon—wonder why he left that?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he didn’t see it,” suggested Polly, +sweetly.</p> +<p>“I guess that’s the answer. There, I reckon that +harness will take us as far as Athens, if we have a bit +of luck. If you’ll bring out what you want to take, +Mrs. Conrad, we’ll pack it in the wagon.”</p> +<p>“I’ve only a couple of suitcases. My trunks went +by rail to the border—that is, they started.”</p> +<p>“How about you, Herrick? Afraid we can’t take +the piano.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p> +<p>Herrick looked up in some surprise. “Me?” he +said. “I am not going with you, my friend.”</p> +<p>“Not going with us? But, Victor, you can’t stay +here alone.” Mrs. Conrad’s voice had real solicitude +in it.</p> +<p>“Why not? Li will return and you shall send him +first to Conejo to buy provisions. When things settle +down, my men will come back and we shall go to work +again.”</p> +<p>“You’re going to stick by the ranch?” demanded +Scott.</p> +<p>“It is my home. What else have I?” The little +man’s voice was sad.</p> +<p>“Well, maybe you’re right,” said Scott, after a moment. +“The best way to hang on to property just now +is to sit down on it. We’ll send Li over to Conejo with +the wagon and he can load up. If you get into trouble, +remember you’ve got friends in this country.” And the +two men shook hands heartily as Scott tramped off to +the wagon.</p> +<p>Polly did not see the parting between the musician +and Clara Conrad, but the latter looked, when she came +out of the house, as though she had been crying, and +the little man looked more pathetic than ever as he +stood alone in the doorway waving them good-bye.</p> +<p>“Do you think he ought to say there?” demanded +Polly, as Scott helped her into the wagon.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t, but he’s obstinate and you can’t move +him once he makes up his mind. There’s a lot of the +woman in every artistic man, I believe,” grunted Scott, +disgustedly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></p> +<p>A little later, with the two Athens horses hitched to +the mountain wagon, the party started out, Hard driving. +The road led out through the hills where the fighting +had been only a few hours ago. There was no sign +of what had happened. It was a poor road, narrow, +rough and little used. There were ruts in it and +chuck-holes, turns and an occasional arroyo. It was +rather ghostly, too, driving at this hour; the chill, early +morning feel of the air, the fading moon, the faint +pinkness hanging over the mountains suggesting the +coming dawn.</p> +<p>“One thing you miss around here is the cattle,” said +Scott. “Up in New Mexico you’d be starting out this +time in the morning and you’d see the range cattle looking +at you, sort of surprised to see folks around so +early in the morning; some of ’em still lying down and +napping. Around here raising cattle hasn’t been very +popular the last few years—too hazardous.”</p> +<p>“Miss Polly, I want you to notice that funny little +house over there,” said Hard, pointing to his right.</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>Indeed, there was reason for the question. The little +cabin had been built tightly against a hill, with the +hill scooped out to make the back part. A closer look +revealed a burro standing on the roof beside the chimney.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s the first time I ever saw a burro on a +roof!” declared Polly. “Who lives there?”</p> +<p>“A Mexican family named Soria,” replied Hard. +“I’ll go over and see if they know anything about the +fighting last night.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p> +<p>“You won’t need to,” said Scott. “Here comes the +whole population.”</p> +<p>So it seemed. There was an old woman—very old, +very thin and very brown; a younger one, half a dozen +youngsters, several dogs and finally the burro. The +family were clad in every sort of decrepit garment. +Polly thought she had rarely seen so pitiful an assemblage; +and yet they did not look particularly unhappy, +except the younger woman, who hung back and seemed +to have been crying. They had seen the wagon and +had come out to find out what was going on. The +older woman came directly to the wagon, while the +younger one stood a little way off, a baby in her arms, +and the other children hanging around her. She was +rather a pretty woman, or would have been with half a +chance. It is difficult to be pretty when your hair +hangs in straggling locks, your too plump figure festoons +itself around you in bags, and your clothes look +as though you had never had them off since you first +became acquainted with them. Poor things, they lead +an awful life.</p> +<p>“I’ll let you speak to her, Clara,” Hard said, with a +smile. “I think your Spanish is in better working +order than mine. Ask after the daughter’s husband; +he’s in the army and it may open the way for a little +information.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Conrad spoke in rapid and soft-sounding Spanish +to the old woman who stood listening, her wrinkled +face set in the monotony of hopelessness.</p> +<p>“How beautifully she speaks Spanish!” thought +Polly, enviously. “I don’t understand a word of it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +but even I can tell the difference between hers and the +kind that both the men speak.”</p> +<p>“Good-morning, my friend.” Clara’s voice was +cheerful and pleasant. “How is the family?”</p> +<p>“Badly, señora, very badly. My son Manuel joined +the army last night and with him his wife and two little +ones. Now we have no man in the house—we shall +starve.”</p> +<p>“But your daughter’s husband?”</p> +<p>“Francisco was killed last week in a fight. The +soldiers brought the news. Carlotta has four little +ones now and no man.”</p> +<p>“That is very bad. I am sorry. What soldiers do +you mean?”</p> +<p>“Last night. The soldiers who came from the +north.”</p> +<p>“D’you mean that the crowd that was fighting up +here in the hills were soldiers?” broke in Scott, +eagerly. “Federal soldiers?”</p> +<p>“No, no, the soldiers of the revolution—Sonora +troops. They march south against Sinaloa.” Carlotta +had crept nearer and was taking part in the conversation.</p> +<p>“I don’t get you. Who was doing the fighting?” +demanded Scott.</p> +<p>The old woman burst into rapid speech, leaving Scott +in the lurch immediately. Clara came to his rescue.</p> +<p>“The poor old thing is more Indian than Mexican +and she doesn’t talk very clearly,” she said. “She +says that the party which came along the road last night +was a regiment of cavalry from up north. They saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +the barn burning and thought that the bandits were on +the march; so they started over that way. They fell +in with the stragglers of the Yaqui crowd and started +to fight. As near as I can tell, each party seems to +have thought that the other was Angel Gonzales’ band. +The Yaquis had been rooted out of their village by +Gonzales and were on the warpath, poor creatures.</p> +<p>“Fortunately, there were a lot of Yaquis in the troop +and by the time the fellows who were trying to loot us +came along they began to understand the situation and +the lot of them joined the troops. This old lady’s son, +Manuel, joined too, and his wife and babies went +along. That explains why they let us alone last night.”</p> +<p>“It does,” said Scott. “And it shows that Angel is +around somewhere bent on deviltry. Here, old lady, is +something to buy chow for the babies for a few days—better +luck to you!” He handed her some money and +they drove away amid loud thanks and happy smiles.</p> +<p>“What in the world do you mean by the wife and +babies going, too?” demanded Polly, excitedly.</p> +<p>“Why, here in Mexico war is a family affair,” replied +Scott. “There’s no such thing as the girl I left +behind me. The Missus goes along and so do the +youngsters. She does most of the foraging for food +on the march.”</p> +<p>“The Mexican believes in equality of the sexes,” said +Hard. “He believes that the woman has just as much +right to do manual labor, to provide a living for the +family, to fight, and to perform all the other unpleasant +functions of living as he has. If there are not enough +to go around, he generously allows her to do his share.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p> +<p>“It’s great to be a wife in Mexico,” observed Scott, +drily. “Think of that, Miss Polly, next time you meet +a fascinating Spaniard.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be disagreeable,” said Mrs. Conrad, “and +don’t tell fibs. It’s the women of the lower classes +who have the hard time down here just as they do in +every country.”</p> +<p>“Except the U. S. A.,” replied Scott, stoutly. “A +woman may have hard luck in our country because +she’s sick or poor or married to a no-account; but not +because the general opinion of the female sex is so +darned low that any loafer who comes along feels that +he’s got a right to treat her as he pleases.”</p> +<p>“How you like to argue every point, don’t you?” +observed Polly. “Were you born like that or did it +grow on you? Oh!”</p> +<p>The “oh” was literally jolted out of her. Turning +rather a sudden curve at a pretty good clip, the wagon +slipped over the edge of a chuck-hole a little deeper +than the ordinary. Happening as it did in just the +right place, it caught the weakened wheel and +wrenched it off as neatly and as suddenly as a dentist +wrenches a tooth out of the jaw of an unwilling patient.</p> +<p>There was a crash and a jar as the wagon sank on its +side, and the frightened horses struggling to pull the +dragging load, snapped the harness where Scott had +patched it. The occupants were jumbled into the bottom +of the wagon, except Hard, who was pitched out +into the road. Scott was out in a minute and at the +horses’ heads; the women righted themselves just in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +time to see Hard pull himself to his feet, staggering as +he did so.</p> +<p>“Hurt, Henry?” asked Scott, who was trying to +calm the horses.</p> +<p>“No, just bent my knee under me.”</p> +<p>“Here, hold these critturs while I pull the ladies +out!”</p> +<p>“We’re all right—that is, I’m all right. Look after +Mrs. Conrad,” said Polly, as Scott lifted her from the +débris. “What was it? The wheel?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Conrad gladly availed herself of Scott’s ready +arm. “What did Henry do?” she said. By this time, +Scott was loosing the horses from the harness and +Hard had hobbled over to the edge of the road, where +he sat down.</p> +<p>“It’s my bad knee,” he explained. “I did this once, +only much worse, playing football in college. Fell, +you know, with it doubled under me. I was laid up +for six months.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Henry!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I shan’t be this time. It always lames me for +a few hours, though, when I do anything to it. Knees +are great chaps for bearing malice.”</p> +<p>“Well, you certainly shan’t walk to Athens,” said +Polly, with decision. “You must ride one horse and +Mrs. Conrad the other, while Mr. Scott and I walk. +I’d love to!”</p> +<p>“Dear child, you couldn’t,” exclaimed Clara. +“Could you ride, Henry, do you think? You and +Polly could ride to Athens and send somebody back for +us with the other wagon.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></p> +<p>“I could,” said Hard, “but I’d rather not. I’d like +to rest it for a couple of hours if I could. Scott, suppose +you walk and let them ride and leave me here. +There’s a shady-looking spot over in those cottonwoods +and I’ll just rest there till I’m able to hobble back to the +Soria place. You can send for me there.”</p> +<p>“There’s a trail just above here that goes over and +strikes the one we came on about eight miles from +Athens,” said Scott, doubtfully. “I’ve never traveled +it, but Gomez told me about it last year. Rough, he +said, but navigable. I guess that’s what we’d better do, +Hard, leave you here and I’ll walk.”</p> +<p>“How far is it?” asked Mrs. Conrad.</p> +<p>“Oh, twenty miles, maybe. It cuts off a good deal.”</p> +<p>“You shan’t walk twenty miles on a rough trail, my +dear man, if I can prevent it,” said Clara, firmly. +“You and Polly must ride, and I’ll stay here with +Henry. Now, please! I’m at home in this country +and I’m not afraid.” There was a pause, then Scott +said:</p> +<p>“I guess she’s right, Hard. They don’t either of +’em ride well enough to tackle a strange trail alone, +and if I walk it will delay sending back for you. One +of us had better ride the trail with Polly, while the +other stays at Soria’s with Mrs. Conrad.”</p> +<p>After a little more discussion it was decided that +Scott and Polly should go, while the other two returned, +after Hard had rested a bit, to the Soria place. +Scott moved the suitcases which Clara had brought +over to the little nook made by the cottonwoods, where +they could be left until someone came with the Athens +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +wagon, and helped Hard to hobble over there. Then, +feeling rather as though they had deserted their +friends, and yet not knowing what else to do, Scott and +Polly rode away.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_THE_TRAIL' id='XIV_THE_TRAIL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>THE TRAIL</h3> +</div> + +<p>In after years, Scott was wont to say that he distrusted +the trail recommended by Gomez from the moment +his horse started to travel it.</p> +<p>“It was one of those trails that didn’t look right—from +the first,” he would say with a reminiscent inflection. +As a matter of fact, however, the trail looked +innocent enough at the first glance, and Scott’s pessimism +may be laid partly to the circumstances under +which the trip was attempted and partly to the fact +that Scott almost always hated to change his mind.</p> +<p>“How long will it be, do you suppose, before you +can send back for the others?” queried Polly, as +they rode away.</p> +<p>“Well, we ought to make Athens to-night,” replied +Scott, thoughtfully. “Tom could start back with our +wagon early in the morning. Cochise and this fellow +I’m riding, Jasper, could make it.”</p> +<p>“They’ll have to stay at the Sorias’ all night. +They’ll be very uncomfortable.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. They’re neither of them tenderfeet. +They’ll get along.”</p> +<p>“It’ll be very romantic, of course, and very exciting,” +sighed Polly.</p> +<p>“Romantic? Why?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“Well, people have a way of making love to +widows,” said Polly, wistfully. “And anybody with +half an eye can see that he likes her.”</p> +<p>“Shucks! Hard’s a gentleman; he won’t think he +has to be rude to a woman just because he’s left alone +with her overnight.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t being rude to ask a woman to marry you if +you happen to like her, is it?” demanded Polly, with +spirit.</p> +<p>“It is, under some circumstances,” replied Scott, +shortly. “You’re pretty romantic, aren’t you, for a +grown-up girl?”</p> +<p>“I? Not at all.” Polly flushed, indignantly. “But +I’m interested when I see two people that I like falling +nicely in love with each other.”</p> +<p>“She’s not in love with him or she’d have married +him when she had the chance,” said Scott, authoritatively. +“She’s an ambitious woman; what does she +want of a man buried in a coal mine?”</p> +<p>“She may have changed. That was a long time +ago,” ventured the girl. “And if she cares for him, +she might forget her ambition. Women do, sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Yes, in books they do,” replied Scott, moodily. +“But I never saw a woman in her class give up anything +she really wanted just to marry a poor man. If +she did, she’d probably make him miserable afterward, +when she was sorry she’d done it.”</p> +<p>They rode a while in silence. Polly was hurt and +angry. It occurred to her that Scott’s objection to her +romantic imaginings was based on something deeper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +than just his usual argumentativeness. Perhaps her +imagination had misled her in regard to what had been +in his eyes the night before. Or rather, not her imagination, +but her vanity. It was a disagreeable +thought for one who had promised herself to have done +forever with that unpleasant trait. Also, down underneath, +there was a hurt that had nothing to do with +vanity.</p> +<p>Scott rode silently, occupied with his thoughts. He +glanced now and then, however, at the slender figure +of the girl who rode beside him. She was very pleasing +to look upon, with her curly, reddish hair, big dark +eyes, delicate features, and smooth tanned skin. Her +white hat was pulled down to shade her eyes; her +brown coat, trousers and boots wore a jaunty appearance; +but it was not altogether of appearances that +Scott was thinking.</p> +<p>It is possible with some of us to view the outward +and the inward at the same time and to render quite +unrelated verdicts. Scott had been conscious of doing +this before with Polly Street, but of late somehow the +verdicts had begun to agree. He was finding the inward +Polly quite as attractive as the outward. Had +she changed or had he learned to look deeper, he wondered? +He had thought her spoiled and superficial, +yet possessing undoubtedly worth-while qualities, such +as pluck and honesty—things you cannot be deceived +in.</p> +<p>Now he was finding another side to the girl; a something +very sweet and lovable. Was he being led away +by the eye of man which is troubled by many things, or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +was the better side of the girl coming to the surface under +different conditions? Was she beginning to care +a little for him or was she playing with him as she +probably had done with the Henderson boy? Scott set +his teeth grimly.</p> +<p>There are after all two great classes into which humanity +may be divided; those who are living purposefully, +in the higher sense of the word, and those who +are drifting. The purposeful people may and often do +go wrong, but they have at least something to come +back to when they right themselves. The drifters, on +the other hand, are not only without help for themselves, +but have a dreadful way of clutching at the +purposeful ones and submerging them as well. The +average man or woman who belongs to the former +class has rather a horror of the drifter and likes to +give him a wide berth. Something of this nature had +passed through Scott’s head more than once when he +had been attracted by a woman whose outer and inner +trappings did not correspond.</p> +<p>It was so easy, however, to like this auburn-headed +youngster, who seemed to have gotten over her anger +against him and to be beginning to like him. She had +such a warm, quick smile; such a caressing look in +those serious eyes. She was so natural and easy with +him; turned to him so quickly for his approval of what +she said or did and took his uncouth criticism so +sweetly. It was flattering—yes, that was just the +point. Was she sincere, or was she planning to add +him to the list of her victims? She would not do that. +He was no boy, to be petted and thrown aside. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>About this time, they came upon the trail. The little +river had followed the road for about a mile and a half, +when across on its other bank Scott saw a deep rut +leading out of it and continuing in a narrow line or +trail so faint as to be easily overlooked. It wound +along, lost itself in some chaparral and doubtless became +clear again beyond. The chaparral being on a +little rise, one could not see beyond it.</p> +<p>“There we are,” he called to the girl, who had fallen +a little behind. “Wait a bit till I find a place to get +down the bank on this side.”</p> +<p>Polly waited. Scott rode up and down the bank; +finally he stopped.</p> +<p>“We’ll have to cross here,” he called. “It’s steep +but it’s all right. Follow me,” and both he and his +horse disappeared in the river bed. Polly rode up and +took a look at the descent.</p> +<p>“I won’t go so far as to say that he picked a nasty +one because he’s out of temper, but it looks like it,” +she grumbled. “Go on, pony, if he can do it I suppose +we can.”</p> +<p>The pony put her two forefeet over the edge of the +descent and clung to solidity and sanity with her hind +two.</p> +<p>“I don’t blame you. It’s what I’d do if I had four +legs and some fool tried to make me slide down a +precipice. But we’ve got to go. That man’s got a +jaw like Napoleon and there’s no use arguing with +him.”</p> +<p>She looked down. Scott had reached the bottom +and was smiling back at her. One had to admit that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +he had the sort of smile which warmed up the atmosphere.</p> +<p>“Want me to come and lead her?” he offered.</p> +<p>“I do not.” Polly gave her mount a little dig with +her heel, the tension on the hind legs relaxed, a series +of slides and jolts and the descent was made. She +found herself in the river with Scott while the horses +drank thirstily.</p> +<p>“It was the only place to come down,” he said, penitently.</p> +<p>“Well, I wasn’t scared, it was the horse,” replied +Polly, briefly. “You needn’t think that every time we +hang back it’s my fault.”</p> +<p>“I’ve known times when it was a sign of good sense +to be scared,” retorted Scott, as he turned his horse’s +nose toward the upward climb.</p> +<p>“That man can use up more good gray matter trying +to dodge paying one a compliment than most men use +in thinking up one,” decided Polly.</p> +<p>The way through the chaparral was trying. The +trail was very faint, the stiff brush hit one in the face +and almost tore one’s clothing. It was necessary for +Scott to go first in order to keep the trail, while the +girl fell considerably into the rear to escape the blows +from the brush which flew back after he had disturbed +it. On either side of them, above the brush, rose +walls formed by foothills, growing higher as they went. +They were evidently going directly into the mountains.</p> +<p>“Of course, we crossed two ranges when we came +from Athens to Casa Grande,” reasoned Polly, “and +we’ve got to cross them again going back. But this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +doesn’t look as though we were going through any gaps +as we did on the other trail. We’re evidently going +straight up. It’s going to be hard on the horses.”</p> +<p>It <i>was</i> hard on the horses. It was getting on in the +afternoon and the sun was still very hot. They had +seen no water since leaving the little river. The trail +had come out of the brush and become a narrow—a +very narrow ledge on the side of the mountain, while +on the other side one looked down into a ravine deep +enough to make one’s head swim if one looked too long. +Scott ploughed along ahead, looking back whenever the +trail showed a nasty place, ready to jump off and go +to the girl’s rescue if necessary.</p> +<p>“She’s a plucky one all right,” he said to himself. +“This is no trail for a tenderfoot. I hope we don’t +run into anything worse before we get through. How +are you coming?” he called back.</p> +<p>They had come to a turn in the trail. Huge boulders +poised on the edge of the narrow ledge with that utter +disregard for gravity displayed now and then by rocks +which look big enough to know better. Scott had dismounted +and stood looking into the ravine which had +widened into a valley. In front of him, on the narrow +turn, it seemed but a step to the tree-tops of the valley +below. Further ahead, lay the next range of mountains, +higher than the ones through which they were +passing. Back of them, the winding trail seemed to +flutter like a brown ribbon. Polly hopped down and +joined him. Together they drank in the scene.</p> +<p>“It’s too lovely. It hurts,” said the girl, with wet +eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>“Isn’t it? I didn’t know myself that there was +anything around here like this.”</p> +<p>“It’s worth being raided for,” replied Polly. “Let’s +stay here a while and keep on looking.”</p> +<p>Scott smiled. “Will it spoil it for you if I eat a +sandwich?” he said.</p> +<p>“Not if there’s one for me, too,” laughed the +girl. “But I thought you left all the lunch with the +others.”</p> +<p>“Not all. I’m too good a woodsman to go on a +strange trail with nothing to eat in my saddle-bag. +Luckily I didn’t have to leave them the canteen.” +They ate the sandwiches—saving a portion for dinner +in case they were late reaching Athens—and washed +them down with warm water from the canteen.</p> +<p>“Let’s look around the corner before we mount +again,” suggested the girl. “I like to know what’s +ahead of me.”</p> +<p>“Around the corner” was a slope down into the +ravine, more gradual than before and green with +stunted grass and mesquite. Here and there a cactus +rose gauntly, some in the tall Spanish bayonet with its +lovely bloom, and some in the low, dagger-like plant +close to the ground. Above them, on the right side +rose the rocky wall of the mountain, not altogether +sheer in its ascent, but curving in and then out at the +top, the upper ridge forming a shelf. Mesquite grew +seemingly out of the solid rock.</p> +<p>“Oh, look,” exclaimed the girl. “There’s almost +a little cave up there under that shelf! It could be a +rustler’s cave if there were any rustlers around.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p> +<p>“There are more rustlers than there are things to +rustle,” remarked her companion.</p> +<p>Standing on the narrow trail, they looked over and +down into the valley. It was lonely to look at; not a +house, not a living creature, and yet so very beautiful—with +a warmth of color and sunshine. Polly did not +speak. Her eyes were fixed on the scene below. She +did not see the look on Scott’s face as he stood beside +her, gazing not at the valley but at the purity of her +face so near his shoulder.</p> +<p>It was very still. Suddenly a bird flew from one +of the bushes, flew across the rock in front of their +faces. Polly, her thought broken, turned quickly and +surprised the hungry look in Scott’s eyes. Her face +flushed and neither spoke. Then, impulsively, he took +her in his arms and kissed her passionately, Polly, sobbing, +clinging to him in a silence full of meaning. As +suddenly Scott put her away from him, holding her +and looking into her eyes.</p> +<p>“Do you mean it?” he demanded almost angrily. +“You’re not playing with me?”</p> +<p>Polly did not answer. She looked up into his eyes, +her own still wet. He took her in his arms again.</p> +<p>“I don’t see why!” he said, softly. “There’s nothing +about me for you to fall in love with. Are you +sure?”</p> +<p>“Very sure,” she lifted her head. “I was sure last +night, when you nearly told me—before those Indians +came. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”</p> +<p>“Because I knew I’d no business to,” replied Scott, +roughly. “I’ve no business to, now, but I’m human +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +and when you stood there with the sun on your hair, +and that look on your face, I fell.”</p> +<p>“I’ll stand that way again,” smiled Polly, “if you’ll +stop scowling and say nice things to me. It isn’t a +criminal offense, Marc Scott, for an unmarried man to +fall in love with me. Don’t feel so badly about it.”</p> +<p>“It may not be criminal, but it’s not square,” replied +Scott, obstinately. “With you a rich man’s daughter, +and——”</p> +<p>“But not an heiress, remember! That makes a difference,” +she said, coaxingly.</p> +<p>“Perhaps—anyhow, I’m glad you’re not rich,” said +Scott, soberly. “I think I’d fight with a rich wife.”</p> +<p>“My dear Marc, you and I would fight, no matter +who had the money. We’re the scrappy kind. But, +on the other hand, we’ll always make up again, and +that’s what counts. That’s what Joyce Henderson and +I couldn’t do. We went for months and months without +a quarrel, but when we once had one we couldn’t +get over it.”</p> +<p>“You’re sure you’ve forgotten about that chap?”</p> +<p>“Quite. He doesn’t exist.”</p> +<p>Again they were silent, the sun picking out radiant +bits of Polly’s hair to light upon as she stood leaning +against Scott’s arm, his rough coat rubbing her soft +skin.</p> +<p>“It’s a nice old world,” she said, drawing a long +breath.</p> +<p>“It’s good enough for me,” he answered as he leaned +over and kissed her.</p> +<p>“Do you know, I’ve been wondering for a week +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +whether it was me or Mrs. Van Zandt that you were +in love with?” said Polly, with one of her sudden +smiles.</p> +<p>“Me? Care for——” Scott’s voice died away in +surprise.</p> +<p>“You behaved as though you did. You are always +so gentle and pleasant with her.”</p> +<p>“I’m gentle and pleasant with everybody,” declared +Scott, stoutly. “I have that kind of disposition.”</p> +<p>“I think you’d better go and get the horses,” suggested +Polly. “I’d rather not begin disagreeing with +you just yet.”</p> +<p>Scott, chuckling, went back after the horses. Polly, +left alone, sat down on a stone and gave a little sigh +of contentment.</p> +<p>“To think,” she said, incredulously, “that once I +thought I was in love with Joyce Henderson!”</p> +<p>“Polly!” Scott’s voice was sharp. He came +around the turn on a trot. “Those cussed horses +have cleared out and left us high and dry. I’ve got to +go after them.”</p> +<p>“But—I thought horses always went home when +they ran off!”</p> +<p>“I think they’ve gone down into the canyon—there +may be water down there. Will you sit here while I +go after them?”</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” forlornly. “You won’t stay +long?”</p> +<p>“Be back in half an hour.” Scott disappeared down +the trail. Polly watched him a moment or two and +then returned to her resting place. Something of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +happiness was gone from her eyes. The accident was +ill-timed. It brought a feeling of foreboding most disagreeable +in its contrast with her former exaltation. +She jumped to her feet determined to do something to +take her mind off the ugly thought.</p> +<p>“I’ll climb up and see if that really is a cave up +there,” she thought. Fired by this ambition, she +started to work her way up the cliff; no easy task and +ruinous to riding boots of soft leather. By the time +she had discovered this last fact she had covered about +one-third of the distance and was crouching beside a +protruding rock to get her breath. “It’s rather foolish +to tear up a perfectly good pair of riding boots just at +the psychological moment when leather is villainously +high and I’m on the verge of marrying a poor man. I +guess I’ll give up the cave.”</p> +<p>If the view had been remarkable from the trail, it +was marvelous from the little eminence which she had +reached. She looked and looked, her eyes full of +wonder. Away in the distance, a tiny stream fluttered +its way over the brown side of the mountain, which +the sun seemed to polish until it shone; while on the +shadowed side, the pines took on a dark, heavy green, +both sombre and beautiful. Below her, on the trail—but +what was that? Coming over the top of a hilly +rise, a little way below, was a man on a horse—then a +second and a third, and finally a line of riders, so long +a line that it suggested a regiment!</p> +<p>Polly’s mind worked quickly. There was but one +explanation; Angel Gonzales was in the neighborhood, +was on his way to rendezvous with Juan Pachuca, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +without doubt this was Angel Gonzales, and these +were his men. What should she do? They were coming +very rapidly, and whatever was done would have to +be done instantly. Her first thought was for Scott. +He would be taken unaware. If she could only get to +him—warn him—so that he could hide in the brush till +the men had passed! Breathlessly, she began to climb +down the cliff. She was badly frightened, her nerve +was shaken and her strength seemed to be leaving +her. She found herself slipping and sliding on the +rock.</p> +<p>Another look at the riders showed them very near—so +near that her courage failed her. In a panic she began +to climb again. She must reach the little cave before +they saw her. She could not fall into the hands +of Angel Gonzales. She caught her breath in little +sobs, her heart seemed about to burst, every foot gained +meant a desperate effort. She clutched at the tufts of +mesquite that grew out of the rock and thanked Providence +that her brown suit was so nearly the color of +the cliff. Gasping and sobbing, she finally sank behind +the mesquite bush which covered the cave.</p> +<p>It was not really a cave, she discovered, but merely +a crevice in the cliff, made into a little shelf by the +rock which protruded above it, while the bush growing +thickly in front of it gave it the look of a cave. It +was, however, a shelter, and Polly crouched in it +thankfully, breathing with difficulty and keeping one +eye on the line of men filing along below her. They +were a hard looking lot, clad in all sorts of clothes +from uniforms to overalls. They seemed to her inexperienced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +eye innumerable; they were, perhaps, seventy-five +or a hundred.</p> +<p>“And poor—like an army of tramps,” she thought. +“Very desperate tramps—oh, why didn’t I keep on +and try to warn Marc?”</p> +<p>She could not understand her panic, now that her +own danger was over and the men had passed. Marc +Scott had called her a brave girl, and she had saved her +own skin and let him walk into the trap. She sobbed +bitterly. If there was only anything that she could +do! To sit there in that awful silence was more than +she could bear. She could no longer see the riders, +who had turned the curve and were out of sight and +sound. Far off in the distance two buzzards circled +about over something that was dead or dying. Perhaps +it was a man—at the thought the girl rose unsteadily +to her feet. She could not stay alone another +moment in this horrible place; she would go and find +Scott, if she had to brave Angel Gonzales to do it. +With a recklessness born of desperation she slid and +scuffled down the side of the cliff and ran blindly down +the trail.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_ANGEL' id='XV_ANGEL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>ANGEL</h3> +</div> + +<p>Scott, starting breezily down the trail after the recreant +horses, whistled a tune as he went, for he was +happy. He did not weigh reason against happiness—it +was too soon for that. He would have given you, +however, if pressed, a number of very good reasons +why he and Polly Street were going to be happy together, +in spite of their different upbringing, and his +own not very lucid reasons for not having wanted to +marry her.</p> +<p>Just at present he was occupied with the idea of the +horses. He felt that they would not be apt to go back +on the trail unless it was to look for water, and water +they might find at the bottom of the ravine though the +underbrush was too dense for him to see it. He could +follow their trail very easily in the sandy path but he +walked a quarter of a mile before he found the place +where they had struck out of the trail for the bottom +of the ravine.</p> +<p>Very cautiously he started down, for the going was +decidedly bad and he had no wish to risk a fall. He +trailed the prints, marveling at the sure-footedness of +the animal which can follow so hazardous a path.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t dare put a horse down a trail like this,” +he mused with a grin, “and yet the rascals will go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +down by themselves as smooth as silk. Hullo, I +guessed right! There is water down here. There’s +old Jasper filling up on it, and the mare, too. Well, +I guess we don’t walk home this trip.” And just as +Polly, some hundreds of feet above him was trying +madly to reach the cave, Scott, quite oblivious of impending +danger, started on his difficult climb, leading +the two horses.</p> +<p>“Serve you darn well right, you fellows, if I was to +make you haul me,” he said, as Jasper’s soft nose +rubbed against his shoulder. “I would, too, if I didn’t +think you’d slide down and break my neck just when +my girl needs me. Come on, you grafters, shake a +leg, will you?”</p> +<p>It was a bad climb. The perspiration rolled off +Scott’s face and the veins stood out upon his forehead. +Gasping for breath, he dug his toes into the soft earth +and plugged ahead, pulling the reluctant animals after +him. He had nearly gained the top, was within +twenty feet, perhaps, of the end of the climb, when +Jasper began to pull back. They were breaking +through some brush, Scott being nearly through when +Jasper began pulling. Scott gave the bridle an irritated +jerk and spoke sharply to the horse. As he did +so, he looked up and saw Angel Gonzales and his band +coming down the trail. For a second, Scott lost his +wits. He took a quick step forward, giving the bridle +another jerk as he did so. Jasper, naturally aggrieved, +pulled back again, and Scott, standing on a +loose bit of rock, slipped, tried to right himself, slipped +again, overbalanced, fell and rolled down—over boulders, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +through brush, falling ever faster as he tried to +regain a foothold.</p> +<p>Both bridles had been wrenched from his hand as he +fell and the horses, half scared, half inquisitive, followed +him a few steps and then returned to the +munching of grass, behind the clump of brush.</p> +<p>Angel Gonzales, a large, brutal-looking man, his face +covered with a black beard, his clothes bearing the +mark of many a scuffle, swung down the trail in the +lead, his particular crony, one Porfirio Cortes, riding +immediately after him. A little distance intervened +between Cortes and the other members of the party. +Even in bandit circles the line is drawn somewhere, +and in Angel’s band it was drawn immediately after +Porfirio Cortes.</p> +<p>Angel rode, one leg thrown over his pommel, which +enabled him to chat comfortably with Cortes. They +were talking of Juan Pachuca.</p> +<p>“A slippery one, that,” Cortes had remarked, keenly. +“I don’t believe he means to throw in his lot with us. +When I see him do it, I will believe—not before.”</p> +<p>“Why not? I have more men than he has. He +needs men. All he has is this understanding that he +brags of with the new government.”</p> +<p>“Lies, <i>amigo</i>, lies! His record with Carranza is +against him.”</p> +<p>“Well, all men lie,” replied Angel, tersely, and with +probably no intention of plagiarism. “Anyhow, we +can do some good fighting together. There will be +some fine pickings when we get the old man out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +Mexico City. Think of the money, the fine clothes, +the women!”</p> +<p>“Yes, I think of them,” replied Cortes, meditatively. +“But I think also of Obregon. I hate that man. He +hung a cousin of mine, once, for less than what you +and I did to those Yaquis. Also, he has persecuted +Villa.”</p> +<p>“Well, so will I persecute Villa if I ever get a +chance,” replied Angel, cheerfully. “The fat thief! +Think of the gold he has hidden in these mountains! +Hold—what is that? Down in the canyon? Horses! +Is it troops, do you think?”</p> +<p>“Troops—in a hole like that? It might be those Indians—an +ambush!”</p> +<p>“It would be like the devils. I don’t see them +now.”</p> +<p>“You saw Soria’s burro, most likely. Your nerves +are bad, as the gringos say.” Both men grinned and +rode on. Suddenly, they heard a crashing sound of +scattering stones that rose even above the noise made +by their horses. Angel threw up his head in alarm, +very much as a horse does when he scents danger. +“It is the Indians,” he said to Porfirio. “We must +not be attacked in this narrow place. Forward! Ride! +The Yaquis are upon us!” he cried, driving the spurs +into his horse. He was followed by Cortes, who in +turn was followed by the others. The entire band +gave a vivid moving picture of a reckless run down a +narrow trail, by a hundred men, any one of whom +would have considered it utter madness had he been +alone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></p> +<p>Marc Scott, stopped by a mesquite bush near the +bottom of the canyon, lay for a few moments where +he had fallen, literally too shaken to move. When he +realized what had happened to him, he crawled to his +feet and listened. All was still. The sounds from +above had ceased, and a cloud of dust hovering over +the trail was the only evidence that he had not imagined +the passing of a crowd of men.</p> +<p>“By golly, I believe they didn’t hear me after all!” +he gasped. Then the thought came to him of Polly—alone +on the trail above him. A sickening fear shook +him; how could she possibly have escaped those men? +In a blind fury he started to climb the ravine. It had +been hard going before—now, in spite of his body, stiff +and shaken, he did not feel the effort. His face was +purple with heat and exertion, his hands were bloody +with the cactus he had clutched when falling, but his +terror for the girl dwarfed all physical discomfort. +Panting and choking, he forged ahead. If he could +only reach Jasper he would follow that cloud of dust +until he knew what had happened to the woman he +loved.</p> +<p>Jasper and the mare, uninfluenced by motives either +of fear or anger, still grazed by the clump of brush +and allowed the almost exhausted Scott to lead them +back to the trail. He mounted Jasper, and turned the +mare loose. He started down the trail after the vanished +band at a pace quite as reckless as their own.</p> +<p>“Marc! Marc Scott!” Polly’s voice rose desperately +as she saw him disappearing down the trail. +“Come back here!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>Scott turned, bewildered, to see Polly running wildly +toward him. She flung herself upon him and upon +Jasper before he could dismount, pouring out the story +of the men who had gone down the trail.</p> +<p>“And the worst of it was,” she wept, stormily, “that +I didn’t even try to warn you. I just made for that +cave and hid myself. That’s the sort of a girl I am.”</p> +<p>“Did you, honey? Do you know, that strikes me as +mighty sensible? I don’t hold much with girls saving +men’s lives outside the movies, where they’re well +paid for it. It strikes me life-saving is a man-sized +job.”</p> +<p>“But you’re all scratched! What in the +world——”</p> +<p>“I had to roll down the hill to dodge ’em,” chuckled +Scott, as he caught the mare and helped the girl to +mount her. “I’ll tell you about it after a while; just +now I think we’d better be on our way.”</p> +<p>They rode on in silence, back over the trail and +around the curve past the imitation cave which had +sheltered Polly. Scott eyed the horses with inward +pessimism.</p> +<p>“They’re never going to make it,” he thought. +“They’re about all in now. Wish I knew whether to +camp out and go on in the morning or to keep on +pushing. If I was alone I’d bed down for the night +but I hate to ask her to spend a night in the open +unless I have to. Well, we’ll go on a while.”</p> +<p>They rode on, the tired horses going more and more +slowly and responding less and less readily to urging. +The trail did not go all the way down into the canyon, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +but met a rocky ledge which crossed it like a natural +bridge. It was narrow and it was slippery with loose +stones, but the girl took it silently. She was too tired +and hungry to be afraid. The two sandwiches seemed +things belonging to another life. She tried to smile +when Scott looked back at her but it was hard +work.</p> +<p>They came off the ledge onto the side of a hill which +formed a part of the second range of mountains. The +spot, green as a deer park, was directly on the side of +the hill, about half-way up. Around it were trees—pines +and live oaks. The trail seemed to have disappeared +altogether. Scott had dismounted and was +waiting for the girl to come up.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” she demanded, anxiously.</p> +<p>He dropped his horse’s bridle and came to her side. +“I’ve a question for you, best girl,” he said, his hand +on the pommel of her saddle, “These horses are +hardly fit to climb this next range. They might do it +and make the rest of the trip to-day if we urged them +but it ain’t a square deal. Then, too, it would be dark +before we got there.</p> +<p>“This is a place where we could stay. There’s pasture +for the horses and I think that little stream that +I found down in the canyon starts from up here somewhere. +If we go on we may make it and again we +may get tangled up in the mountains after dark, which +I don’t fancy. I’m no forest ranger, you know. Shall +we stay here till three or four o’clock in the morning +or shall we plug ahead? It’s up to you.”</p> +<p>Polly turned an appalled face toward him. “But, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +Marc, you don’t mean to stay here—in this place—all +night?” she said, faintly.</p> +<p>“Well, it won’t be exactly all night. It’s nearly five +o’clock now and we could start at daybreak.”</p> +<p>“But—why, we haven’t anything to stop with! No +tent and no blankets and nothing to eat! It would be +rather dreadful, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Well, not dreadful, exactly. We’ve the blankets +under our saddles, and you have your long cloak. I’ll +build you a fire. Of course there’s nothing to eat except +the rest of the sandwiches.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps—it would be pretty bad to get lost +up here after dark. There might be mountain lions or +mad skunks. They do have mad skunks out here, +don’t they?”</p> +<p>Scott chuckled. “Search me, honey, all the +skunks I ever met were mad. Come on down and +we’ll have a look at the country.”</p> +<p>“Marc,” Polly looked down at him, her eyes soft, +“I’m wondering what I would have done if those +bandits had gobbled you.”</p> +<p>“I don’t let bandits gobble me when I’m escorting +ladies,” replied Scott. Then meeting her eyes, the +twinkle faded out of his. “You’d better say what +would I have done if you hadn’t hidden in that cave.” +His head rested for a moment against her knee.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Seems as though things were being +managed for us, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“I hope so.”</p> +<p>He lifted her to her feet and she looked around her +curiously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p> +<p>“It’s a pretty place,” she pronounced. “I hope +you’re right about the water. I saw a little stream +way up in the mountains when I climbed to the cave.”</p> +<p>“I’m going to let Jasper find it for me,” replied +Scott. He had the saddles off the tired horses in a +few seconds and they lay down and rolled happily, +drying their sweaty backs in the dust. When they got +to their feet again, he took the two long ropes from +the saddles and fastened them around the horses’ +necks.</p> +<p>“Are you going to tie them up?” demanded the +girl.</p> +<p>“Not now. Going to let them drag the ropes +around. I can catch ’em easy that way. Guess +they’re too tired to go far.”</p> +<p>The horses had smelled the water and made for it. +It ran in a trickling little stream down the hillside about +a dozen feet away, hidden by some brush. Once refreshed, +they were easily led back and began to feed +on the coarse grass. Scott shook out the blankets.</p> +<p>“They’re a bit horsey,” he admitted, “but they’ll +keep you warm. I put them under the saddles instead +of the regular saddle blankets because I’ve been caught +out this way before. A man learns things in this country.” +He handed Polly her long coat and she slipped +into it. “This isn’t exactly the time of year I’d pick +for a camping trip,” he added, “but we’ll do, I reckon. +Do you want to eat the sandwiches now, or do you prefer +dinner at six?”</p> +<p>Polly eyed the two big sandwiches with a serious +eye. “Let’s look at them a while first,” she said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +hungrily. “Isn’t there any way of getting anything +else? Can’t you shoot something?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see anything but you and me and the +horses. What’s the matter?” For the girl had given +a shriek of joy.</p> +<p>“In my coat pocket! A cake of chocolate that Mrs. +Van put there—and the sugar. I always bring it for +the horses. We’ll keep the chocolate for breakfast, +shall we?”</p> +<p>They ate the sandwiches and topped off with the +sugar. “Which,” said Polly, seriously, “is very +strengthening. I’ve heard that they feed it to the +Japanese army.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” assented Scott, “but I +reckon that’s not all they feed ’em.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s not all you’ve been fed, either, so don’t +grumble,” said the lady, practically.</p> +<p>“I think,” said Scott, rising, “that before it grows +dark I’ll investigate this trail a bit. It looks sort of +blind to me. If we have to start by moonlight +it’ll be just as well to have some notion of where to +begin.”</p> +<p>Polly leaned back against a tree and watched him +lazily. He looked very strong and capable. She recalled +Joyce Henderson’s graceful proportions and +smiled. She had had to come a long way to find the +man she wanted but she was well content. It was odd, +she reflected, that she and Joyce Henderson, who had +known each other all their lives, were like strangers +once they attempted the more intimate relation; while +for this man whom she had known but a few weeks she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +felt a sense of familiarity, of belongingness, that she +could scarcely believe. She was trusting him now in +a way that she had never imagined herself trusting any +man and yet she felt at ease.</p> +<p>Scott, returning, threw himself down beside her. +“I’ve found the trail,” he said, “but we’ve got some +traveling ahead of us. Don’t look to me as if anybody’d +been over it since Gomez was.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t those men come this way?”</p> +<p>“No. They must have hit the trail lower down—from +some place we’ve missed. I’ll swear no crowd +like that have been where I’ve just been.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at him gravely. “Do you think we +ought to go back?”</p> +<p>“Back? No, I don’t. Those folks are waiting for +us at Soria’s and I want to get Tom started for them +as soon as I can.”</p> +<p>“I wonder if those men will make any trouble at +Soria’s?”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe so. If it was Angel Gonzales, he’s +heading for your gentleman friend’s place and he’ll be +in a hurry.”</p> +<p>“Why do you go on calling him my gentleman +friend?”</p> +<p>“Well, you think he’s some kind of a guy, don’t +you?” demanded Scott, with a grin. “Pretty manners, +soft voice, nice long eyelashes—all that kind of +thing?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” replied Polly, stoutly. “I like Juan +Pachuca and I believe he’s been led away by bad +company. I believe what he told me about that treasure, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +too. I only wish I’d made him tell me the name +of the border town where it was.”</p> +<p>“Women are queer,” remarked Scott, with more +truth than originality. “Well, Polly Street, I think +I’ll gather the wood for your fire.”</p> +<p>Together they gathered the loose twigs and branches—they +were not many, but eked out with pine cones +would make a fire for a few hours, and Scott made +Polly’s bed close by it. He put his rubber poncho on +the ground and made the girl wrap herself in both +blankets.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a heavy sweater under my coat,” he said, +“and I’ll have to keep moving a good deal to look +after the horses and keep the fire going.” And he refused +to take a blanket, much to Polly’s dismay. +“Curl up and be comfortable, girlie, and relax. It +don’t matter if you don’t sleep if you can relax.”</p> +<p>Polly tried to comply, but she was too much interested +in what was going on around her to give up +either to sleep or to relaxation. The crackling of the +fire and its wonderful odor, the little hushing noises +of the birds going to rest, the gentle coming up of the +moon and the myriads of stars, all were too fascinating +to risk missing in sleep. Scott had gone after the +horses and had tethered each by a long rope in a place +where feeding could be attended to, and had come back +to the fire and thrown on some more wood. He sat +smoking with his feet nearly in the fire and his face lit +by its glow.</p> +<p>“I suppose you’ve spent lots of glorious nights in +the open?” asked Polly, wistfully. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></p> +<p>“A good many. Some of them not so glorious, +either. One night up in New Mexico——” he paused +to light another cigarette.</p> +<p>“Go on,” demanded the girl. “When you say ‘one +night up in New Mexico’ I feel just as I used to when +my father used to say ‘once upon a time.’”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know why I happened to think of this +special night,” grinned Scott, “except that on most of +my out-of-door nights I’ve been by myself—out hunting +and that kind of thing—and this one I had somebody +with me. It was when I was mining in Colorado, +and some fellows I knew had a big cattle ranch down +in New Mexico. It was a real ranch—not a two for a +cent one like Herrick’s. I went down to visit them +at round-up time. I’d never seen a round-up before so +I was hanging around every chance I got.</p> +<p>“They had a lot of cattle—some of them pretty wild—and +it wasn’t easy to keep ’em together especially at +night. Well, one day Jim Masters got a fall from his +horse and a kick on the head from another when he +was down, and he was in a pretty bad state—it looked +to us like concussion of the brain but we didn’t know. +We carried him into a tent we’d put up about a quarter +of a mile from where the cattle were, and one of the +boys rode to town for a doctor.</p> +<p>“We were up on a mesa, like the one we crossed +yesterday, remember? We had outlaw cattle in the +bunch and it took all the boys to handle them. I, +being a tenderfoot and not much use with the cattle, +said I’d sit with Jim and sort of watch him till the +doctor came. He was out of his head so ’twasn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +any comfort to him but it made the boys feel better.”</p> +<p>“I’ll bet it was a comfort to him, Marc Scott! You +are the sort of person it would be a comfort to have +around if one was out of one’s head,” said Polly, +emphatically.</p> +<p>“Thank you, honey; I’m afraid you’re jollying me. +Anyhow, I stayed with Jim and while he lay there +groaning I sat in the doorway of the tent and smoked—wasn’t +anything I could do for the poor boy. Man, +that was a night! The mesa just like a big green table +spread under the sky—what is it that lunger poet said—‘under +the wide and starry sky’? Well, that’s how +she looked. Mountains all around, moon blazing away +showing up the cattle at the other end of the mesa, +not a sound except the river, one of those busy little +rivers that keep it up night and day. If I’d known +something of cattle I wouldn’t have thought that stillness +was so pretty, but I didn’t. I hadn’t even noticed +that the cows had stopped bellowing—it seemed like a +night that ought to be still.</p> +<p>“When, all of a sudden, I saw a movement in that +bunch of cattle. It was a stampede. That’s what +they’re cooking up, you know, when they’re still like +that. Before I’d realized what had happened they began +to bolt—and in our direction. It was just exactly +as if one of those old bulls had said to the crowd: +‘There’s a couple of stiffs in a tent down by the river, +boys, let’s rush ’em.’</p> +<p>“They came down that mesa like all heck let loose. +The electricity in their hides had made a sort of blue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +haze—phosphorescent, they call it—and it gave ’em +an awful look. Of course, the boys hadn’t let them +start a stampede without doing anything to stop ’em. +They were riding round ’em, yelling and shooting into +the air, but on they came.</p> +<p>“Well, it was no place for me and Jim. It began +to look to me as if that doctor was going to have his +trip for nothing, but what could I do? I couldn’t go +off and leave Jim, and when I tried to pick him up he +fought me so I had to drop him. ’Twouldn’t have +done much good anyhow because there was no place to +go. So I said to myself: ‘Sit tight, old man, and if +you can’t die game, die as game as you can.’</p> +<p>“On they came like a lot of mad things. Then, all +at once, when I’d about given up hope, the boys got +’em to milling. You know how they do that? Get ’em +started to going round and round instead of straight +ahead and the fools will go till they drop in their +tracks. When I saw ’em doing that I knew that Jim +and I weren’t slated for Heaven that night so I sat +still and enjoyed the sight.</p> +<p>“It was one wild sight. You can read about stampedes +till your head aches but you’ve got to see one +to know how she feels.”</p> +<p>“What an interesting life you’ve had, Marc, and all +I’ve done was to drive a Red Cross ambulance around +Chicago and win a few golf trophies,” murmured +Polly, sleepily.</p> +<p>“Well, that depends. Perhaps it’s been interesting, +but it ain’t been easy.”</p> +<p>They sat in silence for a while and then Scott saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +that the girl had fallen asleep. He smiled as he put +more wood on the fire.</p> +<p>“Funny that she and I should find each other out of +all the world,” he meditated. “Just one nice girl and +one no-account chap drawn toward each other. Some +folks call it Fate. I didn’t mean to do it and maybe +I’m going to wish I hadn’t—but just now I’m satisfied.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_TOM_DOES_A_MARATHON' id='XVI_TOM_DOES_A_MARATHON'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>TOM DOES A MARATHON</h3> +</div> + +<p>That Jimmy Adams survived the operation of probing +to which he was subjected by Li Yow was to Tom +Johnson evidence of an almost miraculous skill on the +part of the Chinese doctor. Tom knew very little +of operations. His life had been a normal one and +the grisly sight which he was called upon to witness +would have altogether unmanned him had it not been +for Mrs. Van’s timely nip. As it was, he came out of +the room extremely depressed.</p> +<p>Depression was a mood which in Tom Johnson usually +led to action. In this case his first move was to +visit Cochise. It did not brighten his outlook upon +life. Cochise was in no state to travel, that was evident. +He was tired and stiff and his back showed signs +of soreness. Rest was undoubtedly what his case demanded.</p> +<p>“If you was a society dame, your doctor would send +you to Miami for a month and say cut out all mental +strain,” soliloquized the engineer, bathing the back +gently. “Being as you’re a horse, the best we can do +is to turn you out to pasture for a while. Well, I’m +no fancy rider, God knows, but nobody can say I +ever give a horse a sore back. That blanket was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +pretty nigh off your tail when he brought you in. Any +white man would have stopped and fixed it.”</p> +<p>He sauntered back to his cabin and sat down to +think. Tom was tall, over six feet, and very thin. +His skin was brown and his straight black hair which +he wore rather long, not because he liked it, but because +he disliked the Conejo barber, gave him rather +an Indian look. His clothes hung loosely on him, lending +very little to his personal charm, and when he sat +he usually sat on his spine, a practice deplored by +beauty doctors. When O’Grady came along a few +minutes later, he was deep in thought.</p> +<p>“Say, what do you think of this here business over +at Casa Grande?” demanded the latter persistently. +“Think the Doc’s lyin’?”</p> +<p>“Why should he? Besides, he was scared. He +most put old Cochise out of commission. He saw +something all right.”</p> +<p>“Think it was Pachuca?”</p> +<p>“No. Why should Pachuca come back after he’d +cleaned ’em out once?”</p> +<p>“Yaquis?”</p> +<p>“Might be. And ag’in it might be the rebels.”</p> +<p>“Who is the rebels now? Johnny’s bunch?” asked +O’Grady.</p> +<p>“Search me. I suppose this here state of Sonora +is fighting the rest, but I don’t see that they’ve got any +call to burn an Englishman’s property. This here Mrs. +Conrad’s English, too, ain’t she?”</p> +<p>“No, she ain’t English, she’s good plain American, +Came from Boston, same as Hard,” said O’Grady. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>“Well, don’t an American woman lose her nationality +when she marries a foreigner?” demanded Tom, +wisely.</p> +<p>“She’d ought to if she marries an Englishman,” replied +O’Grady, belligerently. “But don’t she get it +back if he dies?”</p> +<p>“Hanged if I know! Woman’s suffrage has come +up since I left home,” replied Johnson, placidly. +“Anyhow, I’m going to walk to Conejo and see if I +can’t find out something about Casa Grande.”</p> +<p>“Walk? Holy Moses! I’ll go with you.”</p> +<p>“No, you won’t. Somebody’s got to stay here and +look after Mrs. Van and Jimmy. The Doc can’t fight +and Williams don’t think of anything but the store. +You and Miller have got to do the rest.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you go to Casa Grande? It’s nearer.”</p> +<p>“What’s the use? What could I do? If I go to +Conejo, I can pick up Mendoza and his car and mebbe +some fellers to go along and make a posse. Of course, +if they’re cleaned out—but I’m figurin’ that they ain’t.”</p> +<p>“Sure. You got to do that,” replied O’Grady. +“When you goin’ to start?”</p> +<p>“Soon as I can get Mrs. Van to put me up some +chow.”</p> +<p>“Well, good luck to you—and the rest of them. I’d +sure hate to think of them folks of ours massacred +by a bunch of greasers,” and O’Grady strolled sadly +away.</p> +<p>Mrs. Van Zandt was washing dishes when Johnson +stopped in with his request He prefaced it with an +inquiry about the invalid. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>“Oh, he’s doin’ all right, I guess. Doc’s give him +something to make him sleep. I’ll say this for the man—he’s +a good doctor. He means to be a doctor while +he’s here, too. Nothing doing on the cooking job.”</p> +<p>“No?”</p> +<p>“No, sir! I asked him something just kind of +casual about pies and you’d have said he’d never heard +of one. Distant as anything! I suppose I can stand it +if he cures Jimmy. Where you going?”</p> +<p>“Going to walk to Conejo.”</p> +<p>“Walk!”</p> +<p>Tom repeated his plan. Mrs. Van wiped her eyes on +the dish towel. “You’re a good man,” she said, simply. +“I wish I could go with you.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t feeling as brisk as I’m letting on about this +business, Mrs. Van,” continued Tom. “What that +Chink saw don’t listen good to me.”</p> +<p>“Nor to me. When I think of those girls—well, I +ain’t going to think of them. After all, Tom, there’s +more ways for folks to get out of trouble than there is +for them to get in. I’ve always noticed that. When I +was married, I had a husband who knew more about +getting into trouble than any living man, and I used to +notice that he always went about it in just the same +kind of ways—drink, cards, and women; but when I +had to get him out of it—why, Lord, there were a million +different ways I had to manage. There are loads +of ways for smart folks to dodge trouble and our folks +are smart.”</p> +<p>Johnson started for Conejo about noon. It was not +the hour he would have selected for a long walk in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +warm climate, but he had no choice. He did not try to +make very rapid progress during the afternoon, his +idea being to get in his best work at night; so he rested +whenever he struck a shady spot. A stranger coming +along and spying Tom stretched under a tree, with his +sombrero covering his face, would not have associated +him with reckless speed. He ate his supper slowly, +thanking Heaven for the invention of the thermos bottle, +and then started for the long pull.</p> +<p>It was cool and delightful now and he felt refreshed +and invigorated. His bundle was light and he swung +along at a good clip. In and out of arroyos, over little +bridges, under fragrant branches of pine—the walk +was pleasant and the engineer reflected that one sees a +good deal from one’s feet that one misses from the cab +of an engine. Prairie dogs scuttled into their holes as +he approached and chipmunks sat on branches and +swore at him in sharp little voices. Now and then a +far-away but penetrating odor reminded him of another +night animal on the prowl.</p> +<p>His wisdom in following the railroad track instead +of the road was evident. It was longer but it led +through the mountains at the lowest places. Midnight +found him nearly out of the mountains, standing, tired +but not exhausted, on the edge of a decline, looking +over miles of the semi-flat country to a dark spot where +one or two lights twinkled faintly and which he knew +was Conejo.</p> +<p>“Old Swartz is still on the job,” he reflected, as he +rolled himself in his blanket and settled down for a +nap. He had built a small fire and lay with his feet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +almost in it. He stared ahead of him over the road +which he must travel before he could reach his destination +and though his trip was only half made he felt as +though he were already there, so encouraging was the +sight of Swartz’ night light.</p> +<p>“It’s a great country for them that can stand the +pace,” he murmured, sleepily. “I’ve a notion sometimes +to go back to Omaha and get me a wife and settle +down out here. Picking a woman these days is a risk, +though. Get a young one, so’s you can educate her, +and ten to one you get an ambitious young brat that +wants to spend all your money seein’ life. Pick a settled +one, a widow woman, say, and you get one that +knows more’n you do and that don’t make for happiness +in married life. Mrs. Van Zandt’s a likely woman +but she’s had one gold brick—’tain’t likely she’d want +to fall for another. Besides, I can enjoy her cooking +and her company without bein’ married to her, and +there’s times I like right well to get clear of her gab,” +and so he drifted into sleep, snoring comfortably before +his fire went out.</p> +<p>It was the middle of the afternoon when Johnson, +tall, gaunt and tired, stalked into Swartz’ store at Conejo +where he found a situation for which he was not +prepared. Conejo was under martial law, and from +every doorway he saw the interested faces of women +and children who stared at the soldiers as they went +by or stood talking in groups. The jail had a military +guard while the office of the local <i>jefe</i> swarmed with +uniforms. Outside stood a motor truck and two large +automobiles, quite dwarfing Mendoza’s Ford, which, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +having been requisitioned, also stood near by, its +wrathful owner lurking in the distance keeping an eye +on his treasure.</p> +<p>In Swartz’ store the fat owner was still in his accustomed +seat, while the usual loafers still persistently +loafed, but there were soldiers everywhere.</p> +<p>“Whew, this is something new for Conejo!” whistled +Tom. “I reckon I’d better have a word with +Dutch before I horn in. Say, Swartz,” he said, pushing +a crowd of youngsters out of the way, “got +anything to drink? I’ve just walked in from +Athens.”</p> +<p>“My Gott, are you mad?” inquired Swartz, pleasantly.</p> +<p>“Not yet, but I’m likely to be if I don’t get something +down my gullet. Got any beer?”</p> +<p>“Beer?” Swartz’ contempt was sweeping. “Look +at dem,” pointing to the soldiers. “Doos that look like +I haf any beer mit dem fellers around?”</p> +<p>“Who are they? Federals or Rebs?”</p> +<p>“De State troops. Don’t you know dis here state +has—what you call it—seceded?”</p> +<p>“Martial law, eh?”</p> +<p>Swartz nodded.</p> +<p>“Did they grab your stuff or did they pay for it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, dey pays—in paper money,” replied the German, +sourly.</p> +<p>“Well, you’re better off than we are. They took +our stuff, shot two of the boys, knifed another, and +blew up our track.”</p> +<p>“Who done it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>“Young Pachuca and his crowd. Say, who’s the +boss of this outfit?”</p> +<p>Swartz opined that Colonel d’Anguerra, who was +lodged in the house of the local <i>jefe</i>, was in command.</p> +<p>“Good-natured kind of a guy, is he?” queried Tom, +anxiously. “Or one of the kind that orders out the +firing squad if his dinner don’t set well on him?”</p> +<p>Swartz had seen better natured men than the +Colonel, but on the other hand admitted that he had +seen worse. “He iss a young man,” he said, “and he +ain’t got so much sense that it bothers him, yet he tries +to keep them devils quiet if he can.”</p> +<p>“Well, give me a drink of water if you ain’t got no +beer. I guess I’ll look this feller up.”</p> +<p>“I got some lemon pop,” offered Swartz, hospitably. +“Them fellers don’t like it; it ain’t got poison enough +in it for ’em.”</p> +<p>Johnson, having drunk the pop, departed for the official +residence. It took some time and a good deal of +diplomacy to get an audience with the military chief, +but it was accomplished at last. D’Anguerra was a +youngish man, tall, thin and sallow. He spoke very +little English, but his secretary spoke it very well and +acted as interpreter, Tom’s Spanish being several degrees +worse than the Colonel’s English. The conversation +in two tongues proceeded through the secretary +with dispatch and accuracy.</p> +<p>“I understand that you are from an American mining +company located at Athens?” the Colonel began.</p> +<p>“I am,” replied Tom, a little awed by the other’s +dignity and the threefold nature of the dialogue. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></p> +<p>“You have been raided by bandits, eh?”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose you’d call it that. Juan Pachuca +helped himself to what he wanted and shot two of our +boys.”</p> +<p>“Killed them?”</p> +<p>“No, they ain’t killed, but one of ’em’s likely to lose +a leg. He knifed one, but the knife was dull and he +ain’t hurt much. But that ain’t what I come over here +about.” And Tom went on with Li Yow’s story of the +Casa Grande raid, the arrival of Scott, Hard and Polly, +and the fire. “I dunno and he dunno who done the +burnin’ or what else has happened over there, but he +says they heard Pachuca say somethin’ about meeting +Angel Gonzales, and I guess you know who he is. I +thought mebbe you could let me have a car and a posse +and I could go over and see what’s been done.”</p> +<p>The Colonel and his secretary conversed together +for a few moments, Tom listening anxiously but quite +unable to get the thread of the talk.</p> +<p>“You see, Colonel,” he continued, anxiously, “I +dunno if this little revolution of yours is going to turn +out the real thing or not; but there’s one thing you can +be darn sure of if it does, and that is that one of the +first letters your new president’s going to get in his +official mail is going to be a bill of damages from +Washington and whatever’s happened to our folks is +going to be wrote down in it.”</p> +<p>Colonel d’Anguerra smiled patiently. “I will tell +you, señor, what I know about the affair at Casa +Grande. According to this dispatch, a regiment of +Sonora troops passed by the ranch on their way south. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +They saw flames and heard shots. A band of Yaquis +who had been driven from their village by one Angel +Gonzales were burning and looting. The troops’ orders +were for haste and they did not stop to find out +the extent of the damage but called off the Yaquis. +You perhaps know that those Indians are excellent soldiers +and that there are many of them in our army.”</p> +<p>“You mean to say they didn’t go over to see if anything +had happened to the women folks?” demanded +Tom, aghast.</p> +<p>“Their orders were positive. They could not take +the time. To-day we have news that some of our +troops have crossed the Sinaloa border. These men +who passed Casa Grande were on their way to Hermosillo +to guard the capital.”</p> +<p>“Well, it does look like you were pulling it off, don’t +it?” Tom’s voice was admiring in spite of himself. +“What beats me, señor, is how you manage to pump +enough enthusiasm into these fellers to keep them +fighting. You’ve been at it nearly ten years now. In +my country we’d either have put it through by that +time or given it up as a bad job and pretended we’d +never wanted it anyhow.”</p> +<p>The Mexican laughed. “My friend,” he said, seriously, +“people will fight for more than ten years with +the hope of liberty and a good government ahead of +them. This time we hope to get both.”</p> +<p>“Well, I hope you do. It’s too good a country to go +to the dogs. But about this Juan Pachuca——”</p> +<p>“He is no business of mine,” replied the Colonel, +briefly. “He was out of favor with the Carranza government +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +and evidently hopes to get into the saddle +again through the revolution. Personally, I do not believe +he will. General Obregon is not fond of his type. +Angel Gonzales is what you call in your country a +regular bad lot. I have orders in this dispatch to look +into his case. As to the automobile. I can give you an +order for the car which you saw outside—the small +one. I can’t spare any men.”</p> +<p>“Mendoza’s Ford?” groaned Tom. “I knew I’d +draw that. Well, never mind, señor. I’m obliged to +you just the same.”</p> +<p>The order written, Mendoza was induced to start. +“What the devil are those for?” demanded Johnson, +as he saw the old Mexican putting three large cans in +the car.</p> +<p>“Water,” replied Mendoza, tersely. “Las’ time I +drive him ze radiator he leak. I mend him, but <i>quien +sabe</i>? We play safe, eh?”</p> +<p>“My God, yes,” murmured Tom. “Come on, +<i>amigo</i>, it’s near six and this here’s no country to be +rattlin’ round in a damaged Ford after dark.”</p> +<p>The little car justified its owner’s faith in it, however, +for it went along at a good clip. The road from +Conejo was fairly good and they made good time. The +sun was down and the evening had set when they +reached the place where Scott and Polly had taken the +trail. Mendoza stopped the car.</p> +<p>“Lots of men been by here,” he said. “Soldiers or +bandits—mebbe bot’.”</p> +<p>“What d’ye mean?” demanded Tom, waking up. +“How can you tell?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>“Don’ have to be Injun to know dat. See tracks,” +grunted Mendoza. “Mebbe hundred men come here +from trail, <i>amigo</i>.”</p> +<p>Tom looked. The banks of the river were broken +and trodden by the feet of many horses. Even in the +dim light he could see that, though he would never +have noticed it for himself. He admitted when Mendoza +persisted that it did look as though a large party +of horsemen had crossed the river.</p> +<p>“Well, they’ve passed anyhow, so we should worry. +Got a gun?”</p> +<p>“<i>Si</i>,” grinned Mendoza, cheerfully, “I always got a +gun.”</p> +<p>“Hold on, what’s this?” They had come around +the corner and saw, by the edge of the road, the +wrecked wagon. “That’s Herrick’s wagon,” said Tom, +excitedly. “In the ditch!” He got down and went +to investigate.</p> +<p>“Wheel’s busted. Horses must have got scared and +bolted round the curve,” said the engineer, meditatively. +“Nothin’ in the wagon. Looks bad to me; +don’t it to you, Mendoza?”</p> +<p>“<i>Si</i>,” responded Mendoza. “We go by Soria’s +place. He know mebbe what happen.”</p> +<p>“All right,” assented Tom, sadly. “If they’d got +away on the horses seems to me we’d have seen or +heard somethin’ of them on the road. Unless they +went by the trail—in that case them fellers on horseback +would have met ’em. Well, step on your gas, +Mendoza, and let’s get to Soria’s.”</p> +<p>Soria’s place was empty. Not a child, nor a dog, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +nor a burro. Not a sign of life on the place anywhere. +This was a blow and intensified Tom’s gloomy fears. +He did not speak as they drove on to Casa Grande. +The moon was coming up and they saw the badly +burned ruins of the barn as they turned in.</p> +<p>“Ze house is lef’,” said Mendoza, consolingly.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is,” said Tom. “But look at them windows! +Riddled with bullets. The boys must have put +up a good fight with them Indians, anyhow. Tell you +what, Mendoza, I’d give a good deal to see old Scotty’s +ugly mug in one of ’em! Come on, we may as well go +in,” and he stepped apprehensively out of the car.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_AT_SORIA_S' id='XVII_AT_SORIA_S'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>AT SORIA’S</h3> +</div> + +<p>Hard and Mrs. Conrad stared at each other in whimsical +dismay as the other couple rode away. Then they +looked at the suitcases carefully tucked away in the +brush.</p> +<p>“Not much of a hiding place,” observed Hard, “but +it’s better than leaving them in the wagon.”</p> +<p>“And decidedly better than carrying them all the +way to Soria’s,” replied Clara. “Safe enough, too. +It isn’t once in a coon’s age that anybody travels +around these places. Funny, isn’t it, when you think +of all the crowded spots there are in the world?”</p> +<p>“It reminds me,” said Hard, with a reminiscent +chuckle, “of a yarn. I was in New Mexico on a hunting +trip with Joe McArthur—you remember the Boston +McArthurs who had a ranch near one of the Apache +reservations? Well, we rode up to the agency store to +ask old Slade, the trader, about an Indian guide.</p> +<p>“We got him and started out the next day. We +were riding up among the pines—great tall fellows, a +regular park of them; not a living thing in sight except +the birds, not a sound except the river. McArthur and +I were riding behind Charley, the guide. We’d been +arguing rather aimlessly as to whether an Indian had +a sense of humor or not; Joe thought they hadn’t, +while I contended that they had. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p> +<p>“The quiet of the place rather got us. McArthur +took a silver dollar from his pocket and said: ‘Hard, +I believe I could lay this dollar on that stump over +there and come back here in a year and find it there.’ +Old Charley turned around, his wrinkled face twisted +into a grin. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no find him nex’ year. +Mr. Slade he get him nex’ morning.’</p> +<p>“Well, Charley got the dollar and McArthur admitted +that I had the right of the argument.”</p> +<p>“That sounds to me just like a McArthur of Boston,” +said Clara, severely. “An Indian without a sense +of humor! Just because they don’t see fit to howl over +the fool things a white man howls over, I suppose.” +She did not speak again for some time, then she burst +out tempestuously:</p> +<p>“Henry, why did you begin talking about Boston? +Do you know, I’ve been more lonesome for the dear old +place in the last twenty-four hours than ever before? +I wonder if seeing you has made me homesick?”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” said Hard. “It’s time for you to go +back to Boston, Clara.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps; but I shall come back here. Once this +country gets on its feet I can sell for a decent price. +There’s going to be a rush to Mexico some day when +people find that they can come without risking their +lives and their money.”</p> +<p>“Do you think that time is coming soon?”</p> +<p>“I hope it is. This last move looks hopeful. If +Obregon can establish a good government, he will. Of +course, our people will have to be patient. At any rate, +I’m going to risk it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” smiled Hard, “you would feel that way, of +course.”</p> +<p>“Money getting isn’t such an ugly business, Henry, +when you risk something. It puts a bit of romance +into the thing. I think I rather despise people who +make money just by sitting in an office and guessing +right.”</p> +<p>“Clara, how old are you? Sixteen?”</p> +<p>“I don’t mind telling you that I’m older than I look, +and it’s a wonder to me after the hard knocks I’ve +had. Well, do you think you can hobble back to +Soria’s?”</p> +<p>“Let’s wait a little longer. I could wish it a little +cooler.”</p> +<p>“If you’d wear a sombrero instead of that white +thing——”</p> +<p>“Can’t. I’m not built for a sombrero. Makes me +look like the villain in a show.”</p> +<p>Clara burst into laughter.</p> +<p>“Henry,” she said, “what an absurd world this is +once a human being cuts loose from his original moorings!”</p> +<p>“Yes? It’s an almighty hot world when he cuts +loose from a roof and an ice-water tank, I’ve noticed.”</p> +<p>“I’m not thinking of ordinary things—I’m thinking +of you and me and Boston,” pursued Clara, firmly.</p> +<p>“Clara, I can stand a good deal, especially from you, +but if you insist upon talking about Boston I’m likely to +do something that we’ll both regret.”</p> +<p>“I was just thinking that if you and I had stayed in +Boston, in our own little niches, as our kind of people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +usually do, what would we be doing?” went on Clara, +meditatively.</p> +<p>“I would be having a gin fizz at the club,” said +Hard, pensively, “to be followed possibly by a game of +bridge and a dinner—a real, human dinner, not just +food—at my brother John’s.”</p> +<p>“If I had stayed where I belonged, or where everybody +said I belonged when my father died and the +family income disappeared,” said Clara, persistently, +“I would be teaching music in a girls’ school, and +planning a trip to Italy with a lot of other middle-aged +spinsters. Instead of that, I put all that I had into a +two years’ study in London and Paris and fell in with +a wandering Englishman, married him, and here I am.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad you didn’t stay where you belonged, +Clara, for quite apart from the pleasure of your company, +which under sane conditions I find very delightful, +I don’t seem to see you in the rôle of a middle-aged +spinster. Still, you might easily have been one. I +know some charming girls in Boston who have gone +that path.”</p> +<p>“So do I,” soberly. “Some of them so much more +charming than some of my married friends that I don’t +quite get the idea. Some of Nature’s blunders, I suppose. +Well, shall we start?”</p> +<p>“We’d better. I think it’s going to be some walk.”</p> +<p>They plodded along in silence. This time Hard +broke it.</p> +<p>“Clara, do you think that youngster is good enough +for Marc Scott? You’re clever enough to judge people +even on a short acquaintance.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>“Heavens, Henry, what a question!”</p> +<p>“I admit it’s crude. Theoretically, any nice girl +confers a tremendous favor on the man she marries +merely by so doing; man being inherently vile. But, +Clara, honestly, man to man, how many nice girls one +knows who would be the deuce to live with!”</p> +<p>Clara’s eyes twinkled. “Henry,” she said, “you’re +perfectly right, of course, but man to man, do you +think you’ve any right to assume that the ones who +aren’t nice are any pleasanter—taken as a steady +diet?”</p> +<p>“Well, no, if you put it like that. But, I mean—well—this +Polly youngster, of whom by the way I am +very fond, I don’t know why, she’s as spoiled as the +deuce, has had very little education——”</p> +<p>“She graduated from Wellesley, so she tells +me.”</p> +<p>“Truly? How well they cover it up these days! +In my youth, you knew when a woman was well educated.”</p> +<p>“And avoided her. That’s why they learned to +cover it up.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be trivial. What I mean is this. Scott is +an unusual fellow. He’s brought himself up from +nothing, with only a boost here and there from someone +who recognized his worth. He’s rough and he’s +odd, but he has a mind. He will always be a man of +importance in his community.”</p> +<p>“I admit all that; but it doesn’t imply that he’s too +good for Polly.”</p> +<p>“No, but after all, what does a spoiled society girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +of twenty-four know about a worth-while man, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear Henry, wake up! You aren’t living +in the Victorian period. She knows a lot more about +everything than you think, and well for her that she +does. Girls of to-day may be daring, they may be +over confident, they may be hard, but at least they +know something of the world outside their own environment. +After all, life’s a tricky job for a woman—don’t +begrudge her a little folly before she undertakes +it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t. I like frivolous girls—in a way; but I +don’t like to see a man with a brain marrying a kitten.”</p> +<p>“Polly Street isn’t a kitten. She’s never had to consider +anything more serious than a golf course, but +she’ll make good when the time comes. She’s shown +that since she’s been here. But, Henry, why this sudden +interest in match-making? Has he, by any chance, +asked your valuable advice?”</p> +<p>“Good Heavens, no!”</p> +<p>“Match-making, you know, belongs to middle age. +Young people are too self-centred to bother with it. I +wonder if we’re nearly there? I’m dead.”</p> +<p>“Well, my aching feet tell me we are, Clara, but my +manly intelligence suggests that if we’ve covered one-third +of the distance we’re mighty lucky.”</p> +<p>“That’s about what I thought,” groaned Clara. +“How’s your knee?”</p> +<p>“Peevish but possible. Shall we take a rest?”</p> +<p>“Oh dear, yes, and a bite.”</p> +<p>They topped the next rise. It was decidedly a rise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +and commanded a wide view of the flat part of the +country. At a little distance rose a live oak whose low +branches offered a slight shelter from the sun. A +cooling breeze played about them, kicking up spirals +of sand, and a prairie-dog village manifested eager interest +in their presence. They ate their sandwiches +and Hard returned to the subject of Scott and Polly.</p> +<p>“Do you think—you being a woman and acute in +such matters—that he’s asked her yet?” he said.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t; they both look too edgy. He’s going +to, however, and she’s going to take him, I think. I’m +not sure. She may be flirting.”</p> +<p>“If she flirts with Scott, I’ll have her punished,” +declared Hard, indignantly.</p> +<p>“Well, maybe she won’t. She’s a bit of a minx, +though, and while she’s young she’s no infant. Some +girls have to do the world’s flirting, Henry, because the +others won’t—or can’t. It wouldn’t do to have things +made too easy for you.”</p> +<p>“They are not,” said Hard, with meaning.</p> +<p>“Well, this isn’t getting to Soria’s.” Clara rose +hastily. She looked back over the road. “It looks +like people back there—dust flying. Do you suppose +it’s more troops?”</p> +<p>Hard stared. “No,” he said, finally, “it’s only the +wind.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I guess it is,” assented Clara. “Let’s be +moving.”</p> +<p>It was slow going—a lame man and a tired woman—both +unused to walking even under favorable circumstances. +It seemed to Clara Conrad as she looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +ahead at the wearisome stretch of road, as though they +made no more progress than a couple of ants crawling +up a mountainside.</p> +<p>“Do you think we’ll ever make it?” she said, stopping +for a long breath at the top of a small rise.</p> +<p>“We’ve got to,” said Hard, simply, “What else is +there to do?”</p> +<p>Clara did not answer but looked longingly back toward +the spot in the cottonwoods.</p> +<p>“Don’t play Lot’s wife, Clara; keep on looking forward. +It’s our only hope.”</p> +<p>“Lot’s wife always appealed to my sympathies,” said +Clara, pensively. “I think she was probably a settled +sort of a woman, married to one of these men who like +change. It must have irritated her awfully to have to +pack up and move when she was so comfortable. Oh, +Henry, that’s not wind blowing the dust! It’s men—horsemen!”</p> +<p>“It does look like it.”</p> +<p>“They’re coming this way. I don’t like it.”</p> +<p>“Neither do I.” Hard’s voice was anxious. “If +we had a bit of shelter——”</p> +<p>They looked anxiously about, but the flatness of the +country offered no opportunity for anything larger +than a gopher to hide. Trees and bushes, alike too +small for shelter, and little rises of land, hard enough +to climb but easily visible to anyone on horseback, were +all that offered themselves. In the distance an arroyo +looked promising, but it was far and the line of riders +very near.</p> +<p>“We’ve got to make a break for it, anyhow,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +Hard, at last. “It’s off the road. It’s our only +chance; that, and the possibility that they may be +troops and in too much of a hurry to stop for the likes +of us. Come on.”</p> +<p>Clara sighed and quickened her pace. They left +the road and struck across country toward the arroyo.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they’re troops,” she said. “There +aren’t enough of them. Oh, Henry, suppose it’s Angel +Gonzales and his men!”</p> +<p>Hard shrugged his shoulders. “They may very +well be,” he said. “But we’ll hope they’re not. Let’s +be optimistic as long as we have a straw to clutch.”</p> +<p>Clara did not answer. She took another look at the +rapidly advancing line and felt, not unreasonably, that +the straw was a weak one even for the clutch of an +optimist. They dug in, weary as they were, making +small progress, but with hopeful eyes bent upon the +distant arroyo. At least they were going in a different +direction from the riders. Hard limped painfully. +His face was set in lines of determination—or was it +pain? Clara wondered. She stopped suddenly.</p> +<p>“Henry,” she said, firmly, “this is folly. Those +men must have seen us. They’re able to overtake us if +they want to, and if they want to do anything to us, +they will. We can’t help ourselves. I’m not going +another step. I’m going to sit down here and see what +happens.” As she spoke, she sat down on a tree stump. +Hard laughed ruefully.</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “They’ve +got us, if they want us. We’ll hope they don’t.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +sat down on the ground beside her, feeling very much +as though he would never get up again.</p> +<p>So far the horsemen had given no indication of having +seen the fugitives. They were fox-trotting along, +in twos and threes, for the road was fairly wide. +There was no air of discipline about the party, nothing +to indicate that it was of a military character. As they +came opposite the fugitives, who had struck off the +road at a right angle, they stopped, in obedience to a +signal from one of the two riding ahead.</p> +<p>“They’ve seen us!” breathed Clara.</p> +<p>“And are wondering whether we’re worth while,” +supplemented Hard. “Ah, here they come!”</p> +<p>The result of the conference reached, the two leaders +of the party followed by half a dozen men struck off +toward Clara and Hard. The others waited in the +road. They came at a good gait, their badly fed horses +responding to the ugly spur with a nervous speed which +covered the hilly space in seconds where Hard and +Clara had taken minutes to crawl.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid they’re not troops,” observed Hard. +“They wouldn’t take all that trouble for a pair of +strangers. It’s Angel, or someone of his sort. Well?”</p> +<p>“Well?” Clara smiled bravely. “There’s nothing +to do but wait. Better let me talk to them; I have the +language better in hand, I think. If it’s money they +want we may as well give them what we have to buy +our freedom.”</p> +<p>“By all means.” Hard grinned. “I’ve got ten dollars. +It won’t buy much—even of freedom, I’m +afraid.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>“Most of mine is in express checks, tucked away in +a sheltered spot,” said Clara, frowning. “I don’t believe +they’d want them—Pachuca didn’t. However, I +have a little to offer.” She handed him her handbag.</p> +<p>Angel Gonzales, closely followed by Porfirio Cortes, +drew up beside the odd-looking couple sitting by the +wayside. The other men lingered within hearing. +Angel opened the conversation in his native tongue.</p> +<p>“Who are you and where are you going?” he demanded, +his shifty black eyes gleaming from his +weather-beaten face.</p> +<p>“And why?” growled Cortes. “When the country +is upset, the place for foreigners is at home.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we know it is,” said Clara, placatingly. “But +your country, you know, is almost always upset. This +gentleman, Señor Hard, is connected with the mining +company at Athens. I am from the South, and on my +way to the border.”</p> +<p>“Where are your horses?” said Angel, suspiciously.</p> +<p>“A young man named Juan Pachuca raided the +ranch where we were visiting and took all the livestock,” +replied Clara, eyeing the swarthy fellow quietly.</p> +<p>There was a hurried colloquy between the two Mexicans +and a laugh from Gonzales.</p> +<p>“You are not going toward Athens,” he observed, +drily.</p> +<p>“No, we’re not,” replied Hard. “We’re heading +for the Soria place just at present with the idea of borrowing +their burro to ride and tie.” He had risen and +was leaning heavily on his well leg. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></p> +<p>“Humph! It is a long walk to the Soria place,” +grunted Angel. “You’re lame?”</p> +<p>“Yes, temporarily.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” Angel turned to his men. “Here, two +of you double up and give these people horses,” he +commanded curtly. Apparently, he was one of those +leaders whose word is law, for two of the men rolled +their horses and led them toward the two Americans +who stared at them in astonishment.</p> +<p>“We go by Soria’s,” said Angel, gruffly. “We will +take you that far.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, but I think——” Clara began weakly, +but stopped as she felt herself being seized by one of +the men and lifted roughly to the saddle of a wiry little +gray horse which was dancing around in a most disconcerting +manner. It was a time for self-preservation +and not for protest. She grasped the pommel desperately +with one hand and the reins with the other, +while her feet were being thrust into the straps +of the stirrups—the stirrups themselves being too +long.</p> +<p>She was badly scared, for the horse gave every indication +of being unmanageable; and very miserable, for +her skirt pulled in a most uncomfortable and unsightly +fashion. There was nothing to do, however, but to +make the best of it; for having helped her mount, the +man who did so climbed up back of one of his fellows +and abandoned her to her fate. Hard, in the meantime, +had mounted another rough-looking but more +conventionally disposed beast, and the procession +started back to the road, the two Americans side by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +side, surrounded by the Mexicans; Angel Gonzales +leading, and Porfirio Cortes bringing up the rear.</p> +<p>“It may be a friendly lift, but it looks more like a +case of abduction,” said Hard, wrathfully. “Can you +hold that brute, Clara?”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” she said, her lips a bit white. “I think +the poor thing is as scared as I am; probably never saw +skirts before in his life.”</p> +<p>“Don’t try to hold him too tight. He’s probably got +a tender mouth, judging from the way he fidgets.”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose he has, but if I don’t hold him, he’s +going to land me over somewhere in those foothills,” +said Clara, faintly. “He’s got the most awful little +rack I ever rode. Henry, do you suppose that fellow +is Angel Gonzales?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say. He’s an ugly-looking ruffian whoever +he is.”</p> +<p>“Hush, here he comes! He may understand English,” +shivered Clara.</p> +<p>Angel grinned as he came back to them. “The +señorita does not ride very well,” he said, mockingly. +Clara did not reply.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” she reflected, with a gleam of humor, +“that I ought to be grateful to be taken for a ‘señorita,’ +but how can I be grateful for anything when I’m +being rattled to pieces?”</p> +<p>Angel joined himself to them and they rode three +abreast. He began to ask questions; questions which +plainly were designed to inform him as to the financial +standing of his guests or his prisoners whichever he +chose to make them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>“He’s as persistent as a society reporter,” growled +Hard, under his breath, as Angel relinquished his place +to one of his men and fell back to ride with Cortes. +“It’s a case of ransom, all right.”</p> +<p>“Shall we make a break for it?” whispered Clara. +“If I let this thing go he’ll be over in the foothills before +you can whistle.”</p> +<p>“No, they’d shoot. Better not risk it.”</p> +<p>“But, Henry, I can’t stand it! And I look so! I +never was so altogether wretched in all my life,” +groaned Clara.</p> +<p>“Be patient, that’s a good girl, until we see what +they’re going to do.”</p> +<p>“If that devil’s face is any index to his character, +he’s going to do something awful.”</p> +<p>Angel Gonzales, in fact, was justifying Clara’s +opinion of him.</p> +<p>“The woman has money and property, and so, I +think, has he,” he said to Cortes. “If they have +money, they have friends, and friends will pay, eh?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes,” admitted Cortes. “But we are in a +hurry, <i>amigo</i>. If Pachuca has come this far, he means +business. We had better be on our way to meet him.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s so. Our horses are not strong enough +to carry double, either. We’ll leave the Americanos +with Manuel Soria and pay him to keep them for a few +days until we know what we want to do with them, +eh?”</p> +<p>“Not bad,” agreed Cortes. “Manuel is a good deal +of a fool but his woman is smart. Give her a gun and +she will know how to use it. She will do it for me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +because I make love to her now and then,” he added, +with something which in a civilized being would pass +for a simper.</p> +<p>“Humph, she’d do it for me because I’ll pay her +some good money and promise her more,” said the unsympathetic +Gonzales.</p> +<p>By this time they had reached the Soria cabin, much +to Clara’s relief, and the party dismounted. The cabin +door was closed, and Angel, who evidently wasted no +time on the little courtesies of life, raised his pistol and +fired into it. Clara caught her breath in horror.</p> +<p>“Those babies!” she gasped, clutching Hard.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they’re in there,” he whispered. “I +don’t see a sign of life—not even the burro.”</p> +<p>“Henry, they’ve gone to town to spend the money +that Mr. Scott gave them this morning!”</p> +<p>“That’s it. They’ve taken the burro along to bring +home the supplies. Don’t say anything; let them find +it out. It’s not our funeral.”</p> +<p>It was soon apparent that the Soria family had gone—root +and branch. There was no response either to +Angel’s rude salutation or to the search which followed.</p> +<p>“They’re in a hole,” chuckled Hard, shrewdly. +“I’ll bet you a dollar that they meant to leave us here +and pay the Sorias to hold us. Now, they’ve either +got to take us along or leave a guard for us, which is +what they’ll probably do.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think there’s any chance of his letting +us go?”</p> +<p>“Does he look like a chap who lets anything get +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +away from him? Well, I’m glad he’s worried, anyhow.”</p> +<p>Angel Gonzales was worried, no mistake about that. +The Sorias had upset his plans exceedingly. He did +not want to burden himself with prisoners; his horses, +fed only on the scant growth of the land, were in no +condition to carry double. He did not want to leave +any of his men behind, because he expected to need +every one of them in his proposed campaign. On the +other hand, he hated to give up the dazzling prospect +of a ransom. He had never played the ransom game, +but he knew the ropes and he longed to try.</p> +<p>“Who’s that coming up the road?” demanded Cortes, +breaking off a dialogue with his chief.</p> +<p>A man—or, as it developed at closer range—a boy, +a very ragged boy, riding a sweating horse, was tearing +madly in their direction. Boylike, he pulled his poor +beast to its haunches and gave what was intended for a +military salute as he saw the redoubtable Gonzales.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s the matter? Who are you?” demanded +that gentleman, unencouragingly.</p> +<p>“Señor Juan Pachuca——” gasped the panting messenger, +“he sends me to say to Captain Gonzales to +make speed. He waits—at his <i>rancho</i>. He has news +of the revolution,” finished the boy, proudly.</p> +<p>“News! Humph, is that all he’s got?” demanded +Angel, promptly.</p> +<p>“Men, and horses and plunder—oh, much plunder!” +The boy’s eyes shone.</p> +<p>“So? That’s better, eh, Cortes? Shall we go, +or——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>“Señor Pachuca says to make speed. Much speed,” +reiterated the messenger. “The troops went South +only last night.”</p> +<p>“We had better go,” said Cortes, eagerly. “We +can make the <i>rancho</i> with hard riding by morning. +That is, unless you burden yourself with those!” he +gestured scornfully toward the two Americans.</p> +<p>Angel hesitated. Like Scott, he hated changing his +mind. Also, the ransom loomed large; and he liked +the woman’s looks—liked her manner of talk. With +her dark hair and eyes, and her soft voice, she was like +one of his own people——only much more charming, he +reflected, with a gleam of the eye.</p> +<p>“Señor Pachuca says——”</p> +<p>“The devil with Señor Pachuca!” exploded Angel, +menacingly. “Go back and tell him——” But the +messenger had already gone. His horse’s feet were +pattering down the side of the hill at a rate which argued +panic in its rider. A laugh rose from the men, +and Angel, guffawing himself, sent a parting bullet +over the boy’s head.</p> +<p>“Cheerful man, isn’t he?” muttered Hard. “Never +mind, Clara, he didn’t hit the boy. It’s evidently only +his little joke.”</p> +<p>“Monster!” Clara’s black eyes snapped.</p> +<p>Apparently the little joke had cleared Angel’s mental +atmosphere, for without further explanation, he turned +and with a rough: “Get on your horses—we’ll go!” +swung onto his mount. Cortes, with a grin of relief, +passed the word on:</p> +<p>“To horse!” And in a second the party was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +mounted. Hard and Clara stood watching, ignorant +of what part they were to play in this new move. No +attempt was made to mount them, which was in itself +encouraging, nor did there seem to have been anyone +detailed to stay and guard them. There was another +confab between Gonzales and Cortes, which resulted in +the latter’s coming toward the two Americans and saying, +gruffly:</p> +<p>“Captain Gonzales regrets that he cannot escort you +further but he is called suddenly to the front.” There +was a pause, then, with an impudent grin, he continued, +“Of course you know that in time of war, all alien +property is confiscate? You will give me what money +you have.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, give it to him, Henry, please!” Clara’s +voice was eager. She pressed her little handbag into +Cortes’ willing hand. Hard shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“All right, old man, it’s not much, and if I thought +you’d buy a good feed for those horses of yours, I’d +hand it over with my blessing. As it is—I hand it +over.”</p> +<p>Cortes took the money very much as a conductor collects +his fares——with no comment but a ready hand. +He also took a diamond ring which Clara had thoughtlessly +put in the bag for safe keeping and the watch +which Hard carried. Then without further words, he +swung his horse around and at a command from +Gonzales, the whole crowd swept furiously down the +hill.</p> +<p>“Henry, they’ve gone! Actually gone—and taken +that vile gray horse with them!” gasped Clara, faintly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p> +<p>“It looks like it,” responded Hard. “But unless +I’m a lot mistaken, they didn’t mean to go until that boy +came with his message.”</p> +<p>“Well, blessings on the head of Juan Pachuca who +sent him!” murmured Clara, wearily, as she started +for the cabin.</p> +<p>“Do you want to stay outside or go in?” asked +Hard, pulling a chair forward on the veranda.</p> +<p>“Outside, please, as long as we can stand it,” said +Clara, with a little shiver. “I don’t believe I’d care +for Grandmother Soria’s housekeeping.” She peeped +into the family <i>olla</i> hanging on the side of the house. +It was full. “Oh, well, Henry, things might have +been worse,” she smiled as she sank into the chair.</p> +<p>“You can bet your dear life they might,” replied +Henry, with a glance in the direction taken by Angel +Gonzales.</p> +<p>“See if they’ve left anything to eat—anything that +looks fairly clean.”</p> +<p>Hard emerged a few moments later empty-handed.</p> +<p>“Not a thing,” he said. “We evidently arrived at +the psychological moment for this little family. That +ten dollars Scott gave them will tide them over till Carlotta +finds another beau.”</p> +<p>“But wasn’t there anything to eat?”</p> +<p>“Not a bone. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was a +cafeteria compared to Grandmother Soria’s. Draw in +your belt and forget it.”</p> +<p>“Why did we eat so much this afternoon? They +left us the biggest part of the luncheon. Henry, we +are pigs,” moaned Clara, wanly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“I know. We’re not the sort to be cast on a desert +isle, I’m afraid. If the Sorias get back to-night——”</p> +<p>“They won’t. They’ll stay and make a night of it.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps the hungry feeling will wear off after a +while,” said Hard, hopefully.</p> +<p>“I wonder? I’ve often thought I’d like to try a +fast. One hears of people doing it and having such +odd and fascinating sensations,” said Clara, thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“My sensations are odd,” replied Hard, “but they +are distinctly not fascinating.”</p> +<p>They sat quietly for a while, watching the clouds +hovering over the mountains, sometimes over the +peaks, sometimes nestling in fleecy patches half-way +up.</p> +<p>“The trail they took crosses about where that gap in +the mountains is,” said Clara. “Under that first cloud, +so Mr. Scott said.”</p> +<p>“Pretty high.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they’ll have to do some climbing.” Clara +sighed softly. Hard felt an unreasonable desire, almost +an angry desire to take her in his arms. It was +a feeling unlike him, usually so moderate in his emotions.</p> +<p>“Clara,” he said, softly, “were you thinking of him +when you sighed?”</p> +<p>Clara started. “Him!” she echoed, helplessly.</p> +<p>“Yes, Dick Conrad.”</p> +<p>“Not exactly, Henry. I was thinking of that terrible +trip we took through the mountains—yes, I was +in a way thinking of Dick.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>“You were very happy together, weren’t you? You +were awfully in love with him, I mean. I’m not being +impertinent, am I, Clara? You know I don’t intend +to be.”</p> +<p>“No, Henry, I understand. I don’t believe I’m the +kind of woman who falls in love—at least, in the way +most people mean. There’s nothing very violent about +me except once in a while when I get to singing something +which takes hold of me pretty hard.</p> +<p>“Richard and I had a rather exciting little love +affair, then after a while we both began to realize that +we weren’t very romantic—in regard to people. He +was passionately devoted to adventure of every kind, +and I had a way of putting my best into music. I +didn’t feel heart-broken when I found out that we +really weren’t anything more than good friends and +neither did he.</p> +<p>“I’d cheerfully give all I’ve got to bring Dick back; +I get lonesome for him—awfully. And yet, that isn’t +exactly the sort of thing that the average person means +by ‘love,’ is it?”</p> +<p>“It would have made me very happy once to know +that you cared that much for me,” answered Hard, +bitterly.</p> +<p>“I did. I always did, Henry. Only we were—so +near, so much a part of each other—like cousins. I +called it friendship instead of love,” cried Clara, +warmly.</p> +<p>“What difference does it make what you call it? +Two people like to be together, seem to fit into one another’s +lives, isn’t that love?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>Clara smiled. “It’s not the kind of love that Polly +Street will give the man she marries,” she said. “You +know that as well as I. And it’s not a matter of years, +it’s temperament. An actress told me once that when +it came to a question of comparison between her married +life and her stage life, she could say instantly that +it was her stage life that had meant the most to her. +She was happily married, too. I’m a bit like her. I +can get more downright exaltation over my music when +it goes right than I ever got out of any love affair. I +think my talent is for friendship rather than for love.”</p> +<p>“Clara,” Hard’s voice shook, “I tell you, you wrong +yourself. Neither you nor that woman were happily +married if—oh, I don’t want to be maudlin——”</p> +<p>“Bless your heart, Henry, you couldn’t be, any more +than I could. Perhaps it’s the New England conscience——”</p> +<p>“I haven’t a New England conscience,” replied +Hard. “My conscience is as elastic and pleasantly +disposed as an Irishman’s. Bunker Hill casts no blight +upon me.”</p> +<p>“Henry, this is all very nice; but I’m dying of +hunger.”</p> +<p>“Will you be afraid to stay here if I go back to +Casa Grande and fetch you something?”</p> +<p>“Wild horses couldn’t hold me in this God-forsaken +spot without you, Henry! Don’t think of it. I—I’ll +go with you, though.”</p> +<p>“You can’t walk it.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll die on the road. But how about your +knee?” She stopped in discouragement. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></p> +<p>“What’s a knee or two when you’re starving to +death?” demanded Hard, with decision. “Come on, +let’s start before I get any stiffer.”</p> +<p>They started out again, through the half darkness; +walking slowly, for Hard limped painfully. He had +helped himself to a stout staff which he found on the +Soria veranda and which gave him some assistance. +They were very silent; Hard, because his mind was +still running on Clara’s words, Clara, because she was +honestly puzzled over the situation, and her own feelings.</p> +<p>She watched the tall, thin figure, limping along by +her side, and again the old memories came back, as they +had the night before in the darkness; memories of the +days when he and she had played at love.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t in love with him, and yet, seeing him +again, after all these years, it seems as though I must +have been,” she thought, gently. “It’s friendship, and +yet it’s more than friendship. It’s going to hurt dreadfully +to go away again.”</p> +<p>“Clara, one more word before we drop the subject; +because I will drop it if it troubles you.” Hard’s voice +came quietly through the darkness. “Don’t let us mistake +each other again. I’ve tortured myself for fifteen +years, wondering whether I should have let you go as +I did, or have tried to hold you. Do you think, with +fifteen years behind us, that we made a mistake?”</p> +<p>Clara’s voice trembled as she answered: “No, +Henry, I don’t. We were too young to understand +each other. We needed experience—at least, I did. I +don’t know,” she added, with a shadow of a laugh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +“whether it’s the romantic situation, my enfeebled condition, +or your noble heroism, but I never felt more +like being in love with you than I do this minute.”</p> +<p>“Honestly, Clara?”</p> +<p>“Honestly, Henry. If you give out on the road I +shall try to emulate that husky woman in history who +carried her husband on her back, do you remember?” +Then, suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “Henry, +you’ve been awfully patient with me. If you really +want to embark on the seas of matrimony with such a +shaky thing as I am——”</p> +<p>“Clara, I never thought it would come about like +this or I would have smashed this cussed knee ages +ago! My dearest girl, my face is dirty and yours is +dirtier, but I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll take +another whack at hobbling to Casa Grande.”</p> +<p>The ranch-house stood dark and uninviting except +for the dim light of the fire which shone through the +broken windows of the living-room, but the sound of +the piano came to their ears as they neared it.</p> +<p>“He’s composing,” said Clara, softly.</p> +<p>“Yes, he would be,” said Hard, unsympathetically. +“They always do work it off that way, don’t they?”</p> +<p>“Work what off?” demanded Clara, instantly.</p> +<p>“Anything that happens to them,” said Hard, cheerfully. +“You artistic fellows are queer, you know, +Clara. Don’t try to wriggle out of it.”</p> +<p>“I shan’t,” replied Clara, promptly. “But let me +warn you, my lad, you haven’t made me want to give up +my music yet. I’m still going back to have a try at it.”</p> +<p>“Bully for you! Of course you are. And I’m going +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +with you, either to help you do it, or to make you +fall in love with me so deeply that you’ll want to give +it up.”</p> +<p>Clara laughed softly and laid her hand on his arm. +“Henry, if you can do that, I’ll be the happiest woman +in the world. Please try!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_BACK_TO_ATHENS' id='XVIII_BACK_TO_ATHENS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>BACK TO ATHENS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Mendoza and Tom walked toward the Casa Grande +ranch-house with fearful hearts.</p> +<p>“Dark as a pocket,” commented Tom. “You set +down here, Mendoza, while I go around in back.” +From the side, a faint light was visible from the dining-room +of the house. “Hullo, what have we here?” +ejaculated the engineer. At the same time, he saw a +man’s figure coming toward him; a very familiar figure. +“Hard!” he gasped, darting forward and knocking the +load of firewood from Hard’s arms with the fervency +of his greeting.</p> +<p>“Hullo, Tom!” Hard returned the handshake quite +as heartily. “Glad to see you. We were beginning +to think we were marooned on this place.”</p> +<p>“We?” Tom’s face lit up. “You’re all right? All +of you? Didn’t none of you get killed by them +Yaquis?”</p> +<p>“Why, didn’t Scott tell you?” demanded Hard, with +sudden anxiety.</p> +<p>“I ain’t seen Scott sence you all went off together,” +said Tom, puzzled.</p> +<p>“Hold on! Do you mean to say that they haven’t +shown up yet? Scott and the girl?”</p> +<p>“Well, I left Athens yestiddy morning. You see, I +walked to Conejo and picked up Mendoza and his car.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“You walked to Conejo!” Hard’s voice was +awed.</p> +<p>“’Twa’n’t much. I took my time. You see, the +Chink brought us word that there was something going +on over here. He seen the barn burning when he was +up on the mesa, and he didn’t know what was up. +He pretty nigh killed Cochise, so I had to walk. I +knew there was no use coming here with no horses, so +I went to Conejo. They’ve got martial law there. +The Colonel’s a nice young feller, if he is a greaser, +and he loaned me Mendoza and the Ford. Now what +happened here, anyhow?”</p> +<p>Hard gave a brief outline of their adventures.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Conrad,” he said, “is an old friend of Herrick’s +and mine, who’s had to leave her plantation in +the South, and is on her way home. She is going East +with Miss Street. She and I tried camping out at +Soria’s last night after Gonzales left us, but we got +starved out and we tramped it back here, waiting for +someone to come after us. I’m lame as I can be.”</p> +<p>Clara’s face lit up when she saw the three men +enter, and she shook hands cordially with Johnson and +the old Mexican. Then an anxious look came into +her eyes. Hard, seeing it, spoke quickly.</p> +<p>“Johnson left Athens yesterday before Scott and +Polly got there,” he said, reassuringly. “He walked +to Conejo.”</p> +<p>“Walked to Conejo!”</p> +<p>“You see, Tom, Mrs. Conrad and I walked here +from Soria’s and we’ve both been crippled ever since. +A walk to Conejo fills us with excited admiration.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>Tom chuckled. “Well, I always could walk,” he +replied. “Never done anything particular with the +other end of me, but I could always depend on my +feet. Say, folks, Mendoza’s got his car outside. How +about a quick bite and then beating it for Athens?”</p> +<p>Clara turned eagerly to Herrick.</p> +<p>“You’ll come, won’t you, Victor? I hate to think of +your being here alone when everything is so upset.”</p> +<p>Herrick smiled and patted her hand affectionately.</p> +<p>“You will give me no peace until I do, so I will go,” +he said.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>It was a sober little crowd that sat around the dining-room +table at Athens that night. Though their +joy had been very great at the safe coming of Hard +and Clara in Mendoza’s car, it had been tinged with +gloom at the non-arrival of Scott and Polly. Jimmy +Adams was reported much improved.</p> +<p>“That Chinaman doesn’t cook any more,” confided +Mrs. Van to Clara. “He’s had a rise in life and he +just sits and meditates. Awful people to meditate—the +Chinese. What they find to think about I can’t see, +but it seems to make ’em happy.”</p> +<p>Clara’s mind, however, was upon the absent. “I +can’t see what could have happened to them. They +didn’t fall in with Angel Gonzales, that we know,” she +said. “I’m dreadfully worried about them.”</p> +<p>“Hello!” It was O’Grady’s voice. “Here comes +horses down the road—two of them. I believe it’s our +folks.” And he bolted out into the moonlight, followed +by the others. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p> +<p>It was, and a more exhausted and bedraggled couple +it would have been hard to find.</p> +<p>“Look like a pair of forty-niners,” said O’Grady, +“on the last lap of the trip.”</p> +<p>Scott rolled out of the saddle while Hard lifted Polly +to her feet.</p> +<p>“Coffee!” whispered the girl. “Is it really coffee +that I smell?”</p> +<p>“Gracious, I believe they’re starving,” gasped Mrs. +Van, running into the house.</p> +<p>“All we’ve had to-day is a cake of chocolate and +some lumps of sugar,” said Scott, briefly. “Look +after the horses, O’Grady, will you? They’ve had it +pretty rough, too.”</p> +<p>He was lame and sore from his fall of the day before, +and tired and hungry from the day’s discomforts, +but he managed to say enough to give them an idea +of what had happened.</p> +<p>“After I climbed out of the arroyo,” he said, “I +didn’t know which way to go. If those fellows had +got Polly I wanted to go after them; if they hadn’t—well, +I didn’t dare take the chance that they hadn’t. I +was pelting down the trail like a madman when I +heard her voice calling me from up the trail.</p> +<p>“We got on the horses and began climbing again, +pretty well pleased with our luck, but the horses were +all in. They’d been at it since early morning, climbing +most of the time, and I saw that they weren’t going +to make it. So I picked a good-looking spot near +the head of the stream that we’d been following, and +we camped there for the night, ate the rest of our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +sandwiches, and rolled up in our blankets. It wasn’t +very comfortable but it was a case of needs must.</p> +<p>“In the morning I set out to find the trail again. It +had pretty well disappeared—choked up by the brush. +We fought our way through it all morning and finally +lost it; struck out higher up on the mountain and came +out on the barren side near the top. That’s all, except +that we’ve been going since five this morning on nothing +but a cake of chocolate that Polly found in her coat +pocket and a few lumps of sugar.”</p> +<p>“If I were going back to Chicago to live I believe +I’d start soup kitchens for hungry people,” declared +Polly, suddenly. “It’s the worst thing in the world—being +hungry.”</p> +<p>“If you was——” Mrs. Van Zandt started suddenly +and stopped equally so. Polly blushed. Scott +came to the rescue.</p> +<p>“We may as well tell ’em while we’re telling +our other troubles,” he suggested, and Polly told +them.</p> +<p>“I’m going home because he won’t marry me unless +Father consents,” she said, “and he doesn’t seem to +think a consent by wire is legal. But I’m coming +back.”</p> +<p>“Well, I wish you good luck, I’m sure.” Mrs. Van +Zandt leaned over and kissed Polly impulsively. +“He’ll browbeat you a bit but he’ll stick by you. +Guess I’ll make some more coffee,” and she bounced +into the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Gracious! Would you call that a congratulation?” +gasped Polly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></p> +<p>“Here’s a bona-fide one, my dear,” said Clara, +gently. “I am sure you’ll be happy.”</p> +<p>The others laughed and joked while Clara and Hard +kept their secret to themselves. Scott followed Mrs. +Van Zandt into the kitchen with some empty cups and +their voices could be heard talking earnestly.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the latter, as she returned, “I’ll say +I think Mr. Scott’s idea a good one.” By a psychological +process quite her own and quite unconsciously +followed, Mrs. Van had promoted Scott to the dignity +of the prefix upon hearing that he was engaged to the +superintendent’s sister. “He’s hired Mendoza and that +junk-pile of his to take you all to the border so’s you +can get a train East without traveling on the Mexican +railroads.”</p> +<p>“It’s like this,” Scott explained. “Tom says they +told him at Conejo that the revolutionary government +had taken over all the railroads, both Mexican and +American, and is operating them. Now, we might +make the trip all right—they say lots of refugees are +coming North; but what’s the use? I’ll run over to +Conejo and get them to let us keep Mendoza for a +few days and perhaps we can get some sort of a safe +conduct for the road from that military guy over there.</p> +<p>“I’d rather have old Villa’s safe conduct than any +of the rest of them; I think it cuts more ice with the +population at large. But perhaps this chap can do +something for us. We’ll try to hit the border at Chula +Vista—the roads that way are pretty fair. Now, +Hard, suppose you and I take a turn down the road +and have a look at Jimmy before he goes to sleep.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>“Scotty,” they were outside and Hard spoke frankly, +“I didn’t want to speak of it before the others, but +Mrs. Conrad and I have made up our minds to undo +an old mistake. We’ve going to try life together instead +of apart.”</p> +<p>“I hoped you would, Hard. She’s a fine woman.”</p> +<p>“When I say an old mistake, don’t misunderstand +me,” continued Hard, soberly. “She and Dick Conrad +were happy together. She loved him when she +married him—and she didn’t love me. The mistake +was mine, in not making her love me when I had the +chance. I’ve got the chance again and I’m going to +make good this time.”</p> +<p>“You’re very lucky, Hard. Most fellows don’t get +a second chance—with the same woman. Will she +come back here with you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. We’re going to be married in +Chula Vista and she’s going home just as she had +planned. I can’t go, of course, but as soon as Street +comes back I’ll either go to her or she’ll come to me. +She hasn’t given up her music and I don’t want her +to. It’s all rather hazy, Scott. I only know that I let +her get away from me once, and, selfish brute that I +am, I’m going to tie her to me now while she’s in the +humor.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_POLLY_MAKES_A_NEW_ACQUAINTANCE' id='XIX_POLLY_MAKES_A_NEW_ACQUAINTANCE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>POLLY MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Not far from the Mexican border lies the town of +Chula Vista, New Mexico. It is a small town, does +not even boast of a railroad connection nearer than +twenty-five or thirty miles, being, like Conejo, on a bi-weekly +spur; but it is a town of reputation and a not +altogether blameable civic pride.</p> +<p>It has borne its part in the border warfare with +credit. It has slaughtered and been slaughtered, one +might say, and rather enjoyed both proceedings. +When, some years ago, a Mexican bandit raided Chula +Vista and carried off a young woman, the citizens of +the town organized an expedition, followed him across +the line, and recovered the lady, none the worse for +her experience; which proves not only that Chula Vista +is a wide-awake town, but that some bandits are not +as black as they are painted.</p> +<p>Chula Vista, on the afternoon when our party entered +it, duly chaperoned by the aged Mendoza, presented +an everyday appearance. The Chula Vista +Trading Company was doing its usual business, and, +as this was before the days of prohibition, several saloons +were doing what they could to relieve a universal +thirst. An ambitious building of brick, the new +schoolhouse, witnessed the fact that culture was believed +in, even pursued. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<p>The other buildings were less imposing. There was +the butcher’s place, a small adobe with a fenced-in +yard. As Mendoza’s car drove past it, the butcher, +with sanguinary intentions, was occupied in driving a +wise and reluctant young steer around the yard. A +little further along was the Roman Catholic Church—a +Penitentes church, by the way, and the little house +of Father Silva, who officiated. Further still was a +long low building which had once been a livery stable, +but which had been altered to meet the needs of a moving +picture theatre, and the Commonwealth House, +kept by Sam Penhallow, who varied the monotony of +hotel keeping by exercising the duties of sheriff of the +county. He it was who had crossed the line after the +kidnapped young lady. The newspapers had featured +him as a Texas Ranger, which he was not and never +had been, but that was rather a near thing for a newspaper.</p> +<p>Penhallow was a tall, thin, brown-skinned man, who +wore checked suits and who had the long drooping +mustache which fiction assigns to the calling of a +sheriff. Whether fiction is right in this particular, or +whether Sam wore the mustache to conform with the +best standards, is not important. He was sitting in a +tilted chair, on the narrow strip of flooring which +served the hotel as a veranda when Mendoza and his +party wheezed into view.</p> +<p>Penhallow’s conventional welcome expanded into +real warmth when he recognized Scott, who was well +known in Chula Vista.</p> +<p>“Hullo,” he said, his hand outstretched. “If it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +ain’t Marc Scott! Drive you out down there, did +they? Well, Mendoza—blamed if I didn’t think you +was dead long ago! No, I don’t guess I know +the ladies or your other friend, but any friend of +Scott’s has got the keys of the city all right.” He +turned and called into the house: “Mabel, come out +here!”</p> +<p>“One of these ladies, Miss Street, is on her way to +Chicago,” said Scott. Polly, restored to good looks by +a few days rest and her prettiest lace blouse, beamed +on Mr. Penhallow with the usual result. “Mrs. Conrad,” +continued Scott, “is a friend of ours and is going +back with the young lady. No, we weren’t driven +out but things are rather bad down yonder.”</p> +<p>“Well, you ladies sure have courage, travelin’ round +at this time,” said the admiring Penhallow. A tall +pretty girl appeared in the doorway and was introduced +as “my daughter, Mabel, who runs the ranch. +Mabel, show these ladies the best rooms we’ve got. +Give ’em the bridal soot if you can find it.”</p> +<p>Hard, suitcases in hand, followed the women into +the hotel, while Mendoza steamed away to a haunt of +his own. Scott sank into an armchair and settled +himself for a talk with Penhallow.</p> +<p>“That young Street’s sister?” demanded the latter.</p> +<p>Scott nodded.</p> +<p>“I heard Bob Street had married a Douglas girl?”</p> +<p>“He did.” Scott explained the situation in regard +to Polly. “Her people are anxious about her and wrote +her to come back at once, so we’re carrying out instructions. +The other folks——” Scott paused and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +surveyed the sheriff with an eye that twinkled. “Are +you good at keeping secrets, Sam?” he said.</p> +<p>“Well, I have kept ’em,” replied Sam, modestly.</p> +<p>“Well, the lady is a widow, runs a ranch down +South, and the tall chap is our chief engineer, a Boston +man. They’re up here to get spliced before she +goes East.”</p> +<p>“So! Well, no reason why they shouldn’t, I +s’pose?”</p> +<p>“None that I know of.”</p> +<p>“I kind of had a hunch ’twas her and you when +you got out of the car, Marc.”</p> +<p>“Me!”</p> +<p>“Yes. You needn’t blush. You ain’t too old to +think of settlin’ down if you pick a woman that ain’t +too young and giddy for you.”</p> +<p>“I’m not asking your advice on matrimony, you old +fool, I’m asking if you’ve got anybody in this one-horse +place who can marry folks legally,” said Marc, touchily.</p> +<p>“The judge could, I guess, but in a case like this +there’d be more tone to it if you had the Padre. We +haven’t got any Protestant fellow here just now,” replied +Penhallow, meditatively.</p> +<p>“The Padre’s the boy. I’ll go over and interview +him now.”</p> +<p>“You can’t. He’s to a christening at some Mexican’s +up the creek. Won’t be home till late.”</p> +<p>“Well, morning’s as good a time as any, I reckon, +for a wedding,” said Scott, philosophically. “We’ve +got to stay over anyhow, to see the women off. Tomorrow’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +your train day, ain’t it? Or have you +changed your schedule?”</p> +<p>“No, we haven’t changed it,” replied Penhallow. +“Only we don’t run on it much. We will to-morrow, +though, because I’m sending a lot of hogs +over.”</p> +<p>“That’s good. Say, what do they think up here of +the revolution?”</p> +<p>“Which one?” with a chuckle.</p> +<p>“The new one. Looks like the real thing down +yonder.”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, we were looking for trouble before +the elections. We never expected the old man to keep +his hands off the ballot box and everyone knows the +man he put up—Bonillas—has got no show. It’ll be +Obregon, I s’pose?”</p> +<p>“It’s hard to say. I was in Conejo a couple of days +ago and they said Sinaloa had followed Sonora and a +good many of the other states would fall in line in a +few days. Obregon’s broken away from Mexico City—guess +you heard that—and they’re talking of De la +Huerta for provisional president.”</p> +<p>“Know him? De la Huerta?”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen him. He’s a young chap—some folks +think he’s a radical—I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Had any trouble at your place?”</p> +<p>Scott narrated the proceedings of Juan Pachuca at +some length and with some heat. “A military guy +over in Conejo told me that he’d had orders to clean +up the state, so when Tom wised him up to the fact +that Pachuca and Angel Gonzales were doping it up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +to meet somewhere around Pachuca’s place, he sent a +troop of men down there, cut Angel off and smashed +up the whole business.”</p> +<p>“Get their men?”</p> +<p>“Got Angel, but Pachuca slid out.”</p> +<p>“They let him probably.”</p> +<p>“Maybe so.”</p> +<p>“Framed it up for him so’s not to hurt the feelings +of any of his high-toned friends.”</p> +<p>“Shouldn’t wonder. What time do you eat around +here, Sam?”</p> +<p>“How’ll six suit you?”</p> +<p>“Suits me fine. I’ll go and break it to Hard that +he can’t get married till morning. I suppose this +Spanish chap won’t object to marryin’ a couple of +Presbyterians? That’s what they say they are.”</p> +<p>“Gosh, no, the Padre’s a regular fellow,” replied +Penhallow, easily. “You give him his fee and he +ain’t going to raise no rows.”</p> +<p>The dining-room of Sam Penhallow’s hotel was a +fair-sized room with one long dinner table and three +small round ones. These latter were a concession to +the habits of certain citizens who brought their sweethearts +on the nights that Sam served chicken suppers +and who were partial to parties carrés. It was to one +of these small tables that Scott led his party. Altogether, +thanks to the efforts of Mabel and her influence +upon a certain invisible person whose identity changed +often but who was always to be identified as the +“help,” things were much better at the Commonwealth +than one had a right to expect in a town the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +size of Chula Vista. Compared to Conejo, it was like +entering into the promised land.</p> +<p>Mabel, herself, waited at table, and in the just +opinion of most of the boarders, added fifty per cent, +to the pleasure of the occasion. On this particular +night the room was full and she had the assistance of +a smiling young Mexican girl who waited on a company +of her compatriots who sat at the farthest of the +small tables. They had just ridden in—their horses +could be seen outside at the rail. The back of the +head of one of these gentlemen interested Polly immensely. +There was something about it which reminded +her strongly of Juan Pachuca.</p> +<p>“Do those Mexicans live in Chula Vista?” she +asked Mabel, under cover of a laugh at one of Hard’s +stories.</p> +<p>“No, they’re strangers,” replied the girl. “I think +they come from a ranch out of town.”</p> +<p>Of course it couldn’t be Pachuca! He was in hiding +somewhere down yonder, and yet—the party was +on her mind and she noticed it as it broke up and the +men passed out of the dining-room. She caught a +side view of the suspected one—it was Pachuca, without +a doubt. Whether he saw her or not she could +not say but if he did he avoided showing it.</p> +<p>The girl’s first inclination was to call Scott’s attention +to the Mexican; then she hesitated—it would mean +trouble. There would be fighting and someone would +be hurt. Scott’s back was toward them and he talked +along quite innocent of the presence of Pachuca. +While she hesitated the moment passed, the Mexicans +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +were out of the room and she saw them mount their +horses and ride off. Scott and Hard were still deep +in argument. Whether Clara saw or not Polly could +not tell.</p> +<p>“Marc,” Polly stopped beside him as they left the +dining-room, “I’ve a nasty little headache—shall you +mind if I go to bed?”</p> +<p>Scott, a bit surprised, replied in the negative and +Polly went on, her hand on his arm coaxingly:</p> +<p>“Did you find out that the train goes to-morrow?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Do I have to go on it?”</p> +<p>“There’s no other way that I know of for you to +go home.”</p> +<p>“You won’t come with me?”</p> +<p>“I can’t leave the property when your brother’s +away; you know that.”</p> +<p>“Well, I suppose you can’t. It’s very trying, isn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“It’s not what I’d like.” Scott, in spite of himself, +smiled down into the serious eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, if I were as big as you and didn’t like a +thing, I’d change it, that’s all. Good-night.” She ran +up the stairs.</p> +<p>Scott shrugged his shoulders and strode into the +office of the hotel; the Commonwealth boasted no parlor—guests +sat in the office or went to bed. Clara and +Hard stood near the desk talking to Penhallow. Scott +lit a cigarette and went outside. The narrow strip +of veranda was vacant. He walked moodily up and +down. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>Of course, if she had a headache—but it seemed +queer to leave a fellow so early on their last evening +together for no one knew how long. Perhaps she +wouldn’t come back after all and he would wish that +he hadn’t given the old life a chance to call her and +keep her. Then he thought of the parents—never having +had any of his own as far as memory went, Scott +felt their claims strongly. He wanted the girl; wanted +her so badly that his whole being ached to take advantage +of her youth and impulsiveness; to make the +wedding in the morning a double one.</p> +<p>But Scott had not lived a hard life without learning +to do without a thing if he chose to do without it; the +thing might be a drink, it might be a horse, it might be +a woman. Still, Polly might have stayed down and +walked with him a while in the moonlight—it wasn’t +much to ask. Hard and Clara had come out, the +latter muffled in her long cloak, and were walking +down Chula Vista’s main artery toward the Padre’s +church. With a muttered exclamation, Scott dug his +hands into his pockets and went inside.</p> +<p>“I suppose I can sit in the office and gab with +Sam,” he growled, but Sam had disappeared. Scott +picked up a newspaper and lit another cigarette. Suddenly, +the door opened and Clara, visibly excited, appeared, +followed by Hard.</p> +<p>“Mr. Scott, what do you think? We’ve just seen +Juan Pachuca,” declared Clara.</p> +<p>“Sure enough? I suppose he could slide over the +border if he wanted to. Where’d you see him?”</p> +<p>“He was one of those three Mexicans who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +dinner at that other small table—so Clara says,” replied +Hard.</p> +<p>“Your back was toward them,” went on Clara. +“Henry’s never seen him, so of course he wouldn’t +notice. I thought at the time that the man looked like +Pachuca but I didn’t get a good view of him. We +were going past that little saloon down near the church +and they came out and rode off. He pretended not to +see us.”</p> +<p>“Where’d they go?” demanded Scott, with the dryness +in his tone which always appeared when Pachuca +was mentioned.</p> +<p>“Out of town—past the church. I’m going up to +tell Polly what she’s missed,” said Clara, as she ran up +the narrow little stairway. “Girls have changed—not +a doubt about it,” she thought, whimsically. “Fancy +spending the last evening they have together moping +upstairs with a headache! Wonder if anything’s +gone wrong?”</p> +<p>A few moments later she was back in the office with +the two men.</p> +<p>“I can’t find Polly,” she said, in alarm. “I’ve been +to my room and to hers and she isn’t in either. Her +hat and coat are gone, too.”</p> +<p>Scott came out of his chair with a bound. “I knew +that devil was here for no good,” he said, starting for +the door.</p> +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Marc Scott!” Clara’s voice was +sharp and angry. “We saw Pachuca and those two +men go off on horseback. He hasn’t carried off +Polly!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></p> +<p>“I didn’t say he’d carried her off,” said Scott, doggedly. +“She sat where she could see him at dinner. +You saw him—so did she—and he saw her. This riding +off is a blind——”</p> +<p>“You’re going to be terribly ashamed of yourself +for what you’re saying. I know that girl. She +wouldn’t do a thing like that any more than I would. +I’m going to see Mabel Penhallow and find out what +she knows about it,” said Clara, angrily.</p> +<p>“I’m going to find that boy and choke the life out +of him. Get out of my way, Hard.”</p> +<p>“Look here, Scotty, that’s not the way to handle +this affair,” remonstrated Hard, barring Scott’s +progress toward the door and speaking with a warmth +unusual to him. “Let’s get hold of Penhallow and +tell him that Pachuca’s over on this side——”</p> +<p>“I don’t need a sheriff to handle my affairs.”</p> +<p>“This isn’t your affair, it’s the Government’s. If +this chap’s got the nerve to think he can come over +here after the way he’s acted with American property +it’s up to the Government to put him right.”</p> +<p>“I can’t find Mabel.” Clara had returned, her face +worried. “The Mexican girl said she saw an automobile +go by a quarter of an hour ago and that Polly +was in it. A Mexican was driving and she thought +there was another man in the car. Marc, he has kidnapped +her!”</p> +<p>But Scott had burst out of the room, followed by +Hard. Clara, pale and frightened, watched them from +the window. Scott’s blood was boiling. At first, stung +with a sense of injury at Polly’s treatment of him, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +had leaped to the jealous conclusion that she had seen +and communicated with Pachuca. Scott was not a +model lover. He was not of the type which believes +always until convinced by proof. He was a hot-blooded, +jealous, none too good tempered man, who +lost his head very easily when he believed himself ill-treated. +Now that he was beginning to realize that +the affair might have a different complexion—that the +girl had perhaps been overpowered and carried off—he +was furious in another way, this time against Pachuca +and against himself.</p> +<p>Mendoza had left his car outside his favorite saloon +but the car was gone and so was Mendoza.</p> +<p>“I thought I could trust that old greaser but I guess +I was wrong,” groaned Scott. “We’ll get horses from +the stable, Hard, and perhaps they’ll know something +about it there.”</p> +<p>Investigation revealed the fact that Mendoza had +succeeded in getting his car out of town without attracting +the attention of anyone but his dish-washing +compatriot. When it leaked out that there was a kidnapping +involved, the chivalrous instincts of Chula +Vista were aroused. Horses were eagerly offered and +a posse was to be formed as soon as Sam Penhallow +could be located. Unfortunately, the only machine in +town, owned by the sheriff, had been loaned that morning +to Ed Merriam who had driven it over to the railroad +junction. In an incredibly short time, Scott and +Hard were clattering down the road which the three +Mexicans had taken half an hour before.</p> +<p>“It’s useless, of course,” grunted Scott “They’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +meet the car and shake the horses before we can get to +them; but, by God, Hard, I’ll get that boy if I have to +comb New Mexico for him.”</p> +<p>Hard was trying to be optimistic, but on a strange +horse and with a lame knee, optimism came with difficulty. +“I may be wrong, Scott,” he said, between +jolts; “but Pachuca doesn’t seem to me to be just that +kind of a scamp. He’d elope with your wife in a +second if she gave him an opportunity, but I can’t +seem to see him carrying off your sweetheart against +her will. There is such a thing as type, you know.”</p> +<p>“In Boston, maybe. Out here a man’s decent or he +ain’t,” growled the other.</p> +<p>Hard relapsed into reflection. The road they were +traveling forked at about a mile out of town. Ahead +of them, it continued on the flat; to their left it became +narrower and wound toward the foothills, remaining, +however, a road possible for a car or a wagon.</p> +<p>“Which?” queried Hard, looking ahead as the fork +became visible.</p> +<p>“The left,” replied Scott. “They’ll hit out for +the hills. The other road goes along the railroad +tracks.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so,” muttered Hard. “I think they’ll +stick to a good road.” But Scott had spurred his +horse. Hard followed him a moment in silence, then +he called: “Scott, I hear a machine! By Jove, I see +it—it’s coming toward us, down the main road.”</p> +<p>Scott pulled up his horse. They peered into the +dusk ahead of them. The car was coming toward +them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p> +<p>“You brought a gun, I suppose?” he asked.</p> +<p>Hard nodded. “What do we do?”</p> +<p>“Hold ’em up.” They pulled their horses down to +a walk. “No headlights,” observed Scott. “We’ll +keep this side of that little rise. If they haven’t seen +us, they won’t see us till they’re on us.”</p> +<p>“We don’t shoot, I trust, until we know who they +are,” suggested Hard, mildly. “It strikes me they’re +going the wrong way for our men.”</p> +<p>“They may be going to turn at the fork. If it’s +not them, it’s someone who can tell us if the Mexicans +have gone this way.”</p> +<p>The car, a small one, pulled up the hill and started +down toward Chula Vista. Scott rode into the middle +of the road.</p> +<p>“Stop!” he called, authoritatively. The car +stopped. It was driven by a fat man who was its only +occupant.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you fools?” he demanded, +angrily. “Don’t you know this here’s the sheriff’s +car?”</p> +<p>Scott lowered his gun. “That so?” he said. +“Then I suppose you’ll be Ed Merriam?”</p> +<p>“What business of yours is it?” replied Merriam, +disgustedly, though apparently relieved at the removal +of the weapon. Hard rode up quickly.</p> +<p>“Nothing, only we’re out after a bunch of Mexicans +who have kidnapped a young lady,” he explained. +“We thought we had them.”</p> +<p>“See anything of a Ford car up the road?” demanded +Scott. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>“No. Say, who——”</p> +<p>“Or any Mexicans on horseback?”</p> +<p>“No. But——”</p> +<p>Scott turned to Hard. “I told you they’d taken the +other road.”</p> +<p>“Look here,” demanded the fat man, excitedly. +“Is this an honest-to-gosh kidnapping? I say, it ain’t +Mabel Penhallow?”</p> +<p>“No, it ain’t,” grunted Scott. “Will you loan us +that car for a couple of hours?”</p> +<p>“You bet—pile in. Say, you boys give me an awful +start. I’m going to marry that girl.” Merriam wiped +his brow in relief.</p> +<p>“And I’m going to marry the girl those brutes have +carried off,” replied Scott, dismounting and turning his +horse loose. Hard followed his example.</p> +<p>“Well, why didn’t you say so at first?” demanded +Merriam, as they got into the car. “Man’s a gabby +animal, ain’t he? Which way’d they go?”</p> +<p>“Up in the hills, we think,” replied Hard.</p> +<p>“It ain’t much of a road,” said the driver, doubtfully. +“Still, if they can make it with one car we can +with another, I reckon. Goes up Wildcat Canyon after +a bit; nobody living up there since that old Mexican +died. Say, d’you suppose they’d take her up to that +old cabin? Gosh, we’d better hit it up!”</p> +<p>There was silence in the rear of the car. The two +men saw in imagination the helpless girl and the tiny +remote cabin. Scott leaned forward, devouring the +road with despairing eyes. Hard sat beside him, quiet +except when he answered Merriam’s questions, sparing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +Scott, whose impatience and irritation made speech unendurable.</p> +<p>The new road led directly into the foothills. It was +narrow and very rough. The travelers were shaken +about like marbles in a boy’s pocket. Wildcat Canyon, +into which the road ran, was of a real loneliness—a +loneliness that penetrated one’s consciousness like an +odor or a sound. On either side the foothills rose, +dark and forbidding; to the left of the road a deep +arroyo ran; on the other, the slope of the hill rose +gradually to the sky line. Ahead, the hills seemed to +come together as the road became narrower and wound +in and out, becoming finally a trail. There was no +trace of habitation to be seen, though here and there +a few range cattle wandered.</p> +<p>“Cabin’s about two miles up the canyon,” volunteered +Merriam. “Can’t see it from here, the road +winds too much.”</p> +<p>Scott interrupted him suddenly. “There they are!” +he cried, pointing up the road. Three horsemen were +riding rapidly in the same direction with the car.</p> +<p>“She’s not with them, Scott,” Hard said, thankfully.</p> +<p>Scott did not answer. In his mind, he still saw the +auto with the girl in it, going toward the cabin up the +canyon. Well, at all events, Juan Pachuca would not +reach that cabin alive! Merriam threw the car into +its full speed.</p> +<p>“They’ve piped us—see ’em cross the arroyo,” he +said. It was true. The three riders had plunged into +the depths of the arroyo and were out on the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +side. They did not seem to be running away, but kept +to the rapid trot which they had been riding.</p> +<p>“Don’t know who we are and aiming to give us the +idea that they’re out for a little moonlight ride,” remarked +Merriam. “This car can go, can’t she? +Sam’d sure be sore if he knew I was runnin’ her +like this. Why don’t we beat it up to the cabin +and get the girl and let them mosey along by themselves?”</p> +<p>“Because we don’t know that’s where they’ve taken +her,” said Scott, angrily. He concluded that Merriam +had guessed right. Pachuca had no particular reason +to believe that the car held his enemies, or even that +Scott and Hard knew him guilty of Polly’s disappearance. +They would safeguard themselves by riding +on the other side of the arroyo but they evidently did +not intend to be scared out of their road to any further +extent.</p> +<p>The car was rapidly catching up with the riders and +soon things must come to a showdown. Scott fingered +his gun lovingly.</p> +<p>“Hey, you guys, where you heading for?” demanded +Merriam, loudly, as the car came almost +abreast of the three. They turned as the machine +slowed down to their pace. Before they could answer, +Scott was out of the car and had them covered.</p> +<p>“Pachuca, it’s no use—we’ve got you,” he called. +“Hands up!”</p> +<p>The two Mexicans who evidently understood little +English, though the magic words, “hands up,” probably +penetrated their darkness, glanced at Pachuca for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +orders. The latter turned his horse and rode to the +edge of the arroyo. He was his usual jaunty self, a +little travel worn, but not dulled.</p> +<p>“Señor Scott?” he asked, peering through the dusk. +“What do you want?”</p> +<p>Scott paused for a moment, daunted by the other’s +impudence.</p> +<p>“We want you, Pachuca,” said Hard, peremptorily. +“Come quietly and don’t force us to use our guns—we +don’t want to.”</p> +<p>Pachuca slid gracefully from his horse and took a +few steps nearer the edge. “What’s the trouble?” he +demanded. “I won’t come over till I know what you +want. We’ve got our guns, too.”</p> +<p>“He’s a cool one!” murmured Merriam, admiringly. +While Pachuca had drawn the attention of the Americans +by his sudden move in their direction, his two +friends had ridden up behind him and stood with their +guns ready for action. It looked like a deadlock. +Scott dropped his gun to his side.</p> +<p>“All right, put up your guns,” he said, his voice +dangerously calm. “We’ll talk it over.”</p> +<p>The Mexicans got the idea if not the words and +lowered their weapons.</p> +<p>“You know what I want you for,” Scott went on, +angrily. “Where is she?”</p> +<p>“She?” Pachuca’s assumption of ignorance was +masterly. It almost convinced Hard. “Who do you +mean?”</p> +<p>“I mean Miss Street. You’ve kidnapped her or else +your friends in Mendoza’s car have and you’re on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +your way to join them. We want to know where. +Come, you can’t get away with it.”</p> +<p>“I’ve not seen the girl since that night at Athens—yes, +I saw her to-night for a moment but I did not +speak to her. I am here on business of my own with +these gentlemen. If you have an officer of the law +with you I’ll show him my papers. If you haven’t, +I’ll go on. If you shoot, we’ll shoot.”</p> +<p>“Anyone would think he had papers,” murmured +Hard to Merriam.</p> +<p>“Well, mebbe he has. They ain’t so hard to get. +What I want to know is how are we going to get him +into the car?”</p> +<p>Scott tried to swallow his desire to choke the slim +youth on the other side. “Come, Pachuca,” he said, +“this won’t get you anywhere. Either tell us where +the girl is and go your way, or come over here and +fight it out.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know where she is. As for fighting—well, +if I kill you what do I get out of it? Also, you +might quite possibly kill me.”</p> +<p>“If I only knew she was in the cabin, he could go +and welcome,” was rushing through Scott’s brain. +“But I don’t and I mustn’t let him get away.”</p> +<p>Suddenly, a sound broke upon their ears—the sound +of an automobile. It was coming down the canyon +and coming fast. Merriam seized his horn.</p> +<p>“We can’t have ’em coming down on us in this +narrow place!” he cried, honking furiously. The +other car answered. The Mexicans turned at the +sound and Pachuca, casting a hurried glance at them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +over his shoulder, reached for his bridle. Scott raised +his gun instantly.</p> +<p>“You stay where you are!” he yelled. “If those +are your people we’ll get the lot of you; if they’re not +we’ve got you, anyhow, <i>sabe</i>?”</p> +<p>Pachuca gave one look at Scott and another at his +flying friends. Then he threw himself upon his horse’s +back, thrust the spur in deep, and as the horse reared, +drew his gun. His shot and Scott’s rang out together +as they had done once before in front of the store at +Athens—but with a different result. Pachuca reeled, +recovered, spurred the horse again and tore off in the +direction taken by the flying Mexicans; Scott stood +looking furiously at him for a moment then staggered +to the machine.</p> +<p>“He got me, Henry,” he muttered, as he toppled +over. “Look after the girl.”</p> +<p>And the other machine came rumbling on through +the dusk.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XX_TREASURE_TROVE' id='XX_TREASURE_TROVE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>TREASURE TROVE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Polly Street went up to her room after leaving +Scott but she did not go to bed. Nor did she behave +in any way which suggested an alarming amount of +headache. Instead, she opened her window and looked +out. Her first glance showed Scott pacing scowlingly +up and down the narrow veranda. Further down the +street she saw Mendoza’s car parked in front of its +owner’s favorite saloon, next door, in fact, to the +butcher’s, in whose yard hung the remains of the steer—an +unhappy evidence of the truth of the adage that +in the midst of life we are in death. Mendoza was not +visible, but it needed no stretch of the imagination to +locate him.</p> +<p>With a little sigh of satisfaction, Polly withdrew her +head and remained a moment in thought; then she ran +downstairs again. A cautious peep into the office +showed Clara and Hard in conversation with Sam +Penhallow. She glided into the dining-room where +she found the good-looking Mabel finishing the clearing +off of the tables. Polly looked winningly into the +tall girl’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I want awfully to speak to your father about something; +do you suppose you could get him into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +dining-room without anyone’s knowing? I want to +consult him in his official capacity,” she added with +dignity.</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Mabel, surveying her guest calmly. +“Do you mean as the sheriff or as the boss of this +hotel? Because if it’s that, you can see me. I’m the +real boss.”</p> +<p>“Oh, as the sheriff, of course,” replied Polly, hastily. +“Anybody could see that you ran this hotel. It’s much +too well handled to be a man’s job.”</p> +<p>“Well,” the tall girl unbent a trifle, “I don’t mind +telling you that I think so myself. Of course, as a +sheriff Papa is all right. You wait here and I’ll fetch +him and look after the office till you’re through with +him.”</p> +<p>In a moment or two Sam Penhallow entered the dining-room, +his good-natured face a trifle puzzled.</p> +<p>“Mabel said——” he began.</p> +<p>Polly smiled. “Yes, isn’t she clever at managing +things? You see, Mr. Penhallow, it’s a case of ‘Kind +Captain, I’ve important information.’ Won’t you sit +down?”</p> +<p>Sam sat down.</p> +<p>“In the first place, one of those Mexicans who had +dinner here to-night is Juan Pachuca—the man who +held up our mine a few days ago.”</p> +<p>“What? Why didn’t you say so before? I’d +have——”</p> +<p>“I didn’t think quick enough,” admitted Polly, “and +for another thing I knew that if Mr. Scott saw him +there would be trouble. He has reasons for disliking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +Pachuca—apart from the raid, at least, he thinks he +has.” Polly blushed in spite of herself.</p> +<p>“I get you,” responded Penhallow, instantly.</p> +<p>“I thought you would. You seem to me like that +sort of a man. Now, I want to ask you something; +did you ever hear of a Mexican named ‘Gasca’ who +lived around here?”</p> +<p>Penhallow, a little mystified, seemed to be thinking.</p> +<p>“A Mexican who had an Indian wife and who was +murdered?” went on Polly. Much to her disappointment, +this minute description did not seem to clear +Sam’s mind.</p> +<p>“You see, that fits so many of them,” he said, apologetically.</p> +<p>“The wife died after he was killed,” hazarded the +girl, anxiously.</p> +<p>“Hold on—you mean the old duffer who lived up +Wildcat Canyon?” demanded Penhallow. “Woman +had a stroke—they found her up there dead. Their +name was ‘Gasca’ or ‘Gomez’ or something of that +kind.”</p> +<p>“I knew it!” Polly’s voice was triumphant. “If +I don’t make Marc Scott apologize to me——” Then, +calming herself, she continued: “I’m going to spin you +a yarn, Mr. Penhallow, and then you’ve got to help me +out.”</p> +<p>“Fire away,” said the gallant Penhallow and Polly +repeated as nearly as she could remember the tale that +Juan Pachuca had told her that night in Athens. Penhallow’s +eyes snapped. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p> +<p>“By gum, I bet you’re on the trail! He and those +Mexicans are looking up the stuff.”</p> +<p>“Of course they are, but why do they come on +horseback? They can’t carry bullion on their saddles.”</p> +<p>“They probably don’t more than half believe the +yarn themselves,” said Sam, meditatively. “They’re +just snooping round to see if there’s anything in it. +And automobiles ain’t so common round here that you +can pick one up every time you feel like hunting +treasure, either. I own the only one in town and I +loaned it to-day to a good-for-nothing guy that’s +courtin’ Mabel, worse luck!”</p> +<p>“We’ve got Mendoza and his Ford,” said Polly, +eagerly. “If I run up and get my hat and coat, will +you slip down and pry him out of that saloon and the +three of us run out to Wildcat Canyon before those +Mexicans can get there?”</p> +<p>“You bet I will,” replied the willing Sam.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Penhallow, you’re the kind of man that I +admire!” Polly’s eyes shone. “You’ve got imagination—it’s +the only thing Marc Scott hasn’t got.”</p> +<p>“Well,” grinned Penhallow, “I wouldn’t worry +about that if I was you; it ain’t such an awful good +quality to marry. My wife used to kick about it a +whole lot.” But Polly was gone. “I knew it!” chuckled +Sam. “I knew Scotty was meditatin’ matrimony +by the way he jumped me. Fine girl, that. For ten +cents I’d give him a run for his money.”</p> +<p>Faced with the alternative of driving his car or allowing +someone else to do it, Mendoza capitulated and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +allowed Penhallow to coax him out of the saloon. +They drove down the street back of the houses and +were joined by Polly who was waiting in the shadow +for them. The Mexican girl saw the car as it passed +the kitchen window, as she afterward told Clara, but +failed to recognize Penhallow who sat on the further +side.</p> +<p>“Do we have to pass the Mexicans or can we go +another way?” asked Polly.</p> +<p>“We can take another road and beat them to the +fork,” said Penhallow. “Then we’ll have the canyon +to ourselves. This way, Mendoza.”</p> +<p>“You know, Mr. Penhallow, this gold was stolen +from one of the mines owned by our company,” said +the girl. “That’s one reason I’m so anxious to find it. +It will mean something to my brother.”</p> +<p>“Sure it will.”</p> +<p>“There ought to be a reward, oughtn’t there? Not +that I care about that; the excitement’s enough for +me.”</p> +<p>“Fond of excitement, are you?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid so. I’ll have to get over that, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Not if you marry Marc Scott,” said Marc’s loyal +friend, quite forgetting his sinister intentions. +“There’s nothing tame about Marc. I’d hate to be the +woman who tried to fool him. She would have some +job on her hands.”</p> +<p>“Well, she’d have to be cleverer than I am to do it,” +sighed Polly, sadly.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know. Say, what’s your idea of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +finding this junk, anyhow? Where d’you reckon it’d +be? Above ground?”</p> +<p>Polly looked a bit taken back. “I never thought of +that,” she admitted. “It’s the first time I ever hunted +treasure. Where do you think it will be?”</p> +<p>“Well, if you want the truth, I ain’t looking for it +to be there at all. My idea is that Gasca got rid of it +and that’s why they killed him. And yet——”</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>“Kind of funny the woman hung around after he +died. The natural thing would have been for her to +have gone back to her people, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Of course it would. I know it’s there.”</p> +<p>“If you know it’s there it’s a pity I didn’t bring +along a couple of pickaxes,” said Sam, with a grin. +“All the treasures I ever heard about called for pickaxes, +skeletons and an old family chart.”</p> +<p>“Oh, have it your own way!” said the aggravated +Polly. “But who, I’d like to know, would have come +up to this lonely place to look for gold, and how could +an ignorant old Mexican like Gasca dispose of it without +getting into trouble?”</p> +<p>“Well, mebbe so. Anyhow, here’s your cabin.”</p> +<p>The cabin was situated up the canyon on the right +hand side of the road. It was a little wooden shack, +sagging and discolored, its windows broken and its +whole appearance denoting that utter desolation to +which only a deserted homestead can attain; not even +a human wreck can equal this silent abandonment. It +had been a fairly decent place once; there were outbuildings +which evidenced past association with pigs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +and chickens, while back of the house stood a wooden +cart such as country people use for hauling wood or +hay.</p> +<p>In the dusk, that saddest of sad times, between sunset +and moonrise, Wildcat Canyon presented an awesome +appearance. The hills were outlined sharply and +darkly against the sky; the little stream that dribbled +past the cabin was so quiet that it seemed the ghost of +water; there was no movement—no sound—no suggestion +of life.</p> +<p>Polly drew a long breath. “What a dreadful place +to live!” she murmured, her spirits dashed for a moment. +A woman had lived here—a woman stolen +from her people. Had lived—and, stricken and alone, +had died here. Polly thought of her own spoiled and +sheltered life and her eyes filled.</p> +<p>In the meantime, Sam Penhallow took in the view +with intense disfavor. “I never was partial to Wildcat +Canyon,” he remarked, pessimistically. “I caught +a cattle thief up here once. He hid behind that rock +and gave us a real nasty time before we got him. Well, +since we’re here we may as well get busy. Can’t you +get us a little nearer, Mendoza? This is pretty far to +tote gold bars.”</p> +<p>“Oh, laugh if you want to,” said Polly, indulgently. +“Since I’ve seen the place I’m sure it’s here.”</p> +<p>“I’ll say this,” remarked Penhallow, “if I had anything +I wanted to hide and didn’t want any fools +blunderin’ into, I couldn’t pick a likelier place to hide +it in than this one—whether it was gold or a body.”</p> +<p>Mendoza ran them within a few yards of the hut and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +they got out. Gasca’s late residence did not improve +on closer inspection. The door hung loosely on its +hinges and once within, its dark recesses suggested +many things not altogether pleasant. There was little +furniture and that broken and poor; the hut boasted +two rooms and the floor was merely the ground. There +was nothing to suggest hidden treasure, and no place +where it could be secreted as far as the visitors could +see. Even the fireplace yielded no secrets.</p> +<p>“How stupid of us!” declared Polly, determined +not to be discouraged. “Of course it wouldn’t be in +here or they would have found it when they took the +poor woman away. Let’s go outside and think.”</p> +<p>“My idea is that it’s either buried or they got rid +of it,” said Penhallow, promptly. It had suddenly occurred +to him that Mendoza was a poor chaperon for a +good-looking widower—not old—and a pretty girl engaged +to Marc Scott. It was a disturbing idea, for +Sam was of a conventional turn of mind. “If he’s +buried it, we’ll have to dig all over the place, and I take +it none of us is much on the dig.”</p> +<p>“Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea myself,” said +Polly, with dignity. “You look in the chicken-house +and I’ll take a peep into the shed in the corral.”</p> +<p>Sam shrugged his shoulders and started for the +chicken-house.</p> +<p>“Scott’s gettin’ his match all right,” he muttered, +rebelliously. “Goin’ to make him toe the chalk line, +that girl.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Penhallow, come here!” Polly’s voice was +shrill and excited. “Come here!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></p> +<p>“Comin’, lady. Did you find it?”</p> +<p>“Look here.” Polly was at the side of an old cart, +peering and poking through the sticks of wood and +bits of old straw which filled it. “See, down there—doesn’t +that look to you like something?”</p> +<p>Sam Penhallow felt a sudden thrill; a thrill he had +not known the like of since he led the posse across the +border after the kidnapping bandit. He bent an excited +gray eye over the hole indicated.</p> +<p>“Sure does look like there was somethin’ besides +wood in there—somethin’ bulky, and there’s some +sacking.—Hi, Mendoza, come here and lend a +hand!”</p> +<p>In the meantime he and Polly began throwing the +wood out of the wagon.</p> +<p>“My idea is that Gasca hid it in the wagon because +he thought no one would suspect anything there,” said +Polly, “and he could haul it away in a hurry if they +did.”</p> +<p>“It’s more likely he buried it and after he died the +woman dug it up and packed it in here meaning to go +South with it and then got sick and died before she had +the chance.”</p> +<p>“Well, I said you had imagination. That’s a much +better theory than mine,” said Polly, generously. +“But why didn’t somebody take the wagon?”</p> +<p>“Well, it ain’t much of a wagon. I reckon they +took the horse and the pigs and chickens and let the +rest slide. The wood don’t amount to much; just +sticks she’s picked up.”</p> +<p>Mendoza, quite of the opinion that the couple whom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +up to this time he had suspected of nothing more +alarming than an elopement, had suddenly gone very +mad, stolidly chucked wood out of the wagon lest a +worse thing be demanded of him.</p> +<p>“There!” The three gathered around the half-empty +wagon in excitement, even Mendoza manifesting +a slight degree of zest when through the layer of straw, +half covered with sacking, was revealed a number of +rough looking blocks, in shape resembling large loaves +of bread. Penhallow lifted one with difficulty.</p> +<p>“That’s what it is, girl,” he cried, his eyes glistening. +“It’s gold straight from the mine. Why, what’s the +matter?”</p> +<p>“It’s so disappointing,” murmured the girl; “it looks +like old junk.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s pretty good old junk. I only wish it was +mine, don’t you, Mendoza? This stuff, Mendoza, all +belongs to some rich guys who own a lot of mines +down yonder. Big, fat chaps who sit in easy chairs +back of mahogany tables and let other fellows earn +their money for them; fine business, eh?”</p> +<p>Mendoza grinned—a comprehending if not a lovely +grin.</p> +<p>“<i>Si</i>,” he grunted. “I seen them fat fellers up in +San Antone. All got de sickness of de kidney or de +stomach. Me, I rather be poor man and live on de +outside.”</p> +<p>“Well, that ain’t bad for an old heathen, eh, Miss +Polly?” chuckled Penhallow. “Come on, we’ve got +to load this stuff into the Ford before those greasers +get here.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span></p> +<p>“How much do you think there is?” asked Polly, +eagerly.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know—a few thousands, I guess. I’ve +a notion old Gasca had to whack up with the fellows +who helped him get it across. It’s no fortune but it’s +going to give us lame backs moving it and I reckon +the Company will be glad to see it again.”</p> +<p>It was a hard load to move and long before the +transfer was made Polly acknowledged that she was +glad they hadn’t made a bigger haul. It was growing +darker, too, and Wildcat Canyon began to seem less +and less the sort of place for a picnic.</p> +<p>“Well, little lady,” observed Penhallow, as they +started down the canyon, “you’ve done a good +night’s work for your brother. Say, Mendoza, don’t +that look like a car to you down yonder?”</p> +<p>Polly sat up suddenly. “I thought you said that +you owned the only car in town?”</p> +<p>“I do. That’s why I’ve a notion that that’s mine, +though why Ed Merriam should be flourishin’ it around +here, I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Car, yes,” agreed Mendoza. “Make ’em back +up. Can’t pass there.”</p> +<p>At the same moment the other car honked excitedly +and Mendoza answered.</p> +<p>“There are some men on horseback there, aren’t +there?” said Polly, straining her eyes.</p> +<p>“On the other side of the arroyo—yes. Hullo, +guns! Say, Ed’s in trouble! Shake a leg, Mendoza—we +got to look into this. Girlie, you can lie down if +they shoot, do you hear?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” breathed Polly, excitedly.</p> +<p>They could see plainly now. They saw two of the +mounted men dash off and the other, reeling in his +saddle, but holding gamely to his seat, dash after them. +Then they saw two men from the automobile spring +to support the third who had fallen.</p> +<p>“Gosh, I hope that ain’t Ed!” said Penhallow. “I +don’t like the guy much, but Mabel would have my +blood if I let him get plugged and me on the spot doing +nothing.”</p> +<p>“Not Merriam,” said Mendoza, darkly. “Merriam +and Señor Hard carry the man.”</p> +<p>“Hold on!” But Penhallow was too slow. The +car was slowing down and Polly was out in the road. +Penhallow followed her.</p> +<p>“Is—is he killed?”</p> +<p>Hard looked up from his task of reviving Scott, +with the contents of his whiskey flask and saw to his +amazement a white-faced Polly Street bending over +him.</p> +<p>“Polly!” he gasped. “Then they didn’t get you, +after all?”</p> +<p>“Is he killed?” The girl’s voice was sharp and +hard.</p> +<p>“No, he ain’t,” Penhallow’s hearty voice broke in. +“It takes more than one bullet to kill a tough bird like +Scotty.”</p> +<p>Marc opened his eyes, grinned feebly and shut them +again, not before he had seen Polly’s anxious face +bending over him.</p> +<p>“They—Pachuca didn’t——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></p> +<p>“Not a bit of it, old man,” Hard broke in. Then +to Polly: “We thought Pachuca had carried you off.”</p> +<p>Polly stared at him in horror. “Carried me off?” +she gasped. “Were those men——” she paused, +dazed. Hard explained.</p> +<p>Sam Penhallow in the meantime had tackled his +prospective son-in-law.</p> +<p>“Where’d they get him, Ed?”</p> +<p>“Shoulder. Don’t look to me like no vital spot.”</p> +<p>“Well, we ain’t all got our vitals as protected as +you have, Ed,” replied the sheriff, scathingly. “What +was you up here for, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“Scott got it into his head that his girl had been +kidnapped by Mexicans and he got us up here after +three of ’em. Looks to me, Father-in-law, like he’d +picked the wrong kidnapper.”</p> +<p>“That’ll do, Ed; fat folks was made to look funny, +not to talk smart. Here, let’s get this boy bandaged +up before he bleeds to death.”</p> +<p>Polly, white and frightened, looked on as Penhallow’s +experienced hands tore up a shirt and made it +into a bandage. The wound looked very vital to her +and she would have given up hope a dozen times if +it hadn’t been for Penhallow’s cheerful monologue.</p> +<p>“That’s the idea! Say, you boys better guess what +this girl and I got in that Ford. We’ve been after +treasure. Oh, you’re waking up, are you?” as Scott +opened his eyes. “I thought you would. You won’t +josh your wife much about Gasca and his hidden gold, +I’m thinkin’.”</p> +<p>“It’s all my fault,” wept the girl. “If I’d only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +told you where I was going this wouldn’t have happened. +Oh, Marc, I’m so sorry!”</p> +<p>“Well, you ain’t the only one that’s sorry, I reckon,” +grinned Merriam. “That Mexican ain’t going to do +much ridin’ for a while by the looks of him.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” Penhallow and Hard lifted Scott +gently into the car. “Don’t worry about him. He’s +had this coming to him for some time by all accounts +and the worst of it is his hide’s probably so tough he +won’t know it’s been punctured.” Penhallow spat +disgustedly.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>The return of the two cars, the one with the treasure +and the other with the missing girl, made a sensation +quite after Chula Vista’s own heart. When it became +known that the doctor had pronounced Scott’s wound +not dangerous but requiring care and quiet, the situation +was all that could be desired. They would have +been happier still could they have heard Polly’s ultimatum, +delivered the following morning when she and +Scott were alone together a few minutes before Clara’s +wedding. Scott had insisted that the wedding should +not be postponed for even a day.</p> +<p>“You’re needed in Athens, Hard,” he said. “With +Bob and me both in the discard, you’ve got to stand +by the ship.” So the wedding had been set for ten +o’clock, Polly’s train leaving for the railroad junction +at noon.</p> +<p>“Now, Marc, listen to me,” Polly said. Her tone +was severe. “I’ve never been really stern with you +since our acquaintance. I’ve always given in and let +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +you have the biggest piece of cake. Now I mean +what I say. I’m not going back and leave you here, +sick and alone. Besides, Mrs. Conrad changed her +mind last night. She’s going to Athens with Mr. +Hard.”</p> +<p>“There’s Mabel Penhallow—she’d look after me,” +replied Scott, mildly.</p> +<p>“Well, she shan’t. Let her look after that fat thing +she’s going to marry. No, I’m going to stay here until +you’re well again, and by that time my reputation will +be in shreds—perfect shreds.”</p> +<p>“Well, I think it will, too, but what can I do?”</p> +<p>“You can let me tell that minister to come right over +here and marry us when he’s through with the others,” +said Polly, firmly. Then, with tears in her eyes: “Oh, +Marc, don’t you see I don’t like doing underhand +things any more than you do, but I can’t go away and +leave you like this? I know my people and I know +what they’ll say. They’ll say I did the right thing.”</p> +<p>“Well, girlie, I don’t know—I’d rather like to see +Hard and Mrs. Conrad married, myself. Don’t you +think maybe you could get the Padre to do both jobs +over here?”</p> +<p>Thus it was that a double wedding took place in the +small room which the invalid occupied. Chula Vista, +or at least those citizens who were allowed to witness +the ceremony, were loud in their praises of the brides. +Ed Merriam was particularly impressed and begged +earnestly that it might be made a triple affair, but, as +Mr. Penhallow justly observed, you can overdo even a +good thing if you try hard enough. Ed was obliged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +to content himself with the rôle of spectator. Mr. +Penhallow, himself, was a busy man. He not only +acted as best man at both ceremonies, but he also had +the gold on his nerves. It was removed immediately +after the weddings—in the first spare moment that the +best man had—to a near-by town which possessed banking +facilities, a full account of its recovery being sent +to Robert Street. This arrived in the same mail with +a letter from Polly, and Bob celebrated his first sitting +up by breaking the news to his parents.</p> +<p>“Tell you what, folks,” he said, “while it’s a bit +of a blow to have our baby cut loose like this, there’s +something to be said on the other side. Marc Scott’s +a first-class fellow and he’ll make her a much better +husband than that Henderson chap ever would.”</p> +<p>“But, Bob dear, what sort of a man is he?” Mrs. +Street’s delicate face expressed alarm neatly blended +with horror.</p> +<p>“That,” replied her husband, briefly, “is what I am +going to find out. There’s a train going west in about +two hours and if you wish me to carry your blessing +to our wayward child I shall be happy to do so.”</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Hard went south in Mendoza’s Ford. +Theirs was a gentle romance, with more poetry in it +than the bride suspected. Two people so thoroughly +suited to each other do not always have the happiness +to meet at just the right time.</p> +<p>“For it is just the right time, Clara,” Hard said. +“A little earlier and we might not have had the wisdom +to fall in love again with each other; a little later +and we might have felt too old and dignified to think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +of it. I consider that we took things in the nick of +time.”</p> +<p>The success of the revolution, which resulted in the +presidency of Alvaro Obregon, made popular a movement +against the bandits which have flourished so long +in Mexico. The case of Angel Gonzales was handled +early one morning by a firing squad in the courtyard +of Juan Pachuca’s country residence. The evidence +against Angel was cumulative, the episode of the Yaqui +village being only one of many interesting exploits in +which he had figured.</p> +<p>Just how much the escape of Juan Pachuca was due +to the connivance of his captors will probably never be +known. The general opinion, however, was that while +his misdeeds were not to be condoned, in view of the +friendly sentiments on the part of the new Government +toward the United States; at the same time they were +considered hardly of a nature to subject a gentleman +to the fate of a bandit. Cared for by his friends on +the other side while his wound was healing, Pachuca +is still living peacefully and very quietly on our side +of the border, waiting, probably, the opportunity to +return to his country to help along another revolution.</p> +<p>Scott and Polly will be happy. They are happy +at present, and are no longer at Athens; the Fiske, +Doane Co. having appointed Scott to a better position +in one of its Arizona mines, a delicate compliment, +he says, to his wife’s services in the little matter +of the Gasca treasure.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:3em;'> +<p>THE END</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.31 --> +<!-- timestamp: Tue Oct 21 08:42:22 -0400 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Across the Mesa, by Jarvis Hall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS THE MESA *** + +***** This file should be named 26984-h.htm or 26984-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/9/8/26984/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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