CHAPTER XVII
AT SORIA'S
Hard and Mrs. Conrad stared at each other in whimsical dismay as the othercouple rode away. Then they looked at the suitcases carefully tucked awayin the brush.
"Not much of a hiding place," observed Hard, "but it's better than leavingthem in the wagon."
"And decidedly better than carrying them all the way to Soria's," repliedClara. "Safe enough, too. It isn't once in a coon's age that anybodytravels around these places. Funny, isn't it, when you think of all thecrowded spots there are in the world?"
"It reminds me," said Hard, with a reminiscent chuckle, "of a yarn. I wasin New Mexico on a hunting trip with Joe McArthur--you remember the BostonMcArthurs who had a ranch near one of the Apache reservations? Well, werode up to the agency store to ask old Slade, the trader, about an Indianguide.
"We got him and started out the next day. We were riding up among thepines--great tall fellows, a regular park of them; not a living thing insight except the birds, not a sound except the river. McArthur and I wereriding behind Charley, the guide. We'd been arguing rather aimlessly as towhether an Indian had a sense of humor or not; Joe thought they hadn't,while I contended that they had.
"The quiet of the place rather got us. McArthur took a silver dollar fromhis pocket and said: 'Hard, I believe I could lay this dollar on thatstump over there and come back here in a year and find it there.' OldCharley turned around, his wrinkled face twisted into a grin. 'No,' hesaid, 'no find him nex' year. Mr. Slade he get him nex' morning.'
"Well, Charley got the dollar and McArthur admitted that I had the rightof the argument."
"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 tohowl over the fool things a white man howls over, I suppose." She did notspeak again for some time, then she burst out tempestuously:
"Henry, why did you begin talking about Boston? Do you know, I've beenmore lonesome for the dear old place in the last twenty-four hours thanever before? I wonder if seeing you has made me homesick?"
"I hope so," said Hard. "It's time for you to go back to Boston, Clara."
"Perhaps; but I shall come back here. Once this country gets on its feet Ican sell for a decent price. There's going to be a rush to Mexico some daywhen people find that they can come without risking their lives and theirmoney."
"Do you think that time is coming soon?"
"I hope it is. This last move looks hopeful. If Obregon can establish agood government, he will. Of course, our people will have to be patient.At any rate, I'm going to risk it."
"Yes," smiled Hard, "you would feel that way, of course."
"Money getting isn't such an ugly business, Henry, when you risksomething. It puts a bit of romance into the thing. I think I ratherdespise people who make money just by sitting in an office and guessingright."
"Clara, how old are you? Sixteen?"
"I don't mind telling you that I'm older than I look, and it's a wonder tome after the hard knocks I've had. Well, do you think you can hobble backto Soria's?"
"Let's wait a little longer. I could wish it a little cooler."
"If you'd wear a sombrero instead of that white thing----"
"Can't. I'm not built for a sombrero. Makes me look like the villain in ashow."
Clara burst into laughter.
"Henry," she said, "what an absurd world this is once a human being cutsloose from his original moorings!"
"Yes? It's an almighty hot world when he cuts loose from a roof and anice-water tank, I've noticed."
"I'm not thinking of ordinary things--I'm thinking of you and me andBoston," pursued Clara, firmly.
"Clara, I can stand a good deal, especially from you, but if you insistupon talking about Boston I'm likely to do something that we'll bothregret."
"I was just thinking that if you and I had stayed in Boston, in our ownlittle niches, as our kind of people usually do, what would we be doing?"went on Clara, meditatively.
"I would be having a gin fizz at the club," said Hard, pensively, "to befollowed possibly by a game of bridge and a dinner--a real, human dinner,not just food--at my brother John's."
"If I had stayed where I belonged, or where everybody said I belonged whenmy father died and the family income disappeared," said Clara,persistently, "I would be teaching music in a girls' school, and planninga trip to Italy with a lot of other middle-aged spinsters. Instead ofthat, I put all that I had into a two years' study in London and Paris andfell in with a wandering Englishman, married him, and here I am."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't stay where you belonged, Clara, for quite apartfrom the pleasure of your company, which under sane conditions I find verydelightful, I don't seem to see you in the role of a middle-aged spinster.Still, you might easily have been one. I know some charming girls inBoston who have gone that path."
"So do I," soberly. "Some of them so much more charming than some of mymarried friends that I don't quite get the idea. Some of Nature'sblunders, I suppose. Well, shall we start?"
"We'd better. I think it's going to be some walk."
They plodded along in silence. This time Hard broke it.
"Clara, do you think that youngster is good enough for Marc Scott? You'reclever enough to judge people even on a short acquaintance."
"Heavens, Henry, what a question!"
"I admit it's crude. Theoretically, any nice girl confers a tremendousfavor on the man she marries merely by so doing; man being inherentlyvile. But, Clara, honestly, man to man, how many nice girls one knows whowould be the deuce to live with!"
Clara's eyes twinkled. "Henry," she said, "you're perfectly right, ofcourse, but man to man, do you think you've any right to assume that theones who aren't nice are any pleasanter--taken as a steady diet?"
"Well, no, if you put it like that. But, I mean--well--this Pollyyoungster, of whom by the way I am very fond, I don't know why, she's asspoiled as the deuce, has had very little education----"
"She graduated from Wellesley, so she tells me."
"Truly? How well they cover it up these days! In my youth, you knew when awoman was well educated."
"And avoided her. That's why they learned to cover it up."
"Don't be trivial. What I mean is this. Scott is an unusual fellow. He'sbrought himself up from nothing, with only a boost here and there fromsomeone who recognized his worth. He's rough and he's odd, but he has amind. He will always be a man of importance in his community."
"I admit all that; but it doesn't imply that he's too good for Polly."
"No, but after all, what does a spoiled society girl of twenty-four knowabout a worth-while man, anyhow?"
"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 herthat 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 outsidetheir own environment. After all, life's a tricky job for a woman--don'tbegrudge her a little folly before she undertakes it."
"I don't. I like frivolous girls--in a way; but I don't like to see a manwith a brain marrying a kitten."
"Polly Street isn't a kitten. She's never had to consider anything moreserious 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 suddeninterest in match-making? Has he, by any chance, asked your valuableadvice?"
"Good Heavens, no!"
"Match-making, you know, belongs to middle age. Young people are tooself-centred to bother with it. I wonder if we're nearly there? I'mdead."
"Well, my aching feet tell me we are, Clara, but my manly intelligencesuggests that if we've covered one-third of the distance we're mightylucky."
"That's about what I thought," groaned Clara. "How's your knee?"
"Peevish but possible. Shall we take a rest?"
"Oh dear, yes, and a bite."
They topped the next rise. It was dec
idedly a rise and commanded a wideview of the flat part of the country. At a little distance rose a live oakwhose low branches offered a slight shelter from the sun. A cooling breezeplayed about them, kicking up spirals of sand, and a prairie-dog villagemanifested eager interest in their presence. They ate their sandwiches andHard returned to the subject of Scott and Polly.
"Do you think--you being a woman and acute in such matters--that he'sasked her yet?" he said.
"No, I don't; they both look too edgy. He's going to, however, and she'sgoing to take him, I think. I'm not sure. She may be flirting."
"If she flirts with Scott, I'll have her punished," declared Hard,indignantly.
"Well, maybe she won't. She's a bit of a minx, though, and while she'syoung 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 tooeasy for you."
"They are not," said Hard, with meaning.
"Well, this isn't getting to Soria's." Clara rose hastily. She looked backover the road. "It looks like people back there--dust flying. Do yousuppose it's more troops?"
Hard stared. "No," he said, finally, "it's only the wind."
"Yes, I guess it is," assented Clara. "Let's be moving."
It was slow going--a lame man and a tired woman--both unused to walkingeven under favorable circumstances. It seemed to Clara Conrad as shelooked ahead at the wearisome stretch of road, as though they made no moreprogress than a couple of ants crawling up a mountainside.
"Do you think we'll ever make it?" she said, stopping for a long breath atthe top of a small rise.
"We've got to," said Hard, simply, "What else is there to do?"
Clara did not answer but looked longingly back toward the spot in thecottonwoods.
"Don't play Lot's wife, Clara; keep on looking forward. It's our onlyhope."
"Lot's wife always appealed to my sympathies," said Clara, pensively. "Ithink she was probably a settled sort of a woman, married to one of thesemen who like change. It must have irritated her awfully to have to pack upand move when she was so comfortable. Oh, Henry, that's not wind blowingthe dust! It's men--horsemen!"
"It does look like it."
"They're coming this way. I don't like it."
"Neither do I." Hard's voice was anxious. "If we had a bit ofshelter----"
They looked anxiously about, but the flatness of the country offered noopportunity for anything larger than a gopher to hide. Trees and bushes,alike too small for shelter, and little rises of land, hard enough toclimb but easily visible to anyone on horseback, were all that offeredthemselves. In the distance an arroyo looked promising, but it was far andthe line of riders very near.
"We've got to make a break for it, anyhow," said Hard, at last. "It's offthe road. It's our only chance; that, and the possibility that they may betroops and in too much of a hurry to stop for the likes of us. Come on."
Clara sighed and quickened her pace. They left the road and struck acrosscountry toward the arroyo.
"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!"
Hard shrugged his shoulders. "They may very well be," he said. "But we'llhope they're not. Let's be optimistic as long as we have a straw toclutch."
Clara did not answer. She took another look at the rapidly advancing lineand felt, not unreasonably, that the straw was a weak one even for theclutch of an optimist. They dug in, weary as they were, making smallprogress, but with hopeful eyes bent upon the distant arroyo. At leastthey were going in a different direction from the riders. Hard limpedpainfully. His face was set in lines of determination--or was it pain?Clara wondered. She stopped suddenly.
"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 doanything to us, they will. We can't help ourselves. I'm not going anotherstep. I'm going to sit down here and see what happens." As she spoke, shesat down on a tree stump. Hard laughed ruefully.
"Well, I suppose you're right," he said. "They've got us, if they want us.We'll hope they don't." He sat down on the ground beside her, feeling verymuch as though he would never get up again.
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 fairlywide. There was no air of discipline about the party, nothing to indicatethat 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 obedienceto a signal from one of the two riding ahead.
"They've seen us!" breathed Clara.
"And are wondering whether we're worth while," supplemented Hard. "Ah,here they come!"
The result of the conference reached, the two leaders of the partyfollowed by half a dozen men struck off toward Clara and Hard. The otherswaited in the road. They came at a good gait, their badly fed horsesresponding to the ugly spur with a nervous speed which covered the hillyspace in seconds where Hard and Clara had taken minutes to crawl.
"I'm afraid they're not troops," observed Hard. "They wouldn't take allthat trouble for a pair of strangers. It's Angel, or someone of his sort.Well?"
"Well?" Clara smiled bravely. "There's nothing to do but wait. Better letme talk to them; I have the language better in hand, I think. If it'smoney they want we may as well give them what we have to buy ourfreedom."
"By all means." Hard grinned. "I've got ten dollars. It won't buymuch--even of freedom, I'm afraid."
"Most of mine is in express checks, tucked away in a sheltered spot," saidClara, frowning. "I don't believe they'd want them--Pachuca didn't.However, I have a little to offer." She handed him her handbag.
Angel Gonzales, closely followed by Porfirio Cortes, drew up beside theodd-looking couple sitting by the wayside. The other men lingered withinhearing. Angel opened the conversation in his native tongue.
"Who are you and where are you going?" he demanded, his shifty black eyesgleaming from his weather-beaten face.
"And why?" growled Cortes. "When the country is upset, the place forforeigners is at home."
"Yes, we know it is," said Clara, placatingly. "But your country, youknow, is almost always upset. This gentleman, Senor Hard, is connectedwith the mining company at Athens. I am from the South, and on my way tothe border."
"Where are your horses?" said Angel, suspiciously.
"A young man named Juan Pachuca raided the ranch where we were visitingand took all the livestock," replied Clara, eyeing the swarthy fellowquietly.
There was a hurried colloquy between the two Mexicans and a laugh fromGonzales.
"You are not going toward Athens," he observed, drily.
"No, we're not," replied Hard. "We're heading for the Soria place just atpresent with the idea of borrowing their burro to ride and tie." He hadrisen and was leaning heavily on his well leg.
"Humph! It is a long walk to the Soria place," grunted Angel. "You'relame?"
"Yes, temporarily."
"Humph!" Angel turned to his men. "Here, two of you double up and givethese people horses," he commanded curtly. Apparently, he was one of thoseleaders whose word is law, for two of the men rolled their horses and ledthem toward the two Americans who stared at them in astonishment.
"We go by Soria's," said Angel, gruffly. "We will take you that far."
"Thank you, but I think----" Clara began weakly, but stopped as she feltherself being seized by one of the men and lifted roughly to the saddle ofa wiry little gray horse which was dancing around in a most disconcertingmanner. It was a time for self-preservation and not for protest. Shegrasped the pommel desperately with one hand and the reins with the other,while her feet were being thrust into the straps of the stirrups--thestirrups themselves being too long.
She was badly scared, for the horse gave every indication of beingunmanageable; and very miserable, for her skirt pulled in a mostuncomfortable and unsightly fashion. There was nothing to do, however,
butto make the best of it; for having helped her mount, the man who did soclimbed up back of one of his fellows and abandoned her to her fate. Hard,in the meantime, had mounted another rough-looking but more conventionallydisposed beast, and the procession started back to the road, the twoAmericans side by side, surrounded by the Mexicans; Angel Gonzalesleading, and Porfirio Cortes bringing up the rear.
"It may be a friendly lift, but it looks more like a case of abduction,"said Hard, wrathfully. "Can you hold that brute, Clara?"
"I hope so," she said, her lips a bit white. "I think the poor thing is asscared as I am; probably never saw skirts before in his life."
"Don't try to hold him too tight. He's probably got a tender mouth,judging from the way he fidgets."
"Well, I suppose he has, but if I don't hold him, he's going to land meover somewhere in those foothills," said Clara, faintly. "He's got themost awful little rack I ever rode. Henry, do you suppose that fellow isAngel Gonzales?"
"Can't say. He's an ugly-looking ruffian whoever he is."
"Hush, here he comes! He may understand English," shivered Clara.
Angel grinned as he came back to them. "The senorita does not ride verywell," he said, mockingly. Clara did not reply.
"I suppose," she reflected, with a gleam of humor, "that I ought to begrateful to be taken for a 'senorita,' but how can I be grateful foranything when I'm being rattled to pieces?"
Angel joined himself to them and they rode three abreast. He began to askquestions; questions which plainly were designed to inform him as to thefinancial standing of his guests or his prisoners whichever he chose tomake them.
"He's as persistent as a society reporter," growled Hard, under hisbreath, as Angel relinquished his place to one of his men and fell back toride with Cortes. "It's a case of ransom, all right."
"Shall we make a break for it?" whispered Clara. "If I let this thing gohe'll be over in the foothills before you can whistle."
"No, they'd shoot. Better not risk it."
"But, Henry, I can't stand it! And I look so! I never was so altogetherwretched in all my life," groaned Clara.
"Be patient, that's a good girl, until we see what they're going to do."
"If that devil's face is any index to his character, he's going to dosomething awful."
Angel Gonzales, in fact, was justifying Clara's opinion of him.
"The woman has money and property, and so, I think, has he," he said toCortes. "If they have money, they have friends, and friends will pay,eh?"
"Sometimes," admitted Cortes. "But we are in a hurry, _amigo_. If Pachucahas come this far, he means business. We had better be on our way to meethim."
"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 fora few days until we know what we want to do with them, eh?"
"Not bad," agreed Cortes. "Manuel is a good deal of a fool but his womanis smart. Give her a gun and she will know how to use it. She will do itfor me because I make love to her now and then," he added, with somethingwhich in a civilized being would pass for a simper.
"Humph, she'd do it for me because I'll pay her some good money andpromise her more," said the unsympathetic Gonzales.
By this time they had reached the Soria cabin, much to Clara's relief, andthe party dismounted. The cabin door was closed, and Angel, who evidentlywasted no time on the little courtesies of life, raised his pistol andfired into it. Clara caught her breath in horror.
"Those babies!" she gasped, clutching Hard.
"I don't believe they're in there," he whispered. "I don't see a sign oflife--not even the burro."
"Henry, they've gone to town to spend the money that Mr. Scott gave themthis morning!"
"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."
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 searchwhich followed.
"They're in a hole," chuckled Hard, shrewdly. "I'll bet you a dollar thatthey meant to leave us here and pay the Sorias to hold us. Now, they'veeither got to take us along or leave a guard for us, which is what they'llprobably do."
"You don't think there's any chance of his letting us go?"
"Does he look like a chap who lets anything get away from him? Well, I'mglad he's worried, anyhow."
Angel Gonzales was worried, no mistake about that. The Sorias had upsethis 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 conditionto carry double. He did not want to leave any of his men behind, becausehe expected to need every one of them in his proposed campaign. On theother hand, he hated to give up the dazzling prospect of a ransom. He hadnever played the ransom game, but he knew the ropes and he longed to try.
"Who's that coming up the road?" demanded Cortes, breaking off a dialoguewith his chief.
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, hepulled his poor beast to its haunches and gave what was intended for amilitary salute as he saw the redoubtable Gonzales.
"Well, what's the matter? Who are you?" demanded that gentleman,unencouragingly.
"Senor Juan Pachuca----" gasped the panting messenger, "he sends me to sayto Captain Gonzales to make speed. He waits--at his _rancho_. He has newsof the revolution," finished the boy, proudly.
"News! Humph, is that all he's got?" demanded Angel, promptly.
"Men, and horses and plunder--oh, much plunder!" The boy's eyes shone.
"So? That's better, eh, Cortes? Shall we go, or----"
"Senor Pachuca says to make speed. Much speed," reiterated the messenger."The troops went South only last night."
"We had better go," said Cortes, eagerly. "We can make the _rancho_ withhard riding by morning. That is, unless you burden yourself with those!"he gestured scornfully toward the two Americans.
Angel hesitated. Like Scott, he hated changing his mind. Also, the ransomloomed 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 hisown people----only much more charming, he reflected, with a gleam of theeye.
"Senor Pachuca says----"
"The devil with Senor Pachuca!" exploded Angel, menacingly. "Go back andtell him----" But the messenger had already gone. His horse's feet werepattering down the side of the hill at a rate which argued panic in itsrider. A laugh rose from the men, and Angel, guffawing himself, sent aparting bullet over the boy's head.
"Cheerful man, isn't he?" muttered Hard. "Never mind, Clara, he didn't hitthe boy. It's evidently only his little joke."
"Monster!" Clara's black eyes snapped.
Apparently the little joke had cleared Angel's mental atmosphere, forwithout further explanation, he turned and with a rough: "Get on yourhorses--we'll go!" swung onto his mount. Cortes, with a grin of relief,passed the word on:
"To horse!" And in a second the party was mounted. Hard and Clara stoodwatching, ignorant of what part they were to play in this new move. Noattempt was made to mount them, which was in itself encouraging, nor didthere seem to have been anyone detailed to stay and guard them. There wasanother confab between Gonzales and Cortes, which resulted in the latter'scoming toward the two Americans and saying, gruffly:
"Captain Gonzales regrets that he cannot escort you further but he iscalled suddenly to the front." There was a pause, then, with an impudentgrin, he continued, "Of course you know that in time of war, all alienproperty is confiscate? You will give me what money you have."
"Oh, yes, give it to him, Henry, please!" Clara's voice was eager. Shepressed her little handbag into Cortes' willing hand. Hard shrugged hisshoulders.
"All right, old man, it's not much, and if I thought you'd buy a good feedfor those horses of yours, I'd hand it over with my bles
sing. As it is--Ihand it over."
Cortes took the money very much as a conductor collects his fares----withno comment but a ready hand. He also took a diamond ring which Clara hadthoughtlessly put in the bag for safe keeping and the watch which Hardcarried. Then without further words, he swung his horse around and at acommand from Gonzales, the whole crowd swept furiously down the hill.
"Henry, they've gone! Actually gone--and taken that vile gray horse withthem!" gasped Clara, faintly.
"It looks like it," responded Hard. "But unless I'm a lot mistaken, theydidn't mean to go until that boy came with his message."
"Well, blessings on the head of Juan Pachuca who sent him!" murmuredClara, wearily, as she started for the cabin.
"Do you want to stay outside or go in?" asked Hard, pulling a chairforward on the veranda.
"Outside, please, as long as we can stand it," said Clara, with a littleshiver. "I don't believe I'd care for Grandmother Soria's housekeeping."She peeped into the family _olla_ hanging on the side of the house. It wasfull. "Oh, well, Henry, things might have been worse," she smiled as shesank into the chair.
"You can bet your dear life they might," replied Henry, with a glance inthe direction taken by Angel Gonzales.
"See if they've left anything to eat--anything that looks fairly clean."
Hard emerged a few moments later empty-handed.
"Not a thing," he said. "We evidently arrived at the psychological momentfor this little family. That ten dollars Scott gave them will tide themover till Carlotta finds another beau."
"But wasn't there anything to eat?"
"Not a bone. Mother Hubbard's cupboard was a cafeteria compared toGrandmother Soria's. Draw in your belt and forget it."
"Why did we eat so much this afternoon? They left us the biggest part ofthe luncheon. Henry, we are pigs," moaned Clara, wanly.
"I know. We're not the sort to be cast on a desert isle, I'm afraid. Ifthe Sorias get back to-night----"
"They won't. They'll stay and make a night of it."
"Perhaps the hungry feeling will wear off after a while," said Hard,hopefully.
"I wonder? I've often thought I'd like to try a fast. One hears of peopledoing it and having such odd and fascinating sensations," said Clara,thoughtfully.
"My sensations are odd," replied Hard, "but they are distinctly notfascinating."
They sat quietly for a while, watching the clouds hovering over themountains, sometimes over the peaks, sometimes nestling in fleecy patcheshalf-way up.
"The trail they took crosses about where that gap in the mountains is,"said Clara. "Under that first cloud, so Mr. Scott said."
"Pretty high."
"Yes, they'll have to do some climbing." Clara sighed softly. Hard felt anunreasonable desire, almost an angry desire to take her in his arms. Itwas a feeling unlike him, usually so moderate in his emotions.
"Clara," he said, softly, "were you thinking of him when you sighed?"
Clara started. "Him!" she echoed, helplessly.
"Yes, Dick Conrad."
"Not exactly, Henry. I was thinking of that terrible trip we took throughthe mountains--yes, I was in a way thinking of Dick."
"You were very happy together, weren't you? You were awfully in love withhim, I mean. I'm not being impertinent, am I, Clara? You know I don'tintend to be."
"No, Henry, I understand. I don't believe I'm the kind of woman who fallsin love--at least, in the way most people mean. There's nothing veryviolent about me except once in a while when I get to singing somethingwhich takes hold of me pretty hard.
"Richard and I had a rather exciting little love affair, then after awhile we both began to realize that we weren't very romantic--in regard topeople. He was passionately devoted to adventure of every kind, and I hada way of putting my best into music. I didn't feel heart-broken when Ifound out that we really weren't anything more than good friends andneither did he.
"I'd cheerfully give all I've got to bring Dick back; I get lonesome forhim--awfully. And yet, that isn't exactly the sort of thing that theaverage person means by 'love,' is it?"
"It would have made me very happy once to know that you cared that muchfor me," answered Hard, bitterly.
"I did. I always did, Henry. Only we were--so near, so much a part of eachother--like cousins. I called it friendship instead of love," cried Clara,warmly.
"What difference does it make what you call it? Two people like to betogether, seem to fit into one another's lives, isn't that love?"
Clara smiled. "It's not the kind of love that Polly Street will give theman she marries," she said. "You know that as well as I. And it's not amatter of years, it's temperament. An actress told me once that when itcame to a question of comparison between her married life and her stagelife, she could say instantly that it was her stage life that had meantthe most to her. She was happily married, too. I'm a bit like her. I canget more downright exaltation over my music when it goes right than I evergot out of any love affair. I think my talent is for friendship ratherthan for love."
"Clara," Hard's voice shook, "I tell you, you wrong yourself. Neither younor that woman were happily married if--oh, I don't want to bemaudlin----"
"Bless your heart, Henry, you couldn't be, any more than I could. Perhapsit's the New England conscience----"
"I haven't a New England conscience," replied Hard. "My conscience is aselastic and pleasantly disposed as an Irishman's. Bunker Hill casts noblight upon me."
"Henry, this is all very nice; but I'm dying of hunger."
"Will you be afraid to stay here if I go back to Casa Grande and fetch yousomething?"
"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."
"You can't walk it."
"Then I'll die on the road. But how about your knee?" She stopped indiscouragement.
"What's a knee or two when you're starving to death?" demanded Hard, withdecision. "Come on, let's start before I get any stiffer."
They started out again, through the half darkness; walking slowly, forHard limped painfully. He had helped himself to a stout staff which hefound on the Soria veranda and which gave him some assistance. They werevery silent; Hard, because his mind was still running on Clara's words,Clara, because she was honestly puzzled over the situation, and her ownfeelings.
She watched the tall, thin figure, limping along by her side, and againthe 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.
"I wasn't in love with him, and yet, seeing him again, after all theseyears, it seems as though I must have been," she thought, gently. "It'sfriendship, and yet it's more than friendship. It's going to hurtdreadfully to go away again."
"Clara, one more word before we drop the subject; because I will drop itif it troubles you." Hard's voice came quietly through the darkness."Don't let us mistake each other again. I've tortured myself for fifteenyears, wondering whether I should have let you go as I did, or have triedto hold you. Do you think, with fifteen years behind us, that we made amistake?"
Clara's voice trembled as she answered: "No, Henry, I don't. We were tooyoung to understand each other. We needed experience--at least, I did. Idon't know," she added, with a shadow of a laugh, "whether it's theromantic situation, my enfeebled condition, or your noble heroism, but Inever felt more like being in love with you than I do this minute."
"Honestly, Clara?"
"Honestly, Henry. If you give out on the road I shall try to emulate thathusky woman in history who carried her husband on her back, do youremember?" Then, suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. "Henry, you've beenawfully patient with me. If you really want to embark on the seas ofmatrimony with such a shaky thing as I am----"
"Clara, I never thought it would come about like this or I would havesmashed this cussed knee ages ago! My dearest girl, my face is dirty andyours is dirtier, but I'm going to kiss you, and then we'll take anotherwhack at hobbling t
o Casa Grande."
The ranch-house stood dark and uninviting except for the dim light of thefire which shone through the broken windows of the living-room, but thesound of the piano came to their ears as they neared it.
"He's composing," said Clara, softly.
"Yes, he would be," said Hard, unsympathetically. "They always do work itoff that way, don't they?"
"Work what off?" demanded Clara, instantly.
"Anything that happens to them," said Hard, cheerfully. "You artisticfellows are queer, you know, Clara. Don't try to wriggle out of it."
"I shan't," replied Clara, promptly. "But let me warn you, my lad, youhaven't made me want to give up my music yet. I'm still going back to havea try at it."
"Bully for you! Of course you are. And I'm going with you, either to helpyou do it, or to make you fall in love with me so deeply that you'll wantto give it up."
Clara laughed softly and laid her hand on his arm. "Henry, if you can dothat, I'll be the happiest woman in the world. Please try!"