CHAPTER IX
AT LIBERTY
Polly and Matt continued their walk in silence until they reached thedining-room. They found Scott sitting as they had left him, smoking andthinking; while, through the hole in the wall, Mrs. Van Zandt could beseen and heard busy with the dishes.
"Well, did His Nobs enjoy his tea?" asked Scott.
"He did that! Kicked into it like a little man," replied Matt, cheerfully."Also he made the young lady a real sporting proposition."
"What?"
"Oh, don't be absurd!" snapped Polly, disgustedly. "Anybody'd suppose youwere college boys at the dansant." And she went into the kitchen.
"Well, you see what you get, Matt; you would horn in. What do you mean--asporting proposition?"
"Oh, a rich one. Buried treasure up in New Mexico--secret chart handeddown to Juan Pachuca by a maiden aunt--I don't know what all--just to getthe key of the office, but she was too sharp for him."
"I should hope so. Is that Hard?" Scott went to the window as the sound ofhoof-beats was heard. Down the street came a man on horseback. Silhouettedagainst the moonlight, the tall Bostonian acquired a picturesquenesslacking in daylight. "I've got to take Hard out one of these days andteach him how to ride," remarked Scott, meditatively. "Jolt some of thatBoston stiffness out of him."
"You can't," replied the Irishman, placidly. "It's in his blood. Hisancestors brought it over in the _Mayflower_ with 'em from England. I'llbet you Paul Revere rode just like Hard does."
"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 atthat."
"Country? The country they ride over's nothing to what the Irish do. Afeller told me----"
"Hello, boys, what's up? Why the theatre supper?" demanded Hard,entering.
He listened to the particulars which poured upon him. "Well," he said,finally, "I'm sorry I missed the excitement. 'Twas ever thus. The onlytime our house ever burned down I was at a matinee of the 'Black Crook.'Well, you saved the cash?"
"Miss Polly did," grinned Scott. "And we've got the boy that made themischief."
"Jimmy much hurt?"
"Afraid so."
"I was afraid something like this would happen," said Hard. "They told meover in Conejo that there was trouble on. They had an all-night session atHermosillo and the state seceded."
"That's what Pachuca says."
"Morgan's taken his family up to Douglas."
"Any news from Bob?"
"Just a letter for Miss Polly."
"We won't desert until we have orders, but I'm rather glad to have thecar," continued Scott. "I thought we'd run over and see Herrick in themorning."
"I say, Scott, that Chinaman of Herrick's is a doctor. Why not have himtake a look at Jimmy's leg?"
"A Chinaman!" Polly had come in with Hard's coffee.
"Sure!" cried Scott. "Just the thing. I'd forgotten about him. When aChink is scientific, he's as scientific as the devil."
"He came over to practice medicine; you know how the Mexicans feel aboutthe Chinese? His money went and he had to do what he could. Herrick pickedhim up somewhere and he's been there ever since," said Hard.
"We'll get him over here for Jimmy. He's clean at any rate."
"Listen to this!" Polly had opened her letter. "It's from Mother," sheexplained. "Poor old Bob's in the hospital--just been operated on forappendicitis! Isn't that the limit? On a honeymoon!"
"Hard luck," commented Scott. "How's he coming on?"
"She says he's doing splendidly. You see, he's been dodging that operationfor the last ten years, and now it's got him, poor boy. Mother saysthey're worried to death about me."
"And well they may be," remarked Mrs. Van Zandt, heartily.
"She says the directors have met but didn't do anything."
"That sounds natural," said Hard. "They've been doing that for the lastthree years."
"Trying to figure out which costs less; to give up the property, or to payus our salaries to hold it down," chuckled Scott.
"She says I am to come home at once," continued Polly, "but that I am notto try to travel alone. Either Mr. Scott or Mr. Hard is to go with me tothe border."
"I'm glad somebody in your family has got good sense," said Scott, grimly."It's a pity those things aren't hereditary."
"Thank you. I think I prefer to have Mr. Hard go."
Hard bowed solemnly. "Bob coming back?" he asked.
"As soon as they'll let him," said Bob's sister, promptly.
"Yes, he likes a scrap," remarked Scott. "I hope they keep the papers awayfrom him this next week. Well, it's lucky for you, Miss Polly, that we'vegot 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."
"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 pretendthey don't want me to go! I always supposed that the one girl in a miningcamp would be dazzlingly popular--but this doesn't look much like it. Andyet--he likes me, I know he does! He liked my bringing the car back; I sawit in his eyes, if he did make fun of me.
"He's jealous of Don Juan, too. Well, that won't do him any harm. He's sodetermined not to fall in love with me that he's going to need a littleoutside interference to make him change his mind. He's got to change hismind because I--yes, I do care for him--a lot. People may think thesethings 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 knotand prepared to sleep.
Juan Baptisto Pachuca had not availed himself of the shakedown made forhim by Mrs. Van Zandt's blankets. He had put out his light because hewanted to think and he preferred thinking by moonlight. He sat in Hard'soffice chair by the window, closed now, for the night was cool, anddrummed impatiently upon the arm of it.
Mentally, Pachuca was more than impatient; he was outraged. His plans hadbeen spoiled, his liberty restricted and his dignity impaired. He had beenmade to look ridiculous. Of all the offenses against him the latter wasthe most serious. He hated giving up anything he had put his mind on, buthe hated a great deal more being made ridiculous.
Nor was it pleasant to be triumphed over by a girl. Juan Pachuca likedgirls, especially good-looking ones, but he liked them in their places,not in the larger affairs of life. When they insisted upon mixingthemselves up with such affairs, they ceased, in his estimation, to bepretty girls and became merely tiresome members of the other sex.
Had Polly Street given in to his proposals of escape he would have felt ina better temper with her, but he would not have been at all tempted tofall in love with her. He had been in the mood for that once--the nightthey had come over from Conejo together--but Fate, or the girl herself, orMarc Scott, he had hardly taken the time to decide which, had interferedand that was over.
Pachuca bore Polly no ill will for her part in that affair. That was herprovince--a love affair. A lady had the privilege of granting or denyingher 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 giveand take very agreeably in the game of love, without repining if thingsdidn't seem to be going his way.
This, however, was a question of business and Juan Pachuca considered thatany woman who could get ahead of him in a matter of business would have toget up exceedingly early in the morning. He would get out of that room orhe would know the reason why. It was highly important that he should. Infact, his plans for the next few days depended absolutely upon his sodoing.
Pachuca's business head, for all his conceit about it, was exceedinglyprimitive. His had been rather a primitive career from its beginning.Hard's story of the actress, while not entirely correct, had itsfoundation in fact. Pachuca had been disgraced; to be disgraced in anymanner is bad enough, but to be disgraced for doing something that youknow quite well is being done in perfect security by most of the peoplewith whom you are
connected is particularly galling.
Aching to thwart the government he hated, Pachuca hastened to ally himselfwith its particular enemy and to work against it with all the impetuosityof his nature. But Francisco Villa was not an easy man for anyone as headyas Juan Pachuca to get on with. There were quarrels and more quarrels, andfinally Pachuca, again disgusted with the world and its people, retired toprivate life.
He was not, however, built for private life. Some of us are like that. Weneed the excitement and the stimulus of action to bring out our betterpoints. Also, Pachuca's friends were not of the sort who cared much forthe 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 dosomething for Mexico; men who were dishonestly trying to do something forthemselves; and men who were in such a truly desperate frame of mind afterten years of revolution, banditry, and general upset, that they scarcelyknew what they were doing.
Pachuca, who for all his aristocratic blood, was an exceedingly goodmixer, had enjoyed these various and sundry associations and in the quietof private life he yearned for them. Very much as a celebrated actressfeels the lure of the footlights after she has left them for matrimony andthe fireside, very much as the superannuated fire horse is said to reactto the alarm, so Pachuca yearned for the agreeable persons with whom hehad foregathered since leaving the army.
When there were rumors of another revolution, he began to think of lookingup some of these exceedingly live wires, and seeing what could be done forFreedom, Mexico, and Juan Pachuca. It was with the idea of informinghimself as to these matters that he had taken the journey which hadresulted in his meeting with Polly Street, and the fortnight which she hadspent in Athens had been used to accomplish a number of things.
Himself rather a good judge of which way the political cat might beexpected to jump at this particular crisis, Pachuca had decided to throwin his lot with the Obregonistas. He knew Obregon, knew his hold on thepeople, his popularity with the labor party, and it looked to him verymuch as though that general of fascinating Irish ancestry had a goodchance of being Mexico's next president.
At the same time he realized perfectly that his own reputation with theObregonistas was not good. Various tales current among Mexicans ofpolitical standing, in regard to his relations with Villa, would be verymuch against him, and services rendered the Carranza government wouldhardly be likely to stand him in good stead. Pachuca wanted to stand wellwith the new party if he stood with them at all. He intended that the nextpresident of Mexico should confer upon him an office of distinction, andoffices of this sort must be earned, not only in Mexico but anywhere. Inthe great republic near by which Pachuca hoped some day to visit,preferably on a state mission, things were handled in this way also. If hecould bring to the revolutionary chiefs of the new party men, arms, andmoney, he might hope for a warm reception.
During the fortnight referred to he had communicated with one AngelGonzales, previously mentioned, who had also quarreled with Villa and beenrigorously persecuted by him. Gonzales was at the head of a small bandwhich he was quite willing to consolidate with Pachuca's men, and they hadagreed to meet and discuss ways and means. It was toward this rendezvousthat Pachuca had been journeying when he stopped to raid the Athens miningcamp.
To be stopped at such a time was not to be endured. Pachuca looked aroundthe small room angrily. He looked out of the window. It was a bad drop butnot an impossible one. An athlete might manage it, he supposed, but he wasnot an athlete--he was a gentleman and a soldier. It would be a nastything to try it and to break a leg. He had never tried breaking a leg buthe remembered having heard the family physician say that a broken legmeant a six weeks' vacation and he had no mind for a vacation on thoseterms.
He went to the door--locked, of course, he had heard the girl turn thekey, but one might burst it open. He tried, several times, but the doorheld maddeningly. There was no transom, no other door--nothing but theplastered walls and the window. He turned again to the window, and threwit open. The cool night air came in refreshingly. In the distance, thedark shapes of the mountains stood out forbiddingly in the moonlight.Millions of stars winked and twinkled. Gaunt cacti reared their ungainlyshapes--beautiful because of their very ugliness.
Somewhere over in those mountains Angel Gonzales was wending a torturouspath to meet him. Angel would swear and rage when he did not come. Then hewould probably annex Pachuca's men and their plunder and go cheerfully onhis way. That would be Angel's idea of the philosophical manner ofhandling the situation. Juan ground his white teeth in a fury. Again hehung out of the window. The moonlight was so glaring that he was easilyvisible had anyone been watching, but all the lights in Athens were outand the inhabitants in bed.
Pachuca swung lightly out of the window and with a very cattish agilitycaught the sill with both hands and lowered himself. He looked down. Itwas the devil of a drop. Ten chances to one he would turn an ankle at thevery least. He made a wry face. One does not do things successfully whenone does them in this frame of mind. With an effort surprising in one soslight he drew himself back into the window again. There must be anotherway. It was positively not on the cards for him to be fooled in thisstupid manner. He could see his car standing near the corral and the sighturged him to greater efforts.
He paced angrily up and down the floor. It was a very solid floor. As faras he was concerned it might be regarded as an invincible floor. If he hada pick, perhaps--Pachuca's eyes brightened, and a roguish look came intothem. He had been thinking as he often did in English, being practicallybi-lingual, and the word suggested something to him. Why not pick thelock? He felt eagerly in his pocket for his knife--left, alas, in thepocket of his leather coat in the machine. Still, there might be onesomewhere about. In the desk, perhaps. The saints would help a goodSpaniard, undoubtedly. Pachuca was not unduly religious, and he could notrecall at the moment any saint renowned for picking locks, so he let it goat that and began to hunt. Some sort of tool might be found in the desk.
The desk yielded pencils, pens, erasers, and other harmless implementswithout number, but nothing even remotely resembling a knife. Pachucaslammed the drawers angrily and resumed his tramping. The night wasgetting on and he was apparently no nearer freedom than when the girl hadleft him. He cursed volubly and disgustedly.
"I suppose if I had the shoulders of that abominable Scott I could breakthe door!" he muttered. "On the other hand," he mused, grimly, "if I hadhad his brains I would not be here. It was a foolish business--trying toconfiscate American property. It rarely pays." Pachuca, like the famousMr. Pecksniff, believed in keeping up appearances even with one's self.His attempt was confiscation distinctly and not robbery. "It was talkingwith the American girl that day on the train that put it into my head. Shewould talk about her brother and his mine. Juan Pachuca, when will youlearn to let women alone? Every time a woman comes upon the scenesomething disagreeable happens--and usually to you."
He paused by the window and surveyed it distastefully. "If I have to goout by that window, I will--but I do not like it. If I could bribe someoneto put up a ladder! But they are all asleep--the lazy fools."
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 hishead. Alas, the shakedown consisted of a small hard mattress and a coupleof blankets, army blankets at that. Anyone who can make a rope ladder ofarmy blankets, with nothing more solid to fasten them to than a ricketyold desk, must be cleverer than even Juan Pachuca considered himself.
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 unluckyenough to meet with disaster, he must crawl as far as the car, and once inthe car he defied anyone, white, brown or black to stop him. If only theyhad left him his gun!
Carefully Pachuca balanced himself once more on the window and swunghimself out, still clinging to the sill. The drop looked easier than ithad before; he felt almost ch
eerful about it. Give him five minutes alonein the moonlight and he would have his liberty, his car and his triumphover Gringo carelessness. At the same moment, there arose out of thestillness the loud and penetrating bark of an aroused dog.
Yellow, who slept anywhere, being a tramp dog by nature, had elected topass the night outside Scott's window, and the cabin in which Scott wassleeping was across the street and only a few feet away from the windowfrom which Pachuca was trying to escape. Not content with barking, theinterfering Yellow started on a gallop for the peculiar looking personhanging out of the window. Almost instantly, a light flashed in Scott'sroom and a head was thrust out of the window.
With an exasperated groan Pachuca drew himself back again and waited.Scott's head was withdrawn, and two seconds later, Scott, himself, clad inpajamas and a bathrobe, dashed out of the cabin and was met by anotherfigure which seemed to spring from nowhere. Pachuca thought the secondfigure looked like Miller, the man who had brought his blankets, but hewas not sure. By this time the dog had stopped barking and was followingthe two men. Pachuca stood in the window, waiting developments. Scottlooked up with evident relief.
"You're there, are you?" he said.
"So it appears," disgustedly. "Am I a cat to scramble out of a window?"
"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 humanpuss. If you don't mind, I reckon I'll tie him to the front door downhere. He's rough on cats."
"Suit yourself, _amigo_, I'm going to sleep," was the disdainful reply.
Well, that ended going out by the window. Pachuca, having a Latin dislikefor fresh air in the sleeping-room, closed the window angrily and threwhimself down on the mattress. It was hard and there was no pillow. Theblankets he would need to keep him warm. Pachuca, though used tohardships, dearly loved his comfort. He glanced around the room again; anold office coat hanging on a peg in a corner caught his eye. It would dofor a pillow. He took it down and rolled it into a wad. As he did so, aclinking sound became audible. He reached into the pocket--a bunch of keysand an old hunting-knife came to light.
Pachuca grinned. Well, Heaven was looking out for its own; it was not inthe nature of things that a Pachuca should be trampled in the dust by theproletariat! Patiently, one after another, he tried the keys--ah, theright one at last! He turned it and the door opened. Pachuca chuckleddelightedly; it pleased his whimsicality to think that so apparentlyunsurmountable a difficulty should be solved in so plain and unromantic afashion.
He returned to the window and saw Scott and Miller standing outsideScott's cabin; saw Scott go inside and the cabin become dark once more andMiller 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 aChristian, or was he going to hang around and keep an eye on the car? Thislast would be extremely awkward. Miller, however, turned in at the houseand disappeared.
Pachuca spent five minutes at the window watching, but he did notreappear. "Ah well, one must risk something!" he mused, and glanced downat the sleeping Yellow. Cautiously and with the soft step of one who haslearned the wisdom of a silent tread, the young man slid down thestairway. The door at the foot of the stairs was open; it opened outwardand they had tied the dog back of it.
Juan Pachuca opened the hunting-knife and surveyed it in a business-likefashion. There was a sudden movement of his arm and poor Yellow shiveredand crumpled up noiselessly. Quietly, the knife still in his hand, Pachucaslipped behind the building and continued his way toward the corral. Hereached the car unhindered and breathed a sigh of relief; the rest wouldbe plain sailing. A peep into the tonneau showed him that the plunder hadbeen removed; but that, of course, he had expected. He jumped into the carand started the engine. At the same moment, a burly figure rushed out ofthe house near by, caught at the car as it started, clung to therunning-board and, leaning over, seized Pachuca by the arm.
It was Miller; Miller, who had indeed gone to bed, but whose bed was nearthe window of the little cabin, and who had been keeping one eye on thecar and had emerged, scantily attired in a nightshirt tucked into a pairof 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 desperatelook came into his eyes; he paid no attention to the angry demand of hisassailant that he stop the car, but, making a sudden lunge, he drove thehunting-knife into the shoulder of the big man.
"Damn you, put up that knife!" choked Miller, seeing the blow coming butnot quickly enough to dodge it. With one hand clutching the car and oneholding Pachuca, he was too late to reach his gun. By the time he loosedhis hold on the Mexican, the knife had reached its mark; a knife none toosharp, but driven by a practiced hand, it pierced the flesh, and with agroan, Miller dropped off the running-board into the road.
Ah, the good car! Pachuca sang with joy as it leaped ahead into thedarkness. They would be awake in a moment, the lazy Gringos, but what ofit? He would be out of their reach. He laughed as he flew past the housewhere Polly slept.
"Adieu, pretty American! I kiss your hand--until we meet again!"
Something struck the back of the car with a sharp, tearing sound. Pachucaturned with a grin. A light had sprung up in the house into which he hadseen Scott go. With another chuckle, the young Mexican bent over the wheeland whirled down the road toward freedom.