Across the Mesa

by Helen Bagg

  CHAPTER V

  POLLY ARRIVES

  It was midnight when the buckboard stopped in front of the company housewhere Mrs. Van Zandt and Henry Hard assisted the drowsy Polly out of thewagon, while Scott painstakingly performed the introductions.

  "Nothing to eat since noon!" gasped Mrs. Van Zandt, in horror. "What onearth was old lady Morgan thinking of? Mr. Hard, if you'll throw some morewood into the stove, I'll put on the percolator and run down to thedining-room for some sandwiches." She ran off in one direction, whileScott drove the team in another, leaving Hard to do the honors.

  "It's a shame to have things happen this way," he said. "A thousand timesI've heard Bob talk about having you come down here, and now that you'vecome, he's flying in another direction."

  "It's my own fault," admitted Polly, honestly. "We are all so sudden inour family--make up our minds and hardly wait to write or telegraph. Imight 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?"

  "Oh, we're tramps, Scott and I. We thought it would be pleasanter for youto be here with Mrs. Van Zandt, so we moved ourselves out. We rather likechanging about." He built up the fire and adjusted the percolator, whilePolly divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down in a comfortablechair.

  "It won't be for long," she said, decidedly. "I shall go back as soon as Ican now that Bob and Emma are home."

  "I hope you won't. Apart from the very great pleasure that it gives us allto see someone from home, it would be a pity to let you go back withoutseeing some of the country."

  Polly laughed in spite of her weariness.

  "It seems to me as though I'd seen the entire country of Mexico to-day,"she said. "Such a trip!"

  "Isn't it, though? The first time I made it I said: 'Here is where Ilocate for life and found a colony. I'll never have the courage to gohome.' But I got over it."

  Mrs. Van Zandt bustling in, followed by Scott, their hands full ofprovisions, found the two chatting sociably.

  "I'd have had cake for you," volunteered the former, "if Dolores and herbeau hadn't ate it all on me."

  "It's like a midnight feast at boarding-school," chuckled the visitor,waked up by the coffee.

  "It's like the spreads we used to have when we was on the road," said Mrs.Van Zandt, meditatively.

  "On the road?" Polly's eyes opened wide.

  "Mrs. Van was one of the original 'Floradora Sextette,'" remarked Scott,soberly. "The only one who didn't marry a millionaire."

  "A lot you know about it," retorted the lady. "I was in the 'Prince ofPilsen,'" she informed Polly, confidentially. "I understudied the 'Widow'on the road. It was an interesting life," she concluded, thoughtfully.

  "It must have been," replied Polly, politely. "How did you happen to comeWest?"

  "Me? Oh, I came West with an invalid," replied Mrs. Van, easily. "She wasone of the cranky kind--middle-aged and none of her family could live withher. You've seen that kind? They wanted she should have a trained nurseand 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 tobe; that's all the difference there is between them and the ones thatain't trained. So I come out to look after her."

  "Did she die?"

  "Not she. Get it out of your head that lungers always die--they don't. Shegot 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 askating rink and her folks were wild for fear she'd marry him."

  "Then you stayed out West?"

  "Yes, and sometimes I've regretted it. New York's the place to live. I hada swell flat in a good neighborhood and rented rooms to single gents andbusiness women--they're the ones that have the money. It was interesting,too. I'd put an 'ad' in the Sunday paper and all day Monday folks would becoming to see my rooms; I met some real nice people that way. Well, Ithink you'd better be turning in; you'll feel this to-morrow."

  Scott and Hard rose and said good-night.

  "That's a plucky girl, Scott," said the latter, as they walked down thesilent road together.

  "Do you know who brought her over from Conejo?" demanded Scott, with achuckle.

  "I thought you said Mendoza did."

  "Mendoza's sick and she took a dislike to old Mrs. Morgan, so she cameover with Juan Pachuca in his car."

  "You're joking."

  "I am not. I drove as far as Junipero Hill and when I got to the top of itI saw a big car at the foot, twisted about, almost in the ditch. I foundJohnny on his stomach under the car and the girl holding an electric torchfor him. She said she'd been underneath giving him a hand with it. Iwouldn't put it past her."

  "But the child must be out of her head," protested Hard, weakly. "Theydon't do those things--even in these degenerate days."

  "I guess you and me are behind the times, Henry. And then, you knowPachuca's manners. Something between the King of Spain and Chauncey Depew.Any woman'd fall for them."

  "But----"

  "But nothing. Pachuca brought her over and he behaved himself while he wasdoing it as near as I can find out. What I want to know is what the smoothyoung devil wants around here?"

  "If there's a revolution in the air, Pachuca would throw in his lot withObregon and De la Huerta. What he thinks about the First Chief isunprintable."

  "He had the cheek to tell me to close up the mine and get out of thecountry," grinned Scott.

  "That may mean something and it may not. They're keen about their bit ofmelodrama, these chaps. My El Paso paper says that there is a rumor againabout troops having been ordered in from Chihuahua. That looks as thoughthey were afraid of something."

  "Or else were trying to stir up something," replied the other. "Obregon'snever going to stand for Carranza's candidate for the election. His ownchances are too good. It might be a wise plan for the Government to stirup a little revolution on its own hook and get in the first hits."

  "Might be. Anything might be down here; that's why it's such aninteresting place to live. Still, I don't altogether like the idea ofPachuca roaming the country like a lion escaped from a circus."

  "Those lions never do much harm," observed Scott, cheerfully. "Of course,if he hitches up with Villa----"

  "I seem to have heard that he and Villa had a row. I should say he wasmore likely to try to organize a crowd of his own and get in on thefireworks."

  "If he does it's good-bye to our fellows," said Scott. "It would be a caseof the Pied Piper and the rats; and Johnny's a mighty good piper."

  Hard glanced at his companion in some amusement. Scott, who was a man oflittle education, had periodic spells of promiscuous reading, andfrequently surprised his friend with his references.

  "It wouldn't be only our men, either," he said, a moment later.

  "I was thinking of that," replied Scott. "Old Herrick's would go, too. Iwish you could persuade him to go back to England, Hard; that ranch of hisis no place for an artist."

  Hard nodded. "I doubt if I could," he said. "Herrick's obstinate."

  They had reached the cabin where they were to sleep and were haileddrowsily but inquisitively by Adams.

  "Hullo, you guys! Did you find the lady?"

  "We did, and she asked warmly after you," replied Scott. Then, in a lowtone to Hard: "No use saying anything about Pachuca to the boys."

  Hard nodded. "Better not," he agreed.

  "Did she? I think you lie," replied Adams, sleepily. "Don't be any noisierthan you can help, you two, getting to bed. I've lost two hours of mybeauty sleep now waitin' up for you and I need my rest."

  * * * * *

  "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 inbed until you're rested."

  "I'm rested now," said the girl, sitting up. "Is there--no, of coursethere isn't a bathtub on the place?" she laughed.

 
"Bathtub? Well, I should say not, but your pitcher's full, I guess. You'llget used to being without bathtubs after a while. They ain't half asimportant as folks think."

  "I don't mind. I've camped," said Polly, heroically. "What I really wantedto ask you was how soon you thought I could get away?"

  "Get away? Why, ain't you just come?"

  "Yes, but I thought Bob was here. I never would have dumped myself downupon a lot of strangers like this."

  "If that's all that bothers you, turn over and get another nap. If theSuperintendent's own sister ain't got a right to a few weeks' board andlodging, 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 allright."

  Polly laughed again. Mrs. Van Zandt's eye took in her appearancethoughtfully.

  "Do you sleep in those things all the time?" she said. "I mean, are theyall you brought?"

  Polly glanced at her diaphanous pajamas and nodded cheerfully.

  "Well, I'll see that you have an extra blanket. Nights are cold here," andMrs. Van hurried away. Polly called after her. "Well?" she said,reappearing in the doorway.

  "Is this Bob's room, Mrs. Van Zandt?" the girl asked.

  "No, it's Mr. Hard's, but you needn't worry about him. He'll be quitecomfortable at the other house."

  "I was wondering----" Polly blushed. One hates to be curious, and yet--"Iwas wondering who that was?" pointing to a photograph on the dresser.

  "Her name's Conrad--she's a widow woman from Boston, an old friend of his.Pretty, ain't she?"

  "Very."

  "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 ofMarc Scott."

  "Oh!"

  "He said she was a singer; married an Englishman and lived down nearMexico City. Husband died two or three years ago. I've a notion she's anold sweetheart of Henry Hard's--you can tell from her clothes it's an oldpicture."

  "I like her looks," commented Polly.

  "So do I. Give me a wide-awake looking woman every time," agreed Mrs. VanZandt. "There, I must hustle or Dolores will put red pepper in the eggs."

  Polly stared at the photograph. It was of a tall, slender woman, withlarge dark eyes, and obviously of a personality distinctly pleasing. Shehad, even in the photograph, an air of vitality which accounted for Mrs.Van's comment.

  "And he looks like the sort of man who would stay single for a woman," shesaid, pensively. Then her thoughts returned to her own position. Her eyesfilled.

  "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 tosay about me. As though it mattered what the kind of people I know thinkof anybody! And now I've marooned myself in this dreadful place and I'llhave to stay till Bob comes--we can't go chasing each other across thecountry like this. And that miserable Scott man knows why I came! Well, Ican snub him, anyhow."

  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 overher lacy waist, her plaid skirt blowing in the breeze, and her vivid haircovered only with a net. The air was cool and bracing, the sun justbeginning to be a bit warm, the mountains emerging from behind fleecyclouds, and the sky as blue as that of Italy.

  "Not bad, eh?" Hard stopped beside her, thinking how her splendid youthand vibrant coloring harmonized with the surroundings.

  "Not bad at all," laughed the girl. "You only need a few wild lookingMexicans prowling about to give a touch of life."

  Hard pointed toward the mine. Some dark-skinned men wearing big strawsombreros were running a hand car up the track while another group loungedin a doorway.

  "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 thinkthey're getting a bit blase over them. Now and then they wake up over acock-fight." They walked down the street toward the boarding-house.

  "I wish, Mr. Hard, that you would tell me something about the young manwho drove me over last night," the girl said.

  "Who? Scotty?"

  "No," a little indignantly. "I mean Senor Pachuca. Oh, I forgot that Ihadn't told you!"

  "Scott told me. He and I thought, if you don't mind, that we wouldn't sayanything about it before the others. I mean about his being in theneighborhood."

  "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."

  "Well, no, Scotty didn't want to frighten you, I suppose."

  "Frighten me? As if I was that kind of girl!"

  "It's just a little difficult these days to know what one may or may nottell a young lady," smiled Hard. "But about Johnny Pachuca. A good manypeople call him 'Don Juan'--I don't know whether it's because he claims tobe of pure Spanish blood, or whether it's a subtle recognition of hispopularity with the ladies."

  "Oh!"

  "A few years ago, he was a captain or a colonel or something equally fancyin the army. He's a dashing young scamp, and he had the good luck or thebad luck whatever you want to call it to engage the affections of agood-looking young actress who was supposed to be bestowing thoseaffections on a man higher up. Naturally, the man higher up looked aboutfor a way 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 downin Mexico City--padding his accounts--so they got him.

  "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 privatelife or turning bandit. Having a taste for action, he did the latter."

  "Do you mean like Villa?"

  "Well, no, Villa's in a class by himself. You can't call a man who hascontrolled 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 sortof way; at least they say he did; nobody's proved it on him. He wasundoubtedly with Villa at one time. He was with him when he stopped hereand 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 inthe South. I haven't a doubt, however, that if another revolution shouldbreak out, Johnny would climb into the band-wagon against the governmentand land in the army again."

  "And that's the man I undertook to drive alone in the dark with!" gaspedthe girl. "Mr. Hard, promise me you'll never tell Bob?"

  "I promise," replied Hard, laughing. "And here we are at breakfast. MissStreet, this is Mr. Williams, who runs our store, Mr. Adams, of the officeforce----" and so on until each had very consciously greeted the newcomer.Scott, who sat at the end of the table, looked up and bowed, receiving acool little response. He returned unconcerned to his ham and eggs. If thenew arrival was going to be disagreeable, he would keep out of her way.

  Breakfast went off pleasantly. The food was excellent and with theexception of Scott, who kept his distance, everyone was quite evidentlytrying to put the girl at her ease. From the train crew, who announcedtheir intention of running over to Conejo for her trunk, to Adams whospoke for the privilege of taking her over the plant, and Williams, whobegged for an early opportunity to show his collection of baskets andpottery, each had something to offer. Even the black-eyed Dolores peepedadmiringly through the hole in the wall, gathering items about the visitorto retail to the eager ears of relatives and friends at the next _baile_.

  After breakfast, Adams piloted Polly over the premises, from the corral tothe office. He showed her the automobile lying idle because an importantpart was broken and the new one though ordered from the factory had notcome.

  "I hope you ride?" he said, and as she nodded: "that's good. Maybe we canget up a party to ride across the mesa to Casa Grande. That's Herrick'splace."

  "Herrick?"

  "Yes. Queer chap--part German and part English. Artistic, you know--playsthe piano and sings."

  "Wh
at's he doing here if he's an artist?" demanded Polly.

  "Runs a ranch and writes music. His wife died suddenly--she used to travelaround with him and sing his songs--they made a pile of money, I guess."

  "You don't mean Victor Herrick!" gasped the girl.

  "Yes, that's him. He went to pieces when she died and packed up his pianoand his music and came down here and buried himself on the ranch. Queercustomer, but you'll like him."

  "And to think that Bob Street never wrote me that Victor Herrick was aneighbor of his--and then wrote pages of stuff about those old Morgans!"said Polly, indignantly. "Why, I've heard the Herricks sing--they werewonderful! Men haven't any sense."

  "Oh, well, he likes the Morgans. She's a jolly kind of woman, invites afellow 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'tyou see?" He threw open the door of the office abruptly. "Here's theoffice, where the manager sits with his feet on the desk while the rest ofus work."

  Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly.

  "Hullo, Jimmy," he said, with a grin. "Do you know whether Johnson's goneyet? Well, go over and tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan's and tell herthat the young lady got here safely; I can't get Conejo on the wire."

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!" said the girl, eagerly. "She meant to beawfully kind but she was worried to death about those children. I was tootired to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get away fromConejo."

  "You're not the first person who's been struck that way," grinned Adams,as he left the office.

  "Hard tells me he has been talking to you about Juan Pachuca," said Scott,smiling.

  "Well, you wouldn't, so I had to ask somebody else," replied Polly. "I'minterested in him."

  "So I noticed. Can't you pick out something a little more like home-folksto be interested in? Remember the fellow who tried to bring up the tigercub?"

  "What happened to him?" Polly smiled up into Scott's face. There wassomething about Scotty that appealed to you even when you were activelyengaged in disliking him.

  "It grew up and bit him."

  "Oh, and Juan Pachuca seemed so nice and friendly. But I suppose a tigercub feels soft and furry when it isn't scratching or biting."

  "Exactly. You can't tell about these fellows down here. Maybe Pachucawould have brought you over here safe and sound, and maybe he would havetaken the south fork of the road down yonder and carried you off to hisranch to hold for a ransom."

  "Oh," said Polly, faintly, "what a dreadful country!"

  "Well, it's no place for tenderfeet. That's what I'm always telling ourneighbor--Herrick, over at Casa Grande. Bob ever write you about him?"

  "Bob never writes me about anything--except Emma," said the girl. "But Mr.Adams has been telling me about him. Does he live there all alone?"

  "No, he's got a Chinese boy to cook for him and a lot of greasers workingon the place, but no white men around."

  "I wish I could meet him."

  "You can. I'll drive you over there any time you say."

  Polly's face hardened. "I won't bother you," she said. "I don't know howlong I'll stay here. I want to telegraph Bob."

  "I told Johnson to wire him from Conejo," said Scott, a bit coolly on hisside. "He may bring the return message back with him to-night."

  Polly felt suddenly ashamed of herself. She rose and held out her hand.

  "That was awfully thoughtful of you, Mr. Scott," she said. "I'm ever andever so much obliged to you, both for that and for last night. I supposeif it hadn't been for you Senor Pachuca might have been sending pieces ofmy fingers to Bob for a ransom."

  Scott laughed but he took the hand awkwardly.

  "I don't think Pachuca would do anything quite as raw as that--especiallywith a lady," he said. "But I'm glad I went just the same. I don't takechances with these chaps. Shall we walk down to dinner? Mrs. Van getspretty peeved if we're late to meals."