Across the Mesa

by Helen Bagg

  CHAPTER VI

  LOCAL ACTIVITIES

  Johnson did not bring a return message from Chicago.

  "Family ain't got its breath yet, I reckon," he said, as he and Scottdiscussed the matter. "She looks to me like the sort of youngster whocould keep a family pretty well stirred up," he added, candidly. "Girlshave changed sence you and me was young, Scotty."

  "You've said it," was the terse reply.

  "If you can believe what these magazine fellers write," went on theengineer, pensively, "the girl of to-day is a sort of mixture of bronc,ostrich, and rattlesnake thrown in. Smokes, drinks--say, Scotty, I wonderdo they chew?"

  "Search me," responded Scott. "I don't go into society much these days. Ireckon, though, you've got to take these writing chaps with a grain ofsalt. There's probably a few plain, ordinary girls left."

  "There's plenty of plain ones, if the newspapers ain't lyin'," saidJohnson, opening his home paper at the society page and revealing threeemaciated damsels, clad in extremely short skirts, and with huge birdcages over their ears. "Not that Miss Polly's like them," he added,generously. "She's a looker and a lady, too. I like her."

  "That's lucky, Tom," remarked Scott. "I'll tell her she can stay on."

  Polly did stay on. The next day a telegram came from the happybridegroom.

  "For Heaven's sake stay where you are. Stop racing around the country.Returning shortly. Bob."

  In the meantime, the days passed like hours. Polly rode with Scott, walkedwith Adams, chatted with Hard, and helped Mrs. Van Zandt with thehousework when the latter would let her, which wasn't often. Now and thenshe remembered Joyce Henderson, and when she did, her manner would cooltoward Scott; but one couldn't go on holding a grudge long in thatclimate. The glorious sun, coming after months of dark chilly weather,seemed to melt anything in one's heart that was unfriendly. JoyceHenderson soon faded into half-tones.

  There were a dozen interesting things to do everyday. A Mexican saddlewith its high pommel and cantle, was fascinating after an English one.Foothills and arroyos were a charming part of one's walk after theboulevards and parks of Chicago. She hugely enjoyed chatting in signlanguage with the Mexicans and Indians on the place, and before a week hadpassed she had picked up a number of Spanish phrases which she used withdelighted inaccuracy.

  She believed that of the men she liked Hard the best. He was the type ofman she had always admired; the best type of an American gentleman, a manof good old family traditions, quiet and unassuming and yet full of apleasant humor. She wondered what had brought him to Mexico--an unhappylove affair with the lady who sang? But Hard was not a man of whom oneasked personal questions so she did not find out.

  Scott, however, was the man who really interested Polly Street though shedid not realize it. Much of that interest was due to the fact that heapparently did not care whether he interested her or not. One moment theywould be on excellent terms, and the next he would have forgotten her.

  "That young man," said Polly, sagely, "understands the art of makinghimself popular. He knows it irritates a woman to see a man absolutelyindifferent to her. It's more than flesh and blood can stand. So he actsthat way, for it's a pose, of course. Just for that I'm going to make himlike me--if I can spare the time."

  In this she wronged Marc Scott, who was quite innocent of the art ofposing, and whose mind was on other things these days than young women.

  One day, about a fortnight after Polly's arrival, she and Scott rode overto a little village hidden in the mountains some ten miles away. It was awarm day and they were long on the road. It was nearing sundown when theycame within sight of Athens. Polly, as usual, was talking:

  "They're such queer people--Mexicans. They can't run their own country andthey don't want anybody else to come in and run it for them."

  "I wouldn't call that queer," replied Scott. "Chances are that if they letsomeone else in, there wouldn't be enough country left for them to put intheir eye, and they darn well know it."

  "Not necessarily," replied the girl, sturdily. "We didn't gobble up Cuba.We just helped them to get on their feet."

  "Cuba's a different proposition. Cuba was being coerced by an Europeanpower and, of course, we had to stop it. Mexico is in the hands of her ownpeople 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 onus. You'd never persuade a live Mexican that the U. S. came over here foranything in the world but to grab the oil lands--whether the U. S. wasinnocent or not."

  "I suppose not, and a good many of us wouldn't be innocent, would we?"

  "Afraid not. You see, the oil business has developed to an importance farbeyond everything else down here. When this man, Carranza, went intooffice, he went in under what they call the Constitution of 1917. Itprovides that the State is entitled to retain what they call 'subsoilrights.' That is, they don't want to sell oil lands or mines outright,they just lease them.

  "Now, if they should decide, and a lot of them want to, that thatConstitution is retroactive--and undermines the titles of land that'salready owned by foreign capital, there'd be a lot of influence brought tobear to make trouble."

  "That would affect our mine, wouldn't it?"

  "Yes, but mines are pretty small potatoes compared to oil. People downhere will tell you that the Constitution is merely a matter of form andthat 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 puttingup his money. If they get a new government down here, and we get a new oneat home, the chances are that the United States will demand guarantees ofsome kind. It's a bad question, take it any way you like.

  "The Mexican says: 'These oil lands are mine.' And they are. The Americansays: 'What good were they to anybody when you had them?' None whatever,and the world needs oil, so there you are."

  They rode on for a few minutes in silence. Scott watched, with the mixedpleasure of the horseman and the admiring male, the girl's graceful figureadapt itself to the jog of the horse. He reflected that there wassomething very clean-cut and alive about her, from the way her hair sprangin its tight little waves away from her firm white neck, to the quickflash of her dark eyes; there was a vividness and a health about her whichappealed strongly to the out-of-doors man.

  Nothing could have been further from his idea of a rich man's daughter; apampered being, all nerves and affectations, helpless and parasitic. Ofcourse she was spoiled--used to being waited upon a good deal, and withrather 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 thatmight rub off when it came in contact with life. Even the rich sometimescame into contact with life, he reflected, with a feeling of satisfaction.They dodged a good many rough knocks that the poor couldn't dodge, butsomething usually came along to even up the score, if nothing else--theold boy with the scythe.

  "Mr. Scott, when are you going to take me over to see Casa Grande?" saidthe object of his meditations, suddenly.

  "Me?" Scott turned on her in well simulated surprise. "Thought you didn'twant to go last time we talked about it."

  "Well," Polly blushed, "I've changed my mind. I want to meet thecelebrity."

  "Who? Victor Herrick? I don't think you'll care much for him if you goover there looking for a celebrity. He's not that kind."

  "I don't understand."

  "He's not the kind that likes to go to pink teas and have a lot of womenhanging around him," explained Scott, promptly. "Not a society woman'spet. Too good a musician, I guess."

  "You don't like society people very much, do you?"

  "Not much," candidly. "And I guess they wouldn't care much for me, so thatsquares it."

  "I suppose the sort of people you mean by 'society' wouldn't care foryou," said the girl, frankly. "But there are people, you know, even amongthe rich who have sense enough to know a worth-while man when they meethim."

  It was Scott's turn to show confusion. "I don't mean that ther
e aren't anydecent rich folks. I'm not such a blamed idiot as that," he said. "You,yourself, have a lot more sense than an heiress has any right to," headded, with a smile.

  "Me? I'm not an heiress. Father has a big salary, of course, but we spendevery cent of it. We don't mean to but we always do. Somehow, our expensescrawl up every time the salary crawls. Of course, there's insurance, butthat would go to Mother. You see, they've educated both Bob and me wellenough so that we can support ourselves; I could be athletic instructor ina girls' college to-morrow if I wanted to; and Father's invested a gooddeal in this mine on Bob's account. He thinks he's done his duty by us andI do, too."

  "So do I," said Scott, soberly. "I don't believe in these handed-downfortunes--money tied up for generations."

  "I think," said Polly, shyly, "that you're a bit of a socialist."

  "So do I--only I've never found exactly the brand of socialism that Ibelieve in. Maybe they haven't discovered it yet. But I do believe thatwe've got to do better by each other than we're doing now if we're evergoing to make a success of living. Whether it's got to come by individualreform or by some new system of government, I don't know, but things havegot to improve, and, by gum, I believe they will! We're too good, all ofus, to be wasted the way most of us are."

  He spoke with a fire that Polly had never seen in him before. She hadthought him phlegmatic, but here was something temperamental--somethingthat kindled enthusiasm in her. She was too hampered by her owninexperience of life to know what to say to him; she felt helpless in thepresence of feelings that she had never had and could not feel sure thatshe 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 theychose! It was a queer feeling and she wondered----

  "Hold on, what's that?" Scott stopped his horse suddenly.

  "What's what?" demanded the girl, startled. Then as he did not answer, butcontinued to stare in the direction of Athens, she cried impatiently:"What are you looking at? Tell me now--this minute!"

  Scott took a pair of field-glasses from a case on his saddle. He handedthem to the girl.

  "Does that look to you like Juan Pachuca's car down by the store?"

  Polly looked. "It does, doesn't it?" she said. "But it's too far to besure. Who do you suppose those men are on horseback?"

  "I don't know," said Scott, shortly, as he took the glasses and lookedagain. "But I don't like the looks of it. Let's whip up and get to thatarroyo that runs back of the camp. We'll ride the rest of the way in it."

  They descended into the arroyo which was a deep one with sheltering sidesthat rose above them fully ten feet.

  "It doesn't go all the way," objected the girl, who was beginning to knowthe geography of the place already.

  "I don't want it to," replied Scott. "It turns off and runs at anangle--just above the dining-room. I'm going to leave you and the horsesthere out of sight."

  "Leave us!"

  "You didn't think I was going to turn tail and run when the boys werebeing held up, did you?"

  Polly's eyes shone with a mixture of fear and excitement.

  "Do you mean it's a real hold-up?" she gasped.

  "Haven't the least idea, but it sure does look like one, especially ifthat's Pachuca, himself, on that sorrel. Then, again, it may be theFederal Government quartering men on us. In either case ladies andhorse-flesh are better out of the way."

  "But I'm not afraid," cried the girl, her teeth chattering withexcitement. "At least, I don't think I am--much. Anyhow, I'll be lots morescared down here in this hole alone."

  "You won't be alone; you've got two good horses to take care of. Thank theLord, Hard is out of it--that's three horses we can save."

  Hard had ridden to Conejo the day before and had not returned.

  "I'm going to leave you this." Scott took his revolver from the holsterand handed it to the girl, who took it reluctantly.

  "I'm more afraid of it than I am of Juan Pachuca," she pleaded.

  "You've no call to be," was the reply. "Don't be a baby--brace up and stayhere with these horses. They're not looking for you and they'll never comedown here. These are the two best horses we've got and I'm cussed if I'mgoing to hand 'em over to a bunch of greasers."

  "Oh!" Polly gasped again. No one had ever spoken to her quite like thisbefore. "You can't go unarmed, can you?"

  "Never mind me. You stay here till I come for you. If anybody bothers you,you shoot. Understand?"

  "Yes, I do."

  Scott proceeded to climb cautiously out of the arroyo and in a moment wasout of Polly's sight. He looked back once and saw the girl standing wherehe had left her, holding the reins of the two horses, her eyes big withexcitement, watching his every movement. He waved his hand, then turnedhis back upon her.

  "That's a good youngster," he said to himself. "Plenty of spunk but knowswhen to mind. I'm afraid that if I was ten years younger I might make afool of myself--for she'd never look at me."

  The spot at which he had left the sheltering arroyo was two or threehundred 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 thensee what he could do, though, of course, he realized that their smallforce could do little against Pachuca, who not only had some twenty-fiveor thirty men of his own, but who could easily count on the Mexicans whoworked on the place.

  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 hismen 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 heentered his cabin and crossed the living-room to go to the bedroom, wherehe kept an extra gun, he nearly stumbled over the body of a man.

  It was Adams, lying in the middle of the room, dead--or had the boy onlyfainted? Scott rummaged in the cupboard for the whiskey bottle and poureda bit of the liquor down his throat. Jimmy opened his eyes and stareddizzily around. Scott saw that the floor around him was covered withblood.

  "What is it, boy? Those hounds shoot you?" he demanded. Adams grinnedshakily.

  "You've hit it, brainy one," he muttered. "Help me into a chair, Scotty, Iain't dead, only winged in the left hin' leg."

  Scott lifted him gently and placed him in the chair, then went into hisroom and secured the gun. He brought a towel back with him and staunchedthe flow of blood from the leg with a clumsily fashioned bandage.

  "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 sawPachuca riding up so I grabbed my gun and beat it for the door. They hadme covered, about ten of them before I could show my face. They asked forthe cash box and when I said we hadn't one, one of 'em blazed away and hitme in the leg. When I toppled over they made a rush for the office--mostof 'em over me."

  "The safe?"

  "I thought of that and it occurred to me that I'd better clear out beforeit struck them that I might know the combination. So while they wereenjoying themselves inside, I crawled down here. I hadn't gone half-waybefore I heard 'em blow it up. Oh, yes, they got the pay chest all right,all right."

  "Well, what then?" grunted Scott.

  "Part of the crowd had gone down to the corral and the rest were down atthe store. Just as I crawled in here, I saw Williams come out of the storeand 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 thestore 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."

  "I can spoil Don Juan's pretty looks, I guess!" snarled Scott. "That'll besomething."

  "Hold on--give me some more of that whiskey before you go. Thanks. Now goand get your fool head shot off if you want to."

  With a growl of rage, Scott flung out of the house. He strode in thedirection of the store where the prisoners still stood helplessly. Theyhad seen firearms,
dry-goods, canned food, and Williams' cash box carriedout and deposited in the automobile which stood at the side of the store.Now they awaited the next move. Pachuca was evidently gathering his forcesfor departure. The Athens Mexicans had collected their families, theirhousehold goods, and whatever else they could lay their hands on and wereready to follow.

  These preparations for a general exodus were the first things to strikeScott as he came out of the cabin. It was exasperating, but what could youexpect? There was no knowing what rosy tale Pachuca had told them; morethan likely that the American army had crossed the border and that theywere striking for their altars and their fires. He saw women, babies, andhousehold goods loaded upon his good horse-flesh and disappearing down theroad.

  Scott's blood boiled. His impulse was to shoot Juan Pachuca withoutwarning. He raised his arm and then he paused. One does not shoot men inthe back easily unless one is used to doing it. At that moment a Mexicansaw him and yelled. Instantly everyone saw him. Pachuca whirled his horseabout. It reared and plunged. Its rider laughed loudly.

  "Ah, there you are, friend Scott!" he called. "I told you----" He broughthis gun from his hip with a sudden twist. The two men firedsimultaneously. Scott thought--hoped--that he saw Pachuca waver, but theair was full of smoke and he was dazed. He fired again.

  Pachuca's horse began to pitch violently; it took all its rider's famoushorsemanship to keep in the saddle. At the same moment, two men stole upbehind Scott, who was rushing forward, seized him, threw him to theground, and disarmed him. One of them took his rope and bound theAmerican, while both of them grinned and muttered in Spanish.

  By this time, Pachuca had defeated the evident intentions of the sorrel tobuck himself through the store window, and uttering a cry dashed off inthe direction of the automobile.

  "Adios, Senor Scott!" he cried, as he went. "Next time you will take aneighbor's good word, eh?"

  "Next time I'll take a soft-nosed bullet and get you back of the ear, yourotten little half-breed!" yelled Scott, maddened with helplessness andrage, rolling in the dust.

  "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 untiedhim while the last of the raiders rode off.

  "Did they get everything?" he demanded as he got to his feet.

  "All except honor and they didn't leave enough of that to stick in youreye," responded Mrs. Van, bitterly. "They got Adams in the leg andWilliams in the arm and took off the whole greaser population. Here, wipeyour face off with this handkerchief before you rub all that sand in youreyes."

  Scott obeyed meekly.

  "Where's the girl?" demanded Williams.

  "Down the arroyo with the horses," replied Scott. "We saw the outfit intime or Pachuca'd have had her, too."

  "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'thear."

  They stared malevolently at the vanishing auto. Pachuca had turned thesorrel over to another man and was driving the car himself. Suddenly, theysaw him stop and give an order. Several of the men dismounted and werelaying something along the track. Then with a yell, they all bolted, theauto in the lead, the horsemen following. A few seconds and they haddisappeared around a curve in the road.

  "Now, what the ----" began Williams, when he was answered--there was acrash, the sight of rocks and sand flying, and a thunderousreverberation.

  "The mutts have blown up the track!" burst from the engineer, furiously.

  "They would," replied Scott, sourly. "Want to cut us off from Conejo tillthey'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.

  "Not him," said O'Grady, disgustedly. "Bring out your dead--that's JohnnyPachuca--no flourishes about him."

  "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?"

  "I'll see to Adams," said Scott. "Johnson, you go down to the arroyo andget the girl." And he went down the street to the cabin.

  "Well, did he get everything?" demanded Adams, as Scott entered.

  "All he could carry. He left the victrola for you, Jimmy, and the stovefor Mrs. Van."

  "Gosh! What did you do with Miss Polly?"

  "Left her with the horses in the arroyo."

  "That was smart of you, Scotty. I'll bet she wanted to come?"

  "I'll bet she did, but she didn't get to come. Let's have another look atthe leg, Jimmy."

  They bathed it as well as they could. It had stopped bleeding and theybandaged it carefully with another towel.

  "I don't believe the bone's broke, Jimmy, but I don't like the looks ofit," said the amateur surgeon. "You need a doctor."

  "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. Idon't want blood poisoning, you bet. Did they blow up the track?"

  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 MissPolly?" he cried as the engineer dismounted and came into the house.

  "She wasn't there, Scotty. I found the horses tied to a branch of a treethat grew out of the side of the arroyo but there wasn't no sign of thegirl anywhere."

  Scott's face darkened. "She was scared and went further up," he said. "Didyou look?"

  "Looked and hollered and then some, but she was clean gone."

  Scott muttered something, flung out of the house and threw himself on hishorse. In a moment he was tearing up the road.

  "Where's that ugly devil going?" said Johnson, disgustedly. "Didn't I tellhim she'd gone? Is he going to try to chase Johnny Pachuca into themountains after her?"

  "Gone clean nuts!" remarked Adams, gloomily.

  "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 tocall him 'half-breed.' According to them they're all second cousins to theKing of Spain. Does your leg hurt much, Jimmy?"

  "Well, I've had legs that felt better," said Adams, cheerfully. "Where yougoing, Tom?" as the long, lank engineer swung out of the room.

  "To see the boss get his throat cut," was the reply. "Pachuca's got themoney, the guns and the girl; it don't seem very good sense to hand himthe whole office force but if the boss says so, here goes."