by Helen Bagg
CHAPTER XI
CASA GRANDE
There was a great stillness about the place; the whole panorama suggesteda picture rather than an actuality, except for the white clouds sailingslowly about in the blue sky, and an occasional bird flying from one treeor bush to another.
"I don't like things being so still," said Scott. "Let's push on." Ridingaround to the front of the house--a long, narrow, adobe building, theycame upon the first real sign of habitation; a brown hen, who, accompaniedby her family, was scratching around the walk with an immense show ofindustry; while on the veranda sat two men. One was a white man; theother, a Chinese, dressed in the dark blue shirt and trousers of hispeople. As the newcomers dismounted, the white man came forward.
"Humph, it's you!" he remarked, with evident relief. "Well, here is whatis left of a once prosperous household."
He was a little man, thin and wiry, with bushy brown hair and beard, andkeen dark eyes. His hands, slender and with long white fingers, playednervously with a quirt which he held, apparently for no purpose than thatthose nervous members might have occupation.
"What's happened?" demanded Scott. "How do, Li Yow?" as the Chinaman cameforward smilingly to take the horses.
"All gone," he said, blandly. "Laided. One hen, some shickens--nottingelse left."
"Raided! Did that young rascal----" began Hard, when Herrick interruptedimpatiently.
"Oh, he has been to you, too? He makes a clean sweep of it! He comes hereat noon with a score, perhaps, of men; and if there is anything they donot take, it is because it is broken--like my wagon. Men, money, andstock--our neighbor is thorough and no mistake!"
"I was afraid of it," said Scott. "He's cleaning up the community.Herrick, I want you to know Bob Street's sister, Miss Polly Street." Headded a few words of explanation of the girl's presence. Herrick surveyedher with interest.
"You are unlucky to strike this country at such a time," he said. "Unlessyou like experiences?"
"I do," said Polly, promptly. "That's why they're sending me home."
The little man smiled. "After all, most experience is worth while," hesaid. "Sit down and rest--you will stay, all of you, won't you? For thenight? There is some food left."
Scott and Li Yow walked away with the horses to the barn which stood not agreat way from the house, surrounded by a good-sized corral. Polly sankinto an easy chair which commanded through a window a view of a part ofthe living-room. She caught a glimpse of a grand piano, bright coloredrugs, bookcases overflowing with books, and other evidences of comfort.Hard gave their host an account of the Athens hold-up, not forgetting thepart Polly had played in it.
"I remembered," he said, "that Li was a doctor, and thought perhaps you'dloan him to us for Jimmy. We don't think much of the Conejo medico."
"Himmel, no!" responded Herrick, quickly. "You shall have Li, of course."
Polly leaned back with a little sigh of content. Herrick smiled.
"You are tired," he said, "and by and by you will be chilly. Henry, as Liis busy, suppose you build up a fire in the living-room?"
Polly looked a bit surprised, but Hard laughed as he went into the house.
"Herrick never does any rough work," he said, indulgently. "He has to takecare of his hands."
"So!" replied their host, "my fingers are my good friends, consequently Itake good care of them. Why not? Some day I may need their servicesagain."
"I hope so," said Polly, frankly. "I think it's rather dreadful for anartist to bury himself in a place like this."
"One does not bury oneself, my child, one rests and creates," said themusician, gently. "Ah, here is Scott! He has been looking at my wagon."
Scott tossed Polly her long cloak which she had left on her saddle.
"Yes, I took a look at the wagon, while Li turned the horses out," hesaid. "I think I can patch it up so that we can drive to Athens in it. Yousee, Herrick, we've only got three horses and I have to send Li back onone of them to-night."
"Can he make it--the horse?"
"With a little rest and a feed--if Li takes it easy. Of course, it's notthe way I like to treat my horses, but Jimmy's leg is in a bad state."
"Very well. You may have Li and also the wagon," replied Herrick. "Themore willingly because I have a favor to ask of you."
"Of course. What is it?"
"I have a guest," said the other, slowly. "A lady, from the South. She hashad to leave her plantation and is on her way back to the United States. Ihad intended taking her to the border, but since you are sending thisyoung lady----" He stopped, and Polly thought she saw a look ofunderstanding pass between them.
"We'll see her through, of course," said Scott, readily. "Can she be readyto go in the morning?"
"I should think so," replied the little man; "we will ask her." To Polly'sdisappointment, the talk passed on to the revolution and other politicalsubjects, and nothing more was said about the mysterious guest. "Ifthey're going to tack a Mexican refugee to me, they might at least tell mesomething about her!" she thought.
In the meantime, Hard had entered the living-room and was examining thecontents of the wood-box.
"Empty, of course!" he said, with a smile. "The household is quiteevidently off its balance." He went out through the kitchen and returnedin a few minutes with a basket of logs from the wood-pile. As here-entered the living-room, a woman--a tall, slender, graceful woman, withblack hair and eyes, entered it from the hall. There was a moment'ssilence and then the basket of wood dropped crashingly from Hard's arms.The woman smiled.
"Henry!" she exclaimed, coming forward, both hands outstretched. "Henry! Iheard your voice--I'd have known it anywhere, even if Victor hadn't toldme that you lived near here. You haven't changed one bit in--how manyyears is it since I saw you?"
"Fifteen years, six months, and twenty-seven days, Clara," replied thetall Bostonian, taking her hands and leading her to the light. Somethingin her easy, friendly manner had softened both the shock of the surpriseand the embarrassment of the situation. He looked long into her face andthen dropped her hands. She sank into a chair by the fireplace.
"It is a long time, isn't it?" she said, smiling.
"No one would think so to look at you," said Hard, sincerely. "You are thesame Clara Mallory who went to Paris fifteen years ago to study music." Hepicked up the basket of wood and proceeded to build the fire. She watchedhim, her eyes misty.
"Well, it's odd that I haven't changed for I've been through a lot," shesaid, with a little smile. "And you?"
"Just the same easy-going, good-for-nothing chap, I reckon," repliedHard.
"But this mining business? But, of course, you were educated for it at theTech----"
"Yes, without much idea of using it."
"But, being a Hard, you weren't contented with doing nothing," said Mrs.Conrad. "You know why I'm here, I suppose?"
"No. Herrick told me some time ago that you were living down near MexicoCity--and that Dick Conrad had died, and how."
Mrs. Conrad was silent for a moment. "Two years ago," she said, quietly."While he lived, we managed to hold down the plantation fairly well. Hegot on well with the government, and he organized the peons and fought offthe bandits. Since then, things have gone rather badly; it takes a man tohandle that kind of a situation. I've been raided six times in two yearsand my patience is almost gone.
"I wrote up here to Victor; he's always been a good friend of mine--Istudied with him in London, you know, and knew his wife well. He advisedme to sell and go home. I didn't take his advice about selling; I couldn'tget anything decent for the place right now, and I've a fairly good manrunning it for me. I have faith in this country and I intend to come backsome day and go on with my plantation."
"You always were plucky, Clara." Hard touched a match to his fire. "ButMexico's no place for you. Where are you going?"
"I don't know," admitted Clara, frankly. "Back to the States, of course,but where and for what I don't know. But I hope--my music."
"Your music?"
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"Victor says it's not too late--but--well, perhaps. I'm out of the way ofcities, and I've enough so that I don't have to do anything, but--oh, Iwould love to be at it again!"
Hard smiled. "You will, Clara. You're not an idler--as I am. You'll be inthe thick of it in no time."
"Ah, you have found one another! I thought perhaps you would." Herrick'svoice broke in upon their talk. He was followed by Polly and Scott, andintroductions and explanations came naturally.
"It's not a Mexican refugee, and it is the lady of the photograph!" Pollysaid to herself, triumphantly. "But it doesn't look to me much like a loveaffair. They've got over it evidently."
"So you also were raided by Juan Pachuca?" said Mrs. Conrad, as Scottseated himself beside her. The latter nodded.
"I happened to hear him talking to one of my men," said Herrick, "andtelling him that he had a rendezvous with Angel Gonzales, somewhere in thevicinity--not too near, I hope. I don't want Angel Gonzales on my place;I'd rather entertain the devil."
"What a queer name--Angel! Who is he?" asked Polly, curiously. She wasbeginning to realize, since she had gotten off her horse and relaxed intothe comfort of an easy chair near the fire, how very tired she was.
"A young ruffian with a price on his head," replied Herrick. "He's halfIndian and half Mexican and they tell me that both halves are very badindeed."
"If Gonzales--by the way, Miss Polly, don't mix him up with Pablo Gonzaleswho is a general of note and one of the candidates for the nextpresidency----" said Hard, laughing. "If Gonzales is trying to get in withthe new party, he must have inside information that the revolution isgoing to be a success."
"Well, its first work had better be to line Angel and a few more of hiskind up against a wall and settle 'em with a firing squad," said Scott.
"That's what I think," declared Mrs. Conrad. "I don't put much faith inthis regiment business. I think Pachuca has simply gone back to firstprinciples and run amuck."
"I don't believe----" Polly stopped, consciously.
"Miss Polly thinks he's a gentleman and that ends it," said Scott, drily.
"She's young, and the wretch has a way with him. I liked him myself when Iwas young and frivolous," said Mrs. Conrad, cheerfully. "I've entertainedhim many a time in Mexico City. Suppose you go into my room, my dear, andhave a nice rest and clean up while I go and help Li rustle us a dinnerout of the remnants?" she continued, taking the girl by the hand.
"If Angel Gonzales is playing around this neighborhood, the sooner we getaway the better," said Scott to Hard as the three men were left together."Come and cast your weather eye over the wagon. For a quiet part of thecountry, we seem to have struck a bad gait."
It was nearly eight o'clock when they sat down to their dinner; a dinnercontrived with Oriental thrift from materials scorned by the marauders.
"Give a Chinaman a handful of rice and a few vegetables and he'll make youa feast, so my husband used to say," remarked Mrs. Conrad. "You simplycan't starve them."
"Li wants to start right after dinner," said Scott.
"And ride all night?" asked Herrick.
"He says so. He says he knows the trail, and, of course, he's got themoon."
A little later, as they sat around the fire, they heard the sound of hishorse's feet on the stones and knew that the Chinaman had started.
Polly began to feel the charm of the quaint room, with its dim lighting,the low fire, the fantastic patterns of rug and basket showing faintly,and through the windows the mountains and the stars. As the conversationbegan to yield to the quiet of the place, Herrick went to the piano andplayed softly. It had never fallen to the lot of the girl to hear suchmusic; the revelation of a man's soul, poured out through an absolutemastery of the art. The little man, with the brown beard and the longnervous hands, sat hunched up in his low chair, knees crossed, eyes halfclosed, drawing from the keyboard the chords which carried to each one themessage of his own heart.
Presently, Clara Conrad rose, and, standing back of the piano, leaningover it, her hands clasped, began to sing--softly and easily--her voice, arich contralto, blending with Herrick's small but exquisite baritone, inan old song. Polly looked at Hard, seated in a dim corner, his chinresting on his hand, his eyes fixed on the two at the piano. She wonderedwhat he was thinking and what the woman meant to him. There was somethingalmost too intimate about the whole scene and she was glad when Scott roseand went toward the door, speaking to her as he passed her.
"Want to see a pretty sight?" he said. She nodded and followed him out.For miles in front of them stretched the hilly country, dotted here andthere in the half light by clumps of trees and bushes showing inky blackin the night, while in the distance stretched the mountains, irregular,dark, and mysterious looking. Over all shone the moon, while thestars--but who can describe the stars in a desert country?
"Makes you feel like you'd never seen stars before, doesn't it?" askedScott, as the girl stood, drinking in the scene.
"Doesn't it? So many, so bright and so twinkly! Do you know, I don'twonder that Mrs. Conrad's rather a wonderful woman--living all the timewith this."
"Well, she is, rather. She's had a hard life, too; lots of trouble."
"Wasn't her husband--I mean, weren't they happy together?" asked thegirl.
"Why, yes, I guess they were," replied Scott, cautiously. "I reckon theywere like most married folks, rubbed along together pretty well."
"But you said she'd had lots of trouble."
Scott smiled. "And you made up your mind right off that it was a loveaffair, eh? You're a good deal of a kid, aren't you?"
Polly flushed. "I think you're rather inconsiderate," she said, crossly."You start up my curiosity and then you make fun of me. I don't think Ilike the way you treat me, most of the time."
"I don't think it's fair, myself," said Scott, penitently. "I suppose agirl brought up as you've been oughtn't to be blamed for seeing a loveaffair behind every bush."
"Why do you say brought up as I've been?"
"I mean having everything easy; everything done for you. No real hardknocks in life."
"Oh, well, if that's all, I'll probably have hard knocks enough before Iget through. Most people do, I've noticed," replied Polly, easily. "I'llprobably marry somebody who'll spend all his money and leave me eightchildren to support, or else I'll die a rheumaticky old maid. Will thatsatisfy you?"
"Don't talk that way," said Scott, sharply. "It's unlucky."
"Unlucky? Are you superstitious?"
"No, but I've noticed that people who are always expecting bad luckusually get it. I'd hate to have you----" he stopped, and Polly caught alook in his eyes that startled her.
"Die a rheumaticky old maid?" she said, nervously. "Well, I don't want to,either, but it seems to me that the number of people who get out of thisworld without a lot of trouble of some kind or other is a pretty smallone, so you needn't begrudge me a few years of easy going. What was Mrs.Conrad's trouble?"
"She's had a good deal of it first and last, but I was thinking of herhusband's death, two years ago."
"Did you know her then?"
"Me? No, indeed, I never met her before to-night, but Hard told me, and sodid Herrick. I don't reckon Hard would mind my telling you her story, nowyou've met her. You see, he and she were young folks together in Boston. Iguess they sort of played at being in love with each other, like youngfolks do. Then her father died, and left her with hardly anything, andthat woke 'em up. It made things look more serious.
"Hard wanted to marry her, but she wouldn't. She had a voice and shewanted a career; so she went to Europe. That's where she met Herrick andtook lessons of him. Then, suddenly, instead of going on the stage, shemarried one of those floating Englishmen. Met him in Paris, married him,and came over here with him."
"Didn't she care for Mr. Hard?"
"Well, it's pretty hard sometimes to know who a woman does care for," saidScott, candidly. "But if she did, she must have got over it. Or maybe shegot tired of the singing business and
took Conrad in a fit of the blues.I've known 'em to do that."
"Men, I suppose, never marry for reasons of that sort!"
"Men? Lord, yes, men'll do anything--most of 'em," grinned Scott,cheerfully. "We're a rum lot. Anyhow, Mrs. Conrad married her Englishmanand came over to the coffee plantation with him. I guess they had sometrouble like everybody else has had these last few years, but they managedto weather it. Then, about two years ago, they went on a hunting trip, upin the mountains, just the two of them and a Mexican boy. While they werethere, Conrad shot himself while he was cleaning his gun."
"Oh!"
"It was hopeless from the first and she knew it, but she stayed alone withhim and sent the boy back to the ranch for a doctor. He died while theywere there alone."
Polly's eyes had tears in them. She was staring wistfully at themountains. "I'm trying to think what it would mean--being up there, alone,with someone you loved who was dying," she said at last. "No wonder littlethings don't bother a woman who's been through a thing like that."
"Yes, it's those things that make character, I guess," said Scott,thoughtfully. "Or break it."
"Hasn't Mr. Hard ever been down there to see her?"
"No, there's a proud streak in Hard--or maybe he's got over his feelingfor her. He never would let her know he was in the country. I rather guessHerrick planned this."
"I wonder? Oh, what is it? What do you see?" she cried, as she noticedthat Scott's attention was no longer on her, but was fastened upon thedark foothills which rose between them and the mountains.
"I don't know; wish I had my glasses! Looks to me like fellows riding--doyou see 'em? Over there, coming through that darkish spot between thefoothills? Wonder if we're in for another row?"
"No--yes, it is! Coming this way!"
"Go in and tell them to put out the lights and stop that noise quick!"Scott's voice was hard and sharp. Polly darted into the house. Scottstrained his eyes to watch the party of riders racking recklessly down thedark roadway from the hills. "It can't be Pachuca!" he muttered. "Hewouldn't come back. It must be that damned young Angel. Well, I guesswe're in for trouble before daybreak."
"What is it?" Hard was at his elbow. Scott turned and saw that the housewas dark.
"It's a bunch on horseback--see, over yonder? They're making good time;they'll be on us in half a minute. Where's Herrick?"
"Getting the rifles. Where are the horses?"
"In the pasture, up by the river. They'll not find them in a hurry."
"Hadn't we better have the women go up there, too?" said Hard, anxiously.
"I don't believe so. If they're bound for us, there's no time. Ithink----"
"Mr. Scott," Clara Conrad's voice came softly from the dark doorway, "ifthat's Angel Gonzales why can't we all go----"
"I don't know who it is, and the moon's too strong out there--they'd spotyou in a minute."
"But we can't sit here and do nothing!"
"You can do as you please." Scott's voice was ugly with the ugliness ofstrained nerves. "I say stick to shelter while you've got it." He drew hisrevolver as he spoke and examined it.
"They're coming fast." Hard's voice was tense. Herrick carrying threerifles came out.
"Get inside--everybody!" ordered Scott. The party had turned in from theroad and were dashing toward them. Mrs. Conrad and Polly were already inthe house. The men followed. "They ride like Indians, Hard; I believe it'sYaquis on the warpath!" He and Hard stationed themselves at the openwindows in the darkness. "I'm for waiting till they attack us; what do youthink?"
"Yes. Let them make the first move."
The intruders were at the gate. Now they swept in, a couple of score ofthem. They whirled and made for the barn.
"They're Indians, all right," whispered Scott. "They're after thehorses."
The silence was complete for a few seconds, the women obediently crouchingin the darkest corner scarcely seeming to breathe, Scott and Hard, hiddenbehind the light curtains, keeping their eyes fixed upon the swiftlymoving figures outside, Herrick standing just within the doorway.Suddenly, cries broke the stillness. Two of the Yaquis who had entered thebarn came out with the news. The yells were of rage.
"No horses!" grinned Scott. "Their feelings are hurt. Here's where theplay begins."
"They're firing the barn," said Hard, grimly.
They were. It blazed like a child's bonfire and the shouts and curses ofthe disappointed Yaquis rose with the flames.
In another moment the Indians had ridden toward the house. Polly, who inspite of orders, had crept toward the window saw them in amazement.Between the moon and the light of the blazing barn, they were distinctlyvisible.
"But they can't be Indians!" she exclaimed, at Scott's elbow. "They'rejust like our Mexicans!"
"Did you expect them to wear scalp locks? Get out of range, quick! Hard,cover the second chap, there. I'm going to give the first boy a shock.They'll be in here in half a minute if I don't."
His shot rang out and the bullet flew over the Indian's head. It was closeenough to make him pull his horse to its haunches while those behind himdid the same.
"While I'm talking to him, you women slide out the back door," mutteredScott, hurriedly. "Make for the stream and the horses while they'rewatching us. Hello, out there, what do you want?" he said in Spanish.
Mrs. Conrad gripped Polly's arm. "Come!" she said.
"We can't!" demurred the girl. "We can't leave them like this."
"Come!" repeated Clara, angrily. "Do you want to fall into their hands?"Polly, too frightened by her tone to resist, crept softly behind her. Theyheard the Indian at whom Scott had fired answer. To Polly it meantnothing, but Clara's ears, accustomed to the tongue, caught an angrydemand for horses, food and money.
"We haven't any of those things. We've just been raided--cleanedout--we're as poor as you are," was Scott's reply. The Indians conferredtogether. "It's a question of whether they think we're lying or not," saidScott, drily.
"Exactly. And they have unfortunately every reason to believe that a whiteman usually is," replied Hard. "What's the play if they come at us?"
"Shoot as many as we can," said Scott. "They'll do the rest. That's why Isent the women off."
"I thought so. Well, here goes. I ought to be able to get a couple beforeI cash in though I'm not considered very dangerous with firearms," repliedHard, calmly, though his heart was registering something approaching acuteblood pressure.
From the leader came in angry Spanish: "We don't believe you! We'll comeand get it."
"Come on!" yelled Herrick. Instantly, a dozen Yaquis were off their horsesand running toward the house, shooting as they came. As instantly, two ofthe leaders fell in the path of the others.
"Good boy, Herrick!" cried Scott. "Let 'em have it again!" he yelled, asthe Indians, halted for a moment by the fall of their men, came on again.The shots rang out again but this time no one fell. Hard felt somethingsing by him in the darkness and thanked God that the women were not there.Herrick rushed over for more cartridges.
"They're coming!" he shouted, excitedly.
"Let 'em come. Some of 'em are coming to something they won't like,"growled Scott. "Look out--in the doorway!"
Two Indians had burst their way into the house, but disconcerted by itsutter darkness after the moonlight outside, paused a moment to get theirbearings. Scott, Hard and Herrick shot with one accord. One Indian cameon; the other uttered a cry of pain; then both dashed outside for theshelter of the veranda. There was silence; the Indians hesitating in doubtas to their companions' fate, the white men uncertain as to what form theattack would take next.
"Are the women gone?" Herrick called softly.
"Yes," replied Hard. "Are you all right?"
"So. They whistle through my hair but they do not touch me," replied themusician, cheerfully.
"Here they come!" cried Scott, impatiently. "Watch your shots!"
The Indians were coming, and coming in a body.
"Gosh, it's going to be all day wit
h us in half a minute!" gasped Scott."Let 'em have it as hard as you can, boys. We may be able to hold 'em longenough to give the women a chance to get the horses."
Hard clenched his teeth and bent his eye on his rifle. In another momentthe invaders would be upon them--when, sharp and decisive came the soundof shots; shots from among the foothills, followed by yells. There was acry from the Indian who led the rush; a wavering of the line; and a stop.They broke into loud talk. In the meantime, the shots and yells continued.They seemed to come from two directions.
"There's another crowd back in the hills. They've got another fight ontheir hands," muttered Scott, listening. "It's a flank attack and thesefellows don't like it."
"If it is----"
"It is. Hear that!"
There were more yells; the Yaquis outside flung themselves into theirsaddles and in another moment the two wounded men lying near the windowswere all that remained of the attack.
"By golly, I've heard of luck before, but this is a case of the pure andunadulterated article," said Scott, awed.
Hard did not reply. He was taking a deep breath--the first in severalminutes. Herrick whistled cheerfully.
"Unless it's Angel Gonzales," continued Scott, pensively. "In that caseit's a question of 'Go it, old woman; go it, b'ar.'"
"Let's go after the horses and the women," said Hard. "The quicker we hitthe trail for home the better my circulation's going to be. I think theHards must have deteriorated considerably since the battle of Lexington.I'm getting to be a regular old woman."
Scott laughed. "You're a pretty good pal in a fight, old man," he said,simply. "I think you winged one of those birds outside. Shall we go andhave a look?"
"Not I," replied Hard, decidedly. "It's unpleasant enough to me to kill aman without pawing him over afterward."
Scott went outside and looked over the victims of the fight.
"Dead, both of them," he said, briefly. "Come on, let's get out of thisbefore their friends come back." And to the sounds of yells and shots inthe distance they made their way toward the stream.