“No, I do not know what it is about.” Juana shook her head as she
watched the two Yaqui Indians setting up a long table in their room.
“But you understand their language,” insisted Mrs. Austin.
“Certainly; but they do not talk of what they are doing.”
The big table properly placed, the two men went out and brought in some
big coloured cloths, which were spread on the table. Then they brought
in some huge old silver pieces, some big candelabra fitted with wax
candles, and finally a miscellaneous collection of silver dishes.
“It looks very much as though we might be going to have a party,” said
Betty.
Juana shuddered and turned away. “I believe I understand,” she said. “It
is for a wedding.”
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Betty.
“Wonderful for whom?” asked Juana dully.
“Why, for us. I’d love to see a Mexican wedding.”
“Would you like to marry some one you do not love--one you hate?”
“Certainly not. I don’t understand what you mean, Juana.”
“Wait and see.” Juana was tense.
“You worry me,” complained Mrs. Austin. “Surely no one would have to
marry----”
“This is Mexico, _señora_.”
“I realise that, but----”
Mrs. Austin paused as Porfiro Mendez came through the doorway. The big
Mexican was as picturesque as stamped leather, silk, and silver could
make a man. He might have stepped out of grand opera--or comic opera.
Behind him came a priest, and such a priest! Tall and gaunt, a nose
like an eagle’s beak, deeply sunken eyes, toothless mouth, and a skin
like a mummy. His hood was thrown back to disclose a hairless head,
perfectly round, atop a skinny neck. His arms were abnormally long,
his huge, bony hands clutching at his robe as he grinned toothlessly
at the three women.
“_Madre de Dios!_” whispered Juana.
Mendez smiled expansively.
“That is my uncle,” said Juana.
“Ah, my leetle Juana,” lisped Mendez, whose upper lip was still swollen
from Austin’s blow.
“_Puerco!_” replied Juana. “You pig, why did you steal these women, Lobo
Mendez? You are the son of a pig, a creature too vile to name.”
The priest looked inquiringly at Porfiro, who laughed amusedly. “Thees
_padre_ cannot hear,” he said. “He ees ver’ ’armless, biccause he can
not ’ear nor bite.
“_Señora_ and _señorita_,” Mendez swept off his silver-trimmed sombrero
and made an elaborate bow to Mrs. Austin and Betty, “I welcome you to
the poor ’ome of Porfiro Mendez. You will please excuse eef I ’ave not
approach’ you biffore. But I am extreme’ busy man.”
“You are very big liar,” corrected Juana, and Mendez laughed.
“You mus’ excuse Juana,” he said. “She ees my seester’s leetle girl, and
she feel free to call me anything. But I am ver’ forgiving.”
“But why were we stolen and kept here?” asked Mrs. Austin.
Mendez shrugged his shoulders. “That ees something I prefer to show--not
tell. A leetle later maybe I shall--uh--what you call demon-demonstrite.
Is that the right word? You mus’ excuse my Englis’.”
“Does my mother know where I am?” demanded Juana.
“_Quién sabe, dulce amiga?_ By this time, I theenk so. I kindly send her
an invitation to the wedding. Perhaps,” shrugging his big shoulders,
“she do not care to come.”
“What wedding?” Juana snapped.
“’Ere to-night.”
“Whose wedding?”
Mendez laughed at her. “I ’ave select a ’usband for you. You wan’ be
ol’ maid? Hm-m-m-m,” he looked thoughtfully at Betty, “I’m don’t like
see one pretty girl cheated. Maybe I find ’usband for you, too.”
“But I do not want a husband,” said Betty, just a trifle frightened,
though she hardly could take all this seriously.
Mendez lifted his brows slightly. “I am Porfiro Mendez, and I am only
man in Piñon who is not refused, _señorita_. I take w’at I want.”
“But that is absurd,” said Mrs. Austin severely. “You cannot do a thing
like that. Perhaps you do not know who we are.”
“_Si_, I know. I know your ’usband ver’ well, _señora_. From heem I get
this.”
He brushed aside his moustache, exposing his swollen lips and gums.
“You see? For that he shall pay Porfiro Mendez personally. No man strike
Porfiro Mendez and not pay well.”
“You do this for revenge, eh?” queried Juana.
“We-e-e-ell--now, yes. At firs’--well, no matter. I weel be satisfy.”
He touched the priest on the shoulder and they started for the door,
but at that moment two armed Yaqui Indians came in, prodding Hal Austin
ahead of them. His hands were bound behind his back, but he was neither
gagged nor blindfolded. Mendez looked at him and laughed heartily.
“W’at ’ave we ’ere? Ha, ha, ha, ha! Thees brave man from Indian Wells
come all the way to save hees seester.”
Mrs. Austin and Betty started toward Hal, but the guards stepped
between them, blocking their advance. Hal looked as though he had been
in a fight, and one of the Yaquis had one eye swollen shut. Hal looked
at Betty accusingly. “I received your note,” Hal said.
“I feex up that note,” laughed Mendez. “One of my men is so sympathetic,
and he offer to take note to you from your seester. She ver’ glad to
write it. You see, I theenk of many thing to make my guests ’appy.”
Mendez stepped behind Hal and quickly untied his bonds. “You are not
tied,” the Lobo said, “but you would be ver’ foolish to try and escape.”
Mendez then walked out with the priest, and one of the Yaqui Indians
stood inside the door, leaning on his rifle. Hal looked around the
room, shrugged his shoulders and went over to Juana.
“What does it mean, Juana?” he asked, indicating the table.
“Oh, Hal, I--I’m afraid Mendez means to force me to marry him.”
“So that’s why the big brute kidnapped you, eh? We’ll see about that.”
Hal turned to his mother and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Are you
all right, mother?”
She began to cry on his shoulder, and he turned to Betty. “Have you been
mistreated, Betty?”
“No, Hal; not in the least. The beds and food might be better, but
we have not suffered, except in spirit. It seems as though we have
been here years. Hasn’t anything been done to rescue us? Why hasn’t
dad----”
“No one knows where you are, Betty. Our hands have been tied. There did
not appear to be any reason for suspecting Mendez. Damn his greasy hide,
I’d like to twist his head off. What about this marriage? Hasn’t he told
you anything about it?”
“He--he said he had a husband for Juana; and he might have one for me.”
“But you know he can’t do such a thing like that,” sobbed Mrs. Austin.
Hal shook his head miserably. “Mother, we’re up against a tough deal.
This Mendez is like a king in this place. He owns everybody, and his
word is law.”
“But such a marriage is not legal, Hal.”
“Not from a civilised viewpoint, mother. But what does Mendez care? If
he wanted Juana or Betty, he’d take them, marriage or no marriage. And
who could stop him? Don’t you see, we are absolutely at the mercy of a
man who is no better than a wolf. ‘Lobo’ they call him, and that’s what
he is.”
“But there must be a way out, Hal.”
“I wish I knew where it is. I haven’t even a pocket knife.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Hal,” said Betty tearfully. “It is my fault that you
are here. I believed the Mexican would give you that note in secret.”
“They are all owned by Mendez. Don’t blame yourself; you did what you
thought was right. I walked right into an ambush. It was evident that
they didn’t want to hurt me, but I sure slugged a couple of them good
and hard. As far as that note was concerned, Mendez schemed it all
out. Just why he wanted me down here, I don’t know.”
“To see him marry me?” said Juana bitterly.
“Did you see the priest?” asked Betty.
Hal nodded grimly. “Looks like a mummy. What a mug that _padre_ wears!”
He went over and put an arm around Juana. “Brace up, sweetheart. You are
not Mendez’s wife yet. Something will turn up. We can’t lose faith.”
“What good _is_ faith against treachery?” she asked miserably.
“Well, let’s wait and see.” He turned to his mother. “You have met Juana
and been with her a while. Have you any objections to our marriage--if
we had a chance?”
“Your father----” Mrs. Austin began, but Hal stopped her.
“Dad doesn’t figure in this at all, mother; I want your frank and
unbiased opinion.”
Mrs. Austin looked at Juana for several moments. “I--I think I should
give you my blessing, Hal.”
“You could have mine--if it is worth anything,” said Betty rather
tearfully.
“I thank you both,” said Juana softly. “It is good to know that such a
thing might have been.”
The Yaqui turned quickly to the door and flung it open. As he stepped
back a woman in riding costume, her arms bound to her sides, a cloth
gagged between her teeth, came in, escorted by a squat Mexican.
“Mother!” cried Juana, and ran toward her, but the Yaqui shoved her
back. The Mexican took one of the chairs from the table and forced
Mrs. Diaz to sit down, but he did not offer to take off the ropes or
take away the gag.
Juana was furious, but the Mexican barred her way, threatening her with
his gun, and she backed slowly.
“Oh, what a dirty shame!” gritted Hal impotently. “At least ask them to
take off that dirty gag, Juana.”
Juana spoke swiftly to the Mexican, who shook his head and refused.
“Is that the order of Mendez?” she asked in Spanish.
“Yes--the orders of Mendez.”
The Mexican backed to the doorway and leaned on his rifle. Now there
were two armed guards.
“Mother, you are not hurt?” asked Juana anxiously.
Mrs. Diaz, unable to speak, shook her head, indicating that she had not
been hurt. But the gag must have been very painful, as it drew back the
corners of her mouth cruelly.
“Why do they torture her that way and leave the rest of us free?” asked
Betty. “What has she done to Mendez?”
Juana shook her head sadly. “Who know what Mendez will do? Mother has
always treated him well enough.”
“She ordered him to never come in her place again,” said Hal. “It was
after dad knocked him down.”
“Why did your father knock him down?” asked Juana.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I think your mother heard what was said
between them. Perhaps that is why he is doing this to her.”
Juana shook her head sadly. It was something she did not understand.
“Hal,” said Mrs. Austin huskily, “was Tony Riecho killed when we were
kidnapped?”
Hal nodded. “Shot twice. Since you disappeared, Nolan, the sheriff
over at Silver Bar, has been killed, and both cowboys at the 7 Bar 7
were shot down. Some one tried again to kill Goober Glendon, the old
cowboy, but all they succeeded in doing was making his head sore. He
seems to bear a charmed life.”
“Was he the old cowboy with that good-looking youngster?” Mrs. Austin
asked.
“Yes. The young cowboy’s name is Johnny Wells.”
“Johnny Wells,” smiled Betty. “He is good-looking, Hal.”
“And very likeable,” said Hal slowly. “But that is neither here nor
there. I’d be mighty glad to see even a homely cow-puncher, if he had
a gun. I--I’d almost welcome Cal Sands, as much as I detest him.”
Juana tried to edge over closer to her mother, but the Mexican spoke
sharply to her, and she came back. The Yaqui grinned, and as some one
knocked on the door, he opened it quickly. It was Mendez, a little
more drunk, his arms full of bottles of wine and _tequila_. He paid
no attention to Rosita Diaz until he had stacked the bottles on the
table. Then he turned and looked at her, a scowl on his face.
“So Ricardo gave you my message, eh? And you come to see wedding. Good.
No use to try spik, my dear seester-in-law. Thees time is not proper for
you to spik. You like see marriage, eh? You like see leetle Juana marry?
Maybe nex’ time you theenk biffore you insult Porfiro Mendez. You know
now, eh? Ha, ha, ha! For one time I’m ’ave woman w’ere she can’t spik.
“’Ow you like, Juana, eh? I’m ver’ sorry, but your mother mus’ not
interrup’ wedding. She see much, but spik notink. I wait one hour
more, biccause we may ’ave one more guest, and then we ’ave wedding.
Plenty _vino_, _tequila_, much roas’ cheeken; beeg wedding _fiesta_.
Oh, all ver’ nice. Porfiro Mendez do everything ver’ nice. He even
pay _padre_.”
Mendez swelled with importance and twisted his moustaches. Finally
he took a bottle, knocked off the long neck against the edge of the
table, poured out a huge tumblerful, and held it up to the light of
the candles.
“_Una brindis!_ W’at you call ‘toast,’ eh? To thees bride!” He drained
the glass and wiped his moustaches with his open palm.
“Ah-h-h-ha!” He threw up his head and listened. One of the guards
grunted and threw open the door.
“_Entre!_” snapped a voice outside, and in came Frank Austin,
stumbling, almost falling. His hands were bound behind him, a gag
between his teeth. He was a picture of abject misery as Mendez drew
a chair out beside Rosita Diaz and the guard forced him to occupy
it.
“Frank!” exclaimed Mrs. Austin.
“Dad!” Betty started for him, only to be shoved back against her mother,
who had had the same idea.
“Stay there,” ordered Mendez harshly. Austin seemed dazed as his eyes
swept the room, probably wondering what it was all about. Mendez turned
to his guards, spoke swiftly to them in Spanish, and they all went out,
but their places were taken by Ricardo and Miguel Gonzales. Ricardo
caressed a swollen jaw, where Sands’s knock-out blow had landed, and
scowled at the Americans.
“You dog!” Juana flung at Ricardo, and Miguel laughed.
“W’y you laugh?” growled Ricardo.
“Thees lady know you ver’ well,” his brother said with a grin.
“Shut off!”
“Bot’ of you shut up!” roared Mendez.
“Ricardo die from sore jaw pretty soon,” laughed Miguel. “He say ’orse
keek heem. I bet your life eet was _Americano_ ’orse weeth two leg.”
“_Calle!_” roared Mendez. “No talk.”
“Sure,” grinned the irrepressible Miguel. “I’m shut off like clem.”
“Clem?” jeered Ricardo.
“I say clem. Clem jus’ like hoyster.”
“I make hoyster from you,” snarled Mendez. “Not speak! I myself
personally weel do the talking.”
“_Gracias._”
“Thees ’orse, Ricardo,” whispered Miguel loudly, “ees w’at colour?”
_Crash!_ Mendez’s bottle of _tequila_ barely missed Miguel’s head, and
smashed to splinters against the wall.
“No spik,” promised Miguel. “All t’rough, Onkle Porfiro.”
Mendez was furious. He glared at them viciously for several moments, but
finally a smile overspread his face. He picked up two bottles, drew out
the corks, and handed them to the brothers.
“I’m forget that you are dry,” he said apologetically.
“Sure,” grinned Miguel. “Too dry for talk.”
There was no doubt of their thirst, for they drank the potent _tequila_
as an ordinary drinker might imbibe a light wine--not that they were
able to handle it any better than a white man, but it seemed as though
their gullets were composed of rawhide or some similarly durable
material. Frank Austin seemed fascinated by the scene. His eyes shifted
from one to the other, and finally to the gagged figure beside him, as
though seeking an answer to why they were here.
“Well,” said Mendez, “there ees no reason for delay now. We are all
’ere. Ricardo, call the _padre_.”
There were a few moments of silence as Ricardo came back with the
priest, who had apparently been coached in the business of the
marriage. Slowly he advanced across the room, holding a book before
him, and halted in front of Rosita Diaz and Frank Austin, facing away
from them.
Porfiro Mendez smiled at Juana and motioned her to step forward, but she
only drew back, fearful of what was about to happen. “Come,” said Mendez
firmly. “You cannot escape. I do not like to force a lady.”
“Mendez, this is a rotten thing,” said Hal, stepping forward. “Don’t do
it. I’ll admit we can’t stop you, but sooner or later you will be hunted
down like a real lobo and killed. Stop and think what it means.”
Mendez grinned slowly. “You don’t like this idea? Well, I am ver’ much
surprise’. All this time I theenk you wan’ marry Juana; and now you say
eet ees rotten theeng.”
“Me marry Juana?” gasped Hal, not understanding.
“W’y not? Young folks in love sometime marry.”
Juana and Hal were looking blankly at each other. It was something they
could not understand.
“The _padre_ ees waiting,” said Mendez.
Hal turned to Mendez. “Is this on the square, Mendez? Do you mean that I
am to marry Juana?”
“_Seguramente._ Sure.”
“Juana, do you understand it?”
“No, I----”
“All right,” said Hal rather breathlessly. “I’m ready.”
He took Juana by the arm and they stepped up in front of the _padre_.
Frank Austin squirmed in agony in his chair, trying to twist the gag
between his teeth, but his efforts were futile. The _padre_ was
intoning in a mixture of Latin and Spanish, and, as far as any of them
understanding it, he might as well have been talking to himself. Mrs.
Austin had her arm around Betty, and the two of them, white-faced, were
leaning forward, fairly holding their breath. Frank Austin, exhausted
with his efforts, slumped in his chair, his stricken, horrified eyes on
the floor.