WORD FROM DON FERDINAND.
Rafaela pulled away from Jack’s arms quickly at Mr. Hampton’s approach.
The latter cast her a sharp glance and noted some slight confusion which
his quick perception told him was not due solely to her anxiety over her
father’s disappearance. He glanced at Jack, a question in his eyes. Jack
grinned shamelessly, and Mr. Hampton had difficulty preserving a sober
countenance. Evidently, his handsome son did not object to offering
Rafaela comfort in her distress.
Then his thoughts leaped to the words still ringing in his ears,
informing him that Don Ferdinand had disappeared. He turned to Rafaela
to question her. But at that moment, she emitted a sharp exclamation as
she held up a sealed envelope and examined the superscription.
“Why, this is from my father,” she cried.
“From your father?” exclaimed Jack. “Thought you said he had
disappeared?”
“I did say he had disappeared,” answered Rafaela, ripping open the
envelope. And pulling out the folded sheet which it contained she read
it eagerly.
“Ah, this explains it,” she added, dropping to her side the hand holding
the note, and facing the two men.
“But come, let us go to the house. It is too hot to stand here in the
sun. Besides, you must be thirsty.”
And snuggling her hands under Jack’s and his father’s nearest elbows,
she started them marching toward the house.
“You have me puzzled, Rafaela,” declared Jack. “First you declare your
father has disappeared and you say in that funny way of yours that you
are desolated. Then you get a note from him. What’s the answer?”
Rafaela’s teasing laugh pealed out. “What you say, Jack? ‘What’s the
answer?’ Is that some of your American slang? What does it mean?”
Mr. Hampton laughed. Rafaela was a continual delight to him.
“It means,” said Jack, solemnly, “that if you don’t clear up this
mystery, I’ll appeal to Donna Ana.”
Rafaela made a grimace. “Oh, that duenna. She sleeps. Not even your
airplane wakes her. But when I hear it, I run. ‘Senor Jack will go
search for my father who is missing four days,’ I say to myself. As I
run, up comes that Pedro with a note. He would stop me. But I am so
anxious to ask you to, please, go at once and search for my father, that
I take his note and run. He looked after me and scratch his head. I see
him, yes sir.”
She looked up slyly, first at Jack, then at his father, and both laughed
heartily.
“You’re a little minx, Rafaela,” said Mr. Hampton, pinching the
shell-like ear nearest him.
“That makes it unanimous, Dad,” said Jack. “But go on, Rafaela. Now what
does the note say?”
“It say we must ask Pedro,” declared Rafaela, as they stepped into the
cool patio. She clapped her hands and a swarthy, stolid-faced woman
appeared at whom she shot a volley of Spanish, whereupon the woman
turned and went back under the colonnade in the direction of the
servant’s quarters.
“She will call Pedro, and likewise bring us limeade,” said Rafaela. “Sit
down.”
A sound between exclamation and snort came from behind Jack and he
whirled around, in the act of slipping into a big comfortable wicker
chair. Donna Ana, all in black, was staring at him severely from the
depths of another wicker chair in the shade of a pineapple palm. He made
her a low bow, while Mr. Hampton walked up and bent over her hand with
that touch of Continental gallantry which always flattered the duenna.
Then he pulled his chair close to her and began a conversation.
“That’s nice of Dad,” said Jack, in an undertone.
Rafaela glanced at him archly.
“You are learning, Jack,” she said. “That was a pretty speech.”
At that moment Pedro appeared, bowing, in front of Rafaela. Mr. Hampton
and Donna Ana moved closer.
“My father,” said Rafaela, tapping the note, “writes only that he is
well, and that I should ask you for details.” She addressed him in
Spanish, but as both Jack and his father understood the language, they
experienced no difficulty in following the conversation.
“Four day ago I send a message to Don Ferdinand,” said Pedro. “It
informed him that devil Ramirez had lured away my last man from the mine
and asked for instructions. Soon—the next day—Don Ferdinand appears. I
am astonished. ‘Your messenger came at night, Pedro,’ said he. ‘I left
at once.’ So I say to him, ‘Let us make talk.’ But he answers that he is
fatigued and will sleep first. All day he sleeps. That night we talk.
The next day he remembers suddenly that he has left you alone, with no
knowledge of what had become of him. He does not want you to be alarmed.
So he sends you a message. There is none to take it but Pedro. Here I
am.”
With a bow as graceful as a cavalier’s Pedro ceased.
“But my father.” Rafaela’s little foot in its tiny black slipper was
tapping on the flagstones. “But my father, why did he not return?”
There was a scarcely perceptible pause before Pedro replied. Then he
said: “He has work to do.”
“Pedro, there is something you are keeping back from me,” declared
Rafaela firmly. “Tell me. Where is my father now?”
Shrugging, Pedro spread out his hands, but he did not answer.
Jack thought he understood. Stepping forward impetuously, he laid a hand
on Pedro’s shoulder, and faced him. “Look here,” he said. “No tricks. If
anything has happened to—”
Pedro glared blackly, but Rafaela laughed.
“Oh, Jack, you are so—so funny,” she declared. “You mustn’t suspect
Pedro. He is my father’s most trusted man.” And to Pedro, she said
soothingly: “This gentleman didn’t understand, Pedro. He but worries
about my father. If he knew, he would not hurt your feelings.”
Pedro made a slight bow to Jack. “I forgive the young Senor’s mistake,”
he said.
Jack sighed and shook his head. “But, Rafaela, what then?”
“You do not know my father,” she explained. “I fear he has done
something rash and ordered Pedro not to tell me for fear I would be
worried. Is it not so, Pedro?”
The latter shrugged. It was an eloquent shrug. It said plainer than
words that Rafaela was correct.
The girl was silent a moment, sitting with chin cupped in hand, staring
thoughtfully at the paving at her feet. Then she glanced up quickly,
understanding in her eyes.
“This Ramirez of whom you speak? Where is he?”
“He marches toward Nueva Laredo,” said Pedro.
“And my father has gone in pursuit of him alone,” said Rafaela. It was
more a challenge than a question.
Pedro hesitated. Rafaela stamped her foot. Pedro made haste to confirm
her words.
“Only, Senorita, he goes not alone. A dozen men he brought with him to
the mine—these lazy fellows who grow fat here on his bounty. Yet they
are good fighters and will lay down their lives for him. And all are
well armed.”
“I knew it,” said Rafaela, with conviction. “And he told you not to tell
me. Well, that is all, Pedro. Rest now before you go back to the mine.
For I suppose you will want to return?”
“Si, Senorita. I was not to tell, but you found out. I never could keep
secrets from a woman.” Pedro’s resignation was so comical that
involuntarily all laughed. “And when I return,” he added, “I shall want
twelve more good fighters.”
“You shall have them,” promised Rafaela. And with a bow Pedro
disappeared.
“Now,” said Mr. Hampton, when he had departed, “this is a pretty kettle
of fish.”
“‘Kettle of fish?’” Rafaela looked inquiry.
“Some more slang,” laughed Jack. “Dad is worse than I. He means here is
a lot of trouble.”
The maid now appeared with a great silver pitcher and a tray of glasses,
a little table was pulled forward, and about it all four sat, sipping
limeade, and discussing the news brought by Pedro.
“I don’t think it would be worth while to question that fellow, Pedro,
again,” said Mr. Hampton, finally, after the situation had been thrashed
over. “He’s told us all he’s going to tell. And I don’t see, Rafaela,
that there is anything we can do. Your father knows his own business,
and I consider he is pretty well able to take care of himself. As far as
I can see, this fellow Ramirez, whoever he is, is preparing to stir up
trouble, and your father is trying to stop him. Jack and I are
Americans, and we can’t very well take a hand in a Mexican family row.”
Jack looked disappointed. Nothing would have suited him better than to
step into his plane and fly southward in search of Don Ferdinand for the
purpose of placing himself and his airplane at the latter’s disposal.
Still, his father was right.
“However, Rafaela,” he supplemented, “I’m going to see that your radio
station is in good running order before I leave, and you must tell your
boy to keep in touch with me. Then, if you want us in a hurry, we’ll be
at your command.”
That evening Pedro set out at dusk with twelve mounted and heavily armed
men at his back. They were the pick of the young fellows about the
place. Standing a little apart from Mr. Hampton and Donna Ana, Jack and
Rafaela watched the departure. Pedro rode up for final instructions.
“Tell my father to be careful,” said Rafaela. She was worried, but held
her head high, exhibiting the same firey spirit of her father. The ghost
of a smile came to her lips. “Not that he will heed,” she said.
“And, Pedro,” added Jack, “tell Don Ferdinand when you see him that if I
can help with my airplane—for scouting—or—or something, why, to send a
messenger here and have me called by radio.”
Pedro nodded, then with his rapscallion yet loyal crew whirled away.
Soon the dustcloud raised by their departure settled, and they were lost
in the shadows of the night. The remaining Mexicans, who had gathered to
watch, dispersed. The tinkle of stringed instruments came from the
Mexican quarters. The Hamptons, Rafaela and Donna Ana turned back to the
patio. There they sat conversing until time to retire, and the next
morning Mr. Hampton and Jack took their departure.