Passing over into the next valley, they came on the body of old
Francisco, hacked almost to bits. So far Lee had kept a strong grip on
herself. But now she burst out crying.
"The poor fellow! He was faithful as a dog. We saw them cut him down,
and that caused dad to lose his head. Otherwise he would never have
tried to pursue them alone."
"He was old--an' died a man's death," Bull offered her rough comfort.
"You couldn't wish him a better ending."
It was man's reasoning, therefore contrary to her woman's feelings, yet
it helped to control her grief. She acquiesced at once when Bull
suggested that she ride ahead and prepare a room.
By her departure Sliver was afforded an opportunity to get something off
his mind. After a glance at Carleton, who had relapsed again into
unconsciousness, he nodded at the horses. "Don't you allow I'd better
leave 'em here? After we get through with him we kin come back an'--" He
stopped, shuffled uneasily, under Bull's stare.
"You're dead right! Don't trouble to say it. I'd steal the horses offen
a hearse."
Bull's glance dropped again to the unconscious man. Then, very slowly,
he voiced his opinion, formed on frontier code: "Wait till he's well
enough to fight for his own. Till then--we leave him alone."
Stepping at a lively gait, they passed in half an hour under the _patio_
gateway. Within, arched _portales_ ran around three sides, supporting
the gallery of an upper story. From the red-tiled roof above a wonderful
creeper poured a cataract of green lace, so dense, prolific, that only
vigorous pruning kept it from burying the _portales_ beneath. In the
center rose a great _arbol de fuego_, "tree of fire," contrasting its
flaming blossoms with the rich greens of palms and bananas.
They were met at the entrance by a flock of frightened brown women,
house servants, and _peonas_; for of the scores of men who had worked
for Carleton before the wars there were left only three withered
_ancianos_ to bear his body up the wide stone stairway to a room that
caught the fresh breeze from the mountains.
Here Bull redressed the wounds. His skill, however, was only of the
surface. As it would require at least four days to bring a doctor even
from Chihuahua, he felt that unless Jake materialized one out of the dry
desert air Carleton would surely die. Nevertheless, he stoutly denied
the possibility to Lee during the two days that he shared her watch.
Sliver, on his part, also did his best to cheer and comfort, relating
marvelous tales of accidents and illnesses that, by contrast, made
shooting through the lungs and stomach look smaller than a toothache.
"You she'd have seen Rusty Mikel, Miss, the time his Bill-hoss turned a
flip-flop onto him. Druv' the pommel clean through his chest, it did.
Yet he was up an' around, lively as a bedbug by candle-light, in less 'n
five weeks."
Surely without them the girl would not only have broken down, but her
father could never have survived to see the doctor, whose arrival was
announced by a rapid beat of hoofs the following evening. For Jake had
achieved the impossible, grabbed him, if not from midair, at least from
a revolutionary-hospital train that had stopped at the burned station to
bury its dead.
The doctor was American. But even as he dismounted at the gate Bull
picked him for a "colonist." Just how, he himself could not have said.
His premature grizzle, unhealthy pallor, might have been due to
overwork. But a certain brooding quiet, seen only in those who have been
cut off for long periods from communication with their fellows,
impressed even Sliver. He remarked on it while they sat with Jake under
the _portales_ while he ate.
"Say! but he's whitish. Looks like he'd done time."
"He has," Jake nodded. "I had it from a Yankee machine-gunner in
Valles's army that had got himself shot through both arms an' was being
taken back to the base hospital with about a hun'red others. When I
landed at the burned station he was a-setting with his legs dangling out
of a box-car door, watching 'em bury his _compañeros_ that had died on
the way.
"'Gotter do it quick,' he says. 'They don't keep worth a darn in this
clime.'
"He'd met Carleton once in Chihuahua, an' 'twas him that sent the doctor
an' tol' me about him while he was packing his grip. Seems that he'd
belonged to a gang that worked insurance frauds on American companies.
They'd insure some _peon_ that was about ready to croak, paying the
premiums themselves an' c'llecting the insurance after he cashed in. If
he lingered 'twas said that they hurried him. That was never quite
proved, most of 'em being too far gone to testify when they was
resurrected. But the doc had furnished the death certificate, an' as the
Mexicans ain't so particular about technicalities as our courts, he was
sentenced to be shot along with his pals. If he'd been Mexican they'd
have done it, too. But Diaz, who liked a bad gringo better than a good
greaser, commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. He'd actually
served twelve years--think of it, hombres! twelve years in a Mexican
jail before the revolutionists let him out to serve on their
hospital-trains."
"Twelve years!" Sliver echoed it. "An' just for croaking a few Mex? He
orter ha' practised in New Mexico. They'd have give him a medal up
there."
After Jake had eaten, the Three sat and smoked till the doctor came
down. While eating he made his report. "If I could do any good I'd stay.
But he will surely die to-night. It's going to be mighty hard on that
poor girl. Like most of us"--his glance took in all Three--"Carleton
didn't come down here for his health. It's bad form in Mexico to inquire
about a man's past. Nevertheless, it's pretty well known that he killed
the seducer of his wife and came here with the child when she was four
years old. She's never been away since, and has no kin that she knows
of. To run a hacienda, these days, is too big a job for a girl."
His deep concern showed an underlying goodness. Genuine sadness weighted
his words when he gave his last orders from the saddle. "I've left an
opiate in case he suffers. He may regain consciousness, but don't be
deceived. It will be the last flare before the dark."
It happened at midnight. An hour before, Bull had put Lee out of the
room with gentle force to take needed rest. He had then moved his chair
to the door, which opened out on the _corredor_, to secure the free air
his rustler's lungs demanded. Across the compound he could see the
moon's pale lantern hanging in the branches of a yucca that upraised its
maimed and twisted shape on a distant knoll. Northward the mountains
loomed, dim and mysterious, in tender light that reduced the vivid
chromes and blues of lime-washed adobes in the compound to pale violet
and clear gold.
_Gringo_ as he was, his people had lived under Carleton's hand fuller,
freer lives than their forebears had ever known under the Mexican
overlords, and, day or night, the _patio_ had never lacked a dozen brown
_peonas_ on their knees at their prayers to the saints. Under the _arbol
de fuego_ in the center of the _patio_ below three old crones had
erected a small altar, and its guttering candles now threw splashes of
gold up through the crimson dusk of the tree. Adding the human note
which, by contrast, accentuated the infinite mystery of that still
night, their mutterings rose up to Bull; bits of gossip sandwiched
between prayers.
"Three crows perched here at sundown, Luisa. Thou knowest what that
means?"
"Si; they were devils come for a soul."
"'Tis a pity that all gringos are doomed to the flame. The señor was a
good master to us that had felt the iron fist of the Spaniard."
"The señorita? She that is so sweet and good. Thinkest thou, Luisa, that
she also will be cast into hell?"
"Not if my prayers can save, Pancha. Three great candles, at twenty
centavos the candle, have I burned on the altar of Guadalupe for her
soul's sake. There is yet time for her. But the poor señor--" her pause
doomed him. Nevertheless, with greater vigor they returned to their
prayers for his saving.
The dim beauty of the night with its spread of moonlit plain, loom of
distant mountains, querulous supplication rising under cold stars,
combined to produce that awful sense of infinity that shrouds the riddle
of life. If Bull was incapable of philosophizing upon it, to translate
the feeling in thought, he still came under its sway. While it weighed
heavily upon him, there came a gasp and feverish mutter from the bed.
In a second he was there. As he removed the shade from the candle he saw
Carleton's face lit by the last flare. Recognition and intelligence both
were there.
"Where is--Lee? Sleeping? Don't wake her. Listen! She--must not--stay
here. Tell William Benson--he's rough and a bully--but honest and good.
Tell him to get a permit--from the revolutionists--to drive my cattle
and horses--across to the States. They will bring enough--to keep Lee
for many--a year. Be sure--"
The halting voice suddenly failed. Even while Bull was reaching for a
stimulant the soul of the man passed out into the mystery beyond the
moonlit plains.
For a while Bull stood looking down upon him. Then, very slowly, he made
toward the door that led to the girl's room. But as her tired face rose
before him he stopped and shook his head. "Let her finish her sleep."
Tiptoeing, instead, out to the gallery rail, he leaned down and softly
called the old women.