STEVE WINS A HAM SANDWICH
Yeager was roused from sleep next morning by a knock at the door. His
visitor was Fleming Lennox, leading man of the company.
"Say, Steve, what about Threewit and Farrar? I just telephoned to the
Lazy B Ranch and the foreman says his boys did not run across them. You
know what that means. They've reached old Pasquale's camp."
Yeager sat up in bed and whistled softly to himself. This was a
contingency he had not foreseen. What would the Mexican chief do to two
of the range-rider's friends who delivered themselves into his hands so
opportunely? Steve did not think he would kill them offhand, but he was
very sure they would not be at liberty to return home. Moreover,
Harrison would be on the ground, eager for revenge. The prizefighter
never had liked Farrar. He had sworn to get even with Threewit. An added
incentive to this course was the fact that he knew them both to be on
very good terms with his chief enemy. Without doubt Chad would do his
best to stimulate the insurgent leader to impulsive violence.
The man in bed concealed his apprehension under a comical grin. "This
life's just one damned thing after another, looks like," he commented.
"I didn't figure on that. I thought sure the boys would bump into
Threewit. That slip-up surely spills the beans."
"You don't think even Pasquale would dare hurt them, do you?" asked
Lennox anxiously.
"Search me. Pasquale's boiled in p'ison, especially when he is drunk.
He'd do whatever he had a mind to do."
"What's the matter with us sending a messenger down there with a fake
wire from the old man to Threewit telling him to hustle up and get busy
right away on a feature film? Pasquale would have to show his hand,
anyhow. We'd know where we were at."
Yeager assented. "He'd have to turn them loose or hold them. But even if
he turned them loose, he might arrange to have them accidentally killed
by bandits before they reached home. Still, it would put one thing right
up to him--that their friends know where they are and are ready to sick
Uncle Sam on him if he don't act proper."
Manderson, Miss Winters, and Daisy Ellington were called into council
after breakfast. The situation was canvassed from all sides, but in the
end they stood where they had been at the beginning. Nobody felt sure
what Pasquale would do or knew whether the visitors at his camp would
be detained as prisoners. The original suggestion of Lennox seemed the
best under the circumstances.
Old Juan Yuste was brought in from the stables and given the telegram.
He was told nothing except that it was urgent that Threewit get the
message as soon as possible. The five-dollar gold-piece which Lennox
tossed to the Mexican drew a grin that exposed a mouth half empty of
teeth.
In the absence of both Threewit and Farrar the business of producing
films was at a standstill. The members of the company took an enforced
holiday. Manderson read a novel. Daisy wrote letters. Lennox and Miss
Winters went for a long stroll. Steve helped Baldy Cummings mend broken
saddles and other property stuff. The extras played poker.
Juan returned late in the evening on the second day. He brought with him
a letter addressed to Lennox. It was from Pasquale. The message was
written in English. It said:--
Greetings, señor. Your friends are the guests of General Pasquale.
They came to Noche Buena to find one Señor Yeager. They are
resolved to stay here until he is found by them, even though they
remain till the day of their death.
The note was signed, "Siempre, Gabriel Pasquale."
After reading, it, Yeager handed the note back to Lennox and spoke
quietly.
"Pasquale passes the buck up to me. I've been thinking he might do
that."
"You mean--?"
"--That he serves notice he's going to kill our friends if I don't give
myself up to him."
"But would he? Dare he?"
Yeager shrugged. "It will happen in the usual Mexican way--killed by
accident while trying to escape, or else ambushed by Federals on the
desert while coming home, according to the story that will be dished up
to the papers. He will be full of regrets and apologies to our
Government, but that won't help Threewit or Frank any."
"Don't you think he's bluffing? Pasquale hasn't a thing against either
of them. He surely wouldn't murder them in cold blood."
"I don't know whether he is or not. But it's up to me to sit in and take
cards. They went down to Noche Buena on my account. I'm going down on
theirs."
Lennox stared incredulously at him. "You don't mean you're going to give
yourself up. Pasquale would hang up your hide to dry."
"That's just what he would do, after he had boiled me in oil or given me
some other pleasant diversion. No, I reckon I'll not give myself up.
I'll join his army again."
"I give it up, Steve. Tell me the answer."
"As a private this time."
"Fat chance you'll have, with Friend Harrison there to spot you, not to
mention the old boy himself and Culvera."
"It won't be Steve Yeager that joins. It will be a poor peon from the
hills named Pedro or Juan or Pablo."
"You're going to rig up as a Mexican?"
"Some guesser, Lennox."
"You can't put it over, not with your face looking like a pounded
beefsteak. I judge you don't know what an Exhibit A you are at present.
The first time Chad looked at you, he would recognize the result of his
uppercuts and swings."
"So he would. I'll have to wait a week or so. Send Juan back to Pasquale
and tell him you hear I'm in the Lone Star country where I used to
punch. Say you've sent for me with an offer to take Harrison's place in
the company, and that if I come you'll arrange with him to have me taken
by his men while we're doing a set near the line. He'll fall for that
because he'll be so keen to get me that any chance will look good to
him. You'll have to give Juan a tip not to let it out I'm here."
"What can you do if you get into Pasquale's camp as one of his men?"
"I don't know. Something will turn up."
"You're taking a big chance, Steve."
"Not because I want to. But I've got to do what I can for the boys. This
ain't just the time for a 'watchful waiting' policy, seems to me. If
you've got anything better to offer, I'm agreeable to listen."
"The only thing I can think of is to appeal to Uncle Sam."
"That won't get us much. But there's no harm in trying. Have the old man
stir up a big dust at Washington. After plenty of red tape an official
representation will be made to Pasquale. He will lie himself black in
the face. More correspondence. More explanations. Finally, if the
prisoners are still alive, they will start home. Mebbe they'll get here.
Mebbe they won't."
"Then you don't think it's worth trying?"
"Sure I do. Every little helps. It might make Pasquale sit steady in the
boat till I get a chance to pull off something."
When Daisy Ellington heard of the plan she went straight to Yeager.
"What's this I hear about you committing suicide?" she demanded.
"News to me, compadre," smiled the puncher.
"You're not really going down there to shove your head into that den of
wolves, are you?" Without waiting for an answer she pushed on to a
prediction. "Because if you do, they'll surely snap it off."
"Wish you'd change your brand of prophecy, niña. You see, this is the
only head I've got. I'm some partial to it."
"Then you had better keep away from that old Pasquale and Chad Harrison.
Don't be foolish, Steve." She caught the lapels of his coat and shook
him fondly. "If you don't know when you're well off, your friends do.
We're not going to let you go."
"Threewit and Farrar," he reminded her.
"They'll have to take their chance. Besides, Pasquale isn't going to
hurt them. There wouldn't be any sense in it. So there's no use us
getting panicky."
"I don't reckon I'm exactly panicky, Daisy. But it won't do to forget
that Pasquale is one bad hombre. Harrison is another, and he's got it in
for the boys. We can't lie down and quit on them, can we? I notice they
didn't do that with me."
"What good will it do for you to go and get trapped too? It's different
with you. They've got it in for you down there. It's just foolhardiness
for you to go back," she told him sharply.
"You're sure some little boss," he laughed. "I'm willing to be
reasonable. If I can prove to you that I stand a good chance to pull it
off down at Noche Buena, will you feel different about it?"
"Yes, if you can--but you can't," she agreed, flashing at him the
provocative little smile that was one of her charms.
"Bet you a box of chocolates against a ham sandwich I can."
"You're on," she nodded airily.
"Better order that ham sandwich," he advised, mocking her lazily with
his friendly eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. You're not so much, Cactus Center. I expect to be
eating chocolates soon."
Her gay audacity always pleased him. He settled himself for explanations
soberly, but back of his gravity lay laughter.
"You've got the wrong hunch on me. I ain't any uneducated sheepherder.
Don't run away with that notion. Me, I went through the first year of
the High School at Tucson. I know all about _amo, amas, amat_, and how
to make a flying tackle. Course oncet in a while I slip up in grammar.
There's heap too much grammar in the world, anyhow. It plumb chokes up a
man's language."
"All right, Steve. Show me. I'm from Joplin, Missouri. When are you
going to do all this proving?"
"We won't set a date. Some time before I leave."
Yeager walked from the studio to his rooming-place. Ruth Seymour met him
on the porch and stopped him. It was the first time he had seen her
since their return.
"Is it true--what Mr. Manderson says--that you are going back to Noche
Buena?" she flung at him.
"I'm certainly getting on the society page," he laughed. "Manderson has
a pretty good reputation. I shouldn't wonder if what he says is true."
The face beneath the crown of soft black hair was colorless except for
the trembling lips.
"Why? Why must you go? You've just escaped from there with your life.
Are you mad?"
"Look here, Miss Ruth. I've just had a roundup with Miss Ellington about
this. I'm going to take a whirl at rescuing our friends. Pasquale can't
put over such a raw deal without getting a run for his money from me.
I'm going back there because it's up to me to go. There are some things
a man can't do. He can't quit when his friends need him."
She was standing in the doorway, her head leaning against the jamb so
that the fine curve of the throat line showed a beating pulse. Something
in the pose of the slim, graceful figure told him of repressed emotion.
"That is absurd, Mr. Yeager. You can't do anything for them if you go."
"Everybody sizes me up for a buzzard-head," he complained whimsically.
The gravity did not lift from her young, quick eyes.
"If you go they'll kill you," she said in a voice as dry as a whisper.
"Sho! Nothing to that. I'm going down disguised. I'll be safe enough."
"I suppose ... nothing can keep you from going." A sob choked up in her
throat as she spoke.
"No. I've got to go."
"You think you have a right to play at dice with your life! Don't your
friends count with you at all?"
"It's because they do that I'm going," he answered gently.
Her troubled eyes rested on his. The protest in her heart was still
urgent, but she dared go no further. Some instinct of maidenly reticence
curbed the passionate rebellion against his decision. If she said more,
she might say too much. With a swift, sinuous turn of the slender body
she ran into the house and left him standing there.
* * * * *
Daisy sat at one end of the pergola mending a glove. It was in the
pleasant cool of the evening just as dusk was beginning to fall. A light
breeze rustled the rose-leaves and played with the tendrils of her soft,
wavy hair. The coolness was grateful after the heat of an Arizona day.
The front gate creaked. A man was coming in, a Mexican of the peon
class. He moved up the walk toward her with a slight limp. As he drew
closer, she observed negligently that he was of early middle age,
ragged, and of course dirty. Age and lack of soap had so dyed his serape
that the original color was quite gone.
He bowed to her with the native courtesy that belongs to even the peons
of his race. A swift patter of Spanish fell from his lips.
Miss Ellington shook her head. "No sabe Español."
The man gushed into a second eruption of liquid vowels, accompanied this
time by gestures which indicated that he wanted food.
The young woman nodded, went into the house, and secured from Mrs.
Seymour a plate of broken fragments left over from supper. With this and
a cup of coffee she returned to the pergola.
"Gracias, señorita." The shining black poll of the man bowed over the
donation as he accepted it.
He sat cross-legged among the roses and ate what had been given him.
Daisy observed critically that his habit of eating was not at all nice.
He discarded the fork she had brought, using only the knife and his
fingers. The meat he tore apart and devoured ravenously, cramming it
wolfishly into his mouth as fast as he could. A few days before she had
fallen into an argument with Steve Yeager about the civilization of the
Mexicans. She wished he could see this specimen.
The man spoke, after he had cleaned the plate, licked up the gravy, and
gulped down the coffee. His words fell in a slow drawl, not in Spanish,
but in English.
"Don't you reckon mebbe I could get a ham sandwich too?"
The actress jumped. "Steve, you fraud!" she screamed, and flew at him.
"Do I win?" he asked, protecting himself as he backed away.
"Of course you do. Why haven't we been using you up stage in the Mexican
sets? You're perfect. How did you ever get your hair so slick and
black?"
"I've been studying make-ups since I joined the Lunar Company," he told
her.
"How about your Spanish? Is it good enough to pass muster?"
"I learned to jabber it when I was a year old before I did English."
"Then you'll do. I defy even Harrison to recognize you."
He gave her his Mexican bow. "Gracias, señorita."