José's dark face blazed; he bent forward eagerly. "What did you
suspect, and why? Tell me all. There is something black and hellish
here, and I must know about it quickly."
"Suppose you tell me your story first," Alaire answered, "and remember
that you are excited."
The Mexican lowered his voice. "Bueno! Forgive me if I seem half
crazed. Well, I rode to that water-hole and found--nothing. It is a
lonely place; only the brush cattle use it; but I said to myself,
'Panfilo drank here. He was here. Beyond there is nothing. So I will
begin.' God was my helper, señora. I found him--his bones as naked and
clean as pebbles. Caramba! You should have heard me then! I was like a
demon! I couldn't think, I couldn't reason. I rode from that accursed
spot as if Panfilo's ghost pursued me and--I am here. I shall rouse the
country; the people shall demand the blood of my cousin's assassin. It
is the crime of a century."
"Wait! When you spoke to me last I didn't dream that Panfilo was dead,
but since then I have learned the truth, and why he was killed. You
must let me tell you everything, José, just as it happened; then--you
may do whatever you think best. And you shall have the whole truth."
It was a trying situation; in spite of her brave beginning, Alaire was
tempted to send the Mexican on to Jonesville, there to receive an
explanation directly from David Law himself; but such a course she
dared not risk. José was indeed half crazed, and at this moment quite
irresponsible; if he met Dave, terrible consequences would surely
follow. Accordingly, it was with a peculiar, apprehensive flatter in
her breast that Alaire realized the crisis had come. Heretofore she had
blamed Law, but now, oddly enough, she found herself interested in
defending him. As calmly as she could she related all that had led up
to the tragedy, while José listened with eyes wide and mouth open.
"You see, I had no suspicion of the truth," she concluded. "It was a
terrible thing, and Mr. Law regrets it deeply. He would have made a
report to the authorities, only--he feared it might embarrass me. He
will repeat to you all that I have said, and he is ready to meet the
consequences."
José was torn with rage, yet plainly a prey to indecision; he rolled
his eyes and cursed under his breath. "These Rangers!" he muttered.
"That is the kind of men they are. They murder honest people."
"This was not murder," Alaire cried, sharply. "Panfilo was aiding a
felon to escape. The courts will not punish Mr. Law."
"Bah! Who cares for the courts? This man is a Gringo, and these are
Gringo laws. But I am Mexican, and Panfilo was my cousin. We shall see."
Alaire's eyes darkened. "Don't be rash, José," she exclaimed,
warningly. "Mr. Law bears you no ill-will, but--he is a dangerous man.
You would do well to make some inquiries about him. You are a good man;
you have a long life before you." Reading the fellow's black look, she
argued: "You think I am taking his part because he is my countryman,
but he needs no one to defend him. He will make this whole story public
and face the consequences. I like you, and I don't wish to see you come
to a worse end than your cousin Panfilo."
José continued to glower. Then, turning away, he said, without meeting
his employer's eyes, "I would like to draw my money."
"Very well. I am sorry to have you leave Las Palmas, for I have
regarded you as one of my gente." José's face remained stony. "What do
you intend to do? Where are you going?"
The fellow shrugged. "Quien sabe! Perhaps I shall go to my General
Longorio. He is in Romero, just across the river; he knows a brave man
when he sees one, and he needs fellows like me to kill rebels. Well,
you shall hear of me. People will tell you about that demon of a José
whose cousin was murdered by the Rangers. Yes, I have the heart of a
bandit."
Alaire smiled faintly. "You will be shot," she told him. "Those
soldiers have little to eat and no money at all."
But José's bright eyes remained hostile and his expression baffling. It
was plain to Alaire that her explanation of his cousin's death had
carried not the slightest conviction, and she even began to fear that
her part in the affair had caused him to look upon her as an accessory.
Nevertheless, when she paid him his wages she gave him a good horse,
which José accepted with thanks but without gratitude. As Alaire
watched him ride away with never a backward glance she decided that she
must lose no time in apprising the Ranger of this new condition of
affairs.
She drove her automobile to Jonesville that afternoon, more worried
than she cared to admit. It was a moral certainty, she knew, that José
Sanchez would, sooner or later, attempt to take vengeance upon his
cousin's slayer, and there was no telling when he might become
sufficiently inflamed with poisonous Mexican liquor to be in the mood
for killing. Then, too, there were friends of Panfilo always ready to
lend bad counsel.
Law was nowhere in town, and so, in spite of her reluctance, Alaire was
forced to look for him at the Joneses' home. As she had never called
upon Paloma, and had made it almost impossible for the girl to visit
Las Palmas, the meeting of the two women was somewhat formal. But no
one could long remain stiff or constrained with Paloma Jones; the girl
had a directness of manner and an honest, friendly smile that simply
would not be denied. Her delight that Alaire had come to see her
pleased and shamed the elder woman, who hesitatingly confessed the
object of her visit.
"Oh, I thought you were calling on me." Paloma pouted her pretty lips.
"Dave isn't here. He and father--have gone away." A little pucker of
apprehension appeared upon her brow.
"I must get word to him at once."