THE MEXICAN FROM MEXICO
Enrique del Rio promptly became known to San Juan as the Mexican from
Mexico, this to distinguish him from the many Mexicans, as San Juan
knew them, who had never seen that turbulent field of intrigue and
revolt from which their sires had come. He showed himself from the
outset to be a gentleman of culture, discernment, and ability. He was
suave, he was polished, he gave certain signs of refinement.
His first afternoon and evening he bestowed upon Jim Galloway. The
second day found him registered at Struve's hotel. The following
morning he presented himself with a sheaf of credentials at the bank,
asking for John Engle. With him came Ignacio Chavez in the rôle of
interpreter. Del Rio spoke absolutely no English and had informed
himself that Engle's Spanish was inadequate for the occasion.
"He is Señor Don Enrique del Rio," explained Ignacio, touched by the
spell of the other's munificence and immaculate clothes. "He would
like to shake the hand of Señor Engle to become acquainted and then
friends. . . . He brings papers to tell who and what he is in Mexico
City, whence he has departed because of too damn much fight down there;
he wishes to put some money here in the _banco_, which he can take
away again to buy a big ranch and many cattle and horses. He has the
other money in a _banco_ in New York, where he sent it out from Mexico
two, three months ago."
And so on, while Engle gravely listened and shrewdly, after his fashion
in business hours, probed for the inner man under the outer polish,
while del Rio nodded and smiled and never withdrew his night-black eyes
from Engle's face.
Del Rio, it appeared, had gone first to the Casa Blanca because he had
heard of Jim Galloway as one of the most influential men of the county.
Since arriving in San Juan, however, he had heard this and that, mere
rumors, which caused him to come to Engle. He, a stranger, could ill
afford in the beginning to have his name coupled with that of any man
not known for his spotless integrity. Señor Engle understood? . . .
Later, when del Rio had found the properties to his liking and had
builded a home, his wife and two daughters would arrive. Now they
travelled in California.
In the end Engle accepted the Mexican's deposits, which amounted to
approximately a thousand dollars, and which were to be drawn against
merely as an expense account until del Rio found his ranch. And the
first item of expense was the purchase from Engle himself of a fine
saddle-animal, a pure-blooded, clean-limbed young mare, sister to
Persis. After which the Mexican spent a great deal of his time riding
about the country, looking at ranches. He visited Engle's two places,
called upon Norton at Las Flores, ferreting out prices, looking at
water and feed, examining soil.
It was a bare fortnight after the coming of del Rio when out of Las
Palmas came word of fresh lawlessness. The superintendent of the three
Quigley mines had been surprised the night before pay-day, forced at
the point of a revolver to open his own safe, and robbed of several
thousand dollars. A man on horseback rushed word to San Juan, found
Tom Cutter, who located Norton the same afternoon at his ranch at Las
Flores.
"Rod, old man," cried Cutter angrily, "this damned thing has got to
stop! You haven't a much better friend than I am, I guess, and I'm
telling you straight that the whole county is getting sore on you.
They will talk more than ever now, saying that it's up to you to get
results and that you don't get them."
"The stick-up was last night?" asked the sheriff coolly.
"Yes," snapped Cutter.
"You were in San Juan?"
"Yes."
"Where was Jim Galloway? Was he in town?"
"No, he wasn't. I don't know where he was. But I do know where he
ought to be. . . ."
"Was that Mexican gent, del Rio, in town?"
Cutter opened his eyes.
"No. I don't think so. You haven't got anything on him, have you?"
"Only what you told me. Remember that his first day in San Juan he
went to Galloway like a homing pigeon."
Norton went for his horse, saddled, and rode swiftly to Las Palmas. In
the mining-camp he went immediately to the office of Nate Kemble, the
superintendent, whom he found cursing volubly.
"It's up to you," were the sharp words of greeting as Kemble wheeled
upon the sheriff. "What the hell do you think you're for, anyway?
Good Lord, man, if you can't cut the mustard, why don't you crawl out
and let a man who _can_ wear your star?"
"Easy there, Kemble," said Norton quietly. "You can do your raring and
pitching after I'm gone. Tell me about it. What time did it happen?"
"It was hardly dark."
"How many men jumped you?"
"Just one. But . . ."
"Just one, eh?" He pondered the information. "That isn't the usual
brand of Galloway work, is it? Get a good slant at him?"
"At his clothes," growled Kemble, slamming himself down dejectedly in
his chair. "His face was hid, of course."
"Ever see a Mexican named del Rio?"
Like Cutter before him, Kemble started.
"Don't ask me what I mean," Norton cut him short. "Del Rio is a pretty
big man for a Mexican; was this highwayman about his size?"
Kemble hesitated.
"It's hard to say just how big a man is when he comes in on you like
that," he said at last. "At a guess I'd say that the man who stuck me
up was a little taller than del Rio. But I wouldn't swear to it."
"It might have been del Rio himself, then?" Norton insisted.
"Yes. Or it might have been the Devil's grandmother. I don't . . ."
"See anything of del Rio the last few days?"
"Saw him yesterday. He was in camp. Was talking mines."
"See anything of Galloway hereabouts of late?"
"No. Haven't seen him for a month or two."
Norton asked a few other questions, kept his own thoughts to himself,
and rode away. Less than a mile from the camp he met Jim Galloway
riding a sweat-wet horse. The two men reined in sharply, each man's
eyes matching the other's for hardness. Galloway's face was red, the
fiery red of anger.
"Going back for what you forgot, Jim?" asked Norton.
For a moment Galloway, staring back at him, seemed utterly speechless
in the grip of his wrath. Norton did not remember ever having seen
such blazing anger in the prominent eyes.
"Between you and me, Rod Norton," muttered Galloway at last, "I have
turned a trick or two in my time. But this job is none of my doing and
if I wise up as to who put it over he'll go under the sand or into the
pen, and I'll put him there."
Norton laughed.
"In other words, some free-lance has made a bid to break your corner on
the crime market, eh?" he jeered. "Put one over on you without your
knowledge and consent? And without splitting two ways? That what you
mean?"
"I mean that I'd pay five hundred dollars out of my own pocket right
now for the dead-wood on the man who robbed Kemble."
"Kid Rickard is around once more; sure he didn't do it?"
"Yes, I am. Kid Rickard didn't do it."
Norton eased himself in the saddle, thoughtfully regarding Galloway.
And then, very abruptly:
"How about your friend, del Rio?"
It was the third time that he had mentioned del Rio's name in this
connection and to the third man. And now, but slightly different in
degree only, he saw the same look in Galloway's eyes which he had
brought into Cutter's and Kemble's.
"Del Rio?" repeated Galloway frowningly. "What makes you say that?"
"I'll collect your five hundred later," was Norton's laughing response.
Swerving out a little as he passed, he rode on.