Bonito. Then, when he was reasonably sure of the direction she meant to
take, he hurried down to where Rabbit waited, mounted that long-suffering
animal and followed, using short cuts and deep washes that would hide him
from sight, but keeping Helen May in view most of the time for all that.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HOLMAN SOMMERS TURNS PROPHET
Holman Sommers, clad outwardly in old wool trousers of a dingy gray, a
faded brown smoking jacket that had shrunk in many washings until it was
three inches too short in the sleeves, and old brown slippers, sat tilted
back in a kitchen chair against the wall of his house and smoked a
beautifully colored meerschaum with solid gold bands and a fine amber
mouthpiece, while he conferred comfortably with one Elfigo Apodaca.
There was no quizzical twinkle in the eyes of Holman Sommers, vividly
alive though they were always. With his low slipper heels hooked over
the rung of his chair and his right hand nursing the bowl of his pipe
and his black hair rumpled in the wind, he was staring at the granite
ridge somberly.
"I am indeed sorry to hear that Estan Medina was shot," he said after a
pause. "Even in the interests of the Cause it was absolutely
unjustifiable. The man could do no harm; indeed, he served to divert
suspicion from others. Only crass stupidity would resort to brute
violence in the effort to further propaganda. Laying aside the human--"
"Of course," Elfigo interrupted sarcastically, "there's nothing violent
in a revolution! Where do you get your argument for gentleness, Holly?
That's what bothers me. You can stir up a bunch of Mexicans quicker than
a barrel of mezcal with your revolution talks."
"Ah, but you do not take into account the great, fundamental truth that
cooperative effort, on the part of the proletariat, is wholly
justifiable, in that it furthers the good of all humanity. Whereas
violence on the part of the individual merely retards the final result
for which we are striving. The murder of Estan Medina, for instance, may
be the one display of individual violence which will nullify all our
efforts toward a common good.
"For myself, I am bending every energy toward the formation of a
cooperative colony which will demonstrate the feasibility of a
cooperative form of government for the whole nation--the whole world, in
fact. Your Junta has pledged itself to the assistance of this colony, the
incalculable benefits of which will, I verily believe, be the very
salvation of Mexico as a nation. Mexico, now in the throes of national
parturition, is logically the pioneer in the true socialistic form of
government. From Mexico the seed will be carried overseas to drop upon
soil made fertile by the bones of those sacrificed to the blood-lust of
the war mad lords of Europe.
"Here, in this little corner of the world, is where the first tiny plant
must be grown. Can you not grasp, then, the tremendous significance of
what, on the face of it, is the pitifully small attempt of a pitifully
weak people to strike a feeble blow for the freedom of labor? To
frustrate that feeble blow now, by the irresponsible, lawless murder
of a good citizen, merely because he failed at first to grasp the meaning
of the lesson placed before him to learn, is, to my way of thinking, not
only unjustifiable but damnably weak and reprehensible."
Elfigo Apodaca, in another kitchen chair tilted back against an angle of
the wall so that he half faced Holman Sommers, stretched out his legs and
smiled tolerantly. A big, good-looking, thoroughly Americanized Mexican
was Elfigo; the type of man who may be found at sunrise whipping the best
stream in the State, the first morning of the trout season; the type of
man whose machine noses in the closest to the judge's stand when a big
race is on; the type of man who dances most, collects the most picture
postals of pretty girls, laughs most at after-dinner speeches; the type
of man who either does not marry at all, or attains much notoriety when
the question of alimony is being fought out to the last cipher; the last
man you would point out as a possible conspirator against anything save
the peace and dignity of some other man's home. But it takes money to be
all of these things, and Elfigo could see a million or two ahead of him
along the revolution trail. That is why he smiled tolerantly upon his
colleague who talked of humanity instead of dollars.
Then Elfigo harked back frowningly to what Holman Sommers had said about
feebleness. He rolled his cigar from the right corner of his mouth to the
left corner and spoke his thought.
"Speaking of feeble blow, and all that bunk," he said irreverently, "how
do we stand, Holly? Just between you and me as men--cut out any interest
we may have in the game--what's your honest opinion? Do we win?"
Holman Sommers raised one hand and hid the amused twitching of his lips.
He could have put that question far more clearly, he believed, and he
could have expressed much better the thought that was in Elfigo's mind.
He had deliberately baited Elfigo, and it amused him to see how blindly
the bait had been taken. He regarded Elfigo through half closed lids.
"As a matter of fact, and speaking relatively, every concerted revolt on
the part of the proletariat is a victory. Though every leader in the
movement be placed with his back against a stone wall, there to stand
until he falls to the earth riddled with bullets, yet have the people
won; a step nearer the goal, one more page writ in the glowing history of
the advancement of the human race toward a true brotherhood of man. There
can be no end save ultimate victory. That the victory may not be apparent
for fifty years, or a hundred, cannot in any sense alter the immutable
law of evolution. Posterity will point back to this present uprising as
the first real blow struck for the freedom of the laboring classes of
Mexico, and, indirectly, of the whole world."
Elfigo, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, mark of the
dominant note in the human male since clothes were invented to furnish
armholes for egotistic thumbs, contemplated his polished tan shoes
dissatisfiedly.
"Oh, to hell with posterity!" he blurted impatiently. "What about us poor
devils that's furnishing the time and money and brains to put it over? Do
we get lined up against a wall?"
Holly Sommers chuckled. "Not if your car can put you across the line soon
enough. Then, even though Mexico might be called upon to execute one
Elfigo Apodaca as an example to the souls in bondage, some other
bullet-riddled cadaver with your name and physical likeness would do as
well as your own carcass." He chuckled again.
"Cheerful prospect," grinned Elfigo ruefully. "But I like a sporting
chance, myself. The real point I'm trying to get at is, what chance do
you think the Alliance has got of winning? Come down outa the clouds,
Holly, and never mind about humanity for a minute. You've helped organize
the Alliance, you've talked to the hombres, you've been the god in the
machine in this part of the country, and all that. Now be a prophet in
words of one syllable and tell me what you think of the outlook."
With his fingers Holly Sommers packed the tobacco down into the bowl of
his pipe. His whole expression changed from the philosopher to the
cunning leader of what might well be called a forlorn hope.
"Speaking in words of one syllable, we have a damn better chance than you
may think," he said, in a tone as changed as his looks. "This country
lies wide open to any attack that is sudden and unexpected. Labor is in a
state of ferment. I predict that within a year we shall find ourselves
upon the brink of a civil war, with labor and capital lined up against
each other. Unless the government takes some definite step toward
placating organized labor, the whole standing army will not be
sufficient to keep the peace. That is the present internal condition,
and that condition will grow worse until we face the real crisis of
a national strike of some sort--I believe of the railroad employees,
since that is the most far-reaching and would prove the most
disastrous--therefore the most terrifying to the ruling class.
"On the other hand, and turning our faces outward, we are not much better
prepared for an emergency. We are a conceited nation, but insufferable
national conceit never yet won a battle. We are given to shouting rather
than shooting. Americanism to-day consists chiefly of standing up while
the Star Spangled Banner is being played by a brass band, and of shooting
off rockets on our national holiday. Were I of the capitalist class, I
should consider the situation desperate. But being allied with the
workers, I can laugh.
"Speaking still in words of one syllable, Elfigo, I can safely prophesy
what will happen first when the Alliance begins its active campaign.
Scarehead news in extra editions will be printed. The uprising will be
greatly exaggerated, I have no doubt. Women and children will be reported
massacred, whereas the Alliance has no intention of being more barbarous
than any warfare necessitates. Then there will be a buzzing of leagues
and clubs; and the citizens will march up and down the business section
of every town, bearing banners and shouting for the 'dear old flag.'
Women will rise up and sell sofa pillows and doilies to raise money to
buy chewing gum for our soldier boys. That, Elfigo, will sufficiently
occupy the masses for a week or two.
"Going higher, red tape will begin to unroll and entwine the heads of
departments, and every man who has any authority whatever will wait for
orders from some one higher up. Therefore, while the whole nation cheers
the street parades and the flags and the soldier boys and everything else
in sight, the Alliance will be getting under way--"
"We'll throw her into high and step on her!" Elfigo contributed, being a
motor enthusiast.
"Something like that, yes. When you consider that the transportation of
troops to quell the uprising will require anywhere from three days to
three weeks, I am counting red tape and all, you will readily apprehend
how much may be accomplished before they are in a position to handle the
situation.
"On the other hand, Mexico is filled with fighters. So much has
oppression done for the peon; it has taught him the business of fighting.
Now, I grant you, she is a nation composed of warring factions topped by
a lamentably weak provisional government. _But_ with practically every
Spanish-American over here actually participating in a movement for
Mexico, all those various factions will coalesce, as tiny brooklets flow
together to form the mighty torrent."
"Still, she's a big country to lick," Elfigo pointed out, chiefly to see
what Holly would say.
"Ah, but Mexico does not comprehend that fact! And, in the same
breath, neither does this country, as a whole, comprehend how big a
country is Mexico to lick! Give a Mexican soldado a handful of beans a
day and something to shout _Viva_ for, and he can and will fight
indefinitely. If I mistake not, it will shortly behoove this country
to temporize, to make certain concessions. Whether those concessions
extend so far as to cede these three States back to Mexico, I cannot
hazard a prediction. I can see, however, where it is not at all
improbable that New Mexico and Arizona may be considered too costly to
hold. Texas," he smiled, "Texas remembers too vividly her Alamo.
Mexico, if she is wise, does not want Texas."
"I heard yesterday there's some talk amongst the Americans about
organizing home guards. We can't stand another postponement, Holly; it
might give them time to pull off something like that. Little Luis Medina
told me he heard a target marker for the San Bonito rifle club say
something about it. He heard the members talking. You know they're using
government rifles and ammunition. It would be a hell of a note to put
things off till every town had a home guard organized."
"I can see no necessity for putting things off," said Holly calmly. "So
far as I can learn, we are practically ready, over here. Ah! Here comes
our charming neighbor from Sunlight Basin. Perhaps, Elfigo, it would be
as well for you to disappear from the premises."
"Oh, I want to meet her," Elfigo smiled easily. "It'll be all right;
I just came after water for my radiator, anyway. She's dry as a bone.
I opened the drain cock and let her drain off and stood a fine chance
of freezing my engine too, before I got on past the puddle far enough
to be safe!"
"It was, as a matter of fact, a very grave mistake to come here at all,"
Holly told him with a courteous kind of severity. "I fear you greatly
underestimate the absolute necessity for extreme caution. The mere fact
that we have thus far elicited nothing more than a vague curiosity on the
part of the government, does not excuse any imprudence now. Rather, it
intensifies the need for caution. For myself--"
"Oh, anybody is liable to run dry, out here on the desert, Holly. If all
the Secret Service men in the country, and I know of one or two that's
been nosing around, were to come and find me here, they couldn't say I
hadn't a good, legitimate reason for coming. I had to come. I didn't want
to run on to any one from that inquest, and I had to see you. I wanted to
put you wise to the stand we're taking on the Estan Medina affair. We
can't help if that somebody bumped him off, but--"
"You can fill your water bag at the well, since that is what you came
for; and I should strongly advise you to terminate your visit as soon as
it is consistent with your errand to do so."
"Oh, don't crab my meeting a pretty girl, Holly! Introduce me, and I'll
take the water and go. Be a sport!" Elfigo had picked up his
five-gallon desert bag, but he was obviously waiting for Helen May to
ride up to the house.
To Starr, crouched behind on a rock on the ridge that divided the
Sommers place from the hidden arroyo where he had first seen trace of
the automobile, Elfigo's attitude of waiting for Helen May was too
obvious to question. A little, weakling offspring of Hope died then in
his heart. He had tried so hard to find some excuse for Helen May, and
he had almost succeeded. But his glasses were too strong; they
identified Elfigo Apodaca too clearly for any doubt. They were too
merciless in showing Starr that beside Elfigo stood the man who had
visited Helen May the day before.
Recognition of the man came with something of a shock to Starr. He had
heard of Holman Sommers often enough, though he had never seen him. He
had heard him described as a "highbrow" who wrote scientific articles,
sometimes published in obscure magazines, read by few and understood by
none. A recluse student, he had been described to Starr, who knew Todd
Sommers by sight, and who had tagged the family as being too American for
any suspicion to point their way.
As often happens, Starr had formed a mental picture of Holman Sommers
which was really the picture of a type made familiar to us mostly by our
humorists. He had imagined that Holman Sommers, being a "highbrow," was a
little, dried-up man with a bald head and weak eyes that made spectacles
a part of his face; an insignificant little man well past middle life,
with a gray beard, Starr saw him mentally. He should have known better
than to let his imagination paint him a portrait of any man, in those
ticklish times. But they were Americans, which was disarming in itself.
And the plump sister, who had talked for ten minutes with Starr when he
called at the ranch one day to see if they had any stock they wanted to
sell, had further helped to ward off any suspicion.
Now that he knew, by the smoking jacket and the slippers and the
uncovered thatch of jet-black hair, that this man must be Holman Sommers;
when he saw Elfigo Apodaca there, seated and talking earnestly with him,
as he could tell by the gestures with which they elaborated their speech;
when he saw Helen May riding in to the ranch, he had before him all the
outward, visible evidence of a conference. The only false note, to
Starr's way of thinking, was the brazenness of it. They must, he told
himself, be so sure of themselves that they could snap their fingers at
risk, or else they were so desperately in need of conferring together
that they overlooked the risk. And that second explanation might easily
be the true one, in view of Estan Medina's death and the possible
consequence to the Alliance.
Starr was hampered by not hearing anything that was being said down there
at that homey-looking ranch house, where everything was clearly visible
to him through his field glasses. But even so it did not require speech
to tell him that Elfigo Apodaca had never before met Helen May Stevenson,
and that Holman Sommers was not overeager to introduce him to her. Starr,
watching every movement of the three when they came together, frowned
with puzzlement. Why had they been strangers until just now?
He saw the three stand and talk for perhaps two minutes; commonplace,
early-acquaintance nothings, he judged from their faces and actions. He
saw Helen May offer Holman Sommers the package she carried; saw Holman
take it negligently and tuck it under his arm while he went on talking.
He saw Helen May turn then and go around to the door, which was opened
effusively by the plump sister whom he knew. He saw the two men go to the
well, and watched Elfigo fill the water bag and go away down the uneven
trail to where his automobile stood, perhaps a quarter of a mile nearer
the main road. When he turned his glasses from Elfigo to the house,
Holman had gone inside, and the two women were out beyond the house
admiring a flock of chickens which Maggie called to her with a few
handfuls of grain.
There seemed no further profit in watching the Sommers house, and Starr
was about to leave his post when he saw the dingy, high-powered roadster
of the sheriff come careening up the trail. He came near upsetting his
machine in getting around Apodaca's big car, but he negotiated the
passing with some skill and came on to where he met Elfigo himself
sweating down the trail with his full five-gallon water bag.
Here again Starr wished that he could hear as well as he could see. That
the sheriff had seized the opportunity to place Elfigo under arrest, he
knew well enough, by faces and gestures, just as he had known of Elfigo's
introduction to Helen May. But here were no polite nothings being
mouthed. Elfigo was talking angrily, and Starr would have given a great
deal to hear what he was saying; calling it an outrage, he supposed, and
heaping maledictions on the stupidity of the law.
The sheriff did not seem to pay much attention to what Elfigo was saying
beyond pulling a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket, and tossing
them to his prisoner--with the invitation to put them on, Starr knew
very well, having himself done the same thing more than once. Still
talking furiously, Elfigo obeyed, and then was invited to climb in
beside the sheriff, who stooped and did something with one of Elfigo's
stylishly trousered legs; manacled him to something in the machine,
Starr guessed. From which he also gathered that Elfigo's remarks must
have been pretty strong.
The sheriff started on, ran to where he could turn without upsetting, and
backed the car around as though his errand were done. Quick work it had
been. Evidently Sheriff O'Malley had attended the inquest with a blank
warrant in his pocket, for fear Elfigo might take alarm and give them
the slip. He must have been on the way back when he had either seen
Elfigo's car on the Sommers trail, or else had noted where it had turned
off and had come up the trail in a purely investigative spirit. However
that might be, he had not let the chance slip. Which was characteristic
of Sheriff O'Malley, essentially a man of action.
Starr should have been glad. Perhaps he was, though he did not look it as
he went back to where Rabbit was browsing on whatever he could get while
he waited for his master. Elfigo in jail even for a few days would be an
advantage, Starr believed. It would set the rest to buzzing, so that he
could locate them with less delay. But at the same time--
"If it came to a showdown right now, I'd have to take her along with the
rest," he came up squarely against his real problem. "She's got it
coming; but it's hell, all the same!"
CHAPTER TWENTY
STARR DISCOVERS THINGS
Starr was sitting on the side of his bed with one boot off and dangling
in his hand, and with his thoughts gone journeying out over the mesa and
the desert and the granite ridge beyond, to a squatty, two-room adobe
shack at the head of Sunlight Basin. During the days he had been too
fully occupied with the work he had to do to dwell much on the miserable
fact of Helen May's duplicity, her guilt of the crime of treason against
her native country. But at night the thought of her haunted him like the
fevered ache of a wound too deep to heal quickly.
He swore an abrupt oath as a concrete expression of his mood, and dropped
the boot with a thump to the floor. The word and the action served to
swing his thoughts into another channel not much more pleasant, but a
great deal more impersonal.
"He's shore foxy--that hombre!" he said, thinking of Elfigo Apodaca.
As matters stood that evening, Starr felt that Elfigo had the right to
laugh at him and the whole Secret Service. Elfigo was in jail, yes.
Only that day he had been given his preliminary hearing on the charge
of murdering Estan Medina, and he had been remanded without bail to
await trial.
On the face of it, that looked as though Starr had gained a point. In
reality he felt that he had in some manner played into Elfigo's hands.
Certainly he had not gained anything in the way of producing any buzzing
of the Alliance leaders. Not a Mexican had shown his face at the hearing,
save Luis Medina and his mother, who had been called as witnesses.
Luis had been badly scared but stubborn, insisting that he had heard
Elfigo call Estan from the house just before the shot was fired. The
mother also had been badly frightened, but not at all stubborn. Indeed,
she was not even certain of anything beyond the drear fact that her son
was dead, and that he had fallen with the lamp in his hand, unarmed and
unsuspecting. She was frightened at the unknown, terrible Law that had
brought her there before the judge, and not at anything tangible.
But Luis knew exactly what it was he feared. Starr read that in his eyes
whenever they turned toward the calm, inscrutably smiling Elfigo. Hate
was in the eyes of Luis, but the hate was almost submerged by the terror
that filled him. He shook when he stood up to take the oath. His voice
trembled in spite of him when he spoke; but he spoke boldly for all
that--falsely, too. He had lied when he told of the quarrel over the old
water right. It was not a water right which the two had discussed, and
Starr knew it.
But it was Elfigo that puzzled Starr most. Elfigo had smiled, as though
the whole thing amused him even though it annoyed him to be under arrest.
He denied, of course, that he had known anything at all about the murder
until it was common news about town. He had been somewhere else at the
time Estan was shot, and he could and would prove, when the time came,
that it would have been physically impossible for him to have shot Estan
Medina. He preferred not to produce any witnesses now, however. Let it go
to a jury trial, and then he would clear himself of the charge. All
through his lawyer, of course, while Elfigo sat back with his hands in
his pockets and his feet thrust out before him, whimsically contemplating
his tan shoes.
He had seemed confident that bail would be accepted, and he was
unmistakably crestfallen when the judge, who acted under certain
instructions from those above him, refused to accept bail. But Elfigo had
scored, nevertheless; he had not permitted any of his friends to become
identified in any manner whatsoever with his movements, and he had
withheld his side of the case altogether.