Though men may make a jest of it in books, it is a solemn thing to kill
a man, even to be near when one is killed. If Gracia had slain Del Rey
herself in a passion her hot blood might have buoyed her up, but now
her whole nature was convulsed with the horror of it and she wilted
like a flower.
An hour before she had burned with hatred of him, she had wished him
dead and sought the man who would kill him. Now that his life had been
snipped off between two heart-beats she remembered him with pity and
muttered a prayer for his soul. For Hooker, for De Lancey, she had no
thought, but only for the dashing young captain who had followed her to
his death.
Of this Bud had no knowledge. He realized only that she was growing
weaker, and that he must call a halt, and at last, when the walls of
their pass had widened and they rode out into the open plain, he turned
aside from the trail and drew rein by a clump of mesquit.
"Here, let me take you," he said, as she swayed uncertainly in the
saddle. She slid down into his arms and he laid her gently in the shade.
"Poor girl," he muttered, "it's been too much for you. I'll get some
water and pretty soon you can eat."
He unslung the canteen from his saddle-flap, gave her a drink, and left
her to herself, glancing swiftly along the horizon as he tied out their
mounts to graze. But for her faintness he would have pushed on farther,
for he had seen men off to the east; but hunger and excitement had told
upon her even more than the day-and-night ride.
For a woman, and sitting a side-saddle, she had done better than he had
hoped; and yet--well, it was a long way to the border and he doubted
if she could make it. She lay still in the shade of the mesquit, just
as he had placed her, and when he brought the sack of food she did not
raise her head.
"Better eat something," he suggested, spreading out some bread and
dried beef. "Here's some oranges I got from Don Juan--I'll jest put
them over here for you."
Gracia shuddered, sighing wearily. Then, as if his words had hurt her,
she covered her face and wept.
"What did you tell that man?" she asked at last.
"W'y--what man?" inquired Hooker, astonished. "Ain't you going to eat?"
"No!" she cried, gazing out at him through her tears, "not until I know
what you said. Did you tell that Indian to--to kill him?"
She broke down suddenly in a fit of sobbing, and Hooper wiped his brow.
"W'y, no!" he protested. "Sure not! What made you think that?"
"Why--you rode over and spoke to him--and he looked at me--and
then--he--killed him!"
She gave way to a paroxysm of grief at this, and Bud looked around him,
wondering. That she was weak and hungry he knew, but what was this she
was saying?
"I reckon I don't understand what you're driving at," he said at last.
"Wish you'd eat something--you'll feel better."
"No, I won't eat!" she declared, sitting up and frowning. "Mr. Hooker,"
she went on very miserably, "what did you mean this morning when
you--laughed? I said I hated poor Manuel--and you said--well, what you
did--and then you laughed! Did you think--oh, you couldn't have--that I
really wanted him killed?"
"W'y, sure not!" cried Hooker heartily. "I knowed you was fooling!
Didn't I laugh at you? Say, what kind of a feller do you think I am,
anyway? D'ye think I'd get an Indian to do my killing?"
"Oh, then didn't you?" she cried, suddenly brightening up. "You know,
you talk so rough sometimes--and I never do know what you mean! You
said you guessed you'd have to kill him for me, you know, and--oh, it
was too awful! I must be getting foolish, I'm so tired, but--what _did_
you tell that Indian?"
Bud glanced at her sharply for a moment and then decided to humor her.
Perhaps, if he could get her quieted, she would stop talking and begin
to eat.
"He asked me who was after us," he said, "and I told him it was Del
Rey."
"Yes, and what did he say then?"
"He didn't say nothing--jest lined out for the pass."
"And didn't you say you wanted--him--killed?"
"No!" burst out Bud, half angrily. "Haven't I told you once? I did not!
That Indian had reasons of his own, believe me--he's got a scar along
his ribs where Del Rey shot him with a six-shooter! And, furthermore,"
he added, as her face cleared at this explanation of the mystery,
"you'd better try to take me at my word for the rest of this trip!
Looks to me like you've been associating with these Mexicans too much!"
"Why, what do you mean?" she demanded curtly.
"I mean this," answered Hooker, "being as we're on the subject again.
Ever since I've knowed you you've been talking about brave men and
all that; and more'n once you've hinted that I wasn't brave because I
wouldn't fight."
"I'd jest like to tell you, to put your mind at rest, that my father
was a sergeant in the Texas Rangers and no hundred Mexicans was ever
able to make him crawl. He served for ten years on the Texas border and
never turned his back to no man--let alone a Mex. I was brought up by
him to be peaceable and quiet, but don't you never think, because I run
away from Manuel del Rey, that I was afraid to face him."
He paused and regarded her intently, and her eyes fell before his.
"You must excuse me," she said, looking wistfully away, "I did not--I
did not understand. And so the poor Yaqui was only avenging an injury?"
she went on, reaching out one slender hand toward the food. "Ah, I can
understand it now--he looked so savage and fierce. But"--she paused
again, set back by a sudden thought--"didn't you know he would kill
him?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Hooker quietly, "I did!"
"Then--then why didn't you--"
"That was between them two," he replied doggedly. "Del Rey shot him
once when he was wounded and left him for dead. He must have killed
some of his people, too; his wife mebbe, for all I know. He never would
talk about it, but he come back to get his revenge. I don't shoot no
man from cover myself, but that ain't it--it was between them two."
"And you?" she suggested. "If _you_ had fought Del Rey?"
"I would have met him in the open," said Hooker.
"And yet--"
"I didn't want to," he ended bluntly. "Didn't want to fight him and
didn't want to kill him. Had no call to. And then--well, there was you."
"Ah!" she breathed, and a flush mounted her pale cheeks. She smiled as
she reached out once more for the food and Hooker resolved to do his
best at gallantry, it seemed to make her so happy.
"So you were thinking of me," she challenged sweetly, "all the while? I
thought perhaps I was a nuisance and in the way. I thought perhaps you
did not like me because--well, because I'm a Mex, as you say."
"No, ma'am," denied Hooker, gazing upon her admiringly. "Nothing like
that! When I say Mex I mean these low, _pelado_ Mexicans--Don Juan
tells me you're pure Spanish."
"With perhaps a little Yaqui," she suggested slyly.
"Well, mebbe he did say that, too," confessed Bud. "But it's jest as
good as Spanish--they say all the big men in Sonora have got some
Yaqui blood--Morral, that was vice-president; the Tornes brothers,
governors--"
"And Aragon!" she added playfully, but at a look in his eyes she
stopped. Bud could not look pleasant and think of Aragon.
"Ah, yes," she rattled on. "I know! _You_ like the Yaquis better than
the Spanish--I saw you shaking hands with that Indian. And what was it
you called him--Amigo?"
"That's right," smiled Hooker; "him and me have been friends for months
now out at the mine. I'd do anything for that feller."
"Oh, now you make me jealous," she pouted. "If I were only a Yaqui--and
big and black--"
"Never mind," defended Bud. "He was a true friend, all right, and true
friends, believe _me_, are scarce."
There was a shade of bitterness in his voice that did not escape her,
and she was careful not to allude to Phil. His name, like the name of
her father, always drove this shy man to silence, and she wanted to
make him talk.
"Then you ought to be friends with _me_," she chided, after a silence.
"I have always wanted to be your friend--why will you never allow
it? No, but really! Haven't I always shown it? I remember now the
first time that I saw you--I was looking through my hole among the
passion-flowers and you saw me with your keen eyes. Phil did not--but
he was there. And you just looked at me once--and looked away. Why did
you never respond when I came there to look for you? You would just
ride by and look at me once, and even Phil never knew."
"No," agreed Bud, smiling quietly. "He was crazy to see you, but he
rode right by, looking at the windows and such."
"The first time I met him," mused Gracia, "I asked about you. Did he
ever tell you?"
Bud hung his head and grinned sheepishly. It was not difficult to make
out a case against him.
"Is it something I have done?" she asked at last. "Is that why you
never liked me? Now, Mr. Hooker, please speak to me! And why do you
always sit so far away--are you afraid of me? But look"--she moved
closer to him--"here we are alone, and I am not afraid of you!"
"Of course not," answered Bud, looking across at her boldly. "Why
should you be--you ain't afraid of nothing!"
"Is that a compliment?" she demanded eagerly. "Oh, then I'm so
happy--it's the first you ever paid me! But _have_ I been brave," she
beamed, "so far? Have I been brave, like a man?"
"Sure have!" remarked Hooker impersonally, "but we ain't there yet.
Only thing I don't like about you is you don't eat enough. Say, don't
pick up them crumbs--let me pare off some more of this jerked beef for
you. Can't nobody be brave when they're hungry, you know, and I want to
bring you in safe."
"Why?" she inquired, as she accepted the handful of meat. "Is it on
Phil's account?" she ventured, as he sat gazing stoically at the
horses. "You were such friends, weren't you?" she went on innocently.
"Oh, that is why I admire the Americans so much--they are so true to
each other!"
"Yes," observed Hooker, rolling his eyes on her, "we're fine that way!"
"Well, I mean it!" she insisted, as she read the irony in his glance.
"Sure! So do I!" answered Hooker, and Gracia continued her meal in
silence.
"My!" she said at last; "this meat is good! Tell me, how did you happen
to have it on your saddle? We left so suddenly, you know!"
She gazed up at him demurely, curious to see how he would evade this
evidence that he had prepared in advance for their ride. But once more,
as he had always done, Hooker eluded the cunningly laid snare.
"I was figuring on pulling out myself," he replied ingenuously.
"What? And not take me?" she cried. "Oh, I thought--but dear me, what
is the use?"
She sighed and drooped her head wearily.
"I am so tired!" she murmured despondently. "Shall we be going on soon?"
"Not unless somebody jumps us," returned Bud. "Here, let me make you
a bed in the shade. There now"--as he spread out the saddle-blankets
temptingly--"you lay down and get some sleep and I'll kinder keep a
watch."
"Ah, you are so kind!" she breathed, as she sank down on the bed.
"Don't you know," she added, looking up at him with sleepy eyes that
half concealed a smile, "I believe you like me, after all."
"Sure," confessed Bud, returning her smile as honestly; "don't you
worry none about me--I like you fine."
He slipped away at this, grinning to himself, and sat down to watch the
plain. All about him lay the waving grass land, tracked up by the hoofs
of cattle that had vanished in the track of war. In the distance he
could see the line of a fence and the ruins of a house. The trail which
he had followed led on and on to the north. But all the landscape was
vacant, except for his grazing horses. Above the mountains the midday
thunder-caps were beginning to form; the air was very soft and warm,
and--He woke up suddenly to find his head on his knees.
"Ump-um-m," he muttered, rising up and shaking himself resolutely,
"this won't do--that sun is making me sleepy."
He paced back and forth, smoking fiercely at brown-paper cigarettes,
and still the sleep came back. The thunder-clouds over the mountains
rose higher and turned to black; they let down skirts and fringes and
sudden stabs of lightning, while the wind sucked in from the south. And
then, with a slash of rain, the shower was upon them.
At the first big drops Gracia stirred uneasily in her sleep. She
started up as the storm burst over them; then, as Bud picked up the
saddle-blankets and spread them over her, she drew him down beside her
and they sat out the storm together. But it was more to them than a
sharing of cover, a patient enduring of the elements, and the sweep of
wind and rain. When they rose up there was a bond between them and they
thrust and parried no more.
They were friends, there in the rush of falling water and the crash of
lightning overhead. When the storm was over and the sun came out they
smiled at each other contentedly without fear of what such smiles may
mean.