IN THE ADOBE OF PEDRO VIJIL
"There ain't no such animal," decided Kit Rhodes seated on the edge of
the bed in Pedro Vigil's adobe. His head was bandaged, his face a
trifle pale and the odor of medicaments in the shadowy room of the one
deep-barred window. "No, Captain, no man, free, white and twenty-one
_could_ be such a fool. Can't Singleton see that if Conrad's story was
true he'd have the constable after me for assault with intent to kill?
He's that sort!"
"Well, Singleton thinks Conrad would be justified in having you
prosecuted, and jailed, and fined, and a few other things, but for the
reputation of Granados they let you down easy. You know it's _the_
dovery for the Pass-up-the-fists of this section, and what the Arizona
papers would do would be comic if they ever got hold of the fact that
Singleton picked a new bird for the dove cage, and the dratted thing
changed before their eyes to a fractious game rooster swinging a right
like the hind leg of a mule! No, Bub, we're orderly, peaceable folks
around here, so for the sake of our reputation Singleton has prevailed
on his manager to be merciful to you, and Conrad has in true pacifist
spirit let himself be prevailed upon."
"Which means," grinned Kit, "that I'm to be put off my guard, and done
for nicely and quietly some moonless night when I take the trail! And
he reports me either drunk or temporarily insane, does he? Well, when
the next time comes I'll change that gentleman's mind."
"Shucks, Bub! Thank a fool's luck that your skull was only scratched,
and don't go planning future wars. I tell you we are peace doves
around here, and you are a stray broncho kicking up an undesirable
dust in our front yard. Here is your coin. Singleton turned it over to
me and I receipted for it, and we have enough between us to hit the
Sonora trail, and there's not a bit of use in your hanging around
here. You have no evidence. You are a stranger who ambled in, heard a
sensational newspaper report of anti-ally criminal intent, and on the
spot accused the highly respectable Granados rancho of indulging in
that same variety of hellishness! Now there is your case in a
nutshell, Bub, and you wouldn't get the authorities to believe you in
a thousand years!"
"What about you?"
"Oh, I have just little enough sense to believe your hunch is right,
but that won't get you anywhere. They think I'm loco too! I've an idea
there is a lot more and rottener activities down south of the line
with which our Teutonic peace arbitrator is mixed up. But he's been on
this job five years, all the trails are his, and an outsider can't get
a look-in! Now Miguel Herrara has been doing gun-running across the
border for someone, and Miguel was not only arrested by the customs
officer, but Miguel was killed two nights ago--shot with his own gun
so that it looks like suicide. Suicide nothing! His chief, whoever he
is, was afraid Miguel would blunder or weaken under government
persuasion, so Miguel was let out of the game. That case is closed,
and no evidence against anyone. I reckon everyone knows that the guns
and ammunition sneaked over is headed for Rancho Soledad. The owner of
Soledad, Jose Perez, is the valued friend of our nice little Conrad,
and it happens that Conrad left Granados this morning for that
direction, ostensibly to negotiate with the political powers of Sonora
concerning a military guard for La Partida in case revolutionary
stragglers should ride north for fresh saddle-horses. All appeals to
the neutral chair warmers at Washington wins us no protection from
that source;--they only have guns and men enough to guard some
cherished spots in Texas."
"Well, if the Teuton is able for a trail I reckon he got nothing worse
in the scrap than I, even if he did look like a job for the
undertaker. That fellow travels on the strength of his belly and not
the strength of his heart."
"So you say," observed Pike, grinning, "but then again there are
others of us who travel on nerve and gall and never get any further!
Just put this in your pipe, Bub, and don't forget it: Conrad is
_organised_ for whatever deviltry he is up to! There is no 'happen so'
in his schemes. He is a cog in some political wheel, and it's a
fifty-fifty gamble as to whether the wheel is German or Mexican, but
it is no little thing, and is not to be despised."
"But I can't see how Singleton, if Singleton is square even----"
"Singleton is a narrow gauge disciple of Universal Peace by
decree--which, translated, means plain damn fool. Lord, boy, if a pack
of prairie wolves had a man surrounded, would he fold his hands with
the hope that his peaceful attitude would appeal to their better
instincts or would he reach for a gun and give them protective pills?
The man of sense never goes without his gun in wolf land, but
Singleton--well, in peace times he could have lived a long lifetime,
and no one ever guessed what a weak sister he was, but he's sure out
of place on the border."
"I'm tired wearing this halo," observed Rhodes, referring to the white
handkerchief around his head. "Also some of the dope you gave me seems
to be evaporating from my system, and I feel like hitting the Piman
breeze. Can we strike trail tomorrow?"
"We cannot. Dona Luz has been dosing out the dope for you--Mexican
women are natural doctors with their own sort of herbs--and she says
three days before you go in the sun. I've a notion she sort of let the
Mexicans think that you were likely to cash in, and you bled so like a
stuck pig that it was easy enough to believe the worst."
"Perhaps that's why Conrad felt safe in leaving me outside of jail.
With Dona Luz as doctor, and a non-professional like you as assistant,
I reckon he thought my chance of surviving that monkey wrench assault
was slim, mighty slim!"
"Y--yes," agreed Pike, "under ordinary conditions he might have been
justified in such surmise, but that would be figuring on the normal
thickness of the normal civilized skull, but yours--why, Bub, all I'm
puzzling over now is how it happens that the monkey wrench was only
twisted a mite, not broke at all!"
"You scandalous old varmint!" grinned Kit. "Go on with your weak-minded
amusements, taking advantage of a poor lone cripple,--refused by the
army, and a victim of the latest German atrocity! I suppose--I
suppose,"--he continued darkly, "everyone on and around Granados agrees
that I was the villain in the assault?"
"I couldn't say as to that," returned Pike judicially. "Dona Luz would
dose you, and plaster you, just the same if you had killed a half
dozen instead of knocking the wind out of one. She's pretty fine and
all woman, but naturally since they regard you as my _companero_ they
are shy about expressing themselves when I'm around--all except
Singleton--and you heard him."
"Good and plenty," agreed Kit. "Say, I'm going to catch up on sleep
while I've a chance, and you rustle along and get any tag ends of
things needed for the trail. I'm going to strike for Mesa Blanca, as
that will take us up into the country of that Alisal mine. If we go
broke there is Mesa Blanca ranch work to fall back on for a grub
stake, but from what I hear we can dry wash enough to buy corn and
flour, and the hills are full of burro meat. We'll browse around until
we either strike it rich, or get fed up with trying. Anyway,
_Companero_, we will be in a quiet, peaceful pastoral land, close to
nature, and out of reach of Teuton guile and monkey wrenches. _Buenas
noches_, senor. I'm asleep!"
Pike closed the door, and went from the semi-dark of the adobe out
into the brilliant sunshine where Billie, with a basket, was waiting
under the _ramada_ with Merced, and Merced looked gloomy lest Pedro
should be blamed by Senor Singleton for practically turning his family
out of the adobe that it might be given over to the loco Americano.
"Tomorrow, can he go?" she asked hopefully. "Me, I have a fear. Not
before is the adobe here watched by hidden men at night, and that is
very bad! Because that he is friend to you I say to everybody that I
think the Americano is dying in our house, but today he talks, also he
is laughing. No more sick?"
"No more sick, sure not, but it will be one more day. A man does not
bleed like a gored bull and ride the next day under a sky hot enough
to fry eggs. The tea of Dona Luz drove off the fever, and he only
sleeps and talks, and sleeps again, but sick? Not a bit!"
"Nor--nor sorry, I reckon?" ventured Billie.
"Why, no child, not that I could notice. That scalawag doesn't seem to
have much conscience concerning his behavior."
"Or his language!" she added.
"Sure, that was some invocation he offered up! But just between pals,
Billie, you ought to have been in hearing."
"I--I don't suppose he even remembers that I was," she remarked, and
then after a silence, "or--or even mentioned--us?"
"Why, no, Billie. You made the right guess when you sized him up and
thought he couldn't hold the job. He certainly doesn't belong, Billie,
for this ranch is the homing nest of the peace doves, and he's just an
ungainly young game rooster starting out with a dare against the
world, and only himself for a backer. Honest,--if that misguided youth
had been landed in jail, I don't reckon there's anyone in Arizona with
little enough sense to bail him out."
"Likely not," said Billie. "Well, there's the basket from Tia Luz, and
I might as well go home."