TWO WOMEN
Mercedes stood in the shade of the towering hillside, the single beam
of light shining from an uncurtained window alone faintly revealing her
slenderness of figure in its red drapery. No other gleam anywhere
cleft the prevailing darkness of the night, and the only perceptible
sound was that of horses' hoofs dying away in the distance. The girl
was not crying, although one of her hands was held across her eyes, and
her bosom rose and fell tumultuously to labored breathing. She stood
silent, motionless, the strange radiance causing her to appear unreal,
some divinely moulded statue, an artist's dream carven in colored
stone. Suddenly she sprang backward from out that revealing tongue of
light and crouched low at the angle of the house, not unlike some
affrighted wild animal, her head bent forward intently listening.
There was a plainly perceptible movement in the gloom, the sound of an
approaching footstep and of rapid breathing, and finally a shadow
became visible. The watcher leaped to her feet half angrily.
"Ah! so eet vas you, señorita!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her
emotion,--"you, who come so dis night. _Sapristi_! vy you follow me
dis vay? By all de saints, I make you tell me dat! You vant him, too?
You vant rob me of all thing?"
The visitor, startled by this sudden challenge, stood before her
trembling from head to foot with the nervous excitement of her journey,
yet her eyes remained darkly resolute.
"You recognize me," she responded quickly, reaching out and touching
the other with one hand, as if to make certain of her actual presence.
"Then for God's sake do not waste time now in quarrelling. I did not
make this trip without a purpose. 'He,' you say? Who is he? Who was
it that rode away from here just now? Not Farnham?"
Mercedes laughed a trifle uneasily, her eyes suddenly lowered before
the other's anxious scrutiny.
"Ah, no, señorita," she answered softly. "Eet surprises me mooch you
not know; eet vas Señor Brown."
Miss Norvell grasped her firmly by the shoulder.
"Brown?" she exclaimed eagerly. "Stutter Brown? Oh, call him back;
cannot you call him back?"
The young Mexican shook her head, her white teeth gleaming, as she drew
her shoulder free from the fingers clasping it.
"You vas too late, señorita," she replied, sweetly confident. "He vas
already gone to de 'Little Yankee.' But he speak mooch to me first."
"Much about what?"
"Vel, he say he lofe me--he say eet straight, like eet vas vat he
meant."
"Oh!"
"Si, señorita; he not even talk funny, maybe he so excited he forgot
how, hey? An' vat you tink dat he say den to Mercedes--vat?"
The other shook her head, undecided, hesitating as to her own purpose.
"He ask me vould I marry him. Si, si, vat you tink of dat--me,
Mercedes Morales, de dancer at de Gayety--he ask me vould I marry him.
Oh, Mother of God!"
The young American stared at her upturned animated face, suddenly
aroused to womanly interest.
"And what did you say?"
Mercedes stamped her foot savagely on the hard ground, her eyes glowing
like coals of fire.
"You ask vat I say? Saints of God! vat could I say? He vas a good
man, dat Señor Brown, but I--I vas not a good voman. I no tell him
dat--no! no! I vas shamed; I get red, vite; I hardly speak at all; my
heart thump so I tink maybe eet choke me up here, but I say no. I say
no once, tvice, tree time. I tell him he big fool to tink like dat of
me. I tell him go vay an' find voman of his own race--good voman. I
tell him eet could nevah be me, no, nevah."
"Then you do not love him?"
The puzzled dancer hesitated, her long lashes lowered, and outlined
against her cheeks.
"Lofe? Dat vas not nice vord as eet come to me. I know not ver' vell
just vat. Maybe if I not lofe him I marry him--si; I no care den. I
make him to suffer, but not care; ees eet not so? Anyhow, I--vat you
call dat?--respect dis Señor Brown mooch, ver' mooch. Maybe dat last
longer as lofe--_quien sabe_?"
Scarcely comprehending this peculiar explanation, Beth Norvell's first
conception was that the girl had chosen wrong, that she had allied
herself upon the side of evil.
"You mean you--you will go back to Biff Farnham?" she asked, her tone
full of horror.
Mercedes straightened up quickly, her young, expressive face filled
with a new passion, which struggled almost vainly for utterance through
her lips.
"Go back to dat man!" she panted. "Me? _Sapristi_! and you tink I do
dat after Señor Brown ask me be hees vife! Blessed Mary! vat you tink
I am? You tink I not feel, not care? I go back to dat Farnham? Eet
vould not be, no! no! I tol' him dat mooch, an' he got mad. I no
care, I like dat. I no lofe him, nevah; I vas sold to him for money,
like sheep, but I learn to hate him to kill." The deep glow of the
black eyes softened, and her head slowly dropped until it touched the
other's extended arm. "But dis Señor Brown he vas not dat kind--he ask
me to marry him; he say he not care vat I been, only he lofe me, an' he
be good to me alvays. I vas hungry for dat, señorita, but I say no,
no, no! Eet vas not for me, nevah. I send him avay so sorry, an' den
I cry ven I hear his horse go out yonder. Eet vas like he tread on me,
eet hurt dat vay. Maybe I no lofe him, but I know he vas good man an'
he lofe me. Eet vas de honor ven he ask me dat, an' now I be good
voman because a good man lofes me. Holy Mother! eet vill be easy now
dat he vanted to marry me."
Impulsively Beth Norvell, her own eyes moist, held the other, sobbing
like a child within the clasp of sympathetic arms. There was instantly
formed between them a new bond, a new feeling of awakened womanhood.
Yet, even as her fingers continued to stroke the dishevelled hair
softly, there flashed across her mind a recurring memory of her
purpose, the necessity for immediate action. Not for an instant longer
did she doubt the complete honesty of the other's frank avowal, or
question the propriety of requesting her aid in thwarting Farnham. She
held the slight, quivering figure back, so that she might gaze into the
uplifted, questioning face.
"Mercedes, yes, yes, I understand it all," she cried eagerly. "But we
cannot talk about it any longer now. It is a wonderful thing, this
love of a good man; but we are wasting time that may mean life or death
to others, perhaps even to him. Listen to what I say--Farnham has
already gone to the 'Little Yankee,' and taken a gang of roughs with
him. They left San Juan on horseback more than half an hour ago. He
threatened me first, and boasted that Mr. Winston was out there, and
that I was too late to warn him of danger. Oh, girl, you understand
what that means; you know him well, you must realize what he is capable
of doing. I came here as fast as I could in the dark," she shuddered,
glancing backward across her shoulder. "Every step was a way of
horrors, but I did n't know any one who could help me. But you--you
know the way to the 'Little Yankee,' and we--we must get there before
daylight, if we have to crawl."
All that was savagely animal in the other's untamed nature flamed into
her face.
"He say vat? Señor Farnham he say vat he do?"
"He said dynamite told no tales, but sometimes killed more than the one
intended."
Mercedes' hand went to her head as though a pain had smitten her, and
she stepped back, half crouching in the glow like a tiger cat.
"He say dat? De man say dat? Holy Angels! he vas de bad devil, but he
find me de bad devil too. Ah, now I play him de game, an' ve see who
vin! De 'Leetle Yankee,' eet tree mile, señorita, an' de road rough,
mooch rough, but I know eet--si, I know eet, an' ve get dare before de
day come; sure ve do eet, _bueno_." She grasped the arm of the other,
now fully aroused, her slight form quivering from intense excitement.
"Come, I show you. See! he vas my pony--ah! eet makes me to laugh to
know de Señor Farnham give him me; now I make him to upset de Señor
Farnham. _Sapristi_! eet vas vat you call de vay of de vorld, de
verligig; vas eet not so? You ride de pony, señorita; I valk an' lead
him--si, si, you more tired as Mercedes; I danseuse, no tire ever in de
legs. Den I find de vay more easy on foot in de dark, see? You ride
good, hey? He jump little, maybe, but he de ver' nice pony, an' I no
let him run. No, no, de odder vay, señorita, like de man ride. Poof!
it no harm in de dark. _Bueno_, now ve go to surprise de Señor
Farnham."
She led promptly forth as she spoke, moving with perfect confidence
down the irregular trail skirting the bank of the creek, her left hand
grasping the pony's bit firmly, the other shading her eyes as though to
aid in the selection of a path through the gloom. It was a rough,
uneven, winding road they followed, apparently but little used,
littered with loose stones and projecting roots; yet, after a moment of
fierce but useless rebellion, the lively mustang sobered down into a
cautious picking of his passage amid the debris, obedient as a dog to
the soft voice of his mistress. The problems of advance were far too
complicated to permit of much conversation, and little effort at speech
was made by either, the principal thought in each mind being the
necessity for haste.
Swaying on the saddleless back of the pony, her anxious gaze on the
dimly revealed, slender figure trudging sturdily in front, Beth Norvell
began to dread the necessity of again having to meet Winston under such
conditions. What would he naturally think? He could scarcely fail to
construe such action on his behalf as one inspired by deep personal
interest, and she instinctively shrank from such revealment, fearing
his glance, his word of welcome, his expressions of surprised
gratitude. The awkwardness, the probable embarrassment involved,
became more and more apparent as she looked forward to that meeting.
If possible, she would gladly drop out, and so permit the other to bear
on the message of warning alone. But, even with Mercedes' undoubted
interest in Brown, and her increasing dislike of Farnham, Beth could
not as yet entirely trust her unaccompanied. Besides, there was no
excuse to offer for such sudden withdrawal, no reason she durst even
whisper into the ear of another. No, there was nothing left her but to
go on; let him think what he might of her action, she would not fail to
do her best to serve him, and beneath the safe cover of darkness she
blushed scarlet, her long lashes moist with tears that could not be
restrained. They were at the bottom of the black canyon now, the high,
uplifting rock walls on either side blotting out the stars and
rendering the surrounding gloom intense. The young Mexican girl seemed
to have the eyes of a cat, or else was guided by some instinct of the
wild, feeling her passage slowly yet surely forward, every nerve alert,
and occasionally pausing to listen to some strange night sound. It was
a weird, uncanny journey, in which the nerves tingled to uncouth shapes
and the wild echoing of mountain voices. Once, at such a moment of
continued suspense, Beth Norvell bent forward and whispered a sentence
into her ear. The girl started, impulsively pressing her lips against
the white hand grasping the pony's mane.
"No, no, señorita," she said softly. "Not dat; not because he lofe me;
because he ask me dat. Si, I make him not so sorry."
She remembered that vast overhanging rock about which the dim trail
circled as it swept upward toward where the "Little Yankee" perched
against the sky-line. Undaunted by the narrowness of the ledge, the
willing, sure-footed mustang began climbing the steep grade. Step by
step they crept up, cautiously advancing from out the bottom of the
cleft, the path followed winding in and out among bewildering cedars,
and skirting unknown depths of ravines. Mercedes was breathing
heavily, her unoccupied hand grasping the trailing skirt which
interfered with her climbing. Miss Norvell, from her higher perch on
the pony's back, glanced behind apprehensively. Far away to the east a
faint, uncertain tinge of gray was shading into the sky. Suddenly a
detached stone rattled in their front; there echoed the sharp click of
a rifle hammer, mingled with the sound of a gruff, unfamiliar voice:
"You come another step, an' I 'll blow hell out o' yer. _Sabe_?"
It all occurred so quickly that neither spoke; they caught their breath
and waited in suspense. A shadow, dim, ill-defined, seemed to take
partial form in their front.
"Well, can't yer speak?" questioned the same voice, growlingly. "What
yer doin' on this yere trail?"
Mercedes released the pony's bit, and leaned eagerly forward.
"Vas dat you, Beell Heeks?" she questioned, doubtfully.
The man swore, the butt of his quickly lowered rifle striking sharply
against the rock at his feet.
"I 'm damned if it ain't that Mexican agin," he exclaimed, angrily.
"Now, you get out o' yere; you hear me? I 'm blamed if I kin shoot at
no female, but you got in one measly spyin' job on this outfit, an' I
'll not put up with another if I have ter pitch ye out inter the
canyon. So you git plum out o' yere, an' tell yer friend Farnham he
better take more care o' his females, or some of 'em are liable ter get
hurt."
There was the harsh crunch of a footstep in the darkness, another
figure suddenly slid down the smooth surface of rock, dropping almost
at the pony's head. The animal shied with a quick leap, but a heavy
hand held him captive.
"Y-you sh-sh-shut up, B-Bill," and the huge form of Stutter Brown
loomed up directly between them, and that menacing rifle. "I-I reckon
as how I'll t-t-take a h-hand in this yere g-g-game. Sh-she ain't no
s-spy fer Farnham, er I 'm a l-l-liar." He touched her softly with his
great hand, bending down to look into her face, half hidden beneath the
ruffled black hair. "C-come, little g-g-girl, what's up?"
She made no response, her lips faltering as though suddenly stricken
dumb. Beth Norvell dropped down from the pony's back, and stood with
one hand resting on Mercedes' shoulder.
"She only came to show me the way," she explained bravely. "I-I have a
most important message for Mr. Winston. Where is he?"
"Important, d-did you s-s-say?"
"Yes, its delivery means life or death--for Heaven's sake, take me to
him!"
For a single breathless moment Brown hesitated, his eyes on the girl's
upturned face, evidently questioning her real purpose.
"I c-can't right n-now, Miss," he finally acknowledged, gravely;
"that's s-straight; fer ye s-s-see, he 's down the 'I-I-Independence'
shaft."