POLLY ARRIVES
It was midnight when the buckboard stopped in front of the company house
where Mrs. Van Zandt and Henry Hard assisted the drowsy Polly out of the
wagon, while Scott painstakingly performed the introductions.
"Nothing to eat since noon!" gasped Mrs. Van Zandt, in horror. "What on
earth was old lady Morgan thinking of? Mr. Hard, if you'll throw some more
wood into the stove, I'll put on the percolator and run down to the
dining-room for some sandwiches." She ran off in one direction, while
Scott drove the team in another, leaving Hard to do the honors.
"It's a shame to have things happen this way," he said. "A thousand times
I've heard Bob talk about having you come down here, and now that you've
come, he's flying in another direction."
"It's my own fault," admitted Polly, honestly. "We are all so sudden in
our family--make up our minds and hardly wait to write or telegraph. I
might have known that Bob would be doing something just as queer as I was.
How comfortably you have this place fixed! Am I turning you out of it?"
"Oh, we're tramps, Scott and I. We thought it would be pleasanter for you
to be here with Mrs. Van Zandt, so we moved ourselves out. We rather like
changing about." He built up the fire and adjusted the percolator, while
Polly divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down in a comfortable
chair.
"It won't be for long," she said, decidedly. "I shall go back as soon as I
can now that Bob and Emma are home."
"I hope you won't. Apart from the very great pleasure that it gives us all
to see someone from home, it would be a pity to let you go back without
seeing some of the country."
Polly laughed in spite of her weariness.
"It seems to me as though I'd seen the entire country of Mexico to-day,"
she said. "Such a trip!"
"Isn't it, though? The first time I made it I said: 'Here is where I
locate for life and found a colony. I'll never have the courage to go
home.' But I got over it."
Mrs. Van Zandt bustling in, followed by Scott, their hands full of
provisions, found the two chatting sociably.
"I'd have had cake for you," volunteered the former, "if Dolores and her
beau hadn't ate it all on me."
"It's like a midnight feast at boarding-school," chuckled the visitor,
waked up by the coffee.
"It's like the spreads we used to have when we was on the road," said Mrs.
Van Zandt, meditatively.
"On the road?" Polly's eyes opened wide.
"Mrs. Van was one of the original 'Floradora Sextette,'" remarked Scott,
soberly. "The only one who didn't marry a millionaire."
"A lot you know about it," retorted the lady. "I was in the 'Prince of
Pilsen,'" she informed Polly, confidentially. "I understudied the 'Widow'
on the road. It was an interesting life," she concluded, thoughtfully.
"It must have been," replied Polly, politely. "How did you happen to come
West?"
"Me? Oh, I came West with an invalid," replied Mrs. Van, easily. "She was
one of the cranky kind--middle-aged and none of her family could live with
her. You've seen that kind? They wanted she should have a trained nurse
and the trained nurse never was born that she could get along with.
Trained nurses are awful bossy--they can't help it, they're supposed to
be; that's all the difference there is between them and the ones that
ain't trained. So I come out to look after her."
"Did she die?"
"Not she. Get it out of your head that lungers always die--they don't. She
got well and went home and nagged the life out of her family for years.
Last I heard of her, she'd taken up with a young fellow she met at a
skating rink and her folks were wild for fear she'd marry him."
"Then you stayed out West?"
"Yes, and sometimes I've regretted it. New York's the place to live. I had
a swell flat in a good neighborhood and rented rooms to single gents and
business women--they're the ones that have the money. It was interesting,
too. I'd put an 'ad' in the Sunday paper and all day Monday folks would be
coming to see my rooms; I met some real nice people that way. Well, I
think you'd better be turning in; you'll feel this to-morrow."
Scott and Hard rose and said good-night.
"That's a plucky girl, Scott," said the latter, as they walked down the
silent road together.
"Do you know who brought her over from Conejo?" demanded Scott, with a
chuckle.
"I thought you said Mendoza did."
"Mendoza's sick and she took a dislike to old Mrs. Morgan, so she came
over with Juan Pachuca in his car."
"You're joking."
"I am not. I drove as far as Junipero Hill and when I got to the top of it
I saw a big car at the foot, twisted about, almost in the ditch. I found
Johnny on his stomach under the car and the girl holding an electric torch
for him. She said she'd been underneath giving him a hand with it. I
wouldn't put it past her."
"But the child must be out of her head," protested Hard, weakly. "They
don't do those things--even in these degenerate days."
"I guess you and me are behind the times, Henry. And then, you know
Pachuca's manners. Something between the King of Spain and Chauncey Depew.
Any woman'd fall for them."
"But----"
"But nothing. Pachuca brought her over and he behaved himself while he was
doing it as near as I can find out. What I want to know is what the smooth
young devil wants around here?"
"If there's a revolution in the air, Pachuca would throw in his lot with
Obregon and De la Huerta. What he thinks about the First Chief is
unprintable."
"He had the cheek to tell me to close up the mine and get out of the
country," grinned Scott.
"That may mean something and it may not. They're keen about their bit of
melodrama, these chaps. My El Paso paper says that there is a rumor again
about troops having been ordered in from Chihuahua. That looks as though
they were afraid of something."
"Or else were trying to stir up something," replied the other. "Obregon's
never going to stand for Carranza's candidate for the election. His own
chances are too good. It might be a wise plan for the Government to stir
up a little revolution on its own hook and get in the first hits."
"Might be. Anything might be down here; that's why it's such an
interesting place to live. Still, I don't altogether like the idea of
Pachuca roaming the country like a lion escaped from a circus."
"Those lions never do much harm," observed Scott, cheerfully. "Of course,
if he hitches up with Villa----"
"I seem to have heard that he and Villa had a row. I should say he was
more likely to try to organize a crowd of his own and get in on the
fireworks."
"If he does it's good-bye to our fellows," said Scott. "It would be a case
of the Pied Piper and the rats; and Johnny's a mighty good piper."
Hard glanced at his companion in some amusement. Scott, who was a man of
little education, had periodic spells of promiscuous reading, and
frequently surprised his friend with his references.
"It wouldn't be only our men, either," he said, a moment later.
"I was thinking of that," replied Scott. "Old Herrick's would go, too. I
wish you could persuade him to go back to England, Hard; that ranch of his
is no place for an artist."
Hard nodded. "I doubt if I could," he said. "Herrick's obstinate."
They had reached the cabin where they were to sleep and were hailed
drowsily but inquisitively by Adams.
"Hullo, you guys! Did you find the lady?"
"We did, and she asked warmly after you," replied Scott. Then, in a low
tone to Hard: "No use saying anything about Pachuca to the boys."
Hard nodded. "Better not," he agreed.
"Did she? I think you lie," replied Adams, sleepily. "Don't be any noisier
than you can help, you two, getting to bed. I've lost two hours of my
beauty sleep now waitin' up for you and I need my rest."
* * * * *
"I'm going over to my place to give the men their breakfast," said Mrs.
Van Zandt, looking into Polly's bedroom the next morning. "Just you lay in
bed until you're rested."
"I'm rested now," said the girl, sitting up. "Is there--no, of course
there isn't a bathtub on the place?" she laughed.
"Bathtub? Well, I should say not, but your pitcher's full, I guess. You'll
get used to being without bathtubs after a while. They ain't half as
important as folks think."
"I don't mind. I've camped," said Polly, heroically. "What I really wanted
to ask you was how soon you thought I could get away?"
"Get away? Why, ain't you just come?"
"Yes, but I thought Bob was here. I never would have dumped myself down
upon a lot of strangers like this."
"If that's all that bothers you, turn over and get another nap. If the
Superintendent's own sister ain't got a right to a few weeks' board and
lodging, I don't know who has. As for the boys, don't worry about them.
I'm an honest-to-goodness widow and I guess I can chaperon you all
right."
Polly laughed again. Mrs. Van Zandt's eye took in her appearance
thoughtfully.
"Do you sleep in those things all the time?" she said. "I mean, are they
all you brought?"
Polly glanced at her diaphanous pajamas and nodded cheerfully.
"Well, I'll see that you have an extra blanket. Nights are cold here," and
Mrs. Van hurried away. Polly called after her. "Well?" she said,
reappearing in the doorway.
"Is this Bob's room, Mrs. Van Zandt?" the girl asked.
"No, it's Mr. Hard's, but you needn't worry about him. He'll be quite
comfortable at the other house."
"I was wondering----" Polly blushed. One hates to be curious, and yet--"I
was wondering who that was?" pointing to a photograph on the dresser.
"Her name's Conrad--she's a widow woman from Boston, an old friend of his.
Pretty, ain't she?"
"Very."
"He never told me anything about her," admitted Mrs. Van, candidly. "Mr.
Hard ain't one to chatter about his private affairs, but I got it out of
Marc Scott."
"Oh!"
"He said she was a singer; married an Englishman and lived down near
Mexico City. Husband died two or three years ago. I've a notion she's an
old sweetheart of Henry Hard's--you can tell from her clothes it's an old
picture."
"I like her looks," commented Polly.
"So do I. Give me a wide-awake looking woman every time," agreed Mrs. Van
Zandt. "There, I must hustle or Dolores will put red pepper in the eggs."
Polly stared at the photograph. It was of a tall, slender woman, with
large dark eyes, and obviously of a personality distinctly pleasing. She
had, even in the photograph, an air of vitality which accounted for Mrs.
Van's comment.
"And he looks like the sort of man who would stay single for a woman," she
said, pensively. Then her thoughts returned to her own position. Her eyes
filled.
"Oh, why did I come? Why did I?" she asked herself for the fiftieth time.
"Because I was a coward and didn't want to hear what people were going to
say about me. As though it mattered what the kind of people I know think
of anybody! And now I've marooned myself in this dreadful place and I'll
have to stay till Bob comes--we can't go chasing each other across the
country like this. And that miserable Scott man knows why I came! Well, I
can snub him, anyhow."
Polly planted both feet firmly on the floor and reached for her stockings.
A few minutes later she stood in the doorway, a dark sweater drawn over
her lacy waist, her plaid skirt blowing in the breeze, and her vivid hair
covered only with a net. The air was cool and bracing, the sun just
beginning to be a bit warm, the mountains emerging from behind fleecy
clouds, and the sky as blue as that of Italy.
"Not bad, eh?" Hard stopped beside her, thinking how her splendid youth
and vibrant coloring harmonized with the surroundings.
"Not bad at all," laughed the girl. "You only need a few wild looking
Mexicans prowling about to give a touch of life."
Hard pointed toward the mine. Some dark-skinned men wearing big straw
sombreros were running a hand car up the track while another group lounged
in a doorway.
"There are your Mexicans, but I'm afraid they're too lazy to be very wild.
Nothing but a revolution excites them these days and sometimes I think
they're getting a bit blase over them. Now and then they wake up over a
cock-fight." They walked down the street toward the boarding-house.
"I wish, Mr. Hard, that you would tell me something about the young man
who drove me over last night," the girl said.
"Who? Scotty?"
"No," a little indignantly. "I mean Senor Pachuca. Oh, I forgot that I
hadn't told you!"
"Scott told me. He and I thought, if you don't mind, that we wouldn't say
anything about it before the others. I mean about his being in the
neighborhood."
"I won't if you don't want me to," replied Polly, with unusual docility.
"But please tell me about him. Mr. Scott didn't seem to want to."
"Well, no, Scotty didn't want to frighten you, I suppose."
"Frighten me? As if I was that kind of girl!"
"It's just a little difficult these days to know what one may or may not
tell a young lady," smiled Hard. "But about Johnny Pachuca. A good many
people call him 'Don Juan'--I don't know whether it's because he claims to
be of pure Spanish blood, or whether it's a subtle recognition of his
popularity with the ladies."
"Oh!"
"A few years ago, he was a captain or a colonel or something equally fancy
in the army. He's a dashing young scamp, and he had the good luck or the
bad luck whatever you want to call it to engage the affections of a
good-looking young actress who was supposed to be bestowing those
affections on a man higher up. Naturally, the man higher up looked about
for a way of getting even. He dug up a scandal about some army funds.
Young Pachuca had been doing what seems to have been the usual thing down
in Mexico City--padding his accounts--so they got him.
"Not that they couldn't have got anybody on the staff on the same charge;
but they were after Juan. Juan had to choose between retiring to private
life or turning bandit. Having a taste for action, he did the latter."
"Do you mean like Villa?"
"Well, no, Villa's in a class by himself. You can't call a man who has
controlled a state and who has dictated to presidents, a bandit, can you?
He's on too big a scale. Pachuca took up banditry, in a gentlemanly sort
of way; at least they say he did; nobody's proved it on him. He was
undoubtedly with Villa at one time. He was with him when he stopped here
and nabbed our horses. I was away at the time. I've never seen the fellow.
Then, gossip says, they quarreled and Pachuca went back to his people in
the South. I haven't a doubt, however, that if another revolution should
break out, Johnny would climb into the band-wagon against the government
and land in the army again."
"And that's the man I undertook to drive alone in the dark with!" gasped
the girl. "Mr. Hard, promise me you'll never tell Bob?"
"I promise," replied Hard, laughing. "And here we are at breakfast. Miss
Street, this is Mr. Williams, who runs our store, Mr. Adams, of the office
force----" and so on until each had very consciously greeted the newcomer.
Scott, who sat at the end of the table, looked up and bowed, receiving a
cool little response. He returned unconcerned to his ham and eggs. If the
new arrival was going to be disagreeable, he would keep out of her way.
Breakfast went off pleasantly. The food was excellent and with the
exception of Scott, who kept his distance, everyone was quite evidently
trying to put the girl at her ease. From the train crew, who announced
their intention of running over to Conejo for her trunk, to Adams who
spoke for the privilege of taking her over the plant, and Williams, who
begged for an early opportunity to show his collection of baskets and
pottery, each had something to offer. Even the black-eyed Dolores peeped
admiringly through the hole in the wall, gathering items about the visitor
to retail to the eager ears of relatives and friends at the next _baile_.
After breakfast, Adams piloted Polly over the premises, from the corral to
the office. He showed her the automobile lying idle because an important
part was broken and the new one though ordered from the factory had not
come.
"I hope you ride?" he said, and as she nodded: "that's good. Maybe we can
get up a party to ride across the mesa to Casa Grande. That's Herrick's
place."
"Herrick?"
"Yes. Queer chap--part German and part English. Artistic, you know--plays
the piano and sings."
"What's he doing here if he's an artist?" demanded Polly.
"Runs a ranch and writes music. His wife died suddenly--she used to travel
around with him and sing his songs--they made a pile of money, I guess."
"You don't mean Victor Herrick!" gasped the girl.
"Yes, that's him. He went to pieces when she died and packed up his piano
and his music and came down here and buried himself on the ranch. Queer
customer, but you'll like him."
"And to think that Bob Street never wrote me that Victor Herrick was a
neighbor of his--and then wrote pages of stuff about those old Morgans!"
said Polly, indignantly. "Why, I've heard the Herricks sing--they were
wonderful! Men haven't any sense."
"Oh, well, he likes the Morgans. She's a jolly kind of woman, invites a
fellow to dinner and feeds him up, you know," said Jimmy, seriously.
"They're real folks, the Morgans are, and Herrick's a sort of a nut, don't
you see?" He threw open the door of the office abruptly. "Here's the
office, where the manager sits with his feet on the desk while the rest of
us work."
Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly.
"Hullo, Jimmy," he said, with a grin. "Do you know whether Johnson's gone
yet? Well, go over and tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan's and tell her
that the young lady got here safely; I can't get Conejo on the wire."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!" said the girl, eagerly. "She meant to be
awfully kind but she was worried to death about those children. I was too
tired to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get away from
Conejo."
"You're not the first person who's been struck that way," grinned Adams,
as he left the office.
"Hard tells me he has been talking to you about Juan Pachuca," said Scott,
smiling.
"Well, you wouldn't, so I had to ask somebody else," replied Polly. "I'm
interested in him."
"So I noticed. Can't you pick out something a little more like home-folks
to be interested in? Remember the fellow who tried to bring up the tiger
cub?"
"What happened to him?" Polly smiled up into Scott's face. There was
something about Scotty that appealed to you even when you were actively
engaged in disliking him.
"It grew up and bit him."
"Oh, and Juan Pachuca seemed so nice and friendly. But I suppose a tiger
cub feels soft and furry when it isn't scratching or biting."
"Exactly. You can't tell about these fellows down here. Maybe Pachuca
would have brought you over here safe and sound, and maybe he would have
taken the south fork of the road down yonder and carried you off to his
ranch to hold for a ransom."
"Oh," said Polly, faintly, "what a dreadful country!"
"Well, it's no place for tenderfeet. That's what I'm always telling our
neighbor--Herrick, over at Casa Grande. Bob ever write you about him?"
"Bob never writes me about anything--except Emma," said the girl. "But Mr.
Adams has been telling me about him. Does he live there all alone?"
"No, he's got a Chinese boy to cook for him and a lot of greasers working
on the place, but no white men around."
"I wish I could meet him."
"You can. I'll drive you over there any time you say."
Polly's face hardened. "I won't bother you," she said. "I don't know how
long I'll stay here. I want to telegraph Bob."
"I told Johnson to wire him from Conejo," said Scott, a bit coolly on his
side. "He may bring the return message back with him to-night."
Polly felt suddenly ashamed of herself. She rose and held out her hand.
"That was awfully thoughtful of you, Mr. Scott," she said. "I'm ever and
ever so much obliged to you, both for that and for last night. I suppose
if it hadn't been for you Senor Pachuca might have been sending pieces of
my fingers to Bob for a ransom."
Scott laughed but he took the hand awkwardly.
"I don't think Pachuca would do anything quite as raw as that--especially
with a lady," he said. "But I'm glad I went just the same. I don't take
chances with these chaps. Shall we walk down to dinner? Mrs. Van gets
pretty peeved if we're late to meals."