AT LIBERTY
Polly and Matt continued their walk in silence until they reached the
dining-room. They found Scott sitting as they had left him, smoking and
thinking; while, through the hole in the wall, Mrs. Van Zandt could be
seen and heard busy with the dishes.
"Well, did His Nobs enjoy his tea?" asked Scott.
"He did that! Kicked into it like a little man," replied Matt, cheerfully.
"Also he made the young lady a real sporting proposition."
"What?"
"Oh, don't be absurd!" snapped Polly, disgustedly. "Anybody'd suppose you
were college boys at the dansant." And she went into the kitchen.
"Well, you see what you get, Matt; you would horn in. What do you mean--a
sporting proposition?"
"Oh, a rich one. Buried treasure up in New Mexico--secret chart handed
down to Juan Pachuca by a maiden aunt--I don't know what all--just to get
the key of the office, but she was too sharp for him."
"I should hope so. Is that Hard?" Scott went to the window as the sound of
hoof-beats was heard. Down the street came a man on horseback. Silhouetted
against the moonlight, the tall Bostonian acquired a picturesqueness
lacking in daylight. "I've got to take Hard out one of these days and
teach him how to ride," remarked Scott, meditatively. "Jolt some of that
Boston stiffness out of him."
"You can't," replied the Irishman, placidly. "It's in his blood. His
ancestors brought it over in the _Mayflower_ with 'em from England. I'll
bet you Paul Revere rode just like Hard does."
"Shucks, Matt, those English guys can ride--stands to reason they can.
Look at the cross-country stuff they do! And on an English saddle at
that."
"Country? The country they ride over's nothing to what the Irish do. A
feller told me----"
"Hello, boys, what's up? Why the theatre supper?" demanded Hard,
entering.
He listened to the particulars which poured upon him. "Well," he said,
finally, "I'm sorry I missed the excitement. 'Twas ever thus. The only
time our house ever burned down I was at a matinee of the 'Black Crook.'
Well, you saved the cash?"
"Miss Polly did," grinned Scott. "And we've got the boy that made the
mischief."
"Jimmy much hurt?"
"Afraid so."
"I was afraid something like this would happen," said Hard. "They told me
over in Conejo that there was trouble on. They had an all-night session at
Hermosillo and the state seceded."
"That's what Pachuca says."
"Morgan's taken his family up to Douglas."
"Any news from Bob?"
"Just a letter for Miss Polly."
"We won't desert until we have orders, but I'm rather glad to have the
car," continued Scott. "I thought we'd run over and see Herrick in the
morning."
"I say, Scott, that Chinaman of Herrick's is a doctor. Why not have him
take a look at Jimmy's leg?"
"A Chinaman!" Polly had come in with Hard's coffee.
"Sure!" cried Scott. "Just the thing. I'd forgotten about him. When a
Chink is scientific, he's as scientific as the devil."
"He came over to practice medicine; you know how the Mexicans feel about
the Chinese? His money went and he had to do what he could. Herrick picked
him up somewhere and he's been there ever since," said Hard.
"We'll get him over here for Jimmy. He's clean at any rate."
"Listen to this!" Polly had opened her letter. "It's from Mother," she
explained. "Poor old Bob's in the hospital--just been operated on for
appendicitis! Isn't that the limit? On a honeymoon!"
"Hard luck," commented Scott. "How's he coming on?"
"She says he's doing splendidly. You see, he's been dodging that operation
for the last ten years, and now it's got him, poor boy. Mother says
they're worried to death about me."
"And well they may be," remarked Mrs. Van Zandt, heartily.
"She says the directors have met but didn't do anything."
"That sounds natural," said Hard. "They've been doing that for the last
three years."
"Trying to figure out which costs less; to give up the property, or to pay
us our salaries to hold it down," chuckled Scott.
"She says I am to come home at once," continued Polly, "but that I am not
to try to travel alone. Either Mr. Scott or Mr. Hard is to go with me to
the border."
"I'm glad somebody in your family has got good sense," said Scott, grimly.
"It's a pity those things aren't hereditary."
"Thank you. I think I prefer to have Mr. Hard go."
Hard bowed solemnly. "Bob coming back?" he asked.
"As soon as they'll let him," said Bob's sister, promptly.
"Yes, he likes a scrap," remarked Scott. "I hope they keep the papers away
from him this next week. Well, it's lucky for you, Miss Polly, that we've
got Pachuca's car. Traveling on these railroads is bad enough at any time,
but with a brand new revolution on hand, it'll be the deuce."
"I think it's rather horrid of them not to care whether I go home or not,"
Polly told herself, as she undressed for bed. "They might at least pretend
they don't want me to go! I always supposed that the one girl in a mining
camp would be dazzlingly popular--but this doesn't look much like it. And
yet--he likes me, I know he does! He liked my bringing the car back; I saw
it in his eyes, if he did make fun of me.
"He's jealous of Don Juan, too. Well, that won't do him any harm. He's so
determined not to fall in love with me that he's going to need a little
outside interference to make him change his mind. He's got to change his
mind because I--yes, I do care for him--a lot. People may think these
things don't come suddenly outside of books, but they do--oh, they do!"
And, worn out by the exertions of the day, Polly curled herself in a knot
and prepared to sleep.
Juan Baptisto Pachuca had not availed himself of the shakedown made for
him by Mrs. Van Zandt's blankets. He had put out his light because he
wanted to think and he preferred thinking by moonlight. He sat in Hard's
office chair by the window, closed now, for the night was cool, and
drummed impatiently upon the arm of it.
Mentally, Pachuca was more than impatient; he was outraged. His plans had
been spoiled, his liberty restricted and his dignity impaired. He had been
made to look ridiculous. Of all the offenses against him the latter was
the most serious. He hated giving up anything he had put his mind on, but
he hated a great deal more being made ridiculous.
Nor was it pleasant to be triumphed over by a girl. Juan Pachuca liked
girls, especially good-looking ones, but he liked them in their places,
not in the larger affairs of life. When they insisted upon mixing
themselves up with such affairs, they ceased, in his estimation, to be
pretty girls and became merely tiresome members of the other sex.
Had Polly Street given in to his proposals of escape he would have felt in
a better temper with her, but he would not have been at all tempted to
fall in love with her. He had been in the mood for that once--the night
they had come over from Conejo together--but Fate, or the girl herself, or
Marc Scott, he had hardly taken the time to decide which, had interfered
and that was over.
Pachuca bore Polly no ill will for her part in that affair. That was her
province--a love affair. A lady had the privilege of granting or denying
her favors; it was not always because she wanted to that she denied them.
He knew a good deal about that sort of thing and he was willing to give
and take very agreeably in the game of love, without repining if things
didn't seem to be going his way.
This, however, was a question of business and Juan Pachuca considered that
any woman who could get ahead of him in a matter of business would have to
get up exceedingly early in the morning. He would get out of that room or
he would know the reason why. It was highly important that he should. In
fact, his plans for the next few days depended absolutely upon his so
doing.
Pachuca's business head, for all his conceit about it, was exceedingly
primitive. His had been rather a primitive career from its beginning.
Hard's story of the actress, while not entirely correct, had its
foundation in fact. Pachuca had been disgraced; to be disgraced in any
manner is bad enough, but to be disgraced for doing something that you
know quite well is being done in perfect security by most of the people
with whom you are connected is particularly galling.
Aching to thwart the government he hated, Pachuca hastened to ally himself
with its particular enemy and to work against it with all the impetuosity
of his nature. But Francisco Villa was not an easy man for anyone as heady
as Juan Pachuca to get on with. There were quarrels and more quarrels, and
finally Pachuca, again disgusted with the world and its people, retired to
private life.
He was not, however, built for private life. Some of us are like that. We
need the excitement and the stimulus of action to bring out our better
points. Also, Pachuca's friends were not of the sort who cared much for
the quiet life. In those few months of association with the great Villa,
he had met men of various kinds; men who were honestly trying to do
something for Mexico; men who were dishonestly trying to do something for
themselves; and men who were in such a truly desperate frame of mind after
ten years of revolution, banditry, and general upset, that they scarcely
knew what they were doing.
Pachuca, who for all his aristocratic blood, was an exceedingly good
mixer, had enjoyed these various and sundry associations and in the quiet
of private life he yearned for them. Very much as a celebrated actress
feels the lure of the footlights after she has left them for matrimony and
the fireside, very much as the superannuated fire horse is said to react
to the alarm, so Pachuca yearned for the agreeable persons with whom he
had foregathered since leaving the army.
When there were rumors of another revolution, he began to think of looking
up some of these exceedingly live wires, and seeing what could be done for
Freedom, Mexico, and Juan Pachuca. It was with the idea of informing
himself as to these matters that he had taken the journey which had
resulted in his meeting with Polly Street, and the fortnight which she had
spent in Athens had been used to accomplish a number of things.
Himself rather a good judge of which way the political cat might be
expected to jump at this particular crisis, Pachuca had decided to throw
in his lot with the Obregonistas. He knew Obregon, knew his hold on the
people, his popularity with the labor party, and it looked to him very
much as though that general of fascinating Irish ancestry had a good
chance of being Mexico's next president.
At the same time he realized perfectly that his own reputation with the
Obregonistas was not good. Various tales current among Mexicans of
political standing, in regard to his relations with Villa, would be very
much against him, and services rendered the Carranza government would
hardly be likely to stand him in good stead. Pachuca wanted to stand well
with the new party if he stood with them at all. He intended that the next
president of Mexico should confer upon him an office of distinction, and
offices of this sort must be earned, not only in Mexico but anywhere. In
the great republic near by which Pachuca hoped some day to visit,
preferably on a state mission, things were handled in this way also. If he
could bring to the revolutionary chiefs of the new party men, arms, and
money, he might hope for a warm reception.
During the fortnight referred to he had communicated with one Angel
Gonzales, previously mentioned, who had also quarreled with Villa and been
rigorously persecuted by him. Gonzales was at the head of a small band
which he was quite willing to consolidate with Pachuca's men, and they had
agreed to meet and discuss ways and means. It was toward this rendezvous
that Pachuca had been journeying when he stopped to raid the Athens mining
camp.
To be stopped at such a time was not to be endured. Pachuca looked around
the small room angrily. He looked out of the window. It was a bad drop but
not an impossible one. An athlete might manage it, he supposed, but he was
not an athlete--he was a gentleman and a soldier. It would be a nasty
thing to try it and to break a leg. He had never tried breaking a leg but
he remembered having heard the family physician say that a broken leg
meant a six weeks' vacation and he had no mind for a vacation on those
terms.
He went to the door--locked, of course, he had heard the girl turn the
key, but one might burst it open. He tried, several times, but the door
held maddeningly. There was no transom, no other door--nothing but the
plastered walls and the window. He turned again to the window, and threw
it open. The cool night air came in refreshingly. In the distance, the
dark shapes of the mountains stood out forbiddingly in the moonlight.
Millions of stars winked and twinkled. Gaunt cacti reared their ungainly
shapes--beautiful because of their very ugliness.
Somewhere over in those mountains Angel Gonzales was wending a torturous
path to meet him. Angel would swear and rage when he did not come. Then he
would probably annex Pachuca's men and their plunder and go cheerfully on
his way. That would be Angel's idea of the philosophical manner of
handling the situation. Juan ground his white teeth in a fury. Again he
hung out of the window. The moonlight was so glaring that he was easily
visible had anyone been watching, but all the lights in Athens were out
and the inhabitants in bed.
Pachuca swung lightly out of the window and with a very cattish agility
caught the sill with both hands and lowered himself. He looked down. It
was the devil of a drop. Ten chances to one he would turn an ankle at the
very least. He made a wry face. One does not do things successfully when
one does them in this frame of mind. With an effort surprising in one so
slight he drew himself back into the window again. There must be another
way. It was positively not on the cards for him to be fooled in this
stupid manner. He could see his car standing near the corral and the sight
urged him to greater efforts.
He paced angrily up and down the floor. It was a very solid floor. As far
as he was concerned it might be regarded as an invincible floor. If he had
a pick, perhaps--Pachuca's eyes brightened, and a roguish look came into
them. He had been thinking as he often did in English, being practically
bi-lingual, and the word suggested something to him. Why not pick the
lock? He felt eagerly in his pocket for his knife--left, alas, in the
pocket of his leather coat in the machine. Still, there might be one
somewhere about. In the desk, perhaps. The saints would help a good
Spaniard, undoubtedly. Pachuca was not unduly religious, and he could not
recall at the moment any saint renowned for picking locks, so he let it go
at that and began to hunt. Some sort of tool might be found in the desk.
The desk yielded pencils, pens, erasers, and other harmless implements
without number, but nothing even remotely resembling a knife. Pachuca
slammed the drawers angrily and resumed his tramping. The night was
getting on and he was apparently no nearer freedom than when the girl had
left him. He cursed volubly and disgustedly.
"I suppose if I had the shoulders of that abominable Scott I could break
the door!" he muttered. "On the other hand," he mused, grimly, "if I had
had his brains I would not be here. It was a foolish business--trying to
confiscate American property. It rarely pays." Pachuca, like the famous
Mr. Pecksniff, believed in keeping up appearances even with one's self.
His attempt was confiscation distinctly and not robbery. "It was talking
with the American girl that day on the train that put it into my head. She
would talk about her brother and his mine. Juan Pachuca, when will you
learn to let women alone? Every time a woman comes upon the scene
something disagreeable happens--and usually to you."
He paused by the window and surveyed it distastefully. "If I have to go
out by that window, I will--but I do not like it. If I could bribe someone
to put up a ladder! But they are all asleep--the lazy fools."
He glanced at the shakedown which Mrs. Van Zandt had sent over by Miller,
the idea of a rope ladder made of sheets having floated idly through his
head. Alas, the shakedown consisted of a small hard mattress and a couple
of blankets, army blankets at that. Anyone who can make a rope ladder of
army blankets, with nothing more solid to fasten them to than a rickety
old desk, must be cleverer than even Juan Pachuca considered himself.
With a sigh of surrender he returned to the window. It was the only way;
broken bones or no broken bones, it must be attempted. If he were unlucky
enough to meet with disaster, he must crawl as far as the car, and once in
the car he defied anyone, white, brown or black to stop him. If only they
had left him his gun!
Carefully Pachuca balanced himself once more on the window and swung
himself out, still clinging to the sill. The drop looked easier than it
had before; he felt almost cheerful about it. Give him five minutes alone
in the moonlight and he would have his liberty, his car and his triumph
over Gringo carelessness. At the same moment, there arose out of the
stillness the loud and penetrating bark of an aroused dog.
Yellow, who slept anywhere, being a tramp dog by nature, had elected to
pass the night outside Scott's window, and the cabin in which Scott was
sleeping was across the street and only a few feet away from the window
from which Pachuca was trying to escape. Not content with barking, the
interfering Yellow started on a gallop for the peculiar looking person
hanging out of the window. Almost instantly, a light flashed in Scott's
room and a head was thrust out of the window.
With an exasperated groan Pachuca drew himself back again and waited.
Scott's head was withdrawn, and two seconds later, Scott, himself, clad in
pajamas and a bathrobe, dashed out of the cabin and was met by another
figure which seemed to spring from nowhere. Pachuca thought the second
figure looked like Miller, the man who had brought his blankets, but he
was not sure. By this time the dog had stopped barking and was following
the two men. Pachuca stood in the window, waiting developments. Scott
looked up with evident relief.
"You're there, are you?" he said.
"So it appears," disgustedly. "Am I a cat to scramble out of a window?"
"Well, Yellow was barking at something," replied Scott, with a grin.
"Might have been a plain, four-footed one, and it might have been a human
puss. If you don't mind, I reckon I'll tie him to the front door down
here. He's rough on cats."
"Suit yourself, _amigo_, I'm going to sleep," was the disdainful reply.
Well, that ended going out by the window. Pachuca, having a Latin dislike
for fresh air in the sleeping-room, closed the window angrily and threw
himself down on the mattress. It was hard and there was no pillow. The
blankets he would need to keep him warm. Pachuca, though used to
hardships, dearly loved his comfort. He glanced around the room again; an
old office coat hanging on a peg in a corner caught his eye. It would do
for a pillow. He took it down and rolled it into a wad. As he did so, a
clinking sound became audible. He reached into the pocket--a bunch of keys
and an old hunting-knife came to light.
Pachuca grinned. Well, Heaven was looking out for its own; it was not in
the nature of things that a Pachuca should be trampled in the dust by the
proletariat! Patiently, one after another, he tried the keys--ah, the
right one at last! He turned it and the door opened. Pachuca chuckled
delightedly; it pleased his whimsicality to think that so apparently
unsurmountable a difficulty should be solved in so plain and unromantic a
fashion.
He returned to the window and saw Scott and Miller standing outside
Scott's cabin; saw Scott go inside and the cabin become dark once more and
Miller go on down the street, stopping at the last house near the corral.
Pachuca frowned. Was the fellow going in and going to bed like a
Christian, or was he going to hang around and keep an eye on the car? This
last would be extremely awkward. Miller, however, turned in at the house
and disappeared.
Pachuca spent five minutes at the window watching, but he did not
reappear. "Ah well, one must risk something!" he mused, and glanced down
at the sleeping Yellow. Cautiously and with the soft step of one who has
learned the wisdom of a silent tread, the young man slid down the
stairway. The door at the foot of the stairs was open; it opened outward
and they had tied the dog back of it.
Juan Pachuca opened the hunting-knife and surveyed it in a business-like
fashion. There was a sudden movement of his arm and poor Yellow shivered
and crumpled up noiselessly. Quietly, the knife still in his hand, Pachuca
slipped behind the building and continued his way toward the corral. He
reached the car unhindered and breathed a sigh of relief; the rest would
be plain sailing. A peep into the tonneau showed him that the plunder had
been removed; but that, of course, he had expected. He jumped into the car
and started the engine. At the same moment, a burly figure rushed out of
the house near by, caught at the car as it started, clung to the
running-board and, leaning over, seized Pachuca by the arm.
It was Miller; Miller, who had indeed gone to bed, but whose bed was near
the window of the little cabin, and who had been keeping one eye on the
car and had emerged, scantily attired in a nightshirt tucked into a pair
of trousers, to put a spoke in the Mexican's wheel. Pachuca set his teeth!
It was too much--to be so near liberty and then to lose it. A desperate
look came into his eyes; he paid no attention to the angry demand of his
assailant that he stop the car, but, making a sudden lunge, he drove the
hunting-knife into the shoulder of the big man.
"Damn you, put up that knife!" choked Miller, seeing the blow coming but
not quickly enough to dodge it. With one hand clutching the car and one
holding Pachuca, he was too late to reach his gun. By the time he loosed
his hold on the Mexican, the knife had reached its mark; a knife none too
sharp, but driven by a practiced hand, it pierced the flesh, and with a
groan, Miller dropped off the running-board into the road.
Ah, the good car! Pachuca sang with joy as it leaped ahead into the
darkness. They would be awake in a moment, the lazy Gringos, but what of
it? He would be out of their reach. He laughed as he flew past the house
where Polly slept.
"Adieu, pretty American! I kiss your hand--until we meet again!"
Something struck the back of the car with a sharp, tearing sound. Pachuca
turned with a grin. A light had sprung up in the house into which he had
seen Scott go. With another chuckle, the young Mexican bent over the wheel
and whirled down the road toward freedom.