THE WAGON
Herrick stopped before they had gone a dozen yards from the house.
"Go on and find the women," he said, curtly. "I have something to do
before they come."
"Something----" Scott stared at the little man uncomprehendingly.
"So. Do you want them to see those ugly bodies?" he pointed to the two
dead Yaquis, stretched ghastly and plain in the moonlight. "I shall pull
them into the shadow of the bushes."
"Well, he's nervy for a piano player, ain't he?" murmured Scott, as he and
Hard turned the corner of the house.
"I think, myself, that there's a lot of rot talked about the artistic
temperament," replied Hard, drily. "The war showed us that poets could
fight as courageously as plumbers, and I've always thought that when you
got the real unadulterated article in artistic temperament, you usually
got with it a distinctly cruel streak. I believe that you and I hated
killing those Indians a lot more than Herrick did, though he'll probably
throw a nervous chill over it after a while and compose a piece about
it."
"Well, maybe so," assented Scott. "He's the only artistic chap I ever got
real close to and I don't mind admitting he's mighty queer--but he ain't
yellow. I'll say that for him after to-night."
They were passing a clump of bushes as he spoke and two dark figures
started forth. Scott instinctively put his hand on his gun.
"Oh," gasped the shorter figure, "what has happened? Are you shot? Who is
running away--you or they?" She seized Scott's wrists with a clutching
hold.
Scott laughed. "That's how you obey orders, is it? Where are the horses?"
"I don't know. We stayed right here," faltered Polly. "I want to know if
you're hurt!"
"No, not if I know it, and I usually recognize bullets when they hit me."
"What happened?" insisted the other woman. "Have they gone?"
"They're fighting somebody over in the hills--we don't know who it is,"
replied Hard. "Probably Angel Gonzales. These fellows were evidently an
advance guard."
"We ought to get out of here before they come back," said Scott. "You
can't tell how long that will last--and whoever licks, we don't want to be
hanging around here."
"They'll burn the place, I suppose," said Mrs. Conrad, wearily. "May I go
back and get some things?"
Scott hesitated. "I think we ought to get away," he said. "But one of us
will have to go back to get Herrick and the saddles--if you can hurry--go
with her, Hard, and I'll go after the horses."
"Saddles?" Polly spoke suddenly. "Weren't they in the barn?"
"No; luckily I put them in the wagon when I was tinkering with it," said
Scott. "We've only two horses, you know, and I want you women to ride
them."
"By--by ourselves?" Mrs. Conrad's usually cheerful voice sounded a little
frightened. "I couldn't find that trail in the dark; I'm not Li Yow, you
know."
"The horses will take you."
"Oh, please let's keep together!" pleaded Polly. "Why can't we all go in
the wagon the way you planned?"
"Well, for one reason, the harness was in the barn and was burned," said
Scott, with some irritation.
"Herrick has a lot of old junk of that sort in his storeroom," volunteered
Hard. "I believe you could patch up one. Those sounds have died away--the
fight's over," he added. "Let's go back and have a look, and see what
Herrick says."
There was a pause and the two men consulted anxiously together. It was
very still--not a sound from the direction of the hills. It really did
look as though the attack had been followed by flight. Scott, against what
he afterward called his better judgment, but what was really only a
disinclination to change his mind, gave in, and the two men walked on
ahead.
"If we're going in the wagon, Hard, we've got to go by the road, and I
don't stir a step on that road till I know whether this deviltry is over
for the night or not. We'll camp down here for a few hours, and start by
daybreak."
"Why not? The horses need the rest and so do we. I say camp, by all
means."
Everything seemed harmless at the ranch house. Herrick, who had performed
his unpleasant task, was studying the extent of the damage, which seemed
to be confined to broken windows. When consulted, he approved of the idea
of an early morning start in the wagon and believed that out of the odds
and ends of harness in the storeroom something could be patched up and
made to do.
"All right then." Scott's voice was emphatic. "I'll fix the wagon first
thing in the morning. And now, let's all turn in and catch a few winks
before daybreak."
"I don't believe I'll sleep a minute," said Polly, as the two women were
left alone in the room which Clara Conrad had been occupying. "I'll throw
my cloak around me and lie down on the couch. I feel awfully strung up,
don't you?"
"Yes," said the older woman. "But I'm going to try to sleep, and so must
you."
As a matter of fact, Clara did not expect to sleep. The meeting with Henry
Hard had brought up old memories--memories both happy and sad. He had
changed little, the tall, thin, sandy-haired man. It was good, oh so good,
to have something back again from the old life! As she closed her eyes and
put away from her the events of the day, old scenes came back with a
clearness that they had not worn for many years. The old houses; the
quiet, cultured, elderly men and women, the gayer young ones, herself and
Hard among them; the dinners, dances, concerts; the summer days on the
water, and the rides--all came back as though they had been but yesterday,
and all on account of this one man who had played so important a part in
them.
She realized, as she lay there in the darkness, that without putting the
thought clearly, she had had deeply imbedded in her mind the idea that she
would see him or hear something about him when she went back to Boston.
She was not in love with him, but she had never forgotten him and she
would never feel about him as she did about so many of the others who had
played parts in her old life. Soothed by the thought, she drifted into a
calm and restful sleep.
Polly, however, was too unskilled in the management of her thoughts to be
able to relax at will. She lay quietly, so as not to disturb the other
woman, but her mind was whirling. She lived again each event of the past
two days; the raid on the mine, the ride with Pachuca, his escape, the
trip to Casa Grande, and the growing companionship with Scott--the look
she had surprised in his eyes only an hour ago when she had stood with him
on the veranda, looking at the distant mountains; and then the dreadful
minutes spent behind the bushes, listening to the guns of the attacking
Yaquis.
"And I thought a golf tournament was exciting!" she said, smiling in the
dark. Softly she rose and crept to the window. It was very beautiful out
there; mountains, hills, bushes, all a study in absolute stillness. The
only sound that came to her ears was the howl of a wolf in the distance.
"Coming in at just the right moment," smiled the girl. "What a country for
effects! Oh dear, I believe I could sleep out there in the hammock if it
wasn't too chilly."
Taking the couch cover over her arm she crept softly out of the door and
out on to the veranda where the hammock swayed gently in the breeze. Polly
adjusted herself in it with care; a fall would bring all the occupants of
the house out with a bound.
"First they'd bound and then they'd fuss," she said to herself. "I don't
want to be fussed at, I just want to snatch a few winks out under this
gorgeous sky. I don't understand how when skies and stars and mountains
are all laid out for them, artists want to do the red and green futurist
horrors that they love so. Now, what's that noise?"
A queer kind of noise it was. Polly sat up quite suddenly. It seemed to
come from behind a clump of bushes some distance to the right. It was a
pounding, scraping sort of noise, not very loud, but distinctly
disconcerting. You got the impression that whoever was doing it was trying
not to make any more noise than he could help. Polly's heart beat rapidly.
She must call one of the men. She rose unsteadily and at the same moment
the noise stopped. A tall figure stepped out from behind the bushes and
came toward the house.
Polly stepped back into the shadow of the porch. She was about to dive
into the open window when another sound caught her ear. The man was
whistling softly--whistling the Slumber Motif from Die Walkuere! Polly
laughed aloud. She had taken Henry Hard for a bandit.
"Hello, what are you doing up on deck?" he said, whimsically. "I thought
we'd sent the passengers below and battened down the hatches."
"I couldn't sleep, so I came out here. What are you doing with that pick?
Was it you I heard digging?"
"Scott and me. I came up for a match."
"But what can you be digging for at this time of night? Not buried
treasure?" eagerly.
"My dear child, I hate to disappoint you, knowing your feelings on the
subject. If you must know, we killed a couple of Yaquis and we're burying
them on what we'd call at home 'the lawn.' It's rather awful, but we can't
help it."
"Killed them!" Polly's eyes were wide with horror.
"It's a rotten business, if you ask me, both killing and burying. I'm just
beginning to form a faint idea of the sort of thing the youngsters we sent
abroad had to face. I was keeping up my courage by whistling. Won't you go
to bed like a nice girl?"
"No. I couldn't stand it in there in the dark. It doesn't seem so bad out
here. Go on--don't bother about me."
After Hard had got his match and joined Scott again behind the bushes,
Polly sat and listened to the ominous sounds, her pleasant reflections
quite at an end.
"That's how it always goes. You begin to feel comfortable and pleased with
your philosophy and yourself and then reality comes along and swats you
one in the eye. I will not think of those Indians! I'll think of Bob and
Emma. Wonder what kind of a nurse Emma makes? Not that she'll have a
chance to try, poor lamb. Those trained ones will shoo her off and flirt
with Bob themselves."
It was some time before the two men finished their ugly job. Polly saw
them come out from behind the bushes and go into the house by the back
door. She stretched herself sleepily--it was beginning to be a bit chilly,
even when wrapped in a coat and a serape. Perhaps it would be wiser to go
in. She folded the serape and started for the door, only to stop midway as
Scott came out.
"Oh," she said, "I thought you'd all gone to bed."
"And you know you ought to," said he. "I don't blame you for not wanting
to. Those mountains get one, don't they?"
They were standing exactly where they had stood so short a time ago, but
so much had happened since that it seemed hours gone by. It wasn't to be
expected, the girl thought, that they could go on from where they had left
off. She looked up. He was staring at the mountains. She felt a ridiculous
mixture of relief and disappointment.
"They get me," she answered. "I never knew I was so fond of mountains."
"It's the mystery of them. You have the feeling that things are going on
in and about them that you don't know--that nobody'll ever know. I
remember the first time I climbed a big mountain--up in Colorado. When I
was about three-quarters of the way up I looked down on one of those
little mountain lakes--just as blue as that ring of yours--set in the
brown of the mountain. It made me feel as if I'd struck gold. I couldn't
believe that anybody but the Indians and I had ever seen that lake."
Scott was leaning against the post of the veranda, still looking at the
mountains. Suddenly he turned.
"Little girl, I think you'd better be going in and getting a few hours of
sleep," he said. "Four o'clock comes along awfully early in the morning."
Polly said nothing. She picked up the serape again and turned to go. Then
she came back again, holding out her hand.
"Mr. Scott, I haven't said a word to show that I'm grateful for what you
did to-night. You saved my life, didn't you?"
Scott took the hand and smiled down into the serious eyes.
"I wouldn't go that far," he said. "Those fellows who horned into our
fight did that, I reckon. I sure tried to, though, if you'd like to shake
hands on that."
"You risked your own life, anyhow, so please don't spoil my story."
"Well, put it that I'll be delighted to save your life any time you say,
even if I get my hide full of holes for doing it. How's that?"
"That's all right," agreed Polly, heartily. "You may call me at twenty
minutes of four, if you please," and she disappeared into the house.
Scott stood a moment after she was gone, an odd little smile on his lips.
"I wonder if she'd care--or would it be another case of Joyce Henderson?"
he said. "Well, serve me right for a fool if it was!" He kicked a stick
out of his way as he made for the wagon. "What have you got to offer a
girl, anyhow?" He took a pocket torch out and examined the wheel of the
wagon. "I've seen better looking wheels and then again I've seen worse,"
he decided, pessimistically. "If our luck holds we'll make it. Doggone it,
being civilized makes an awful idiot of a man. I'm going to dream of those
poor Yaquis we've just buried, sure as shoe leather."
Four o'clock does indeed come along early when you have not closed your
eyes before midnight. It also comes along chilly and dark and generally
uncomfortable. The women were awakened by Hard, who had to knock loudly on
their door in order to accomplish it. They tumbled to their feet and
performed the necessary dressing operations in the dark, except for a
candle which Clara lighted cautiously.
"And to think that people once lived by candlelight!" murmured Polly,
sleepily. "Were born, married, and finally died by it. Well, the race has
come up a peg, I'll say that for it."
Mrs. Conrad was ready first. She was very rapid, in a quiet, unhurried
fashion. In her corduroy skirt and jacket, she looked very girlish. Polly
mentally took five years off her estimate of her new acquaintance's age.
"Awfully natural looking woman, too," she commented, silently. "Most of
the pretty women I know at home are always doing things to
themselves--fussing over their looks; but she just seems to keep herself
fresh and neat and let it go at that, and she manages to look young and
handsome. As for me, I'm a rag and I look it, but perhaps as there are no
tremendous beauties around, I'll pass."
She followed Mrs. Conrad into the kitchen, where she found her busy with
Herrick over the breakfast. The pleasant odors of burning wood and boiling
coffee had already made themselves noticed. Scott, in a corner of the
kitchen, was working over the harness which he was getting into a
condition possible for use. He looked up and nodded as Polly entered.
"Your gentleman friend left a few things; we won't have to starve on the
road," he said, drily. "There's a side of bacon--wonder why he left
that?"
"Perhaps he didn't see it," suggested Polly, sweetly.
"I guess that's the answer. There, I reckon that harness will take us as
far as Athens, if we have a bit of luck. If you'll bring out what you want
to take, Mrs. Conrad, we'll pack it in the wagon."
"I've only a couple of suitcases. My trunks went by rail to the
border--that is, they started."
"How about you, Herrick? Afraid we can't take the piano."
Herrick looked up in some surprise. "Me?" he said. "I am not going with
you, my friend."
"Not going with us? But, Victor, you can't stay here alone." Mrs. Conrad's
voice had real solicitude in it.
"Why not? Li will return and you shall send him first to Conejo to buy
provisions. When things settle down, my men will come back and we shall go
to work again."
"You're going to stick by the ranch?" demanded Scott.
"It is my home. What else have I?" The little man's voice was sad.
"Well, maybe you're right," said Scott, after a moment. "The best way to
hang on to property just now is to sit down on it. We'll send Li over to
Conejo with the wagon and he can load up. If you get into trouble,
remember you've got friends in this country." And the two men shook hands
heartily as Scott tramped off to the wagon.
Polly did not see the parting between the musician and Clara Conrad, but
the latter looked, when she came out of the house, as though she had been
crying, and the little man looked more pathetic than ever as he stood
alone in the doorway waving them good-bye.
"Do you think he ought to say there?" demanded Polly, as Scott helped her
into the wagon.
"No, I don't, but he's obstinate and you can't move him once he makes up
his mind. There's a lot of the woman in every artistic man, I believe,"
grunted Scott, disgustedly.
A little later, with the two Athens horses hitched to the mountain wagon,
the party started out, Hard driving. The road led out through the hills
where the fighting had been only a few hours ago. There was no sign of
what had happened. It was a poor road, narrow, rough and little used.
There were ruts in it and chuck-holes, turns and an occasional arroyo. It
was rather ghostly, too, driving at this hour; the chill, early morning
feel of the air, the fading moon, the faint pinkness hanging over the
mountains suggesting the coming dawn.
"One thing you miss around here is the cattle," said Scott. "Up in New
Mexico you'd be starting out this time in the morning and you'd see the
range cattle looking at you, sort of surprised to see folks around so
early in the morning; some of 'em still lying down and napping. Around
here raising cattle hasn't been very popular the last few years--too
hazardous."
"Miss Polly, I want you to notice that funny little house over there,"
said Hard, pointing to his right.
"Where?"
Indeed, there was reason for the question. The little cabin had been built
tightly against a hill, with the hill scooped out to make the back part. A
closer look revealed a burro standing on the roof beside the chimney.
"Well, that's the first time I ever saw a burro on a roof!" declared
Polly. "Who lives there?"
"A Mexican family named Soria," replied Hard. "I'll go over and see if
they know anything about the fighting last night."
"You won't need to," said Scott. "Here comes the whole population."
So it seemed. There was an old woman--very old, very thin and very brown;
a younger one, half a dozen youngsters, several dogs and finally the
burro. The family were clad in every sort of decrepit garment. Polly
thought she had rarely seen so pitiful an assemblage; and yet they did not
look particularly unhappy, except the younger woman, who hung back and
seemed to have been crying. They had seen the wagon and had come out to
find out what was going on. The older woman came directly to the wagon,
while the younger one stood a little way off, a baby in her arms, and the
other children hanging around her. She was rather a pretty woman, or would
have been with half a chance. It is difficult to be pretty when your hair
hangs in straggling locks, your too plump figure festoons itself around
you in bags, and your clothes look as though you had never had them off
since you first became acquainted with them. Poor things, they lead an
awful life.
"I'll let you speak to her, Clara," Hard said, with a smile. "I think your
Spanish is in better working order than mine. Ask after the daughter's
husband; he's in the army and it may open the way for a little
information."
Mrs. Conrad spoke in rapid and soft-sounding Spanish to the old woman who
stood listening, her wrinkled face set in the monotony of hopelessness.
"How beautifully she speaks Spanish!" thought Polly, enviously. "I don't
understand a word of it, but even I can tell the difference between hers
and the kind that both the men speak."
"Good-morning, my friend." Clara's voice was cheerful and pleasant. "How
is the family?"
"Badly, senora, very badly. My son Manuel joined the army last night and
with him his wife and two little ones. Now we have no man in the house--we
shall starve."
"But your daughter's husband?"
"Francisco was killed last week in a fight. The soldiers brought the news.
Carlotta has four little ones now and no man."
"That is very bad. I am sorry. What soldiers do you mean?"
"Last night. The soldiers who came from the north."
"D'you mean that the crowd that was fighting up here in the hills were
soldiers?" broke in Scott, eagerly. "Federal soldiers?"
"No, no, the soldiers of the revolution--Sonora troops. They march south
against Sinaloa." Carlotta had crept nearer and was taking part in the
conversation.
"I don't get you. Who was doing the fighting?" demanded Scott.
The old woman burst into rapid speech, leaving Scott in the lurch
immediately. Clara came to his rescue.
"The poor old thing is more Indian than Mexican and she doesn't talk very
clearly," she said. "She says that the party which came along the road
last night was a regiment of cavalry from up north. They saw the barn
burning and thought that the bandits were on the march; so they started
over that way. They fell in with the stragglers of the Yaqui crowd and
started to fight. As near as I can tell, each party seems to have thought
that the other was Angel Gonzales' band. The Yaquis had been rooted out of
their village by Gonzales and were on the warpath, poor creatures.
"Fortunately, there were a lot of Yaquis in the troop and by the time the
fellows who were trying to loot us came along they began to understand the
situation and the lot of them joined the troops. This old lady's son,
Manuel, joined too, and his wife and babies went along. That explains why
they let us alone last night."
"It does," said Scott. "And it shows that Angel is around somewhere bent
on deviltry. Here, old lady, is something to buy chow for the babies for a
few days--better luck to you!" He handed her some money and they drove
away amid loud thanks and happy smiles.
"What in the world do you mean by the wife and babies going, too?"
demanded Polly, excitedly.
"Why, here in Mexico war is a family affair," replied Scott. "There's no
such thing as the girl I left behind me. The Missus goes along and so do
the youngsters. She does most of the foraging for food on the march."
"The Mexican believes in equality of the sexes," said Hard. "He believes
that the woman has just as much right to do manual labor, to provide a
living for the family, to fight, and to perform all the other unpleasant
functions of living as he has. If there are not enough to go around, he
generously allows her to do his share."
"It's great to be a wife in Mexico," observed Scott, drily. "Think of
that, Miss Polly, next time you meet a fascinating Spaniard."
"Don't be disagreeable," said Mrs. Conrad, "and don't tell fibs. It's the
women of the lower classes who have the hard time down here just as they
do in every country."
"Except the U. S. A.," replied Scott, stoutly. "A woman may have hard luck
in our country because she's sick or poor or married to a no-account; but
not because the general opinion of the female sex is so darned low that
any loafer who comes along feels that he's got a right to treat her as he
pleases."
"How you like to argue every point, don't you?" observed Polly. "Were you
born like that or did it grow on you? Oh!"
The "oh" was literally jolted out of her. Turning rather a sudden curve at
a pretty good clip, the wagon slipped over the edge of a chuck-hole a
little deeper than the ordinary. Happening as it did in just the right
place, it caught the weakened wheel and wrenched it off as neatly and as
suddenly as a dentist wrenches a tooth out of the jaw of an unwilling
patient.
There was a crash and a jar as the wagon sank on its side, and the
frightened horses struggling to pull the dragging load, snapped the
harness where Scott had patched it. The occupants were jumbled into the
bottom of the wagon, except Hard, who was pitched out into the road. Scott
was out in a minute and at the horses' heads; the women righted themselves
just in time to see Hard pull himself to his feet, staggering as he did
so.
"Hurt, Henry?" asked Scott, who was trying to calm the horses.
"No, just bent my knee under me."
"Here, hold these critturs while I pull the ladies out!"
"We're all right--that is, I'm all right. Look after Mrs. Conrad," said
Polly, as Scott lifted her from the debris. "What was it? The wheel?"
Mrs. Conrad gladly availed herself of Scott's ready arm. "What did Henry
do?" she said. By this time, Scott was loosing the horses from the harness
and Hard had hobbled over to the edge of the road, where he sat down.
"It's my bad knee," he explained. "I did this once, only much worse,
playing football in college. Fell, you know, with it doubled under me. I
was laid up for six months."
"Oh, Henry!"
"Oh, I shan't be this time. It always lames me for a few hours, though,
when I do anything to it. Knees are great chaps for bearing malice."
"Well, you certainly shan't walk to Athens," said Polly, with decision.
"You must ride one horse and Mrs. Conrad the other, while Mr. Scott and I
walk. I'd love to!"
"Dear child, you couldn't," exclaimed Clara. "Could you ride, Henry, do
you think? You and Polly could ride to Athens and send somebody back for
us with the other wagon."
"I could," said Hard, "but I'd rather not. I'd like to rest it for a
couple of hours if I could. Scott, suppose you walk and let them ride and
leave me here. There's a shady-looking spot over in those cottonwoods and
I'll just rest there till I'm able to hobble back to the Soria place. You
can send for me there."
"There's a trail just above here that goes over and strikes the one we
came on about eight miles from Athens," said Scott, doubtfully. "I've
never traveled it, but Gomez told me about it last year. Rough, he said,
but navigable. I guess that's what we'd better do, Hard, leave you here
and I'll walk."
"How far is it?" asked Mrs. Conrad.
"Oh, twenty miles, maybe. It cuts off a good deal."
"You shan't walk twenty miles on a rough trail, my dear man, if I can
prevent it," said Clara, firmly. "You and Polly must ride, and I'll stay
here with Henry. Now, please! I'm at home in this country and I'm not
afraid." There was a pause, then Scott said:
"I guess she's right, Hard. They don't either of 'em ride well enough to
tackle a strange trail alone, and if I walk it will delay sending back for
you. One of us had better ride the trail with Polly, while the other stays
at Soria's with Mrs. Conrad."
After a little more discussion it was decided that Scott and Polly should
go, while the other two returned, after Hard had rested a bit, to the
Soria place. Scott moved the suitcases which Clara had brought over to the
little nook made by the cottonwoods, where they could be left until
someone came with the Athens wagon, and helped Hard to hobble over there.
Then, feeling rather as though they had deserted their friends, and yet
not knowing what else to do, Scott and Polly rode away.