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[Illustration: "I'll hit any trail with you--barring Mexican politics."
[Page 19]]




THE TREASURE TRAIL

A ROMANCE OF THE LAND OF GOLD AND SUNSHINE

By

MARAH ELLIS RYAN

Illustrated by Robert Amick

Publishers Chicago

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918




Copyright

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1918

Published November, 1918

Copyrighted in Great Britain




To Kalatoka of the brown tent




CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                                                          PAGE
       I KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL                           1
      II THE RED GOLD LEGEND                                        15
     III A VERIFIED PROPHECY OF SEÑORITA BILLIE                     54
      IV IN THE ADOBE OF PEDRO VIJIL                                66
       V AN "ADIOS"--AND AFTER                                      73
      VI A DEAD MAN UNDER THE COTTONWOODS                           90
     VII IN THE PROVINCE OF ALTAR                                  107
    VIII THE SLAVE TRAIL                                           124
      IX A MEETING AT YAQUI WELL                                   133
       X A MEXICAN EAGLET                                          144
      XI GLOOM OF BILLIE                                           161
     XII COVERING THE TRAIL                                        167
    XIII A WOMAN OF EMERALD EYES                                   186
     XIV THE HAWK OF THE SIERRAS                                   217
      XV THE "JUDAS" PRAYER AT MESA BLANCA                         230
     XVI THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL                              256
    XVII THE STORY OF DOÑA JOCASTA                                 288
   XVIII RAMON ROTIL DECIDES                                       300
     XIX THE RETURN OF TULA                                        328
      XX EAGLE AND SERPENT                                         346
     XXI EACH TO HIS OWN                                           360




ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                                  PAGE
 "I'll hit any trail with you--barring Mexican
     politics."                                         _Frontispiece_
 "You poor kid, you have a hard time with the
     disreputables you pick up."                                    76
 "No, Ramon! No!" she cried, and flung herself between
     him and his victims.                                          280
 The Indian girl was steadily gaining on the German.               356




THE TREASURE TRAIL

CHAPTER I

KIT AND THE GIRL OF THE LARK CALL


In the shade of Pedro Vijil's little brown adobe on the Granados
rancho, a horseman squatted to repair a broken cinch with strips of
rawhide, while his horse--a strong dappled roan with a smutty
face--stood near, the rawhide bridle over his head and the quirt
trailing the ground.

The horseman's frame of mind was evidently not of the sweetest, for to
Vijil he had expressed himself in forcible Mexican--which is supposed
to be Spanish and often isn't--condemning the luck by which the cinch
had gone bad at the wrong time, and as he tinkered he sang softly an
old southern ditty:

                    _Oh--oh! I'm a good old rebel,
                      Now that's just what I am!
                    For I won't be reconstructed
                      And I don't care a damn!_

He varied this musical gem occasionally by whistling the air as he
punched holes and wove the rawhide thongs in and out through the
spliced leather.

Once he halted in the midst of a strain and lifted his head,
listening. Something like an echo of his own notes sounded very close,
a mere shadow of a whistle.

Directly over his head was a window, unglazed and wooden barred. A fat
brown olla, dripping moisture, almost filled the deep window sill, but
the interior was all in shadow. Its one door was closed. The Vijil
family was scattered around in the open, most of them under the
_ramada_, and after a frowning moment of mystification the young
fellow resumed his task, but in silence.

Then, after a still minute, more than the whisper of a whistle came to
him--the subdued sweet call of a meadow lark. It was so sweet it might
have been mate to any he had heard on the range that morning.

Only an instant he hesitated, then with equal care he gave the
duplicate call, and held his breath to listen--not a sound came back.

"We've gone loco, Pardner," he observed to the smutty-faced roan
moving near him. "That jolt from the bay outlaw this morning has
jingled my brain pans--we don't hear birds call us--we only think we
do."

If he had even looked at Pardner he might have been given a sign, for
the roan had lifted its head and was staring into the shadows back of
the sweating olla.

"Hi, you caballero!"

The words were too clear to be mistaken, the "caballero" stared across
to the only people in sight. There was Pedro Vijil sharpening an axe,
while Merced, his wife, turned the creaking grindstone for him. The
young olive branches of the Vijil family were having fun with a horned
toad under the _ramada_ where gourd vines twisted about an ancient
grape, and red peppers hung in a gorgeous splash of color. Between
that and the blue haze of the far mountains there was no sign of
humanity to account for such cheery youthful Americanism as the tone
suggested.

"Hi, yourself!" he retorted, "whose ghost are you?"

There was a giggle from the barred window of the adobe.

"I don't dare say because I am not respectable just now," replied the
voice. "I fell in the ditch and have nothing on but the Sunday shirt
of Pedro. I am the funniest looking thing! wish I dared ride home in
it to shock them all silly."

"Why not?" he asked, and again the girlish laugh gave him an odd
thrill of comradeship.

"A good enough reason; they'd take Pat from me, and say he wasn't safe
to ride--but he is! My tumble was my own fault for letting them put on
that fool English saddle. Never again for me!"

"They are all right for old folks and a pacing pony," he observed, and
again he heard the bubbling laugh.

"Well, Pat is not a pacing pony, not by a long shot; and I'm not
old folks--yet!" Then after a little silence, "Haven't you any
curiosity?"

"I reckon there's none allowed me on this count," he replied without
lifting his head, "between the wooden bars and Pedro's shirt you
certainly put the fences up on me."

"I'm a damsel in distress waiting for a rescuing knight with a white
banner and a milk-white steed--" went on the laughing voice in stilted
declamation.

"Sorry, friend, but my cayuse is a roan, and I never carried a white
flag yet. You pick the wrong colors."

Whereupon he began the chanting of a war song, with an eye stealthily
on the barred window.

            _Hurrah! Hurrah! For southern rights, hurrah!
            Hurrah for the bonnie blue flag
            That bears the single star!_

"Oh! _I_ know that!" the voice was now a hail of recognition. "Cap
Pike always sings that when he's a little 'how-came-ye-so'--and
_you're_ a Johnny Reb!"

"Um! twice removed," assented the man by the wall, "and you are a
raiding Yank who has been landed in one of our fortresses with only
one shirt to her back, and that one borrowed."

He had a momentary vision of two laughing gray eyes beside the olla,
and the girl behind the bars laughed until Merced let the grindstone
halt while she cast a glance towards the house as if in doubt as to
whether three feet of adobe wall and stout bars could serve instead of
a dueña to foolish young Americans who chattered according to their
foolishness.

There was an interval of silence, and then the girlish voice called
again.

"Hi, Johnny Reb!"

"Same to you, Miss Yank."

"Aren't you the new Americano from California, for the La Partida
rancho?"

"Even so, O wise one of the borrowed garment." The laugh came to him
again.

"Why don't you ask how I know?" she demanded.

"It is borne in upon me that you are a witch of the desert, or the
ghost of a dream, that you see through the adobe wall, and my equally
thick skull. Far be it for me to doubt that the gift of second sight
is yours, O seventh daughter of a seventh daughter!"

"No such thing! I'm the only one!" came the quick retort, and the
young chap in the shade of the adobe shook with silent mirth.

"I see you laughing, Mr. Johnny Reb, you think you caught me that
time. But you just halt and listen to me, I've a hunch and I'm going
to prophesy."

"I knew you had the gift of second sight!"

"Maybe you won't believe me, but the hunch is that you--won't--hold--the
job on these ranches!"

"What!" and he turned square around facing the window, then laughed.
"That's the way you mean to get even for the 'seventh daughter' guess
is it? You think I can't handle horses?"

"Nix," was the inelegant reply, "I know you can, for I saw you handle
that bay outlaw they ran in on you this morning: seven years old and
no wrangler in Pima could ride him. Old Cap Pike said it was a damn
shame to put you up against that sun-fisher as an introduction to
Granados."

"Oh! Pike did, did he? Nice and sympathetic of Pike. I reckon he's the
old-time ranger I heard about out at the Junction, reading a red-fire
riot to some native sons who were not keen for the cactus trail of the
Villistas. That old captain must be a live wire, but he thinks I can't
stick?"

"No-o, that wasn't Cap Pike, that was my own hunch. Say, are you
married?"

"O señorita! this is so sudden!" he spoke in shy reproof, twisting his
neckerchief in mock embarrassment, and again Merced looked toward the
house because of peals of laughter there.

"You are certainly funny when you do that," she said after her
laughter had quieted down to giggles, "but I wasn't joking, honest
Indian I wasn't! But how did you come to strike Granados?"

"Me? Well, I ranged over from California to sell a patch of ground I
owned in Yuma. Then I hiked over to Nogales on a little _pasear_ and
offered to pack a gun and wear a uniform for this Mexican squabble,
and the powers that be turned me down because one of my eyes could see
farther than the other--that's no joke--it's a calamity! I spent all
the _dinero_ I had recovering from the shock, and about the time I was
getting my sympathetic friends sobered up, Singleton, of Granados, saw
us trying out some raw cavalry stock, and bid for my valuable services
and I rode over. Any other little detail you'd like to know?"

"N-no, only needed to know it wasn't Conrad the manager hired you, and
I asked if you were married because married men need the work more
than single strays. Adolf Conrad got rid of two good American men
lately, and fetches over Mexicans from away down Hermosillo way."

"'Cause why?" asked the man who had ceased pretense of mending the
saddle, and was standing with back against the adobe.

"'Cause I don't know," came petulant response. "I only had the hunch
when I saw you tame that outlaw in the corral. If he pulls wires to
lose _you_, I'll stop guessing; I'll know!"

"Very interesting, señorita," agreed the stranger reflectively. "But
if I have a good job, I can't see how it will give me aid or comfort
to know that you've acquired knowledge, and stopped guessing. When's
your time up behind the bars?"

"Whenever my clothes get dry enough to fool the dear home folks."

"You must be a joy to the bosom of your family," he observed, "also a
blessing."

He heard again the girlish laughter and concluded she could not be
over sixteen. There was silence for a space while only the creak of
the grindstone cut the stillness. Whoever she was, she had given him a
brief illuminating vision of the tactics of Conrad, the manager for
the ranches of Granados and La Partida, the latter being the Sonora
end of the old Spanish land grant. Even a girl had noted that the
rough work had been turned over to a new American from the first
circle of the _rodeo_. He stood there staring out across the sage
green to the far purple hills of the Green Springs range.

"You've fixed that cinch, what you waiting for?" asked the voice at
last, and the young fellow straightened up and lifted the saddle.

"That's so," he acknowledged. "But as you whistled to me and the call
seemed friendly, it was up to me to halt for orders--from the lady in
distress."

Again he heard the soft laughter and the voice.

"Glad you liked the friendly call, Johnny Reb," she confessed. "That's
my call. If ever you hear it where there are no larks, you'll know who
it is."

"Sure," he agreed, yanking at the cinch, "and I'll come a lopin' with
the bonnie blue flag, to give aid and succor to the enemy."

"You will not!" she retorted. "You'll just whistle back friendly, and
be chums. I think my clothes are dry now, and you'd better travel. If
you meet anyone looking for a stray maverick, you haven't seen me."

"Just as you say. _Adios!_"

After he had mounted and passed along the corral to the road, he
turned in the saddle and looked back. He could see no one in the
window of the bars, but there came to him clear and sweet the field
bugle of the meadow lark.

He answered it, lifted his sombrero and rode soberly towards the
Granados corrals, three miles across the valley. Queer little trick
she must be. American girls did not usually ride abroad alone along
the border, and certainly did not chum with the Mexicans to the extent
of borrowing shirts. Then as he lifted the bridle and Pardner broke
into a lope, he noted an elderly horseman jogging along across trail
on a little mule. Each eyed the other appraisingly.

"Hello, Bub!" hailed the older man. "My name's Pike, and you're the
new man from California, hey? Glad to meet you. Hear your name's
Rhodes."

"I reckon you heard right," agreed the young chap. "K. Rhodes at your
service, sir."

"Hello! K? K? Does that K stand for Kit?"

"Center shot for you," assented the other.

"From Tennessee?"

"Now you're a sort of family historian, I reckon, Mr. Pike," suggested
K. Rhodes. "What's the excitement?"

"Why you young plantation stray!" and the older man reached for his
hand and made use of it pump-handle fashion with a sort of sputtering
glee. "Great guns, boy! there was just one K. Rhodes a-top of God's
green earth and we were pardners here in Crook's day. Hurrah for us!
Are you cousin, son, or nephew?"

"My grandfather was with Crook."

"Sure! I knew it soon as I laid eyes on you and heard your name; that
was in the corral with the outlaw Conrad had driven in for you to
work, it wa'n't a square deal to a white man. I was cussin' mad."

"So I heard," and the blue eyes of the other smiled at the memory of
the girl's glib repetition of his discourse. "What's the great idea?
Aside from the fact that he belongs to the white dove, anti-military
bunch of sisters, Singleton seems quite white, a nice chap."

"Yeh, but he's noways wise at that. He sort of married into the horse
game here, wasn't bred to it. Just knows enough to not try to run it
solo. Now this Dolf Conrad does know horses and the horse market, and
Granados rancho. He's shipped more cavalry stock to France than any
other outfit in this region. Yes, Conrad knows the business end of the
game, but even at that he might not assay as high grade ore. He is
mixed up with them too-proud-to-fight clique organized by old maids of
both sexes, and to show that he is above all prejudice, political or
otherwise, he sure is corraling an extra lot of Mex help this year.
I've _companeros_ I'd go through hell for, but Conrad's breed--well,
enough said, Bub, but they're different!" Mr. Pike bit off a chew of
black plug, and shook his head ruminatively.

Rhodes looked the old man over as they rode along side by side. He was
lean, wiry and probably sixty-five. His hair, worn long, gave him the
look of the old-time ranger. He carried no _reata_ and did not look
like a ranchman. He had the southern intonation, and his eyes were
wonderfully young for the almost snowy hair.

"Belong in the valley, Captain?"

"Belong? Me belong anywhere? Not yet, son," and he smiled at his own
fancy. "Not but what it's a good enough corner when a man reaches the
settlin' down age. I drift back every so often. This ranch was Fred
Bernard's, and him and me flocked together for quite a spell.
Singleton married Bernard's widow--she's dead now these seven years. I
just drift back every so often to keep track of Bernard's kid,
Billie."

"I see. Glad to have met you, Captain. Hope we can ride together often
enough for me to hear about the old Apache days. This land has fetched
out three generations of us, so it surely has some pull! My father
came at the end of his race, but I've come in time to grow up with the
country."

Captain Pike looked at him and chuckled. K. Rhodes was about
twenty-three, tall, almost boyish in figure, but his shoulders and
hands suggested strength, and his mouth had little dents of humor at
the corners to mitigate the squareness of jaw and the heavy dark
brows. His black lashes made the deep blue of his eyes look purple.
Young he was, but with a stature and self-reliant manner as witness
of the fact that he was fairly grown up already.

"Where'd you learn horses, Bub?"

"Tennessee stock farm, and southern California ranges. Then this neck
of the woods seemed calling me, and I trailed over to look after a bit
of land in Yuma. I wasted some time trying to break into the army, but
they found some eye defect that I don't know anything about--and don't
more than half believe! I had some dandy prospecting plans after that,
but there was no jingling in my pockets--no outfit money, so I hailed
Singleton as an angel monoplaned down with the ducats. Yes sir, I had
all the dream survey made for a try at some gold trails down here,
going to take it up where the rest of the family quit."

"You mean that, boy?" The old man halted his mule, and spat out the
tobacco, staring at Rhodes in eager anticipation.

"I sure do. Reckon I've inherited the fever, and can't settle down to
any other thing until I've had one try at it. Did do a little placer
working in the San Jacinto."

"And you're broke?" Mr. Pike's voice betrayed a keen joy in the
prospect.

"Flat," stated K. Rhodes, eyeing the old gentleman suspiciously, "my
horse, saddle, field glass, and gun are the only belongings in
sight."

"Ki-yi!" chirruped his new acquaintance gleefully, "I knew when I got
out of the blankets this morning I was to have good luck of some sort,
had a 'hunch.' You can bet on me, Bub; you've struck the right rail,
and I'm your friend, your desert _companero_!"

"Yes, you sound real nice and friendly," agreed K. Rhodes. "So glad
I'm flat broke that you're having hysterics over it. Typical southern
hospitality. Hearty welcome to our city, and so forth, and so forth!"

The old man grinned at him appreciatively. "Lord boy!--I reckon I've
been waiting around for you about ten year, though I didn't know what
your name would be when you come, and it couldn't be a better one!
We'll outfit first for the Three Hills of Gold in the desert, and if
luck is against us there we'll strike down into Sonora to have a try
after the red gold of El Alisal. I've covered some of that ground, but
never had a pardner who would stick. They'd beat it because of either
the Mexicans or the Indians, but _you_--say boy! It's the greatest
game in the world and we'll go to it!"

His young eyes sparkled in his weathered desert face, and more than
ten years were cast aside in his enthusiasm. K. Rhodes looked at him
askance.

"If I did not have a key to your sane and calm outlining of prospects
for the future, I might suspect loco weed or some other dope," he
observed. "But the fact is you must have known that my grandfather in
his day went on the trail of the Three Hills of Gold, and left about a
dozen different plans on paper for future trips."

"Know it? Why boy, I went in with him!" shrilled Captain Pike. "Know
it? Why, we crawled out half starved, and dried out as a couple of
last year's gourds. We dug roots and were chewing our own boot tops
when the Indians found us. Sure, I know it. He went East to raise
money for a bigger outfit, but never got back--died there."

"Yes, then my father gathered up all the plans and specifications and
came out with a friend about fifteen years ago," added Rhodes. "They
never got anywhere, but he sort of worked the fever off, bought some
land and hit the trail back home. So I've been fairly well fed up on
your sort of dope, Captain, and when I've mended that gone feeling in
my pocketbook I may 'call' you on the gold trail proposition. Even if
you're bluffing there'll be no come back; I can listen to a lot of
'lost mine' vagaries. It sounds like home sweet home to me!"

"Bluff nothing! we'll start next week."

"No we won't, I've got a job and made a promise, got to help clean up
the work here for the winter. Promised to take the next load of horses
East."

"That's a new one," observed his new friend. "Conrad himself has
always gone East with the horses, or sent Brehmen, his secretary. But
never mind, Bub, the eastern trip won't take long. I'll be devilin'
around getting our outfit and when the chance comes--us for the Three
Hills of Gold!"

"It listens well," agreed K. Rhodes, "cheeriest little _pasear_ I've
struck in the county. We'll have some great old powwows, even if we
don't make a cent, and some day you'll tell me about the mental kinks
in the makeup of our Prussian friend, Conrad. He sounds interesting to
me."

Captain Pike uttered a profane and lurid word or two concerning Mr.
Conrad, and stated he'd be glad when Billie was of age. Singleton, and
therefore Conrad, would only have the management up to that time.
Billie would know horses if nothing else, and--Then he interrupted
himself and stared back the way he had come.

"I'm a forgetful old fool!" he stated with conviction. "I meandered
out to take a look around for her, and I didn't like the looks of that
little dab of a saddle Conrad had put on Pat. You didn't see anything
of her, did you?"

"What does she look like?"

"A slip of a girl who rides like an Indian, rides a black horse."

"No, I've seen no one," said the young chap truthfully enough. "But
who did you say your girl was?"

"You'll find out if you hold your job long enough for her to be of
age," said Pike darkly. "She'll be your boss instead of Conrad. It's
Billie Bernard, the owner of Granados and La Partida."

"Billie?"

"Miss Wilfreda, if you like it better."

But K. Rhodes said he didn't. Billie seemed to fit the sort of girl
who would garb herself in Pedro's shirt and whistle at him through the
bars of the little window.




CHAPTER II

THE RED GOLD LEGEND


It took less than a week for Kit Rhodes to conclude that the girl
behind the bars had a true inspiration regarding his own position on
her ranches. There was no open hostility to him, yet it was evident
that difficulties were cleverly put in his way.

Not by Philip Singleton, the colorless, kindly disposed gentleman of
Pike's description. But by various intangible methods, he was made to
feel an outsider by the manager, Conrad, and his more confidential
Mexican assistants. They were punctiliously polite, too polite for a
horse-ranch outfit. Yet again and again a group of them fell silent
when he joined them, and as his work was with the horse herds of La
Partida, that part of the great grant which spread over the border
into Sonora, he was often camped fifty miles south of the hacienda of
Granados, and saw no more of either the old prospector, or the
tantalizing girl of the voice and the whistle.

Conrad, however, motored down two or three times concerning horses for
eastern shipment, but Rhodes, the new range capitan, puzzled
considerably over those flying visits, for, after the long drive
through sand and alkali, the attention he gave either herds or outfit
was negligible. In fact he scarcely touched at the camp, yet always
did some trifling official act coming or going to make record that he
had been there.

The Mexicans called him El Aoura, the buzzard, because no man could
tell when he would swoop over even the farthest range of La Partida to
catch them napping. Yet there was some sort of curious bond between
them for there were times when Conrad came north as from a long
southern trail, yet the Mexicans were as dumb men if it was referred
to.

He was a compactly built, fair man of less than forty, with thin
reddish brown hair, brows slanting downward from the base of the
nose, and a profile of that curious Teuton type reminiscent of a
supercilious hound if one could imagine such an animal with milk-blue
eyes and a yellow mustache with spiky turned-up ends.

But Rhodes did not permit any antipathy he might feel towards the man
to interfere with his own duties, and he went stolidly about the range
work as if in utter forgetfulness of the dark prophecy of the girl.

If he was to lose his new job he did not mean that it should be from
inattention, and nothing was too trifling for his notice. He would do
the work of a range boss twelve hours out of the day, and then put in
extra time on a night ride to the _cantina_ at the south wells of La
Partida.

But as the work moved north and the consignment of horses for France
made practically complete, old Cap Pike rode down to Granados corrals,
and after contemplation of the various activities of Rhodes, climbed
up on the corral fence beside him, where the latter was checking off
the accepted animals.

"You're a cheerful idiot for work, Bub," agreed the old man, "but what
the devil do you gain by doing so much of the other fellow's job?
Pancho Martinez wasn't sick as he played off on you; you're green to
these Mexican tricks."

"Sure, I'm the original Green from Greenburg," assented his new
_companero_. "Pancho was only more than usually drunk last night,
while I was fresh as a daisy and eager to enlarge my geographic
knowledge, also my linguistics, Hi! Pedro! not the sorrel mare! Cut
her out!"

"Linguistics?" repeated Pike impatiently.

"Yeh, nice little woman in the cantina at La Partida wells. I am a
willing pupil at Spanish love songs, and we get along fine. I am
already a howling success at _La Paloma_, _La Golondrina_, and a few
other sentimental birds."

"Oh, you are, are you?" queried Pike. "Well, take a warning. You'll
get a knife in your back from her man one of these fine nights, and
the song will be _Adios, adios amores_ for you!"

"Nothing doing, Cap! We play _malilla_ for the drinks, and I work it
so that he beats me two out of three. I'm so easy I'm not worth
watching. Women don't fancy fools, so I'm safe."

"Well, I'll be 'strafed' by the Dutch!" Pike stared at the young
fellow, frowning in perplexity. "You sure have me puzzled, Bub. Are
you a hopeless dunce by training or nature?"

"Natural product," grinned K. Rhodes cheerfully. "Beauty unadorned.
Say Cap, tell me something. What is the attraction for friend Conrad
south of La Partida? I seem to run against a stone wall when I try to
feel out the natives on that point. Now just what lies south, and
whose territory?"

The old man looked at him with a new keenness.

"For your sort of an idiot you've blundered on a big interrogation
point," he observed. "Did you meet him down there?"

"No, only heard his voice in the night. It's not very easy to mistake
that velvety blood-puddin' voice of his, and a team went down to meet
him. He seems to go down by another route, railroad I reckon, and
comes in by the south ranch. Now just what is south?"

"The ranches of Soledad grant join La Partida, or aim to. There are no
maps, and no one here knows how far down over the border the Partida
leagues do reach. Soledad was an old mission site, and a fortified
hacienda back in the days of Juarez. Its owner was convicted of
treason during Diaz' reign, executed, and the ranches confiscated. It
is now in the hands of a Federal politician who is safer in
Hermosillo. The revolutionists are thick even among the pacificos up
here, but the Federals have the most ammunition, and the gods of war
are with the guns."

"Sure; and who is the Federal politician? No, not that colt,
Marcito!"

"Perez, Don José Perez," stated Pike, giving no heed to corral
interpolations. "He claims more leagues than have ever been reckoned
or surveyed, took in several Indian rancherias last year when the
natives were rounded up and shipped to Yucatan."

"What?"

"Oh, he is in that slave trade good and plenty! They say he is sore on
the Yaquis because he lost a lot of money on a boat load that
committed suicide as they were sailing from Guaymas."

"A boat load of suicides! Now a couple of dozen would sound
reasonable, but a boat load----"

"But it happened to every Indian on the boat, and the boat was full!
No one knows how the poor devils decided it, but it was their only
escape from slavery, and they went over the side like a school of
fish. Men, women, and children from the desert who couldn't swim a
stroke! Talk about nerve--there wasn't one weakling in that whole
outfit, not one! Perez was wild. It lost him sixty dollars a head,
American."

"And that's the neighbor friend Conrad takes a run down south to see
occasionally?"

"Who says so, Bub?"

The two looked at each other, eyes questioning.

"Look here, son," said Pike, after a little, "I'll hit any trail with
you barring Mexican politics. They all sell each other out as regular
as the seasons swing around, and the man north of the line who gets
tangled is sure to be victim if he stays in long enough."

"Oh, I don't know! We have a statesman or two who flirted with Sonora
and came out ahead."

"I said if he stayed in," reminded Pike. "Sure we have crooks galore
who drift across, play a cut-throat game and skip back to cover. The
border is lined with them on both sides. And Conrad----"

"But Conrad isn't in politics."

"N-no. There's no evidence that he is, but his Mexican friends are.
There are men on the Granados now who used to be down on Soledad, and
they are the men who make the trips with him to the lower ranch."

"Tomas Herrara and Chico Domingo?"

"I reckon you've sized them up, but remember, Kit, I don't cross over
with you for any political game, and I don't know a thing!"

"All right, Captain, but don't raise too loud a howl if I fancy a
_pasear_ occasionally to improve my Spanish."

The old man grumbled direful and profane prophecies as to things
likely to happen to students of Spanish love songs in Sonora, and then
sat with his head on one side studying Kit ruminatively as he made his
notes of the selected stock.

"Ye know Bub, it mightn't be so bad at that, if you called a halt in
time, for one of the lost mine trails calls for Spanish and plenty of
it. I've got a working knowledge, but the farther you travel into
Sonora the less American you will hear, and that lost mine of the old
padres is down there along the ranges of Soledad somewhere."

"Which one of the fifty-seven varieties have you elected to uncover
first?" queried Rhodes. "The last time you were confidential about
mines I thought the 'Three Hills of Gold' were mentioned by you."

"Sure it was, but since you are on the Sonora end of the ranch, and
since you are picking up your ears to learn Sonoran trails, it might
be a good time to follow your luck. Say, I'll bet that every herder
who drifts into the _cantina_ at La Partida has heard of the red gold
of El Alisal. The Yaquis used to know where it was before so many of
them were killed off; reckon it's lost good and plenty now, but
nothing is hid forever and it's waiting there for some man with the
luck."

"We're willing," grinned Kit. "You are a great little old dreamer,
Captain. And there is a fair chance I may range down there. I met a
chap named Whitely from over toward the Painted Hills north of Altar.
Ranch manager, sort of friendly."

"Sure, Tom Whitely has some stock in a ranch over there--the Mesa
Blanca ranch--it joins Soledad on the west. I've always aimed to range
that way, but the lost mine is closer than the eastern sierras--must
be! The trail of the early padres was farther east, and the mine could
not well be far from the trail, not more than a day's journey by mule
or burro, and that's about twenty miles. You see Bub, it was found by
a padre who wandered off the trail on the way to a little branch
mission, or _visita_, as they call it, and it was where trees grew,
for a big alisal tree--sycamore you know--was near the outcrop of that
red gold. Well, that _visita_ was where the padres only visited the
heathen for baptism and such things; no church was built there! That's
what tangles the trail for anyone trying to find traces after a
hundred years."

"I reckon it would," agreed Rhodes. "Think what a hundred years of
cactus, sand, and occasional _temblors_ can do to a desert, to say
nothing of the playful zephyrs. Why, Cap, the winds could lift a
good-sized range of hills and fill the baby rivers with it in that
time, for the winds of the desert have a way with them!"

A boy rode out of the whirls of dust, and climbed up on the corral
fence where Rhodes was finishing tally of the horses selected for
shipment. He was the slender, handsome son of Tomas Herrara of whom
they had been speaking.

"It is a letter," he said, taking a folded paper from his hat. "The
Señor Conrad is having the telegraph, and the cars are to be ready for
Granados."

"Right you are, Juanito," agreed Rhodes. "Tell Señor Conrad I will
reach Granados for supper, and that all the stock is in."

The lad whirled away again, riding joyously north, and Rhodes, after
giving final directions to the vaqueros, turned his roan in the same
direction.

"Can't ride back with you, Cap, for I'm taking a little _pasear_
around past Herrara's rancheria. I want to take a look at that bunch
of colts and size up the water there. I've a hunch they had better be
headed up the other valley to the Green Springs tank till rains
come."

Captain Pike jogged off alone after some audible and highly colored
remarks concerning range bosses who assumed the power of the Almighty
to be everywhere the same day. Yet as he watched the younger man
disappear over the gray-green range he smiled tolerantly for, after
all, that sort of a hustler was the right sort of partner for a
prospecting trip.

The late afternoon was a golden haze under a metal blue sky; afar to
the east, sharp edges of the mountains cut purple zig-zags into the
salmon pink of the horizon. The rolling waves of the ranges were
bathed in a sea of rest, and now and then a bird on the mesquite along
an arroya, or resting on branch of flaring occotilla would give out
the foreboding call of the long shadows, for the heart of the day had
come and gone, and the cooler air was waking the hidden things from
siesta.

Kit Rhodes kept the roan at a steady lope along the cattle trail,
drinking in the refreshing sweetness of the lonely ranges after hours
of dust and heat and the trampling horse herds of the corrals.
Occasionally he broke into songs of the ranges, love songs, death
laments, and curious sentimental ditties of love and wars of old
England as still crooned in the cabins of southern mountains.

               _I had not long been married,
                 A happy, happy bride!
               When a handsome trooper captain
                 Stepped up to our bedside,
               "Rise up! rise up! young man," he said,
                 "And go along with me,
               In the low, low lands of Holland
                 To fight for liberty._"

The ancient song of the sad bride whose lover proved false in the
"low, low lands of Holland" trailed lugubriously along the arroya in a
totally irrelevant way, for the singer was not at all sad. He was
gaily alert, keen-eyed and watchful, keeping time to the long lope
with that dubious versification.

"And they're at it again pretty close to the 'low, low lands of
Holland,' Pardner," he confided to the horse. "And when you and I make
a stake you'll go on pasture, I'll hit the breeze for Canada or some
other seaport, and get one whack at the Boche brown rat on my own if
official America is too proud to fight, for

                  _Oh-h! oh-h! Oh-h!
                  In the low, low lands of Holland,
                  My love was false to me!_"

Then, after long stretches of sand dunes, mesquite thickets,
occasional wide cañons where _zacatan_ meadows rippled like waves of
the sea in the desert air, he swung his horse around a low hill and
came in sight of the little adobe of Herrara, a place of straggly
enclosures of stakes and wattles, with the corral at the back.

Another rider came over the hill beyond the corral, on a black horse
skimming the earth. Rhodes stared and whistled softly as the black
without swerving planted its feet and slid down the declivity by the
water tank, and then, jumping the fence below, sped to the little
_ramada_ before the adobe where its rider slid to the ground amid a
deal of barking of dogs and scattering of children.

And although Kit had never seen the rider before, he had no difficulty
as to recognition, and on a sudden impulse he whistled the meadow-lark
call loudly enough to reach her ears.

She halted at the door, a bundle in her hand, and surveyed the
landscape, but failed to see him because he at that moment was back of
a clump of towering prickly pear. And she passed on into the shadows
of the adobe.

"That's the disadvantage of being too perfect, Pardner," he confided
to the roan, "she thinks we are a pair of birds."

He turned at the corner of the corral and rode around it which took
him back of the house and out of range from the door, but the dogs set
up a ki-yi-ing, and a flock of youngsters scuttled to the corner of
the adobe, and stared as children of the far ranges are prone to stare
at the passing of a traveler from the longed-for highways of the
world.

The barking of the dogs and scampering of the children evidently got
on the nerves of the black horse left standing at the vine-covered
_ramada_, for after a puppy had barked joyously at his heels he leaped
aside, and once turned around kept on going, trotting around the
corral after the roan.

Rhodes saw it but continued on his way, knowing he could pick it up on
his return, as the Ojo Verde tank was less than a mile away. A boy
under the _ramada_ gave one quick look and then fled, a flash of brown
and a red flapping end of a sash, up the cañoncita where the home
spring was shadowed by a large mesquite tree.

At first Rhodes turned in the saddle with the idea of assisting in the
catching of the black if that was the thing desired, but it evidently
was not.

"Now what has that _muchacho_ on his mind that he makes that sort of
get-away after nothing and no pursuer in sight? Pardner, I reckon
we'll squander a valuable minute or two and gather in that black."

He galloped back, caught the wanderer but kept right on without pause
to the trickle of water under the flat wide-spreading tree--it was a
solitaire, being king of its own domain and the only shade, except the
vine-covered _ramada_, for a mile.

The startled boy made a movement as if to run again as Kit rode up,
then halted, fear and fateful resignation changing the childish face
to sullenness.

"_Buenas tardes_, Narcisco."

"_Buenas tardes_, señor," gulped the boy.

"I turned back to catch the horse of the señorita for you," observed
Rhodes. "It is best you tie him when you lead him back, but first give
him water. Thirst is perhaps the cause he is restless."

"Yes señor," agreed the lad. "At once I will do that." But he held the
horse and did not move from his tracks, and then Rhodes noticed that
on the flat rock behind him was a grain sack thrown over something, a
brown bottle had rolled a little below it, and the end of a hammer
protruded from under the sacking.

Ordinarily Rhodes would have given no heed to any simple ranch
utensils gathered under the shadow where work was more endurable, but
the fear in the face of the boy fascinated him.

"Think I'll give Pardner a drink while I am about it," he decided, and
dismounted carelessly. "Got a cup that I can take my share first?"

Narcisco had no cup, only shook his head and swallowed as if the
attempt at words was beyond him.

"Well, there is a bottle if it is clean," and Rhodes strode awkwardly
towards it, but his spur caught in the loose mesh of the sacking, and
in loosening it he twisted it off the rock.

Narcisco gasped audibly, and Rhodes laughed. He had uncovered a couple
of dozen empty whiskey bottles, and a tin pan with some broken glass.

"What you trying to start up here in the cañon, Buddy?" he asked.
"Playing saloon-keeper with only the gophers for customers?"

He selected a corked bottle evidently clean, rinsed and drank from
it.

"Yes--señor--I am here playing--that is all," affirmed Narcisco. "At
the house Tia Mariana puts us out because there is a new _niño_--my
mother and the new one sleep--and there is no place to make a noise."

"Oh," commented Rhodes, "well, let the black have a little water, and
lead him out of the way of mine. This gully isn't wide enough to turn
around in."

Obediently the boy led the black to the sunken barrel catching seepage
from the barrel under the drip. Rhodes tossed the sack back to the
flat rock and noted an old canvas water bottle beside the heap, it was
half full of something--not water, for it was uncorked and the mouth
of it a-glitter with shimmering particles like diamond dust, and the
same powder was over a white spot on the rock--the lad evidently was
playing miller and pounding broken glass into a semblance of meal.

"Funny stunt, that!" he pondered, and, smiling, watched the frightened
boy. "Herrara certainly is doing a bit of collecting _vino_ to have a
stock of bottles that size, and the poor kid's nothing else to play
with."

He mounted and rode on, leaving Narcisco to lead the black to his
mistress. He could not get out of his mind the fright in the eyes of
the boy. Was Herrara a brute to his family, and had Narcisco taken to
flight to hide his simple playthings under the mistaken idea that the
horseman was his father returned early from the ranges?

That was the only solution Rhodes could find to the problem, though he
milled it around in his mind quite a bit. Unless the boy was curiously
weak-minded and frightened at the face of a stranger it was the only
explanation he could find, yet the boys of Herrara had always struck
him as rather bright. In fact Conrad had promoted Juanito to the
position of special messenger; he could ride like the wind and never
forget a word.

The shadows lengthened as he circled the little cañon of the Ojo Verde
and noted the water dripping from the full tanks, ideal for the colt
range for three months. He took note that Herrara was not neglecting
anything, despite that collection of bottles. There was no wastage and
the pipes connecting the tanks were in good condition.

He rode back, care free and content, through the fragrant valley. The
cool air was following the lowering sun, and a thin mauve veil was
drifting along the hills of mystery in the south; he sang as he rode
and then checked the song to listen to the flutelike call of a lark.
His lips curved in a smile as he heard it, and with it came the
thought of the girl and the barred window of Vijil's adobe.

She permeated the life of Granados just as the soft veil enwrapped the
far hills, and she had seemed almost as far away if not so mysterious.
Not once had he crossed her trail, and he heard she was no longer
permitted to ride south of the line. The vaqueros commented on this
variously according to their own point of view. Some of the Mexicans
resented it, and in one way or another her name was mentioned whenever
problems of the future were discussed. Singleton was regarded as
temporary, and Conrad was a salaried business manager. But on a day
to come, the señorita, as her mother's daughter, would be their
mistress, and the older men with families showed content at the
thought.

Rhodes never could think of her as the chatelaine of those wide
ranges. She was to him the "meadow-lark child" of jests and laughter,
heard and remembered but not seen. She was the haunting music of youth
meeting him at the gateway of a new land which is yet so old!

Some such vagrant thought drifted through his mind as the sweet calls
of the drowsy birds cut the warm silence, now from some graceful palo
verde along a barranca and again from the slender pedestal of an
occotilla.

"Lucky you, for you get an answer!" he thought whimsically. "Amble
along, Pardner, or the night witches get us!"

And then he circled a little at the north of the cañon, and the black
horse, champing and fidgeting, was held there across the trail by its
rider.

"We are seeing things in broad daylight, Pardner, and there ain't no
such animal," decided Rhodes, but Pardner whinnied, and the girl threw
up her hand.

"This time I am a highwayman, the far-famed terror of the ranges!" she
called.

"Sure!" he conceded. "I've been thinking quite a while that your term
must be about up."

She laughed at that, and came alongside.

"Didn't you suppose I might have my time shortened for good behavior?"
she asked. "You never even ride our way to see."

"Me? Why, child, I'm so busy absorbing _kultur_ from your scientific
manager that my spare moments for damsels in distress are none too
plenty. You sent out nary a call, and how expect the lowest of your
serfs to hang around?"

"Serf? That's good!" she said skeptically. "And say, you must love
Conrad about as much as Cap Pike does."

"And that?"

"Is like a rattlesnake."

"Don't know that rattlesnake would be my first choice of comparison,"
remarked Rhodes. "Back in Tennessee we have a variety beside which the
rattlesnake is a gentleman; a rattlesnake does his best to give
warning of intention, but the copperhead never does."

"Copperhead! that's funny, for you know Conrad's hair is just about
the color of copper, dusty copper, faded copper--copper with tin
filings sifted through."

"Don't strain yourself," laughed Rhodes. "That beautiful blondness
makes him mighty attractive to our Mexican cousins."

"They can have my share," decided the girl. "I could worry along
without him quite awhile. He manages to get rid of all the likeable
range men _muy pronto_."

Rhodes laughed until she stared at him frowningly, and then the
delicious color swept over her face.

"Oh, _you_!" she said, and Rhodes thought of sweet peas, and pink
roses in old southern gardens as her lips strove to be straight, yet
curved deliciously. No one had mentioned to him how pretty she was; he
had thought of her as a browned tom-boy, but instead she was a
shell-pink bud on a slender stem, and wonder of wonders--she rode a
side-saddle in Arizona!

She noticed him looking at it.

"Are you going to laugh at that, too?" she demanded.

"Why no, it hadn't occurred to me. It sort of looks like home to
me--our southern girls use them."

She turned to him with a quick birdlike movement, her gray eyes
softened and trusting.

"It was my mother's saddle, a wedding present from the vaqueros of our
ranches when she married my father. I am only beginning to use it, and
not so sure of myself as with the one I learned on."

"Oh, I don't know," he observed. "You certainly looked sure when you
jumped that fence at Herrara's."

She glanced at him quickly, curious, and then smiling.

"And it was you, not the meadow lark! You are too clever!"

"And you didn't answer, just turned your back on the lonely ranger,"
he stated dolefully, but she laughed.

"This doesn't look it, waiting to go home with you," she retorted.
"Cap Pike has been telling me about you until I feel as if I had known
you forever. He says you are his family now, so of course that makes
Granados different for you."

"Why, yes. I've been in sight of Granados as much as twice since I
struck this neck of the woods. Your manager seems to think my valuable
services are indispensable at the southern side of this little
world."

"So that's the reason? I didn't know," she said slowly. "One would
have to be a seventh son of a seventh son to understand his queer
ways. But you are going along home today, for I am a damsel in
distress and need to be escorted."

"You don't look distressed, and I've an idea you could run away from
your escort if you took a notion," he returned. "But it is my lucky
day that I had a hunch for this cañon trail and the Green Springs, and
I am happy to tag along."

They had reached Herrara's corral and Rhodes glanced up the little
gulch to the well. The flat rock there was stripped of the odd
collection, and Narcisco stood at the corner of the adobe watching
them somberly.

"_Buenos tardes!_" called the girl. "Take care of the _niño_ as the
very treasure of your heart!"

"Sure!" agreed the lad, "_Adios_, señorita."

"Why the special guard over the treasure?" asked Rhodes as their
horses fell into the long easy lope side by side. "The house seems
full and running over, and _niñitas_ to spare."

"There are never any to spare," she reminded him, "and this one is
doubly precious for it is named for me--together its saint and its two
grandmothers! Benicia promised me long ago that whether it was a boy
or a girl it would be Billie Bernard Herrara. I was just taking the
extra clothes I had Tia Luz make for him--and he is a little
black-eyed darling! Soon as he is weaned I'm going to adopt him; I
always did want a piccaninny for my own."

Rhodes guided his horse carefully around a barranca edge, honeycombed
by gophers, and then let his eyes rest again on the lustrous confiding
eyes, and the rose-leaf lips.

Afterward he told himself that was the moment he began to be bewitched
by Billie Bernard.

But what he really said was--"Shoo, child, you're only a piccaninny
yourself!" and they both laughed.

It was quite wonderful how old Captain Pike had managed to serve as a
family foundation for their knowledge of each other. There was not a
doubt or a barrier between them, they were "home folks" riding from
different ways and meeting in the desert, and silently claiming
kindred.

The shadows grew long and long under the sun of the old Mexic land,
and the high heavens blazed above in yellows and pinks fading into
veiled blues and far misty lavenders in the hollows of the hills.

The girl drew a great breath of sheer delight as she waved her hands
towards the fire flame in the west where the desert was a trail of
golden glory.

"Oh, I am glad--glad I got away!" she said in a hushed half-awed
voice. "It never--never could be like this twice and we are seeing it!
Look at the moon!"

The white circle in the east was showing through a net of softest
purple and the beauty of it caused them to halt.

"Oh, it makes me want to sing, or to say my prayers, or--to cry!" she
said, and she blinked tears from her eyes and smiled at him. "I reckon
the colors would look the same from the veranda, but all this makes it
seem different," and her gesture took in the wide ranges.

"Sure it does," he agreed. "One wants to yell, 'Hurrah for God!' when
a combination like this is spread before the poor meek and lowly of
the earth. It is a great stage setting, and makes us humans seem
rather inadequate. Why, we can't even find the right words for it."

"It makes me feel that I just want to ride on and on, and on through
it, no matter which way I was headed."

"Well, take it from me, señorita, you are headed the right way," he
observed. "Going north is safe, but the blue ranges of the south are
walls of danger. The old border line is a good landmark to tie to."

"Um!" she agreed, "but all the fascinating things and the witchy
things, and the mysterious things are down there over the border. I
never get real joy riding north."

"Perhaps because it is not forbidden, Miss Eve."

Then they laughed again and lifted the bridles, and the horses broke
into a steady lope, neck and neck, as the afterglow made the earth
radiant and the young faces reflected the glory of it.

"What was that you said about getting away?" he queried. "Did you
break jail?"

"Just about. Papa Singleton hid my cross-saddle thinking I would not
go far on this one. They have put a ban on my riding south, but I just
had to see my Billie Bernard Herrara."

"And you ran away?"

"N-no. We sneaked away mighty slow and still till we got a mile or two
out, and then we certainly burned the wind. Didn't we, Pat?"

"Well, as range boss of this end of the ranch I reckon I have to herd
you home, and tell them to put up the fences," said Rhodes.

"Yes, you will!" she retorted in derision of this highly improbable
suggestion.

"Surest thing you know! Singleton has good reasons for restricting
your little pleasure rides to Granados. Just suppose El Gavilan, the
Hawk, should cross your trail in Sonora, take a fancy to Pat--for Pat
is some _caballo_!--and gather you in as camp cook?"

"Camp cook?"

"Why, yes; you can cook, can't you? All girls should know how to
cook."

"What if I do? I have cooked on the camp trips with Cap Pike, but that
doesn't say I'll ever cook for that wild rebel, Ramon Rotil. Are you
trying to frighten me off the ranges?"

"No, only stating the case," replied Rhodes lighting a cigarette and
observing her while appearing not to. "Quite a few of the girls in the
revolution camps are as young as you, and many of them are not doing
camp work by their own choice."

"But I--" she began indignantly.

"Oh yes, in time you would be ransomed, and for a few minutes you
might think it romantic--the 'Bandit Bride,' the 'Rebel Queen,' the
'Girl Guerrilla,' and all that sort of dope,--but believe me, child,
by the time the ransom was paid you would be sure that north of the
line was the garden spot of the earth and heaven enough for you, if
you could only see it again!"

She gave him one sulky resentful look and dug her heel into Pat. He
leaped a length ahead of the roan and started running.

"You can pretend you are El Gavilan after a lark, and see how near you
will get!" she called derisively and leaned forward urging the black
to his best.

"You glorified gray-eyed lark!" he cried. "Gather her in, Pardner!"

But he rode wide to the side instead of at the heels of Pat and thus
they rode neck and neck joyously while he laughed at her intent to
leave him behind.

The corrals and long hay ricks of Granados were now in sight, backed
by the avenue of palms and streaks of green where the irrigation
ditches led water to the outlying fields and orchards.

"El Gavilan!" she called laughingly. "Beat him, Pat,--beat him to the
home gate!"

Then out of a fork of the road to the left, an automobile swept to
them from a little valley, one man was driving like the wind and
another waved and shouted. Rhodes' eyes assured him that the shouting
man was Philip Singleton, and he rode closer to the girl, grasped her
bridle, and slowed down his own horse as well as hers.

"You'll hate me some more for this," he stated as she tried to jerk
loose and failed, "but that yelping windmill is your fond guardian,
and he probably thinks I am trying to kidnap you."

She halted at that, laughing and breathless, and waved her hand to the
occupants of the car.

"I can be good as an angel now that I have had my day!" she said.
"Hello folks! What's the excitement?"

The slender man whom Rhodes had termed the yelping windmill, removed
his goggles, and glared, hopelessly distressed at the flushed,
half-laughing girl.

"Billie--Wilfreda!"

"Now, now, Papa Singleton! Don't swear, and don't ever get frightened
because I am out of sight." Then she cast one withering glance at
Rhodes, adding,--"and if you engage range bosses like this one no one
on Granados will ever get out of sight!"

"The entire house force has been searching for you over two hours.
Where have you been?"

"Oh, come along home to supper, and don't fuss," she suggested. "Just
because you hid my other saddle I went on a little _pasear_ of my own,
and I met up with this roan on my way home."

Rhodes grinned at the way she eliminated the rider of the roan horse,
but the driver of the machine was not deceived by the apparent slight.
He had seen that half defiant smile of comradeship, and his tone was
not nice.

"It is not good business to waste time and men in this way," he stated
flatly. "It would be better that word is left with the right ones when
you go over the border to amuse yourself in Sonora."

The smile went out of the eyes of the girl, and she held her head very
erect.

"You and Mr. Rhodes appear to agree perfectly, Mr. Conrad," she
remarked. "He was trying to show me how little chance I would stand
against El Gavilan or even the Yaqui slave traders if they ranged up
towards the border."

"Slave traders?" repeated Conrad. "You are making your jokes about
that, of course, but the camp followers of the revolution is a
different thing;--everywhere they are ranging."

The girl did not answer, and the car sped on to the ranch house while
the two horses cantered along after them, but the joyous freedom of
the ride had vanished, lost back there on the ranges when the other
minds met them in a clash.

"Say," observed Rhodes, "I said nothing about Yaqui slave traders.
Where did you get that?"

"I heard Conrad and his man Brehman talking of the profits,--sixty
pesos a head I think it was. I wonder how they knew?"

Singleton was waiting for them at the entrance to the ranch house,
great adobe with a patio eighty feet square in the center. In the old
old days it had housed all the vaqueros, but now the ranchmen were
divided up on different outlying rancherias and the many rooms of
Granados were mostly empty. Conrad, his secretary Brehman, and their
cook occupied one corner, while Singleton and Billie and Tia Luz with
her brood of helpers occupied the other.

Singleton was not equal to the large hospitality of the old days when
the owner of a hacienda was a sort of king, dispensing favors and
duties to a small army of retainers. A companionable individual he was
glad to meet and chat or smoke with, but if the property had been his
own he would have sold every acre and spent the proceeds in some city
of the East where a gentleman could get something for his money.

Conrad had halted a moment after Singleton climbed out of the car.

"I sent word to Rhodes to come up from La Partida because of the horse
shipment," he said looking across the level where the two riders were
just entering the palm avenue. "Because of that it would seem he is to
be my guest, and I have room."

"Oh, we all have room, more room than anything else," answered
Singleton drearily, "but it will be as Billie says. I see Pike's nag
here, and she always wants Pike."

The milky blue eyes of Conrad slanted towards Singleton in discreet
contempt of the man who allowed a wayward girl to decide the guests or
the housing of them. But he turned away.

"The telephone will reach me if there is anything I can do," he said.

Singleton did not reply. He knew Conrad absolutely disapproved of the
range boss being accepted as a family guest. Between Billie and
Captain Pike, who was a privileged character, he did not quite see how
he could prevent it in the case of Rhodes, although he was honestly so
glad to see the girl ride home safe that he would have accepted any
guest of the range she suggested.

"Papa Phil," she said smiling up into his face teasingly, "I'm on my
native heath again, so don't be sulky. And I have a darling new
namesake I've been making clothes for for a month, and I'll tell you
all about him if you'll give Mr. Rhodes and me a good supper. He is
Cap Pike's family, and will have the south corner room; please tell
Tia Luz."

And when Billie was like that, and called him "Papa Phil," and looked
up at him with limpid childish eyes, there was never much else to be
said.

"I'll show Rhodes his quarters myself, and you make haste and get your
habit off. Luz has been waiting supper an hour. Today's paper reports
a band of bandits running off stock on the Alton ranch, and it is on
the Arizona side of the border. That should show you it is no time to
ride out of sight of the corrals."

"Now, now! you know the paper raids aren't real raids. They'll have a
new one to get excited over tomorrow."

She ran away to be petted and scolded and prayed for by Tia Luz, who
had been her nurse, and was now housekeeper and the privileged one to
whom Billie turned for help and sympathy.

"You laugh! but the heart was melting in me with the fear," she
grumbled as she fastened the yellow sash over the white lawn into
which Billie had dashed hurriedly. "It is not a joke to be caught in
the raiding of Ramon Rotil, or any of the other accursed! Who could
think it was south you were riding? I was the one to send them north
in the search, every man of them, and Señor Conrad looks knives at me.
That man thinks I am a liar, sure he does! and the saints know I was
honest and knew nothing."

"Sure you know nothing, never could and never did, you dear old bag of
cotton," and Billie pinched affectionately the fat arm of Tia Luz and
tickled her under her fat chin. "Quick Luzita, and fasten me up.
Supper waits, and men are always raving wolves."

She caught up a string of amber beads and clasped it about her throat
as she ran across the patio, and Kit Rhodes halted a moment in the
corridor to watch her.

"White and gold and heavenly lovely," he thought as he rumpled his
crisp brown curls meditatively, all forgetful of the earnest attempts
he had just made to smooth them decorously with the aid of a damp
towel and a pocket comb. "White and gold and a silver spoon, and a
back seat for you, Kittie boy!"

Captain Pike emerged from a door at the corner of the patio. He also
had damp hair, a shiny face, and a brand-new neckerchief with indigo
circles on a white ground.

"Look at this, will you?" he piped gleefully. "Billie's the greatest
child ever! Always something stuck under the pillow like you'd hide
candy for a kid, and say,--if any of the outfit would chuck another
hombre in my bunk the little lady would raise hell from here to
Pinecate, and worse than that there ain't any this side of the
European centers of civilization. Come on in, supper's ready."

Rhodes hesitated at the door of the dining room, suddenly conscious of
a dusty blouse and a much faded shirt. His spurs clink-clanked as he
strode along the tiling of the patio, and in the semi-twilight he felt
at home in the ranch house, but one look at the soft glow of the
shaded lamps, and the foot deep of Mexican needlework on the table
cover, gave him a picture of home such as he had not seen on the
ranges.

Singleton was in spotless white linen, the ideal southern ranchman's
home garb, while the mistress of all the enticing picture was in white
and gold, and flushing pink as she met the grave appreciative gaze of
Rhodes.

"H'lo little Santa Claus," chirruped Pike. "It's just the proper caper
to set off my manly beauty, so I'm one ahead of Kit who has no one to
garnish him for the feast--and it sure smells like some feast!"

"Venison perhaps a trifle overdone, but we hope it won't disappoint
you," remarked Singleton. "Have this seat, Mr. Rhodes. Captain Pike
and Miss Bernard always chum together, and have their own side."

"Rather," decided Pike, "and that arrangement reaches back beyond the
memory of mere man in this outfit."

"I should say," agreed the girl. "Why, he used to have to toss me over
his head a certain number of times before I would agree to be strapped
in my high chair."

"Yep, and I carpentered the first one, and it wasn't so bad at that!
Now child, if you will pass the lemons, and Kit will pass the decanter
of amber, and someone else will rustle some water, I'll manufacture a
tonic to take the dust out of your throats."

"Everybody works but father," laughed Billie as the Chinaman sliced
and served the venison, and Tia Luz helped supply all plates, and then
took her place quietly at the lower end of the table and poured the
strong fragrant coffee.

Rhodes spoke to her in Spanish, and her eyes lit up with kindly
appreciation.

"Ah, very good!" she commented amicably. "You are not then too much
Americano?"

"Well, yes, I'm about as American as you find them aside from the
Apache and Pima and the rest of the tribes."

"Maybe so, but not gringo," she persisted. "I am scared of the Apache
the same as of El Gavilan, and today my heart was near to stop going
at all when we lose señorita and that black horse--and I say a prayer
for you to San Antonio when I see you come fetch her home again."

"Yes, the black horse is valuable," remarked Billie. "Huh! I might as
well be in a convent for all I get to see of the ranges these late
days. If anyone would grubstake me, I'd break loose with Cap here and
go prospecting for adventures into some of the unnamed ranges."

"You see!" said Tia Luz. "Is it a wonder I am cold with the fear when
she is away from my eyes? I have lived to see the people who go into
the desert for adventure, and whose bare bones are all any man looks
on again! Beside the mountain wells of Carrizal my own cousin's
husband died; he could not climb to the tank in the hill. There they
found him in the moon of Kumaki, which is gray and nothing growing
yet."

"Yes, many's the salt outfit in the West played out before they
reached Tinajas Altas," said Pike. "I've heard curious tales about
that place, and the Carrizals as well. Billie's father nearly cashed
in down in the Carrizals, and one of his men did."

"But that is what I am saying. It was Dario Ruiz," stated Tia Luz.
"Yes, señor, that was the time, and it was for the nameless ranges
they went seeking, and for adventures, treasure too; but--his soul to
God! it was death Dario was finding on that trail. Your father never
would speak one word again of the treasure of that old fable, for
Dario found death instead of the red gold, and Dario was _compadre_ to
him."

"The red gold?" and Cap Pike's eyes were alight with interest. "Why, I
was telling Kit about that today, the red gold of El Alisal."

"Yes, Señor Capitan, once so rich and so red it was a wonder in Spain
when the padres are sending it there from the mission of Soledad, and
then witches craft, like a cloud, come down and cover that mountain.
So is the vein lost again, and it is nearly one hundred years. So how
could Dario think to find it when the padres, with all their prayer,
never once found the trail?"

"I never heard it was near a mission," remarked Pike. "Why, if it had
a landmark like that there should be no trouble."

"Yet it is so, and much trouble, also deaths," stated Tia Luz. "That
is how the saying is that the red gold of El Alisal is gold bewitched,
for of Soledad not one adobe is now above ground unless it be in the
old walls of the hacienda. All is melted into earth again or covered
by the ranch house, and it is said the ranch house is also neglected
now, and many of its old walls are going."

"There are still enough left to serve as a very fair fortress,"
remarked Singleton. "I was down there two years ago when we bought
some herds from Perez, and lost quite a number from lack of water
before the vaqueros got them to La Partida wells. It is a long way
between water holes over in Altar."

"Sure," agreed Pike, "but if the old mine was near a mission, and the
mission was near the ranch of Soledad it should not be a great stunt
to find it, and there must be water and plenty of it if they do much
in cattle."

"They don't these days," said Singleton. "Perez sold a lot rather than
risk confiscation, and I heard they did have some raids down there. I
thought I had heard most of the lost mine legends of western Sonora,
but I never heard of that one, and I never heard that Fred Bernard
went looking for it."

The old woman lifted her brows and shrugged her shoulders with the
suggestion that Sonora might hold many secrets from the amicable
gentleman. But a little later, in an inquiry from Rhodes she
explained.

"See you, señor, Dario Ruiz was _compadre_ of Señor Alfredo Bernard,
Americanos not understanding all in that word, and the grandfather of
Dario was major-domo of the rancho of Soledad at that time the Apaches
are going down and killing the people there. That is when the mine was
lost. On the skin of a sheep it was told in writing all about it, and
Dario had that skin. Sure he had! It was old and had been buried in
the sand, and holes were eaten in it by wild things, but Don Alfredo
did read it, and I was hearing the reading of it to Dario Ruiz, but of
what use the reading when that mine bewitched itself into hiding?"

"But the writing? Did that bewitch itself away also?" demanded
Billie.

"How could I be asking of that when Dario was dead down there in the
desert, and his wife, that was my cousin Anita, was crazy wild against
Don Alfredo the father of you! Ai, that was a bad time, and Don
Alfredo with black silence on him for very sorrow. And never again in
his life did he take the Sonora trail for adventures or old treasure.
And it is best that you keep to a mind like his mind, señorita. He
grew wise, but Dario died for that wisdom, and in Sonora someone
always dies before wisdom is found. First it was two priests went to
death for that gold, and since that old day many have been going. It
is a witchcraft, and no blessing on it!"

"Well, I reckon I'd be willing to cross my fingers, and take the
trail if I could get started right," decided Rhodes. "It certainly
sounds alluring."

"I did go in once," confessed Pike, "but we had no luck, struck a
_temporale_ where a Papago had smallpox, and two dry wells where there
should have been water. My working pardner weakened at Paradones and
we made tracks for the good old border. That is no trail for a lone
white man."

"But the writing, the writing!" persisted Billie. "Tia Luz, you are a
gold mine yourself of stories, but this one you never told, and I am
crazy about it! You never forget anything, and the writing you _could_
not,--so we know you have the very words of that writing!"

"Yes, that is true too, for the words were not so many, and where some
words had been the wild things had eaten holes. The words said that
from the mine of El Alisal the mission of Soledad could be seen. And
from the door of Soledad it was one look, one only, to the blue
cañoncita where the alisal tree was growing, and water from the gold
of the rose washed the roots of that tree."

"Good God!" muttered Rhodes staring at the old lady who sat nodding
her head in emphasis until her jet and gold earrings were all
a-twinkle. "It was as easy as _that_,--yet no one found it?"

"But señor,"--and it was plain to be seen that Doña Luz was enjoying
herself hugely as the center of all attention, "the two padres who
made that writing met their death at that place--and it was said the
_barbaros_ at last killed also the grandfather of Dario, anyway he did
die, and the women were afraid to tell even a new padre of that
buried writing for the cause that it must have been accursed when it
killed all people. That is how it was, and that mission was forsaken
after that time. A Spaniard came up from Sinaloa and hunted gold and
built Soledad hacienda where that mission had been in that old time,
but no one ever found any more of gold than the chickens always are
picking, a little here, a little there with a gravel in the craw. No
señor, only once the red gold--red as flame--went out of Altar on a
mule to the viceroy in Mexico, and the padres never lived to send any
more, or see their brothers again. The men who dug that gold dug also
their grave. Death goes with it."

"Ugh!" and Billie shivered slightly, and looked at Rhodes, "don't you
go digging it!"

His eyes met hers across the table. It was only for an instant, and
then Billie got very busy with her coffee which she had forgotten.

"Oh, I'd travel with a mascot to ward off evil," he said. "Would you
give me a bead from your string?"

She nodded her head, but did not speak. No one noticed them, for Cap
Pike was telling of the old native superstition that the man who first
found an ore bed found no good luck for himself, though the next man
might make a fortune from it.

"Why," he continued in evidence, "an Indian who finds even a vein of
special clay for pottery doesn't blaze a trail to it for anyone else.
He uses it if he wants it, because his own special guardian god
uncovered it for him, but if it is meant for any other man, that other
man's god will lead him to it when the time comes. That is how they
reason it out for all the things covered by old Mother Earth. And I
reckon the redder the gold the more secret the old _barbaros_ would be
about it, for gold is their sun-god medicine, or symbol, or
something."

"With white priests scattered through Sonora for two centuries
one would suppose those old superstitions would be pretty well
eradicated," remarked Singleton.

Doña Luz glanced at him as at a child who must be let have his own
ideas so long as they were harmless, but Pike laughed.

"Lord love you, Singleton, nothing eradicates superstition from
the Indian mind, or any other mind! All the creeds of the earth are
built on it, and a lot of the white ones are still alive and going
strong! And as for priests, why man, the Indian priests are bred of
those tribes, and were here before the white men came from Spain. It's
just about like this: If 'Me und Gott' and the U-boats took a notion
to come over and put a ball and chain on all of so-called free
America, there might be some pacifist mongrels pretend to like it,
and just dote on putting gilt on the chain, and kow-towing to that
blood-puddin' gang who are raising hell in Belgium. But would the
thoroughbreds like it? Not on your life! Well, don't you forget
there were a lot of thoroughbreds in the Indian clans even if some
of their slaves did breed mongrels! And don't forget that the ships
from overseas are dumping more scrub stock on the eastern shores right
now than you'll find in any Indian rancheria either here in Pima or
over in Sonora. The American isn't to blame for all the seventeen
dozen creeds they bring over,--whether political or religious, and I
reckon that's about the way the heads of the red clans feel. They are
more polite than we are about it, but don't you think for a moment
that the European invasion ever changed religion for the Indian
thoroughbred. No sir! He is still close to the earth and the
stars, and if he thinks they talk to him--well, they just _talk to
him_, and what they tell him isn't for you or me to hear,--or to sit
in judgment on either, if it comes to that! We are the outsiders."

"Now, Cap," said Billie, "I'm going to take it away. It's too near
your elbow, and you have had a double dose for every single one you've
been handing out! You can take a rest until the others catch up. Tia
Luz, give him a cup of coffee good and strong to help get his politics
and religion straightened out."

Pike laughed heartily with the rest of them, and took the coffee.

"All right, dear little Buttercup. Any medicine you hand out is good
to me. But say, that dope about hidden ores may not be all Indian at
that, for I recollect that mountaineers of Tennessee had the same
hunch about coal veins, and an old lead vein where one family went for
their ammunition. They could use it and they did, but were mighty sure
they'd all be hoodooed if they uncovered it for anyone else, so I
reckon that primitive dope does go pretty far back. I'll bet it was
old when Tubal Cain first began scratching around the outcroppings by
his lonesomes."

Conrad sauntered along the corridor and seated himself, flicking idly
some leather thongs he had cut out from a green hide with a curved
sheath knife rather fine and foreign looking. Singleton called him to
come in and have coffee, but he would not enter, pleading his
evil-smelling pipe as a reason.

"It can't beat mine for a downright bachelor equipment," affirmed
Pike, "but I've scandalized this outfit enough, or thereabout, and
that venison has killed all our appetites until breakfast, so why hang
around where ungrateful children swat a man's dearest hobbies?"

"If you think you'll get rid of me that way you had better think
again," said Billie. "I don't mind your old smokes, or any other of
your evil ways, so long as you and Tia Luz tell us more bewitched mine
stories. Say, Cap, wouldn't it be great if that old sheepskin was
found again, and we'd all outfit for a Sonora _pasear_, and----"

"We would not!" decided the old man patting her hair. "You, my lady,
will take a _pasear_ to some highbrow finishing school beyond the
ranges, and I'll hit the trail for Yuma in a day or two, but at the
present moment you can wind up the music box and start it warbling.
That supper sure was so perfect nothing but music will do for a
finish!"

The men drifted out in the corridor and settled into the built-in
seats of the plazita, though Rhodes remained standing in the portal
facing inward to the patio where the girl's shimmering white dress
fluttered in the moonlight beside the shadowy bulk of Tia Luz.

He lit a cigarette and listened for the music box Pike had suggested,
but instead he heard guitar strings, and the little ripple of
introduction to the old Spanish serenade _Vengo a tu ventana_, "I come
to your window."

He turned and glanced towards the men who were discussing horse
shipments, and possibilities of the Prussian sea raiders sinking
transports on the way to France, but decided his part of that
discussion could wait until morning.

Tia Luz had lit the lamp in the _sala_, and the light streamed across
the patio where the night moths fluttered about the white oleanders.
He smiled in comical self-derision as he noticed the moths, but tossed
away the cigarette and followed the light.

When Captain Pike indulged the following morning in sarcastic comment
over Kit's defection, the latter only laughed at him.

"Shirk business? Nothing doing. I was strictly on the job listening to
local items on treasure trails instead of powwowing with you all over
the latest news reports from the Balkans. Soon as my pocket has a
jingle again, I am to get to the French front if little old U. S.
won't give me a home uniform, but in the meantime Doña Luz Moreno is
some reporter if she is humored, and I mean to camp alongside every
chance I get. She has the woman at the _cantina_ backed off the map,
and my future Spanish lessons will be under the wing of Doña Luz. Me
for her!"

"Avaricious young scalawag!" grunted Pike. "You'd study African
whistles and clicks and clacks if it blazed trail to that lost gold
deposit! Say, I sort of held the others out there in front thinking I
would let you get acquainted with little Billie, and you waste the
time chinning about death in the desert, and dry camps to that
black-and-tan talking machine."

Kit only laughed at him.

"A record breaker of a moon too!" grumbled the old man. "Lord!--lord!
at your age I'd crawled over hell on a rotten rail to just sit
alongside a girl like Billie--and you pass her up for an old hen with
a mustache, and a gold trail!"

Kit Rhodes laughed some more as he got into the saddle and headed for
the Granados corral, singing:

                _Oh--I'll cut off my long yellow hair
                  To dress in men's array,
                And go along with you, my dear
                  Your waiting man to be!_

He droned out the doleful and incongruous love ballad of old lands,
and old days, for the absurd reason that the youth of the world in his
own land beat in his blood, and because in the night time one of the
twinkling stars of heaven had dropped down the sky and become a girl
of earth who touched a guitar and taught him the words of a Spanish
serenade,--in case he should find a Mexican sweetheart along the
border!

For to neither of the young, care-free things, had come a glimmer of
fore-vision of the long tragic days, treasure trails and desert
deaths, primitive devotions and ungodly vengeance, in which the
threads of their own lives would be entangled before those two ever
heard the music of the patio again--together.

                  _If in Holland fields I met a maid
                    All handsome fond and gay,
                  And I should chance to love her
                    What would my Mary say?_

                  _What would I say, dear Willie?
                    That I would love her too,
                  And I would step to the one side
                    That she might speak with you!_

"Yes, you would--not!" he stated in practical prose to no one in
particular. "Not if you were our girl, would she, Pardner?"

Pardner tossed up his head in recognition of the comradeship in the
tone, and Kit Rhodes became silent, and rode on to the corrals,
happily smiling at some new thoughts.




CHAPTER III

A VERIFIED PROPHECY OF SEÑORITA BILLIE


That smile was yet with him when he saw the herd and the vaqueros
coming up from the water tanks, and noted Conrad and Tomas Herrara
talking together beside Conrad's automobile.

The beat of the many hoofs prevented the two men from noting one horse
near them, and words of Conrad came to him clearly.

"It has to be that way. You to go instead of Miguel. You have enough
English, you can do it."

Tomas Herrara muttered something, evidently reluctance, for again
Conrad's words were heard.

"But think of the _dinero_, much of money to you! And that fool swine
will not see what is under his nose. You can do it, sure you can!
There is no danger. The blame will be to him if it is found; my agent
will see to that. Not you but the gringo will be the one to answer the
law. You will know nothing."

He spoke in Spanish rapidly, while both men watched the approaching
vaqueros.

The smile had gone from Kit's face, and he was puzzled to follow the
words, or even trust his own ears.

"_Bueno_," said Herrara with a nod of consent. "Since Miguel is
hurt----"

"Whoa, Pardner," sang out Rhodes, back of them as he slid out of the
saddle. "Good morning, gentlemen. Do you say Miguel is hurt, Herrara?
How comes that?"

The face of Herrara went a curious gray, and his lips blue and
apparently stiff for he only murmured, "_Buenas dias_, señor," and
gulped and stared at Conrad. But the surprise of Conrad, while
apparent, was easily accounted for, and he was too well poised to be
startled unduly by any emergency.

"Hah! Is it you, Rhodes, so early? Yes, Miguel is reported hurt over
Poso Verde way. Not serious, but for the fact that he was the one to
go with you on the horse shipment, and now another must go. Perhaps
his brother here."

"Oh--ah--yes," assented Rhodes thoughtfully. He was not so old as
Conrad, and quite aware he was not so clever, and he didn't know their
game, so he strove as he could to hold the meaning of what he had
heard, and ended rather lamely: "Well, too bad about Miguel, but if
you, Tomas, are going instead, you had better get your war togs ready.
We start tonight from the Junction, and have three hours to get
ready."

"Three hours only!" again Herrara seemed to weaken. To start in three
hours a journey into the unknown far East of the Americano was beyond
his imaginings. He shrugged his shoulders, tossed his hands outwards
in despair, and turned toward the barns.

Conrad looked after him in irritation, and then smiled at Rhodes. He
had a rather ingratiating smile, and it the first time he had betrayed
it to Kit.

"These explosive Latins," he said derisively. "I think I can make him
reasonable, and you go forward with your own preparations."

He followed Herrara, leaving Kit staring after them wondering. His
glance then rested on the automobile, and he noted that it had not
merely come out of the garage for the usual work of the day. It had
been traveling somewhere, for the wheels were crusted with mud--mud
not there at sunset yesterday. And in that section of Pima there was
no water to make mud nearer than Poso Verde, and it was over there
Miguel Herrara had been hurt!

He had only three hours, and no time to investigate. There were rumors
of smuggling all along the line over there, and strange conferences
between Mexican statesmen and sellers of Connecticut hardware of an
explosive nature. He recalled having heard that Singleton was from
Connecticut, or was it Massachusetts? Anyway, it was over there at the
eastern edge of the country somewhere, and it was also where plots and
counter plots were pretty thick concerning ammunition; also they were
more complicated on the Mexican border. He wondered if Singleton was
as simple as he looked, for he certainly was paying wages to a mixed
lot. Also it was a cinch to run any desirable contraband from Granados
across to La Partida and from there hellwards.

He wondered if Singleton knew? But Singleton had a capable business
manager, while he, Rhodes, was only a range boss with the understanding
that he adjust himself to any work a white man might qualify for.

The mere fact that once he had sat at the family table might not, in
Singleton's eyes, warrant him in criticizing an approved manager, or
directing suspicion towards him. He might speak to Pike, but he
realized that Pike was not taken very seriously; only welcomed because
Billie liked him, and because an American ranch usually had the open
door for the old timers of his caliber.

Also Pike had told him plainly that he must not be expected to mix up
in the Mexican game for any reason whatsoever.

"I reckon it's up to us, Pardner," he decided, as he called directions
to the different men loading the wagons with oats and barley for the
stock on the trail. There were three mule teams ready for the railroad
junction where the cars were waiting on the siding, or would be by
night.

Some of the men were getting the mules straightened out in the harness
while others were roping horses in the corral. It would take most of
the home outfit to lead and drive them to the railroad, which meant
one lonely and brief period of hilarity at the only joint where
"bootleg" whiskey could be secured by the knowing, and a "movie"
theater could add to other simple entertainments for the gentle Juans
of the ranges. Neither Conrad nor Herrara were visible, and he
presumed the latter was making arrangements for the sudden and
unexpected departure from his family, but he knew he had not attempted
to ride home for a farewell greeting, because his horse still stood
near Conrad's automobile where he had first overheard that curious
conversation between the two men.

After a leisurely breakfast Pike was meandering towards the stock
yard on his mule with the intent to trail along to the Junction with
the boys. Rhodes, catching sight of him, looked hopefully but
unsuccessfully for Singleton. The minutes were slipping by, and no
definite instructions had been given him concerning the three car
loads of horses. Did Conrad mean to leave every detail until the last
moment and make difficulties for the new man? Was that the way he got
rid of the Americans he didn't want? He recalled the prophecy of
Billie that he would not hold his job. Well, he would show her!

With memories of the white and gold vision of the previous night, and
the guitar in the _sala_, and the moonlight touching all to
enchantment, he had fully decided that he would not only hold the job,
but on some future day he would be business manager. And he'd find
that lost mine or know the reason why, and he would----

For after all Kit Rhodes was only twenty-three and all of life ahead
of him for dreams! He was wondering what he could fetch back from the
East that would be acceptable to a witchy elf of a butterfly girl who
already had, to his simple estimate, all the requisites of a princess
royal.

Juanito came loping past, and Rhodes asked for his father.

"I am myself looking for him," said the boy. "He has there on his
horse all the things for Tio Miguel, but Miguel not coming, and I
wonder who goes? Maybe it will be me. What you think?" he asked
hopefully.

Kit did not answer, for Juanito's mention of the articles for Miguel
brought from home by Tomas, and still fastened to the back of the
saddle, drew his attention to the articles tied there--some clothing
badly wrapped, a pair of black shoes tied together with brown strings,
and under them, yet plainly visible, a canvas water bag.

There was nothing unusual in a water bag or a canteen tied back of any
saddle in the dry lands, it was the sensible thing to do, but Kit
found himself staring at this particular water bag stupidly,
remembering where he had seen it last. It had been only partly full
then, but now it was plump and round as if water-filled; yet one
glance told him it was not wet, and moreover, he had noted the day
before a hole in the side tied up in a hard knot by twine, and there
was the knot!

Yet it might be a stock of _pinole_, parched corn, as evidence of
Miguel's forethought against privation on the long eastern trail. He
could think of several reasonable things to account for an old water
bag tied to a Mexican's saddle, but reason did not prevent his glance
turning to it again and again.

The fear in Narcisco's eyes came back to him, and his attempt to cover
his harmless playthings at the coming of the unexpected American. He
wondered----

"Say, Bub, I've got ten dollars to invest in some little trinket for
Billie boy, and I want you to put it down in your jeans and invest it
in whatever it will cover," said Captain Pike at his elbow, clinking
the silver coin meditatively. "You'll have time to see plenty
attractive things for the money there in the streets of New York, or
Baltimore, or whichever of the dock towns you'll be heading for."

Rhodes accepted the coin, absently frowning.

"That's one of the dark secrets not yet divulged by this curious
management," he growled. "I'm to go, or so I was told, but have been
given no instructions. Where's Singleton?"

"Just rounded up for breakfast."

"Is he coming down here to the corrals?"

"Not that I could notice. Pedro got in from the Junction with last
Sunday's papers, and he and Billie have the picture sheets spread
around, having a weekly feast."

Kit strode over to his mount, and then halted, glancing towards the
house a half mile away, and then at the telephone poles along the wide
lane.

"Say, there's a telephone somewhere down here at the works, connecting
with the hacienda, isn't there?"

"Sure, in that hallway between the two adobes where the bunk house
ends and offices begin."

Kit started briskly towards the long bunk house, and then turned to
Pike.

"Do me a favor, Captain. Stay right there till I get back, and don't
let anyone take that Herrara horse away, or his load!"

"All right, but load!--why, the spotted rat hasn't got a load for a
jack rabbit, load!" and Pike sniffed disdain at the little knobs of
baggage dangling from the rawhide strings. He didn't think the subdued
animal needed watching--still, if Kit said so----

At the same time Kit was calling the house, and hearing in reply a
soft whistle of the meadow lark, and then a girl's laugh.

"Your music is good to listen to, Lark-child," he called back, "and
your ears are perfectly good at telling who's who, but this is a
strictly business day, and it is Mr. Singleton I need to speak with."

"Still holding your job, or asking for your time?" came the mocking
voice.

"You bet I'm holding my job, also I am on it, and want the boss."

"Well, sometimes you know the boys call me the boss. What can we do
for you, Mr. Kit Rhodes?"

"I'll use all three of my Spanish cuss words in a minute, if you don't
be reasonable," he thundered.

"Is that a bribe?" came sweetly over the wire, and when he muttered
something impatiently, she laughed and told him it was not fair to use
another language when he had promised Spanish.

"Listen to me, young lady, if I can't get Singleton on the wire I'll
get on a horse and go up there!"

"And you listen to me, young man, it wouldn't do you a bit of good,
for just now he is nearly having a fit, and writing telegrams about
something more important than the horse corrals."

"There is nothing more important this day and date," insisted Kit.

"Well, if you were as strictly a white dove advocate as Papa Singleton
is, and as neutral, and then saw a full page Sunday supplement of your
pet picture fraulein, working for your pet charity and sifting poison
into hospital bandages and powdered glass in jellies for the soldiers
of the Allies, I reckon you would change your mind."

"Powdered glass!--in _feed_!" repeated Kit, stunned at the words and
the sudden thought they suggested. "Great God, girl, you don't have
to go to the eastern papers for _that_! You've got the same trick
right here in Granados this minute! Why--damn you!"

The receiver fell from his hand as a crushing blow was dealt him from
the door at his back. He heard a girl's scream in the distance as he
grappled with Conrad and saved himself a second blow from the
automobile wrench in the manager's hands. It fell to the tiles between
them, and Rhodes kicked it to one side as he struck and struck again
the white, furious face of Conrad.

"The wrench! Tomas, the wrench! Give it to him! The Americano would
murder me!" shouted Conrad.

Tomas had other things to think of. He had heard as much as Conrad of
the telephone discourse, and was aware of his pinto standing placidly
not fifty feet away, with all the damning evidence in the case tied to
the back of the saddle!

Juanito, however, ran like a cat at his master's call and caught up
the wrench, but halted when Pike closed on his shoulder and pressed a
cold little circle of blue steel against his ribs.

"Not this time, _muchacho_!" he shrilled, "drop it! This is a man's
game, and you're out."

The men came running, and others attempted to interfere, but the
little old man waved the gun at them and ordered them to keep their
distance.

"No crowding the mourners!" he admonished them gleefully. "I've a
hunch your man started it, and my man will finish it. I don't know
what it's about, Kit, but give him hell on suspicion! Go to it,
boy,--do it again! Who-ee!--that was a sock-dolager! Keep him off
you, Kit, he's a gouger, and has the weight. Give it to him standing,
and give it to him good! That's it! Ki-yi! Hell's bells and them
a-chiming!"

For the finale of that whirl of the two striking, staggering, cursing
men, was unexpectedly dramatic. They had surged out into the open, but
Conrad, little by little and step by step, or rather stagger by
stagger, had given way before the mallet-like precision of the younger
man's fists until Kit's final blow seemed actually to lift him off his
feet and land him--standing--against the adobe wall. An instant he
quivered there, and then fell forward, glassy eyed and limp.

Singleton's car came whirling down the lane. Billie leaped from it
before it stopped, and ran in horror to the prone figure. One of the
older Mexicans tried to ward her off from the sight.

"No good, señorita, it is the death of him," he said gently. "One
stroke like that on the heart and it is--_adios_!"

"What in the name of God--" began Singleton, and Kit wiped the blood
from his eyes and faced him, staggering and breathless.

"Get him water! Get busy!" he ordered. "I don't think he's done for,
not unless he has some mighty weak spot he should have had labelled
before he waded into this."

The blood was still trickling from the cut in his head made by the
wrench, and he presented an unholy appearance as they stared at him.

"I'll explain, Singleton, for I reckon you are white. I'll--after
while----"

"You'll explain nothing to me!" retorted Singleton "If the man dies
you'll explain to a jury and a judge; otherwise you'd better take
yourself out of this country."

Kit blinked at those who were lifting Conrad and listening to his
heart, which evidently had not stopped permanently.

"But give me a chance, man!" persisted Rhodes. "I need some mending
done on this head of mine,--then I'll clear it up. Why, the evidence
is right here--powdered glass for the stock at the far end of the
trail--Herrara knows--Conrad's game--and----"

He did not know why words were difficult and the faces moved in
circles about him. The blood soaking his shirt and blouse, and
dripping off his sleeve was cause enough, but he did not even know
that.

"Take him away, Captain Pike," said Singleton coldly. "He is not
wanted any longer on either of the ranches. It's the last man I hire,
Conrad can do it in future."

"Conrad, eh?" grunted Kit weakly, "you're a nice easy mark for the
frankfurter game,--you and your pacifist bunch of near-traitors! Why
man----"

But Singleton waved him away, and followed the men who were carrying
Conrad to the bunk house.

"All right, _all_ right! But take care you don't meet with a nastier
accident than that before you are done with this game!" he said
shaking his fist warningly after Singleton, and then he staggered to
his horse where Pike was waiting for him.

He got in the saddle, and reeled there a moment, conscious of hostile,
watchful eyes,--and one girl's face all alone in the blur.

"Say," he said, "I heard you scream. You thought it was you I swore
at. You're wrong there. But you are some little prophetess,--_you_
are! The job's gone, and Herrara's got away with the evidence, and the
jig's up! But it wasn't you I cussed at--not--at--all! Come on, Pike.
This new ventilator in my head is playing hell its own way. Come
on--let's go by-bye!"




CHAPTER IV

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, José 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. Doña 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 Doña 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. "Doña 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_, señor. 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 Señor 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 Doña 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."




CHAPTER V

AN "ADIOS"--AND AFTER


Two days later in the blue clear air of the Arizona morning a sage hen
slipped with her young through the coarse grass by the irrigation
ditch, and a flock of quail raised and fluttered before the quick
rhythmic beat of a loping horse along the trail in the mesquite
thicket.

The slender gallant figure of his rider leaned forward looking,
listening at every turn, and at the forks of the trail where a clump
of squat mesquite and giant sahuarro made a screen, she checked the
horse, and held her breath.

"Good Pat, good horse!" she whispered. "They've got nothing that can
run away from us. We'll show them!"

Then a man's quavering old voice came to her through the winding trail
of the arroya. It was lifted tunefully insistent in an old-time song
of the mining camps:

                  _Oh, Mexico! we're coming, Mexico!
                  Our six mule team,
                  Will soon be seen,
                  On the trail to Mexico!_

"We made it, Pat!" confided the girl grimly. "We made it. Quiet
now--quiet!"

She peered out through the green mesquite as Captain Pike emerged from
the west arroya on a gray burro, herding two other pack animals ahead
of him into the south trail.

He rode jauntily, his old sombrero at a rakish angle, his eyes bright
with enthusiasm supplied by that which he designated as a morning
"bracer," and his long gray locks bobbed in the breeze as he swayed in
the saddle and droned his cheerful epic of the trail:

             _A--and when we've been there long enough,
             And back we wish to go,
             We'll fill our pockets with the shining dust
             And then leave Mexico!
             Oh--Mexico!
             Good-bye my Mexico!
             Our six mule team will then be seen
             On the trail from Mexico._

"Hi there! you Balaam--get into the road and keep a-going, you ornery
little rat-tailed son-of-a-gun! Pick up your feet and travel, or I'll
yank out your back bone and make a quirt out of it! For----"

                _My name was Captain Kidd as I sailed
                      As I sailed,
                My name was Captain Kidd,
                      As I sailed!
                My name was Captain Kidd
                And most wickedly I di-i-id
                All holy laws forbid
                      As I sailed!_

The confessor of superlative wickedness droned his avowal in
diminishing volume as the burros pattered along the white dust of the
valley road, then the curve to the west hid them, and all was silence
but for the rustle of the wind in the mesquite and the far bay of
Singleton's hounds circling a coyote.

But Pat pricked up his ears, and lifted his head as if feeling rather
than hearing the growing thud of coming hoofs. The girl waited until
they were within fifty feet, when she pursed up her lips and whistled
the call of the meadow lark. It sounded like a fairy bugle call across
the morning, and the roan was halted quickly at the forks of the
road.

"Howdy, señorita?" he called softly. "I can't see you, but your song
beats the birds. Got a flag of truce? Willing to parley with the
enemy?"

Then she emerged, eyeing him sulkily.

"You were going without seeing me!" she stated with directness, and
without notice of the quizzical smile of comradeship.

"Certainly was," he agreed. "When I got through the scrap with your
disciple of _kultur_, my mug didn't strike me as the right decoration
for a maiden's bower. I rode out of the scrap with my scratches,
taking joy and comfort in the fact that he had to be carried."

"There was no reason for your being so--so brutal!" she decided
austerely.

"Lord love you, child, I didn't need a reason--I only wanted an
excuse. Give me credit! I got away for fear I'd go loco and smash
Singleton for interfering."

"Papa Phil only did his duty, standing for peace."

"Huh, let the Neutral League do it! The trouble with Singleton is he
hasn't brains enough to lubricate a balance wheel,--he can't savvy a
situation unless he has it printed in a large-type tract. Conrad was
scared for fear I'd stumbled on a crooked trail of his and would tell
the boss, so he beat me to it with the lurid report that I made an
assault on him! This looks like it--not!" and he showed the slashes in
his sombrero to make room for the blue banda around his head. "Suppose
you tell that Hun of yours to carry a gun like a real hombre instead
of the tools of a second-story man. The neighbors could hear a gun,
and run to my rescue."

The girl regarded his flippancy with disapproval.

"He isn't my Hun," she retorted. "I could worry along without him on
our map,--but after all, I don't know a single definite thing against
him. Anyway, it's decided I've got to go away somewhere to school and
be out of the ranch squabbles. Papa Phil thinks I get in bad company
out here."

"Meaning me?"

"Well, he _said_ Captain Pike was demoralizing to the youthful mind.
He didn't mention you. And Cap certainly did go the limit yesterday!"

"How so?"

"Well, he went to the Junction for his outfit stuff----"

"Yes, and never showed up at the adobe until the morning star was in
the sky!"

[Illustration: "You poor kid, you have a hard time with the disreputables
you pick up."]

"I know," she confessed. "I went with him. We stayed to see a Hart
picture at the theater, and had the time of our young lives. At supper
I announced that I was going to adopt Cap as a grandfather,--and then
of course he had to go and queer me by filling up on some rank whiskey
he had smuggled in with the other food! My stars!--he was put to bed
singing that he'd 'Hang his harp on a willow tree, and be off to the
wars again'--You needn't laugh!"

But he did laugh, his blue eyes twinkling at her recital.

"You poor kid! You have a hard time with the disreputables you pick
up. Sure they didn't warn you against speaking to this reprobate?"

"Sure nothing!" was the boyish reply. "I was to be docked a month's
spending money if I dared go near Pedro Vijil's adobe again while you
were there, which was very foolish of Papa Phil!" she added
judicially. "I reckon he forgot they tried that before."

"And what happened?"

"I went down and borrowed double the amount from old Estevan, the
trader at the Junction, and gave him an order against the ranch. Then
Cap and I sneaked out a couple of three-year-olds and raced them down
in the cottonwood flats against some colts brought down by an old
Sierra Blanca Apache. We backed our nags with every peso, and that old
brown murderer won! But Cap and I had a wonderful day while our coin
lasted, and--and you were going away without saying good-bye!"

Kit Rhodes, who had blankly stated that he owned his horse and saddle
and little beyond, looked at the spoiled plucky heiress of Granados
ranches, and the laughter went out of his eyes.

She was beyond reason loveable even in her boyish disdain of
restriction, and some day she would come back from the schools a very
finished product, and thank the powers that be for having sent her out
of knowledge of happy-go-lucky chums of the ranges.

Granados ranches had been originally an old Spanish grant reaching
from a branch of the intermittent Rio Altar north into what is now
Arizona, and originally was about double the size of Rhode Island. It
was roughly divided into the home or hacienda ranch in Arizona, and La
Partida, the cattle range portion, reaching far south into Sonora.
Even the remnant of the grant, if intelligently managed, would earn an
income satisfactory for a most extravagant princess royal such as its
present chatelaine seemed to Rhodes.

But he had noted dubiously that the management was neither intelligent
nor, he feared, square. The little rancherias scattered over it in the
fertile valleys, were worked on the scratch gravel, ineffective Mexic
method by the Juans and Pedros whose family could always count on
mesquite beans, and _camotes_ if the fields failed. There was seed to
buy each year instead of raising it. There was money invested in
farming machinery, and a bolt taken at will from a thresher to mend a
plow or a buggy as temporarily required. The flocks of sheep on the
Arizona hills were low grade. The cattle and horse outfits were south
in La Partida, and the leakage was beyond reason, even in a danger
zone of the border land.

All this Kit had milled around and around many times in the brief
while he had ranged La Partida. A new deal was needed and needed
badly, else Wilfreda Bernard would have debts instead of revenue if
Singleton let things drift much longer. Her impish jest that she was
a damsel in distress in need of a valiant knight was nearer to truth
than she suspected. He had an idiotic hungry desire to be that knight,
but his equipment of one horse, one saddle, and one sore head appeared
inadequate for the office.

Thus Kit Rhodes sat his horse and looked at her, and saw things other
than the red lips of the girl, and the chiding gray eyes, and the
frank regret at his going.

It was more profitable not to see that regret, or let it thrill a man
in that sweet warm way, especially not if the man chanced to be a
drifting ranger. She was only a gallant little girl with a genius for
friendships, and her loyalty to Pike extended to Pike's chum--that was
what Rhodes told himself!

"Yes," he agreed, "I was going without any tooting of horns. No use in
Cap Pike and me hanging around, and getting you in bad with your
outfit."

"As if I care!" she retorted.

"You might some day," he said quietly. "School may make a lot of
difference; that, and changed surroundings for a year or two. But some
day you will be your own manager, and if I'm still on the footstool
and can be of service--just whistle, señorita."

"Sure!" she agreed cheerfully. "I'll whistle the lark call, and you'll
know I need you, so that's settled, and we'll always be--be friends,
Trail-hunter."

"We'll always be friends, Lark-child."

"I wanted Cap Pike to let me in on this prospecting trip, wanted to
put in money," she said rather hesitant, "and he turned me down cold,
except for a measly ten dollars, 'smoke money' he called it. I reckon
he only took that to get rid of me, which I don't call friendly, do
you? And if things should go crooked with him, and he--well--sort of
needs help to get out, you'll let me know, won't you?"

"Yes, if it seems best," he agreed, "but you won't be here; you'll be
shipped to a school, _pronto_!"

"I won't be so far off the map that a letter can't reach me. Cap Pike
won't ever write, but I thought maybe you----"

"Sure," agreed Rhodes easily. "We'll send out a long yell for help
whenever we get stuck."

She eyed him darkly and without faith.

"Wish I knew how to make that certain," she confessed. "You're only
dodging me with any kind of a promise to keep me quiet, just as Cap
did. I know! I'm jealous, too, because you're taking a trail I've
always wanted to take with Cap, and they won't let me because I'm a
girl."

"Cheer up! When you are boss of the range you can outfit any little
_pasear_ you want to take, but you and I won't be in the same class
then, Lark-child."

"Are you really going it blind, trailing with Cap into the Painted
Hills after that fascinating gold legend?" she demanded. "Or have you
some inside trail blazed for yourself? Daddy Pike is the best ever,
but he always goes broke, and if he isn't broke, he has a jug at his
saddle horn, so----"

"Oh it's only a little jug this time, and he's had a fare-you-well
drink out of it with everyone in sight, so there's only one hilarious
evening left in the jug now. Just enough for a gladsome memory of
civilization."

"Are you in deep on this prospect plan?" she persisted.

"Well, not that you could notice. That is, I've got a three months'
job offered me down at Whitely's; that will serve the captain as
headquarters to range from until we add to our stake. Whitely is
rounding up stock for the Allies down Mesa Blanca way, and Pike will
feel at home there. Don't you worry, I'll keep an eye on Pike. He is
hilariously happy to get into that region with a partner."

"I don't like it," she grumbled at him with sulky gray eyes. "Pedro
Vijil just came back from the south, and brought his sister's family
from San Rafael. They're refugees from the Federals because their men
joined Ramon Rotil, the rebel leader, and Merced is crying herself
crazy over the tales of war they tell. One of their girls was stolen,
and the mother and Tia Luz are both crying over that. So Papa Phil
says he's going to send me away where I won't hear such horrors. I
wish I was a man, and I'd join the army and get a chance to go over
and fight."

"Huh!" grunted Rhodes skeptically, "some more of us had hopes! Our
army officers are both praying and cursing to get a chance to do the
same thing, but they are not getting it! So you and I, little girl,
will wait till some one pitches a bomb into that dovery on the
Potomac. Then we'll join the volunteers and swarm over after our
people."

"Oh, yes, _you_ can! Men can do anything they like. I told you I was
jealous."

"Never mind, Lark-child," he returned soothingly. "If I get over with
a gun, you can come along and toot a horn. There now, that's a
bargain, and you can practice tooting the lark's call until the time
comes."

"I reckon I'll have plenty of time to toot myself black in the face
before you show up again at Granados," she prophesied ruefully, and he
laughed.

"Whistle an' I'll come to you, Lassie," he said with sudden
recklessness, "and that's for _adios_, Billie."

He held out his hand.

"That's enough, Rhodes," said a voice back of them, and Singleton
walked forward. "When you got your time, you were supposed to leave
Granados. Is this what you've been hanging around for during the past
week?"

Rhodes flamed red to his hair as he stared down at the elder man.

"I reckon I'll not answer that now, Mr. Singleton," he said quietly.
"You may live to see you made a mistake. I hope you do, but you're
traveling with a rotten bunch, and they are likely to use a knife or a
rope on you any time you've played the goat long enough for them to
get their innings. I'm going without any grudge, but if I was an
insurance agent, trying to save money for my company, I'd sure pass
you by as an unsafe bet! Keep on this side of the line, Singleton,
while the revolution is whirling, and whatever you forget, don't
forget I said it! _Adios_, señorita, and--good luck!"

"Good luck, Kit," she half whispered, "and _adios_!"

She watched him as he rode away, watched him as he halted at the turn
of the trail and waved his hand, and Singleton was quietly observing
her the while. She frowned as she turned and caught him at it.

"You thought he waited here, or planned to--to meet me," she flared.
"He was too square to tell you the truth, but it was I rode out here
to say good-bye, rode out and held him up! But I did not reckon anyone
would try to insult him for it!"

Her stepfather regarded her grimly. She was angry, and very near to
tears.

"Time you had your breakfast," he observed, "and all signs indicate I
should have sent you East last year, and kept you out of the
promiscuous mixups along the border. It's the dumping ground for all
sorts of stray adventurers, and no place for a girl to ride alone."

"He seemed to think I am as able to look after myself as you," she
retorted. "You aren't fair to him because you take the word of Conrad,
but Conrad lies, and I'm glad he got thrashed good and plenty! Now
I've got that off my mind, I'll go eat a cheerful breakfast."

Singleton walked silent beside her back to where his horse was grazing
by the roadside.

"Huh!" grunted the girl with frank scorn. "So you got out of the
saddle to spy? Haven't you some black-and-tan around the ranch to do
your dirty work?"

"It's just as well to be civil till you know what you are talking
about," he reminded her with a sort of trained patience. "I came out
without my breakfast just to keep the ranchmen from thinking what Tia
Luz thinks. She told me I'd find that fellow waiting for you. I didn't
believe it, but I see she is not so far wrong."

He spoke without heat or feeling, and his tone was that of quiet
discussion with a man or boy, not at all that of a guardian to a girl.
His charge was evidently akin to the horse ranch of Granados as
described by the old ranger: Singleton had acquired them, but never
understood them.

"Look here," said his protégée with boyish roughness, "that Dutchman
sees everything crooked, especially if there's an American in range,
and he prejudices you. Why don't you wake up long enough to notice
that he's framing some excuse to run off every decent chap who comes
on the place? I knew Rhodes was too white to be let stay. I saw that
as soon as he landed, and I told him so! What I can't understand is
that you won't see it."

"A manager has to have a free hand, Billie, or else be let go,"
explained Singleton. "Conrad knows horses, he knows the market, and is
at home with the Mexicans. Also he costs less than we used to pay, and
that is an item in a bad year."

"I'll bet we lose enough cattle to his friends to make up the
difference," she persisted. "Rhodes was right when he called them a
rotten bunch."

"Let us hope that when you return from school you will have lost the
major portion of your unsavory vocabulary," he suggested. "That will
be worth a herd of cattle."

"It would be worth another herd to see you wake up and show you had
one good fight in you!" she retorted. "Conrad has all of the ranch
outfit locoed but me; that's why he passes on this school notion to
you. He wants me out of sight."

"I should have been more decided, and insisted that you go last year.
Heaven knows you need it badly enough," sighed Singleton, ignoring her
disparaging comment on his own shortcomings. And then as they rode
under the swaying fronds of the palm drive leading to the ranch house
he added, "Those words of your bronco busting friend concerning the
life insurance risk sounded like a threat. I wonder what he meant by
it?"

The telephone bell on the Granados Junction line was ringing when they
entered the patio. Singleton glanced at the clock.

"A night letter probably," he remarked. "Go get your coffee, child,
it's a late hour for breakfast."

Billie obeyed, sulkily seating herself opposite Tia Luz--who was bolt
upright behind the coffee urn, with a mien expressing dignified
disapproval. She inhaled a deep breath for forceful speech, but Billie
was ahead of her.

"So it was you! You were the spy, and sent him after me!"

"_Madre de Dios!_ and why not?" demanded the competent Luz. "You
stealing your own horse at the dawn to go with the old Captain Pike. I
ask of you what kind of a girl is that? Also Mercedes was here last
night tearing her hair because of the girls, her sister's daughters,
stolen away over there in Sonora. Well! is that not enough? That Señor
Kit is also too handsome. I was a fool to send the medicine with you
to Pedro's house. He looked a fine caballero but even a fine caballero
will take a girl when she follows after. _I_ know! And once in Sonora
all trails of a girl are lost. I know that too!"

"You are all crazy, and I never saw him at Pedro's house, never!" said
the girl reaching for her coffee, and then suddenly she began to
laugh. "Did you think, did you make Papa Philip think, that I was
eloping like this?" and she glanced down at her denim riding dress.

"And why not? Did I myself not steal out in a shift and petticoat the
first time I tried to run away with my Andreas? And beyond that not a
thing under God had I on but my coral beads, and the red satin
slippers of my sister Dorotea! She pulled my hair wickedly for those
slippers, and I got a _reata_ on my back from my grandmother for that
running away. I was thirteen years old then! But when I was nearly
sixteen we did get away, Andreas and I, and after that it was as well
for the grandmother to pay a priest for us, and let us alone. Ai-ji!
señorita, I am not forgetting what I know! And while I am here in
Granados there must be nothing less than a grand marriage, and may the
saints send the right man, for a wrong one makes hell in any house!"

Billie forgot her sulkiness in her joy at the elopements of Tia Luz.
No wonder she distrusted an American girl who was allowed to ride
alone!

But in the midst of her laughter she was reminded that Singleton was
still detained at the telephone in the adjoining room, and that his
rather high-pitched tones betrayed irritation.

"Well, why can't you give the telegram to me? Addressed to Conrad? Of
course if it's a personal message I don't want it, but you say it is a
ranch matter--and important. Horses? What about them?"

Billie, listening, sped from the table to his side, and putting her
hand over the telephone, whispered:

"If Brehman, the secretary, was here, they'd give it to him. They
always do."

Singleton nodded to her, and grew decided.

"See here, Webster, one of our men was hurt, and Brehman took his
place and went East with that horse shipment. Mr. Conrad had to go
down in Sonora on business, and I am the only one here to take his
place. Just give me the message as you would give it to the secretary.
But you'd better type a copy and send by mail that I can put it on
file. All right? Yes, go ahead."

Billie had quickly secured paper and pencil, but instead of taking
them, Singleton motioned for her to write the message.

  Adolf Conrad, Granados Ranch, Granados Junction, Arizona. Regret
  to report September shipment horses developed ailment aboard
  vessel, fifty per cent dead, balance probably of no military use,

                                                  OGDEN, BURNS & CO.

Word by word Singleton took the message and word by word Billie wrote
it down, while they stared at each other.

"Developed ailment aboard vessel!" repeated Singleton. "Then there was
something wrong on shipboard, for there certainly is not here. We have
no sick horses on the ranch, never do have!"

"But these people?" and Billie pointed to the signature.

"Oh, they are the men who buy stock for the Allies, agents for the
French. They paid for the horses on delivery. They are safe,
substantial people. I can't understand----"

But Billie caught his arm with a gasp of horror and enlightenment.

"Papa Phil! Think--_think_ what Kit Rhodes said! _'Ground glass in the
feed at the other end of the road! Conrad's game--Herrara knows!'_
Papa Phil,--Miguel Herrara was killed--killed! And Conrad tried to
kill Kit! Oh he did, he did! None of the Mexicans thought he would get
well, but Tia Luz cured him. And Cap Pike never went out of sight of
that adobe until Conrad had left the ranch, and I know Kit was right.
I know it, I know it! Oh, my horses, my beautiful horses!"

"There, there! Why, child you're hysterical over this, which is--is
too preposterous for belief!"

"Nothing is too preposterous for belief. You know that. Everybody
knows it in these days! Is Belgium too preposterous? Is that record of
poison and powdered glass in hospital supplies too preposterous? In
_hospital_ supplies! If they do that to wounded men, why not to
cavalry horses? Why Papa Phil----"

"Hush--hush--hush!" he said pacing the floor, clasping his head in
both hands. "It is too terrible! What can we do? What? Who dare we
trust to even help investigate?"

"Well, you might wire those agents for particulars, this is rather
skimpy," suggested Billie. "Come and get some breakfast and think it
over."

"I might wire the office of the Peace Society in New York to----"

"Don't you do it!" protested Billie. "They may have furnished the
poison for all _you_ know! Cap Pike says they are a lot of traitors,
and Cap is wise in lots of things. You telegraph, and you tell them
that if the sickness is proven to have started in Granados, that we
will pay for every dead horse, tell them we have no sick horses here,
and ask them to answer, _pronto!_"

"That seems rather reckless, child, to pay for all----"

"I _am_ reckless! I am crazy mad over those horses, and over Conrad,
and over Kit whom he tried to kill!"

"Tut--tut! The language and behavior of Rhodes was too wicked for
anyone to believe him innocent. He was a beastly looking object, and I
still believe him entirely in the wrong. This loss of the horses is
deplorable, but you will find that no one at Granados is to blame."

"Maybe so, but you just send that telegram and see what we see!"




CHAPTER VI

A DEAD MAN UNDER THE COTTONWOODS


Billie was never out of hearing of the telephone all day, and at two
o'clock the reply came.

  PHILIP SINGLETON,       Rancho Granados, Arizona.

  Kindly wire in detail the source of your information. No message
  went to Granados from this office. No publicity has been given to
  the dead horse situation. Your inquiry very important to the
  Department of Justice.

                                              OGDEN, BURNS & CO.

"Very strange, very!" murmured Singleton. "No matter how hard I think,
or from what angle, I can't account for it. Billie, this is too
intricate for me. The best thing I can do is to go over to Nogales and
talk to an attorney."

"Go ahead and talk," agreed Billie, "but I'd answer that telegram
first. This is no township matter, Papa Phil, can't you see that?"

"Certainly, certainly, but simply because of that fact I feel I should
have local advice. I have a legal friend in Nogales. If I could get
him on the wire----"

An hour later when Billie returned from a ride, she realized Singleton
had gotten his friend on the wire, for she heard him talking.

"Yes, this is Granados. Is that you, James? Yes, I asked them to have
you call me. I need to consult with you concerning a rather serious
matter. Yes, so serious I may say it is mysterious, and appalling. It
concerns a shipment of horses. Conrad is in Sonora, and this subject
can't wait--no, I can't get in touch with Conrad. He is out of
communication when over there--No, I can't wait his return. I've had a
wire from Ogden and Burns, New York--said Ogden and Burns--All right,
get a pencil; I'll hold the wire."

There was a moment of silence, and if a telephonic camera had been
installed at Granados, Mr. Singleton might have caught a very
interesting picture at the other end of the wire.

A middle-aged man in rusty black of semi-clerical cut held the
receiver, and the effect of the names as given over the wire was, to
put it mildly, electrical. His jaw dropped and he stared across the
table at a man who was seated there. At the repetition of the name,
the other arose, and with the stealthily secretive movement of a
coyote near its prey he circled the table, and drew a chair close to
the telephone. The pencil and paper was in his hand, not in that of
"James." That other was Conrad.

Then the telephone conversation was resumed after Mr. Singleton had
been requested to speak a little louder--there seemed some flaw in the
connection.

In the end Singleton appeared much comforted to get the subject off
his own shoulders by discussing it with another. But he had been
convinced that the right thing to do was to motor over to the Junction
and take the telegrams with him for consultation. He would start
about eight in the morning, and would reach the railroad by noon. Yes,
by taking the light car which he drove himself it would be an easy
matter.

Billie heard part of this discourse in an absent-minded way, for she
was not at all interested as to what some strange lawyer in Nogales
might think of the curious telegrams.

She would have dropped some of that indifference if she had been able
to hear the lurid language of Conrad after the receiver was hung up.
James listened to him in silence for a bit, and then said:

"It's your move, brother! There are not supposed to be any mistakes in
the game, and you have permitted our people to wire you a victory when
you were not there to get the wire, and that was a mistake."

"But Brehman always----"

"You sent Brehman East and for once forgot what might happen with your
office empty. No,--it is not Singleton's fault; he did the natural
thing. It is not the operator's fault; why should he not give a
message concerning horses to the proprietor of the horse ranch?"

"But Singleton never before made a move in anything of management,
letters never opened, telegrams filed but never answers sent until I
am there! And this time! It is that most cursed Rhodes, I know it is
that one! They told me he was high in fever and growing worse, and
luck with me! So you yourself know the necessity that I go over for
the Sonora conference--there was no other way. It is that Rhodes! Yes,
I know it, and they told me he was as good as dead--God! if again I
get him in these hands!"

He paced the floor nervously, and flung out his clenched hands in
fury, and the quiet man watched him.

"That is personal, and is for the future," he said, "but Singleton is
not a personal matter. If he lives he will be influenced to
investigation, and that must not be. It would remove you from
Granados, and you are too valuable at that place. You must hold that
point as you would hold a fort against the enemy. When Mexico joins
with Germany against the damned English and French, this fool mushroom
republic will protest, and that is the time our friends will sweep
over from Mexico and gather in all these border states--which were
once hers--and will again be hers through the strong mailed hand of
Germany! This is written and will be! When that day comes, we need
such points of vantage as Granados and La Partida; we must have them!
You have endangered that position, and the mistake won't be wiped out.
The next move is yours, Conrad."

The quiet man in the habiliments of shabby gentility in that bare
little room with the American flag over the door and portraits of two
or three notable advocates of World Peace and the American League of
Neutrality on the wall, had all the outward suggestion of the small
town disciple of Socialism from the orthodox viewpoint. His manner was
carefully restrained, and his low voice was very even, but at his last
words Conrad who had dropped into a seat, his head in his hands,
suddenly looked up, questioning.

"Singleton can probably do no more harm today," went on the quiet
voice. "I warned him it would be a mistake to discuss it until after
he had seen me. He starts at eight in the morning, alone, for the
railroad but probably will not reach there." He looked at his watch
thoughtfully. "The Tucson train leaves in fifty minutes. You can get
that. Stop off at the station where Brehman's sister is waitress. She
will have his car ready, that will avoid the Junction. It will be
rough work, Conrad, but it is your move. It is an order."

And then before that carefully quiet man who had the appearance of a
modest country person, Adolf Conrad suddenly came to his feet in
military salute.

"Come, we will talk it over," suggested his superior. "It will be
rough, yet necessary, and if it could appear suicide, eh? Well, we
will see. We--will--see!"

                  *       *       *       *       *

At seven in the morning the Granados telephone bell brought Singleton
into the patio in his dressing gown and slippers. And Doña Luz who was
seeing that his breakfast was served, heard him express surprise and
then say:

"Why, certainly. If you are coming this way as far on the road as the
Jefferson ranch of course we can meet there, and I only need to go
half way. That will be excellent. Yes, and if Judge Jefferson is at
home he may be able to help with his advice. Fine! Good-bye."

When Doña Luz was questioned about it later she was quite sure Mr.
Singleton mentioned no name, his words were as words to a friend.

But all that day the telephone was out of order on the Granados line,
and Singleton did not return that night. There was nothing to cause
question in that, as he had probably gone on to Nogales, but when the
second day came and the telephone not working, Billie started Pedro
Vijil to ride the line to Granados Junction, get the mail, and have a
line man sent out for repairs wherever they were needed.

It was puzzling because there had been no storm, nothing of which they
knew to account for the silent wire. The line was an independent one
from the Junction, and there were only two stations on it, the
Jefferson ranch and Granados.

But Vijil forgot about the wire, for he met some sheep men from the
hills carrying the body of Singleton. They had found him in the
cottonwoods below the road not five miles from the hacienda. His car
he had driven off the road back of a clump of thick mesquite. The
revolver was still in his hand, and the right temple covered with
black blood and flies.

There was nothing better to do than what the herders were doing. The
man had been dead a day and must be buried, also it was necessary to
send a man to Jefferson's, where there was a telephone, to get in
touch with someone in authority and arrange for the funeral.

So the herders walked along with their burden carried in a _serape_,
and covered by the carriage robe. Pedro had warned them to halt at his
own house, for telephone calls would certainly gather men, who would
help to arrange all decently before the body was taken into the _sala_
of Granados.

There is not much room for conjecture as to the means of a man's
taking off when he is found with a bullet in his right temple, a
revolver in his right hand, and only one empty cartridge shell in the
revolver. There seemed no mystery about the death, except the cause of
suicide.

It was the same evening that Conrad riding in from the south,
attempted to speak over the wire with Granados and got from Central
information that the Granados wire was broken, and Singleton, the
proprietor, a suicide.

The coroner's inquest so pronounced it, after careful investigation of
the few visible facts. Conrad was of no value as a witness because he
had been absent in Magdalena. He could surmise no reason for such an
act, but confessed he knew practically nothing of Singleton's personal
affairs. He was guardian of his stepdaughter and her estate, and so
far as Conrad knew all his relations with the personnel of the estate
were most amicable. Conrad acknowledged when questioned that Singleton
did usually carry a revolver when out in the car, he had a horror of
snakes, and he had never known him to use a gun for anything else.

Doña Luz Moreno confused matters considerably by her statement that
Mr. Singleton was going to meet some man at the Jefferson ranch
because the man had called him up before breakfast to arrange it.
Later it was learned that no call was made from any station over the
wire that morning to Granados. There was in fact several records of
failure to get Granados. No one but Doña Luz had heard the call and
heard Singleton reply, yet it was not possible that this communication
could be a fact over a broken wire, and the wire was found broken
between the Jefferson ranch and Granados.

Whereupon word promptly went abroad among the Mexicans that Señor
Singleton had been lured to his death by a spirit voice calling over a
broken wire as a friend to a friend. For the rest of her life Doña
Luz will have that tale to tell as the evidence of her own ears that
warnings of death do come from the fearsome spirits of the shadowed
unknown land,--and this in denial of all the padres' godly discourse
to the contrary!

A Mr. Frederick James of Nogales, connected with a group of charitable
gentlemen working for the alleviating of distress among the many
border exiles from Mexico, was the only person who came forward
voluntarily to offer help to the coroner regarding the object of the
dead man's journey to Nogales. Mr. James had been called on the
telephone by Mr. Singleton, who was apparently in great distress of
mind concerning mysterious illness and deaths of horses shipped from
Granados to France. A telegram had come from New York warning him that
the Department of Justice was investigating the matter, and the
excitement and nervousness of Mr. Singleton was such that Mr. James
readily consented to a meeting in Nogales, with the hope that he might
be of service in any investigation they would decide upon after
consultation. When Mr. Singleton did not keep the engagement, Mr.
James attempted to make inquiries by telephone. He tried again the
following morning, but it was only after hearing of the suicide--he
begged pardon--the death of Mr. Singleton, that he recalled the fact
that all of Singleton's discourse over the telephone had been unusual,
excitable to a degree, while all acquaintances of the dead man knew
him as a quiet, reserved man, really unusually reserved, almost to the
point of the secretive. Mr. James was struck by the unusual note of
panic in his tones, but as a carload of horses was of considerable
financial value, he ascribed the excitement in part to that, feeling
confident of course that Mr. Singleton was in no ways accountable for
the loss, but----

Mr. James was asked if the nervousness indicated by Mr. Singleton was
a fear of personal consequences following the telegram, but Mr. James
preferred not to say. He had regarded Mr. Singleton as a model of most
of the virtues, and while Singleton's voice and manner had certainly
been unusual, he could not presume to suspect the inner meaning of
it.

The telegraph and telephone records bore out the testimony of Mr.
James.

The fact that the first telegram was addressed to the manager, Mr.
Conrad, had apparently nothing to do with the case, since the
telegraph files showed that messages were about evenly divided in the
matter of address concerning ranch matters. They were often addressed
simply to "Granados Rancho" or "Manager Granados Ranch." This one
simply happened to be addressed to the name of the manager.

The coroner decided that the mode of address had no direct bearing on
the fact that the man was found dead under the cottonwoods with copies
of both telegrams in his pocket, both written in a different hand from
his carefully clear script as shown in his address book. Safe in his
pocket also was money, a gold watch with a small gold compass, and a
handsome seal ring. Nothing was missing, which of course precluded the
thought of murder for robbery, and Philip Singleton was too mildly
negative to make personal enemies, a constitutional neutral.

Billie, looking very small and very quiet, was brought in by Doña Luz
and Mr. Jefferson of the neighboring ranch, fifty miles to the east.
She had not been weeping. She was too stunned for tears, and there was
a strangely ungirlish tension about her, an alert questioning in her
eyes as she looked from face to face, and then returned to the face of
the one man who was a stranger, the kindly sympathetic face of Mr.
Frederick James.

She told of the telegrams she had copied, and of the distress of
Singleton, but that his distress was no more than her own, that she
had been crying about the horses, and he had tried to comfort her. She
did not believe he had a trouble in the world of his own, and he had
never killed himself--never!

When asked if she had any reason to suspect a murderer, she said if
they ever found who killed the horses they would find who killed her
Papa Phil, but this opinion was evidently not shared by any of the
others. The report of horses dead on a transport in the Atlantic
ocean, and a man dead under the cottonwoods in Arizona, did not appear
to have any definite physical relation to each other, unless of course
the loss of the horses had proven too much of a shock to Mr. Singleton
and upset his nerves to the extent that moody depression had developed
into temporary dementia. His own gun had been the evident agent of
death.

One of the Mexicans recalled that Singleton had discharged an American
foreman in anger, and that the man had been in a rage about it, and
assaulted Mr. Conrad, whereupon Conrad was recalled, and acknowledged
the assault with evident intent to kill. Yes, he heard the man Rhodes
had threatened Singleton with a nastier accident than his attempt on
Conrad. No, he had not heard it personally, as he was unconscious
when the threat was made.

"It wasn't a threat!" interrupted Billie, "it was something different,
a warning."

"A warning of what?"

Billie was about to quote Kit's opinion concerning Singleton's ranch
force, when she was halted by a strange thing--for Billie; it was
merely the mild steady gaze of the quiet gentleman of the peaceful
league of the neutrals. There was a slight lifting of his brows as she
spoke of a warning; and then a slight suggestion of a smile--it might
have been a perfectly natural incredulous smile, but Billie felt that
it was not. The yellowish brown eyes narrowed until only the pupils
were visible, and warm though the day was, Billie felt a swift chill
over her, and her words were cautious.

"I can't say, I don't know, but Kit Rhodes had no grudge against Papa
Phil. He seemed in some way to be sorry for him."

She noted that Conrad's gaze was on the face of Mr. James instead of
on her.

"Sorry for him?"

"Y-yes, sort of. He tried to explain why, but Papa would not listen,
and would not make any engagement with him. Sent his money by Captain
Pike and wouldn't see him. But Kit Rhodes did not make a threat, he
did not!"

Her last denial was directly at Conrad, who merely shrugged his
shoulders as if to dispose of that awkward phase of the matter.

"It was told me so, but the Mexican men might not have understood the
words of Rhodes--he was in a rage--and it may be he did not mean so
much as he said."

"But he didn't say it!" insisted Billie.

"Very good, he did not, and it is a mistake of mine," agreed Conrad
politely. "For quite awhile I was unconscious after his assault,
naturally I know nothing of what was said."

"And where is this man Rhodes to be found?" asked the coroner, and
Conrad smiled meaningly.

"Nowhere,--or so I am told! He and a companion are said to have
crossed the line into Sonora twenty-four hours before the death of Mr.
Singleton."

"Well, unless there is some evidence that he was seen later on this
side, any threat he might or might not have made, has no relation
whatever to this case. Is there any evidence that he was seen at, or
near, Granados after starting for Sonora?"

No evidence was forthcoming, and the coroner, in summoning up,
confessed he was not satisfied to leave certain details of the case a
mystery.

That Singleton had discharged Rhodes in anger, and Rhodes had, even by
intimation, voiced a threat against Singleton could not be considered
as having any bearing on the death of the latter; while the voice of
the unknown calling him to a meeting at Jefferson's ranch was equally
a matter of mystery, since no one at Jefferson's knew anything of the
message, or the speaker, and investigation developed the fact that the
telephone wire was broken between the two ranches, and there was no
word at Granados Junction Central of any message to Granados after
five o'clock the afternoon of the previous day.

And, since Philip Singleton never reached the Jefferson ranch, but
turned his car off the road at the cottonwood cañon, and was found
with one bullet in his head, and the gun in his own hand, it was not
for a coroner's jury to conjecture the impulse leading up to the act,
or the business complications by which the act might, or might not,
have been hastened. But incomprehensible though it might seem to all
concerned there was only one finding on the evidence submitted, and
that was suicide.

"Papa Phil never killed himself, never!" declared Billie. "That would
be two suicides in a month for Granados, and two is one too many. We
never had suicides here before."

"Who was the other?"

"Why, Miguel Herrara who had been arrested for smuggling, was searched
and his gun taken, and yet that night found a gun to kill himself with
in the adobe where he was locked up! Miguel would not have cared for a
year or two in jail; he had lived there before, and hadn't tried any
killing. I tell you Granados is getting more than its share."

"It sure looks like it, little lady," agreed the coroner, "but
Herrara's death gives us no light or evidence on Singleton's death,
and our jurisdiction is limited strictly to the hand that held the
gun. The evidence shows it was in the hand of Mr. Singleton when
found."

The Jeffersons insisted that Billie go home with them, as the girl
appeared absolutely and pathetically alone in the world. She knew of
no relatives, and Tia Luz and Captain Pike were the only two whom she
had known from babyhood as friends of her father's.

The grandmother of Billie Bernard had been the daughter of a Spanish
_haciendado_ who was also an officer in the army of Mexico. He met
death in battle before he ever learned that his daughter, in the pious
work of nursing friend and enemy alike, had nursed one enemy of the
hated North until each was captive to the other, and she rode beside
him to her father's farthest northern rancho beyond the Mexican
deserts, and never went again to the gay circles of Mexico's capital.
Late in her life one daughter, Dorotea was born, and when Alfred
Bernard came out of the East and looked on her, a blonde Spanish girl
as her ancestresses of Valencia had been, the game of love was played
again in the old border rancho which was world enough for the lovers.
There had been one eastern summer for them the first year of their
marriage, and Philip Singleton had seen her there, and never forgot
her. After her widowhood he crossed the continent to be near her, and
after awhile his devotion, and her need of help in many ways, won the
place he coveted, and life at Granados went on serenely until her
death. Though he had at times been bored a bit by the changelessness
of ranch life, yet he had given his word to guard the child's
inheritance until she came of age, and had kept it loyally as he knew
how until death met him in the cañon of the cottonwoods.

But the contented isolation of her immediate family left Billie only
such guardian as the court might appoint for her property and person,
and Andrew Jefferson, Judge Jefferson by courtesy, in the county,
would no doubt be choice of the court as well as the girl. Beyond that
she could only think of Pike, and--well Pike was out of reach on some
enchanted gold trail of which she must not speak, and she supposed she
would have to go to school instead of going in search of him!

Conrad spoke to her kindly as she was led to the Jefferson car, and
there was a subtle deference in his manner, indicating his realization
that he was speaking--not to the wilful little maid who could be
annoying--but to the owner of Granados and, despite his five year
contract as manager, an owner who could change entirely the activities
of the two ranches in another year--and it was an important year.

He also spoke briefly to Mr. James offering him the hospitality of the
ranch for a day of rest before returning to Nogales, but the offer was
politely declined. Mr. James intimated that he was at Conrad's service
if he could be of any practical use in the mysterious situation. He
carefully gave his address and telephone number, and bade the others
good day. But as he was entering his little roadster he spoke again to
Conrad.

"By the way, it was a mistake to let that man Rhodes get over into
Sonora. It should be the task of someone to see that he does not come
back. He seems a very dangerous man. See to it!"

The words were those of a kindly person interested in the welfare of
the community, and evidently impressed by the evidence referring to
the discharged range boss. Two of the men hearing him exchanged
glances, for they also thought that rumor of the threats should have
been looked into. But the last three words were spoken too softly for
any but Conrad to hear.

The following week Billie went to Tucson with the Jeffersons and at
her request Judge Jefferson was appointed guardian of her person and
estate, after which she and the judge went into a confidential session
concerning that broken wire on the Granados line.

"I'm not loco, Judge," she insisted, "but I want you to learn whether
that wire was cut on purpose, or just broke itself. Also I want you to
take up that horse affair with the secret service people. I don't want
Conrad to be sent away--yet. I'd rather watch him on Granados. I won't
go away to school; I'd rather have a teacher at home. We can find
one."

"But, do you realize that with two mysterious deaths on Granados
lately, you might run some personal risk of living there with only
yourself and two women in the house? I'm not sure we can sanction
that, my child."

Billie smiled at him a bit wanly, but decided.

"Now Judge, you know I picked you because you would let me do whatever
I pleased, and I don't mean to be disappointed with you. Half the men
at the inquest think that Kit Rhodes did come back to do that
shooting, and you know Conrad and the very smooth rat of the Charities
Society are accountable for that opinion. The Mexican who dragged in
Kit's name is one of Conrad's men; it all means something! It's a bad
muddle, but Kit Rhodes and Cap Pike will wander back here some of
these days, and I mean to have every bit of evidence for Kit to start
in with. He suspected a lot, and all Granados combined to silence
him--fool Granados!"

"But, just between ourselves, child, are you convinced Rhodes did not
make the statement liable to be construed into a threat against Mr.
Singleton?"

"Convinced nothing," was the inelegant reply of his new ward. "I heard
him say enough to hang him if evidence could be found that he was
north of the line that morning, and that's why it's my job to take
note of all the evidence on the other side. The horses did not kill
themselves. That telegram concerning it did not send itself. Papa Phil
did not shoot himself, and that telephone wire did not cut itself! My
hunch is that those four things go together, and that's a combination
they can't clear up by dragging in the name of a man who never saw the
horses, and who was miles south in Sonora with Cap Pike when the other
three things happened. Now can they?"




CHAPTER VII

IN THE PROVINCE OF ALTAR


              _There was a frog who lived in the spring:
                Sing-song Kitty, can't yo' carry me, oh?
              And it was so cold that he could not sing,
                Sing-song Kitty, can't yo' carry me, oh?
                Ke-mo! Ki-mo! Dear--oh my!
                To my hi'--to my ho--to my----_

"Oh! For the love of Mike! Bub, can't you give a man a rest instead of
piling up the agony? These old joints of mine are creakin' with every
move from desert rust and dry camps, and you with no more heart in you
than to sing of springs,--cold springs!"

"They do exist, Cap."

"Uh--huh, they are as real to us this minute as the red gold that
we've trailed until we're at the tag end of our grub stake. I tell
you, Bub, they stacked the cards on us with that door of the old
Soledad Mission, and the view of the gold cañon from there! Why,
Whitely showed us that the mission door never did face the hills, but
looked right down the valley towards the Rio del Altar just as the
Soledad plaza does today; all the old Mexicans and Indians tell us
that."

"Well, we've combed over most of the arroyas leading into the Altar
from Rancho Soledad, and all we've found is placer gravel; yet the
placers are facts, and the mother lode is somewhere, Cap."

"Worn down to pan dirt, that's what!" grunted Pike. "I tell you these
heathen sit around and dream lost mission tales and lost mine lies;
dream them by the dozen to delude just such innocent yaps as you and
me. They've nothing else to do between crops. We should have stuck to
a white man's land, north into Arizona where the Three Hills of Gold
are waiting, to say nothing of the Lost Stone Cabin mine, lost not
twenty miles from Quartzite, and in plain sight of Castle Dome. Now
there is nothing visionary about _that_, Kit! Why, I knew an old-timer
who freighted rich ore out of that mine thirty years ago, and even the
road to it has been lost for years! We know things once did exist up
in that country, Kit, and down here we are all tangled up with
Mexican-Indian stories of ghosts and enchantments, and such vagaries.
I'm fed up with them to the limit, for everyone of them we listen to
is different from the last. We'll head up into the Castle Dome country
next time, hear me?"

"Sure, I hear," agreed Kit cheerfully. "Perhaps we do lose, but it's
not so bad. Since Whitely sent his family north, he has intimated that
Mesa Blanca is a single man's job, and I reckon I can have it when he
goes--as he will. Then in the month we have scouted free of Whitelys,
we have dry washed enough dust to put you on velvet till things come
our way. Say, what will you bet that a month of comfort around Nogales
won't make you hungry for the trail again?"

"A gold trail?" queried the weary and dejected Pike.

"Any old trail to any old place just so we keep ambling on. You can't
live contented under cover, and you know it."

"Well," decided Pike after a rod or two of tramping along the shaly,
hot bed of a dry arroya. "I won't bet, for you may be among the
prophets. But while you are about it, I'd be thankful if you'd
prophesy me a wet trail next time instead of skimpy mud holes where
springs ought to be. I'm sick of dry camps, and so is Baby Buntin'."

"_'Oh, there was a frog lived in the spring!'_" chanted Kit
derisively. "Cheer up, Cap, the worst is yet to come, for I've an idea
that the gang of Mexican vaqueros we glimpsed from the butte at noon
will just about muss up the water hole in Yaqui cañon until it will be
us for a sleep there before the fluid is fit for a water bottle. _'Oh,
there was a frog lived in the spring!'_ Buntin' Baby, we'll fish the
frog out, and let you wallow in it instead, you game little dusty rat!
Say, Pike, when we load up with grub again we'll keep further west to
the Cerrado Pintado. I'll follow a hunch of my own next trip."

The older man grunted disdain for the hunches of Kit, even while his
eyes smiled response to the ever-living call of youth. To Rhodes there
was ever a "next time." He was young enough to deal in futures, and
had a way with him by which friends were to be found for even unstable
venturings with no backing more substantial than a "hunch."

Not that Kit was gifted with any great degree of fatal beauty--men are
not often pretty on the trail, unwashed, unshaven, and unshorn--added
to which their equipment had reached the point where his most
pretentious garment was a square of an Indian _serape_ with a hole in
the middle worn as a poncho, and adopted to save his coat and other
shirt on the hard trail.

Cap Pike growled that he looked like a Mexican peon in that raiment,
which troubled Kit not at all. He was red bronze from the desert days,
and his blue eyes, with the long black lashes of some Celtic ancestor,
looked out on the world with direct mild approval. They matched the
boyish voice much given to trolling old-time ditties and sentimental
foolishness.

He led the dappled roan over the wild dry "wash" where the sand was
deep and slippery, and the white crust of alkali over all. Before him
swayed the pack mules, and back of him Captain Pike sagged on the
little gray burro, named in derision and affection, the Baby Bunting
of the outfit.

The jauntiness was temporarily eliminated from the old prospector. Two
months of fruitless scratching gravel when he had expected to walk
without special delay to the great legendary deposit, had taken the
sparkle of hope from the blue eyes, and he glanced perfunctorily at
the walls of that which had once been a river bed.

"What in time do you reckon became of all the water that used to fill
these dry gullies?" he asked querulously. "Why, it took a thousand
years of floods to wash these boulders round, and then leave them high
and dry when nicely polished. That's a waste in nature I can't figure
out, and this godforsaken territory is full of them."

"Well, you grouch, if we didn't have this dry bed to skip along, we
would be bucking the greasewood and cactus on the mesa above. So we
get some favors coming our way."

"Skip along,--me eye!" grunted Pike, as the burro toiled laboriously
through the sand, and Kit shifted and stumbled over treacherous,
half-buried boulders. "Say, Kit, don't you reckon it's time for Billie
to answer my letter? It's over eight weeks now, and mail ought to get
in once a month."

Rhodes grunted something about "mail in normal times, but these times
were not normal," and did not seem much interested in word from
Granados.

He had not the heart, or else had too much, to tell the old man that
the letter to Billie never reached her. When Whitely went north he put
it in his coat pocket, and then changed his coat! Kit found it a month
later and held it, waiting to find someone going out. He had not even
mentioned it to Whitely on his return, for Whitely was having his own
troubles, and could not spare a man for a four day trip to mail.

Whitely's folks lived north of Naco, and he had gone there direct
and returned without touching at Nogales, or hearing of the tragedy
at Granados. The latest news of the Mexican revolutions, and the
all-absorbing question as to whether the United States would or
would not intervene, seemed all the news the worried Whitely had
brought back. Even the slaughter of a dozen nations of Europe had
no new features to a ranchman of Sonora,--it remained just slaughter.
And one did not need to cross boundaries to learn of killings, for
all the world seemed aflame, and every state in Mexico had its own
wars,--little or big.

Then, in the records of the tumultuous days, there was scarce space
for the press or people to give thought after the first day or two, to
the colorless life going out in mystery under the cottonwoods of
Granados, and no word came to tell Rhodes of the suspicion, only half
veiled, against himself.

The ranch house of Mesa Blanca was twenty miles from the hacienda of
Soledad, and a sharp spur of the Carrizal range divided their grazing
lands. Soledad reached a hundred miles south and Mesa Blanca claimed
fifty miles to the west, so that the herds seldom mingled, but word
filtered to and from between the vaqueros, and Rhodes heard that Perez
had come north from Hermosillo and that El Aleman, (the German) had
made the two day trip in from the railroad, and had gone on a little
_pasear_ to the small rancherias with Juan Gonsalvo, the half-breed
overseer. The vaqueros talked with each other about that, for there
were no more young men among them for soldiers, only boys and old men
to tend the cattle, and what did it mean?

The name of Rhodes was not easy for the Mexican tongue, and at Mesa
Blanca his identity was promptly lost in the gift of a name with a
meaning to them, El Pajarito, (the singer). Capitan Viajo, (the old
captain), was accepted by Pike with equal serenity, as both men were
only too well pleased to humor the Indian ranch people in any friendly
concessions, for back of some of those alert black eyes there were
surely inherited records of old pagan days, and old legends of golden
veins in the hills.

The fact that they were left practically nameless in a strange
territory did not occur to either of them, and would not have
disturbed them if it had. They had met no American but Whitely since
they first struck Mesa Blanca. One month Kit had conscientiously stuck
to the ranch cares while Whitely took his family out, and Pike had
made little sallies into the hills alone.

On Whitely's return he had made an errand to Soledad and taken Rhodes
and Pike along that they might view the crumbled walls of old Soledad
Mission, back of the ranch house. The ancient rooms of the mission
padres were now used principally as corrals, harness shop, and storage
rooms.

The situation in itself was one of rare beauty;--those old padres
knew!

It was set on a high plain or mesa, facing a wide valley spreading
miles away to the south where mother-of-pearl mountains were ranged
like strung jewels far against the Mexican sky. At the north,
slate-blue foothills lifted their sharp-edged shoulders three miles
away, but only blank walls of Soledad faced the hills, all portals of
the old mission appeared to have faced south, as did Soledad. The door
facing the hills was a myth. And as Rhodes stood north of the old
wall, and searched its thirty-mile circle, he could understand how
four generations of gold seekers had failed to find even a clue to the
wealth those unknown padres had looked on, and sent joyous evidence of
to the viceroy of the south. It would take years of systematic search
to cover even half the visible range. A man could devote a long
lifetime to a fruitless search there, and then some straying burro
might uncover it for an Indian herder who would fill his poncho, and
make a sensation for a week or two, and never find the trail again!

"It's just luck!" said Kit thinking it all over as he tramped along
the arroya bed, "it either belongs to you, or it doesn't. No man on
earth can buy it and make it stay, but if it is yours, no man can keep
you from it entirely."

"What the devil are you yammering about?" asked Pike grumpily.

"Oh, I was just thinking of how Whitely exploded our little balloon of
hopes when he took us over to size up the prospects at Soledad. I
wonder if Perez has no white help at all around that place. We did not
even see the foreman."

"He's a half-breed, that Juan Gonsalvo. The Indians don't like him.
He's from down Hermosillo way, and not like these Piman children of
nature. He and Conrad are up to some devilment, but Whitely thinks
Juan took the job, deluded as we are, with the notion that a gold mine
was sticking up out of the ground at the Soledad corrals, and it was
to be his find. You see, Bub, that story has gone the length of
Mexico, and even over to Spain. Oh, we are not the only trailers of
ghost gold; there are others!"

The slanting sun was sending shadows long on the levels, and the hills
were looming to the east in softest tones of gray and amethyst; the
whitish green of desert growths lay between, and much of brown desert
yet to cross.

"We can't make the foothills tonight even though there is an early
moon," decided Kit. "But we can break camp at dawn and make it before
the sun is high, and the water will hold out that long."

"It will hold for Buntin' and the mules, but what of Pardner?" asked
the older man. "He's not used to this hard pan gravel scratching."

"But he's thoroughbred, and he can stand it twelve hours more if I
can, can't you, old pal?" The tall roan with the dot of black between
the eyes returned his owner's caress by nosing his bare neck, and the
hand held up to smooth the black mane.

"I'll be glad enough to see him safe across the border in old
Arizona," observed Pike. "I can't see how the herders saved him for
you at Mesa Blanca when their own stock was picked of its best for the
various patriots charging through the settlements."

"Some way, Miguel, the Indian vaquero, managed it, or got his girl to
hide it out. Whitely confessed that his Indian cattlemen are the most
loyal he can find down here."

"But it's not a white man's land--yet, and I'm downright glad he's
shipped his family north. There's always hell enough in Sonora, but
it's a dovecote to what it's bound to be before the end comes, and so,
it's no place for white men's wives."

"Right you are! Say, what was it Whitely heard down in Sinaloa
concerning the Enchanted Cañon mine?"

"Oh, some old priest's tale--the same dope we got with a different
slant to it. The gold nuggets from some shrine place where the water
gushed _muy fuerte_, by a sycamore tree. Same old nuggets sent out
with the message, and after that the insurrection of the Indians, and
the priests who found it never lived to get out. Why, Bub, that is
nearly two hundred years ago! Stop and think of the noble Castilians
going over Sonora with a fine tooth comb for that trail ever since and
then think of the nerve of us!"

"Well, I'm nearer to it anyway than the Dutchman who trekked in from
the south last year with copies of the old mission reports as guide,
for the Yaquis killed him, and took his records, while they hide my
horse for me."

"Huh! yes, and warn you to ride him north!"

"Correct;--but Pike, it was a warning, not a threat! Oh, I'm coming
back all right, all right! That gold by the hidden stream sure has got
me roped and hog tied for keeps."

Pike growled good-natured disdain of his confidence, and suggested
that the stream, which was probably only a measly mud hole, could have
dropped to purgatory in an earthquake tremor since those first old
mission days, or filled up with quicksand.

"Right you are, Cap. That's a first-rate idea," agreed Kit the
irrepressible. "Next trip we'll start looking for streams that were
and are not; we're in the bed of one now for that matter!"

"Somewhere ahead we should come into the trail south from Carracita,"
observed Pike, "but I reckon you'd just as soon camp with Pard out of
sight of the trail."

There was silence for a bit as they plodded on up the wide dry bed of
the river, and then Kit turned, glancing at the old man keenly.

"I didn't fool you much when I called that gang 'vaqueros,' did I?"
he observed. "Well, they didn't look good to me, and I decided I'd
have to fight for my horse if we crossed trails, and--it wastes a lot
of time, fighting does."

"No, you didn't fool me. You'd be seven kinds of an idiot to walk in
this gully of purgatory when you could ride safely on the mesa above,
so I guessed you had a hunch it was the friendly and acquisitive
patriots."

"Pike, they were between us and the Palomitas rancherias of Mesa
Blanca or I'd have made a try to get through and warn the Indians
there. Those men had no camp women with them, so they were not a
detachment of the irregular cavalry,--that's what puzzles me. And
their horses were fresh. It's some new devilment."

"There's nothing new in Sonora, son. Things happen over and over the
same."

The shadows lengthened, and the blue range to the east had sharp,
black edges against the saffron sky, and the men plodding along over
sand and between boulders, fell silent after the little exchange of
confidence as to choice of trail. Once Kit left the gully and climbed
the steep grade to the mesa alone to view the landscape over, but slid
and scrambled down,--hot, dusty, and vituperative.

"Not a sign of life but some carrion crows moving around in the blue
without flop of a wing," he grumbled. "Who started the dope that
mankind is the chosen of the Lord? Huh! we have to scratch gravel for
all we rake in but the birds of the air have us beat for desert travel
all right, all right!"

"Well, Bub, if you saw no one's dust it must be that gang were not
headed for Palomitas or Whitely's."

"They could strike Palomitas, and circle over to the east road without
striking Whitely's home corrals," said Kit thoughtfully.

"Sure they could, but what's the object? If it's cattle or horses
they're after the bigger ranch is the bigger haul?"

"Yes,--if it's stock they're after," agreed Kit somberly.

"Why, lad, what--what's got you now?"

"I reckon it's the damned buzzards," acknowledged the younger man. "I
don't know what struck me as I sat up there watching them. Maybe it's
their blackness, maybe it's their provender, maybe it was just the
loco of their endless drifting shadows, but for a minute up there I
had an infernal sick feeling. It's a new one on me, and there was
nothing I could blame it on but disgust of the buzzards."

"You're goin' too shy on the water, and never knew before that you had
nerves," stated Pike sagely. "I've been there; fought with a pardner
once,--Jimmy Dean, till he had to rope me. You take a pull at the
water bottle, and take it now."

Kit did so, but shook his head.

"It touches the right spot, but it was not a thirst fancy. It was
another thought and--O Bells of Pluto! Pike, let's talk of something
else! What was that you said about the Sinaloa priest story of the red
gold? You said something about a new slant on the old dope."

"Uh-huh!" grunted Pike. "At least it was a new slant to me. I've heard
over and over about uprising of Indians, and death of the two priests
who found their mine, but this Sinaloa legend has it that the Indians
did not kill the priests, but that their gods did!"

"Their gods?"

"Yeh, the special gods of that region rose up and smote them. That's
why the Indians barred out other mission priests for so long a spell
that no white man remembered just where the lost shrine of the red
gold was. Of course it's all punk, Bub, just some story of the heathen
sheep to hide the barbecuing of their shepherds."

"Maybe so, but I've as much curiosity as a pet coon. What special
process did their gods use to put the friars out of commission?"

"Oh, lightning. The original priests' report had it that the red gold
was at some holy place of the tribes, a shrine of some sort. Well, you
know the usual mission rule--if they can't wean the Indian from his
shrine, they promptly dig foundations and build a church there under
heavenly instructions. That's the story of this shrine of El Alisal
where the priests started to build a little branch chapel or _visita_,
for pious political reasons--and built it at the gold shrine. It went
down in the priests' letter or record as gold of rose, a deep red
gold. Well, under protest, the Indians helped build a shack for a
church altar under a great aliso tree there, but when lightning struck
the priests, killed both and burned the shack, you can see what that
manifestation would do to the Indian mind."

Kit halted, panting from the heart-wearying trail, and looked Pike
over disgustedly.

"Holy mackerel! Pike, haven't you _any_ imagination? You've had this
new side to the story for over a month and never even cheeped about
it! I heard you and Whitely talking out on the porch, but I didn't
hear this!"

"Why, Bub, it's just the same old story, everyone of them have half a
dozen different sides to it."

"But this one explains things, this one has logic, this one blazes a
trail!" declared the enthusiast. "This one explains good and plenty
why no Indian has ever cheeped about it, no money could bribe him to
it. Can't you see? Of course that lightning was sent by their wrathy
gods, of course it was! But do you note that place of the gold, and
place of the shrine where the water rises, is also some point where
there is a dyke of iron ore near, a magnet for the lightning? And that
is not here in those sandy mesas and rocky barrancas--it's to the west
in the hills, Pike. Can't you see that?"

"Too far from the old north and south trail, Bub. There was nothing to
take padres so far west to the hills. The Indians didn't even live
there; only strayed up for nuts and hunting in the season."

"Save your breath!" jeered Kit. "It's me to hike back to Mesa Blanca
and offer service at fifty dollars per, and live like a miser until we
can hit the trail again. I may find a tenderfoot to buy that valley
tract of mine up in Yuma, and get cash out of that. Oh, we will get
the finances somehow! I'll write a lawyer soon as we get back to
Whitely's--God! what's that?"

They halted, holding breath to listen.

"A coyote," said Pike.

"No, only one animal screams like that--a wildcat in the timber. But
it's no wildcat."

Again the sound came. It was either from a distance or else muffled
by the barrier of the hill, a blood-curdling scream of sickening
terror.

A cold chill struck the men as they looked at each other.

"The carrion crows knew!" said Kit. "You hold the stock, Pike."

He quickly slipped his rifle from its case, and started up the knoll.

"The stock will stand," said Pike. "I'm with you."

As the two men ran upward to the summit and away from the crunching of
their own little outfit in the bed of the dry river, they were struck
by the sound of clatter of hoofs and voices.

"Bub, do you know where we are?" asked Pike--"this draw slants south
and has brought us fair into the Palomitas trail where it comes into
the old Yaqui trail, and on south to hell."

"To hell it is, if it's the slavers again after women," said Kit.
"Come quiet."

They reached the summit where cacti and greasewood served as shield,
and slightly below them they saw, against the low purple hills, clouds
of dust making the picture like a vision and not a real thing, a line
of armed horsemen as outpost guards, and men with roped arms stumbling
along on foot slashed at occasionally with a _reata_ to hasten their
pace. Women and girls were there, cowed and drooping, with torn
garments and bare feet. Forty prisoners in all Kit counted of those
within range, ere the trail curved around the bend of a hill.

"But that scream?" muttered Kit. "All those women are silent as death,
but that scream?" Then he saw.

One girl was in the rear, apart from the rest of the group. A
blond-bearded man spurred his horse against her, and a guard lashed at
her to keep her behind. Her scream of terror was lest she be separated
from that most woeful group of miserables. The horse was across the
road, blocking it, as the man with the light beard slid from the
saddle and caught her.

Kit's gun was thrown into position as Pike caught his hand.

"_No!_" he said. "Look at her!"

For the Indian girl was quicker far. From the belt of her assailant
she grasped a knife and lunged at his face as he held her. His one
hand went to his cheek where the blood streamed, and his other to his
revolver.

But even there she was before him, for she held the knife in both
hands against her breast, and threw herself forward in the haze of
dust.

The other guard dismounted and stared at the still figure on the
trail, then kicked her over until he could see her face. One look was
enough. He jerked the knife from the dead body, wiped it on her
_manta_, and turned to tie a handkerchief over the cheek of the
wounded horseman.

Kit muttered an oath of horror, and hastily drew the field glass from
its case to stare at the man whose beard, a false one, had been torn
off in the struggle. It was not easy to re-adjust it so that it would
not interfere with the bandage, and thus he had a very fair view of
the man's features, and his thoughts were of Billie's words to Conrad
concerning slave raids in Sonora. Had Billie really suspected, or had
she merely connected his Mexican friends with reports of raids for
girls in the little Indian pueblos?

Pike reached for the glass, but by the time he could focus it to fit
his eyes, the man had re-mounted, riding south, and there was only the
dead girl left there where she fell, an Indian girl they both knew,
Anita, daughter of Miguel, the major-domo of Mesa Blanca, whose own
little rancheria was with the Pimans at Palomitas.

"Look above, Cap," said Kit.

Above two pair of black wings swept in graceful curves against the
saffron sky--waiting!

Rhodes went back to the outfit for pick and shovel, and when twilight
fell they made a grave there in the dusky cañon of the desert.




CHAPTER VIII

THE SLAVE TRAIL


They camped that night in the barranca, and next morning a thin blue
smoke a mile away drew Kit out on the roan even in the face of the
heat to be, and the water yet to find. He hoped to discover someone
who had been more fortunate in escape.

He found instead an Indian he knew, one whose gray hair was matted
with blood and who stood as if dazed by terror at sound of hoofs. It
was Miguel, the Pima head man of Mesa Blanca.

"Why, Miguel, don't you know me?" asked Kit.

The eyes of the man had a strange look, and he did not answer. But he
did move hesitatingly to the horse and stroked it.

"_Caballo_," he said. "_Muy bueno, caballo._"

"Yes," agreed Pardner's rider, "very good always."

"_Si_ señor, always."

Kit swung from the saddle, and patted the old man's shoulder. He was
plainly dazed from either a hurt, or shock, and would without doubt
die if left alone.

"Come, you ride, and we'll go to camp, then find water," suggested
Kit. "Camp here no good. Come help me find water."

That appeal penetrated the man's mind more clearly. Miguel had been
the well-trusted one of the Indian vaqueros, used to a certain
dependence put upon him, and he straightened his shoulders for a
task.

"_Si_ señor, a good padrone are you, and water it will be found for
you." He was about to mount when he halted, bewildered, and looked
about him as if in search.

"All--my people--" he said brokenly. "My children of me--my child!"

Kit knew that his most winning child lay newly covered under the sand
and stones he had gathered by moonlight to protect the grave from
coyotes.

But there was a rustle back of him and a black-eyed elf, little more
than a child, was standing close, shaking the sand from her hair.

"I am hearing you speak. I know it is you, and I come," she said.

It was Tula, the younger daughter of Miguel,--one who had carried them
water from the well on her steady head, and played with the babies on
the earthen floors at the pueblo of Palomitas.

But the childish humors were gone, and her face wore the Indian mask
of any age.

"Tell me," said Kit.

"It is at Palomitas. I was in the willows by the well when they came,
Juan Gonsalvo and El Aleman, and strange soldiers. All the women
scream and make battle, also the men, and that is when my father is
hurt in the head, that is when they are taking my mother, and Anita,
my sister. Some are hiding. And El Aleman and Juan Gonsalvo make the
count, and sent the men for search. That is how it was."

"Why do you say El Aleman?" asked Rhodes.

"I seeing him other time with Don José, and hearing how he talk. Also
Anita knowing him, and scream his name--'Don Adolf!'--when he catch
her. Juan Gonsalvo has a scarf tied over the face--all but the eyes,
but the Don Adolf has the face now covered with hairs and I seeing
him. They take all the people. My father is hurt, but lives. He tries
to follow and is much sick. My mother is there, and Anita, my sister,
is there. He thinks it better to find them--it is his head is sick. He
walks far beside me, and does not know me."

"You are hungry?"

She showed him a few grains of parched corn tied up in the corner of
her _manta_. "Water I have, and roots of the sand."

"Water," repeated Miguel mechanically. "Yes, I am the one who knows
where it comes. I am the one to show you."

The eyes of the girl met Kit's gaze of understanding.

"The hurt is of his head," she stated again. "In the night he made
speech of strange old-time things, secret things, and of fear."

"So? Well, it was a bad night for old men and Indian girls in the
desert. Let's be moving."

Tula picked up her hidden wicker water bottle and trudged on sandaled
feet beside Kit. Miguel went into a heap in the saddle, dazed,
muttering disjointed Indian words, only one was repeated often enough
to make an impression,--it was Cajame.

"What is Cajame?" he asked the girl, and she gave him a look of
tolerance.

"He was of chiefs the most great. He was killed for his people. He was
the father of my father."

Kit tried to recall where he had heard the name, but failed. No one
had chanced to mention that Miguel, the peaceful Piman, had any claims
on famous antecedents. He had always seemed a grave, silent man,
intent only on herding the stock and caring for the family, at the
little cluster of adobes by the well of Palomitas. It was about two
miles from the ranch house, but out of sight. An ancient river hill
terminated in a tall white butte at the junction of two arroyas, and
the springs feeding them were the deciding influence regarding
location of dwellings. Rhodes could quickly perceive how a raid could
be made on Palomitas and, if no shots were fired, not be suspected at
the ranch house of Mesa Blanca.

The vague sentences of Miguel were becoming more connected, and Kit,
holding him in the saddle, was much puzzled by some of them.

"It is so, and we are yet dying," he muttered as he swayed in the
saddle. "We, the Yaqui, are yet dumb as our fathers bade. But it is
the end, señor, and the red gold of Alisal is our own, and----"

Then his voice dwindled away in mutterings and Rhodes saw that the
Indian girl was very alert, but watching him rather than her father as
she padded along beside him.

"Where is it--Alisal?" he asked carelessly, and her velvet-black eyes
narrowed.

"I think not anyone is knowing. It is also evil to speak of that
place," she said.

"What makes the evil?"

"Maybe so the padres. I no knowing, what you think?"

But they had reached the place of camp where Cap Pike had the packs on
the animals, waiting and restless.

"Well, you're a great little collector, Bub," he observed. "You start
out on the bare sand and gravel and raise a right pert family. Who's
your friend?"

Despite his cynical comment, he was brisk enough with help when Miguel
slid to the ground, ashen gray, and senseless.

"Now we are up against trouble, with an old cripple and a petticoat to
tote, and water the other side of the range."

But he poured a little of the precious fluid down the throat of the
Indian, who recovered, but stared about vacantly.

"Yes, señor," he said nodding his head when his eyes rested on Rhodes,
"as you say--it is for the water--as you say--it is the end--for the
Yaqui. Dead is Cajame--die all we by the Mexican! To you, señor, my
child, and El Alisal of the gold of the rose. So it will be, señor. It
is the end--the water is there, señor. It is to you."

"That's funny," remarked Pike, "he's gone loony and talking of old
chief Cajame of the Yaquis. He was hanged by the Mexican government
for protesting against loot by the officials. A big man he was,
nothing trifling about Cajame! That old Indian had eighty thousand in
gold in a government bank. Naturally the Christian rulers couldn't
stand for that sort of shiftlessness in a heathen! Years ago it was
they burned him out, destroyed his house and family;--the whole thing
was hellish."

The girl squatting in the sand, never took her eyes off Pike's face.
It was not so much the words, but the tone and expression she gave
note to, and then she arose and moved over beside her father.

"No," she said stolidly, "it is his families here, Yaqui me--no Pima!
Hiding he was when young, hiding with Pima men all safe. The padre of
me is son to Cajame,--only to you it is told, you Americano!"

Her eyes were pitiful in their strained eagerness, striving with all
her shocked troubled soul to read the faces of the two men, and
staking all her hopes of safety in her trust.

"You bet we're Americano, Tula, and so will you be when we get you
over the border," stated Rhodes recklessly. "I don't know how we are
going to do it, Cap, but I swear I'm not going to let a plucky little
girl like that go adrift to be lifted by the next gang of raiders. We
need a mascot anyway, and she is going to be it."

"You're a nice sort of seasoned veteran, Bub," admitted Pike dryly,
"but in adopting a family it might be as well to begin with a he
mascot instead of what you've picked. A young filly like that might
turn hoodoo."

"I reckon I'd have halted for a sober second thought if it hadn't been
for that other girl under the stones down there," agreed Rhodes. "But
shucks!--with all the refugees we're feeding across the line where's
the obstacle to this one?"

The old prospector was busy with the wounded head for the Indian and
had no reply ready, but shook his head ominously. Rhodes scowled and
began uncoiling a _reata_ in case it would be needed to tie Miguel in
the saddle.

"We've got to get some hustle to this outfit," he observed glancing at
the sun. "It's too far to take them back to Whitely's, and water has
to be had. We are really nearer to Soledad!"

The Indian girl came closer to him, speaking in a low, level manner,
strange and secretive, yet not a whisper.

"He does know--and water is there at that place," she said. "In the
night I am hearing him speak all what the ancients hide. He no can
walk to that place, maybe I no can walk, but go you for the gold in
the hidden cañon. You are Americano,--strong,--is it not? A brave
heart and much of gold of rose would bring safe again the mother of me
and my sister! All this I listen to in the night. For them the gold of
rose by the hidden water is to be uncovered again. But see, his hands
are weak, his head is like the _niño_ in the reed basket. A stronger
heart must find the way--it is you."

Lowly, haltingly, she kept on that level-voiced decision. It was
evident that the ravings of her father through the long hours of the
dreadful night had filled her mind with his one desire: to dare the
very gods that the red gold might be uncovered again, and purchase
freedom for the Indians on the exile road to the coast.

So low were her words that even Cap Pike, a rod away, only heard the
voice, but not the subject. It was further evident that she meant but
the one man to hear. Pike had white hair and to her mind was, like her
father, to be protected from responsibilities, but Rhodes loomed
strong and kind, and braced by youth for any task.

Rhodes looked at her pityingly, and patted her head.

"I reckon we're all a little loco, kid," he observed. "You're so
paralyzed with the hell you saw, and his ravings that you think his
dope of the gold is all gospel, but it's only a dream, sister,--a sick
man's fancy, though you sure had me going for a minute, plum
hypnotized by the picture."

"It is to hide always," she said. "No man must know. No other eyes
must see, only you!"

"Sure," he agreed.

"You promising all?"

"Sure again! Just to comfort you I promise that when I find the gold
of El Alisal I will use it to help get your people."

"Half," she decided. "Half to you."

"Half it is! You're a great little planner for your size, kid. Too bad
it's only a dream."

Cap Pike rose to his feet, and gave a hand to Miguel, who reeled, and
then steadied himself gradually.

"Most thanks, señor," he whispered, "and when we reach the water----"

They helped him into the saddle, and Rhodes walked beside, holding him
as he swayed.

They passed the new-made grave in the sand, and Rhodes turned to the
girl. "Sister," he said, "lift two stones and add to that pile there,
one for you and one for your father. Also look around and remember
this place."

"I am no forgetting it," she said as she lifted a stone and placed it
as he told her. "It is here the exile trail. I mark the place where
you take for me the Americano road, and not the south road of the
lost. So it is,--these stone make witness."

"I'll be shot if I don't believe you _are_ old Cajames stock," said
Cap Pike staring at her, and then meeting the gaze of Rhodes in wonder
at her clear-cut summing up of the situation. "But he was a handful
for the government in his day, Bub, and I'm hornswaggled if I'd pick
out his breed for a kindergarten."

The girl heard and understood at least the jocular tenor of his
meaning, but no glance in his direction indicated it. She placed the
second stone, and then in obedience to Rhodes she looked back the way
she had come where the desert growth crisped in the waves of heat. On
one side lay the low, cactus-dotted hillocks, and on the other the
sage green and dull yellow faded into the blue mists of the eastern
range.

"I am no forgetting it, this place ever," she said and then lifted her
water bottle and trudged on beside Rhodes. "It is where my trail
begins, with you."

Cape Pike grinned at the joke on the boy, for it looked as if the
Yaqui girl were adopting _him_!




CHAPTER IX

A MEETING AT YAQUI WELL


Good luck was with them, for the water hole in Yaqui cañon had not
been either muddied or exhausted, evidence that the raiders had not
ranged that way. The sorry looking quartette fairly staggered into the
little cañon, and the animals were frantic with desire to drink their
fill.

"I was so near fried that the first gallon fairly sizzled down my
gullet," confessed Cap Pike after a long glorious hour of rest under
the alamos with saturated handkerchief over his burning eyes. "That
last three mile stretch was hell's back yard for me. How you reckon
the little trick over there ever stood it?"

The Indian girl was resting near her father, and every little while
putting water on his face and hands. When she heard the voice of Pike
she sat up, and then started quietly to pick up dry yucca stalks and
bits of brushwood for a fire.

"Look at that, would you, Bub," commented Pike, "the minute she sees
you commence to open the cook kit she is rustling for firewood. That
little devil is made of whalebone for toughness. Why, even the burros
are played out, but she is fresh as a daisy after a half hour's
rest!"

Rhodes noted that the excitement by which she had been swayed to
confidence in the morning had apparently burned out on the trail, for
she spoke no more, only served silently as generations of her mothers
of the desert had done, and waited, crouched back of her father, while
the men ate the slender meal of _carne seco_, _atole_, and coffee.

Cap Pike suggested that she join them, but it was her adopted guardian
who protested.

"We won't change their ways of women," he decided. "I notice that when
white folks try to they are seldom understood. How do we know whether
that attitude is an humble effacement, or whether the rank of that
martyred ancester exalts her too greatly to allow equality with white
stragglers of the range?"

Cap Pike snorted disdain.

"You'll be making a Pocahontas of her if you keep on that 'noble
Injun' strain," he remarked.

"Far be it from me! Pocahontas was a gay little hanger-on of the
camps,--not like this silent owl! Her mind seems older than her years,
and just notice her care of him, will you? I reckon he'd have wandered
away and died but for her grip on him through the night."

Miguel sank into sleep almost at once after eating, and the girl waved
over him an alamo branch as a fan with one hand, and ate with the
other, while Rhodes looked over the scant commissary outfit, reckoning
mouths to feed and distance to supplies. The moon was at full, and
night travel would save the stock considerably. By the following noon
they could reach ranches either west or north. He was conscious of the
eyes of the girl ever on his face in mute question, and while Pike
bathed the backs of the animals, and led each to stand in the oozy
drainage of the meager well, she came close to Kit and spoke.

"You say it is a dream, señor, and you laugh, but the red gold of El
Alisal is no dream. He, my father has said it, and after that, I,
Tula, may show it to you. Even my mother does not know, but I know. I
am of the blood to know. You will take him there, for it is a medicine
place, much medicine! He has said it to you, señor, and that gift is
great. You will come, alone,--with us, señor?"

Kit smiled at her entreaty, patted her hair, and dug out a worn deck
of cards and shuffled them, slowly regarding the sleeping Indian the
while.

"What's on your mind?" demanded Cap Pike, returning with his white
locks dripping from a skimpy bath. "Our grub stake is about gone, and
you've doubled the outfit. What's the next move?"

"I'm playing a game in futures with Miguel," stated Kit, shuffling the
cards industriously.

"Sounds loco to me, Bub," observed the veteran. "Present indications
are not encouraging as to futures there. Can't you see that he's got a
jar from which his mind isn't likely to recover? Not crazy, you know,
not a lunatic or dangerous, but just jarred from Pima man back to
Yaqui child. That's about the way I reckon it."

"You reckon right, and it's the Yaqui child mind I'm throwing the
cards for. Best two out of three wins."

"What the----"

"Highest cards for K. Rhodes, and I hike across the border with our
outfit; highest cards for Miguel and my trail is blazed for the red
gold of Alisal. This is Miguel's hand--ace high for Miguel!"

Again he shuffled and cut.

"A saucy queen, and red at that! Oh, you charmer!"

"You got to hustle to beat that, Bub. Go on, don't be stingy."

Rhodes cut the third time, then stared and whistled.

"The cards are stacked by the Indian! All three covered with war
paint. What's the use in a poor stray white bucking against that?"

He picked out the cards and placed them side by side, ace, king and
queen of hearts.

"Three aces could beat them," suggested Pike. "Go on Bub, shuffle them
up, don't be a piker."

Rhodes did, and cut ten of clubs.

"Not even the right color," he lamented. "Nothing less than two aces
for salvation, and I--don't--get--them!"

A lonely deuce fell on the sand, and Rhodes eyed it sulkily as he
rolled a cigarette.

"You poor little runt," he apostrophized the harmless two-spot.
"You've kicked me out of the frying pan into the fire, and a good
likely blaze at that!"

"Don't reckon I care to go any deeper into trouble than what we've
found," decided Pike. "Ordinary Indian scraps are all in the day's
work--same with a Mexican outfit--but, Bub, this slave-hunting graft
game with the state soldiery doing the raiding is too strong a combine
for two lone rangers to buck against. Me for the old U. S. border, and
get some of this devilish word to the peace advocates at home."

"They wouldn't believe you, and only about two papers along the border
would dare print it," observed Rhodes. "Every time a band of sunny
Mexicans loot a ranch or steal women, the word goes north that again
the bloodthirsty Yaquis are on the warpath! Those poor devils never
leave their fields of their own will, and don't know why the Americans
have a holy dread of them. Yet the Yaqui is the best worker south of
the line."

"If he wasn't the price wouldn't be worth the slave trader's valuable
time," commented Pike.

The Indian girl made a quick gesture of warning, just a sweep outward
of her hand along the ground. She didn't even look at them, but down
the arroya, the trail they had come.

"_Caballos, hombres!_" she muttered in her throat.

"The kid's right,--hear them!" said Rhodes, and then he looked at him,
and made a strange movement of eyes and head to direct the attention
back of her in the thicket of cactus and squat greasewood. He did not
look at once, but finally with a circular sweep of the locality, he
saw the light glint on a gun barrel along the edge of a little mesa
above them.

"Nice friendly attention," he observed. "Someone sizing us up. Time to
hit the trail anyway, Cap;--to get through on the grub we have to
travel tonight."

He rose and handed the water bottles to the girl to fill, while he
tightened cinches.

"It's a long day's trip, Cap," he stated thoughtfully, "a long day out
to Carrizal, and a long one back to Mesa Blanca. I'll divide the dust
and the grub fifty-fifty, and you get out to some base of supplies.
I'd rather you'd take Pardner, and keep on going across the line. The
trail is clear from here for you, and enough water holes and
settlements for you to get through. I don't think Pardner would last
for the back trip, but you can save him by riding at night; the burro
and mule are best for us. Here's the dust."

While Pike had been talking of crossing the border, Kit had been
rapidly readjusting the provision so that the old chap had enough to
carry him to the first settlement, and the gold dust would more than
pay for provision the rest of the way.

"Why--say, Bub!" remonstrated Pike. "You're so sudden! I don't allow
to leave you by your lonesomes like this. Why, I had planned----"

"There's nothing else to do," decided Rhodes crisply. "If you don't
beat it with Pardner, we'll lose him, sure! I'm going to take these
Indians back, and you can help most by waiting north of the line till
you hear from me. I'll get word to you at Granados. So, if there
should be any trouble with these visitors of ours, your trail is
clear;--savvy?"

Two men rode into view in the bend of the arroya. A cartridge belt
across each shoulder, and one around each waist, was the most
important part of their equipment.

"_Buenos dias_, señors," said one politely, while his little black
eyes roved quickly over the group. "Is there still water to be found
in the well here? _Dios!_ it is the heat of hell down there in the
valley."

"At your service, señor, is water fresh drawn," said Rhodes, and
turned to the girl, "Oija, Tulita!--water for the gentlemen. You ride
far, señor?"

"From Soledad wells."

"Yes, I know the brand," remarked Rhodes.

"This is a good season in which to avoid too much knowledge, or too
good a memory, señor," observed the man who had not spoken. "Many
herds will change hands without markets before tranquility is over in
Mexico."

"I believe you, señor, and we who have nothing will be the lucky
ones," agreed Rhodes, regarding the man with a new interest. He was
not handsome, but there was a something quick and untamed in his keen,
black eyes, and though the mouth had cruel hard lines, his tone was
certainly friendly, yet dominating.

"What have you here?" he asked with a gesture toward Miguel.

"My Indian who tried to save his women from slavers, and was left for
dead," stated Rhodes frankly.

"And this?"

He pointed to the girl filling again the water bottles.

"She is mine, señor. We go to our own homes."

"Hum! you should be enlisted in the fights and become capitan, but
these would drop by the trail if you left them. Well, another time
perhaps, señor! For the water many thanks. _Adios!_" and with wave of
the hand they clattered down the arroya.

"Queer," muttered Rhodes, "did you catch that second chap signal to
the gun man in the cactus? He craw-fished back over the mesa and faded
away."

"They didn't come for water alone--some scouten' party trailin' every
sign found," decided Pike. "I'll bet they had us circled before the
two showed themselves. Wonder who they are after?"

"Anyway they didn't think us worth while gathering in, which is a
comfort. That second fellow looks like someone I've crossed trails
with, but I can't place him."

"They'll place you all right, all right!" prophesied Pike darkly, "you
and your interesting family won't need a brand."

Rhodes stared at him a moment and then grinned.

"Right you are, Cap. Wouldn't it be pie for the gossips to slice up
for home consumption?"

He kept on grinning as he looked at the poor bit of human flotsam whom
he had dubbed "the owl" because of her silence and her eyes. She
aroused Miguel without words, watching him keenly for faintest sign of
recovery. The food and sleep had refreshed him in body, but the mind
was far away. To the girl he gave no notice, and after a long
bewildered stare at Rhodes he smiled in a deprecating way.

"Your pardon, Don José, that I outsleep the camp," he muttered
haltingly. "It is a much sickness of the head to me."

"For that reason must you ride slowly today," stated Rhodes with quick
comprehension of the groping mind, though the "Don José" puzzled him,
and at first chance he loitered behind with the girl and questioned
her.

"How makes itself that I must know all the people in the world before
I was here on earth?" she asked morosely? "Me he does not know, Don
José is of Soledad and is of your tallness, so----"

"Know you the man who came for water at the cañon well?" he asked, and
she looked at him quickly and away.

"The name of the man was not spoke by him, also he said a true word of
brands on herds--these days."

"In these days?" reflected Rhodes, amazed at the ungirlish logic. "You
know what he meant when he said that?"

"We try that we know--all we, for the Deliverer is he named, and by
that name only he is spoke in the prayers we make."

Rhodes stared at her, incredulous, yet wondering if the dusty vaquero
looking rider of brief words could be the man who was called outlaw,
heathen, and bandit by Calendria, and "Deliverer" by these people of
bondage.

"You think that is true;--he will be the deliverer?"

"I not so much think, I am only remembering what the fathers say and
the mothers. Their word is that he will be the man, if--if----"

"Well, if what?" he asked as she crossed herself, and dropped her
head.

"I am not wanting to say that thing. It is a scare on the heart when
it is said."

"I'd rather be prepared for the scare if it strikes me," he announced,
and after a thoughtful silence while she padded along beside him, she
lowered her voice as though to hide her words from the evil fates.

"Then will I tell it you:--a knife in the back is what they fear for
him, or poison in his cup. He is hated by strong haters, also he makes
them know fear. I hearing all that in the patio at Palomitas, and old
Tio Polonio is often saying all saviors are crucified. How you
think?"

Rhodes replied vaguely as to the wisdom of Tio Polonio, for the girl
was giving him the point of view of the peon, longing for freedom, yet
fatalistic as the desert born ever are. And she had known the rebel
leader, Ramon Rotil, all the time!

He had no doubt but that she was right. Her statement explained the
familiar appearance of the man he had not met before, though he had
seen pictures in newspapers or magazines. Then he fell to wondering
what Ramon Rotil was doing in a territory so far from the troops,
and----

"Don José is one of the strong men who are hating him much," confided
the child. "Also Don José comes not north alone ever anymore, always
the soldiers are his guard. Tio Polonio tells things of these
soldiers."

"What kind of things?"

"They are killing boys like rabbits in Canannea,--pacifico boys who
could grow to Calendrista soldiers. Such is done by the guard of Don
José and all the friends of the Deliverer are killed with a quickness.
That is how the men of Don José Perez please him most, and in the
south there are great generals who work also with him, and his hand is
made strong, also heavy, and that is what Tio Polonio is telling us
often."

When they reached the mouth of the little cañon of the Yaqui well
where the trails divide, Pike shook hands and climbed into the saddle
of Pardner.

"It's the first time I ever took the easy way out, and left the fight
alone to a chum,--but I'll do it, Bub, because you could not make a
quick get-away with me tagging along. Things look murkier in this
territory every minute. You'll either have the time of your life, or
a headstone early in the game. Billie and I will put it up though we
won't know where you're planted. I don't like it, but the minutes and
water for the trail are both precious. Come out quick as you can. So
long!"

Pardner, refreshed by cooling drink and an hour's standing in wet mud
of the well drainage, stepped off briskly toward the north, while
Rhodes lifted Tula to the back of the pack mule, and Miguel unheeding
all plans or changes, drooped with closed eyes on the back of the
little burro. The manager of the reorganized gold-search syndicate
strode along in the blinding glare of the high sun, herding them ahead
of him, and as Pike turned for a last look backward at a bend of the
trail, the words of the old darkey chant came to him on the desert
air:

             _Oh, there was a frog lived in the spring!_




CHAPTER X

A MEXICAN EAGLET


The silver wheel of the moon was rolling into the west when the Indian
girl urged the mule forward, and caught the bridle of the burro.

"What is it, Tula?" asked Rhodes, "we are doing well on the trail to
Mesa Blanca; why stop here?"

"Look," she said. "See you anything? Know you this place in the
road?"

He looked over the sand dunes and scrubby desert growths stretching
far and misty under the moon, and, then to the rugged gray range of
the mountain spur rising to the south. They were skirting the very
edge of it where it rose abruptly from the plain; a very great gray
upthrust of granite wall beside them was like a gray blade slanted out
of the plain. He had noticed it as one of the landmarks on the road to
Mesa Blanca, and on its face were a few curious scratchings or
peckings, one a rude sun symbol, and others of stars and waves of
water. He recalled remarking to Pike that it must have been a prayer
place for some of the old tribes.

"Yes, I know the place, when we reach this big rock it means that we
are nearing the border of the ranch, this rock wall tells me that. We
can be at Palomitas before noon."

"No," she said, and got down from the mule, "not to Palomitas now.
Here we carry the food, and here we hide the saddles, and the mule go
free. The burro we take, nothing else."

"Where is a place to hide saddles here?" and he made gesture toward
the great granite plane glistening in the moonlight.

"A place is found," she returned, "it is better we ride off the trail
at this place."

She did so, circling back the way they had come until they were
opposite a more broken part of the mountain side, then she began
deftly to help unsaddle.

"Break no brush and make all tracks like an Apache on the trail," she
said.

Miguel sat silent on the burro as if asleep. He had never once roused
to give heed to the words or the trail through the long ride. At times
where the way was rough he would mutter thanks at the help of Kit and
sink again into stupor.

"I can't spare that mule," protested Kit, but she nodded her head as
if that had been all thought out.

"He will maybe not go far, there is grass and a very little spring
below. Come now, I show you that hidden trail."

She picked up one of the packs and led the burro.

"But we can't pack all this at once," decided Kit, who was beginning
to feel like the working partner in a nightmare.

"Two times," said Tula, holding up her fingers, "I show you."

She led the way, nervous, silent and in haste, as though in fear of
unseen enemies. Rhodes looked after her irritably. He was fagged and
worn out by one of the hardest trails he had ever covered, and was in
no condition to solve the curious problems of the Indian mind, but the
girl had proven a good soldier of the desert, and was, for the first
time, betraying anxiety, so as the burro disappeared in the blue mist,
and only the faint patter of his hoofs told the way he had gone, Kit
picked up the saddle and followed.

The way was rough and there was no trail, simply stumbling between
great jagged slabs hewn and tossed recklessly by some convulsion of
nature. Occasionally dwarfed and stunted brush, odorous with the faint
dew of night, reached out and touched his face as he followed up and
up with ever the forbidding lances of granite sharp edged against the
sky. From the plain below there was not even an indication that
progress would be possible for any human being over the range of
shattered rock, and he was surprised to turn a corner and find Tula
helping Miguel from the saddle in a little nook where scant herbage
grew.

"No, not in this place we camp," she said. "It is good only to hide
saddles and rest for my father. Dawn is on the trail, and the other
packs must come."

He would have remonstrated about a return trip, but she held up her
hand.

"It must be, if you would live," she said. "The eyes of you have not
yet seen what they are to see, it is not to be told. All hiding must
be with care, or----"

She made swift pantomime of sighting along a gun barrel at him, and
even in the shadows he could fancy the deadly half closing of her
ungirlish eyes. Tula did not play gaily.

Tired as he was, Kit grinned.

"You win," he said. "Let's hit what would be the breeze if this fried
land could stir one up."

They plodded back without further converse, secured the packs, and
this time it was Rhodes who led, as there appeared no possible way but
the one they had covered. Only once did he make a wrong turn and a
sharp "s-st" from the girl warned him of the mistake.

They found Miguel asleep, and Kit Rhodes would willingly have sunk
down beside him and achingly striven for the same forgetfulness, but
Tula relentlessly shook Miguel awake, got him on the burro, unerringly
designated the food bag in the dark, and started again in the lead.

"I reckon you're some sort of Indian devil," decided Kit, shouldering
the bag. "No mere mortal ever made this trail or kept it open."

Several times the towering walls suggested the bottom of a well, and
as another and another loomed up ahead, he gloomily prophesied an
ultimate wall, and the need of wings.

Then, just as the first faint light began in the eastern heavens, he
was aware that the uneven trail was going down and down, zig-zagging
into a ravine like a great gray bowl, and the bottom of it filled with
shadows of night.

The girl was staggering now with exhaustion though she would not
confess it. Once she fell, and he lifted her thinking she was hurt,
but she clung to him, shaking from weakness, but whispering, "_Pronto,
pronto!_"

"Sure!" he agreed, "all the swiftness the outfit can muster."

Curious odors came to him from the shadowy bowl, not exactly a
pleasing fragrance, yet he knew it--But his mind refused to work. As
the trail grew wider, and earth was under his feet instead of rock
slivers and round boulders, he discovered that he was leading the
burro, the grub sack over his shoulder, and with the other arm was
supporting the girl, who was evidently walking with closed eyes, able
to progress but not to guide herself.

Then there was the swish-swish of grasses about their feet and poor
Bunting snatched mouthfuls as all three staggered downward. The light
began to grow, and somewhere in the shadowy bowl there was the most
blest sound known in the desert, the gurgle of running water!

"We hear it--but we can't believe it--old Buntin'," muttered Kit
holding the burro from steady and stubborn attempts to break away,
"and you are just loco enough to think you smell it."

Then suddenly their feet struck rock again, not jagged or slippery
fragments, but solid paving, and a whiff of faint mist drifted across
his face in the gray of the first dawn, and the burro craned his neck
forward at the very edge of a black rock basin where warm vapor struck
the nostrils like a soporific.

The girl roused herself at a wordless exclamation from Rhodes, and
began automatically helping Miguel from the saddle, and stripping him
to the breechcloth.

Kit's amazement startled him out of his lethargy of exhaustion. It was
light enough now to see that her eyes were bloodshot, and her
movements quick with a final desperation.

"There!" she said and motioned towards a shelving place in the rock,
"there--medicine--all quick!"

She half lifted the staggering, unconscious Indian, and Kit,
perceiving her intention, helped her with Miguel to the shallow edge
of the basin where she rolled him over until he was submerged to the
shoulder in the shallow bath, cupping her hands she scooped water and
drenched his face.

"Why,--it's warm!" muttered Kit.

"Medicine," said Tula, and staggered away.

How Rhodes shed his own garments and slipped into the basin beside
Miguel he never knew, only he knew he had found an early substitute
for heaven. It was warm sulphur water,--tonic, refreshing and
infinitely soothing to every sore muscle and every frazzled nerve. He
ducked his head in it, tossed some more over the head and shoulders of
the sleeping Indian, and then, submerged to his arms, he promptly
drifted into slumber himself.

He wakened to the sound of Baby Bunting pawing around the grub pack.
Hunger was his next conviction, for the heavenly rest in the medicine
bath had taken every vestige of weariness away. He felt lethargic from
the sulphur fumes, and more sleep was an enticing thought, yet he put
it from him and got into his clothes after the use of a handkerchief
as a bath towel. Miguel still slept and Kit bent over him in some
concern, for the sleep appeared curiously deep and still, the breath
coming lightly, yet he did not waken when lifted out of the water and
covered with a poncho in the shade of a great yucca.

"I reckon it's some dope in these hot springs," decided Kit. "I feel
top heavy myself, and won't trouble him till I've rustled some grub
and have something to offer. Well, Buntin', we are all here but the
daughter of the Glen," he said, rescuing the grub sack, "and if she
was a dream and you inveigled me here by your own diabolical powers,
I've a hunch this is our graveyard; we'll never see the world and its
vanities again!"

A bit of the blue and scarlet on a bush above caught his eye. It was
the belt of Tula, and he went upwards vaguely disturbed that he had
drifted into ease without question of her welfare.

He found her emerging from a smaller rock basin, her one garment
dripping a wet trail as she came towards him. There was no smile in
her greeting, but a look of content, of achievement.

"My father," she said, "he is----"

"Sleeping beyond belief! good medicine sleep, I hope."

She nodded her head comprehendingly, for she had done the impossible
and had triumphed. She looked at the sack of food he held.

"There is one place for fire, and other water is there. Come, it is to
you."

She struck off across the sun-bathed little grass plot to a jumble of
rock where a cool spring emerged, ran only a few rods, and sank again
out of sight. The shattered rock was as a sponge, so completely was
the water sucked downward again. Marks of burro's hoofs were there.

"Baby Buntin' been prospecting while we wallowed in the dope bath,"
said Kit.

"Maybe so, maybe not," uttered the Indian child, if such she could be
called after the super-woman initiative of that forbidding trail. She
was down on her knees peering at the tracks in the one little wet spot
below the spring.

"Two," she said enigmatically. "That is good, much good. It will be
meat."

Then she saw him pulling dry grasses and breaking branches of scrub
growth for a fire, and she stood up and motioned him to follow. They
were in a narrow, deep ravine separated from the main one by the
miniature plain of lush grass, a green cradle of rest in the heart of
the gray hills. She went as directly upward as the broken rock would
permit, and suddenly he followed her into a blackened cave formed by a
great granite slab thrusting itself upwards and enduring through the
ages when the broken rock had shattered down to form an opposite wall.
And the cloud bursts of the desert had swept through, and washed the
sands clear, leaving a high black roof slanting upwards to the
summit.

Tula moved ahead into the far shadows. He could see that beyond her
somewhere a ray of light filtered blue, but he halted at the entrance,
puzzled at the black roof where all the rock of the mountain was gray
and white except where mineral streaks were of reds and russets and
moldy greens. Then he put his hand up and touched the roof and
understood. Soot from ancient fires was discernible on his hand,
flakes of it fell to the floor, dry and black, scaling off under
pressure. The scales were thick and very old, like blackened moss. He
had seen blackened rock like that in other volcanic regions, but this
was different.

"It is here," said Tula, and he followed the voice through a darker
shadowed bit of the way, then through the ray of light, and then----

The first thing he saw was the raised hearth of a rather pretentious
fireplace, or place of fire, for it resembled not at all the tiny
little cooking hearth of desert Indians. A stone hatchet lay beside
it, and, what was much more surprising, two iron instruments of white
man's manufacturing, a wedge and a long chisel.

He picked up the chisel, weighed it in his hand, and looked at the
girl. He was now becoming accustomed to the dim light and could see
her eyes following his every movement with curious questioning. There
was a tiny frowning wrinkle between her brows as if serious matters
were being decided there.

"It is here," she said again. "Maybe someone dies when a white friend
is shown the way--maybe I die, who knows?--but it is here--El Alisal
of the gold of the rose!"

She made a little gesture and moved aside, and the chisel fell to the
stone floor with a clang as Kit shouted and dropped on his knees
before an incredible thing in the gray wall.

That upthrust of the rock wall had strange variety of color, and
between the granite and the gray limestone there was a ragged rusty
band of iron as a note of contrast to the sprinkling of glittering
quartz catching the ray of light, but the quartz was sprinkled on a
six inch band of yellow--not the usual quartz formation with dots of
color, but a deep definite yellow held together by white crystals.

"The red gold! it's the red gold!" he said feeling the yellow surface
instinctively.

"Yes, señor, it is the red gold of El Alisal, and it is to you," but
her eyes were watching him hungrily as she spoke. And something of
that pathetic fear penetrated his amazed mind, and he remembered.

"No, Tula, only my share to me. I do the work, but the great share is
to you, that it may buy back your mother from the slavers of the
south."

"Also my sister," said the girl, and for the first time she wept.

"Come, come! This is the time for joy. The danger is gone, and we are
at rest beside this--why, it's a dream come true, the golden dream!
Come, help me cook that we may be strong for the work."

She helped silently, fetching water and more sticks for the fire.

There were many things to ask, but he asked no questions, only gazed
between bites and sups at the amazing facts facing him.

"I've seen ores and ores in my time, but nothing like this!" he
exulted. "Why, I can 'high grade' mule loads of this and take it out
without smelting," and then he grinned at his little partner. "We just
struck it in time,--meat is mighty near done."

"Plenty meat!" she said nodding her head wisely. "Burro, big burro,
wild burro! I see track."

"Wild burro? Sure, that makes it simple till we rest up. You are one
great little commissary sergeant."

He noted that the pitch of the roof towards the face of the mountain
carried the smoke in a sort of funnel to be sifted through high
unseen crannies of shattered rock above. All was dark in the end of
the gallery, but a perceptible draught from the portal bore the smoke
upward.

"It's too good to be true," he decided, looking it over. "I'm chewing
bacon and it tastes natural, but I'm betting with myself that this is
a dream, and I'll wake up in the dope pond with my mouth full of
sulphur water."

The girl watched him gravely, and ate sparingly, though parched corn
had been her only sustenance through the trail of the dreadful night.
Her poor sandals were almost cut from her feet, and even while jesting
at the unreality of it all, Kit was making mental note of her
needs--the wild burro would at least provide green hide sandals for
her until better could be found, and she had earned the best.

He was amazed at her keenness. She did not seem to think, but
instinctively to feel her way to required knowledge, caring for
herself in the desert as a fledgling bird tossed by some storm from
the home nest. He remembered there were wild burros in the Sonora
hills, but that she should have already located one on this most
barren of mountains was but another unbelievable touch to the trail of
enchantment, and after a century of lost lives and treasure in the
search for the Indian mine, to think that this Indian stray, picked up
on a desolate trail, should have been the one to know that secret and
lead him to it!

"Other times you have been here?" he asked as he poured coffee in a
tin for Miguel, and dug out the last box of crackers from the grub
pack.

"Once I come, one time, and it was to make prayer here. It is mine to
know, but not my mother, not other peoples, only the father of me and
me. If I die then he show the trail to other one, not if I live. That
is how."

"He surely picked the right member of his honorable family," decided
Kit. "Only once over the trail, once?"

"I knowing it long before I see it," she explained gravely. "The
father of me make that trail in the sand for my eyes when I am only
little. I make the same for him in a game to play. When I make every
turn right, and name the place, and never forget--then he bring me,
for it is mine to know."

"Sufferin' cats!" muttered Rhodes, eyeing her in wonder. "The next
time I see an Indian kid playing in the sand, I'll linger on the trail
and absorb wisdom!"

"Come," she said, "you not seeing the one enchant look, the--how you
say?--the not believe look."

"Well, take it from me, Cinderella, I'm seeing not believe things this
very now," announced Kit, giving a fond look towards that comforting
gleam of yellow metal bedding flecks of quartz. "I see it, but will
have to sleep, and wake up to find it in the same place before I can
believe what I think I see."

With the food and drink for Miguel in his hands he had followed the
girl through the shadowed gallery of the slanting smoke-stained roof.
His eyes were mainly directed to the rock floor lest he stumble and
spill the precious coffee; thus he gave slight thought to the little
ravine up which she had led him to the cave which was also a mine.

But as he stepped out into the sunlight she stood looking up into his
face with almost a smile, the first he had seen in her wistful tragic
eyes. Then she lifted her hand and pointed straight out, and the
"enchant look," the "not believe" look was there! He stared as at a
mirage for an incredulous moment, and then whispered, "Great God of
the Desert!"

For a little space, a few rods only, the mountain dipped steeply, and
trickling water from above fell in little cascades to lower levels,
where a great jagged wall of impregnable granite arose as a barrier
along the foot of the mountain.

But he was above the sharp outline of the huge saw with the jagged
granite teeth, and between the serrated edges he could look far across
the yellow-gray reaches of sand and desert growths. Far and wide was
the "not believe" look, to the blue phantom-like peaks on the horizon,
but between the two ranges was a white line with curious dots drifting
and whirling like flies along it, and smoke curling up, and----

Then it was he uttered the incredulous cry, for he was indeed viewing
the thing scarce to be believed.

He was looking across the great Rancho Soledad, and the white line
against the sand was the wall of the old mission where the vaqueros
were herding a band of horses into the great quadrangle of the
one-time patio turned into a corral since the buildings on three sides
had melted down again into mother earth.

He remembered riding around these lines of the old arches seeking
trace of that door of the legend,--the door from which the aliso tree
of the mine could be seen,--and there was nowhere a trace of a door.

"Queer that every other part of the prospect developed according
to specifications and not the door," he grumbled whimsically.
"Cinderella, why have you hid the door in the wall from me?"

She looked around uncertainly, not understanding.

"No portal but it," she said with a movement of her head towards the
great slab forming a pointed arch against the mountain and shielding
the unbelievable richness there, "also El Alisal, the great tree, is
gone. This was the place of it; the old ones tell my father it was as
chief of the trees and stand high to be seen. The sky fire took it,
and took the padres that time they make an altar in this place."

"Um," assented Kit, noting traces of ancient charcoal where the aliso
tree had grown great in the moisture of the spring before lightning
had decided its tragic finish, "a great storm it must have been to
send sky fire enough to kill them all."

"Yes," said Tula quietly,--"also there was already another shrine at
this place, and the gods near."

He glanced at her quickly and away.

"Sure," he agreed, "sure, that's how it must have been. They destroyed
the aliso and there was no other landmark to steer by. White men might
find a thousand other dimples in the range but never this one, the
saw-tooth range below us has the best of them buffaloed. Come along,
Señorita Aladdin, and help me with the guardian of the treasure. We've
got to look after Miguel, and then start in where the padres left off.
And you might do a prayer stunt or two at the shrine you mentioned. We
need all the good medicine help you can evoke."

As they approached the pool where the faintest mist drifted above the
water warm from hidden fires of the mountain, Kit halted before he
quite reached the still form beside the yucca, and, handing the food
and drink to the girl, he went forward alone.

He was puzzled afterward as to why he had done that, for no fold of
the garment was disturbed, nothing visible to occasion doubt, yet he
bent over and lifted the cover very gently. The face of Miguel was
strangely gray and there was no longer sign of breath. The medicine of
the sacred pool had given him rest, but not life.

He replaced the blanket and turned to the girl;--the last of the
guardians of the shrine of the red gold.

"Little sister," he said, "Miguel grew tired of the trails of a hard
land. He has made his choice to go asleep here in the place where you
tell me the gods are near. He does not want us to have sad hearts, for
he was very sad and very tired, and he will not need food, Tula."

Her eyes filled with tears, but she made no reply, only unbound her
hair as she had seen mourning women do, and seated herself apart, her
face hidden in her arms.

"No one is left to mourn but me, and I mourn!" she half chanted. "I
say it for the mother of me, and for my sister, that the ghosts may
listen. Happily he is going now from hard trails! He has chosen at
this place! Happily he has chosen, and only we are sad. No debt is
ours to pay at this place; he has chosen--and a life is paid at El
Alisal! Happily he will find the trail of the birds from this place,
and the trail of the clouds over the high mountain. No one is left to
mourn but me; and I mourn!"

Rhodes understood no word of her lamentations, chanted now loudly, now
lowly, at intervals hour after hour that day. He set grimly to work
digging a grave in the lower part of the ravine, gathering dry grass
for lining as best he could to make clear to the girl that no lack of
care or honor was shown the last man of Cajame's stock.

The work took most of the day, for he carried stone and built a wall
around the grave and covered it with slatelike slabs gathered from a
shattered upheaval of long ago.

Tula watched all this gravely, and with approval, for she drew with
her finger the mark of the sun symbol on one of the slabs.

"It is well to make that mark," she said, "for the sons of Cajame were
priests of the sun. The sign is on the great rock of the trail, and it
is theirs."

With the chisel he carved the symbol as she suggested, glad to do
anything for the one mourner for the dead man who had offered the
treasure of the desert to him.

"That is how he made choice," she said when it was marked plainly.
"Me, I think he was leading us on the night trail to this place--I
think so. He is here to guard the gold of El Alisal for you. That is
how it will be. He has made choice."

Kit got away by himself to think over the unexpected situation. The
girl climbed to a higher point, seated herself, and continued her
chant of mourning. He knew she was following, as best she knew, the
traditional formalities of a woman for the death of a chief. He found
himself more affected by that brave fatalistic recital, now loud and
brave, now weirdly slow and tender, than if she had given way to
tempests of tears. A man could comfort and console a weeping stray of
the desert, but not a girl who sat with unbound hair under the yucca
and called messages to the ghosts until the sun,--a flaming ball of
fire,--sank beyond the far purple hills.

And that was the first day of many days at the hidden treasure place
of the red gold.




CHAPTER XI

GLOOM OF BILLIE


The return of Captain Pike on Kit's horse was a matter of considerable
conjecture at Granados, but the old prospector was so fagged that at
first he said little, and after listening to the things Billie had to
tell him--he said less.

"That explains the curious ways of the Mexicans as I reached the
border," he decided. "They'd look first at the horse, then at me, but
asked no questions, and told me nothing. Queer that no word reached us
about Singleton! No, it isn't either. We never crossed trails with any
from up here. There's so much devilment of various sorts going on down
there that a harmless chap like Singleton wouldn't be remembered."

"Conrad's down at Magdalena now, but we seldom know how far he ranges.
Sometimes he stays at the lower ranch a week at a time, and he might
go on to Sinaloa for all we know. He seems always busy and is
extremely polite, but I gave him the adobe house across the arroya
after Papa Phil--went. I know he has the Mexicans thinking Kit Rhodes
came back for that murder; half of them believe it!"

"Well, I reckon I can prove him an alibi if it's needed. I'll go see
the old judge."

"He'll tell you not to travel at night, or alone, if you know
anything," she prophesied. "That's what he tells me. To think of old
Rancho Granados coming to that pass! We never did have trouble here
except a little when Apaches went on the warpath before my time, and
now the whole border is simmering and ready to boil over if anyone
struck a match to it. The judge hints that Conrad is probably only one
cog in the big border wheel, and they are after the engineer who turns
that wheel, and do you know you haven't told me one word of Kit
Rhodes, or whether he's alive or dead!"

"Nothing to tell! We didn't find it, and he took the back trail with
an Indian girl and her daddy, and----"

"An--Indian girl?"

"Yes, a queer little kid who was in a lot of trouble. Her father was
wounded in one of the fracases they have down there every little
while. Nary one of us could give an address when we took different
trails, for we didn't know how far we'd be allowed to travel--the
warring factions are swarming and troublesome over the line."

"Well, if a girl could stand the trail, it doesn't look dangerous."

"Looks are deceptive, child,--and this isn't just any old girl! It's a
rare bird, it's tougher than whalebone and possessed of a wise little
devil. She froze to Kit as a _compadre_ at first chance. He headed
back to Mesa Blanca. I reckon they'd make it,--barring accidents."

"Mesa Blanca? That's the Whitely outfit?"

"Um!" assented Pike, "but I reckon Whitely's hit the trail by now.
There's no real profit in raising stock for the warriors down there;
each band confiscates what he needs, and gives a promissory note on an
empty treasury."

"Well, the attraction must be pretty strong to hold him down there in
spite of conditions," said Billie gloomily.

"Attraction? Sure. Kit's gone loco on that attraction," agreed the old
prospector, and then with a reminiscent light in his tired old eyes he
added, "I reckon there's no other thing so likely to snare a man on a
desert trail. You see, Billie-child, it's just as if the great God had
hid a treasure in the beginning of the world to stay hid till the
right lad ambled along the trail, and lifted the cover, and when a
fellow has youth, and health and not a care in the world, the search
alone is a great game--And when he finds it!--why, Billie, the
dictionary hasn't words enough to tell the story!"

"No--I--I reckon not," said his listener in a small voice, and when he
looked around to speak to her again she had disappeared, and across
the patio Doña Luz was coming towards him in no good humor.

"How is it that poor little one weeps now when you are returned, and
not at other times?" she demanded. "Me, I have my troubles since that
day they find the Don Filipe shot dead,--_Jesusita_ give him rest!
That child is watching the Sonora trail and waiting since that day,
but no tears until you are come. I ask you how is the way of that?"

Captain Pike stared at her reflectively.

"You are a bringer of news, likewise a faithful warden," he observed.
"I'm peaceably disposed, and not wise to your lingo. Billie and me
were talking as man to man, free and confidential, and no argument.
There were no weeps that I noticed. What's the reason why?"

"The saints alone know, and not me!" she returned miserably. "I think
she is scared that it was the Señor Rhodes who shooting Don Filipe,
the vaqueros thinking that! But she tells no one, and she is unhappy.
Also there is reason. That poor little one has the ranchos, but have
you hear how the debts are so high all the herds can never pay? That
is how they are saying now about Granados and La Partida, and at the
last our señorita will have no herds, and no ranchos, and no people
but me. _Madre de Dios!_ I try to think of her in a little adobe by
the river with only _frijoles_ in the dinner pot, and I no see it that
way. And I not seeing it other way. How you think?"

"I don't, it's too new," confessed Pike. "Who says this?"

"The Señor Henderson. I hear him talk with Señor Conrad, who has much
sorrow because the Don Filipe made bad contracts and losing the money
little and little, and then the counting comes, and it is big, very
big!"

"Ah! the Señor Conrad has much sorrow, has he?" queried Pike, "and
Billie is getting her face to the wall and crying? That's queer.
Billie always unloaded her troubles on me, and you say there was none
of this weeping till I came back?"

"That is so, señor."

"Cause why?"

"_Quien sabe?_ She was making a long letter to Señor Rhodes in
Sonora,--that I know. He sends no word, so--I leave it to you, señor,
it takes faith and more faith when a man is silent, and the word of a
killing is against him."

"Great Godfrey, woman! He never got a letter, he knows nothing of a
killing. How in hell--" Then the captain checked himself as he saw the
uselessness of protesting to Doña Luz. "Where's Billie?"

Billie was perched on a window seat in the _sala_, her eyes were more
than a trifle red, and she appeared deeply engrossed in the pages of a
week-old country paper.

"I see here that Don José Perez of Hermosillo is to marry Doña Dolores
Terain, the daughter of the general," she observed impersonally. "He
owns Rancho Soledad, and promises the Sonora people he will drive the
rebel Rotil into the sea, and it was but yesterday Tia Luz was telling
me of his beautiful wife, Jocasta, who was only a little mountain girl
when he rode through her village and saw her first. She is still
alive, and it looks to me as if all men are alike!"

"More or less," agreed Pike amicably, "some of us more, some of us
less. Doña Dolores probably spells politics, but Doña Jocasta is a
wildcat of the sierras, and I can't figure out any harmonious days for
a man who picks two like that."

"He doesn't deserve harmony; no man does who isn't true--isn't true,"
finished Billie rather lamely.

"Look here, honey child," observed Pike, "you'll turn man hater if you
keep on working your imagination. Luz tells me you are cranky against
Kit, and that the ranches are tied up in business knots tighter than I
had any notion of, so you had better unload the worst you can think
of on me; that's what I'm here for. What difference do the Perez
favorites make to our young lives? Neither Dolores nor Jocasta will
help play the cards in our fortunes."

Wherein Captain Pike was not of the prophets. The wells of Sonora are
not so many but that he who pitches his tent near one has a view and
greetings of all drifting things of the desert, and the shadowed star
of Doña Jocasta of the south was leading her into the Soledad
wilderness forsaken of all white men but one.




CHAPTER XII

COVERING THE TRAIL


Each minute of the long days, Rhodes worked steadily and gaily,
picking out the high grade ore from the old Indian mine, and every
possible night he and the burro and Tula made a trip out to the foot
of the range, where they buried their treasure against the happy day
when they could go out of the silent desert content for the time with
what gold they could carry in secret to the border.

For two days he had watched the Soledad ranch house rather closely
through the field glass, for there was more activity there than
before; men in groups rode in who were not herding. He wondered if it
meant a military occupation, in which case he would need to be doubly
cautious when emerging from the hidden trail.

The girl worked as he worked. Twice he had made new sandals for her,
and also for himself in order to save his boots so that they might at
least be wearable when he got among people. All plans had been thought
out and discussed until no words would be needed between them when
they separated. She was to appear alone at Palomitas with a tale of
escape from the slavers, and he was carefully crushing and mashing
enough color to partly fill a buckskin bag to show as the usual fruits
of a prospect trip from which he was returning to Mesa Blanca after
exhausting grub stake and shoe leather.

The things of the world had stood still for him during that hidden
time of feverish work. He scarcely dared try to estimate the value of
the ore he had dug as honey from a hollow tree, but it was rich--rich!
There were nuggets of pure gold, assorted as to their various sizes,
while he milled and ground the quartz roughly, and cradled it in the
water of the brook.

By the innocent aid of Baby Bunting, two wild burros of the sierra had
been enticed within reach for slaughter, and, aside from the food
values, they furnished green hide which under Kit's direction, Tula
deftly made into bags for carrying the gold.

All activities during the day were carefully confined within a certain
radius, low enough in the little cañon to run no risk in case any
inquisitive resident of Soledad should study the ranges with a field
glass, though Kit had not seen one aside from his own since he entered
Sonora. And he used his own very carefully every morning and evening
on the wide valley of Soledad.

"Something doing down there, sister," he decided, as they were
preparing for the last trail out. "Riders who look like cavalry,
mules, and some wagons--mighty queer!"

Tula came over and stood beside him expectantly. He had learned that a
look through the magic glasses was the most coveted gift the camp
could grant to her, and it had become part of the regular routine that
she stood waiting her turn for the wide look, the "enchant look," as
she had called it that first morning. It had become a game to try to
see more than he, and this time she mentioned as he had, the wagons,
and mules, and riders. And then she looked long and uttered a brief
Indian word of surprise.

"Beat me again, have you?" queried Kit good humoredly. "What do you
find?"

"A woman is there, in that wagon,--sick maybe. Also one man is a
padre; see you!"

Kit took the glasses and saw she was right. A man who looked like a
priest was helping a woman from a wagon, she stumbled forward and then
was half carried by two men towards the house.

"Not an Indian woman?" asked Kit, and again her unchildlike mind
worked quickly.

"A padre does not bow his head to help Indian woman. Caballeros do not
lift them up."

"Well I reckon Don José Perez is home on a visit, and brought his
family. A queer time! Other ranch folks are getting their women north
over the border for safety."

"Don José not bring woman to Soledad--ever. He take them away. His men
take them away."

It was the first reference she had made to the slavers since they had
entered the cañon, though she knew that each pile of nuggets was part
of the redemption money for those exiles of whom she did not speak.

But she worked tirelessly until Kit would stop her, or suggest some
restful task to vary the steady grind of carrying, pounding, or
washing the quartz. He had ordered her to make two belts, that each of
them might carry some of the gold hidden under their garments. She had
a nugget tied in a corner of her _manta_, and other small ones
fastened in her girdle, while in the belt next her body she carried
all he deemed safe to weight her with, probably five pounds. At any
hint of danger she would hide the belt and walk free.

His own belt would carry ten pounds without undue bulkiness. And over
three hundred pounds of high grade gold was already safely hidden near
the great rock with the symbols of sun and rain marking its weathered
surface.

"A fair hundred thousand, and the vein only scratched!" he exulted. "I
was sore over losing the job on Billie's ranch,--but gee! this looks
as if I was knocked out in the cold world to reach my good luck!"

In a blue dusk of evening they left the camp behind and started over
the trail, after Tula had carefully left fragments of food on the tomb
of Miguel, placed there for the ghosts who are drawn to a comrade.

Kit asked no questions concerning any of her tribal customs, since to
do so would emphasize the fact that they were peculiar and strange to
him, and the Indian mind, wistfully alert, would sense that
strangeness and lose its unconsciousness in the presence of an alien.
So, when she went, after meals, to offer dregs of the soup kettle or
bones of the burro, she often found a bunch of desert blossoms wilting
there in the heat, and these tributes left by Kit went far to
strengthen her confidence. It was as if Miguel was a live partner in
their activities, never forgotten by either. So they left him on
guard, and turned their faces toward the outer world of people.

Knowing more than he dare tell the girl his mind was considerably
occupied with that woman at Soledad, for military control changed over
night in many a province of Mexico in revolutionary days, and the time
at the hidden mine might have served for many changes.

Starlight and good luck was on the trail for them, and at earliest
streak of dawn they buried their treasure, divided their dried burro
meat, and with every precaution to hide the trail where they emerged
from the gray sierra, they struck the road to Mesa Blanca.

Until full day came Tula rode the burro, and slipped off at a ravine
where she could walk hidden, on the way to Palomitas.

"Buntin'," said Kit, watching her go, "we'll have pardners and
pardners in our time, but we'll never find one more of a thoroughbred
than that raggedy Indian witch-child of ours."

He took the slanting cattle trail up over the mesa, avoiding the wagon
road below, and at the far edge of it halted to look down over the
wide spreading leagues of the Mesa Blanca ranch.

It looked very sleepy, drowsing in the silence of the noon sun. An old
Indian limped slowly from the corral over to the ranch house, and a
child tumbled in the dust with a puppy, but there was no other sign of
ranch activity. As he descended the mesa and drew nearer the corrals
they had a deserted look, not merely empty but deserted.

The puppy barked him a welcome, but the child gave one frightened look
at Kit, and with a howl of fear, raced to the shelter of the portal
where he disappeared in the shadows.

"I had a hunch, Babe, that we needed smoothing down with a currycomb
before we made social calls," confessed Kit to the burro, "but I
didn't reckon on scaring the natives in any such fashion as this."

He was conscious of peering eyes at a barred window, and then the old
Indian appeared.

"Hello, Isidro!"

"At your service, señor," mumbled the old man, and then he stared at
the burro, and at the bearded and rather desert-worn stranger, and
uttered a cry of glad recognition.

"Ai-ji! It is El Pajarito coming again to Mesa Blanca, but coming with
dust in your mouth and no song! Enter, señor, and take your rest in
your own house. None are left to do you honor but me,--all gone like
that!" and his skinny black hands made a gesture as if wafting the
personnel of Mesa Blanca on its way. "The General Rotil has need the
cattle, and makes a divide with Señor Whitely and all go,--all the
herds," and he pointed east.

Kit bathed his face in the cool water brought out by Valencia,
Isidro's wife, then unloaded the burro of the outfit, and stretched
himself in the shade while the women busied themselves preparing
food.

"So General Rotil makes a divide of the cattle,--of Whitely's cattle?
How is that?" he asked.

And the old Indian proceeded to tell him that it was true. The
Deliverer must feed his army. He needed half, and promised Whitely to
furnish a guard for the rest of the herd and help Whitely save them by
driving them to Imuris, where the railroad is.

"He said enemy troops would come from the south and take them all in
one week or one month. He, Rotil, would pay a price. Thus it was, and
Señor Whitely, and enough vaqueros, rode with the herds, and General
Rotil took the rest of the ranchmen to be his soldiers. Of course it
might be Señor Whitely would some day return, who knows? And he left a
letter for the señor of the songs."

The letter corroborated Isidro's statements--it was the only way to
save any of the stock. Whitely thought there was a hundred or two
still ranging in the far corners, but time was short, and he was
saving what he could. The men were joining the revolutionists and he
would be left without help anyway. If Rhodes came back he was to use
the place as his own. If he could round up any more horses or cattle
on the range and get them to safety Isidro would find some Indians to
help him, and Whitely would divide the profits with him.

"Fine!--divides first with the Deliverer, and next with me! Can't see
where that hombre gets off when it comes to staking his own family to
a living. But it's a bargain, and this is my headquarters until I can
get out. How long has Whitely and his new friends been gone?"

"Four days, señor."

"Seen any stragglers of cattle left behind?"

Isidro's grandson, Clodomiro, had found both horses and cattle and
herded them into far cañons; a man might ride in a circle for five
miles around the ranch house and see never a fresh track. Clodomiro
was a good boy, and of much craft.

Dinner was announced for the señor, and the women showed him welcome
by placing before him the most beautiful repast they could arrange
quickly, _chile con carne_, _frijoles_, _tortillas_, and a decanter of
Sonora wine--a feast for a king!

After he had eaten, tobacco was brought him from some little hidden
store, and Isidro gave him the details of the slave raid of Palomitas,
and Sonora affairs in general. Kit was careful to state that he has
been prospecting in the mountains and out of touch with ranch people,
and it must be understood that all Isidro could tell would be news to
a miner from the desert mountains. And he asked if General Rotil also
collected stock from the ranch of Soledad.

Whereupon Isidro told him many things, and among them the wonder that
Soledad had been left alone--the saints only knew why! And Juan
Gonsalvo, the foreman at Soledad, had helped with the slave raid, and
was known in Palomitas where they took girls and women and men as
well, even men not young! Miguel, the major-domo, was taken with his
wife and two daughters, the other men were young. The curse of God
seemed striking Sonora. A new foreman was now at Soledad, Marto
Cavayso, a hard man and,--it was said, a soldier, but he evidently got
tired of fighting and was taking his rest by managing the horse herds
of Soledad.

"Doesn't look like rest to me," observed Kit. "The Soledad trail looks
pretty well kicked into holes, with wagons, mules, and horsemen."

Isidro volunteered his opinion that work of the devil was going
forward over there.

"Juan Gonsalvo and El Aleman were stealing women in Sonora, and
driving them the south trail for a price," he stated. "But what think
you would be the price for a woman of emerald eyes and white skin
carried up from the south under chains, and a lock to the chain?"

"I reckon you are dreaming the lock and chain part of it, Isidro,"
returned Kit. "Only murderers travel like that."

"_Si_, it is so. There at Soledad it is heard. A killing was done in
the south and Soledad is her prison. But she is beautiful, and the men
are casting lots as to whose she shall be when the guard is gone south
again to Don José Perez."

"Ah! they are Don José's men, are they? Then the prisoner is guarded
by his orders?"

"Who knows? They tell that she is a lost soul, and fought for a knife
to kill herself, and the padre makes prayers and says hell will be
hers if she does. Elena, who is cook, heard him say that word, and
Elena was once wife to my brother, and she is telling that to
Clodomiro who makes an errand to take her deer meat, and hear of the
strangers. He saw the woman, her bracelets are gold, and her eyes are
green. The padre calls her Doña Jocasta. I go now and give drink to
that burro and make him happy."

"Jocasta, eh? Doña Jocasta!" repeated Kit in wondering meditation.
"Doesn't seem possible--but reckon it is, and there are no real
surprises in Sonora. Anything could, and does happen here."

He remembered Pike telling the story of Jocasta one morning by their
camp fire in the desert. She was called by courtesy Señora Perez. He
had not heard her father's name, but he was a Spanish priest and her
mother an Indian half-breed girl--some little village in the sierras.
There were two daughters, and the younger was blond as a child of Old
Spain, Jocasta was the elder and raven dark of hair, a skin of deep
cream, and jewel-green eyes. Kit had heard three men, including
Isidro, speak of Doña Jocasta, and each had mentioned the wonderful
green eyes--no one ever seemed to forget them!

Their magnetism had caught the attention of Don José,--a distinguished
and illustrious person in the eyes of the barefoot mountaineers. No
one knew what Jocasta thought of the exalted padrone of the wide
lands, whose very spurs were of gold, but she knew there was scarce
wealth enough in all the village to keep a candle burning on the
Virgin's shrine, and her feet had never known a shoe. The padre died
suddenly just as Don José was making a bargain with him for the girl,
so he swept Jocasta to his saddle with no bargain whatever except that
she might send back for Lucita, her little sister, and other men
envied Perez his good luck when they looked at Jocasta. For three
years she had been mistress of his house in Hermosillo, but never had
he taken her into the wilderness of Soledad,--it was a crude casket
for so rich a treasure.

Kit steeped in the luxury of a square meal, fell asleep, thinking of
the green-eyed Doña Jocasta whom no man forgot. He would not connect a
brilliant bird of the mountain with that drooping figure he and Tula
had seen stumbling towards the portal of Soledad. And the statement of
Isidro that there had been a killing, and Doña Jocasta was a lost
soul, was most puzzling of all. In a queer confused dream the killing
was done by Tula, and Billie wore the belt of gold, and had green
eyes. And he wakened himself with the apparently hopeless effort of
convincing Billie he had never forgotten her despite the feminine
witcheries of Sonora.

The shadows were growing long, and some Indian boys were jogging
across the far flats. He reached for his field glass and saw that one
of them had a deer across his saddle. Isidro explained that the boys
were planting corn in a far field, and often brought a deer when they
came in for more seed or provisions. They had a hut and _ramada_ at
the edge of the planted land six miles away. They were good boys,
Benito and Mariano Bravo, and seldom both left the fields at the same
time. He called to Valencia that there would be deer for supper, then
watched the two riders as they approached, and smiled as they
perceptibly slowed up their broncos at sight of the bearded stranger
on the rawhide cot against the wall.

"See you!" he pointed out to Kit. "These are the days of changes. Each
day we looking for another enemy, maybe that army of the south, and
the boys they think that way too."

The boys, on being hailed, came to the house with their offering, and
bunkered down in the shadow with a certain shy stolidity, until Kit
spoke, when they at once beamed recognition, and made jokes of his
beard as a blanket.

But they had news to tell, great news, for a child of Miguel had
broken away from the slavers and had hidden in the mountains, and at
last had found her way back to Palomitas. She was very tired and very
poor in raiment, and the people were weeping over her. Miguel, her
father, was dead from a wound, and was under the ground, and of the
others who went on she could tell nothing, only that Conrad, the
German friend of Don José, was the man who covered his face and helped
take the women. Her sister Anita had recognized him, calling out his
name, and he had struck her with a quirt.

The women left their work to listen to this, and to add the memories
of some of their friends who had hidden and luckily escaped.

"That white man should be crucified and left for the vultures," said
the boy Benito.

"No," said the soft voice of Valencia, "God was sacrificed, but this
man is a white Judas; the death of God is too good for that man. It
has been talked about. He will be found some place,--and the Judas
death will be his. The women are making prayers."

"It will soon be Easter," said Isidro.

Kit did not know what was meant by a "Judas" death, though he did know
many of the church legends had been turned by the Indians into strange
and lurid caricatures. He thought it would be interesting to see how
they could enlarge on the drama of Judas, but he made no comment, as a
direct question would turn the Indians thoughtful, and silence them.

They all appeared alert for the return of Rotil. No one believed he
had retired utterly from the region without demanding tribute from
Soledad. It was generally suspected that Perez received and held
munitions for use against the revolutionists though no one knew where
they were hidden. There were Indian tales of underground tunnels of
Soledad Mission for retreat in the old days in case of hostile
attacks, and the Soledad ranch house was built over part of that
foundation. No one at Soledad knew the entrance except Perez himself,
though it was surmised that Juan Gonsalvo had known, and had been the
one to store the mule loads and wagon loads of freight shipped over
the border before Miguel Herrara was caught at the work from the
American side. Perez was a careful man, and not more than one man was
trusted at one time. That man seemed marked by the angels for
accident, for something had always ended him, and it was no good
fortune to be a favorite of Don José--Doña Jocasta was learning that!

Thus the gossip and surmise went on around Rhodes for his brief hour
of rest and readjustment. He encouraged the expression of opinion from
every source, for he had the job ahead of him to get three hundred
pounds of gold across the border and through a region where every
burro was liable to examination by some of the warring factions. It
behooved him to consider every tendency of the genus homo with which
he came in contact. Also the bonds between them,--especially the
bonds, since the various groups were much of a sameness, and only
"good" or "bad" according to their affiliations. Simple Benito and his
brother, and soft-voiced motherly Valencia who could conceive a worse
death for the German Judas than crucifixion, were typical of the
primitive people of desert and sierra.

"How many head of stock think you still ranges Mesa Blanca?" he asked
Isidro, who confessed that he no longer rode abroad or kept tally,
but Clodomiro would know, and would be in to supper. Benito and
Mariano told of one stallion and a dozen mares beyond the hills, and a
spring near their fields had been muddied the day before by a bunch of
cows and calves, they thought perhaps twenty, and they had seen three
mules with the Mesa Blanca brand when they were getting wood.

"Three mules, eh? Well, I may need those mules and the favor will be
to me if you keep them in sight," he said addressing the boys. "I am
to round up what I can and remove them after Señor Whitely, together
with other belongings."

"Others, señor?" asked Isidro.

Rhodes took the letter from his pocket, and perused it as if to
refresh his memory.

"The old Spanish chest is to go if possible, and other things of Mrs.
Whitely's," he said. "I will speak of these to your wife if the plan
can carry, but there is chance of troops from the south and--who
knows?--we may be caught between the two armies and ground as meal on
a _metate_."

He thus avoided all detail as to the loads the pack animals were to
carry, and the written word was a safe mystery to the Indian. He was
making no definite plans, but was learning all possibilities with a
mind prepared to take advantage of the most promising.

Thus the late afternoon wore on in apparent restful idleness after the
hard trail. The boys secured their little allowance of beans and salt,
and corn for planting, but lingered after the good supper of Valencia,
a holiday feast compared with their own sketchy culinary performance
in the _jacal_ of the far fields. They scanned the trail towards
Palomitas, and then the way down the far western valley, evidently
loath to leave until their friend Clodomiro should arrive, and Isidro
expected him before sunset.

But he came later from towards Soledad, a tall lad with fluttering
ribbands of pink and green from his banda and his elbows, and a girdle
of yellow fluttering fringed ends to the breeze,--all the frank
insignia of a youth in the market for marriage. He suggested a gay
graceful bird as he rode rapidly in the long lope of the range. His
boy friends of the planted fields went out to meet him at the corral,
and look after his horse while he went in to supper. He halted to
greet them, and then walked soberly across the plaza where pepper
trees and great white alisos trailed dusk shadows in the early
starlight.

"What _reata_ held you?" asked Isidro. "Has Soledad grown a place for
comradeship?"

"No, señor," said the lad passing into the dining room where two
candles gave him light in the old adobe room, "it is comradeship we do
not need, but it is coming to us."

He seated himself on the wooden bench and his grandmother helped him
from a smoking plate of venison. He looked tired and troubled, and he
had not even taken note that a stranger was beside Isidro in the
shadows.

"What nettle stings you, boy?" asked his grandfather sarcastically,
and at that he looked up and rose to his feet at sight of Rhodes.

"Your pardon, señor, I stumbled past like a bat blind in the light,"
he muttered, and as he met Kit's eyes and recognized him his face lit
up and his white teeth gleamed in a smile.

"The saints are in it that you are here again, señor!" he exclaimed,
"and you came on this day when most needed."

"Eat and then tell your meaning," said Isidro, but Clodomiro glanced
toward the kitchen, and then listened for the other boys. They were
laughing down at the corral. Clodomiro's horse had thrown one of
them.

"With your permission, grandfather, talk first," he said and the two
men moved to the bench opposite, leaning over towards him as his voice
was lowered.

"Today Marto Cavayso sent for me, he is foreman over there, and
strange things are going forward. He has heard that General Rotil
stripped Mesa Blanca and that all white people are gone from it. He
wants this house and will pay us well to open the door. It is for the
woman. They have played a game for her, and he has won, but she is a
wild woman when he goes near her, and his plan is to steal her out at
night and hide her from the others. So he wants this house. He offered
me a good gun. He offers us the protection of Don José Perez."

"But--why--that is not credible," protested Kit. "He could not count
on protection from Perez if he stole the woman whom many call Señora
Perez, for that is what they did call Doña Jocasta in Hermosillo."

"Maybe so," assented Clodomiro stolidly, "but now he is to be the
_esposo_ of a Doña Dolores who is the child of General Terain, so
Marto says. Well, this Doña Jocasta has done some killing, and Don
José does not give her to prison. He sends her to the desert that she
brings him no disgrace; and if another man takes her or sinks her in
the quicksands then that man will be helping Don José. That is how it
is. Marto says the woman has bewitched him, and he is crazy about her.
Some of the other men, will take her, if not him."

Kit exchanged a long look with the old Indian.

"The house is yours, señor," said Isidro. "By the word of Señor
Whitely, you are manager of Mesa Blanca."

"Many thanks," replied Kit, and sat with his elbows on the table and
his hands over his eyes, thinking--thinking of the task he had set
himself in Sonora, and the new turn of the wheel of fortune.

"You say the lady is a prisoner?" he asked.

"Sure," returned Clodomiro promptly. "She broke loose coming through a
little pueblo and ran to the church. She found the priest and told him
things, so they also take that priest! If they let him go he will
talk, and Don José wanting no talk now of this woman. That priest is
well cared for, but not let go away. After awhile, maybe so."

"She is bright, and her father was a priest," mused Kit. "So there is
three chances out of four that she can read and write,--a little
anyway. Could you get a letter to her?"

"Elena could."

Kit got up, took one of the candles from the table and walked through
the rooms surrounding the patio. Some of them had wooden bars in the
windows, but others had iron grating, and he examined these
carefully.

"There are two rooms fit for perfectly good jails," he decided, "so I
vote we give this bewitched Don Marto the open door. How many guns can
we muster?"

"He promised to give me one, and ammunition."

"Well, you get it! Get two if you can, but at least get plenty of
ammunition. Isidro, will your wife be brave and willing to help?"

The old Indian nodded his head vigorously and smiled. Evidently only a
stranger would ask if his Valencia could be brave!

The two brothers came in, and conversation was more guarded until
Clodomiro had finished his supper, and gone a little ways home with
them to repay them the long wait for comradeship.

When he came back Kit had his plans fairly settled, and had a brief
note written to Señora Jocasta Perez, as follows:

  HONORED SEÑORA:

  One chance of safety is yours. Let yourself be persuaded to leave
  Soledad with Marto. You will be rescued from him by

                                                        AN AMERICAN.

"I reckon that will do the trick," decided Kit. "I feel like a
blooming Robin Hood without the merry men,--but the Indians will play
safe, even if they are not merry. When can you get this to Elena?"

"In time of breakfast," said Clodomiro promptly. "I go tonight, and
tomorrow night he steals that woman. Maybe Elena helps."

"You take Elena a present from me to encourage that help," suggested
Kit, and he poured a little of the gold from his belt on the paper.
"Also there is the same for you when the lady comes safe. It is best
that you make willing offer of your service in all ways so that he
calls on none of his own men for help."

"As you say, señor," assented Clodomiro, "and that will march well
with his desires, for to keep the others from knowing is the principal
thing. She has beauty like a lily in the shade."

"He tells you that?" asked Kit quizzically, but the boy shook his
head.

"My own eyes looked on her. She is truly of the beauty of the holy
pictures of the saints in the chapel, but Marto says she is a witch,
and has him enchanted;--also that evil is very strong in her. I do not
know."

"Well, cross your fingers and tackle the job," suggested Kit. "Get
what sleep you can, for you may not get much tomorrow night. It is the
work of a brave man you are going to do, and your pay will be a man's
pay."

The eyes of the Indian boy glowed with pleasure.

"At your service, señor. I will do this thing or I will not see Mesa
Blanca again."

Kit looked after Clodomiro and rolled another cigarette before turning
in to sleep.

"When all's said and done, I may be the chief goat of this dame
adventure," he told himself in derision. "Maybe my own fingers need
crossing."




CHAPTER XIII

A WOMAN OF EMERALD EYES


At the first break of dawn, Rhodes was up, and without waiting for
breakfast walked over to the rancherias of Palomitas to see Tula.

She was with some little girls and old women carrying water from the
well as stolidly as though adventure had never stalked across her
path. A whole garment had been given her instead of the tatter of rags
in which she had returned to the little Indian pueblo. She replied
briefly to his queries regarding her welfare, and when he asked where
she was living, she accompanied him to an old adobe where there were
two other motherless children--victims of the raiders.

An old, half-blind woman stirred meal into a kettle of porridge, and
to her Kit addressed himself.

"A blessing will be on your house, but you have too many to feed
here," he said "and the child of Miguel should go to the ranch house
of Mesa Blanca. The wife of Isidro is a good woman and will give her
care."

"Yes, señor, she is a good woman," agreed the old Indian. "Also it may
be a safe house for a maiden, who knows? Here it is not safe; other
raiders may come."

"That is true. Send her after she has eaten."

He then sought out one of the older men to learn who could be counted
on to round up the stray cattle of the ranges. After that he went at
once back to the ranch house, and did not even speak to Tula again.
There was nothing to indicate that she was the principal object of his
visit, or that she had acquired a guardian who was taking his job
seriously.

Later in the day she was brought to Mesa Blanca by an elderly Indian
woman of her mother's clan, and settled in the quiet Indian manner in
the new dwelling place. Valencia was full of pity for the girl of few
years who had yet known the hard trail, and had mourned alone for her
dead.

There was a sort of suppressed bustle about _la casa de Mesa Blanca_
that day, dainties of cookery prepared with difficulty from the
diminished stores, and the rooms of the iron bars sprinkled and swept,
and pillows of wondrous drawnwork decorated the more pretentious bed.
To Tula it was more of magnificence than she had ever seen in her
brief life, and the many rooms in one dwelling was a wonder. She would
stand staring across the patio and into the various doorways through
which she hesitated to pass. She for whom the wide silences of the
desert held few terrors, hesitated to linger alone in the shadows of
the circling walls. Kit noted that when each little task was finished
for Valencia, she would go outside in the sunlight where she had the
familiar ranges and far blue mountains in sight.

"Here it makes much trouble only to live in a house," she said
pointing to the needlework on a table cover. "The bowls of food will
make that dirty in one eating, and then what? Women in fine houses
are only as mares in time of thrashing the grain--no end and no
beginning to the work,--they only tread their circle."

"Right you are, sister," agreed Kit, "they do make a lot of whirligig
work for themselves, all the same as your grandmothers painting
pottery that smash like eggshells. But life here isn't all play at
that, and there may be something doing before sleep time tonight. I
went after you so I would have a comrade I knew would stick."

She only gazed at him without question.

"You remember, Tula, the woman led by the padre at Soledad?"

She nodded silently.

"It may be that woman is captive to the same men who took your
people," he said slowly watching her, "and it may be we can save
her."

"May it also be that we can catch the man?" she asked, and her eyes
half closed, peered up at him in curious intensity. "Can that be, O
friend?"

"Some day it must surely be, Tula."

"One day it must be,--one day, and prayers are making all the times
for that day," she insisted stolidly. "The old women are talking, and
for that day they want him."

"What day, Tula?"

"The Judas day."

Kit Rhodes felt a curious creepy sensation of being near an unseen
danger, some sleeping serpent basking in the sun, harmless until
aroused for attack. He thought of the gentle domestic Valencia, and
now this child, both centered on one thought--to sacrifice a traitor
on the day of Judas!

"Little girls should make helpful prayers," he ventured rather lamely,
"not vengeance prayers."

"I was the one to make cry of a woman, when my father went under the
earth," she said. It was her only expression of the fact that she had
borne a woman's share of all their joint toil in the desert,--and he
caught her by the shoulder, as she turned away.

"Why, Kid Cleopatra, it isn't a woman's work you've done at all. It's
a man's job you've held down and held level," he declared heartily.
"That's why I am counting on you now. I need eyes to watch when I have
to be in other places."

"I watch," she agreed, "I watch for you, but maybe I make my own
prayers also;--all the time prayers."

"Make one for a straight trail to the border, and all sentries
asleep!" he suggested. "We have a pile of yellow rock to get across,
to say nothing of our latest puzzling prospect."

As the day wore on the latest "prospect" presented many complications
to the imagination, and he tramped the corridors of Mesa Blanca
wondering why he had seen but one side of the question the night
before, for in the broad light of day there seemed a dozen, and all
leading to trouble! That emerald-eyed daughter of a renegade priest
had proven a host in herself when it came to breeding trouble. She
certainly had been unlucky.

"Well, it might be worse," he confided to Bunting out in the corral.
"Cap Pike might have tagged along to discourse on the general
tomfoolery of a partner who picks up a damsel in distress at every
fork of the trail. Not that he'd be far wrong at that, Baby. If any
hombre wanted to catch me in a bear trap he'd only need to bait it
with a skirt."

Baby Bunting nodded sagaciously, and nuzzled after Kit who was
cleaning up the best looking saddle horse brought in from the Indian
herd. It was a scraggy sorrel with twitchy ears and wicked eyes, but
it looked tough as a mountain buck. Kit knew he should need two like
that for the northern trail, and had hopes that the bewitched Marto
Cavayso, whoever he was, would furnish another.

He went steadily about his preparations for the border trail, just as
if the addition of an enchantress with green-jewel eyes was an every
day bit of good fortune expected in every outfit, but as the desert
ranges flamed rose and mauve in the lowering sun there was a restless
expectancy at the ranch house, bolts and locks and firearms were given
final inspection. Even at the best it was a scantily manned fort for
defense in case Mario's companions at dice should question his winning
and endeavor to capture the stake.

"I shall go part way on the Soledad trail and wait what happens," he
told Isidro. "I will remain at a distance unless Clodomiro needs me.
There is no telling what tricks this Cavayso may have up his sleeve."

"I was thinking that same thought," said the old Indian. "The men of
Perez are not trusted long, even by Perez. When it is a woman, they
are not trusted even in sight! Go with God on the trail."

The ugly young sorrel ran tirelessly the first half of the way, just
enough to prove his wind. Then they entered a cañon where scrub
cottonwoods and greasebush gathered moisture enough for scant growth
among the boulders worn out of the cliffs by erosion. It was the
safest place to wait, as it was also the most likely place for
treachery if any was intended to Clodomiro. At either end of the pass
lay open range and brown desert, with only far patches of oasis where
a well was found, or a sunken river marked a green pasture in some
valley.

When he wrote the note he had not thought of danger to Clodomiro,
regarding him only as a fearless messenger, but if the boy should
prove an incumbrance to Cavayso after they were free of Soledad, that
might prove another matter, and as old Isidro had stated, no one
trusted a Perez man when a woman was in question!

He dismounted to listen and seek safe shadow, for the dusk had come,
and desert stars swung like brilliant lamps in the night sky, and the
white rocks served as clear background for any moving body.

The plan was, if possible, to get the woman out with Clodomiro while
the men were at supper. The _manta_ of Elena could cover her, and if
she could walk with a water jar to the far well as any Indian woman
would walk, and a horse hid in the willows there----!

It had been well thought out, and if nothing had interfered they
should have reached the cañon an hour earlier. If Clodomiro had failed
it might be a serious matter, and Kit Rhodes had some anxious moments
for the stolen woman while dusk descended on the cañon.

He listened for the beat of horse hoofs, but what he heard first was a
shot, and a woman's scream, and then the walls of the cañon echoed the
tumult of horses racing towards him in flight.

He recognized Clodomiro by the bare head and banda, and a woman bent
low beside him, her _manta_ flapping like the wings of a great bird as
her horse leaped forward beside the Indian boy.

Back of them galloped a man who slowed up and shot backward at the
foremost of a pursuing band.

He missed, and the fire was returned, evidently with some effect, for
the first marksman grunted and cursed, and Kit heard the clatter of
his gun as it fell from his hand. He leaned forward and spurred his
horse to outrun the pursuers. He was evidently Marto.

Kit had a mental vision of fighting Marto alone for the woman at Mesa
Blanca, or fighting with the entire band and decided to halt the
leader of the pursuers and gain that much time at least for the woman
and Clodomiro.

He had mounted at the first sound of the runaways, and crouching low
in the saddle, hid back of the thick green of a dwarfed mesquite, and
as the leader came into range against the white rock well he aimed low
and touched the trigger.

The horse leaped up and the rider slid off as the animal sunk to the
ground. Kit guided his mount carefully along shadowed places into the
road expecting each instant a shot from the man on the ground.

But it did not come, and he gained the trail before the other pursuers
rounded the bend of the cañon. The sound of their hoofs would deafen
them to his, and once on the trail he gave the sorrel the rein, and
the wild thing went down the gully like an arrow from a bow.

He was more than a little puzzled at the silence back of him. The
going down of the one man and horse had evidently checked all
pursuit. Relieved though he was at the fact, he realized it was not a
natural condition of affairs, and called for explanation.

The other three riders were a half mile ahead and he had no idea of
joining them on the trail. It occurred to him there was a possible
chance of taking a short cut over the point of the mesa and beating
them to the home ranch. There was an even chance that the rougher
trail would offer difficulties in the dark, but that was up to the
sorrel and was worth the trial.

The bronco took the mesa walls like a cat, climbed and staggered up,
slid and tumbled down and crossed the level intervening space to the
corral as the first sound of the others came beating across the
sands.

A dark little figure arose by the corral bars and reached for the
horse as he slipped from the saddle.

"Quickly, Tulita!" he said, stripping saddle and bridle from its back,
"one instant only to make ourselves as still as shadows under the
walls of the house."

Fast as he ran, she kept pace with him to the corridor where Isidro
waited.

"All is well," he said briefly to the old man. "Clodomiro comes safe
with the señora, and the man who would steal her was shot and lost his
gun. All has gone very well."

"Thanks to God!" said the old Indian. "The stealing of women has ever
been a danger near, but luck comes well to you, señor, and it is good
to be under the protection of you."

"Open the door and show a light of welcome," said Kit. "Call your wife
and let all be as planned by us. I will be in the shadows, and a good
gun for safety of the woman if needed, but all will work well, as you
will see."

The three riders came up to the portal before dismounting, and
Valencia went forward, while Isidro held high a blazing torch, and
Clodomiro dismounted quickly, and offered help to the woman.

"My grandmother has all for your comfort, señora," he said, "will it
please you to descend?"

The man swung from the saddle, awkwardly nursing his right arm.

"Yes this is a safe place, Doña Jocasta," he declared. "It is all well
arranged. With your permission I may assist you."

He offered his left hand, but she looked from him to Valencia, and
then to Clodomiro.

"You are young to be a stealer of women;--the saints send you a whiter
road!" she said. "And you may help me, for my shoulder has a hurt from
that first shot of the comrade of this man."

"No, señora," stated her captor, "the evil shot came from no comrade
of mine. They did not follow us, those bandits--accursed be their
names! They were hid in the cañoncita and jumped our trail. But have
no fear, Doña Jocasta, they are left behind, and it will be my
pleasure to nurse the wounds they have made."

"Be occupied with your own," she suggested pointing to his hand from
which blood still dripped, "and you, mother, can show me the new
prison. It can be no worse than the others."

"Better, much better, little dove," said Marto, who followed after
the two women, and glanced over their shoulders into the guest chamber
of the iron bars, "it is a bird cage of the finest, and a nest for
harmonies."

Then to Valencia he turned with authority, "When you have made the
señorita comfortable, bring the key of the door to me."

"_Si_, señor," said Valencia bending low, and even as the prisoner
entered the room, she changed the key to the outside of the door.
Marto nodded his approval and turned away.

"Now this shirt off, and a basin of water and a bandage," he ordered
Isidro. "It is not much, and it still bleeds."

"True, it does, señor, and the room ordered for you has already the
water and a clean shirt on the pillow. Clodomiro, go you for a
bandage, and fetch wine to take dust out of the throat! This way,
señor,--and may you be at home in your own house!"

Unsuspecting, the amorous Marto followed the old man into the room
prepared. He grunted contemptuous satisfaction at evidences of comfort
extending to lace curtains hanging white and full over the one
window.

"It is the time for a shirt of such cleanness," he observed, with a
grin. "_Jesusita!_ but the sleeve sticks to me! Cut it off, and be
quick to make me over into a bridegroom."

The old man did as he was bidden, and when Clodomiro brought in a
woven tray covered with a napkin from which a bottle of wine was
discernible, Marto grinned at him.

"It is a soft nest you found for me, boy," he said appreciatively,
"and when I am capitan I will make you lieutenant."

"Thanks to you, señor, and hasten the day!"

Clodomiro assisted his grandfather, and stood aside at the door
respectfully as the old man passed out with his primitive supply of
salves and antiseptics, and only when all need of caution was ended
the boy smiled at the would-be Lothario, and the smile held a subtle
mockery as he murmured, "The saints send you a good night's sleep,
señor, and a waking to health--and clearer sight!"

"Hell and its blazes to you! why do you grin?" demanded the other
setting down the bottle from which he had taken a long and grateful
drink, but quick as a cat the boy pulled the door shut, and slipped
the bolt on the outside, and laughed aloud.

"Not this night will you be bridegroom for another man's wife, señor!"
he called. "Also it is better that you put curb on your curses,--for
the lady has a mind for a quiet night of sleep."

Marto rushed to the curtained window only to find iron bars and the
glint of a gun barrel. Isidro held the gun, and admonished the
storming captive with the gentle fatalism of the Indian.

"It is done under orders of the major-domo, señor. There is no other
way. If your words are hard or rough to the ears of the lady, there is
a bullet for you, and a hidden place for your grave. This is the only
word to you, señor. It is given me to say."

"But--Gods, saints, and devils--hearken you to me!" stormed the man.
"This is a fool's joke! It can't go on! I must be back at sunrise--_I
must!_"

"You will see many suns rise through these bars if the padrone so
pleases," murmured Isidro gently. "That is not for us to decide."

"To hottest hell with your padrone and you! Bring him here to listen
to me. This is no affair of a man and a woman,--curse her witch eyes
and their green fires! There is work afoot,--big work, and I must get
back to Soledad. You know what goes over the trail to Soledad,--every
Indian knows! It is the cache of ammunition with which to save the
peon and Indian slave,--you know that! You know the revolutionists
must get it to win in Sonora. A trap is set for tomorrow, a big trap!
I must be there to help spring it. To you there will be riches and
safety all your life for my freedom--on the cross I will swear that.
I----"

"Señor, nothing is in my power, and of your traps I know nothing. I am
told you set a trap for a lady who is in grief and your own feet were
caught in it. That is all I know of traps," said Isidro.

Kit patted the old man on the shoulder for cleverness, even while he
wondered at the ravings of the would-be abductor. Then he crept nearer
the window where he could see the face of the prisoner clearly, and
without the overshadowing hat he had worn on entrance. The face gave
him something to think about, for it was that of one of the men who
had ridden up to the Yaqui spring the day he had found Tula and Miguel
in the desert. How should this rebel who rode on secret trails with
Ramon Rotil be head man at Soledad for Rotil's enemy? And what was the
trap?

"Look well at that man, Isidro," he whispered, "and tell me if such a
man rode here to Mesa Blanca with General Rotil."

"No such man was here, señor, but this man was foreman at Soledad
before the Deliverer came over the eastern range to Mesa Blanca. Also
the general and Don José Perez are known as enemies;--the friend of
one cannot be the friend of another."

"True enough, Isidro, but that does not help me to understand the trap
set. Call your wife and learn if I can see the Doña Jocasta."

Tula had crept up beside them, and touched him on the arm.

"She asks for you, and sadness is with her very much. She watches us
in fear, and cannot believe that the door is open for her."

"If that is her only trouble we can clear it away for her, _pronto_,"
he stated, and they entered the patio.

"It is not her only trouble, but of the other she does not speak.
Valencia weeps to look at her."

"Heavens! Is she as bad looking as that?"

"No, it is another reason," stated the girl stolidly. "She is a caged
humming bird, and her wings have broken."

Kit Rhodes never forgot that first picture of their kidnaped guest,
for he agreed with Clodomiro who saw in her the living representation
of old biblical saints.

The likeness was strengthened by the half Moorish drapery over her
head, a black mantilla which, at sound of a man's step, she hurriedly
drew across the lower part of her face. Her left arm and shoulder was
bare, and Valencia bent over her with a strip of old linen for
bandage, but the eyes of Doña Jocasta were turned half shrinking, half
appraising to the strange Americano. It was plain to her that
conquering men were merely the owners of women.

"It is good you come, señor," said Valencia. "Here is a wound and the
bullet under the skin. I have waited for Isidro to help but he is slow
on the way."

"He is busy otherwise, but I will call him unless my own help will
serve here. That is for the señora to say."

The eyes of the girl,--she was not more,--never left his face, and
above the lace scarf she peered at him as through a mask.

"It is you who sent messenger to save an unhappy one you did not know?
You are the Americano of the letter?"

"At your service, señora. May that service begin now?"

"It began when that letter was written, and this room made ready," she
said. "And if you can find the bullet it will end the unhappiness of
this good woman. She weeps for the little bit of lead. It should have
struck a heart instead of a shoulder."

"Ah, señora!" lamented Valencia, "weep like a woman over sorrows. It
is a better way than to mock."

"God knows it is not for me to mock!" breathed the soft voice
bitterly. "And if the señor will lend you his aid, I will again be in
his debt."

Without further words Kit approached, and Valencia drew the cover from
the shoulder and indicated where the ball could be felt.

"I cannot hold the shoulder and press the flesh there without making
much pain, too much," stated Valencia, "but it must come out, or there
will be trouble."

"Sure there will," asserted Kit, "and if you or Tula will hold the
arm, and Doña Jocasta will pardon me----"

He took the white shoulder in his two hands and gently traced the
direction of the bullet. It had struck in the back and slanted along
the shoulder blade. It was evidently fired from a distance and little
force left. Marto had been much nearer the pursuer, and his was a
clean cut wound through the upper arm.

The girl turned chalky white as he began slowly to press the bullet
backward along its trail, but she uttered no sound, only a deep intake
of breath that was half a sob, and the cold moisture of sickening pain
stood in beads on her face.

All of the little barriers with a stranger were forgotten, and the
shielding scarf fell away from her face and bosom, and even with the
shadowed emerald eyes closed, Kit Rhodes thought her the most perfect
thing in beauty he had ever seen.

He hated himself for the pain he was forcing on her as he steadily
followed the bullet upward and upward until it lay in his hand.

She did not faint, as he feared she might, but fell back in the chair,
while Valencia busied herself with the ointment and bandage, and Tula,
at a word from Kit, poured her a cup of wine.

"Drink," he said, "if only a little, señora. Your strength has served
you well, but it needs help now."

She swallowed a little of the wine, and drew the scarf about her, and
after a little opened her eyes and looked at him. He smiled at her
approvingly, and offered her the bullet.

"It may be you will want it to go on some shrine to a patron saint,
señora," he suggested, but she did not take it, only looked at him
steadily with those wonderful eyes, green with black lashes, shining
out of her marble Madonna-like face.

"My patron saint traveled the trail with you, Señor Americano, and the
bullet is witness. Let me see it."

He gave it into her open hand where she balanced it thoughtfully.

"So near the mark, yet went aside," she murmured. "Could that mean
there is yet any use left in the world for me?"

"Beauty has its own use in the world, señora; that is why rose gardens
are planted."

"True, señor, though I belong no more to the gardens;--no, not to
gardens, but to the desert. Neither have I place nor power today, and
I may never have, but I give back to you this witness of your great
favor. If a day comes when I, Jocasta, can give favor in return, bring
or send this witness of the ride tonight. I will redeem it."

"The favor is to me, and calls for no redemption," said Kit awkward at
the regal poise of her, and enchanted by the languorous glance and
movement of her. Even the reaching out of her hand made him think of
Tula's words, 'a humming bird,' if one could imagine such a
jewel-winged thing weighted down with black folds of mourning.

"A caged humming bird with broken wings!" and that memory brought
another thought, and he fumbled the bullet, and gave the first steady
look into those emerald, side-glancing eyes.

"But--there is a compact I should appreciate if Doña Jocasta will do
me the favor,--and it is that she sets value on the life that is now
her very own, and, that she forgets not to cherish it."

"Ah-h!" She looked up at him piteously a moment, and then the long
lashes hid her eyes, and her head was bent low. "Sinful and without
shame have I been! and they have told you of the knife I tried to
use--here!"

She touched her breast with her slender ring-laden hand, and her voice
turned mocking.

"But you see, Señor Americano, even Death will not welcome me, and
neither steel nor lead will serve me!"

"Life will serve you better, señora."

"Not yet has it done so, and I am a woman--old--old! I am twenty,
señor, and refused of Death! Jocasta Benicia they named me. Jocasta
Perdida it should have been to fit the soul of me, so why should I
promise a man whom I do not know that I will cherish my life when I
would not promise a padre? Answer me that, señor whose name has not
been told me!"

"But you will promise, señora," insisted Kit, smiling a little, though
thrilled by the sadness of life's end at twenty, "and as for names, if
you are Doña Perdida I may surely name myself Don Esperenzo, for I
have not only hope, but conviction, that life is worth living!"

"To a man, yes, and Mexico is a man's land."

"Ay, it must be yours as well,--beautiful that thou art!" murmured
Valencia adoringly. "You should not give yourself a name of sadness,
for this is our Señor El Pajarito, who is both gay and of honesty.
He,--with God,--is your protection, and harm shall not be yours."

Doña Jocasta reached out and touched kindly the bent head of the
Indian woman.

"As you will, mother. With hope and a singer for a shield, even a
prison would not be so bad, El Pajarito, eh? Do you make songs--or
sing them, señor?"

"Neither,--I am only a lucky bluff. My old partner and I used to sing
fool things to the mules, and as we could out-bray the burros my Indio
friends are kind and call it a singing;--as easy as that is it to get
credit for talent in this beneficent land of yours! But--the compact,
señora?"

Her brows lifted wearily, yet the hint of a smile was in her eyes.

"Yes, since you ask so small a thing, it is yours. Jocasta makes
compact with you; give me a wish that the life is worth it."

"Sure I will," said Kit holding out his hand, but she shrunk
perceptibly, and her hand crept out of sight in the black draperies.

"You have not, perhaps, ever sent a soul to God without absolution?"
she asked in a breathless hushed sort of voice. "No señor, the look of
you tells me you have not been so unpardonable. Is it not so?"

"Why, yes," returned Kit, "it hasn't been a habit with me to start
anyone on the angels' flight without giving him time to bless himself,
but even at that----"

"No, no!" as he took a step nearer. "The compact is ours without
handclasp. The hand of Jocasta is the hand of the black glove,
señor."

He looked from her to the two Indians, the old woman kneeling beside
Jocasta and crossing herself, and Tula, erect and slender against the
adobe wall, watching him stolidly. There was no light on the subject
from either of them.

"Pardon, I'm but a clumsy Americano, not wise to your meanings," he
ventured, "and beautiful hands look better without gloves of any
color."

"It may be so, yet I have heard that no matter how handsome a headsman
may be, he wears a black mask, and hands are not stretched out to
touch his."

"Señora!"

"Señor, we arrive at nothing when making speech of me," she said with
a little sigh. "Our ride was hard, and rest is best for all of us. Our
friend here tells me there is supper, and if you will eat with me, we
will know more of how all this has come about. It is strange that you,
a lone Americano in this land, should plan this adventure like a
bandit, and steal not only the major-domo of Soledad, but the woman he
would steal!"

"It was so simple that the matter is not worth words except as
concerns Clodomiro, who was the only one in danger."

"Ah! if ever they had suspected him! You have not seen that band of
men, they are terrible! Of all the men of José Perez they are the
blackest hearts, and if it had not been for the poor padre----"

"Tell me of him," said Kit who perceived she was willing enough to
speak plainly of all things except herself. "He is a good man?"

"A blessing to me, señor!" she asserted earnestly as they were seated
at the table so carefully prepared by Valencia. "Look you! I broke
away from those animals and in a little mountain village,--such a one
as I was born in, señor!--I ran to the altar of the little chapel, and
that priest was a shield for me. Against all the men he spoke curses
if they touched me. Well, after that there was only one task to do,
and that was to carry him along. I think they wanted to kill him, and
had not the courage. And after all that I came away from Soledad
without saving him;--that was bad of me, very bad! I--I think I went
wild in the head when I saw the men play games of cards, and I to go
to the winner! Not even a knife for food would they give me, for they
knew----"

She shuddered, and laid down quickly the knife she had lifted from
beside her plate, and glanced away when she found him regarding her.

"It has been long weeks since I was trusted as you are trusting me
here," she continued quietly. "See! On my wrists were chains at
first."

"And this Marto Cavayso did that?" demanded Kit as she showed her
scarred slender wrist over which Valencia had wept.

"No, it was before Cavayso--he is a new man--so I think this was when
Conrad was first helping to plan me as an insane woman and have me put
secretly to prison, but some fear struck José Perez, and that plan
would not serve. In the dark of night I was half smothered in wraps
and put in an ox-cart of a countryman and hauled north out of the
city. Two men rode as guard. They chained me in the day and slept,
traveling only in the night until they met Cavayso and his men. After
that I remember little, I was so weary of life! One alcalde asked
about me and Cavayso said I was his wife who had run away with a gypsy
fiddler, and he was taking me home to my children. Of what use to
speak? A dozen men would have added their testimony to his, and had
sport in making other romance against me. They were sullen because
they thought I had jewels hid under my clothes, and Cavayso would not
let them search me. It has been hell in these hills of Sonora, Señor
Pajarito."

"That is easy to understand," agreed Kit wondering at her endurance,
and wondering at the poise and beauty of her after such experience.
There was no trace of nervousness, or of tears, or self-pity. It was
as if all this of which she told had been a minor affair, dwarfed by
some tragic thing to which he had no key.

"So, Conrad was in this plot against you?" he asked, and knew that
Tula, standing back of his chair had missed no word. "You mean the
German Conrad who is manager of Granados ranches across the border?"

"Señor, I mean the beast whose trail is red with the blood of
innocence, and whose poison is sinking into the veins of Mexico like a
serpent, striking secretly, now here, now there, until the blood of
the land is black with that venom. Ay! I know, señor;--the earth is
acrawl with the German lizards creeping into the shining sun of
Mexico! This so excellent Don Adolf Conrad is only one, and José Perez
is his target--I am the one to know that! A year ago, and Don José was
a man, with faults perhaps; but who is perfect on this earth? Then
came Don Adolf riding south and is very great gentleman and makes
friends. His home in Hermosillo becomes little by little the house of
Perez, and little by little Perez goes on crooked paths. That is true!
First it was to buy a ship for coast trade, then selling rifles in
secret where they should not be sold, then--shame it is to tell--men
and women were sold and carried on that ship like cattle! Not rebels,
señor, not prisoners of battle,--but herdsmen and ranch people, poor
Indian farmers whom only devils would harm! Thus it was, señor, until
little by little Don Adolf knew so much that José Perez awoke to find
he had a master, and a strong one! It was not one man alone who caught
him in the net; it was the German comrades of Don Adolf who never
forgot their task, even when he was north in the States. They needed a
man of name in Hermosillo, and José Perez is now that man. When the
whip of the German cracks, he must jump to serve their will."

"But José Perez is a strong man. Before this day he has wiped many a
man from his trail if the man made him trouble," ventured Kit.

"You have right in that, señor, but I am telling you it is a wide net
they spread and in that net he is snared. Also his household is no
longer his own. The Indian house servants are gone, and outlaw
Japanese are there instead. That is true and their dress is the dress
of Indians. They are Japanese men of crimes, and German men gave aid
that they escape from justice in Japan. It is because they need such
men for German work in Mexico, men who have been taught German and
dare not turn rebel. Not an hour of the life of José Perez is free
from the eyes of a spy who is a man of crimes. And there are other
snares. They tell him that he is to be a governor by their
help;--that is a rich bait to float before the eyes of a man! His feet
are set on a trail made by Adolph Conrad,--He is trapped, and there is
no going back. Poison and shame and slavery and death have come upon
that trail like black mushrooms grown in a night, and what the end of
the trail will be is hid in the heart of God."

"But your sympathy is with those women in slavery there in the south,
and not with the evil friend of José Perez?" asked Kit.

"Can you doubt, señor? Am I not as truly a victim as they? I have not
worked under a whip, but there are other punishments--for a woman!"

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she rested her chin on her
hand, staring out into the shadows of the patio, oblivious of them
all. Tula gazed at her as if fascinated, and there was a difference in
her regard. That she was linked in hate against Conrad gave the Indian
girl common cause with the jewel-eyed woman whose beauty had been the
boast of a province. Kit noticed it and was vastly comforted. The
absolute stolidity of Tula had left him in doubt as to the outcome if
his little partner had disapproved of his fascinating protégée. He
knew the thing she wanted to know, and asked it.

"Señora, the last band of Indian slaves from Sonora were driven from
the little pueblo of Palomitas at the edge of this ranch. And there
are sisters and mothers here with sick hearts over that raid. Can you
tell me where those women were sent?"

"Which raid was that, and when?" asked Jocasta arousing herself from
some memory in which she had been submerged. "Pardon, señor, I am but
a doleful guest at supper, thinking too deeply of that which sent me
here. Your question?"

He repeated it, and she strove to remember.

"There were many, and no one was told whence they came. It was
supposed they were war prisoners who had to be fed, and were being
sent to grow their own maize. If it were the last band then it would
be the time Conrad had the wound in the face, here, like a knife
thrust, and that----"

"That was the time," interrupted Kit eagerly. "If you can tell us
where those people were sent you will prove the best of blessings to
Mesa Blanca this night."

She smiled sadly at that and looked from him to Tula, whom she
evidently noted for the first time.

"It is long since the word of blessing has been given to Jocasta," she
said wistfully. "It would be a comfort to earn it in this house. But
that band was not sent away,--not far. Something went wrong with the
boat down the coast, I forgot what it was, but there was much trouble,
and the Indians were sent to a plantation of the General Terain until
the boat was ready. I do not know what plantation, except that Conrad
raged about it. He and Don José had a quarrel, very terrible! That
wound given to him by a woman made him very difficult; then the
quarrel ended by them drinking together too much. And after that many
things happened very fast, and--I was brought north."

"And the Indians?"

"Señor, I do not think anyone thought again of those Indians. They
are planting maize or cane somewhere along the Rio Sonora."

Tula sank down weeping against the wall, while Valencia stroked her
hair and patted her. Doña Jocasta regarded her curiously.

"To be young enough to weep like that over a sorrow!" she murmured
wistfully. "It is to envy her, and not mourn over her."

"But this weeping is of joy," explained Valencia. "It is as the señor
says, a blessing has come with you over the hard road. This child was
also stolen, and was clever to escape. Her mother and her sister are
yet there in that place where the maize is planted. If the boat has
not taken them, then they also may get back. It is a hope!"

"Poor little one! and now that I could make good use of power, it is
no longer mine," said Jocasta, looking at Kit regretfully. "A young
maid with courage to escape has earned the right to be given help."

"She will be given it," he answered quietly, "and since your patience
has been great with my questions, I would ask more of this Cavayso we
have trapped tonight. He is raging of curious things there across the
patio. Isidro holds a gun on him that he subdue his shouts, and his
offer is of rich bribes for quick freedom. He is as mad to get back to
Soledad as he was to leave it, and he tells of a trap set there for
someone. It concerns ammunition for the revolutionists."

"No, not for them, but for trade in the south," said Jocasta promptly.
"Yes, Soledad has long been the place for hiding of arms. It was the
task of Don Adolf to get them across the border, and then a man of
Don José finds a safe trail for them. Sometimes a German officer from
Tucson is of much help there in the north. I have heard Don José and
Conrad laugh about the so easily deceived Americanos,--your pardon,
señor!"

"Oh, we are used to that," agreed Kit easily, "and it is quite true.
We have a whole flock of peace doves up there helping the Hohenzollern
game. What was the officer's name?"

"A name difficult and long," she mused, striving to recall it. "But
that name was a secret, and another was used. He was known only as a
simple advocate--James, the name; I remember that for they told me it
was the English for Diego, which was amusing to me,--there is no sound
alike in them!"

"That's true, there isn't," said Kit, who had no special interest in
any advocate named James. "But to get back to the man in the cell over
there and the ammunition, may I ask if he confided to you anything of
that place of storage? I mean Cavayso?"

"No, señor; and for a reason of the best. He knows nothing, and all
his days and nights were spent searching secretly for the entrance to
that dungeon,--if it is a dungeon! He thought I should know, and made
threats against me because I would not tell. Myself, I think José
Perez tells no one that hiding place, not even Conrad, though Conrad
has long wanted it! I told Don José that if he told that he was as
good as a dead man, and I believe it. But now," and she shook her head
fatefully, "now he is sure to get it!"

"But he swears he must get back to Soledad by sunrise for a trap is
set. A trap for whom?" persisted Kit.

Doña Jocasta shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"God forbid he should get free to put those wolves on my track; then
indeed I would need a knife, señor! He held them back from me on the
trail, but now he would not hold them back."

"But the trap, señora?" repeated the puzzled Kit. "That man was in
earnest,--dead in earnest! He did not know I was listening, his words
were only for an Indian,--for Isidro. Who could he trap? Was he
expecting anyone at Soledad?"

Doña Jocasta looked up with a little gasp of remembrance.

"It is true, a courier did come two days ago from the south, and
Cavayso told me he meant to take me to the desert and hide me before
Don José arrived. Also more mules and wagons came in. And Elena
scolded about men who came to eat but not to work. Yes, they smoked,
and talked, and talked, and waited! I never thought of them except to
have a great fear. Yesterday after the lad brought me that letter I
had not one thought, but to count the hours, and watch the sun. But it
may be Cavayso told the truth, and that Don José was indeed coming. He
told me he had promised Perez to lose me in the Arroya Maldioso if in
no other way, and he had to manage that I never be seen again."

"Arroya Maldioso?" repeated Kit, "I don't understand."

"It is the great quicksand of Soledad, green things grow and blossom
there but no living thing can cross over. It is beautiful--that little
arroya, and very bad."

"I had heard of it, but forgot," acknowledged Kit, "but that is not
the trap of which he is raving now. It is some other thing."

Doña Jocasta did not know. She confessed that her mind was dark and
past thinking. The ways of Don José and Conrad were not easy for other
men of different lives to understand;--there was a great net of war
and scheming and barter, and Don José was snared in that net, and the
end no man could see!

"Have you ever heard that Marto Cavayso was once a lieutenant of
General Rotil?" Kit asked.

"The Deliverer!" she gasped, leaning forward and staring at him. A
deep flush went over her face and receded, leaving her as deathly pale
as when the bullet had been forced from the white shoulder. Her regard
was curious, for her brows were contracted and there was domination
and command in her eyes. "Why do you say this to me, señor? And why do
you think it?"

Kit was astonished at the effect of his words, and quite as much
astonished to hear anyone of the Perez household refer to Rotil as
"the Deliverer."

"Señora, if you saw him ride side by side with Rotil, drinking from
the same cup in the desert, would you not also think it?"

Tula rose to her feet, and moved closer to Kit.

"I too was seeing them together, señora," she said. "It was at the
Yaqui well; I drew the water, and they drank it. This man of the loud
curses is the man."

Doña Jocasta covered her eyes with her hand, and she seemed shaken. No
one else spoke, and the silence was only broken by the muffled tones
of Marto in the cell, and the brief bark of Clodomiro's dog at the
corral.

"God knows what may be moving forward," she said at last, "but there
is some terrible thing afoot. Take me to this man."

"It may not be a pleasant thing to do," advised Kit. "This is a man's
game, señora, and his words might offend, for his rage is very great
against you."

"Words!" she said with a note of disdain, and arose to her feet. She
swayed slightly, and Valencia steadied her, and begged her to wait
until morning, for her strength was gone and the night was late.

"Peace, woman! Who of us is sure of a morning? This minute is all the
time that is ours, and--I must know."

She leaned on Valencia as they crossed the patio, and Tula moved a
seat outside the door of Marto's room. Kit fastened a torch in the
holder of the brick pillar and opened the door without being seen, and
stood watching the prisoner.

Marto Cavayso, who had been pleading with Isidro, whirled only to find
the barrel of another gun thrust through the carved grill in the top
of the door.

"Isidro," said Kit, "this man is to answer questions of the señora. If
he is uncivil you can singe him with a bullet at your own will."

"Many thanks, señor," returned Isidro promptly. "That is a pleasant
work to think of, for the talk of this shameless gentleman is poison
to the air."

"You!" burst out Marto, pointing a hand at Jocasta in the corridor.
"You put witchcraft of hell on me, and wall me in here with an old
lunatic for guard, and now----"

Bing! A bullet from Isidro's rifle whistled past Marto's ear and
buried itself in the adobe, scattering plaster and causing the
prisoner to crouch back in the corner.

Jocasta regarded him as if waiting further speech, but none came.

"That is better," she said. "No one wishes to do you harm, but you
need a lesson very badly. Now Marto Cavayso,--if that be your
name!--why did you carry me away? Was it your own doing, or were you
under orders of your General Rotil?"

"I should have let the men have you," he muttered. "I was a bewitched
man, or you never would have traveled alive to see Soledad. Rotil? Do
not the handsome women everywhere offer him love and comradeship?
Would he risk a good man to steal a woman of whom José Perez is
tired?"

"You are not the one to give judgment," said a strange voice outside
the barred window.--"That I did not send you to steal women is very
true, and the task I did send you for has been better done by other
men in your absence."

Cavayso swore, and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. Outside the
window there were voices in friendly speech, that of Clodomiro very
clear as he told his grandfather the dogs did not bark but once,
because some of the Mesa Blanca boys were with the general, who was
wounded.

Kit closed and bolted again the door of Cavayso, feeling that the
guardianship of beauty in Sonora involved a man in many awkward and
entangling situations. If it was indeed Rotil----

But a curious choking moan in the corridor caused him to turn quickly,
but not quickly enough.

Doña Jocasta, who had been as a reed of steel against other dangers,
had risen to her feet as if for flight at sound of the voice, and she
crumpled down on the floor and lay, white as a dead woman, in a faint
so deep that even her heartbeat seemed stilled.

Kit gathered her up, limp as a branch of willow, and preceded by Tula
with the torch, bore her back to the chamber prepared for her.
Valencia swept back the covers of the bed, and with many mutterings of
fear and ejaculations to the saints, proceeded to the work of
resuscitation.

"To think that she came over that black road and held fast to a heart
of bravery,--and now at a word from the Deliverer, she falls dead in
fear! So it is with many who hear his name; yet he is not bad to his
friends. Every Indian in Sonora is knowing that," stated Valencia.




CHAPTER XIV

THE HAWK OF THE SIERRAS


"That is what we get, Tula, by gathering beauty in distress into our
outfit," sighed Kit. "She seems good foundation for a civil war here.
Helen of Troy,--a lady of an eastern clan!--started a war on less, and
the cards are stacked against us if they start scrapping. When Mexican
gentry begin hostilities, the innocent bystander gets the worst of
it,--especially the Americano. So it is just as well the latest
Richard in the field does not know whose bullet hit him in the leg,
and brought his horse down."

Tula, who since their entrance to the civilized surroundings of Mesa
Blanca, had apparently dropped all initiative, and was simply a little
Indian girl under orders, listened impassively to this curious
monologue. She evidently thought white people use many words for a
little meaning.

"The Deliverer says will you graciously come?" she stated for the
second time.

"Neither graciously, gracefully or gratefully, but I'll arrive," he
conceded. "His politeness sounds ominous. It is puzzling why I, a mere
trifle of an American ranch hand, should be given audience instead of
his distinguished lieutenant."

"Isidro and Clodomiro are talking much with him, and the man Marto is
silent, needing no guard," said Tula.

"Sure,--Rotil has the whole show buffaloed. Well, let's hope, child,
that he is not a mind reader, for we have need of all the ore we
brought out, and can't spare any for revolutionary subscriptions."

Kit followed Tula into the _sala_ where a rawhide cot had been placed,
and stretched on it was the man of Yaqui Spring.

One leg of his trousers was ripped up, and there was the odor of a
greasewood unguent in the room. Isidro was beside him, winding a
bandage below the knee. A yellow silk banda around the head of Rotil
was stained with red.

But he had evidently been made comfortable, for he was rolling a
cigarette and was calling Isidro "doctor." Two former vaqueros of Mesa
Blanca were there, and they nodded recognition to Kit. Rotil regarded
him with a puzzled frown, and then remembered, and waved his hand in
salute.

"Good day, señor, we meet again!" he said. "I am told that you are my
host and the friend of Señor Whitely. What is it you do here? Is it
now a prison, or a hospital for unfortunates?"

"Only a hospital for you, General, and I trust a serviceable one," Kit
hastened to assure him. "More of comfort might have been yours had you
sent a courier to permit of preparation."

"The service is of the best," and Rotil pointed to Isidro. "I've a
mind to take him along, old as he is! The boys told me he was the best
medico this side the range, and I believe it. As to courier," and he
grinned, "I think you had one, if you had read the message right."

"The surprises of the night were confusing, and a simple man could not
dare prophesy what might follow," said Kit, who had drawn up a chair
and easily fell into Rotil's manner of jest. "But I fancy if that
courier had known who would follow after, he would have spent the
night by preference at Soledad."

"Sure he would,--hell's fire shrivel him! That shot of his scraped a
bone for me, and put my horse out of business. For that reason we came
on quietly, and these good fellows listened at the window of Marto
before they carried me in. It is a good joke on me. My men rounded up
Perez and his German slaver at Soledad today--yesterday now!--and when
we rode up the little cañon to be in at the finish what did we see but
an escape with a woman? Some word had come my way of a Perez woman
there, and only one thought was with me, that the woman had helped
Perez out of the trap as quickly as he had ridden into it! After that
there was nothing to do but catch them again. No thought came to me
that Marto might be stealing a woman for himself, the fool! Perez made
better time than we figured on, and is a day ahead. Marto meant to
hide the woman and get back in time. It's a great joke that an
Americano took the woman from him. I hope she is worth the trouble,"
and he smiled, lifting his brows questioningly.

"So that was the 'trap' that Marto raved and stormed to get back to?"
remarked Kit. "I am still in the dark, though there are some glimmers
of light coming. If Marto knew of that trap it explains----"

"There were three others of my men on the Soledad rancho, drawing pay
from Perez. It is the first time that fox came in when we could spread
the net tight. To get him at another place would not serve so well,
for if Soledad was the casket of our treasure, at Soledad we make a
three strike,--the cattle, the ammunition, and Perez there to show the
hiding place! It is the finish of four months' trailing, and is worth
the time, and but for Marto running loco over a girl, there would have
been a beautiful quiet finish at Soledad ranch house last night."

"But, if your men have Perez----"

"Like that!" and Rotil stretched out his open hand, and closed it
significantly, with a cruel smile in his black, swift-glancing eyes.
"This time there is no mistake. For over a week men and stout mules
have been going in;--it is a _conducta_ and it is to take the
ammunition. Well, señor, it is all well managed for me; also we have
much need of that ammunition for our own lads."

"And it was done without a fight?" asked Kit. "I have heard that the
men picked for Soledad were not the gentlest band Señor Perez could
gather."

"We had their number," said Rotil placidly. "Good men enough, but with
their cartridges doctored what could they do? I sent in two machine
guns, and they were not needed. A signal smoke went up to show me all
was well, and in another minute I heard the horses of Marto and his
girl. He must have started an hour before Perez arrived. It is a trick
of Don José's that no one can count on his engagements, but this time
every hill had its sentinels for his trail, not anything was left to
chance."

"And your accident?" asked Kit politely.

"Oh, I was setting my own guards at every pass when the runaway woman
and men caught my ear and we took a short cut down the little cañon to
head them off. I knew they would make for here, and that houses were
not plenty--" he smiled as if well satisfied with the knowledge. "So,
as this was a friendly house it would be a safe bet to keep on
coming." He blew rings of smoke from the cigarette, and chuckled.

"The boys will think a quicksand has swallowed us, and no one will be
sleeping there at Soledad."

"Is there anything I can do to be of service," asked Kit. "I have a
good room and a bed----"

But the chuckling of Rotil broke into a frank laugh.

"No, señor!" he said with humorous decision, watching Kit as he spoke,
"already I have been told of your great kindness in the giving of beds
and rooms of comfort. Why, with a house big enough, you could jail all
the district of Altar! Not my head for a noose!"

Kit laughed awkwardly at the jest which was based on fact, but he met
the keen eyes of Rotil very squarely.

"The Indians no doubt told you the reason the jail was needed?" he
said. "If a girl picks a man to take a trail with, that is her own
affair and not mine, but if a girl with chains on her wrists has to
watch men throwing dice for her, and is forced to go with the
winner--well--the man who would not help set her free needs a dose of
lead. That is our American way, and no doubt is yours, señor."

"Sure! Let a woman pick her own, if she can find him!" agreed Rotil,
and then he grinned again as he looked at Kit. "And, señor, it is a
safe bet that this time she'll find him!--you are a good big mark,
not easily hidden."

The other men smiled and nodded at the humor of their chief, and
regarded Kit with appreciative sympathy. It was most natural of course
for them to suppose that if he took a woman from Marto, he meant to
win her for himself.

Kit smiled back at them, and shook his head.

"No such luck for a poor vaquero," he confessed. "The lady is in
mourning, and much grief. She is like some saint of sorrows in a
priest's tale, and----"

"The priests are liars, and invented hell," stated Rotil.

"That may be, but sometimes we see sad women of prayers who look like
the saints the priests tell about,--and to have such women sold by a
gambler is not good to hear of."

No one spoke for a little. The eyes of Rotil closed in a curious,
contemptuous smile.

"You are young, boy," he said at last, "and even we who are not so
young are often fooled by women. Trust any woman of the camp rather
than the devout saints of the shrines. All are for market,--but you
pay most for the saint, and sorrow longest for her. And you never
forget that the shrine is empty!"

His tone was mocking and harsh, but Kit preferred to ignore the sudden
change of manner for which there seemed no cause.

"Thanks for the warning, General, and no saints for me!" he said good
naturedly. "Now, is there any practical thing I can do to add to your
comfort here? Any plans for tomorrow?"

"A man of mine is already on the way to Soledad, and we will sleep
before other plans are made. Not even Marto will I see tonight,
knowing well that you have seen to his comfort!" and he chuckled again
at the thought of Marto in his luxurious trap. "My lads will do guard
duty in turn, and we sleep as we are."

"Then, if I can be of no service----"

"Tomorrow perhaps, not tonight, señor. Some sleep will do us no
harm."

"Then good night, and good rest to you, General."

"Many thanks, and good night, Don Pajarito."

Kit laughed at that sally, and took himself out of the presence. It
was plain that the Deliverer had obtained only the most favorable
account of Kit as the friend of Whitely. And as an American lad who
sang songs, and protected even women he did not know, he could not
appear formidable to Rotil's band, and certainly not in need of
watching.

He looked back at them as the general turned on his side to sleep, and
one of his men blew out the two candles, and stationed themselves
outside the door. As he noted the care they took in guarding him, and
glanced at the heavy doors and barred windows, he had an uncomfortable
thrill at the conviction that it would serve as a very efficient
prison for himself if his new friends, the revolutionists, ever
suspected he held the secret of the red gold of El Alisal. It was a
bit curious that the famous lost mine of the old mission had never
really been "lost" at all!

Isidro, looking very tired, had preceded him from the _sala_, as Kit
supposed to go to bed. The day and night had been trying to the old
man, and already it was the small hours of a new day.

There was a dim light in the room of Doña Jocasta, but no sound. Tula
was curled up on a blanket outside her door like a young puppy on
guard. He stooped and touched her shoulder.

"The señora?" he whispered.

"Asleep, after tears, and a sad heart!" she replied. "Valencia thanks
the saints that at last she weeps,--the beautiful sad one!"

"That is well; go you also to sleep. Your friends keep guard
tonight."

She made no reply, and he passed on along the corridor to his own
rooms. The door was open, and he was about to strike a light when a
hand touched his arm. He drew back, reaching for his gun.

"What the devil----"

"Señor," whispered Isidro, "make no light, and make your words in
whispers."

"All right. What's on your mind?"

"The señora and the Deliverer. Know you not, señor, that she is sick
with shame? It is so. No man has told him who the woman is he calls
yours. All are afraid, señor. It is said that once Ramon Rotil was
content to be a simple man with a wife of his own choosing, but luck
was not his. It was the daughter of a priest in the hills, and José
Perez took her!"

"Ah-h!" breathed Kit. "If it should be this one----"

"It is so,--she went like a dead woman at his voice, but he does not
know. How should he, when Don José has women beyond count? Señor, my
Valencia promised Doña Jocasta you would save her from meeting the
general. That promise was better than a sleeping drink of herbs to
her. Now that the promise is made, how will you make it good?"

"Holy smoke--also incense--also the pipe!" muttered Kit in the dark.
"If I live to get out of this muddle I'll swear off all entangling
alliances forevermore! Come into the kitchen where we can have a
fire's light. I can't think in this blackness."

They made their way to the kitchen, and started a blaze with mesquite
bark. The old Indian cut off some strips of burro _jerke_ and threw
them on the coals.

"That is better, it's an occupation anyway," conceded Kit chewing with
much relish. "Now, Isidro, man, you must go on. You know the land
best. How is one to hide a woman of beauty from desert men?"

"She may have a plan," suggested Isidro.

"Where is Clodomiro?" asked Kit, suddenly recalling that the boy had
disappeared. The old man did not answer; he was very busy with the
fire, and when the question was repeated he shook his head.

"I do not know who went. If Tula did not go, then Clodomiro was the
one. They were talking about it."

"Talking,--about what?"

"About the German. He is caught at Soledad, and must not be let go, or
let die. All the Indians of Palomitas will be asking the Deliverer for
that man."

"Isidro, what is it they want to do with him?" asked Kit, and the old
Indian ceased fussing around with a stick in the ashes, and looked up,
sinister and reproving.

"That, señor, is a question a man does not ask. If my woman tells me
the women want a man for Judas, I--get that man! I ask nothing."

"Good God! And that child, Tula--" began Kit in consternation, and old
Isidro nodded his head.

"It is Tula who asked. She is proving she is a woman; Clodomiro goes
for her because that is his work. Your white way would be a different
way,--of an alcalde and the word of many witness. Our women have their
own way, and no mistake is made."

"But Rotil, the general,--he will not permit----"

"Señor, for either mother or grandmother the general had an Indian
woman. He has the knowing of these things. I think Tula gets the man
they ask for. She is wise, that child! A good woman will be chosen to
have speech with the Deliverer--when they come."

"There is a thought in that," mused Kit, glancing sharply at the old
man. "Do they make choice of some wise woman, to be speaker for the
others? And they come here?"

"That is how it is, señor."

"Then, what better way to hide Doña Jocasta than to place her among
Indian women who come in a band for that task? Many women veil and
shroud their heads in black as she does. The music of her voice was
dulled when she spoke to Marto, and General Rotil had no memory of
having ever heard it. Think,--is there to be found an old dress of
your wife? Can it be done and trust no one? Doña Jocasta is clever
when her fear is gone. With Tula away from that door the rest is easy.
The dawn is not so far off."

"Dawn is the time the women of Palomitas will take the road," decided
Isidro, "for by the rising time of the sun the Deliverer has said that
his rest here is ended, and he goes on to Soledad where José Perez
will have a trembling heart of waiting."

"Will they tell him whose trap he is caught in?"

"Who knows? The Deliverer has plans of his own making. It was not for
idleness he was out of sight when the trap was sprung. He sleeps
little, does Ramon Rotil!"

In a mesquite tree by the cook house chickens began to crow a
desultory warning. And Isidro proceeded to subtract stealthily a skirt
and shawl from wooden pegs set in the adobe wall where Valencia slept.
She startled him by stirring, and making weary inquiry as to whether
it was the time.

"Not yet, my treasure, that fighting cock of Clodomiro crows only
because of a temper, and not for day. It is I will make the fire and
set Maria to the grinding. Go you to your sleep."

Which Valencia was glad to do, while her holiday wardrobe, a purple
skirt bordered with green, and a deeply fringed black shawl, was
confiscated for the stranger within their gates.

Thrusting the bundle back of an olla in the corridor he touched Tula
on the shoulder.

"The señor waits you in the kitchen," he muttered in the Indian
tongue, and she arose without a word, and went silent as a snake along
the shadowy way.

It took courage for Isidro to enter alone the room of Doña Jocasta, as
that was the business of a woman. But Kit had planned that, if
discovered, the girl should apparently have no accomplices. This
would protect Tula and Valencia should Rotil suspect treachery if an
occupant of the house should disappear. It would seem most natural
that a stolen woman would seek to escape homeward when not guarded,
and that was to serve as a reasonable theory.

She slept with occasional shuddering sighs, as a child after sobbing
itself to sleep. That sad little sound gave the old Indian confidence
in his errand. It might mean trouble, but she had dared trouble ere
now. And there could not be continual sorrow for one so beautiful, and
this might be the way out!

She woke with a startled cry as he shook her bed, but it was quickly
smothered as he whispered her name.

"It is best you go to pray in the chapel room, and meet there the
women of Palomitas. Others will go to pray for a Judas; among many you
may be hidden."

She patted his arm, and arose in the dark, slipping on her clothes. He
gave her the skirt and she donned that over her own dress. Her teeth
were chattering with nervous excitement, and when she had covered
herself with the great shawl, her hand went out gropingly to him to
lead her.

As they did not pass the door of the _sala_, no notice was given them
by Rotil's guard. Mexican women were ever at early prayers, or at the
_metate_ grinding meal for breakfast, and that last possibility was
ever welcome to men on a trail.

In the kitchen Kit Rhodes was seeking information concerning Clodomiro
from Tula, asking if it was true he would fetch the women of Palomitas
to petition Rotil.

"Maybe so," she conceded, "but that work is not for a mind of a white
man. Thus I am not telling you Clodomiro is the one to go; his father
was what you call a priest,--but not of the church," she said hastily,
"no, of other things."

Looking at her elfin young face in the flickering light of the hearth
fire, he had a realization of vast vistas of "other things" leading
backward in her inherited tendencies, the things known by his young
comrade but not for the mind of a white man,--not even for the man
whom Miguel had trusted with the secret of El Alisal. Gold might
occasionally belong to a very sacred shrine, but even sacred gold was
not held so close in sanctuary as certain ceremonies dear to the
Indian thought. Without further words Kit Rhodes knew that there were
locked chambers in the brain of his young partner, and to no white man
would be granted the key.

"Well, since he has gone for them, there is nothing to say, though the
general may be ill pleased at visitors," hazarded Kit. "Also you and I
know why we should keep all the good will coming our way, and risk
none of it on experiments. Go you back to your rest since there is not
anything to be done. Clodomiro is at Palomitas by now, and you may as
well sleep while the dawn is coming."

She took the strip of roasted meat he offered her, and went back to
her blanket on the tiles at the door of the now empty room.




CHAPTER XV

THE "JUDAS" PRAYER AT MESA BLANCA


Isidro was right when he said Ramon Rotil slept but little, for the
very edge of the dawn was scarce showing in the east when he opened
his eyes, moved his wounded leg stiffly, and then lay there peering
between half-shut eyelids at the first tint of yellow in the sky.

"Chappo," he said curtly, "look beyond through that window. Is it a
band of horses coming down the mesa trail, or is it men?"

"Neither, my General, it is the women who are left of the rancherias
of Palomitas. They come to do a prayer service at an old altar here.
Once Mesa Blanca was a great hacienda with a chapel for the peons, and
they like to come. It is a custom."

"What saint's day is this?"

"I am not wise enough, General, to remember all;--our women tell us."

"Um!--saint's day unknown, and all a pueblo on a trail to honor it!
Call Fidelio."

There was a whistle, a quick tread, and one of the men of Palomitas
stood in the door.

"Take two men and search every woman coming for prayers--guns have
been carried under _serapes_."

"But, General----"

"Search every woman,--even though your own mother be of them!"

"General, my own mother is already here, and on her knees beyond there
in the altar room. They pray for heart to ask of you their rights in
Soledad."

"That is some joke, and it is too early in the morning for jokes with
me. I'm too empty. What have Palomitas women to do with rights in
Soledad?"

"I have not been told," said Fidelio evasively. "It is a woman matter.
But as to breakfast, it is making, and the _tortillas_ already baking
for you."

"Order all ready, and a long stirrup for that leg," said the general,
moving it about experimentally. "It is not so bad, but Marto can ride
fasting to Soledad for giving it to me."

"But, my General, he asks----"

"Who is he to ask? After yesterday, silence is best for him.
Take him along. I will decide later if he is of further use--I
may--need--a--man!"

There was something deliberately threatening in his slow speech, and
the guards exchanged glances. Without doubt there would be executions
at Soledad!

Rotil got off the cot awkwardly, but disdaining help from the guards
hopped to a chair against the wall between the two windows.

Isidro came in with a bowl of water, and a much embroidered towel for
the use of the distinguished guest, followed by a vaquero with smoking
_tortillas_, and Tula with coffee.

The general eyed the ornate drawnwork of the linen with its cobweb
fingers, and grinned.

"I am not a bridegroom this morning, _muchachita_, and need no necktie
of such fineness for my beauty. Bring a plainer thing, or none."

Tula's eyes lit up with her brief smile of approval.

"I am telling them you are a man and want no child things, my
General," she stated firmly, "and now it proves itself! On the instant
the right thing comes."

She darted out the door, bumping into Rhodes, and without even the
customary "with your permission" ran past him along the corridor, and,
suddenly cautious, yet bold, she lifted the latch of the guest room
where she had seen what looked to her like wealth of towels,--and felt
sure Doña Jocasta would not miss one of the plainest.

Stealthy as a cat she circled the bed, scarce daring to glance at it
lest the lady wake and look reproach on her.

But she stepped on some hard substance on the rug by the wooden bench
where the towels hung, and stooping, she picked it up, a little wooden
crucifix, once broken, and then banded with silver to hold it solid.
The silver was beautifully wrought and very delicate, surely the
possession of a lady, and not a thing let fall by chance from the
pocket of Valencia.

Tula turned to lay it carefully on the pillow beside the señora, and
then stared at the vacant bed.

Only an instant she halted and thrust her hand under the cover.

"Cold,--long time cold!" she muttered, and with towel and crucifix she
sped back to the _sala_ where Rotil was joking concerning the
compliment she paid him.

"Don't make dandies of yourselves if you would make good with a
woman," he said. "Even that little crane of a _muchacha_ has
brain,--and maybe heart for a man! She has boy sense."

Kit, seeing her dart into the guest room, stood in his tracks watching
for her to emerge. She gave him one searching curious look as she sped
past, and he realized in a flash that his glance should have been
elsewhere, or at least more casual.

She delivered the towel and retired, abashed and silent at the jests
of the man she regarded with awe as the god-sent deliverer of her
people. Once in the corridor she looked into Valencia's room, then in
the kitchen where Valencia and Maria and other women were hastening
breakfast, and last she sought Clodomiro at the corral.

"Where did you take her, and how?" she demanded, and the youth, tired
with the endless rides and tasks of two days and nights, was surly,
and looked his impatience. "She, and she, and she! Always women!" he
grumbled. "Have I not herded all of them from over the mesa at your
order? Is one making a slow trail, and must I go herding again?"

She did not answer, but looked past him at the horses.

"Which did the señora ride from Soledad?" she inquired, and Clodomiro
pointed out a mare of shining black, and also a dark bay ridden by
Marto.

"Trust him to take the best of the saddle herd," he remarked. "Why
have you come about it? Is the señora wanting that black?"

"Maybe so; I was not told," she answered evasively. "But there is
early breakfast, and it is best to get your share before some quick
task is set,--and this day there are many tasks."

The women were entering the portal at the rear, because the chapel of
the old hacienda was at the corner. There was considerable commotion
as Fidelio enforced the order to search for arms;--if the Deliverer
suspected treachery, how could they hope for the sympathy they came to
beg for?

"Tell him there is nothing hidden under our rags but hearts of
sorrow," said the mother of Fidelio. "Ask that he come here where we
kneel to give God thanks that El Aleman is now in the power of the
Deliverer."

"General Rotil does not walk, and there is no room for a horse in this
door. Someone of you must speak for the others, and go where he is."

The kneeling women looked at each other with troubled dark eyes.

"Valencia will be the best one," said an old woman. "She lost no one
by the pale beast, but she knows us every one. Marta, who was wife of
Miguel, was always mother and spoke for us to the padre, or anyone,
but Marta----"

She paused and shook her head; some women wept. All knew Marta was one
who cried to them for vengeance.

"That is true," said Valencia. "Marta was the best, but the child of
Marta is here, and knows more than we. She has done much,--more than
many women. I think the daughter can speak best for the mother, and
that the Deliverer will listen."

Tula had knelt like the others, facing a little shelf on the wall
where a carven saint was dimly illuminated by the light of a candle.
All the room was very dark, for the dawn was yet but as a gray cloak
over the world, and no window let in light.

The girl stood up and turned toward Valencia.

"I will go," she said, "because it is my work to go when you speak,
but the Deliverer will ask for older tongues and I will come back to
tell you that."

Without hesitation she walked out of the door, and the others
bent their heads and there was the little click-click of rosary
beads, slipping through their fingers in the dusk. Among the many
black-shawled huddled figures kneeling on the hard tiles, none
noticed the one girl in the corner where shadows were deepest,
and whose soft slender hands were muffled in Valencia's fringes.

Kit stood until he noted that the searching for arms did not include
her, and then crossed the patio with Fidelio on his way to the
corrals. If the black mare of Doña Jocasta could be gotten to the rear
portal, together with the few burros of the older women, she might
follow after unnoticed. The adobe wall at the back was over ten feet
high and would serve as a shield, and the entire cavalcade would be a
half mile away ere they came in range from the plaza.

He planned to manage that the mare be there without asking help of any
Indian, and he thought he could do it while the guard was having
breakfast. It would be easy for them to suppose that the black was his
own. Thus scheming for beauty astray in the desert, he chatted with
Fidelio concerning the pilgrimage of the Palomitas women, and the
possibility of Rotil's patience with them, when Tula crossed the patio
hurriedly and entered the door of the _sala_.

The general was finishing his breakfast, while Isidro was crouched
beside him rewinding the bandage after a satisfactory inspection of
the wound. The swelling was not great, and Rotil, eating cheerfully,
was congratulating himself on having made a straight trail to the
physician of Mesa Blanca; it was worth a lost day to have the healing
started right.

He was in that complacent mood when Tula sped on silent bare feet
through the _sala_ portal, and halted just inside, erect against the
wall, gazing at him.

"Hola! _Niña_ who has the measure of a man! The coffee was of the
best. What errand is now yours?"

"Excellency, it is the errand too big for me, yet I am the one sent
with it. They send me because the mother of me, and Anita, my sister,
were in the slave drive south, and the German and the Perez men
carried whips and beat the women on that trail."

Her brave young heart seemed to creep up in her throat and choke her
at thought of those whips and the women who were driven, for her voice
trembled into silence, and she stood there swallowing, her head bent,
and her hands crossed over her breast, and clasped firmly there was
the crucifix she had found in the guest room. Little pagan that she
was, she regarded it entirely as a fetish of much potency with white
people, and surely she needed help of all gods when she spoke for the
whole pueblo to this man who had power over many lives.

Rotil stared at her, frowning and bewildered.

"What the devil,--" he began, but Isidro looked up at him and nodded
assent.

"It is a truth she is telling, Excellency. Her father was Miguel,
once major-domo of this rancho. He died from their fight, and his
women were taken."

"Oh, yes, that!--it happens in many states. But this German--who says
the German and Perez were the men to do it?"

"I, Tula, child of Miguel, say it," stated the girl. "With my eyes I
saw him,--with my ears I heard the sister call out his name. The name
was Don Adolf. Over his face was tied a long beard, so! But it was the
man,--the friend of Don José Perez of Soledad; all are knowing that.
He is now your man, and the women ask for him."

"What women?"

"All the women of Palomitas. On their knees in the chapel they make
prayers. Excellency, it robs you of nothing that you give them a Judas
for Holy Week. I am sent to ask that of the Deliverer."

She slid down to her knees on the tiles, and looked up at him.

He stared at her, frowning and eyeing her intently, then chuckled, and
grinned at the others.

"Did I not tell you she had the heart of a boy? And now you see it!
Get up off your knees, _chiquita_. Why should you want a Judas? It is
a sweetheart I must find for you instead."

"I am not getting up," said Tula stolidly. "I am kneeling before you,
my General. See! I pray to you on the tiles for that Judas. All the
women are praying. Also the old women have made medicine to send El
Aleman once more on this trail, and see you,--it has come to pass! You
have him in your trap, but he is ours. Excellency, come once and see
all the women on their knees before the saint as I am here by you. We
make prayers for one thing:--the Judas for our holy day!"

"You young devil!" he grinned. "I wish you were a boy. Here, you men
help me, or get me a crutch. I will see these women on their knees,
and if you don't lie----"

With the help of Fidelio and a cane, he started very well, and nodded
to Kit.

"You pick well, amigo," he observed. "She is a wildcat, and of
interest. Come you and see. _Por Dios!_ I've seen a crucifixion of the
Penitentes and helped dig the hidden grave. Also I have heard of the
'Judas' death on Holy Friday, but never before this has so young a
woman creature picked a man for it,--a man alive! Courage of the
devil!"

Tula arose, and went before them across the plaza to the door of the
chapel. Kit knew this was the right moment for him to disappear and
get the black mare back of the wall, but Rotil kept chuckling to him
over the ungirlish request, and so pointedly included him in the party
that there seemed no excuse available for absenting himself.

A flush of rose swept upward to the zenith heralding the sun, but in
the adobe room, with its door to the west, no light came, except by
dim reflection, and as Tula entered and the men stood at the
threshold, they blocked the doorway of even that reflection, and the
candle at the saint's shrine shone dimly over the bent heads of the
kneeling women.

Rotil stood looking about questioningly; he had not expected to see
so many. Then at the sound of the click of the prayer beads, some
recollection of some past caused him to automatically remove his
wide-brimmed hat.

"Mothers," said Tula quietly, "the Deliverer has come."

There was a half-frightened gasp, and dark faces turned toward the
door.

"He comes as I told you, because I am no one by myself, and he could
not know I was sent by you. I am not anyone among people, and he does
not believe. Only people of importance should speak with a soldier who
is a general."

"No, _por Dios_, my boy, you speak well!" said Rotil, clapping his
hand on her shoulder, "but your years are not many and it cannot be
you know the thing you ask for."

"I know it," asserted Tula with finality.

An old woman got up stiffly, and came towards him. "We are very poor,
yet even our children are robbed from us--that is why we pray. Don
Ramon, your mother was simple as we, and had heart for the poor. Our
lives are wasted for the masters, and our women children are stolen
for the sons of masters. That is done, and we wish they may find ways
to kill themselves on the trail. But the man who drove them with whips
is now your man--and we mothers ask him of you."

The wizened old creature trembled as she spoke, and scarce lifted her
eyes. She made effort to speak further, but words failed, and she
slipped to her knees and the beads slid from her nervous fingers to
the tiles. She was very old, and she had come fasting across the mesa
in the chill before the dawn; her two grandchildren had been driven
south with the slaves--one had been a bride but a month--and they
killed her man as they took her.

Valencia came to her and wiped the tears from her cheeks, patting her
on the back as one would soothe a child, and then she looked at Rotil,
nodding her head meaningly, and spoke.

"It is all true as Tia Tomasa is saying, señor. Her children are gone,
and this child of Capitan Miguel knows well what she asks for. The
days of the sorrows of Jesus are coming soon, and the Judas we want
for that day of the days will not be made of straw to be bound on the
wild bull's back, and hung when the ride is over. No, señor, we know
the Judas asked of you by this daughter of Miguel;--it is the pale
beast called El Aleman. For many, many days have we made prayers like
this, before every shrine, that the saints would send him again to our
valley. You, señor, have brought answer to that prayer. You have him
trapped, but he belongs only to us women. The saints listened to us,
and you are in it. Men often are in prayers like that, and have no
knowing of it, señor."

Kit listened in amazement to this account of prayers to Mexican saints
for a Judas to hang on Good Friday! After four centuries of foreign
priesthood, and foreign saints on the shrines, the mental effect on
the aborigines had not risen above crucifixion occasionally on some
proxy for their supreme earthly god, or mad orgies of vengeance on a
proxy for Judas. The great drama of Calvary had taught them only new
forms of torture and the certainty that vengeance was a debt to be
paid. Conrad was to them the pale beast whipping women into
slavery,--and as supreme traitor to human things must be given a Judas
death!

He shivered as he listened, and looked at the eyes of women staring
out of the dusk for the answer to their prayers.

"_Por Dios!_" muttered Rotil, half turning to Kit, yet losing nothing
of the pleading strained faces. "Does your head catch all of that,
señor? Can't women beat hell? And women breed us all! What's the
answer?"

"In this case it's up to you, General," replied Kit. "I'm glad the
responsibility is not mine. Even as it is, women who look like these
are likely to walk through my dreams for many a night!"

Rotil gloomed at them, puzzled, frowning, and at times the flicker of
a doubtful smile would change his face without lighting it. No one
moved or spoke.

"Here!" he said at last, "this child and two women have spoken, but
there are over twenty of you here. Three out of twenty is no
vote--hold up your hands. Come, don't hang back, or you won't get
Judas! There are no priests here, and no spies for priests, and there
have been words enough. Show your hands!"

Kit looked back into the darkest corner, wondering what the vote of
Jocasta would be; her mother was said to be Indian, or half Indian,
and her hatred of the German would help her understand these darker
tribal sisters.

But in the many lifted hands her own could not be seen and he felt
curiously relieved, though it was no affair of his, and one vote
either way would weigh nothing.

Rotil looked at the lifted hands, and grunted.

"You win, _muchacha_," he said to Tula. "I think you're the devil, and
it's you made the women talk. You can come along to Soledad and fetch
their Judas back to them."

"My thanks to you, and my service, Excellency," said Tula. "I will go
and be glad that I go for that. But I swear by the Body and Blood, and
I swear on this, that I only pay the debt of my people to El Aleman."

She was helping old Tia Tomasa to her feet with one hand, and held up
the little crucifix to him with the other. She had noted that white
people make oath on a cross when they want to be believed, and she
wished with all her pagan heart to be believed by this man who had
been a sort of legendary hero to her many months before she had seen
his face, or dared hope he would ever grant favor to her--Tula!

But whatever effect she hoped to secure by emphasizing her oath on the
Christian symbol, she was not prepared for the rough grasp on her arm,
or the harsh command of his voice.

"Holy God!" he growled, "why do you thrust that in my face,--you?"

"Excellency--I--" began Tula, but he shook her as a cat would shake a
mouse.

"Answer me! How comes it in your hands?"

"I found it, señor--and did no harm."

"When? Where?"

"Why--I--I----"

A note of warning flashed from some wireless across the girl's mind,
for it was no little thing by which Ramon Rotil had suddenly become a
growling tiger with his hand near her throat.

"Where?" he repeated.

"On a trail, señor."

"When?"

"Three days ago."

"Where?"

"At the place where the Soledad trail leaves that of Mesa Blanca."

Rotil stared at her, and then turned to Kit.

"Do you know of this thing?"

"No, General, I don't," he said honestly enough, "but these women have
many such----"

"No," contradicted Rotil, "they haven't,--there's a difference."

He had seized the crucifix and held it, while he scanned the faces,
and then brought his gaze back to Tula.

"You will show me that place, and prove yourself, _muchacha_," he said
grimly. "There's something--something--Do you know, you damned young
crane, that I can have my men shoot you against the wall out there if
you lie to me?"

"Yes, my General, but it is better to give lead to enemies--and not
friends. Also a knife is cheaper."

"Silence! or you may get both!" he growled. "Here, look well--you--all
of you! Have any of you but this creature seen it?"

He held it out, and Valencia, who was nearest, caught sight of it.

"Ai! Tula!" she said in reproof, "you to take that when the poor----"

Tula flashed one killing look at her, and Valencia stopped dead, and
turned an ashen gray, and Rotil watching!

"Ah--ha! I thought it!" he jeered. "Now whose trick is it to make me a
fool? Come, sift this thing! You," to Valencia, "have looked on this
before. Whose is it?"

"Señor--I----"

"So!" he said with a sort of growl in the voice, "something chokes
you? Look at me, not at the others! Also listen:--if a lie is told to
me, every liar here will go before a firing squad. Whose is this
crucifix?"

Valencia's eyes looked sorrow on Tula, still under his hand, and then
on the wood and silver thing held up before her. The sun was just
rolling hot and red above the mountains, and Rotil's shaggy head was
outlined in a sort of curious radiance as the light struck the white
wall across the patio at his back. Even the silver of the crucifix
caught a glimmer of it, and to Valencia he looked like the warrior
padres of whom her grandmother used to tell, who would thunder hell's
terrors on the frightened neophytes until the bravest would grovel in
the dust and do penances unbelievable.

That commanding picture came between her and Rotil,--the outlaw and
soldier and patriot. She stumbled forward with a pleading gesture
towards Tula.

"Excellency, the child does no harm. She is a stranger in the house.
She has picked it up perhaps when lost by the señora, and----"

"What señora?"

"She who is most sorrowful guest here, Excellency, and her arms still
bruised from the iron chains of El Aleman."

"And her name?"

"Excellency, it is the woman saved from your man by the Americano
señor here beside you. And,--she asked to be nameless while sheltered
at Mesa Blanca."

"But not to me! So this is a game between you two--" and he looked
from Tula to Kit with sinister threat in his eyes, "it is then _your_
woman who----"

"Ramon--no!" said a voice from the far shadows, and the black shawled
figure stood erect and cast off the muffling disguise. Her pale face
shone like a star above all the kneeling Indians.

"God of heaven!" he muttered, and his hand fell from the shoulder of
Tula. "You--_you_ are one of the women who knelt here for vengeance?"

"For justice," she said, "but I was here for a reason different;--it
was a place to hide. No one helped me, let the child go! Give these
women what they ask or deny them, but send them away. To them I am
nameless and unknown. You can see that even my presence is a thing of
fear to them,--let them go!"

He stared at her across those frightened dark faces. It was true they
drew away from her in terror; her sudden uprising was as if she had
materialized from the cold tiles of the chapel floor. Kit noted that
their startled eyes were wide with awe, and knew that they also felt
they were gazing on a beauty akin to that of the pictured saints. Even
the glimmer of the candle touching her perfect cheek and brow added to
the unearthly appearance there in the shadows.

But Ramon Rotil gazed at her across a wider space than that marked by
the kneeling Indian women! Four years were bridged by that look, and
where the others saw a pale Madonna, he saw a barefooted child weaving
flowers of the mountain for a shrine where poverty prevented a
candle.

He had sold maize to buy candles, and shoes for her feet, and she had
given him the little brown wooden crucifix.

Once in the height of her reign of beauty in the hacienda of Perez, a
ragged brown boy from the hills had lain in wait for her under the
oleanders, and thrust a tightly bound package of corn husks into her
hand, and her maid regarded with amazement the broken fragments of a
wooden cross so poor and cheap that even the most poverty stricken of
the peons could own one, and her wonder was great that her mistress
wept over the broken pieces and strove to fit them together again.

And now it lay in his hand, bound and framed in silver wires
delicately wrought.

He had traveled farther than she during the years between, and the
memento of the past made him know it.

"Ramon, let them go!" she repeated with gentle appeal.

"Yes," he said, taking a deep breath as if rousing from a trance,
"that is best. Child--see to it, and have your way. Señor, will you
arrange that the señora has what comfort there is here? Our horses
wait, and work waits----"

He saw Valencia go with protecting, outstretched hands to Jocasta, and
turned away.

Jocasta never moved. To save her friends from his rage she had spoken,
and to her the big moment of humiliation dreamed of and feared had
come and been lived through. He had seen her on her knees among all
that brown herd made up of such women as his mother and her mother had
been. From mistress of a palace on an estate large as many European
kingdoms she had become an outcast with marks of fetters on her arms,
while he was knelt to as a god by the simple people of the ranges, and
held power of life and death over a wide land!

Kit could not even guess at all the tempestuous background of the
drama enacted there in the chill of the chapel at sunrise, but the
clash of those two outlaw souls suddenly on guard before each other,
thrilled him by the unexpected. Rotil, profane, ruthless, and jeering,
had suddenly grown still before the face of a woman from whom he
turned away.

"Late! An hour late!" he grumbled, hobbling back to the plaza. "What
did I tell you? Hell of women! Well, your damned little crane got what
she started after--huh! Why did she lie?"

"Well, you know, General," said Kit doubtfully, "that the enmity
between you and José Perez is no secret. Even the children talk of it,
and wish success to you--I've heard that one do it! Doña Jocasta is of
a Perez household, so it was supposed you would make prisoner anyone
of their group. And Tula--well, I reckon Tula listened last night to
some rather hard things the señora has lived through at Soledad, and
knew she would rather die here than go back there."

Kit realized he was on delicate ground when trying to explain any of
the actions of any of the black and tan group to each other, but he
sought the safest way out, and drew a breath of relief at his success,
for Rotil listened closely, nodding assent, yet frowning in some
perplexity.

"Um! what does that mean,--rather die than go back?" he demanded. "No
one has told me why the lady has come to Mesa Blanca, or what she is
doing here. I don't see--What the devil ails you?"

For Kit stared at him incredulous, and whistled softly.

"Haven't you got it _yet_?" he asked. "Last night you joked about a
girl Marto stole, and we stole from him again. Don't you realize now
who that girl is?"

"_Jocasta!_"

It was the first time he had uttered her name and there was a low
terrible note in his voice, half choked by smothered rage.

"But how could Marto,--or why should--" he began and then halted,
checked by various conflicting facts, and stared frowningly at Rhodes
who again strove to explain that of which he had little knowledge.

"General, I reckon Marto was square to your interests about everything
but the woman Perez and Conrad sent north into the desert, and it was
Marto's job to see that she never left it alive. Evidently he did not
report that extra task to you, for he meant to save the woman for
himself. But even at that, General, you've got to give him credit. He
says she bewitched him, and he couldn't kill her, and he wouldn't let
the others have her. Also he risked a whale of a beating up, and some
lead souvenirs, in trying to save her, even if it was for himself. So
you see, Marto was only extra human, and is a good man. His heart's
about broke to think he failed you, and I'll bet he wouldn't fail you
again in a thousand years!"

"Yes, you have the right of that," agreed Rotil. "I did not know; I
don't know yet what this means about Perez and--and----"

"None of us do, General," stated Kit. "I heard Valencia say it must be
something only a confessor could know,--but it must be rather awful at
that! She was started north like an insane criminal, hidden and in
chains. She explains nothing, but General, you have now the two men at
Soledad who made the plan, and you have here Marto who was their
tool--and perhaps--at Soledad--" he paused questioning.

"Sure! that is what will be done," decided Rotil. "See to it, you,
after we are gone. Bring Doña Jocasta to Soledad with as much show of
respect as can be mustered in a poor land, your girl and Isidro's wife
to go along, and any comforts you can find. Yes, that is the best!
Some way we will get to the bottom of this well. She must know a lot
if they did not dare let her live, and Marto--well, you make a good
talk for him, straight too--Marto will go with me. Tell no one
anything. Make your own plans. By sunset I will have time for this
mystery of the chains of Doña Jocasta. Be there at Soledad by
sunset."

"At your command, General."

Then Chappo and Fidelio helped their leader into the saddle. Marto,
crestfallen and silently anticipating the worst, was led out next; a
_reata_ passed around the saddle horn and circling his waist was
fastened back of the saddle. His hands were free to guide his horse,
but Chappo, with a wicked looking gun and three full cartridge belts,
rode a few paces back of him to see that he made no forbidden use of
them.

Kit watched them ride east while the long line of women of Palomitas
took up the trail over the mesa to the north. Their high notes of a
song came back to him,--one of those wailing chants of a score of
verses dear to the Mexican heart. In any other place he would have
deemed it a funeral dirge with variations, but with Indian women at
sunrise it meant tuneful content.

Kit listened with a shiver. Because of his own vagrant airs they had
called him "El Pajarito" when he first drifted south over Mexican
trails,--but happy erratic tunefulness was smothered for him
temporarily. Over the vast land of riches, smiling in the sun, there
brooded the threats of Indian gods chained, inarticulate, reaching out
in unexpected ways for expression through the dusky devotees at hidden
shrines. The fact that occasionally they found expression through some
perverted fragment from an imported cult was a gruesome joke on the
importers. But under the eagle of Mexico, whose wide wings were used
as shield by the German vultures across seas, jokes were not popular.
German educators and foreign priests with Austrian affiliations, saw
to that. The spiritual harvest in Mexico was not always what the
planters anticipated,--for curious crops sprung up in wild corners of
the land, as Indian grains wrapped in a mummy's robe spring to life
under methods of alien culturists.

Vague drifting thoughts like this followed Kit's shiver of repulsion
at that Indian joy song over the promise of a veritable live Judas. On
him they could wreak a personal vengeance, and go honestly to
confession in some future day, with the conviction that they had, by
the sufferings they could individually and collectively invent for
Judas, in some vague but laudable manner mitigated the sufferings of a
white god far away whose tribulations were dwelt upon much by the
foreign priesthood.

He sensed this without analysis, for his was not the analytical mind.
What brain Kit had was fairly well occupied by the fact that his own
devoted partner was the moving spirit of that damnable pagan _Come,
all ye_--drifting back to him from the glorified mesa, flushed golden
now by the full sun.

Clodomiro came wearily up from the corral. The boy had gone without
sleep or rest until his eyes were heavy and his movements listless.
Like the women of Palomitas he also had worked overtime at the call of
Tula, and Kit wondered at the concerted activity--no one had held back
or blundered.

"Clodomiro," he said passing the lad a cigarette and rolling one for
himself from good new tobacco secured from Fidelio, "how comes it that
even the women of years come in the night for prayers when you ride
for them? Do they give heed to any boy who calls?"

Clodomiro gave thanks for the cigarette, but was too well bred to
light it in the presence of an elder or a superior. He smelled it with
pleasure, thrust it over his ear and regarded Rhodes with perfectly
friendly and apparently sleepy black eyes.

"Not always, señor, but when Tula sends the call of Miguel, all are
surely coming, and also making the prayer."

"The call of Miguel? Why--Miguel is dead."

"That is true, señor, but he was head man, and he had words of power,
also the old Indians listened. Now Tula has the words, and as you
see,--the words are still alive! I am not knowing what they mean,--the
words,--but when Tula tells me, I take them."

"_O Tippecanoe, and Tyler too!_" hummed Kit studying the boy. "What's
in a word? Do you mean that you take a trail to carry words you don't
understand, because a girl younger than you tells you to?"

The boy nodded indifferently.

"Yes, señor, it is my work when it is words of old prayer, and Tula is
sending them. It would be bad not to go, a quicksand would surely
catch my horse, or I might die from the bite of a _sorrilla rabioso_,
or evil ghosts might lure me into wide _medanos_ where I would seek
trails forever, and find only my own! Words can do that on a man! and
Tula has the words now."

"Indeed! That's a comfortable chum to have around--not! And have you
no fear?"

"Not so much. I am very good," stated Clodomiro virtuously. "Some day
maybe I take her for my woman;--her clan talks about it now. She has
almost enough age, and--you see!"

He directed the attention of Rhodes to the strips of red and green and
pink calico banding his arms, their fluttering ends very decorative
when he moved swiftly.

"Oh, yes, I've been admiring them. Very pretty," said Kit amicably,
not knowing the significance of it, but conscious of the wide range
one might cover in a few minutes of simple Sonora ranch life. From the
tragic and weird to the childishly inane was but a step.

Clodomiro passed on to the kitchen, and Kit smoked his cigarette and
paced the outer corridor, striving for plans to move forward with his
own interests, and employ the same time and the same trail for the
task set by Ramon Rotil.

Rotil had stated that the escort of Doña Jocasta must be as complete
as could be arranged. This meant a dueña and a maid at least, and as
he had bidden Tula have her way with her "Judas," it surely meant that
Tula must go to Soledad. Very well so far, and as Rotil would
certainly not question the extent of the outfit taken along, why not
include any trifles Tula and he chanced to care for? He remembered
also that there were some scattered belongings of the Whitely's left
behind in the haste of departure. Well, a few mule loads would be a
neighborly gift to take north when he crossed the border, and Soledad
was nearer the border!

It arranged itself very well indeed, and as Tula emerged from the
patio smoothing out an old newspaper fragment discarded by Fidelio,
and chewing _chica_ given her by Clodomiro, he hailed her with joy.

"Blessed Indian Angel," he remarked appreciatively, "you greased the
toboggan for several kinds of hell for us this day of our salvation,
but your jinx was on the job, and turned the trick our way! Do you
know you are the greatest little mascot ever held in captivity?"

But Tula didn't know what "mascot" meant, and was very much occupied
with the advertisement of a suit and cloak house in the old Nogales
paper in which some trader at the railroad had wrapped Fidelio's
tobacco. It had the picture of an alluring lady in a dress of much
material slipping from the shoulders and dragging around the feet. To
the aboriginal mind that seemed a very great waste, for woven material
was hard to come by in the desert.

She attempted an inquiry concerning that wastefulness of Americanas,
but got no satisfactory reply. Kit took the tattered old paper from
her hand, and turned it over because of the face of Singleton staring
at him from the other side of the page. It was the account of the
inquest, and in the endeavor to add interest the local reporters had
written up a column concerning Singleton's quarrel with the range
boss, Rhodes,--and the mysterious disappearance of the latter across
the border!

There was sympathetic mention made of Miss Wilfreda Bernard, heiress
of Granados, and appreciative mention of the efficient manager,
Conrad, who had offered all possible assistance to the authorities in
the sad affair. The general expression of the article was regret that
the present situation along the border prevented further investigation
concerning Rhodes. The said Rhodes appeared to be a stranger in the
locality, and had been engaged by the victim of the crime despite the
objections of Manager Conrad.

There followed the usual praise and list of virtues of the dead man,
together with reference to the illustrious Spanish pioneer family from
whom his wife had been descended. It was the first time Kit had been
aware of the importance of Billie's genealogy, and remembering the
generally accepted estimates of Spanish pride, he muttered something
about a "rose leaf princess, and a Tennessee hill-billy!"

"It's some jolt, two of them!" he conceded.

                    _Twinkle, twinkle little star,
                      How I wonder what you are!_

"They say bunches of stars and planets get on a jamboree and cross
each other's trail at times, and that our days are rough or smooth
according to their tantrums. Wish I knew the name of the luminary
raising hell for me this morning! It must be doing a highland fling
with a full moon, and I'm being plunked by every scattered spark!"




CHAPTER XVI

THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL


It took considerable persuasion to prevail upon Doña Jocasta that a
return to Soledad would be of any advantage to anybody. To her it was
a place fearful and accursed.

"But, señora, a padre who sought to be of service to you is still
there, a prisoner. In the warring of those wild men who will speak for
him? The men of Soledad would have killed him but for their
superstitions, and Rotil is notorious for his dislike of priests."

"I know," she murmured sadly. "There are some good ones, but he will
never believe. In his scales the bad ones weigh them down."

"But this one at Soledad?"

"Ah, yes, señor, he spoke for me,--Padre Andreas."

"And a prisoner because of you?"

"That is true. You do well to remind me of that. My own sorrows sink
me in selfishness, and it is a good friend who shows me my duty. Yes,
we will go. God only knows what is in the heart of Ramon Rotil that he
wishes it, but that which he says is law today wherever his men ride,
and I want no more sorrow in the world because of me. We will go."

Valencia had gone placidly about preparations for the journey from
the moment Kit had expressed the will of the Deliverer. To hesitate
when he spoke seemed a foolish thing, for in the end he always did the
thing he willed, and to form part of the escort for Doña Jocasta
filled her with pride. She approved promptly the suggestion that
certain bed and table furnishings go to Soledad for use of the señora,
and later be carried north to Mrs. Whitely, whose property they were.

As capitan of the outfit, Kit bade her lay out all such additions to
their state and comfort, and he would personally make all packs and
decide what animals, chests, or provisions could be taken.

This was easier managed than he dared hope. Clodomiro rode after mules
and returned with Benito and Mariano at his heels, both joyously
content to leave the planting of fields and offer their young lives to
the army of the Deliverer. Isidro was busy with the duties of the
ranch stock, and there was only Tula to see bags of nuggets
distributed where they would be least noticed among the linen, Indian
rugs, baskets and such family possessions easiest carried to their
owner.

He marked the packs to be opened, and Tula, watching, did not need to
be told.

The emotions of the night and the uncertainty of what lay ahead left
Rhodes and Doña Jocasta rather silent as they took the trail to the
gruesome old hacienda called by Doña Jocasta so fearful and accursed.
Many miles went by with only an occasional word of warning between
them where the way was bad, or a word of command for the animals
following.

"In the night I rode without fear where I dare not look in the
sunlight," said Jocasta drawing back from a narrow ledge where stones
slipped under the hoofs of the horses to fall a hundred feet below in
a dry cañon.

"Yes, señora, the night was kind to all of us," returned Kit politely.
"Even the accidents worked for good except for the pain to you."

"That is but little, and my shoulder of no use to anyone. General
Rotil is very different,--a wound to a soldier means loss of time. It
is well that shot found him among friends for it is said that when a
wolf has wounds the pack unites to tear him to pieces, and there are
many,--many pesos offered to the traitor who will trap Rotil by any
lucky accident."

"Yet he took no special care at Mesa Blanca."

"Who knows? He brought with him only men of the district as guard. Be
sure they knew every hidden trail, and every family. Ramon Rotil is a
coyote for the knowing of traps."

She spoke as all Altar spoke, with a certain pride in the ability of
the man she had known as a burro driver of the sierras. For three
years he had been an outlaw with a price on his head, and as a rebel
general the price had doubled many times.

"With so many poor, how comes it that no informer has been found? The
reward would be riches untold to a poor _paisano_."

"It might be to his widow," said Doña Jocasta, "but no sons of his,
and no brothers would be left alive."

"True. I reckon the friends of Rotil would see to that! Faithful
hearts are the ones he picks for comrades. I heard an old-timer say
the Deliverer has that gift."

She looked at him quickly, and away again, and went silent. He
wondered if it was true that there had been love between these two,
and she had been unfaithful. Love and Doña Jocasta were fruitful
themes for the imagination of any man.

Valencia was having the great adventure of her life in her journey to
Soledad, and she chattered to Tula as a maiden going to a marriage.
Three people illustrious in her small world were at once to be
centered on the stage of war before her eyes. She told Tula it was a
thing to make songs of,--the two men and the most beautiful woman!

When they emerged from the cañon into the wide spreading plain, with
the sierras looming high and blue beyond, the eyes of Kit and Tula
met, and then turned toward their own little camp in the lap of the
mother range. All was flat blue against the sky there, and no
indications of cañon or gulch or pocket discernible. Even as they drew
nearer to the hacienda, and Kit surreptitiously used the precious
field glasses, thus far concealed from all new friends of the desert,
he found difficulty in locating their hill of the treasure, and
realized that their fears of discovery in the little cañon had been
groundless. In the far-away time when the giant aliso had flourished
there by the cañon stream, its height might have served to mark the
special ravine where it grew, but the lightning sent by pagan gods had
annihilated that landmark forever, and there was no other.

The glint of tears shone in the eyes of Tula, and she rode with
downcast eyes, crooning a vagrant Indian air in which there were bird
calls, and a whimpering long-drawn tremulo of a baby coyote caught in
a trap, a weird ungodly improvisation to hear even with the shining
sun warming the world.

Kit concluded she was sending her brand of harmony to Miguel and the
ghosts on guard over the hidden trail.--And he rather wished she would
stop it!

Even the chatter of Valencia grew silent under the spell of the girl's
gruesome intonings,--ill music for her entrance to a new portal of
adventure.

"It sounds of death," murmured Doña Jocasta, and made the sign of the
cross. "The saints send that the soul to go next has made peace with
God! See, señor, we are truly crossing a place of death as she sings.
That beautiful valley of the green border is the _sumidero_,--the
quicksands from hidden springs somewhere above," and she pointed to
the blue sierras. "I think that is the grave José meant for me at
Soledad."

"Nice cheerful end of the trail--not!" gloomed Kit strictly to
himself. "That little imp is whining of trouble like some be-deviled
prophetess."

Afterwards he remembered that thought, and wished he could forget!

Blue shadows stretched eastward across the wide zacatan meadows, and
the hacienda on the far mesa, with its white and cream adobe walls,
shone opal-like in the lavender haze of the setting sun.

Kit Rhodes had timed the trip well and according to instruction of the
general, but was a bit surprised to find that his little cavalcade was
merely part of a more elaborate plan arranged for sunset at Soledad.

A double line of horsemen rode out from the hacienda to meet them, a
rather formidable reception committee as they filed in soldier-like
formation over the three miles of yellow and green of the spring
growths, and halted where the glint of water shone in a dam filled
from wells above.

Their officer saluted and rode forward, his hat in his hand as he
bowed before Doña Jocasta.

"General Rotil presents to you his compliments, Señora Perez, and
sends his guard as a mark of respect when you are pleased to ride once
more across your own lands."

"My thanks are without words, señor. I appreciate the honor shown to
me. My generalissimo will answer for me."

She indicated Kit with a wan smile, and her moment of hesitation over,
his title reminded him that no name but El Pajarito had been given him
by his Indian friends. That, and the office of manager of Mesa Blanca,
was all that served as his introduction to her, and to Rotil. With the
old newspaper in his pocket indicating that Kit Rhodes was the only
name connected with the murder at Granados, he concluded it was just
as well.

The guard drew to either side, and the officer and Kit, with Doña
Jocasta between them, rode between the two lines, followed by Tula and
Valencia. Then the guard fell in back of them, leaving Clodomiro with
the pack animals and the Indian boys to follow after in the dust.

Doña Jocasta was pale, and her eyes sought Kit's in troubled question,
but she held her head very erect, and the shrouding lace veil hid all
but her eyes from the strangers.

"Señor Pajarito," she murmured doubtfully. "The sun is still shining,
and there are no chains on my wrists,--otherwise this guard gives much
likeness to my first arrival at the hacienda of Soledad!"

"I have a strong belief that no harm is meant to you by the general
commanding," he answered, "else I would have sought another trail, and
these men look friendly."

"God send they be so!"

"They have all the earmarks,--and look!"

They were near enough the hacienda to see men emerge from the portal,
and one who limped and leaned on a cane, moved ahead of the others and
stood waiting.

"It is an honor that I may bid you welcome to your own estate, Doña
Jocasta," he said grimly. "We have only fare of soldiers to offer you
at first, but a few days and good couriers can remedy that."

"I beg that you accept my thanks, _Commandante_," she murmured lowly.
"The trail was not of my choosing, and it is an ill time for women to
come journeying."

"The time is a good time," he said bluntly, "for there is a limit to
my hours here. And in one of them I may do service for you."

His men stood at either side watching. There were wild tales told of
Ramon Rotil and women who crossed or followed his trail, but here was
the most beautiful of all women riding to his door and he gave her no
smile,--merely motioned to the Americano that he assist her from the
saddle.

"The supper is ready, and your woman and the priest will see that care
is given for your comfort," he continued. "Afterwards, in the
_sala_----"

She bent her head, and with Kit beside her passed on to the inner
portal. There a dark priest met her and reached out his hand.

"No welcome is due me, Padre Andreas," she said brokenly. "I turned
coward and tried to save myself."

"Daughter," he returned with a wry smile at Kit, and a touch of cynic
humor, "you had right in going. The lieutenant would have had no
pleasure in adding me to his elopement, and, as we hear,--your stolen
trail carried you to good friends."

Kit left them there and gave his attention to space for the packs and
outfit, but learned that the general had allotted to him the small
corral used in happier days for the saddle horses of the family. There
was a gate to it and a lock to the gate. Chappo had been given charge,
and when all was safely bestowed, he gave the key to the American.

The brief twilight crept over the world, and candles were lit when Kit
returned to the corridor. Rotil was seated, giving orders to men who
rode in and dismounted, and others who came out from supper, mounted
and rode away. It was the guard from a wide-flung arc bringing report
of sentinels stationed at every pass and water hole.

Padre Andreas was there presenting some appeal, and to judge by his
manner he was not hopeful of success. Yet spoke as a duty of his
office and said so.

"What is your office to me?" asked Rotil coldly. "Do your duty and
confess him when the time comes if that is his wish. It is more than
he would have given to her or the foreman who stored the ammunition.
Him he had killed as the German had Miguel Herrara killed on the
border,--and Herrara had been faithful to that gun running for months.
When man or woman is faithful to José Perez long enough to learn
secrets, he rewards them with death. A dose of his own brew will be
fit medicine."

"But the woman,--she is safe. She is----"

"Yes, very safe!" agreed Rotil, sneering. "Shall I tell you, pious
Father, how safe she is? The cholo who took food to Perez and that
German dog has brought me a message. See, it is on paper, and is clear
for any to read. You--no not you, but Don Pajarito here shall read it.
He is a neutral, and not a padre scheming to save the soul of a man
who never had a soul!"

Kit held it to the light, read it, and returned it to Rotil.

"I agree with you, General. He offers her to you in exchange for his
own freedom."

"Yes, and to pay for that writing I had him chained where he could see
her enter the plaza as a queen, if we had queens in Mexico! You had an
unseen audience for your arrival. The guard reports that the German
friend of Perez seems to love you, Don Pajarito, very much indeed."

"Sure he does. Here is the mark of one of his little love pats with a
monkey wrench," and Kit parted his hair to show the scar of the
Granados assault. "I got that for interfering when he was trying to
kill his employer's herds with ground glass in their feed."

"So? no wonder if he goes in a rage to see you riding as a lady's
caballero while he feels the weight of chains in a prison. This world
is but a little place!"

"That is true," said Padre Andreas, "regarding Kit, for the story of
the horses was told to me by Doña Jocasta here in Soledad!"

"How could that be?" demanded Rotil. "Is it not true you met the lady
first at Mesa Blanca?"

"As you say," said Kit, alert at the note of suspicion, "if the lady
knows aught of Granados, it is a mystery to me, and is of interest."

"Not so much a mystery," said the priest. "Conrad boasted much when
glasses were emptied with Perez on the Hermosillo rancho, and Doña
Jocasta heard. He told the number of cavalry horses killed by his men,
also the owner of that ranch of Granados who had to be silenced for
the cause."

"Thanks for those kind words, Padre," said Kit. "If Doña Jocasta has a
clear memory of that boasting, she may save a life for me."

"So?" said Rotil speculatively. "We seem finding new trails at
Soledad. Whose life?"

"The partner of a chum of mine," stated Kit lightly, as he did some
quick thinking concerning the complications likely to arise if he was
regarded as a possible murderer hiding from the law. "My own hunch is
that Conrad himself did it."

"Have you any idea of a trap for him?"

"N-no, General, unless he was led to believe that I was under guard
here. He might express his sentiments more freely if he thought I
would never get back across the border alive."

"Good enough! This offer from Perez is to go into the keeping of Doña
Jocasta. You've the duty of taking it to her. We have not yet found
that ammunition."

"Well, it did cross the border, and somebody got it."

"He says it was moved to Hermosillo before Juan Gonsalvo, the
overseer, died."

"Was shot, you mean, after it was cached."

"Maybe so, but he offers to trade part of it for his liberty, and
deliver the goods north of Querobabi."

"Yes, General,--into the bodies of your men if you trust him."

Rotil chuckled. "You are not so young as you look, Don Pajarito, and
need no warning. It is the room next the _sala_ where I will have
Perez and Conrad brought. The señora can easily overhear what is said.
It may be she will have the mind to help when she sees that offer he
made."

"It would seem so, yet--women are strange! They go like the padre, to
prayers when a life is at stake."

"Some women, and some priests, boy," said the dark priest. "It may be
that you do not know Doña Jocasta well."

This remark appeared to amuse Rotil, for he smiled grimly and with a
gesture indicated that they were to join Doña Jocasta.

She was rested and refreshed by a good supper. Valencia and Elena, the
cook, had waited upon her and the latter waxed eloquent over the
stupendous changes at Soledad from the time of Doña Jocasta's supper
the previous day. Many of the angry men had been ready to start after
Marto who had cheated them, when a courier rode in with the word that
Don José and Señor Conrad were close behind. Then the surprise of all
when Don José was captured, and it was seen that Elena had been
cooking these many days, not for simple vaqueros, but for some
soldiers of the revolution by which peace and plenty was to come to
all the land! It was a beautiful dream, and the Deliverer was to make
it come true!

Tula sat in the shadow against the wall, like some slender Indian
carving, mute and expressionless while the eyes of the woman rolled as
the two old friends exchanged their wonder tales of the night and day!
Elena made definite engagement to be with the "Judas" trailers on the
dark Friday, and both breathed blessings on Rotil who had promised
them the right man for the hanging.

It was this cheerful topic Kit entered upon with the written note from
Perez to the general. He had no liking for his task, as his eyes
rested on Doña Jocasta, beautiful, resigned and detached from the
scene about her. He remembered what Rotil had said scoffingly of
saints lifted from shrines--a man never forgot that shrine was empty!

"Mine is a thankless task, señora, but the general decided you are the
best keeper of this," and he gave to her the scribbled page torn from
a note book.

She took it and held it unread, looking at him with dark tragic eyes.

"I have fear of written words, señor, and would rather hear them
spoken. So many changes have come that I dread new changes. No matter
where my cage is moved, it is still a cage to me," she said
wistfully.

"I've a hunch, Doña Jocasta, that the bars of that cage are going to
be broken for you," ventured Kit, taking the seat she indicated, "and
this note may be one of the weapons to do it. Evidently Señor Perez
has had some mistaken information concerning the stealing of you from
here;--he thought it was by the general's order. So mistaken was he
that he thought you were the object of Rotil's raid on Soledad, and
for his own freedom he has offered to give you, and half his stock of
ammunition, to General Ramon Rotil, and agree to a truce between their
factions."

"Ah! he offers to make gift of me to the man he hates," she said after
a long silence. "And the guns and ammunition,--he also surrenders
them?"

"He offers--but it is written here! Since the guns, however, have been
taken south, he cannot give them; he can only promise them, until such
time----"

"Ho!" she said scornfully. "Is that the tale he tells? It is true
there are guns in the south, but guns are also elsewhere! He forgets,
does José Perez,--or else he plays for time. This offer," and she
referred to the note, "it is not written since we arrived--no. It was
written earlier, when he thought I was held by that renegade far in
the desert."

"I reckon that is true, señora, for after receiving it, Rotil had him
chained in a room fronting the plaza that he might see you enter
Soledad with honors."

"Ramon Rotil did that?" she mused, looking at the note thoughtfully,
"and he gives to me the evidence against José? Señor, in the Perez
lands we hear only evil things and very different things about Rotil.
They would say this paper was for sale, but not for a gift. And--he
gives it to me!"

Kit also remembered different things and evil things told of Rotil,
but they were not for discussion with a lady. He had wondered a bit
that it was not the padre who was given the message to transmit, yet
suddenly he realized that even the padre might have tried to make it a
question of barter, for the padre wanted help for his priestly office
in the saving of Perez' soul, and incidentally of his life.

"Yes, señora, it seems a free-will offering, and he said to tell you
it would be in the room adjoining this that Perez would be questioned
as to the war material. Rotil's men have searched, and his officers
have questioned, but Perez evidently thinks Rotil will not execute
him, as a ransom will pay much better."

"That is true, death pays no one--no one!"

Her voice was weighted with sadness, and Kit wondered what the cloud
was under which she lived. The padre evidently knew, but none of
Rotil's men. It could not be the mere irregularity of her life with
Perez, for to the peon mind she was the great lady of a great
hacienda, and wife of the padrone. No,--he realized that the sin of
Doña Jocasta had been a different thing, and that the shadow of it
enveloped her as a dark cloak of silence.

"It is true, señora, that death pays no one, except that the death of
one man may save other lives more valuable. That often happens,"
remarked Kit, with the idea of distracting her from her own woe,
whatever it was. "It might have seemed a crime if one of his nurses
had chucked a double dose of laudanum into Bill Hohenzollern's baby
feed, but that nurse would have saved the lives of hundreds of
thousands of innocents, so you never can tell whether a murderer is a
devil, or a man doing work of the angels."

"Bill?" Evidently the name was a new one to Doña Jocasta.

"That's the name of the Prussian pirate of the Huns across the water.
Your friend Conrad belongs to them."

"My friend! My _friend_, señor!" and Doña Jocasta was on her feet,
white and furious, her eyes flaming hatred. Kit Rhodes was appalled at
the spirit he had carelessly wakened. He remembered the statement of
the priest that he evidently did not know the lady well, and realized
in a flash that he certainly did not, also that he would feel more
comfortable elsewhere.

"Señora, I beg a thousand pardons for my foolishness," he implored.
"My--my faulty Spanish caused me to speak the wrong word. Will you not
forgive me such a stupid blunder? Everyone knows the German brute
could not be a friend of yours, and that you could have only hatred of
his kind."

She regarded him steadily with the ever ready suspicion against an
Americano showing in her eyes, but his regret was so evident, and his
devotion to her interests so sincere, that the tension relaxed, and
she sank back in her chair, her hand trembling as she covered her eyes
for a moment.

"It is I who am wrong, señor. You cannot know how the name of that man
is a poison, and why absolution is refused me because I will not
forgive,--and will not say I forgive! I will not lie, and because of
the hate of him my feet will tread the fires of hell. The padre is
telling me that, so what use to pray? Of what use, I ask you?"

Kit could see no special use if she had accepted the threat of the
priest that hell was her portion anyway.

"Oh, I would not take that gabble of a priest seriously if I were
you," he suggested. "No one can beat me in detesting the German and
what he stands for, but I have no plans of going to hell for it--not
on your life! To hate Conrad, or to kill him would be like killing a
rattlesnake, or stamping a tarantula into the sand. He has been let
live to sting too many, and Padre Andreas tells me you heard him boast
of an American killing at Granados!"

"That is true, señor, and it was so clever too! It was pleasure for
him to tell of that because of clever tricks in it. They climbed poles
to the wires and called the man to a town, then they waited on that
road and shot him before he reached the town. The alcalde of that
place decided the man had killed himself, and Conrad laughed with José
Perez on account of that, because they were so clever!"

"They?" queried Kit trying to prevent his eagerness from showing in
his voice. "Who helped him? Not Perez?"

"No, señor, in that sin José had no part. It was a very important man
who did not appear important;--quite the other way, and like a man of
piety. His name, I am remembering it well, for it is Diego,--but said
in the American way, which is James."

"Diego, said in the American way?" repeated Kit thoughtfully. "Is he
then an American?"

"Not at all, señor! He is Aleman _commandante_ for the border. His
word is an order for life or death, and José Perez is of his circle.
The guns buried by Perez are bought with the German money; it is for
war of Sonora against Arizona when that day comes."

"Shucks! that day isn't coming unless the Huns put more of a force
down here than is yet in sight," declared Kit, "but that 'Diego'
bothers me. I know many James',--several at Granados, but not the sort
you tell of, señora. Will you speak of that murder again, and let it
be put on paper for me? I have friends at Granados who may be troubled
about it, and your help would be as--as the word of an angel at the
right hour."

"A sad angel, señor," she said with a sigh, "but why should I not help
you to your wish since you have guarded me well? It is a little thing
you ask."

The Indian women at the far end of the _sala_ had lowered their
voices, but their gossip in murmurs and expressive gestures flowed on,
and only Tula gave heed to the talk at the table of wars and guns, and
secrets of murder, and that was no new thing in Sonora.

One door of the _sala_ opened from the patio, and another into a room
used as a chapel after the old adobe walls of the mission church had
melted utterly back into the earth. Rotil had selected it merely
because its only window was very high, an architectural variation
caused by a wing of the mission rooms still standing when Soledad
hacienda was built. A new wall had been built against the older and
lower one which still remained, with old sleeping cells of the
neophytes used as tool sheds, and an unsightly litter of propped or
tumbling walls back of the ranch house.

The door from the _sala_ was slightly ajar, and the voice of Fidelio
was heard there. He asked someone for another candle, and another
chair. And there was the movement of feet, and rearrangement of
furniture.

Rotil entered the _sala_ from the patio, and stood just inside,
looking about him.

With a brief word and gesture he indicated that Elena and Valencia
vacate. At Tula he glanced, but did not bid her follow. He noted the
folded paper in the hand of Doña Jocasta, but did not address her; it
was to Kit he spoke.

"The door will be left open. I learn that Conrad distrusts Perez
because he paid German money, and shipped the guns across the border,
but Perez never uncovered one for him. They are badly scared and ready
to cut each other's throats if they had knives. Doña Jocasta may
overhear what she pleases, and furnish the knives as well if she so
decides."

But Doña Jocasta with a shudder put up her hand in protest.

"No knife, no knife!" she murmured, and Rotil shrugged his shoulders
and looked at Kit.

"That little crane in the corner would walk barefoot over embers of
hell to get a knife and get at Conrad," he said. "You have taste in
your favorites, señor."

He seemed to get a certain amusement in the contemplation of Kit and
Tula; he had seen no other American with quite that sort of addition
to his outfit. Kit was content to let him think his worst, as to tell
the truth would no doubt lose them a friend. It tickled the general's
fancy to think the thin moody Indian girl, immature and childlike, was
an American's idea of a sweetheart!

Voices and the clank of chains were heard in the patio, and then in
the next room.

"Why bring us here when your questions were given answer as well in
another place?" demanded a man's voice, and at that Doña Jocasta
looked at Rotil.

"Yes, why do you?" she whispered.

He stared at her, frowning and puzzled.

"Did I not tell you? I did it that you might hear him repeat his
offer. What else?"

"I--see," she said, bending her head, but as Rotil went to the door,
Kit noted that the eyes of Doña Jocasta followed him curiously. He
concluded that the unseen man of the voice was José Perez.

Then the voice of Conrad was heard cursing at a chain too heavy. Rotil
laughed, and walked into the chapel.

"I can tell you something, you German Judas!" he said coldly. "You
will live to see the day when these chains, and this safe old chapel,
will be as a paradise you once lived in. You will beg to crawl on your
knees to be again comfortably inside this door."

"Is that some Mexican joke?" asked Conrad, and Rotil laughed again.

"Sure it is, and it will be on you! They tell me you collect girls in
Sonora for a price. Well, they have grown fond of you,--the Indian
women of Sonora! They say you must end your days here with them. I
have not heard of a ransom price they would listen to,--though you
might think of what you have to offer."

"Offer?" growled Conrad. "How is there anything to offer in Sonora
when Perez here has sent the guns south?"

"True, the matter of ransom seems to rest with Señor Perez who is
saving of words."

"I put the words on paper, and sent it by your man," said Perez. "What
else is there to say?"

"Oh, that?" returned Rotil. "My boys play tricks, and make jokes with
me like happy children. Yes, Chappo did bring words on paper,--foolish
words he might have written himself. I take no account of such things.
You are asked for the guns, and I get foolish words on paper of a
woman you would trade to me, and guns you would send me."

"Well?"

"Who gives you right to trade the woman, señor?"

"Who has a better right? She belongs to me."

"Very good! And her name?"

"You know the name."

"Perhaps, but I like my bargains with witness, and they must witness
the name."

"Jocasta--" There was a slight hesitation, and Rotil interrupted.

"She has been known as Señora Jocasta Perez, is it not so?"

"Well--yes," came the slow reply, "but that was foolishness of the
peons on my estates. They called her that."

"Very good! One woman called Jocasta Perez is offered to me in trade
with the guns. José Perez, have you not seen that the Doña Jocasta
Perez is even now mistress of Soledad, and that my men and I are as
her servants?"

Jocasta on the other side of the door strangled a half sob as she
heard him, and crept nearer the door.

"Oh, you are a good one at a bargain, Ramon Rotil! You try to pretend
the woman cannot count in this trade, but women always count,--women
like Jocasta!"

"So? Then we will certainly take count of the woman--one woman! Now to
guns and ammunition. How many, and where?"

"At Hermosillo, and it will take a week."

"I have no week to waste, and I do not mean the guns at Hermosillo.
You have five minutes, José Perez. Also those playful boys are
building a nice warm fire for the branding irons. And you will both
get a smell of your own burning hides if I wait longer for an
answer."

"Holy God!" shouted Conrad. "Why burn me for his work? From me the
guns have been hid as well as from you;--all I got was promises! They
are my guns,--my money paid, but he is not straight! Here at Soledad
he was to show me this time, but I think now it was a trick to murder
me as he murdered Juan Gonsalvo, the foreman who stored them away for
him."

"Animal!" growled Perez. "You have lost your head to talk of murders
to me! Two murders at Granados are waiting for you, and it is not far
to ship you back to the border! Walk with care, señor!"

"You are each wasting time with your truth telling," stated Rotil.
"This is no time to count your dead men. It is the count of the guns I
want. And a sight of the ammunition."

"Give me a guide to Hermosillo, and the price of guns can be got for
you."

"It is not the _price_ of guns I asked you for, it is guns,--the guns
Conrad and Herrara got over the border for you. Your time is going
fast, José Perez."

"They are not to be had this side of Hermosillo, send me south if you
want them. But it is well to remember that if an accident happens to
me you never could get them,--never! I alone know their hiding
place."

"For that reason have I waited for your visit to Soledad,--you and
your carts and your pack mules," stated Rotil. "Do not forget that
Marto Cavayso and other men of mine have been for weeks with your
ranchmen. Your pack train comes here empty, and means one thing
only--they came for the American guns! Your minutes are going, señor,
and the branding irons are getting heat from the fire. One more
minute!"

"Write the figures of the ransom, and grant me a messenger to
Hermosillo. You have the whip hand, you can make your price."

"But me? What of _my_ ransom?" demanded Conrad. "My money, and my time
paid for those guns--I have not seen one of them this side of the
border! If no guns are paid for me, money must be paid."

"No price is asked for you. I told you the women have named no
ransom."

"Women? That is foolishness. It is not women for whom you hold me! He
has turned traitor, has Perez! He wants me sent back across the border
without that price of the guns for his mushroom government! He has
told his own tales of Herrara, and of Singleton, and they are
lies--all lies!"

"But what of the tale of Diego, said in the American way?" asked Kit
stepping inside the room.

"Diego! Diego!" repeated Conrad and made a leap at Perez. "You have
sold me out to the Americans, you scum! James warned me you were scum
of the gutters, and now----"

The guard caught him, and he stood there shaking with fury in the dim
light. Perez drew away with a curse.

"To hell with you and James and your crew on the border," he growled.
"I care nothing as to how soon the damned gringos swing you both. When
you Germans want to use us we are your 'dear brothers.' When we
out-trick you, we are only scum, eh? You can tell your _commandante_
James that I won the game from him, and all the guns!"

"My thanks to you, General Rotil, that I have been allowed to hear
this," said Kit, "also that I have witness. I'd do as much for you if
the chance comes. Two men were killed on the border by Conrad under
order of this James. Herrara was murdered in prison for fear he would
turn informer about the guns. Singleton was murdered to prevent him
investigating the German poisoning of cavalry horses. The German swine
meant to control Granados rancho a few months longer for their own
purposes."

"_Meant_ to?" sneered Conrad. "You raw cub!--you are playing with
dynamite and due for a fall. So is your fool country! Though Perez
here has lost his nerve and turned traitor to our deal, that is only a
little puff of wind against the bulwarks of the Fatherland! We will
hold Granados; we will hold the border; and with Mexico (not this
crook of the west, but _real_ Mexico) we will win and hold every
border state and every Pacific coast state! You,--poor fool!--will
never reach Granados alive to tell this. You are but one American in
the Indian wilderness, and you are sure to go under, but you go
knowing that though James and I die, and though a thousand more of us
die, there will be ten thousand secret German workers in America to
carry on our plan until all the world will be under the power of the
Prussian eagle! You,--who think you know so much, can add _that_ to
finish your education in Sonora, and carry it to hell with you!"

His voice, coldly contemptuous at first, had risen to a wrathful
shriek as he faced the American and hurled at him the exultance of the
Teuton dream.

"I certainly am in great luck to be your one American confessor,"
grinned Kit, "but I'll postpone that trip as long as possible. I
reckon General Rotil will let the padre help me make note of this
education you are handing out to me. A lot of Americans need it! Have
I your permission, General?"

"Go as far as you like," snapped Rotil. "They have used up their time
limit in scolding like old women. Perez, I wait for the guns."

"Send me to Hermosillo and I will recover enough for a ransom," said
Perez.

Rotil regarded him a moment through half-closed, sinister eyes.

"That was your last chance, and you threw it away. Chappo, strip him;
Fidelio, fetch the branding irons."

Perez shrank back, staring at Rotil as if fascinated. He was striving
to measure the lengths to which the "Hawk of the Sierras" would go,
and a sudden gleam of hope came into his eyes as Padre Andreas held
up a crucifix before Chappo, waving him aside.

"No, Rotil,--torture is a thing for animals, not men! Hell waits for
the sinner who----"

"Hell won't wait for you one holy minute!" snapped Rotil. "Get back
with the women where you belong; there is men's work to do here."

He caught the priest by the arm in an iron grip and whirled him
towards the _sala_. The man would have fallen but for Kit who caught
him, but could not save the crash of his head against the door. Blood
streamed from a cut in his forehead, and thus he staggered into the
room where Doña Jocasta stood, horror-stricken and poised for flight.

But the sight of the blood-stained priest, and the sound of a strange,
half animal cry from the other room, turned her feet that way.

"No, Ramon! No-_no_!" she cried and sped through the door to fling
herself between him and his victims.

Her arms were stretched wide and she halted, almost touching him, with
her back to the chained man towards whom she had not glanced, but she
could not help seeing the charcoal brazier with the red-hot branding
irons held by Fidelio. The gasping cry had come from Conrad by whom
the brazier was set.

Ramon Rotil stared at her, frowning as if he would fling her from his
path as he had the priest.

"No, Ramon!" she said again, still with that supplicating look and
gesture, "send them out of here,--both these men. I would smother and
die in a room with that German beast. You will not be sorry, Ramon
Rotil, I promise you that,--I promise you by the God I dare not
face!"

[Illustration: "No, Ramon! No!" she cried, and flung herself between him
and his victims.]

"Ho!" snarled Perez. "Is the priest also her lover that she----"

"Send the German out, and let José Perez stay to see that I keep my
promise," she said letting her arms fall at her side, but facing Rotil
with an addition of hauteur in her poise and glance. "The price he
will pay for the words he has spoken here will be a heavy price,--one
he has risked life to hold! Send that pale snake and your men outside,
Ramon."

Perez was leaning forward, his face strained and white, watching her.
He could not see her face, but the glimpse of hope came again into his
eyes--a woman might succeed with Rotil where a priest would fail!

Rotil, still frowning at her, waved his hand to Chappo and Fidelio.

"Take him away," he said, "and wait beyond."

The shuffling movement and clank of chains was heard, but she did not
turn her head. Instead she moved past Rotil, lifted a candle, and went
towards the shrine at the end of the room.

A table was there with a scarf across it, and back of the table three
steps leading up to a little platform on which were ranged two or
three mediocre statues of saints, once brilliant with blue and scarlet
and tinsel, but tarnished and dim from the years.

In the center was a painting, also dark and dim in which only a halo
was still discernible in the light of the candle, but the features of
the saint pictured there were shadowed and elusive.

For a moment she knelt on the lower step and bent her head because of
those remnants of a faith which was all she knew of earthly hope,--and
then she started to mount the steps.

"The curse of God shrivel you!" muttered Perez in cold fury--"come
down from there!"

Without heed to the threat, she moved the little statues to right or
left, and then lifted her hand, resting it on the wooden frame of the
painting.

"Call the Americano," she said without turning. "You will need a man,
but not a man of Altar. Another day may come when you, Ramon, may have
need of this house for hiding!"

Rotil strode to the door and motioned Kit to enter, then he closed
both doors and gave no heed to Perez, crouched there like a chained
coyote in a trap.

"Come down!" he said again. "You are in league with hell to know of
that. I never gave it to you! Come down! I meant to tell after he had
finished with Conrad--I mean to tell!"

"He waited too long, and spoke too much," she said to Rotil. "Keep
watch on him, and let the Americano give help here."

Kit mounted the step beside her, and at her gesture took hold of the
frame on one side. She found a wedge of wood at the other side and
drew it out. The loosened frame was lifted out by Kit and carried down
the three steps; it was a panel a little over two feet in width and
four in height.

"Set it aside, and watch José Perez while General Rotil looks within,"
she said evenly.

Rotil glanced at Perez scowling black hate at her, and then turned to
Jocasta who held out the candle.

"It is for you to see,--you and no other," she said. "You have saved a
woman he would have traded as a slave, and I give you more than a
slave's ransom."

He took the candle and his eyes suddenly flamed with exultation as her
meaning came to him.

"_Jocasta!_" he muttered as if scarce believing, and then he mounted
the step, halted an instant in the panel of shadow, and, holding the
candle over his head, he leaned forward and descended on the other
side of the wall.

"You damned she-wolf of the hills!" growled Perez with the concentrated
hate of utter failure in his voice. "I fed you, and my money covered
your nakedness, and now you put a knife in my neck and go back to
cattle of the range for a mate! You,--without shame or soul!"

"That is true," she said coldly. "You killed a soul in the _casita_ of
the oleanders, José Perez, and it was a dead woman you and the German
chained to be buried in the desert. But even the dead come back to
help friends who are faithful, José,--and I am as the dead who walk."

She did not look at him as she spoke, but sank on her knees before the
dark canvas where only the faint golden halo gave evidence of some
incarnated holiness portrayed there. Her voice was low and even, and
the sadness of it thrilled Kit. He thought of music of sweet chords,
and a broken string vibrating, for the hopelessness in her voice held
a certain fateful finality, and her delicate dark loveliness----

Rotil emerged from the doorway of the shrine and stood there, a
curious substitute for the holy picture, looking down on her with a
wonderful light in his face.

"Your ransom wins for you all you wish of me,--except the life of one
man," he said, and with a gesture indicated that Kit help her to her
feet. He did so, and saw that she was very white and trembling.

Rotil looked at Perez over her head, and Perez scowled back, with all
the venom of black hate.

"You win!--but a curse walks where she walks. Ask her? Ask Marto of
the men she put under witchcraft! Ask Conrad who had good luck till
she hated him! If you have a love, or a child, or anything dear, let
her not look hate on them, for her knife follows that look! Ask her of
the knife she set in the heart of a child for jealousy of Conrad! Ai,
general though you are, your whole army is not strong enough to guard
you from the ill luck you will take with the gift _she_ gives! She is
a woman under a curse. Ha! Look at her as I say it, for you hear the
truth. Ask the padre!"

Kit realized that Perez was launching against her the direst weight of
evil the Mexican or Indian mind has to face. Though saints and heaven
and hell might be denied by certain daring souls, the potency of
witchcraft was seldom doubted. Men or women accused of it were shunned
as pariahs, and there had been known persons who weakened and dwindled
into death after accusation had been put against them.

He thought of it as she cowered under each separate count of the curse
launched against her. She bent like a slender reed under the strokes
of a flail, lower and lower against his arm, but when the deadly voice
flung the final taunt at her, she straightened slowly and looked at
Rotil.

"Yes, ask the padre--or ask me!" she said in that velvet soft voice of
utter despair. "That I sent an innocent soul to death is too true. To
my great sorrow I did it;--I would do it again! For that my life is
indeed a curse to me,--but his every other word a lie!"

Then she took a step forward, faltered, and fell back into the
outstretched arm of Kit.

"Take Señora Perez to the women, and come back," said Rotil. Kit noted
that even though he moved close, and bent over the white unconscious
face, he did not touch her.

"Señora Perez!" repeated Perez contemptuously. "You are generous with
other men's names for your women! Her name is the Indian mother's
name."

"Half Indian," corrected Rotil, "and her naming I will decide another
time."

Kit returned, and without words proceeded to help replace the holy
picture in its niche. In the struggle with the padre, a chunk of adobe
had been knocked from the wall near the door, and he picked it up,
crumbling it to a soft powder and sprinkled it lightly over the steps
where foot prints were traceable in the dust.

Rotil who had gone to the door to recall the guard, halted and watched
him closely.

"Good!" he said. "You also give me a thought concerning this animal;
he will bark if he has listeners, and even the German should not
hear--one never knows! I need a cage for a few hours. You have been a
friend, and know secret things. Will you lock him in your own room and
hold the key to yourself?"

"Surest thing you know," answered Kit though with the uncomfortable
certainty that the knowledge of too many secret things in Mexico was
not conducive to long life for the knower. "I may also assure you that
Marto is keen on giving you honest service that his one fault may be
atoned for."

"He will get service," stated Rotil. "You saved me a good man there,
amigo."

He flung open the door of the corridor and whistled for the guard.

"Remove this man and take your orders from Capitan----" He halted, and
his eyes narrowed quizzically.

"It seems we never were introduced, amigo, and we know only your joy
name of the singer, but there must be another."

"Oh, yes, there's another, all right," returned Kit, knowing that
Conrad would enlighten Rotil if he did not. "I'm the hombre suspected
of that Granados murder committed by Conrad,--and the name is
Rhodes."

"So? Then the scolding of these two comrades gives to you your freedom
from suspicion, eh? That is good, but--" He looked at Kit, frowning.
"See here, I comprehend badly. You told me it was the friend of your
_compadre_ who was the suspected one!"

"Sure! I've a dandy partner across the border. He's the old man you
saw at Yaqui Spring, and I reckon I'm a fairly good friend of his.
He'd say so!"

Rotil's face relaxed in a grin.

"That is clever, a trick and no harm in it, but--have a care to
yourself! It is easy to be too clever, and on a trail of war no one
has time to learn if tricks are of harm or not. Take the warning of a
friend, Capitan Rhodes!"

"You have the right of it, General. I have much to learn," agreed Kit.
"But no man goes abroad to shout the crimes he is accused of at
home,--and the story of this one is very new to me. This morning I
learned I was thought guilty, and tonight I learn who is the criminal,
and how the job was done. This is quick work, and I owe the luck of it
to you."

"May the good luck hold!" said Rotil. "And see that the men leave you
alone as the guard of Perez. I want no listeners there."




CHAPTER XVII

THE STORY OF DOÑA JOCASTA


Ramon Rotil stood a long minute after the clank of chains ceased along
the corridor; then he bolted the outer door of the chapel, and after
casting a grim satisfied smile at the screen of the faded canvas, he
opened the door of the _sala_ and went in.

Valencia was kneeling beside Doña Jocasta and forcing brandy between
the white lips, while Elena bustled around the padre whose head she
had been bathing. A basin of water, ruby red, was evidence of the fact
that Padre Andreas was not in immediate need of the services of a
leech. He sat with his bandaged head held in his hands, and shrank
perceptibly when the general entered the room.

Doña Jocasta swallowed some of the brandy, half strangled over it, and
sat up, gasping and white. It was Tula who offered her a cup of water,
while Valencia, with fervent expressions of gratitude to the saints,
got to her feet, eyeing Rotil with a look of fear. After the wounded
priest and the fainting Jocasta emerged from the chapel door, the two
women were filled with terror of the controlling spirit there.

He halted on the threshold, his eyes roving from face to face,
including Tula, who stood, back against the wall, regarding him as
usual with much admiration. One thing more he must know.

"Go you without," he said with a gesture towards the two women and the
priest. "I will speak with this lady alone."

They all moved to the door, and after a moment of hesitation Tula was
about to follow when he stopped her.

"You stay, girl. The Doña Jocasta may want a maid, but take yourself
over there."

So Tula slipped silently back into the niche of the window seat where
the shadows were deepest, and Rotil moved towards the center table
dragging a chair. On the other side of the table was the couch on
which Jocasta sat, white and startled at the dismissal of the woman
and priest.

"Be composed," he said gentling his tone as one would to soothe a
child. "There are some things to be said between us here, and too many
ears are of no advantage."

She did not reply; only inclined her head slightly and drew herself
upright against the wall, gathering the lace _rebosa_ across her bosom
where Valencia had unfastened her garments and forgotten them in her
fear.

"First is the matter of my debt to you. Do you know in your own mind
how great that is?"

"I--count it as nothing, señor," she murmured.

"That is because you do not know the great need, and have not made
count of the cases of rifles and ammunition."

"It is true, I never looked at them. Juan Gonsalvo in dying blamed
José Perez for the shot. It was fired by another hand,--but God alone
knows! So Juan sent for me, and José never knew. The secret of Soledad
was given to me then, but I never thought to use it, until----"

She ceased, shuddering, and he knew she was thinking of the
blood-stained priest whirled into her presence. Fallen though the
state of the priesthood might be in Mexico, there were yet women of
Jocasta's training to whom an assault on the clergy was little less
than a mortal sin. He knew that, and smiled grimly at the remembrance
of her own priestly father who had refused her in honest marriage to a
man of her mother's class, and was busily engaged haggling over the
gift price of her with José Perez when death caught him. The
bewildered girl was swept to the estate of Perez without either
marriage or gift, unless one choose to consider as gift the shelter
and food given to a younger sister and brother.

All this went through his mind as she shrank and sighed because he had
tossed a priest from his way with as slight regard as he would the
poorest peon. She did not even know how surely the destiny of her
mother and her own destiny had been formed by a priest's craft. She
would never know, because her mind would refuse to accept it. There
were thousands like her because of their shadowed inheritance.
Revolution for the men grew out of that bondage of women, and Rotil
had isolated moments when he dreamed of a vast and blessed freedom of
the land--schools, and schools, and more schools until knowledge would
belong to the people instead of to the priests!

But he knew it was no use to tell thoughts like that to women; they
were afraid to let go their little wooden saints and the jargon of
prayers they did not understand. The mystery of it held them!

Thus brooded Rotil, unlearned driver of burros and general of an army
of the people!

"We will forget all but the ammunition," he said. "It is as food to my
men, and some of them are starving there to the east; with ammunition
food can be commandeered. I knew the guns were on Soledad land, but
even a golden dream of angels would not have let me hope for as much
as you have given me. It is packed,--that room, from floor to roof
tiles. In the morning I take the trail, and there is much to be done
before I go. You;--I must think of first. Will you let me be your
confessor, and tell me any wish of your heart I may help you to?"

"My heart has no wish left alive in it," she said. "There have been
days when I had wish for the hut under the palms where my mother
lived. A childish wish,--but other wishes are dead!"

"There is no going back," he said, staring at the tiles, and not
looking at her. "It is of future things we must think. He said
things--Perez did, and you----"

"Yes!" she half whispered. "There is no way but to tell of it, but--I
would ask that the child wait outside. The story is not a story for a
girl child, Ramon."

He motioned to Tula.

"Outside the door, but in call," he said, and without a word or look
Tula went softly out.

There was silence for a bit between them, her hands were clasped at
full length, and she leaned forward painfully tense, looking not at
him, but past him.

"It is not easy, but you will comprehend better than many," she said
at last. "There were three of us. There was my little brother Palemon,
who ran away last year to be a soldier--he was only fourteen. José
would not let me send searchers for him, and he may be dead. Then
there was only--only Lucita and me. You maybe remember Lucita?"

Her question was wistful as if it would help her to even know he
remembered. He nodded his head in affirmation.

"A golden child," he said. "I have seen pictured saints and angels in
great churches since the days in the hills, but never once so fair a
child as little Lucita."

"Yes, white and gold, and an angel of innocence," she said musingly.
"Always she was that, always! And there was a sweetheart, Mariano
Avila, a good lad, and the wedding was to be. She was embroidering the
wedding shirt for Mariano when--God! God!"

She got up suddenly and paced the floor, her arms hugging her
shoulders tight as if to keep from sobbing. He rose and stood
watching, but uttered no word.

After a little she returned to the couch, and began to speak in a more
even tone.

"There is so much to tell. Much happened. Conrad was driving José to
do many things not at first in their plans. Also there was more
drinking,--much more! It was Conrad made plans for the slave raids. He
no longer asked José's permission for anything; he gave command to the
men and José had to listen. Only one secret thing was yet hidden from
him, the hiding place of the guns from the north. José said if that
was uncovered he might as well give up his ranchos. In his heart he
could not trust Conrad. Each had a watch set on the other! Juan got
his death because he made rendezvous with the German.

"That is how it was when the slave raid was made north of here, and
the most beautiful Indian girl killed herself somewhere in this desert
when there was no other way to escape the man;--the scar on the face
of Conrad was from her knife. It was a bad cut, and after that there
was trouble, and much drink and mad quarrels. Also it was that time
Juan Gonsalvo was shot and died from it. Juana, his sister, came in
secret for me while he could yet speak, and that was when----"

She halted, closing her eyes as if to shut out some horror. He thought
she shrank from remembrance of how the secret of Soledad was given to
her, for Juan must have been practically a dead man when he gave it
up. After a moment she went on in the sad tone of the utterly
hopeless.

"I speak of the mad quarrels of those two men, Ramon, but it was never
of that I had fear. The fear came each time the quarrel was done, and
they again swore to be friends, for in the new 'friend hours' of
drinking, strange things happened, strange wagers and strange gifts."

Again she paused, and this time she lifted her eyes to Rotil.

"Always I hated the German. I never carried a blade until after
his eyes followed me! He tried to play the prince, the great
gentleman, with me--a girl of the hills! Only once he touched my
hand, and I scoured it with sand afterwards while José laughed. But
the German did not laugh,--he only watched me! Once when José was
in a rage with me Conrad said he could make of me a great lady in his
own land if I would listen. Instead of listening I showed him my
knife. After that God only knows what he told against me, but José
became bitter--bitter, and jealous, and spies always at my back!

"So Lucita and Mariano and I made plans. They were to marry, and we
three would steal away in secret and cross the border. That was
happiness to plan, for my life--my life was hell, so I thought! But I
had not yet learned what hell could be," she confessed drearily.

"Tell me," he said very gently. Those who thought they knew "El
Gavilan," the merciless, would not have recognized his voice at that
moment.

"No, I had not learned," she went on drearily. "I thought that to
carry a knife for myself made all safe--I did not know! I told you
Juana Gonsalvo came for me very secretly to hear the last words of
Juan. But I did not tell you we lived in the _casita_, little Lucita
and I. It is across a garden from the hacienda, and was once a
priest's house; that was in the days of the mother of José. It is very
sweet there under the rose vines, and it was sanctuary for us. When
José and the German had their nights of carouse we went there and
locked ourselves in. There were iron bars on the high windows, and
shutters of wood inside, so we were never afraid. I heard Conrad tell
José he was a fool not to blow it up with dynamite some day of fiesta.
It was the night after their great quarrel, and it was a terrible
time. They were pledging friendship once more in much wine. Officers
from the town were at the hacienda with women who were--well, I would
not go in, and José was wild. He came to the _casita_ and called
threats at me. I thought the German was with him, for he said Conrad
was right, and the house would be blown up with the first dynamite he
could spare,--but threats were no new thing to us! I tried to soothe
little Lucita by talk of the wedding, and all the pretty bride things
were taken out of the chest and spread on the bed; one _rebosa_ of
white I put over her shoulders, and the child was dancing to show me
she was no longer afraid----!

"That was when Juana came to the window. I knew her voice and opened
the door. I did not want Lucita frightened again, so I did not let her
know a man was dying--only that a sick person wanted me for a
little--little minute, and I would be back.

"I knew Juan Gonsalvo had been killed because he had been trusted far
enough,--I knew it! That thought struck me very hard, for I--I might
be the next, and I wanted first to send those two children happily out
of reach of sorrow. Strange it is that because she was first, the very
first in my heart, I went out that door in the night and for the first
time left her alone! But that is how it was; we had to be so
quick--and so silent--and it was her hand closed the door after us,
her hand on the bolt!

"Juan Gonsalvo had only fought for life until he could see me, and
then the breath went. No one but I heard his whispers of the door of
the picture here in Soledad. He told me his death was murder, and his
last word was against Perez. It was only minutes, little minutes I
was there, and the way was not far, but when I went back through the
garden the door of the _casita_ stood wide and light streamed out! I
do not know how I was sure it was empty, but I was, and I seemed to go
dead inside, though I started to run.

"To cross that garden was like struggling in a dream with bands about
my feet. I wake with that dream many nights--many!--I heard her before
I could reach the path. Her screams were not in the _casita_, but in
the hacienda. They were--they were--terrible! I tried to go--and then
I knew she had broken away--I could see her like a white spirit fly
back towards the light in the open door. The man following her tripped
in some way and fell, and I leaped over him to follow her. We got
inside and drew the bolt.

"Then--But there are things not to be told--they belong to the dead!

"Perez came there to the door and made demands for Conrad's
woman,--that is how he said it! He said she had gone to Conrad's
apartment of her own will and must go back. Lucita knelt at my feet in
her torn bridal garment and told how a woman had come as Juana had
come, and said that I wanted her. The child had no doubt, she
followed, and--and it was indeed to that drunken beast they took her!

"José was also drunk, crazy drunk. He told me to stand away from that
door for they were coming in, also that he had made gift of Lucita to
his friend, and she must be given up. Then they began to fire guns in
the lock! It seemed a long, long time she held to me there and begged
me to save her, but it could not have been.... The lock gave way, and
only the bolt held. I clasped her close to me and whispered telling
her to pray, but I never took my eyes off the door. When I saw it
shaking, I made the sign of the cross over her, and the knife I had
carried for myself found her heart quickly! That is how I took on me
the shadow of murder, and that is why the priest threatens me with the
fires of hell if I do not repent--and I am not repenting, Ramon."

"By God, no!" he muttered, staring into her defiant eyes. "That was a
fine thing, and your mother gave good blood to her children, Jocasta.
And then----?"

"I laid her on the bed among her bridal laces, all white--white! Over
her breast I folded her still hands, and set a candle at her head,
though I dared not pray! The door was giving way.

"I pushed back the bolt, also I spoke, but it did not seem me! That is
strange, but of a truth I did not know the voice I heard say: 'Enter,
her body is yours--and she no longer flees from you.'

"'Ha! That is good sense at last!' said José, and Conrad laughed and
praised himself as a lover.

"'I told you so!' he grunted. 'The little dear one knows that a nice
white German is not so bad!'

"And again I heard the voice strange to me say, 'She knows nothing,
José--and she knows all!'

"José stumbled in smiling, but Conrad, though drunk, stopped at the
door when he saw my hand with the knife. I thought my skirt covered it
as I waited for him--for the child had told me enough--I--I failed,
Ramon! His oath was a curious choked scream as I tried to reach him.
I do not know if it was the knife, or the dead girl on the bed made
him scream like that, but I knew then the German was at heart a
coward.

"José was too strong for me, and the knife could not do its work. I
was struck, and my head muffled in a _serape_. After that I knew
nothing.

"Days and nights went by in a locked room. I never got out of it until
I was chained hand and foot and sent north in a peon's ox-cart. Men
guarded me until Marto with other men waited for me on the trail. José
Perez could have had me killed, yes. Or he could have had me before
the judges for murder, but silence was the thing he most wanted--for
there is Doña Dolores Terain yet to be won. He has sent me north that
the General Terain, her father, will think me out of his life. One of
the guards told an alcalde I was his wife, he was sure that story
would be repeated back to Hermosillo! These are days in Sonora when no
one troubles about one woman or one child who is out of sight, and we
may be sure he and Conrad had a well-made story to tell. He knows it
is now all over with me, that I have a hate of which he is afraid, so
he does not have me shot;--he only sends me to Soledad in the
wilderness where fighting bands of the revolution cross all trails,
and his men have orders that I am not to go out of the desert alive."

"I see!" said Rotil thoughtfully, "and--it is all gone now--the love
of him?"

"All the love in the world is gone, amigo," she said, looking away
from him through the barred window where the night sky was growing
bright from the rising moon. "I was a child enchanted by the glory of
the world and his love words. Out of all that false glitter of life I
have walked, a blackened soul with a murderer's hand. How could love
be again with me?"

He looked at her steadily, the slender thing of creamy skin and
Madonna eyes that had been the Dream of Youth to him, the one devotee
at an altar in whom he had believed--nothing in the humanity of the
world would ever have faith of his again!

"That is so, Jocasta," he said at last, "you are a woman, and in the
shadow. The little golden singing one is gone out of your life, and
the new music must be different! I will think about that for you. Go
now to your sleep, for there is work of men to be done, and the night
scarce long enough for it."

He opened the door for her and stood with bent head as she passed. His
men lounging in the patio could see that manner of deference, and
exchanged looks and comments. To the victor belong the spoils in
Mexico, and here was a sweeping victory,--yet the general looked the
other way!

"Child, accompany the señora," he said kindly to Tula at the door.
"Chappo, bring Marto to see me. The new American capitan said he was a
man of value, and the lad was right. Work of importance waits for him
tonight."




CHAPTER XVIII

RAMON ROTIL DECIDES


Whatever the labors of Marto Cavayso for the night they appeared to
have been happy ones, for ere the dawn he came to Kit's door in great
good humor.

"Amigo," he said jovially, "you played me a trick and took the woman,
but what the devil is that to hold a grudge for? My general has made
it all right, and we need help. You are to come."

"Glad to," agreed Kit, "but what of this guard duty?"

"Lock the door--there is but one key. Also the other men are not
sleeping inside the portal. It is by order of General Rotil."

Perez awoke to glare at his false major-domo, but uttered no words. He
had not even attempted conversation with Kit since the evening before
when he stated that no Americano could fool him, and added his
conviction that the said Americano was a secret service man of the
states after the guns, and that Rotil was a fool!

Kit found Rotil resting in the chapel, looking fagged and spent.

"Marto is hell for work, and I had to stay by," he grumbled with a
grin. "Almost I sent for you. No other man knows, and behold!"

Stacked on either side were packing cases of rifles and ammunition,
dozens and dozens of them. The dusty canvas was back in its place and
no sign to indicate where the cases had come from.

"It is a great treasure chest, that," stated Rotil, "and we have here
as much as the mules can carry, for the wagons can't go with us. But I
want every case of this outside the portal before dawn comes, and it
comes quick! It means work and there are only three of us, and this
limp of mine's a trouble."

"Well," said Kit, stripping off his coat, "if the two of you got them
up a ladder inside, and down the steps to this point I reckon three of
us can get them across that little level on record time. Say, your
crew will think it magic when guns and ammunition are let fall for you
by angels outside of the gate."

"The thought will do no harm," said Rotil. "Also I am not sure but
that you speak true, and the magic was much needed when it came."

They worked fast, and ere the first hint of dawn the cases were
stacked in imposing array on the plaza. And no sign by which they
could be traced. Rotil looked at them, and chuckled at the wonder the
men would feel.

"It is time they were called, for it is a long trail, go you, Capitan,
and waken them, tell them to get ready the pack mules and get a
move."

"All right, but if they ask questions?"

"Look wise and say nothing! When they see the cases they will think
you either the devil or San Antonio to find what was lost in the
desert. It is a favor I am doing you, señor."

"Sure you are! If the Indians ever get the idea that I can win guns
from out the air by hokus-pokus, I will be a big medicine chief, and
wax fat under honors in Sonora. Head me to them!"

Rotil had seen to it that though sentinels stood guard at Soledad,
none were near enough the plaza to interfere with work of the night,
and Kit found their main camp down by the _acquia_ a quarter of a mile
away. He gave orders as directed for the pack animals and cook wagon
over which a son of the Orient presided. That stolid genius was
already slicing deer meat for broiling, and making coffee, of which he
donated a bowl to Kit, also a cart wheel of a _tortilla_ dipped in
gravy. Both were joyously accepted, and after seeing that the men were
aroused from the blankets, he returned to the hacienda full of
conjecture as to the developments to be anticipated from the night's
work. That reserve stock of ammunition might mean salvation to the
revolutionists.

Rain had fallen somewhere to the east in the night time, and as the
stars faded there were lines of palest silver and palest gold in the
grays of dawn on the mountains. As he walked leisurely up the slight
natural terrace to the plaza, he halted a moment and laughed aloud
boyishly at a discovery of his, for he had solved the century-old
riddle of the view of El Alisal seen from the "portal" of Soledad. The
portal was not anyone of the visible doors or gateways of the old
mission, it was the hidden portal of the picture,--once leading to a
little balcony under which the neophytes had gathered for the morning
blessing and daily commands of their superiors!

That explained its height from the floor. The door had at some later
period been sealed, and a room built against it from the side towards
the mountain. In the building of the ranch house that old strong
walled section of the mission had been incorporated as the private
chapel of some pious ranchero. It was also very, very simple after one
knew of that high portal masked by the picture, and after one traced
the line of vision from the outside and realized all that was hidden
by the old harness room and the fragmentary old walls about it. He
chuckled to think of how he would astonish Cap Pike with the story
when he got back. He also recalled that Conrad had unburdened his
heart to him with completeness because he was so confident an American
never _could_ get back!

He was speculating on that ever-present problem when he noted that
light shone yellow in the dawn from the plaza windows, and on entering
the patio it took but a glance to see that some new thing was afoot.

Padre Andreas, with his head upholstered in strips of the table linen,
was pacing the patio reciting in a murmuring undertone, some prayer
from a small open volume, though there was not yet light enough to
read. Valencia was bustling into the room of Doña Jocasta with an olla
of warm water, while Tula bore a copper tray with fruit and coffee.

"This is of a quickness, but who dare say it is not an act for the
blessing of God?" the padre said replying in an absent-minded manner
to the greeting of Kit.

"True, Padre, who can say?" agreed the latter politely, without the
slightest idea of what was meant.

But Marto, who fairly radiated happiness since his reinstatement,
approached with the word that General Rotil would have him at
breakfast, for which time was short.

"It is my regret that you do not ride with me, señor," said Rotil as
he motioned him to a seat. "But there is work to be done at Soledad
for which I shall give you the word. I am hearing that you would help
recover some of the poor ones driven south from Palomitas, if they be
left alive!"

"I am pledged to that, General," stated Kit simply.

"Who has your pledge?"

"A dead man who cannot free me from it."

"By God!" remarked Rotil in a surprised tone. "By God, Don Pajarito,
that is good! And it may be when that pledge is kept, you may be free
to join my children in the fight? I make you a capitan at once,
señor."

"Perhaps, after----"

"Sure,--after," agreed Rotil chuckling. "For I tell you there is work
of importance here, and when I am gone the thinking will be up to you!
What message did you give the muleteers?"

"To bring the animals to the plaza, and pack for the trail all the
provisions found there."

"Provisions is good! They will burn with curiosity. There could be fun
in that if we had time to laugh and watch them, but there is no time.
Marto!"

Marto, on guard at the door, came forward.

"Has the Señor Don José Perez received my message for conference?"

"Yes, my General. Except that he wished your messenger in hell, he
will be happy to join you according to order."

"Good!" grinned Rotil, "it is well to conduct these matters with grace
and ceremony where a lady is concerned. Take him to the _sala_; it is
illuminated in his honor. Come, señor, I want for witness an Americano
who is free from Sonora influence."

"Am I?" queried Kit dubiously. "I'm not so sure! I seem all tangled up
with Sonora influences of all shades and varieties."

Rotil's jocularity disappeared as he entered the sala where quill pen
and ink and some blank sheets from an old account book gave a
business-like look to the table where four candles made a radiance.

Perez was there, plainly nervous by reason of the mocking civility of
Marto. His eyes followed Rotil,--questioning, fearful!

The latter passed him without notice and seated himself at the table.

"Call the padre," he said to Marto. But that was scarce needed as the
padre was hovering near the door waiting for the word. He seated
himself by the table at a motion from Rotil.

The latter turned for the first time to Perez, and bestowed on him a
long, curious look.

"They tell me, señor, that you were about to take as bride a lovely
lady?"

Perez frowned in perplexity. Evidently this was the last subject he
had expected to hear touched upon.

"Perhaps so," he said at last, "but if this is a question of ransom we
will not trouble the lady. I will arrange your figures for that."

"This is not a matter of figures, Señor Perez. It is a marriage we are
interested in, and it is all well arranged for you. The padre here
will draw up the contract of marriage in the old form; it is better
than the manner of today. You will give him your name, the names of
your parents, the name of your parish and abode."

"I will see you damned first!"

"And, Padre," continued Rotil, giving no heed to that heartfelt
remark, "use less than one-third of the page, for there must be space
for the record of the bride, and below that the contract between the
happy two with all witnesses added."

"If you think--" began Perez furiously.

"I do not think; I know, señor! Later you also will know," Rotil
promised with grim certainty. "This marriage is of interest to me, and
has been too long delayed. It is now for you to say if you will be a
bridegroom in chains, or if it please you to have the irons off."

"This cannot be! I tell you a marriage is not legal if----"

"Oh, señor! Your experience is less than I thought," interrupted
Rotil, "and you are much mistaken,--much! We are all witnesses here.
Señor Rhodes will be pleased to unfasten those heavy chains to oblige
the lady. The chains might not be a pleasant memory to her. Women have
curious prejudices about such things! But it must be understood that
you stand quiet for the ceremony. If not, this gun of mine will manage
it that you stay quiet forever."

Perez stood up, baffled and beaten, but threatening.

"Take them off, you!" he snarled, "though it is a hell of a
ransom,--and that woman will pay. Let no one forget that her pay will
be heavy!"

"That paying is for afterwards!" decided Rotil airily, "but here and
now we men would see a wedding before we leave Soledad. Capitan
Rhodes, will you bring in Doña Jocasta?"

Kit, in some wonder, went on the errand, and found the women eager to
deck her with blossoms and give some joyous note to the wedding of the
dawn, but she sat cold and white with the flowers of the desert
springtime about her, and forbade them.

"He terrifies me much in sending that word to wake me with this
morning," she protested. "I tell you I will kill myself before I live
one more day of life with José Perez! I told him all my heart in the
_sala_ last night, and it means not anything to Ramon Rotil;--he would
tie me in slavery to that man I hate!"

"Señora, I do not know what the general means, but I know it is not
that. His work is for your service, even though appearance is
otherwise."

"You think that?"

"I almost know it."

"Then I go," she decided. "I think I would have to go anyway, but the
heart would be more heavy, _Santa Maria_!--but this place of Soledad
is strange in its ways."

It was the first time he had seen her frightened, but her mouth
trembled, and her eyes sought the floor.

He reached out and took her hand; it was terribly cold.

"Courage, and trust Rotil," he said reassuringly. "When you sift out
the whole situation that is about all left to any of us here in the
desert."

He led her along the corridor, the women following. Men with pack
animals were gathering in wonder around the cases in the plaza, and
through the portal they saw the impromptu bridal procession, and fell
silent. The Americano appeared to have a hand in every game,--and that
was a matter of wonder.

As they entered, Padre Andreas was reading aloud the brief history of
Jocasta Benicia Sandoval, eldest daughter of Teresa Sandoval and
Ignatius Sanchez of Santa Ysobel in the Sierras. Padre Andreas had
balked at writing the paternity of children of Teresa Sandoval, but a
revolver in Rotil's hand was the final persuader.

"This is to be all an honest record for which there are witnesses in
plenty," he stated. "Teresa Sandoval had only one lover,--even though
Padre Ignatius Sanchez did call her daughters nieces of his! But the
marriage record of Señora Jocasta Sandoval shall have only truth."
Jocasta wrote her name to the statement as directed, and noted that
José had already signed.

She did not look at him, but moved nearer to Rotil and kept her eyes
on the table. He noted her shrinking and turned to the priest.

"Señor," he said, "these two people will write their names together on
the contract, but this is a marriage without kisses or clasping of
hands. It is a civil contract bound by word of mouth, and written
promise, under witness of the church. Read the service."

There was a slight hesitation on the part of Perez when asked if he
would take Jocasta Sandoval as wife, but the gun of Rotil hastened his
decision, and his voice was defiantly loud. Jocasta followed quietly,
and then in a benediction which was emptiest mockery, José Perez and
Jocasta Sandoval were pronounced man and wife.

"May I now go?" she murmured, but the contract was signed by all
present before Rotil nodded to Kit.

"You will have the honor of conducting the Doña Jocasta Perez to
breakfast," he said. "The rest of us have other business here. Señora,
will you do us the favor to outline to this gentleman the special
tasks you would like attention given at once. There are some Indian
slaves in the south for whom the Palomitas people ask help. You are
now in a position to be of service there, and it would be a good act
with which to establish a new rule at Soledad."

"Thanks, General Rotil," she answered, rather bewildered by the
swiftness with which he turned over to her the duties devolving upon
her newly acquired position. "I am not wise in law, but what I can I
will do."

"And that will be nothing!" volunteered Perez. "A woman of my name
will not make herself common in the markets or law courts,--to have
her Indian ancestry cast in my teeth!"

"As to that," said Rotil humorously, "there is not so much! The father
of Teresa Sandoval was the priestly son of a marquise of Spain! only
one drop of Indian to three of the church in the veins of Señora
Perez, so you perceive she has done honor to your house. You will
leave your name in good hands when God calls you to judgment."

Kit noted the sudden tension of Perez at the last sentence, and a look
of furtive, fearful questioning in his eyes as he looked at Rotil, who
was folding the marriage contract carefully, wrapping it in a sheet
of paper for lack of an envelope.

But, as squire of dames, Kit was too much occupied to give further
heed to business in the _sala_. Doña Jocasta expressed silently a
desire to get away from there as soon as might be; she looked white
and worn, and cast at Rotil a frightened imploring glance as she clung
to Kit's arm. He thought he would have to carry her before they
crossed the patio.

"When Ramon laughs like that--" she began and then went silent,
shuddering. Kit, remembering the look in the eyes of Perez, did not
care to ask questions.

The older women went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and
gossip over the amazing morning, but Tula remained near Doña
Jocasta,--seeing all and her ears ever open.

Padre Andreas followed, under orders from Rotil, who told him to do
any writing required of him by the Señora Perez, and arrange for safe
couriers south when she had messages ready. His knowledge of villages
and rancheros was more dependable than that of the vaqueros; he would
know the names of safe men.

Doña Jocasta sighed, and looked from one to the other appealingly.

"It is much, very much to plan for before the sun is showing," she
murmured. "Is there not some little time to think and consider?"

"Even now the men of Ramon Rotil are packing the beasts for the
trail," said the priest, "and he wants all your plans and desires
stated before he goes east."

"_My_ desires!" and her smile held bitterness as she turned to Kit.
"You, señor, have never seen the extent of the Perez holdings in
Sonora. They are so vast that one simple woman like me would be lost
in any plans of change there. José Perez meant what he said;--no woman
can take control while he lives."

"Still, there are some things a woman could do best," ventured Kit,
"the things of mercy;" and he mentioned the Palomitas slaves----

"That is true. Also I am in debt for much friendship, and this child
of Palomitas must have the thing she asks. Tell me the best way."

"Learn from Perez which ranch of General Estaban Terain shelters the
political prisoners taken from the district of Altar," suggested Kit.
"Either Perez or Conrad can tell."

Doña Jocasta looked at the priest.

"José Perez will hate you for this marriage, and we must seek safety
for you in some other place," she said kindly, "but you are the one
most able to learn this thing. Will it please you to try?"

Padre Andreas went out without a word. In his heart he resented the
manner of the marriage ceremony, and scarce hoped Perez would be
acquiescent or disposed to further converse, and he personally had no
inclination to ask help of the General Rotil.

He was surprised as he crossed the patio to see Perez, still free from
chains, walking through the portal to the plaza with Marto Cavayso
beside him. He was led past the ammunition cases, and the men in their
jubilant work of packing the mules. Far out up the valley to the north
a cloud of dust caught the red glow of sunrise, and the priest knew
the vaqueros with the Soledad cattle were already on the trail for the
main body of revolutionists in the field.

Saddle horses were held a little apart in the plaza, and Padre Andreas
hastened his steps lest they mount and be gone, but Marto spoke to him
sharply.

"Walk in front to do your talking," he suggested. "This gentleman is
not inviting company for his _pasear_."

José Perez turned a startled, piercing look on the priest.

"Did Rotil send you?" he demanded.

"No, señor, I came back to ask a simple thing concerning the Altar
people who went south for Yucatan. Can you give me the name of the
ranch where they are held?"

"I can,--but I give nothing for nothing!" he said bitterly. "Already I
am caught in a trap by that marriage, and I will see that the
archbishop hears of your share in it. Nothing for nothing!"

"Yet there may be some service I can give, or send south, for you,"
said the priest.

Perez regarded him doubtfully.

"Yes--you might get a message to General Terain that I am a prisoner,
on my own estate--if Rotil does not have you killed on the road!"

"I could try," agreed the priest. "I--I might secure permission."

"Permission?"

"It is true, señor. I could not attempt it without the word of General
Rotil," announced Padre Andreas. "Of what use to risk the life of a
courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which
ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word
for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the
German if you say no."

"Damn the German!" swore Perez.

"Good Father," said Marto, "you halt us on the way to join the
advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train.
Make your talk of fewer words."

"Shall I go to the German?" repeated the priest.

"No,--let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad
lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were
rebels who raided ranches in Altar,--political prisoners. Take General
Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and----"

"Señor, the sun is too high for idle talk," said Marto briefly, "and
your saddle waits."

The priest held the stirrup for José Perez, who took the courtesy as a
matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at
the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.

"To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover--_two_
other lovers!--is not the game of a man," he growled moodily. "If it was
to do over, I----"

"Take other thoughts with you," said Padre Andreas sadly, "and my son,
go with God!"

He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned
away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.

The men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much
curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to
the portal.

"Padre, is this ammunition a gift of Don José, or is it magic from the
old monks who hid the red gold of El Alisal and come back here to
guard it and haunt Soledad?" inquired one of the boldest.

"There are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray
in the desert. It is best forgotten."

"But strange things do come about," insisted another man. "Marto
Cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of
Doña Jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has
the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from God knows
where!"

"It may be the Americano knows," hazarded the first speaker. "He took
her from Marto, and rides ever beside her. Who proves which is the
enchanter?"

"It is ill work to put the name of 'enchantment' against any mortal,"
chided the priest.

"That may be," conceded the soldier, "but we have had speech of this
thing, and look you!--Doña Jocasta rode in chains until the Americano
crossed her trail, and Don Ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for
the American guns, until the Americano rode to Soledad! Enchantment or
not, he has luck for his friends!"

"As you please!" conceded the priest with more indifference than he
felt. The Americano certainly did not belong to Soledad, and the
wonder was that Ramon Rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady.
Padre Andreas could easily perceive how the followers of Rotil thought
it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil.

Instinctively he disapproved of Rhodes' position in the group; his
care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at Soledad. Before the
stealing away of Doña Jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked;
her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every
hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her
behavior was different. She rode like a queen, and even the marriage
was accepted as a justice! Padre Andreas secretly credited the heretic
Americano with the change, and Mexican girls put no such dependence on
a man outside of her own family,--unless that man was a lover!

He saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel
leader, and with Doña Jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful
things now that Rotil had given her power.

He found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the
letter Kit was writing to the south. It was her first act as the wife
of José Perez, and it was being written to the girl whom Perez had
hoped to marry!

Kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows:

  To
    Señorita Dolores Terain,
      Linda Vista Rancho, Sonora,

  HONORED SEÑORITA:

  As a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor
  peons of our district of Altar, I venture to address you, to whom
  womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness.

  This is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in
  law courts by men.

  I send with this the names of those poor people who were herded
  south for slavery by Adolf Conrad, a German who calls himself
  American. To your father, the illustrious General Terain, this man
  Conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this
  region. It is not true. They were simple peaceful workers on
  little ranches.

  They were given shelter at your rancho of Linda Vista to work for
  their food until they could be deported, but I send with this a
  payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or
  any debts incurred. If it is not enough, I pledge myself to the
  amount you will regard as justice.

  Dear Señorita, my husband, Don José, warns me that women cannot
  manage such affairs, but we can at least try. Parents wait here
  for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their
  parents. Will you aid in the Christian task of bringing them
  together quickly?

                           At your service with all respect,
                                        JOCASTA BENICIA PEREZ,
                                           Soledad Rancho, Sonora.

"But you write here of gold sent by messenger, señor!--I have no gold,
only words can I send," protested Doña Jocasta helplessly.

"Ah, but the words are more precious than all," Kit assured her. "It
is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it,
señora. These people have held the gold ransom while waiting that
word, and this child can bring it when the time is right."

Doña Jocasta regarded Tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no
appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo.

"You,--the little one to whom even the Deliverer listens?" she said
kindly. "But the wealth of a little Indian ranch would not seem riches
to this illustrious lady, the Doña Dolores Terain."

"Yet will I bring riches to her or to you, Excellencia, if only my
mother and my sister are coming again to Palomitas," said Tula
earnestly.

"But whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer
wealth for anyone?"

Kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre
entered. It was a direct question, and to be answered with directness,
and he watched Tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. But she
told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question.

"Long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it
until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother
and sister buy freedom. That is all, Excellencia, but the gold is good
gold."

She slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather
strings of the burro-skin belt,--it fell heavily on the tile floor.
She untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table.

"You see, señora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but
never enough to pay for them."

"_Santa Maria!_" cried the amazed priest. "That is _red_ gold! In what
place was it found?"

Tula laid her hand over the nuggets and faced him.

"That secret was the secret of Miguel who is dead."

"But--some old Indian must know----"

Tula shook her head with absolute finality.

"No old Indian in all the world knows that!" she said. "This was a
secret of the youth of Miguel, and only when old and dying did he
give it for his people. This I,--Tula, child of Miguel tell you."

Padre Andreas looked from the girl to Kit and back again, knowing that
the death of Miguel was a recent thing since it had occurred after the
stealing of the women.

"Where did your father die?" he asked.

"In the hills of the desert."

"And--who had absolving and burial of him?"

"Absolving I do not know, but this man, his friend, had the making of
the grave," she said, indicating Kit, and the eyes of the priest
rested again on Kit with a most curious searching regard. Evidently
even this little Indian stray of the desert arrived at good fortune
under the friendship of the American stranger,--and it was another
added to the list of enchantings!

"Ah," he murmured meaningly, "then this strange señor also has the
knowing of this Indian gold? Is it truly gold of the earth, or
witches' gold of red clay?" and he went nearer, reaching his hand to
touch it.

"Why all this question when the child offers it for a good Christian
use?" demanded Doña Jocasta. "See, here is a piece of it heavy enough
to weigh down many lumps of clay, and north or south it will prove
welcome ransom. It is a miracle sent by the saints at this time."

"Would the saints send the red gold of El Alisal to a heretic instead
of a son of the church?" he asked. "And this is that gold for which
the padres of Soledad paid with their lives long ago. There was never
such red gold found in Sonora as that, and the church had its own
claim on it;--it is mission gold!"

"No, not now," said Tula, addressing Doña Jocasta,--"truly not now!
They claimed it long ago, but the holding of it was a thing not for
them. Fire came out of the clouds to kill them there, and no one saw
them alive anymore, and no other priest ever found the gold. This much
is found by Miguel, for a dead man's promise!"

"The girl speaks straight, señora," ventured Kit. "I have already told
General Rotil of the promise, but no good will come of much talk over
the quality of gold for that ransom. To carry that message south and
bring back the women is a task for council, but outside these walls,
no tongue must speak of the gold, else there would be no safety for
this maid."

"Yet a priest may ask how an Americano comes far from his home to
guard gold and a maid in Sonora?" retorted Padre Andreas. "Strange
affairs move these days in Altar--guns, ammunition, and the gold of
dead men! In all these things you have a say, señor, yet you are but
young in years, and----"

"Padre," interrupted Doña Jocasta with a note of command, "he was old
enough to save this child from starvation in the desert, and he was
old enough to save me when even you could no longer save me, so why
object because he has guarded wealth, and means to use it in a way of
mercy? Heretic he may be, but he has the trust of Ramon Rotil, and of
me. Also it is forbidden to mention this belt or what it covers. I
have given my word, and this is no time to halt the task we have set.
It would better serve those lost people if you help us find a
messenger who is safe."

It was the first time the new Señora Perez assumed a tone of
authority at Soledad, and Kit Rhodes thanked his lucky stars that she
was arrayed with him instead of against him, for her eyes glowed green
lightning on the priest whose curiosity had gotten him into trouble.
Kit could not really blame him, for there was neither priest nor peon
of the land who had not had visions of conquest if only the red gold
of the Alisal should be conveniently stumbled upon!

And Tula listened to the words of Doña Jocasta as she would have
listened to a god.

"I go," she said eagerly. "The trail it is strange to me, but I will
find that way. I think I find in the dark that trail on which the
mother of me was going!"

Doña Jocasta patted the hand of the girl, but looked at Kit. "That
trail is not for a maid," she said meaningly. "I came over it, and
know."

"I think it is for me," he answered. "The promise was mine. I know
none of the people, but the names are written. It is eighty miles."

"Three days."

"More, double that," he said thoughtfully, and the eyes of Tula met
his in disapproval. It was the merest hint of a frown, but it served.
She could do the errand better than she could guard the rest of the
gold. If her little belt was lost it was little, but if his store
should be found it would be enough to start a new revolution in
Sonora;--the men of Rotil and the suspicious padre would unite on the
treasure trail. It was the padre who gave him most uneasiness, because
the padre was guessing correctly! The dream of a mighty church of the
desert to commemorate all the ruined missions of the wilderness, was
a great dream for the priest of a little pueblo, and the eyes of the
Padre Andreas were alight with keen,--too keen, anticipation.

"I go," stated Tula again. "No other one is knowing my people."

"That is a true word," decided Padre Andreas, "a major-domo of evil
mind at Linda Vista could take the gold and send north whatever unruly
vagabonds he had wished to be free from. Let the maid go, and I can
arrange to see her there safe."

This kind offer did not receive the approval deserved. Kit wished no
man on the trail with Tula who knew of the gold, and Tula herself was
not eager to journey into unknown regions with a man of religion, who
had already learned from Valencia of the elaborate ceremony planned
for a "Judas day!" Little though Tula knew of churchly observances,
she had an instinctive fear that she would be detained in the south
too long to officiate in this special ceremony on which she had set
her heart.

"Not with a priest will I go," she announced. "He would shut me in a
school, and in that place I would die. Clodomiro can go, or Isidro,
who is so good and knowing all our people."

"That is a good thought," agreed Doña Jocasta, who had no desire that
Padre Andreas meet the family of Terain and recount details of the
Perez marriage,--not at least until she had worn her official title a
little longer and tested the authority it gave her. "That is a good
thought, for I have no wish that my house be left without a priest.
Señor Rhodes, which man is best?"

But before Kit could answer Ramon Rotil stood in the door, and his
eyes went to the papers on the table. Tula had recovered her belt, and
fastened it under the _manta_ she wore.

"So! you are working in council, eh?" he asked. "And have arrived at
plans? First your own safety, señora?"

"No, señor,--first the bringing back of the people driven off by the
slavers. The letter is written; this child is to take it because the
people are her people, but a safe man is wanted, and these two I
cannot let go. You know José Perez, and his wife must not be without a
man of religion as guard, yet he alone would not save me from others,
hence the American señor----"

"Sure, that is a safe thought," and he took the seat offered by Kit.
But he shook his head after listening to their suggestions.

"No. Isidro is too old, and Clodomiro with his flying ribbands of a
would-be lover, is too young for that trail. You want--you want----"

He paused as his mind evidently went searching among his men for one
dependable. Then he smiled at Kit.

"You saved me the right man, señor! Who would be better than the
foreman of Soledad? Would it not be expected that Señora Perez would
send the most important of the ranchmen? Very well then. Marto is
safe, he will go."

"But Marto--" began Padre Andreas, when Rotil faced about, staring him
into silence.

"Marto will return here to Soledad today," he said, and the face of
the priest went pale. It was as if he had said that the task of Marto
on the east trail would be ended.

"Yes, Marto Cavayso has been at Hermosillo," assented Doña Jocasta.
"He will know all the ways to arrive quickly."

"That will be attended to. Will you, señor, see to it that horse and
provision are made ready for the trail? And you, señora? Soledad in
the wilderness is no good place for a lady. When this matter of the
slaves is arranged, will it please you to ride south, or north? Troops
of the south will be coming this way;--it will be a land of soldiers
and foraging."

"How shall I answer that?" murmured Doña Jocasta miserably. "In the
south José Perez may make life a not possible thing for me,--and in
the north I would be a stranger."

"José Perez will not make trouble; yet trouble might be made,--at
first," said Rotil avoiding her eyes, and turning again to Kit.
"Señor, by the time Marto gets back from the south, the pack mules
will be here again. Until they are gone from Soledad I trust you in
charge of Señora Perez. She must have a manager, and there is none so
near as you."

"At her service," said Kit promptly, "but this place----"

"Ai, that is it," agreed Rotil. "North is the safer place for women
alone, and you--did you not say that on Granados there were friends?"

"Why, yes, General," replied Kit. "My friend, Captain Pike, is
somewhere near, and the owner of Granados is a lady, and among us
we'll do our best. But it's a hard trip, and I've only one gun."

"You will take your choice of guns, horses, or men," decided Rotil.
"That is your work. Also you will take with you the evidence of Señora
Perez on that matter of the murder. The padre can also come in on
that,--so it will be service all around."

Chappo came to the door to report that all was ready for the trail,
and Rotil stood up, and handed to Doña Jocasta the marriage contract.

"Consider the best way of protecting this until you reach an alcalde
and have a copy made and witnessed," he said warningly. "It protects
your future. The fortunes of war may take all the rest of us, but the
wife of Perez needs the record of our names; see to it!"

She looked up at him as if to speak, but no words came. He gazed
curiously at her bent head, and the slender hands over the papers. In
his life of turmoil and bloodshed he had halted to secure for her the
right to a principality. In setting his face to the east, and the
battle line, he knew the chance was faint that he would ever see her
again, and his smile had in it a touch of self-derision at the
thought,--for after all he was nothing to her!

"So--that is all," he said, turning away. "You come with me a little
ways, señor, and to you, señora, _adios_!"

"Go with God, Ramon Rotil," she murmured, "and if ever a friend is of
need to you, remember the woman to whom you gave justice and a name!"

"_Adios_," he repeated, and his spurs tinkled as he strode through the
patio to the portal where the saddle horses were waiting. The pack
mules were already below the mesa, and reached in a long line over the
range towards the cañon of the eastern trail.

"You have your work cut out," he said to Kit. "For one thing, Marto
Cavayso will carry out orders, but you must not have him enter a room
where Doña Jocasta may be. It would be to offend her and frighten him.
He swears to the saints that he was bewitched. That is as may be, but
it is an easy way out! When the pack mules come back, and Marto is
here, it is for you two to do again the thing we did last night. I may
need Soledad on another day, and would keep all its secrets. After you
have loaded the last of the guns it is best for you to go quickly.
Here is a permit in case you cross any land held by our men;--it is
for you, your family, and all your baggage without molestation. Señora
Perez has the same. This means you can take over the border any of the
furnishings of Soledad required by the lady for a home elsewhere. The
wagons sent north by Perez will serve well for that, and they are
hers."

"But if he should send men of his own to interfere----"

"He won't," stated Rotil. "You are capitan, and Soledad is under
military rule. There is only one soul here over which your word is not
law. I have given the German Judas to your girl, and the women can
have their way with him. He is as a dead man; call her."

There was no need, for Tula had followed at a discreet distance, and
from beside a pillar gazed regretfully after her hero, the Deliverer,
whom she felt every man should follow.

"_Oija, muchacha!_" he said as Kit beckoned her forward, "go to
Fidelio. He is over there filling the cantins at the well. Tell him to
give you the key to the quarters of El Aleman, and hearken you!--I
wash my hands of him from this day. If you keep him, well, but if he
escapes, the loss is to you. I go, and not again will Ramon Rotil trap
a Judas for your hellishness."

Tula sped to Fidelio, secured the key and was back to hold the stirrup
of Rotil as he was helped to the saddle.

"If God had made me a man instead of a maid, I would ride the world as
your soldier, my General," she said, holding the key to her breast as
an amulet.

"Send your lovers instead," he said, and laughed, "for you will have
them when you get more beef on your bones. _Adios_, soldier girl!"

She peered up at him under her mane of black hair.

"Myself,--I think that is true," she stated gravely, "also my lovers,
when they come, must follow you! When I see my own people safe in
Palomitas it may be that I, Tula, will also follow you,--and the help
of the child of Miguel may not be a little help, my General."

Kit Rhodes alone knew what she meant. Her intense admiration for the
rebel leader of the wilderness had brought the glimmer of a dream to
her;--the need of gold was great as the need of guns, and for the
deliverer of the tribes what gift too great?

But the others of the guard laughed at the crazy saying of the brown
wisp of a girl. They had seen women of beauty give him smiles, and
more than one girl follow his trail for his lightest word, but to none
of them did it occur that this one called by him the young crane, or
the possessor of many devils, could bring more power to his hand than
a regiment of the women who were comrades of a light hour.

But her solemnity amused Rotil, and he swept off his hat with
exaggerated courtesy.

"I await the day, Tulita. Sure, bring your lovers,--and later your
sons to the fight! While you wait for them tell Marto Cavayso he is to
have a care of you as if you were the only child of Ramon Rotil! I too
will have a word with him of that. See to it, Capitan of the roads,
and _adios!_"

He grinned at the play upon the name of Rhodes, and whirled his horse,
joining his men, who sat their mounts and watched at a little
distance.

Within the portal was gathered all those left of the household of
Soledad to whom the coming and the going of the revolutionary leader
was the great event of their lives, and all took note of the title of
"Capitan" and the fact that the Americano and the Indian girl had his
last spoken words.

They had gone scarce a mile when Fidelio spurred his horse back and
with Mexican dash drew him back on his haunches as Kit emerged from
the corridor.

"General Rotil's compliments," he said with a grin, "and Marto will
report to you any event requiring written record,--and silence!"

"Say that again and say it slow," suggested Kit.

"That is the word as he said it, Capitan, 'requiring the writing of
records, and--silence!'"

"I get you," said Kit, and with a flourish and a clatter, Fidelio was
soon lost in the dust.

Kit was by no means certain that he did "get" him. He felt that he had
quite enough trouble without addition of records and secrecy for acts
of the Deliverer.




CHAPTER XIX

THE RETURN OF TULA


The sentinel palms of Soledad were sending long lines of shadows
toward the blue range of the Sierras, and gnarled old orange trees in
the ancient mission garden drenched the air with fragrance from many
petals.

There had been a sand storm the day before, followed by rain, and all
the land was refreshed and sparkling. The pepper trees swung tassels
of bloom and the flaming coral of the occotilla glowed like tropic
birds poised on wide-reaching wands of green. Meadow larks echoed each
other in the tender calls of nesting time, and from the jagged peaks
on the east, to far low hills rising out of a golden haze in the west,
there was a great quiet and peace brooding over the old mission
grounds of the wilderness.

Doña Jocasta paced the outer corridor, watched somberly by Padre
Andreas on whom the beauty of the hour was lost.

"Is your heart turned stone that you lift no hand, or speak no word
for the soul of a mortal?" he demanded. "Already the terrible women of
Palomitas are coming to wait for their Judas, and this is the morning
of the day!"

"It is no work of mine, Padre," she answered wearily. "I am
sick,--here!--that the beast has been all these days and nights under
a roof near me. I know how the women feel, though I think I would not
wait, as they have waited,--for Good Friday."

"It is murder in your heart to harbor such wickedness of thought," he
insisted. "Your soul is in jeopardy that you do not contemplate
forgiveness. Even though a man be a heretic, a priest must do his
office when it comes to a sentence of death. After all--he is a
human."

"I do not know that," replied Doña Jocasta thoughtfully, and she sank
into a rawhide chair in the shade of a pillar. "Listen, Padre. I am
not learned in books, but I have had new thoughts with me these days.
Don Pajarito is telling me of los Alemanos all over the world;--souls
they have not, and serpents and toads are their mothers! Here in
Mexico we have our flag from old Indian days with the eagle and the
snake. Once I heard scholars in Hermosillo talk about that; they said
it was from ancient times of sky worship, and the bird was a bird of
stars,--also the serpent."

Padre Andreas lifted his brows in derision at the childishness of
Indian astrology.

"Myself, I think the Indian sky knowers had the prophet sight," went
on Doña Jocasta. "They make their eagle on the standard and they put
the serpent there of the reason that some day a thing of poison would
crawl to the nest of the eagle of Mexico to comrade there. It has
crawled over the seas for that, Padre, and the beak and claws and wing
of the eagle must all do battle to kill the head and the heart of
it;--for the heart of a serpent dies hard, and they breed and hatch
their eggs everywhere in the soil of Mexico. Señor Padre, the Indian
women of Palomitas are right!--the girl Tula is a child of the eagle,
and her stroke at the heart of the German snake will be a true stroke.
I will not be one to give the weak word for mercy."

Her gaze, through half-closed lids, was directed towards the far trail
of the cañon where moving dots of dark marked the coming of the
Palomitas women. A ray of reflected light touched the jewel green of
her eyes like shadowed emeralds in their dusky casket, and the priest,
constantly proclaiming the probable loss of her soul, could not but
bring his glance again and again to the wondrous beauty of her. She
had bloomed like a royal rose in the days of serene rest at Soledad.

"If the heretic Americano gives you these thoughts which are not
Christian, it will be a day of good luck when you see the last of
him," was his cold statement as he watched her. "My mind is not well
satisfied as to his knowledge of secret things here in Sonora. The
Indians say he is an enchanter or Ramon Rotil would never have left
him here as capitan with you,--and that belt of gold----"

"But it was not the belt of the Americano!"

"No, but he _knows_! I tell you that gold is of the gold lost before
we were born,--the red gold of the padres' mine!"

"But the old women are telling me that the gold was Indian gold long
before Spanish priests saw the land! Does the Indian girl then not
have first right?"

"None has right ahead of the church, since all those pagans are under
the rule of church! They are benighted heathen who must come under
instruction and authority, else are they as beasts of the field."

"Still,--if the girl makes use of her little heritage for a pious
purpose----"

"Her intent has nothing to do with that secret knowledge of the
Americano!" he insisted. "Has he bewitched you also that you have so
little interest in a mine of gold in anyone of the arroyas of your
land?"

She smiled at that without turning her head.

"If a mountain of gold should be uncovered at Soledad, of what
difference to me? Would he let a woman make traffic with it? Surely
not."

"He?"

"José Perez,--who else?"

Padre Andreas closed his eyes a moment and arose, but did not answer.
He paced the length of the corridor and back before he spoke.

"It is for you to ask the Americano that the prisoner be given a
priest if he wants prayer," he said returning to their original
subject of communication. "It is a duty that I tell you this; it is
your own house."

"Señor Rhodes is capitan," she returned indifferently. "It is his task
to give me rest here to prepare for that long north journey. I do not
rest in my mind or my soul when you talk to me of the German snake, so
I will ask that you speak with Capitan Rhodes. He has the knowing of
Spanish."

"Too much for safety of us," commented the priest darkly. "Who is to
say how he uses it with the Indians? It is well known that the
American government would win all this land, and work with the Indians
that they help win it."

"So everyone is saying in Hermosillo," agreed Doña Jocasta, "but the
American capitan has not told me lies of any other thing, and he is
saying that is a lie made by foreign people. Also--" and she looked at
him doubtfully, "the man Conrad cursed your name yesterday as a damned
Austrian whose country had cost his country much."

"My mother was not Austrian!" retorted Padre Andreas, "and all my
childhood was in Mexico. But how did Conrad know?"

"He told Elena it was his business to know such things. The Germans
help send many Mexican priests north over the border. He had the
thought that you are to go with me for some reason political of which
I knew nothing!"

"I? Did _I_ come in willingness to this wilderness? From the beginning
to the end I am as a prisoner here;--as much a prisoner as is El
Aleman behind the bars! No horse is mine;--if I walk abroad for my own
health a vaquero ever is after me that I ride back with no fatigue to
myself! It is the work of the heretic Americano who will have his own
curse for it!"

He fumed nervously over the unexpected thrust of Austrian ancestry,
and the beautiful eyes of Doña Jocasta regarded him with awakened
interest. She had never thought of his politics, or possible
affiliations, but after all it was true that he had been stationed at
a pueblo where everything on wheels must pass coming north towards
the border, also that was a very small pueblo to support a padre, and
perhaps----

"Padre," she said after a moment, "but for the Americano you would be
a dead man. Think you what Ramon would have done to a priest who let a
vaquero carry me to the ranges! Also I came back to Soledad because
the Americano told me it was only duty and justice that I come for
your sake as Ramon has no liking for priests. You see, señor, our
American capitan of Soledad is not so bad;--he had a care of you."

"Too much a care of me!" retorted the priest. "Know you not that the
door of my sleeping room is bolted each night, and unbolted at dawn?
He laughs with a light heart, and sings foolishly,--your new
Americano; but under that cloak of the simple his plotting is not
idle!"

"As to that, I think his light heart is not so light these days," said
Doña Jocasta. "Two days now the Indian girl and Marto Cavayso could
have been back in Soledad, and he is looking, looking ever over that
empty trail. Before the sun was above the sierra today he was far
there coming across the mesa."

"A man does not go in the dark to look for a trail," said Padre
Andreas meaningly. "He unbolted my door on his return, and to me he
looked as a man who has done work that was heavy. What work is there
for him to do alone in the hills?"

"Who knows? A horse herd is somewhere in a cañon beyond. There are
colts, and the storm of yesterday might make trouble. The old father
of Elena says that storm has not gone far and will come back! And
while the Americano rides to learn of colts, and strays, he also
picks the best mules for our journey to the border."

"Does he find the best mules with packs already on their backs in the
cañons?" demanded the padre skeptically. "From my window I saw them
return."

"I also," confessed Doña Jocasta amused at the persistence of
suspicion, "and the load was the water bags and _serape_! Does any but
a fool go into the wilderness without water?"

"You cover him well, señora, but I think it was not horses he went in
the night to count," said the priest sarcastically. "Gold in the land
is to him who finds it,--and I tell you the church will hear of that
red gold belt from me! Also there will be a new search for it! If it
is here the church will see that it does not go with American
renegades across the border!"

"Padre, all the land speaks peace today, yet you are as a threatening
cloud over Soledad!"

"I speak in warning, not threat,--and I am not the only cloud in the
sky. The women of vengeance are coming beyond there where the willows
are green."

Doña Jocasta looked the way he pointed, and stood up with an
exclamation of alarm.

"Clodomiro! Call Clodomiro!" she said hurriedly, and as the priest
only stared at her, she sped past him to the portal and called the boy
who came running from the patio.

She pointed as the priest had pointed.

"They are strangers, they do not know," she said. "Kill a horse, but
meet them!"

His horse was in the plaza, and he was in the saddle before she
finished speaking, digging in his heels and yelling as though leading
a charge while the frightened animal ran like a wild thing.

Doña Jocasta stood gazing after him intently, shading her eyes with
her hand. Women came running out of the patio and Padre Andreas stared
at her.

"What new thing has given you fear?" he asked in wonder.

"No new thing,--a very old thing of which Elena told me! That green
strip of willow is the edge of a quicksand where no one knows the
depth. The women are thinking to make a short path across, and the one
who leads will surely go down."

The priest stared incredulous.

"How a quicksand and no water?" he asked doubtfully.

"There _is_ water,--hidden water! It comes under the ground from the
hills. In the old, old days it was a wide well boiling like a kettle
over a fire, also it was warm! Then sand storms filled that valley and
filled the well. It is crusted over, but the boiling goes on far
below. Elena said not even a coyote will touch that cañoncita though
the dogs are on his trail. The Indians say an evil spirit lives under
there, but the women of Mesa Blanca and Palomitas do not know the
place."

"It should have a fence,--a place like that."

"It had, but the wind took it, and, as you see, Soledad is a forgotten
place."

They watched Clodomiro circle over the mesa trail and follow the women
down the slope of the little valley. It was fully three miles away,
yet the women could be seen running in fear to the top of the mesa
where they cast themselves on the ground resting from fright and
exertion.

Quite enjoying his spectacular dash of rescue, Clodomiro cantered back
along the trail, and when he reached the highest point, turned looking
to the southeast where, beyond the range, the old Yaqui trail led to
the land of despair.

He halted there, throwing up his hand as if in answer to some signal,
and then darted away, straight across the mesa instead of toward the
buildings.

"Tula has come!" said Doña Jocasta in a hushed voice of dread. "She
has come, and Señor Rhodes is needed here. That coming of Tula may
bring an end to quiet days,--like this!"

She sighed as she spoke, for the week had been as a space of restful
paradise after the mental and physical horrors she had lived through.

In a half hour Clodomiro came in sight again just as Kit rode in from
the west.

"Get horses out of the corrals," he called, "all of them. That trail
has been long even from the railroad."

It was done quickly, and the vaqueros rode out as Clodomiro reached
the plaza.

"_Tula?_" asked Kit.

"Tula is as the living whose mind is with the dead," said the boy.
"Many are sick, some are dead,--the mother of Tula died on the trail
last night."

"Good God!" whispered Kit. "After all that hell of a trail, to save no
one for herself! Where is Marto?"

"Marto walks, and sick ones are on his horse. I go back now that Tula
has this horse."

"No, I will go. Stay you here to give help to the women. Bring out
beds in every corridor. Bring straw and blankets when the beds are
done."

Doña Jocasta put out her hand as he was about to mount.

"And I? What task is mine to help?" she asked, and Kit looked down at
her gravely.

"Señora, you have only to be yourself, gracious and kind of heart.
Also remember this is the first chance in the lands of Soledad to show
the natives they have not alone a padrona, but a protecting friend. In
days to come it may be a memory of comfort to you."

Then he mounted, and led the string of horses out to meet the exiles.
While she looked after him murmuring, "In days to come?"

And to the padre she said, "I had ceased to think of days to come, for
the days of my life had reached the end of all I could see or think.
He gives hope even in the midst of sadness,--does the Americano."

Kit met the band where the trail forked to Palomitas and Mesa Blanca.
Some wanted to go direct to their own homes and people, while Marto
argued that food and rest and a priest awaited them at Soledad, and
because of their dead, they should have prayers.

Tula said nothing. She sat on the sand, and caressed a knife with a
slightly curved blade,--a knife not Mexican, yet familiar to Kit, and
like a flash he recalled seeing one like it in the hand of Conrad at
Granados.

She did not even look up when he halted beside her though the others
welcomed with joy the sight of the horses for the rest of the trail.

"Tula!" he said bending over her, "Tula, we come to welcome you,--my
horse is for your riding."

She looked up when he touched her.

"Friend of me," she murmured wistfully, "you made me put a mark at
that place after we met in the first dawn,--so I was knowing it well.
Also my mother was knowing,--and it was where she died last night
under the moon. See, this is the knife on which Anita died in that
place. It is ended for us--the people of Miguel, and the people of
Cajame!"

"Tula, you have done wonderful things, many deeds to make the spirit
of Miguel proud. Is that not so, my friends?" and he turned to the
others, travel-stained, sick and weary, yet one in their cries of the
gratitude they owed to Tula and to him, by which he perceived that
Tula had, for her own reasons, credited him with the plan of ransom.

They tried brokenly to tell of their long fear and despair in the
strangers' land,--and of sickness and deaths there. Then the miracle
of Tula walking by the exalted excellencia of that great place, and
naming one by one the Palomitas names, forgetting none;--until all who
lived were led out from that great planting place of sugar cane and
maize, and their feet set on the northern way.

When they reached this joyous part of the recital words failed, and
they wept as they smiled at him and touched the head of Tula tenderly.
Even a gorgeous and strange _manta_ she now wore was pressed to the
lips of women who were soon to see their children or their desolate
mothers.

His eyes grew misty as they thronged about her,--the slender dark
child of the breed of a leader. The new _manta_ was of yellow wool and
cotton, bordered with dull green and little squares of flaming scarlet
woven in it by patient Indian hands of the far south coast. It made
her look a bit royal in the midst of the drab-colored, weary band.

She seemed scarcely to hear their praise, or their sobs and prayers.
Her face was still and her gaze far off and brooding as her fingers
stroked the curved blade over and over.

"An Indian stole that knife from the German after his face was cut
with it by her sister," said Marto Cavayso quietly while the vaqueros
were helping the weaker refugees to mount, two to each animal. "That
man gives it to her at the place where Marta, her mother, died in the
night. So after that she does not sleep or eat or talk. It is as you
see."

"I see! Take you the others, and Tula will ride on my saddle," said
Kit in the same tone. Then he pointed to the beautifully worked
_manta_, "Did she squander wealth of hers on that?"

Marto regarded him with an impatient frown--it seemed to him an ill
moment for the American joke.

"Tula had no wealth," he stated, "we lived as we could on the fine
gold you gave to me for myself."

"Oh yes, I had forgotten that," declared Kit in some wonder at this
information, "but _mantas_ like that do not grow on trees in Sonora."

"That is a gift from the very grand daughter of the General Terain,"
said Marto. "Also if you had seen affairs as they moved there at Linda
Vista you would have said as does Ramon Rotil, that this one is
daughter of the devil! I was there, and with my eyes I saw it, but if
I had not,--an angel from heaven would not make me believe!"

"What happened?"

"The Virgin alone knows! for women are in her care, and no man could
see. As ordered, I went to the gates of that hacienda very grand.
_Sangre de Christo!_ if they had known they would have strung me to a
tree and filled me with lead! But I was the very responsible vaquero
of Rancho Soledad in Altar--and the lizards of guards at the gate had
no moment of suspicion. I told them the Indian girl carried a letter
for the eyes of their mistress and the sender was Doña Jocasta Perez.
At that they sent some messenger on the run, for they say the Doña
Dolores is fire and a sword to any servant of theirs who is slow in
her tasks."

"I heard she was a wonder of pride and beauty," said Kit. "Did you see
her?"

"That came later. She sent for Tula who would give the letter to no
one,--not even to me. The guard divided their dinner with me while I
waited; if they were doing work for their general I was doing work for
mine and learned many things in that hour! At last Tula came walking
down that great stair made from one garden to another where laurel
trees grow, and with her walked a woman out of the sun. There is no
other word, señor, for that woman! Truly she is of gold and rose; her
mother's family were of old Spain and she is a glory to any day!"

"Did you feel yourself under witchcraft--once more?" queried Kit.

"_Sangre de Christo!_ Never again! But José Perez had a good eye for
making choice of women,--that is a true word! So Doña Dolores walked
down to the drive with that _manta_ over her arm, also a belt in her
hand,--a belt of gold, señor, see!"

To the astonished gaze of Kit Rhodes he drew from under his coat the
burro-skin belt he had directed the making of up there in the hidden
cañon of El Alisal. Marto balanced it in his hand appreciatively.

"And there was more of it than this!" he exulted, "for the way on the
railroad was paid out of it for all the Indians. That is why we lost
two days,--our car was put on a side track, and for the sick it was
worse than to walk the desert."

"Yes; well?"

"Doña Dolores got in a fine carriage there. _Madre de Dios!_ what
horses! White as snow on the sierras, and gold on all the harness! Me,
I am dreaming of them since that hour! They got in, Tula also in her
poor dress, and a guard told me to follow the carriage. It was as if
San Gabriel made me invitation to enter heaven! Twenty miles we went
through that plantation, a deep sea of cane, señor, and maize of a
tree size,--the richness there is riches of a king. Guards were
everywhere and peons rode ahead to inform the major-domo, and he came
riding like devils to meet Doña Dolores Terain. I am not a clever man,
señor, but even I could see that never before had the lady of Linda
Vista made herself fatigue by a plantation ride there, and I think
myself he had a scare that she see too much! At the first when Doña
Dolores had speech with him, it was easy to see he blamed me, and his
eyes looked once as if to scorch me with fire. Then she pointed to the
child beside her, and gave some orders, and he sent a guard with Tula
through another gate into a great corral where men and women were
packed like cattle. Señor, I have been in battles, but I never heard
screams of wounded like the screams of joy I heard in that corral!
Some of these Indians dropped like dead and were carried out of the
gate that way as Tula stood inside and named the names.

"When it was over that woman of white beauty told that manager to have
them all well fed, and given meat for the journey, for he would answer
to the general if any stroke of harm came to anyone of them on the
plantation of Linda Vista. Then she gave to my hand the belt of gold
to care for the poor people on the trail;--also she said the people
were a free gift to Doña Jocasta Perez, and there was no ransom to
pay. Myself I think the Doña Dolores had happiness to tell the
general, her father, that José Perez had a wife, for that plan of
marriage was but for politics. _Sangre de Christo!_ what a woman! When
all was done she held out the _manta_ to Tula, and her smile was as
honey of the mesquite, and she said, "In my house you would not take
the gift I offered you, but now that you have your mother, and your
friends safe, will you yet be so proud?" and Tula with her arms around
her mother, stood up and let the thing be put over her head as you
see, and that, Señor Capitan, is the way of the strange _manta_ of
Tula."

"And that?" queried Kit, indicating the belt. Marto smiled a bit
sheepishly and lowered his voice because the last of the horses were
being loaded with the homesick human freight, and the chatter, and
clatter of hoofs had ceased about them.

"Maybe it is the _manta_, and maybe I am a fool," he confessed, "but
she told me to spend not one ounce beyond what was needed, for it was
to use only for these sick and poor people of hers. There was a good
game going on in that train,--and fools playing! I could have won
every peso if I had put up only a little handful of the nuggets. That
is why I think my general knew when he said she was the devil, for she
stood up in that straight rich garment of honor and looked at me--only
looked, not one spoken word, señor!--and on my soul and the soul of my
mother, the wish to play in that game went away from me in that
minute, and did not come back! How does a man account for a thing like
that; I ask you?"

Kit thought of that first night on the treasure trail in the mountain
above them, and smiled.

"I can't account for it, though I do recognize the fact," he answered.
"It is not the first time Tula has ruled an outfit, and it is not the
_manta_!"

Then he walked over and lifted her from the ground as he would lift a
child, she weighed so little more!

"Little sister," he said kindly, "now that you are rested, you will
ride my horse to Soledad. Your big work is done for your people. All
is finished."

"No, señor,--not yet is the finish," she said shaking her head, "not
yet!"

Kit felt uncomfortably the weight in his pocket of the key of Conrad's
room. He had made most solemn promise it would be guarded till she
came. He had studied up some logical arguments to present to her
attention for herding the German across the border as a murderer the
United States government would deal justice to, but after the report
of Marto concerning her long trail, and the death of her mother in the
desert, he did not feel so much like either airing ideas or asking
questions. He was rather overwhelmed by the knowledge that she had not
allowed even Marto to guess that the bag of gold was her very own!

He took her on the saddle in front of him because she drooped so
wearily there alone, and her head sank against his shoulder as if
momentarily she was glad to be thus supported.

"Poor little eaglet!" he said affectionately, "I will take you north
to Cap Pike, and someone else who will love you when she hears all
this; and in other years, quieter years, we will ride again into
Sonora, and----"

She shook her head against his shoulder, and he stopped short.

"Why, Tula!" he began in remonstrance, but she lifted her hand with a
curious gesture of finality.

"Friend of me," she said in a small voice with an undertone of sad
fatefulness, "words do not come today. They told you I am not sleeping
on this home trail, and it is true. I kept my mother alive long after
the death birds of the night were calling for her--it is so! Also
today at the dawn the same birds called above me,--above _me_! and
look!"

They had reached the summit of the valley's wall and for a half mile
ahead the others were to be seen on the trail to Soledad, but it was
not there she pointed, but to the northeast where a dark cloud hung
over the mountains. Its darkness was cleft by one lance of lightning,
but it was too far away for sound of thunder to reach them.

"See you not that the cloud in the sky is like a bird,--a dark angry
bird? Also it is over the trail to the north, but it is not for
you,--_I_ am the one first to see it! Señor, I will tell you, but I
telling no other--I think my people are calling me all the time, in
every way I look now. I no knowing how I go to them, but--I think I
go!"




CHAPTER XX

EAGLE AND SERPENT


Marto Cavayso gave to Kit Rhodes the burro-skin belt and a letter from
Doña Dolores Terain to the wife of José Perez.

"My work is ended at the hacienda until the mules come back for more
guns, and I will take myself to the adobe beyond the corrals for what
rest there may be. You are capitan under my general, so this goes to
you for the people of the girl he had a heart for. Myself,--I like
little their coyote whines and yells. It may be a giving of thanks, or
it may be a mourning for dead,--but it sounds to me like an anthem
made in hell."

He referred to the greeting songs of the returned exiles, and the
wails for the dead left behind on the trail. The women newly come from
Palomitas sat circled on the plaza, and as food or drink was offered
each, a portion was poured on the sand as a libation to the ghosts of
the lately dead, and the name of each departed was included in the
wailing chant sung over and over.

It was a weird, hypnotic thing, made more so by the curious light,
yellow and green in the sky, preceding that dark cloud coming slowly
with sound of cannonading from the north. Though the sun had not set,
half the sky was dark over the eastern sierras.

"The combination is enough to give even a sober man the jim-jams,"
agreed Kit. "Doña Jocasta is sick with fear of them, and has gone in
to pray as far from the sound as possible. The letter will go to her,
and the belt will go to Tula who may thank you another day. This day
of the coming back she is not herself."

"Mother of God! that is a true word. No girl or woman is like that!"

The priest, who had talked with the sick and weary, and listened to
their sobs of the degradation of the slave trail, had striven to speak
with Tula, who with head slightly drooped looked at him under her
straight brows as though listening to childish things.

"See you!" muttered Marto. "That _manta_ must have been garb of some
king's daughter, and no common maid. It makes her a different thing.
Would you not think the padre some underling, and she a ruler giving
laws?"

For, seated as she was, in a chair with arms, her robe of honor
reached straight from her chin to her feet, giving her appearance of
greater height than she was possessed of, and the slender banda
holding her hair was of the same scarlet of the broideries. Kit
remembered calling her a young Cleopatra even in her rags, and now he
knew she looked it!

He was not near enough to hear the words of the priest, but with all
his energy he was striving to win her to some view of his. She
listened in long silence until he ceased.

Then her hand went under her _manta_ and drew out the curved knife.

She spoke one brief sentence, and lifted the blade over her head. It
caught the light of the hovering sun, and the Indians near enough to
hear her words set up a scream of such unearthly emotion that the
priest turned ashen, and made the sign to ward off evil.

It was merely coincidence that a near flash of lightning flamed from
the heavens as she lifted the knife,--but it inspired every Indian to
a crashing cry of exultation.

And it did not end there, for a Palomitas woman had carried across the
desert a small drum of dried skin stretched over a hollow log, and at
the words of Tula she began a soft tum-tum-tum-tum on the hidden
instrument. The sound was at first as a far echo of the thunder back
of the dark cloud, and the voices of the women shrilled their emphasis
as the drum beat louder, or the thunder came nearer.

Kit Rhodes decided Marto was entirely correct as to the inspiration
back of that anthem.

"_Sangre de Christo!_ look at that!" muttered Marto, who meant to turn
his back on the entire group, yet was held by the fascination of the
unexpected.

Four Indian youths with a huge and furious bull came charging down the
mesa towards the corral. A _reata_ fastened to each horn and hind foot
of the animal was about the saddle horn of a boy, and the raging
bellowing creature was held thus at safe distance from all. The boys,
shouting with their joy of victory, galloped past the plaza to where
four great stakes had already been driven deep in the hard ground. To
those stakes the bull would be tied until the burden was ready for
his back--and his burden would be what was left of "Judas" when the
women of the slave trail got through with him!

"God the father knows I am a man of no white virtues," muttered Marto
eyeing the red-eyed maddened brute, "but here is my vow to covet no
comradeship of aught in the shape of woman in the district of
Altar--bred of the devil are they!"

He followed after to the corral to watch the tying of the creature,
around which the Indian men were gathered at a respectful distance.

But Rhodes, after one glance at the bellowing assistant of Indian
vengeance, found himself turning again to Tula and the padre. That
wild wail and the undertone of the drum was getting horribly on his
nerves,--yet he could not desert, as had Marto.

Tula sat as before, but with the knife held in her open hand on the
arm of the chair. She followed with a grim smile the careering of the
bull, then nodded her head curtly to the priest and turned her gaze
slowly round the corridor until she saw Rhodes, and tilted back her
head in a little gesture of summons.

"Well, little sister," he said, "what's on your mind?"

"The padre asks to pray with El Aleman. I say yes, for the padre has
good thoughts in his heart,--maybe so! You have the key?"

"Sure I have the key, but I fetch it back to you when visitors start
going in, and--oh yes--there's your belt for your people."

"No; you be the one to give," she said with a glance of sorrow
towards a girl who was youngest of the slaves brought back. "You,
amigo, keep all but the key."

"As you say," he agreed. "Come along, padre, you are to get the
privilege you've been begging for, and I don't envy you the task."

Padre Andreas made no reply. In his heart he blamed Rhodes that the
prisoner had not been let escape during the absence of the girl, and
also resented the offhand manner of the young American concerning the
duty of a priest.

The sun was at the very edge of the world, and all shadows spreading
for the night when they went to the door of Conrad's quarters. Kit
unlocked the door and looked in before opening wide. The one window
faced the corral, and Conrad turned from it in shaking horror.

"What is it they say out there?" he shouted in fury. "They call words
of blasphemy, that the bull is Germany, and 'Judas' will ride it to
the death! They are wild barbarians, they are----"

"Never mind what they are," suggested Kit, "here is a priest who
thinks you may have a soul worth praying for, and the Indians have let
him come--once!"

Then he let the priest in and locked the door, going back to Tula with
the key. She sat where he had left her, and was crooning again the
weird tuneless dirge at which Marto had been appalled.

But she handed him a letter.

"Marto forgot. It was with the Chinaman trader at the railroad," she
said and went placidly on fondling the key as she had fondled the
knife, and pitching her voice in that curious falsetto dear to Indian
ceremonial.

He could scarce credit the letter as intended for himself, as it was
addressed in a straggling hand filling all the envelope, to Capitan
Christofero Rhodes, Manager of Rancho Soledad, District of Altar,
Sonora, Mexico, and in one corner was written, "By courtesy of Señor
Fidelio Lopez," and the date within a week. He opened it, and walked
out to the western end of the corridor where the light was yet good,
though through the barred windows he could see candles already lit in
the shadowy _sala_.

The letter was from Cap Pike, and in the midst of all the accumulated
horror about him, Kit was conscious of a great homesick leap of the
heart as he skimmed the page and found her name--"Billie is all
right!"

  How are you, Capitan? (began the letter). That fellow Fidelio rode
  into the _cantina_ here at La Partida today. He asked a hell's
  slew of questions about you, and Billie and me nearly had fits,
  for we thought you were sure dead or held for ransom, and I give
  it to you straight, Kit, there isn't a peso left on the two
  ranches to ransom even Baby Buntin' if the little rat is still
  alive, and that ain't all Kit: it don't seem possible that Conrad
  and Singleton mortgaged both ranches clear up to the hilt, but it
  sure has happened, every acre is plastered with ten per cent paper
  and the compound interest strips it from Billie just as sure as if
  it was droppin' through to China. When Conrad was on the job he
  had it all blanketed, but now saltpeter can't save it without
  cash. Billie is all right, but some peaked with worry. So am I.
  But you cheer up, for I got plans for a hike up into Pinal County
  for us three on a search for the Lost Dutchman Mine, lost fifty
  years and I have a hunch we can find it, got the dope from an old
  half breed who knew the Dutchman. So don't you worry about
  trailing home broke. The Fidelio hombre said to look for you in
  six days after Easter, and meet you with water at the Rio Seco, so
  we'll do that. He called you capitan and said the Deliverer had
  made you an officer; how about it? He let loose a line of talk
  about your two women in the outfit, but I sort of stalled him on
  that, so Billie wouldn't get it, for I reckon that's a greaser
  lie, Kit, and you ain't hitched up to no gay Juanita down there. I
  had a monkey and parrot time to explain even that Tula squaw to
  Billie, for she didn't savvy--not a copper cent's worth! She is
  right here now instructin' me, but I won't let her read this, so
  don't you worry. She says to tell you it looks at last like our
  old eagle bird will have a chance to flop its wings in France. The
  pair of us is near about cross-eyed from watchin' the south trail
  into Altar, and the east trail where the troops will go! She says
  even if we are broke there is an adobe for you at Vijil's, and a
  range for Buntin' and Pardner. Billie rides Pardner now instead of
  Pat.

  I reckon that's all Kit, and I've worked up a cramp on this
  anyway. I figured that maybe you laid low down there till the
  Singleton murder was cleared up, but I can alibi you on that
  O. K., when Johnny comes marchin' home! So don't you worry.

                                             Yours truly,
                                                           Pike.

He read it over twice, seeking out the lines with _her_ name and
dwelling on them. So Billie was riding Pardner,--and Billie had a camp
ready for him,--and Billie couldn't savvy even a little Indian girl in
his outfit--_say!_

He was smiling at that with a very warm glow in his heart for the
resentment of Billie. He could just imagine Pike's monkey and parrot
time trying to make Billie understand accidents of the trail in
Sonora. He would make that all clear when he got back to God's
country! And the little heiress of Granados ranches was only an owner
of debt-laden acres,--couldn't raise a peso to ransom even the little
burro! Well, he was glad she rode Pardner instead of another horse;
that showed----

Then he smiled again, and drifted into dreams. He would let Bunting
travel light to the Rio Seco, and then load him for her as no burro
ever was loaded to cross the border! He wondered if she'd tell him
again he couldn't hold a foreman's job? He wondered----

And then he felt a light touch on his arm, and turned to see the
starlike beauty of Doña Jocasta beside him. Truly the companionship of
Doña Jocasta might be a more difficult thing to explain than that of
the Indian girl of a slave raid!

Her face was blanched with fear, and her touch brought him back from
his vision of God's country to the tom-tom, and the weird chant, and
the thunder of storm coming nearer and nearer in the twilight.

"Señor!" she breathed in terror, "even on my knees in prayer it is not
for anyone to shut out this music of demons. Look! Yesterday she was a
child of courage and right, but what is she today?"

She pointed to Tula and clung to him, for in all the wild chorus Tula
was the leader,--she who had the words of ancient days from the dead
Miguel. She sat there as one enthroned draped in that gorgeous thing,
fit, as Marto said, for a king's daughter, while the others sat in the
plaza or rested on straw and blankets in the corridor looking up at
her and shrilling savage echoes to the words she chanted.

"And that animal,--I saw it!" moaned Doña Jocasta. "Mother of God!
that I should deny a priest who would only offer prayers for that
wicked one who is to be tortured on it! Señor, for the love of God
give me a horse and let me go into the desert to that storm, any
place,--any place out of sight and sound of this most desolate house!
The merciful God himself has forsaken Soledad!"

As she spoke he realized that time had passed while he read and
re-read and dreamed a dream because of the letter. The sun was far out
of sight, only low hues of yellow and blue melting into green to show
the illumined path it had taken. By refraction rays of copper light
reached the zenith and gave momentarily an unearthly glow to the mesa
and far desert, but it was only as a belated flash, for the dusk of
night touched the edge of it.

And the priest locked in with Conrad had been forgotten by him! At any
moment that girl with the key might give some signal for the ceremony,
whatever it was, of the death of the German beast!

"Sure, señora, I promise you," he said soothingly, patting her hand
clinging to him. "There is my horse in the plaza, and there is
Marto's. We will get the padre, and both of you can ride to the little
adobe down the valley where Elena's old father lives. He is Mexican,
not Indian. It is better even to kneel in prayer there all the night
than to try to rest in Soledad while this lasts. At the dawn I will
surely go for you. Come,--we will ask for the key."

Together they approached Tula, whose eyes stared straight out seeing
none of the dark faces lifted to hers, she seemed not to see Kit who
stopped beside her.

"Little sister," he said, touching her shoulder, "the padre waits to
be let out of the room of El Aleman, and the key is needed."

She nodded her head, and held up the key.

"Let me be the one," begged Doña Jocasta,--"I should do penance! I was
not gentle in my words to the padre, yet he is a man of God, and
devoted. Let me be the one!"

The Indian girl looked up at that, and drew back the key. Then some
memory, perhaps that kneeling of Doña Jocasta with the women of
Palomitas, influenced her to trust, and after a glance at Kit she
nodded her head and put the key in her hand.

"You, señor, have the horses," implored Doña Jocasta, "and I will at
once come with Padre Andreas."

"_Pronto!_" agreed Kit, "but I must get you a _serape_. Rain may fall
from that cloud."

She seemed scarcely to hear him as she sped along the patio towards
the locked door. Kit entered his own room for a blanket just as she
fitted the key in the lock, and spoke the padre's name.

The next instant he heard her screams, and a door slam shut, and as he
came out with the blanket, he saw the priest dash toward the portal
leading from the patio to the plaza.

He ran to her, lifting her from the tiles where she had been thrown.

"Conrad!" she cried pointing after the flying figure. "There! Quickly,
señor, quickly!"

He jerked open the door and looked within, a still figure with the
face hidden, crouched by a bench against the wall. In two strides Kit
crossed from the door and grasped the shoulder, and the figure propped
there fell back on the tiles. It was the dead priest dressed in the
clothes of Conrad, and the horror of that which had been a face showed
he had died by strangulation under the hands of the man for whom he
had gone to pray.

Doña Jocasta ran wildly screaming through the patio, but the Indian
voices and the drum prevented her from being heard until she burst
among them just as Conrad leaped to the back of the nearest horse.

"El Aleman! El Aleman!" she screamed pointing to him in horror. "He
has murdered the padre and taken his robe. It is El Aleman! Your Judas
has killed your priest!"

Kit ran for his own horse, but with the quickness of a cat Tula was
before him in the saddle, and whirling the animal, leaning low, and
her gorgeous _manta_ streaming behind like a banner she sped after the
German screaming, "Judas! Judas! Judas of Palomitas!"

And, as in the other chants led by her, the Indian women took up this
one in frenzied yells of rage.

The men of the corral heard and leaped to saddles to follow the flying
figures, but Kit was ahead,--not much, but enough to be nearest the
girl.

Straight as an arrow the fugitive headed for Mesa Blanca, the nearest
ranch where a fresh horse could be found, and Doña Jocasta and some of
the women without horses stood in the plaza peering after that wild
race in the gray of the coming night.

[Illustration: The Indian girl was steadily gaining on the German.]

A flash of lightning outlined the three ahead, and a wail of utter
terror went up from them all.

"Mother of God, the cañon of the quicksand!" cried Doña Jocasta.

"Tula! Tula! Tula!" shrilled the Indian women.

Tula was steadily gaining on the German, and Kit was only a few rods
behind as they dashed down the slight incline to that too green belt
in the floor of the brown desert.

He heard someone, Marto he thought, shouting his name and calling
"_Sumidero! Sumidero!_" He did not understand, and kept right on.
Others were shouting at Tula with as little result, the clatter of the
horses and the rumble of the breaking storm made all a formless chaos
of sound.

The frenzied scream of a horse came to him, and another lightning
flash showed Conrad, ghastly and staring, leap from the saddle--in the
middle of the little valley--and Tula ride down on top of him!

Then a rope fell around Kit's shoulders, pinioning his arms and he was
jerked from the horse with a thud that for a space stunned him into
semi-unconsciousness, but through it he heard again the pitiful scream
of a dumb animal, and shouts of Marto to the frenzied Indians.

"Ha! Clodomiro, the _reata_! Wait for the lightning, then over her
shoulders! Only the horse is caught;--steady and a true hand, boy!
Ai-yi! You are master, and the Mother of God is your help! Run your
horse back,--run, curse you! or she will sink as he sinks! _Sangre de
Christo!_ she cuts the _reata_!"

Kit struggled out of the rope, and got to his feet in time to see the
flash of her knife as she whirled to her victim. Again and again it
descended as the man, now submerged to the waist, caught her. His
screams of fear were curdling to the blood, but high above the German
voice of fear sounded the Indian voice of triumph, and from the
vengeful cry of "Judas! Judas! Judas of the world!" her voice turned
sharply to the high clear chant Kit had heard in the hidden cañon of
the red gold. It was as she said--there would be none of her caste and
clan to sing her death song to the waiting ghosts, and she was singing
it.

As those weird triumphant calls went out from the place of death every
Indian answered them with shouts as of fealty, and in the darkness Kit
felt as if among a circle of wolves giving tongue in some signal not
to be understood by men.

He could hear the sobs of men and boys about him, but not a measure of
that wild wail failed to bring the ever recurring response from the
brown throats.

Marto, wet and trembling, cursed and prayed at the horror of it, and
moved close to Kit in the darkness.

"Jesus, Maria, and José!" he muttered in a choked whisper, "one would
think the fathers of these devils had never been christened! _Sangre
de Christo!_ look at that!"

For in a vivid sheet of lightning they saw a terrible thing.

Tula, on the shoulders of the man, stood up for one wavering instant
and with both hands raised high, she flung something far out from her
where the sands were firm for all but things of weight. Then her high
triumphant call ended sharply in the darkness as she cast herself
forward. She died as her sister had died, and on the same knife.

Doña Jocasta stumbled from a horse, and clung to Kit in terror.
"Mother of God!" she sobbed. "It is as I said! She is the Eagle of
Mexico, and she died clean--with the Serpent under her feet!"

                  *       *       *       *       *

In a dawn all silver and gold and rose after the storm, there was only
a trace at the edge of the sand where two horses had carried riders to
the treacherous smiling arroya over which a coyote would not cross.

And one of the Indian women of Palomitas tied a _reata_ around the
body of her baby son, and sent him to creep out as a turtle creeps to
that thing cast by Tula to the women cheated of their Judas.

The slender naked boy went gleefully to the task as to a new game, and
spit in the dead face as he dragged it with him to his mother who had
pride in him.

It was kicked before the women back over the desert to Soledad, and
the boys used it for football that day, and tied what was left of it
between the horns of the roped wild bull at the corral. The bellowing
of the bull when cut loose came as music to the again placid Indian
women of Palomitas. They were ready for the home trail with their
exiles. It had been a good ending, and their great holiday at Soledad
was over.




CHAPTER XXI

EACH TO HIS OWN


A straggling train of pack mules followed by a six-mule wagon, trailed
past Yaqui Springs ten days later, and was met there by the faithful
Chappo and two villainous looking comrades, who had cleaned out the
water holes and stood guard over them until arrival of the ammunition
train.

"For beyond is a dry hell for us, and on the other side the Deliverer
is circled by enemy fighters who would trap him in his own land. He
lies hid like a fox in the hills waiting for this you bring. Water
must not fail, and mules must not fail; for that am I here to give the
word for haste."

"But even forty mule loads will not serve him long," said Kit
doubtfully.

"Like a fox in the hills I tell you, Señor Capitan,--and only one way
into the den! Beyond the enemy he has other supplies safe--this is to
fight his way to it. After that he will go like a blaze through dry
meadows of zacatan."

Kit would have made camp there for the night, but Chappo protested.

"No, señor! Every drop in the sand here is for the mules of the army.
It is not my word, it is the word of my general. Four hours north you
will find Little Coyote well. One day more and at the crossing of Rio
Seco, water will be waiting from the cold wells of La Partida. It is
so arrange, señor, and the safe trail is made for you and for
excellencia, the señora. In God's name, take all your own, and go in
peace!"

"But the señora is weary to death, and----"

"That is true, Capitan," spoke Doña Jocasta, who drooped in the saddle
like a wilted flower. "But the señora will not die, and if she does it
is not so much loss as the smallest of the soldiers of El Gavilan. We
will go on, and go quickly, see!--there is yet water in the cantin,
and four hours of trail is soon over."

Ugly Chappo came shyly forward and, uncovered, touched the hem of her
skirt to his lips.

"The high heart of the excellencia gives life to the men who fight,"
he said and thrust his hand in a pocket fastened to his belt. "This is
to you from the Deliverer, señora. His message is that it brought to
him the lucky trail, and he would wish the same to the Doña Jocasta
Perez."

It was the little cross, once sent back to her by a peon in bitterness
of soul, and now sent by a general of Mexico with the blessing of a
soldier.

"Tell him Jocasta takes it as a gift of God, and his name is in her
prayers," she said and turned away.

Clodomiro pushed forward,--a very different Clodomiro, for the
fluttering bands of color were gone from his arms and his hair--the
heart of the would-be bridegroom was no longer his. He was stripped as
for the trail or for war, and fastened to his saddle was the gun and
ammunition he had won from Cavayso who had gone quickly onward with
his detachment of the pack.

But Clodomiro halted beside Chappo, regardless of need for haste on
the trail, and asked him things in that subdued Indian tone without
light, shade, or accent, in which the brown brothers of the desert
veil their intimate discourse.

"There, beyond!" said Chappo, "two looks on the trail," and he pointed
west. "Two looks and one water hole, and if wind moves the sand no one
can find the way where we go. It is not a trail for boys."

"I am not now a boy," said Clodomiro, "and when the safety trail of
the señora is over----"

But Chappo waved him onward, for the wagon and the pack mules, and
even little gray Bunting had turned reluctant feet north.

Clodomiro had come from Soledad because Elena,--who never had been
out of sight of the old adobe walls,--sat on the ground wailing at
thought of leaving her old sick father and going to war, for despite
all the persuasions of Doña Jocasta, Elena knew what she knew, and did
not at all believe that any of them would see the lands of the
Americano,--not with pack mules of Ramon Rotil laden with guns!

"If Tula had lived, no other would have been asked," Rhodes had
stated. "But one is needed to make camp for the señora on the
trail,--and to me the work of the packs and the animals."

"That I can do," Clodomiro offered. "My thought was to go where Tula
said lovers of hers must go, and that was to El Gavilan. But this
different thing can also be my work to the safe wells of the American.
That far I go."

Thus the three turned north from the war trail, and Clodomiro
followed, after making a prayer that the desert wind would hear, and
be very still, and fill no track made by the mules with the
ammunition.

This slight discussion at the parting of the ways concerning two
definite things,--need of haste, and conserving of water,--left no
moment for thought or query of the packs of furnishings deemed of use
to Señora Perez in her removal to the north.

Doña Jocasta herself had asked no question and taken no interest in
them. Stripped of all sign of wealth and in chains, she had ridden
into Soledad, and in comfort and much courtesy she was being conducted
elsewhere. How long it might endure she did not know, and no power of
hers could change the fact that she had been made wife of José
Perez;--and at any turn of any road luck might again be with his
wishes, and her estate fall to any level he choose to enforce.

At dusk they reached the Little Coyote well, and had joy to find water
for night and morning, and greasewood and dead mesquite wood for a
fire. The night had turned chill and Clodomiro spread the _serape_ of
Doña Jocasta over a heap of flowering greasewood branches. It was very
quiet compared with the other camps on the trail, and had a restful
air of comfort, and of that Jocasta spoke.

"Always the fear is here, señor," she said touching her breast. "All
the men and guns of Ramon Rotil did not make that fear go quiet.
Every cañon we crossed I was holding my breath for fear of hidden men
of José Perez! You did not see him in the land where he is strong; but
men of power are bound to him there in the south, and--against one
woman----"

"Señora, I do not think you have read the papers given to you by Padre
Andreas to put with the others given by General Rotil," was Kit's
quiet comment. He glanced toward the well where the boy was dipping
water into a wicker bottle. "Have you?"

"No, señor, it is my permit to be passed safely by all the men of
Ramon Rotil," she said. "That I have not had need of. Also there is
the record that the American murder at Granados was the crime of
Conrad."

"But, señora, there is one other paper among them.--I would have told
you yesterday if I had known your fear. I meant to wait until the
trail was ended, but----"

"Señor!" she breathed leaning toward him, her great eyes glowing with
dreadful question, "_Señor!_"

"I know the paper, for I signed it," said Kit staring in the leaping
blaze. "So did the padre. It is the certificate of the burial of José
Perez."

"Señor! _Madre de Dios!_" she whispered.

"Death reached him on his own land, señora. We passed the grave the
first day of the trail."

Her face went very white as she made the sign of the cross.

"Then he--Ramon----?"

"No,--the general did not see Perez on the trail. He tried to escape
from Cavayso and the man sent a bullet to stop him. It was the end."

She shuddered and covered her eyes.

Kit got up and walked away. He looked back from where he tethered the
mules for the night, but she had not moved. The little crucifix was in
her hand, he thought she was praying. There were no more words to be
said, and he did not go near her again that night. He sent Clodomiro
with her _serape_ and pillow, and when the fire died down to glowing
ash, she arose and went to the couch prepared. She went without glance
to right or left--the great fear had taken itself away!

Clodomiro rolled himself in a _serape_ not far from her place of rest,
but Kit Rhodes slept with the packs and with two guns beside him. From
the start on the trail no man had touched his outfit but himself. He
grinned sometimes at thought of the favorable report the men of Rotil
would deliver to their chief,--for the Americano had taken all
personal care of the packs and chests of Doña Jocasta! He was as an
owl and had no human need of sleep, and let no man help him.

The trail to the cañon of the Rio Seco was a hard trail, and a long
day, and night caught them ere they reached the rim of the dry wash
where, at long intervals, rain from the hills swept down its age-old
channel for a brief hour.

Doña Jocasta, for the first time, had left the saddle and crept to the
rude couch afforded by the piled-up blankets in the wagon; Clodomiro
drove; and Kit, with the mules, led the way.

A little water still swished about in their water bottles, but not
enough for the mules. He was more anxious than he dared betray, for it
was twenty miles to the lower well of La Partida, and if by any
stroke of fortune Cap Pike had failed to make good--Cap was old, and
liable to----

Then through the dusk of night he heard, quite near in the trail
ahead, a curious thing, the call of a bird--and not a night bird!

It was a tremulous little call, and sent a thrill of such wild joy
through his heart that he drew back the mule with a sharp cruel jerk,
and held his breath to listen. Was he going _loco_ from lack of
sleep,--lack of water,--and dreams of----

It came again, and he answered it as he plunged forward down a
barranca and up the other side where a girl sat on a roan horse under
the stars:--his horse! also his girl!

If he had entertained any doubts concerning the last--but he knew now
he never had; a rather surprising fact considering that no word had
ever been spoken of such ownership!--they would have been dispelled by
the way she slipped from the saddle into his arms.

"Oh, and you didn't forget! you didn't forget!" she whimpered with her
head hidden against his breast. "I--I'm mighty glad of that. Neither
did I!"

"Why, Lark-child, you've been right alongside wherever I heard that
call ever since I rode away," he said patting her head and holding her
close. He had a horrible suspicion that she was crying,--girls were
mysterious! "Now, now, now," he went on with a comforting pat to each
word, "don't worry about anything. I'm back safe, though in big need
of a drink,--and luck will come your way, and----"

She tilted her cantin to him, and began to laugh.

"But it has come my way!" she exulted. "O Kit, I can't keep it a
minute, Kit--we did find that sheepskin!"

"What? A sheepskin?" He had no recollection of a lost sheepskin.

"Yes, Cap Pike and I! In the bottom of an old chest of daddy's! We're
all but crazy because it came just when we were planning to give up
the ranch if we had to, and now that you are here--!" her sentence
ended in a happy sigh of utter content.

"Sure, now that I'm here," he assented amicably, "we'll stop all that
moving business--_pronto_. That is if we live to get to water. What do
you know about any?"

"Two barrels waiting for you, and Cap rustling firewood, but I heard
the wagon, and----"

"Sure," he assented again. "Into the saddle with you and we'll get
there. The folks are all right, but the cayuses----"

A light began to blaze on the level above, and the mules, smelling
water, broke into a momentary trot and were herded ahead of the two
who followed more slowly, and very close together.

Cap Pike left the fire to stand guard over the water barrels and shoo
the mules away.

"Look who's here?" he called waving his hat in salute. "The patriots
of Sonora have nothing on you when it comes to making collections on
their native heath! I left you a poor devil with a runt of a burro, a
cripple, and an Indian kid, and you've bloomed out into a bloated
aristocrat with a batch of high-class army mules. And say, you're just
in time, and you don't know it! We're in at last, by Je-rusalem, we're
_in_!"

Kit grinned at him appreciatively, but was too busy getting water to
ask questions. The wagon was rattling through the dry river bed and
would arrive in a few minutes, and the first mules had to be got out
of the way.

"You don't get it," said Billie alongside of him. "He means war. We're
in!"

"With Mexico? _Again?_" smiled Kit skeptically.

"No--something real--helping France!"

"No!" he protested with radiant eyes. "Me for it! Say, children, this
is some homecoming!"

The three shook hands, all talking at once, and Kit and Billie forgot
to let go.

"Of course you know Cap swore an alibi for you against that suspicion
Conrad tried to head your way," she stated a bit anxiously. "You
stayed away so long!"

"Yes, yes, Lark-child," he said reassuringly, "I know all that, and a
lot more. I've brought letters of introduction for the government to
some of Conrad's useful pacifist friends along the border. Don't you
fret, Billie boy; the spoke we put in their wheel will overturn their
applecart! The only thing worrying me just now,--beautifullest!--is
whether you'll wait for me till I enlist, get to France, do my stunt
to help clean out the brown rats of the world, and come back home to
marry you."

"Yip-pee!" shrilled Pike who was slicing bacon into a skillet. "I'm
getting a line now on how you made your other collections!"

Billie laughed and looked up at him a bit shyly.

"I waited for you before without asking, and I reckon I can do it
again! I'm--I'm wonderfully happy--for I didn't want you to worry over
coming home broke--and----"

"Whisper, Lark-child. _I'm not!_"

"What?"

"Whisper, I said," and he put one hand over her mouth and led her over
to the little gray burro. "Now, not even to Pike until we get home,
Billie,--but I've come out alive with the goods, while every other
soul who knew went 'over the range'! Buntin' carries your share. I
knew you were sure to find the sheepskin map sooner or later," he lied
glibly, "but luck didn't favor me hanging around for it. I had to get
it while the getting was good, but we three are partners for keeps,
Buntin' is yours, and I'll divide with Pike out of the rest."

Billie touched the pack, tried to lift it, and stared.

"You're crazy, Kit Rhodes!"

"Too bad you've picked a crazy man to marry!" he laughed, and took off
the pack. "Seventy-five pounds in that. I've over three hundred.
Lark-child, if you remember the worth of gold per ounce, I reckon
you'll see that there won't need to be any delay in clearing off the
ranch debts,--not such as you would notice! and maybe I might qualify
as a ranch hand when I come back,--even if I couldn't hold the job the
first time."

"O Kit! O Cap! O me!" she whispered chantingly. "Don't you dare wake
me up, for I'm having the dream of my life!"

But he caught her, drew her close and kissed her hair rumpled in the
desert wind.

And as the wagon drew into the circle of light, that was the picture
Doña Jocasta saw from the shadows of the covered wagon:--young love,
radiant and unashamed!

She stared at them a moment strangely in a sudden mist of tears, as
Clodomiro jumped down and arranged for her to alight. Cap Pike looking
up, all but dropped the coffeepot.

"Some little collector--that boy!" he muttered, and then aloud, "You
_Kit_!"

Kit turned and came forward leading Billie, who suddenly developed
panic at vision of the most beautiful, tragic face she had ever seen.

"Some collector!" murmured Cap Pike forgetting culinary operations to
stare. "Shades of Sheba's queen!"

But Kit, whose days and nights of Mesa Blanca and Soledad had rather
unfitted him for hasty adjustments to conventions, or standardized
suspicion regarding the predatory male, held the little hand of Billie
very tightly, and did not notice her gasp of amazement. He went
forward to assist Doña Jocasta, whose hesitating half glance about her
only enhanced the wonder of jewel-green eyes whose beauty had been
theme of many a Mexic ballad.

For these were the first Americanos she had ever met, and it was said
in the south that Americanos might be wild barbaros,--though the señor
of the songs----

The señor of the songs reached his hand and made his best bow as he
noted her sudden shrinking.

"Here, Doña Jocasta, are friends of good heart. We are now on the edge
of the lands of La Partida, and this little lady is its padrona
waiting to give you welcome at the border. Folks, this is Señora Perez
who has escaped from hell by help of the guns of El Gavilan."

"Doña Jocasta!" repeated Cap Pike standing in amazed incredulity with
the forgotten skillet at an awkward angle dripping grease into the
camp fire, but his amazement regarding personality did not at all
change his mental attitude as to the probable social situation. "Some
collector, Brother, but hell in Sonora isn't the only hell you can
blaze the trail to with the wrong combination!"

Kit turned a silencing frown on the philosopher of the skillet, but
Billie went toward the guest with outstretching hands.

"Doña Jocasta, oh!" she breathed as if one of her fairy tales of
beauty had come true, and then in Spanish she added the sweet gracious
old Castillian welcome, "Be at home with us on your own estate, Señora
Perez."

Jocasta laid her hands on the shoulder of the girl, and looked in the
clear gray eyes.

"You are Spanish, Señorita?"

"My grandmother was."

"Thanks to the Mother of God that you are not a strange Americana!"
sighed Jocasta in sudden relief. Then she turned to her American
courier and guard and salvation over the desert trails.

"I saw," she said briefly. "She is as the young sister of me who--who
is gone to God! Make yourself her guard forever, Don Pajarito. May you
sing many songs together, and have no sorrows."

After the substantial supper, Kit heard at first hand all the veiled
suspicion against himself as voiced in the fragment of old newspaper
wrapped around Fidelio's tobacco, and he and Doña Jocasta spread out
the records written by the padre, and signed by Jocasta and the
others, as witness of how Philip Singleton met death in the arroya of
the cottonwoods.

"It is all here in this paper," said Jocasta, "and that is best. I can
tell the alcalde, yes, but if an--an accident had come to me on the
trail, the words on the paper would be the safer thing."

"But fear on the trail is gone for you now," said Kit smiling at her
across the camp fire. Neither of them had said any word of life at
Mesa Blanca or Soledad, or of the work of Tula at the death.

The German had strangled a priest, and escaped, and in ignorance of
trails had ridden into a quicksand, and that was all the outer world
need know of his end!

The fascinated eyes of Billie dwelt on Jocasta with endless wonder.

"And you came north with the guns and soldiers of Ramon Rotil,--how
wonderful!" she breathed. "And if the newspapers tell the truth I
reckon he needs the guns all right! Cap dear, where is that one José
Ortego rode in with from the railroad as we were leaving La Partida?"

"In my coat, Honey. You go get it--you are younger than this
old-timer."

Jocasta followed Billie with her eyes, though she had not understood
the English words between them. It was not until the paper was
unfolded with an old and very bad photograph of Ramon Rotil staring
from the front page that she whispered a prayer and reached out her
hand. The headline to the article was only three words in heavy type
across the page: "Trapped at last!"

But the words escaped her, and that picture of him in the old days
with the sombrero of a peon on his head and his audacious eyes smiling
at the world held her. No picture of him had ever before come her way;
strange that it should be waiting for her there at the border!

The Indian boy at sight of it, stepped nearer, and stood a few paces
from her, looking down.

"It calls," he said.

It was the first time he had spoken except to make reply since
entering the American camp. Doña Jocasta frowned at him and he moved a
little apart, leaning,--a slender dark, semi-nude figure, against the
green and yellow mist of a palo verde tree,--listening with downcast
eyes.

Doña Jocasta looked from the pictured face to the big black letters
above.

"Is it a victorious battle, for him?" she asked and Kit hesitated to
make reply, but Billie, not knowing reason for silence, blurted out
the truth even while her eyes were occupied by another column.

"Not exactly, señora. But here is something of real interest to you,
something of Soledad--oh, I _am_ sorry!"

"What does it say,--Soledad?"

"See!--I forgot you don't know the English!"

                  *       *       *       *       *

Troops from the south to rescue Don José Perez from El Gavilan at
Soledad turn guns on that survival of old mission days, and level it
to the ground. Soledad was suspected as an ammunition magazine for the
bandit chief, and it is feared Señor Perez is held in the mountains
for ransom, as no trace of him has been found.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"Now you've done it," remarked Kit, and Billie turned beseeching eyes
on the owner of Soledad, and repeated miserably--"I _am_ so sorry!"

But Doña Jocasta only lifted her head with a certain disdain, and
veiled the emerald eyes slightly.

"So!" she murmured with a shrug of the shoulder. "It is then a bandit
he is called in the words of the American newspaper?"

Cap Pike not comprehending the rapid musical Spanish, leaned forward
fishing for a coal to light his pipe, noting her voice and watching
her eyes.

"There you have it already!" he muttered to Kit. "All velvet, and mad
as hell!"

Billie, much bewildered, turned to Kit as for help, but the slender
hand of Doña Jocasta reached out pointing to the headlines.

"And--this?" she said coldly. "It is, you say, not victorious for
Ramon Rotil, that--bandit?"

"It says, señora," hesitated Billie, "that he is hid in the hills,
and----"

"That we know," stated Doña Jocasta, "what other thing?"

"'He has a wound and was carried by his men to one of his retreats, a
hidden place,'" read Billie slowly, translating into Spanish as she
went on. "That is all except that the Federals had to retreat
temporarily because a storm caused trouble and washed out a bridge
over which their ammunition train has to go. The place of the accident
is very bad. Timber and construction engineers are being rushed to
service there, but for a few days luck is with the Hawk."

"So!--For a few days!" repeated Doña Jocasta in the cool sweet voice.
"In a few days Ramon Rotil could cross Mexico. He is El Gavilan!"

Things were coming too fast for Billie. She regarded the serenity of
Doña Jocasta with amazement, and tried to imagine how she would feel
if enemy guns battered down the old walls of Granados, or--thought of
terror--if Kit should be held in the hills and tortured for ransom!

"Speaking of floods," remarked Pike in amiable desire to bridge over
an awkward pause, "we've used half the water we brought, and need to
make a bright and early start tomorrow. Rio Seco is no garden spot to
get caught in short of water. Our La Partida mules are fresh as
daisies right off a month of range, but yours sure look as if they had
made the trip."

"What does he say,--the old señor?" asked Doña Jocasta.

Billie translated for her, whereupon she arose and summoned Clodomiro
by a gesture.

"My bed," she said briefly, "over there," and she indicated a thicket
of greasewood the wagon had passed on their arrival. "Also this first
night of safety you will be the sentinel to keep guard that Señor
Rhodes may at last have sleep. All the danger trail he had none."

Cap Pike protested that he do guard duty, but the smile of Doña
Jocasta won her way.

"He is younger and not weary, señor. It is good for him, and it
pleases me," she said.

"The camp is yours," he agreed weakly, and against his better
judgment. He did not like Indians who were like "sulky slim brown dumb
snakes"; that was what he muttered when he looked at Clodomiro. In his
irritation at the Indian's silence it didn't even occur to him that he
never had known any snakes but dumb ones.

But if the voice of Clodomiro was uncannily silent, his eyes spoke for
him as they followed Doña Jocasta. Kit could only think of a lost,
homesick dog begging for the scent of the trail to his own kennel. He
said so to Billie as he made her bed in the camp wagon.

"Cap and I will be right here at the hind wheels," he promised.
"Yes,--sure, I'll let the Indian ride herd for the night. Doña Jocasta
is right, it's his turn, and we seem to have passed the danger line."

"Knock wood!" cautioned Billie.

So he rapped his head with his knuckles, and they laughed together as
young happy things do at trifles. Then he stretched himself for sleep
under the stars and almost within arm's reach of the girl--the girl
who had ridden to meet him in the night, the wonderful girl who had
promised to wait until he came back from France ... of course he could
get into the army _now_! They would need men too badly to turn him
down again. If there was a trifle of discrepancy in sight of his
eyes--which he didn't at all believe--he had the dust now, also the
nuggets, to buy any and all treatment to adjust _that_ little matter.
He had nearly four hundred pounds, aside from giving all he dared give
at once as Tula's gift to those women of the slave raid. After the
war was over he would find ways of again crossing over to the great
treasure chest in the hidden cañon. The little information Pike had
managed to convey to him about that sheepskin map told him that the
most important indications had been destroyed during those years it
had been buried for safe-keeping. The only true map in existence was
the one in his own memory,--no use to tell Pike and Billie that! He
could leave them in comfort and content, and when he got back from
France--He wondered how long it would last--the war. Hadn't the
greatest of Americans tried three years ago to hammer the fact into
the alleged brain pans of the practical politicians that the sooner
the little old United States made guns, and ships, and flying machines
for _herself_, the sooner she could help end that upheaval of hell in
Europe?... and they wouldn't listen! Listen?--They brought every ounce
of influence they could round up to silence those facts,--the
eternally condemned ostriches sticking their own heads in the sand to
blind the world to the situation! Now they were in, and he wondered if
they had even ten rounds of ammunition for the cartridge belts of the
few trained soldiers in service? They had not had even three rounds
for the showy grand review attempted in Texas not long since; also the
transportation had been a joke, some of the National Guards started,
but never did arrive--and France was a longer trail than Texas. God!
they should be ready to fight as the French were ready, in twelve
hours--and it would have to be months--a long unequal hell for a time
over there, but only one finish, and the brown rats driven back to
their den! After that the most wonderful girl would--would--would----

Then all the sleep due him on the sleepless trail settled over him
like a net weighted, yet very caressing, and the world war and the
wonderful girl drifted far away!

Beyond, on the other side of the fire, and out of the circle of light,
Clodomiro bore the _serape_ of Doña Jocasta, and made clear the place
for her couch. She had returned to the light of the fire and was
scanning again the annoying paper of the Americanos. Especially that
remembered face of the audacious eyes. They were different eyes in
these latter days, level and cynical, and sometimes cruel.

"He calls," said Clodomiro again beside her. She had not heard him,
and turned in anger that he dare startle her.

"Who does he call?" she asked irritably tossing aside the paper.

"All Mexico, I think. All Mexico's heart," and he touched his breast.
"Me, I do not sleep. I do your work and when the end of the trail is
yours, I ask, Excellencia, that you send me back that I find him
again,--the Deliverer!"

"What did Ramon Rotil ever do for you that you fret like a chained
coyote because his enemies are strong?"

"Not anything, Excellencia. Me, he would not know if I told him my
name, but--he is the Deliverer who will help the clans. Also, _she_
would go,--Tula. _Sangre de Christo!_ there would be no chain strong
enough to hold her back if his wounds cried for help."

"If--his wounds cried for help!" repeated Doña Jocasta mechanically.

"It is true, Excellencia, El Gavilan was giving help to many people in
the lands he crossed. Now the many will forget, and like a hawk with
the weight of an arrow in his breast he will fly alone to a high nest
of the hills. Death will nest with him there some night or some day,
Excellencia. And the many will forget."

"Quiet you!" ordered Doña Jocasta angrily.

Abashed, Clodomiro went silent, and with a murmured apology took
himself into the shadows.

She lifted the pictured face barely discernible now in the diminished
light.

"And--the many will forget!" she repeated irritably. "The boy has the
truth of it, but if _she_ had lived, so terribly wicked,--so lost of
God, I wonder if----"

She lifted her face looking up at the still stars as if for light on a
thought, then flung her hands out despairingly and turned away to the
couch by the green bush of fragrant yellow bloom.

But not to sleep. Long after the Americanos were wrapped in slumber a
little blaze sent glimmer of light through the undergrowth, and she
saw Clodomiro stretched beside the fire. He had tossed a bit of
greasewood on the coals that he might again study the face of El
Gavilan.

She had heard him say that if no desert wind lifted the sand he could
follow to that hidden nest of the Hawk. It was very dark now except
for glimmer of stars through lacy, slow-drifting clouds,--there was no
wind. Later there would be a waning moon! Much of every waking life
is a dream, and her dreams were of the No Man's Land of the
desert,--the waterless trail from which she had been rescued for
peace!

Twice during the night Kit roused from the depths sufficiently to
realize that sleep is one of the greatest gifts to man. Once Clodomiro
was stretched by the little fire inspecting the paper he could not
read, the second time he thought Baby Bunting was nosing around trying
to get close to human things. Both times he reached out his hands to
the precious packs beside which he slept on the trail. All were safe,
and he drifted again into a great ocean of slumber.

He was wakened at dawn by the voice of Cap Pike, keyed high for an
ultra display of profanity.

"By the jumping Je-hosophat, I knew it!" he shrilled. "That's your
latest collection, begod! I hoped he wouldn't, and knew he would! The
all-firedest finest pair of mules on Granados, and every water bag in
the outfit! Can you beat it?"

At the first shout Kit jumped to his feet, his eyes running rapidly
over his pack saddle outfit. All was safe there, and as Billie lifted
her head and looked at him drowsily over the edge of the wagon bed he
realized that in the vital things of life all was well with his
world.

"Let Sheba run your camp, and run it to hell, will you?" went on Cap
Pike accusingly. He was thrashing around among the growth back of
the Soledad outfit wagon where the mules had been tethered.
"Two--four--six, and Baby Buntin'--yes sir! Lit out by the dark of
the moon, and left neither hide nor hair,--"

"Oh, be reasonable, Cap!" protested Kit. "Buntin' isn't gone--she's
right alongside here, waiting for breakfast."

"You're shoutin' she's here; so is every dragged-to-death skate you
hit camp with! It's Billie's crackerjack mules, the pick of the ranch,
that the bare-legged greasy heathen hit the trail with! And every
water bag!"

"Well," decided Kit, verifying the water statement by a glance at the
barrels, "no one is to blame. The boy didn't want to come this trail.
He stuck until we were over the rough of it, and then he cut loose. A
pair of mules isn't so bad."

"Now, of course not!" agreed Cap sarcastically. "A mere A-number-one
pair of mules belonging to another fellow is only a flea bite to offer
a visitor for supper! Well, all _I_ got to say----"

"Don't say it, Cap dear," suggested Billie. "The Indian was here
because of Doña Jocasta, and _she_ can't help it! As she doesn't
understand English, she'll probably think you're murdering some of us
over here. Whist now, and put your muzzle on! We'll get home without
the two mules. I'll go and tell her that the hysterics is your way of
offering morning prayers!"

She slipped away, laughing at his protests, but when a little past the
fire place she halted, standing very still, peering beyond at
something on the ground under the greasewood where the _serape_ of
Doña Jocasta had been spread. No _serape_ or sleeper was there!

Kit noted her startled pause, and in a few strides was beside her;
then, without a word, the two went forward together and he picked up
the package of papers laid carefully under the greasewood. He knew
without opening them what they were,--the records made for her safety,
and for his, in Soledad, place of tragedies.

"They are the papers I was to put on record for her in case--Well,
I'll do it, and you'll take care of the copies for her, Billie,
and--and do your best for the girl if a chance ever comes. We owe her
a lot more than she will ever guess,--our gold come out of Mexico
under the guard arranged for her, and when I come back----"

"But Kit," protested Billie, "to think of her alone with that thieving
Indian! He took flour and bacon too! And if she hopes to find her
husband----"

"She doesn't," concluded Kit thoughtfully turning over the certificate
signed by the padre and him, of the husband's safe burial in the sands
of Soledad. He glanced at Billie in doubt. One never knew how safe it
was to tell things,--some things,--to a woman; also Billie was so
enchanted by Jocasta's sad beauty, and----

"No, I reckon she doesn't hope much along that line. She has probably
gone back to the wilderness for another reason,--one I never suspected
until last night. And Lark-child, we won't talk about that, not at
least till I return from the 'back of beyond' over there," and he
pointed eastward where shafts of copper light touched the gray veil of
the morning.

After his first explosion of amazement Cap Pike regarded the
elopement, as he called it, very philosophically, considering his
disgust over lost mules and flour and bacon.

"What did I tell you right here last night?" he demanded of Kit. "Soft
as velvet and hard as hell,--that's what I said! She looks to me like
a cross between a saint in a picture frame and a love bird in a tree,
and her eyes! Yet after all no man can reckon on that blood,--she is
only a girl of the hills down there, and the next we hear of her
she'll likely be leaden' a little revolution of her own."

The young chap made no reply, but busied himself hastening a scant
breakfast in order that the worn mules be got to water before the
worst heat of a dry day. Also the losses to the culinary outfit did
make problems for the trip.

Cap eyed him askance for a space, and then with a chuckle wilfully
misconstrued his silence and lowered his tone.

"I don't blame you for feeling downhearted on your luck, Bub, for she
sure was a looker! But it's all in a lifetime, and as you ramble along
in years, you'll find that most any hombre can steal them, and take
them home, but when it comes to getting a permanent clinch on the
female affections----"

Billie, who was giving a short ration of water to the burro, called
across to ask what Kit was laughing at in that hilarious way. She also
stated that she did not think it a morning for hilarity, not at all!
That wonderful, beautiful, mystery woman might be going to her death!

After the packs were all on, Cap Pike swung the mules of the first
wagon into the home trail and passed over the mesa singing rakishly.

                _Oh-h! Biddy McGee has been after me,
                Since I've been in the army!_

And Billie turned in the saddle to take a last look over the trail
where the woman of the emerald eyes had passed in the night.

"All my life I have looked, and looked into the beautiful mirages of
the south desert wondering what would come out of it--and _she_ was
the answer," she said, smiling at Kit. "Tomorrow I'll feel as if it
was all a dream, all but the wonderful red gold, and you! Some fine
day we'll take a little _pasear_ down there, I'll follow that dream
trail, and----"

"You will not!" decided the chosen of her heart with rude certainty.
"The dreams of that land of mirages are likely to breed nightmares.
You are on the right side of the border for women to stay. Our old
American eagle is a pretty safe bird to roost with."

"Well," debated the only girl, "if it comes to that, Mexico also has
the eagle, and had it first!"

"Yes, contrary child," he conceded, herding the mules into line, "so
it has,--but the eagle of Mexico is still philandering with a helmeted
serpent. Wise gamblers reserve their bets on that game, we can only
hope that the eagle fights its way free!"