XIIFLASHLIGHT AND FAWNSKIN
Elbertkept shaking his head; no bones broken there or elsewhere, but seemingly no end to the phases of his coming-to. It dawned on him there had been a blank from the time Mamie went over backwards, until he found himself here on Chester with Cal. He regretted missing some part in there—going through the Mexican lines.
‘Where’s Mamie?’ he demanded, jerking erect.
‘Came through all right. Slim’s got her safe.’
Now Elbert gradually made out that they were in ‘Mexicali’ Burton’s oil town. They had been halted—first a voice in Mexican, then American, Cal answering quietly. He saw the sedan, and heard from aside in the dark, Mamie’s long-drawn wheeze, the same protest as when she had refused advance to the hitching-rail before the Señora’s house in Nacimiento. There was one cabin door from which light streamed, and in the aperture a blocky, bareheaded man appeared, legs planted wide apart, the air suddenly burned by withering profanities.
‘... bringin’ three young women through Vallejo’s lines!... Sap-heads, you fellows. It’s running out of your ears!’
‘I’m not takin’ no free talk from no oil man,’ growled Slim.
Cal mildly broke in. ‘Now as to that, Mister—’
‘Can’t you see we’ve got a war on?’ the blocky one in the doorway yelled. ‘Can’t you see they’re twenty to one, tryin’ to get our oil wells?’ His face had turned sidewise; light fell upon the uncovered, close-cropped head—massive jaw, thin lips and startlingly familiar blue eyes. Around that roaring neck from behind, a pair of white arms were flung at this instant, ‘Mexicali’s’ fury shut off:
‘But Papa! I keep telling you it was all my fault!’
Florabel had the floor, but another figure had moved into the light behind her. ‘You see, Mr. Burton, when we three wouldn’t turn back, they rode along with us, to protect us.’ That was Mary Gertling. So they had all reached the cabin.
Elbert still felt confused. Slim’s voice broke in now, stern with dignity. ‘Seein’ as there’s no further need for us to be engaged in protectin’—otherwise we might ride on—’
Another rip. ‘... ride on what? Ride on where? Don’t you see we’re surrounded?’
‘Papa!’
‘Mexicali’ slowed down to bellow orders to his men, both Mexicans and Americans hurrying inand out. He rang bells in both languages. Meanwhile Cal and Slim had entered the lamp-lit quarters, and Elbert followed, meeting the eyes of Mary Gertling. Still those eyes hadn’t broken into tears; still that inexplicable stillness around her—the same faint trace of a smile, as in the first moment in Nacimiento.
Now ‘Mexicali’ Burton and Cal Monroid were facing each other, like two chiefs—one instantaneous look. All they had seemed to need was this one look in the lamplight. Each knew a man. It was a moment of romantic fulfillment to Elbert. His mind had suddenly renewed its grasp on the fact that Bart Leadley might be a part of Vallejo’s lines now closing about; yet at the same time he could not miss the way the fighting face of ‘Mexicali’ Burton had suddenly softened and turned in appeal to Cal.
‘It was bad enough before,’ he was saying, slowly. ‘Vallejo’s got numbers. I trust my white men, but you never can trust the Mexicans. Cordano himself may double-cross me. Can’t tell when he’ll get some troops here. It was bad enough before, but what can a man do with three girls—?’
A whimsical smile was on Cal’s lips, which formed to answer, but the words were never spoken.
That was the instant the gods of North Americaundertook to get a flash-light photograph of the lower end—stupefying flash and crash—blinding glare, heaving darkness, falling timbers, the scream of one horse.
Elbert was on his knees, eyes and nostrils choked with dust. He thought of Mamie outside; then certain new business and nothing else occupied his brain. In that unbelievable glare, he had seen the face of Mary Gertling. The light hadn’t shone upon her face, it had flowed into it, through it. He had seen the secret of her stillness, and though he couldn’t recall the nature of it now, he was perfectly aware that an explosion like that might breed another and he must somehow get to her, before it happened again.
He was calling. She called back just once. He was groping for her now. His hand touched objects, but they had nothing to do with what he groped for. His ears were filled with voices, but he was really listening only for one. His fingers touched the little fawnskin jacket, and beneath his face as he knelt, there was the queerest low sob; one arm came up and held him, and the words:
‘You shouldn’t have been quite so long—’
At his side was the distracting rattle of a match box, the strike of the stick. A face appeared—‘Mexicali’ Burton—all below the eyes, a gleaming black of blood.
‘Florabel!’
‘Papa!’
‘You and the other two—get into the sedan—before they explode the second powder house. One of my own natives probably. Get into—get into the sedan—’ subdued, sincere, not an extra syllable. Father and daughter—they had found each other. Cal and Slim had found each other. Elbert bent. ‘I didn’t mean to be so long—’ he said.
The one arm tightened around him. Another match was struck. Florabel screamed at the sight of her father’s face. ‘Mexicali’ drew the hollow of his sleeve down over it. ‘Shut up, Flo’,’ he said in the same subdued way. ‘Just a scratch. Pile into the sedan—’
‘I can’t move.’
‘You must—who’s this lyin’ across your lap?’
‘That’s Imogen. She’s fainted. She did it before.’
‘I’ll put her into the sedan. Come on—’
‘I can’t—’
‘I’ll lift you in.’
‘I can’t drive—’ The sentences shot back and forth; even Cal Monroid spoke: ‘Speakin’ of drivin’—that’s the Kid’s job—’ all while the second match burned.
‘Sure, Elbert’ll drive,’ from Slim.
Elbert bent again. ‘We’ve got to go to the sedan.’
‘Yes—’ from under his lips, but she did not stir.
‘Come on. Won’t you help me?’
‘Oh, yes—’
‘Can you walk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come then—they’re putting Imogen in.’
‘But you—’
‘I’m going with you—’
‘Oh!’
He felt the queer uncertainty of her body, as she gained her feet, yet she seemed trying to help him. Yes, she had promised to help; her one hand was actually trying to lift him, at the same time holding on.
Florabel and Imogen were in the back of the car. He couldn’t see if they were rightly in the seats. Elbert took the wheel, and drew Mary Gertling in after him. Her hand didn’t feel right. Another hand was now thrust in through the door after Mary was seated—‘Mexicali’s’—wet, hot, hairy.
‘You’ve got to get there, young fellow!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Clear through to Nogales.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll vouch for Elbert,’ came from Cal, who seemed standing just behind Burton.
‘But how about Mamie?’
‘Slim and me’ll take care of her.’
‘I ain’t gone over her, but she’s on her feet.’ This last was from Slim. ‘We’ll keep her for you.’
‘You can’t take the road you came by—not for a ways.’ ‘Mexicali’ went on, thickly. ‘Keep goin’ toward the derricks. Follow the wheel-tracks; they’ll work you back to the main road later. Use your lamps—when you have to—’
‘Papa—’
‘Don’t bother me!’ The voice was thick, as if ‘Mexicali’s’ throat was filling with blood. ‘We’re stayin’ here, but these oil wells aren’t a hell of a lot, compared to the baggage you’re carryin’, young fellow. Clear through to Nogales, do you hear?’
‘He’ll get through, Mister,’ said Cal, and then the same voice trailed, ‘So long, Kid.’