"'Way down below," laughed Lopez, delighted at his ability to pun in English, and making a motion with one hand toward the nether regions.
"You mean it?" Pell continued.
A dark scowl came over the face of Lopez. "Should you doubt my word?" he inquired.
"Certainly not," Pell was quick to satisfy him. "Only why didn't you say so before?"
"Oil not interests me," the bandit explained.
"But since to you gentlemen it seem so excitable—I 'ave it."
"Yes?" from Hardy.
"Ze little paper. You both want it.Bueno!You shall both 'ave ze chance. We will, 'ow you say, 'old ze little hauction."
"Auction?" Pell repeated.
"'E who bids ze 'ighest," Lopez elucidated, "shall 'ave ze little paper and shall come wiz me while I show 'im where ze oil she is 'iding." He flicked the ashes of his cigarette upon the floor, and sat on the corner of the table, one foot dangling in the air.
"Gad!" Pell let out. His hands went together, his jaw set. Things were coming out beautifully.
Lopez went on: "While 'e who does not bid ze 'ighest shall stay 'ere wiz Pedro until eight o'clock to-night."
Hardy was delighted. "You mean the highest bidder will not only get the place but that you'll show him where the oil is besides?"
"Si.Is it so agree?"
"I'm for that," Pell said.
"But I—" Hardy began.
"I bid one hundred thousand dollars," Pell quickly cried.
"I'll take it to the courts," Hardy contended.
"Take what to the courts?" Pell wanted to know.
"I was detained by force," Hardy said.
"As long as I get there by eight, what difference does that make?" Pell asked.
But Lopez broke in: "One hundred sousand I am offer!" They mustn't shillyshally this way. He wanted to keep things going.
"I'll make it one hundred and one!" Hardy cried.
Without a moment's hesitation, Pell jerked it up to a hundred and ten.
"A hundred and eleven!" Hardy pushed ahead.
"A hundred and twenty-five!" Pell yelled. "And what do you know about that?"
Hardy was by no means finished. "A hundred and thirty!" he made it.
Uncle Henry couldn't stand it. While they raised each other's bids, he shot in between them and managed to say above the din, "And me—gettin' skinned not only out of my ten thousand, but a million dollars besides!"
"A hundred and fifty!" Pell was saying.
"A hundred and fifty-one!" the cautious Hardy added.
The face of Lopez was a study; but they were so excited that they did not look at him. Angelarushed to her father and clasped his arm when she heard his last raise. "That's right, father. Don't let him get it!"
"Don't worry," he reassured her, and patted her little hand, so warm on his arm. He turned to Pell. "You city fellers needn't think you can come down here and put it all over us."
"Nevertheless," said Morgan Pell, "I'll just bid a hundred and seventy-five thousand."
"Then I'll make it a hundred and eighty!" his antagonist stated.
Quick as a flash, "A hundred and ninety," Pell said.
"Two hundred, by darn!" yelled Hardy, furious now.
"Two hundred and—" Pell began; when Lopez, to their amazement, rapped on the table with his gun, as though he were an auctioneer and this his gavel, "Señors!" he shouted. "It is enough!"
Everyone was dumbfounded, "Enough?" Hardy inquired, unbelieving.
"Too much!" Lopez explained.
"What's the idea?" Pell, shrewder than before, wanted to know. His brow contracted. So there was a fly in the ointment, after all!
"Ze idea, my friend, is zis," Lopez calmly stated. "I am not interest in pieces of paper. I do not accep' checks. Also I am no damn fool! You sink I sink you bring back two 'ondred sousand dollar? Two 'ondred sousand soldier, mebbe! But two 'ondred sousand dollar! Pah!" and he made a gesture of disgust, and crushed the paper in his hand and let it fall on the floor under the table.
"Then what's the idea of this auction in the first place?" Pell asked, mad through and through that they had been tricked by this Mexican fool.
Lopez leaned back on the table. "To find out if you gentlemen was rich enough to make it worth my w'ile to take you wiz me and 'old you for ransom." His eyes half closed. He was enjoying their discomfiture. There was nothing he liked more than to spring a surprise like this.
Pell and Hardy looked at each other, real terror in their faces now.
"Ransom!" the former cried.
"It is quite to be seen zat you are," the bandit grinned. "Zis, if I may speak so, 'as been a lucky day for me!"
Pell turned to both Hardy and Lopez, and addressed them: "Bluffing, were you?"
Lopez was quick to retort: "And was youbluffing when you bidded ze two 'ondred sousand dollars?"
Hardy was agitated. "I'm afraid we were a bit hasty," he tried to explain things away.
This tickled Uncle Henry's bump of humor. He chuckled, and cried, "Ho, ho! Serves you both gol darn good and right!" He seemed to go into a spasm of laughter.
Pell's chief concern now was to get out of the mess—to get away; to have everything settled. Lopez could probably be dealt with, man to man.
"Look here," he suggested, in a direct attack, "can't we settle things some way?"
"Yes," the bandit replied. "From my headquarters in Chihuahua I will give you pen, ink, messenger-boy—everysing!"
"But I—" Pell started to say.
But Lopez broke in: "You will please listen more and speak less. I 'ave decide. You I shall 'old for ransom. And," turning to Hardy, "you; and you," pointing to Uncle Henry, "you who 'ave nossing, I shall leave be'ind."
Pell and Hardy felt that the game was over.
Uncle Henry, on the contrary, was jubilant. "Gee!" he sang out, "and I get the oil, after all!"
No one heeded him. Things were too serious still.
"You wouldn't do this?" Hardy asked of Lopez.
"No?" the bandit asked.
Hardy took Angela in his arms. "But what about her—my daughter? You wouldn't take her, would you?"
"Not for a million dollars!" Lopez smiled.
Angela's pride was hurt, "H'm!" she sniffed.
Lopez looked around him. He saw Lucia, and extended his hand to her. "And as for you—" he began.
Lucia was frightened. What was to be her fate?
"Yes?" she breathed.
"Life 'as been unkind to you. Too long 'ave you been marry wiz ze tired business man. You shall come wiz me to ze land of purple mountains, where I will love you myself personal."
This animal! Lucia turned from him in horror. "But I don't want to love!"
"It is not what you want," a new tone came into Lopez's voice. "It is whatIwant. I am ze law, 'ere!"
"Please!" Lucia pleaded.
Pell stepped forward. "Look here!" he cried. "There must be some way out of this!"
"Zere is," said Lopez politely. He pointed to the door. "Zat way."
Angela clung to her father's neck. "Dad!" she cried, seeing that he was about to be forced to go—perhaps forever. Tears rolled down her pretty cheeks.
Pell saw the seriousness of things now, and turned to Hardy in a strange camaraderie. "I guess we're up against it," he said.
"Looks that way," the other replied. In their misfortune they were curiously united.
Lopez turned to the whole room. "If you are ready?" he said, and snapped his fingers as a slave-driver might have done. "Pedro!" he called, "kill ze first one what make trouble," indicating the entire group of prisoners. Pedro grinned hopefully. "Zey go.Bueno!Zey go—all of zose ozzers. I shall follow—wiz my woman." He turned to Lucia, who was standing like a graven image near the table. "Come! We shall be very 'appy togezzer, you and me!"
They were about to pass through the door—all of them—when a noise startled them; and Gilbert, followed by "Red" and Venustiano, appeared.
"What's coming off?" Gilbert said, looking about him, and not a little surprised to find a Mexican and his adherents in his adobe.
Lopez turned and gave him a searching look. A light seemed to come into the bandit's countenance. It was as if someone had put a lantern behind his face.
"You!" he cried, enraptured. "You ze nephew zat owns zis ranch?"
Gilbert came farther into the room. Everyone now had turned back, stood stock still, listening to these two.
"Yes," said young Jones. "I am. What of it?" He didn't understand matters at all. Absent from the house for a little time, he had been called back to find this medley of people.
Lopez searched his face again. "Tell me you 'ave been in Cañon Diabalo sometime? 'Ave you?"
"Of course. What of it?" Gilbert was mystified.
"You were there one night, three, mebbe four year ago?" Lopez persisted, hoping there could be no mistake.
"I don't remember," was the disappointing answer.
"You remember poor peon was wounded—near bleed to death?"
"What?" said Gilbert, light beginning to dawn upon him.
"You do!" shouted Lopez, delighted. "Where was 'e wounded? Quick! You tell!"
"Shot through the shoulder," Gilbert answered promptly.
"It is you! Don't you know me?" He faced him squarely, threw back his shoulders, and waited, breathless, for his look of recognition.
Gilbert studied his face. An instant of doubt, and then, "Why, you're Pancho Lopez!" he said.
The bandit was overjoyed. "I am! But don't you recognize who is ze Pancho Lopez what I am? Look close! Ze clothes, no! Ze face!"
"Good Lord!" was all Gilbert could utter.
"Now you know me?"
"You're the man I found wounded that night!"
"And whose life you save!" Lopez added.
"Well, what do you know about that!" young Jones shouted. He was as surprised and happy as the bandit himself. This man, whom he never thought to see again in his whole life was standing here, in his own adobe.
"Now you know me!" Pancho went on. "Ah! my frand! 'Ow glad I am for to see you some more! Pedro! Venustiano! Ees my friend! Sabbe! Orders like my own! Serve 'im as you would me!" He went to Gilbert and frankly embraced him in the Latin fashion. "Eet's 'ell of a good thing I reckernize you!" he laughed, hugging his old friend close. He could never forget his kindness that night so many years ago; and to think he had run across his deliverer now!
Everyone was relieved. Their troubles would now be ended.
"And you ain't going to rob him, after all?" Uncle Henry piped up.
"Rob 'im? Rob my frand?" Lopez repeated.
"Ain't you?" Uncle Henry cried.
The bandit looked at him, wonder in his eyes. "No!Ciertamenteno!"
"Hooray!" the old man yelled, and would have risen in his chair could he have done so.
"Say, who the 'ell is that?" said Lopez, addressing himself to Gilbert.
"He's my uncle," young Jones answered.
"Uncle?" the bandit said, unbelieving.
"Uncle Henry," old man Smith wanted it to be straight.
"He shall go free," Lopez announced.
Hardy thought this a good omen. They would all be set free, no doubt. He faced Lopez bravely. "Ah, then it's all right," he said, a sickly smile on his face.
"All right?" said Lopez.
"Yes," Hardy said.
Lopez considered for a moment, hand on chin, his eyes again two narrow slits. "Not so fast," he cautioned. "It ees all right for 'im," nodding at Uncle Henry, "an' all right for 'im," indicating Gilbert; "but for you—" He let one hand fly out, and a resounding slap on Hardy's eager face was the result. Then he turned to Pedro. "Take them all out—pronto! 'Ees all right!' Like 'ell ees all right!"
Hardy flushed scarlet. His first impulse was to strike back; but how could he? Those gunspointed at him from every direction. He was as powerless as a baby. But his hour would come. This dastardly Mexican bandit should suffer for that blow.
Yet like one of a line of sheep he was obliged to follow Pedro out of the door. It was a humiliating moment. Gilbert and Lopez were left alone.
"Now we shall visit," the bandit said, and put his arm through Gilbert's. "Ah! it ees so good to see you, my frand!"
Gilbert was still mystified. "Yes," he said, "but I don't understand how you, a peon, became the Pancho Lopez so soon."
"Ah! it ees so easy!" laughed the bandit.
"Easy!" Gilbert repeated.
"Si.My frand"—his hand went to Gilbert's shoulder—"ees great opportunity, ees revolution, for make speed. When I got well, I find I do not enjoy my work, which are 'ard. Business? Business, she make me sick! I say for myself, 'What to do?' Zen, suddenly I sink, 'I shall be soldado!' Soldier which shall be giv ze 'orse, ze gun, ze woman, and nozzing to do but shoot a little sometimes! Ees a wonderful life, my frand!" The smoke of his cigarette curled to the ceiling.
"I didn't find it so," young Jones said, and smiled in his dry way.
"Pah! It's too many damn rules in your army. For us who make revolution, no! We sleep so late we damn please. We fight some when we feel so. If we find ze hacienda, we take all what we choose. When we need money, we go to city and rob ze bank—we 'elp for ourselves food from ze store, shoes, clothes, candy, ze cigarette, agauriante—" he made as if to drink from an imaginary glass—"booze! An' if anybody 'ide anysing we cut 'is fingers off so's 'e tell us. She is one fine life! You like for try? I make you general! Come!"
His face was radiant. The recollection of his army life filled him with joy.
But Gilbert shook his head. "Not for me, thank you," he smiled.
Lopez merely shrugged his shoulders. "So! I was afraid!"
"But how did you get ahead so fast?" young Jones wanted to know. "That's what sticks me."
The bandit laughed. "Zat is simple. You see, one day ze lieutenant she are killed. Soon I become a lieutenant. Nex' day, ze captain. So I am captain, Byme-bye, ze major—so I became major. Pretty damn soon ze colonel—so I amcolonel. I kill ze general for myself." As he spoke, he lifted the chair at the table, and brought it down on the floor with a bang.
"What!" cried Gilbert, at this description of an opera-bouffe army.
"But we shall not talk of me," Lopez said. "We shall spik of you. 'Ow you been since I seen you, what?" He tossed away his cigarette.
Gilbert offered him another of his own.
"No, gratias; zat's for peon. Zese from ze swell hotel National an Torreon—zay are good. I steal zem myself," pulling out his case and lighting another. He pushed his chair so that he could see young Jones better. "Well, old frand, how you feel zis long time? Eh?"
"I?" said Gilbert. He smiled a little, and looked significantly about the room.
Lopez caught the look. "So?" he said, sympathy in his tone. "It ees too bad." He paused, letting the smoke curl over his head again. "Ah! I see her now! You are ze nephew of Uncle Henry which owns zis rancho which are to be foreclosed by moggidge." Gilbert nodded. "H'm! Zat shall make her all different some more! Axplain for me, so I shall know."
Gilbert replied: "There's not much to tell. Iborrowed ten thousand from my uncle; ten more from Hardy—the tall man, and our neighbor. He's a loan shark—you know, in a mortgage. I go to the war. When I come home, cattle all gone. No money. That's all." He made a gesture as though the world were tumbling about him.
"I see," said Lopez. "And wiz ze strange ideas of your country, it makes you feel bad."
"Well, it seems like a pretty good chunk of trouble to hand an average citizen," young Jones said.
"Trouble?" Lopez let out the word in wrath. "You are no trouble. You only sink you are."
"You don't call this trouble? If it isn't then I don't know what trouble is!"
"Not really trouble." He came over and put his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "Only trouble you are made for yourself because you go by law what are foolish instead of sense what are wise." He gave him an affectionate pat. Just then Uncle Henry wheeled himself in, neither inquiring nor caring if he was wanted or not.
"Well, I sure told 'em their right names for once, gol darn 'em!" he chuckled. Lopez glared at him. "Pardon me! My mistake!" the invalid apologized; and rolled into the alcove."So, you sink you have much trouble," Lopez continued, as though the invalid had not come in to interrupt them. The clock struck five. He listened to it, and then said, "I have time to spare—" He went to the window and looked out.
"But if you've been raiding around here," Uncle Henry said from his seclusion, "won't the rangers be after you?"
"I have ze scouts who watch," the bandit said. He turned to Gilbert again. "Suppose I stop here and prove to you who sink you have trouble, zat really you have no trouble at all?"
The young man looked at him incredulously. "You mean you can get me out of this mess?" he asked.
"Sure! In one half hour," the bandit was convinced.
"Really?"
"In one half hour your trouble go poof!" He made a ring of smoke and watched it fade away. "And you shall be 'appy man. If I do zat, what zen?"
"If you do that," said the other, "they'll have to tie me down to keep me from kissing you!"
"Good!" laughed Lopez. "She is did."
There was a moment's pause. Then, "But how are you going to do this miracle?" Gilbert was anxious to find out.
"Zat is for you to leave to me. Well, what you say?"
"I say yes, of course!"
"Bueno!We begin," said the bandit. He called through the door: "Pedro! Bring zem all in again."
Uncle Henry was curious, "What are you going to do?"
"You shall see," was all Lopez answered.
Angela was the first to file into the room. Uncle Henry glanced at her. "What are you going to do about her?" he asked.
Lopez looked around, "Her?" he said.
"Her!" repeated Uncle Henry.
"What 'as her to do wiz it?" the bandit inquired.
"Why, she wants to marry him," Uncle Henry revealed, pointing to his nephew. "That's what started the whole jamboree."
Lopez looked astonished. "So?" he said.
"Uh—huh!"
The bandit glanced at Gilbert. "But 'e does not love 'er," he said, nodding toward Angela.
"Certainly not!" Gilbert was instantly saying,and glared at his uncle. The latter, as usual, plunged straight ahead, as the others now gathered about the room. "He," meaning "Red," "loves her.He," he nodded toward his nephew, "lovesher," pointing to Lucia Pell. "And she loves him," nodding back to Gilbert.
"Shut up! How many times must I tell you to—"
"But she," went on Uncle Henry, just as if nothing had been said, and pointing to Lucia, "is married to him," indicating Pell. "Which makes it a hell of a mess all around!" He leaned back in his chair as if he had done a good day's work.
Gilbert could scarcely restrain himself. Again he wanted to lay violent hands upon him—he wished he could. "Be quiet, won't you?" he breathed.
"Not me!" Uncle Henry persisted. "I've gotter tell the truth."
"Yes, but—" Gilbert began.
"I don't wanter get shot," the old man declared.
Lopez turned to Gilbert. "Is it true? You love her?" his eyes going to Lucia.
How could he tell the truth? "Of course I do not," he affirmed. Then he went close to his uncle. "What did you do all this again for?"
"He says he can fix it," Uncle Henry said. "Let him try. He's done swell so far. Personally, I got a lot o' confidence in that feller. He's slick, he is!"
It was easy to be seen that the bandit was not satisfied with the answer Gilbert had given him. He had been slyly watching both him and Lucia. Now, he said, looking at them both: "So!" And old man Smith started to break in once more; but Lopez went on: "Is it true?"
"What makes you think so?" Gilbert wanted to know.
"It is in her eyes—and yours," the Mexican stated. "I shall miss her. She is very beautiful. However, what is one woman between frands?" He laughed a bitter laugh. "You shall have her."
Uncle Henry cried out: "But he can't have her. She's married."
"Ees too bad," said Lopez, nonchalantly. "But nozzing to get excite about."
"Nozzing to get excite about!" mimicked Uncle Henry.
"No. But ees more to be did zan I 'ave sought. But I 'ave promise I shall make you a 'appy man, my frand," again to Gilbert. "Bueno!I keepzat promise. You have gave me your word zat you will not interfere. Is it not so?"
"Yes, but I—" Gilbert hardly knew what to say.
"It is for you to keep zat word as I keep mine," Lopez said. Then, to Uncle Henry he went on, "I shall start wiz you. Now, Pedro!"
"Si," answered the faithful minion of the bandit, stepping forward.
"Remember," his master commanded. "Shoot ze first one which interrup'."
"Si," said Pedro again, and grinned broadly and pleasantly. If there was one thing he liked, it was the possibility of trouble with prisoners. He knew how to bring them to terms. He had been doing it for years.
Lopez got down to business. "Now, look here, Oncle Hennery: my frand 'ave borrow money which 'e 'ave lost? Is zat true?"
"Yes, sir," answered Uncle Henry promptly, and happy to have been addressed so familiarly by the bandit. He felt that his triumph was now complete.
"'E cannot be happy until 'e pay you back."
"No, sir," sitting up straight in his chair.
"I shall give you ten sousand dollar," was the bandit's surprising remark.
Uncle Henry thought he could not have heard aright. "Ten thousand—! Yes, but where are you going to get it?" he inquired, a bit dazed.
"Do not ask me." He caught sight of "Red." "Ze next is you." He appraised him rapidly, and then said to Gilbert, "'E is frand for you, no?"
"He certainly is," answered young Jones promptly. "About the best I ever had." He wasn't going to see anything happen to the faithful "Red." He'd have protected him with his own life.
Lopez liked this, "You love zat girl?" he said to the foreman, meaning, of course, Angela.
"What?" the latter cried out.
"Well, I don't go around advertising the fact," "Red" told Lopez, a bit mortified that his heart affairs should be thus openly discussed.
"Ze girl zat spoiled my dinner," the bandit laughed.
"Oh!" cried Angela, who thought she had done so well.
"And she love you?" Lopez went on.
"I don't either!" Angela protested, speaking before "Red" had a chance.
"Now, Angela!" said "Red," his face the color of his flaming hair.
His dream seemed so close. Was it possible that the only girl he ever had adored was going to see it wrecked?
Angela weakened a bit at his tone. "I like him," she told the bandit. "But I don't—love him."
"Ah! but you do!" Lopez insisted.
"I do?" said Angela, wide-eyed.
"I have so decide!" the bandit stated.
"What?" cried Angela, not knowing what he could be driving at.
"Also you make love to my frand, Señor Jones."
"Oh!" cried the frightened girl now.
"And you have annoyed him in other ways."
"I have?" she wailed, terrified to the breaking point.
"Red" intervened. "Listen, Angela—" he began.
She stamped her little foot, and was peppery at once. "I won't!"
"You don't love him," "Red" affirmed, for her.
"Oh!" Angela burst out, all confusion.
"No more than you loved any of the rest of 'em," "Red" went on.
"Keep still!" the girl cried. "Keep still! I think you're dreadful!"
"It's because they're better looking than me," her slave went right on. "I'm the one for you to marry, Angy, and you know it!" He had faith in himself at last—she couldn't stop him now.
"No!" Angela contradicted.
"Aw, come on!" poor "Red" begged.
But she stamped her foot again. "No—no—no!"
"Say you will!" "Red" pleaded, almost distracted.
But Angela was adamant. "I won't—I won't listen to you another minute!" She turned her back on him, blushing to the roots of her hair.
Lopez had been highly amused at the girl's pique and "Red's" honest interest in her. He came to his assistance. "We shall be patient. She is mad. And mad lady sink not wiz ze 'ead, but only wiz ze tongue." He faced the pouting Angela. "Señorita, leesten to me. 'Ow old are you?"
"None of your business!" was the instant answer.
"Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?" Lopez pressed, smiling.
"Certainly not! I'm only twenty!" She was swift with the denial.
"Ah! I sought so," said Lopez, much pleased.
"What?" Angela said, not understanding him.
"In Mexico you would now be married five years—" the bandit explained.
"What?" screamed Angela.
"An' have six children."
"Oh!" The very thought made Angela ill.
"You are not pretty—none too pretty!" Lopez said.
The girl was now both hurt and amazed. "What's that?" she cried, all her feminine anger aroused.
"You will soon grow fat," Lopez continued, looking her over carefully.
Angela pulled out her handkerchief and brushed her eyes. "Oh!"
"Like ze tub!" said Lopez, inexorably, spreading his arms to indicate an immense diameter.
"Oh!" was all poor Angela could get out.
"Also, you 'ave ze bad temper."
"Oh! Oh!" Sobs now came from her.
"So, if you do not marry soon, it will be too late."
"What's that?" she looked up, not able to believe she had understood.
"Now, my frand 'ere, 'e wish to marry wiz you. Why, I do not know." Lopez grinned broadly. He knew this would be the last stroke. He was right.
"Oh!" gasped Angela.
"Shall he come wiz me to Mexico," the bandit piled it on, "I will give 'im planty wives, young, beautiful...."
"Oh!" again came from the distracted Angela.
"But he want you. And so ..."
"You're going to force me to marry him. I see!" She turned to the listening "Red." "And you'd let him force you on me, like this?"
"It ain't my fault, Angela," the foreman assured her. "I didn't know he was going to do this! You know that."
Lopez issued his ultimatum.
"I am not going to force you to marry 'im. You are going to choose to marry 'im."
The girl was on the brink of despair.
"Never! Never! Never!" she screamed, and stamped her foot vigorously.
"Ah! my young lady. We shall see." He turned abruptly, and called, "Pedro!"
"Si," the faithful one answered, and came to his master.
Lopez then addressed Angela: "I shall not force you to marry 'im," indicating "Red" with a wave of the hand. "I shall insist only zat if you do not marry wiz 'im, you shall marry wiz Pedro."
Directly behind the girl stood the fearful Pedro. His face was the dirtiest that had ever crossed the border into Arizona. His teeth were sparse, his hair a tangled mass of grit and dirt; his hands like violent mud-pies. The suit he wore was stained and greasy—he had slept in it for many nights. Altogether, he was about the most hopeless-looking individual a girl could be asked to look upon. At his master's words, he grinned a fiendishly happy grin, spread out his arms as if to embrace the charming Angela, and, if possible, press a kiss upon her rosy cheek. But Angela, with one look at him, collapsed into "Red's" waiting arms. He seemed like heaven to her now.
"Ah!" yelled Lopez.
"'Red'! save me, save me!" Angela cried in melodramatic fashion.
Pedro, seeing how far from popular he was with the young lady, walked disconsolately to the door.
"So! You do love 'im, after all!" the bandit said to Angela.
"I never thought I could love anybody so much!" the girl replied. "Oh, 'Red'!" And she hugged him again.
"You mean it?" asked the delighted "Red." "You're not saying it because ..."
But Lopez broke in: "She is saying it because it is ze truth. In pleasure, a woman go to ze man she sink she love. In fear, she go to ze man she really love.... Well, you really want her? She is yours. And I 'ope you will be 'appy. At least, I 'ave done my part." He smiled his most enchanting smile.
"You have—you certainly have, and I am mighty obliged to you," said the grateful "Red."
"You are welcome. I like you. But remember zis: Eet is your wish—not mine.... Don't blame me."
"Red" could stand this now: he had his Angela. And tucked in his big arm, he took her outdoors.
As soon as they had gone, Hardy turned to Lopez. "Look here!" he shouted, "I guess I've got something to say about this. That's my daughter, whose affairs you've been so kindly fixing up, and—"
Lopez gave him one look that closed his mouth suddenly. "Don't shoot, Pedro," he said. "Well?"
Hardy cast one eye at Pedro's lifted gun, and got out only one word, "Nothing." A meeker man never lived.
"From what my frand tell me, I can see now 'ow you make your money," the bandit told Hardy. "You are a robber."
This was too much for Hardy—for any man with a spark of manhood left in him.
"I am not!" he denied. "I'm a business man."
"You are a loan fish," the bandit pressed.
"A what?"
"A loan fish! You loan money. And when ze people cannot pay, you convict zem and take zeir ranchos."
The lean, sharklike Hardy looked a little depressed at this accusation.
"Well, if they can't pay, it isn't my fault," was all he could say.
"It isn't zeir fault, too, is it?" Lopez was curious to know.
"What's that?" Hardy said.
"So you take ze rancho from my friend, Señor Jones. A nice sort of neighbor you are, you beeg fish!"
"I'm not to blame because he's a rotten business man, am I?" Hardy tried to set himself right.
Lopez looked at him scornfully. "How do you know 'e is a rotten business man?"
"Why, the fact that I've had to foreclose the mortgage shows that," Hardy smiled.
"Not at all. Señor Jones 'ave been away to war. He been away fighting for 'is country."
"Well, that isn't my fault."
"No." There was profound contempt in the little word. "He give up 'is business to go away to fight to save you, while you stay be'ind to rob 'im. Is zat fair?"
Hardy gave a gesture of disdain. "I'm not talking about what's fair, or what's not fair. There's lots of things in this world that ain't right. I am doing only what the law allows." He thought this cleared his skirts. It was the refuge of every scoundrel.
"I do not speak about ze law," Lopez followed him up. "I am doing only what is fair. If I were you, I should be ashamed for myself! You love your country?"
"Certainly I do," the other answered.
"Like 'ell! You love yourself!" And Lopez deliberately turned his back on him.
"Now, wait a minute!" Hardy begged. He could scarcely have this insult added to the host of others. "I do love my country. I'm a good American."
"Yet you would rob ze man who fight for your country! Bah!" The bandit waved his hand in disgust.
Hardy saw he was in a bad hole. "There's some truth in what you said," he admitted, trying to crawl out. "Hehasfought for America. And I'm willing to do the right thing by him."
"You will?" yelled Uncle Henry, wheeling close to him.
"If I get this place, I'm willing to give him a good bonus," Hardy continued.
Uncle Henry leaned forward, all eagerness. "How much?" he cried.
"Say, five hundred dollars," the loan shark generously offered.
"I knew there was a ketch in it!" Uncle Henry said, and rolled back in the shadows of the alcove.
Lopez had been listening intently. Now he stepped up to Hardy and said: "Señor Santy Claus, now I understand why it is so 'ard for your country to get ze soldier. In Mexico, ze soldiers would take all ze money and give ze people a bonus ... per'aps." He puffed his cigarette. "I am done wiz you." He turned abruptly to Lucia. "Now I shall come to you."
She started.
"You love my frand, Señor Jones?"
Gilbert intervened. He could not stand this. "I don't know what you're getting at," he said to Lopez, "nor how you're going to get it. But you must see that you can't discuss a thing like this here. It's impossible—utterly impossible." He was suffering vicariously for Lucia.
Pell sneered. "Your delicacy is somewhat delayed," he murmured.
"I don't mind business discussions. But there's been too much insinuation to-day. I won't have any more of it," Jones said.
Lopez looked affectionately at the young fellow, "But if I would make you 'appy...." he said.
"I don't want to be made happy at a cost so great," Gilbert affirmed.
Lucia's lovely head drooped, and she moved to the window.
"It shall be but a moment," the bandit promised. Gilbert walked to the fireplace so that his face would not be seen. Lopez went over to Lucia. "Señora, you do not wish to speak of love. Why?"
"I am married," was the answer.
"And because you are marry, you cannot speak of love?... Eet is strange customs. Tell me, señora, what does your marriage service say?"
"One promises to love, honor, and obey, in sickness and in health, till death shall part."
Lopez smiled. "All zat you promise?"
"Yes," very low.
"And yet you 'ave divorce!"
"Yes," lower still.
"So zat, after 'aving promise to love, honor, and hobey," he tapped off one finger at a time, and looked as if he wanted to get this mysterious matter straight in his mind, "until death, you 'ave ze right to break your word because ze judge say you can? Is zat it?"
"Y-y-y-yes. I suppose so."
Lopez smoked a moment, looked at the ceiling, and then said, "Well, why not break it yourself and save ze trouble!"
"It's the law," Lucia told him.
"Humph! An' what does ze 'usband promise? An' 'as 'e kept 'is promise?" There was no reply. "Is plain 'e 'as not. Zen why should you keep your word to 'im, when 'e 'as broken 'is word to you? Eh? Why do you not go before ze judge and 'aveyour promise broken? Why ees it ze custom of your country? Why? Why?" He looked bewildered.
Lucia could say nothing. What was there to say? Suddenly Uncle Henry's sharp voice was heard: "I'll tell you why!"
Lopez turned to him. "And why?"
"She ain't got no money," Uncle Henry informed the room.
Lucia lifted her face. "Oh, do you think that would make any difference?"
"So!" Lopez was interested, "'Er 'usband? 'E 'as money?"
"He's richer'n mud," Uncle Henry declared.
Pell started to speak; but Pedro stopped him by lifting his gun.
"How much?" Lopez asked, not noticing.
Uncle Henry was bursting with information. "He's worth millions, the big bum!"
The bandit's eyes opened wide. "Millions!" he repeated. He looked at Lucia. "Yet 'e give nozzing to ze wife. H'm! Señora, tell me.... Does a widow in your country get any of 'er 'usband's money when 'e dies?"
Pell, listening intently, drew a sharp breath. He caught the significance of the question. Hislips contracted. This damned bandit was capable of anything.
Lopez paid no attention to him. He asked for enlightenment from Hardy. "Señor Loan Fish, do you know?"
Pell ventured to get out part of a sentence. "Say, what the ..." But Pedro's active gun came against his ribs, and he paused, as who would not?
"She gets it all—the wife," Hardy told Lopez. "That is, if the husband hasn't made a will."
"'Ave you?" the bandit turned on Pell. "'Ave you made a will?" His tone was incisive. "Do not lie."
"No, damn you!" Pell in his rage cried out. "But I'm going to, the first min—"
"Good!" smiled Lopez.
Pell was puzzled, "What do you mean ... good?"
Lopez did not answer him; instead, he addressed Lucia: "Señora, your 'usband 'e is bad frand for you. 'E beat you, sometimes?"
Lucia was startled. "Why do you think that?" she asked.
"I 'ave known ladies what are beaten. It is in ze eyes ... as in dogs and 'orses." He waiteda second before he went on, came close to her, and peered earnestly into her eyes. "Si, I sink your 'usband a evil man." He turned on Pell again. "Say, who are you? Your business, I mean?"
"I'm in Wall Street," Pell said, in a low voice. What in God's name was this bandit going to do? What was his game?
"Wall Street? 'Aven't you never done anything honest? You go to ze war, per'aps, like my frand, Señor Jones?"
"I was in Washington," Pell winced. "A dollar-a-year man."
"You use your money, your power, to escape ze war? So! You are not only a skindler, but a coward. While my frand fight, you stay to home, to torture ze woman, H'm! I see it all now. Nice boy, you!"
Pell could scarcely articulate now, but he managed to get out, "By God, I've had enough of this—just about enough!"
Lopez looked at him coldly, a glint in his eye that should have warned Pell. "Do not worry," he said. "You are about through." He turned to his friend, Gilbert. "And now, my frand, you shall go."Young Jones did not understand him.
"Go?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
Lopez looked at him calmly, "I 'ave much business to do. You shall not 'ear, nor see, because for you is love, romance! Not business, which are soddid. Leave all zat for me, which am a business man." He smiled upon Lucia. "As I said, life 'as been unkind to you, señora. Ze silly law ... ze foolish custom ... 'ave been around your 'eart, around your soul, like chains. But fear no more," he assured her. "For I, your frand, shall make you also 'appy." He put his arm around her.
She was fearful of his plans. "What are you going to do?" she cried.
Lopez laughed. "Wait and see. Life shall be yours. And love! Planty money! All what your 'eart desire. Now go...."
Pedro started to show them out the door. Gilbert, seeing the movement, said:
"But I don't understand ..."
"I shall call you soon," Lopez said. "Zen you shall see. Now go." He got between them, and affectionately directed them to the door.
Gilbert turned to him. "You aren't going to ..."
The bandit smiled. "Do not worry. I shall do no 'arm. Only good. Please go, my frand."
Lucia and Gilbert, deeply puzzled, obeyed, and followed Pedro into the open air. What did this portend? There had been a strange look in the eyes of Pancho Lopez.
A heavy silence fell upon the men who were left in the room. The bandit, unconcerned, puffed his cigarette. Hardy and Pell felt like rats in a trap. Only Uncle Henry was passive. In the tense stillness, the clock could be heard ticking on and on. Pell was beginning to crack beneath the strain. Suddenly he began to pace the floor, his hands behind his back. No tiger in a cage was ever more impatient in his captivity.
"If you want money," he finally got out, "for heaven's sake, tell me how much, and ..."
Lopez quickly interrupted him. His fury boiled over at the insinuation. "Be still!" he cried. "You will please be quiet. I 'ave business to sink out which are 'ard."
Pell was equally angry. "Why, damn you ..." he sputtered.
He should have known better. Coldly Lopez took him in. "I 'ave been patient wiz you—too patient. I see zat now." The other returned his keen gaze, and for an instant he did not quail; but finally he could stand the strain no longer. His eyes fell away, and for the first time in all their bitter encounter he felt himself sinking. A terrible uncertainty came over him. This Mexican, this beast, was going to do something desperate. There was not the shadow of a doubt about that. He must go carefully: he must not lose his self-control. To do so would be madness.
Luckily, Uncle Henry broke the tension just then: "Am I going to get my money back?" he cried out. And his chair projected itself into their midst.
Lopez faced Hardy, across the table. "Señor Loan Fish," he said, "if my frand, 'e pay you ze money, zen ze rancho belong to him?"
"If he pays me before eight o'clock," the other replied promptly.
"Señor Wall Street," the bandit now addressed Pell, "you 'ave ten sousand dollar. I want it."
Pell was amazed. "But I—"
Lopez snapped his fingers. Pedro, who came back at that very moment, took the money from Pell, and watched his master closely for further instructions as to what to do. Lopez nodded toward Smith.
"For 'im," he said.
"For me?" cried Uncle Henry, joyfully.
"I must make my frand 'appy," the bandit said. Pedro gave the money to Uncle Henry. The latter grabbed it as a child might have grabbed a cooky.
Lopez turned to Pell. "Now—you is rob." To Hardy he said: "You is paid," and to Uncle Henry, "An' you get your money back.Bueno!Ees finish."
Pell was cynical. "I'll say that's service," he murmured; and a sardonic grin came to his thin lips. Perhaps the bandit was joking, after all. But damn these jokes that kept one in long after school!
Uncle Henry, however, had a strange apprehension, and wheeled about, facing Lopez.
"You ain't goin' to take it back from me, are you?" he inquired.
"No, Ooncle Hennery," the bandit laughed, "she is yours for keeps. Zat is all. You may go!"And he waved him out. "And you," to Hardy. "Pedro, show zem into ze open space!"
"'Im too?" asked Pedro, indicating Morgan Pell who stood, as though made of stone, in one corner.
"Poco tiempo!" the bandit said.
"Debommultalo!" his henchman replied.
"Si," Lopez smiled. And Pedro got the invalid and the lanky Hardy through the door, as a woman might have swept two geese from her path.
Left alone with the bandit, Pell remarked:
"Look here, there must be some way to settle this thing." But he had grave fears.
"To zat, I 'ave come at last," the bandit replied with an emphasis that could not be mistaken.
"You have?" Pell's voice was weak.
"It shall cost me planty money. I could 'ave tooken you wiz me for ransom—'elluva big ransom—a million dollar, mebbe. But I am not soddid!" He laughed, and rubbed his hands together.
"You aren't going to hold me for ransom?" Pell questioned, relief in his voice.
"No."
"What—what are you doing to do?"
The reply was as swift as an arrow. "Kill you."
Pell did not believe what he heard.
"Kill me?" he repeated, his head on one side, like a bird listening, and pointing to his chest.
"Si." Lopez had never used a politer tone.
"You—you're joking." There was a crack in Pell's voice.
"Joking?"
"You must be!" huskily. "I thought so all along—now I'm sure of it."
The bandit faced him, and threw his cigarette over his shoulder in the chimney-place. "Do I look like a joker?"
"You sit there, like that, and talk of killing me in cold blood?"
Lopez took him in through half-closed lids. "I do not like you. Nobody like you. Alive, you are no good. Dead, you make two people which I love 'appy. You get me, Señor Wall Street?"
"Oh, I see," cried Pell, wildly, and doing his best to keep his legs from giving way, "you would kill me so that my wife can marry this Gilbert Jones?" A sickly smile curled around his mouth.
Lopez nodded. "Si, señor."
"If that's all, I'll give her a divorce!"
"You weel give her a divorce?" Lopez repeated, pretending to be much interested and pleased.
Pell saw a gleam of hope through the darkness of this moment. "Yes," came breathlessly from him. "Then she can marry him. Don't you see? If that's all you want—he can have her." He was shaking now in every limb. Escape was almost his. He knew he could not be done away with. "I'll give her to him!" He staggered toward Lopez, "I will! I swear I will!" he screamed, his words reaching a high falsetto.
Lopez rose. "I would look at you once before I shoot," he said slowly, and took in the other's cringing form.
"What?" Pell said.
Disgust was on the features of the bandit—contempt and unbelievable loathing.
"I 'ave met mans which would not fight for zeir money," he said with great deliberation, his lip curled. "I 'ave met mans which would not fight for zeir lives. But I 'ave never before met ze man which would not fight for 'is woman."
Pell saw that he was doomed now. He made one final desperate attempt. "But if you—shoot me—you'll be hanged!"
"Ha!" laughed Lopez. "If I am ever caught, I shall be 'anged many times!"
"I'm an American citizen!" shrilled Pell.
"I 'ave kill many American citizens," replied Lopez, without the slightest compunction.
Pell wrung his hands. "My Goverment will pursue you!"
"You are mistaken. Your Government will watchfully wait. We kill American citizen. Your Government write us beautiful letter about it.... But we have waste time!" He drew his gun.
As Lopez leveled the weapon. Pell all but dropped on his knees. "Wait!" he cried. "I'll give you money! Plenty of money! A million dollars! Yes, two million!" It could not be that so shameful a fate was to be his.
"It is not zat we want money," the bandit replied. "It is zat wedon'twantyou."
Terror seized poor Pell. "But for God's sake," he wailed, "you wouldn't do that! You couldn't! Without even a chance for my life. At least fight me fair!" His voice seemed far away to him—like the voice of another being from a distant world.
"Fair?" Lopez rolled the word over.
"Give me a gun, too!" the fool prayed.
"Give you a gun! Pedro!" The man had evidently been just outside the door, and camein at once. "Pedro, you 'ear?" And Pedro grinned.
"Yes! Give me a chance!"
"I shall never understand ze American idea. I give you a gun, you say?"
"Yes! That's the least you can do!" Pell was weeping now.
"But if I should give you a gun, you might shoot me wiz it!" Lopez laughed.
"You won't?"
"I am no damn fool!" the bandit cried. And he deliberately raised his gun again.
"You're not going to kill me? No! for the love of God, don't!" He plunged forward, groveling at Lopez's feet. A woman in a melodrama could not have begged harder for mercy. "Spare me!" were the words that fell from his pitiful lips. "For God's sake, spare me! I'll do anything! Go anywhere! He can have her! You can have her! Her, and all the money I've got, if only you'll spare my life!"
The bandit looked down in utter disgust at the cringing form. Never had he seen anything in the world that he detested more. Pell's fingers were on the bandit's boots.
"I did not know zat even a dog could be soyellow," he said. Then he turned to Pedro. "I do not 'unt rabbits. You kill 'im, Pedro." And he would not look again on the miserable specimen of a man that wallowed there on the floor.
"Ah! for the love of God!" came from Pell, who had half risen. At that instant Pedro shot from his hip at the debased creature. The form stiffened and collapsed like a bag, falling partially under the table.
"It is a good deed," said Lopez, turning. "He was evil man."
The shot had been heard without. "Red," Gilbert, Hardy, and a few Mexicans rushed in at the sound.
"Who shot?" cried the former.
"Pedro," said Lopez.
"But what was he shooting at?" "Red" asked.
Lopez smiled. "Only ze 'usband."
"What!" cried "Red." He turned and saw the body of Pell lying sprawled on the floor, and horror came over him. "You've killed him!" His voice was husky.
"I 'ave. Most enjoyishly!" said Lopez, lighting a cigarette.
Gilbert went over and stared down at the mute frame. "He's dead," he announced."Completely. Pedro never misses," was the bandit's only comment.
"But to kill a man—like that! In cold blood!" Hardy gasped. "Oh, it's horrible!"
"Why not?" Lopez wanted to know. "Ze skindler, ze coward what beat his wife. Was evil man." What white-livered folk these Americans were!
Gilbert looked down at Pell's body, which had now, in death, a certain curious dignity. "But don't you see what you've done?"
Lopez looked at him in bland amazement. "You wouldn't still fool around wiz ze foolish law, ze silly court?" he inquired. "Do you not see 'ow much better is my way? One hour ago you 'ave no money, no rancho, no woman. One little hour! Ze money she is paid, ze rancho she is yours, and ze woman what you want to marry is free for do so!" He looked Gilbert in the eyes, and came close to him. "Tell me, 'ave I not keep my promise? 'Ave I not make you, in one little hour, a 'appy man?"
Immediately after, Lucia came in. She saw the body of her husband, the legs drawn up a bit, the arms stretched out, the wounded head turned so that the blood flowing from the forehead could not be seen. Only a few moments before, this limp, pitiful object had been speaking to her—calling her by name. It seemed incredible that Pell was powerless now to harm her. Brute though he had been, he gained, in this awesome instant, a strange glory, as the dead always do. The splendor of that universal experience was suddenly his; and, even lying there like a discarded meal-sack, he took on something of the pomp of a cardinal who had died. Never, of course, had she respected him more; and though she could not bring herself to shed a tear,she looked down at the still body, huddled in a heap, and craved one more word with him. No matter what has happened between a man and a woman; no matter what tragic hours they have known, when the moment of separation comes, there is always that wish to have explained a little more, to have taken a different course in all one's previous actions. It was not that she blamed herself; she had nothing on her conscience. But there was an instinctive dread at meeting the certain pain of this crisis.
She could not believe that he had gone from her like this. She had read of people being blotted out in such fashion; but that Fate should bear down upon her household, that the lightning should strike within the borders of her garden, seemed impossible. Like everyone else, she never dreamed that a great tragedy could come to her. Just as we never think of ourselves as meeting with a street accident, so she never thought of this catastrophe. Yet there he lay, the symbol of that inexorable terror that moves through the world.
She went over quietly to a chair near the table and sat down. She hid her face in her hands. She did not wish to see that silent form again; yet he had been her husband, and her place, she knew, wasby his side, in death even more than in life. How the world had changed for her in this little hour!
She had come into the room just as Pancho was finishing his talk with Gilbert; and she caught the force of his words. Now she heard him saying something else.
"And now, what you say? You all 'appy, eh?"
Gilbert was still too dazed to understand. "You've killed him!" was all he could utter.
"I 'ave," the bandit answered. "You need not thank me. It was a great pleasure." Evidently he smiled; Lucia would not look up.
Gilbert paced the floor. "He's dead!" he kept repeating, as though to brand the truth upon his brain. "He's dead!" He paused once and stared down again at the body.
"He's dead, just as I say," Lopez stated. "Pedro never misses."
As though he had heard his name spoken, the ubiquitous Pedro ambled in, slowly, and with a bored expression upon his ugly countenance.
"Azcooze, my general," he said. His chief turned. "It is ze damn ranger. Zey is after us some more."
Lopez never turned a hair. Lucia heard himsay: "It is time. I was agspectin' zem. Ze 'osses?"
"Zey are ready," Pedro informed him.
Pancho paused and considered a moment. "Zey come from ze souse, zose rangers?"
"Si," was the quick answer.
Lopez rose. "Felipe Aguilaw becomes more hefficient hevery day. I shall make general of 'im yet.Bueno, we go."
"Red" had gone over and looked out of the window. Twilight had definitely come, and the sky was a great sheet of flame. Orange, pink, purple, and red, the clouds shifted over the face of the dying sun. A king going down to his death could not have passed in greater glory. While men and women fought their little battles, waged their puny quarrels, this stately miracle occurred once more. Unmindful of the grief of mortals, the day was about to pass into the arms of the waiting night.
"What's it all about?" "Red" asked, turning from the wonderful scene without to the frightened people within.
"It is ze ranger what chase me some more again," smiled Lopez. He seemed wholly unconcerned.
"Texas rangers after you?" asked "Red," startled.
"Si!" laughed Lopez.
"And you don't even get excited?"
"For why? It is not my habit. I give not a damn for any man." He snapped his fingers, as though at life itself.
Two horses could be seen through the door. The men were bringing them up to their leader. "We should take our time—is no hurry." He took his big sombrero from the peg where he had put it long ago, and turned to Gilbert. "Well, I go now.Adios, my frand."
"Wait a minute," the other tried to detain him. "You've killed him. You wouldn't go and leave things this way, would you?"
"As I say, no trouble for me," Lopez boyishly said, and smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders.
Gilbert was astonished. "Yes; but how about me?" he wanted to know, "You do not think of that."
The bandit turned, amazed. "What ze matter? Are you not satisfied? You all what you say: zit—zot—zet!" He pinched his fingers, and made a funny little noise.
"I can't think," said Gilbert, sitting down, onehand on his forehead. "It's all so strange, so confusing to me. The world seems to be rocking beneath my feet. What does it all mean—this life we live for so brief a time? What does anything mean?"
Lopez came over to him and put his hand on his shoulder affectionately. "You Americanos so queer," he said, "For why you waste time thinking? Are you not rich? 'Ave you not ze beautiful lady to love like 'ell yourself personal?"
Gilbert jumped up. He thought he would go mad if this sort of thing kept up. "Good God, man!" he cried. "After what you've done, you can talk like that?"
"What have I done?" inquired the bandit, blandly. "Well,whatI done?"
Gilbert looked at him in amazement. "You killed him! That's all."
Lopez smiled. "Sure!" He let the word loiter on his tongue. He pulled it out like so much molasses candy. "I killed him—sure. Was in ze way. What else could I do?"
"You've put a barrier between us. We're of a different brand, a different calibre. Don't you see?"
"Ees no way for pliz you. If I do not kill ze'usband, ees all wrong. If I do kill ze 'usband, ees all wrong. Say," he looked at him in confusion, "what ze 'ell shall I do wiz ze damn 'usband, anyway?" He puckered his brow.
"Oh, I don't know," Gilbert said in desperation. What was the use in arguing with this barbarian? Yes, he was a barbarian—nothing else. They were miles apart. Centuries of belief and training separated them.
"You don't know?" Lopez said. "Pretty soon you find out. It surprise you now. But pretty damn soon when all shall go and leave you alone wiz 'er, you shall be sensible, too—like Mexican. To live is more strong as law. Wait and see, my frand, wait and see!" He shook his head mysteriously.
Pedro stepped forward. "Here is a pistol," he said to his master in Spanish.
Lopez looked at him. "Ah,gratia, Pedro!" He took the weapon from him and patted him on the back. Then he whispered something in his ear, handed it back, and Pedro gave it to Gilbert.
"Ze ranger. Zey come," he said as he did so.
"Bueno.I go," said Lopez, and started toward the door. Then he turned to Gilbert. "Astuavago adios.Maybe we will meet again, maybe no.Quien sabe?" He waved his hand, gave one last look at Pell's limp form, and cried, "Adios!" He was gone—vanished like a ghost.
They all were mute in the little room. They heard the hoof beats of the horses as they galloped away. Fainter and fainter grew the sound. Then silence. And meanwhile the great night was falling like a curtain around them all. Through the doorway came the last beautiful beams of the sun. The mountains were like giant sentinels, row on row, unbelievably near in the semi-darkness. Far off, now and then, a bird could be heard calling. Soon darkness would envelop the earth, and this day of doom would be gone forever. Never might they see Pancho Lopez again. Gilbert would go north; and Lucia—He could not think.
Hardy broke the silence. He came over and looked down at Pell. "We can't touch him till the coroner gits here," he said grimly. There were, as always, ghastly details to be attended to.
"But I better make sure," said "Red," kneeling beside the body. "Right in the head. Not a chance." He was peering down at the gaunt face. "No, not a chance when you get it there."
Angela, hearing something outside, had rushed to the door and looked into the growing darkness."I thought—What was that?" she exclaimed.
They all listened. Far off a shot could be heard—then another. But it must have been miles away.
"Red" sprang up. "Rangers!" he cried. "They're shooting!"
"Where are they?" Hardy asked.
"In the arroyo," "Red" replied. He was at the window, looking out. "You'll see 'em in a minute."
The sound of shots came nearer. It was as though a miniature army were storming the section near the adobe.
Uncle Henry, sitting in the alcove, was terrified. "What's that?" came his piercing voice.
"They see him!" cried "Red."
"Do you think they can hit him?" Angela cried.
"Red" was certain they could not. "There ain't a chance, at that range," he said.
But Uncle Henry was not so sure. "Mebbe they might, by accident."
"Red" turned. "Accidents don't happen in Arizona—leastwise not with guns."
The horses' hoof beats came nearer. Yet in all the excitement, Lucia did not move. She was keeping her silent place by the body of Morgan Pell. She did not even raise her head.
"Here they come!" cried Angela, leaning out the doorway.
"Red" had gone out of the room; but he came back now. "Better get inside," he warned them all, definite fear in his voice. "We're in range. It's pretty dangerous. As I said, accidents don't happen down in this country."
"But I want to see!" cried Angela, dancing with excitement now.
"Red" was distracted. "Please come in, Angela," he begged. More shots were heard. He was frightened for everyone. He had lived too long down here not to know the meaning of such desperate shooting. "What the h——" Two bullets came through the window, and smashed a little mirror that hung on the wall near the staircase. The bits of glass fell to the floor with a loud crash.