by Zane Grey
A small door gave entrance to the boiler-room, and into the lock of this Mrs. Austin fitted a key; the next moment she and Paloma were safely inside. They found themselves in utter darkness now, with a smooth brick floor beneath their feet and a strong odor of oil and burnt fuel in their nostrils.
Alaire was agreeably surprised in Paloma Jones, for, although the girl was wrought to a pitch of hysterical excitement, she had, nevertheless, retained her wits; nor had she faltered in the slightest. It was evident that the fighting blood of her father was aroused in her, for she said, calmly:
“When it gets light enough to shoot, I’m going to get Tad Lewis.”
“Don’t act too quickly,” cautioned Alaire. “Perhaps your father and Dave have come and gone. Anyhow, we can warn them just as well by firing into the air.”
In reply to this suggestion Paloma merely muttered something under her breath.
The brief night ride had given Alaire time in which to recover from her first apprehensions, and now she was surprised at her own coolness. Ed’s behavior had shocked and horrified her; she was still half paralyzed at his treachery; nevertheless, her mind was clear, and she was determined to avert a tragedy if possible. She knew only too well what would happen when Blaze Jones and Dave Law encountered the Lewis gang; the presence of Longorio’s soldiers merely made more certain the outcome of that meeting. The general was furious; it was plain that he would not tolerate this expedition, the avowed purpose of which was to prove him a liar. It would make but little difference, therefore, whether the quest for Ricardo Guzman’s body had been successful or not: even the fact that this was American soil would not deter Longorio from violent action, for the Rio Grande was no real boundary, and this part of Texas was as truly Mexican as that other river-bank which lay two hundred yards distant.
A confusion of such thoughts were racing through Alaire’s mind as she felt her way out of the boiler-room and into that part of the building where the pumping machinery stood. Dusty, cobwebbed windows let in a faint ghost-glow of moonlight, but prevented clear observation of anything outside; Alaire’s fumbling fingers found the latch of the front door and began to lift it, when some one spoke, just outside the building.
“What did you discover?” inquired a voice which neither woman recognized. Paloma clutched blindly for her companion; the two eavesdroppers stood rooted in their tracks. The pounding of their hearts sounded loudly. Since the building was little more than a wooden shell, they could plainly hear the answer:
“The house is full of Greasers. I can’t tell who they are.”
A third man spoke, this time in Spanish. “That was Tad Lewis who just came, señor.”
There followed some whispered words indistinguishable to the listeners, then a rustle of bodies moving through the tall grass and weeds.
Paloma placed her lips close to Alaire’s ear. “Who are those people?” she breathed.
“I don’t know. They must be the ones who came in that strange automobile.”
Paloma chattered viciously: “Everybody in Texas is here. I wish we’d thought to scatter tacks behind us.”
Cautiously they swung the door back and looked out. The open space along the river-bank was leveled by the moonlight; from Morales’s house, to their right, came the sound of voices. The women waited.
A few moments, then a number of men appeared. Paloma judged there were at least a dozen, but she was too excited to count them. As they came straggling toward the pump-house one of them called back:
“Morales! Put out your damned lights,” Both women recognized Tad Lewis as the speaker.
Alaire had stubbornly refused to charge her husband with any active share in this evil business, but her faith in Ed suddenly vanished when she heard him say:
“Hush! You’re making too much noise. You’d better scatter out, too, for there’s no telling where they’ll land.” Alaire leaned weakly against the door. “I’m going to leave, and let you-all attend to the rest,” he was saying. But Tad Lewis halted him as he turned from the group.
“Where are you going, Ed? You left your car back yonder by the road. I almost ran into it.”
“Eh? What are you talking about? My car is over by Morales’s house.”
“Señor Austin is in a great hurry,” sneered some one in Spanish. “Once more he leaves all of the fighting to his friends.”
“That’s Adolfo Urbina,” panted Paloma. “I know him.” Stung by this open charge of cowardice, Austin began a voluble defense, but in the midst of it General Longorio addressed him, sharply:
“You will stay here, señor. Nobody leaves this place.”
“I told you I wouldn’t be a party to the business,” Ed declared, hotly. “You forced me to come in the first place—”
“Yes! And now I force you to stay.”
Longorio’s stand appeared to please Lewis, who chimed in with the words: “That’s right, Ed. You’ve got to stick, for once in your life.”
“What do you mean, you nearly ran into my car back yonder?” Austin asked, after a moment.
“Ain’t that your machine yonder by the thicket?” inquired Lewis. “If it ain’t, whose is it?” As no one answered, he started in the direction he had indicated; but at that moment a man came running from the riverbank, crying, softly:
“Look out! They come.”
“I’m going to shoot,” Paloma Jones gasped, but Alaire, who once again heard the sound of whispering in the shadows just outside their hiding-place, managed to restrain her companion. It was well that she succeeded, for even as Paloma raised her weapon a man passed swiftly by the crack of the half-open door and scarcely ten feet beyond the muzzle of the rifle. He was followed by three others.
The first of the new-comers, acting as spokesman for his party, stepped out into the moonlight and cried, loudly: “Hello, men! What’s goin’ on here?” It was an American voice; it had a broad, slow, Texas drawl.
The group of plotters turned, there was a startled murmur, then Tad Lewis answered:
“Hello! Who are you? What do you want?”
“I reckon we must have got off the road,” announced the stranger. Then he peered out across the river: “Say! Ain’t that a skiff coming yonder?” he inquired.
“Well, it don’t look like a steamboat.” Lewis laughed, disagreeably. “We’re havin’ a little party of our own. I reckon you fellows had better beat it. Understand?”
The outposts that had been sent to cover the bank in both directions were now coming in. Through the stillness of the night there sounded the thump of oar-locks. Seeing that the stranger did not seem to take his hint, Lewis raised his voice menacingly:
“That’s your road back yonder. It’s a right good road, and I’d advise you to travel it, fast.”
But this suggestion was also ignored; in fact, it appeared to amuse the man addressed, for he, too, laughed. He turned, and the women noticed that he carried a short saddle-gun. They saw, also, that at least one of the men at his back was similarly armed.
“Now, what’s the hurry?” The stranger was chuckling. Suddenly he raised his voice and called, loudly: “Hello, Dave! Is that you-all?”
The answer floated promptly back: “Hello, Cap! Sure it’s us.”
“Have you got him?”
It was Blaze Jones’s voice which answered this time: “You bet!”
Paloma Jones was trembling now. She clung to Alaire, crying, thankfully: “It’s the Rangers! The Rangers!” Then she broke away and ran out into the moonlight, trailing her absurd firearm after her.
“Now, boys,” the Ranger captain was saying, “I know ’most every one of you, and we ain’t going to have the least bit of trouble over this thing, are we? I reckon you-all are friends of Ricardo Guzman, and you just couldn’t wait to find out about him, eh?”
Alaire, who had followed Paloma, was c
lose enough now to recognize the two Guzman boys as members of the Ranger party. Lewis and his men had drawn together at the first alarm; Longorio’s Mexicans had gathered about their leader. The entire situation had changed in a moment, and the Ranger captain was in control of it.
Soon Dave Law and Blaze Jones came up over the river-bank; they paused, stricken with surprise at finding a score of people where they had expected no more than four.
Blaze was the first to speak. “What the hell?” he cried. He peered near-sightedly from one to the other; then his huge bulk shook with laughter: “Say, do my glasses magnify, or is this an Odd-Fellows meetin’?”
“Dad! Oh, Dad!” Paloma scurried to him and flung herself into his arms.
“Lord of mercy, kid!” the father exclaimed. “Why, you’d ought to be home and abed, long ago. You’ll catch your death of cold. Is that gun loaded.”
Dave Law was even more amazed than his companion. His first glimpse of the waiting figures had warned him that something had gone wrong, and, therefore, he did not stop to ask himself how Tad Lewis and Longorio could have learned of this affair, or what could have brought Alaire and Ed Austin to the scene. Recovering from his first surprise, he took a position beside his superior officer.
Captain Evans did not seem at all troubled by the disparity in numbers. One Ranger, or two at the most, had always been sufficient to quell a Texan disturbance; now that there were three of them, he felt equal to an invasion of Mexican soil, if necessary. In consequence he relaxed his watchful vigilance, and to Dave he drawled:
“We’ve got most of the leading citizens of the county, and I reckon somebody in the outfit will be able to identify Guzman.”
“There’s no trouble about that, sir. We found him. Pedro and Raoul can make sure.” The sons of Ricardo Guzman stepped forward promptly, and Law waved them toward the boat landing, where the two helpers were waiting with Ricardo’s remains.
Despite the Ranger captain’s easy assumption of command, the strain of the situation had not subsided, and Longorio drew swift attention to himself when he said:
“It is fortunate that I chanced to learn of this matter. You have done me a great service, Señor Law, for I came to Romero purposely to examine into the death of this unfortunate man. But I could learn nothing; nobody knew anything whatever about the matter, and so I became convinced that it amounted to little. Now—behold! I discover that I was deceived. Or—perhaps there still may be a mistake.”
Blaze Jones thrust his daughter aside and advanced toward the speaker. “There’s no mistake,” he declared, belligerently. “I don’t make mistakes when I go grave-robbin’. Don Ricardo was shot by your men. He had five thousand dollars on him, or he should have had, and he was an American citizen. Your Colonel Blanco covered the body, but he’ll have a hell of a job coverin’ the facts. It’s time we came to a showdown with your murderin’ outfit, and I aim to see if we’ve got a government in this country.”
“Heaven guided my hand,” devoutly breathed the general. “It is regrettable that you used this means when a word to me would have served the purpose, for—it is no trivial matter to desecrate a Mexican graveyard. My country, too, has a government. An officer of the State of Texas, under arms, has crossed the Rio Grande. What does that mean?”
Captain Evans had a sense of humor; Longorio’s ominous words amused him. “Say, general, it ain’t the first time,” he chortled. “And you’re an officer, too, ain’t you? You’re in Texas at this minute, and I’ll bet if I frisked you I’d find that you was under arms.” The Mexican understood English sufficiently well to grasp the significance of these words. After a moment’s consideration, therefore, he modified his threatening tone.
“But my mission was friendly. I had no criminal purpose,” he said, mildly. “However—perhaps one offense condones the other. At any rate, we must have no international complications. There is a more practical side to the matter: if Don Ricardo Guzman met his death in Mexico there will be a rigid investigation, I assure you.”
Evans agreed. “That’s fair! And I’ll make a bargain with you: you keep still and so’ll we. We never aimed for this affair to get out, anyhow. I reckon these men”—he indicated Lewis and his followers—“ain’t liable to talk much.”
The two Guzman boys, greatly moved, returned to announce that they had indeed identified their father’s body, and Longorio could not well refuse to accept their evidence.
“Very well,” said he. “I am indebted to you. Since there is nothing more to be said, apparently, I will return to Romero.” With a bow to Mrs. Austin, who had silently watched the play of these opposing motives, he turned away, and Tad Lewis followed him.
But Dave Law had recognized Adolfo Urbina in the crowd, and, stepping forward, disarmed him, saying:
“Adolfo, there’s a warrant for you, so I’ll just take you in.”
For a moment Adolfo was inclined to resist, but, thinking better of it, he yielded with bad grace, bitterly regretting the curiosity which had prompted him to remain to the end of this interesting affair.
Tad Lewis gave him some comfort. “Never mind, Adolfo,” he said. “They can’t prove anything on you, and I’ll go your bail. Ed Austin knows where you was the day that stock was stole.” He and his two remaining men moved toward their automobile, and a moment later the vehicle went clattering away up the thicket road.
So ended the attempt to foil the return of Ricardo Guzman’s body to Texas soil.
When Alaire came to look for her husband he was gone.
XX
SUPERSTITIONS AND CERTAINTIES
The sensation caused by Ricardo Guzman’s disappearance was as nothing to that which followed the recovery of his body. By the next afternoon it was known from Mexico to the Canadian border that the old ranchman had been shot by Mexican soldiers in Romero. It was reported that a party of Americans had invaded foreign soil and snatched Ricardo’s remains from under the nose of General Longorio. But there all reliable information ceased. Just how the rescue had been effected, by whom it had been done, what reasons had prompted it, were a mystery. With the first story the newspapers printed a terse telegram, signed by Captain Evans and addressed to the Governor of Texas, which read:
“Ranger force crossed Rio Grande and brought back the body of Ricardo Guzman.”
This message created tremendous enthusiasm, for the Texas Rangers have ever stood for prompt and decisive action; but two hours after the publication of this despatch there came a sharp inquiry from Washington, and on the heels of that the State House at Austin denied the receipt of any such message.
When this denial was in turn made public, the newspapers demanded to know who had performed this sensational exploit. One rumor had it that the sons of Ricardo Guzman had risked their lives to insure their father Christian burial. This was amplified by a touching pen-picture of the rancher’s weeping family waiting at the bank of the Rio Grande, and an affecting account of the grief of the beautiful Guzman girls. It mattered not that there were no daughters.
In other quarters the expedition was credited to members of a secret order to which Ricardo had belonged; from a third source came a statement that the Guzman family had hired a band of Mexicans to exhume the body, so that proof of death might be sufficient to satisfy an insurance company in which the rancher had held a policy. Even at Jonesville there were conflicting rumors.
But, whatever the facts of the rescue, it was generally recognized that the result had been to bring on a crisis in the affairs of the two nations. People declared that since the outrage was now proven the next move was the duty of the State Department at Washington. Therefore, when several days passed and nothing was done, a wide-spread feeling of indignation grew. What mattered these diplomatic communications between the two governments? it was asked. Why wait for another investigation by General Longorio?
Strong in
fluences, however, were at work to prevent that very outcome for which the people of Texas prayed. During the delay there arose a report that Ricardo Guzman had borne an evil reputation, and that he had been so actively associated with the Rebel cause as to warrant punishment by the Federal government. Moreover, a legal question as to his American citizenship was raised—a question which seemed to have important bearing upon the case.
Public interest is short-lived; few living men can hold it more than a day or two, and it reckons no dead man worthy of more than an obituary notice. Other Mexican offenses, equally grave, had failed to stir the Administration to definite action; the death of this obscure border ranchman did not seem to weigh very heavily in Washington. Thus in the course of time the Guzman incident was in a fair way of being officially forgotten and forgiven.
Of course the people of Texas did not forget, nor did those who had personally known Ricardo forgive. Dave Law, for instance, felt bitter over the matter, for he had counted upon prompt and definite results. A little pressure, properly applied, would have wrung the truth from Colonel Blanco and fastened some measure of guilt upon the men who had actually arranged the murder. Dave did not doubt Tad Lewis’s part in it, but there was only one source from which pressure could be brought, and when this failed he found his further efforts blocked. There remained to him only the consolation of knowing that he had in a measure squared his account with old Ricardo.
But there were several persons who felt intense relief at the course events had taken, and among these was Alaire Austin. In the days following that midnight expedition she had had ample time in which to meditate upon her husband’s actions, “Young Ed” had taken advantage of the confusion to slip out of the crowd and escape in his roadster, and when Alaire arrived at Las Palmas she had found that he was gone, leaving behind no word as to when he would return. It seemed probable that he had fled to San Antonio, there to remain until interest in the Guzman matter had abated. If Ed was relieved to escape the immediate consequences of his connection with the affair, his wife was no less thankful for his absence, since it left her free to think and to plan. Their relations were becoming constantly more difficult; she realized that it was impossible for her to go on in this way much longer. Before leaving Ed had again rifled the safe, thus disregarding for a second time his explicit agreement with his wife. Of course, he was welcome to whatever money he needed, even in excess of his allowance; but his act showed his weak sense of honor and strengthened Alaire’s conviction that he was in every way rapidly deteriorating. As yet she could not believe him really wicked at heart—he had many qualities which were above the average—nor could she convince herself that he had been criminally involved in Tad Lewis’s schemes. And yet, what other explanation could there be? Ed’s behavior had been extraordinary; his evident terror at news of Dave Law’s expedition, his conversation with Tad Lewis over the telephone, his subsequent actions at the river, all seemed to indicate that he had some vital interest in maintaining the mystery of Guzman’s death. What could it be?
