by Zane Grey
I
OLD FRIENDS
RICHARD GALE reflected that his sojourn in the West had been what hisdisgusted father had predicted--idling here and there, with noobjective point or purpose.
It was reflection such as this, only more serious and perhaps somewhatdesperate, that had brought Gale down to the border. For some time thenewspapers had been printing news of Mexican revolution, guerrillawarfare, United States cavalry patrolling the international line,American cowboys fighting with the rebels, and wild stories of boldraiders and bandits. But as opportunity, and adventure, too, hadapparently given him a wide berth in Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, he hadstruck southwest for the Arizona border, where he hoped to see somestirring life. He did not care very much what happened. Months offutile wandering in the hope of finding a place where he fitted hadinclined Richard to his father's opinion.
It was after dark one evening in early October when Richard arrived inCasita. He was surprised to find that it was evidently a town ofimportance. There was a jostling, jabbering, sombreroed crowd ofMexicans around the railroad station. He felt as if he were in aforeign country. After a while he saw several men of his nationality,one of whom he engaged to carry his luggage to a hotel. They walked upa wide, well-lighted street lined with buildings in which were brightwindows. Of the many people encountered by Gale most were Mexicans.His guide explained that the smaller half of Casita lay in Arizona, theother half in Mexico, and of several thousand inhabitants the majoritybelonged on the southern side of the street, which was the boundaryline. He also said that rebels had entered the town that day, causinga good deal of excitement.
Gale was almost at the end of his financial resources, which factoccasioned him to turn away from a pretentious hotel and to ask hisguide for a cheaper lodging-house. When this was found, a sight of theloungers in the office, and also a desire for comfort, persuaded Galeto change his traveling-clothes for rough outing garb and boots.
"Well, I'm almost broke," he soliloquized, thoughtfully. "The governorsaid I wouldn't make any money. He's right--so far. And he said I'd becoming home beaten. There he's wrong. I've got a hunch that something'll happen to me in this Greaser town."
He went out into a wide, whitewashed, high-ceiled corridor, and fromthat into an immense room which, but for pool tables, bar, benches,would have been like a courtyard. The floor was cobblestoned, thewalls were of adobe, and the large windows opened like doors. A bluecloud of smoke filled the place. Gale heard the click of pool ballsand the clink of glasses along the crowded bar. Bare-legged,sandal-footed Mexicans in white rubbed shoulders with Mexicans mantledin black and red. There were others in tight-fitting blue uniformswith gold fringe or tassels at the shoulders. These men wore beltswith heavy, bone-handled guns, and evidently were the rurales, ornative policemen. There were black-bearded, coarse-visaged Americans,some gambling round the little tables, others drinking. The pooltables were the center of a noisy crowd of younger men, several of whomwere unsteady on their feet. There were khaki-clad cavalrymenstrutting in and out.
At one end of the room, somewhat apart from the general meelee, was agroup of six men round a little table, four of whom were seated, theother two standing. These last two drew a second glance from Gale.The sharp-featured, bronzed faces and piercing eyes, the tall, slender,loosely jointed bodies, the quiet, easy, reckless air that seemed to bea part of the men--these things would plainly have stamped them ascowboys without the buckled sombreros, the colored scarfs, thehigh-topped, high-heeled boots with great silver-roweled spurs. Galedid not fail to note, also, that these cowboys wore guns, and this factwas rather a shock to his idea of the modern West. It caused him togive some credence to the rumors of fighting along the border, and hefelt a thrill.
He satisfied his hunger in a restaurant adjoining, and as he steppedback into the saloon a man wearing a military cape jostled him.Apologies from both were instant. Gale was moving on when the otherstopped short as if startled, and, leaning forward, exclaimed:
"Dick Gale?"
"You've got me," replied Gale, in surprise. "But I don't know you."
He could not see the stranger's face, because it was wholly shaded by awide-brimmed hat pulled well down.
"By Jove! It's Dick! If this isn't great! Don't you know me?"
"I've heard your voice somewhere," replied Gale. "Maybe I'll recognizeyou if you come out from under that bonnet."
For answer the man, suddenly manifesting thought of himself, hurriedlydrew Gale into the restaurant, where he thrust back his hat to disclosea handsome, sunburned face.
"George Thorne! So help me--"
"'S-s-ssh. You needn't yell," interrupted the other, as he met Gale'soutstretched hand. There was a close, hard, straining grip. "I mustnot be recognized here. There are reasons. I'll explain in a minute.Say, but it's fine to see you! Five years, Dick, five years since Isaw you run down University Field and spread-eagle the whole Wisconsinfootball team."
"Don't recollect that," replied Dick, laughing. "George, I'll bet youI'm gladder to see you than you are to see me. It seems so long. Youwent into the army, didn't you?"
"I did. I'm here now with the Ninth Cavalry. But--never mind me.What're you doing way down here? Say, I just noticed your togs. Dick,you can't be going in for mining or ranching, not in this God-forsakendesert?"
"On the square, George, I don't know any more why I'm here than--thanyou know."
"Well, that beats me!" ejaculated Thorne, sitting back in his chair,amaze and concern in his expression. "What the devil's wrong? Your oldman's got too much money for you ever to be up against it. Dick, youcouldn't have gone to the bad?"
A tide of emotion surged over Gale. How good it was to meet afriend--some one to whom to talk! He had never appreciated hisloneliness until that moment.
"George, how I ever drifted down here I don't know. I didn't exactlyquarrel with the governor. But--damn it, Dad hurt me--shamed me, and Idug out for the West. It was this way. After leaving college I triedto please him by tackling one thing after another that he set me to do.On the square, I had no head for business. I made a mess ofeverything. The governor got sore. He kept ramming the harpoon into metill I just couldn't stand it. What little ability I possessed desertedme when I got my back up, and there you are. Dad and I had a ratheruncomfortable half hour. When I quit--when I told him straight out thatI was going West to fare for myself, why, it wouldn't have been sotough if he hadn't laughed at me. He called me a rich man's son--anidle, easy-going spineless swell. He said I didn't even have characterenough to be out and out bad. He said I didn't have sense enough tomarry one of the nice girls in my sister's crowd. He said I couldn'tget back home unless I sent to him for money. He said he didn'tbelieve I could fight--could really make a fight for anything under thesun. Oh--he--he shot it into me, all right."
Dick dropped his head upon his hands, somewhat ashamed of the smartingdimness in his eyes. He had not meant to say so much. Yet what arelief to let out that long-congested burden!
"Fight!" cried Thorne, hotly. "What's ailing him? Didn't they callyou Biff Gale in college? Dick, you were one of the best men Staggever developed. I heard him say so--that you were the fastest,one-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound man he'd ever trained, the hardestto stop."
"The governor didn't count football," said Dick. "He didn't mean thatkind of fight. When I left home I don't think I had an idea what waswrong with me. But, George, I think I know now. I was a rich man'sson--spoiled, dependent, absolutely ignorant of the value of money. Ihaven't yet discovered any earning capacity in me. I seem to be unableto do anything with my hands. That's the trouble. But I'm at the endof my tether now. And I'm going to punch cattle or be a miner, or dosome real stunt--like joining the rebels."
"Aha! I thought you'd spring that last one on me," declared Thorne,wagging his head. "Well, you just forget it. Say, old boy, there'ssomething doing in Mexico. The United States in general doesn'trealize it. But across that
line there are crazy revolutionists,ill-paid soldiers, guerrilla leaders, raiders, robbers, outlaws,bandits galore, starving peons by the thousand, girls and women interror. Mexico is like some of her volcanoes--ready to erupt fire andhell! Don't make the awful mistake of joining rebel forces. Americansare hated by Mexicans of the lower class--the fighting class, bothrebel and federal. Half the time these crazy Greasers are on one side,then on the other. If you didn't starve or get shot in ambush, or dieof thirst, some Greaser would knife you in the back for you belt buckleor boots. There are a good many Americans with the rebels eastwardtoward Agua, Prieta and Juarez. Orozco is operating in Chihuahua, andI guess he has some idea of warfare. But this is Sonora, a mountainousdesert, the home of the slave and the Yaqui. There's unorganizedrevolt everywhere. The American miners and ranchers, those who couldget away, have fled across into the States, leaving property. Thosewho couldn't or wouldn't come must fight for their lives, are fightingnow."
"That's bad," said Gale. "It's news to me. Why doesn't the governmenttake action, do something?"
"Afraid of international complications. Don't want to offend theMaderists, or be criticized by jealous foreign nations. It's adelicate situation, Dick. The Washington officials know the gravity ofit, you can bet. But the United States in general is in the dark, andthe army--well, you ought to hear the inside talk back at San Antonio.We're patrolling the boundary line. We're making a grand bluff. Icould tell you of a dozen instances where cavalry should have pursuedraiders on the other side of the line. But we won't do it. Theofficers are a grouchy lot these days. You see, of course, whatsignificance would attach to United States cavalry going into Mexicanterritory. There would simply be hell. My own colonel is the sorestman on the job. We're all sore. It's like sitting on a powdermagazine. We can't keep the rebels and raiders from crossing the line.Yet we don't fight. My commission expires soon. I'll be discharged inthree months. You can bet I'm glad for more reasons than I'vementioned."
Thorne was evidently laboring under strong, suppressed excitement. Hisface showed pale under the tan, and his eyes gleamed with a dark fire.Occasionally his delight at meeting, talking with Gale, dominated theother emotions, but not for long. He had seated himself at a tablenear one of the doorlike windows leading into the street, and everylittle while he would glance sharply out. Also he kept consulting hiswatch.
These details gradually grew upon Gale as Thorne talked.
"George, it strikes me that you're upset," said Dick, presently. "Iseem to remember you as a cool-headed fellow whom nothing coulddisturb. Has the army changed you?"
Thorne laughed. It was a laugh with a strange, high note. It wasreckless--it hinted of exaltation. He rose abruptly; he gave thewaiter money to go for drinks; he looked into the saloon, and then intothe street. On this side of the house there was a porch opening on aplaza with trees and shrubbery and branches. Thorne peered out onewindow, then another. His actions were rapid. Returning to the table,he put his hands upon it and leaned over to look closely into Gale'sface.
"I'm away from camp without leave," he said.
"Isn't that a serious offense?" asked Dick.
"Serious? For me, if I'm discovered, it means ruin. There are rebelsin town. Any moment we might have trouble. I ought to be ready forduty--within call. If I'm discovered it means arrest. That meansdelay--the failure of my plans--ruin."
Gale was silenced by his friend's intensity. Thorne bent over closerwith his dark eyes searching bright.
"We were old pals--once?"
"Surely," replied Dick.
"What would you say, Dick Gale, if I told you that you're the one manI'd rather have had come along than any other at this crisis of mylife?"
The earnest gaze, the passionate voice with its deep tremor drew Dickupright, thrilling and eager, conscious of strange, unfamiliarimpetuosity.
"Thorne, I should say I was glad to be the fellow," replied Dick.
Their hands locked for a moment, and they sat down again with headsclose over the table.
"Listen," began Thorne, in low, swift whisper, "a few days, a weekago--it seems like a year!--I was of some assistance to refugeesfleeing from Mexico into the States. They were all women, and one ofthem was dressed as a nun. Quite by accident I saw her face. It wasthat of a beautiful girl. I observed she kept aloof from the others.I suspected a disguise, and, when opportunity afforded, spoke to her,offered my services. She replied to my poor efforts at Spanish influent English. She had fled in terror from her home, some place downin Sinaloa. Rebels are active there. Her father was captured and heldfor ransom. When the ransom was paid the rebels killed him. The leaderof these rebels was a bandit named Rojas. Long before the revolutionbegan he had been feared by people of class--loved by the peons.Bandits are worshiped by the peons. All of the famous bandits haverobbed the rich and given to the poor. Rojas saw the daughter, made offwith her. But she contrived to bribe her guards, and escaped almostimmediately before any harm befell her. She hid among friends. Rojasnearly tore down the town in his efforts to find her. Then shedisguised herself, and traveled by horseback, stage, and train toCasita.
"Her story fascinated me, and that one fleeting glimpse I had of herface I couldn't forget. She had no friends here, no money. She knewRojas was trailing her. This talk I had with her was at the railroadstation, where all was bustle and confusion. No one noticed us, so Ithought. I advised her to remove the disguise of a nun before she leftthe waiting-room. And I got a boy to guide her. But he fetched her tohis house. I had promised to come in the evening to talk over thesituation with her.
"I found her, Dick, and when I saw her--I went stark, staring, ravingmad over her. She is the most beautiful, wonderful girl I ever saw.Her name is Mercedes Castaneda, and she belongs to one of the oldwealthy Spanish families. She has lived abroad and in Havana. Shespeaks French as well as English. She is--but I must be brief.
"Dick, think, think! With Mercedes also it was love at first sight. Myplan is to marry her and get her farther to the interior, away from theborder. It may not be easy. She's watched. So am I. It wasimpossible to see her without the women of this house knowing. Atfirst, perhaps, they had only curiosity--an itch to gossip. But thelast two days there has been a change. Since last night there's somepowerful influence at work. Oh, these Mexicans are subtle, mysterious!After all, they are Spaniards. They work in secret, in the dark. Theyare dominated first by religion, then by gold, then by passion for awoman. Rojas must have got word to his friends here; yesterday hisgang of cutthroat rebels arrived, and to-day he came. When I learnedthat, I took my chance and left camp. I hunted up a priest. Hepromised to come here. It's time he's due. But I'm afraid he'll bestopped."
"Thorne, why don't you take the girl and get married without waiting,without running these risks?" said Dick.
"I fear it's too late now. I should have done that last night. Yousee, we're over the line--"
"Are we in Mexican territory now?" queried Gale, sharply.
"I guess yes, old boy. That's what complicates it. Rojas and hisrebels have Casita in their hands. But Rojas without his rebels wouldbe able to stop me, get the girl, and make for his mountain haunts. IfMercedes is really watched--if her identity is known, which I am sureis the case--we couldn't get far from this house before I'd be knifedand she seized."
"Good Heavens! Thorne, can that sort of thing happen less than astone's throw from the United States line?" asked Gale, incredulously.
"It can happen, and don't you forget it. You don't seem to realize thepower these guerrilla leaders, these rebel captains, and particularlythese bandits, exercise over the mass of Mexicans. A bandit is a man ofhonor in Mexico. He is feared, envied, loved. In the hearts of thepeople he stands next to the national idol--the bull-fighter, thematador. The race has a wild, barbarian, bloody strain. TakeQuinteros, for instance. He was a peon, a slave. He became a famousbandit. At the outbreak of the revolution he proclaimed himself aleader
, and with a band of followers he devastated whole counties. Theopposition to federal forces was only a blind to rob and riot and carryoff women. The motto of this man and his followers was: 'Let us enjoyourselves while we may!'
"There are other bandits besides Quinteros, not so famous or such greatleaders, but just as bloodthirsty. I've seen Rojas. He's a handsome,bold sneering devil, vainer than any peacock. He decks himself in goldlace and sliver trappings, in all the finery he can steal. He was oneof the rebels who helped sack Sinaloa and carry off half a million inmoney and valuables. Rojas spends gold like he spills blood. But heis chiefly famous for abducting women. The peon girls consider it anhonor to be ridden off with. Rojas has shown a penchant for girls ofthe better class."
Thorne wiped the perspiration from his pale face and bent a dark gazeout of the window before he resumed his talk.
"Consider what the position of Mercedes really is. I can't get anyhelp from our side of the line. If so, I don't know where. Thepopulation on that side is mostly Mexican, absolutely in sympathy withwhatever actuates those on this side. The whole caboodle of Greaserson both sides belong to the class in sympathy with the rebels, theclass that secretly respects men like Rojas, and hates an aristocratlike Mercedes. They would conspire to throw her into his power. Rojascan turn all the hidden underground influences to his ends. Unless Ithwart him he'll get Mercedes as easily as he can light a cigarette.But I'll kill him or some of his gang or her before I let him gether.... This is the situation, old friend. I've little time to spare.I face arrest for desertion. Rojas is in town. I think I was followedto this hotel. The priest has betrayed me or has been stopped.Mercedes is here alone, waiting, absolutely dependent upon me to saveher from--from.... She's the sweetest, loveliest girl!... In a fewmoments--sooner or later there'll be hell here! Dick, are you with me?"
Dick Gale drew a long, deep breath. A coldness, a lethargy, anindifference that had weighed upon him for months had passed out of hisbeing. On the instant he could not speak, but his hand closedpowerfully upon his friend's. Thorne's face changed wonderfully, thedistress, the fear, the appeal all vanishing in a smile of passionategratefulness.
Then Dick's gaze, attracted by some slight sound, shot over hisfriend's shoulder to see a face at the window--a handsome, bold,sneering face, with glittering dark eyes that flashed in sinisterintentness.
Dick stiffened in his seat. Thorne, with sudden clenching of hands,wheeled toward the window.
"Rojas!" he whispered.
