Across the Mesa

by Helen Bagg

  CHAPTER X

  THE DISCOVERY

  Marc Scott was slow in falling asleep on the night of Pachuca's escape. Hewas in the habit of rolling over a few times and losing himself; but onthis particular night he was tormented by half a dozen ugly littleworries. He was worried about Adams, whose leg had a nasty look to theunprofessional eye; he was worried about Pachuca, whose case was going torequire a good deal of finesse; and he was worried about Polly Street, whohad to be conveyed to the border, revolution or no revolution.

  The most pressing danger on his horizon, Scott did not worry about becausehe did not recognize it. He was like one of those patients in whose systema deadly disease has started, but who remains in perfect health to alloutward appearances. He was in happy ignorance of his feelings for PollyStreet. He had been in love times enough, he would have told you, to knowthe symptoms; all of which was quite true, but the fact remained that thistime he did not know them.

  Polly Street was so exactly the sort of girl that Marc Scott had not thefaintest idea of falling in love with, much less marrying, that he wouldhave dismissed the possibility with a shrug. He, who valued his freedomabove everything, to throw it away for exactly the kind of woman who wouldtake the greatest pleasure in trampling on it? As for his jealousy of JuanPachuca, which should have opened his eyes, he put it aside easily. Hedidn't like the fellow--never had--and it annoyed him to see a decent girlallowing herself to be humbugged by his good looks and oily tongue.

  It was a pity, for she was a plucky young thing. She had done well tobring back the prisoner and his car; mighty few girls would have had thecourage to try it. It was foolish, of course, a regular kidtrick--wouldn't have succeeded once in a dozen times, but nevertheless,she had shown pluck. It was at this stage in his reflections that he hadbeen disturbed by Yellow's barking and had gone out to investigate. Theair and the action had changed his circulation and his thought and when hewent to bed the second time he dropped off easily.

  This time he was aroused by the noise of the engine started by Pachuca onhis escape. At first he hardly realized what it was that had wakened him,but as it dawned on his consciousness, he jumped to his feet and rushed tothe window in time to see the car tear down the road. With a mutteredexclamation, Scott seized his gun and sent a bullet wildly in thedirection of the escaping prisoner. Then he drew on his trousers, callingto Hard at the same time.

  "What's wrong? Another raid?" growled the sleepy Bostonian, who had dozedpeacefully through Pachuca's first attempt.

  "No. The guy's got away," snapped Scott, angrily.

  "Well, we didn't particularly need him, did we?" observed Hard, sitting upreluctantly.

  "We needed his car and needed it bad," said Scott, viciously. He trampedout of the room, while Hard reached drowsily for his clothes.

  "By George, he must have made it through the window!" he muttered as hecrossed the street, then as he came upon the body of the dog, thrown asidebehind the open door, "The dirty butcher!" he growled, furiously. "And Ididn't have sense enough to search him for a knife!"

  Outside, he met O'Grady and Johnson, sketchily dressed and wrathful.

  "You heard him, too, did you?" he growled. "He got out by the window. Thisis some of his work," he continued, pointing to Yellow.

  "He did not," said O'Grady, promptly. "Did you ever hear of a guy jumpingout of a second-story winder and shutting it after him?"

  "What?"

  "Sure--it's shut," grinned Johnson. "He come out of the door all right.It's wide open, and not hurt, either."

  "Who let him out? Where's the key? You had it, O'Grady."

  "I did not--you handed it to the girl, yourself. She locked him in allright; I heard her do it," replied O'Grady quickly.

  "That explains it," said Scott, shortly. "She came over here and let himout. Might have expected it, I suppose, with a flighty youngster and asmooth talker like Pachuca." He turned away in the direction of thehouse.

  "He's mad!" murmured Johnson, admiringly. He liked a little excitementhimself.

  "Mad? He's jealous, the fool!" Matt offered, disgustedly.

  "Jealous? Who of? The greaser?"

  "Sure. Good-looking, Juan is, and a winner with the dames."

  "Scott's one of them woman haters. What d'ye mean--jealous?"

  "Woman haters?" Matt spat disdainfully. "There ain't no such thing as awoman hater, Tommy, in the whole animal kingdom. Don't you fall for noneof that stuff. But, believe me, that girl never opened that door. She's astraight, honest, smart girl, if she is flighty."

  "Well, if she didn't, who did?"

  "I don't know. I ain't sleuthed around enough yet to find out. Hullo,here's Boston--half asleep, too."

  Scott was angry clear through. He did not stop to analyze his emotions--hewas not of an analytical mind--and he did not care why he was angry. Hefelt that Polly Street, a girl of whom he was beginning to think ratherhighly, had done an unsportsmanlike thing; a thing that Bob's sister oughtto have been ashamed to do; had disgraced the family, so to speak, and hadseriously inconvenienced him into the bargain.

  Scott had depended on that automobile for various things. He wanted it tofetch a doctor for Jimmy, and to take Polly, herself, to the border incomfort. Both these important things she had jeopardized because she hadbeen coaxed into it by a soft-spoken young man with dark eyes. Thetreasure story he put aside. Even a girl from the East would hardly havetaken that stuff seriously, he thought.

  He would have felt just the same, he reasoned, had the culprit been Bobinstead of Bob's sister. There was, thank Heaven, nothing soft about him!He could see and hear and even enjoy a good-looking girl without making afool of himself. That was the beauty of being on the way to forty--one sawthings in their right light--and did not make a fool of one's self overgirls.

  "Marc Scott, are we being raided again or what? Did I hear a shot and amachine going by or was I dreaming?" demanded Mrs. Van, who, clad in ablanket kimono, her feet thrust into moccasins, and a gay-looking pinkboudoir cap on her head, came to the door before Scott reached it. In herrear could be dimly seen another figure, wrapped in a gray blanket.

  "You ought to know," said Scott, rudely; focussing his attention on thepink cap and ignoring the blanketed figure in the rear.

  "What do you mean--I ought to know?" indignantly.

  "Somebody has unlocked the office door and let that half-breed get awayand he's taken his car with him," said Scott. "The key's in yourhouse--that's all."

  "Of course it's in this house. It's in the pocket of my sweater," answeredPolly, indignantly. "If you think I let him out----" She was too angry tocontinue.

  "Well, he didn't get out by the window because it's shut, and there's nochimney for him to melt out of."

  "Look here, Marc Scott, ain't you ashamed of yourself? Coming here andtalking to ladies like that--and in the middle of the night, too." Mrs.Van Zandt was as angry as the other two. "That key couldn't get out ofthis house to-night without my knowing it. He's brainy enough to get outwithout help, that fellow."

  "He may be brainy, but he's hardly brilliant enough to go through a lockeddoor," said Scott, obstinately. "Somebody let him out, that's all. Ifyou'll be kind enough to look for the key, Miss Street, and see if it'sbeen taken away----"

  "How could it be? From my room?" demanded Polly, angrily.

  "Are you going to hold an inquest over it?" asked Mrs. Van, cuttingly. "Isee the jury coming along."

  Johnson, O'Grady and Hard were coming across the street. Polly drew herblanket closely around her and tucked one bare foot behind the other. Herreddish colored braids gave her a squaw-like appearance in the darkness.

  "It's all right, Scotty, don't stir up the community," called Hard,cheerfully. "I'm the guilty party."

  "You!"

  "It never dawned on me till I saw the unlocked door," confessed Hard, witha chuckle. "The chap must have found that old bunch of keys that's beenknocking around in the pocket of my old office coat. I'm afraid that'swhere he got the knife that did for poor
Yellow, too."

  "Do you mean there was a duplicate key?" demanded Scott.

  "There must have been. Clever chap to ferret it out," replied Hard,breezily.

  "Mighty clever. I could open a door myself with a key in my hand,"muttered Scott, as he turned away. "Well, he's gone and the car's gone andwe might as well go back to bed."

  "Just one moment." Polly's voice was clear and firm. "I think you owe mean apology, Mr. Scott."

  There was a suppressed chuckle from the rear where the train gang stilllingered. Scott stiffened and cleared his throat consciously.

  "I apologize," he said; then, as he saw the others disappear down thestreet, "Will you shake hands?"

  "Not right now; I'm going to think it over," said the girl, coolly. "Ithink you should have known that I wouldn't do a thing like that."

  "Well, I did know it, of course," confessed Scott, helplessly. "But----"

  "But you didn't believe it." Polly's voice was cutting. "Well, next timehave a little more faith in your friends, Mr. Scott," and the blanketedfigure disappeared into the house.

  "She had you there," observed Mrs. Van. "Well, go home to bed before youwake up Jimmy--it's a wonder he's slept through this all right."

  She went into the house and knocked softly at the girl's door--afterlistening a moment and assuring herself that Adams had not wakened.Polly's room was dark and she was standing, still wrapped in the blanket,by the window in the moonlight.

  "Well?" she said, rather curtly.

  "Nothing--only----" Mrs. Van's usually glib tongue faltered. "I was justgoing to say that you mustn't take Marc Scott too--too--I mean, youmustn't be too hard on him."

  "Hard!"

  "Yes. It's just his way; he don't mean to be ugly. He's queer, Scotty is,kind of--oh, I don't know how to put it, but he didn't mean to be rude toyou."

  "He was, though, very rude."

  "Yes, that's what I mean. It sort of shocked him to think you'd do a thinglike that and he didn't stop to think."

  "Maybe he'll stop to think next time."

  "Maybe, but I don't reckon so. Folks like that you can't change much; youhave to take 'em or leave 'em as they are. He's awful square, though. I'dtrust him with anything; money, liquor, or women. When you've been aroundas much as I have, you'll know that means something."

  In the meantime, Scott, Hard, and the train gang, going down to the corralto investigate, found Miller lying as Pachuca had left him, in the middleof the road. He was regaining consciousness as they came along, and didnot seem to be badly hurt, the knife having entered the fleshy part of thearm near the shoulder.

  "Serves me damn right, bein' so slow with my gun," he said. "I suppose theguy got away?"

  "Oh, yes, he got away!" muttered Scott, as they helped Miller to bed."That's the kind of luck we're playing in just now around here."

  Breakfast next morning was not a particularly cheerful meal. Adams wasstill in bed, and Williams was feverish and cross. Miller seemed littlethe worse for his accident, but he was blue; he had been particularlyattached to the dog and felt its death more than his own misadventure.

  "Blankets, canned goods, saddles--everything they could grab," mutteredWilliams, resentfully. "Nice condition to be in with a revolutionlooming."

  "Not looming, loomed," said O'Grady, cheerfully.

  "Wish I could get hold of an _Omaha Bee_," murmured Johnson. "I neversomehow feel like I had a grip on a situation till I've seen my homepaper."

  "I think I'll ride over to Casa Grande this morning and get the doctor,"said Hard. "That leg of Jimmy's needs advice."

  "I'll go with you." Scott looked at Polly. "Want to go?" he said; then asshe hesitated, he looked at her penitently, smiling as Scott did not oftensmile, and whispered: "Please do!"

  "How mean of him! He knows I'm dying to. How's anybody going to stay madwhen they want to do things?" said the girl to herself.

  "It's too far for her," objected Mrs. Van.

  "We'll send the Chink back," said Scott, persuasively, "and we'll stay allnight with Herrick. We'll make him play for you," he added, as Pollysmiled in spite of herself. "Will you go?"

  "She must," said Hard. "It's her last chance to see the country." And sothe matter was settled.

  "That Chink'll ride the whole twenty miles on a dead run--he'll be here todinner," said Matt. "Ever see a Chinaman ride?"

  "He'll ride his own horse, then," replied Scott, as he left the room."Perhaps we'll bring Herrick back with us, Mrs. Van."

  "He won't leave that piano of his," prophesied Mrs. Van Zandt. "No morethan a mother'd leave her baby when there was danger around."

  It was ten o'clock when the three riders started on their trip, Scottpreserving a reasonably cheerful face, in spite of the fact that he hatedlate starts. It was a beautiful morning; the sky, blue and cloudless, theair fresh and invigorating with the crispness of early spring, the radiantclearness of the atmosphere making neighbors of the mountains, allcombined to make a tonic which showed signs of going to Polly's head.After all, there are few sensations like the starting out upon a horsebacktrip; the mare's springy trot, the freshness of her own healthy body, eventhe feel of the bridle reins brought her joy.

  "You look mighty happy," commented Hard. "It must be pleasant to betwenty-three."

  Polly laughed. "It is," she admitted. "But I'm going to be just as happyat forty-three. I've found the recipe."

  "Will you sell it to me? My next one happens to be my forty-second. I'llbe needing it soon."

  "I'll make you a present of it. Stay out-of-doors and keep on doingthings. Of course, I haven't tried it for forty-three years, but I feel inmy bones that it will work."

  "I never could see, myself, how people could spend twenty-two out of theirtwenty-four hours under a roof, the way most of them do," said Scott,thoughtfully. "Here, we turn now into the trail."

  "That's where Pachuca's men went yesterday," said Polly. "I hope we don'tmeet them."

  "No danger of that. Those fly-by-nights are a long way from here by thistime."

  "They told me yesterday in Conejo that Obregon had been put under arrestin Mexico City. If that's true it may put a cog in the revolutionarymachinery," said Hard.

  "I wish we'd managed to keep our hands on that automobile," remarkedScott, wistfully. "I don't half fancy trying to make the border in awagon, and no one knows how the railroads will be."

  The trail debouched from the road, running over ground very slightlyelevated. There was for some distance no particular reason as far as Pollycould see for its being a trail at all except that it hadn't beensufficiently traveled to make it a road. It was merely a narrow littlepath leading over some very barren-looking country, but leading everupward, gradually but surely, toward the hills.

  "You see, the regular road runs fairly straight along toward Conejo formaybe twenty miles, and then meets a crossroad which runs past CasaGrande," explained Scott. "Now, with this trail, we cut directly acrossthose foothills, over a couple of ranges of mountains, across a big mesaand down. Casa Grande is almost in a straight line from here and we cutoff a lot."

  "Casa Grande is an awfully fancy sort of name. Is it a wonderful place?"

  "Just a good little ranch. These Latins like big sounding names," repliedScott. "Casa Grande is very common down here."

  A dip in the trail took them into an arroyo and out the other side, wherethey lost sight entirely of Athens. A few moments later, they wound theirway through some brush into a narrow canyon, walled on one side by hillsand with a drop of some fifteen feet on the other side into a ravine. Outof the ravine grew more brush so densely that it almost crowded the littletrail out of existence.

  Here it was necessary to go single file and Polly noticed how naturallyScott took the lead, leaving her to follow and Hard to bring up the rear.She noted with some amusement that it seemed characteristic of him to takethe lead everywhere, just as it seemed quite in keeping with Hard'seasy-going nature to fall into the rear.

  "And yet of the two Mr. Hard has the educ
ation and the brains," thoughtthe girl. "No, that's not fair. I believe you can have just as good abrain without education--only you're hampered in the use of it. Marc Scotthas what the psychologists call 'initiative.' Oh, look!"

  High up in the air a bird had flown out from among the tree-tops on theother side of the canyon--a big bird with wide spreading wings.

  "It's an eagle."

  "An eagle!" Polly was awed.

  "There's a nest up there somewhere," said Scott, shading his eyes with hishand and peering upward. "Last year I was riding over this trail withGomez, an Indian we had working for us. We were just about here when aneagle, a young one, flew out from the trees. Before I could speak, Gomezup with his gun and shot it."

  "Oh!"

  "I wanted to kill the geezer--but Lord, what can you expect of anIndian?"

  As they proceeded, Polly found herself riding closer to Scott, while Hardlagged behind. She was not displeased. Scott on horseback and in the woodswas Scott at his best as she was beginning to know.

  "I'm wondering," she said, as the mare pushed her nose along the big bay'sflank, "how you know so much about the country. You aren't a Westerner,are you?"

  "Me? No, indeed. Born in New York State and raised in Michigan. Never laideyes on anything west of the Mississippi until I came out to Colorado towork in the mines. Then I drifted into New Mexico and down here." Scottwas riding with his knee around the pommel and talking meditatively overhis shoulder.

  "You see, I've got mining in my blood. My grandfather was a Forty-Niner."

  "Did he get rich?" asked Polly, interestedly.

  "Not so's you'd notice it. Spent all he had and died trying to get home."

  "Oh!"

  "Hard luck, wasn't it? My folks went to Detroit when I was a little codgerand they both died there. I was adopted by an uncle--an uncle who was thewhitest man God ever made," declared Scott, solemnly.

  "Why was he--I mean, how was he?" Polly had by nature that healthycapacity for asking questions, which is one of the most flatteringcharacteristics that a woman can have or assume.

  "He was always doing decent things. Didn't have much money, either, butsomehow he always made it do for a lot of folks who didn't have any. Headopted a girl that wasn't any kin to him, had her educated and thenmarried her. She made him a fine wife, too, thought the world of him.Well, he adopted me and sent me to school and when he saw I had the rovinginstinct and couldn't stick to the books, he gave me a lift to go West tothe mines. He knew that there was no use arguing.

  "He was queer, too. Didn't like city folks nor their ways. He owned one ofthose big farms out near what's now Grosse Pointe--ran down to theriver--and when the town began to grow out toward them, instead of holdingon to his land as it began to get valuable, he'd sell out and go furtheraway. Died, leaving Aunt Mary just enough to live comfortably on--mighthave been a millionaire. But Uncle Silas was a wise man.

  "Sometimes when I look at these tight-fisted old guys who make theirmillions and tie 'em up into estates to hand down, and then remember UncleSilas--not giving a hoot for money and always pulling along a dozen or twopoor relations and setting 'em on their feet, living comfortable andhappy, leaving a wife that's as fond of him to-day as she was the day hedied--well, I sort of wonder if money and success mean as much as folksthink they do."

  Scott's autobiography was halted by the view which met their eyes as theyrounded the turn at the top of the canyon. Turning, the narrow trail woundits way around the mountainside until one looked down upon the tops offoothills, green with scrubby vegetation. Then it stretched in anirregular line down the mountainside, to disappear in their midst. Beyondlay another range of mountains.

  "Back of that range and across the mesa is where Herrick's place is," saidScott, as they drew rein and waited for Hard to come along. Polly gazed insilence. It was the first view she had had of the wilder part of thecountry and it thrilled her.

  Hard came up with them. "Don't you think we'd better make a little speedwhen we hit the level?" he said.

  "We've only crossed one stream since we started," observed Polly.

  "We cross another just before we get to Herrick's," said Hard, "but itnever has much water in it except in the rainy season."

  "I've seen plenty in it then," said Scott, laughing. "I was caught on thewrong side once when they'd had a cloudburst in the mountains. Oh boy, youshould have seen her come down! Swept away a wagon with two horses and theMexican who was driving it in just two minutes."

  "Oh, how could it--in two minutes?"

  "Well, it could and did. Before that there wasn't a foot of water in theriver bed. When the water came thundering down there was eight or ten.Picked up trees, bushes, chicken coops, greasers--anything in its way, andwhirled 'em down the canyon."

  It was the middle of the afternoon when they crossed the second range,which they did by means of a trail which went through a gap, thus cuttingoff the worst of the ascent. Once through the gap, they came out upon ahuge mesa from which they looked down upon the valley in which Casa Grandewas located. On the mesa, the tired horses broke into the littleeasy-going jog which mountain ponies love.

  Scott watched Polly's sparkling eyes with real gratification. He hadchosen to go by trail rather than by road very largely that she might havethis experience. He wanted her to see more of the country before she wentback to the city and its ways.

  "She's a natural out-of-doors woman, and she's never had the chance tofind it out," he mused. "Better than a golf course?" he asked, as theytrotted across the broad mesa.

  "Oh!" she cried, reproachfully. "It's like the happy hunting grounds! Inever understood before why the Indians called their Heaven that. It wasbecause they were thinking of space and openness and freedom. I think itbeats our kind of Heaven all hollow," finished the cheerful product of1920.

  Finally they came out on the other side of the little river bed, which laybelow the mesa and was entered by means of a rocky staircase, crossed around-topped hill, and there, in a flat little valley surrounded by hills,the rear view of the Casa Grande ranch-house became visible. Two or threesmaller buildings stood near it and a fence marked the corral.