Across the Mesa Read online

  CHAPTER III

  EN ROUTE

  To say that the days which followed Miss Street's unconventional decisionpassed in a whirl is to be both trite and truthful. In fact, it was notuntil she had crossed the border that she found leisure to reflect.

  To begin with, the parents had been difficult, as good parents usually arewhen youth begins to chafe at restriction, especially if youth happens tobelong to the weaker but no longer the less adventurous sex. The Streetswere easy-going people who liked to live by the way. They were notambitious and they were not adventurous and they hated letting go of theirchildren. It was bad enough to have a son marooned in a mining campwithout losing a daughter in the same way. Only downright persuasion bythe daughter, combined with remembrance of quite unalarming letters fromthe son resulted in the desired permission.

  "After all, if Emma's parents let her go down there, I suppose we needn'tbe afraid," said Mrs. Street, who disliked argument.

  "In my opinion, Emma's parents are fools," replied Mr. Street, sternly."Or else, like us, they've raised a daughter they can't control."

  "I wouldn't put it that way, Elbridge!"

  "I would. You might as well look things in the face."

  "But, Father, you know Bob's part of the country has been very calm; and Inever get a chance to do anything interesting! You sat down on me when Iwanted to drive a motor truck in France----"

  Any father can continue this lament from memory. The discussion had endedas discussions with spoiled children usually end. There had been a hurriedpacking and the familiar trip across the continent. It was only when shealighted at a border town and after some anxious hours waiting to have herpassports vised and her transportation arranged, embarked on the shabbysouth-bound train on the other side, that Polly fully realized theexpedition to which she was committed.

  Up to this time her thoughts had been of the life she was leaving, and, itmust be admitted, of Joyce Henderson. From Illinois to Texas she toldherself exactly what she thought of a man who could so boldly and plainlyand with such an evident relief accept his dismissal at the hands of thegirl he had claimed to love; but by the time the train had jogged throughmiles of queer brownish yellow country, dotted with mesquite and puncturedwith cactus, relieved here and there by foothills, and frowned upon bydistant mountains, her meditations assumed a more cheerful complexion.

  The outlook, monotonous as it was, fascinated her. There were adobe houseswith brown youngsters playing in the scanty shade, much as one sees themin New Mexico and Arizona; there were uprooted rails and the ruins ofburned cars--evidences of civil war unknown on our side of the line. Therewas a strong wind blowing--the early spring wind of the Southwest, but thesun shone hotly and one felt stuffy and uncomfortable in the car. The sandwhich was caught up by the wind blew in one's face and down one's throatand made closed windows a necessity.

  There were a good many people traveling, for a country in a reputedlyunsettled condition, Polly thought, and wished that she could understandthe fragments of conversation that she heard.

  "Why didn't I take Spanish instead of French at school? I always seem tohave chosen the most useless things to study! I wish I knew what those twofat women without any hats on are talking about--me, I suppose, for theykeep looking over here. That man is American--or English. If I were Bob,I'd amble over and get up a conversation with him and find out all theinteresting things I'm missing. I'll bet he owns a mine down heresomewhere. How fascinating!"

  Polly's imagination immediately forsook the American and indulged in arosy picture of herself as the owner of a mine--a gold mine--coal was toounromantic. She saw herself in a short skirt and a sombrero superintendingthe exertions of a number of dusky workers who were loading neat littlegold bars on the backs of patient burros.

  This delightful picture occupied her fully until the train stopped and shehad to get out. This train did not go all the way to Conejo, but left oneat a junction called Pecos where twice a week if convenient for allparties a smaller train rattled its way across the plain and into themountains among which Conejo nestled. It is not necessary to describePecos; its only reason for existence was the fact that it owned andoperated a smelter.

  This second train was the shortest that Polly had ever seen. It consistedof an engine, two coal cars, a baggage car, and one passenger coach--thislast very dirty as to floor and windows and very creaky as to joints.There were on this occasion but four passengers beside Polly; the two fatladies, who were, if she had only known it, members of the first familiesof Conejo; an old man who sat in a corner and read a German paper; and ayoung Mexican, well dressed and of a gentlemanly appearance, who satacross the narrow aisle from Polly, smoking innumerable cigarettes andglancing at her whenever he thought she was not looking.

  Polly, however, was too much interested in the changes of scenery tonotice anything as ordinary as a good-looking young man. The country waschanging, gradually, but still unmistakably changing, from a desert, flatand stifling, to a region of small hills and valleys; still brownishyellow, but with the monotony of mesquite varied by live oaks, and in somecases by shallow little streams along whose banks grew cottonwoods, theirgreen foliage restful to the eye weary of desert bareness.

  Many of the cacti were in their beautiful bloom and gave to the countrythe needed dash of color. Occasionally one saw small herds of cattlefeeding off the short stubby vegetation. They were drawing near themountains, whose gauntness seemed less when approached.

  "They're like ugly people--grow better looking as you get to know them,"mused Polly. "Oh, my gracious, what's the matter now?" The puffing littleengine had given up trying to make the steep grade it had beennegotiating, and had stopped with one last desperate wheeze. No one seemedsurprised. The fat ladies went on talking and the old man continued toread his paper. The trainmen were outside, doing something, Polly couldn'tmake out what, perhaps only talking about doing something. "Oh, dear, Iwonder what has happened!"

  In her excitement she must have said it aloud, for the young man acrossthe way sprang to his feet and was at her side instantly. A keen observermight have drawn the conclusion that he had been waiting for some suchopportunity.

  "I beg pardon, senorita, but it is that the engine cannot make the grade,"he volunteered, politely, in English almost without an accent--or perhapsI should say with an intonation English rather than American, though witha slightly Latin arrangement of phrase.

  "Oh, I see," Polly replied blankly. The young man had been rather sudden,and he continued to stand in a disconcerting way, hat in hand, in theaisle. He appeared to be very young, hardly more than nineteen, Pollythought, and handsome in a dark way. He had large dark eyes, very whiteteeth, a smooth olive skin without the mustache which so many Spaniardswear, and a rather prominent under jaw and chin.

  "You see," he continued, "they take the first car over to Conejo and thencome back for us."

  "Do you mean to say that they'll leave us here, perched on the side ofthis hill, while they run off with the engine?" demanded Polly, eyeing thetrainmen indignantly. In fact, she was so busy being indignant with themthat she omitted to notice that the young man had slipped into the seatopposite her. That fact, however, had not escaped the fat ladies in therear, one of whom said to the other in shocked Spanish:

  "It is Juan Pachuca!"

  "So it is," replied the other. "I had thought him in the South."

  "Who knows where he is? A wicked person, my dear, a very wicked person. Mysister's husband says he will get himself shot before he finishes."

  "Undoubtedly," said the other, placidly. "So many young men are being shotthese days. I thought that young woman was an actress--now I am sure ofit."

  "Yes," replied Juan Pachuca to Polly's question. "But do not be alarmed.They will come back in a couple of hours."

  "A couple of hours!" The girl's voice was horrified. "But I expected to bein Conejo in a couple of hours. I'm in a hurry."

  "One should never be in a hurry in Mexico, senorita, it does not--what isit you say-
-it does not pay."

  "Apparently." Polly replied coolly, realizing suddenly that thisgood-looking boy was regarding the conversation as a thing established.

  The stranger was correct in his guess. Uncoupled from the rest of thetrain, their coach remained poised uncomfortably half-way up the hill,while the engine, still puffing and wheezing like a stout man goingupstairs, pulled the open cars and the baggage car up the grade and,disappearing through a gap in the hill, became only a faint noise and atrail of thin smoke. Polly laughed in spite of herself and the young manresponded with a smile that revealed two dazzling rows of teeth.

  "_Manana_!" he laughed. "So we say down here and so we do. You find itamusing, senorita, after your country?"

  "It's different, you must admit. We at least aim to reach places ontime."

  "Yes, that is the difference--you aim, we do not," replied the other,thoughtfully. "Some day--but perhaps the senorita will get out and have abreath of fresh air? There is, alas, plenty of time."

  A mischievous impulse seized the girl. She felt as she used to feel whenas a small, fat, freckled youngster she had sat still as long as shepossibly could in school and then despite the teacher's stern eye hernervous energy had got the better of her.

  "After all he's only a boy," she told herself. "I'll bet he isn't anyolder than my freshmen cousins. What's the harm?"

  Outside the sun was hot but the wind was fresh and cool.

  "Through that cut in the mountains and around a curve is Conejo," saidJuan Pachuca, as Polly, glad to be out of the hot car, drew long breathsof the splendid air. "You have friends there?"

  "In Conejo? Oh no, my brother lives in Athens. That's where I am going. Heis superintendent of a coal mine there."

  "Athens? That is some distance from Conejo. Of course your brother willmeet you?"

  "Of course," replied Polly, with the faith of the American girl in themale of the species. "They have a little coal train that runs to Conejoand he'll probably come in on that."

  "I think you must be Senorita Street?" mused the young man.

  "Oh," Polly dimpled pleasantly. "You know Bob then?"

  Juan Pachuca's dark eyes smiled. "Not exactly--but I have met him. Me, Ihave a place south of Conejo--quite a long way--I am what you might call along-distance neighbor. My name is Pachuca--Juan Pachuca."

  "I see. Are you in the mining business, too?"

  "Not now. Oh, I have mining property, but further south. My people live inMexico City. In Sonora I have a small ranch."

  "You speak English rather wonderfully, you know, senor," said the girl."But more like an Englishman than an American."

  "It is very likely. My sister--she is much older than I--married anEnglishman, and her children had English governesses. When I was young Ihad my lessons with them."

  So from one thing to another the conversation ran, very much as it doeswith two young people of any nationalities, granted a common language.Polly talked a good deal about Bob. Juan Pachuca seemed interested in allthe details that she could give him about the mine. His manner was veryrespectful. If he had not met many American girls he had evidently heardmuch about them, for he did not seem to misunderstand the situation asmany Latins would have done. Before the girl had realized it the two hourswere over and the little engine reappeared.

  Conejo should, I believe, be called a town. The people who live in italways dignify it by that name and they probably have a reason for sodoing. To one holding advanced ideas as to towns, it seems at a firstglance to be only a collection of pinkish looking adobes which oninspection turn out to be a church, a store, a jail, a saloon, a hotel--atwhich no one stays who has a friend to take him in--and some privatehouses. It is Juarez without the bull ring, the racetrack or the gamblingplaces.

  It is situated rather flatly between two ranges of mountains and whenPolly Street landed there at about six o'clock--a trying hour initself--it was in the grip of a sand-storm. One's first sand-storm isalways a surprise. It looks so innocent from behind a window pane; justsand--blowing about rather swiftly, whirling in spirals, beating againstthe glass, piling itself up in drifts--an interesting sight but not aterrifying one.

  Polly had been a little surprised to see the fat ladies array themselvesin goggles before descending from the train, and had laughingly refused anoffer of his own from Juan Pachuca, who promptly put them on himself. Butwhen she alighted from the train onto the platform which extended from therear end of the general merchandise store, and which served as station,waiting parlor and baggage-room, she gasped in dismay. It was as thoughthousands of tiny pieces of glass had struck her in the face and throat.

  Before she could get her breath they struck her again and again; sharp,vindictive, piercing little particles they were. She shut her eyes and puther hands to her bare throat to protect it. Suddenly she felt a hand onher arm and Juan Pachuca's voice said:

  "Keep them shut and let me lead you. I told you what sand-stormswere--you'd better have taken the goggles."

  Polly succumbed and felt herself being led along the platform.

  "There, we're in the store," said the young man. "Rather nasty, eh?"

  "Awful! I never felt anything like it," gasped the girl, shaking the sandfrom her clothes. "And it isn't sand, it's gravel. No wonder you weargoggles!"

  "I find them most convenient for many purposes," was the reply.

  Polly noticed that he still had them on though they were in the store.They gave him a queer, oldish appearance and quite spoiled his good looks.Polly herself was beginning to feel disturbed. She wanted Bob and shewanted him immediately. She looked about her anxiously.

  The store was larger than it appeared from without and carried a variedline of goods piled up on shelves or displayed on counters. On one side,it seemed to be a grocery store; on the other, dry-goods, shoes, and hatswere set forth, while in the rear were saddles, bridles and otherparaphernalia in leather. A big stove in the middle of the room gave out acheerful warmth, for the air was growing very cool as the sun went down.

  There were a few people, Mexicans and Indians, in the place and they allstared curiously at the pretty American. Polly did not realize, though shewas not in the habit of underrating her attractions, how very noticeableshe was in that environment, as she stood there, her tan traveling coatthrown open showing her dainty white waist, her short, trim skirt with itsbig plaid squares, and her neat brown silk stockings and oxfords. Conejohad not seen her like in many moons and it stared its full.

  "I think Bob would be at the station. If I could go there----" Pollybegan, with a little lump in her throat.

  "This is the station," said Pachuca. "It is Jacob Swartz' store and thestation as well."

  "Then something has happened to my letter. He never would havedisappointed me like this," said the girl, despairingly.

  "That is quite possible. If you would let me serve you in this matter,senorita? I have a car at the house of a friend just out of town. I amdriving to my ranch in it to-morrow. If you would let me drive you toAthens----"

  "Drive in an open car in that?" the girl pointed to the whirling sandoutside. "How could we?"

  "Easily. Once on our way into the mountains we will leave it behind us."

  "Oh, thank you very much, senor, you're very kind, but if Bob doesn't comeI can go to some friends of his, English people, the Morgans, and theywill drive me over in the morning." She was conscious of a sudden desireto get away from this polite youth who stuck so tightly. It was all verywell to let him amuse her on the train--that was adventure; but to drivewith him through a strange country at night would be pure madness. Shethought he stiffened a bit at her words.

  "English people? Oh, yes, undoubtedly that will be wise. Swartz canprobably tell you where to find them."

  "Yes, of course." Polly was glad to see that he was going to leave her."Thank you again, senor, for your kindness."

  "It has been a great pleasure," and the young man was gone.

  Polly clenched her hands nervously. Where, oh, where was Bob? Why h
adn'tshe telegraphed instead of trusting to a letter? At this juncture herglance fell upon a small counter over which the sign P. O. was displayed.Behind the counter sat a stout man in spectacles--Jacob Swartz,undoubtedly. Polly accosted him timidly.

  "Has anyone been in from Athens to-day?" she said.

  "Athens? Sure, dere train come up dis morning; dey wendt back an hourago."

  "Was Mr. Street here--Mr. Robert Street?"

  "No, joost the train gang. Dey wendt back when dey got dere mail."

  "Do--do they come every day for the mail?"

  "No, joost twice a week. Dere mail ain't so heavy it can't wait dat long."Swartz peered benevolently over his spectacles.

  "I'm Mr. Street's sister. I wrote him I was coming, but I suppose if heonly gets his mail twice a week he hasn't had my letter." Polly bit herlip impatiently. "I want to go over to the Morgans--Mr. Jack Morgan. Canyou show me where they live?"

  "Sure can I," replied Swartz, lumbering to his feet. "You can from thedoor see it."

  Polly followed him in relief, when suddenly the door opened and a littleold lady literally blew in. She stamped her feet as though it were snowinstead of sand that clung to her, and disengaged her head from the thickwhite veil in which she had wrapped it.

  "Mein Gott, it is old lady Morgan, herself," said Swartz, nudging Polly,pleasantly.

  "What's that? Somebody wanting me?" replied the lady, still occupied withthe veil. "Where's that tea I told you to send me this morning, Swartz? Afine thing to make me come out in all this for a pound of tea, justbecause I've nobody to send and two sick children on my hands! What? Oh, Ican't hear you! Who d'you say wants me?"

  She was a thin, bent old lady with straggly gray hair and a very sharppenetrating voice. Polly felt the lump in her throat growing larger. Wasthis the jolly pretty Mrs. Jack Morgan that Bob had written about sooften?

  "Dis young voman----" began Swartz, heavily.

  Polly stepped forward.

  "Mrs. Morgan, this is Bob Street's sister. He has often written us aboutyou and your husband."

  "Husband? She ain't got no husband," interrupted Mr. Swartz, heatedly."Ain't I told you dis iss de old lady--Jack Morgan's mother?"

  "I'm a little hard of hearing, my dear. Who did you say you were?" askedJack Morgan's mother, patiently.

  Polly repeated her explanation, adding a few more particulars, all asloudly as possible. They had now an interested audience of Mexicans andIndians, male and female, old and young, who found the scene none the lessattractive because they did not understand it.

  "Well, I suppose he didn't get your letter," said Mrs. Morgan. "Jack andhis wife have gone over to spend a few days with some friends in Mescal orthey'd run you over in the car." There was a pause as Polly digested thisunwelcome bit of news, then the old lady continued: "They'd only been gonetwo days when both the children came down with mumps, and my Mexicanwoman's husband had to take that time to join the army, so, of course, shehad to leave. If things weren't so messed up I'd take you home withme----"

  "Oh, no," said Polly, promptly. "I couldn't think of it. If I could justget somebody to drive me over----" Both she and Mrs. Morgan looked atSwartz.

  "Mendoza might if he ain't drunk--sometimes he ain't," volunteered thatgentleman.

  "Oh, no, I don't think I'd like him," shivered Polly. "Isn't there anybodyelse?"

  "Nobody with a car," replied Mrs. Morgan. "It'd take you till morning todrive over--the roads are awful. Mendoza is a very decent old thing. Yougo and see if you can get him, Swartz," and Swartz lumbered away. Old ladyMorgan understood how to make herself obeyed. "Have you tried to getAthens on the 'phone?"

  "Telephone?" A smile broke over Polly's unhappy face. "Why, I neverthought of that."

  "Good heavens, child, where do you think you are? Here, I'll get them foryou."

  She led the way to the office.

  "I haven't seen your brother since he went up to Douglas to get married,"she said. "Didn't know they'd come home."

  "Oh, yes, they must be home," said Polly, an awful doubt coming into hermind. "They--they must be home!"

  Mrs. Morgan seized the receiver and began exchanging insults with theinvisible Central. After several minutes she gave up the effort.

  "It's no use, I can't raise them--our service is dreadful down here," shesaid. "Now, I'll tell you what to do. I've got to run home before the babywakes up; if he can't get Mendoza, you come on down to the house and staythe night with me. See, it's the last house--got a Union Jack flying fromit. If I don't see you in half an hour I'll know you've gone with Mendoza.You needn't be afraid of him--he's half dead but he can drive a Ford," andthe voluble old lady was gone.

  Polly wondered for a moment whether she most wanted to laugh or cry.Homesickness and fatigue suggested the latter, but a wild sense of humorpoised between the decrepit Mendoza and the deaf Mrs. Morgan won the day.Polly chuckled. Then realizing that it was nearly seven and that she hadhad nothing to eat since noon, she went to the counter and bought of aMexican youth, evidently a helper, some crackers. They were in a box andlooked a degree cleaner than anything else. The population had wearied ofthe American lady and had gone its various ways. Polly sat forlornly on ahigh stool and munched her crackers until Swartz returned.

  "No good," he said. "Mendoza's sick and he won't let nobody else drive decar. You better go stay mit de old lady."

  "All right," said the girl, rising. "I suppose I can leave my trunk onyour back porch?"

  "Vy not? Ain't it der station? Vere should you leaf it?" replied Swartz,hospitably.

  Polly stepped out of the front door. The sand blizzard was undoubtedly onthe wane. The wind was less violent but much cooler. The sun had droppedbehind the mountains and the dusk was descending upon the little Mexicantown. A few of the houses showed a light, but more of them were dark. TheMorgan house, a very long way down the street, it seemed to the girl, waslit and she started to go toward it. A sense of desolation, a forlornnessgreater than she had ever known in all her short life descended upon her.She swallowed quickly and increased her pace. It wasn't fear, shereflected, it was worse than fear; it was the awful loneliness of one whohad never been really alone in her life.

  "It's the first night at boarding-school multiplied by a thousand," shesobbed softly. "Oh, why did I come to this awful place? I simply can'tstay all night with that deaf woman and those mumpy children! I----"

  She jumped back in time to avoid an automobile which seemed to flash outof nothingness at her elbow. As she stood looking after it a wild hopecame into her head that it might be Bob after all. The car stopped and aman jumped out.

  "Is it you, senorita?" he exclaimed, "alone and in the dark?"

  It was Juan Pachuca. Polly sighed, disappointed to tears. She tried toexplain the situation.

  "But in two hours I will have you in Athens," he begged. "Or is it thatyou wish to stay with these people?"

  "Of course I don't wish to stay! The children have the mumps and the poorold lady is nearly wild."

  "Come. Give me that bag. So--I thought all Americans were sensiblepeople!" And before Polly could object she found herself seated in the carwith Juan Pachuca driving silently at her side.