XVII
There was a world of Mexicans in the plaza when Hooker rode down through the town. Never, it seemed to him, had he seen so many or liked them less.
To the handful of Americans who remained to man the mill and mine, they were easily a hundred to one; and though their eyes were wide with fear of the imminent rebels, they had an evil way of staring at him which he did not relish.
Even at the hotel, where the Spanish-Mexican aristocracy was massed ten deep, he sensed the same feeling of veiled hostility and wondered vaguely what it might portend. If Philip De Lancey, for making love to a girl, was drafted into the army, what would happen to him if these people should ever break loose? And did they have the courage to do their worst?
He lingered around the door for a while, hoping to meet Don Juan or some American who would tell him the news; then, disgusted with everything, he flung away and left them to themselves. Fortuna was not a white man's country – he could see that without a diagram – but at the same time he intended to hold his mine until he could hear from Phil.
Let the tides of insurrection come and go, let the red-flaggers take the town and the Federals take it back again – at the end he would still be found at the Eagle Tail, unless Phil received his title to the mine.
As for Aragon, whose fine Italian hand he perceived behind the sudden taking off of Phil, let him make what trades he would with the rurales and Manuel del Rey, even to the giving of his daughter's hand; but if, taking advantage of the unsettled times, he dared to try to steal their mine, then there would be war to the knife.
It is a fine, comforting thing to be single-minded and of one purpose. All the rest of life is simplified and ordered then, and a man knows when to raise his hand and when to hold it back.
In his letter Phil had said nothing about their mine, but he was a Mexican citizen still, and the mine was in his name. But he was his pardner and free to hold it in his stead; and that he determined to do – not only hold it, but work it for a stake. Then, when the title was passed and all made certain, they could turn it over to Kruger and quit the accursed country.
As for the girl, Bud decided that she could take care of herself without any assistance from him, and dismissed her from his mind.
Back at the mine he found Amigo guarding camp from the hilltop, and after telling him the gist of his troubles, the two of them went to work. Every day, while one of them dug out the ore, the other crushed and washed it and watched as he horned out the gold. Their rifles they kept beside them and pistols in their belts; and every time a Mexican dropped into camp, as one did now and then in the general unrest, he felt the silent menace of arms in readiness and continued on his way.
For a week they labored on together, grim, watchful, expectant – then, at the break of day, they heard a distant rattle of arms, like the tearing of a cloth, and knew that the battle was on.
The great whistle at Fortuna opened with its full, bass roar, and Amigo snatched up his gun and went loping down the cañon, drawn irresistibly by the sound of conflict. Bud lingered, climbing higher and higher to get a view of the country. But his young blood clamored for action too, and soon he was mounted and gone.
The fighting was not at the American town, but down the valley by Old Fortuna, and as Hooker galloped on toward the sound of the firing he noticed that it was on the move. Already the cowardly rebels were retreating – the volunteers from Fortuna were hurrying to get closer to them, the rurales were riding to flank them; and when Bud jumped his horse up the last hill and looked down into the broad, cultivated valley he saw the dust of their flight.
Down the fenced trail that led to the lower country the mounted insurrectos were spurring in a rout; across the newly plowed fields of Aragon the men on foot were making a short cut for the hills; and all about them, like leaping grasshoppers, sprang up puffs of dust.
Now they plunged into the willow brush along the river, where it swung in against the ridge; and as their pursuers broke into the open they halted and returned the fire. The bullets struck up the dust like hailstones in front of the oncoming irregulars, a man or two in the lead went down, and they faltered. Then, as frantically as the rebels, they turned and ran for cover.
While defenders and invaders shot back and forth across the broad field, Bud put spurs to his horse and rode closer, and when he came out on another hilltop he was just in time to see the rurales come pelting in from the west, and take the revoltosos on the flank. There was a great deal of long-distance firing then, while the rebels slowly retreated, and finally, with a last defiant volley, the defenders turned back from their pursuit and marched triumphantly to Old Fortuna.
There, amid numerous vivas, Don Cipriano rolled out a cask of mescal and, after a fiery speech, invited the victors to help themselves. So they fell to drinking and carousing, and the one defender who had been wounded was bandaged and made much of, while a great crowd from the upper town looked on in awe and admiration.
At last Manuel del Rey and his rurales returned from harassing the enemy and, with several wounded prisoners in their midst, the valor-drunk Mexicans formed a riotous procession and went marching back to town. Every horse and mule was carrying double, guns were being dropped, broad hats knocked off, and ever, as they marched, they shouted:
"Viva Madero! Viva Mejico! Muerte á los revoltosos!"
It was an edifying spectacle to an American, and with the rest Bud tagged along to the plaza, where they had speeches and cheers galore and more mescal at the company's cantina. But in the midst of it, while he sat laughing on his horse by the hotel, Bud felt a gravel strike his broad hat from above and, looking furtively up, he beheld Gracia Aragon smiling down at him from the balcony.
She beckoned him with a swift movement and gazed out over the assemblage again, and after a few moments of deliberation Hooker tied his horse and wandered into the hotel.
A tingle of excitement went over him as he tramped up to the ladies' parlor, for he had never met Gracia face to face. But he disguised his qualms by assuming a mask-like grimness of countenance and, when the glorious Gracia glided out of her room to meet him, he only blinked and stood pat.
A long experience as a poker-player was all that saved him from betrayal, for there was something in her very presence which made his heart leap and pound. But he only gazed at her somberly, without even so much as raising his hat.
Back in Texas, in his social world, it was considered almost unmanly thus to salute the ladies. So he stood there, his big sombrero pulled down over his mop of light hair, gazing at her without a blink.
Perhaps it was not altogether so friendly a scrutiny of her charming features as Gracia expected, for he remembered what she had done to his pardner; but if she sensed such a rare thing as disapproval from a young man, she was too excited to show it. Her lips trembled, and she looked back furtively, meanwhile drawing him into an alcove by the slightest twitch of his sleeve.
"Don't talk too loud," she whispered. "My mother is listening from the room – but for the love of God, tell me, where is Phil?"
"I don't know," answered Bud, trying to lower his big voice to a boudoir softness; "he joined the rurales and was ordered north – that's all I know."
"Yes, yes, to be sure; but haven't you heard from him?"
She seemed to be all impatience to snatch his news and fly with it, but Bud was in no such hurry. And so far was he from being a carpet knight that he immediately raised his voice to its normal bass. It was all right for Phil and his kind to talk by signs and whispers, but that was not his style.
"Not since he went away," he said. "He left me a little note, then, saying – "
"Saying what?" she demanded breathlessly.
"Well, saying that he had enlisted to keep from being executed, and – that's about all!"
"And not a word about me?"
"Yes," admitted Bud; "he said he'd try to put up with it – on account of you – and – "
"What?" she entreated, taking him beseechingly by the coat.
"Well," stammered Hooker, shifting his feet and looking away, "he told me to kinder take care of you – while he was gone."
"Ah!" she breathed, still standing close to him, "and will you do it?"
"I reckon so," said Bud, "if we have any trouble."
"But I'm in trouble now!" she cried. "I'm watched – I can't get away – and I'm afraid!"
"Afraid of what?" he demanded.
"Of him," she answered, her voice breaking – "of Manuel del Rey!"
"Well," replied Hooker bluntly, "I've got nothing to do with that – I can't interfere in your love-affairs – but if the's war and they try to take the town, you can count on me."
"Oh, thank you," she said, bowing satirically. "And do you expect a war?"
"Not with that bunch of hombres!" returned Bud, waving a disparaging hand toward the noise of the shouting. At this she broke down and laughed. Evidently she was not so fearful of discovery after all.
"You forget, sir," she said, "that I am a Mexican!"
Then, as he failed to show any signs of contrition, she changed her mood again.
"But wait!" she ran on, her eyes flashing. "Perhaps we are not so eager to defend our government when we have a new one every year. But if the men who are gathering in Chihuahua invade our country, you will find that as Sonorans those men will fight to the death.
"You laugh because you do not understand. But why should we Sonorans fight side by side with the Federals and rurales? Are they not the soldiers of Diaz, who have simply changed to another master? That Manuel del Rey was last year hunting down Maderistas in the hills; now he is fighting for Madero! And to-morrow? Who can say?"
She shrugged her shoulders scornfully, and Hooker perceived that she was in earnest in her dislike of the dashing captain, but prudence warned him to say nothing if he would escape being drawn into the quarrel.
"No," she went on, after an expectant pause, "let the rurales pursue these bandits – they are hired for that purpose! But if Orozco and Salazar join this ladrón, Bernardo Bravo, and seek to capture our towns, then, Señor Americano, you will see real war and men fighting to the death! Ah, you laugh again – you are a Texan and judge us Sonorans by the cowardly Chihuahuans – but it is the truth. And I, for one," she added naïvely, "would be almost glad to have war. Do you know why? To see if you would really defend me!"
She smiled, looking frankly into his eyes, and Bud blushed to the roots of his hair, but once again he held his peace.
"What, señor," she bantered; "you do not speak? Surely, then, your friend De Lancey was wrong when he said you would save me! For look, Mr. Hooker, I am promised to marry dear Phil; but how can I manage that when Manuel del Rey is watching me? It is impossible, is it not?"
"Seems so," muttered Bud, and in the back of his head he began to think quickly. Here was the fountainhead of his misfortunes, and if she had her way she would lay all his plans in ruins – and even then not marry Phil. In fact, from the light way she spoke, he sensed that she did not intend to marry him. Her grudge was against Manuel del Rey who drove away all her lovers.
"Well," he ventured, "there's no rush, I reckon – Phil's enlisted for five years."
"Ha!" she cried contemptuously. "And do you think he will serve? No! At a word from me he will flee to the border and I shall join him in the United States!"
"What?" demanded Bud. "Phil desert?"
In a moment he saw what such a move would mean to him – to Kruger and the Eagle Tail – and he woke suddenly from his calm.
"Here now," he said, scowling as he saw that she was laughing at him, "you've made me and Phil enough trouble. You let that boy alone, savvy?"
He stooped toward her as he spoke, fixing her with masterful eyes that had tamed many a bad horse and man, and she shrank away instinctively. Then she glanced at him shyly and edged over toward the open door.
"I will do what I please, Mr. Hooker," she returned, balancing on the verge of flight.
"All right," Bud came back; "but don't you call me in on it. You've made a fool out of Phil – I suppose you'd like to get me, too. Then your father would grab our mine."
"What do you mean?" she challenged, turning back upon him.
"I mean this," responded Hooker warmly: "Phil holds the title to our mine. If he deserts he loses his Mexican citizenship and his claim is no good. But you don't need to think that your father will get the mine then, because he'll have to whip me first!"
"O-ho!" she sneered. "So that is what you are thinking of? You are a true Gringo, Mr. Hooker – always thinking about the money!"
"Yes," returned Bud; "and even at that I believe your old man will best me!"
She laughed again, with sudden capriciousness, and stood tapping the floor with her foot.
"Ah, I see," she said at length, gazing at him reproachfully; "you think I am working for my father. You think I got poor Phil into all this trouble in order to cheat him of his mine. But let me tell you, Señor Gringo," she cried with sudden fire, "that I did not! I have nothing to do with my father and his schemes. But if you do not trust me – "
She turned dramatically to go, but when Hooker made no effort to stay her she returned once more to the attack.
"No," she said, "it was because he was an American – because he was brave – that I put my faith in Phil. These Mexican men are cowards – they are afraid to stand up and fight! But Philip dared to make love to me – he dared to sing to me at night – and when Manuel del Rey tried to stop him he stood up and made a fight!
"Ah, that is what I admire – a man who is brave. And let me tell you, Señor Hooker, I shall always love your friend! If I could run away I would marry him to-morrow; but this cur, Manuel del Rey, stands in the way. Even my own father is against me. But I don't care – I don't care what happens – only do not think that I am not your friend!"
She paused now and glanced at him shyly, and as her eloquent eyes met his own Bud felt suddenly that she was sincere. The gnawing and corrosive doubts that had eaten at his heart fell away, and he saw her now in her true beauty, with no uneasy thoughts of treachery to poison his honest love.
"I believe you, lady," he said, "and I'm glad to know you," he added, taking off his hat and bowing awkwardly. "Anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask for it – only I can't go against my pardners on this mine."
He bowed again and retreated toward the door, but she followed him impulsively.
"Shake hands," she said, holding out both her own, "and will you help me?"
"Sure!" answered Bud, and as her soft fingers closed on his he took them gently, for fear that he might crush them and never know.
XVIII
A month of weary waiting followed that day of days in Fortuna, and still there was no word from Phil. Bernardo Bravo and his rebel raiders passed through the mountains to the east, and news came of heavy fighting in Chihuahua. Don Cipriano Aragon moved his family back to his hacienda and Gracia became only a dream.
Then, one day, as Hooker and the Yaqui were industriously pounding out gold, a messenger came out from town with a telegram in his hand.
Am in Gadsden. No chance to hold mine. Kruger says quit. – P.
"No, I'll be 'sarned if I do!" muttered Bud. Then he sat down to think.
"Amigo," he said to the Yaqui, "are you a Mexican citizen? Can you get title to mine?"
"Me a Mexican?" repeated Amigo, tapping himself proudly on the chest. "No, señor! Seguro que no!"
"All right then," observed Bud bitterly, "here goes nothing – nowhere! I'll turn Mexican myself!"
He passed the messenger on the way to town, took out his first papers as a citizen, picked up the mineral agent's expert on the way back, and located the Eagle Tail in his own name. Before riding back to camp he wired to Kruger:
Have turned Mex and relocated claim.
Hooker.
It was his last card, and he did not expect to win by it. Fate had been against him from the first, and he could see his finish, but his nature drove him to fight on. All that Aragon had to do now was to have him summoned for military service, and Del Rey would do the rest.
Then he could take over the mine. A mere formality – or so it seemed – but between Aragon and his mine stood the Texas blood. Hooker had been crowded to the wall, and he was mad enough to fight.
The news of De Lancey's desertion followed quickly after his flight – it came over the Federal wires in a report to Manuel del Rey – but by the time it got to Aragon that gentleman was too late. They rode into camp the next day – Aragon and the captain of the rurales– and at the first glimpse of that hated uniform Amigo was off like a buck. Bud went out sullenly to meet them, his black mood showing in his lowering eyes, and he halted them by the savagery of his cursing.
"You cock-eyed old reprobate," he snarled, advancing threateningly upon the paling Aragon, "this makes three times you've come into my camp and brought your gun with you! Now take it off!" he yelled, dropping suddenly into Spanish. "Take that gun off – do you understand?"
So violent and unexpected was his assault that it threw Aragon into a panic, and even Manuel del Rey softened his manner as he inquired into the cause.
"Never mind," answered Bud, smiling crustily as Aragon laid aside his arms; "I know that hombre well! Now what can I do for you, capitan?"
"Be so kind as to take your hand from your belt," replied Del Rey with a smile that was intended to placate. "Ah, thank you – excuse my nerves – now I can tell you the news. I regret to inform you señor, that your friend, De Lancey, has deserted from my command, taking his arms and equipment with him. In case he is captured he will be shot as a deserter."
"Your news is old, capitan," rejoined Hooker. "I knew it two days ago. And you can tell Mr. Aragon that it is no use for him to try to get this mine – I became a Mexican citizen yesterday and located it myself."
"So we learned," responded the captain suavely. "It was part of my errand to-day to ask if you would not enlist in my company of rurales."
"Muchas gracias, capitan," answered Hooker with heavy irony. "I do not care to!"
"But your friend – " protested Manuel del Rey with an insinuating smile.
"My friend was in jail," put in Bud; "he was to be shot at sunrise. But mira, amigo, I am not in jail, and, furthermore, I do not intend to be."
"That is very creditable to you," laughed Del Rey; "but even then you are entitled to enlist."
"The country is full of turbulent fellows who have to be caught or killed. Come now, you understand my errand – why make it hard for me?"
"No, señor," returned Bud grimly, "I know nothing of your errand. But this I do know. I have done nothing for which I can be arrested, and if any man tries to make me join the army – " he hooked his thumb into his belt and regarded the captain fixedly.
"Ah, very well," said Del Rey, jerking his waxed mustachios, "I will not press the matter. But I understand from one of my men, señor, that you are harboring a dangerous criminal here – the same man, perhaps, whom I saw running up the cañon?"
He smiled meaningly at this, but Bud was swift to defend his Yaqui.
"No, señor," he replied, "I have no such criminal. I have a Mexican working for me who is one of the best miners in Sonora, and that is all I know about him."
"A Mexican?" repeated Del Rey, arching his eyebrows. "Excuse me, sir, but it is my business to know every man in this district, and he is no Mexican, but a Yaqui. Moreover, he is a fugitive and an outlaw, and if he had not been enlisted with the Federals I should have arrested him when he passed through Fortuna. So I warn you, sir, not to hide him, or you will be liable to the law."
"I'm not hiding him," protested Hooker scornfully. "I'm just hiring him as a miner, and any time you want him you can come and get him. He's up in the rocks there somewhere now."
"So!" exclaimed the captain, glancing uneasily at the hillside. "I did not think – but many thanks, señor, another time will do as well."
He reined his horse away as he spoke and, with a jerk of the head to Aragon, rode rapidly down the cañon. Aragon lingered to retrieve his fallen gun-belt and then, seeming to think better of his desire to speak, he made a single vindictive gesture and set spurs to his champing horse.
It was merely a fling of the hand, as spontaneous as a sigh or a frown, but in it Hooker read the last exasperation of the Spaniard and his declaration of war to the knife. He bared his strong teeth in reply and hissed out a blighting curse, and then Aragon was gone.
That evening, as the darkness came on and the cañon became hushed and still, Bud built a big fire and stood before it, his rugged form silhouetted against the flames. And soon, as quiet as a fox, the Yaqui appeared from the gloom.
"Did he come for me," he asked, advancing warily into the firelight, "that capitan?"
"Yes," answered Bud, "and for me, too. But you must have known him before, Amigo – he seems to be afraid of you."
A smile of satisfaction passed over the swarthy face of the Indian at this, and then the lines became grim again. His eyes glowed with the light of some great purpose, and for the first time since he had been with Bud he drew aside the veil from his past.
"Yes," he said, nodding significantly, "the rural is afraid. He knows I have come to kill him."
He squatted by the fire and poured out a cup of coffee, still brooding over his thoughts – then, with a swift gesture, he laid open his shirt and pointed to a scar along the ribs.
"He shot me there," he said.
"And so you have come to kill him?"
"Yes," answered Amigo; "but not now. Tomorrow I go to my people – I must take them my money first."
"Have you got a wife?" asked Hooker, forgetting for once his accustomed reserve.
"No," grumbled Amigo, shaking his head sadly, "no wife."
"Oh, you take your money to your father and mother."
"No. No father – no mother —nadie!"
He threw up his open hands to signify that all were gone, and Hooker said no more. For three months and more he had worked alongside this giant, silent Yaqui and only once had he sensed his past. That was when Amigo had torn his shirt in lifting, and across the rippling muscles of his back there had shown the long white wale of a whip.
It was the mark of his former slavery when, with the rest of his people, he had been deported to the henequen-fields of Yucatan and flogged by the overseer's lash – and Amigo was ashamed of it. But now that he was about to go, Bud made bold to ask him one more question, to set his mind at rest.
"Perhaps this captain killed your people?"
"No, señor," answered Amigo quietly; "they died."
He spoke the words simply, but there was something in his voice that brought up images of the past – of peaceful Yaquis, seized at every ranch in Sonora on a certain night; of long marches overland, prodded on by rurales and guards; of the crowded prison-ships from which the most anguished hurled themselves into the sea; and then the awful years of slavery in the poisoned tropics, until only the hardiest were left.
Amigo had seen it all, as the scars on his broad back proved – but he withdrew now into silence and left his thoughts unsaid. As he sat there by the fire, one long, black hand held out to keep the gleam from his eyes, he made a noble figure, but the Yaqui songs which he had crooned on other nights were forgotten, and he held himself tense and still. Then at last he rose and gazed at Bud.
"You pay me my money," he said. "I go now."
"Sure," answered Bud, and after he had weighed out the equivalent in gold on his scales he flipped in some more for luck and gave him a sack to hold it.
"What you buy with all that," he inquired with a friendly grin; "grub?"
"No, señor," answered Amigo, knotting the precious gold in a handkerchief; "cartridges!"
"What for?" queried Bud, and then it was Amigo who smiled.
"To kill Mexicans with!" he replied, and in those words Hooker read the secret of his thrift.
While his wild brethren fought in the hills or prepared for the battles to come, it was his part to earn the money that should keep them in ammunition. It was for that, in fact, that Porfirio Diaz had seized all the peaceful Yaquis in a night and shipped them to Yucatan – for he saw that while they were working the wild Yaquis would never lack.
All the time that Amigo had been doing two men's work and saving on the price of a shirt he had held that cheerful dream in his mind – to kill more Mexicans!
Yet, despite the savagery in him, Hooker had come to like the Yaqui, and he liked him still. With the rurales on his trail it was better that he should go, but Bud wanted him to return. So, knowing the simple honesty of Indians, he brought out his own spare pistol and placed it in Amigo's hands. Often he had seen him gazing at it longingly, for it was lighter than his heavy Mauser and better for the journey.
"Here," he said, "I will lend you my pistol – and you can give it to me when you come back."
"Sure!" answered the Indian, hanging it on his hip. "Adios!"
They shook hands then, and the Yaqui disappeared in the darkness. In the morning, when a squad of rurales closed in on the camp, they found nothing but his great tracks in the dust.