Daughter of the Sun

  CHAPTER VIII

  HOW A MAN MAY CARRY A MESSAGE AND NOT KNOW HIMSELF TO BE A MESSENGER

  "There's no call for bad blood between you and me, Jim," said Barlow,plainly ill at his ease. "We've always been friends; let's stayfriends. If we can't pull together in the deal that's comin', why,let's just split our trail two ways and let it go at that."

  "Fair enough," cried Kendric heartily. His companion thrust out ahand; Kendric took it warmly. Barlow looked relieved.

  "And," continued the sailor, "there's no sense forgettin' what we raninto this port for in the first place. There's the loot; no matter howor when we come at it, both together or single, we split it even?"

  "Fair again. The old-time Barlow talking."

  "All I've held out on you, Jim, is the exact location, so far as I knowit. I'll spill that to you now, best I can. Then you can play outyour string your way and I can play it out my way. As Juarez tipped meoff, you've got three peaks to sail by; whether it's the three we sawfirst or the ones right off here, back of the house, I don't know anymore than you do. But it ought to be easy tellin' when a man's on thespot. The middle peak ought to be a good fifty feet higher than theothers and flat lookin' on top. In a ravine, between the tall boy andthe one at the left, Juarez said there was a lot of scrub trees andbrush. He said plow through the brush, keepin' to the up edge when youcan get to it, until you come to about the middle of the patch. Therea man would find a lot of loose rock, boulders that looked like they'dslid off the mountain. This rock, and the Lord knows how much of itthere is, covers the hole that the old priest's writin' said that lootwas in. And that's the yarn, every damn' word of it."

  "If it's the place back of the house," said Kendric, "it'll be a nightjob, all of it. It's not a half mile off and plain sight from here.Now, what's the likelihood of Escobar having been there ahead of us?"

  "Escobar's out of the runnin'." Barlow's eyes glinted with hissatisfaction. "He's corked up here tighter'n a fly in a bottle. Heisn't allowed to stick nose outside the walls after dark; and he isn'tallowed to ride out of sight in the daytime. Those are littleEscobar's orders. And, by cracky, I'll bet he minds 'em."

  "Who told you all that?"

  "She did."

  "What's she close-herding him for?"

  "Doesn't trust him; can you blame her? She's takin' her chances, andshe knows it, plannin' the big things ahead. And she's not missin' abet."

  "And more," remarked Kendric drily, "she hankers for the loot herself?"

  "She wouldn't know a thing about it," protested Barlow. "Escobar wouldkeep his mouth shut; he's wise hog enough for that."

  "But she does know, Twisty. She knows that Escobar knifed Juarez; sheknows why; she knows pretty nearly as much about the thing as we know."

  "She knows a lot of things," mused Barlow. But he shook his head:"She's shootin' high, Headlong; no penny-ante game for her! Not thatwhat we're lookin' for sounds little; but it ain't in her path andshe's not turnin' aside for anything. And she's the richest lady inMexico right now. Those pearls of hers, man, are worth over a hundredthousand dollars, or I'm a fool. I saw them again tonight; she let mehave them in my hands. And that ruby; did you see it? Why, kingscan't sport stones like that in their best Sunday crowns."

  "She contends that she is a descendent of the old Mexican kings,"offered Kendric coolly. "And any treasure, left by the Montezumas, sheclaims by right of inheritance!"

  "She couldn't get across with a claim like that, could she? Not in anylaw court, Jim?"

  "Not unless the jurors were all men and she could get them off alone,one at a time, and whisper in their ears," grunted Kendric.

  Barlow laughed and they dropped the subject. Kendric told Barlow whathe had learned during the evening; how the walls were sentinelled andhow at the present moment under the same roof with them was an Americangirl, held for ransom.

  "And, according to Escobar," he concluded, watching his old friend'sface, "the trick is put over with the connivance of Miss Castelmar.This would seem to be one of the headquarters of the great nationalgame!"

  "Well?" snapped the sailor. "What of it? If you can get away with agame like that it pays big and fast. And who the devil sent you and medown this way to preach righteousness? It's their business--but,cut-throat cur that that little bandit hop o' my thumb is, I don'tbelieve a word he says."

  "And if you did believe, it would be just the same?" There was a queernote in his voice. "Well, Twisty, old mate, I guess you've said it.Our trail forks. Good night."

  "Good night," growled Barlow. Each went into his own bedroom; thedoors closed after them.

  For a couple of hours Kendric sat in the dark by his window, staringout into the gardens, pondering. Of two things he was certain: He wasnot going to remain shut up in the Hacienda Montezuma if there was away to break for the open; and he was not going to leave LowerCalifornia without his share of the buried treasure or at least withoutknowing that the tale was a lie. And, little by little, a thirdconsideration forced itself in with its place with these matters; hecould not get out of his mind the picture of the "poor little kid of agirl" in Escobar's hands. Like any other strong man, Kendric had aquick sympathy and pity for the weak and abused. Never, he thought,had he seen an individual less equipped to contend with such forcesthan was the little American girl.

  "What I'd like," he thought longingly, "would be to make a break forthe border; to round up about twenty of the boys and to swoop down onthis place like a gale out of hell! Clean 'em for fair, pick thelittle Gordon girl up and race back to the border with her. If itwasn't so blamed far----"

  But he realized, even while he let his angry fancies run, that he wasdreaming impossibilities. He knew, also, that to take up the matterthrough the regular diplomatic channels would be a process tooinfinitely slow to suit the situation. It was either a single-handedjob for Jim Kendric, or else it was up to the girl's father to pay downthe twenty-five thousand dollars.

  "I'd give a good deal for a talk with old Bruce West," he told himself."His outfit lies close in to these diggings; wonder if he has anyAmerican boys working for him? Why, a dozen of us, or a half dozen,would stand this place on end! Yes; I'd like to see Bruce."

  A score of reasons flocked to him why it was desirable to see youngWest. The boy was a friend, and it would be a joy just to grip him bythe hand again after three years; Bruce had written to him to come andnow that events had led him so near, he should grant the request; Brucewas having his own troubles, no doubt against the lawlessness ofEscobar, Rios and the rest. And finally, he and Bruce might workthings together so that both should derive benefit. Bruce might be ina position to befriend Gordon's little daughter.

  So much did Kendric dwell on the subject that night that it claimed hisfirst thoughts when he woke in the early dawn. And therefore, whenZoraida's message was handed to him at the breakfast table, he staredat it with puzzled eyes asking himself if the amazing creature had readhis thoughts through thick walls of adobe.

  The message was typewritten, even to the signature. It said:

  "No doubt Senor Kendric would like to see his old friend Senor West.If he will only set his signature below what follows he will be given ahorse, permission to ride and instructions as to direction. Zoraida."

  And below were the words, with date and a dotted line for him to sign:

  "I pledge my word, as a gentleman, to Zoraida Castelmar, that I willreturn to her at Hacienda Montezuma not later than daybreak twenty-fourhours from now. . . ."

  "A take or leave proposition, clean cut," he comprehended promptly.And as promptly he decided to take it. The maid who had brought himthe paper was offering pen and ink. He accepted and wrote swiftly:"Jim Kendric."

  "Has Barlow breakfasted yet?" he asked, returning to his coffee.

  "An hour ago, Senor. He has gone out."

  "Alone?"

  "No, senor. With La Senorita Zoraida."

  "Hm," said Kendric. "And Rios? And Escobar
?"

  "Senor Rios went to bed late; it is his custom, senor." The girllooked as though she could tell him more but, with a quick glance overher shoulder, contented herself with saying only: "Senor Escobar iswith the men outside."

  "And the American girl? Miss Gordon?"

  "Asleep still, senor."

  "Has Escobar been near her?"

  "No, senor. She has been alone except for me and Rosita. _Lapobrecita_," she added, almost in a whisper. "She is so frightened."

  "Be kind to her," said Kendric. He, too, looked over his shoulder. Inhis pocket were the few fifty-dollar bills left to him from his oilshares. "What is your name?"

  "Juanita," she told him.

  "All right, Juanita; take this." He slipped a bill along thetablecloth toward her. "Give Rosita half, you keep half. And be kindto Miss Gordon."

  "Oh, senor!" she cried, as in protest. But she took the bank note.Kendric felt better for the transaction; he finished his breakfast withrare appetite.

  "Now," he cried, jumping up, "for the horse. Is it ready?"

  Juanita, the folded paper in her hands, went with him to the door.

  "The horse is ready, Senor Americano," she told him. "It remains onlyfor me to tell the boy that you have promised to return."

  Sure enough, pawing the gravel in front of the house, half jerking offhis feet the _mestizo_ holding it, was a tall, rangy sorrel horselooking as fine an animal as any man in a hurry could wish.

  "Senor Kendric will ride, Pedro," called Juanita. "Give him the horse."

  Pedro gave the reins over to Kendric and turned away toward thestables. Kendric swung up into the saddle and for a moment curbed thebig sorrel's dash toward the gates, to say meditatively to Juanita:

  "If I took that paper away from you and made a run for it, what then?"

  A look of fear leaped into the girl's dark eyes and she drew hastilyback, clutching the paper to her breast.

  "Senor!" she cried, breathless and aghast. "You would not! She--shewould kill me!"

  "She would _what_?" he scowled.

  "She would give me to her cat, her terrible, terrible cat, to playwith!" Juanita shivered, and drew still further back. "With my life Imust guard this paper until it goes from my hand into her hand."

  He laughed his disbelief and gave his horse his head at last. Theyshot away through the shrubberry; the horse slid to a standstill beforethe closed gate. Of the man smoking a cigaret before it Kendric saidcurtly:

  "You are to let me through. And direct me to Bruce West's ranch."

  "Si, senor." The man opened the gate. "It is yonder; up the valley.The trail will carry you up over the mountain; there are piled stonesto mark the way to the pass. In an hour, from the other side of theridge, you will see houses. Ten miles from there."

  Kendric rode through and as he did so his figure straightened in thesaddle, his shoulders squared, he put up his head. Free and in theopen, if only for twenty-four hours. And with a horse, a real horse,between his knees. He looked off to the left to Barlow's three peaks;the sun was gilding the top of the tallest and it was unquestionablethat it was flat-topped. But he did not dwell long upon buried goldnor yet on the query which suggested itself: "Where were Barlow andZoraida riding so early?" The immediate present and the immediatesurroundings were all that he cared to interest himself in on a daylike this.

  The man at the gate had said it was ten miles from the far side of theridge to the Bruce West ranch house; the entire distance, therefore,from the Hacienda Montezuma would be about double that distance. Thetrail, once he reached the hills, was a dilatory, leisurely affair,thoroughly Mexican; it sought out the gentlest slope always andappeared in no haste to arrive anywhere. Well, his mood could be madeto suit the trail's; he was in no hurry, having all day for his talkwith young West.

  The higher he rose above the floor of Zoraida's grassy valley thesteeper did his trail become, flanked with cliffs, at times looking toosheer ahead for a horse. But always the path twisted between theboulders and found the possible way up. So he came into a splendidsolitude, a region of naked rocks, of a few windblown trees, of littleopen level spaces grown up with dry brush and wiry grass; of defilesthrough stone-bound ways that were so narrow two men could not haveridden through them abreast, so crooked that a man often could not seeten steps ahead or ten steps behind, so deep that he must throw hishead far back to see the barren cliff tops above him. Strips of sky,seen thus, were deep, deep blue.

  It was not at all strange, he told himself during one of his meditativemoments while his horse climbed valiantly, that Zoraida should know ofhis friendship with Bruce West, nor that she should understand hisnatural desire to ride where he was going this morning. Everyone inthe border town had known of his letter at the postoffice; further, itwas not in the least unlikely that Senorita Castelmar would know of theletter when it was dropped into the slot at the Mexican postoffice.What did strike him as odd, however, was that she should consent to hisleaving the ranch, realizing that he knew much of her own plans andwould doubtless speak freely of them and of the American girl held inher house for ransom.

  "Not only was she willing for me to see Bruce," he decided; "she wantedme to. Why?"

  His trail led him into the last narrow defile to be encountered beforereaching the summit. So closely did the rocks press in on each sidethat often his tapaderos brushed the sheer wall. He made a turn, nonetoo wide for the body of his horse and drew sudden rein, looking intotwo rifle barrels. The men covering him lay a dozen feet above hishead upon a bare, flat rock. He could see only the hands upon theirguns, the heads under their tall hats, the shoulders. But he was nearenough to mark a business-like look in the hard black eyes.

  "You've got the drop on me, _companeros_," he said lightly. "What'sthe game?"

  A third man appeared on foot in the trail before him, stepping out frombehind a shoulder of rock. He came on until he could have put out ahand to the sorrel's reins.

  "Where do you ride so early?" asked the man on foot, his voice quietbut vaguely hostile. "On what errand?"

  "What business is it of yours, my friend?" returned Kendric.

  "I know the horse," called one of the figures above. "It is El Rey,from the stables of La Senorita."

  "Then the rider must have a message. Or a sign. Or he has stolen thehorse, which would go bad with him!"

  "Curse you and your signs and messages," cried Kendric hotly. "It's afree country and I ride where I please."

  The man before him only smiled.

  "Let me look at your saddle strings," he said.

  Kendric stared wonderingly; was the fellow insane? What in the name offolly did he mean by a thing like this? Surely not just theopportunity to draw close enough to strike with a knife; the riflesabove made such strategy useless.

  So he sat still and contented himself with watching. The man came astep closer, twisted El Rey's head aside, pressed close and looked atthe rawhide strings on one side of the saddle. Then he moved to theother side and repeated the process. Immediately he drew back, liftinghis hat widely.

  "Pass on, senor," he said courteously. "_Viva La Senorita_!"

  Kendric spurred by him and rode on, passing abruptly out of awilderness of tumbled boulders into a grassy flat. He turned in thesaddle; nowhere was there sign of another than himself upon themountain. Curiously he looked at his saddle strings; in one of them aslit had been made through which the end of the string had been passed;a double knot had been tied just below the slit. In no otherparticular was any one of the strings in the least noteworthy.

  "As good a way to carry a message as any," he grunted. "With not eventhe messenger aware of the tidings he brings!"

  The incident impressed him deeply. Zoraida, at the game she played,was in deadly earnest. Her commands went far and through many channelsand were obeyed. The passes through the mountains were in her hands.The sunlight fell warm and golden about him; the full morning wasserene; a stillness as of ineffable peace lay
across the solitudes.And yet he felt that the placid promise was a lie; that the laughingloveliness of the day was but a mask covering much strife. In the fulllight he moved on not unlike a man groping in absolute darkness,uncertain of the path he trod, suspicious of pitfalls, knowing onlythat his direction was in hands other than his own. Hands that lookedsoft and that were relentless; hands that blazed with barbaric jewels.There had been a knot in a rawhide string, and a bandit in themountains had lifted his hat and had said simply: "Long live _LaSenorita_!"