The Mucker

  CHAPTER IX. BARBARA IN MEXICO

  THE manager of El Orobo Rancho was an American named Grayson. He was atall, wiry man whose education had been acquired principally in the cowcamps of Texas, where, among other things one does NOT learn to lovenor trust a greaser. As a result of this early training Grayson waspeculiarly unfitted in some respects to manage an American ranch inMexico; but he was a just man, and so if his vaqueros did not lovehim, they at least respected him, and everyone who was or possessed thelatent characteristics of a wrongdoer feared him.

  Perhaps it is not fair to say that Grayson was in any way unfitted forthe position he held, since as a matter of fact he was an ideal ranchforeman, and, if the truth be known, the simple fact that he was agringo would have been sufficient to have won him the hatred of theMexicans who worked under him--not in the course of their everydayrelations; but when the fires of racial animosity were fanned to flameby some untoward incident upon either side of the border.

  Today Grayson was particularly rabid. The more so because he could notvent his anger upon the cause of it, who was no less a person than hisboss.

  It seemed incredible to Grayson that any man of intelligence could haveconceived and then carried out the fool thing which the boss had justdone, which was to have come from the safety of New York City to thehazards of warring Mexico, bringing--and this was the worst featureof it--his daughter with him. And at such a time! Scarce a day passedwithout its rumors or reports of new affronts and even atrocitiesbeing perpetrated upon American residents of Mexico. Each day, too, thegravity of these acts increased. From mere insult they had run of lateto assault and even to murder. Nor was the end in sight.

  Pesita had openly sworn to rid Mexico of the gringo--to kill on sightevery American who fell into his hands. And what could Grayson do incase of a determined attack upon the rancho? It is true he had a hundredmen--laborers and vaqueros, but scarce a dozen of these were Americans,and the rest would, almost without exception, follow the inclinations ofconsanguinity in case of trouble.

  To add to Grayson's irritability he had just lost his bookkeeper, andif there was one thing more than any other that Grayson hated it was penand ink. The youth had been a "lunger" from Iowa, a fairly nice littlechap, and entirely suited to his duties under any other circumstancesthan those which prevailed in Mexico at that time. He was in mortalterror of his life every moment that he was awake, and at last had givenin to the urge of cowardice and resigned. The day previous he had beenbundled into a buckboard and driven over to the Mexican Centralwhich, at that time, still was operating trains--occasionally--betweenChihuahua and Juarez.

  His mind filled with these unpleasant thoughts, Grayson sat at his deskin the office of the ranch trying to unravel the riddle of a balancesheet which would not balance. Mixed with the blue of the smoke from hisbriar was the deeper azure of a spirited monologue in which Grayson wasengaged.

  A girl was passing the building at the moment. At her side walked agray-haired man--one of those men whom you just naturally fit into amental picture of a director's meeting somewhere along Wall Street.

  "Sich langwidge!" cried the girl, with a laugh, covering her ears withher palms.

  The man at her side smiled.

  "I can't say that I blame him much, Barbara," he replied. "It was avery foolish thing for me to bring you down here at this time. I can'tunderstand what ever possessed me to do it."

  "Don't blame yourself, dear," remonstrated the girl, "when it was all myfault. I begged and begged and begged until you had to consent, and I'mnot sorry either--if nothing happens to you because of our coming. Icouldn't stay in New York another minute. Everyone was so snoopy, andI could just tell that they were dying to ask questions about Billy andme."

  "I can't get it through my head yet, Barbara," said the man, "why in theworld you broke with Billy Mallory. He's one of the finest young men inNew York City today--just my ideal of the sort of man I'd like my onlydaughter to marry."

  "I tried, Papa," said the girl in a low voice; "but I couldn't--I justcouldn't."

  "Was it because--" the man stopped abruptly. "Well, never mind dear,I shan't be snoopy too. Here now, you run along and do some snoopingyourself about the ranch. I want to stop in and have a talk withGrayson."

  Down by one of the corrals where three men were busily engaged inattempting to persuade an unbroken pony that a spade bit is a pleasantthing to wear in one's mouth, Barbara found a seat upon a wagon boxwhich commanded an excellent view of the entertainment going on withinthe corral. As she sat there experiencing a combination of admirationfor the agility and courage of the men and pity for the horse the tonesof a pleasant masculine voice broke in upon her thoughts.

  "Out there somewhere!" says I to me. "By Gosh, I guess, thats poetry!" "Out there somewhere--Penelope--with kisses on her mouth!" And then, thinks I, "O college guy! your talk it gets me in the eye, The north is creeping in the air, the birds are flying south."

  Barbara swung around to view the poet. She saw a slender man astride afagged Mexican pony. A ragged coat and ragged trousers covered theman's nakedness. Indian moccasins protected his feet, while a torn andshapeless felt hat sat upon his well-shaped head. AMERICAN was writtenall over him. No one could have imagined him anything else. Apparentlyhe was a tramp as well--his apparel proclaimed him that; but therewere two discordant notes in the otherwise harmonious ensemble of yourtypical bo. He was clean shaven and he rode a pony. He rode erect, too,with the easy seat of an army officer.

  At sight of the girl he raised his battered hat and swept it low to hispony's shoulder as he bent in a profound bow.

  "I seek the majordomo, senorita," he said.

  "Mr. Grayson is up at the office, that little building to the left ofthe ranchhouse," replied the girl, pointing.

  The newcomer had addressed her in Spanish, and as he heard her reply,in pure and liquid English, his eyes widened a trifle; but the familiarsmile with which he had greeted her left his face, and his parting bowwas much more dignified though no less profound than its predecessor.

  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me, With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.

  Grayson and his employer both looked up as the words of Knibbs' poemfloated in to them through the open window.

  "I wonder where that blew in from," remarked Grayson, as his eyesdiscovered Bridge astride the tired pony, looking at him through thewindow. A polite smile touched the stranger's lips as his eyes metGrayson's, and then wandered past him to the imposing figure of theEasterner.

  "Good evening, gentlemen," said Bridge.

  "Evenin'," snapped Grayson. "Go over to the cookhouse and the Chink'llgive you something to eat. Turn your pony in the lower pasture. Smith'llshow you where to bunk tonight, an' you kin hev your breakfast in themornin'. S'long!" The ranch superintendent turned back to the paper inhis hand which he had been discussing with his employer at the moment ofthe interruption. He had volleyed his instructions at Bridge as thoughpouring a rain of lead from a machine gun, and now that he had said whathe had to say the incident was closed in so far as he was concerned.

  The hospitality of the Southwest permitted no stranger to be turned awaywithout food and a night's lodging. Grayson having arranged for thesefelt that he had done all that might be expected of a host, especiallywhen the uninvited guest was so obviously a hobo and doubtless a horsethief as well, for who ever knew a hobo to own a horse?

  Bridge continued to sit where he had reined in his pony. He was lookingat Grayson with what the discerning boss judged to be politely concealedenjoyment.

  "Possibly," suggested the boss in a whisper to his aide, "the man hasbusiness with you. You did not ask him, and I am sure that he saidnothing about wishing a meal or a place to sleep."

  "Huh?" grunted Grayson, and then to Bridge, "Well, what the devil DO youwant?"

  "A job," replied Bridge, "or, to be more explicit, I need a job--far beit from me to WISH one."

  The Easterner smiled. G
rayson looked a bit mystified--and irritated.

  "Well, I hain't got none," he snapped. "We don't need nobody now unlessit might be a good puncher--one who can rope and ride."

  "I can ride," replied Bridge, "as is evidenced by the fact that you nowsee me astride a horse."

  "I said RIDE," said Grayson. "Any fool can SIT on a horse. NO, I hain'tgot nothin', an' I'm busy now. Hold on!" he exclaimed as though seizedby a sudden inspiration. He looked sharply at Bridge for a moment andthen shook his head sadly. "No, I'm afraid you couldn't do it--a guy'sgot to be eddicated for the job I got in mind."

  "Washing dishes?" suggested Bridge.

  Grayson ignored the playfulness of the other's question.

  "Keepin' books," he explained. There was a finality in his tone whichsaid: "As you, of course, cannot keep books the interview is now over.Get out!"

  "I could try," said Bridge. "I can read and write, you know. Let metry." Bridge wanted money for the trip to Rio, and, too, he wanted tostay in the country until Billy was ready to leave.

  "Savvy Spanish?" asked Grayson.

  "I read and write it better than I speak it," said Bridge, "though I dothe latter well enough to get along anywhere that it is spoken."

  Grayson wanted a bookkeeper worse than he could ever recall havingwanted anything before in all his life. His better judgment told himthat it was the height of idiocy to employ a ragged bum as a bookkeeper;but the bum was at least as much of a hope to him as is a straw to adrowning man, and so Grayson clutched at him.

  "Go an' turn your cayuse in an' then come back here," he directed, "an'I'll give you a tryout."

  "Thanks," said Bridge, and rode off in the direction of the pasturegate.

  "'Fraid he won't never do," said Grayson, ruefully, after Bridge hadpassed out of earshot.

  "I rather imagine that he will," said the boss. "He is an educated man,Grayson--you can tell that from his English, which is excellent. He'sprobably one of the great army of down-and-outers. The world is fullof them--poor devils. Give him a chance, Grayson, and anyway he addsanother American to our force, and each one counts."

  "Yes, that's right; but I hope you won't need 'em before you an' MissBarbara go," said Grayson.

  "I hope not, Grayson; but one can never tell with conditions here suchas they are. Have you any hope that you will be able to obtain a safeconduct for us from General Villa?"

  "Oh, Villa'll give us the paper all right," said Grayson; "but it won'tdo us no good unless we don't meet nobody but Villa's men on the wayout. This here Pesita's the critter I'm leery of. He's got it in for allAmericans, and especially for El Orobo Rancho. You know we beat off araid of his about six months ago--killed half a dozen of his men, an' hewon't never forgive that. Villa can't spare a big enough force to giveus safe escort to the border and he can't assure the safety of the trainservice. It looks mighty bad, sir--I don't see what in hell you camefor."

  "Neither do I, Grayson," agreed the boss; "but I'm here and we've gotto make the best of it. All this may blow over--it has before--and we'lllaugh at our fears in a few weeks."

  "This thing that's happenin' now won't never blow over 'til the starsand stripes blow over Chihuahua," said Grayson with finality.

  A few moments later Bridge returned to the office, having unsaddled hispony and turned it into the pasture.

  "What's your name?" asked Grayson, preparing to enter it in his timebook.

  "Bridge," replied the new bookkeeper.

  "'Nitials," snapped Grayson.

  Bridge hesitated. "Oh, put me down as L. Bridge," he said.

  "Where from?" asked the ranch foreman.

  "El Orobo Rancho," answered Bridge.

  Grayson shot a quick glance at the man. The answer confirmed hissuspicions that the stranger was probably a horse thief, which, inGrayson's estimation, was the worst thing a man could be.

  "Where did you get that pony you come in on?" he demanded. "I ain'tsayin' nothin' of course, but I jest want to tell you that we ain't gotno use for horse thieves here."

  The Easterner, who had been a listener, was shocked by the brutality ofGrayson's speech; but Bridge only laughed.

  "If you must know," he said, "I never bought that horse, an' the man hebelonged to didn't give him to me. I just took him."

  "You got your nerve," growled Grayson. "I guess you better git out. Wedon't want no horse thieves here."

  "Wait," interposed the boss. "This man doesn't act like a horse thief.A horse thief, I should imagine, would scarcely admit his guilt. Let'shave his story before we judge him."

  "All right," said Grayson; "but he's just admitted he stole the horse."

  Bridge turned to the boss. "Thanks," he said; "but really I did stealthe horse."

  Grayson made a gesture which said: "See, I told you so."

  "It was like this," went on Bridge. "The gentleman who owned the horse,together with some of his friends, had been shooting at me and myfriends. When it was all over there was no one left to inform us whowere the legal heirs of the late owners of this and several other horseswhich were left upon our hands, so I borrowed this one. The law wouldsay, doubtless, that I had stolen it; but I am perfectly willing toreturn it to its rightful owners if someone will find them for me."

  "You been in a scrap?" asked Grayson. "Who with?"

  "A party of Pesita's men," replied Bridge.

  "When?"

  "Yesterday."

  "You see they are working pretty close," said Grayson, to his employer,and then to Bridge: "Well, if you took that cayuse from one of Pesita'sbunch you can't call that stealin'. Your room's in there, back of theoffice, an' you'll find some clothes there that the last man forgot totake with him. You ken have 'em, an' from the looks o' yourn you need'em."

  "Thank you," replied Bridge. "My clothes are a bit rusty. I shall haveto speak to James about them," and he passed through into the littlebedroom off the office, and closed the door behind him.

  "James?" grunted Grayson. "Who the devil does he mean by James? I hain'tseen but one of 'em."

  The boss was laughing quietly.

  "The man's a character," he said. "He'll be worth all you pay him--ifyou can appreciate him, which I doubt, Grayson."

  "I ken appreciate him if he ken keep books," replied Grayson. "That'sall I ask of him."

  When Bridge emerged from the bedroom he was clothed in white ducktrousers, a soft shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, and such a changehad they wrought in his appearance that neither Grayson nor his employerwould have known him had they not seen him come from the room into whichthey had sent him to make the exchange of clothing.

  "Feel better?" asked the boss, smiling.

  "Clothes are but an incident with me," replied Bridge. "I wear thembecause it is easier to do so than it would be to dodge the weather andthe police. Whatever I may have upon my back affects in no way whatI have within my head. No, I cannot say that I feel any better, sincethese clothes are not as comfortable as my old ones. However if itpleases Mr. Grayson that I should wear a pink kimono while working forhim I shall gladly wear a pink kimono. What shall I do first, sir?" Thequestion was directed toward Grayson.

  "Sit down here an' see what you ken make of this bunch of trouble,"replied the foreman. "I'll talk with you again this evenin'."

  As Grayson and his employer quitted the office and walked togethertoward the corrals the latter's brow was corrugated by thought and hisfacial expression that of one who labors to fasten upon a baffling andillusive recollection.

  "It beats all, Grayson," he said presently; "but I am sure that I haveknown this new bookkeeper of yours before. The moment he came out ofthat room dressed like a human being I knew that I had known him; butfor the life of me I can't place him. I should be willing to wagerconsiderable, however, that his name is not Bridge."

  "S'pect you're right," assented Grayson. "He's probably one o' themeastern dude bank clerks what's gone wrong and come down here to hide.Mighty fine place to hide jest now, too.

  "And say, speakin' of bank
s," he went on, "what'll I do 'bout sendin'over to Cuivaca fer the pay tomorrow. Next day's pay day. I don't liketo send this here bum, I can't trust a greaser no better, an' I can'tspare none of my white men thet I ken trust."

  "Send him with a couple of the most trustworthy Mexicans you have,"suggested the boss.

  "There ain't no sich critter," replied Grayson; "but I guess that's thebest I ken do. I'll send him along with Tony an' Benito--they hateeach other too much to frame up anything together, an' they both hate agringo. I reckon they'll hev a lovely trip."

  "But they'll get back with the money, eh?" queried the boss.

  "If Pesita don't get 'em," replied Grayson.