WHEREIN THE BANDIT EXPOUNDS A NEW PHILOSOPHY, AND MAKES MARIONETTES OF THE AMERICANS
"Put all ze men outside," Lopez ordered. Venustiano and Pedro, his chief lieutenants, obeyed at once, forcing them to march ahead of them, and standing guard over them near a great cactus bush a few feet from the adobe. "Leave ze women with me," the bandit continued. "But first, Alvarada, you find ze cook. I am 'ongry."
"Si," answered Alvarada; and after he had made certain that Pedro and Venustiano could handle the three men, one of whom, after all, was but an invalid in a wheel chair, he made his way to the kitchen. He knew there were two other companions who would help in any emergency. They slunk in the background, cigarettes between their lips, guns always ready for action. The house was completely surrounded.
Lucia and Angela, left alone with Lopez, revealed the deep concern they felt. They watched the bandit as he pawed through some papers on the table. With maddening indifference he then lighted another cigarette, and went over to the door, looking out at the male prisoners. Finally he turned upon them, looked them over, and remarked:
"What a pity. Only two women!"
They shuddered away from his gaze.
There was a noise from the direction of the kitchen, and Alvarada, with the miserable little Mexican cook ahead of him, rushed in.
He was addressing him in Spanish: "Usted si cusinero. Borachi!"
Lopez gave one glance at the poor specimen who had charge of the kitchen.
"The cook," he laughed. "He is dronk!" He now addressed him directly: "You are dronk," he affirmed, and stamped his foot.
Frightened, the boy cried: "No! No!" Certainly he was under the influence of the deadly tequila; but when he saw the bandit's face, and realized that he was in his power, he became suddenly and miraculously sober. He was firmly convinced that his last moment on this earth had come. He knew that a man like Lopez never hesitated to shoot to kill. He realized in the twinkling of an eye how late it was, how the dinner had been delayed through his drunkenness; and this visitor would brook no further waiting. He fully expected to be shot against the door. Therefore, to save time, he slunk to the entrance of the kitchen, placed himself against the jamb, crossed himself, muttered a rapid, incoherent prayer in Spanish, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes and waited for the fatal shot that would send him straight to hell.
But nothing happened. Lopez looked at the cook, and said casually to Pedro:
"Not till after dinner," and puffed his cigarette.
"Despues de la comida," said Pedro.
"I will make for you!" cried the wretched cook, opening his eyes, and so relieved to be still alive that he could scarcely articulate.
"Pronto," ordered Lopez.
"Si, Madre di Dios!" cried the cook; and fled to his kitchen, tumbling over himself in his eagerness to get a meal for the bandit.
There was a pause. What would Lopez do next? Kill them all? In Spanish he began, turning to Lucia:
"Santa Maria—You come here."
Angela stepped forward.
"You mean me?" she asked, sweetly.
"No!" came the gruff voice of Lopez. "You!" pointing to the frightened Lucia.
"Why do you want me?" she asked, moving slightly toward him.
"I would look at you," the bandit replied. He was appraising her already. "Turn around." She obeyed, like an automaton, "'Ow old are you?"
She would not lie. "Twenty-four," she answered.
"Ees pretty old," laughed Lopez. "Let me see your teeth."
"My teeth!" echoed Lucia. Did he take her for a horse?
Lopez merely nodded; and, with all the self-control she could bring to her aid, she opened her mouth and showed her wonderful teeth.
"Si," remarked Lopez, evidently pleased at the sight. "An' now, 'ow much weigh?"
"I don't know exactly," Lucia said.
"What's your name?" the bandit went on.
"Lucia." "Lucia!" he rolled the name over on his tongue, and smiled. "Lucia!" he repeated. "Ees nice name." Then, "Come 'ere. Come 'ere!" He did not wait for her to move this time. He put out his hand and drew her close to him. "I would see more of you," he told her. And, to her amazement and horror, he lifted her skirt delicately, almost tenderly. Her womanhood revolted at his action. This barbarian! She slapped his hand. But Lopez paid no more attention to the blow than if a child had struck him. "Not bad," he went on, indifferently, referring to her well-turned ankle. "'Ow you like to go wiz me to Mexico? Well?" when she did not answer. "You 'eard what I said."
That she should be insulted thus! "But—oh, I couldn't do that!" she cried out, in terror.
"Why not?" Lopez demanded.
"I'm—married."
"Well, we will not take ze 'usband! Just you an' me. We go to ze bull-fight. I rob ze jewelry store for you. We get plenty dronk." She shuddered. "Sure! I show you 'ell of a good time. Well, 'ow you say?" He glared at her, almost winked, smiled, and let a ring of smoke curl upward.
Lucia turned away, ashamed, mortified. "I never heard of such a thing!" she cried. Lopez laughed. "Deedn't nobody ever offer you good time before?"
"Not like this." Lucia thought if he didn't stop soon, she would shriek.
"No? You 'ave been married all your life wiz one man?"
"Yes," she told him.
"My! what a rotten life you 'ave led!" the bandit commiserated her. "But ees not too late. I shall steel save you. But you shall not sank me. Shall not be so damn bad for me, too!"
Definite terror seized Lucia now. She knew by his tone, by his every gesture, that he was not fooling. She had heard, had read, of men like this Lopez. They were thick along the border. He meant business. Morgan had not exaggerated the danger of coming down here.
"But you wouldn't do that," she cried out.
"Why not?" Lopez said.
"It's—it's wrong!"
The bandit smiled his winning smile. "Whose beeziness what we do if we like for do him?"
"Please don't take me with you!" Lucia appealed. Why had Morgan Pell ever brought her to this border line? She might have known better than to come. It was no place for a young and attractive woman.
"You don't wish to go?" Lopez questioned, hardly believing that any pretty woman could resist his charms.
"No," cried Lucia.
"You mean you wish to stay married wiz one man?"
"Ye-es," Lucia faltered.
"Never no life? Never no fun? Ha! If you was old, fat—zen, perhaps. But young, beautiful! For why was you born if you no wish to leeve?"
"But I do wish to live!" Lucia cried in desperation; and her hands went out in an attitude of supplication.
Lopez appraised her once more. "But when I come along an' show you 'ow you raise 'ell and say no. Ees great honor to be took by Pancho Lopez into Mexico. Like 'ow you say, ze decoration for ze chest," and he indicated the spot on his coat where a war medal might be placed.
Just then, to Lucia's relief, the cook came in, bearing a tray laden with chile con carne, bread and butter, and sugar, and placed it on the table. His fright was still evident. His hands trembled, his legs shook.
"Ah! Ze food!" Pancho cried. "Good! Put zem zere!" he ordered; and the cook placed the tray closer to him. Then he turned to Lucia Pell. "You shall wait on me," he told her, as though he were conferring the greatest honor upon her.
Angela came close to him, eager again to please him. He merely pushed her to one side, and had eyes only for Lucia. "You!" he said, looking her straight in the face. He sat down, and scanned the tray, while the cook stood in terror, not daring to leave the room, but wishing to God this moment were over. Had he forgotten anything?
"I do not see ze coffee," Pancho said at last.
"I get for you!" the cook screamed in a shrill voice, and rushed for the kitchen.
"Pronto," Lopez said. Then, to Lucia, "Ze bread." She leaned over to get a piece for him. He watched her carefully. "Your hand is shake. For why? You 'fraid from me, perhaps?"
She admitted that she was afraid—a little.
"And why?" he inquired.
"Because I've heard that you kill people," she bravely told him.
"Oh, but that isn't so!" Angela broke in, fearful that the mere mention of killing would bring about a murder then and there. "I'm sure it isn't!" Nothing must be said to raise the thought in Pancho's mind.
"Why are you so sure?" Lopez demanded.
"It couldn't be! It couldn't be!" Angela declared. "Anyone so romantic as you, so—" And she tried to look her pleasantest. He must be placated, this wretched man.
"You are wrong," Lopez informed her, and also the entire room, "I do kill." Lucia, who had taken a seat near him, now drew back in alarm. He was quick to see her action.
"You need not be afraid," he heartened her. "I shall not 'urt you. That is, not yet. The chile—" she dished some out for him, hurriedly. "So! You are afraid of me because I kill people, eh?" He leaned back, and his lids contracted until his eyes looked wicked and sinister. The spangles on his sleeves trembled like leaves.
"A little," Lucia managed to say.
"You sink it wrong to kill?" Pancho wanted to know, gulping down a great mouthful of chile, and smattering a huge slice of bread with butter. He ate with his knife, like a glutton. He smacked his lips, and wiped them on the sleeve of his coat, where the brass buttons gleamed picturesquely.
"You talk of killing in such a matter-of-fact way," Lucia observed.
"An' why not?" Lopez asked.
The cook brought in the coffee-pot and put it on the table.
"Does life mean as little to you as that?" Lucia asked another question. This man was an enigma. He was bad through and through. They were as helpless as cattle in his hands.
"Life?" Lopez smiled. "To be 'ere—zat is life. Not to be 'ere—" he gulped down some steaming coffee—"zat is death. Life is a leetle thing—unless it is one's own." He put the big cup down and put in four spoonfuls of sugar, stirred it diligently, and looked around him, the wonder of a child in his face.
"You do kill your prisoners, then?" Lucia brought out.
"Sure!" laughed Pancho.
Could she have heard aright? "You do?" she cried, and her cheeks took on an ashen hue.
"Ciertamente!" the bandit stated, as though they were talking of the weather. "You capture ze preesoner. You 'ave no jail to put 'im in. You pack him around wiz you. If you let 'im go, 'e come back to fight you again. So you kill him. Eet is very simple."
"But it seems so cold-blooded!" Lucia said.
"Ah! to you, perhaps! It is ze difference between zose who live in safety and zose who live in danger. In safety you 'ave ze bill to pay. You pay it and you forget it. In danger you 'ave enemy to kill. You kill 'im an' you forget 'im. Save?" And another heaping knifeful of the chile con carne went into his mouth.
"It's too horrible!" said Lucia; and she turned away.
"Ees life too horrible?" Pancho wanted to know.
"I never knew life was like that!" she said.
"Because you 'ave never really lived," the bandit explained. "Because you 'ave been always protect by ozzers. I kill only men. And only evil men. And when I kill evil man, it make me very 'appy. For I 'ave did a good deed." His simple philosophy pleased him.
"But who decides whether a man is good or evil'"
"I do!" answered Lopez, quick as a flash, and wondering how she could have asked so stupid a question.
"Oh, do let me pour some more coffee for you!" Angela begged.
"If you wish," Lopez said, indifferently. It mattered little to him now who waited upon him. His inner man had been partially satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, at peace with all the world. One spurred and booted foot was on the table.
"Oh, thank you!" Angela was all smiles. She was making headway with this evil man. "Thank you so much," she followed up, and, standing sweetly at his left, she poured the brown stuff into his cup. "Lovely weather, isn't it?" she remarked. The cook took the pot from her, and went back to the kitchen with it.
"Si," Lopez said. "Sit down. Sit down." Angela thought of course he was speaking to her, and being kind to her because of her girlish attentions. So she promptly seated herself. "No, not you!" Pancho said roughly, putting six spoons of sugar in this second cup. "You, I mean," indicating Lucia once more. Angela pouted, and turned her back on this bad, bad man. Pancho never even noticed her. The more opulent beauty of Lucia appealed to the sensuous in him. "You," he repeated. "Tell me, señora, 'ave you never been to a free country?"
Lucia was surprised at his question.
"A free country?" she said.
"Yes; like Mexico, for instance."
"Don't you call the United States a free country?" Lucia asked him.
He almost roared his head off. "The United—Bah! Ees the most unfree country what is. Every man, every woman, is slave—slave to law, slave to custom, slave to everysing. You get up such time; eat such time," his hands went out in Latin frenzy. "Every day you work such time, every night go to bed such time. And, Madre di Dios, every week you take bath such time!" This was, to him, the ultimate joke. "An' you call it a free country! Ees only one free country. Ees one in which man does as she damn please. Like Mexico!" he ended.
The women were astounded. They had always thought of Mexico as a land of rough-and-tumble, comic-opera revolutions; a place where one must forever be on the lookout for trouble; where robbers were rife and the days were nothing but a chain of abominations. A sunny, beautiful country, maybe; but no place for a God-fearing American citizen to settle. Why, they would as soon commit murder in Mexico as go to market.
"Haven't you any laws in Mexico?" Lucia inquired.
"We 'ave—ze best," Lopez was swift to reply.
"But you just said—" Angela started to remind him, and took a little stool and moved close to him, seating herself upon it. She did not want him to forget her girlish sweetness. Lopez paid no heed to her.
"They are ze best because each man makes them for 'imself. Not like New York, where everybody tell you what you cannot do until zere is nozzing left what you want to do."
Angela piped up: "You've been to New York?"
"When I was agent for Madero—yes. I live at ze big hotel. I 'ave planty money. Ees no damn prohibition. I get dronk. I 'ave 'ell of a time. Sure! I see 'im all! New York!" he smiled in recollection.
"And you didn't like it?" Angela persisted, moving her little stool even closer to him.
"Like it? It makes me seeck! Even beautiful woman what I see 'ave 'osband what is afraid for 'er. Each time I get dronk comes big policeman which 'it me on ze 'ead." He smiled at the thought, "When I go to ze teatro, ees someone which 'ide under—ze bed. Not even can I step on ze grass because—New York! It crush ze 'eart!" He put both hands over his chest, and looked up at the ceiling.
"Yes!" exclaimed Angela, her stool very close to him now.
"Ees a prison for ze soul!" Lopez affirmed. "A stupid, seely place, your New York!"
"Yes!" Angela agreed again.
"For me New York can go to 'ell just as soon as she damn please!" the bandit let out.
"Oh, Mr. Robber!" Angela cried.
"But Mexico! How different!" Lopez said, paying no more attention to Angela than he would to a fly.
"I'm sure it is!" the girl said.
To Lucia, Lopez went on: "You shall see! Ze beautiful woman 'ave 'osband. But shall I not 'ave beautiful woman?"
"Oh, Mr. Bandit!" Angela put in once more.
"When we get dronk, ees not policeman which will 'it us on ze 'ead, but us which will 'it policeman on ze 'ead." Angela chuckled at this. "In ze teatro shall not be someone which 'ide under ze bed, but in it! You shall see! In Mexico ze heart leap! Ze soul she is free! You can do what you want—zat is, onless someone shoot you. Leesten, señora." He leaned close to Lucia, who had not ventured to move, "Did you ever know the joy of fierce leeving? Did you?"
But she did not reply. Instead, it was the impetuous Angela who answered him:
"Yes. I mean, no!"
Lopez turned and scowled at her. "I was not spik to you," he said.
"You weren't!" Angela looked her surprise.
"Ciertamente no!" the bandit said.
Angela was hurt. "But you're not cross with me, are you?" she almost wept.
"No! I am not cross wiz you! Eez zat you annoy me!" And as though she were a doll, he pushed her from him, his big hand almost blotting out her pretty little face. The stool and Angela fell to the floor. She was furious. The devil in her was roused. Chagrined, she picked herself up. Her dainty plaid frock was covered with dust. She brushed it off as best she could, and cried:
"How dare you push my face, you bad man!"
"You should keep your face to home," Lopez answered, not turning a hair. He hadn't meant to be cruel. The incident was nothing to him. When anyone was in his way, he always got the obstacle out of it. He addressed the silent Lucia, who was horrified at the treatment accorded the innocent Angela. "Now that we have all finished eating," he said, delighting in the sarcasm, since no one else had had a bite, "we will get down to business." He shoved the tray aside, and the cook began instantly to clean things up. "Pedro!" Lopez called, taking out a huge ivory toothpick which he shamelessly used.
Instantly Pedro was at the door. "Si!" he said.
Lopez still spoke to Lucia: "We shall have big time togezzer—at least for a leetle while." Then he motioned to Pedro; and his men brought in the male prisoners. "You will not worry 'bout being married, once you come wiz me."
Morgan Pell heard this last remark.
"Look here," he said, "that's my wife you're talking to!" Rage was in his face. He didn't care whether he was this man's prisoner or not. There should be no insults hurled at Lucia—that old, primitive feeling for his woman was roused.
"So!" was all Lopez said, turning on Pell, and nodding his head. "Ees nice wife—I like her. You do not mind, do you?" His hand touched Lucia's arm. "Ees all right. I shall ask no question. You shall answer what I ask. And as is my custom, anybody what does not tell ze truth shall be quite suddenly—" he paused just the portion of a second—"shot."
Uncle Henry had rolled in with the rest. At this last word his chair reared up like a frightened steed. "Shot!" he cried.
"Si," answered Lopez, calmly.
"You mean it?" Uncle Henry asked, unbelief in his tone.
The bandit glared at him.
"Should I waste my time listening to sings which are not true?"
"Thank Gawd, I ain't got nothin' to lie about!" was Uncle Henry's relieved thought, expressed aloud.
"H'm!" Lopez murmured. "You have given me a idea." He rubbed his hands together, and then pushed his big sombrero a little back on his forehead. "Better as my own. I shall use it."
Uncle Henry wondered what he had suggested. "What's that?" he asked.
Lopez took on the voice of an orator, or a man in court making an important announcement. "If anyone 'ere shall tell me a lie, zen you shall all be—" he paused dramatically once more—"shot." The final word rang out like a shot itself.
A movement of despair ran through the group.
"Geemoneddy!" Uncle Henry broke the tension.
Lopez turned to Lucia. "All bot you," he graciously informed her. "I 'ave ozzer plans for you!" Her hair enraptured him—her youth and loveliness.
The relief she felt at the first part of the sentence was quickly killed as the sinister meaning of the latter part rushed into her brain.
"Other plans!" she cried.
"Si." He was unmoved by her apprehension. He walked to the very center of the room, and looked about him, studying all their faces.
It was as if he were a central pivot and their destinies revolved around him. They had no idea what he would say next, and they hung on his words.