When Marta would not, or more literally could not, agree, the outlaw impatiently spurred his horse forward.
“All right, Señorita, we goin’ to see. I’m goin’ to tell that you are my wife. I promise it is only a make-believe. If you goin’ to tell it is not so—that you are not Señora Richards—then I can’t help what comes next.”
In a few minutes they were at the ranch. The house was a long, flat-topped, adobe building with several rooms opening on to a long ramada. In reality, the ranch was a general meeting place, or station, for cattle rustlers, smugglers and their kind from both sides of the border.
There were eight or ten men gathered in a group in front of the house as the outlaw and his prisoner arrived. All of them knew Sonora Jack, and, with two or three exceptions, greeted him cordially. When the outlaw told them that his wife was ill from the long ride and must at once retire, Marta made no protest. Frightened as she was at the villainous company, worn with the nervous strain and the physical hardship of her journey, the poor girl’s appearance made Sonora Jack’s statement that she was ill more plausible.
A room at the end of the building was soon made ready by a mozo who appeared in answer to a call from one of the men. The pack mule was relieved of his burden and the things taken inside. The room was rather large, with two doors—one opening on to the ramada in front and one connecting the apartment with another. Two windows supplied plenty of fresh air, and the place was fairly well furnished as a bedroom. Evidently it was the best apartment that the establishment afforded.
When the mozo was gone and the door was shut, Sonora Jack whispered:
“You done all right, Señorita. Now you goin’ be safe for sure. Everything goin’ be fine. You make like you too sick to get out of bed. Me, I bring what you want to eat, myself.” He smiled. “I goin’ tell them hombres a pretty story ’bout my poor Señora who is so sick. Then I’m goin’ play cards with them. All night we play an’ you will not be scared. Adios, Señorita, don’t you be scared, rest an’ sleep.”
Marta threw herself on the bed and, in spite of her situation, fell into a deep sleep. When Sonora Jack brought her dinner, she awoke and, realizing that she must keep her strength for what might come, forced herself to eat. Then once more she slept.
When she was again awakened, it was dark. She could not guess the time. A strip of light shone under the door from that next room and she could hear the men who were drinking and gambling.
At times, their voices were raised in angry dispute or in boisterous laughter; again, there was only the slap-slap of cards as they were thrown on the table with the accompanying thud-thud of heavy hands, the click of bottle necks against glasses, the scuffling sound of a boot heel, the jingle of a spur, or the scrape of a chair on the rough floor. Then a drunken yell of exultation would ring out, accompanied by a heavy grumbling undertone.