“’Twa’n’t much. I took my time. You see, the Chink brought us word that there was something going on over here. He seen the barn burning when he was up on the mesa, and he didn’t know what was up. He pretty nigh killed Cochise, so I had to walk. I knew there was no use coming here with no horses, so I went to Conejo. They’ve got martial law there. The Colonel’s a nice young feller, if he is a greaser, and he loaned me Mendoza and the Ford. Now what happened here, anyhow?”
Hard gave a brief outline of their adventures.
“Mrs. Conrad,” he said, “is an old friend of Herrick’s and mine, who’s had to leave her plantation in the South, and is on her way home. She is going East with Miss Street. She and I tried camping out at Soria’s last night after Gonzales left us, but we got starved out and we tramped it back here, waiting for someone to come after us. I’m lame as I can be.”
Clara’s face lit up when she saw the three men enter, and she shook hands cordially with Johnson and the old Mexican. Then an anxious look came into her eyes. Hard, seeing it, spoke quickly.
“Johnson left Athens yesterday before Scott and Polly got there,” he said, reassuringly. “He walked to Conejo.”
“Walked to Conejo!”
“You see, Tom, Mrs. Conrad and I walked here from Soria’s and we’ve both been crippled ever since. A walk to Conejo fills us with excited admiration.”
Tom chuckled. “Well, I always could walk,” he replied. “Never done anything particular with the other end of me, but I could always depend on my feet. Say, folks, Mendoza’s got his car outside. How about a quick bite and then beating it for Athens?”
Clara turned eagerly to Herrick.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Victor? I hate to think of your being here alone when everything is so upset.”