There were a few people, Mexicans and Indians, in the place and they all stared curiously at the pretty American. Polly did not realize, though she was not in the habit of underrating her attractions, how very noticeable she was in that environment, as she stood there, her tan traveling coat thrown open showing her dainty white waist, her short, trim skirt with its big plaid squares, and her neat brown silk stockings and oxfords. Conejo had not seen her like in many moons and it stared its full.
“I think Bob would be at the station. If I could go there——” Polly began, with a little lump in her throat.
“This is the station,” said Pachuca. “It is Jacob Swartz’ store and the station as well.”
“Then something has happened to my letter. He never would have disappointed me like this,” said the girl, despairingly.
“That is quite possible. If you would let me serve you in this matter, señorita? I have a car at the house of a friend just out of town. I am driving to my ranch in it to-morrow. If you would let me drive you to Athens——”
“Drive in an open car in that?” the girl pointed to the whirling sand outside. “How could we?”
“Easily. Once on our way into the mountains we will leave it behind us.”
“Oh, thank you very much, señor, you’re very kind, but if Bob doesn’t come I can go to some friends of his, English people, the Morgans, and they will drive me over in the morning.” She was conscious of a sudden desire to get away from this polite youth who stuck so tightly. It was all very well to let him amuse her on the train—that was adventure; but to drive with him through a strange country at night would be pure madness. She thought he stiffened a bit at her words.
“English people? Oh, yes, undoubtedly that will be wise. Swartz can probably tell you where to find them.”
“Yes, of course.” Polly was glad to see that he was going to leave her. “Thank you again, señor, for your kindness.”