“Frighten me? As if I was that kind of girl!”
“It’s just a little difficult these days to know what one may or may not tell a young lady,” smiled Hard. “But about Johnny Pachuca. A good many people call him ‘Don Juan’—I don’t know whether it’s because he claims to be of pure Spanish blood, or whether it’s a subtle recognition of his popularity with the ladies.”
“Oh!”
“A few years ago, he was a captain or a colonel or something equally fancy in the army. He’s a dashing young scamp, and he had the good luck or the bad luck whatever you want to call it to engage the affections of a good-looking young actress who was supposed to be bestowing those affections on a man higher up. Naturally, the man higher up looked about for a way of getting even. He dug up a scandal about some army funds. Young Pachuca had been doing what seems to have been the usual thing down in Mexico City—padding his accounts—so they got him.
“Not that they couldn’t have got anybody on the staff on the same charge; but they were after Juan. Juan had to choose between retiring to private life or turning bandit. Having a taste for action, he did the latter.”
“Do you mean like Villa?”
“Well, no, Villa’s in a class by himself. You can’t call a man who has controlled a state and who has dictated to presidents, a bandit, can you? He’s on too big a scale. Pachuca took up banditry, in a gentlemanly sort of way; at least they say he did; nobody’s proved it on him. He was undoubtedly with Villa at one time. He was with him when he stopped here and nabbed our horses. I was away at the time. I’ve never seen the fellow. Then, gossip says, they quarreled and Pachuca went back to his people in the South. I haven’t a doubt, however, that if another revolution should break out, Johnny would climb into the band-wagon against the government and land in the army again.”
“And that’s the man I undertook to drive alone in the dark with!” gasped the girl. “Mr. Hard, promise me you’ll never tell Bob?”
“I promise,” replied Hard, laughing. “And here we are at breakfast. Miss Street, this is Mr. Williams, who runs our store, Mr. Adams, of the office force——” and so on until each had very consciously greeted the newcomer. Scott, who sat at the end of the table, looked up and bowed, receiving a cool little response. He returned unconcerned to his ham and eggs. If the new arrival was going to be disagreeable, he would keep out of her way.
Breakfast went off pleasantly. The food was excellent and with the exception of Scott, who kept his distance, everyone was quite evidently trying to put the girl at her ease. From the train crew, who announced their intention of running over to Conejo for her trunk, to Adams who spoke for the privilege of taking her over the plant, and Williams, who begged for an early opportunity to show his collection of baskets and pottery, each had something to offer. Even the black-eyed Dolores peeped admiringly through the hole in the wall, gathering items about the visitor to retail to the eager ears of relatives and friends at the next baile.