“She and a friend were coming home from a party one afternoon, and when she drew up at the house, two young men popped into the car, pointed revolvers at her and told her to drive up the avenue. Well, she drove up the avenue! She said the feel of that cold thing on the back of her neck kept her awake at night for months. Then when they had gone a little way, they stopped, dumped both the women out, and went off with the car.”
“Gosh, Chicago must be a great little place!” remarked Matt, admiringly.
“It just came to me when I saw them putting all those things into the car that if anybody could hide in it and make whoever was driving return the goods it would be—well—rather a nice thing to do. Of course, I took an awful chance. The horseback people might not have taken the trail—but even then the machine would have outdistanced them. I felt sure I could get Pachuca alone.”
“You took a chance you’d no business to take,” growled Scott. “When I told you to stay down in that arroyo, I meant stay.”
“I know you did but I couldn’t,” apologized Polly.
“The only thing you did wrong was not leaving that young reptile in the middle of the road like the thieves did those women,” pronounced Mrs. Van Zandt, authoritatively.
“I thought of it but I didn’t have the heart,” said Polly. “After all, he’d been kind to me, and he is a gentleman.”
“Gentleman! My God!” Scott’s profanity was innocent with true horror.
“First time I ever heard a hoss-thief called a gentleman,” chuckled Matt.
“Well,” Polly looked a bit crestfallen. “I mean, he’s educated and he comes of good family.”