“Some action!” he commented. “Takes them stairs as easy as a pussy-cat goes up a tree. Some girl that! Old Scotty’s jealous of the greaser—do him good—he’s gettin’ to be a regular old settin’ hen. Hope she shakes him up a bit.”
“Señor Pachuca!” called Polly at the top of the stairs. “We’ve brought you some supper. May we come in?”
“Gracias, señorita, but that rests with you,” was the response.
“I’m going to open it. He won’t do anything,” said Polly, decidedly.
The room was dimly lighted. In the open window sat Pachuca—outside lay the open country, moonlit and lovely, the grim coloring of the day now touched with silvery softness. Pachuca leaped to his feet and relieved the girl of the tray which he placed on the desk.
“I am obliged,” he said, with a touch of a sneer. “The services of a major domo and a beautiful waitress are more than I expected.”
“If you ask me, I’d say it was more than you deserve,” replied Matt, tersely. “I’m going out to sit on the stairs. If the lady wants to stop and visit with you she can, but don’t you try no monkey tricks because they won’t go down. I’m heeled.”
Pachuca shrugged his shapely shoulders, seated himself and began to eat.
“I am hungry,” he admitted. “I have had what you call a hard day’s work.”
“I wish,” said the girl, severely, “that you’d tell me why you do such things? You’re a gentleman—not a bandit.”