“So that’s what’s biting you?” In one sentence Jake countered heavily on the common view of things. “She kin ride with tough guys like you an’ me an’ it’s all right; but she mustn’t go out with the man that loves her more ’n anything on earth. Where’s your sense?”
Sliver feebly scratched his head in a vain effort to find it. Failing, he made weak answer, “I was jest sorter thinking they orter, have a chapperonny.” Vanquished by Jake’s disgusted snort, he withdrew and went down to close the gates.
Meanwhile Lee and Gordon held on their way. At the crest of the rise, from where she and her father had overlooked the hacienda on that last fatal day, they reined in and looked back upon it lying like a huge painted cup in the great gold saucer of the sun-scorched plains. As then, the sweep of her hand took in the house, adobes, compound, giant cottonwoods sweeping with the dry arroyo across the view, the range rolling in bright billows to the far hills.
Her cry was the same: “Oh, isn’t it beautiful? Soon the rains will come and turn everything green, but I like it best this way. Greens are to be had anywhere, but these golds—that is Mexico.”
Stimulated by his responsive smile, just as she used to do with her father, she began to dive into the past, relate the battles and sieges, scandal and intrigue, recreate the vivid pageants of the old dons and their savage brown retainers. If she had chosen the differential calculus for her subject, he would have listened with pleasure to the soft, eager voice. The lithe, graceful figure that gained so in ease and grace of its flexures from her man’s riding-clothes, the mobile face, molten under the touch of emotion, would have illumined the heaviest subject. But he was equally interested, plied her with questions when she showed signs of stopping.
“Oh, I’m so glad that you love it!” she sighed, happily. “It would have been such a disappointment if you— But that is so silly, because it wouldn’t have been you. Soon the rains will come, and in the long, dark evenings after”—she went on with a little flourish—“I shall read you stacks and stacks of the old letters and documents we found in an old leather trunk. It will be lots of fun.”
Naturally they dipped into the future, building their own castles. Where she left off, he began. “Wait till we get my old dad down here! A big streak of romance crosscuts his business sense, and when he sees this—well, he promised me a hundred thousand when I finally settled down. After Uncle Sam steps in and puts an end to all this revolutionary nonsense, we’ll—”
The reconstructed and beautiful Los Arboles that emerged from his imaginings was inhabited by a contented peasantry, better paid, healthier, and happier than the country had ever seen. What he forgot she filled in till, from sheer lack of material, they came to a happy pause.
Business concluded and the Mexican millennium achieved, they turned to their own pleasure. A certain Java forest was, of course, again lugged in by the ears. She, however, did not appear to notice it was getting a trifle shopworn, but enthused as brightly as though it were new goods freshly displayed. And while they ran on, rebuilding their earthly scheme of things according to their hearts’ desire, the gods in resentment of their presumption were forging the thunderbolts that were to shatter it to bits. Unconscious of sharp eyes that were watching from the heart of the chaparral thicket half a mile away, they presently joined hands and rode on.
At first the direction seemed to suit the watcher’s purpose. After they passed, he rode his horse out in the open and followed, keeping always out of their sight. Even when, an hour later, Gordon circled toward the mountains on his regular beat, the watcher followed. But when their course began to bend to the south he laid on quirt and spurs and went after them at a gallop.