From above Gordon looked right down into the amber heart of the Bowl. Almost beneath him, the jacal rose like a doll’s house out of the vermilion splash of Pedro’s ripe peppers. From it the green veining of the stream ran through the tawny pastures that were spotted with black dots, the feeding horses. Far down, just where the stream slipped out of the Bowl, he could see the giant oak that marked their camp; and though even his strong young eyes were unequal to the distance, imagination supplied the ashes of their fire, the bed of leaves under the spreading branches.
Instantly he began reliving, tenderly reliving that happy day so absorbed that he forgot for the moment the tragedy that had brought it to a close. He did not notice a slight rustle in the chaparral nor catch the gleam of peering eyes. Were it a raider, he had proved an easy prey. But the eyes were soft; the hand that presently stole out of a bush and shook his foot was small and white. Whirling, he came face to face with Lee.
“What are you doing here?”
She placed her finger to her lip. “Hush! they are coming! I just couldn’t stand it, up there in the chaparral all alone. So I tied the horses and—here I am.”
There was nothing that could be done—except to look stern. Reaching, he pulled her down beside him, shook her a little, then spoiled the effect by a kiss. Then, lying flat on their stomachs, they kept a joint watch till the scrape of a hoof, rumble of voices, broke on the trail.
Peeping cautiously, they saw a motley procession file on to the plateau. Like the soldiers of Las Bocas, their clothing ran the gamut of the service uniforms of Porfirio Diaz’s army; the silver and gray of rurales, red and blue of the infantry, variations from these of cavalry and artillery, fatigue linen mixed in varying quantities with charro and peon costumes. Accentuating this motley, their loose gross mouths, blunt animal noses, lewd eyes in the midst of faces swollen by last night’s debauch, fully justified Gordon’s judgment:
“Gosh! what a gallows crew!”
Weary and footsore after two days of heavy marching, neither their appearance nor their spirits were improved by the fact that half of them limped. Their voices had been raised in strident altercation. One fellow’s angry complaint carried across to Gordon and Lee.
“The two gringo señoritas at the Lovell rancho, where were they?—fled to El Paso. At the second we got what?—one woman, a child, and three horses—and lost three men. At Los Arboles there were to be women, a score at least, young and pretty; also a gringo girl with golden hair and a skin of milk? And horses by the hundred, blooded beasts of fine breeding? What got we?—an empty house! Thou art a pretty leader, Filomena.”
“Si!” came a second growl. “And the fonda? ‘Courage, señores,’ he says but two hours ago. ‘In the barranca we shall find a fonda with liquors and a girl, none prettier in all Chihuahua.’ And—”