‘There are those who want his life,’ Elbert said unsteadily under his burden. ‘May I not take him farther in?’
She turned instantly toward an inner door.
XXIII
FENCELESS FOOTHILLS OF SONORA
There was a room in which he saw a full-sized harp in its shroud; there was a trellised patio, two great ollas standing on the heaved tiles and jasmine vines very thick and ancient. At the far corner, in the gray morning light, stood an elderly man with bared head. To him, the señorita gave the signal of silence with her finger touching her lips, and also to an old woman in the latticed kitchen.... Ruin of an old plantation house, very large, some of the windows unglazed; El Relicario—the name ran through Elbert’s brain which throbbed from the stress of his burden—all this a matter of seconds only.
Then a corridor and a little room to the left—queer warmth rising in Elbert’s heart, as he placed Bart upon a cot that had recently been slept in. The sense came to him that this was a kind of sanctuary—a cross upon the wall, a white flower beneath, the girl standing against the wall, her arms slightly lifted, her hands toward the long booted figure on her own cot. Elbert bent over Bart now—a rush of memories of the day he had brought his father to the cabin and set him down like this. The eyes were looking up to him; the lips moved with hardly audible words.
‘Back at the gate—as we turned in—the tracks of our horses!’
‘Yes, sure, I’ll fix them.’ Then he added: ‘Listen, can you hear me, Bart?’
‘Yes, sure—’
‘I’m going to ride on and leave you here. I’m taking both horses—so the rurales won’t stop, but follow me on. I’ll hide in the foothills to-day, and circle back here to-night or to-morrow night.’
‘I hate to see you go, but you’re—you’re the doctor!’ Bart laughed. ‘About the sorrel—he knows the whip, but goes mad under a spur—just a pointer in handling him—but you know a horse.’