Mexico in this southwest corner is merged with Texas, making gay its vast grayness with bright spots of color and slouching figures, and suggesting other-world civilization by its Spanish street signs, and the frankness with which the Latin welcomes the world to the details of his daily life. The outskirts of the town were lined with one story ’dobe huts, and even more fragile shelters made of wattled reeds and mud. Forlorn little Mexican cafés, with temperance signs brazening it out above older and more convivial invitations, failed of their purpose; their purple and blue doors were empty as the be-Sundayed crowds swarmed the streets.
El Paso has its charms, but to us it was too modern and too large to mean more than a convenient place to sleep, shop and have the car overhauled, and the gumbo of Texas, now caked until it had to be chipped off with a chisel, washed from its surface. “The old lady,” as Toby nick-named the car, was to leave Texas as she had entered it,—with clean skirts. Once more we viewed her gray paint, which we had not seen for many a long day. She seemed to feel the difference from her former draggle-tailed state; she pranced a bit, and lightened by several hundred-weight of mud, shied around corners. We gave her her head as we passed the great smelters on the western edge of the town, whose smoke stacks cloud the rims of the mountains they are attacking, and slowly, slowly eating into. A smooth macadam road led us,—at last!—out of Texas. We were not sorry to leave, hospitably as we had been treated. Ahead lay greater miracles of nature than Texas could offer, and adventure no less. The great prairie of which in two weeks we had only nibbled one corner was behind us. We were fairly embarked on the main objectives of our journey.
CHAPTER VII
SANDSTORMS, BANDITS AND DEAD SOLDIERS
ALONG a macadam road fringed with bright painted little Mexican taverns and shops, toward mid-afternoon we threaded our way, still defenseless “ladies,” tempting fate. I mention what might seem an obvious fact, because the continuance of our unprotected state required strong powers of resistance against the offers of itinerant chauffeurs, anxious to get from somewhere to anywhere, filled like ourselves with spring stirrings toward Vagabondia, and seeing in our Red Duchess inconsequence an opportunity to get their itching hands on the wheel of a car which made of driving not a chore but an art. Even garage helpers, who now humbly washed wheels and handed tools to mechanics, hoping to end their apprenticeship by a bold stroke, besieged us with offers to chauffeur us for their expenses.
As we were leaving El Paso, I returned to the car to find Toby conversing with a likely looking lad. This did not surprise me, for whenever I came back to Toby after five minutes’ absence, I found her incurable friendliness had collected from one to half a dozen strangers with whom she seemed on intimate terms. But I was surprised to hear this lad urging us to take him as chauffeur as far as Tucson. His frank face and pleasant manner and an army wound seemed as good references as his offer of a bank president’s guarantee. He wanted to go so badly!
I have a failing,—one, at least,—of wanting to live up to what is expected of me. If a stranger with an expensive gold brick shows any real determination to bestow it on me for a consideration, he always finds me eager to cooperate, not because I do not know I am being gulled, but that I hate to cross him when his heart is set on it. Even in dour Boston it is congenitally hard for me to say “No,” but in Texas where people smile painlessly and the skies are molten turquoise, it is next to impossible. Of course, we might take him as far as Tucson. We would have to give up driving, which we both loved. And pay his expenses. One of us would have to sit in the back seat, and be pulverized by jolting baggage. Still, it didn’t seem right to leave our new friend at El Paso, which of all places bored him most. Would Toby be fair, and sit among the baggage half the time?
Toby, I saw, was wondering the same of me. That decided it. Toby loves her comfort. I started to say, “I suppose we might,” when she countered, “But we don’t want any chauffeur.”
He looked hopefully at me, recognizing the weaker will.
“No,” I said, glad to agree with Toby, “that is perfectly true. In fact the whole point of our trip is to see if we can get along without a chauffeur.”