Part 22 (1/2)

”The City itself lay on a river by the same name in a gorgeous tropical setting surrounded by orchards and many gardens, all shaded by flowering trees and palms.

”The population was largely Indian, a tribe that had its own language and preserved its own traditions, but it seems that above all this particular tribe was known for its beautiful women, more independent, more lovely, and more beautifully dressed than any of the women in other tribes.

”He described them as being tall, well-built, and industrious. Their dresses consisted of long full skirts made of bright colors with a deep white flounce at the bottom, that swept the ground and covered their bare feet. The blouse was short and square-necked and for adornment they wore much jewelry, earrings and long heavy chains hung with ten and twenty American gold pieces.

”They had a graceful carriage, walking straight and firmly with an ease that only those women who have been trained to carry things on their head have. These people, he said, carry their flowers, fruit, and foods to the market in painted gourd bowls perched firmly on the crowns of their heads.

”Ah, yes, those people were perfect, more perfect my father said than any he had ever come across. But then, my father,” Walker admitted boyishly, ”always did tell a grand tale.”

”So that's why you became a newspaper man,” Nan concluded.

”Yes, I suppose so,” Walker admitted. ”You know this taste for queer places and queer things is often bred right in your bones.”

”Say, what are you two talking about back there?” Adair MacKenzie suddenly became conscious of the fact that two in his party were paying no attention whatsoever to him and his troubles with his mule. Had he had a horse, he would liked to have galloped back beside them, but with a mule there was no galloping. As it was he turned the mule's head sharply.

It was just too much. The mule was tired of his burden anyway, so before anyone realized at all what was happening, Adair was deposited firmly on the ground and the mule, with more intelligence perhaps than he had been given credit for, was gazing at him soberly.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN A PATIO

”Are you hurt? Daddy, are you hurt?” Alice cried, but even as she did, tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks. She had never in her life seen her father in such a ridiculous position, which was saying something, for Adair MacKenzie had a knack of getting himself in more absurd situations than anyone else in the world.

”Stop your blubbering.” Adair was thoroughly irritated this time. ”I'll conquer you yet.” He scolded the mule. ”Think you can vanquish Adair MacKenzie, do you? I'll show you.” But to all of this scolding that fell dully on the tropical verdure about them, that sounded harsh and out of place in the soft greenness of the scene, the mule never blinked an eyelash.

”Daddy, are you hurt?” Alice repeated her question as she took hold of one arm while Walker Jamieson took the other.

But their offers of a.s.sistance went unappreciated. Adair MacKenzie merely shook off their hands, used his own to push himself up, and then stood, brus.h.i.+ng himself off while he continued his tirade.

”Now, you're going home, and you're going to stay there.” Adair spluttered off into the kind of scolding that he might have given an erring child. With this, he about faced and walked, leading the mule beside him the three miles back to the hacienda.

It was a quiet party, but one full of suppressed mirth, that wound its way back over the path. The Lakeview Hall girls could scarcely contain themselves until they got in their apartments.

”It was just perfect.” Laura laughed heartily.

”Did you see the way he looked, and the way the donkey looked?” Amelia asked.

”They just stared at one another until I thought that cousin Adair would beat the beast with his cane.”

”I thought of that, too,” Bess said. ”But I guess he's too kind-hearted to do anything like that.”

Bess was right. Adair MacKenzie had never in his life made any attempt to hurt a dumb animal in any way until that morning when he had dug his heels in irritation into the mule's side. At home, he always had animals about him, a dog that was now well along in years, a stable full of horses, and yes, a mule that he once bought on the street when he saw its master trying to beat it into moving along.

”The crust of that mule,” Laura said slangily. ”Did it ever do my heart good to see its stubbornness matched against Mr. MacKenzie's! I wonder what kind of a character sketch he would make of it, if he had the chance, that is, I mean, if the mule could understand him.”

”Probably, 'stubborn fool' and let it go at that,” Nan answered. ”Anyway his troubles with that mule will never be forgotten.”