Part 8 (1/2)

Complete isolation, of course, Alaire had found to be impossible, even though her ranch lay far from the traveled roads and her Mexican guards were not encouraging to visitors. Business inevitably brought her into contact with a considerable number of people, and of these the one she saw most frequently was Judge Ellsworth of Brownsville, her attorney.

It was perhaps a week after Ed had left for San Antonio that Alaire felt the need of Ellsworth's counsel, and sent for him. He responded promptly, as always. Ellsworth was a kindly man of fifty-five, with a forceful chin and a drooping, heavy-lidded eye that could either blaze or twinkle. He was fond of Alaire, and his sympathy, like his understanding, was of that wordless yet comprehensive kind which is most satisfying. Judge Ellsworth knew more than any four men in that part of Texas; information had a way of seeking him out, and his head was stored to repletion with facts of every variety. He was a good lawyer, too, and yet his knowledge of the law comprised but a small part of that mental wealth upon which he prided himself. He knew human nature, and that he considered far more important than law. His mind was like a full granary, and every grain lay where he could put his hand upon it.

He motored out from Brownsville, and, after ridding himself of dust, insisted upon spending the interval before dinner in an inspection of Alaire's latest ranch improvements. He had a fatherly way of walking with his arm about Alaire's shoulders, and although she sometimes suspected that his warmth of good-fellows.h.i.+p was merely a habit cultivated through political necessities, nevertheless it was comforting, and she took it at its face value.

Not until the dinner was over did Ellsworth inquire the reason for his summons.

”It's about La Feria. General Longorio has confiscated my stock,”

Alaire told him.

Ellsworth started. ”Longorio! That's bad.”

”Yes. One of my riders just brought the news. I was afraid of this very thing, and so I was preparing to bring the stock over. Still--I never thought they'd actually confiscate it.”

”Why shouldn't they?”

Alaire interrogated the speaker silently.

”Hasn't Ed done enough to provoke confiscation?” asked the Judge.

”Ed?”

”Exactly! Ed has made a fool of himself, and brought this on.”

”You think so?”

”Well, I have it pretty straight that he's giving money to the Rebel junta and lending every a.s.sistance he can to their cause.”

”I didn't know he'd actually done anything. How mad!”

”Yes--for a man with interests in Federal territory. But Ed always does the wrong thing, you know.”

”Then I presume this confiscation is in the nature of a reprisal. But the stock is mine, not Ed's. I'm an American citizen, and--”

”My dear, you're the first one I've heard boast of the fact,” cynically affirmed the Judge. ”If you were in Mexico you'd profit more by claiming allegiance to the German or the English or some other foreign flag. The American eagle isn't screaming very loudly on the other side of the Rio Grande just now, and our dusky neighbors have learned that it's perfectly safe to pull his tail feathers.”

”I'm surprised at you,” Alaire smiled. ”Just the same, I want your help in taking up the matter with Was.h.i.+ngton.”

Ellsworth was pessimistic. ”It won't do any good, my dear,” he said.

”You'll get your name in the papers, and perhaps cause another diplomatically worded protest, but there the matter will end. You won't be paid for your cattle.”

”Then I shall go to La Feria.”

”No!” The Judge shook his head decidedly.

”I've been there a hundred times. The Federals have always been more than courteous.”

”Longorio has a bad reputation. I strongly advise against your going.”