Part 26 (2/2)
The windows of Las Palmas were black, the house silent, when they arrived at their journey's end; Dolores was fretful, and her mistress ached in every bone. When Jose had helped his countrywoman into the house Alaire said:
”If you insist upon going through you must take the car. You can return it to-morrow.”
”And--about Panfilo?” Dave queried.
”Wait. Perhaps I'll decide what is best to do in the mean time. Good night.”
Law took her extended hand. Alaire was glad that he did not fondle it in that detestable Mexican fas.h.i.+on of which she had lately experienced so much; glad that the grasp of his long, strong fingers was merely firm and friendly. When he stepped back into the car and drove off through the night she stood for some time looking after him.
Blaze Jones had insisted that Dave live at his house, and the Ranger had accepted the invitation; but as it was late when the latter arrived at Jonesville, he went to the hotel for a few hours' rest. When he drove his borrowed machine up to the Jones house, about breakfast-time, both Blaze and Paloma were delighted to see him.
”Say, now! What you doing rolling around in a gasoline go-devil?” the elder man inquired, and Law was forced to explain.
”Why, Mrs. Austin must have experienced a change of heart!” exclaimed Paloma. ”She never gave anybody a lift before.”
Blaze agreed. ”She's sure poisonous to strangers.” Then he looked over the car critically. ”These automobiles are all right, but whenever I want to go somewhere and get back I take a team of hay-burners. Mules don't puncture. The first automobile Paloma had nearly scared me to death. On the road to Brownsville there used to be a person who didn't like me--we'd had a considerable unpleasantness, in fact. One day Paloma and I were lickety-splittin' along past his place when we had a blow-out. It was the first one I'd ever heard, and it fooled me complete--comin' right at that particular turn of the road. I sure thought this party I spoke of had cut down on me, so I r'ared up and unlimbered. I shot out three window-lights in his house before Paloma could explain. If he'd been in sight I'd have beefed him then and there, and saved six months' delay. No, gas-buggies are all right for people with strong nerves, but I'm tuned too high.”
”Father has never learned to drive a car without yelling 'Gee' and 'Haw,'” laughed Paloma. ”And he thinks he has t.i.tle to the whole road, too. You know these Mexicans are slow about pulling their wagons to one side. Well, father got mad one day, and when a team refused him the right of way he whipped out his revolver and fired.”
Blaze smiled broadly. ”It worked great. And believe me, them Greasers took to the ditch. I went through like a hot wind, but I shot up sixty-five ca'tridges between here and town.”
”Why didn't Mrs. Austin ask you to stay all night at Las Palmas?” the girl inquired of Dave.
”She did.”
”Wonderful!” Paloma's surprise was evidently sincere. ”I suppose you refused because of the way Ed treated you? Well, I'd have accepted just to spite him. Tell me, is she nice?”
”She's lovely.”
This vehement declaration brought a sudden gleam of interest into the questioner's eyes.
”They say she has the most wonderful gowns and jewels, and dresses for dinner every night. Well”--Paloma tossed her head--”I'm going to have some nice clothes, too. You wait!”
”Now don't you start riggin' yourself up for meals,” Blaze said, warningly. ”First thing I know you'll have me in a full-dress suit, spillin' soup on my s.h.i.+rt.” Then to his guest he complained, feelingly: ”I don't know what's come over Paloma lately; this new dressmaker has plumb stampeded her. Somebody'd ought to run that feline out of town before she ruins me.”
”She is a very nice woman,” complacently declared the daughter; but her father snorted loudly.
”I wouldn't a.s.sociate with such a critter.”
”My! But you're proud.”
”It ain't that,” Blaze defended himself. ”I know her husband, and he's a bad hombre. He backed me up against a waterin'-trough and told my fortune yesterday. He said I'd be married twice and have many children.
He told me I was fond of music and a skilled performer on the organ, but melancholy and subject to catarrh, Bright's disease, and ailments of the legs. He said I loved widows, and unless I was poisoned by a dark lady I'd live to be eighty years old. Why, he run me over like a pet squirrel lookin' for moles, and if I'd had a gun on me I'd have busted him for some of the things he said. 'A dark lady!' That's his wife. I give you warnin', Paloma, don't you ask her to stay for meals.
People like them are dangerous.”
”You're too silly!” said Paloma. ”n.o.body believes in such things.”
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