Somewhere south in Sonora

‘They’re white,’ whispered Slim. ‘They’re play-actors.’

Then from Cal: ‘What kind of little boys would you say them were, Elbert?’

‘I wouldn’t. They’re girls in hikin’ clothes. Don’t you see their vanities?’

‘Short hair and short pants, Elbert—where do you look for them points you speak of—oh, you mean them little satchels?’

Mexico had petered out; hope dead.

‘You go in first, Elbert. I never coped with nothin’ like them,’ Cal murmured.

They followed the Señora into the front room. A chunky, black-haired girl, who had sat in the driver’s seat of the sedan, was letting it be known that she and her two friends had stopped for refreshments, on their way to San Pasquali. Her voice was resonant, and she tried to make volume do, being without Spanish.

The Señora held up her empty hand; her mouth opened, no sound. Slim hurried back to the fireplace to fetch her clappers.

The black-haired one stamped her foot. She was used to getting what she wanted. ‘Oh, can’t you see, we’re hungry, thirsty—something to eat and drink?’

She had muscle, and big blue eyes.

‘Put your hand on your belt. Miss,’ Cal called. ‘Make signs of bein’ caved in.’

‘Hush up, Cal. That ain’t no language to use,’ said Slim, stepping up from the side. ‘Allow me to interperate for you, lady.’

‘Thanks, if you please.’

At this point Elbert’s hand touched a hand at his left. He turned and said ‘Excuse me,’ in severe tones. A swift shy smile met his eyes—the face of one unmistakably frightened, but handling it—a girl who could cry engagingly, but only after everything was over. Her tones had a curious way of not disturbing the stillness.

‘I think we made a mistake in coming—an awful mistake,’ she laughed. ‘I told Florabel we ought to turn round and go back, but she wouldn’t hear to it—’

Elbert turned to Florabel whose blue eyes were flashing up to Cal’s. ‘I’m Miss Burton, and I’m going to San Pasquali to surprise Papa!’

‘Won’t you, though!’ enthused Cal.

The third of the girls was smaller, younger—a whitish, wide-eyed face, hovering above a large and high-colored necktie. Slim had taken over this little one, but she was slow to soothe, her eyes getting wider, the white of her skin fading into colorless fear. Meanwhile, in shy tones, Elbert was hearing the story of their coming from the girl at his left.

‘We’re from Miss Van Whipple’s Finishing School in Tucson. It’s spring vacation now, and we were sight-seeing in Nogales this morning, when Florabel got the idea to rush down here and see her father. It was only seventy miles, she said, and wouldn’t take more than three hours, and then we’d be safe. I’m afraid we’ve made a terrible mistake—’

‘I’m afraid you have,’ said Elbert. He was used to a houseful of sisters and he carried no heartstrings whatsoever for passing winds to flap.

Her name was Mary Gertling. Her short hair was neither black nor blonde, but there was a roll to it, down over her temples, that Elbert remembered as a sort of aim of all his sisters’ girl friends before he left. He forgot what Mary was saying for a minute, studying the creamy light through her skin. It made him remember the thin bowl of alabaster on the ceiling of the dining-room at home. She didn’t seem to mind his severe ways. She just couldn’t seem to believe it of him. He recalled the ominous signs which attended their riding into Nacimiento, the many pony tracks.

‘If I were you, I’d ask Miss Burton to turn around now and go back,’ he said.

‘But Florabel never would. She never turns back—in anything. She says her father is less than twenty miles from here.’

She talked up to him so trustingly. The little fawnskin coat covering her shoulders had that texture which draws the hand to touch. Her ways were swift and still; but Elbert had lost his revolution and his heart held hard as flint.

‘Come on, Mary!’ called Miss Florabel.

The three girls followed the Señora into the patio. Elbert stood in deep thought a moment, before he realized that Cal and Slim had closed in upon him.

‘Our little Elbert ain’t no hosstipath,’ said Slim. ‘I’ve seen smoother hands all around with hosses, but for women and motor trucks he’s faster than a coiled whip—’

‘Faster than the human eye,’ said Cal.

‘They belong to the Van Whipple Finishin’ School up in Tucson,’ Elbert said thoughtfully.

‘So we draws.’

‘It’s vacation. They were sight-seeing in Nogales. They ought to be sent back—’

‘We heard you tell her!’

‘It’s all this Burton girl’s fault.’

‘Slim,’ said Cal, unheeding, ‘you and me ain’t got no sway with this finishin’ school, if Elbert ain’t.’

‘We’ve got to have some sway,’ said Slim, ‘or it’s goin’ to be the plumb finish.’

‘What do you think our duty is?’ Elbert asked absently.

‘Our duty, I’d say, by these finishers,’ Slim whispered with considerable weight, ‘our duty is to stay with ’em whether they like it or not, and I’m meanin’ to do just that, only—’ He pointed to an empty place in the room where the littlest of the girls had stood, ‘Only, every time I takes a step to her, this little one with the rainbow necktie and the ruffle on her uniform, she looks as if she’s goin’ to stagnate down an’ die. I shore expects a bleat out of her, my next step, and all the time I see Elbert out of the corner of my eye, gettin’ closer and closer and talkin’ lower and faster—’

‘Must be some perfume he has on,’ said Cal.

‘I didn’t take it she was particular afraid of my advance,’ modified Slim, ‘just generally hos-tile. I sure drew the outlaw, though.’

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Cal, ‘if we turn over little Rainbow to Elbert, we could manage the other two.’

‘That is as nature fixes it, Cal. We’d have some trouble right now, tearin’ that little Mary female away from Elbert, the inroads he’s made. But no use standin’ here. I’m goin’ to get a pair of knives and whetstone out of my war bags an’ freshen up for supper.’

‘You’re not meanin’ to shave, Slim?’

‘That’s the presumption.’

Elbert rustled hay from the shed and carried it out to the hitching-rack, the Señora’s house being suspiciously short-handed. Half way between the corral and the kitchen door, he sat down, and moodily watched the Señora getting supper. She did her work on the run, back and forth in the old stone kitchen, castanets off. Her bare feet seemed to roll up under her as she sped, one at a time reappearing to give the stone floor a shove. It was like a double-action paddlewheel. Curious sizzlings reached his ears from the open fire, also fascinating scents. He was sure sliced onions were curling and browning on the pan.

Supper was set for six. Elbert found Mary Gertling seated at his left. He rose from the table to get a glass of water, but the Señora prevented, thrusting red wine in his hands.

‘Vino tinto! Vino tinto!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’m s’prised, Elbert,’ Slim corrected. ‘Didn’t you know water is for the horses?’

‘Isn’t everything wonderful?’ whispered Mary Gertling.

‘Do you think so?’ Elbert inquired.

‘Dulzura!’ flamed Slim; then Cal’s easy voice as he monopolized the attention of Florabel Burton: ‘So your father hasn’t written to you none, Miss, that there’s a mixture of politics going on about his oil wells?’

‘Oh, yes. Papa always allows for that. He says it wouldn’t be Mexico—if there wasn’t some trouble in the air.’

‘No special trouble lately—things comin’ to a head?’

‘Oh, let’s go back!’ trembled the voice from behind the big necktie.

‘Just take it easy, lady,’ in Slim’s gentlest corral tones.

‘Things are always coming to a head down here,’ said Miss Burton.

‘I know,’ said Cal, ‘I can understand just how you feel. But we’re concerned, especially Elbert here. If you knew that boy as well as I do, you’d seen by his face that he’s sick with concern right now.’

‘Oh, Florabel!’ said Mary Gertling. ‘Can’t we ask them to go with us? I’ll breathe so much easier.’

‘Oh, let’s!’ faintly from the little one, whom they called Imogen.

‘Why, we’ll be down there in an hour, before it’s really dark!’ Florabel objected, but finally gave way.