Somewhere south in Sonora

Elbert’s mind didn’t steady down at once to the wheel. A moaning kept up from behind. That was Imogen. Part of him, too, seemed listening for Florabel’s voice; he had vaguely counted on her undertaking to drive from the back seat, as his sisters used to, but not a word.... Gasoline.... Girls.... ‘Thirty years late.’... Tequila—coal-oil—vino tinto.... ‘Water is for horses.’... Mamie.... Thus his mind kept churning, as if to get a certain harrowing review out of the way, before he took up the matter at hand. Certainly matters at hand—the wheel, the girl at his side. He expected her hand to rise out of the dark and tangle him further, but it didn’t come. Queer to have her on his right. She had been on his left always before.

He was following the wheel-tracks among the derricks, using his lights when he had to. Perhaps he was getting close to the second powder house; anyway, he was doing what he was told.... He wasn’t exactly right; he had to stop to think that he wasn’t back in old Fortitude’s stiff-backed seat. A deep hurt about leaving Mamie behind and not being exactly true to his secret quest, preyed upon him; also the possibility that Bart Leadley was within a mile of him at this moment, working with Vallejo to get Burton’s oil. A voice shouted from ahead—Mexican—part of Vallejo’s cordon. Now Bart or not, he had to get down to business. He had baggage. He had to get through.

All was black before his eyes. He was holding the sedan to a mental picture of the dirt road, impressed upon his memory an instant ago when he turned on the lights, but the black scaffoldings of the derricks wove crazily before his eyes; the chance of a smash taking his breath. He felt the wheel jerk as it left the tire-grooves. A row of rifle flashes showed ahead; glass splintered around them.

‘Get down—way down,’ he gasped.

He pressed the throttle, holding the wheel toward the guns; the engine roared underfoot. The firing was from behind now, but he kept going into the blackness until he couldn’t risk another second; the sense of leaping off into an abyss of darkness was so keen.

Lights showed the wheel-tracks; still the derricks on either hand. Not a sound or a touch from his side. More rifles cracked ahead. It had to be done again.

‘Get down, way down!’ he called. Again the car shot forward through the flashes. This time hands touched the outside; bumps of metal, more splintered glass. The wheel jerked out of his hand; the sedan ditched, but didn’t overturn. In a flash of one rifle, he saw a second figure—mouth open, pistol raised. He seemed to look right into that open mouth and belching muzzle. The fenders on the same side screeched against stone.

He wasn’t right. He had to throw his body forward on the wheel to hold it, as he turned on the lights—only the right hand working. He was back in the wheel-tracks, but the car kept fighting away from him—a flat tire. He felt an absurd need to explain. ‘It was that left front tire that threw me—’ but she wasn’t listening. His foot sank upon the throttle.

Now Elbert was badly mixed about that left front tire and his own left side—both flat. He had to hurry now while his right arm lasted. ‘I’ll vouch for Elbert.... He’ll get through, Mister.... So long, Kid.’ But all the time he was getting farther and farther from Mamie—from Bart!

The wheel-tracks had circled back to the main road. His right foot steadied down. He had to hold the wheel with all his strength to make up for the retard on the left.... Not a touch or a sound from his side. Thirst was stealing into him like the cold. Maybe she was thirsty.... Maybe they wouldn’t know which was which—tequila, coal oil.... ‘I’ve been on a horse before.... He bumps so.’... ‘Thirty years late.’... He had lights; he held to the highway, his foot pressed to the floor.... She wasn’t helping—not a touch, or did she mean to help by keeping still?

Vaguely Elbert heard low words like this:

‘He doesn’t relax. He keeps listening for a voice. The rest of the time he seems to think he’s driving something—a horse or a car. It’s not always clear. If he could only stop driving himself, every time he comes to, and get some rest’—a strange woman’s voice.

‘Put him to sleep again,’ a man replied from the far side of the room. ‘I’ll answer his father’s telegram, but nobody could satisfy these newspaper men, and have time for anything else.’

Of course, they didn’t understand. He had to get through. He had to keep on, while his right arm lasted—clear through to Nogales. And even if he did, it wouldn’t mean that he was making good to what he set out for. He had passed up the main chance, falling for another.... There was a pricking in his right arm now, but no sound from that side, not a word—everything muffled and getting farther away ... until Cal’s easy tones really began to set him straight:

‘Take it easy, Kid. You got ’em here—right here in Nogales! You brought ’em through—days ago. Listen, Kid, you don’t need to drive no more!’ That voice always straightened things out.

‘But Mamie—’ he finally broke out.

‘She’s waitin’ for you. We brought her up—fine—’

Elbert felt himself moving softly after that, into an altogether different zone of sleep. ‘But where?’ He locked his lips. He mustn’t ask anything more.

Cal came again, and finally with Slim, but it was a dreary time before they let him ask questions. Mamie was right here in Nogales. ‘Mexicali’ Burton’s party had held out until morning at San Pasquali, when General Cordano had come, driving Vallejo away.

‘Did he lose any men?’ Elbert mumbled.

‘Who?’

‘Vall—I mean Cordano—or Mr. Burton?’

‘Some,’ said Slim, suspicious of delirium again.

... Another time, and they were telling him everything but what he wanted especially to know. Yes, Mexicali with a crushed jaw had kept on his pins all through that night of the explosion, until relief came. ‘He’s here in Nogales right now—jaw in a sling,’ added Cal.

Elbert craftily inquired about Florabel.

‘She got broke somewhere—I didn’t hear where,’ said Slim.

‘Not so she ain’t goin’ to recover,’ finished Cal.

Elbert’s lips forced him to say, ‘And little Rainbow?’

‘Not a scratch,’ said Slim. ‘She just fainted and wasn’t there to get hurt—when that explosure took place.’

Elbert was silent. Cal’s voice took up the story: ‘As for that little Mary-woman, I’m holdin’ a letter for you she left before her parents took her up to Tucson.’

It was like splintered glass, the way Slim broke in: ‘We’d better go, Cal. Elbert ain’t lookin’ as well as he should.’

Cal arose: ‘She got all right before she left, except for one broken arm.’

Several seconds ticked, before the question: ‘Which arm?’

‘Now it was the left arm, as I recall.’

‘Oh, I see, she couldn’t—’ Elbert halted with a jerk. It seemed they never would go.