CHAPTER IX
A LONE HORSEMAN
Early next afternoon a lone horseman rode slowly into the plaza. Both the appearance of horse and rider gave evidence of a long hard journey. The man’s sunburned face, shadowed by the broad brim of his sombrero, looked lined and haggard; his clothes, too, were torn and dusty.
The animal’s shaggy body was steaming, while his slow, spiritless movements and dejected mien showed plainly that food, water, and rest were urgently needed.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom, with the others standing on the veranda. “What’s that?”
“Forsooth—if I mistake not a man—a horse,” laughed Cranny.
“And, by Jove, best of all, an American!” cried Bob Somers, who had been gazing intently toward the approaching rider. One good look at the man’s clean-cut features convinced the others that Bob was right. They observed something else, too; he held the reins in his left hand; the other was swathed in bandages.
“H’m; looks as though he’d been in some kind of muss,” commented Tom.
“So it does,” agreed Dick.
The rider as he came up, on discovering so many of his compatriots facing him, appeared so surprised that for a moment he allowed their cheery salutations to go unanswered.
“Well, well,” he began at last. “I didn’t——”
“Of course not,” said Tom, cheerfully. “Nobody ever does. But I say”—he pointed to the young man’s arm—“is it——?”
“It is!” answered the other in grim tones. “Quite badly, too.” Slowly he dismounted, shook a cloud of dust from his clothes, then patted the mustang’s shaggy head.
“I’m mighty curious to know what a crowd like you is doing in this out-of-the-way spot,” he continued, “but my desire for a bite to eat and rest is, for the moment, so much greater that—— Hello, here he is now!”
The fat proprietor had appeared on the scene, and it became apparent to the boys that the men were well acquainted. The American switched off into the Spanish language, speaking it with ease and fluency. When the man came from the stable to lead his weary horse away, he stepped up on the veranda.
The crowd, sympathizing with his tired condition, made no attempt to question him, though Cranny found it difficult to check the flow of words which were ready to gush forth at the slightest encouragement.
An hour and a half later, however, the aspect of the situation had changed. The young man, having attended to his various needs, was just as anxious to talk as they.
In a few words Tom told him something about the club. Then abruptly he demanded, “How about your hand?”
“I’ll tell you,” said the young man. “My name is Ralph Edmunds and I am a special correspondent for an Eastern newspaper syndicate.”
“Say, that’s a fine job,” said Cranny.
“You might not think so, if you’d been mixed up in some of the scraps I have!” remarked Edmunds dryly. “It’s a dangerous game.” The lines of his face became hard and stern. “I’ve been with the Federal troops and just last night we ran across a scouting party of Constitutionalists—whew—say—maybe it wasn’t some hot scrap. Rifles crack easily in this country, you know! Well, a stray bullet scraped my wrist. At first I thought it had ploughed clean through; but luckily it didn’t do any more than temporarily put it out of commission,—which is bad enough, and made me take a long wearisome ride back here.”
Expressions of sympathy came from the crowd.
“And—confound the luck, one of my most important articles is only half finished—what am I to do?” To emphasize his disgust Edmunds’ well hand came down on the table with a bang.
“First of all, let me take a look at your wrist,” said Tom in professional tones. “I’m going to be a doctor some day, you know.”
“I do now, at any rate,” remarked the newspaper man. “And I’m glad to hear it. You may save me the trouble of hunting up a Mexican medico.”
Tom always carried with him a small case containing all the necessary articles for the first aid to the injured treatment, and being deeply interested in the subject had received instructions from a physician in his home town, Kingswood. He left the room to return a moment later with the precious case tucked under his arm.
“Who bandaged it up for you?” demanded Tom, as he unwrapped the gauze.
“A good-natured Mexican.”
“Well, he may have been good-natured enough; but I reckon he never even saw the book—here, let me show you!”
An admiring crowd watched the physician-to-be skilfully bathe and bind an ugly wound; a proceeding which caused Cranny once more to become the victim of disturbing thoughts.
Tom’s career was all settled upon. He had wisely made a selection and with a definite purpose in view could look forward to the future without fear or worry. Deep in the midst of gloomy reflections he lifted his head, as these words spoken by the newspaper man reached his ears.
“I say! Is there any chap in the crowd who’d like to help me finish my article?”
On the spur of the moment Cranny answered:
“Sure thing! I’ll do it.”
“Well, isn’t this simply fine? Can you write fast?”
“So fast that when it’s done nobody can read it,” grinned Cranny.
“Never mind. I’ll risk it. When will you start?”
“Right away.”
Probably Cranny’s quick decision was caused by the strong liking he had taken to the youthful newspaper man. He felt that he was one of those “red-blooded” chaps, full of grit and determination.
The crowd was certainly astonished. It seemed most unlike Cranny to proffer his services for any kind of work when he could just as easily go off on a pleasure jaunt. So with puzzled expressions they watched him and the correspondent presently leave the room.
“Remarkable,” whispered Dick.
“Being with us is doing Cranny lots of good,” said Tom.
“It isn’t making him any worse, at least,” said Bob, with a smile.
Two hours later the Tacoma lad reappeared, carrying a manuscript.
“I sailed through it like a breeze, fellows,” he chuckled gleefully. “A whole two cent lead pencil’s gone. I’m off to despatch it to the newspaper syndicate. Comin’ along? Good.”
The post and telegraph office was in the same building as the general store. Situated in the liveliest section of the frontier town, with a spacious porch surrounding the entire structure, it had become a convenient lounging place for a considerable number of the idle poor.
“It was like running a gauntlet,” Dick declared, to pass before the dark glittering eyes of the Mexicans.
While Cranny attended to his mission the others waited outside. The view they saw was characteristic of border towns. Saddled horses were hitched to posts at intervals along the sidewalks. A buckboard and other vehicles, some of the most primitive sort, formed a little group near by. On both sides of the wide, tree-shaded streets were hotels or stores of various sorts, but the most conspicuous building, both on account of its design and the flaming posters which adorned its front, was a moving picture theater.
When Cranny rejoined them with a peculiar look of satisfaction on his face, they wandered across the street to study the place at closer range.
“H’m, looks kind of good to me,” remarked Tom. “Let’s take it in to-night.”
“Do just let’s,” chortled Dick.
“Good idea,” approved Cranny.
“The ayes have it, so we’ll go,” declared Bob.
Arriving at the hotel they found Professor Kent and Edmunds engaged in conversation, and a few words which the lads overheard before the others were aware of their presence made Cranny Beaumont’s face light up with pleasure.
“Yes, sir! He’s a smart one; writes from dictation like a streak, and scarcely ever makes a error.”
“Bully for you, Cranny,” said Bob softly.
After taking their evening meal in the cool patio, and writing letters home, the crowd set out for the motion-picture theater.