Desert Gold

  I'm leaving Mercedes in your charge, subject, of course, to advice from Belding.  Take care of her, Dick, for my life is wrapped up in her.  By all means keep her from being seen by Mexicans.  We are sitting tight here–nothing doing.  If some action doesn't come soon, it'll be darned strange.  Things are centering this way. There's scrapping right along, and people have begun to move. We're still patrolling the line eastward of Casita.  It'll be impossible to keep any tab on the line west of Casita, for it's too rough.  That cactus desert is awful. Cowboys or rangers with desert-bred horses might keep raiders and smugglers from crossing. But if cavalrymen could stand that waterless wilderness, which I doubt much, their horses would drop under them.

  If things do quiet down before my commission expires, I'll get leave of absence, run out to Forlorn River, marry my beautiful Spanish princess, and take her to a civilized country, where, I opine, every son of a gun who sees her will lose his head, and drive me mad.  It's my great luck, old pal, that you are a fellow who never seemed to care about pretty girls.  So you won't give me the double cross and run off with Mercedes–carry her off, like the villain in the play, I mean.

  That reminds me of Rojas.  Oh, Dick, it was glorious!  You didn't do anything to the Dandy Rebel!  Not at all!  You merely caressed him–gently moved him to one side.  Dick, harken to these glad words:  Rojas is in the hospital.  I was interested to inquire. He had a smashed finger, a dislocated collar bone, three broken ribs, and a fearful gash on his face.  He'll be in the hospital for a month.  Dick, when I meet that pig-headed dad of yours I'm going to give him the surprise of his life.

  Send me a line whenever any one comes in from F. R., and inclose Mercedes's letter in yours.  Take care of her, Dick, and may the future hold in store for you some of the sweetness I know now!

  Faithfully yours, Thorne.

   Dick reread the letter, then folded it and placed it under his pillow.

  "Never cared for pretty girls, huh?" he soliloquized.

  "George, I never saw any till I struck Southern Arizona! Guess I'd better make up for lost time."

  While he was eating his supper, with appetite rapidly returning to normal, Ladd and Jim cam in, bowing their tall heads to enter the door.  Their friendly advances were singularly welcome to Gale, but he was still backward.  He allowed himself to show that he was glad to see them, and he listened.  Jim Lash had heard from Belding the result of the mauling given to Rojas by Dick.  And Jim talked about what a grand thing that was.  Ladd had a good deal to say about Belding's horses.  It took no keen judge of human nature to see that horses constituted Ladd's ruling passion.

  "I've had wimmen go back on me, but never no hoss!" declared Ladd, and manifestly that was a controlling truth with him.

  "Shore it's a cinch Beldin' is agoin' to lose some of them hosses," he said.  "you can search me if I don't think there'll be more doin' on the border here than along the Rio Grande.  We're just the same as on Greaser soil.  Mebbe we don't stand no such chance of bein' shot up as we would across the line.  but who's goin' to give up his hosses without a fight?  Half the time when Beldin's stock is out of the alfalfa it's grazin' over the line.  He thinks he's careful about them hosses, but he ain't."

  "Look a-here, Laddy; you cain't believe all you hear," replied Jim, seriously.  "I reckon we mightn't have any trouble."

  "Back up, Jim.  Shore you're standin' on your bridle.  I ain't goin' much on reports.  Remember that American we met in Casita, the prospector who'd just gotten out of Sonora?  He had some story, he had.  Swore he'd killed seventeen Greasers breakin' through the rebel line round the mine where he an' other Americans were corralled.  The next day when I met him again, he was drunk, an' then he told me he'd shot thirty Greasers.  The chances are he did kill some.  But reports are exaggerated.  There are miners fightin' for life down in Sonora, you can gamble on that.  An' the truth is bad enough.  Take Rojas's harryin' of the Senorita, for instance.  Can you beat that?  Shore, Jim, there's more doin' than the raidin' of a few hosses.  An' Forlorn River is goin' to get hers!"

  Another dawn found Gale so much recovered that he arose and looked after himself, not, however, without considerable difficulty and rather disheartening twinges of pain.