Desert Gold [16]
swear," he replied hoarsely. "I know--I'd rather have you dead than-- But don't give up. Rojas can't be sure of you, or he wouldn't wait. He's in there. He's got his men there--all around us. But he hesitates. A beast like Rojas doesn't stand idle for nothing. I tell you we've a chance. Dick, here, will think of something. We'll slip away. Then he'll take you somewhere. Only--speak to him--show him you won't weaken. Mercedes, this is more than love and happiness for us. It's life or death."
She became quiet, and slowly recovered control of herself.
Suddenly she wheeled to face Gale with proud dark eyes, tragic sweetness of appeal, and exquisite grace.
"Senor, you are an American. You cannot know the Spanish blood--the peon bandit's hate and cruelty. I wish to die before Rojas's hand touches me. If he takes me alive, then the hour, the little day that my life lasts afterward will be tortured--torture of hell. If I live two days his brutal men will have me. If I live three, the dogs of his camp...Senor, have you a sister whom you love? Help Senor Thorne to save me. He is a soldier. He is bound. He must not betray his honor, his duty, for me....Ah, you two splendid Americans--so big, so strong, so fierce! What is that little black half-breed slave Rojas to such men? Rojas is a coward. Now, let me waste no more precious time. I am ready. I will be brave."
She came close to Gale, holding out her white hands, a woman all fire and soul and passion. to Gale she was wonderful. His heart leaped. As he bent over her hands and kissed them he seemed to feel himself renewed, remade.
"Senorita," he said, "I am happy to be your servant. I can conceive of no greater pleasure than giving the service you require."
"And what is that?" inquired Thorne, hurriedly.
"That of incapacitating Senor Rojas for to-night, and perhaps several nights to come," replied Gale.
"Dick, what will you do?" asked Thorne, now in alarm.
"I'll make a row in that saloon," returned Dick, bluntly. "I'll start something. I'll rush Rojas and his crowd. I'll--"
"Lord, no; you mustn't, Dick--you'll be knifed!" cried Thorne. He was in distress, yet his eyes were shining.
"I'll take a chance. Maybe I can surprise that slow Greaser bunch and get away before they know what's happened....You be ready watching at the window. When the row starts those fellows out there in the plaza will run into the saloon. Then you slip out, go straight through the plaza down the street. It's a dark street, I remember. I'll catch up with you before you get far."
Thorne gasped, but did not say a word. Mercedes leaned against him, her white hands now at her breast, her great eyes watching Gale as he went out.
In the corridor Gale stopped long enough to pull on a pair of heavy gloves, to muss his hair, and disarrange his collar. Then he stepped into the restaurant, went through, and halted in the door leading into the saloon. His five feet eleven inches and one hundred and eighty pounds were more noticeable there, and it was part of his plan to attract attention to himself. No one, however, appeared to notice him. The pool-players were noisily intent on their game, the same crowd of motley-robed Mexicans hung over the reeking bar. Gale's roving glance soon fixed upon the man he took to be Rojas. He recognized the huge, high-peaked, black sombrero with its ornamented band. The Mexican's face was turned aside. He was in earnest, excited colloquy with a dozen or more comrades, most of whom were sitting round a table. They were listening, talking, drinking. The fact that they wore cartridge belts crossed over their breasts satisfied that these were the rebels. He had noted the belts of the Mexicans outside, who were apparently guards. A waiter brought more drinks to this group at the table, and this caused the leader to turn so Gale could see his face. It was indeed the sinister, sneering face of the bandit Rojas. Gale gazed at the man with curiosity. He was under medium height, and striking in appearance only because
She became quiet, and slowly recovered control of herself.
Suddenly she wheeled to face Gale with proud dark eyes, tragic sweetness of appeal, and exquisite grace.
"Senor, you are an American. You cannot know the Spanish blood--the peon bandit's hate and cruelty. I wish to die before Rojas's hand touches me. If he takes me alive, then the hour, the little day that my life lasts afterward will be tortured--torture of hell. If I live two days his brutal men will have me. If I live three, the dogs of his camp...Senor, have you a sister whom you love? Help Senor Thorne to save me. He is a soldier. He is bound. He must not betray his honor, his duty, for me....Ah, you two splendid Americans--so big, so strong, so fierce! What is that little black half-breed slave Rojas to such men? Rojas is a coward. Now, let me waste no more precious time. I am ready. I will be brave."
She came close to Gale, holding out her white hands, a woman all fire and soul and passion. to Gale she was wonderful. His heart leaped. As he bent over her hands and kissed them he seemed to feel himself renewed, remade.
"Senorita," he said, "I am happy to be your servant. I can conceive of no greater pleasure than giving the service you require."
"And what is that?" inquired Thorne, hurriedly.
"That of incapacitating Senor Rojas for to-night, and perhaps several nights to come," replied Gale.
"Dick, what will you do?" asked Thorne, now in alarm.
"I'll make a row in that saloon," returned Dick, bluntly. "I'll start something. I'll rush Rojas and his crowd. I'll--"
"Lord, no; you mustn't, Dick--you'll be knifed!" cried Thorne. He was in distress, yet his eyes were shining.
"I'll take a chance. Maybe I can surprise that slow Greaser bunch and get away before they know what's happened....You be ready watching at the window. When the row starts those fellows out there in the plaza will run into the saloon. Then you slip out, go straight through the plaza down the street. It's a dark street, I remember. I'll catch up with you before you get far."
Thorne gasped, but did not say a word. Mercedes leaned against him, her white hands now at her breast, her great eyes watching Gale as he went out.
In the corridor Gale stopped long enough to pull on a pair of heavy gloves, to muss his hair, and disarrange his collar. Then he stepped into the restaurant, went through, and halted in the door leading into the saloon. His five feet eleven inches and one hundred and eighty pounds were more noticeable there, and it was part of his plan to attract attention to himself. No one, however, appeared to notice him. The pool-players were noisily intent on their game, the same crowd of motley-robed Mexicans hung over the reeking bar. Gale's roving glance soon fixed upon the man he took to be Rojas. He recognized the huge, high-peaked, black sombrero with its ornamented band. The Mexican's face was turned aside. He was in earnest, excited colloquy with a dozen or more comrades, most of whom were sitting round a table. They were listening, talking, drinking. The fact that they wore cartridge belts crossed over their breasts satisfied that these were the rebels. He had noted the belts of the Mexicans outside, who were apparently guards. A waiter brought more drinks to this group at the table, and this caused the leader to turn so Gale could see his face. It was indeed the sinister, sneering face of the bandit Rojas. Gale gazed at the man with curiosity. He was under medium height, and striking in appearance only because