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To this the younger heartily agreed. In a trice, upstairs and down again, equipped with extra ammunition, extra pistols, and a pocket-bulging supply of cigars, cigarettes and matches, the three Americans were ready. Wemple called last instructions up the stairway to imaginary occupants being left behind, ascertained that the spring lock was on, and slammed the door.
And we've given them steady jobs and a hundred and fifty centavos a a day, and here they are yelling for our blood." "Only the half breeds," Davies corrected. "You know what I mean," Wemple replied. "The only peons we've lost are those that have been run off or shot." The attack on the door ceasing, they returned upstairs.
"And the land's impossible, with Zaragoza's and Villa's men on the loot and maybe fraternizing," Davies agreed. Wemple nodded and continued: "And she's at the East Coast Magnolia, two miles beyond, if she isn't back at the hunting camp. We've got to get her " "We've played pretty square in this matter, Wemple," Davies said.
Lieutenant Wemple glanced back again and a frown wrinkled his forehead, as he said, "If our horse does not break down we may keep ahead of them until we reach Laguna." Barbara patted the horse and whispered soft words of encouragement and then under her breath she sent up a fervent petition to the Virgin Mary to protect them.
"You can get the back wheels past, but right there you hit that little curve, and if you make it your front wheel will be off the bank. If you don't make it, your back wheel'll be off." Both men studied it carefully, then looked at each other. "We've got to," said Davies. "And we're going to," Wemple said, shoving his rival aside in comradely fashion and taking the post of danger at the wheel.
I do not wish to marry the señor, even if he should become one of us." Wemple looked at her blankly, as if hardly comprehending her words, and then cried out, "Barbara! You cannot mean this!" "You see, señor," said the old man, "there is nothing more to say." "Is there nothing more to say, Barbara?" Wemple appealed to her in a broken voice.
"Can't get at this sand unless we go back and try over, and we ditch the car if we try to back up that." The ditch was a huge natural sump-hole, the stagnant surface of which was a-crawl with slime twenty feet beneath. Davies and Wemple sprang to take the boy's place. "You can't do it," he urged.
"Dress for rough travel, and don't stop for any frills," Wemple called around the corner of Miss Drexel's screened sleeping porch. "Not a wash, nothing," Davies supplemented grimly, as he shook hands with Charley Drexel, who yawned and slippered up to them in pajamas. "Where are those horses, Charley? Still alive?"
"I promise!" he answered as another shot whistled in front of them and clipped the top of the horse's ear. Wemple dug his spurs into its sweating side and the beast sprang forward at a faster gallop. The Indians, shouting loudly, were urging their ponies across the plain at breakneck speed.
"Promise me," Barbara, pleaded, "if it comes to that, if you must die, you will kill me first! For it would be hell it would be worse than hell to go back there now!" Wemple did not answer. "Promise me that you will," she begged. "You do not know what you would save me from; but believe me, and promise me that you will not send me back to it!"
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