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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I never could see, myself, how people could spend twenty-two out of their twenty-four hours under a roof, the way most of them do," said Scott, thoughtfully. "Here, we turn now into the trail." "That's where Pachuca's men went yesterday," said Polly. "I hope we don't meet them." "No danger of that. Those fly-by-nights are a long way from here by this time."
The Mexicans got the idea if not the words and lowered their weapons. "You know what I want you for," Scott went on, angrily. "Where is she?" "She?" Pachuca's assumption of ignorance was masterly. It almost convinced Hard. "Who do you mean?" "I mean Miss Street. You've kidnapped her or else your friends in Mendoza's car have and you're on your way to join them. We want to know where.
Pachuca's business head, for all his conceit about it, was exceedingly primitive. His had been rather a primitive career from its beginning. Hard's story of the actress, while not entirely correct, had its foundation in fact.
"I wish," said the girl, severely, "that you'd tell me why you do such things? You're a gentleman not a bandit." "Of course I'm not a bandit." Pachuca's composure appeared to be deserting him. "You do not seem to understand you Americans that Mexico is our country and that we must deal with its political situations independently of you and your affairs."
Pachuca's horse began to pitch violently; it took all its rider's famous horsemanship to keep in the saddle. At the same moment, two men stole up behind Scott, who was rushing forward, seized him, threw him to the ground, and disarmed him. One of them took his rope and bound the American, while both of them grinned and muttered in Spanish.
"They don't do those things even in these degenerate days." "I guess you and me are behind the times, Henry. And then, you know Pachuca's manners. Something between the King of Spain and Chauncey Depew. Any woman'd fall for them." "But " "But nothing. Pachuca brought her over and he behaved himself while he was doing it as near as I can find out.
As far as he was concerned it might be regarded as an invincible floor. If he had a pick, perhaps Pachuca's eyes brightened, and a roguish look came into them. He had been thinking as he often did in English, being practically bi-lingual, and the word suggested something to him. Why not pick the lock?
Ahead lay a hill a tall hill. Would Pachuca try to make it or would he climb around the side of it? Something it looked like a man on horseback was coming rapidly down the hill. Had she miscalculated and were some of Pachuca's men still on the road? Perhaps the same thought struck the Mexican, for he slowed the car down and peered eagerly ahead. Polly clutched the revolver feverishly.
"I think you must be Señorita Street?" mused the young man. "Oh," Polly dimpled pleasantly. "You know Bob then?" Juan Pachuca's dark eyes smiled. "Not exactly but I have met him. Me, I have a place south of Conejo quite a long way I am what you might call a long-distance neighbor. My name is Pachuca Juan Pachuca." "I see. Are you in the mining business, too?" "Not now.
We've had trouble with the car, but we've fixed it and we'll be out of the way in a moment." "I'm not Bob Street, but I'm from Athens, and I'm looking for Bob's sister. I guess you must be her," replied Scott. "Well, who are you?" he added, as Juan Pachuca's legs emerged from the car, followed by his body. "It's not Mendoza he's sick," volunteered Polly.
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