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Updated: June 3, 2025
Pancha's got some money saved up, but it'll be a long time before she gets it, and Lorry says it wouldn't be enough any way. Think of that kind old bear with his hair getting gray trudging up and down the Mother Lode! If I'd thought that was to go on I'd never have had a peaceful night's sleep again. We'd have had to adopt him, and I know he wouldn't have liked that.
And one day followed another, and Turnbull read and yawned and dozed and tried to talk to the charming señoritas, but couldn't muster enough Castilian, and Traynor chalked the decks for "horse billiards" and shuffleboard, and everybody took a hand at times, and one evening, despite the havoc moist salt air plays with catgut, Pancha's guitar and that of the purser were brought into requisition, and Pancha was made to sing, a thing she didn't do too well as yet, and Pancha knew it without asking when she looked in Loring's eyes, and no power or persuasion could make her try again until long, long after.
There were many paths of profit and pleasure in the city by the Golden Gate and he explored any that offered entertainment those that led to tables green as grass under the blaze of electric lights, those that led to the poker game behind Soledad Lanza's pink-fronted restaurant, those that led up alleys to dark, secretive doors, and that which led to Pancha's ugly sitting room.
Loring was either briskly pacing the deck or reading in a sheltered nook back of the purser's cabin, but never once did he address her or intrude upon her meditations, and Pancha's spirits and courage or was it innate coquetry? began to ferment. That evening no less than five passengers appeared at table, though all five did not remain through the several courses.
He set his teeth, looking up at the graying sky, feeling the poison pressing at his throat, aching in his limbs, burning at the ends of his fingers. There was a faint diffused light when he reached the corner of Pancha's street, the first gleam of the coming day.
The next day he sent the phone message to Crowder and that night told him the story over dinner at Philip's Rotisserie. It threw Crowder into tense excitement; he became the journalist on the scent of a sensation. He was so carried away by its possibilities that he forgot Pancha's part in the unfolding drama.
He had no energy for the old life and did other things, anything to make his own food and Pancha's keep herded sheep, helped on the cattle ranges, tended store, hung on the fringes of the wilderness, saw men turn to savages and turned himself.
The stewardess, with practiced hand, carefully tucked the rugs about her, and bidding the little damsel make the most of the soft, salt air, while she herself ran below to prepare her chocolate, would have gone at once but for Pancha's trembling, yet restraining hand. The child seemed to cling to her in desperation.
He had to change by the Call Building, and his heart was hammering on his ribs as he dropped off the second car at the corner of Pancha's street. Up its dim perspective he could see the two ground glass globes at the Vallejo's steps. He wanted to run but did not dare the habits of the hunted still held and he walked as fast as he could, sending his glance ahead for her windows.
So there was a little packet in the purser's safe, was there? Valuable and not to be delivered except to their agent in 'Frisco. It was in Pancha's name, yet not subject to Pancha's order. Why that discrimination? And it was given the purser by Escalante brother of the Escalante another brother of the accomplished sharper of Sancho's ranch. A precious trinity of blood relations were these!
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