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Pasqual laughed with savage glee as he thought how he had lured them in scattered detachments far up to the Gila or over to the Christobal. No need to fear the coming of the late escort of the paymaster. By this time those not dead, drugged, or drunk were worn out with fatigue.
But the time had come when San Pasqual, representing Society, must be accorded the right which Society very justly demands the right to know whether its members are conforming to all of the law, moral and legal. Donna realized that her silence in the matter of her marriage had placed her in an unenviable light, and while she was striving to formulate a plan to make the announcement gracefully.
Ah, if he could only have seen Donna's face when the express messenger next door brought that votive offering in to her! Red carnations were not frequent in San Pasqual. It was the first lover's bouquet Donna had ever received and she bent low behind the cash register and kissed the foolish little card, for the hand of her Bob had touched it!
Besides, I'd rather work than sit idle around the Hat Ranch." He made no reply to this. He had already threshed the matter over in his mind and there was no answer. "I'll accompany you as far as San Pasqual, Donna. We'll go south to- morrow and arrive at San Pasqual, shortly after dark. I'll escort you to the Hat Ranch, change into my desert togs, saddle Friar Tuck and light out.
The maddened mules flew at their collars and tore away, the wagons bounding after them, and Pasqual Morales, thrusting forth his head to learn the cause of all the panic, grabbed the revolver at his belt with one fierce curse. "Carajo!"
Dan Pennycook was there, supporting Donna, and made a spectacle of himself. Mrs. Pennycook was there and superintended the disposal of the flowers on the grave; in fact, all San Pasqual was there, with the exception of Harley P. Hennage and nobody wondered why he wasn't there. It was well known that he was not one of the presuming kind and had nothing in common with respectable people.
He could see her through the open half- window of the lean-to, so he came to the window, thrust his head and shoulders in and coughed. Donna raised her head and gazed into the face of the worst man in San Pasqual! This peculiarly distinguished individual was Mr. Harley P. Hennage, the proprietor of a faro game in the Silver Dollar saloon.
San Pasqual is such a weather-beaten, sad, abject little town that one might readily experience surprise that the trains even condescend to stop there. It squats in the sand a few miles south of Tehachapi pass, hemmed in by mountain ranges ocher-tinted where near by, mellowed by distance into gorgeous shades of turquoise and deep maroon.
Up to the day she died nobody in San Pasqual knew very much about her where she came from or why she came. She gave no confidences and invited none. In a general way it was known that she was a widow. Her husband had gone away and never returned, and it was a moot question in San Pasqual whether the Widow Corblay was grass or natural.
Her fate rested not on his word, but upon the decision of Pasqual Mendez, and, if that bandit was associated with Bill Lacy, as undoubtedly he was, then as the prisoner of the American, she was certainly safe until the latter expressed his own wish regarding her. And why should Lacy desire to take her life? Most assuredly he did not, or the act would have been already accomplished.
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