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Updated: June 4, 2025
A few days before she had fallen into an argument with Steve Yeager about the civilization of the Mexicans. She wished he could see this specimen. The man spoke, after he had cleaned the plate, licked up the gravy, and gulped down the coffee. His words fell in a slow drawl, not in Spanish, but in English. "Don't you reckon mebbe I could get a ham sandwich too?" The actress jumped.
Steve nodded to the West Pointer. "Much obliged, captain." Breakfast was served to Yeager next morning by a guard who either knew nothing or would tell nothing of what was going on in the camp. After he had eaten, nobody came near the prisoner for hours. Through the barred window he could see a sentry pacing up and down or squatting in the shade of the deserted building opposite.
He knew quite well that if it came to a choice between him and Lennox the director would sacrifice him without a moment's consideration. Farrar, who had been grinding out pictures since the beginning of hostilities, came forward to greet Yeager with a little whoop of joy. "Say, you sure go some, Cactus Center. I never did see a fellow eat up such a licking and come up smiling.
It seemed to him that there was some hidden meaning in the long look of the steady eyes. The soldier nodded curtly and turned away. The Texan was dressed with unusual care. He was wearing tanned boots newly polished and the trim khaki uniform of an officer of the United States Army. Looking at him, Yeager thought he had never seen a finer figure of a man.
"Señor Yeager has recovered and was called away unexpectedly on business," he explained; adding with his lip smile, "He will be desolated to have missed you." "He is better, then?" "Indeed, quite his self. He nearly died from gunshot wounds, but unless he suffers a relapse he is entirely out of present danger." "Shouldn't have thought it would have been safe to travel yet," Farrar returned.
Has his wound been looked to?" "On the job now," sang out Yeager. "When I get through with him he'll be as good as new. Eh, Morgan?" "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," returned that impassive individual. "Where's Sam?" I asked. "Back at the wheel." "Alone?" "Alderson is with him. Don't worry about them. You couldn't dynamite that bunch of pirates on deck just now.
An instinct told her they were about to come to grips in epic struggle. "You're mighty high-heeled now when you got a gun thrown on me. Put it in the discard and I'll beat the life out o' you," threatened the prizefighter. Not releasing the other man with his eyes, Yeager lent one hand to help Ruth mount. He gave clear, curt instructions in a level voice.
The girl reached the vine-draped entrance of the pergola shortly after Yeager. Manifestly her fears had been growing in the interval since he had left her. "What is it?" And swift on the heels of that, "Is it about Phil?" "Yes." "He's in trouble ... again?" she breathed. He nodded assent. "The boy's out in the pasture. He wants you to send him breakfast."
Sedgwick down to his cabin, Morgan, and then both of you turn in for a few hours' sleep. We'll look out for trouble. Won't we, Jimmie? You and I and Billie Blue, eh?" "Yes, Mr. Yeager." "You'll call us if another attack threatens?" I asked. "Sure." The steady throb throb throb of the propeller was again shaking the yacht as she took up her journey.
Steve had a fleeting thought that the man was listening; also that he was covering the fact with a manner of elaborate carelessness. "Want I should start right away?" "Yep. Can you get back by to-morrow night?" "I reckon. Has Yarnell got 'em rounded up?" asked Yeager. "He telephoned me this morning they were ready."
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