Captain Evans did not seem at all troubled by the disparity in numbers.

One Ranger, or two at the most, had always been sufficient to quell a Texan disturbance; now that there were three of them, he felt equal to an invasion of Mexican soil, if necessary. In consequence he relaxed his watchful vigilance, and to Dave he drawled:

"We've got most of the leading citizens of the county, and I reckon somebody in the outfit will be able to identify Guzman."

"There's no trouble about that, sir. We found him. Pedro and Raoul can make sure." The sons of Ricardo Guzman stepped forward promptly, and Law waved them toward the boat landing, where the two helpers were waiting with Ricardo's remains.

Despite the Ranger captain's easy a.s.sumption of command, the strain of the situation had not subsided, and Longorio drew swift attention to himself when he said:

"It is fortunate that I chanced to learn of this matter. You have done me a great service, Senor Law, for I came to Romero purposely to examine into the death of this unfortunate man. But I could learn nothing; n.o.body knew anything whatever about the matter, and so I became convinced that it amounted to little. Now--behold! I discover that I was deceived. Or--perhaps there still may be a mistake."

Blaze Jones thrust his daughter aside and advanced toward the speaker.

"There's no mistake," he declared, belligerently. "I don't make mistakes when I go grave-robbin'. Don Ricardo was shot by your men. He had five thousand dollars on him, or he should have had, and he was an American citizen. Your Colonel Blanco covered the body, but he'll have a h.e.l.l of a job coverin' the facts. It's time we came to a showdown with your murderin' outfit, and I aim to see if we've got a government in this country."

"Heaven guided my hand," devoutly breathed the general. "It is regrettable that you used this means when a word to me would have served the purpose, for--it is no trivial matter to desecrate a Mexican graveyard. My country, too, has a government. An officer of the State of Texas, under arms, has crossed the Rio Grande. What does that mean?"

Captain Evans had a sense of humor; Longorio's ominous words amused him. "Say, general, it ain't the first time," he chortled. "And you're an officer, too, ain't you? You're in Texas at this minute, and I'll bet if I frisked you I'd find that you was under arms." The Mexican understood English sufficiently well to grasp the significance of these words. After a moment's consideration, therefore, he modified his threatening tone.

"But my mission was friendly. I had no criminal purpose," he said, mildly. "However--perhaps one offense condones the other. At any rate, we must have no international complications. There is a more practical side to the matter: if Don Ricardo Guzman met his death in Mexico there will be a rigid investigation, I a.s.sure you."

Evans agreed. "That's fair! And I'll make a bargain with you: you keep still and so'll we. We never aimed for this affair to get out, anyhow.

I reckon these men"--he indicated Lewis and his followers--"ain't liable to talk much."

The two Guzman boys, greatly moved, returned to announce that they had indeed identified their father's body, and Longorio could not well refuse to accept their evidence.

"Very well," said he. "I am indebted to you. Since there is nothing more to be said, apparently, I will return to Romero." With a bow to Mrs. Austin, who had silently watched the play of these opposing motives, he turned away, and Tad Lewis followed him.

But Dave Law had recognized Adolfo Urbina in the crowd, and, stepping forward, disarmed him, saying:

"Adolfo, there's a warrant for you, so I'll just take you in."

For a moment Adolfo was inclined to resist, but, thinking better of it, he yielded with bad grace, bitterly regretting the curiosity which had prompted him to remain to the end of this interesting affair.

Tad Lewis gave him some comfort. "Never mind, Adolfo," he said. "They can't prove anything on you, and I'll go your bail. Ed Austin knows where you was the day that stock was stole." He and his two remaining men moved toward their automobile, and a moment later the vehicle went clattering away up the thicket road.

So ended the attempt to foil the return of Ricardo Guzman's body to Texas soil.

When Alaire came to look for her husband he was gone.

XX

SUPERSt.i.tIONS AND CERTAINTIES

The sensation caused by Ricardo Guzman's disappearance was as nothing to that which followed the recovery of his body. By the next afternoon it was known from Mexico to the Canadian border that the old ranchman had been shot by Mexican soldiers in Romero. It was reported that a party of Americans had invaded foreign soil and s.n.a.t.c.hed Ricardo's remains from under the nose of General Longorio. But there all reliable information ceased. Just how the rescue had been effected, by whom it had been done, what reasons had prompted it, were a mystery. With the first story the newspapers printed a terse telegram, signed by Captain Evans and addressed to the Governor of Texas, which read:

"Ranger force crossed Rio Grande and brought back the body of Ricardo Guzman."

This message created tremendous enthusiasm, for the Texas Rangers have ever stood for prompt and decisive action; but two hours after the publication of this despatch there came a sharp inquiry from Washington, and on the heels of that the State House at Austin denied the receipt of any such message.

When this denial was in turn made public, the newspapers demanded to know who had performed this sensational exploit. One rumor had it that the sons of Ricardo Guzman had risked their lives to insure their father Christian burial. This was amplified by a touching pen-picture of the rancher's weeping family waiting at the bank of the Rio Grande, and an affecting account of the grief of the beautiful Guzman girls. It mattered not that there were no daughters.

In other quarters the expedition was credited to members of a secret order to which Ricardo had belonged; from a third source came a statement that the Guzman family had hired a band of Mexicans to exhume the body, so that proof of death might be sufficient to satisfy an insurance company in which the rancher had held a policy. Even at Jonesville there were conflicting rumors.

But, whatever the facts of the rescue, it was generally recognized that the result had been to bring on a crisis in the affairs of the two nations. People declared that since the outrage was now proven the next move was the duty of the State Department at Washington. Therefore, when several days pa.s.sed and nothing was done, a wide-spread feeling of indignation grew. What mattered these diplomatic communications between the two governments? it was asked. Why wait for another investigation by General Longorio?

Strong influences, however, were at work to prevent that very outcome for which the people of Texas prayed. During the delay there arose a report that Ricardo Guzman had borne an evil reputation, and that he had been so actively a.s.sociated with the Rebel cause as to warrant punishment by the Federal government. Moreover, a legal question as to his American citizenship was raised--a question which seemed to have important bearing upon the case.

Public interest is short-lived; few living men can hold it more than a day or two, and it reckons no dead man worthy of more than an obituary notice. Other Mexican offenses, equally grave, had failed to stir the Administration to definite action; the death of this obscure border ranchman did not seem to weigh very heavily in Washington. Thus in the course of time the Guzman incident was in a fair way of being officially forgotten and forgiven.

Of course the people of Texas did not forget, nor did those who had personally known Ricardo forgive. Dave Law, for instance, felt bitter over the matter, for he had counted upon prompt and definite results. A little pressure, properly applied, would have wrung the truth from Colonel Blanco and fastened some measure of guilt upon the men who had actually arranged the murder. Dave did not doubt Tad Lewis's part in it, but there was only one source from which pressure could be brought, and when this failed he found his further efforts blocked. There remained to him only the consolation of knowing that he had in a measure squared his account with old Ricardo.

But there were several persons who felt intense relief at the course events had taken, and among these was Alaire Austin. In the days following that midnight expedition she had had ample time in which to meditate upon her husband's actions, "Young Ed" had taken advantage of the confusion to slip out of the crowd and escape in his roadster, and when Alaire arrived at Las Palmas she had found that he was gone, leaving behind no word as to when he would return. It seemed probable that he had fled to San Antonio, there to remain until interest in the Guzman matter had abated. If Ed was relieved to escape the immediate consequences of his connection with the affair, his wife was no less thankful for his absence, since it left her free to think and to plan.

Their relations were becoming constantly more difficult; she realized that it was impossible for her to go on in this way much longer. Before leaving Ed had again rifled the safe, thus disregarding for a second time his explicit agreement with his wife. Of course, he was welcome to whatever money he needed, even in excess of his allowance; but his act showed his weak sense of honor and strengthened Alaire's conviction that he was in every way rapidly deteriorating. As yet she could not believe him really wicked at heart--he had many qualities which were above the average--nor could she convince herself that he had been criminally involved in Tad Lewis's schemes. And yet, what other explanation could there be? Ed's behavior had been extraordinary; his evident terror at news of Dave Law's expedition, his conversation with Tad Lewis over the telephone, his subsequent actions at the river, all seemed to indicate that he had some vital interest in maintaining the mystery of Guzman's death. What could it be?

Suspicions like these were extremely disturbing. In spite of herself Alaire began to think more seriously about that separation which Ed had so frequently offered her. Her whole nature, it is true, recoiled at the thought of divorce; it was a thing utterly repugnant to her sentiment and her creed--a thing that stood for notoriety, gossip, scandal. Deep in her heart she felt that divorce was wicked, for marriage to her had always meant a sacred and unbreakable bond. And yet there seemed to be no alternative. She wished Ed would go away--leave her quietly and for ever, so that she might live out her empty life in seclusion--but that, of course, he would never do.

Such longings were not strangers to Alaire; they were old and persistent enemies; but of late the prospect of a loveless, childless future was growing more and more unbearable. Even her day dreams failed to give their customary relief; those imaginary figures with whom she took counsel were strangely unresponsive.

She had told Paloma Jones about her dream-children, but she had not confessed the existence of another and a far more intimate creature of her brain--one who occupied the place Ed Austin should have held. There was such a person, however, and Alaire called him her dream husband.

Now this man's physical aspect was never long the same; it altered according to her changing ideals or to the impression left by new acquaintances; nevertheless, he was in some ways the most real and the most tangible of all her pale romantic fancies. No one who has watched a solitary child at play can doubt that it sees and hears playmates invisible to others. Alaire Austin, in the remotest depths of her being, was still a child. Of late her prince had a.s.sumed new characteristics and a new form. He was no longer any one of the many shapes he had been; he was more like the spirit of the out-of-doors--a strong-limbed, deep-chested, sun-bronzed creature, with a strain of gipsy blood that called to hers. He was moody, yet tender, roughly masculine, and yet possessed of the gentleness and poetry of a girl. He was violent tempered; he was brave; he rode a magnificent bay mare that worshiped him, as did all animals.

During one of these introspective periods Alaire telephoned Dave Law, arguing to herself that she must learn more about her husband's connection with the Lewis gang. Dave arrived even sooner than she had expected. She made him dine with her, and they spent the evening on the dim-lit gallery. In the course of their conversation Alaire discovered that Dave, too, had a hidden side of his nature; that he possessed an imagination, and with it a quaint, whimsical, exploratory turn of mind which enabled him to talk interestingly of many things and many places.

On this particular evening he was anything but the man of iron she had known--until she ventured to speak of Ed. Then he closed up like a trap. He was almost gruff in his refusal to say a word about her husband.

Because of Ed's appropriation of the ranch cash, Alaire found it necessary a few days later to go to the bank, and, feeling the need of exercise, she rode her horse Montrose. When her errands had been attended to, she suddenly decided to call on Paloma Jones. It was years since she had voluntarily done such a thing; the very impulse surprised her.

Paloma, it happened, was undergoing that peculiar form of feminine torture known as a "fitting"; but insecurely basted, pinned, and tucked as she was, she came flying down to the gate to meet her visitor.

Alaire was introduced to Mrs. Strange, the dressmaker, a large, acidulous brunette, with a mouthful of pins; and then, when Paloma had given herself once more into the seamstress's hands, the two friends gossiped.

Since Mrs. Strange was the first capable dressmaker who had ever come to Jonesville, Paloma had closed her eyes and plunged with reckless extravagance. Now the girl insisted upon a general exhibition of her new wardrobe, a sort of grand fashion review, for the edification of her caller, in the course of which she tried on all her dresses.

Paloma was pet.i.te and well proportioned, and the gowns were altogether charming. Alaire was honest in her praise, and Paloma's response was one of whole-hearted pleasure. The girl beamed. Never before had she been so admired, never until this moment had she adored a person as she adored Mrs. Austin, whose every suggestion as to fit and style was acted upon, regardless of Mrs. Strange.

"I don't know what Dad will say when he gets the bill for these dresses," Paloma confessed.

"Your father is a mighty queer man," Mrs. Strange observed. "I haven't so much as laid eyes on him."

Paloma nodded. "Yes. And he's getting more peculiar all the time; I can't make out what ails him."

"Where is he now?" asked Alaire.

"Heaven knows! Out in the barn or under the house." Taking advantage of the dressmaker's momentary absence from the room, Paloma continued in a whisper: "I wish you'd talk to Dad and see what you make of him. He's absolutely--queer. Mrs. Strange seems to have a peculiar effect on him.

Why, it's almost as if--"

"What?"