Citadel of Fear | Page 4

He was eying the

hacienda suspiciously, but as suspicion was Kennedy's normal attitude
toward the world, Boots paid that no attention.
He boldly advanced toward the wooden outer gates that stood open,
yielding a pleasant glimpse through two archways to the inner patio,
with its palms, gay oleanders, and tinkling fountain. His fist smote
loudly on a leaf of the open gates.
Almost immediately, the summons brought response. On pattering bare
feet a child came flying out from among the palms, only to pull up
abruptly when she perceived that the visitors were strangers. She was a
pretty enough youngster, between three and four years old, with curling
black hair, bright, solemn, dark eyes, and a skin surprisingly pink and
white for a Mexican child. Her dress was a single slip of brown agave
fiber, clean, however, and painstakingly embroidered.
"Buenos dias, chiquita," greeted Boots, whose Spanish, though
atrociously accented, generally served the purpose. "Esta usted solo en
la casa?" (Are you alone in the house?)
The curly black head shook in solemn negation. Then the round face
dimpled into laughter, and running straight to her giant questioner she
put up chubby arms in an unmistakable plea. With an answering laugh
the Irishman caught the baby up and set her on the towering height of
his shoulder.
Kennedy frowned weary irritation.
"Are we to stand here all day?" he queried.
Leaning forward, the child peered down at him around the ruddy head
of her swiftly chosen friend.
"Do 'way," she commanded calmly. "Red man nice--tum in. Black man
do 'way--'way, 'way off!" She emphasized the order in her unexpected
baby English by a generous wave of her hand toward infinite outside
spaces.

Boots' shout of mirth at this summary choice and dismissal produced
two results. Kennedy's annoyance was increased, and a man came out
from some door which the first archway concealed, and strode quickly
toward them. Dressed in immaculate white, well-groomed and
confident of bearing, here seemed the probable master of the hacienda.
"What is this? Put that child down, sir! Who are you, and how did you
come here?"

The Irishman shrugged a trifle resentfully.
"The little maid's in no danger," he protested. "We're seeking the
common kindness of food and shelter; for the which we'll gladly pay
and get on our journey again."
Without replying the man advanced, took the girl from her lofty perch
and set her down. "Run in, the house, little daughter," he commanded
briefly.
But with a wail of rebellion she flung both short arms around the
Irishman's dusty boot. Foreseeing trouble for the young lady, he
stooped and gently disengaged her.
"I've a little sister at home, colleen," he said, "that's the spit and image
of yourself, save she's the eyes like blue corn-flowers. Don't you be
crying, now. We'll see each other again."
As she still clung, her father stooped, lifted her and faced her about in
the desired direction. "Go--in!" he commanded, with a gentle sternness
that this time won obedience.
Boots looked at her regretfully, for he liked children. He was, indeed,
to see her again, as he had promised; but not to know her--not though
that recognition would have saved him terrible and bitter pain. But now
she was to him only a small girl-child, who went at her father's
insistence, and going turned to wave a chubby and reluctant farewell.

Upon her disappearance the fathers manner relaxed.
"You took me by surprise," he explained. "We are seldom favored with
guests here, but I meant no inhospitality. You come from --"
"The desert." Boots' brevity was indignant. Did the fellow think him a
child-eating ogre that he snatched away his daughter so anxiously?
But Kennedy was more voluble. He plunged into an instant and piteous
account of their recent sufferings, or, to speak more correctly, of his
own, and before the tale was half finished, their unwilling host's last
trace of hostility seemed to have completely vanished.
"Come in--come in!" he ejaculated. "You shan't tell me that sort of
story standing out here. Come in and I'll find you something or other
worth eating, though I can't promise what it will be. My people --" He
paused and seemed to hesitate rather strangely. "My servants are off for
the day," he at last concluded. "I'll do my best, and ask you to put up
with any lacks due to their absence."
Both men offered willing though surprised assent.
"Off for the day!" thought Boots. "And where off to, I wonder? Does
he give picnics to his peons? He's a different master, then, to any I've
met in this slave-driver's country."
Having seated them in a great, cool, high-ceilinged and galleried
dining-room, their host disappeared to return presently bearing a piled
trayful of plunder from his own deserted kitchen.
The food,