Heart of the Sunset | Page 4

your pardon. I'm selfish." She extended her cup and plate as an invitation for him to share their contents. "Please eat with me."
But he refused. "I ain't hungry," he affirmed. "Honest!"
Accustomed as she was to the diffidence of ranch-hands, she refrained from urging him, and proceeded with her repast. When she had finished she lay back and watched him as he ate sparingly.
"My horse fell crossing the Arroyo Grande," she announced, abruptly. "He broke a leg, and I had to shoot him."
"Is there any water in the Grande?" asked the man.
"No. They told me there was plenty. I knew of this charco, so I made for it."
"Who told you there was water in the arroyo?"
"Those Mexicans at the little-goat ranch."
"Balli. So you walked in from Arroyo Grande. Lord! It's a good ten miles straightaway, and I reckon you came crooked. Eh?"
"Yes. And it was very hot. I was never here but once, and--the country looks different when you're afoot."
"It certainly does," the man nodded. Then he continued, musingly: "No water there, eh? I figured there might be a little." The fact appeared to please him, for he nodded again as he went on with his meal. "Not much rain down here, I reckon."
"Very little. Where are you from?"
"Me? Hebbronville. My name is Law."
Evidently, thought the woman, this fellow belonged to the East outfit, or some of the other big cattle-ranches in the Hebbronville district. Probably he was a range boss or a foreman. After a time she said, "I suppose the nearest ranch is that Balli place?"
"Yes'm."
"I'd like to borrow your horse."
Mr. Law stared into his plate. "Well, miss, I'm afraid--"
She added, hastily, "I'll send you a fresh one by Balli's boy in the morning."
He looked up at her from under the brim of his hat. "D'you reckon you could find that goat-ranch by star-light, miss?"
The woman was silent.
"'Ain't you just about caught up on traveling, for one day?" he asked. "I reckon you need a good rest about as much as anybody I ever saw. You can have my blanket, you know."
The prospect was unwelcome, yet she reluctantly agreed. "Perhaps-- Then in the morning--"
Law shook his head. "I can't loan you my horse, miss. I've got to stay right here."
"But Balli's boy could bring him back."
"I got to meet a man."
"Here?"
"Yes'm."
"When will he come?"
"He'd ought to be here at early dark to-morrow evening." Heedless of her dismay, he continued, "Yes'm, about sundown."
"But--I can't stay here. I'll ride to Balli's and have your horse back by afternoon."
"My man might come earlier than I expect," Mr. Law persisted.
"Really, I can't see what difference it would make. It wouldn't interfere with your appointment to let me--"
Law smiled slowly, and, setting his plate aside, selected a fresh cigarette; then as he reached for a coal he explained:
"I haven't got what you'd exactly call an appointment. This feller I'm expectin' is a Mexican, and day before yesterday he killed a man over in Jim Wells County. They got me by 'phone at Hebbronville and told me he'd left. He's headin' for the border, and he's due here about sundown, now that Arroyo Grande's dry. I was aimin' to let you ride his horse."
"Then--you're an officer?"
"Yes'm. Ranger. So you see I can't help you to get home till my man comes. Do you live around here?" The speaker looked up inquiringly, and after an instant's hesitation the woman said, quietly:
"I am Mrs. Austin." She was grateful for the gloom that hid her face. "I rode out this way to examine a tract of grazing-land."
It seemed fully a minute before the Ranger answered; then he said, in a casual tone, "I reckon Las Palmas is quite a ranch, ma'am."
"Yes. But we need more pasture."
"I know your La Feria ranch, too. I was with General Castro when we had that fight near there."
"You were a Maderista?"
"Yes'm. Machine-gun man. That's a fine country over there. Seems like God Almighty got mixed and put the Mexicans on the wrong side of the Rio Grande. But I reckon you haven't seen much of La Feria since the last revolution broke out."
"No. We have tried to remain neutral, but--" Again she hesitated. "Mr. Austin has enemies. Fortunately both sides have spared La Feria."
Law shrugged his broad shoulders. "Oh, well, the revolution isn't over! A ranch in Mexico is my idea of a bad investment." He rose and, taking his blanket, sought a favorable spot upon which to spread it. Then he helped Mrs. Austin to her feet--her muscles had stiffened until she could barely stand--after which he fetched his saddle for a pillow. He made no apologies for his meager hospitality, nor did his guest expect any.
When he had staked out his horse for the night he returned to find the woman rolled snugly in her covering, as in a cocoon.