Chapter XVIII: Guarded by Yaquis

The room was about twenty feet long by fifteen feet in width. There was one door of heavy, hand-hewed oak, reinforced crudely with wrought iron, and one window, guarded on the outside with a heavy iron grille, looking out at an unused patio, where the grass grew rank between the flagged walks. Beyond the patio was a blank wall, slowly falling apart from weather and old age. There was one old bed, a crude four-poster, some home-made chairs of oak and rawhide. The bedding was plentiful, but none too clean. In one corner was a small fireplace, and on her knees in front of it was an old, toothless Yaqui squaw, trying in a fumbling way to light a fire.

Seated on the bed was Mrs. Austin, chin in hands, indifferently watching the old squaw, while Betty Austin stood at the window, looking out at the fading light of the old patio. Just inside the door, which was closed, stood a Yaqui Indian, rifle in hand, a perpetual scowl on his ugly countenance.

“There is no use trying to get information from her, mother,” said Betty wearily, without turning her head. “In the first place, I do not believe she understands a word of English, and in the second place----” Betty hesitated for a moment. “In the second place, I do not believe she has a tongue.”

“No tongue? Why, Betty, how in the world----”

Betty turned to the Yaqui warrior, pointed at the old squaw, and asked him: “No _lengua?_”

The scowl deepened. He ran out his own tongue, slashed at it with the edge of his hand, smiled wickedly, and said: “_No tiene lengua._”

“I suppose that is one way of curing a woman of talking too much,” said Betty.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Betty.”

Betty laughed shortly. “I studied Spanish two years, if you remember.”

“So you did. See if that guard will answer any questions.”

Betty turned from the window, started to speak, checked herself. The old squaw shuffled away from the fire, and the guard started to open the door. “Hurry, Betty!” exclaimed her mother.

“No use,” laughed Betty. “All I can think of is, ‘I see the cat. Can you see the cat? The cat has fur.’”

“What cat?”

“Oh, any cat.”

The door closed and the old lock rasped creakingly. The fire made it a little more cheerful, and Betty drew one of the chairs up to the warmth.

“Why doesn’t somebody come and get us?” muttered Mrs. Austin. “It seems ages and ages, a nightmare that never seems to end.”

“If they would only tell us why,” sighed Betty. “Perhaps we have little to complain about. There is plenty of food, such as it is, and we have never been molested.”

“It is a wonder we were not both killed. I shall never forget those plunging horses, the buggy overturning, those shots. I know Mr. Riecho was killed--murdered. I saw his limbs twitching. Oh, I’ll never forget that.”

“Yes, I suppose he was killed, mother. But even in tragedy there is comedy. I shall never forget how you looked when they took that sack off your head. You were as white as a ghost, even your hair--like a marble statue.”

“I do not think it was anything to laugh at. The flour is still in my hair.”

Betty chuckled, and her mother gave her a reproving glance.

“You might at least be serious. Think of our predicament.”

“I have been thinking of it, mother; but what is the good of thinking? We do not know where we are nor what is to be done with us. We are not physically uncomfortable.”

“The optimism of youth,” sighed Mrs. Austin. “Oh, why doesn’t Frank find us? We both look terrible. No change of clothing, no water, not even a hairbrush.”

“And a maid without a tongue,” added Betty. “As for dad’s finding us, I do not suppose he has any idea where we are.”

“But they should do something. Surely the officers----”

“Suppose we are in Mexico. What can the officers do?”

“You don’t suppose we are in Mexico, do you, Betty?”

“I believe we are. Everything points to that fact, mother.”

“But why in Mexico?”

“Goodness only knows; but that is my belief.”

Mrs. Austin started to speak, but a sound at the door made her pause. The huge lock creaked, the door swung open to admit two Yaqui Indians, lugging what seemed to be parts of a bed. A third Yaqui, the scowling one, stepped inside and took his place near the doorway, while the others proceeded to assemble the bed. Finished with that, they went out and brought in blankets.

The guard spoke to them in a mixture of Spanish and Yaqui, and they went out, leaving him on guard, backed against the wall like a statue, his rifle held in the crook of his left elbow.

“It--it begins to look as though we were going to have company,” said Betty a bit fearfully.

Except for the crackling of the fire, the room was silent. Came the shuffle of feet, and a black-garbed figure came in, followed by one of the Yaquis. It was a slender figure, a girl clad in black, a black bandage across her eyes. The Yaqui turned and went out, while the guard stepped over, loosed the bandage, and quickly closed the door behind him.

It was Juana Diaz, blinking around. Betty got to her feet and walked half-way over to her. The light was dim, as the sun had gone down, and the flames flickered on the old adobe walls of the room. Juana stared at Betty, and her eyes strayed to Mrs. Austin on the bed. Slowly Juana came over toward Betty, her dark eyes wide. “You are Hal’s sister?” asked Juana softly.

“Yes, I am Betty Austin.”

“How queer,” said Juana. “And that is Hal’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“I am Juana Diaz.”

“Juana Diaz--from Indian Wells?”

“Yes.”

Juana came over in the stronger light of the fire. She seemed as much at ease as though in her own home.

“You are pretty,” said Mrs. Austin.

“I? Oh, no; I am jus’ Juana Diaz, the Mexican girl.”

Betty was silent. Juana smiled in the fire and sank gracefully down on the shelf of the raised fireplace. “How queer,” she said thoughtfully. “We were to meet in Indian Wells, at my home. But now--we are here, prisoners.”

“Do you know where we are, Juana?” asked Betty.

Juana shrugged her shoulders and looked up at Betty. “I am not sure,” she said slowly, “but I think we are in Piñon. Last night I go to the home of a friend, and when I come home--you see, I always go in back door, and not in front door, which is the _cantina_--two men grab me. I try to scream, but they put a hand over my mouth, and then they tie my hands and put a cloth in my mouth, and one over my eyes. Ugh! That cloth does not taste good. Then they put me on a horse and bring me--somewhere. Last night I am all alone--all alone to-day. Now I am here.”

“You have seen Hal?” asked Mrs. Austin anxiously.

“Yesterday, Señora Austin.”

“Is he worried about us?”

“Yes, they all worried. Your ’usband is almost crazy.”

“You talked with him?”

“No, _señora_; I have never been introduced to him.”

“But what is being done to rescue us?”

“What can they do? No one knows where you are.”

“But why are you here, Juana?” asked Betty. “Surely there is a reason.”

“_Quién sabe?_ No one knows the reason. Why am I here? No one told me.”

“You do not know who the men were?”

“Just two men. They did not speak. No one has spoken, except a Yaqui, and he does not talk except to give an order.”

“But what makes you think we are in Piñon?” asked Betty.

“Because this is Mejico--Mexico. I know all this country. Piñon is nearest town in Mexico from Indian Wells, and I know about how long I rode on horse. It was long enough to come to Piñon.”

“Who do you know in Piñon?”

“Well,” Juana laughed softly, “I have an uncle in Piñon. His name is Porfiro Mendez, but they call him Lobo. That means ‘Wolf.’”

“Would he steal you?” asked Mrs. Austin anxiously.

“Porfiro Mendez would steal anything, Señora Austin.”

“Your mother’s brother?”

“No! He married my mother’s sister. They were twins, señora. My mother married a Diaz.”

“Was he a good man?”

“Well”--Juana rubbed her shapely nose with a slim forefinger--“he must have been good to steal so many horses and not get hung.”

Betty laughed outright at Juana’s naïve reply, but her mother seemed a bit shocked. The idea of Hal’s wanting to marry the daughter of a horse thief!

“Where is your father now, Juana?” asked Betty, smiling into the flames.

“Nobody knows. Mother never speaks of him.”

“I should hope not,” said Mrs. Austin.

Juana clasped her slim hands over her knees, smiling at a recollection. “Porfiro Mendez told me about my father,” she said. “Porfiro speaks English very queerly, you know. I asked him about my father, and he said that my mother sent him word that her husband did not treat her well. Porfiro said to me: ‘So I’m come over and I’m say to heem, “Diaz, I’m come for run hell out from you, biccause you not trit Rosita ver’ good.” Thees Diaz scare’ from Porfiro Mendez, and he’s start ronning. I chase heem over top of Yaqui Mountain, and he’s keep on going. _Madre de Dios_, thees man can ron fas’!’”

The imitation was perfect, and Juana laughed gleefully.

“Is it all true?” asked Mrs. Austin.

Juana sobered quickly. “You have read the story of Jonah and that big feesh, _señora_?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Well I--I suppose we must.”

“Then,” sadly, “you would learn many things from Porfiro Mendez--and believe them.”

“You evidently have little faith in the veracity of your uncle,” laughed Betty.

“Veracity? That means truth? I think he is damn’ liar, _señorita._”

“At least you are perfectly frank,” sighed Mrs. Austin.

“Do you suppose your mother knows where you are, Juana?” asked Betty.

“How would she know? I do not understand why it was done. Last evening Señor Austin came to the Casa del Diaz--alone. Porfiro Mendez came, and they talked together, until both became angry, and Señor Austin struck Porfiro a terrible blow, knocking him down. Then Señor Austin left the patio, and in a little while Porfiro was able to depart. My mother said she did not know what was said between them, but she was very angry with Porfiro and told him never to return.”

Mrs. Austin groaned rather dismally. “I detest brawls.”

“I think Porfiro does, too,” laughed Juana. “I found one of his teeth on the patio floor. And poor Porfiro was so proud of his teeth.”

“But what is to become of us?” sighed Mrs. Austin. “It seems to me that the government should take a hand in this matter.”

Juana smiled and shook her head. “You must remember that there is no duty on importing white women into Mejico.”