Athens was dark and lonely-looking as the big machine reËntered it. There was the usual light in the store and one in the house occupied by Mrs. Van Zandt and Polly. Scott motioned to Pachuca to draw up in front of the cabin. Mrs. Van Zandt came out as the machine stopped; evidently she was in doubt as to whether or not it was another invasion, for she stopped in the doorway and peered out anxiously.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Van!” cried Scott, cheerfully. “I’ve brought her back.”

Polly jumped out and ran to the astonished woman. “It’s all right,” she reiterated.

“Yes, I see it is; but where did you get that car?”

“It’s SeÑor Pachuca’s and we’ve got him, too,” replied the girl, in an undertone. “And we’ve brought back some of the things they took.”

“Has Hard come back?” demanded Scott, as Mrs. Van came out to the machine.

“No, and I wish he would. I’m worried about Jimmy Adams. Where are you going to put that chap?” asked Mrs. Van, eyeing Pachuca resentfully.

“I think I’ll ask him to spend the night in Hard’s office,” replied Scott, thoughtfully. “It’s the only place we’ve got that isn’t on the ground floor, and I guess nobody wants to put in the night doing sentry duty. Just bring over a couple of blankets, will you, Mrs. Van?”

Mrs. Van Zandt and Polly went into the house and Scott with his prisoner walked across to the office where they fell in with O’Grady, who grinned pleasantly when the state of affairs was explained to him.

“Come back to spend the night with us? Sure we can make him comfy! Up-stairs, son. You can have the engineer’s office to yourself,” he added, hospitably.

“I don’t like leaving you here, Pachuca,” said Scott, as he threw open the door of Hard’s office. “It’s not my idea of entertaining the aristocracy, but it’s the best I can do for a gentleman of your peculiar habits.”

“What is your idea?” remarked Pachuca, surveying the small room nonchalantly. “Don’t you think it would be more practical to let me go? I can’t do any more harm to-day, you know.”

“That’s just what I don’t know,” replied Scott, quietly. “I know you can’t do any harm to anyone but yourself while you’re locked up here, and I want to turn you over in my mind a little.”

“I’ll make it worth your while to let me drive that car off the place while you’re all asleep,” proposed Pachuca, smiling.

“You’re a persuasive cuss, but we need that car.”

“Going to do a little banditing on our own hook,” put in O’Grady, cheerfully.

“Shut up, Matt! We’ll send you over some supper, Pachuca, and some bedding by and by,” and locking the door behind them, the two men went downstairs.

“You think he can’t slide out?” suggested Matt, doubtfully. “He’s a crafty devil.”

“If he wants to risk breaking a bone or two jumping out of the window, let him try,” said Scott, easily. “How’s Williams?”

“Pretty good. No bones broke and Mrs. Van bandaged him up. He’s sore as the devil about his stuff.”

“We got a good deal of it back. We’ll run the car down to the store and see just what we did get.” And Scott related Polly’s adventure with much enjoyment.

“She’s a mighty game youngster,” declared O’Grady, admiringly. “I didn’t know they raised ’em like that in the East.”

“I’ll swear I didn’t. Lucky for His Nobs she didn’t let a bullet into him by mistake.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a case of ‘eventually, why not now?’”

A search of the machine revealed the more important part of the loot—the money taken from the safe in the office, Williams’ cash box, and a good many firearms, blankets and small items. Horses, saddles, bridles, canned goods and innumerable other effects had been carried off by the horseback riders, never to be regained, unless, as Scott suggested, Pachuca could be traded off for them. And, of course, the mine would have to be closed down until more workers could be obtained, rather an improbable thing in the present state of the country.

“What beats me is, how did you happen to think of it?” demanded O’Grady of Polly a little later as they sat around the dining-room table eating a hastily improvised supper.

Polly chuckled. “Well, you see,” she said, modestly, “we’ve been having a lot of auto hold-ups in Chicago this winter and one of them happened to a friend of mine.

“She and a friend were coming home from a party one afternoon, and when she drew up at the house, two young men popped into the car, pointed revolvers at her and told her to drive up the avenue. Well, she drove up the avenue! She said the feel of that cold thing on the back of her neck kept her awake at night for months. Then when they had gone a little way, they stopped, dumped both the women out, and went off with the car.”

“Gosh, Chicago must be a great little place!” remarked Matt, admiringly.

“It just came to me when I saw them putting all those things into the car that if anybody could hide in it and make whoever was driving return the goods it would be—well—rather a nice thing to do. Of course, I took an awful chance. The horseback people might not have taken the trail—but even then the machine would have outdistanced them. I felt sure I could get Pachuca alone.”

“You took a chance you’d no business to take,” growled Scott. “When I told you to stay down in that arroyo, I meant stay.”

“I know you did but I couldn’t,” apologized Polly.

“The only thing you did wrong was not leaving that young reptile in the middle of the road like the thieves did those women,” pronounced Mrs. Van Zandt, authoritatively.

“I thought of it but I didn’t have the heart,” said Polly. “After all, he’d been kind to me, and he is a gentleman.”

“Gentleman! My God!” Scott’s profanity was innocent with true horror.

“First time I ever heard a hoss-thief called a gentleman,” chuckled Matt.

“Well,” Polly looked a bit crestfallen. “I mean, he’s educated and he comes of good family.”

“I don’t go much on family,” said Mrs. Van, wisely. “I’ve seen some mighty mean skunks hangin’ around stage doors who were as blue-blooded as dogs in a show. Why, even your own family you can’t be too sure about! I had an old auntie who used to say she never went back of second cousins—’twasn’t safe.”

“Well, that’s true, too,” pronounced Matt. “Some don’t feel easy even with seconds.” He gathered up his dishes and followed Mrs. Van into the kitchen with them. Polly ate industriously, while Scott stalked to the window and stood lighting a cigarette.

“Mr. Scott,” she said, after a long pause, “are you worried about Jimmy Adams?”

“Yes, I am,” was the curt reply.

“Isn’t there a doctor in Conejo?”

“Yes, but he’s a dirty scoundrel; I’d hate to have him handle a case like this. We may have to, though, thanks to your gentleman friend.”

“You’re rather a rude person, aren’t you?”

“I reckon so. Anyhow, if he’s a gentleman, I’m afraid I’d never pass muster.”

“Still,” persisted Polly, pleasantly, “you will admit that he is agreeable?”

“Agreeable nothing!” growled Scott. “He’s a disreputable young varmint, and no decent girl ought to speak to him.”

Polly smiled and rising, gathered up her plate and cup and carried them to the hole in the wall. Then she walked over to the window and said confidentially:

“I think it would be fun if you would tell me some of the things he’s done. Not the yarn about the actress and the man higher up—Mr. Hard told me that—but some other really exciting ones.”

“I’m not sufficiently interested in the chap,” replied Scott, gruffly. “Perhaps you’d like to carry him his dinner and ask him to tell you himself.”

“I would,” replied the girl, promptly. “I thought perhaps you were thinking of starving him.”

“No, I don’t care to starve him. I want to swap him off for our horses, if I can. He ain’t worth a dozen or two good horses, but we can try.”

“Well, of course, we have the car to make things square.”

“Yes, we have the car, in case we have to quit in a hurry.”

“Quit? You mean before Bob comes back?” the girl’s face was a bit scared.

“We may get orders to close up the mine. You heard what he said—that the state had seceded? Well, that means civil war, and civil war in Mexico can mean a good many things. I’m not sure that I want two women on my hands under the circumstances.”

“What are you talking about, Marc Scott? Is it a Yaqui rising?” Mrs. Van Zandt thrust her head through the hole in the wall.

“I don’t know what it is. Pachuca says there’s a revolution on. I’m hoping to get more news about it when Hard comes back.”

“I don’t take much stock in these Yaqui yarns,” said Matt, coming back with another supply of food.

“Them Indians ain’t half as bad as the greasers like to make out. Of course, they feel like they had a right to raise thunder now and then because they know they ain’t been treated white. But you take it from me, I’ve been knockin’ around Mexico for some time, and nine times out of ten there’s a greaser back of everything that’s laid at a Yaqui’s door.”

“That’s true enough,” nodded Mrs. Van.

“I made up my mind when I read in that El Paso paper that there was going to be a Yaqui rising and that the gov’ment was orderin’ troops into Sonora, that the gov’ment most probably had somethin’ up its sleeve.”

“Most likely,” acceded Scott.

“Well, I don’t expect to understand Mexican politics,” said Polly, “but why, if Mr. Carranza wants to be president again, doesn’t he come out like a little man and say so, instead of trying to stir up things with troops?”

“He can’t be president again. The constitution under which he took office forbids a second term,” replied Scott. “He might be military dictator, however, if he stirred up a revolution and came out on top. That’s what the Sonora people say. But you can’t tell; it may be a square deal and there may be a Yaqui rising.”

“Even then this ain’t the place for women folks,” grumbled O’Grady.

“Nor men neither,” retorted Mrs. Van Zandt. “I’ve been trying to get Mr. Herrick on the ’phone to let him know there was trouble on board, but I couldn’t even get Central.”

“Pachuca would attend to that, of course,” said Scott. “We’ll drive over there in the morning and see if he doesn’t want to come back with us.”

“Am I really going to see that fascinating person?” sighed Polly. “I’m beginning to think he’s just hot air.”

“Mighty little hot air about old Herrick,” chuckled Matt. “All wool and a yard wide, I’d say.”

“Well, he is. That’s more than I’d say about a good many artistic chaps,” remarked Mrs. Van. “Most of ’em I hate—they’re so crooked. The Lord starts ’em weak and the women finish ’em. He sure can play, though. Regular pictures—some of the things he composes. I can see the cows grazing on the hills in some of ’em.”

“How queer of him to stay down here!” said the girl, wonderingly.

“Why?” demanded Scott, warmly. “It seems to me that a country like this has a lot more to offer that kind of man than your cities have. What’s New York or Chicago got to give him like these grim old mountains, and the lonesome little canyons with the cows feeding up and down hunting for water holes, and the Mexican folks with their soft voices and fancy manners and all the rest of it?”

“Cows are queer,” continued Mrs. Van, pursuing her own thought cheerfully. “Ever see the old ones get between you and the calves when you rode by ’em? Awful kind of human, they are.”

Scott chuckled. “One summer I was up in New Mexico on a ranch when they were rounding up. They brought in the cattle from all over the place; for days they were getting in strays out of the canyons. Among them were two old bulls. Funny old codgers they were, and as much alike as two peas in a pod—fat, chunky, ragged looking old rascals.

“Well, all during the round-up those old boys stayed together—in the bull pen and out. We named them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. By George, after they’d been turned out on the range again, I was riding down a canyon about a couple of miles from the ranch, and who should I see but those two old pals, hoofing it together as chummy as two old men walking in the park.”

“Well, how’s the chow?” Johnson’s voice came from the doorway. “Not much left, I should say, judging from the happy faces I see around me.”

“Come in, Tommy, I’m just gettin’ something ready for that Mexican, but there’s plenty for you,” said Mrs. Van.

“Where’d you put the feller?”

“In Hard’s office,” said Scott. “Will you cart him his grub, Matt?”

“You said I might. I want to,” protested Polly.

“Certainly.” Scott handed her the key ceremoniously. “You’ve earned the right to have your own way to-night, but Matt goes with you. He’s not above throttling you to make a getaway.”

“It’s a funny world,” mused Polly, as she walked along beside Matt, who carried the tray balanced aloft on one outstretched palm. “Three weeks ago I was going to teas at the Blackstone; now I’m carrying grub to a Mexican bandit with the assistance of a fireman. How awfully well you carry that tray!” she said, admiringly.

“Sure! Learned to do that one winter in Minneapolis when I was out of a job. Handy sort of thing to know.”

“Oh!” gasped the girl. Then to herself: “Why should I think it queer? Cousin Ben put himself through college by waiting on the students at table and we thought he had a lot of pep to do it.”

“You go on up and holler to the guy that we’re coming but don’t you open the door till I get there. He might paste you one.”

Polly complied. She sprang up the stairs with a freedom of motion that won O’Grady’s silent admiration.

“Some action!” he commented. “Takes them stairs as easy as a pussy-cat goes up a tree. Some girl that! Old Scotty’s jealous of the greaser—do him good—he’s gettin’ to be a regular old settin’ hen. Hope she shakes him up a bit.”

“SeÑor Pachuca!” called Polly at the top of the stairs. “We’ve brought you some supper. May we come in?”

“Gracias, seÑorita, but that rests with you,” was the response.

“I’m going to open it. He won’t do anything,” said Polly, decidedly.

The room was dimly lighted. In the open window sat Pachuca—outside lay the open country, moonlit and lovely, the grim coloring of the day now touched with silvery softness. Pachuca leaped to his feet and relieved the girl of the tray which he placed on the desk.

“I am obliged,” he said, with a touch of a sneer. “The services of a major domo and a beautiful waitress are more than I expected.”

“If you ask me, I’d say it was more than you deserve,” replied Matt, tersely. “I’m going out to sit on the stairs. If the lady wants to stop and visit with you she can, but don’t you try no monkey tricks because they won’t go down. I’m heeled.”

Pachuca shrugged his shapely shoulders, seated himself and began to eat.

“I am hungry,” he admitted. “I have had what you call a hard day’s work.”

“I wish,” said the girl, severely, “that you’d tell me why you do such things? You’re a gentleman—not a bandit.”

“Of course I’m not a bandit.” Pachuca’s composure appeared to be deserting him. “You do not seem to understand—you Americans—that Mexico is our country and that we must deal with its political situations independently of you and your affairs.”

“Oh,” innocently, “I didn’t know that political situations demanded blankets and victrola records.”

“You must make allowances for my people. They are poor and ignorant.”

“It isn’t the people we complain about. They only do what you tell them to. Why should you come and tell them to stop working for us?”

“In your country it is only the walking delegate who does that?” grinned Pachuca.

“That’s different. This wasn’t a strike. These men didn’t want to stop work.”

“My dear girl, you seem to have lost sight of the fact that a revolution is taking place. It is their duty to stop working and to fight.”

“It always seems to be their duty to fight and they never get anything out of it!”

“They do get something out of it. They got their land when they overthrew Diaz. With Carranza, they got a new constitution. With Obregon, they will get peace and a good government.”

“Then you are for Obregon?”

“Naturally. But I must have men and horses and munitions. I—Juan Pachuca—cannot fight in the ranks.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Polly, candidly. “My brother fought in the ranks and he’s a college man. He didn’t mind.”

“Oh, well, in America—that is different! You have no ideas as to family. I beg your pardon, what I mean is, that your people are different.”

“Well, I hope we are,” replied Polly, piously. “But I’m afraid some of us aren’t as different as we ought to be.”

“Now we are even,” said the Mexican, showing his white teeth. “And you know why I took your men and horses. They will be made good to you when the country becomes settled.”

“I hope so, but it seems to me you’re going to have so many people to settle with that some of us are going to come out at the little end. Of course, your car will help some.”

Pachuca frowned. “SeÑorita,” he said, gravely, “I must have the car and I must get away from here to-night. Much depends upon it. Won’t you help me?” He leaned toward her as he spoke, his dark eyes luminous, his voice soft and caressing.

“The tiger kitty is purring,” thought Polly. “It’s a nice kitty but I mustn’t pet it. SeÑor,” she said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Say rather that you won’t.”

Polly fingered the key which she had taken from Matt. Then she put it in the pocket of her sweater.

“It would be easy,” said Pachuca, persuasively. “You could throw it into the window there when everyone was asleep.”

“It would be easy,” agreed Polly, “but it wouldn’t be nice.”

Pachuca ate for a moment in silence. “I suppose,” he said, finally, “that an American girl never does anything that is not nice?”

“Well, I’d hardly go as far as to say that,” replied Polly, “but I don’t think you’d find many who would be as dishonest as—oh, what’s the use? You know I’d like to do it for you because you were kind to me, and I do not believe you meant to kidnap me——”

“Kidnap you!” wrathfully. “Who said I meant to kidnap you?”

“Oh, nobody, only——”

Pachuca began to laugh; gently at first, then wholeheartedly.

“He is jealous—that good Marc Scott! He told you I wanted to kidnap you—like Villa, eh? Does he think a Spanish gentleman so unattractive that he has to kidnap a young lady in order to make love to her?”

“I don’t know what he thinks and I don’t care,” said Polly, angrily. “And I wouldn’t have come here if I had thought you were going to be foolish. I wanted to show you that I wasn’t ungrateful——”

Pachuca had jumped to his feet and stood between her and the door. His manner was respectful and apologetic.

“SeÑorita, I beg your pardon! Indeed——”

“It’s not necessary,” said the girl, coldly, trying to pass him.

“No, no, I beg—do not go.” Then, in a lower tone, “I had a double reason for asking your help. I can be of help to you and to your brother.”

Polly paused in some surprise. From the stairway came the sound of energetic whistling—a medley of the “Wearin’ of the Green” and the “Long, Long Trail.” Pachuca continued eagerly.

“Yes, it sounds very extravagant, I know; what my brother-in-law used to call a bit thick. But I can help you—to a treasure.”

“A treasure?” incredulously.

“Exactly. You have heard that I was for a time with Villa?”

Polly nodded.

“Well, in his camp I met some very strange people—among them a fellow named Gasca—what you call a bad lot. He told me one night when he was very drunk—you know, seÑorita, how some people talk about their affairs when they are drunk?”

Polly’s eyes were beginning to shine with excitement.

“He told me that he and his brother had hidden a treasure over in New Mexico.”

“A treasure! Do you mean pieces-of-eight and Spanish doubloons?”

“Oh, no, I am afraid not. It would be bullion—ore. They took it from one of the Fiske, Doane Co. mines in Chihuahua. That is why your brother would be interested. Perhaps you have heard of the Sant Ynez mine?”

“Bullion!” Polly’s face dropped.

“For me, I would not object to bullion if I could get my hands on it, but I can’t,” said Pachuca, candidly. “Gasca, you understand, had this brother who lived in New Mexico, in a lonely sort of a spot on the border, with an Indian woman that he had stolen from her people. He helped Gasca get the treasure across the border—and they hid it in the canyon where he lived.

“Shortly after that they quarreled and the brother threatened to shoot Gasca if he came near the place. Also, he told the border patrol some things about Gasca so that he was afraid to go over any more. Just after I met Gasca, he had heard, in a roundabout way as my people hear things, that the brother had been killed and the Indian woman had died of a sickness. Gasca wanted me to go over with him to find out if the treasure was still there—he felt sure that it was because he said the brother would be afraid to dispose of it without his help—but I had what you call other fish to fry. Afterward, Gasca himself was shot for disobeying a command of the general. If you will help me to get away I will tell you exactly where that treasure is.”

Polly rose suddenly, the light of determination in her eyes.

“No,” she said, firmly. “I won’t. Mr. O’Grady, will you come and help me with this tray, please?”

“Sure Mike!” In two strides the fireman was in the room, his eyes looking searchingly at both the man and the girl. Pachuca, with a shrug of his shoulders, put his hands in his pockets and strode to the window. The dishes were piled up in silence, the door was locked—the key returning to Polly’s sweater pocket, and the two went back to the dining-room.

“Say, was that guy tryin’ to get fresh with you?” demanded Matt, as they went along. “I set out there on the steps because I thought mebbe you wanted to chat with the crittur, being acquaintances like, but if I’d of thought that he——”

“No, no, he was trying to bribe me to let him go.”

“Let him go? Well, if he ain’t got a nerve! What’d he offer you—a castle in Spain?”

“No,” replied the girl, “a buried treasure in New Mexico.”

“What? Well, say, he must have thought you was green to fall for that stuff. A bright, wide-awake girl like you, too. Was it under an elm tree fifty paces off by moonlight?”

“Why? Couldn’t there be a buried treasure in New Mexico?”

“Well, I suppose there could if there’s been a fool to bury it; but it seems to me I’d of tried something snappier if I’d been him. An oil well, or shares in a gold mine, or somethin’ first class in the bunk line.”