When Li Yow clattered up the trail leading out of the river bed and up the mesa, he was a happy man, in spite of the fact that a horse was to him the last means of locomotion that he would have chosen for an all night trip, with the possible exception of a camel or an elephant. Except as objects for his scientific skill, horses were not dear to his heart. A wagon, a train, an automobile, these were sensible conveyances for an intellectual man of an old and distinguished family going about his business, but a horse, never!

Not that Li would have admitted that his family was old. Distinguished, perhaps, but scarcely old when it only counted its ancestry through some eight or nine hundred years. In China that is to be classed among the blatantly new. He was happy, however, because he was being given a chance to use his skill for that great purpose for which it had been acquired, the alleviation of pain.

Li was a student, and for five years he had had very little opportunity for the work that he loved. With the patience of the Oriental, he had toiled at an inferior art; now opportunity had come, and so eager was he to grasp it, that a twenty-mile ride on an uncongenial animal, in the night, did not deter him. Not that he was afraid of the dark as we like to think the Chinese are. Li Yow had a philosophy, old when the Christian philosophy was born, which amply sufficed to relieve his mind of any superstitious terrors. Mexicans on the rampage, and Yaquis on the warpath, did not, however, come under the category of superstitious fears, and he heartily hoped he might accomplish his journey without meeting either of them.

He rode Scott’s big roan, Cochise, a common-sense animal which could be trusted to the tender mercies of what its master called “a crazy Chink.” This excellent beast understood thoroughly the art of saving his strength, and curbing any foolish enthusiasm on the part of a rider to race up-hill or to exhaust one’s wind too early in the game.

“Spirit and a bit of deviltry are all right in a horse or a woman, I’ll grant you,” Scott used to say when anyone derided the roan. “But the horse or the woman who lives with me has got to have common sense.”

So Li Yow and Cochise trotted placidly along the mesa, one thinking of the joys of surgery, and the other of the pleasure of feeding in one’s own corral. They had been out a couple of hours perhaps, and Li, moved by the beauty of the night, quoted a fragment of eighth century poetry and turned in his saddle to see how far he had come—when, suddenly, he gave an exclamation of horror!

Back of him, across the river bed, back of the round-topped hill, from exactly the spot where Casa Grande stood, he saw the tops of flames shooting up against the sky line! Something was being burned. Something sizable, or its flames would not rise so high. It must be either Casa Grande, its barn, or both. Li’s heart stood still. He stopped Cochise in sympathy with that important organ. What to do? At Casa Grande was a friend to whom he was attached. Things of a most unpleasant nature might be happening to him—could he ride away and leave him?

On the other hand, what could he do—a lone Chinese, unarmed except for a formidable surgical apparatus? After all, they had two horses and perhaps they had seen the brigands coming and had escaped. Still, if he went back they would have three horses. The women could ride and the men could ride and tie. Li groaned in spirit. He hated walking more than he hated riding.

Obviously his duty was to go back and offer his help such as it was. If they were fighting, it would not be worth much, unless he could persuade a Mexican or two to stand still while he stabbed them with a lancet. With a sigh, Li turned Cochise in the direction of Casa Grande and applied an encouraging dig of the heel.

Cochise, however, saw things differently. He had started for Athens. Athens was home and a good place at that. He saw no reason for going back just to please an ignoramus who didn’t know how to ride and who would probably change his mind again before they had gone a mile. Consequently, when Li kicked, Cochise threw his head in the air and made crab-like motions with his legs. Li pulled and Cochise reared. Li, mindful of past instructions, loosed the reins and Cochise whirled. Li leaned over and patted the horse’s neck and Cochise bucked.

It was a nice exhibition of obstinacy on the part of both man and beast, and no one there but the moon to witness it. The buck, however, did the business. A bump and a rattle reminded Li Yow of his precious medical chest—absolutely unreplaceable—and with a frightened:

“Whoa, thou son of evil, thou animal of ill omen!” he gave in; and Cochise, secure in his victory, settled down to a trot again. “Ah, well, a sensible man spends no time in weeping over the inevitable,” meditated Li. “What is to be, will be. The young man with the injured leg is the gainer by thy obstinacy, oh, vile beast!”

At daybreak a tired man and a stiff horse arrived at Athens. Mrs. Van Zandt saw them because she was up attending to Adams who was suffering. She hailed the Chinaman from her doorway, bathrobed and boudoir capped as she was.

“Is that you, Marc Scott?” she called anxiously, as she recognized Cochise.

“No, lady,” replied Li, in his professional manner. “This not Mr. Scott, this Li Yow from Casa Grande. I come see sick boy,” and he rolled off the horse.

“Well, that’s good, he needs you! Leave the horse and come in.” Li complied and Cochise, released, started wearily for the corral. “See here,” Mrs. Van Zandt led the way to the bedroom, “I guess you’re pretty well used up, ain’t you? I’m going to get you something to eat in a minute. Did you have a hard ride?” She had got a light and looked at him curiously. Li Yow did look very much used up.

“I hurry a great lot,” he said, simply. “I want go back but the horse he want come on.”

“What did you want to go back for?”

“Fire. I see big fire at Casa Grande,” replied the Chinaman, gravely. “I much afraid the bandits burn the house.”

Mrs. Van Zandt pulled him suddenly from the bedroom door.

“Good land, man, don’t let the boy hear you! He’s half out of his head now. What do you mean? Has Casa Grande been raided?”

Li nodded.

“By Pachuca?”

“Yes. He come morning, take everything—horses, chow, money, everything! Then Mr. Scott’s folks they come in afternoon. Only thlee horse for everybody. Mr. Scott say he mend wagon and they come over to-morrow. I come to-night to see sick boy. When I get up on mesa I see fire—don’t know who make him but mebbe bandits.”

Mrs. Van Zandt turned pale. Clutching her bathrobe tightly she made for the door. “Look here,” she called, over her shoulder, “you look after the boy and mind you don’t spill any of that news before him. I’ll get you some breakfast and see what’s to be done.”

Then she came back. “They were all right when you left them? The young lady, too?” she queried, anxiously.

“Yes, they all light. Both them ladies all light.”

“Both! Who’s the other?” demanded Mrs. Van Zandt, instantly.

“Mr. Hellick got flend—Mrs. Conlad,” said Li, wearily. “She come day before yest’day—from Mexico City. Mr. Hard’s flend, too.”

“Good Heavens, now what do you suppose the heathen means by that?” gasped the astonished woman. “Come here,” she added, sternly, and seizing the Chinaman by the sleeve of his blouse, she led him into the room occupied by Polly. Dramatically, she pointed to the photograph on the wall. “Is that the woman you’re talking about?”

Li examined the face gravely and nodded. “Yes,” he said, “only younger here.”

Mrs. Van released him suddenly. “All right, go on in and see the boy,” she said, and hurried down the street. “Fire and bandits—and I let that poor girl go over there with those men!” she gasped. “And what on earth is that woman doing at Casa Grande? It’s either a scandal or a romance, that’s a cinch!”

“What’s the matter? Whose horse was that? Great snakes, Mrs. Van, what the devil——” Johnson, hastily and scantily attired, came down the street, followed by the others. Cochise had waked up the camp. Mrs. Van looked at them tragically.

“It’s the Casa Grande Chinaman come over to see Jimmy. He rode Cochise,” she sobbed.

“What’d he ride Cochise for? What’s come over Marc Scott, lendin’ Cochise to a Chink?”

“Tom, something awful has happened,” and she burst into the story.

“Didn’t the heathen go back to help?”

“I guess he tried to, but Cochise got scared and wouldn’t go. What do you suppose it is ?”

“Gosh, I dunno! Don’t sound like Pachuca; he wouldn’t come back a second time. Sure looks bad.”

“And the feller says Mrs. Conrad’s there. What’s he mean by that, do you think?”

“Who’s she?”

“Mr. Hard’s friend; the widow woman that lives down South. Upon my word, Tom Johnson, I do believe that’s the woman and the trouble that the ouija meant and I thought all the time it was talking about Polly Street!”

“Dunno, I’m sure. Where’s Cochise?”

“Gone down to the corral.”

“Guess I’d better go down and give him the once over. They’ve probably rode him to death between ’em. Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that news!” and Tom strode off, sadly, followed by the others. “Poor old chap,” he murmured, a few minutes later, as he took the saddle off Cochise. “Can’t do nothin’ for your boss, so I’ll do what I can for you. Pretty well petered out, ain’t you?”

“Say, Tom, what are we going to do about this Casa Grande business, anyhow?” demanded O’Grady.

“Well, with a dynamited track, a busted auto, a smashed ’phone connection and a foundered horse, what would you suggest doing?” demanded Johnson, pessimistically. “Walkin’ ain’t so durned good in this country.”

“If we could get to Conejo we could get Mendoza to drive us over to Casa Grande,” hazarded Williams.

“Well, that ain’t a bad idea for you, Jack,” said Tom, patronizingly. “I reckon I’ll stretch my legs in that direction after breakfast. Suppose we go up and see what the Doc says about Jimmy?”

In the meantime, the doctor had examined his patient’s leg, quietly ignoring the flood of excited questions hurled at him by the boy.

“Him velly bad,” he declared at length. “You keep him still while I get bullet out, mebbe he get well. You talk a heap and mebbe I cut him off.”

“You cut him off and I’ll cut your liver out, Li, you sabe?” grinned Adams, gamely. “Anyhow, it’s blamed good of you to ride over here. I’ll bet you’re sore, eh?”

Mrs. Van Zandt coming up the road with the tray in her arms met the men coming up from the corral.

“I never did suppose I’d see myself carrying breakfast to a Chinese,” she said, wearily, “but you can’t tell these days what’ll come your way. I know exactly how that poor guy feels. I rode over to Casa Grande once on Cochise. He’s wide and he’s rough and anyone who wants to ride him twenty miles is welcome to him as far as I’m concerned.”

The train gang hung around to hear the verdict on Jimmy Adams. They were much relieved to hear that the operation was to be one of probing rather than of cutting. They had had some gloomy discussions on that point which had ended in consulting the mail order catalogue in order to see whether it advertised artificial limbs.

“He wants one of you to help,” said Mrs. Van, coming out of the room. “I wisht you would. I feel that nasty this morning that the sight of blood would just about finish me. Go on in, Tom.” Tom went in. Mrs. Van set the tray on the table. “Seems funny to be waiting on a cook, don’t it? But I suppose it’s different when he’s tending the sick, and I’ll say he’s clean. He washed his hands before he touched Jimmy. I watched him.”

“Well, that’s more than old Estrada over in Conejo does,” said O’Grady. “He pulled a tooth for me last winter and he come in from feedin’ his pigs to do it. Right plumb into my mouth he started to put his dirty fist. ‘No,’ says I, ‘you wash that mitt first. Afterward you can suit yourself.’”

“You better get a swig of whiskey ready for Tom,” suggested the brakeman, solicitously. “Them operations is ugly things.”

“I will,” said Mrs. Van, hurrying to the cabinet and taking down the bottle.