CHAPTER XVIII

THE MAGIC FLAME

It was many days before either Lois or Don Nestor left their beds. Raquel recovered almost at once, although she still limped, but it was fortunate that the two invalids kept her in the house, for it gave her lame foot a chance to heal.

Lois lay listlessly in bed, not seeming to care much about anything. She made no trouble, asked for nothing, ate without appetite what was placed before her. Raquel could not understand it, and was worried at Lois’ indifference. She had seemed like another girl that last day in the desert.

Truth to tell, Lois was recovering from shock, and kindly nature had merely employed a beneficent anesthesia to give her an opportunity to do so. While she gathered strength, Raquel talked with their host, diverting him from his pain and boredom, so that at the end of the fourth day he was out on the gallery, the ankle almost well. Raquel recounted to him in detail the incidents of her escape.

At the story of the dance at Moctezuma he was highly elated and when she had finished he said:

“Señorita, I have been wanting to ask you to do me the favor to wear for me the costume of the ladies of Andalusia. In my room is a large chest of handsome clothing. It was my wife’s; it is yours, if you will accept it, and the jewels that go with the gowns.” He smiled, a fine, sweet smile, extending his hand deferentially toward her.

“I’d love to put them on, Don Nestor!” cried Raquel, rising. “And I know it will be more pleasant to you than seeing me in these riding clothes.” She still wore the extra linen suit which Lois had brought. “I’ll go now,” she said, “and come back for _refrescos_ here.”

The old gentleman leaned back musing, a blue-veined hand over his kindly eyes.

In the scented twilight of late summer they sat _al fresco_, the old _caballero_ of Mexico, and the _señorita_ of Old Spain. In white lace mantilla, made creamy by the years, and softest silk, gay-flowered, one would hardly have known our hard-riding Raquel. From her small white ears hung earrings heavy with rubies and wrought gold. Round her throat and wrists rich rubies and pearls gleamed.

“And I would like you to take up over the _frontera_ with you to your _rancho_ as many head of cattle as we can find _vaqueros_ to drive.” Don Nestor was speaking. “It is little enough, _querida_ _señorita_, after what you have suffered at my hands, through my mistake. There is no question of money. I have more than I shall ever use. I need none here. I am happy, drowsing away my life with memories, away from the world.” He nodded gently.

“But Don Nestor, no, no! I couldn’t accept that. I will be partners with you though, if you like.”

“Then why not let it be a gift for the Allies?” suggested Don Nestor. “I have great sympathy for them. I should like to be of a little service to the world. Come, let us say that we are partners, then,” he acceded.

“Your coming, my dear young friend, has been the one bright spot in many years. It has been very lonely at times. I wish that I might keep you here, but I know that may not be. Some times----”

He was interrupted by the sound of hammering at the front gate, followed by Concha’s running to answer. Concha returned quietly and, standing behind Don Nestor’s chair, beckoned Raquel. In the outer court she found a dusty peón, who regarded her with amazement.

“But it was a boy,” he objected, “to whom I was directed to give this note. And I was also promised that I would receive another _peso duro_ [silver dollar] for my trip. Where is Señor Dan-i-eel?”

But Raquel had seized the note he held in his hand and was reading.

“Rakie: Come get me. I’ve tried five times to run away from this darn army, and they always drag me back. My horse is here too. Give the man a dollar if you see him. Signed, Georgie. P.S. We’re just above Nacozari.”

“I’ll have to go.” Raquel could have shouted. “It’s from Georgie. He’s found, he’s found. I must start tonight, right away. And perhaps we can get back by tomorrow night--the next day anyway.”

The man had left with the note that morning, after ten o’clock, he said, and he was here already. Georgie had given him a silver dollar to carry the message, and said his sister would give him more still if he would guide her back to him.

“Fine,” Raquel agreed and hurried away to get ready, having first excused herself to her host.

Don Nestor must not know of her going. He would be distressed and might object. But she must go at once. Paintbrush was saddled, and the big brown horse which she had herself recovered from the bush a few days before. His foot seemed to have completely healed, and she saw that this would be a good opportunity to return him to the regiment, and would furnish an excuse for her visit.

Back again she rode over the weary miles, only now the way was easier, with a hard road and the peón to guide her. He was a _vaquero_, he said, and she promised him work at El Escondido if he wished to return with them.

Early in the morning they neared Nacozari. Raquel had not yet determined what she must do in order to get Georgie away. Down the valley she could hear a trumpeter. The regiment was in the town.

She rode bravely into the plaza, which was filled with soldiers. No sign of Georgie, but he’d soon spot the pinto, all right. Straight up to the hotel she rode, dismounted, throwing the reins to her attendant, and strode into the dining-room.

At a table sat the _Coronel_ at breakfast, with his aides and lieutenant. He glanced in surprise at the youngster who intruded so rashly.

“Pardon, _Coronel_,” Raquel swept her sombrero in salute, “does this roan gelding I have outside belong by chance to you? He was found near my _rancho_, lame, with an infected foot, which I have cured.”

The _Coronel_ looked annoyed, but before he could speak one of the aides replied: “The _Coronel_ can not be bothered. He has not yet had his coffee. But I will go out and see the horse. There was a roan horse belonging to _el General_ left behind a week or two ago, and he was much annoyed.”

The _Coronel_ was looking at Raquel aggrievedly. “I have not yet had my coffee,” he complained.

“Water boils slowly at this altitude,” Raquel sympathized.

“You talk like a native,” snapped the _Coronel_. “You mean every one moves slowly at this altitude. You don’t look like a native, though,” he added.

“I have spent much time in the states,” Raquel replied. “I only returned indeed, a few months ago.”

“Is that so?” _The Coronel_ was mildly interested. “I myself went to school in California as a youth. Won’t you sit down and have breakfast with us? That is, if we ever get it! We have been waiting three-quarters of an hour for that dastardly _cocinero_ to boil water for us.

“I die for my coffee!” he exploded with fresh wrath.

“You want coffee?” asked Raquel. What a question! Then a brilliant idea occurred to her, though just how brilliant it was she did not at the moment realize.

“I can give you an excellent cup in a moment, I think. Excuse me an instant, sir,” and she dashed from the room.

She had remembered the three little tins that through all her adventures had lain in the bottom of her saddle bag, Mom’s contribution. Would they still be there? Would the sterno be any good, or would it have evaporated or melted, in all the heat through which they had passed? At any rate, the coffee would keep perfectly.

Just outside the door she stumbled over Georgie. His blessed, freckled face, his wide-toothed grin! Raquel’s chin quivered ridiculously.

“_Buenos dias, Señor. Como le va?_--Don’t you know me?” Georgie inquired anxiously, for Raquel was standing there, looking at him sternly.

“Shut up,” she said. Then loudly, “Well, _el Diente_ [the Tooth]! Well! I’ll have to get the _Coronel_ to let me take you home with me, young runaway. Here, stay by my horse.”

With trembling fingers she searched into the depths of her bag and, sure enough, there they were, the three little tins. Georgie had followed, and was standing at her elbow.

“Raquel,” he whispered.

“Georgie,” huskily. “Wait.”

A few moments later she was back at the table where the sterno was set up. Opening a can with a stout table knife, she touched a match to it. The fluid flickered, flared, then settled down to burn with a lovely blue flame. She set a little tin of water over it.

The _Coronel_ was enchanted. And as the water grew warm, steamed, boiled, all under his rapt gaze, and as the boy put a coffee powder into a cup, he began to gesticulate wildly. For in a moment here was a cup of steaming coffee, its unmistakable fragrance warming the heart.

He snatched the cup and drained the scalding drink. “More,” he sighed, handing it back to Raquel. “It is delicious!” As indeed it was.

“What may I give you in exchange for that little _apparato_, my lad!” beamed the _Coronel_ after his third cup of coffee, all his irritability vanished.

“It is yours, _Coronel_,” Raquel replied. “All I want is a runaway youngster who belongs to our hacienda, but who I see has joined your company. I’d like to take him back with me.”

“By all means,” assented the _Coronel_, beaming in the possession of this new toy, this delightful tin stove (apparently it did not occur to him that it would ever burn out) which would always give him coffee.

“Unless it is the amusing and indispensable infant called ‘Tooth.’ Him I can part with for no one.”

“Alas, it is he, none other,” replied Raquel, grinning with apparent amusement.

“Oh, well, then, if he belongs at your place. Go with God. Only hurry up.”

“And may he have a horse to ride back?” She pushed her advantage a bit further.

“But certainly. Give him a horse. Give him his horse,” the _Coronel_ shouted, waving dismissal.

The aide went out to authorize Georgie’s departure.

“You had better vamoose, my son,” he advised, “before the _Coronel_ changes his mind. It’s a good thing you returned that roan horse.”

And it was a matter of very few moments before they clattered with indecent speed out of the plaza and away up the road. The _vaquero_ sprang from the roadside when they had gone barely half a mile, and the three of them galloped briskly away and over a hill towards El Escondido.