Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

806 The uncomfortable visitor tried to turn her blunt question at her expense. “Now what else could bring me all the way from the Bull’s Head? Why, Miss Mercedes, without you the Rancho Buena Vista would be deserted. You lure all of us here.” ‘“The Senor Bodine, he say that, too. ‘Si, senorita!’ he say, ‘you are a little desert rose.’ ‘The love of Mike,’ I say. ‘You try to squeeze my hand again, this desert rose stick her thorns in you.’ ” ‘“‘ The rogue!”’ José scolded. “What hurt that make?” she demanded. “I like very much to have man squeeze my hand—if he is nice man.” José shook his finger at her. Mercedes was thoroughly enjoying herself. Acklin got to his feet. He knew she was watching him. “When you try that, eh?” she asked saucily. “Stop inmediatnente! Enough!” her father cried. ‘‘ You are a hopeless minx. You'll not stay for supper, senor?” “No, I'll be getting back, I guess.” The old Basque caught up Basilio and said good-by to his guest, pleading the need of his presence elsewhere. José knew that extreme youth and old age are not hand- maidens to love. Acklin watched the stately old man out of sight. Mercedes had caught up a guitar and was strumming it idly. The shadows began to creep along the veranda, but both she and the tall man leaning against the stone pillar seemed un- mindful of them. The hour and the still- ness had take Mercedes to the knee of the beautiful mother who had sat here years azo and sung these same tunes to her. All of the wild, tomboy side of her dropped away, leaving her the sweet, emo- tional little chatelaine her mother had prayed she might be. The lightly held guitar fell to her lap. . Acklin sat down beside her. ‘ Sing some more,” he pleaded. Mercedes shook her head. ‘Why you always come see me?” she demanded. “T’ve got something for you,” Acklin smiled. ‘<A present?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Acklin held up a small package. He waved it in front of her eyes as one does with a top for a child. Mercedes clapped her hands joyfully. She started to unwrap it when she stopped short. “Why you bring me presents, huh?”’ she demanded. “* [—er—why—” Acklin was flustered. He had foreseen this moment, but his re- hearsed speech failed him. Her eyes dared him to go on with it. “Youll let me bring you a little present now and then, won’t you, nina?” It was a lame effort to turn her question, and she laughed in glee. “You like me so much, mister?’’ she pur- sued. “You know I do. This little present came all the way from the city.” “ City ” in that country meant San Fran- cisco. From the tissue paper Mercedes drew forth a tiny vanity case. Her nimble fingers found the spring that unlocked it. With delight she glimpsed the dainty articles the case contained. Acklin knew Mercedes was pleased. “What you call that?” she said in a low voice. “A vanity case. Quite the thing in the city.” “Those things to make your lips and cheeks red—that’s vanity, huh?” She laughed heartily. Acklin was forced to smile at her naiveté. Mercedes tried to release the small compartment that held the powder puff. Acklin reached out his hand to help her. She felt his fingers pressing her own. In a flash she jerked her hand away. “You're foxy, huh, like the Senor Bo- dine?” she cried. “Oh, damn Bodine!” Acklin rasped out. “Eavesdroppers hear no good of them- selves,” a voice answered in unctuous sweet- ness. Mercedes and Acklin turned. Bodine lounged against a pillar at the end of the veranda. He had been an interested wit- ness of the present-making. Acklin ac- knowledged the introduction with a curt nod of his head. Buck grinned. A less hardy man than Bodine would have wilted comicloool C©