# The Saturday Evening Post/The Line of Least Resistance/Chapter 11

The Saturday Evening Post,, 3 Sept 1910; pp. 53-54 (parts)

### XI

LENA and Breese were in the K.C.X., which, being interpreted, is the Kansas City Express, eastbound flyer from the Mexicos. Rincon is a junction town. The K.C.X. and the Highline Accommodation from Silver City made connections here, incidentally taking dinner during baggage transfer. Dundee was the next stop—forty miles.
A "pusher" helped them climb up the mesa to Grama. Then the K.C.X. gathered speed for the straightaway across a yellow world. Breese was deep in his paper. Lena looked drearily out at the great desert. Against that vastness they seemed to crawl, a futile toy, a matchbox train.
As they broke through the gateways of the benches above Upham, down to the broad white valley of Aleman, Lena saw, along the side of the outpost hills to westward, black, antlike specks which she knew to be horsemen. A round-up, she thought. Again, at Six-Mile Lake, she saw a wagon and a line of horsemen creeping toward Dundee along the leftward road from Mescal. She hardly noted these things. A dream was swiftly drawing to its close; she must dream fast.
"You run over alone, Lena," said Breese, as the whistle blew Dundee. "I've got to send a wire."
To Lena's surprise, the customary crowd was missing from the platform. She spoke to the agent about it.
"Beautiful day, isn't it? But where's everybody?"
The agent mumbled something unintelligible, snatched up a package from the truck and disappeared in the express-room.
"How very rude!" observed Miss Mallory, somewhat indignant. Crossing the plaza she noted the deserted and silent streets. No smoke came from the bachelor tents. A lone rider was coming swiftly down Three-Mile Hill. That was the only sign of life in sight.
She stopped at the post-office. A woman and two Mexican freighters were trading at the back part of the store. Deputy Rowe pushed her mail through the grating without raising his eyelids. "Good-day. Back again?" he said, and went into instant and total eclipse behind a broad, unfolded paper. Miss Mallory stared at him quite vindictively.
"I declare," she said aloud as she went down the steps, "the town is bewitched. The Sleeping Beauty——" She stopped short, with a twinge at the thought of the Prince and the cruel hedge of thorns. The horseman was at the foot of the slope. Two others were just visible now, topping the rise beyond. "Thank goodness, some one's coming anyway."
Milly, the pretty waitress, met her at the door. She looked rather flushed and disheveled, Milly; her eyes were suspiciously red. "Please, Miss Mallory, Mrs. Breese says she isn't well and not to wake her up." She rattled it off glibly, turned and went along the hall without waiting for a reply.
"Well!" said Lena. "But where's the Professor and Dolly?"
"Gone to the mountains." Milly flung it over her shoulder, slipped through the door and almost slammed it behind her.
Miss Mallory's brown eyes widened to their fullest extent at this, the third repetition of this cavalier reception. Beyond the door Milly was in tears. But how was Lena to know that? "Minx!" she snapped. She had been irritable of late. She stamped her little foot. "Has every one suddenly gone mad?" she demanded of the empty hall. Receiving no answer, she went to her room in a pet, changed her dress, and gave herself up to the fascination of mail-reading.
So much engrossed was she that she failed to note the noises about her. Not till she laid the last letter down was she conscious of a broken murmur of voices without, of others nearer. Surely that was Aunt Polly she heard.
She stepped into the hallway. Through the hall door she had seen a glimpse of a drooping black head she knew. That was Hiram Yoast's horse. She opened her aunt's door. Guardy Breese, Aunt Polly and Hiram stood at the window.
"—bringing Sleiter and Quinlan behind. The best half of them are hot on the trail." That was Hiram.
"You tell her, Mother," said Breese. Their backs were to her; they neither saw nor heard her.
"Aunt Polly," she began. Hiram whirled around. His eye was very bright, his face was haggard and drawn. Lena's hand went to her throat. "Hiram!" The swift color surged to the hair-roots—then faded and left her marble-white. The other hand stole behind to clutch at the door-frame. "What is it?—Don! … So that is why Dundee is empty; a whole town against one hunted man! Oh, they are brave men—brave! And you"—she flung out her hand—"I thought you were his friend."
Hiram's lips opened uneasily, closed again; his eyelids lowered.
"But, Lena, Hiram has——" So far Aunt Polly got; her face was beaming and bright. Breese put his finger on her mouth. "Lena—my dear—they are bringing him in." His eyes were on the rug at his feet.
"Oh!" Aunt Polly's smile cut her to the heart. "Oh, Aunt Polly, how can you? He was always so good to you." She stepped into the room; she turned upon Hiram, her eyes scorned him. "Why are you not with him? Not one friend at his side, not one true! If you were in his place he would not fail."
Through the window she saw hurrying shapes streaming across the plaza. A wild cheer rose and rose again; a roar that swelled and beat horribly upon her ears.
They followed. She swept along the hall, through the parlor, through the open door to the veranda. The wagon, the dismounted, silent riders beyond, the jaded horses; the Professor, white, smiling, propped in the wagon-seat by Kim Ki and young Jimmy—a litter—Dolly walked beside it—Don!—Breese caught her hand, his voice was in her ear, his eyes were frankly wet. With a choking sob her arms went out. That, Kennedy, lithe, strong Kennedy—that quiet shape, bandaged and white and still? Every head was bare, every eye was turned to him in exaltation, in welcome and high honor and pride and love. Across the little space she saw his eyes, and their light was all for her.
Men and women fell back and left them alone. There were those who leaned out to touch the litter, the bandaged hand. They bore him slowly along that silent lane and laid him at her feet.
THE END