The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1914-06-19
CHAPTER XIII.

There are two things, according to
the saying, which cannot be recalled
the sped arrow and the spoken word.
Whether spoken in anger or in jest.
our winged thoughts will not come
back to us and, where there Is no balm
for the wound we have caused, there
Is nothing to do but let 1t heal.
Bud Hooker was a man Of few
words, and slow to speak i'll Of anyone,
but some unfamiliar devil had loosened
his tongue and he had told the worst
about Phil Certainly If man were
the bravest Of the brave, certainly il
he loved his girl more than life itself
he would not be content to hide
above the line and pour out his soul
on note-paper But to tell it to the
girl-that was an objectionable sin!
Still, now that the damage was done,
there was no use of vain repining, and
after cursing himself whole.heartedly
Bud turned in for the night. Other
days were coming; there were favors
he might do; and perhaps, as the yes
terdays went by, Gracia would forgive
him for his plain speaking. Even to-
morrow, If the rebels came back for
more. he might square himself in &C
ton and prove that he was not COW.
ard. A coward!
1t had been long time since any
one had used that word to him, but
after the way he had knitted dear
Phil" he had to admit he was it. But
dear Phil" 1t was that which had
set him of.
II she knew how many other girls
but Bud put sudden Quietus on that
particular line of thought. AS long as
the world stood and Gracia was in his
sight he swore never to speak Ill of
De Lancey again, and then he went to
eleep
The men who guarded the casa
grande slept uneasily on the porch.
lying down like dogs on empty sugar
sacks That the women might not lack
bedding inside Even at that they were
better OF, for the house was close and
feverish, with the crying Of babies
and the babbling of dreamers, and
mothers moving to and fro.
It was hectic night, but Bud slept
It out, and at dawn, after the custom
Of his kind, he arose and stamped on
his boots. The moist GOODNESS of the
morning brought the odor Of wet
greasewood and tropic blossoms 10 his
nostrils as he stepped out to speak
with the guards, and as he stood there
waiting for the full daylight the mas
ter mechanic joined him.
He was full-blooded, round.headed
little man with determined views on
life, and he began the day, as usual,
with his private opinion of Mexicans.
They were the same uncomplimentary
remarks to which he had given voice
on the day before, for the rebels had
captured one of his engines and he
knew 1t would come to some harm.
"A fine bunch Of hombres, yes" he
ended, "and may the devil fly away
with them! They took No. 8 at the
summit yesterday and I've been lis
tening ever since. Her pans are all
burned out and we've been feeding
her bran like COW to keep her from
leaking steam. If some ignorant Mex
gets hold of her you'll hear big noise
-thatll be the last of No. 9-her
boiler viii burst like wet bag.
IF was running this road there'd
be no more bran-not since what saw
over at Aguascalientes on the Gen.
trail. One of those bum, renegade en-
CINE drivers had burned out No. 743,
but the rebels had ditched four of our
best and we had to send her out. Day
after day the boys had been feeding
her bran until she smelled like a dis
tillery. The mash was oozing out of
her as Ben Tyrrell pulled up to the
station, and friend of his that had
come down from the north took one
sniff and swung up into the cab.
ben came down at the word he
whispered-for they'd two of EN-
blowed up in the north-and they sent
out another man. Hadn't got up the
hill when the engine exploded and
blew the poor devil to hell! l asked
Tyrrell what his friend had told him,
but he kept it to himself until he could
get his time It's the fumes, boy
they blow up like brandy-and old No.
8 is souri,
She'll likely blow up, too. But how
can We fix her with these ignorant
Mexican mechanics? You should have
been over at Aguas the day they fred
the Americans.
"No more Americanos, says Ma