Abbeville progress. (Abbeville, Vermilion Parish, La.) 1913-1944, 1914-10-10

| things to all people--as a good hotel
| keeper SHOULDN'T now he altered his
| opinion a little, for the letters were
from Phil. He read them over in the
| crowded plaza, into which the first
| refugees were just beginning to pour,
and frowned as he SKINNED through
the last
or Gracia and vain protestations OF
| devotion there was enough and TO
spare, but nothing about the mine.
| Only in the first one, written on the
very day he had deserted, did he so
much as attempt an excuse for so pre-
cipitately abandoning their claim and
his Mexican citizenship. Phil wrote:
My mail was being sent through head
| quarters and looked over by Del Rey. so
| l knew / would never receive the papers.
even II they came. l hope you don't feel
! hard about 1t, pardner. Kruger says TO
come out right away. l would have
stayed with it. but 1t wasn't any use.
| And now, Bud. l want to ask you some
| thing. When you come out. bring Gracis
/ with you. Don't leave her at the mercy
of Del Rey. l would come myself II II
wasn't sure death. Be quick about 1t
| Bud; 1 count on you.
The other letters were all like that,
| but nothing about the mine. And yet
it was the mine that Bud was fighting
! for-that they had fought for from the
/ first The railroad was torn up now,
| and a fight with Gracia was hopeless,
but it was just as well, for he never
would abandon the Eagle Tail.
In two months, or three, when the
rebels were whipped of. his papers
might come. Then he could pay his
taxes and transfer his title and con-
slider the stealing of Gracia. But since
he had seen her and touched her hand
something held him back-a grudging
| reluctance-and he was glad that his
duty lay elsewhere If she was his
girl now he would come down and get
her anyway.
But she was not his girl and, gazing
back grimly at the seething plaza and
the hotel that hid her from sight, he
rode somberly down the road. After
all, there was nothing to get excited
about-every revoltoso in the country
was lined up around Aqua Negra and.
with four hundred soldiers to oppose
them and artillery to shell their ad-
vance, it would be many long day be-
fore they took that town.
Twice already Aqua Negra had
fallen before such attacks, but now 1t
was protected by rihe-pits and ma
chine guns set high on mud roofs. And
then there were the YaQuis, still faith
full to Madero They alone could hold
the town, If they made up their minds
to fight. So reasoned Hooker, mulling
over the news that he had heard. But
he watched the ridges warily, for the
weather was good for raiders.
A day passed, and then another. and
the big whistle blew only for the
shifts. the loneliness Of the hills OPP
messed him as he gazed out at the
ouivering heat And then, like toad
after a shower, Amigo came padding
into camp on the heels of a thunder
storm, his sandals hung on his hip and
his big feet sQuelching through the
mud.
Across his shoulders he wore a gay
serape, woven by some patient woman
of his tribe; and in /the belt beside
Buds pistol he carried heavy knife,
blacksmithed from ten-inch file by
some Yaqui hillman. All in all, he
was a fine barbarian, but he looked
good to the lonely Bud.
"Ola, Amigo!" he hailed, stepping
out from the adobe house where he
had moved to avoid the rains; and
Amigo answered with his honest smile
which carried no hint of savagery or
deceit
Try as he would, Bud could not
bring himself to think Of his Yaqui as
dangerous; and even when he bal
anced the Indians murderous bowie
knife in his hands he regarded 1t with
a grin. 1t was heavy weapon, broad
across the back, keen on one edge
and drawn to a point that was both
sharp and strong. The haft was
wrapped with rawhide to hold the
clutch of the hand.
What do you do with this?" queried
Hooker Chop wood? Skin deer?"
Eyes, chop wood" answered Amigo
but he replaced II carefully in his belt
(TO BE CONTINUED)