escaping, the flight being for the time of more importance than the fashion in which one flies. “I think you will be cold,” said a polite voice at her elbow. “Wait—I have a robe.” And a blanket which smelled of the stable rather than of the garage was wrapped carefully around her. “In a few moments we shall be out of this sand.” 52 52 For a while they rode in silence, then the girl said, apologetically: “I am so sorry. I didn’t want you to go to all this trouble—but I couldn’t stay in that awful place when Bob is so near!” “If you think Conejo is bad I wonder what you would think of some of our towns further south? They are ruins.” “Ruins?” “Ten years of revolution—they do not improve a country.” Polly did not reply. She peeped out of her collar and saw that Pachuca’s prophecy was fulfilled. They had ridden out of the area of the sand-storm and were getting into the foothills where the air was cold and clear. They faced the new moon which gave an eerie look to everything—the distant mountains, the foothills with their weird patches of vegetation, tall cacti and dark looking arroyos. Far, far in their rear could be seen the few feeble lights of Conejo. It began to dawn upon an awed Polly that she was doing not an unconventional but a distinctly risky thing. What did she know about this good-looking boy who sat beside her, guiding the car so expertly through the ruts and chuck holes that chopped up the road? Suppose he turned out to be—she caught her breath angrily! He was no common Mexican but a gentleman and one was not afraid of men of one’s own class, she told herself. She would not be afraid. She hated people who were afraid. She was having a wonderful experience; the sort of an experience that 53 girls read about but didn’t have, and she was going to enjoy it. 53 “I forgot to ask you if you had anything to eat,” said Juan Pachuca. “You didn’t, did you?” “I had crackers,” said Polly. “What did you have?” “I was more fortunate. I found my friend at dinner,” replied the young man.
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