to understand Mexican politics," said Polly, "but
why, if Mr. Carranza wants to be president again, doesn't he come out like
a little man and say so, instead of trying to stir up things with
troops?"

"He can't be president again. The constitution under which he took office
forbids a second term," replied Scott. "He might be military dictator,
however, if he stirred up a revolution and came out on top. That's what
the Sonora people say. But you can't tell; it may be a square deal and
there may be a Yaqui rising."

"Even then this ain't the place for women folks," grumbled O'Grady.

"Nor men neither," retorted Mrs. Van Zandt. "I've been trying to get Mr.
Herrick on the 'phone to let him know there was trouble on board, but I
couldn't even get Central."

"Pachuca would attend to that, of course," said Scott. "We'll drive over
there in the morning and see if he doesn't want to come back with us."

"Am I really going to see that fascinating person?" sighed Polly. "I'm
beginning to think he's just hot air."

"Mighty little hot air about old Herrick," chuckled Matt. "All wool and a
yard wide, I'd say."

"Well, he is. That's more than I'd say about a good many artistic chaps,"
remarked Mrs. Van. "Most of 'em I hate--they're so crooked. The Lord
starts 'em weak and the women finish 'em. He sure can play, though.
Regular pictures--some of the things he composes. I can see the cows
grazing on the hills in some of 'em."

"How queer of him to stay down here!" said the girl, wonderingly.

"Why?" demanded Scott, warmly. "It seems to me that a country like this
has a lot more to offer that kind of man than your cities have. What's New
York or Chicago got to give him like these grim old mountains, and the
lonesome little canyons with the cows feeding up and down hunting for
water holes, and the Mexican folks with their soft voices and fancy
manners and all the rest of it?"

"Cows are queer," continued Mrs. Van, pursuing her own thought cheerfully.
"Ever see the old ones get between you and the calves when you rode by
'em? Awful kind of human, they are."

Scott chuckled. "One summer I was up in New Mexico on a ranch when they
were rounding up. They brought in the cattle from all over the place; for
days they were getting in strays out of the canyons. Among them were two
old bulls. Funny old codgers they were, and as much alike as two peas in a
pod--fat, chunky, ragged looking old rascals.

"Well, all during the round-up th