pose?"

"It's hard to say. I was in Conejo a couple of days ago and they said
Sinaloa had followed Sonora and a good many of the other states would fall
in line in a few days. Obregon's broken away from Mexico City--guess you
heard that--and they're talking of De la Huerta for provisional
president."

"Know him? De la Huerta?"

"I've seen him. He's a young chap--some folks think he's a radical--I
don't know."

"Had any trouble at your place?"

Scott narrated the proceedings of Juan Pachuca at some length and with
some heat. "A military guy over in Conejo told me that he'd had orders to
clean up the state, so when Tom wised him up to the fact that Pachuca and
Angel Gonzales were doping it up to meet somewhere around Pachuca's place,
he sent a troop of men down there, cut Angel off and smashed up the whole
business."

"Get their men?"

"Got Angel, but Pachuca slid out."

"They let him probably."

"Maybe so."

"Framed it up for him so's not to hurt the feelings of any of his
high-toned friends."

"Shouldn't wonder. What time do you eat around here, Sam?"

"How'll six suit you?"

"Suits me fine. I'll go and break it to Hard that he can't get married
till morning. I suppose this Spanish chap won't object to marryin' a
couple of Presbyterians? That's what they say they are."

"Gosh, no, the Padre's a regular fellow," replied Penhallow, easily. "You
give him his fee and he ain't going to raise no rows."

The dining-room of Sam Penhallow's hotel was a fair-sized room with one
long dinner table and three small round ones. These latter were a
concession to the habits of certain citizens who brought their sweethearts
on the nights that Sam served chicken suppers and who were partial to
parties carres. It was to one of these small tables that Scott led his
party. Altogether, thanks to the efforts of Mabel and her influence upon a
certain invisible person whose identity changed often but who was always
to be identified as the "help," things were much better at the
Commonwealth than one had a right to expect in a town the size of Chula
Vista. Compared to Conejo, it was like entering into the promised land.

Mabel, herself, waited at table, and in the just opinion of most of the
boarders, added fifty per cent, to the pleasure of the occasion. On this
particular night the room was full and she had the assistance of a smiling
young Mexican girl who waited on a company of her compatriots who sat at
the farthest of t