Alaire knew with what admiration even a
moderately attractive American woman is greeted in Mexico, and she
had no idea that this fellow had experienced anything more than a
fleeting infatuation. Now that she had plainly shown her distaste
for his outlaw emotions, and convinced him that they awoke in her
no faintest response, she was confident that his frenzy would run
its brief course and die. Meanwhile, it was not contrary to the
standards of feminine ethics to take advantage of the impression
she had made upon him and with his help push through a fair
financial settlement of her loss.
Once back across the river, however, she discovered that there
were obstacles to a prompt adjustment of her claim. The red tape
of her own government was as nothing to that of Mexico. There were
a thousand formalities, a myriad of maddening details to be
observed, and they called for the services of an advocate, a
notary, a jefe politico, a jefe de armas--officials without end.
All of these worthies were patient and polite, but they displayed
a malarial indifference to delay, and responsibility seemed to
rest nowhere. During the day Alaire became bewildered, almost lost
in the mazes of official procedure, and was half minded to
telegraph for Judge Ellsworth.
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