Soria's place was empty. Not a child, nor a dog, nor a burro. Not a sign of life on the place anywhere. This was a blow and intensified Tom's gloomy fears. He did not speak as they drove on to Casa Grande. The moon was coming up and they saw the badly burned ruins of the barn as they turned in. "Ze house is lef'," said Mendoza, consolingly. "Yes, it is," said Tom. "But look at them windows! Riddled with bullets. The boys must have put up a good fight with them Indians, anyhow. Tell you what, Mendoza, I'd give a good deal to see old Scotty's ugly mug in one of 'em! Come on, we may as well go in," and he stepped apprehensively out of the car. CHAPTER XVII AT SORIA'S Hard and Mrs. Conrad stared at each other in whimsical dismay as the other couple rode away. Then they looked at the suitcases carefully tucked away in the brush. "Not much of a hiding place," observed Hard, "but it's better than leaving them in the wagon." "And decidedly better than carrying them all the way to Soria's," replied Clara. "Safe enough, too. It isn't once in a coon's age that anybody travels around these places. Funny, isn't it, when you think of all the crowded spots there are in the world?" "It reminds me," said Hard, with a reminiscent chuckle, "of a yarn. I was in New Mexico on a hunting trip with Joe McArthur--you remember the Boston McArthurs who had a ranch near one of the Apache reservations? Well, we rode up to the agency store to ask old Slade, the trader, about an Indian guide. "We got him and started out the next day. We were riding up among the pines--great tall fellows, a regular park of them; not a living thing in sight except the birds, not a sound except the river. McArthur and I were riding behind Charley, the guide. We'd been arguing rather aimlessly as to whether an Indian had a sense of humor or not; Joe thought they hadn't, while I contended that they had. "The quiet of the place rather got us. McArthur took a silver dollar from his pocket and said: 'Hard, I believe I could lay this dollar on that stump over there and come back here in a year and find it there.' Old Charley turned around, his wrinkled face twisted into a grin. 'No,' he said, 'no find him nex' year. Mr. Slade he get him nex' morning.' "Well, Charley got the dollar and McArthur admitted that I had the right of the argument." "That sounds to me just like a McArthur of Boston," said Clara, severely. "An Indian without a sense of humor! Just because they don't see fit to howl over the fool things a white man howls over, I suppose." She did not speak again for some time, then she burst out tempestuously: "Henry, why did you begin talking about Boston? Do you know, I've been more lonesome for the dear old place in the last twenty-four hours than ever before? I wonder if seeing you has made me homesick?" "I hope so," said Hard. "It's time for you to go back to Boston, Clara."