The old woman looked up at the lad, dressed like a peon in his denim _pantalones_, in the _teguas_ of the mountaineer. Something in the fine tired face, the sweetness of expression, assured her of the innocence of their prospective guest and she swept a place by the hearth. But surely! And what did the lad know of the Ranch of the Desert? It was long since she had heard of that place, she said, but right well did she know where it lay. With the despatch of the ever-ready bean pot she set a plate of food before Raquel, talking to her while she ate. The girl with the madonna face slipped timidly out of her room. And so strangely, in this chance manner, Raquel learned the way to the Hidden Ranch. The old woman had once gone there, years ago, when she lived in Nacozari as a servant to the _padrona_. The _muchacho_ must follow this road up the stream bed, said the old woman, until he came to the canyon of Nacozari, not twenty _leguas_ above. He should go through the town, she said, and above the place where the houses of the American superintendents had since been built Raquel would see a fair road leading east over the hills. “Follow it across the sand dunes,” she said, “and when you come to the stream, ford it. But be careful of quicksands. A desert of sand dunes lies beyond, with not a palmetto, not a cactus on it, unlike most of our Mexican deserts. Go straight across it,” she continued, “a few miles only. Keep the trees of the river at your back and two dark dunes ahead for a guide. Over the last dune El Escondido spreads before you, a paradise, as well you know if you have been there. “There is another way. But it is much longer, and only those who know it well and have traveled the road could possibly find the way among the trees and the hills. It was made after my time, this road, and I do not know it. That is where the _rancho_ gets its name. It is indeed _escondido_. “You are fatigued,” added the old woman. “Spread your blanket in that corner.” Raquel slept, grateful in the thought that Georgie was ahead of her rather than behind. But where was he? And where the steers she had come to find? CHAPTER XVI GEORGIE GETS LOST Three days after the gay ball at the military quarters of the _Carrancista_ detachment a little Mexican girl wept disconsolately in the doorway of the priest’s home. The priest was not there; he had never returned since the first morning the little girl had presented herself. But she persisted in coming back. The housekeeper was quite annoyed. She had fed her, and now the ugly, rawboned child was crying. Roughly she swept her back into the house. “What do you want?” she demanded. “I wait for my big brother. Has he been here since I came yesterday afternoon?” The little girl wiped a smudged face.