The Señora held up her empty hand; her mouth opened, no sound. Slim hurried back to the fireplace to fetch her clappers. The black-haired one stamped her foot. She was used to getting what she wanted. ‘Oh, can’t you see, we’re hungry, thirsty--something to eat and drink?’ She had muscle, and big blue eyes. ‘Put your hand on your belt. Miss,’ Cal called. ‘Make signs of bein’ caved in.’ ‘Hush up, Cal. That ain’t no language to use,’ said Slim, stepping up from the side. ‘Allow me to interperate for you, lady.’ ‘Thanks, if you please.’ At this point Elbert’s hand touched a hand at his left. He turned and said ‘Excuse me,’ in severe tones. A swift shy smile met his eyes--the face of one unmistakably frightened, but handling it--a girl who could cry engagingly, but only after everything was over. Her tones had a curious way of not disturbing the stillness. ‘I think we made a mistake in coming--an awful mistake,’ she laughed. ‘I told Florabel we ought to turn round and go back, but she wouldn’t hear to it--’ Elbert turned to Florabel whose blue eyes were flashing up to Cal’s. ‘I’m Miss Burton, and I’m going to San Pasquali to surprise Papa!’ ‘Won’t you, though!’ enthused Cal. The third of the girls was smaller, younger--a whitish, wide-eyed face, hovering above a large and high-colored necktie. Slim had taken over this little one, but she was slow to soothe, her eyes getting wider, the white of her skin fading into colorless fear. Meanwhile, in shy tones, Elbert was hearing the story of their coming from the girl at his left. ‘We’re from Miss Van Whipple’s Finishing School in Tucson. It’s spring vacation now, and we were sight-seeing in Nogales this morning, when Florabel got the idea to rush down here and see her father. It was only seventy miles, she said, and wouldn’t take more than three hours, and then we’d be safe. I’m afraid we’ve made a terrible mistake--’ ‘I’m afraid you have,’ said Elbert. He was used to a houseful of sisters and he carried no heartstrings whatsoever for passing winds to flap. Her name was Mary Gertling. Her short hair was neither black nor blonde, but there was a roll to it, down over her temples, that Elbert remembered as a sort of aim of all his sisters’ girl friends before he left. He forgot what Mary was saying for a minute, studying the creamy light through her skin. It made him remember the thin bowl of alabaster on the ceiling of the dining-room at home. She didn’t seem to mind his severe ways. She just couldn’t seem to believe it of him. He recalled the ominous signs which attended their riding into Nacimiento, the many pony tracks. ‘If I were you, I’d ask Miss Burton to turn around now and go back,’ he said. ‘But Florabel never would. She never turns back--in anything. She says her father is less than twenty miles from here.’