get there you will come to the house where old Ramorez, a half-breed,
lives. You remember; if you are missed in San Juan, Struve will say
that you have gone to see Ramorez. He is actually sick by the way;
maybe you can do something for him. His shack is in those cottonwoods,
this side of Las Estrellas. You'll find Ignacio there, too; he'll go
back to San Juan with you. And, once again, thank you."

He put out his hand; she gave him hers and for a moment they sat
looking at each other gravely. Then Norton smiled, the pleasant boyish
smile, her lips curved at him deliciously, he touched his hat and was
gone. And she, riding slowly, turned Persis toward Las Estrellas.

From Las Estrellas, an unkempt, ugly village strangely named, it was
necessary to ride some fifteen miles through sand and scrub before
coming again into San Juan. Virginia Page, sincerely glad that she had
made her call upon old Ramorez who was suffering painfully from acute
stomach trouble and whose distress she could partially alleviate, made
the return ride in the company of Ignacio. But first, from Ramorez's
baking hovel, the Indian conducted her to another where a young woman
with a baby a week old needed her. So it was well on in the afternoon
and with a securely established alibi that she rode by the old Mission
and to the hotel. As Ignacio rode listlessly away with the horses, as
innocent looking a lazy beggar as the world ever knew, Virginia caught
a glimpse of a white skirt and cool sunshade coming up the street.

"Florence Engle," she thought. "Who, no doubt, will cut me dead if I
give her the opportunity."

A little hurriedly she turned in at the hotel door and went to her
room. She had removed hat and gantlets, and was preparing for a bath
and change of clothing when a light knock sounded on her door. The
rap, preceded by quick little steps down the hall, was essentially
feminine.

"Hello, Cousin Virginia," said Florence. "May I come in?"

Virginia brought her in, gave her a chair and regarded her curiously.
The girl's face was flushed and pink, her eyes were bright and quite
gay and untroubled, her whole air genuinely friendly. Last night
Virginia had judged her to be about seventeen; now she looked a mere
child.

"I was perfectly nasty last night, wasn't I?" Florrie remarked as she
stood her sunshade by her chair and smiled engagingly. "Oh, I know it.
Just a horrid little cat . . . but then I'm that most of the time.