“How can we get the trunks up to the hotel?” asked Ruth, beginning to realize that Tom, to whom she had left all the arrangements, was in a “pickle.”
“Let’s see what the hotel looks like first,” returned Helen’s twin, setting off along the dusty street.
A dog barked at the procession; but otherwise the inhabitants of Yucca showed a disposition to remain incurious. It was not necessary to ask the way to Lon Crujes’ hotel; it was the only building in town large enough to be dignified by the name of “Yucca House.”
A Mexican woman in a one-piece garment gathered about her waist by a man’s belt from which an empty gun-sheath dangled, met the party on the porch of the house. She seemed surprised to see them.
“You ain’t them folks that telegraphed Lon you was comin’, are you?” she asked. “Don’t that beat all!”
“I telegraphed ahead for rooms—yes,” Tom said.
“Well, the rooms is here all right—by goodness, yes!” she said, still staring. Such an array of feminine finery as the girls displayed had probably never dawned upon Mrs. Crujes’ vision before. “Nobody ain’t run off with the rooms. We ain’t never crowded none in this hotel, ‘cept in beef shippin’ time.”
“Well, how about meals?” Tom asked quietly.
“If Lon gets home with a side of beef he went for, we’ll be all right,” the woman said. “You kin all come in, I reckon. But say! who was them gals here yesterday, then, if ’twasn’t you.”
“What girls?” asked Ruth, who remained with Tom to inquire.