“Lolita is something of an anomaly, I admit,” said John as he left the gallery where the two had been talking.
CHAPTER XII
A CLUE
THAT so large a family was quartered at the Ross ranch caused no special comment. It was the custom of the country, destitute of wayside inns, and sparsely settled, for any house to be opened to the passing traveler, and families often received for any length of time, those whose circumstances made it difficult for them to do otherwise than accept such hospitality as was offered them. In the case of those congregated at the Ross ranch all were acquainted; they were neighbors, and were as congenial a party as could be found in that much mixed country. Mrs. Van Dorn was a more than usually refined woman who had come to Texas because of her husband’s ill health, and after his death had remained because of her eldest daughter’s marriage to a young Englishman who had settled in the neighborhood. Both Christine and Alison enjoyed her gentle presence, and though she spent most of her time at the bedside of her son, they appreciated such half hours as she found time to give them. She was joined often by her daughter, Laura, a pleasant girl, devoted to Alison and glad of an excuse to see her often. Louisa, feeling that she was in some measure responsible for Blythe’s plight, took it upon herself to supply the invalid with dainties, and not a day passed that she did not bear some covered dish to the little cabin. The “likely darky from Ferginny” now reigning in the kitchen, rather resented Louisa’s claims to being the best cook in the land, but allowed her full sway in the matter of preparing dishes for the invalid.
The effort to hunt down Pike Smith proved unavailing, though an attempt was made to carry out Alison’s suggestions, and one day John beckoned to his younger sister and led her to a spot where they could be free from interruption. “Can you go with me for a ride?” he said. “We’ve unearthed the old Mexican woman, Brigida, thanks to Pedro.”
“Good! And have you learned anything from her?” asked Alison, eagerly.
“Not yet. She professes ignorance on all subjects connected with Pike Smith. That’s why I want you to go with me to interview her. One thing we have learned, though not from her, and that is her son has been concerned in some horse thieving, and we believe he belongs to the gang of which Pike was the leader.”
“That is a good point to know.”
“We think so, too, and though we have no proofs it will be as well to use our suspicions as facts.”
Alison did not delay in getting ready for her ride. She expected great results, was so sanguine and built up such possibilities all the way along, that her brother finally told her that she ran ahead of all reason. “I believe you expect her to produce Steve from a box or a bag,” he said, “as if he were a cat or a hen.”
“I shall not be surprised at anything,” declared Alison laughing. But when they reached the little adobe hut matters did not look so promising. At first the old woman declared that she had never seen Alison before, that she knew no Americanos and did not wish to know them. She wished to be left in peace and could not be disturbed by curious persons asking questions about what she could not tell.