Manzanita stayed her departure, and the two girls waited and watched, for travelers on the desert whose progress makes an appreciable dust cloud always aroused curiosity.
It was evident that the moving outfit was of some length, composed of a number of animals and vehicles. The desert wind was blowing, however, and a haze of dust surrounded it, so that not until the cavalcade left the main road and cut across straight toward Jeddo’s did Wing o’ the Crow recognize the foremost driver.
“Mercy!” she cried suddenly. “There’s the begatter now!”
“What?”
“Two skinners. The other’n must be your Falcon. Yes—sure it is! Well, goodness me—what d’ye know ’bout that!”
The small procession marched on over the sand heaps and neared the borrow pit. The sagging grin of Mr. Phinehas Daisy greeted them from behind the team in the lead. Abreast of him another span of strong mules drew up and came to rest, and Falcon the Flunky was their driver. In all there were ten teams of brown mules, young, thin-limbed, well fed, and all wearing shining new harness. Behind some of them trailed ten new number-two wheelers, whose pans never had disturbed plowed earth.
Mr. Daisy widened his grin and swept off his broken-visored cap.
“Greetings, ladies!” he said. “How’s every inconsiderable element this mornin’?”
The Falcon smiled gravely and lifted his hat.
“Where you been, Halfaman?” challenged Wing o’ the Crow.