“Who-all are with you? Our boys?”
“Some of ’em. And the dep’ties. We’re through up there. But don’t say a word. I’m tellin’ too much now.”
“Don’t suppose you’d tell me who you are watching?”
“No, I couldn’t, Nita. Honest, I don’t like to. You know how it is.”
There came a step on the veranda. Manzanita darted to the door. Splicer had not heard, she was almost sure. Her keener senses had been alert for it. She stepped out on the veranda and closed the door after her and stood facing the man who had been about to knock.
“Listen, Falcon,” she said, grasping the lapel of his coat before he even could offer her greeting. “Go to the end of the veranda and sit down in the shadow of the vines. Make as little noise as possible. Go—I’ll explain later.”
She returned to the lighted kitchen after seeing that her command was being obeyed.
Now, though her pumping of Splicer Kurtz was skillful, she learned very little more from the vaquero. She loaded his arms with paper sacks of food, and he thanked her and took his leave. Then Manzanita went out and into the shadow of the vines that clambered over one end of the long veranda.
“Well,” asked The Falcon, “what’s all this?”
“Come into the house now,” she said. “We—we must come to an understanding.”