The combination ambulance and police car was brought out. That it was seldom used was evidenced by the sand on the seats and floor. Jerry drove it to a gas station and had the tank filled. Jackie, who clung to Mary as though she alone could understand his grief, nestled close to her in the big car.
Harry said to Jerry, “Old man, I think I’d better fly over. The Papago reservation is close to Tucson, isn’t it, and I must turn in a report. Then I’ll join you all and come back with you perhaps.”
“Oh, please do!” Mary called to him. “I want you to meet the nicest dad in the world. He’ll be so interested in hearing about your trip from the East.”
A crowd of townspeople had gathered in the square and silently watched as the big police car started and the “Seagull” took to the air.
As they were rumbling along, Dora, across from Mary, silently pointed at the boy. “He’s asleep, little dear,” she said softly.
Dick was on the driver’s seat with Jerry.
“Dora,” Mary whispered, “how tangled up things are. We were hunting for one child and find another. Something seems always to lead us farther away from solving the mystery of poor Little Bodil.”
“I know,” Dora agreed, “but after all, we could hardly expect, I suppose, after all these years, to unravel that mystery.”
It was not a long ride. The road was smooth and hard. The car rolled along so rapidly that the forty miles were covered in less than an hour. Dora, looking out of the opening in the back of the wagon, was delighted when she saw tepees along the roadside. Also, there were small adobe shacks with yucca stalk fences and drying ears of corn and red peppers in strings hanging over them.
“Oh, how fascinating this place is!” she whispered. “Do look! There’s a Papago family. The mother has her baby strapped to her back.” The convent was an unpretentious rambling adobe building painted a glistening white. Jerry turned in through an arched adobe gate over which stood a wooden cross.