“Anita,” she said, “if I only had my stolen trunk, I’d not be leaving a single thing on earth behind me!”
Anita vouchsafed nothing for a time. She understood English.
“Tronk?” said she presently. “What-a tronk, señorita?”
“The one that was stolen from my parlor—you know very well what one.”
“That-a-tronk? He is not stole. He’s back. I setta on heem now.”
“What? What’s that, Anita?”
“Si, Seguro. I gotta heem under seat, serape on top. Sanchez, my man, he bring. Las’ night he got heem back.”
“The lost trunk? Where? Where did he find it?”
“Sanchez, he look in waggone, he look in corral. In one waggone, come from Gonzales, he find-a thees-a tronk. Sanchez, he tak-a heem and put-a heem in here. You like-a heem, dose tronk?”
The hand of Anastasie Lockhart fell lax at her saddle horn.