“You have taken my little girl riding! She is only fifteen! I will tell the police. I will have you put in jail. I will——”
“It was all right, Mamma. I tell you we were gone only ten minutes. It was all right.”
Maria turned to Blake and added softly, “Go away, quick!”
“Her father will kill you,” said Mamma loudly. “He will kill you.” She turned and seized the little man by the arm.
Maria stamped her heel in the dust. “Go away,” she repeated.
Blake went.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The unexpected boon of a full afternoon holiday during Fiesta left Gin somewhat embarrassed. She had nothing to do. The afternoon could have been spent sleeping, for she had had little sleep the night before, what with dancing in the streets around a bonfire; but she was too excited to feel sleepy. Time for sleep when Santa Fé had stopped playing and the town had taken off its costume and gaiety; plenty of time for sleep when the carpenters would begin to tear down the platform in the corner of the plaza, and the crepe paper ribbons would hang stretched and faded from the trees. Now the platform was gay with flags and strewn with confetti; last night had been a tango contest before the bonfire-dance, and they were to use it again today for impromptu theatricals—Spanish songs and Indian dances. All the shops were closed today; all the little shopgirls, dressed in skimpy shawls and old family combs, filled the streets to watch the parade. It was Pasatiempo, the day of the Pageant.
Gin strolled through the streets where she could and paused where she must. She watched the parade of the Conquerors; tried to listen to the oration but had to give it up because of inadequate Spanish, and looked on for a long time at the burlesque polo game that the young bloods were playing with burros, spurring the unhappy little beasts towards a huge striped beach ball and catching themselves up on the long mallets. Afterwards she wandered towards the apartment, half planning to bring out her own cherished shawl before the evening, when it was to be worn at the Ball. She thought somewhat of dressing up now, to vie with the others; she wanted to paint her lips and walk around the plaza, round and round, while the boys walked the other way and picked out their maidens for the evening. But she knew that she was tired of standing and weary of the plaza. She would go riding alone and look down at Santa Fé from a mountain top.
She telephoned the stable. Tom was there, but, as he explained, he was leaving to join the celebration.