“Yes. But—where shall we go?”
“Why, to the shearing-place, I s’pose,” she answered, doubtfully.
“We can’t. They—anybody might come there. All strangers go everywhere that there’s things to see, like the shearing.”
“Oh! dear! I wanted to see if our lambs, Santa Maria and San Jose, had been sheared. But the men would not dare, I think. But we must go somewhere, ‘to hide,’ Miguel said, and—what shall we do?”
Carlos reflected; then observed:
“I can’t think yet. I hate ‘hiding,’ anyway, and on our own rancho from such polite gentlemen—I mean the Rupert-one was so. I feel sort of mean and sneaky, as I guess a coward might. You may be a coward, Carlota, but I’m not. I’ve a mind to go right home and order those men to leave. If they won’t, I can lock them up in—” Here he hesitated and looked questioningly at his sister.
“Lock them up—where, Carlos Manuel?”
“You needn’t tremble. I haven’t done it yet.”
“Where could you lock them?” she sternly persisted.
Carlos fidgetted, then said: