“No, he’s not an imbecile! No, no! Far from it!” corrected Mr. Rupert, suddenly waving the agave leaf above his head and fairly prancing in his glee. “There is a message written here!”
Whereupon Anita and “that crusty Miguel,” as she had used to call him, found it convenient to clasp hands and thus convince themselves and each other that they, at least, were sane. For, surely, this seemed a mad, mad world!
CHAPTER VIII
BOTANIST AND MINERALOGIST
“Brother!”
“O, Carlota! Are you awake at last?”
“Was I asleep? I—I was out in the storm. We aren’t riding yet, are we? Why is it so dark? What does it mean?”
“It means that our splendid Benoni has saved our lives. Saved our very lives, Carlota Manuel! A horse! Benoni!”
The little girl struggled to raise herself. She was strangely cramped and numb but there was a warm breath upon her face and, putting out her hand, she touched a velvety nostril.
“Noni! You dear! But how funny! Seems as if we were all lying down together, Carlos.”
“Yes. When I waked I was right against his neck,” answered the boy, gently stroking her shoulder, which he could only feel, not see.