Ralph's look of amusement gave way to one of inquiry.
"Are you a friend of Elijah Berl?" he asked. "Helen, why don't you introduce us?"
But Uncle Sid again interrupted.
"Worse than that, young man, worse than that. It's most as bad as blood relations. Me and 'Lige Berl's folks have been brought up in the same neighborhood back in New England for ages."
Ralph started to reply to Uncle Sid, but a glance at Helen changed his mind.
"Let's get down to Pedro's ranch, in the shade. The wagons won't be along for an hour yet." He tried to walk by Helen's side, but she waited for Uncle Sid.
The last remnant of the fog had departed; the sun was blazing fiercely. Toward Ysleta, the air was already shimmering over the sand. By the ditches and among the vines, was the music of many birds and the cheerful notes of Bob White.
Half stifled with the choking dust, they scuffled and slid down the steep trail that led to Pedro's adobe.
Pedro was following, his stolid face stifling his emotions. At the gate, the vaquero and Winston, drawing their reins over their ponies' heads, dropped them on the ground. Pedro stepped forward, swept his hat from his head and held the gate open for his guests to pass through. Following them, he pointed to an inviting hammock, swung between two fruit trees. Again he swept his hat from his head.
"Perhaps the señorita will honor my poor hammock by reposing in it."