As soon as the conversation was ended, Jack declared a truce to work for the time being and set out at a run for the house. Hardly had he gotten beyond the door of the shack, however, than conscience smote him for not having communicated with Rafaela. Turning back, he endeavored to call her but was unable to get any response. “Some Mexican kid pulled out a couple of wires again, I guess,” he muttered. “Well, everything must be all right or she’d have called me. No use worrying. Besides, Dad will want the news.”
And, abandoning his efforts to raise Rafaela’s station, he set out on the run for the house.
Bursting into the comfortable living room, he found his father seated in a broad deep chair in front of the low table on which he was accustomed to do his writing, and gazing up at Tom Bodine who sat on a corner of the table at ease.
“Just talking about what we’ll have for dinner, Jack,” said Mr. Hampton, smiling at him. “Name your preference. Tom says he may not be able to give us Mexican dishes like Ramon, but that since Ramon deserted and left him the post of cook he’ll feed us American style. Now last night we had—”
“Yes,” grinned Jack, “I know what we had; beef and eggs, and night before eggs and beef. But old Tom needn’t worry his head about how to vary the menu tonight, because you and I won’t be here.”
“Won’t be here?” Mr. Hampton stared.
“No sir,” said Jack, “we’ll be eating at the Hamilton Hotel in Laredo.”
The astonished glances of the two men were his only answer, and after enjoying their mystification a moment Jack proceeded to enlighten them.
“We’re going to fly to Laredo to meet Frank and Bob and Mr. Temple,” he said. “They’ve just radioed from the army flying field. Went to Laredo in order to stop over and see the bull fight tomorrow.”
“Waal,” said Tom, sliding off the table, and preparing to depart, “I kin see there’s goin’ to be hotter days even than we been havin’ around here. Give ’em my best, Jack. An’, say, better bring a cook back with ye. I’ll ride inta Red Butte an’ git some fresh supplies.” At the door he paused to fling over a shoulder: “Don’t let the bull git ye.” Then he disappeared.