“Senorita,” he exclaimed when she turned a white face toward him. “What is the matter? Where have you been? What have you seen?”
“Oh, I am so glad you came,” Megsy replied. “I was going after Peyton. Betsy Clossen is walking in her sleep. I just know that she is, and she’ll come to some harm if we don’t bring her back. She says the queerest things about lost papers being hidden at the Shrine of The Three Crosses. I never heard of such a place. Did you, Senor?”
Trujillo replied in the negative. He had never heard the peons mention a shrine and surely they would know if there were one.
“Wait here, Senorita, I will get horses and we will follow your friend.”
When Margaret had deserted Betsy, for a moment the young would-be detective felt a strong desire to turn and race after her, but she would not permit herself to do this. She was so eager to find the lost papers and she was more than ever convinced, as she thought about the matter, that they were probably near the shrine. This had been the daily haunt of the old Don who had prayed that his estate might be restored to him. What would be more natural than that he would conceal the papers there, believing, as he probably did, that his political enemies when they found him would confiscate the documents, making it impossible for him to prove that the land grant had really belonged to his ancestors.
As Betsy neared the lonely sand hills, she dreaded more and more the moment when she would enter the sheltered dug-out where she had found the shrine. She knew that, loud as she might call, no one would hear.
“Oh, I can’t go on! I can’t! I can’t” she exclaimed, her fearlessness suddenly deserting her. Then it was that she heard something weird indeed.
In a voice that sounded almost like a mournful echo, some one was calling. Then in her heart there was a sudden joyful realization of the truth. Some one was shouting her name and the sand hills were sending back the echo: “Betsy, where are you?”
“Here! Here!” she replied as she ran out to meet the approaching riders. Of course she might have known that Margaret would soon return with one of the boys.
She was glad to recognize that the other rider was Trujillo. As they drew near, the Spanish youth saw that the girl standing alone near the sand hills did not look as courageous as her fearless actions had implied. Instead her face was pale, her eyes wide, although her expression was one of gladness, because she was no longer alone.