Then Virg told the lad just what had happened.
“I do not wonder that Trujillo has aroused Betsy’s curiosity,” Peyton remarked. “For that matter, if it were not the custom of the desert to ask no questions, I believe that I, myself, would be tempted to ask him who he really is and from whence he came. He is greatly the superior of the Mexican peons that I have working here and they obey his slightest word as though they too recognized his superiority. He seems content to be my foreman, for he has said nothing about leaving. In fact he seldom speaks. He replies graciously in perfect Spanish when I address him, but says almost nothing of his own accord. But Virg, what has all this to do with Betsy? How can she have disappeared?”
“It certainly is mysterious,” that maiden replied. “Not ten minutes ago we were all in the front room. Betsy said that she wanted to see what it would look like when those queer hanging lamps were lighted.”
“I said we ought not to go,” Babs interrupted, tremulously, “and now, if anything has happened to Betsy we’ll—”
“Why, sister, nothing could happen to her right here in our own house,” Peyton declared in a tone of conviction. Then to Virg, he added: “Please tell me the rest of your story.”
“As Babs says, she and Megsy were in favor of remaining in the well-lighted and far more comfortable kitchen, but Betsy begged and so we all went with her, carrying only a lighted candle. We had not gone far into the room when the door closed with a bang and the flame on the candle went out, although I did not feel a stir of wind. Of course we returned to the kitchen, all but Betsy. She suggested that the other girls stay by the stove and that I return to her with a lighted lantern. I was not away from her five minutes, but when I went back Betsy was not standing where I had left her, and where she had promised to remain. I supposed that she was hiding somewhere, and so I held the lantern high and looked behind all of those massive pieces of carved furniture, but I could not find her. Then I called her name, softly, but there was no reply. By that time I was truly frightened and when I heard you returning, I came at once to ask you to join me in searching for her.”
Peyton looked more puzzled than troubled. “Virg,” he said, “if this were a tale in a story-book, we might think that Betsy had fallen through a trap-door, but surely there is nothing of that sort in this old ranch house, even though it was built—” he paused and snapped his fingers. “Hum!” he exclaimed, “the plot thickens. Come to think of it, this house was built by an old Spanish Don who was a political outlaw from Mexico. For months he hid in the mountains with his wife, children and servants. Then, when he believed that he had evaded his pursuers, his peons built this adobe house and so it is very possible that he might have built some sort of trap-door through which they could all quickly disappear and evade capture. Come,” he added, as he swung open the door into the dark, silent front room, “we’ll make a thorough search but I still feel convinced that your Detective Betsy is hiding to tease.”
CHAPTER XVII
WHERE BETSY WAS HIDING
But the searchers were soon convinced that Betsy was not hiding to tease. Peyton lighted all of the heavy brass hanging lamps but they did little to illumine the long, dark room. Indeed, their dim light made the corners darker and more ghostly than they had been before. Each girl was carrying a lantern and the room was searched more thoroughly than it had been by Virginia alone.
“Perhaps Betsy climbed out of a window and is hiding out doors,” Babs suggested.