Edwards laughed.
“A convict escaped from Florence two weeks ago. Well, he certainly is not in the Cañada del Oro or Natachee would know.”
The girl looked at him pleadingly.
“I—I—am afraid Natachee does know.” She shuddered. “He—it would be just like him to bring the sheriff and his men here. Please—please—won’t you go? For my sake, won’t you?”
At this Edwards looked at her searchingly.
“Go where?” he said at last. “What do you think the Indian knows? Why should I go anywhere?”
“You—you do not understand,” the girl faltered. “You must hide somewhere, quick—Please, Hugh, they may come any minute.”
Again Edwards looked about as if, while prompted to yield to her entreaty, he was still undecided as to the best course to pursue.
“But surely you know that I did not escape from Florence two weeks ago,” he said slowly.
“I know—I know,” she cried, “but there was another.”