“His name is Hugh Edwards. He came here from Tucson. I didn’t quite understand where he lived before he went to Tucson.” She paused and the ghost of a troubled frown fell across her brow. “But it was somewhere,” she finished brightly.
“Quite likely you are right,” said Jimmy, grave as a judge on the bench.
“Yes,” she continued, “and he has come here to stay. He is awfully poor—poorer than any of us. Why, he hasn’t even a burro to pack his outfit—had to pack it himself on his back, and he has been sick too, but he doesn’t look a bit sick now.” She laughed a little laugh of charming confusion. “He looks as if—as if—oh, as if he could do just anything—you know what I mean.”
“You make it very clear,” murmured Saint Jimmy.
Mother Burton made a curious little noise in her throat.
Marta looked from one to the other suspiciously. Then a bit defiantly she said:
“I don’t care, he does. And he is different from anybody that ever came to the Cañada del Oro before—for that matter, he is different from anybody that I have ever seen anywhere.”
“Dear me,” murmured Mother Burton, “how interesting! But how is he different, dear?”
The girl answered honestly:
“I can’t exactly tell what it is. For one thing, it is easy to see that he is educated. But of course Jimmy is too, so it can’t be that. I am sure, too, that he has lived in a big city somewhere and has known lots of nice people, but so has Jimmy. I don’t know what it is.”