Scott, accompanied by Hard, came down the street again. Both seemed disturbed.
“Well,” remarked the former, grimly. “She’s started.”
“Started?” Mrs. Van rose. “What do you mean by that?”
“I got Jack Morgan’s mother on the ’phone,” said Scott. “Seems she’d been trying to get us. The girl got into Conejo about six—just after our train pulled out—tried to get us on the ’phone and couldn’t; so she got a machine and is on the way over.”
“Got a machine!” Mrs. Van gasped. “Are the Morgans crazy?”
“Jack and his wife have gone over to Mescal with their car and there’s nobody home but the old lady and the youngsters. Old lady Morgan’s deaf and hollers over the wire so I couldn’t get much of what she said,” continued Scott, ruefully. “I made up my mind that she’d got old Mendoza to bring her over in his Ford. Guess it’s up to me to harness up and go over to meet them.”
“I should say so. That girl must be scared to death if nothing worse has happened to her.”
“Nothing worse will happen to her with Mendoza—unless he runs her into an arroyo. Mendoza’s principles are better than his eyesight. But, believe me, she deserves to be scared. It might put a little sense into her.”
“Shall I drive over with you?” queried Hard.
“No, but you might help Mrs. Van move our things down to Jimmy’s. I thought we’d put her in our shack, Mrs. Van, and you could come up and stay with her.” And Scott swung off into the direction of the corral.