Soria’s place was empty. Not a child, nor a dog, nor a burro. Not a sign of life on the place anywhere. This was a blow and intensified Tom’s gloomy fears. He did not speak as they drove on to Casa Grande. The moon was coming up and they saw the badly burned ruins of the barn as they turned in.
“Ze house is lef’,” said Mendoza, consolingly.
“Yes, it is,” said Tom. “But look at them windows! Riddled with bullets. The boys must have put up a good fight with them Indians, anyhow. Tell you what, Mendoza, I’d give a good deal to see old Scotty’s ugly mug in one of ’em! Come on, we may as well go in,” and he stepped apprehensively out of the car.
CHAPTER XVII
AT SORIA’S
Hard and Mrs. Conrad stared at each other in whimsical dismay as the other couple rode away. Then they looked at the suitcases carefully tucked away in the brush.
“Not much of a hiding place,” observed Hard, “but it’s better than leaving them in the wagon.”
“And decidedly better than carrying them all the way to Soria’s,” replied Clara. “Safe enough, too. It isn’t once in a coon’s age that anybody travels around these places. Funny, isn’t it, when you think of all the crowded spots there are in the world?”