“It looks like it,” responded Hard. “But unless I’m a lot mistaken, they didn’t mean to go until that boy came with his message.”
“Well, blessings on the head of Juan Pachuca who sent him!” murmured Clara, wearily, as she started for the cabin.
“Do you want to stay outside or go in?” asked Hard, pulling a chair forward on the veranda.
“Outside, please, as long as we can stand it,” said Clara, with a little shiver. “I don’t believe I’d care for Grandmother Soria’s housekeeping.” She peeped into the family olla hanging on the side of the house. It was full. “Oh, well, Henry, things might have been worse,” she smiled as she sank into the chair.
“You can bet your dear life they might,” replied Henry, with a glance in the direction taken by Angel Gonzales.
“See if they’ve left anything to eat—anything that looks fairly clean.”
Hard emerged a few moments later empty-handed.
“Not a thing,” he said. “We evidently arrived at the psychological moment for this little family. That ten dollars Scott gave them will tide them over till Carlotta finds another beau.”
“But wasn’t there anything to eat?”
“Not a bone. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was a cafeteria compared to Grandmother Soria’s. Draw in your belt and forget it.”