"Cousins," Janice explained.
"Ah—yes. You would not be separate far—eh? This room for you, then, señorita. The next on the right for our young señor—eh?"
Lamps burned in both rooms. They were comfortably furnished and the stone floor had rugs upon it.
"You will be undisturbed here, I assure you. In the morning, señorita, a woman will wait upon you."
He bowed and clattered away in his hard, heel-less slippers.
"Seems like a good sort of a creature, after all," Marty said. "Don Abreguardo, eh?"
Janice made no reply save to bid him good-night and entered her room. She had lost that feeling of uncertainty and actual fear that had oppressed her. The future promised more cheer than she had believed possible.
Those back in Polktown had been entirely wrong. Her own judgment seemed to have been the sounder. Here she was, over the Border, miles on the way to her wounded father!
"And everybody so kind!" she thought as she sank to sleep on the comfortable couch under the canopy. "Only I wish we might have caused the arrest of that Tom Hotchkiss."
It seemed to the weary girl as though she closed her eyes and opened them immediately upon the broad sunshine and the tinkling fountain in the court of Don Abreguardo's dwelling. She heard Marty's voice and that of their host outside.