The man seemed to have preternaturally sharp ears. "The Golden Fan ver' good hotel, señorita," he said. "Maria, she do for you."
"Ugh! she looks it," muttered Marty. "But I guess we'd better risk it, Janice."
"Be careful," breathed the girl when they were inside. "Don't show much money, dear."
"I'm on!" whispered the boy in reply. He had some silver and produced an American dollar. "You see we have money," he said aloud.
The woman led them into a poorly lighted, almost empty room. There was a table and some chairs but not much other furniture and no ornaments save an old-fashioned wax flower piece under a glass shell on a shelf. Where that, once a cherished parlor ornament of the mid-Victorian era, could have come from down here in Mexico was a mystery.
"Not enough," said the half-breed woman, referring to the dollar, her greedy eyes snapping.
"It's two dollars Mex," announced Marty with decision.
"'Nuff for supper. 'Nother dol' for bed," declared Maria.
Janice touched Marty's hand. "Do not argue," she whispered.
The man had followed them and lolled in the doorway of the room, listening and watching. It was not until then that Janice saw he wore boldly a pistol in a holster dangling from his belt.