"For how much?" demanded Marty bluntly.
"For notting," declared Juan. "Your bed notting. Your food notting. Friends of the good Señor B-Day shall be treat' as friends by us—yes, huh?"
Maria was patting Janice's hand softly and she nodded acquiescence. Janice's eyes had overflowed. Marty choked up, and said gruffly:
"Hi tunket! don't that beat all? It pays to make people like you same as Uncle Brocky does. And you do it, too, Janice. Dad says: 'Soft words butter no parsnips'; but I dunno. I have an idea it pays pretty good interest to make friends wherever and whenever you can."
Whatever might have been the natural character of Juan and Maria, their attitude towards the cousins changed magically. The half-breed woman could not do enough for the twain, and Juan of the yellow eyes became suddenly respectful if not subservient.
The fact remained that these Mexicans did not love los Americanos, but they distinguished friends.
The tavern was a poor place; but the best in it was at the disposal of Janice and Marty. And the girl, at least, went to bed with confidence in the future.
Her father might be detained—hived up as it were—at the mine; but he was not seriously hurt and she might reach him soon.
Juan was evidently the poorest of peons. All he could obtain in the morning was a burro for the girl to ride. He said Marty must walk the fourteen miles to the mine as he did.
"Don't worry about me. I'm glad to walk after riding two days in that tin Lizzie," declared the boy.