To Jo Ann’s relief, the battered old car was not in sight.
“I’ll have a far better chance to find out about the smugglers without their being on the scene,” she remarked to Peggy.
As soon as they neared the shack, a thin, undernourished woman with a black rebosa about her shoulders and a baby in her arms appeared at the door. Peeping from behind her skirts were several other small, half-clad, hungry-looking children. As quickly as she could in her broken Spanish, Jo Ann explained that she wanted to buy some of the pottery jars piled up at the side of the house.
The woman shook her head and replied, “I have much sorrow that I cannot sell them to you. Two men in an automobile told me they take all my ollas.”
“Was that their automobile I saw here near your house yesterday?”
The woman nodded.
“I must find out when they will be back,” Jo Ann thought quickly. “Can you not get more jars for these men by the time they come back, and sell me some of these you have now?” she asked tentatively.
“No, that is impossible. It takes much time to make the ollas, and the men say they come back in three or four days.”
“Three or four days,” Jo Ann thought. “I hope Florence comes on one of those days, so we’ll have an excuse to come down here to meet her.”
Peggy broke into her thoughts with, “Ask her the price of these jars. They’re lovely.” She picked up two jars, each attractively decorated with a design of cactus and Spanish dagger.