“Ay Dios! I have fear that it is the hat of Carlitos.” He leaped off his horse and began hunting about for a stick with which to reach the hat. Finally, having found a long stick, he leaned over as far as he dared and carefully worked the stick up under the frayed edge of the hat. Both girls sprang off their horses to watch his efforts.
When at last he had the hat in his hands, he exclaimed, “Dios mio! It is his hat!” He pointed to the cord around the crown. “The grandmother made this cord for him.”
Jo Ann suddenly gasped and pointed down into the abyss-like gorge. “Oh, José, do you think Carlitos——” She broke off in the middle of her sentence, shuddering at the thought of Carlitos hurled down over the jagged rocks to the bottom of the gorge hundreds of feet below.
Florence broke in quickly, “Maybe his hat just blew off. If he had fallen over, we ought to be able to see some sign of loosened rocks or broken bushes where he slipped.”
She and Jo Ann, as well as José, began searching for some sign along the edge of the precipice. After a few moments Jo Ann walked up the trail a short distance and, leaning over, examined the path.
All at once her face lit. “Florence! José! Come here—look!” she called.
At the joyous note in Jo Ann’s voice both Florence and José came up to her side and stared down at the footprints in the limestone dust.
“See,” she said. “These small prints were made by Carlitos’ bare feet. They’re just his size.”
“Sí, sí,” José agreed. He pointed to some larger footprints beside them. “And these are made by the sandals of the man who is taking him off. And here’re the burro’s marks.”
Both Jo Ann and Florence drew deep sighs of relief. “I feel more certain than ever now that the man’ll take him clear to the mine.”