"Let me have some water—I can hardly speak."
"Yes, yes, drink. There is the brook. The colorados must not find you here." The old man looked around with anguish at the little rancho he had fought so hard to gain. "They would destroy us all."
Just then the old mother appeared in the doorway.
"Come here, Juan Reed," she cried. "Where is my boy? Why doesn't he come? Is he dead? Tell me the truth!"
"Oh, I think they all got away all right," I told her.
"And you! Have you eaten? Have you breakfasted?"
"I haven't had a drop of water since last night, nor any food. And I came all the way from La Cadena on foot."
"Poor little boy! Poor little boy!" she wailed, putting her arms around me. "Sit down now, and I will cook you something."
Old Güereca bit his lip in an agony of apprehension. Finally hospitality won.
"My house is at your orders," he muttered. "But hurry! Hurry! You must not be seen here! I will go up on the hill and watch for dust!"