“Yes; of course. I do not tell all I know,” was the reply.
“If you told, it would drive me away from here,” said Mildred.
Inez gave a start, remembering that a few hours ago she would have done anything to drive Mildred away. But, somehow, she had come to regard her companion in misfortune more favorably. A bond of sympathy had been established between them by this terrible experience they were now undergoing. Whatever their fate might be, Inez could not hate Mildred after this.
“I do not wish to drive you away,” she asserted in a positive voice. “I will not tell your secret.”
For a time Mildred mused silently, as if considering how to begin.
“My mother died when I was a baby,” said she. “She was a Travers and lived on a ranch near here.”
“I know the Travers Ranch,” said Inez quickly. “But no Travers have live there in a long time.”
“My mother lived there,” continued Mildred, “until she married my father. Indeed, she lived there several years after, for I was born in the ranch house. But my mother’s people—the Traverses—did not like my father, and when mother died he took me away to a house in Escondido. I think he was sent away, and the family sold the ranch and went back to England, where they had originally come from.
“In Escondido an old Mexican woman kept house for us. She was named Izbel.”
“Ah!” cried Inez, nodding her head wisely; “I know.” Then, as Mildred looked at her questioningly, she added: “Go on.”