Old Miguel started and took a step forward.
“Where she leeve, when she ees here?” he asked eagerly.
“I don’t know. Have you ever seen her?”
“No. She do not come to our quarters.”
“Wait a minute,” said Patsy, and ran up to her room, leaving Beth to confront the ranchero and to study him with her dark, clear eyes. But she said nothing until her cousin returned and thrust a small kodak print into Miguel’s hand.
“That is Mildred Travers,” said Patsy.
Miguel held up his lantern while he examined the picture and both girls observed that his hand trembled. For a long time he remained bent over the print—an unnecessarily long time, indeed—but when he raised his head his face was impassive as a mask.
“I do not know Mees Travers,” was all he said as he handed back the picture. “Now I go an’ hunt for Mees Jane,” he quickly added.
They watched him turn and noticed that his steps, as he left the court, were tottering and feeble.
“He lied,” said Beth, softly.