“True enough,” assented Miss Sallie, “since this is America and not Spain, and we find ourselves in a perfect hotbed of criminals. My dear John, I think we shall need a body-guard if we go out in the open this afternoon.”
“Well, Sallie,” answered the courteous old man, “you shall have one in me and my nephews and their friends—a devoted body-guard, I assure you.”
At luncheon the feeling of good will which comes to friends who have just found each other, so to speak, had spread itself. Enjoyment was in the air and there were no discordant elements. All their troubles were of the past, and Bab determined to cast aside her suspicions and regard José in the light of a mysterious but otherwise exceedingly attractive foreigner. When she looked across the table into his clear, brown eyes, which regarded her sadly but without a single guilty quiver of the lids, she could not but believe that there had been some bitter mistake somewhere. He was lonely and strange, and there was something about him that aroused her pity. Everybody liked him; even Miss Sallie was attracted by his graceful and gentle manners.
Luncheon over, everyone made ready for the auto trip, and it was not long before the two autos carrying a merry party, had set forth.
CHAPTER XIII—CROSS QUESTIONS AND CROOKED ANSWERS
After a long ride through the country, skirting the edge of the forest in which the highwayman had lurked, and where the smoke from the Gypsies’ camp fire could be seen curling up in the distance, the two automobiles took to the river road.
Ruth was steering her own car with Alfred beside her; behind them on the small seat sat José and Mollie, and on the back seat were Bab and Stephen. As they skimmed over the bridge, which had been repaired by the major’s men, Mollie said to José:
“Was the bridge all right, Mr. Martinez, when you came over it the other day?”
The Spaniard flushed and his eye caught Bab’s, who was gazing at him curiously.
“Yes, no—or rather, I do not know,” he stammered. “I did not come by the bridge but through the forest.”