“There you have it already!” he muttered to Kit. “All velvet, and mad as hell!”
Billie, much bewildered, turned to Kit as for help, but the slender hand of Doña Jocasta reached out pointing to the headlines.
“And––this?” she said coldly. “It is, you say, not victorious for Ramon Rotil, that––bandit?”
“It says, señora,” hesitated Billie, “that he is hid in the hills, and–––”
“That we know,” stated Doña Jocasta, “what other thing?”
“‘He has a wound and was carried by his men to one of his retreats, a hidden place,’” read Billie slowly, translating into Spanish as she went on. “That is all except that the Federals had to retreat temporarily because a storm caused trouble and washed out a bridge over which their ammunition train has to go. The place of the accident is very bad. Timber and construction engineers are being rushed to service there, but for a few days luck is with the Hawk.”
“So!––For a few days!” repeated Doña Jocasta in the cool sweet voice. “In a few days Ramon Rotil could cross Mexico. He is El Gavilan!”
Things were coming too fast for Billie. She regarded the serenity of Doña Jocasta with amazement, and tried to imagine how she would feel if enemy guns battered down the old walls of Granados, or––thought of terror––if Kit should be held in the hills and tortured for ransom!
“Speaking of floods,” remarked Pike in amiable desire to bridge over an awkward pause, “we’ve used half the water we brought, and need to make a bright and early start tomorrow. Rio Seco is no garden spot to get caught in short of water. Our La Partida mules are fresh as daisies right off a month of range, but yours sure look as if they had made the trip.”
“What does he say,––the old señor?” asked Doña Jocasta.