“Well, you spoke of him,” insisted Tavia. “I didn’t bring him—and his mustache—into the conversation.”
“I wondered if Flores’ folks—if she had any—approved of her talking with the man,” continued Dorothy, ignoring her chum’s flippancy. “And what do you think?”
“She is going to run away with him like Molly Crater did with her young man!” ejaculated the romantic Tavia.
“Do be sensible!” exclaimed Dorothy, with disgust. “Molly Crater is nineteen—she was of age in this state. I wish you’d listen——”
“Officer! she’s in again!” interrupted Tavia. “See! that Mex. girl is beckoning to you, Doro.”
“No! she can’t mean me?”
“I’m sure she isn’t after me,” said Tavia. “I’ve never said ten words to her, for she can’t speak English. I found that out.”
Flores had appeared again at the far corner of the long shed they were passing. She did gesture for Dorothy to come to her.
“I’m going!” declared Dorothy. “You take my pony on to the corral, Tavia.”
She was out of the saddle as soon as she had spoken and tossed the bridle-reins to her friend. Flores popped out of sight again, but Dorothy followed her around the corner of the shed.