But she would have passed Flores in the dusk had she not heard excited voices speaking Spanish. Dorothy could not understand Spanish, but she recognized the tones of the Mexican girl’s voice.
Instantly Dorothy saw one of the herdsmen dive into the deeper shadow beside the shed, while Flores came swiftly toward her. The Mexican girl had been crying, Dorothy knew, although it was too dark to see her face but dimly.
“What is the matter, Flores?”
“I—I no can tell you, Señorita,” sobbed Flores.
“You won’t tell me?”
“I—I dare not. I no explain. Hush!” whispered the girl. “You take care at beeg house. Bad mans about.”
This was anything but lucid, but try as she might Dorothy could get nothing more explicit from Flores. The latter seemed not only unable to explain herself in English, but she was afraid to speak at all!
Flores hurried back to the Ledger domicile and lent Dorothy a mandolin of her own. Tavia could play the mandolin, and the young folk at the big house had a nice “sing” that evening.
When Dorothy and her chum went to bed the former told Tavia about Flores’ strange speech and actions.