“I have companions—at least, one. That is why I must remain. Whether he may return to assist me I know not. He has gone off in search of water. In any case, he will be certain to seek for me.”
“But why should you stay for him?”
“Need you ask, senorita? He is my comrade, true and faithful. He has been the sharer of my dangers—of late no common ones. If he were to come back and find me gone—”
“What need that signify, caballero? He will know where to come after you.”
“How should he know?”
“Oh, that will be easy enough. Leave it to me. Are you sure he will find his way back to this place?”
“Quite sure. This tree will guide him. He arranged it so before leaving.”
“In that case, there’s not any reason for your remaining. On the contrary. I can see that you need a better bed than sleeping among these sage-plants. I know one who will give it. Come with me, caballero? By the time your comrade can get back there’ll be one here to meet him. Lest he should arrive before the messenger I shall send, this will save him from going astray.”
While speaking she draws forth a small slip of paper from a pouch carried â la chatelaine; along with it a pencil. She is about to write, when a thought restrains her.
“Does your comrade understand Spanish?” she asks.