“Did you stop to look at it?” Connie asked, deeply troubled.
“Oh, no! The truck driver was in a hurry. We didn’t dare ask him to stop.”
“How close were you to the Mexican camp?”
“Oh, fairly close,” Eileen said vaguely. She never could estimate distances.
“Close enough to really see that it was our crazy quilt?”
“Well, it looked like it to me. The quilt was made up of a lot of colors and pieced blocks of all sizes.”
“But all crazy quilts are like that,” argued Veve. She did not want to think that any of the Mexicans had taken the coverlet.
“That’s what Miss Gordon said,” Eileen admitted. “All the same, the quilt looked like ours. Another thing, Mexicans don’t usually have quilts. Every other coverlet on the line was a woven blanket.”
“There’s one way we could tell for certain if the quilt is ours,” said Connie thoughtfully.
“How?”