"Ma Thomas sure needs us now," said Anton.
"Hasn't she any relatives?" Kid Wolf asked.
"A son," muttered Wise in a tone of disgust. "Small good he is."
"Where is he?"
"Nobody knows," growled Lathum. "Somewhere in Mexico, I guess. He was practically run out o' San Felipe. He's no bueno."
Kid Wolf learned that the son—Harry Thomas—had nearly broken his parents' hearts. He had become wild years before, and was now nothing more or less than a gambler, suspected of being a cheat and a "short-card operator."
"He was a tinhorn, all right," said Wise, "and fer the life of me I don't know how a woman like Ma Thomas could have such a worthless rake fer a son. He was a queer-lookin' hombre—one brown eye and one black eye."
"Ma loves him, though. Yuh can tell thet," put in Lathum.
"Oh, yes," pointed out Anton soberly. "Mothers always do. Great things, these mothers."
He blew his nose violently on his red bandanna, and shortly afterward went to bed. Soon all four were in the bunks, resting for the hard work that awaited them on the morrow—mañana—and many days after mañana.