The tumble-down ranch house, known as that of the “Dead Squaw,” had a certain notoriety in the vicinity; it was rarely visited for it was generally reputed to be the usual stopping-place of travellers wanting to cross that part of the country without being seen.
“We’ll find them there,” said Cachafaz, “if they haven’t gone on to some other place.”
At the same hour, on returning to his house after a fruitless search, Robledo experienced a surprise no less disagreeable than fell to Watson’s share when he arrived at the Rojas’ ranch.
On the threshold of the front door sat Sebastiana, apparently waiting for him, to judge from her grunt of satisfaction at sight of him. He too felt relieved to see her, for it flashed through his mind that doubtless Torre Bianca had sent her, with a message explaining his disappearance. Probably the poor weak-willed marqués had gone back to his wife and was once more lending his credulity to her lies.
“Did your master send you?... Have you a note from him for me?”
Sebastiana blinked her slant eyes by way of showing her astonishment.
“Master?... El marqués? ... I know nothing about him. I thought he was here. No, I came for something quite different.”
She got up heavily, sighing, as she lifted her weight up to a vertical position; then she said, in a hoarse whisper,
“I couldn’t sleep all night, and here I am waiting for you to answer a question for me, don Robledo.”
The engineer listened somewhat ironically, though with admirable patience, to this plea for consultation. But no sooner did the half-breed begin talking, than his expression completely changed, and indicated the closest attention to what she was saying.