‘That is as nature fixes it, Cal. We’d have some trouble right now, tearin’ that little Mary female away from Elbert, the inroads he’s made. But no use standin’ here. I’m goin’ to get a pair of knives and whetstone out of my war bags an’ freshen up for supper.’
‘You’re not meanin’ to shave, Slim?’
‘That’s the presumption.’
Elbert rustled hay from the shed and carried it out to the hitching-rack, the Señora’s house being suspiciously short-handed. Half way between the corral and the kitchen door, he sat down, and moodily watched the Señora getting supper. She did her work on the run, back and forth in the old stone kitchen, castanets off. Her bare feet seemed to roll up under her as she sped, one at a time reappearing to give the stone floor a shove. It was like a double-action paddlewheel. Curious sizzlings reached his ears from the open fire, also fascinating scents. He was sure sliced onions were curling and browning on the pan.
Supper was set for six. Elbert found Mary Gertling seated at his left. He rose from the table to get a glass of water, but the Señora prevented, thrusting red wine in his hands.
‘Vino tinto! Vino tinto!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m s’prised, Elbert,’ Slim corrected. ‘Didn’t you know water is for the horses?’
‘Isn’t everything wonderful?’ whispered Mary Gertling.
‘Do you think so?’ Elbert inquired.
‘Dulzura!’ flamed Slim; then Cal’s easy voice as he monopolized the attention of Florabel Burton: ‘So your father hasn’t written to you none, Miss, that there’s a mixture of politics going on about his oil wells?’