"So'm I," said Floyd. "And we'll get there."
"Not on this trail!" declared his sister, as her brother was about to start the car. "You're getting into a worse and wilder country all the while. I think we should have taken the left turn a ways back."
"The cow puncher we asked told us to take the right turn, and I did," retorted Floyd.
"Cow puncher!" exclaimed his sister scornfully, "He looked more like a renegade Mexican than a real American cowboy. And his accent was Spanish, too."
"Oh, well, lots of good American cowboys came from Mexican or Spanish people, and speak both languages," asserted Floyd. "Don't hold that against him."
"I don't," said Rosemary. "But I will hold it against him if he has put us on the wrong trail, and I'm beginning to believe that's what he did. And maybe purposely, Floyd."
"Purposely? What do you mean?"
"Well, you know what we were told when we started out to make this trip—that we had better take the most civilized and best traveled trails, as the Yaquis were reported to be on the verge of making an outbreak."
"Yes, and for that reason I kept well away from the border. But we aren't anywhere near the Yaquis country now."
"Aren't we?" asked Rosemary, with a strange quietness in her voice.