"How old do you think she is, Steve?"
"It's hard to guess, Murray. Maybe she's forty-five."
"She is not much above thirty. The Mexican women grow old sooner than white ones. She was not much above twenty when she cooked for my miners on the Santa Rita mine."
"Do you feel perfectly sure about that?"
"I've watched her. There is no doubt left in my mind. Still, I may ask her a few more questions. Then there is one thing more I want to make sure of."
"Will it keep us here long?"
"It may keep me, Steve."
"Then it will keep me, Murray. You will need me if you have anything on hand. I am anxious enough to get off, but I will not leave you behind. I'll stay and help."
Murray held out his hand.
"It's a fact, Steve. I may need all the help you can give."