“For goodness sake, don’t talk like that, Pierre! In any ease I don’t worry about what I eat. But this is a regular Delmonico’s. Guadalupe is certainly a crackerjack cook. She is even better than Sing Ling. Wherever did she learn to turn out all these little delicacies? And just my favorite dishes, too.”
Pierre smiled enigmatically.
“Guadalupe very clever old squaw,” he remarked.
“I would like to know her better. But she keeps out of my sight all the time.”
“Guadalupe is very old. She has her fixed ideas.”
“I suppose that means she does not love the Americans.”
“No doubt. She prefer to be alone—alone with ze white wolf all ze time. And where the white wolf is, monsieur dare not go.”
“I understand that all right,” laughed Willoughby. “I strolled only once toward the log fire, and the brute showed me a set of teeth which I never wish to see again.”
“Ze white wolf guard ze cave well,” remarked Pierre, sententiously.
“Oh, I’m not thinking of trying to run away. You know I would never break my word. But what the dickens am I to do all day long?”