All of a sudden he spied the two horses tethered under the manzanita tree. He tottered toward them, untied the first one he reached, and with difficulty pulled himself up into the saddle.
To reach Dick Willoughby and get help—that was the thought in the reeling brain of Pierre Luzon as with a final effort, leaning forward over the saddle, he turned his steed in the direction of Buck Ashley’s old store, and urged it to a canter.
CHAPTER XL—Revelation
MERLE paused at the foot of the stairway leading up to one of the towers where Tia Teresa had her room. She deliberated for a moment, consulted the tiny watch on her wrist, then turned to retrace her footsteps.
“There will be plenty of time,” she murmured to herself. “I shall be best able to manage Tia Teresa when I know still more than I do now.” She repaired to her own room and put on her automobile cloak, cap, and veil. Without telling anyone of her plan, she left the house, went to the garage, selected a runabout that was specially her own, and was soon speeding along the highway in the direction of the cluster of hills amid which the little Mexican cemetery was nestled.
She had been there just once before, several years ago, and she knew that her machine would have no difficulty in ascending the trail. Within less than an hour, indeed, she was at her destination.
In the grey evening twilight the place looked very dismal and desolate. The tiny adobe chapel in one corner was falling into ruins because of disuse and neglect. A tall rank growth of weeds overran most of the graves. But there were two that showed marks of loving attention, and toward these Merle advanced. Here she found the fresh wreaths around the headstones, and her own roses scattered on the turf.
“Hermana”—she read the single word on the white marble cross adorned with spotless arum lilies. “Sister,” Merle murmured, translating the word.