Austin gave him no opportunity
of airing his views. Love, it appeared, was a thing she did not
care to discuss with him on their footing of semi-intimacy.
Despite the rough roads, they made fair time, and the miles of
cactus and scrawny brush rolled swiftly past. Occasionally a lazy
jack-rabbit ambled out of his road-side covert and watched them
from a safe distance; now and then a spotted road-runner raced
along the dusty ruts ahead of them. The morning sun swung higher,
and by midday the metal of the automobile had become as hot as a
frying-pan. They stopped at various goat-ranches to inquire about
Adolfo Urbina, and at noon halted beside a watercourse for lunch.
Dave was refilling the radiator when he overheard Jose in
conversation with Mrs. Austin.
"Nowhere a trace!" the horse-breaker was saying. "No one has seen
him. Poor Rosa Morales will die of a broken heart."
Alaire explained to her guest: "Jose is worried about his cousin
Panfilo. It seems he has disappeared."
"So! You are Panfilo's cousin?" Dave eyed the Mexican with new
interest.
"Si!"
"You remember the man?" Alaire went on. "He was with that fellow
you arrested at the water-hole.
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