The rancheria was perhaps two
miles away, and galloping toward it was the vaquero who had
challenged them.
"That's the Rio Negro crossing," Dave announced. Then spying a
little house squatting a short distance back from the road, he
said: "We'd better try yonder. If they turn us down we'll have to
take to the brush."
O'Malley agreed. "Yes, and we have no time to lose. That horseman
is going to rouse the town. I'm afraid we're--in for it."
Dave nodded silently.
Leaving the beaten path, the refugees threaded their way through
cactus and sage to a gate, entering which they approached the
straw-thatched jacal they had seen. A naked boy baby watched them
draw near, then scuttled for shelter, piping an alarm. A man
appeared from somewhere, at sight of whom the priest rode forward
with a pleasant greeting. But the fellow was unfriendly. His wife,
too, emerged from the dwelling and joined her husband in warning
Father O'Malley away.
"Let me try," Alaire begged, and spurred her horse up to the
group. She smiled down at the country people, saying: "We have
traveled a long way, and we're tired and hungry. Won't you give us
something to eat? We'll pay you well for your trouble.
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