down to the Boston Emporium cuttin' sandwiches an' packin' 'em,"
Keith said. "Who wants her?"

"I have a note for her from Senor Sanders."

Master Keith seized his opportunity promptly. "I'll take you down there."

The man brought his horse from the hitching-rack across the road. Side by
side they walked downtown, the youngster talking excitedly about the
fire, the Mexican either keeping silence or answering with a brief "Si,
muchacho."

Into the Boston Emporium Keith raced ahead of the messenger. "Joy, Joy, a
man wants to see you! From Dave!" he shouted.

Joyce flushed. Perhaps she would have preferred not to have her private
business shouted out before a roomful of women. But she put a good face
on it.

"A letter, senorita," the man said, presenting her with a note which he
took from his pocket.

The note read:

MISS JOYCE:

Your father has been hurt in the fire. This man will take you to him.

DAVE SANDERS

Joyce went white to the lips and caught at the table to steady herself.
"Is--is he badly hurt?" she asked.

The man took refuge in ignorance, as Mexicans do when they do not want to
talk. He did not understand English, he said, and when the girl spoke in
Spanish he replied sulkily that he did not know what was in the letter.
He had been told to deliver it and bring the lady back. That was all.

Keith burst into tears. He wanted to go to his father too, he sobbed.

The girl, badly shaken herself in soul, could not refuse him. If his
father was hurt he had a right to be with him.

"You may ride along with me," she said, her lip trembling.

The women gathered round the boy and his sister, expressing sympathy
after the universal fashion of their sex. They were kinder and more
tender than usual, pressing on them offers of supplies and service. Joyce
thanked them, a lump in her throat, but it was plain that the only way in
which they could help was to expedite her setting out.

Soon they were on the road, Keith riding behind his sister and clinging
to her waist. Joyce had slipped a belt around the boy and fastened it to
herself so that he would not fall from the saddle in case he slept. The
Mexican rode in complete silence.

For an hour they jogged along the dusty road which led to the new oil
field, then swung to the right into the low foothills among which the
mountains were rooted.

Joyce was a bit surprised. She asked questions, and again received for
answers shrugs and voluble Spanish irrel