A withered old peon woman, who in dress, complexion, and fibrous hair might have been an animated fragment of the debris, rustled out of a low vaulted passage and welcomed them with a feeble crepitation.  Following her into the dim interior, Mrs. Tucker was surprised to find some slight attempt at comfort and even adornment in the two or three habitable apartments.  They were scrupulously clean and dry, two qualities which in her feminine eyes atoned for poverty of material.

“I could not send anything from San Bruno, the nearest village, without attracting attention,” explained Poindexter; “but if you can manage to picnic here for a day longer, I’ll get one of our Chinese friends here,” he pointed to the slough, “to bring over, for his return cargo from across the bay, any necessaries you may want.  There is no danger of his betraying you,” he added, with an ironical smile; “Chinamen and Indians are, by an ingenious provision of the statute of California, incapable of giving evidence against a white person.  You can trust your handmaiden perfectly—­even if she can’t trust you.  That is your sacred privilege under the constitution.  And now, as I expect to catch the up boat ten miles from hence.  I must say ‘good-by’ until to-morrow night.  I hope to bring you then some more definite plans for the future.  The worst is over.”  He held her hand for a moment, and with a graver voice continued, “You have done it very well—­do you know—­very well!”

In the slight embarrassment produced by his sudden change of manner she felt that her thanks seemed awkward and restrained.  “Don’t thank me,” he laughed, with a prompt return of his former levity; “that’s my trade.  I only advised.  You have saved yourself like a plucky woman—­shall I say like Blue Grass?  Good-by!” He mounted his horse, but, as if struck by an after-thought, wheeled and drew up by her side again.  “If I were you I wouldn’t see many strangers for a day or two, and listen to as little news as a woman possibly can.”  He laughed again, waved her a half gallant, half military salute, and was gone.  The question she had been trying to frame, regarding the probability of communication with her husband, remained unasked.  At least she had saved her pride before him.

Addressing herself to the care of her narrow household, she mechanically put away the few things she had brought with her, and began to read just the scant furniture.  She was a little discomposed at first at the absence of bolts, locks, and even window-fastenings until assured, by Concha’s evident inability to comprehend her concern, that they were quite unknown at Los Cuervos.  Her slight knowledge of Spanish was barely sufficient to make her wants known, so that the relief of conversation with her only companion was debarred her, and she was obliged to content herself with the sapless, crackling smiles and withered genuflexions that the old woman dropped like dead leaves in her path.  It was staring noon when, the house singing like an empty shell in the monotonous wind, she felt she could stand the solitude no longer, and, crossing the glaring patio and whistling corridor, made her way to the open gateway.