“Well, now, we’re wasting time.  I apologize to the soul of honor, and you may ride Jake—­when Bill or I are with you to see how he behaves.  Now tell us what you know.  This is a serious matter, Mary V. Far too serious—­”

“I should think I am the person who knows how serious it is,” Mary V came from behind her handkerchief to remind him.

“Just who or what did you see, through your field glasses, when you looked from the top of Snake Ridge?” Sudden wisely chose to waive any irrelevant arguments.

“Why,” said Mary V, “I first saw one of your men dodging along down a draw, to a place where there were some cottonwood trees.  I saw him get off his horse and wait there for a few minutes, and then I saw another man riding along the gully from the other direction.  And so I saw them meet, and talk a few minutes, and ride back.  And—­your man was in a great hurry, and the other man was a Mexican.”

“H-m-m.  And who was my—­”

“And so I thought I’d ride a little farther, and see what they were waving their hands toward the south for.  And so I did.  And it was very hot,” said Mary V pensively, “and I was so tired that when I found I was close to Sinkhole camp I went on and rested there.  And before I left, that same Mexican came to the cabin, and Johnny didn’t know him at all, because the Mexican said right away, ‘I am the brother of Tomaso,’ which, of course, was to introduce himself.  And then he saw me, and he said he had come to borrow some matches, and Johnny gave him some and he beat it.  And after I left, I had gone perhaps a mile when I happened to look back, and the same Mexican was riding in a hurry to the cabin.  So, of course, he had waited until I left.  And that was the man,” she finished with some attention to the dramatic effect, “who told Johnny he would take him to where the airplane was sitting like a hawk—­a broken-winged hawk—­on the burning sands of Mexico.”

“Jerusalem!” Sudden paid tribute to the tale.  But Bill said a shorter word.  “And which one of my—­”

“And it was right after that,” Mary V went on calmly, “that you found your man at Sinkhole talking with a very bad cold.  The second night, I—­I was curious.  And so after you had called him up, I called him.  I had to wait a few minutes, as though he had to come into the house to answer.  And I knew perfectly well that it was not Johnny speaking.  I—­tested him to make sure.  I spoke of things that were perfectly ridiculous, and he was afraid to seem not to understand.  I said I was Venus speaking, and so he called me Miss Venus.  And it was not that Mexican,” she added quickly, seeing the guess in her dad’s face.  “He was a white man—­an American.  I can almost recognize the voice, in spite of his pretended cold.  I jarred him away from that once or twice.  He said, ’Uh course I knowed yer voice,’ and no Mexican would say that.”

“So then I was very curious.  I—­I knew Johnny would never permit things to be said that were said.  So it was a beautiful moonlight evening, and I wanted—­I shall be expected to describe our Arizona plains by moonlight.  So I decided that I would solve a mystery and collect my material that evening, and I—­went riding.”