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A step sounded in the doorway, and almost simultaneously a voice. "Doña, are you here?" The room was lighted only by the flickering fire; but Valencia, her eyes accustomed to the darkness, recognized the boy as Juan Gardiez. "Yes, I am here, Juan. What have you to tell me?" she said quickly. "I do not know, señorita. But the men Pablo, Sebastian; all of them are gone." "Gone where?" she breathed.
There was some air of mystery, of expectation, among her vaqueros. At her approach, conversation became suspended, and perceptibly shifted to other topics. Moreover, Pedro was troubled in his mind, out of all proportion to the extent of his wound. She knew it would be no use to question him; but she made occasion soon to send for Juan Gardiez, the lad who had driven him home.
Their inquiries were all met by a dogged ignorance on the part of the Mexicans, who had of a sudden turned surprisingly stupid. No, they had seen nothing of Pablo or of Sebastian. They knew nobody of that name unless it was old Pablo Gardiez the señors wished to see. Many strangers desired to see him, for he was more than a hundred years old and still remembered clearly the old days.
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