of God,’ or ‘Holy Mother.’ It’s a very common form of expression among the Mexicans. I believe this woman is a Mexican.” “We know who Eulalie is. By Manuel she must have meant the Manuel Fereda who died just a little while ago,” said Bee reflectively. “But who in the world is or was old Camillo? And what did he hide? What made her call us ‘white-faced thieves’? What is it that we’ll never find? Will somebody please answer these simple questions?” “Answer them yourself,” challenged Patsy gaily. “We’ll be delighted to have you do it. You know you are fond of puzzling things out.” “It sounds—well——” Bee laughed, hesitated, then added: “Mysterious.” “Exactly,” warmly concurred Patsy. “We’ve[84] actually stumbled upon something mysterious the very first thing. I knew, all the time, that we were going to find something queer about this old place.” [84] “I don’t think there’s anything very mysterious about a tousle-headed old crazy woman,” sniffed Mabel. “She certainly didn’t act like a sane person. Maybe she had delusions or something of the sort.” “Perhaps her name is Camillo,” suggested Bee, her mind still occupied with trying to figure out to whom the name belonged. “No.” Mabel shook her head. “Camillo is a man’s name, not a woman’s. She might have meant her husband or her brother. Goodness knows whom she meant. I tell you, she’s a lunatic and that’s all there is to it. If we hadn’t been armed with four big sticks she might have laid hands on us.” “Well, Uncle Jemmy’s snake sticks were some protection, anyhow,” laughed Eleanor. “I’m going to keep mine and lug it around with me wherever I go. I may——” A wild shriek from Mabel left the sentence unfinished. Walking a pace or two ahead of the others, Mabel had almost stumbled upon a huge black snake, coiled in a sunny spot between the[85] trees. Quite as much startled as she, the big, harmless reptile uncoiled his shining black folds in a hurry and slid for cover. [85] “Oh!” she gasped. “Did you see him? He was a whopper! And I almost stepped on him! He might have bitten me.” “Black snakes don’t bite, you goose,” reassured intrepid Patsy. “He was probably more scared at the yell you gave than you were to see him. He
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