"We'd better eat indoors this afternoon," Lucia said. "I was going to
spread the table under the pergola; but it may turn cooler."
It was not long before they were all seated at an extended table in the big
living-room--that same room which had been the scene of tragedy and
suffering for them, but was now so filled with joy.
"Mrs. Quinn sent over the cake," Lucia announced, as the table-boy brought
in a huge dish, on which was a chocolate cake of magnificent proportions.
It looked--and was--as light as a feather; a work of art to be proud of.
"Just like her, eh?" said "Red." "What would we do without Mrs. Quinn, the
queen of 'em all!"
"That's what I say," Uncle Henry declared. He could hardly wait to get to
the cake, for he knew what toothsome dainties the Irishwoman could cause to
emerge from her oven; and often she sent him this or that sweet, "just to
let 'im know she was livin' an' breathin'."
Suddenly there came a sound of hoof beats on the road; and through the open
door, outlined against the flaming sunset, Gilbert could see two horsemen
approaching, with pointed hats, and glistening buttons.
"Mexicans!" he cried. "What can they be doing here, now?" His mind rushed
back to that terrible evening so long ago when Lopez had ridden up to the
adobe, and changed the world for them all in almost the twinkling of an
eye.
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