The sun shone warmly upon
the great, latticed porch, screened by the passion vines that hid
one end completely from view. To the left, a wing stretched out
generously, with windows curtained primly with some white stuff that
flapped desultorily in the fitful breeze from the south. At the right,
so close that they came near being a part of the main structure and
helped to give the general effect of a hollow, open-sided square,
stood a row of small adobe huts; two of them were tiled like the
house, and the last, at the outer end, was thatched with tules.
Into the immaculate patio thus formed before the porch, Dade led the
way boldly, as one sure of his welcome. Behind the vines a girl's
voice, speaking rapidly and softly with a laugh running all through
the tones, hushed as suddenly as does a wild bird's twitter when
strange steps approach. And just as suddenly did Dade's nostrils
flare with the quick breath he drew; for tones, if one listens
understandingly, may tell a great deal. Even Jack knew instinctively
that a young man sat with the girl behind the vines.
After the hush they heard the faint swish of feminine movement. She
came and stood demurely at the top of the wide steps, a little hoop
overflowing soft, white embroidered stuff in her hands.
"Welcome home, Senor Hunter," she said, and made him a courtesy that
was one-third politeness and the rest pure mockery. "My father will
be relieved in his mind when he sees you.
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