The Mystery in Arizona

almost see the bracelets which should have been there but weren’t. “You are sure, Honey, that your parents will not object when they learn that you are working here as a maid?”
    “Of course not,” Honey told her, laughing. “Why should they?”
    Rosita’s dark eyebrows shot up. “My parents would object very much; that is why I cannot let them know why I am here. They only know that I am here as the guest of Maria for the holidays.”
    “Oh,” Trixie said, “then you’ll go back to school when the vacation is over?”
    “No.” Rosita’s voice was very sorrowful now. “That I cannot do.” She jumped up, her small, brown hands clenched to her sides. “If the Orlandos come back, I do not know what I shall do or where I shall go.” And she slipped away through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
    The three girls stared at one another in amazement. “Well,” Trixie said, “at least one mystery is cleared up. She couldn’t get a job at just any ranch. She had to go someplace where her parents will think she is a guest.”
    “But why?” Di and Honey asked in one voice. “Because she’s nm away from school,” Trixie told them. “Or maybe she was expelled or flunked all her subjects.”
    “Something like that must be the answer,” Honey agreed. “But it’s hard to believe.”
    “I don’t believe it,” Di said flatly.
    Trixie shrugged. “She told us herself that her parents don’t know that she’s working here. Unless she’s done something wrong, why should she keep it a secret?”
    “I can’t answer that question,” Di admitted, “but nobody as sweet and pretty as Rosita is could have done anything really wrong. Maybe she left school because she got sick and tired of studying. Goodness knows, you and I feel like that about school most of the time, Trix.”
    “Don’t mention the word,” Trixie moaned. “Not in connection with me, I mean. Between our chores and the assignments Jim and Brian are going to give me, I don’t suppose I’ll ever get a chance to do any riding.”
    Mart chose that moment to deposit his tray on the girls’ table. There were two platters on it, and they were heaped high with delicious-smelling food.
    “Eat while the eating’s good,” he advised them. “Wait until you see what awaits you gals in the kitchen. What this establishment needs is an electric dishwashing machine. A giant model—a twin giant model, to be exact.”
    He placed one freckled hand on the table, leaned on it, and added conversationally, “How I pity you squaws! We males et like hosses ’fore the crowd arrived, and now that our chores are done, we’re going for a moonlight ride across the desert.”
    “Have fun,” Trixie said sarcastically. “I hope every one of your hosses steps into a gopher hole and throws you. Would serve you right.”
    “Oh, no, Trix,” Honey objected, her eyes twinkling. “The hosses might git hurt thataway. What I hope is that the foreman gives every one of the boys a real bucking bronco so that they’ll get ditched, thrown, or whatever the correct word is, right off the bat.”
    Mart straightened. “Is them yer sentiments, ma'am? ”
    “Them is,” Honey replied.
    “And don’t bring yer broken bones back here for us-all to fix,” Trixie added, trying hard not to laugh. “I hope you all get ponies like the one in that old cowboy song,” and she chanted,

“One little pony and his name was Patch,
Never saw his equal, never saw his match—
Buckin’ all mornin, an’ pile-drivin’, too,
Thinks a cowpoke’s fav’rite colors is black an’ blue!”

    Then, to Trixie’s amazement, she realized that someone standing behind her was singing softly with her, to die accompaniment of a guitar. She whirled around to find that a handsome young cowboy was standing there. He winked one merry blue eye at her and went right into the last several lines of Trixie’s favorite chorus:

“Buckin’ allmomin, an’pile-drivin’, too,
Thinks a cowpoke’s fav’rite colors is black an blue.
Ride ’im down the river, ride ’im up the hill,
But you can’t ride ’im home an’ you never will!”

    As he finished the last line, the cowboy slid into the vacant seat next to Trixie.
    “Howdy,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet folks who know the same songs I do. Now that the chuck wagon seems to be emptyin' of dudes, shall we go on singin’?”
    Trixie was so thrilled to find herself seated beside an honest-to-goodness cowboy that, for a