The Mystery in Arizona

starts.”
    “News,” Di broke in. “Good news. I complained to Uncle Monty because I honestly feel the boys aren’t doing as much work as we are. So they set the tables from now on. In fact, that’s what they’re doing right now.”
    Mart, in his waiter’s uniform, came in through the swinging door then. “A fine thing,” he greeted the girls sourly. “Heap big braves doing squaws’ work.” Then he grinned. “Hope you are enjoying the meal we boys prepared.”
    “Don’t be such a Hassayamp,” Trixie retorted. “You know perfectly well that it was Maria who made this divine rice dish.”
    “But it is true,” Maria said from the other end of the kitchen. “The boys did do it all. I simply supervised their work.”
    Mart patted his shoulders smugly. “There’s nothing to it, squaws. First you take an onion and a garlic, and when I say onion, I mean about three pounds of ’em, just as when I say garlic, I mean the whole cluster.”
    “Ugh.” Honey giggled. “You must reek to high heaven. Don’t come near me.”
    “And to think,” Di added, trying not to laugh, “that the boys set the tables with their own little fragrant hands. The plates and the flat silver must smell like—”
    “That’s the point,” Mart interrupted airily. “If we boys are going to run this here chuck wagon, we cawn’t and shawn’t set tables.”
    “Who said you were going to do the cooking?” Di demanded. “Just because you sliced up a few onions and peppers and garlic cloves for Maria doesn’t mean that you’re cooks. Helping her prepare things like that is part of your job. A very easy part of it. I wish you had to make about a million beds every day the way we do and dust about a million—’” Maria interrupted softly. “It is a good thing that the boys are so handy in the kitchen. I could not get along without them. They learn fast and soon will be as good a cook as I am.” She added in what was a whisper, “For that I am very grateful.”
    Trixie stared at her thoughtfully. Maria was very, very serious. She seemed to have lost her sense of humor completely. And then Trixie remembered guiltily what Petey had said about twenty minutes ago. Should she warn Maria that he planned to run away? If she did, that would make her a great big tattletale, but if she didn’t, the little boy might wander off across the vast expanse of the desert and be lost for frightening hours—even days.
    Trixie knew that, although the desert at first glance seemed to be as flat as a pancake, it was actually pocketed with hollows in between rises where an utterly exhausted child could lie unseen until it was too late. There were all sorts of knolls and mounds and clumps of shrubby mesquite out on that vast expanse which could hide an unconscious child from the view of searchers even though they might gallop back and forth within a few feet of him. And if by some chance his short fat legs managed to carry him into the foothills of the steep mountains....
    Trixie shivered and dismissed the thought. Petey probably would start off along the driveway, or he might decide to follow one of die trails, and in either case he would be picked up by someone employed at the ranch before he got far. But suppose he didn’t? Suppose he set off across the desert at that hour in the afternoon when darkness seemed to descend so suddenly?
    She quickly made up her mind; the risk was too great. Aloud she blurted, “Maria, did you know that Petey is talking about running away to join his grandfather and the others?”
    Maria, midway between stove and sink, dropped the heavy iron skillet she was carrying. It was empty, but it fell onto the tiled floor with a loud thud. The thud, Trixie felt sure, drowned out Maria’s exclamation of surprise and horror. Her mouth was formed into an O as she stooped quickly to grasp the handle of the frying pan.
    “Pay no attention to Petey,” she said over one shoulder. “He is just a little boy who makes up stories to amuse himself when he is bored—on a day such as this when I had to keep him home from school because of a cold.”
    Quickly she changed the subject. “Diana has not yet told you all of the good news. You are all going to La Posada this evening. The patron, Mr. Wilson, has arranged it. Most of the guests had previously made plans to dine in the city this evening, anyway. Only three will stay here. I am to fix a cold supper for them, and Rosita will serve it in Mr. Wilson’s