The Mystery in Arizona by Julie Campbell

briskly. “The kid is simply letting his imagination run away with Mm as you so often do.”
    Trixie shrugged. "Well, I think something mysterious is going on, but I can’t stand around here arguing. I've got to do some math so I can go riding this afternoon.”
    She hurried off to the room she shared with Honey. But she had hardly time to finish the first problem when it was one thirty, and she had to return to the kitchen to help the girls who were washing the luncheon dishes.
    "How did you make out?” Honey asked.
    Trixie moaned. "Jim has given me ten absolutely impossible problems. They’re all mixed up with fractions and decimals and yards and miles and square feet with a few gallons and ounces thrown in.”
    Di giggled. “They couldn’t all be in one problem.”
    “But they are,” Trixie told her. “Which means that I’ll never finish them in time to go riding with you at two thirty.”
    “Oh, Trixie,” Honey wailed. “That’s not fair. I won’t go if you can’t.”
    “Neither will I,” said Di loyally. “Never mind about these dishes, Trix, I’ll do your share. Go back and study like anything.”
    Trixie frowned. “No, that’s not fair, either. It isn’t your fault that I got such low marks.”
    Honey gave her a little push toward the door. “Don’t argue. We want to do your share so you can go riding so we can go riding.”
    Trixie laughed and raced off. But back in her room once more, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Her thoughts ran like this:
    “How many quarts in a gallon?... Where did the Orlandos go and why?... There are five thousand two hundred and eighty feet in a mile, but are they square feet?... What could Petey have meant when he said he would be eating skeletons now?... The fraction two-thirds equals sixty-six and two-thirds percent, or is it sixteen and two-thirds percent?...” Suddenly she heard low voices outside her open window. She recognized one of the speakers immediately. It was Rosita, who was saying, “I can’t go back. You must see that now. It was my fault that he lost the use of his hand. I’ll never forgive myself. Never”
    “Now, now,” a man said tenderly. “There’s no sense in crying about it. Besides, it wasn’t really your fault. You mustn’t let an accident ruin your whole life. How much money do you need?”
    “It will cost five hundred dollars to make him whole again,” Rosita replied. “If only he had gone to a real doctor right away instead of to the medicine man!”
    “That’s all water over the dam,” the man said quietly but rather sternly. “No use crying about it now. But five hundred dollars—wow! If I had that much myself, I wouldn’t be here.”
    “I know,” Rosita said softly. "You and I are in what you might say is the same boat. But I am lucky. I have been here only one day, and I already have one hundred of the five hundred dollars I need.”
    “You have?” The man sounded amazed. "How on earth—”
    “It is something I do not like to talk about,” interrupted Rosita. "It was something which had to be done quickly so that the doctor would begin treatments right away.” Her voice rose. “Don’t look at me like that. I did absolutely nothing wrong, I tell you. I did not steal the money nor did I cheat anyone.”
    Trixie heard footsteps running across the flagstone floor of the patio then. Ashamed of herself for eavesdropping, even unintentionally, Trixie tried not to look out of the window. But her eyes refused to stay glued to the problem she was working on. And then she caught a glimpse of the man Rosita had been talking to, as he strode off down the path that led to the bunkhouse.
    It was Tenny, the cowboy; she was sure of it. But what had happened to his speech? Last night he had spoken in typical cowboy lingo; today he talked without a trace of it.
    What had Rosita meant when she said, “You and I are in what you might say is the same boat”? And why had Tenny implied that if he had five hundred dollars,