FINDER, KEEPER From the crest of a low, sandy ridge that had on it a giant cactus standing with four spiney, knobbed fingers uplifted like a warning hand, Johnny surveyed with wide, red-rimmed eyes the hidden basin that held his heart's desire.

Tomaso's brother sat his sweaty horse beside Johnny and eyed both the gazer and the object of his gaze.

A smile split whitely the swarthiness of Tomaso's brother's face.
"She's settin' there jus' like I told," he pointed out with a wilted kind of triumph, for the day was hot.
"Unh-hunh," Johnny conceded absent-mindedly.

He was trying to make the thing look real to him after all the visions he had had of it.
He had had his spells of doubting the probity of Tomaso's brother; of secretly wondering whether the story of the plane might not be a ruse to lure him away from Sinkhole.

But then, how would Tomaso or his brother know that Johnny would care anything about whether an airplane "sat" over in Mexico within riding distance of the Border?
Johnny did not think of Tex as a possible factor in the proposition.
Well, there it was, anyway, not a quarter of a mile away.