Still no kiddies appeared, but their father came out of a back door and drove the dogs back.

He was low-browed, swart and silent, with a heavy black mustache and a mop of hair to match.

Cliff left the car and walked away with him, speaking in an undertone what Johnny knew to be Spanish.

The low-browed one interpolated an occasional "Si, si, senor!" and gesticulated much.
"All right, Johnny, this is Mateo, who will look after us at this end--providing there's nothing to hinder our using this as headquarters.

How about that flat, out in front?
Is it big enough for a flying field, do you think?
You might walk over it and take a look." Stiffly, Johnny climbed down and walked obediently out across the open flat.