CHAPTER XXIFOLLOW YOUR LEADER
“Carlota, where is your brother?”
“I do not know where he is now, Mrs. Burnham. He went—went away by himself for a little distance,” answered the girl, flushing painfully.
“Went away? By himself? Why?” exclaimed Mr. Burnham, in surprise.
They had stopped to eat their luncheon of bread and milk, intending or, at least, hoping to reach in time for supper some spot where there would be water when Mrs. Burnham would prepare something hot and palatable.
“I—I cannot tell you.”
“Do you know?”
“Yes, Mr. Burnham.”
“Why can’t you tell, then?”
“Because I promised not.”
“Why, my dear. This is serious. Has anythinggone wrong?” persisted her host, yet with great kindness of manner.
“No, I think not. But, if you please, I would rather not talk.”
In her own mind she was sure that something might have gone very wrong, indeed. The suggested “hour or two” had stretched to twice that time, and still he had not come in sight. Nothing that moved was visible across the mighty plain and its silence seemed intolerable. The railroad gleamed in the sunshine till it dwindled in the distance to a mere point and vanished. Beside it ran a bordering road of earth whereon the slower wheels of wagons could crawl east or west; and along this, at intervals pitifully short, were skeletons of cattle, so ghastly and suggestive that, looking upon them, Carlota’s heart filled with dread of her brother’s fate.
She couldn’t eat. Even when, moved by her evident distress though annoyed by her silence, Mrs. Burnham made an especial dainty and offered it.
“Thank you. You are very, very kind. If you’re willing, I’ll take it for Carlos.”
“Certainly. But I must say it is the heightof imprudence for him to wander alone in this wild region.”
“He isn’t timid,” answered Carlota, as bravely as she could.
But Teddy, sitting upon her lap, saw a tear escape and trickle down her cheek.
“Carlota! Bad Carlota! My muvver says nobody must cwy this day. I did tumble me down and stubbed me my toe an’ I cwied. Then she told me that, about little boys going to find gold mines an’ havin’ Christmas candy—forever an’ ever an’ ever! So I stopped right off. Isn’t it as naughty for girls to cwy as for boys?”
“Yes, yes. Worse, if girls are older.”
It was a comfort to caress him and she reassured herself by the thought that both she and Carlos were used to wandering by themselves and in safety, also reflected that the herd of wild horses he had seen might have moved on and so led him out of his way. Then she said aloud, as much to herself as to Teddy:
“Brother knew that we were to go to that Pass yonder, where the pointed rocks are and, likely, he’ll meet us there.”
It was Mr. Burnham’s purpose to push hisway through this Pass to the heart of the mountainous land beyond, where lay the rich tracts of which he had heard but which, because of attending difficulties, had never been properly “prospected.”
So Carlota slipped the treat of jam-spread cake into the botany-box slung across her shoulders, adding to it the slices of bread and cheese she could not then enjoy, and explaining:
“Maybe I’ll be hungrier, by and by, Mrs. Burnham, so I’ll put this aside in my ‘box-of-all-work,’ as my father calls it.”
By this time all the self-glory of Dennis Fogarty had been dried up by the tear upon the cheek of his beloved “little lady.” He, as well as Teddy, had seen that, and at the sight he forgot everything save her unhappiness.
“Sure, ’tis past time for that brother o’ hers to be showin’ himself. I thought, says I, maybe they’d had a little scrap an’ he’d soon come along to patch up the breach. But no, says he. When he’s mad he stays mad, says he—if mad it is! I’ll have a word with her the now an’ see if aught is I can do to cheer her belike.”
With that he pulled from his pocket a brilliant cotton handkerchief, fresh from the pack of a peddler upon a passing train. He had purchased it on a day soon after this pilgrimage was decided and when his ambition to become a Mexican horseman was yet young. The handkerchief represented a Spanish bull fight and, in its general effect, was red enough to have served as “flag” in its own combat. At some opportune moment, Dennis had intended to produce it with dazzling flourish, for the amazement of his companions. He now resolved upon a kindlier use. Unobserved by Carlota, he begged of Mrs. Burnham a half-loaf of bread and the greater luxury of a tiny pat of butter. Scooping a hole in the crust of the loaf he bestowed within it the butter, replaced the crust he had removed, and carefully wrapped the whole in the gaudy napkin. Then he thrust the parcel into the breast of his jacket and rejoined Carlota. The absent lad might now appear at any moment and his inevitable hunger was thus provided against.
“I s’pose there’s never a know ye know where he’ll pop out of, since there’s no spot in sight would hide Hop-o’-my-thumb, barrin’a well grown lad like your own. But sure, Miss Carlota, ’tis time he was shimmerin’ back. He’s that light o’ foot as I never saw an’ ’tis pinin’ I be for a sight of his own merry face.”
Now wily Dennis knew that the way to force her confidence was to give her a bit of a heartache; and he, like the Burnhams, felt that the time for secrecy was past. She looked up into his face and at sight of its sympathy her courage gave way.
“Oh, Dennis! What do you suppose has happened to him?”
“I could tell that better if I knew what he went for to do.”
With a last rally of her bravery, she replied:
“Prob’ly, he knows best and will come when he chooses. I hear the rumble of another train. I like, now, to feel the jar along the earth so long before they get in sight. I expect that’s a heavy freight.”
“Hear to her! Do ye mind, Miss Carlota, how scared ye was at a bit of a hand-car, that first night ye come? Blessed be the day! An’ as wise now about freights an’ sleepers an’‘overlands’ as the best. But look your fill at this one’s on the road now. Soon we’ll be beyant all such matters, if things go as they should.”
The girl had not listened to all the wordy fellow’s talk, but she had caught that statement about leaving the line of railway, and asked:
“Are they going to do that right away, Dennis?”
“So the misthress was sayin’, forby.”
“Then—I cannot go with them. I must either wait here for Carlos or try to find him. Dennis, Dennis! Some harm has happened my brother. I feel it, I know it!”
“Arra musha! What nonsense is this? Unless, belike, he was after some mischief or other,” returned the trackman, with an outward show of scorn and an inward conviction that her judgment was right.
“No. Oh! no, no, no. He was in no mischief. He? My brother couldn’t do anything—anything—wrong. No, Dennis Fogarty. Maybe he was silly to go but he’ll come back. The dear Lord won’t let any harm happen him, I know. And yet, I cannot go away to thatPass in the mountains without him. I—did you say this burro was mine? Really and truly my own?”
“Truth, did I. To have an’ to hold—if ye can—forever. But why’s that, me small Sainyereety?” quoth the Irishman, priding himself upon his fine Spanish accent.
“If I go a little way toward the north to look for my brother will you go with me, Dennis dear?” she coaxed.
Happy Dennis! He struck his breast with an air and—hit the bundle he had hidden there, and the trivial incident altered his gravity to mirth. A second before, infected by her fear he had been certain that Carlos had been killed in some accident; now his opinion was wholly changed.
“Sure, it’s go with ye I will. An’ ’tis aye safe an’ sound we’ll find him the now. But hungry? Of course. Else why? See?” He showed her the parcel of bread and they both laughed aloud.
“Good Dennis! Kind Dennis! My father will thank you, oh! so much! when he comes home for—for all your niceness to his children. So, let’s tell the others that we are goingand go right away. Come, let’s. Quick.”
Since she would not, therefore, go unattended and because he did not see how it was possible for her, also, to get lost if she kept her attention fixed upon that meeting point at the Pass, Mr. Burnham consented to a temporary division of their little party, warning:
“But be certain to ride back to us before the night comes on, Carlota.”
Mrs. Burnham added:
“And, Dennis, if you let harm happen so much as a hair of her sunny head I shall know you are something less than a man.”
So, delighted to have done with suspense and to be upon the road toward her absent one, the child gayly waved her hand and rode away. Dennis, too, again placed his hand upon his breast—and the loaf—in a supposed “Greaser” style, and goaded the noble Cork to follow whither the humble Connemara led.