She turned to tell this to Peggy, then realized she must not talk. The next instant she was half ashamed for being so suspicious. If that boy had been kidnaped, she felt sure those people had not done it—they were merely tools in the employ of someone else, she decided.
Peggy and Jo Ann continued to wait silently for the stealthy appearance of the bear. Myriads of tiny stars winked down at them as they watched the full round moon sail slowly across the deep sapphire sky. Now and then the chirp of a near-by cricket or the croak of a frog could be heard above the constant splashing of the river.
In their hasty preparations for the bear hunt they had forgotten their sweaters, and now they shivered a little, both from excitement and the chill mountain air. The jagged edges of the rock felt anything but comfortable, and their muscles ached from sitting in one position so long. Jo Ann felt dizzy from trying to watch the light high on the mountain side and the dark shadows below her at one and the same time. Was there some connection between this new mystery and the mystery of the blue-eyed boy? she wondered.
When the girls felt they could keep still no longer, Juan stepped out from the shadows and called up to them in Spanish, “The bear no come tonight.”
Jo Ann shook her head. “No, I don’t think he’s coming either. Come on, Peg,” she said, turning around on the ledge. “Let’s get down and stretch our legs.”
Stiffly the two girls scrambled down the pole and began kicking and stretching in an effort to relax their cramped muscles.
Juan began jabbering rapidly in Spanish, and Jo Ann stopped a moment to listen. “The bear no havehambretonight,” he told her.
She gazed at him questioningly. “Hombre?Man?” she repeated. “No sabe[I do not understand].”
Juan shook his head and began rubbing his hand over his stomach. “No—nohombre,h-ambre.”
Jo Ann’s face broke into a smile, “Ah,sí,” she replied, then turning to Peggy she explained: “He’s trying to tell us that the bear isn’t hungry tonight.”
“I guess he’s right,” agreed Peggy. “Anyway, I’ve had enough. I’m going to the house.”
She started off but had only gone a few steps when she realized Jo Ann was not following. “Aren’t you coming, Jo?” she called to her.
“Yes, in a minute. I want to ask Juan about that light.” Pointing to the light, she asked, “What is it, Juan?”
“Ah, that. It is the light of acarbonero.”
“But what is acarbonero?” she asked again.
Juan rattled off more Spanish, but Jo Ann shook her head.
“Oh, well, I’ll ask Florence,” she said to herself, then turned to follow Peggy. “Buenas noches, Juan,” she called back to him. “Tomorrow night we watch again,sabe?”
Juan nodded his head, “Sí, señorita.”
The two girls hurried back to the house, and on entering they found Florence and her mother fast asleep. They quickly slipped into their pajamas and snuggled up under the warm blankets. Peggy, worn out from their long vigil, soon fell asleep, but Jo Ann kept wondering about the light. Why was it there? And why did it flare up and die down as it had? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that it had something to do with the blue-eyed boy. She would climb the mountain the next day and find the answer to these questions, she decided. If that really was a signal light, she was going to find out what it was all about. Finally, when the faint rose of dawn was beginning to show in the east, Jo Ann drifted off to sleep.
It seemed to her that she had scarcely closed her eyes when she was conscious of someone calling, “Jo, Jo, wake up. If you want any breakfast you’ll have to hurry.”
There was a strong aroma of coffee and the clatter of dishes being placed on the table. Jo Ann opened her eyes and stared around in surprise as she saw Peggy putting the finishing touches to the breakfast table and Florence helping her mother to her chair.
She sprang quickly out of bed. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner? I didn’t mean to sleep so late. I don’t know what made me——”
She stopped suddenly. The events of the night before flashed through her mind: the bear hunt, the mysterious light, the trip of investigation she had planned up the mountain. If she were to accomplish all she wanted to do today, she had no time to waste.
After a brief sketchy toilet, she slipped into her place at the table and began eating rapidly, scarcely conscious of the food she was putting into her mouth. In spite of Peggy’s and Florence’s pointed remarks, she ate in unruffled silence, her mind apparently a million miles away. “Jo’s on the trail of another mystery,” Peggy laughingly remarked to Florence and Mrs. Blackwell.
Just then Jo Ann looked up and asked, “What doescarboneromean, Florence?”
“A maker of charcoal.” Florence smiled. “I know why you’re asking that question. Peggy told me all about your mysterious light and how you killed the big bad bear.” She laughed teasingly, then added, “That light was just from a charcoal maker’s fire.” Jo Ann felt a wave of disappointment sweep over her. She had been so sure there was some mystery about the light and that it would lead her to the blue-eyed boy, and now Florence said it was only the light of a charcoal maker’s fire. “Every now and then an Indian family will go up in the mountains and stay there several days to make charcoal; then they carry it to the villages to sell.”
At these words a sudden new idea leaped into Jo Ann’s mind. It was so simple that she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.
“Girls, I believe I’ve solved the mystery!” she exclaimed. “That Mexican family of the cave have gone up there on the mountain to make charcoal. I’m on their trail again.”
“I shouldn’t wonder but that you’re right,” agreed Florence. “That would explain why those two boys were gathering wood the other afternoon. They were going to use it to make charcoal.”
Jo Ann burst out impulsively, “I’m going up there on the mountain and see if that really is our family of the cave. Who wants to go with me?”
“I think you’re probably going on a wild-goose chase, but I’ll go with you,” Florence replied. “It’ll not be any easy matter to locate the family, even if we can see the smoke from their fire.” She turned to her mother, “You don’t object, do you, if we go up there?”
Mrs. Blackwell hesitated a moment, then answered, “Oh, I think it’ll be all right for you to go if you’ll be very careful and be back before dark.” She smiled over at Jo Ann. “I know you’ll never be satisfied till you find out if your blue-eyed boy’s up there.”
“It won’t take us long,” Jo Ann said confidently. “That light didn’t look as if it were very far away.”
Florence and her mother exchanged amused glances, and then Florence remarked, “We’d better take some lunch with us. It’s lots farther than you think, Jo.”
“I’m not going,” spoke up Peggy. “I’m going to stay here with Mrs. Blackwell.”
Jo Ann sprang up from the table. “Well, let’s get busy this minute and get our work done and get started.” She began stacking the dishes hurriedly.
A few minutes later she was washing the dishes so vigorously that Florence prophesied there wouldn’t be enough left unbroken to set the table for supper. In a surprisingly short time they had finished the dishes, packed the lunch, and were ready to start.
“I believe I’ll carry the gun along,” Jo Ann remarked. “We might see a rabbit or squirrel—or something.”
Soon the two girls were winding their way up a donkey trail that led up the mountain side. From the very first they kept stopping now and then to scan the mountain for the smoke from the charcoal maker’s fire.
Finally Jo Ann cried triumphantly, “I see it! Look, right up there!”
“Yes, that’s it!”
Both girls began searching for a path leading toward the spiral of smoke.
“I know they couldn’t have climbed up this steep place,” Jo Ann remarked. “They’d have had to be human flies to do that. That old grandmother and the little children couldn’t possibly have made it up here.”
“Well, the only thing to do is to follow this trail a little farther and see if we can’t find some trace of the way they did go.” Florence started along the path, Jo Ann close at her heels.
“What on earth made them go to such an outlandish place to make their charcoal, Florence? It looks as if they could’ve found a much better place.”
“Well, you see, the Indian has no way to cut his wood except with a machete—that’s just a big, long butcher knife. He hunts for the fallen limbs and trees that don’t require much chopping.”
“Believe me, if I were a charcoal maker, I’d hunt an easier place to reach than that.”
After they had walked for some distance without noticing any sign of another path leading up the mountain, Jo Ann called, “Say, I believe we’ve gone too far. We must’ve missed their path. That smoke’s back of us now.”
“You’re right. So it is. We’ll have to turn around and go back. If we don’t find that path soon, I think we’d better go back home. The sun is terrifically hot now.”
They began retracing their steps, searching more carefully than before.
“That family would’ve been bound to leave some sort of a trail,” Jo Ann kept saying.
When at last they reached the spot where they had first seen the smoke, Florence said in a discouraged tone, “How about giving it up and going back home now? I’m tired and hot.”
“Not yet,” Jo Ann urged as she wiped the perspiration from her forehead. “Let’s sit down in the shade of this cliff and rest for a while, and then we’ll feel more like going on.” She dropped down on the ground and leaned back against the cool rock.
Wearily Florence followed her example and began fanning herself with her hat.
After she had rested a few minutes, Jo Ann rose, saying, “I’m going to take another look around here while you rest awhile longer.”
She wandered down the trail a short distance beyond the cliff, searching for a place where it would be possible to climb up the mountain side. “If we can’t find their path, then I’m going to find another way to get up there,” she told herself determinedly.
A few minutes later she started up the steep bank, steadying herself now and then by catching hold of the scrubby bushes growing out of the crevices of the rocks. After climbing about twenty-five or thirty feet she found herself on a rocky ledge above the cliff.
Her eyes suddenly began to twinkle. “I believe I’ll slip around this ledge till I’m right above Florence and drop a pebble or two on her, just for fun.”
As she was slipping quietly along the ledge she heard a faint moaning sound. She stopped instantly and listened. “What on earth is that? Sounds like someone in distress. Just suppose it’s a wild animal!” She strained her ears again to listen. Once more the moaning sound floated down to her a little more distinctly.
“That’s a human being!” she told herself excitedly. “I believe it’s more than one person. Sounds as if there must be several in distress. I wonder if it could be that family from the cave in some kind of trouble.”
She leaned over the edge of the cliff and called down excitedly, “Florence! Oh, Florence!”
“Where are you?” Florence called back in a surprised voice.
“Right over you.”
Florence stepped out hastily and stared up at Jo Ann. “How did you ever manage to get——”
“Did you hear that queer moaning sound a minute ago?” Jo Ann broke in.
“Why, no—what——”
“I believe someone’s in terrible trouble. Come on up here and let’s see if we can find them. Be sure to bring the gun.”
“How can I get up there?” Florence asked hesitatingly.
“Go down the trail a little way, and I’ll show you.”
In a few minutes Jo Ann was helping to pull Florence up the bank. No sooner had she reached the ledge than Jo Ann ejaculated, “Listen! There’s that sound again.”
Florence’s eyes stretched to their widest as the cry of distress reached her ears.
“Mercy! That’s awful,” she murmured, low voiced.
“That sound’s coming from right up there!” Jo Ann pointed almost straight above. “Come on, I believe we can get up around this way.”
Jo Ann started climbing the steep bank, Florence following as closely as possible. After they had struggled upward a short distance, Jo Ann caught sight of a faintly marked trail which showed signs of having been used recently.
“Here’s the way they went!” she exclaimed. “We’re on the right track at last.”
“I believe you’re right, because it seems to be winding up toward that smoke,” Florence agreed.
Just as she had finished speaking the moaning sounded again, more clearly than ever.
“Let’s hurry!” cried Jo Ann.
After starting up the faintly marked path, the girls were able to make much better time. Without wasting a moment in conversation they hurried on as fast as they could go. A few minutes later at a turn in the path they came in sight of a crude shelter of boughs thrown up in a hurried fashion against the steep face of rock.
Simultaneously the piteous wailing of several voices burst upon their ears with such heart-rending sadness that involuntarily both girls were filled with sympathy.
The next moment, through an open space in the shelter, Jo Ann saw the white-clad figure of a boy stretched out on the floor. Huddled around him were two women and several little girls, their heads bowed and their faces almost concealed by their blackrebosas.
Catching Florence by the hand, Jo Ann quickly led her to the entrance of the shack. As they stepped inside, the mourners raised startled eyes.
Immediately the two girls recognized the two women as the mother and grandmother they had seen in the cave. Swiftly then Jo Ann’s eyes flew to the still, white-clad figure lying on a mat on the ground.
“He’s dead!” flashed through her mind as she dropped on her knees and placed a comforting hand on the mother’s shoulder.
Before she could think of a single Spanish word of sympathy, the poor mother began wailing, “A Dios!My son—my Pepito! He is dead!”
Over and over she intoned this lament, along with the groaning of the grandmother and the little girls.
“How could that boy have died so suddenly?” Jo Ann thought. “He looked frail and undernourished, but——”
Her train of thought was broken by hearing Florence begin questioning the mother. She listened intently to see if she could discover what they were saying. She could catch only a few words now and then, but she understood the mother to say that the boy had died that morning. He and the other boy had gone higher up on the mountain the night before to help the father to gather the wood and start the fire for making the charcoal. The boy had taken sick suddenly—the father had brought him down and he had died soon afterwards.
Before the mother had finished speaking, Jo Ann saw Florence kneel down beside the still figure of the boy and feel first his pulse then touch his forehead and cheek.
“How strange!” Jo Ann thought. “He’s dead—why is she doing that?”
The next moment Florence exclaimed, “Jo, find me a piece of glass this instant! Hurry!”
“Why on earth does she want a piece of glass?” Jo Ann thought, but without stopping to question she began looking about the scantily furnished hut.
“There’s no sign of any kind of glass here. Won’t this do instead?” she asked a moment later as she handed her a small glazed pottery mug.
“It’ll have to do. Break it—I want only a small piece.”
“Why do——” Jo Ann checked the question at the end of her tongue and quickly broke the mug against the stonemetate, then handed her one of the pieces.
Wide eyed, she watched Florence place the piece of pottery, glazed side down, over the boy’s mouth. After a short interval she saw her take it up and examine it.
“Look here, Jo! There’s a tiny speck of moisture on this! Don’t you see it?” Florence exclaimed excitedly.
“Yes, but——”
“That means he’s not dead! There’s a fighting chance for him yet.” She turned and repeated this to the mother.
“Let’s try artificial respiration,” Jo Ann put in excitedly. “I know how! I can help you.”
Florence nodded assent as she began lifting the thin little arms up and down, being careful to press them against his sides each time. While she was doing this, the mother and grandmother were mumbling their prayers, the tears rolling down their cheeks.
After Florence had worked for several minutes, she heard sudden footsteps back of her, then a deep voice demanding, “What are you doing? My son is dead. Why are you disturbing him?”
She turned about quickly and saw a dark, grimy, bearded man and behind him the blue-eyed boy. With a gesture to Jo Ann to continue the artificial respiration, Florence rose and began explaining why she thought the boy was alive. She picked up the piece of pottery, saying, “Look! I’ll show you.”
Just as she was placing it over the boy’s mouth, she noticed a tiny flickering of his eyelids. “See!” she cried triumphantly, pointing to his eyelids. “Heisalive!”
A look of mingled joy and awe came over the man’s face. “Madre de Dios!My son lives!” he cried. “You are an angel of mercy. You have brought him back to life!”
“Sí, Papá!They have performed a miracle!” the mother agreed, smiling through her tears.
Florence placed her hand over his heart, then she looked up at the parents, saying, “His heart very bad. It is necessary that you take him down from here immediately. It is too high up here.”
“Si—sí, señorita. Whatever you say I will do,” the father said.
Florence and Jo Ann lifted the boy gently and placed him, head lowered slightly, over his father’s shoulder.
As he began to shift the child into a more upright position, Florence spoke up quickly, “No, no—you carry him like this, and the blood will run to his head—then he will get better more quickly.”
“Bien,” the father assented, and started down the path at the easy rhythmical pace of the peon, Florence and Jo Ann following closely.
When they had gone a short distance, the mother caught up with them. “I come with my Pepito,” she said.
“Florence, what made you think that boy might not be dead?” Jo Ann asked a moment later.
“Daddy has told me of several cases like that one. Some people, he said, could not stand the high altitude. That boy was frail and undernourished to begin with, and I figured that the hard work and the high altitude combined were too much for him.”
“How did you happen to think of putting that piece of pottery over his mouth?”
“Well, there’s a law in this country that requires a corpse to be buried within a few hours after death. Daddy told me that several times he has used a piece of glass in this way to prove to the officials that a patient was not really dead.”
“It’s a blessing you knew about that. I’ve never seen people more helpless in my life than those poor peons.”
“Daddy says most peons know nothing of modern medicine and are ignorant of some of the simplest remedies.”
By this time they had reached a cool, shady spot beside a spring, and Florence called to the father to stop. “Put him down here.”
No sooner had he laid the boy on the ground than she and Jo Ann began bathing his face with their dampened handkerchiefs.
“One minute, señorita. I bring you water,” spoke up the father. He lined the deep crown of his hat with large green leaves and filled it with water, then brought it over to the girls.
Florence dipped her hands into the water and let it drip gently on the boy’s face and neck.
As soon as the cold water touched his face the boy’s eyelids fluttered open.
Florence turned to the father. “Bring me more water—I want to give him a drink.”
With a nod of assent, the man stooped down, broke off a large leaf from an elephant’s-ear plant near by and folded it into a cup which he quickly filled with water.
Florence then lifted the boy’s head slightly and held it while Jo Ann held the improvised cup to his lips. After she had laid him down again, his eyes opened wider, and he stared blankly at the girls for a moment.
Then his gaze fell upon his mother, and he murmured faintly, “Mi—Ma-má!”
With a cry of joy, she exclaimed. “Ah, my Pepito. You have come back to me!”
“It is necessary that we be very careful,” Florence cautioned the parents. “The boy must not talk yet. After he rests longer, then he can talk.”
“Bien!Just as you say.” The tears began to flow down the father’s cheeks again as he added in a choked voice, “If it had not been for you, señoritas, my Pepito would have been buried. Carlitos and I were digging his grave when you came.”
A shudder of horror swept over both girls as they realized how narrow had been the escape from such a tragedy.
“You must not take your little boy back up on the mountain,” Florence went on. “He will be sick again, if you do.”
“Ask him to move his family down to the cave,” spoke up Jo Ann eagerly. The thought darted through her mind, “I could find out about the blue-eyed boy, then.”
“Good idea!” Florence replied, then translated her suggestion to the father.
He hesitated a moment then began haltingly, “But my charcoal——”
The mother broke in rapidly, “You can come Up here and make your charcoal. We will stay at the cave.”
“But—who——” A strange expression of fear passed over his face as he glanced at the girls, then at his wife.
She stepped over hastily to his side and began talking to him in a low tone.
Surprised at these strange actions, the girls looked questioningly at each other.
As Florence turned to see how the boy was faring, she overheard the mother say, “It will be all right,Papá. These are our friends.”
Jo Ann, who had been watching the play of expressions on their faces intently, now experienced a feeling of relief as she saw the father nod and smile.
He then addressed Florence, “Bien.I go bring my family. You wait here.”
“All right,” Florence agreed.
After the father had left, Jo Ann remarked, “Now that the boy is so much better we can take time to eat our lunch while we’re waiting for the father to bring the rest of the family down. I’m beginning to get hungry.”
Florence glanced up at the sun and noted its position. “Why, it must be after two o’clock! No wonder you’re hungry. The suspense has been too great for us to think of ourselves.”
“Yes, this has been the most exciting experience I’ve ever been through. It does seem almost like a miracle, doesn’t it?” Her gaze fell on the boy, whose great black eyes were glancing from one face to the other.
Florence picked up the package containing their lunch and offered some to the mother.
After a moment’s hesitation she took out a small chocolate cake, looked at it curiously, then bit off a tiny piece. Her face beamed. “Ah, caké! For my Pepito.” She leaned over and touched the cake to the boy’s mouth.
Florence spoke up quickly, “No, no. You eat that one. That kind very bad for Pepito. I’ll give him one of these.” She picked up a graham cracker and handed it to the mother to give to him.
No sooner had the boy tasted the cracker than he began to eat rapidly, as if he were very hungry.
“I believe that child was about starved,” said Jo Ann. “He must have been weak from lack of food to begin with.”
“He’s probably not had anything to eat except some coldtortillassince we saw them the other day.”
“Let’s not eat another bite,” said Jo Ann quickly. “Let’s save the rest of our lunch for those children. I’m hungry, but I’m not half as hungry as they must be. I can wait to eat till we get back home.” She handed the rest of the lunch over to the mother saying, “For your children.”
“Ah,gracias, señoritas. You are too good,” the mother said, smiling. In a rapid flow of Spanish she began telling Florence that they had been traveling for days and had had very little food. “WhenPapámake the charcoal, then we will have food.”
In the pause that followed, Florence told Jo Ann what the woman had said.
“It’s strange they came away up here to make the charcoal. It looks as if they’d have stopped sooner,” Jo Ann remarked. “Hurry up and ask her about the blue-eyed boy, Carlitos. Ask her if he and Pepito are twins.”
The mother shook her head when Florence asked, “Which is the older one—Carlitos?”
“No. Pepito.”
“They don’t look a bit alike.”
A strange expression passed over the woman’s face; then she said slowly, “Carlitos is not my child.”
Jo Ann caught this last remark and spoke up eagerly: “Ask her if he is related to her family.”
When Florence obediently asked this question, the mother merely shook her head without saying a word.
“Ask her if his eyes aren’t a deep blue, just as I said,” put in Jo Ann.
“No, I can see she doesn’t want to talk about him. You can find that out for yourself in a few minutes. He’ll be coming down with the family soon.”
“Well, believe me, I’m more convinced than ever that there is something strange about that boy, and I’m going to solve the mystery.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to do your investigating while they’re back in the cave.”
Shortly afterward they heard the clatter of the donkey’s feet on the trail, and soon the family arrived at the spring. The mother ran to meet them and quickly divided the girls’ lunch among them; then she took the baby from the father’s arms and sat down with it beside Pepito again.
While the hungry children were eating, Jo Ann got a good look at Carlitos’s eyes. “See, Florence,” she murmured. “I was right. The boy’s eyes are a beautiful deep blue.”
“Yes, you’re right. His eyes are blue and his features are finely cut. He’s entirely different from the others.”
Noticing that the father was watching them closely, Florence changed the subject by saying, “It’s time we were starting home this minute if we’re going to get there before dark, as we promised.” She turned to the father. “Are you ready to start?”
“Sí, señorita,” he replied, then stooped down quickly and picked up Pepito, who was struggling to rise to his feet.
In a few more minutes the long procession started down the narrow trail, the father with Pepito at the head, and Jo Ann in the rear with Carlitos and one of the little girls.
Florence smiled as she noticed that Jo Ann was beside the blue-eyed boy and trying to talk to him.
It did not take Jo Ann long to discover that Carlitos knew no English. “He can’t be an American, then,” she thought. “He’s probably a German or some other kind of a foreigner.” She asked him a few questions in her broken Spanish but, as it was very difficult for him to understand her, she gave up trying to talk finally and turned her attention to the little girl, who kept looking up at her adoringly.
When at last they drew near their house, Florence pointed it out to the father, saying, “This is where we live. We will have to leave you now. You must be very careful with Pepito, remember. Don’t let him go back up the mountain with you.”
The man nodded a vigorous assent. “All right, señorita. We will take much care of Pepito.”
Jo Ann spoke up eagerly just then: “Florence, tell them that we’ll come down to the cave tomorrow to see how Pepito is getting along.”
After Florence had translated this message, the two girls called, “Adios!” to the family and a special one to Pepito, then hurried on to the house.
No sooner had they greeted Mrs. Blackwell and Peggy than they began recounting their adventures excitedly.
When Florence told of discovering that Pepito was still alive, both her listeners gasped in amazement.
“I’m so thankful you girls knew what to do and could save that boy from being buried alive,” Mrs. Blackwell said, after Jo Ann and Florence had finished their entire story.
“And I am, too,” agreed Peggy.
“It was a good thing we carried a lunch along with us,” Jo Ann added. “Those poor children were almost starved. They’d had hardly anything to eat for days. You should have seen the way they gobbled up the cakes we gave them—even Pepito.”
“If you gave your lunch to the children, you must be very hungry by this time,” Mrs. Blackwell said.
“Oh, we are,” both replied together.
Peggy smiled. “I thought you’d be about starved, so I have supper all ready. Maybe you’ll be too excited to eat, though, Jo, since you’ve discovered that there really is a mystery about the blue-eyed boy.”
“Not so you’d notice it. We’ll be ready to eat as soon as we wash our hands and faces,” Jo Ann said, rising. As she started toward the door she suddenly stopped and wheeled about. “I just thought of something! Those poor little children won’t have a thing to eat tonight or in the morning. All their possessions were in those little bundles on the burro.”
“That’s so.” Florence drew a long sigh. “Well, I certainly can’t enjoy my supper knowing that they’re not going to have any.” She turned to Peggy. “What have you got for supper that we can take to them?”
“Well—I made a lot of potato salad, for one thing.”
Florence shook her head. “They wouldn’t like that, I’m sure. They’ve probably never tasted any.”
“Well, we know they like beans and rice and tomatoes,” put in Jo Ann. “We can take those.”
“Why not take a box of crackers, Florence?” Mrs. Blackwell suggested. “They can eat them while they’re waiting for the other things to cook.”
“All right.” Florence at once began helping Jo Ann to gather up the food, and soon the two girls were starting down the short cut to the cave.
“Hurry up, or it’ll be dark,” Mrs. Blackwell called after them.
“She needn’t worry,” smiled Jo Ann. “We’ll step on it. We’ve got to go right past where we saw that snake yesterday.”
Florence’s brows drew together in a frown, but she replied determinedly, “I’m not going to let that stop me. We can watch more closely this time. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have yesterday.”
“Snake or no snake, I’m not going to drop this food down the mountain as I did my basket yesterday.”
Cautiously they made their way down the steep path. When they reached the base of the cliff and started around toward the cave, they heard the sound of voices.
“There’s the family,” exclaimed Jo Ann. “If we run we can catch up with them and won’t have to go all the way to the cave.”
They started off at a swift pace and soon reached the little procession.
Florence called to the mother, “Wait a minute. We’ve brought you some things to eat.” She and Jo Ann handed the packages to the mother and Carlitos.
The mother’s face broke into a wide smile. “Muchas gracias, señoritas,” she said as she took the packages.
The grandmother and the father also joined in thanking the girls.
As they turned to leave, Florence remarked to the father, “We’ll help to look after the family while you go up and make your charcoal. We’ll come again tomorrow. We hope Pepito will be much better by then.”
The man’s face broke into a smile. “Our friends, you are most kind. We have much gratitude.”
The next morning, when they were at the breakfast table, Jo Ann suggested that they go down to the goat ranch to see if they could get some milk to take to Pepito. “Do you want to go this time, Peg?”
“We-ell, if I thought I’d get to see your mysterious boy, I’d go.”
“I don’t think you’d see him, because he and the father are going back up the mountain to finish making their charcoal.”
“Well, I’ll stay here, then. You two go on.”
After they had washed the dishes and finished their other tasks, Florence and Jo Ann set out toward the goat ranch, Jo Ann swinging a bucket on her arm.
When they came in sight of the little pink adobe house, Florence remarked, “While we’re here getting the milk, I believe I’ll see if I can buy some corn to take to the cave family for theirtortillas.”
“Good idea,” approved Jo Ann.
After they had exchanged greetings with the woman at the house, Florence asked about the milk and corn, explaining their reason for wanting them.
“Poor little boy,” the woman exclaimed. “I give you some milk to take to him. It is not the kind of milk you get—it’s goat’s milk.”
Florence explained her answers to Jo Ann, adding, “That’ll suit Pepito better, anyway. He’s probably never tasted cow’s milk.”
After the woman had filled the bucket and had given them several ears of corn, they started off toward the cave.
As they neared the cave opening, Florence remarked, “The family’s here this time. I smell food cooking. I’m glad we brought that down last night, aren’t you?”
Jo Ann nodded an emphatic assent.
In a few more moments they stepped into the entrance of the cave.
The mother looked up quickly, then smiled broadly as she recognized the girls. “Ah, good morning, friends.”
“How’s Pepito this morning?” Florence asked a moment later.
“Much better.” Her face was beaming. “He ate much of the food that you brought.”
“That’s fine. We brought you some corn for yourtortillasand some milk for Pepito. He must eat lots and drink much milk, then he will get strong.”
The mother caught hold of Florence’s hand, saying, “A thousand thanks, señorita.”
With a smile of greeting to the family, Jo Ann crossed over to Pepito, who was lying on thepetatebeside the baby watching his grandmother knot a long slender fiber rope.
“What are you doing?” Jo Ann asked the grandmother curiously, after she had talked a moment.
“Making bags for the charcoal,” she replied.
“But how can you——” she began, then, not knowing the word for carry, she called over to Florence, “Does she mean they’re going to carry charcoal in that thing? I should think it’d fall through such big holes.”
Florence came over beside Jo Ann and smilingly translated her question into Spanish.
“No, it won’t fall through,” Pepito replied earnestly. He raised up and took the partly finished bag from his grandmother and held it up for Jo Ann to see. “The charcoal is big. We pack it with much care, and it no fall through these holes,” he added, shaking his head.
“They fasten a large bag of charcoal on each side of the burro so that all you can see is his long ears sticking out between the bags,” Florence explained. “It looks as if the bags of charcoal were walking down the road.”
After watching how deftly the grandmother’s gnarled old hands tied the knots in the wiry rope, Jo Ann said, “I’d like to have a hammock made like that. Ask her, Florence, if she could make me a long strip that I could use for a hammock. Tell her I’ll buy it from her.”
“All right. You catch hold of one end of the strip and I the other, and we’ll show her exactly what you mean.”
After Florence had translated Jo Ann’s request and the two girls had demonstrated their meaning by gestures, the grandmother’s brown wrinkled face began to beam. She took the strip from them, saying, “Sí, sí.I understand. I finish this one for you. You have been so good—you give us back our Pepito.”
“Oh, but you need these bags for the charcoal right away,” put in Jo Ann, who had caught the meaning of the grandmother’s words. “Tell her I’m not in a hurry for the hammock. I can wait till after they sell the charcoal.”
After Florence had passed this remark on, the grandmother replied, “I make you one. When my son sell the charcoal, he will bring me more rope.”