It all happened years ago. Before there was any railroad; even before
there were any overland stages crossing the plains. Only the emigrant
teams winding slowly down the valley on the road stretching westward.
Some there were, though, that had worked their way back from the
Western sea, to stop at those Nevada cañons where there was silver to
be had for the delving.
The cañons were beautiful with dashing, dancing streams, and blossoming
shrubbery, and thick-leafed trees; and there grew up in the midst of
these, tiny towns that called themselves “cities,” where the miners
lived who came in with the return tide from the West.
There in one of the busiest, prettiest mining camps on a great
mountain’s side, in one of the stone cabins set at the left of the
single long street, dwelt Tony and his cousin Bruno--Italians, both.
Bruno worked in the mines; but Tony, owning an ox team, hauled loads
for the miners to and from the other settlements. A dangerous calling
it was in those days, because an Indian in ambush had ever to be
watched for when a White Man came down from the cañons to travel alone
through the valley.
Tony was willing, however, to take risks. Teaming brought him more
money than anything else he could do; and the more he earned, the
sooner he could go back to Nanna--to Nanna waiting for him away on the
other side of the world.
He and Bruno both loved her--had loved her ever since the days when,
long ago, in their childhood, they had played at being lovers down
among the fishing boats drawn up on the beach of their beloved Italian
home. Black-browed Bruno had then quarreled with him in jealous hatred
time and again; but the little Nanna (who loved peace, and to whom both
playfellows were dear) would kiss each and say:
“Come! Let us play that you are my twin brothers, and I your only
sister!” And so harmony would be restored.
Thus it went on, and at last they were no longer little children, but
men who love a woman as men may love. And Bruno’s parents came to the
father and mother of Nanna and settled that their children should be
man and wife; so in that way Bruno was made glad, and no longer jealous
of Tony--poor Tony, who had not a single small coin that he could call
his own. Yet it was Tony whom Nanna loved--Tony whose wife she wanted
to be. But what can a young girl do when the one she loves is poor, and
there is another whom her parents have chosen for her who has a little
farm promised him by his father the day he shall bring home the wife
they would have him marry? Nanna neither resisted nor rebelled; but
only went to Tony who was as helpless as herself, and there against his
breast wept her heart out.
It was only when Bruno declared that he was going to America to make a
great deal of money (saying that the farm was not enough--that when
he and Nanna were married he wanted they should be rich) that a ray of
hope shone for Tony.
“I, too, will go to America,” Tony whispered to Nanna, “and perhaps
there I also may find a fortune. Then--when I come back--I may marry
thee; may I not, little dear one?”
And for answer, the little Nanna lifted her arms to his neck and her
lips to his own.
* * * * *
The night before the two men sailed away to the strange, far-off land,
Nanna and Tony walked together under the oaks and ilexes.
“Thou wilt miss me, little one, but thou wilt be true, I know. I shall
think of thee all the time--every hour. Thou wilt long for me, as I for
thee. Thou wilt miss my kisses; is it not so? But I----! Ah, Nanna!
Nanna! Here----” And bowing over her hand he pressed kiss after kiss in
the upturned little brown palm, closing her fingers tightly upon them
as he raised his head and smiled in her eyes.
“There! These I give thee, sweet one, so that when I am gone it shall
be that thy Tony’s kisses are with thee, and are thine whenever thou
wilt.”
All the morrow, when the ship had sailed away, Nanna lay on her cot
up in the little whitewashed bedroom under the eaves, and with lips
pressed close upon the palm that Tony’s lips had touched, sobbed her
grief out, till she sank into exhausted slumber.
One year; two years; three, came and went. Tony off in America was
making money, and soon he could go home and they would be married in
spite of her parents or Bruno. The fourth year he wrote her how the
sum had grown--it was almost enough. Then she began checking off the
months ere he would return to her. Eighteen--sixteen--fourteen--now
only twelve months more! A year, and Tony would be with her! Then half
that year was gone. Six months, only, to wait! Happy little Nanna!
And Tony was not less happy, away off there in his little stone cabin
in the mountains, or hauling goods for the miners across the valley.
His heart was so full of her that--almost--he forgot to think of the
Indians when he was traveling along the road.
“Thou art a fool,” said Bruno to him over and over again. “Thou
art a fool, indeed. It is more money--this hauling--yes! But some
day--ping!--and it is the arrow of an Indian. Then what good is it, the
money? Thou art a fool, I say. As for me, I will work here with the
many in the mines.”
Bruno had just said this to him for the hundredth time, as Tony was
yoking his oxen for the long journey up the wide valley to the North.
And his answer had been as always, that the saints would protect him.
Yet, should he not return the thirteenth day, then indeed might Bruno
think all was not well with him, and could send some of the men from
the mines to go to him. He was not afraid, though. Had not the saints
protected him for nearly five years? He was soon to go back to Italy,
and (he whispered to himself) to Nanna! So with a light heart, and a
laugh on his lip, he went down the cañon beside the oxen, cracking his
whip as he warbled a song he and Nanna had sung together when they had
played by the boats and among the fishing nets in the long, long ago.
The wagon jolted and rattled on its way down the rocky road to the
plain; and Tony’s big, beautiful St. Bernard dog, Bono, followed in
the dust sent skyward by the heavy wheels as they came upon the softer
earth of the lowlands.
* * * * *
Everyone was Tony’s friend in the little mining town. Therefore
everyone was anxious when the thirteenth day came, yet not Tony. With
few words (at such times such men do not say much) they selected a
dozen from among the town’s bravest and best, and with heavy hearts set
out on their journey that was to follow Tony’s trail till they should
find him.
Down into the hot valley--a-quiver under the summer heat, over a road
of powdered alkali, along the Humboldt’s banks--through mile after mile
of sagebrush and greasewood--under the glaring, white sun, they rode
two and two. And so riding they spoke seldom.
When they were nearing the place they knew Tony must have reached the
third day out (now more than ten days gone) they saw outlined against
the blue--high, high in the air--circling spots of black. Dark things
that swept with a majesty of motion that was appalling. Round and
round, in great curves half a mile wide, they swam through the ether,
and dipped and tilted without so much as the quiver of a wing or other
motion than that given by their marvelous self-poise; sailing through
mid-air as only a vulture can.
They swept and circled over a spot that was awful in its silence under
the metallic brightness of the hot August sun. The men looked at each
other; looked without speaking--for they understood. So without speech
they rode on to the place where the warped irons from the burned
wagon lay, and where a gaunt, nearly starved St. Bernard howled over
something that had once been his master. He had guarded the dead man
through ten hot days--through ten long nights. Bono’s wail sounded long
and mournful through the narrow pass where the whistling arrows had
found them. Tony had never been neglectful before, and the dog could
not understand it.
Alas, poor Tony!
When Bruno went back to Italy that fall he told Nanna that Tony was
dead. And Nanna who came of a race more or less stoical in time of
stress did not cry out, but simply shut her sorrow up close in her
heart where the others could not see. It had been their secret--hers
and Tony’s--and they had guarded it well. Henceforth it would be
hers alone. So she gave no sign except such as she might for an old
playmate’s death.
By and by she married Bruno. What would you? Her father and mother
wished it; Bruno loved her; he had money now to provide well for a
wife; and there was the little farm that his parents would give him the
day when he should bring home his bride. So, after the manner of her
kind, she finally yielded to his wooing; and one day they were wed in
the little church on the hill where they had both been christened when
babies.
She bore him children, and was a good mother--a good wife. She lived to
be an old woman, and her hair grew streaked with gray; yet to the last
day of her life she had a way of falling asleep with the fingers of her
left hand slipped under her cheek, and her lips touching the upturned
palm.
It was her one disloyalty to Bruno.
And so it was they found her lying on that morning that she did not
waken.
[Illustration]