GETTING ACQUAINTED
As the trackmen and their charges stepped into the little circle of
light made by one kerosene lamp nobody spoke. The Indian-like attire
of the young Manuels deceived the Burnham household, till the mother’s
gaze rested upon Carlota’s face. Then she comprehended that here was
a child of white parentage, nor of a class common to the plains, and
exclaimed:
“You poor little creature! Come in, come in!”
As the little girl looked up she, also, realized that here was somebody
different from old Marta and the lively Anita. The woman’s face was
thin and worn but showed refinement, as did the modulations of her
quiet voice.
“She speaks like our father,” thought the wanderer and, impulsively,
flung her arms about the stranger’s neck.
The embrace was cordially returned.
“My child, you have found friends. Wherever you come from you are safe
with us. Come into the house, all of you. Come.”
“That settles it!” commented a boyish voice, and somebody laughed.
“What Ma says, goes. But where in the name of--”
“Jack, my son!”
“Yes, ma’am,” with a mock humility.
“Take care of your tongue.”
“Ma, that’s too big a contract, without your help. But, who are you,
anyway?” he demanded, turning to Carlos, who had become adept in
telling his story; and who had now scarcely finished it when there came
a rumble and jar which startled the Manuels, and sent all the listeners
to their feet.
“The express!”
Another moment and all had hurried to the outside platform, to watch
the incoming train, Carlota and her brother with the rest. These two
were greatly excited and, as before, the girl was terrified. Perceiving
this, Mrs. Burnham drew the child to herself, saying:
“Don’t tremble so, my dear. It cannot hurt you, and, if you had lived
long in this desolate region you would welcome every train that
arrives as a blessed link between you and civilization.”
So Carlota tried to conquer her fear and stand quiet, while the great
“Overland” with its dazzling headlight rolled up to that tiny station
on the plain. Yet, even when it stopped and the passengers began to
step out of the curious carriages, that they might stretch their
stiffened limbs in a momentary walk, she shivered before the monstrous
thing as before a Juggernaut which must crush her if she moved.
Then she heard greetings exchanged between those who had arrived and
the station-master’s family. The boy, Jack, was hail-fellow-well-met
with strange men in blue-jean suits, much begrimed by soot and oil. He
even caught a flaming light from the hand of one and went bobbing about
beside the cars, looking at the wheels and tapping them with a little
hammer, as if he were in charge of the whole affair.
The trainmen jested with him, asking: “Is she all right, lad?” “When
are you going to join the crew, Jack?” and so on. Dennis was here,
there, and everywhere; and Carlota was sure that, at all times, he was
rehearsing her own story till, presently, she found herself surrounded
by staring strangers in a most unpleasant way.
Tuttle was a water-station and the trains delayed there longer than at
most other points. Over in front, where the engine puffed and breathed
like a living monster, some men had dropped a big, canvas pipe from a
huge, high tank, over whose sides the water was splashing wastefully.
The little girl’s thoughts flew to her mother’s garden and the care
with which each drop was there hoarded and expended. Then she heard,
as in a dream, all the staring people talking, as if she were deaf and
could not be offended.
“Apaches.” “Fight in the mountains.” “Escaped with their bare lives!”
“Wonder if we’ll be attacked!” “Left here by the cavalry. Will be
shipped east to their friends.” “Captives all their lives.” “Father an
Indian chief.”
Her head was dizzy. She could but dimly feel that these remarks
concerned her brother and herself; that they were as untrue as
possible; and that she had no strength left to correct them. Then she
saw another woman’s face bending close to her own. One of the many
faces which had come down from the car, as the water was coming down
from the tank yonder. Like the water, the faces were wasting themselves
in vain. She wished they could be stopped. Especially, she wished
this last woman would go away. She was old and she spoke in a shrill,
cracked voice.
“Indian captives, are they? How interesting! I’ve crossed the continent
a dozen times before, yet these are the first amusing Indian relics
I’ve ever seen. Apaches, eh? Decidedly thrilling. I wish--”
“A-l-l A-b-oar-d!”
Slowly, the great pipe swung back to its own place on the tank. The
blue-jean figures, with their flaring torches, climbed into the already
moving train. The curious passengers hurried to their “sections,” to
dream of hold-ups and an Indian outbreak. Once more the heavy, jarring
rumble filled the whole earth; then gradually--swiftly--completely
passed away. Upon that platform in the wilderness there was once more
left but a handful of people to face the night alone.
Carlota’s tired, excited brain was full of visions; and Carlos clasped
his hands in a momentary despair for that far off House of Refuge,
whose safety he had so unwisely left. Alas! the world was not that
always brilliant, sunshiny place he once had fancied it, and a sob rose
in his throat.
“Come on! my White-Around-the-Gills-Young-Brave!” cried Jack, bringing
his hand down with a ringing slap on Carlos’ shoulder.
“Take care!”
“That’s what I’m doing. It’s getting near midnight and I expect you’ll
have to share my lofty chamber. So, march, propel, come along, _vamos_!
For an Indian, you’re the slowest--”
The word died in its utterance. A blow, as well directed as it was
unexpected, settled upon Jack’s wide mouth with a force that sent him
staggering backward.
Carlota instantly rallied from her half-swoon of fatigue, and screamed:
“Carlos! Carlos! My brother! Boy--boy--go away!”
She would have rushed between the combatants had not Mrs. Burnham,
though herself vastly astonished, restrained her; while Dennis flung
himself into the business, hot foot.
“Go it, gossoons! Faith, the little one’s the better one! Och!
Jack--that’s a silly blow! The little one! THE LITTLE ONE!”
So crying, he hopped and pranced about the little platform, in high
glee, and, presently, found it too small to accommodate his rising
spirits.
“Here’s to ye, Mike, me friend! Sure it’s the nate night for wrastlin’.
So it is, so ’tis. Now, isn’t that the purty sight? Eh? an’ ye would,
would ye? Come on then! I’m for ye!”
When Mr. Burnham emerged from the tiny office, wherein he arranged his
business concerning the passing trains, he found the lads in a fierce
scuffle at the very threshold while, on the ground outside, rolled
Dennis and Mike in a frenzy of contest, yet that was, moreover, a
perfectly friendly and familiar one.
In the “ould counthry,” both trackmen had been famous wrestlers and
had won prizes at their parish festivals. Therefore, in this new land,
they lost no chance to keep themselves in practice, and now stood up to
shake hands with the best of good nature.
“Faith! That was a fine one, Mickey, me boy. Thanks to ye!” cried
Dennis, the victor.
“The same to yourself, Mr. Fogarty. If there’s one thing out of Ireland
I likes more nor another, ’tis a good wrastle with a neighbor, betimes.”
“Yes, I know, I know. Clears a man’s head betther nor a Sunday o’
sleep. Let’s turn in now, Mr. Grady, an’ leave the misthress in peace.”
So, with their arms about each other’s shoulders, in a fashion
beautiful to see, the late belligerents departed toward a small
outbuilding where they slept and, in an incredibly short time, were
oblivious to all the world.
Then directed Mr. Burnham:
“Follow their example, lads. Go to bed, and no more nonsense.”
For an instant, Jack and his guest regarded each other, then both
sheepishly laughed--which astonished the wide-eyed Carlota even more
than their brief fight had done.
“That’s all right, little girl. They’ll be good friends now. Boys often
begin their acquaintance by a ‘scrap,’ test one another that way, so to
speak,” explained the station-master.
“I never saw him do such a dreadful thing before. Never--never--never!
I--I--it’s a mis’able world! And I wish--I--was in--my own--Refugio!”
wailed Carlota.
In her heart, Letitia Burnham echoed that wish, but aloud she
cheerfully said:
“It’s a pretty good world, after all, my child. But come, you poor,
tired dearie. I’m going to put you to sleep in my very own bed; and to
show you the prettiest sight in the wide west--I think--nay, I am sure!”
Wondering what this might be and how anything very lovely could be in
that dreary place, Carlota sleepily followed her new friend to the
inner room.