FOLLOW 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 anything gone 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 height of 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 his way 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 that Pass 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 going and 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.