THE EVENING AND THE MORNING
When they left Tuttle for the mountains, the young Manuels had obtained
permission to resume their own costumes. They had found the skirts and
fitted bodice for Carlota, and the bagging overalls for Carlos, most
annoying, and once more arrayed in their familiar garments they “felt
like themselves.” Dennis, almost enviously, admired the simplicity of
Carlota’s clothing and was proud to attend a maiden so picturesquely
attired.
“Faith, me little lady, ye might be one o’ them Injun chiefseses’
daughters herself, so ye might! An’, if we meet up with any, they’ll go
easy like, forby they’d be botherin’ their own kin.”
“I guess they’d soon find out the difference. My hair is yellow and an
Indian’s is always dark. Dennis, did you know I could talk a little of
their language?”
“Sure, an’ I didn’t but I believe it entire. Me purty dear, you’re that
clever--”
“That’s not ‘clever.’ Clever means to be very wise, like my father.
But learning to talk different ways, why, that’s just fun. I used to
show our visiting Indians something and they would tell me the name of
it; then they would ask me for it, in real earnest, maybe, and I would
soon know what they meant. Dennis, if I live to be a woman I mean to
know about every language there is in the whole world, and about every
single flower, too. Or if--not every--then as many as I can. I do,
really.”
He regarded her with all-believing eyes, yet there crept a touch of
commiseration into his honest face.
“Hear to the purty girleen! But ’tis a fine headache you’ll be havin’
all your life, Miss Carlota. Och! You will that.”
“Knowing things doesn’t make your head ache, Dennis Fogarty. How can
you think so?”
“Oh! I know, I know. Once, Miss Carlota, away back in Connemara, I was
sent to the priest to be taught. Arrah musha, the day!” He bitterly
groaned, remembering it.
“Well, what of it? Come on, please. Don’t let your Cork drag along so
or we shall never be there. That’s better. I don’t mean to hurry you,
but I’m so glad to be moving, and I do think the broncho travels more
and more slowly all the time. I’m afraid that when you conquered him
you took all the heart out of him. But, what about you and the priest?”
“Sure, it was mighty little. ’Twas only one day betwixt us. I goes in
the morning, goes I, along with more little gossoons; an’ there sits
his riverence, all easy like, in his chair. So we pays him our duty as
we should, ye understand, an’ he stands us all up in a row. Then he
whips out a card with them things they call letters printed out on’t,
big an’ bold. I was the top o’ the row; an’: ‘Dennis Fogarty,’ says he,
‘what’s that thing?’ says he.
“‘Faith, Father,’ says I, ‘’tis nought but a couple o’ black streaks
with another streak crossin’ them same.’ ‘’Tis _A_!’ says the father,
says he. But--”
The narrator paused, groaned, and moved uneasily, as if the memory were
painful. Or--was it the saddle?
“Well, and what then? What next? Dennis, when my Miguel is telling a
story he never stops right in the most interesting part. Never.”
“Yes, me dear. I know, I know. But, little lady, that there ‘Greaser’
never went to school in Connemara!”
“You did! But you’ll never get away from that school nor tell me what
you learned at it, if you don’t hurry. Now--what next?”
The ex-trackman scratched his head.
“Hmm. The next thing was a crack on me pate! an’ that is the sum an’
the substance of all me book learnin’, avick!”
“Why, Dennis! Did you give up your education for such a trifle as that?”
“‘Trifle,’ says the little colleen! ’Twas no trifle, at all, at all, to
get hit with the father’s shillalah; an’ the smart o’ the blow--belike,
I’m feelin’ it yet!”
He rubbed his hard head with such a comical grimace that Carlota
laughed aloud.
“Was that, really, all you ever studied?”
“All, says you? Sure, ’twas more nor enough. Home I went to me dad an’
he topped off the crack of the priest’s stick with a crack of his own,
and set me to hoein’ the praties. Yes, I know, I know. Learnin’ is
nice for them that can’t get on without it, but Dennis Fogarty’s the
boy as can. Och! This ridin’ like a gentleman is a’ most harder nor
walkin’ the track, so it be.”
“How soon do you s’pose we’ll find my brother?”
“Bother! But yourself is the one for questions!”
“It is you who are bothering, Dennis; for though I ask them I notice
that you never answer.”
“Well, then, I’ll answer that one. We’ll meet up with him by sundown!”
“That’s a dear Dennis. That’s quite as kind as Miguel and very like
him. He always promises whatever I wish, whether he can keep his
promise or not. I think I like that, anyway, it makes you feel so good
inside. But, come on! I’ll race Connemara against master Cork! Straight
to the ‘north!’ The way our father went, the way my Carlos followed,
and now--we. Go!”
The burro set off on a short-paced but steady trot and Dennis valiantly
tried to keep up; but Cork would not be urged, cajoled, nor punished
into faster than a walking gait, which irritated Carlota and secretly
gratified the ex-trackman.
Only those who, at their first trial, have continued horseback exercise
for hours can understand his sufferings. But finally, the girl
suspected the truth and modified the burro’s pace. She even suggested
that Dennis should walk.
“Would--Meegell?”
“Yes. If I told him to,” she replied, convincingly.
The alacrity with which the Irishman dismounted was proof of his
relief; also, that he would not be outdone in anything by the unknown
Mexican.
Yet, walking seemed very slow, and though they tried to make the
way merry by stories, and plans for the future when they should
all--including Dennis Fogarty, Miner--be back at Refugio, they had not
accomplished any great distance before the sudden twilight of the west
came down upon them. Nor, apparently, were they any nearer meeting the
lost lad than when they left the Burnham’s wagon.
Both were wise concerning the perils of lonely night-travel in that
region, so decided to turn aside into a little ravine which suggested
water and a camping place. It was even, by some miles, nearer the
mountains they had hoped to reach, but they did not realize this then.
Making what haste they could to the spot they had chosen they found, as
they had hoped, a spring of refreshing water, and dropping down beside
it drew long breaths of delight. Then they plunged their hot faces into
the little stream and drank deeply.
“Sure, that was better than bein’ made President o’ this fine counthry,
it was!” exclaimed Dennis, but Carlota only sighed in content. Physical
comfort influenced her mind, also, so that she said, after another
moment of rest:
“Somehow, I don’t feel so worried about Carlos, now. Do you?”
“’Tis meself that never was.”
“I thought you were.”
“Acushla! Thinkin’ an’ bein’ is two different matters, Miss Carlota.
That fine brother o’ yours is a nimble gossoon, so he be. If he slips
into a scrape he’ll easy slip out again. So, bein’s we’re here, we’d
best take another sup o’ that blessed water an’ a bite to eat, and be
off to the land o’ dreams.”
“I’ll help you. I know how to saddle and unsaddle a horse as well as
any _caballero_ on the rancho. See--this quick way! Now, take a handful
of grass and rub down your Cork, while I do the same for Connemara.
Then we’ll tether them where they can get a good supper and lie down to
sleep.”
“Not before you’d eat a bit, little lady!” protested the hungry man.
“Oh! I’m too tired to eat.”
“Then so be I!” he asserted with a lengthening face.
“But you must. You need food.”
“Yes, I know, I know. Howsumever, ’tis not the Fogarty’ll do that when
his Miss Carlota goes supperless to bed,” he plaintively answered.
“I--I was saving mine.”
“And I.”
“Dennis, for whom?”
“For that same as yourself. Sure.”
“Oh! you’re a dear, kind fellow!”
To the ex-trackman this seemed almost as much sustenance as would that
loaf which he was so conscious of having inside his jacket--“So handy
like to tempt a poor lad.” Indeed, they were both very hungry. Also,
they were both perfectly healthy; therefore, their self-denial was
short-lived.
“Dennis?” she called to him, in the dim light.
“Yes, me little lady.”
“I think--we might take--just a little of--of the crust.”
“I’m thinkin’ that same.”
“Besides, I have the jam-cake.”
“Faith, an’ what more could a runaway ask? More, by token, to-morrow’s
not come an’ to each day falls its lot, says I.”
With that he pulled forth his loaf and spread the gay kerchief on
Carlota’s lap.
“Do ye mind that, me dear? Sure, there’s more nor a plenty for us an’
him, too--when he comes.”
Alas! it is the first step that counts. In this case, the first slice;
Dennis cut that very thick and bountifully spread it with butter from
the hidden store. This he gave to the girl, who ate it more rapidly and
unthinkingly than she had ever eaten anything before. As she did so,
all fatigue passed away and, perching herself upon a rock, she swung
her feet in a satisfied fashion that did the heart of Dennis Fogarty
great good.
For once he did not wait till she had finished, and soon he, also, felt
the comfort of food. That he did not swing his feet, as she did, was
simply because he was sitting upon the ground and could not; but he
began to sing in that funny monotone which he considered music and that
was, at least, an outward expression of his inward content.
“Dennis, that was so good! If there’ll be enough, I’d like just another
little tiny bit.”
The tender hearted fellow craftily hid the loaf behind him as he
pretended to examine it, then cheerfully replied:
“Enough, says she? Faith, there’s enough an’ more nor plenty for a
dozen like ye. An’ butter--galore.”
With that ferocious dirk of his, he slashed off another thick portion
and gave it to her; but he did not take a second piece for himself,
though his stomach lustily demanded the indulgence, and with heroic
sacrifice he put the remnant of the bread as far behind him as he could
reach.
Afterward, he pulled branches from the small pines about the spring
and piled them for Carlota’s bed; over these he spread his own fine
_serape_ and, with a magnificent wave of his hand, motioned his “little
lady” to take her needed rest.
“Thank you, good Dennis. I believe I was almost asleep, right here on
the rock. It’s a lovely bed, but first, I must say my prayers.”
So the grizzled, labor-worn man and the innocent child knelt together
and put themselves and their desires into the safe keeping of the
loving Father who cared for them alike.
Five minutes later, they were both asleep, unconscious of danger or
treachery; Dennis happily snoring and Carlota dreaming of Refugio and
its beloved garden. Nor to either did it seem more than a moment before
they were suddenly awakened, to find the sun already rising and a tall
figure looming above them.