“‘Singin’,’ says she!”
“Surely. It’s the custom in this pueblo. So the woman told me. It’s their ‘labor song,’ before they go down into the fields to work. A hymn to the Great Spirit, praising him and asking his blessing on the day. I think it’s a lovely ceremony and when we get home to Refugio, I shall ask my father to have our men do just that way. Only, I’m afraid some of them won’t wish it. They aren’t very revi—reverentiational. That isn’t the right word, Dennis, but it means doing honor to God. But, oh, Dennis! I am so happy!”
This amazing statement aroused the wounded man’s curiosity and so aided his recovery.
“I—maybe I can sit up now. I’m dead, entirely, but—I’ll try.”
“You’re better, Dennis Fogarty. And if you’re alive how can you be dead?”
“Yes, I know, I know. But if Injuns can sing hymns—Faith! It must be in some better world nor any I’ve seen. So we must all be together in another. Injuns! Arrah musha! The beasts!”
“You are not in another world, you are still in the same dear old one where you’ve always been. You’re a darling fellow, but you’re almost as silly as ‘The Dancer.’ Now you must listen. First: this is a Pueblo village. It belongs to a very peaceful tribe. My brother is here; Carlos, my own brother, and he is safe, too. Can you understand?”
“Sure, Miss Carlota, have I no wits entirely? If he’s here, why isn’t he here? Tell me that, if ye please.”
She laughed, then answered rather soberly:
“Why, it’s the oddest thing! They’ve ‘arrested’ him!”