“They perished in the storm,” stolidly answered Cardanza.
“We don’t know that. We have found no proof of it.”
“Neither do you know this country. The strongest cattle cannot live through a ‘norther,’ and my small ones were delicate, like flowers;” pointing outward toward ‘My Lady’s Garden,’ where were rows of limp, dead lilies and drooping heliotropes.
“Yes, I see. But the little Carlota was no thin-blooded herb. Look again. There are many plants left unharmed and wonderfully green and fresh. Even of just such sturdy growth were the Manuel children. At will accustomed to sleeping out-of-doors, to a cold plunge each morning, to an almost wholly out-of-door life, sun-browned and of perfect health—why, they are sure to be alive and thriving somewhere. Only—we haven’t yet looked in the right place to find them. But we shall. We shall.”
Miguel’s face lightened somewhat and he said, quite gently:
“Stranger, you mean well, and you are a fine fellow—whatever yon man may be. But folks born fools can’t help it,” he ended, with a significant glance toward the restless elder gentleman.
“That’s all right. Thank you. But, come. Let’s have some supper. I heard that wise mother of yours say that ‘A full stomach made a light heart.’ A light heart should also give a clear head. Let’s try her proverb and see what it avails.” He held out his hand and Miguel took it listlessly.
“One week, Señor Rupert. One week and two hours, since they rode out of paradise—into death!”
At this, Mr. George Disbrow completely lost his temper and snapped out:
“You’re all a parcel of numskulls!”