The poor half-breed knew. He had seen them put her in the ground and plant flowers above her. After that, Señor Manuel had come and sent Pablo away. With money in his grasping hands, with clean clothing upon his deformed body, with all kindness and charity, yet still—away. Else, the “Simple” would have stayed on forever in the cool, white rooms. But the sad-faced Señor could not bear that. The sight of the wretched creature, whose life had cost a life infinitely more precious, was too bitter.
In some dim way the “natural” understood even that. So he went, sorrowfully but obediently; and always thereafter, when he saw the master of Refugio riding across the plateau put himself out of sight. Yet, as the little children grew up, they were told about Pablo and their mother’s sacrifice for him and learned to regard him with a sacred interest and friendliness.
After a moment’s apparent consideration of her request, the half-breed darted away, disappeared in the ground, as it were—whence he soon emerged. This time his hands were heaped with food which even dainty Carlota could enjoy; nuts of more than one sort, with the fruit of an edible cactus, such as the children often and eagerly sought.
Now, for a time, nothing was heard but the cracking of nutshells and the munching of sharp teeth; till, wholly refreshed, Carlos remarked:
“Well, I don’t know how long we were in that cave, but it must have been all night. While we can, and it is daylight, I think we’d best go on. My little compass says that way, yonder, is north, and I do hope we’ll get to some nice place before it’s dark again.”
“Wait a minute, brother. I’ve thought of something. Marta and Miguel and everybody may be worried, thinking about us out in a ‘norther,’ and I’m going to tell them we did not die.”
“I’d like to know how? If we go back those men will be there just the same, likely. It was you Carlota Manuel, first said we should go to our father; and, even if you’ve changed your girl’s mind I haven’t changed my boy’s one.”
“I haven’t changed the leastest littlest corner of it, so there. But, listen, Pablo. Will you do something for Don Adrian Manuel? Something to prove you love him?”
“Umm.”
When he nodded so emphatically, she caught her brother’s knife from the sash where it still remained and ran to a near-by agave plant, and cut one of its broadest leaves. Using its own thorn for a pen she carefully printed on its tough skin the few sentences following: