The listening officers exchanged glances. They could not further delay. On account of these children they had already lost valuable time, and to waste more, because of a pet horse, would be impossible. So the Captain laid his hand on Carlota’s shoulder, saying:
“My little girl, we must go now. Your pretty beast will have to stay. Bravely say good-by to him and come.”
“Good-by? To Benoni Manuel? Alone in the woods? Why, you must be—you must have forgotten that Benoni saved our lives!”
“And so lost his own, my dear.”
“But he hasn’t lost it. He’s alive.”
“Scarcely. Very soon he will have passed away.”
Carlota’s heart felt very queer. She turned faint. When she loved anything—and she loved most things—it was with all her soul. Hitherto, death had meant nothing to her; but now, looking into the sober face of her new friend and the appealing eyes of her pet, the sadness and finality of it struck her like a blow.
She went down upon the ground and tried to lift Benoni’s head upon her knee, but she could not, it was too heavy. Yet she could and did throw her arm over his neck and press her wet cheek to his delicate nostrils.
“Benoni! Benoni! The ‘Good’! You mustn’t die—I can’t bear it! I cannot. Carlos, come! Maybe he’ll hear you if he doesn’t me. Come, come quick! He never disobeyed us, never. He won’t now. But say it sharp, brother. I can’t. Tell him to get up. That we’ll take him home. We will. We’ll let the other go. Straight home—if only—”
Carlos knelt beside her. Both had now become oblivious of the soldiers’ presence. Their first great sorrow had them in its grip. Though their mother had died they had been too young to know her loss. Their father had left them, for a time, but he would return. Yet this relentless thing which was stealing Benoni—how could they bear it?