“I reckon the redskins had all they wanted for this particular time!” exclaimed the lad who had longed for battle, till he had seen Benoni die, and afterward had dreaded it. However, the whizzing arrow had as promptly banished the dread, for it had barely escaped the breast of little Carlota. From then he had fought like the born hero he was, and his Captain was now regarding him with a grave smile of approval.
“Yes, but not for long. There was sin in their eyes. We shall have work and plenty of it.” And, after a moment, the officer spoke to the girl who rode before him on his horse: “I’ve a word or two to say to you, Carlota. I’d better say them now, before—”
“Oh! Señor Captain! will they come again?” she cried, in terror. “Where can we go? It is so dreadful!”
“I go wherever my duty calls. What to do with you is the question. At present, I can neither take nor send you to the fort. It’s too far. A little way to the north of us is the railroad. One of its stations should be in our direct line of march, and if we reach it, if all goes well, I will leave you children there.”
“Shall we see any more Apaches?”
“Humph! You’re not so fond of Indians as you were, eh?”
“I never saw that kind before. Many, many have been to Refugio, but they’ve always been good.”
“We soldiers believe that the good Indians are all dead.”
“Already, Señor Captain Gray Moustache?”
“Well, there hasn’t been a cataclysm to swallow them, as I know. There, don’t stare; but if ever you come in the neighborhood of a dictionary look that long word out. ‘Gray Moustache’ will bother you no more with a humor you don’t understand.”