“I understand—some, dear Señor. And I didn’t mean that name for harm. I always do name people something like them till I know their regular one.”
“Indeed? Wish to be properly introduced, do you? Well, my name is Sherman. But I like my nickname and, please, don’t look so like a scared kitten. It’s never so bad but it might be worse. The old Padres named that spot we’ve left behind us the ‘Spring of Happiness’ in the ‘Mountains of Flowers.’ We found it so, too.”
“Why—where—Benoni died?” she asked, reproachfully.
“Exactly. Where we didn’t die. Where several of the tricky skunks who would have killed us in ambush were not permitted. The greatest regret I have is that, though he is past feeling wounded pride, we were obliged to leave your noble horse in such vile company. There were a half-dozen dead Apaches in the glen when we left it, and a half-dozen white men so much the safer.”
When they had again proceeded in silence for some distance, Carlota asked:
“Don’t Apaches go to railroad stations? and do they keep children at them?”
“Under the circumstances, yes, to the last question; and to the first—there’s little danger. There are too many trains passing. If only, you midget, you were safely at home!”
“I will be, some day, after we find our father.”
“After all your experience, haven’t you dropped that crazy notion yet? You are a child of ordinary common sense, I hope, Carlota.”
“Yes. That’s why I don’t see what else there is to do but to go on.”