“The express!”
Another moment and all had hurried to the outside platform, to watch the incoming train, Carlota and her brother with the rest. These two were greatly excited and, as before, the girl was terrified. Perceiving this, Mrs. Burnham drew the child to herself, saying:
“Don’t tremble so, my dear. It cannot hurt you, and, if you had lived long in this desolate region you would welcome every train that arrives as a blessed link between you and civilization.”
So Carlota tried to conquer her fear and stand quiet, while the great “Overland” with its dazzling headlight rolled up to that tiny station on the plain. Yet, even when it stopped and the passengers began to step out of the curious carriages, that they might stretch their stiffened limbs in a momentary walk, she shivered before the monstrous thing as before a Juggernaut which must crush her if she moved.
Then she heard greetings exchanged between those who had arrived and the station-master’s family. The boy, Jack, was hail-fellow-well-met with strange men in blue-jean suits, much begrimed by soot and oil. He even caught a flaming light from the hand of one and went bobbing about beside the cars, looking at the wheels and tapping them with a little hammer, as if he were in charge of the whole affair.
The trainmen jested with him, asking: “Is she all right, lad?” “When are you going to join the crew, Jack?” and so on. Dennis was here, there, and everywhere; and Carlota was sure that, at all times, he was rehearsing her own story till, presently, she found herself surrounded by staring strangers in a most unpleasant way.
Tuttle was a water-station and the trains delayed there longer than at most other points. Over in front, where the engine puffed and breathed like a living monster, some men had dropped a big, canvas pipe from a huge, high tank, over whose sides the water was splashing wastefully. The little girl’s thoughts flew to her mother’s garden and the care with which each drop was there hoarded and expended. Then she heard, as in a dream, all the staring people talking, as if she were deaf and could not be offended.
“Apaches.” “Fight in the mountains.” “Escaped with their bare lives!” “Wonder if we’ll be attacked!” “Left here by the cavalry. Will be shipped east to their friends.” “Captives all their lives.” “Father an Indian chief.”
Her head was dizzy. She could but dimly feel that these remarks concerned her brother and herself; that they were as untrue as possible; and that she had no strength left to correct them. Then she saw another woman’s face bending close to her own. One of the many faces which had come down from the car, as the water was coming down from the tank yonder. Like the water, the faces were wasting themselves in vain. She wished they could be stopped. Especially, she wished this last woman would go away. She was old and she spoke in a shrill, cracked voice.
“Indian captives, are they? How interesting! I’ve crossed the continent a dozen times before, yet these are the first amusing Indian relics I’ve ever seen. Apaches, eh? Decidedly thrilling. I wish—”