“This is ‘up’! Copper’s ‘up’! Sobrante’s ‘up’! And lucky the men that belong to it. Only––that old villain, yonder, has known it even since forever, and was mean enough to keep his secret. That’s what he is, that Pedro, yonder!”
Yet, with another whimsical change, he seized the shepherd’s hand and wrung it till even that hardened member ached. But the Indian remained as calm and undisturbed, amid the torrent of blame or praise, as if he had been sitting alone at his weaving on the mesa. His soul was satisfied at last. He had done that which he had pondered doing for many years, without being able, heretofore, to bring his thought to action. Surely he had known that, locked within his own breast, his “secret” was worthless; yet he had clung to it tenaciously. Now he had imparted it to others, and behold! all the world knew it, even so soon. Well, that did not matter. It was no longer his. His part was ended. Meanwhile, on his beloved upland, there was a faithful collie watching for his return, and lambs bleating, needing his care. Suddenly he rose, placed his cherished staff in Mrs. Trent’s hands, and bowing low, said:
“Keep this, as I have kept it, where none but you may find. At the Navidad I come once more, the last. Adios.”
His departure was so unexpected that, at first, they did not try to prevent it, but Jessica was swift to follow and protest:
“Not to-night, dear Pedro! Please not to-night. You have been so good to me, you must stay and be glad with us this one night. In the morning–––”
“In the morning the sheep will need new pasture. Adios, nina.”
“Then, if go you must, it shall not be on foot. Wait! I know! Prince, Mr. Hale’s horse, that he left with you on the mesa. It is here. The naughty children painted him, but I saw him in the corral, just now, and you shall ride him home. That is if you will not stay, even for me.”
“The Navidad. Till then, adios.”