“Yes, John, I had to come. I just had to. And this is what I think: When we’ve taken care of the sheep, we’ll lay Pedro on his bed and lock the door. Keno will keep guard, if we tell him; though whoever comes here, anyway? Then you must ride to Marion to see about––about”––here, for a moment, grief interrupted her again, but she suppressed her tears as soon as possible and went on quite calmly––“about what always has to be at such a time. I remember––I remember it all when my father–––No, no, John, I’m not going to cry again. I won’t make bad worse, never, if I can help it. But this I say: You ride to Marion and send word to the mission so that a priest may come; and do all the rest. I will ride home and the boys will come up and fetch him to Sobrante. It must be in the little old chapel that we never use, because my father said he would not put to a common service a room that had once been given to God. Pedro always loved it. It was there he used to say his ‘devotions’ and there he must lie––in state––isn’t that what they call it when great folks die? Pedro was great. He had lived so very long and he had always been so devout. What do you say?”
“What do I say, little captain, but that you’ve a long head on your young shoulders, and I’m sorry this load of grief had to rest on it so early. More than that; I undertook to be your guardeen to-day, and I’ve no notion of shirking the job––even now. I passed my word to the ‘admiral’ that I’d fetch you home safe, and so I will. It won’t take much longer and it’s right. Home first, and Marion afterward.”
“Well, maybe, that is best; and surely it is pleasantest. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I’d rather 114 you stayed with me. Are you ready? Shall we leave him just as he is?”
“Just so. We’ll close the window and the door, and then––home.”
But it was with widely different feelings that they cantered down the canyon from those with which they had ridden up it, and when she saw them returning so soon and so swiftly, Mrs. Trent went out to meet them, saying nothing, indeed, yet asking the question with her eyes:
“What trouble now?”
Then John told their story speedily and suggested that some of the men ride to the mesa and attend to what was needful. Also, repeated Jessica’s opinion about the chapel, with which the lady instantly agreed; then, clasping her daughter’s hand very close, returned with her to the porch and began to fold away her sewing.
But both Aunt Sally, when she came and heard the news, and the little girl asked:
“Why do you put it away, mother, dear? If Pedro is happy now, as we believe, why shouldn’t we be, too? All the rest must have their holiday, and I think––I think he’d like to have me look nice. He always did.”