“Yes, Bob,” answered Mr. Calthorp, sadly; “but from necessity, not choice.”
“An’ the Little Un—why must she go? Ain’t nothin’ the matter of her eyes, is they?”
“No, no; thank God!”
“Well, then; leave her here. We’ll take care of her. Square. Why—what—in huckleberries—’ll San’ Felis’ be ’ithout our little missy? Ain’t she lived here ever sence she was borned? Ain’t we be’n good to her? We’re rough, we be. We ain’t no lords, ner nothin’ but jest cow-boys er sech. But we’re men. An’ Americans. An’ I ’low there ain’t one of us but would fight till he died fer the Little Un, afore harm should tetch her. No! It mustn’t be. An’ that’s square.”
Even Mr. Calthorp, who had had abundant proof, heretofore, of the “boys’” devotion to Steenie, was surprised at the depth of feeling betrayed by Bob’s words; for he could not fully know all that the child had been to these men, separated, as most of them were, from home and its associations. Since the hour when they had been permitted to carry or amuse her, a tiny baby in long clothes, they had adopted her in their hearts, each in his own way finding in the frank, merry, friendly little creature an embodiment of his own better nature. They had even, with the superstition of their class, accepted her as their “mascot,” sincerely believing that every enterprise to which she lent her presence or approval was sure to prosper.
To what other human being would Kentucky Bob have imparted the secret of his wonderful power over the equine race? Indeed, to none other; and to her only because he loved her so, and was so proud of her cleverness. And now his big, honest heart ached with a new and bitter pain, as he faced the danger of her loss.
“Why, Robert! Why! Eh, what? Tut, tut. Good child. Understand. But—father. First claim. See?”
Angry Bob cast one scorching, contemptuous glance upon the nervous little lord; and if looks could annihilate, the British peerage would then and there have been short one member. Stooping, he swung Steenie to his shoulder, and strode away toward the great group of out-buildings which made the home-piece of Santa Felisa rancho seem like a village in itself. In the thickest crowd of the employees who had been summoned to meet their newly-arrived employer he came to a sudden halt.
“Hello, Bob! What’s up?”
“I—The—I wish to sizzle! Sho, I can’t talk. Tell ’em, Little Un.”