“It isn’t so much fun as I thought it would be,” he said to himself.
On the next day they started for home, and Pantu had many things to tell Colla.
LEAVING THE MISSION
BUMPTY-BUMP went the ox-cart as it rolled along on the wheels that had not been smoothed off perfectly round.
Creakity-creak went the dry axles, saying as plainly as they could, “We want some more soap-suds. We want some more soap-suds.”
Wobblety-jerk went the head of a small Indian girl who sat in the cart on some skin sacks filled with grain. With her were an old man and a boy a little older than herself. Finally her head gave an extra big jerk and hit against one of the posts at the side.
“Just like a girl to fall asleep and then bump her head,” said the boy. He straightened himself up and drew an old woollen cloth around his shoulders in imitation of the cloak worn by a Spanish gentleman who passed them on horseback just then.
The Spanish gentleman was Don Secundini Robles, who for years had been superintendent of the Santa Clara Mission. The old man in the cart was Docas, and the boy and girl were his grandchildren. Their parents were Oshda and his wife Putsha. The girl’s name was Yappa, and the boy’s was Shecol. Don Secundini had bought a large ranch about sixteen miles north of the Mission and was going there to live. Docas and his family were going to live with him and be his servants.
“I’m so tired riding in this old ox-cart,” said Yappa at last.
“You would be more tired if you had to walk all the way, as I did sixty years ago when we went to the Mission to live,” said Docas.