We Put the Baby into Her Arms
“We were riding along one day, when I thought I heard a baby’s cry. None of the other boys seemed to hear it, and as we were not riding in order, I headed my horse toward the sound. I had about concluded that I was mistaken, when the horse stopped short. The crying had ceased by this time.
“I looked down, and there among the sage-brush, at the horse’s feet, was a little baby about a year old. How it came in such a place, I have no idea. There was no house within forty miles, and we hadn’t met a soul.
“I got off my horse and picked the little thing up and rode with it to our captain. It appeared to be half starved and surely could not have survived much longer.
“We carried it with us into camp, fed it and took care of it as best we could.
“On making inquiries, we found the baby had been stolen from some poor white settlers. Who did it or why, no one ever found out.
“When the poor mother came into camp and we put the baby into her arms she was the happiest woman I ever saw.”
“Wasn’t that grand!” cried Bobby to Sammy, the little lame boy in the next bed. Sammy was the plaster-of-Paris doll Mary Frances had bought for a nickel at the children’s fair.