But what he really said was––“Shoo, child, you’re only a piccaninny yourself!” and they both laughed.
It was quite wonderful how old Captain Pike had managed to serve as a family foundation for their knowledge of each other. There was not a doubt or a barrier between them, they were “home folks” riding from different ways and meeting in the desert, and silently claiming kindred.
The shadows grew long and long under the sun of the old Mexic land, and the high heavens blazed above in yellows and pinks fading into veiled blues and far misty lavenders in the hollows of the hills.
The girl drew a great breath of sheer delight as she waved her hands towards the fire flame in the west where the desert was a trail of golden glory.
“Oh, I am glad––glad I got away!” she said in a hushed half-awed voice. “It never––never could be like this twice and we are seeing it! Look at the moon!”
The white circle in the east was showing through a net of softest purple and the beauty of it caused them to halt.
“Oh, it makes me want to sing, or to say my prayers, or––to cry!” she said, and she blinked tears from her eyes and smiled at him. “I reckon the colors would look the same from the veranda, but all this makes it seem different,” and her gesture took in the wide ranges.
“Sure it does,” he agreed. “One wants to yell, ‘Hurrah for God!’ when a combination like this is spread before the poor meek and lowly of the earth. It is a great stage setting, and makes us humans seem rather inadequate. Why, we can’t even find the right words for it.”
“It makes me feel that I just want to ride on and on, and on through it, no matter which way I was headed.”
“Well, take it from me, señorita, you are headed the right way,” he observed. “Going north is safe, but the blue ranges of the south are walls of danger. The old border line is a good landmark to tie to.”