“But his sister?—is she, too, educated?”
“No. Poor Luna is still a savage; but he instructs her in many things. He has been absent for several years. He has returned but lately to his tribe.”
“Their names are strange: ‘The Sun,’ ‘The Moon’!”
“They were given by the Spaniards of Sonora; but they are only translations or synonyms of their Indian appellations. That is common upon the frontier.”
“Why are they here?”
I put this question with hesitation, as I knew there might be some peculiar history connected with the answer.
“Partly,” replied Seguin, “from gratitude, I believe, to myself. I rescued El Sol when a boy out of the hands of the Navajoes. Perhaps there is still another reason. But come,” continued he, apparently wishing to give a turn to the conversation, “you shall know our Indian friends. You are to be companions for a time. He is a scholar, and will interest you. Take care of your heart with the gentle Luna. Vincente, go to the tent of the Coco chief. Ask him to come and drink a cup of Paso wine. Tell him to bring his sister with him.”
The servant hurried away through the camp. While he was gone, we conversed about the feat which the Coco had performed with his rifle.
“I never knew him to fire,” remarked Seguin, “without hitting his mark. There is something mysterious about that. His aim is unerring; and it seems to be on his part an act of pure volition. There may be some guiding principle in the mind, independent of either strength of nerve or sharpness of sight. He and another are the only persons I ever knew to possess this singular power.”
The last part of this speech was uttered in a half soliloquy; and Seguin, after delivering it, remained for some moments silent and abstracted.