“It makes that we improve him, could we obtain the box,” said the mother, speaking for the first time that day. Her voice was so deep and full that it was almost masculine, but her modulations were refined and most agreeable.
Amalia laughed for very gladness that her mother at last showed enough interest in what was being said to speak.
“Ah, mamma, to improve––it is to make better the mind––the heart––but of this has Mr. ’Arry no need. Is not, Sir Kildene? I call you always Sir as title to nobleness of character. We have, in our country, to inherit title, but here to make it of such character. It is well, I think so.”
Poor Larry Kildene had his own moment of embarrassment, but with her swift appreciation of their moods she talked rapidly on, leaving the compliment to fall as it would, and turning their thoughts to the subject in hand. “But the box, mamma, it is heavy, and it is far down on the 215 terrible plain. If that you should try to obtain it, Sir Kildene: Ah, I cannot!––Even to think of the peril is a hurt in my heart. It must even lie there.”
“And the men ‘rouge’––”
“Yes. Of the red men––those Indian––of them I have great fear.”
“The danger from them is past, now. If the road is beyond Cheyenne, it must have reached Laramie or nearly so, and they would hang around the stations, picking up what they can, but the government has them in hand as never before. They would not dare interfere with white men anywhere near the road. I’ve dreamed of a railroad to connect the two oceans, but never expected to see it in my lifetime. I’ve taken a notion to go and see it––just to look at it,––to try to be reconciled to it.”
“Reconciled? It is to like it, you mean––Sir Kildene? Is it not won-n-derful––the achievement?”
“Oh, yes, the achievement, as you say. But other things will follow, and the plains will no longer keep men at bay. The money grabbers will pour in, and all the scum of creation will flock toward the setting sun. Then, too, I shall hate to see the wild animals that have their own rights killed in unsportsmanlike manner, and annihilated, as they are wherever men can easily reach them. Men are wasteful and bad. I’ve seen things in the wild places of the earth––and in the places where men flock together in hoards––and where they think they are most civilized, and the result has been what you see here,––a man living alone with a horse for companionship, and the voice of the winds and the falling water to fill his soul. Go to. Go to.”
Larry Kildene rose and stood a moment in the cabin door, 216 then sauntered out in the sun, and off toward the fall. He had need to think a while alone. His companions knew this necessity was on him, and said nothing––only looked at each other, and took up the question of their needs for the winter.