But Lopez was firm. He spoke in a tone of command: "Do as I tell you. Take her. A fine outrage, to steal a baby! What are we going to do with her? We can't send her back—the town is crazy. I've no doubt I shall hear from this."
In spite of Leslie's choking protests, in spite of his feeble resistance, Lopez pressed the noisy stranger into his arms, then turned to his men and directed them to be off.
Branch remained motionless. He was stupefied; he held the baby gingerly, not daring to put it down, dreading to keep it; his eyes were rolling, he began to perspire freely. Stretching a timid, detaining hand toward Lopez, he inquired, huskily, "What shall I do with her?"
"God knows. I don't," snapped the officer. "I shall have to think, but meanwhile I hold you responsible for her. Come now, we must be going."
Leslie swallowed hard; his face became overspread with a sicklier pallor. "What'll I do—when she gets HUNGRY?"
Lopez could not restrain a smile. "You should have thought about that, compadre. Well, I know where there is a milk cow not three leagues from here. I'll send a man to borrow it from the owner and drive it to our camp. Or perhaps"—his handsome face hardened again—"perhaps you would prefer to take this child back where you found it?"
"No—I—Oh, they'd tear me limb from limb!"
"Exactly."
Branch turned his head from side to side in desperation. He wet his lips. "It's the youngest one I ever had anything to do with. Maybe it isn't used to cow's milk," he ventured.
"Unfortunately that is the only kind I can offer it. Take care of it until I find some way of notifying its people."