CHAPTER XVII
JESSIE’S LETTER
Scipio’s long day was almost over. The twins were in bed, and the little man was lounging for a few idle moments in the doorway of his hut. Just now an armistice in his conflict of thought was declared. For the moment the exigencies of his immediate duties left him floundering in the wilderness of his desolate heart at the mercy of the pain of memory. All day the claims of his children had upborne him. He had had little enough time to think of anything else, and thus, with his peculiar sense of duty militating in his favor, he had found strong support for the burden of his grief.
But now with thought and muscles relaxed, and the long night stretching out its black wings before him, the gray shadow had risen uppermost in his mind once more, and a weight of unutterable loneliness and depression bore down his spirit.
His faded eyes were staring out at the dazzling reflections of the setting sun upon the silvery crests of the distant mountain peaks. In every direction upon the horizon stretched the wonderful fire of sunset. Tongues of flame, steely, glowing, ruddy, shot up and athwart the picture in ever-changing hues before his unseeing eyes. It was all lost upon him. He stared mechanically, while his busy brain struggled amongst a tangle of memories and thought pictures. The shadows of his misfortune were hard besetting him.
Amidst his other troubles had come a fresh realization which filled him with something like panic. He had been forced to purchase stores for his household. To do so he had had to pay out the last of his fourth ten-dollar bill. His exchequer was thus reduced to ten dollars. Ten dollars stood between him and starvation for his children. Nor could he see the smallest prospect of obtaining more. His imagination was stirred. He saw in fancy the specter of starvation looming, hungrily stretching out its gaunt arms, clutching at his two helpless infants. He had no thought for himself. It did not occur to him that he, too, must starve. He only pictured the wasting of the children’s round little bodies, he heard their weakly whimperings at the ravages of hunger’s pangs. He saw the tottering gait as they moved about, unconscious of the trouble that was theirs, only knowing that they were hungry. Their requests for food rang in his ears, maddening him with the knowledge of his helplessness. He saw them growing weaker day by day. He saw their wondering, wistful, uncomprehending eyes, so bright and beautiful now, growing bigger and bigger as their soft cheeks fell away. He––
He moved nervously. He shifted his position, vainly trying to rid himself of the haunting vision. But panic was upon him. Starvation––that was it. Starvation! God! how terrible was the thought. Starvation! And yet, before––before Jessie had gone he had been no better off. He had had only fifty dollars. But somehow it was all different then. She was there, and he had had confidence. Now––now he had none. Then she was there to manage, and he was free to work upon his claim.
Ah, his claim. That was it. The claim lay idle now with all its hidden wealth. How he wanted that wealth which he so believed to be there. No, he could not work his claim. The children could not be left alone all day. That was out of the question. They must be cared for. How––how?