The first look at the precious things brought by the tilted wagon had been only a look, and every article had to undergo another inspection.
All were dropped at last, or, rather, there they lay, except such things as were under Norah McLory's care, all scattered around the room.
"I can't help it," said Mrs. Evans; "I feel uneasy about Cal."
"So do I, mother," said Vic, leaning back, upon the sofa; "but you never said as much before."
"Somehow I didn't feel so, Vic; but it seems to me—Well, I do wish he could be here, looking over his new books, instead of away out there."
"We sha'n't hear from him for ever so long," said Vic. "All sorts of things might happen and we not know it."
Somehow or other, as the talk drifted on, the varied assortment with which the floor and chairs were littered lost its charm. Mrs. Evans even got to telling stories of other times when her husband had been away from her. She had more than once been compelled to wait long for news of him, and had heard tidings of danger before anything better came. He had fought his way out of perilous circumstances, and her eyes kindled, now and then, as she related how. Wah-wah-o-be herself was not prouder of the deeds of Kah-go-mish.
Vic listened, but her imagination was a little out of joint, for she found herself unconsciously putting Cal in his father's place. She knew very well that he could not pick up one Indian and knock over another with him, as Colonel Abe Evans had done upon an occasion described by her mother. She had altogether more confidence in the heels of the red mustang, and she said so.
"I hope he will bring Dick back safe and sound," she said. "He's almost one of the family."
"Cal would be dreadfully sorry to lose him," said Mrs. Evans. "Come, Vic, I don't want to talk any more."