Carlota of the rancho

“Yes, go, my dear, I don’t want you to sit here alone, so constantly, or so continually to toil for somebody. Oh! you precious comfort! I should have died here, in the wilderness, but for your tender care!”

“No, no, Mrs. Burnham. Don’t say that. I was here and I’ve done what I could. That’s all. It’s so good to know you are getting better!” answered Carlota, who was far less rosy and gay than when, so many weeks before, she had reached Camp Burnham, where they still remained.

On the morning after her arrival, Carlota had been awakened by a cry of alarm, and, half-aroused, had seen Mrs. Burnham unsteadily leaning against the wagon-end. A second later, the cry of pain was repeated and she saw the woman fall; and from that moment until now life had seemed a terrible dream.

The frail Letitia, upon whose cheerful self-sacrifice rested everybody’s comfort, had suddenly collapsed. An old weakness of the heart had returned to strike her down at a moment, when it seemed to her, she could less be spared than ever before.

“Well, I’ve had to lie still. There was no help for it; and again, my dear, I say that I believe God sent you to me when you came. Inexperienced child though you were, your devotion and care have saved me.”

A bed of pine boughs within a tent may not be the most luxurious of couches, yet had Mrs. Burnham chosen from all the world she could scarcely have selected a spot more conducive to recovery from such an illness. She now continued, looking around upon all her dear ones, clustered before the opening of her tent:

“You have done your helpful share, each one. But I am really much, much stronger, and I want Carlota to go off with her brother for a long, delightful day by themselves. Her berry-brown face is getting bleached by staying indoors—even in a canvas indoors—till it almost matches her hair. That won’t do. Besides, since we haven’t found here what we sought, we must move on again very soon. This lovely spot has grown to be like home to me but—there are others just as fair.”

“Oh! maybe Mr. Burnham will find his ‘lucky stone’ right here,” said Carlota, radiant at thought of a long quiet day “by themselves” with her precious brother. She knew, too, by the way he looked at her, lately, that he had something especial to say to her and only waited an opportunity to say it. So, taking a little luncheon with her and promising that they would surely come back before dark, the girl set off to find her brother, lounging on the rocks below.

“Oh! how nice it is to be alone, quite by our two selves! They are so good to us, and yet—I—Carlos, do you ever think of Refugio now?”

“Think of it? All the time, almost. I’m as glad as you to come by ourselves, for we must have a talk. First—which way shall we go?”

“Down the canyon to the bend in it and that other terrible rocky fork of it. I saw something. Oh! I saw something!” said Carlota, mysteriously.

With their arms about each other’s shoulders they gayly ran to that strange rift in the mountain side, which disclosed its heart of rock. There they sat down upon a jutting boulder to gaze into the awful depths.

“It’s the most—most fascination place I ever saw.”

“Pooh! Fascinating is what you mean. You quite make me ashamed, sometimes, Carlota, when you forget to be proper in your speech.”

She accepted the reproof with perfect good humor:

“Do I? That’s too bad. But never mind it now. Carlos, do you see anything—very wonderful—down in that—abyss? Is that the right word, darling?”

Not being himself sure he evaded the question.

“It’s the strangest canyon I ever saw. Looks as if some mighty giants had taken monstrous sledge-hammers and split the mountain in two. As if all its insides were those curious, dark stones. But such giants, Carlota! They must have been able to reach to the sky; and their hammers would, surely, have weighed a thousand thousand tons!”

“O, Carlos! They couldn’t be so big!”

“Did I say they were? I said—do pay attention, Carlota, and not stare down there so! If you had more imag—imagernation, little sister, you would have more enjoyment.”

“Would I? Seems you aren’t ‘talking’ much, only finding out things I ought to do. Carlos, I’m going down to the bottomest bottom of that place!” and, leaning forward, she pointed toward the awful chasm.

“Hmm. Then I guess we’d best begin to talk. Say, dear, we can go away now, to find our father.”

“When? And leave poor Mrs. Burnham?”

“Right away. The very next to-morrow that’s coming. She’s ’most well; she says so; and besides, though you didn’t know it, they are nearly out of food and have no money to buy more—even if there were a place to buy it in.” His voice was dramatically earnest.

“Why, there’s all that heap and heap of cans.”

“Empty, Carlota. All empty!”

“They can’t be. They’re standing up all tight and straight in that cool place by the spring. I saw Mr. Burnham fix them.”

“Dear, that was to deceive his wife. True. The cans are empty. We’re everyone of us so hungry except her, you see, and we’ve eaten and eaten! There wasn’t much to begin with; and he knows that if she thought there was danger of the food giving out it would kill her. She is so very weak. There are the fish, but fish three times a day! I’d like a chicken, wouldn’t you, Carlota? Or a loaf of Marta’s bread?”

“Don’t, please don’t, brother! I’m so—so—terr’ble homesick!”

“I’m afraid that, even now, Mr. Burnham thinks his wife will never live to go out of these mountains. He’s all discouraged. Last night he said to Jack, that if something wasn’t done soon we’d all starve. So we must go away. We’ll find our father, or if not him quick enough, then somebody else who’ll send them help. Wasn’t it a pity they ever left Tuttle? There they had enough to eat and, pleasant as it is here, they were near folks. Mountains are nice, but, Carlota, I like folks best.”

“Well, so do I. But I love mountains, too. I love—I guess I love everything there is. And I’m going down into that canyon—if I can. Come with me, because I see something! I see—something—and if we go away it is my last chance. I promised Paula—Come. Let’s. Now.”

He was willing, for care sat lightly upon him, as upon her; and in another moment both had forgotten it entirely. For their inspection of the chasm was hastened by an accident which drove all other matters out of mind.

There was, apparently, an easy point of descent a few yards from where they had been sitting, peering over the abyss. Intermingling grasses and shrubs grew at the top, upon seemingly solid ground; but as they touched it, still walking hand in hand, it gave way beneath their weight and they felt themselves slipping, sliding, sinking—they knew not whither.

Carlota’s face blanched, but she did not cry out. Probably, she did not realize the extent of their danger as her brother did, for he had grown more familiar with the region and knew how full it was of “man-traps” and hidden perils. Yet, at the first instant of danger, his heroism roused:

“Don’t fear, Carlota! Try—to slide—slow—hold yourself—back—keep hold of me—and—Say your prayers, quick!”

God does not desert those who put their trust in him. The children reached the end of that terrible slide in safety. The whole downward passage had been made smooth for them, as it were, by the bed of a once rapid waterfall. Into this channel had now washed dirt, seeded with the rich vegetation of the spot. The seeds had found still a little moisture, had sprung to life, and had thus prepared a natural carpet over which the imperilled ones passed to the bottom. But, even thus, their fall was so sudden and swift that, for some time after it was over they lay crouched and breathless, failing to realize that they were still unhurt.

Then they looked up and shuddered! At any other point they would, inevitably, have been torn or mangled. But Carlota’s faith was not disturbed by this, which her brother saw and suggested.

“But—it wasn’t at any other point, Carlos! It wasn’t. It was just right there where we would be safe. God knew. He took all the care. And—Carlos! Carlos, see there! See there!”

She forgot her shaken nerves and trembling limbs as she now sprang to her feet and eagerly pointed forward.

“Well, what, dear? I see nothing but a patch of queer blue blossoms. You are flower-crazy, I do believe. Was it for them you wanted to come down?”

“Yes, yes, oh! yes. Why—don’t you yet understand? It is old Paula’s flower! That always grows where the black stuff is; the stuff which makes a flame and warms the people! See! There’s some of the stone, too. Oh! joy, joy! We’ve found what our father said was as good and benefaction-y as any gold mine! What he was trying to find for the rich men. This is the flower he told me of, the same kind that Paula knew. Where it grows—Break off some of the black rock, brother! Quick! Then let’s get back to the top. We’ve found a mine! We—have—found—a—Mine!”