"Kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfect gravity, shoving[19] the injured part up to him. "That's what mother used to do. Where'smother?"
"Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long."
"Gone, eh!" said the little girl. "Funny, she didn't say good-bye; she'most always did if she was just goin' over to Auntie's for tea, and nowshe's been away three days. Say, it's awful dry, ain't it? Ain't thereno water, nor nothing to eat?"
"No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be patient awhile,and then you'll be all right. Put your head up agin me like that, andthen you'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when your lips is likeleather, but I guess I'd best let you know how the cards lie. What'sthat you've got?"
"Pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girl enthusiastically,holding up two glittering fragments of mica. "When we goes back to homeI'll give them to brother Bob."
"You'll see prettier things than them soon," said the man confidently."You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though--you remember whenwe left the river?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. But therewas somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin', and it didn'tturn up. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of youand--and----"
"And you couldn't wash yourself," interrupted his companion gravely,staring up at his grimy visage.
"No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and then IndianPete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie,your mother."
"Then mother's a deader too," cried the little girl dropping her face inher pinafore and sobbing bitterly.
"Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was somechance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder andwe tramped it together. It don't seem as though we've improved matters.There's an almighty small chance for us now!"
"Do you mean that we are going to die too?" asked the child, checkingher sobs, and raising her tear-stained face.
"I guess that's about the size of it."
"Why didn't you say so before?" she said, laughing gleefully. "You gaveme such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we'll be withmother again."
"Yes, you will, dearie."
"And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been. I'll bet shemeets us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lotof buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me wasfond of. How long will it be first?"
"I don't know--not very long." The man's eyes were fixed upon thenorthern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appearedthree little specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly didthey approach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brownbirds, which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and thensettled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, thevultures of the west, whose coming is the forerunner of
death.
"Cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at theirill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. "Say, didGod make this country?"
"In course He did," said her companion, rather startled by thisunexpected question.
"He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri," thelittle girl continued. "I guess somebody else made the country in theseparts. It's not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and thetrees."
"What would ye think of offering up prayer?" the man asked diffidently.
"It ain't night yet," she answered.
"It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but He won't mind that, youbet. You say over them ones that you used to say every night in thewaggon when we was on the Plains."
"Why don't you say some yourself?" the child asked, with wondering eyes.
"I disremember them," he answered. "I hain't said none since I was halfthe height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late. You say them out,and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses."
"Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said, laying the shawlout for that purpose. "You've got to put your hands up like this. Itmakes you feel kind o' good."
It was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzards to seeit. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the littleprattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face,and his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudlessheaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom they wereface to face, while the two voices--the one thin and clear, the otherdeep and harsh--united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. Theprayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulderuntil the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of herprotector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but Nature provedto be too strong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowedhimself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over thetired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until theman's grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion,and both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber.
Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a strange sightwould have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkaliplain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, andhardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but graduallygrowing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud.This cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that itcould only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In morefertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that oneof those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land wasapproaching him. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. Asthe whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the twocastaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons and thefigures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze, and theapparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey forthe West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the baseof the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Rightacross the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, waggonsand carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. Innumerable women whostaggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside thewaggons or peeped out from under the white coverings. This was evidentlyno ordinary party of immigrants, but rather some nomad people who hadbeen compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a newcountry. There rose through the clear air a confused clattering andrumbling from this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheelsand the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient torouse the two tired wayfarers above them.