The Angel of the Gila Part 25

Samuel had combed his hair, and wore a clean s.h.i.+rt in honor of the occasion.

"Miss Bright," said Kenneth, "I am fearful lest you _have_ been injured by the fall. Let me take you home."

This she would not listen to.

"Then let me call for you later in the evening and take you back with me. There may be something Mrs. Clayton can do for you." But there was a chorus of protests.

Mrs. Murphy gave it as her opinion that the schoolma'am knew her own feelin's best; and it wasn't often they had comp'ny, goodness knows, especially comp'ny from back East. And Mr. Hastings should leave her be.

Esther poured oil on the troubled waters; and Mrs. Murphy became so mollified she pressed Kenneth to stay to supper.

At this juncture Patrick Senior's step was heard.

"Good avenin'," he said, heartily, making a queer little bow. "It's proud I am ter welcome yez ter me home."

He did not take off his hat nor remove the pipe from his mouth. Esther rose.

"Kape y'r sate, Miss, kape y'r sate," he said, making a sweeping gesture. Then he gripped her hand.

"An' Mr. Hastings! It's honored Oi am ter have yez enter me humble home."

"He's goin' to stay to supper, Pop," said one of the little boys.

Kenneth hastened to excuse himself, but Patrick would have none of it.

Mr. Hastings must stay, and share the fatted calf.

Kenneth laughed.

"Which is the prodigal?" asked he, smiling towards Esther.

"The prodigal? the prodigal?" repeated Mrs. Murphy mystified, and half resentful at Kenneth's smiles.

"Oh, that's a Bible story, Mrs. Murphy," explained Esther. "A rich man had two sons. One son spent all he had in riotous living. When he finally repented and came back home to his father's house, they were very happy to see him and made a great feast for him. For this purpose they killed their fatted calf."

"I see," said Mrs. Murphy with great dignity. "An' sence we are happy to see yer and have killed our fatted hens fur yer, we'll just call yer the Prodigal."

"I always knew you were prodigal of your strength and talent," Kenneth said merrily. "Prodigal. That's a good name for you. That was a happy thought of yours, Mrs. Murphy."

Mrs. Murphy still looked mystified.

"Oi see me little girrls are plazed ter see yez," said Patrick, beaming proudly upon the little ones. Kathleen held up for his inspection some paper dolls Esther had brought her. Then the smile on his face broadened. He laid his pipe on the shelf and examined the dolls critically.

"Did yez iver see the loike on it, now? Shure, an' did yez say 'Thank yez' ter the lady?"

"Yep," answered Kathleen, and "Yep," echoed Nora.

"An' phwat is the matther wid Wathemah?" asked Patrick, as he approached the little Indian.

"Got hurted."

"Broked his arm."

"Fell off old Jim."

"Miss Bright mended his arm," came in quick succession.

"Poor little lad. Oi'm sorry yez got hurted."

And the kind-hearted man patted the child on the head. He liked Wathemah. But the little visitor was intent on the two little girls and their gay paper dolls.

Esther now expressed a wish to hear some of her host's stories of pioneer life in Arizona.

Patrick drew himself up. He felt his self-respect rising.

"Them wuz awful toimes," he said, puffing away at his pipe again; "but Oi wuz young an' sthrong. The Apaches wuz on the warpath most av the toime, an' we fellers didn't know but we'd be kilt ony minute. We slipt wid wan oi open, an' our guns by our soides."

"It must have been very exciting," said Esther, with marked interest.

"It certain wuz exciting. It wuz bad, too, ter come back ter y'r shack an' foind y'r rations gone, or no shack at all."

"What would you do then?" she asked.

"Oh, we wint hungry till we caught fish, or shot deer."

Here he lighted his pipe again, and drew long whiffs.

"What were you doing in those days?" questioned Kenneth.

"Me business wuz always wid cattle. Sometoimes the Apaches would go off wid some o' me cattle."

"Did you ever get them back?" asked Esther.

"Sometoimes." He smoked in silence a few minutes.

"I understand the Apaches are still treacherous," she said.

Just then she felt Wathemah's hand on her arm.

"Wathemah Apache," he said. "He no bad. He good."

"Yes," she acknowledged, smiling, "you _are_ getting to be a pretty good boy, dear." Her smile did more for the child than did the words.

"Pop," said Samuel, "them air Apaches we seen up canyon t'other day's ben skulkin' aroun'. Yer'd better carry a gun, schoolma'am."

Supper was now announced, and discussion of the Indians ceased. The younger children, joyfully antic.i.p.ating the feast before them, had forgotten all their mother's preliminary instructions on etiquette at table, and there was a tumultuous scramble.

"Murphy!" called Mrs. Murphy in stentorian tones as she stood with arms akimbo, "seat schoolma'am at y'r right!"