"Comalong! Alcomout!"

"Comalong! Alcomout!"

Loud and shrill came the nasal tones accompanied by the sharp ringing of a little bell. The children rushed from the tent. It was just after breakfast.

A square, black-covered wagon, with a very high seat, on which was perched an odd-looking little man with grizled, curling hair, had stopped outside.

"Oh, I thought it was an Indian!" exclaimed Walter. "You're not an Indian, are you?"

"Think not," replied the little man, pleasantly but tersely. "I'm a Portugee—a long time away from my own country. Why you think me an Indian, young man?"

"That foreign language you speak," replied Walter. "I thought it was Indian."

"'Foreign language?'" said the man, laughing merrily. "That's English."

"What was it?" asked Walter.

"Comalong—alcomout. I've said it so often I guess it don't sound just right; but I'll do it better for you, so you can understand it. I'll say it slow: Come—along—all—come—out. Do you know what it is now?"

"Oh, yes; that's easy enough," said Walter. "What have you got in your wagon?"

"Everything—calico, muslin, flannel, shoes, stockings, shirts, pots, pans, perfume, ribbons, laces—everything."

He had descended from his perch, and was opening the door of his wagon. It was very neatly arranged inside. The various articles of merchandise were placed separate and in order. With great good nature, the man began exhibiting his wares.

"Here," he said, taking a couple of calico dresses from a box in which they had been neatly folded, "here are two pretty frocks, if you have a little girl. I'll sell 'em cheap. You see they're not the latest style, so we can't very well dispose of them in this fashionable part of the world."

"That's all right," said Aunt Mary. "We may not be so particular. We have a little girl here whom they may fit. Come, 'Rita; let us see."

The child came at her bidding, looking eagerly into the pasteboard box.

"Ho, hello!" said the pedlar, in surprise. "What have we here? Isn't this the little girl of the Barco's? Isn't this Dionysio's sister?"

"Yes," replied Walter. "She lives with us now. Her grandmother is dead."

"Are you going to keep her?"

"For a while at least," replied Aunt Mary.

"That is good—for her, very good," said the pedlar, slowly. Then he added: "That child is a relation of my wife's."

"Is your wife an Indian?" asked Aunt Mary.

"Oh, yes; she is an Indian—and a very good Indian. Pretty, too, like the little girl. I would have taken the child—Dionysio knows it."

"Have you no children of your own?" asked Aunt Mary.

"No; but we would be very good to this one. Perhaps you will not like to keep her always."

"I can not say. For the present she remains with us."

'Rita had climbed up on the wagon wheel, and was pulling the boxes about.

"She knows where to look for the candy," said the pedlar, producing a box of gum-drops.

The two little dresses were purchased by Aunt Mary, as well as some other small articles for the child's use. A pair of shoes and some stockings were included.

"You will find it hard to get her to wear shoes," said the pedlar. "She has never had a pair on her feet."

"I will try to get a pair that is quite large," said Aunt Mary. "She must become used to them gradually, of course."

When all the purchases had been made, the pedlar said:

"I'll be around here again in a couple of days; if you need anything else, you can get it. I camp up there above the springs."

"Do you sleep in your tent?" asked Walter.

"When it is cold I sleep in the wagon; when it is warm I have my cot. See?"

Looking underneath the wagon they saw a cot strapped to the outer floor. A number of cooking utensils hung from various hooks. There was also a camp stove and portable oven—everything necessary for comfort.

"When I strike a place like this where there is a restaurant I don't cook for myself, but often I am miles from a settlement when night comes. Then I must cook for myself or starve."

He prepared to depart, but before he went on his way he raised Margarita in his arms and whispered something in her ear.

"No," replied the child, shaking her head.

"Dulces?"[C] he said, pointing to the box of candy.

"No," she said, "muchas aqui."[D]

Aunt Mary did not like his actions. "What did he say?" she inquired, but Margarita had not yet sufficient knowledge of English to explain.

The new dresses were tried on; they fitted very well, and the child was delighted. When Dionysio came they told him about the pedlar.

"I saw him just now," he said. "He was scolding me because I would not give 'Rita to him. He says my grandmother promised, but I do not believe it. If so, she did not know what she was saying. Anyhow, she had not the right."

"He says you are cousins of his wife," said Mr. Page.

"Oh, yes; but what is that? All are cousins here. His wife is not a good woman; she is drunk many times, though he is well enough himself. He thinks if she had the child, his wife would be better, but I do not believe it."

Margarita had been listening attentively. She went up to her brother, put her hand in his and said in Spanish:

"Hernando told me he would give me pretty clothes if I would go home with him, and I said the lady had given me some. He said I could every day have candy, but I told him we had plenty here. I do not want to go with Hernando."

"And you shall not go, Margarita," promised her brother. "You shall not go."

All that day the pedlar's bell could be heard through the valley; the children met him in their rambles several times, but he did not come to their camp again.

The following morning, as they were preparing to go with Francisco for water, he passed them.

"Are you going away for good now?" inquired Walter.

"Yes, until fall at least," said the pedlar. "I have sold nearly all my things. I am off to San Jacinto for more."

His horses trotted off briskly, and the team was soon out of sight. According to their usual custom the children remained some time at the cold spring. Nellie and 'Rita strolled from place to place, looking for "sour-grass"; the boys lay in the shade of one of the large trees.

"Ay! ay!" shouted Francisco, after they had been there quite a while. "It is time."

"Ay! ay!" repeated a mocking voice. "It is time."

"That's William again," said Francisco. "We have not seen him for long, but now he is here."

There was a crashing through the bushes, and the form of their enemy appeared. He was whirling a dead rattlesnake on the point of a stick. Much to their surprise, he neither paused nor sought to molest them. Apparently he was in a hurry to get away.

They were greatly alarmed the next moment at sight of Nellie running toward them. Her hat was off, her braids were unfastened, and she was panting for breath.

"What is wrong? What is the matter?" cried Walter and Francisco together.

"I can not find 'Rita," she replied, and burst into tears. "We were looking for sour-grass, and she went a little distance off. All at once that horrid boy came with a dead snake. He began to run after me. I ran ever so far, and at last he stopped. I begged and begged him not to throw it on me, and I cried. Then, when he went away, I called 'Rita because I could not see her. She did not answer. I went back to the place where she had been. She wasn't there. And I can't find her at all."

"But you were not far?" inquired Francisco. "She could not get lost so soon. Walter and I will find her in a minute. Sit there and rest."

The two boys were soon traversing the broad, grassy plateau. It was so bare of trees that no one could possibly be roaming over it without being seen. 'Rita was not there. Francisco called to her Indian fashion, but his calls were not answered.

"Come up, Nellie," said Walter, at last, running down again to the edge of the bank where they had left his sister. "Come and show us where you last saw her. We can't find her nor make her hear."

The little girl was soon beside them.

"Just over there," she said, "not far from those bushes. She must have gone into them and got lost. I ran in the other direction when William came after me with the snake. Let's go down into the bushes and look for her. What is there on the other side, Francisco?"

"All bushes, thicker and thicker till you come to the road," said the Indian boy. "On the other side of the road there are more bushes, and after them a broad meadow like this."

"She couldn't get through them," said Walter. "They are so very close together and she is so timid—she would not try it."

Francisco inclined his head on one side and listened.

"Do you hear the horse's whinny?" he asked. "I have heard it three times since we came up here."

"No," replied the brother and sister. They had not heard any such sound.

"I have a thought," said the Indian boy. "I will go quietly through the bushes. There is no need for all of us. When I come back you may come along if you like. Just a stick for the snakes, and then I go."

Seizing a branch that lay at the foot of a tree, Francisco started to push his way through the thicket.

"Where do you suppose he has gone?" asked Nellie.

"Don't know," said Walter; "but Francisco is all right. He knows what he's about."

After a little while the Indian boy reappeared looking elated.

"I did not make a mistake," he said. "It is Hernando who has taken Margarita. There she sits on his lap by the wagon. He has stopped there to water the horses. Come; I will show you."

"Do you think he means to steal her, Francisco? Oh, do you think he wants to take her away?" asked Nellie, tearfully.

"That I cannot tell," said Francisco. "He will not dare, when he sees us."

"How can we stop him? He can run off with his horses. Oh, how dreadful! how dreadful!" said Nellie, all but crying.

"Now, sister, if you are going to cry, we'll have to leave you behind," said Walter, keen for an adventure. He stepped softly on tiptoe in the tracks of Francisco as he had seen other boys do in pictures.

"But I won't stay behind," answered Nellie, stifling a sob. "Mamma would not like it if you left me here."

"We will not leave you; come along," said Francisco, leading across the meadow to another fringe of bushes. "Only be quiet," he continued, "so we will not be seen." They skirted the thicket, going a long way round, and after a time crossed the road and came out on a broad green expanse.

Two horses were feeding in the open; a wagon stood close by. The pedlar, his back to the children, was smoking under a tree. Beside him, contentedly munching candy from a box in her lap, sat Margarita.

"Ay! ay! 'Rita!" cried Francisco, coming suddenly upon them, "why did you run away?"

The child looked at the pedlar, who was visibly perturbed. "I found her over there alone," he explained to Francisco, "so I brought her here. I would have taken her back in the wagon, though it would have lost me time. I was going when I had finished my pipe."

The child looked at him in astonishment.

"And not to go to Veronica?" she asked.

"Why to Veronica? Of course not," he replied quickly.

"But you said——" began the child.

"It does not matter what he said," interrupted Francisco. "Come, now; we must go home. I believe you are a rogue, Hernando," he continued turning to the pedlar. "I believe you are a great rogue——"

Hernando laughed. "Well, if I am," he said, "I am not the only one in the world. You cannot prove anything of that which you are thinking."

"If you were not guilty, Hernando," answered Francisco, "you would not so quickly understand my meaning."

The man rose to his feet and busied himself with the ponies.

"Well, go now, and let that be all," he said. "Take along with you the candy, Margarita."

Francisco lifted the child onto his shoulder. "I will carry you some," he said. "Did you want to go away from Nellie and Walter?" he asked in Spanish.

"No, only till next week," she replied. "Hernando said that there in his home were pretty dolls—oh, such pretty dolls that Veronica had for me—and many bright rings. He said that Dionysio had told him to take me there."

"But, 'Rita, do you not know that the other day Dionysio said you should never go to Veronica."

"Yes; but perhaps to-day it was different, I thought."

"He would perhaps never have brought you back. You must promise not again to go away with anybody."

"He carried me."

"Oh, well, I believe he meant to steal you. Veronica would have beaten you, 'Rita."

"I am glad not to have gone with him," said the child. "Let me walk now."

He set her down, and taking Nellie by the hand she clung to her all the way home.

As they passed the cottage where the missionary resided they saw a crowd near the door.

"It is what they call a prayer-meeting, I think," said the Indian boy.

"Not at this time of day," remarked Walter. "The missionary woman is crying."

"Maybe William frightened her with the rattlesnake," said Francisco.

"But your uncle is there—I see him," said Nellie. "He is talking to the men."

"Very well; but it is late now, and we must not stop," said Francisco. "Perhaps she has been putting some pictures in the church again. My uncle can get angry, too, sometimes."

"But he would not make a woman cry, would he, Francisco?" asked Nellie, with some anxiety.

"No; I do not think he would make a woman cry. It is strange, a little, that he is there; but he would be displeased if I should go over and leave the water on the roadside. Your people will be wondering why we are not back."

At the camp they had begun to feel uneasy. When everything had been explained by the children, who now that Margarita was safe rather enjoyed telling the experience, the elders were inclined to think Hernando really intended to kidnap the child.

"That is what I think," said Francisco. "When he went away to-day he was not thinking of it, maybe, but when he saw her from his high seat in the wagon he thought he would take her home with him. He has not much good sense, that fellow. If she had cried on the road he would, maybe, have brought her back. Anyhow, there is not much harm done—maybe good—for she will be careful now."

He was in the act of turning Rosinante homeward when he saw his uncle approaching. The old man looked very much troubled.

"What is it?" asked the boy.

"Something very bad," was the reply. "Something very, very bad. I do not believe it, Francisco, but the missionary woman has lost her pocket-book, and they say that you have stolen it."