Rainbow's End Part 37

But Norine remained firm in her refusal. "You sha'n't leave your foundling at MY door. If you intend to steal babies you should make up your mind to take care of them." She was itching to seize the hungry little mite, but she restrained the impulse. "Go ahead and keep it amused until the cow arrives," she told him.

"Keep it AMUSED! Amuse a starving brat!" tragically cried the man. "In Heaven's name, how?"

"Why, play with it, cuddle it, give it your watch--anything! But don't allow it to cry--it may injure itself."

Branch glared resentfully; then he changed his tactics and began to plead. "Oh, Norine!" he implored. "I--just can't do it. I'm all f.a.gged out now, and, besides, I've got the only watch in camp that keeps time.

I didn't sleep any last night, and it'll keep me awake all to-night.

It's a nice baby, really. It needs a woman---"

Norine parted the flaps of her tent and pointed inside, where Esteban Varona lay upon her cot. His eyes were staring; his lips were moving.

"Mrs. Ruiz and I will have our hands full with that poor chap. For all we know, he may have some contagious disease."

Branch was utterly shameless, utterly selfish and uncompa.s.sionate. "I'm sick, too--sicker than he is. Have a heart! Remember, I risked my life to get you something nice to eat---"

"Yes! The most ridiculous procedure I ever heard of. What ever made you do such a crazy thing?" Norine was honestly indignant now.

"I did it for you. It seems to me that the least you can do in return---"

"The least, and the most, I can do is to try and save this poor man's life," she firmly rea.s.serted. "Now run along. I'd take the baby if I could, but I simply can't."

"It'll die on me," Branch protested.

"Nonsense! It's the healthiest little thing I ever saw. Wait until it has its supper. You'll see." She disappeared into her tent and Branch reluctantly turned away.

Next he bore the infant to Judson and O'Reilly in turn; but both gruffly refused to a.s.sume the least responsibility for it. In the matter of advice concerning its welfare, however, they were more obliging. They were willing to discuss the theory of child-rearing with him as long as he would listen, but their advice merely caused him to glare balefully and to curse them. Nor did he regard it as a mark of friendship on their part when they collected an audience that evening to watch him milk the cow--a procedure, by the way, not devoid of excitement and hazard, inasmuch as Branch's knowledge of cows was even more theoretical than his knowledge of babies.

Leslie had begun by this time to realize that there existed a general conspiracy against him; he met it with sullen resentment. He deeply regretted his ignorance of the Spanish language, however, for a thousand epithets and insults clamored for translation.

Now there are cows which an amateur can milk, and there are other kinds. This particular cow was shy, apprehensive, peevish; Branch's unpractised fumbling irritated her. Being herself a nomad of the savannas, she was accustomed to firm, masterful men, therefore when Leslie attempted courteously, apologetically, to separate her from her milk she turned and hooked him.

El Demonio's audience, who had been looking on with rapt attention, applauded this show of spirit. Branch was unwontedly meek. He acknowledged his total inexperience, and begged his friends, almost politely, to call for a subst.i.tute.

Judson explained, gravely, "These Cubans don't know any more about cows than you do."

O'Reilly agreed, "They're good bull-fighters, but they can't milk."

Leslie eyed the speakers, white with rage; he was trembling. "You think you're d.a.m.ned funny, don't you? You're having a jubilee with me. Well, I'm game. I'll go through with it. If you'll hold her, I'll milk her.

I'll milk her till she hollers."

Obligingly, O'Reilly took the animal by the horns and Judson laid hold of her tail.

"Stretch her tight," Leslie commanded. "Don't give her an inch of slack, or I'll quit." When his friends had braced themselves he moved toward the cow once more, but this time from the opposite quarter.

Noting the direction of his approach, the onlookers gave vent to a low murmur of expectancy. They drew closer. Strangely enough, the animal stood quiet for a time--lost in amazement, perhaps--and Leslie managed to cover the bottom of his big tin cup with milk. But at last the outrage proved too much for her; she slowly lifted one hind foot and poised it jerkily. She seemed to consider the next move for a moment; then she kicked forward and sent Branch flying.

"Can you beat that?" O'Reilly exclaimed in apparent wonderment. "Why, she walloped you with the back of her hand."

Judson, too, affected great amazement. "Most cows are left-handed," he declared. "Try her on the other side."

Branch dried the milk from his face, then in a shaking voice cried: "Have a good time with me. It's your last chance."

It seemed for a while that the enterprise was doomed to failure; but at last a pint or more of milk was secured, and this Leslie proceeded to dilute with warm water from a near-by camp-fire. Even then, however, his difficulties were not over. He had supposed that any baby knew enough to drink. It took him half an hour to discover his mistake.

Having long since given up the hope of any active a.s.sistance from his audience, he doggedly set to work to fashion a nursing-bottle. He succeeded in due time, after making use of a flask, the stem of an unused cigarette-holder, and a handkerchief.

When he finally took seat and began awkwardly coaxing the fretful child to drink, the Cubans voiced their appreciation of the picture. They were courteous, they did not laugh; nevertheless, the sight of their eccentric, irascible, rebellious El Demonio tamely nursing a child in the fire-light filled them with luxurious, soul-satisfying enjoyment.

O'Reilly was up at daylight to offer his services in caring for Esteban Varona, but Norine declined them.

"His fever is down a little and he has taken some nourishment," she reported. "That food you boys risked your silly lives for may come in handy, after all."

"I dare say he won't be able to talk to me to-day?" O'Reilly ventured.

"Not to-day, nor for many days, I'm afraid."

"If you don't mind, then, I'll hang around and listen to what he says,"

he told her, wistfully. "He might drop a word about Rosa."

"To be sure. So far he's scarcely mentioned her. I can't understand much that he says, of course, but Mrs. Ruiz tells me it's all jumbled and quite unintelligible. How is Leslie's baby this morning?"

"Oh, it pa.s.sed a good night. It was awake and had ordered breakfast when I got up. Leslie was making a fire to scald out its bottle. He says he didn't close his eyes all night."

"Poor fellow! I'm going to help him," Norine declared.

"Please don't. Lopez wants to teach him a lesson, and this is the best thing that could possibly have happened. We have told him that there's no chance of returning the baby, and he thinks he's elected to keep it indefinitely. As a matter of fact, Jacket is going to take a letter to the comandante at San Antonio this morning, advising him that the child is safe, and asking him to send for it at once."

"Isn't that risky?" Norine inquired. "Won't the comandante attack us if he learns where we are?"

"Lopez doesn't think so. Those Spaniards are usually pretty scrupulous on points of honor. There was some difficulty in getting a messenger, but Jacket volunteered. He volunteers for anything, that boy. They wouldn't be likely to hurt a kid like him. If they should, why, we have the baby, you see."

Although Norine had pretended to wash her hands of all responsibility for Branch's little charge, she was by no means so inhuman as she appeared. During the day she kept a jealous eye upon it, and especially upon its diet.

Fortunately for all concerned, it was a good-natured child; so long as its stomach was full it was contented. It slept a good deal, and what time it was awake it sucked its fist and suffered itself to be variously entertained by the men. There were, of course, a number of fellows who could see no humor at all in El Demonio's plight, nor any reason for adding to his embarra.s.sments. These came to his aid in numerous ways.

It was an idle day; there was nothing to do except play with the baby; before night came the child had established itself as a general favorite. Even Branch himself had become interested in it.

"Say, I've learned a lot about kids from this one," he confided to O'Reilly at dinner-time. "I always thought young babies were just damp, sour-smelling little animals, but this one has character. She knows me already, and I'm getting so I can pick her up without feeling that I'm going to puncture her. She's full of dimples, too. Got 'em everywhere.

What do you think we'd better name her?"

"She probably has a name. Do you expect to keep her permanently?"

Branch considered. "I wouldn't have thought of such a thing yesterday, but how are we going to get rid of her? That's the question. We can't just leave her with the first family we come to. These country people have more kids than they know what to do with."

"Thinking about taking her on the march with us?" O'Reilly looked up, much amused.

"I don't see why it couldn't be done. The men wouldn't mind and she'd make a dandy mascot."

O'Reilly shook his head. "This isn't a baseball team. What about the baby's mother?"

"Bullets! Fine mother SHE was, to desert her child. I'll bet she's glad to get rid of it. People like that don't have any more affection than--cattle. They don't deserve to have children. What's more, they don't know how to care for them. I'd like to raise this kid according to my own ideas." Branch's face lightened suddenly. "Say! I've just thought of a name for her!"