Read Online Following the Grass by Harry Sinclair Drago - Free Book Online Page B

to come to her?
    What message could she send that would bring him ?—and a voice whispered; “The secret on the mountain-top!”
    Yes, she told herself, that was it! Angel Irosabal could not deny that summons. She had kept the secret well, but as she called Joseph to her side when Enriquez had gone, and gave him the message for her father, she promised herself that if he failed to come to her, Joseph should have the secret of Buckskin.
    Her own life had been laid waste by hatred, but she had tried to hide it from her son. Even so, had she kept from him the story of the injustice done his father. Her husband had asked that. A legacy of hate was a poor heritage, but she could not ask her son to always turn the other cheek.
    Never before had she asked her father’s mercy. She was on her knees to him now. If he failed her, it must be for Joseph to right the wrong which had been done his father and her.
    Since babyhood, in Joseph’s eyes, Angel Irosabal’s caserio had been an ogre’s castle. The bad man of his dreams lived there, but it was with a brave smile to his mother that he set forth. He knew he must go swiftly. The trail which Enriquez had taken to the valley was not to be thought of, for Joseph had no horse. An old deer run led down the side of the mountain, and that was the course he took.
    Margarida knew it would be morning before he could return with her father. At dawn her eyes were open, searching the mountain-side for them. She knew they must come soon, or else be too late. Her spirit waited only for them.
    It must have been eight o’clock when she thought she saw a speck moving up the mountain. Weak as she was, she pulled herself into a sitting position and watched the running, jumping object that was surely hurrying hurrying toward the cabin. It was Joseph! And he was alone! Angel Irosabal had turned him from his door!
    Margarida wished that she might call out to Joseph and bid him not to hurry, for, no matter how fast he ran, he would be too late. Never again would their mortal eyes behold each other.
    An hour later, tired and hollow-eyed, the boy reached the cabin. Twice he raised his hand to open the door before he found courage to do it. He called to Margarida, but there was no response. Rushing to her side, he clutched her hands; they were still warm. For an instant he took hope, and shook her faintly. And then he knew!—his mother was dead!
    He had left the door open and Brindle, his favorite of Slippy-foot’s pups, had followed him into the cabin. The dog put his paws upon the bed and nuzzled Margarida’s hand. Joseph hugged the dog, and as Brindle threw back his head and voiced the misery that was in him, the boy sobbed out his grief.
    Time passed unnoticed. Here was the end of all things. What good to go to the door and see if Enriquez was returning with Tabor Kincaid? The dogs were barking; perhaps the sheep were in trouble—Joseph shook his head. The sheep mattered not.
    How long he knelt beside his dead mother before he became aware of his slate, propped against the wall, he did not know. Only yesterday he had used it. He saw the pencil lying upon the coverlet, where it had evidently fallen from his mother’s fingers. And then, before he fully realized that the slate held a message for him, he was reading it:
    M Y J OSEPH :
    I can see you, my son. You are running, but your little legs will not bring you to me in time. Leave Buckskin. Go where you can grow into the man I know you can be. Some day, when you are grown, you must come back here. You have got to right a great wrong. On the very top of the mountain you will find your answer. Let this be your secret, my Joseph. Your fa——
    The last two lines were so faint the boy read them with difficulty. Brindle stared at him quizzically. Word by word, he committed the message to memory. The dog stiffened at the sound of Enriquez’s voice. Joseph heard Kincaid, too. They must have hurried to have