the lone ranche.
a singular habitation was that into which frank hamersley, and after him walt wilder, had found their way. architecturally of the rudest description—a kind among mexicans especially styled jacal, or more generally rancho, the latter designation anglicised or americanised into ranche. the rancho, when of limited dimensions, is termed ranchito, and may be seen with walls of different materials, according to the district or country. in the hot low lands (tierras calientes) it is usually built of bamboos, with a thatching of palm-leaf; higher up, on the table lands (tierras templadas) it is a structure of mud bricks unburnt (adobe’s); while still higher, upon the slopes of the forest-clad sierras, it assumes the orthodox shape of a log cabin, though in many respects differing from that of the states.
the one which gave shelter to the fugitives differed from all these, having walls of split slabs, set stockade fashion, and thatched with a sedge of tulé, taken from a little lake that lay near. it had three rooms and a kitchen, with some sheds at the back—one a stable appropriated to the mustang mare, another to some mules, and a third occupied by two men of the class of “peons”—the male domestics of the establishment.
all, with the house itself, structures of the rudest kind, unlike as possible to the dwelling-place of a lady, to say nought of an angel.
this thought occurs to wilder as he enters under its roof. but he has no time to dwell upon it. his wounded comrade is inside, to whom he is conducted. he finds the latter still alive—thank god for that!—but unconscious of all that is passing around. to the kindly words spoken in apostrophe he makes no reply, or only in speeches incoherent. his skin is hot, his lips parched, his pulse throbbing at ninety to the minute. he is in the throes of a raging fever, which affects his brain as his blood.
the stalwart hunter sits down by his side, and stays there, tenderly nursing him. it glads him to observe there are others solicitous as himself—to find that he and hamersley have fallen among friends. though also surprising him, as does the sort of people he sees around. first, there is a lady, easily recognised as the angel; then a man of military aspect, who addresses her as “hermanita,” unquestionably a gentleman with a second and older man wearing spectacles, by both spoken of as “el medico.” strange inhabitants for a hovel, as that this should be in such an odd situation—hundreds of miles beyond the borders of civilisation, as walt well knows.
no wonder at his wondering, above all when he discovers that his comrade is already known to them—to the younger of the two men, who is their host. this, however, is soon explained. walt was already aware that the young prairie trader had made a former trip to new mexico, when and where, as he is now told, the acquaintance commenced, along with some other particulars, to satisfy him for the time.
in return for this confidence he gives a detailed account of the caravan and its mischances—of the great final misfortune, which explains to them why its owner and himself had been forced to take to the staked plain, and were there wandering about, helpless fugitives.
to his narrative all three eagerly listen. but when he enlarges on the bravery of his young comrade, lying unconscious beside them, one bends upon the latter eyes that express an interest amounting to admiration. it is the “angel.”
in the days that succeed she becomes walt’s fellow-watcher by the bedside of the sufferer; and often again does he observe similar glances given to their common patient. rough backwoodsman though he be, he can tell them to be looks of love.
he thinks less about them because he has himself found something of like kind stealing over his thoughts. all his cares are not given to his invalided comrade; for in the hut is a fourth individual, whose habitual place is the cocina, coming and going, as occasion calls.
a little brown-skinned beauty, half spanish, half pueblo indian, whose black eyes have burnt a hole through his buckskin hunting-shirt, and set fire to his heart. though but little more than half his height, in less than a week after making her acquaintance she has become his master, as much as if their stature were reversed.
walt does not want her for his mistress. no; the hunter is too noble, too honourable, for that his glance following her as she flits about the room, taking in her dainty shape, and the expression of her pretty face, always wreathed in smiles, he has but one single-hearted desire, to which he gives muttered expression, saying,—
“thet’s jest the kind o’ gurl a fellow ked freeze to. i ne’er seed a apple dumplin’ as looked sweeter or more temptin’; an’ if she’s agreeable, we two air born to be bone o’ one bone, and flesh o’ one flesh!”
