CHAPTER X

A SOILED YELLOWED ENVELOPE

The next morning, when they were at the breakfast table, Jo Ann suggested that they go down to the goat ranch to see if they could get some milk to take to Pepito. “Do you want to go this time, Peg?”

“We-ell, if I thought I’d get to see your mysterious boy, I’d go.”

“I don’t think you’d see him, because he and the father are going back up the mountain to finish making their charcoal.”

“Well, I’ll stay here, then. You two go on.”

After they had washed the dishes and finished their other tasks, Florence and Jo Ann set out toward the goat ranch, Jo Ann swinging a bucket on her arm.

When they came in sight of the little pink adobe house, Florence remarked, “While we’re here getting the milk, I believe I’ll see if I can buy some corn to take to the cave family for their _tortillas_.”

“Good idea,” approved Jo Ann.

After they had exchanged greetings with the woman at the house, Florence asked about the milk and corn, explaining their reason for wanting them.

“Poor little boy,” the woman exclaimed. “I give you some milk to take to him. It is not the kind of milk you get—it’s goat’s milk.”

Florence explained her answers to Jo Ann, adding, “That’ll suit Pepito better, anyway. He’s probably never tasted cow’s milk.”

After the woman had filled the bucket and had given them several ears of corn, they started off toward the cave.

As they neared the cave opening, Florence remarked, “The family’s here this time. I smell food cooking. I’m glad we brought that down last night, aren’t you?”

Jo Ann nodded an emphatic assent.

In a few more moments they stepped into the entrance of the cave.

The mother looked up quickly, then smiled broadly as she recognized the girls. “Ah, good morning, friends.”

“How’s Pepito this morning?” Florence asked a moment later.

“Much better.” Her face was beaming. “He ate much of the food that you brought.”

“That’s fine. We brought you some corn for your _tortillas_ and some milk for Pepito. He must eat lots and drink much milk, then he will get strong.”

The mother caught hold of Florence’s hand, saying, “A thousand thanks, señorita.”

With a smile of greeting to the family, Jo Ann crossed over to Pepito, who was lying on the _petate_ beside the baby watching his grandmother knot a long slender fiber rope.

“What are you doing?” Jo Ann asked the grandmother curiously, after she had talked a moment.

“Making bags for the charcoal,” she replied.

“But how can you——” she began, then, not knowing the word for carry, she called over to Florence, “Does she mean they’re going to carry charcoal in that thing? I should think it’d fall through such big holes.”

Florence came over beside Jo Ann and smilingly translated her question into Spanish.

“No, it won’t fall through,” Pepito replied earnestly. He raised up and took the partly finished bag from his grandmother and held it up for Jo Ann to see. “The charcoal is big. We pack it with much care, and it no fall through these holes,” he added, shaking his head.

“They fasten a large bag of charcoal on each side of the burro so that all you can see is his long ears sticking out between the bags,” Florence explained. “It looks as if the bags of charcoal were walking down the road.”

After watching how deftly the grandmother’s gnarled old hands tied the knots in the wiry rope, Jo Ann said, “I’d like to have a hammock made like that. Ask her, Florence, if she could make me a long strip that I could use for a hammock. Tell her I’ll buy it from her.”

“All right. You catch hold of one end of the strip and I the other, and we’ll show her exactly what you mean.”

After Florence had translated Jo Ann’s request and the two girls had demonstrated their meaning by gestures, the grandmother’s brown wrinkled face began to beam. She took the strip from them, saying, “_Sí, sí._ I understand. I finish this one for you. You have been so good—you give us back our Pepito.”

“Oh, but you need these bags for the charcoal right away,” put in Jo Ann, who had caught the meaning of the grandmother’s words. “Tell her I’m not in a hurry for the hammock. I can wait till after they sell the charcoal.”

After Florence had passed this remark on, the grandmother replied, “I make you one. When my son sell the charcoal, he will bring me more rope.”

After talking for a few minutes more Jo Ann remarked to Florence, “Ask the mother something more about Carlitos, now. If he isn’t their child, ask her where they got him and what nationality he is—he doesn’t understand English.”

Florence began to laugh. “Hold on! I can’t ask all of those questions at once. I’m a little dubious about asking any at all. They don’t seem to like to talk about him.”

“Yes, I know, but I’ve got to find out about him.”

“We-ell, I’ll see what I can find out, but I can’t promise you much.”

Florence walked back to the mother, who was cooking beans over the fire in the middle of the cave. After chatting with her awhile she tactfully brought up the subject of Carlitos. “How long has Carlitos lived with you?”

“Oh, for a long time. He is as one of our family.”

“How old was he when you took him?”

“Like Rosita over there.” The mother gestured toward the smaller one of the two little girls.

Florence glanced over at the child, who, she judged, must be about a year and a half old. So Carlitos had been with this family about seven years, she thought. “Where is his mother?” she asked.

“Ah, she died and left her baby with me. I was his nurse.”

“That was too bad. Wasn’t there any relative to take him?”

The woman shook her head. “No one.”

The thought darted through Florence’s mind that perhaps after all Carlitos was American or English. Since he had been so young when he was taken into this family, he could not have remembered any of his native language.

“Was his mother an American?” she asked.

“Yes, and she was so good to me and so beautiful. She had eyes of blue just like Carlitos’.”

Just then Jo Ann crossed over to Florence’s side. “Did I hear right? Did she say Carlitos was an American?”

“Yes.”

“So I was right at first about his not being a Mexican. What else did she say?”

Florence quickly recounted all that the mother had told her.

When she had finished, Jo Ann said, “Well, there’s something queer about a beautiful American woman leaving her baby with an ignorant Indian nurse. Ask her where his father is. That child’s bound to have some relatives somewhere. Looks strange to me that, as poor as this family is, they’d keep Carlitos when they can hardly feed their own children.”

“Well, all right, I’ll ask her. She doesn’t seem to mind talking about him today as much as she did yesterday.”

Florence turned to the mother. “Why did you have to keep Carlitos when you have so many children? Where was his father?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. He no come back.”

“Where did he go?”

“To the mine. The beautiful American woman go every day to watch for her husband, but he no come. It was cold, and she got sick. She had much cough, and one day she died.”

To the girls’ surprise the woman walked over to the grandmother and began talking in a low, rapid voice. The grandmother nodded and smiled over at the girls.

“She said something about us, or the grandmother wouldn’t have looked over at us that way,” said Jo Ann. “At least she’s smiling—that’s encouraging.”

They noticed the woman go over into a dark recess, then come back shortly. In the light of the fire they could see that she held a soiled yellowed envelope in her hand.

On coming closer the woman said earnestly, “You are American like his _mamá_ and _papá_. You have been good to us like they were.” She touched Florence on the cheek first, then Jo Ann. “And you are beautiful like his _mamá_.”

She held up a sealed envelope. “His _mamá_ give this to me. I keep it for Carlitos. When he get big, I give it to him.”

Florence took the envelope into her hand. She uttered a little gasp. “Why, this is a letter! It is addressed to a man in New York.” She read the name out loud. “Mr. E. P. Eldridge.”

“Well, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed Jo Ann. “Why didn’t she mail that?”

Not stopping to listen to Jo Ann, Florence asked the woman quickly, “Is Carlitos’ name Eldridge—Carlitos Eldridge?”

The woman hesitated a moment; then, after Florence had repeated the name Eldridge several times, she nodded her head. “Yes, I think that was the name. It has been many years—I forget.”

“This is a letter. Why didn’t you put it in the mail?”

The woman looked blank at this question.

“Didn’t Carlitos’ mother tell you to put this in the mail?” Florence asked.

“No. His _mamá_ speak very little Spanish. She only been in Mexico a little time. When she was dying she give this to me and tell me, ‘No let big mean man get this.’”

“Who was the big mean man?” Florence asked, puzzled at this new turn in her story.

The woman broke into a confused account which Florence later translated to Jo Ann. “I can’t make out exactly what she’s talking about, but she says some big man who had something to do with the mine was mean to Carlitos’ mother after her husband had disappeared. She said they were all afraid of him.”

“But that’s no excuse for her not mailing the letter,” Jo Ann said.

“All she understood was to keep this from that man,” Florence explained. “She’d never seen a letter before in her life. She couldn’t read or write. And the American woman couldn’t explain it to her, you know. The only other people at this mine were Indian peons like themselves, so there was no one she could go to.”

“It’s hard to realize that she didn’t know what a letter was when she saw one,” Jo Ann remarked, then looked down at the envelope with renewed interest. “I wish we dared to open this and read it, but of course we can’t do that.”

“No; the only thing for us to do is to mail it now.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Jo Ann replied quickly. “It might get lost. It has to be carried so far before it even gets to a postoffice. Besides, it’s about seven years since this letter was written. Why not write a letter to this address explaining the situation?”

Florence pondered over this plan a moment, then spoke up briskly: “I have a better idea than that. I’ll write to Daddy and explain it all to him and have him telegraph to this Mr. Eldridge in New York. That’ll save lots of time.”

“You’re right, it certainly will.”

Florence turned and explained to the woman that she and Jo Ann were going to send word to this man whose name was written on the envelope. “It may help Carlitos,” she ended.

“Ah, you are so good to want to help Carlitos,” the woman exclaimed.

“I wish we could find something to write this address on, but we can’t,” said Florence. “We must look at it very carefully so as to be sure we get it right.”

Both girls read and reread the address, then repeated it aloud to each other.

“Now let’s hurry and get home before we forget it,” said Jo Ann.

After a hasty “_Adios_” to the family, the two hurried out of the cave.