floor.
I screamed, “Nils!” and heard an answering, “Gail!” and the pounding of his running feet.
We carried the creature outside the ruined house and laid it on the scanty six-weeks grass that followed over the sand like a small green river the folds in the earth that held moisture the longest. We straightened the crumpled arms and legs and it was a creature no longer but a girl-child. I tried to pull down the tattered skirt to cover more seemly, but the bottom edge gave way without tearing and I had the soft smudge of burned fabric and soot between my fingers. I lifted the head to smooth the sand under it and stopped, my attention caught.
“Look, Nils the hair. Half of it’s burned away. This poor child must have been in the fire. She must have tried to free the animals—”
“It’s not animals,” said Nils, his voice tight and angered.
“They’re people.”
“People!” I gasped. “Oh, no!”
“At least four,” nodded Nils.
“Oh, how awful!” I said, smoothing the stub of hair away from the quiet face. “The fire must have struck in the night.”
“They were tied,” said Nils shortly. “Hand and foot.”
“Tied? But, Nils-“
“Tied. Deliberately burned-“
“Indians!” I gasped, scrambling to my feet through the confusion of my skirts. “Oh, Nils!”
“There have been no Indian raids in the Territory for almost five years. And the last one was on the other side of the Territory. They told me at Margin that there had never been any raids around here. There are no Indians in this area.”
“Then who-what-” I dropped down beside the still figure. “Oh, Nils,” I whispered. “What kind of a country have we come to?”
“No matter what kind it is,” said Nils, “we have a problem here. Is the child dead?”
“No.” My hand on the thin chest felt the slight rise and fall of breathing. Quickly I flexed arms and legs and probed lightly. “I can’t find any big hurt. But so dirty and ragged!”
We found the spring under a granite overhang halfway between the house and the corral. Nils rummaged among our things in the wagon and found me the hand basin, some rags, and soap. We lighted a small fire and heated water in a battered bucket Nils dredged out of the sand below the spring. While the water was heating, I stripped away the ragged clothing. The child had on some sort of a one-piece undergarment that fitted as closely as her skin and as flexible. It covered her from shoulder to upper thigh and the rounding of her body under it made me revise my estimate of her age upward a little. The garment was undamaged by the fire but I couldn’t find any way to unfasten it to remove it so I finally left it and wrapped the still unconscious girl in a quilt. Then carefully I bathed her, except for her hair, wiping the undergarment, which came clean and bright without any effort at all. I put her into one of my nightgowns, which came close enough to fitting her since I am of no great size myself.
“What shall I do about her hair?” I asked Nils, looking at the snarled, singed tousle of it. “Half of it is burned off clear up to her ear.”
“Cut the rest of it to match,” said Nils. “Is she burned anywhere?”
“No,” I replied, puzzled. “Not a sign of a burn, and yet her clothing was almost burned away and her hair-” I felt a shiver across my shoulders and looked around the flat apprehensively, though nothing could be more flatly commonplace than the scene. Except-except for the occasional sullen wisp of smoke from the shed ruins.
“Here are the scissors.” Nils brought them from the wagon. Reluctantly, because of the heavy flow of the tresses across my wrist, I cut away the long dark hair until both sides of her head matched, more or less. Then, scooping out the sand to lower the basin beneath her head, I wet and lathered and rinsed until the water came clear, then carefully dried the hair, which, released from length and dirt, sprang into profuse curls all over her head.
“What a shame to have cut it,” I said to Nils, holding the damp head in the curve of my elbow. “How lovely it must have been.” Then I nearly dropped my burden. The eyes were open and looking at me blankly. I managed a smile and said, “Hello! Nils, hand me a cup of water.”
At first she looked at the water as though at a cup of poison, then, with a shuddering little sigh, drank it down in large hasty gulps.
“That’s better now, isn’t it?” I said, hugging her a little. There was no answering word or smile, but only a slow tightening of the muscles under my hands until, still in my arms, the girl had withdrawn from me completely. I ran my hand over her curls. “I’m sorry we had to cut it, but it was-” I bit back my words. I felt muscles lifting, so I helped the girl sit up. She looked around in a daze and then her eyes were caught by a sullen up-puff of smoke. Seeing what she was seeing, I swung my shoulder between her and the ashes of the shed. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her fingers bit into my arm as she dragged herself to see past me.
“Let her look,” Nils said. “She knows what happened. Let her see the end of it. Otherwise she’ll wonder all her life.” He took her from me and carried her over to the corral. I couldn’t go. I busied myself with emptying the basin and burying the charred clothing. I spread the quilt out to receive the child when they returned.
Nils finally brought her back and put her down on the quilt. She lay, eyes shut, as still as if breath had left her, too. Then two tears worked themselves out of her closed lids, coursed down the sides of her checks, and lost themselves in the tumble of curls around her ears. Nils took the shovel and grimly tackled the task of burying the bodies.
I built up the fire again and began to fix dinner. The day was spending itself rapidly but, late or not, when Nils finished, we would leave. Eating a large meal now, we could piece for supper and travel, if necessary, into the hours of darkness until this place was left far behind.
Nils finally came back, pausing at the spring to snort and blow through double handful after double handful of water. I met him with a towel.
