Chapter XV: Of the Past

Lola had evidently finished her tale. She still sat unmoved, hands clasped idly in her lap and staring out into blank space. Her physical being was there, living and breathing the same as they, but Westy thought that her spirit was somewhere in the Great Beyond with Lone Star.

“My dear child,” Mr. Wilde said finally, “we are waiting to hear the rest of your story. You’ve left the best part untold, haven’t you?”

“You mean the hardest part,” she answered; “for them, at least it must have been! There isn’t much more to tell except that Lone Star confessed to John Redmond her innocent theft and how Paul Mitchell had duped her.

“Singing Bird being in such a precarious condition and with only one pony, their progress was exceedingly slow. All along the way their dangers were manifold and one day a stage coach overtook them. They were overjoyed, of course, but their joy was short lived, as there wasn’t any available room for them.

“One of the occupants was a padre from the mission in Santa Fe, so on the Old Trail right at the threshold of the mountains which had become hallowed with the blood and martyrdom of many brave men, Lone Star and John Redmond joined their hearts and hands.

“The passengers did all they could for Singing Bird and, being helpless to do more, went on their way. Putting the old woman on the pony’s back, this fearless maid and man stood for a moment watching.

“Hands tightly clasped, they looked where the coach was disappearing around a bend in the Trail. When they couldn’t see it longer, they listened, the pounding of the horses’ hoofs resounding along the highway and the friendly creak of the wheels sounding like music to their ears. On and on they went, riding into the sunset and out of their lives.

“Singing Bird died when they reached these mountains. In searching for a place to give her burial they came across a deserted cabin standing where our cottage is now.

“Whether it was that they were weary or disillusioned and skeptical of all mankind through Paul Mitchell’s act, I do not know. At all events they decided to live their lives alone and unmolested, and stayed on here, enduring terrible hardships in their endeavors to make possible this little garden spot as a retreat from all the world.

“One son was born to them, who afterward married an English girl, his second cousin, and now my grandmother. They also stayed on here with the parents and in the due course of time a son was born to them--my father.

“In his young manhood he brought to the home of his father a young bride of gentle bearing whose forefathers had also fought and triumphed over great odds on the Old Trail.

“They, too, stayed on, building the old cabin anew and at my birth my mother died. My father was deeply grieved and when the war came he went to France--never to return. Like his grandfather who had lived bravely--he died bravely.

“John Redmond and Lone Star passed out of this life within a few minutes of one another--loyal even unto Death. Unhappily, I do not remember them; they died when I was an infant.

“After my father’s death in France my grandfather also left this life and they are all lying peacefully over there on the hillside.”

She waved her hand to the right, where four little white stones on a grassy slope stood out visibly in the bright moonlight.

“Just grandmother and I now--that is all, dear friends, for you have just heard a tale of three generations.”