The
kitchen was lighted only by one dim candle. On the stove were
sputtering and hissing all the pots and frying-pans it would hold.
Much cooking was evidently going on for the men who were
noisily rollicking in the other house.
Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In a few moments
Mrs. Hartsel came hurrying back to her work. It was no uncommon
experience to find an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim
light she did not recognize Alessandro, but mistook him, as he sat
bowed over, his head in his hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort
of recognized hanger-on of the place, earning his living there by
odd jobs of fetching and carrying, and anything else he could do.
"Run, Ramon," she said, "and bring me more wood; this cotton
wood is so dry, it burns out like rotten punk; I'm off my feet
to-night, with all these men to cook for;" then turning to the table,
she began cutting her bread, and did not see how tall and unlike
Ramon was the man who silently rose and went out to do her
bidding. When, a few moments later, Alessandro re-entered,
bringing a huge armful of wood, which it would have cost poor old
Ramon three journeys at least to bring, and throwing it down, on
the hearth, said, "Will that be enough, Mrs.
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