The Complete Canon - The complete Sherlock Holmes

A Study In Scarletvery bright brown eyes, and two little speckled, dimpledfists.“You’ve hurt me!” said a childish voice reproachfully.“Have I though,” the man answered penitently, “Ididn’t go for to do it.” As he spoke he unwrapped thegrey shawl and extricated a pretty little girl of aboutfive years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pinkfrock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother’scare. The child was pale and wan, but her healthyarms and legs showed that she had suffered less thanher companion.“How is it now?” he answered anxiously, for shewas still rubbing the towsy golden curls which coveredthe back of her head.“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfectgravity, shoving the injured part up to him. “That’swhat mother used to do. Where’s mother?”“Mother’s gone.long.”I guess you’ll see her before“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny, she didn’tsay good-bye; she ’most always did if she was justgoin’ over to Auntie’s for tea, and now she’s beenaway three days. Say, it’s awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’tthere no water, nor nothing to eat?”“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You’ll just needto be patient awhile, and then you’ll be all right. Putyour head up agin me like that, and then you’ll feelbullier. It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is likeleather, but I guess I’d best let you know how thecards lie. What’s that you’ve got?”“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little girlenthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragmentsof mica. “When we goes back to home I’ll give themto brother Bob.”“You’ll see prettier things than them soon,” saidthe man confidently. “You just wait a bit. I was goingto tell you though—you remember when we left theriver?”“Oh, yes.”“Well, we reckoned we’d strike another river soon,d’ye see. But there was somethin’ wrong; compasses,or map, or somethin’, and it didn’t turn up. Waterran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of youand—and—”“And you couldn’t wash yourself,” interrupted hiscompanion gravely, staring up at his grimy visage.“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fustto go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor,and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, yourmother.”“Then mother’s a deader too,” cried the little girldropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly.“Yes, they all went except you and me. Then Ithought there was some chance of water in this direction,so I heaved you over my shoulder and wetramped it together. It don’t seem as though we’veimproved matters. There’s an almighty small chancefor us now!”“Do you mean that we are going to die too?” askedthe child, checking her sobs, and raising her tearstainedface.“I guess that’s about the size of it.”“Why didn’t you say so before?” she said, laughinggleefully. “You gave me such a fright. Why, ofcourse, now as long as we die we’ll be with motheragain.”“Yes, you will, dearie.”“And you too. I’ll tell her how awful good you’vebeen. I’ll bet she meets us at the door of Heaven witha big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes,hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me wasfond of. How long will it be first?”“I don’t know—not very long.” The man’s eyeswere fixed upon the northern horizon. In the bluevault of the heaven there had appeared three littlespecks which increased in size every moment, sorapidly did they approach. They speedily resolvedthemselves into three large brown birds, which circledover the heads of the two wanderers, and then settledupon some rocks which overlooked them. They werebuzzards, the vultures of the west, whose coming isthe forerunner of death.“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl gleefully,pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping herhands to make them rise. “Say, did God make thiscountry?”“Of course He did,” said her companion, ratherstartled by this unexpected question.“He made the country down in Illinois, and Hemade the Missouri,” the little girl continued. “I guesssomebody else made the country in these parts. It’snot nearly so well done. They forgot the water andthe trees.”“What would ye think of offering up prayer?” theman asked diffidently.“It ain’t night yet,” she answered.38