She carried
responsibility upon each shoulder; her life was in the shaping and she
and none other must make it what it would be; her brother's character
was at that unstable stage when it was ready to run into the mould.
She had brought him here, from the city to the rim of the desert--the
step had been her doing, nobody's but hers. And she had come here far
less for the sake of Elmer Page's cough than for the sake of his
manhood. She wanted him to grow to be a man one could be proud of;
there were times when his eyes evaded her and she feared the outcome.
"He is just a boy," she told herself, seeking courage. It seemed such
a brief time ago that she had blown his nose for him and washed his
face. She made excuses for him, but did not close her eyes to the
truth. The good old saw that boys will be boys failed to make of Elmer
all that she would have him.
Further to this consideration was another matter which filled the hours
for her. The few dollars with which she had established herself in San
Juan marched in steady procession out of her purse and fewer other
dollars came to take their places. The Indian Ramorez whose stomach
trouble she had mitigated came full of gratitude and Casa Blanca
whiskey and paid La Senorita Doctor as handsomely as he could; he gave
her his unlimited and eternal thanks and a very beautiful hair rope.
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