"I think so, too, Colorado," he said.

"I think so, too! That was like my boy Rento, but not like Franci.

Franci dies every time he see a snake, and come to life only to find out if somebody else is killed.

See, my son, how beautiful the moon on the water! Let us look for a few moments, to take the beauty into us, and then I must send my little friend to his bed, that nothing harmful comes to him." So they sat hand in hand for awhile, gazing their fill, saying nothing; there was the same look in the two faces, so widely different.

The little boy, with his clear brow, his blue eyes limpid as a mountain pool, shining with the heavens reflected in them; the dark Spaniard (if he were a Spaniard!) with lines of sadness, shadows of thought and of bitter experience, making his bronze face still darker; what was there alike in these two, who had come together from the ends of the earth?
The thought was one, in both hearts, and the look of it shone in the eyes of both as they sat in the moonlight white and clear.