"
In the afternoon, when the heat was less oppressive, we had a lively game
of "Pussy Wants a Corner," on the flat bluff-top, with the little trees
for bases. Lena was Pussy so often that she finally said she would n't
play any more. We threw ourselves down on the grass, out of breath.
"Jim," Antonia said dreamily, "I want you to tell the girls about how the
Spanish first came here, like you and Charley Harling used to talk about.
I've tried to tell them, but I leave out so much."
They sat under a little oak, Tony resting against the trunk and the other
girls leaning against her and each other, and listened to the little I was
able to tell them about Coronado and his search for the Seven Golden
Cities. At school we were taught that he had not got so far north as
Nebraska, but had given up his quest and turned back somewhere in Kansas.
But Charley Harling and I had a strong belief that he had been along this
very river. A farmer in the county north of ours, when he was breaking
sod, had turned up a metal stirrup of fine workmanship, and a sword with a
Spanish inscription on the blade. He lent these relics to Mr. Harling, who
brought them home with him. Charley and I scoured them, and they were on
exhibition in the Harling office all summer. Father Kelly, the priest, had
found the name of the Spanish maker on the sword, and an abbreviation that
stood for the city of Cordova.
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