Charlie to the Rescue Part 33

"Well, to make a long yarn short, I joined Hunky and allowed him to lead, seein' that he understands the navigation hereaway better than me.

"`Come along,' says he, `an' I'll let you have a chance at a deer.'

"`All right,' says I, an' away we went up one hill an' down another--for all the world as if we was walkin' over a heavy Atlantic swell--till we come to a sort o' pa.s.s among the rocks.

"`I'm goin' to leave you here to watch,' says he, `an' I'll go round by the futt o' the gully an' drive the deer up. They'll pa.s.s quite close, so you've only to--'

"Hunky stopped short as he was speakin' and flopped down as if he'd bin shot-haulin' me along wi' him.

"`Keep quiet,' says he, in a low voice. `We're in luck, an' don't need to drive. There's a deer comin' up at this very minute--a young one.

You'll take it. I won't fire unless you miss.'

"You may be sure I kep' quiet, messmates, arter that. I took just one peep, an' there, sure enough, I saw a brown beast comin' up the pa.s.s.

So we kep' close as mice. There was a lot o' small bushes not ten yards in front of us, which ended in a cut--a sort o' crack--in the hill-side, a hundred yards or more from the place where we was crouchin'.

"`Now,' whispers Hunky to--"

"I never whisper!" remarked the scout.

"Well, well; he said, in a low v'ice to me, says he, `d'ye see that openin' in the bushes?' `I do,' says I. `Well then,' says he, `it's about ten yards off; be ready to commence firin' when it comes to that openin'.' `I will,' says I. An', sure enough, when the brown critter came for'id at a walk an' stopped sudden wi' a look o' surprise as if it hadn't expected to see me, bang went my Winchester four times, like winkin', an' up went the deer four times in the air, but niver a bit the worse was he. Snap I went a fifth time; but there was no shot, an' I gave a yell, for I knew the cartridges was done. By that time the critter had reached the crack in the hill I told ye of, an' up in the air he went to clear it, like an Indy-rubber ball. I felt a'most like to fling my rifle at it in my rage, when bang! went a shot at my ear that all but deaf'ned me, an' I wish I may niver fire another shot or furl another t'gallant-s'l if that deer didn't crumple up in the air an'

drop down stone dead--as dead as it now lays there on the floor."

By the time d.i.c.k Darvall had ended his narrative--which was much more extensive than our report of it--steaks of the deer were sputtering in a frying-pan, and other preparations were being made for a hearty meal, to which all the healthy men did ample justice. Shank Leather did what he could, and even Buck Tom made a feeble attempt to join.

That night a strict watch was kept outside the cave--each taking it by turns, for it was just possible, though not probable, that the outlaws might return to their old haunt. No one appeared, however, and for the succeeding eight weeks the party remained there undisturbed, Shank Leather slowly but surely regaining strength; his friend, Buck Tom, as slowly and surely losing it; while Charlie, d.i.c.k, and Hunky Ben ranged the neighbouring forest in order to procure food. Leather usually remained in the cave to cook for and nurse his friend. It was pleasant work to Shank, for love and pity were at the foundation of the service.

Buck Tom perceived this and fully appreciated it. Perchance he obtained some valuable light on spiritual subjects from Shank's changed tone and manner, which the logic of his friend Brooke had failed to convey. Who can tell?

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

SHOWS HOW THE SEAMAN WAS SENT ON A DELICATE MISSION AND HOW HE FARED.

"Shank," said Charlie one day as they were sitting in the sunshine near the outlaws' cave, waiting for d.i.c.k and the scout to return to their mid-day meal, "it seems to me that we may be detained a good while here, for we cannot leave Ralph, and it is evident that the poor fellow won't be able to travel for many a day--"

"If ever," interposed Shank sorrowfully.

"Well, then, I think we must send down to Bull's Ranch, to see if there are any letters for us. I feel sure that there must be some, and the question arises--who are we to send?"

"_You_ must not go, Charlie, whoever goes. You are the only link in this mighty wilderness, that connects Ralph and me with home--and hope.

Weak and helpless as we are, we cannot afford to let you out of our sight."

"Well, but if I don't go I can't see my way to asking the scout to go, for he alone thoroughly understands the ways of the country and of the Indians--if any should chance to come this way. Besides, considering the pledge he is under to be accountable for Buck Tom, I doubt if he would consent to go."

"The question is answered, then," said Shank, "for the only other man is d.i.c.k Darvall."

"True; and it strikes me that d.i.c.k will be very glad to go," returned Charlie with a smile of peculiar meaning.

"D'ye think he's getting tired of us, Charlie?"

"By no means. But you know he has a roving disposition, and I think he has a sort of fondness for Jackson--the boss of the ranch."

It was found when the question was put to him, that d.i.c.k was quite ready to set out on the mission required of him. He also admitted his fondness for Roaring Bull!

"But what if you should lose your way?" asked the scout.

"Find it again," was d.i.c.k's prompt reply.

"And what if you should be attacked by Indians?"

"Fight 'em, of course."

"But if they should be too many to fight?"

"Why, clap on all sail an' give 'em a starn chase, which is always a long one. For this purpose, however, I would have to command a good craft so I'd expect you to lend me yours, Hunky Ben."

"What! my Polly?"

"Even so. Black Polly."

The scout received this proposal gravely, and shook his head at first, for he was naturally fond of his beautiful mare, and, besides, doubted the sailor's horsemanship, though he had perfect faith in his courage and discretion. Finally, however, he gave in; and accordingly, one fine morning at daybreak, d.i.c.k Darvall, mounted on Black Polly, and armed with his favourite Winchester, revolvers, and cutla.s.s, "set sail" down Traitor's Trap to visit his lady-love!

Of course he knew that his business was to obtain letters and gather news. But honest d.i.c.k Darvall could not conceal from himself that his main object was--Mary Jackson!

Somehow it has come to be supposed or a.s.sumed that a jack-tar cannot ride. Possibly this may be true of the cla.s.s as a whole to which Jack belongs, but it is not necessarily true of all, and it certainly is not true of some. d.i.c.k Darvall was an expert horseman--though a sailor. He had learned to ride when a boy, before going to sea, and his after-habit of riding the "white horses" of the Norseman, did not cause him to forget the art of managing the "buckers" of the American plains. To use his own words, he felt as much at home on the hurricane deck of a Spanish pony, as on the fo'c'sl of a man-of-war, so that the scout's doubt of his capacity as a rider was not well founded.

Tremendous was the bound of exultation which our seaman felt, then, when he found himself on the magnificent black mare, with the fresh morning air fanning his temples, and the bright morning sun glinting through a cut in the eastern range.

Soon he reached the lower end of the valley, which, being steep, he had descended with tightened rein. On reaching the open prairie he gave the mare her head and went off with a wild whoop like an arrow from a bow.

Black Polly required neither spur nor whip. She possessed that charmingly sensitive spirit which seems to receive an electric shock from its rider's lightest chirp. She was what you may call an anxiously willing steed, yet possessed such a tender mouth that she could be pulled up as easily as she could be made to go. A mere child could have ridden her, and d.i.c.k found in a few minutes that a slight check was necessary to prevent her scouring over the plains at racing speed. He restrained her, therefore, to a grand canter, with many a stride and bound interspersed, when such a thing as a rut or a little bush came in her way.

With arched neck, glistening eyes, voluminous mane, and flowing tail she flew onward, hour after hour, with many a playful shake of the head, and an occasional snort, as though to say, "This is mere child's play; _do_ let me put on a spurt!"

It may not be fair to credit such a n.o.ble creature with talking, or even thinking, slang, but d.i.c.k Darvall clearly understood her to say something of the sort, for after a while he reduced speed to a kind of india-rubber walk and patted her neck, saying--

"No, no, la.s.s, you mustn't use up your strength at the beginning. We've got a longish trip before us, Polly, an' it won't do to clap on all sail at the beginnin' of the voyage."

At David's store d.i.c.k stopped for a short time to obtain a little refreshment for himself and Polly. There he found a group of cow-boys discussing the affairs of their neighbours, and enlarging noisily on things in general under the brain-clearing and reason-inspiring influence of strong drink! To these he recounted briefly the incidents of the recent raid of the troops into Traitor's Trap, and learned that Jake the Flint had "drifted south into Mexico where he was plying the trade of cattle and horse stealer, with the usual accompaniments of that profession--fighting, murdering, drinking, etcetera." Some of the deeds of this notorious outlaw, as narrated by the cow-boy Crux, who happened to be there, made the blood of d.i.c.k run cold--and d.i.c.k's blood was not easily made to run otherwise than naturally by any one--except, of course, by Mary Jackson, who could at all events make it run hot, also fast or slow, very much according to her own sweet will!

But the seaman had no time to lose. He had still a long way to go, and the day was advancing. Remounting Black Polly he was soon out again on the prairie, sweeping over the gra.s.sy waves and down into the hollows with a feeling of hilarious jollity, that was born of high health, good-nature, pleasant circ.u.mstances, and a free-and-easy mind.

Nothing worthy of particular notice occurred after this to mar the pleasure of our sailor's "voyage" over the prairie until he reached a belt of woodland, through which for half a mile he had to travel. Here he drew rein and began to traverse the bit of forest at a quiet amble, partly to rest Polly, and partly that he might more thoroughly enjoy the woodland scenery through the umbrageous canopy of which the sun was sending his slanting rays and covering the sward with a confused chequer-work of green and gold.

And here d.i.c.k Darvall became communicative; entered into conversation, so to speak, with himself. After a few minutes, however, this did not prove a sufficient outlet to his exuberant spirits.

"Come, d.i.c.k," he exclaimed, "give us a song. Your voice ain't, perhaps, much to speak of as to quality, but there's no end of quant.i.ty. Strike up, now; what shall it be?"

Without replying to the question he struck up "Rule Britannia" in tones that did not justify his disparaging remark as to quality. He reached the other end of the wood and the end of the song at the same time.