The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 24

Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on the very outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, when he saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and waving his other hand to us, called out cheerily:

"How are you, boys? Glad to see you! You're welcome--more than welcome!"

"Hurt, Peter?" cried Joe, running forward and throwing himself upon his knees beside the injured man.

"A trifle. No bones broken, I believe, but pretty badly bruised and strained, especially the right leg above the knee. I find I can't walk--at least not just yet."

"How did you escape the slide?" I asked.

"Why, I had warning of it, luckily. I was up pretty early this morning and was just about to leave the house, when a dab of snow--a couple of tons, maybe--came down and knocked off my chimney. I knew what that meant, and I didn't waste much time, you may be sure, in getting out. I grabbed my rifle and ran for it. I was hardly out of my door when the roar began, and you may guess how I ran then. I had reached almost this spot when down it came. The edge of it caught me and tumbled me about; sometimes on the surface, sometimes on the ground; now on my face and now feet uppermost, I was pitched this way and that like a cork in a torrent, till a big tree--the one Sox is sitting on, I think--slapped me on the back with its branches and hurled me twenty feet away among the rocks. It was then I got hurt; but on the other hand, being flung out of the snow like that saved me from being buried, so I can't complain. It was as narrow a shave as one could well have."

"It certainly was," said I. "And did you hold on to the rifle all the time?"

"Yes; though why, I can't say. The natural instinct to hold on to something, I suppose. But how is it you are on hand so promptly? It did occur to me as I lay here that one of you might notice that there had been a slide and remember me, but I never expected to see you here so soon."

"Well, that was another piece of good fortune," I replied. "Joe saw the slide come down and rode a four-mile race to come and tell me. We did not lose a minute in getting under way, and we haven't wasted any time in getting here either. But now we are here, the question is: How are we going to get you out?"

"Where do you propose to take me?" asked Peter.

"Down to our house."

For a brief instant the hermit looked as though he were going to demur; but if he had entertained such an idea, he thought better of it, and thanked me instead.

"It's very good of you," said he; "though it gives me an odd sensation.

I haven't been inside another man's house for years."

"Well, don't you think it's high time you changed your habits?" ask Joe, laughing. "And you couldn't have a better opportunity--your own house smashed flat; yourself helpless; and we two all prepared to lug you off whether you like it or not."

"Well," said Peter, smiling at Joe's threat, "then I suppose I may as well give in. You're very kind, though, boys," he added, seriously, "and I'm very glad indeed to accept your offer."

"Then let us pitch in at once and start downward," said Joe. "Do you think you could walk with help?"

"I doubt it; but I'll have a try."

It was no use, though. With one arm over Joe's shoulder and the other over mine he essayed to walk, but the attempt was a failure. His right leg dragged helplessly behind; he could not take a step.

"We've got to think of some other way," said Joe, as Peter once more stretched himself at full length upon the ground. "Can we----"

But here he was interrupted.

All this time, Sox, with rare backwardness, had remained perched upon his tree-root, looking on and listening, but at this moment down he flew, alighted upon the ground near Peter's head, made a complete circuit of his master's prostrate form, then hopped up on his shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to his toes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon the hermit's left foot.

We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds he straightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air of having thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:

"John Brown's body."

Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he had made the very best joke that ever was heard.

"You black heathen, Sox!" cried his master. "I believe you would laugh at a funeral."

"Lies," said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation.

"Get out, you old rascal!" cried the hermit, "shooing" away the bird with his hat. "Your conversation is not desired just now." And as Sox flew back to his perch, Peter continued: "How far down did you leave your ponies, boys?"

"About a mile," I replied.

"Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bring up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down."

"All right," said Joe, springing to his feet. "We'll try it. I'll go down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don't you think?"

"Yes," I answered. "The little gray's the one; he's more sober-minded than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray."

Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.

"It's pretty rough going," said he, "but I think we can make it if we take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let's see if we can hoist you into the saddle."

It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter called to us to stop.

In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we pa.s.sed just beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once attracted his attention.

"Wait a moment, boys, will you?" he requested, checking the pony; and then, turning to me, he continued: "Look up there, Phil. Do you see that black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will you? I should like to look at it."

Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.

"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. "Just what I thought! This will interest Tom Connor."

"Why?" we both asked. "What is it?"

"A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes of some black mineral? Lead--lead and sulphur. There's a vein up there somewhere."

"And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has brought away a piece of it, eh?" asked Joe.

"Yes, that is what I suppose. There are some bits of light-colored rock up there, too, Phil. Pry out one or two of those, will you?"

I did as requested, and on my pa.s.sing them to Peter, he said:

"These are porphyry rocks. The general formation up there is limestone, I know--I've noticed it frequently--but I expect it is crossed somewhere--probably on the line of the belt of trees--by a porphyry dike. Put the specimens into your pocket, Joe; we must keep them to show to Connor. It's a very important find. And now let us get along."

The journey down the gulch was very slow and very difficult--we made hardly a mile an hour--though, when we left the mountain and started across the mesa we got along better. When about half way, I left the others and galloped home, where I lighted a fire and heated a lot of water, so that, when at length Peter arrived, I had a steaming hot tubful all ready for him in the spare room on the ground floor.

Though our friend protested against being treated like an invalid, declaring his belief that he would be about right again by morning, he nevertheless consented to take his hot bath and go to bed; though I think he was persuaded to do so more because he was unwilling to disappoint us after all our preparations, than because he really expected to derive any benefit.

Be that as it may--and for my part I shall always hold that it was the hot bath that did it--when we went into Peter's room next morning, what was our surprise to find our cripple up and dressed. Though his right leg was still so stiff as to be of little use to him, he declined our help, and with the aid of a couple of broomsticks propelled himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Joe was busy getting the breakfast ready. His rapid recovery was astonishing to both of us; though, as Joe remarked later, we need not be so very much surprised, for, with his hardy life and abstemious habits he was as healthy as any wild animal.

As we sat at our morning meal, we talked over our find of yesterday, and discussed what was the proper course for us to pursue.

"First, and most important," said Peter, "Tom Connor must be notified.

We must waste no time. The prospectors are beginning to get out, and any one of them, noticing the new scar on the mountain, might go exploring up there. When does Tom quit work on the Pelican?"