The Mascot Of Sweet Briar Gulch Part 9

"He'd like to have a chance to say 'Thank you.'"

"Bugs!" replied the captain. "You tell him he owes us a drink, and as a particular favor to me, please not to put his frames over four foot apart in that ground.

"We're likely to be back here shortly, anyhow, because I think your friend has got hold of the right idea from what you tell me of his plans; but it'll take more'n one man to really prospect it. If we don't hit it where we're going, we'll sure come back."

"Well, boys, _I_ can thank you and I'm going to," said Bud. "That man is my friend, and if you hadn't come as you did--"

"Say, let go," interrupted the captain. "You'd have done the same thing if you'd been us, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," admitted Bud reluctantly.

"And you wouldn't want to be thanked for it a white chip more'n we do,"

concluded the captain. "If there's any thanks coming it is to that little two-foot chunk of man yonder. Snaking over that fall was a thing to put a crimp in anybody. You was bound to help your pardner, wasn't you, son?"

The boy looked up into the captain's eagle face. "I'd 'er got to Jim," he answered simply, "'f I'd had ter chew me way in like a rat."

The captain stepped back and looked at him.

"By the Lord!" he said slowly, "I believe you would!" A change came over the thin, arrogant face. He stooped suddenly, raised the boy and kissed him. "Now, get out o' this!" he roared at the driver, as he leaped into the wagon.

They waved their hands as long as the miners were in sight, and stood staring until Pete's statement that they'd all be angels by-and-by was lost in the distance.

"Pretty good folks when you're in trouble, ain't they, Ches?" said Bud.

"What 'ud we have done, if dey hadn't come?--Ain't it 'mos' time Jim was moving, Bud?"

"I'll give him another spoonful of whisky, but you can't expect him to start right up and hop around. He got an awful crack, boy."

For all that, as the dose of strong liquor went down Jim's throat, he opened his eyes.

"h.e.l.lo, Bud! h.e.l.lo, Ches!" he said wonderingly. "Have I been asleep?--Why, what the devil's the matter with my head?" he raised his hand to the spruce-gum bandage. "Phew! But I feel weak!" he sighed as his hand dropped. "Something's happened--what is it?"

There, with a friend on each side holding a hand, they told him the story. It was a sacred reunion.

The grat.i.tude of the man saved, and the protestations of the others that they would have done all they did a thousand times again would only seem childish in repet.i.tion. They cried, too, which is excusable in a child, but not in two big men. Men don't cry. It is the monopoly of women.

Nevertheless, Bud and Jim and Ches cried and swore, and shook hands and cried again until it was a pitiful thing to see.

"Well," said Bud at last, "this makes you feel better, but it won't get the work done. I've got to go out and fix old Buck and get in some firewood."

"Oh, I'll do that!" cried Jim, raising himself on his elbow.

"You?" jeered Bud. "You look like it! Now, you lie right down there and get well--that's your play. It would make us feel as if we'd wasted our time if we had to turn to and bury you after all the trouble we've had.

You're good for two weeks in that bunk, old horse."

"Two weeks! I can't, Bud; I can't! I must get up before that!"

"You lie down there--hear me?"

"But I'll have to see to things around--you can't stay."

"I stay right here till you're well."

"But the mail?"

"The devil take the mail--or anybody else that wants the job. Uncle Sammy won't hop on to my collar b.u.t.ton, because of the fine send-off my friend the inspector'll give. And somebody will get orry-eyed up in town, and come down to find what's loose. He'll take the bags then. It's all settled."

"But there are other things--"

"Let 'em rest. Now I'm off to do the ch.o.r.es--oh, say, speaking of mail, here's a letter for you I forgot all about in the excitement--here you go. Come along, Ches, and help me carry wood."

The miner looked at the letter in his hand, and a tinge of blood crept into his white cheeks, then ebbed, leaving them whiter than before.

Suppose there were other men who wanted her; men with money, learning, wit and influence. Was this bitterest of blows to fall upon him when he was already down? He looked at his hands, green from loss of blood. "I tried," he muttered, "I tried."

Still the very touch of the paper seemed to have something warm and heartening in it. It was from _her_, anyhow. With sudden strength he tore it open and read:

Dearest, Dearest Jim--I yield the whole case. You are right.

It is to my shame that clear-sightedness came from no source within me, but from a brave example set.

My little cousin married the man she loved last week, and, of course, Miss Anne was a high functionary.

Oh, what a stirring there was in me, Jim, watching them and thinking of you!

They will be as poor as church mice, but they do not care, and theirs is the wise economy.

Life is too short to waste, Jim, I see it now. I put it all in your hands, dearest; if you can not come to me, I shall come to you.

I believe I'm only lukewarm by habit, not by nature.

I wish I could tell you how sorry I am for the time I have squandered.

I'll show you, that will be better.

Any time, or any place and no conditions now, Jim. That's all, my dear brave lover. Good night.

Your own, Anne.

He was sitting bolt upright. Once more he devoured the letter. Then he sank back and closed his eyes.

"Thank you, my darling, I can rest now," he said.

The golden sunset light played in riotous joyousness on the cabin walls; the little creek laughed out loud; so did Ches and Bud, approaching the cabin. It was a beautiful and happy world.