"Howdy, all on you? Two boys included. D'yer hear, nippers? I was a
bit scared about ketching you, doctor. You're wanted yonder."
"An accident?" cried the doctor quickly.
"Accident?" said the newcomer. "Wal, yes, that'll do. You might call
him an accident, poor beggar, for he's about played down to the lowest
level. Some'd call him a loafer, but we'll say accident--fatal
accident, for I'm thinking he's too far gone for you, friend Lee, clever
doctor as you are."
"Where is he? At your place?"
"Nay-y-y! He's trudging along after me. I said I'd fetch the doctor to
him, poor fellow, but he just found words enough to say he'd come after
me, and he crept along. Yes," continued the American, turning to the
door. "Here he comes. Do what you can for him, and send him back to
me; he can have one of the sheds and as much husk as he likes to lie on
for the time he wants it, and I don't think that'll be long."
"I dare say we can do that for him, poor fellow," said the doctor
coldly, as he stepped towards the door, and then uttered an exclamation.
"For goodness' sake, Bourne, look here!"
Both his companions and the boys hurried to the door to look out where a
strange, gaunt-looking, grey-haired figure came creeping along in the
hot sunshine, walking painfully by the help of a stout six-foot stick.
At the first glance the red-brown skin drawn so tightly over his face
made him resemble a mummy more than a living being, while his worn
canvas and skin garments clung so tightly to him that his bodily aspect
was horribly suggestive of a clothed skeleton.
Upon seeing that he was observed he stopped short, leaning forward
resting heavily upon the stick, to which he clung, peering from beneath
the shadow cast by his bony brows, while his eyes, deeply sunken in
their orbits, seemed to literally glow.
The next moment he turned slowly towards a rough bench fixed beneath a
shade-giving tree and sank slowly down with his back to the trunk,
stretching out a long thin hand towards the doctor, while his dry
greyish lips moved as if appealing naturally to him, the man he believed
able to give that which he sought--help.
"Ugh! How horrible!" whispered Chris to his companion. "If I had seen
him lying down I should have thought that he was dead."
The boy's idea was shared by all present, as the doctor stepped forward
to their visitor.
"That's how he looked at me when he came up," said their American
neighbour. "He can't say a word--only point and make signs."
"But where does he come from?"
"Over yonder," said the American, nodding south-east. "I caught sight
of him when I first woke this morning, ever so far away, and then forgot
all about him for hours, when I saw him again, and he had crawled
nearer, about a hundred yards an hour, I should say. He looked so queer
that I went over to him, and tried, as soon as I had got over the first
look, to find out who and what he was."
"Well," said Christopher eagerly; "who is he?"
"You know as much as I do, squire, and that's nothing," was the reply;
"but I guess."
"Yes: what?" cried Ned.
"Strikes me, young sir, that, he's some poor chap who has been regularly
swallowed up in the great desert of salt plains over yonder. Lost his
way, and his wits too, seemingly. Lots have been in my time."
"What, crossing the plains?" said Chris.
"Yes. It's like getting into quicksands. I never knew of any one
before getting back again after once getting well in. It's going
straight away to death to go there. This one's crawled out, poor chap,
but it's only to die. Look at him; he's as good as dead now, all but
his eyes."
"Yes, it is horrible," said Ned, in a voice hardly above a whisper.
"How can anybody be so foolish as to go?"
"Ah, that's it," said the American, with a harsh chuckle. "They've seen
yellow, or fancied they have, and been dreaming about it till it's too
much for them, and away they go--mad."
"Yellow?" said Chris wonderingly. "I don't understand you."
"He's making fun of us, Chris."
"Not a bit of it, my lad," said the American. "I mean it. He's had the
yellow fever badly. I had an awful fit of it when I first came out here
and took up land to grow things that won't grow. There were plenty of
old settlers and people here in those days, who had come cram full of
stories about the salt desert yonder and what it hid. They said that
the old mission fathers who first came here to travel about among the
Indians discovered an old city there, half buried in the drifting sand,
and beyond it two great hills. They said that there was a great
treasure in the city, left by the old people who had lived there, and
that the hills beyond were of solid gold, waiting for any one who would
risk all there was to meet and go. They said he'd come back the richest
man in the world--if he did come back at all."
"And did anybody go?" said Chris breathlessly.
"Oh yes, my lad, as I said before; but no one had ever heard of any
coming back to be rich. I didn't go. Hadn't pluck enough, I s'pose, or
else you might have seen me come back like that poor chap there. Don't
look very rich, do he?"
"No: horrible," said Chris again. "Look, Ned; father's doing something
to him."
"Yes," said the American grimly, "and I expect we shall all have to do
something to him soon."
"What?" cried Ned excitedly.
"Dig," replied the American, almost in a whisper, and the boys looked
about at the beautiful scene spreading around, and shuddered as they
felt the full meaning of their neighbour's words.
"Ah, 'tain't nice to think about, is it, lads?" continued the American;
"much better to stop here and grow yellow oranges--not that I've found
it so," he continued, with a sigh. "It's all been one horrible
disappointment. Still one is alive and well, while that poor fellow--"
"But he's very, very old," said Chris.
"Old? Awful. Looks old too, from what he's gone through. I should say
he has starved, and been dried-up with thirst, and been hunted by those
brutes of plain Indians, and had all his seven senses driven out of him.
But maybe I'm all wrong, after all."
"Oh no: I think you're right," said Chris eagerly. "You must be."
"Must, eh? P'raps it's all my fancy."
"How could a man come like that, then?" cried Ned.
"That's what we've got to learn, my lad; but most likely we shall never
know, for, take my word, that poor chap has found his way to this place
at last as a quiet spot where he may lie down and die."
"And my father won't let him," cried Chris excitedly. "Look, he's going
to do something for the poor fellow now."
The little group moved towards where the doctor was bending over his new
patient; but he motioned to them to keep back, and all waited, watching
him for the next ten minutes, when he beckoned to Mr Bourne, who
stepped forward, to find the stranger lying motionless and with his eyes
closed.
"Dead?" he whispered in awe-stricken tones, as he gazed down pityingly
at the wasted object before him.
"As near to it as he can be to remain alive," replied the doctor. "I
can't let him lie here. Ask Wilton to help you bring the loose door
from the long shed, and we'll get him upon it and carry him there."
"Yes," said Mr Bourne quickly, and he hurried back to the others.
"Come for the physic?" said the American, smiling; but on hearing what
was required he eagerly joined in to help, and in a few minutes the
roughly-made door was placed beside the unfortunate man, who was drawn
upon it and carried into the long open shed and placed upon a heap of
sweet new Indian corn-husks over which a blanket had been laid, a
home-made pillow being fetched by Chris from the shanty the party
shared, and as soon as the stranger felt the restfulness of his shaded
easy couch he uttered a low sigh, opened his eyes, and looked up in the
doctor's, but only to gaze in a strange, far-off, stony way.
"Going to give him something now, doctor?" said the American.
"Not yet," was the reply. "He is quite exhausted, and disposed to
sleep. Did you give him anything?"
"Mug o' water with a drop of cold tea in. He seemed choked with
thirst."
"Then I will wait and see if he sleeps before I do more."
"But say, mister," said the American; "I didn't show him the way here so
as to plant him on to you. I thought you'd give him some pills now and
a draught to take in the morning. I could have done this for the poor
chap. Hadn't you better do something of that sort and let me take him
back? What do you say to bleeding him?"
"When he has scarcely a drop of blood left in his body?"
"Oh, all right; I don't understand that sort of thing, doctor. But I
don't want you to think I meant to shuffle from helping a man out of a
hole."
"Oh, I don't think that, Griggs," said the doctor warmly; "but the poor
fellow must not be moved. He's in the last stage of exhaustion, and
must have suffered terribly."
"Precious old un, ain't he?" said the American, gazing down at the head
no longer covered by the rough cap of puma-skin that the patient had
worn, and all noting the yellow, half-bald head and the long, thin,
perfectly white hair and beard.
"A man of seventy, or more, I should say," replied the doctor gravely.
"Hundred and seventy, you mean," said the American sharply.
"No: about the age I said," replied the doctor.
"Well," cried the American, in a tone full of the surprise he felt, "yew
do surprise me, doctor!"
"Let's leave him for a bit," said the doctor, as he saw that their
visitor's eyes remained closed. "Perhaps he will sleep for a while."
The party backed out of the airy shed used for storing corn in the
season, and often utilised in the hottest weather for a sleeping-place
by the occupants of the shanty, and the strange visitor was left alone.
"I feel mean over this job, neighbours," said the American, as they
moved towards the shanty; "and now I'm going to be meaner and meaner, as
I am here and had no time to see to my vittling department. Got
anything to eat?"
"A very poor spread, Griggs," said Wilton, smiling, "but of course we
shall be glad if you'll share it."
"I call that rale kind of you, and I will stop, for I'm downright
hungry, and precious little to home. I say, if the President ever sends
round for us to vote a new name for this part of the State I shall
propose that we call it Starvationton. Why, look here, you're a deal
better off for corn and hay than I am to home," he continued, as he sat
back after munching potatoes and damper, and washing all down with fresh
cool water from a little spring which never failed. "White wine too as
never gets into a fellow's head. But the place don't answer my
expectations; does it yours?"
"Ours? No, Griggs," said Mr Bourne sadly. "We've made up our minds to
give it up."
"Not pull up stakes and go?" cried the American, bringing the haft of
his knife down upon the rough table with a loud rap.
"Yes," said the doctor; "fruit-growing here is fruitless."
"Yes, because we don't get any fruit. But look here, you neighbour
Wilton, you don't say anything: you don't mean to go too?"
"Indeed, but I do," replied the gentleman addressed.
"Hear him!" cried the American. "But you lads--you are going?"
"Why, of course we should," cried the boys, in a breath.
"What, and leave me nearly all alone by myself? Well, as sure as my
name's 'Thaniel Griggs, I call it mean."
He looked round from one to the other, as if asking for an explanation,
and rested his eyes last upon Mr Bourne, as he added--
"On-neighbourly, that it is."
"We shall be sorry to lose so good a neighbour," said Bourne; "but what
is to be gained by trying any longer?"
"Hum! That's a riddle," said the American. "Give it up. Ask me
another."
"What can we do to improve our position anywhere near?"
"Hah! That's another riddle, and not so easy as t'other. Got any more,
for I give that one up too."
"I think those two are enough," said Wilton merrily. "The fact is,
Griggs, we have all come to the conclusion that we are wasting our lives
here."
"Where are you going, then?"
"Home," was the reply.
"Ah!" cried Griggs. "There's a nice sound about that--Home. Well, I
shall go with you."
"What!" cried the doctor. "To England?"
"No, I didn't say that. I'm not going to cross the herring-pond. Your
people yonder wouldn't take to me. But let's try some other place.
Pull up tent-pegs and take up a location farther north, and I'll go with
you. What do you say, doctor?"
"That you are wasting your life here, Mr Griggs, and that I should
strongly advise you to make a fresh start."
"Along with you and the other neighbours?"
"I do not say that."
"Eh? Not too proud to have me, are you?"
"Certainly not," said the doctor warmly. "You have often proved
yourself too good a friend."
"Ah, that sounds better, doctor. Just you think over what I said, and
don't be in too great a hurry to go back to the old-country. There,
thankye for the dinner."
"Dinner!" said Wilton contemptuously. "I wish it was."
"Might have been worse," said the American good-humouredly. "You
old-country folk have a saying about, `You shouldn't look a gift horse
in the mouth.' Well, that'll do in this case--noo version. When you go
out to dinner you shouldn't look at what people give you to put in your
mouth. There, I'm off. But lookye here, squires, all of you. I'm off
now to go on killing blight and things, but as soon as you're tired of
our wild man, just send me word, and I'll fetch him over to my place."
He gave a comprehensive nod all round and was passing through the door,
but turned sharply round.
"Here, I'll just take a peep at the poor fellow as I go, doctor, by your
leave--Go on tip-toe, you know. P'r'aps you'd like to go with me."
"Yes, I want to see him again," replied the doctor, and they went to the
temporary hospital together, and found the stranger sleeping heavily.
"Man must have gone through a deal to get to look like that, doctor,"
whispered the American, as they stole away.
"A great deal more than we know, or ever shall know, friend Griggs,"
replied Chris's father.
"Oh, I dunno so much about that, mister. You once get him well, and
he'll spin us a yarn, I expect, such as'll make our hair stand on end."
"But how to get him well?" said the doctor, smiling sadly.
"Oh, you go on; you'll do it. See how you mended that black fellow the
horse kicked to pieces. It was wonderful; made me wish I'd been a
doctor myself. But there, I must be off back."
He turned away, and after another glance at his sleeping patient, who
quite fascinated him by his strangely weird aspect, the doctor returned
to the shanty, where he and his companions began at once to discuss the
bearings of the strange incident, talking over the possibility of the
man having been lost, perhaps for years, in one of the great deserts
towards the south, and having at last found his way back to
civilisation, while the two boys sat silently drinking in every word,
associating their weird visitor with wild and stirring adventures in the
unknown land.
"I say, Ned," said Chris that night when they went to their rough beds,
"shouldn't you like to go right off and see what the wild part of the
country's like?"
"I just should," replied Chris's companion. "We'd take rifles and
plenty of ammunition, and go exploring. It would be fine!"
"But they wouldn't let us go," said Chris slowly.
"Think not?"
"Sure of it. Why, if I was to ask father to give me leave he'd take me
out to the long shed and say, Do you want to come back like that poor
fellow there? So would your father."
"Yes. Just as if it was likely! I dare say he lost himself, poor chap.
We shouldn't," continued Ned. "The way would be always to take
bearings, and never lose sight of them."
"Or take a big ball of white cotton and unwind it as you go," said
Chris, grinning. "You're bound to find your way back then."
"Get out! You're poking fun at me," said Ned quietly. "I know a better
way than that of yours, which is of course nonsense. How could a fellow
take miles of cotton in his pocket to unwind! No: I tell you what! The
best way would be--Chris!--Chris!--Why don't you answer? Oh, what a
Dummkopf it is! Fast as a top in a moment! I never saw such a fellow
to sleep!"