"Fren's!" cried the boy, "me pardner's caught in a tunnel dat caved in on
him. Kin yer help us out? Three mile above Jones's Hill."
He had not finished the sentence before two men sprang for the horses.
The rest grabbed picks and shovels and hurled them into the wagon.
"We'll be there, hell-a-whooping," said Captain Hanrahan.
"T'anks!" replied Ches weakly, and then the world went out. The captain
caught him as he fell.
"Poor little cuss! He rid hard to help his pardner!" said the captain.
"Hump yourselves, boys--all ready! Got the whisky, Pete? Picks enough?
Stick the axes where they won't jump loose and cut a leg off some of us.
Tie the horse behind--good animal, that. All right, let 'em go!"
They went. Over stones and gulleys, the tools clanging and banging fit to
leap from the wagon, the men clinging to the side-boards for dear life.
Down hill-sides like the slant of a roof, the horses keeping out of the
way of the wagon; up the other side with the reeking animals straining
every fiber; over bridges that bent fearfully beneath the shock of their
onset; swaying around curves with the wheels sluing and sparks flying,
and over the level as though the devil himself were behind them.
It was the record trip for eight miles in a wagon in that country. The
driver stood up, a foot braced on either side, the reins thrown loose,
the whip plied hard, and every urging that voice could give shrieked out
by his powerful lungs.
It was like the rush of a fire-engine, plus twice the speed, and twenty
times the danger. Above the pounding of hoofs, the din of rattling metal,
the crash, smash and roar of the wheels and the yells of the driver could
be heard the man Pete, ex-cowpuncher, cheerfully singing,
"Roll your tails, and roll 'em high,
We'll all be angels by-and-by."
Braced in the back corner sat Captain Hanrahan, his leg keeping some of
the tools from going overboard, holding Ches in his arms.
"Curse it all, Billy!" he screamed to the driver, "miss _some_ of them
bumps, will you? I've got on a new pair of pants."
"I'll take 'em clean off you the next time, Cap!" retorted the driver.
They joked, which may seem heartless; but they risked their necks a
hundred times, and that isn't very heartless.
"That's the place, I reckon, Cap!" said the driver, pointing. "Somebody
working there now!"
"Give 'em a hoot!" replied the captain.
Bud stepped out and held up his hand in answer to the yell. The wave of
thanksgiving at the sight of this most efficient help took all the
stiffness out of the knees of the mail-rider. The tears rolled down his
face unnoticed.
"You're welcome, boys," he cried, as the driver sawed the frenzied team
to a standstill and the men sprang out.
"Reckon we are," said the captain. "Now what's up?"
"Is the boy hurt? Good God! He ain't hurt himself, has he?"
"Naw; pore little cuss is used up, that's all. He'll be around all right
in a minute. Now tell me, what's loose."
Bud answered briefly, but completely.
"Pete and Billy, get to cutting wood--the rest of you come here,"
commanded the captain.
"You ain't going to stop to timber, are you?" asked Bud in an agony of
haste.
"I sure am," replied the captain. "All this trouble's come of
carelessness. Now you just keep your clothes on, and let me run this
thing.
"We'll have your friend out in no time, and there won't be no more men
stuck in there with a hill a-top of 'em in the doing of it. What you've
done there is a help all right, but it might easy have meant that we'd
had two men instead of one to hunt for."
"You're dead right," said Bud. "Tell me what I'm to do."
The captain took hold as only a man can who has the genius for it. He
knew by long practice what size of a relief tunnel meant real speed of
progress--the least dirt to be removed to make it possible that men could
work to advantage. And his tunnel, safely rough-ceiled, went in at the
rate of a foot a minute.
When at last they pulled the insensible man out into the light of day,
and found that while his wound, though severe, and if neglected mortal,
was not likely to be dangerous with good attention, the captain said that
he must be getting about his business.
"Oh, stay a little longer, fellers, till he comes to," remonstrated Bud.
"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.
"Hello, Bud! Hello, 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 gratitude 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 repetition. 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 button, 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 chores--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.