“The supply-wagons are ten days late,” said Mr. Sukolt, anxiously; “and
I am beginning to grow uneasy, for we are getting out of everything to
eat, as well as powder and fuse for the mine.”
Mr. Sukolt, Shanks, and Tom were talking the matter over one night
after they had returned from the mine, and had half concluded that if
the wagons did not make their appearance by the next evening somebody
ought to go down to the fort for news of them.
“It might be,” said Shanks, “that the Indians have overtaken the
freight teams, killed the teamsters and carried off the mules and
supplies.”
“Wal, there ain’t no use waitin’; a feller can’t work without he’s
got grub that’ll stick to his ribs,” spoke up Tom. Shanks suggested,
however, that they hang on until the last of the week and then take a
load of ore with them to the valley. It was then Monday evening.
“I guess you are right, Tom,” Shanks laughingly admitted. “I feel
myself as if I’d forgotten how potatoes taste, and if you don’t go
soon, I’ll forget how they look.”
“I think you had better go,” said Mr. Sukolt, turning to Shanks,
“because, should there be need of a doctor’s service, you know what to
do.”
“Oh, please hurry and go,” chimed in Bushy, who was helping her father
clean and polish his old musket and listening to what was said with the
interest she always paid to subjects pertaining to the welfare of the
camp. “I’m so tired, too, eating bear and johnny-cake all the time. I
wish we had some flour so Tom could give us some more of those biscuits
that are so good with molasses.”
The men all laughed as they gazed on Bushy’s eager face, and her father
declared that Shanks should go in the morning if she was as hungry as
she looked at that moment.
“Oh, no, Padre, I didn’t mean to be so selfish as that sounded,” she
cried, as she kissed his bronze cheek and gave him a bearish hug. “I
can eat what the rest eat; but I was so afraid that you were going
to wait till the last of the week, and there is only the tiniest bit
of molasses in the keg, and you men folks won’t eat johnny-cake or
flapjacks without it.”
The next day wore slowly away. The hours seemed very long indeed to
Bushy, who was longing for the good things in the wagons that were
expected. Mr. Sukolt went out a dozen times to a high point on the
mountain-side that overlooked the winding road. He swept the landscape
far and near with a powerful field-glass, but he could see no signs
of the freight wagons. So Shanks started for the fort early the next
morning. It would take him four days to make the trip and perhaps
longer, for it was agreed that if he did not meet the wagons he was to
get a few supplies from the fort. In that case he would have to walk
and pack the things on his pony.
Work was slack at the mine, for they were entirely out of blasting
powder by this time, so when Bushy suddenly broke into her game of
“cat’s cradle” with Tom, and cried: “Padre, Padre, let’s go berrying!”
her father and Tom gladly assented. Buckets were soon ready, and Ned
was saddled so that Bushy could ride. It was four miles up the gulch
to where the berries grew. They were wild raspberries of a beautiful
luscious red, which no tame raspberry can equal in flavor. They grow
on the steepest mountains, choosing to push their hardy roots under
great rocks and nestling close to fallen timbers, as if trying to hide
themselves altogether.
The prickly, dwarfed bushes were bending almost to the ground beneath
their load of fruit. Bushy could scarcely wait to tie Ned, she was so
eager to be picking.
“Now, Bushy, you stay here by Ned and pick in this patch, and Tom and
I will go farther up,” said Mr. Sukolt, as he handed her two small tin
pails.
“All right,” said Bushy; “I’ll race both of you, and let’s see who gets
a pailful first.”
She began very well and picked hard for five minutes, but then forgot
all about the race, and a great many more berries found their way into
her pretty mouth than into the pail. She picked on for perhaps an hour,
but even then one pail was still empty, and the other only half full.
She had forgotten all about her father and Tom, she was so interested
in crushing the largest and plumpest berries between her lips, when all
at once she was startled by a great snort from Ned.
Springing to her feet she looked wildly around. Ned was pulling at his
halter, rearing and plunging, snorting and trembling. His eyes seemed
to be starting from their sockets. Bushy’s heart was beating fast, and
something seemed to be choking her. In a soothing tone she called:
“Whoa, Ned! whoa, old boy! nothing is going to hurt you.”
She had just started toward him when suddenly her heart stood still
and she stopped, for over the top of a bowlder she saw two gleaming
eyes fastened upon her. For a second they disappeared, but were soon
followed by a huge dark-brown bear. He came shambling toward her, his
wicked white teeth gleaming in his open jaws. He was grunting with
satisfaction, like a pig expecting a good dinner.
Bushy stood as if she had been turned to stone; her face was as white
as the snow that covered the tops of the tall mountain peaks. All this
time poor Ned, who was tied not more than a dozen yards away, had been
trembling in every muscle. It seemed as if he appreciated Bushy’s
danger, and he stretched his long neck as far as he could in her
direction and opened his mouth wide as if he wanted to snatch her from
the path of the dreaded animal. At last he could bear his suffering no
longer, and his agony found vent in a peculiar cry which sounded much
like a human shriek.
This drew the bear’s attention away from Bushy. He uttered an angry
growl and raised himself upon his haunches, the hair about his head
and neck standing erect. He looked steadily at Ned a few seconds. His
angry eyes glowed like coals and his teeth snapped together after every
growl. It seemed to Bushy that in the twinkling of an eye the bear had
covered the distance between him and Ned, but he had not been quicker
than Bushy herself.
The little girl, who had been unable to move in her own defence, was
all courage when she saw her poor horse in danger. Quickly reaching for
the revolver which hung by her side, she fired rapidly three shots at
the bear. One of the bullets evidently took effect and wounded him.
This only served to enrage the bear still more. Ned gave a wild leap
and broke his halter, but it was too late. The bear had reached him,
and there ensued a sight that Bushy will never forget to her dying day.
The savage growls of the bear, poor Ned’s pitiful neighs and cries of
agony as the cruel claws tore through his flesh--ah, she hears them yet!
Bushy ran up quite close to the struggling animals, never thinking of
the danger to herself, and kept on firing at the bear. Mr. Sukolt came
tearing down the mountain-side, for he had heard the reports of the
revolver, and reached the scene just as the bear fell from Ned’s back,
mortally wounded.
“Keep away, keep away, Bushy! Don’t go near him; he may tear you to
pieces even if he is dying,” screamed her father, as he came in sight
and saw her danger.
“Hurry!” shouted Bushy. “I’m afraid Ned is dreadfully hurt.”
Tom came bounding over the rocks and fallen timbers, spilling berries
at every jump. Mr. Sukolt fired a shot at the bear, but this was
useless, as Bruin was already quite dead. Poor Ned, it was all over
with him. He turned his head feebly toward Bushy as she knelt by him,
and in his intelligent eyes there was a look that was pitiful to see.
“Oh, Ned! Oh, poor dear, dear Ned!” cried Bushy, the tears streaming
down her face. “Padre! Tom! can’t you do something for him? See, he is
all torn and bleeding. Ned, old fellow, Bushy loves you so! Bushy was
wrong to tie you so you couldn’t get away. Ned, Ned, Ned! Don’t die,
Ned!”
She held his head in her lap and kissed his big, sorrowful eyes.
“Padre, can’t you do something?” she cried again.
Mr. Sukolt and Tom both sadly shook their heads. Bushy threw her arms
about the neck of the dying horse and wept bitterly. Then she tried to
lift his head, talked lovingly to him, coaxed him, and kissed him, but
Ned made no sign that he heard his little mistress’s voice, for he was
dead--poor, dear Ned was dead!
[Illustration: SHE HELD HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND KISSED HIS BIG,
SORROWFUL EYES.]