“Come, my work here is done, the maps are all finished, and I want to
go to Central City as soon as we can get away. How long does my little
girl think it will take us to pack the wagons?”
“Oh, Padre, how jolly! I think it won’t take more than one day. Let’s
begin now.”
Bushy was so glad at the prospect of a change that she danced around
the room and finally ran out to tell Tom and Shanks and Jip of the
journey before them.
It was almost a week after her last escapade, and in all that time
Bushy had not once moved from the immediate neighborhood of the fort.
She knew now that even the cleverest little girl can get into trouble
when she is disobedient.
After a warm farewell from the kind captain and the soldiers, they
left; Bushy riding Jip and waving her calico handkerchief till they
were out of sight.
“Here we are going again, Jip, old boy! Hurrah!” she cried, and Jip,
thinking it fit to express his approval, made a wild caper and set off
for a run in front.
Mr. Sukolt called to her: “We are going to have company, little
tomboy, two wagons from a California immigrant train are to join us
soon. I think we shall see them to-morrow or the day after.” Bushy
was thoughtful for some moments. She did not receive the news very
enthusiastically. She was perfectly happy with her father and Tom and
Shanks and the pony, and did not wish for more company.
“I hope there will be good men in those wagons,” was all she said. She
had not seen a white woman or any but redskin boys and girls for years,
so the possibility of meeting travellers other than men did not enter
her mind.
That same night the other wagons appeared, and Bushy was anxious to see
how the men looked. The neatest looking of the two vehicles, however,
was kept closed, and though Bushy went around twice she could not get a
peep at its inmates, so she went to bed very cross.
“If they don’t show up and make friends to-day I’ll bombard their door,
sure as I live,” said Bushy to herself, when she woke up the next
morning. There was no necessity, however, for this extreme measure, for
when she looked out there was a woman, not an Indian squaw, but a real
live white woman in plain sight. She was very tall and gaunt, with
projecting jaws and sharp elbows. Her hair was of a dull brick-red and
on it she wore a grass-green sun-bonnet. Bushy gazed upon this picture
in the deepest admiration.
“What a beautiful woman,” she said; “and what a beautiful hat! I wonder
if Tom can make me one like it.” Bushy locked her arms behind her and
sidled around to get a better view of the latest style in head-gear,
when her eyes opened wider than ever in surprise.
“Jimminy! There’s a little woman, too,” she cried, suddenly. Hastening
up to the wagon she called out: “Say, did you know I was in the other
wagon? My name’s Bushy, and I’ve got Tom and Shanks and Padre along
with me.”
“Hello, if there isn’t a little boy, sure as I live!” cried the woman.
“Why”----
“Oh, I’m not a little boy,” screamed Bushy, turning a handspring in the
road in her great delight. Then, with one jump she landed on the tongue
of the wagon, and, clinging to the box with her hands, looked at the
two new-comers curiously.
The woman was still laughing at Bushy’s handspring, and the child had
not yet stopped clapping its hands when Bushy astonished them with
another cry.
“You sweet little woman! I love little women and big women, too. Such
a pretty scalp! Awful long, aren’t they?” She lifted the golden curls
to her lips and kissed them again and again. “My mamma had long curls,
and they were yellow, so Padre says. My hair sticks out. It won’t wind
around my fingers this way.”
“I’m a boy, and my name is Willie,” exclaimed the child, “and I can
beat you in a horse-race. Mamma and I are going out now ahead of the
train, and I’ll run a race with you if you’ve got a horse.”
“If I have a horse? Well, I just guess I have!” replied Bushy as she
drew away and felt a little bit offended. “But, of course, you don’t
know Jip yet. I’ll run and get him. Oh, how jolly to have a race with a
real boy!”
She started to climb down from the wagon when she saw Willie’s mother
smiling at her. “I’ve got a real dress, but I can’t wear it any more,
because Rover spoiled it years ago by dragging me through the muddy
pond when I had it on. The pink has all run into the white, and it’s
shrivelled up now.”
“I wasn’t laughing at your boy’s suit,” replied the woman. “It’s just
the thing to wear on a trip like this, and I am glad you are along. I
had a little girl once, but she is dead.”
“A little girl like me?” exclaimed Bushy, springing up and clasping the
woman about her neck. “Maybe you are like my mamma, and I’ll grow up
to look just like you. I love mammas, but I never saw one before.”
[Illustration: BUSHY GAZED UPON THIS PICTURE IN THE DEEPEST ADMIRATION.]
“Bushy, child!” cried her father, coming forward just in time to see
her kiss Willie’s funny looking mother. “It seems to me you are rather
familiar on such short acquaintance.”
“It’s a woman, Padre; such a beautiful woman, with long hair, see?” She
patted the heavy coils of reddish hair fondly.
“Don’t scold her, please,” said the woman to Mr. Sukolt. “We are fast
friends. I want to get some cactus pears, and your little girl can go
with me, if you have no objections.”
Bushy and Willie hurried away, each so happy and full of admiration for
the other that they could scarcely separate to saddle and bridle the
ponies.
“A beautiful woman,” said Bushy in a hurried whisper to her father,
as she swung her rifle over her shoulder. She gazed again on the lank
figure, half shutting her eyes in the ecstasy of her delight. Her idea
of the beautiful was very amusing to her father.
“Do you think I will ever grow to look like that?” she asked, with
enthusiasm.
“I hope not,” answered her father, dryly.
Bushy went on: “The little boy with the long curls is dressed ’most
like me. A real live little boy! Oh, Padre, won’t I have fun beating
him in the race! He says he’s ten years old.”
The three rode off on the keen jump. Astride on a bony horse sat the
woman, tall like a man, and with coarse, masculine features. The large
green sun-bonnet flapped in the wind, and her hoarse voice could be
heard telling the children not to run far at a time and then wait for
her to catch up. Her poor beast stood no show with Bushy’s and Willie’s.
“Do you see that great tall tree far off there?” cried Bushy to Willie.
“Yes,” he answered and his blue eyes snapped with delight. “I’ll get
there first,” and away they flew, Jip and Bob--Willie’s horse--both in
for the run. Bushy won this first heat, but it was only the beginning
of a series of races in which success was about equally divided.
At last they came to where the cactus beds were laden with pears,
and the mother proposed dismounting. While she gathered the prickly
fruit the children picked flowers, Bushy selecting choice and strange
blossoms for her father, who generally could tell her what they were,
and Willie filling his hands with everything he could find. Suddenly
Bushy heard the woman’s voice crying “Great heaven, what will become
of us!” She looked up and both mother and boy were out of sight. She
could see no one, yet could hear shriek after shriek, first from Willie
then from his mother. For a second Bushy’s heart stood still with
fright. “A snake, maybe! perhaps a bear!” She did not move from her
position, but quickly examined her rifle and found it all right.
She crawled on her hands and knees to a little bend around which Willie
and his mother must have wandered. The screams continued, and Bushy
at last caught a glimpse of Willie in the clutches of a big redskin,
who was getting ready to use the scalping knife artistically on that
beautiful hair. The mother was on her knees endeavoring to drag the
child away.
“Ugh!” grunted the Indian angrily, and he gave her a blow with his
tomahawk that stretched her at his feet. Bushy stood up. The Indian saw
her. Not fearing the child he did not drop poor Willie, but instead,
hastened to gather up the curly hair for the scalping.
“He is going to kill me,” screamed Willie in terror, and his little
legs gave out. He sank to his knees, still held up by the curls that
were clutched so firmly in the Indian’s red fingers. The savage drew
Willie roughly to his feet again and turned his back on Bushy. She
raised her rifle and fired. The aim was good and the Indian fell, but
Willie had been badly cut. A great gash on one side of his head had
sent the blood running down his white face and it covered his buckskin
blouse.
“It don’t hurt very much,” said Willie, trying to wipe the blood from
his face. “Look, Bushy, and see what he did to me.”
She took some grass, wiped round the cut and cried with joy: “Oh,
Willie, he has only cut a slit; your scalp isn’t off at all.”
“But mamma--she is dead!” and the boy began to cry.
“Sit down by her, Willie, and I will ride back for Shanks; Shanks knows
everything.” Bushy was on Jip and out of sight before Willie had time
to say he was afraid to stay alone. Bushy’s frantic riding told her
father that there was something wrong, and before she had reached the
wagons, Mr. Sukolt, Shanks, and Willie’s father were on their horses
and on their way to meet her.
“Willie’s all right, but his mamma looks dead,” gasped Bushy, turning
and leading the men to the spot where the woman lay so still.
“He’s all right,” said Shanks after examining the cut on Willie’s head;
“and your wife, Mr. Goodwin,” he added, turning to Willie’s father,
“will be herself in a little while; I imagine she fainted more from
fright than from the blow on the head.”
“Who killed the Indian?” asked Mr. Goodwin, gazing with astonishment at
the dead redskin.
“I was too slow, Padre, but they were a long way from me when the
Indian grabbed Willie. Will the beautiful lady be angry with me, do you
think, because I did not shoot quicker?”
“I don’t think so,” was all her father could say as he clasped her to
his breast.
“My brave little girl must be taken out of this kind of life,” he
added, after they had returned to the wagons and Bushy had fallen
asleep with her arms clasped tight about his neck. “I’ll send her to
school in Central City if I ever get her there.”