Charlie to the Rescue by R. M. Ballantyne (great book club books txt) 📖

“But I doubt if Leather—”

“Shank,” interrupted the scout. “Call him Shank from now, so’s we may all git used to it; tho’ p’r’aps it ain’t o’ much importance, for most o’ the men that saw him here saw him in uncommon bad condition an’ would hardly know him again, besides, they won’t likely be at Bull’s ranch, an’ the captain an’ troops that were here have been ordered down south. Still one can never be too careful when life and death may be i’ the balance. Your friend niver was one o’ the outlaws, but it mightn’t be easy to prove that.”

“Well, then,” resumed our hero, “I was going to say that I fear Shank won’t be able to stand the journey even to the ranch.”

“No fear of that, sir. We’ll carry him down to the foot o’ the Trap, an’ when we git out on the plain mount him on one o’ the horses left by poor Buck—the one that goes along so quiet that they’ve given it the name o’ the Wheelbarrow.”

“Should I speak to him to-night about our plan, Ben?”

“No. If I was you I’d only say we’re goin’ to take him down to Bull’s ranch i’ the mornin’. That’ll take his mind a bit off the letter, an’ then it’ll give him an extra lift when you tell him the rest o’ the plan.”

In accordance with this arrangement, on the following morning a litter was made with two stout poles and a blanket between. On this the invalid was laid after an early breakfast; another blanket was spread over him, and the scout and Dick, taking it up between them, carried him out of Traitor’s Trap, while Charlie Brooke, riding Jackson’s horse, led the Wheelbarrow by the bridle. As for Black Polly, she was left to follow at her own convenience, a whistle from Hunky Ben being at any moment sufficient to bring her promptly to her master’s side.

On reaching the plain the litter was laid aside, the blankets were fastened to the horses, and Shank prepared, as Dick said, to board Wheelbarrow.

“Now then, Shank,” said the seaman, while helping his friend, “don’t be in a hurry. Nothin’ was ever done well in a hurry either afloat or ashore. Git your futt well into the stirrup an’ don’t take too much of a spring, else you’ll be apt to go right over on the starboard side. Hup you go!”

The worthy sailor lent such willing aid that there is little doubt he would have precipitated the catastrophe against which he warned, had not Hunky Ben placed himself on the “starboard side” of the steed and counteracted the heave. After that all went well; the amble of the Wheelbarrow fully justified the title, and in due course the party arrived at the ranch of Roaring Bull, where the poor invalid was confined to his room for a considerable time thereafter, and became known at the ranch as Mr Shank.

One evening Charlie Brooke entered the kitchen of the ranch in search of his friend Dick Darvall, who had a strange fondness for Buttercup, and frequently held converse with her in the regions of the back-kitchen.

“I dun know whar he is, massa Book,” answered the sable beauty when appealed to, “he’s mostly somewhar around when he’s not nowhar else.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he was,” returned Charlie with a hopeful smile. “I suppose Miss Mary’s not around anywhere, is she?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if she wasn’t; but she ain’t here, massa,” said the black maid earnestly.

“You are a truthful girl, Butter—stick to that, and you’ll get on in life.”

With this piece of advice Charlie left the kitchen abruptly, and thereby missed the eruption of teeth and gums that immediately followed his remark.

Making his way to the chamber of his sick friend, Charlie sat down at the open window beside him.

“How d’you feel this evening, my boy?” he asked.

“A little better, but—oh dear me!—I begin to despair of getting well enough to go home, and it’s impossible to avoid being worried, for, unless father is sought for and found soon he, will probably sink altogether. You have no idea, Charlie, what a fearful temptation drink becomes to those who have once given way to it and passed a certain point.”

“I don’t know it personally—though I take no credit for that—but I have some idea of it, I think, from what I have seen and heard. But I came to relieve your mind on the subject, Shank. I wanted to speak with Dick Darvall first to see if he would fall in with my plan, but as I can’t find him just now I thought it best to come straight to you about it. Hallo! There is Dick.”

“Where?” said Shank, bending forward so as to see the place on which his friend’s eyes were fixed.

“There, don’t you see? Look across that bit of green sward, about fifty yards into the bush, close to that lopped pine where a thick shrub overhangs a fallen tree—”

“I see—I see!” exclaimed Shank, a gleeful expression banishing for a time the look of suffering and anxiety that had become habitual to him. “Why, the fellow is seated beside Mary Jackson!”

“Ay, and holding a very earnest conversation with her, to judge from his attitude,” said Charlie. “Probably inquiring into the market-price of steers—or some absorbing topic of that sort.”

“He’s grasping her hand now!” exclaimed Shank, with an expanding mouth.

“And she lets him hold it. Really this becomes interesting,” observed Charlie, with gravity. “But, my friend, is not this a species of eavesdropping? Are we not taking mean advantage of a pair who fondly think themselves alone? Come, Shank, let us turn our backs on the view and try to fix our minds on matters of personal interest.”

But the young men had not to subject themselves to such a delicate test of friendship, for before they could make any attempt to carry out the suggestion, Dick and Mary were seen to rise abruptly and hasten from the spot in different directions. A few minutes later Buttercup was observed to glide upon the scene and sit down upon the self-same fallen tree. The distance from the bedroom window was too great to permit of sounds reaching the observers’ ears, or of facial contortions meeting their eyes very distinctly, but there could be no doubt as to the feelings of the damsel, or the meaning of those swayings to and fro of her body, the throwing back of her head, and the pressing of her hands on her sides. Suddenly she held out a black hand as if inviting some one in the bush to draw near. The invitation was promptly accepted by a large brown dog—a well-known favourite in the ranch household.

Rover—for such was his name—leaped on the fallen tree and sat down on the spot which had previously been occupied by the fair Mary. The position was evidently suggestive, for Buttercup immediately began to gesticulate and clasp her hands as if talking very earnestly to the dog.

“I verily believe,” said Shank, “that the blacking-ball is re-enacting the scene with Rover! See! she grasps his paw, and—”

“My friend,” said Charlie, “we are taking mean advantage again! And, behold! like the other pair, they are flitting from the scene, though not quite in the same fashion.”

This was true, for Buttercup, reflecting, probably, that she might be missed in the kitchen, had suddenly tumbled Rover off the tree and darted swiftly from the spot.

“Come now, Shank,” said Charlie, resuming the thread of discourse which had been interrupted, “it is quite plain to Dick and to myself that you are unfit to travel home in your present state of health, so I have made up my mind to leave you here in the care of honest Jackson and Darvall, and to go home myself to make inquiries and search for your father. Will this make your mind easy? For that is essential to your recovery at the present time.”

“You were always kind and self-sacrificing, Charlie. Assuredly, your going will take an enormous weight off my mind, for you are much better fitted by nature for such a search than I am—to say nothing of health. Thank you, my dear old boy, a thousand times. As for Dick Darvall,” added Shank, with a laugh, “before this evening I would have doubted whether he would be willing to remain with me after your departure, but I have no doubt now—considering what we have just witnessed!”

“Yes, he has found ‘metal more attractive,’” said Charlie, rising. “I will now go and consult with him, after which I will depart without delay.”

“You’ve been having a gallop, to judge from your heightened colour and flashing eyes,” said Charlie to Dick when they met in the yard, half-an-hour later.

“N–no—not exactly,” returned the seaman, with a slightly embarrassed air. “The fact is I’ve bin cruisin’ about in the bush.”

“What! lookin’ for Redskins?”

“N–no; not exactly, but—”

“Oh! I see. Out huntin’, I suppose. After deer—eh?”

“Well, now, that was a pretty fair guess, Charlie,” said Dick, laughing. “To tell ye the plain truth, I have been out arter a dear—full sail—an’—”

“And you bagged it, of course. Fairly run it down, I suppose,” said his friend, again interrupting.

“Well, there ain’t no ‘of course’ about it, but as it happened, I did manage to overhaul her, and coming to close quarters, I—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted Charlie a third time, with provoking coolness. “You ran her on to the rocks, Dick—which was unseamanlike in the extreme—at least you ran the dear aground on a fallen tree and, sitting down beside it, asked it to become Mrs Darvall, and the amiable creature agreed, eh?”

“Why, how on earth did ’ee come for to know that?” asked Dick, in blazing astonishment.

“Well, you know, there’s no great mystery about it. If a bold sailor will go huntin’ close to the house, and run down his game right in front of Mr Shank’s windows, he must expect to have witnesses. However, give me your flipper, mess-mate, and let me congratulate you, for in my opinion there’s not such another dear on all the slopes of the Rocky Mountains. But now that I’ve found you, I want to lay some of my future plans before you.”

They had not been discussing these plans many minutes, when Mary was seen crossing the yard in company with Hunky Ben.

“If Hunky would only stop, we’d keep quite jolly till you return,” observed Dick, in an undertone as the two approached.

“We were just talking of you, Ben,” observed Charlie, as they came up.

“Are you goin’ for a cruise, Miss Mary?” asked the seaman in a manner that drew the scout’s attention.

“No,” replied Mary with a little laugh, and anything but a little blush, that intensified the attention of the scout. He gave one of his quiet but quick glances at Dick and chuckled softly.

“So soon!” he murmured to himself; “sartinly your sea-dog is pretty slick at such matters.”

Dick thought he heard the chuckle and turned a lightning glance on the scout, but that sturdy son of the forest had his leathern countenance turned towards the sky with profoundest gravity. It was characteristic of him, you see, to note the signs of the weather.

“Mr Brooke,” he said, with the slow deliberate air of the man who forms his opinions on solid grounds, “there’s goin’ to be a bu’st up o’ the elements afore long, as sure as my name’s Hunky.”

“That’s the very thing I want to talk about with you, Ben, for I meditate a long journey immediately. Come, walk with me.”

Taking the scout’s arm he paced with him slowly up and down the yard, while Dick and Mary went off on a cruise elsewhere.