CHAPTER XIX
OLD JIM'S RESOLUTION
All that day little Skeezucks and the pup were waiting, listening,expecting the door to open and the three small girls to reappear. Theywent to the window time after time and searched the landscape ofmountains and snow, Tintoretto standing on his hind-legs for thepurpose, and emitting little sounds of puppy-wise worry at the longdelay of their three little friends.
A number of the men of the camp came to visit there again that evening.
"We thought little Skeezucks might be lonesome," they explained.
So often as the door was opened, the pup and the grave littlepilgrim--clothed these days in the little white frock Miss Dennihan hadmade--looked up, ever in the hope, of espying again those three redcaps. The men saw the wistfulness increase in the baby's face.
"We've got to keep him amused," said Field.
The awkward fellows, therefore, began the games, and romped about, androde the lonely little foundling in the wagon, to the great delight ofpoor Miss Doc, who felt, as much as the pup or Skeezucks, the singularemptiness of her house.
Having learned to laugh, little Carson tried to repeat the delights ofa mirthful emotion. The faint baby smile that resulted made the menall quiet and sober.
"He's tired, that's what the matter," the blacksmith explained. "We'dbetter be goin', boys, and come to see him to-morrow."
"Of course he must be tired," agreed the teamster.
But Jim, sitting silently watching, and the fond Miss Doc, whom nothingconcerning the child escaped, knew better. It was not, however, tillthe boys were gone and silence had settled on the house that even Jimwas made aware of the all that the tiny mite of a man was undergoing.Miss Doc had gone to the kitchen. Jim, Tintoretto, and littleSkeezucks were alone. The little fellow and the pup were standing inthe centre of the floor, intently listening. Together they went to thedoor. There little Carson stretched his tiny arms across the panels inbaby appeal.
"Bruv-ver--Jim," he begged. "Bruv-ver--Jim."
Then, at last, the gray old miner understood the whole significance ofthe baby words. "Bruvver Jim" meant more than just himself; it meantthe three little girls--associates--children--all that is dear to achildish heart--all that is indispensable to baby happiness--all that alonely little heart must have or starve.
Jim groaned, for the utmost he could do was done when he took thesobbing little fellow in his arms and murmured him words of comfort ashe carried him up and down the room.
The day that followed, and the day after that, served only to deepenthe longing in the childish breast. The worried men of Borealis playedon the floor in desperation. They fashioned new wagons, sleds, anddolls; they exhausted every device their natures prompted; but beyond asad little smile and the call for "Bruvver Jim" they received no answerfrom the baby heart,
At the end of a week the little fellow smiled no more, not even in hisfaint, sweet way of yearning. His heart was starving; his grave, babythought was far away, with the small red caps and the laughing voicesof children.
The fond Miss Doc and the gray old Jim alone knew what the end must be,inevitably, unless some change should speedily come to pass.
Meantime, Keno had quietly opened up a mighty ledge of gold-bearing oreon the hill. It lay between walls of slate and granite. Its hugenesswas assured. That the camp would boom in the spring was foreordained.And that ledge all belonged to Jim. But he heard them excitedly tellwhat the find would do for him and the camp as one in a dream. Hecould not care while his tiny waif was starving in his lonely littleway.
"Boys," he said at last, one night, when the smith and Bone had calledto see the tiny man, who had sadly gone to sleep--"boys, he's pinin'.He's goin' to die if he don't have little kids for company. I've madeup my mind. I'm goin' to take him to Fremont right away."
Miss Doc, who was knitting a tiny pair of mittens and planning a tinyred cap and woollen leggings, dropped a stitch and lost a shade ofcolor from her face.
"Ain't there no other way?" inquired the blacksmith, a poignant regretalready at his heart. "You don't really think he'd up and die?"
"Children have got to be happy," Jim replied. "If they don't get theirfun when they're little, why, when is it ever goin' to come? I knowhe'll die, all alone with us old cusses, and I ain't a-goin' to wait."
"But the claim is goin' to be a fortune," said Bone. "Couldn't youhold on jest a week or two and see if he won't get over thinkin' 'boutthe little gals?"
"If I kept him here and he died, like that--just pinin' away for otherlittle kids--I couldn't look fortune in the face," answered Jim, towhich, in a moment, he added, slowly, "Boys, he's more to me than allthe claims in Nevada."
"But--you'll bring him back in the spring, of course?" said theblacksmith, with a worried look about his eyes. "We'd miss him, Jim,almost as much as you."
"By that time," supplemented Bone, "the camp's agoin' to be boomin'.Probably we'll have lots of wimmen and kids and schools and everything,fer the gold up yonder is goin' to make Borealis some consid'rableshakes."
"I'll bring him back in the spring, all right," said the miner; "butnone of you boys would want to see me keep him here and have him die."
Miss Doc had been a silent listener to all their conversation. She wasknitting again, with doubled speed.
"Jim, how you goin'?" she now inquired.
"I want to get a horse," answered Jim. "We could ride there horsebackquicker than any other way. If only I can get the horse."
"It may be stormin' in the mornin'," Webber suggested. "A few cloudsis comin' up from the West. What about the horse, Jim, if it starts tosnow?"
"Riding in a saddle, I can git through," said the miner. "If it snowsat all, it won't storm bad. Storms that come up sudden never last verylong, and it's been good and bright all day. I'll start unless it'ssnowin' feather-beds."
Miss Doc had been feeling, since the subject first was broached, thatsomething in her heart would snap. But she worked on, her emotions,yearnings, and fears all rigorously knitted into the tiny mittens.
"You'll let me wrap him up real warm?" she said.
Jim knew her thoughts were all on little Skeezucks.
"If you didn't do it, who would?" he asked, in a kindness of heart thatset her pulse to faster beating.
"But--s'pose you don't git any job in Fremont," Bone inquired. "Willyou let us know?"
"I'll git it, don't you fear," said Jim. "I know there ain't no one soblind as the feller who's always lookin' for a job, but the little kidhas fetched me a sort of second sight."
"Well, if anything was goin' hard, we'd like for to know," insistedBone. "I guess we'd better start along, though, now, if we're goin' toscare up a bronch to-night."
He and the blacksmith departed. Jim and the lorn Miss Doc sat silentlytogether in the warm little house. Jim looked at her quietly, and sawmany phases of womanly beauty in her homely face.
"Wal," he drawled, at last, "I'll go up home, on the hill." Hehesitated for a moment, and then added, quietly, "Miss Doc, you've beenawful kind to the little boy--and me."
"It wasn't nuthin'," she said.
They stood there together, beside the table.
"Yes, it was," said Jim, "and it's set me to thinkin' a heap." He wassilent for a moment, as before, and then, somewhat shyly for him, hesaid, "When we come back home here, in the spring, Miss Doc, I'mthinkin' the little feller ought to have a mother. Do you think youcould put up with him--and with me?"
"Jim," she said, in a voice that shook with emotion, "do you think I'ma kind enough woman?"
"Too kind--for such as me," said Jim, thickly. He took her hand in hisown, and with something of a courtliness and grace, reminiscent of hisyouth, he raised it to his lips. "Good-night," he said. "Good-night,Miss Doc."
"Good-night, Jim," she answered, and he saw in her eyes the beauty thatGod in his wisdom gives alone to mother-kind.
And when he had gone she sat there long, forgetting to keep up thefire,
forgetting that Doc himself would come home early in the morningfrom his night-employment, forgetting everything personal save thewords old Jim had spoken, as she knitted and knitted, to finish thattiny pair of mittens.
The night was spent, and her heart was at once glad and sore when, atlast, she concluded her labor of love. Nevertheless, in the morningshe was up in time to prepare a luncheon for Jim to take along, and todelve in her trunk for precious wraps and woollens in which to bundlethe grave little pilgrim, long before old Jim or the horse he wouldride had appeared before the house.
Little Skeezucks was early awake and dressed. A score of times MissDoc caught him up in her hungering arms, to hold him in fervor to herheart and to kiss his baby cheek. If she cried a little, she made itsound and look like laughter to the child. He patted her face with histiny hand, even as he begged for "Bruvver Jim."
"You're goin' to find Bruvver Jim," she said. "You're goin' away fromfussy old me to where you'll be right happy."
At least a dozen men of the camp came plodding along behind the horse,that arrived at the same time Jim, the pup, and Keno appeared at theDennihan home.
Doc Dennihan had cut off his customary period of rest and sleep, to saygood-bye, with the others, to the pilgrims about to depart.
Jim was dressed about as usual for the ride, save that he wore an extrapair of trousers beneath his overalls and a great blanket-coat upon hisback. He was hardy, and he looked it, big as he was and solidlyplanted in his wrinkled boots.
The sky, despite Webber's predictions of a storm, was practically freefrom clouds, but a breeze was sweeping through the gorge withincreasing strength. It was cold, and the men who stood about ingroups kept their hands in their pockets and their feet on the move forthe sake of the slight degree of warmth thereby afforded.
As their spokesman, Webber, the blacksmith, took the miner aside.
"Jim," said he, producing a buckskin bag, which he dropped in theminer's pocket, "the boys can't do nuthin' fer little Skeezucks whenhe's 'way off up to Fremont, so they've chipped in a little and wantedyou to have it in case of need."
"But, Webber--" started Jim.
"Ain't no buts," interrupted the smith. "You'll hurt their feelin's ifyou go to buttin' and gittin' ornary."
Wherefore the heavy little bag of coins remained where Webber hadplaced it.
There were sober words of caution and advice, modest requests for aline now and then, and many an evidence of the hold old Jim had securedon their hearts before the miner finally received the grave andcarefully bundled little Carson from the arms of Miss Doc and came tothe gate to mount his horse and ride away.
"Jest buckle this strap around me and the little boy," instructed Jim,as he gave a wide leather belt to the teamster; "then if I happen forto need both hands, he won't be able to git a fall."
The strap was adjusted about the two in the manner suggested.
"Good scheme," commented Field, and the others agreed that it was.
Then all the rough and awkward big fellows soberly shook the prettylittle pilgrim's hand in its mitten, and said good-bye to the tinychap, who was clinging, as always, to his doll.
"What you goin' to do with Tinterretter?" inquired the teamster as helooked at the pup, while Jim, with an active swing, mounted to thesaddle.
"Take him along," said Jim. "I'll put him in the sack I've got, andtie him on behind the saddle when he gits too much of runnin' on foot.He wouldn't like it to be left behind and Skeezucks gone."
"Guess that's kerrect," agreed the teamster. "He's a bully pup, youbet."
Poor Miss Doc remained inside the gate. Her one mad impulse was to runto Jim, clasp him and the grave little waif in her arms, and beg to betaken on the horse. But repression had long been her habit of life.She smiled, and did not even speak, though the eyes of the fond littlepilgrim were turned upon her in baby affection.
"Well--you'll git there all right," said the blacksmith, voicing thehope that swelled in his heart. "So long, and let us know how thelittle feller makes it with the children."
"By jinks!--so long," said Keno, striving tremendously to keep down hisrising emotions. "So long. I'll stay by the claim."
"And give our love to them three little gals," said Bone. "So long."
One after another they wrung the big, rough hand, and said "So long" intheir easy way.
"Bye, Miss Doc," said Jim, at the last. "Skeezucks--say good-bye--toMiss Doc--and all the boys. Say good-bye."
The little fellow had heard "good-bye" when the three little caps ofred departed. It came as a word that hurt his tiny heart. But,obediently, he looked about at all his friends.
"Dood-bye," he said, in baby accents. "Dood-bye."