Charlie to the Rescue, R. M. Ballantyne [classic english novels TXT] 📗

a better chance to have a lot o’ resarve shots in the locker, d’ye see? I carried also a six-shooter, as it might come handy, you know, if I fell in wi’ a Redskin or a bear, an’ got to close quarters. Also my cutlass, for I’ve bin used to that aboard ship when I was in the navy.

“Well, away I went—makin’ sail down the valley to begin with, an’ then a long tack into the mountains right in the wind’s eye, that bein’ the way to get on the blind side o’ game. I hadn’t gone far when up starts a bird o’ some sort—”

“What like was it?” asked the scout.

“No more notion than the man in the moon,” returned the sailor. “What wi’ the flutter an’ scurry an’ leaves, branches an’ feathers—an’ the start—I see’d nothin’ clear, an’ I was so anxious to git somethin’ for the pot, that six shots went arter it out o’ the Winchester, before I was quite sure I’d begun to fire—for you must know I’ve larned to fire uncommon fast since I come to these parts. Hows’ever, I hit nothin’—”

“Not quite so bad as that, Dick,” interrupted the scout gravely.

“Well, that’s true, but you better tell that part of it yourself, Hunky, as you know more about it than me.”

“It wasn’t of much consequence,” said the scout betraying the slightest possible twinkle in his grey eyes, “but Dick has a knack o’ lettin’ drive without much regard to what’s in front of him. I happened to be more in front of him than that bird when he began to fire, an’ the first shot hit my right leggin’, but by good luck only grazed the bark. Of course I dropped behind a rock when the storm began and lay quiet there, and when a lull came I halloo’d.”

“Yes, he did halloo,” said Dick, resuming the narrative, “an’ that halloo was more like the yell of a bull of Bashan than the cry of a mortal man. It made my heart jump into my throat an’ stick there, for I thought I must have killed a whole Redskin tribe at one shot—”

“Six shots, Dick. Tell the exact truth an’ don’t contradic’ yourself,” said Hunky.

“No, it wasn’t,” retorted the seaman stoutly. “It was arter the first shot that you gave the yell. Hows’ever, I allow that the echoes kep’ it goin’ till the six shots was off—an’ I can tell you, messmates, that the hallooin’ an’ flutterin’ an’ scurryin’ an echoin’ an’ thought of Redskins in my brain all mixed up wi’ the blatterin’ shots, caused such a rumpus that I experienced considerable relief when the smoke cleared away an’ I see’d Hunky Ben in front o’ me laughin’ fit to bu’st his sides.”

“Well, to make a long yarn short, I joined Hunky and allowed him to lead, seein’ that he understands the navigation hereaway better than me.

“‘Come along,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll let you have a chance at a deer.’

“‘All right,’ says I, an’ away we went up one hill an’ down another—for all the world as if we was walkin’ over a heavy Atlantic swell—till we come to a sort o’ pass among the rocks.

“‘I’m goin’ to leave you here to watch,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go round by the futt o’ the gully an’ drive the deer up. They’ll pass quite close, so you’ve only to—’

“Hunky stopped short as he was speakin’ and flopped down as if he’d bin shot-haulin’ me along wi’ him.

“‘Keep quiet,’ says he, in a low voice. ‘We’re in luck, an’ don’t need to drive. There’s a deer comin’ up at this very minute—a young one. You’ll take it. I won’t fire unless you miss.’

“You may be sure I kep’ quiet, messmates, arter that. I took just one peep, an’ there, sure enough, I saw a brown beast comin’ up the pass. So we kep’ close as mice. There was a lot o’ small bushes not ten yards in front of us, which ended in a cut—a sort o’ crack—in the hill-side, a hundred yards or more from the place where we was crouchin’.

“‘Now,’ whispers Hunky to—”

“I never whisper!” remarked the scout.

“Well, well; he said, in a low v’ice to me, says he, ‘d’ye see that openin’ in the bushes?’ ‘I do,’ says I. ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘it’s about ten yards off; be ready to commence firin’ when it comes to that openin’.’ ‘I will,’ says I. An’, sure enough, when the brown critter came for’id at a walk an’ stopped sudden wi’ a look o’ surprise as if it hadn’t expected to see me, bang went my Winchester four times, like winkin’, an’ up went the deer four times in the air, but niver a bit the worse was he. Snap I went a fifth time; but there was no shot, an’ I gave a yell, for I knew the cartridges was done. By that time the critter had reached the crack in the hill I told ye of, an’ up in the air he went to clear it, like an Indy-rubber ball. I felt a’most like to fling my rifle at it in my rage, when bang! went a shot at my ear that all but deaf’ned me, an’ I wish I may niver fire another shot or furl another t’gallant-s’l if that deer didn’t crumple up in the air an’ drop down stone dead—as dead as it now lays there on the floor.”

By the time Dick Darvall had ended his narrative—which was much more extensive than our report of it—steaks of the deer were sputtering in a frying-pan, and other preparations were being made for a hearty meal, to which all the healthy men did ample justice. Shank Leather did what he could, and even Buck Tom made a feeble attempt to join.

That night a strict watch was kept outside the cave—each taking it by turns, for it was just possible, though not probable, that the outlaws might return to their old haunt. No one appeared, however, and for the succeeding eight weeks the party remained there undisturbed, Shank Leather slowly but surely regaining strength; his friend, Buck Tom, as slowly and surely losing it; while Charlie, Dick, and Hunky Ben ranged the neighbouring forest in order to procure food. Leather usually remained in the cave to cook for and nurse his friend. It was pleasant work to Shank, for love and pity were at the foundation of the service. Buck Tom perceived this and fully appreciated it. Perchance he obtained some valuable light on spiritual subjects from Shank’s changed tone and manner, which the logic of his friend Brooke had failed to convey. Who can tell?