Bushy a romance founded on fact
to spread the powdered stuff all over her face, quite covering her
red cheeks and getting it into her hair, so that she looked like a
story-book ghost.
“I suppose I ought to put some on my neck, too, or I won’t be all
alike. I don’t want to look like crazy Indians, spotted all over. Oh!
the dish-pan--the bright, new one!” she cried, and running to the table
turned the pan bottom up and gazed down in admiration upon what she saw
reflected there.
“I guess I must put more on my neck and arms, and make it like it is
on my face.” She worked hard rubbing in the flour, until her spectral
appearance would have frightened the wits out of anybody coming
suddenly upon her in the dim light. Of course, Bushy could not see how
dreadfully white she was by looking at the imperfect reflection of the
dish-pan. She gave a sigh of satisfaction, whitened her arms way above
the elbows, and then proceeded to make the biscuits.
“Let me see. I put in the flour first, and then the water, and then the
salt, and what else?” She could not remember, although she felt there
was another something. She stirred the water and added the flour until
it grew too stiff, and then with water it suddenly grew too thin, and
thus in balancing it up she found her pan was quite full of dough by
the time that she could knead it.
“What a pity I made so much! I wonder why the water was always too much
for the flour, and when I put in the flour it was always too much for
the water. I suppose Tom manages better, for I never saw so much dough
in all my life.”
But nothing could discourage Bushy. “I will treat all the men in the
camp. Padre won’t mind this once.” Thus thinking, and kneading, and
trying first one side of the table and then the other, rolling first
one-half of the dough and folding it into the other, then mixing it all
in and sprinkling it with dry flour to keep it from sticking to her
fingers, she got it so she could cut out beautiful hunks with the tin
cup that had no handle. It was lots of fun to put the cup over the
dough and then bear down with all her might and feel it cut through
with a fluff and a puff, ofttimes sending the dry flour into her eyes
and nose.
“My, what a lot of biscuits!” she cried, as dozens were placed side
by side in a row about the table. Bushy was all excitement. Her hands
grew very tired making each biscuit as round as she could, a great deal
as she would roll a snowball. When her arms grew weary she rolled the
balls on the rough table, not noticing that now and then the soft dough
picked up a pine splinter.
What Bushy called the oven was an iron arrangement something like a
skillet, but larger and with a heavy iron cover. This she placed over a
great mass of red coals, and when it got hot took off the cover and put
in the first twelve biscuits.
“I must have these extra fine,” she said, “so I’ll cover the lid with
coals as Tom does and have the biscuits lovely and brown.”
Her delight was quite hilarious when she took off the lid later and
saw a dozen of the most beautiful looking biscuits that ever greeted
her eyes. For fear of injuring them she lifted out each one with the
dish towel and placed it in a deep pan to keep warm till the men should
come. Her joy found vent in an occasional war-whoop or a handspring
that threatened the overturning of the pan of biscuits every time; but
how could she keep still when her heart was so full of the good time
she had arranged for the men?
The second pan of biscuits had been placed on the table, the coffee had
been made, some slices of deer meat had been broiled as daintily as the
best of cooks could have done it, and supper was quite ready when Mr.
Sukolt and Tom and Shanks turned the corner and entered on the scene.
“Whew! how good this smells!” cried all three together. Mr. Sukolt
dumped into one corner of the tent a lot of specimens of gold-bearing
quartz. Tom threw down his tools and went out to wash his face, and
Shanks, seeing supper was quite ready, said he saw nothing for him to
do, so he would take off his heavy miner’s boots and put on moccasins
to be comfortable while he ate.
“But where is Bushy?” said Mr. Sukolt, looking all about the tent.
“What is the matter with you, Bushy? Are you back there?” he asked,
shaking the blanket that made a partition between the dining-room and
Bushy’s sleeping apartment.
“Nothing is the matter with me, Padre; but when I come out I want you
to treat me as I should be treated.”
Mr. Sukolt did not catch what she said, for his anxiety was gone when
he heard her voice, and after washing his face and hands he joined the
other two men at the table and began to eat.
“Ahem! ahem!” was the slight noise that made all three turn their faces
toward the blanket, and astonished men they were! With stately step
Bushy sallied forth from her dressing-room. It was the white face that
so startled the men. The dress, of course was queer, but those pallid
features made her eyes seem far back in her head, and as black as dead
coals, and her hair, standing straight on end, was filled with flour
and dough. Her dress represented, as near as Bushy could make it, the
dress in the picture in the weekly paper that the miner had given
her. The red flannel trailed behind her in five strips, which were
run through her belt and left to flow in graceful folds. Her buckskin
jacket had been discarded, and an old one that Tom had declared only
good enough for Indians she had cut down to represent the low silk
bodice of the woman in the picture. A red blanket was pinned about her
for the dress skirt, and a pistol belt, to which she had suspended a
cow-boy’s whip and a small chain to which she had attached an Indian
beaded bag and an arrow or two, represented the Egyptian girdle worn by
the same lady. Two strands of Indian beads passed as bracelets about
her floury arms.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Tom, “are you the daughter of the man in the
moon? You don’t seem to like our country--you look scared.”
Bushy had forgotten all about her white face, and, not knowing just how
funny she looked, was inclined to be offended, when Tom burst out in
roars of laughter.
“My days in heaven, Bushy!” cried Shanks stepping forward, “why,
you”----
“I pray you to be seated, gentlemen. It behooves me to proclaim that
you are most welcome,” said Bushy, giving what she thought was a
queenly bow, and motioning for them to proceed with their dinner. Then,
in her natural voice, she added: “I don’t see why you sat down and
spoiled the whole thing before I could get in.”
“Boys, you are both as stupid as Rover,” cried Mr. Sukolt, rising and
with great courtesy escorting the little lady to her place at the
table. “We have here the Queen of the Mountains, and we are her guests.
If you don’t know your place, boys, you will have to get out, that’s
all!”
“And then you would miss the biscuits, which would serve you right,”
remarked Bushy, taking her seat with great difficulty.
“What! biscuits? Ah, now we understand.” A smile flitted over all the
faces, and the paleness of Bushy was explained. “The flour has come
and we are to be entertained by the Queen of the Mountains in regal
fashion! Ha, ha, I’ll take some, if you please,” said Tom, rubbing his
hands in glee. “Biscuits, just think of it! biscuits for supper!”
“I think you should say dinner, Tom,” said Bushy in her fine-lady
voice. “You--ah--you--ah, have never been in the queen’s palace before,
have you, Tom. Poor fellow, you don’t know what good things are!”
Tom took a biscuit. So did Shanks, and then Mr. Sukolt reached his hand
out for one. Bushy’s face beamed as well as it could through the thick
layer of flour. “I knew you boys would like a treat,” said she, “and I
have blistered my hands rolling the bread. It is awfully hard to do it,
isn’t it, Tom?”
Tom’s face wore an odd expression which no one could then understand,
yet he answered: “Yes, it isn’t everybody who can make bread. Biscuits
especially are a scientific production. Bushy is to be congratulated.”
Bushy was so excited over the rôle she was playing that she did not
touch the biscuits herself, but in a very lady-like manner waited on
table, poured the coffee, and used all the big words she could remember
that were in the unfinished story in the weekly story paper.
“I trust your family is well, Mr. Shanks. Will you have roast chicken,
lamb, or deer meat?”
“Deer meat, if you please,” said Shanks, timidly. “I always was rather
partial to game.” He emphasized the word game and winked at Tom.
“What do you mean by that?” cried Bushy, her dignity all gone in a
minute when she saw some fun afloat. She leaned back and glanced
first at her father, who had eaten heartily of everything except the
biscuits. Tom had three in a row in front of his plate and not one
touched. Shanks reached over and was trying to load his revolver with
one.
“I must say that this infinitely charms me. What concealest thou from
me, Padre? Thine eyes are as merry as those of my subjects. What is
passing in the thoughts of This and This?” she pointed disdainfully
first at Tom and then at Shanks.
“Something is amiss, I fear, with the biscuits. Just order the servant
to put aside two for me to assay to-morrow,” answered Mr. Sukolt,
mischievously, in the high-toned voice of the hostess.
“Ah, they were the apple of mine eye--they dazzled my senses with their
brown beauty as--as”----
“Don’t get stuck on a word now, Bushy, when you have done so well so
far,” cried Tom as he lifted a hammer and brought it down with the full
strength of his mighty arm upon a brown biscuit that he had placed on
the stone at the cabin door.
“Tom, Tom,” she cried, “tell me something”----
“I’ll tell you, Bushy, that they are excellent coffee biscuits, and I
couldn’t have made better. See, I have filled my cup with two and the
third will follow.” And Tom, in the goodness of his heart, ate the
three biscuits without flinching.
“You dear old man!” cried Bushy, rushing about the table in anything
but a queenly fashion, and fairly covering him with flour from her face
and arms, “you deserve to be knighted for this. I’ll proclaim you Sir
Tom for ever and ever. Amen!”
Late in the night, after everybody had been in bed and asleep several
hours, Mr. Sukolt was startled by a soft hand on his face, and hearing
the words, “Say, Padre, I’ve been wondering and wondering what I left
out, and it has just come to me.” She leaned over, and when her mouth
touched his ear she whispered low, so Tom could not hear, “It was
baking powder; and I just want you to tell Tom and Shanks to-morrow
that I am not so stupid as I seem.”
On the promise that her father would take her part next morning Bushy
went to her hammock again and slept soundly the rest of the night.
Her little heart would have been much more troubled, however, had she
realized that her first biscuit-making had cost her father something
like $10 for flour.
CHAPTER XV
“Don’t do it, Tom. I know you can’t do it,” said Bushy in a sharp,
excited voice. Indians had suddenly appeared near the cabin and the two
were alone inside. The moment was a critical one.
She tried to pull him away from the door by catching his coat and
holding on with all her might, but he gently unclasped her fingers and
looking at her seriously said: “Now, Bushy, you must not show the white
feather just when your courage is needed most.” Bushy nodded her head
as much as to say she would be brave, yet she was so frightened she
could not talk.
“You know where you hid from me that day we played hide and seek? Do
you remember how you frightened us all because we couldn’t find you?
Well you must get into that same place, and I will try to reach the