Bushy a romance founded on fact
box; all the valuables were put in there. Over the top was laid a
smooth pine floor, with a step cut out in front for the driver to sit
on.
A very thick cover was drawn over the wagon hoops that ran up from the
sides of the box, and, as Bushy said, made a complete little house. A
small stove was set up in the back, and the pipe ran out of a hole in
the cover above. This was fixed so that the pipe could be taken out and
the hole covered, if there came a severe storm. Mr. Sukolt had put up
four posts, one for each corner of the wagon, and these were so strong
that Tom hung up a hammock, made out of a good, warm blanket, for Bushy
to sleep in.
Her father made his bed into a roll in the day-time and used it for
a seat, and at night he slept on the floor of the wagon. Shanks, who
was very handy with carpenter tools, made a hinged stand that would
shut down and lie against the end of the wagon in the day-time when not
wanted, but during the meals was raised and turned into a low table
for the four to sit about. All the provisions and dishes and cooking
utensils were carried in the provision boxes, fastened something like a
feed-box at the back of the wagon.
The horses were tied to the end of the wagons, and trotted along all
ready to take the place of the mules should any of these get hurt or
die.
“Jip would not be of much account to pull a wagon, would he?” said
Bushy, looking at his trim body and slender legs; but Tom had great
faith in Jip.
“He is a true Indian pony, and I have an idea he is a prize. Suppose
you try to ride him by hanging on his side as the Indians do!”
Bushy thought it a great scheme, so she and Tom ran races all day
long--that is, at every place where the road was good enough to let
them. Bushy got some very bad tumbles, and once her father was tempted
to forbid her playing circus, as she called it, but Tom had good reason
for wanting her to learn all the tricks he had seen the Indian children
do.
“Now, Bushy, let Jip stand still, and try to swing yourself about
his neck on to his back without falling off.” Oh, what a time they
had! Bushy would fall, and try again and fall, and still keep at it.
Jip looked at her as if he thought her very clumsy, yet he knew his
business and did not move. She would get on his back and put her arms
about Jip’s neck and swing under, catching his stiff mane with her
right heel, and there holding until she had swung far enough under
his neck to throw the other foot over his back. As she would let go
with the right she was on the upward swing with the left. It took a
very sudden swing to keep from falling and landing bump on the ground
instead of regaining her seat, but she did it finally.
That was the most difficult thing she ever tried to do, but she learned
to ride on the dead run with her whole body hanging from Jip’s side, so
that anybody on the opposite side could not see that there was a rider
on the horse. Bushy learned to be an admirable horseback rider, and
being naturally cool-headed in all circumstances, both Shanks and Tom
grew to think her quite as capable of taking care of herself as they
were of themselves. The Indian pony was not so high as Ned had been,
and it was an easy matter for Bushy to place her hands on his back and
leap over him. Then she would amuse herself by letting him run at the
top of his speed. Clinging to his mane she would leap to the ground
and back, again and again, as he dashed madly on. She taught him to
kneel for her, and if she would not climb on his back while he knelt,
he would get down lower still. Mr. Sukolt also would often spend the
greater part of the day with Bushy training Jip, who turned out to be
a most wonderful horse. It seemed as if he were almost human in his
intelligence. If they could make him do a thing once, he would repeat
it when he received the same signs.
It took Mr. Sukolt a long time to teach him that he was to pick Bushy
up by her belt and carry her home. They began to teach this in a kind
of play, and he and Rover got to be fast friends. Rover could not carry
Bushy now, because she was too heavy. Mr. Sukolt would send Bushy out
somewhere to hide, and then her father would tell Jip and Rover to go
find her. At first the horse simply followed the dog, and, of course,
Rover found her every time; but Mr. Sukolt thought Jip ought to be able
to find her, too.
“Now, Padre, don’t let Rover come,” said Bushy, “send Jip all alone.”
“Now, Jip, find Bushy,” said Mr. Sukolt, and Jip started, but waited in
the road for Rover, and Rover would break bounds and dash after her.
Sometimes Jip would find her, and then there was great glee on the
part of the whole family. The next thing to teach him was to bring her
home. He was taught to kneel and neigh for her to climb on his back. If
she pretended she could not do it he would get down on his side, and
Bushy would crawl on, and cling to his mane while he got up and dashed
back to Mr. Sukolt.
It was lots of fun for several weeks. Both Bushy and her father forgot
all about her lessons. Bushy thought it was all fun, but her father was
preparing for a time when he perhaps might not be at hand to help his
little daughter.
All this was preliminary to the job of teaching the pony to pick Bushy
up by the belt and carry her home to her father, something as a cat
carries a rat. Oh, it took a long, long time to get that idea into
Jip’s head. He would kneel, then get down on his side if Bushy paid no
attention to him, then he would neigh and make a great fuss. Finally
Mr. Sukolt fastened her to Jip’s bits, and he and Tom would help carry
Bushy home to show Jip what was wanted. Bushy would keep still as if
she were dead. Little by little they would leave the weight on Jip, and
finally he carried her himself. Now the question was how to make him
pick her up. They slipped her belt over his lower jaw and let him carry
her that way, and at last he would nose around and find it himself. It
was a time of great rejoicing when he first did this. Bushy had to
wear mittens and strong moccasins, because he would sometimes drag her
along on the ground. She was now over thirteen years old, very small
for her age, but slender and agile like a cat.
“Where are we going, Padre?” asked Bushy one morning, after they had
been some weeks on the way.
“Down south on a prospecting tour. A freight-train of wagons will
start from Georgetown. We are not out of danger from the Indians until
we get within ten miles of that place. There will be more danger of
our running into Indians along here than anywhere else, because the
soldiers are all the time driving them back. The Indians go there for
their rations of food and clothing, and if they are not in the most
pleasant humor they may do us harm when we meet them. In case we do
get into trouble,” said her father, “you must try to get to Hold Up
Fort and give warning. That can’t be more than five miles from here,
straight ahead.”
Noontime came, and as there were no signs of Indians about, Mr. Sukolt
very unwisely had the mules unhitched and lariated them in the middle
of a patch of fresh tender grass. Jip was with them, too, though he
still wore his blanket saddle, as Bushy had ridden him all the morning
and had left his back only to assist in getting the noon meal.
“Merciful heavens, there are the Indians!” cried Shanks, in a
frightened whisper. Everybody looked up with a blanched face, for
coming down the mountain road, way off in the distance, could be
plainly seen about a dozen of the redskins, dashing pell-mell toward
the covered wagons.
“They have been refused rations at the fort and have spied us from the
high road!” exclaimed Mr. Sukolt. “They mean to steal our freight and
drive off the mules and horses. We are four against ten or, perhaps,
twenty, there is no telling how many there are in ambush. Oh, if it
were not for Bushy!”
“Can you three keep them at bay for half an hour?” cried Bushy, her
eyes almost starting out of her head in her excitement and fright. She
had followed her father out after the horses, and when assured he could
fight the Indians off for a while she threw herself flat on her face,
and, crawling on the ground, she reached Jip, who at the first signal,
knelt, then she caught his mane in one hand and wound her foot some way
in the rope that circled Jip’s body, and then let him bound up and away
at a keen jump toward the fort. The Indians saw him go, but supposed
he was a frightened pony or a runaway because they could see no one on
him. They did not shoot, but watched Mr. Sukolt driving in the mules
and horses, trying to get behind the two wagons that Tom and Shanks
had drawn up to form a kind of breastwork. The men threw the buffalo
robes, bedding, and as much of the freight as they had time to get out,
all about the wheels, making a safe place for them to crawl behind to
give a warm reception to the Indians as they came down. It was all done
in much shorter time than it takes to tell it.
“Where is Bushy?” exclaimed both Shanks and Tom, as they took up
their places behind the wheels and arranged their revolvers and extra
ammunition for use.
“Gone to give warning, thank God!” said Mr. Sukolt. “She went to bring
help from the fort, and I sent her, hoping she would escape harm; but
there is little chance that she can bring reinforcements in time for
us; it looks pretty tough just now.”
The Indians came on at a full run, yelling and brandishing their
tomahawks, but when they got within eighty yards of the white men the
three opened such a volley upon them that they held up and began to
circle about and close in. This circle did not take in Bushy. She was
already out of sight and, no doubt, riding with all her might toward
the fort.
Each of the men picked off an Indian before five minutes had passed.
One mule was killed, and Tom drew him up to add to their breastwork.
An arrow pierced his hat and just scratched his skull-cap. This made
him livid with rage, because, you remember, Tom had lost his scalp
through one of the wicked redskins. He rose up, took good aim for the
leader of the gang, and fired. The Indian fell from his horse. On
perceiving this the others probably came to the conclusion that they
would have some difficulty in getting the freight, and so drew off and
gave the men a short rest. This was a fortunate thing, for Bushy would
have more time in which to make the trip, and the men would have a
chance to load and prepare for a new attack. It soon came.
“They have been reinforced!” cried Shanks. “We are lost if they rush
upon us, for we are three against fifteen or twenty.” They made the
circle as before, and then, giving war-whoops that chilled the blood in
every vein, dashed up to the wagons. The three men picked out each an
Indian, and dropped him. The savages were too close now for much of a
plan to be carried out--it was a hand-to-hand encounter.
A tomahawk was raised over Mr. Sukolt’s head, when a bullet from some
unknown source killed the holder of it. Tom had been stunned from a
blow on the side of his head, and lay helpless across the dead mule.
Shanks was close in the embrace of a dying redskin, and seemed doomed
to death from a blow of a tomahawk in the hand of an Indian back of
him. Mr. Sukolt struck the axe with the butt of his gun, and received
an arrow in his left arm from an Indian who had slipped behind the
wagon and had shot from under cover.
“Thank God, Bushy is safe!” he murmured as he felt the cold knife in an
Indian’s hand seeking for his scalp line.
Crack! crack! flash! bang! sounded the welcome reports from the
soldiers’ firearms. The Indian who was in the act of scalping Bushy’s