Bushy a romance founded on fact
alarm he had not stopped to protect his head, and without any hair and
his face white with fear, he made a very odd-looking picture. Shanks
had long hair, and it was all tousled and standing up almost straight,
as if it never meant to lie smooth again or be combed into curls about
his neck. Bushy burst into a laugh, forgetting the seriousness of
things.
But the laugh died away on her lips, for one glance at the face of her
father, who was looking over their heads at the lurid sky, made her
remember all.
“See yonder, boys,” he said, and he pointed to the north. The broad
heavens now seemed fairly on fire. The men turned and gazed in wonder,
then in fear. Tom hurriedly remarked: “We must get out of here. These
pine-trees will burn like paper.”
“What is to be done?” cried Shanks, smoothing down his tangled locks
and fastening his belt snugly about his waist as if preparing for a
fight.
Bushy was already dressing herself in a buckskin suit, exactly like
the one she had cut into strips the night before. “It will stand fire
better than any cloth,” she said to herself.
“Great Scott, boys! we are in greater danger than I imagined; see
there!” exclaimed Tom. He pointed to a jack rabbit that was making its
way down the ravine toward the stream. “That is a bad sign. There goes
another. There is something leaping on the other side of the cliff.
There it goes; it looks like a deer! The fire must be very close!”
By this time the other people in that little camp had been roused by
Tom’s loud calling, shaking at the wagon fronts, and pounding on cabin
doors. There were only seven cabins, and the inmates were all miners.
“Where do you go in case of fire?” asked Mr. Sukolt of one of the
men, as he hurriedly saddled Jip and ordered Bushy to roll up two
horse-blankets and then jump on and await his orders.
“There is no place of safety this side of the mines,” said the man
addressed. “The long tunnel abandoned six months ago can be utilized
for the horses and cattle if we can get them there, but”----
“Padre,” ventured Bushy, “don’t you remember the wide place in the
stream just below the mine, and don’t you remember how, back about two
hundred feet, a high ledge of rocks juts over the water--just below
where Willie fell yesterday? Maybe all of our wagons can be got under
there.”
“I did not notice it. Perhaps we had better try, if you are sure of
what you are talking about. The tunnel will not hold all of us.”
“Hi, Shanks,” he called, “Bushy will lead us to the shallow spot in the
stream, or where the water spreads, and”----
“I know I can, Shanks, because Willie and I waded almost across
yesterday, and the great ledge of rocks we called our fairyland. I know
we can get under, but I don’t know how we can get the wagons down.”
“If you two children got down we can, and we will let the wagons go if
the fire proves a bad one. I would much prefer the water and rocks to
the tunnel.”
So off they started, Bushy on Jip leading the way.
“We are going to take to the water,” called Mr. Sukolt, as one of the
miners came back for a last look at the cabins, now deserted.
“All right,” said the man, “but you are welcome to join us in the
tunnel. The wind is coming from the north, and will sweep down from
the back, and we have pumped up a lot of water, and will pump more in
hopes to keep the woodwork at the mouth of the tunnel from burning.”
“Don’t go back far into the mine under any circumstances,” called Mr.
Sukolt. “I rather wish you would come with us; Bushy says she knows the
place is large, and the ledge is on the north side.”
“No,” the man called back, “we are all right,” and he hastened after
the other men; Mr. Goodwin deciding to follow them to the tunnel
because of Willie and his mother.
The wind began to rush upon them, bringing with it hot smoke and fine
cinders. Sheets of flame lighted the air for miles about. Great clouds
of smoke began to rise and darken the sky, until sudden day would turn
into sudden night. Then, as if the fire had attacked some new group of
pines, the light would burst up in the north and clouds of sparks would
shoot high, piercing the blackness like forks of lightning.
“Hurry, drive faster, for heaven’s sake!” cried Mr. Sukolt to Tom,
who was in the lead. Shanks drove the second wagon, and Bushy and her
father rode horseback.
“It’s coming close, Bushy,” cried her father. “You know we are placing
our lives in your hands, child!” He rode near and anxiously gazed into
her flushed and frightened face.
“I know, Padre, that the water is shallow, and not so very rocky, and
that we can all get under the rocks, and that no trees grow close.”
“Let her alone,” cried Tom, assuringly. “She never forgets a place;
don’t you know that, old man? I’d trust to her to lead me even in the
dark.”
On they went, up and down, over rough places that almost upset the
wagons, and down steep pathways that scarcely allowed the passing of
the wheels.
“All I fear, Padre, is that the wagons may not get through,” she cried,
once, when it was only by holding on to the wheels that Shanks and Tom
succeeded in keeping a wagon from tumbling over the edge of a precipice.
“Here we are at last,” joyfully called Bushy, pointing to a place where
the water spread out like a fan. “We are safe now, are we not, Padre?”
“I think so,” he replied, and he reached over and squeezed her little
hand. “What a blessing to us you remembered this spot! Go ahead to
where you and Willie were yesterday.”
Now, light-hearted in the thought that she had done the right thing,
Bushy dashed down into the water and called for Tom and Shanks to
follow.
Jip would not go farther; his head was turned to face the red sky. He
snorted and reared and pawed the water all over Bushy and her buckskin
suit, until she leaped from his back, and gripping his bits, scolded
and urged until he slowly but still resentfully followed her, Bushy
wading knee-deep in the water. Ofttimes he fairly lifted her from her
feet when the wind howled loudest and the flames seemed to roll over
their very heads.
“Come on, Tom!” she called, “we are almost there.” Tom and Shanks were
obliged to lead their horses also, and the wagons went bumping over the
rocky bottom of the fierce little stream.
“At last!” they all cried as the wagons were placed close under the
overspreading rocks and the horses were hitched and well tied.
The air grew hot and the cracking and snapping and roaring of the angry
blaze made the animals snort and plunge.
“Take out your blankets, dip them in the stream and throw them over the
horses,” cried Mr. Sukolt. The men did so, and then with buckets kept
the coverings saturated with water. Bushy had all she could do to hold
Jip. He was determined to rush across into the bright red flames. “Jip,
poor Jip, don’t be afraid. There, now, old fellow, keep cool; keep
cool, sir!” were the odd words that kept him in control.
It was hours before the danger was over and the little group made their
way up the hill. A spot was selected where there had been few trees to
burn, and there they camped for the day. The horses and mules were
tied tight to the wheels of the wagons, as there was danger of their
getting badly burned if they wandered about. Silence reigned, a dull
smoke hung over their heads, and it was still hard to breathe. The
wind had rushed on with the fire, leaving all quiet and gloom-stricken
behind.
CHAPTER XXVII
The party in the tunnel had suffered dreadfully. The woodwork about
the mouth of the excavation had caught fire, and to save their lives
the miners had fought the flames with all their strength. Mrs. Goodwin
and Willie had been carried back around a turn in the tunnel where
the flames could not reach them, but they came very near suffocating.
The mules and horses had become unruly, and in the stampede, when the
fire was raging about them, two of the men had been badly kicked. Mrs.
Goodwin had fainted and lay like one dead for hours. Little Willie was
frightened into insensibility, and the men who were striving to save
the woodwork at the opening of the tunnel got sadly burned about their
hands and faces.
“It was well that you took to the water,” called out one of the men who
was first to meet Mr. Sukolt when Bushy’s father came to investigate
the condition of the people in the tunnel. “Just look at the fix we are
in!”
Bushy hastened back and searched for Willie and his mamma. The men had
placed them on a kind of shelf made of the walls of rock, and there
they lay white and still, with Mr. Goodwin frantic beside them.
“Padre,” Bushy cried, “let me go back and hitch up one of the wagons.”
“The way is covered with fallen trees,” he said. “It would take all
night to clear a road for a wagon. You must take Jip and bring Shanks’s
medicine-bag and the roll of bandages, while we get something to eat
and drink. What a blessing we are unhurt and able to help these poor
fellows!” He threw off his coat and so did Tom and Shanks, and those
who were most badly injured were soon resting on a temporary bed made
for them out of the half-burned clothing in the wagons.
“We saved what you see by dipping blankets in the water and throwing
them over the side exposed to the fire,” said one miner. “But I believe
I shall die from the burns I got doing it,” and the poor fellow groaned
aloud with pain.
“Oh, no, you won’t!” said Bushy, kneeling down close to him. “Shanks
can cure everything, and when you get something to eat you will be all
right.”
Shanks soon revived Mrs. Goodwin. Then he gave little Willie some
medicine. “When he wakes up he will be all right,” said Shanks, in
answer to Bushy’s anxious inquiry. Shanks had been thoughtful enough
to bring a small medicine-box which answered their temporary needs, but
Bushy was sent back to bring the large one.
“Hurry, child,” called Mr. Sukolt. “It will soon be dark, and we must
do all we can before the light goes. Look out for the burning trees.”
“Here, Bushy, wait a minute!” called Tom, running after her. “Buckle on
my revolver, and should any of the horses be tangled or broken loose,
fire three times and I will come down. Perhaps I had better go along,
anyway,” and he started with her.
“No, no, Tom,” insisted Bushy. “You make a big fire and get the supper
started. Everybody is starved. And by the time you get ready for me to
help you I’ll be back with the medicine-box. Why, I can put it in front
of me on Jip and be here again in no time. Jip can go anywhere I can.”
So away she hurried down the path out of sight, on past the place
where Willie fell over the cliff, then down to the lowland, where the
wagons, mules, and horses had been left. No horses or mules were there.
The spot was bare, and only the deep cuts in the ground made by the
animals’ hoofs told that the place had ever been occupied.
“Rover,” called Bushy. “Rover, where are you?”
A joyous bark from the wagon, in which Rover had been chained ever
since the fire had been discovered, announced that he was all right.
“Ah, I am not afraid with Rover and Tom’s revolver,” she said,
advancing to the first wagon and climbing in.
Rover almost ate her up, he was so glad to see her. “Poor fellow,”
she called, “did you try to keep the horses, or did you untie their
halters?”
This gave Bushy a new idea. “I wonder if they did get away by
themselves, after all.” She set Rover free; he was out of the wagon as
quick as she was, then she began to examine carefully the imprints in
the ground.
“That’s queer,” she finally exclaimed, kneeling to look more carefully
at a man’s footprint. “Neither Padre, nor Tom, nor Shanks ever wore
a boot like that. Rover, has anybody been here?” she cried, fairly