Bushy a romance founded on fact
shaking the dog off his feet in her anxiety to know.
“Bow-wow!” answered Rover as loud as he could, and then bounded off
toward the creek and sniffed and howled on the bank.
“Horse-thieves, as sure as I live!” she said to herself; “and poor
Rover was tied so he could not defend even Jip.
“I’ll just take a look about, so I can tell the Padre which way they
have gone,” she thought, and ran after Rover and looked down the
stream.
“They tried to follow the creek, Rover,” she screamed at last in
delight; “but look, old fellow, they had to come out just below; there
are the tracks! Come, let us see what they did afterward.” Her heart
was almost broken to think Jip was stolen, too.
“What’s that, Rover?” She paused and listened. Rover’s nose went high
in the air as it always did when he thought he understood. Bushy put
her ear to the ground. “It’s only the falling branches, Rover. They are
breaking all the time and burning, too, in some places.” Rover, every
now and then, howled with fright and pain as he would step on some hot
stick or brand. They managed to make their way to a sudden turning
around a sharp rocky bend. The scene that they then witnessed was
startling. There was a Mexican greaser, as the half-breeds are called,
riding one of the mules and leading the other animals. Jip was ugly,
and every few seconds would pull back and almost unseat the Mexican.
They were going slowly, yet no doubt would get out of the burnt woods
soon, and then there would be no hope of ever catching the horses or
the thief.
“Rover, we must get the horses,” said Bushy, softly, shutting her mouth
with a snap that meant she would fight for them if necessary.
“I am so far away now I don’t think Tom or any one at the tunnel would
hear the three shots, and then I may need them myself, if the Mexican
is mean. I’ll shoot him if he doesn’t give up Jip.”
Even in all this danger a smile came to her lips, and her eyes for a
moment sparkled. “Sh! Rover, lie down; we will fix the Mexican.”
She dodged behind the huge bowlder that had so long kept the horse and
horse-thief from her view, and gave a peculiar whistle. Jip pricked up
his ears as if he thought he had heard something, then as if in doubt,
trotted on with the rest of the horses. The path was now wide and quite
clear of fallen trees, so that the Mexican was trying to make good
headway.
“Now, Rover, watch!” said Bushy, and she gave the whistle three times,
so loud and shrill that it seemed to pierce the very heart of both Jip
and the thief. Jip gave a sudden bound backward and followed with a
decided jump toward the place where Bushy lay hidden. The Mexican, with
a curse, fell to the ground, and before he could drop the halter by
which he had been leading Jip, he was dragged some distance.
With a soft chuckle Bushy grabbed Jip’s halter and sprang on his back
and was down upon the Mexican horse-thief before he had well regained a
standing position. Tottering and blinded, he looked up, expecting to be
killed on the spot.
“Throw up your hands, sir!” called out Bushy in her childish voice. The
man was so surprised that he merely gaped at her.
“Throw up your hands!” she cried again, and this time he looked into
the muzzle of a revolver. “You were stealing my father’s horses, and
the miners hang men for that. You must help me take them back to the
tunnel. Where are your revolvers? Are you unarmed?”
“I lost everything while fighting with the fire. The belt broke and
I have nothing, señorita,” was the bland answer. “I am badly burnt
and”----
“But not too bad to stop you from stealing my father’s horses and my
Jip,” interrupted Bushy. The stealing of Jip incensed her more than the
taking of the other six animals.
“I will not shoot you so long as you behave. But I must take you and
the horses back to the Padre. If you are burned, Shanks will doctor
you. Padre never hangs people, so you need not be afraid; but now take
up the halters of the animals and lead them back to the wagons. Take
the two mules first; tie the others here so they won’t wander.”
Bushy kept the revolver pointed at the man’s head and never took her
eyes off him. When he had the two mules ready to lead, she ordered him
to go ahead. Slowly he advanced, and in cowardly fashion gazed back
every few seconds into the muzzle of the revolver.
“I can shoot,” cried Bushy once, when she thought the man looked as if
he were going to try and run. “I will drop you as sure as you live,
if you try to get away.” The odd glitter in her eye advised the thief
to obey, and he slowly led the mules to the end of the wagon and tied
them securely. “Now,” said Bushy, “we will not go back for the horses,
they can stay there until Tom goes after them; we will go to the tunnel
where the men are.”
Bushy was growing a little bit frightened. The revolver began to shake
in her hand. She realized that the Mexican might get the advantage of
her, and now she wished she had fired the three shots for help.
“Go right up that path,” she said, indicating the way with the nod of
her head. The man started, but began fumbling oddly about his flannel
shirt for something.
“What’s the matter?” she asked in a very brave voice, though her heart
was full of fear.
“I am burnt badly,” he answered. Then looking up he saw two men
hastening down upon them. They were Tom and Shanks, who had started out
to learn why Bushy delayed bringing the medicine-box. The Mexican’s
eyes flashed wickedly, and, with a sudden, lightning movement, he
turned and made a dash at Bushy, with a bright dagger in his uplifted
hand.
Simultaneously with his yell of defiance came the report of a pistol,
and the man fell headlong under Jip’s legs.
The instant Bushy realized her danger she had fired, and when she saw
the man unable to get up her arm sank to her side, and the revolver
fell to the ground.
Jip jumped to one side and gave a neigh of recognition as Tom and
Shanks ran breathlessly toward him.
No word was spoken until Bushy was held safely in Shanks’s arms. Then
Tom stepped over to the writhing Mexican, and asked, in a trembling
voice, though he tried not to show his agitation: “What was the row,
Bushy?”
“He is a horse-thief, Tom,” she answered, raising herself out of
Shanks’s embrace long enough to take a good square look at the man. “He
had stolen every one of the horses and was driving them down stream.
Oh, Shanks, wasn’t it awful to have to shoot him! But he rushed at me,
did you see?” Bushy buried her face in Shanks’s buckskin blouse, and
Rover took it upon himself to guard the wounded man, and snap and snarl
at his every move.
Three shots soon brought Mr. Sukolt and one of the miners to the
scene. It was another long hour before they all got back to the tunnel
again, and it was two days before everything was in condition to
proceed on their journey. Mr. Goodwin and his family remained at Silver
City.
CHAPTER XXVIII
“Central City! Here we are,” cried Tom as the wagons reached a high
point in the road, from which the travellers could look down on a small
town; its little shanties scattered along the side of the mountains.
“It is beautiful,” exclaimed Bushy. “I never saw so many houses in my
life. Oh, look! there is a little girl, and there goes a boy! Oh, what
a lot of them! One, two, three--Padre, there are six, sure as I live.
Hurry the horses, Shanks; let’s catch them before they get away.”
“You don’t think they are mountain sheep, do you, Puss?” said Shanks,
with a wink. “I have an idea that they live down there the year round,
and you can get a look at them any time.”
“That’s so,” said Bushy, with a laugh. “I forgot things didn’t run away
in a great city. This is a great city, isn’t it, Padre?”
“The largest about here. Bill Shoemaker said there was to be a school
opened, and that is why we came this way.”
“Perhaps school will disagree with me,” murmured Bushy. “Maybe I won’t
take to children. Most likely Rover and Jip will be homesick, and you
will send for me to come home again.”
“Home! You don’t know what the word means, child.”
“I don’t know just what you mean when you say home, but I know what I
mean. I mean wherever the Padre is, that is what I call home.”
Bushy did not know how near her chatter came to bringing tears to her
father’s eyes, and she kept right on, scarcely stopping for breath in
her excitement over entering a real town.
It did not take the party long to unhitch the horses and pitch the tent
on the outskirts of Central City.
“We must get Bushy some clothes,” said Shanks, who was more thoughtful
about her looks than any of the others. “She looks funny even for a
mining town. She must have shoes first.”
“Of course she must!” exclaimed her father. “I will go with her and
pick them out.”
“Oh, Padre, let me do it. I never was in a big store in my life. I want
to go alone, just for fun.”
“I don’t see any fun in buying shoes, but I don’t object. Go down to
where you see the bend in the road. A Fourth of July flag still waves
in front; do you see it?”
“Yes,” said Bushy breathlessly, as she fairly danced about in her
anxiety to be off.
“Go into that store and say you are Mr. Sukolt’s daughter, and that he
will pay for the shoes you select.”
“Yes, yes, I can do all that,” and off Bushy flew down the road.
“Please, sir,” said Bushy walking up to the counter--her head coming
not so very far above it--“I want a pair of real shoes, like the folks
about here wear.”
“What kind did you have last. Let me see and then I can get some idea
of what kind you want.”
“I never had any last,” sighed Bushy, gazing down at her moccasins.
“Oh! you are Mr. Sukolt’s little girl, are you?” inquired Mr. Richards,
the owner of the store, and he smiled and leaned over to shake her by
the hand.
“Yes, sir; I am not so awfully little though,” she replied, half
offended at the word.
“You shall have your pick of my stock just the same,” said the shoeman,
and he set before her all kinds of foot-wear.
Bushy gazed upon them with a critical eye and shook her head. “Once I
saw what was awfully pretty and I want something just like it.”
“Tell me about it, do,” said the shoeman. “I’ll have a pair made for
you.”
“This girl was in a picture that hung in Shanks’s cabin until a fire
came and burned it up. Her shoes came up awfully high and had buttons
on the side, and a lot of pretty marks all around the edges.”
“What do you want such shoes for?” questioned Mr. Richards, and he
laughed softly as if much amused.
“To wear to school; I am going to stay here and learn to study.”
“I have only one pair of button shoes and they have buttons on both
sides, but, by jove! you shall have them if you want them. They are a
sample pair that we could never sell here.”
He brought out a pair of delicate kid boots that laced up the front and
had a beautiful embroidered piece that buttoned on one side and lapped
over the lacing, and then buttoned down fast on the other, making an
ornamental front that extended from the toe of the boot to the top.
Bushy’s eyes beamed with delight. Her moccasin was off in a jiffy and
her plump right foot settled itself into the kid boot with a determined
thud, meaning to stay there.
“It just fits, and I’ll take these,” she said, though the shoe was much
too large. “Two rows of buttons are prettier than one, anyway; and
won’t the Padre be proud when he sees me?”
“I think he will,” answered the shoeman; “for I am sure he did not
expect you to buy kid boots to wear in the Rocky Mountains.”
“Oh, yes, he did. He said get just what I wanted,” insisted Bushy
putting on the other boot.
“All right then; shall I do them up?”