Frank Merriwell's Bravery Part 43

"Sure."

"But the buffalo--I had forgotten them. We have not obtained that picture."

"An' nivver a bit we will this doay, Frankie."

"Why not?"

"Th' boofalo have shkipped."

"Gone?"

"Thot's roight."

"Too bad!"

Frank felt that he must satisfy himself with his own eyes, and so he hastened to a spot that commanded a view of the place where the creatures had been feeding.

Sure enough, they were gone.

"That's hard luck!" he muttered. "Here we have been hanging a whole week in the park just to enable me to get a snap at some of the creatures, and we lost our only opportunity. Well, I suppose we should be satisfied to get off with our lives."

He knew this was true, and so there was reason to be thankful, instead of grumbling.

He returned to where Barney was talking to Fay. The child was anxiously watching Frank's movements.

"You ain't doin' away and leave me, is you?" she asked.

"No, dear."

"I was 'fraid so, and I's awsul hundry."

"An' wouldn't ye go wid me av Oi'd take ye where ye'd get plinty to ate?" asked the Irish lad.

"Him tome, too?" She held out her hands to Frank.

"An' wouldn't ye go av he didn't come?"

"I dess not," she said. "I like you pitty well; but I kinder like him better. Him goin' to find my mamma. I dess him dit me somefin to eat."

Frank caught her up in his arms.

"Yes, dear," he laughed, his heart swelling with a feeling that convinced him he would lay down his life in defense of her, if needs be.

"I will find you something to eat as soon as possible, and I will take you to your mother."

"Dat's all wight. I ain't doin' to cwy. You don't like little dirls we'en they cwy, does you?"

"In your case, I do not think crying would change my feelings. Little girls have to cry sometimes."

"I dess dat's wight," said Fay, very soberly.

Frank surrendered his rifle to Barney, who insisted on taking the camera also, and then, with the child in his arms, followed the Irish lad on the return tramp to camp.

It proved to be a long, tiresome trudge, and the sun was setting when the boys came in sight of a white tent that was pitched near a spring of cool water and a growth of pines down in a pretty valley.

Once or twice Fay had murmured that she was "so hundry," but when the camp was sighted, she was asleep in Frank's arms, her head of tangled golden curls lying on his shoulder.

A fire was blazing in front of the tent, sending a thin column of smoke straight up into the still air.

Near the fire, with a pipe in his mouth, was sitting a grizzled old man, whose appearance indicated that he was a veteran of the mountains and plains.

This was Roxy Jules, generally known as "Old Rocks." He was one of the professional guides who make a business of taking parties of tourists through the park and showing them its wonders.

Between two trees a hammock was strung, and another man, a little fellow with fiery-red hair and whiskers, was reclining. Gold-bowed spectacles were perched on his nose, and he was studying a book.

All at once Old Rocks gave a queer kind of a grunt. As it did not arouse the man in the hammock, he grunted again. That not proving effectual, he growled:

"Wa-al, I wonders whut kind o' game them yar kids hev struck now?"

"Eh?" exclaimed the little man. "Did you speak to me? My name is Scotch, as you very well know--Professor Horace Scotch."

"Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, with a sly grin, "I reckons I has heard them yar boys call yer Hot Scotch enough to know whut yer handle is."

"Those boys are very disrespectful--very! They should be called to account. I object to such familiarity from others, sir--I distinctly object."

Old Rocks grunted derisively, having come to regard the timid little man with contempt, which was natural with him, as he looked with disfavor on all "tenderfeet."

That grunt stirred the blood of the quick-tempered little man, who sat up, snapping:

"I should think there was a pig somewhere round, by the sounds I hear!"

The guide grunted again.

"I detest pigs!" fumed Scotch. "They're always grunting."

"Thar's only one thing I dislike wuss'n pigs," observed Old Rocks, lazily.

"What is that, sir; what is that?"

"Hawgs," answered the guide, with his small, keen eyes fixed on the professor. "Of course, I don't mean to be personal, nor nawthing, an' I don't call no names; but ef you want ter know who I mean, you kin see whar I'm lookin'."

"This in an insult!" squealed the little man, snapping himself out of the hammock. "I'll discharge you at once, sir--at once!"

"All right. Just you pay me whut you owe me, an' I'll leave ye ter git out o' ther park ther best way ye derned kin. You'll hev a heap o' fun doin' it."

The professor bl.u.s.tered about, while Old Rocks sat and smoked, a patronizing smile on his leathery face.

Suddenly Scotch observed the approaching boys, and saw the child Frank carried in his arms.

"Goodness!" gurgled the little man, staring. "What does that mean?"