Left On The Prairie Part 5

'Oh! Mother, Mother, save me!' he shrieked; 'he'll get me and take me back!' And the next moment he lost all consciousness.

In the meantime our readers may wonder how it came to pa.s.s that Jeff had deserted his little friend, and in order to tell you I must go back to the time when Jack left the camp to look for the horse. Soon after he had set out for the clump of trees, Lem had saddled Yankee Boy, and after riding a few miles, came upon n.i.g.g.e.r, whom he at once secured and brought back to camp. He then harnessed up the four horses ready to start, and as Jack did not return, he grew very impatient, and while idling about doing nothing an evil thought took possession of him.

What a good opportunity he had now to pay off an old score against Steve Byrne by leaving Jack behind! It was a cruel thing to think of doing, but Lem was an unprincipled fellow who cared little who suffered as long as he got his revenge.

He quickly finished his preparations for starting, the last being to hoist Jeff into the waggon, where he immediately dozed off again, quite unconscious of what was going on. All day he remained half-stupefied, and as Lem drove the horses a long way before making a halt, it was not far off evening when Jeff discovered what had happened.

The indignation it roused in him cleared his torpid brain as if by magic.

'D'ye mean to say as you've been and left the young un behind?' he demanded.

'That's so,' returned Lem coolly; 'I found as he'd been at some tricks, so I guessed we'd get rid of him. I sent him to look for n.i.g.g.e.r, and skipped out afore he got back.'

'I don't believe it,' declared Jeff. 'Jack wasn't a kid to play tricks, and I call it a crying shame to desert him. You daren't have done it if I'd known what was goin' on. I blame mysel' for it most, and I'm agoing right back to look for him.'

'Eat your supper first, man, and don't be a fool,' said Lem, somewhat staggered at Jeff's concern over his desertion of Jack; but the miner heeded him not. He mounted one of the tired horses and rode all the weary way back to the place they had camped at, but not a sign did he see of the boy. On the way he endured the whole of the awful storm, which he hardly noticed. In his anxiety he pressed on, arriving late in the Mexican village, where he made inquiries, but received such purposely conflicting answers to his questions about the way the boy had gone, that he got quite confused, and in the end had to turn back and retrace his steps. He stopped at short intervals to shout, but no reply came out of the darkness, and at last he got back to the waggon utterly wearied out, and as unhappy as a man could be.

Lena's surly voice sounded out from the blankets asking, 'Well, I suppose you've got the precious kid all right, haven't you?'

'No, I haven't,' returned Jeff savagely; 'and I'm feared as he's come to grief somewhere, for there ain't a house 'twixt here and the village for him to shelter in. I'll never forgive mysel' nor you either for this day's work, and the sooner we part company the better I'm pleased.

I knew you were a cranky chap, but I didn't reckon ye were as mean as this.'

Lem angrily growled out something about making such a fuss over a bit of a kid, but poor Jeff's conscience was at work, and he blamed himself over and over again for Jack's misfortune.

'It's the drink that has done it,' he murmured, 'and I swear I'll never touch another drop again as long as I live. But that won't bring back the little lad,' he went on sadly to himself, 'and I'm scared as a night up so high 'll kill him, with nothing to keep him warm, for it gets terrible cold towards daybreak.'

Jeff could not sleep. He tossed about, listening to Lem's deep breathing.

'I promised to see to him, and I might have known Lem wasn't to be trusted. He did it for spite, I'm pretty sure, and nothin' else,' he argued to himself; and he was right, as we already know.

He and Lem parted company on the first opportunity, and certain it was, from the day Jack was lost, Jeff was a changed man. He kept his word, and never touched a drop of drink. It was no easy matter to break off a long-indulged habit, but when he found the desire for it growing too strong, and felt inclined to yield to the temptation, he would think of little Jack sitting by the camp fire singing his hymns, and as the bright face of the boy rose before him, it would break the evil spell and the longing for drink would pa.s.s away. He stayed about for some days, hoping to hear something of Jack, but he was obliged at last to believe that in all human probability the boy had died of exposure on the prairie.

'We may never know for certain,' said he, 'but I'm feared as his mother 'll never see him again, for I think he's _dead_.'

CHAPTER VII.

JACK IS RESCUED.

But Jack was not dead. When he returned to consciousness, he was surprised to find himself no longer on the prairie, but lying on sheep-skins spread over a wooden couch, and covered with a blanket.

He was in a rough kind of tent, and through the turned-back flap of canvas at the entrance, he could see the prairie. He could remember nothing of what had happened, and tried to imagine how in the world he had got into such a place. His head still ached badly, and, putting his hand up, he found his forehead was bandaged. He felt very weak and ill, but his surroundings were so strange to him, he tried to sit up and look about him. The effort was too much for him, and with a groan of pain he fell back on the sheep-skins.

At the sound he made, a man appeared at the tent-door, and approached the couch. He was a fine-looking fellow, evidently a Mexican, from his swarthy complexion, but there was a look of compa.s.sion in his dark eyes that inspired Jack with confidence, and made him feel that he had found a friend in need.

'Where am I?' he asked feebly, fearing the man would not understand the English words, and his relief was great when the Mexican answered:

'In my tent. I had lost some sheep last night that scattered in the storm, and while looking for them, my dog Senor found you lyin' on the prairie. You were hurt here'--pointing to his forehead--'and I thought you were dead. I carried you here, and you were nearly gone, but I got you round at last. You've got mountain fever, and you must keep very still if you want to get well. Here, drink this.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: '"HERE," SAID THE MEXICAN, "DRINK THIS."']

As he spoke he handed Jack a cup, and the boy, thanking him, drank the liquid, which the Mexican told him was a kind of tea he made from the wild sage which grew all over the prairie and was a grand remedy for agues and fevers.

Jack was suffering from the chill he received in his state of fatigue, and it was fortunate for him he had been rescued in time by the shepherd's dog, and had fallen into the hands of such a kind-hearted, sensible man as Pedro Gomez, who had lived all his life on the prairie near the mountains, and knew how to treat most of the maladies that people were subject to in that part of the country.

He saw Jack was excited, so wisely said, 'I shan't listen to you for a day or two, but when you're better, then you can tell me where you come from. It was lucky I found you in time.'

'Yes,' said Jack. 'I believe I asked G.o.d to help me, and I expect He heard, for, ye see, He sent you to me.'

The Mexican listened gravely, and said, 'I reckon you've got Him to thank for it arter all, for it was strange we should come across you, and not another soul near you for miles.'

He then gave Jack injunctions to lie very still until he returned again, and prepared to go back to his sheep. He first called his dog and put him on guard.

'There,' he said; 'if you want me, just tell Senor. He knows more than many a man, and 'll come for me at once.'

Jack looked gratefully at him, and said wistfully, 'I guess ye don't hate kids, like Lem?'

'Hate 'em?' repeated Pedro. 'No! My boss has two little uns at his ranch, and I've nursed 'em often. They just love to play with Senor, and want me to tell them prairie tales when I'm there all day long.'

Left by himself with Senor, Jack prepared to make friends with him. He was not a beautiful animal, being a long, thin, vagabond-looking dog; but faithfulness was stamped in his honest, intelligent face, and Pedro was right in saying he knew more than many a human being. Jack was fond of animals, and made the first advances towards his guardian, but Senor was not disposed to be friendly incautiously. His life had made him suspicious of strangers, and he _hated boys_.

Like Jack, he had a rough time of it when he went to the Mexican village with his master, as dogs and boys invariably attacked him. He therefore avoided them, and at first deemed it wiser not to notice this boy who spoke to him in a coaxing voice. He had stretched himself down on the ground near the tent-door, and prepared to spend his hours of watching with one eye on his charge and the other out-of-doors.

Jack, however, was restless and lonely, and anxious to make friends, so he continued calling him in a caressing way, until at last Senor thought he might as well investigate him closer. Accordingly he rose up, and in a slow, cautious way walked up to the couch, and looked up in the boy's face.

Apparently he was satisfied with his scrutiny, for when Jack ventured to pat his rough head, he returned the friendly act by licking his hand. As Jack talked and caressed him further, Senor gradually threw off all reserve, and when Pedro returned he was surprised to find the dog curled up on the couch, as friendly as possible with the invalid.

'Well, that's good! I see Senor has taken to you, boy,' he said approvingly. 'He can't abide strangers as a rule, so I take it as a sign as we'll get on all right.'

Pedro was a good nurse, and looked after Jack so well that in a few days he was able to get up for a bit and sit at the tent-door. He was very weak, and Pedro told him it was madness to think of trying to continue his journey for some time.

When Jack was strong enough to tell him his story, Pedro proved a most interested listener.

'An' where are your folks now?' he asked.

'Over on the Cochetopa Creek,' answered Jack.

'Why, that's way over t'other side o' the range. You'll never get across the mountain pa.s.s alone,' exclaimed Pedro. 'It ain't safe for a child to wander up there with no one near him. There's bears an'

mountain lions--let alone the timber wolves! You'd be eaten, boy, afore you'd crossed the divide.'

Jack shuddered. He was afraid of bears. He had never seen one, but they had always been a terror to him.

'I'm terrible afraid o' bears,' he said truthfully; 'but p'raps I'd meet someone going over as would let me go with them.'

'You might,' agreed Pedro; 'but winter's coming on fast, an' it'll be bad getting over the range after November comes. You bide here for a few weeks with me until my boss comes over again, an' I promise you as he'll help you along a bit. He'll be right along shortly to bring me flour an' grub, an' to look at the sheep.'

And so it was decided that Jack should stay on with the Mexican until Mr. Stuart came again, when they would ask him his opinion as to the wisest course for Jack to take to get safely over the mountains.