Charlie to the Rescue Part 32

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS IN CURIOUS CIRc.u.mSTANCES.

When the soldiers were safely away Hunky Ben returned to the cave and brought Leather down.

Charlie Brooke's love for his old school-fellow and playmate seemed to become a new pa.s.sion, now that the wreck of life and limb presented by Shank had awakened within him the sensation of profound pity. And Shank's admiration for and devotion to Charlie increased tenfold now that the terrible barrier of self had been so greatly eliminated from his own nature, and a new spirit put within him.

By slow degrees, and bit by bit, each came to know and understand the other under the influence of new lights and feelings. But their thoughts about themselves, and their joy at meeting in such peculiar circ.u.mstances, had to be repressed to some extent in the presence of their common friend Ralph Ritson--_alias_ Buck Tom--for Charlie knew him only as an old school-fellow, though to Leather he had been a friend and chum ever since they had landed in the New World.

The scout, during the first interval of leisure on the previous day, had extracted the ball without much difficulty from Buck's chest, through which it had pa.s.sed, and was found lying close under the skin at his back. The relief thus afforded, and rest obtained under the influence of some medicine administered by Captain Wilmot, had brightened the poor fellow up to some extent; and Leather, seeing him look so much better on his return, began to entertain some hopes of his recovery.

Buck himself had no such hope; but, being a man of strong will, he refused to let it be seen in his demeanour that he thought his case to be hopeless. Yet he did not act from bravado, or the slightest tincture of that spirit which resolves to "die game." The approach of death had indeed torn away the veil and permitted him to see himself in his true colours, but he did not at that time see Jesus to be the Saviour of even "the chief of sinners." Therefore his hopelessness took the form of silent submission to the inevitable.

Of course Charlie Brooke spoke to him more than once of the love of G.o.d in Christ, and of the dying thief who had looked to Jesus on the cross and was saved, but Buck only shook his head. One afternoon in particular Charlie tried hard to remove the poor man's perplexities.

"It's all very well, Brooke," said Buck Tom, "and very kind of you to interest yourself in me, but the love of G.o.d and the salvation of Christ are not for me. You don't know what a sinner I have been, a rebel all my life--all my life, mark you. I would count it mean to come whining for pardon now that the game is up. I _deserve_ h.e.l.l--or whatever sort o' punishment is due--an' I'm willing to take it."

"Ralph Ritson," said Brooke impressively, "you are a far greater sinner than you think or admit."

"Perhaps I am," returned the outlaw sadly, and with a slight expression of surprise. "Perhaps I am," he repeated. "Indeed I admit that you are right, but--but your saying so is a somewhat strange way to comfort a dying man. Is it not?"

"I am _not_ trying to comfort you. I am trying, by G.o.d's grace, to convince you. You tell me that you have been a rebel all your days?"

"Yes; I admit it."

"There are still, it may be, a few days yet to run, and you are determined, it seems, to spend these in rebellion too--up to the very end!"

"Nay, I do not say that. Have I not said that I _submit_ to whatever punishment is due? Surely that is not rebellion. I can do nothing _now_ to make up for a mis-spent life, so I am willing to accept the consequences. Is not that submission to G.o.d--at least as far as lies in my power?"

"No; it is _not_ submission. Bear with me when I say it is rebellion, still deeper rebellion than ever. G.o.d says to you, `You have destroyed yourself but in _me_ is your help.' He says, `Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow.' He says, `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved,' and a.s.sures you that `whoever will' may come to Him, and that no one who comes shall be cast out--yet in the face of all that you tell me that the love of G.o.d and the salvation of Christ are not for you! Ralph, my friend, you think that if you had a chance of living your life over again you would do better and so deserve salvation. That is exactly what G.o.d tells us we cannot do, and then He tells us that He Himself, in Jesus Christ, has provided salvation from sin _for_ us, offers it as a free unmerited gift; and immediately we dive to the deepest depth of sin by deliberately refusing this deliverance from sin unless we can somehow manage to deserve it."

"I cannot see it," said the wounded man thoughtfully.

"Only G.o.d Himself, by His Holy Spirit, can enable you to see it," said his companion; and then, in a low earnest voice, with eyes closed and his hand on his friend's arm, he prayed that the outlaw might be "born again."

Charlie Brooke was not one of those who make long prayers, either "for a pretence" or otherwise. Buck Tom smiled slightly when his friend stopped at the end of this one sentence.

"Your prayer is not long-winded, anyhow!" he said.

"True, Ralph, but it is comprehensive. It requires a good deal of expounding and explaining to make man understand what we say or think.

The Almighty needs none of that. Indeed He does not need even the asking but He _bids_ us ask, and that is enough for me. I have seen enough of life to understand the value of unquestioning obedience whether one comprehends the reason of an order or not."

"Ay," returned Buck quickly, "when he who gives the order has a right to command."

"That is so much a matter of course," rejoined Charlie, "that I would not think of referring to it while conversing with an intelligent man.

By the way--which name would you like to be called, by Ralph or Buck?"

"It matters little to me," returned the outlaw languidly, "and it won't matter to anybody long. I should prefer `Ralph,' for it is not a.s.sociated with so much evil as the other, but you know our circ.u.mstances are peculiar just now, so, all things considered, I had better remain Buck Tom to the end of the chapter. I'll answer to whichever name comes first when the roll is called in the next world."

The conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of Hunky Ben bearing a deer on his l.u.s.ty shoulders. He was followed by d.i.c.k Darvall.

"There," said the former, throwing the carca.s.s on the floor, "I told ye I wouldn't be long o' bringin' in somethin' for the pot."

"Ay, an' the way he shot it too," said the seaman, laying aside his rifle, "would have made even a monkey stare with astonishment. Has Leather come back, by the way? I see'd him goin' full sail through the woods when I went out this mornin'."

"He has not yet returned," said Charlie. "When I relieved him and sat down to watch by our friend here, he said he felt so much better and stronger that he would take his gun and see if he couldn't find something for the pot. I advised him not to trust his feelings too much, and not to go far, but--ah, here he comes to answer for himself."

As he spoke a step was heard outside, and next moment Shank entered, carrying a brace of rabbits which he flung down, and then threw himself on a couch in a state of considerable exhaustion.

"There," said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "They've cost me more trouble than they're worth, for I'm quite done up. I had no idea I had become so weak in the legs. Ralph, my dear fellow," he added, forgetting himself for the moment as he rose and went to his friend's side, "I have more sympathy with you, now that I have found out the extent of my own weakness. Do you feel better!"

"Yes, old boy--much--much better."

"That's all right. I'm convinced that--hallo! why, who shot the deer!"

"Hunky Ben has beat you," said Charlie.

"Beat Leather!" exclaimed Darvall, "why, he beats all creation. I never see'd anything like it since I went to sea."

"Since you came ash.o.r.e, you should say. But come, d.i.c.k," said Charlie, "let's hear about this wonderful shooting. I'm sure it will amuse Buck--unless he's too wearied to listen."

"Let him talk," said the invalid. "I like to hear him."

Thus exhorted and encouraged the seaman recounted his day's experience.

"Well, you must know, messmates," said he, "that I set sail alone this mornin', havin' in my pocket the small compa.s.s I always carry about me-- also my bearin's before startin', so as I shouldn't go lost in the woods--though that wouldn't be likely in such an narrow inlet as this Traitor's Trap, to say nothin' o' the landmarks alow and aloft of all sorts. I carried a Winchester with me, because, not bein' what you may call a crack shot, I thought it would give me a better chance to have a lot o' resarve shots in the locker, d'ye see? I carried also a six-shooter, as it might come handy, you know, if I fell in wi' a Redskin or a bear, an' got to close quarters. Also my cutla.s.s, for I've bin used to that aboard s.h.i.+p when I was in the navy.

"Well, away I went--makin' sail down the valley to begin with, an' then a long tack into the mountains right in the wind's eye, that bein' the way to get on the blind side o' game. I hadn't gone far when up starts a bird o' some sort--"

"What like was it?" asked the scout.

"No more notion than the man in the moon," returned the sailor. "What wi' the flutter an' scurry an' leaves, branches an' feathers--an' the start--I see'd nothin' clear, an' I was so anxious to git somethin' for the pot, that six shots went arter it out o' the Winchester, before I was quite sure I'd begun to fire--for you must know I've larned to fire uncommon fast since I come to these parts. Hows'ever, I hit nothin'--"

"Not quite so bad as that, d.i.c.k," interrupted the scout gravely.

"Well, that's true, but you better tell that part of it yourself, Hunky, as you know more about it than me."

"It wasn't of much consequence," said the scout betraying the slightest possible twinkle in his grey eyes, "but d.i.c.k has a knack o' lettin'

drive without much regard to what's in front of him. I happened to be more in front of him than that bird when he began to fire, an' the first shot hit my right leggin', but by good luck only grazed the bark. Of course I dropped behind a rock when the storm began and lay quiet there, and when a lull came I halloo'd."

"Yes, he did halloo," said d.i.c.k, resuming the narrative, "an' that halloo was more like the yell of a bull of Bashan than the cry of a mortal man. It made my heart jump into my throat an' stick there, for I thought I must have killed a whole Redskin tribe at one shot--"

"Six shots, d.i.c.k. Tell the exact truth an' don't contradic' yourself,"

said Hunky.

"No, it wasn't," retorted the seaman stoutly. "It was arter the _first_ shot that you gave the yell. Hows'ever, I allow that the echoes kep' it goin' till the six shots was off--an' I can tell you, messmates, that the hallooin' an' flutterin' an' scurryin' an echoin' an' thought of Redskins in my brain all mixed up wi' the blatterin' shots, caused such a rumpus that I experienced considerable relief when the smoke cleared away an' I see'd Hunky Ben in front o' me laughin' fit to bu'st his sides."