by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER 18. THE LONG WAY ROUND
Miss Allen turned to yell encouragingly to the Kid, and she saw that hewas going on slowly, his head turned to watch her. She told him to waitwhere he was, and she would come around the mountain and get him andtake him home. "Do you hear me, baby?" she asked imploringly after shehad told him just what she meant to do. "Answer me, baby!"
"I ain't a baby!" his voice came faintly shrill after a minute. "I'm arell ole cowpuncher."
Miss Allen thought that was what he said, but at the time she did notquite understand, except his denial of being a baby; that was clearenough. She turned to the climb, feeling that she must hurry if sheexpected to get him and take him home before dark. She knew that everyminute was precious and must not be wasted. It was well after noon--shehad forgotten to eat her lunch, but her watch said it was nearly oneo'clock already. She had no idea how far she had ridden, but she thoughtit must be twelve miles at least.
She had no idea, either, how far she had run down the butte to thecliff--until she began to climb back. Every rod or so she stopped torest and to look back and to call to the Kid who seemed such a tiny miteof humanity among these huge peaks and fearsome gorges. He seemed to bewatching her very closely always when she looked she could see the pinkblur of his little upturned face. She must hurry. Oh, if she could onlysend a wireless to his mother! Human inventions fell far short of thebig needs, after all, she thought as she toiled upward.
From the top of the peak she could see the hazy outline of the BearPaws, and she knew just about where the Flying U Coulee lay. Sheimagined that she could distinguish the line of its bluff in the fardistance. It was not so very far--but she could not get any word ofcheer across the quivering air lanes. She turned and looked wishfullydown at the Kid, a tinier speck now than before--for she had climbedquite a distance She waved her hand to him, and her warm brown eyes helda maternal tenderness. He waved his hat--just like a man; he must bebrave! she thought. She turned reluctantly and went hurrying down theother side, her blood racing with the joy of having found him, and ofknowing that he was safe.
It seemed to take a long time to climb down that peak; much longerthan she thought it would take. She looked at her watch nervously--twoo'clock, almost! She must hurry, or they would be in the dark gettinghome. That did not worry her very much, However, for there would besearching parties--she would be sure to strike one somewhere in thehills before dark.
She came finally down to the level--except that it was not level at all,but a trough-shaped gulch that looked unfamiliar. Still, it was the sameone she had used as a starting point when she began to climb--of courseit was the same one. How in the world could a person get turned aroundgoing straight up the side of a hill and straight down again in the verysame place. This was the gorge where her horse was tied, only it mightbe that she was a little below the exact spot; that could happen, ofcourse. So Miss Allen went up the gorge until it petered out against theface of the mountain--one might as well call it a mountain and be donewith it, for it certainly was more than a mere hill.
It was some time before Miss Allen would admit to herself that she hadmissed the gorge where she had left her horse, and that she did not knowwhere the gorge was, and that she did not know where she was herself.She had gone down the mouth of the gulch before she made any admissions,and she had seen not one solitary thing that she could remember havingever seen before.
Not even the peak she had climbed looked familiar from where she was.She was not perfectly sure that it was the same peak when she looked atit.
Were you ever lost? It is a very peculiar sensation--the feeling thatyou are adrift in a world that is strange. Miss Allen had never beenlost before in her life. If she had been, she would have been morecareful, and would have made sure that she was descending that peak bythe exact route she had followed up it, instead of just taking it forgranted that all she need do was get to the bottom.
After an hour or two she decided to climb the peak again, get herbearings from the top and come down more carefully. She was wild withapprehension--though I must say it was not for her own plight buton account of the Kid. So she climbed. And then everything looked sodifferent that she believed she had climbed another hill entirely. Soshe went down again and turned into a gorge which seemed to lead inthe direction where she had seen the little lost boy. She followed thatquite a long way--and that one petered out like the first.
Miss Allen found the gorges filling up with shadow, and she looked upand saw the sky crimson and gold, and she knew then without any doubtsthat she was lost. Miss Allen was a brave young woman, or she would nothave been down in that country in the first place; but just the sameshe sat down with her back against a clay bank and cried because of theeeriness and the silence, and because she was hungry and she knew shewas going to be cold before morning--but mostly because she could notfind that poor, brave little baby boy who had waved his hat when sheleft him, and shouted that he was not a baby.
In a few minutes she pulled herself together and went on; there wasnothing to be gained by sitting in one place and worrying. She walkeduntil it was too dark to see, and then, because she had come upon alittle, level canyon bottom--though one that was perfectly strange--shestopped there where a high bank sheltered her from the wind that was toocool for comfort. She called, a few times, until she was sure that thechild was not within hearing. After that she repeated poetry to keepher mind off the loneliness and the pity of that poor baby alone likeherself. She would not think of him if she could help it.
When she began to shiver so that her teeth chattered, she would walk upand down before the bank until she felt warm again; then she would sitwith her back against the clay and close her eyes and try to sleep. Itwas not a pleasant way in which to pass a whole night, but Miss Allenendured it as best she could. When the sun tinged the hill-tops she gotup stiffly and dragged herself out of the canyon where she could get thedirection straight in her mind, and then set off resolutely to find theKid. She no longer had much thought of finding her horse, though shemissed him terribly, and wished she had the lunch that was tied to thesaddle.
This, remember, was the fourth day since the Kid rode down throughthe little pasture and stood on a piece of fence-post so that hecould fasten the gate. Men had given up hope of finding him alive andunharmed. They searched now for his body. And then the three womenwho lived with Miss Allen began to inquire about the girl, and so thewarning went out that Miss Allen was lost; and they began looking forher also.
Miss Allen, along towards noon of that fourth day, found a smallstream of water that was fit to drink. Beside the stream she found thefootprints of a child, and they looked quite fresh--as if they had beenmade that day. She whipped up her flagging energy and went on hopefully.
It was a long while afterwards that she met him coming down a canyon onhis horse. It must have been past three o'clock, and Miss Allen couldscarcely drag herself along. When she saw him she turned faint, and satdown heavily on the steep-sloping bank.
The Kid rode up and stopped beside her. His face was terribly dirty andstreaked with the marks of tears he would never acknowledge afterwards.He seemed to be all right, though, and because of his ignorance of thedanger he had been in he did not seem to have suffered half as much ashad Miss Allen.
"Howdy do," he greeted her, and smiled his adorable little smile thatwas like the Little Doctor's. "Are you the lady up on the hill? Do youknow where the bunch is? I'm--lookin' for the bunch."
Miss Allen found strength enough to stand up and put her arms aroundhim as he sat very straight in his little stock saddle; she hugged himtight.
"You poor baby!" she cried, and her eyes were blurred with tears. "Youpoor little lost baby!"
"I ain't a baby!" The Kid pulled himself free. "I'm six years old goin'on thirty. I'm a rell ole cowpuncher. I can slap a saddle on my stringand ride like a son-a-gun. And I can put the bridle on him my own selfand everything. I--I was lookin' for the bunch. I had to make a dry-campand my doughnuts is smashed up and
the jelly glass broke but I nevercried when a skink came. I shooed him away and I never cried once. I'm arell ole cowpuncher, ain't I? I ain't afraid of skinks. I frowed a rockat him and I said, git outa here, you damn old skink or I'll knock yourblock off!' You oughter seen him go! I--I sure made him hard to ketch,by cripes!"
Miss Allen stepped back and the twinkle came into her eyes and thewhimsical twist to her lips. She knew children. Not for the world wouldshe offend this manchild.
"Well, I should say you are a real old cowpuncher!" she exclaimedadmiringly. "Now I'm afraid of skinks. I never would dare knock hisblock off! And last night when I was lost and hungry and it got dark,I--cried!"
"Hunh!" The Kid studied her with a condescending pity. "Oh, well--you'rejust a woman. Us fellers have to take care of women. Daddy Chip takescare of Doctor Dell--I guess she'd cry if she couldn't find the bunchand had to make dry-camp and skinks come around--but I never."
"Of course you never!" Miss Allen agreed emphatically, trying not tolook conscious of any tear-marks on the Kid's sunburned cheeks. "Womenare regular cry babies, aren't they? I suppose," she added guilefully:"I'd cry again if you rode off to find the bunch an left me down hereall alone. I've lost my horse, an I've lost my lunch, and I've lostmyself, and I'm awful afraid of skunks--skinks."
"Oh, I'll take care of you," the Kid comforted. "I'll give you adoughnut if you're hungry. I've got some left, but you'll have to pickout the glass where the jelly broke on it." He reined closer to the bankand slid off and began untying the sadly depleted bag from behindthe cantle. Miss Allen offered to do it for him, and was beautifullysnubbed. The Kid may have been just a frightened, lost little boy beforehe met her--but that was a secret hidden in the silences of the deepcanyons. Now he was a real old cowpuncher, and he was going to take careof Miss Allen because men always had to take care of women.
Miss Allen offended him deeply when she called him Claude. She was toldbluntly that he was Buck, and that he belonged to the Flying U outfit,and was riding down here to help the bunch gather some cattle. "But Ican't find the brakes," he admitted grudgingly. "That's where the bunchis--down in the brakes; I can't seem to locate them brakes."
"Don't you think you ought to go home to your mother?" Miss Allen askedhim while he was struggling with the knot he had tied in the bag.
"I've got to find the bunch. The bunch needs me," said the Kid. "I--Iguess Doctor Dell is s'prised--"
"Who's Doctor Dell? Your mother? Your mother has just about criedherself sick, she's so lonesome without you."
The Kid looked at her wide-eyed. "Aw, gwan!" he retorted after a minute,imitating Happy Jack's disbelief of any unpleasant news. "I guess you'rejest loadin' me. Daddy Chip is takin' care of her. He wouldn't let herbe lonesome."
The Kid got the sack open and reached an arm in to the shoulder. Hegroped there for a minute and drew out a battered doughnut smearedliberally with wild currant jelly, and gave it to Miss Allen with anair of princely generosity and all the chivalry of all the Happy Familyrolled into one baby gesture. Miss Allen took the doughnut meekly anddid not spoil the Kid's pleasure by hugging him as she would haveliked to do. Instead she said: "Thank you, Buck of the Flying U," quitehumbly. Then something choked Miss Allen and she turned her back uponhim abruptly.
"I've got one, two, free, fourteen left," said the Kid, counting themgravely. "If I had 'membered to bring matches," he added regretfully,"I could have a fire and toast rabbit legs. I guess you got some glass,didn't you? I got some and it cutted my tongue so the bleed came--but Inever cried," he made haste to deny stoutly. "I'm a rell ole cowpunchernow. I just cussed." He looked at her gravely. "You can't cuss wherewomen can hear," he told Miss Allen reassuringly. "Bud says--"
"Let me see the doughnuts," said miss Allen abruptly. "I think you oughtto let me keep the lunch. That's the woman's part. Men can't bother withlunch--"
"It ain't lunch, it's grub," corrected the Kid. But he let her have thebag, and Miss Allen looked inside. There were some dried prunes thatlooked like lumps of dirty dough, and six dilapidated doughnuts in amess of jelly, and a small glass jar of honey.
"I couldn't get the cover off," the Kid explained, "'theut I bustedit, and then it would all spill like the jelly. Gee I-I wish I had abeefsteak under my belt!"
Miss Allen leaned over with her elbows on the bank and laughed andlaughed. Miss Allen was closer to hysterics than she had ever been inher life. The Kid looked at her in astonishment and turned to Silver,standing with drooping head beside the bank. Miss Allen pulled herselftogether and asked him what he was going to do.
"I'm going to LOCATE your horse," he said, "and then I'm going to takeyou home." He looked at her disapprovingly. "I don't like you so verymuch," he added. "It ain't p'lite to laugh at a feller all the time."
"I won't laugh any more. I think we had better go home right away," saidMiss Allen contritely. "You see, Buck, the bunch came home. They--theyaren't hunting cattle now. They want to find you and tell you. And yourfather and mother need you awfully bad, Buck. They've been looking allover for you, everywhere, and wishing you'd come home."
Buck looked wistfully up and down the canyon. His face at that momentwas not the face of a real old cowpuncher, but the sweet, dirty,mother-hungry face of a child. "It's a far ways," he said plaintively."It's a million miles, I guess I wanted to go home, but I couldn't des''zactly 'member--and I thought I could find the bunch, and they'd knowthe trail better. Do you know the trail?"
Miss Allen evaded that question and the Kid's wide, wistful eyes. "Ithink if we start out, Buck, we can find it. We must go toward the sun,now. That will be towards home. Shall I put you on your horse?"
The Kid gave her a withering glance and squirmed up into the saddle withthe help of both horn and cantle and by the grace of good luck. MissAllen gasped while she watched him.
The Kid looked down at her triumphantly. He frowned a little and flushedguiltily when he remembered something. "'Scuse me," he said. "I guessyou better ride my horse. I guess I better walk. It ain't p'lite forladies to walk and men ride."
"No, no!" Miss Allen reached up with both hands and held the Kid fromdismounting. "I'll walk, Buck. I'd rather. I--why, I wouldn't dare ridethat horse of yours. I'd be afraid he might buck me off." She pinchedher eyebrows together and pursed up her lips in a most convincingmanner.
"Hunh!" Scorn of her cowardice was in his tone. "Well, a course I ain'tscared to ride him."
So with Miss Allen walking close to the Kid's stirrup and trying herbest to keep up and to be cheerful and to remember that she must nottreat him like a little, lost boy but like a real old cowpuncher,they started up the canyon toward the sun which hung low above a dark,pine-covered hill.