CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
A WELCOME STRONGER.
"Chris!"
"Don't!"
"Chris!" in a louder tone.
"Get out!" very irritably, and the speaker turned sharply over with hisface to the stones and his back to the bright sunshine that came throughthe old window-opening.
"Are you going to sleep here for ever?"
A grunt, accompanied by the kicking out of one leg, which would havetaken effect if Ned had not hopped over it.
"I say, are you going to sleep for a week?"
"No! And I'm not asleep now," said Chris, with his eyelids squeezedvery close together; "but I tell you what, if you don't be off and leaveme alone I'll get up and punch your stupid old head."
"You daren't.--I should like to see you!"
"You soon will, and so I tell you. Be off, or I'll empty the wash-handjug over you."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Ned. "Where is it?"
"Oh, bother! Be off!"
"Shan't! Do you know it's to-morrow morning?"
"No, I don't, Paddy Bull. How can it be to-morrow when it's to-day?"
There was a grunt very much like a snore.
"Well, of all the old dormice!" muttered Ned. "Chris, you must get up."
"Shan't!"
"But you've been asleep twenty-four hours."
"Look here, stupid," grumbled Chris, without stirring, "if you want totell a big fib you should always make it as big as you can, or elsepeople won't believe you. Say twenty-four days."
"Why, you unbelieving old humbug! It's the truth. You ate till I wasashamed of you, and then you lay down to sleep about this timeyesterday, and here you are now as sleepy as ever. If you don't get upI'll go and tell the doctor you must be ill."
Chris started up into a sitting posture and uttered a cry.
"Oh! I say!--Ugh! I am stiff. I can't hardly move.--What's the matterwith me?"
"Slept till you've turned stiff as a log," cried Ned. "Twenty-fourhours right off."
"I say, that isn't true, is it?"
"Why, of course it is. Don't you remember lying down?"
"Of course I do. But what time is it?"
"Oh, I don't know about the time, but it's getting on for mid-day."
"Ned! I say, why didn't you wake me up before?"
"To be kicked at and threatened and called names?"
"Oh dear, how stiff I am! But really, Ned--no gammon--have I slept likethat?"
"Of course you have. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, I think so. Yes, of course. But what about the Indians?"
"Oh, they're hanging about. Some are at the mouth of the gulch, andsome are on the cliffs at the top of the valley, but they don't comenear."
"Haven't got the horses and mules, have they?"
"No. We've kept too sharp a lookout for them."
"Oh!" cried Chris wildly, and his face contracted with pain.
"Well, I suppose it hurts," said Ned, with a trace of sympathy in hisvoice, "but I wouldn't holloa like that. Get up and move about, thestiffness will soon go off."
"I wasn't shouting because of my hurts," said Chris bitterly. "I wasthinking of my poor mustang."
"Yes," said Ned, after a pause; "that was a horribly bad job; but I'vebeen thinking about it all, old chap, and I've settled what we'll do.I'm going to play fair--same as you would if it had been my nag. We'llshare one between us. I'll have him one day, and you shall have him thenext."
"That wouldn't be fair," said Chris, who was rubbing himself andkneading his joints where they ached.
"Yes, it would. You wait and hear. Then we'll have that mule that wetook to fetch the water--old Brown Ginger. He's a regular brick, andlikes us. Don't kick so much as the others--and take it in turns toride him. What do you say now?"
"Well--yes! I like that idea; but you wouldn't care for that."
"Look here, you're growing a sore-boned, old disagreeable. Say I'm aselfish beast at once."
"Shan't!"
"Then it's all right," cried Ned.
"It's very good of you, old fellow."
"Bah! Rubbish! Stuff! I say, are you so very sore?"
"I can't hardly move some ways."
"Like me to give you a rub?"
"Oh no," said Chris, increasing the friction he was applying across thesmall of his back. "I shall be better soon. Only it's just as if I'dbeen hammered all over. But how queer that I should sleep like that!"
"Not a bit of it. The doctor said it was all right and it would do yougood."
"Where is he?" cried Chris.
"Along with Wilton, watching the Indians down at the gulch. Father's upyonder along with old Griggs, keeping an eye on the top of the cliff,and shooting the birds that rise out of the hollows and rifts there.They come down our part to get at the water."
"Then you've been all alone?"
"Yes, playing pony and mule-herd. Nobody at home but me in this bigthree-storey house."
"But what about breakfast?" said Chris anxiously.
"Over hours and hours ago. Hungry?"
"I think so: I feel very hungry."
"That's a good sign," cried Ned, grinning. "Now I'll confess. That'swhy I roused you up. There's coffee hot, and damper, and a split-up andfrizzled bird. I don't know what it is. Sort of vulture crow,perhaps."
"What! A carrion bird?" cried Chris. "Disgusting! They're not good toeat."
"Oh, these are--delicious. I ate half of one this morning. Perhapsthey're not carrion birds, though."
"It's all your gammon," cried Chris. "Who shot them?"
"Old Griggs, when they came after the water."
"That proves it. Old Griggs knows what's good to eat well enough.--Hah,that's better. I'm not quite so stiff now. But is there plenty ofwater?"
"Lots. Why?"
"I want to have a wash."
"Bucket and pan waiting for your lordship in the bathroom. There, goand have it; and look sharp. You'll find me in the kitchen. We'reusing that till the workmen have been to put the breakfast-room in astate of repair."
"You seem pretty lively this morning," said Chris, rather sourly, for hewas in a good deal of pain.
"Of course I am. We're enjoying ourselves so."
"You did nothing but grumble yesterday, and said I was having all thefun."
"Ah, but I didn't know how sore you were going to be then," cried Nedmerrily. "There, look sharp. Breakfast's waiting.--I say."
"What?"
"I wouldn't stop to shave this morning as it's so late."
Chris passed his hand over his chin.
"I expect it wants a scrape," he said, "to take all the dust off."
A few minutes later, feeling much refreshed, Chris was feasting away ata most enjoyable breakfast, the lads chatting away merrily the while.
"I say," said Ned, "this wouldn't be a bad place if it wasn't for theIndians. Quite a palace when it's put in repair. Land one's own; thesoil beautifully rich. I believe anything would grow here. I vote wesettle down."
"And what about the gold?"
"Ah, the gold! I'm beginning to think with my father that we shallnever find the old temple, and that if we did we should be none thebetter for it. I don't think we want all that gold."
"Grapes sour?" said Chris dryly.
"N-no," replied Ned. "But there, what's the good of talking? We'vecome to find the gold, and we shall go on till we feel it's no good. Ilike what we're doing, though. We must stop here, of course, till theIndians are tired and have gone. I wish they would go."
"Yes, it makes it so horrible."
"Ah! Doesn't it? I don't mind shooting something that we want to eat.But firing at them--Ugh!"
"Yes, it is horrid," said Chris; "but they're hardly men. Savagewretches! They seem to love killing."
"Have some more vulture," said Ned quietly. "There's all that piece ofbreast yet."
"Vulture!" said Chris, laughing.
"Well, didn't it tast
e bitter?"
"Yes, a little. It's one of those prairie hen things, of course."
"No, it was a fine fat cock."
"Well, they call them prairie hens. It was, as you say, delicious."
"Well, finish it."
Chris shook his head, rose stiffly, and helped his companion to clearaway.
"Now then," he said, "I'm not much disposed to walk to-day. It's justas if I'd strained one of the muscles or something up in my hip. Ishould like to go and sit out on the terrace. Haven't got the glass,have you?"
"Yes, it's there, in the lookout. You can't do better than take myplace. There's a rifle too, and cartridges, in case the Indians show,and the stones are built-up with loop-holes so that you'll be safe fromarrows if the brutes do come crawling up and chasing thescouting-party."
"What are you going to do?"
"Help you do nothing," said Ned, laughing.
He led the way, and Chris limped after him, to find one part of theterrace turned into a rough observatory with a stone seat, and thebinocular and rifle lying ready as Ned had said.
"I can't see anything of our people, nor yet of the Indians," saidChris, after a good look round in different directions.
"Oh, no; they keep well hidden."
"No fear of their hiding in any of those cells or on the terraces acrossthe valley, is there?"
"I dunno; they might," replied Ned; "but they couldn't send an arrow inhere from that distance."
"But we could send bullets. That side's within range," said Christhoughtfully.
"Oh yes, and it wouldn't be lucky for one of the scalpers to showhimself, I can tell him; but I say, look at the animals. I went down tothem this morning, and their coats are getting smooth already. Thecoarse rich grass here suits them splendidly. If we stop here longthey'll be growing fat."
Chris turned the glass upon the little drove of mules, which weregrazing contentedly enough, and then changed his position to look at theponies, which were keeping themselves aloof from their distantrelatives, and cropping away with the thick grass right up to theirknees.
"One--two--three--four--five--six," said Chris, by habit, counting themustangs slowly.
"Hallo!" cried Ned. "Hurt one of your eyes?"
"Yes. It was when I came down with that ledge; I got both eyes full ofdust and grit. Why?"
"Because you must be squinting," said Ned.
"Is this another joke?" said Chris, with the glass to his eyes.
"It's no joke," replied Ned, "not to be able to count properly. Tryagain."
"One--two--three--four--five--six," said Chris, counting slowly.
"Nonsense! Only five. One of your eyes don't go at all, seemingly."
"I can see them distinctly through the glass," cried Chris, with a touchof irritability in his tones.--"Why, Ned!"
"What's the matter?"
"There are six."
"Stuff!"
"There are, I tell you. Why, hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! My pony's there."
"What! You mean his ghost."
"Ghosts can't eat grass," shouted Chris wildly.
"Why not? Horses' ghosts would when they couldn't get corn."
"It is! It is!" cried Chris, with a sound like a sob in his throat, andcertainly there were tears in his eyes as he handed the glass to hiscomrade. "Look! Look for yourself; it's my dear old mustang. Ah!there! he's walking lame. And I thought he was dead--I thought he wasdead!"
"It is, old chap," cried Ned, after a hurried glance. "He must have gothere somehow and joined his mates in the night. I never noticed it, andno one else did, of course."
"Oh, Ned, this is good luck!"
"Good? It's glorious! Luck squared or cubed, or somethinged, up to thetenth power. Here, let's go down and see. Can you walk?"
"Walk?" cried Chris excitedly. "I feel as if I could run!"
"Get your rifle then; we mustn't stir without our popguns now. Why, Isay, I never thought your mount was pure bred. His great-grandfathermust have been a wildcat, a big one of the nine-lives breed, or he nevercould have come over that cliff, as you say, and lived. Perhaps it ishis ghost, after all."
"Come on, and don't talk," cried Chris, who had buckled on his belt andslung his rifle.
"It's enough to make any one talk," cried Ned. "But, I say, you saidthat the Indians shot at him till he was as full of arrows as apincushion is full of pins."
"I didn't. I said he was wounded two or three times."
"All the same. He must be a wonderful beast. Just wait till I've had alook at him, and then I tell you what we'll do. We'll change."
"Will we?" cried Chris, through his set teeth. "Poor old fellow, Iwouldn't part with him for the world. _Hff_!"
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing much. I'm only stiff and bruised all over. Come on."
Chris limped a great deal, and suffered plenty of pain, but he got downthe slope bravely, managing to step from stone to stone until the waydown to the water was passed and the two lads were hurrying across theverdant portion of the valley towards where the animals were browsingand grazing.
The mules just turned their heads to look at them in a surly,uncompromising fashion, and went on feeding again, but as soon as theywere passed and the lads approached the ponies, Chris raised his voice,uttering a kind of bird-call, when the effect upon the little herd wasimmediate: all turned their heads, and Chris's mount uttered a shrillwhinnying sound, before advancing to meet him, going, however, verystiffly on three legs, and as they approached looking as if it hadsuffered badly enough for anything that claimed to be alive.
"My word, he has had it warmly," cried Ned. "Poor old chap, he's beenin the wars, and no mistake!"
The animal limped badly, and so did Chris, as they came within touch,when the pony thrust forward its muzzle in response to its master'sextended hand, and then dropped its head and looked dejected in theextreme, but blinked and whinnied again as it felt itself caressed.
"My old beauty! My brave old chap!" cried Chris huskily. "Oh, lookhere, Ned! A broken arrow sticking in him still."
"Why, there's another on this side," cried Ned, "and a cut or ascratch--no, it's too bad for a scratch--there in his flank."
"He's cut here too, in the forehead. Oh, Ned, however did he manage tostruggle back?"
"Oh, never mind about that. Let's have the heads of these arrows outfirst thing."
"Yes; they must be ready to fester in the wounds. No, we mustn't do it;they want cutting out with a proper knife. Look here, Ned; jump on yourpony and go and find father. He'd like to dress the wounds himself."
"No need," said Ned sharply, as a distant whistle rang out; "here theycome."
The whistle was answered, and a few minutes later the doctor and Wiltoncame into sight, saw the lads, and joined them.
"What's the matter?" cried the doctor hurriedly. "Another pony hurt?--What!--Impossible!--Oh, the poor beast! The brave fellow! I can hardlybelieve it. Here, let's lead him gently across, and I'll see what I cando. Has he just crawled back?"
"No, father; he must have come in the night," cried Chris. "We onlyjust found that he was here."
"We didn't look at them before we went off this morning," said Wilton.
"No, and I remember I reproached myself once for not doing so. Butthere, we're giving all our sympathy to the pony. How are you, Chris,my boy?"
"All right now, father," was the reply. "Seeing this poor fellow hasmade me forget my bruises."
"But you are the better for your long sleep?"
"Yes, father; only a bit ashamed."
"Never mind that.--Tut, tut, tut!" continued the doctor. "Lame in theoff fore-foot. Some horrible wrench; cut in the flank. Why, he hasthree arrows in him," continued the doctor, as he examined the poorbeast while it limped along patiently by their side.
"But he'll get better, father?" cried Chris excitedly.
"I hope so, my boy; but I am not a veterinary surgeon. Depend upon it,though, that I shall
do my best."
The pony followed them like a dog, holding out its muzzle to Chris fromtime to time, and uttering as soon as he was caressed a piteous sigh.But he did not wince till they were close up to the slope, where thedoctor asked for bucket, water, and sponge, and began his attentions,with Chris's help, to the suffering, badly-injured beast.
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