Charlie to the Rescue Part 17

"Can you wonder, Charlie?"

"Of course not. It's natural, and I quite sympathised with her when she exclaimed, `If I were only a man I would go to him myself.'"

"That's natural too, my son. I have no doubt she would, poor dear girl, if she were only a man."

"Do you know, mother, I've not been able to get that speech out of my head all this afternoon. `If I were a man--if I were a man,' keeps ringing in my ears like the chorus of an old song, and then--"

"Well, Charlie, what then?" asked Mrs Brooke, with a puzzled glance.

"Why, then, somehow the chorus has changed in my brain and it runs--`I _am_ a man! I _am_ a man!'"

"Well?" asked the mother, with an anxious look.

"Well--that being so, I have made up my mind that _I_ will go out to Traitor's Trap and carry the money to Shank, and look after him myself.

That is, if you will let me."

"O Charlie! how can you talk of it?" said Mrs Brooke, with a distressed look. "I have scarcely had time to realise the fact that you have come home, and to thank G.o.d for it, when you begin to talk of leaving me again--perhaps for years, as before."

"Nay, mother mine, you jump to conclusions too hastily. What I propose is not to go off again on a long voyage, but to take a run of a few days in a first-cla.s.s steamer across what the Americans call the big fish-pond; then go across country comfortably by rail; after that hire a horse and have a gallop somewhere or other; find out Shank and bring him home. The whole thing might be done in a few weeks; and no chance, almost, of being wrecked."

"I don't know, Charlie," returned Mrs Brooke, in a sad tone, as she laid her hand on her son's arm and stroked it. "As you put it, the thing sounds all very easy, and no doubt it would be a grand, a n.o.ble thing to rescue Shank--but--but, why talk of it to-night, my dear boy?

It is late. Go to bed, Charlie, and we will talk it over in the morning."

"How pleasantly familiar that `Go to bed, Charlie,' sounds," said the son, laughing, as he rose up.

"You did not always think it pleasant," returned the good lady, with a sad smile.

"That's true, but I think it uncommonly pleasant _now_. Good-night, mother."

"Good-night, my son, and G.o.d bless you."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

CHANGES THE SCENE CONSIDERABLY!

We must transport our reader now to a locality somewhere in the region lying between New Mexico and Colorado. Here, in a mean-looking out-of-the-way tavern, a number of rough-looking men were congregated, drinking, gambling, and spinning yarns. Some of them belonged to the cla.s.s known as cow-boys--men of rugged exterior, iron const.i.tutions, powerful frames, and apparently reckless dispositions, though underneath the surface there was considerable variety of character to be found.

The landlord of the inn--if we may so call it, for it was little better than a big shanty--was known by the name of David. He was a man of cool courage. His customers knew this latter fact well, and were also aware that, although he carried no weapon on his person, he had several revolvers in handy places under his counter, with the use of which he was extremely familiar and expert.

In the midst of a group of rather noisy characters who smoked and drank in one corner of this inn or shanty, there was seated on the end of a packing-case, a man in the prime of life, who, even in such rough company, was conspicuously rugged. His leathern costume betokened him a hunter, or trapper, and the sheepskin leggings, with the wool outside, showed that he was at least at that time a horseman. Unlike most of his comrades, he wore Indian moccasins, with spurs strapped to them. Also a cap of the broad-brimmed order. The point about him that was most striking at first sight was his immense breadth of shoulder and depth of chest, though in height he did not equal many of the men around him. As one became acquainted with the man, however, his ma.s.sive proportions had not so powerful an effect on the mind of an observer as the quiet simplicity of his expression and manner. Good-nature seemed to lurk in the lines about his eyes and the corners of his mouth, which latter had the peculiarity of turning down instead of up when he smiled; yet withal there was a stern gravity about him that forbade familiarity.

The name of the man was Hunky Ben, and the strangest thing about him-- that which puzzled these wild men most--was that he neither drank nor smoked nor gambled! He made no pretence of abstaining on principle.

One of the younger men, who was blowing a stiff cloud, ventured to ask him whether he really thought these things wrong.

"Well, now," he replied quietly, with a twinkle in his eye, "I'm no parson, boys, that I should set up to diskiver what's right an' what's wrong. I've got my own notions on them points, you bet, but I'm not goin' to preach 'em. As to smokin', I won't make a smoked herrin' o' my tongue to please anybody. Besides, I don't want to smoke, an' why should I do a thing I don't want to just because other people does it?

Why should I make a new want when I've got no end o' wants a'ready that's hard enough to purvide for? Drinkin's all very well if a man wants Dutch courage, but I don't want it--no, nor French courage, nor German, nor Chinee, havin' got enough o' the article home-growed to sarve my purpus. When that's used up I may take to drinkin'--who knows?

Same wi' gamblin'. I've no desire to bust up any man, an' I don't want to be busted up myself, you bet. No doubt drinkin', smokin', an'

gamblin' makes men jolly--them at least that's tough an' that wins!--but I'm jolly without 'em, boys,--jolly as a cottontail rabbit just come of age."

"An' ye look it, old man," returned the young fellow, puffing cloudlets with the utmost vigour; "but come, Ben, won't ye spin us a yarn about your frontier life?"

"Yes, do, Hunky," cried another in an entreating voice, for it was well known all over that region that the bold hunter was a good story-teller, and as he had served a good deal on the frontier as guide to the United States troops, it was understood that he had much to tell of a thrilling and adventurous kind; but although the men about him ceased to talk and looked at him with expectancy, he shook his head, and would not consent to be drawn out.

"No, boys, it can't be done to-day," he said; "I've no time, for I'm bound for Quester Creek in hot haste, an' am only waitin' here for my pony to freshen up a bit. The Redskins are goin' to give us trouble there by all accounts."

"The red devils!" exclaimed one of the men, with a savage oath; "they're always givin' us trouble."

"That," returned Hunky Ben, in a soft voice, as he glanced mildly at the speaker,--"that is a sentiment I heer'd expressed almost exactly in the same words, though in Capatchee lingo, some time ago by a Redskin chief--only he said it was pale-faced devils who troubled _him_. I wonder which is worst. They can't both be worst, you know!"

This remark was greeted with a laugh, and a noisy discussion thereupon began as to the comparative demerits of the two races, which was ere long checked by the sound of a galloping horse outside. Next moment the door opened, and a very tall man of commanding presence and bearing entered the room, took off his hat, and looked round with a slight bow to the company.

There was nothing commanding, however, in the quiet voice with which he asked the landlord if he and his horse could be put up there for the night.

The company knew at once, from the cut of the stranger's tweed suit, as well as his tongue, that he was an Englishman, not much used to the ways of the country--though, from the revolver and knife in his belt, and the repeating rifle in his hand, he seemed to be ready to meet the country on its own terms by doing in Rome as Rome does.

On being told that he could have a s.p.a.ce on the floor to lie on, which he might convert into a bed if he had a blanket with him, he seemed to make up his mind to remain, asked for food, and while it was preparing went out to attend to his horse. Then, returning, he went to a retired corner of the room, and flung himself down at full length on a vacant bench, as if he were pretty well exhausted with fatigue.

The simple fare of the hostelry was soon ready; and when the stranger was engaged in eating it, he asked a cow-boy beside him how far it was to Traitor's Trap.

At the question there was a perceptible lull in the conversation, and the cow-boy, who was a very coa.r.s.e forbidding specimen of his cla.s.s, said that he guessed Traitor's Trap was distant about twenty mile or so.

"Are you goin' thar, stranger?" he asked, eyeing his questioner curiously.

"Yes, I'm going there," answered the Englishman; "but from what I've heard of the road, at the place where I stayed last night, I don't like to go on without a guide and daylight--though I would much prefer to push on to-night if it were possible."

"Wall, stranger, whether possible or not," returned the cow-boy, "it's an ugly place to go past, for there's a gang o' cut-throats there that's kep' the country fizzin' like ginger-beer for some time past. A man that's got to go past Traitor's Trap should go by like a greased thunderbolt, an' he should never go alone."

"Is it, then, such a dangerous place?" asked the Englishman, with a smile that seemed to say he thought his informant was exaggerating.

"Dangerous!" exclaimed the cow-boy. "Ay, an will be as long as Buck Tom an' his boys are unhung. Why, stranger, I'd get my life insured, you bet, before I'd go thar again--except with a big crowd o' men. It was along in June last year I went up that way; there was n.o.body to go with me, an' I was forced to do it by myself--for I _had_ to go--so I s.p.u.n.ked up, saddled Bluefire, an' sloped. I got on lovely till I came to a pa.s.s just on t'other side o' Traitor's Trap, when I began to cheer up, thinkin' I'd got off square; but I hadn't gone another hundred yards when up starts Buck Tom an' his men with `hands up.' I went head down flat on my saddle instead, I was so riled. Bang went a six-shooter, an'

the ball just combed my back hair. I suppose Buck was so took by surprise at a single man darin' to disobey his orders that he missed.

Anyhow I socked spurs into Bluefire, an' made a break for the open country ahead. They made after me like locomotives wi' the safety-valves blocked, but Bluefire was more'n a match for 'em. They kep' blazin' away all the time too, but never touched me, though I heard the b.a.l.l.s whistlin' past for a good while. Bluefire an' me went, you bet, like a nor'-easter in a pa.s.sion, an' at last they gave it up. No, stranger, take my advice an' don't go past Traitor's Trap alone. I wouldn't go there at all if I could help it."

"I don't intend to go past it. I mean to go _into_ it," said the Englishman, with a short laugh, as he laid down his knife and fork, having finished his slight meal; "and, as I cannot get a guide, I shall be forced to go alone."

"Stranger," said the cow-boy in surprise, "d'ye want to meet wi' Buck Tom?"

"Not particularly."

"An' are ye aware that Buck Tom is one o' the most hardened, sanguinacious blackguards in all Colorado?"

"I did not know it before, but I suppose I may believe it now."

As he spoke the Englishman rose and went out to fetch the blanket which was strapped to his saddle. In going out he brushed close past a man who chanced to enter at the same moment.

The newcomer was also a tall and strikingly handsome man, clothed in the picturesque garments of the cow-boy, and fully armed. He strode up to the counter, with an air of proud defiance, and demanded drink. It was supplied him. He tossed it off quickly, without deigning a glance at the a.s.sembled company. Then in a deep-toned voice he asked--