CHAPTER XXIXCAMP BURNHAM
Never came mortal back to life so suddenly as Dennis! He was the first on his feet. His yells were keyed to a pitch and volume that would have terrified any lion which ever roamed the forest, and especially that timid, sneaking creature which assumes the name of a nobler animal. From the tree above the cowardly beast looked down upon the group. Its eyes gleamed wickedly, yet its whole lithe body quivered in fear, for it had been pursued to its own destruction.
“Bang! R-r-r-rip—flash—BANG!”
It fell at their very feet, so to speak, and then did Dennis believe that his hour had really come.
“Och! murder! me soul! That ever I should have lived—to die!” and, almost paralyzed by fright he, too, fell down.
With a mutual impulse of protection, thechildren clung together, too startled for speech; and it was not until the lion, or puma, had been lifeless for some seconds that they released each other and peered into the forest whence the shot had come. Thence now, also, came the crashing of branches and soon there hurried into view—Mr. Burnham!
He paused, as astonished as they; then, with a shout of delight, the trio rushed together.
“Oh! have we found you?”
“Dear children! I might have killed you when I fired! How came you here?”
“But you didn’t. You only killed the lion. Where are the rest? Is everybody well? Mrs. Burnham? Teddy? And Jack? Are you camping near? Can we go now? Did you think we were lost? Oh! we have been—but—”
Nobody thought of Dennis, for a moment, and he still lay, fancying himself dying. Then he heard the voices. One seemed strangely familiar, yet he was powerless to move till the station-master comprehended who it was that lay huddled beside the dead puma, and called:
“Dennis! Dennis, are you hurt, lad?”
The ex-trackman groaned.
“Why—is it so? That’s bad, indeed! Where are you wounded? Did I shoot you, or that creature spring upon you?”
“Och! I’m dead. I’m dead, entirely.”
“Guess not. Try to get up. Why, what’s the matter here, with your arm? This is no beast-scratch.”
Both at once, the twins rapidly told their story and, by his own wit, the newcomer learned the main facts. He was very sorry for Dennis but felt that the Irishman’s present collapse was due to fear and disappointment, rather than approaching death. He remembered that among the traits of his old employee was a fondness for good food, so urged:
“Come on, my fine fellow. The mistress is cooking such a supper yonder, in our little camp, as will put new life into your ‘dead’ limbs—instanter! Brook trout—broiled on wood coals; fresh biscuits; wild honey that Jack found in a tree; with cresses from the same stream that furnished the trout. How’s that? Come. Get up. I’ll help you. What a beautiful horse! Both burros yours? Ah! I recall—the Pueblos. Well, I must go. Letitia will be anxious. Every time any of usmove, now, she fears we’re going forever. Come to supper, Dennis?”
“Yes, I know, I know. Thanky, but—I couldn’t. No, I couldn’t.”
“Very well. Suit yourself. I’ll lead your donkey forward and you follow when you choose.”
Carlota was distressed and looked anxiously into Mr. Burnham’s face; then caught a twinkle in his eye which belied his apparent indifference.
“What will you do about the puma?” asked Carlos, somewhat envious of the fine shooting which had brought down the animal.
“Leave it for the present. Its skin is worth coming back for but the good news of your return mustn’t be kept from the others any longer. Come, all of you.”
“This way? Straight ahead?”
“Yes. Where you see the trail divide—beyond that tree—a fork of it goes down into what appears to be a ‘bottomless pit.’ I have explored the gulch for a little distance, but found no traces of anything I sought. Thus far—it’s all been seeking and no finding,” finished Mr. Burnham, with a sigh.
“Well, it’s only such a little while. Not many days yet.”
“No, lad, but they’ve seemed long to my wife. Your safe return will put new life and courage into us all.”
“I hope so,” cheerfully responded Carlota.
But Carlos was silent. For them both and without consulting her again, he had decided that, after a brief stop with their friends, they would resume their own interrupted journey toward the “north” and the father they must find. Mr. Burnham observed the boy’s silence but made no comment on it, and they started onward through the canyon leading the animals, for riding was both perilous and uncomfortable. They had speedily left the smooth glade where they had rested and met, and now the canyon walls rose sheer and almost impassable.
Carlota continually looked back and, at a moment when they paused to take breath, she whispered to her brother:
“I can’t bear to leave good, kind Dennis there, alone. Maybe he is really dying! I must go back and see.”
Carlos, also, peered into the dimness behind and nudged her. A creeping, awkward figure was following them, in a shame-faced way, as if unwilling to acknowledge his own mistaken statements—honest Dennis, very much alive!
“Poor fellow! He was really sick and feverish, terribly tired, and homesick for even such a place as Leopard or Tuttle—any spot where there were ‘Christian roofs’ and white-skinned people. As Paula called him, he’s but a grown up baby, after all. You mustn’t laugh at him, brother dear, when he comes up with us, nor act as if you remembered a bit of his foolishness. Promise.”
“All right, Carlota. I don’t promise—, but I’ll take care.”
So they went gayly on again, and it was the sound of their happy voices which brought mother and sons running down the slope from Camp Burnham to meet them. Letitia and Carlota clasped and reclasped one another, half-laughing, half-crying, and at first, too deeply moved for speech. But grave little Teddy neither laughed nor cried. He merely observed:
“Muvver, she did find the piece of my ap’on what I tored. She has got it in her jacket. Now you can mend it.”
Then Carlota turned about and saw him standing, arms akimbo, in all the dignity of his first, rough little “camping-twousers,” calm and unruffled, as if being lost and found again were but an ordinary incident of the day.
“You darling! Have you missed me? Missed your ‘new sister,’ Carlota?”
“Nope.”
“O, Teddy! Why haven’t you?”
“Been a-fishin’. Catched a fish an’ cooked him. Teddy’s hungwy. Come to supper.”
Happy Mrs. Burnham seconded the request:
“Yes, come to supper, everybody! After that for a nice long talk, and everything told that’s befallen you from the moment you left us till this. But, Jack? Why, where’s Jack?”
He came, slipping and sliding down the steep behind the little clearing where they had pitched their tent, and where the white “schooner” now did duty as storehouse and general utility apartment.
“Hello! Master-cut-and-come-again! So you’re back? Well, I’m glad of it. Need youto help forage. Never saw such appetites as my relatives have. Father spends his time tapping and digging around in the ground, and the cares of providing fresh ‘butcher’s meat,’ fresh fish, fresh fruit, fresh water, fresh everything—devolves upon yours truly. Say, I wish you’d sell me that lasso of yours. I need it. Honor bright. What’ll you take? Oh, Carlota? You here? Howdy.”
The overjoyed lad affected his usual indifference, yet, as he threw upon the ground before them the results of his afternoon with the rod and line, and his father’s second-hand shot-gun, his honest pride made his homely features good to see.
“Where’s my Dennis?” suddenly demanded Teddy.
“Coming, yonder. Run and meet him and tell him how glad you are to have him back,” suggested Carlota.
Without comment, Teddy obeyed, and promptly brought the last member of the party to enjoy that famous supper. Nor, though they sat late around the camp-fire, exchanging confidences, did anybody mention the possibility of “dying.”