CHAPTER IV.
JIMMIE’S PLUCK.
“_You_ can get that rope to him?”
The professor’s voice held a note of amazement and possibly one ofunconscious incredulity, for Jimmie colored under his gaze.
“Sure I can.” He spoke rapidly, for it was no time to waste words. “Iused ter be wid a circus for a time, see. I learned ter do a balancin’act wid a troupe. I’ll jes’ take dat long stick dere fer a balancin’pole, and I’ll snake him out fer youse, er--er I’ll go up de flumemeself.”
Strange as it may appear, there was something in the manner of thewaif that instilled a new confidence into their hearts. Under othercircumstances they might not have felt it, but now, with Persimmons’life in such danger, they were in the mood of drowning men who graspat straws.
Jimmie was such a straw, and his self-confident manner formed to a notsmall degree the basis of their trust in his ability to carry out whathe said he could accomplish. Carefully the rope was transferred fromthe dripping, half-frozen Ralph to Jimmie’s waist. This done, the ladcarefully balanced a longish branch he had picked up, and appeared tofind it suitable for use as a balancing pole; for, after one or twotrials, he stepped out on the log and began such a “rope walking” actas has seldom if ever been witnessed.
Before starting, he had kicked off his ragged, broken boots,--stockingsor socks he had none,--and was now barefooted. The rough bark of thetree trunk afforded a certain stability of footing, but they heldtheir breath as they watched the waif’s slender, pitifully thin figurepainfully making its way on that narrow bridge above the swirling,leaping waves of the torrent.
Once he hesitated and swayed, and a gasp went up from the watchers onthe bank. Involuntarily they took a tighter grip on the rope. But itwas only the green rush of waters under his feet that had momentarilycaused Jimmie’s head to swim.
He swiftly recovered himself and, forcing his eyes to remain rivetedon a definite object, he forged steadily ahead. Now he was only fivefeet from where Persimmons, with a sub-conscious strength, was hangingon to his precarious hold, now but four feet intervened, then three,two,--one! How the slender trunk swayed! It appeared impossible thatanything human could keep its footing upon it.
But at last the young acrobat reached a point beyond which he dared notgo. Holding his balancing pole with one hand, he undid the rope fromhis waist with the other. Bending, very slowly, very cautiously, heformed a loop and dropped it over Persimmons’ head. The numbed boy hadjust strength enough to work it under his armpits.
Then his strength gave out completely. He would have been swirledaway had not Jimmie taken the precaution to pass the rope around theopposite side of the tree trunk to that on which the current waspulling. But Persimmons was safe. The rope held him firm. He took abrief interval for a breath, and then managed to work his way along thetrunk while the others hauled.
As for Jimmie, he crouched low for a time, using his balancing polewith wonderful adroitness. Then, walking backward along that swaying,treacherous trunk, he reached shore just as they dragged young Simmonsout. It was in the nick of time, too, for he could not have lasted muchlonger. As it was, when they laid him on the bank he collapsed utterly.
“Jimmie, if you ever were an acrobat, and there’s no room to doubtthat, you must have been a marvel!” cried Ralph throwing his armsabout the boy’s neck, while the professor and Hardware congratulatedhim hardly less enthusiastically, and the agent danced a jig.
“Gee!” exclaimed Jimmie, when he released himself, “if you tink I was awonder, ask Sig. Montinelli, who trained me. I was so good dat he usedto beat the life out uv me. Dat’s de reason I ran away frum de show andcame up here,--dat and annudder reason.”
There was no time just then to ask him what he meant, for they wereall immediately busied in chafing poor Persimmons’ body and bringinglife back to him. The agent had rushed off up the rocky path for hotcoffee, for he had been preparing his breakfast when the train camein. What with this stimulant and a brisk rub-down, Persimmons soonrecovered and was able to sit up and thank his rescuer, which he didcharacteristically and warmly, despite the latter’s embarrassment andfrequent interruptions of “It wasn’t nawthing.”
“Howling handsprings!” exclaimed Persimmons to Ralph, as the latterhelped him up the rocky path, “and to think that I classed that kid inwith Hardware’s dingbats! But that’s what he is, too,” he added with asort of an inspiration; “Hardware’s got his bags and boxes full of foolfishing dingbats and cooking dingbats and chopping dingbats, but thisone of yours, Ralph, is the greatest ever, he’s a life-saving dingbat.What can I give him?”
“Not money, if you take my advice,” said Ralph dryly. “While you weredown and out there the professor offered him some, and his eyes blazedand he turned quite pale as he refused it. ‘I’ve joined this expeditionto be generally useful, and that was only one of my jobs, see,’ waswhat he said.”
“Waltzing wombats! I hope he never has to be useful in just that wayagain,” breathed Persimmons fervently, as they reached the top of thetrail.
“I hope not. But how did you ever come to get in such a fix?”
Persimmons explained that he had been looking at some wonderful troutdisporting themselves in a pool some distance above where the treetrunk stretched out over the waters of the torrent. In some way hisfoot had slipped, and before he knew what had happened he was whirledout into midstream.
Hurried along, brushed by out-cropping rocks and bits of drift timber,he had caught at the first thing that offered, which happened to be thetrunk that so providentially stretched out above the torrent.
“Bounding beetles! but it was a close shave, I tell you,” he concludedfervently. “I don’t think I could have held on a minute longer whenJimmie got that rope to me; but when I felt it, new strength seemed tocome to me and I could help you fellows drag me ashore.”
For a consideration, the agent drew on his stores, and they made ahearty breakfast after this adventure. Jimmie, of course, was the heroof the occasion, although no one could have accused him of seekinghonors. The boy looked actually embarrassed as they each, in turn andin chorus, told him over and over what they thought of his plucky act.
They were still eating when there came a clatter of hoofs on the cliffabove.
“Something comin’ down the trail,” observed the agent; “shouldn’twonder if that’s your man now.”
“I hope so, indeed,” said the professor, “this delay is most annoying.”
Emerging from the depot they saw a strange cavalcade coming down thedusty trail. In advance, on a wiry buckskin cayuse, rode a figure thatmight have stepped out of a book. His saddle was of the gaily riggedranger’s type. But it was the person who sat in it with an easy gracethat was more striking to the eye than any of his caparisons.
He was of medium height, it appeared, but of so powerful a build thathis breadth of chest and massive loins seemed better fitted for agiant. His hair and beard were curly and as yellow as corn silk, hisface fiery red by constant exposure to sun and wind and snow, whilehis eyes, deep-set in wrinkles, were as blue as the Canadian sky abovethem. His clothes were of the frontiersman’s type, and on his massivehead was a colorless sombrero, badly crushed, with several holes cut inits crown.
Behind him came, in single file, four wiry looking little cayuses,saddled and bridled ready for their riders. These were followed bythree pack animals of rather sorry appearance, but, as the party was tolearn later, of proved ability on the trail.
“You Professor Summered?” he hailed, in a deep, hearty voice, as hesaw the professor and the boys standing in a group outside the littledepot, eying him with deep interest and attention.
“Wintergreen, sir! Wintergreen!” exclaimed the professor rather testily.
“Oh, ho! ho! Beg your pardon. I’m Mountain Jim Bothwell, at yourservice. Sorry to be late, but the trail up above is none too good.”
He struck his pony with his spurs, and the whole procession broke intoan ambling trot coming down
the trail in a cloud of yellow dust towardthe waiting group of travelers.
The Border Boys in the Canadian Rockies Page 5
