Bruvver Jim's Baby

by Philip Verrill Mighels

  Produced by Al Haines

  BRUVVER JIM'S BABY

  BY

  PHILIP VERRILL MIGHELS

  NEW YORK AND LONDON

  HARPER & BROTHERS

  PUBLISHERS MCMIV

  Copyright, 1904, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

  _All rights reserved._

  Published May, 1904.

  This Volume is

  Dedicated, with much affection, to

  My Mother

  CONTENTS

  I. A MIGHTY LITTLE HUNTER II. JIM MAKES DISCOVERIES III. THE WAY TO MAKE A DOLL IV. PLANNING A NEW CELEBRATION V. VISITORS AT THE CABIN VI. THE BELL FOR CHURCH VII. THE SUNDAY HAPPENINGS VIII. OLD JIM DISTRAUGHT IX. THE GUILTY MISS DOC X. PREPARATIONS FOR CHRISTMAS XI. TROUBLES AND DISCOVERIES XII. THE MAKING OF A CHRISTMAS-TREE XIII. THEIR CHRISTMAS-DAY XIV. "IF ONLY I HAD THE RESOLUTION" XV. THE GOLD IN BOREALIS XVI. ARRIVALS IN CAMP XVII. SKEEZUCKS GETS A NAME XVIII. WHEN THE PARSON DEPARTED XIX. OLD JIM'S RESOLUTION XX. IN THE TOILS OF THE BLIZZARD XXI. A BED IN THE SNOW XXII. CLEANING THEIR SLATE XXIII. A DAY OF JOY

  BRUVVER JIM'S BABY

  CHAPTER I

  A MIGHTY LITTLE HUNTER

  It all commenced that bright November day of the Indian rabbit driveand hunt. The motley army of the Piute tribe was sweeping tremendouslyacross a sage-brush valley of Nevada, their force two hundred braves innumber. They marched abreast, some thirty yards apart, and formed aline that was more than two miles long.

  The spectacle presented was wonderful to see. Red, yellow, and indigoin their blankets and trappings, the hunters dotted out a line of coloras far as sight could reach. Through the knee-high brush they sweptahead like a firing-line of battle, their guns incessantly booming,their advance never halted, their purpose as grim and inexorable asfate itself. Indeed, Death, the Reaper, multiplied two-hundred-foldand mowing a swath of incredible proportions, could scarcely havepillaged the land of its conies more thoroughly.

  Before the on-press of the two-mile wall of red men with their smokingweapons, the panic-stricken rabbits scurried helplessly. Soon or latethey must double back to their burrows, soon or late they musttherefore die.

  Behind the army, fully twenty Indian ponies, ridden by theyoungster-braves of the cavalcade, were bearing great white burdens ofthe slaughtered hares.

  The glint of gun-barrels, shining in the sun, flung back the light,from end to end of the undulating column. Billows of smoke,out-puffing unexpectedly, anywhere and everywhere along the line,marked down the tragedies where desperate bunnies, scudding from coverand racing up or down before the red men, were targets for fiercelybiting hail of lead from two or three or more of the guns at once.

  And nearly as frightened as the helpless creatures of the brush was atiny little pony-rider, back of the army, mounted on a plodding horsethat was all but hidden by its load of furry game. He was ridingdouble, this odd little bit of a youngster, with a sturdy Indian boywho was on in front. That such a timid little dot of manhood shouldhave been permitted to join the hunt was a wonder. He was apparentlynot more than three years old at the most. With funny little trousersthat reached to his heels, with big brown eyes all eloquent of doubt,and with round, little, copper-colored cheeks, impinged upon by an oldfur cap he wore, pulled down over forehead and ears, he appeared aboutas quaint a little man as one could readily discover.

  But he seemed distressed. And how he did hang on! The rabbits securedupon the pony were crowding him backward most alarmingly. At first hehad clung to the back of his fellow-rider's shirt with all the mightand main of his tiny hands. As the burden of the rabbits hadincreased, however, the Indian hunters had piled them in between thetimid little scamp and his sturdier companion, till now he was almostout on the horse's tail. His alarm had, therefore, becomeoverwhelming. No fondness for the nice warm fur of the bunnies, nofaith in the larger boy in front, could suffice to drive from his tinyface the look of woe unutterable, expressed by his eyes and histrembling little mouth.

  The Indians, marching steadily onward, had come to the mountain thatbounded the plain. Already a score were across the road that led tothe mining-camp of Borealis, and were swarming up the sandy slope tocomplete the mighty swing of the army, deploying anew to sweep farwestward through the farther half of the valley, and so at lengthbackward whence they came.

  The tiny chap of a game-bearer, gripping the long, velvet ears of oneof the jack-rabbits tied to his horse, felt a horrid new sensation ofsliding backward when the pony began to follow the hunters up the hill.Not only did the animal's rump seem to sink beneath him as they tookthe slope, but perspiration had made it amazingly smooth and insecure.

  The big fat rabbits rolled against the desperate little man in aponderous heap. The feet of one fell plump in his face, and seemed tokick, with the motion of the horse. Then a buckskin thong abruptlysnapped in twain, somewhere deep in the bundle, and instantly the earsto which the tiny man was clinging, together with the head and body ofthat particular rabbit, and those of several others as well, partedcompany with the pony. Gracefully they slid across the tail of themuch-relieved creature, and, pushing the tiny rider from his seat, theylanded with him plump upon the earth, and were left behind.

  Unhurt, but nearly buried by the four or five rabbits thus pulled fromthe load by his sudden descent from his perch, the dazed little fellowsat up in the sand and solemnly noted the rapid departure of the Indianarmy--pony, companion, and all.

  Not only had his fall been unobserved by the marching braves, but theboy with whom he had just been riding was blissfully unaware of thefact that something behind had dismounted. The whole vast line ofPiute braves pressed swiftly on. The shots boomed and clattered, asthe hill-sides were startled by the echoes. Red, yellow, indigo--theblankets and trappings were momentarily growing less and less distinct.

  More distant became the firing. Onward, ever onward, swung the great,long column of the hunters. Dully, then even faintly, came the noiseof the guns.

  At last the firing could be heard no more. The two hundred warriors,the ponies, the boys that rode--all were gone. Even the rabbits, thatan hour before had scampered here and there in the brush with theirfurry feet, would never again go pattering through the sand. The sunshone warmly down. The great world of valley and mountains, gray,severe, unpeopled, was profoundly still, in that wonderful way of thedying year, when even the crickets and locusts have ceased to sing.

  Clinging in silence to the long, soft ears of his motionless bunny, thetimid little game-bearer sat there alone, big-eyed and dumb with wonderand childish alarm. He could see not far, unless it might be up thehill, for the sage-brush grew above his head and circumscribed hisview. Miles and miles away, however, the mountains, in majesty of rockand snow, were sharply lifting upward into blue so deep and cloudlessthat its intimate proximity to the infinite was impressively manifest.The day was sweet of the ripeness of the year, and virginal as all thatmighty land itself.

  With two of the rabbits across his lap, the tiny hunter made no effortto rise. It was certainly secure to be sitting here in the sand, forat least a fellow could fall no farther, and the good, big mountain wasnot so impetuous or nervous as the pony.

  An hour went by and the mere little mite of a man had scarcely moved.The sun was slanting towards the southwest corner of the universe. Aflock of geese, in a great changing V, flew slowly over the valley,their wings beating gold from the sunlight, their honk! honk! honk! thenote of the end of the year.

  How soon they were gone! Then indeed all the earth was abandoned tothe quiet little youngster and his still more quiet company of rabbits.There was no particular reason for moving. Where should he go, and howcould he go, did he wish to leave? T
o carry his bunny would be quitebeyond his strength; to leave him here would be equally beyond hiscourage.

  But the sun was edging swiftly towards its hiding place; the frost ofthe mountain air was quietly sharpening its teeth. Already the long,gray shadow of the sage-brush fell like a cooling film across thelittle fellow's form and face.

  Homeless, unmissed, and deserted, the tiny man could do nothing but sitthere and wait. The day would go, the twilight come, and the nightdescend--the night with its darkness, its whispered mysteries, itswailing coyotes, cruising in solitary melancholy hither and thither intheir search for food.

  But the sun was still wheeling, like a brazen disk, on the rim of thehills, when something occurred. A tall, lanky man, something overforty years of age, as thin as a hammer and dusty as the road itself--aman with a beard and a long, gray, drooping mustache, and with droopingclothes--a man selected by shiftlessness to be its sign and mark--aminer in boots and overalls and great slouch hat--came tramping down atrail of the mountain. He was holding in his dusty arms a yellowishpup, that squirmed and wriggled and tried to lap his face, andcomported himself in pup-wise antics, till his master was presentlyobliged to put him down in self-defence.

  The pup knew his duty, as to racing about, bumping into bushes,snorting in places where game might abide, and thumping everything hetouched with his super-active tail. Almost immediately he scentedmysteries in plenty, for Indian ponies and hunters had left a fine,large assortment of trails in the sand, that no wise pup could consentto ignore.

  With yelps of gladness and appreciation, the pup went awkwardlyknocking through the brush, and presently halted--bracing abruptly withhis clumsy paws--amazed and confounded by the sight of a frightenedlittle red-man, sitting with his rabbits in the sand.

  For a second the dog was voiceless. Then he let out a bark that madethings jump, especially the tiny man and himself.

  "Here, come here, Tintoretto," drawlingly called the man from thetrail. "Come back here, you young tenderfoot."

  But Tintoretto answered that he wouldn't. He also said, in thelanguage of puppy barks, that important discoveries demanded not onlyhis but his master's attention where he was, forthwith.

  There was nothing else for it; the mountain was obliged to come toMohammed--or the man to the pup. Then the miner, no less thanTintoretto, was astonished.

  To ward off the barking, the red little hunter had raised his armacross his face, but his big brown eyes were visible above his hand,and their childish seriousness appealed to the man at once.

  "Well, cut my diamonds if it ain't a kid!" drawled he. "Injunpappoose, or I'm an elk! Young feller, where'd you come from, hey?What in mischief do you think you're doin' here?"

  The tiny "Injun" made no reply. Tintoretto tried some puppy addresses.He gave a little growl of friendship, and, clambering over rabbits andall, began to lick the helpless child on the face and hands withunmistakable cordiality. One of the rabbits fell and rolled over.Tintoretto bounded backward in consternation, only to gather hiscourage almost instantly upon him and bark with lusty defiance.

  "Shut up, you anermated disturbance," commanded his owner, mildly."You're enough to scare the hair off an elephant," and, squatting infront of the wondering child, he looked at him pleasantly. "What youup to, young feller, sittin' here by yourself?" he inquired. "Scared?Needn't be scared of brother Jim, I reckon. Say, you 'ain't been lefthere for good? I saw the gang of Injuns, clean across the country,from up on the ridge. It must be the last of their drives. That it?And you got left?"

  The little chap looked up at him seriously and winked his big, browneyes, but he shut his tiny mouth perhaps a trifle tighter than before.As a matter of fact, the miner expected some such stoical silence.

  The pup, for his part, was making advances of friendship towards themotionless rabbits.

  "Wal, say, Piute," added Jim, after scanning the country with hiskindly eyes, "I reckon you'd better go home with me to Borealis. TheInjuns wouldn't look to find you now, and you can't go on settin' herea waitin' for pudding and gravy to pass up the road for dinner. Whatdo you say? Want to come with me and ride on the outside seat toBorealis?"

  Considerably to the man's amazement the youngster nodded a timidaffirmative.

  "By honky, Tintoretto, I'll bet he savvies English as well as you,"said Jim. "All right, Borealis or bust! I reckon a man who travelstwenty miles to git him a pup, and comes back home with you and thishere young Piute, is as good as elected to office. Injun, what's yourname?"

  The tiny man apparently had nothing to impart by way of an answer.

  "'Ain't got any, maybe," commented Jim. "What's the matter with menamin' you, hey? Suppose I call you Aborigineezer? All in favor, ay!Contrary minded? Carried unanimously and the motion prevails."

  The child, for some unaccountable reason, seemed appalled.

  "We can't freight all them rabbits," decided the miner. "And,Tintoretto, you are way-billed to do some walkin'."

  He took up the child, who continued to cling to the ears of his oneparticular hare. As all the jacks were tied together, all were liftedand were dangling down against the miner's legs.

  "Huh! you can tell what some people want by the way they hang righton," said Jim. "Wal, no harm in lettin' you stick to one. We can eathim for dinner to-morrow, I guess, and save his hide in the bargain."

  He therefore cut the buckskin thong and all but one of the rabbits fellto the earth, on top of Tintoretto, who thought he was climbed upon byhalf a dozen bears. He let out a yowp that scared himself half intofits, and, scooting from under the danger, turned about and flung afearful challenge of barking at the prostrate enemy.

  "Come on, unlettered ignoramus," said his master, and, holding thewondering little foundling on his arm, with his rabbit still clutchedby the ears, he proceeded down to the roadway, scored like a narrowgray streak through the brush, and plodded onward towards themining-camp of Borealis.