Bruvver Jim's Baby

by Philip Verrill Mighels

  CHAPTER XV

  THE GOLD IN BOREALIS

  The men to whom the bar-keep told the story of Jim and his start intothe mountains smiled again. The light in their eyes was half ofaffection and half of concern. They could not believe the shiftlessold miner would long remain away in the snow and wind, where more thansimple resolution was required to keep a man afoot. They would see himback before the darkness settled on the world, perhaps with somethingin his hand by way of a weed, if not precisely the "Injun" thing hesought.

  But the darkness came and Jim was not at hand. The night and the snowseemed swirling down together in the gorge, from every lofty uprise ofthe hills. It was not so cold as the previous storm, yet it stung withits biting force.

  At six o'clock the blacksmith called at the Dennihans', in someanxiety. Doc himself threw open the door, in response to the knock.How small and quiet he appeared, here at home!

  "No, he 'ain't showed up," he said of Jim. "I don't know when he'llcome."

  Webber reported to the boys.

  "Well, mebbe he's gone, after all," said Field.

  "He looked kind of funny 'round the eyes when he started," Boneinformed them. "I hope he'll git his stuff," and they wandered downthe street again.

  At eight o'clock the bar-keep returned once more to Miss Doc's.

  No Jim was there. The sick little foundling was feebly calling in hisbaby way for "Bruvver Jim."

  The fever had him in its furnace. Restlessly, but now more weaklyweaving, the tiny bit of a man continued as ever to cling to his doll,which he held to his breast with all that remained of his strength. Itseemed as if his tired baby brain was somehow aware that Jim was gone,for he begged to have him back in a sweet little way of entreaty,infinitely sad.

  "Bruvver Jim?" he would say, in his questioning little voice--"BruvverJim?" And at last he added, "Bruvver Jim--do--yike--'ittle Nu--thans."

  At this Miss Doc felt her heart give a stroke of pain, for somethingthat was almost divination of things desolate in the little fellow'sshort years of babyhood was granted to her woman's understanding.

  "Bruvver Jim will come," she said, as she knelt beside the bed. "He'llcome back home to the baby."

  But nine o'clock and ten went by, and only the storm outside came downfrom the hills to the house.

  Hour after hour the lamp was burning in the window as a beacon for thetraveller; hour after hour Miss Dennihan watched the fever and theweary little fellow in its toils. At half-past ten the blacksmith, thecarpenter, and Kew came, Tintoretto, the pup, coldly trembling, attheir heels. Jim was not yet back, and the rough men made noconcealment of their worry.

  "Not home?" said Webber. "Out in the hills--in this?"

  "You don't s'pose mebbe he's lost?" inquired the carpenter.

  "No, Jim knows his mountains," replied the smith, "but any man couldfall and break his leg or somethin'."

  "I wisht he'd come," said Miss Doc. "I wisht that he was home."

  The three men waited near the house for half an hour more, but in vain.It was then within an hour of midnight. Slowly, at last, they turnedaway, but had gone no more than half a dozen rods when they met thebar-keep, Doc Dennihan, Lufkins the teamster, and four other men of thecamp, who were coming to see if Jim had yet returned.

  "I thought he mebbe hadn't come," said Bone, when Webber gave hisreport, "but Parky's goin' to try to jump his claim at twelve o'clock,and we ain't goin' fer to stand it! Come on down to my saloon ferextry guns and ammunition. We're soon goin' up on the hill to hold theledge fer Jim and the poor little kid."

  With ominous coupling of the gambler's name with rough and emphaticlanguage, the ten men marched in a body down the street.

  The wind was howling, a door of some deserted shed was dully,incessantly slamming.

  Helplessly Miss Dennihan sat by the bed whereon the tiny pilgrim lay,now absolutely motionless. The fever had come to its final stage. Dryof skin, burning through and through, his little mouth parched despitethe touch of cooling water on his lips, the wee mite of a man without aname, without a home, or a mother, or a single one of the baby thingsthat make the little folks so joyous, had ceased to struggle, andceased at last to call for "Bruvver Jim."

  Then, at a quarter-past eleven, the outside door was suddenly thrownopen, and in there staggered Jim, a haggard, wild-eyed being, ghastlywhite, utterly exhausted, and holding in his hand a wretched, scrawnybranch of the mountain shrub he had gone to seek.

  "Oh, Jim! Jim!" cried Miss Doc, and, running forward, she threw herarm around his waist to keep him up, for she thought he must fall atevery step,

  "He's--alive?" he asked her, hoarsely. "He's alive? I only asked tohave him wait! Hot water!--get the stuff in water--quick!" and hethrust the branch into her hand.

  Beside the bed, on his great, rough knees, he fairly fell, crooningincoherently, and by a mighty effort keeping his stiff, cold hands fromthe tiny form.

  Miss Doc had kept a plate of biscuit warm in the stove. One of theseand a piece of meat she gave to the man, bidding him eat it for thewarmth his body required.

  "Fix the shrub in the water," he begged.

  "It's nearly ready now," she answered. "Take a bite to eat."

  Then, presently, she came again to his side. "I've got the stuff," shesaid, awed by the look of anguish on the miner's face, and into hishands she placed a steaming pitcher, a cup, and a spoon, after whichshe threw across his shoulders a warm, thick blanket, dry andcomforting.

  Already the shrub had formed a dark, pungent liquor of the water pouredupon it. Turning out a cupful in his haste, old Jim flowed thescalding stuff across his hands. It burned, but he felt no pain. Thespoonful that he dipped from the cup he placed to his own cold lips, totest. He blew upon it as a mother might, and tried it again.

  Then tenderly he fed the tea through the dry little lips. Dully thetiny man's unseeing eyes were fixed on his face.

  "Take it, for old Bruvver Jim," the man gently coaxed, and spoonfulafter spoonful, touched every time to his own mouth first, to try itsheat, he urged upon the little patient.

  Then Miss Doc did a singular thing. She put on a shawl and, abruptlyleaving the house, ran with all her might down the street, through thesnow, to Bone's saloon. For the very first time in her life sheentered this detested place, a blazing light of joy in her eyes. Sixof the men, about to join the four already gone to the hill above,where Jim had found the gold, were about to leave for the claim.

  "He's come!" cried Miss Doc. "He's home--and got the weed! I thoughtyou boys would like to know!"

  Then backing out, with a singular smile upon her face, she hastened toreturn to her home with all the speed the snow would permit.

  Alone in the house with the silent little pilgrim, who seemed beyondall human aid, the gray old miner knew not what he should do. Theshrub tea was failing, it seemed to him. The sight of the droopingchild was too much to be borne. The man threw back his head as heknelt there on the floor, and his stiffened arms were appealinglyuplifted in prayer.

  "God Almighty," he said, in his broken voice of entreaty, "don't takethis little boy away from me! Let him stay. Let him stay with me andthe boys. You've got so many little youngsters there. For Christ'ssake, let me have this one!"

  When Miss Doc came quietly in, old Jim had not apparently moved. Hewas once more dipping the pungent liquor from the cup and murmuringwords of endearment and coaxing, to the all-unhearing little patient.The eager woman took off her shawl and stood behind him, watchingintently.

  "Oh, Jim!" she said, from time to time--"oh, Jim!"

  With a new supply of boiling water, constantly heated on her stove, shekept the steaming concoction fresh and hot.

  Midnight came. The New Year was blown across those mighty peaks instorm and fury. Presently out of the howling gale came the sound ofhalf a dozen shots, and then of a fusillade. But Jim, if he heardthem, did not guess the all they meant to him.

  For an hour he had only moved his hands to take
the pitcher, or to putit down, or to feed the drink to the tiny foundling, still somotionless and dull with the fever.

  One o'clock was finally gone, and two, and three. Jim and the yearningMiss Doc still battled on, like two united parents.

  Then at last the miner made a half-stifled sound in his throat.

  "You--can go and git a rest," he said, brokenly. "The sweat has come."

  All night the wind and the storm continued. All through the long, longdarkness, the bitter cold and snow were searching through the hills.But when, at last, the morning broke, there on the slope, where oldJim's claim was staked, stood ten grim figures, white with snow, andscattered here and there around the ledge of gold. They were Bone andWebber, Keno and Field, Doc Dennihan, the carpenter, the teamster, andother rough but faithful men who had guarded the claim against invasionin the night.