CHAPTER II.
Bear in mind that Tim Hunter was twelve years old at the time, beingthe junior by two years of his sister Maggie.
On the day which I have in mind, he had spent the forenoon fishing, andbrought home a mess of trout for which he had whipped one of themountain brooks, and which furnished the family with the choicest sortof a meal. The father complimented him on his skill, for that wasbefore the parent's patience had been so sorely tried by theindifference of the lad toward the vocation to which the elder meant heshould devote his life. He left the lad at liberty to spend the restof the day as he chose, and, early in the afternoon, he proposed to hissister that they should engage in that old game of "jackstones" withwhich I am sure you are familiar.
Years ago the country lads and lassies generally used little bits ofstones, instead of scraggly, jagged pieces of iron, with which theyamuse themselves in these days. Tim had seen some of the improvedjackstones; and, borrowing one from a playmate, he made a clay mouldfrom it, into which he poured melted lead, repeating the operationuntil he had five as pretty and symmetrically formed specimens as onecould wish. It was with these in his hands, that he led the way to thebarn for a game between himself and sister.
The big, spacious structure was a favorite place for spending theirleisure hours. The hard, seedy floor, with the arching raftersoverhead could not be improved for their purpose. The shingles were sofar aloft that the shade within was cool on sultry summer days, and itwas the pleasantest kind of music to hear the rain drops patter on theroof and the wind whistle around the eaves and corners. The mow wherethe hay was stored was to the left, as you entered the door, and underthat were the stalls where the horses munched their dinner and lookedsolemnly through the opening over the mangers at the two childrenengaged at play. Between where they sat and the rafters, the space wasopen.
Maggie took her seat in the middle of the floor, and her brother placedhimself opposite. Before doing so, he stepped to the nearest stall andpicked up a block of wood six inches in diameter and two feet inlength. This he laid on the floor and seated himself upon it, tossingthe jackstones to his sister to begin the game.
She was his superior, for her pretty taper fingers were more nimblethan his sturdy ones, and, unless she handicapped herself by certainconditions, she invariably won in the contest of skill. She tossedthem one after the other, then two or three or more at a time,snatching up the others from the floor and going through the variedperformance with an easy perfection that was the wonder of Tim. Onceor twice, she purposely missed some feat, but the alert lad was sure todetect it, and declared he would not play unless she did her best, and,under his watchful eye, she could not escape doing so. As I have said,the only way to equalize matters was for her to handicap herself, andeven then I am compelled to say she was more often winner than loser.
Sitting on the block of wood tipped up on one end, Tim kept his eyes onthe bits of metal, popping up in the air and softly dropping into theextended palm, and wondered again why it was so hard for him to do thatwhich was so easy for her. Finally she made a slip, which lookedhonest, and resigned the stones to him.
Now, you know that in playing this game, you ought to sit on the flooror ground; for if your perch is higher, you are compelled to stoopfurther to snatch up the pieces and your position is so awkward that itseriously interferes with your success.
The very first scramble Tim made at the stones on the floor was notonly a failure, but resulted in a splinter catching under the nail ofone of his fingers. Maggie laughed.
"Why do you sit way up there?" she asked; "you can't do half as well aswhen you are lower down like me."
"I guess you're right," he replied, as he pushed the block away andimitated her. "I 'spose I'll catch the splinters just the same."
"There's no need of it; you mustn't claw the stones, but move your handgently, just as I do. Now, watch me."
"It's a pity that no one else in the world is half as smart as you,"replied the brother with fine irony, but without ill nature. "Ah,wasn't that splendid?"
Which remark was caused by the plainest kind of fluke on the part ofMaggie, who in her effort to instruct her brother, forgot one or twonice points, which oversight was fatal.
"Well," said she, "I didn't fill my fingers with splinters."
"Nor with jackstones either; if I can't do any better than you I'm sureI can't do any worse."
"Well, Smarty, what are you waiting for?"
"For you to pay attention."
"I'm doing that."
With cool, careful steadiness, Tim set to work, and lo! he finished thegame without a break, performing the more difficult exploits with askill that compelled the admiration of his sister.
"I'm glad to see that you're not such a big dunce as you look; I'vebeen discouraged in trying to teach you, but you seem to be learning atlast."
"Wouldn't you like me to give you a few lessons?"
"No; for, if you did, I should never win another game," was the pertreply; "I wonder whether you will ever be able to beat me again."
"Didn't you know that I have been fooling with you all the time, justas I fool a trout till I get him to take the hook?"
Maggie stared at him with open mouth for a moment and then asked in anawed whisper:
"No; I didn't know that: did _you_?"
"Never mind; the best thing you can do is to tend to bus'ness, for I'mnot going to show you a bit of mercy."
During this friendly chaffing, both noticed that the wind was rising.It moaned around the barn, and enough of it entered the window farabove their heads for them to feel it fan their cheeks. An eddy evenlifted one of the curls from the temple of the girl. This, however,was of no special concern to them, and they continued their playing.
Each went through the next series without a break. Tim was certainlydoing himself honor, and his sister was at a loss to understand it.But you know that on some days the player of any game does much betterthan on others. This was one of Tim's best days and one of Maggie'sworst, for he again surpassed her, though there could be no doubt thatshe did her very best, and she could not repress her chagrin. But shewas too fond of her bright brother to feel anything in the nature ofresentment for his success.
"There's one thing certain," she said, shaking her curly head withdetermination; "you can't beat me again."
"I wouldn't be so rash, sister; remember that I mean bus'ness to-day."
"Just as if you haven't always done your best; it's you that arebragging, not I."
Tim had taken the stones in his right hand with the purpose of givingthem the necessary toss in the air, when a blast of wind struck thebarn with a force that made it tremble. They distinctly felt thetremor of the floor beneath them. He paused and looked into thestartled face of his sister with the question:
"Hadn't we better run to the house?"
"No," she replied, her heart so set on beating him that she felt lessfear than she would have felt had it been otherwise; "it's as safe hereas in the house; one is as strong as the other; if you want to get outof finishing the game, why, I'll let you off."
"You know it isn't that, Maggie; but the barn isn't as strong as thehouse."
"It has stood a good many harder blows than this; don't you see it hasstopped? Go on."
"All right; just as you say," and up went the pronged pieces and werecaught with the same skill as before. Then he essayed a more difficultfeat and failed. Maggie clapped her hands with delight, and leanedforward to catch up the bits and try her hand.
At that instant something like a tornado or incipient cyclone struckthe barn. They felt the structure swaying, heard the ripping ofshingles, and casting his eyes aloft, Tim saw the shingles andframework coming down upon their heads.
It was an appalling moment. If they remained where they were, bothwould be crushed to death. The door was too far away for both to reachit; though it was barely possible that by a quick leap and dash hemight get to the open air in the nick of time, but he would
die ahundred times over before abandoning his sister. The open window wastoo high to be reached from the floor without climbing, and there wasno time for that.
The action of a cyclone is always peculiar. Resistless as is itspower, it is often confined to a very narrow space. The one to which Iam now referring whipped off a corner of the roof, so loosening thesupports that the whole mass of shingles and rafters covering thelarger portion came down as if flung from the air above, while theremainder of the building was left unharmed, the terrified horses notreceiving so much as a scratch.
There was one awful second when brother and sister believed that thenext would be their last. Then Tim threw his arm around the neck ofMaggie and in a flash drew her forward so that she lay flat on her faceand he alongside of her; but the twinkling of an eye before that he hadseized the block of wood, rejected some time before as a chair, andstood it on end beside his shoulder, keeping his right arm curved roundit so as to hold it upright in position, while the other arm preventedMaggie from rising.
"Don't move?" he shouted amid the crashing of timbers and the roaringof the gale; "lie still and you won't be hurt."
She could not have disobeyed him had she tried, for the words were inhis mouth when the fearful mass of timber descended upon them.
The Jungle Fugitives: A Tale of Life and Adventure in India Page 41
