CHAPTER VI
The Coming of Dave
THE castaways, forgetting that there were dishes to be washed, stood inan eager row on the bank above the beach. The floating object continuedto approach. Soon they could see why it moved; the blade of a broadpaddle gleamed in the sunlight.
"It's a boat!" cried Marjory.
"A canoe," announced Mr. Black. "See, one end is low, the other fairlyout of the water. Let's stand behind these bushes, girls--the shack isso far back that the man in the canoe won't notice it if he doesn'tsee the tablecloth. I'll take it down, I guess. You see, there's justa chance that that fellow might not land if he saw people here--and weneed him in our business. We'll be quiet, too. He seems to be makingfor this little bay."
The boat and its occupant were an even shade of dark brown, but thepaddle gleamed golden in the sunshine. The canoe, skilfully propelledby a practised hand, shot rapidly toward the strip of sand at the veryfeet of the almost breathless watchers and, in a very few seconds more,was safely beached. A snarling, stealthy dog leaped ashore and beganto sniff suspiciously at the sand; but his owner, fortunately, paidno attention to him. The paddler proved to be an Indian half-breed,bareheaded and clad only in shirt and trousers. His clothes were oldand greasy, his bare brown feet far from clean. He flung from the canoea fish-net, two dead muskrats, and, although it was out of season, asmall saddle of venison. He spread the net on the sand to dry, threwthe venison upon his shoulder, and climbed the bank.
Mr. Black, stepping from the sheltering bush, met him when he reachedthe top.
"Good-morning," said he.
The startled Indian almost dropped his burden.
"Goo'-morn'," he grunted, surlily.
"Why!" exclaimed Mr. Black, closely scrutinizing the half-breed's notvery prepossessing countenance, "I think I've met you before. You'reDave Gurneau, the man I bought this land from."
"Yass, I guess, mebbe-so," returned Dave. "You ol' Pete Black, I t'ankso?"
"Yes," admitted the gentleman, "I'm old Pete Black. But what are _you_doing here? I thought I bought this land with the understanding thatyou were to vacate it--leave it--get off of it? How long have you livedhere?"
The culprit wriggled his toes in the sand.
"Ever since Ah'm sell heem," returned Dave, whose small black eyes wereshifty.
"Well!" gasped Mr. Black, "that's nerve for you--stayed right here, didyou?"
"Yass, Ah'm stay hon dose plass. Me, I must sell dese lan' to you so Ican buy proveesion enough for leeve hon heem--som' leetle onion, som'potate, som' flour----"
"You--you sold me the land so you could live on it!"
"Yass--Ah'm got to buy proveesion sometam'. You good, easy man, Ah'mtole."
"He means easy mark," breathed Mrs. Crane.
"Well, I'll be--switched," declared Mr. Black, endeavoring to frown atguilty Dave; but, meeting Bettie's dancing eyes, he laughed instead.
"Dave," said he, "you're an unprecedented rascal. You've caught myfish, picked my berries, killed my game; but I'll forgive you if you'lldo an errand for me. Do you think you could walk to Lakeville?"
"Sure t'ing," replied Dave, whose shifty eyes had traveledspeculatively from one to another of the group. "Ah'm walk dere planteetam'. Got to sleep two-t'ree hour, den go."
"Very well," returned Mr. Black; "I'd _rather_ you'd start at once, butif you need sleep, you'd better get it now than on the way. I'll writeSaunders (Saunders was Mr. Black's trusted secretary) to send a launchor a wagon for us and horses for the automobile."
"Peter," queried Mrs. Crane, wistfully, "do we _have_ to go home? Youknow we talked of coming here to camp, anyway. Now that we're here,why can't we stay? I suppose it's a crazy scheme; but that road istoo rough to travel over very often, and you know I never did likethe water--I'm always seasick. Saunders could send us all the thingswe need--tents and everything else. And all the parents would bewilling--they were all in favor of a camping trip _sometime_. We'dwrite and explain----"
"Oh, _do_ stay," cried Jean.
"Oh, _do_," implored Bettie, flinging her arms about Mr. Black's neck.
"_Please_ do," begged Henrietta, impulsively seizing a hand.
"Oh, do, do, _do_," shrieked Marjory, seizing the other hand.
"I'll wash all the dishes," promised Mabel, throwing her arms about Mr.Black's stout waist, "and everybody knows that that's a job I hate."
"I'll get fat," promised Bettie.
Now, Mr. Black was ever a warm-hearted and obliging man, with awonderful love for children in general--his own little dark-eyeddaughter had died in infancy--and for Bettie in particular. Even ifthe plan did seem a bit wild and venturesome (and Mr. Black himselfwas something of an adventurer, in the best sense of that word), itwas not easy to say no with all those clinging arms about him, thoseeager, pleading young faces upturned expectantly to his. Moreover, fewpersons, Mr. Black least of all, were able to resist the appeal inBettie's big, black, always rather pathetic eyes. And already, bestargument of all, the slender little maid seemed to be improving underthese new conditions.
"Well," capitulated Mr. Black, "it will take Dave some hours to getto Lakeville, and it may take considerable time for Saunders to finda boat or horses to come up here--we'll have to leave all that partof it to his discretion. It may be to-morrow morning before we arerescued. Now, I'll agree to this. We'll send him a list of everythingwe need. If we are still desirous of staying when the things come, andif there's nothing in my mail to call me to town, we'll stay. If we'retired of it, we'll just cart the stuff home again. We'll each make outa list----"
"On what, I'd like to know?" interrupted Mrs. Crane. "I've used all thewrapping paper to start fires."
Mr. Black, shaking off the clinging children, searched in the pocketsof his clothes.
"Nothing doing," said he. "The only scrap of paper I can spare isalready covered with memoranda."
Dave, who had been silently waiting, laughed appreciatively. It was anunexpectedly pleasant sound, too; for the half-breed's voice was softand deep.
"Lots of paper on top of som' tree," he said. "Ah br-r-reeng som'."
"I can see leaves," laughed Henrietta, squinting upward, "but no pages."
"He means birch bark," explained quick-witted Marjory. "See, he'scutting big squares of it."
When the squares were peeled into many thin sheets (the girls thoughtthat great sport) Mr. Black distributed them among the other castaways.
"Here are two pencils," said he. "I'll use my fountain pen."
"And I always have pencils in my bag," said Mrs. Crane. "I'll tend tothe provisions, Peter, if you'll look out for the other things. Besure, girls, to ask for extra shoes and stockings; you'll need thoseand something warm to sleep in."
Noting that one more pencil was needed, Dave began to fumble in anapparently bottomless pocket. From the depths he finally produced agrimy, greasy stub, which he offered to pencil-less Marjory.
But Marjory, fastidious little maid that she was, drew back from it,loathingly, and declined.
Gentle-mannered Jean, promptly surmising that Dave's feelings might behurt, handed her own clean, long pencil to Marjory and accepted Dave'soffering, with a sweet-voiced "thank you."
From that moment, Dave was Jean's abject slave; and, if the proofs ofhis devotion were not always welcome, they at least proved numerous.
The Castaways of Pete's Patch Page 9
