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Charlie to the Rescue

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<h3>Chapter Fifteen.</h3> <h4>Lost and Found.</h4> “Try to be calm, Shank,” said Charlie, in a soothing tone, as he kneeled beside the shadow that had once been his sturdy chum, and put an arm on his shoulder. “It is indeed myself this time. I have come all the way from England to seek you, for we heard, through Ritson, that you were ill and lost in these wilds, and now, through God’s mercy, I have found you.” While Charlie Brooke was speaking, the poor invalid was breathing hard and gazing at him, as if to make quite sure it was all true. “Yes,” he said at last, unable to raise his voice above a hoarse whisper, “lost—and—and—found! Charlie, my friend—my chum—my—” He could say no more, but, laying his head like a little child on the broad bosom of his rescuer, he burst into a passionate flood of tears. Albeit strong of will, and not by any means given to the melting mood, our hero was unable for a minute or two to make free use of his voice. “Come, now, Shank, old man, you mustn’t give way like that. You wouldn’t, you know, if you had not been terribly reduced by illness—” “Yes, I would! yes, I would!” interrupted the sick man, almost passionately; “I’d howl, I’d roar, I’d blubber like a very idiot, I’d do any mortal thing, if the doing of it would only make you understand how I appreciate your great kindness in coming out here to save me.” “Oh no, you wouldn’t,” said Charlie, affecting an easy off-hand tone, which he was far from feeling; “you wouldn’t do anything to please me.” “What d’ye mean?” asked Shank, with a look of surprise. “Well, I mean,” returned the other, gently, “that you won’t even do such a trifle as to lie down and keep quiet to please me.” A smile lighted up the emaciated features of the sick man, as he promptly lay back at full length and shut his eyes. “There, Charlie,” he said, “I’ll behave, and let you do all the talking; but don’t let go my hand, old man. Keep a tight grip of it. I’m terrified lest you drift off again, and—and melt away.” “No fear, Shank. I’ll not let go my hold of you, please God, till I carry you back to old England.” “Ah! old England! I’ll never see it again. I feel that. But tell me,”—he started up again, with a return of the excited look—“is father any better?” “N–no, not exactly—but he is no worse. I’ll tell you all about everything if you will only lie down again and keep silent.” The invalid once more lay back, closed his eyes and listened, while his friend related to him all that he knew about his family affairs, and the kindness of old Jacob Crossley, who had not only befriended them when in great distress, but had furnished the money to enable him, Charlie, to visit these outlandish regions for the express purpose of rescuing Shank from all his troubles and dangers. At this point the invalid interrupted him with an anxious look. “Have you the money with you?” “Yes.” “All of it?” “Yes. Why do you ask?” “Because,” returned Shank, with something of a groan, “you are in a den of thieves!” “I know it, my boy,” returned Charlie, with a smile, “and so, for better security, I have given it in charge to our old chum, Ralph Ritson.” “What!” exclaimed Shank, starting up again with wide open eyes; “you have met Ralph, then?” “I have. He conducted me here.” “And you have intrusted your money to him?” “Yes—all of it; every cent!” “Are you aware,” continued Shank, in a solemn tone, “that Ralph Ritson is Buck Tom—the noted chief of the outlaws?” “I know it.” “And you trust him?” “I do. I have perfect confidence that he is quite incapable of betraying an old friend.” For some time Shank looked at his companion in surprise; then an absent look came into his eyes, and a variety of expressions passed over his wan visage. At last he spoke. “I don’t know how it is, Charlie, but somehow I think you are right. It’s an old complaint of mine, you know, to come round to your way of thinking, whether I admit it or not. In days of old I usually refused to admit it, but believed in you all the same! If any man had told me this morning—ay, even half an hour since—that he had placed money in the hands of Buck Tom for safe keeping, knowing who and what he is, I would have counted him an incurable fool; but now, somehow, I do believe that you were quite right to do it, and that your money is as safe as if it were in the Bank of England.” “But I did not intrust it to Buck Tom, knowing who and what he is,” returned Charlie, with a significant smile, “I put it into the hands of Ralph Ritson, knowing who and what he was.” “You’re a good fellow, Charlie,” said Shank, squeezing the hand that held his, “and I believe it is that very trustfulness of yours which gives you so great power and influence with people. I know it has influenced me for good many a time in the past, and would continue to do so still if I were not past redemption.” “No man is past redemption,” said the other quietly; “but I’m glad you agree with me about Ralph, for—” He stopped abruptly, and both men turned their eyes towards the entrance to the cave. “Did you hear anything?” asked Shank, in a low voice. “I thought so—but it must have been the shifting of a log on the fire,” said the other, in a similarly low tone. “Come, now, Charlie,” said Shank, in his ordinary tones, “let me hear something about yourself. You have not said a word yet about what you have been doing these three years past.” As he spoke a slight noise was again heard in the passage, and, next moment Buck Tom re-entered carrying a lump of meat. Whether he had been listening or not they had no means of knowing, for his countenance was quite grave and natural in appearance. “I suppose you have had long enough, you two, to renew your old acquaintance,” he said. “It behoves me now to get ready some supper for the boys against their return, for they would be ill-pleased to come home to an empty kettle, and their appetites are surprisingly strong. But you needn’t interrupt your conversation. I can do my work without disturbing you.” “We have no secrets to communicate, Buck,” returned Shank, “and I have no doubt that the account of himself, which our old chum was just going to give, will be as interesting to you as to me.” “Quite as interesting,” rejoined Buck; “so pray go on, Brooke. I can listen while I look after the cookery.” Thus urged, our hero proceeded to relate his own adventures at sea—the wreck of the Walrus, the rescue by the whaler, and his various experiences both afloat and ashore. “The man, Dick Darvall, whom I have mentioned several times,” said Charlie, in conclusion, “I met with again in New York, when I was about to start to come here, and as I wanted a companion, and he was a most suitable man, besides being willing to come, I engaged him. He is a rough and ready, but a handy and faithful, man, who had some experience in woodcraft before he went to sea, but I have been forced to leave him behind me at a ranch a good many miles to the south of David’s store, owing to the foolish fellow having tried to jump a creek in the dark and broken his horse’s leg. We could not get another horse at the time, and as I was very anxious to push on—being so near my journey’s end—and the ranch was a comfortable enough berth, I left him behind, as I have said, with directions to stay till I should return, or to push on if he could find a safe guide.” While Charlie Brooke was relating the last part of his experience, it might have been observed that the countenance of Buck Tom underwent a variety of curious changes, like the sky of an April day. A somewhat stern frown settled on it at last but neither of his companions observed the fact being too much interested in each other. “What was the name o’ the ranch where your mate was left?” asked Buck Tom, when his guest ceased speaking. “The ranch of Roaring Bull,” answered Charlie. “I should not wonder,” he added, “if its name were derived from its owner’s voice, for it sounded like the blast of a trombone when he shouted to his people.” “Not only his ranch but himself is named after his voice,” returned Buck. “His real name is Jackson, but it is seldom used now. Every one knows him as Roaring Bull. He’s not a bad fellow at bottom, but something overbearing, and has made a good many enemies since he came to this part of the country six years ago.” “That may be so,” remarked Brooke, “but he was very kind to us the day we put up at his place, and Dick Darvall, at all events, is not one of his enemies. Indeed he and Roaring Bull took quite a fancy to each other. It seemed like love at first sight. Whether Jackson’s pretty daughter had anything to do with the fancy on Dick’s part of course I can’t say. Now, I think of it, his readiness to remain behind inclines me to believe it had!” “Well, come outside with me, and have a chat about old, times. It is too hot for comfort here. I dare say our friend Shank will spare you for quarter of an hour, and the pot can look after itself. By the way, it would be as well to call me Buck Tom—or Buck. My fellows would not understand Ralph Ritson. They never heard it before. Have a cigar?” “No, thank you, I have ceased to see the advantage of poisoning one’s-self merely because it is the fashion to do so.” “The poison is wonderfully slow,” said Buck. “But not less wonderfully sure,” returned Charlie, with a smile. “As you will,” rejoined Buck, rising and going outside with his visitor. The night was very still and beautiful, and, the clouds having cleared away, the moonbeams struggled through the foliage and revealed the extreme wildness and seclusion of the spot which had been chosen by the outlaws as their fortress. Charlie now saw that the approach to the entrance of the cave was a narrow neck of rock resembling a natural bridge, with a deep gully on either side, and that the cliff which formed the inner end of the cavern overhung its base, so that if an enemy were to attempt to hurl rocks down from above these would drop beyond the cave altogether. This much he saw at a glance. The minute details and intricacies of the place of course could not be properly seen or understood in the flickering and uncertain light which penetrated the leafy canopy, and, as it were, played with the shadows of the fallen rocks that strewed the ground everywhere, and hung in apparently perilous positions on the mountain slopes. The manner of the outlaw changed to that of intense earnestness the moment he got out to the open air. “Charlie Brooke,” he said, with more of the tone and air of old familiar friendship than he had yet allowed himself to assume, “it’s of no use exciting poor Shank unnecessarily, so I brought you out here to tell you that your man Dick Darvall is in deadly peril, and nothing but immediate action on my part can save him; I must ride without delay to his rescue. You cannot help me in this. I know what you are going to propose, but you must trust and obey me if you would save your friend’s life. To accompany me would only delay and finally mar my plans. Now, will you—” A peculiar whistle far down the gorge caused the outlaw to cease abruptly and listen. The whistle was repeated, and Buck answered it at once with a look of great surprise. “These are my fellows back already!” he said. “You seem surprised. Did you, then, not expect them so soon?” “I certainly did not; something must have gone wrong,” replied Buck, with a perplexed look. Then, as if some new idea had flashed upon him, “Now, look here, Brooke, I must ask you to trust me implicitly and to act a part. Your life may depend on your doing this.” “The first I can do with ease, but as to the latter, my agreeing to do so depends on whether the action you require of me is honourable. You must forgive me, Rits—” “Hush! Don’t forget that there is no such man as Ralph Ritson in these mountains. My life may depend on your remembering that. Of course I don’t expect you to act a dishonourable part,—all I want you to do just now is to lie down and pretend to go to sleep.” “Truly, if that is all, I am ready,” said Charlie; “at all events I will shut my eyes and hold my tongue.” “A useful virtue at times, and somewhat rare,” said Buck, leading his guest back into the cavern. “Now, then, Brooke, lie down there,” pointing to a couch of pine-brush in a corner, “and try to sleep if you can.” Our hero at once complied, stretched himself at full length with his face to the light, and apparently went to sleep, but with his left arm thrown over his forehead as if to protect his eyes from the glare of the fire. Thus he was in a position to see as well as hear all that went on. Buck Tom went to the sick man and whispered something to him. Then, returning to the fire, he continued to stir the big pot, and sniff its savoury contents with much interest. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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