TIM CARROLL
There stood at the door Perault, Josie, and Marion, waiting for Shock and the Old Prospector to drive up.The contrast between the two men in the buckboard was striking.The one, a young man with muscular frame, a strong, fresh face innocent of worldly wisdom and marked by the frankness of an unspoiled faith in men and things; the other, an old man, tall, slight, with a face worn and weary, delicately, featured and kindly enough, but with a mask of inscrutable reserve tinged with that distrust of men and things that comes of a bitter experience of the world's falsities.For fifty years Walter Mowbray had looked out of the piercing black eyes that gleamed like coals of fire through his pallid face upon a world that had continuously allured and mocked him.The piercing eyes were those of an enthusiast, not to say fanatic.The fire in them still burned deep and bright.The indomitable spirit, refusing to accept defeat, still lived and hoped with a persistence at once extraordinary and pathetic.
A gleam of light shot across his pale impassive face as his eyes fell upon his daughter who, in the presence of a stranger, shrank back behind Josie.He beckoned her to him.
"Come, my daughter," he said in a clear, musical voice.
Then she forgot her shyness and threw herself at him.
"Oh, father!" she cried in a low, smothered voice, her whole frame shaking as she clung to him.
For a single instant the old man held her to him, his pale face once more illumined by that momentary gleam, then loosening her arms from his neck, he said in calm tones, in which mingled surprise, raillery, almost rebuke, "Why, my child, this is indeed an extraordinary welcome home."At the tone the girl shrank back, and with marvellous self-control regained her ordinary quiet manner.
"You are hurt, father," she said so quietly that her father glanced with quick surprise at her.He hardly knew as yet this daughter of his, who had come to him only two months ago, and whom for fifteen years he had not seen.
"A mere touch," he answered carelessly."A broken collar-bone, inconvenient, but neither painful nor dangerous, and an additional touch of rheumatism, which, though extremely annoying, will prove only temporary.After a few days of your nursing we shall be able to resume our march, eh, Perault?""Oui! bon! dat so," said Perault, grinning his eager acquiescence.
"De ole boss he stop for noting."
"But now we shall get with all speed between the blankets, my girl.
Hot blankets, Josie, eh?"
"Oui, certainment, tout suite!" cried Josie, darting into the house.
The old man began carefully to raise himself off the seat of the buckboard.
"Ha!" catching his breath."Rather sharp, that, Mr.Macgregor.Oh! Iforgot.Pardon me," he continued, with fine, old-time courtesy.
"Permit me to introduce you to my daughter.Marion, this is Mr.
Macgregor, but for whose timely and heroic assistance I might even now be tumbling about at the fitful fancy of the Black Dog.We both have cause to be grateful to him."With a surprised cry the girl who, during her father's words, had been looking at him with a white face and staring eyes, sprang towards Shock, who was standing at the pony's head, seized his hand between hers, kissed it passionately, flung it away, and returned hurriedly to her father's side.
"It was nothing at all," said Shock, when he had recovered from his confusion."Any one would have done it, and besides--""Not many men would have had the strength to do it," interrupted the Old Prospector, "and few men the nerve to try.We will not forget it, sir, I trust.""Besides," continued Shock, addressing the girl, "I owe something to your father, for I was helplessly lost when he found me."With a wave of his hand the old man brushed aside Shock's statement as of no importance.
"We shall hope for opportunity to show our gratitude, Mr.
Macgregor," he said, his clear voice taking a deeper tone than usual."Now," he continued briskly, "let us proceed with this somewhat serious business of getting into blankets.Just lift my feet round, my daughter.Ah! The long ride has stiffened the joints.
Oh! One moment, my dear." The old man's face was wet and ghastly pale, and his breath came in quick gasps."A difficult operation, Mr.Macgregor," he said apologetically, "but we shall accomplish it in time.Wait, my dear, I fancy I shall do better without your assistance.At least, I shall be relieved of uncertainty as to responsibility for my pains.An important consideration, Mr.
Macgregor.Uncertainty adds much to the sum of human suffering.Now, if I can swing my legs about.Ah-h-h! Most humiliating experience, Mr.Macgregor, the arriving at the limit of one's strength.But one not uncommon in life, and finally inevitable," continued the old philosopher, only the ghastly hue of his mask-like face giving token of the agony he was enduring.
Then Shock came to him.
"Let me carry you," he said."It will give you less pain, I am sure.""Well, it can hardly give more."
"Put your arms about my neck.There.Now don't try to help yourself.""Most sound advice.I surrender," said the old man, his philosophic tone in striking contrast to his ghastly face."But one most difficult to accept."Gently, easily, as if he had been a child, Shock lifted him from the buckboard, carried him into the house and laid him upon his bed.The old man was faint with his pain.
"Thank you, sir--that was distinctly easier.You are--a mighty man.
Perault! I think--I--"
His voice faded away into silence and his head fell back.The girl sprang forward with a cry of fear, but Shock was before her.
"The brandy, Perault! Quick!" he said."Don't fear, Miss Mowbray, he will soon be all right."The girl glanced into Shock's face and at once grew calm again.
Soon, under the stimulus of the brandy, the old man revived.
