Bruvver Jims Baby | Page 2

bounded the plain. Already a score were across the road that led to the
mining-camp of Borealis, and were swarming up the sandy slope to
complete the mighty swing of the army, deploying anew to sweep far
westward through the farther half of the valley, and so at length
backward whence they came.
The tiny chap of a game-bearer, gripping the long, velvet ears of one of
the jack-rabbits tied to his horse, felt a horrid new sensation of sliding
backward when the pony began to follow the hunters up the hill. Not
only did the animal's rump seem to sink beneath him as they took the
slope, but perspiration had made it amazingly smooth and insecure.
The big fat rabbits rolled against the desperate little man in a ponderous
heap. The feet of one fell plump in his face, and seemed to kick, with

the motion of the horse. Then a buckskin thong abruptly snapped in
twain, somewhere deep in the bundle, and instantly the ears to which
the tiny man was clinging, together with the head and body of that
particular rabbit, and those of several others as well, parted company
with the pony. Gracefully they slid across the tail of the much-relieved
creature, and, pushing the tiny rider from his seat, they landed with him
plump upon the earth, and were left behind.
Unhurt, but nearly buried by the four or five rabbits thus pulled from
the load by his sudden descent from his perch, the dazed little fellow
sat up in the sand and solemnly noted the rapid departure of the Indian
army--pony, companion, and all.
Not only had his fall been unobserved by the marching braves, but the
boy with whom he had just been riding was blissfully unaware of the
fact that something behind had dismounted. The whole vast line of
Piute braves pressed swiftly on. The shots boomed and clattered, as the
hill-sides were startled by the echoes. Red, yellow, indigo--the blankets
and trappings were momentarily growing less and less distinct.
More distant became the firing. Onward, ever onward, swung the great,
long column of the hunters. Dully, then even faintly, came the noise of
the guns.
At last the firing could be heard no more. The two hundred warriors,
the ponies, the boys that rode--all were gone. Even the rabbits, that an
hour before had scampered here and there in the brush with their furry
feet, would never again go pattering through the sand. The sun shone
warmly down. The great world of valley and mountains, gray, severe,
unpeopled, was profoundly still, in that wonderful way of the dying
year, when even the crickets and locusts have ceased to sing.
Clinging in silence to the long, soft ears of his motionless bunny, the
timid little game-bearer sat there alone, big-eyed and dumb with
wonder and childish alarm. He could see not far, unless it might be up
the hill, for the sage-brush grew above his head and circumscribed his
view. Miles and miles away, however, the mountains, in majesty of
rock and snow, were sharply lifting upward into blue so deep and

cloudless that its intimate proximity to the infinite was impressively
manifest. The day was sweet of the ripeness of the year, and virginal as
all that mighty land itself.
With two of the rabbits across his lap, the tiny hunter made no effort to
rise. It was certainly secure to be sitting here in the sand, for at least a
fellow could fall no farther, and the good, big mountain was not so
impetuous or nervous as the pony.
An hour went by and the mere little mite of a man had scarcely moved.
The sun was slanting towards the southwest corner of the universe. A
flock of geese, in a great changing V, flew slowly over the valley, their
wings beating gold from the sunlight, their honk! honk! honk! the note
of the end of the year.
How soon they were gone! Then indeed all the earth was abandoned to
the quiet little youngster and his still more quiet company of rabbits.
There was no particular reason for moving. Where should he go, and
how could he go, did he wish to leave? To carry his bunny would be
quite beyond his strength; to leave him here would be equally beyond
his courage.
But the sun was edging swiftly towards its hiding place; the frost of the
mountain air was quietly sharpening its teeth. Already the long, gray
shadow of the sage-brush fell like a cooling film across the little
fellow's form and face.
Homeless, unmissed, and deserted, the tiny man could do nothing but
sit there and wait. The day would go, the twilight come, and the night
descend--the night with its darkness, its whispered mysteries, its
wailing coyotes, cruising