Do and Dare — a Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

“You don’t say so. Why, we’re neighbors. I live three miles from here.”

“Did you know Mr. Falkland?”

“Yes; we used to see each other now and then. He was a good fellow, but mighty queer. What’s the use of settin’ down and paintin’ pictures? What’s the good of it all?”

“Don’t you admire pictures, Mr. Holden?” asked Herbert.

“That’s that you called me? I didn’t quite catch on to it.”

“Mr. Holden. Isn’t that your name?”

“Don’t call me mister. I’m plain Jack Holden. Call me Jack.”

“I will if you prefer it,” said Herbert, dubiously.

“Of course I do. We don’t go much on style in the woods. Won’t you come home with me, and take a look at my cabin? I ain’t used to company, but we can sit down and have a social smoke together, and then I’ll manage to find something to eat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holden—I mean, Jack—but I must be getting home; Mr. Melville will be feeling anxious, for, as it is, I shall be late.”

“Is Mr. Melville, as you call him, any way kin to you?”

“No; he is my friend and employer.”

“Young man?”

“Yes; he is about twenty-five.”

“How long have you two been out here?”

“Not much over a week.”

“Why isn’t Melville with you this morning?”

“He is in delicate health—consumption—and he gets tired sooner than I do.”

“I must come over and see you, I reckon.”

“I hope you will. We get lonely sometimes. If you would like to borrow something to read, Mr. Melville has plenty of books.”

“Read!” repeated Jack. “No, thank you. I don’t care much for books. A newspaper, now, is different. A man likes to know what’s going on in the world; but I leave books to ministers, schoolmasters, and the like.”

“If you don’t read, how do you fill up your time, Jack?”

“My pipe’s better than any book, lad. I’m goin’ to set down and have a smoke now. Wish I had an extra pipe for you.”

“Thank you,” said Herbert, politely, “but I don’t smoke.”

“Don’t smoke! How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen years old, and don’t smoke! Why, where was you raised?”

“In the East,” answered Herbert, smiling.

“Why, I smoked before I was three foot high, I was goin’ to say. I couldn’t get along without smokin’.”

“Nor I without reading.”

“Well, folks will have their different tastes, I allow. I reckon I’ll be goin’ back.”

“Shan’t you bury him?” asked Herbert, with a glance at the dead Indian.

“No; he wouldn’t have buried me.”

“But you won’t leave him here? If you’ll bury him, I’ll help you.”

“Not now, boy. Since you make a point of it, I’ll come round to-morrow, and dig a hole to put him in. I’ll take the liberty of carryin’ home his shootin’ iron. He won’t need it where he’s gone.”

The two parted in a friendly manner, and Herbert turned his face homeward, grave and thoughtful.

CHAPTER XXXII. THE BLAZING STAR MINE

Toward noon the next day George Melville and Herbert were resting from a country trip, sitting on a rude wooden settee which our hero had made of some superfluous boards, and placed directly in front of the house, when a figure was seen approaching with long strides from the shadow of the neighboring woods. It was not until he was close at hand that Herbert espied him.

“Why, it’s Mr. Holden!” he exclaimed.

“Jack Holden, my lad,” said the hunter, correcting him. “Is this the man you’re living with?”

Jack Holden was unconventional, and had been brought up in a rude school so far as manners were concerned. It did not occur to him that his question might have been better framed.

“I am Mr. Melville,” answered that gentleman, seeing that Herbert looked embarrassed. “Herbert is my constant and valued companion.”

“He’s a trump, that boy!” continued Holden. “Why, if it hadn’t been for him, there’d been an end of Jack Holden yesterday.”

“Herbert told me about it. It was indeed a tragic affair. The sacrifice of life is deplorable, but seemed to have been necessary, unless, indeed, you could have disabled him.”

“Disabled him!” echoed the hunter. “That wouldn’t have answered by a long shot. As soon as the reptile got well he’d have been on my trail ag’in. No, sir; it was my life or his, and I don’t complain of the way things turned out.”

“Have you buried him?” asked Herbert.

“Yes, I’ve shoved him under, and it’s better than he deserved, the sneakin’ rascal. I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Melville. Didn’t know I had changed neighbors till the boy there told me yesterday. I’ve tramped over this mornin’ to give you a call.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Holden. Sit down here beside us.”

“I’m more at home here,” answered Holden, stretching himself on the ground, and laying his gun beside him. “How do you like Colorado?”

“Very much, as far as I have seen it,” said Melville. “Herbert probably told you my object, in coming here?”