"Coming," said Perault nonchalantly, pointing up the trail."We strak de bad luck, Mam'selle, so we start heem again.""Tell me, Perault," said the girl, turning her piercing black eyes on his face, "tell me truly, is father hurt?""Oui, for sure," said Perault with an exaggeration of carelessness which did not escape the keen eyes fastened on his face, "dat ole boss, you know, he blam-fool.Hees 'fraid noting.Hees try for sweem de Black Dog on de crossing below.De Black Dog hees full over hees bank, an' boil, boil, lak one kettle.De ole boss he say 'Perault, we mak de passage, eh?' 'No,' I say, 'we try noder crossing.' 'How far?' he say.'Two--tree mile' 'Guess try heem here,' he say, an' no matter how I say heem be blam-fool for try, dat ole boss hees laf small, leele laf an' mak de start.Well, dat pony hees going nice an' slow troo de water over de bank, but wen he struk dat fas water, poof! wheez! dat pony hees upset hessef, by gar! Hees trow hees feet out on de water.Bymbe hees come all right for a meenit.Den dat fool pony hees miss de crossing.Hees go dreef down de stream where de high bank hees imposseeb.Mon Dieu! Das mak me scare.I do'no what I do.I stan' an' yell lak one beeg fool me.Up come beeg feller on buckboard on noder side.Beeg blam-fool jus' lak boss.Not 'fraid noting.Hees trow rope cross saddle.De ole boss hees win'
heem roun' de horn.Poof! das upset dat pony once more.Hees trow hees feet up on water, catch ole boss on head an' arm, knock heem right off to blazes.'Good bye,' I say, 'I not see heem more.' Beeg feller hees loose dat rope, ron down on de bank hitching rope on willow tree an' roun' hees own shoulder an' jump on reever way down on bend an' wait for ole boss.For me? I mak dis pony cross ver'
queek.Not know how, an' pass on de noder side.I see beeg feller, hees hol' de ole boss on hees coat collar wit bees teef, by gar! an'
sweem lak ottar.Sap-r-r-e! Not long before I pull on dat rope an'
get bot on shore.Beeg feller hees all right.De ole boss hees lie white, white and still.I cry on my eye bad.'Go get someting for dreenk,' say beeg feller, 'queek.' Sac-r-re! beeg fool messef! Bah!
Good for noting! I fin' brandy, an' leele tam, tree-four minute, de ole boss bees sit up all right.Le Bon Dieu hees do good turn dat time, for sure.Send beeg feller along all right."The girl stood listening to Perault's dramatic tale, her face growing white.
"Is father not hurt at all, then?" she asked.
"Non.Hees tough ole man, dat boss," said Perault.Then he added lightly, "Oh! hees broke some small bone--what you call?--on de collar, dere.Dat noting 'tall.""Oh, Perault!" exclaimed the girl."You're not telling me the truth.
You're keeping back something.My father is hurt.""Non, for sure," said Perault, putting his hand over his heart.
"Hees broke dat bone on de collar.Dat noting 'tall.He not ride ver' well, so hees come on beeg feller's buckboard.Dat's fine beeg feller! Mon Dieu! hees not 'fraid noting! Beeg blam-fool jus' lak boss." No higher commendation was possible from Perault.
"But why is father coming back then?" asked the girl anxiously.
"Mais oui! Bah! Dat leele fool pony got hisself dron on de Black Dog, an' all hees stuff, so de ole boss he mus' come back for more pony an' more stuff.""When will they be here, Perault?" asked the girl quietly.
"Ver' soon.One--two hour.But," said Perault with some hesitation, "de ole boss better go on bed leele spell, mebbe."Then the girl knew that Perault had not told her the worst, turning impatiently from him, she lifted little Patsy on to the saddle and, disdaining Perault's offered help, sprang on herself and set off toward the village about a mile away at full gallop.
"Das mighty smart girl," said Perault, scratching his head as he set off after her as fast as his jaded pony could follow."Can't mak fool on her."Half way to the village stood the old Prospector's house, almost hidden in a bluff of poplar and spruce.A little further on was Perault's shack.At her father's door the girl waited.
"Perault," she said quietly, "I left the key at your house.Will you get it for me while I take Patsy home?""Bon," said Perault eagerly."I get heem an' mak fire.""Thank you, Perault," she replied kindly."I'll be right back."But it took some time to get Patsy persuaded to allow her to depart, and by the time she had returned she found Perault had the fire lit and Josie, his bright-eyed, pretty, little wife, busy airing the bed-clothes and flitting about seeking opportunities to show her sympathy.
"Ma pauvre enfant!" she exclaimed, running to Marion as she entered and putting her arms about her.
"Josie," warned Perault gruffly, "shut up you.You go for mak fool of yousef."But Josie paid no attention to her husband and continued petting the girl.
"Josie," cried Marion, fixing her eyes upon the Frenchwoman's kindly face, "tell me, is my father badly hurt? Perault would not tell me the truth.""Non, ma petite, dat hur's not so ver' bad, but de cole water--das bad ting for fader, sure."The cloud of gloom on the girl's face deepened.She turned away toward the door and saying, "I'll go and get some crocuses," she mounted her pony and rode off toward the Jumping Rock.
Within half an hour the girl came galloping back.
"Josie," she cried excitedly, springing off her pony, "they're coming.I saw them up the trail."She tossed her flowers on the table and hurried to arrange them in basins, cups, old tin cans, and all available vessels, till the whole house seemed to be running over with those first and most exquisite prairie spring-flowers.And for many following days the spring-flowers filled the house with their own hope and cheer, when hope and cheer were both sorely, needed.
