Cowboy Kim

By Ida Stewart Peay

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 4.

Wallie seemed paralyzed with terror but the horror of the sight lent Kim the speed of lightning; with marvelous presence of mind he snatched his own and Wallie’s cap and clapped them together again and again in the midst of the flames frantically smothering the fire. In a few breathless seconds it was all over – every spark was out. The children ceased their s creaming. There was only the mournful sound of Baby Belle’s convulsive sobs as Kim lifted the poor little victim up into his arms and began trying to sooth her shattered nerves.

“There, darling, you’re all right now. Don’t cry, dearie, don’t cry,” he crooned, his voice quivering with anxiety, and the baby snuggled down to him and grew more quiet.

Aunt Mabel was the first to reach the children. Since she left the back door Kim had been vaguely aware that she was running towards them shrieking and beating their hands together. She must have seen the tiny flame the very instant Kim began to beat it out.

“O, my poor baby, my poor baby! You wicked boy, Kim, to let my baby get burned! You wicked, careless boy! What have you done? What have you done!” she cried.

Kim was stung to the heart by her reproaches; but she could not blame him any more bitterly than he blamed himself. he had to hold his mouth very close to keep back the unmanly tears of excitement and self condemnation. True he had not struck the match himself but his native truthfulness caused him to realize that he had been unduly interested in those wretched cigarettes and had forgotten his charge. The very thought of a smoke gave him a revolt from tht tim4e forth all the days of his life.

When Aunt Mabel took her away from him, he kept where he could see the little white face. His heart almost broke as he wondered if she would die as all those he had loved most dearly in life had died. The pity and solicitude in his eyes did not escape Ruth McCree – she and Mrs. Carson had found the place of the accident almost as soon as Aunt Mabel. After she had thoroughly examined the baby, Mrs. McCree turned to Kim with balm in her voice.

“She isn’t hurt scarcely at all, Kim. I can hardly see how she escaped with her dress so badly burned. Tell me exactly how it happened,” she said. It was Pattie’s ready tongue that answered. Kim was too choked with a great wave of relief to speak and Wallie had reasons of his own for keeping in the background.

“She was sitting on the sand with her apron spread out behind her. It caught on fire someway, but Kim had it smothered before she could get up,” related Pattie with the important air and gone of the eye witness.

“Yes, that’s just how it must have been,” exclaimed Mrs. McCree.

“It was certainly a narrow escape, but think what might have happened!” bewailed Mrs. Carson, tightening her lips into a hard line.

“What’s the matter – what’s it all about? I just heard something had happened and came on my wheel with all speed,” panted Uncle Pete, rushing into the circle, flushed and anxious looking.

Aunt Mabel was still crying as she sat on the sand holding her child; and the baby was limp and trembling with the nervous shock.

“I’ll never leave my baby with that naughty Kim again.”

Uncle Pete was greatly exercised over the affair and read the children a very stiff lecture on the criminal folly and carelessness of striking matches, emphasizing his lesson with a few threats calculated to raise the hair of any urchin meditating a second offense. Kim was so full of contrition that his uncle’s words found fertile soil in his heart, took root there and grew into a wholesome determination never to be up to such a dangerous prank again.

It was quite different with Wallie. The seed of correct behavior sown for his benefit fell upon barren ground, for his mind was busy dealing with another phase of the question. Anyone with half an eye could see he was “on needles and pins,” as honest Buck wold say, because he felt the blame must soon be fixed on someone and he was speculating how he could save his own hide from paying the penalty.

His suspense was soon over. When Uncle Pete’s sermon was ended, Mrs. Carson, Wallie’s mother, spoke again.

“It was certainly a narrow escape,” she said. “The boy who struck that match ought to be thrashed within an inch of his life.” She thought Kim must be the culprit since he had not yet accused Wallie, although it did not go against her feelings to inflict pain on her own unlucky lad if she considered it for his best good.

“That’s what I think!” echoed Aunt Mabel, leveling a reproachful gaze on Cowboy Kim.

The country boy looked over to his town friend expectantly. Surely the real offender would speak up manfully and clear the falsely accused. But, alas, Kim soon discovered to his surprise that his young acquaintance was not going to do anything of the sort, for Wallie had turned away to flip a few stones indifferently here and there as though the matter at hand did not in any way concern him. Kim gave him a never-to-be-forgotten look of pity and disgust.

Uncle Pete did not punish Kim; perhaps he was not entirely satisfied as to his guilt; at any rate, he was secretly thankful for the neglect when he found out the boy had received some burns. It was Pattie who detected Kim looking furtively at his blistered wrists.

“Oh, Kim’s hands are burned! Mama, Mama, tie a rag on them,” she exclaimed with quick sympathy.

Kim had really suffered some damage and was quite willing that Mrs. McCree should bind up the sore places with the magic salve Pattie had brought to “doctor” Baby Belle.

There was one thing for which he felt grateful. In the excitement his guardians did not notice what had been done in the yard. Anyway, the weeds which were still standing made quite a successful camouflage. He got great comfort in picturing his uncle’s surprise sometime later at finding a clean lot.

The following day was Saturday. Mrs. Sloane planned to spend the day with relatives as she was too upset to work; her husband was instructed to come to the visiting place for lunch, and Kim was to remain home alone. Under a napkin on the table were sandwiches and cookies for the boy’s lunch at noon. The young man was overjoyed at the prospect of having the day to himself. As soon as his relatives were out of sight he ran out into the back yard and sounded a loud “hurrah,” and threw up his cap. He had formed an attachment for this untidy lot. It was the field of achievement for Kim, and achievement is the panacea for petty human ills from the cradle to the grave.

The boy’s war whoop proved a sort of signal for in a few moments Wallie Carson climbed nimbly over the garden fence. Kim knew Wallie was not up to his standard of honor; also he resented the base trick the neighbor boy had played on him, but a person hungering for companionship cannot be too particular.

“We want to be cowboys again,” they chirruped, skipping joyously into the Sloan lot through the unfenced lane.

“Come on, we’re going to play these old pieces of iron are mavericks, to be rescued from the rustlers,” welcomed Kim, rising to the suggestion eagerly.

“What are mavericks?” questioned Wallie, the curious.

“Unbranded calves, and they’ve got to be put into a separate corral to be identified by their owners,” was the head cowboy’s reply, at which explanation the game was begun with great noise and bluster, and the iron “calves” began to loom up big in the designated enclosure.

The collection of old iron was neatly stacked before ten o’clock, so Kim next turned his attention to the weeds.

“Here, cowboys, these weeds are rustlers and we’ve got to catch them and take them to jail,” he cried spiritedly. Before the words were out of his mouth he caught sight of an intruder. A man carrying a folded camp stool was walking slowly across the lane towards him. The head cowboy stood still and observed the newcomer with deep interest. He noted quickly that his visitor was tall and thin, and had curling blond hair and a fair face with small sleepy eyes which had a twinkle in them.

“Hello, is the hero who put out the fire?” asked the stranger, smiling down at Kim with a genial fellowship in his face and manner that warmed the heart of the orphan to the core.

“I’m Kim Selman,” answered the child simply.

“I’m glad to know you,” said the man, stretching out his stool and seating himself. “I want to shake hands with you.”

Kim reached out his right hand, his left was still bandaged. The visiting gentleman clasped Kim’s hand between both of his.

“Humph! burned your wrists, did you? I knew your Dad, Kim; he was a hero, too. He prolonged your mother’s life ten years by knowing how to be a man. And your mother – she was a gem, a rare gem. Just such another as my Ruth.”

“I’m glad you knew Mother and Dad,” murmured Kim wistfully.

“Yes, I’m glad I did, too. I went through college with them and I loved them both.”

By this time Pattie and her brothers, who had chased Wallie to the other end of the lot in some play, returned and dashing up fell on the man joyfully. Pattie threw her arms around his neck and the boys hugged his knees.

“Yes, I’m Neighbor McCree; these are my youngsters,” he laughed over the children’s heads. Then Kim knew where he had seen that rare smile and those dreamy eyes before. Pattie greatly resembled her handsome father, only her curls were dark instead of blond. “Now, youngsters, clear out of the way. I came over to see what is happening to this lot,” said Mike McCree, gently pushing off the children.

Kim unfolded his plot to surprise his uncle by night fall.

“That’s the jolliest kind of scheme,” declared Neighbor mcCree. “It will be necessary to get the water on those weeds, though, before you can get them out.”

“I was thinking about that,” owned Kim with a dubious contradiction of his straight black brows.

“That will be easy. We can dam up the irrigating ditch and have the whole place wet before noon,” encouraged Mr. McCree.

“I speak to do the watering,” chimed Wallie, who had been listening to the conversation the last few minutes.

“All right,” agreed the man, evidently intending to superintend the affair, “and Bob Simmons can help you.”

The children turned around quickly, and sure enough, Kim had another guest. A boy about eleven years old, large for his age, and awkward, with wiry black hair, thick lips and beady eyes, had crept up so softly no one had seen him until he stood in their midst.

“What’s eatin’ you,” he grinned by way of greeting when he heard his name mentioned. The whole plan was explained to him. “What do you get out of it?” he finally propounded.

“Nothing, only I want to surprise my uncle,” Kim told him.

“Gosh!” was all the boy said, emitting the word in a sort of one syllable laugh. Nevertheless, he helped Wallie do the watering; and after he had found out why Kim’s hands were bandaged he worked doggedly beside him all the rest of the day, saving the burned hands as much as he could. Wallie noticed his devotion and remarked to Bob, “You’ve fell for that kid, ain’t you?” he grumbled, and Bob admitted it by making no denial.

Neighbor McCree stayed only a short time but before he left the “Rustlers” were being taken into custody by the dozens, and his own rake and hoe, brought over by the near-twins, Joe and Harry, were doing duty as six shooter and shot gun. In the late afternoon the man returned according to agreement to light the match for the bonfire and to put out the last spark when the brush was burned. Before he came, Wallie started to strike the match but Kim stopped him.

“Don’t you ever strike a match on these premises again,” he commanded.

“Will for all of you,” sassed Wallie.

“You won’t if I am around,” warned the country boy.

“You couldn’t stop me,” bluffed young Carson confidently.’‘

“Try it and see,” dared Kim.

“I’m the biggest, I can lick you,” bragged Wallie.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I won’t let you.” Kim did not speak like a person bragging but as if he were very much in earnest. Perhaps Wallie remembered how a certain manly chap had saved him a thrashing the day before; perhaps he really doubted his ability to whip this fiery-eyed new boy. At any rate, he contented himself with saying mildly scornfully, “Pooh! pooh.” However he put the “safety” back in his pocket, and Bob Simmons had a loud laugh all to himself.

Before sundown the job was completed. There was a tidy wood pile, a stack of old iron, and a small pile of cans and broken crockery. The remainder of the lot was raked off neat and level.

After the other children had gone away, Kim went to the house. He was just viewing his labor from the middle of the fenced off yard when a sound arrested his attention and a moment later Uncle Pete and Aunt Mabel came out at the back door. Kim’s heart beat high with hope when he saw the utter surprise in their faces. His red mouth twitched with the smile he could hardly suppress as he watched his uncle staring around in unfeigned amazement at the transformed yard. It was the first supremely happy moment Kim had experienced since Dad and Buck left him. His eyes traveled to his aunt’s face; perhaps he had pleased her, too. But, no, she was frowning doubtfully. The boy’s heart sank. Would this cup of joy, for which he so thirsted, be snatched from him before he could get the tiniest sip?

(To be continued)