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Updated: May 18, 2025
Then somehow his foot slipped, the decayed substance of the tree crumbled under his weight. He screamed in terror as he fell in a heap at Kiddie's feet, followed by a shower of dust and strange, dry rottenness that was mingled with the syrup from the honeycombs. "What is it?" cried Kiddie. "What made you scream? Another rattler?" "No." Rube shivered. "That!"
He turned and saw the English-speaking medicine man standing at Kiddie's side. "You've managed all right up to now," the same voice continued. "Boy's not much harmed, by the look of him. You pulled him out just in time, though. Another minute and they'd have been at him like a pack of wolves. Hold hard while I go forward and explain to 'em."
It'll soon be better." Crowther's own face relaxed, but he did not look satisfied. "I'm not happy about you, my son," he said. "I think you've missed a big opportunity." "You think wrong," said Piers, unmoved. "I couldn't possibly have stayed another hour. I was in a false position. So poor girl! was she. We buried the hatchet for the kiddie's sake, but it wasn't buried very deep.
They prolonged the process of cruelty to increase his mental suffering; but the delay gave Kiddie his chance. "Cut the rope, Kiddie cut the rope!" Rube cried, not knowing that Kiddie's sharp knife had already done its work. Hardly had he spoken, when a strong arm was flung round him, and he was lifted bodily backward beyond reach of the flames and the menacing weapons of torture.
Olave better known along this yer trail as Kiddie Kiddie of Birkenshaw's Kiddie of the Camp." Rube drew back in astonishment. "Kiddie?" he cried. "Oh, that's diff'rent; that's a whole lot diff'rent. Why didn't yer put me wise at first? I know th' name of Kiddie. Ought to. I've heard it often 'nough. Real proud ter see you, sir," he added, taking Kiddie's outstretched hand.
"Gone sick," Cully answered, watching Kiddie's quick fingers unbuckling the mail bags from the saddle from which he had just dismounted. "Went sick only a hour ago. Guess she figured it was Jim Thurston's turn ter ride her. If she'd ha' known it was you an' not Jim, you may bet your socks she wouldn't ha' gone sick. But you'll find her substitute O.K. An' if anybody kin ride him, you sure can.
Once during the long, uncomfortable night he heard from afar, or fancied that he heard, Kiddie's familiar, penetrating whistle. He knew that his own comparatively feeble whistle in response would not carry far enough to be even faintly heard. There were no means by which he could send back an answering signal. No fire smoke or fitful glow could be seen, no cry or call be heard.
Later in the night, when the moon broke through the clouds, he again very faintly caught the sound of Kiddie's whistle; so faintly that he could not distinguish the notes which he believed were being sent forth as a message in the Morse code.
And had not both he and Kiddie when they started on their camping trip dressed themselves in fringed buckskins and designedly made themselves look as much as possible like Indians? He supposed that the scouts picketed on the heights had heard Kiddie's whistle from afar and his own feeble attempt to respond.
His eyes nipped painfully, but by the light of the leaping flames he could distinguish Kiddie standing at bay above him, with a revolver in each outstretched hand swinging threateningly from side to side as the Indians made a rush towards him. Believing that Kiddie's life was now in imminent peril, Rube managed to scramble to his knees.
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