CHAPTER XI.

_THE SEARCH._

JOHN STEEPROCK'S dog guided his master and Mr. Brandon straight to the green spring, but there he seemed puzzled. He smelt about, ran here and there, and finally came back to his master, as if baffled in the search. Steeprock patted him, talked to him in his own language, and again showed him the little shoe, and the dog again set off up the side of the mountain, but at a slower pace and as if still somewhat uncertain.

"What ails him?" asked Mr. Brandon.

"Somebody else been here—been here only a little while ago. Don't you be scared, Hugh. Dog know heap."

"So I see," replied Hugh. "John, if you find her, you shall have more dollars than ever you saw in your life."

"Dollars very good," said the Indian, philosophically—"good to buy tobacco and powder, and clothes," he added, after some consideration. "But s'pose you no got one dollar in the world, me find nice little girl all the same. You light um lantern."

"What do you think the chances are?" asked Hugh as he stopped to light the lantern.

"Don't know," was answered rather gruffly. "Tell better when we get through."

"Perhaps the others will find her first."

"They no find her," said Steeprock. "They good boys—want to do something; so me tell them run, go where they do no harm," he added, in a tone of benevolent condescension. "You and me, we get um out of the way, and then go find her. Me old man, but know something yet."

"I should think so," said Hugh, laughing despite his anxiety. "How old are you?"

"Don't know, exactly," replied the Indian. "You know when the great war was when King George's men fight the Yankees at Bennington?"

"Yes," said Hugh.

"Well, then me tall boy, about like John Crane. Then I went on the war-path with my father, the first time I ever take scalps."

"Why, you must be over a hundred years old," said Hugh, in surprise. "Is that possible?"

"Very old man—just as I tell you. That day I took two scalps—got 'em now. When I die, I leave 'em to you, Hugh," said John, with a benevolent air and tone, as of one who bestows a valuable curiosity. "You good boy. I always like you. Waugh!" exclaimed John, interrupting himself with the Indian's startling and inexpressible exclamation of surprise as he held his light to the ground.

"What now?" asked Hugh.

"Another girl gone up here—not long ago, either. That make the dog so puzzled and uneasy."

"Another girl!" exclaimed Hugh, in astonishment. "How do you know?"

"How I know anything? How you know what words mean when you read um book? See um track plain as writing. Gone up about two hours ago."

"It must be Sarah Leyman," said Hugh. "Willy said she had gone to look for Annie."

"Maybe so. That Leyman girl all same as Indian. Waugh!" exclaimed Steeprock again as the dog came running back to them with something in his mouth. It was Annie's little boot.

"All right," said Steeprock, showing it to Hugh. "She been right up here, and the other after her."

"Then she must be near, dead or alive," said Hugh.

The Indian shook his head gravely.

"Maybe so—maybe not. Lost children travel very fast. Maybe she gone clear up above the trees. Come on." And he resumed his walk, climbing the more difficult path so fast that Hugh, though an experienced woodsman, had some trouble in keeping up with him.

Sarah had slept about two hours, when she was awakened by the cold. She put her hand on Annie. The child felt warm and was breathing softly. She rose with some difficulty, for she was stiff with the cold and from the cramped position in which she had been sitting. The moon had now risen high enough to throw a good deal of light on the place where they were, and Sarah could see to move about a little. She walked to and fro on the narrow level platform in front of Annie's shelter, to warm herself, and then began to pull more evergreen boughs and to lay them over Annie.

"I must keep awake if I can," she said to herself. "If I sleep, I shall be chilled to death, and then what will become of the child? I don't care so much about myself. I know Mrs. Lilly would find some way to befriend Ally, and perhaps she would be all the better without me."

As she spoke these words half aloud, she brushed Annie's face with one of the branches she was laying over her. Annie opened her eyes.

"What are you doing, Mary?" she said, in a sleepy tone.

"Getting some more clothes to lay over you," replied Sarah. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, I am as warm as toast, but the bed feels so hard and lumpy." Then waking more fully and realizing where she was, she broke out into a pitiful little wail: "Oh, Sarah, I thought I was at home in my own nursery, and mamma was just saying, 'Annie, don't let Pick lie on the clean pillow.' Oh dear! I shall never see mamma nor Pick any more."

Sarah could not speak, but she put her arms round Annie and kissed her and held her in a close embrace.

"Am I naughty to cry?" asked Annie, presently.

"No, dear, you are not naughty, but I wouldn't cry if I could help it. You will only make yourself sick, and I am sure mamma would not like that. Tell me all about Pick. Is he your dog?"

"No; he is my cat, and I have had him—oh, such a long time!"

Sarah asked various questions about Pick, and Annie was gradually diverted from her grief to talk of his beauty and accomplishments.

"You haven't any brothers and sisters, have you?" asked Sarah.

"No; only little baby sister that I haven't seen yet. Grace Belden used to live at our house and be my sister, but she is dead now. She died in the winter before I came here. People die everywhere, don't they, Sarah?"

"Yes, dear, and they live everywhere too," answered Sarah.

"Grace never went up on the mountain," continued Annie, pursuing the current of her own thoughts. "She never went into any dangerous places, and she had mamma and Mary to take care of her."

"And yet she died, you see," said Sarah. "And people have been in much more dangerous places than this, and yet they have lived."

"Have they?" asked Annie. "What sort of places?"

"Shipwrecks and earthquakes and battles and fires," said Sarah. "I read the other day of a baby which was carried off by a tiger, and yet it was saved."

"My papa has been in a great many battles, and he never was even wounded," said Annie. "Do you think we shall ever get away from here, Sarah?"

"Oh yes," returned Sarah, hopefully. "Everybody will be looking for you by this time. But you must mind what I tell you, and not stir from this place, whatever happens."

"I will mind," said Annie. "But won't you be here, Sarah?"

"Yes, but I might be asleep or something," answered Sarah.

She began to realize their position more clearly than she had done before. They were a long way from any frequented part of the mountain. It was very cold, and she was thinly dressed, even if she had not given up her frock to Annie, and she thought it not unlikely that she might be chilled to death by morning.

"Annie," said she, "do you know any more Bible verses?"

"Oh yes, a great many."

"Say them for me, will you? They will help to pass away the time."

Annie repeated her texts reverently. Sarah listened with fixed attention.

"Say that again," said she, as Annie repeated, "'Come unto me, all ye that labour.' Who said that?"

"The Lord Jesus," answered Annie; "and oh, Sarah, I know some more pretty verses, about a lost sheep. They were in my lesson last Sunday." And Annie repeated the parable beginning, "'What man of you, having an hundred sheep—'"

"Grandma said that meant the Lord Jesus," said Annie. "She said his people were his sheep; and when one of them strays away and gets lost, he goes and finds him and brings him back. 'We' are lost in the wilderness, you know, Sarah."

"I know 'I' am," said Sarah, sadly.

"And so I think he will send some one to find us. Is it almost morning?"

"Not yet, but it will be pretty soon. I guess you had better lie down again. I am afraid you will catch cold."

"I 'am' cold," said Annie, shivering. "Are you?"

"Lie down, and I will lie down by you; then we can keep each other warm."

Annie was soon asleep again, but Sarah could not sleep. She was too cold and anxious; and besides that, her head was full of new ideas. Was God really her Father? Had he taken care of her all these years that she had gone on never thinking of him or caring to please him? Did he really love her, and was she one of those lost sheep the Lord had come to find?

She began to think over all she had heard about him. It was not much. As she had truly told Fanny, her father would not permit good books to come into his house. All she knew of the sacred volume she had learned by reading it in the district school, and she had never been to school very regularly. Yet she could remember a good many things, after all. There was the verse Deacon Crane had talked about at the meeting that night.

Suppose she should confess her sins then and there, would He indeed forgive them and take them all away, as the deacon had said? Yes, it was all true. She felt quite sure that it was true. She hid her face in her hands for a long time; and when she again raised it, her bright black eyes were wet with tears, and her face wore an expression of peaceful awe.

She drew the covering closer over Annie, and lay down as near as possible to her side, repeating Annie's verse, "'I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep.'"

She had hardly lost herself five minutes when something roused her. She sat up and listened intently. Yes, some animal was coming up the mountain-side directly toward them. She could hear the patter of its feet on the dry leaves, and her heart beat fast and thick. Could it be a wolf or a panther? It was not unlikely, for there were plenty of them on the other side of the mountain, she knew. She could now hear the sound distinctly, and see the movement of the branches below. Oh for a club or a stout stick! She snatched up a stone—the only weapon she could find—and threw herself directly before Annie, but she dropped it the next moment as the supposed wolf pushed his way through the bushes and sprung upon her neck, licking her face and hands and yelping with delight.

Hugh and Steeprock were still some distance below, and had stopped an instant to take breath, when Fox came dashing down toward them. He ran to his master, jumped upon him, and then ran back the way he had come. The Indian uttered a yell which resounded far and wide; and springing forward as if his great age had been no more than five-and-twenty, he bounded up the mountain-side at a pace which left Hugh far behind.

Hugh followed as quickly as he could, and stood at his side. The old man was bending down, and beckoned him to approach.

There lay Annie, fast asleep on her bed of leaves, and across the entrance of the little cave lay Sarah, looking as if she were in the sleep that knows no waking in this world.

"Are they dead?" Hugh managed somehow to ask.

"Not the little one," replied Steeprock. "She fast asleep. You got bottle in your pocket?"

Hugh produced his travelling-flask, and with some difficulty forced some of the spirit it contained between Sarah's lips. She gasped, sighed, and opened her eyes.

"Where is Annie?" was her first question.

"Here, safe and sound. Annie dear, wake up. Here is Uncle Hugh come for you."

"Uncle Hugh!" said Annie, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "How did you come here?"

"I came after you, my little lost lamb," said Mr. Brandon, taking Annie in his arms, "but I see somebody was before me. My dear girl, what has become of your frock?"

"I put it over Annie," said Sarah, blushing crimson, and shrinking into the farthest corner of the cave, as she suddenly remembered that she was half undressed. "I was so afraid she would freeze to death." And pulling out her dress from among the green branches, she slipped it on with all speed.

"Ugh! S'pose you freeze yourself," said Steeprock. "What you say now, Hugh? Didn't I tell you another girl gone up here? Old Indian no fool, eh?"

"No, indeed! But who could guess that they could both reach this place without being killed?"

"God took care of us, I guess," said Annie, who was now quite cool and collected. "But how did you know where we were?"

"It was this good old man who found you, my dear," said Hugh, turning to Steeprock, who was composedly filling his pipe by way of improving the time. "But I am afraid all our finding would have been in vain, only for Sarah. My dear girl, how shall we ever thank you?"

"You needn't thank me at all," replied Sarah, rather gruffly. "Annie never would have been lost only for me. It was all my fault, leaving her alone in the first place."

"No, it wasn't your fault, either," said Annie, rather petulantly. "I ought to have minded, and stayed at the spring when you went to get the snail shells for me. Did you find any?"

"Yes, here they are in my pocket," said Sarah, laughing rather hysterically. "I will get you something prettier some day."

"And you made my bed and put your own frock over me, and heard me say my prayers, and all," continued Annie. "I think you are the 'bestest' girl in the world."

"Pretty nice girl!" said Steeprock, approvingly. "Once I had a daughter just so big. You pretty nice girl too. S'pose you got kiss for old Indian?"

Annie put up her face to be kissed, though. She felt considerable awe of the old man.

"Now we go home," continued Steeprock. "You take the baby, and I take this one."

"I'm not a baby," said Annie, indignantly. "I am seven years old, and I can read and write."

"Oh no; you great big woman," said the Indian, soothingly. "All the same; you let Hugh carry you."

Annie was very willing to be carried, and the party set out to return. The proverb that "to go down the hill is easy" is not always true, by any means. The descent in the present instance was both difficult and dangerous. They could only go very slowly and carefully, and Sarah, who was much exhausted, fell more than once.

"You fire your pistol," said Steeprock, at last. "Maybe someone hear and come to meet us. This girl can't walk much farther. She clear worn out."

"Never mind me," said Sarah, sitting down wearily. "I can stay here very well. Just carry Annie home, and leave me here."

"That would not do at all," said Mr. Brandon. He fired three shots as he spoke—the signal which had been agreed upon.

An answering shout told that he had been heard, and presently three or four of the young men came up. A volley of shots now rang through the woods, proclaiming to all within hearing that the lost child was found. Two of the Crane boys made a "lady chair" with their hands, and Sarah was persuaded to let herself be carried down to the red house. She began to feel very tired and confused, and nearly fell from her seat more than once.

Mrs. Cassell and Mrs. Lilly were called out by the shouts, and met the party in the garden.

"It was all my fault, grandma," called out Annie as soon as she saw Mrs. Cassell. "Sarah thinks it was hers, but it wasn't. And she found me 'way up in the mountain, and made me a nice little bed."

"It was even so," said Mr. Brandon. "Sarah found her first, and her care and good sense saved the child's life."

"Bless you, my dear!" said Mrs. Lilly, taking Sarah in her arms and kissing her. "But how cold you are! You are shivering all over. You must go right to bed and have some hot soup. Oney has it all ready on the stove."

"I guess I had better go home," said Sarah, wearily. "I shall make you too much trouble."

"You don't stir a foot this night," said Mrs. Lilly, positively. "You must go to bed directly."

Sarah was in no condition to resist Mrs. Lilly's strenuous kindness, even if she had wished to do so. A deathly faintness was stealing over her; and when she was undressed by Oney and put into bed, her head sank on the pillow as if it would never rise again. She wanted nothing but to lie still. But Oney, whose experienced eye knew the symptoms of dangerous exhaustion, would not let her sleep till she had taken several spoonfuls of strong hot soup.

At last, all was still. The neighbours who had helped in the search were dismissed with thanks. Old Steeprock camped down on the kitchen floor, with his dog beside him, preferring that accommodation to Willy's bed, which the boy offered him. Annie was already asleep in her grandmother's arms, and all was quiet about the old red house.