The bar was
swaying like a pendulum. Blow after blow the man delivered, filling
all the hollows of the hills with wild alarm.
Out of saloons and houses men came sauntering, or running, according to
the tension of their nerves. Many thought some house must be afire.
At least thirty men were presently gathered at the place of summons.
With five or six informers to tell the news of Jim's bereavement, all
were soon aware of what was making the trouble. But none had seen the
tiny foundling since they bade him good-bye in the charge of Jim
himself.
"Are you plum dead sure he's went?" said Webber, the smith. "Did you
look all over the cabin?"
"Everywhere," said Jim. "He's gone!"
"Wal, maybe some mystery got him," suggested Bone. "Jim, you don't
suppose his father, or some one who lost him, come and nabbed him while
you was gone?"
They saw old Jim turn pale in the light that came from across the
street.
Keno broke in with an answer.
"By jinks! Jim was his mother! Jim had more good rights to the little
feller than anybody, livin' or dead!"
"You bet!" agreed a voice.
Jim spoke with difficulty.
"If any one did that"--he faltered--"why, boys, he never should have
let me find him in the brush."
"Are you plum dead sure he's went?" insisted the blacksmith, whom the
news had somewhat stunned.
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