"But, Bone, if he don't git well," he said--"if he don't git well,
think how I'd feel! Couldn't you get me a horse? If only--"
"Hold on," interrupted Bone, "I'll do all I kin for the poor little
shaver, but I don't expect I can git no horse. I'll go and see, but
the teams has all got the extry stock in harness, fer the roads is
mighty tough, and snow, down the canon, is up to the hubs of the
wheels. You've got to be back before too late or your claim goes up,
fer, Jim, you know as well as me that Parky's got the right of law!"
"If only I could git that shrub," said Jim, as his friend departed, and
back to the tossing little man he went, worried to the last degree.
Bone was right. The extra horses were all in requisition to haul the
ore to the quartz-mill through a stretch of ten long miles of drifted
snow. Moreover, Jim had once too often sung his old "if-only" cry.
The men of Borealis smiled sadly, as they thought of tiny Skeezucks,
but with doubt of Jim, whose resolutions, statements, promises, had
long before been estimated at their final worth.
"There ain't no horse he could have," said Lufkins, making ready
himself to drive his team of twenty animals through wind and snow to
the mill, "and even if we had a mule, old Jim would never start.
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