Your brother, he must have ride like the
prairie wind. Yes, one, no, two buckboards--Hudson's Bay horses. I know
them, those horses."
The boy sat up, staring into the distance. "I don't know whether I'm
glad or sorry," he said. "Father will be driving one buckboard, I know,
and I'd like to see him, but, oh, I don't want to leave you, Five
Feathers!"
"You not leave me, not for long," said the Indian. "You come back some
day, when you great doctor. Maybe you doctor my own people. I wait for
that time."
But the buckboards were spinning rapidly nearer, and nearer. Yes, there
was his father, Factor MacIntyre, of the Hudson's Bay, driving the first
rig, but who was that beside him?--Billy? No, not Billy. "Oh, it's
_mother_!" fairly yelled Jerry. And the next moment he was in her arms.
"Couldn't keep her away, simply couldn't!" stormed Mr. MacIntyre. "No,
sir, she had to come--one hundred and seventeen miles by the clock!
Couldn't trust me! Couldn't trust Billy! Just _had_ to come herself!"
And the genial Factor stamped around the little camp, wringing Five
Feathers' hand, and watching with anxious look the pale face and thin
fingers of his smallest son.
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