VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS




[Illustration: They were entering the door-yard where a cowboy advanced
to take their ponies.]




VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of

  “Virginia of V. M. Ranch,” “Virginia at Vine Haven,”
  “Virginia’s Adventure Club,” “Virginia’s Romance.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers—New York

Printed in U. S. A.




THE VIRGINIA DAVIS SERIES

A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRLS OF TWELVE TO SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE

By GRACE MAY NORTH

  VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH
  VIRGINIA AT VINE HAVEN
  VIRGINIA’S ADVENTURE CLUB
  VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS
  VIRGINIA’S ROMANCE

Copyright, 1924

By A. L. BURT COMPANY

VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS

Made in “U. S. A.”




VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS




CHAPTER I—HOME ONCE MORE


“Oh Virg, are we really to arrive at your desert home this morning?”
Betsy Clossen exclaimed the first moment that she opened her eyes on
the fifth day after their departure from the Vine Haven Boarding
School.

“Not until nearly noon,” Virginia, who was dressing in the lower
berth, smiled up at the eager face that peered down from the upper.

“And will your nice brother Malcolm be there to meet us, do you
suppose?”

“I certainly hope so. I wired him from Chicago that we were to be on
this train. If he can’t come himself, for any reason, he will surely
send Lucky over with the car.”

“That’s one disillusioning thing about the desert,” Betsy continued.
“I’m powerfully sorry that you have an automobile. It’s heaps too
modern. I wish we were to be met with a—well a prairie schooner or
something like that.”

Virg laughed. “I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed in us,
Betsy. You’ll find V. M. really quite tame if you have been reading
Wild West stories.” Then Margaret said quietly to her berth
companion, “I do wish something exciting would happen the moment we
arrive, don’t you, Virg?”

The older girl smiled but shook her sunny head. “No need to wish for
that these days, dear. Life in Arizona is not nearly as thrilling as
it is in the city of New York, if one can believe the newspapers.”

“Don’t tell Betsy, for if she thinks it is to be too commonplace, it
will take all the thrill of expectancy out of it for her. You know
she is never really enjoying herself unless there is a mystery to
unravel or some adventure awaiting her.”

Fifteen minutes later the four girls were in the dining car.

Betsy beamed on her companions. The early morning sun falling on her
red-brown hair made it shine like burnished gold.

“Even your freckles look gilded this morning,” Barbara teased.

The pug nose of the youngest wrinkled at her tormentor, then with an
excited little squeal she exclaimed, “Oh, isn’t the desert just
gloriously lonesome looking? Those mountains over there are so bleak
and gray and the canons so dark! I can’t see a living thing
anywhere, can you?”

Margaret, being questioned, peered out at the wide sandy waste of
desert stretching to the distant mountains that rose grim, gray and
forbidding. Here and there a clump of greasewood or of mesquite was
half buried in mounds of sand that the frequent whirlwinds had left.

Betsy shivered. “Girls,” she said solemnly, “the very scene teems
with mystery. I just feel sure that an exciting adventure is about
to begin at most any moment. The setting is perfect for one. I’m
going to watch that sandhill over there as long as it’s in sight. I
expect to see a Mexican bandit peer around it and utter a shrill cry
which will mean—”

“Do the young ladies wish oatmeal this morning?” It was the suave
waiter who had interrupted, and although the girls gave their orders
with solemn faces, they laughed merrily when they were again alone.

“It’s too bad to disappoint you, Betsy, but that’s about the way all
of your hoped-for adventures will end,” Virginia told her friend.

The four girls, Virginia Davis, the seventeen-year-old mistress of
V. M. Ranch and her adopted sister, Margaret Selover, who was
sixteen, their neighbor, Barbara Blair Wente, also sixteen, and
Virginia’s guest, Betsy Clossen, who as yet was but fifteen, had
traveled from Vine Haven, where they had been attending boarding
school for the past year.

Although the other three girls were well acquainted with the Arizona
desert, Betsy Clossen had never been west of Chicago. However, she
had often frequented that big city, as she had many others in the
east, for her father was a famous detective who was often following
clues that led him from Chicago to New York, and, at first, not
wanting to be parted from his motherless little girl, he had taken
her with him, but at last, believing that he was doing the child an
injustice, he had placed her in the Vine Haven boarding school,
where she had since remained, making friends of all whom she met.
The years she had spent as her father’s close companion had given
her an insight into the ways of unraveling mysteries and the game
had fascinated her adventure-loving nature.

To the great amusement of the girls she was always trying to imagine
a mystery that she might solve it, but in the past year she had
twice failed while two of her comrades who had no such ambition had
been successful, and so, no wonder was it that Betsy looked forward
to the desert as a place where she would surely find a mystery to
solve.

Virginia, who had been born on the V. M. Ranch, which was twenty
miles from the town of Douglas, and who had lived there all her
seventeen years, was indeed overjoyed because she was returning to
the home she so loved, to her very dear brother Malcolm Davis and to
old Uncle Tex, who, when he was younger, had been the foreman of V.
M.

The father of Barbara Wente had recently purchased the Dartley Ranch
which was four miles north of V. M. This he had given to his son
Peyton. Barbara had learned that the old house was interesting, but
she had never seen it as, with the other girls, she had left almost
at once after the deal had been completed, for the school in the
east.

“What do you think, Virg?” Babs chattered as the four girls with
their hats on and their bags ready, sat peering ahead, “Peyton wrote
in his very last letter that he hasn’t even opened the old ranch
house yet. He is leaving it for us to do.”

“I adore old houses,” Betsy began, when Virginia exclaimed as she
pointed out the windows. “See that dark hole in the mountain just
ahead of us?” The others leaned forward to look.

“Oh, good!” Margaret exclaimed. “It’s the last tunnel, and Silver
Creek station is just beyond.” Megsy turned toward her adopted
sister, a flushed eagerness betraying the excitement she felt. “Just
think, Virg, in ten minutes we are to see Malcolm.”

Betsy uttered a little excited squeal as the train plunged into the
darkness of the tunnel.

“Virg, isn’t this a thrilling moment,” Barbara whispered, “not being
sure who is to be at the other end?”

Sunlight again flashed into the car windows. Virginia stooped and
looked out. “There’s the little old station that’s the only house
for miles and miles around, but I don’t see anyone on the platform
except the old man who lives there. Wonder what has happened?”

Mr. Wells, the Silver Creek station master, hurried forward when he
saw that the limited was slowing down. It never stopped unless it
had passengers. When the four girls alighted, the tallest placed her
bags on the platform and went toward the weather-tanned middle aged
man with hands outstretched. “Oh, Mr. Wells,” she exclaimed, and her
voice betrayed her anxiety, “why isn’t my brother here to meet me,
or Uncle Tex or one of the boys? I sent them a telegram. Didn’t you
get it?”

The small boy, Davie, who had a front tooth missing, had come
running up from somewhere. “Yes’m, Miss Virginia,” he said
breathlessly, “I took the telegram over to V. M. two days ago jest
as soon as Pa give it to me. Mis’ Mahoy was all the folks I could
find. The men was out riding the range. She said they seemed to be
huntin’ for something. She didn’t know what, but they acted mighty
puzzlin’. Uncle Tex, though, he was ’spected back that night or the
next.”

The girls had gathered around, listening, when suddenly the boy, who
felt very important, as he was the center of attention, suddenly
leaped across the platform and looked toward the north. “Pa,” he
shouted, “see that dust cloud a-comin’? D’y ’spose it’s a stampede
or suthin’? D’y ’spose—”

“I do believe it’s our automobile.” Virginia shaded her eyes to gaze
through the dazzling sunshine. It was indeed, but it was approaching
in such a zig-zag manner that even Mr. Wells was puzzled.

“I reckon the fellar at the steerin’ gear is plumb beat out. I
figger that thar car’s sort o’ runnin’ itself,” he speculated.

The watchers were convinced that this was true for as the cloud of
sand cleared away, they could see the big seven passenger car that
belonged to the V. M. Ranch, but the driver was neither Lucky nor
Malcolm.

“It can’t be Uncle Tex, for he doesn’t know how to drive,” Virginia
had just said, when Margaret exclaimed, “But it is Uncle Tex, and he
certainly doesn’t know how to drive. Oh, Virg, did you see the lunge
he took just then? I do believe he is going right over the tracks
and down into the dry creek instead of coming this way.”

“Mighty-tighty!” The station master’s favorite expletive expressed
his consternation. “Cain’t nuthin’ be done to head him off? I dunno
a tarnel thing about them pesky iron-bronchos.”

Virginia had caught one glance of the driver’s face as the front
wheel had struck a hummock of sand, causing the car to swerve. If it
should cross the tracks, it would plunge over the steep bank and
crash down among the huge rocks on the bed of the dry creek.

Leaping from the platform Virginia shouted, “Uncle Tex, stop the
car!”

Luckily it had slowed considerably since the sand, through which it
was ploughing, was deep and soft. Virginia sprang upon the running
board, leaned over and shut off the gas.

“Uncle Tex,” she cried, “why did you risk your life that way?” The
old man removed his sombrero and was mopping his brow. “I dunno,
Miss Virginia, dearie, I foresee, now, I orter not have done it, but
it allays looked plumb easy, and when thar wan’t no one else to come
an’ meet yo’ all, I jest figgered as I’d take a chance.”

The girl got in the car and skillfully brought it alongside the
platform. Then, leaping out, she began stowing the bags in back,
while Margaret and Babs welcomed the old man, who found, when he
tried to stand that his knees were “plumb beat out.” Betsy was
introduced, then Virginia asked, “Why didn’t Malcolm come?”

Uncle Tex looked quickly around to be sure that Mr. Wells was out of
hearing, then he said softly, “I cain’t be tellin’ ye, least-wise,
not here, Miss Virginia, dearie. Malcolm said, ‘Keep it dark.’ He’s
all right, though. You needn’t be fearin’ as to that.”

Betsy had heard enough of this conversation to be tingling with
curiosity and excitement. It certainly did sound to her as though
there was both mystery and adventure awaiting them, nor was she
wrong.




CHAPTER II—HUNTING THE SURPRISE


With Virginia at the wheel, the seven passenger car kept on the
well-beaten road that extended from the Silver Creek Junction to the
V. M. Ranch.

Uncle Tex sat beside the girl whom he so loved and the three on the
rear seat often sent smiling glances, one to another, as they
noticed his pride in his “gal’s” skillful driving.

“Seems powerful pleasin’ to have yo-all back, Miss Virginia dearie,”
the old man said as the car began the ascent of the mesa road.

The girl at the wheel flashed him a bright smile. “Oh, but it’s good
to be home. I can hardly wait to reach the top of the trail.” Then
glancing back over her shoulder, she called “Betsy, in just another
moment you are to behold the nicest spot on earth, or, at least, it
is to me.” Then chancing to recall something, she inquired “Uncle
Tex, I’m just ever so curious to know what the surprise is that you
have for me. May I have three guesses?”

She and Malcolm as children had always had three guesses whenever
the old man had brought them a treasure from out on the range. Then,
when they had guessed, they searched through his many pockets to
find it. The weather-tanned face wrinkled in an amused smile. “I
reckon ’twould take more’n three guesses, Miss Virginia, this time,
I reckon ’twould, an’ even then, ’twon’t be found in my pocket
nowise.”

“Oho, that’s a hint. It’s something big!” Then over her shoulder.
“Girls, help guess. Megsy, you and Babs have lived with me at V. M.,
so you might perhaps, think what Uncle Tex has planned for my
surprise.”

“Maybe it’s a new hen-corral,” Margaret suggested. “I remember one
twilight last year when I went out to get the eggs, and found a
coyote in the hen house, Uncle Tex said the very first thing he was
going to do after we left was to build stronger fences.”

The pleased grin on the old man’s face was evident even to the girls
on the back seat. “Ah was messin’ round fixin’ that fence long fore
yo-all’s train hit the big city, I reckon, but that guess missed the
heifer, so coil yer rope and throw again.”

Betsy chuckled. She was delighted with the old man, not only because
he was such an interesting character but also because he was
lovable.

“Hm’ let me see!” Babs pretended to think hard. “I recall now that
Virginia wished she had a pond near the wind mill so that she might
keep ducks.”

“Oh, but Uncle Tex wrote me that he had made a duck pond for me just
as soon as spring rains were over, so that can’t be it.”

The old man’s head was shaking. “Yo-all ain’t teched it yet,” he was
saying, when Virg uttered a little cry of joy. “Look ahead, Betsy,
quick, if you want to get the very first glimpse of V. M.”

The little maid on the back seat stood up and peered between the two
in front as the car reached the edge of the plateau nearest the
ranch.

There in the valley was the big rambling low-built adobe house,
beyond it were the bunk houses, the hen yard, the wrangling corral,
the pens for the cattle that needed temporary sheltering, the small
adobe house nearer the dry creek bottom in which lived the Mahoys,
and towering above them all was the huge red windmill, the great
wings of which were slowly turning in the gentle breeze that was
blowing from the west.

[Illustration: There in the valley was the big rambling low-built
adobe house.]

While the little stranger’s glance roamed from one of these
buildings to another, Virginia’s violet eyes were eagerly searching
the trails leading to the ranch, hoping that on one of them she
might see her brother returning from the mysterious errand about
which Uncle Tex had hinted and the nature of which as yet she did
not know. There was no one in sight. Not wishing her companions to
know how truly anxious she was, Virg stopped the car and turned with
a bright smile to exclaim: “Girls, welcome to my home.”

Betsy was charmed with the inside of the ranch house as she had been
with the out. The great living room, with its wide fireplace on
which a mesquite root burned slowly, suggested cosy evenings spent
around it.

The long library table scattered over with books and magazines, the
student lamp with its wide warm-colored shade, many comfortable arm
chairs, a piano and its companioning music box, bear skin rugs on
floor and wall, and pictures framed by the windows, of desert, sand
hill and distant mountains, furnished the most home-like room that
little Betsy had ever seen.

“I’m going to just love it here,” she said, then to tease, she
merrily added, “if you can provide me with a mystery.”

Virginia laughed. “Girls,” she turned to the other two, “since we
three are hostesses, and it is our aim to please, let’s make up a
mystery, but there, I musn’t tell Betsy what it is to be. In fact I
haven’t thought it out yet. But come, let’s take our bags to our
rooms for Uncle Tex is waiting to show us the surprise.”

The two large, sun-flooded bedrooms were next each other with a door
opening between.

Margaret and Virginia were to share the room which Virg had occupied
since her childhood, while Babs and Betsy were to have the other for
their very own.

“I can hardly wait until our trunks come,” Babs prattled. “I am just
wild to see myself in my new cow-girl costume.”

“You looked at yourself times enough in the school mirror,” Megsy
said to tease.

“Perhaps, but the setting wasn’t right. It will look quite different
out here where the mesquite bushes grow,” Babs retorted.

“I came so unexpected like,” Betsy deplored. “I didn’t have time to
buy me a khaki outfit, so what shall I do. I don’t want to look like
a tenderfoot.”

“As though you could help it, whatever you wore!” Babs began, on
mischief-bent, but Virg solaced. “I’ll loan you one of mine that I
have outgrown. You won’t have to buy one just for the month that you
are with us.” But the little maid declared eagerly, “Oh yes, I will,
Virg, if there is a place to buy it. I’d love to wear it at my
aunt’s summer home in the east and make the boys envious.”

Uncle Tex was seen coming slowly up from the garage, and Virg knew
that he was eager to show them what he had planned as a surprise.

Catching Betsy and Babs by the hand and nodding a merry invitation
to Margaret, Virg led the way out of the wide front doors, but,
before she had gone many steps from the veranda, a big shaggy
creature hurled itself at her from the trail leading from the cabin
of the Mahoys.

“Goodness!” Betsy cried in alarm, “Is it a desert wolf or a coyote?”
She needed no answer, for the creature, wagging itself for joy
sprang upon its beloved mistress and uttered queer little yelps of
delight.

“Shags is plumb nigh as pleased to see yo-all, Miss Virginia dearie,
seems like, as yo’ old Uncle Tex was, though I reckon, he cain’t be,
quite.”

A glance in the direction from which the dog had come revealed the
Mahoy family awaiting in front of their small adobe house to share
in the welcome, so, excusing herself, Virg ran down the trail, Shags
at her heels barking his glee. Mrs. Mahoy had a new baby in her arms
and Virginia beckoned the other girls to come and see it.

“Ain’t she nice though?” It was Patsy, now aged ten, who looked
about at the group of girls who were eagerly peering into a flannel
bundle to find the wee bit baby. Virginia glowed. “Uncle Tex,” she
cried turning toward the old man who had ambled after them. “I do
believe this little baby is the surprise that you said we would find
on V. M. Ranch.”

“Wall, I reckon ’twas one of ’em,” he confessed, “but thar’s
another, Miss Virginia, dearie. Spose yo-all scatter now and see
who’ll be furst to find it.”

Then away the girls ran. Margaret led them to the hen-house, so
eager was she to be sure that the fences were coyote-proof. They
were indeed, for the wire fence extended so far underground that
none of the desert creatures would take the time to burrow beneath
it so near a residence of the enemy man. Too there was a roof of
wire netting over the small yard, which protected the feathered
brood from any of the vulturous birds of prey.

“That certainly is improvement number one,” Virginia cried in
delight. “Many a time I have been heart-broken entirely because some
of my little new chicks have been carried away by pirate birds.”
They were leaving, when Megsy caught Virg’s arm as she squealed
gleefully, “I do believe that I’ve discovered the surprise. Hark!
Don’t you hear a faint peeping somewhere?”

Virginia listened and then, noting that their escort’s grin was
broadening, if that were possible, she exclaimed, “Oh Uncle Tex, are
there really some baby chicks? Where are they? Please show them to
us?”

The chicken yard gate was opened and the old man led them to the
sunny side of the hen house where, from between the bars of a barrel
coop, the yellow head of an anxious mother protruded as she clucked
a warning to fifteen balls of fluff that ran to her, tumbling on the
way and piping their fright.

“Oh, the dear little things! Please let them stay a moment, Biddy
Mother,” Margaret implored. “I want to hold just one.”

The one that was lifted ever so tenderly, begged so pitifully to be
set free, that Megsy put it down close to the coop and smiled to
watch it scud for the shelter of its mother’s wings.

“Lucky little puff-ball!” Betsy said with a note of sadness in her
usually merry voice. “What wouldn’t I give to have a mother to run
to.” Uncle Tex, who had remained outside, happened to call just
then. “Better be hurryin’, Miss Virginia dearie. Pears like its mos’
lunch time as yo-all names it.”

Virginia glanced at her wrist watch. “True enough,” she exclaimed
“and now that I am home, Uncle Tex, you are to have a long vacation
from the kitchen. We girls will do all the cooking and brewing and
mopping and scrubbing and—” but the old man, shaking his head,
interrupted—

“Wall, I reckon yo-all won’t have time to do much playin’ if yer
scheming that-a-way.”

All unconsciously Virginia sighed. How she did wish that the
faithful Chinaman, who had been cook in her home since she was a
baby, had not, the year before, decided to revisit the land of his
birth. He had slipped away without giving notice, (although he had
told them months before that he was going, sometime), and he had
never returned.

As they crossed the descending trail that led to the towering red
windmill, Virg glanced at the old man, and silently renewed her
resolve to relieve him of much of the kitchen work, which had been
his self-assumed task. They had tried Mexican cooks, Malcolm had
written her, but Uncle Tex had fretted through the brief stay of
each one, and had at last declared that he didn’t want any more
“cholos” messin’ round Miss Virginia’s kitchen, “spatterin’ it up,”
and that he’d take “keer” of it fer her himself, but Virg knew how,
during those long months of faithful service, his big heart had
yearned for the freedom of the range. “I’ll show him how much I
appreciate what he has done to make the home pleasant for my brother
while I was gone,” the girl had just decided when a cry from Betsy
and Babs, who had skipped on ahead attracted her attention. They
were standing near the windmill beckoning excitedly. “I do believe
they have found the surprise,” Virg confided to Margaret, then she
glanced inquiringly at the old man, but his beaming expression
revealed nothing.

A moment later the something was revealed.

“Oh Uncle Tex, how pretty! Did you make that all alone and for me?”
Virginia’s delight was indeed real and she was convinced, as were
the other girls, that at last they had found the surprise about
which Uncle Tex had written. Beyond the windmill and in the warm
shelter of its wide walls stood a little garden house over which a
blossoming vine was growing. Within was a table and four comfortable
chairs that had been entirely made of yucca stalks and had been
skillfully fashioned with infinite patience by the leathery,
wrinkled hands of the old cattleman.

The garden house itself was made of yucca, the stalks being so long
and strong that Virginia knew, to procure them, the old man had to
visit a distant part of the desert where they grew.

Just below the door of this summer house was the pond of which Uncle
Tex had written, and on it several ducks were lazily swimming.

“There’s water enough for a garden, Miss Virginia dearie, but Ah
reckon’d as yo-all’d want to set out the sort of flowers yo’d like
best.” Then, as Virginia had not spoken, he asked, almost wistfully.
“Yo-all likes it, don’t yo’, Miss Virginia dearie?”

There were tears in the violet eyes that turned toward him. “Like
it! Oh, Uncle Tex!” Her arms were about him and her soft young cheek
was pressed close to his leathery one. “I was just hoping mother
might know. She used so often to wish since there are no shade trees
near that we might have a cool, sheltered out-of-doors place where
we could take our books and sewing.”

Then, fearing that the tender-hearted old man would regret not
having thought to make such a summer house in the long ago, she
exclaimed merrily, “This very day at four, we will serve afternoon
tea, and you, Uncle Tex, shall be the guest of honor.” Then, giving
the again smiling old man a sudden bear hug, she whispered in his
ear, “You dear, I’m going to think up the nicest kind of a surprise
and spring it on you—some day.”

“When’s your birthday, Uncle Tex?” It was Margaret who asked. The
old man looked truly startled. “Me? Why, Ah’s plumb forgot. Sorto
seems like it comes in the summer, though.” He had removed his
sombrero and was scratching one ear meditatively. He seemed actually
to be trying to recall a forgotten date.

“I’ll tell you what,” Babs sang out, “let’s pick out a day before
Betsy goes home and give Uncle Tex a surprise party.”

“It won’t be much of a surprise, since you are telling him about
it,” Margaret began, but Barbara declared that it would be, since he
wouldn’t know, until he received the invitation, which day had been
chosen.

They were walking toward the house as they chatted. Virginia and the
old man lingered back of the others. Margaret had made this
possible, for she felt sure that her adopted sister was anxious
about Malcolm’s prolonged absence, and, for that matter, she was
herself, and surely she had a right to be, since she was his ward.

Virg had often glanced at the trails that led one of them toward the
sand hills, another toward Seven Peak Range, and a third toward
Puffed Snake Water Hole, but on none of them did horsemen appear.

“Uncle Tex,” she said softly as she slipped a detaining arm in that
of her companion, “can’t you tell me why Malcolm is away at this
time? It must be something of a very serious nature to keep him from
home when he knew that I would be arriving this week.”

There was a shade of anxiety on the face of the old man. “’Tis, Miss
Virginia dearie. Leastwise, Ah reckon ’tis. It all happened hurried
like. Lucky came ridin’ in ’long ’bout sundown two nights ago.
‘Ah’ve hit the trail sure sartin,’ was all Ah heard him say. Then
Malcolm buckled on his gun belt. ‘Keep it dark which way we ride,’
he says to me, then they was gone. Ah was plumb puzzled and Ah sure
am still, but on certain thought Malcolm’d be comin’ back by now or
sendin’ word, knowin’ as yo-all was ’spected.”

“Well, I’ll not worry,” the girl said wisely. “Malcolm never runs
into trouble needlessly.” Then, as they had overtaken the others,
Virginia called as gaily as she could, that her guests need not know
of her anxiety. “Who wants to be helper in the kitchen this noon?
I’m going thither to be chief cook.”

“Oh, can’t we all help?” Margaret hurried to inquire. Then she
nudged Virg and nodded toward the old man who (trying to keep behind
them) was making frantic motions towards a kitchen window. When
Virginia turned, he attempted to assume such an innocent expression
that the girls were even more puzzled.

Virg pretending not to have seen his gestures, caught his hardened
hand as she leaped up on the veranda, calling, “Uncle Tex, you come
too, and be my advisor. It’s so long since I have cooked, maybe I
have forgotten how.”

Virginia felt sure that another of the old man’s surprises awaited
her in the kitchen, nor was she wrong.




CHAPTER III—MALCOLM’S RETURN


It was four in the afternoon and the girls, having had a long siesta
after their lunch, had donned their muslin dresses (for the station
master had arrived soon after noon with their trunks), and, taking
Barbara’s cherished tea set, without which she never traveled, they
had hied them to the summer house. Virg gathered a few of the
scarlet blossoms that grew wild after the rains. Nearly all of them
dried up but one clump had remained to welcome the girls. These she
placed on the yucca table. Margaret was carrying a plate of small
cakes. Betsy had a tray on which were five cups and saucers and tiny
spoons. Babs, at the end of the line, held the fragile pot of
delicate blue which was brimming with weak but hot tea.

Virg stood back to admire the table when it was set. Then laughingly
she exclaimed: “I just can’t get over it. I never was more surprised
in all my life. When I opened the kitchen door and saw that dear old
Sing Long fussing around the stove, as though he weren’t expecting
us, I just had to rush up and hug him.”

“Whizzle, but you certainly took the wind out of my sails, as Cousin
Bob says,” Betsy declared, “I’ve always been scared of Chinamen and
to see you actually embracing one! I dunno as I’ll ever recover from
the shock.”

“I don’t believe there’s a kinder, nobler, more faithful race of
people on this earth,” Margaret championed, “and Sing Long is just
like home folks to Virginia, isn’t he Virg?”

The shining-eyed girl nodded. “He surely is. Why, Betsy, Sing was
here before mother came as a bride. I’m so glad he wanted to come
back. I wouldn’t have Uncle Tex know it, not for worlds, but I was
rather dreading the responsibility of cooking for so many people,
and now we won’t have anything to do, but plan—”

“Mysteries,” Betsy cut in. Then she asked: “Virg, I may be slow as a
detective, but I certainly do think the way you keep looking in
first one direction and then another is most mysterious.”

The young hostess sat down in one of the comfortable yucca chairs.
“Have you noticed it?” she inquired, “Well, then, I’ll explain. I’m
not really worried, but I’ll confess I am puzzled.”

She then told the other three girls all that Uncle Tex knew of her
brother’s sudden departure two nights before.

Megsy smiled and nodded toward the little stranger-to-the-desert,
for, with a brow supposedly wrinkled in deep thought, she sat gazing
across the shining stretch of sand toward the mountains.

“What do you make of it, Mistress Detective?” Babs asked merrily.

“I don’t,” was the frank answer. “Virg, what do you?”

“Well,” the oldest girl replied, “since Lucky rode in, after
nightfall, in such haste and told brother that he was sure he had
hit the trail, I conclude that there had been a—”

“Oh, do you think it was a holdup, or something like that?” This
from the eager Betsy.

“No, I don’t. I think a mountain lion may have been killing the
young calves and that Lucky and Slim have been trying to trail it.”

“How disappointing! I’m not at all interested in solving a mystery
which has only a mountain lion in the leading part.”

Babs teased. “I’ll say you aren’t. You wouldn’t want to start on any
clues that would lead you to a lion’s den.”

“Girls,” Virg suddenly exclaimed, “our guest of honor has forgotten
to come. There he goes riding along the creek bottom, so we’ll have
to drink the tea, for, if we don’t, it will soon be cold.”

“Oh dear, that is too bad! It’s piping hot now and this pot holds
six cups. Can’t we find another guest of honor to—”

“Lookee! Lookee!” Betsy had leaped to her feet and was pointing
toward the trail that led from the sandhills.

Two horsemen were approaching at a gallop, and Virginia cried, “Oh,
how I hope one of them is Brother Malcolm.”

“Then the mystery will be solved,” Betsy exclaimed joyfully.

As the horsemen neared, Virg and Margaret ran out of the summer
house and waved their handkerchiefs for they were no longer in doubt
as to the identity of the newcomers.

There was an answering shout of joy from the one in the lead and
Malcolm leaped from his horse and ran toward them waving his
sombrero. The older cowboy led the ponies to the corral.

“O brother, brother,” Virginia’s welcome was at once laughing and
tearful, as she was caught in the lad’s strong arms. “I’m glad, glad
I went away just for the joy of knowing what home means. Not that I
didn’t always love it here, but Oh, brother, you can’t guess how
many wakeful hours I had just hungering to hear your voice, and now,
if you’ll let me I’m going to stay right here for ever and ever and
ever.”

The giant of a lad laughed happily as he turned to greet his ward,
who, with flushed cheeks and a wistful light in her tender brown
eyes, was waiting near until the brother and sister had welcomed
each other. Then Babs came and Betsy was introduced. “This is our
would-be young detective,” Virg said merrily. “She declares that the
desert is an ideal setting for a mystery and so we girls are going
to make up one and let her solve it.”

“You won’t have to invent one,” Malcolm declared as he dropped into
the yucca chair toward which his sister had led him. “Lucky and I
have been awake two days and nights trying to solve one that is very
real. Slim is working on it, too, but he has a Mexican boy with him
and they have ridden toward Sonora.”

“Oh Mr. Davis!” Betsy leaned forward eagerly. “What are the clews?
Do tell us.”

But Virginia said: “Not until brother has had some refreshment.”
Then to Malcolm: “I don’t suppose you’ve had a thing to eat this
noon.”

“Righto, and for that matter Lucky and I had very little for
breakfast. We had no idea that we would find ourselves on a blind
trail,” the lad began; then ended with:

“So a cup of tea will do well for a starter.” He accepted the
delicate blue cup that Barbara handed him with an amused smile.

Lucky was approaching shyly, sombrero in hand. Virginia, chancing to
see him, stepped out of the summer house and beckoned to him.

His awkward bow when he was introduced would have amused Betsy at
another time, but just then her entire thought was given to the
mystery about which she was soon to hear.

“No, ma’am, thanks.” Lucky twirled his hat and shifted from one foot
to the other when Barbara offered him one of the eggshell china
cups. “Ah jest wanted to say howdy to yo-all.” He was visibly
embarrassed. Then with a nod toward the house he added, “Sing said
frijoli all hottee.”

Malcolm rose. “Young ladies,” he addressed them all, “if you will
permit us to satisfy our inner cravings, I’ll promise within the
hour to tell you all the clews we have been able to discover.”

Lucky had gone on ahead and Virginia, linking her arm in that of her
brother, walked with him toward the house.

“Can’t you give me an inkling of an idea as to what it is all about?
Is it anything we girls can help solve?”

The lad was at once serious. “No, sister. You girls are better off
here at home with Uncle Tex, but we’ll report progress each time we
return.”

Virginia looked troubled. “Oh brother, are you going away again?
Surely not today.”

“Not until morning,” he replied. “We’ll both be better fit after a
good night’s sleep.” Then at the kitchen porch, she left him and
walked slowly back to the summer house. The three girls eagerly
awaited her.

“Did Malcolm tell you the clews?” Of course this was from Betsy.
“Why, no,” Virginia declared. “I was so concerned about my brother
that I forgot to ask him where he had been or why.” Then Margaret
had an inspiration.

“It’s after five by my little wrist watch and so I suggest that we
put away the tea things and have our supper of nice frijolies and
bread in the kitchen with the boys. They can tell us the clews while
we’re eating, for I am sure they will want to tumble into bed as
soon as they can.”

Virginia looked at her other guests to see if the plan met with
their approval. She was not long left in doubt. “Oh, goodie, I’d
love to have supper with a real cowboy. My Cousin Bob will be green
with envy when I write him about it.” Betsy was gathering up the
spoons as she spoke. Soon the little procession approached the
house.

Malcolm saw them coming and smiled. “I tell you, Lucky, it seems
mighty nice to see that sister of mine once more. Maybe it’s selfish
of me, but I hope she won’t want to go away again.”

Lucky, having finished his supper, rose as the girls entered the
long kitchen that was flooded with the late afternoon sun.

The middle aged cowboy spoke apologetically: “Miss Virginia, if
yo-all will excuse me, Ah’ll turn in. Ah reckon Ah cain’t keep
awake, an’ Malcolm here and me’s figgerin’ on hittin’ the trail
again come sunup.”

When he was gone, Sing Long served the girls to heaping plates of
steaming frijolies, generous slices of cornbread and tumblers
brimming with creamy milk. This fare greatly delighted Betsy for it
was very different from that to which she was accustomed.

Malcolm told Sing Long that he, too, might go, as they no longer
needed him. When they were alone, the giant of a lad smiled about at
the girls, who were eagerly awaiting the beginning of his story.

“Now,” Virginia said when the door closed behind the Chinaman, “what
happened first?”

“We heard about it last Monday,” Malcolm began, “Lucky and I were
loping slowly along down near the station. We were on the outlook
for strays when we saw little Davie Wells riding toward his home
from the direction of the Three Sand Hills as though a stampede of
cattle was about to overtake him.”

“‘What’s up with the kid, d’ye reckon,’ Lucky asked me, and I
replied, ‘By the way he keeps looking back over his shoulder, you’d
think he was being pursued, but I don’t see anything chasing him.’

“When the lad was near enough for us to see his face, we knew,
without his telling us, that he was very much excited about
something.

“‘Hi-o! Davie, has there been a train robbery?’ I shouted when he
was near enough to hear. He evidently had not seen us, but upon
hearing my voice, he wheeled his pony and galloped toward us. I
repeated my question.

“‘Nope,’ he replied breathlessly. ‘Leastwise there ain’t been one
yet, but Pa says sure as a cactus ain’t a mesquite thar’ll be a
robbery in these here parts afore sunup tomorrow, Pa says it’s sure
sartin.’

“Of course we were interested. We never knew our respected station
master to prophesy anything but that it came to pass with almost
uncanny accuracy, so Lucky and I drew rein and listened to what the
little fellow had to tell, but when we had heard him out, all we
could make of it was that a queer kind of caravan had been seen
leaving Douglas early that morning headed toward Silver Creek. Davie
thought maybe there were half a dozen covered wagons and a dozen
mules and dogs, but he wasn’t certain. The cowboy who’d seen the
outfit hadn’t stopped to count them.

“‘Gypsies, I reckon,’ was Lucky’s conclusion, ‘and if so, kid, your
pa’s right. Thar’ll be some stealin’ ’fore sunup sure sartin.’ Then
he looked at me with a puzzled expression as he said, ‘Malcolm, I
never heard tell of gypsies trailin’ across the desert hereabouts,
have you now?’

“I agreed that I had not, but the lad’s description seemed to fit
and so we let it go at that.

“‘Wall, I must be off.’ Davie seemed suddenly to remember his former
haste but I detained him long enough to ask, ‘Where are you going in
such a hurry?’

“‘Over to Slater’s to warn ’em ‘bout that robbery as Pa says it’s
sure sartin.’

“Davie’s little wild pony needed no urging and a second later all we
could see of him was a racing sand cloud. I laughed, but Lucky
seemed to take the matter more seriously. ‘What do you make of it?’
I asked when I had let him study on the matter in silence for
several moments.

“‘Ah jest don’t,’ he replied. ‘Ah cain’t figure nohow why a caravan
of gypsies ’d start across this here trackless part of the desert.’

“‘It isn’t as trackless as it used to be,’ I reminded him, ‘for now
that all the ranchers own automobiles there’s a makeshift sort of a
road from one place to the next.’

“‘Mebbe so, but Ah cain’t figger out why gypsies would go to all the
trouble of draggin that there caravan o’ theirs through the sand
jest to be robbin’ ranches. They couldn’t make fast enough time to
get away with it. More’n likely, if they was gypsies, they-all
thought as how this might be a short cut to some place up north
where they’re bound for.’

“I agreed that Lucky’s version was probably the correct one, and, as
we saw no evidence of the reported caravan in our neighborhood, I
doubtless would never have thought of them again if it hadn’t been
for something which happened that very night.”

Malcolm paused and the girls, having ceased eating to listen, leaned
forward with renewed interest.

“Oh, brother, what happened? Please don’t stop there.”

The lad smiled. “I only stopped to take a breath. That is
permissible, isn’t it?”

“Oh-ee! I’m so excited.” Betsy’s flushed cheeks and glowing eyes
were evidence that what she said was true. “Did the gypsy caravan
come?”

“Was the station master’s prophecy correct?” Margaret asked.

“Were we robbed?” Virginia inquired anxiously.

Malcolm rose. “Let’s go in by the fire,” he said. “Sing Long wants
to clean the table.” The Chinaman had been opening the door from his
room every few moments to see if the young people were through.
Following Malcolm’s suggestion the girls led the way into the big
living room. The lad put a dry mesquite root on the coals and then
sat down in his favorite grandfather chair. “Yes, indeed, something
of an unusual nature happened that night and this is what it was:”




CHAPTER IV—MALCOLM’S STORY


When the girls were seated about the fireplace, they turned eagerly
to the narrator of the tale which had been interrupted by their
moving from the kitchen to the living-room.

“Let me see,” the lad was purposely tantalizing, “where did I end
the first chapter?” Then, before he could be prompted, he continued:
“Oh, yes; I remember.

“After Davie Wells had left us, Lucky suggested that we ride over to
the Three Sand Hills. He wanted to climb to the top of the highest
one and take observations, so to speak, of the entire surrounding
country. It’s a hard climb, because of the sliding stones and sand,
but we made it and held to the giant yucca up there, while, with
shaded eyes we looked in every direction. It was an unusually clear
day and every object stood out as though it were magnified, but not
a sign of a gypsy wagon did we see. Lucky did make out a sand cloud
way to the north, but it wasn’t large enough to hold a caravan.
Lucky believed it to be made by a small herd of cattle trailing
toward Puffed Snake Water Hole.

“It was dusk when we entered the ranch house, and Sing Long was the
only person at home. He had been baking all the afternoon in the
kitchen, and had neither seen nor heard anyone passing. We did not
tell him that we had been informed that a gypsy caravan, made up of
at least six covered wagons, had been seen leaving Douglas and
heading our way. We had decided that there really was nothing in the
report, and Sing Long was inclined to be imaginative.

“After supper Lucky and I sat for a time in front of the fireplace.
I was reading, and, though Lucky held a newspaper and stared at it
as though he were deeply engrossed in some item of Douglas news, he
was evidently thinking all the time of what we had heard that
afternoon. His first remark proved this.

“Suddenly he sat up very straight and seemed to be listening. ‘Did
you hear it?’ he asked. ‘A sort of a rattling noise?’

“I put down my book and listened. I heard nothing and I told him so.
‘That is nothing, except the bellowing of the prize yearlings that
we had driven into the corral the day before.’ It did seem as though
they were making more noise than they had during the day.

“‘Wall, I reckon that’s only natural,’ Lucky tried to reassure
himself by sayin’. ‘They’re restless, them young steers air, being
shet in arter allays havin’ had the freedom of the range.’ He
returned to his newspaper and I to my book, but before many minutes
I was conscious of the fact that my companion was again listening
intently. I laughed. ‘Lucky,’ I remonstrated, ‘aren’t you
imaginative tonight? Surely you are not expecting a visit from
Davie’s Gypsy caravan, are you? That would be utterly impossible,
since only two hours ago you saw for yourself, when we were on the
top of Yucca Hill, that there was nothing of the kind for many miles
around.’

“‘Wall, I call’ate Ah am sort of skeerful. Truth is Ah never did
like them Gypsy folk. Ran into ’em once when Ah was a little shaver,
down in Texas, and Ah’ve given ’em a wide berth ever since.’ Then he
rose, saying, as he yawned and stretched: ‘Wall, sort o’ guess Ah’ll
turn in. Ah reckon Slim’s back from the border, or soon will be.
Ah’ll take one more look at the corral an’ see if them gates are
still barred.’

“‘All right, Lucky. S’long.’ Then I couldn’t resist teasing. ‘But
don’t stay awake all night listening for tambourines.’

“After he was gone, I became so interested in my book that I sat up
much later than usual. When I did decide to turn in, I first of all
stepped out on the front porch and looked around.

“The bunk house was dark and there wasn’t a light anywhere on the
desert. I was sure that if Gypsies were camped nearby they would
have a night fire to protect them from wild animals and keep away
insects.

“The prize yearlings in the corral were quieter, although every now
and then one would start a restless lowing which would awaken a few
others. Then a moment later, all would be silent.

“They’re safe enough,” I thought as I turned in and went to bed.

“I didn’t awaken until dawn, and then it was to slowly come to the
consciousness that someone was pounding on my door. I can’t remember
when I had ever locked it before.

“‘Who’s there?’ I called, leaping half dazed from bed.

“It was Lucky who answered, and, in his voice I sensed tragedy.

“‘It’s me, Malcolm! The prize yearlings! They’re plumb gone!’

“Of course I was into my clothes before I was hardly awake, nor did
I fully grasp the meaning of what I had heard until I had flung open
the door and had beheld Lucky’s face, white in spite of the tan
which has been deepening there for the past forty years. One glance
at him and I knew that I had heard aright.

“‘What do you make of it?’ we were swinging down the trail toward
the corral when I asked the question.

“‘Gypsies, of course,’ was his laconic reply.

“‘It doesn’t seem possible nor reasonable.’ I was not convinced,
but, of course, if the prize yearlings were really gone, someone had
taken them unless—‘Lucky,’ I said, ‘are you sure they didn’t break
through the fence somewhere?’

“‘Ah thought of that, but the tarnel thing is jest as whole as ’twas
when Slim got through mendin’ it only Saturday week.’

“Just then we reached the drop in the trail and I could see the
corral. Lucky had spoken truly; not a rail was misplaced, and,
although the gate was standing open and torn from its hinges, it was
evident that it had been broken by the impact of the stampeding
cattle.

“I stood and stared almost stunned and hardly able to believe, even
then, that so tragic a disaster had come to us. ‘Lucky,’ I said,
‘are you sure you barred the gate? The yearlings couldn’t get
through there any more than through another part of the fence if it
were equally secure.’

“I saw at once that my companion was hurt.

“I was sorry that I had asked the question, and I told him so.
‘Lucky,’ I said, with my hand on his shoulder, ‘there’s no one on
the entire desert more trustworthy than you are. Of course the
cattle got out some other way.’

“‘An’ the way was them gypsies.’ Lucky doggedly kept to his
preconceived theory that a band of thieving gypsies were sure to rob
us that night.

“It didn’t seem possible to me, nor probable either, but I didn’t
tell him so.

“What I did say was. ‘Let’s get a snack to eat, climb Yucca Hill
once more and see if there is any trace of the herd.’ Of course it
would be impossible for gypsies to drive them very far in the few
hours between midnight, when I turned in, and early dawn.

“But Lucky seemed determined to believe the worst. ‘Not if they were
headed for the border,’ he replied. ‘They’d be across ’afore sunup
easy.’

“I knew that to be true but decided to take an observation from the
highest of the Three Sand Hills as soon as possible. Leaving our
horses at the bottom we began the ascent. I had the misfortune when
half way up to step on an insecure rock, which loosened and sent me
sliding to the desert again. Lucky had kept right on and soon
reached the top. I heard him shouting as he gestured excitedly.
‘What do you see?’ I called, feeling convinced that it was something
which had interested him, nor was I wrong.

“‘It’s a tarnel whopper of a sand cloud and ’tisn’t Mexico way,
neither, so we can take hope from that.’

“I had scrambled to his side by that time and stood shading my eyes
from the glare of the rising sun. I, too, could see the rapidly
moving cloud of sand.

“‘What do you make of it?’ I asked.

“‘Ah reckon it’s our yearlings all right on a stampede. But what’s
puzzlin’ me is how a caravan on wheels that’s pulled by mules, as
Davie said ’twas, kin go ’long fast enough to keep up with ’em.’

“‘It couldn’t,’ I replied, ‘but a bunch of rustlers on bronchos
could keep up without half trying.’

“I was heart sick, Virg, at the thought that some clever cattle
thieves had made away with our prize stock. The distance that they
had already traveled, if they were our yearlings, was so great I
could have no hope of overtaking them. There was one thing that
puzzled me. That rapidly moving cloud of sand was headed directly
for the part of our desert that is called Burning Acres. Not a ranch
nor a water hole for miles and miles and sure death awaits man,
horse or cattle if they get stranded in that barren waste.

“I was deeply discouraged. However, as we descended the hill I said:
‘Lucky, it’s a lost hope I guess, but the most we can do is to pack
enough grub to last a few days, take two extra mounts, all the
canteens we can carry and head that way.’

“That’s what we did, which brings the story up to the hour of our
departure.”

“Did you find any trace of our yearlings?” Virginia’s query was
anxious, for she knew that herd had been the pride of her brother’s
heart. The lad shook his head. “No,” he said, “we didn’t. We rode as
far into the Burning Acres as we dared go. When our water supply was
half gone, we turned back, knowing that we would need an equal
amount on our return trip. We had ridden in silence for some time
when Lucky said: ‘Malcolm, Ah don’t hold that notion about gypsies
any more. Ah reckon the thieves was rustlers that knew their
business. Ah figger the fellow that told that yarn to Davie was
stringin’ him. Thar wan’t any wheeled caravan in these parts, of
that Ah’m sure sartin.’

“I was glad that he had come around to my way of thinking, but just
as we were leaving the Burning Acres, I saw Lucky, who was in the
lead, leap from his horse and examine the sand. Then turning, he
gestured, beckoning me to hurry.”

Malcolm paused. “What had he found?” Betsy asked. She was sitting so
close to the edge of her chair that she seemed in danger of falling
off.

“Well, when I reached the spot,” Malcolm knew that what he was going
to tell would astonish his hearers, “I saw Lucky pointing
triumphantly at what were unmistakable wheel tracks in the sand.”

“Brother, do you really think that a band of gypsies has ridden into
those dreadful dry lands?”

“I don’t know, Virg. We couldn’t stop to investigate as we were out
of water and so we returned to V. M. As it was noon, we ate the good
dinner Sing had ready for us and I turned in for an hour’s sleep but
Lucky could not rest, and so after having had not more than forty
winks of a doze, I heard him again riding away in search of further
evidence.

“It was nearly dusk when he returned and he came on a gallop
shouting my name. I was out on the porch in a moment. ‘Ah think
Ah’ve hit a trail sure sartin this time,’ he called. I saw that he
was leading my horse and a fresh mount that was laden with supplies.

“Uncle Tex rode in just then and seemed surprised to see that we
were starting out so near nightfall. He had been to his cabin on
Second Peak for several days and so had heard nothing of what had
happened. I didn’t wait to explain, but must have mystified him
greatly by calling, ‘Keep it dark which way we ride.’”

Virginia nodded for the old man had told her that he was indeed
puzzled. “What did you find, brother?” she eagerly inquired.

“The same wagon tracks a mile to the west of where we had seen them
before, but we could only find them in sheltered places. Of course
in the open they were quickly covered with the drifting sand. We
hunted for two days and all we found was this.”

He drew a scarlet silk scarf with fringed edges from his leather
coat pocket. “That’s rather conclusive evidence that Lucky is right,
isn’t it?” his sister inquired. “Shouldn’t you say that a gypsy
woman might have used that scarf as a head covering?”

“I don’t know much about gypsies,” the lad replied, and the tale
being told, he leaned back wearily.

It was the quiet Margaret who noticed how truly tired her guardian
looked. “You’ve been over-working, Malcolm,” she said solicitously.
“It has been a terrible strain for you to keep awake day and night
with all the worry about the lost yearlings.”

The lad smiled down at her as he rose. “I think we’ll have to change
places, Mistress Margaret,” he said. “I’ll be the ward and you the
guardian since you look after me so well.” The sweet face of the
girl was flushed, but, as Betsy had at that moment twisted the
scarlet scarf about her own head, no one noticed Megsy.

When Malcolm was gone, the merry maid skipped lightly about on her
toes shaking an imaginary tambourine.

“Betsy, you make a very fine gypsy,” Babs said, then, noting that
Virginia sat, quietly gazing at the fire as though she were deep in
thought, Barbara rested a hand on her arm as she added, “Virg, this
means a good deal of a loss, doesn’t it, to you and Malcolm?”

The young hostess nodded, “Yes, dear, it does, but I am more
concerned about Malcolm’s anxiety than I am about the disappearance
of the yearlings. I do wish there was something that girls could do
to help.”

Betsy had drawn near to listen. “Let’s get up just as soon as ever
we can awaken,” she suggested, “and let’s try to find the wagon
trails. If only I could solve this mystery, I’d be the happiest girl
in all the land.”

Virginia, who understood the desert better than did her companions,
even those who had visited it the year before, hesitated. Well she
knew that it was very easy for even one desert-bred, to be lost in
the Burning Acres. Then, noticing how truly disappointed Betsy
looked, the young hostess conceded. “We can ride as far as the Three
Sand Hills if you wish.” And with this Betsy had to be content, but
how she did hope that they would go farther, and, Oh, if only she,
Betsy Clossen, could find the caravan trail and restore the missing
cattle. Her active brain was planning imaginary clews long after the
others were asleep and yet, she was the first to awaken as soon as a
faint grey light revealed the horizon. What would the day bring
forth, she wondered.




CHAPTER V—BETSY’S FIRST RIDE


Malcolm, weary indeed with the long hard riding on the three days
previous, did not waken, nor did Uncle Tex when, at a very early
hour, the four girls stole out of the ranch house and, while the
stars were still shining in the paling sky they skipped down to the
wrangling corral. In a nearby shelter hung the saddles and Virg,
with Margaret’s help, soon had the four ponies ready to ride. If
Malcolm had known of their expedition, he would have insisted upon
accompanying them, not knowing what dangers might await them. In
fact he had intended to warn Virginia not to leave the immediate
neighborhood of the ranch until he and Lucky had discovered the
hiding place of the mysterious caravan, but, although he thought of
it after he had retired, he reminded himself that it would be time
to tell them at breakfast.

Virginia indeed had little hope of coming upon the trail of the
rumored caravan, for, during the night, a sandstorm had swept across
the desert and though of but brief duration, it would have
obliterated whatever tracks had been visible the day before. She had
thought of explaining this to the girls, but, knowing that Betsy
would be greatly disappointed, she decided to ride with them at
least as far as the Three Sand Hills.

This she often did, and, as the hills were surrounded by a vast
waste of open desert, she knew that unless the gypsies were camped
on the other side of the hills themselves, they would not come
unexpectedly upon them.

Betsy, before she had left school, had expected to be timid about
riding the western horses but Virg chose for her a gentle pony that
was well broken and so interested was the Eastern girl in the quest
upon which they were starting, that she found that she was not at
all afraid.

The east was beginning to glow with pale rose and lilac when the top
of the mesa was reached and Virginia, in the lead, pointed, as they
all drew rein, to the Three Sand Hills that loomed dark and
isolated, standing alone like sentinels on an otherwise flat expanse
of desert.

Betsy looked up with glowing eyes. “It’s wonderful!” she said, “just
to see this sun rise on the desert is worth a great deal, even if we
don’t find a trail.”

Then they started on again riding single file. Betsy’s pony had
taken the lead which delighted the young rider.

“It’s going to be a glorious day,” Margaret smiled back at Virg. “If
it weren’t for the lost yearlings and the anxiety it means to you
and Malcolm, I would be Oh, just ever so happy to think that we are
home again.”

Virginia was pleased to hear her adopted sister call the desert
“home.”

“Dear,” she said, “I am not going to worry over the loss nor will
Malcolm. Being unhappy and making others unhappy never restores the
thing that is lost. I mean to try to forget it as soon as we are
sure that the herd cannot be recovered.”

For a moment they rode on in silence, then Megsy looked back again
and smilingly nodded toward Betsy, who, quite forgetting that she
intended to be afraid of Western horses, was leaning far over in her
saddle and gazing at the sand that had been ribbed and scalloped by
the wind during the night. Suddenly she stopped her pony to await
the others. “Virg,” she asked eagerly, “are we near the place where
Lucky first saw the wagon trail?”

Virginia had to confess that they were yet many miles from the edge
of the Burning Acres where that trail had been seen. “I’m sorry to
disappoint you, Betsy,” she said, “but it would be impossible for us
to ride that far unless we were prepared for a hard journey and were
accompanied by Malcolm or Uncle Tex.”

They paused at the foot of the group of hills and Betsy shuddered as
she said, “I don’t know why they seem so uncanny to me. Did anything
ever happen here, Virg, anything spooky?”

“Why, nothing that I know about.” The Western girl laughed at the
eager expression on the face of their youngest. “What, for
instance?”

“Oh, some famous bandit might have been captured and bound to that
giant yucca that stands all alone on the highest hill, and the
masked men who had captured him might have stood down here and shot
him, then silently ridden away while the vultures came with their
weird cries to—”

Megsy put her hands over her ears. “Betsy,” she remonstrated,
“you’re telling the story of that moving picture we saw at Vine
Haven. My, but it was gruesome!”

Betsy laughed mischievously but Virg said seriously, “Those popular
pictures give a very wrong impression of our desert life, as it
really is. Now, if the rest of you would like to climb to the top of
Yucca Hill, I’ll stay here with the ponies. It might be hard to
catch them if they strayed in search of grass, and I do want to get
home before Malcolm can miss us and be worried.”

Betsy was scrambling down from the back of her patient mount as she
replied, “I’m going to climb up there, and stand right where the
bandit stood—and—”

“Well, go on then.” It was Barbara who spoke. “We’ll wait for you
down here. I, for one, am not pining for such a hard climb before
breakfast.”

“Do you dare me?” the twinkling eyed Betsy asked, her arms akimbo.

“Double dare!” Babs retorted. Then they all laughed to see the speed
with which Betsy began the ascent, but she soon found that she
slipped back about as far as she progressed. However, in time, she
reached the top and holding to the giant yucca she waved her other
hand to the watching group. Then, shading her eyes, she looked long
and intently in the direction of the Burning Acres. Suddenly she
began to beckon wildly. Virginia was puzzled. “I wonder if she is
doing that to tease or if she has really seen something of
interest.”

[Illustration: “It seems to be all wings, and it’s white, isn’t it?”]

Virg was the first to climb to the top of Yucca Hill, Margaret
having offered to remain with the four ponies. Barbara, breathless,
reached them a moment later, in time to hear an excited Betsy
exclaim, as she pointed toward the south, “Virg did you ever see a
bird as big as that? It seems to be all wings, and it’s white, isn’t
it?”

Babs protested. “Goodness Betsy. Did you call us way up here and in
such a hurry just to show us a bird?”

But Virginia, whose eyes were keener, since she was used to desert
distances, watched the wide-winged object which was high in the air,
and at least half a mile away.

“If it is a bird, which I doubt, it has hurt one of its wings for
surely it is not flying in—” she interrupted herself to exclaim:
“Oh, I see now! there goes one of the little whirlwinds that scud
over the desert so often. Whatever that flying thing is, it was
evidently tossed high in the air and is fluttering back to earth.”

Virg had surmised correctly for, with awkward movements of
apparently wide stretched wings, the something, which had so aroused
Betsy’s curiosity, fluttered groundward, but before it touched the
sand it caught on the arm of a formidable thorny cactus which stood
near the mesa trail. Laughingly the girls descended and told the
curious Margaret what Betsy’s excitement had been over.

“And there I had hoped that it might be a clew,” that maiden
mourned, as again, single file, they rode back toward V. M.

“Not a wagon track have we found nor anything exciting or even
interesting,” Babs began, when Virg, being in the lead, called over
her shoulder as she pointed at the great cactus that appeared near
the trail not far ahead:

“There’s your wide-winged bird, Betsy. Nothing but a newspaper that
tried to soar for a time but failed.”

Since they were in a hurry to reach V. M. before the hour which
Malcolm had suggested that they have breakfast together, the girls
did not stop to examine the newspaper, but, when they had reached
the ranch yard, Betsy, who had been unusually quiet during the
downward ride, suddenly exclaimed:

“Girls, I’m not sure but that we missed a clew, after all, when we
passed that newspaper. If you don’t mind, Virg, I’m going back and
get it. However,” and she smiled in a mischievous way, “if it’s all
the same to everybody, I guess I’d rather walk. It’s ages since I’ve
been on horseback, and I’m getting powerfully stiff.”

“If you’ll wait until after breakfast I’ll go back with you,” Babs
told her friend.

“Can’t be done, old dear,” Betsy declared. “Another whirlwind might
come along and where would my newspaper be?”

“Well, do hurry. I can tell by a certain appetizing fragrance on the
air that ham and eggs are being prepared, and Oh! but I’m hungry.”

Betsy acknowledged that she herself was most starved, but added that
if Babs had the real detective instinct which she possessed, mere
eating would not even be considered when there might be a clew to be
had for just a little effort.

The three girls, having turned their unsaddled ponies into the
corral, walked arm in arm up to the house. Their youngest had
already started on a run toward the mesa trail.

“It’s at least a quarter of a mile back to that cactus,” Virginia
said, “so we needn’t expect Betsy for quite a while.”

But to their surprise, ten minutes later, as they were emerging from
their rooms, having changed their khaki riding habits for gingham
morning dresses, they heard a familiar voice shouting without. Then
the front door burst open and a most excited Betsy waved torn
fragments of an old newspaper as she cried: “It’s a clew, it is a
clew; just listen to this.”




CHAPTER VI—BETSY’S FIND


The girls gathered about Betsy Clossen to gaze eagerly at the torn
fragments of newspaper when that excited little maid burst into the
ranch living room announcing that she really had found a clew.

“Where is it? I can’t see anything but plain print,” Babs chattered.

“How did you get back so soon?” Virg inquired. “You couldn’t
possibly have climbed the mesa trail. You’ve only been gone ten
minutes and that would have taken you half an hour.”

Betsy laughed. “I had an ally in another whirl-wind. I hadn’t gone
far when I saw torn fragments of the same newspaper that had been
caught on the cactus scudding toward me. Then a gust of wind blew
sand in my eyes and I had to turn my back. I was afraid that I had
lost the flying pieces, but luckily they had caught on a mesquite
bush right at my feet. I pounced on them and on the very top I found
written—”

Betsy was holding the pieces back of her and just to tease she
asked, “Guess what!”

“Oh Betsy, how provoking you are, must we guess?” Babs pondered a
moment then said, “Maybe it was something in the Romany tongue. That
is what they call the gypsies’ language, isn’t it?”

But the would-be young detective shook her head and looked
inquiringly at Margaret. “Oh, I never could guess, can you Virg?”

“Hm-m! Let me see. It might be a note scribbled by somebody on the
Burning Acres, who was trying to send a message to tell that he is
stranded and in need of aid.”

“I don’t think that is it.” Betsy brought the paper around and held
it up that all might see. Then she pointed at some very fine writing
on an upper margin. “If it were intended for someone else to read,
it would be larger and clearer.”

“What does it say?” Margaret inquired. But Betsy could not tell.
“Why, I thought you told us that you were sure that it is a clew to
the whereabouts of the gypsy caravan or of the stolen yearlings.”

Betsy was about to defend her theory when Virginia, who had taken
the paper to the window that she might better see the very fine
writing, exclaimed: “It seems to be a memorandum of some kind. I can
read several words, but altogether they make but little sense. They
are ‘five miles beyond.’ I can’t make out beyond what, then comes
‘turn toward mountains,’ after that the pencil marks are blurred
until the last sentence, which is, ‘likely to make a find there.’”

Betsy whirled toward Margaret, glowing, triumphant. “There now,
Mistress Doubter, isn’t that a clew and a fine one?”

“Well,” the other maid replied rather reluctantly. “It might be, and
yet again it might be merely a paper that some mining prospector was
reading when a whirl-wind came along. What you read, Virg, would be
just about what a miner would jot down, don’t you think?”

The Western girl nodded. “Yes, dear, I believe so. Wait until I get
the magnifying glass and perhaps the blurred part will be clearer.”

While Virg had gone in search of it, Malcolm appeared calling,
“Ready for breakfast girls?” Then seeing their excited expressions,
he inquired: “What’s up?” Betsy’s words fairly tumbled out in her
eagerness to be the one to relate the story of her find. The lad
took the fragment and looked at it intently. “It wasn’t written by
the type of prospector who usually climbs over these mountains with
pick and shovel hunting for copper. In fact most of them can hardly
write at all,” was the lad’s decision.

Virg at that moment appeared, and holding up the magnifying glass,
she exclaimed, “Now perhaps we will find out the secret hidden in
that blurred writing.”

Even Malcolm believed that Betsy might have found a clew and they
all bent over the fragment of newspaper which Virginia had spread on
a table near the window. After several moments of intent scrutiny,
he told the girls what he believed was the meaning of the very fine
and frequently blurred hand writing.

Betsy was elated.

“Whizzle,” she exclaimed excitedly, “it is a clew after all. A whale
of a clew!”

“Brother, read it again and then tell us what you make of it,”
Virginia urged.

So once more Malcolm placed the magnifying glass over the torn
fragment of the newspaper and read the fine writing.

“Tenderfoot, O. K. Wheels N. G. in desert. Ought to have known
better. Stuck for keeps, seems like. No ranches in sight. Don’t know
what to do with—” The paper was torn there.

“Malcolm,” Virginia began anxiously, “do you suppose that the
missing word might have been yearlings? Has some tenderfoot
attempted to make away with our entire herd?”

The lad looked serious but after a thoughtful moment he shook his
head. “I can’t believe it is possible. What paper is this, anyway?”

“A page from the _Chicago Tribune_,” Betsy told him. Then, eager to
help solve the mystery, she hurried on to say: “Chicago is the place
where your cattle were to be sold, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I planned shipping the yearlings in a few days. The empty cars
are on the side track at Silver Creek station this very minute. As
soon as Lucky and I had them loaded, we were to wire Douglas and the
cars were to be picked up by the freight that night.”

“I know what Betsy thinks,” Virginia said. “She believes that some
tenderfoot rustler tried to steal the cattle and ship them as his
own. Would such a thing be possible, Malcolm?”

“Possible, but not probable,” was the answer.

“Then what do you make of it?” Margaret asked.

“I don’t,” was the smilingly given reply. “But I do know that we
will all starve and that Sing Long will be on the rampage if we
don’t go out and eat the fine breakfast he has prepared for us.”

“Whizzle! I have been so interested and excited that I had actually
forgotten that I am almost starved,” Betsy declared as they entered
the big sunny kitchen, at one end of which was a table that could
seat twelve without crowding, for, on the desert, one never knew
when a passing cowboy, or a group of them, might stop at meal time.

When the first pangs of hunger had been satisfied, Virginia said:
“Now brother, tell us your theory.”

“I’d like to hear Betsy’s first.” Malcolm was much amused by the
small, bright-eyed girl who took such an unusual interest (for one
feminine) in the solving of mysteries.

They all turned to listen and so Betsy began. “Well, of course I
know very little about the ways of the desert, but I should think
that Virginia’s suggestion, a little while ago, might be the right
one. But since you doubt it, Malcolm, I’m beginning to think that
the something the writer didn’t know what to do with, might not be
the stolen yearlings after all.”

The lad nodded. Then glancing at Margaret, he asked, “Who else has a
theory?” Flushing prettily as she always did when her guardian
addressed her, the quiet Megsy replied, “I don’t believe that I have
one, but I just know that you have, Malcolm. Won’t you tell it to
us?”

“I may be wrong,” the lad began, “but, from the wording of the
memorandum, I believe a boy has written it, and surely a tenderfoot,
else he would not have tried to cross the desert in a prairie
schooner, if that’s what he has. Maybe he’s here for his health.
Many a lad finds his lungs in danger after years of hard study, and
they come out here to rough it and get strong again. Anyway, that’s
my guess. I don’t believe that the writer of this note has ever even
heard of our lost yearlings.”

“Hark!” Virginia cried, springing up and running to the door.
“What’s all the commotion outside?”

There was indeed a most unusual commotion not far away, but, from
the kitchen window nothing could be seen but the sandy door-yard,
the chicken corral, the outhouses and farther down the slope and
near the dry creek, the adobe cabin of the Mahoys.

Malcolm, at once on the alert, caught his sombrero from its place
near the back door. He leaped from the porch without taking time to
descend the steps, and, before the astounded girls could speak, he
was racing for the corral that was down in the valley-like hollow
near the towering red windmill.

“Girls!” Virg had listened but a moment when she whirled, her cheeks
burning, her eyes glowing, “Don’t you know what it means, that
bellowing of cattle and shouting of men?”

“It sounds like a round-up to me,” Barbara ventured.

“It is! It surely is! Oh, if only someone has found the lost
yearlings.” The four girls were running so fast that Virg had not
breath to finish her sentence. A second later they reached the top
of the trail and in the depression below them, they saw something
which filled their heart with rejoicing.

“The yearlings! Oh how happy Malcolm will be,” Margaret cried.
“Virg, you too, how glad you must be!”

“How do you suppose it happened?” Betsy was tremendously interested,
this being the first time she had witnessed the driving in of a
restless herd of cattle.

“Slim found them,” Virg said. “See Megsy, how cleverly he herds them
toward the open gate of the corral. There’s one that is trying to
make a break.”

“Goodness that wild one has turned. It’s charging right at that
cowboy. Slim, did you call him?” Betsy had her hand on her heart and
her eyes expressed terror, but Virginia laughed. “That’s nothing
unusual. Watch what happens.”

It was quite evident that the young cowboy, Slim, had his eye on the
angry young steer that had stopped to paw the ground and snort in a
most threatening manner. The boy drew rein and coiled his rope.
Lucky and Malcolm were also in the saddle and they were trying to
quiet the remainder of the herd and drive them into the corral. Slim
backed his horse, all the time swinging his rope and keeping a
watchful eye on the snorting young steer.

“Whizzle,” Betsy clutched Virginia’s arm and held tight. “I wish
Slim would look where he is going. He may back his horse right over
that cliff and into the dry creek.”

“Don’t worry, dear. Slim knows every step his horse is taking even
though he isn’t looking. If I didn’t know how that cowboy of ours
can ride, I too, might be worried. There, now watch!”

Angered beyond endurance by the whistling of the rope as it swung
round and round the head of Slim, the enraged creature which knew in
some way that this cowboy was depriving him of the freedom of the
range, made a sudden lunge, his head bent to bowl over whatever it
first struck.

Betsy screamed, but the lowing of the restless cattle drowned her
cry. “He’ll be thrown! Why doesn’t Slim do something?”

“He is waiting his time,” Virg said quietly. “See how his pony
leaped to one side. They’re well trained, those wiry bronchos.”

Malcolm and Lucky, having driven the remainder of the herd into the
corral, had closed and barred the gate. Malcolm, however, stood
there ready to swing it open if the rebellious steer should be
headed that way, while Lucky rode out to assist Slim if his services
were needed, but they were not, for once again the young steer
plunged, the rope sung through the air, and catching the forefeet of
the animal, sent it with a thud to the ground.

The loop of Lucky’s rope caught about its neck. Then, when Slim’s
rope had loosened, the creature scrambled to its feet, and, half
stunned, permitted itself to be led and driven into the corral. Then
the gates were again closed.

“Now tell us, where did you find them?” Malcolm asked Slim.

The good looking young cowboy removed his sombrero, wiped his hot
brow with his red bandana handkerchief and then burst into
unexpected laughter.

“Well, Malcolm,” he chuckled, “Ah reckon that thar dod-busted steer
that’s been so plumb rampagious this mornin’ was at the bottom of
the whole thing.”

“Then you don’t think that gypsies tried to steal them?” It was the
first time that Betsy had addressed Slim.

He had not noticed the young stranger. Virginia, noting his
expression of surprise exclaimed, “Betsy, this is Slim our prize
broncho buster and sure shot roper.”

The young cowboy laughed disparagingly. “Don’t take no stock in all
a-that, Miss Betsy,” he said.

“Oh, I know it without being told,” was the young girl’s eager
response. “Didn’t I see you rope that wild steer with my very own
eyes.”

Malcolm, anxious to know where the cattle had been found turned the
subject back to the point where it had digressed.

“No, sir, ’twant gypsies nor yet again cattle thieves that let the
yearlings out of their pen. ’Twas that wild one himself.”

“But, Slim, that doesn’t seem probable or possible for the fence was
not broken and the cattle cannot open the gate,” Malcolm was saying
when Betsy who had turned to glance at the corral in which the
restless herd was pacing back and forth, uttered a cry of warning.

“Look! Quick! Slim is right! That wild steer is pushing the bar.”

With a variety of expletives the cowboys leaped forward and were in
time to prevent a second escape of the herd.

For sometime after that, they were engaged in making the fastening
of the gate more secure. The girls remained as interested
spectators. When Malcolm at last straightened up, he turned to them
and said with his pleasant smile, “And so, Mistress Betsy, we are
doomed to disappoint you, for there really isn’t any mystery to
unravel after all.”

But Slim had again removed his sombrero and he was thoughtfully
rubbing his glossy brown hair. Suddenly he turned toward the little
stranger.

“Ah say, Miss Betsy, what was that thar you asked me in the
beginning. ’Pears to me like ’twas suthin’ namin’ gypsies.”

“Yes, it was.” Then eagerly, hopefully. “Mr. Slim, you didn’t see
anything of them while you were hunting for the cattle, did you?”

“Wall now, I reckon mebbe I did and yet agin mebbe, I didn’t. Ah’m
not tolerably sartin’, but I saw suthin’ mighty perplexin’.”

Then inquiringly to Malcolm. “You-all don’ figger that any copper
diggers ’d be loony enuf to cross the desert in a wagon, do you?”

“No, indeed. I’m as good as certain that they wouldn’t,” Malcolm
began, when Betsy hopped up and down and clapped her hands as she
interrupted. “Oh! Oh! tell us quick, Mr. Slim, _did_ you see the
wagon? We’ve been hunting for it everywhere.”

The cowboy was so plainly puzzled that Virginia told him the story
of the gypsy caravan as Davie had told it to Malcolm and Lucky.

“Wall, all as I saw was tracks headin’, seemed like toward Puffed
Snake Water Hole. But Ah was driving the herd in jest then an’
couldn’t leave to do no investigatin’.”

“Good! I’m glad they were heading away from V. M. Ranch, whoever
they are.” Malcolm said then added: “Boys, I think we’d better all
three drive this herd in to the station. It’s going to take some
skillful handling to get them aboard the cars. It’s nine now and I
expected to get them loaded by this time.” Then anxiously, “Slim,
you’ve had a hard time of it this past twenty-four hours. You ought
to get some sleep before we start.”

“Caint spare the time, Malcolm. Ah reckon thar’ll be enough for
sleep when this here herd is boxed up in the car. Ah reckon thar
will.”

Lucky had been silently watching the restlessly lowing heard.
“Malcolm,” he said, “we’d better start, ’pears like. That wild one’s
got to wear a drag to keep it from boltin’, an’ that’ll make it
plumb slow goin’ for the rest.”

“Right you are,” the young master of V. M. replied. “We certainly
don’t want to take any chances on a stampede today, since the cars
are scheduled to be picked up by the through freighter tonight at
seven.” Then, turning to his sister, he added, “Virg, will you girls
pack us some grub and we’ll start as soon as we can get the herd in
shape.”

“Indeed we will.” Then catching the hands of two of her friends and
nodding to the third, away she ran toward the ranch house.

“Oh, I just adore all this,” Betsy exclaimed an hour later when the
girls, having packed the saddle bags with good things until they
bulged, stood out on the front veranda watching the three cowboys as
they drove the still restless herd up over the mesa.

“That poor wild steer will wish he had been less obstreperous,” the
quiet Margaret said. “He can hardly take a step without stumbling
over that long pole that drags between his front legs.”

“I like him,” Babs surprised the others by remarking. “I like his
spirit. Somehow a desire for freedom seems to belong to the desert
and his surely is unquenchable, but next week he will be—”

“Oh, do let’s forget that part of it.” Virginia spoke with unusual
seriousness. “I hate it.” Then noting the expressions of inquiry,
she explained. “I don’t understand in the least what makes me feel
so queerly about it. Nevertheless, I do. I don’t believe that we
have any right to take that wonderful thing, Life, from any creature
to which it has been given. We may find sometime that we have been
doing something grievously wrong. But there,” she added in a gayer
tone, “since I am the part owner of a business that raises live
stock for the sole purpose of taking life, it hardly behooves me to
moralize about it.”

“Does Malcolm know that you feel that way?” Margaret asked.

Virg shook her head. Then slipping her hand in that of her friend,
Megsy, said earnestly, “I agree with you. I’d heaps rather raise
beets to sell.”

A merry laugh greeted this remark, and then Betsy, who was never
long content with just conversing exclaimed. “Virg, let’s do
something interesting right after lunch.”

Virginia smiled. “I was going to suggest that we all take a siesta.”
Then she laughed at the dismay pictured in the face which a moment
before had been so eager.

But the youngest was not to be daunted. Whirling toward Barbara, she
wheedled. “Babsie, you don’t want to sleep, do you? Let Megsy and
Virg siesticate if they wish, but suppose you and I go for a ride.”

“I’ll make a bargain with you, Betsy.” It was Virg who was speaking.
“If you’ll be as quiet as a little mouse and let us, who wish to,
nap until three, we’ll all go for a ride anywhere you choose.”

“Oh, will you, honest injun, cross your heart!” The would-be little
detective seemed more eager than before and the reason was that she
wanted to get Virginia to promise to do something without telling
her what it was.

The unsuspecting older girl nodded, then as the bell was ringing
they all went in to lunch. Betsy lingered back of Virg and beckoning
Babs she whispered something in her ear. “Oh, Virg won’t do that,”
Barbara told her.

“But she’ll have to. You yourself heard her promise to ride this
afternoon in any direction that I wish and I’m just wild to go
there.”




CHAPTER VII—A PLANNED RIDE


Directly after lunch, Virginia, Margaret and Barbara retired to
their rooms for the customary afternoon nap which seemed to be as
much a part of desert life as anything else in the routine. The sun
beat down upon the shimmering white sand relentlessly during the
noon hours and all live creatures were glad to seek the cool of some
shadow or to hide in underground burrows if that was according to
their nature.

Betsy, unused to sleeping during the day, had decided to take that
time for letter writing. She was wild to tell her Cousin Bob, who
was fourteen, of all the exciting things which had befallen her
since her departure from boarding school such a very short time
before.

How he would envy her. Virg had suggested that she write at the big
old desk which stood on the shady side of the long living room and
there, for a quiet hour the little girl sat scribbling as fast as
her pencil would fly and the story of her adventures was so
thrillingly told that the boy, who was to receive it, would indeed
be envious. She had just concluded with—“Virg hasn’t any idea where
I am going to suggest that we go for our ride when she wakes up, but
of course she’ll have to go because she has promised. I’m ever and
ever so sure that an exciting adventure awaits us and I’ll add it to
this letter before I send it. There’ll be plenty of time, anyway,
for the mail pouch is only taken to the station about twice a week.”

It was at this point in the epistle that the three girls, who had
been asleep, appeared and they were dressed in their riding habits.

“You’ll have to don yours, Betsy,” Babs called. “I’ll wait for you.
Virg and Megsy are going down to the corral to saddle our horses.”

While the young would-be detective was changing her apparel, Babs
sat on the arm of a chair watching her. “Virg has forgotten all
about her promise to you,” she volunteered. “I heard her tell
Margaret that she wanted to ride over to Hog Canon and see the poor
dry ranchers who live there. She has brought some gifts for the
three children and their mother.”

“Oh dear, isn’t that just too provoking. I did so want to ride in
the direction of that Puffed Snake Water Hole and see if we could
find the gypsy caravan, but, of course, if our hostess has other
plans, I suppose I’ll have to give up mine, only I don’t think she
should have promised. Honestly I don’t.”

Babs hardly knew what to say. “But dear, you can visit that water
hole some other time, maybe tomorrow. Wouldn’t that do as well?”

“Why, of course not Babs. You know as well as I do that if we are to
get there before that gypsy caravan moves on, we’ll have to go
today. They’re not going to just camp out there and wait to be
found.”

“Well, you’ll have to be the one to remind Virg of her promise. I
won’t. I heard her say that the little woman who lives over in Hog
Canon is very frail and that she has brought her some things that
she needs just dreadfully.”

Betsy sighed as she laced the riding boots that Virg had loaned her,
but all she said was “What’s a dry rancher anyway? Someone who’s
awfully poor I judge.”

Babs nodded. “Yes indeed. Mr. Wallace, ‘Foolish Andy,’ I’ve heard
him called, is certainly not prosperous. Dry ranching means trying
to get along without water except such as can be caught in a cistern
during the rainy season. There’s no water for the few head of cattle
they have except in water holes. I guess they’re poor enough all
right.”

Betsy stood up clothed, but only partly resigned to the seemingly
inevitable. “Virg would rather go on a visit of mercy any time than
try to unravel a mystery which shows how different we are,” she
confided to her companion as they ran down the trail that led to the
corral where the others awaited them with the four ponies saddled
and ready.

A small pack-horse near had on its back two saddle bags well packed.
“Here you are,” Virg sang out, then noting an expression of
disappointment in the face of their youngest, the hostess recalled
something. “Oh Betsy,” she said self-rebukingly, “I completely
forgot that you were to choose the direction of our ride this
afternoon and here I have packed Old Stoic with food and gifts that
I want to take to the Wallace family over in Hog Canon. Well, I can
unpack him again if you wish me to keep that promise.

“My only reason for wanting to go today is that the children have
heard that I am home from school, Slim told them, and they sent word
that they’re wild to see me, and Slim said I should have seen poor
Mrs. Wallace’s expression when she heard it. He said that it was as
though she had heard something that was going to give her a new
lease on life.

“But of course one day more won’t matter if you wish to hold me to
my promise.”

“I should say not, Virg!” Betsy spoke emphatically. “I was merely
going to suggest that we go over to that Puffed Snake Water Hole Mr.
Slim told about and see if we could find the gypsy caravan. But it
might be a wild-goose chase.” Virginia laughed. “It would be, I can
assure you. The odors around that water hole are such that even
gypsies wouldn’t linger there long. They are miles and miles away by
now.” But Betsy interrupted. “Virg, how can they be? Don’t you
recall what the writing on the newspaper said. ‘Stuck for keeps.’ No
ranches in sight.”

“Then there’s no use visiting the Puffed Snake Water Hole for one
can plainly see Slater’s Ranch from there. Now the question is,”
Virg looked from one friend to another, “which way shall we go? Of
course we can visit Hog Canon tomorrow and—”

“Indeed not! I’m not as selfish as all that. We’ll visit Hog Canon
and your poor family today, then tomorrow we’ll hunt for the gypsy
caravan.”

Little did Betsy dream what her decision would lead to.




CHAPTER VIII—OLD STOIC


Single file the four mounted girls rode down the trail which led
across the dry creek bottom for a time and then ascended the rather
steep opposite bank. The fifth horse “Old Stoic” followed
faithfully. When they were again on the level trail, Virg in the
lead, smiled over her shoulder. Betsy just back of her was evidently
deep in thought.

“What are you puzzling about now, little mystery solver?” she sang
out gaily.

Betsy looked up brightly. “I’m trying to solve three things at
once.”

Babs and Megsy rode up, and, as the sand was hard enough to permit,
they continued in a group which was better for conversation.

“What are they? And how are you succeeding?” Each maid asked a
question.

Betsy laughed. “I’m wondering what Puffed Snakes are. I’ve heard of
rattlers and copper heads and—and water snakes, but never Puffed
ones.”

“Guess!” Virg turned to say.

“I don’t have to guess because I know.” Margaret smiled at Betsy.
“Use that good brain of yours. It’s ever so easy. It isn’t the kind
of snake. It’s something that happens to it.”

“Hm. Let me see. It’s the name of a water hole with a dreadful
odor.” Betsy seemed to be thinking hard. Suddenly she laughed. “Oh,
of course, that’s easy! A snake fell into the water hole, couldn’t
get out and puffed.”

“Righto!” Virg had whirled her pony and to the great admiration of
the other girls, was riding backwards.

“What was your second puzzle?” Babs asked.

“Why this picturesque place ahead of us in the mountains, should be
called Hog Canon?”

“Oh, that is too easy,” Megsy declared.

“Probably because some former dry rancher tried to raise hogs,” Babs
suggested.

“You are nearly right, but not entirely so. It was Nature itself
that raised the little wild hogs that ‘abounded,’ as the story books
say, in these mountains, but they are gone now or nearly so.”

“Goodness, you don’t mean the kind that I’ve seen in pictures with
tusks that look so dangerous.”

“No, not wild boars. These were very small creatures, I’ve heard
father say, but they were all gone when brother and I came to the
desert to live. Now what is your third puzzle.”

“Why you named your pack horse Old Stoic.”

“All you have to do is to look at him and that mystery is solved. He
hasn’t a spark of fire in his eye, he has never been known, within
the memory of the oldest inhabitant, to do anything but plod. I
guess the colt in him vanished years ago.”

The girls all turned to look at the pack horse that was following
them but it deigned not to return their notice. It did indeed seem
to be stolid and stunned. Suddenly Virginia began to laugh. She was
riding ahead by that time and the others pressed forward to hear the
cause of her mirth.

“What’s the joke, Virg,” Betsy said, “Let us all in on it. Is it
something about Old Stoic?”

Virginia nodded. “Yes, it is,” she said merrily. “I believe after
all I have wronged the old horse. I recall now that brother modified
his statement that nothing could stir an interest in Stoic. There
was one thing he said that could.”

“What was it?” Betsy was always curious about everything. None of
the girls had a brain more eagerly alert.

“A bear! Malcolm said that Old Stoic can smell a bear farther than
any horse he ever rode and run faster to try to get away from it,
but apart from that, he shows no sign of interest in life except in
doing his duty as a pack animal and doing it well.”

Betsy looked anxiously toward the rugged Seven Peak Range which they
were approaching. “I say, Virg,” she said, “there aren’t any bears
in the mountains these days are there?”

Then the questioner sighed with relief when she heard the reply.

“No, dear, nary a one, or so few that one seldom if ever appears. I
did hear Lucky say last winter that he saw bear tracks in the snow
way up north in the higher, colder mountains, but I don’t believe
they come down this way now-a-days. They did, though, when Lucky was
a boy. His father was a trapper and exciting tales he can tell.
We’ll get him to recount the most thrilling of them for us some
night when we’re all sitting around the fire.”

The girls having ridden for several miles without stopping were
glad, when Virg suggested that they stop awhile in the shade of a
giant cactus. Dismounting, she ran back to Old Stoic who had stopped
with the others and slipping her hand into one of the saddle bags
she brought out four oranges. “I’m not robbing the Wallace family,”
she smilingly told them, “for I put these in here just for our very
own refreshment. I knew we’d all be hot and thirsty by the time we
reached this half-way point.”

The girls were indeed glad to eat the sweet juicy fruit. Betsy,
unused to the saddle was also pleased to have a chance to stretch
her legs, and so, slipping from her mount, she threw herself down on
the sand, warm even in the shade of the cactus, but she was on her
feet again almost as quickly when she heard Babs laughingly caution
her. “Look out for tarantulas and scorpions.”

“Too, you might be lying directly over the hole of a rattler,” Megsy
added. But Virg protested. “Let the poor girl rest. There isn’t a
poisonous creature in our immediate neighborhood, I’ll vouch for
that.”

But Betsy would not lie down again. Pretending to want to make the
acquaintance of the pack horse she walked back toward where he so
patiently stood, half dozing. Patting him on the head she said, “Old
Stoic, if there’s a rattler or a tarantula, a scorpion or anything
else startling or unusual around, you let me know won’t you.” Then
she cried triumphantly. “Look girls, he’s nodding his head. He is
intelligent after all. He just assumes that dull uninterested
expression for reasons of his own. Maybe he’s a detective. That’s
just the way Dad does when he’s in a group where he expects to
overhear something of great importance. He acts as though he were
intently thinking of something far away.”

The listeners laughed. “Honestly Betsy, I doubt your theory in this
case. I don’t believe Old Stoic thinks. He seems to just plod, but
now if you’re all rested enough, we’ll up in the saddle and away.”

“Whizzle, but it’s hot, hotter, hottest!” Betsy exclaimed when they
had ridden a mile farther on their way.

“Or, as the story books say, ‘The relentless tropical sun beat down
upon the lone traveler and his beast of burden. Nowhere about him on
the vast sandy waste could he see a sprig of vegetation that would
suggest a life-saving oasis—’”

“Oh Babs, have a heart! I’d heaps rather have you spiel about ice
cream sodas and cool things like that if it’s all the same to you.”

Virg smiled back over her shoulder. “Perhaps we ought to have waited
for a cooler hour,” she said. “I forgot that you Eastern girls are
not as used to our Arizona sun as I am, and, I’ll confess, it _is_
rather warm, but there’s hope ahead, for in just a few moments we
will have sighted the canon up which we will soon be riding.”

Betsy drew her sombrero farther down over her eyes, and then peered
ahead through the air that was quivering with the heat.

The canon which they were nearing did not look inviting. There were
no green growths that would have suggested a cool brook flowing down
among them, only bare jagged rocks with here and there a scraggly
mesquite bush growing in the cracks of rock where sand had gathered.

“Well, I don’t wonder the neighbors call the gentleman who chose
that canon as his dwelling place ‘foolish,’” she remarked with a
little disdainful grunt.

“Oh, but that isn’t his chief folly, or rather, not the one for
which he is noted far and wide,” Virginia looked over her should to
inform them.

“Why is he called Foolish Andy, Virg? I’ve often wondered,” Megsy
inquired.

“It’s because he is an inventor. He is very well educated, and seems
always to be inventing something which he is sure will bring his
little family fame and fortune. Mrs. Wallace tells me that they were
comfortably well off, once upon a time, but that all they could save
had been squandered on one invention after another and they became
poorer and poorer until now they can hardly keep alive, but nothing
seems to quench Mr. Wallace’s faith in his inventive powers. I heard
brother say that the instrument he is now trying to perfect, he
believes will not only bring him the money he needs but be a great
boon to mankind, or at least to that portion of it that chooses the
desert places for a home.”

“What is the instrument, Virg?” Megsy inquired.

“It’s some very sensitive mechanism that is supposed to locate water
and that is why Mr. Wallace choose the driest section of the desert
in this neighborhood. He particularly likes Hog Canon, and his
theory is that since it was, once upon a time, overrun with small
hogs, there must then have been water. He believes, that the stream
took to flowing underground as they so often do in Arizona and that
his instrument will locate it. Then this land, which he has taken
up, homesteaded I mean, will be invaluable. Brother says he is right
about that, but the other ranchers have no faith whatever in his
invention. At least it hasn’t succeeded. Mr. Slater is a very
wealthy, progressive man and when the Wallaces first moved here, he
took an interest in the instrument. When he was about to have a well
dug for his new windmill, he sent for Mr. Wallace to help him locate
a spot where he would be sure to find water. Fate was against the
inventor, for the very spot where an excellent well has been dug,
the instrument reported no water. That is why the poor man, who
still clings to his faith in the invention is called ‘Foolish
Andy’.”

“He ought to be put in an insane asylum,” was Betsy’s indignant
verdict. “The very idea of his being permitted to bring such
misfortune on the heads of his innocent wife and children. Why
doesn’t she leave him?”

“For the simple or rather wonderful reason that she loves him and
has faith in him,” Virginia replied, “but, unfortunately, if he ever
does succeed, I fear it will be too late for his wife to share in
whatever prosperity will follow. If they don’t find water very soon
now, the little woman will have slipped away. Slim tells me that she
seems to be holding to life by a thread. That will mean three more
children left motherless in the world.”

Betsy flared. “I just hate that selfish man! I’m sorry we came! I
know I won’t be able to speak civilly to him.” But Virg remarked,
“You’ll be surprised to find how different he is from the man you
have pictured. Now, here’s where we turn to enter the canon. Why,
what is the matter with Old Stoic?” The girls whirled in their
saddles to look at the pack horse. To their amazement they saw that
it had stopped and was staring at the dark entrance of the canon
ahead with a look of fear, ears thrown back and every muscle
quivering.

“Oh, it must be a bear,” Betsy cried, when, with a shrill frightened
whistle, Old Stoic turned tail toward the mountains, and, burdened
though he was, raced across the trackless sand, but not toward home.




CHAPTER IX—WAS IT A BEAR


“Do you think old Stoic saw a bear?” Margaret asked as the girls,
puzzled indeed, by the faithful creature’s strange and unexpected
behavior sat in their saddles, two of them gazing anxiously into the
dark entrance of the canon, while the third, Virg, watched the
flight of their pack animal.

“Oh I can’t believe it possible that there is a bear about,” she
said. “We are very near the Wallaces’ cabin now, that is, it’s not
more than half a mile away and bears do not venture near settlements
if they know it.”

“Maybe this one is a big grizzly and maybe he’s eaten the Wallace
family all up and perhaps be coming now to—”

Megsy laughed at the wide-eyed Betsy. “To eat us, I suppose you are
going to say. But honestly, dear child, if he has eaten five
Wallaces and their burros, I don’t believe he’ll have much of an
appetite for delicacies like us.”

Betsy turned rebuking eyes. “I don’t see how you can joke at a time
like this when maybe something terrible is about to happen.”

Virg was relieved to see that the pack horse had come to a
stand-still in the shade of a giant cactus about an eighth of a mile
away. “Girls,” she suggested, “would you like to wait here until I
go and get Old Stoic or—”

“What!” Betsy fairly screamed. “We stay here when any minute a bear
or something is going to come right out of the canon? Nixie for
mine. Where you go, there I’ll go too.”

The other girls could not keep from laughing which further increased
the indignation of their youngest. “Laugh if you want to,” she said,
“but didn’t Virg tell us herself that Old Stoic never showed sign of
fear except when a bear was near?”

Their hostess agreed. “I’ll confess I did. That is what brother told
me, but of course there must be something else that can frighten our
faithful pack animal.” Then with sudden animation and pointing
toward the mountains a little way beyond them, Virginia cried:
“Look! girls, look!”

Every one gazed, expecting to see something very unusual, Betsy
alone was convinced that it would be a huge grizzly.

“Why, that’s nothing but smoke.” Babs spoke regretfully. She had
almost hoped that it would be a bear for she knew, what Betsy did
not, that they were harmless unless cornered or attacked.

“Why Virginia, surely Old Stoic isn’t afraid of smoke, is he?”
Margaret turned inquiringly toward her adopted sister.

“No indeed! Brother always takes that pack horse with him when he
goes to the mine and they have camp fires every night.”

“What do you suppose this smoke means? A camp?” Barbara began when
Betsy interrupted eagerly. “Oh Virg, maybe that’s where the gypsy
caravan is stuck. Do you suppose it might be?”

Virginia shaded her eyes and gazed long at the jutting point of rock
which hid from their sight whatever was beyond it. “It’s a fire of
course,” she told them. “Shall we ride over and see who is camping
there?”

“Oh yes, let’s!” Betsy was her old brave self again. She had no fear
of gypsies nor of cattle rustlers she was sure, though she had never
seen any of them except on the screen.

A short gallop took them to a point where they could see the fire.
Virg, in the lead, uttered a cry of surprise, then turned and
beckoned. “It is the gypsy caravan, or at least it is a covered
wagon, like a prairie schooner of the olden days, I should say, but
there seems to be no one around. Shall we go closer?”

“Of course!” This emphatically from Betsy. “Haven’t I been
wild—crazy to find this very caravan, and you don’t suppose I’d
leave without seeing the gypsies. Anyway, aren’t they in trouble?
Don’t you remember the handwriting said ‘Stuck for keeps. No ranches
in sight’.” So Virg laughingly led the way toward the apparently
deserted covered wagon.

“We’re wrong about one thing,” the young mistress of V. M. remarked.
“This is not the caravan that was stuck, for the wheels are quite
free, at present, anyway.”

“I wonder where the gypsies are.” Betsy was dismounting as she
spoke. “I’m going up to their front door and knock,” she informed
the others. This she did pounding loudly on the wooden sides of the
wagon. A low growl from within was the only answer but it was
sufficient, as Betsy said afterwards, to make her hair stand on end.
With a shrill cry she took to her heels and where she would have
gone, it is hard to know, had she not suddenly been confronted by a
girl of about sixteen who had leaped from between the flaps of the
tent-like covering. Her expression was at first puzzled, then merry
and apologetic.

Holding out her hand to Betsy, she exclaimed, “Oh, do forgive us for
having given you such a dreadful scare when you came to call.” Then
her sweeping glance, which held an inquiry, included them all. “You
have come to call, haven’t you?”

Virginia had dismounted and the other two girls did likewise. “We
did not really start out with that intention, we’ll have to
confess,” she said, with her friendliest smile, “because you see we
did not know of your existence.” Then, fearing that this was not
quite truthful, she concluded. “That is, we did, and we didn’t.”

Noting the puzzled expression in the fine face of the girl she was
addressing, Virginia told the whole story of the tale that the
station master’s boy had told of the large caravan of thieving
gypsies, and of their subsequent loss of cattle, their search for
the caravan, the finding of the wagon trail and then the newspaper
with its message.

“Oh, Brother Gordon must have written that. We were stuck for a day
and a night but some prospectors, I think they were called, came
along and dug us out. We’re on our way back to Douglas now, but
we’ve stopped here to get water and fill our canteens. Oh good, here
comes brother. He’s been up the canon where the prospectors told us
we would find a rancher who had water in a cistern.”

A tall lad, too pale to be a real Westerner, appeared on a loping
run from the canon beyond. “No luck, sister,” he had started to say
when he saw the three strangers and their horses.

“We have guests,” the girl called happily. Then to the others: “You
can’t guess how glad I am to see someone of my own age and I’m just
wild to know who you are and where you came from. Can’t you stay and
have supper with us? We have it very early and it’s now after
three.”

The lad came up and snatching off his hat, he stood waiting for his
sister’s invitation to be acknowledged, but not accepted, as Virg
told them that their home was some distance and that her brother
would be troubled if he returned from Silver Creek and found her not
there. “But now since we have met so informally, let’s introduce
ourselves,” she concluded. This was done and the four visitors found
that instead of gypsies, the two were the son and daughter of a
copper magnate whose name was very familiar to Virginia, since he it
was who owned many of the mines and smelting founderies in Douglas
and Bisbee.

“We are truly tenderfoots,” the girl, whose name was Annette
Traylor, told them, “for our home is in New York City and we have
never before been on the desert where our dad came from college to
prospect so many years ago. He’s always telling us tales of his
adventures and so this year, when brother broke down in his freshman
year at Yale, dad said the best thing for us to do would be to visit
his old haunts on the desert. He was coming West to inspect some
mines and as he was to be busy for about two weeks, he put us in the
care of an old man whom he had known years ago and told him to show
us the sights.”

“Then you’re not alone?” Virginia looked about for a guide but saw
no one.

Annette smiled. “Yes, we are, quite alone and unprotected. You see
it happened in this wise. We hadn’t been gone more than a day from
Douglas when Old Piute, as Dad called the guide who was part Indian
and the rest French, got sick, and so we sent him back. He didn’t
want to go, but we could easily see that he was too ill to travel,
so we gave him the money Dad had promised him if he returned us
safely to Douglas in two weeks. Then we gave him one of the burros
in our train and he sadly rode away. We could see him shaking his
old grizzled head until he was out of sight. Brother declared that a
youth who was wise enough to go to Yale ought to be wise enough to
drive a team of wiry horses over the desert. You see where we made
the mistake was in not minding Old Piute. He told us to keep to the
roads where autos travel, but brother thought there would be no
adventures along a beaten way and so he turned out into the open
desert and the third day we stuck.”

The lad laughed in a hearty boyish manner. “Well, I’m glad we did
since we met one of the most interesting characters I ever knew
outside of the ‘Dick Dead-eye’ books and, too, we acquired a bear.”

“A what?” Betsy’s eyes were big and round.

The lad nodded. “Yes indeed, a real bear. The old miner had had him
since his cub-hood days and he’s as tame a pet as one could wish to
see.”

Virginia laughed. “Which brings us back to the first part of our
visit to you.” Then she told about Old Stoic and how he had
evidently smelled the bear and had taken to his heels. Gordon
Traylor was delighted. “Great Stuff,” he said inelegantly. Then
added, “Miss Virginia, loan me your horse and I’ll bring back the
truant member of your band.”

Virg shaded her eyes and remarked. “Good. He is still patiently
waiting in the shade of distant cactus, and while you are gone,
we’ll get better acquainted with your sister.”




CHAPTER X—A VISIT TO HOG CANON


Half an hour later the girls saw Annette’s brother returning,
leading the faithful old pack animal who had evidently forgotten his
former fear and was plodding along with his usual lack of interest
in all about him, until, as they neared the mountains a breeze
evidently carried the scent of the creature he so feared.

However the lad had been expecting this very thing to happen and he
was on the watch. At the first movement of Old Stoic, Gordon had
whirled in his saddle and was holding firmly to the rope by which he
was leading the pack animal.

But try as he might to persuade, to assure, to command, the stolid
creature would not move. He did not attempt to run away but having
planted all four feet squarely in the sand, mule fashion, there he
stood and would not budge.

Laughingly Virginia leaped to her horse’s back, and galloped out to
lend what assistance she might.

She patted Old Stoic, assured him that it was only a tame bear and
was not in any way a creature to be feared, but the stubborn animal
blinked and winked his expressionless eyes and just stood.

“I’ll tell you what,” Virg suggested. “Let’s lead him away from your
camp. There’s a trail up to the Wallace cabin from beyond that
jutting out rock. It’s about an eighth of a mile from here and as
the wind is not blowing in that direction, I believe Old Stoic will
soon again forget the near presence of a bear.” This was done. The
small horse began to walk when Gordon pulled him in another
direction. When the watching girl observed that the pack animal was
willing to be led to the point she had indicated, she said that she
would ride back to the covered wagon and tell the girls to accompany
her. Although Gordon had recently visited the cabin in the canon in
search of water, he had seen no one but the boy Peter who had
gloomily told him that they didn’t have any to spare.

The lad having always had a secret desire to be an inventor, and
having, in fact, won the admiration of his boy friends by fashioning
all kinds of mechanical devices for toys in his own shop, was very
eager to see the man who had a vision which he could not fulfill.

“May Annette and I go with you?” he asked eagerly.

“Why, of course, you may. We’ll be glad to have you. You will like
poor Mr. Wallace. He is very lovable in spite of his queerness.”

Meanwhile Betsy having been permitted to peep at the tame bear
(which to her thought had growled at her in a manner most untame)
was glad indeed when Virg rode up and told them all to accompany
her. Single file they rode up the narrow rugged trail, Virg in the
lead and Gordon last that he might still hold the guiding rope
attached to Old Stoic not knowing at what minute the wind might
change and startle the pack animal into flight.

As they neared the shack-like cabin, half hidden by overhanging
boulders, Virg gave a call with which she always heralded her
approach. Instantly three children ran pell mell to the top of the
trail, their homely freckled faces shining with their joy at seeing
the good angel friend whom they had so missed.

Little Jane, aged six, hopped up and down so fast (clapping her
hands all the time) that her two braids bobbed merrily.

Thoughtful eyed Sara, who was so like her faithful mother, smiled
too, but made no move of welcome although her heart was just as
glad. Twelve year old Peter raced to meet them down the trail and
catching Virginia’s bridle, he looked up with adoration in his
red-brown eyes. “Oh, Miss Virgie,” he cried, “Ma’s been that eager
to have you come home from the East. Often I’ve heard her say,
‘Somehow things will be better when Miss Virginia comes’.”

There were sudden tears in the eyes of the girl, and reaching down
she put her hand over the small brown one on her horse’s head.

“I’m glad to get home, Peter. How are your mother and dad?”

There was a shade of anxiety on the boy’s freckled face. “Pa’s been
took queer this very day,” he said looking up toward the cabin as
though he feared he might be overheard, “and Ma says now with the
water most gone, she just doesn’t know what we are to do. There
weren’t any late rains and the cistern’s most empty.”

“Dear boy, your mother must not worry about that. There’s plenty of
water at V. M. and you are welcome to all you can carry.” But the
girl’s heart was heavy for even as she made the offer, she knew that
there would be no convenient way of packing water so many miles
across the desert.

Having dismounted on the small flat space which served as a
dooryard, the others turned anxiously to Virg. “Ought we to remain,”
Annette Traylor inquired. “If the Wallaces have this new trouble, we
might be intruding.”

But Gordon stepped forward and said earnestly, “Miss Virginia, I
would like to meet Mr. Wallace. I believe that I can be of service
to him.”

Mrs. Wallace, more pale and fragile than when Virg had gone east to
school, appeared in the doorway and Virginia went forward to greet
her. The girls saw her bend and kiss the sunken cheek and were
touched at the light of tenderness in the face of the older woman.

It was evident that the girl was inquiring about poor Mr. Wallace.
“I don’t know what has happened exactly. Something that discouraged
him so much that he just gave up and ever since he’s sat there in
his chair around on the north side of the cabin and staring into
space, though once in a while he does say something, but it’s about
his instrument and I don’t understand.”

Meanwhile Gordon had seen the listless figure of the man, and, with
an earnest desire to be of service, he had walked toward him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wallace,” the boy said, hoping to attract the
attention of the inventor, but the dreamy grey-blue eyes of the
thin, kindly-faced man did not move from what seemed to be one
definite spot farther up the canon.

The boy, noting that the girls had gone in the cabin with the
mother, sat on a rock near to wait until a more opportune moment to
again address the man who seemed deep in thought.

At last, in a voice that seemed infinitely sad, the inventor spoke.
“I’ve failed! I was so sure it could be done, but now, I know the
truth. I’ve failed!”

“In what way have you failed, Mr. Wallace?” Again hopefully the boy
ventured a remark.

This time the dreamy grey-blue eyes turned toward him. “I was sure
there was a hidden spring up there,” he said more to himself than to
a listener. “But the instrument doesn’t show water and I won’t
dynamite until it does.”

Gordon, more interested than he thought wise to show, asked, “Mr.
Wallace, may I see your instrument?”

The older man nodded and pointed toward a long narrow wooden box on
the ground near.

Reverentially the lad knelt and lifted the cover. There lay an
instrument of delicate mechanism. At the sight of it, the inventor’s
eyes burned and leaning forward he said, Gordon thought almost
angrily, “Give it to me! I’ll break it into a thousand pieces. I’ve
given my life’s blood to try to perfect it, I’ve caused untold
suffering to my wife and children, but, God knows, I meant no harm.
I had faith in it. I dreamed that a fortune would be theirs,
everything, everything, schooling for the kiddies, Peter was to go
to Yale where I went.”

Gordon was on his feet at once, and, grasping the thin hand of the
man, he cried in boyish glee, “I say, Mr. Wallace, I’m bully glad
that you went to Yale. And don’t you worry. It’s always darkest
before the dawn, you know that. Peter’ll make college. Everything
will turn out all right. You see if it doesn’t. Don’t give up. Keep
your faith.”

The dreamy eyes had turned toward the boy when he began this
enthusiastic outburst, and in them there gradually dawned a light of
understanding.

“Who are you?” the man inquired as one awakening from a sleep. “I
haven’t seen you before, have I?”

“No, Mr. Wallace. I’m just passing this way, but I’m ever so
interested in your invention. Won’t you come up to the spot where
you are sure there is water, or ought to be, and show me how it
works.”

There was a sudden renewed eagerness in the eyes of the poor man who
had been so scoffed and laughed at. “Why, would you really like to
see it work?” he asked as though hardly able to believe his ears.

“Wouldn’t I though,” the lad had hold of the man’s hand and was
firmly lifting him to his feet. Then he added confidentially, “I’m
something of an inventor myself in a small way. I say, Mr. Wallace,
I’ll bet you have a good thing there. May be it needs a little
different adjusting. Let’s try it out.”

It was pitiful to see the joy in the dim eyes of the man who had
failed. Here was someone, what if only a boy, someone who had faith
in him. With shaking hands he lifted the instrument he had a moment
before threatened to break into a thousand pieces, and with an
eagerness he had never again expected to feel, he led the way up, up
the canon with a sureness of step that amazed the lad who had such a
brief time before pitied his weakness.

“Are you good for a stiff climb?” the man turned to call. “There’s a
wall of rock ahead that’s as perpendicular as a barn door, but
there’s no way but to go up over it to reach the spot which I am
sure long years ago was the source of a water way. See! See!” he
cried excitedly. “Now, you know why I am so sure there has been
water here.”

The lad, looking ahead at the huge boulder, saw on its surface a
smooth, many-colored groove which could only have been made by
running water. “It wasn’t much of a volume, I’ll agree, but there
_was_ water, but where is it now?” Then again inquiringly, “Do you
think you can climb it?”

“Certainly, sir, if you can,” the boy replied, amazed though that
the man so recently weak, could even think of making the attempt.

“Well, then, follow me closely. I’ve been up so many times, I know
just where the indentures in the rock will serve for steps.”

The lad inwardly confessed that it was an almost impossible feat,
but if one Yale man could accomplish it, he assured himself, then so
too could another.

At length they stood above the boulder and saw that the canon had
narrowed until the rocks overhanging on one side often touched the
opposite wall.

“There’s a hidden spring, I am convinced, somewhere about here,” the
man’s eyes were no longer dreamy but shining with the light of
rekindled faith.

“I believe you are right, Mr. Wallace.” The lad leaped to a spot
where he saw another of the smoothed grooves in the rocks. “Let’s
try it here,” he suggested. The instrument was set up, and Mr.
Wallace explained that if there were water, it was his hope that the
sensitized swinging needle would dip and point toward it, but it
made no movement at all.

The lad on his knees was watching it intently. Looking up he saw the
old expression of despair returning to the ashen face of the man.
That would never do. Hope _must_ be kept alive.

“I say, Mr. Wallace, don’t you think maybe that needle’s held too
tight? Have you ever tried loosening that minute screw there? Gee,
but I’d jolly like to try that experiment.”

Almost mechanically the inventor put his hand in a large leather
pocket and drew out an infinitesimally small screw driver. “Do what
you wish,” he said as he sat upon a flat rock and leaned his head on
his hands. “I’ve failed. Not that I have any reason to be sure that
there _is_ water here, but it did not move over at Slaters and there
_was_ water.”

While the man talked, the boy, with heart beating like a
trip-hammer, was actually praying for inspiration while he loosened
ever so little the tiny screw that held the sensitive needle. But
even then, it did not stir.

“I say, Mr. Wallace, may I take it higher up? Way to the very top of
the canon?”

The older man shook his head. “No use, son. There aren’t any
watermarks farther up and it’s almost impassible.”

“But, may I try?”

A silent, resigned nod was the only answer and so securing the
instrument, the lad carefully climbed over boulders, higher and
higher. At last he stopped. Mr. Wallace had spoken truly, there were
no signs of the water marks that had been made, no one knew how many
years before. Retracing his steps, he turned a little to the right.
Something seemed to impell him to stoop and look into a fissure
where a boulder, perhaps ages before, had been rent asunder by some
tremendous power, an earth-quake, without doubt.

It was an almost impossible feat to hold himself so that he could
thrust the instrument into the fissure, but he did it, and with a
startling suddenness, the sensitive needle dipped straight down.

“Mr. Wallace! Mr. Wallace! Come quick! I’ve found the spring.”

The boy’s triumphant cry rang out, reverberating down the canon and
penetrating even the again dulled senses of the inventor. Not for
one moment did the boy doubt that the needle was telling the truth.

Unable to wait for the older man to climb to him, Gordon fairly
leaped down from rock to rock, though he wondered afterwards at the
sureness with which he had stepped, and catching the man’s hand, he
dragged him up, up until the fissure was seen in a perilous place
beyond and below.

“Why son, you couldn’t get down there. No one could,” the man said.

“But I did! See! I just chanced to find the way. I guess my guardian
angel showed it to me. The instrument’s in that fissure and the
needle dipped. Mr. Wallace, it dipped straight down. Oh, if only we
had some dynamite.”

The boy’s faith was just the spur the older man needed. “There’s
dynamite in a cavern just below here,” he said. “Wait, we’ll bring a
stick and shoot it off.”

The boy secured the instrument and took it to a place of safety.

“We’ll have to make a long fuse,” the man told the lad. “We don’t
want to take any chances with flying rock.” Then he looked at the
sun. “We ought to get back to the cabin in half an hour. I’ll time
it for about then.”

This was done and then the two scrambled back down the rocks. How
Gordon hoped the fire of the fuse would not be extinguished. Too, he
hoped the explosion would not take place before they reached the
girls lest they should be too greatly frightened.

               *       *       *       *       *

During the absence of the man and boy, Virginia glanced often at her
watch. She did want to see Gordon before she left to thank him for
having procured her pack animal and to urge him to bring his sister
to V. M. before returning to Douglas. She was sure that Malcolm
would wish her to do so. But the afternoon was wearing away and, as
they did not return, the girl at last arose saying: “I fear that we
cannot wait longer.” Then to the little mother, whose expression was
much happier than when the visitors had arrived, she said, “Tell Mr.
Wallace how sorry I am, not to have seen him this time, but I shall
come again and often, and do remember, dear Mrs. Wallace, the V. M.
Ranch house is large and if you run out of water in a few days, as
you fear, I want you all to come to us until your cistern can be
refilled.”

There were tears of gratitude in the eyes of the frail woman. “I
don’t understand why it is,” she said, “but now that you are here,
Miss Virgie, I feel confident that all will be well, somehow.”

They were out in the plateau-like dooryard and each girl had a horse
by the bridle which was lucky when a deafening report like thunder
boomed through the mountains.

“W-what was that?” Betsy cried in alarm, but Mrs. Wallace at once
quieted their fears, for it was a sound she had often heard. “It’s
my Peter dynamiting for water,” she said sadly. “But he won’t find
it. He never has.” But little Peter whose eyes had been afire with
enthusiasm had raced toward the canon bed and was seen waving and
beckoning frantically. “Ma,” he shouted, “I hear it. I’m as sure as
anything that I hear water.”

The girls listened and far up in the canon they heard a rushing
sound that came nearer and nearer, then they heard something else. A
shout of triumph, then a man and boy appeared and in the face of the
inventor was light, an inner radiance of great joy.

He seemed to see no one but the wife he loved. Going straight toward
her, with arms outstretched, he cried, “Molly, Molly, little girl!
We’ve succeeded at last, you and I! Thank God your days of privation
are over.” Then turning to the lad he said, “But I can’t call it all
my invention. It was your thought that perfected it. I’ll share with
you.” But the boy exclaimed, “Mr. Wallace, you alone are the
inventor of that instrument. It would have been only a matter of
time before you thought to make the slight change that I suggested.”

Then, although it seemed as though they just must stay to rejoice
with their friends, Virginia was reminded by the lowness of the sun
that she must start on the homeward way.

Annette and Gordon decided to remain in their present camp until the
morrow. Then, although they would like nothing better than to visit
V. M., the lad decided that he did not care to chance being stuck
again in the sand and so he accepted Virginia’s advice that he start
out for Slater’s Ranch early the next day.

“Mr. Slater is the richest man on the desert. You will have no
trouble reaching his place,” the girl assured him, “and from there
into town is one of the best roads anywhere to be found as he keeps
it up himself, or rather he has the peons in his employ constantly
working on it.” Then, holding out her hand to Annette, Virg said,
“If your father is not ready to return East, we shall be glad to
have you and Gordon visit us. If you will send us word, we will come
for you in our car.”

Two hours later, when the girls were dismounting near the corral at
V. M., Betsy said, “Well, wasn’t that all just like a story book
adventure?” Then going to the pack horse, she patted him as she
laughingly said, “And, although he doesn’t know it, Old Stoic was
the hero.”




CHAPTER XI—LETTERS OF INTEREST


The girls had reached home just in time, for hardly had they removed
their sombreros when there arose a shouting without and a pounding
of horses’ feet.

“Good, the boys are back,” Babs cried running to throw open the wide
front door.

“Ohee, what a bulging mail bag,” Betsy who had closely followed
shouted gleefully. “There must be a million letters or more in it.”

Malcolm swung from his tired horse and giving it a friendly slap,
bade it go to the corral with its companions. Lucky and Slim, as he
knew, would attend to its needs.

“We had a close call.” Malcolm tossed his sombrero on the table,
placing the mail bag beside it, then sank wearily in his favorite
grandfather chair.

“What happened?” Virg inquired with interest. “Did that wild steer
try to lead a stampede even with the drag on?”

“No, not that,” her brother replied. “The poor creature seemed to
have lost all desire to make a break for freedom. The close call was
that when we drove the herd into the corral at the station, Mr.
Wells came running up and said that he had just received a wire that
the cars were to be taken on by a freighter that was due to arrive
two hours sooner than scheduled, and didn’t we work though.

“Then was the time the young steer might have made trouble had he
but known. However, he didn’t attempt it, but walked up into his
prison as meekly as a sheep would have done.” Then the boy laughed,
“I suppose you’ll think I’m foolish, but I certainly had a decided
impulse at that moment to give him his freedom. It came over me how
I would rejoice, were I in his place, if I once again found myself
roaming where I would, out on the range with only the blue sky above
me and the distant mountains for walls. Luckily the freighter came
along before I had carried out my sentimental inclination, else our
check would have been that much less, Virg, when it comes from
Chicago.”

Margaret, remembering what Virginia had said about hating to raise
cattle just to have their freedom taken from them, realized that
something of the same sentiment was in the heart of the brother,
although he had not fully realized it as the girl had.

“You look just too weary for words, Malcolm,” Megsy said, leaping up
from the window seat. “I’m going to make you some lemonade.”

“Make enough for Lucky too, will you? Slim won’t need any. He’ll be
dead to the world before you could get a lemon squeezed. He hasn’t
had an hour’s sleep in two nights and a day.”

“I’ll help.” Babs skipped by the side of her friend kitchenward.

“And while you’re gone, I’ll sort the mail.” Virginia was emptying
the contents of the leather pouch out on the long library table as
she spoke.

Betsy watched eagerly. Suddenly she pounced on a large envelope
addressed in a boy’s hand writing. “It’s from Cousin Bob, sure
certain! I wonder if they’re still quarantined. If so I ’spect this
letter has been—what do you call it—fumigated.”

“Two for Babs and two for me and not one for Megsy. That’s too bad.
I hope she will not feel left out,” the youngest said, but Virg
glanced up smilingly. “No indeed! Margaret is too generous and
loving to ever feel neglected or left out. That is a form of
selfishness. Then, more-over, all of Megsy’s home people are right
here, for, you know, Betsy, she belongs to us. Malcolm is her
guardian and I am her adopted sister.”

“I hear a jingle approaching,” Malcolm rose as the little pitcher
bearer entered the room. He went forward ostensibly to carry it, but
he took the opportunity to say softly, “I’m mighty glad my little
ward is home again.”

The flush which always mounted to the quiet girl’s cheeks when this
lad addressed her made her unusually pretty, but, as yet Malcolm had
given it no thought. Virg had been the only girl he had ever known
intimately and he supposed a certain reserve, which Margaret surely
had, was responsible for the pretty flush.

“Any mail for me?” Babs was following with a tray on which were five
tumblers.

“Two letters and both from boys or I miss my guess.” Betsy was
peering at the letters that lay side by side on the table.

“Then it is easy to know who they are from.” Babs having passed the
tumblers, picked them up and looked at them curiously. “This one is
from dear old brother Peyton.” Then lifting an eager face she
addressed her hostess. “Virg, I hope you won’t think I’m lacking in
appreciation of your hospitality if I say that I’d like to ride over
to my brother’s ranch tomorrow. I’ve made you a real long visit.”

“Three days isn’t an eternity!” Betsy put in, but Megsy said: “It
seems like one sometimes, when one is separated from home folks.”

“You are right,” Virg said, slipping a loving arm around the waist
of the pretty friend who was sometimes called “The Dresden China
girl.” “We would love to have you stay longer with us, but I know
you must be ever so eager to see Peyton.” To herself the thought
came, unbidden. “And so too am I.” Then to her brother. “Why isn’t
Peyton here Malcolm? I thought surely he would be at the train to
meet us with you.”

The boy drank the lemonade gratefully before he replied. “I don’t
know, sister. I have been expecting to hear from him for a week. I
did hear in a round-about way, that is one of Mr. Slater’s cowboys
passing V. M. last Friday week, stopped and took dinner with us. He
said Peyton was having some trouble with his Mexican herders and
didn’t think best to leave them, although he was inclined to believe
that a new one, who had recently arrived, might prove more
trustworthy than the others had. But suppose you read your letter,
Babs. That may tell us what you want to know.”

It did, for in it Peyton told his sister that he had deeply
regretted not having been at the station and then he related his
reason, which was much the same as that which had been reported by
the Slater cowboy.

But it was the last part of the letter which caused a stir in the
little group.


“Much as I want to see you, dear sister, I’m going to ask you to
remain at V. M. a short time longer or until I am sure whether or no
there is going to be an outbreak among these Mexican herders. I am
writing Virginia today to ask her to permit my little sister to be
her guest a few days, perhaps a week longer. By that time I will
know how much I can rely on my new overseer. You understand, Sis, I
wouldn’t want to ride over to V. M. and find, when I return, that
these peons had driven my prize cattle across the border, nor would
I want you and your friends to come here until I am sure that my
herders are not of the bandit class.

“I hope you _are_ disappointed, however, for selfishly I very much
want my sister to come and open up the old house that she is to make
into a home for her loving brother.

                                                             Peyton.”


Virginia looked at Malcolm with an expression of anxiety. “Do you
feel that Peyton is in any real danger?” she asked. “If an outbreak
of any kind should occur, I mean.”

“No, I think not,” Malcolm replied. Then Virg read her own little
letter from Peyton whom she had once known as “Trusty Tom,” but that
former time was never referred to by any of them.

Megsy noticed that her adopted sister did not read aloud her letter
from the brother of Barbara, and she believed that she knew why. It
was not hard for even a casual observer to notice how sincerely the
lad admired Virginia.

“Well, then that’s settled,” the hostess smiled lovingly at Babs.
“Now we may keep with us a certain little girl whom we all love.”

“Why Barbara,” Margaret then exclaimed as she noted a look of real
concern on the pretty face, “what has Benjy written to make you seem
so troubled? Has he found his mother worse?”

“He didn’t know when he wrote this. It’s just a few lines that he
scribbled at the station in Red Riverton. You know he expected his
brother Harry Wilson to meet him, and he wasn’t there but his own
horse had been sent for him. Benj is just ever so sure that means
his mother is not so well. I do hope she will live. I never knew two
boys to care more for a mother than they do.”

“She is such a lovable, motherly woman,” Virginia said earnestly.
“Everyone who knows her, loves her. She always reminds me of a hen
with a brood and even when the chickens are away, she is sort of
spreading her wings with a welcome for any one in trouble who needs
their comforting shelter, but it’s nearly a year now that she has
not been well.”

“It’s too bad that Harry doesn’t seem to care to marry. If only Mrs.
Wilson had a nice daughter to take the responsibility of home-making
for a time, she could get a real rest.”

Virginia astonished the others by saying, “Girls, surely you know
that Harry does care for someone, but I’m afraid his mother would
never willingly accept that someone for a daughter.”

Margaret said. “I, too, have felt sure that Harry cares for our
wonderful Winona, as who, knowing her well, does not. She is one of
the noblest characters I have ever met, and I know you think so too,
Virg.”

“Indeed I do,” was the emphatic reply, “but one can understand how a
mother might feel that a member of the Papago tribe would not be a
suitable wife for her idolized son, but Winona would. They are more
nearly kin, mentally and—and what shall I say, in their love for
the wide spaces of the desert, than any two I ever knew. You know
Harry likes nothing better than to ride far away into the mountains
studying the rocks and trying to read the messages of the ages in
the different formations. Had he been able to leave home, he would
have studied along those lines. Of course he is, even now, and what
is more, our Winona is the very first girl who has ever appealed to
him as a companion.”

“Isn’t it about time Winona finished that course of practical
nursing that she was taking when she left us at boarding school?” It
was Barbara who asked the question.

Virg nodded, then for the first time glanced at the second letter
that she held. “Oh, good, this is from our Winona and since it was
written on the train, she may be in her walled-in village home this
very minute.”

“May we all hear what she has written?” Babs asked.

“Of course,” Virginia made herself comfortable on the window seat
and then began to read. Malcolm, having excused himself, had retired
to his own room for a much needed nap.

Dear White Lily:

At last I am homeward bound glad, deep in the heart of me, that I
have learned a way to be of real service to my father’s people, who,
having lost faith in their old Medicine Man, had no one to whom they
could take their little ones when they were hurt or ill.

I shall be there in two days, and, dear friend, I am not alone. With
me is a comrade of my childhood, but I must tell you how it all
happened.

One day when I went on duty, I found in the ward much excitement for
a lad who was being called brave had been brought in and no one knew
who he was. He was too exhausted to be conscious it seemed, for he
had no real illness and so could not tell about himself.

The story was that in one of the city tenements a plague broke out
which terrorized the neighborhood. Many became ill and those who
were not strong died. It was so terrible a plague that few
volunteered to help. Kind old Doctor Quinton gave his services and
risked his life but alone he could do little. It was when he was
completely worn out that this youth, who said that he was a medical
student, volunteered to take the place of the good doctor while he
took a much needed rest. Nor would the lad leave his post when the
older physician returned. They were too much occupied with real
service to ask who he might be or from where he had come, but, at
last, he too had succumbed, not to the plague but to weariness and
they had brought him to the hospital.

I listened to the story and said that I would like to see the lad
who had been willing to sacrifice his life for humanity.

White Lily, when I saw him, so thin and tired, lying on a cot in the
ward, I knew him at once. It was Fleet Foot, one of the Papago boys
who accompanied the kindly missionary who had taken three of our
lads as you recall, to a school for Indian boys. I had not seen him
since that long ago day, but he had changed little.

You, White Lily, will know what finding Fleet Foot meant to me, for
is he not one of my father’s people? I cared for him as tenderly as
a sister might. Then the good doctor took him to his country home,
that he might grow strong away from the noise of the city, but, when
I had finished my course, Fleet Foot wished to return with me to our
village and so together we are now nearing the end of our long
journey. Will you not soon ride north to our village and remain with
me as long as you wish.

My friendliest thoughts I send to Margaret and Barbara if they are
with you.

                                                  Your    Winona.


At the close of the letter, the four girls were all thinking the
same thing but it was the quiet Margaret who voiced it. “Poor
Harry!” she said. “For of course this Papago lad, who is of her own
people, will be the one Winona will love and eventually marry.”

“I shall be sorry if this is true,” Virginia remarked, “for Harry
Wilson is so unlike other boys. He may never again find just the
companion he wishes.”

Then, as the dinner gong was sounding, the girls sprang up to
hastily remove their khaki suits and don their house-dresses.

Meanwhile what of the neighbors farther north?




CHAPTER XII—BENJY ARRIVES HOME


In the meantime when Benjy Wilson left the train at Red Riverton, he
glanced about anxiously hoping that his brother Harry would be there
to meet him. He had been the only passenger to descend to the
platform and, almost at once, the station master hurried up to him
to say that his brother had been in a few days before and had told
him to keep on the watch-out for Benjy. “He said he mightn’t be able
to get in to meet you an’ if he didn’t, you’d find yer little horse
Clipper over to the stables waitin’ for yo’.” Then the kindly man
searched in the pockets of his blue denim coat and drew from one of
them a letter. “Likewise he left this for you to sorto’ explain
things.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hendrix. I’ll go at once after Clipper,” the boy
said with a break in his voice, which drew from the sympathetic old
man the query. “Yo’ ma wan’t any worse last yo’ heard, was she? Hal
was in a hurry t’other day, I didn’t get to ask.”

“I’m afraid mother isn’t very well,” then fearing that he would cry
from dread and loneliness, (never before had his older brother
failed to meet him), the lad picked up his bags and hurried away
toward the stables that were just beyond the station.

The boy naturally happy and optimistic was sadly troubled. The pony
was glad indeed to see his young master and showed it in every way
that he could.

It was not until the town had been left behind and Benjy was riding
on a desert trail that he opened the letter which the station master
had given him. With tear dimmed eyes he read:


“Dear Ben,

“I have not wanted to worry you needlessly and I have not been sure,
(even now I am not sure), that there is real need for alarm, but I
decided that I must warn you before you arrive, that you may be
prepared for a great change in our mother’s appearance. She was
strong and well when you left eleven months ago, but now she is
frail and wearies at the least exertion. I am telling you, not to
frighten you, (for it may merely mean that our mother is growing
older or that she needs a complete rest), but I want you to be
prepared for the change so that you will not exclaim about it when
you arrive. It would be a great shock to our father, who, (perhaps
because it has come so gradually), seems as yet unconscious of it.
In mother’s own brave, cheerful way, she hides it from him. When he
comes home each night, weary from a hard day’s work on the ranch,
she is always at the head of the table, with her bright smile, and a
good supper is waiting. Of late I have managed to ride home an hour
earlier each night that I might help to prepare it.

“The one thing which has prevented my being greatly worried is
mother’s own attitude in the matter. She insists that there is
nothing radically wrong; that she is merely tired, as one often is
in the spring, and she laughingly, said last night: ‘When little
Benjy comes home, I’m going to play fine lady for a fortnight. Then
you will see how well and strong I will be.’

“Ben, old pal, don’t take this letter too much to heart, but I do
think best to have you prepared for the change in the mother who is
our all. If I were sure that I could get to the station to meet you,
would not have written this. I’ll be there if I can possibly make
it.

                                       “Your brother,     Hal”


But he hadn’t been there.

As the boy rode along over the hard sand trail he thought of his
quiet, dependable brother, who was so like their mother.

“Hal would have come if he could possibly have made it,” he said
with a half sob, as he realized the probable meaning of his older
brother’s absence.

“He never promised to do a thing in all his life but that he did
it.” Then the lad’s thoughts returned to his little boyhood, when he
had learned that the older brother’s word could be trusted
unfailingly.

“If Hal promised to make a kite or whittle a top on the first stormy
day that we were shut in, he never forgot it, never tried to get out
of it. Quite the contrary, Hal would be the first to say: ‘Bring
along your kite materials, little Ben. This is the day I promised
I’d make one for you.’

“I’m going to be just like him,” Benjy thought. “Mother is right.
The man you want for a friend is the one you can trust.”

The first half of the ride was over level desert trails that had
been beaten hard by cattle and horses, but farther on the way grew
rough and rocky and there was a high rugged mountain range to be
crossed, for, on the other side, lay the wide, sheltered valley
belonging to the Wilson ranch.

Reaching the water-hole about noon, Benjy dismounted to permit his
horse to drink.

Again in the saddle, he petted the beautiful pony’s head. “Clipper,
old pal,” he said in a tone of sympathetic understanding, “I’m sorry
to ask you to climb High Pine Mountain trail without giving you a
chance to rest before we start upgrade, but I’ll have to do it this
time. I’ll make it up to you, though, old pal, you see if I don’t.”

The pony seemed pleased to feel his young master’s caress. He tossed
his head, looked back over his shoulder and whinnied a reply. It was
at that moment that the horse stepped on a rolling stone, scrambled
madly to keep his foothold, stepped off the narrow, ascending trail
and rolled with his rider into a shallow ravine. The fall had been
but slight and Benjy leaped to his feet unhurt, but Clipper arose
with more difficulty, and when he attempted to walk he limped and
held his right forefoot as though it pained him.

Poor Benjy felt as though everything was against him, but, just at
that moment he seemed to see his dear mother’s face and to hear her
say as she so often had, “Benjy, Boy, courage wins.”

“I know it, mother,” the lad replied aloud with a half sob, and
putting one arm around the pony’s neck he choked back the tears that
had tried to come, as he said, “I’m awfully sorry you’re hurt,
Clipper. I ought to have let you rest for a while at the water-hole.
I guess we’ll have to keep going somehow, but I won’t ride you. If
you don’t have to carry a load, don’t you think you can climb the
trail, old pal?”

Clipper, looking at his young master, whinnied again, but, though he
tried he could not walk without pain.

Just at that moment, Benjy heard a pounding of horses’ feet. At
first he thought it might be a herd of the small wild ponies that
sometimes were seen near the mountains, but as he waited and watched
around the jutting rocks there appeared a tall Indian lad seated on
a pony, leading another that he had evidently just captured from a
wild herd and followed by a third small horse.

Benjy climbed high on a rock and halooed at the top of his voice but
the rider was going in the direction of the Indian village and away
from Benjy. Again the lad shouted but each second took the galloping
horses farther and farther away from him.

Realizing that his voice could not be heard, the boy stood still
watching the retreating figures and wondering what he ought to do,
when suddenly he became tense and alert.

The wild pony that had been captured by the Indian lad made a sudden
break for liberty. After rearing, it made a backward lunge and the
rope that had been an improvised halter was torn from the hand of
its captor; then snorting shrilly, the small horse galloped away and
back toward the mountains.

The dangling rope, snapping this way and that at his heels,
terrorized him, and, with eyes wild, he raced as he had never raced
before. Plunging blindly, he headed directly for the spot where
Benjy stood watching. In an instant the boy had formed a plan.
Leaping behind a mesquite bush, he crouched waiting the oncoming
horse. Nearer and louder came the swift pounding of hoofs, then,
just as the lad had hoped, the dragging rope was flung toward him.
The boy endeavored to seize it, but the pony had seen him, and,
rearing on his hind feet, he whirled, but that very motion made him
captive, for the rope swung around the stout mesquite bush and held
long enough for Benjy to make it fast.

Then the boy wisely ran out of reach of the wildly plunging horse,
which enraged at his unexpected recapture, snorted and dragged so
hard on the rope that Benjy feared the bush would be uprooted.

The Indian lad was galloping toward them at top speed, followed by
the faithful pony. “Hold him if you can!” was the cry that reached
Benjy’s ears. It was English, which meant that the rider was either
Strong Heart, or Fleet Foot of whom he had not heard.

A lasso whirled through the air as the rider neared. It coiled like
a snake about the forefeet of the rearing pony and pulled him to the
ground.

“What a beautiful little horse you have there,” Benjy said by way of
greeting.

The stoical Indian lad bowed. “I had none and so I have captured him
for my own, but he would have been lost again if you had not made
him fast.”

Then he asked, “What is wrong with your pony?”

Benjy told in a few words about his great anxiety concerning his
mother, of his eagerness to reach her soon as possible and about
poor Clipper’s mishap.

The Indian lad lifted the hurt foot, and taking his soft leather
belt, he wound it tightly about the strain. Rising, Fleet Foot, for
it was that fine Indian lad, bade Benjy place his saddle on the
horse that had been following, adding that he would take Clipper to
the village and give him care. “He will be all right in a few
weeks,” the Indian lad said. “I hope so,” Benjy replied, “Clipper
and I have been pals ever since I was a little shaver.”

Then, having thanked Fleet Foot the boy again started up the long
hard trail.

It was nearly dusk when he reached the summit. Looking down into the
valley, he could see the group of white-washed buildings that were
home to him. With a sob he reached out both arms. “Mother! Mother!”
he said, “I’m coming. I’ll be with you soon now.”




CHAPTER XIII—MOTHER!


As Benjy neared his ranch home he saw that a dim light was burning
in his mother’s room. This confirmed his fears that the one he so
loved was really ill. Urging his steed to a gallop, he was soon
dismounting at the corral, where he left his pony. The front door
quietly opened and his brother appeared. He advanced with
outstretched hands.

“Hal,” the young lad said, with a sob, “is our mother ill?”

“I don’t know, Benny Boy,” was the reply. “Mother insists that she
is merely tired and that she is going to remain in bed until she is
rested, and you must pretend that you believe her. It will be hard
for you, fearfully hard, but it must be done. Come. Our mother has
been listening all day. Just now she called to me and said: ‘Son, go
quickly and open the door. My little boy has come home.’ She knows
that you are here and so we must not delay longer or she will think
it strange.”

Never before had the young lad been through so hard an ordeal. He
longed to put his arms about his big, strong brother and sob out his
dread and grief, but instead, he had to choke back his tears and
enter the dimly lighted room with a smile.

“Little Ben,” the woman on the bed called, with infinite love and
tenderness in her voice.

“Mother mine,” the lad replied as he sank on his knees and pressed
his cheek against hers. Tears would come but in the dim light they
were not seen and his voice sounded cheerful.

“Brother tells me that you are taking a week’s rest. I am so glad.
You have needed one for a long time and now Hal and I will show you
what fine daughters we would have been, if we hadn’t been sons.”

Harry, standing at the foot of the bed was proud of his brother.
Benjy had always been so loved and petted, (even he had given in to
the younger lad sometimes when he thought it might be unwise), that
he had feared Benjy might not be strong enough to rise to the
emergency, but he was doing so bravely. In a voice that sounded
natural to his mother, Benjy said: “I’m most starved, Mummie, I hope
your new cook can make pies and things as well as you can.”

The older boy had noted a sudden anxious expression on the dear
face, for the mother was reproaching herself for having remained in
bed when her little Ben was coming home, hungry.

“Indeed, I can,” Hal hastened to say: “You’ll find the larder filled
with the choicest viands.”

Kissing the pale cheek, Benjy left the room, turning at the door to
toss a kiss and send back a bright smile, but it was to his own room
that he went. Throwing himself down on the bed, he sobbed and
sobbed. There Hal found him ten minutes later. “I can’t live without
my mother,” the younger boy said, “I can’t! I can’t!”

Harry put a comforting arm about his brother. “May heaven grant that
we need not for many years to come.”

Then placing a hand on each shoulder, he looked straight into his
brother’s eyes. “Benny boy,” he said, “I’m counting on you. It’s
hard; well do I know how hard, but cheerful courage is all that our
father and mother must see. I have been waiting for your return. Now
I am going to ride to Red Riverton for a doctor. I will be back
tomorrow morning early, if all goes well.”

“Hal!” Benjy exclaimed, “you aren’t going to take that long hard
ride tonight. You know that it isn’t safe to go through Red River
mountain pass alone after dark.”

“Even so, there must not be another moment’s delay. I must go
tonight. I want you to keep your door open. If our mother stirs, go
to her.”

“I won’t try to sleep,” the younger boy replied. “I do not waken
easily. I’ll sit up all night.” Hal grasped his brother’s hand to
show his approval and then he was gone. It was the hardest night
that Benjy Wilson ever lived through, but in it he left his
heedless, selfish boyhood in which he had accepted all that his
mother had done for him, as due, and realized that he, too, must
share the burdens and responsibilities that came every day. When Hal
returned at the grey of the next dawn, one glance at his tired
brother assured him that his confidence in the younger boy had not
been misplaced. Then followed a long half hour filled with anxiety
of waiting while the kindly physician made a thorough examination of
the little woman so loved by these two boys.

“Where’s our father?” Benjy suddenly asked as he looked up from the
fire on the hearth at which he had been thoughtfully gazing since
the kindly physician had entered their mother’s room fifteen minutes
before.

“Father went to visit the North camp last week and he has not yet
returned,” Harry said. “I am glad, for he does not know that our
mother has given up trying to keep about. That of course would worry
him greatly. I hope that she will be much better before he returns.
Dad depends on mother so completely for his comfort and happiness
that I fear he would collapse if he knew the truth, as, of course he
must know it soon.”

Again they were silent and it was still another quarter of an hour
before the door opened. Both boys were on their feet at once eagerly
scanning the face of the physician. His cheerful smile was
encouraging.

“Lads,” he said as he placed a hand on the shoulder of each, “your
mother is not going to die. Mrs. Wilson has unwisely permitted a
condition to exist for a long time which should have been corrected
months ago. There are very few casualties resulting from the
operation which your mother must undergo.”

There was a sudden glad light in the face of the older lad.

“Doctor Warren,” he said, “the hope you are giving us is the
greatest joy that has ever come into my life.”

The elderly physician, gazing at the earnest faces, thought that he
had never met finer boys. Worthy sons of a brave, courageous little
mother.

“Now tell us what we are to do.” The load of dread that had been
crushing Harry’s heart having been lifted, the lad was eager to be
of active service.

“Your mother must remain in bed until we can build up her strength,”
the physician replied. “Perhaps for two weeks, and then we will take
her to the Red Riverton hospital and have the slight operation
performed, but, first of all I must procure a nurse.”

The physician put his hands in his pockets and turning, gazed
thoughtfully at the fire. “There is an epidemic in Red Riverton and
I do not like to engage a nurse from there to care for your mother.”
Then he glanced up at Hal. “Do you know of anyone near here who
would come?”

“I do,” was Benjy’s eager response. “Our good friend Winona will
come, I am sure she will, Doctor Warren. She just received a diploma
as a practical nurse from the Red Cross Hospital on the Hudson.”

“Fine!” the physician replied. “How soon can we have her here? Where
does she live?”

The reply brought a puzzled expression to the face of the doctor.

“An Indian maiden?” he said with a rising inflection. “I have heard
of the Papagoes and that they are a remnant of a very superior tribe
of red men, but I had not supposed that an Indian girl could possess
the qualities required for a nurse. Are you quite sure that it would
be wise to have her?”

Strange things happen, stranger than fiction. Before Hal could
reply, there was the sound of horses’ feet in the yard, and a moment
later a light rapping on the front door.

Hal sprang to open it, and there stood the maiden about whom they
had been talking, with little Red Feather at her side.

“Friend Harry,” she said. “Fleet Foot told me that your mother is
ill. I thought you might need me.”

The lad stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

“We do indeed need you,” he replied, his voice tense with emotion.
Then turning to the older man he added, “Doctor Warren, this is
Nurse Winona.”

The physician was deeply impressed with the quiet dignity of the
really beautiful Indian girl. Like all others, who knew her, the
good man at first could not have told why he thought her beautiful.

Before entering the house, the maid turned and said a few words in
the Papago tongue, then little Red Feather, without a word of
farewell, mounted his small horse and rode away.

Doctor Warren asked to be permitted to speak alone with the young
nurse, and the boys withdrew to prepare a lunch for both the
newcomer and the physician who had a long and hard ride ahead of
him.

After asking about the training which Winona had received at the Red
Cross Hospital, Doctor Warren said:

“Your remuneration will be the same that would be given a nurse from
Red Riverton.”

Then it was that the older man knew why the Indian girl was
beautiful. “It is a service of friendship that I came to offer,” she
quietly replied. “Will you tell me what I am to do?”

An hour later the physician left feeling sure that his directions
would be carried out to the letter. He had learned that an Indian
maiden could not only be a sincere friend but also an intelligent
nurse.

Before Doctor Warren departed he asked Harry to accompany him to the
corral. As they walked together, the physician said: “From the
conversation I have had with your nurse, I believe her to be very
capable, and luckily, just before she left the East, she had the
care of a little woman whose condition was the same as your mother’s
and so we will trust her to use her own judgment whenever she wishes
to do so.”

Mrs. Wilson who had supposed that she had not much longer to be with
the little family she so loved, was overjoyed when she realized that
she would soon be strong again.

She was lying in the darkened room when Harry entered a few moments
after the doctor’s departure. At his side she saw someone dressed in
blue with white cap and apron. She was too weak to wonder from where
the apparition had come, and so she accepted Winona’s presence as a
matter of course believing that she had accompanied the doctor from
Red Riverton. Harry merely said, “Mother, this is your nurse.”

The little woman held out a frail hand and smiled wanly, then she
closed her eyes and rested. She was conscious all that day that she
was being tenderly cared for, and, toward evening when Benjy knelt
at her side, in answer to her anxious query, he told his mother that
the new nurse was also a fine cook. Mrs. Wilson who had wished that
she was up that she might prepare the good things her younger son so
liked, felt a sense of relief that did much toward restoring her
needed strength.

Never once in the two weeks that followed did the little woman
suspect that the slender dark-eyed girl who cared for her was the
Indian maiden of whom she had heard. Winona, with her black hair
coiled under her nurse’s cap in her blue and white gown might easily
have been taken for a French girl.

Harry, wishing his mother to learn to love Winona without prejudice
had asked Benjy to address her merely as “Nurse.”

At the end of a fortnight, Mrs. Wilson was strong enough to sit up.
When Harry believed that his presence was no longer needed at home,
he rode to the northern camp to tell his father what had happened.
He was greatly relieved because he could now honestly say that all
would be well.

This was not hard for the older man to believe, for on their return
they found the little mother seated in the living room and beaming a
welcome when they opened the front door. From that day, she rapidly
regained her strength, and, at the end of the fortnight, she was
driven in a big comfortable car to Red Riverton. It was on that ride
that Mrs. Wilson made a discovery which pleased her greatly. It was
that her son, Harry, really cared for the girl who had nursed her so
tenderly. How she knew this she could not have told, perhaps it was
just a mother’s intuition.

Another two weeks passed and the happy family was once more gathered
in the ranch home. Mrs. Wilson was soon strong enough to walk about
the house, and, the long weeks of anxiety having ended, the members
of the household again went about their tasks in a natural manner.
Benjy returned with his father to the North Camp and Harry asked
Winona if she would like to ride with him to inspect a water-hole
not far away. Mrs. Wilson had urged her to go, saying that for an
hour she could get along nicely alone. It was during that hour that
she learned the real identity of her nurse.




CHAPTER XIV—A DEEP LOVE REVEALED


Mrs. Wilson sat in a big comfortable chair in front of the wide
hearth on which a log that the boys had dragged down from the
mountains, was cheerily burning. The frail woman smiled happily as
she watched the flames. How wonderful it was to know that after all
she was going to live, perhaps many more years to minister to her
little family. In her heart there had been a secret fear for months
that she was soon to leave them.

She leaned back among the pillows that her nurse had arranged so
comfortably before she had departed for a short horseback ride with
Harry.

From where she sat Mrs. Wilson could look out of the window and
watch the trail down which she would soon see the young people
returning.

Then again she fell to dreaming. Perhaps she would live long enough
to see both of her boys married, and it might be that in some future
day she would be seated in front of this same fireplace watching
another log burn and holding a wee grandchild. Tears sprang to her
eyes as she pictured her beloved husband growing old with her and
little ones playing about them.

This happy reverie was interrupted by the sound of approaching
ponies. It might be the men from the North Camp for the nurse and
Harry had not been gone long enough to be returning. She sat
watching the picture framed by her window. As the hurrying
hoof-beats neared, she guessed, and truly, that there were more than
two ponies, for, down the part of the trail that she could see,
single file, came six small, wiry horses. Instantly she knew that
their riders were from the Indian village.

The little black-haired boy in the lead wore a red feather in the
band about his head, and, at his side rode a tall, slender girl with
a scarlet blanket about her shoulders. There were four others, but
they were dressed in khaki. It was only by their black hair and
dusty complexions that she knew that they, too, were Indians. Then
it was that Mrs. Wilson recalled something which of late she had
forgotten. It was that an Indian maiden from this same Papago
village had been East to a fashionable boarding school with Barbara
Wente, the fairy-like little girl who was so liked by Benjy.

Perhaps the Winona of whom she had heard, was the tall, graceful
Indian maiden riding in the lead with the lad of the red feather,
Mrs. Wilson thought, and then, idly, she wondered where they were
going. Perhaps to some hunting camp farther north in the mountains.

She was not long left in doubt regarding the destination of the
riders, for, almost as soon as they had passed from her vision,
there came a rapping on the front door.

Harry had made her promise that she would not leave her chair and so
she called, “come in,” hoping that one among the strange visitors
might be able to understand the language that she spoke.

The door opened at once and a tall young man with a clear, direct
gaze stood before her. To the little woman’s surprise, he spoke
excellent English.

“Madame Wilson, I am Strong Heart, chief of the tribe of Papagoes.
It is my wish to converse with my sister. One month ago Red Feather
returned with the message that Winona was to remain with you and be
your nurse.”

There was a rush of conflicting emotions in the heart of the
listener, and foremost among them was the sudden realization that
her son, Harry, loved, really loved an Indian maiden. If her voice
shook a little as she replied, Strong Heart did not notice it for
her words were friendly as they always were to any fellow-being.

“My very kind nurse then is your sister?” she inquired. “I have been
too ill to wonder who she was or from where she came.” Then, fearing
that in some way this had lacked in graciousness, she added simply
and sincerely: “Strong Heart, we all dearly love your sister. She
has truly been an angel in our home.”

And, even as she spoke, Mrs. Wilson knew that it was the truth.
Harry loved Winona and so too did his mother. Then she directed the
Indian lad to the water-hole toward which Winona and Harry had
ridden, and, when the visitors were gone, she sat for a long time
watching the fire and thinking: “My boy shall never know that I
regret his choice, and yet, do I really regret it, for a nobler girl
he could not have chosen.”

In the meantime Winona and Harry had been riding at a canter. Then,
letting their horses walk more slowly, they conversed quietly
together. They spoke of his mother and Harry expressed to the dusky
girl at his side his great appreciation of her services.

By now and then asking a question the lad persuaded Winona to talk
about her year at school. She ended by telling of Fleet Foot and she
described in glowing terms his deed of heroism. Harry Wilson,
listening, believed that Winona cared for the Indian lad about whom
she was talking, and, a few moments later he was convinced that his
surmise had been correct.

Suddenly they had been halted by a whooping call from little Red
Feather, and, turning in their saddles, they drew rein and waited
for the Papagoes to ride up. Instantly Harry knew that the tall,
arrow-straight youth, who whirled his pony about that he might speak
to Winona, was the one of whom he had just heard.

They rode apart, somewhat, and for a time seemed unconscious of the
presence of the others as they talked earnestly in low undertones.

Harry tried to be interested in a conversation with Strong Heart
concerning the condition of water-holes at that time of the year,
but now and then he found his gaze wandering in the direction of his
mother’s nurse while his thought assured him that Winona naturally
would care more for one of her own people than for one of another
race.

When the young Papagoes had ridden away toward the mountain trail
which they would have to cross to reach their walled-in village, the
other two, after visiting the water-hole, returned to the Wilson
ranch. Winona was in the lead and each was thoughtfully silent. As
they neared the house Harry hastily hastened his pony and rode at
the girl’s side. She looked up with a smile so radiant that the lad
was more than ever assured that her visit with Fleet Foot had
brought her great happiness.

“Dear girl,” he thought, “from now on I will try to think of her as
I would of a sister. After all, mother will need one of her boys
just to care for her.” Aloud he said, “Winona, Ben and I have often
wished we had a sister. You have been to all of us in our trouble
what I believe she would have been. I hope you will come often to
visit in our home.”

The girl turned and looked at him frankly. “Thank you, Harry,” she
said, simply. It was then that Hal was convinced that the Indian
girl had never thought of him other than a dear friend and
companion.

When they reached the ranch house, Harry took both of the horses to
the corral, while Winona quietly entered the living room, believing,
and truly, that she would find Mrs. Wilson dozing in her comfortable
chair.

For a moment Winona stood gazing at the sweet face to which the
color of health was slowly returning. Then, quietly, she tip-toed
close and, bending, she lightly kissed the forehead beneath the soft
gray hair.

She was not usually demonstrative, but, although even her dearest
friend had never guessed it, there had always been in the heart of
this Indian girl a yearning for that wonderful something that she
had never had, the love of a mother.

When a few moments later the little woman opened her eyes it was to
see her quiet nurse again in the neat blue and white uniform
preparing the evening meal.

Harry came in and offered his services, which were accepted.
Winona’s manner, usually so reserved, seemed almost joyous.

“Friend of mine,” she said, “I have a beautiful secret and I think I
will tell it to you.”

               *       *       *       *       *

It was after the evening meal. Mrs. Wilson had been made comfortable
for the night and the young people thought her asleep as they sat
near the hearth in the living room and spoke quietly together.

“You promised to tell me a beautiful secret,” the lad said, a dread
heavy at his heart. “May I hear it now?”

“Yes,” the girl replied, turning her clear gaze toward him. “It is
about Fleet Foot.”

“I knew it,” was the unexpected response, and Winona looked up
inquiringly. “Why, how could you know it?” Then, as the lad did not
answer, she continued: “This afternoon I told you about the kind,
elderly physician in the East who was so pleased with Fleet Foot’s
spirit of a sacrifice, and how, when the lad was well enough to be
moved from the hospital, Doctor Quinton took him to his country home
in New Jersey, where he remained through the three lovely months of
spring?”

Harry nodded. He could not understand why Winona was beginning her
story in this way if the secret was what he believed it to be, that
the Indian maiden and Fleet Foot cared for each other.

“Are you listening, Harry?” the girl asked, for the lad was gazing
at the burning log with a faraway expression in his grey-blue eyes.

He turned and smiled at her. “Indeed I am, Winona,” he said, “I am
greatly interested in what you have to tell me.”

“So am I, greatly interested,” the girl continued. “It is all like a
beautiful poem, and yet, true. The summer home of this kind old
physician is a picturesque log cabin in the midst of a pine wood
just above a clear blue lake which Fleet Foot described as a
wonderful mirror reflecting every fleecy white cloud that sailed
above it by day and every star at night. When they first arrived at
the cabin they heard singing somewhere among the pines, and then,
skipping toward them came a gold-and-white fairy of a girl who was
Sylvia, the granddaughter of Doctor Quinton. She was delighted
because her ‘dear old grand-dad,’ as she called him, had brought a
comrade, and, as the days passed, Fleet Foot learned to love this
lassie who was so unlike—well, so unlike the Papago maidens.

“He called her ‘Sunshine-on-a-Dancing-Brook.’ Fleet Foot never spoke
of his love, for he believed that the physician, much as he liked
him, would not wish him to marry his granddaughter, the flower of
his life, but when Fleet Foot came West, that little flower drooped,
and then it was that Doctor Quinton learned that Sylvia cared for
Fleet Foot, really cared, and now comes the wonderful part of it
all. Yesterday my friend had a letter from the elderly physician
asking him to return to them if he really loved his little
‘Sunshine-on-a-Dancing-Brook.’ Fleet Foot came to say goodbye, for
tomorrow he departs.”

There was a glad light in the eyes of the listener.

“Winona,” Harry said, more impulsively than he had ever before
spoken, “I thought you cared for Fleet Foot and I was sad, for I do
so want to try to win your love.”

Winona did not reply at once, and, as there was only the light of
the fire about them, the lad could not tell by her expression what
she might be thinking.

When the girl spoke, she said: “Harry, your mother wants you to
marry one of your own people.”

It was then that they heard a soft voice calling to them, “Come to
me, both of you.”

They entered the dimly lighted room and stood by the bedside. The
little woman smiled up at them and in her eyes there was a new
tenderness. Holding out a frail hand, she said: “I have always
wanted a little girl, Winona. Won’t you be my beloved daughter?”

The young people knelt and she placed their hands together. “Now,”
she said, “my dearest wish has been fulfilled. My older son is to
have just the wife that I would choose for him.”




CHAPTER XV—A MYSTERY AT LAST


A week after the arrival of Peyton’s letter, suggesting that his
sister remain longer, another came with quite a different request.
In it the lad assured them all of his great faith in his new
overseer.

“Trujillo seems to have complete control of his helpers. In fact, at
times, I think that they treat him reverentially, which, of course I
cannot understand, but I am now confident that there will be no
uprising among the peons and so Babsie I do hope that Virginia and
your other girl friends will come to Three Cross and make you as
long a visit as you have made them, longer indeed, if they can be
spared.”

“Oh, Virg, will you go, you and Betsy and Megsy? I’d so love to have
you all with me when I open up that old house. You know Peyton has
been living in one of the small adobes, not wishing to open up the
big place until I came. Virg, you’ve been there time and again. I
remember how Mrs. Dartley called you her ‘Angel of Mercy.’”

“As everyone else does on the desert or anywhere,” Margaret put in.

Virg laughed. “And all because I rode over to Three Cross one day
and applied first aid measures when the Dartley baby was cutting
teeth.”

“What did you do?” Betsy inquired.

“Rubbed the poor little gums with a sterilized thimble till the wee
teeth poked through,” Virginia replied.

Barbara was eager to be away and so the very next morning, while it
was still cool, they rode to the North, promising Malcolm to return
in a fortnight.

Peyton, expecting them, had ridden a few miles southward to meet
them and joyous was the reunion between the brother and sister, but
it was at Virginia’s side that the lad was soon riding.

The old ranch house which they were approaching (and which Mr. Wente
had purchased from the Dartleys), was one of the most picturesque on
the desert. It was a large Spanish adobe built around an inner court
over which were hanging balconies. The windows were barred; wide
verandas surrounded it on all sides, and each room had a door
opening thereon. A clump of cottonwood trees grew around a
water-hole in the door-yard. The house was very old and in some
places the adobe walls were crumbling.

Mr. Dartley had been too poor to repair it, and Peyton, since he had
acquired it, had been too much occupied with the cattle he had
purchased to attend to renovating the house.

“What a wonderful old place it is,” Virginia said as she smiled at
the lad.

“It looks wonderful to me,” he replied, “because I keep hoping that
someday it will be your home as well as mine.”

Before the girl could reply, Babs galloped up alongside. “Oh Virg,”
she said with sparkling eyes. “I just know I’m going to love this
old place. If only there were blossoming vines climbing over the
veranda, wouldn’t it be beautiful?”

It was hard for the maiden addressed to think of vines just then,
but she smilingly replied, “Yes, dear, I am sure they would. Your
well is never dry and anything will grow on the desert if it is well
watered.”

“Oh Virg, are you making a pun?” Betsy Clossen called as she and
Margaret rode up within hearing.

Virginia laughed as she gaily replied, “Maybe I am. I don’t feel
accountable just at this particular moment.”

Peyton glanced at the flushed pretty face of the speaker and
wondered why Virginia seemed confused but he did not have another
moment alone with her for they were entering the door-yard where a
cowboy, apparently a Mexican of the better class, advanced to take
their ponies.

“Who is your new acquisition, brother?” Barbara asked as she gazed
with interest at the graceful Mexican lad, who, having made almost
courtly salutations to the young ladies, had, without speaking,
turned and led the horses toward the corral.

Peyton remonstrated. “Don’t you know enough about the ways of the
desert, little sister, not to ask who anyone is? I really am as
ignorant concerning the past of my faithful head rider Trujillo as
you are. He blew in one day last March—literally blew in! We were
having one of those terrible hurricanes which frequently visit us in
the spring. For the first time since I had acquired ‘The Three Cross
Ranch’ I was desperately dismal. The only capable cowboy I had,
departed to become overseer elsewhere, and I was left with the
shiftless Mexican peons who knowing my ignorance, took advantage of
it. Then, as though that were not trouble enough, a blinding
sandstorm came, and I feared my newly acquired herd would be driven
by it over into Mexico. It was in the midst of all this that I heard
a pounding on the front door. Opening it, I let in a whirl of wind
and sand and also this Mexican lad, Trujillo.

“I was desperate for companionship just then, and, although he did
not speak English, he could understand my Spanish and I told him my
woes. When the tale was finished, the sandstorm had passed. Silently
the stranger arose. I believed that he was leaving without a word of
gratitude for the refreshment I had given him. I watched him mount
his weary horse and ride down to the bunk house. He called to the
peons and they gathered about him. I saw them bring him a fresh
mount and then they all rode away with him toward the South. I
thought dismally that perhaps he had come to take them away from me,
but, toward evening I heard them all returning. They had rounded up
my frightened, scattering herd, and, before dark, the cattle were
safe in the five-acre enclosure. Then the stranger came to say
adios, but I persuaded him to remain until morning and he is still
here.”

“I believe there is a mystery about your Trujillo,” Betsy Clossen
said. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could find out what it is?”

The other girls laughed.

“Betsy is always on a still hunt for a mystery,” Babs told her
brother, as they walked toward the house. “We call her Detective
Betsy in school, but, as yet, she has never discovered one worth the
effort to unravel. School girls are not mysterious.”

“Personally, I think one might find a mystery in this old house,”
Margaret said. “If walls had tongues as well as ears what
interesting stories it could tell.”

Peyton led the way within, and the young people, standing in the
long living room which extended across the entire front of the
house, uttered varying exclamations of delight.

“It’s just the sort of a room one sees on the screen when the home
of a Spanish Don is being pictured, isn’t it?” Margaret said. “The
original owners were Spanish, were they not?”

“Yes,” Peyton replied, “Don Carlos Spinoza was a wealthy Spaniard,
who became a political outlaw during one of the frequent uprisings
in Mexico City. He remained in hiding with his family in the
mountains near here for some time and finally built this house. This
interesting old furniture belonged to him. Later, when his friends
were in power, he returned and rescued the family paintings and
other treasures from their home in Mexico. However, after a year or
two of isolation the Donna and their beautiful daughter became
discontented and yearned once more for the gay life to which they
had been accustomed. Don Carlos had many political enemies in
Mexico, and so he had no desire to return. At last he sold this
place for a small sum to Mr. Dartley and left for Spain.”

“Mrs. Dartley did not appreciate this mahogany furniture,” Virginia
told them. “She often said she wished that she could make a bonfire
of it all and buy some nice, new chairs that didn’t have carvings to
catch the dust.”

“But she could not because the old furniture and family paintings
were only left here temporarily, or so the story goes, but years
have passed and no one has returned to claim them.”

Virginia smiled. “Poor Mrs. Dartley looked strangely out of place in
the midst of all this grandeur. She was a dear and ever so kind
hearted, but I often thought that the Dons and Donnas looking down
from the walls must have wondered what had happened and how they
chanced to be living with folk who dressed in gingham instead of
silk. But they didn’t see her often, for this room was usually left
in darkened solitude, for the Dartley family lived almost entirely
in the kitchen.”

Suddenly Barbara inquired: “Betsy, why are you staring so hard at
the painting of that grand old Donna? Does the picture fascinate
you?”

Betsy laughed at them over her shoulder. “You know I have an active
imagination,” she replied, “and so you will not be surprised to hear
me say that I believe I have met this fine lady somewhere.”

“That would be impossible, my dear girl,” Margaret protested, “for
that Donna could not possibly be living now.”

“I do believe that the lovely dark-eyed Senorita in this picture is
her daughter,” Virginia said, “and here she is again older and with
a little girl standing by her side and a beautiful dark-eyed baby
boy on her lap. It really is too bad that the descendants of the
Spinoza family cannot have these paintings in their gallery wherever
they are. In Spain, I suppose, as they have never been heard from
since they departed so long ago.”

“Girls,” Babs said, “it is growing dusky in here, which reminds me
that the sun will soon set and that the beds are not made and that
I, for one, am ravenously hungry.”

“Lead us to your culinary department, Peyton, and we will spread out
our picnic lunch. Good, here comes the cowboy, Trujillo. Now Betsy,
you begin solving the mystery, but don’t let the poor lad know that
you are trying to unravel him,” Virginia cautioned, as they entered
the more modern kitchen which, since it faced toward the west, was
bright with the late afternoon sunshine. At one end was the great
black range, which had been the pride of the good housekeeper, who
so recently lived there.

Across the other end was the long dining table and near the windows
were plain wooden rockers which Mrs. Dartley had made comfortable
with soft cushioned seats, covered with bright colored materials,
for this had been the home part of the house for her little family.

The solemn grandeur of the other rooms had depressed the rancher’s
wife and she once confided to Virginia that the life-sized portraits
hanging around the walls gave her the shivers. “Those painted folks
all have beady black eyes and they watch every move I make,” she had
said. “It doesn’t matter which part of the room I walk to, their
eyes turn and keep a spyin’ at me. It’s too spooky a place to live
in. I don’t step a foot in that room, month in and month out, if I
can help myself.”

It was partly because of this uncanny closed room that Mrs. Dartley
had been so eager to have her husband sell the Three Cross Ranch
that she might return to the Middle-West and to the farmer folk
whose pleasant houses were all furnished in the simple way that she
liked.

During the evening meal, Peyton asked many questions of the girls
concerning their year at school. Margaret, Virginia and Babs
chattered of one thing and another. Suddenly Virg, wondered why the
usually loquacious Betsy Clossen was keeping so still. She looked
across the table and saw that the would-be young detective seemed to
be deep in thought. Now and then she would glance at the Mexican
cowboy who sat opposite. Since he did not understand the English
language, the girls did not attempt to converse with him, although
Peyton frequently addressed Trujillo in Spanish.

Virg smiled to herself, for she guessed, and rightly, that Betsy was
trying to imagine a mystery about the really good-looking, dark
young stranger—that she might solve it.




CHAPTER XVI—A MYSTERIOUS ROOM


The boys went down to the corral after supper and the girls being
left alone decided to see what the long darkened front room looked
like at night.

Virg, in the lead, was carrying a burning candle.

“Leave the kitchen door standing open until we have lighted one of
these hanging lamps,” she said.

Babs did this and they had advanced to the middle of the room when a
breeze from somewhere swept through, blew out the tiny flame on the
candle and closed the kitchen door with a bang. Babs uttered a
shrill scream.

“Be still girls,” Virg said in her calm voice. “There is nothing to
be afraid of even if we are in the dark. Now all of you stand here
where you are. I know this house better than any of the rest of you
and so I will grope my way back and reopen the kitchen door.”

Betsy Clossen’s detective instinct was on the alert. She seized Virg
by the arm as she whispered, “There’s something queer about this.
The light in the kitchen must also have been put out, otherwise we
would see it shining under the door, wouldn’t we?”

“I should think so,” Virg said slowly as she paused, then she added,
“even so, I will investigate. The boys are near. If we are
frightened, we will call them.”

She groped her way toward the wall, where she believed she would
find the kitchen door. “Good!” she told the waiting group. “Here it
is.” But, when she turned the knob, the door would not open. She
pushed and pulled, but all to no effect.

“Please call Peyton,” Megsy implored. “I have the chilly shivers
going up and down my spine. I just know this house is haunted and
that the haunt is angry because we came, and wishes to scare us
away.”

“Girls,” Betsy Clossen said in a low voice, “I believe that I
understand it all. It’s that mysterious Trujillo. He has some object
in living here, I’ll wager, and he fears that this object, whatever
it is, will be defeated if so many girls are around to watch him,
and so he is trying to scare us away. Well, I for one shall stay.”

Virginia’s laugh from out of the dark sounded merry and natural.
Then, just at that moment, having found the right knob, she opened
the kitchen door and a flood of light from the big lamp fell upon
the huddled group.

Margaret and Babs darted for the home-like kitchen as though it were
a harbor of safety but Betsy Clossen remained in the darkness.
“Virg,” she called, “let the other girls stay there and you bring
one of the small lamps that won’t blow out easily and let’s look
around and see where the wind came in that blew out the candle and
slammed the door.”

“Don’t think that we feel offended, Betsy,” Margaret called as she
sank down in a big comfortable kitchen rocker. “I have no yearning
to unravel mysteries. You and Virg may have all of the honor and all
of the shivers.”

“Ditto!” Babs said as she sat in another of the rockers and drew it
closer to the stove. Virginia having found a lantern, lighted it and
again entered the long silent front room. Having closed the kitchen
door, she turned to speak to Betsy, but, to her surprise, the other
girl was nowhere to be seen.

Believing that her friend had hidden, just to mystify her, Virginia
went about the room holding her lantern high and peering behind the
big, heavily-carved mahogany furniture. At first she was in no way
alarmed, but, when each nook and corner had been searched, she stood
still, troubled indeed. She had not wanted to call the name of her
friend for she knew that the two more timid girls in the kitchen
would hear and become alarmed, but, at last, there being no other
alternative she said, “Betsy, where are you?” Then she stood
listening, but the moaning of the wind down the chimney was the only
sound that she could hear.

What could have become of Betsy? Perhaps she had stepped out of the
front door and was hiding on the porch, but, when Virg turned to
look, she saw that the heavy wooden doors were barred on the inside.

The usually calm Virginia was becoming troubled and she was indeed
glad to hear Peyton entering the kitchen. She would have to tell
them all now, and have them join in the search for Betsy who had so
mysteriously disappeared.

“Virg, what is the matter? You look as though you had seen a ghost,”
Megsy exclaimed, as she sprang up from her comfortable rocker when
she saw Virginia returning from the dark, silent front room.

Peyton had just entered the kitchen. Having blown the light out in
his lantern, he was hanging it on its peg, but upon hearing
Margaret’s startled exclamation, he whirled and looked at Virg. He
noted that she was very pale and seemed greatly agitated.

This was indeed unusual, for as long as he had known this calm girl,
she had been mistress of every situation that had arisen. He took a
quick step toward her, fearing that she would faint.

Babs, too, had risen. Virg spoke almost incoherently: “Betsy, she’s
lost—disappeared,” she told them.

Peyton protested in amazement. “But Virg, how could Betsy be lost.
She has been right here in the house all of the time, hasn’t she?”

Then Virg told the lad just what had happened.

“I do not wonder that Trujillo has aroused Betsy’s curiosity,”
Peyton remarked. “For that matter, if it were not the custom of the
desert to ask no questions, I believe that I, myself, would be
tempted to ask him who he really is and from whence he came. He is
greatly the superior of the Mexican peons that I have working here
and they obey his slightest word as though they too recognized his
superiority. He seems content to be my foreman, for he has said
nothing about leaving. In fact he seldom speaks. He replies
graciously in perfect Spanish when I address him, but says almost
nothing of his own accord. But Virg, what has all this to do with
Betsy? How can she have disappeared?”

“It certainly is mysterious,” that maiden replied. “Not ten minutes
ago we were all in the front room. Betsy said that she wanted to see
what it would look like when those queer hanging lamps were
lighted.”

“I said we ought not to go,” Babs interrupted, tremulously, “and
now, if anything has happened to Betsy we’ll—”

“Why, sister, nothing could happen to her right here in our own
house,” Peyton declared in a tone of conviction. Then to Virg, he
added: “Please tell me the rest of your story.”

“As Babs says, she and Megsy were in favor of remaining in the
well-lighted and far more comfortable kitchen, but Betsy begged and
so we all went with her, carrying only a lighted candle. We had not
gone far into the room when the door closed with a bang and the
flame on the candle went out, although I did not feel a stir of
wind. Of course we returned to the kitchen, all but Betsy. She
suggested that the other girls stay by the stove and that I return
to her with a lighted lantern. I was not away from her five minutes,
but when I went back Betsy was not standing where I had left her,
and where she had promised to remain. I supposed that she was hiding
somewhere, and so I held the lantern high and looked behind all of
those massive pieces of carved furniture, but I could not find her.
Then I called her name, softly, but there was no reply. By that time
I was truly frightened and when I heard you returning, I came at
once to ask you to join me in searching for her.”

Peyton looked more puzzled than troubled. “Virg,” he said, “if this
were a tale in a story-book, we might think that Betsy had fallen
through a trap-door, but surely there is nothing of that sort in
this old ranch house, even though it was built—” he paused and
snapped his fingers. “Hum!” he exclaimed, “the plot thickens. Come
to think of it, this house was built by an old Spanish Don who was a
political outlaw from Mexico. For months he hid in the mountains
with his wife, children and servants. Then, when he believed that he
had evaded his pursuers, his peons built this adobe house and so it
is very possible that he might have built some sort of trap-door
through which they could all quickly disappear and evade capture.
Come,” he added, as he swung open the door into the dark, silent
front room, “we’ll make a thorough search but I still feel convinced
that your Detective Betsy is hiding to tease.”




CHAPTER XVII—WHERE BETSY WAS HIDING


But the searchers were soon convinced that Betsy was not hiding to
tease. Peyton lighted all of the heavy brass hanging lamps but they
did little to illumine the long, dark room. Indeed, their dim light
made the corners darker and more ghostly than they had been before.
Each girl was carrying a lantern and the room was searched more
thoroughly than it had been by Virginia alone.

“Perhaps Betsy climbed out of a window and is hiding out doors,”
Babs suggested.

“That would be an impossible feat,” Peyton replied, “for, in common
with all Spanish houses, these windows are barred.”

As he spoke the lad turned and walked toward the fireplace. He
looked into its cavernous opening and carefully examined the walls
and chimney. Turning back into the room, Peyton met Virginia and
they exchanged discouraged glances. “I simply cannot understand it,”
the boy said in a low tone.

Before Virginia could reply, a startled cry rang out. They both
whirled, expecting to see Betsy, but instead it was Babs who was
gazing at one of the barred windows as though she had seen the ghost
about which she had been talking.

Peyton leaped to her side. “Barbara,” he said, “why are you staring
at the window in that wild way? I can see nothing.”

“No, you can’t now,” the girl replied. “It is gone—the face—”

“I believe that mischievous Betsy Clossen is outside peering in at
us and laughing to think how she is fooling us all,” Virginia said
in almost a natural tone. “I know her of old. She loves to tease.”

But Babs shook her head as she continued to gaze at the barred
window.

“It wasn’t Betsy,” she whispered. “It was a dark face. I think
Trujillo.”

“Girls, you come back to the kitchen,” Peyton said, “and bar the
door after me. I am going to see if Betsy Clossen is really hiding
outside. If she is the kind of a girl who would cause you all this
concern just to play a prank, I think you would better send her back
East when she is found.”

“I, too, thought at first that she was hiding to tease,” Margaret
said, “but Betsy really has good common-sense and she would not
continue to frighten us in this way. Now, I am sure that something
has happened to her.”

Peyton was much more troubled than he wished the girls to know. It
was his house and they were his guests, and his sister’s. Too, he
had been quietly watching his new Mexican overseer for the past few
weeks, as some of his actions seemed very strange.

Then Peyton left the kitchen.

“Oh, how I do wish this mystery was solved,” Margaret declared as
she sank down in a rocker, her eyes watching the closed door leading
into the front room, but almost instantly she was on her feet again
clutching Virginia’s arm.

“Look! Quick!” she whispered. “Didn’t the door open a crack?”

Virginia laughed. “No, no, child,” she replied. “Don’t let your
imagination run riot. I am sure there is some perfectly natural
commonplace reason for Betsy’s disappearance. You girls know
perfectly well that there is no such thing as a ghost. You hear
stories about them but you never met a single person who ever saw
one.”

Then they were silent, just waiting, they knew not for what.

In the meantime Peyton had gone down to the bunk-house.

The lad knew that the girl could not have left the room by any of
the exits known to him. The front door had been heavily barricaded
by the Spanish Don on the inside and as Peyton did not use that
room, he had not opened the massive wooden doors. The windows were
barred and the only door of which he had knowledge was the one
leading into the kitchen. Suddenly he recalled that there was
another door but he had found it locked, with no key in evidence,
and believing it led into a store room of some kind, he had thought
little of it.

When Babs had cried out that she had seen a face peering in at one
of the barred windows, a dark face that looked like Trujillo’s,
Peyton had determined to go at once to the bunk-house and find out
the whereabouts of his head rider.

There was a very long adobe building in which the ten peons lived
together. Not far from it was one small solitary adobe which had
been built for the overseer of the Three Cross Ranch. It was in this
that Trujillo slept, although he took his meals with Peyton at the
big house. The owner of the ranch felt that this was a courtesy due
his head rider, and, moreover Trujillo had served him well by saving
his cattle on the day of his first appearance in the wild March
blizzard.

As he thought of these things, he rebuked himself for having doubted
the loyalty of his Mexican cowboy in whom he had so much faith that
he had placed him in charge of the entire ranch, and yet, try as he
might to banish it, he could not but agree with Betsy that there was
something very mysterious about Trujillo.

The long adobe was lighted and the Mexicans squatting on the floor
were intent on a game which they played every evening.

Peyton quietly passed the open door and did not attract their
attention. He went at once to the overseer’s adobe dwelling. It was
dark. The door was standing open and in the faint light of the
rising moon, Peyton could see that the single room was unoccupied.

“Trujillo,” he said softly, but there was no response.

Peyton, troubled indeed, turned back toward the ranch house. He did
not inquire of the peons the whereabouts of Trujillo, for the
overseer never associated with his helpers although he treated them
kindly.

What should he do? What could he do? The lad was thinking as he
again ascended the steps and entered the kitchen door. It was then
that he heard a crash followed by a shrill cry in the front room.

Instantly the girls were on their feet and they were all staring at
the closed door when it burst open and Betsy Clossen rushed in. Her
face was very pale and she was so excited that at first she could
not speak.

“Betsy, is it really you?” Barbara exclaimed joyfully as she caught
her friend in her arms.

“I’m not sure certain it is, myself,” Betsy replied as she sank down
in a rocker. “I’ve had the most exciting experience.”

The others gathered about her. “Do tell us just what happened,”
Virginia said.

“Well, when you left me standing alone in the dark room, I happened
to take a step backward and that caused me to sit down very suddenly
in a big mahogany chair. I caught at the arms and I must have pushed
a button that was part of the carving. Instantly I realized that I
was slowly sinking, although it was so dark I could not tell just
what was happening. The floor seemed to have opened under me and
very quietly and easily the chair was descending like an elevator.
At last I was convinced that I had been let down through a
trap-door. I could hear it closing above me. I found myself in a
dark room. I didn’t dare leave the chair, however, so there I sat,
shouting lustily for help, but I could not make you hear. I must
have been there an hour when I decided that I would experiment with
the chair. I thought that if by pushing one knob I had caused it to
descend into the cellar-like room, there must be another knob that
would lift it again. At last I found such a contrivance, pushed it
and slowly the chair ascended. I gave a cry of joy when I was once
more in the front room, I sprang from the chair, knocking over a
small table which fell with a crash and here I am. Now that it’s all
over, I am glad that it happened. What an exciting experience it
will be to tell Cousin Bob.”

“And so you see, girls, the mysterious Trujillo had nothing to do
with it,” Virginia said.

Peyton, however, remembering the unoccupied bunk-house of the
overseer was still troubled, but a moment later his fears concerning
the loyalty of his cowboy were set at rest. The galloping of a
horse’s feet was heard and then a hallooing. Peyton swung open the
door and Trujillo stood there.

Rapidly in Spanish he told the other lad that one of the peons had
reported early in the evening that a yearling had fallen into a
water-hole and that together they had departed to endeavor to rescue
it. Luckily there was but little water in the hole and the young
cow, though greatly frightened, was unhurt and they had brought it
back to keep for a few days in the hospital corral.

This was all so commonplace that it restored the girls to a more
normal state of mind and Peyton rebuked himself for having doubted
his head rider who was ever serving him so faithfully.

“Now, let’s go to bed, girls, and forget all that has happened. We
are quite used to elevators and since we know that the Don, who
built this house, needed some way to hide quickly from his pursuers,
we can easily understand his descending chair. Tomorrow I intend to
take a ride in it.”

Virginia’s matter of fact tone calmed the younger and more nervous
girls and soon they retired.

The recent owners of the Three Cross Ranch had built a wing leading
from the kitchen. This contained two simply furnished bedrooms which
the four girls were to occupy.

Betsy Clossen was the last to fall asleep. She kept wondering where
she had seen Trujillo before. Nowhere, that she could remember, and
yet, if not, why did she seem to be haunted with the idea that she
had seen him.




CHAPTER XVIII—AN ELEVATOR CHAIR


The next day the girls were awakened by the sun shining in at their
open windows; young calves in the near corral were calling to their
mothers and the hens in the chicken yard at the back of the house
were cheerily clucking as they busily scratched for their breakfast.

This was all so commonplace that the girls arose, laughing as they
spoke of their fears of the night before. As soon as their morning
meal had been finished, Betsy Clossen wished to visit the scene of
her recent adventure, and so all together they entered the dark,
silent front room.

There were heavy wooden blinds on all of the windows except the one
through which Babs on the night before had seen a dusky face
peering.

“Girls,” the little mistress of the Three Cross Ranch exclaimed,
“since this is to be my home, I am going to frighten away the ghost
by letting in the sunshine. Virg, will you help me unbar these
wooden blinds?”

Willing hands assisted and soon the sunshine was flooding in,
revealing the wonderful old mahogany furniture. There was dust deep
in each of the carvings, while long deserted cobwebs stretched
across corners and they, too, were dust laden.

“It is all very fine, I’ve no doubt,” Babs began, as, with arms
akimbo she looked about at her new possessions, “but I certainly do
wish that the Spanish Don to whom all this grandeur belongs would
return and claim it. I’m like Mrs. Hartley, I would just love to
have this long, big room furnished in the cozy, comfortable way to
which I am accustomed.”

“Well, I certainly would take those paintings down from the wall,”
Margaret declared with a shudder. “I would rather have any number of
ghosts than those foreign folks watching every move I made. Honest
Injun, they give me the chilly shivers staring at one the way they
do.”

Virginia laughed. “Where’s Betsy Clossen?” she suddenly inquired.

While the other girls had been busy removing the wooden blinds, that
maiden had been experimenting with her “elevator” chair. As Virg
spoke, the girls heard a gay shout and turned in time to see Betsy’s
head disappearing below the floor. They ran in that direction and
reached the spot just as the trap-door closed and snapped into
place.

Babs shook her finger at the spot as she declared: “Mysterious
chair, this is the very last day that you will operate. I’m going to
make this wonderful long room livable and I surely don’t want chairs
that will carry some unsuspecting guest down to the cellar.”

Margaret laughed merrily.

“Wouldn’t it be amusing, though, if one did have a solemn, serious
caller, a deacon or someone like that, who happened to sit on this
chair and suddenly disappear? You had better keep it, Babs, it may
come in handy.”

But the little housekeeper vigorously shook her head. “No, my mind
is made up once for all. Every bit of this foreign furniture is
going to be stored in an outhouse until the rightful owner claims
it, and I am going to Douglas when you girls return to V. M. Ranch
and buy just the things that I would enjoy having.”

“I wonder why Betsy doesn’t come back,” Margaret remarked. She had
been intently watching the trap door to see what would happen next.

The three girls knelt and called in chorus: “Betsy! Are you down
there? Why don’t you bring the elevator chair up again?” There was
no reply. Not a sound from below could they hear. The girls tried to
open the trap-door, but the contrivance that secured it was
underneath the floor.

“What if the machinery doesn’t work?” Margaret said, looking up in
sudden dismay, “Betsy might smother down there.”

“Who is talking about me?” a merry voice called. The astonished
girls sprang to their feet and whirled around. There was the
laughing Betsy standing back of them.

The other three crowded about. “Did you make any new discoveries?
Tell us what happened!”

“Well, when I reached the cellar,” Betsy began, “I hunted about to
find the other knob, the one that would lift me again to this room,
but lo and behold, it appeared to have lost its magic. I pulled on
it and pushed, but the chair did not move. I could hear you calling
to me, although your voices sounded faint and far. I replied but I
was sure that you could not hear. Then I sat for a few moments
thinking what I ought to do next. Of course I knew that you would
soon call for help if I did not return and that Peyton would break
open the trap. When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I
thought I saw a door at the far side of the room. Groping my way
toward it, I found that it opened easily. Just beyond was a spiral
stairway which I ascended. At the top was another door, but it was
locked. I was about to pound upon it, when I happened to touch a key
which I turned and here I am.”

“Oh!” Virginia exclaimed. “I remember that door. It is the one I
tried to open last night when the candle blew out, but I found it
locked. Peyton said he supposed that it led into a store room but he
had never been curious enough about the matter to investigate.”

Babs was opening the windows, letting in the cool morning breeze.
“I’m going to ask Peyton if we can’t have these bars removed,” she
declared as she stood peering through them. “I feel as though I were
in a jail looking out between bars this way.” Suddenly she uttered
an exclamation which took all of the girls hurrying to her side.

“What is it, Babs? What do you see? Why are you staring so intently
at the ground?” were the questions hurled at her. Babs whirled about
and faced them, her eyes wide with excitement. “This is the window
through which I saw a Mexican last night peering in at us,” she
said.

The others nodded. “You all laughed at me and declared that I was
letting my imagination run riot.” Then she added, exultingly,
“Follow me, young ladies, and you will discover that I, too, am a
very fine detective.”

Much mystified, the girls trooped out of the kitchen door and around
the house. Babs, in the lead, stopped and picked up something from
the ground not far from the barred window. Turning she held aloft a
peculiarly shaped key.

“This probably will solve the mystery for us,” she declared. “Good,
there is Peyton. Hail him, Betsy, will you?”

The lad mounted, was about to start with several peons for the
valley pasture when he heard the girls calling. Whirling his horse
and bidding the Mexicans wait his return, he galloped up.
Dismounting, he asked Babs what was wanted of him. He listened to
her story, almost believing that she had been imaginative until she
produced the strangely shaped key as evidence that some one had been
there.

“Brother, did you ever see that key before?” Babs eagerly inquired.

The lad nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I saw it lying on Trujillo’s bed
yesterday morning when I went to his bunk early to ask his advice
before beginning the work of the day. I picked up the key at the
time and examined it because of its queer shape, but I made no
comment as the matter I had called to discuss was much more
important. However, I cannot believe that my trusted overseer would
spy upon the actions of my sister and her guests. There must be some
other solution of this mystery,” he said. Then he added: “Please say
nothing concerning it and I will try to find out the truth about the
whole matter.”

Peyton slipped the key into one of his coat pockets and lifting his
hat to the girls he rode away.




CHAPTER XIX—THE GIRL DETECTIVE


Betsy Clossen in her role of young detective watched for an
opportunity to slip away from the others as she wished to think out
some plan by which she might be able to discover the real identity
of the mysterious Mexican, Trujillo.

When Peyton had said that he had seen the oddly shaped key only the
morning before in the bunkhouse of his overseer, Betsy was more than
ever convinced that Trujillo’s presence on the Three Cross ranch was
not merely because he needed employment. And yet what could he want?
Peyton had no money on the place. Betsy had heard him tell his
sister only the night before that he would have to ride to Douglas
the following day to visit the bank and procure the money he would
need to pay the peons for a month’s work.

There were no treasures in the old Spanish house that Trujillo could
wish to possess. The mahogany furniture was valuable, no doubt, but
much too heavy for anyone to spirit away, and the only other
possible treasures in the room which Babs called haunted were the
paintings of the family of Don Carlos Spinoza. Surely no one would
wish to steal those. In fact if any one did, Babs would gladly
assist them, so eager was she to remove from the walls of her new
home the life-sized portraits of those “foreigners.”

“I don’t believe I’m a very good detective after all,” Betsy sighed.
“I don’t seem to hit upon the right clue to start from,” she thought
as she followed a trail leading, she did not notice where, so
intently was she thinking and gazing at the ground.

“I have three main facts to work with,” she told herself. “The first
is that Trujillo is mysterious, even Peyton thinks that. The second
is the dark face that peered through the barred window last night
when the girls were searching for me and the third is that the
person who peered dropped an oddly shaped key which Peyton had seen
in the room of his overseer.

“The conclusion to be drawn is that Trujillo is remaining at the
Three Cross ranch, not because of the remuneration he receives, but
in order to obtain some information, since there is nothing valuable
to carry away.”

“Three Cross,” she repeated to herself. “That surely is a queer name
for a cattle ranch. Oh, I remember now! Peyton said that old Don
Carlos was very religious, and that somewhere on the place he had
erected a shrine on which were three crosses and that he went there
to implore protection from his pursuing political enemies. I must
ask Babs where—” Betsy suddenly paused and looked about her. She
saw that the trail she had been following seemed to end abruptly in
a lonely sheltered hollow among sand hills. In front of the girl
stood an old shrine above which were three wooden crosses. One had
fallen to the ground, another leaned far over, but the center one
was erect and seemed to be more firmly established in the sand than
the other two had been.

Betsy stood looking around, awed by the loneliness of the place,
when suddenly, through the stillness there arose a long-drawn-out
wail. With a startled cry the girl turned and fled. She ran back
over the trail as she had never run before.

When she felt that she was a safe distance away she turned and
looked back, almost believing that she would see some ghostly figure
pursuing her. Standing on the top of a sand hill, its lean length
silhouetted against the bright sky, she saw a lone coyote. She
shuddered and looked back again, but at last she was convinced that
the wolf of the desert had no intention of following her but had
departed for some other haunt.

Slowing her pace, Betsy soliloquized: “Well, I discovered something,
even though it may have nothing to do with unraveling the mystery.
Now let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, yes; I had decided that
Trujillo is staying on this ranch for some reason other than that of
employment, and yet it cannot be to steal, for there is nothing on
the place that one would want, and—” Suddenly Betsy stood still and
stared into space, thinking intently. Then she laughed. “I’m a great
detective, I must say. I haven’t given a moment’s thought to the
most important clue of all—the key! Trujillo must think there is
something around here to unlock, otherwise why did he have the key?”
The overseer had arrived in a March blizzard, she had heard Peyton
tell, without box or baggage of any kind, nor had he obtained any
since his arrival.

“Hum,” thought the would-be detective. “I see it all now. There is a
treasure hidden at the house, probably in the front room which has
always been kept closed, and Trujillo had planned that night to slip
in, unobserved, but having seen a light in the room, he had first
peered through the window and had then beat a hasty retreat. Hurray
for me!” Betsy concluded exultingly. “The mystery is solved. I do
believe.”

She was nearing the house and she saw the girls on the porch
beckoning to her.

“Where have you been? Lunch is ready,” Margaret called.

“Oh, just for a walk,” was Betsy’s non-committal reply. She had
decided to say nothing of her discovery until she had had time to
look around a little more all by herself. But the would-be detective
was to hear something that noon which convinced her that she was
following the wrong clue.




CHAPTER XX—A QUEER KEY


The girls were seated about the table at one end of the big
comfortable kitchen and, it being Margaret’s turn to play waitress,
she was passing a dish of frijolies when they heard a horse
galloping under the windows. “Peyton has returned just in time,”
Megsy announced, but, when the door opened, it was Trujillo who
appeared. He seemed to be much excited, but what he said caused a
great deal more excitement among his listeners, for in perfectly
good English he inquired:

“Senoritas, have you seen an oddly shaped key? It is an antique and
of great value to me, though to no one else. I left it in my
bunk-house yesterday morning. I recall having seen your brother,”
turning to address the astonished Barbara, “when he picked it up and
examined it. Since then I have given the key no thought, but a
moment ago, chancing to look for it, I could not find it. Believing
that Senor Peyton, without thought had slipped it into his pocket, I
came here in search of him.”

Barbara cast a helpless glance at the ever calm Virginia, who
replied: “Trujillo, the key about which you speak, is, I am sure,
the one that we found close to the house early this morning. We gave
it to Peyton. He is spending the day at the valley pasture directing
the mending of the fence around the grass lands.”

“I thank you, Senorita,” the tall dark lad said, sweeping his
sombrero in a courtly manner.

When he was gone in search of his employer, the girls sank back in
the chairs from which they had risen, and, one and all uttered some
characteristic exclamation.

“Silver fishes in a shining sea,” Betsy Clossen said, and although
the remark could mean nothing, it was evident that the speaker meant
a great deal. “I surely am a wonderful detective,” she declared.
“Every clue I thought I had has vanished.” Then turning to Babs, she
added: “Didn’t you tell us that Trujillo could not speak English?”

That maiden looked puzzled. “I don’t seem to recall why I thought he
couldn’t,” she confessed. “Probably because he never did in all the
time he has been here.”

Virginia smiled: “We haven’t been here two days as yet,” she
reminded them, “and we have made no effort to converse with
Trujillo. We just took it for granted he wouldn’t understand us.
Well, one thing is certain and that is that Trujillo did not peer in
the window nor drop the key and I am glad that he didn’t. Everything
Peyton has told us about him has been so fine and noble, I would be
sorry to discover that he was a spy.”

“Hark! What was that?” Virginia had risen and was listening,
intently. There was the sound of something heavy falling in the
front room, then a hurrying of feet and the slamming of a door.

Virginia fearlessly entered the room which was flooded with
sunlight, since the blinds had been removed. She went at once to the
door opening upon the spiral stairway. It was unlocked early that
morning. The other girls had cautiously followed and were searching
for the something which had fallen. “There it is,” Margaret
whispered, pointing.

The something that had fallen with a crash proved to be a rock which
had been pried out of the wall of the fireplace.

“Oh, girls,” Betsy said, her eyes glowing. “We’re on the trail of
whoever it was peered in last night. There is something in this room
that he wants. Of course we have decided definitely that it wasn’t
Trujillo, and—”

“I’m not so sure of that.” It was the quiet Margaret who spoke and
the others turned toward her.

“Not sure? Why of course we’re sure. If he had dropped the key, he
wouldn’t have to ask where it had been lost, would he?” Babs
inquired.

“Oh, I know what Margaret means,” Betsy interrupted. “She thinks
that in order to throw suspicion away from himself, he would pretend
ignorance of the whereabouts of the key. Then, when we directed him
to the valley pasture, what could be simpler than for him to pretend
to go there, but in reality to wheel back when he was out of our
sight and return to procure whatever it is that he seems to want.”

The girls had returned to the kitchen and were huddled as far from
the front room as they could get and were whispering together
excitedly.

“Well,” Betsy confessed. “I’ve always wanted a mystery to unravel,
but I seem doomed to failure now that I really have one. It grows
more mysterious every minute.”

Margaret had to laugh at her friend’s dismal expression. “Betsy,”
she said to tease, “I’ll dare you to ride down to the cellar room in
your elevator chair and see who is hiding there. Someone must be,
for he just went down the spiral stairs and locked the door behind
him.”

The would-be detective shook her head. “I told you this morning that
the machinery is broken. That chair is doomed to remain in the
cellar.”

To verify her statement, Betsy drew the reluctant Margaret toward
the door, opened it cautiously and peered into the front room. Then
she closed it with a bang, and turned a pale face toward the girls.
“The chair—it’s in its right place. Someone has ridden up in it and
must be hiding in the front room. How I wish Peyton would come. I
for one have had enough mystery to last for a lifetime.”

“Here comes brother, and someone is riding at his side. I declare,
it’s Trujillo, and so the intruder must be someone else. I do wish
they would hurry. I’m expecting any minute that something is going
to happen,” Babs declared.

Margaret, who had opened the door leading to the back porch, uttered
an exclamation of astonishment, then, turning she beckoned as she
said: “Come, quick! Something is happening right this minute.”

What the girls, crowding into the open doorway, saw was the figure
of a peon crouching and creeping along behind a hedge of mesquite
bushes. He kept watching the trail down which he saw Peyton and
Trujillo descending, and, when they were close to him, he lay flat
on the sand burrowing as deep as he could in his endeavor to escape
detection.

The riders, deeply engrossed in their conversation, were not looking
in that direction, and when Margaret saw that they were riding past
the mesquite clump without seeing the hiding peon, she ran out on
the porch and hallooed to them, making frantic motions. These might
not have been understood by the two riders, but the ignorant and
greatly frightened Mexican, believing that his hiding place was
being revealed, took to his feet and raced for the sand hills.
Peyton and Trujillo, seeing him, wheeled their horses and galloped
in pursuit, and he was quickly overtaken.

“It is Pinez, whom we recently engaged.” Trujillo said in English,
which the peon could not understand. “I have been watching him for
several days. Last week I sent him to town for my mail and I was
convinced that one of my letters was being withheld from me.” Then
turning to the sullen peon, he asked: “Pinez, why were you hiding?
Have you a letter that belongs to me?”

“Si, Senor,” was the reply, and from his pocket the Mexican drew an
envelope, much soiled from frequent handling.

Trujillo’s face brightened. “It is for this that I have been
waiting,” was his remark, which greatly mystified Peyton, but he
made no comment.

Then the overseer addressed the peon in Spanish, saying: “Pinez, you
are dismissed. Return to Sonora but say nothing of the content of
this letter.”

The peon’s manner was deferential in the extreme. Turning, he walked
toward the long bunk-house from which, half an hour later, the girls
saw him ride away toward the South on the small, mottled horse on
which he had so recently arrived.

All through lunch the two boys talked about the affairs of the ranch
as though nothing mysterious or unusual had happened. After the noon
meal was finished the overseer turned toward the little mistress of
Three Cross saying with frank pleasantness: “Senorita, I have heard
you speak of a front room that you call haunted. With your kind
permission, I would like to visit that room in your company.”

Babs was too well bred to show the astonishment she certainly felt.
“Come, let us all go in there,” she replied, rising.

Trujillo stepped aside with Peyton to permit Barbara and her girl
friends to enter. Betsy regretted that she had to go ahead as she
wished to watch the overseer’s every move, for she felt that now, if
ever, she would prove that she was really a good detective. She
believed that the moment for solving the mystery had come.

Trujillo walked about, gazing especially at the life-sized portraits
upon the walls. Indeed he was so absorbed in one and another that he
seemed to quite forget their presence.

He stood for a long time before the painting of a beautiful young
Spanish mother with a dark-eyed little girl on her lap and a tall,
handsome youth standing at her side.

Trujillo, directly beneath this painting, turned and smiled at the
almost breathless girls. He was about to speak, but before he could
utter a word, there was a glad cry from Betsy Clossen.

“I know now who you are,” she exclaimed glowingly. “You are the
little boy in that painting, grown up!”

Trujillo bowed in his courtly way. “Si Senorita. I am Trujillo
Carlos Spinoza. Now I will tell you why I am here.”




CHAPTER XXI—TRUJILLO IDENTIFIED


When Trujillo announced that he was indeed the lad portrayed in the
painting, now grown, Betsy Clossen was overjoyed that she had
unraveled the mystery as she had so desired. Notwithstanding the
fact that the Spanish youth closely resembled the portrait of the
boy in the picture hanging directly above his head, not one of the
other young people had observed this.

“Oh, I am so glad!” Babs joyfully exclaimed. “Now you will take all
this furniture away, won’t you? Because it really belongs to your
family, you know. Mrs. Dartley said that Don Carlos Spinoza asked
permission to leave this room furnished, promising to remove
everything in it at his first opportunity. That being so long ago we
feared no one was ever coming to claim it.”

Before the Spanish lad could reply, Peyton asked: “Trujillo, why did
you not tell me at once who you were?”

“Merely because I did not know that I had reached the ranch which
had formerly belonged to my grandfather. I believed it to be miles
north of here. But, let me begin at the beginning of my story. When
we left this place years ago with my grandfather, Don Carlos
Spinoza, we all went to Spain, where we remained until recently. The
sudden death of my grandfather followed by a financial crash left my
mother, sister and me almost penniless. It was then that mother told
me that I, as the only living grandson, was really the owner of a
large estate in Mexico, which had been a gift to my ancestors from
the king of Spain and that this land grant could not be confiscated
nor sold except with the signed consent of the heir thereto.

“When I inquired why they had left this rich heritage, for the
estate is in Sonora and the mines are of great value, mother told
me, for the first time, that we had been political exiles from
Mexico. However, she believed that the government had been
completely changed and that we might now return with safety and take
possession of the land of our fathers. Soon after this we set sail
for America, and my mother and sister are now in Mexico awaiting my
return.”

“But Trujillo, even yet I do not understand the reason for your
sojourn here as my overseer,” Peyton said.

The Spanish youth smiled. “No, but you will as I continue my story.
When we reached Mexico City we were welcomed by old friends of the
family, who informed us that soon after our flight our estate had
been confiscated and occupied by the political enemies of my
grandfather. On looking into the matter I found that this family had
papers proving, (or so it would seem), that the land grant had
really belonged to their ancestors and had been usurped by my great
grandfather.

“It was evident that we could not disprove their claim, as we had no
papers whatever to show. Then it was that my mother recalled her
father’s futile effort on the day that he died to tell her of the
location of some very important papers. So overcome had she been
with grief that she had been unable to heed even the little he could
say, and so, when later she tried to recall what my grandfather had
endeavored to tell her, she could not.

“It was then that I determined to ride across the desert, finding,
if I could, the ranch to which my grandfather had fled when he
became a political exile. I doubt if I would ever have found my way
here had it not been that I was driven far from the trail I was
following by the wild blizzard which you will recall. I at once
accepted your offer, partly because I needed money to send to my
mother, and also because I thought I might learn something which
would enable me to locate the ranch formerly belonging to my
grandfather. When you told me that you had recently come from the
East and had obtained the ranch from the Dartleys, in whose family
it had been for many years, I did not question you more, not
dreaming that this was the place for which I was searching.

“The letter which Pinez was concealing was from my mother telling me
that she had suddenly recalled what her father had said in his last
hour. ‘The land grant—Three Cross.’

“Of course I had often heard you speak of this place as The Three
Cross Ranch and now, when I enter this room for the first time and
find myself surrounded with portraits of my family, I realize that
this is where the lost papers are to be found.”

“Trujillo, why was Pinez searching for those papers?” It was
Margaret who spoke. The Spanish youth turned toward her as he
replied: “I believe his plan was to find them and then hold them
until I offered him a large reward.” Then smiling directly at Betsy,
he added: “Senorita, since you so cleverly discovered my identity,
will you not also discover for me the hiding place of my land
grant?”

The little would-be detective felt greatly honored to be chosen as
aide to the handsome Spanish youth, and she determined to make every
effort to find the hidden papers.




CHAPTER XXII—SEARCHING FOR THE LAND GRANT


Betsy Clossen had hardly slept a wink the night following her
discovery of the real identity of the mysterious Trujillo. She kept
thinking and thinking of a possible hiding place for the lost papers
which, when found, would restore to the family of Don Carlos Spinoza
their rightful estate.

“How I do hope I may be the one to find them,” was her last
conscious thought at night and her first on waking the next morning.

It was not yet daybreak, but Betsy quietly arose, dressed and
tiptoed out of the room without having disturbed Margaret from her
peaceful slumber.

Reaching the kitchen, Betsy stood for a moment trying to think where
she would begin her search. Then, suddenly, she remembered
something. The peon had been trying to pry the stones from the walls
of the great old fireplace. There might be a secret opening with a
stone fitted in to conceal it. Lighting a lantern, for it was still
dark, Betsy stole into the long silent front room, not without many
a tremor of fear, for, even now, when the mystery was nearly solved,
the place seemed haunted with the many foreign faces gazing down at
her from the walls.

Trying not to look at them as they were revealed one by one in the
dim light of her lantern, Betsy went at once to the fireplace. She
did not attempt to pry out the stones, but tried to find one that
looked as though it had not been securely fastened and could easily
be removed.

However, each stone within her reach was cemented to its neighbor,
and, convinced at last that her search at the fireplace was to be
unrewarded, she turned away. Walking to the center of the room, she
stood looking about, trying to recall all of the detective stories
she had ever read.

There was always a secret panel in the wall which revealed a hidden
treasure if one could but find the spring, but these walls were
adobe and there were no panels. True, there was the small dark
cellar into which the elevator chair descended, and from which
spiral ascended, and yet, did she quite dare to go down in that
dungeon-like place alone while the rest of the household slept?
Betsy suddenly lifted her head and listened intently. She had heard
soft foot-steps approaching in the kitchen, then the door opened
cautiously. It was Margaret who appeared, pale and wide eyed.

“What in the world are you doing here, Betsy?” she inquired, as she
advanced into the room. “I woke up and found you were gone. I
thought you might be walking in your sleep. You were so restless all
night and kept saying things.”

“What did I say?” Betsy inquired curiously.

“Nothing that made any sense as far as I could tell,” was the reply.
“You kept mumbling every now and then, but once you sat right up in
bed and said in the queerest voice: ‘Three crosses. That’s where the
papers are.’ I shook you and whispered, ‘Betsy, what are you
saying?’ but you lay down again and did not reply. Then I realized
that you had been asleep all of the time.”

The eyes of the young would-be detective were glowing with sudden
inspiration. Seizing the wondering Margaret by the arm, she
exclaimed: “Come with me, Megsy!” and before the other girl could
realize what was happening, she was being dragged across the kitchen
and out of the house where the desert lay silent and uncanny in the
deepest darkness of the night, which comes just before the dawn.

Margaret, being of a more timid nature, was truly frightened when
she saw that Betsy was dragging her farther and farther away from
the ranch house and toward the lonely sand hills. The truth of the
matter was that at any other time, Betsy would have been frightened
also, but at present she was possessed of just one idea which was
that the papers for which they were searching were hidden, in all
probability, at the Shrine of The Three Crosses. When Margaret told
her what she had said in her sleep, Betsy believed that the message
had come to her as an inspiration, and so sure was she of this, that
for the moment she had become unconscious of fear; too, she had
forgotten the lean, gaunt wolf of the desert, whose long drawn-out
wail had so startled her on the occasion of her last visit.

“Betsy, let go of my arm,” Margaret managed to gasp, “and tell me
where we are going.” Then a terrible thought came to Megsy. What if
Betsy should be walking in her sleep after all, and what if she were
taking them both to some place where harm would befall them. So
convinced was Margaret that this was the real explanation of her
friend’s actions that she whirled about as soon as Betsy loosened
the clasp on her arm and raced back toward the ranch house. A light
appeared in the small adobe, then, as she was about to pass, the
door opened and Trujillo stepped out. In the grey light of the early
dawn, Margaret’s flying form was easily seen and the overseer, much
mystified by the appearance of one of the girls in such seemingly
terrorized flight, quickly overtook her.

“Senorita,” he exclaimed when she turned a white face toward him.
“What is the matter? Where have you been? What have you seen?”

“Oh, I am so glad you came,” Megsy replied. “I was going after
Peyton. Betsy Clossen is walking in her sleep. I just know that she
is, and she’ll come to some harm if we don’t bring her back. She
says the queerest things about lost papers being hidden at the
Shrine of The Three Crosses. I never heard of such a place. Did you,
Senor?”

Trujillo replied in the negative. He had never heard the peons
mention a shrine and surely they would know if there were one.

“Wait here, Senorita, I will get horses and we will follow your
friend.”

When Margaret had deserted Betsy, for a moment the young would-be
detective felt a strong desire to turn and race after her, but she
would not permit herself to do this. She was so eager to find the
lost papers and she was more than ever convinced, as she thought
about the matter, that they were probably near the shrine. This had
been the daily haunt of the old Don who had prayed that his estate
might be restored to him. What would be more natural than that he
would conceal the papers there, believing, as he probably did, that
his political enemies when they found him would confiscate the
documents, making it impossible for him to prove that the land grant
had really belonged to his ancestors.

As Betsy neared the lonely sand hills, she dreaded more and more the
moment when she would enter the sheltered dug-out where she had
found the shrine. She knew that, loud as she might call, no one
would hear.

“Oh, I can’t go on! I can’t! I can’t” she exclaimed, her
fearlessness suddenly deserting her. Then it was that she heard
something weird indeed.

In a voice that sounded almost like a mournful echo, some one was
calling. Then in her heart there was a sudden joyful realization of
the truth. Some one was shouting her name and the sand hills were
sending back the echo: “Betsy, where are you?”

“Here! Here!” she replied as she ran out to meet the approaching
riders. Of course she might have known that Margaret would soon
return with one of the boys.

She was glad to recognize that the other rider was Trujillo. As they
drew near, the Spanish youth saw that the girl standing alone near
the sand hills did not look as courageous as her fearless actions
had implied. Instead her face was pale, her eyes wide, although her
expression was one of gladness, because she was no longer alone.

Betsy was not asleep, of that Trujillo was convinced. Leaping to the
ground, he exclaimed: “Senorita, what mad fancy brought you to this
lonely place before the dawning of the day?”

“Oh, senor, the papers! I am sure, as sure as one can be when one
does not really know, that they are hidden somewhere near the Shrine
of the Three Crosses.”

“Three Crosses?” Margaret repeated. “That is what you said in your
sleep.”

“Where is the shrine, senorita?” Trujillo inquired. Betsy led the
way between the sand hills to the small dug-out in which were three
large wooden crosses. One had fallen to the sand, another leaned
over, but the third stood erect. Trujillo bared his head and knelt
upon the sand for a moment in prayer. The girls could understand
that the lad must indeed feel awed to find himself before the shrine
which had been so often visited by his grandfather, Don Carlos
Spinoza. He soon arose and when he turned toward them they knew that
he had been deeply affected. Then in a tone of conviction he said:

“Senorita, your dream, I am sure, is to be fulfilled. My
grandfather’s last words were: ‘The land grant at the Three
Crosses.’ If he had meant at the Three Cross ranch, he would not
have used the plural.”

Then Trujillo stood gazing about him, thinking intently. He was
trying to decide the probable hiding place of the document he
sought. Suddenly his thought was interrupted by an exclamation from
Betsy, the girl was gazing as though fascinated at the large wooden
cross standing erect between the two that had fallen.

“Senor,” she said, “there must be some reason why that cross in the
center has stood while the others have not. It must have a firmer
foundation. Do you not think so?”

“I do indeed,” was the reply of the youth, who at once knelt and
began digging at the base of the cross. The sand on top was soft,
but, as he advanced, he found that it became more difficult to
remove. The action of the rain and sun during the ten years since
the cross had been erected had hardened it until it was the nature
of sand stone.

He arose. “Senorita Betsy,” he said, “our surmise was not correct
after all. There seems to be nothing holding this cross but the
hardened sand.”

Betsy was keenly disappointed, although she was not entirely
convinced. Trujillo left the girls standing alone while he advanced
farther into the cave-like dug-out. It extended deeper into the sand
hills than he had at first supposed. He did not advance far,
however, but stopped suddenly and gazed intently into the interior,
and then, assuming an attitude of seeming indifference, he returned.
He did not wish to startle the girls by telling them that he had
seen two green eyes gleaming in the darkness at the back of the
cave. He believed the creature to be either a mountain lion or a
coyote, which of late had been killing the young calves.

“Senoritas,” he said in a voice which did not betray his real
concern, “our friends at the ranch house will be troubled because we
do not return. The breakfast hour is long passed. I suggest that we
come here later in the day, bringing with us a pick and shovel that
we may make a thorough investigation.”

As he spoke, he led the girls away from the crosses to the place
where the ponies were.

“Promise me you won’t search for the papers unless I am with you,”
Betsy implored. The Spanish youth smiled at the pretty, flushed face
of the pleading girl, as he replied: “I promise, Senorita.”

All that morning Betsy watched and waited. She almost lost faith in
the promise of Trujillo when, at last, she beheld him returning from
the sand hills, accompanied by Peyton, but when she saw that they
were armed with guns and did not carry a shovel or pick, she knew
that they had been on some other mission.

Trujillo rode to the ranch house and entering the living room, he
said to the eager girl: “If you are ready, Senorita Betsy, we will
go at once.”

Margaret and Virginia were busily employed in the kitchen, but they
glanced up when they heard the cantering of horses’ hoofs beneath
the window.

“I wonder where Betsy and Trujillo are going,” Virg said. Margaret,
who had been sworn to secrecy, did not reply.

“Oh, I presume they are still searching for the land grant papers,”
Megsy said. “I’d heaps rather be in this sunny, comfortable kitchen
making pies, wouldn’t you, Virg?”

The older girl smiled. “Perhaps it is well that we have different
interests,” she replied. “Some of us like to do adventurous things
and some of us like to do the quiet, homely things, but I really
enjoy both the desert life and then home life.” Then she added, with
one of her radiant smiles: “I do believe, Megsy, that I am a natural
born enjoyer.”

“You are indeed,” her friend responded, admiringly. “You always seem
so happy and contented, Virg, wherever you are. Tell me your
secret.”

Virginia put her arm about Margaret and drew her down to the sunny
window-seat, as she replied: “Mother often told me that we ought to
let our lives blossom as a flower unfolds, just peacefully and
trustingly, enjoying the song of a bird, and the warmth of the sun
and whatever beauty is near us. Many people try to force their life
blossoms open and are so continually reaching for something beyond,
that they never really enjoy the loveliness that is near them and so
they become worried and weary. Every morning I ask myself: ‘What
happiness can I find and give _today_ in the place where I am? That
keeps me contented and happy.” Then springing up, she laughingly
added: “Yum! Doesn’t the pie smell good? I do hope everyone will be
here in time for lunch.” But it was long after the lunch hour before
Betsy and Trujillo returned.

In the meantime Betsy and Trujillo had reached the sand hills and
were standing in front of the three crosses. Trujillo glanced into
the cave beyond the shrine. Little did his companion know that in
the darkness there was a newly made grave.

At Betsy’s suggestion he began at once to dig beneath the middle
cross. The pick was needed to break the sand stone, but suddenly it
struck something that did not break. One corner of an iron box was
revealed, which however, was so firmly imbedded in the rock that it
took a long time to entirely free it. Betsy, after the first
exultant exclamation, had stood silently watching.

How she did hope that this box contained the land grant document
that the mother and sister of Trujillo might have their home
restored to them.

When at last the box was freed, they both knelt beside it to see if
the key hole was as queerly shaped as was the key that the mother of
Trujillo had given him. When they found that it fitted exactly,
Betsy’s joy could no longer be restrained, and leaping up, she
clapped her hands and uttered varied exclamations of delight.

Trujillo glanced at her with a happy smile. “Senorita,” he said,
“before I open this box, I want you to promise me something. If the
papers are here, and if our home is restored, will you and your
friends come some day, and visit us? My mother and my sister
Carmelita will welcome you gladly.”

Then the key turned and the box was opened. There was a glad cry
from the girl who had been watching breathlessly, for there lay a
packet of yellowing papers. Placing them in his pocket, the Spanish
lad rose and held out his hand to his flushed and excited companion.
“Senorita Betsy,” he said, his melodious voice tense with feeling,
“I thank you for your interest and my mother and sister will want to
thank you when, with your friends, you can visit us.”

Then leaving the heavy iron box in the sand by the crosses, these
two rode back to the ranch house to tell the others that, at last,
the long lost papers had been found.

[Illustration: There lay a packet of yellowing papers.]

“I shall leave for Mexico tomorrow if Monsieur Peyton can spare me,
but before I go I shall return alone to the shrine and leave the
three crosses standing, firm and erect, in the memory of my
grandfather.”

And this Trujillo did, going to the shrine at sunrise on the
following morning. Then directly after breakfast, the Spanish youth
rode away to the south.

“Girls,” Betsy cried, “how I do wish, before I have to return East,
that we might visit the beautiful Carmelita Spinoza.”

“Stranger things than that have happened,” Virginia replied.




CHAPTER XXIII—ALARM ABOUT MALCOLM


A few days after the departure of Trujillo, Virginia remarked one
morning at breakfast, “Barbara, I feel much as you did when you were
with us at V. M., a great anxiety, which I cannot understand, to
return home and see if all is well with Malcolm. The truth is I have
been away from him and from dear old Uncle Tex for so many, many
months, that I feel sure they were sorry to have me desert them,
and, so, if Margaret and Betsy are willing, I think we would better
return to V. M. today.”

The pretty face of Babs plainly showed her disappointment, and
Virginia hastened to add, “Won’t you come with us, Barbara, or, if
not that, perhaps, Betsy would like to make you a longer visit here
at Three Cross.”

A sudden hopeful brightening in the blue eyes of Barbara brought
from her dear friend Betsy an immediate acceptance of the plan, and,
so, an hour later, that they might start before the sun was high,
the two who were departing bade goodbye to the three who were to
remain and rode away, looking back often to wave and smile.

When at last they had crossed the ridge which hid the Three Cross
Ranch from their view and were riding along the level desert,
Margaret looked anxiously, inquiringly at her friend.

“Dear, you seem very thoughtful. Are you troubled about anything in
particular?”

The questioner was more than ever puzzled when she saw the morning
glow in the truly beautiful face that was turned toward her.

“No, sister of mine, I was thinking of something very wonderful, but
just for a time it must be my secret.”

Virginia was recalling an hour that she and Peyton had spent alone
the evening before, sitting on a huge boulder that was near the
ranch house. It had been a gloriously moonlighted night, and, for a
long time, they had remained silent, just content, it would seem, to
be together in that truest and rarest of all forms of comradeship.
Then quietly Virg had led Peyton to talk of his ranch, his interest,
and of what he had done while she had been away.

Somehow, in the magic of the loveliness all about them, it had
seemed but natural that the lad should tell her of his love.

“May I hope, Virginia, that some day, you will be here with
me,—with us?” And Virginia’s reply had been seriously given. “Ask
me that again when I am eighteen, will you Peyton?”

And with that answer the lad had to be content, but in it he found
much to cause him to rejoice; much that gave him hope.

It was a strange coincidence, that, at that moment, as Virginia was
thinking over the conversation of the night before, Megsy should
ask, “Virg, who do you suppose will be the first girl of our
acquaintance to marry?”

Her companion smiled, “Why dear, I don’t know,” she replied. “Babs
and Betsy are far too young, some way, to even think of such things.
Betsy declares that she is to be wedded to her career and Barbara,
though she likes Benjy Wilson has not as yet even thought of
romance.”

“Well, I am sure it will not be me.” Virg thought she heard Margaret
sigh and this puzzled her. Quick was her response. “I’m not so sure
of that, Megsy. You are so sweet and lovable, I know you will be
stolen away from me long before I am ready to lose you.” Then, as
they reached the top of the mesa, she continued happily, “Oh, how
good it is to see V. M. Ranch again. This time I do hope that
brother of mine will be at home to greet us. I have had so much
change and recreation this past year that I actually feel guilty. It
has been all work and responsibility for Malcolm.”

“I have a plan to suggest,” Megsy said. “Let’s insist that Malcolm
take a two weeks’ vacation and go away somewhere so isolated that he
could not possibly receive there a message about the ranch.”

Virg shook her head. “I don’t believe that we could persuade my
brother to go,” she replied.

“I’m going to try,” was Margaret’s quiet response.




CHAPTER XXIV—AND THE REASON FOR IT


The girls entered the ranch house living room and stood looking
about.

“How queer not to hear a sound,” Margaret said. “Why does it seem so
much more still than usual do you suppose?”

“Perhaps because we do not hear the shouting of the Mahoy children,”
Virg replied. “They are usually at play in the door yard at this
hour. Let’s go over to their home and ask Mrs. Mahoy where everyone
is.”

With a heart filled with an unaccountable foreboding, Virg led the
way to the small adobe back of the big ranch house and nearer the
dry creek.

As they approached they saw the four small children seated on the
porch step huddled together. The oldest girl was softly crying, the
two younger ones looked frightened, as though something had happened
which they could not understand, and Patsy, though his lips were
quivering, seemed to be trying not to cry.

Virginia leaped forward, and kneeling put her arms about the sobbing
girl, then, looking at the boy, she said, “Patsy, lad, what has
happened? Is your mother—”

She said no more, for the door opened and the little Irish woman
appeared. She had on her hat and carried a bundle. The kneeling girl
sprang to her feet. “Mrs. Mahoy,” she said with a new alarm in her
heart, “where are you going? Has anything happened in the mine?”

The little woman nodded. “Indeed there has, Miss Virginia. It’s
caved in somewheres. A boy from Slater’s just rode over to get you,
but bein’ as you wasn’t here, I was starting mesilf. It’s thankful I
am as ye’ve come, for I was beside mesilf entoirely not knowin’ what
to do wid the children. Me Pat is all right, the saints be praised,
but—” she hesitated.

“Malcolm, what about Malcolm?” It was Margaret who asked the
question, her eyes thought of what might have happened to her
guardian.

The little Irish woman hardly knew how to reply. “The boy said as
how they hadn’t found him yet,” she told them, “but, like as not,
they have by this time,” she hastened to add. “Uncle Tex went right
back with the boy an’ I was goin’ mesilf with liniments and
bandages.”

“I will take them, Mrs. Mahoy. You stay with the children.” Then
turning to the other girl, Virginia added: “Margaret, perhaps you
would better remain at home. I’ll send the Slater boy back with a
message as soon as I know that all is well.”

She glanced anxiously at her adopted sister. There had been a long
ride already that morning and Megsy was not as strong as the other.

“I am going with you,” was the quiet reply, and Virg knew that when
Margaret spoke that way there was nothing more to be said.

Mrs. Mahoy had disappeared, but was quickly back in the open
doorway, her hat removed. “Miss Virginia,” she said, “I’ve put the
kettle on and in a minute now I’ll have a snack for you to be eatin’
before yez start on the ride to the mine.”

Half an hour later the girls were again in the saddle and were
following the trail across Dry Creek toward Seven Peak Range.
Virginia’s heart was filled with self-reproach, because she had
permitted Malcolm to carry more than his share of the
responsibility, and yet, how could she have helped it? It had been
all work and no play for him ever since their father died. Suddenly
she realized that Margaret was riding close at her side.

“Dear,” Megsy said, and there was a quiver in her voice, “try not to
grieve yet. Wait until we know more. I feel sure that all is well
with my guardian.” But was all well with the brave, strong, quiet
Malcolm?




CHAPTER XXV—AN HOUR OF SUSPENSE


As the girls neared the Second Peak their anxiety increased. They
could see men hurrying about near the mine and they urged their
horses to greater speed. However, one man, chancing to look in their
direction, seemed to be much concerned because of their rapid
approach and, seizing a red flag, he climbed out on the over-hanging
rocks and waved frantically, while another, leaping to his side,
motioned the girls to stay back.

They then drew rein and Margaret exclaimed: “What can it mean, do
you suppose?”

“I think they must be going to blast,” Virginia replied, her face
white as she shaded her eyes and gazed intently in the direction of
the seemingly excited men.

“But, how can they blast if Malcolm, if anyone is buried in the
mine?”

“I don’t understand,” Virg told her, “but I’m not going to worry
more than I can help until I know that there is really something to
worry about.”

“One of the men is mounting a horse now,” Margaret said. “Perhaps he
is coming to explain to us what is happening.”

This surmise proved true, for they saw a cowboy approaching them on
a racing mustang. “It’s Rusty Pete from the Slater Ranch. At least
our suspense will soon be over, for he will tell us what it all
means.”

It was very evident by the expression on the face of the cowboy that
he dreaded telling the message he had been sent to convey. So
pre-occupied and concerned was he that he jerked upon the reins of
his mustang in a manner which his steed wrongly interpreted and the
result was that it reared and plunged and arrived in the
neighborhood of the girls in so nervous a state that it was with
difficulty quieted long enough for the rider to speak.

“What have you to tell us, Pete?” Virginia eagerly inquired, when at
last the restive horse was for a moment standing with all four feet
upon the ground, although it continued to whistle and paw the sand
with its right fore foot.

Rusty Pete was evidently at a loss for words to express his message.
“Your brother, Miss Virginia,” he began, “that is, they’re going to
blast,” he hurried on as though he couldn’t complete the sentence he
had started, “and they sent me to say, don’t come nearer, till they
signal.”

Virg, believing that the cowboy was about to ride away again, leaned
over and put her hand on his arm. “Tell me, Pete,” she implored,
“what has happened to my brother?”

Before the cowboy could reply there was a flash of fire on Second
Peak, an upheaval of rock and smoke, and a thundering noise that
reverberated through the mountains echoing back from the far peaks,
and then a shower of sand and bits of stone fell all about them. The
horses, stung by the sharp edges of this unexpected fusilade, leaped
and plunged, and it was sometime before they could be quieted.
Excited shouts from the mine then attracted their attention. They
turned to see another rider approaching them with all haste.

“It’s Uncle Tex, and he has good news, I am sure,” Virg exclaimed,
“for see, he is waving his sombrero and shouting joyfully.”

Virginia leaped to the ground and ran toward the approaching
horseman, who also dismounted and took the sobbing girl in his arms.

“Uncle Tex! Uncle Tex!” she cried “Tell me, has anything happened to
my brother?”

“Thar! Thar! Miss Virginia, dearie,” the old man said, consolingly,
though tears were trembling on his wrinkled cheeks, “something did
happen to Master Malcolm, but he’s all right now. We sure had to
take an awful big chance blastin’ that way, but we didn’t durst wait
to ask what you’d have us do, we just had to do it, and Heaven be
praised ’twas the right thing. Master Malcolm’s safe and they’ll be
fetchin’ him along in a minute.

“You see, Miss Virginia, dearie, ’twas this a-way,” the old man
continued. “Master Malcolm was bent on goin’ into a new tunnel along
side of a vein that had just been opened. Pat Mahoy warned him as
’twasn’t safe yet, bein’ as the struts weren’t all up, but Master
Malcolm said he was in a hurry to get back to V. M., to be thar when
you gurls returned, and so he took the chance. Wall, Pat Mahoy says
’twas just as he prognosticated. Master Malcolm hadn’t no more’n
disappeared into the new tunnel when there was a rumblin’ noise as
Pat knew meant trouble. He ran shouting, but though he saw Master
Malcolm turn back ’twas too late. The rocks and dirt up above
crushed down, shuttin’ him out, but more rocks kept slidin’ down and
’twasn’t safe no how. Then ’twas they took the chance to blast the
big rock from the openin’. When ’twas all over, they found Master
Malcolm a little way in lying white as a ghost and most smothered,
seemed like, but he came to, quick enough, when he was fetched out.
Howsomever it will be a long time before he gets his strength back,
I’m a-thinkin’. He’s all wore out anyway. I’ve been noticin’ it for
months past, but he wouldn’t stop a peggin’, but now I guess as
he’ll have to take a rest.”

Virginia saw a slow moving procession leaving the mine. She again
mounted her pony and rode in that direction, closely followed by the
others. A wagon that was used for hauling timber had been quickly
changed by the miners into an ambulance, bedding having been piled
on the cross boards, and, as it neared, the girls saw Malcolm lying
listless as though he were too weary to move. However, when Virginia
rode up alongside, her brother smiled wanly.

“I’m all right, Sis,” he said. “I tried to get buried too soon, I
guess.” Then with a sigh as though the exertion of speaking had been
too much for him, he closed his eyes, nor did he open them again
during the long, slow ride over the desert.

It was with great difficulty that the crossing of the Dry Creek was
made, but, in the late afternoon the anxious Mrs. Mahoy saw the
procession slowly climbing up the sloping trail back of the ranch
house. She hurried out to meet them.

“Was me Pat all right?” was her first query, and when she had
received a reply in the affirmative, the little woman added: “It’s
bakin’ I’ve been all the arternoon, Miss Virginia, for I was
thinkin’ as thar’d be many to feed.”

“Thank you for you thoughtfulness,” the young mistress of V. M.
said, with sincere appreciation.

Margaret assisted Mrs. Mahoy to spread the many good things on the
long kitchen table that the miners who had accompanied them might
have a hearty supper before their return to Second Peak.

Uncle Tex and Virginia meanwhile helped Malcolm into his own bed,
and for the first time in many years the lad turned toward his
sister and said: “Virgie, I’m so tired, tired clear through.”

“I know you are brother, dear,” Virginia said, as she knelt by his
side and held his listless hand to her cheek. “I haven’t mothered
you as much as I should have done, but from now on you are going to
just rest. I don’t know yet what we’re going to do, but it’s going
to be something different and wonderful.”




CHAPTER XXVI—MAKING PLANS


“Where, Oh where shall we take my brother for a complete rest?”
Virginia had softly closed the door of Malcolm’s bedroom, having
told that giant of a lad that he must sleep all of the afternoon.

He had laughed at the suggestion. It did indeed seem preposterous.
In all of his nineteen years, he had never slept in the day-time.
When his sister had left him, he determined to rise, dress and steal
out of the window and down to the corral, but when he had tried to
stand, he found that he was not as strong as he had supposed, and he
was actually glad to lie down again, and, being truly weak and
weary, he was soon asleep.

Margaret looked up from her sewing. She and Virginia were planning
to cut over two of their dresses that were still pretty, but which
they had outgrown. Megsy’s was to be for six year old Jane Wallace,
while Virg was to make one for ten year old Sari.

“Are we really going to take my guardian somewhere?” she asked
eagerly, adding at once. “I do hope so, Virg! What a heavy burden of
responsibility he has had since your father died. I don’t know where
you would find another boy, only sixteen as he was then, who would
have the courage to attempt to run a big ranch and compete with men
old enough to be his father.” Margaret’s voice had a ring of
enthusiasm in which there was mingled much of admiration and perhaps
something more.

But no praise of her brother seemed to the listener to be more than
he deserved. Seating herself on the window seat, she took from a
basket, (which had been made in the Indian village), a pretty gold
brown dress. Holding it up, she asked: “Megsy, don’t you think this
especially suits little Sari? There’s a glint of gold in that brown
hair of hers and I’m not at all sure but that there is in her
thoughtful eyes as well.” Her companion nodded. “I’m glad I have
outgrown this rose colored muslin,” Margaret added. “Janey will just
love it, and she’ll look like a little wild rose-bud in it. I think
she’s the sweetest child, and Oh Virg, now since that nice Gordon
Traylor helped Mr. Wallace to perfect his water locating device that
forlorn family in Hog Canon won’t be so poor, will they?”

But Virginia shook her head as though she were not at all sure that
immediate prosperity would follow. “Of course they have water now on
their place, but water won’t buy cattle, nor food, nor clothes. I
fear that prosperity is still far removed. Unless,” Virg had dropped
her sewing on her lap and was gazing thoughtfully out of the window,
“unless Mr. Wallace can induce some rich men to be pardners with
him. Without capital, he cannot make his invention of much value to
him.”

“Hark, what’s all the shouting?” Margaret looked up to inquire. “It
sounds like wild Indians let loose. Isn’t it a shame, whatever it
is, for it surely will waken Malcolm and we did so want him to
sleep.”

Virginia had leaped to the door to see who was coming. “Oh, good,”
she cried. “It’s Babs and Betsy and Peyton no less. Of course they
don’t know about brother and so would not think of being quiet.”

Skipping out on the wide veranda, Megsy and Virg waved to the three
who were galloping down the mesa trail, but they had ceased their
shouting, having correctly interpreted Virg’s signal when she put
her fingers to her lips.

“Is anyone sick?” Barbara inquired as she dismounted and gave the
mistress of V. M. a girlish hug.

The other two listened anxiously. “Yes, that is, not exactly sick,
but I’ll tell you all about it when you come in. There’s Patsy
Mahoy.” The small Irish boy came on a run when Virg beckoned, and he
was proud indeed when she asked him to take the three ponies to the
corral. “Now we’ll go in and I’ll tell you what has happened. My,
Betsy, you and Babs look flushed and warm. It’s pretty hot riding so
far in the sun. Sit down, everybody, and I’ll go to our cooling
cellar and bring up some nice lemonade that Megsy and I made only an
hour ago, thinking that brother might like some every now and then.”

“Let me get it,” Margaret was on her feet as she spoke. “You can
tell the story of the mine much better than I can.” And so Virg took
the chair her adopted sister had vacated and told to anxious
listeners how, when she and Margaret had returned from the Three
Cross Ranch, there had been no one at all at V. M. Then from poor
frightened Mrs. Mahoy they had learned of the cave-in over at the
mine.

“Oh Virg!” Babs cried in alarm. “Your brother wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“No, thank heaven, not really hurt,” the girl replied with fervent
gratitude, “but he was buried in that smothering place for several
hours. Uncle Tex thinks there must have been an air current
somewhere, or Malcolm could not have lived until they blasted.”

“Blasted!” Peyton repeated in surprise. “That was taking a big
chance, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed! I shudder to think of it now, but then, when it was
the only thing that could possibly save my brother, it had to be
done of course.”

“And you say he wasn’t hurt in the least?”

“Not hurt, but he is so weak that he cannot stand alone, or rather
he could not then, and now he is asleep I am sure.” Then turning to
the listening lad, Virginia asked, “Peyton, where would you suggest
that brother be taken to have as complete a rest as he needs. I
would like to go to some place where even the scenery would be
different and where he couldn’t see a cow or a cowboy or anything
that would suggest his own occupation.”

For a thoughtful moment the lad looked steadily into the questioning
eyes of the girl he loved. “Virginia,” he said at last, “if I were
as tired as Malcolm is, I know where I would want you to take me.”

If there was an emphasis on the pronoun, it was unnoticed by the
others, but a sudden flush in the cheeks of Virginia and a tender
light in the eyes of the lad told more than mere words could.

But when the girl spoke, it was as though her only thought had been
her brother’s welfare, as, indeed, it really had been.

“Once, in the days of my rambling life,” it was the first time that
Peyton had ever referred to the time when he had run away from home
because his father was unkindly severe, “I boarded the train in
Boston and went to the end of the line, so to speak, and found
myself in paradise, if ever there was one on this earth of ours.”

“Oh, then you must have been in California,” Margaret leaned forward
to exclaim. “That, of course, would be the end of the line if you
were crossing the continent, for there is nothing beyond but ocean.
I went there once with Mother when she was trying to get well, and
Oh, how wonderful it is! I’ve often hoped that I might go again,
although I would not want to revisit the same place, not where
little Mother and I were together.”

“Of course not, dear,” the thoughtful Virginia had slipped an arm
about her adopted sister. Then glancing again at the lad who seldom
looked at anything or anyone but her, she asked. “Then you think
California the best place for us to take brother for a vacation and
to get back his strength?”

“I do indeed. That’s where I’d want to go. Hark!” the lad lifted a
finger and listened. “I think I hear Malcolm calling.”

“Oh yes, he must have awakened.” Virginia was skipping toward the
closed door at the opposite end of the long living room. “If he is
awake Peyton, I will call you.” Then the door opened and closed
again. The lad walked to the window and looked out. How all of the
brightness of the room had seemed to vanish when Virginia left it,
he was thinking. Then he rebuked himself, for dearly he loved his
pretty little “Dresden China” sister. He had heard the girls call
her that, because she seemed so breakable and withal so exquisitely
pink and blue and gold, with her fluffy sunlit curls, her eyes that
were like June skies and her rose-bud complexion which the winds of
the desert did not seem to want to tan. He did indeed, love her, but
his love for Virginia was different, so very different! But God had
planned it that way. Such love indeed was a gift from the Father of
them all and was to be treated reverentially, although, who could
treat it otherwise? It was with a start that the lad whirled when he
heard his name called. Virginia had returned and was standing by the
table pouring lemonade into a glass. “Brother has awakened and I
have propped him up on two pillows,” she was saying. “Will you take
this to him, Peyton, but don’t tell him as yet that we are planning
to take him away from his beloved ranch, for, if you do, he will
declare that everything will go to pieces if he isn’t here to hold
it together. We’ve got to plan a way to make him think, that, for a
time, V. M. will be better off, under different management.” Virg’s
smile, as she handed the brimming glass to the lad, was so frank and
friendly that he wondered, if, after all, it was merely comradeship
that she felt for him. Well, he could wait. He had promised never
again to mention his love for her until she was eighteen and she was
but seventeen now. However hard it might be, he meant to keep that
promise. Of one thing he was sure. Even though Virg might not care
for him in the big way yet, neither did she love any other lad. When
the door had closed behind Peyton, Betsy cried. “Oh good, here comes
Slim from the station and he has the Mail Bag.”




CHAPTER XXVII—UNEXPECTED NEWS


“Letters!! Letters! Who wants a letter?” Betsy Clossen had skipped
out to the wide veranda to receive the mail bag from the
good-looking young cowboy Slim.

“I do!”

“I’ll take three!” Megsy and Babs cried in chorus.

“Oh Barbara, what a piggy-wig you are. Three indeed! Now, just to
punish you, it’s Virg who shall have the three and you only one.”
Betsy had poured the contents of the bag on the big library table
and was looking it over. Margaret and Virginia had returned to their
sewing. That latter maid found herself strangely indifferent to
whether or no there would be a letter for her. This she could easily
understand since, was she not at home with Uncle Tex and Malcolm,
and the girls she liked best were right then in the room with her,
and Peyton would not need to write her the weekly letter she had
received while she had been away at boarding school. Betsy
interrupted her thoughts by saying: “I was a prophet! Here are three
letters for Miss Virginia Davis. Guess, Virg, if you can, who they
may be from?”

That tall slender maiden, being addressed, dropped her sewing in her
lap, as she replied, “I’d like to hear from dear Mrs. Martin. Is
there a foreign stamp on any of them, Betsy? Our beloved principal
must be in Japan, I suppose, about now, on her around the world
tour.”

“Nary a foreign stamp. Well, since you can’t guess, I’ll give them
to you and when you open them up you will know who they are from.”

“What a brilliant remark!” Barbara teased, but Virg having accepted
the letters Betsy had handed her, attracted the attention of them
all by exclaiming, “Well, if this isn’t the queerest! I’m just ever
so sure that the handwriting on this envelope is Winona’s, but it is
postmarked Red Riverton. What can she be doing up there? Ever since
she wrote that she was back on the desert with that nice Indian lad,
Fleet Foot, I have been hoping that she would come over to see us.”

As she talked, Virginia was opening the envelope. The first line in
the letter caused her to cry joyfully, “Girls! Girls! Listen to
this!”

“Dear White Lily,” the letter began. “I was married yesterday—”

“What! Winona married to Fleet Foot?” Margaret and Betsy exclaimed
in excited chorus.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Virg told them. “Just wait a minute and
we’ll find out.” Her eyes went rapidly down the sheet and then
turning she gave Margaret an ecstatic little hug. “Oh, what glorious
news! Think of it! Our wonderful Winona has married that splendid
Harry Wilson. It seems that his mother has been ill for a long time
and Winona has been there as nurse ever since we came from school.
That’s why we haven’t seen her.” Then, turning a page, Virg read
aloud:


“I had never even thought of marrying anyone. Of course I knew that
most of all I admired Harry, but I believed that his mother would
want him to marry one of his own kind, but, Virginia, can you think
how great is my happiness when I tell you that his mother loves me,
really loves me, and asked me to be her daughter.

“I have always been so alone, for my father, Chief Grey Hawk, and my
brother, Strong Heart, were much away, that it seems strange to me
that anyone should care.

“I told Harry that much as I love him, I feared that it would be
hard for me to be as domestic as his wife should be, for there are
times when I feel that I am kin to the wind that sweeps over the
desert or to the bird that flies where it will. Then it was that
Harry told me his own good news. He has received an appointment as
state geologist and we are soon to start on horseback (our honeymoon
we call it) and travel all over Arizona that he may obtain specimens
of rock to send to Smithsonian Institute.

“We would not go were it not that Mrs. Wilson is rapidly regaining
her strength and that her recently widowed sister in the East is
coming to keep house, and to make this her home.

“I am sorry not to see my school-mates before we depart, but that
cannot be, as we leave on horseback at dawn tomorrow and journey
north.”


There were tears in the eyes of Virginia as she lifted them from the
letter to look at her friends.

“How happy they are going to be,” she said, “I am glad for them
both.”

“We were wondering who among us would be the first bride,” Betsy
remarked. “We little thought, did we, that it would be Winona?”

Betsy Clossen had recognized her aunt’s handwriting on one of her
letters and so when Margaret asked which was to be read next, that
maiden eagerly announced, “Mine, please, for I do want to know what
Aunt Laura has to say. If the quarantine has been lifted, she will
want me to be coming home, and, although I have had the most
wonderful time here on the desert, and I am endlessly grateful to
you, Virginia, for having invited me, for you saved me from a most
desolate month all alone in school, still, of course, if the twins
have recovered, I do want to spend part of my vacation at my
mother-aunt’s Cape Cod home.”

“I know dear,” Virginia replied, as she clasped her friend’s hand.
“Although other places may be interesting, there is no place quite
like the one that shelters our own home people. Read your letter and
tell us about it.”

The missive did not take long to read.


“Darling girl,” it began. “I rejoice to be able to tell you that the
quarantine has been lifted and that the twins are wild to see their
best loved cousin Bettykins, and, as for me, my heart is yearning
for my sister’s motherless little daughter, so come, dear, just as
soon as the fastest train bound for the East can bring you to three
people who so dearly love you.

“One of them being, Your Aunt Laura.”


“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Betsy told them. “I’m so
glad somebody loves me that way. Mother and Aunt Laura were twins,
and she seems more like a mother to me than my other two aunts,
although, they, too, are nice.” Then putting her arms impulsively
about her hostess, she exclaimed, “Virginia, how can I thank you for
having been so kind, and you, too, Margaret.” She reached out and
clasped the hand of her other friend. Then she asked eagerly: “Virg,
shall you mind if I begin to pack at once and take the next train
East?”

“Of course not, dear, I know just how you feel and we will help you,
but if you really take the next train, we will all have to rush to
get you ready.”

“My letters can wait,” Margaret said unselfishly. “They are from
members of our Lucky Thirteen Club, and although I know that they
will be filled with jolly news items, they will be just as
interesting later.”

As Megsy spoke, she placed her unopened letters between the pages of
a magazine on the table for safe keeping and then she joined the
other girls who were already opening Betsy’s trunk, preparing to
pack.

That maiden had skipped to Malcolm’s room to tell him the news, but
she had found him asleep and, knowing that rest was one thing
required to restore his strength, she had tiptoed out. Three hours
later, she went again to his door, this time her hat and coat on.

The lad had been informed by his sister of Betsy’s sudden and
unexpected departure and was prepared to say goodbye.

“Miss Cossen,” he said as he held out his hand, “I hear that you are
a wonderful detective, and so, if we ever have need of your
services, may we send for you?”

Betsy laughed. “Indeed yes, and don’t forget,” she replied, “for I
know that I will be just as wild to come back as I am now to go home
to Aunt Laura and the twins.”

Another three hours had passed and Margaret and Virginia were again
in the living room having escorted Betsy to Silver Creek Junction,
where the train, being on time, had borne her away.

“Well,” Virginia remarked as she sank down in a big easy chair,
“what a whirl of a day we have had. I am almost dizzy-tired. First
there was that exciting news about Winona’s marriage and then for
the last six hours we have rushed madly to get that dear girl
started for the place that is home to her. Now the next thing for us
to do is to decide where we shall take Malcolm for a complete rest.”




CHAPTER XXVIII—A PLACE TO GO


“I like Peyton’s suggestion that we go to California. I wish he had
been able to stay longer and tell us more about what he saw when he
was there. He might recall just the very place for us to take
Malcolm,” Megsy said.

“I invited them to remain all night,” Virg remarked as she took up
her sewing, “but Peyton thinks, now that his trusted overseer,
Trujillo, has gone back to Mexico, that he had better not leave his
ranch long at a time until he has another equally dependable.” The
two of whom they were speaking had ridden back to “Three Cross” when
Margaret and Virginia had accompanied Betsy to the station at Silver
Creek.

“What did I do with my letters, Virg?” Margaret had suddenly
recalled that she had not opened her mail. “I put them into
something for safe keeping. Oh yes, here they are! Why, I declare.
One of them is for you.”

“Oho, this is great! It’s from Eleanor Pettes! I was hoping to hear
from her soon. She told me when she came to our closing exercises at
Vine Haven that she had written a story which she believed to be the
very best thing she had ever done and she was actually going to send
it to a real magazine. I suppose by now she has heard from it. How I
do hope that it was accepted.”

“Eleanor writes so exceptionally well and had so much experience
editing the school magazine before she went to college prep that I
am sure, in time, she is bound to succeed,” Margaret was remarking
when her companion, having opened the letter, uttered a little
squeal of delight.

“What is it, Virg? Has Eleanor sold her story? I am sure by the way
your eyes are shining that there must be good news.”

Virginia had continued to silently read down the first page, then
she looked up, her face aglow. “Good? It’s glorious! Just wait until
you hear.” Then she read aloud from the delicately scented missive:


“Dear Kindred Spirit,

“If I were not afraid of falling from the literary pedestal upon
which I know that you two girls have placed me, I would begin this
letter with some expressive school girl slang. ‘Gee whiliker, but
it’s corking good news.’ But since Betsy Clossen can use that more
naturally than I can, I’ll simply say that I am amazed beyond
comprehending what this wonderful thing is which has happened. I
find myself rubbing my eyes and pinching myself as did Alice in
Wonderland. ‘Can it be really true?’ I ask myself a dozen times a
day. Then, fearing it to be but a dream, or a plot that I have
planned for a story, I go again to my desk and take the letter
therefrom and re-read what it has to say on the subject. You never
could guess what it is, no one could. I couldn’t myself if I didn’t
know, so I will have to tell you.

“I have inherited Something. I just had to start that with a capital
letter, for the inheritance surely deserves it. In fact it ought to
be all capital letters. Have I sufficiently aroused your curiosity?
Well, then, harken and you shall hear.

“A great-aunt of my Dad’s (goodness knows how old she was, I don’t),
has left me her estate. Think of that, Virginia, if you can grasp a
thing so stupendous. I’ll agree it’s very hard to believe all at
once and sudden like. This same estate, it seems, is located in the
Garden of Eden, not figuratively, but really true. The name of the
place, however, on the railroad map (I don’t suppose it’s big enough
to be on a school geography), is San Ceritos and it’s in California,
that Paradise-on-earth that you and I have heard so much about. When
I say that I am wild to behold it with my own eyes, I only faintly
describe my feelings. Think of it, Virg, you who love nature as much
as I do, this estate of mine has mountains to shelter it at the back
and its wooded acres slope down to the sea. Dad says that the water
in that sheltered cove is at times as blue as the Mediterranean, and
I own it; or, that is, I own half of it, but the mysterious part of
all this is that I don’t know who owns the other half and I haven’t
any way of finding out. The will is the queerest!

“Dad says that his Great-Aunt Myra was always called eccentric by
everyone who knew her. It seems that when she was a young girl she
was engaged, but on the very eve of her wedding day something
happened. Dad doesn’t know what, but his Great-Aunt Myra never
married.

“Dad’s parents came East when he was a little fellow, and, although
he heard now and then of this aunt who had shut herself up in her
mountain and sea-encircled home, neither he, nor any of the kin that
he knew of, had really corresponded with her. She didn’t even know
of my existence until last year and it was just the merest chance
that she learned of it even then. It happened this way: You remember
last winter in school when we girls had such a fad for looking up
our family trees. Well, when I came home for the holidays, I asked
Dad to tell me about every Pettes he could think of. It was a stormy
night and we sat in the cosy library by the fireplace and I wrote
down on a pad all the names and addresses he could recall. At last
he came to this great-aunt. He just happened to think of her, and,
girls, what if he hadn’t? I decided to write to each of these
relatives, and, since Aunt Myra was the oldest living branch on the
family tree, out of courtesy I began with her and sent her my
picture, the one I had taken last May Day at school. I didn’t hear a
word in reply, I wasn’t even sure that she had received it, until
last week a legal-looking envelope arrived addressed to me. It
contained the startling information I have just imparted.

“Well, as I said before, the will of my Dad’s Great-Aunt Myra is
surely the queerest. One might think that the dear old lady was _non
compos mentis_, but no, her attorney and servants report that up to
the last her mind was sane and sound. Of course, I am glad, for, if
she had not been mentally all right, the will, queer as it is, would
have been null and void, and your Kindred Spirit would not be
writing this thrilling epistle to tell you of her almost
incomprehensible inheritance.

“The will, of course, is couched in high-sounding legal terms, and
so I’ll just tell you the gist of it.

“‘I, Myra Pettes, do hereby will and bequeath one-half of my estate,
located between the Sierra Padre Mountains and the sea, to Eleanor
Pettes, the daughter of my grand-nephew, Oris Pettes, on condition
that she never opens the locked door of the upper front room until
she has found Hugh Ward, to whom I will and bequeath the other half
of my estate. When he has been found, they are to enter the room
together.’

“Did you ever hear of anything like that outside of a story-book? Of
course, _in_ a story queer things are to be expected, but in the
humdrum life of a school girl one doesn’t anticipate occurrences so
mysterious and exciting.

“Hugh Ward! Who in the world do you suppose he is? Dad says he never
heard the name before, and even Great-Aunt Myra’s attorney reports
that he has no knowledge whatever of the man, young or old. They
have advertised in every paper in the country, but have had no
reply. I suppose he is some very old gentleman whom my Aunt Myra
knew when she was young. Perhaps we ought to hunt for him in a ‘home
for the aged and infirm.’

“Well, be that as it may, I am supposed to go West and occupy my new
possession; that is, all but the locked front room, and, since the
housekeeper, in sending a description of the place, informs me that
there are twenty rooms, ten of them being sleeping apartments, I
presume I will be able to get along without entering the one that is
locked. I don’t see how one lone-maiden can occupy ten bedrooms. Dad
is obliged to go to Europe this month.

“Now harken and hear something which I think thrilling. Dad says I
may invite you and Margaret and Babs and the brothers I have heard
you tell about, Peyton and Malcolm, to accompany me when I visit my
new estate. I’m to have the use of Dad’s private car. For once I’m
glad he is a high-up railway official, and I’ll telegraph you at
what hour we will side-track at Douglas. If you can accept, be there
bag and baggage. I’m so excited I can hardly keep my feet on earth.
Sometimes I feel as though I were going to spin away up in the air.
Goodbye for now. I’ll telegraph tomorrow.

                                              “Your K. S.
                                                        “Eleanor.”


Virginia looked up with glowing eyes. “It sounds like magic, doesn’t
it?” she inquired. “We wish for a place to go, in fact, we were
wishing that we might go to this very California, and here is a
letter inviting us to do so.”

Margaret was equally delighted and excited. “It’s perfectly
wonderful,” she agreed. “But, Virg, I didn’t suppose that dignified
girl could be so, well, girlishly jubilant about anything. Maybe
because she was a senior at school, I always thought she was
unusually mature, I mean.”

“News like this is enough to make any one act hilarious,” Virg
declared. “Moreover, although Eleanor has a dignified carriage, I
know that she is very enthusiastic about ever so many things.”

“Of course, you know her much better than I do,” Megsy agreed,
“since it was she who showed you how to edit the school magazine,
and, of course, you had an opportunity to get better acquainted, as
you spent hours together. I don’t wonder that Eleanor calls you
‘Kindred Spirit.’ I always did think that Winona and Eleanor were
more mental companions for you than any of the rest of us. Don’t
think I’m jealous, Virg. Honestly, I am not. I am glad that you do
love them, and even more glad that I have something no one can take
from me, and that is the great happiness of being your adopted
sister.” Then rising, Megsy held out her hand as she said, “If
Malcolm is awake, let’s read the letter to him and then tell him our
plan.”

Silently Virginia rose and tenderly she kissed the quiet Margaret.
“I do love you, little sister, and you occupy a place in my heart
that no one else shall ever have.” Then with arms about each other,
they went softly toward the closed door.




CHAPTER XXIX—MALCOLM’S DECISION


Malcolm listened to the enthusiastic chatter of the two girls, who,
having read Eleanor’s letter to him were each trying to outdo the
other in thinking up arguments that might persuade the lad that
accepting the invitation was the very best thing that he could do
and just what he should do to regain his strength.

“But who will conduct the V. M. Ranch? Tell me that,” the lad
protested.

“Uncle Tex was overseer whenever Dad went away, and if our father
could trust his judgment, surely we can.”

“Righto, and, with such able helpers as Slim and Lucky, I really
have nothing to fear on that score, and yet, of course, they might
need my advice now and then. Did your friend, Eleanor, mention a
town from which one could telegraph?”

“Why, no, she didn’t, but of course there are towns everywhere.
However, that is the one thing we want to get you away from, a long
distance telephone or any other method of easy communication, for
every day you would be wanting to call up and find out if V. M. were
all right.”

Then, as Malcolm still hesitated, Virg hastened on to say, “Of
course, I didn’t know that we might go to California, as I only just
now received this letter, but I _did_ know that we wanted to go
_somewhere_, and so, yesterday, I talked it all over with dear old
Uncle Tex and he agrees with me that it is your duty to all of us to
go where you can rest and when I said, ‘You could take charge of V.
M. just as you used to do for Dad, couldn’t you?’ Well, Malcolm, I
wish you could have seen that dear old man’s face. Glowing doesn’t
describe it. ‘Miss Virginie, dearie, Ah’d take it as powerful
complimentin’ if Malcolm’d trust me, Ah sure would, an Lucky an’
Slim’d stand by me, that’s sartin’, was what he said, and his voice
trembled, brother, honestly it did.”

“I know how he feels,” the lad declared earnestly. “Uncle Tex has
felt much like an old horse may, one that we feel has outlived its
usefulness and is given pasturage for the rest of its life. Dad told
us that he once had a horse like that. He thought it had served him
long enough, and so he did not permit any of the boys to ride it,
but after a time, he noticed that the old horse used to come up to
the bars when its companions were being saddled and actually looked
wistful, as though it were being left out. Then came the day of the
great stampede. You’ve heard Father tell about it time and again,
Virg, how the boys were all away helping Mr. Slater with his
roundup, and only old Peter left in the fenced-in pasture. The boys
had cut out our cattle and had started them for home, Dad says, when
all of a sudden he heard a noise that sounded like distant thunder.
As it neared, he knew it to be the pounding of hoofs; then he could
hear the bellowing of frightened cattle. He was alone on the ranch
and the only horse nearby was old Peter.

“Dad ran to the rise of ground above the dry creek and saw that the
maddened herd was swerving toward the north and might be lost in
that waterless part of the desert called ‘The Burning Acres.’ While
he was wondering what could be done to stop them, he heard a shrill
whistling neigh from old Peter. Dad turned in time to see that horse
race across the small pasture and leap that high-barred fence, nor
did it stop, but kept on galloping as it had in its younger days,
directly toward the mass of surging cattle. Dad said he was sure the
old horse would be trampled to death. Many a time, in years gone by,
he himself had ridden Peter when he wanted to turn cattle back, and
now, though riderless, the old horse seemed bent on doing that very
thing. Dad said he held his breath, but the unexpected happened. The
cattle, not knowing what to make of the horse that was hurling
itself at them, did swerve, and then, to Dad’s great joy, they
descended into a dry creek where, since they could not run, they
were soon under the control of the cowboys who came riding on ponies
that were covered with lather.”

“What of old Peter?” Megsy inquired. “Did he die then from
exhaustion?”

“Indeed not!” Malcolm told her. “And never again was he treated as
though his days of usefulness were all over. Dad himself rode him,
not on hard rides, to be sure, but whenever he was just going to the
station or to visit with a neighbor, and, after that, the old horse
seemed much more content.” Then turning to his sister, the lad said,
“I recalled that story when you told me how almost wistfully eager
Uncle Tex was to be once more trusted as overseer of the place. And
he shall be, too. Dear faithful old man.”

“Then you will go with us? You will let us take you to this
wonderful San Ceritos?” the two girls cried at once.

Laughingly the lad held out a hand to each of them. “Damsels fair,”
he said, “take me wherever you wish, but now please depart. I wish
to lay my plans.”

Then Margaret accused, “Malcolm, there are twinkles in your eyes. I
do believe that you are amused at something.”

The lad, who still held the hand of his ward, turned and looked at
her, then he smiled again as though he were pleased with what he
saw, as indeed he well might be, for Margaret had been so excited
that her cheeks were flushed and as pink as roses, while her dreamy
brown eyes were shining like stars. Then, as the lad continued to
gaze at her, the color deepened, and, withdrawing her hand, she said
mischievously, “Virginia, perhaps we better go, since Malcolm has
just told us that he prefers his own thoughts to our company.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” the lad declared. “I’d rather have you
stay.”

Virginia, who for the last few moments had been busy in another part
of the room, turned suddenly and looked intently at her brother as
though she were surprised about something. He was usually so
serious, so occupied with business that she had forgotten that he
could tease. Then her face brightened, and stooping, she kissed him
lightly on the forehead. “You are much better, dear, aren’t you?”
she said, then taking her friend by the arm, she continued, “Come,
Megsy, let’s hie us to our rooms and select the wardrobe we are to
take with us. Eleanor’s telegram may come tomorrow and we will then
have not more than three days to prepare for the journey.”




CHAPTER XXX—A SCARE


Late that afternoon the two girls went out to feed the hens and
then, as was often their custom, they climbed the trail to the mesa
that they might watch the sunset. On their return, Margaret gathered
a few late desert flowers to place on the table beside Malcolm’s
bed. It was still daylight when they returned and Megsy went at once
to the closed door and tapped thereon. There was no response. What
could it mean? Even if Malcolm had fallen asleep, the rapping would
have awakened him. Beckoning to Virginia, she whispered anxiously,
“Oh, Virg, what can have happened? Your brother can’t have lost
consciousness, could he?”

There was a sudden terror in the heart of Virginia. Leaping forward,
she turned the knob, but the door was locked. Before they could be
thoroughly frightened, however, they heard a merry laugh, and there
stood Malcolm back of them. He had on his nice wooly bathrobe that
the girls had given him for Christmas and his comfortable slippers.

“You see,” he apologized, “I’ve never had an opportunity to wear
them before, because this is the first time I’ve ever been even near
sick, so please don’t scold, and I _did_ want to get up and have
supper with you girls. It seems to me that I’ve been in bed for
weeks.”

“One, only, to be accurate,” his sister corrected. “Malcolm, you sit
down in this easy chair at once and let me feel your pulse.”

“Very well, nurse,” the lad smilingly complied. In fact he was glad
to sink into the big comfortable chair, which was drawn close to the
hearth. He wasn’t as strong as he had expected to be. Virginia
brought a knitted blanket to put over his knees while Margaret put
sofa pillows back and around him.

“If I’m treated this way,” he beamed, “I’m not at all sure that I’ll
want to get well.”

“Let’s have our supper in here by the fire,” Virginia suggested.

“Oh yes, let’s,” Megsy seconded. “Now, what ought our patient to
eat? Bring me a pencil and paper and I’ll write my order.” There was
again that merry twinkle in the eyes that were often so serious.

Margaret skipped to the big writing desk and returned with the
requested materials. “And while you think about it, Virg and I will
prepare for the feast.” They brought Virginia’s work table from her
room and spread it with a dainty lunch cloth and put Margaret’s red
blossoms in the center. “I don’t see what Malcolm can be writing,”
Virginia said. “He ought only to have eggs on toast or something
like that.” But when a moment later she looked at the paper which
the lad gaily presented, she said, “Why Malcolm Davis, you’ve
ordered everything that you ought not to have. Creamed oysters, of
all things!”

“Perhaps they wouldn’t hurt him,” interceded Margaret. “And you know
the thing you have a hankering for is supposed to be what you need.”
Then clapping her hands girlishly, she exclaimed, “Oh Virg, please
say that we may have them. I’ll get the chafing dish out of my
trunk. You know what fun we had in school with it. Then you get two
cans of oysters, the milk, butter and seasoning, and we can prepare
it all right here on the table. Wouldn’t that be jolly?”

Virginia agreed that it would. Then she prepared the toast while
Margaret, flushed and happy because she could do something for her
beloved guardian, stirred up the cream sauce and dropped in the
oysters. Malcolm, leaning back in solid comfort, watched and
admired. At last he commented, “Did ever a chap in all the world
have two such sisters to take care of him!”

There was a sudden twinge in the heart of Margaret. What could it
mean? Surely she was glad, glad to have the splendid Malcolm call
her “sister.” There was a note of tender wistfulness in her voice,
which she herself did not know when she replied, “We would do
anything, give up anything, Oh, it doesn’t matter what, if it would
add to your happiness, Brother Malcolm.” Almost unconsciously the
girl was thinking of the time that would surely come when someone,
perhaps now unknown to them, would take in his life a place closer
than that of sister.

“Toast’s ready! How about the creamed oysters?” Virginia looked up
from the hearth where she had been kneeling.

“It’s done to a turn.” Megsy’s voice was merry once more. Then Virg
put the buttered slices of toast on each plate, and Margaret placed
dainty portions of the creamed oysters on them.

Malcolm ate with greater relish than he had since he had been ill or
rather exhausted, for he had no definite malady, just extreme
weariness. When he asked for a second portion, he pretended to look
imploringly at Virginia as though he feared she would say, “You have
had sufficient for tonight.” And, indeed, maybe she might have said
something of the kind, but Margaret was refilling his plate and it
was too late to protest.

When the dainty little meal was over and the small table had been
carried away, Malcolm smiled contentedly at the two girls, who sank
into nearby chairs, the light from the fire falling on their faces.
For a time they were silent, each thinking his or her own thoughts.
At last Malcolm said, “Virg, are they worth the proverbial penny?”

The girl looked up brightly. “I was wondering how we are to convey
Eleanor’s invitation to Babs and Peyton,” she replied. “I do hope
that they can accompany us.”




CHAPTER XXXI—DAWN THOUGHTS


The next morning before daylight Margaret was conscious that someone
was stirring in the room next to hers. Becoming more fully awake,
she rose, drew on her kimono and slippers and tiptoed to the door
which stood open between the bedrooms of the two girls.

In the dim grey light she saw Virginia dressing. She was donning her
riding khakis.

“Why, Virg!” Megsy exclaimed in surprise, “where away so early? You
aren’t going to ride to the Three Cross Ranch, are you, to tell Babs
and Peyton about the invitation?”

“Not this morning, dear. I want to wait until we receive the
telegram from Eleanor that I may be more definite in what I have to
tell them.”

“Then, where are you going? I might guess the Papago Village, only I
know that Winona is not there.”

Virginia smiled brightly. “It’s an odd fancy, this of mine,” she
confessed, “but last night I had a dream; one of those wonderfully
realistic dreams when you feel sure that you are awake and that the
something is actually happening. I dreamed that you and I had ridden
over to Hog Canon to see the Wallace family. You know, Megsy, my
conscience has troubled me because, after our first visit, I never
went again and that was at least three weeks ago. Mrs. Wallace and
the children have so little to interest them that even a visit from
their neighbors seems like a treat.”

Megsy, seated on the edge of the bed, remarked, “I don’t believe
they feel that way about neighbors in general, but just about
Virginia Davis in particular.”

The girl, who was lacing her high riding boots, looked up with a
smile. “My friends spoil me, don’t they, Megsy. It’s well that I
know myself as I am not as they try to picture me. While I’m gone,
will you take good care of my brother? I want him to stay in bed all
morning, though you may have Sing Long make him some nice broth at
ten if you will. However, I expect to be back long before that.”

Virginia had not asked her friend to accompany her and Margaret,
though she had thought of requesting to be allowed do so, believed
that for some reason Virg wished to be alone, nor was she wrong.

It was still the grey of early dawn when the girl ran down the trail
leading to the small pasture where the ponies remained at night.
Some of them were lying down and others were tugging at an enclosed
haystack which was kept filled with the long desert grass that grew
in the valley pasture, a mile from the house. But one among them
whinnied as the girl approached and, kicking up frolicsome heels, he
cantered to the bars, knowing well that his mistress was about to
let them down. And he was right.

“Good morning, Comrade,” Virginia said as she smoothed his nose
affectionately. “Would you like to take me for a ride this morning?”

Again the pony whinnied. “Of course, I knew you would, and if you
won’t tell, I’ll tell you a secret. I wanted to be all alone just
once more before I go away. There’s something I want to think about.
It doesn’t have to be decided just yet; not until I’m nearer
eighteen, but I do want to be thinking about it.”

Then kissing the flipping ear of her apparently interested
companion, the girl started on a light run to the shed near the
great windmill where the saddles hung. Comrade, with colt-like
antics, followed. It was evident that he was trying to express the
joy that he, too, felt at being the only companion his loved
mistress desired.

They had crossed the dry creek bed and had climbed up on the high
opposite bank before a flush of rose appeared in the eastern skies.
Virginia drew rein and sat for one long silent moment watching the
loveliness of the dawning day. A fleecy white cloud near the horizon
became opalescent with first one exquisitely delicate color and then
another. Then with a burst of glory, the sun rose in sheets of
flaming gold and the desert, which had been like a gloomy waste of
desolation but a moment before, was transformed to a wide billowing
expanse of shimmering silvery-grey.

Jack rabbits fearlessly gamboled about the girl and pony; birds sang
and a wren darted from its nest in the top of a choya cactus to
contentedly return again to its wee young when it knew that the one
who was passing by was a friend of all things that live.

The trail dipped into a hollow where mesquite grass grew. Instantly
there was a whirring rush of wings and a flock of quail soared high
into the air, to whirl, a moment later, and settle back to their
former feeding place. It made the heart of the girl rejoice because
her wild neighbors seemed to know that she was one of them.

“We’re all kin folks, somehow, though we can’t understand, and why
try, since the sages of all time have not yet been able to tell how
a wee seed can fashion a flower. After all, Comrade, if we’re just
kind to every form of life we meet on this wonderful earth, I think
we will have done the best we know.”

There was a long stretch of sand to be crossed before the Seven Peak
Range would be reached and the girl, watching the trail ahead,
gradually became unconscious of all about her and was once again on
the rock in the moonlight with the lad who loved her at her side.

“I might think that I care enough to marry Peyton,” she was
thinking, “but would it be quite fair to others? There are Barbara,
and Malcolm and Margaret to consider. I just couldn’t leave my
wonderful brother all alone on V. M. My adopted sister I might take
to Three Cross with me, if I went to live there, but Malcolm—I just
can’t leave him! First he lost the mother whom he so idolized, and
then our father, and never did a boy have a closer pal than Dad was,
and now if I go, he will lose his only sister and be so lonely and
so all alone. I only wish he might meet some nice girl for whom he
could care as Peyton cares for me, but he does not seem to feel the
need of love; I mean, not that way.”

Then it was that another thought suggested. “Perhaps it is just
because he has you that he has not thought of bringing another
mistress to V. M. Perhaps he would care for someone, if he knew you
were going away.”

Suddenly there was a rush of tears in the violet eyes, and
impulsively leaning her cheek against her pony’s head, Virginia said
with a little half sob, “Oh Comrade, I don’t believe after all that
I really care for Peyton as much as I should, for I can’t bear the
thought of leaving my very own home where Mother and Dad were so
happy and where I have been so loved. I can’t think of any other
girl I would want there, but just Margaret, and, of course, she
would want to go with me.”

Then looking up with a smile that flashed through the tears she held
out her arms to the shining sky. “Little Mother,” she said softly,
as though she were really addressing someone, “I am forgetting that
you told me to let my life blossom as quietly and trustingly as a
flower unfolds, knowing that the right thing will come at the right
time.” Then again the girl ruminated, “How topsy-turvy would be this
universe of ours if the flowers said to themselves, ‘Dear me, I
wonder now if I’d better open up my petals to the sun; no telling
how soon clouds may come and my bloom spoiled in a storm.’

“Comrade, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to trust, and let
my life blossom as it will. What would Brother Malcolm think if he
knew that I am trying to marry him to someone whom as yet he doesn’t
know?” Then as the canon trail had been reached, Virg turned her
pony’s head that way and slowly began the ascent.




CHAPTER XXXII—NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS


It was Peter Wallace who first saw the approaching visitor.
Instantly his joyful shout rang out, “Ma! Ma! Here she is! Here’s
Miss Virgie just as you were a-wishing.”

So, after all, Mrs. Wallace had been wanting to see the girl and,
with a panicky feeling in her heart, she hoped that nothing was
seriously wrong. “What if someone were ill or—” She had no time for
further surmizing, for Comrade, having reached the top of the trail,
made it possible for her to see the little house overhung with
sheltering rocks. What she saw amazed her more than anything she had
fancied.

Trunks stood packed and strapped on the small front porch. The house
had evidently been closed for an indefinite period as there were
wooden blinds at the windows barred across, and the entire family
was arrayed as for a journey. Mr. Wallace at the moment was busily
boarding up the front door.

Had the water supply ceased? Were they being forced to leave and
where could they be going? But it was evident by the shining face of
the little mother that the something that had happened must be of a
pleasant nature. “Oh, Miss Virginia,” she was hurrying forward with
hands outstretched as soon as the girl had dismounted, “how I did
want to see you before we left, but I just couldn’t think of a way.
I believe I sent you messages all day yesterday to say goodbye. Did
you get any of them?”

“I did indeed, Mrs. Wallace. That’s why I came,” the girl replied,
glad indeed that she had followed her intuitive guiding. Then, as
her roving eyes seemed to be asking a question, the mother hurried
on to answer it. “You wonder where we are going. It’s almost like an
answer to prayer. In fact, I think it _is_ an answer, and a
fulfillment of Dad’s faith. We’re going to Douglas to live where the
children can get a schooling.”

“I am going to Yale,” freckled-faced Peter put in excitedly.

“Ssh! Sonny, you mustn’t be telling that around, or folks will think
you’re a bit queer. Little boys don’t go to Yale, and you’ll have to
study powerfully hard and be extra smart to ever get there, won’t
he, Miss Virginia?”

“I believe he’ll make it.” The girl had placed a loving hand on the
hair that was sunburnt, for the boy’s expression had been suddenly
crestfallen. “Keep it always as your goal, Peter, and before many
years you’ll be writing me a letter telling me that you’re on your
way to that great Eastern college.” Then to the mother, “Now, please
begin at the beginning and tell me what has happened? Did the water
give out?”

It was Mr. Wallace who replied as he advanced with a hand
outstretched. “Indeed it did not and it’s the water that has brought
us our wonderful good luck, or rather, the instrument, I suppose.”

Virginia’s expressive face encouraged the speaker to continue, which
he did. “You recall that fine lad who camped down at the entrance to
the canon, the one who came up here with you?”

“Yes, indeed, the Traylors. I have been hoping we’d hear more about
both of them. Have you seen them again?”

“Well, not exactly seen them, but Mr. Traylor sent a legal
representative to see me. He said that, because of his son’s glowing
descriptions of my invention, he wanted to back me financially in
having it patented. He also offered me a splendid position in
connection with his smelting founderies in Douglas and Bisbee. It
seems that for some time he has been trying to perfect some
labor-saving devices and he believes, and so do I, that it can be
done.”

“And it isn’t something we’re taking on chance either,” Mrs. Wallace
hastened to explain. “Dad, of course, is pretty much of a dreamer
but this is a sure income for five years with a signed contract
backing it.”

At this point, Peter, who had evidently been watching from a peak
higher up, flew down to the group crying excitedly, “It’s coming,
Ma! Mr. Slater’s truck that’s to take us to town.”

“Well, I don’t know when I have heard more wonderful news,” the
visiting girl declared. “I won’t say goodbye, for, after all, you
are still to remain one of my neighbors. Douglas, being only twenty
miles away, with a good road between it and V. M., is almost nearer
via our auto, then it is to Hog Canon on horseback.”

Then she shook hands with the grown-ups, kissed the children, who
clung to her, left a bundle with Sari and another with Jane, telling
Peter that his would come later, and rode away.

“Don’t open them yet,” the mother said. “I know what’s in them. Miss
Virgie told me. They are pretty dresses that she and her friend have
made for you girlies. They’ll be just what you need for starting in
school. Goodness, where is your Dad?”

“There he is, high up where the spring is. Now, he’s coming. Hurry
Pop! Mr. Slater’s cowboys are coming up the trail to pack our trunks
down.”

The man’s eyes glowed, but he spoke no word. Silently he reached out
his hand and clasped that of his faithful little wife, and she
understood.

The End.