The Ranch Girls' Pot of Gold
by Margaret Vandercook · English · Gutenberg #33656 · 338,335 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Ranch Girls' Pot of Gold
Author: Margaret Vandercook
Illustrator: Hugh A. Bodine
Release date: September 6, 2010 [eBook #33656]
Language: English
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The Ranch Girls Series
THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES
THE RANCH GIRLS AT RAINBOW LODGE
THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD
THE RANCH GIRLS AT BOARDING SCHOOL
THE RANCH GIRLS IN EUROPE
THE RANCH GIRLS AT HOME AGAIN
THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR GREAT ADVENTURE
THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES
THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN THE BRITISH TRENCHES
THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE
THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN BELGIUM
THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY
THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE ITALIAN ARMY
THE RED CROSS GIRLS UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SUNRISE HILL
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AMID THE SNOWS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ACROSS THE SEA
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN AFTER YEARS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE DESERT
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT THE END OF THE TRAIL
* * * * * *
[Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN MUMBLED A VERSE OF POETRY]
The Ranch Girls Series
THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD
by
MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Illustrated by Hugh A. Bodine
The John C. Winston Company
Philadelphia
Copyright, 1912, by
The John C. Winston Company
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE GYPSY CARAVAN 9
II. THE SPELL OF THE MOON 26
III. CAUGHT IN THE TRAP 37
IV. THE WAY TO ARCADY 46
V. MEETING WITH NEW PEOPLE 61
VI. A CURIOUS RESEMBLANCE 76
VII. "A LITTLE HOUSE ON WHEELS" 87
VIII. ALONG THE ROAD 102
IX. "MINER'S FOLLY" 115
X. BY THE WAYSIDE TENT 130
XI. "WHERE'S JACK?" 141
XII. CARLOS MAKES GOOD 152
XIII. ENTERING WONDERLAND 163
XIV. MR. DRUMMOND AND RALPH CHANGE PLACES 174
XV. ELIZABETH'S STRANGE CONFESSION 182
XVI. "OLD FAITHFUL" 196
XVII. THE LANGUAGE OF THE FLOWERS 205
XVIII. "GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN" 216
XIX. THE SUSPENSE AND WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARDS 229
XX. FRANK AND JACK 242
XXI. "MY WAY'S FOR LOVE" 258
XXII. A PARTY AT THE RANCHO 268
XXIII. "THEIR LAST RIDE TOGETHER" 277
XXIV. FAREWELL TO THE RAINBOW RANCH 287
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE OLD WOMAN MUMBLED A VERSE OF POETRY _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"I DECLARE, I FEEL LIKE I HADN'T SEEN YOU IN A
HUNDRED YEARS!" 53
"HOW COULD YOU, MISS BRUCE?" RALPH DEMANDED
INDIGNANTLY 144
"THERE IS GOLD IN RAINBOW CREEK, JACK!" 253
The Ranch Girls' Pot of Gold
CHAPTER I
THE GYPSY CARAVAN
"A hundred dollars a month--it's a fortune!" Jean Bruce exclaimed gayly,
pirouetting about on her tip-toes in front of a huge Japanese umbrella
fastened upright in the ground in the middle of the orchard at the
Rainbow Ranch.
Jacqueline Ralston gazed half convinced at the sheet of paper she held
in her hand. She was sitting in Turkish fashion on the grass just
outside the umbrella and, as her Mexican hat had been flung aside, the
spring sun shone directly down on the bright bronze of her hair and
warmed to a richer rose the brilliant color in her cheeks. The past few
months had wrought little change in her, save that the lifting of the
clouds from about her home had left her more radiant and full of purpose
than ever before.
"I don't know whether it is an opportunity or not," she answered
dreamily. "What do you think, dears?" she inquired of a young woman who
was watching the steam pour forth from a brass teakettle, and of a
quiet, dark-haired girl who sat near by contentedly embroidering a
square of linen.
Olive hesitated for a moment, looking toward their chaperon, but Ruth
was too busy with the teakettle--which had chosen that moment to boil
over--to have time to reply. "I know a hundred dollars a month does
sound like a great deal of money," Olive agreed slowly, "but I wonder
what the people are like who wish to rent our ranch. And where can we go
if we give up our house to them?"
Jack shook her head uncertainly, but Jean flung out both arms in an
imploring gesture, and a beseeching expression softened her merry brown
eyes. "Where could we go? Why, haven't we the whole round world to
choose from?" she demanded pleadingly. "And don't the very breezes call
us to follow them in search of adventure? Oh, I can feel the spring
_Wanderlust_ in my blood this very minute. Cousin Ruth, Jack, Olive,
please agree with me or I can't bear it. Surely you must see that this
letter from Mrs. Post's friends, who want Rainbow Lodge for the summer,
is just heaven sent. We were dying to take a trip and now we can go
everywhere--or just somewhere, I don't care where, because we have never
been anywhere in our lives." And Jean paused only because she was out of
breath and not because of the laughter that greeted her peculiar form of
eloquence.
The three ranch girls and their chaperon, Ruth Drew, were having an
impromptu tea party all to themselves in their miniature orchard on a
lovely May day. Their fruit trees were not yet large enough for shade.
Indeed, at the present time they looked like glorified bouquets set on
tall, slender stalks, their branches were so small, so fragrant and so
covered with delicate fairylike blossoms. The cherry and plum trees were
in full bloom and the pink buds on the apple trees were slowly
uncurling, while on every side the level prairie fields were carpeted
with new grass that rippled softly under the low winds like the surface
of a quiet sea.
"Girls, I don't want to be a wet blanket and I am afraid you will think
_I am_ a discouraging person," Ruth interposed, passing around her
teacups, "but I don't believe we could do much traveling on a hundred
dollars a month. I am awfully sorry, Jean, to disappoint you, but you
must remember that railroad journeys are terribly expensive and we would
have to board somewhere when we were not on trains."
"All right, Ruth," Jack assented, looking half relieved and half
disappointed, as she folded up her letter. "I'll write to Mr. and Mrs.
Harmon to-night and refuse their offer for the 'Lodge.'"
Jean sighed as though she had no further joy in living and Ruth shook
her head. "No, Jack, don't write your letter quite yet," she advised.
"Let's talk things over again before we finally decide. But I do wish
Frieda would come with the cookies; it seems so hateful to have tea
without her. I can't imagine what has kept her so long."
Tearing across the yard that divided the Lodge from the ranch orchard
came a round, chubby girl, with her blond pigtails flying straight out
behind her and her cheeks a bright red from excitement. She had a big
dish of gingercakes in her hands, but as she ran she scattered them
behind her like little "Hop o' My Thumb" did his poor crumbs of bread.
"Oh, do come to the house quick! The most loveliest thing has happened!"
she cried fervently. "A band of gypsies was traveling across the plains
and they have stopped right at our house, and say that if we will give
them some food and water they will tell all our fortunes. There is a man
and a girl and an old woman and the cunningest baby!"
Frieda flung her small self on Jean, and without another word the two
girls rushed off toward the house, while Ruth and Jack and Olive
gathered up the despised tea things and followed them more slowly,
munching the long desired cookies.
Drawn up near the back porch at Rainbow Lodge was a rickety old
canvas-top wagon pulled by two ancient and sadly dilapidated horses, and
seated in state at a table not far away were Frieda's band of gypsies
being generously fed by Aunt Ellen.
Ruth and Olive walked toward their unexpected visitors, but Jack in her
usual impetuous fashion ran up to the horses and began to take off their
harness. "Uncle Zack, please come here at once; these poor horses are
nearly dead," she called quickly. "Some one will have to help me. I am
afraid I can't look after them both, for they can scarcely stand up."
But Uncle Zack, the old colored servant of the ranch house, was not
within sound of Jack's voice and the girls were too much interested in
the gypsies to heed her.
The old horses had great sagging places under their hips; the muscles
beneath their worn coats quivered and jerked with fatigue; their eyes
were bloodshot and their breath came in long, quivering sighs.
Jacqueline Ralston was a ranch girl who had been brought up to love
horses since she was a tiny baby, and she cared for them so intensely
that nothing stirred her like the sight of them ill used. Now, heedless
of all else, she softly patted and talked to the two horses, lifting off
a part of their ragged harness; then suddenly turning, discovered their
gypsy driver calmly eating a comfortable dinner. Jack's eyes flashed and
the hot blood surged to her cheeks.
"Come see to your horses," she ordered sharply. "What do you mean by
resting and eating while your horses suffer? Even a tenderfoot knows
better than to be so stupid and good for nothing. I thought a gypsy had
more sense." The young girl turned away her flushed face as she finished
speaking, for a lump was rising in her throat, and she had seen the
gypsy man get up from the table and start over toward her with his
guitar swung jauntily over his shoulder and a supercilious smile on his
lips.
"Don't worry about my horses, young lady," he remarked indifferently.
"If they were worth anything I would look after them better, but they
are worn-out old brutes and won't be fit for use much longer." Without
any excuse the man gave the nearer horse a brutal kick that made it
stagger with pain, and struck the other with the palm of his hand.
"By the way," he remarked, "I'm not a gypsy, as you suppose, though I
happen to be married to one and running this particular outfit."
Jack saw everything spin around for half a second--she was so angry with
the man for his cruelty--but she managed to speak with dignity. "If you
do another unkind thing to your horses I shall ask our overseer, Jim
Colter, to make you leave our ranch," she declared firmly. "Of course I
see, now you are nearer, that you are not a gypsy." Jack frowned,
puzzled by the tramp's unusual appearance. His hair was light brown, his
eyes blue and his features refined and delicate, although his expression
was crafty and his mouth weak and selfish. Oddly enough, in spite of his
unkempt clothing, it was plain he had been born a gentleman.
Abruptly changing his careless manner the man took off his hat to Jack.
"I am sorry to have offended you," he remarked politely. "I ought to
know better. Is Jim Colter the overseer of your ranch? I have heard of
him often, but in all the years I have spent in this country I have
never met him. I came west to locate a gold mine, but instead of my
finding one these gypsy women found me starving in the desert and took
care of me. So I married the girl and we travel around in their wagon;
it's easier than walking. I have been prospecting for gold in this
region lately. Would you let me have a look over your ranch before I
move on? You may be grazing your cattle above a gold mine this
minute--it's what the old man did who once owned Cripple Creek."
The man's eyes glowed with the peculiar fanatical glow of the
gold-seeker and Jack _felt_ a thrill of excitement as she watched him,
but she shook her head sensibly. And at this moment Jim Colter appeared
strolling along the path toward them from the stables back of the Lodge.
His hands were in his pockets and he was whistling cheerfully, with an
inquiring expression in his friendly blue eyes. The newcomer did not see
him.
"Want any help with your animals, stranger?" Jim inquired hospitably, as
he came over to where Jack and her companion were standing.
The other man swung slowly around at the sound of a new voice.
Without replying he stared; stared at Jim so long that Jack wondered
what had happened to keep him from answering. Then she glanced at
Jim--he was behaving as strangely as their visitor; his jaw had dropped
and his eyes darkened, and if it had been anybody but Jim Colter, Jack
might have thought the overseer of the Rainbow Ranch frightened.
"Is your name Jim Colter?" the new man inquired curiously. "I think I
have seen you before, yet I don't recollect your name. I'm Joe Dawson;
'Gypsy Joe' is what I'm called out here. Funny name for a man who once
hailed from one of the first families in 'Ole Virginie.'"
Jim picked up a bucket of water from the ground, in order to gain time.
"Suppose you join the other girls now, Jack," he suggested mildly. "It
may be this stranger and I have met before and will have a few questions
to ask one another. Anyhow, I think the girls need you with them."
Jack moved off obediently and discovered Olive having her fortune told.
She was kneeling before the old gypsy with one hand resting in the
woman's wrinkled palm.
"You are not one of these little missies. You are of another brood and
another fortune," the old crone announced calmly. "I don't say I am able
to place you, but you don't rightly belong here."
Olive's cheeks flushed indignantly and she dropped her lids quickly over
her surprised eyes. "I don't see why you think I am different from the
others. I _am_ one of the ranch girls," she exclaimed earnestly.
The fortune teller smiled and lightly ran one aged finger around the
line of Olive's delicately pointed chin and about her long,
almond-shaped black eyes. "I don't _think_ you are different, child; I
_know_ it," she replied sternly. "It ain't no use to try to deceive me.
I can see, too, that life ain't going to be a bed of roses for you. Some
one is standing near us right now who is going to exercise a strong
influence over your fate. Many times she will help you to happiness, but
once she will cause you great sorrow. She may never know it, for you
will never tell her, but remember--I warn you--'years alone will wipe
away your tears.'"
The gypsy lifted her small, black, haunting eyes with as calm an
assurance as though she had been one of the three ancient sisters of
fate and stared long and imperiously at Jacqueline Ralston. Jack bit her
lips and returned the woman's gaze steadfastly.
"If you mean that I shall ever bring sorrow upon my friend, you are very
much mistaken," she protested defiantly, putting her arm lovingly about
Olive. "If you intend to make up such hateful and untrue stories you
shan't tell any more of her fortune."
But the gypsy gave not the slightest heed to Jack's remonstrance; making
a weird sign across the palm of Olive's hand the old woman mumbled a
verse of poetry, the girls straining forward to hear:
"'Criss, cross, shadow and loss;
Shrouded in mystery,
The first of your history!
Here there is light, there dark once again.
Happiness comes, but after it pain--
Yet your name shall be found and a fortune untold
Shall make for your feet a rich pathway of gold.'"
Olive smiled tremulously, drawing away her hand. "I don't believe I care
to have my future foretold in poetry," she protested. "Won't you tell
Miss Ralston hers? Perhaps you may give her a better fate."
The fortune teller did not like the scornful curve to Jack's full red
lips nor the doubting, half-amused expression of her eyes. The woman had
recognized at once that this girl was not to be so easily influenced as
gentle Olive, nor as merry Jean, nor as the littlest maiden with the two
blond pigtails. She was even more difficult than the oldest girl of them
all, for Ruth had made no effort to conceal her surprise at the queer
jumble of truth and fiction that had come forth in the account of
Olive's history.
Obediently Jack put forth her strong, shapely hand, but the woman did
not touch it, although her shrewd, half-closed eyes never wandered from
the girl's face.
"Be on your guard. You don't wish other people to do anything for you,"
the gypsy spoke low and warningly. "I know you like to help them, but
you are too proud to want to be helped. Some day something you little
expect is going to happen to you that will make you have to depend on
other people for a long, long time." All at once the woman's harsh
manner changed and she gazed at her listener more kindly. "You are fond
of this ranch and would like to spend your whole life on it, wouldn't
you?" she questioned keenly.
Silently Jack bowed her head.
"You won't," the fortune teller went on solemnly; "you will travel over
a great part of the world and you may settle in a strange land. Anyhow,
I can see that you'll marry and have sons and----"
Jack blushed resentfully and the gypsy's beady eyes twinkled, for she
was a good enough judge of character to guess the elder Miss Ralston's
views on matrimony, merely by observing her pride and reserve. It was
true that Jack had vowed to the other girls a hundred times that nothing
and nobody could induce _her_ to marry; _she_ had more important things
to do.
"Dear me, granny, haven't you something pleasant to tell somebody?"
Jean interposed, coming forward for her turn in the game.
The gypsy frowned severely. "I can tell only the truth," she protested
in an important tone. "But you need not worry yet about your future,
young lady, for you don't take things so seriously as these other two
girls. Life is more of a joke to you; only see that you don't carry your
joking too far."
Jean pouted, jerking away her hand, and Ruth, who was particularly fond
of Jean, interrupted the old crone. "Tell our smallest girl's future
now, auntie; she is sure to have only good luck," she interceded.
The gammer smiled. Frieda had taken the gypsy girl's baby and was
cuddling it like a wax doll, its tiny birdlike face contrasting oddly
with her pretty plumpness.
"The youngest lady shall have a fortune like an apple pie, it shall be
so trim and neat and nice and good to look at and to taste, with plenty
of sugar and kisses in it," the old woman chuckled good naturedly,
glancing kindly at happy Frieda.
Ruth turned quickly around and smiled. At this moment Jim Colter came
stalking across the yard toward them, with the strange gypsy at his
heels, and Ruth supposed he wished to hear the girls' fortunes. But Jim
did not appear interested and looked at Ruth so queerly that she was
afraid he was angry.
"Shall I tell you your future now, Miss?" the gypsy woman demanded
slyly, talking to Ruth, but discerning all of Jim's six feet of shyness
and troubled emotion at the same time. "I can see a great change coming
in your life, Miss," the fortune teller went on quickly. "You can feel
it stirring in you now, but you won't give up to it. You are going to
take a long trip and you are going to----"
Whatever the gypsy meant to say Ruth did not wish to hear, so she
remarked quickly: "Please don't tell me anything of my fate. I--I don't
like to have my fortune told," she explained, blushing furiously. She
felt angry with herself for her absurdity, as Jim was gazing directly at
her across the circle of listening girls.
"I believe you have told us all quite enough of our futures, granny,"
Ruth announced. "We are going to leave you to rest," and she beckoned to
the ranch girls to follow her indoors.
Jim watched them until the last fluttering petticoat disappeared. Then
he and "Gypsy Joe" walked away from the house together. A few hours
later, just before dusk, the ranch girls were in the big living room of
the Lodge, waiting for Ruth to come in and for Aunt Ellen to bring in
supper, when there was a sound of wagon wheels along the road that led
away from the house to the trail across the ranch. Jean danced to the
open window and signaled to Jack.
The gypsy caravan was rolling slowly toward the distant plains. A
delicate purple mist hung over the world and the wagon seemed to float
along in the soft evening air; a single star shone over the travelers.
Jean pinched Jack's arm until she gave a cry of pain. "What is it,
Jean?" Jack inquired anxiously, for she could see that her cousin's
expression was curiously grave and that her eyes were shining and her
lips trembling with eagerness.
"Oh, Olive, Frieda, do come here and look," Jean called pleadingly.
Olive slipped her hand in Jack's and Frieda put her arm about Jean's
waist while the four girls stood gazing wonderingly at the moving wagon,
toward which Jean was pointing with a prophetic finger.
"Girls, there goes our way to see the world," Jean murmured quietly.
"There is the kind of private car I would rather ride in than any other
in the world, and we own one already."
"What is the matter, Jean; what are you talking about?" Jack queried
quickly, for she could see that Jean was not joking, but was deeply in
earnest.
"I mean that if we rent Rainbow Lodge this summer we can travel about in
a caravan," Jean returned dreamily. "We can drive over miles and miles
of our beautiful prairies and see the great canyons and forests; and may
even be able to go as far as the Yellowstone Park. You know we have the
wagon and plenty of horses already, and with a hundred dollars a
month--why, we can feed on nectar and ambrosia! Wouldn't you just adore
a caravan trip, girls?" She paused wistfully.
"O Jean!" the three other ranch girls gasped in happy chorus as the full
rapture of her suggestion swept over them.
"Shsh!" That young lady put a warning finger to her lips. "Here comes
Cousin Ruth; don't say anything to her yet. Goodness only knows how we
will be able to make her and Jim agree to our beautiful plan!"
CHAPTER II
THE SPELL OF THE MOON
The moon rose early and before dinner was over its pale crescent
appeared overhead.
The ranch girls were unusually restless. Jean especially was like a
will-o'-the-wisp, never still for an instant. "Do let's go out for a
walk; I feel as if I should stifle indoors," she begged.
"Isn't it too cool?" Ruth objected faintly. "Remember how great a change
always comes here at night, no matter how warm the days have been. I
should think the sudden coolness in the evening would be awfully trying
for travelers on the prairies."
Jean cast a tragic glance at their chaperon. "Oh, no, Cousin Ruth, I
assure you the nights on the plains are simply glorious! You just can't
imagine how wonderful it is in the summer time, after the hot days, to
feel the delicious cool breezes spring up and blow softly over you,
while you lie out in the darkness facing the stars," she ended
breathlessly.
Ruth laughed and slipped on her coat. "You talk like a tramp, Jean,
dear. When have you ever spent your days and nights out of doors?" she
queried.
"Oh, lots of times. When Jack and I were little girls uncle used to take
us camping with him," Jean answered indifferently, not daring to trust
herself to glance at the other girls.
The night was delicious and Jean's and Frieda's violet beds near Rainbow
Lodge were adding an unaccustomed fragrance to the desert air.
"Let's walk down to the rancho. I should like to ask Jim why he sent
those gypsies away so soon this afternoon, even before their horses had
time to rest," Jack proposed carelessly.
Jean and Jack each slipped a hand in Ruth's, as they set out for their
stroll, for she was far more timid than any one of the ranch girls; and
Olive and Frieda followed close behind. Near the rancho, where Jim and
the cowboys lived, a sound of singing and the low scrape of a fiddle,
greeted them.
Jack put her fingers to her lips and gave their familiar whistle, but
Jim did not answer; then Jean joined in, and the four girls finally
whistled in unison.
A man's figure appeared at the front door of the rancho. He was one of
the cowboys, who explained that Jim had disappeared immediately after
dinner without a word to anyone and no one knew where he had gone nor
when he meant to return.
On their way back to the Lodge Ruth happened to glance idly across one
of the near-by alfalfa fields and saw the figures of two men plainly
silhouetted against the horizon. One of them she recognized as Jim
Colter.
"There is Mr. Colter over there talking to some one, girls," Ruth
declared.
"Then let's walk over in his direction. Jim will soon see us coming and
join us," Jack suggested.
But Jim apparently did not see the girls approaching him, he was so
deeply engaged in conversation. Once he raised his arm as though he
meant to strike the man with him, but a moment later his arm dropped
limply at his side. Frieda laughed aloud, for the two black shadows
looked like huge dolls.
"I think we had better turn toward home, children," Ruth proposed
hurriedly. "I don't believe Mr. Colter is going to look toward us and I
don't think he will want to be interrupted if he does." But at this
moment the man with Jim slipped quietly away in the darkness and Jim
strode forward to Ruth and the ranch girls. It was impossible to see his
face clearly, but it was evident there was something most unusual in his
bearing--a subtle change that could be felt rather than seen.
"What are you doing, Miss Drew, wandering around at this hour of the
night with the girls? I am surprised at you," Jim said harshly. "There
is no telling what danger you may get into." Jim's voice was so hot with
anger and impatience that his audience was silent from sheer amazement.
It was impossible to believe that he was speaking to Ruth in such a
fashion, when always before he had treated her as a queen who could do
no wrong.
Ruth was glad of the darkness, for her cheeks were flushing and her
heart beat unevenly. For a moment the tears gathered in her eyes, but
they were blinked back indignantly. Why should she care because the
overseer of the ranch was rude to her? She had always believed that Jim
Colter was not a gentleman and now felt sure of it. But why did not
this conviction make her able to answer Jim as he deserved, and why
should she feel so unhappy? Ruth knew in her heart of hearts that she
was not being honest with herself. In her six months in the West she and
Jim had become good friends. There were other standards of life than
those of her school teaching days in Vermont. Pretend as she would, a
man could be a gentleman and yet wear strange clothes and use queer
English. But that Jim could fail in any other particular Ruth had not
believed possible until now.
Jean and Jack were as bewildered as their chaperon. For some time they
had suspected that Jim was more interested in Ruth than he would let
them know. Certainly the poor fellow was doing his best to improve his
English, for Jean had dived into his coat pocket one day in search of
the mail and had brought forth instead a discarded English grammar which
Jim had been studying surreptitiously.
"Why Jim, how silly you are!" Jack exclaimed at last to relieve the
painful silence. "Why do you mind our taking a walk to-night? You know
we often do, and we haven't been far. There is nothing that could
happen to us."
Frieda slipped her soft little hand inside Jim's big, strong one, and he
strode on ahead with her and Olive. "Don't you ever be too sure of not
getting into mischief, Jack Ralston," he called back.
"We only went to the rancho to look for you, Jim," Jack replied lightly.
"I wanted to ask you why you sent those gypsies away from the ranch so
soon this afternoon. I didn't care about the people and I hated the man,
but the poor horses were so tired I thought you would let them stay all
night so the horses could rest."
"Miss Ralston, am I running this ranch, or are you?" Jim demanded
angrily. "When I see a pack of tramps getting ready to take up their
residence with us, have I the right to send them away, or must I ask
your leave?" The overseer's tone was wrathful. He knew just how angry
Ruth was with him and now Jack would be equally offended; but fate had
played Jim Colter such a strange trick in the last few hours that he did
not care what he said or did.
Frieda's surprised "Oh!" was the first word spoken. A few seconds later
Jack faltered, "I am sure I beg your pardon, Jim; I didn't mean to
question your right to do whatever you think best." Jack's voice trailed
off brokenly and Ruth gave her an indignant and sympathetic squeeze.
Jean slipped around on the other side of Jack, and if Jim could have
been injured by burning glances he must have perished on the spot, for
Jean's brown eyes and Ruth's darted flashes of lightning at his broad
back.
At the Lodge door Jack slipped away from the others. Jim saw her start
and made a step toward her, but before he could speak she had vanished,
with Olive following her. Neither Ruth nor Jean would ask Jim to be
seated, and Frieda was too sleepy to think, yet Jim lingered calmly on
the porch. "Don't you think we had better go indoors? It's fairly cool,"
he said at length.
Ruth drew her coat closer about her and sank into a chair. "No, I don't
care to go in," she replied coldly. Jean took Frieda's hand and faced
Jim boldly. "Jim Colter, there is something the matter with you
to-night," she said. "I don't know what it is, but you were rude to
Cousin Ruth and horrid to Jack, and if I were in their places I wouldn't
speak to you."
The light from the big porch lantern shone full on Jim's strong,
sun-tanned face. Jean and Ruth were both surprised at the change in his
expression, for suddenly he looked like a repentant boy. "I say, Jean,
do tell Jack for me that I am awfully sorry I was such a beast to her
to-night," he pleaded. "Tell her I really didn't think for a minute that
she meant any interference by her question. I was a bit upset and I----"
Jean shook her head severely. "I shall not apologize to Jack for you,
Jim Colter, so you just needn't ask me," she answered cruelly. "You were
a wretch to her and you've hurt her feelings dreadfully. You can do your
own apologizing."
"But I won't see Jack again to-night, Jean, and I can't have her go to
bed thinking hardly of me," Jim expostulated.
Jean glanced up at him demurely. She was an artful young person and it
had just occurred to her that it might be a good idea to get Mr. Colter
under her thumb by doing him a favor. She had not been able to speak to
Ruth and Jim of her plan for the summer that evening, but she was only
awaiting an opportunity.
"If I make up with Jack for you, Jim, will you promise to listen to
something we have to tell you in the morning and not say it is utterly
impossible before you even _know_ what it is?" Jean demanded.
Jim groaned, though his eyes twinkled. "Go to bed, Jean Bruce. I'll not
make you any rash promise, for there is no telling what you mean to let
me in for," he answered.
Jean gave her head a toss. "Oh, very well, Jim; just as you like," she
agreed suavely. "Only I suppose you saw poor Jack was crying when she
went indoors, and she doesn't cry once in a thousand years, so I am sure
she will have a headache in the morning and not be able to speak to
you."
"I surrender, Jean," Jim replied meekly, holding up both hands. "I will
listen to anything you have to say in the morning if you will make my
peace with Jack to-night. I must have hurt her feelings if she was
crying, for I have seen her nearly kill herself a dozen times and never
shed a tear."
The last of Mr. Colter's speech was addressed to Miss Drew alone, for
Jean, having gotten her own way, had hurried Frieda off to bed.
Jim sank down comfortably on the porch steps and took off his big
Stetson, as though he did not mean to leave just yet. Ruth yawned
openly once or twice, but still her guest showed no intention of going.
She frowned at him coldly, but he was not looking at her.
Jim had sent an emissary to make his peace with Jack; but he had made no
pretense of apologizing to her, and every bit of Ruth's New England
pride was up in arms. Yet there was no doubt that Jim did look very
handsome as he lingered on the steps in the moonlight. Ruth tried to
convince herself that it was only his western costume that was
picturesque, the soft shirt with the loose handkerchief knotted at the
throat.
"I don't want you to think, Miss Drew, that Jack and I have ever
quarreled before about who was the boss of this ranch," Jim explained
regretfully. "To tell you the truth, I am a good deal worried about
something and it has turned me into a bear." Jim rose up, smiling gently
at Ruth. "I expect I had better be going," he said. "I am sorry I was
rude to you too to-night, but I will wear sackcloth and ashes with
pleasure to-morrow if you will only forgive me, and I can find them
anyways handy about the ranch." Jim laughed and bent over, suddenly
taking Ruth's hand in his to say good night, and she could but wonder if
it was because he was so big and strong that he held it in such a tight
grip.
CHAPTER III
CAUGHT IN THE TRAP
Jean and Jack and Olive were cantering slowly through the fields about
an hour before breakfast the next morning. The spring air was so
delicious that they had not been able to resist it. Jack had waked
before dawn and had kept quite still to listen to the silvery song of
the wood thrush outside her bedroom window; she had not wished to go to
sleep again, for her mind was too busy with Jean's plan for their summer
holiday. When daylight came Jean was aroused by the noise of Jack's
movements in the room, and opened her eyes to find her cousin slipping
into her riding clothes. She too was eager for a ride, and when they
softly called to Olive to join them the three girls stole out together.
"Jack, you will have to broach the subject of our caravan trip to Jim
to-day; I am sure you will be all powerful," Jean suggested, as soon as
they were fairly on their way. "The more I am out of doors the more I
think of how utterly rapturous it will be to spend our summer in
traveling around and camping wherever we like. Tell Olive and me
something about the people who want to rent our ranch, Jack," Jean ended
curiously.
Jack shook her head slowly. "I am afraid I don't know very much about
them, Jean," she answered. "Mr. and Mrs. Harmon are New York people; he
is a stock broker and they are friends of Mrs. Post's and Laura's. Aunt
Sallie does not know them personally, but she says they have one son and
a daughter. The daughter is lame and an invalid; I believe they want to
bring her out west to see what the climate will do for her." Jack gave
an unconscious shudder of horror and sympathy and touched her pony
lightly with her whip. The girls were galloping over a part of the ranch
that was carpeted with wild prairie roses.
"Where are we going, Jack?" Olive queried, riding close beside her.
"If you and Jean don't mind, Olive, we are going over on the other side
of Rainbow Creek," Jack replied apologetically. "Jim and one of the men
set a trap over there yesterday to catch some animal that has been
worrying our sheep. You know I don't mind when the poor thieves are
killed outright for their bad behavior, but sometimes they catch their
legs in the traps and nearly pull them off." Jack flushed, but neither
Jean nor Olive smiled at her; they knew that she was like a boy in many
ways and was too good a sportsman to want anything to suffer
unnecessarily.
The girls crossed the creek at a spot where the water was lowest; the
spring rains had fallen and it was quite deep in many places. They rode
in silence along the familiar path that followed the creek bed, each, in
her own way, yielding her senses to the influence of the enchantment
that the rare summer morning had created.
Click! click! A curious noise came from somewhere farther down the bed
of the creek; it seemed to sound from behind a huge rock that rose up
alongside the stream and split into a small ravine. Click! click! The
sound was repeated.
Jack reined in her pony so suddenly that Jean almost ran into her. "What
was that?" Jack asked quickly, but Jean put her finger cautiously to her
lips and signaled for silence.
Click! click! click! The echo was louder and more puzzling, and Jack
slid softly off her horse, threw the reins to Olive and crept along the
path until she came to the far side of the great rock. The noise was
more distinct, but still she could see nothing; then she clambered up
the rock and peered over. A man stood with a little hammer in his hand,
chipping out small pieces of stone; a big pan filled with sand and
gravel and water from Rainbow Creek was resting on the ground by his
side.
A little murmur of surprise escaped Jack, and the intruder glanced up at
her; he had been so intent on his work and so sure of not being
discovered at that hour of the morning that he had not been disturbed by
Jack's approach.
"So it is you, is it?" he said calmly. "I hope you don't mind my having
a few pieces of these rocks as a souvenir of my visit to your ranch. I
know you and your overseer objected to my prospecting for gold about
here. That is the reason I pretended to drive away last night."
Jack at once recognized the speaker as the driver of the gypsy caravan
of the day before. "I don't see how I am going to prevent your having
the stones and pebbles now that you have already taken possession of
them," she answered indifferently. "But please don't let our overseer
find you lurking about, or he will be dreadfully angry."
The stranger laughed and shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and Jack
noticed that he seemed very sure of himself. "Oh, don't you worry about
John, Jim Colter I mean," he returned coolly. "I am not afraid of him,
though I won't trouble you any more than I can help."
"Did you ask the man if he found any signs of gold in our creek, Jack?"
Jean demanded eagerly, as the three girls rode off together again.
Jack shook her head. "No, silly, of course I didn't," she replied.
"There are lots of people out west who are crazy about finding gold.
Don't you suppose if there had been any gold on our ranch father would
have made the discovery years ago?"
"I don't know," Jean returned quietly. "But you might have asked just
the same."
Jim had set his animal trap in some thick underbrush and covered it with
twigs and evergreens, but Jack remembered the exact spot, and the girls
now rode directly toward it. Jack carried her rifle with her, for if
they found an animal that had been caught and not killed she intended to
put it out of its misery.
Within a short distance of the trap, but before the girls could see it,
they heard a queer moaning that made them turn pale. The cry was not
like a child's and not like an animal's; it was a queer combination of
both.
Jean stopped her pony instantly. "I sha'n't go on any farther with you,
Jack," she declared resolutely. "Jim has caught something in that
wretched trap of his and it is suffering horribly. It won't do any good
for me to see it. Olive, please you go on with Jack; I simply can't, I
am such a wretched coward."
Olive and Jack both looked rather miserable at the prospect ahead of
them, but Jack would not turn back and Olive would not desert her. By
this time the strange sobbing had ceased and there was no further sound
of movement or struggle in the neighborhood of the snare until the two
girls rode up in plain sight of it.
"Good gracious, Olive, what is that?" Jack called quickly, almost
falling from her horse in her amazement.
Instead of discovering a wild animal staring at them with ferocious,
frightened eyes, the riders spied a small, brown figure crouched on the
ground in front of the wicked steel cage, as mute and motionless as a
hare when first startled by a hunter. The boy's back was turned to Olive
and Jack and he would not condescend even to look around at his captors.
Jack guessed at once what had happened. The child must have been
starving, for he had thrust his arm inside the opening of the trap for
the bait that had been put inside, and the spring had closed on his arm.
Both girls ran toward him, but Jack did not hear Olive's quick
exclamation. Fortunately she knew the trick of opening the trap, for the
moment the wires released their cruel hold on the boy, he fainted
quietly in Olive's outstretched arms. He was about ten or twelve years
old, incredibly thin, with coal-black hair that fell in straight lines
to his shoulders, strange, dark eyes with the look of far places in
them, and a skin the color of burnished copper.
"It is Carlos, little Carlos!" Olive exclaimed wonderingly. "Jack, don't
you remember my telling you about the Indian boy who helped me to come
home to you when I was stolen by old Laska? I wonder how in the world
he has managed to find us."
Jack did not wait to answer Olive. Running at once to the creek for
water, she signaled Jean to join them, and together the girls bathed the
boy's face until he returned to consciousness.
Then Carlos calmly explained to Olive that he always had meant to find
her some day. With her image ever before him and the names of the
Ralston girls and the Rainbow Ranch ever sounding in his ears, the lad
had remained quietly in the desert with his own people until the coming
of spring. When the nomad tribe started south, Carlos had journeyed with
them until they again struck camp, then he had traveled on alone, asking
hundreds of questions and covering more miles than he was able to count.
Unconscious of the fact he had come at length within the limits of
Rainbow Ranch, and when he most needed her, Olive, like a good angel,
had appeared to him. Yet Carlos took her coming calmly. Miracles are
every-day occurrences to the Indian. Wiser than the wisest of us, he
knows that, in spite of all the explanations of science, the rising and
the setting of the sun, the life of a flower, most of the things he
sees in his world, are nature's miracles. So the miracle of Olive's
discovery seemed to Carlos only another mysterious gift from the unknown
Father.
Scorning to have his wounded arm bandaged, the boy soon started homeward
with the girls. Jim and Frieda were waiting in front of the Lodge for
them to return to breakfast. Jim laughed and Frieda stared when they
beheld four figures on horseback instead of three.
"Well, Jack, who is your latest find?" Jim called out cheerfully, waving
his hand to Jack in token of peace and good fellowship.
The horses stopped, and the Indian boy slid off from behind Olive's
saddle and stood erect, facing Jim squarely. "I am Carlos, of the tribe
of the Blackfeet," he answered proudly. "Are you the Big Chief of this
ranch?"
Jim Colter shook his head gravely, although his eyes were smiling. "No,
I am Big Chief of nothing, sonnie," he replied kindly. "But you had
better come into the house with me; that is an uncommonly ugly wound you
have on your arm, and I've an idea you might be persuaded to eat a
little something."
CHAPTER IV
THE WAY TO ARCADY
"It can't be, Jim, that you think maybe we will be able to carry out our
scheme," Jean murmured, her voice hushed almost into a whisper from
sheer surprise. She held her fork in the air, hovering between her mouth
and her plate, while the other three girls leaned back limply in their
chairs at the breakfast table. To win a battle without a fight when all
your forces are drawn up for action is unsettling.
"Oh, well, I didn't exactly say I would agree to this caravan trip," Jim
hedged. "I don't know that it is a good plan for you to give up your
home and take to the woods; but I did say that the idea was worth
considering if Miss Ruth favors it. The thing that troubles me most is
who is to be the leader of this female cavalcade?" Jim frowned and
buttered his fourth hot biscuit. "Don't tell me, Jack Ralston, that you
can go it alone, for you can't. It is a good thing you were born in
Wyoming, the first state to declare for woman's suffrage, for if ever I
met a real natural born female suffragette, it's you. There isn't a
thing on this earth that a man does that you wouldn't try if you could.
I don't know, Miss Drew, but that we are a little more advanced on the
woman question out here than you are in Vermont," Jim drawled slowly.
"Kind of seems like it ought to help reconcile you to living among us."
Ruth laughed girlishly. She had on a white pique frock and looked as
dainty as a Dresden china shepherdess; she had plenty of color now and
her lips had lost their disapproving curve. "I don't need the vote to
reconcile me to living with the ranch girls, Mr. Colter," she insisted
sweetly. "And please understand I am just as anxious for the caravan
trip as I can be."
Jim looked thoughtfully at his plate without answering, until Jack gave
a little tug at his sleeve. "See here, Jim, dear," she argued quickly,
"even I haven't suggested that we undertake our trip without a man for
our guide. You know we want to follow one of the old, almost forgotten
trails across the state to the Yellowstone Park, and of course we don't
want to get lost; but Jean and Olive and I planned the whole thing out
this morning just perfectly. We know some of the horses we want to take
with us and we have chosen the very man for our escort."
Jim shook his head obstinately. "You know I am not talking against the
boys on our ranch," he answered solemnly; "they are as good a set of
fellows as can be found anywhere in the business. But there isn't one of
them that's fit to trust with the finest girls in this country."
"Oh, our guide is all right; don't worry about him, Jim," Jean
announced, with the calm assurance of a priestess of the Delphic oracle.
"I know you will thoroughly approve of him as soon as you hear who he
is." Jean tried her best to wink at Ruth, so that she might guess their
meaning, but Ruth was completely in the dark.
"I am pretty sure _not_ to approve of him, you mean," Jim interrupted
gloomily. "I have thought of every man on the place, and there isn't one
of them I would even consider."
"Oh, yes, there is one, Jim; just one, and you haven't thought of him
yet," Jack argued unhesitatingly.
Frieda snickered, Olive smiled and Jean shrugged her shoulders, but Ruth
looked as puzzled as Jim.
"Well, out with your man's name, children," Jim demanded firmly. "You
must not set your heart on this excursion until I know who _he_ is. I am
sorry now that I ever listened to your scheme."
Jean, who was sitting next Ruth, leaned over and whispered something to
her, and Ruth gave a happy laugh and then blushed furiously without
rhyme or reason.
"Jim, there is but one person in the world we want to go with us, and
you certainly ought to know who he is," Jack suggested at this moment.
"Surely you know that it's you. Of course it couldn't be anyone else."
"Me--me!" Jim Colter exclaimed helplessly, the tired, thoughtful
expression which his brown face had worn all morning changing suddenly
to one of joy at Jack's proposition. "Why, you are mad as a March hare,
Miss Ralston. I know you thought of renting Rainbow Lodge for the
magnificent sum of one hundred dollars a month, but I took it that
bargain did not include a thousand or more acres of good Wyoming land,
and I would like to know who would look after the ranch while I was
away."
"Oh, Jim, you are tiresome," Jean protested. "Do you think the ranch
would go to rack and ruin if you left it for a little while? You know
one of the other men could take charge of things for you. Why, you
haven't taken a holiday from this place in _years_, and when you went
away last time I suppose it was business, for you never said where you
went nor what happened to you while you were away."
Jim's face turned so red that Jack was afraid Jean's idle speech had
hurt his feelings, for he probably did not like the idea that they
thought anyone as capable of running their ranch for them as he was. She
slipped away from her place at the table and put her arm over Jim's
shoulder as simply as though she were six instead of sixteen. Jim had
always been a kind of big brother to the ranch girls. "Dear old Jim,"
Jack whispered affectionately, "don't be offended. Of course, Jean does
not mean that anybody can really manage the ranch except you, but she
does think, and indeed we all do--Cousin Ruth most of all, though she
hasn't said anything yet--that you could come away with us for a while,
even if you just take the trip with us to Yellowstone Park and then
return to the ranch as you think best. O, Jim!" Jack's words tripped
over each other in her eagerness, "you know you would love our caravan
excursion better than anything in the world! It was just because you
knew how much you would adore it yourself that you agreed so readily to
our scheme when we proposed it to you. Don't you remember how we used to
plot and plan just such a journey years and years ago, when Jean and
Frieda and I were little girls? You used to tell us stories about your
long ride all alone across the great desert when you had no one but your
horse for company, no money, no friends, and no place to go until you
found us." Jack paused for an instant.
Jim Colter was looking out the window, but his eyes were not on the
landscape before him.
"Don't you recall, Jim, how you said that even then you learned to love
the romance of the silent places, even the great loneliness that made
you feel as though the world were created just for you?" Jack went on
pleadingly. "And you said that some day you would take us for a trip
across the prairies, and father promised that we might go when we grew
up. Now everything is getting so civilized out west, do let us start on
our pilgrimage while there is some of the wilderness left." Jack's next
words to her friend were spoken in such a low tone that no one else
could guess what she was saying: "I think father would like you to keep
the promise to us, if you could, Jim, and it would be the most wonderful
opportunity in the world for you with Ruth."
Jim gazed slowly about the group of girls without the least indication
that he had understood Jack's suggestion. "Well, I will think things
over for a few days and kind of see how the land lies," he announced
aloud, "and if there is anybody around who can look after the ranch for
me, I think maybe I had better see that you don't come to harm."
Jack gave Jim a little shake and Jean pulled him up from the breakfast
table. "Don't talk in that tiresome, dutiful fashion, Jim Colter; we
will not stand it," Jean protested; "for you know perfectly well that
you are as crazy about our jaunt as the rest of us and you wouldn't miss
it now for worlds!"
[Illustration: "I DECLARE, I FEEL LIKE I HADN'T SEEN YOU IN A HUNDRED
YEARS!"]
The entire breakfast party had gotten up from the table and were
fluttering about the room. A little pine fire burned in the fireplace,
but the windows and doors were wide open. Some one walked across the
front porch and knocked, and when no one answered, followed the sound of
the voices indoors. Frieda gave the first exclamation of surprise at
their visitor, tripped over a rocking chair in running to him and landed
in the arms of Frank Kent. "Oh, I am glad to see you!" she exclaimed
happily. "Why, we thought you were at home in England. What can you be
doing here?"
"I have come to see you, Frieda," Frank answered immediately, "but
besides you, every single other person at the Rainbow Ranch." Frank must
have had half a dozen arms to have shaken hands with all his friends in
the room at the same time, yet somehow, in spite of their greetings, he
managed to give both his hands to Jack and to grasp hers in the warm
friendliness to which she was accustomed from him.
"I declare, I feel like I hadn't seen you in a hundred years," he said
simply; "and yet it has been only about six months."
"What are you doing in this part of the world again, Mr. Kent?" Jim
Colter inquired rather coolly. He liked Frank Kent well enough, but the
young man had gone home to England, when the affairs of the ranch girls
were safely settled with his cousin Daniel Norton, who had tried to
steal their home from them, and Jim had not expected nor desired to see
the English fellow again. He didn't care much for foreigners, even
Anglo-Saxon ones.
"I am only here for a little while, Mr. Colter," Frank Kent explained,
answering the question in Jim's words and in Jack's eyes. "I came back
to America on a short business trip. My father heard of some mines in
Colorado, and as I was so enthusiastic about the West he sent me out to
investigate them for him. As Colorado is a sister state to Wyoming, I
had to slip across the border, you know," he ended shyly.
Olive had let every one else in the room finish their welcome to Frank
Kent before she attempted to speak to him. Now she put out her slender
hand and held his only for a moment while her face flushed and her dark
eyes shone with a soft radiance. "I am truly glad to see you again," she
declared with more real feeling than any one of the other girls had yet
revealed. Jack, who adored Olive, and was a little jealous of any
affection she might show for other people, stared at her curiously.
"O Frank, do let's all go out of doors," Jack suggested. "We have the
most wonderful scheme we want to tell you about and we want to know
everything about your people in England, your father and mother and two
sisters and your wonderful estate in Surrey."
The entire party was just leaving the living room when Aunt Ellen's tall
form blocked the door. Her face showed anger and she held the small
Indian boy by his uninjured arm. Carlos' eyes were larger and more
mournful than ever and his lips set in an obstinate curve.
"This boy says he won't eat with Zack and me," Aunt Ellen announced
angrily. "He says he is the son of a chief and the grandson of one and
that he should be fed first; and I won't put up with such nonsense."
"O Carlos!" Olive came across the room and dropped on the floor in front
of the lad. "How can you be so silly and ungrateful?" she asked
pleadingly. "Aunt Ellen, his people are all dead; they were killed in a
fight on the plains, and I don't know whether Carlos is a chief's son or
not. But of course we can't keep him at the ranch if he is
troublesome."
Olive was such a lovely picture as she knelt on the floor gazing up into
the Indian boy's face that Frank Kent looked at her closely for the
first time since he entered Rainbow Lodge. She was more changed than any
one of the ranch girls in the six months of his absence, and seemed
older and somehow more graceful and elusive than ever.
Jim Colter took several great strides across the room toward small
Carlos, without apparently heeding Ruth's little cry of remonstrance nor
Olive's plea for patience; he seemed so big and fierce and strong and
the Indian boy so little and weak and defiant, that it was like a great
eagle pouncing down on an impudent sparrow. Jim swooped Carlos up in his
arms, but instead of devouring him, put the lad down in a chair by the
breakfast table, poured out a glass of milk for him and made him drink
it, for he saw what no one else had, that the boy was almost dying of
hunger.
"Leave us to ourselves, please," Jim demanded, smiling at Aunt Ellen
apologetically. "I want to see after this boy myself for a few minutes.
Who knows but we may need just such a little scout in our trip across
the prairies."
Ruth smiled at Jim without a trace of the old-maid disapproval of him
which she once felt, and Olive gave a sigh of relief, for she had been
worrying all through breakfast about what they could do with Carlos when
they went on their wonderful caravan trip. It had seemed so unkind to
desert him after his long and faithful quest of her.
A quarter of an hour later Jim came out in the yard, and the Indian lad
went to the kitchen to do as he was bid. Whatever Jim had told him
served to keep him proudly obedient so long as he remained at the ranch
house.
In front of the Lodge, Jean, Olive, Frieda and Ruth were still talking
of their journey, while Frank and Jack had wandered off somewhere
together. Jean was flitting about in the sunlight like a brown sparrow,
twittering and singing and hopping from very joy at being alive. She
suddenly seized Jim's hand and forced Ruth to take hold of his other
one, then when Olive and Frieda joined the circle, she made them whirl
around until they were completely out of breath. "I declare, I never was
so happy in my life," Jean panted, when she finally released her
victims. "I believe every good thing in the world comes true if you only
want it hard enough. But don't you wish we were traveling across the
plains right now? It is such a wonderful, wonderful day!"
Truly it might have been a spring morning in the Garden of Eden. The
pale green leaves of the tall cottonwood trees were shimmering and
quivering with each faintest breeze; the birds were rustling softly in
their branches, and, beyond the trees, the alfalfa fields were now a
delicate lavender and rose.
Jean pointed through an opening in the trees, where the landscape
stretched almost unbroken to the line of hills on the western horizon
and made a little curtsy to Ruth.
"'Oh, what's the way to Arcady
Where all the leaves are merry?'"
"Tell me, Ruth, dear," she quoted mischievously from a volume of poems
she and her chaperon had just finished reading.
Ruth shook her head, but Jim stared at Jean thoughtfully. "Say that
little verse again, Jean," he said slowly. "I don't know where Arcady
is, but it is a pretty sounding place."
Jean laughed roguishly and blew him a kiss. "What has come over you,
Jim, to make you willing to listen to poetry?" she inquired. "Arcady is
just an ideal country that poets like to write about, but here's the way
to find it if you like:
"'What, know you not, old man (quoth he),--
Your hair is white, your face is wise,--
That _love_ must kiss that Mortal's eyes
Who hopes to see fair Arcady?
No gold can buy you entrance there,--
But beggared love may go all bare--
No wisdom won with weariness,
But love goes in with Folly's dress--
No fame that wit could ever win,
But only love may lead love in
To Arcady, to Arcady.'"
At the end of her recitation Jean quickly put her hands in Olive's and
Frieda's and ran off to see if any flowers had bloomed in their violet
bed, leaving Ruth and Jim alone. Ruth was blushing, for she had a
far-off idea of what Jean meant to suggest by her quotation, but Jim
appeared so sublimely unconscious that she felt relieved. He was
evidently thinking of something very different from love or Arcady, for
Ruth had to touch him before he seemed to hear what she was saying.
"When may Jack write the people to say they can have the Lodge?" she
inquired, determined not to be entirely forgotten by her companion, no
matter how glad she was that he had paid no attention to Jean.
"The Lodge? Oh, any time," he answered vaguely, looking at Ruth in a way
that made her catch her breath. Jim was not thinking at the moment of
anything connected with Rainbow Lodge. He was wondering if a man, who
had something in his past he wished to forget, could ever travel over
into Arcady by the route Jean's poem suggested--Arcady, that country he
knew nothing about except that the name had a pleasant sound.
CHAPTER V
MEETING WITH NEW PEOPLE
"Jean Bruce, if you add one more item to that everlasting old list of
yours, we will have to give up our trip," Jack Ralston remarked crossly.
"Even if Jim has given us a few precious dollars to invest in our
going-away outfits, we can't buy the entire town of Laramie and cart it
across the state to the Yellowstone Park." Jack was standing in front of
her mirror trying to fasten down her shirtwaist in the back, and as a
pin had just pricked her finger, she was irritable.
"What was that funny thing you advised our buying last night, Olive?"
Jean called into the next room, ignoring her cousin's protest in the
serenest possible manner. Miss Bruce was dressed for a journey of some
sort in a pretty, dark blue suit and a cream straw hat with a pair of
jaunty blue wings atop of it. Her expression was one of demure readiness
for any great event, yet she was seated quietly at a table with a
half-filled memorandum book before her and a much-used pencil in her
hand.
Olive flitted in from the adjoining chamber with her new frock half
buttoned. "Oh, never mind, if we can't afford the thing I suggested,"
she said soothingly. "I am afraid it will cost an awful lot, but I read
that every traveler across a desert ought to have a sleeping bag to take
along. We can wrap up in our old blankets and comforts, but I thought it
would be fine to get a bag for Ruth if we could, for you know she is
such a chilly person, and if she isn't comfortable at night she will lie
awake and listen to the strange sounds of the desert that we love and
she fears."
Jack looked instantly penitent. She was never impatient with Olive, as
she sometimes was with Jean; and, besides, she had about finished
dressing and the reflection in the glass was gratifying. The ranch girls
had new spring suits sent from the East. Jack's was brown, and her
little straw toque had in it a curling feather that matched the bronze
tones in her hair.
"We will have the sleeping bag if we have to go without shoes," she
answered amiably. "But, Jean, dear, why do you have to have a bottle of
violet perfume to take with you across the plains when you have lived
for some sixteen years without one?"
"That's just the reason, Jack Ralston," Jean returned uncompromisingly.
"I wonder when you'll learn that we are not tomboys any longer and ought
to have the things other girls have. You know you are as vain of your
appearance in that suit Cousin Ruth made you get, as you can be. I must
say you do look rather well in it."
Jack kissed Jean quickly. "I am an interfering old thing," she confessed
meekly. "But please don't talk about our being nearly grown up, for it
frightens me; I am not going to be grown for years and years. Promise me
you won't say a word about my remembering that I am a girl and a fairly
elderly one the whole time we are on our caravan trip and I'll agree to
do whatever _you_ wish while we are in Laramie."
"All right. Here comes Frieda and Cousin Ruth, so it must be almost time
for us to start," Jean consented, stuffing her paper and pencil into her
shiny new traveling bag.
Jean, Jack and Olive were about to leave for the city of Laramie to
purchase the supplies for their caravan trip to the Yellowstone Park.
Several weeks had passed since Jean originated her wonderful idea, and
most of the arrangements for the journey had been completed. The Harmons
had signed the contract to rent Rainbow Lodge for the summer, and Frank
Kent had gone to Colorado, after a short visit at the ranch, threatening
to meet the girls again in some out-of-the-way place before their
holiday was over.
The girls were trying not to appear perturbed, though they were really
in a great state of excitement. For the first time in their lives they
were to spend two nights alone in a hotel. Jim could not leave the
ranch, on account of some special business; Ruth could not accompany
them, because she would not leave Frieda, who had a bad cold and was not
well enough to go. However, Mrs. Peterson, the proprietress of a
boarding place where the girls were to stay, was an acquaintance of
Jim's and had promised to act as their chaperon.
Frieda tumbled into the room at this instant, with her big blue eyes
more aggrieved than usual and her small nose distinctly pink around the
edges. It was her first experience in being left at home and she was
not happy over it. She flung her arms about her sister, and Jack leaned
over to whisper pleadingly, "Promise you won't cry when we go, baby, and
we'll bring you and Ruth the funniest surprise presents in town."
While Ruth was rearranging Jean's hat, which had slipped to one side in
the flurry of departure, and straightening Olive's long coat, the
rattling of the horses' harness and Jim's voice telling the girls to
hurry could be distinctly heard.
"Don't forget my list of medicines, Jean, and don't forget the new
toothbrushes," Ruth advised hastily. "And, Jack, please, for goodness'
sake, don't fail to keep your appointment with the Harmons at their
hotel to-morrow afternoon. As they have been good enough to wait in town
an extra week for us to give up the Lodge to them after their long trip
from New York, you ought to be willing to meet them if they wish it."
"Well, I'm not willing, Ruth," Jack demurred; "though we promise to keep
our words like ladies. I confess I am horribly embarrassed at having to
call on entire strangers with no one even to introduce us. I do devoutly
hope the men of the family won't think they have to appear, because I
am afraid enough of the mother and daughter. I suppose it is this poor
Elizabeth Harmon who is curious to see what we are like, so I presume we
will have to give her the pleasure. Imagine us, Ruth, at five to-morrow
afternoon making our bows to the rich New Yorkers. It is silly of me,
but I have taken a dislike to the entire Harmon family simply because
they are going to live in our home for a while, I suppose, though I am
anxious enough for their money for our holiday."
During Jack's monologue the girls had gone into the yard, and a few
minutes later Ruth and Frieda were almost overpowered by the fervor of
their farewell embraces. The last glimpse they had of the travelers,
Jack was standing up in their wagon, with Jean and Olive clutching at
her skirts and entirely unmindful of the grandeur of her new attire,
waving both hands and giving the familiar, long-drawn-out call of the
cowboys of the Rainbow Ranch.
The trip to Laramie was uneventful, and though the ranch girls slept
three in a bed, and talked till almost morning that they might enjoy to
the full the novelty of the experience, their first night at Mrs.
Peterson's boarding house was equally without excitement.
By eight o'clock the following morning the girls set out on their first
regular shopping expedition, and by four in the afternoon Jean sank
dejectedly down on a stool in a grocery store. "Girls," she declared
wearily, "we have shopped all day and shopped all night and shopped
again until broad daylight. At least, I feel as if we had, and if you
don't take me somewhere to rest I shall surely die." But the girls had
scrimped and saved pennies all day in order to buy the sleeping bags for
Ruth and Freida, and would not give up until they were purchased.
Poor Jean was forcibly dragged from her resting place by Olive and Jack,
and the three girls set out down the street again, gazing in all the
shop windows. "For mercy's sake, what kind of a store would keep a
sleeping bag, Olive?" Jean inquired mournfully, leaning heavily upon
Jack, who walked next her. "I have seen a punching bag in Jim's room at
the rancho, and I have heard somewhere of carpet-bags, but I have no
more idea of what a sleeping bag is like than the old man in the moon."
"Well, I don't know exactly either, Jean," Olive confessed, walking a
little in advance of her friends, with her eyes on the ground. Her
frightened "Oh!" and stumble against Jack brought the entire party to a
standstill. A young man had been marching along the street toward them
in an entirely abstracted state of mind and had run into Olive.
"I beg your pardon," he stammered apologetically. "I am not a native of
this place and----"
Jack's eyes flashed with indignation and Olive flushed, with the soft
color that was peculiar to her rising in delicate waves from her throat
to her forehead, but mischievous Jean giggled. "Is it the custom to bump
into people in the place you do come from?" she inquired innocently.
"Because, crude as we are, it isn't the custom here."
Jack frowned at Jean's frivolity, indicating very plainly that Miss
Bruce was not to enter into a conversation with a stranger, but she need
not have worried, because the young man was not paying the least
attention either to her or Jean. He was staring at Olive, not rudely,
but with a curious, questioning gaze that made her drop her dark eyes
until her long, straight lashes touched her cheeks.
"I hope I didn't hurt you," the young fellow protested awkwardly. Olive
shook her head without glancing up, but the other two girls got a good
look at him. He was almost as dark as Olive herself, although he had
none of her foreign appearance, and was big and broad-shouldered, and
seemed to be an eastern college fellow, twenty or twenty-one years old.
Jack engineered her party into a near-by department store, leaving the
young man still staring after them with his hat in his hand.
"Great Scott, what a boor I was!" he exclaimed to himself a second
later. "But I never had anything strike me so all of a heap as that
girl's face in my life." And he strode away looking tremendously
puzzled.
Fortunately the brown woolen sleeping bag for Ruth was discovered in
this first shop, but by the time a smaller one was bought for Frieda, it
occurred to Jack to ask the time, as no one of them possessed a watch,
and Jean and Olive had wandered off to make new investments in motor
veils. "Ten minutes to five o'clock," the shopkeeper announced, and
Jack's heart sank to zero. All day she had been wishing that she had not
promised Ruth to keep the appointment with the Harmons, but what would
Jean and Olive do when they found they had no time to dress before their
engagement?
"Girls," a sepulchral voice whispered suddenly in Jean's ear, "we have
just ten minutes to get to the hotel to call on those dreadful Harmons,
if we rush off this minute."
Jean caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror which happened to be just
before her on the counter. Her stylish appearance of the morning had
disappeared; her hat was on one side and a smudge decorated the tip of
her piquant nose. Then she gazed disapprovingly at Jack, who was almost
as much wilted and whose hair was anything but neat. Olive's appearance
was the best, but she was unusually pale, with violet shadows under her
eyes and a soft droop to her whole body.
"Behold the Three Graces!" Jean remarked disdainfully. "Jack Ralston,
I'll not go a step to call on those people until we have had a chance to
fix ourselves up. I know they will talk all summer about how dreadful we
are if they see us first looking such frights."
"But, Jean," Jack argued, as much depressed as her cousin, "if we go
back to our boarding place and dress before we make our call we shall be
so horribly late that Mrs. Harmon probably won't see us and she may be
so offended that she will refuse to come to the Lodge this summer. Then
good-by to our caravan trip."
Jean's rebellious attitude slowly altered. "But what shall I do about
the smut on my nose, Jack?" she objected faintly.
"Rub it off with your handkerchief," Jack replied cruelly, as the three
girls made a hurried rush for a car.
"But we may meet the son of the family, and I think Donald Harmon is a
dream of a name," Jean continued mournfully, "and I did hope that one of
us would be able to make an impression on him."
Olive laughed and gave Jack's hand a conciliatory squeeze, for Jack's
face had flushed as it usually did when Jean made any such teasing
suggestion. The truth of the matter was that Jack hated to think there
was any real difference between friendship with a boy or a girl, and
Jean, though she only joked about the subject at present, cherished a
very different idea.
"It is much more important that we make ourselves agreeable to Mrs.
Harmon and her daughter," Jack answered, with her nose in the air, as
she sat down in the car, but Jean merely lifted her pretty shoulders
and gave a sly glance at Olive. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Ralston,"
she apologized. "I forgot you were a man-hater, unless one leaves Frank
Kent out of the question." This was a hateful speech of Jean's and she
deserved the speedy punishment she received.
The three ranch girls found the hotel they sought and were given the
number of Mrs. Harmon's sitting room. They hesitated for a minute
outside her door. "I don't know why I feel so nervous about going in,
just as though something dreadful was going to happen," Jack whispered
softly. "I don't even like to knock."
"I know what is troubling you, Jack," Olive murmured gently. "None of us
has confessed it to the other, but I believe we are nervous about
meeting Elizabeth Harmon. We don't know how ill she is or whether she is
even able to walk, and we are afraid we may do or say the wrong thing."
"I am sure you won't, Olive," Jack returned, as she summoned courage to
knock at the closed door. The girls thought they heard a faint response
from the inside, and walked slowly into the room, hesitating for a
moment because of the sudden change from daylight to almost complete
darkness. The blinds at the windows were drawn closely down, and there
was no light except that which shone from two rose-colored candles that
burned on the tall mantel-piece. No one seemed to be in the room as Jean
started blindly forward. Olive put out her hand to stop her, but she was
not in time, for at the same instant Jean plunged blindly into a small
table loaded with teacups, and the quiet room echoed with the noise of
crashing china and embarrassed exclamations from poor Jean.
The next moment Jack and Olive saw a fragile figure rise up from an
immense leather chair and swing herself toward them on a single crutch.
She was so thin and delicate and dressed in such an exquisite clinging
white gown that she looked like the ghost of a girl, the only color
about whom was the mass of shining red-gold hair that hung in a loose
cloud over her shoulders.
"Oh, I am so sorry and ashamed!" Jean murmured miserably, her brown eyes
filling with tears, as she surveyed the havoc she had wrought.
"Please don't mind; it was all my fault." Elizabeth Harmon put out a
small, hot hand and touched Jean's fingers shyly. "I know I ought not
to have had the room so dark when you came in, but I have a fancy for
meeting people for the first time in the soft candle light."
Elizabeth spoke the last words gently and Jack tried to conceal it, but
her hostess knew that the girl with the sympathetic warm gray eyes
understood why she preferred to meet strangers in a semi-darkness.
Elizabeth was not a pretty girl. Her eyes were too pale a blue and she
looked too ill for beauty; besides, her face had a wilful and unhappy
expression, and yet, in spite of these defects, she had a curious kind
of grace and charm.
Jean and Olive were trying vainly to pick up the shattered teacups, so
it was Jack who first saw Elizabeth Harmon's dilemma. She had walked
across the room toward them, but she was not strong enough to get back
to her chair alone and she was too sensitive to ask for help. Jack put
her arm about her hostess, without waiting for her permission, and led
her to a chair, then she sat down on a little spindle-legged stool near
her, feeling shy and confused.
"You shouldn't have helped me; I hate to have people do things for me,"
Elizabeth remarked rudely. "I could have walked back to my chair
perfectly well by myself. Please do sit down, everybody; you make me
feel dreadfully nervous. Mother would join us if she knew you were
here."
The ranch girls were embarrassed by their hostess' ungracious manner,
but they could not be really angry with her. Jean and Olive wondered why
she didn't let her mother know of their arrival. Again Jack guessed the
truth. Elizabeth could not get across the room to the bell and would not
ask one of them to ring it for her. After a few moments of uncomfortable
silence, Elizabeth bent over toward Jack, whispering softly: "Forgive my
being so hateful, and thank you for helping me. I have wanted dreadfully
to know you girls, but I'm afraid you'll think I am so spoiled you won't
have anything to do with me. Will you please ring the bell?"
Jack moved quietly across the room, but before she reached the bell the
door flew open, admitting a big fellow with flashing white teeth. He
stopped in amazement at the sight of the three visitors. Jean and Jack
recognized him at once as the young man who had stared at Olive so
curiously after running into her on the street.
CHAPTER VI
A CURIOUS RESEMBLANCE
"I'll be--I beg your pardon," Donald Harmon apologized hurriedly.
"Sister, I didn't know your visitors had come." He held out his hand to
Jack, who was nearest him. "I ought to have known who you were when I
met you an hour ago, but I was a little confused over something," he
said.
Elizabeth Harmon introduced her brother to the girls, whose names she
had now learned. When Donald spoke to Olive he tried in vain to hide his
puzzled expression, and again she dropped her gaze before his as though
she did not wish him to see her face. Olive was always shy, but to-day
she seemed more so than usual, and she had a peculiar fashion, like some
flowers, of folding herself about with little leaves and tendrils of
reserve to hide her real self from the outside world.
Donald Harmon sat down next Jack and immediately across from Olive, but
Jack made no effort to open a conversation with him, for she did not
like him and did object to the odd way in which he gazed at Olive.
"What is your friend's name?" Donald inquired immediately.
"Olive," Jack returned in a non-committal fashion.
"But Olive what? I have a special reason for wishing to know," the young
fellow protested impatiently. Olive and Jean were talking with Elizabeth
and were not observing Jack and her companion.
For the fleeting part of a moment Jack hesitated, "Olive--why, Olive
Ralston," she replied quietly. "I thought you knew our name was
Ralston."
"I did," Donald answered. "Please don't think I am mad, but I thought
for a second she might have another name. Have you ever heard the theory
that we all have a double somewhere in the world? I want you to look
closely at my mother when she comes in. Your sister is enough like her
to be her own child, though of course there is a difference in their
coloring and expressions and perhaps other details that I have not
noticed, but when I saw your sister on the street to-day I was overcome
by their likeness." At this moment Donald Harmon, hearing his mother's
voice in the hall, quickly turned on the electric lights.
Jacqueline Ralston caught her breath before the strange vista of
possibilities that Donald Harmon's suggestion opened to her imagination.
Never had she ceased to wonder at the mystery of Olive's birth. "Has
your mother ever been out west before?" Jack asked hastily. And Donald
only had time to answer, "Never in her life," when Mrs. Harmon entered
the sitting room.
Jack's first emotion was one of intense and selfish relief. Mrs. Harmon
and Olive did not look in the least alike--the son's idea had been
absurd. Mrs. Harmon's eyes were blue and Olive's black, her complexion
was fair and Olive's dark. It was true Mrs. Harmon did have black hair,
though it was now slightly tinged with gray, and it grew in a point like
Olive's in the center of her low, broad forehead, but there was nothing
remarkable in this little point of resemblance. Jack thought Mrs. Harmon
beautiful and the first real society woman she had ever seen. Her manner
was gracious and friendly, yet Jack knew instinctively that few people
were ever allowed to fathom her real feelings.
"Surely you see the likeness," Donald whispered boyishly. "It isn't that
their features are so alike, it is something I can hardly explain to you
if you don't see it yourself. I have always thought my mother the most
beautiful person in the world, but your sister is nearly as pretty."
Jack frowned, for she did not care to have Donald Harmon discuss Olive
in this outspoken fashion.
Mrs. Harmon was sitting between Jean and Olive, listening to Jean's
apology for the broken teacups. Like most older people, she was
attracted by her piquant manner and appearance. So far she had paid no
particular attention to Olive, hereby including her with the other in a
general greeting.
Donald strode over to his sister's chair and murmured something under
his breath. Elizabeth flushed, stared across the room and shook her head
pettishly. It was one of the trials of her life that, though she bore no
resemblance to her beautiful mother, her brother was supposed to look
like her.
Olive and Mrs. Harmon had their heads close together. "I say, mother,"
Don broke out impetuously, "for the life of me I can't see why no one
else speaks of it. Miss Olive Ralston looks ten times more like you
than either Elizabeth or I do."
Mrs. Harmon turned to face Olive. "I wish I thought so, Don," she
answered girlishly: "Miss Ralston is so pretty." She took one of Olive's
hands, but Olive was so embarrassed at being the center of all eyes that
she blushed furiously and gazed steadfastly down at her lap.
"I am sorry not to agree with you, Don, dear," Mrs. Harmon answered a
moment later. "This Miss Ralston looks like a foreign girl, an Italian
or Spaniard, and I am a thorough New Yorker. Were your father and mother
western people?" she asked Olive.
Olive's face paled and her lips quivered. Would she have courage to
announce before these strangers that she had no idea who her mother and
father were nor from whence they had come? Before she could find her
voice Jack rushed blindly to the rescue. "Olive is our adopted sister,
Mrs. Harmon," she explained briefly; "but we do not like people to know
it, so we rarely speak of her past. You must forgive her if she does not
answer you."
With perfect good taste Mrs. Harmon immediately changed the conversation
to another subject, but Jack, who was watching her closely, saw that
every now and then she gazed intently at Olive. If any odd fancy crossed
her mind or any half-forgotten memory, she gave no sign of it. Once she
leaned back wearily after Elizabeth had contradicted her, and Jack had
an uncomfortable moment. Perhaps Mrs. Harmon did suggest Olive when her
eyes were down and her face was in repose, but she banished the idea as
a ridiculous one. Donald, however, clung obstinately to his first
impression and devoted the rest of his time to trying to make Olive
talk.
Quite naturally the group of people had separated themselves into pairs.
Jack, who was so strong and independent, who showed vigor and joy of
living in every movement of her body, was deeply touched by Elizabeth
Harmon's weakness. She recognized that the girl was spoiled and that she
might be subject to impossible moods, but she was so sorry for her that
she didn't care about her faults. Indeed, she said to herself that if
ever she had the same misfortune to endure she would be far more
difficult than Elizabeth.
"I wish my father would come," Elizabeth said to Jack for the third time
in the last ten minutes. "You see, he and I are chums, and mother and
Don rather hit it off better together. Mother is awfully good to me and
lets me do whatever I please, but she has never been able to forgive my
not being good-looking like Don."
Before Jack could show Elizabeth how her speech had shocked her, Mr.
Harmon's entrance brought a new atmosphere into the room. He was a
typical Wall Street broker, well dressed, with a heavy-set figure,
reddish hair that was turning white, and a curt, businesslike manner. He
spoke politely to his wife and her guests, but it was plain to
everybody present that he thought only of his daughter. Jack believed
she would have disliked him except for his devotion to Elizabeth. He
never seemed unconscious of her for a moment and his expression softened
each time he spoke to her. Otherwise he appeared as a shrewd, hard man
who would get the best of a bargain whenever he had the chance. Standing
at the back of his daughter's chair, he at once asked Jack a dozen
questions about Rainbow Lodge--what vegetables were raised in their
garden, whether they were included in the rent of the Lodge, what the
water supply was for the house. It was evident that he meant to get as
much as possible for his money, and Jack wondered if the richest people
were not often those who tried to drive the hardest bargains.
Only once did Mr. Harmon's manner change. This was when Elizabeth put
her hand on his sleeve and begged him to ask Jack if there was a pony on
the ranch that she could have to drive.
"I'm not a rich man--far from it," Mr. Harmon remarked quickly; "but if
you will let my daughter have one of your horses for the summer, I will
pay you anything in reason. There is nothing in the world I care for so
deeply as her health and happiness."
Jack shook her head. From her position near the sick girl she could see
how Elizabeth's eyes glistened at the prospect of being allowed to drive
herself. "I'm so sorry," Jack answered. "If any one of us had a pony
that would be of any pleasure to Elizabeth, of course we would lend it
to her with pleasure, but you see we only ride horseback at the ranch
and have never owned any kind of cart. The ponies are not broken for
driving."
As soon as her speech was over Jack realized that Elizabeth Harmon
resented her mention of their horseback riding, because it was a
pleasure impossible for her, and that Mr. Harmon was in such close
sympathy with his daughter that he also was displeased. But Jack, in
spite of her hot temper, was not offended. "I tell you what we might do,
Miss Harmon: suppose you get your father to send a governess' cart, or
whatever you wish to use, to the Rainbow Ranch right away. Then when we
go back I will make one of our cowboys begin to accustom one of our
ponies to driving. Your brother can see that it is all right, and
perhaps we may possibly have a chance to go over the ranch together. I
would like to show you the places we love best, before we start on our
trip. I am sure ranch life and the bracing western air will do your
daughter a great deal of good, Mr. Harmon," Jack said, rising to give
Jean and Olive the signal for saying farewell.
"I wish you weren't going away, Miss Ralston--Jack," Elizabeth Harmon
burst out impulsively. "If you would stay at home with me I would be
sure to get well."
Jack laughed. "You are awfully good, but if we stayed at home there
would be no room for you. But I feel ever so much happier about renting
our home since I have met you. I love the ranch so dearly I am afraid
that anyone who sees it will begin to care for it as I do and try to
get possession of it as soon as we are out of sight."
Mr. Harmon shook hands with Jack with more cordiality than he showed to
most people. "Don't worry about your cattle ranch, Miss Ralston," he
protested. "I am about as much interested in raising cattle as I am in
the North Pole, but if you find any odd gold mines on your way to the
Yellowstone, I'm the man for you. I make a specialty of gold mining
stock on Wall Street."
Having safely arrived once more at Mrs. Peterson's boarding house, the
three ranch girls retired to their bedrooms as soon as dinner was over.
After several hours of animated discussion, the decision was reached
that on the whole the Harmons had not made an agreeable impression. Jack
liked Elizabeth, and Jean and Olive thought Mrs. Harmon very attractive
and the son fairly so. But their new acquaintances did not strike the
girls as a happy or united family. Certainly there were grave
differences of opinion between them and they seemed to be divided among
themselves.
Among them, Jack, Olive and Jean managed to eat three pounds of candy
before they went to sleep. Jack wondered next morning if it were the
candy or the experiences of the day that made her sleep such a queer
jumble of dreams. She dreamed that the Harmons were trying to get Olive
away from her and that she was holding to her skirts with all her might.
Then Frank Kent appeared, but instead of helping her save Olive he
seemed to be on the Harmons' side. Jack felt herself slipping down, down
into a great, dark abyss. She awakened finally to find the tears running
down her cheeks, Jean punching her in the ribs to bring her back to her
senses and Olive imploring her to tell them what was the trouble.
"Come out of that nightmare, for heaven's sake, Jack Ralston," Jean
insisted. "You were weeping as though some terrible thing had happened.
As I was dreaming sweetly of our caravan trip I thought you were some
wild animal wailing, away off in the wilderness."
CHAPTER VII
"A LITTLE HOUSE ON WHEELS"
"Our caravan looks like the real thing, doesn't it, Jim?" Jean
exclaimed, balancing herself insecurely on the front wheel of a mammoth
wagon and peering over inside it at a tall figure under the cover. "Do
you think we will be able to get off this afternoon?"
Jim Colter climbed wearily out and sat on the driver's seat, surveying
his questioner gloomily. "Don't you think you might go in the house and
dress or fix your hair or something?" he asked. "You have asked me
twenty questions in the last ten minutes, and I might be working in the
time it takes to answer you. We are going to get away from this ranch
to-day if it's dark before we start. It's awful with those Harmons, and
you and Jack sleeping at the rancho, and Olive and Frieda and Miss Ruth
crowded into one bedroom at the Lodge. I don't see why they couldn't
have stayed away from here until after we had gone. They have nearly
pestered the life out of me, and now what do you think is the latest?"
Jim lit a cigar about half a foot long, so it occurred to Jean that he
must intend to continue the conversation with her for at least a few
minutes. She caught hold of Jim's hand and swung herself up into the
seat beside him.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning, ten days after the ranch girls'
trip to Laramie. The caravan for their journey to the Yellowstone Park
was standing alongside the road midway between Rainbow Lodge and the
rancho, where Jim lived. It was a comfortable distance from the Lodge,
because Jim preferred any amount of labor in carrying the girls'
belongings from their house to the wagon to being compelled to exchange
fashionable conversation with the Harmon family and to answer their
tenderfoot questions about the affairs of the ranch. Near Jean's and
Jim's novel traveling coach, four rough, short-legged ponies and four
larger horses tethered to short ropes were quietly grazing. The scene
suggested a circus resting for a short time before starting on its
travels. The troupe of actors at present included only Jean and Jim,
but the circus appeared to be a new and stylish one, for "Mrs. Jarley's"
famous caravan was not more spick and span and less like a gypsy cart
than the little house on wheels belonging to the ranch girls. Instead of
being covered with an ordinary white canvas top, the canopy over the
largest of the ranch mess-wagons was made of new, strong and serviceable
golden-brown waterproof khaki. The expedition into wonderland was to
have a strictly military appearance, for the five girls were to wear
service uniforms of the same material.
"Well, what's the latest, Jim?" Jean inquired coaxingly, crossing her
feet and slipping her arm through her companion's. She was feeling a
little sore, for Olive and Jack had gone off driving with Elizabeth and
Donald Harmon without asking her to go with them, as the cart held only
four people. So Jean was rather glad to gossip about the newly arrived
family.
Jim frowned darkly in answer to Jean's question. "Well, the first
thing--that Harmon fellow marched himself down to the rancho this
morning before any of you girls were up and invited me to let him go
along on our trip, if you would give your consent. I told him I wasn't
thinking of running a co-educational excursion party; my job was to look
after girls, not boys." Jim took another long, slow puff at his cigar
and was silent.
"Do go on, Jim," Jean urged, giving him a friendly nudge. "You know
Donald Harmon said something else that made you cross."
"Oh, no, except he asked such an all-fired lot of questions," Jim
answered. "I didn't see his game at first; he kind of led up to it by
degrees. But he wanted to know how long Olive had been living with us
and how you girls happened to adopt her and what made her own people
give her up. When I found out what he was after I didn't give him the
least bit of information. I hate a Paul Pry."
Jean laughed lightly, "Oh, it isn't just curiosity on Donald Harmon's
part, Jim. Of course, you and Jack would scorn to notice it, but Donald
has a crush on Olive. I have seen it from the first. Olive don't like
him a bit, but he is always staring at her."
Jim threw away his half-finished cigar. "Look here, Jean Bruce, will you
please stop talking about crushes and such nonsense?" he remarked
sternly. "I never hear any of the other girls talking such foolishness,
and I think Miss Ruth ought to see that you put a stop to it. I mean to
speak to her about it."
"Grouchy," Jean whispered under her breath, then her eyes sparkled
wickedly. "Here comes Ruth now; I'll run and tell her that you want to
complain of the way she is bringing me up." Jean slid down over the
wagon wheel out of the reach of Jim's restraining fingers, and he
retired into the covered depth of the wagon, pretending not to have
observed Miss Drew's approach. However, Jean fled past her chaperon
without a word and only a mischievous nod of her head.
Ruth was walking down the road from the Lodge, already dressed for the
journey. Little blonde Frieda was on one side of her and little brown
Carlos on the other, and all of them had their arms loaded with bundles.
Ruth wore a short, plaited skirt which showed her pretty feet clad in
high, brown leather boots. A Norfolk jacket, a tan silk blouse and a
soft brown felt hat completed her costume. Somehow she seemed to have
lost ten years of her age and looked about eighteen. There was no trace
of the maidenly primness that had been so conspicuous in the early days
of her stay at the Rainbow Ranch. Her figure was pretty enough for a
model in a fashion paper; her ash-brown hair and eyes that had once
seemed plain when her skin was sallow, now had a picturesque charm of
their own. Ruth's coloring suggested Burne-Jones' pictures of English
women, with the same dull, even tones in their hair and eyes, and their
clear, pallid skins warmed by an inner glow.
Frieda's going-away suit was also khaki and made in exactly the same
style as the other girls'. She was too funny in it, with her plump body
and fat legs. But her eyes under her plain felt hat were bluer than
myrtle and her cheeks pinker than a rose.
Of the trio approaching the apparently empty caravan, only Carlos'
expression was serious. A kind of inner rapture transfigured even his
Indian solemnity. To be in the wilderness again and this time not with a
roving Indian camp, but with "The Big White Chief," which was his name
of Jim, and "The Princess," his title for Olive--the soul of the lad was
filled to overflowing. Therefore, since an Indian must never show an
emotion of joy or sorrow, Carlos was more silent than ever. No wonder
Frieda had lately found him a dull playmate, but then he filled one
requirement--he was a good listener. So, on the whole, she was glad he
was to be a member of their expedition though she could fancy a
companion.
"Oh, Mr. Colter," Ruth's voice called, as she drew nearer the caravan,
"if you are not too busy here are a few more things you might put in the
wagon for us. We saw you hide a few minutes ago."
Jim stuck his head out and tried to look as severe as possible, though
his companions were not of the kind one could easily treat with
severity.
"Miss Drew," he said sternly, "if I had known what you girls were going
to take on this trip I should never have consented to run it. I lie
awake nights wondering how four horses are going to pull such a load,
seven people and all this truck," Jim groaned. "I'm glad we've got two
extra pack horses and two ponies for riding."
Ruth laughed, not in the least disturbed by Jim's complaints. "Please
come down out of the wagon, Mr. Colter, and go attend to the last things
on the ranch. We are to have an early lunch so we can start soon after.
I know I won't have the least trouble in finding a place to store away
these things."
Jim crawled out submissively, lifting Frieda and Ruth into the van;
then, after Carlos climbed in, he left them.
The three newcomers stood silent for a moment inside their caravan,
speechless with satisfaction, as they surveyed the interior beauty and
trimness of their equipage. The frame that supported the khaki cover of
the wagon had been made by a cowboy on the ranch who had formerly been a
carpenter. He had fashioned two small windows, one on either side, and
at these windows Ruth had hung white muslin curtains. Outside the canopy
toward the front of the wagon were two broad seats, each capable of
holding three persons and shut off from the back by a heavy khaki
curtain, while under the canopy were two long benches to rest the
travelers by day and to serve Jim and Carlos for beds by night.
Suitcases and boxes were stored under the benches and seats, blankets
and pillows were rolled tight and crammed into every available space.
From a nail in the frame of the wagon hung a large mirror which Jean
insisted upon bringing, completely surrounded by pots and pans and
important kitchen utensils. There was no great store of provisions; as
the caravaners trusted to their guns and fishing tackle for game and
fish, and intended to restock their larder in the towns along their
route. A plan of campaign had been drawn up and solemnly agreed
upon--the five girls were to do the cooking, Jim to look after the
horses and set up the sleeping tent, and Carlos to fetch wood and water
and teach them all he knew of the lore of the great outdoors.
Ruth saw that everything in the little house on wheels was in shipshape
order for their start before she and the children returned to the Lodge
to see if Olive and Jack were at home.
The two girls had been driving around the Rainbow Ranch with Donald and
Elizabeth Harmon the greater part of the morning. From the hour of
Elizabeth's arrival at the Lodge the day before she had not been willing
to let Jack out of her sight. It was very trying, as Jack longed to help
with the last preparations for their departure, but, faithful to her
promise, with Olive's assistance she was showing off the place, driving
an old plough horse hitched to a low yellow cart, which Mr. Harmon had
sent from town for his daughter. There was no pony yet safe to use with
Elizabeth. They rode along on the far side of Rainbow Creek, the ranch
girls pointing out the best fishing pools to Donald and showing him the
trails that led to different parts of the ranch. Near the middle of the
creek and in sight of the big rock where "Gypsy Joe" had been seen
making his investigations, Elizabeth insisted she was tired and they
must stop for her to rest. Donald lifted her out and she sat down on the
trunk of an old tree with Olive, while Jack and Donald walked a few
yards farther on, leaving their horse to wait patiently for them.
"I am going to show you a discovery, Mr. Harmon," Jack declared in a
friendly fashion, anxious to make their new acquaintance feel at home.
"Years ago I found a secret trail along here which no one knew of. It
leads from this thick underbrush." Jack got down on her knees before a
clump of bushes and parted them. Sure enough there was the beginning of
an overgrown path which the eye could follow for a short distance. "I
found this trail one day when I was a little girl playing over here with
Jean and Frieda," she explained, "and I went on and on for miles until
I came to a cave in some rocks, where some settlers had once lived. Jim
Colter believes the path was made by gold seekers who came to get water
from Rainbow Creek. Some of our other men claim they were searching for
gold in our creek."
At this moment Elizabeth's impatient voice was heard, and Jack and
Donald went back to her, but not before Donald had made up his mind to
investigate the mysterious path pointed out to him. He meant to find out
whether an eastern tenderfoot could be trusted to find his way along
those first trails which the earliest pioneers had left.
Olive had been amusing Elizabeth by carving on the stump of a tree an
Indian design, a perfect square cut into four equal parts, representing
the direction of the four winds. Now Elizabeth insisted that they write
their names in the spaces to show the bond of friendship between them.
Neither Jack nor Olive wished to promise their friendship so readily to
comparative strangers, yet neither of them knew how to deny the sick
girl's whim. So the compact was made before they returned home.
Ruth and the girls were to have their last luncheon with Mr. and Mrs.
Harmon at the Lodge; Jim was not to be with them, as he scorned to have
anything to do with the strangers. The last course had been served and
they were just getting up from the table when a long, clear call was
heard. The five ranch girls sprang instantly to their feet and began to
gather up their coats and last remaining parcels. On the front porch
farewells were said to Mr. and Mrs. Harmon and Elizabeth and to Aunt
Ellen and Uncle Zack. The old woman, who was to stay to look after the
newcomers with her husband's help, had her apron over her head and
refused to be comforted; Uncle Zack was equally depressed, realizing the
loneliness and longing for the girls that they would soon feel.
Five khaki figures now sped down the road toward the caravan with
Donald, who was trying to assist with the bundles. Seated in the
driver's seat, with Carlos next him, and cracking a long whip, was Jim
Colter. Every speck of his grouchiness had disappeared; his eyes were as
shining and his lips as smiling as Frieda's.
"Good-by, Mr. Harmon," Jack said, smiling half sadly at Donald. "Please
take good care of things for us at the ranch. I feel almost like a
traitor in turning my back on my home."
Donald laughed. "Oh, don't worry," he answered kindly. "You will find
things just as you left them when you get back. You know we want to
borrow, not to steal your place." And for some reason neither Jack nor
Donald ever forgot his words.
The horn sounded again; Jim turned his horses with their noses toward
the western sun, when suddenly there was a loud clanging from the great
bell that hung in front of the rancho to summon the cowboys from across
the fields. Six cowboys rode in toward the caravan in as many different
directions. As the big wagon wheels crunched in the sand with the
pack-horses trailing behind and Olive's and Jack's ponies alongside, the
six cowboys formed a semicircle, the emblem of the Rainbow Ranch, and
cracking their whips in unison let out a tremendous yell. It was the
call the Indians use before going into battle and it might have frozen
the blood of the uninitiated, but the ranch girls knew it meant good
luck and went away with the sound ringing in their ears.
The caravan party did not feel they had started on their journey until
they crossed the border of their own ranch. The land beyond was
familiar enough, but this afternoon it was invested with a new charm. It
was a new world, because they had set out on a voyage of discovery, so
it was disenchanting when they had ridden a few miles beyond their own
place to discover another caravan, smaller and far shabbier than theirs,
but still a caravan, drawn up by the side of a solitary tree along the
road. A ragged girl nursing a baby was resting in the grass and an old
woman was bending over a freshly lit camp-fire. There was no man in
sight, but Jim recognized the wayfarers with a sudden tightening of his
lips before any one of the girls spoke.
"Why, there are our gypsies!" Jean declared lightly. "And, Ruth, there
is the old woman who told us our fortunes. She said you were going on a
journey, and sure enough you are! I wonder if any other of her
predictions will come true. She told us such a jumble of things and most
of it was such utter nonsense that I can't remember half of them."
Ruth leaned over toward the front seat: "Have you any idea why those
people are staying around in this neighborhood, Mr. Jim?" she asked,
using her new name for him for the first time.
"No," Jim answered truthfully, beaming approval of his title.
An hour or so afterwards Jack and Olive were riding ahead of the wagon
looking for a suitable place to strike camp for the night. There was no
water near, but a tiny clump of trees offered a certain shelter, and
they went toward it. From a cluster of bushes a western bluebird, which
is bluer than all others, rose up and soared over the girls' heads,
homing toward its nest in the trees. It was a wonderful darting ray of
splendid color against the orange glow of the setting sun.
Olive clapped her hands softly. "O Jack, do let's get Jim to pitch our
tent here for the night. That was a bluebird that flew across our path,
and it's a good omen: 'the bluebird for happiness'--don't you remember
the play Ruth read us?"
CHAPTER VIII
ALONG THE ROAD
For a week the caravan party moved on. They had gotten away from the
railroad and were following an ancient trail which wound southward to
the timber-lands of the Yellowstone, passing through valleys and canyons
and over upland summits, now faint and grass-grown, now lost in the sand
drifts, but always reappearing and always re-discovered by Jim's trained
eyes. The journey across the state was to last several weeks, and the
caravaners were in no hurry to accomplish it.
One morning Ruth came to the tent door, dressed before any of the girls.
She stood for a moment looking about her and then waved her hand to Jim,
who was chopping a big log of wood that Carlos had dragged into the camp
the night before. "Mr. Jim," she called, "do you think there is any
special need of our traveling to-day? The girls and I have been talking
things over and we think that we and the horses need a rest. This is
such an enchanting place, anyhow, I feel this morning I would like to
spend my life here."
Jim stalked over to the tent, with his face as radiant as the morning.
He had his arms full of wood, and the string of shining fish over his
shoulder showed that he had been up and at work for several hours.
"Sure," he agreed heartily. "I'd like nothing better than to loaf a
while in this part of the country. I've got some harness to mend and a
lot of odd jobs to do, and this is sure the prettiest spot we've seen."
The wagon and horses were a little distance from the ranch girls' tent,
but still in plain view. The tent was at the head of a silver stream
that ran like a ribbon through a green oasis of "gramma" grass. In the
distance rocks that looked like battlements rose on either side of a
deep gorge, and dimly seen farther on were hoary old mountain tops with
their peaked caps of snow.
Ruth laughed. "An honest confession is good for the soul, isn't it? I
should have told you that my real reason for not wishing to move on
to-day is that I simply have got to do some housekeeping. My New
England soul is racked by the way our pots and pans are looking, and
Jean says if she doesn't have a chance to wash the sand out of her hair
she will have to cut it off and wear a wig. If you'll make up the fire
for me, I'll get breakfast in a minute; the girls already are starving."
"Then why don't one of them come out and help you cook?" Jim demanded
autocratically. "I'm plumb afraid they are putting too much of the work
on you."
"Injustice, thy name is Jim Colter!" Jack exclaimed at this minute,
appearing before the fire with a sleepy look in her gray eyes, and a
coffeepot in her hand. "I told Ruth I'd get breakfast this morning, so
run away, Ruthie, and help Frieda find her clothes; she is in the depth
of despair about one of her shoes. And tell Jean and Olive they must set
the table."
Jim swung his fish before Jack's delighted eyes. "I'll cook these,
Missie," he said calmly. "I don't believe I care to trust you."
"All right. I'll fry the bacon to go with them," Jack returned in her
most professional cook manner. "I like the odor of bacon these mornings
in camp better than any flower that blooms. Isn't it great that we have
had a whole week of perfect sunshiny weather?"
The camp breakfast did not take much more than half an hour to get,
though it was a pretty substantial meal. Coffee and chunks of toasted
bread, fish, bacon, marmalade and jam, and this morning fresh water from
the near-by spring, formed the menu. It took quite as long to eat,
however, as the most elaborate repast served by a fashionable New York
hotel. Jim moved over a little nearer the fire to be farther away from
the girls when he finished. He got out his favorite pipe and tenderly
snuggled the tobacco into it, and Jack saw the thought of the day's
chores fade gently from his mind and a reminiscent light come into his
eyes. Ruth was no longer overcome by household cares. The day stretched
on before them, apparently an endless chain of golden opportunities to
do nothing.
"I was around in this neighborhood once before," Jim remarked casually.
This was as near as Jim had ever gotten to being confidential, and Jean
and Jack exchanged glances.
"What were you doing here, Jim?" Jack queried, trying to make her voice
appear perfectly indifferent.
Jim hunched his big shoulders and took a long puff at his pipe. "I was
prospecting for gold, same as every other young idiot that ever came
west not knowing a lump of gold from a chunk of mud when he found it,"
he returned calmly. "There are three little pine cone hills a matter of
ten miles from here, with an ugly stream of water and a group of trees
near them, where I believe I had a claim located once, a good many moons
ago."
"And you never told us a word about it. Jim Colter, you are a pig!" Jean
declared inelegantly.
"There wasn't nothing to tell, Jean," Jim replied in his usual slow,
indifferent manner. "Just another fellow and I saw a hill with some bits
of black rock with yellow streaks in it, and we dug away for a couple of
months without getting anything out of it but trouble."
"Jim, I don't believe there wasn't gold in your mine," Jean declared
resolutely. "You just gave up too soon."
"All right, Miss Bruce," Jim agreed. "You can have my claim if you want
it. Come to find out, we weren't the first and I don't reckon we were
the last fellows to go digging in that hill. It's called 'Miner's
Folly', and is about as gloomy a looking hole as anybody ever saw."
"I'd like to see the place awfully, Jim," Jack suggested eagerly.
"Don't doubt it for a moment, Jack," Jim returned unwinkingly.
Jack whispered something in Jean's ear. "I'll do no such thing, Jack
Ralston," Jean replied firmly. "Remember, yesterday you were awfully
selfish about letting me have my turn at riding horseback with Olive. I
told you then I shouldn't do the next favor you asked me and I certainly
don't mean to wear myself out on such a tramp. Besides, Jim wouldn't
think of taking you."
"Wouldn't you, Jim?" Jack pleaded meekly.
Jim appeared to have no ears.
Jack slipped around by the fire and dropped a few pine cones on it.
"Wouldn't you kind of like to see that old mine you deserted, Jim?" Jack
queried. "Suppose there is any change in it? Maybe it has turned out to
be a really valuable claim since your day and you have never heard of
it."
Jim shook his head, but Jack saw that she had lighted the fires of
desire in his soul. "Maybe I will walk over toward the old spot just to
see what the scenery is like, when I finish my work," Jim admitted, a
few minutes later, and his admission spelt defeat.
An hour after, Jim Colter and Jack Ralston set out with their rifles
over their shoulders and their pockets stuffed with provisions, to find
Jim's unlucky mine. Little brown Carlos followed them like a persistent,
though distant shadow. He had been ordered by Jim to stay near the tent,
water the horses and make himself generally useful, for Jim did not
believe that he and Jack could get back from their fool's errand before
bedtime. Of course, Jim did not consider that the girls he left behind
would get into danger or mischief in his absence, or he would never have
gone; but they had met with no rough characters on their journey and the
country seemed perfectly safe. Neither Ruth nor Olive nor Jean objected
to being left alone; indeed, they were rather glad to get rid of the man
of their party for a little while. Ruth was worried only for fear Jack
would get overtired from her long walk; she did not dream that any other
trouble might befall her with Jim as her escort.
"Slow but sure, Jack. Remember, you promised to trust to my judgment on
this trip," Jim suggested kindly, when after several miles of travel
Jack showed no signs of fatigue.
"All right, I remember," Jack answered obediently. "Let's sit down."
The two travelers had reached the deep gorge which they had seen from
their tent, and Jim recalled that the trail to the old mine had followed
this ravine for a part of the way and then branched off across country
to the west.
Jack's sudden backward glance caught sight of a moving figure behind
them. In a moment she recognized Carlos and wondered what Jim would say
to him, for she knew he could be pretty fierce and savage when he was
disobeyed.
"There's Carlos," Jack pleaded meekly; "don't be hard on him."
"I've known he was after us for the last half hour," Jim replied curtly.
"Carlos, come here."
Carlos had been creeping along through the grass in Indian fashion, but
now he straightened up his lithe body and came straight toward Jim. Jack
knew he was horribly frightened and so she couldn't help but admire the
boy's sudden grip on himself. He looked straight into the "Big White
Chief's" eyes; only once his eyelids twitched.
"Why did you come with us when I said stay behind?" Jim demanded quietly
with his own peculiar sternness.
The boy hesitated; but an Indian does not lie to his friends. "I heard
you speak of the cave of the never-found gold," Carlos answered simply.
"The Indians of the plains now know the value of the white man's gold.
Often have I followed them into the desert to search for it in vain. For
nothing else would I leave the women whom you gave me to tend, but I too
must see the place of which you speak."
Jim groaned, and Jack laughed lightly. "Come on, Carlos," she said
kindly. "Partner," she turned to Jim, "no matter what happens from this
day's outing, remember you are responsible for planting the gold microbe
in Carlos and me." For the rest of their tramp Jack could not but amuse
herself, whenever her companions were silent, with wild dreams of what
joy it would be for them to come across a gold mine and get suddenly
very rich. She kept guessing and planning what she and the other girls
would do. More than anything, she wished to play fairy godmother to the
overseer of their ranch. During the week of their caravan trip, Jim had
showed so plainly that only Ruth and Frieda were still unconscious of
it, how much he cared for the ranch girl's chaperon. And Jack knew how
little, except the strength of his love, he had to offer her. Jim had
been running the Rainbow Ranch, receiving a salary so small for the
value of his services that it made Jack blush to think of it.
Time after time had she begged him to manage the ranch on shares, but he
had always refused, saying he had no need of money, and the place made
only enough to pay expenses, take care of the girls, and put a little by
for their futures. And Jim knew they would need more money some day if
they were ever to see anything of the great world which lay outside
their ranch lands.
Jim paid no heed to Jack's unnatural silence, for his mind was fixed on
a discovery that absorbed his entire interest. Other travelers had
lately crossed the trail which he and his companions were following.
Footprints were fresh upon it, and in an out-of-the-way spot a tin can
showed a bright new label. The footprints not only followed the path
along the side of the ravine, but marked the same track through the more
open country. Without these signs, Jim knew he could never have traced
the old trail so easily, yet he felt the gold prospector's hot glow of
resentment--another man had located his claim. Then he smiled,
remembering he had turned his back on it as no good, nearly fourteen
years before. Without a word to his companions, however, he kept his
eyes fastened steadfastly on the ground and his ears alert for every
sound each step of the way, but no other human being appeared in the
vast solitude. Once Jim and Jack sighted a covey of quail and killed
half a dozen. Ruth and the other girls were willing to eat quail so long
as they did not have to see them killed.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the travelers had their first
vision of Jim's three pine cone hills with the stream of brackish water
running down the side of one of them, and in the background a dense
thicket of evergreens. Forgetting their tired feet, Jack and Carlos made
a sudden rush, but Jim caught hold of them, making them keep close to
his side until he saw the place was deserted. At last he brought them in
breathless silence to a yawning cave in the middle hill. It was only a
great, black hole, dull and uninteresting. Jack peered well into it for
a sign of anything that sparkled or shone like a precious metal. It
showed only a mixture of earth and stones and sand, and the whole place
was so gloomy it gave her a shiver of apprehension. The sun was not so
bright as it had been a short time before. Suddenly she felt cold and
weary, though she could not explain the cause.
"It's a pretty dismal place, isn't it, Jim?" Jack said quickly. "I am
awfully glad to have seen it of course, but I don't wonder you ran away.
I am sure no gold could be discovered here." And the girl heaved a sigh
of fatigue and disappointment. She was sure she had made the trip simply
from idle curiosity, yet the chance of their finding a gold mine had
been lurking in the back of her mind.
Jim was stalking about the deserted mine like a hound that had been
given a scent. He had seen, not far from one of the hills, a piled-up
heap of ashes, which showed that a fire had been built there within the
past few days, and the rank grass in the vicinity pressed down by human
bodies. Jack had picked up a tool from the earth immediately in front
of the mine, and the tool had been lately used.
"Wait here for me, Jack," Jim suggested finally. "I know you are tired
and need a rest before we start back. Carlos, look after Miss Jack and
don't go out of sight. I want to explore the neighborhood a bit. I will
not be long. Nothing will happen, but if you want me call out."
Jack paid no special attention to Jim's departure. She found a
comfortable place, sat down and closed her eyes. How soon she fell
asleep she did not know, but she heard no sound from Carlos when he
slipped away into the woods back of them. Tempted by the possession of a
new gun, the boy disobeyed a second time that day.
CHAPTER IX
"MINER'S FOLLY"
Jack sat up with a start. She had dozed only a few minutes, and felt
indignant with Carlos when she found he also had deserted her. It was
time they were starting back for camp. "Jim! Jim! Carlos!" she halloed,
in half-hearted fashion; then she hugged her sweater closer about her,
glad that Ruth had insisted on her wearing it, for as evening approached
it was growing strangely cooler.
There seemed nothing to do that was interesting before her companions
returned. Jack wandered idly to the edge of the pine woods behind the
hills, but saw and heard nothing of Carlos; then she examined the small
stream along one of the hillsides, knelt and scooped up a handful of
water, putting it to her lips. It was salt as the Dead Sea, and must
have made life doubly hard for the men who worked in "Miner's Folly,"
for they could hear its soft trickle by day and night and yet never
quench their thirst in its waters.
All this time Jack was thinking, not of what she was doing, but of the
queer big hole in the side of the hill, that was like a wound.
Irresistibly she was drawn toward it by an impulse of curiosity and
dread. Jim had told her of no tragedies except disappointed hopes that
were buried in the deserted mine, yet she felt that if the cavern could
suddenly change into an open mouth it would have many strange stories to
tell of lives and fortunes lost by its false lure.
Jack stared so hard into the entrance of the tunnel that it no longer
seemed dark to her. She went into it a few feet and peered about her.
Curiosity was one of the strongest traits of Jacqueline Ralston's
character, not a girl's idle desire so much as a boy's firm
determination to find out what things are like, and how they are
accomplished. Jack had never seen a gold mine before, and she did not
wish to tell the girls nothing except that it was a big hole in the
earth. The mouth of the cave was uninteresting, so Jack lit a match and
walked a few feet further in. On the ground were bits of broken stone
which she stuffed in her pocket for Frieda, thinking she spied an odd
glimmer in them. Although the main entrance to the mine was through a
single opening, by the aid of her flickering light Jack saw that miners
had pursued many dead lodes in the sides of the hill. This means they
had dug tunnels wherever they hoped to follow a vein of gold, until the
whole inside of the hill looked like a network of black passages.
It now occurred to Jack that Jim and Carlos must have returned and
surely they would think the earth had opened and swallowed her, so out
she crept into the daylight again. The place was still solitary and
gloomy. "Jim! Jim! Carlos!" Jack cried aloud. There was no answer. If
only she had waited five or ten minutes more before she started back
into that gruesome cave. And yet, perhaps, the spirits of other
adventurous natures were summoning her to follow them.
One passage was larger than the others. Jack certainly thought she saw
stones that shone like gold lying near its mouth. It was separated from
the main tunnel by a gully, across which some planks had been laid. With
a lighted match in her hand and gazing upward, Jack stepped on the
forward end of a plank. In a flash her light went out and she fell back
with a heavy thud. Her weight on the loose plank had caused it to rise
up, striking her in the forehead with terrific force. Fortunately, she
had fallen clear of the gully, but her body lay in the shadow out of the
reach of any light that might come from the mouth of the cave. She
suffered no pain; the blow had been too swift and sure, stunning her
into silence and complete unconsciousness.
"Oo! Ooo! Oooo!" Jim whistled through his fingers nearly a quarter of a
mile away. "Cheer up, Jack, I'm coming at last," he shouted, a few yards
farther on. His conscience had begun to trouble him, and he was quite
prepared to find Jack cross at having been forced to wait for him more
than half an hour. Jim had not consulted his watch at the moment of his
departure, but he was fairly certain that he had been gone some time,
and that they must hurry off at once if they were to be with Ruth and
the girls by an early bedtime.
Jim whistled and called all the way to the three pine cone hills. He
presumed he would have to make his peace with his companion by telling
her that he had discovered other visitors to the old mine within a very
short time. There were evidences of their presence everywhere in the
vicinity, and they had not been idle curiosity seekers, but men with a
mission. Whether they had given up the hunt for gold and gone away from
the neighborhood of the mine for good, Jim could not tell. This was one
of the reasons why he had prowled around so long. He had gone to all the
likely spots near by, where a party of miners might be camping, thinking
he might run across them, but not one of them had turned up.
Pretty soon, Jim discovered that Jack and Carlos were not in the spot
where he left them, but he did not yet feel uneasiness. He circled
around the three hills; he went a short distance into the thicket of
pine trees, making as much racket as possible; he gave the long cowboy
call of the Rainbow Ranch. And then Jim's blue eyes turned black with
anger and his sun-tanned skin grew red. He was exceedingly angry with
Jack and Carlos, he was frightened, and an inner voice reminded him that
if anything had happened to them he was to blame for leaving them so
long alone.
But what could have happened?--for no one else had come near the place.
Jim saw Jack's footprints leading to the entrance of the cave, but his
own and the Indian boy's were alongside them, and as they had rushed to
look in the mine the first moment of their arrival he did not think to
search for fresh tracks. And yet, for an instant, Jim had an odd
premonition urging him toward the deserted mine.
The wind was now blowing hard across the plains; and the sun was
slipping down to the line of the far horizon, not in a crimson glow, but
in a piled-up mass of smoke--gray clouds lit with flame-colored sparks.
Jim watched it uneasily. A summer storm was coming up after their week
of perfect weather, and Jack, who knew the signs of the weather as well
as any backwoodsman, had probably set off with Carlos for their camp,
expecting him to overtake them. There was no other explanation for their
disappearance. Once Jim walked irresolutely toward the mouth of the
mine; then he turned, quickly moving off along the trail, wondering how
far his companions would be able to travel before he reached them.
Within twenty yards he halted, swung himself about and, in spite of his
worry and haste, strode back to the open mine, where he had once vainly
tried to find his fortune. Jim did not know exactly why he returned; he
never dreamed that either Jack or Carlos could be inside, but he had to
obey the impulse that first prompted him.
The great hole in the hillside was blacker than ever, and Jim felt a
shudder of repulsion as he gazed into it. He had always hated his old
subterranean existence of digging into the earth for her treasures, when
everywhere on her broad plains the fruit and flowers and grasses offered
an equal opportunity and a fuller and higher meaning to life.
"Jack! Jack!" Jim called weakly, down on his knees at the gaping mouth
of the tunnel, trying to grow more accustomed to the darkness and crying
Jack's name, not because he thought her near, but because he was filled
with a vague foreboding.
There was no answer out of the grim darkness. Jack could give no sign of
her presence, and the black shadow into which she had fallen hid the
outline of her prostrate body.
Suddenly a boom of distant thunder sounded from the far side of the
world, and Jim Colter sprang quickly to his feet, for he knew how
swiftly storms travel across the western plains, and he feared Jack and
Carlos might wait for him in the dangerous shelter of the trees. Faster
than he had run in many a long day he left the neighborhood of the
unlucky mine.
A little later Carlos appeared at the opening of the pine woods, his
brown face scratched, his breath coming unevenly, with his gun on his
square, lean shoulder, and a little bunch of a feathery or furry
something tucked under his arm. He did not linger as Jim had; he
believed at once that his companions had given him up, and sped on as
fast as his weary brown legs could carry him along the path which had
brought them to the place of the pine cone hills. Carlos had wandered
too far into the woods and had lost his way, but now he hoped to
overtake the other adventurers and in some way to make his peace.
When Jack opened her eyes it was nearly dark outside the mine as well as
in. She lay quite still, feeling a dull pain in her head and an aching
numbness in her body. "Olive! Jean! Ruth!" she called fretfully. "I'm
ill. Why don't somebody come to me?" She thought she had wakened in the
middle of the night in her bed at Rainbow Lodge. Poor Jack put out her
hand to touch Jean, who usually slept with her, and her fingers closed
on some loose mud and gravel. She held it for a moment and struggled to
sit up, but her head ached harder than ever, and she reached back to
find her lost pillow. There was only the earth to touch again, and
slowly her consciousness returned. Jack stumbled to her feet and made
for the faint light at the tunnel entrance. She took a few uncertain
steps and sank down in a little heap on the outside at the foot of one
of the hills. Drops of rain were falling, and the wind whistled through
the tops of the tallest pine trees and swirled around the crests of the
lonely hills. "Jim! Jim! surely you haven't left me!" Jack cried aloud.
She was not usually timid or nervous, but the deserted place had alarmed
her when she came to it early in the afternoon. Now she was alone in it,
and about to face a fierce summer storm. Dulled by the pain in her head
and by hunger and thirst, for Jim had carried the food and water bottle
away in his pockets, she was uncertain as to how she had come to the
mine and whether she would ever be able to keep to the return trail.
Jack's face was white and her expression unusual, while just over her
temple there was an ugly bruise, and she did not feel able to think
clearly. Once she put her hand to her head and was surprised to find her
hair damp with wisps of wet curls streaking her forehead. Then she
wondered what had become of her hat. An instant later she knew she had
dropped it off her head when she fell inside the mine, but nothing would
have induced her to go in again to find it. If Jim came back, perhaps he
or Carlos would get it for her. Sometimes she was not certain of whether
Jim and Carlos had just gone away for a few minutes or whether she had
been waiting for them a great many hours. Then she pictured them back at
their tent in the green place by the quiet stream, and wondered what
they would do when she did not come.
It began to rain harder and faster in big pelting drops; lumps of hail
beat down on Jack's shoulders and unprotected head. She ran to the woods
to hide, but the place was so sodden and wet and ghostly in the twilight
that she would not enter it. There was nothing to do but to try to find
her way back to camp alone. Jack thought her head ached less and her
decision a wise one. She did not realize that her friends could return
to the old mine for her, but once missing the trail back to them she
would be utterly lost in the wilderness. Jack recalled that several
miles ahead there was a deep gorge with high walls on either side of
it, and that she and Jim and Carlos had followed a path at the side of
this ravine for a part of their journey. She would strike out across the
open country, feeling sure that its high walls could soon be seen rising
like a wall of mist beyond the rain.
Flying along on feet unconscious of fatigue, fighting through the storm
and darkness and calling aloud when she had the strength, in about an
hour Jack reached the ravine. No actual sight of the trail had guided
her, but an instinctive feeling for the right direction. Now she sat
down for a few minutes in the shelter of an overhanging rock, hoping the
storm would blow over or that Jim would find her. But the thunder
crashed on, and the wind in the jagged rocks of the ravine moaned and
sighed like lost souls wandering in the walled chambers of the canyons,
crying for release. Had she ever been rash enough to say she loved the
splendid western storms? Jack asked herself. Yes, even in her terror and
loneliness she realized there was something magnificent and
awe-inspiring in their sudden fury and abandon, as though nature,
yielding to a burst of elemental passion, poured forth her anger on the
earth in the sweeping rain and furious charges of electricity.
When half an hour passed, the young girl crept out of her hiding place.
Perhaps the storm was less severe; anyhow, she would rather face any
fate than remain in the gorge all night. It was now too dark to see
anything except the vague outlines of rocks and bunches of low shrubs.
For a moment Jack stood still, trying to remember whether she should
turn to the right or left, and straining her eyes to catch sight of a
familiar object that might help her to decide. Then she moved off in
exactly the wrong direction, with each step getting farther and farther
away from her friends and shelter.
Trained to a knowledge of animal life in the plains of the great West,
Jacqueline knew the call of almost every wild beast that is still native
to the uncivilized portions of the western states. After walking for
another hour, a sound filled her with horror. It was the low cry of a
cougar! A thicket of trees and underbrush bordered one side of her path;
on the other, lay the deep hollow of the ravine. And it had just begun
to dawn on Jack that she was going in the wrong direction; she had
passed by no such dense shrubbery in her morning journey. But this was
not the time to turn back, nor must she show hesitation or fear, well
knowing that the wild creature behind her would dog the footsteps of a
solitary traveler, keeping only a short distance away, like a hungry
wolf, and though a coward at heart, spring upon her if she showed
weakness or defeat.
Digging her nails in the palms of her hands, Jacqueline crashed on,
shouting when she could. A little while before, she had felt ill and
deadly tired; now, forgetting both, her old courage revived. In the
tragedies of the afternoon, her rifle had been forgotten and left
outside the mine, but the big cat back of her would never dare attack
her if she kept steadily on, frightening it by loud shouting and
trampling.
How far Jack walked that night she never knew. There were times when the
cougar kept back of her, then he seemed to be walking along by her side
in the shelter of the thicket. Now and then Jack believed he slipped in
front of her, crouching in a clump of underbrush, but she never once
caught sight of the big furtive cat, though she was always conscious of
the presence slinking near her. If it is necessary to prove that the
modern American girl still has the nerve and fortitude of her pioneer
grandmother, Jacqueline Ralston proved it that night. Not for a moment
did she falter in her long march in the darkness.
A few hours before daylight the rain suddenly ceased and the stars came
out as though the storm had not interrupted the usual hour of their
appearance. Now Jack could rest at last! Having come through the wooded
place, her enemy no longer pursued her. There were no more rocks ahead.
She had reached the end of the gorge; the country beyond was a well-nigh
unbroken plain.
A few yards farther on the young girl spied, like a dim sentinel, the
outline of a solitary tree with its close, low branches sweeping the
ground. Even in the darkness of night she knew a comfortable shelter
could be found in it, for its beautiful boughs extended in a solid mass
of foliage from its crown to its base, so the rain could scarcely have
soaked through them. Jack crawled into the cradle-shaped branches and
lay down to wait for the dawn and whatever the new day might bring
forth, wondering if she were too tired to care what happened to her or
if she had earned any shadow of right to the title Carlos had once
given her: "The Girl Who Was Never Afraid."
It never dawned on her that sleep could come; but before the lamps in
the sky went out she had journeyed to that dim country where we find
strength for the next day's need.
CHAPTER X
BY THE WAYSIDE TENT
Hardly had the three more adventurous members of the caravan party
turned their backs on their wayside tent for their trip to the far-off
gold mine, when Ruth, Jean, Olive and Frieda were seized with a furious
attack of housewifely energy. Everything was routed out of the tent and
wagon. A flapping line of blankets hung on Jim's best lasso, which was
stretched from a tree to a tent pole. Then the girls collected their
laundry and carried it down to the brook. The water of the stream was so
clear that every pebble shone under it like a jewel, and the sand was as
white as the sand of the sea. Over a shimmering pool a broad, flat rock
formed a comfortable platform.
Jean and Ruth got down on their knees on this stone, swashing their
clothes up and down and smearing them with big bars of soap, like the
laundresses in Holland, until the clear water of the brook was a mass
of iridescent soap bubbles.
Olive and Frieda rinsed and squeezed and spread the clothes out on the
grass or hung them picturesquely over the low bushes. At the end of
their labors, Frieda and Jean started a shadow dance with a big red
tablecloth which Ruth had washed none too clean. Jean flapped it from
one end, Frieda swirled it from the other; it flew up in the air like a
red balloon and collapsed just as suddenly. Ruth and Olive rested in a
patch of sunshine watching them. Suddenly Jean attempted to twist her
unwieldy scarf into graceful curves about Frieda, but instead, tripped
her up, and the little girl lay in a heap of helpless laughter on the
grass. Straightway, Jean flung herself down beside her, beginning to
unwind her long braids of hair.
"Ruth, make Frieda let me wash her hair," Jean urged. "She doesn't look
like our pretty blond baby any more, but a poor, neglected 'orfling.' I
am sure if she lies down flat on the rock, I can manage so she won't
tumble into the brook."
Frieda crawled out of Jean's embrace, looking quite unresigned to the
experience ahead of her. "You shan't do any such thing, Jean Bruce,"
she protested; "you'll get gallons of soap in my eyes and make me all
sandy."
Jean struck a dramatic attitude. "Frieda Ralston, if you will let me
make you beautiful, I will give you all my share of the gold that Jim
and Jack bring back from the mine," she exclaimed.
Frieda shook her head. "They won't bring any gold," she said firmly.
"But you'll feel lots better, Frieda," Ruth begged.
Frieda saw that the weight of opinion was against her, and, besides, she
was vain of her hair and did wish it to look pretty again, so she gave
in graciously.
"All right, Jean, if you will ride horseback with me all day to-morrow
and make Olive and Jack ride in the wagon, I guess I will let you," she
conceded.
Jean had the sleeves of her shirtwaist rolled up past her dimpled elbows
and the collar of her white blouse tucked in at the neck. She felt as
much at home by the wayside pool as she did in Rainbow Lodge. Frieda was
wrapped in a white towel like a shawl. Only once, toward the end of the
washing operation, did she utter a squeal of indignation, and Ruth and
Olive immediately ran to her rescue.
"Jean's caught a minnow in my hair," she insisted wrathfully, with her
face very red. "I saw the tiniest one sailing down the brook by me, and
then all at once it disappeared, and I am sure I can feel it wriggling
on my neck."
Ruth made a careful examination of the clean yellow hair before Frieda
would be reconciled. Then she led the small girl away to a sunshiny
spot, spreading her hair over her shoulders to dry, until she looked
like the original "Miss Goldilocks" in the old fairy tale. Frieda was
given a piece of scalloping, which she had been working on for weeks, to
keep her quiet.
"Jean," Ruth called a minute later, "do you mind staying here with
Frieda for a little while? Olive and I have to go foraging for some
chips before we can make the fire burn for luncheon, naughty Carlos
having deserted us. Do you think you can make yourself lovely and keep
an eye on things at the same time?"
Jean nodded peacefully from her throne of rocks, though a minute before
she had been hot from her exertions and angry at Frieda's ingratitude.
"Sure, as my name is Jean Bruce, I can," she answered cheerfully,
letting down the masses of her dark-brown hair. She made such a pretty
picture that Ruth watched her smilingly for a few minutes. She thought
she loved all the girls alike now, but Jack and Olive were her friends
and Jean and Frieda her children. She guessed her business of playing
chaperon to the ranch girls would not be an easy one, if ever Jean got
away from their western life into the gay society world of which she
dreamed and talked.
But no frivolous ideas of a society existence now engaged Miss Bruce's
attention, and she had no more idea of being disturbed than if she had
been the original lady in the Garden of Eden. Jean was indeed the
nut-brown maid of whom old-fashioned poets loved to write. Her hair had
no golden tones in it; only the rich browns of the autumn woods, and her
eyes matched it in color. She was paler than the other ranch girls, with
a soft, healthy pallor, although to-day a little tanned and rosier than
usual from her week's trip in the caravan.
Frieda glanced around to see Jean leaning over the water with her hair
covering her face. It did not seem worth while to disturb her, so
without a word, Frieda slipped away to their tent to search for more
thread for her sewing.
Jean could not hear very well at this time had she spoken, for the brook
made a roary, gurgling noise of its own in her ears, and her head swam
from being held upside down so long.
"Crunch, crunch, crunch." Some one was marching along the side of the
stream right in her direction. Jean did not trouble to take her hair out
of the water or to look around. Of course it could be no one but Frieda!
"Well, I never in all my life!" she heard a perfectly strange masculine
voice exclaim. "I know I have walked straight into fairy land, and you
must be the queen who has brought all this magic to pass over night, for
I passed this stream just two days ago and there wasn't a sign of a tent
or a caravan or a princess anywhere around."
Jean flung back her long, brown hair with a gasp of sheer surprise, and
the drops of crystal water showered around her like the diamonds that
fell from the mouth of the good sister in the fairy story.
"I have been washing my hair," she announced to the strange youth, and
then because her explanation was so obvious, they both laughed. "You
see, I hadn't the faintest idea anybody could turn up in this wilderness
except us," she explained, not very grammatically. "We are making a
caravan trip through the state."
"I suppose I ought to say I am awfully sorry I intruded," the young
fellow answered. "Of course, you know, I would say it if I had bobbed
into a lady's boudoir unexpectedly, but I am so glad to see some one in
this out-of-the-way place that I haven't a social fib at my disposal.
Don't you think you could let me stop to rest and perhaps talk to you a
few minutes?"
Jean drew herself up in an effort to look as dignified and
unapproachable as she felt sure Jack and Olive would have done under the
same circumstances. Far be it from either of them to engage in a
friendly conversation with a stranger, even in a trackless waste; but to
save her life Jean couldn't keep her eyes from shining mischievously.
The water was trickling down her back until her shoulders were damp
through her shirtwaist. Knowing she looked dreadfully foolish, she
could not make up her mind to do anything so unattractive as
deliberately to squeeze the water out of her hair or roll up her head in
a towel before this handsome young fellow.
He was somewhat older than Donald Harmon or Frank Kent, and his eyes
were as blue and his hair as golden as Siegfried's, thought romantic
Jean, if only he were dressed in a suit of silver armor instead of
dust-covered corduroys. The traveler had a knapsack strapped over his
shoulders and a gun in his hand; his whole appearance suggested a long
tramp.
Jean gazed at him meaningly. Ordinary intelligence might suggest to him
that he turn his back for a few minutes while she repaired her damaged
toilet, but the young fellow evidently had no such amiable intention. He
seated himself by the edge of the brook a few feet from Jean. "My name
is Ralph Merrit. I'm a mining engineer," he announced briefly.
Jean slightly inclined her wet head. "If you don't mind, I must beg you
to excuse me?" she returned as haughtily as even Jack could have
desired. Suddenly she made up her mind to snub this uncomfortably stupid
acquaintance. Off she marched in as stately a fashion as possible, when
one considers her damp, flowing locks and the fact that she had to pick
her way through their various articles of laundry spread on the grass.
Inside the security of the tent Jean rubbed her hair vigorously and
waved it energetically through the opening at the door, so it might dry
as soon as possible. Frieda stationed herself outside the tent so as to
communicate all possible information about the intruder to Jean.
"Has he gone yet?" Jean inquired for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Frieda shook her head. "He isn't going for a long time, Jeanie, I
believe," she returned. "He is sitting by our brook just as though he
never means to leave it. Now he has gotten up and is drinking some
water. Now he is washing his face," she whispered excitedly, "and is
taking a mirror out of his pocket to prink."
Jean and Frieda giggled and Jean joined her little cousin out of doors.
She had piled her hair in a loose, damp mass on top of her head, for she
was now determined, with Frieda for a chaperon, gently but firmly to
persuade the young man to leave their Adamless Eden.
"Oh," said Jean, as, holding fast to Frieda's hand, she got within
speaking distance of the stranger, "are you still here?" As there was
nothing in the world to interrupt Miss Bruce's vision of the young man,
even if she had been hopelessly near-sighted, he was obliged to
understand her meaning. Coloring hotly under his already rosy skin, he
got up.
"I thought you wouldn't mind if I rested a bit," he explained. "I have
been tramping around this neighborhood for the last two days and I was
counting on slowing up when I got back to this place. I need to fill my
water bottles. And look here, I wonder if you would give me something to
eat. You don't know it, but it is a custom for travelers of the open
road to help each other out."
Ralph Merrit knew he had never seen a girl whose expression changed as
swiftly as Jean's. A minute before, her eyes had been cool and reserved,
and now they were brimming pools of kindness.
"Oh, I am so sorry you are hungry. I'll get you something to eat right
away," she replied sympathetically. "If you will stay until Cousin Ruth
and Olive come back I know they will invite you to lunch. I am sure you
will tell how you happened to turn up here, and, of course, I can see
you are a gentleman," she ended.
Ralph's face flushed gratefully, "You are awfully kind," he murmured,
and then all at once Frieda saved the situation from further
embarrassment. Suddenly she thrust into the young man's hand a large,
red apple and a cracker, which she had concealed in her apron pocket.
She had been foraging on her own account inside their tent, but had
forgotten her provisions in the interest of Jean's discovery.
Ten minutes later Ruth and Olive appeared on the scene, swinging a large
basket of chips and pine cones between them. In amazement they set down
their basket and stared at a three cornered group composed of Jean,
Frieda and a strange young man, seated comfortably on the ground,
laughing and talking and lunching on their best jam and pickles and
bread.
CHAPTER XI
"WHERE'S JACK?"
Ralph Merrit explained his unexpected appearance to Ruth in a far more
conventional fashion than Jean had required. He was a native of Chicago,
a graduate of a mining school, and had come west to see if he could make
his living by testing the gold deposits in the mining camps in the
northwest states. Two miners had induced him to go with them to an old
mine not far away to see if their discoveries of gold deposits were of
value. When the find turned out to be no good, the men had slipped away,
leaving him, and not only refusing to pay what they had promised for his
services, but stealing all the money he had with him. For the past two
days the young man had been scouring the country for the thieves, but he
now believed they had gotten to some town and were safely out of his
reach.
"I should be awfully grateful to you, Miss Drew, if you would tell me
the way to the nearest village," Ralph Merrit said at the end of his
story. "I am green about this part of the country and don't know in what
direction to move on."
Ruth shook her head. "I am afraid I don't know either," she confessed,
"but if you will spend the day here with us until our guide, Mr. Colter,
comes back, he will tell you anything you wish to know."
Ralph accepted the invitation gratefully, although he hardly guessed
what a concession it represented. A year before, when Ruth Drew left
Vermont, she had never spoken to a man in her life without a formal
introduction, and now she was inviting a stranger to spend the day with
her and the three girls in the woods. But Ruth never doubted the story
Ralph Merrit had told her for a moment, although it was an unusual one.
No one who was a judge of character ever doubted Ralph. He was a
straightforward, manly, determined fellow, with a strong will and a
sense of humor--one of the most delightful combinations in the
world--and from the first hour of their acquaintance he was a special
favorite with Ruth and later with Jim Colter.
For several hours, Ralph made himself a useful visitor, insisting on
bringing in fresh stores of wood, as he assured his hostesses their
stock would never last over night, and they would desire to keep up a
particularly brilliant fire as a beacon light to the wanderers from
camp.
About four o'clock in the afternoon Ruth suggested that the five of them
take a walk to find out the source of the little stream, which made such
a wonderful oasis in the stretch of sandy desert. After a few miles,
Ruth, Olive and Frieda sat down to rest, while Jean and Ralph carried on
their explorations. They had caught a splendid lot of fish, but Ralph
had his gun with him and hoped to get some game for their supper. The
young man and girl had talked to each other for the past few hours, but
now they seemed to feel well enough acquainted to keep silent and enjoy
the exquisite beauty of the scenery. They had wandered to the source of
the brook. Trickling down from the base of a low hill, it was circled by
a grove of cottonwood and spruce trees. Jean and Ralph hid in the
underbrush and got softly down on their knees so as to make no possible
noise, for they saw a few yards ahead a delicate, dappled fawn, with its
nose deep in the clear water. Its sides were of a light gray and brown,
its legs like slender staves, and its long ears as soft and sensitive as
any created thing. The scene was so beautiful that Jean's eyes grew
suddenly misty with tears.
Ralph also felt a quiver of excitement stiffen his arm. His companion
was behind him and out of any possible danger, the fawn was in direct
range of his gun and as yet unconscious of his presence.
The young man lifted his gun, took direct aim, and his fingers pressed
the trigger. At the same instant the gun kicked up in the air, exploded
and the shot went wide of its mark. For one quivering instant the fawn
gazed at the hunter, its big brown eyes full of terror and reproach, and
then with a bound was off through the trees and out of sight.
"How could you, Miss Bruce?" Ralph demanded indignantly, turning on
Jean. "If you hadn't struck the butt of my gun I should have gotten that
deer and we would have had fresh meat for a week." He stopped abruptly.
Jean's eyes were as wide open and brown and frightened as the fawn's and
her body trembled just as delicately.
[Illustration: "HOW COULD YOU, MISS BRUCE?" RALPH DEMANDED INDIGNANTLY.]
"How could _you_?" she replied brokenly. "I couldn't bear to have you
kill that lovely, gentle thing. I can't help it, I hate people who kill
things. But if you think you will be hungry because of what I did, I'll
get Ruth and Jim to let me give you some of my share of our food in the
caravan," and Jean marched back to her friends and would have nothing
more to say to her companion for the rest of the day.
Just before tea time, the storm that had overtaken the travelers to the
deserted mine gathered over the little party, who were resting near the
tent. Ruth and the girls tried their best to fight down their fears, but
their lips and eyes asked the same question: "How were Jim and Jack and
Carlos to fight their way back to them through the darkness and rain and
wind with only the light of the small lantern Jim had taken with him
when they set out?"
Jean and Olive got a hasty supper, while Ralph Merrit lashed the tent
ropes more closely to the ground, found what shelter he could for the
horses, and made a canopy of pine branches over the fire, so that the
downpour of rain should not put it out. It was about dusk when he found
Ruth and Frieda standing outside their tent door watching with white,
nervous faces the big clouds roll together in a black mass.
"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Miss Drew?"
Ralph asked. "You have been awfully good to me, and I can't tell you how
I appreciate it. Why, this day with you has been almost like running
across my own people here in this wilderness. But if there is nothing I
can do, I had best move on to find some sort of shelter for the night
before the storm gets worse."
Ruth put out her hand, impulsively clutching Ralph's coat sleeve.
"Please, please don't leave us until Mr. Colter and Jack and Carlos
return," she begged. "I told them I would not be worried if they did not
get back until quite late, but this storm makes us feel so much more
lonely and frightened."
Ralph patted Ruth's hand reassuringly. "Of course I won't go if you
would like me to stay," he answered cheerfully. "And you mustn't be
alarmed. I'll watch the fire to keep it from going out, and when your
friends return, I'll roost in a tree, like 'Monsieur Chantecler,' and
wake you first thing in the morning."
Ruth smiled, and Olive, who had come out of the tent with Jean, looked
less forlorn; but Jean, although she was devoutly glad they were not to
be left alone, could not cheer up. She walked apart from the others, not
wishing them to guess how uneasy she felt about Jack. Of course nothing
was going to happen, but she wished she had not accused Jack of being
selfish the day before.
Ralph Merrit came over and stood silently at Jean's side for a moment.
He felt twice her age and was actually eight years older.
"I did not know you would mind my shot this afternoon," he began stiffly
in the fashion in which a man usually apologizes. "If you had been
brought up in a city and were unused to hunting I might have understood
your feeling. As it was I----"
Jean's cheeks flushed in the somber twilight. Already the first drops of
rain were falling. Ruth was calling them inside the tent.
"I hope I have not been rude," she said. "I ought to have explained to
you that I can never bear to see anything killed. My cousin, Jack
Ralston, and the overseer of our ranch, Jim Colter, both think I am
awfully silly because I never go hunting with them even when they are
after wild game, though I can shoot pretty well. But when a bird or
animal is full of motion and maybe joy, why, to see it stiff and cold
all of a sudden and to know you can never make it alive again----"
Jean's voice broke off abruptly. She did not care to show emotion to a
stranger.
"I understand," Ralph answered slowly. "I believe I would like to have
my sister feel that way. I know you have not asked it of me, and we may
never meet again, but so long as I live I shall never kill anything
unless I positively need it for food, or am trying to protect some one."
For several hours Ruth, the girls and their guest huddled inside their
tent waiting for the storm to pass and the wanderers to return. The rain
beat in until their waterproof cloaks were hung over the slits and
openings, and then, in spite of the coldness of the night outside, the
air in the tent grew close and heavy. Ruth did her best to keep up a
conversation with Ralph, but Jean and Olive sat on a pile of sofa
cushions with their arms about each other, waiting, listening for some
sound that would tell them the wayfarers were almost home. Frieda had
fallen asleep in a weary lump on a cot, with a tear of sheer
lonesomeness for Jack not yet dry on her pink cheek.
Suddenly the girls jumped to their feet and Frieda rolled off the cot.
From afar off they heard Jim's familiar whistle and long, cheerful call.
Ralph Merrit rushed out to pile the fire with the pine cones and logs
they had been keeping dry inside the tent. Jean and Olive lit the extra
candles they had been saving all evening. The rain having almost ceased,
Ruth flung a mackintosh about her and ran forth to follow the sound of
Jim's voice.
"Home at last!" thought Jim Colter happily, his worry and uncertainty
slipping from him as he caught the distant gleam of the camp-fire. For
many miles after leaving the mine he had hurried on, expecting each
moment to overtake Jack and Carlos. Then fearing they might have lost
their way, he turned aside at every doubtful place along the trail,
searching and calling their names until he was hoarse. Not only was he
torn with anxiety at the loss of his fellow-truants, but uneasy about
Ruth and the girls alone in a tent in a fierce summer tempest. Now his
journey was almost over, he believed Jack and Carlos had traveled fast
and were safe within their own shelter. The vision of Ruth's pretty
figure battling toward him through the wind seemed a good omen.
Both of them stretched out their hands. "Where's Jack?" they cried in
the same breath. And Ruth was glad she had caught Jim's big hands in her
warm ones, for the great, self-controlled overseer of the Rainbow Ranch
shook like a child in a chill. "Aren't Jack and Carlos with you?" he
queried hoarsely. And Ruth shook her head, drawing him, stumbling like a
blind man, to their camp-fire.
All night long she sat by the fire with him while the girls and Ralph
Merrit made coffee and walked back and forth from the tent to them. No
one thought of going to bed. Jim wished to be off at once to recommence
his search, but Ruth persuaded him to wait till daylight. For his sake
she pretended to believe that Jack was too clever not to have found a
refuge for herself and Carlos for the night. They were glad that the
little Indian boy had run away with Jim and Jack to the mine, for it was
better that Jack should not be alone.
At the first streak of dawn a light footfall sounded some distance away.
Jim and Ruth and Ralph Merrit sprang up from the smouldering fire. "It's
Jack!" Ruth cried happily, so that Jean and Olive and Frieda heard her,
and came running pale and breathless from the shelter of the tent.
Stealing up the pathway of light made by the first streak of rose color
in the sky was little brown Carlos, but he walked alone.
"Where's Jack?" called everybody this time. And Carlos shook his head
uncertainly. He could not understand. There stood "The Big White Chief,"
and certainly he must have brought their companion back with him. Why
did they ask _him_ about "The Girl Who Was Never Afraid"? He was only a
little boy, even though an Indian; he was hungry and cold and tired and
had found his way all alone through the darkness of night in a strange
country, and no one, not even "The Princess," seemed glad to see him.
Carlos blinked, but his bronze, statuesque face showed absolutely no
emotion. He dropped a little gray ball of fur on the ground, which
Frieda picked up with a cry of pleasure.
CHAPTER XII
CARLOS MAKES GOOD
"Don't, please, Mr. Colter!" Olive faltered.
Frieda clutched at Jean's skirts, with big tears in her eyes, and Jean
stared at the scene with a frightened face. Ralph Merrit had walked some
distance away and Ruth had gone back to their tent, worn out by her
second disappointment over Jack's failure to return. The three girls who
remained had rarely seen anyone so angry as Jim Colter. He had not
spoken when Carlos first returned; now he made the boy stand up before
him and give an account of himself.
Ruth was crying when she heard a swish of a whip through the air and
thought she caught the sound of a sob from Frieda. She listened again.
Jim was speaking in a voice she did not know he could use, and for a
minute she turned quite cold.
"You deserter," the voice said harshly. "I forgave you for running away
from camp this morning, when I told you to stay behind, and then when I
leave you for an instant you turn traitor the second time. There is no
blood of an Indian Chief in your veins; they at least keep faith with
their friends." Swish! Ruth knew the whip had struck again.
She slipped quietly on the scene. Olive and Frieda were both crying, and
Jean was biting her trembling lips. Jim's face was crimson and his blue
eyes blazed as only a man's can who is slow to anger. Only Carlos stood
as still as stone. He had but one thin shirt over his slender body, but
when he staggered it was from fatigue not pain. He bore his punishment
with the silence and fortitude of an Indian warrior.
Jim had lifted his stick for the third time and this blow he meant to
make the severest of all. A small, white hand closed over the raised
whip. "Stop, Mr. Jim," Ruth said quietly. "Carlos is a child and
whatever he has done he is too tired for you to punish him now. I think
he did not mean to desert Jack any more than you did." Ruth did not
intend her words as a reproach, but Jim's arm dropped quickly to his
side and he turned so pale that she was frightened. "Take Carlos away
and see that he has something to eat," he ordered Olive, "and, Jean,
make Frieda stop crying." Without glancing at Ruth, Jim picked up a
flask of beef tea, which he had had prepared for Jack's return, and
without another word set out to search for Jack.
A little later Ralph Merrit proposed that he too should go out to
reconnoiter. Having also met with misfortune at "Miner's Folly," he knew
the country all about the neighborhood. The young man was saying good-by
to Ruth and Frieda, when Jean's face, paler and more wistful than usual,
appeared over her chaperon's shoulder.
"Ruth, dear, Olive and I want to go with Mr. Merrit to look for Jack,"
she begged. "Yes, I know it is awfully selfish of us to leave you, but
we are perfectly worn out with waiting. Besides, Jack don't know Mr.
Merrit and he will never be able to persuade her to return with him."
Ralph laughed. "Frieda, won't you give me the blue ribbon on your hair
to prove to your sister I have been a guest of the caravan party?" he
asked. "Though, of course, I don't believe she would be so obstinate."
Frieda solemnly unwound the band of ribbon which she used to keep her
hair out of her eyes, and Ralph tied it in his buttonhole, where the
ends floated out like blue pennants; but understanding their impatience,
Ruth let Olive and Jean go to assist in the search for Jack.
It was now broad daylight; the birds were singing and the sun shining
with the peculiar brilliancy that follows a rain-washed night. Ruth put
Frieda to bed, as the little girl was exhausted; then she persuaded
Carlos to lie down on her own cot. The boy had said nothing, only he
never let go the gray ball of fur which he had brought home from the
woods, but kept it pressed close to him. Ruth had no idea what animal
Carlos had found, though it had a sharp, pointed nose, restless eyes,
and every now and then tore at something with its baby teeth. Hidden
near an old tree in the woods back of the gold mine, Carlos had run
across a baby wolf cub, and having a curious fellowship with animals,
had brought it back with him, hoping he might be allowed to raise it as
a dog.
The ranch girls knew of Carlos' strange communion with birds and beasts.
They would come at his call and eat out of his brown hand, but it did
not seem remarkable to them, as the boy had lived always in the open and
was only a half-tamed creature himself.
Ruth left the children alone in the tent. Fifteen minutes later she
returned and Carlos had again disappeared. This time she made up her
mind that the Indian boy must be sent back to his own people, since they
could do nothing to stop his disobedience. But Olive had been trying to
teach the little fellow to read and write, and in straightening up her
bed Ruth found a piece of torn yellow paper. On it Carlos had written in
quaint, scrawling letters: "I Go Girl Never Afrid. Find Not, Come Back
Not."
Ruth put the letter away; her heart once more softened toward the lad,
hoping for his sake that he might be the one to bring Jack to them.
But no one need have been troubled about Jack on this wonderful summer
morning. Quite comfortably she awoke in her nest of branches to a
bewildering chorus of song, a little stiff, of course; hungry and
thirsty. But climbing out on the ground, she ran for half a mile until
the soreness was out of her muscles and the surging blood warmed her
heart and cheeks. Jack took off her sweater, carrying it under her arm,
the wind blew back her hair, which had the colors of the sun in it, her
lips were open and full and a deep crimson. If ever any of the old-time
pagan goddesses that one reads of in mythology sheds her influence over
the modern girl, Jack had drawn some of her spirit from Diana. She
looked as you might imagine Diana to have looked after she had spent the
night hunting with her maidens in some lonely forest--fresh, brilliant
and gay.
When Jack stopped to rest from her run she saw, near the rocky gorges
and in many of the waste places, red cacti blooming against the gray
buttes, like splashes of flame. Gathering a little she stuck it in her
belt, but Jack hoped to discover a cactus plant of a different kind. Her
father and Jim had taught her all they knew of the plants and flowers
that grow in the American desert, for they wished her to be prepared for
just such an emergency as had now befallen her. At first Jack kept close
to the path at the side of the gorge, retracing the steps she had
wrongly taken the night before. When she came beyond the thicket through
which the cougar had followed her, a stretch of arid country spread
away to her right on this side the gorge. Standing in the desert with
nothing about it but sand and sage brush, Jack spied the cactus she
sought. It rose like a tree, with thick, bunchy leaves at its base, and
dozens of clusters of small mustard-colored flowers on separate branches
sticking out from its summit like the ribs of an umbrella.
The American aloe has been the salvation of many a traveler in the
desert country of the West. Hurrying to it, Jack cut away some of the
thick leaves and then settling herself comfortably in the sand she
sucked the sap from the leaves until her throat was no longer parched
and her hunger and thirst were both appeased.
She was resting, trying to make up her mind to go back to the ravine,
where Jim would surely find her, when she heard a well-known whistle. It
was not like the note of a bird, and yet it did not seem to come from a
human throat, yet Jack recognized it at once. It was the odd sound
Carlos made when calling to the birds in the woods or fields. The call
had traveled a great distance in the clear morning air.
Jack clapped her hands loudly. "I am coming, Carlos, I am coming," she
cried; "wait for me." Then she ran back toward the edge of the cliff.
She would have liked to cry out with pleasure when she first saw Carlos,
but instead kept quite still.
The lad had made himself a whistle from a stalk of wild grass that grew
like a reed. He was wandering along searching everywhere for Jack, yet
beguiling his way with wonderful woodland noises which he made through
his whistle. A robin sat perched on his black hair, several other birds
fluttered over his head, afraid to alight and yet unwilling to leave
him. If Jack had suggested the huntress Diana, Carlos looked like a
follower of Pan. Surely in mythological days just such red-brown boys
had accompanied the old wood god, making the weird and eerie music that
caused a smile to hover ever on his wild face.
The caravan party, except Jim and the truants, were eating luncheon when
Jack and Carlos burst in upon them. Jack flew to Ruth, flinging her arms
about her and giving her a breathless hug. "It was all my fault, as
usual," she explained, "but there is nothing the matter with me except a
bruise on my forehead and an empty feeling in another place." Jack
stopped, suddenly discovering the presence of the stranger, Ralph
Merrit.
Hugging Jack with one arm, Ruth respectfully shook hands with Carlos
with the other. The small lad tried not to show emotion, but a light of
triumph shone in his eyes. He and not the "Big White Chief" had found
"The Girl Who Was Never Afraid." Now surely he would be forgiven the sin
of his failure to keep faith.
Worn and haggard, Jim returned a few hours later to find his
fellow-travelers engaged in cheerful conversation and seemingly
forgetful of the strain.
"I hope nothing will happen to me again while we are on this trip," Jack
remarked carelessly. "I thought last night in the storm that the gypsy
who came to our ranch had surely put her curse on me. You know she
announced that something would happen to me that would force me to
depend on other people, and as I had to depend on Carlos to show me the
way home to the caravan, perhaps the spell is past."
Olive, sitting next Jack, gave a shudder. She had never confessed how
much she had thought of the woman's evil words to her, but Frieda, who
was playing with the stones Jack had brought back from the gold mine,
made a quick turn in the conversation.
"Jean," she announced indignantly, "you told me you'd give me the gold
Jim and Jack brought from the mine with them, and now they haven't
brought any, because Ralph Merrit says these rocks are no better than
other pebbles. I really did think they might find some gold, though I
said I knew they wouldn't," she ended mournfully.
Jean laughed. "Same here, baby. I confess I thought maybe they would
come home with a grand discovery and we would all be as rich as cream
forever afterwards. Did you have any such idea in your head, Jack?"
Jack blushed. "Not really," she conceded; "but of course as soon as one
hears anything about a gold mine, one goes quite crazy. Remember how we
used to plan, when we were little girls, to run away and find the 'Pot
of Gold at the End of the Rainbow' as soon as we grew up?"
Jean and Frieda nodded, but the entire party was soon busy with their
plans for resuming their trip in the early morning. Jim asked Ralph
Merrit to go along to the Yellowstone Park with them. The young man had
been through the western reserve once before, and since his experience
with Jack, Jim thought it might be just as well to have another man to
divide responsibilities for the remainder of the trip.
By nine o'clock the next day the caravaners had moved away from the
quiet oasis in the desert, their tent had been folded up and the horses
reluctantly driven from the fresh grass. The little place had become but
a memory to its dwellers by the wayside.
CHAPTER XIII
ENTERING WONDERLAND
"The Forest of Arcady, Jim," Jean called gayly from her seat on the back
of her pony. She and Olive, with Ralph Merrit walking beside them, had
just climbed a steep road that led across the Continental Divide into
the great park of the Yellowstone, called Yellowstone by the Indians
many years ago, because its river ran like melted gold between massive
stone walls, shading from palest lemon to a deep orange glow.
Behind its outriders the ranch girls' caravan moved slowly upward. They
had been passing through tall pine forests that shut them in to a
cathedral gloom, but beyond and farther down the hill Jean had just
caught sight of a grove of quaking aspen trees with the sky above them
shining as bright as sunny Italy. The grove looked like a great umbrella
shop with its parasols open on parade, for the trees had circular green
tops growing high above the ground, and their straight, slender trunks
were like white umbrella handles.
Jim cracked his whip in answer to Jean's speech and Jack waved her hat
from the place next him; just behind them Ruth clutched at Frieda and
Carlos to keep them from falling into the road in their efforts to see
everything at once. Away to the right they could catch a faint glimpse
of one of the long arms of Yellowstone Lake, and they meant to reach a
hotel on its northern banks by twilight.
For the past ten days the caravan party had been moving almost steadily
onward. Twice only had they stopped at small towns for mail, to buy
fresh provisions and to get rid of some of the stains of travel.
However, the entire party looked like a troupe of Spanish gypsies, some
of them fair-haired and blue-eyed as the old Castilians, others dark as
the Moors, but all with their complexions tanned to varying shades of
brown from their weeks in the open air.
"Nature's Wonderland!" Jack spouted rapturously in the language of a
guidebook. "Really, Ruth, the Park is even more beautiful than we
dreamed, isn't it?"
But Jack ceased talking abruptly and Jim reined in his horses on a
stretch of level road, while Olive and Jean slid gently down from their
ponies' backs. The noise of their approach had frightened a band of
almost a hundred antelopes, who were browsing in a near-by forest, and
now they started off in a long, galloping run single file through the
trees to a fertile green valley below.
When the deer were out of sight, Frieda flung a dimpled brown arm about
Jim's neck. She wore a yellow straw bonnet with a blue ribbon on it,
tied under her chin. Ruth had purchased the bonnet in one of the towns
where they spent the night, for each member of the expedition was weary
of crawling down from the wagon to pick up Frieda's lost hat. "Do let's
rest here a few minutes, Jim," Frieda urged. "The horses have stopped,
anyhow, and my legs are so tired dangling from the seat."
Ruth had let go her hold on the children for a few minutes, and without
waiting for Jim's consent, by some sort of silent signal they both
slipped over the wagon wheels and danced away. For hours they had been
passing by every variety of beautiful wild flower, but this minute
Frieda and Carlos discovered an isolated hill crowned with jagged rocks
and covered with bitter-root, whose delicate blossoms made the ground
look like a carpet studded with small pink stars, leading to a giant's
castle in the air.
It was not yet time for luncheon, but the caravaners were always hungry,
and Ruth, Jean and Olive dragged a basket of sandwiches out of the
wagon, while Jim Colter and Ralph Merrit led the horses away to search
for water.
"Better look after the children, Jack," Ruth suggested carelessly.
Jack moved slowly toward the pink hill. She could see that Carlos had
run lightly up it and was now crowing proudly from the peak of one of
the highest rocks, while poor Frieda was crawling laboriously after him,
fired with ambition and envy. Jack stopped a minute to laugh. Her small
sister was so round and chubby, that even though she clung to the shrubs
as she struggled upward, every now and then she would slip back almost
as far as she had gone on.
"Don't try to go any farther, Frieda; come back to me," Jack cried
warningly. But Carlos had leaped to another higher crag and was
beckoning his companion to follow him, so Frieda either didn't hear or
wouldn't heed her elder sister; neither did she look upward toward the
goal "to which she would ascend." Carlos vanished around another rock
and was out of sight; he did not think to mention that there was a flat
platform back of the first big rock and that it was already occupied.
Suddenly from her position near the bottom of the hill, Jack saw an old
goat thrust his head out over this rock and survey Frieda, with the long
gray beard and the glittering eye of "The Ancient Mariner." He was
evidently an old time resident of the Park and had no intention of
sharing his retreat with an outside intruder.
"Frieda!" Jack halloed, now frightened and running up the hill as fast
as she could, but she could hardly hope to come to the rescue in time.
Blue-eyed Frieda had crawled up the side of the crag toward the spot
where the goat awaited her. Instead of a shout of triumph she gave a
horrified gasp of terror, never having intended to invade the castle of
the particular ogre she now beheld.
At this moment a tourist, who had been wandering idly around surveying
the scenery, saw the little girl and the goat. He laughed and moved
quickly in their direction. Jack was also doing her level best to arrive
before the tragedy, but the old goat preferred not to wait. He took a
few steps forward, hunching his shoulders and sidling along, then with a
snort of dignified rage and a shove of his shaggy gray head, he struck
poor Frieda in the middle of her small person and sent her over the side
of the rock down the hill, where she landed in a bed of the coveted
bitter-root blossoms.
"If you won't cry, little girl, I'll give you something I have in my
pocket," a strange gentleman said hurriedly, just as Frieda opened her
mouth to bewail her misfortune. Not only was she injured in her
feelings; she was hurt in other places as well, and her new bonnet
hopelessly smashed in on one side. Too surprised to do anything but
choke for a few seconds, Frieda let her preserver set her up on the
ground and brush off some of the sand and twigs. He seemed a middle-aged
man, quite as old as Jim, with iron-gray hair and dark eyes, and such a
funny expression through his glasses, it was hard to tell whether he was
smiling or sympathetic.
Jack now appeared and saw that her small sister was not seriously hurt.
Just as she started to thank her rescuer a vision of what they had just
seen flashed between them. Swiftly Jack's gray eyes darkened, her lips
curved and she burst into a peal of gay laughter, which the stranger
echoed until he had to take out his handkerchief to wipe his eyeglasses.
Frieda gazed at them both indignantly, then the tears which had been
nobly held back rushed down her pink cheeks like the streams from a
spouting geyser.
"Oh, dear me, now you are crying and I told you I would give you
something if you wouldn't!" the tourist remarked hastily. Down in his
pocket went his hand, and before Frieda's and Jack's amazed eyes were
displayed a handful of bright jewels, topaz and jasper, agate and
garnets.
Jack shook her head decisively. "No, thank you," she said. "You are very
kind, but they are much too valuable for Frieda to accept. We must say
good-by; our friends are signaling us."
Mr. Peter Drummond laughed good-humoredly. "Please let her have
one--they are not of value," he begged. "I just have a fancy for pretty
stones, like a small boy, and these have all been found in the state of
Wyoming." Frieda's small hand closed suddenly over a shining bit of
yellow jasper. Jack blushed, but there was no time for argument. Carlos
had already sped down the hill and Jim was shouting to them. From the
top of their caravan, as it took up its forward march, Jack and Frieda
beheld the distinguished stranger still watching them, and waved their
handkerchiefs to him in farewell.
Just before sunset the caravaners arrived in front of the hotel where
they intended to spend the night. Yellowstone Lake lay a wonderful sheet
of clear water at one side of them, but the travelers were weary of
scenery and far more interested in the guests who crowded the hotel
verandah. The women wore pretty afternoon toilets and the men white
flannels, as though they were visitors at fashionable Newport homes
instead of travelers in the heart of a wilderness.
"Great heavens, Ruth!" Jean murmured, as they dismounted and stood close
together in a frightened group, "my legs feel as though they were going
to give way under me and I am as bedraggled as any beggar maid. However
are we going to have the courage to march across that wretched porch
with all those people staring at us?"
"I don't know myself, Jean. I had no idea we would find so many visitors
here," Ruth replied, vainly trying to straighten her traveling hat,
which was considerably the worse for wear. Indeed the caravan party did
look almost as disreputable as they felt in their dusty, travel-worn
clothes, now brought into sudden contrast with well-dressed people.
Jack lifted her chin in her usual haughty fashion, assuming a courage
she did not feel. "Oh, well, we can't stand here in the road all
evening," she argued. "Jim and Mr. Merrit must see that the horses and
wagon are put up somewhere, so come on, Olive, let's lead the way. At
least we can be grateful that we don't know anyone here and no one knows
us."
Elderly ladies raised their lorgnettes to stare at the newcomers and
some young people whispered together.
"There they come, mother," a young girl cried excitedly. "I told you we
would get here before they did!"
Jack and Olive had just mounted the verandah steps with Carlos, and Ruth
and Jean, each holding Frieda's hand, were following close behind, when
there was a soft rustle of silk across the piazza and Mrs. Harmon and
her son Donald, whom the caravan party had left safe at Rainbow Lodge,
stood before them. A minute later a servant wheeled Elizabeth over in a
big chair.
"We just couldn't bear not to see the Yellowstone Park too," Elizabeth
explained fervently. "Don and I talked of nothing else after you went
away in your wonderful caravan, and at last father said mother could
bring us here. It took us only a day to make the trip that has taken you
more than two weeks. Aren't you glad to see us?"
Jack kissed Elizabeth hurriedly, while the rest of the party shook hands
with Mrs. Harmon and Donald. The girls were too dazed with surprise and
fatigue to know whether they were glad or sorry to see the acquaintances
to whom they had rented their beloved home. Ruth thought Mrs. Harmon's
manner a little constrained when she spoke to them.
"We don't want to haunt you, Miss Drew," she apologized, "but we were so
close to this marvelous park it seemed a pity for us to miss it, and Don
and Elizabeth are so in love with your ranch girls they believe they
will enjoy it twice as much with you here. We came on after Beth had a
letter from Miss Ralston telling her about the time you expected to
arrive."
There was one member of the caravan party who had no hesitation in
expressing his views of the unexpected appearance of the three members
of the Harmon family. Jim was frankly displeased. "It wasn't enough to
rent them our Lodge for the summer and have them drive me plumb crazy
with questions before I got away," he complained to Ruth as soon as she
broke the news to him, "but now we have got to tote 'em over the whole
of the Yellowstone. I guess they must think I'm the original Cooks' Tour
man," he growled, forgetting his newly acquired English in his bad
temper.
But Ruth laughed sympathetically. "Never mind, Mr. Jim," she returned.
"I am sorry myself that we can't have our trip to ourselves, but I hope
pleasure will somehow come out of the presence of the Harmons here."
So far as Ruth or any member of the Rainbow Ranch family could see for
many months to come not good, but great evil grew out of the entrance of
these new acquaintances into their lives.
CHAPTER XIV
MR. DRUMMOND AND RALPH CHANGE PLACES
The ranch girls, Jim and Ralph Merrit were at supper later that evening
when some one walked down the length of the long dining room, glancing
for an instant toward their table as he passed by.
Frieda nearly choked over her soup. "Look, Jack, there's the man who
gave me the pretty yellow stone this afternoon!" she exclaimed in a loud
whisper.
Jack look up quickly and blushed. Then to hide her confusion, she smiled
and bowed in an unexpectedly friendly fashion, surprising the others, as
she was usually shy with strangers. Mr. Drummond returned her greeting
cordially, smiling at Frieda; and straightway the social position of the
caravaners reached the high-water mark. He was said to be a wealthy
bachelor from New York, but as no one actually knew anything about him
and he had refused to associate with the other guests, his reserve
caused him to be regarded as a very important person.
After dinner, as the girls went out on the verandah, they looked as
though they had dressed to illustrate the name of the Rainbow Ranch.
Weary of their traveling costumes they had put on their best summer
muslins. Jack wore a violet organdie, Jean a red one, Olive was in pale
yellow and Frieda in blue. Ruth never dressed in anything except white
in the evenings. Jim went off to inquire for his mail, asking Ruth to
wait for him. He was beginning to feel anxious to hear how things were
going on at the ranch in his absence.
Peter Drummond stood a short distance off watching the little group. In
coming west, he had made up his mind to have nothing to do with the
people he ran across in the course of his travels. He saw too much of
society in New York. Wealthy, of an old Knickerbocker family, with a
home on the south side of Washington Square, life had given him
everything he desired until three short months before. Then, when he was
forty years old, for the first time in his life he had fallen in love,
and the woman he cared for refused to marry him for what seemed to
Peter a perfectly absurd reason. Therefore Mr. Drummond had determined
forever to forswear the company of women. He was wondering if girls need
be included in his decision, when Frieda solved the problem for him.
Slipping away from the others she crossed the piazza. Peter suddenly
discovered a pair of serious blue eyes gazing straight into his.
"If you want that stone back that you gave me this afternoon you may
have it," she said. "You see I did cry a little bit when I fell, so
perhaps it isn't exactly fair of me to keep it."
Mr. Drummond's face was quite as serious as Frieda's.
"I should hardly like to be called an 'Injun giver', would you?" he
asked. "I don't know how girls feel about it, but when I was a boy if
another fellow tried to get back a thing he had given away he was
thought to be a pretty poor kind of person."
"Girls feel the same way," Frieda felt compelled to answer honestly.
"Then, for my sake, won't you please keep it?--and shaking hands makes
it a bargain," Peter returned, extending his hand to clasp Frieda's.
With her fingers still in his, he joined Ruth and the other girls, who
had been trying not to laugh at the little scene.
Few eastern people, who have had no experience of life in the West,
realize how much more unconventional and informal it is. Strangers
meeting on a train talk as freely during the journey as though they had
been formally introduced; friendliness is in the very atmosphere.
So, though Mr. Drummond was surprised at his own behavior, the ranch
girls accepted his approach quite simply. First, he inquired of Ruth if
Freida had really been hurt in her accident of the afternoon; ten
minutes later he knew the names of the five girls, something of their
history, had heard of Jim Colter and Ralph Merrit, and had given a brief
account of himself in exchange, and for the first time in three months
was actually enjoying himself.
The moon was just rising behind the dark circle of evergreen forests
that bordered the Yellowstone Lake on three sides. Going out on the
lawn, Olive was first to discover a dark figure with his hands in his
pockets strolling quietly up and down. Perhaps because in the early
days, when first brought home to Rainbow Ranch, she too had sometimes
felt like an alien, now she was the only one of the caravaners to guess
why Ralph had gone away from them wishing to be alone.
Ralph Merrit was having a fight with himself. In the past ten days, as a
guest of the caravan party, he had learned to care for them very deeply.
If he preferred one of the girls to the others he had not said so nor
showed it in any way. During the trip he felt he had been able to make
himself useful, but since their arrival at the hotel Ralph had felt shy
and ill at ease. Jack had told him they were poor, and in the gay
camaraderie of the open air he had thought little of wealth or poverty;
now he was acutely conscious of his own lack of money. With hardly a
dollar in his pocket and only a change of clothes in his knapsack, he
could not remain one of the travelers through the Yellowstone Park. It
was hard to say farewell to his friends and to start out again to look
for work, but harder to remain and not do his share in the
entertainment. The ranch girls evidently had richer friends than he
dreamed, the Harmons were evidently wealthy people, and Ralph had been
told this Mr. Drummond was a millionaire.
"What's the matter, Ralph?" Jack's friendly voice asked. Olive had drawn
her and Jean over in Ralph's direction, while Mr. Drummond, Ruth and
Frieda walked slowly on.
"We have been wondering what had become of you ever since dinner?" Jean
added.
Ralph cleared his throat a bit huskily.
"I've got a bad case of blues," he said, "but I am glad you found me
out. I have got to be off from here early in the morning, and perhaps it
is better to explain to you to-night."
Jean pouted, Jack gave a surprised exclamation, Olive believed she
understood.
"But I thought you told Jim you would make the trip with us, Ralph,"
Jack argued. "Has anything disagreeable happened? Surely no one of us
has hurt your feelings."
Ralph shook his head emphatically. "No people have ever been so good to
me in my life," he answered. "Look here, don't you think the best thing
to do is to make a clean breast of things? I am going away because I
haven't any money, and I'm not going to be a snide and stay on here as
your guest. I told you that the little money I had was stolen from me by
the two miners who took me out to 'Miner's Folly' to see if their
claims were any good. It wasn't much, because I came west to earn a
fortune, not to spend one, but it was all I had. Now I have to clear out
and look for a job. I don't think we are 'Ships That Pass in the Night',
I believe we are going to meet again, some day," Ralph ended. "And if
ever there is anything I can do to show you my gratitude and
appreciation----"
"Oh, do hush, Ralph Merrit!" Jean burst out impetuously. "I don't see
what you have got to thank us for. But if you really were having a good
time you wouldn't go off and leave us."
"That isn't fair, Jean," Ralph answered hotly. Then he laughed at
himself, for Jean's speeches had a fashion of provoking him, although he
was so much her elder.
"I don't believe that, Jean," Jack interrupted. "But I don't see why
Ralph can't finish the trip with us and then go after his fortune."
"I am so sorry nobody understands," Ralph said slowly, "but I must be
off just the same. I'll see you again in the morning, but our real
good-by is to-night."
As Olive shook hands she said quietly: "I understand why you are going.
And don't worry, please, because I feel sure I can make the others
understand." Jack's good night was cordial, but Jean refused to change
her opinion of Ralph's desertion.
Ruth suggested that the girls go back to the hotel for their wraps, as
the evening was growing chilly. As Jean and Jack disappeared on their
way to their rooms, Mrs. Harmon drew Olive and Frieda to her end of the
porch, Mr. Drummond had said good night, Ralph Merrit had again
vanished, and still Jim had not returned. Ruth could not make up her
mind whether to be angry with Jim for being so long in keeping his
appointment with her, or to feel worried for fear something had happened
to him.
CHAPTER XV
ELIZABETH'S STRANGE CONFESSION
Jean stayed upstairs, but when Jack came back with the wraps she found
Ruth and Jim gone, leaving word that she and Olive were to put Frieda to
bed without waiting for her, as she might come back fairly late.
Over in a quiet corner Jack saw Olive and Frieda still with the Harmons.
In a moment she meant to join them, but first she must conquer a queer
sensation that overmastered her. Jack bit her lips and her eyes clouded.
Never before in her life had she known what it was to be overtaken by a
premonition; now she felt almost ill, she longed to escape and never set
eyes on the Harmons again. With all her soul she longed for Rainbow
Lodge and wished they had not rented it to strangers.
But Olive had seen Jack, and Donald was crossing over to ask her to join
them. Jack closed her eyes, opened them, shrugged her shoulders and
determined to think no more foolishness that evening.
When she reached Elizabeth Harmon's side, the girl caught her hand
eagerly and pressed it against her thin, hot cheek. "I have been telling
mother I knew none of you were pleased at our coming to the Yellowstone
while you were here," she declared pettishly, "and I suppose _I_ will be
in the way; but please won't you just say _you_ are glad to have me? I
don't care about the others."
"Elizabeth," Mrs. Harmon remonstrated; but Jack leaned over and gently
kissed the spoiled girl who had taken such an overwhelming fancy to her.
At the same moment a wave of remorse swept over her that she had not at
once been happy at her opportunity to add something to Elizabeth's
pleasure. How pitiful it was that the young girl so longed to take part
in their outdoor amusements, when she was able to walk only a few yards
at a time. Suddenly a feeling of thankfulness for her own health and
vigor rushed over Jack, and in that moment she determined, while they
were thrown together, to devote herself utterly to her new friend; for
Jacqueline Ralston possessed many of the traits of character of a brave
boy or man. Weakness and a need for her protection made an instant
appeal to her. It was her first instinct in caring for Olive and it was
responsible for what she afterwards did for Elizabeth Harmon.
"I am truly glad you are here with us, Elizabeth," Jack could now reply
honestly. "But haven't you enjoyed your two weeks at Rainbow Lodge, and
hasn't it done you good? I felt so sure you would soon grow stronger
there, perhaps because I love the ranch so dearly myself, and have been
so well and happy there."
Elizabeth shrugged her delicate shoulders until her loose mass of
red-gold hair almost covered her face. "Oh, yes, I like the ranch well
enough and I suppose I am better," she returned. "But I thought father
came west and rented your house so I might be out of doors all the time,
and go about wherever I wished, and now I am hardly allowed to get out
of sight of the Lodge. As soon as you went away such a queer lot of
people turned up at your ranch--a gypsy with his wagon and family. They
are camping somewhere on your place, because they are always being seen.
One day Don and I saw them near the stump of the old tree where you and
Olive made the compact of friendship with us."
Jack opened her lips to speak, and then changed her mind, Olive turned
from talking with Donald to stare in amazement, when from the depth of
Mrs. Harmon's lap a small voice said sleepily, "I bet you, Jack,
Elizabeth is talking about those same gypsies who came to our ranch and
told our fortunes. I thought Jim said he would not have them on our
place," Frieda ended.
Jack blushed. She too had guessed "Gypsy Joe" must be the intruder, and
intended to report the matter to Jim, but she did not wish any
discussion of the subject with the Harmons.
"Oh, but gypsies aren't the only queer people who have come to the
ranch," Elizabeth continued; "there are other rough looking men whom
father spends hours and hours with. He----"
"Elizabeth," Mrs. Harmon interrupted sternly, "how many times have I
asked you not to talk of your father's affairs with strangers? He would
be extremely angry with you for telling Miss Ralston this nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense, it's the truth and you know it," Elizabeth answered.
"I believe father sent us away from Rainbow Lodge at this time because
he wanted to get rid of us. And he promised me he would not attend to
any business while we were on the ranch. Now two men are coming on from
the East to see him, and he is as worried and excited over something as
can be and won't tell us what it is."
Mrs. Harmon lifted Frieda from her lap. "Donald, will you please
persuade Elizabeth not to bore Miss Ralston with our family history?"
she asked.
"Oh, shut up, Elizabeth. Why do you never do as mother asks you?" Donald
muttered, and Elizabeth began to cry like a spoiled baby.
Jack, Olive and Frieda kept their eyes on the ground; not being
accustomed to family quarrels they felt exceedingly uncomfortable.
"Suppose we say good night, Donald, dear," Mrs. Harmon suggested. "I am
sure Elizabeth must be tired. Miss Ralston, I believe my husband has
written your overseer of the presence of this gypsy on your ranch. In
regard to Mr. Harmon's present worry and excitement, we have not
mentioned it to Elizabeth, as we try to keep our annoyances from her;
but her father has recently lost a good deal of money in Wall Street,
so he is naturally concerned."
"I am sure I am awfully sorry," Jack replied, not knowing exactly what
she should say. But five minutes later she and Olive and Frieda breathed
a sigh of relief--the Harmon family had finally departed to their rooms
and the ranch girls were free to go to bed.
Half an hour later Donald Harmon was still in his mother's room.
Elizabeth was fast asleep in the room adjoining.
"Is there any way on earth to make Elizabeth stop talking when she
shouldn't, Don?" Mrs. Harmon sighed. "Poor child, she is so difficult! I
was wretchedly uncomfortable, not knowing what she might tell to-night."
Donald's handsome face clouded. "She don't know anything, so she can't
tell anything," he answered. "I almost wish she did; then the
responsibility would be off my conscience. And I know father would
forgive B
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