Virginia of V. M. Ranch

By Grace May North

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Title: Virginia of V. M. Ranch

Author: Grace May North

Release Date: December 30, 2021 [eBook #67046]

Language: English

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Virginia of V. M. Ranch




[Illustration: He removed his gayly adorned peaked hat and took from
it a letter, which he handed to Virginia.]




VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of

  “Virginia at Vine Haven,” “Virginia’s Adventure Club,”
  “Virginia’s Ranch Neighbors,” “Virginia’s Romance.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers—New York

Printed in U. S. A.




THE VIRGINIA DAVIS SERIES

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

By GRACE MAY NORTH

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




Copyright, 1924

By A. L. BURT COMPANY

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH

Made in “U. S. A.”




DEDICATED TO

  Virginia Davis
  Margaret Selover
  Barbara Blair Wente

And to all other girls in their teens who like adventure and
the desert.




VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH




CHAPTER I

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH


Down a winding mountain trail, a girl of sixteen was riding on
Comrade, her wiry red-brown pony.

It was a glorious morning. The sky above was a gleaming cloudless
blue, the desert, below, stretching to the far horizon, shimmered
white in the sunlight, while some bird in a canon near was caroling
a tipsy song of joy, but these things Virginia Davis did not see or
hear, for her eyes were gazing at the rugged trail and her thoughts
were puzzling over the contents of a letter which her brother
Malcolm had brought to her that morning when he had returned from
the town of Douglas which was twenty miles away.

Her father’s best friend had died the year before, and had left a
motherless girl all alone in the world. When Mr. Selover realized
that he had not long to live he had written Mr. Davis asking him to
become the guardian of his daughter, Margaret, who was then in a
select boarding school in the East.

In some unaccountable manner, the letter had been delayed for many
months, and during that time, Mr. Davis had also died, leaving
Virginia and Malcolm as sole owners of the vast cattle ranch which
was known as “The V. M.”

This morning Virginia had ridden to the top of the trail where she
often went when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, for the
long delayed letter had indeed brought a new problem to these two
young people.

This unknown Margaret Selover, it seemed, was their father’s ward.
Ought they not to assume the responsibility which he would so gladly
have taken had he lived? And yet, what if the girl should prove to
be very unlike themselves? She might not care to make her home on
their wonderful desert, and, if she did not, would it be right for
them to take her from an environment in which she was happy and
content? But how could they tell, since they did not know her?

Comrade had carefully wended his way down the mountain trail and had
carried his young mistress, who was deeply absorbed in thought,
across the dry creek, under a clump of cottonwood trees and up the
steep farther bank before the girl looked about her with eyes that
saw.

Her brother was galloping toward her. “Ho, Virginia!” he hailed as
he waved his wide sombrero. “Did your Inspiration Peak help you to
solve our problem? What are we to do with our ward?”

The girl flashed a smile at the lad, whose frank, bronzed face
resembled her own, for, though he was two years her senior, twins
could not have been more alike or dearer to each other.

“If only we knew what type of a girl this Margaret is,” his sister
replied as he wheeled his horse about and rode by her side, “we
could so much more easily decide upon a plan. I did indeed receive
an inspiration, but one hard to carry out I fear. I have been
wishing that in some way we might become acquainted with our ward
without having her know who we are.”

“You are right, sister,” Malcolm said seriously. “I do not wish to
invite this unknown girl to share our home unless I am convinced
that your life will be made happier by the companionship. Our father
would not wish it otherwise. Now tell me your plan.”

Virginia looked at her brother with unexpected laughter in her
violet-blue eyes. “It is one by which we could become acquainted
with our ward without revealing to her our true identity. Harken and
you shall hear.”

Malcolm’s hearty laughter rang out when the half serious, half merry
plan had been told.

“If only we can persuade Uncle Tex to play the role of elderly
guardian,” he exclaimed. “I am sure that your little drama, when
staged, will bring about the desired results, but, knowing our
faithful old overseer as well as I do, I fear that we may have a
tragedy, or a comedy, which perhaps would be equally disastrous.”

Virginia’s amused expression had changed to one of serious concern.
“Brother,” she said, “if we do carry out my plan, will it be quite
honest to Margaret?”

“Not right in the beginning I must confess,” Malcolm replied, “but,
of course, we will at once tell her the truth, if, after meeting
her, we decided to invite her to become one of our household, but,
on the contrary, if we find that she would not wish to share our
home, she would, of course, return to the school where she has been
for so many years. We will at least have tried to do our duty as we
see it.”

“Then shall I write the letter?” the violet eyes turned
questioningly.

“Yes, that will be the prologue to the little drama. Rusty Pete is
going to Silver Creek Junction this afternoon and he will start the
message on its eastward journey.”

Again Malcolm’s amused laughter rang out. “It will be better not to
let Uncle Tex know that we have designs upon him,” he said, “for, if
he has an inkling, even, that we are going to request him to do a
bit of ‘play actin’ as he would call it, he will start at once for
the mountain cabin, the location of which we have never been able to
discover.”

Their low rambling ranch house having been reached, Virginia leaped
to the ground, tossing the reins to her brother, who, still
chuckling to himself, rode on down to the corral where an old,
white-haired man could be seen repairing a fence.




CHAPTER II

MARGARET


Barbara Blair Wente in the Vine Haven Seminary looked up from the
cosy window seat where she was comfortably curled, studying French
verbs, when she heard the door open. It was Margaret Selover, her
room-mate, who entered.

“Megsy,” Babs exclaimed with real concern as she sprang to her feet
and approached her friend with hands outstretched, “what has
happened, dear? Are the algebra reports in and didn’t you pass, or,
is it something else?”

The newcomer looked at Barbara with eyes tear-brimmed. She tried to
speak but her lips quivered; then, flinging herself down upon the
couch, she sobbed as though her heart would break.

Babs, deeply concerned, knelt by the side of her room-mate, and
tenderly smoothing the gold-brown curls, she pleaded. “Tell me,
Megsy darling, can’t I help?”

Impulsively Margaret sat up, and, putting her arms about her friend
she sobbed. “Oh Babs, I can’t do it! I won’t do it! I did think that
my dad loved me too much to punish me so.”

“Can’t, won’t do what?” Barbara sat on the couch and drew her
room-mate comfortingly close. “Megsy, please begin at the
beginning.”

Margaret put her hand in a pocket of her rose-colored sweater-coat
and drew out a crumpled letter.

“It’s from some-one way out on that terrible Arizona desert,” she
said, “and it informs me that my father appointed a Mr. Davis as my
guardian and that the elderly gentleman, having given the matter due
thought, believes that it is time for me to come to his home and
take the place that my father wished me to occupy, that of a
rancher’s adopted daughter.”

Barbara gazed at her friend, almost unable to comprehend. “Megsy,
does this mean that you and I are to be parted? That you are to
leave Vine Haven Seminary forever?”

For a brief moment Margaret sat as though stunned, but her
room-mate’s words roused her to action. Springing up in a sudden
tempest of anger, she tore across the room, threw open the desk and
began to write rapidly.

“There!” she exclaimed a few moments later. “I have written my
answer.”

“Read it,” Barbara begged, and in a hard cold voice, very unlike her
own, that was merry and musical, Margaret read:


“My Dear Mr. Davis:—

“You undoubtedly have written with the kindest of motives, but the
picture you present is not in the least attractive to me. A ranch
house on a desolate desert twenty miles from town is not a home
which I wish to enter.

“It is better for me to be honest and tell you at once that I do not
care to be your adopted daughter. I have a sufficient income on
which to live and I shall remain at Vine Haven Seminary until I have
graduated. Soon after that I will be eighteen and you will no longer
be responsible for my actions.”

Barbara listened and watched, puzzled indeed at this new Margaret.
“Dear,” she said when her friend paused, evidently expecting
comment, “it is very unlike you to hurt anyone. Couldn’t you add a
little something that would soften the sting?”

With a shrug Margaret turned back to the desk and after a thoughtful
moment, she again wrote a few lines. Then in a voice more like her
own, she read:—“Since you were a close friend of my father, I
regret that I must make a decision that may seem defiant, but surely
you would not wish to have in your home a rebellious daughter and
that is what I would be.

                                        “Sincerely yours,
                                                “Margaret Selover.”


Without waiting for further comment, the letter was sealed and
stamped.

“I hope you are doing right, dear,” Barbara said; then, almost
tearfully: “If you do go so far away, Vine Haven will be more
desolate to me than the desert.”

“I’m not going!” Margaret remarked conclusively, then, springing up,
she added. “Three bells! Time for French class and I haven’t even
looked at those verbs.”

Together they left their room and descended the wide flight of
stairs. “I’ll skip ahead and put this letter in the mail pouch,”
Margaret declared; then, somewhat repentantly: “Really, Babs, I am
sorry to hurt the feelings of the old man. Father often told me how
much he admired Mr. Davis who was many years his senior. They owned
some mining property together near Bisbee. In fact, I believe that
my income is derived from that same copper mine even now. Well,
someday soon I’ll send him another and a kindlier letter, but there
isn’t time today, and he will, of course, be watching for an
answer.”

But before the other letter was written, something very unexpected
happened.




CHAPTER III

MARGARET’S REPLY


Virginia was right in believing that she would receive a reply from
their unknown ward as soon as one could possibly reach them. She had
counted the days that her own letter would require for its journey
east, and then had allowed one in between, and so, at last, the day
had dawned when she might reasonably expect to hear from the unknown
Margaret.

Luckily Rusty Pete was in town and would bring the mail if there was
any. Virginia, as she went about her household tasks that morning,
skipped often to the wide front veranda and looked up the mesa. A
huge cactus growing at the top of the trail stood like a silent
sentinel and around this a horse and rider soon appeared.

As the girl hoped, it was one of their two faithful cow-boys. “Good
morning, Rusty Pete,” she called, as he rode alongside of the wide,
shady porch. “Have you letters for me?”

“I reckon I have, Miss Virginia. ’Pears to me a couple is stowed
away somewhar’s.” As he spoke, the cow-boy thrust a lean, brown hand
into his deep leather pocket, then, with a sudden smile that
wonderfully illumined his rugged wind and sun bronzed face, he
removed his wide sombrero and drew forth two letters that were very
unlike each other in appearance.

“Didn’t pack the pouch ’long this time,” he explained, “so put ’em
thar for safe keepin’.”

The girl laughed. “Thank you, Rusty Pete,” she said, and then the
long, lank cow-boy rode on toward the corral.

After glancing at the name in the upper left hand corner of the
lilac scented and tinted envelope, Virginia uttered a little excited
ejaculation, and, catching her wide hat from the top step, she raced
down the trail to the fenced-in enclosure where Malcolm was busy
filling the trough near the windmill for the yearlings were soon to
be driven in from the range.

“What ho?” he called when he saw the figure flying toward him. The
girl waved the two unopened letters and Malcolm, equally interested,
vaulted the bars and stood at her side.

“Has our ward written?” he inquired merrily. “Is she eager to be the
adopted daughter of an elderly rancher?”

There was a shade of anxiety in the violet eyes that were lifted to
him. “Brother,” she said, “I wonder if we did wrong to deceive
Margaret. Of course it was merely to be a temporary arrangement. If
she comes, Uncle Tex is to play the role of elderly guardian, that
is, if he can be persuaded to do so, then you, as cow-boy, and I, as
housekeeper, will have a splendid opportunity to become acquainted
with our ward and find out what manner of girl she really is.”

While Virginia had been talking, she had opened the tinted envelope.
One glance at the very short note and her merry laughter pealed
forth.

“Brother, Margaret actually refuses to come. Well, we surely may
thank whatever kindly fate has delivered us from having this young
tornado in our home.” Virginia handed the letter to Malcolm as she
spoke.

The other long white envelope she glanced at casually, and,
believing it to be the usual monthly report from their lawyer’s
office, she did not open it, but waving farewell to her brother, who
had again vaulted the bars, Virginia returned to the house and to
her morning tasks.

It was half an hour later before she recalled the long legal looking
envelope.

“I might as well skim it over,” she thought, “and then I can tell
Malcolm about it and he will not need to take the time to read it.”

Dropping down into a comfortable cushioned wicker chair out on the
veranda, Virginia leisurely opened it. Her thoughts were wandering
when she began to read, but suddenly she sat erect and stared at the
typed page. Then she re-read it slowly from the beginning to be sure
that she had really understood its purport.

Shags, the big collie dog, lying nearby, half dozing in the sun was
startled to see his mistress leap to her feet and tear madly down
the trail toward the corral. Believing that he might miss something
of unusual interest if he did not follow, he raced after, barking
and bounding.

Malcolm looked up in surprise. “Ho Sis,” he called, “had you
overlooked a postscript in our ward’s letter? Is she coming after
all?”

Then noting how pale was his sister’s face, he hastened to her side.
“It’s a letter from Mr. Benton, our father’s lawyer. I don’t
understand business matters as you do, and perhaps I do not rightly
comprehend the meaning of this. I sincerely hope I do not.”

But Virginia had rightly understood. Mr. Denton, their lawyer in
Douglas had written:


“Dear young friends:—

“This morning a letter was received by me that you may be able to
interpret better than I can. I did not know that your father had
been appointed guardian of a girl named Margaret Selover, but the
letter which I have this day received from an eastern law firm
informs me that the income which has been sent, since her father’s
death, to this young girl, has been abruptly discontinued as the
mines from which it is derived are no longer paying.

“Since Miss Selover is referred to as your father’s ward, I presume
that she is residing with you, and so I thought best to communicate
with you at once.

“Trusting that the deprivation will be but temporary,

                          “I remain,
                            “Your faithful friend and adviser,
                               “Harry L. Benton.”


“Which means?” Virginia’s tone was one of inquiry.

“Which means that we will have to lasso that young tornado and bring
her here, whether or not she wishes to come,” was the dismal reply,
“for surely, you and I, Virg, cannot afford to pay Miss Selover’s
tuition at a fashionable seminary.”

“No, we cannot,” his sister agreed, then—“Shall I write to poor
Margaret and tell her the sad news?”

“I think the ones to be pitied are Virginia and Malcolm,” the lad
spoke vehemently, “but, there is no alternative. Write the letter
and I’ll take it to Silver Creek Junction. I’m going that far right
after lunch to help drive in the yearlings.”

A week later another letter bearing the Vine Haven postmark arrived
on the desert. With a heavy heart Virginia opened it, and after a
hurried perusal, she decided that “lassoing the young tornado” as
her brother had called their ward, was not to be a pleasant pastime.


“My dear Mr. Davis,” she read:

“Your letter came this morning informing me that my income has
ceased. I believe that to be an absolute untruth, a ruse to try to
force my obedience to your will. Of course you have accomplished
your end for I am too proud to remain at this seminary unless I can
pay my tuition, but I warn you, my stay with you will be no longer
than absolute necessity requires and it will in no way add to your
happiness to have a rebellious girl in your home.

“I hope that you will reconsider and send my allowance which is
already one week over due.
                                              “Margaret Selover.”


“Whew-oo!” Malcolm’s whistle was one of mingled astonishment and
amusement.

“I feel about as I did when I broke in Wild Fire, Virg,” he said,
his grey eyes twinkling at the recollection. “I had never before met
a spirit so untamed.”

Virginia laughed. “This defiant young lady would not feel
complimented to have her temper compared to a bucking broncho,” she
said, “but I suppose that come she must, until she is old enough to
be self-supporting, but my heart aches for her. I am almost inclined
to tell her the whole truth. Shall I?” The violet eyes were moist
and imploring, but the lad shook his head.

“Let’s carry out our original plan first. We may even yet find a
loop hole of escape.”

Slowly and thoughtfully, Virginia walked back over the well worn
trail to the ranch house. She was planning the letter which later
was written and mailed.




CHAPTER IV

PLOTTING AND PLANNING


That evening before the wide fireplace on which a mesquite root was
cheerfully burning, three people sat plotting and planning.

Virginia had at last decided to take Uncle Tex into their
confidence. He it was who had first taught five-year-old Malcolm to
ride and shoot and Virginia he loved as dearly as he could have
loved an own daughter if he had had one.

“It’s powerful unpleasant business, ’pears like to me,” the old man
said as he shook his shaggy grey head, “but I reckon if you uns
cal-late its yer dooty, we all will have to put it through, but yer
ol’ Uncle Tex is common poor at the play actin’.”

He looked so truly distressed that Virginia drew her chair closer
and placed her slim, strong hand on his arm. “Don’t be troubled
about it yet, Uncle Tex, we’ll make it as easy for you as we can.”
Then, looking to her brother, she added with thoughtful seriousness.
“I wonder if we ought to permit our ward to journey across the
continent alone. I am confident that she has always been protected
by her father’s loving care, just as I have been, although I feel
sure that I could make the journey alone and in safety, and yet,
since Margaret is our ward, we are responsible, as I am sure that
our father would wish us to be, for her well being.”

“You are right, Virg,” the lad replied. “I wish we knew some one who
might be coming west at the same time, who would consent to keep an
eye on our young tornado.”

There was a twinkle in the eyes of the lad, and his sister, noticing
it, exclaimed: “Malcolm Davis, I actually believe that you like our
ward all the better because she is high spirited.”

“Well,” the lad confessed, “I do like spirit, I’ll agree. I’d like
to see the girl.”

“Ah reckon we-all will see plenty of her before we’re finished with
her.” Uncle Tex drawled in so doleful a tone that Malcolm laughed
heartily.

“Or until she finishes us,” he exclaimed merrily as he rose and
wound the clock.

“We must retire early tonight, Sis,” he added, “for I want to be in
the saddle before daybreak as I am due at Slater’s to help round up
the young steers that are to be shipped to Chicago next week.”

The girl sprang up and looked down at the old man who sat staring
dismally into the fire.

“Uncle Tex,” she exclaimed gaily as she stooped and caught one of
his work-hardened hands, “you look as though you had just received
an invitation to your own funeral. Don’t you enjoy the prospect of
being guardian, pro tem, to a young lady tornado?”

“Don’ know nothin’ ’bout protems, Miss Virginia, dearie, but I do
kinda dread bein’ gardeen to a gal that don’ want to be gardeened
nohow, but if you’n Malcolm need my help, sech as it is, yer welcome
to it.”

The old man had risen and impulsively the girl threw her arms about
him and pressing her fresh young cheek against the wrinkled and
leathery one, she said consolingly: “Now, Uncle Tex, dear, don’t lie
awake worrying about your new responsibility for if Margaret proves
tractable, which means nice and pleasant, we will tell her the whole
truth, but if she continues disagreeable and rebellious, we will
soon pack her off somewhere else.”

Then she bade goodnight to the old man who had been her father’s
first overseer and he departed for his room which adjoined the
kitchen, for the girl would not permit him to sleep in the less
comfortable bunk house with the younger cow-boys. Then she too
retired, but she lay awake until late wondering what the future held
for them.




CHAPTER V

MALCOLM’S GREAT NEWS


The next day was a busy one at the V. M. Ranch, for a crate of fruit
arrived for Virginia and she preserved and canned until at last the
grandfather clock in the living-room chimed the hour of five. Then
she stood back and proudly surveyed row after row of jars, some
golden and others glowingly ruddy.

Then, taking off her all-over apron, and donning her wide felt hat,
she thought that to get a breath of the cool evening air, she would
ride toward the Slater Ranch and meet her brother who would soon be
returning.

Uncle Tex saddled Comrade for her, and then stood watching as his
beloved “gal” cantered away toward the mesa. She turned to wave to
him when she reached the sentinel cactus which stood with two
branches outstretched like defending arms that were covered with
long prickly thorns.

She drew rein when she reached the highest point and sat on her
red-brown pony watching the glory of the setting sun. At last when
the golden light had left all but the highest mountain peaks, and
deep shadows were purpling the canons, she beheld silhouetted
against the after glow, a horseman approaching at a gallop.

Believing it to be her brother, she rode down the trail to meet him.
Malcolm, she realized, was hilariously excited about something, for
every now and then he snatched off his sombrero and waved it to the
waiting girl.

“News! Great news!” he shouted as he drew near.

“What is it?” Virginia asked as she wheeled her pony about and side
by side they rode toward home through the deepening dusk.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” This had been their way of telling
news items to each other from their earliest childhood.

“Oh brother, don’t make me guess it this time. I just know that it
is something of unusual interest,” the girl implored.

“It is.” This in Malcolm’s most tantalizing manner. “Well, I’ll give
you a hint. It’s something about the coming of our young tornado.”

“Oh.” Virginia’s expression brightened. “Have you heard of someone
who will escort her from the East?”

“Righto, Sis, you’re doing splendidly, but who?”

They were descending the narrow trail from the mesa, and, since
Virginia was in the lead, she could not see the elated expression on
the face of her brother.

“Um-m, let me see,” she replied thoughtfully. “May I have five
minutes to think?”

“I’ll give you until the Dry Creek is crossed,” was the merry reply.

They rode on in silence while Virginia’s thoughts were busy trying
to solve the mystery. Of course Malcolm must have heard of this
possible escort during his day at the Slater Ranch while rounding up
the steers that were to be sent to Chicago.

“Oh, I have it!” she whirled about in her saddle to exclaim
exultingly.

“Some one, of course, is to accompany the car-load of steers to the
big city and that some-one will meet Margaret there and escort her
back to Douglas.”

“Congratulations sister! Now, since you are so clever at guessing
tonight, suppose you tell me _who_ is to go with the cattle.”

“Malcolm Davis, I do believe that you are,” the girl instantly
declared. “There’s a ring in your voice which convinces me that you
are at last to have the opportunity for which you have so longed.
Are you now old enough to be trusted on so important a mission?”

“Mr. Slater thinks so. He asked me to go,” the lad replied
jubiliantly, as he swung from his saddle, “but wait until after
supper and then I will tell you my plan.”




CHAPTER VI

FAREWELL TO BOARDING SCHOOL


A week passed and Margaret Selover had received a letter, supposedly
from the elderly Mr. Davis, bidding her start on her westward
journey Friday, the 25th.

Barbara Blair Wente, fluffy, golden and petite, sat curled up on the
window seat of the room they had shared together for the past year
looking the picture of misery.

“I hate him! Hate him!” Margaret was saying as she thumped a small
pillow preparatory to packing it in her trunk. Then she added,
rising and looking her defiance, “but he won’t keep me long, Babs.
You may be sure of that. I’ll make life so unpleasant for my hoary
guardian that he will soon be glad to release me. Oh dear, how I do
wish that I were older so that I might begin earning my own living,
but just wait until I’m eighteen. Then I will do something. Other
girls do and I believe I am normally clever.”

“Who do you suppose is to meet you in Chicago?” Barbara inquired.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” was the somewhat muffled reply from the
trunk, the cover of which was closed a moment later with a snap.
Then Margaret sat upon it as she remarked:—“My guardian kindly
informed me that I need have nothing whatever to say to my escort if
I did not wish to be friendly, but that, at least, I must allow him
to look out for my welfare.”

Babs sat up and looked interested. “Margaret, what if it should be a
real cow-boy like the ones we have seen in the moving pictures.
Those handsome young giants who are always helping damsels in
distress. Wouldn’t that be romantic? I’m just wild to see a live
cow-boy myself. They are fascinating on the screen.”

“Well, they don’t appeal to me,” Margaret replied, “I prefer boys
who are dressed in civilized clothes and who know how to talk. All
of the cow-boys in fiction use the queerest kind of a language.”

Four bells pealed through the corridors and Barbara rose
reluctantly.

“Even if my heart is nearly broken over your departure, Megsy, I
suppose I’ll have to go down to this old recitation,” she said.

Margaret also rose and going to the window, she looked out at the
bleak orchard. “I’m not going. What’s the use of working out
problems in geometry today when tomorrow I will be gone?”

Just at that moment there were skipping footsteps outside in the
corridor followed by an imperative knocking at the door.

Barbara opened it to admit a pretty, eager-eyed child, who held up a
yellow envelope. “It’s for you, Miss Margaret,” she said. “Mrs.
Martin said to bring it right up.”

The girl, as she opened the telegram, sincerely hoped that in it she
would find a message bidding her to remain at the school, but she
did not.

“Leave, if possible, on the 8.30 train tonight which reaches Chicago
at six tomorrow morning. Wear a red ribbon bow that you may easily
be recognized.”

It was signed: “Peter Wallace.”

Margaret’s eyes flashed and she tore the telegram to bits. “Peter
Wallace, indeed! I’m not going to take orders from a wild west
cow-boy. He may meet the six o’clock train tomorrow morning, but I
won’t be on it.”

However, when Barbara had reluctantly departed for her class,
Margaret found that the prospect of arriving in Chicago alone and
unprotected was not a pleasant one to contemplate. With her father
she had spent one day in the big city and she remembered how she had
clung to his hand when they had crossed the streets and how
terrorized she had been by the rush and roar of the traffic.

An hour later, when Babs returned, she was surprised to find that
the trunk had been taken to the station. That evening Mrs. Martin
and Barbara accompanied the young traveler to the train, as the
principal of the school wished to be sure that her young charge was
started safely on this, her first journey alone, and in the care of
the kindly conductor.

It was not until the next morning, when the train was slowly
entering Chicago, that Margaret, weary from an excited and sleepless
night, placed a small red ribbon bow on the lapel of her warm,
gold-brown coat, wondering, as she did so, what manner of person her
escort would be.




CHAPTER VII

MARGARET’S ESCORT


Meanwhile Malcolm in a nearby hotel was preparing to play the role
upon which he and Virginia had decided.

A grey wig and mustache changed his appearance so completely, that
even one well acquainted with him would not, at first glance, have
recognized him.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Peter Wallace,” he said to his beaming
reflection. Then, donning his sombrero, he started out as he
thought, “Now I know what I will look like twenty years hence. I do
wish Virg was here. How she would laugh to see me in this disguise.”

Ten minutes later, when the train drew to a standstill, Mr. Peter
Wallace watched each passenger alight with the aid of a colored
porter.

At last he saw an unusually pretty young girl in a gold-brown suit
and trim traveling hat who stood for a moment looking around
helplessly.

Malcolm’s heart pounded queerly. He hadn’t supposed that their
rebellious ward would be good-looking. In fact he hadn’t thought
anything about it.

He went closer, almost believing that this maiden could not be the
one he expected, but there was a small red ribbon bow on the lapel
of her coat.

For a moment Malcolm almost forgot that he was a middle-aged rancher
and was about to advance in his usual buoyant fashion, when a
warning thought recalled to him: “You are Mr. Peter Wallace, not
Malcolm Davis who is to greet this young girl.” And so, when
Margaret’s almost frightened gaze, wandering over the heedless,
hurrying throng, turned toward the approaching stranger, she saw a
tall, broad-shouldered man, whose stride might have suggested that
he was younger than his grey hair indicated.

“Are you Miss Selover?” he inquired in as matter-of-fact a tone as
he could assume.

“I am,” the girl replied, rather frigidly, now that she was no
longer frightened. “Are you Mr. Peter Wallace?”

Malcolm did not voice his reply, but she took it for granted, as he
had at once reached for her satchels. She was secretly glad that her
escort was middle-aged. Somehow that fact made her feel more at
ease.

When they had crossed the city in the jolting, rattling omnibus, and
the girl, at last, was comfortably seated in the luxurious chair
car, Malcolm said, “I will leave you now, Miss Selover, but at noon
I will come for you and we will lunch together.”

When he was gone Margaret watched the flying landscape without
seeing it.

This man, she thought, was evidently a middle-aged rancher, and yet
he spoke English as correctly as any of the boys she knew. She had
not supposed such a thing possible.

How she wished that he were her guardian, instead of that illiterate
Mr. Davis who had written such unkind letters to her, and who had
unjustly deprived her of her rightful allowance. She just hated him
and she always would.

Two hours later her reverie was interrupted by the decidedly
pleasant voice of her escort who was telling her that he would
accompany her to the diner.

Malcolm was thoroughly enjoying this strange new experience and yet
there were moments when he wished that he might snatch off his
disguise and tell the whole truth to the girl, who, now and then
turned toward him such wistful brown eyes, but he would wait and let
Virginia decide when to make the revelation.




CHAPTER VIII

THE ARRIVAL OF MARGARET


Virginia was up before the sun on the day that she was expecting the
arrival of her brother and his rebellious ward.

“I’m so interested and excited,” she confided to Shags who trotted
along at her side when she went down to what Rusty Pete called “the
hen corral” to feed the plump biddies that resided there.

Promptly at nine o’clock they were to depart for Silver Creek
Junction, at which lonely station the trains would stop, when
flagged, or when passengers had so requested.

Poor Uncle Tex, dressed in a linen suit and wearing a wide panama
hat, was miserably uncomfortable, and, as he stood at the window in
the big living-room, he looked longingly toward the distant
mountains. Even yet he could escape, but if his “gal” needed his
help at this play acting, he’d try to do his best, but how he did
wish that he might change places with Slim, the lithe young cow-boy
who at that moment was within the range of the old man’s vision
endeavoring to break the wild spirits of a bucking broncho.

[Illustration: Skipping to the side of the elderly man, in a manner
much too frivolous for the wearer of such sombre attire.]

Hearing an inner door open, he turned and beheld what might have
been an elderly housekeeper in bonnet and shawl, a black bombazine
dress the girl had borrowed from dear old Grandmother Slater.

Skipping to the side of the elderly man, in a manner much too
frivolous for the wearer of such sombre attire, the girl caught his
hand as she exclaimed merrily: “Why Uncle Tex, I mean Mr. Davis, how
stylish you do look! If you have observed yourself in the mirror, I
’spect you will want to dress up like this every day in the year.”

The old man looked very miserable as he slowly shook his head. “No,
ah won’t, Miss Virginia dearie,” he said. “Ah was jest thinkin’ as
how ah’d rather rope the contrariest steer thar ever was than be
play-actin’ this-a-way.” Then wheedlingly he added, “Don’t you spose
as how you could get along jest as well without me? Couldn’t you be
sayin’ as how her gardeen had gone away for a spell?”

The old man’s pleading was interrupted by a merry honking from
without and Virginia caught his work-hardened hand and led him out
to the waiting car.

The weather-bronzed features of Rusty Pete widened into a smile and
he found it hard to keep his mirth within bounds. He wanted to
shout. It was as good as a circus, he thought, to see Uncle Tex
rigged up like a gentleman, but, when he saw how red and
uncomfortable the old man looked, the kind hearted cow-boy refrained
from uttering the bantering remark which the old overseer’s
appearance had suggested. However, when he was alone on the front
seat of the big touring car, his grin resembled that of the Cheshire
cat, nor did it cease until the railway station was reached.

Several ponies were tied to the hitching posts and a spirited young
mustang belonging to Slick Cy, a cow-boy from the Slater Ranch,
reared as the car came to a stop nearby.

Uncle Tex and the supposed housekeeper alighted. Virginia, glancing
at the poor old man, realized that he would probably be tongue-tied
when the moment to speak arrived and so she said impulsively: “Uncle
Tex, you needn’t say those lines of welcome that I taught you, if
you’d rather not. I’ll play the part of a garrulous housekeeper and
talk so much and so fast that you won’t have a chance to get a word
in edgeways.”

There was a deep sigh of relief from the old man who said
gratefully: “Thanks, Miss Virginia dearie. I wan’t cut out for
play-actin’, seems like.”

“Here comes the train!” Rusty Pete sang out from the auto. Virginia
and the old man turned toward the mountain tunnel through which
appeared two great black engines puffing noisily. Then the long
train slowly came into sight and to a standstill.

Virginia’s heart was pounding like a trip hammer. She was wondering
what their ward would look like, cross and homely and disagreeable,
one might judge from her letters.

There were only two people to alight and at first the western girl
thought them to be a father and daughter and believed that her
brother had not come. When she did recognize his walk and bearing,
she could hardly keep from laughing at his disguise. Surely, he made
a most good-looking middle-aged rancher, but the trim, really pretty
young girl, who was walking toward them at his side, surely _she_
could not be the ward who had written such defiant letters. There
must be a mistake somewhere.

For a moment, Virginia herself almost forgot the role that she was
to play, but recalling it, just in time, she hurried forward with
hands outstretched. “Good day, Mr. Wallace,” she said; then to
Margaret, “Are you Miss Selover?” Without waiting for a reply she
hurried on.

“I am your guardian’s housekeeper. We hope that you’ll be happy
here. I assure you that Mr. Davis deeply regretted the circumstances
which compelled him to send for you and he hopes to be able to
permit you to return to school next year if you are not happy here.”
Then, the introductory remarks having been finished, as planned,
Virginia concluded, “Come with me, Miss Margaret, and I will
introduce you to your guardian.”

They advanced a few steps toward the station house, where Uncle Tex
had been standing when Virginia had hurried forward to greet the
newcomers, but the old man was not to be seen.

“Excuse me one moment,” the astonished Virginia exclaimed. Then she
went over to the waiting auto. Rusty Pete’s grin was wider than
ever, if such a feat were possible. “Rusty, where _is_ Uncle Tex?”
the girl asked him.

The cow-boy pointed to a cloud of dust which was rapidly
disappearing in the direction of V. M. Ranch. “He got panicky, I
guess, for all of a sudden he ran over here like a mad man, jumped
up on Slick Cy’s horse and away he went. He didn’t stop to explanate
anything, but rode as though the wild wolves were after him.”

“Poor Uncle Tex!” Virginia laughed, and then she returned to explain
to Margaret that her guardian had suddenly remembered that he had a
very important engagement, but that in all probability they would
find him awaiting them at the ranch house.

But Virginia was wrong in her surmise. When the ranch house was
reached she went at once to the small bed room near the kitchen. The
door was open and the room was empty, but a neatly folded linen suit
lay over a chair while the Panama hat reposed on the bed. Uncle Tex
was gone to his cabin somewhere over in the mountains.

Sinking down on another chair, Virginia laughed merrily, but hearing
someone tap upon the door, she sat up with suddenly resumed dignity,
for she was still playing a part, but it was only her brother who
entered.




CHAPTER IX

THE REVELATION


“Virg,” Malcolm blurted out, “I feel that we are not doing right to
treat a lonely orphan girl in this fashion. I am positive that I
heard her crying in her room just now. I know it is premature, and
not at all according to our plans, but I do wish you would go in and
comfort her. Tell her the whole truth, Sis, and if she doesn’t want
to stay with us, I’ll write back to that eastern seminary and see
what can be done.”

Virginia looked at her brother with laughing eyes, but they quickly
sobered as she said, “I agree with you, Malcolm. I believe that we
have made a mistake. The truth is always best after all. Suppose you
go to your room now and reappear just yourself.”

The lad went away whistling. Somehow, he felt happier than he had in
many a day.

Virginia tapped lightly on the closed door of the big sunny
southwest room to which she had taken their ward immediately upon
their arrival at V. M. A half sob accompanied the words, barely
heard by the listener. “Come in.”

On the bed Margaret had thrown herself in an abandon of grief.
Virginia knelt by her side and said compassionately, “Margaret dear,
don’t cry this way. Was it so very hard for you to come to us?”

“Ye-es. Next to losing father it was the hardest thing I ever had to
face,” was the broken reply that came from the depths of a pillow.
“But forgive me, if I seem ungrateful. Mr. Wallace has been telling
me that Mr. Davis did not send for me from unkind motives, and so I
have changed my mind. Tell him, please, that I am not going to be
rebellious and that I’ll try to be cheerful and bring a little
sunshine into his home. He must be a very lonely old man and he was
kind to my father.”

Tears were brimming Virginia’s eyes. “Dearie,” she said, “lie here
and rest for an hour, but when you hear the Chinese gong, come out
to dinner. A pleasant surprise will be awaiting you. At least I hope
that you will like it.”

“Thank you,” Margaret said without lifting her head from her pillow.
She felt too dead inside to care about surprises. Nothing mattered
if she had to remain on this desolate desert. The only surprise that
could interest her would be the news that she might return to Vine
Haven and to Babs.

However, the words of the housekeeper had soothed her more than she
realized. Her sobbing soon ceased and she actually fell into a light
slumber from which she awakened refreshed.

Rising, she washed away the tear stains and brushing her short
gold-brown curls, she fastened them back with a wide barette.

Then she went out into the big, pleasant, homey living-room, but no
one was there. Suddenly recalling the promised surprise, she was
wondering what it would be, when a door, leading out upon a wide
veranda, opened and a young girl entered followed by a tall,
good-looking lad.

They approached the astonished ward and, Virginia, holding out both
hands, said impulsively, “Margaret, can you ever forgive us for play
actin’, as Uncle Tex called it. Your guardian isn’t an old man. He
is my brother, Malcolm. I just don’t know how to go about explaining
it,” she looked rather helplessly at the lad.

“I’ll do it, Sis,” he said. “Margaret, the truth is that you wrote
such—such—” even Malcolm was at a loss how to tell the tale.

“Such horrid, disagreeable letters,” his ward put in, a dimple
appearing as she smiled, “that you were sure you wouldn’t want to
keep me. I don’t blame you a bit!” she declared vehemently. Then she
surprised them both by impulsively kissing Virginia and saying:

“I just _know_ that I’m going to be happy with _you_. It will be
like having a sister, a really and truly one, won’t it?”

“Hum-m!” said Malcolm with mock seriousness, “You aren’t so pleased
to have a really, truly brother it would seem.”

Then, when the girl flashed a smile at him, he added, “However I
refuse to be your brother. I shall remain your stern guardian.
Aren’t you skeered of me, as Uncle Tex says.”

The lad’s tanned face was so good-looking and pleasant, his grey
eyes so frank and merry that his ward laughingly shook her head as
she happily replied:

“I’m not skeered the least bit. I just know that I’m going to love
you both.”

That evening the three young people sat around the fireplace and had
a most delightful get-acquainted visit. Virginia told Margaret about
the stage-fright which had caused Uncle Tex to depart with speed to
the mountains.

“He won’t be back for a week, I’ll wager,” Malcolm laughingly
declared.

Then Margaret asked: “Virginia, what did you expect me to look
like?”

The other girl smiled but shook her head. “Don’t ask me,” she
pleaded. “The picture in my imagination was so different from the
real you, it would be a sacrilege to tell it.”

The dimple again appeared, but it was a somber Margaret who replied.
“I don’t blame you for thinking me just horrid, but I did so want to
remain at boarding school with Babs.” Then turning to Virginia she
asked:

“Haven’t you ever had a yearning to go east to school?” Malcolm
glanced quickly at his sister, who was gazing almost wistfully into
the fire. It was a long moment before she replied, then she said:

“Yes, Margaret, I did want to go. In fact I had my trunk packed and
was to have started the next day for a seminary in the East, just
out of New York, when father was taken ill. How glad I am that I had
not already departed, for no one thought dad’s illness would be
serious and they would not have sent for me. He left us one week
from that day.” Then placing a loving hand on the arm of her brother
who sat near, she added, “Malcolm was planning to attend a military
academy that winter, but when dad was gone, brother’s presence was
needed here on the ranch and I just couldn’t go and leave him
alone.”

Tears sprang to the eyes of Margaret. All her life she had been
petted and pampered, as she had been an only child and so she had
not learned the joy of that self-sacrifice which she now saw shining
in the violet-blue eyes of her new friend.

Not wishing to sadden their ward, Virginia sprang up and poked at
the fire. “Dance, little flames,” she said merrily, “and show our
guest how prettily a mesquite root can burn.”

“Please don’t call me a guest,” Margaret begged impulsively. “I want
to be home folks. It’s so long since I had a real home.” She had
risen and had placed an arm about the western girl who still stood
looking down at the fire. As Malcolm watched them, he thought that
nowhere could two more lovely girls be found although they were very
unlike each other.

The grandfather clock was soon telling the hour of nine, which was
bed-time for the dwellers of V. M. Ranch. The lad rose and placed a
wire screen in front of the fire as he said gaily: “Girls, don’t
despair of getting an ‘iddication,’ as Uncle Tex calls it. Most
anytime we may find a paying mine. I am convinced that there is one
in these mountains, and when it is found, three trunks will be
packed and we will all depart for the centers of learning.” Then, to
Virginia, he added, “Margaret will want to sleep late, for I am sure
that she is unusually tired after that long hard journey, and, just
for the luxury of it, suppose you sleep too. I’ll get my own
breakfast. I want to reach the Slater Ranch soon after sunrise to
hand in my report about the cattle that I delivered in Chicago.”

Long after Margaret was in her comfortable bed, she lay awake
wondering what life on the desert was to hold for her, but it was to
be more interesting and exciting than even her wildest dreams could
picture.




CHAPTER X

THE LOST BROTHER


The next day was a happy one for Margaret and Virginia.

“Please give me some tasks to do that shall be my very own,” the
newcomer pleaded when breakfast was over. Malcolm, true to his word,
had long since departed.

“Oh, let’s just do everything together,” Virginia replied. “That’s
more sociable. First, we will make the beds. I’ll spread one side
and you the other, and while we’re doing them, let’s chatter like
magpies. There are dozens of things I want to know about you. First,
is this Babs about whom you tell, your very best friend?”

“Yes indeed. Her full name is Barbara Blair Wente, and, Virg, I do
believe that you could put her in a thimble, most, and not have a
single one of her sunny hairs show over the top, she’s that tiny.
She has a brother, but she seldom mentions him. There is something
very sad about him, but I don’t understand what exactly. Once, when
I went to our room unexpectedly (that is, Babs thought I was in
class, and I was, only I went back for a book), I found her crying
as though her heart would break. In one hand she held a crumpled
letter and in the other a picture of such a good-looking boy. Of
course I begged her to tell me, that is, if I could help, but she
said she just couldn’t tell the whole story. However, I gathered
from fragments that her brother, Peyton, who is three years older
than she, had displeased their rather stern father and had
disappeared, no one knew where. ‘I love him so, Megsy,’ Babs sobbed,
‘much more than I do anyone on the whole earth now that mother is
gone.’

“Just then a maid came to straighten our room, and never again could
I get Babs to talk about her brother. ‘It hurts too much,’ she would
tell me.

“The next day before I came away I asked: ‘Babsy, have you heard
from Peyton yet?’ Tears rushed to her eyes and she shook her head.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘he thinks he has disgraced us all and he will
never write, even to me.’”

“Poor girl,” Virginia said, with true sympathy as she led the way to
Malcolm’s room. “I know how I would feel if my brother suddenly
disappeared and I didn’t know where he was. I don’t believe I could
stand it. In fact, I am sure I couldn’t. Did you ever see Peyton?”

“No, I didn’t,” Margaret replied, “but I am pretty sure that I have
a snapshot of Babs that was taken years ago with her brother. When I
unpack my trunk, I’ll look for it.”

“I wonder if Peyton came west. So many boys do when they run away,”
Virginia said as she smoothed the top spread on Malcolm’s bed and
placed the pillows at just the right angle.

“Babs thinks he went to sea,” Margaret told her. “Not that she has
any reason for so thinking, but he was always wild about water, ever
since the days when he sailed chip-vessels on a brook, Babs said.”

“Then that’s probably where he has gone. Poor, poor girl, my heart
aches for her.”

Then, catching Margaret’s hand, Virginia added: “Megsy, you would
just love to have our friend visit you out here some time, wouldn’t
you? Please tell her, when you write, that she will be most welcome
whenever she wishes to come.”

“Oh, Virginia, thank you!” Margaret hugged the taller girl. “I
believe Babs would come some day. She has an income of her own. You
would just love her, I know.”

Then, when the older girl departed kitchenward, leaving her new
friend to dust the living-room, Margaret fell to happily dreaming of
the day, which she hoped would soon materialize, when her beloved
Babs would be a visitor on the V. M. Ranch.




CHAPTER XI

A LETTER TO BABS


Margaret’s very own room in the ranch house was delightfully homey.
Glass doors opened upon a wide veranda where a vine, which Virginia
watered daily, was growing luxuriantly. Each spring it was covered
with gay colored trumpet flowers.

A flood of sunshine was pouring in at the open window facing the
southwest and fell upon a small desk at which Margaret was writing a
long letter to Babs. When it was finished the girl sat looking out
across the desert that was a shining sandy waste as far as she could
see, with here and there a scraggly mesquite bush or towering above
it, a thorny cactus. Lonely, desolate, those were the words that
Margaret had repeatedly used in describing her dread of the desert
before she had really seen it, but now in her soul there was slowly
awakening an appreciation of the peace, the bigness and the grandeur
of it all. How Babs would love it.

Margaret’s dreaming was suddenly interrupted by a most unearthly
noise close to the house. Hurrying to the glass doors, the girl
looked out and beheld three ungainly little creatures that resembled
donkeys. Smilingly, she put her fingers in her ears when she saw
that once again, all three had opened their mouths to bray in
chorus. Margaret wondered why they seemed to be calling, and she was
soon to learn, for she heard the living room door open and saw
Virginia skip out on the veranda and feed a lump of sugar to each of
the small mouse-colored creatures.

Margaret stepped out. “What queer pets you have, Virginia,” she said
merrily.

“They are little wild burros,” the western girl told her. “They come
often to beg for a lump of sugar, but their manner of serenading is
not very musical. Have you finished your letter to Babs?” she added.
“I have stayed away from your room for a long hour that you might
not be interrupted.”

“Yes, I have finished it. Shall I read it to you?”

The two girls sat on the top step while Margaret read: “Dearest
Babs, I’m so happy, so happy, you just can’t guess.” Then pausing,
she glanced up brightly.

“Won’t that be a pleasant surprise to Babs, for, of course, she will
expect my first letter to tell that I am melting away in tears.”

Then followed a description of the journey west, of the “play
actin’,” as Uncle Tex called it, and of her joyous surprise when the
middle-aged rancher and the housekeeper removed their disguises and
were really a girl and a boy of about her own age.

“And Oh, Babs,” Margaret continued reading. “I know that you won’t
be the least bit jealous when I tell you that I am going to put
Virginia Davis in the same corner of my heart that you occupy. You
will love her, too, when you meet her, and now, just listen to this
wonderful bit of news. Virginia has told me to invite you to visit
us whenever you can, and I am hoping that you will want to come for
your summer vacation. Of course that is months away, but it’s such
fun to plan. I’m going to write a volume of a letter to you every
week and I shall expect one from you. Remember me to all of the
girls at Vine Haven, and tell them that they need not pity me, after
all, for I am having just a glorious time.”

Virginia moved closer and slipped an arm about her friend. “I am
glad that you are able to write such a happy letter,” she said.

Margaret laughed. “Babs will be disappointed in one way, because as
yet I have not had an exciting adventure to tell her. She thinks the
West is full of them, just like moving pictures, you know.”

Virginia smiled. “Perhaps you will have an adventure to tell about
in your next letter,” she said, little dreaming that she was
speaking the truth.




CHAPTER XII

CHOOSING A PONY


The next morning Virginia breakfasted at sunrise with her brother.
Margaret, who was not accustomed to awakening at so early an hour,
slept until she heard voices outside her window. Upon seeing
Virginia and Malcolm walking toward the corral, she sprang up and
dressed hastily.

The brother and sister were on the way to a fenced-in hollow, where
a wiry desert grass grew abundantly, and where several ponies were
quietly feeding.

“Which of the horses shall we give to Margaret for her very own?”
Virginia asked as she leaned on a top rail and looked about.

“Can Margaret ride well?” Malcolm inquired.

“Oh, I am sure that she can,” Virginia replied, “because she
belonged to an equestrian class at the fashionable boarding school
that she attended and they went every Saturday for an afternoon
canter.”

Malcolm looked a bit doubtful.

“Those Eastern horses are not like our little wild ponies,” he said.
“Perhaps we ought to start Margaret with Tags.”

Virginia laughingly protested.

“Oh, brother, I wouldn’t ask Megsy to ride that stupid old horse. I
am sure that Margaret could ride, well, say Star. I have ridden him
several times, and next to my Comrade I think he is the prettiest
pony that we have on the ranch.”

Just at that moment the brother and sister heard a merry hallooing,
and, turning, they saw Margaret skipping toward them.

“Virginia,” she exclaimed reproachfully as she came up, quite out of
breath, “why didn’t you waken me? I want always to get up when you
do.”

“But it was before sunrise, and I know that you are not used to
being up so early,” the other girl replied as she slipped an arm
about the newcomer, who said enthusiastically:

“Oh Virg, what a pretty horse that red-brown one is. It looked up
and neighed just as though it were trying to say ‘Good morning!’”

Virginia was about to explain that the graceful, alert little horse
to which Margaret referred was her own dear Comrade that had been
given her by her father when it was a colt, but, before she could
speak, she heard Malcolm saying: “Sister and I were looking over the
mounts just now trying to decide which one we would give to you for
your very own.”

His ward turned toward him with eyes that glowed. “Oh, how kind you
both are,” she exclaimed, appreciatively. “I would just love to have
a pony all for my very own. May I choose any one that I wish?”

The eager glance was questioning Virginia, and unhesitatingly that
maiden smiling replied, “Yes, indeed, you may Megsy.”

For a minute Margaret’s glance swept the pasture.

“I just love that red-brown pony,” she said at last, “It reminds me
of the one I had when I was a little girl.” Then as a sudden thought
came to her, she added, “but which is the one that you ride, Virg?”

The Western girl unhesitatingly replied: “I ride Star sometimes, the
black and white wiry little fellow with the dark star on his
forehead. You may have Comrade, if you like him best, to be your
very own.”

Malcolm, knowing how dearly his sister loved the pony that their
father had given to her, was about to protest, but Virginia motioned
him to be silent, then aloud she added, “Brother, will you ask Slim
to bring the two ponies to the ranch house at nine? I want to return
Grandmother Slater’s bombazine dress, and I am sure that Margaret
will enjoy a ride across the desert.”

Then arm in arm the two girls returned to the ranch house while the
lad saddled his lively young broncho and rode away, waving his
sombrero when they turned at the porch steps to watch him.

“Now shall I unpack my trunk?” Margaret smiled up happily. “I must
find my riding habit.”

As she unpacked, Megsy kept watching for the kodak picture of Babs
and her brother, Peyton, which she believed that she had tucked in
somewhere but it was not discovered. “Well, it really doesn’t matter
in the least,” the girl declared, as she smiled up at Virginia who
sat on the ledge of the bed watching her. “I have a darling picture
of Babs and we do not care what Peyton looks like.”

Then diving into the depths of her trunk, she brought out a book
filled with kodak pictures, and sitting beside her friend, Margaret
turned the pages and told the story of each one. They were so
interested that they had quite forgotten the hour until Virginia
heard the galloping of horses’ feet, and springing up, she
exclaimed, “Why, Megsy, it is 9 o’clock and we aren’t ready for our
ride.” Then she called out of the open window, “Thank you, Slim, for
bringing up the horses. You may leave them there. We’ll be out in
short order.” Then turning to Margaret, she added, “What are you
going to wear, Megsy?”

The Eastern girl laughingly held up a black broadcloth riding habit
with a long tailored coat and a stiff black derby. “This doesn’t
look much like a cowgirl costume,” she said gaily. “How I do wish I
had a khaki suit like yours.”

“So you shall have as soon as we can get to town, but today you may
wear my extra one. I always keep two in readiness least a mishap
befall one of them. I’ll get it in a twinkling.”

Half an hour later the girls were starting on their ride across the
desert and toward the Slater Ranch. Margaret, in her cowgirl
costume, made a very pretty picture. “How I wish Babs could see me
now!” she said as the two girls, after a canter side by side, drew
rein to go single file down the steep trail leading across Silver
Creek which at that time of the year was dry and pebbly.

Virginia glanced anxiously at Comrade for that pony seemed restive
and ill content. “Was it because of the strangeness of the rider?”
the girl wondered. She was about to suggest that Margaret hold the
rein loosely when the level desert was again reached, but at that
moment a sudden whirlwind swept toward them and they were engulfed
in blinding sand.

Margaret, terrorized by this new and unexpected experience, dragged
frantically on the rein. Instantly Comrade reared, and then,
dropping again to all fours, he galloped madly ahead at a pace so
rapid that Virginia, though she urged Star to his top-most speed,
could not overtake him.

Margaret knew that her only safety lay in clinging to the horse’s
neck and this she did, dropping the rein which flapping in Comrade’s
face greatly increased his fright. Although Virginia’s pony strained
every muscle, he could not overtake the fright-maddened Comrade. Now
and then pausing to snort and rear, again plunging blindly ahead,
the red-brown pony suddenly veered and made straight for the
mountains. There was a new terror in the heart of Virginia and she
greatly feared for the safety of her friend, for the mountain trail
was rough and the Eastern girl would surely be thrown against the
jagged rocks.

Then, to add to Virginia’s dismay, a second whirlwind swept across
the desert. She saw it coming and just in time, she wheeled Star
about that the sand might not be hurled in their faces. When the air
was again clear Comrade and his rider were nowhere to be seen.

What had happened, Virginia wondered, sad at heart. Surely they
could not have reached the mountain trail as yet. Of course the
rider might have been thrown, but the horse, too, had disappeared.

Again urging Star to his top speed, Virginia soon neared the spot
where she had last seen Comrade. There she drew rein and looked
about.

“Margaret! Margaret!” she called. “Where are you?” But there was no
reply.

With a half sob Virginia turned her horse’s head, planning to ride
to the Slater Ranch for help, when she heard a faint moan. It seemed
to come from a thorny tangle of bushes that surrounded a deep
waterhole. For one terrorized moment Virginia thought that her
friend might have been hurled into this stagnant well of the desert.
Dismounting she ran to the spot, but, to her great relief, Margaret,
although she was lying on the sand, had not been thrown into the
pit.

Kneeling by the side of her friend, who was pale and motionless,
Virginia pleaded: “Megsy, Megsy, darling. Open your eyes and speak
to me. Are you hurt?” But there was no response.

“Oh, why did I permit her to ride Comrade?” Virginia rebuked
herself, as she held the limp girl in her arms and tried to revive
her by rubbing her hands and forehead, but still there was no sign
of life. Rising, she went to the edge of the well, but the little
water that was in it was covered with a green scum. What could she
do? If only she could send to Slater’s for help, but she must not go
herself and leave Margaret alone. She would have to send Star. It
was their one hope. Going to the waiting pony, Virginia tied her
bright red hair ribbon on the saddle horn and started him in the
direction of the nearest ranch, but to her despair, she saw the pony
wander toward a clump of wiry grass and stop to graze.

At that moment, although Virginia had no way of knowing it, help was
not far away.

It seemed hours to Virginia, but in reality not many minutes had
passed when she heard a galloping of what seemed like the feet of
many horses. Leaping from the sand where she had been kneeling
beside Margaret the girl stood waiting for she knew not what. The
sound came from beyond a small sand hill. It might be a stampede of
little wild burros, she thought, but how she did hope that this
surmise was wrong, as indeed it was, for in another moment three
horses appeared and the one in the lead was ridden by the Slater
cow-boy known as “Slick Cy.” Meekly following were the now quieted
Comrade and Star.

Virginia scarcely knowing what she did in her great joy and relief,
ran to meet the cow-boy with arms outstretched. “Oh, Cy! Cy!” she
half sobbed, “I’m so glad you have come. Margaret has been thrown
and she lies as still as though she were dead, and yet I know that
she isn’t, for her heart is beating, but I can’t revive her. I’ll
never go anywhere again without my canteen. Cy, what shall we do?”

The bronzed, broad-shouldered cow-boy dismounted, and, looking
kindly at the almost hysterical girl, he said comfortingly, “Ah
reckon ah wouldn’t worry yet, Miss Virginia. If her heart’s a-goin’
ah reckon she’ll be all right.”

Taking a canteen from his saddle the cow-boy forced water between
the lips of the girl while Virginia bathed her face, and soon to the
joy of the watchers, Margaret opened her eyes. Then she reached out
her hand to her friend as she said faintly, “It was all mv fault,
Virginia, dear. I should have told you that I did not know how to
ride, really. I had never been on a horse, except one that nothing
could frighten, but you are such a fine horsewoman I thought you
might think me a coward if I told you that I was really afraid to
ride Comrade, but I’ll never ride him again, never, never, never.”

Virginia’s heart leaped with joy, for after all she would not have
to give up the horse she so loved, the one her dear father had given
her for her very, very own.

“Star is far more gentle,” she said, as she and Cy assisted Margaret
to her feet, then remembering her manners, she added, “Margaret,
permit me to introduce Slick Cy. He is one of Mr. Slater’s
cow-boys.”

Impulsively Margaret held out her hand as she said graciously,
“Thank you, Mr. Slick Cy, for coming to my rescue.”

The young giant of a cow-boy, being unused to girls, was very shy
and he shifted from one foot to another as he said, “Miss Margaret,
ah reckon as you’d better ride home with me on my horse.”

“Yes, do, Megsy,” Virginia urged. “It won’t be safe for you to even
ride Star until you have had a few lessons.”

Margaret smiled at her friend as she remarked: “Now I have an
adventure about which I can tell Babs in my very next letter.”




CHAPTER XIII

THE DESERT HUT


It was the nineteenth of December and the morning was bright and
sparkling. Margaret Selover stood on the wide veranda of the ranch
house, her eyes glowing with appreciation as she gazed across the
shimmering white desert and toward the mountains over which hung a
blaze of blue and gold.

“Ho, Virginia,” she called to the girl, who, hatless, came up from
the chicken yard, where she had been to scatter a breakfast to her
feathered pets, “it is hard for me to realize that it is nearly
Christmas and not a snow flake to be seen.”

“When we go up in the mountains after our Christmas tree, you will
see plenty of snow,” Virginia assured her. “Slim tells me that when
he rode over the Seven Peak range yesterday, it was snowing and
blowing a regular blizzard.”

“Oh, Virg, how nice! Are we going to have a truly Christmas tree? I
haven’t had one since mother and dad and I were all together.”

The other girl nodded. “Yes, indeed. We have a big tree every
Christmas for our own family and for the Slaters. One year we have
it here and the next to the Bar S Ranch. That makes quite a party,
for they have four cow-boys and we have two.” Then after a
thoughtful moment, Virginia added, “How I do wish that some kiddies
lived nearby. It would be heaps more fun to have children to skip
around a Christmas tree wouldn’t it, but there isn’t a chick or
child for ten miles around.”

At that moment Malcolm appeared. “Sis,” he said, “I have an
important letter to send. Would you and Margaret be willing to ride
over to the junction and mail it for me? I had planned going myself,
but Mr. Slater just phoned that he saw several of our prize
yearlings headed for the Mexican border, and so Rusty and I are
going at once to search for them and turn them back, for, if they
cross the line, we will never see them again. If we aren’t home
tonight, don’t worry, girls, for we will camp down that way until we
find them all.”

“Goodbye and good luck!” Margaret and Virginia called, as arm in arm
they stood watching the good looking boy as he swung into his saddle
and galloped away. Near the corral he was joined by Rusty Pete and
the two boys turned and waved their wide sombreros while Malcolm’s
horse reared and then plunged ahead, to the delight of the eastern
girl. “How I do hope Babs will see Malcolm ride some day,” she said
as they turned into the house.

Several weeks had passed since Margaret had attempted to ride
Comrade, and Malcolm had taken every opportunity that presented
since then to teach his ward to ride, and at last both gracefully
and fearlessly she rode every day with Virginia.

Half an hour after Malcolm had departed, the two girls in their
khaki riding habits (Margaret with a red handkerchief knotted about
her neck and Virginia with a blue) started riding along the trail
which led over the mesa, down into the dry creek and over toward the
mountains. They were about a quarter of a mile away from the Seven
Peak range when Virginia suddenly drew rein and gazed intently
ahead. Margaret looked wonderingly in the same direction but saw
nothing unusual.

“What is it, Virginia?” the eastern girl asked anxiously as she drew
rein by the side of her friend and gazed across the shimmering
desert.

“Has something startled you? What do you see?”

Margaret knew that Virginia’s desert trained eyes could perceive
things that were invisible to her. “It may be nothing at all to be
startled about,” Virginia replied, “but I overheard two cow-boys
talking yesterday. One of them had just ridden in from Douglas and
he said that an outlaw from Texas is hiding in the mountains. I did
not mention this to brother, for, had I done so, he would not permit
me to ride far from the house, and I am very sure that we can
protect ourselves. However, I do not wish to run into trouble
needlessly.”

“But what did you see that made you think this outlaw might be
near?” Margaret inquired.

Virginia turned toward her. “You, too, must train your eyes,” she
said. “Now look intently just to the left of the giant cactus, and
close to the foot of the mountains; then tell me what you see.”

Margaret shaded her eyes and gazed for a long time before she spoke.
“I think that I can see an old adobe hut,” she said softly. Then she
asked, “Is that what you wished me to see?”

Virginia nodded. “Yes, but what do you notice about it?”

“There might be smoke coming from the chimney,” Margaret replied,
“but it is so faint that at first I did not notice it.”

“When I tell you that the old crumbling adobe has been vacant for
many years and that it is absolutely unsafe as a habitation for
human beings of any kind, you will understand why I was so puzzled
to see signs of an occupant. The last family to live there was a
mountain lioness and her young, but I am sure that some human being
must be there now, for a lion could not start a fire.”

Virginia, fearing that she might have frightened the eastern girl,
said this merrily as she whirled her horse’s head away from the
mountains.

“We will take the sand hill trail,” she announced. “It is a mile
farther to the junction, but perhaps we would be unwise to ride
alone too close to the old adobe.”

“You really think that the outlaw might be hiding there?” Margaret
asked anxiously.

Virginia nodded. “It is a very lonely spot,” she said, “and so it is
quite possible.”

“What is an outlaw?” the eastern girl inquired as they rode side by
side toward the sand-hills.

“An outlaw is a man who has done something displeasing to his fellow
citizens. He is driven from his home state and it would not be safe
for him to return. Sometimes an outlaw is innocent of the charges
against him and is just a victim of unfortunate circumstances, but
one never knows, of course.”

Virginia, as she spoke, glanced back toward the old adobe which was
hardly visible from that distance; then, to Margaret’s surprise, she
drew rein, whirled about and once more gazed intently in that
direction.

“Virg, what do you see now?” Margaret inquired, for she herself
could see nothing.

For answer Virginia beckoned the eastern girl to follow, and then,
urging Comrade to top speed, she again galloped toward the mountains
and the old adobe hut.

Much puzzled, Margaret followed on Star.

What had Virginia seen, she wondered.




CHAPTER XIV

THE HUT OCCUPIED


Virginia did not pause in her mad gallop over the hard, sandy trail
toward the mountains until they were near enough for Margaret’s
untrained eyes to see clearly the old adobe. Then, turning in her
saddle, the western girl asked: “What do you see now?”

“Something white waving on the roof,” the eastern girl replied.

“Yes, and the something is being waved by a small boy, and so the
occupant is not an outlaw as we feared at first. I believe that the
little fellow is trying to call for help.” Then gazing intently at
her comrade, Virginia said: “Margaret, I will ride on alone, and you
remain here. It may be a trap laid for us, but still it may be
someone in trouble. I cannot pass without knowing which it is.”

“But, Virginia,” the Eastern girl pleaded, “I wouldn’t want to
remain here and let you go alone into possible danger.”

“Margaret,” the other said earnestly, “you would be a far greater
help to me if you would wait here. If it is a trap, and if I do not
quickly reappear, gallop as fast as you can back to the ranch and
bring Slim to my rescue, but if all is well I will wave to you and
then you may come to the hut in safety.”

Margaret felt that Virginia was planning this to protect her, and
her heart was filled with conflicting emotions as she sat on Star
watching as the western girl rode alone toward the crumbling adobe
hut. The boy was no longer on the roof, nor was there smoke coming
from the chimney. A vulture, sweeping in great circles overhead, was
the only sign of life.

Margaret fairly held her breath when she saw Virginia dismount and
enter the open door. Would she come out again? What would she find
in there? Margaret shuddered at these thoughts.

One minute passed, then two, and Virginia did not appear. Ought
Margaret to race to the ranch for help? Another minute, which seemed
an hour long to the waiting girl, and then, to her great relief,
Virginia appeared in the open door and beckoned to her. By her side
was the small boy who had been on the roof.

As Margaret rode up, Virginia hastened out to meet her and there
were tears in the eyes that were lifted to her friend.

“What is it, Virginia? Is someone in trouble?” Margaret asked
anxiously.

“Yes, dear, in great trouble,” was the reply. “A little mother is
lying in there, unconscious, and the three babies, the oldest but
nine, are almost starved. Oh, how thankful I am that we did not pass
them by.” Then, brushing away her tears, she added: “Margaret, dear,
please ride home as fast as you can and ask Slim to come at once
with the car. I will take this little family back to the ranch.”

Margaret did as she was told, and was soon riding as she had never
ridden before. Suddenly she saw a horseman appear on the sand hill
trail. He was riding slowly when she first noticed him, but upon
seeing her, he urged his horse to a gallop. Margaret was terrorized!
What if it should be that dreaded outlaw? She tried to urge Star to
greater speed, but although she did not turn, she could tell that
the horseman was overtaking her.

A few moments later, when the galloping tread of the pursuing horse
was close behind her, the eastern girl, drew rein and whirled about
that she might know the worst or the best, and it sure was the
latter for the supposed “outlaw” was no other than Slick Cy, the
kindly cow-boy from the Slater Ranch.

“Miss Margaret,” he exclaimed as he rode alongside, “yo’ all look
scared like. Didn’t yo’ all know who ah was?”

[Illustration: She tried to urge Star to greater speed for the
horseman was overtaking her.]

“No, I didn’t ever think that it might be you, Cy, but Oh, how glad
I am that you have come, for something terrible has happened.” And
then the girl hurriedly told of the sick woman and the nearly
starved children whom Virginia had found in the crumbling old adobe.

“They all must be strangers hereabouts,” the cow-boy said, then he
added: “It’s well I met up with yo’, Miss Margaret, for Slim is
riding north to the Dartly Ranch. Ah passed him this hour back.”

“Oh, what shall we do, then?” Margaret dolefully exclaimed.
“Virginia told me to send Slim to her at once with the car. How I
wish now that I had learned to drive, but all I can do is start a
car and stop it.”

“Wall,” said the cow-boy hopefully, “if yo’ all can start it, like
as not ah can steer it, and then Miss Virginia can be drivin’ it
back.”

Five minutes later they were down by the corral and the big
automobile was taken from its shelter. Then, with many misgivings,
Margaret told Slick Cy what to do and they started so suddenly that
the girl feared that they would plunge down into the dry creek
before the machine could be controlled, but, although Slick Cy knew
much more about the management of wild horses, by following
Margaret’s directions, he was soon driving slowly and the danger of
a wreck was passed, for the present, at least.

Virginia saw them coming and hurried out to meet them. “Why, Slick
Cy,” she exclaimed, when the car stopped, “I didn’t know that you
could drive.”

The cow-boy drew out a big, red bandana and wiped his flushed face.

“He did splendidly,” Margaret put in before the cow-boy could reply.
“I am so thankful he happened along, for Slim has ridden over to the
Dartley Ranch.”

They were walking toward the old adobe as they talked and when they
entered the dark, damp room Margaret glanced at the hard board bench
and saw a frail little woman lying there so white and still that the
girl feared she had died while she had been gone. Nearby stood a
hollow-eyed boy of 9, and, on the floor, clinging to each other were
two small girls of about 3 and 5.

The younger one was crying softly, but the older girl looked as
though she had suffered and starved so much that she could cry no
more.

Slick Cy took off his hat. “How came the pore things here, Miss
Virginia?” he asked.

“The little lad has told me the whole sad story,” that girl replied,
“and I will tell it to you when the brave little mother is cared
for. Cy, can you carry her to the car?”

For answer the young giant of a cow-boy stooped and lifted the frail
woman, who moaned but did not open her eyes.

Soon they were all in the car, which Virginia drove slowly and
skillfully toward the V. M. Ranch.




CHAPTER XV

THE STRANDED FAMILY


Back of the big, rambling V. M. ranch house there was a comfortable
small adobe which had been occupied at one time by the foreman and
family, but now that Malcolm was his own foreman, the house was
vacant, and it was into this that Virginia bade Cy carry the little
woman.

Then Virginia held out her hand as she said sincerely: “Thank you
Cy, for having helped us again. Isn’t it strange that twice, when we
have needed someone, you have just happened to pass by.”

The cow-boy flushed as he replied, shuffling from one foot to the
other. “Yo’ all have done mo’ for me than ah can be doin’ fo’
you-all. Ah’m glad ah meet up wi’-you-all.” Then he turned and
bolted. No other word would adequately describe his manner of
disappearance.

“That boy is a diamond in the rough, isn’t he?” Margaret said as she
stood in the open-door and watched the tall lank cow-boy swing into
his saddle and ride away toward the Slater Ranch.

Virginia, having for years helped care for an invalid mother, soon
had the little woman roused from her stupor and taking warm broth
for nourishment. Margaret, in the meantime, fed the three solemn
eyed children who ate ravenously, like little wild creatures that
were nearly starved.

At last when the mother had fallen into a more natural sleep and the
three children had been tucked into one large bed, the two girls
seated themselves near the kitchen stove in which Virg had made a
fire and Megsy said: “Now may I hear what happened to bring this
little brood to the desert?”

“It is not a long story,” Virginia began, “nor an unusual one. The
father of the small family is a prospector who, until recently, was
working in a copper mine near Bisbee. They had a good home and
plenty to eat, little Pat said, until the strike came and then their
money had to be taken from the savings bank where the mother had
been so glad each month to place it and had been used for absolute
necessities until, at last, it was nearly gone.

“Then, one day, the father, who had tried in vain to get work of any
kind, came home much excited because he had heard that the mountains
of the Seven Peak Range were supposed to be rich and as yet they had
been unmined. He wanted to start out that very day. His wife, Mrs.
Mahoy, begged him not to go, but Margaret, when a miner thinks that
he has heard of a possible location that might be rich, his gambling
spirit seems to be stronger than all else, and so just one month ago
today Mr. Mahoy left Bisbee and came, as his wife supposed, to Seven
Peak Range.

“She had not heard from him since, and so she started out in search
of him, spending the few remaining dollars for food. Carrying the
baby and leading the two older children, the brave little woman
walked for days across the desert.

“Pat said that she ate almost nothing herself, so eager was she to
make the food last for her little ones, but for two days even they
had not eaten. Last night they reached the old adobe hut and there
the mother, faint from hunger and the long walk, crept in and fell
unconscious.

“You know the rest; how the brave little fellow tried to think of
some way that he might call help and how, just by chance, we saw and
responded.” Margaret, by the window, looked out across the desert.
Night had settled down and the stars were shining brilliantly.

“One week from tonight it will be Christmas eve,” she said softly,
“How I wish we might find the poor father and restore him to his
family. What happiness it would bring, for no other Christmas gift
would be more welcome to the little mother and her three babies.”

“Such things only happen in story books, not in real life, Megsy
dear,” Virginia said, quietly.

“And yet truth is stranger than fiction.” Margaret replied as she
prepared the bed that she and Virginia were to occupy in the little
house that they might be near the sick mother.

And Margaret was right. Truth is stranger than fiction.




CHAPTER XVI

CAUGHT IN A BLIZZARD


Three days had passed and the little mother had responded to the
loving care of the two girls. Nourishing food taken each hour had
revived her and slowly she was regaining her strength. She was able
to walk about the little house and care for her babies. Virginia
assured her that she need worry about nothing; that she and her
children would be well cared for as long as she wished to remain
there.

The frail woman took the girl’s hand and with tears in her eyes she
said: “You are one of God’s angels sent to save my babies and now
may He guide my husband back to me.”

“He will! I know He will, Mrs. Mahoy,” Virginia said earnestly. Then
hearing the telephone ringing in the big ranch house, she ran to
answer it. Margaret had also heard the summons and the two girls met
on the veranda. Together they raced to the living-room, but it was
Virginia who first reached the phone. “Oh, Brother Malcolm,” she
exclaimed, “Where have you been all these three days? I feared that
you had been dragged over the border by Mexican bandits. Have you
found all of the straying cattle?”

Then after listening with shining eyes for a moment, Virginia
exclaimed: “Oh, goodie. We’ll come at once. I have a very exciting
something to tell you, but it will keep till we get there. Good-bye,
Buddie.”

“Guess what Malcolm wants us to do?” she then exclaimed as she
looked beamingly up at Margaret.

“Well, dear, I judge that he wants us to ride somewhere and meet him
for some reason which seems pleasing to his sister.”

Virginia laughed. “You ought to know what we are to do if you will
put on your thinking cap. Do you remember what I said brother and I
do every year just before Christmas?”

Margaret looked blank and shook her head. “Why, we were talking
about it only last week when you said you wished that you could see
snow and—”

“Oho! I know now. We are to meet Malcolm somewhere and go up into
the mountains after a Christmas tree.” Then she added blithely:
“Virginia, do you remember that on that very same day you wished
that we might have a child to dance around the Christmas tree and
now we have three children, and so it will be heaps more fun, won’t
it?”

As the girls chattered, they entered their bedrooms to exchange
their house dresses for their khaki riding habits.

“There’s little Pat on the cow-pony that you told him he might
ride,” Margaret said, looking out of the window.

“I will ask him if he would like to go with us,” Virginia remarked.
The little lad was delighted to accompany the two girls, and half an
hour later the three were riding along the desert trail toward the
Slater Ranch, where they were to meet Malcolm.

“I just love Christmas, don’t you, Virg?” Margaret exclaimed, when,
the deep dry creek having been crossed, the girls were cantering
along on the hard sand side by side. “It’s such fun to get packages
by mail and then put them away to keep until Christmas. Of course I
know just where they are, and every now and then I peek at them and
try to guess from the shape what is in them, but I am strong-minded
about it. I never do really open them until Christmas morning, do
you?”

Virginia laughed. “I’ll have to confess that last year I opened a
long, mysterious box the moment it arrived. I was so eager to see if
it was the something that I wanted most, and it was.”

“What was it?” the other asked with interest.

“A set of grey fox furs,” Virginia replied. “Brother shot the fox in
the early winter and I had said what an adorable set of furs could
be made from the skin. Well, I noticed that it disappeared from
Buddie’s room, but I wasn’t real sure what had become of it until
that box arrived from the town furrier.”

Suddenly the girls noticed that the little Irish boy riding near was
listening with wide-eyed interest.

“Well, Little Pat,” Margaret said gaily, “a penny for your
thoughts.”

“But Miss Virginia,” was the reply, “Christmas presents don’t come
on the train. Weren’t you after knowin’ that it’s the good St. Nick
as brings them?”

“Of course, dearie,” Virginia hastened to say, “I know it is the
good St. Nick who brings presents to children, but we grown folks
sometimes give gifts to each other. Ho! look ahead! Megsy,” she
added. “There’s Brother Malcolm waiting for us at the Big Boulder,
and good! Slick Cy is with him.”

The latter cow-boy had told Malcolm all about the poor family that
Virginia had rescued, and he was eager to assure his sister that she
had done just as he would have wished her to do had he been there.

After the merry greetings had been exchanged, Virginia exclaimed
“Where are we to go for a Christmas tree, Slick Cy?”

“Ah saw a beauty tree last week, high on Second Peak trail,” that
cow-boy drawled. Then he looked anxiously at the sky. “Looks sort of
to me like thar might be a blizzard. If so, ’twouldn’t be safe nohow
fo’ you gurls to ride up that trail.”

“Oh, please, let us go,” Margaret begged. “I’m wild to see a pine
tree growing up in the mountains. I don’t believe a storm is coming,
do you, Malcolm?”

That boy looked toward the north where threatening clouds were
rapidly gathering.

“I’m afraid Slick Cy is right,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to give up
the idea of getting the tree today.”

“But, brother, there is only one day more before Christmas and we
need that to trim the tree and get ready for the party,” Virginia
protested.

“Well, like as not it may blow over,” Slick Cy said, really against
his better judgment. “If we are a-goin’, we’d better get started.”

And so with the Slater cow-boy in the lead and Malcolm in the rear,
the little procession started up the steep trail. But they had not
gone far when Slick Cy whirled in his saddle and held up a warning
hand. Malcolm had also heard the low ominous sound which seemed to
be gathering in volume as though whatever caused it, with each
second, was drawing nearer.

“What is it?” the eastern girl inquired, looking from one startled
face to another.

“It’s the blizzard I dreaded,” Malcolm replied. “Cy, what shall we
do? Just ahead of us the trail is exposed. How I do wish that we had
insisted upon the girls returning.”

“Oh, brother,” Virginia exclaimed “we will return at once if you
think best.”

“It’s too late now,” the lad replied. “Quick, jump from your horses
and follow me. There is a small cave near here and in it you will be
protected from the storm.”

A moment later the two girls and small boy were huddled in the cave,
and none too soon, for a blinding hurricane of snow and hail surged
past. The two cow-boys had succeeded in leading the ponies into a
shelter of brush and rock. Luckily the storm was of short duration
and it was followed by a gleaming blue sky. But Malcolm would not
permit the girls to ride higher up a trail which he knew might be
dangerous at that time of the year, and so, reluctantly, they agreed
to return to V. M. Ranch after having received the promise from the
cow-boys that they would surely bring a tree by nightfall that the
girls would have time to trim it and have it in readiness for the
joyful Christmas day.

Little Pat was very proud indeed when Malcolm placed a hand on his
shoulder and said in his kind, comrady manner: “Laddie, you will
take good care of the young ladies won’t you?”

“Shure, sir, I’ll be doin’ me best,” the Irish boy declared, and the
girls laughed to themselves as they rode down the trail, for often
the little fellow looked back anxiously to be sure that all was well
with them.

“I’m disappointed not to see our Christmas tree growing in its
mountain home,” Margaret said when they were cantering across the
level desert trail toward V. M., “but I was so frightened when the
storm surged by that I would not care to be caught in another.”

“Such storms high on the mountains are very frequent at this time of
the year,” Virginia told her friend, then she added: “How I do hope
the boys will be able to find the big tree that Cy saw last week.”

Even as Virg spoke, high up in the mountains, the two boys had found
something, but it was not a Christmas tree.




CHAPTER XVII

CHRISTMAS EVE


It was Christmas Eve. Slick Cy and Malcolm had returned toward
nightfall with a fine tree, to the delight of the girls, who had it
erected in the big living-room, where they spent a merry hour
covering its branches with shining ornaments.

Virginia and Margaret were happily excited. “Virg,” Megsy exclaimed,
“don’t you think that Malcolm and Slick Cy act as though they have a
secret that they don’t wish us to know?”

“Yes, I have noticed it,” Virginia said as she stood on a chair to
place a tiny doll on the top-most bough. “What do you suppose it can
be?”

“Perhaps they have a present for us,” Margaret replied. Then she
added: “I keep thinking of poor Babs and wishing that she was with
us.”

“Why poor? I thought you said that Babs has a good income.” Virginia
held a toy horse as she glanced inquiringly at her friend.

“Babs is always so sad at the holiday time,” Margaret explained.
“She tries to seem cheerful but there is such a lonely, wistful
expression in her eyes and then once she told me that Christmas had
never been a happy season for her since her brother Peyton left
home.”

“I, too, say ‘poor Babs,’” Virginia said earnestly. “I do indeed
wish that she were here. Now, dear, if you will give me that taper I
will light the candles.”

Margaret did this and then stepped back. “How pretty the tree looks
with all those sparkling ornaments,” she said.

“Doesn’t it?” Virginia had joined her friend. Then as she blew out
the light of the taper she added: “One of the boys is to play Santa
Claus—I don’t know which one—but brother told me to have Mrs.
Mahoy and the kiddies over here promptly at seven o’clock. Since it
is ten minutes to that hour I’ll skip over to their house and call
them.”

A moment later the three shining-eyed Irish children burst into the
room and the older girls could not have found little ones more
willing to skip and dance about their tree, for how those small
Mahoys did squeal and clap their hands and hop for joy!

“See ’ittle dollies way up top!” Baby Cola lisped as she tried to
drag her pale, sad-eyed mother over toward the tree. The older girls
looked at the little woman and their hearts ached for her, for well
they knew that there could be no real happiness for her unless she
could find her lost husband.

“Everybody be seated, quick!” Margaret called as the clock struck 7.
“Santa will be coming now.”

Such a scramble as there was for chairs, and then, “Oh! Oh! See
Santa!” Baby Cola and 5-year-old Dora cried in excited chorus. The
dining-room had opened to admit someone dressed to represent the
good old saint. Margaret and Virginia stared for a moment,
uncomprehending, for this apparition was not of the build of either
Slick Cy or Malcolm, both of whom were broad-shouldered young
giants. The Santa Claus, however, evidently had been told what to
do, for, after making a fine bow he straightway reached to the
highest branch, and taking down the dollies, he called: “For Baby
Cola.”

Right at that moment something surprising happened. A glad light
brightened the face of the little woman, and, springing up, she ran
with outstretched arms toward the supposed Santa Claus, who caught
her in an embrace that told the tenderness of his love for her.

“It’s me Pat!”, the little woman sobbed. “Me Pat that I’ve wanted
so.” Snatching off his disguise the happy Irishman gathered his
little ones in his arms. A moment later Malcolm and Slick Cy
appeared, and going to the amazed girls, the former said:

“Our Santa Claus is not much better at play-actin’ than is dear old
Uncle Tex.”

“Of course not,” Virginia exclaimed, with tears in her eyes. “He
couldn’t disguise his voice so that his loving little wife wouldn’t
recognize it, but how did he come here? Where did you find him?”

The boys then told how they had found the prospector living alone in
a cabin high on Second Peak, close to the Christmas tree.

“And think of it, sister,” Malcolm exclaimed excitedly. “He has
truly found a paying mine, and if you and I will grubstake him,
he’ll let us go shares and there’s no telling but that we may all be
rich some day.”

It was a long time before the excitement had subsided so that they
could proceed with the merry program as it had been planned, and
never before had that old roof covered so many happy hearts.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE MYSTERIOUS CHRISTMAS BOX


The week following Christmas was filled with many events on the V.
M. Ranch.

Malcolm, who was greatly interested in the finding of the mine on
Second Peak conferred for several hours with his sister, and finally
decided that together they would grubstake Pat Mahoy in the venture.

The next day the three men rode away, leaving the girls to wait
anxiously Malcolm’s decision when he himself had examined the
prospective mine.

Mrs. Mahoy and her small brood were to remain in the adobe house
indefinitely if they wished. The little woman was no longer sad, and
the three children added much to the joyfulness of the Christmas
season.

“Oh, Virginia!” Margaret exclaimed when they turned into the ranch
house after having waved farewell to Malcolm, Slick Cy and Mr.
Mahoy. “I am so eager to receive our Christmas mail, but no one has
been to town in ever so long. I just know that there will be a box
for me from Babs. We have exchanged presents every year and I am
sure that she has sent me something. How are we going to get the
mail?”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Slim rode in today or tomorrow,”
Virginia said. “You know he has been for a week at a round-up just
beyond the Junction. If he does come, he will stop for the mail.”

Half an hour later when Margaret went to the veranda to shake a
duster, she called excitedly:

“Virg, come quick. Look way up on the mesa trail. Is that a horseman
I see or is it the giant cactus?”

Virginia appeared with the field glasses and after gazing through
them for a moment, she exclaimed: “It surely is a horseman but he
can’t be our Slim for he is much too stout.”

But when the horseman drew near, they saw that it really was their
cow-boy. Virginia ran out to greet him as she laughingly called,
“Slim, it is no wonder that we didn’t recognize you. Why you bulge
like a Santa Claus with all of those packages. Megsy, do see that
big box tied on back. Who is it for, Slim?”

The young cow-boy looked as pleased as the jolly old saint himself
as he replied, “I cal’late its fo’ the two of yo’, Miss Virginie.
Sort o’ pears to me like both yo’ names is writ on it.”

He had dismounted as he talked, and, at Virginia’s suggestion, had
carried the box into the living-room and placed it on the big table
which Megsy had hastily cleared. The girls then filled his pockets
with goodies, for Slim had been obliged to be away from V. M. for
Christmas. “That’s our thank you for bringing us so many presents,”
Virginia told him.

Then, when the cow-boy had departed for the bunk house, the girls
turned their attention to the big mysterious looking box.

“What can be in it?” Margaret wondered. “Wait till I get a hammer
and chisel and we will soon find out.” Virg skipped to the tool
house but soon returned.

“Of course I am sure it is from Babs,” Margaret said as she watched
with interest as her friend pried off the cover.

“I think so too,” Virg affirmed. “But why my name is also on the
wrapping I cannot imagine.”

“I suppose that Babs put a present in for you, too,” Margaret
declared. “I have written so much about you to my beloved roommate
that she feels well acquainted with you, and then, moreover, she was
so pleased because you invited her to visit on the V. M. Ranch next
summer.”

Beneath the cover there lay a dozen Christmasy looking packages of
all shapes and sizes. On each one was a sprig of holly and mistletoe
and a tag. On some of these Virginia’s name was written and on the
others Margaret’s.

Megsy clapped her hands in little girl fashion as she exclaimed
merrily, “Oh, aren’t we having fun? I only wish that Babs might see
the pleasure her surprise box is giving up. Now you choose one of
the packages and open it and then I’ll do the same. That will make
the surprise last longer.”

So Virginia chose a queer-shaped package and began to untie the
narrow red ribbon, but she found whatever it was it had many
wrappings. On one of these was written, “Pause and guess what I may
be. I begin with a letter P.”

“If that isn’t just like Babs!” Margaret exclaimed. “Do you suppose
it is a penwiper?”

“No,” Virginia said as she continued to unwrap the gift. “It feels
like cardboard. Oho! Just look! It’s the dearest photograph of Babs
herself.”

“It’s a new one taken in her first party dress,” Margaret exclaimed
admiringly as the two heads bent over the picture of a merry-eyed
girl with bobbed curls. “It’s the sweetest dress. She had it made
just before I left. It’s pink and all fluffy ruffles. I’ll just be
green with jealousy if Babs hasn’t sent me one, too.”

“I’m sure that you will find one,” Virginia declared as they both
peered into the surprise box wondering which of the unopened
packages contained the wished-for photograph.

“Well, let’s open them as they come,” Megsy said at last. “Babs has
purposely wrapped them in queer shapes.”

It took the girls a long happy hour to untie the gifts. There were
two pretty handkerchiefs, two books, “Just Patty” and “When Patty
Went to College.” Two line-a-day diaries and two boxes of chocolate
fudge so full of nut meats that they bulged.

“It’s the kind Babs makes every Saturday night at boarding school,”
Margaret said, then she added: “Oh good! Here are two letters from
my darling room-mate, one for you and one for me. Now we will know
all the jolly news items about Vine Haven.”

“You read your letter first,” Virginia said as she piled the soft
pillows back of them on the window seat and settled down for
comfortable enjoyment of a visit with the far-away Babs.

“All right,” Margaret agreed as she tore open the pale blue envelope
out of which wafted to them a faint scent of violets.

Then she began to read:


Vine Haven Seminary:

Dearest Megsy: Christmas without you isn’t nearly as festive as it
used to be. The girls all came to our room just as they did last
year to plan our mid-winter party, and though it wasn’t very
complimentary to me I heartily agreed with Belle Terry when she said
that our room seemed like an empty cage, out of which the song bird
had flown. When the girls had gone, Megsy, I just threw myself down
on your bed (no one has slept in it since you left) and I started to
cry my eyes out, when I happened to remember what old Mrs. Tompkins,
down at the candy shop, said once, “The best way to get over the
miseries is to try to make somebody happy.” So I sprang right up and
tried to think what I could do to add a mite of merriness to
Christmas for you and Virginia. I decided to send you a jolly
surprise box. I worked at it until long after midnight, but please
don’t tell Miss Pickle, for of course I put the light out at 9
o’clock and waited until I was sure that she was asleep before I
lighted it again.

There isn’t a single gift in the box that has any value, but I am
just sure that you two girls will enjoy opening the packages.

I’m so excited about something and what that something is I will
tell in my letter to Virginia.

Oh, Megsy, darling room-mate, no words of mine can tell how I’m a
yearning to see you. Merry Christmas and happy New Year from Babs.


“Oh, Virginia, quick, open your letter and read the exciting news
that Babs has to tell. I know what I do hope it is,” Margaret
exclaimed eagerly.

Virg had already opened her letter and so she began at once to read:


Dear Virginia: Please let me call you that. I am so glad that you
sent me a kodak picture of you on horseback. I just adore it! I had
it enlarged so that I could see you better, and now in a pretty
frame it hangs in my room over my writing desk, and every time one
of the girls come in she immediately asks, “Oh Babs, who is that
stunning cowgirl?” And when I tell them who you are and that you
have invited me to visit at your ranch home, they all just look
green with envy. Of course I don’t know yet that I may accept, but I
have written dad about it twice, and I held my breath when a return
letter came from him, but, for some reason, he didn’t mention the
subject. However, I can’t give up hope that he will let me go. Oh,
you’ll have to excuse me a minute, Martha just came to my door and
said I am wanted in the library.

Half an hour later. It was dad at the long distance telephone. He
said he had expected to run down to Vine Haven to wish me a Merry
Christmas, but business prevented, so he had called up instead to
give me a Christmas surprise, and girls, what do you think it was?
I’m so happy and excited I can hardly keep my pen from dancing. Dad
says I may come next summer, as he will have to go west on a
business trip and can escort me as far as Arizona.


“Whoopla!” Margaret shouted as she tossed a pillow into the air.
“Oh, I’m so glad, so glad!”

“I am glad, too,” Virginia said, and then the two girls snuggled
close and planned the many delightful things that they would do when
Babs came. When at last, the chiming of the clock announced that it
was noon, they sprang up and a small folded paper fell to the floor.
Virginia picked it up. “Here is a postscript to your letter, Megsy,
that you didn’t read,” she said, “What can be in it?”

“Oh, I do hope Babs isn’t saying that she can’t come after all,”
Margaret declared as she opened the note. She glanced at its
message, then read aloud:


“Dearest Megsy: I am writing this on a separate piece of paper, for
you may not have told Virginia about my lost brother. It is all
right, dear, if you have, for I know that she is like a sister to
you and will be to me when we become acquainted.

“Having my dear brother Peyton away this Christmas has made me even
more lonely for you, for you two are the ones in all the world for
whom I most care. Of course I do love my father, but he seems always
to be mentally preoccupied somehow. I am never real sure but that he
may be troubled with my chatter. Sometimes I wonder if his
abstraction means that he is thinking of his business, or, if he,
too, may be grieving about his lost son, for, though Peyton may be
wayward (I never knew what he did to anger father), I do know that
he was one of the most lovable of boys and that he would do just
anything for a person for whom he really cared. You cannot think how
tender and kind he was to our dear mother during her long last
illness. Whatever my brother did to displease our father, I know
that it was nothing really wrong. It was the day before last New
Years that they had words. For the very first time, I believe,
Peyton defied our father, declaring that he was old enough to decide
some things for himself.

“The next morning, dad and I waited breakfast for my brother, but,
when he did not join us, father sent me to call him. When I reached
his room, I saw at once that his bed had not been slept in and that
all of his clothes were gone. I shall never forget the desolate
feeling that was in my heart when I saw that dark empty closet and
knew that my dear brother had run away. When I went back, I was
afraid to tell father, but of course I had to. His anger was
terrible.

“‘Barbara,’ he said sternly, ‘your brother is dead to us from this
day forever more. Do not again mention his name in my presence.’

“I never have, but Megsy, my brother is not dead to me, and if only
I could learn his whereabouts, I would make any sacrifice.

“Now this is what I wanted to tell you. I always suspected that he
ran away to sea, for he began wanting to be a sailor when he was a
very little boy. Yesterday I received a picture postcard from China.
There was no message on it and the address was blurred, but it might
have been his handwriting. Oh, Megsy, I would be the happiest girl
in the world if I could be sure that Peyton sent it, for, at least,
it would mean that he is well. I wanted to tell someone, and you are
the only friend to whom I ever mention my brother’s name. What do
you think about it? Your, Bab.”


“Poor girl,” Virginia said, “I, too, have a dear brother and so I
know just how lonely and sad Babs is. We must try to cheer her up,
Megsy, when she visits us.”




CHAPTER XIX

THE SECRET CODE


The next morning the two girls were up with the sun. “I feel as
though something unusual is going to happen today,” Virginia said as
she poured the coffee and smiled over at Margaret.

“So do I,” that maiden replied as she turned the toast when it was
just the right crispy brown. “I keep thinking and thinking of poor
Babs. Here it is only the first of January and she can’t come to
visit us until the middle of June.”

“You will be surprised, Megsy, how quickly the time will pass,”
Virginia declared and then they talked of Peyton, wondering what had
become of him.

“If he is a happy-go-lucky, tender-hearted, easily led sort of a
boy,” Virg said, “I am afraid that, being angered by his father, he
may do many things that he might regret, perhaps when it is too
late.”

“It is the not really knowing that makes it so hard for Babs,”
Margaret said. “If she knew even the worst, she could face it more
bravely.”

There was a sudden exclamation from the western girl who had chanced
to glance out of the wide window and over the sandy stretch of
desert that was glistening in the early sunshine.

“A horse and rider are coming at top speed,” she said. “How I do
hope that Malcolm is returning.”

The girls went out on the veranda and stood arm in arm awaiting the
coming of, they knew not whom. As the rider neared, Virginia,
looking through her glasses exclaimed: “Oh, it is only Pasqual, a
small Mexican boy whose father is one of the Slater Range riders.
Perhaps he is on his way to the Junction. If so, he will turn at Dry
Creek and ride up the mesa trail.”

They watched a moment in silence and then Virginia remarked: “He
didn’t turn and so he must be coming here. How I hope that he has a
message from Malcolm. Brother has been away for three days now and I
haven’t heard a word. I cannot help feeling troubled if I do not
hear at least that often. So many dangers lurk on a desert, and now,
added to them, is that outlaw who is supposed to be hiding in our
mountains.”

The girls went out on the veranda as the small boy approached. He
removed his gayly adorned peaked hat and took from it a letter,
which he handed to Virginia. That girl had a box of Christmas candy
which she had caught up from the table as she passed and this she
gave the dark eyed little boy whose white teeth gleamed as he smiled
his pleasure.

Then thanking Virginia in his own musical language, his pony
galloped away. Virginia glanced at the folded paper. “Why, this
isn’t Malcolm’s handwriting after all,” she exclaimed in dismay. “Oh
Megsy, I do hope that nothing has happened to my darling brother.”

They went indoors, but Virginia’s anxiety was quickly changed to
mirth, and her merry laughter rang out.

“Virg, what is it that amuses you?” Megsy asked, truly puzzled. “I
thought a moment ago that you were troubled.”

Without answering, Virginia led her friend toward a big desk in a
sunny corner and sat down in the swinging chair that had been her
father’s. “Sit near me,” she then said. “I have a task ahead of me.”
Then, seeing that Margaret looked even more mystified than before,
she added, by way of explanation: “Years ago, Buddie and I made up a
code. We didn’t have any other children to play with and so we read
many books of thrilling adventure. In one of them we found the
inspiration for our code and we used to write letters to each other,
pretending to tell secrets of a very serious nature. Honestly,
Megsy, I have spent hours trying to decipher some message that
Malcolm had sent me, to find, of course, that it was all make
believe. We each had a key to the code, and evidently Malcolm still
has his, but I am not real sure where mine is, but I think it is
somewhere in this old desk. Of course I know that the message he has
sent today is of a serious nature, and I simply must find the key to
the code and decipher it as soon as possible.”

While Virginia talked she opened one drawer in the old desk after
another, removed papers yellowing with age and felt in the far
corners, but the key to the code was not found.

“What do you suppose can be in that message?” Margaret queried.

“I believe it has something to do with his mining enterprise,” Virg
said, then continued: “The facts, so far, are that this Irish
prospector, Pat Mahoy, found what he believed to be paying ore on
Second peak and said that if brother and I would grubstake him, we
three would be partners. Malcolm decided to return with Mr. Mahoy
and look at the property, and as you know, he has been gone three
days. Now I conclude that my brother believes the mine to be a great
find and wishes to tell me so in a way that no one else can read.
Perhaps he wants me to do something that may be very important and
that must be kept a secret, hence he has used the code of our
childhood.” Then, rising, she left the desk as she said: “I have
searched there thoroughly but not a sign of the key did I find.”

“Isn’t there a secret drawer to the old desk?” Margaret asked,
hopefully. If there was one thing more than another that Margaret
liked, it was mystery, and the idea of a secret drawer or a panel
that slid back, had always delighted her. Virginia laughingly shook
her head. “Nary a secret drawer,” she declared.

Just then the chimes of the old clock tolled the hour of 10.

“Dear me; here it is mid-morning and we are no nearer deciphering
this message than we were when it arrived,” Virginia declared,
dolefully.

“Hark! Somebody is coming,” Margaret exclaimed. “Who do you suppose
it can be?”

She opened the door as she spoke. The cow-boy Slim stood on the
porch, sombrero in hand. “Miss Virginia,” he said in his shy manner,
“did Malcolm leave word what he wanted me to do when I returned from
the Junction?”

“No he didn’t, Slim,” Virginia said. “I think you would better use
your own judgment. You know my brother always wishes you to do that
when he is not at home. Just now he is away, and I do not know when
he will return. Is everything all right here at the ranch?”

“Yes, Miss Virginia, and if it’s what you think Malcolm would be
wishin’ me to do I’ll join Rusty up the north way, and help him
drive in the yearlings. Dick Dartly told me as there’d be a stampede
up that way and that Rusty is havin’ a hard time roundin’ up the
scattered yearlings. He’d be glad of my help if you think as it
would be right for me to go.”

“I’m sure it’s all right, Slim. Goodbye and good luck.” The two
girls waved to the departing cow-boy and then turned back into the
big, cheerful living-room as the clock chimed the quarter hour.

“Oh, dear, how time flies!” Virginia declared. Then she pressed both
hands upon her forehead saying that she was going to think and think
until she could recall where she had put the key to the code.

“And while you are thinking, I will make my bed.” Margaret said as
she skipped to the adjoining room, into which the sun was flooding.
She began to hum a little tune, but, in the middle of it she stopped
suddenly, for she had heard a squeal of delight.

“What is it?” she asked peering out of the door.

“Inspiration!” Virginia laughingly responded. “Come along with me. I
do believe I recall where I put the key to the code when I supposed
Buddie and I were through with it forever. Are you a climber?”

“I don’t know. What will I have to climb?” asked the mystified
Margaret. “I did climb a tree once and a ladder also. Which do you
wish me to ascend now?”

Virginia was leading the way to the kitchen which was deserted at
that hour. There she opened a door into a long, dark storeroom at
one end of which was a straight up and down ladder made by the
nailing of boards across uncovered uprights. Margaret looked up and
saw a trap door in the ceiling. “Does that lead to your attic?” she
inquired. Virginia was half way up the ladder, and, looking over her
shoulder, she replied merrily. “Follow me and you shall see.”




CHAPTER XX

THE MESSAGE DECIPHERED


It was indeed an old fashioned attic into which the two girls
emerged. It was high in the middle and the sloping roof formed the
sides.

“Where is your inspiration leading you?” Margaret inquired as she
bent to follow Virginia into a dark cobwebby corner.

“It’s my old play trunk,” the western girl replied, “where I put all
of my old castaway toys as I outgrew them, and so, what is more
natural than that I should also have placed there the key to the
code when I had outgrown it.” As she spoke Virginia was dragging a
small dust-covered trunk, over near the window, which was the only
opening through which light was coming.

The cover was lifted, revealing all sorts of play-things, dolls,
books and mechanical toys.

“Oh, good!” Virginia exclaimed, joyfully. “Even if we don’t find the
key to the code in here, how glad I am that I happened to remember
this old trunk. What pleasure it will give to the Mahoy children. I
will have someone carry it down and let them play with these things
to their hearts’ content.” As she spoke she took from the trunk
first one toy and then another. She did this eagerly, for time was
flying and she well knew that she must find the code, but she seemed
doomed to disappointment, for everything had been taken from the
trunk and not a scrap of paper had been revealed. “How provoking!”
she declared as she arose.

Margaret had picked up a queer old doll dressed in the costume of an
early pioneer, when, from the folds of its print gingham dress, a
yellow paper fluttered to the floor. With a cry of joy, Virginia
pounced upon it. “Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed, “that dear old doll,
Patience Putney has been keeping it for me all this time. Now we
will begin to decipher my brother’s message. Goodness, I do hope it
isn’t too late. Give me the doll, Megsy, I’ll take her downstairs
and enthrone her in a place of honor to reward her for her faithful
vigilance through all these years.”

Down the ladder the girls scrambled and into the living-room they
hurried. Then on the desk the message from Malcolm was spread and
also the key to the code.

Both heads bent over the latter as Virginia said eagerly: “First of
all look for a Q with two tails and see what it means. Malcolm has
written that all alone at the top so I think we would better
decipher it first.”

“Here it is,” Margaret said, pouncing her finger on the character in
question. “It means ‘Very important. Great haste required.’”

“Oh, Megsy,” moaned Virginia, and just then the clock chimed twelve.
“It is three hours since we first received the message.

“Now look for a T with a cross on the bottom as well as on the top.”
Virginia began as they both searched the key, then she added, “Here
it is! I’m beginning to recall now how I used the key in earlier
days. I believe I will take it by myself, Megsy. I think that I will
soon be able to decipher the message.”

“All right and while you are doing it I will make your bed. Perhaps
if I leave you all alone, you will make better headway,” the other
girl said, suiting her actions to the words.

Fifteen minutes passed before Virginia sprang up and hurried to her
friend’s open door. Margaret sat by the sun-flooded window sewing.
She glanced up eagerly. “What is it, Virg? You look troubled.”

Virginia sank on the bed truly the picture of despair. “Oh, Megsy,
what shall I do?” she said, “but first I’ll read you the message.
‘Dear sister. I find the ore to be of excellent quality; the best I
do believe that has been found in these parts for many years. Pat
Mahoy and I must go at once to Douglas and record the location
papers. Send one of the cow-boys to stay in the hut on Second Peak
until we return. Tell him that he is to report to me if he sees
anyone lurking about the property.

“‘Hastily, Malcolm.’”

Virginia looked up woefully. “If only I had been able to read the
message before I told Slim to join Rusty in the north! That is fully
two hours ago and by this time he is far out of reach. However, he
might have gone by the way of the Dartly Ranch, and, if he did, I am
sure that Mrs. Dartly would have insisted upon his remaining there
for the noon meal. I’ll call up and inquire.”

Skipping to the telephone in the living-room, Virginia was soon
talking with her nearest neighbor four miles away. “Slim isn’t here
now,” that good woman replied. “He did stop some time ago and I
asked him to stay to lunch but he said he had some business to talk
over with old Mr. Dodd up at Double Cross Ranch and that he would
get some frijoles there. If it’s very important Virginia, I could
send my boy over to the Dodds, but it would be several hours before
he could make the round trip. It’s a pity now that they haven’t a
’phone.”

“No, indeed, don’t send Jack. I’ll just have to manage some way
without Slim. Thank you, Mrs. Dartly.”

Margaret was standing near, eagerly waiting for Virginia to finish
the telephone conversation.

The western girl rose with a determined expression in her eyes as
she said: “Megsy, there is only one thing left to do, and I’m going
to do it.”

“What is it?” the eastern girl asked.

“It is that I must go myself and stay in the log cabin on Second
Peak until my brother returns from recording the location papers in
Douglas. He will have started already, believing that I will at once
obey his instructions and send one of the cow-boys to watch the
property, and since it is as much to my interest as his to have it
protected, I must go.”

Margaret’s eyes were wide with amazement. “Why, Virginia,” she
exclaimed, “do you mean that you, a mere girl, would go and stay
alone all night in an old log hut on that desolate mountain?”

Virginia nodded. “Well, then, I’m going with you.” Margaret’s tone
sounded as determined as her friend’s.

“But I couldn’t allow you to go, dear,” Virginia protested. “You
aren’t used to the loneliness of the mountains as I am. I love it.
Then night noises do not frighten me in the least and there is very
seldom a wild animal prowling about that is not more afraid of me
than I am of it.”

“If you go, I’m going also,” Margaret repeated with emphasis, then
putting her arms about her friend, she declared gaily: “It will be
something exciting about which to write to dear old Babs.” Then she
added with sweet seriousness. “I’d be heaps more worried and unhappy
all alone here on the ranch, not knowing what might be happening to
you than I would be were I with you. If you are to be eaten by a
grizzly, then I wish to be devoured also.”

Virginia laughed as she began to don her khaki riding habit. “What
if the fierce outlaw that is supposed to be hiding somewhere in the
Seven Peak Range should happen to visit the hut in the night?” she
asked merrily. Not that she had any faith in the existence of the
rumored outlaw, but she wished to persuade Margaret to remain at
home.

“Let him come if he wishes,” the eastern girl said. “If you aren’t
skeered of him, neither am I.” This sounded very brave, but in her
heart Margaret was hoping that they would meet neither a bear nor an
outlaw.




CHAPTER XXI

TWO COURAGEOUS GIRLS


Half an hour later the two girls were in the saddle, cantering
toward the distant mountains.

“Isn’t it good to be alive on a day like this?” Margaret exclaimed
as she gazed over the wide desert that was gleaming white in the
early afternoon sun. “Somehow, when everything is sparkling and
seeming to rejoice, I just can’t be skeered of a bear or even an
outlaw that may be lurking on Second Peak.”

“I love the desert,” Virginia declared, “but then, I have always
lived here. I do believe that I will feel smothered and as shut in
as a bird in a cage if you and I go east to boarding school next
winter.”

The two girls were riding side by side. A mile ahead of them the
Seven Peak Range loomed rugged and uninviting.

“Yes, I suppose that boarding school will seem strange to you,”
Margaret continued the conversation, “and probably the chatter of so
many girls will make you dizzy just at first. It did me, for
although I had never lived in as silent a place as this, I had been
an only child, unused to the merriment of many girls, but one soon
becomes accustomed to it.” Then suddenly she turned toward her
friend with eyes that glowed. “Oh, Virg,” she exclaimed, “before we
do go, I will write to Mrs. Martin, she’s the principal and such a
dear, and ask her if we may reserve the big, sunny corner room that
overlooks the orchard. There are three single beds in it and so you
and Babs and I can be roommates.”

Virginia laughed. “Megsy,” she said, “we are letting our
imaginations run riot. We are like the old woman who counted her
chickens before they were hatched. Here we are spending the money
that we hope the mine will bring to us when, as yet, the location
papers have not been recorded.”

“But they will be, won’t they?” Margaret asked, turning questioning
eyes toward the speaker. “Surely in a short 24 hours no one else
will discover the place when it has been there for centuries
undisturbed.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Virginia said, “but here’s where we
go single file, Megsy. The trail is very steep in places. Don’t try
to direct Star. Let him climb as he wishes and he will carry you to
the old hut in safety.”

“How dark it is in the canyon,” Margaret said as she looked ahead
with a shudder. “No one would dream that the sun is shining so
brightly out on the desert.”

“You’ll get used to the dimness in a minute and then you will see
many interesting things,” her friend assured her. Megsy did not
reply but she sincerely hoped that the interesting things would not
be a bear nor the rumored outlaw.

Virginia had been right. As soon as their eyes became accustomed to
the dimness of the canyon after the glaring sunlight on the desert,
Margaret did see many things that interested her. This was not the
trail they had ascended on the day of the storm.

“It is a shorter way,” Virginia had said. “I am so eager to reach
the old hut at least an hour before sunset that we may make
ourselves comfortable before the night settles down.”

The trail in some places seemed perilously steep to the eastern girl
and how glad she was that Virginia was riding ahead, for, she did
not wish her friend to know how truly terrorized she was, and there
were times when she even closed her eyes tight and clung to the
pony. Luckily her trust was not misplaced, for Star, being
accustomed to mountain trails ascended slowly and without stumbling
until the wider upper trail was reached. There, Margaret once again
breathed freely. Then to her surprise Virginia swung around in her
saddle and called merrily, “Bravo, Megsy! You took that climb like a
true Westerner. Honestly I expected any moment to hear you protest
that you simply couldn’t make it.”

Margaret was half tempted to explain that she had closed her eyes
tight that she might not see the sheer descent below her, but she
decided not to tell at present. She was pleased with Virginia’s
praise and hoped that in time she would be courageous enough to
deserve it.

“Just another turn or two and then we will see the hut among the
pines,” Virg called over her shoulder when suddenly Margaret
whispered, “Hark! Did you hear a noise?”

They drew rein and listened intently, but heard and saw nothing.
However, when they started on again, a lithe, cat-like creature
leaped from near jutting rocks, darted ahead of them up the trail
and then disappeared.

Margaret was terrorized. She had seen Virginia reach for her small
gun, and then, as though seemingly on second thought, replace it
allowing the creature to escape.

“What was it, Virg, and why didn’t you shoot it?” she inquired.

“It was only a small lion,” the western girl replied, “and it was
more afraid of us than we were of it.” Margaret doubted this
statement, but said nothing.

Then Virginia added. “My brother Malcolm does wish me to shoot them
whenever I see them because they prey upon our young calves, but I
didn’t this time because I do not wish anyone who might be near to
know of our presence.”

This was not very reassuring to the eastern girl, for it suggested
that Virginia believed that someone might be lurking near whose
closer acquaintance they would not wish to make. This was truer than
either of the girls dreamed.




CHAPTER XXII

NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS


The sun was nearing the western horizon when at last the two girls
swung from their ponies and entered the log cabin which did indeed
look deserted and desolate standing alone so high on a mountain
surrounded only by stunted pines.

Margaret glanced around fearfully thinking that the wild creature
they had met might have selected this cabin as a safe retreat, but
the place was empty.

“Good,” Virginia exclaimed brightly. “Malcolm has left us plenty to
eat. Here is cold fried rabbit enough for our supper and I certainly
am hungry. There are good beds for us, too. The pine boughs are
fresh under the blankets. You will be surprised to find what
comfortable beds Malcolm can make with boughs. He knows just how to
place them one on another to make a mattress both soft and springy.
Megsy, suppose you get out the sandwiches that we brought and spread
them on this rustic table while I feed the ponies, and too, I’ll
bring some water from a spring just above here.”

Margaret was on the verge of saying that she hoped the spring wasn’t
far away, as she dreaded being left alone even for a moment, but
instead she said: “Very well, Virg, I’m hungry too, and we’ll have a
fine feast when you return.”

Margaret had begged Virginia to permit her to come to the mountains
and so the eastern girl determined to appear brave if she succumbed
in the attempt. She wondered what Babs and the other girls in
boarding school would think if they could see her at that moment,
and the thought so amused her that she almost laughed aloud, when
suddenly, something crashed behind her and with a cry of terror she
whirled about, sure that she would behold the mountain lion crouched
to spring upon her, but instead she saw a small box lying on the
floor beneath the open window. Believing that it had been blown from
the ledge by a breeze that was rising, Margaret, with a sigh of
relief, went to pick it up when she saw, fastened to it, a piece of
yellow wrapping paper on which a message was scrawled in a language
unknown to her. Again she was frightened. What if the rumored outlaw
had reached in and had left that message as some sort of a warning
for the girls.

Tiptoeing to the open window she looked out. Not a sound was to be
heard nor a creature seen and yet there was the message. Where had
it come from?

A moment later Virginia appeared with a pail of water. “We’ll have
to hurry, Megsy,” she said, without looking at her friend, who stood
in the middle of the room, pale and trembling; “that is if we are to
eat our fine feast before the sun sets, and I’d heaps rather eat it
by daylight than by the one lone lantern that Malcolm seems to have
left for us.”

While Virginia talked, Margaret was trying to regain her courage and
to the surprise she heard herself saying quite calmly: “Virg, here
is a message of some sort.”

The western girl took it and exclaimed: “Oh! Malcolm’s writing.”
Then, after glancing it over, she added in a matter-of-fact tone,
“You see he thought one of the cow-boys would be here tonight and so
he has written some directions in the Mexican lingo which we all
understand.”

Margaret was greatly relieved. “Is it anything important?” she
asked.

If Virginia hesitated before replying, it was for so brief a second
that the eastern girl did not notice it. “Not so very,” she replied.
“Malcolm expects to be back early tomorrow morning.”

Then together they sat on the rude bench by the rustic table that
leaned against the wall and if Virginia seemed thoughtful, Margaret
decided that it was because her responsibility was really more than
a girl should assume. Had Margaret known the real character of the
message left by Malcolm, she would have been unable to partake of
the sandwiches and fried rabbit with the zest that she did.

Virginia after a thoughtful few moments began an assumed merry
conversation and then, as soon as the sun was set, she suggested
that they retire early that they need not light the lantern.

“Why?” Margaret asked, on the alert at once. “Do you fear that some
one might see it and find out where we are?”

Virginia’s laugh sounded natural. “A light always attracts bugs and
beetles,” she exclaimed merrily, “and we will sleep better if they
stay away. I do not want to close the one window, since it has only
a wooden blind and we will need the air.”

Margaret did not openly protest, but to herself she thought: “I’ll
never sleep a wink, I know, with that window open, for how easy it
would be for the mountain lion to spring in and eat us up before we
knew it.”

But after a time, the fragrance of pine boughs lulled the tired girl
to sleep, and when Virginia was sure that the slumber was not
feigned, she rose very quietly and tiptoed toward the door.




CHAPTER XXIII

NIGHT PROWLERS


Virginia, sincerely hoping that the eastern girl would not awaken,
tiptoed out of the log cabin and very quietly closed the door. She
was carrying the unlighted lantern and some matches. Not far from
the cabin was a small cave. In this Virginia went and struck a light
when she was sure that it would not be seen by anyone outside. Then
opening the brown paper, she read again and more carefully what her
brother, Malcolm, had written.

The property which he wished observed lay directly below the cave
far down in the canyon, but it was not this part of the message
which had stirred Virginia to action. It was that which followed.

“Pat Mahoy states that about a week ago while he was prospecting
about here, a desert-rat sort of a man took him by surprise. He has
feared ever since that the man may have suspected that the property
was valuable and that he might return, so don’t sleep until we get
back. Keep alert and on the watch.”

Little did Malcolm dream when he wrote that hastily scrawled message
that it would be a mere girl and his most dearly loved sister who
would assume the truly dangerous position of night watch.

Leaving the lantern in the cave, Virginia went out into the darkness
and stood leaning against a boulder where she could not be seen but
where she could observe the downward slope of the canyon.

Every half hour she went to the cabin and listened at the open
window that she might be assured that Margaret was still sleeping
undisturbed.

It was on her return from one of these visits to the cabin that she
uttered an exclamation of dismay, for, far down in the canyon, she
saw lights moving about.

What could it mean? At first she thought there were but two, but
then she counted three. Tensely she watched. For a brief while the
lights were close together as though whoever carried them were
conferring on some plan of action. Then one of the lights seemed to
settle permanently in one spot and two of them began to ascend the
trail that led toward the log cabin. Virginia leaped into the cave
and put out the light in her lantern. Then she sprang back to her
post of observation. It would be some time before whoever was coming
could reach the top of the trail. What ought she to do? What could
she do?

Perhaps she ought to warn Margaret at once and yet the eastern girl
would be so terrorized that it would but add to the problem
confronting Virginia. Moreover, if it should be Malcolm returning,
she would have frightened Margaret without reason, and so she
determined to wait until she herself might be assured of the
identity of the bearers of the light who seemed to be slowly
ascending the trail.

At last they were near enough for Virginia, who was listening
intently to hear their voices, and to her dismay, she realized that
she had never heard them before. Then as the light of the lanterns
was thrown upon them, although she could not see their faces, she
knew from the build of each that to her they were strangers. One was
of slight, graceful build and the other heavy set. They seemed to be
having a heated discussion and Virginia clearly heard the younger
man say: “If it’s crooked work you are up to, I’ll not go a step
further.”

“You’ll do as I say,” was the surly reply.

Terrorized, when again the lanterns began to ascend the trail,
Virginia sped to the cabin and awakened Margaret.

“What is it, Virginia?” Margaret asked, half awake, as she rose. “Is
it a bear or the outlaw?”

“Hush! Hush!” Virginia whispered. “Be quiet as you can and follow
me. There are two strange men coming up the trail. They do not mean
to harm us, of course, for they do not know of our existence, but
they probably plan visiting this hut, and we don’t want them to find
us here. Climb through the window and then we will crouch down in
the dark until we can slip away.”

Although Margaret was terrorized, the courage of her Puritan
ancestors must have asserted itself, for she did just as Virginia
bade her. Silently the girls crept through the small open window and
hurried to a place of hiding in a clump of dwarf pines, and none too
soon, for a moment later lights appeared in the cabin.

They were near enough to hear an exclamation of surprise, followed
by a surly voice. “Huh! Folks been here seems like, and mighty
recent. Two hats yonder belonin’ to gals, I take it. Tom, get a move
on ye and find who ’twas just left here. Like as not whoever ’tis
has the information we’re wishin’ to obtain.”

Evidently the one addressed as Tom didn’t move. “Stubborn again?”
the voice inquired. “Then it’s myself as will hunt for whoever
escaped.”

Hearing this, the frightened girls crouched lower, hoping that they
would escape observation, but unfortunately, the grey of the dawn
had come and Margaret’s red belt and neck handkerchief gleamed among
the green pines and attracted the roving eye of the searcher.

“Wall,” he remarked, “sort of playin’ hide and seek with me, was ye?
Come out now, and if ye’ll tell all ye know about what’s goin’ on
around here you won’t be hurt, not one scratch.”

Virginia, holding Margaret’s hand in a firm clasp, arose, for she
knew there was no other alternative. The heavy-set man was a type of
which she had heard but had never before seen. She knew that he
could be merciless and so with a pretence of bravery which with
difficulty she assumed, Virginia led Margaret toward the cabin.

She glanced at the slight young man who stood watching them and she
was sure that she saw in his bronzed face an expression of pity.
Then in another moment, something very unexpected had happened.

The surly man, intent upon obtaining whatever information he could
from the two girls, had forgotten for the moment that the lad, whom
he had addressed as Tom, was not in sympathy with his plans. Had he
chanced to glance at the youth he would have seen an expression in
his eyes that would have warned him that he would better not bully
the girls too much. But, for the moment the older man had entirely
forgotten his companion.

When they neared the cabin, he commanded, “Turn around here, gals!
Tell me all ye know about this here mining property and tell it
quick.”

Virginia was defiantly silent, but Margaret, whose courage was gone,
began to sob, and it was at that moment that the lad called Tom
confronted the bully and in each hand he held a gun.

“Coward!” he said, “I’ll not stand by and see you frighten two mere
girls. Down the trail with you and don’t so much as look back or
I’ll fire.”

The man obeyed sullenly, and Tom stood leaning against the boulder
to be sure that his orders were carried out. Then, turning to the
girls, he said, “Young ladies, do you wish me to remain here until
you are better protected or do you prefer to be alone?”

“Oh, please, please stay!” Virginia implored, for, brave as she had
been, she was after all only a girl, and she had been thoroughly
frightened. “My brother Malcolm, and Pat Mahoy may return at any
moment now and so I am sure that you will not be long delayed.”

“It doesn’t matter how long I am delayed,” the youth said, and in
his voice there was a tone of hopelessness which Virginia noted with
sudden sympathy. “I’ll stand here and watch the trail for a time,”
he added.

“And I will prepare breakfast,” the western girl said brightly;
“then you come when it is ready.”

Half an hour later Virginia called and the lad left his post feeling
sure that they were not to be molested. When he had washed at the
spring he entered the hut and sat with the girls at the rustic
table. Virginia liked the lad and was indeed puzzled to know why he
had been in such bad company.

“You girls were brave to come up here alone,” Tom said, “Weren’t you
afraid?”

“Indeed I was,” Margaret confided, “because, you see, we had heard
that an outlaw is hiding somewhere on Second Peak. Do you suppose
that it is true?”

“Yes,” the lad replied, “it is true. I am the outlaw.”




CHAPTER XXIV

A “TAME” OUTLAW


When the lad called Tom calmly remarked, “I am that outlaw,”
Margaret, who had supposed an outlaw to be a villain, such as she
had seen in the moving pictures, did not know how to reply, but
Virginia, used to the ways of the West, held out her hand to the lad
and said with sweet sincerity, “Tom, I believe that you are either
innocent, or that you hastily committed some act which you now
deeply regret.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” the lad replied.

The eastern girl found it hard to convince herself that she was
awake. Could it be that she, brought up in the most conservative
manner, was really breakfasting in a log hut on a mountain peak with
an outlaw? She glanced furtively at the lad and, noting a kindly
expression in his face, she decided that he must be a tame outlaw
and one of whom she need not be afraid.

What an exciting letter she would be able to write to Babs, and how
that girl, who had always thirsted for adventure, would envy her.

Suddenly Tom leaped to his feet and listened intently. Virginia
followed him as he went with long strides toward the open door.

“Two men are coming up the trail,” he reported, “but they are not
the ones we so recently dismissed.”

Virginia sprang forward with a cry of joy. “Oh, it is brother
Malcolm,” she exclaimed. When the young man in the lead had
dismounted, he stared in uncomprehending amazement at the two girls
and the strange lad.

“Virginia! Margaret! What does this mean?” he asked. He sensed at
once that something very unusual had happened.

“Rusty and Slim were away,” Virginia explained, “and so we girls had
to come, and oh, brother, brother, we have been so frightened, but
this brave lad has been our protector.”

When the whole story had been told, Malcolm held out his hand. “You
say that you are an outlaw. As you know it is the custom of the
desert to ask no questions, but, Tom, you are not an outlaw from our
home. From this day on, for as long as you wish to remain, I engage
your services. Will you accept?”

“I do and thank you. I sincerely hope that you will find me worthy
of the trust.”

“I know we will,” Malcolm declared heartily, “and, to complete your
name cow-boy fashion we will call you Trusty Tom.”

An hour after the return of Malcolm and Pat Mahoy, Virginia
approached her brother, saying, “Do you think it would be safe now
for Margaret and me to return to the ranch? We are both very weary
and believe that we could rest better at home.”

Malcolm glanced up from the rustic table where he had been so busily
figuring that the time had passed unnoticed.

“I had planned returning with you,” he said thoughtfully, “but I
would rather remain here a few hours longer. Where is Trusty Tom? I
will ask him to accompany you home.”

“He is with Pat Mahoy,” Virginia began, when Margaret, from the
doorway said, “Here he is now.” Then she called to the approaching
lad, “Tom, Malcolm wishes to speak to you.” The boy at the table
looked up with a welcoming smile. “If you believe that it would be
safe for the girls to return home, Tom, I wish you would accompany
them,” he said.

“Indeed, I will gladly,” the other lad replied, “and if need be, I
will protect them with my life.”

Half an hour later the three horses left the canyon trail and
started across the gleaming desert.

“I’m glad to get away from the mountains,” Margaret declared, “for
out here on the open desert, we can see whoever is coming and not be
surprised by friend or foe.”

“Except in one place,” Virginia added, “and that is where the trail
crosses the creek bottom. The banks are so high, a whole regiment
could be hiding down there and we wouldn’t know it until we were
quite upon them, but I’m not anticipating trouble, are you, Tom?”

“No,” the lad replied, “not for you girls,” he added. “Surely no one
on the desert would wish to harm you.”

Virginia glanced up quickly and wondered if he were fearful that
someone might be watching for him. How she did wish that she could
ask him to tell her all about it, but she knew that on the desert no
one asked a stranger his name or destination.

An hour later, as they were approaching the spot where the trail
descended into the rocky creek bottom, Tom, who was in the lead,
whirled in his saddle and lifted a warning hand.

“Stay here,” he said softly, “while I ride ahead that I may be sure
that it is safe for you to descend the creek trail.”

The girls did as he bade them, and while the lad rode forward,
Margaret asked fearfully: “What aroused Tom’s suspicions, do you
suppose?”

“Perhaps he just wishes to be cautious,” Virginia replied, but had
Margaret been able to see her friend’s face at that moment, she
would have known that her words were not expressing her true
thought, for the western girl had also seen the something that had
alarmed the lad and that something was a face peering above the bank
close to the mesquite bush. It, however, had quickly disappeared
when Tom started alone toward the creek trail.

Virginia delayed but one moment, and then touching Comrade with her
quirt, she was soon riding at the boy’s side.

“Tom,” she said in a low voice, “I also saw that face. Do you think
it is the man with whom you were last night? Is he lying in wait for
us?”

“I think not,” Trusty Tom declared. “I believe whoever is in hiding
is there for some other reason.”

Margaret, not wishing to be left behind, had urged Star to a gallop
and rode close to Virginia. In another moment they would be able to
see down the slope of the creek trail, but, before they were near
enough to begin the descent horsemen appeared, coming up, and with a
cry of relief, Virginia urged Comrade ahead of the others as she
exclaimed to the man in the lead, “Oh, Mr. Rizor, it is only you,
isn’t it? We girls have such active imaginations today.” Then,
turning to Margaret, she added, “Megsy, this is the sheriff from
Douglas. Mr. Rizor, these are my friends, Margaret Selover and Tom,
who are from the East.”

Virginia had been thinking fast from the moment she first saw the
sheriff, and yet, from the self-possessed way in which she talked
none could have surmised that she was truly concerned. Her first
thought had been, “Tom is a self-confessed outlaw. If the sheriff
and his men are looking for him I must try to protect him as he
protected us.”

“My wife told me you had a girl friend stayin’ with you from the
East, Miss Virginia,” Mr. Rizor was saying, “but she didn’t mention
a boy.”

As the sheriff spoke, he gazed keenly at the lad whose expression,
Virginia was glad to note, did not express guilt.

“Are you looking for someone who has been breaking the law, Mr.
Rizor?” the western girl asked, anxious to attract those penetrating
grey eyes from Tom.

“Yes, that’s who we’re after,” the sheriff replied. “Two nights ago,
the Number Six Limited was held up in Rattlesnake Canyon and the
mail car was robbed. The track walker reported that he had seen two
men and a lad of about eighteen, lurking around there an hour before
the limited was due, and he thinks he could recognize any one of
them if he could see them again.”

At that moment one of the men uttered an exclamation and pointed
toward the south, where, faint and far through powerful glasses he
saw two horsemen making for the Mexican border.

The sheriff took the glasses and looked through them intently for a
long moment.

“See you again,” he called over his shoulder, as, with his men, he
started in quick pursuit, and Virginia with a sinking heart, noticed
that the steel grey eyes looked directly at Tom as though the words
were meant especially for him.

When the sheriff and his men were gone, the three young people rode
silently down the dry creek trail and up on the other side.

Tom was the first to speak.

“It was mighty good of you, Miss Virginia, to protect me the way you
did,” he said, earnestly. “I am afraid however, that you believe me
to be one of the three who held up the mail train, but indeed, it is
not so. I was in Rattlesnake Canyon when the two men came along. I
didn’t have a bite to eat and they shared with me. I told them that
I was planning to walk the tracks until I reached Douglas, and that
there I meant to obtain work if I could. The man, with whom you saw
me later, assured me that he could give me remunerative employment
if I would wait for them over at Second Peak. I did not at the time
inquire the nature of the employment nor, did I know, until I heard
the sheriff telling about it, that they had robbed the mail train.
The next day I met the two men at the spot upon which we had agreed,
and they told me what they wished me to do. I refused, saying that I
did not care to do crooked work. I hope that you will believe me,
for what I have told you is the truth.”

“I do indeed believe you,” Virginia exclaimed, “and if need be, we
will tell your story to Mr. Rizor. Good! Here is dear old V. M. I’m
glad to be home, aren’t you, Megsy? I feel as though we had been
away a year. Tom, there is the bunkhouse yonder, I think Slim and
Rusty Pete must be there for their ponies are in the corral. Tell
them that you are our new cow-boy. They’ll like you and I’m sure
that you will like them.”

When the girls had dismounted at the wide front veranda, and Tom had
led their ponies back to the corral, they entered the house and
Margaret sank down in a big, comfortable chair as she said with a
sigh of contentment. “Well, now I am beginning to feel real once
more. Honestly, Virg, I haven’t been a bit sure but that I might
wake up and find either that I was a character in a Zane Grey story
or that it was a dream and a nightmare at that.”

“Oh! Here’s the mail pouch!” Virginia exclaimed gleefully. “Someone
has been to town.”

“I do hope that there is a letter from Babs,” Margaret said.

“I am so eager to know if she has learned more, as yet, about her
lost brother, Peyton.”




CHAPTER XXV

THE SHERIFF’S VISIT


A letter from Babs was the first one that tumbled out on the big
library table when Virginia held the pouch upside down. Other papers
and letters rattled out, but both girls were eager to hear the news
from Margaret’s former room-mate in the far-away boarding school.


“Dearest Megsy and Virg,” Margaret read aloud.

“I’m so happy today that I could sing like a lark, but since it is
silence period, I would better just pen my joy to you two dear
girls, who will, I know, rejoice with me. I am just absolutely
convinced now that I know where my dear brother Peyton is. Of course
his messages to me continue to be mysterious; that is, he doesn’t
sign his full name, only his initials. I’m sure that they must be
his, for I do not know anyone else in the world whose name begins
with P. and W.

“It is just as I supposed in the very beginning. He did run away to
sea, for I have now received five picture postcards signed P. W.,
and they were mailed at different ports in China, Japan and the East
Indies. I know he is sending them to me because he realizes how
unhappy I would be if I had no knowledge of his whereabouts.

“I do wish that I could write to him and tell him how happy I am
just to be assured that he is well and alive, but since he wishes to
be so mysterious, I will have to be content.

“And now I will tell you something else. I am saving every penny of
my allowance, and before I start for the West I am going to buy a
whole khaki outfit like the girls wear in the moving pictures. Oh,
Megsy, how you would have laughed the other day if you could have
seen our French riding master’s expression when I asked him if he
would try to get a horse that bucks, upon which I might practice
riding.

“‘Mees Wente,’ he said, ‘how is it that you mean? A horse that
bucks? In Paris we do not have heem.’

“Every girl in the riding class wanted to shout, but of course, you
know Professor La Fleur is so prim and proper we couldn’t even
smile.

“However, as soon as we came back from the canter, we all met in my
room and made fudge and we laughed so loud and so long that Miss
Pickle put her head in at the door and asked if we thought it was
quite ladylike to laugh in so boisterous a manner.

“Girls, when I get out on the desert, I am going way up om the trail
Virginia calls her Inspiration Peak, and I’m going to shout just as
loud and long as ever I wish. I’m so tired of always having to be
proper and ladylike.

“Good-bye for now.

                                                    “Your pal,
                                                            “Babs.

“P. S.—Megsy, aren’t you glad that I have located my dear brother,
Peyton?       B. B. W.”


Before Margaret could comment about the letter, there came a sharp
rap on the front door, and Virginia, springing to open it, wondered
who might be there.

It was Mr. Rizor but his men were not with him. Luckily Virginia had
expected that the sheriff would stop at V. M. on his way back to
town and so she did not express surprise, although Margaret did.
Luckily Mr. Rizor did not glance at the eastern girl, who wisely
busied herself in another part of the room. “Miss Virginia,” he
said, “may I come in? There’s a matter I wish to be speakin’ about.”

“Why, of course you may come in Mr. Rizor,” the girl said, opening
the door welcomingly wide, “and I hope that you will remain with us
for the midday meal which is about to be served.”

Evidently he had not accompanied his men to the Mexican border, and
Virginia was wondering about his reason for not having done so.

“Thanks, I’ll not be stopping but a minute,” he said. “My men are
following what they think is a pretty sure trail, but my presence is
more needed back in town today and so I’m headin’ that way, but,
bein’ as I had something very important to say to you, I thought I’d
stop even though it is a mile farther.”

Virginia’s heart beat rapidly. Had the sheriff real knowledge about
Tom, and had he come to arrest him? If so, she must try to save
their new cow-boy, but, how could she do it? The girl had been so
busy with her own anxious thoughts that she had failed to note the
expression of pleased pride that appeared in the face of the
sheriff.

“Well, to come to the point, Miss Virginia,” he was saying, “we’ve
got company down to our house, so to speak. Little Virginia Rizor
arrived yesterday and she weighs eight pounds. My wife told me
whether I caught the mail thief or not, I was to be sure and stop
and tell you that she wants you to come as soon as you can to see
your little namesake.” Then he added, “we’re hoping that she’ll grow
up to be as fine a girl as you are.”

Virginia’s relief was so great that she almost shouted for joy. “I
am indeed glad, Mr. Rizor!” she said. “Margaret, did you hear that
splendid news? Please tell Mrs. Rizor that my friend and I will ride
into town in a very few days to see her and the darling little
baby.”

When the sheriff was gone Virginia almost cried, her relief was so
great.

“The queer part of it is,” she told Margaret, “I just know that Mr.
Rizor believes our Tom was the lad who was with the men who robbed
the mail train, but for my sake he isn’t going to say a word about
it.”

“I’m not so sure,” the other girl replied as she pointed out of the
window. Virginia looked and saw that the sheriff, instead of taking
the trail toward town, was slowly and thoughtfully riding toward the
bunkhouse.




CHAPTER XXVI

WIELDING A CAN OPENER


When Margaret pointed out of the window, Virginia sprang up and
looked down toward the bunkhouse. Was it possible that the sheriff
did suspect that Tom was one of the three who were supposed to have
held up the train in Rattlesnake canyon and was he about to arrest
the lad? If so Virginia determined that she would try to save the
young outlaw even as he had saved the girls the night before on
lonely Second Peak.

She stood gazing intently out of the window ready to run to the
bunkhouse if she felt that her presence were needed, but instead,
when the sheriff drew rein, and hailed, it was the cow-boy Rusty
Pete who appeared in the doorway. Slim quickly joined him, and, from
their smiling faces and the hearty way in which they shook hands
with Mr. Rizor, Virginia realized that after all the sheriff’s
mission had been a peaceful one.

“He is a proud and happy father,” she said as she turned from the
window, “and he wants all of his friends to rejoice with him, and
so, after all, Tom is safe here, at least for the present.”

Then, glancing at the clock, she exclaimed. “It is nearly noon, and
brother said that he would surely reach V. M. at that hour and I
just know that he will be as hungry as a wolf.”

Virginia went to her room and Margaret to the one adjoining and they
visited through the door that opened between while they changed from
their khaki riding habits to fresh pink and blue gingham house
dresses. Then arm in arm, they marched to the kitchen.

“You set the table, Megsy,” Virg directed, “while I produce the
viands. That is easily done on the desert where we have to depend
upon canned foods.”

As she talked, she climbed up on a low step-ladder in the adjoining
pantry and selected several cans. “Can you open them, Megsy, while I
go to the cooling cellar, and skim some nice thick cream for us?”
she inquired.

Margaret looked doubtfully at the can opener which Virg was handing
to her, but she replied confidently enough. “Oh, I am sure that I
can. I have often seen our Dinah wield that weapon.”

“It’s easy enough,” Virg told her. “See, I’ll do this one to show
you how.”

“Oh, I can do that, I am sure I can,” Megsy declared, and so Virg
taking the skimmer and a big bowl, went out the back door and
descended to the cool walled-in cellar where the milk was kept.

Megsy found that opening a can was not as easy as it looked. “May I
help?” a pleasant voice asked and there in the open door stood the
good-looking young outlaw, sombrero in hand.

Virginia, who had at that moment appeared with the cream, noted
that, with his hat off, Tom’s face looked refined, even
aristocratic, and she was more puzzled than ever concerning the
identity of their new cow-boy guest.

“Oh Tom,” Margaret looked up, her face flushed from the unusual
exertion. “Some good fairy must have told you that we are in dire
need of a strong arm. Do you know how to wield this weapon, commonly
called a can opener?”

“Indeed, I do,” was the quick reply. “I have often camped in the
hills at home and so I am quite an expert at the culinary art.”

Virginia made a mental note. Wherever Tom came from there also were
hills. Hanging his sombrero on a rack near the door, Tom took the
weapon and dexterously opened one can after another.

“This surely is a varied menu,” he laughingly exclaimed when the
task was done. “How many cans have you allowed for each boarder?”

Malcolm came in before Virg could reply, and after having washed at
the pump on the back porch and rubbed his head well with the big
rough towel that was daily renewed, he took from his pocket a comb
and looking into the small mirror, he made himself presentable.

He then went to his room for a moment’s rest and when he was gone,
Virg inquired. “By the way, Tom, how did you like our cow-boys?”

“First rate. They are fine lads,” Tom said with enthusiasm, “but
their lingo is so different from that which I am used to that at
times I can hardly grasp their meaning.”

“Point two,” thought Virginia. “Tom hasn’t been in the cattle
country long else he would be familiar with the cow-boys’ manner of
speaking.”

Oh, if one might ask questions—but the courtesy of the desert
forbade it.

Tom proved a very valuable aid and in a short time Margaret was out
on the back porch pulling the rope which rang a bell and called the
other two cow-boys in for the noon repast.

One amusing thing happened which did not escape the watchful
Virginia. Tom, eager to assume his new role of cow-boy, began eating
in the manner approved in the best society, but, noting that Slim
and Rusty Pete ate with their knives, a twinkle appeared in his blue
eyes while he did likewise. He handled his knife, however, in a way
which showed plainly that he was unused to wielding it in a manner
so uncouth.

Virginia turned away to hide a smile. Of one thing she was
convinced. This outlaw had a sense of humor.

Half an hour later when the dishes were washed and cleared away and
the girls retired to their rooms for an afternoon siesta, Virginia
confided, “Megsy, I have never before been so interested in a boy as
I am in Tom, have you? Do you suppose we will ever find out who he
really is?”




CHAPTER XXVII

THE NEW COW-BOY


When the girls awakened from their siesta, arm in arm they sauntered
down to the corral where they saw Tenderfoot Tom trying to ride a
broncho, but without much success. He leaped to the ground when he
beheld the girls and removing his hat, in a manner unknown to
cow-boys, he held it while he talked. “Young ladies,” he said, “do I
look important? Slim and Rusty Pete have gone with your brother to
some distant part of the range and may be away until the morrow and
I, if you please, am the cow-boy in charge of V. M. Ranch and no
longer merely a—.”

He did not finish the sentence and Virg wondered if he had planned
saying outlaw, but Margaret was finishing it for him by merrily
adding, “can opener.”

“Let me prove that I really am a cook,” the lad exclaimed brightly.
“Suppose you two damsels go for a canter and do not return until six
o’clock, and then you shall see what you shall see.”

Catching and saddling Star and Comrade took but a few moments and
then the lad stood waving his sombrero to the girls as they rode
away. Ten minutes later when they had reached the top of the mesa
trail, Margaret looked back. Her exclamation of surprise caused
Virginia also to turn. They saw Tom with his gun over his shoulder
riding away in the opposite direction. “What can that mean?”
Margaret wondered. “Do you suppose that he wishes to be rid of us
that he might leave the V. M. Ranch?”

“Well, if he wants to go, let him,” Virginia replied. “We will ride
over to the junction and ask Mrs. Wells if she knows someone who
would like to cook for us. That is the part of our home work that
Uncle Tex assumes when he is here. I never knew that dear old man to
stay away from V. M. for two whole months before, and now it is
nearly three. He often goes for six weeks or so. I believe that he
likes to roam but he gets homesick after a time and comes back for a
good long stay.”

“Poor old man,” Margaret said. “Perhaps he plans staying away until
he thinks I am gone. The mere idea of being my guardian evidently
frightened him.”

Virginia smiled but her thought had reverted to Tom. “I can’t
believe that our new cow-boy is really deserting us, and yet it did
seem strange for him to ride away as soon as we were gone. However,
we will find out when we return. Here is where we dip down into the
dry creek bottom. At this time of the year it is perfectly safe to
ride along there. It’s a short-cut to the Junction but woe to man or
beast who takes it in the spring for a sudden cloud burst in the
mountains changes this creek into a raging torrent before the trail
leading out of it could possibly be reached.”

Margaret looked anxiously at the sky that was gleaming blue above
the mountains, but not a sign of a cloud was to be seen.

Half an hour later, they reached the trail that led them again to
the desert on the other side and there, near the Santa Fe tracks,
stood a combination station, general store and dwelling. In it lived
Mr. and Mrs. Wells and their small son, Danny.

When at their rap Mrs. Wells opened the door, she exclaimed:

“Virginia Davis, what is your brother thinking of to permit you to
ride around alone these days? Doesn’t he know there’s an outlaw
supposed to be hiding near here in the mountains? Folks say he is
fierce looking, like a story book pirate. There’s a posse over from
Texas hunting for him and a reward offered for his capture dead or
alive. He’ll be caught soon, of course, but till he is, seems like
you girls ought to stay pretty close to home.”

Luckily at that moment Mrs. Wells was called into the store, which
opened from her living-room, and so she did not see the look of
concern and amazement in the faces of her guests. “But that outlaw
can’t be our Tom,” Margaret protested. “He isn’t fierce looking.
He—” she said no more for their hostess was returning.

She shook her head when Virginia inquired if she could recommend
someone who could cook for them. “Miss Headsley’s gal might have
liked the place only she’s tuck another. She and Rattlesnake Jim got
jined last week and they’re homesteadin’ a place now up her pa’s
way.”

The girls refused a kindly given invitation to remain to supper and
they were soon in the saddle cantering at top-speed toward V. M.
Ranch. Virginia felt very anxious, she hardly knew why. If this
posse was really searching for Tom, she ought to be glad if he had
escaped, but it didn’t seem a bit like to him to go without even
saying goodbye. She just couldn’t believe that he had done so, but,
when they reached V. M., and no one came to take their horses, with
heavy hearts they walked up to the house from the corral.

Virg in the lead, opened the front door and then stood staring in
amazement at what she saw within.




CHAPTER XXVIII

A JOLLY SURPRISE


“Tom!” Virginia’s manner of uttering the name seemed almost like a
cry of joy and the lad who was wearing a white apron chef-fashion,
turned toward the open door with a pleasant smile of greeting. If he
noted the surprised expression on the faces of the two girls, he did
not attribute it to its real cause. He supposed that they naturally
were surprised to behold the fine supper that was spread on the
living-room table which had been drawn close to the grate where a
cheerful log was burning.

“Oho! What a feast!” Margaret exclaimed hurriedly, to cover their
all too evident amazement at finding the outlaw calmly preparing a
meal when a posse from Texas was supposed to be searching for him.
“Where did you get the young rabbits that you have fried such a
crispy brown?”

“I took my gun as soon as you were gone,” the lad told them, “and
went a-hunting, and, as you well know, Miss Virginia, it takes only
a short time in the sage to bag as many young rabbits as one may
desire. Tomorrow, if we are still cooks of the V. M. Ranch, I will
vary the menu by bringing in quail.”

While they were eating Tom asked: “What news did you hear while you
were away, or perhaps you didn’t see anyone who had news to tell.”
He was looking at Virginia and his eyes seemed to hold an eager
inquiry. What should she say? Ought she to tell him the truth and
give him an opportunity to ride to the north where the mountains
were wild, rugged and desolate and where he could hide with greater
safety?

“Yes, we did hear news,” Virginia replied. “At the Junction we heard
that a posse from Texas is searching for someone who is supposed to
be hiding about here.”

Then impulsively she leaned toward the lad and placed a hand on his
arm as she said pleadingly, “if you were my brother I would suggest
that you ride to the north where the mountains are nearly
impenetrable and stay there in hiding until this search is over. I
do wish that you would go, Tom, this very night.”

The lad shook his head. “I can’t go—not tonight, Miss Virginia,” he
said. “You two girls are all alone on V. M. Ranch and your brother
trusts me to look after you. I will stay right where I am until your
brother returns or until—well—until I am found.”

When the repast had been cleared away the three young people sat
about the fireplace watching the burning log. They talked little.
The eastern girl felt strangely uneasy and every little while she
would glance at one of the uncurtained windows as though she
expected to see a face peering in at them.

At last the clock chimed the hour of nine and Tom arose. “Miss
Virginia, Miss Margaret,” he said as he held out a hand to each, “I
want to thank you for having been so kind and sisterly to me. Do not
be concerned about me. I promise to ride north as soon as you are
well protected. Goodnight.”

The two girls lay awake for hours waiting for, they knew not what.
It was nearly midnight before they slept. Half an hour later
Margaret sat up suddenly and listened intently. Had she heard
something, she wondered, and if so, what?

Again she heard the noise which she believed must have awakened her.
Someone was trying to enter the house, of that she was sure.
Springing up and throwing her bathrobe about her she ran into
Virginia’s room and shook her friend.

“What is it?” that girl asked, on the alert at once.

“Hark!” whispered Margaret. “Can’t you hear someone at the kitchen
door?”

The western girl listened, “I surely do,” she replied, “but my dear
Megsy, it must be someone who feels he has a right to come in, for
he is not trying to be quiet and he is using a key.”

“Do you suppose that it is your brother, Malcolm, returning?”

“Maybe,” Virginia replied as she arose and slipped on her robe.
“Whoever it is has opened the door and has entered the kitchen. I’ll
light a candle and investigate.”

“Oh, Virg! Please, please don’t go out there alone! Can’t we call
Tom or someone?”

But it was too late for the girls could hear that whoever had
entered the house was approaching Virginia’s bedroom. Margaret clung
to her friend. Even Virginia was puzzled, but the thing that gave
her confidence was the fact that the intruder was not trying to be
quiet. A moment later there came a tap on the door.

“Who is it?” the girl asked, and, with a sigh of relief, she
recognized the voice that replied, “Miss Virginia, dearie. Don’t be
skeered. It’s jest me a comin’ home after all these weeks away. It’s
yo’ old Uncle Tex, Miss Virginia, dearie.”

With a cry of delight, the door was flung open and the girl embraced
the kind old man who had trotted her on his knee when she was a baby
and had granted her every whim, if he could, since she was grown.

“Oh, Uncle Tex, where have you been ever since you ran away just
because you didn’t want to take part in the ‘play-actin’?” the girl
exclaimed.

The old man told that he had been way up north on a sheep ranch.
“But ah got wistful feelin’s to see my little gal,” he said, “and so
ah’s come back home. They’re needin’ help up thar and they didn’t
want me to leave but ah tol’ them as how ah would send a younger man
to take my place if ah could find one.” Then Uncle Tex scratched his
head in a puzzled manner, for he had suddenly thought of something.
“Miss Virginia, dearie,” he said, “thar’s a parcel of men camped in
the dry creek bottom a mile below here. They stopped me, but they
let me go quick. They’re lookin’ for an outlaw from Texas, and
course they knew as ah wasn’t him. Said they’d be up here in the
mornin’ and ask yo’ fo’ breakfast. Wall, good night, Miss Virginia,
dearie. Ah’s sure glad to be home.”

When the old man was gone, Virginia began to dress hurriedly.

“What are you going to do?” Margaret inquired. “Warn Tom!” was her
reply. “Uncle Tex is here to protect us now and Tom must start for
the north without an hour’s delay.”




CHAPTER XXIX

TOM’S SPEEDY DEPARTURE


“I wish you would dress, Megsy,” Virginia said. “I would like you to
accompany me.”

Ten minutes later Virginia opened the door very quietly that she
might not attract the attention of the old cow-man and together the
two girls stepped out into the gathering darkness.

“What a cold black night it is,” Margaret said as she drew more
closely about her the woollen scarf that she had thrown over her
shoulders. “Hark, what is that moaning sound?”

“It’s the wind rising. I believe we are going to have a sand storm.
Let’s creep low that we may keep hidden among the mesquite bushes.
The house may be watched.”

This they did until they were sheltered by a rise of grounds, then
Virg said: “Take my hand now and we’ll race for the bunk house.”

Margaret felt her hand being firmly grasped and then she was fairly
dragged along the trail toward the smaller adobe where the cow-boys
had their quarters.

“Oh, Virg,” the eastern girl said with sudden terror, “Don’t go so
fast. We might step on a rattlesnake.”

“No danger of that,” the other responded. “This is February and the
snakes are still asleep in their winter homes.”

When they reached the bunkhouse Virginia darted to the side farthest
from the dry creek and there she paused for breath.

A moment later she called at an open window, “Tom! Tom! Come out
please, quickly.”

Puzzled by this summons at so late an hour, the lad hastily dressed
and opened the door.

“Miss Virginia! Miss Margaret! What does this mean?” he exclaimed as
he joined the girls. “Why are you out at this hour and on a night so
cold and blustery? Were you frightened? Has anything happened at the
house?”

“No, Tom. That is—yes! Well, I will have to begin at the
beginning,” Virginia replied. Then she rapidly told of the coming of
old Uncle Tex and of the posse that was camped in the dry creek
bottom a mile below the ranch house.

Then placing her hand on the lad’s arm, she pleaded, “Tom, we girls
are well protected now that Uncle Tex has come and I beg of you ride
to the north where you will be much safer than you are here.”

There was no reply and Virginia wondered if the lad would refuse her
request. Just then the moon appeared above Inspiration Peak, and the
girls saw that in the lad’s face there was an expression of
wistfulness, almost of sorrow. Impulsively he held out his hand.
“Miss Virginia,” he said, “thank you for your interest in me. I
don’t want to go. I am so happy here. It is the first bit of home
life I have had in many a day. You girls have been so kind. If I had
an own sister she could not be kinder. But there is no alternative,
I suppose. You know this country better than I do, how shall I go?”

“I have thought it all out,” Virginia replied. “I lay awake for
hours planning what would be best for you to do, if you had to leave
suddenly, and now that Uncle Tex has come, he has given me another
idea. First of all I want you to ride to the north, following a
trail which I will indicate, until you come to a group of
white-washed buildings. That is the Wilson Sheep Ranch. Tell Mr.
Wilson that you have been sent from the V. M. Ranch, as an old
cattleman called Uncle Tex said that he was in need of help. There
you will be absolutely safe, I am sure. Tom, will you go?”

“Yes, Virginia,” was the reluctant reply and the girl noted, with a
feeling of real pleasure, that for the first time the lad had said
just “Virginia.”

“Prepare what you need,” she added hastily, “and I will make you a
map of the trails you are to follow.” Then to the girl who was
shivering at her side: “Come Megsy, we will return to the ranch
house.”

Fifteen minutes later, Virginia arose from the old desk at which she
had been busily engaged. Margaret, who had been watching at the
door, beckoned to her friend. “Tom is coming,” she whispered.

Hurrying to the veranda, Virginia handed an envelope to the lad.
“Take the trail due west until you reach the sand hills, then turn
to the north,” she said. “You ought to reach the Papago village
early in the morning and my good friend Winona will gladly give you
some breakfast. Good-bye, Tom. We will see you again.”

It was this hope that the lad bore in his heart as he rode away into
the darkness and increasing wind storm, and it was this hope which
was to help him bear the hardships and loneliness of many a day to
follow.




CHAPTER XXX

A BATTLE OF WITS


When the girls went back into the house, Margaret exclaimed, “Pinch
me, Virg, will you? I want to make sure that I am a flesh and blood
person and not a character in a book. I never felt so strange and
unreal before in all my life.”

Virginia laughingly placed an arm about her friend’s waist and
hugged her hard. “Won’t that do as well as a pinch?” she inquired.
“You are real enough, dear. Hark! The clock is striking the midnight
hour. Let us return to our beds. I want to get some sleep. I must be
up at a very early hour, for, as you know, we are expecting company
for breakfast.

“No, indeed, Megsy,” Virginia replied. “You will be glad to learn
that our culinary troubles are over.” Then noting her friend’s
puzzled expression, she added gaily. “We now have with us the best
cook on the desert. Uncle Tex has had charge of the ‘chuck’ wagon at
all of the roundups hereabouts for many years and the cow-boys would
rather have him as chef than either a Frenchman or Chinaman.”

“Good! Then our problem of finding a cook is solved,” Megsy said.
Ten minutes later all was quiet in the V. M. Ranch house, for the
girls, truly weary, were soon asleep.

The sun was streaming into Virginia’s room when there came a rap on
the door. Springing up, the girl slipped on her robe as she called,
“Who is it?”

“It’s yo’ Uncle Tex, Miss Virginia, dearie. Ah has breakfast
a-started, but I thought yo’ all was a-oversleepin’ and maybe yo’d
like me to call yo’.”

“We’ll be with you in a moment, Uncle Tex. Thank you for calling
us,” Virginia replied.

The girls were just emerging from their bedrooms when Margaret,
glancing through one of the wide living-room windows, exclaimed,
“Here come six horsemen. Are they your expected guests?”

“I suppose so,” Virginia replied, and she was right. A few moments
later six men of middle age and all of them with weather-bronzed
faces appeared at the back door. The young hostess bade them welcome
with a kindly dignity and they were soon seated about the long table
at one end of the sunny kitchen. Uncle Tex was busily making the
griddle cakes for which he was justly famous, while Margaret and
Virginia assumed the role of waitresses.

“Don’t your cow-boys have breakfast about this hour?” a keen-eyed
man evidently the leader of the posse, inquired. “I understand that
there’s two as you’ve had a long time and a new one you call Tom.”

Margaret glanced quickly at the face of her friend and was glad to
see that Virginia was mistress of the situation. “Yes, we have three
cow-boys,” she replied with indifference. “They left yesterday to
ride the range.”

This was the truth, for Tom had left just before midnight.

“Which way did they all go?” was the next question.

“I really don’t know,” was the calm reply. “It is not the custom of
Lucky or Slim to tell me their plans for turning back the cattle.”

“But this other fellow, the one you call Tom: perhaps you know which
way he went,” the man persisted.

“Yes, he rode toward the West,” Virginia frankly replied, and then
she added, “May I serve you to more cakes?”

“A cool one for her age,” the leader of the posse thought. “Thanks,”
he said aloud, “I believe I will have a few more.”

While he was eating the cakes he was trying to think of a question
that he might ask the girl that would find her off her guard and
perhaps obtain for him the information he desired.

Virginia was busily refilling the huge coffee cups which were used
only by the cow-boys, when the leader of the posse asked in a casual
manner:

“This ranch house is one of the oldest hereabouts, I understand.
Have you any idea how long it’s been standing Miss Davis?”

Virginia paused a moment before replying, but she could see no
possible trap in the query, and so she said:

“It was built by my grandfather. He came from the East in a prairie
schooner when my dad was a boy of 7.”

“Those were excitin’ days,” the man remarked with seeming
indifference as he continued eating. “I suppose you’ve heard your pa
tell many a time about the Indian raids they used to have every once
in so often.”

This had all happened so very long ago that Virginia was sure that
the conversation was following a safe channel, and so she replied:

“Yes, I have heard dad tell that when he was a boy they were in
constant dread of a raid at the full of the moon. Every month at
that time some one’s ranch house was attacked and of course
grandfather never knew when it would be his turn to receive one of
those most unwelcome visits.”

“Must have been powerful uncomfortable for the women folk those
days, never knowing when they might be scalped, but I suppose your
grandad had an underground room where he could hide his family if he
knew the Indians were coming.”

This had been said in an off-hand manner, but instantly Virginia
understood the meaning of the seemingly innocent conversation.

The leader of the posse believed that she had Tom hidden in the
underground room which many of the old ranches had in the days of
frequent Indian raids. They were often some distance from the house,
the entrance being well concealed.

Knowing, as she did, that Tom was many miles away, Virginia calmly
replied:

“Yes, we have an underground room. Would you like to see it?”

The man looked at her keenly and then he decided that he must be on
the wrong trail, for, if this girl really did have the supposed
cow-boy Tom hidden in an underground room, she would not so
willingly and frankly invite him to visit the place.

“No, Miss Davis,” he replied, as he arose; “I’ve seen many of them
and I suppose, architecturally speaking, they are all about the
same. Guess we’d better be gettin’ on. Thanks for the grub. Good
day.”

Five minutes later the two girls stood with their arms about each
other, watching from a wide window as the men rode away and Virginia
noticed that they were taking the trail toward the west. How she did
hope that they would not turn north at the sandhills, and also that
Tom had not been delayed.

She glanced at the clock, as she said:

“By now Tom ought to be safe in the Papago village.”




CHAPTER XXXI

WINONA, THE INDIAN MAIDEN


Luckily for Tom’s comfort, the storm which had threatened when he
left V. M. Ranch was turned by a changing wind toward the south;
and, when the chill grey of daylight came, he found that he had
ridden many miles to the north and that he was slowly crossing a
vast, wild broken upland, which was gradually ascending toward a
range of mountains that looked grim, lonely and forbidding.

In those barren walls of rock, Virginia had told him that he would
find the almost hidden entrance to the Papago Indian village.

No creature was in sight at that early hour save a low sailing hawk,
and, now and then, a lizard, frightened by the horse’s hoofs, darted
across the trail. So near was it to the color of the sand that only
by its quick flashing motion could it be discerned.

As Tom neared the seemingly impenetrable wall of rock, it was hard
for him to believe that this was really a fortress surrounding a
village of any kind. He was weary and hungry, but, try as he might,
he could not find the entrance.

[Illustration: When the two riders appeared a pack of wolf-dogs made
a mad rush at the stranger.]

Suddenly his horse snorted and stopped. Tom wondered what it had
heard for surely there was nothing to see, but he was not long
puzzled, for a second later a lean, shaggy pony, ridden by a small
Indian boy, emerged from what seemed to be solid rock. Tom urged his
horse forward and hailed the little fellow who, after looking at the
stranger with startled eyes, seemed about to return by the way he
had come. Then it was Tom remembered something. He had been told to
say to the first Indian he met, “Virginia Davis sent me,” which
sentence, he had been assured would prove an open sesame that would
win for him admittance and welcome.

Nor had he been misinformed, for, when the small Indian boy who was
about to disappear, heard the name which Tom called, he smiled,
showing two rows of gleaming white teeth, and then, silently
beckoning he led the way through a crevice, so narrow that Tom no
longer wondered that it had escaped his observation.

It gradually widened, however, into a canyon which at last opened
into a huge bowl-shaped valley where the grass was green and where
clumps of scarlet flowers were blossoming.

Scattering about were a dozen or more low adobe huts and in the
midst of them in a large corral were many wiry Indian ponies.

When the two riders appeared a pack of wolf-dogs made a mad rush at
the stranger, barking furiously. However at a word of command from
the small Indian boy, they slunk away, to Tom’s secret relief. The
lad had evidently assured them that the intruder was a friend and
not a foe.

The Indian boy knew little English, but he led Tom to the most
imposing of the adobe huts. There he paused and uttered a cry like
that of some wild bird.

Tom gazed curiously at the open door which was festooned with dried
red peppers. He wondered who would appear. He hoped and believed
that it would be Winona, the Indian maiden, who was Virginia’s
friend, but instead a shriveled old Indian woman wrapped in a
bright-colored blanket shuffled to the door and evidently asked the
lad what he wished at the home of the chief.

Tom understood only one word in the lad’s reply and that was
“Winona.” For answer the old woman silently pointed toward the
nearest cliff. Tom, looking in that direction, saw a graceful Indian
girl approaching and on her head she was balancing a very large red
pottery jar which was almost brimming full of sparkling water from a
mountain spring.

Whirling his pony, the little Indian had galloped toward the dusky
maiden, who paused to listen to what he had to say with an eager
interest.

Then, placing her water jar upon a large, flat rock, she approached
the newcomer who had dismounted, having first assured himself that
the pack of wolf-like dogs was not in evidence.

To his surprise the Indian maiden spoke in the English language and,
without the least embarrassment held out her slim, dark hand as she
said, “Welcome, Virginia’s friend. You have traveled far and are
hungry. I am Winona and I will give you breakfast.”

Tom thanked her and, as she was about to lift the jar again to her
head, he said with his frank, friendly smile, “I ought to offer to
carry that, but I fear I could not manage it as skillfully as you
do. Since it is without handles, it must be a difficult feat.”

Winona smiled up at him as they walked side by side; the Indian lad,
whose name was Red Feather, having taken Tom’s horse to the corral.

“Perhaps,” she replied, “but we learn early and do not forget. Look
yonder.”

Tom’s glance followed that of Winona and he saw a group of little
Indian girls, the oldest not more than 10. They were coming from a
mountain spring and each was balancing a water jar upon her head.
The small girls gathered about gazing half shyly and half curiously
at the newcomer, until Winona spoke a few words in a tone of gentle
rebuke, then the little, wild, coyote-like creatures scattered and
soon disappeared in different mud huts.

“What did you say to them, Winona?” Tom asked curiously.

The Indian girl’s smile was almost merry. “That it isn’t manners to
stare at company,” was the reply. “For seven winters, as Virginia
told you, I learned the white man’s way, and now I have a little
class and teach what I learned. Here we are at my home. My father
awaits to welcome you.”

Tom saw an old Indian squatted upon the mud porch, and about his
jet-black hair was a band into which had been woven with garnet
beads the emblem of the tribe.

“My father, Chief Grey Hawk, this is Tom, friend of Virginia.” The
bronzed, wrinkled face had a kindly expression as the old man
replied in his own tongue, offering hospitality.

“Sit and rest and I will bring refreshment,” Winona said as she went
within, soon to return with steaming coffee and a hard cake made
from Indian meal.

The chief having retired, Winona sat beside Tom on the adobe porch
and asked many questions about Virginia.

An hour later Tom bade the Indian girl farewell, and with little Red
Feather as guide, he again rode toward the north. As he looked ahead
at the rugged, uninviting mountains, in his heart there was an
impulse to whirl his horse about and gallop back to the V. M. Ranch,
whatever the consequences, but instead he followed the lad who led
the way across an ever rising sandy waste where there was no sign of
a trail. Had there been one the frequent whirlwinds would have
hidden it with sand.

Tom wondered if the Indian boy had the same unerring instinct that a
bird seems to have in its flight. Once only did the small guide
pause and listen. Tom, too, drew rein, but heard nothing, although
it was evident that the Indian lad did. He was intently watching a
sandhill nearby, around which, in another moment, there appeared a
bunch of wild, shaggy ponies, but, upon seeing Tom and Red Feather,
with a shrill whistle-like neighing, they whirled about and galloped
in the other direction and were soon hidden in a cloud of sand.

The Indian lad looked back and his white teeth gleamed as he said,
“Much pony-wild.”

That was his first attempt at speaking the English language and
would have surprised Tom greatly had he not recalled that Red
Feather was probably a pupil in Winona’s little class, and so,
riding closer, he asked, “Is it far yet we go? Long way?”

The lad shook his head. He had understood. “One up, one down,” was
his curious reply. Tom decided that the little fellow meant that
they would cross one more range of mountains and then descend into a
valley, nor was he wrong, for they were soon climbing a clearly
defined mountain trail and at last reached a high point from which
Tom could see, far below them, a wide, fertile valley.

Red Feather drew rein and pointed. “Sheep,” he said. “I go back.”
Not waiting for Tom to express his gratitude, and without a formal
farewell, the Indian lad returned by the way he had come.

Tom, believing that the sheep ranch he sought lay in the valley
below, started the descent.

As he neared the group of low, white-washed buildings, Tom felt in
his heart a strange loneliness and a sense of homesickness for the
V. M. Ranch.

After years of wandering, the few days he had spent there had meant
so much to him, but it had been Virginia’s wish that he seek refuge
on this sheep ranch, and so he rode on, wondering what manner of
welcome he would receive.

Mr. Wilson and his 18-year-old son, Harry, were mounted and
apparently about to ride away from the big white-washed ranch house
when they perceived the newcomer and drew rein to await him. They
wondered who the visitor might be, as few riders passed that way,
the sheep ranch being isolated and difficult of access.

When the lad was within hailing distance, Mr. Wilson, in his bluff,
hearty manner, called:

“Welcome, stranger!”

Tom responded to the greeting and said:

“Mr. Wilson, I am from the V. M. Ranch. An old cattleman, whom they
call ‘Uncle Tex,’ brought word that you were in need of help and I
have come to apply for a position.”

“Good! We do indeed need help,” was the hearty response. “Have you
any knowledge of sheep?”

“None whatever,” was the frank reply, “and before I accept a
position with you, I would like to tell you just who I am.”

“That is not at all necessary,” Mr. Wilson replied, heartily. “Your
honest face and manner are all the recommendations that you need.
Your past, my boy, is past. Your present will be what you make it
now.” Then he added, “This is my son, Harry. What shall we call
you?”

“Tom,” was the simple reply.

“Tom,” Mr. Wilson repeated, “you have come at a very opportune time.
Harry and I were just setting out for the Red Canyon camp. Our
herder there, Juan, reports that many sheep are being killed in his
flock, but that alone he cannot watch them at all hours. Of course
he must have sleep, and although I am really needed on the home
ranch, I am so short of help that I was about to accompany Harry.
Will you go in my place?”

“Gladly, sir,” Tom replied.

“Then first come within and have refreshments and meet the Little
Mother who makes home for us.”

Mrs. Wilson welcomed the lad with the same kindliness that her
husband extended to him and led him at once to the big, comfortable
kitchen where he was soon given a bountiful dinner, which he greatly
appreciated.

An hour later, with Harry and on a fresh mount, Tom started again
toward the north. The boys liked each other at once. Tom was soon
asking many questions about sheep ranching, which the other lad
seemed glad to answer.

Then, for a time, they rode on silently. Tom was thinking how
pleased Virginia would be if she could know of the kindly welcome he
had received. How he wished that he could write to her.

“Can one send a letter from here to the V. M. Ranch?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Harry replied; “about once a month we send our mail to Red
River Junction, which is thirty miles away. Little Francisco will go
to town in about a week.”




CHAPTER XXXII

A FIERCE WARRIOR


A week had passed and it had been an anxious one for Virginia and
Margaret as they had no way of knowing whether or not Tom had
managed to escape the posse that had been searching for him. True,
they had one day ridden to the Junction and there they had learned
from Mrs. Wells, the station master’s wife, that the posse had
returned to Texas, but whether they had captured the young outlaw or
not the good woman could not tell.

One glorious day Margaret asked Virginia if she would like to go for
a ride but the western girl wished to remain at home and suggested
that Megsy go for a short canter by herself.

“You will be perfectly safe, dear,” Virginia assured her. “Suppose
you follow the trail over the mesa and toward the sand hills, then
circle around them and come home again. That ride will make you good
and hungry for the delicious something that I am going to bake. Our
miners are to return tomorrow, and since Uncle Tex does not know how
to make pies, Mrs. Mahoy offered to teach me this morning.”

Half an hour later Margaret cantered away, feeling very brave
indeed, as this was the first time she had started out on a desert
trail all alone and unprotected. When she reached the mesa, she drew
rein and looked about. Not a horseman was to be seen, only the
gleaming white sand with here and there a mesquite brush, or a clump
of wiry grass or a spot of flaming color where some hardy plant was
blossoming.

Toward the north lay the desolate sandhills on which tall stalks of
yucca stood like silent sentinels. Margaret decided to do as
Virginia had suggested, gallop around the small group of hills and
then, home again. How she did wish that Babs was with her, for well
she knew that her eastern schoolmate would enjoy a canter on so
glorious a morning. It wouldn’t be long though before Babs would be
coming. “Today is the first of March,” Margaret was thinking. “April
and May will soon pass and then it will be June and Barbara will
come.”

Margaret was nearing the first of the three isolated sand hills when
she felt her saddle slipping. She dismounted to tighten the girth
when suddenly she lifted her head and listened intently.

What had she heard? Perhaps nothing really, for well she knew that
being timid, she was very imaginative. She fastened the girth
securely and had one foot in a stirrup about to remount when again
she heard the sound, and this time it was much nearer than before.
Leaping to her saddle, she was about to gallop away when she saw a
band of horsemen coming around the nearest sand hill. Terrorized she
whirled her pony’s head toward the south and urged Star to his top
speed.

She knew by the racing hoofbeats back of her that she was being
pursued. Could she reach the V. M. Ranch before she was overtaken?

Virginia was proudly surveying the row of pies, which, with the help
of Mrs. Mahoy, she had just made, when she heard the front door
burst open and slam shut. Then, almost before she could turn around,
a terrorized girl rushed into the kitchen, and seizing Virginia,
clung to her wildly as she said, “Oh, Virg, I was almost captured by
Indians. They came around the sand hills. The minute I saw them I
galloped for home, but two of them pursued me. Do you suppose they
are coming to raid the ranch as you said they used to do when your
father was a boy?”

“No, no, Megsy, of course not,” Virginia replied. “Tell me what did
your Indian pursuers look like.”

“One of them was a big fierce warrior, and—”

Just then there was a rap at the front door. “Oh! Oh! There they are
now! Virg, you aren’t going to let them in?”

“Megsy, my dear, the only Indians living near here are the friendly
Papagoes. Please do not hold me so tight.” The western girl had to
fairly drag herself away from Margaret.

When the door was opened there on the porch stood the Indian maiden,
Winona, and by her side was little Red Feather.

Virginia was delighted and embraced her Indian friend just as she
would have welcomed a white girl whom she loved and had not seen for
a long time.

“Margaret,” she called, “come and meet my dear friend Winona, of
whom I have so often spoken.”

Margaret approached, feeling rather overcome by the sudden change of
emotions. She held out her hand to the Indian girl and said
sincerely that she was indeed glad to meet Virginia’s friend. Then
she smiled at the little fellow whom she had called a “fierce
warrior.” About his straight black hair there was a band of green,
in which, perched at a jaunty angle, was a bright red feather. The
Indian boy’s white teeth gleamed as he said admiringly:

“Fast pony! Go zip!”

Luckily neither of the Papago visitors had suspected that Margaret
had been frightened by their sudden appearance at the sand hills.

“Can’t you stay awhile, Winona?” Virginia asked.

“Not this time. Some other, perhaps. My father, Chief Grey Hawk,
awaits me. We have buying to do in town, but I wanted to tell you
the nice young man, your friend, he came and went again soon to the
north. Red Feather showed him the way. He reached there safely.”

Virginia’s eyes glowed, and again taking the Indian girl’s hand, she
exclaimed, “Oh, Winona, I am so glad that you stopped to tell me. We
were eager to know if Tom really found your village. It is so hidden
that the entrance is hard to find.”

When the farewells had been said and the two visitors had ridden
away, Margaret went to the old writing desk, declaring that she was
going to pen Babs a letter that would make the boarding school life
seem dull and monotonous. Scarcely was the epistle finished and
sealed, when Lucky called to say that he was riding to the Junction
and would take the mail.

“Be sure to bring us back some letters,” Virginia called merrily as
the cow-boy, waving his sombrero, rode away.




CHAPTER XXXIII

A SAND STORM


“March winds surely are blowing,” Margaret sang out, as she and
Virginia were hurled along at a merry pace from the “hen corral,”
the small fenced-in enclosure whither the girls had been to gather
eggs.

When they reached the shelter of the kitchen, Virginia declared,
“It’s great fun to race with the wind back of one, but I wouldn’t
care to go far across the desert facing this gale. I suppose that it
will blow now for days and days. It usually does in March. Sometimes
it hurls the sand against our windows in terrific gusts and woe to
the horseman who is caught out in a such a storm.”

“What happens? Is he buried alive?” Margaret asked.

“No, not often that. Sometimes he turns and rides with the wind
until it has abated. Let’s get the darning basket, shall we? This is
such a cozy time to sit by the fire and mend. I always enjoy it most
when there is a storm outside, don’t you?”

Fifteen minutes later the two girls were comfortably curled up in
easy chairs in front of the wide grate on which a mesquite root was
cheerfully burning. Margaret, dropping her darning into her lap sat
watching the flames.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Virginia teased. Margaret looked up
with a little laugh. “Virg,” she said, “my thoughts had gone way
back to the first chapter. I was thinking how I had rebelled when
you wrote that I would have to leave boarding school and come out
here to live on the desert. I was so sure that I was leaving
happiness behind me and that I would be miserable ever after, but
instead—” she paused.

“Have you been unhappy, dear, and are you hiding it in your heart?”
Virginia asked anxiously.

“Unhappy?” Margaret lifted such a glowing face that Virginia felt
that her question was answered before the next words were uttered.
“I have never been so happy before in all my life. This is the first
real home that I ever had. Mother died when I was so very young, and
then father placed me in boarding school, and then he died. Of
course I was happy at Vine Haven and Babs was like a dear sister,
but Oh, Virginia, there’s nothing like a comfortable, love-filled
house for a home, is there? Of course I still love Babs, and now I
have you, and Malcolm for a brother.”

Margaret had returned her attention to the sock she was darning
which chanced to belong to the lad she had just mentioned, and she
smiled as she continued, “How nice Malcolm is. But isn’t he much
more serious than most boys of eighteen? Is it because he has had so
much responsibility since your father died?”

“Perhaps, and also because he is of a serious nature,” Virginia
replied, as she threaded a needle. “And yet there is lots of fun in
Buddy. You haven’t had an opportunity to become acquainted with him.
He has been so occupied since you came. If he does return to V. M.
Ranch tomorrow I do hope he plans staying at home for a while. He
has been away now for two weeks.”

“Whew-oo!” Margaret said with a shudder. “Virg, did you hear that
gust of wind? It’s blowing the sand, and how dark it is getting!”

Virginia glanced anxiously at the window. “I do hope Lucky will
reach here before nightfall,” she said. “However, he may remain all
night at the Junction. That would be the wise thing to do.”

“Hark!” Margaret exclaimed listening intently, “I’m sure I heard
someone calling just then. Did you?”

They both listened but heard only the rush of the wind and sand.

However, a moment later, there came a rapping on the back door and
both girls dropping their darning, hurried to see who the newcomer
might be.

As they had really expected, it was the cow-boy who had ridden to
the Junction for the mail.

“Lucky!” Virginia remonstrated, “you are covered with sand and your
face is almost bleeding. Why did you come out tonight? The mail was
not so important.”

“No, Miss Virginia, ’twant the mail that fetched me but the stock.
Slim ain’t here and I hadn’t tol’ Uncle Tex about the little sick
heifer as I’ve got down in the hospital. I knew it would be dead by
morning if I didn’t come home to tend to it.” As the long, lank
cow-boy talked, he was taking the mail from the pouch and placing it
on the kitchen table. At first he seemed puzzled, and then troubled
about something. He turned the mailbag upside down and shook it.

“What’s the matter, Lucky? Have you lost something?” Virg inquired.

“I’m afeared I have, Miss Virginia,” the cow-boy replied. “I know as
how I had five letters for V. M. Ranch, but now I don’t count but
four. One of ’em must have blowed away. I’m powerful sorry, Miss
Virginia. It was a longish one and it was from Red Riverton, I just
don’t see where that letter can be.”

The poor cow-boy was so distressed that Virginia assured him that
the missive was of no great importance and that probably it would be
found in the morning.

Then, returning to the living-room the girls drew their chairs close
to the center table where Virginia had lighted the lamp with its
cheerful crimson shade.

“Where did Lucky say the lost letter was from?” Margaret asked as
she slipped a gourd into the toe of one of Malcolm’s socks. “I had
never heard of the place before.”

“Oh, I imagine it is a letter from some neighboring rancher to my
brother,” Virginia remarked as she took up her darning. “Red
Riverton is in the northern part of the state, and—”

“Virg!” Margaret interrupted, “do you suppose that letter was from
our Tom? Or rather I should say, your Tom, as he never seems
conscious of my existence.”

Virginia’s eyes glowed and springing up she exclaimed, “I do believe
that you may be right. I’ll ask Uncle Tex the name of the nearest
postoffice to the Wilson Sheep Ranch.” Into the kitchen she skipped
returning with a woe-begone expression. “You are right, and, Oh
Megsy, isn’t it dreadful? We have lost the very first letter that
Tom ever wrote to us, for of course it must be blown far away. Just
listen to that wind. It is traveling sixty miles an hour or more and
by this time the letter will be far over the Mexican border. I am
just sure we never will find it.”

“It might have been caught on a thorny cactus,” Margaret said, but
neither of the girls had any real hope of finding the missive in
which they were so interested.

During the night the wind subsided and the next day dawned
gloriously still and sunny. The cow-boy, Lucky, arose before
daybreak and rode up to the mesa, searching everywhere for the lost
letter until the bell on the back porch of the ranch house called
him to breakfast.

When he entered the kitchen, he looked so troubled that Virginia
said with her friendly smile, “Don’t you worry about that letter. If
it doesn’t turn up, I know who sent it, and I will write and explain
that it was blown away in a sand storm.”

After breakfast the two girls tramped over every bit of sand between
the ranch house and the corrals; then they mounted their ponies and
rode over the trail toward the Junction, but not a gleam of white
did they see.

“How the sand has changed!” Margaret exclaimed. “It is lying in
billow-like waves. It isn’t smooth, the way it was yesterday.”

“That is how the three little sand hills were formed, I suppose,”
Virginia remarked. “Something must have been there, a giant cactus,
perhaps around which the sand first gathered, and then, being held,
other storms added to it until the mounds became quite sizable sand
hills standing all alone on the desert, but these little waves have
nothing to hold them and they will soon smooth out again.”

At noon they gave up the search and returned for lunch. As they
entered the house, Margaret suddenly exclaimed, “Why, Virginia, how
could that letter have blown away? Lucky took the mail out of the
pouch right here in the kitchen and before that the flap was buckled
down.”

“That’s so,” Virginia replied, “and yet he remembers having had it
and I have looked in the pouch several times.” Then, chancing to
glance out of the window, she laughingly added, “You’d better hide,
Margaret, for here comes your fierce warrior and he may be after
your curly scalp.”

Megsy took the teasing good naturedly and both girls went out on the
veranda to see what message little Red Feather had for them.

Far on the mesa they saw a gray line of horsemen whom they knew were
the Papagoes returning to their mountain encircled home. Probably
Winona had sent the Indian boy down to the V. M.

As the little fellow rode up, he reached under his red saddle
blanket and drew forth a long white envelope. This he handed to
Virginia with a slip of brown wrapping paper on which Winona had
written:


“Dear White Lily:

“Mrs. Wells sent this. Your cow-boy dropped it at the station. Your
friend, Winona.”


“Oh thank you, Red Feather!” Virginia exclaimed, when she had read
the message. “Tell Winona to come soon again and pay us a real
visit.”

The little Indian lad showed his white teeth in a wide smile but
whether he understood or not the girls could not tell.

When he was gone, Virginia dragged Margaret into the living-room and
whirled her about merrily. Then they sank down on the window seat
and Virginia tore open the long white envelope.




CHAPTER XXXIV

TWO LETTERS FROM TOM


“A letter from an outlaw,” Margaret laughingly exclaimed as the two
girls curled up on the window seat, one to read and the other to
listen to their very first letter from Tom.

“Virginia, isn’t this the strangest thing you ever heard of?”
Margaret added. “What would my primly and properly brought up
friends in Vine Haven Seminary think if they knew that we were
corresponding with a young man labeled an outlaw whose last name we
do not even know?”

Virginia laughed. “I suppose your Miss Pickle would be frigid with
horror, but luckily she knows nothing of your present misdemeanors
and cannot make you go without dessert for a week for breaking a
rule. Now for the letter:


“Dear Virginia and Margaret:

“Greetings from a sheep ranch. Virginia, when I was outlawed from
your home, I felt that I was leaving the sunshine of the world
behind me and I didn’t much care what happened, but you will be glad
to know that my destination proved to be a real home where I was
kindly welcomed by a motherly woman, her big hearted, splendid
husband and their son, Harry, who is just my age. I offered at once
to tell them who I really am, but they would not permit me to do so.
Luckily for me, Mr. Wilson was in great need of help and within an
hour after my arrival, his son Harry and I started to ride to the
Red Canyon Camp where the sheep herder, Juan, was alone with several
hundred ewes.

“A very small Mexican boy with a very big name, it being Francisco
Quintano Mendoza, is ranch rider. It is his duty to visit each of
the four outlying camps, which he does on his brisk little burro,
finding out the needs of each herder and then he returns to the main
ranch house. It takes him a week to make the round trip. He had
ridden in that morning with a message from Juan of Red Canon Camp.
The flock was being nightly attacked by wild animals, and, try as he
might, the herder had been unable to capture the invader.

“‘Of course even a sheep herder must sleep part of the time,’ Harry
declared as we rode through a valley that was covered with dry grama
grass. Close to the mountains we came to the herder’s hut, which
consisted of one earth-roofed adobe room, a stove, two bunks, a rude
table and bench were the only furnishings, while strings of dry red
peppers were the decorations. Juan was farther up the valley with
the flock, but toward sundown, he came driving the sheep into the
sheltered corral. Harry at once saw that something was wrong with
the herder. The faithful shepherd had broken his arm and was
enduring much pain, but he would not leave his flock until someone
came to care for it. Harry skilfully bandaged the broken arm and
then bade Juan ride at once to a physician in Red Riverton. He is to
leave now as soon as he has his supper, which Harry is preparing; so
I must end this letter that I may send it by Juan.

“Harry and I are going to take turns watching the flock. How I do
hope that I will be able to catch the wolf or mountain lion that is
killing the sheep. I would like to prove my gratitude to Mr. Wilson
by some helpful deed.

“Virginia, how may I show my gratitude to you? Will you let me know?
Your outlaw, Tom.”

“What an interesting letter!” Virginia exclaimed; “I am so glad that
the Wilsons are being so kind to him.”

Several days later the girls were surprised to receive another
letter from Tom. They were riding on the mesa trail when Slim came
from town with the mail. There were several letters for each of them
and so eager were they to read them that they dismounted and bidding
their ponies return to the home ranch, the girls sat on the
sun-warmed sand and looked over the mail.

“A letter from Babs!” Margaret exclaimed happily.

“And another from Tom, so soon!” Virginia said. “Which shall we read
first?”

“Tom’s, of course,” Margaret replied, “Babs won’t mind waiting.” So
Virg began to read aloud.


“Dear Virginia and Margaret: I have had such an exciting adventure
and I want to tell you about it. Last night Harry permitted me to
watch the flock, as he had done the night before, but without
discovering the invader. In fact, when he came to the cabin to
breakfast, he told me that nothing had happened to disturb the
sheep, and yet, an hour later, when he drove the flock to the valley
pasture we found that two of the best ewes had been killed on the
far north side, so it was there that I determined to hide and watch.
That part is nearest the Red Canyon which is a narrow gorge of red
rock leading into the mountains.

“I crouched in the shelter of an overhanging ledge behind a scrub
pine and waited. The hours dragged by but nothing happened. It must
have been about midnight when I thought that I heard soft, stealthy
footfalls as though made by padded feet. Too, the sheep nearest me
became fidgety and stood up facing the canyon. The wind evidently
had brought a scent to them that they feared.

“I arose, and leaning on one knee with my gun ready to fire, I
watched the opening of the canyon intently, expecting to see a dark
figure appear, or, cat-like eyes gleaming in the dark, but nothing
happened. Suddenly something impelled me to look up, and it was well
that I did, or I would not be writing this letter to you, for there
on the jutting ledge, was a lion crouched to spring, not at the
sheep, but at me. I whirled to shoot, but in that moment the
creature leaped. By turning, however, I had changed my position and
the lion leaped beyond me.

“Instantly it was upon me, however, but I had time to lift my gun,
and it leaped against the muzzle. ‘What if the gun should fail me?’
I thought, but it didn’t, and the lion fell over.

“I sat down again to wait for dawn, feeling none too secure, and
glancing often at the ledge over my head for where there is one
mountain lion, there might be another, but nothing happened, and
when day dawned, Harry rode over and found me sitting beside the
largest dead lion, he said, that he had ever seen. The creature had
torn the right sleeve almost out of my coat and my arm was scratched
but the sheep were all there.

“I tell you, Virginia, it makes a chap feel that he is not entirely
useless in this world when he can do something that really helps.

“We are back at the home ranch now; another herder, Josef Lopez,
having ridden in from Red Riverton to take Juan’s place for two
weeks. Little Francisco Quintano Mendoza is about to ride into town
with the mail, so I will say good-bye now. How I do hope, when he
returns, that he will have a letter for me from you. Greetings from
your outlaw, Tom.”


Virg paused and gazed intently at the signature.

Margaret inquired:

“What do you see, Virg? Hieroglyphics that you find hard to
decipher?”

“Well, it is something puzzling,” the western girl declared. “I
believe that Tom first signed another name to this letter, and then,
remembering that his real name was to be kept a secret, known only
to himself, he has carefully erased it, but even so there is a faint
lining of letters perceptible. How I do wish that we could make them
out, although, perhaps we ought not to pry into Tom’s secret if he
does not wish to share it with us.”

“May I look at the signature?” Megsy asked. Virginia gave her the
letter, and Margaret taking the sheet of paper held it up to the
sun.

After gazing at it intently for several seconds, she uttered a
squeal of excited delight. “Virginia,” she announced, “I am just
sure that I can make out the capital letter beginning the last name.
See! It’s a W, isn’t it? There can be no mistake as to that.”

Virginia also looked and although none of the others could be
recognized, she too, was convinced that the last name began the
letter her friend had mentioned.

Suddenly Margaret turned toward her, with eyes that glowed.

“Virginia Davis,” she exclaimed excitedly, “has it ever entered your
thought even remotely that our Tom might be Peyton Wente, the lost
brother of Babs?”

“Why no, dear. It never had,” Virginia replied. “Do you suppose that
it might be possible? And yet, if it were true, we wouldn’t want to
tell Babs that the brother whom she so adores is a fugitive from
justice.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Margaret reluctantly admitted. Then, after a
thoughtful moment, she added, “but I would like to know for our own
sake, wouldn’t you, Virg?”

“Yes, I would,” the western girl agreed. “The more I know of Tom the
more I am convinced that he belongs to a refined family, and I also
believe there is a mistake about the mysterious something for which
he is an outlaw from Texas.”

“I know what let’s do,” Margaret exclaimed brightly, “let’s ask Babs
to send a photograph of her brother, telling her merely that many
lads drift West, lured by the fascination of life on the desert, and
that if her brother should happen to be among them, we would want to
be able to recognize him.”

“That will be a good plan,” Virginia agreed. “Now, suppose you read
the letter from Babs. I hope it isn’t feeling offended because it
has been kept waiting.”




CHAPTER XXXV

NEWS FROM SCHOOL


Virginia settled comfortably on the warm sand still holding the
letter from Tom while Margaret eagerly opened the plump epistle from
her best friend in the far away East.

“I just love to get these chatty letters from Babs,” she prefaced
and then read:

                                         “Vine Haven Seminary,
                                                 “March 15, 1922.
“Dearest Cowgirls:

“Megsy, you remember how prim and proper Miss Pickle was when you
were here at school and how ‘skeered’ of her we girls always were.
Well, some mysterious power is surely working a transformation. I
told you about the Surprise Valentine party she gave for us and how
we entertained young Prof. Pixley and thirteen of the boys from the
Drexel Military Academy. Well, ever since that night Miss Piqulin
has been kindlier in her manner; she hasn’t done her hair up quite
so tight and she even attempted a joke in algebra class. We girls
hardly dared laugh, however, but yesterday something happened to
convince us that Miss Piqulin can be called the sour Miss Pickle no
longer.

“It was her birthday and it was also mine. It being Saturday Miss
Piqulin decided to celebrate and she invited her algebra class to
spend the day in the city with her. Weren’t we excited though? You
know our club, ‘The Lucky Thirteen,’ (we asked Jennie Clark to join
when you left school that we might keep the same number), are all in
that class. We decked up in our very best and looked pretty nice, so
we thought, when we gathered in the lower corridor to await the
coming of the school bus. Betsy Closson was the last down and she
seemed excited about something. ‘Girls,’ she said, ‘watch Miss
Martin’s office door.

“‘A strange young lady just went in there and she had on the
prettiest spring suit. It’s the very latest style. I wonder who—’
Betsy said no more for the office door was opening. The strange
young lady appeared with her back toward us, but suddenly she
turned, and if it wasn’t our very own Miss Pickle. She had on the
prettiest grey suit and a grey tulle hat trimmed with crushed pink
roses.

“I’m afraid we stared our astonishment, but luckily the bus arrived
just then and so we went out and climbed in. Miss Piqulin was with
Patrick on the front seat but she smiled at us over her shoulder. We
sat there in two rows as solemn as though we were at a funeral.

“‘Girls,’ Miss Pickle said, ‘have a happy time; laugh and chatter
all you want to.’

“Megsy, did you ever suppose the day would dawn when Miss Pickle
would say that? Well, anyway, she did, so we started to sing a
school song when suddenly Betsy Closson held up one hand and said,
‘Hark! Don’t you hear bugles?’

“‘Look! Look!’” Jenny Clark was pointing back at the bend in the
road. ‘There comes a carryall and it’s filled with boys from the
Drexel Military Academy. Don’t they look nice in their dress
uniforms?’

“‘That jolly young Professor Pixley is with them,’ Flora Wells
added. Miss Piqulin heard this and her cheeks became as pink as the
roses on her hat. The mystery was solved. Miss Pickle is in love!

“Well, to make a long story short, the carryall dashed up and both
vehicles stopped while greetings were exchanged. When Prof. Pixley
heard that we were to spend the day in town, he asked us to join
them at a theater party at two in the afternoon. Weren’t we girls
excited and delighted, and what a fine time we did have! I sat next
to such a nice boy and Virg, how pleased I was when he said that his
home is in Arizona. His name is Benjamin Wilson. Have you ever heard
of him?

“That was a whole lot of excitement for boarding school girls all in
one day, wasn’t it Megsy? Nor was that all, for when I reached my
room that night, I found a birthday box from China. In it was a pale
blue silk kimono embroidered with pink cherry blossoms and slippers
to match. It was from my dear brother Peyton. He has never missed
giving me something on my birthday. Now that I know where he is, I
am so happy and content.

“Farewell for now. Your Babs.”


“Then after all our Tom isn’t Peyton Wente,” Margaret said as they
started walking toward the V. M. Ranch.

“I’m disappointed,” Megsy continued. “I did hope your outlaw would
turn out to be—well—somebody just ever so nice and of course even
if he did run away from a very stern father, Peyton Wente must be
nice, else how could he be my adorable Barbara’s brother?”

“That argument can’t be disputed.” Virginia said, then leaping to
her feet she added: “Let’s go home, dear, I’m hungry as a lean
coyote! How I do hope that Uncle Tex will have a fine dinner waiting
for us.”

Upon reaching the ranch house the girls went at once to their rooms
to prepare for the midday meal, but when the Chinese gongs rang,
they sallied forth arm in arm and were confronted by a young giant
of a lad.

“Malcolm Davis, are you home at last?” Virginia fairly flew at her
dearly loved brother, and was caught in his arms. Then turning, the
smiling young man, held out his right hand to Margaret.

“I feel as though I ought to be introduced to my ward all over
again,” he said with his pleasant smile. “I have been away at the
mines for so long that I have hardly had time to become acquainted
with her. Has she been a dutiful ward?”

Virginia smiled at her friend as she replied, “Oh, Malcolm, you
can’t know what a comfort Margaret is to me. We two girls do have
the nicest times together.”

Then, when they were seated about the table, Slim having been
detained at the corral and Lucky still being out on the range,
Malcolm remarked, “Slim tells me that Tom is not here now. Did you
have cause to dismiss him from our service, sister?”

“No, indeed, Buddie,” was the earnest reply. “Tom proved to be as
trustworthy as you believed that he would, but, for some reason, he
seems to be a fugitive from justice as he told you. We advised him
to go farther north, but he would not leave the V. M. until we girls
were well protected. That very night Uncle Tex returned telling us
that Mr. Wilson up Red Riverton way needed help on his sheep ranch
and so we urged Tom to go. We have had two splendid letters from
him. He seems to be enjoying his work up there and he likes the
Wilson family just ever so much. Do you know them, Buddie?”

“Yes, indeed I do. I often stayed all night with the Wilsons when I
was one of dad’s range riders, and when I had gone that far north in
search of strayed cattle. Of course the cowmen and the sheep
ranchers are supposed to be bitter enemies, but my theory is that
there is room enough in our big state for all of us to live and let
live. The Wilsons are the nicest kind of a family, Virg. Mrs. Wilson
is a dear, mothering sort who reminds me of a hen with wide, warm
wings that can always take one more chick in out of the cold. Dad
thought very highly of Mr. Wilson, and then, there are two sons. One
of them, Harry, is about my age and there is a younger chap. I think
he is nearly sixteen. He was fonder of books than Hal and so they
sent him East to school. I can’t recall his name.”

“Was it Benjamin?” Virginia asked.

“Yes, that’s it. Benjy, his mother called him. I haven’t ridden that
far north for two years at least. However, I hope that I will get up
that way some day. I like to keep in touch with such kindly
neighbors.”

Malcolm then told the girls about the progress made at the mine.

“I am very much encouraged with the output,” he told Virginia, “but
I am a rancher, not a miner, and so I asked Pat Mahoy to send for
his former associates in Bisbee to assist him. I can trust Pat to
look after our interests as he will his own. I will stay at home for
a time and get acquainted with my ward and my sister.”

“Oh brother, I am so glad, and some day will you take us for a long,
long ride? I am eager to have Margaret see more of our wonderful
desert.”

“That’s a splendid suggestion,” Malcolm said with enthusiasm. “We
might even ride as far north as the Wilson Ranch.”

Although Virginia’s reply expressed her pleasure, it did not reveal
to her brother how very much she did hope that plan would soon be
carried out.




CHAPTER XXXVI

CAUGHT IN A TORRENT


A month had passed. The wild March winds had blown itself out. The
spring rains had filled the usually dry creek with a rushing, raging
torrent which could be forded by neither man nor beast. Then, when
at last the sun shone out, the desert glistened, while here and
there a clump of bright flowers gleamed. The sand had been washed
from cactus and mesquite and there were fresh leaves on the
cottonwood trees. Birds sang, and also there was a rejoicing in the
hearts of the two girls who had been so long held prisoners by the
inclement weather.

“Think of it!” Margaret said as she swept the veranda the first
clear morning after the rains. “It is three weeks since any one has
been for the mail. Do you suppose that it would be safe for us to
cross the creek today and ride to the Junction?”

“Oh, I’m sure that it would,” Virginia replied. “There isn’t a cloud
anywhere to be seen and isn’t the sky the shiniest, gleamingest
blue?”

Half an hour later, when their morning tasks were finished, Virg
hailed her brother, who was on his way to the valley pasture to see
what damage had been done to the mile square fence. “Buddy,” she
called, “is it safe for Margaret and me to ride to the Junction for
the mail? There must be just stacks of it there waiting for us?”

The lad scanned the horizon and replied in the affirmative.

The two ponies, Star and Comrade had been in the corral so long that
they were high spirited and galloped across the hard, desert trail
as though racing with each other.

Having reached the rocky creek bottom, where only a little water was
trickling along, Virginia turned her pony toward the opposite bank
where she expected to find the trail which they had always ascended
but it had been washed away leaving a steep perpendicular cliff, up
which they could not ride.

“What shall we do?” Margaret asked. “Is there no other way to reach
the Junction?”

“Yes, there is another trail farther up the creek, but, to reach it
we will have to ride between these high banks for about a mile. At
this time of the year it is rather a risky thing to do, for if there
should be a cloudburst in the mountains, we would find ourselves in
a raging torrent, but since brother assured us that it is not going
to rain, suppose we take the chance.”

Margaret agreed and silently they rode along the creek bottom. On
either side of them the banks rose sheer and high. Virginia felt
strangely troubled. She almost wished they had not taken the chance.
They were within sight of the low banks, when Virginia suddenly drew
rein and listened intently. Somewhere, up in the mountains ahead of
them, she heard a sullen, roaring noise. What could it be? There was
no wind and the sky was clear. Intuitively, however, the western
girl knew that something was wrong.

“Megsy,” she called, “ride as fast as you can.” The creek bottom was
covered with stones of all sizes and the eastern girl, frightened by
Virginia’s command, urged her horse to greater speed. The dull
roaring in the mountains grew louder and louder. Then, there was a
report like a crash of thunder.

Virginia was only two lengths from the low bank when a rush of water
hurled past them. It had risen to the stirrups when Comrade with a
frightened snort, started to climb the low bank. Virginia looked
back, and to her dismay she saw that Star had reared and that
Margaret was about to be thrown into the swirling ever-deepening
torrent. Seizing Margaret’s bridle, she called: “Let go of the rein,
Megsy, and cling to Star’s neck. It’s your only chance.”

She again scrambled up the low bank with Star in tow and not a
minute too soon, for following the last booming noise in the
mountains, a mad rushing torrent was hurled down the creek,
overflowing the low bank.

“That was a narrow escape,” Virginia had just said when Mr. and Mrs.
Wells and their young son, Davie, rushed out of the station house to
see what had happened.

“It’s the new Pine Canyon reservoir that’s burst!” the excited man
exclaimed, then he added, “Miss Virginia, you gals wasn’t a ridin’
along the creek bottom, was ye?” When Virg replied in the
affirmative, he ejaculated, “Wall, I’ll be jigger-switched. You sure
had a narrow call, but if its mail as yer after there’s a stack of
it for ye.”

Kind Mrs. Wells led the way indoors and gave each of the girls a cup
of steaming coffee. As soon as the flood had passed, Malcolm and
Slim, with anxious faces, appeared, and how relieved they were to
find that the girls were safe. The cow-boy shouldered the bulging
mail bag and they returned home by another trail.

Uncle Tex opened the ranch house door to admit them, and Virg felt
his hand tremble in her clasp.

“Miss Virginia, dearie,” he said in a quivering voice, “don’t yo’ be
doin’ reckless things any more. If yo’r wantin’ the mail, send yo’
old Uncle Tex. He’d ruther be swept away in a torrent than be livin’
without ye.”

The old man was almost overcome with emotion and the girl whom he
had trotted on his knee as a baby, kissed him tenderly on his
wrinkled leathery cheek. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said. “I’m sorry we
worried you all so much. We won’t take chances again. Honest Injun;”
and then in a higher tone, she added, “We’re powerful hungry. Have
you something nice for us?”

“That I have Miss Virginia dearie, an’ ah’ll open up a can of the
preserved strawberries yo’ all like so much.”

The young people did justice to the good meal, and, when the last
delicious strawberry had been eaten Virginia sprang up, quite her
old self again as she said, “Now brother Malcolm, let’s open the
mail bag.”

They went into the living-room and the young giant of a lad
unbuckled the cover of the pouch and shook the letters and papers
out on the library table. Margaret pounced upon one addressed in
Bab’s familiar scrawl. Although Virginia received several letters
from girl friends who were away at school, there was not a line from
Tom. She was surprised to realize how truly disappointed she was,
and, not feeling in a mood to read chattery letters from girl
friends just then, she picked up one of the papers, and, sitting on
the sunny window seat she idly glanced it over. Margaret was about
to read the letter from Babs, when an excited exclamation from her
friend sent her hurrying to her side as she inquired. “What is it,
Virg? What have you found in the paper?”

For answer the western girl sprang up and seizing the astonished
Margaret, she whirled her about as she exclaimed gaily. “I knew it.
I knew it all the time.”

“Knew what?” asked the mystified Megsy. For answer Virginia drew her
friend down on the window seat and then read aloud an astonishing
bit of news.

                     “WANTED, ONE TOM WENTWORTH.”

“When I read that heading I was sure at once that it referred to our
Tom,” Virg said.

“And does it?” Megsy asked eagerly.

“Read along and decide for yourself,” her friend replied and so
Margaret bent her head over the sheet and read aloud:

“To all whom it may concern, and to the young man calling himself
Tom Wentworth in particular, this article is addressed: Be it known
that a Mexican, Miguel Lopez, on his death-bed confessed to having
been guilty of a crime, the circumstantial evidence of which he
cleverly turned upon an innocent bystander who has ever since (being
unable to prove his innocence) been a fugitive from justice. Tom
Wentworth, a young man of about eighteen is tall, slim, with wavy
light brown hair and blue-grey eyes.

“When last heard of he was hiding in The Seven Peak Range just
across the Mexican border in Arizona. Anyone reading this article
who has knowledge of the whereabouts of the young man in question,
will confer a favor upon the state authorities of Texas if he or she
will inform the same that he is no longer held guilty of the crime
which was unjustly attributed to him.”

“There!” Virginia exclaimed. “Now what do you think of that?”

“It surely must mean our Tom,” Megsy began. Then she added
excitedly, “Oh, Virg, I was right, wasn’t I? Tom’s last names does
begin with W, but it is Wentworth and not Wente. However, it is
curious, isn’t it, that he and Babs have last names so near alike?”

Virginia nodded. “Now,” she said, “the big question is, how shall we
get this glorious news to Tom in the shortest possible time?”

“It surely can’t be done tonight,” Margaret, said as she lighted the
lamp with its warm crimson shade, “for it is nearly dark.” Then she
added, “Isn’t there some way to telephone to the Wilson Ranch?”

Virg shook her head. “No,” she replied, “distances are so great here
on the desert that the only telephone lines are those that have been
erected by neighbors for their own private use. Our telephone
connects us with the Dartley ranch and was put up merely for
protection in case either of us might be in urgent need of
assistance.”

Then as she seated herself by the table, Virg said, “When Malcolm
comes in we’ll ask his advice. Oh, I am so happy about it! How I
wish I might be with Tom when he hears the goods news that I might
see his face glow when he realizes that he is no longer a fugitive
from justice. But who is your letter from?”

“Another plump epistle from Babs!” Megsy replied. “Shall I read it
to you?” Virg nodded in the affirmative and took up her sewing.
Margaret unfolded the truly voluminous letter and began reading
another chapter in the life of Babs at the Vine Haven Boarding
School.




CHAPTER XXXVII

AN APRIL FOOL ROMANCE


                                         “Vine Haven Seminary,
                                                 “April 4, 1922.
“Dearest Cowgirls:

You never could guess what has happened since I wrote you last and,
since you are too far away for me to really enjoy mystifying you, I
will tell you all about it.

Well, to begin at the beginning. You know there are certain girls in
this school who have always wished that they could be members of
“The Lucky 13,” but, for various reasons, we have not wished to
enlarge our membership nor include these particular girls, and so
they formed a club of their own and called it “The Exclusive Three.”
Then, if you please, they actually told around that we had invited
them to become members of our club, but that they had refused since
some of our fathers were tradespeople, while all of their fathers
are retired gentlemen.

Of course, you know, that sort of snobbishness never impresses “The
Lucky Thirteen.” We took it all as a joke and were glad they were to
have a club of their own, for we want everyone to be happy.

Poor Miss Piquilin happens to have the entire membership of these
rival clubs in her algebra class, and, since the members of “The
Exclusive Three” are not very studious, they often fail in their
lessons. The consequence is that while Miss Piquilin is just dear to
“The Lucky Thirteen,” she is still Miss Pickle at her sourest to
“The Exclusive Three.” It seems that they decided to punish her by
playing a practical joke on April Fools’ Day. We found out about it
in this way. I went down to the library one evening to get a
reference book. I didn’t turn on the light for I knew exactly where
the book stood on the shelf. Just as I was reaching for it, I heard
whispered voices in the portiere-covered alcove and I recognized
Rose Hedge’s voice. She was saying: “We’ll get even with that sour
Miss Pickle. She’s in love with Professor Pixley at the Drexel
Military Academy. As though he would even look at her!”

Then I heard Hattie Drew ask: “How shall we get even, Rose?” I did
want to stay and hear the answer, but mother has taught me that it
is as wrong to listen to a conversation not intended for my ears as
it is to steal something that does not belong to me, and so, having
found the book, I left the room without having made my presence
known.

I told the members of “The Lucky Thirteen” that the girls in “The
Exclusive Three” were plotting some April Fool mischief against poor
Miss Piquilin and we all decided that it was a mean shame if those
spiteful girls succeeded in doing anything to shatter the budding
romance.

We guessed this and surmised that, but, of course, we had no way of
really knowing what those girls planned doing.

“Oh dear,” said Betsy Clossen, “I do wish it were not dishonorable
to listen. Don’t you think that sometimes the end justifies the
means?”

“Never!” Kittie Squires said so emphatically that we all jumped.
Kittie seldom speaks but when she does, it’s right to the point.

“Well, then, what shall we do?” Jennie Clark asked. “Miss Piquilin
has been so kind to us, it doesn’t seem right for us not to make an
effort to save her romance from being shattered.”

“Leave it to me!” Betsy Clossen said. “I’ll find a way.” When Betsy
spoke in that tone of voice, we all knew she would accomplish
whatever she set out to do. We were curious to know how she would go
about it, but it was April the first before we found out.

We girls played all of the regulation jokes, the same ones that are
played every year. We bought candy that had cotton inside of a
delicious chocolate coating; we slipped into each other’s closets
and sewed up sleeves, but those things were tame compared to what
happened during the two o’clock study hour.

Dora Wells had put a small green toad into Kittie Squire’s desk. I
will never forget the terrorized cry that shrilled through the
silence when that timid girl opened her desk and the equally
frightened little frog, giving a leap for liberty, landed, first in
Kittie’s lap, and then out on the floor of the study hall. Instantly
it was like bedlam let loose.

The girls, who couldn’t see what wild animal was in their midst,
imagined the worst, and scrambled up on their desks holding their
skirts tight about them.

I laugh every time I think of the comical sight they made, and just
at that moment the door opened and in came our principal, Mrs.
Martin, and with her were the Reverend John Thornton and a very
wealthy lady who was visiting our school, we heard afterwards, to
see whether or not it was a proper place to send her niece who is
related to nobility or some such.

Well, I wish you could have seen the expression on the face of dear
Mrs. Martin when she beheld so many of the girls standing on their
desks looking everywhere about as though they expected to see at
least a huge rat.

“The Marchioness,” as we afterwards dubbed her, stared through her
lorgnette in amazed horror, but the Reverend John proved that he was
really human for there was a twinkle in his eye when he spied the
frog and picking it up, he dropped it out of an open window into the
garden below.

Of course, as you know, the young ladies of Vine Haven are well
trained in manners, and so, a second later, we were all lined up on
the floor making properly graceful courtesies, but afterwards we
were told that “The Marchioness” decided not to send her niece to
our school as she did not wish to have her drilled in “acrobatics.”
She evidently supposed that we were all doing our daily exercises in
some outlandish American fashion. The young lady, we heard later,
was sent to a convent in Paris. My, but we’re glad she didn’t come
here if she is anything like her aunt.

But all this time none of us knew what Betsy Clossen was doing to
save the romance of poor Miss Piquilin.

When we went to our algebra class we of “The Lucky Thirteen” held
our heads high and looked daggers at “The Exclusive Three,” who were
whispering every time Miss Piquilin wrote on the board.

I glanced often at Betsy and I realized that her mind was not on
algebra. Evidently she had not discovered what the enemy planned
doing, but I had never known Betsy to fail in anything she
undertook, and so I was sure that in due time she would unearth the
desired information if it could be obtained in an honorable manner.

Nor was I wrong as we soon found out.

Becky Hensley was the only member of “The Exclusive Three” who did
not appear happy. She seemed to have something on her mind that was
making her miserable. Every little while she stared into space and
when Miss Piquilin spoke to her directly, she seemed to come back to
the school room with a start. We just knew that the other two had
used Becky as a cat’s paw for their scheme, whatever it was.

Becky is really a nice girl, but she is easily led. Well, she failed
completely on the test that morning, and Miss Piquilin, truly out of
patience, and rightly so, commanded her to remain in that class room
until she could hand in a perfect paper.

The poor girl was sobbing when the other pupils filed out and I was
sure that in her upset state of mind, the child wouldn’t be able to
solve the simplest kind of a problem if she stayed in the class room
all night.

Betsy Clossen, who was monitor that day, stayed to put things away
and she told us afterwards that as soon as they were alone, Miss
Piquilin looked very sorrowfully at the bent head of the sobbing
girl. Then going to her, she said kindly, “Becky, don’t you
understand at all what I have been trying to teach you? Tell me!
Don’t be afraid. Perhaps I have not been as patient as I should have
been. It all seems so simple to me, now, perhaps I forget that once
it was difficult.”

Becky looked up, seemingly surprised, and yet touched by the kind
tone. “No, Miss Piquilin,” she replied, “I really don’t understand
algebra at all.

“I was absent during the first part of the term, when—when mother
died, and I guess I missed so much that I just can’t catch up.”

“Dear girl!” Miss Piquilin said tenderly, “Forgive me if I have been
harsh. If you wish, I will stay during my rest period for half an
hour and review what you have missed.”

Becky’s eyes glowed her gratitude. “Oh, Miss Piquilin, how kind you
are!” she said. “Dad is so proud of me and I want to do well for his
sake. I’m all he has, now.”

“And so he shall be proud of you,” Miss Piquilin declared. “Now dry
your eyes, dear, and run out and play.”

When our teacher was gone, Becky sat staring out of the window with
such an unhappy expression; then, all of a sudden she put her head
down on her arms and sobbed harder than before.

Betsy went over to her and said, “Dearie, don’t cry now! Didn’t Miss
Piquilin excuse you?”

“Yes. Yes,” the girl sobbed, “but, Oh Betsy, I wish I hadn’t done
it, especially now that she has been so kind. When I thought she was
a mean, horrid old thing, it wasn’t so hard to do. Oh dear! Oh
dear!”

Then, all of her own free will, Becky told what she had done that
she so deeply regretted. We were all horrified when Betsy told us
half an hour later.

“We had a meeting of ‘The Lucky Thirteen’ in my room to try to
decide what was best to do and Becky Hensley was with us. You simply
never could guess the April Fool’s trick that Rose Hedge of ‘The
Exclusive Three’ had planned, and so I will have to tell you.”

“Becky Hensley, you don’t mean to tell us that Rose Hedge actually
wrote a letter to Professor Pixley and signed Miss Piquilin’s name
to it?”

Becky nodded. “I feel like a traitor telling you girls. Rose and
Hattie will hate me and they’ll make my life so miserable I’ll just
have to leave school.”

Betsy Clossen slipped an arm about the younger girl. “Dear,” she
said, “your conscience would make you more miserable if you did not
try to right the wrong you have done in the lives of these two good
people, and, as for Rose and Hattie, I do not like to speak unkindly
of anyone, but do you think they are the girls your mother would
want you to choose for your best friends?”

“No, indeed not,” Becky declared “and I do so want to get the letter
back if I can.” Then she looked eagerly at Betsy, as she asked, “Do
you suppose that we could get it before it is delivered? I slipped
out and put it in the street mail box before the nine-ten
collection.”

“Then it has been delivered by this time,” Betsy replied. “What was
in the letter?”

“Rose wrote it,” Becky said, “and she wouldn’t let me read it all,
but this was the beginning, ‘Dear Professor Pixley, thank you for
asking me to marry you. I will be glad to do so next June,’ and then
it was signed ‘from your loving Beatrice.’ Rose copied Miss
Piquilin’s signature from a letter she found in the waste basket.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” we all said with horrified glances one at
another.

“Miss Piquilin will be mortified when she finds out and of course it
will completely shatter their romance.”

Suddenly Betsy sprang up as she exclaimed, “Girls, it is moonlight,
I suggest that three of us cut through the woods, go down to the
Chocolate Shop and telephone to Professor Pixley and tell him that
the letter he received was just an April Fool joke, and beg him
never to tell our dear Miss Piquilin a word about it. I am sure
he’ll understand because he has such twinkling eyes.”

Of course Betsy and Becky were two of the three to go, and Betsy
chose me for the third. She and I have been chums, Megsy, since you
left. Well, it was 8 o’clock and we knew we would have to hurry if
we were to be back and in our beds before 9 o’clock, lights out,
bell rang and so away we skipped.

It was dark in the woods but through the trees we could see the
little creek gleaming in the moonlight. It was so pretty down there
in the spring when the water is high.

Suddenly Betsy clutched my arm and pointed. Just ahead of us was a
white object that looked for all the world like a ghost.
Unfortunately for us, Becky screamed. A dark object appeared at the
side of the ghost and they hurried toward us. It was our Miss
Piquilin and Professor Pixley. Scared as we were, we could see that
both looked radiantly happy.

“Girls!” Miss Piquilin exclaimed with an attempt at severity, “What
does this mean? Where are you going?”

“Don’t scold them, Beatrice,” the young professor intervened, “They
probably came to see the moonlight on the water just as we did.”
Then he added, “Young ladies, you will have to look for another
algebra teacher next term for your Miss Piquilin and I are to be
married in June.”

“Oh—oh—I am so glad!” Becky gasped, then seizing us each by the
hand she fled back to the school with Betsy and me in tow.

We never knew what happened, but it didn’t matter, for surely all is
well that ends well. The very next day Alice Barker went home for
the rest of the year, and so Becky Hensley was admitted to
membership in “The Lucky 13,” and wasn’t she the happiest girl?

Goodbye, dear cow-girls! You’ll see me in two months and one week.
Lovingly, your Babs.


“Wasn’t that an interesting letter?” Virg said. “Good! Here comes
Malcolm. Now we can tell him about Tom Wentworth.”




CHAPTER XXXVIII

A SUDDEN REALIZATION


When Malcolm entered the ranch living-room, his sister Virginia told
him of the newspaper article which they had discovered. “That’s
great news!” he exclaimed, “We must convey it to the one most
interested as soon as we can. Let me see. This is Tuesday. Perhaps
by day after tomorrow I can arrange things here so that I can ride
into Douglas. There I can telephone to the postoffice at Red
Riverton and possibly get in touch with some one from the Wilson
ranch.”

“Oh brother! Two whole days! I could send a letter in less time than
that,” Virginia protested.

“But, of what use would a letter be if it were left lying in the
postoffice for no one knows how long?” Margaret remarked. “Tom
wrote, you remember, that their mail is not often called for.”

“You are right,” Virginia agreed as she returned to her sewing, “but
I am so impatient to have Tom learn this glorious news.”

“But Sis, why are you so sure that the article refers to our Tom?”
Malcolm asked as he glanced from the paper which he had been
reading.

“True, it does describe him and yet this same description would fit
a dozen other fair young men. There is nothing unusual about it, and
we have no reason to think that his last name is Wentworth, have
we?”

“Oh, Virg, we never told Malcolm about that letter, did we?”
Margaret exclaimed, and then, turning to the curious lad, she
explained about the scratched out name, the first initial of which
had been faintly visible.

“That does seem like almost conclusive evidence,” Malcolm declared.
“Well, I sincerely hope that you are right,” he added, “for I liked
Tom’s frank, pleasant face the moment I saw him on Second Peak with
you girls and even after he had declared that he was an outlaw. I
still liked and trusted him.”

“Brother,” Virg said a few moments later as she dropped her sewing
in her lap and looked up, “if Tom wishes to do so, may he return
here and live with us? Before he left he told us that his week at V.
M. had been the happiest bit of home life that he had had since his
own mother died.”

“Why, of course he may return if he wishes,” Malcolm said in his
hearty way. “I need someone to remain on the ranch when I am gone.
Slim and Lucky are splendid fellows, but they do not care to assume
the entire responsibility during my absence. Tom has had greater
advantages, and, though he may not know as much about cattle, he is
intelligent enough to learn in short order.”

Then glancing at the clock, Malcolm added, “The hour is nine and if
I am to do two days’ work in one tomorrow that I may be free the
next, I must hie me to my slumbers.”

The lad bade them goodnight and started to leave the room, but he
turned at the door and said, “The mountain road is in bad condition,
otherwise I would ask you young ladies to accompany me to Douglas on
Tuesday, but I fear it would not be safe for our Rollabout, and it
is too far for Margaret to ride.”

That maiden looked up eagerly. “Oh Malcolm, I do wish you would let
me try riding Star into Douglas. If Virg can, surely I can also.”

“Good!” the lad declared, “I shall indeed be glad to have your
company.”

The girls visited for half an hour longer, and then they too
retired. Virginia felt strangely eager and excited.

The next day the two girls gave the ranch house a thorough cleaning.
“Time goes much faster if one keeps every minute of it occupied,”
Virginia had declared, “and the spring cleaning is due, so let’s go
at it.”

When Malcolm and Lucky came in for the noon repast, they laughed to
see the two young housekeepers in all-over gingham aprons with
pretty dust-caps on their heads, wielding broom and brush in so
vigorous a manner.

“You boys will have to lunch alone today,” Margaret told them, “for
we girls must finish sweeping the living-room and then while we
dine, the dust will be settling.”

The boys pretended to be greatly disappointed, but that night at
dinner Virg and Margaret made up for their seeming neglect. They
dressed in their prettiest house gowns and laughed and chattered,
making the meal a merry one.

“How everything shines!” Malcolm declared as he looked at the
glistening glass and silver. “You aren’t expecting company, are you,
Sis?”

“Of course not!” Virginia replied. “You know we always go over the
house this way every spring and fall and many times in between.”

Later in the evening when the cow-boy had gone to the bunkhouse and
the three young people sat about the library table, the girls
sewing, and Malcolm reading a cattleman’s magazine, Virg suddenly
exclaimed, “Just think Megsy, tomorrow Tom is to know the wonderful
news. How I wish that he might be able to leave the sheep ranch
right away and come back to us. I do hope that he has not entered
into an agreement of any sort promising to remain with Mr. Wilson
for a definite length of time.”

The girl, happening to glance up just then, found the kind, gray
eyes of her brother earnestly regarding her. “Do you care so much
about Tom’s coming, Virginia?” Malcolm asked. Then fearing that his
question would be an embarrassing one for his sister to answer (for
he had noted the sudden rose in her cheeks) he hurriedly added, “I,
too, will be glad to see Tom. I believe he will be free to come
whenever he wishes.”

After that Malcolm seemed to read on, apparently deeply absorbed in
the articles in his magazine, but in reality he did not even see the
printed page for he had suddenly realized that his sister was a
little girl no longer, that indeed she was verging on young
womanhood, and that some day, perhaps soon, she would care more for
someone else than she did for him; she might even go somewhere else
to live and leave him alone on the V. M. Ranch.

After about half an hour of vain endeavor to grasp the meaning of
the scientific article, Malcolm closed the magazine and, looking up,
caught an amused twinkle in Margaret’s violet eyes and saw the
dimple that he had always thought the prettiest thing a girl could
possess.

Leaning over Megsy said merrily, “Malcolm, hand me that magazine! I
am going to give you an oral exam in what you have read. You have
been staring at one page for so long, I think you must have been
memorizing the commas.”

Malcolm laughed and said irrelevantly, “Thank you for darning my
socks, Mistress Megsy. I see you have one now in your nimble
fingers.”

Then, rising, he added, “Nine o’clock, girls, and I want you to be
ready for the saddle by five tomorrow morning. It’s a long, hard
ride to Douglas and back. Good night.”

The girls soon heard him whistling in another part of the house.

A sudden glad hope had awakened in Malcolm’s consciousness. Perhaps,
just perhaps, he might not have to live alone after all.




CHAPTER XXXIX

LONG DISTANCE PHONE MESSAGE


The sun was just appearing above a range of misty gray mountains far
across the desert on the eastern horizon when the three young riders
reached the top of the mesa trail and drew rein to watch while the
glory of the dawn flamed the mountain peaks with rose and gold.

“A wonderful day has come and surely that is a good omen,” Virginia
said. “I feel as excited as though something very unusual were about
to happen.”

Virg was right! Something very unusual and unexpected was about to
happen, but the nature of the something was very different from that
which they anticipated.

It was nearly noon when Douglas was reached and Malcolm declared
that the girls must go at once to the Inn and rest for several hours
before making the return trip. Virg consented, declaring, however,
that she wished to remain with Malcolm until she knew the result of
his endeavor to get in touch with the Wilson Ranch, so together the
three young people went to a long distance telephone. Red Riverton
postoffice soon responded and the postmistress inquired, “Do you say
that you wish to communicate, if possible, with someone from the
Wilson Ranch? Harry Wilson was in here about half an hour ago. He
always hitches his horse in front of the postoffice. Hold the wire
and I will see if it is still there.”

While Malcolm held the receiver he rapidly told the girls what the
communication had been.

“Oh, I do hope he hasn’t gone,” Virg said when Malcolm’s attention
was again called. “No, Harry Wilson hasn’t left town. His horse is
still in front. I will have a small boy stand there and tell Harry
to see me when he returns. Where will he be able to get in touch
with you?”

“Give the telephone number of the Inn,” Virginia said when her
brother turned to her for a suggestion.

This was done and the three young people hurried across the hall and
sat in the queer little parlor to await a call from Harry.

Several times the phone rang but it was always for someone else.

At last the lone clerk at the desk went away and while he was gone
the telephone rang imperatively several times in rapid succession.
Malcolm sprang up and answered it, then he beckoned to the girls.

“It’s for us,” he told them; then to Harry, who was at the other end
of the line, he said, “This is Malcolm Davis. Surely you remember
me, don’t you?

“I stayed several days at your place two years ago in September. I
thought you’d remember that. We had great fun that day, didn’t we?
Yes, I do plan coming up north again some time, but today I called
up to ask about our friend Tom. We are eager to get into
communication with him as soon as possible.

“He isn’t in town with you, is he? What? You don’t know where he is?
Has he left you? How long has he been gone? Over a week now? And no
trace of him has been found? There hasn’t been a storm, has there?
Hum! That certainly is serious. You are sending out a searching
party? When do they leave? I’ll try to get there. Yes, indeed. I’ll
start for your place as soon as I possibly can. Goodbye.”

“Malcolm, what is it? What has happened to Tom?” Virg asked her face
suddenly paled with anxiety.

The lad led the girls back to the stiff little parlor.

“Tom hasn’t deserted them, has he?” Virginia asked eagerly. “Oh,
brother, I am so sure he hasn’t proved untrustworthy.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Not that,” he said dismally. “I wish he had
deserted of his own free will. Anything would be better than that
which has happened. I’m terribly sorry now that I brought you girls
with me into town, but, of course, you must know the truth. Instead
of being untrustworthy, Tom may have risked his life to prove his
worthiness of a trust. Harry says that his father had five hundred
very valuable Merinos coming by rail and they wanted to send their
best man to meet them and drive the sheep in from the station, so
they selected Tom, and as there was need of two drivers for so large
a flock, little Francisco Quintano Mendoza accompanied him. Harry
expected that about three days would be required to drive the flock
through the mountain pass, stopping to graze and rest in the grassy
valleys, but four and then five days passed and Tom did not return.

“Harry had not accompanied them because his father was away at the
time and his mother alone on the ranch, but, at last he became so
anxious that his mother urged him to ride to Red Riverton. There he
found that the Merinos had arrived safely the week before and that
Tom and the small Mexican boy had driven them away about noon on the
day of their arrival, and that they had taken the beaten track
toward the mountains where they had been lost to sight when they
entered the Red Rock Pass.

“Harry then visited the sheriff and together with several men, they
rode to the pass, but although they could see many hoof-prints in
the soft mud where a spring kept the ground ever moist, they could
not trace them on the desert where the winds often changed the
surface of the sand.

“The sheriff and his men seemed to believe that Tom has turned
rustler and that he had spirited away the valuable Merinos for his
own gain, but to this suggestion Harry would not listen. He knew Tom
to be absolutely trustworthy, he declared, but since he had no
better theory to offer, the men left him still unconvinced.

“The father has now returned and at his suggestion a large party of
men are to start on a wide circling round-up of the entire sheep
raising section of the state, hoping in that way to come upon some
evidence that may at least solve the mystery if it does not enable
them to recover the lost sheep. They need more assistance, Harry
tells me, and so I promised to go to him as soon as I possibly can.”

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Virg exclaimed, unshed tears in her eyes, “I
shall never forgive myself for having sent Tom north if harm has
befallen him.”

“My theory,” Malcolm continued, “is that a band of thieves,
rustlers, knew that the very valuable shipment of Merinos was due,
and that they were lying in wait in the pass for Tom and in some
manner they have spirited away both the flock and the drivers. I
believe that this will be proved true when we round up that entire
section.”

Then looking at Virginia anxiously, he added, “I ought to go north
from here, as I can follow the state road and reach Red Riverton at
least half a day sooner than I could from home but I do not like to
leave you girls unprotected. I wish—”

He stopped speaking and stared at someone who had just entered the
Inn. Then excusing himself, he hurried out.

The persons whom Malcolm had seen were no other than his good
neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Dartley. They were surprised to see the
young man and note his very evident excitement. Hurriedly Malcolm
explained the situation. “Of course we will look after the girls,”
the kindly Mrs. Dartley declared, then, going into the prim little
parlor, she held out both plump, freckled hands as she said
sympathetically, “You poor dears! I just know how worried you are
about your friend Tom, but you’ll feel better, I’m sure, to have
Malcolm help in the search. My husband and I drove in with the
buggy. We’ll be going back about 3 o’clock, and you can ride along
with us as far as the sand hills. You won’t mind going the rest of
the way to V. M . alone, I know, because you ride it so often.”

The girls assured Mrs. Dartley that they would be in their saddles
at the hour of 3 and that good woman then bustled away to do the
shopping that had brought her into town.

Malcolm returned and took his sister’s hand. “Virginia,” he said
earnestly, “don’t grieve yet, I honestly believe that we are going
to find Tom somewhere, unharmed and being worthy of the trust that
was placed in him.”

After dining together at the Inn, Malcolm departed. When he was
gone, the girls wandered out to look about the stores and make a few
purchases and pass away the time until 3.

That hour at last arrived and Virginia and Margaret were waiting in
their saddles, when the Dartley equipage appeared from the stables.
The girls were not very talkative and the kind woman, realizing that
they were greatly worried about their friend whom she herself knew
little, did not expect them to talk and the long journey was made
almost in absolute silence.

When the sand hills were reached, it was growing dusk. “My, but you
two girls must be all tired out,” Mrs. Dartley said as her husband
drew rein. “You’ve been in the saddle most all day, being as you
left home before sunrise, but Uncle Tex will have a good supper
waiting for you and then you get right into bed. Young folks like
you two rest up easy and tomorrow you’ll be as bright as ever.
Telephone to me, Virgie, if you need anything or hear any news.”

“Yes, I will Mrs. Dartley, and thank you for escorting us this far.
Goodnight! Goodnight!”

Then the girls started down the trail toward V. M. through the
gathering dusk. “How I do hope it will be a good night for our Tom,”
Virginia said, “wherever he is.” Then, as they dismounted at the
home corral, she added, “Oh, if only I were a man so that I might
join in the search.”

Virginia little dreamed of the very important part she was to play
even though she were only a girl.




CHAPTER XL

A SURPRISING TELEGRAM


The next day the girls were restless; troubled by the uncertainty of
it all, and anxiously waiting for news, although they had no way of
hearing directly from Red Riverton. However, Malcolm had promised
that he would telegraph Mr. Wells at the Junction if there were any
definite news, then he could ride over and deliver it to the girls.

Uncle Tex, when told all that had happened, shook his head dismally.
“Ah reckon as how Malcolm is right,” he drawled, “Rustlers ’twas as
took the herd, like’s not, and if so, they’ve hushed up the drivers
someway.” Then noting the white face of the girl he so loved, he
hastened to add, self-reproachingly, “Thar! Thar! Miss Virginia
dearie, ah ought not to skeer yo’ all that-a-way. Like’s not yo’
friend Tom is safe somewhar. Ah feels in ma bones as we’ll heah news
somehow today.”

“So do I,” Margaret declared, “and honestly, Virg, I believe that it
will be good news.”

Virginia smiled wanly, and then, springing up she exclaimed, “Let’s
ride over to The Junction, Megsy, and see if there is any mail for
us. That will help to pass the time away.”

They were soon in the saddle, but, before they had left the
dooryard, Margaret pointed up toward the mesa trail. “Someone is
coming at top-speed,” she called over her shoulder. They drew rein
and watched the rapidly approaching cloud of sand in the midst of
which they soon saw a small horse and a boy rider.

“It’s Wells,” Virginia cried excitedly, urging forward to meet the
newcomer. “I do believe that he has a telegram for us.”

“He certainly has,” Megsy agreed, as she rode alongside. “See! He is
waving a yellow envelope. I am sure it is good news or Malcolm would
not have wired it.”

But a surprise awaited the girls. It was a telegram, to be sure,
that the boy gave to Virginia, but it was not about Tom nor from
Malcolm.

“Margaret Selover!” Virginia exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise
when she had read the message. “Who do you suppose this telegram is
from?”

“Babs?” was the eager inquiry.

“Yes, Babs. The school has been closed because of an epidemic and
her father is bringing her West at once. In fact, she will arrive at
The Junction this afternoon at 2.”

“Isn’t that the most wonderful news?” Margaret cried. “Oh Virg! I
can hardly believe it possible that I am to see my beloved roommate
this very day.”

“It is hard to believe but it must be true,” her friend laughingly
replied; then she called to the little boy who was starting away on
his Pinto. “Wait, I am going to give you something.”

The something was a big shiny silver dollar. The boy’s eyes were
almost as big and bright when he clasped it in his small grimy hand.
“Is it all fo’ me Miss Virginia?” he asked, and, when assured that
it was he ejaculated, “Gee Whilikers!” Then, quite forgetting his
manners, he started the pony on a mad race for home but whirled
around to shout, “Thank you, Miss Virginia!” from up on the mesa
trail.

“If I only knew that all is well at the Wilson Ranch,” Virginia
said, “I would be so happy about Barbara’s coming. Of course I am
glad, as it is, to have her visit us, but it does seem as though I
can’t be really merry again until I know what has happened to Tom.”

“I understand just how you feel, dear,” Margaret replied as the two
girls, having returned their horses to the corral, started walking
arm in arm toward the house.

At dinner that noon Virginia asked Lucky if he would drive them to
The Junction in their car, which Malcolm called the “Rollabout,” to
meet the 2:10 train. The kindly cow-boy assured them that he would
do so. At 1 o’clock the two girls were in the big touring car with
Lucky at the wheel, and at 2 o’clock were waiting at the Junction
for the coming of the train.

“Maybe some word about Tom will arrive from Malcolm while we are
here,” Virginia said, as she and Margaret sat on the bench in front
of the long, low building which was station, postoffice, general
store and home of the Wells family.

There were no other buildings in sight, only desert and mountains
with here and there, near the creek bed, a clump of cottonwood trees
where a silver thread of water trickled from the rocks.

Suddenly Virginia sprang up and listened to the clicking of the
instrument within. “A telegram,” she said. “But Mr. Wells isn’t here
so how are we to know what it is?”

“There he is, down the track,” Margaret told her, and Virginia,
running forward, eagerly called, “Oho, Mr. Wells, isn’t a telegram
coming in?”

“Wall, now, like as not,” the good man replied, as he bustled into
the small ticket office. The girls, with tightly clasped hands,
waited breathlessly. Would it be a message from Malcolm?

At last Mr. Wells peered smilingly at them, over his glasses.
“Tain’t nothin’ unusual,” he said. “Tain’t nothin’ unusual,” he
said. “Train’s late. That’s all, but it may make up time on the down
grade. It usually does.”

The girls sank back on the hard bench truly disappointed.

“Here comes the train!” little Wells sang out ten minutes later as
he raced toward them. The roaring noise in the tunnel proved the
truth of his statement even before the long train drawn by two
engines emerged into the sunlight.

The girls ran forward and eagerly scanned each coach.

“There she is! There’s my Babs!” Megsy sang out as she saw her
friend’s face beaming through one of the windows. A moment later,
when the train had come to a standstill, Barbara leaped to the
platform, dropped suitcase and umbrella, and gave Megsy a good,
hard, schoolgirl hug. Then she whirled about and held out both hands
to Virginia as she bubbled, “I’m not going to wait to be introduced
for I know you well and love you right this very minute.” Then
putting an arm about each she exclaimed happily, “I wonder if you
dear cow-girls have any idea how excited and delighted I am to be
here.”

“We are just as excited, and I do believe even more delighted,”
Margaret declared. “We hardly know what to say or do.”

“Well, first of all, please, lead me to a cafeteria,” Babs implored.
“A—a which?” Virginia inquired, truly puzzled, for the western girl
had never before heard of such a place.

How Margaret laughed! “Babs,” she said, “if you can find one on our
desert, we will gladly pay for whatever you wish to order.”

Barbara looked about, her eyes glowing. “Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed.
“I’m glad—glad that there isn’t one around. I’ve been just longing
to get away from civilization, and so, the wilder it is out here,
the better I shall like it.” They were starting toward the car, when
kind Mrs. Wells hailed them from her kitchen door. “Virgie!” she
called, “wouldn’t you girls like a few of my sugar cookies? They’re
just fresh from the bakin’.”

“Do my ears hear right?” Babs said dramatically, in a low undertone,
while Virginia was gladly accepting the proffered treat. “Barbara,”
the western girl called, “you and Megsy come here. I want Mrs. Wells
to meet the newest addition to the V. M. family and if we like, we
may each have a glass of buttermilk.”

“Wall, now, Miss Barbara, you’ve come to stay on the desert for a
spell, hev yo’?” the motherly woman asked as she smiled down at the
petite Babs. Then she added, “Yo’ aren’t much bigger than a pint o’
honey, and I can easy tell by your sunny face that you’re most as
sweet.”

Virginia took two of her sugar cookies over to the waiting Lucky who
had spent most of the hour discussing desert topics with Mr. Wells.

Babs gazed at the lean, sinewy, sun-browned cow-boy with unconcealed
interest, and when she was introduced, she extended her small gloved
hand saying eagerly, “Oh, Mr. Lucky, you do look like Bill Hart,
don’t you? He’s the cow-boy I’m best acquainted with, but he always
has a gun sticking out of his hip pocket or somewhere. I don’t
suppose that you carry a gun, do you?”

The cow-boy replied, with his good-natured drawl, that he usually
“packed” along a couple or so, and to prove this statement, he
produced two small guns. After a whispered hint from the fun-loving
Margaret, Lucky threw an empty bottle high in the air and then,
firing three times in rapid succession, he shattered the bottle,
much to the delight of the newly arrived easterner.

Later, when Babs and Margaret were on the back seat of the
“Rollabout” the former confided in a low voice, “I’m so glad to find
that cow-boys are really like moving pictures. The girls in school
said they knew I was going to be disappointed, but I’m not!
Everything is just as I had expected, only heaps more so!”

Megsy reached out and took her friend’s hand. “You’ll love it here,
Babsie,” she said, “and, too, you will love Virginia and Malcolm.

“I care for my guardian now just as though he were my own brother,”
she added, trying to convince herself that her words were true. Then
she leaned back, wondering where her guardian might be at that
moment. Babs, too, was glad to be quiet that she might look about at
the desert and mountains and rejoice that at last she was in the
land of which she had so long dreamed.

Uncle Tex was waiting on the porch of the ranch house, and, if Babs
wished to see a character who would have rejoiced the heart of a
moving picture director, she surely did in the old man who had been
a cow-boy since those early days when the desert teemed with
exciting adventure.

“Miss Virginia, dearie,” he drawled, when he had carried in the
luggage, “that thar Injun boy was here twict while yo’ all’s been
gone.”

Babs was eagerly listening. “Oh, was that little Red Feather, Megsy,
that you wrote me about? I’m just wild to see him.”

Virginia assented. “I wonder what he wanted,” she said, then, as a
sudden thought came to her, she caught Margaret’s hand as she
exclaimed, “Megsy, if Tom manages to escape from the rustlers, I do
believe that he would go to the Indian village to hide. A stranger
never could find the entrance in the wall of rocks unless he just
happened to stumble upon it.”

“I do hope you are right,” Margaret replied. “I hope our Tom is safe
with the Papagoes.”

“Girls,” the mystified Barbara exclaimed, “who are you talking
about? Has anything happened to the outlaw Tom about whom you wrote
me?” Virginia, remembering that she was hostess, and that her
anxiety must not occupy her thought to the exclusion of the comfort
of the newly arrived guest, then exclaimed, “Margaret will tell you
all about it while you unpack. I am sure you will want to wash and
rest a while before supper. You two are to room together just as you
did at school. Meanwhile, I will hie me to the kitchen and assist
Uncle Tex in preparing an early repast, for I am sure that you are
still hungry after so long a journey.”

When the two eastern friends had entered Margaret’s pleasant room
Virginia did not go at once to the kitchen. Instead she took her
brother’s powerful glasses and looked long up the mesa trail, hoping
to see the little Indian boy reappearing, but he did not come. At
last, with a sigh, she turned toward the kitchen and her heart was
heavy. “I wonder what message Winona has for me,” she thought. “It
must be important or she would not have sent twice.”




CHAPTER XLI

A HOPE RENEWED


That evening as the three girls sat in front of the wide hearth on
which a mesquite root was cheerily burning, they talked quietly
together of all that had happened.

“Have you heard lately from your brother, Peyton?” Margaret asked.

Babs shook her head and there were sudden tears in her pretty blue
eyes as she replied, “Oh, girls, I try to forget my great
disappointment, but of course I must tell you about it. The cards
that were sent to me from China, bearing only the initials P. W.,
were not from my darling brother after all. I had actually forgotten
that I had an acquaintance with those same initials. Who do you
suppose Megsy, that the cards were from?”

“Patty Warren, perhaps,” Margaret surmised. “Long ago I thought of
her, merely because of the initials, but I supposed that she was
still in school with you. Had she gone to China?”

“It would seem so,” Barbara replied. “I did know that Patty had left
school because her widowed mother had married a minister to some
outlandish foreign country, but, though the child was very fond of
me, I never thought much about her, partly, because she was younger,
and also, because I had you and Betsy Clossen for pals and two
intimate friends are as many as I care for, but last week I had a
letter from her postmarked London asking me if I had received the
truly lovely Chinese kimona that she had sent for my birthday and
giving me for the first time, a return address. Of course, I wrote
her at once to express my appreciation, but I was heart broken. I
cried for hours and hours that night, for I had been so sure that my
dear lost brother was keeping in touch with me and somehow, even
that little had been a comfort to me. Now, I am convinced that
Peyton must be dead. He was so loving and tender-hearted even when
he was a little fellow; he wouldn’t let month after month pass if he
were alive without assuring me that he still cares for me and that
all is well with him.”

“Poor Babs,” Virg said as she reached out, with real sympathy, and
placed a comforting hand over the petite one of their friend. “I
know how my heart would ache if Malcolm were lost, but don’t give up
hope, dear. Such strange things happen in this world.”

“I am going to keep on hoping,” Barbara assured them. Then she
added, “I have no way of knowing, of course, but I do believe that
the object of my father’s visit to the West is to try to find
Peyton. You see, when the epidemic broke out in school, we packed
and left that very day, all of us who had not been exposed, and when
I reached home father was not expecting me. I quietly entered the
house and stood in the open library door. There he was, pacing up
and down, an expression of grave anxiety on his face. I knew at once
that he was greatly troubled about something, and for the first time
since mother died there was a rush of tenderness in my heart for
him. He looked so gray and sad and so all alone.

“Father!” I cried as I ran to him. He didn’t seem surprised,
someway; he just reached out his arms and held me close.

“‘Little daughter,’ he said, ‘I needed you and you came to me; just
as your mother came once, when I needed her—but—she couldn’t stay.
If only that other Barbara had lived, all this would not have
happened.’”

Then he bent his head down against mine and a hot tear fell on my
cheek.

“‘Daddy,’ I said; I hadn’t called him that since I was very little.
‘Daddy, have you been so lonely? why didn’t you send for me sooner?’

“His reply was, ‘I am going West on a very important mission
tomorrow, little daughter, so don’t unpack your trunk. I’ll take you
with me and you may visit your friends in Arizona.’

“He didn’t tell me what his mission was, but I do know that he
bought a ticket for some small town in Texas. He said that he would
communicate with me in about a week. Oh, girls,” Babs added with a
sob in her voice, “I wish I’d been more loving to my father. I ought
to have known that his seeming sternness covered a most lonely heart
with mother gone, and his only son wayward, or so daddy supposed.”

Margaret was thinking rapidly. “A town in Texas. Tom had been
wrongly accused somewhere down there. Could Tom be Peyton after all
and had the father received some word that had led him to believe
that he would find his boy?”

“Bedtime, girls,” Virginia said as she arose. “We may need unusual
strength tomorrow.”

Megsy sought an early opportunity to be alone with Virginia the next
morning and ask her if she thought it possible that Tom might be the
missing Peyton, and that the father having received some inkling of
the boy’s whereabouts, had come West to search for him.

Virginia looked up eagerly. “I hadn’t thought of it, Megsy,” she
said, “but now that you suggest it, I do believe that it might be
possible. For myself I do not care who Tom may be, all that I want
to know is that he is safe and well somewhere, anywhere. Uncle Tex
doesn’t tell us what he really thinks, but I know. I have often
heard the cow-boys relate tales of rustlers who came upon a lonely
herder, and if they wish to spirit away the sheep, they silence the
only man who could witness against them.” Then she added, “Babs is
calling, dear. We would better not tell her that we think Tom may be
her lost brother, Peyton, for how cruel would be the disappointment
were we wrong.”

The morning hours dragged slowly to the girls who were eagerly
awaiting the hoped-for reappearance of little Red Feather. “I am
sure Winona will send him back,” Virg said many, many times, but he
did not come.

In the meantime Lucky had ridden to the Junction to get any mail
that might have come on the early morning train, and about noon he
returned with several letters for each of the girls. Virg, with an
exclamation of eagerness, tore open an envelope addressed in her
brother’s familiar handwriting.


“Dear little sister,” she read aloud.

“I know just how eagerly you are awaiting a message from me, but I
have been unable to communicate with you before. When I reached the
sheep ranch, Mr. Wilson asked me to ride with several Mexicans whom
he trusted, up toward the Lost Canyon which is in the roughest and
wildest part of the mountains to the north. It is seldom visited by
herders as there is practically no vegetation there. However, Lopez
Andero, one of the herders who has long been in Mr. Wilson’s employ,
stated that after a spring of heavy rains there was, in an almost
inaccessible valley in the heart of the mountains, enough grass to
last a herd of 500 Merinos for several weeks and that there could
not a better place for rustlers to hide the flock. It was twilight
when we started, Lopez in the lead. After a long, wearisome ride we
reached the entrance to the canyon an hour before daybreak.

“We wished to approach the valley under cover of the darkness so
that we might come upon the rustlers without their knowledge, if
indeed, they were there, but when at last we reached the summit
overlooking the valley, to our great disappointment, in the grey
light of the dawning day we saw only a lonely, bowl-shaped hollow,
in which, as Lopez had said, grass was luxuriantly growing.

“We then rode back to the home ranch and found several other parties
who had also returned with the same discouraging report. No trace of
sheep or shepherds had been found.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson are greatly depressed, as indeed, are we all.
The loss of the sheep, Mr. Wilson assures me, means little to him;
he is so eager to find Tom. I am sorry, sister, that I have to write
this news, knowing that it will sadden you and Margaret. I had hoped
that today I would be able to return to V. M. accompanied by Tom and
give you a real surprise, but now I do not expect to be able to do
that, at least not soon. Send me a line to Red Riverton today if you
can conveniently.

                                            “Your brother,
                                                      Malcolm.”


“Margaret,” Virginia said when she had finished reading the letter,
“I am going to ride to the Papago village today. Will you and Babs
accompany me?”




CHAPTER XLII

AN INDIAN VILLAGE


When Virginia calmly announced that she was going to ride to the
Papago village, Margaret exclaimed in surprise: “But, Virg, dear,
it’s mid-day now and you have said that it is a long, hard ride.
Would there be time for us to go and return all in one afternoon?”

The western girl shook her head. “I thought we might remain there
over night,” was her unexpected reply, “and come back tomorrow
morning.”

Bab’s eyes were big and round.

“Virginia!” she ejaculated. “You don’t mean that you would actually
stay all night in an Indian village? Why, I wouldn’t be able to
sleep the least little bit, I am sure of that. All the time I would
be listening, expecting to hear moccasined feet steathily creeping
toward my bedeside, and—”

Virginia’s laughter interrupted the speaker.

“Babsy dear, remember that this is the year 1922,” she reminded,
“and the Indians whom we are to visit are just as friendly as one
could wish neighbors to be. Forty years ago, it is true, we would
not have cared to remain all night with the red men of the desert,
but, after all, they were unfriendly merely because they believed
the white man to be treacherous, and were they not right? The pale
face came and drove them from their happy hunting grounds with his
superior cunning and the force of arms. My sympathy has always been
largely with the Indians, but come, let’s have an early lunch that
we may soon be on our northward way.”

“Ohee, I’m so excited,” the petite Babs exclaimed, skipping gaily
along between her two friends as they returned to the ranch house.
“I never knew a moving picture story that was more thrilling than
the one that we are living this very minute.”

Virginia smiled down into the pretty, shining, upturned face of the
younger girl and she thought she had never seen any more charming.
Barbara’s fresh young joy in everything was a delight to the other
girls, for even Margaret had become so used to cow-boys, Indians and
adventure that the first thrill of it all had somewhat subsided,
although as she often declared, she would never cease to love the
desert.

When Uncle Tex heard of the planned visit to the Papago village he
shook his head, saying he “reckoned” as Malcolm wouldn’t like them
to ride so far alone, but the matter was settled to the old man’s
complete satisfaction when Lucky announced that he would be riding
north to the Dartley Ranch in about an hour and that he would
accompany the girls until they reached the wall of rock surrounding
the Papago village.

The great old grandfather clock was striking the hour of one when
Lucky brought up from the corral three saddled ponies. Dixie had
been chosen for Barbara that morning when she had been taken to the
little fenced-in pasture and introduced to the small bunch of riding
horses.

When Babs emerged from her room dressed for the first time in her
cowgirl khaki outfit, she was bubbling with glee. “Oh, how I do wish
Miss Piquilin and the girls at school could see me now,” she
exclaimed. “Wouldn’t Betsy Clossen be envious, though.”

Ten minutes later they were all in the saddle. “Goodbye, Uncle Tex!”
they shouted in merry chorus and then they turned to follow Lucky
who had already started up the mesa trail.

Margaret noticed that Virginia’s eyes were troubled even though her
lips were smiling at them.

“I wonder what adventure is awaiting us,” Megsy said aloud. It was
well, perhaps, that they did not know.

For two hours the girls, accompanied by Lucky, rode over the trail
that led to the north. They had circled about the Dartley Ranch, and
though Virginia had urged him to do so, the cow-boy would not permit
them to go the remainder of the way alone and unprotected.

“But it’s taking you miles out of your way, Lucky,” Virginia
protested. “You know I have never been afraid to ride alone,
anywhere on all our wild desert.”

“Ah know, Miss Virginia,” Lucky replied, “but them times was sort of
different like, and what’s more, I promised Malcolm as how ah’d look
out for you all. A little extra riding won’t hurt me no-how.”

Lucky was obstinate, and Virginia knew that it was useless for her
to protest, but when, at last, they were within sight of the wall of
rock, she drew rein as she said, “Lucky, surely you will permit us
to ride this last mile alone, for you can see that there is nothing
between here and the mountains to do us harm.”

To Virginia’s delight the cow-boy acquiesced and whirling his pony
about he galloped away, waving his sombrero while the girls called
after him, “Goodbye, Lucky, thank you for escorting us.”

“Where is the Indian village, Virg?” Babs inquired as they neared
the mountains. “I can’t see a tepee anywhere about.”

“Nor will you,” the western girl told her. “My Indian friends are
modern and live in adobe dwellings.”

They rode slowly along the base of the sheer wall of rocks. “It’s
the strangest thing,” Virg declared, “When I was here last with my
brother, I made a mental note of a peculiar grouping of cactus
plants that grew within a stone’s throw of the almost hidden
entrance, but now I do not see it anywhere.”

Margaret had ridden ahead and she suddenly whirled about and
galloped back toward the others. She seemed excited about something.

“There’s an Indian in ambush just ahead of us,” she said as she
glanced fearfully back over her shoulder. “He is crouched down
behind a clump of cactus plants and I’m just sure that he’s been
watching us!”

Barbara’s eyes were wide with terror. “Oh, Virg,” she exclaimed,
“maybe the Papagoes have become suddenly hostile. Maybe they have
gone on the warpath.”

Virginia’s laugh was natural and fearless. “It’s probably little Red
Feather or one of his comrades,” she said as she urged Comrade
forward, but the Indian, who rose as they approached, was not one
whom she had ever seen before. However, she knew from the red mark
on his forehead that he was a Papago, and so she said the few words
that she had learned in their tongue, “Friends—come, see Winona.”

Silently and solemnly, the young Indian pointed toward the wall of
rock beyond and back of him, and as they rode in that direction,
Virginia soon saw the opening for which she had been searching.

They entered a narrow canyon, riding single file. “Girls!” Babs
said, almost in a whisper, “I don’t feel real. I just can’t.” Then
she added as she lifted her head to listen, “Hark! Virginia, what is
that howling noise ahead of us? It sounds like a pack of wolves.
Hadn’t we better go back? Won’t they tear us to pieces?”

Virginia, until that moment had quite forgotten the pack of
wolf-like Indian dogs that guarded the inner entrance of the narrow
canyon. Perhaps it would be unwise for them to ride further unless
they were accompanied by someone who could assure the dogs that they
were friends. But at that very moment the problem was solved for,
silhouetted against the light at the far end of the canyon, there
appeared a slender Indian girl riding on a graceful, wiry pony.

“Good!” exclaimed Virg, “There’s Winona, so now we may ride forward
without fear.”

Babs was so excited at the mere thought of meeting an Indian girl in
an Indian village that the real object of their visit was somewhat
lost to her thought. What would Winona look like she was wondering
as they rode along single file. How queer that such a fine girl as
Virginia Davis should have an Indian maiden as an intimate friend,
and yet, it was true for she herself had heard Virg say how greatly
she admired Winona.

A few moments later, when they had reached the inner entrance to the
fertile bowl-like valley, Babs understood the charm of the Indian
girl who so simply and sincerely had welcomed them to her home.
Later, as Barbara and Margaret were riding side by side following
the other two the impulsive Babs exclaimed, “Oh, Megsy, isn’t she
truly beautiful? How her dark eyes glow and do see those thick shiny
black braids that hang far below her waist. I just know that I am
going to love her, too.”

“She is beautiful,” Margaret agreed, “but I think it is because
there is something truly noble about her face. Virginia has told me
that Winona longed to go away to school but she relinquished her
desire that she might remain here and teach the little Papago
children and help her own people.”

“I wonder what school she would attend. I suppose the girls in Vine
Haven would deem themselves too good to associate with her.”

Margaret laughed gaily. “Too good to associate with a princess?” she
inquired. “For that is what Winona really is; an Indian princess;
the daughter of Chief Grey Hawk.”

“Is she really?” Bab’s eyes were wide and glowing. Then she added,
as she glanced about at the small scattered adobe houses over the
doors of which red peppers were festooned to dry in the sun,
“Margaret, where do you suppose we are going to sleep? In one of
those little huts? They look sort of skeery to me, but maybe that’s
because they are so different from houses with which I am familiar.
I love this place, though. It’s so wild and picturesque; exactly
what one would wish an Indian village to be. Shouldn’t you think so,
Megsy?”

Margaret smiled at her impulsive chattery friend and nodded, “I’m
ever so interested in it too,” she replied. “See yonder, in the
shade of that big thorny cactus, two Indian women are squatted on
the ground weaving baskets. I wish I might buy one. I always adored
the Indian things Betsy Clossen had in our room at school”

Then, irrelevantly: “Oh Megsy, do you suppose that you will ever be
my room-mate again back in dear old Vine Haven?”

“It’s hard to tell, Babs. It all depends on what will happen. If I
am able to go, then our darling Virg will go too.”

“Ohee, how wonderful that would be!” the irrepressible Babs
exclaimed.

“Let’s gallop,” Margaret suggested. “Virginia is beckoning to us.”




CHAPTER XLIII

THE LOST MESSAGE


The enthusiastic Margaret and the bubbling Babs galloped to the
place where Winona and Virginia, having drawn rein, were awaiting
them. Virg said:

“Winona has been telling me that she did not really have a message
for us, that is, nothing that could concern Tom. Red Feather had
chanced to capture a carrier pigeon which in some manner had been
hurt, and had been unable to continue its flight and deliver the
message that had been entrusted to its care.”

“Winona found a piece of brown paper wound about the bird’s leg and
securely fastened, but she was unable to read it. It was then that
she recalled having heard me say that brother Malcolm and I had
often sent messages to each other written in our secret code, and
she wondered if the carrier pigeon might belong to us, and so she
sent little Red Feather with the bit of brown paper. On his return
that night he lost it; he cannot think where, and that is why Winona
did not send him again to V. M. Brother and I never did possess a
carrier pigeon, and so, of course, the message could not be for me.”

“A pigeon will only carry a message back to its own home place,
isn’t that so, Virginia?” Margaret inquired.

“I believe that it is,” was the reply. Then turning to Winona she
said: “I would like to see that bird. May I?”

“Red Feather has it secured somewhere, I think,” the Indian girl
replied. “There he comes now. We will ask him.”

The little Indian boy with a jaunty red feather in the narrow band
that bound his shiny black hair close to his head, was racing toward
them while a small wolf-like puppy sprang up at him, barking
joyfully.

The girls dismounted and Virginia held out her right hand; then
turning to the interested Babs, she said: “Barbara, this is Red
Feather of whom you have heard. Perhaps he will shake hands with you
and Margaret.”

The bright, black eyes were lifted inquiringly toward Winona, and
then when she smilingly nodded at him, the little fellow extended
one hand, his usually solemn little face twinkling merrily as though
he were doing something unusual and amusing. This was evidently not
the Papago manner of greeting. Babs wondered if they rubbed noses
instead.

Winona spoke rapidly in a language strange to the Easterners and the
small boy listened attentively. Then, as though complying with the
Indian maiden’s request, he led the ponies away to the fenced-in
corral which was in the middle of the bowl-like valley and was
surrounded by the scattered adobe huts.

“Red Feather will return directly,” Winona told them, “and then he
will show us his pigeon.”

And, indeed, almost before it seemed possible, the Indian boy was
racing back, the puppy barking at his heels.

Then with the little fellow in the lead, they walked toward the wall
of rock on the north side of the village. There, in a small, high
hole in the cliff, Red Feather had the pigeon hidden. A strong cord
tied about one leg was securely fastened to a peg which had been
pounded into a nearby crevice.

Crushed corn had been scattered about within the bird’s reach.

“The wing does not seem broken.” Winona said. “I think the bird flew
against the wall of rock, and for a time was stunned, do you say?”

She glanced inquiringly at Virginia, who nodded. “I wish we might
find the message,” Virg said. “If it were in Spanish I could read
it.”

“We may find it,” Winona replied, “but come and I will give you your
supper.”

“My father, Chief Grey Hawk, is away hunting with several of our
men,” the Indian girl told them as they walked back to the village,
“and so I am alone in my home. There is one wide bed and in it you
three shall sleep unless you would rather have another house by
yourselves.”

“Oh, no, no,” Babs heard herself saying eagerly. “Please, Winona,
let us stay with you.”

The Indian maiden smiled. This pretty, bubbling girl was so
different from anyone whom she had met before. “I’d like to have you
stay with me. This is my home. Let us go indoors.”

Babs glanced about the one large room with eager curiosity. The
house they had entered was more pretentious than the others in the
village, but that was natural, she decided, since it was the home of
the chief.

“Oh, Megsy, what adorable rugs are on this stone floor,” Babs said
softly, “and what warm, sunny colors are in the blankets on the
walls, and oh, oh, if there isn’t a fireplace! And that queer-shaped
red pottery, and those blankets! I truly never saw anything more
artistic than this room. Why, I don’t feel skeery at all.”

Winona had gone out of a rear door, and Virginia, who had followed
her, soon called to the others. “If you want to see Winona’s
bake-oven, come out here.”

The rounding-topped stone oven in the dooryard was evidently used by
all the neighboring women, and one buxom young mother, with a
papoose strapped to her back, was busy even then making corn cakes.
Winona said something in her own tongue, and the young matron
nodded. The Indian maiden seemed pleased with the reply she had
received, and, going indoors, soon returned with a tray of basket
weave which she held out while the young matron heaped it high with
corn cakes, steaming hot, that had just been taken from the oven.

“Oh, good! Are they for us?” Babs exclaimed. The young matron did
not understand the words, but she beamed, being sure that whatever
had been said was in appreciation of her cooking.

“Supper will be served sooner than I had expected,” Winona told them
as they returned to the house. “Red Feather will bring milk. He and
his older brother, Eagle Eyes, have gone to the upper end of the
valley after the goats.”

“Here he is now!” Barbara exclaimed five minutes later as the little
fellow appeared in the open door and set on the floor a large
earthen jug that was nearly full of creamy milk.

Winona gave each of the girls a quaint red mug and Babs exclaimed,
“Oh, Winona, you have such adorable things! I love this room of
yours. I wish I had one just like it.”

The Indian maiden knew, that bubbling as Babs might be, she was also
sincere and so she smilingly replied, “I, too, like it. I shall
remain here for a time that I may teach my people, and then I want
to go away and learn more in the world from which you have come.”

“We’ll all go together!” Virginia said as they sat about the
fireplace, tailor-wise, on the floor, and ate the hot corn cakes and
drank the creamy milk.

“Who knows? Queer things do happen!” Margaret commented
meditatively.

Suddenly there was a cry of delight from Virginia. The others looked
at her in surprise. She was pointing and they followed her gaze.
Under a corner of the rug was caught a piece of brown paper and
there was scrawly writing upon it.

“The message!” Virg exclaimed, springing up. “Oh, how I do hope I
will be able to decipher it.”

Virginia gazed intently for one silent moment at the bit of soiled
brown paper, the others eagerly watching and waiting. Babs stood by
the side of the western girl and peered at the scrawl which meant
nothing to her. The others did likewise. “Can you read it, Virg?”
Margaret inquired at last.

The girl addressed, shook her head. “Not easily,” she said. “The
writing is very difficult to make out. However, I am sure that the
words are Spanish but the letters are so queerly made it may take me
a long time to decipher it.”

“Why not leave it until morning” Winona suggested. “It will soon be
dark and I was going to invite you girls to climb with me to the top
of the cliff trail to watch the sun set and the stars come out. Of
course sunsets are beautiful anywhere on the desert, but I do feel
that my own particular sunset view is a little more wonderful than
any other that I have ever seen.”

“Let us go then,” Virginia said as she refolded the bit of brown
paper and placed it in her pocket, “since this message can have
nothing whatever to do with us or our friends, I will postpone
trying to decipher the very queer writing until there is more light.
Lead on, Winona, and we will follow.”

As the girls wandered through the Indian village, many unkempt
little wolf-like children paused in their antics to gaze wide-eyed
at the “white face” maidens whom they seemed to regard with awe as
though they were beings supernatural.

“Poor little kiddies!” Babs said softly to Margaret, “I wonder if
they really know how to play.” Approaching the group nearest, she
asked, “Little folks, do you know how to play ‘Ring-around-a-rosie?”

Of course they could not understand, and the smiling Winona came to
be interpreter. Then the oldest of the children, looking eagerly at
Babs, prattled something in her own tongue. “Will you play it with
them, Sunny Day wishes to know.”

“Indeed I will,” Babs replied. “You three girls may climb the cliff
trail and look at the sunset. I’d a heap rather romp with these
solemn-eyed babies. I want to see them smile and hear them laugh.”

And so Babs, in pantomime, explained the merry game and soon had
those Papago children whirling about and shouting as gleefully as
their leader could desire.

The other three girls often looked back as they climbed the cliff
trail.

“Who is Barbara?” Winona asked. “I never heard you speak of her,
Virginia.”

“That is because Virginia never knew her,” Margaret replied. “Babs
was my roommate at boarding school. She is such a dear, lovable
girl, but, though she seems happy-hearted, she is always grieving
for her lost brother. She cares more for him than for any one else
in the whole world, but it is so long since she has heard from him,
she believes him to be dead.”

“Poor girl!” Winona said as they paused on the summit. “I know what
it is to be lonely, oh so alone,” and the others glancing at the
beautiful face of the Indian maiden suddenly realized how truly
lonely she must be, for no one dwelling in the Papago village could
understand her aspirations nor did they really appreciate what she
was giving up that she might help them, but Virginia understood,
and, slipping an arm about her friend she held her close, then she
reached out a hand to Margaret, and so, together, they stood
watching the glowing west until the colors had faded and the first
star of evening twinkled faint and far.

“It will be a wonderful day tomorrow,” Virginia said softly, little
dreaming how truly wonderful the next day was to be.




CHAPTER XLIV

THE MESSAGE FOUND


The three girls, tired indeed from the long day with its varied
adventures, had found themselves weary enough to sleep in the wide
bed to which Winona had referred, and even Babs had forgotten to lie
awake and listen for moccasined feet to creep stealthily toward her
beside as she had been so sure that she should.

The fact was that the Papagoes seemed very kindly folk, no longer
thought of them as Indians, but rather as simple, trusting,
child-like friends.

It was just before dawn when Virginia awoke with a start. She
wondered what had awakened her, and then as the sunlight streamed in
through the high opening that served as a window, she suddenly
thought of something. The message! Now that it was daylight, she
might be better able to decipher it. She could not understand why
she was so curious concerning it, since it could have no direct
bearing upon her interests or those of her friends.

Nevertheless, she was eager, and, so very quietly, not to awaken the
sleeping girls, she rose and dressed. Then she slipped out to the
main living-room. Winona was in the rear door-yard baking corn cakes
in the stone oven, and, after greeting her, Virginia seated herself
on the adobe step of the front porch to enjoy the warmth of the sun,
for the morning was crisply cold. Then opening the brown paper, she
studied it intently. On another paper she carefully rewrote the
forms of the scrawled letters hoping that would enable her to
recognize them more readily, and it did, for when she had three
words copied, their meaning came to her as though by inspiration.
Her heart gave a sudden leap and she could scarcely keep from crying
aloud to the other girls, but she decided to translate the entire
message, if she could, before awakening them, for, after all, the
first three words did not give the needed information. She read them
again and again. Surely they were: “Los Boregos estan—the sheep
are—” but try as she might she could not read the longer and more
difficult words that followed.

Margaret and Barbara soon sauntered out upon the porch, but, so
absorbed was Virginia that she did not know of their near presence.
Suddenly she sprang up saying aloud, “We’ll do it! We’ll do it at
once.”

“Virginia Davis, you talking to yourself,” Margaret teased, “Uncle
Tex does that, but we excuse him because he is so very old.”

“Don’t joke now, Megsy dear,” Virginia said seriously, “I believe
that we have come upon a matter of great importance. This message
may contain information, if we can get at it, that may not only
restore to Mr. Wilson his stolen sheep, but may also save the life
of our dear friend Tom.”

Then she showed them the three words she had copied and told them
what she believed them to mean.

“But Virg, dear,” Margaret said, “although I sincerely hope that the
message does refer to the lost Merinos, you know that we are now in
the sheep country and those three words might refer to any herd,
shouldn’t you say so?”

Virginia nodded. “You are right, Megsy. My eagerness to find Tom
makes me grasp at straws. Nevertheless, I would never forgive myself
if I found out, too late, that this message did really refer to Mr.
Wilson’s lost sheep, and so, I will repeat what you heard me saying
to myself a minute ago. We’ll do it and we’ll do it at once.”

“Suppose we have breakfast out here on the sunny porch,” Winona
said, appearing in the doorway with a basket weave tray heaped with
golden corn bread hot from the oven. “Margaret, will you bring the
mugs that we used last night, and Barbara, perhaps you will help
her, as each one is filled with steaming coffee.”

When the two girls had gone within, Winona turned to Virginia who
stood intent again upon the message. Laying a slim, dark hand on the
arm of her friend, she asked, “Have you found the meaning yet,
Virginia?”

Virg glanced up, her cheeks flushed with excitement, then, taking
the hand of the Indian maiden, she held it close as she said,
“Winona, maybe, just maybe, this message may tell us where to find
Tom, and oh, how I do want to find him.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she added, “He is as dear to me as a
brother, I think.”

“Tom will be found,” Winona said in a tone of quiet conviction.

Virginia looked up eagerly as she asked, “Winona, you say that as
though you really knew.”

The Indian girl looked out toward the cliffs and in her eyes there
was an expression as though she were seeing a vision. “I cannot tell
how I know,” she said, then smiling directly into the eyes of her
friend, she added, “But I know.”

The good breakfast was rather hurriedly eaten, for when the girls
had heard what Virginia had decided to do, they were all as much
excited about it as she.

“You don’t mean that we are really, truly, going to ride north to
the Wilson Ranch,” Margaret exclaimed, and Barbara equally amazed,
added, “But Virg, you said one had to cross the mountains that we
see towering above the cliff, did you not?”

The western girl nodded. “Aren’t you afraid that we might take the
wrong trail and be lost?” Babs continued.

“You will not be lost.” It was Winona who had spoken in that calm
quieting voice of hers, “for Red Feather and I will accompany you,
and too, perhaps Eagle Eyes would like to go. The lads know every
trail on these snow-capped mountains and they are always glad to
have an adventure, whatever its nature.”

An hour later, the four girls, with the two Indian boys in the lead,
left the almost hidden entrance in the wall of the rock and started
on the long hard ride toward the mountains far to the north.

Virginia had carefully fastened the bit of brown paper in a place of
safety, and, as they rode along in single file, her eyes were often
on the trail ahead of them, and her thoughts were with Tom. How
happy they would all try to make him at the V. M. if only they could
find him well and unharmed. She and Margaret would let him know that
they cared for him like a brother and that they wished him to feel
that their home was also his home.

With a sudden thought of what might have happened to him came to
her, she closed her eyes and tried not to look at the suggested
picture, for, all too well she knew how cruel rustlers could be when
they wished to dispose of a herder who might some day be a witness
against them.

“Isn’t it time to stop for lunch?” she heard Margaret asking, and,
so intently had she been thinking, that her friend’s voice sounded
far off.

“Yes, I believe it is high sun,” she replied as she glanced at the
heavens.

“Oh, here is an adorable spot by this mountain brook,” Babs said as
they alighted, but, though Virginia tried to listen to the chatter
of her friends, her thoughts kept wandering away to Tom. Suddenly,
glancing up, she found Winona’s calm gaze upon her and a peace crept
into her heart. The Indian girl had said, “Tom will be found.”—But
when and where?




CHAPTER XLV

ON A SHEEP RANCH


It was mid-afternoon when the long ever upward winding trail had
been climbed, and, at last the girls and their guides drew rein on
the very summit, where a few weeks before, little Red Feather had
paused to point to the valley below, that Outlaw Tom might know
which way to ride to reach the Wilson Ranch.

In the sunlight the distant group of white buildings could be
plainly seen, and Virginia, noting that their Papago friends were
preparing to return, held out her hand to Winona as she said, “Thank
you. We will let you know as soon as we can. Good-bye.”

Half an hour later the big, rambling white ranch house had been
reached and the motherly Mrs. Wilson having observed from her
sitting room window the approach of the strangers was out on the
verandah to greet them.

The girls leaped to the ground and Virginia going forward extended
her hand as she said, “Mrs. Wilson, I am Virginia Davis and these
are my friends from the East, Margaret Selover and Barbara Blair
Wente. My brother Malcolm is here, is he not?”

“Oh, Miss Virginia, you haven’t heard from Tom, have you? We thought
maybe, if he managed to escape, he would try to reach the V. M.
Ranch, being as that was where he’d come from?”

“No, Mrs. Wilson. Tom did not come to the V. M., but I am very eager
to speak with my brother. Is he here now?”

Virginia awaited the answer almost breathlessly, knowing that
Malcolm might be away with one of the searching parties.

“Well now, I’m not real sure as to where he is right this minute,”
the good woman replied, “but here comes Lopez on his pinto. Like as
not he can tell us. Anyhow he can take your horses down to the
corral.”

Mrs. Wilson beckoned to the young Mexican herder, and then, in reply
to her inquiry, he told her that he believed Senor Davis was still
at the bunkhouse.

He would stop there and see.

“Do come right in,” the motherly woman said, “and sit a spell in the
comfortable rockers. You must be worn out, being so many hours in
the saddle.”

The eastern girls were indeed glad to avail themselves of the
invitation, but Virginia could not rest. Oh, how she did wish
Malcolm was there, for, if the message did tell where Tom was being
held in captivity, every moment might be of the greatest importance.

The doors opened and two young men entered. “Oh, brother! brother!”
Virginia exclaimed, rushing toward the outstretched arms of Malcolm.
“Please don’t rebuke us for coming, for we have news that we
thought, or at least I thought, might be of great importance.” Then
she inquired anxiously, “You have not heard from Tom?”

“No,” he replied, and his tone implied that they had all but lost
hope of hearing. Then he led his sister to the rocker, saying
tenderly, “You are trembling like a leaf, Virginia. You are over
tired and excited, but I understand.”

Then he returned to welcome Margaret, who in turn introduced Babs.

“It’s hard to remember formalities just now,” he said. “You girls
have become acquainted with Mrs. Wilson. Now permit me to introduce
her older son, Harry.” Then turning to Virginia he inquired: “Did
you say, sister, that you have a message?” Virginia hurriedly told
the story of the captured carrier pigeon and she knew by the eyes of
her listeners that they were all keenly interested. “May I see that
bit of brown paper?” Harry asked as he held out his hand. “I will be
able to read it.” Virginia gave him the small paper and then they
all waited, scarcely breathing in their eagerness. The ticking of
the big clock on the wall was the only sound that broke the
stillness. Suddenly Harry leaped to his feet, his face tense,
“Malcolm,” he cried, “there isn’t a minute to lose! Quick! Call the
herders, we’ll need all the help we can get.” Then, not realizing
that he had not told the message to the girls, he left the house,
and raced toward the bunkhouse, shouting to Lopez.

In half an hour many things had been hurriedly done. Malcolm, who
had raced after Harry, returned as he had promised Virginia that he
would to tell the girls the meaning of the message. It was. “The
sheep are south of Agua Prieta. Get them at once. Drive to Rebano
Rancho. Do away with herders.”

“Brother! Brother!” Virginia sobbed. “Are we too late? Have they
done away with the herders? Oh, tell me, what do you think?”

“Harry and I believe that whoever is to get the sheep is still
waiting for the carrier pigeon and if so Tom may as yet be unharmed.
Our hope is, since the message has not been delivered, that we may
reach Agua Prieta before the rustlers receive an order from some
other source. If we do, we may be able to regain the sheep and save
our friend Tom.” Then he added, “I know you girls are terribly tired
but I think that you would better return with us as our way to Agua
Prieta leads so close to V. M. What do you think, Virginia?”

But Mrs. Wilson would not hear of it. “Do let the poor dears rest,”
she said. “They look as pale as lilies and wilted ones at that. I’m
expecting my younger son, Benjy, to return home tomorrow and on the
day after he will gladly escort the girls to V. M.”

Bab’s heart gave a leap of joy when she heard that she was to see
her friend Benjamin Wilson so soon again, and that evening, when the
young men had ridden to the south, after having partaken of a
bounteous repast, the girls and Mrs. Wilson sat in the big
living-room where a log from the mountains was burning cheerily on
the hearth.

Mrs. Wilson had been delighted to find that Babs knew her younger
son and she wanted to know all about the Drexel Military Academy,
and so, to pass the time and to permit Virginia to follow her own
thoughts uninterrupted, Babs recounted to a delighted listener the
story of her acquaintance, beginning with the surprise Valentine
party, where she had first met Benjy, telling of the afternoon in
town where she and the lad had seats next to each other at the
theater, and ending with the April Fool letter and the happy
culmination of the romance of their two instructors, Miss Piquilin
and Professor Pixley.

The good woman beamed at the petite girl whom she thought almost too
pretty and fragile “like a bit of porcelain that ought to be kept in
a glass case,” but aloud she said, “I’m real glad you know my boy.
Like ’tis you’re about his age.”

“I’m fifteen,” Barbara replied, “and Benjy told me that he would be
sixteen this month I believe.” Mrs. Wilson nodded, “Yes, my boy is
sixteen now.” Then she added with pride glowing in her kindly eyes,
“I don’t know where he took it from, but he sure has a great head
for the learning. His teacher here in the Red Riverton school said
that Benjy didn’t no more than open his book before he knew his
lesson, seemed like. His daddy and I had always had a hankering to
have one son as would have a college education, and so, ever since
our first boy came, we put away some money every month in the old
tea pot with the nose broken off and we called it ‘Hal’s schoolin’
fund,’ but Harry didn’t want a higher education and so he said,
‘Send Benjy, mother. We’ll make a scholar of him, but I’ll stick to
the sheep raisin’.’ That’s how it came that Benjy was sent East to
school, but come now, it’s late and I know you’re all tired out.
Being as there are three of you, how do you wish to divide?”

“We don’t divide,” Margaret laughingly replied. “We sleep all
together,” but there was one of the three who did not close her eyes
until morning, and even then she did not sleep for over and over
again her thought kept repeating, “If only I could help save Tom.”




CHAPTER XLVI

AN EARLY MORNING RIDE


On the morning following the departure of Harry, Malcolm and the
herder, Lopez, the three girls awakened with different emotions in
their hearts.

Virginia, who had not slept at all until nearly morning, awoke with
a sense of great weariness and then, of even greater anxiety. It
seemed strange to her that she should care so much for one whom she
had known for so short a time. Perhaps it was because Tom had seemed
to need someone to be loving and kind, he was so all alone in the
world. Barbara on the contrary, awakened with a consciousness of a
delighted anticipation, and springing up, she merrily exclaimed,
“Oh, girls, just think! This is the day that you are to meet that
nice boy, Benjy Wilson. I wonder at what hour he is to arrive?”

A surprise awaited them, for a little later, when the three girls
trooped out to the kitchen from which a tempting odor of frying ham
and eggs and steaming coffee was wafted, they saw not only the
bustling, motherly woman, Mrs. Wilson, but standing near the range,
warming his hands over the heat, was a tall, comely youth, dressed
in the uniform of a military academy.

He glanced up when he heard the girls entering, and it was evident
by his expression that his mother had not told him of the near
presence of his friend from the East.

Leaping forward with outstretched hands, his face alight, the lad
exclaimed, “Am I seeing visions? Miss Barbara, this surely cannot be
you! Only last week I rode over to your school to bid you good-bye
and ask when you were coming to visit your friends in Arizona. I was
told that all of the pupils had suddenly departed because of an
epidemic, and I deeply regretted not being able to see you and make
plans for re-meeting you here on the desert. I little supposed that
you would be awaiting me in my very own home.”

Barbara laughed. “I do not wonder that you are amazed,” she
declared. “We three girls have been living in a whirl of strange
adventure of late, and honestly I am not at all sure that we are
real. Perhaps, as you first suggested, we may be merely visions, and
yet,” she added doubtfully as she sniffed the appetizing odors, “can
a vision be ravenously hungry for ham and eggs and coffee? But I am
quite forgetting my manners. Doesn’t it seem queer that I had to
cross a continent to introduce Miss Virginia Davis to her neighbor,
Mr. Benjamin Wilson? This other fair maid with violets for eyes and
the dimples we all envy, is, or rather was, my room-mate, Margaret
Selover, of whom I have often told you.”

Benjy acknowledged the introductions with a grace of manner which he
had readily acquired during his year at the military academy, and
his fond mother watching the lad, her eyes shining with pride,
secretly congratulated herself that she and “pa” had gone without
many little things that the money might be put in the broken nosed
tea-pot for Benjy’s education fund.

“Come to breakfast everybody,” she now sang out in her pleasant,
hearty way, “and do eat all that you possibly can for you have a
long ride ahead of you.

“But there, Benjy doesn’t know a word of all that has happened. He
arrived just a few minutes ago and took me so by surprise that I’ve
hardly got my breath to coming right yet. Do set down, all of you,
and while you’re eating, suppose you tell my boy just what has
happened. Then, if he isn’t too tired with traveling, I’m sure he’ll
be pleased to escort you back to V. M. ranch. Maybe though, he’d
rather be waitin’ till tomorrow.”

Benjy’s curiosity had been greatly aroused by this conversation
which suggested interesting adventure of some kind, and so as soon
as the young people were seated, he begged Babs to begin at the
beginning and tell him all that had happened. As the story
progressed the boy ceased eating and listened with eager intentness,
and when Babs finished speaking, Benjy exclaimed, “We will not wait
until tomorrow. With mother’s permission we will start south as soon
as I can get into my riding togs.”

It was still early morning when the four riders departed from the
group of white ranch buildings, the girls having bidden the kind
Mrs. Wilson an affectionate farewell, promising that, as soon as Tom
had been found, they would return and spend a week on the sheep
ranch.

The good woman looked with especial interest at the petite Barbara.
“Poor little lamb,” she was thinking with sudden tears in her eyes.
“Such a mite of a girl to be all alone in the world without a mother
and her poor brother lost. How proud that mother would have been had
she lived, for a sweeter, prettier, little girl never trod this
earth.” Then, as she returned indoors, having waved for the last
time to the riders, who were rapidly disappearing toward the
mountains, she recalled the tall-good-looking lad whom she had seen
riding close to Barbara’s side.

“I wish my boy might be worthy of a girl like little Barbara,” she
thought. “A fine pair they would make and what happiness ’twould be
for them both, and for me.” Then as she happened to glance into the
hat-rack mirror, she smiled a queer little smile with lips that were
quivering. “Well, now, Matilda Wilson,” she said aloud to her
reflection, “if you aren’t matchmaking, and it’s a thing you’ve
always said you wouldn’t do, for it’s just a interferin’ in other
folks’ lives. What’s more, the two of them are only children, still
a-going to school, but I guess mothers are all the same,” she added
as she went kitchenward, “first off we try to keep our boys just
little fellows and then, when all of a sudden we see that they’re
nearly young men, we begin to choose a girl we want them to marry,
but I’ll try to welcome whoever they choose just as I’d want some
other boy’s mother to welcome a girl of mine if I had one.” Then, as
the good woman poured boiling water over a great pan full of dishes,
her thoughts wandered, with equal pride, from Benjy to her older
son, Harry. “Whoever gets Hal for a husband,” she thought, “gets a
man to lean on who won’t prove a bending reed when trouble comes. He
hasn’t the nice, easy manner, maybe, that Benjy has, but Hal’s
honest and dependable. He never seemed to take to girls, though, so
maybe he won’t be one to marry, but, if he does, I wonder, now, who
it will be. I hope someone I’d like real well, but if ’tisn’t, I
won’t let that make any difference. The dear boy will never know it,
or the girl either.”

It almost seemed as if the mother heart knew instinctively that
Harry’s choice was to be someone of whom she could not really
approve, and yet, how could she know, for Harry had not even met the
girl who was to be the one dearest of all in his life.

It was nearly noon when the four riders drew near the walled-in
Papago village and Virginia suggested that they lunch with her dear
friend Winona, daughter of the Chief Grey Hawk.

Benjy was surprised to hear the proud declaration of friendship that
this white girl made for a maiden of a race so unlike her own, but
he said nothing, although he secretly wondered what manner of a maid
Winona might be.

Virginia had no trouble whatever in finding the almost hidden
entrance in the mountain wall that surrounded the Papago village for
she had carefully noted its exact relation to the clump of cactus on
her last visit, and so it was that Winona, happening to look up from
the little class which she had gathered about her in the shade of
the cliff, was both delighted and surprised to see the four riders
approaching her, three of whom she knew. The lad she had never seen
before.

Springing up, with the grace which was always in her every movement,
she approached the girls who had dismounted with outstretched hands,
and Benjy was amazed to note the real beauty of the dusky maiden
whose noble, intelligent face was aglow with the joy of so soon
again seeing her beloved Virginia.

The lad acknowledged his introduction to the Indian girl and heard
her saying, “You are the son of our nearest neighbor to the north?
We Papagoes often climb to the summit of the mountain overlooking
your ranch, Mr. Wilson, but we never descend on the other side. Our
pilgrimages always take us to the south it would seem.”

Then to Virginia she added, “It is high sun, so let us go to my home
and lunch together.” Turning to the group of unkempt little Indian
girls who still seated on the ground, were watching wide-eyed she
said something in their own tongue. The listeners concluded that it
was a dismissal of the class for the morning, and they were right,
for with joyful little cries such as delighted puppies might have
uttered, the Indian children sprang up, then to the utter amazement
of the watching lad, they surrounded the smiling Babs who, reaching
out her arms, gathered in as many of them as she could.

Benjy’s first impulse was to draw Barbara away from the embrace of
the “Indian brats,” but when that girl looked up at him, her pretty
flower face aglow, he realized that they weren’t wild, uncouth
creatures to her, but just little children who loved her, and who
were begging her in their own queer language to come and play with
them “Ring-around-a-rosie.”

When Winona had interpreted their request, Barbara exclaimed
merrily, “The rest of you may prepare the lunch. Until it is ready
I’ll romp with the kiddies.”

“May I play, too?” Benjy heard himself asking. Babs nodded gaily,
and while the three older girls went indoors to prepare a simple
meal of cold corn bread, milk and fruit, Barbara and Benjy skipped
about with the shouting little Indian children in a circle which was
ever widening because of the arrival of other youngsters who were
attracted from their dooryards by the sounds of merriment.

It was 2 o’clock before the riders, having said farewell to Winona
and to the children, left the walled-in village and started on the
long four-hours’ ride toward V. M.

Uncle Tex had seen them coming from afar. In fact, the old man had
gone every hour to the window to look toward the sand hills to see
if his Miss Virginia was returning. What joy there was in that
faithful heart when the girl whom he so loved leaped from her horse
and embraced him. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said, “is there any news?
Tell me quickly what has happened? Did Malcolm come this way?”

The old man nodded. “Yes, Miss Virginia, dear, but Mister Malcolm
didn’t stop long, just to tell me what ’twas he planned doin’ and
bid me keep a watchout fo’ yo’. Ah’s been that anxious, Miss
Virginia, dearie, but Ah’ll feel better now, as yo’ are home again.”
Then when the girls had gone to their rooms, the old man said in a
low voice to Benjy; “Ah don’ want to worry the gals more’n need be,
but Ah’s powerful anxious about Malcolm and yo’ brother, for they
has gone to a mighty dangerous place. Ah knows the rustlers over the
border and thar’s nothin’ as they’d stop at, but shh! Here come the
gals. Make out as we was talkin’ of suthin’ else.” But Benjy’s
anxiety had been greatly increased and though he did talk of
something else, his thoughts were busily trying to contrive some way
that he might leave the girls and ride to his brother’s assistance.

The young people had reached the ranch in the late afternoon and
half an hour after their arrival Uncle Tex suddenly realized that it
was nearing the supper hour and that probably the newcomers would be
very hungry after their long hard ride and so he departed
kitchenward to prepare the evening repast.

He had been gone only a few minutes, however, when he returned to
the living-room, and, one glance at his face convinced the young
people he had something to tell them which had greatly excited him.

“Horsemen a comin’. Like ’tis three or four,” he said. “Yo’ all can
see them from the kitchen porch. Ah’s a hopin’ it’s Malcolm and the
rest, but they’re too far off yet to be tellin’.”

With rapidly beating hearts the young people hurried to the high
porch at the back of the house and Virginia gazed through the
powerful glasses.

“Uncle Tex is right,” she said. “I see several dark objects moving
in this direction and I am sure they are horsemen. Oh, how I do hope
Tom is with them. I haven’t slept, that is, not restfully, since I
knew that Tom was lost.”

Margaret, noting that Virginia looked pale and worn from days of
anxiety, slipped an arm about her friend and led her back to the
living-room.

“Let’s rest,” she said, “while Uncle Tex prepares supper. I’m sure
he would rather have us out of the kitchen.”

“I’ll stay and help!” Benjy told them. “I’m a fine cook, if I do say
it. I’ve had a lot of experience when in camp with the herders.”

The truth was that Benjy was eager to be alone with the old man that
he might learn from him what he really thought about the approach of
the riders.

When the girls were gone, the boy closed the door very softly that
it might not attract their attention nor arouse their curiosity,
then going to the range where the old man was replenishing the fire
he asked, “Uncle Tex, did you think you saw four horsemen?”

The old man shook his head. “No, Mista Benjy. I don’t honest believe
I did. Maybe ’twas though, and maybe ’twasn’t. Wall, we’ll soon
know, for if ’tis Malcolm, he’ll be here ’bout as soon as we have
supper ready.”

Never was a half hour passed in greater anxiety, but even when
supper was ready and waiting the horsemen did not appear.

“Perhaps after all they were bound for the Slater Ranch,” Virginia
said.

Disappointed and with a feeling of depression the young people
gathered about the table when suddenly they heard a shouting
without, and in another moment the front door burst open.




CHAPTER XLVII

APPROACHING HORSEMEN


Virginia leaped forward with a cry of joy and was caught in her
brother’s close embrace. Harry followed, but though they all gazed
eagerly back of these two, hoping to see another lad coming in from
the gathering darkness, none appeared. Hal was closing the door, and
so, of course, there was no one to come.

“Oh, brother,” Virginia exclaimed, “you didn’t find Tom. Tell me
quickly what has happened?”

“That I will,” was the reply, “but since Harry and I are almost
famished, may I tell the story while we are at supper?”

A few moments later, when they were gathered about the table, Uncle
Tex standing near, Malcolm related their experiences.

“We followed the directions in the message taken from the carrier
pigeon, and reached the mountain pass south of Agua Prieta where we
expected to find the sheep. Lopez knows several Mexicans living in
Agua Prieta; in fact, he has relatives there, and they gladly joined
us when we told them what the reward would be if we could regain the
lost Merinos and save our friend, Tom. It was nearing nightfall when
we ascended a mountain on foot to a point where we could look over
into the pass. There, to our great delight, we beheld the lost
flock. Two Mexicans, whom Lopez recognized as well known rustlers,
were seated by a camp fire close to a jutting boulder near the
entrance of the pass. Lopez offered to creep as close as he could to
them and report their conversation. This he did while we waited at
the outer entrance, our guns drawn, for well we knew that if Lopez
made the slightest sound, or in any way betrayed his near presence,
he would need our immediate assistance. But luckily the two rustlers
were so engrossed with their own grievances that they were not on
the outlook for spies.

“After a time Lopez crept back and beckoned us to follow him, which
we did.

“He led us some distance away, where in a cave-like shelter, he told
us what he had heard. Our friend Tom, he said, was alive unless he
had starved. The sheep were all there and the men were impatiently
awaiting the carrier pigeon which was to bring them further orders.

“‘But Tom?’ I said. ‘Tell us where he is that we may go at once to
his assistance.’ Lopez looked troubled. Then he told us that our
friend had been practically buried alive. That is, he had been
imprisoned in an adobe hut and without food. The boy Francesco
Quintano Mendoza was with him. ‘Tom must have been in that tomb for
over a week,’ I said, ‘and if he has been without food all that time
of course he is dead; but let us go to him at once.’

“Lopez, it seemed, did not know the location of the adobe hut.
However, one of the men from Agua Prieta did know, and he led us to
the place which was not far distant. My heart was heavy and sad as
we approached that lonely crumbling old adobe hut, wooden windows
and doors of which were fastened with iron bars. I was sure we would
find that Tom and the faithful little Mexican boy had starved, but,
as we neared, Lopez uttered an exclamation, pointing to a hole near
the ground which had evidently been made by the prisoners. It was
small, but Lopez managed to creep through and enter the hut. He soon
reappeared assuring us that it was empty. This was indeed good news
and we at once returned to Agua Prieta where we were to spend the
night. There we were informed that a young man answering Tom’s
description and a small Mexican boy had left the day before on foot
and had gone toward the north. Harry and I rode away from the
Mexican village early this morning, Lopez having remained to get
possession of the flock if he could. Hal and I did not ride directly
to V. M. but instead we followed many side trails, hoping that we
would come upon Tom, but when nightfall was approaching, we decided
to come home and start out again tomorrow morning.”

“And I will accompany you,” Benjy said eagerly.




CHAPTER XLVIII

TOM’S RETURN


Everyone in the ranch house the next morning was astir long before
daybreak. The boys breakfasted at once and were in the saddle just
as the sun was rising above the low line of the desert horizon in
the far East.

How the girls did wish they, too, might accompany the lads who were
to separate, each following a different trail that they might surely
find Tom if he were endeavoring to walk to V. M. Each boy was
leading a saddle horse, knowing only too well that Tom, after his
week of starvation, would be greatly enfeebled. Malcolm advised them
all to ride slowly, hallooing often and searching each sand hollow
and mesquite clump which they might pass.

“We must make every effort to save poor Tom and the faithful little
Mexican boy,” he told them before they parted on the south bank of
the dry creek.

The three girls stood on the high back porch watching the lads ride
away until one by one they had disappeared, or had become but moving
specks in the far distance.

Then they re-entered the ranch house. “It’s much harder to remain at
home and do nothing than it is to be actively assisting in the
search,” Margaret declared, “but since Malcolm believed that we
would better remain here, of course we must abide by his decision.”

“Brother thought that Tom might return to V. M. without having been
found by the boys and of course if he does we will wish to be here
to welcome him,” Virginia said. A busy morning followed, Virg
assisted Uncle Tex with the baking, while the other girls tidied the
house. Then, after lunch, they went to their rooms to try to rest,
and so weary were they, that in spite of their anxiety, they slept.

It was mid-afternoon when the girls gathered with their sewing in
the big cool living-room.

“Barbara, will you go to the kitchen porch and look toward the Seven
Peak Trail and see what you can see.”

Babs complied with Virginia’s wish but returned shaking her head.

“I looked through the glass, Virg, in all directions,” she said,
“but I saw nothing at all that was moving.”

“Hark!” Virginia exclaimed, sitting up and listening intently,
“Megsy, dear, didn’t you hear a hallooing just then, or is it
something my own ears hear that isn’t real?”

Babs and Margaret hurried to the window and opened it wide. Again
they heard the hallooing, close at hand.

“Two horses are coming,” Megsy exclaimed excitedly, “and yes, surely
the rider in the lead is Malcolm and on the horse following there
are two, so it must be Tom, though his hat is drawn down so far I
cannot see his face.”

Virginia joined the others. “It is! It surely must be Tom,” she
cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes aglow with hope.

The girls turned as the door burst open and Malcolm entered,
followed truly enough by the lost Tom, looking pale and worn. Before
anyone could speak, a glad cry rang out, and everyone turned to look
at Babs whose face was radiant with sudden joy.

“Peyton! My brother!”

“Little sister! God is good!” The lad held the girl close and there
were tears in his eyes. Then he reached a hand out to Virginia, and
Margaret, watching, knew by the way that he looked at the western
girl, that he too cared.

Half an hour later, when Tom had recounted his recent thrilling
adventures, Virg rose, saying that since they must be about starved,
she would prepare the evening meal.

“I wish the others would return in time for supper,” Babs said.
“Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings,” Margaret
sang out, holding up a finger as she spoke. Without could be heard
the galloping of horses’ feet.

“Rather say, ‘bad pennies are sure to turn up,’ Malcolm exclaimed
laughingly, adding with sudden seriousness, “but that is hardly
fair, for a finer chap than Harry Wilson it would be hard to find.”
Then, as he glanced out of the window he informed the others. “It is
Hal, and his younger brother, I judge, is with him. They are
dismounting down by the corral. Mendoza Quintano is racing to meet
them. He just adores Harry. When Hal sees the Mexican lad, he will,
of course, know that Tom has been found. Sure enough, here he comes
sprinting at top speed.”

A second later, Harry Wilson sprang through the door which Malcolm
had opened for him, and going to Tom, he embraced him as tenderly as
he would a brother.

Later that afternoon Babs and her brother were alone; Virginia
having thoughtfully arranged it, for she felt sure that the reunited
brother and sister would have much to say to each other just by
themselves.

“Peyton,” Babs said, slipping her hand in his, “you haven’t asked me
about father.”

“Dad doesn’t care about me,” the boy said sorrowfully, “I wish he
did.”

Barbara was about to tell her brother all that had happened and how
changed her father was, when something occurred to assure him of
this more forcefully than Babs could have done.

Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle tapping on the closed
door, and Virginia’s voice called, “Babs, dear, Lucky just rode in
with the mail. There are several letters for you and one that I
thought you and Peyton might like to read together.” The young
people had agreed to call Tom by his real name, although at first
this would be hard to do.

“Thank you,” Barbara replied, while the lad, having leaped to his
feet, opened the door and took the letters from Virginia.

A second later Babs exclaimed, “Oh, brother, here is one from poor
dear father. I always think of him pityingly, ever since the day
when I returned from school unexpectedly and found him pacing up and
down in the library looking so desolate and so all alone. I didn’t
understand then, but now I know that through the three years that
you have been away he has been grieving for you. I shall never
forget how he reached out his arms, when he saw me, and how tenderly
he said, ‘You are like your mother, Barbara. She came to me when I
needed her most just as you have come. If only that other Barbara
had lived, all this would not have happened.’ He meant that our dear
mother would have understood you better.” Then, after a moment
Barbara added, “But brother, I wonder if you and I have ever really
tried to understand our father. There must be a very kind heart
under his reserve, else our mother, who was so joyous in her nature,
would not have loved him. We never thought of it before that way,
did we, brother?”

“No,” the lad replied, and there was a quiver in his voice. “I was
very young and very head-strong and I felt, if I wanted to ruin my
life, as dad declared that I would, it was my own life and I ought
to be permitted to ruin it. Read the letter, sister. What has our
father written?”

But, though Babs tried hard, she could not read aloud the message.
The true feeling of her father, that had never been expressed in
spoken words to his children, was revealed to them in the few
heartbroken sentences that he had penned.

“Barbara, my little girl, I hope you will want to go home with me.
You are all I have now. I have searched this country over and I
cannot find my son; my other Barbara’s little boy, and how she loved
him! I wanted to find him that I might ask him to forgive me, for I
believe that somehow the fault must have been mine.”

“Babs! Little sister!” Peyton exclaimed as he sprang up. “Where is
father now? I am going to him, at once, tonight if I can.”

The other young people were surprised to learn that Peyton had
decided to leave for Texas, that very night, but Virginia was indeed
glad when she learned that he was to be reunited with his father.

After supper the other boys accompanied Peyton to the Junction where
he departed on the 10 o’clock train.

The next morning Harry and Benny rode away, promising, however, that
they would return in a fortnight, when Margaret and Barbara were
planning a surprise house party for Virginia’s seventeenth birthday.

The further adventures of these young people will be found in a book
entitled, “Virginia of V. M. Ranch and Her Friends.”


The End.

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