Dorothy on a Ranch

“One of the shepherds, likely; sheep herders they call them here. And it’s the first time I ever saw a lamb ‘snow white.’ The comparison, ‘white as a lamb’ is generally wrong, for they’re a dirty gray. This one has been washed within an inch of its life – literally. Some of you girls better take it to the dairy and give it some milk,” said Mr. Ford.

“Maybe there somebody will know about it or we’ll find the little boy again. He was so cute! Like a small Indian, he looked.”

“He might easily be one, Dorothy. There are still many bands of them roaming the mountains. Quite often, the ‘boys’ say, some come to San Leon. A peaceable lot, though, mostly, unless they get hold of liquor. But liquor turns even cultivated white men into brutes. Not likely we shall see any of them at this time of year, when life in the forest is pleasant.”

“Oh! Daniel, don’t talk of Indians at all! I don’t like them,” protested Mrs. Ford, with a little shudder. “I hope that child wasn’t one.”

“Well, we don’t know that he was. There are many people belonging to San Leon and other neighboring ranches and a child more or less isn’t enough to set us worrying. Hmm. Here comes the operator with a telegram. I was in hopes that I might escape them for a few weeks. News, Mr. Robson?”

The clerk’s face was grave and the young folks walked away; Dorothy carrying the basket with the lamb, the others following – with mischievous Molly prodding the little creature with her forefinger “to make it talk.”

But the boys were not interested in “young mutton” as Monty called it, and sought the ranchmen at their quarters to learn when they could go fishing, or what was better, hunting.

“I don’t see what you want to kill things for!” pouted Molly, while Helena answered:

“Because they are – just boys! I only hope they won’t be allowed to handle firearms, except for rifle practice under the trainer’s care. So this is the dairy! What a fine one and away up here, where Milliken said there was ‘no civilization!’ Do you know, Papa is getting quite anxious for a stock farm? We think it’s so queer for a man who knows nothing but banking, but some doctor told him it would be fine for his health. If he has cattle, I suppose we’ll have a dairy. I mean now to find out all I can about such things because I know whatever Mr. Ford does will be the best possible. Odd! up here the dairymaids are dairymen! How spotlessly clean that one yonder looks, in his white uniform! I’m going to ask what he is doing now.”

She left the other girls to do so and from another worker in this up-to-date, sweet-smelling place, Dorothy begged a basin of milk for their new pet. It still remained in the basket, which was so soft and of such exquisite fineness that it could be folded like a cloth.

Alfaretta still held the soft cover, which had slipped off when Leslie cut the rushes binding it on, turning it idly in her hands. Suddenly she stopped and stared at its inner side, then excitedly stooped where Dorothy was feeding the lamb and pointed, exclaiming:

“For the land sakes, Dolly Doodles, look at that!”

“Take care, Alfy! You’re scaring this timid little thing so it won’t drink. It hardly knows how, anyway. What? What do you say?”

“I say look a there! Jim! Jim!”

Dorothy snatched the cover from Alfy’s hand and there, surely enough, was the letter D done in the curious handwriting which James Barlow had acquired; quite different both girls knew from that of any other they had ever seen. Then they stared at one another, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry.

“What does it mean?” cried Dorothy at last, while Molly drew near to learn what had happened to surprise them. For answer Alfaretta handed her the cover and fairly gasped out:

“Jim – our Jim – wrote that – or painted it – or – or – It’s Jim, true as preachin’!”

“Huh! then all I can say is that this paragon of a Jim has a mighty poor style of writing. Looks more as if that lamb had bumped its itsy – witsy – heady – and made it bleed. That’s some Indian ‘mark’ that the maker of the basket put on it. Don’t try to get up any excitement over that.”

Alfy shook her head but Dorothy did not look up. She was searching the soft, wilted grass that lined the basket; and, in the bottom, tied to a bunch of faded flowers was a little glistening stone. The pebble was marked by another D, traced in the red juice of some plant.

The basket went one way, the lamb another as Dorothy sprang to her feet and danced for very joy.

“Yes, it’s from Jim – it’s from Jim! And he’s alive – somewhere he is alive! Oh! I am so glad, so glad!”

Alfy was glad, too, of this reminder of the lad’s existence, but she was also ashamed of him.

“Huh! I don’t see what there’s to be so tickled over, for my part! Jim Barlow’s actin’ like a regular simpleton. And he’s mean, too. He’s meaner ’n pussley, makin’ everybody such a lot of trouble. Folks riding night and day to hunt for him – some out scourin’ round this very minute – and him just stayin’ away ’cause – ’cause – ”

“’Cause what, Alfaretta Babcock?” demanded Molly sternly. As always she was loyal to her beloved Dorothy whose joy Alfy was rapidly spoiling by her contempt for the truant.

“’Cause, I s’pose he hasn’t any decent clothes to come home in. He didn’t take his with him and clothes don’t grow on trees, even in Colorado. But – if I knew where he was I’d take ’em to him and give him a piece o’ my mind along with ’em.”

“Give it to me, instead, missy. I’m kind of sort of hungry for it!” said a familiar voice behind them, and there was Captain Lem leaning on the sill of the dairy window and looking at them with that amused expression of his. He seemed to find a lot of young folks the most entertaining company in the world. He had hated their coming and had instantly veered around to be thankful for it. Already his mates were teasing him about it and prophesying that Lem had done his last job on the ranch. Hereafter, if he was missed, all the “boys” would have to do would be to hunt up Dorothy, or her chums, and find him.

“What’s a doin’, younkers? Hope your ridin’ round didn’t tire ye none. Hello! Gone to raisin’ sheep, have ye? Mighty pretty little creatur’, that one is. Where’d you find it?”

Even Helena left off learning dairy work and hurried with the others to the window to learn his opinion.

He took the cover and the stone and carefully studied the inscriptions on them. Cocked his head sidewise, put on his spectacles, screwed up his eyebrows and his lips, and ejaculated:

“That’s a poor fist – whoever done it!”

“Maybe it is; but both Alfaretta and I recognized it at once. You see poor Jim almost taught himself to write. He’d begun that even before I first saw him and it’s hard to unlearn things, you know. Else, Jim’s so smart he’d have written better than any of us by this time. Yes, indeed! Poor Jim is very, very clever!” said Dolly warmly.

Captain Lemuel shook his head, and remarked:

“I ’low you call him that by way o’ compliment. But back home when we called a feller ‘clever’ it meant he hadn’t much sense. I’ve seen that sort, ‘clever’ souls ’t scurcely knew enough to come in out the rain. This here one ’peared the same to me. Course, I hadn’t been acquainted with him longer ’n next to no time but if he was so smart, as I s’pose you’re meanin’ to state, he hid it amazin’ well. Hmm. But – but – if this is a handwrite o’ his ’n, our business is to take it straight to the ‘Boss.’ What you goin’ to name your lamb, Little One?”

Dorothy lifted the little animal and gave it to him through the window. He caressed it tenderly enough in his strong hands, for he loved all animals, though horses best.

“Why, I hadn’t thought. I mean we hadn’t. And it isn’t ours, anyway, if it was sent to the Gray Lady.”

“Your Gray Lady’s name don’t begin with a D. It’s plain as the nose on your face who it’s meant for,” he answered, promptly.

“Then if it is really mine – how lovely! – I’ll just call it Snowball.”

“Pshaw, Dolly Doodles! If I had a lamb sent to me by a poor lost feller like Jim, I’d name it after him and not so silly like that. Do call it Jim, junior,” argued Alfy.

“Yes, sissy, but – but it ain’t that kind of a lamb,” observed the Captain, siding with his favorite at once.

Molly giggled and even Helena smiled, but Alfy simply pouted.

“Huh! Well, then if Jim won’t do, call her Jiminetta – that’d be after me and him, too, same’s I’m Alfaretta.”

Dorothy laughed, too, now, and stopped studying the rude letters traced on the cover and the stone. They but deepened the mystery of Jim’s disappearance and present whereabouts. She remarked:

“We don’t often enough take time to say your whole name, child. It’s generally ‘Alfy.’ Let’s compromise and call our lamb Netty.”

“Good enough! And if the little creatur’ takes after most Colorady folks or flocks, she won’t care a mite what name she has so she ain’t called late to dinner. Haw, haw, haw!”

Laughing at his own ancient witticism, Captain Lem started houseward with “Netty” in his arms, the little thing nestling down in them as if it knew it had found a friend. But his face was troubled. He didn’t like this secret signal from the missing James and he liked less the fact that the lad’s messenger had been a small Indian. However, this seemed a small matter to what was awaiting him, as Mr. Ford came toward him, walking rapidly, and, apparently, in deep thought.

“Lem, do you think you can run San Leon without me for a few days?”

Captain saluted his “chief” and replied, a trifle testily: “That’s what I have been doin’ for a purty consid’able spell, ain’t it, Boss?”

“Yes, but you hadn’t eight youngsters on your hands then, to keep happy and out of mischief. Boys you know, Lem – ”

“I know. I’ve been one. Wish ’t I was again. What’s up, Boss?”

The girls had followed the Captain, slowly, and eagerly discussing Jim’s message – if it was such – and its probable meaning; but they paused at a little distance, not wishing to interrupt the men’s interview which, from the expression of their faces, was a serious one.