Jessica Trent: Her Life on a Ranch

“Hello! That horse is new. Is he yours, mister? What’s the matter with him? Humph! I guess you’re new, too, aren’t you? I never saw you in our valley before. Where’s your ranch?”

The questioner was a blue-eyed, fair-haired little chap whose close resemblance to Jessica proclaimed him her brother; but he was younger, sturdier, and less courteous than she. Yet his prolonged stare at the stranger had less of rudeness than surprise in it, and Mr. Hale laughed at the frank inspection.

“You look rather ‘new’ yourself, my man. About eight years, aren’t you?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Lads of my own.”

“Where?”

“Several thousand miles away, over the Atlantic coast.”

“Why didn’t you fetch ’em?”

“Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh! couldn’t you? H-m-m.” Then he turned his attention to Pedro, with the remark: “Why aren’t you sick, like ’Tonio said? Making my sister come way up here for nothing. Don’t you dare do that again, I tell you. You’re just as well as ever, and I smell coffee. Come on, Luis!”

Catching his mate around the shoulders the boy rushed into the hut, only to be as promptly banished from it. With a swiftness matching the children’s own, the shepherd had followed and caught the pair, a lad in either hand, and flung them out of doors, exactly as one might a couple of mischievous kittens. Evidently, what was permissible to “Lady Jess” was forbidden these, though they were not at all disturbed by their sudden ejection. Such incidents were too familiar, and, having landed in one heap upon the ground, they immediately fell to wrestling as if this were the business they had originally intended. Now the black head of Spanish Luis was uppermost, now the sunnier one of Ned, with a flying jumble of vari-colored hands and feet, till Pedro came out and offered to each contestant a cup of cold, but well-sweetened coffee.

This meant instant truce and they carried their treat to the bench Mr. Hale had occupied, leaving him to stand or sit upon the ground, as he preferred. He chose the latter and near enough to hear their eager chatter, which was still full of indignation against the shepherd’s robust health.

“’Cause he ought to been dead, ’most. And my mother wanting Jess the worst ever was. ’Cause Wun Lung cut hisself.”

“Maybe Wun Lung die now, maybe,” suggested Luis, with hopeful heartlessness.

“Pshaw! No, he won’t. Chinamen don’t. You never saw one, Luis Garcia. Hi! Look at Zulu. Hi! Keno, Keno, Keno! Oh, Wow!”

By a mutual impulse, Prince and the ostrich had put as wide a space between themselves as possible, and the latter had strolled close to Pedro’s quiet flock before he had perceived it. This was evident, even from the distance; but now up rose Keno, the collie, and with angry yelps rushed fearlessly upon the great bird.

King Zulu hesitated but an instant before he turned his back upon his assailant and made all speed over the bluff into the canyon below.

“Well, of all cowards! A creature that could have killed the dog with one kick of his foot!” cried Mr. Hale, amazed.

“Huh! No, he couldn’t. Kill you or Pedro. Kill that old horse of yours, easy as scat. Can’t kick low down as Keno. Huh! Guess I know more about ostriches than you do,” exulted Ned, in whose opinion the stranger had now greatly fallen.

“Huh! Don’t know about ostrichers!” echoed Luis, loyally, and was rewarded by a friendly slap from his pattern and playmate.

Roused by the disturbance of his sheep, Pedro hurried to quiet them, but, as he passed, fixed a piercing gaze upon the stranger’s face. The scrutiny seemed to partially reassure him, for he observed:

“Horse lame, Zulu gone, catch burro, yes. Let the feet which take the trail be young, not feeble and unused. But to him who journeys with evil in his heart evil will surely come. The widow and the orphan belong to God. Indeed, yet. ’Ware, Antonio.”

Mr. Hale reflected swiftly. He smiled at thought of his own long legs bestriding the low back of the donkey, but a memory of that heated trail down which he must pass to reach the nearest house, decided the matter. While the small owners of the burro were improving the time of the shepherd’s absence to ransack his dwelling the sturdy little animal bore its accustomed rider out of sight.

Meanwhile, Jessica’s moccasined feet were flying down the slope, her blue skirts and scarlet Tam making a moving spot of color against the sandy glare of the canyon wall, and long before she came within hailing distance catching the eyes of one who eagerly awaited her approach.

This was John Benton, the carpenter and general utility man at Sobrante; who had come up the opposite side of the canyon, where were many huge bowlders, a few trees, and no trail at all. Indeed, a passage along that face of the gulch was difficult in extreme, and so dangerous that it must have been serious business which brought a lame man thither. Fortunately for his patience, the girl paused for breath at a point level with his own narrow perch upon a shelving rock, and where there was no great width of the V-shaped chasm.

“Lady Jess! Oh! I say! Miss Jessica! Lady Jess!”

The girl looked about her, up and down, everywhere save to the further side where nobody ever went if it could be avoided. But she answered, cheerily:

“Hola! Coo’ee! Coo’ee! Who are you?”

The man made a trumpet of his hands and shouted back:

“The flume! Look east–to the flume!”

She followed his example and called through her own fingers:

“What’s wrong? How came you there?”

He pointed downward, and she shaded her eyes from the blinding sunshine to see why, but could discover nothing new in the familiar scene.

“The water! That’s where it goes! The flume is cut!”

Even at that pitch, his tones were full of excited indignation, and her own anger leaped at once.

“Somebody’s cut the flume? Who dared! Wait–wait–I’m coming!”

“No, no! Don’t. You can’t help it–you’ll break your neck! Oh! Lady Jess!”

“I’m coming! Wait for me!”

The carpenter laughed. “Might have known she would, and wanted she should, I suppose. Surest-footed little thing in the world. Guess I needn’t fret. Though when I think what this old ranch would be without her, I don’t feel any great call to send her into danger, myself. My! she’s as nimble as a squirrel! Down to the bottom a’ready. Up this side in a jiffy, and won’t her blue eyes snap when she sees this lowdown trick? If I knew whose job it was, well, I’m a peaceable man if I’m let, but there wouldn’t be room enough in this here valley for the two of us. And it’s all on a piece with the rest. One thing after another. There’s a snake in this wigwam, but which ’tis? H-m-m! Beats me. Beats me clear to Jericho.”

Then he fell to watching the slower, steady ascent of Jessica, who had descended the further side so swiftly, and who had clambered lightly enough over the roughness of the gulch bottom; at times filled with a roaring torrent, but now quite dry after a long, hot summer.

“Well, here I am!”

“And a sorry sight to show you. Look a’ that now. Isn’t that a regular coyote piece of work?”

Along this face of the canyon descended a line of small wooden troughs, closely joined, and supported upon slender but strong cedar uprights. This flume connected with the distant reservoir of an irrigating company and had been built by Jessica’s dead father at a great and ill-afforded expense. But of all good things there was nothing so precious to the tillers of that thirsty land as water, and the cutting off of this supply meant ruin to Sobrante.

Young as she was, Jessica fully understood this, though she could not understand that any human being should do a deed so dastardly.

“John Benton, you mustn’t say that. Some of the cattle have done it. It’s an accident. It can be mended. I’m sorry, of course, but so thankful you found it. And I see you’ve got your tools.”

“Oh! I can mend it, all right, but it won’t stay mended. You’ll see. ’Tisn’t the first break I’ve patched, not by any means.”

“Of course it isn’t. Only last week in that stampede, when the boys were changing pasture, the creatures ran against it and you fixed it, good as new. There isn’t anything you can’t do with an ax and a few nails.”

John passed the compliment by unheeding.

“There’s breaks and there’s cuts. Reckon I can tell the difference quick enough. This is a cut and isn’t the first one I’ve found, I say. ’Twas a fresh-ground blade did this piece of deviltry, or I’m no judge of edges. Now, who did it? Why? And how’s old Pedro?”

Despite her faith in her friends, the small ranchwoman’s heart sank.