Dorothy on a Ranch

“Yes, I know. You were frightened. Well, I was, too.”

Molly straightened her shoulders and pretended contempt, saying:

“I didn’t know as gentlemen – ‘thoroughbreds,’ you know – western thoroughbreds ever were fr-fri-ghtened. What – was – that?”

A curious cry had reached them and Molly finished her speech in a whisper. The horses, also, had heard it and had thrust back their ears in fear.

Just there the road skirted the edge of a forest and the cry had come from its depths. They peered into the shadows but could see nothing, and edging the pony close to Beelzebub, as Leslie’s mount was named, Molly repeated her question.

“Likely a wild cat, puma, or wolf. I don’t know,” he answered.

“Have you heard it before? Was it that scared you?”

“No, I was afraid something would happen to you, left behind, alone. I fancy we’re in no danger that way – ” pointing forestward. “But – ”

“‘But’ – what? If you thought about me why didn’t you come back to look for me?”

“I couldn’t. Once he got in motion this beast wouldn’t stop till he – ran down like a clock.”

“Pooh! You should go to a riding school! Let’s go on, now, or else back. I can’t stop here with lions and panthers yelling at us! I – I – Oh! do come on! But keep tight hold of the pony’s rein. Don’t get away from me again.”

“I shan’t. I can’t.”

“Oh! come!”

“I tell you I can’t. We’re planted.”

Molly’s lip quivered, but she restrained her tears and tremulously entreated:

“Oh, Leslie, don’t! I can’t stand teasing now. This isn’t funny – not a bit. Shall we go back? Or try to overtake the others?”

“We can’t do either one. I tell you we’re simply stuck. Settled down and gone to housekeeping. Beelzebub has finished. He won’t take another step. Fact. We’ve got to make the best of it. If that pony of yours was as big as a decent calf we might ride double and leave this wretch to starve and think it over at his leisure. I don’t see why that girl gave me such a creature. Let’s get off and sit down on that rock and wait. Something’s bound to happen – sometime – if we live long enough. The folks’ll come back this same road, course.”

He jumped to the ground and held out his hand to her but, for a moment, she would not dismount; then as he coolly left her and walked to the rock he had pointed out, she slipped from her saddle and followed him. But she still held fast to her bridle rein and the pony offered no resistance to the leading, though the big brute of the profane name remained in the middle of the road, his forefeet pointed forward, his hind ones backward, his whole attitude one of stubborn ugliness.

Leslie had reached a point where the ludicrous side of things appeared and he remarked:

“Looks like the potato-horses I used to make when I was a kid, with matches stuck in for legs. I wonder how long he’ll stand there!”

Molly smiled faintly. At present there were no alarming sounds from the forest and the boy’s apparent indifference to their lonely situation relieved her own fears.

“Well, it’s an ‘ill wind that blows nobody good,’ you know. That Beelzy thing is the toughest I ever rode. He’s bumped me up and down till I ache all over and this rock is actually soft in comparison. Here. I’ll put some of these big ferns for a cushion for you, and, after all, we’ll meet our folks just as soon by waiting as by going on. They must come back, you know, sure as fate. This is the only road leads to ‘Roderick’s’, I heard them say. Hello! Why – Beelzebub, good boy!”

A whim had seized the obstinate animal to approach his late rider and fawn about his feet, nibbling the scant grass which grew there, as the pony was already doing. In surprise at this change both Leslie and Molly laughed and forgot, for the time, that they were in such a desolate place at so late an hour.

The horse’s action reminded Molly of an animal her father had once owned and she began to tell stories about him; stories that the boy matched with marvelous ones of his own. That some of these were fiction made no difference. Molly disdained to believe them but they served to pass the time as well as any better ones might have done. Indeed, fear had now left them. The rest after their hard ride was pleasant and both felt that they were simply waiting for their friends’ return.

So they sat on, as composedly as if they were safe at home, till Molly’s eyes, fixed upon the distant road, suddenly grew startled again.

Leslie’s latest yarn had been of an Indian outbreak, or uprising, of recent date and in this neighborhood. He had heard it that evening from the men at the inn and had not paused to consider how unlikely was such an incident so near to the city of Denver. In truth, the “boys” had invented the whole story, just for the sake of impressing the young “tenderfeet” – Monty, Herbert and Leslie; and it had satisfied the jokers that these youngsters “swallered it hull.”

But Leslie had a gift for dramatic recital and listening to him the affair seemed very real to the girl. The scene and the hour suggested a possible repetition of the occurrence; and as there now came to her ears the sound of distant hoofbeats on the road, and presently, to her eyes the sight of a company of horsemen approaching, she gave one terrified cry and darted into the forest behind her.

“The Indians! The – Indians! They’ll kill us!”

Moved by his own eloquence and still believing the story he had been told, the boy followed her flight. He did not even turn to look where she had pointed but, with a headlong rush, dashed into the wood and into a mass of briars which threw him face downward in their midst. Also, at that same instant both the deserted horses set up a continued neighing, which confirmed the fears of their riders who, both now prone upon the ground, felt that their last hour had come.

CHAPTER IV

THE WATCHERS AT RODERICK’S

As soon as Molly and Leslie had ridden away, Mattie Roderick disappeared within her own room and became deaf to all the inquiries made outside her door. She was a high-spirited, “wild western” girl, accustomed to obeying little else than her own impulses. She had a fine record as a horsewoman and had been disappointed that she could not go with the searching party. This being the case, it was next better to lend her pony to that other lively girl who was so like herself.

But Mrs. Roderick was certain that the missing Molly and Leslie had followed the first party and could give no comfort to anxious Mrs. Ford beyond the statement:

“Things don’t happen often, ’twixt here an’ Denver. Been one or two hold-ups, of men known to carry money, but beyond a murder or so, ain’t been no excitement this long spell.”

“Murder!” cried Helena aghast, and folding her arm a bit more tightly about Gray Lady’s trembling body.

“Oh! yes’m. A few has been. But nobody’d touch to harm them children. You needn’t worry. They’ve thought it smart to take a hand in the business, that’s all. Mattie won’t say ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ to my askin’, but the ‘calico’s’ out of the corral and Long Jim’s Belezebub ain’t hitched no longer. Ha, ha, ha! If either them kids tries to ride Beelzy – Hmm. But Chiquita, now, she’s little but she’s great. Pa and Matt claim she’s worth her weight in gold. She’s likely, anyway. An’ don’t fret, lady. They’ll all be home to breakfast, an’ seein’s I’ve got that to cook, I’ll hump myself to bed and advisin’ you to do the same. If not, make yourselves comfortable’s you can, and good night.”

After the landlady’s departure the house became strangely quiet. The men who had been talking outside sought their own rest, and the anxious watchers missed the murmur of voices and the sense of protection which the presence of even these strangers gave.

While Mrs. Ford was still restlessly pacing the long piazza, Alfy slipped within. With her keen observation of details, she had seen where the woodpile was and that the fire on the hearth in the main room of the house had about died out. This had been lighted for the guests’ enjoyment, the inn folks caring nothing for it and therefore easily forgetting to replenish it. When she had gathered an armful of wood, Alfy carried it to the fireplace and lustily blew upon the embers till a little blaze started. Then she heaped the sticks upon this and presently had a roaring flame. At once the room grew cheerful, its bareness furnished, as it were, by this open fire.

“Now, dear Lady Gray, please come right inside. You’ll get your death out here in this night air, with not even your cloak on. Come, Helena, you both come in,” said Alfaretta, appearing on the porch.

But her first words had started the mother’s tears.

“Lady Gray.” That had been her son’s pet name for her, its use still more frequent than “Mother,” and with a little cry she murmured:

“Ah! my boy! Shall I ever hear you say that again!”

“I don’t see why not,” said practical Alfaretta, nodding to Helena to help persuade the woman to take a needed rest. “You heard that landlady tellin’ how ’t they’d all be home to breakfast. Well, then, she knows. She’s lived here a power o’ time and we’ve only just come. Say, Helena, let’s make a pot of coffee and set the table. I can do it right on them coals, after the fire burns down a mite. If I can’t there, ’twon’t be the first cook stove I’ve tackled in my life, and I know one thing if I don’t any more: that is, when those searchers and Dolly an’ Jim do come they’ll be so tearing hungry they could nigh eat ten-penny nails. Come on. Let’s get supper for ’em. You boss the job, Mrs. Ford, and then it’ll be done right. I saw a lot of chickens in a back room, as I come through, all fixed to fry. Well now, you both know I can fry chicken to the queen’s taste, and I’ll just lay myself out this time!”

Her energy and cheerfulness were not to be resisted. Mrs. Ford followed the two girls inside and with a little shiver, from her exposure outside, drew a chair to the hearth and bent to its warmth. Then, as if she had been in her own home, Alfaretta whisked about, dragging small tables from the dining room into this larger one, ordering Helena to do this and that, and all with a haste that was almost as cheering as the fire.

“Now, Helena, here’s the dish-closet. You set the table. My! Ain’t these the heaviest plates and cups you ever saw? Ma Babcock’d admire to get some like ’em; our children break such a lot of things. But Mis’ Calvert wouldn’t think she could drink tea out of such. She wants her ’n to be thin as thin! and she’s got one set, ’t belonged to her grandmother – great-grandma, I guess it was – come over from England or somewhere – that she won’t let no hands except her own touch to wash. I wish you could see Aunt Betty wash dishes! ’Twould set you laughing, fit to split, first off. It did me till I begun to see the other side of it, seems if. First, she must have a little porcelain tub, like a baby’s wash-tub, sort of – then a tiny mop, doll’s mop, I called it, and towels – Why, her best table napkins aren’t finer than them towels be. And dainty! My heart! ’Tis the prettiest picture in the world when that ’ristocratic old lady washes her heirloom-china! But this – your hands’d get tired enough if you had to do much of this. Hurry up! Don’t you know how to set a table yet, great girl like you? Well, do the best you can. I’m going into that kitchen to cook. I can’t wait for this fire to get low. I surely can’t, because, you see, they might be here any minute – any single minute – and nothing done yet, not even the table set. Mrs. Ford, you better cut the bread. Here’s a lot of it in a tin box, and a knife with it, sharp enough to cut a feller’s head off. You best not touch it, Helena, you’re so sort of clumsy with things. Now I’m off to boil ’tatoes and fry chicken!”

It was impossible to retain gloomy forebodings while Alfy’s cheerful tongue was running on at this rate, and as she left the living-room for the kitchen at the rear both Lady Gray and Helena were laughing, partly at their own awkwardness at the tasks assigned them as well as at her glib remarks.

“I never set a table in my life!” cried Helena, in glee.

“And I never sliced a loaf of bread!” said Gray Lady; “though I’ll admit it is time I learned. Indeed, I’ve never had a home, you know, and I’m looking forward to my housekeeping as eagerly as a child to her playhouse.”

“I’m wondering what the landlady will say, when she finds how we’ve invaded her pantry,” continued Helena, carefully arranging the coarse stone-china upon the oilcloth covered tables. She had begun very reluctantly but found that the labor was a delightful relief from worry, and, with the good sense she possessed, now went on with it as painstakingly as if she expected a fashionable and critical company. Indeed, her first table-setting, copied, as near as she could remember, from the careful appointments of her own mother’s board, was to be an object lesson to others besides herself.

For presently there was the sound of voices in the kitchen; Alfaretta’s, of course, with another equally gay and girlish.