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"Who are you, and what do you know about this ring?" asked Jack.He
had been left all alone with the old man, the cowboy who had summoned
him, and Mr. Kent, having left the room. "I am Peter Lantry," the wounded man replied. "Until a month ago I
lived with a man named Roberts, though his real name was Robert
Ranger. He took his first name for his last one because of some
scheming men. But that you know as well as I do.He told me all about
his son, and how, if he or I ever saw him he could be identified by a
peculiar ring, which he described. As soon as I saw the ring I knew
you must be the boy, and I have a message for you." "What is it?Tell me quickly," said Jack. "If I was only sure," murmured the old man. "Roberts warned me to be
careful about what I said. If I was only sure. I thought I was,--but
now I remember--he told me to be careful." "Careful about what?" asked Jack. "How do I know you are Robert Ranger's son?" asked the sufferer. "I
remember now, he said a stranger might get the ring. I wish I had
kept still," and he seemed quite worried. A flush came into his pale
cheeks, and it seemed as if he was in a fever. "If you doubt me, I can easily prove that I am Robert Ranger's son,"
spoke Jack. "You probably know the story of Orion Tevis, and the
Indian, Smith. His son is here now, and he has a ring just like this. Wait, I will call him." "No! No! Don't! "exclaimed Mr. Lantry. "I must tell you alone. Come
closer. I am weak, and I must whisper to you what I have to say. No
one else must hear. "Jack sat down in a chair beside the bed, and the old man, looking
carefully around the room, as though he feared some one would hear
his secret, began:
"Your father and I have lived for the past three years in a little
hut, hidden in the Golden Glow mountains.He never ventured far away,
and what few trips to town were necessary I made. Some time ago your
father became sick. I am a rough sort of doctor, and I knew he needed
some remedies for the heart.I managed to get them, and Roberts (I
always call him by that name) grew better. But about a month ago the
medicine got low, and I knew I must get more. You see, I only made
two trips to civilization a year, one in the spring and one in the
fall.In winter it is impossible to get out of the gorge where we
live. "I knew then I must start on my summer trip earlier than usual, for
the medicine in the shack would only last about two months. So I made
ready to go. ""But tell me how to get to where my father is," interrupted Jack. "That is important. I must hurry to him." "Wait a minute," spoke the old man.His brain was feeble and Jack
realized if he hurried or confused the sufferer he might get no
information at all. "I started away from the shack, as I said," Mr. Lantry resumed. "I
rode my horse when I was able and led him when it was too rough.I
had not traveled many miles before I realized that I was being
followed. I caught several glimpses of two men, who kept close on my
trail, and, try as I did, I could not shake them off." "Were they members of the timber gang?" asked Jack eagerly. "They were," replied Mr. Lantry. "I will be brief now, as I am
getting weak. I hurried on, but the men kept after me. They closed in
on me in a lonely place about fifteen miles from here, I judge." "What did they want?" asked Jack. "They demanded that I lead them to where your father was. They knew
they could never find the place without a guide, for, doubtless, they
had often attempted it. We had the shack well hidden, your father and
I.Of course I refused to show them the way. And they threatened to
torture me, but I only laughed. Then in sudden anger one of the men
fired at me. The bullet went wild as his companion knocked his arm
down in time, but it struck me in the foot.Then the men rode away. "I managed to keep on my horse until I fell off from weakness. Then
my animal wandered away and I had to crawl. I got as far as the rock
and was waiting there, hoping some one would come along, when you
found me. ""How long is it since you left my father?" asked Jack. "It is a little over three weeks." "And perhaps he is in want and suffering now," the boy cried. "I must
hurry to him.Tell me which way to go," and Jack sprang up, as though
to start at once in the dead of night. "You must ride until--until you--until you see--you see-"
The old man's voice had been growing weaker and weaker.The last
words came from him in a hoarse whisper, and, with a feeble moan he
fell back on the pillow, with closed eyes. "He's dead! Help! Help!" exclaimed Jack. Mr. Kent and several cowboys came running into the room.Mr. Kent
placed his hand over the sufferer's heart. "He is alive, but that's all," he said. "Jim, ride for the doctor." "He never told me how to find my father," said Jack in a low voice. "Oh, if he would only live until he can tell me that!I must go to
him! He may be sick or dead, all alone in his cabin!" "Now don't you go to fretting, son," said Mr. Kent kindly. "You just
come away from here and go to bed. You're all tired out and worried. This thing will all come out right.The old man may not be so bad off
as he seems. We'll get a doctor for him, and he'll fix him up so he
can tell you where your father is. If he doesn't I'll send the boys
out, and they'll go over all the mountain ranges hereabouts.They can
find a maverick in the wildest country you ever saw, and it would be
a pity if they couldn't locate a cabin, with all you know about where
it is." Jack felt encouraged at this, and said he would go to bed and try to
sleep.His companions had retired, as he learned when he got back to
the sitting room. "I'll give you a room on the quiet side of the house," said Mr. Kent. "You can change after to-night if you like. "He rang a bell, summoning the Chinese cook, who it appeared "was
housekeeper and general upstairs girl as well," and gave orders that
a certain room should be made ready for Jack. "That loom, him sleep by Cactus Ike," said the Chinese. "Never mind whether Cactus Ike is going to sleep there or not," said
Mr, Kent sharply. "You tell Ike he can bunk in with the rest of the
boys. He's no better than they are." "Me sabe," replied the Celestial.Jack was too tired to pay much attention to this conversation. Nor
did he attach any significance to a talk he heard under his windows a
little later. "What's the matter with Ike?" he dimly heard some one ask. "Mad 'cause he got turned out of his room for one of them tenderfoot
kids," was the answer. "I wouldn't want to get Ike down on me." "Aw, he's a big bluff." "He is, eh? Well, you wait. "But, in spite of his troubles and worriment over his father, Jack was
soon asleep from sheer weariness, and when morning came he forgot
there was such a person as Cactus Ike. A doctor arrived from Fillmore about breakfast time and examined Mr.
Lantry.He said the old man was very sick, and would be for some
time. He was out of his head, from fever, and might be so for three
weeks. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
With careful nursing he would recover, said the medical man,
and he left some remedies. "We'll see that he gets well," spoke Mr. Kent. "I'll have the cook
look after him, for I guess it will be hard to get a nurse out here." "If he only recovers his reason, so he can tell me what I want to
know," Jack murmured. "Oh, he will," said Nat's uncle, confidently. "In the meanwhile you
will have to be patient. Your father is in no danger now, for his
partner did not count on getting back in over a month, and there was
medicine enough in the cabin to last until then.Otherwise there is
nothing to fear. You tell me the land stealers can't find the shack,
so what else is there to worry about?" "Nothing, I suppose," replied Jack, but, somehow, he couldn't help
worrying. "Cheer up," said Mr. Kent. "We'll get your father for you. In the
meantime while we are waiting for the old man to get well you must
learn ranch life, and get good and strong, so that if you do have to
take part in a hunt for him you will be able to stand roughing it. "Jack thought this was good advice, as did his chums. They raced out
of the house after breakfast, determined to see all there was to see. But this, they found, would take a long time. Mr. Kent's ranch took in about a thousand acres.Some of it was on
the first plateau, and part among the hills, where the cattle grazed.Besides the house, there were stables for the horses, kennels for the
dogs, a cook house, a dining shack, the sides of which could be
thrown open in the summer, barns for hay and grain, and a big tall
windmill that pumped water. "Can we have regular horses while we're here?" asked Nat of his
uncle, as he and his chums started for the stable yard. "Sure," replied Mr. Kent "You just go over there and tell Rattlesnake
Jim I said he was to fit you out with a horse and saddle each. He
knows which will be the best for you, better than I do. I don't have
time to keep track of the animals.I'm going to be busy all the
morning, so you can do as you please, within reason. Don't stampede
the cattle, that's all," and he turned away with a laugh. The boys looked around the stable enclosure for their friend Jim, but
he was not to be seen. "Lookin' for any one?" inquired a tall cowboy, who appeared from
under the shed. He had small, black shifty eyes, and when he spoke he
looked anywhere but at one. "Where's Mr.--er--Mr. Rattlesnake Jim?" asked Nat.He was not exactly
sure how to address, or speak of the cowboys with their queer titles. "Jim? Oh, he's gone over on the Spring range. Was you wantin'
anything?" "Only some horses," said Nat. "Oh, you're the boys," spoke the man. "Did Mr. Kent say you are to
have 'em?" "Uncle Morris said Jim would give us horses to ride," Nat went on. "Well, I guess I can pick 'em out for you," the man said. "One of you
boys named Ranger? ""I am," said Jack,
"Oh, yes, you're a friend of the old man who was shot," went on the
cowboy as he entered the stable. "Well, I'll pick out horses I
think'll suit. "He disappeared into the regions of the stalls, and soon came out,
leading a fine black horse. He threw a saddle over its back. The
animal seemed a bit restive. "Here's your horse, Ranger," the cowboy called. "Is he safe?" asked Jack. "I'm not a very good rider." "A girl could manage him," was the answer. "See, he's as gentle as a
lamb," and so it seemed for the man opened the animal's mouth and put
his hand in. Thus encouraged, Jack mounted, and the horse moved off at a slow
pace. "I guess he's all right," Jack thought
In a few more minutes two more horses were saddled, and Nat and John
had mounted. "Now for a good gallop over the plain," called Nat, as he led the way
from the stable yard. Jack was the last to ride forth.As he was passing the gate that
closed the corral he heard some one call to the man who had just
saddled the steeds:
"Who'd you give the black horse to, Ike?" "None of your business," was the reply. "I'm running this game." "Ike," thought Jack. "I wonder where I heard that name before." Then
the memory of the conversation under his window came to him. "Oh,
well, guess it's all right to have this horse," the boy thought. "I
can't harm him. "As the cowboy turned back into the stable a grim smile passed over
his face. "Good gallop!" he muttered. "Lucky if you don't break your neck." "Come on! I'll race you!" called Nat, and the three boys were soon
speeding over the level plain.CHAPTER XXVI
JACK'S WILD RIDE
The boys thought they had never been on such fine horses. The animals
had an easy gallop that carried one over the ground at a rapid pace,
yet which was not hard for a beginner. "Talk about your sport!" exclaimed Jack. "This is glorious; eh,
John?" "Best thing I ever struck," replied the Indian. "I feel like my wild
ancestors, riding forth to battle. Whoop! la Whoopee! Whoop ah
Whoope! Wow! Wow!! Wow! "It was a regular Indian war-cry that issued from John's mouth, and,
leaning forward on his horse's neck, he urged the beast to a terrific
pace.No sooner had the strange cry vibrated through the air than Jack's
horse gave a bound that nearly unseated its rider. It leaped forward
so suddenly that Jack was almost flung off backward.Then the steed,
taking the bit in its teeth, bolted like the wind. Jack recovered
himself with much difficulty. He tried to sit upright, but found he
had not skill enough for the task.There was nothing for it but to
lean forward and clasp the horse about the neck. In this way he was
safe, for a time, from being tossed off. The horse turned from its straight course and began to gallop around
in a large circle.Then it made sudden dashes to the right and left,
turning so quickly that several times Jack was nearly thrown off. "The horse is mad!" cried Nat, urging his own steed forward, with an
idea of trying to catch the one Jack rode.The animal's next move seemed to bear this out. It reared on its hind
legs and pawed the air with its powerful fore-feet. Jack would have
been thrown off, but for the tight neck-hold he had.Next the beast
kicked its hind feet into the air, and Jack came near sliding to the
neck. "Drop off!" cried Nat. "Stay on!" shouted John, who, seeing his friend's plight, had turned
and was riding back. "He'll be killed if he stays on," shouted Nat. "Yes, and he'll be trampled to death if he leaps off," called back
John. "He's a balky horse, I guess." "I think he's a mad one. "The next instant the animal, that had been rushing straight ahead,
came to such an abrupt halt that Jack was actually flung from the
saddle. He went right up into the air and slid along the horse's
side.Only the grip he had of the neck and the mane saved him from
falling. Before the horse could make another start the boy had
wiggled back to his seat. Then came what was probably the hardest part of it all.The horse
gathered its four feet under it and rose straight up in the air,
coming down with legs stiff as sticks. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
Jack was not prepared for this
and the resulting jar nearly knocked the breath from him. "He's a bucking bronco!" cried John. "Rise in your stirrups when he
lands next time." This Jack did, with the result that the jar came on his legs, and was
not so bad. Finding it could not thus rid itself of it's persistent rider, the
horse began to run straight ahead again.It went so fast that the
wind whistled in Jack's ears, and he was in fear lest he be thrown
off at this terrific speed, and injured. He held on for dear life. But the horse had still another trick.Stopping again with a
suddenness that nearly unseated Jack, it dropped to the ground and
started to roll over, hoping to crush the boy on its back. "Get out of the way, quick!" called John, who was watching every
move.Jack did so, just in time to escape having his leg broken. "The horse must be crazy," said Nat, who had never seen such antics
in a steed before. "There's some reason for it," commented John. "There he goes! "The horse was up an instant later, and dashed off, but had not gone a
hundred yards before the saddle fell to the ground, the holding
straps having broken. At this the animal stopped, and seemed all over
its excitement. "That's funny," said John.He dismounted from his horse and ran
toward Jack's animal. The horse allowed himself to be taken by the
briddle and lead, showing no sign of fear. John bent over and was
examining the saddle. "I guess your yell must have scared him," spoke Jack. "It was the
worst I ever heard." "It wasn't that," replied John. "Western horses are used to all sorts
of yells. Ah, I thought so," he went on, "this explains it." He pulled something from the underside of the pad and held it up to
view.It was a long cactus thorn. "That was what bothered the horse," John said. "It must have been
torture to have any one on the saddle. See there," and he pointed to
several drops of blood on the animal's back. "Why didn't it act so as soon as I got on? "asked Jack. "Some one has played a trick," said John "See, the thorn was trapped
in cloth, so the point would not work through until the horse had
been ridden some distance. I wonder who did it, and what for? ""I know," Jack exclaimed, as the memory of the talk under his window
the night previous came to him. "It was Cactus Ike," and he told what
he had heard. "He wanted to get even with me for having been the
cause of his being turned out of his room.No wonder they call him
Cactus Ike." "I'll tell uncle Morris," cried Nat. "No, say nothing about it," counseled John. "We'll get square in our
own way. Pretend nothing happened.If Ike asks us how we liked the
ride, we'll never let on we had any trouble. It will keep him
guessing." The broken straps were repaired and, by making a pad of his
handkerchief Jack was able to adjust the saddle without causing the
horse any pain.The animal seemed quite friendly, after all the
excitement, which was only caused by its efforts to get rid of the
terrible thorn that was driving it frantic.In its roll it had
accomplished this, and had no further objection to carrying a boy on
its back. Cactus Ike cast several inquiring glances at the lads as they rode
into the ranch yard about an hour later. But he did not ask any
questions.As the chums were going toward the house Jack heard one of
the cowboys remark to Ike:
"The black horse looks as if it had been ridden pretty hard. ""I'll make him ride harder next time," muttered Ike, but whether he
referred to the horse or to himself, Jack was not sure. He watched
and saw Ike looking at the sore on the animal, over which the boy's
handkerchief was still spread.Jack's first inquiry was as to the
condition of Old Peter Lantry. "He's no better," replied Mr. Kent "You'll have to be patient, Jack. All things come to him who waits. Did you have a good ride? ""I got lots of practice," replied Jack, not caring to go into
details. "Can't get too much of it," replied Nat's uncle. "You can see some
good examples this afternoon." "How's that?" asked Nat. "Some of the boys are going to have a little sport among themselves,"
replied his uncle. "They do every once in a while when the work gets
slack. They're coming in from some of the outlying ranches, about
forty of 'em, I guess." "What'll they do? "asked Jack. "You'll see," replied Mr. Kent. Before dinner time the cowboys began arriving. And in what a hurly-
burly manner did they come!On their fleet horses or cow-ponies they
rode along the trails as if it was in the early days and a tribe of
wild Indians was after them. They came up on the gallop, shouting,
yelling, and firing their big revolvers off into the air.Up they would rush, almost to the porch that surrounded the house. Then they would suddenly pull their horses back on their haunches and
leap off with a whoop, the well-trained beasts standing stock-still
when the bridle was thrown over their heads.Then began such play as the boys had never seen before,--such riding
as is not even seen in the best of the Wild West shows. The men
seemed part of the horses they bestrode, as the animals fairly flew
over the ground. "If we could only do that! "exclaimed Nat. "Maybe we can, with practice," said Jack. "John has learned a lot
already." "But he knew some before he came here," replied Nat.The men had impromptu contests to see who could pick up the most
handkerchiefs from the ground, leaning from their saddles as their
horses galloped past. They picked up potatoes in the same way.They
roped wild steers, dropping the lariat over a designated horn or leg,
and throwing the animal on whichever side the judge suddenly called
on them to do. Then such shooting at marks as there was!The men used their
revolvers with almost the skill of rifles. They cut cards, punctured
cans tossed high in the air, and clipped upright sticks at distances
from which the boys could scarcely make out the marks.It was an afternoon of wild, exciting, blood-stirring and yet
healthy, clean fun, and the boys were so worked up they hardly knew
whether they were standing on their heads or their feet. The last contest of the day had been called.It was a test between
two of the most skillful cowboys, to see who could lasso the other. As they were circling around on their horses, each seeking an
opening, there came dashing up the road a man, on a foam-flecked
steed.He put the horse right at the fence, which it leaped, and rode
to where Mr. Kent stood. "The cattle on the upper range have stampeded!" he yelled. "They're
headed for the canyon!" "Here boys!" shouted Mr. Kent. "Sharp work now! Send my horse here!We must head 'em off!" CHAPTER XXVII
THE CATTLE STAMPEDE
If there had been confusion and excitement before there was more of
it now. Yet no one lost his head.There was a way of going about it,
and though it seemed as if everyone was running here and there,
without an object, there was a well-worked-out system evident.The cowboys began looking to their saddle girths, for there was hard
riding ahead of them. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
Some ran to the supply house for extra
cartridges, and these were hurriedly thrust into belts or pockets.Coats and hats that had been discarded were donned, and several men
began packing up some bacon and hardtack, while others strapped
simple camp outfits back of their saddles, for there was no telling
how long they would be obliged to be on the trail. "Come on! Let's go!" cried Jack, and he and his two chums raced for
the stables. "Will they let us, do you think?" asked John, whose eyes sparkled at
the thought of the chase. "Of course," replied Nat. "Uncle said he wanted us to learn the ranch
business. I'll ask him." But Nat did not get a chance. Mr. Kent was too busy preparing to ride
after his stampeded cattle to pay any attention to the three boys. It
is doubtful if he thought of them.So the chums, without further permission than Nat's idea that it
would be all right, saddled their horses, Jack taking the black which
he had come to like very much.They rode from the corral and out on
the road that led to the north where the upper range lay. The lads at
once found themselves in the rear of a galloping throng of cowboys. "Come on, let's get up ahead," shouted Nat, and they urged their
horses forward, passing the others. When they were almost in the van
a voice hailed them:
"Where you boys going?" They turned, to see Mr. Kent riding toward them. "Oh," said Nat, a little confused. "We thought you'd want us to go to
learn how to manage a herd of cattle." "Manage stampeding cattle," muttered Mr. Kent. "You boys must be
crazy. But it's too late to send you back, I suppose.Only don't ride
your horses to death the first thing. You've got lots of work ahead
of you." With this encouragement the chums dropped back, listening to the talk
of the cowboys about what was ahead of them. "Remember the last stampede," one tall lanky rider asked his
neighbor, who was nearly the same build. "The one where Loony Pete was trampled to death?" "That's the one. The steers sure made mincemeat of him all right.Hope no one gets down under foot this trip." The boys looked at each other. This was a more dangerous undertaking
than they had anticipated. The riders advanced at an even, if not rapid pace.The cowboys as
their horses ambled on were loading revolvers, looking to their
lariats, tightening the packs which they carried on the back of their
saddles, and making ready for the hard task ahead of them.From listening to the talk, the boys learned that the upper range was
about five miles distant, and was where the choicest cattle were
herded, preparatory to being shipped away.The range was a big one,
but, about ten miles from it, was a deep and dangerous canyon, at the
beginning of the hills, which as they grew larger became the range of
Golden Glow mountains.It was toward this canyon that the steers were
headed, in a wild, unreasoning rush. It seemed impossible for the cowboys to get ahead of them in time to
head them off.But the cattle had a longer way to travel than did the
men, and the latter could take a diagonal course and, if they had
luck, reach the edge of the canyon first.It was planned to get
between the oncoming herd and the edge of the gulch, and turn the
steers back, if possible. "Better hit up the pace!" exclaimed Mr. Kent, when they had ridden
several miles. "We don't want to be too late. "The boys, realized, as did the men, that if the cattle, in their
rush, reached the canyon, they would pile up in the bottom, and
hundreds would be killed.The horses were now galloped and the cavalcade raised quite a dust as
it hastened over the prairie. The men began lossening the revolvers
in their belts, and several unslung their lariats, ready for instant
use.In about half an hour they began to ascend a slight rise that
led to a plateau which extended into the range. Ahead of them, and
about two miles to their right, lay the gulch. "Well, we're here first! "exclaimed Mr. Kent, as he topped the rise
and glanced to the left. "Hark!" cried Rattlesnake Jim, who rode next to him. "I hear 'em!" A noise like distant thunder sounded over the plain.Then, about
three miles away, there arose something that looked like a dark
cloud. The sound of thunder came nearer. The dust cloud was plainly to be
seen. Right ahead, so as to cross it on the slant, rode the group of
men. The boys were in the rear.Mr. Kent gave a glance back and saw
them. He shouted something but the chums could not hear him amid the
pounding of hoofs. They saw the ranchman make signals, but did not
understand them.Then they saw several men from the front rank of the cowboys circle
around and come up behind them. "You young rascals!" exclaimed Rattlesnake Jim. "You ought to be
spanked for coming along! Mr. Kent says to keep in the middle now.We're going to ride behind and keep your horses on the go. If they
lag behind you're liable to be killed!" Things began to look serious now.The lads found themselves in the
midst of a throng of cowboys, and the horses of the chums, being
surrounded by steeds ridden by experienced cattlemen, picked up their
pace and went forward on the rush. Closer and closer approached the dark cloud.Nearer and nearer
sounded the thunderous pounding of hoofs.Then, as the boys looked,
they could see through the dust that was blown aside by a puff of
wind, thousands of cattle, with heads on which flashed long, sharp,
wide-spreading horns, rushing madly along. "Wow! Wow! Wow!" yelled a score of cowboys.Bang! Bang! Bang! spoke a score of big revolvers. "Right across now!" yelled Mr. Kent. "Try and turn 'em! If we don't
do it, then back again, once more!" Then began such a ride as the boys had never dreamed of.Across the
ragged front of the maddened animals the men urged their horses on a
long slant. Lying low in their saddles, holding on with one hand, and
firing revolvers with the other, the cowboys rode, there being no
need to guide the trained horses.Bang! Bang! Bang! It was like a skirmish line firing on the enemy. The boys, who had secured revolvers as they rushed to the stables,
fired as the men did, right in the faces of the advancing steers.The
cartridges were blank, but so close were some of the men that the
burning wadding struck the cattle. Could they stop the rush? Could the maddened and frightened steers be
halted before they plunged over the cliffs?The line of cattle was about a quarter of a mile wide. In less than
two minutes the cowboys, with the three chums in their midst, had
swept across it. But the steers had not stopped.They were several
hundred feet nearer the canyon, which now was but a mile away. There
would be time for but one, or possibly two more attempts, and then it
would be too late. But the cowboys never halted.Wheeling sharply, they dashed once more
across the front of the steers. Their yells were wilder than ever,
and the shooting was a continuous rattle. "Rope some on the edges!" | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
yelled Mr. Kent.At that some of the cowboys rode back and, whirling their lariats
above their heads, sent the coils about the horns of some on the left
fringe. The animals went down in a heap, right in the midst and under
the hoofs of the others.Of course they were trampled to death, but
this was the means of causing a number to stumble and fall, and so
halt those back of them. This could only be done on the two outer edges.To have attempted
this in the center of the stampeding herd would have meant death for
the cowboy who tried it. The second dash across the front had been made, and the frightened
cattle had not been more than momentarily stopped.They were still
rushing toward the cliff. "Once more!" called Mr. Kent. "This is our last chance! "The canyon was hut a quarter of a mile away, If the rush was not
stopped now, it meant the death of many valuable animals, and the
possible scattering of the herd. Again across the front, bristling with waving horns, rode the brave
men.Their revolvers spat out fire and the smoke almost obscured the
oncoming steers. The men yelled until their throats were parched. "Make a stand! Make a stand!" yelled Mr. Kent.The cowboys bunched together, riding their horses in a circle, the
center of which was the boys. For a moment it seemed as if death was
coming to meet them on the wings of the wind. CHAPTER XXVIII
HUNTING MOUNTAIN LIONS
"Wow! Wow! Wow! "yelled the cowboys, in desperation. To the noise John added his Indian warwhoop, and again the men began
firing revolvers, which had been rapidly reloaded. It was a critical
moment. It was the turning point of the stampede.Back, back, back
the rushing cattle forced the men, who still kept circling. Now the
canyon was but two hundred feet away. And then, almost as suddenly as it had been started, the stampede was
over. The foremost cattle slowed up.They raised their heads, and
bellowed. For a few seconds the front line was pushed ahead by those
behind. Then all through the herd seemed to go a message that the run
was over.Plowing the dirt up with their feet, as they vainly tried to stop,
but could not because of the push that still was exerted behind them,
the foremost cattle advanced nearly to the knot of horsemen.But the
cowboys did not budge, knowing it was ended now. Then, with loud
shouts and waving hats they turned the herd so that it circled around
and was started back toward the range.So close were the rear men to the canyon, when this had been done
that they could have tossed a stone down into the depths. "Narrow squeak, that!" observed Rattlesnake Jim, as he wiped the
sweat from his forehead with a big red handkerchief. "'Bout as close
as I want 'em," observed Mr. Kent. "I wonder what started 'em off
this way." "Maybe it was mountain lions," said Jim. "I heard there was quite a
few around lately, looking for nice juicy young calves. ""It wasn't lions that started 'em this time," said the man who had
brought word of the stampede, and who had ridden with the others from
the ranch. "What was it then?" asked Mr. Kent. "It was done by two men, so some of the boys told me, just before I
started out," replied the messenger. "They said they saw a couple of
strangers hanging about the range the other night, but didn't think
anything of it.We were all in the range house this morning, getting
breakfast, when, all of a sudden, the steers started off." "But what made 'em &o?" asked Mr. Kent. "Some of the boys saw these strange men starting a fire close to some
of the cows," explained the messenger. "The grass was dry, and, in
one place it burned quite hard.Some of the steers got scorched
before they knew what was happening, and they went off on the dead
run. The two men trampled out the fire, and ran away. The
boys started after the cattle, and sent me on to tell you. ""This will have to be looked into," murmured Mr. Kent. "But now let's
get the cattle back on the range. "It was nearly dusk when this had been accomplished, and it was a
tired and weary throng of men and boys that started for the ranch
house in the gathering twilight.The horses could only amble along,
for the strain had been hard on them as well as on the men. The next few days the boys spent in going about the ranch, close to
the house.They were much in company with Rattlesnake Jim, who took
pleasure in telling them things all good cowboys should know.He
showed them how to make a lariat, and even instructed them a bit in
its use, though John needed but few lessons to become almost as
expert as his teacher.Jim told them the best way to camp out on the
plains at night, how to make their fires, and warned them to be
careful not to set the grass ablaze in dry weather.He also showed
them how to tether their horses, the best way of adjusting a saddle,
and instructed them in the art of finding their way at night by the
stars.In short the boys learned more in a few days from Jim than they could
have picked up alone in a month. They were so enthusiastic that they
would have sat up all night listening to their new teacher.As for riding, the lads improved very much as Jim showed them how to
mount, how to sit, how to guide the horse by the mere pressure of the
knees, and other tricks of which a "tenderfoot" never dreams.After supper, one evening, when the boys, Mr. Kent and Rattlesnake
Jim were in the sitting room, a common resting place for all on the
ranch, Jack asked:
"Are there really mountain lions around here? ""There used to be," said Mr. Kent, "but I haven't seen any lately." "I heard some of the boys from the upper range say they heard 'em, a
few nights ago," spoke Jim. "That ought to be looked into," said Mr. Kent. "They're nasty
customers to get among a herd." "Can't we go hunting 'em?" asked Nat. "What do you know about hunting mountain lions?" asked his uncle. "They'd eat you up." "Not if we took Jim along," put in Jack. "I shot a lynx once," said John. "That's nothing like a mountain lion," Mr. Kent remarked. "Can't we go?" pleaded Nat. "I'll see about it," his uncle answered. He did see about it, with such good effect that, a few days later he
called the boys in and showed them three fine rifles. "Can you shoot?" he asked. "A little," they replied, wondering what was coming. "Then take these and see if you and Jim can bag a few lions," Mr,
Kent went on. "I hear they got a couple of calves last night.Now--
now--never mind thanking me," as the boys fairly stuttered their
expressions of surprise and happiness. "Better see Jim and get
ready." The boys lost no time in doing this. They found Jim almost as pleased
as they were.The cowboy at once began preparing a camping outfit,
and that night he announced they would start in the morning. "For how long?" asked Mr. Kent. "We'll make it four days, if the boys can stand it," Jim replied.The haunt of the lions was in a range of low foothills to the north
of the range from which the herd had stampeded. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
It was planned to
ride to the house where the cowboys in charge of that bunch of cattle
lived, and there leave the horses.They would proceed on foot up into
the hills, where the trails were so rough that horses were of little
use.They camped that night at the ranch house, and the boys hardly wanted
to go to bed when Jim and some of his acquaintances began to swap
stories around the fire. "Better turn in," advised Jim, about ten o'clock. "Have to be up
before sunrise, you know." The next morning they tramped for several miles, the country getting
wilder and wilder as they proceeded. The trail was up now, for they
had entered the region of the foothills.Beyond them lay the
beginning of the Golden Glow mountain range. "That's where my father is," Jack thought "I hope I can soon find
him." It was almost noon when they reached a spot that Jim decided would be
a good place to camp.It was under a sort of overhanging ledge, and
well screened by trees. "We'll leave our stuff here," he said, "and, after dinner, the real
hunting will begin. "Little time was lost over the meal, and, having seen to their rifles
and knives, the four hunters started along the trail, making their
way through low brush and over big boulders.Jack who had forged
ahead, with Jim close behind him, was suddenly pulled back by the
cowboy's hand,
"Look there!" exclaimed Jim. In a soft place in the ground, just where he was about to set his
foot, Jack saw some peculiar marks. "The tracks of a mountain lion!" Jim exclaimed in a whisper. "He's
been here only a short time ago, for the marks are fresh. Look out,
now, boys!" The three lads needed no other caution.They got ready with their
rifles, while Jim advanced a bit to see in which direction the beast
had gone. "Follow me," he said in a whisper as he came back. "He must be just
ahead of us, and the wind is blowing from him to us. We ought to get
him! "Stepping as cautiously as possible, and taking care not to tread on
loose stones, or sticks, that would break and betray their presence,
the four began stalking the lion.That they were coming closer to the
beast was evidenced by the increasing plainness of the tracks. "He's heading for his den," whispered Jim. "We must get him before he
reaches it or we'll lose him. "There was a sort of path along which the hunters were traveling, and
which seemed to be one regularly used by the lion. It made a sudden
turn, to get past a big boulder that jutted out from the side of the
hill.As Jim and the boys rounded this, they came to an abrupt halt,
and each one gazed with startled eyes at a ledge of rock, just beyond
and ahead of them. There, in full view, with the sun streaming down on him, was an
immense mountain lion.He was facing away from the hunters, and this,
with the fact that the wind was blowing from him to them, had enabled
them to get within a hundred yards. Slowly Jim leveled his rifle. Then he seemed to think of something,
and stopped. "You boys try, all together," he said in such a faint whisper that it
sounded like the breeze. "If you miss I'll bowl him over." CHAPTER XXIX
LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN
Up to that time the boys had been as cool, almost, as Jim himself.But, at the idea that they were to slay the big and fierce creature
standing so majestically before them, they experienced a touch of
what is called "buck fever." Their hands shook so they could not
sight their rifles.Even John, half Indian as he was, showed the
effects of it. "Steady," whispered Jim. "You're only shooting at a mark!" At once the nerves of the boys quieted. Their hands became firm, and,
raising their rifles they all took careful aim at the lion.Jim was
watching them. "Fire!" he suddenly exclaimed in a whisper, and the three rifles
sounded as one. Following the report, and mingling with it, came a scream so shrill
and full of terror that the boys could not help jumping.Through the
smoke they could see a big, tawny, yellow body leap high into the
air, and then, falling back, begin to claw the earth and stones,
while the screams continued to ring out. "You nailed her!" cried Jim.Hardly had he spoken before there was a rattling sound behind them. All four turned, to see, crouching, not twenty feet away, a big, male
mountain lion, ready to spring.It was the mate of the female the
boys had just mortally wounded, and the big beast's eyes flashed fire
as it saw the death struggles of its den-mate. For a moment the hunters stood as if paralyzed.The sight of the lion
in their rear had unnerved them. The male must have been stalking
them, just as they had followed the other. As they watched, a sudden
tremor seemed to run through the big brute's body. "He's going to spring! "said Jim, in a low voice. At the same moment
he brought his gun up, ready to fire. An instant later the lion launched itself forward, propelled by
muscles like steel springs, straight at the group, anger blazing in
its eyes. Bang!spoke Jim's rifle, and the big cat seemed to turn completely
over in the air. But the momentum of the spring was not checked by the bullet which
had struck it in the throat. On it came, and Jim yelled:
"Duck boys! "He had no time to do so himself, so, before he could throw himself to
one side, the lion was upon him and the cowboy went down in a heap,
the beast, snarling and growling, on top of him.There was a
confusion of man and lion, a vision of flying legs, fast-working
claws and the sight of a yellow body in convulsions. "Fire at the lion!" yelled Jack. "Don't! You might shoot Jim!" exclaimed Nat. "Get your knives out! "cried John, drawing his own blade. But they were not needed. A moment later the big cat rolled over off
Jim, and, in a few seconds the cowboy rose from the ground, covered
with dirt and blood, but, apparently unhurt. "Did he bite you? "asked Jack,
"He was dead when he landed on me," said Jim. "It was only the dying
struggle. Might have clawed me up a bit, but not much. "In fact the cowboy had several long and deep scratches on his hands
and legs, where his heavy trousers had been cut through by the
terrible claws. Aside from that he was not hurt. "Good thing I had a load in my gun," he remarked, as he threw out the
empty shell and fired a bullet through the head of the lion to make
sure it was dead. "I guess the other one's done for," said Jack, as he looked toward
where the lioness had stood. "I'd hope so, with three of you firin' at her," spoke Jim as he went
over to a little spring and washed some of the dirt and blood from
him. "This isn't half bad," spoke Nat. "I wish some of the fellows at
Washington Hall could see us now. ""Maybe they would think we were some pumpkins," put in Jack. "Oh we'll do better than this," said John. "We want to get one
apiece, instead of a third each." "That's so," admitted Jack and Nat.It was decided they had enjoyed sport enough for one day, so they
went back to their little camp and prepared to spend the night. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
In
the morning they journeyed to the small ranch house and some of the
cowboys went for the dead lions and skinned them.The boys were a
little anxious as to who would have the trophies, but there was no
need of this, as, in the next two days three more of the lions were
slain.Jack and John each bowled over one, not so very large, to be
sure, but enough to make the lads feel several inches taller. Nat had
poor luck, missing two fine chances. However, he was not discouraged.The boys were congratulated on all sides when they got back to Mr.
Kent's house, even the oldest plainsman admitting they had not done
so bad for tenderfeet.Aside from long rides, in which they learned to be more proficient on
horses, the boys did little for the week following the hunt.Jack
made anxious inquiries every day after the condition of Peter Lantry,
hoping the aged man might have regained his senses enough to give
directions for finding Mr. Ranger's cabin.But the fever still held
the old miner (for such his delirious talk showed him to have been) a
captive, and locked his brain in an impenetrable mantle. "It's hard to sit around and do nothing, when you know your father
may need you," Jack said, one day. "I'm going to ask Mr. Kent if I
can't go myself, alone, and find the cabin. I believe I could, from
Mr. Tevis's directions. ""What do you want to go alone for?" asked Nat. "Why can't John and I
go along?" "I didn't want to take you on a dangerous trip," Jack replied. "Well, I guess you'd find it hard to leave us behind," John put in. "Come on, let's ask if we can't go. "At first Mr. Kent would not hear of it.But the boys pleaded so hard,
and Jack seemed to feel so badly at the delay, that Mr. Kent gave in,
He admitted there was no telling when Mr. Lantry would recover enough
to give directions, and it would certainly be a very long time before
he would be able to guide a party to the scene.So it was arranged that the three boys were to make the hundred mile
trip to Golden Glow. It was not as venturesome as it sounded. They
had come west in safety, and gone through a number of perils with
credit to themselves.Then, too, it was in summer, and camping in the
open was fun, more than anything else. It was true the trail was a
hard one, but, by going a roundabout way, horses could be used for
the greater distance.Mr. Kent wanted to send Rattlesnake Jim with
the boys, but they would not hear of it. "I guess we can look out for ourselves," said Jack. "If we can't,
it's time we learned." Three days later saw them on the trail.They had sturdy horses, used
to mountain roads, a camping outfit and provisions that would last
them two weeks, with plenty of ammunition, and each one carried a
fine rifle.They rode along for four days, camping at night in such sheltered
places as they could find. The morning of the fifth day they awoke to
find the mountain shrouded in fog. "That shan't delay us," exclaimed Jack, though it was hard to see a
rod ahead of the horse's nose. "We have a compass and we can follow
the general direction Mr. Tevis gave us." So they traveled on after breakfast, though it was dreary riding.They plodded on for mile after mile in silence. All at once Jack, who
was ahead exclaimed:
"Doesn't that tree look familiar?" He pointed to one that had been struck by lightning, and which had a
peculiar spiral white mark running down the trunk.It was close to
the edge of the trail. "It sure does," admitted John. "I remember passing that before," Nat said. "What of it?" "It means that we have wandered around in a circle," Jack answered. "We are lost on the mountains! "CHAPTER XXX
A VIEW OF GOLDEN GLOW
For a moment Jack's words struck a chill to the hearts of his
companions. The fog seemed to wrap around them like an impenetrable
blanket, from which they sought in vain to escape.A little breeze
stirred the wreaths of vapor, but did not disperse them. "Lost!" repeated Nat, as if he could not believe it. "I guess you're right," admitted John. "Now wait a minute. Where's
the compass? ""Here," spoke Jack, feeling in his pocket for it. A blank look came
over his face. He hurriedly looked through several pockets. "I've
lost it!" he exclaimed. "Well, never mind," John went on calmly.He seemed to rise to the
emergency, and become collected in the face of the danger that
confronted them. "I guess I haven't got Indian blood in me for
nothing. I can tell which way is north, anyhow." "You can?" asked Nat. "How, in all this fog? ""There's more moss on the north side of a tree than on any other,"
John replied. "We were going in a northerly direction so, all we have
to do is to keep on, stopping once in a while to see how the moss
is. "It sounded like good advice, and Nat and Jack felt better after
hearing it. They started off again, more hopeful, and went slowly for
a while, stopping now and then, to see about the moss, or "nature's
compass," as Jack called it.They must have traveled a number of miles, when they decided it was
time to camp and eat something. They looked around for some dry wood
for a fire, seeking for it under overhanging rocks as Jim had showed
them how to do.They managed to start a blaze, and John was frying
some bacon, incidentally trying to keep the smoke from his eyes, when
Nat, who had gone a short distance off the trail, exclaimed:
"Say fellows; look here!" "See a bear?" asked Jack. "No, but here's our old friend, the queer tree!" he called. "We're
back in the same place." Jack and John ran to where Nat stood. There was the lightning-scarred
trunk. Once more they had traveled in a circle. They had not read the
moss signs aright.It was such a shock that, for a few moments, the boys did not know
what to say. They had been so sure they were journeying in the right
direction, that, to find they had merely gone back on their own
trail, was more than discouraging. "Thought you said you knew how to read signs, and where north was,"
spoke Jack, looking at John. "Well, I thought I did," the Indian replied. "I'm sure I am right,
only I think we must have made a mistake in our directions. ""Well, we're here, and what are we going to do?" asked Nat.About them the fog swirled, lazily moving this way and that, in
response to gentle puffs of wind, but never lifting enough to enable
them to get a glimpse of the sun, to determine where they were, or in
which direction to travel. "Let's eat, anyhow," suggested Jack. "We'll feel better after that." It was no very cheerful meal, and they were three very much worried
boys.They said little while partaking of the bacon, bread and
coffee, the horses cropping the sparse grass near by. But, in a
little while, Jack laughed. "What's the use of feeling blue?" he asked. "We're lost, that's sure
enough, but we're in a civilized country, and we'll get home, or
somewhere, sooner or later. Come on, let's have another try." "Then you can lead the way, I'll not," spoke John a little sharply. "I'm not going to be blamed again." "Oh, come now!" exclaimed Jack. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
"Don't mind what we said. Of course
it wasn't your fault. It would happen to any one! "All that afternoon they traveled, until it was hard work to urge the
horses on, as they were becoming tired. The boys spoke but seldom,
and John seemed more glum than ever. Once or twice Jack tried to joke
with him, but it was a failure.The half Indian lad was exhibiting
some of the traits of his ancestors. Gradually it grew darker, until, with the thick fog, and the
overhanging trees, it was almost like twilight. "How much further?" asked Nat. "I guess we can camp any time you want to," Jack said. "Do you think we are any further along the trail, or have we just
traveled in a bigger circle?" Nat inquired. "Hard to say," replied Jack. "At any rate I don't see our old friend
the queer tree.We must have ascended some for it's been up hill the
last two hours." They found a well sheltered place, underneath a big clump of trees,
that would serve as a canopy for themselves and the horses.The
animals were tethered, after being allowed to feed on a patch of
grass, and then they had supper. After the meal John seemed to be in
better spirits, and took a more cheerful view of things. "I guess the fog will lift by morning," he said.But it did not, and, when the boys arose to prepare breakfast, after
an uncomfortable night, the white curtain was thicker than ever.They traveled all that day, but, whether they made any real progress,
or whether they went back or around in a circle, they could only
surmise. They tried to keep ascending the mountain, and this was the
only means they had of telling which way to go. "If we could only see something," said Nat, "it wouldn't be so
lonesome. A fox, or a rabbit, or even a mountain lion. I don't
believe I'd shoot one, I'd want his company." "I'm sorry I got you fellows into this scrape," Jack put in. "I'd go
back with you, and begin over again, all alone, only I guess it would
be just as bad to go back as it is to go ahead, so we might as well
keep on. ""Well, I reckon you'll not go on alone," said Nat, decidedly, and
John, who had recovered his former good-natured, nodded in assent. As their horses stumbled on, once more the curtain of night began to
descend, hastened by the thick fog.Would it never rise? How long
were they to be hidden under the white vail? Suddenly, as they urged on their tired animals, a spear of light
seemed to pierce the gathering gloom ahead of them.At the sight of
it the horses threw up their heads and put forward their ears. The
spear grew brighter. Then it pierced the mist. All at once a puff of
wind brushed aside the white clinging wreaths of vapor that had so
long enshrouded them.The fog rolled away, and there, in front of
them was the setting sun, in a halo of glory. As it shone the beams
were caught and reflected from a distant peak. "Golden Glow! Golden Glow!" cried Jack. "There is the mountain we
have been searching for!Now to find my father!" CHAPTER XXXI
JACK AND NAT PRISONERS
The three travelers came to a halt on the shelf of a high cliff that
towered above their heads.It was a wide and safe road they had
emerged upon, and it could be seen winding on and up, until it was
lost in the mist which was rapidly being driven forward by the wind. "There is the road to Golden Glow!" exclaimed Jack. "Come on.We are
on the right trail now." "Better go easy," cautioned John. "It's getting night, and we can't
travel far. Here's a good place to camp, and we can start early in
the morning. I guess the fog has lifted to stay. "Though Jack was impatient to press forward, he realized that what
John said was sensible. He stood for awhile looking at the shifting
light as it was reflected from the sun on the top of the lofty peak.He felt that at last he had reached the beginning of the end of his
long search. Would it be successful? Would he find his father? Would
he be in time to see him alive? All this Jack thought, and much more.Then the light faded as Old Sol sunk behind a mass of clouds, the
stern mountains hiding his welcome face,
"Now for supper!" cried Nat, in a more cheerful tone than any of the
boys had used in the last two days. "I'm as hungry as a bear.I wish
I had a nice fresh chicken--"
Bang! It was John's gun that had been fired, and, before Nat could
ask what the matter was he saw a plump bird fall to the ground, as
the result of the Indian lad's quick aim. "I don't know whether it's a chicken or not," John said, "but it
looks good to eat." And so the boys found it, though they did not know what kind of fowl
it was.They fried it with crisp bacon, and with big tin cups of tea,
as a change from coffee, they made a meal that caused them all to
feel better.Jack could hardly start early enough the next morning, but the others
insisted that he take time to eat a good breakfast.They were on the
move again, almost before the sun had begun to tinge the mountain
with the morning glow, arid they found the trail an easy one for
several miles.It dipped down a bit, after one high shoulder of the range was
passed, and then began a straight assent up to where they could see
the peak they knew must be the Golden Glow, though it did not shine
then.They camped at noon, and hurried on after a brief rest. Up and up they went until the shadows began to lengthen and they knew
evening was approaching.Above their heads towered the high peak,
and, as they rounded a turn they saw the top of the mountain suddenly
seem to burst into flame above their head. The sun had again caught
the mass of quartz and was reflecting from it. Now the trail turned.They had reached the highest point in the range
where it was almost impossible to go further with horses. Jack, who
was in the lead, pulled up his animal. Then, as he looked down he
gave a cry. "There!" he exclaimed. "There is the stone Mr. Tevis told us about!" "Yes, and there is the cross carved upon it!" cried Nat. "Where is the tall pine tree?" asked John. "There!" came from Jack, and he pointed down the slope ahead of them. "It is just in line with that other peak!" The two boys looked to where he pointed. Sure enough, they saw the
landmark Orion Tevis had mentioned. "To-morrow I may see my father!" said Jack in a low tone.Hardly had he spoken the words when there was a noise behind them,
and the boys turned to see two horsemen riding up. At first the chums did not attach much significance to the appearance
of the two riders.The men were coming on as fast as their horses
could travel, but the boys thought they were ranchmen or herdsmen. "The two first ones! They're the ones we want! "exclaimed the
foremost of the men, and at that Nat and Jack, who were in front of
John, started. "Grab one Nate, and I'll tackle the other! "Before Nat and Jack could make a move to defend themselves they found
a rope circling their arms just above their elbows. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
The men had cast
their lariats and pinioned the boys.The resulting jerk nearly pulled
them from their horses, but when the men saw this, they urged their
steeds close to their captives, and held them in their saddle, while
they deftly bound their hands.There was a clatter of hoofs at which Jack and Nat turned their
heads. If they expected to see some one coming to rescue them they
were disappointed, for all they beheld was John, swinging his horse
around on the trail and making off at top speed. "Come back!" yelled one of the men, making a move as if to reach for
his gun, but at this Jack wiggled so he had to give all his attention
to the captive youth. "I'll come back--" yelled John, and the rest of what he said was lost
in the clatter his horse made as it sprang over stones. Then John
disappeared around a big ledge of rock. "Never mind," said one of the men, whom his companion had addressed
as Nate. "We don't need him." "Guess not, Sid," was the reply. "We've got the main ones. He don't
count." "What do you mean by this? "burst out Nat, who, as was Jack, had been
so surprised by the sudden turn of events that he did not know what
to say. "Who are you, anyhow?" "Now, don't get excited, sonny," spoke Nate. "This is a high
altitude, remember, and you might bust a blood vessel. That would be
too bad." "Yes, the fewer questions you ask the better off you'll be," put in
Sid. "If my uncle hears of this you'll suffer for it," Nat went on.He
thought the men might be cowboys out for a lark. "Don't worry, your uncle will never hear of it," Nate replied. "Now I
guess we'll travel." There was nothing to do but to obey.The boys were fairly tied on
their horses, so quickly and so deftly had the men used their ropes. "Did you get the rings?" asked Nate of his companion. "Almost forgot it," replied Sid. "I'll do it now. "Before Jack was aware what the man was up to he had grabbed from his
finger the curious moss agate emblem. "Here's one," exclaimed Sid. "Now for the other." He looked at both of Nat's hands. "Where's your ring?" he demanded. "Never had one," said Nat defiantly. "No fooling now, give it up or you'll be sorry." "I tell you I haven't got any," Nat replied impatiently. "You're up
the wrong tree. ""Give me that ring or I'll--" began Sid, when his companion broke in
with:
"Never mind now. It's getting late and we don't want to be caught out
here at night. Bring him along. I guess we'll find a way to make him
talk. "Then, having seen that their captives were securely bound, the men
attached long ropes to the bridles of the boys' horses, and led the
animals back down the trail.The two men were some distance in advance, and, as the boys rode side
by side, they had a chance to converse in low tones without being
overheard by their captors. "Are they brigands, like you read about?" asked Nat. "Not much," replied Jack. "I think they are the same men who chased
poor old Mr. Lantry, and shot him. I'm sure they are some of the bad
men who tried to get my father, or else how would they know about the
rings?" "They didn't get one from me," spoke Nat. "They must have made a
mistake and got me instead of John. I say, Jack, you don't s'pose
he's in with the gang, do you?" "What do you mean?" "He didn't lead us into a trap, did he? Bought off by the enemy, you
know.He's part Indian, and you never can trust an Indian. Maybe
these men hired him to fetch us this way. You know he acted sort of
queer, lately." "Never!" said Jack, in as loud a whisper as he dared use without
being overheard. "I'd trust John Smith with my life, Indian or no
Indian. He's not in this game." "Then what made him run away and leave us?" asked Nat. "I don't call
that sticking by your friends." "Maybe he went for help," suggested Nat. "I'll believe that when we see the help," Nat responded, in no gentle
tones. "It looks queer." In fact the whole proceeding was a mystery to both boys. They could
not imagine what the men would want to hold them captives for. Only
Jack had an inkling.He believed the men were members of the band
that had tried so long to get his father so they might play a trick
on Mr. Tevis and gain the land.He believed they had been on his
trail and that of his companions for some time, and had seized the
first opportunity of capturing them. The seizure of his ring showed
that, though he could not understand how they had mistaken Nat for
John.However, that was natural, seeing the three boys were alike in
general appearance, and Nat was almost as brown as John, from
exposure to the sun. Down the trail for some miles the men led their captives and then
they turned and ascended another way.The boys' hands and legs were
beginning to get numb from the pressure of the thongs, and they were
very tired. It was getting quite dark, but still they were led on. Suddenly, from the gathering darkness, there sounded a challenge:
"Who's there? "CHAPTER XXXII
THE ESCAPE
"Two kings," was the answer from one of the men. "What kings?" was the query. "King Nate and King Sid," replied the first named, "and they have two
loyal subjects with them. ""Let the kings and their subjects proceed," the unseen voice went on,
and a moment later the boys found themselves in front of a sort of
cave in the mountain side, from the depths of which a fire glowed,
disclosing the figures and shadows of several men. "Had luck, eh?" asked some one, and Nate replied with a grunt, at the
same time asking if "grub" was ready. "Of course it is," one of those grouped about the fire replied. "But
you might tell us how you made out." "Couldn't be better," replied Sid. "We got the two boys and one of
the rings. We don't need two. I guess I can fix up a duplicate that
will fool Tevis." "What you going to do with the kids?" another man inquired. "They're
going to be a nuisance." "No, they won't," Sid answered. "We'll keep 'em here until we get
what we want, and then we'll turn 'em loose. I'm not going to harm
'em." By this time several men had surrounded the captives.Jack and Nat
could see that the cave was a large one, extending back some distance
under the mountain. Far back was another fire, about which were one
or two men. It looked like the mountain cavern of a band of brigands. "Take 'em inside," Sid ordered one of those in the group about Nat
and Jack. "Take care of their horses and whatever they have about
them. Then give 'em a bit of grub. I reckon they're hungry. "The boys were grateful for the relief they experienced as their bonds
were loosened and they were allowed to dismount from their horses.They were so stiff they could hardly walk and the men helped them,
roughly, along over the rock-strewn entrance to the cavern.The boys
were led inside the cave, and then, their guide turning sharply,
conducted them into a sort of gallery branching off from the main
one. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
There the lads found some animal skins on the floor, and were
glad enough to lie down.Hung about the cave were several lanterns, and by the light of them
the two lads could see they were in the power of a gang of rough men.There were a half dozen of the fellows and when the boys had
stretched out on the skins in a corner, they gathered near the
entrance to the inner cave for a conference.The boys could not hear
what their captors were talking about, but that it concerned them
seemed certain, as the men glanced frequently in the direction of the
prisoners. "They must be planning something desperate," said Jack in a low tone. "Probably they're going to hurry to Orion Tevis and make trouble for
him." "Do you think they'll hurt us?" asked Nat. "I don't believe so," Jack replied. "I think they want to keep us
here until they can get at Mr. Tevis.Guess they'll have their own
troubles though, finding him." Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of a man with
some cold meat and chunks of bread.He also had a tin pail of water
and two cups, and, though the meal was anything but a good one, Nat
and Jack made the best of it, for they were hungry, and, though they
were worried, they did not let it interfere with their appetites.If they had any hope of escaping that night they must have been
disappointed as one of the gang was constantly on the watch, and the
boys knew it would be useless to try to leave the cave. "I wonder where John is," said Nat, just before he fell asleep. "Why
did he desert us?" "He hasn't deserted us," said Jack, speaking with conviction. "I'll
bet he's gone for help. ""Looked as if he was running away," remarked Nat, who had not lost
the sudden distrust he felt on the Indian's part.In spite of their plight the boys slept well, and when morning came
they were given some boiled eggs, bread and coffee, a meal, which, as
Jack remarked, would have been a credit to a city hotel, to say
nothing of a cave in the mountains.It made little difference, the
boys thought, that the eggs were of some wild bird, and not of the
domestic hen. After breakfast the man who had been addressed as Sid came to where
the captives were, in the smaller cave. "If you boys will promise not to try to escape," he said, "I'll let
you out for a breath of fresh air." "You mean not try to escape at all?" asked Jack. "That's what," Sid replied. "Then we'll stay here," announced Jack. "We're going to get away just as soon as possible, and the longer you
keep us here the worse it will be for you." "My, but you have a quick temper," remarked Sid, not unkindly. "Well,
I think I'll take a chance.You'll get sick if we keep you cooped up,
and that isn't what we want. You can go out, but I warn you the first
time you try to make a break for liberty you may get shot. Some of
the men are pretty quick with a gun. ""We'll go out, but we don't promise," Jack replied, as following Sid,
he and Nat left the cave. Once outside the boys found there was little chance of getting away.There were half a dozen men about, all armed, and the camp was
surrounded by a natural wall of high rock, which to any one crawling
over presented difficulties that would delay him long enough to
permit of capture.The entrance to the camp was guarded by a man with
a rifle. But, what astonished the boys more than the appearance of the
stronghold, was the work at which the men were engaged.This seemed
to be mining, but of a kind the boys had heard very little about,
though it is more or less common in the west.A man was directing a stream of water, from a big pipe against the
side of a gravelly bank, and the dirt and fluid that washed down ran
into a big sluiceway. This was formed of boards, there being a bottom
and two sides.The top was open, but was braced with numerous cross
pieces. The sluiceway was about four feet wide and three feet deep,
and there was a great quantity of water flowing through it.Part of the sluiceway was wider and more shallow, and this part had,
nailed across the bottom, narrow strips of wood, in the shape of
cleats. They were placed to catch the heavier dirt, containing the
gold, as it flowed down in the water.As the boys watched the stream was turned off, and men took from the
cleats quantities of mingled muck and gravel, which they proceeded to
"wash" to extract the gold.The boys were so interested in this that they forgot the plight they
were in, and, almost, their desire to escape.They looked at the
miners with their pans, as the men swirled them around to cause the
water and dirt to flow over the edge and the gold to remain. "Is it goin' to pay?" Jack heard one miner ask of another of the
gang. "Don't look so," was the reply. "Yet they say there's a fortune
locked up in that hill.An old hermit showed Sid the place, but it's
been most a year since we repaired this old sluiceway which was here
before we came and begun washing, and not more than enough to pay
expenses have we had out of it. I'm gettin' tired. ""Maybe there's better luck ahead." "How do you mean?" "Why in the capture of these kids. Didn't you hear Sid tell? He
expects to get a hold on a fellow named Tevis now and maybe some rich
timber lands that he's been after for ten years or more.There's a
fellow named Ranger or Roberts mixed up in it, but Sid has never been
able to land him, though he tried hard enough. Some of the boys
nearly got Roberts' partner here not long ago, but he got away,
though he was shot.Then Sid and Nate got on the trail of the boys,
and here--"
"Shut up!" exclaimed the other miner, as he noticed Jack and Nat
taking in what his companion was saying. "They're too close now. "At that the miners went on with their "washing" operations, and the
two boys, pondering over what they had heard, walked away. "What do you think of that?" asked Nat, in a low voice. "Just as I expected," Jack rejoined. "I hope John brings us help in
time to warn Mr. Tevis and help rescue my father. Maybe we could have
a whack at this gold mine then." The boys were allowed to wander about the camp at will, but they
noticed the men kept close watch over them.They were much interested
in the sluiceway, and went to where they could see it stretching for
a long distance down the mountain side. "Quite a piece of work," observed one of the men, a short, stocky,
rather jolly looking individual, who seemed out of place in a gang of
ruffians. "It runs for five miles," he went on, "all the way down to
a big gulch they say, though I've never been to the end of it. It was
built a long while ago, but we changed it a bit, and only use the
upper end.We get our water from a little lake on the top of the
mountain, and only the overflow goes down the sluiceway. Still that's
enough," and he looked at the solid stream, flowing swiftly but
silently between the heavy planks. "It would make a good shoot-the-chutes," observed Nat. "Rather risky," observed the miner. "You couldn't stop until you got
to the end of it and it's a long ride. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
Have to look out for the cross
pieces, too. "A sudden light seemed to come into Jack's eyes as he turned away. He
motioned to Nat to follow him, and, when they were out of earshot he
whispered:
"That's how we can escape." "How?" asked Nat in an excited whisper. "Wait," answered Jack, "Here comes Sid." "Haven't got away yet, eh?" the man asked with a sneer. "Not yet," was all Jack answered. That night, as he tossed restlessly on the pile of skins in the cave,
Jack thought over a plan of getting away.It seemed practical enough,
if he could only elude the vigilance of the men. But there was the
hard part. He got up softly about midnight to see if he could sneak
from the cave. No one was in sight. He called Nat and both crawled
out into the open. "Now we're free!" whispered Jack. "Come on, Nat." "Where?" "Down the sluiceway. I know where there are two big planks. "Leading the way, and keeping in the shadows as much as possible, Jack
went to where two planks, each about seven feet long, lay near the
boarded race. "We'll float down the sluiceway to freedom! "he cried, as he placed
the plank on the edge of the flume. Nat did likewise, and, when Jack
climbed over into the big oblong box, his companion followed. They
had entered the sluiceway at a place where there was scarcely any
current.Then they moved forward, crouching to avoid the cross
pieces. "Here we go!" whispered Jack, throwing himself on the plank, an
example which Nat followed.The next instant the two boys were being
whirled down the sluiceway on top of the water at a swift pace. And,
as they shot ahead they, heard a voice calling:
"The kids have got away! "CHAPTER XXXIII
DOWN THE SLUICEWAY
Almost with the speed of an arrow from the bow the two boys flew
forward on the swiftly-moving water in the sluiceway.The planks were
submerged only a few inches, so great was the force of the current,
and Jack and Nat, crouching on them as a boy goes sliding down hill
on his sled, with his head between the points of the runners, felt
themselves propelled forward with an irresistible power.At first it was so dark in the big box they could see nothing. Then,
as their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they could note the sides
of the flume slipping past them.A glance over their heads showed
them the stars, and there was a confused blurr of the many cross-
pieces. "Are you all right, Nat?" called Jack. "Sure," was the reply. "Say, it took my breath away at first, but
it's all right now.This is going some!" Faster and faster the boys were whirled along. The water was
beginning to chill them now, and they were wet through.Once or twice
a sudden change in the direction of the sluiceway nearly brought them
to grief, and on one occasion Nat slipped off his plank.It was
floating away from him, but his cry warned Jack, who managed to stop
it, while Nat struggled forward, stooping to avoid the braces, and
secured it again.This occurred in a comparatively level place, where the current,
after a quick descent, was not so rapid, otherwise there might have
been a different ending to this story. For a mile farther the two
boys floated along at an easy pace. "I guess we've left 'em behind," Nat observed. He was riding his
plank alongside of Jack now, as the flume was broad enough to permit
this. "Yes, but they're not going to give up so easily," Jack rejoined. "There's too much at stake.They'll chase us, but it's another thing
to catch us. Hark! What's that?" From down below in the moonlit valley, into which the flume dipped
there came a roaring sound.It was like a mighty wind blowing, and,
as the boys were carried on and on, it increased in intensity. "Sounds like a waterfall," observed Nat. "So it does. I hope this flume doesn't do any stunts like that. We'll
be dashed to pieces. ""Maybe we'd better stop now, and get out," said Nat. "I wonder where
we are?" "Haven't the least idea. We must have come about three miles though.Let's see if we can stop ourselves,"
Owing to the fact that the cross-pieces were above and close to their
heads, the boys could not peer over the edge of the flume.The water
filled it to within a foot and a half of the edge, and they had to
keep their heads well down. "Try and grab a cross-piece," said Jack. The sticks were about six
feet apart. Nat cautiously raised his hand.His fingers brushed under the sides
of several braces, but he had to move his arm up very slowly as a
sudden contact with them would have broken his wrist. Jack was doing
the same thing.The roar was growing louder now, and the water could be heard
tumbling and crashing down. "The flume must be broken just below here!" cried Jack. "We must stop
or we'll be killed!" He made a desperate effort to grasp a brace.He got his fingers on
one. Then came a sudden rush of water, caused by a sharp decline in
the level of the sluiceway, and Jack was torn from the cross-piece.At the same time his plank was swept from under him, and he was
buried in an overwhelming rush of water. Over and over he was rolled
along the bottom of the flume. Then he was tossed to the surface.For
an instant he had a glimpse of Nat also struggling in the murky
flood, on which the moon shone brilliantly. The next instant Jack was shot forward as though from a catapult,
feet foremost, and, as he fought and struggled to get his breath, he
saw that he was in the midst of a giant waterspout, as it leaped from
the end of the broken flume and plunged, like a stream from an
immense hose, into a swirling pool which the freed sluice water had
dug in the soft soil.Forward and down went Jack, and, though it seemed like an hour while
he was being shot out with the water as it spurted from where the
flume was raised on a high trestle, it was only a second or two
before he was plunged into the pool.As he sank down and down the lad was aware of a splash close beside
him, and he dimly thought it must be Nat. And so it proved.Nat,
also, had been spouted from the flume into the pool, and, when Jack,
after a fierce fight with the bubbling water came to the surface and
began swimming, he saw Nat bob up a moment later. Both boys worked to
get away from the plunging stream."Are--you--hurt?" asked Jack, pantingly. "No--are--you?" inquired Nat. "Nope! Wonder--what--sort of--a place--this--is." "Kind--of--wet," remarked Nat, and, in spite of his peril Jack could
not help smiling.When the water had cleared from their eyes the boys saw they were in
the midst of a miniature lake. It was formed of the water that
escaped from the broken pool, and had filled a big hole, a sort of
basin on a ledge of the mountain.They struck out for the nearest
shore, reaching it after some little difficulty, for their wet
clothing hampered them.Reaching the bank they crawled out, for the little lake shoaled
rapidly, and shook themselves like big dogs to get rid of what water
they could. Then they turned to gaze at the curious scene. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
Before them was quite a large sheet of water.Right to the edge of it
came the flume trestle, and it could be seen, in the moonlight, where
it had broken off. Beyond the lake, on the other side, the sluiceway
continued on, but there was a gap of several hundred feet. "Looks as though there was less water coming down," said Nat, as he
began taking off his outer clothing to wring it out. "That's so," agreed Jack. As they stood looking at the spurting water it was perceptibly
diminishing.The volume was greatly decreased from that which had
shot them into the lake. Rapidly it grew less until it stopped
altogether. "What made that, I wonder," came from Nat. "They probably shut it off at the mine," Jack replied. "They think
they can strand us in the flume. Lucky they didn't try it sooner." This, as the boys learned later, was what had been done. When the
news of their escape was known several of the gang started in
pursuit.They kept it up for awhile, until some one suggested
shutting off the flow of the stream by means of a gate in the
sluiceway. "Well, now we're here, what's to be done?" asked Nat. "Get rid of some of this water," suggested Jack, "and then see if we
can't find a place to stay until morning. "The boys wrung as much of the fluid as possible from their clothes,
and then, donning the damp garments, looked to see in which direction
it would be best to travel. As Jack was looking about for some sign
of a trail, he gave a cry of astonishment."See!" he exclaimed. "There is Golden Glow!" There, back in the direction of the flume, towered a high peak. As
the moonbeams rested on it they were reflected back from the shining
top, just as the sun rays had been, only in a less degree. "This must be the valley where my father has his cabin," he said. "It is in line with the mountain, and, I remember it was in this
direction we were looking when the men captured us. Oh Nat! Perhaps I
shall soon find him. Come on.Mr. Tevis said it was at the end of the
valley. I am going to find him! Hurry, Nat!" But Nat needed no urging. He followed close after Jack, who was
moving around the edge of the lake, to reach the other part of the
broken flume.There was no path, but the way was comparatively
smooth. As the boys passed under the sluiceway trestle Jack exclaimed:
"See, here is a sort of path, and it leads right up the valley. We
are on the right road." "Be careful," cautioned Nat. "Remember what Mr. Tevis said about men
shooting first and inquiring afterward in this country." "I am going to find my father," was Jack's answer, as he hurried on. The boys forgot their wet clothes.They forgot their recent peril,
and their escape from the bad men. They thought of nothing but what
might be before them. They had traveled about two hours. The valley
was growing darker as the moon was sinking lower and lower behind the
cliffs.All at once Jack, who was in the lead, stopped. He pointed
ahead to a dark shadow. "See; there is a cabin," he whispered.CHAPTER XXXIV
JACK'S GREAT FIND
For a moment the boys stood still, contemplating the small log
building, which was now but dimly visible. All was silent about it. There was no sign of life. Was it occupied? Was Jack's father there?These were questions that flashed through the mind of the two lads as
they stood there in the darkness. Then Jack, with a long-drawn
breath, that showed how great was the strain on him, whispered:
"Let's see if any one is there. "Cautiously they moved forward, stopping every now and then to listen. But no sound came to them. The cabin remained as dark and as silent
as when they first saw it.Foot by foot they moved nearer, until Jack
was so close he could put out his hand and touch the door. He knocked
loudly, and the echo sounded almost like thunder in the quiet night-
enshrouded valley.But no answer came, though the boys waited several minutes. Then Jack
pushed on the door. It opened, with a squeaking of hinges that must
have alarmed any occupant, unless deaf. No challenge came, and the
two lads stepped inside. "Look out where you're going," said Nat. "Hold your hands in front of
you, and feel with your feet. You may tumble down a hole. "Jack did as directed, and, a moment later, his outstretched hand
knocked over something that fell with a crash to the floor. "What's that?" exclaimed Nat, in a startled whisper. "Candlestick and candle," replied Jack, as he stooped down and picked
up what he had knocked down. "Matches too," he added, as he found
them scattered over the floor.An instant later he had struck a light, and in the gleam of the
tallow dip the boys saw they were inside a comfortably furnished
cabin.It consisted of two rooms, one a sort of kitchen and general
sitting apartment, and the other a bedroom, with two bunks against
the wall. There was a rough table, a few chairs and a fireplace.Cooking utensils scattered about, and the appearance of the bunk
room, showed it had been lately occupied. "I wonder if my father could have lived here," Jack remarked. "Where
can he have gone to? Perhaps he is dead. ""Must have been some one here recently," said Nat. "That food looks
fresh." He pointed to some roast beef on the table, and to some slices of
bread. "It looks good enough to eat," Jack said, "and I'm going to tackle
it, for I'm as hungry as a bear, and cold, too," for the ducking was
beginning to tell on him.The boys made a rude but satisfactory meal, and, building a fire on
the hearth, with some dry wood in the cabin, they made their clothing
more comfortable.They had just donned their dry garments, when Jack,
looking from the door of the shack, said:
"Hello, it's almost morning. The sun is beginning to rise." There was
a faint light in the east, over the tops of the mountains. "Yes, and some one is coming up the valley," remarked Nat, as he
peered over Jack's shoulder. The two boys saw, walking slowly along the trail that led to the
cabin, the dim figure of a man.Over his shoulder he carried a gun,
and, as he approached, he stopped every few feet to listen, the while
regarding the cabin intently. It was growing lighter every minute,
and the boys could see him quite well.Suddenly, when the man was within a hundred yards of the shack, he
dropped to one knee, and leveled the gun straight at the opened cabin
door:
"Who's there?" he cried. "Speak or I'll fire! "Jack, who was in the center of the portal, uttered an exclamation. He
caught his breath sharply.Then, as the sun, mounting nearer the
mountain tops, threw more light into the valley, showing clearly the
figure of the crouching man, Jack cried:
"Father! Father! It's me! It's your son Jack! "He was about to rush toward the figure, which he recognized from his
aunts' description as that of his parent, when the voice of the man
halted him:
"If you come a step nearer I'll fire!" the kneeling one exclaimed. "I've been fooled too often to have any tricks played on me now. I
know you. You are members of the gang that has been hounding me so
many years. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
But my time is almost up. Stand back or I'll fire!" "Father! Father!" cried Jack. "Your time is up now.I have come to
take you back with me!" "Who is this, who says he is my son?" the man asked, his rifle
trembling. "My son is thousands of miles away from here. You can't
deceive me again." "But I am your son! Your Jack! "the boy cried, hardly knowing what to
do. "See I have the ring--"
Then he stopped, for he remembered that his ring had been stolen from
him. "What is that about a ring?" asked the kneeling man.With a quick motion Jack pulled from his pocket the golden lizard
with the ruby eyes which Mr. Tevis had given him. He threw it toward
his father, and it fell near the man. "What is that?" the latter asked. "Look at it," exclaimed Jack. "It will prove who I am. It is from Mr.
Tevis. See, don't you recognize me?" The old man, still keeping his eyes fixed on the cabin, and his gun
in readiness, rose to his feet and, going forward, picked up the
golden charm.As he caught sight of it he uttered a cry. At the same time Jack, who had been standing in the shadow of the
door, stepped into the morning light. The man, with a sudden motion,
threw aside his gun. He ran toward Jack, who sprang forward to meet
him.The next moment father and son were locked in each other's arms. "Jack! Jack!" exclaimed Mr. Ranger. "I was afraid I would never see
you again." "I'm so glad I've found you at last, father," murmured the boy, while
his eyes filled with tears.Nat suddenly developed a bad cold, and
had to blow his nose so violently that Mr. Ranger's attention was
attracted to him. "Who's there?" he asked, in startled tones. "It's only Nat," Jack said. "Come Nat, and see my father.He's the
best prize exhibit I ever had." There was such an interchange of talk among the three a moment later
that the best stenographer would have found himself at a disadvantage
in taking it down.Jack and Nat told as much as possible of their
trip from the time they started until they escaped by the sluiceway,
and Mr. Ranger told how he had been watching in vain all night at the
end of the trail for the return of old Mr. Lantry.He had done so for
the last few nights, he said, as he was afraid to go far away in the
daytime. He was much surprised to learn of his partner being pursued by the
bad men, and startled to hear that the scoundrels were so near his
hiding place.He said he had been much startled, on his return from
his night vigil, to see lights inside his cabin. "But now you must come home with me," said Jack, when there came a
lull in the talk. "The time limit has nearly expired and you will be
safe back in civilization." "Yes, I guess my long exile has ended," said Mr. Ranger. "At any rate
I must leave here. The rascals may find me at any moment, when they
come down after you. "Jack agreed with his father it would be best to leave the locality. Mr. Ranger said he could depart from the valley by a little-used
trail, and come out on the one that led to the ranch of Nat's uncle.It would be slow going, without horses, he said, but they decided to
try it. Accordingly they began to pack up what few belongings Mr. Ranger
wanted to take away with him.There was a simple camping outfit in
the cabin, and plenty of food, so they would not suffer hunger on
their way. "I have but a little of the heart-medicine left," said Mr. Ranger. "I
got two or three bad spells the last few days, and had to take
considerable of it. But perhaps I will be all right until we get to a
town, if we go slowly." At last all was in readiness for the start.Each one bore a small
pack, and Mr. Ranger had his rifle. Jack insisted that his father
take the lightest of the camp stuff, while he and Nat shouldered the
most of it and the food.With a last look at the cabin, that had sheltered him for the last
few years, Mr. Ranger turned to go. Then he exclaimed:
"I almost forgot my bag of gold." "Your bag of gold?" asked Jack. "Yes, it is all I have to show for my stay here.I have managed to
live, and that is all. My partner and I got a little gold from the
washings that came down the flume, but we had to spend most of it to
live. I have only a few ounces left. "He was about to go back into the cabin when a cry from Nat warned
him:
"Some one is coming!" the boy explained. The next instant a group of horsemen swept forward around a turn in
the trail, straight for the cabin! "Here come the bad men! "yelled Jack. "Come on father!" CHAPTER XXXV
THE ROUND-UP--CONCLUSION
Mr. Ranger ran back to join his son. At the same time Nat and Jack
sprang forward, and together the three raced down the valley. With
loud shouts the horsemen pursued them. "Here they are!" some of the riders exclaimed. "We'll get the boys
and the old man, too! Come on! "For a little while the three fugitives, from the start they had, and
from the rough nature of the ground, which precluded speed on the
part of the horses, kept in the lead.They had just made a turn in
the trail, which, for a moment hid the horsemen from sight, when Mr.
Ranger exclaimed:
"I can go no farther, Jack. My heart! Oh, my heart!" He sank down, staggering under the weight of his rifle. "Quick!" cried Nat. "Get behind this big rock! Maybe we can hold 'em
off!" The two boys half carried Mr. Ranger around to the rear of an immense
boulder that bordered the trail. Then Jack ran hack and caught up the
rifle.He had just time enough to spring hack of the rock when the
riders swept fully into view. Jack leveled the rifle over the top of
the big stone and cried:
"Don't come any nearer or I'll shoot!" The riders pulled up in confusion. "Go ahead! "cried those in the rear,
"He's got the drop on us!" exclaimed those in front. Jack held the rifle steady. For several seconds there was an intense
strain. Mr. Ranger was resting his head on Nat's knee, panting for
breath. "You'll--find--some medicine--in--my pocket," he gasped, and Nat,
searching where the sick man indicated, found a small bottle of white
pills. He gave Mr. Ranger one, and, in a few seconds the color came
back to the sufferer's pale face.Now there was a movement among the horsemen. Some of them rode back
on the trail, while others dismounted and went to the left and right. "They're going to surround us," Jack thought. "I guess it's all up
with us! "He kept close watch of the men he could see. Those directly in front
of him remained on their horses. Suddenly there sounded a confused shouting from back on the trail. Dimly Jack tried to recall where he had heard those voices before.He
glanced along the rifle barrel which was trembling like a leaf in the
wind. Then there came a fulisade of shots, mingling with the shouts. The
approaching horsemen seemed thrown into confusion.One or two of the
steeds went down in heaps, throwing their riders. The shooting and
yelling continued. All at once there galloped into view a band of cowboys. At their head
rode John Smith and Nat's uncle.Both were firing their revolvers as
fast as they could. "Hurrah!" cried Nat. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
"We're saved!" "Just in time!" muttered Jack, as, weak and shaking, he dropped the
rifle and sprang to his father's side.There was a short, sharp struggle between the armed force from the
ranch and the bad men. Some of the scoundrels got away, but the
majority were rounded up. In the melee some were hurt. "Are you all right? "asked John, as dust-covered and powder-begrimed
he sprang to clasp his chums by the hands. "Thanks to you, yes," said Nat heartily, and he was ashamed of the
brief suspicion with which he had regarding the Indian. "How did you
do it? ""As soon as I saw you captured, I knew I could do more good free than
a prisoner with you," John said. "I made the best time I could to the
ranch, and I guess all the cowboys who could be spared came back as
fast as their horses could carry them.We easily traced the gang to
here, and,--well you saw the rest." The cowboys, even Cactus Ike, who had played the horse trick on Jack,
were busy binding their prisoners on their horses. Mr. Kent was so
excited he did not know what to do.He insisted on shaking hands with
Jack, Nat, John and Mr. Ranger every other minute.As for Jack's
father, he soon felt better because of the medicine, and when the
securing of the prisoners was completed, he found he was able to
mount a spare horse and proceed.It was decided to take an easy trail, some of the cowboys knew of,
back to a place near where the boys had been held captive, and about
noon the cavalcade reached the cave near the mine, from which the
lads had escaped.But a great change had taken place.The breaking of the flume, and
the shutting off of the water had backed up the stream, which had
been allowed to run all night, and in consequence, the whole surface
of the hill, against which the hydraulic operations had been
directed, was washed away.It was difficult to get the horses past it, for there was a big hole. As Mr. Ranger was passing the spot where the band had so lately been
at work, he looked at the ground, and uttered a sudden exclamation.Then he jumped from his horse and began digging in the dirt. "What is it?" asked Jack in some alarm. "Gold! Gold! Gold!" cried Mr. Ranger. "See it sparkle! Here is a mine
of wonderful wealth!The water uncovered it, or they might have
worked for years without discovering it. See the gold!" In another instant the cowboys were off their horses examining the
find. Mr. Kent looked at it critically. "Well, this is luck!" he said. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody
good!" There was a hurried consultation, which resulted in some of the men
being left on guard, while the others proceeded to the ranch with the
prisoners, the boys and Mr. Ranger.There were three days making the trip, owing to the fact that Mr.
Ranger had to ride slowly. As he descended from the higher altitudes,
however, he got stronger.When the ranch was reached, the physicians
who had been attending old Mr. Lantry, prescribed for the former
exile, and took charge of him.The members of the band from one of whom Jack's ring was taken, were
sent to jail, under a strong escort, and, eventually were given long
terms.As soon as Mr. Kent and his men, including the boys and Mr.
Ranger, had proved their claim to the mine, arrangements for working
it were made.It turned out even better than it had appeared at the
first glance, so that every one interested received a large sum. As for Jack he could not bear to let his father out of his sight. Mr.
Ranger, too, wanted to be with his son all the while.The return of
the exile had such a good effect on Mr. Lantry that he recovered much
sooner than the doctor had expected, having regained his senses from
the delirium, the day after Mr. Ranger reached the ranch.The old man
was given some shares in the mine, enough to keep him comfortably. Then it was that the boys really began to enjoy life.The long sunny
days on the plains, riding here and there, soon restored Mr. Ranger
to ruddy health, and the physician pronounced him almost cured of his
heart ailment.The boys spent happy hours on the ranch, entering into friendly
contests in everything from roping a steer to saddling a frisky
horse.The cowboys could not show them enough attention, and Cactus
Ike even apologized to Jack for the trick he played on him.Jack
forgave him, and said it had probably learned him more about a horse
in ten minutes than he could otherwise have picked up in a week.It was some time after this, when, as they were all seated on the
porch, one warm evening, that Jack remarked:
"Well, we'll have to be getting back east, soon." "How good that sounds," said Mr. Ranger. "I was afraid I might never
see the east again.Yes, we must go back soon. I am anxious to see my
sisters." "Sorry to have you go," said Mr. Kent. "There's no place like the
west." "Perhaps not, for a young man," Mr. Ranger admitted, "but I'm getting
old. ""I wonder if we'll ever again have adventures like those we
experienced out here," said Nat "Lannigan's lassoes! But we certainly
had some sport!" "Maybe not the same kind, but I s'pose they'll be just as exciting,"
Jack remarked. "We seem to run into 'em." The boys did have more adventures, and, what they were will be
related in the next volume of this series, to be called, "Jack
Ranger's School Victories; Or, Track, Gridiron and Diamond. "A week later Jack, his father, Nat and John started east.They
stopped on the way to see Mr. Tevis, who expressed his delight that
Mr. Ranger's period of exile was over, that the bad men had been put
where they could do no more harm, and that the unexpectedly
discovered mine had panned out so well. "You are to be congratulated on having such a son as Jack," said Mr.
Tevis to Mr. Ranger. "If it hadn't been for John and Nat I guess I wouldn't have had much
success," Jack remarked. "Now that I look at it, I cannot understand how those men had such an
influence on me," said Mr. Ranger, thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what I believe," answered Jack. "One of them was
something of a hypnotist.He tried his game on me when I was at the
cave." "It may be that you are right, my son. It is true that I was afraid
of them--and just why I cannot tell," returned Mr. Ranger. "But that
is a thing of the past now," he added, with satisfaction. "And now for home!" cried Nat, the next day. "Won't we have lots to
tell when we get there!" "I'll be glad to see Washington Hall again," said John. "Yes, indeed!" answered Jack. "But I'm going home to Denton first,
and you must come along, John. ""Very well, I will," said the semi-Indian youth. Twelve hours later the happy party was on its way to the nearest
railroad station. And here, bound for home, we will leave them. | Young, Clarence - Jack Ranger's Western Trip; Or, from Boarding School to Ranch and Range |
Produced by D A Alexander, Martin Pettit and the Online
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|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.|
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HOMESTEAD RANCH
[Illustration: "TIRED?" HE ASKED. "IT'S TOUGH THE FIRST TIME YOU COME
OVER THIS TRAIL. "]HOMESTEAD RANCH
BY
ELIZABETH G. YOUNG
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK : : LONDON : : MCMXXIII
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1915, 1919, by Perry Mason Company
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
MARY TRACY HORNE
KINDEST OF CRITICS
AND
WISEST OF FRIENDS
HOMESTEAD RANCH
CHAPTER I
Now that the train had crossed the Rocky Mountains, most of the
passengers in the tourist car were becoming bored and restless.The
scenery was less absorbing; there was so much of it that even its
magnificence had begun to pall! Yet Harriet Holliday was still deeply
interested in everything.There were now only a few hours between her
and her destination, and she had begun to look at the solitary ranches,
wondering whether her brother's would look like them.The train was passing across a seemingly endless desert, through ranges
of hills without a sign of life, without water, grass or trees to
break the monotony of sand and sagebrush.Once in a great while there
appeared a row of buildings that, Harriet decided, must be a town--a
few boxlike stores, a hotel with an imposing cement block front, a
straggling line of cabins, some turf-roofed huts, some tents--then
abruptly the gray solitude of the desert came into view once more.Harriet thought of the clustering villages along the Connecticut
shore--the white-and-green houses sheltered by elms, the church spire
on the hill. Home seemed suddenly unutterably far away. A queer ache
surged up in her throat.She felt not only endlessly far in miles from
home, but in time, too--as if she had left the year 1912 behind her and
come somehow into the vanished days of the first pioneers.To keep back
the tears she glanced hastily up and down the car at the people who for
several days had been her companions and nearly all of whom had given
her glowing accounts of "the West. "A different promise had lured each, and each promise seemed golden. One family had sold the railroad shares from which they had drawn an
income and had bought an apple orchard in Oregon.An old couple were on
their way to California to invest in an orange grove. A newly married
pair were on their way to a timber claim in Washington.A young public
school teacher had given up a good position in Chicago to take a
district school in Montana where she could homestead. Oddly enough, not
one of those to whom Harriet had spoken so far was expecting to settle
in Idaho.Her roving glance came back along the seats. Just in front of her sat
a broad-shouldered young fellow, staring out of the window. Harriet
could see the boyish curve of his tanned cheek, his freckled nose and
his light brown hair.Until this moment she had not set eyes on this
young man. He must have got on at Ogden. While she was looking at him
he turned and met her inquiring brown eyes with a pair of steady blue
ones. "This is Idaho," he said.Then he blushed all over his tanned face. He had spoken as if the
barren ranges had been mountains of gold, the gray sagebrush desert a
vista of lakes and forests and gardens. Harriet smiled. "Thank you," she said. "I'm glad to know. "She was
silent a moment; then, curiosity overcoming her reserve, she asked,
"Have you any idea how much farther it is to Shoshone?" "Say! You getting off there? It's the next stop. "His blue eyes flashed
when Harriet said she was, and he went on: "Homesteaders are coming in
like rabbits round a haystack. If you're going to take up land you're
wise to come now, before the best of it is all filed on. ""Oh, I'm not going to settle," Harriet protested. "I've been teaching
but I have to rest my eyes so I've come out to visit my brother. He has
a ranch." "You'll stay though! I'm just back from Chicago. Took a bunch of
cattle. I stayed East two months.Thought I'd like it. Not much! I'm
glad I've hit the brush once more." His glance went to the window and
seemed to feast hungrily on the gray plains. Harriet looked out too, trying to see what he could find that lured him. "You don't know where your brother's homestead is, do you?" he asked. "There are two districts that fellows are coming into; one south of
those foothills yonder, the other on Camas Prairie." "Yes. That's it, Camas Prairie. He sent me pictures of it.Here's one." She had been looking at the photographs a few moments before and drew
it from her handbag. "Well, what do you know about that!" the young fellow exclaimed as he
glanced at the three pictures. "That's Sage Hen Springs, all right.There's the big quakin' asp that marks the section line. It's a
landmark for all cattle men coming across the prairie." He laughed to himself as he handed back the pictures. "I was just
wondering what Joyce'll say when he finds some one has filed there. He's a sheepman and he's used that glen there for a lambing place for
years. He's been meaning to put a man on there for two years anyhow.Yes, sir, I'll bet he's mad when he finds he's lost it." "Isn't there some other place near by?" "No, ma'am. That's just it. Water is mighty scarce in these hills
anyhow, and Joyce knows the sheep have to have it. ""It's funny that he never took a homestead, living out here so long." "Oh...." The young fellow hesitated. "He's got one," he said slowly,
"but he needs a whole lot more than that. ""But I thought a man could only homestead once," Harriet said in
surprise. "That's right. But there's ways of crawling through the fence when the
gate's shut. I shouldn't wonder but he'll try to buy your brother out." "Oh, Rob would never sell!He's going to raise cattle!" "That's good money, all right; but if Joyce wants that water hole as
bad as I reckon he does, he'll put up a bunch of money for it. Well,"
he added, glancing out, "we're pretty near there. "Harriet began to collect her luggage and the young man rose. "My name's
Garnett," he said hesitatingly. "Maybe we'll meet up on the prairie." "Oh, I hope so," Harriet said smiling, and held out her hand.As the train pulled into the station she looked eagerly among the crowd
waiting on the platform, but did not see her brother. She had stepped
down upon the cindery track and was wondering what she had better do
when a voice exclaimed, "Hello, sis!Got here safely, did you?" "Bobs!" Harriet turned quickly and then faltered. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
She had expected to
find a slim, pale boy, wearing glasses and very fastidious about his
collars and neckties.She was facing a big, sunbrowned man without
glasses, who wore overalls, a gray flannel shirt, a sheepskin vest and
huge laced boots; but he was smiling and he gripped her arm and kissed
her. "Bobs!" she cried. "I didn't know you. ""Don't worry," Rob told her. "You won't know yourself either in six
weeks. Let's see. Got your traps? We'll go right over to Kenny's. Supper'll be ready as soon as you've washed the cinders out of your
eyes.I've been so busy loading up for the ranch that I almost forgot
to meet the train. ""Kenny's," the old hotel of the cattle days before there had been a
town, stood just across the street, and every one who had left the
train appeared to be going there for supper.When Harriet and Rob went
in, a circle of miners, ranchers, sheep herders and cattle men had
already gathered around the big office stove. They were gossiping in a
cloud of tobacco smoke; another group hung over the clerk's desk.Among them moved a big, red-cheeked woman, the hotel-keeper's wife. She
nodded to Rob. "How do, Mr. Holliday? Your sister's come, I see." As Rob introduced Harriet to Mrs. Kenny, the good-hearted Irishwoman
held out her hand with words of welcome.The big dining room was rigorously clean; the oilclothed floor almost
reflected the electric lights; plates and glasses shone; two trim
young women waited on the guests. But the guests themselves!They
were all men, dressed in what Harriet mentally called "workmen's
clothes"--overalls, flannel shirts, corduroy trousers, vests, but no
coats.Unshaved, weatherbeaten, scarred and lined by hard experience,
these men seemed as rough and repellent to the dainty, carefully reared
girl as the mountains of this stranger land.As she was eating her
supper, taking furtive glances down the long table, she heard a voice
at her shoulder and saw Rob turn to speak to an old man. "Axcuse me, Holliday, but it's just a worrud I'm wantin' wit' yourself. "Harriet saw beside her a little, bent old man; his legs were bowed from
a life in the saddle and his neck was tanned and wrinkled from years of
weathering.He wore a much mended flannel shirt, a drooping vest, and
short overalls that revealed gray socks and congress gaiters much run
down at heel. Harriet thought that, except for his merry, honest face,
he looked very much like a tramp.She was rather surprised when her brother introduced the old man to
her.After greeting her cordially he went on to explain to Rob that he
had not, after all, a fresh cow in the herd good enough to sell for a
milk cow, but that he would send out the heifers he had promised and a
cow that would be fresh in the fall.Then he turned to Harriet, wished
her "good luck" and moved away. "Rob, do all the cowboys dress in that--well, shabby sort of way?" Harriet asked as she and her brother left the dining room together. "So that's what you didn't like!" said Rob. "Dan Brannan isn't a cowboy
though. He's one of the richest cattle men around here. Worth over a
hundred thousand, I've heard. That's why he can afford to wear old
clothes." "He might at least be neat." Rob laughed. "I'll remind you of that some day about two months from
now, when you've quit wearing starched shirtwaists." As they were to start for the ranch early in the morning, they went to
bed soon after supper.Harriet fell asleep at once and did not wake
until a sharp tattoo rattled on her door. "Roll out, sis," Rob was calling, "nearly six and we want to hit the
trail by seven. "When Harriet came down into the office, she found it thronged, and
humming with suppressed excitement. "The sheriff has just come into town with two horse thieves," Rob
explained. "They rounded 'em up on the Malade river, just above here,
with a string of ponies. Another of the fellows got away after wounding
one of the sheriff's men. It must be cold hiding out in the foothills
this time of year. Well, let's eat and move on.We want to make the
Hyslop ranch before dark." As they stepped out into the street after breakfast Harriet shivered. "It's cold at night in the mountains all right," Bob admitted, "but
it's hot enough as soon as the sun gets up. You'll see. "Turning the corner to the livery stable he stopped and pointed to a new
farm wagon, ready loaded. "That's ours. You get up while I hitch and
we'll be off in a jiffy." Harriet stared at the wagon in dismay.The sloping roof of canvas
that was roped over the load looked to her as insurmountable as one
of the snow-covered peaks the train had passed. The wagon seat had
been lifted from the sockets and was balanced on top of a bale of hay.Several reels of barbed wire, a plow and her trunk gave Harriet a hint
of what company she might find herself in if the wagon should roll into
the ditch. She managed, however, to get aboard.While she was watching her brother
hitch the team, a clatter of hoofs made them both look up. "Why, hello, Jones!" Rob exclaimed. "When did you get in?" "Oh, a day or two ago." The man on horseback was small, slim and dark. A felt hat shaded his
eyes.He glanced at Harriet and said quick and low to Rob:
"Can I speak to you?" Rob went across the road. The man on horseback leaned forward and began
to talk rapidly.Harriet turned her face away, but now and then she caught a word, a
sentence: "if they get onto me," "my brand," "keep it quiet as you
can," "I wouldn't say anything at all. "And then in a natural tone the
stranger said suddenly, "Well, see you later," and rode off. Rob came back, finished hitching, climbed into the wagon and they
started.Harriet expected her brother to say something about the
mysterious young man; but although Rob began almost at once to talk,
asking all about their father and mother and the life at home since he
had left and speaking freely about his own experiences through the past
four years, he said nothing at all about the stranger.Harriet was
unable to restrain her curiosity. "Was that a cowboy, Rob?" she asked. "Who?" "I mean that man on horseback who was talking to you." "Oh! That?" Rob hesitated. "Jones, you mean? He's a fellow I've met.He
has some horses he wants me to take care of for a while." He stopped,
then after a moment added, "If any one asks when I'm not home, just say
I'm boarding them for a fellow. "He stopped and after a few moment's
silence began talking of other things. There was so much to see and so many questions to ask that Harriet soon
forgot about Jones.They were passing through one of the irrigation
tracts which marked the new development of the West. Wherever the
sagebrush had been cleared from a new piece of land, lay the smooth,
level acres: wheat, pasture, young orchard or stubble.The fields
were all of one size and were intersected squarely by the irrigation
ditches. The barns and dwellings of these ranches were always near the
road.Built of new unpainted boards, and unshielded by trees, they
glared crudely in the blazing sunshine. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"Pretty good-looking ranches some of these fellows have," observed Rob,
nodding toward a forty-acre stretch of young rye, green and flat as a
billiard table. "But how ugly the houses are! And so small! ""You've got your ideas cut to fit the regulation New England colonial
mansion, that's all. When I can afford a shack like that,--" he pointed
to the two-room cabin they were passing, "I'll think I'm rich." "Bobby! The idea.Why, what do you live in now?" "A tent. I only filed on my homestead this spring, you know, and
haven't had time to build.All last winter I was working for wages,
feeding cattle for Dan Brannan, getting a line on feeding my own--and
ever since I came in on to my land this spring after the break-up I've
been so busy getting my springs fenced that I haven't had time to sleep
scarcely.You can live in a tent for a while, can't you?" "Why, of course!" Harriet hesitated, not wanting to hurt her brother's
feelings by being too critical. "But where do you keep the food and
such things?Is it safe to go away like this and leave it all open?" "Sure. Who'd steal a few blankets and grub? My nearest neighbor is
eight miles away and nobody much passes except cow punchers and
sheepmen and they're honest, generally speaking. "Harriet was silent a moment, slowly putting this picture in place of
the one imagination had painted. "But won't the cows and sheep get into
the garden, spoil the hay or something?" Over Rob's sunburned face came an embarrassed smile. "Sorry to say
there isn't any garden--yet." "Oh!... Then you haven't a real farm?" "No, indeed. Not what Easterners would call a farm, but it's worth a
lot. It's this way. You see those hills we're climbing up to?Well,
my place is over on the other side of them, a quarter section of
government land that looks about like this; covered with sagebrush
and bunch grass, but I've got some good springs. That's what makes
my land worth something.There are thousands of acres of government
land like this open to homesteaders, but worthless because there's no
water. So the man who owns water, by fencing it, keeps stock away and
controls the range near him.All this government land is free pasture;
but it's no good without water. There is water--small springs and
streams--scattered through the hills, enough to keep a little place,
forty acres or so.Those are what people from the East keep coming in
and taking up. Men will homestead so long as they can find water, for
there's plenty of good land. ""I see," Harriet said slowly, gazing ahead over the interminable miles
of gray-green brush and bright, new, wild grass to the jagged, black
lava summit of the foothills. "But why didn't you take some land down
here? "she asked, with a gesture toward the green-and-gold oasis made
by the irrigated land around them. "Oh, this costs more. The land is cheap but the irrigation water is
brought in and you have to pay a lot for that.Besides, this isn't a
stock country and that's what I'm after. A fellow ought to make good
with all that free range." Harriet made no answer and for several minutes they rode in silence,
the creak of the wagon suggesting many things. "I meant to tell you all this when I wrote to you," Rob began abruptly. "But honestly, Harry, there was so much that was more important to
say that I forgot about the tent and how many miles to the next ranch
and so on.I'm so used to living that way that I didn't realize how
you might take it. As soon as mother wrote about your eyes, and how
discouraged you were at having to give up teaching, I sat down and
wrote right off the bat for you to come.It seemed as if it would be
the real thing to have you out here this first year on the place. It'll be more like camping than farming.I can't raise a crop until
the land's cleared and we ought to get time for lots of fishing and
shooting trips up into the Sawtooth forest. The climate is great--not a
drop of rain for months at a time. You'll like it, I'm sure.Still, if
you don't you can go back any time. ""Of course I'll like it," Harriet, or "Harry," as Rob had always called
her, said hurriedly, for she had caught the note of disappointment
in her brother's voice and felt a prick of self-reproach at being
so critical when Rob had thought only of the benefit to her and the
happiness it would be for both of them at being together again.Although Rob was five years older than his sister they had always been
chums through childhood, had written to each other regularly while they
were away at separate schools and had never lost interest in each
other's work.As soon as Rob had decided to stay in the West he had
looked forward to having Harry come out to live with him. As the morning passed the sun grew hot on their backs. Harry took off
her coat and wished for a parasol.Rob with his hat over his eyes
slouched forward comfortably and gave his attention to the team. "Rock! Move up there," he ordered. "Get out of that, you! Hit the collar,
there, Rye! Keep in the road! "The last few days of travel had tired Harry more than she realized
and now the slow motion of the wagon and the unbroken silence of the
desert proved very restful to her.The green of budding sage, of buck
brush and rabbit brush and new bunch grass melted into a soft mantle
spreading over the world as far as she could see.At long intervals
they passed immense flocks of sheep scattered through the brush and
among the rocky buttes. "Who takes care of them?" Harry asked. "I should think their owners
would be afraid to leave so many alone." "They're being taken care of.See that tent up there?" Rob pointed to
a patch of white canvas a mile away. "The Mex brings the band out to
their feed ground early in the morning, leaves the dogs on guard and
then goes back to his tent and sleeps half the day.He won't have to
bother with the sheep until it's time to move them to their bedding
ground for the night." "What's a 'Mex'?" "Oh, short for Mexican. So many of the sheep herders are Mexicans and
Bascoes nowadays that people call them all 'Mexes. 'That stick up
there with the rag on it marks the line between his range and the next
herder's and neither of them can cross it to feed. The sheep are all on
their way to the reserve now, in the mountains on the other side of the
prairie.They stay here in the foothills as long as the grass lasts,
then work north. That's when our trouble begins. I expect they'll
bother us a lot, since I haven't finished fencing." "Why, I thought you said you had fenced," Harry exclaimed. "Just the main springs. Not the whole hundred and sixty acres." "It must be hard to tell where your land begins and ends," Harry
laughed thoughtlessly. "Oh, I guess I know what's mine," Rob said rather dryly. "It takes
considerable wire and posts to get around that much land and money to
buy 'em. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
I had to work like a steer this winter so as to have some cash
to put into the place.To comply with the homestead law I've got to
have a house built before next winter and clear and plow just so much
land. Besides the glen that's fenced, there's two miles of fencing
and cross fencing for corral and garden.I'll have to work outside
for wages too, to get my feed for next winter; hay and grain for the
critters and groceries for you and me." As he told off the items slowly in a matter-of-course way, Harry
realized what a big thing it was he had undertaken.Although he had
joked about it, she knew he did not consider it a small one by any
means, and for a time she felt not only disappointed by the contrast to
what she had expected, but vaguely oppressed.There was too much else to think of, however, to brood over that. As
the day waned they climbed steadily higher. The road became rougher.Often Harriet held her breath as the horses scrambled over a lava
ridge, lurched down into a wallow of mud and struggled out only to
strike a worse spot farther on. At the top of each rise Rob paused to
breathe the team.Several times he and Harriet got down and walked
beside the wagon. "Tired?" he asked. "It's tough the first time you come over this trail,
but you'll get used to it." "I don't mean to travel it often enough." "You may have to," Rob warned her. "When I'm too busy to go to town
I'll send you." Harry looked back at the rough trail and laughed. "As if I'd travel
this rough road alone! "It was after six o'clock when they topped the last rise and, saw
ahead in the shadow of the great cañon walls the string of buildings,
haystacks and corrals of the Hyslop ranch. "We'll camp here, outside the fence," Rob said, as he turned off into
the brush and pulled up beside the stream flowing from a fissure in the
cañon wall.It was growing colder now, a dry, clear cold that stirred Harriet's
blood and made her realize how hungry she was. While Rob unhitched and
fed the team she gathered dry sticks for the fire.Soon coffee, bacon, and canned beans were on the fire, and, with tin
plates in their hands, the two hungry travelers sat down with sighs
of anticipation. Harry had taken a first mouthful, when suddenly she
pointed. "Look! What is it? "Rob turned, and saw in the darkness the gleam of yellow eyes. "A
coyote!" he exclaimed, overturning his plate as he scrambled to his
feet. "If only I had my rifle with me now! "He snatched up a bit of blazing sagebrush to fling at the animal,
which, oddly enough, had not fled. "Why, it's a dog!" Harry cried suddenly.Trembling with fear, yet unable to resist the smell of food, the little
animal crawled forward until he was close to the fire. "It's starved, that's what's the matter," declared Harry, who had put
down her plate and was coaxing the dog close enough to pat it. "Just
feel his poor bones. And look at his foot, too. He's been beaten nearly
to death. ""He's hardly more than a puppy. He must belong to some of these herders
round here. Brutes some of 'em are. I've heard they'll beat a dog to
death if they get mad at him. And they'd even tie up a horse without
food or water all day and night.You'd better turn him loose, Harry. If
he should belong to a 'Mex' the fellow'll be around after him." "I'll wait till he comes." She put down a plate of food for the dog who devoured it with mad
hunger.Then he crawled into the shelter of the canvas which Rob had
let down beside the wagon as a windbreak, and lay there until supper
was finished and the beds unrolled.When Harry lay down in her roll of
quilts, the little, black, sheep dog crept up beside her. "You dear thing," she murmured. "Whoever owned you didn't deserve to,
and I'm going to keep you. "For a few moments she was conscious of her strange, new surroundings:
the cañon walls, thousands of stars above her, the monotone of the
stream.The next she knew daylight was pouring into the cañon, Rob was
cutting brush for the fire and the black puppy, shivering silently, was
watching her with one eye. Harry reached out and drew him up beside her. "I'm certainly going to
keep you, you little black rascal. You're as black as Othello. There! That's your name." After breakfast when they were ready to start she lifted the dog up
into the wagon. "He can ride, can't he, Bobs? "Rob smiled but answered gravely: "Honestly, I'd turn him loose, Harry. If you want a dog I'll get you one, in fact we'll have to have one to
work for us. But it's risky picking up one that may belong to some
crazy sheep herder.You don't realize what these fellows are. Nearly
every one of them is off his nut from living alone, and if they do get
a notion you're trying to do them out of anything, like as not they'll
have it in for you." "Oh, Bobs!Please don't make me leave him," Harry begged. "See him look
at me." "All right. But don't get scared when some 'Mex' begins to look at him." "Scared! Just refer any one that wants him to me. "CHAPTER II
After leaving the cañon where they had camped, Rob and Harriet drove
through a region of utter desolation. The road wound about among crags
and needles of granite that rose high into the air.Then came the
flats--a stretch of meadow that lay sunken between the north and south
watersheds--and after that a sharp plunge down a narrow trail cut in
the face of the mountain to the bottom of Spring Creek cañon.The snow-swollen stream filled most of the narrow floor of the cañon;
the road was a succession of mudholes through which Rob forced the
struggling horses.A thick wall of willows along the stream kept the
travelers from seeing more than a few feet ahead; the gray walls of
the gorge shut off the sunlight and echoed noisily to the shouting
creek.To Harry that ride up the cañon was a nightmare of terrifying
suspense.Then abruptly it ended; they were out on level ground,
sunshine streamed along the valley below them, and across the prairie
the Sawtooth Mountains stood shoulder to shoulder, with their summits
radiant in the snowy splendor. "At last!" sighed Harry. "Not quite," Rob answered. "We go up a little before we reach the
ranch. It's on the bench, close to the hills--not on the prairie down
there. It's only five miles more. "Turning eastward presently, the road wound along the base of the hills,
which were very low here, with only an occasional steep butte jutting
out from the range.On the other side the ground fell away gradually to
the prairie floor, which was brilliant with its hundreds of acres of
young grain, plowed land, pasture, and sagebrush.Harriet was gazing
down at the plains, when Rob's voice made her look around sharply. "There! Now you can see the ranch." "Trees!" she exclaimed. "Yes, the only big grove of quaking asp left on this side of the
prairie.Every one round here knows that big fellow at the top. There's
a real stream, too. With those for a starter it won't take us long to
make a home. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"There was a new note in Rob's voice--something more than the boyish
kindness that had made him so lovable a chum. For a moment Harriet felt
very far from him. Then a wave of nobler feeling swept over her. Of
course Rob was absorbed in his homestead.Who would not be--owner of
160 acres, and master of his own toil? Soon Rob left the road and drove through the brush along the edge of
a wet, green meadow toward the cañon that opened out from the hills.Along the steep slopes of the hill, trees meandered, and down the cañon
a mountain stream came gushing. At the upper edge of the meadow Rob
drew up, unhitched the horses, and pitched the tent in the shelter of
a spreading clump of willows.Two weeks later, Harry was standing in the tent, deep in a struggle
with her first pie. The cookbook was propped open before her on the
plank table, on which cups, spoons, and plates were scattered in
profusion. "Bobs, is that you? "she called, as she heard footsteps outside. "Do
look here! This pie crust is such a mess!" She had arrived at a point where she needed encouragement.The morning
was passing; the tent was very hot; flies swarmed everywhere, and her
dough-covered hands could not grasp and tuck away the refractory curl
that was tickling the end of her nose. "If you want pies," she went on, "you'd better send for one of your
cowboy cooks to come and make them. I can't." "Excuse me, ma'am. Can I help?" At the sound of the strange voice Harriet turned, dismayed.In the
doorway of the tent stood a dark, slender man eying her questioningly. In his khaki shirt, scarlet neckerchief, silver-trimmed leather "chaps"
and broad-brimmed hat he was all that Harry had imagined a cowboy
should be.There was something familiar to her in his dark-eyed face;
and when he said, "Is Mr. Holliday here? I'm fetching in a bunch of
colts--Jones is my name," she remembered at once. "Mr. Holliday is not here, but please come in, Mr. Jones," she said. "I
am his sister." Jones came into the tent and sat down on a cracker box near the door. "How do you like Idaho?" he asked. "I'd like it better if I'd learned to make pies before I came," Harry
replied, with a rueful glance at her sticky hands. "Rob has told me
how well all the men out in this country can cook. It makes me feel
so stupid not to be able to. Rob has tried to show me how to make
sour-dough bread and stew frijole beans--with red peppers and garlic,
you know. Aren't they awful?Rob likes them, though." "They ain't so bad," said Jones gravely, turning his hat in his hands
and glancing oddly at the girl from under his eyebrows. "Well, maybe not, when you're very, very hungry. I can manage to cook
_them_, but pie--look at it! "She viciously prodded the glistening,
sticky paste. "I guess I'll just throw it away and start fresh." "Oh, I wouldn't waste it! Ain't you got it a little wet, mebbe?" "Is that it? What must I do? I'm sure you are laughing in your sleeve
at me. ""Not much. I remember what an all-fired mess I had layin' round when I
first waded into pie makin'. But now if I was you and you told me to
turn that there into hot bread and take a new layout for the pie, I
reckon I'd try it." "Thank you! "Harry laughed. "If I were you, Mr. Jones, and you were
I, and I saw you in this fix, do you know what I'd do? Offer to show
me--you--how to do it. "With a smile, Jones laid his hat under the table, dipped some water
into the hand basin, washed his hands, and came over to the table. "I'll grease the pans," Harry said. "The apples are ready. And there! I
forgot all about the fire.This business of putting in wood every five
minutes----"
She put wood into the stove, filled the kettle, stirred the beans, and
greased the pans; all the while she watched the new cook as he worked. "I'd rather organize a fresh batch of dough," he said apologetically. "Makin' it over would be like tryin' to make a cow pony out of a cayuse
that's been half broke to a buggy. "In a few minutes he had the pie pans lined, and looked about him for
the filling. "Apples, you said, didn't you?" Harry pointed to a basin overflowing with dried fruit that she had
soaked but had not cooked. "Those are the apples I meant to use. "Jones hesitated and grinned. "You wasn't cal'latin' to make them into a
pie without bilin' 'em first? It'd be like chewin' on gun waddin! Ain't
you got no canned goods? "From the pile of groceries, dishes, chicken feed, and bedding that Rob
had dumped into a corner until he could find time to put up shelves,
Harry produced a can of peaches. "This place is in the worst mess,"
she declared. "We've been here just about two weeks, and Rob is so busy
getting post holes dug while the ground is soft that he hasn't time
even to think how we live." "A homesteader has to think of his critters first. Did you say you had
the garlic in those beans?They'd ought to bile some smarter if they're
for dinner. "When Rob came home at noon, tired, hungry, and expecting a meal of
soggy bread and experimental beans, he found dinner waiting for him;
the open oven door revealed delicious brown biscuits and an odorous
pie.Harry, cool and calm, was setting the table. "So you got here at last, did you?" Rob said in greeting to Jones. "Yes, but it's a wonder," Jones replied. "The road's so crooked comin'
through the hills that a fellow meets hisself comin' back three times
on the way over." "Did you bring in the horses?" "Sure. I've got 'em in those trees up yonder.Thought I'd better see
you before I put 'em in the corral." He shot a quick glance at Rob. "No, you don't want 'em there. I've got the glen fenced. There are so
many trees in there that it will be cool and protected for the colts,
too.Well, let's have dinner, sis; I'm hungry enough to chew nails." "You'll have just time to wash while I'm dishing up," Harry reminded
him.She had taken pains to set the table attractively--with clean napkins
from her little store of linen, with the butter on butter plates, and
with a glass of water at each place. After much splashing outside, Rob reappeared. "Now for grub! "he
exclaimed, slumping down on the cracker box. "Come along!" he cried to
Jones, who, standing before the looking-glass, was carefully parting
his glossy black hair. "Your top's all right. ""You certainly didn't bother to brush yours," Harry said, with a glance
at Rob's wet and rumpled hair. "Oh, it'll do!" Rob hastily smacked his hair flat. "Come along, Jones.That's the trouble with these Western financiers," he added in a loud
aside to Harry. "They think too much of their looks." He glanced round
the table. "This all the beans you've got, sis? "he asked, eying
apprehensively the small dish in which Harry had served the beans. "No." Harry pointed to the saucepan on the stove. "Ah! Good work. Beans, Jones? Sure. "Rob ladled out huge platefuls for
Harry and Jones, swung the saucepan from the stove to the table, helped
himself generously, and then calmly set the saucepan down on his clean
napkin. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"Now, a little condensed milk for the coffee," he said, "then
hoist anchor and away." "I'll have to open a fresh can," Harry said, jumping up. "I threw out
the other." As she went to get it, she failed to see her brother's eyebrows lift in
surprise.He said nothing, however, and devoured his dinner hungrily. "Sis couldn't even turn a flapjack when she first came out," he said to
Jones as between them they demolished beans and biscuits. "Never mind,
sis, you've earned your salt teaching, and if you keep on like this
you'll soon be worth your salt to _me_." He winked teasingly, cheerfully unconscious of the fact that Harry's
cheeks were flaming with annoyance.Just when Rob should have been
nicest, before a stranger, he was particularly horrid! In a very cold and dignified manner she disclaimed credit for the pie
and biscuits, but Rob was so busy eating that he did not notice the
reproof in her voice.As soon as dinner was over he got up, reached for
his hat, and said, "Come on, Jones, let's go up to the glen." They stepped outside the tent. Harry heard Rob say in a low voice,
"I've been looking for you this long while.Have any trouble getting
through?" "Not much. I didn't give any one a chance to ask questions." She heard no more and was soon thinking about other things--chiefly
about how Rob had changed since coming West.She washed the dishes,
straightened up the tent, and was just hanging up her apron, when she
heard the men coming back, still talking earnestly. "It's the only way," Rob was saying. "You can't be sure that these
fellows will not find out; and if you can say that--see?" The next moment they entered the tent. "Where's the ink, Harry?" he
asked. As she went to her trunk, he added, "Give us a sheet of paper,
too. That's it.Let's go outside, Jones; it's cooler there." They sat down on the shady side of the tent. Harry heard them talking
long and low. After a while Rob came inside, put down the pen and ink,
and went out again. Shortly afterward, Jones rode away.Harry waited, hoping that Rob would come in and tell her what they had
been talking about; but he did not. Going to the door, she saw him
driving along the fence line, unloading the posts that he had cut that
morning in Spring Creek cañon.Harry felt hurt and irritated. Slowly something hardened in her throat,
and setting her lips, she sat down with her mending. When, after a
while, Rob came up to get a fresh bag of water, she did not look up or
speak.But Rob was too full of his own thoughts to notice Harry's mood. He
drew a cracker box to the table, reached for a scrap of wrapping paper,
and was soon deep in figuring. "Twenty-four, six, thirty. Six tons of
alfalfa.How many hundred of barley and wheat and oats will it take to
winter the stock on, I wonder?" He thrust his legs out under the table,
ran his hands through his hair, and stared at the figuring before him. "Yes, I ought to have three hundred dollars at least, before snow
flies," he said. "I will, too, if I stick on the job and nothing
happens." "If nothing happens," Harry repeated, with a short laugh. "Does
anything ever happen out here, pleasant or otherwise?" "Eh? What's started you off? I mean, if the work goes well and we don't
get a setback of some kind. Three hundred dollars will see us through
the winter, all right." "'Us! 'Don't count me in, please." "Well, you have got a grouch, sis," said Rob, in some surprise. "What's
the matter now? I thought you were here for a year. In fact, I was just
going to ask you if you don't want to homestead here." "Me? Homestead? Never! ""Why not? I didn't say anything about it before, because I wanted first
to see whether you liked it and whether it agreed with you. You're
taking hold fine, and I believe we'd make a big thing of it together.There's a hundred and sixty on the coulee just east of the next butte. You've been over it?" "Yes," Harry admitted.She remembered the swale, the strip of green
meadow, the springs breaking from the hillside; it did not compare in
value with Rob's land, but it was a good "hundred and sixty. "For a moment Harry had a vision of herself as a ranch owner: riding a
cow pony, planting and selling crops, building up a herd of her own,
perhaps.Then came swiftly a picture of herself standing alone in the
doorway of the cabin, as she had seen the women standing in their
doorways watching the train pass their lonely prairie homes.Yes, it
would be that way with her, while Rob was off with Jones or some other
man. She shook her head. "I couldn't! I've no money. I can't make any out here. What should I do
for clothes and things?It took all I made at home, teaching, to keep
me properly dressed." "You wouldn't need such things here; you'd be a lot better off without
them, if you're going to wear yourself out getting them.In a few
years you'd have a farm worth something--you and I together could do a
lot. As it is, some old cow-puncher'll settle it up, or a sheepman'll
grubstake a Mex to prove up on it for him, and the sheep'll eat out
the whole range.It wouldn't take you long to commute, only fourteen
months, and then, if you didn't like it, you could hike back East. Of
course it would cost you two hundred dollars to prove up, but you could
make that easily by teaching a district school. "Again Harry hesitated. She remembered suddenly the young school-teacher
whom she had met on the train, and who was giving up a good salary to
come out and homestead. "If I have to spend all I'd make teaching merely to prove up, I don't
see that I'd be any better off than if I went back home. If I could do
something to earn money to put into the ranch it might be worth while. ""Quit throwing things out before they're half used; that would save
some money, anyway." Rob spoke brusquely. He hated to find fault with Harry, but he had
wanted to speak before this about her wastefulness, and now she was
giving him an excuse. "Really, Rob, I don't know what you mean." Her tone showed that her
pride was hurt. "I thought I was very economical. ""It's not very economical to throw out a tin of milk that's only been
used twice--and to cut fresh bacon for fry fat, when there's an old
rind hanging on the wall. It's those little things that count up in
the long run.I'm not kicking, but since you said you'd like to help,
that's as good a way as any." "And yet you suggest my staying out here. Really, if I'm such a poor
manager as you say, I think I'd better go back at once." "What's the use of talking like that?I guess it's lonesomeness that
makes you grouchy. You ought to get out and see some of the other
ranchwomen. Why don't you go over to Robinson's. It's only three miles
from here, and she'd be tickled to death to have you go to see her. ""Why doesn't she come first? She's been here longer than I have." "They don't pay much attention to that formal sort of nonsense out
here," said Rob. "If you were sick they'd come and nurse you for a
week; but most of them have a raft of children, and chores to do
besides." | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
What, Harry asked herself, could Rob do
singlehanded against that inert opponent?As she watched him bore one hole after another, driving the post-hole
digger down through the gravel and earth, repeating monotonously the
same motions, never resting, seldom speaking, pausing only to pour a
drink of water down his throat or to wipe the sweat from his face with
his torn sleeve, he seemed to her to have become a helpless automaton
that had been wound up and set going for the amusement of some
invisible spectator.Harry was discovering that the West was very different from the
picturesque idea she had had of it. Her part in it, too, was not the
picturesque part she had thought to play.Harry saw the West only from
its unromantic exterior; not--as Rob was seeing it--as the foundation
for as great a romance as the world has ever seen: the transforming of
the waste places of the earth into a garden of plenty.If Rob had only told her of the dreams and plans that inspired
him--but Rob was no talker. Now, as Harry watched him, she felt only
the vague discomfort of pity for his overwhelming task.The heat made her sick, the glare tortured her eyes; she was afraid of
the lizards and horned toads that darted across the sand about her;
but if she went back to the tent she knew that she would soon become
lonely and homesick.She decided to take a short walk. Looking over her
shoulder toward the foothills, she frowned questioningly. "Rob, who is that up there?" "Hey?" Rob straightened himself laboriously and glanced in the
direction in which she pointed.As yet no sheep had bothered them. One or two flocks had come down from
the foothills on their way across to the reserve, but Rob had warned
them off.Seeing that their favorite bedding ground had been filed on,
the herders had pushed on to the "scab" land. "Aren't those sheep?" asked Harry. "They are," Rob said slowly.Resting on his shovel, he gazed up at the
point where the buttes divided to form a deep coulee. The leaders of the flock had come rather slowly over the crest of the
hill, but now the whole herd came pouring down the glen.The thousand
or more animals bleated crazily as they smelled the water and the deep,
rich grass below them.Two sheep dogs maneuvered them with short, sharp
yelps, glancing back for directions to the sheep herder who stood above
and with his hat signaled to them what to do. Walking toward the glen, Rob motioned to the sheep herder to come down.At first the man paid no attention, but when Rob had whistled sharply
two or three times, he slowly began to descend the hill. "He doesn't want to hear me," Rob said. "You'll see. He'll pretend he
doesn't understand.Those Mexes are a coony lot; pretend to be stupid,
but are sharp as nails when it comes to hanging on to a good grazing
ground." Watching the sheep flow along, Rob and Harry waited. After a while the
herder came down the glen toward them. "Say, he's not a Mex at all!" Rob exclaimed. "He's an American! It must
be that herder of Joyce's." The herder, who was a good-looking, heavily built fellow about twenty
years old, stopped and looked at Rob without speaking.His felt hat was
drawn forward over his eyes. He carried a heavy stick that was thick
and knotted at the end. "How do!" he said, glancing inquiringly from brother to sister. "I suppose you know that this land has been filed on?" Rob began. "I'll
have to ask you not to herd your sheep in 'round here." "Who's filed on it?" "I have." "I don't see no fence." "I've just come on, and haven't got the fence up yet; but it's mine,
just the same. ""Well, I don't know if it is," the young fellow replied insolently. His eyes were fastened upon 'Thello, who, crouching at Harry's feet,
had been growling at him. "Where'd you get that pup?" he asked shortly. "He's mine." "Yours? "Rob's voice was quiet, but his blood was hot. "I don't see any
collar." An angry glint shot from the herder's eyes. "He's mine, just the same." "I don't know if he is." "Well, I'm going to have him!" the man muttered, and made a move toward
the dog.But Harry was quicker. Sweeping 'Thello into her arms, she stepped back. "Whoever owned him didn't deserve to!" she cried. "The poor little
thing had been starved and beaten nearly to death when we found him,
and I'm not going to let him go. "The way in which Harry spoke the words, with her head thrown back and
her brown eyes shining, carried a challenge; the sheep herder's fist
tightened on his stick and his face darkened. Then, without a word, he
shrugged his shoulders and moved off. "Remember," called Rob, "you're to feed on the slopes. I want the
meadows for my own stock, and if you aren't careful, I'll have you
moved outside the two-mile limit. "The fellow stopped, looked back at them, and then answered, "I reckon
you can't do just that. I've filed on the homestead just east of this
here one. My name's Boykin, if you want to look it up." Turning, he
went on. There was a minute of silence.Then Rob said slowly, "The homestead
east; the land I meant you to take." Harry could not answer. A queer, surprising shame and regret held her
silent. She and Rob walked down to the tent without speaking a word.Anything
that Rob might have said would have sounded like a reproach, and of
what use, he thought, would that have been now? Harry longed to have
him speak, nevertheless, to have him say something that would show how
he did feel.She was much relieved when at last he broke the silence. "Who's that coming?" he said abruptly. "I believe it's Brannan with the
cow and those heifers. "A cloud of dust was puffing along the road toward the ranch, and
through it they saw a man on horseback, with the half-dozen head of
cattle which Rob had bought.When they came nearer Harry recognized the
little man as the same who had spoken to Rob in the hotel at Shoshone. They hurried across the meadow to the corral; without waiting for them
Dan had opened the gate and begun to drive in the cattle.Tired, suspicious and frightened, they refused to enter and started
off, each in a different direction, but they had reckoned without the
old "cow puncher. "Harry had smiled to herself when first she saw the
wizened old man perched upon his big hay horse; but her amusement gave
way to wonder and admiration when he began to work the "critters" back
toward the corral.Bellowing and kicking they dodged and ran but Dan, with his dog and his
whip, steered them back and drove them finally through the gateway. Harry, Rob and Dan looked proudly at the cattle. "A nice bunch of critters," said Rob. "They are that," Dan assented gravely. "As good as any I have and I've
the best herd in the valley. Now ye've the last word whin some felly
picks on 'em." "A good start is half the journey," said Rob, "and I'm obliged to you. Come up to the tent, Dan.It's hot work riding on a day like this, and
sis will make us some lemonade." "I see you've the sheep still wid ye." Dan nodded toward the hillside. "Got 'em for keeps." | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Rob went on to tell what he had just found out. "The worst of it is," he said, "that that herder is a mean one, and
Joyce is a mean one, too; so between them I guess I'm in for trouble." Dan nodded. "Y'are. Niver did ye say truer worrud. Meanness is the cud
thim two niver swallys.But I'll be tellin' ye a thing, lad." He leaned forward and laid his hand on Rob's knee. "Ye don't want to
let thim think ye're beaten. That Joyce has half a dozen homesteads
a'ready that he's paid his herders to file on, for sure!But kape yer
eyes open, and might be you'd find a way to come up with him yet." "I'm afraid a tenderfoot like me hasn't much of a show against an
old-timer like him." "Niver say it.There niver was a rashcal yit that didn't lave wan
footprint at least in the mud, smart as he'd be, and it's mebbe you
that's the lad wit' the eyes to see it. Watch him, Rob, watch him. "Rob shook his head, yet nevertheless he felt a glow of hope in his
heart. That evening, just before bedtime, Jones returned to the ranch, spread
his quilt on the dry grass under a tree and became one of the family.He was good company, and Harry would have been glad to have him about,
except that he took so much of Rob's attention.Every morning at
sunrise the two began to work with the colts, breaking them one by one
to bit and bridle, and then to harness and wagon. As soon as the forenoon grew warm, they shut the colts in the meadow
at the head of the draw.This was a natural pasture lot, watered by a
spring that flowed from the rocks under the next lift in the foothills
and sheltered on all sides by trees. Here the horses were safe and the
boys paid no more attention to them throughout the day.Jones always
rode away through the valley while Rob plowed, went on with his task of
fencing, or did some work in the garden. After supper the boys resumed
their business of breaking the colts.Twice Jones had ridden away in the evening taking one or more of the
harness-broken horses with him and had returned some days later
without them. Harry supposed that he had sold them.Neither Rob nor
Jones ever talked about the horses in her presence and she had soon
understood that she was not expected to ask questions about them.One morning Rob asked his sister to put up some lunch for Jones and
himself because they were going down the valley on business. Harry put up the lunch and stood watching while they mounted and rode
off.Among the string of horses which Jones had brought in were two
well broken to saddle, a black and a sorrel, and to-day the boys each
rode one of them.These two horses had run loose for so long a time
that they were as frisky and spirited as the colts. As the little party
swept away across the wild prairie the girl longed ardently to be with
them.She liked to ride--Rob had been teaching her--and it did seem
hard that she should not be allowed to go along on such trips as these,
simply because she was not considered a proper person to share a secret.Hurt pride mingled with resentment struggled together in her breast. It
was hard to think that she was still outside Rob's deeper interests. Her life had, for the moment, lost its zest.She finished tidying up
the tent, then went down to the garden determined to be interested in
her own tasks, for the planting and weeding of the vegetables that Rob,
overwhelmed in the press of work, had been forced to leave to her.She put in several rows of root vegetables, a second planting of peas
and beans and was trying to feel enthusiastic about planting corn when
a soft crooning call made her turn. At first nothing living was to be seen.Then a quiver amongst the tall
weeds and grass along the stream caught her eye, and there came into
sight a sage hen leading her brood of five chicks.Advancing sedately,
craning her long neck to keep watch on every side, pausing to strip the
seeds from various weeds, crooning her furtive call to her young, the
mother bird moved upstream toward the cool shade of the cañon.Suddenly
her black, inquiring eye met Harry's friendly but eager stare. For an
instant the hen stood motionless, her gray-brown coloring blending her
confusingly with the sand and sagebrush of the hillside behind her.Then, with a short, whistling call she dropped low and Harry saw her
and the baby chickens slither off toward the willows.With a sudden determination to follow and have a closer look at these,
her nearest neighbors, Harry dropped her hoe in the fence corner, shut
'Thello inside the garden so he could not chase the birds, and slipped
quietly up the draw after them.CHAPTER IV
For some minutes Harry walked along the stream without seeing or
hearing the sage hen. But this bit of discouragement only increased her
interest. How could they hide so quickly without flying?The chicks
were too young to fly and surely the hen would not desert them! No,
there they were now!Harry felt her blood quicken with interest as the covey of bark-gray
birds slid across a sun patch beyond the willows and vanished again
amongst the quaking asps higher up.So absorbed did she become in
this game of hide and seek that she never once thought of the meadow
pasture and it was only as she made a detour to avoid a great patch
of fire-weed that she came alongside the fence.At the same moment,
she saw a man come riding slowly across the shoulder of the hill. He
appeared to be watching for something, for he rode slowly and looked
about. Harry stood perfectly still, hoping he would not catch sight of her.But her light dress at once caught the rider's eyes and before she
could move he was riding toward her. He was a tall, big-shouldered young fellow, dressed in cowboy fashion. "Seen any strays round here, ma'am?" he asked, lifting his hat. "I'm
looking for one." "Strays? Horses, you mean?" Harry stammered. The sound of the stranger's voice had recalled something to the girl's
mind. She had seen this man before. His voice, his smooth, freckled
face, his blue eyes--she knew them.She blushed with confusion, for the
young man was looking at her intently. "I don't believe there've been any strays here," she said. "My brother
might know." "Your brother down at the tent yonder?" "No, not now. He's gone off with--with another man. ""You ain't got no horses of your own here that mine could ha' got in
with?" "No--yes--I mean we're boarding some horses, but they're colts and
inside the pasture, and I'm sure there are no strays among them. "The stranger had dismounted and, leading his horse, was walking beside
her. "Excuse me, ma'am. Ain't I seen you before?" he asked. "That's what I was wondering," Harry laughed. "But I can't remember
your name. Mine is Harriet Holliday." "Sure thing!It was comin' up in the train, wasn't it? Mine's Chris
Garnett." At once Harry remembered. After telling each other that they were
glad to meet again, they walked on toward the tent. "Whose horses are
those? "Garnett asked, pointing at the big team in the corral. "Oh, that's the work team!" | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"I thought you said your brother was off." "Yes, he's riding one of the horses we're boarding." "A colt? ""No, you see there were two old--I mean good, broken horses in the
bunch. Rob and the fellow who owns the horses are riding them." Harry's explanation was somewhat jerky.The subject of Jones and his
horses still rankled in her, and she could not speak of them naturally. Garnett looked at her gravely. She felt the color rush into her face
and her eyes fell. "You must stay and have some lunch," she said at last, trying to turn
the conversation away from the painful subject. "I haven't a hot
dinner, because the boys aren't going to be home, but I'd like to have
you stay. "To her surprise Garnett readily accepted her invitation. While she
was setting the table, she kept stealing glances at him, and tried to
harmonize her memory of the very boyish person she had met on the train
with this quiet young man.He was the same big, friendly fellow, with
the same laughter-wrinkled eyes; but now there was something beneath
his reserve that she could not quite understand.Sitting cross-legged
on the grass outside the tent, he played with 'Thello, and talked
casually to Harry while she moved about inside.All the restraint of
the first moments had apparently passed; Garnett said nothing more
about the horses until he left, an hour later. "If that pony of mine should come in here," he said, turning in his
saddle, "I'd be a lot obliged to you if you'd send me a line. Soldier's
my post office. That horse of mine is about six years old, sorrel,
ring-and-arrow brand.You'd notice him in a bunch of cayuses." A sorrel! Harry's thoughts flashed to the sorrel horse which Rob had
ridden away that morning. She felt a pang of vague apprehension, and
wondered whether Garnett had noticed her startled look.When Garnett had gone, she tried to reassure herself. Of course
anything that Rob took an interest in was all right; but _why did he
keep it a secret from her_? Suppose that sorrel horse should prove to
have the ring-and-arrow brand?There might be many sorrels with that
brand, yet her heart beat more nervously and her lips grew dry. An idea came to her, and she ran up the glen toward the pasture where
the colts were hidden.She knew that the sorrel was not there, but she
wanted to see whether the colts were branded.When she reached the upper end of the glen she crawled through the
barbed wire, and was just emerging from the shelter of the trees when
she saw Garnett ride along the fence and look at the bunch of colts
inside.Harry stepped back, instinctively afraid of his seeing her. Why? She
demanded it of herself fiercely. Why should she feel guilty because
Rob was concealing something from her? She had done nothing wrong.But
Garnett suspected something; he had not believed her. Humiliation swept over her.Even after Garnett, satisfied that his
horse was not there, had ridden away, and after she had returned to the
tent, her cheeks burned at the thought, "He did not believe me. "She determined to tell Rob about the whole affair and to make him
explain the mystery. Also, she would look at the brand on that sorrel
horse. But Rob and Jones did not get home until ten o'clock.They were very
tired and hungry, and Harry was so busy getting supper for them that
she did not have a chance to go into the matter. The next morning Jones rode away on the black horse.When Rob had gone
down to the brush to work on the fence, Harry ran out to the corral and
looked at the sorrel. The brand was perfectly plain--ring and arrow!Her first impulse was to go out to Rob and tell him all about Garnett's
visit; but when she thought of how completely Rob's work always
absorbed him, she hesitated. After all, what was the use of breaking
into his morning's toil with her story?She might just as well wait
until noon. As she stood, irresolute, her gaze wandered to the distant prairie.Now, early in June, every minute of the day brought some new and
lovelier expression of nature's magic to view; the color that filled
the valley was slowly deepening with the unfolding year.Far down
the prairie spread the green wheat fields, the squares of alfalfa
and plowed land, the pale clouds of pink where the fruit trees were
in bloom. Through the crystalline air the curve of hill and hollow
shimmered resplendent.Harry's eyes grew vague while she pondered. For the first time her
heart went out to her new surroundings. She had been stupid to shut
herself out from partaking of this land. She turned restlessly back
into the tent.Regret for not having filed on the land next to Rob's and the thought
of Jones and the sorrel horse worried her. It was intolerable to think
of settling down to humdrum tasks of housework or garden.Calling
'Thello she set off up the draw in the dumb desire of "working it off"
outdoors. The narrow vale between the towering buttes was now at its loveliest.Bees buzzed in the wild rose thickets; wild flowers of vivid
colors--scarlet, blue, violet and yellow--dappled the earth at her feet
and even splashed the sides of the barren buttes.Along the stream,
where the ground was always moist, a dense tangle of weeds and vines
had sprung up and, with the willows, made it difficult to get through
except in certain places.Harry followed the same course she had taken the day before when
following the sage hen. But this morning she noticed how differently
the ground appeared.The willows had been broken through; the vines
had been torn away; and the stream had been trodden into a slough by
countless hoofs. Some cattle had come through on their way to the
hills, but they had kept to the draw farther east. 'Thello sniffed
suspiciously and Harry wondered what had been there; but as she
crossed the brook for the last time and came out onto the meadow she
stopped short. A great flock of sheep were feeding.Spread out round
the verdant basin they were eating silently, steadily, greedily, with
short, close-cropping nibbles that would leave nothing but the bare
ground of the rich pasture before them.At sight of her, one or two
ewes "blatted" and moved on, but the others were too busy feeding to
notice her. Harry's first astonishment flared suddenly into sharp indignation.She
looked round and saw the herder watching her from a rocky knoll near
by. "Please come down here!" she called sharply, and then added to
herself, "It's that Boykin--the one Rob ordered off before. Miserable
creature! "He came down very slowly and stood before her much as he had stood
before Rob, with his eyes smouldering under his half-shut lids. "Well, come to fetch me my dog?" he drawled. "Your dog! Didn't my brother tell you not to feed down here?This is
our pasture." "Is it?" "Yes, you know it is. And you had better drive your sheep off right
away, too." "Had I?" "Yes, at once." Even as she spoke Harry felt how empty her words were. "You know perfectly well that you have no right on our land.You're
spoiling the pasture, and the stream, too. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Through the heat and the
dust and the white glare, she hurried, hurried, hurried.As she rounded
each butte in succession and saw the empty road curving far ahead round
another, she wondered passionately how much farther Robinson's was.CHAPTER V
Harry was beginning to think that she had lost her way, when suddenly,
as she topped a rise in the road, she saw the Robinson ranch lying
below her beside the mouth of a coulee.Barns, sheds, corrals, pens,
haystacks, and ranch house lay scattered along the fence near the road.The buildings, which were of unpainted boards, weathered to the gray of
the desert, reminded her of the houses she had seen from the train; but
the path from the gate to the door of the ranch house was bordered with
flowers, and the yard, which was separated from the farm fields by a
fence, was neatly planted with vegetables and fruit trees.A chorus of loud barks announced Harry's arrival. At once the door of
the house was opened a crack and several children, with yellow, tousled
heads, peered out.As Harry approached, the children promptly shut the
door, but at her knock a young woman with a fat, smiling baby on her
arm, opened it. "How do? Come in, won't you?" said the woman. "Is this Mrs. Robinson?" asked Harry, on the threshold. "I'm Miss
Holliday." "Glad to make your acquaintance. Set down. You look tired. Norma,
let the lady set in that chair." She drew a small girl from a plush
rocking-chair and dragged it forward. "Thank you, I can't stop.My brother has been hurt terribly. A sheep
herder attacked him and beat him almost to death. He must have a doctor
at once. Can you send to town for me?" Harry spoke rapidly.She was spent with weariness and heartache, and
the mention of Rob brought a strangling sob to her throat. "How about! Mr. Holliday hurt!"Mrs. Robinson set the baby on the
floor, and putting her hands on her hips, stared in mingled curiosity
and sympathy at her visitor, and poured out questions and exclamations.Wiping her forehead nervously with her handkerchief, Harry had turned
abruptly away. She shrank from the eager interest of a stranger,
and had to force herself to answer the woman's questions. "It's an
imposition, I know, to ask you to send to town for the doctor," she
said, "but I can't leave my brother alone long enough to go, and I
don't know how to ride very well, anyway." "Sakes alive, girlie! Nobody don't have to ride to git him.You kin
just phone over. There's the phone right there. P'r'aps I better ring
him up for you. Like's not he's at the hotel gassin', 'stead of in his
office. "Harry was only too glad not to have to repeat her troubles to the
doctor; she sat limply in the rocking-chair and fanned herself with her
hat, while Mrs. Robinson hunted vocally among the front stoops in town
for "Doc" Bundy. "If a body was to wait for him to come to his office," declared Mrs.
Robinson, "we could all die of old age before ever seein' him. I got
him, though. He's to the drug store gittin' him some sody. Hello, that
you, Doc? Yep, Mrs. Robinson. 'Tain't for us. Listen while I tell you,
so's you can come on. "When she had finished a lengthy description of Rob, his ranch, the
quarrel, and Rob's injuries, and had adjured the doctor to hurry and to
bring the sheriff with him, Mrs. Robinson dropped into her chair and
prepared to enjoy her visitor's call; but when she looked at Harry's
face, she exclaimed:
"You pore thing!You're all beat out, 'ain't you? You're as white as
curdled milk. See here! You catch hold of the young one and I'll hook
up the rig and carry you back home. Vashti can look out for the others
and get her dad's supper. I'll call her now."Mrs. Robinson left the room followed by three or four tow-headed
youngsters, who were clamoring for bread and jam. Harry, with the baby
on her knee, leaned back in the plush rocking-chair and looked vaguely
about her.Evidently this was the room where the family lived, for
besides the big cookstove and the table covered with oilcloth, there
were a plush-covered lounge, a phonograph, and a very new, shiny bureau
with an immense plate-glass mirror.The Robinsons had money to spend
if not good taste in spending it, she decided; at the same time she
noticed the unpapered board walls, which were decorated with gaudy
calendars and advertising posters, and the china, which had evidently
been recruited from "prize package" cereal boxes.Although Mrs. Robinson might be ignorant and crude, Harry gratefully
admitted that she was kind-hearted to drive her home at that time of
day.Hearing the rumble of wheels and the voice of her hostess giving
swift and numerous orders, she went to the door and looked out.The
"rig," as Mrs. Robinson had called it, was a light, mud-spattered
mountain wagon, drawn by a team of half-broken ponies that laid their
ears back and showed the whites of their eyes alarmingly.Mrs. Robinson
sat in the front seat, with one foot on the brake. "Oughtn't the baby to have something more on?" asked Harry, glancing at
the child's bare feet and gingham slip. "How about!Vashti," Mrs. Robinson called to the big-boned girl of
twelve who watched them from the doorstep, "you fetch ma's shawl off
the bed. And remember now, the beans is all cooked; there's pie, and
your dad likes plenty of lard in his hot bread.And be sure to get them
young ones to bed early, or I'll warm their jackets for 'em when I get
back. "As they drove out of the gate, Mrs. Robinson left an ever louder stream
of directions flowing behind her, until a drop in the road hid the
house from sight. Then she sighed abruptly and became silent. "It's very kind of you to drive me home," began Harry. "I appreciate it
immensely; but what will your husband think?" "Oh, he won't care. He can do for hisself as good as any woman.Men
folks in this country most always learn to housekeep when they're
bachin' it. Why, we were married when I was fifteen, and came out here
from Nebrasky, and there wasn't another woman in twenty miles to turn
to for help.But Robinson, he could show me hisself!" "At fifteen!" exclaimed Harry. "Why, you were just a child! Weren't you
lonely?" "I guess not! There was too much to do.I was likely to be called on
any day to finish seedin', or hayin', or help butcher, or what not, so
be he was short-handed." "But now, with all your little children to take care of," Harry began,
but she stopped short.She had been watching the little cayuse ponies, divided between fear
of their suddenly running away and admiration of the cool steadiness
with which Mrs. Robinson held them in check; but as they went down
the bank of a creek that had been dug out deep by the spring freshet,
the woman's foot slipped from the brake and the wagon rolled upon the
ponies' heels.Mrs. Robinson pulled up hard on the reins, but the
ponies plunged, clattered across the shallow ford, and, with their ears
back, dashed up the opposite bank. "Now, you ornery varmints! Quit it! Quit it! Yes, you will, too! | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Whoa,
you!If I don't beat the buttons off you for that!" Pouring a vivid flood of language upon the ponies, Mrs. Robinson threw
the brake and sawed sharply at their mouths.Suddenly there was a jerk
and a snap; the cheek strap of the off horse's bridle swung loose. Harry saw the leather strap fly back, and saw the pony shake its head
and shy; involuntarily she pressed the baby close to her.But Mrs.
Robinson was too quick for the cayuse.Pulling the ponies square across
the road, she faced them toward the boulders that marked the edge of
the "bench"; then, whipping the lines round the brake, she stepped over
the dashboard and out along the pole, and swung herself down at the
horses' heads. "Now, if that ain't the meanest team you ever saw, tell _me_!" she
drawled, as she wiped her face with her apron and looked contemptuously
at the ponies. "To bust up the harness when there ain't a thing handy
for me to mend it with!I suppose there ain't an inch of balin' wire in
the wagon. You couldn't look, could you, girlie? I don't want to leave
this fool pony." "Here's something!I don't know whether it's baling wire," Harry said,
after making a careful survey of the wagon box, "but there's a piece of
wire round the whip socket." "Sure thing, I'd forgot that. Lay the young one down and get it for me,
will you? "Harry obeyed, and Mrs. Robinson, cool and unconcerned, mended the
bridle. Then she climbed into the wagon, started the horses, and took
up the conversation as if it had never been broken off.Ashamed to reveal her fear, Harry forced herself to listen and to talk;
but when they drew near the ranch her thoughts rushed forward, and she
could think only of Rob.The moment they stopped at the corral she was
out of the wagon, and with an apology to Mrs. Robinson for leaving her
to unharness alone, she hurried across the slope.Her brother lay as
she had left him, with one arm up, shielding his face from the flies
that swarmed in the hot, sunny tent. He was awake, but feverish and in
pain. Bringing a basin of water, Harry began to change the bandages.While she was busy, Mrs. Robinson appeared, with the baby in her arms. "How about feedin' the critters?" she asked, as she declared her
sympathy. "The pigs ain't been slopped nor the chickens fed, I expect. I don't see the cow nowheres.Like's not she's feedin' up in one of
them draws along the hills. 'Slong's you ain't milkin' her it don't
matter. She'll get back when she's thirsty. Now, don't you move," she
added, as Rob tried to rise. "I'll see to the whole outfit. ""I'd forgotten all about the critters!" muttered Rob. He tried to lift
himself, and then, sinking back with a gasp of pain, closed his eyes. "I certainly feel mean." "You mustn't think of moving," protested Harry. "Mrs. Robinson is here.She's looking after everything. She's been awfully kind; telephoned to
the doctor, drove me home, and everything." A look of relief crossed Rob's face. He smiled, and murmured, "That's
great! "and suddenly Harry realized that under their neighbor's
matter-of-fact manner there had been more genuine kindness and a
greater willingness to help than she had appreciated. Harry longed to drop down beside Rob and sleep; never had she been so
weary.But she realized that Mrs. Robinson must be hungry, for it was
almost eight o'clock. Harry had built the fire and was moving stiffly
about, trying to think what she could prepare from her meager supply of
groceries, when Mrs. Robinson returned. "Say now," the woman exclaimed, "you let me get supper! You're wore to
a feather edge. I'll knock up a pan of hot bread and fry a little fat
meat, and that'll do us, bein' as there's no men to cook for. "After supper, Harry and Mrs. Robinson washed the dishes. The doctor had
not yet come, and the girl was worried. "Well," said Mrs. Robinson, "it's a twenty-mile drive out here, and it
was close on to six when I called him. There, now! Hear that?I guess
that's him this minute." Both women hurried outside. The silhouette of a horseman showed against
the sky, and a voice called, "This Holliday's?" "That's right," replied Mrs. Robinson. "We're waitin' for you, Doc. "The next moment the doctor, a sallow-faced Kentuckian, swung from his
saddle and clumped into the tent; he had turned up a wrong trail, he
said, in apology for being late.Harry held the lamp for him while he cleansed the wound and took a
few stitches in it. He gave Harry directions for caring for it, and
left lint and antiseptics.There was, he said, nothing more that he
could do; fortunately all danger of concussion from the blow at the
base of the skull had passed, and the other injuries were only flesh
wounds. All Rob needed was to keep quiet for a few days.The sheriff,
he explained, had not been able to come, because he had gone to Scalp
Creek to investigate a shooting affair. While the doctor was getting
ready to leave, Mrs. Robinson wrapped the baby in her shawl. "If it's all the same to you, Doc," she said, "seein' as it's on your
road, I'd be mighty obliged if you'd drive me over. The ponies are that
mean to-night! You can hitch yours on behind the wagon. "Harry went down to the corral with them and stood in the moonlight
holding the sleeping baby while Mrs. Robinson caught and harnessed
the horses.Harry felt a generous impulse of admiration for the
self-reliant, fearless ranchwoman, and when she said good night asked
her cordially to come again. "If she were only a little more civilized and congenial! "thought
Harry regretfully, looking after them until they had vanished amid the
moonlit ghosts of sagebrush, and the rattle of wheels had died away. "I guess it would be better, though, if I were more like her," she
suddenly confessed to herself. "Everything she does counts, while I
just rush round and waste my breath. Of course she's learned how, while
I have been learning civilized things; but if I'm to stay out here I'd
better learn how to live here. "She took up her work the next morning with a fresh incentive and in
a happy spirit. Caring for the animals was not such a bore as she
thought it would be.She went first to the chickens and pigs; next she
attended to the horses and heifers in the corral. The cow was nowhere
in sight. "I wonder when Jones will get back?" she thought. "Now that he might
really be of some use, of course he's not here. "She finished her work, made Rob comfortable, and then went to walk over
the ranch to see in which of the grassy coulees the cow had stayed to
feed.The hundred and sixty acres that the fence inclosed afforded plenty of
range and good pasture, and there was no apparent reason why the cow
should break out; but although Harry searched every gully and behind
every rock ledge, she could not find her.CHAPTER VI
It was several days before Rob was able to get about as usual. His head
ached when he tried to walk and his muscles were stiff and sore. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
On waking the morning after he was hurt, he asked whether Jones had
come back again.He seemed a little troubled to learn that he had not
yet returned. When the next two days passed without bringing Jones, Rob
became plainly disturbed. "He might at least send me word if anything has gone wrong," he
declared. "Perhaps he's gone after more colts," Harry suggested. "He's sold a
good many of those he had here, hasn't he?" "About half of them; but he wouldn't bring in more--not now, anyhow." "Why not?" "Oh, because. He simply wouldn't. "Harry kept silent, for she saw that Rob did not want to say any more
about the matter. He seemed so greatly worried over Jones's absence
that she restrained her impulse to tell him about Garnett and his
sorrel horse.On the third day Rob got up and announced that he was going to work. "The first thing you know the cattle will be coming in round here
to feed, and if I don't get that extra strand of wire round my fence
before they get here, my critters will be up and off with the others." Harry's heart thumped. "I might as well tell you, Bobs. The cow is gone
already." "Hey?" Rob turned quickly and stared at her. He looked pale and thin
now that he was standing. "When did the cow get out?" "I don't know--exactly. The day you got hurt, I guess. ""She may be in Boise by this time. Did the heifers go, too?" "No, they are all here." "Thank goodness! Well, I'll get right out after the other beast. I've
heard Dan say a dry cow is a mean critter to keep tabs on.Put me up a
lunch, will you, sis, while I'm saddling the pony?" "Bobs! You aren't going to start out to-day? In this hot sun?" "The longer I wait the hotter it'll get and the farther I'll have to
ride." "Couldn't you send one of the Robinson boys? ""And pay him two dollars a day? They couldn't go, anyhow. The whole
family is busy irrigating and plowing for fall wheat. Don't worry, sis;
that scratch on my scalp looks worse than it feels. I may find the cow
right down along the creek. "Rob went up the glen to the pasture to get his saddle horse. He was
gone a long time and came back looking much troubled. "I don't understand it" he said. "The gate is open up there and all the
colts are gone. My pony, too. ""Rob--who could have done it? Do you think they were stolen?" "I don't think so. There's been no horse stealing round here since that
gang was rounded up last spring--just when you came, you remember?No, I can't imagine what's happened unless Boykin opened the gate for
spite. Do you know when he went out?" "The day after he attacked you. I heard the sheep crossing the meadow
in the morning when I was getting fresh water for you. ""Wait until I find Joyce! If he thinks I'm going to put up with such
work he's mistaken. I'll have to ride old Rock. What will Jones say
when he finds those colts are gone? And how can we ever round 'em up
again?" "It isn't your fault.Why doesn't he come and take care of his own
stock?" "Something's happened, I suppose. He wouldn't stay off like this for
nothing. I ought really to go after the colts instead of the cow. "Rob went down to the corral, and soon Harry saw him riding back, not on
Rock, but on the sorrel with the ring-and-arrow brand. "I'd forgotten we'd left this horse down in the corral," he said,
looking much relieved. "Well, now I shan't be gone a week, as I
expected to if I rode old Rock." Harry started to speak and then changed her mind; there could be
nothing wrong in Jones's secrets about the horses if Rob did not
disapprove of them.Doubtless there were plenty of sorrels with the
ring-and-arrow brand, and after keeping this one so long for Jones,
there could be no harm in Rob's getting some service from it.So, instead of telling Rob about Garnett, she said, "That's a pretty
good pony, isn't it? About how old is he?" Rob had just mounted. "About six or seven years, I should think," he
said, as he rode off.He was gone all day, but he found neither the horses nor his cow. "I'll go out to-morrow," he said at supper, "and stay until I find some
of these strays." "You--you won't come back at night?" "Probably not. Why?" "Nothing--much.That is, I only thought you might be able to go to town
in a day or two. We need several things." Harry twisted her fingers together and tried to control her voice. To
have Rob stay away--to leave her all alone! She stood silent, looking
up at him.She must not let him see that she was afraid, for she had
determined never to complain again. Nevertheless, she waited almost breathlessly for him to answer. "All right, then," he said, after a moment. "I'll come back to-morrow
night, and we'll go to town the day after." As soon as Rob had ridden off the next morning, Harry began to put the
tent in order and to arrange for the journey to town.She prepared a
luncheon for the trip, washed a pair of overalls for Rob, got out a
clean flannel shirt for him, and sewed a button on his coat. She had by
this time learned to regard overalls as "dress-up" garments.In the afternoon she went out to irrigate the garden. While she was
cultivating at one end, a ditch broke at the other and let the water
rush down across half the rows.She had hard work repairing the damage,
and was so busy that she lost all track of time.In fact, she did not
realize that the sun had set until a long-drawn melancholy howl from
the butte, answered suddenly by a chorus from the "scab" land, told her
that the coyotes were out for the night. "Probably Bobs went farther than he realized," she decided, when at
nine o'clock she sat down alone to eat her supper. At ten o'clock Rob had not yet come. What could be keeping him? Had the
pony stumbled and thrown him? Could he have had a sunstroke?Suppose he
had fainted out there alone--without water----
Resolutely Harry turned from such thoughts. He had probably lost his
way and would get home very late. She would be foolish to sit up for
him.She undressed very slowly, listening, hoping to hear the sound of the
pony's hoofs; but soon she grew too sleepy to listen for them. When she awoke it was broad daylight; the clock had stopped and Rob
had not come.She went to the doorway and looked all round. The same
silence, the same blaze of sunlight, the same solitude. Was it really
another day? In the unbroken quiet everything seemed at a standstill.She did the chores and worked in the garden; but all the time she
listened. And Rob did not come. The day passed, and another night. She slept fitfully.Several times
she thought she heard the beat of hoofs, and trembling with hope,
hurried out to look. When the third day passed without bringing Rob,
Harry knew that something had happened to him.She sat beside the table in the evening with her head in her hand. She wished that it were not too late to go over and talk with Mrs.
Robinson. She felt the instinct to lay her troubles upon some one else.Then she bethought herself and crushed down the impulse. The Robinsons
were all busy with the haying. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
She had no right to call upon them
for help, and moreover, she would be ashamed to do it. She must help
herself.She would drive the twenty miles to Soldier, and send some one
out to look for her brother. When her alarm clock rang the next morning she hopped resolutely out
into the chilly dawn, dressed, and got her breakfast.No one who is used to handling horses can understand Harry's feelings
as she lifted the heavy set of harness from the peg beside Rock's stall
and dragged it over his back.She had watched her brother often as
he harnessed the team, and remembered something about the way he had
done it; but it was mostly by luck that she got the various straps into
their proper places.Her heart beat nervously as she led the horses out
of the corral and backed them up before the wagon. Suppose they should
run away? But Rock and Rye were a steady team, and stood serenely while
Harry fastened the tugs.It was only half-past seven o'clock when she
left the ranch, but she felt as if she had already done a day's work.She drove slowly at first, afraid that something would go wrong with
the harness or that the horses would run away; but after the first few
miles her spirits rose above her worries, and by the time she reached
the Robinsons' ranch she was enjoying every moment of the ride.As she passed the house Vashti burst from the door and, waving a
letter, ran toward her. "You want me to post this?" Harry asked, as she pulled up the horses. "Oh, no! It's for you," Vashti said, and thrust the envelope into
Harry's hand. "Hank Miller fetched it out from Hailey yestiddy." "It's from Rob!" exclaimed Harry, and laughed with relief. Then, as her
eyes flew down the sheet, her face clouded. The note read:
DEAR HARRY. I'm in the jug at Hailey.It's about those horses of
Jones's. Bring that paper he gave me. It's a bill of sale. I stuck
it up behind the clock on the shelf, next to the coffee grinder. Come over with it as soon as you can.Get one of the R. boys to
tend the stock while you're gone. ROB. "'Tain't bad news, is it?" Vashti's voice broke Harry's dismayed
silence. "What? O Vashti, I must go to Hailey this minute. Can one of the boys
tend the stock while I'm gone?Thanks ever so much. Which is the
shortest way to Hailey? I suppose I must go by way of Soldier?" "No. Cross the river by the lower bridge and then strike for the pike
about Willow Creek." Vashti pointed eastward. "You'd ought to make it
before dark if you hustle." "How far is it? I don't know the road at all." "You don't! Say! You want to watch for the big pillar butte. It's on
the right where the road splits to go over the mountains. And say!Keep
to the east whenever you hit a fork. Where are you going?" she added,
as Harry turned the team homeward. "I've got to go back and get a paper Rob wants." "Say!" Vashti called after her suddenly. "Let me go for you.I can ride
over there on Geezer and back while you're gettin' turned round. "Without waiting for an answer the little girl ran to the corral, led
out the pony, flung a saddle over his back, shoved the bridle over his
ears, and came back to Harry on the run. "Now, where's your paper?" Vashti asked. "You go on toward the bridge,"
she continued, when Harry had told her where to find the bill of sale. "I'll come across the scab land and meet you. "With envy and admiration and gratitude in her heart Harry watched the
small figure in red calico speed away across the sagebrush. "If I could only go like that!" she thought with a sigh. "Well, I guess
I'm not too old to learn, and if Vashti will teach me, maybe I can
teach her something she'd like to know." She had scarcely five minutes to wait at the bridge before Vashti came
up with the precious paper. "You'll have to jack them there plugs up
some if you're goin' to make it," the little girl remarked. "Wait. I'll
get you a willer." Slipping off her horse, she went down the bank of the river. In a
minute she returned with a long, stout willow wand. "'Tain't so good as
a blacksnake, but it'll make 'em step along some." "Thank you, Vashti. If I do get there, it will be entirely owing to
you!" Harry's words made the small girl smile with pleasure. "It's just as Bobs said," Harry confessed to herself. "They're as
kind-hearted and friendly as can be when you once know them, and all
the 'education' in the world isn't as valuable out here as what they
know. "As she drove along she kept thinking about the Robinsons, and of her
own life on the ranch, and of Rob's present trouble.She was so busy
with her thoughts that she did not notice the road, which meandered
across the prairies without even a tree or a butte for landmark.This
end of the prairie had never been laid off in ranches; it was too rough
and too much broken by waves of lava that had at one time poured down
through the valley. For miles there was no sign of human existence, no
fence, no house, no cattle.The girl did not realize that she ought to
be observing all the details that, in the desert, take the place of the
signposts of civilized regions. She had grown drowsy with the monotony
of the ride, but as the time passed, she glanced at the sun.It was
getting low, and the pillar butte had not yet come into view. Feeling
sure that she would see it after the next turn, she urged the horses
to a trot; then suddenly she drew a sharp breath of dismay.The road
had dipped into a small meadow sunk among the buttes, and ended. Harry
pulled up the team and stared. Before her lay a long wooden platform. Tent pegs still stood in the ground, which was littered with camp
leavings and piles of refuse wool.It was a shearing floor. She had
taken the wrong road. She sat still a moment, wondering what she had better do. She had no
idea how far past the right turn she had come. The best plan would
be to feed and water the horses here and then turn back.She ate her
bread and bacon and drank from the canvas bag slung beneath the wagon;
she envied 'Thello, who had promptly laid himself down in the shallow
stream that oozed from the meadow.As she drove back, she watched ahead for the place where the road
branched, unaware that, on her way into the hills, she had passed not
one but two forks of the road. By degrees the ridges that inclosed the flats drew nearer.Great
chimneys of lava, pillars and obelisks of red granite and blocks of
iron-stained quartz crowded the road, which curved and swerved amongst
them.Sometimes she drove beneath a threatening stone bridge; sometimes
the wagon squeezed between tilted stone slabs; sometimes it bumped over
a sharp descent of ledges.The rocks ahead took on weird, fantastic
shapes that made them look like the ruins of a fire-swept city--long
streets of toppling houses, palaces, towers, dungeons--lighted by the
flames of the westering sun.So hideously real was it that Harry found herself listening for the
uproar of cries that would have been part of an actual fire. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
The
silence made it more horrible, and in that silence she began to be
afraid. She stopped the horses and sat still.She was lost. She did not know which way to turn; once astray in this labyrinth of
rocks, she might never be able to find her way out. The horses, thirsty
and tired, stood with drooping heads. 'Thello, who lay at the roadside
softly panting, glanced inquiringly up at her. "Yes," she said, as if answering his question, "I've got to get out of
here somehow. It's absurd. I _must_ get out. "Keeping her eyes on the road, she slowly backed the horses. The sun was
setting, and on the hard, thin soil that covered the bed rock, wagon
tracks were hard to see.Watching the faint trail fixedly, leaning
forward and urging the team on, she wound in and out among the rocks,
until gradually they became more scattered, and lost their fantastic
shapes.When at last Harry saw the open road, she felt that the worst was
behind her; but, nevertheless, she pulled up and looked slowly about.She was not sure in which direction she ought to turn, and she dreaded
the thought of going down the cañon alone in the dark. 'Thello pricked
up his ears, stared ahead, and growled. "What is it, boy?" Harry asked eagerly. "Run him out! "But the dog,
growling softly, merely continued to listen. With a sudden sharpening of her senses, Harry peered into the dusk. Perhaps some one who could help her was passing near by. She listened
intently, with every nerve alert.Suddenly she stood up in the wagon and screamed:
"Help! Help! Help!" A clamor of echoes answered her ringing cries, and 'Thello challenged
them furiously. The girl stood silent.As her voice struck back
mockingly at her from barren butte and rock, she realized that she was
helpless, and lonely, and afraid. Drawing a deep breath, she shut her
hands tight. She would not give up to fear!Steadying her voice, she
put all her strength into one more call:
"Help!" "Coming!" A man's voice answered her. The shout echoed her cry, a rattle of hoofs swept suddenly near, and
Harry saw a horseman appear over the ridge.His figure rose and fell
in silhouette as he galloped toward her. "It's Garnett!" Harry thought
joyfully. "Hello, what's doing?" he asked, as he pulled up. "Any one hurt? Who is
it?" "It's Harriet Holliday. I'm lost.I got over into those queer rocks and
couldn't get out." Garnett caught the quaver in her laugh. "Lucky I was riding through
this way," he said. "That was the city of rocks you were in. How did
you get out?Even fellows that know the country have got balled up in
there and come pretty near cashing in before they struck the trail
again." Harry shivered. "I just made up my mind I _had_ to get out, and kept my
eyes on the wheel tracks until I found the open road again." "You've got grit and sense, and you did well. Where are you heading for
up here alone?" "Hailey." "Hailey! This time of night? "He dismounted and tied his horse to the
back of the wagon; then he got into the seat beside her, took up the
reins, and whistled to the team. "Oh, will you really drive me?" Harry sighed in relief.Every tired
muscle, every trembling nerve relaxed, and she leaned wearily back
against the wagon seat. "I started this morning," she explained. "I took the wrong turn
somewhere.But this is the first time I've been out this way, and so
it was easy to get lost." "The first time! And you're alone!" "Yes, my brother's in Hailey. That's why I'm going. He's in trouble. I
don't know just what, but he sent for me to come. "Garnett made no answer, and they were both silent for some moments,
while the team jogged on. Harry was wondering whether she ought to tell
Garnett that Rob was in jail, when his voice made her start guiltily:
"Your brother been gone long?" "Long?No; let's see. He started out after the cow--You didn't hear of
her, did you?" "Maybe it was yours some one was telling me about." "I wonder whether it was ours? Perhaps Rob tried to take it and got
into a squabble. And yet that isn't a bit like him. ""Was he afoot?" Garnett asked suddenly. "Oh, no. On horseback. But it was a strange horse." She stopped. "One of those you were telling me he was keeping?" "Yes." In spite of herself her voice became self-conscious. "Well, maybe some one thought it was his." "Thought what?" "Maybe that horse your brother was riding belonged to another fellow,
and the other fellow pinched him for stealing it." "What nonsense!" She laughed faintly. "It's not nonsense to the fellow that thinks his critter was stolen,"
he replied. "Of course not. I don't mean that, I mean the idea that my brother
would steal a horse. You don't for a moment think he would, do you? ""I don't pass judgment on people I don't know right well." "But you know what sort of people we are. Do you think I would steal?" "Maybe not." Harry gasped. "You might as well say yes. ""If I saw you riding one of my horses, say, and I'd lost one, and you
couldn't tell me where you'd got it, and wouldn't give it up, perhaps
I'd think you stole it. Perhaps I'd run you into the jug until you
could tell where you got it. ""And that's what you think has happened to Rob?" "M-h'm!" he assented. "What?" Harry's voice rang. She drew herself erect, and in the luminous
darkness of the summer night the two in the seat of the jolting wagon
stared at each other. "Tell me," she demanded sharply, "tell me what you know--what you
think!" And still staring at him, she waited for his reply. "I know that your brother was riding my horse. I saw him on it." CHAPTER VII
For a minute they jogged on in silence.Then, in a voice that was clear
with scorn, Harry said:
"So you sent my brother to jail just for riding your miserable old
horse! "But although her voice was cold and hard, there was a note of fatigue
and distress in it that Garnett was quick to understand. He flushed
hotly, and a wave of sympathy for the girl swept over him.Those few
indignant words of hers made him certain that she knew no more who
the real horse thief was than he did himself.She was just what she
had appeared that first time in the train--a sweet, gay, warm-hearted
little girl, amusingly ignorant of everything Western! "I reckon you think hanging's too good for me," he said.Harry did not
answer, and in a moment he went on. "It's like this. My job is up in
the reserve--keeping tabs on everything that goes on up there in the
timber, where the sheep and cattle men take their herds in summer.You
can see I wouldn't keep my job long if I was to believe everything
fellows tell me about how honorable and noble-minded they are. I'm
deputy sheriff, too--have to be in case of trouble, we're so far from
town.I was running down one of those Bascoes when that pony of mine
disappeared. I traced it out to the Boise base line,--this road we're
on now--when I met a fellow that saw him traveling this way in a string
of colts.I was on his trail when I struck your place. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
You see, I was
kind of suspicious about that 'boarding' yarn, and yet I didn't see,
honestly, how you could frame up a tale like that yourself. ""Why didn't you come back the next day and ask my brother about your
horse?" "That's what I meant to do; but I got word to go back to the reserve
quick.The sheep were coming in, and I didn't have another chance to
get down here until the day I met your brother hunting his cow. He had
my horse, and I thought the best thing to do was to give him a chance
to explain to Judge Raeburn.That's the way of it." There was a long, strained silence. Garnett had never been so
uncomfortable and unhappy in his life. Here he was, showing himself in
the worst possible light to the nicest girl he had ever met.The road, which was cut out of the side of the cliff, was steep and
barely wide enough for the team. On one side was the frowning mountain
wall, on the other the black abyss.Harry felt the horror of it; but
when she looked up into the clear, serene sky she forgot her fear. She felt round her the splendor and immensity of the night and the
wilderness, and her annoyances, her troubles and worries, slowly faded
away.A delightful sense of rest came upon her. She realized how much
she owed to Garnett for coming to her aid as he had done, and she was
trying to think of something friendly to say to him, when he spoke. "I hope you ain't a-cussing me still? "he said with gruff earnestness. "I'm sorry." "No, indeed," Harry answered quickly. "You couldn't help it. But I wish
Rob had never gone in with that fellow Jones--the one he's boarding the
horses for. Sometimes I almost hate Jones.He's taken Rob away from me. I meant to have such a good time out here, but one thing after another
has gone wrong. Part of it was my fault, I know. "And she told him the whole story of the affair with the sheep herder,
how she had insisted upon keeping 'Thello and had refused to file on
the homestead, of the herder's attacking Rob, and of the mysterious
disappearance of the colts, and Rob's pony, and the cow. "And if I'd done as Bobs wanted me to, all these troubles would never
have happened." "Oh, now, you mustn't talk that way. Nobody lives that ain't meeting up
with something all along the trail.Might be you'll get you a homestead
somewhere that you'll like a whole heap better than the one you lost." "It isn't that. It's because Rob wanted us to have them together.The
sheep couldn't have come in then; and now, since Joyce has filed on
that place, his sheep will eat out all the grass and ruin the grazing
for our cattle. So you see it is all my fault." "I wouldn't say that, now.I might say it was mine, because I hadn't
any business to lose my horse; but I ain't saying it. Things happen,
that's all. And it's as likely to turn and happen right for you as it
did the other way. We ain't ready to call this job off yet.Looks now
as if your brother wasn't a horse thief, after all; and as he ain't, it
looks up to me to get him out of the jug." "I wish, when you have got him out, that you would put that sheep
herder in. Running the horses off!As if he hadn't already done enough
in beating Rob the way he did! I'd like to show that old Joyce, too,
that he can't have all the grass, even if his herder has filed on the
homestead next to ours. ""I reckon there wouldn't be much trouble running in the herder. The
law's got a plain case against him--assault and trespass; but it's
Joyce that ought to get jugged first." "Joyce!" "Sure. He's got fifty more homesteads than he has any right to. ""Yes, that's what Dan Brannan told us," Harry said slowly. "But no one
can prove anything against him, and you _could_ make his herder have
some regard for our rights." "I'll do that, anyhow. I'll hunt him out as soon as I get back to the
range.What sort of a looking fellow is he?" "Big and heavy-looking, yet rather handsome, in a way. Looks like a
spoilt, sulky child. "Not a Mex?" "Oh, no. That's what makes it seem so much worse." "Name Hunter?" "No, Boykin." "Boykin? Are you dead certain?There's one of Joyce's herder's that's
this fellow's twin brother, if he ain't closer still--the meanest man
that ever followed a bunch of woollies--but his name's Hunter. I've got
him in the jug right now, too." "Oh, if it only were Boykin! ""I'll look him up," Garnett said. He was silent for a moment, and then
he exclaimed:
"Say, I want you or your brother to take a look at that fellow Hunter
to-morrow!It's got into my head that he and your man Boykin favor each
other a whole lot more than they'd ought to." "I don't see that it makes any difference how much alike they look,"
Harry said. Garnett chuckled. "It might make a whole lot of difference to you." "How?" He was silent a moment. "If you'll excuse me ma'am, I reckon I'd better
not say too much until you've had a peek at Hunter. "Harry did not urge him to explain, and when they began to talk again it
was of other things.Harry told Garnett about her life back East, and
about her comradeship with Rob in the old days: she told him, too, how
disappointed Rob was because she did not like the West as he had hoped
she would.She admitted that she had not tried very hard to like it. As they drove on through the darkness they chatted freely, and
exchanged the simple confidences that lay the foundation for a true
friendship.At last they left the cañon and rumbled over the hard, smooth road
toward town. Little by little the lights of Hailey grew brighter, and
at last the wagon drove under the big blue arc light on the edge of the
town.It was Saturday night, and all the stores were open; the streets
were crowded with people.Garnett proposed that they should go first to the hotel and have some
supper; but Harry was almost nervously eager to give Rob the paper she
had brought to him, and so Garnett acquiesced. "I reckon I'd better go along," he said. "It's after hours for
visitors, but as deputy sheriff I can fix it up. And I'd like to see
your brother myself. If he'll give me the straight story of this
affair, I reckon I can straighten things out pretty quick. "Harry's heart beat unevenly as she followed Garnett up the steps of
the jail and into the office. The dreary room, lighted by the glaring
electric light, meant something indescribably mean and shameful to
her.Her heart sank as she waited for Garnett to attend to certain
necessary formalities. When Pedersen, the big Swede jailer, stared at
her in smiling, stupid curiosity, she was thankful for the protection
of Garnett's presence.Garnett let Harry go to her brother's cell alone. As the door clicked,
the light flashed up and flooded the narrow, whitewashed room. Rob
turned from the window where he had been standing. "Hello, sis!" he said listlessly. "Just get in?" "Bobs, dear!You poor thing! Isn't this horrible?" She ran to him, slid
her hand through his arm and kissed him. "You look as if you had been ill!" she exclaimed, looking up at him
anxiously. "I do feel seedy. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"He passed a hand over his unshaven cheek and glanced
down at his rumpled clothes. "Being shut up here without a change of
clothes for several days is the limit. Did you bring that bill of sale?" "Yes, here it is." She handed him the paper.Rob glanced at it, and
then put it into his pocket. "If I'd only had that along the other day
when that chump pinched me! Smarty! I'd like to have him fined for
false arrest--putting me in here!" "Why, Bobs! He didn't know you were all right.He'd never seen you
before. He had to do it; but he's awfully sorry." "He is? How do you know?" "He told me so. He drove me over here.If it hadn't been for him, I'd
probably be wandering round in the hills or lying at the bottom of that
awful cañon on the edge of the road." She went on to tell him about her
journey and her talk with Garnett. "He's outside now, Bob," she said, a
little timidly, for Rob's face had darkened. "He wants to see you and
have you tell him who Jones is and where he got those horses." "I don't want to see him. And I've nothing to say about Jones. ""But, Bobs, if you don't tell how Jones came to have Garnett's horse,
they'll simply hunt up Jones and _make_ him tell. Won't you see
Garnett?I've already convinced him that you were only boarding the
colts for Jones, and Garnett's really our friend now, only of course he
wants to clear this matter up. I wish you'd talk frankly with him, Rob,
dear." "I like that!Maybe he's forgotten I tried to explain things the day he
ran me in." "But you didn't tell him where Jones got his horse. He's going out
to-morrow to hunt up Jones and bring him here to prove that those
horses are his." "But they're not.They're mine." "Yours!" Harry cried, falling back a step. "That's what this bill of sale is. I bought every one of those colts
from Jones." "But, Rob, where _did_ Jones get Garnett's horse? He never sold it." "Don't ask me. There comes Pedersen.You'll have to go now." "And you won't see Garnett? Please, Rob! He's really our friend. Oh,
yes, and another thing.I was telling him about that herder, Boykin,
and he says my description of him exactly fits a herder of Joyce's
named Hunter, who is in jail here.I think Garnett suspects that they
are the same man, and he seems to think it may make a lot of difference
to us. I don't quite see how, do you?" Rob's expression changed. "It would make a lot of difference to me to
know that Boykin was in the jug. ""Oh, it was some bigger difference than that. He didn't want to tell me
about it until he was sure, but maybe he would tell you." Rob laughed. "Aren't you ingenious, miss? Not till morning, anyway.Maybe I'll talk to him then, unless Raeburn gets home first. If I can
only see the judge for five minutes, he'll probably dismiss the case
against me without another word." Garnett looked up eagerly when Harry entered the office. "He didn't
want to see me?" he asked. "He will in the morning." She blushed faintly, but still faced him with
frank eyes. "Well, let's go. You're all in. It's nearly midnight, do you know it? And you haven't had a square meal all day. ""I'm not a bit hungry, but I am sleepy, most horribly sleepy." She yawned and laughed at the same time. As they went out into the street, Harry drew a deep breath and lifted
her face. How sweet the fresh air was!And to think of Rob's being shut
up in that horrible prison! "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you," said Garnett, when
they stopped at the foot of the hotel steps. "But I won't leave this
game until it's played through. "He held out his hand to her, raised his hat and looked at her; in his
steady blue eyes was an expression of sincere friendliness that put
courage into Harry's heart.The confidence which that assurance of good will inspired in her sent
Harry to a dreamless sleep. When she came down to breakfast the next morning, the hotel clerk
handed her a note._Miss Holliday_,
DEAR FRIEND, Am sorry not to drive you across the prairie to-day,
but have gone to hunt up that Jones. Saw your brother early, and
gave him a look at Hunter. He says it's the same herder that beat
him up.Your brother ain't talking about Jones, but I'll camp on
his trail until I find him, or what was him, and fetch him along
back to straighten this business out. Resp. CHRISTOPHER GARNETT.The letter was like the warm handclasp he had given her last night. She hurried off to see Rob, hoping that now he would feel differently
toward Garnett. But Rob returned her cheery greeting without much enthusiasm. "Garnett's all right," he said, in answer to her eager question. "He
admits he thinks I didn't steal his horse, but some one did, and Jones
looks like a good one to put it on.I promised to keep Jones's affairs
quiet until he gets ready to talk himself. If Garnett finds him, he may
get what he can from him; that's no affair of mine. When I see Judge
Raeburn, he'll put the whole business straight in five minutes." "Well. "Harry's voice was colorless, and she stared past Rob at the
window. Then, with a quick change of manner, she turned to him. "In his
note Garnett said that Boykin _is_ Hunter. What will that mean, Rob?" Rob's face lighted up. "If we can prove that he is, we can contest his
filing on that land." "O Rob! How perfectly splendid! But how soon can we find out?" "When court opens.As soon as Boykin comes up for trial, Garnett
will appear as a witness against him in this case of assault that he
arrested him for." "He attacked another man? ""Yes, he got into a fight up on the way to the reserve; ran his sheep
under the fence onto Rudy Batt's land, and when Rudy set his dogs on
the sheep, Boykin, or Hunter, leaped on him with a stick, just as he
did on me, and beat him up." "Mercy!What a murderous creature! I'm glad some one arrested him at
last." "Yes, that's another thing I want to stay over here for: to appear
against him in court. He may get six months in the pen." "I hope he will. I wonder what he changed his name for?What a funny
thing to do!" "That's not so uncommon. A man often skips the country and changes his
name when he's done something and is afraid of the law.Garnett says
that Hunter was herding cattle for the same outfit he was with, and
that he was always quarreling with some one. Then one night he pulled a
gun on one of the boys, and lit out without waiting to see whether he'd
killed him or not. ""Had he killed him?" "No, lucky for him. But you see he had filed on a homestead out there,
and so he's got no right to this one." "Then we can surely get it." "Not so sure.As soon as Joyce sees what's going to happen, he may jump
in and put another man on there." "O Bob! Could he? Would it be possible?" "Why not? If he's slick enough to have done it so often, it won't
bother him to do it once more.But there's time enough to think about
that later. You must hit for home now, if you're to make it before
dark. Let's see. You need groceries, don't you?" "Yes. I forgot that to-day was Sunday." | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"Well, see here.Go to the hotel and ask the clerk, Dougherty, to
telephone down to his brother at the mercantile company store. Jack
Dougherty is bookkeeper there, and he's usually down at the store early
Sunday morning; he'll let you in to get what you want.When you get
home, better round up the heifers every night to be sure they're all
there. I may hear of the cow over this way." Before Rob's calm, matter-of-fact attitude Harry's reluctance at going
back to the ranch alone appeared childish.So she said good-by cheerily
and started out. The sun was high and the morning breeze dead when at last she left the
poplar-shaded streets of the old mining town and struck the long road
up the cañon to the top of the divide.She met only one person on the
road, and that was Joyce. He was driving his motor car toward Hailey. When he came in sight the team began to prance nervously. Joyce got
out and came up to them.He looked curiously at Harry, but did not
recognize her until she spoke to thank him for quieting the horses. "Say!" he exclaimed. "Ain't you the lady from Connecticut? Sure. What
you doin' out here alone? Where's your brother at? ""He had to stay in Hailey on business," she answered, smiling a little. Soon enough Joyce would know what the business was. CHAPTER VIII
Harry did not come into view of the Robinson ranch until nine o'clock.It had been a long, hard drive from Hailey, and three miles yet lay
between her and the homestead. Fortunately, it was not quite dark.Behind the mountains the after-glow still burned, dull orange and rose,
and the tops of the buttes reflected a pale saffron gleam.But dark
shadows filled the cañons, and objects near by had an odd trick of
disappearing in the darkness just as Harry looked at them. The ranch house lay dark and silent. Thinking that the family had gone
to bed, Harry was going on without stopping.She was really too tired
to stop and talk. As she came nearer, however, she saw a light in the
kitchen; then the door opened and some one came down the path toward
the gate. "Hello there!" Robinson called. "That you, Holliday?Don't get down;
I'll open the gate." "It's I, Harry!" the girl answered. "I won't come in, thank you. But
please tell Jimmy that he needn't ride over in the morning; I'll take
care of the animals now." "Say, you ain't alone, are you? Where's Rob at?Anything happened to
him?" Robinson had swung back the gate and was peering at the girl
perched on the wagon seat. "Vashti told us something was wrong." "Yes.There's been some trouble over a horse Rob was boarding for a
man, and he had to stay in Hailey." She broke off. How could she go
into the story here, at this time of night? "A hoss, eh? Well, them things do take quite some time to straighten
up.But you can stop here with us until he gets home." "Oh, thank you! Really, though, I guess I'd better go on. It's so late,
and----"
"Sure thing. Too late for you to be chasin' back there alone to-night,
ain't it, ma?" "That's what."Mrs. Robinson, with her arms wrapped in her apron,
had joined them, and stood listening while Harry told again what had
happened to Rob.As the girl gazed down through the clear darkness the
scent of the wild bean floated down to her from the hillsides.The
hurrying patter of water in the irrigation ditches soothed her tired
brain with the magic of a spell; her head nodded and her words became
indistinct. "Say, Johnny, she's droppin' in her tracks, she's so tired!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "Take them lines and hand her down 'fore she takes a header
into the ditch." Mrs. Robinson spoke in a tone of command, and "Johnny" obeyed.Yielding
the lines with honest relief that she need go no farther that night,
Harry climbed down and walked stiffly to the kitchen with her hostess. The big, half-furnished room was neat and orderly from Saturday's
scrubbing.Vashti, in her Sunday starched lawn frock and new scarlet
hair ribbons, smiled bashfully. Mrs. Robinson, too, with "rats" in her
hair and wearing a new purple gingham dress, seemed ten years younger.As she pulled forward a chair, Harry noticed that her right hand was
swathed in a bandage. "Yes, I burnt me, like a stupid," Mrs. Robinson explained. "Everything
gets in a mill at once, seems like, and I burnt up a cake and busted
a plate and put my hand out of business all at once. I got kind of
behind Sat'day, havin' them extry hands to feed--we've got three here
irrigatin' the alfalfy.We allus feed 'em good; it gives you a name
outside, and you get the pick of hands when the rush of work brings 'em
into the valley. Now, here's your tea warm; come and have a snack. It
ain't much, but it'll hold you till morning, anyhow. "While she was talking, Mrs. Robinson had been setting out dishes at
one end of the table. Harry sat down before a bewildering array of
pickles, jelly, jam, cold meat, and hot fried "side meat," cake, pie,
and some warmed-over vegetables from supper.If this was a "snack,"
Harry wondered what a "square meal" was. She was hungry from her day
in the open air; but more compelling than her need of food was her
need of sleep.Even while she drank her tea and tried to tell of
her experiences on the trip to Hailey, her eyelids sank leadenly. Presently, in the middle of a sentence, she saw Mrs. Robinson smiling. "You poor young one!You're that sleepy you don't know what you're
sayin'. Vashti, run get some sheets and comfortables and we'll make up
the davenport in the front room." "It's good of you to keep me overnight when I know you have a houseful
already," said Harry. "Don't you worry. Nobody but comp'ny ever sleeps in the front room." Mrs. Robinson led the way proudly into the room.Exhausted as Harry
was, she knew what was expected of her, and managed to say something
about the gorgeous carpet, the dazzling wall paper, and the vivid table
cover.The air in the room was lifeless, and as soon as Harry was alone she
carefully drew aside the lace curtains and opened the window wide. Then, after taking a long breath of the fragrant night air, she
undressed and dropped into bed.For a second she was conscious of sweet
comfort; she gave a great sigh of content--and knew no more until she
opened her eyes to the dawn and heard the clatter of stove lids in the
kitchen. "Well! You up? "exclaimed Mrs. Robinson in surprise, when Harry walked
into the kitchen. "You could ha' laid another hour yet; breakfast ain't
till six." "I hoped you'd let me help. How is your hand this morning? ""It hurts still, but I don't know what more I can do; it's covered good
with flour and lard." "If you would try it, I have some salve over in the tent. It's really
wonderful stuff. Mother made me bring a big jar of it.I'll bring it
over this afternoon." "Land sakes, girlie, go all that distance just to fetch me some salve? Not much! There ain't no need of you goin' over to your place nohow. Jimmy can easy ride over and feed until your brother gets back. "But Harry was firm. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
She not only thought it her duty to stay on the
homestead, but she felt a sort of pride in staying there alone.Her
solitary drive, her adventure in the city of rocks, had waked a new
spirit within her, and that spirit was struggling to express itself. She was, however, quite unconscious of that. "Please let me cook breakfast," she said suddenly. "I'm sure I can if
you'll just tell me how you have things. I can fry the potatoes and
make good coffee, anyhow." "Well, I b'lieve I will let you. 'Tain't real good manners to set your
comp'ny to work, but you'll excuse me this once, I guess.I couldn't
even dress the baby this morning--had to leave that to Vashti. Say,"
she added, "you couldn't stay a week and cook for me while these boys
are here, could you?" Harry grew rather pink and stammered a polite refusal. "Well," said Mrs. Robinson, "I know you ain't used to this kind of
work, but any one can see you're smart. You'd get the hang of things in
half a day." "I'd stay in a minute," Harry assured her, "just because you were so
kind to us when Rob got hurt.But you know how it is, with all these
cattle round, and ours just new to the place. If they should get out,
they might get way across the river before Rob comes home." "Yes, that's right.And you two have got to work together if you're
goin' to make anything of homesteadin'. Pity you didn't take up a claim
of your own while you were at it. A girl that's got a hundred and sixty
in her own name is as independent as anyone. ""Yes, I'm sorry I didn't; but there's plenty to do, even on Rob's land." "Ain't that the truth! Just wait until you get a crop in, though, and
are lookin' for harvest hands--"
"We shan't have that trouble for a year or two, anyhow.Rob expects to
go out to work, haying and harvesting for other people, and I suppose I
shall stay at home and look after things." "Say! Why couldn't you come over and help me at haying and harvesting?I'd pay you five a week and your board, and it'd keep the traces stiff
here. Seems like the wagon is allus on my heels, as you might say, in
the rush season." "I'll come if I can," Harry promised.She turned out the crisp, brown potatoes, poured the gravy into a bowl,
and set the coffee back while she fried the eggs. Mrs. Robinson went
out to pull the bell rope.The big iron bell hanging from the gable
clanged its call, and a shout answered from the corral.While Mrs. Robinson was overseeing the morning ablutions of the smaller
children, who had come tumbling into the room at the sound of the bell,
Harry went to the door to get a breath of fresh air after the heat and
smoke of the kitchen.The sun was just rising over the end of the foothills, and its rays
shot up into the blue sky like altar flames; its red-gold beams made
the trunks of the quaking asps up the cañon look like the pillars
of a church.Unseen among the leaves a robin was chanting, rapt and
blissful as a cloistered saint.That solitary voice of joy seemed all
at once the voice of the morning--of the desert morning--monotonous,
yet thrillingly significant to one who could see what the desert might
mean.For an instant the girl's spirit flamed up in the knowledge
of things yet to come. Then Mrs. Robinson called her, and she heard
once more in the room behind her the homely clatter of the household
assembling to breakfast. "Them men folks comin'?"Mrs. Robinson called. "It's on the tap of six
now." As she looked at the clock, she filled the oatmeal bowls and ordered
the children to their places at the table.Mrs. Robinson prided herself
on serving her meals piping hot, without keeping the men waiting.While
the men were coming in, the ranchwoman quickly filled the cups from
the big blue enamel coffeepot, and set platters of eggs, plates of hot
biscuits, and dishes of bacon at intervals on the table. Wondering and
admiring, Harry watched her.Mrs. Robinson motioned the girl to a place distinguished by a clean
napkin, and at the same time introduced her to the young men. "Let me make you acquainted with Miss Holliday; boys.This here's Pete
Mosher, and Con Gardner, and Lance Fitch--Miss Harriet Holliday. She
and her brother have homesteaded just east of here." The young men bowed and murmured, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."Mrs. Robinson herself did not come to the table, but standing near by
with her hands on her hips, watched to see that every one had all he
wanted.Harry felt she had learned more this morning about how to do a
great deal rapidly and efficiently than a month of solitary struggle on
the homestead would have taught her.It made her feel as if she must
get back there as soon as possible and "do things." Mr. Robinson was telling the men about Rob's trouble with the sheep
herder; all of them, it seemed, had had trouble with Joyce's men. "Joyce is the meanest of all the sheepmen who come through here," said
Lance Fitch. "Never gives a homesteader a bit of mutton, and grabs
every blade of grass in sight. ""That's how he got so rich," remarked Pete Mosher; "by hoggin' the
pasture and stealin' homesteads. I bet he's never hired a herder that
he didn't make at least one homestead off him." "Can't something be done to stop him?" asked Harry. "Couldn't some one
go and ask him for a job herding, and then, when Joyce tried to get him
to file on a homestead, have him arrested and prove him guilty?" "Say, you catch Joyce and we'll send you to the legislature," promised
Robinson, with a laugh.Harry stayed long enough to help wash the dishes; then, in spite of the
family's vigorous remonstrances, she drove over to the ranch. The heat
of the day came on before she reached home, and she was glad that she
had started early.Although there was not a great deal for her to do
on the homestead, she did not finish her various tasks until noon. Hot
and hungry, she went up to the tent to get herself some luncheon and to
look for the jar of salve.She had just started to build a fire when
she heard a horse's tread outside, and thinking that it was Rob, flew
to the doorway. But it was a stranger that faced her--a big man, with
keen, friendly eyes and a low, drawling voice. "Robert Holliday live here?" he asked. "Yes," Harry answered, "this is his homestead, but he's not here now. I'm his sister. Is there any message you wish to leave?" "Pleased to meet you; Miss Holliday.I'm the sheriff of Lincoln
County--Mason is my name. I've got a bunch of horses down in Shoshone
that I understand Mr. Holliday can tell me something about. Do you know
when he'll be home?" "No, I don't.To tell you the truth, he's over in Hailey now, in jail,
on a false charge of having stolen one of those horses." "A false charge?" The sheriff looked at her searchingly. "Yes." Harry colored under his keen inspection. "Chris Garnett, the
deputy sheriff for this county, found my brother riding a horse that
Garnett claimed as his. As Rob refused to tell him where he got it,
Garnett took him to jail. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
But he admits now that he doesn't think Rob
stole his horse.Rob could come home if he wanted to, but he's waiting
over there to see Judge Raeburn and explain the whole matter to him." "H'm! Well, maybe you can tell me where your brother got that horse." "No, I can't.It was in the bunch of colts that a fellow named Jones
brought in here, but I don't know where they came from." "What were they doing here?" "The colts? Why, Jones and Rob had some sort of a partnership in them.They broke them together, and Jones drove them out and sold them, I
guess, for he had taken more than half of them when he disappeared
about a week ago.We haven't any idea where he went, or whether he came
up and took the rest of the horses without telling Rob." "I see. And Garnett? Where's he at?" "Gone to find Jones and see what he can get out of him." Mason laughed. "Well, I'll be going on.You say your brother is staying
over in Hailey to talk things over with Judge Raeburn? Court opens in
Hailey to-day; so your brother ought to get back here to-morrow.I'm on
my way to Soldier and I'll stop over here on my way back--in a couple
of days or so." "I wonder if you'll do me a favor?" Harry exclaimed, as Mason turned
his horse. "Will you leave a little package at the Robinsons' for me?It's some salve for Mrs. Robinson's hand." "Sure I will. I haven't seen the family for quite some time." "What a stupid I am!" Harry exclaimed, as she watched the man ride away
in the distance. "I didn't remember to ask him where Jones was, or
where he found the colts, or anything. I wonder whether anything can be
wrong--whether he arrested Jones?" She turned away. A swarm of new, strange fears had suddenly sprung to
life to torment her.CHAPTER IX
Standing in the door of the tent, Harry stared out over the desert
where the Sheriff had disappeared. "Dear me!" she exclaimed. "It seems that out here in the desert you
have to know more and think quicker and be generally all-around smarter
to be good for anything than you do back East, where every one is
supposed to know everything that's worth while. "All during the afternoon, no matter what she happened to be doing, her
thoughts returned to that curious and not very flattering conclusion. She recalled to mind the different people she had met in the short time
she had been in Idaho.They had all been "onto their job," as they
would have said. Even when they were not naturally qualified for their
work, they were self-reliant and resourceful. Harry's great desire now was to find a way to help Rob.She looked
round the vast expanse of untilled acres; neither her hand nor her
brain was yet capable of attacking that work. She turned and surveyed
the inside of the tent, and the spirit of all her New England ancestors
rose up in protest within her.Gazing helplessly at the dishes of
half-eaten food, the piles of canned goods, the eggs and butter
heaped under the table because there was no other place for them, she
saw in her mind her New England home, with its cellars, cupboards,
storerooms, and pantries.Of all the housekeeping necessities for which
this chaotic tent cried to her, it cried loudest for a pantry. Who
could keep house without a pantry?What, she wondered, had Mrs. Robinson done for a pantry when she had
started housekeeping in her one-room "shack"? Harry's thoughts shifted
to the ranch house, and the Robinsons' cheerful slapdash way of doing
the day's work.She remembered helping Vashti bring in the butter and
milk from the side-hill cellar. A cellar! Laughing, Harry ran down to the garden.She came back with
the shovel and grub hoe, and went on to the stream where the bank rose
steeply on the other side into the slope of the hill. At first her enthusiasm made the work seem easy.It was fun to drag the
stones from the bank, to tear out roots and bushes, and gradually to
see a cave shape itself.Of course it would be only a miniature cave,
just large enough to hold a wooden packing box on end; but she could
keep there butter and eggs and milk, and perhaps a few dishes.Before she realized it the sun was low, the pigs were squealing for
their supper, and her hands were badly blistered. Well along in the afternoon of the next day, Harry was still digging
bravely at her cellar.It was not enthusiasm now, but determination,
that kept her at her task. She stood in the water and chopped doggedly
at the roots. Sometimes she stopped to wipe her hot face on her sleeve,
or to give her hair another twist. "About a dozen shovelfuls," she said suddenly aloud, "and it will be
finished." "What'll be finished?" "Oh! "With a cry Harry whirled round and faced Rob, who stood on the
opposite bank grinning with amusement at the muddy, disheveled young
person before him. "Rob! You mean thing! How you scared me! When did you come? I didn't
hear you. ""No wonder, making such a racket yourself. What's that? A playhouse?" "A playhouse! That's a cellar." She dropped her work and walked back to
the tent with him. "Well, it's good to see you. What has happened? What
did Raeburn say?" "Oh, not much.Gave me some good advice." "What about Jones? Oh, yes, I forgot. The sheriff was here from
Shoshone. He stopped here to ask you about those colts. He has them
down in town." "Yes, I know. I saw them last night." "Well, then, you know more than I do. ""I know you've thought I was pretty mean, sis," Rob said, after a
moment's silence, "not to tell you all about this business at the
start.It wasn't because I didn't trust you; it was simply to save
you from having to answer questions that you couldn't have answered
honestly without giving everything away. But now it's all settled and
you can know what we've been doing. "First, I suppose you'd like to know who Jones is. I met him winter
before last when we were both working on the new railway out of
Shoshone.Jones had taken a subcontract under Grant, the man who had
the whole job from the company, and from the start everything was
against him: he struck rock, lost a team, and was laid up sick for a
couple of weeks. He just lost out all around. "Well, when he came to quit he hadn't a cent and was about five hundred
dollars in debt besides. Grant got out a judgment against him for
supplies, and there Jones was, with his whole winter's work shot to
nothing. "He worked at odd jobs during the summer. Then when he heard of that
government ditch up in the northern part of the state, he hiked up
there. He worked there all winter, got good pay, and saved some money.He'd written to me, off and on, and I saw he was worried about that
money he owed. He wanted to pay it, but if he came back and paid up
everything, he'd be cleaned out.If he could only invest it and make a
little profit on it, he could pay his debts just the same and have a
little left over to start on. He'd had such hard luck and worried so
hard it seemed only fair. "I happened to think of bringing horses in to sell. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
A work team fetches
a good price down round Jerome and Twin Falls, where the new settlers
are coming in. So we went into partnership on a bunch of horses.Jones
went across into Oregon and got some colts cheap and brought 'em down
here." "But why did you have to keep it a secret? ""Why, because, if his creditors had found out that he had a bunch of
horses, they'd have attached the whole lot of them and sold them in
auction for whatever they could get. ""But if he had sold them to you----"
"Yes, that's exactly why he did sell them to me; 'consideration one
dollar. 'Of course, he and I understood that they were really his, but
legally they were mine, and no one could take them from me to settle
his debts; but to be on the safe side we kept the colts up in the draw
and worked with them only in the early morning and late afternoon, when
there wasn't much danger of cattle men coming through.Well, everything
was going fine, until one day when Jones was off looking up business
he met a fellow he'd known on the railway that winter. Of course the
fellow wanted to know how Jones was doing. Jones forgot himself and
told more than he meant to.The other fellow was on his way to Shoshone
then, and _he_ said more than he should have. Grant heard about it, and
by the time Jones had got back from Jerome, Grant had sent the sheriff
after the horses." "But why didn't Mason come down to see you? "exclaimed Harry. "What a
strange thing to do--come and drive the horses off your land without a
word!" "But he didn't know that they were mine, or that they were on my land." "Well, how did they know where to find them?Jones didn't tell that
fellow exactly where they were, did he?" "Of course not. It was through Joyce they found out.He was in town,
at Mason's office, when Grant came in to send the sheriff after the
colts, and Joyce remembered seeing them up there in the draw near the
big quaking asp. Every one knows that tree, so it was easy for Mason to
find the horses.It was dusk when he got there, and so I don't suppose
he even thought of looking round to see whether any one lived down
below in the cañon." "Well, anyhow, if they're yours legally, why can't you go down and
prevent Grant from selling them? ""I thought of that. But Jones said not to--I talked with him on the
telephone last night.We've sold half the bunch already, and the market
is as good now as it ever will be, and rather than have any mix-up he
thinks it's better to let Grant sell off the rest as quick as he can.We've made a good profit already, and so long as Jones is satisfied, I
am. I got him into the scheme, so I felt that I had to stand by him to
the finish." "You certainly did!" exclaimed Harry. "It isn't every one who would go
to jail for a man who is almost a stranger. Lose all that time and gain
nothing by it!" "Didn't I gain anything?" Rob looked at her oddly. "Didn't we, rather?" "Didn't we?" she repeated, puzzled. "Sure.Wasn't it by coming over to bring me that bill that you found
out all about Boykin Hunter and the chance to contest his filing?" "Sure enough. I'd forgotten. How did his case come out? Did he get the
six months he deserved?" "Not yet.Joyce was there, and he made a big powpow; said he could
bring witnesses to prove that Boykin was a noble character, that he
wouldn't hurt a fly, and so on. Asked for a stay until next court.Garnett says that's to give him time to chase round and find another
man to put on that land. He's going to keep an eye on him,--Garnett on
Joyce, I mean,--and if anything suspicious seems to be brewing, he'll
chase down here and warn us. ""That's nice of him, isn't it? You aren't mad at him any longer?" "At Garnett? Of course not. I was sore at him for being so bull-headed
about his horse; but of course he was right to hang on to his
suspicions until they were proved wrong.He was there this morning in
court. He saw Mason last night, too, and learned the whole story about
this horse deal. Yes, Garnett's a good fellow.It's fellows like him
and old Dan Brannan that show a fellow what the West really is--the
place where the man himself counts every time." He got up and stretched himself. "I think I'll drive over to Soldier
to-morrow and get a load of lumber.It's too dry to plow, and it won't
be long before I'll be going haying and harvesting. If I get the lumber
in now, we'll be ready to start building the house early in September." "Where shall we put the house?I wish we could have it farther up the
glen, near the trees." "Let's go look round," suggested Rob.As they walked up the slope, Harry said suddenly, "Oh, yes, I've meant
to ask you a dozen times: how did Garnett's horse happen to be in that
bunch of colts? I never told you how Garnett came here one day to look
for his horse. "She went on to relate what had happened, and why she
had always put off telling him of it. "Isn't that queer, the way a little incident can twist everything!" Rob exclaimed. "If I'd known that, I'd probably never have ridden the
horse; never have got pinched anyhow, for refusing to tell where he
came from. The way Jones happened to have him was this: You remember
Garnett said he'd lost him?Well, a half-breed up in the reserve had
stolen him, along with another, and was on his way to Boise when he met
Jones coming this way, and got him to give him a colt in exchange for
the two saddle horses." "Goodness me!What a tangle, and yet how simple when once you know what
caused it all! And where is Jones now? They didn't keep him a prisoner
in Shoshone----"
"Oh, no, he's at liberty, but he had to stay and see how the matter
was coming out.He said that after he pays his debts he's going into
Oregon again to buy more colts." They had been walking up the slope at a leisurely gait, and had just
stopped beside a big rock to look round when the thud! thud!of a
horse's hoofs came up from the trail, and they saw a buggy and team
approaching. Rob shouted, and as the answering call came back, Harry
giggled excitedly. "It's Garnett! I'd know that voice anywhere. "They ran down to meet him, and reached the tent just as he climbed out
of the dust-covered buggy. "Hello, young fellow! What's the complaint now?" asked Rob. "I speak
for one night's sleep before you drag me to jail again. ""Oh, don't worry," Garnett replied calmly. "It ain't you I'm after this
time; it's your sister." "Me!" Harry exclaimed. "Why, what do you mean?" "Oh, say now! You're easy, ain't you?" Garnett apologized, with
mischief gleaming in his eyes. "I didn't tell Bob the whole story, but
didn't he tell you that I promised to come after you any time to go and
file a contest on that homestead you're wanting?" "What do you know about that!" Rob exclaimed in delight. "Has Boykin
admitted he is Hunter, after all, or what?" "No, it's Joyce that's given himself away; given the whole thing into
my hand the way you'd shove a bottle at a baby." "Oh, how?" Harry cried. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"It was yesterday, down at the livery stable in Soldier," began
Garnett, as they all sat down on the grass. "I was in the stall way at
the end of the shed fixing up my horse, and Joyce and another fellow
came in along the alley beside me.Joyce never dreamed any one was
listening, and he gave the whole thing up.He's going away to-morrow
morning to show this new herder the land he's to make entry on, and
then they're going to hike back to Shoshone in his automobile and file
a contest over Boykin's filing." "To-morrow!" repeated Rob. "You're guessing.That gives us to-night to get ready; we'll make one
first-class early start for Shoshone in the morning." "To-morrow!" "Say," said Garnett, turning to Rob, who sat as if he were dreaming,
"don't use so many words. It sort of confuses me. ""You think we can do it?" asked Rob. It seemed too good to be true, and
he was afraid that he should show his feeling. "Can we! Well, I guess we can! You wait until you get in the rig behind
that team of cayuses. You'll do it, hands down. "Rob looked at Garnett. He did not speak, but in his mute, eloquent
gaze Garnett saw that what he had wished for had at last come to pass:
Holliday was ready to be his friend! "Isn't it queer," Harry said, after a moment's silence, "the way some
people can take other people's mistakes and blunders and turn them
into other people's good fortune!" "Ain't you got an awful lot of folks mixed up in that?" asked Garnett. "Not so many as you might guess, if you wanted to," said Harry,
laughing, as she rose and went inside to her work. Supper was a merry meal. Rob and Garnett laughed and talked and joked
freely.Harry did not say much, but the sparkle in her eyes showed that
she was very happy. "And now, Harry, how early in the morning can you be ready to start for
Shoshone?" asked Rob, as he and Garnett prepared to leave the tent for
their beds in the hay. "I don't mean ready to begin to get ready; I
mean ready to hit the trail." "Oh, I can start now, if you say so," returned Harry, with a smile. "Say. Let's take a ten-minute nap first," Garnett pleaded. "I feel like
I was a living moving-picture show these days--I keep moving so much up
and down the big road." "Shall we make it eight o'clock in the morning, then?" said Rob. "By
the way, Garnett, how are we going?We can't all three squeeze into
that buggy." "We could, but there's no use of it. You'll take the team and I'll ride
your horse." "You can't. He's down in Shoshone in that bunch of colts." "Shucks!Well, I'll go as far as Robinson's with you and borrow a
horse. Then I'll ride in ahead and meet you there. No use of me milling
round in the dust behind you for thirty miles. ""I wish there were a short cut to town," said Harry to Rob, as they
climbed out of Spring Creek cañon the following morning and started
across the flats. Garnett had borrowed a horse at the Robinsons' and
had ridden on ahead. "If Joyce sees us on the road, won't he suspect
where we're going?" "Why should he? He hasn't the faintest idea that we know his plans." "But he knows that we wanted that homestead, and that we know Boykin
is under suspicion of being some one else.If he hadn't been afraid, I
don't believe he'd have rushed off like this to put a new man on the
land." "No, I don't suppose he would. Still, I'm not worrying.Even if he knew
everything, he's got to go up on the land before he comes through by
the road, and he's got to go slow a lot of the way.A buzz wagon is all
right on a boulevard, but in a race like this give me a good team and a
light rig and I'll lay my money on that. "As they drove along they laughed and talked, picturing Joyce's disgust
at finding himself beaten, and feeling, in truth, as if they had
already run and won the race.It was not until Rob looked at his watch
and found that it was half-past twelve o'clock that they realized how
much still lay between them and victory. "I guess we'd better not stop at the Hyslop ranch for lunch," he said. "I'll let the horses drink, but we won't feed them. They would have to
rest an hour if I did, and we've got to take the next fifteen miles on
the run." "Yes, yes," Harry agreed earnestly. "We mustn't stop for anything.We
can't lose that homestead, Bobs, we can't." Leaning forward, with her hands clasped tensely, she watched one after
another the landmarks that Rob had pointed out to her on their first
ride across the hills. How different she felt now!They stopped to water the horses and to give them a few minutes' rest;
then they pushed on again. Always listening and looking back, they kept
the horses up to their work, and at the same time saved them for the
last spurt. "We're doing about eight miles an hour now," Rob said some time later. "We've about an hour and a half before the land office closes, and we
ought to be able to do the rest of the trip in that time. That is,
unless Joyce gets in and does it quicker. "He had hardly spoken when they heard behind them the faint blare of a
horn. "There he is now!" They said it in one breath, and their eyes met. Rob slid forward in his seat. "We'll do it or bust." "How can we?" asked Harry despairingly. "I don't know.But I'm not going to give up now, would you?" "Oh, no, no! Let's keep going to the very last. Something may happen
for us." Although the horses did their best, the motor car gained on them
rapidly.Knowing that the car could pass them even if he held the
middle of the road, Rob drew to the roadside. As the lumbering
automobile went swiftly by it lunged down into a mudhole and spattered
them freely. "Thanks," said Rob placidly as Joyce glanced back over his shoulder. "That's one we owe you. Never mind, sis. You want to hold on, for
wherever there's a stretch of good road I'll hit up the pace." "Yes, that's right.He might break down or strike a snag at the last
moment." "Snakes and siwash!" Rob cried a few moments later. "He's done it! He's
stuck!" "O Bobs," Harry cried, giggling hysterically, "please be careful! The
horses might run away. ""O my, O my, O my great-grandmother!" Rob shouted with delight as he
pointed ahead. They could now see the whole of the road between them and town.It
wound downhill through the sagebrush, and then crossed the main ditch
of the irrigation company; from there it ran in a straight line between
the fenced fields until it entered the town.About a mile ahead, just after crossing the bridge, the automobile
stood motionless. The three men had climbed out, and were moving
distractedly about it. Apparently their efforts to start it were
proving futile. "What did I tell you?" chuckled Rob. "He's struck a mudhole and bogged
down. Look! There's a big break in the ditch somewhere above and the
road is flooded a foot deep. Get up, you Derby winners, get up! "CHAPTER X
As Rob and Harry drew near the disabled automobile, Joyce stepped out
into the muddy road and hailed them. "You couldn't stop long enough to hitch on here and haul us out, could
you, Mr. Holliday?" | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
he asked ingratiatingly, as Rob stopped. "We can't
get her started neither way. It's kind of mean to ask a fellow to
onhitch, but there's accidents happen to all of us, ain't there?" Rob glanced at the car.Its front wheels were stuck fast in the
mudhole; moreover, the bank of the slough was so soft and deep that
Joyce could not get power enough into the wheels to force the machine
either forward or backward.Rob watched him twice crank the engine and
throw open the lever. The car shook violently, but refused to move. It
was safe where it was for some time. "You ought to get a couple of heavy rails or fence-posts to pry up the
front wheels and run her across." "That's all right, but I don't see any lying round here, do you?" Joyce
snapped angrily.Then he added in a more pleasant tone, "I'll make it
worth your while to put your team in here. I've got business in town
that can't wait." "I'm sorry; so have I," answered Rob. "Wouldn't twenty-five make it up to you? Here it is. "Joyce pulled the
gold pieces from his pocket. Rob shook his head. "Business first, pleasure afterward," he said, as
the team started ahead. "I'm late as it is. You can get a couple of
planks over at the ranch yonder. "A little way down the road Rob glanced back. "Now for the last lap,"
he said. "If that motor will only be kind enough to sulk for half an
hour longer, I think we can just about beat him, her or it by a neck. Hurray! ""He hasn't started yet," Harry announced from time to time, looking
back to see what progress their rival was making. "Why can't he stick
where he is until we get there?The moment he manages to get his
machine out of the mud he'll simply open everything and rush past us,
and we'll not be in the race at all." "Not much. He'd bust the whole machine wide open if he struck one of
these sharp rocks going fast.No, he'll wait until he gets pretty near
town, where the roads are smooth, before he hits her up to top speed. So here is where we whirl in and do our level best." Rob merely touched one of the ponies with the whip, and it was enough.Both ponies started on a run. "O Rob! They're running away!" gasped Harry. "Don't worry. I'd hate to see them drop, but I'm going to get there
first, or bust. Where's Joyce now?" Harry turned and knelt on the seat of the swaying buggy. "I don't
see him. Yes, there he is! He's started! O Bobs! If we could only go
faster!" Rob did not answer. All his attention was on the team. How they could
run!With ears back and tails stretched out, they dashed on; behind
them swung the buggy, bounding over mudholes and across stones and
ruts. Faster and faster the ponies flew. Not daring to look back, Harry clung to the seat with both hands.Behind them came the continual blare of the horn as the motor car crept
up on them, drew nearer and nearer, until, as they scrambled up the
last hill, the mad clatter of the engine seemed almost in their ears.At the top of the slope, with the main street stretching before them,
Rob showed no mercy. With the reins wrapped round his hands, he sat
forward on the edge of the seat and urged the horses on.Down the main street they went, missing a wagon, swerving past men who
ran out to stop the runaway team, and who then, seeing the motor car
behind, understood, and shouted applause. In a moment the quiet street
was in an uproar of excitement.Shopkeepers and customers, corner
idlers and school children, old men and women, ran pell-mell after the
galloping team and the motor car. Of three men on horseback who joined in the chase, one was Garnett.He
had reached town about an hour before, but had not wished to put up
his horse until Harry and Rob should come in.As soon as he saw them
flying down the street, he rode up, and, by keeping close to the side
of the buggy, helped to block the way to those behind.As Rob pulled over to the side of the street toward the land office,
Garnett shouted to Harry, "Jump for the door! Jump! "Quick as thought, he reached down from his saddle, caught the girl
round the waist as she leaned forward, and swung her from the buggy.He swung himself after her, and sprang up the steps to the office door
just time to get between Harry and the sheepman, who reached for the
doorknob at the same moment.But instead of all three piling into the
room together, they merely fell against the door. For the door was
locked. Trembling with exhaustion and excitement, Harry felt her hand slip as
Joyce tried to push her out of the way. "No, you don't, Joyce! "Garnett said roughly, thrusting his arm in
front of the sheepman. "You didn't get here first." "This is a put-up job!" began Joyce angrily. "I bet! "was Garnett's grim answer, which brought a laugh from the
crowd that had gathered about the steps to see what would happen. "Let me into this office!" Joyce ordered. "The clerk didn't leave the key with me." "This isn't your affair.Get away from that door!" "Get away yourself." "Perhaps I had better go," Harry said in a low tone to Garnett. "I can
come back in the morning." "Not early enough to get what you're after," said Garnett, glancing
down at her. "You can hang on a while, can't you, until Rob gets back? He's gone to find out about opening this place. You don't want to have
to stand here all night." "All night?" She turned a dismayed face on him.Garnett gazed into it a moment
without answering. Never had he seen any girl look as Harry looked now. She was spattered with mud from hair to shoes.She had lost both hat
and hairpins on that wild drive, and her brown curls lay in disorder
about her neck. Her cheeks were white; even her lips were pale with
excitement and weariness.But in her eyes shone the exultation of
victory and on her lips was a smile. "I can stand here a week if I have to," she said. "But I hope I shan't
have to." "You've got to get into this place first if you want that homestead. Here comes Rob now.Perhaps he's corralled the clerk." Rob elbowed his way through the crowd that was pressing up to stare
at Harry. "No use," he said. "The office won't be opened until nine
o'clock to-morrow morning.I saw the clerk just as he was leaving town
to go to a wedding, and wild horses couldn't have held him. Are you
onto your job, sis?" "I guess so. Listen. What is he saying?" Joyce had retreated to the sidewalk.He was not afraid of a fight or
unused to one, but for various reasons he hesitated to try to get
possession of the door by force.The jokes of the crowd were becoming more and more irritating to him,
however, and suddenly he called out, "I'll give twenty-five dollars to
any one who'll break that girl's hold on the door there! ""And I'll give fifty swift kicks to any one who tries it!" cried
Garnett. "Wouldn't the young lady like a chair?" a voice said at Harry's elbow. Turning, Harry saw Smoot, the hotel clerk, leaning over the railing of
the porch with a chair in his hand. "That's good of you!" she exclaimed gratefully. "I didn't realize how
tired I am." "Hungry, too, I guess," suggested Smoot. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"If you're going to stick it
out all night, you'll need some good chuck to hold you. ""I expect I shall," agreed Harry with a tired little laugh. "Say, Smoot," suggested Rob, "can't you go over to Kenny's and tell 'em
to send round a tray of grub?" "All right. Anything in particular you'd like, Miss Holliday? ""A gallon or two of water; I'm so thirsty! But don't you want to eat
your own suppers?" she said, turning to Rob and Garnett. "Shucks! We don't care when we eat," Garnett assured her. "We'll starve
out this bunch first, anyhow. "Then, in a lower tone, he added, "When
Joyce sees you're game, he'll let up." "I guess I'm game." "Of course you are. I saw it that first time I spoke to you. Remember?" "On the train?" She laughed. "Indeed I do. And you told me I'd stay.Honestly, I didn't expect to then." "No, you didn't. But you stick to what you tackle. I kind of felt that
once you'd camped in Idaho it'd get a strangle hold on you somehow." "Well, it has.Any one seeing me hanging to a doorknob all night must
realize that I like Idaho pretty well." She shivered involuntarily as
she spoke. "You're half froze. As soon as they come with that grub we'll send for
a blanket." "There comes the food now.And Mrs. Kenny. Isn't she the best, though? And I look like--I don't know what." "Like a sure-enough fighter, and that's just what Mrs. Kenny likes." The sun had set and it was beginning to grow chilly. Most of the crowd
were drifting away.With a pot of coffee in one hand, a basket of food
in the other, and a big shawl over her arm, Mrs. Kenny came sailing
down the street, exchanging pungent remarks with the townsfolk as she
passed; she was much like a frigate going to the rescue with guns
unmasked. "For the land sakes, girlie," she exclaimed, "is it really you? Well,
you're the right stuff! Howdy, Joyce? Looks like you wasn't in this
deal. How about it?" "It's early yet," answered Joyce sourly. "Wait till four o'clock
to-morrow morning. ""And if I ain't a heap sight duller than I think, you'll be some tired
yourself by that time, settin' all night on the hard side of that
stair-step. Better go git you some supper, you and the new herder you
got there. "Joyce growled something unintelligible in reply. He held a low-toned
conversation with the herder, and after a moment they walked away. The minute they were out of sight, Mrs. Kenny caught Harry's arm. "Come
on, now," she said quickly. "This is your time. You come round to the
hotel the back way and get cleaned up and rested. Joyce won't dream
you'll go like this, first dash out of the box.And if he did come
back, why, Garnett here ain't never filed, and he can hold the door
like it's for himself until you come back. Come on, now." "That's right," insisted Garnett. "Mrs. Kenny is sure right. "When Harry came back, washed, brushed, fed, and rested, she felt
prepared for anything. Joyce had not returned, and the three, Harry,
Rob, and Garnett, felt certain that he had accepted defeat.Still, it
would not do to run any chances, and they prepared to watch through the
night.Rob had brought some old boxes from the grocery store, and with them
he built a little fire in the road; there, as the long, chilly hours
passed, it glowed cheeringly. He and Garnett took turns watching the
door and the fire.But toward morning they unconsciously relaxed.Rob with his head on
his knees, dozed beside the smouldering fire; Garnett, stretched near
the door, nodded; and Harry, wrapped in the warm shawl, leaned her
head against the back of her chair and tried to realize that morning
was very near.Then suddenly she started, cried out, and clutched the
doorknob just as Joyce, in stocking feet, slid swiftly across the porch. Even as her call broke from her lips, Garnett threw himself forward,
caught Joyce by the leg, and brought him to the floor.Then, dropping
his hold, he sprang to his feet and stood in front of Harry, ready for
what might come. Rob, too, had waked at the first sound of trouble, and
had easily frustrated the herder's somewhat faint-hearted attempt to
help out the sheepman.Harry, Rob, and Garnett stood with their backs against the door,
prepared for anything. But Joyce had wrenched his knee in falling and,
unable to put up a good fight, limped away with angry threats. At seven o'clock Mrs. Kenny appeared with breakfast.With her came "Old
Man" Kenny and Smoot to take the place of Rob and Garnett while they
went to the hotel to eat. At nine o'clock the clerk opened the office door and the little party
passed inside.After all the excitement and suspense, the mingled hope
and fear through which she had lived in the last twenty-four hours,
Harry was surprised at the calmness with which she went through the
necessary business of signing the papers and taking the oath.She was in a way, the calmest of all the little crowd which had
collected to see the end of this exciting race and to take a good look
at the girl who had "put one over hog-dollar Joyce. "Every new settler
means much to those already at work building homes in a new territory
and almost every one who traded in town knew Rob Holliday and had heard
of the hard work he and "the girl" were doing on his homestead.The news of the race had of course run through the town and when the
land office opened for Harry's filing both windows were full of heads
and the porch held a crowd of complimentary size.A low but constant whisper of explanation accompanied the gray-haired
registrar's voice as he ran through the forms with Harry.When she had
signed her name for the last time he carefully took off his spectacles,
looked into her flushed and happy face with a kindly quizzical smile
and held out his hand. "I don't know when I've filed anybody that
pleased me like this has," he said; "If you keep a going on your
hundred'n sixty like you came after it, young lady, you're liable to
have a pretty first class ranch by time you prove up. "A laugh of appreciation from the listening group approved this remark
and the many hands that shook hers as she passed down to the street
assured Harry of the good will that went with her to the work before
her.They spent the forenoon in town, doing errands and, visiting with the
acquaintances who had heard the story of Joyce's defeat and came around
to hear the particulars.Mrs. Kenny gave them an early lunch and after
thanking her for her share in the victorious siege, they started back
to the ranch, Garnett going with them in order to take the team and
buggy back to Hailey.They were tired from lack of sleep and the long nervous strain, yet
they were too elated with the sense of the victory they had won to let
it go at that.They must talk it over and laugh at the fears they had
endured, even if now and then an irrepressible yawn would sandwich in
between the jokes. "I bet I could stretch a mile if I didn't haff to walk back to meet my
horse," Garnett confessed. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Teachers would have been
engaged for all district schools by the time Rob and Harry should be
ready to leave the ranch.They talked the situation over and decided
that an advertisement in the _Prairie Despatch_ would reach the most
remote hamlets; those where lay the probable chances of finding a
vacancy.If this failed, Harry could go out with Rob to cook for the
threshing crews and, when that work ended, board in Stone Bridge
through the winter.Having settled this, Rob went down to help Robinson put up his second
cutting of alfalfa and Harry spent the week irrigating their alfalfa
and the garden.They had put in a quarter of an acre of potatoes with
the intention of having enough both for their own use the following
spring and summer and for selling to the ranchers down on the flat
where late frosts usually nipped the garden patches.Harry's advertisement was to appear in that Saturday's _Despatch_,
so naturally there was no report from it when Rob came up to spend
Sunday.But the following week he brought a letter from the trustees
of a mountain hamlet and, more important, word from Mrs. Robinson that
her husband's sister living up at Stone Bridge, had written that their
teacher was going to be married and they were wondering where to find
another.Harry, of course, rode out with Rob on Monday, taking her diploma and a
letter of recommendation from the principal of the school in the East
where she had taught.She was obliged to pass an examination before
being allowed to teach in Idaho, but she did that satisfactorily and
it was not difficult for the school board to believe in her general
fitness for the work--if "work" it could be called--she reflected after
seeing the textbooks and the fifteen children who were to be her pupils.The winter's work being thus happily settled for them, Harry and Rob
gave their attention to the new house.He hauled the lumber at odd
times between haying and harvesting and on the first of October came
home with a last load of nails, shingles, windows and building paper,
ready to begin work.The building of that "prove-up shack," as Rob would call it, was,
next to Harry's coming into Idaho, the most significant event in her
life.All her traditions had built the conviction that a home must be
something more than a weatherproof box containing the number of cubic
feet required by the homestead law and lighted by one window two and a
half feet square. "I can't, I won't live in a--a shack like some I've seen," she
protested; "board walls so full of splinters you could curry a horse
against them and nothing but a row of nails for a closet.Why isn't it
just as cheap to make a pretty cottage of the same amount of wood?" "Why, isn't it just as cheap to make a lace veil as a flour sack? They're both made of cotton thread.I've figured on spending one
month's time and about two hundred dollars cash on this dwelling. Now
if you can show me where any style can be worked in for that sum of
money and labor--don't forget the labor--go ahead and make your plan. "This somewhat discouraging permission was quite enough for Harry. A
flood of sketches including dormer windows, pergolas, verandas and
colonial chimneys was the result offered for Rob's consideration. "Now if I were an architect and you had a million dollars to spend we'd
show these old timers, wouldn't we?" he laughed. But nevertheless, he
did try to adapt his material to the spirit of Harry's wishes.The eaves of the steep, gabled roof hung low; there were windows
wherever a free wall space allowed--big windows that gave the plain
rooms a set of ever-changing pictures of prairie and mountains.There
was even a little porch before the door--that door built of planks,
studded with nail-heads and twice the width of the ordinary mill-work
door, "so that when we get our piano, it will be easy to bring it
inside," explained Harry. "You must be figuring on making money, real money," Rob teased. Harry could not tell him how the slow raising of that house had lifted
her to the sight of still wider horizons.But every board she helped
to lay in place, every nail she drove fastened her more firmly to this
new land, strengthened her will to succeed. As she and Rob worked
they talked, planning endless improvements to be made as they should
prosper.The desire for those things stirred them to toil happier than
many pleasures.Rob did not finish the house, there was too much else to be done; a
horse shed to be run up, firewood to be cut and hauled in readiness for
the following spring, the channel of the stream that ran close to the
house to be deepened and widened with the slip, so that when the snow
water came down in the spring break-up it would not overflow into their
new cellar, or swirl a pile of stones from the hillside into the garden.They left the gathering of the stove wood to the last; freezing ground
would not make sagebrush any harder to cut and haul.They were getting
the wood in a coulee about a mile east of Harry's hundred and sixty
where there were plenty of willows and the sagebrush grew big and thick.It was a cold November afternoon when, as they were loading the last
wagonful, they saw coming in along the trail a team hauling lumber and
a mountain wagon. "Well! What do you know about that," Rob exclaimed; "looks like some
one's filed here.I'd better go over and see." Harry watched in a stir of eager curiosity. Homesteaders! That would
mean neighbors. A procession of possibilities swept through her mind. The three men talked for five minutes or so, then Rob came back. "Homesteaders all right," he announced, "an old man named Eldredge and
his wife. The young fellow is a real estate man from Shoshone who's
locating them.Eldredge is only going to put up his shack this fall and
then go back east--he's from Missouri--and came out in the spring with
his wife." "How jolly to have neighbors," Harry beamed. "I hope they've some
children?" "Nary one. Just Darby and Joan.But she'll be another woman for you to
exchange flower seeds with and have a tryout as to which can make the
best cake. Isn't that what you've been wanting?" "You seem to be pleased yourself. It'll give you fresh material to
tease me with." "Fine!I didn't expect you'd see that so quickly. Too bad we'll have to
wait until next spring to start the fun." "Oh, I don't know.By the time you've helped feed a hundred head of
cattle and cleaned the corral for a month you'll forget there is such
a thing as a joke or me to be tormented." Harry's prediction hit the mark.All through the winter she and Rob did not talk together once a week. He was at work in the morning before she left for school and in the
evening after nodding a few moments over the paper he rolled off to bed.Harry, herself, gave little thought to anything beyond her work. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
As
soon as she began teaching, all the interest and pleasure which she had
taken in it before revived with an ardor to kindle the most indifferent
child.She had been cut off so abruptly from her companionship with
girls that her heart was still a little bit sore from the tearing
loose of old bonds.Also, she had been in her new environment just
long enough to feel, beneath the material interests and excitement of
new work and prospects, the ache of loneliness for friends.In her
six months of wilderness life she had made the acquaintance of enough
people to realize with startling emphasis how frankly dishonest and
also what crudely and unassumingly good pioneers men and women are.With senses alert for such things she saw what school life--all too
short for these sturdy workers--might be made to mean. That flow of warm good will helped to carry her far over the difficult
beginning, for it was hard at the start.Her pupils were of all ages
from six to fifteen and of as many dispositions. All, of course, were
suspicious of the new teacher who had supplanted the one they knew. "They look at me," Harry reflected, inwardly amused, "as I might view
a boa constrictor coiled in a college professor's chair. If they only
knew how much that is interesting a boa constrictor could tell them!Well, I'll show them how I'm not like one--Attention, please!" She smiled at them as they turned, surprised, on their way to the door. (It was Friday afternoon and they were in a hurry to be off. )"You
are all invited to meet me here to-morrow evening at seven o'clock,"
she went on, "girls please wear aprons as we are going to make candy.That'll show them I'm half human," she added to herself, watching the
faint start of surprise that went through them, followed by smiles and
murmured thanks. That was a good beginning even though between beginning and finishing
may be a hilly road.But it was Harry's belief that every one loved
adventure, every one dreamed of romantic deeds with himself the hero.From this she had decided that every one would work and study with
gusto if the task were skillfully presented to the imagination as a
living, pulsing part of the great romance--life.But the theories which
she had evolved while teaching carefully reared girls from well-to-do
families was not certain to fit all cases. The first month at Stone
Bridge district school was destructive to all theories and nearly
baffled her.Such unexpected work she had: to make children wash their faces and
hands; to make and enforce the rule that handkerchiefs were to be
universally carried; to watch those who came in thin shoes through the
snow and rain and make them dry their feet; to see that certain big
boys did not filch the lunches from certain small, timid ones; and to
watch that pencils, erasers, colored crayons and other small belongings
were not carried off by those to whom they did not belong.Also, she
bought mittens and scarfs for two small children of a hard-drinking
sawyer at the lumber mill, and acquired the habit of carrying something
extra with her lunch every day for the little girl who never had enough. "And all the time I'm learning a lot from them," she realized when she
saw them settle things for themselves.When red-headed Katie Riordan
jumped out and slapped "Portagee Joe" Biane, the worst boy in school,
for sticking his foot out and tripping little Lon Fisher, it took
Harry's breath away.She hadn't been intended to see it because she was
working at the board. Not knowing what to do, she waited to think it
over. In the meanwhile, Joe let Lon alone and Katie was as sweet as new
milk to every one.Every day she saw things which made her bubble with laughter, ache with
pity and burn with indignation: the blacksmith's three children who
came to school on one horse, their feet tied up in sacks full of straw
to keep them from freezing; Knute Sundstron, who wore neither socks
nor undershirt and swallowed a spoonful of sand to cure indigestion,
asking to sit by the door where his feet might not get warm and make
his chilblains itch; Charlie Martin, an only child who loved books with
a ruling passion but was not allowed to carry them home from the school
library because they "littered up the house," slipping them inside the
lining of his overcoat in order to smuggle them into his room; and
Isita Biane, the sister of "Portagee Joe," pretending that she didn't
want to go out to play at noontime, when the reason was that she had no
jacket and couldn't run or play in the man's overcoat in which she rode
to school.Of all these, amongst all the children in school Isita most appealed
to Harry. She was a puzzle, too. She said she was fourteen but looked
small for her age and was far behind the class she should have been in.She stumbled hopelessly over her arithmetic, could scarcely write her
name legibly and yet spoke good English and could read remarkably well.She studied earnestly, but at times Harry would look up and find the
girl's gentle, black eyes on her with a timid steadfastness that stayed
with her after school. "I wonder if she isn't badly treated at home,"
she pondered. "I'm sure I've seen bruises on her face and she seems to
be utterly submissive to that hulking brother of hers. I must try to
make friends with her." But oddly enough this was something which she could not quite bring
about.She knew Isita liked her; the faint flush which brightened her
face when Harry spoke to her, the shy answering smile, were not to be
mistaken.But there was a reserve which met Harry's attempts at active
friendliness and which she was too well bred to force. "I'm a stranger
and she isn't quite sure of me," she decided. "If I wait she'll come
round. "And then, the very next day she yielded to a kindly impulse
which had strange consequences.It was one of those cloudless days in January when the sun, so hot
at midday in that altitude, shone with a terrible brilliance over
the snow-draped mountains and the white valley.But a freezing wind
contested the sun's warmth and Harry was walking up and down during the
noon recess in the shelter of the building while the schoolroom aired.Most of the children were playing shadow-tag, shouting and laughing,
their faces scarlet with their exertions and the bite of the air.Harry
paused, smiling at them, and suddenly noticed Isita, standing alone in
her clumsy sheepskin coat, watching the others. As at a hand on her wrist Harry stiffened. "Isita," she called lightly. "Oh, Isita. Come here a minute. "The girl had started at the sound of her name, and seeing Harry's eyes
on her, a little flush passed over her thin olive cheeks. She came
toward her teacher, moving awkwardly in the heavy coat. "Don't you want to do something for me," Harry began in her quick,
easy-going way. "There's a book, a new book just come from New York
that I want to read to you this afternoon. It's up in my room over at
Mrs. McCullon's.I want you to go over and get it for me. Will you,
dear? | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
I can't leave these children and go myself. You'll find the book
on the table beside the bed. It's blue with gold letters. Tell Mrs.
'Mac' I sent you. Here! Put on my sweater.You don't need that heavy
jacket to run up the street. "While she talked Harry had unbuttoned her sweater, slipped it off,
then, still smiling into Isita's wondering eyes, she unfastened with
quick, sure hands the sheepskin coat and drew it easily from the girl's
shoulders.Isita had made a weak effort of resistance, drawing back a
little, an odd look of fear in her face; but Harry was so quick, so
sure of herself, that the change was made before there was time to
remonstrate.She had the thick, warm sweater on and buttoned round
Isita's chin and was walking with her to the road. "You've plenty of
time," she encouraged. "Don't run. "With the girl's coat on her arm she stood a moment watching Isita hurry
away, skip a few steps, then abruptly break into running. "Of course!" Harry said. "She likes to run as much as anybody. No
wonder she can't play with this thing on. "She looked disapprovingly at
the heavy, much-worn canvas "sourdough" coat on her arm. "She's going
to keep my sweater! No reason on earth why I shouldn't wear my new one
every day.What queer people the Bianes must be to let their child
wear such clothes. It's not because they're poor, either. Biane's a
sheep shearer and makes good wages. I must get up the creek to see Mrs.
Biane.Teaching children satisfactorily without knowing their parents
is like trying to furnish a house by guessing at it from the outside. "It was getting near one o'clock and she went in, shut the windows,
stirred up the fire and came out to look up the road for Isita before
ringing the hell. Isita was almost at the gate, the book under her arm
and a real rose-color in her cheeks.Harry watched her, not noticing
that Joe Biane was coming from the opposite direction. He had been with
the other boys to skate on the river and he, too, had seen his sister
coming. He reached the gate before her and stood waiting.Harry, standing in the porch, saw him speak to his sister, saw the girl
draw back, warding him off--"Why what is he doing! "Harry exclaimed,
and ran sharply down the steps just as he snatched the book from Isita,
threw it on the ground and began pulling off the jacket she was wearing. "Stop!Joe Biane--" Quick as thought the remembrance of what Katie
Riordan had done to this bully flashed back to Harry. She caught him by
the shoulder, gave him a shake and pushed him back. Her face was white,
her eyes sparkled.Taken utterly by surprise Joe made no attempt to
resist. "Pick up that book," Harry ordered, her eyes steadily on his. His scowl deepened. "My sister ain't here to work for you, nor nobody,"
he growled. "She ain't wearing nobody's rags, neither.You take that
off, 'Sita, d'you hear?" "Pick up that book or stay after school for an hour every day this
month," Harry interrupted. "Isita, leave that sweater on. I am in
charge here, Joe Biane.If your sister goes on an errand for me, that
is my affair and hers. Go inside and take your seat and don't say
another word. Thank you, Isita, for going after this. That little run
did you good.I'll have to think up excuses to get you out every day." She smiled as she said it, gave a little pat to the girl's shoulder and
went back to the door to order the children who had all been watching
and listening to this interlude, back to work.In no way did she refer again to what had happened. She kept them all
smartly at work during the afternoon session and read them the first
chapter of _Robin Hood and His Merry Men_ from the blue book with gold
letters.When she dismissed school at three o'clock she asked Isita and
Joe to stay. "Now," she said when they were alone, she, in a chair before the stove,
the brother and sister facing her from the nearest bench. "Now, Joe,
I want first to know whether you are acting on the authority of your
parents to control Isita during school hours?" Joe, his hands in his pockets, his feet stuck out in front of him, slid
a narrow half-glance at Harry and down again. "What's that to you?" he
demanded in a barely articulate grumble. "You're here to teach." "Exactly. And one of my first duties is to see that you children learn
the lessons and advance in your classes.To do this you must obey the
rules--"
"Who's breaking your rules," Joe interrupted. "What rules give you the
claim on any of us to go your errands?"" --Must obey the rules," Harry continued mildly, "and one of the rules
is that you must go out every fair day and exercise. If you don't get
the fresh air you can't study.You know as well as I do that Isita
can't play, or even walk well in that big heavy coat. And she is too
thinly dressed to go out without it. I sent her for that book just for
an excuse to make her run, and gave her my sweater so she could run.It's a very nice jacket; fits her and is pretty and warm. It is my
privilege to give it to her if she will accept it, if her mother has no
objections. You don't think she would object, do you, Isita? "With all the encouragement and kindness she could put into voice and
look Harry turned to the girl. To her surprise Isita, very pale, looked
down at her hands and said: "I guess I'd better not take it, Miss
Holliday. Thank you, just the same. "Harry felt her blood quicken indignantly at this, to her, unreasoning
suspicion of a friendly deed. "Just as you think best," she acquiesced;
"but you must wear something suitable to go out in during recess." Joe laughed. "You needn't worry about her," he said. "She's used to a
whole lot you couldn't stand." In thinking over the affair that night Harry wondered whether she
had not made a big mistake.Ought she not to have ignored everything
outside of Isita's actual school work? "Anyhow," she reminded herself,
"she knows that I want to help her. It may be that something will come
up later that will send her to me. "But such a hoped-for occasion was not to happen for a long time. Before
the spring term ended Isita and Joe both stopped coming to school, and
when the truant officer hunted for them the family had moved away.Harry could get no news of them from the other pupils and went back to
the ranch for the summer without a prospect of seeing Isita again. In the rush of summer work, concern for her school naturally waned.Moreover, she soon began to look forward with interest to the arrival
of the Eldredges. Several times she went up to the little shack to see
if they had come.But there were no signs of any one having been there
and the summer passed without bringing them--Rob inquired at the land
office whether their filing had been withdrawn, but nothing of that
kind had happened. "Too bad," said the clerk, "for somebody else'll sure file over them
if they let the time go over. Good land's getting mighty scarce around
here. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
CHAPTER XII
That more than Joe's surliness stood between Isita and Harry, the
latter was not long in discovering.She was not easily discouraged
from attempting anything she had set her heart on, and at first she
made all sorts of pretexts for going up to the Biane's.Sometimes it
was to carry eggs or new pieplant or lettuce; "We have so much," she
explained to the silent, haggard-faced woman who came to the door; or
it was a bundle of illustrated papers that had been sent her from home,
and she thought Isita might be interested in them.Once or twice she
asked boldly if Isita might not come down and stay with her for a few
days to help with the chores, while she was working outside with Rob.But Biane himself made it plain that Isita was expected to work for her
own family, and Mrs. Biane avoided seeing or talking to their neighbor.To be sure, Isita came down to the Holliday's, but it was to "borrow"
soap, salt, tools and various other small necessities of which the
shiftless Biane family stood in need, and she was always in a nervous
hurry to get back home and never accepted Harry's friendliest urging
to stay awhile.Harry felt sure that the younger girl wanted to be
friends, that in this lonely land of vast distances each of them needed
the other.But she saw that Isita was very much afraid of her quiet,
smiling tyrannical father and, in spite of her unmistakable attachment
to Harry, she was too shy to talk of home troubles. As the spring days lengthened there was, too, less time for visiting.To the sagebrush homesteader the sixty days of May and June are the
heart of the year's labor and a man must keep things moving from dawn
to dark, if he means to get ahead.No sooner is the frost out of the
ground, no sooner have the break-up floods of snow water run off, the
quaking morass of meadow-lands grown solid earth once more, than the
plow must be started.Harry had learned to handle the four-horse disk plow and the harrow as
well, so, while Rob worked one team she handled the other.They now had
four heavy work horses, besides three colts that could be used off and
on, and quite a bunch of half-broke and young stuff belonging to Owens,
which they worked as payment for their feed; thus there were few idle
hours while the spring drive lasted.To Harry each new morning was a fresh adventure and whenever Rob did
not need her for an hour or so, she explored the steep sides of the
rocky buttes, the narrow cañons separating them, and the tree-filled
"draw" behind the house.Nor was it altogether careless amusement which
led her to this.She had discovered that a good many other people
went to and fro through the cañons and across the foothills near by:
surveyors, sheepherders, looking for strayed stock, and men who were
just "going through. "Often these various wayfarers carried "guns"
that were sometimes rifles but oftener, especially late in summer,
shotguns. And it had not taken Harry long to discover that the men with
shot guns were after grouse and sage hen.From the time of her arrival on the ranch she had been interested in
the wild birds and had soon begun trying to protect them.Rob had hung
"no shooting" signs along all the fences and already the birds seemed
to know that they were protected in that spot and came fearlessly to
feed in the alfalfa and close to the house.But even signs and outspoken orders would not keep a certain class of
game butchers away. They came even before the season opened, shooting
early in the morning and trusting to the lack of settlers to escape
arrest.Harry had several times driven off these poachers, but there
was one who persisted in defying her. That was Joe Biane.He was so
sly, so sharp, so indifferent to all remonstrance or warning that Harry
realized it was useless to threaten with words only; if he would shoot
on her land he should be punished.She came to this decision one morning in May when she had run out to
try and get a snapshot of a grouse cock strutting on the edge of the
alfalfa.She had moved cautiously along behind the currant bushes until
just within the right distance to get a good picture and was adjusting
the camera when a shotgun cracked in the draw above her. "After my birds again!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "If it's Joe I
declare I'll go straight to town and fetch the game warden up here to
arrest him. Of course he's spoiled my picture, too!" For the grouse
had folded his wings and scuttled out of sight into the willows. "I'll just go right along and see who that was," Harry decided, closing
her camera and starting up the cow path through the glen.At this time of the year the steep sides of the ravine were masked in
the leafage of quaking asp, thorn apple, willow and choke cherry, and
it was next to impossible to see whether the person shooting was there
or not. Harry did not stop to explore.She knew by experience that it was
farther up in the high meadow, a favorite nesting place of grouse and
sage hen that she was most likely to find the poachers. Now, in her
excitement she had started running (Joe should not evade her! )but the
path was steep, the sun ardent, and before she could reach the meadow
she was out of breath, hot, and not any calmer.In a final, desperate
effort to cut across Joe's path toward home she swerved through the
trees and almost ran over Joe himself. He was moving stealthily through the willows, but startled by Harry's
unexpected appearance, he stopped short. "Joe! "she exclaimed; "I thought so." "You did!" He laughed mischievously. "I ain't the only fella that takes
a short cut through here, am I?" "You take it oftenest. Outsiders don't get here quite so early in the
morning, as a rule.I see I'm too late to save my birds, though." She pointed indignantly to the grouse hen that hung from Joe's left
hand. Joe looked at it too. "Pretty nice one, ain't it," he observed. "Want I
should get you one?" "I should say not! "she exclaimed angrily. "And what's more, you may
put that one down. I've told you not to shoot on my land, and I don't
intend to have you carry off the birds under my nose, even though they
are dead. Give that to me, please. "She reached out her hand, but Joe stepped alertly back. "This ain't
yours," he said. He was no longer smiling; instead he eyed her
sullenly, a cruel expression on his handsome face.Harry remembered
that he had looked at her just so the day he had tried to pull her
sweater from Isita. "Everybody's got a right to the wild critters,"
he added. "Besides," glancing covertly at Harry, "I was gettin' this
because Isita likes 'em. "For a second Harry faltered. The picture of the younger girl, thin,
tired-looking, unmistakably underfed came before her. But even as she
started to yield, her indignation flamed again. "Oh, well, if it's for
Isita," she answered with affected surprise, "give it to me. I'll take
it home and cook it, and you tell your sister I've invited her down to
dinner." "Not much," Joe answered shortly. "We don't beg a meal off'n any one. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
""An invitation isn't begging; but never mind. If you're as anxious
as you say to please your sister, go put your time into plowing and
planting; then you won't have to depend on a tough grouse hen for
dinner. "Her eyes went again to the limp, feathered form, the bloodstained
breast. "Such stupid cruelty!" she exclaimed. "To shoot the hens at this season
when it means a nestful of young ones left to starve." "Aw! "Joe growled contemptuously and began to walk away. "What's that
to you? You ain't running this country, so far's I know, and you ain't
a goin' to stop me gettin' a sage hen. I'll shoot when I like." "Not on my land," she warned him. "Remember, Joe, I've told you to
keep out. Next time I'll bring the game warden up here and have you
arrested." He laughed mockingly, his face darkening. "You'll do a whole lot," he
sneered; "just like you tried down at the school.But Isita didn't run
any more of your errands and she didn't wear your sweater. Did she?" "Because your father took her out of school and moved out of that
district is no proof that what I did was wrong." "What do I care for your 'methods'?I'll get even with you if you try
any of your bossing on me. Better watch out, Miss Schoolmarm." Harry looked after him as he disappeared in the willows. "Such people!" she exclaimed with sparkling eyes and clenched hands. "They are a
menace to the country." She broke off with a start and turned. While she had been talking with
Joe a man on horseback had come over the ridge and crossed the meadow.As she turned, the rider, who had drawn rein and was looking down at
her with interest, touched his hat. Harry's cheeks reddened as she
explained what had happened. "Get the law on him, like you threatened," the stranger advised. "That'll learn him.It ain't good business not to stick up for your
rights." "It's not only my rights, it's the birds' rights I'm fighting for, and
unfortunately Joe is not the only one who needs teaching.In spite of
signs all round our fence the hunters come right inside and shoot. I
did think Westerners were more honorable." At her warmth the man laughed quietly.It was a sort of laughter that
fitted his comfortable appearance; middle-aged, bearded, with the
mildly decisive manner of a person used to giving orders.His fine
saddle horse and saddle, yet plain dress, showed him to be a man
familiar with the ways of that country. He made an instant impression
upon the girl.She was too frank and guileless to recognize that under
the smoothness of his manner were hard purpose and a hidden threat for
any one who crossed him. "You're from the East, then?" he asked. "From Connecticut.I came out three years ago to stay with my brother,
Robert Holliday." "Yes. Of course. Joyce told me that Holliday had a ranch up this way. Ludlum's my name. I live down in the lower country at the siding. "Harry knew who Ludlum was--the stockman who shipped twice as many
cattle as any other man living on the railway line. A new town had
grown up around the station that had been put in to accommodate him. "Don't you get lonesome up in these hills, young lady?" Ludlum inquired. "Not very. There's too much to do. All summer there's work on the place
and every winter I've taught school down on the flat." "Saving up to get you an auto? "asked the stockman with a laugh. "Saving up for cattle," Harry replied. "So! You're going into stock, are you? I thought all the ranchers up
here on the prairie were grain crazy. ""Most of them are; but my brother says the money is in feeding what you
raise. 'Ship it on the hoof, not in the sack' is his motto." "And a mighty good one, too. Those your cows down yonder?" He was leaning on his saddle horn, pointing down the draw.From where
they stood they could look between the steep, rocky walls of the buttes
upon a wonderful picture of the ranch, narrow, but immensely long.Beginning with the garden on the upper end of the slope below the glen,
it widened as it descended, taking in the green-blinded white cottage
with its porch and young shade trees, the corral with its long stock
sheds, the deep-green alfalfa, the emerald of winter wheat, the shaded
browns of fall-plowed earth and, across the creek, the tossing sea of
scab land, the flat of Camas Prairie and the mountains.To complete
it, strung out along the creek, was Rob's bunch of cattle. Harry
felt very proud of them. On the very day of her arrival in Idaho Rob
had bargained for a little bunch of heifers.They were now cows with
their calves beside them, and in her mind's eye Harry always saw them
multiplied a hundred-fold, into the herd they were working for. "That ain't all you've got, is it?" asked Ludlum. "That's all," admitted Harry, and felt suddenly how small a herd of
forty head must look to the stockman.In a country where everything ran
in big numbers, from the miles that you lived from the post office to
the feet of snow and degrees below zero, it sounded "small farmerish"
to have so few heads of stock. "You've got the right sort of place for a stock ranch," Ludlum told
her. "Have you proved up yet?" "We have on the original hundred and sixties; but we've filed on
additional homesteads. We'll prove up on those next spring.That will
give us six hundred and forty acres; about half of it seeded--pasture
and hay. We plan to stay in here this winter. We've both saved up some
money, and it looks as if we were going to have plenty of hay. ""You've thought it all out ahead, I see," Ludlum said, with a sort of
surprised admiration. For "tenderfoot" Easterners Holliday and his
sister seemed very practical and businesslike. An idea swung slowly round into his thoughts.He was silent for a
moment as he gazed down at the ranch. "Why don't you get a bigger herd to start with?" he asked presently. "There's lots of money in cattle nowadays, but it's slow making it when
you start so small. ""Of course; but we haven't the capital to start a big herd, and my
brother doesn't believe in mortgaging." "That's a good principle, generally; but taking cattle on time is
different.Your herd increases so fast that you're making fifteen or
twenty per cent, instead of four or five. Supposing, say, you were
to borrow off a stockman like me.Say I make over a hundred head of
stock--white-face, good beef critters, you understand--and you have hay
to feed up into the spring. Then you could figure like this. "Fascinated, convinced in spite of herself, Harry listened while Ludlum
rapidly sketched the problem, the profit and loss, the complete
working, so it seemed to the girl, of a stock ranch.He made Rob's
little bunch of cows appear almost contemptibly unimportant. After
all, it appeared to be just as she had believed: if you had energy,
confidence and common sense, you were virtually sure of succeeding.Rob's idea of poking along for years, collecting a heifer here and
there on the way, was hopelessly wrong and unnecessary. An impulse moved her to speak. "Won't you come down to the house now
and talk to Rob?" she begged. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"He's off plowing, but he'll be in for
dinner. I'm sure you could convince him that your plan is a sound one
for us." "I'd be glad to," Ludlum answered, gathering up his reins, "but I'm on
my way to the reserve to look at the pasture.If it'll be agreeable,
I'll stop a few days later on my way back." "We'll always be glad to see you," Harry responded cordially. "Meanwhile I'll tell my brother what you've told me about making money
with cattle. ""So that's Holliday's," Ludlum said to himself as he rode on. "Joyce
told me it was the best location round here.Funny how these-here
suckers think they can come along any time they like and shut us
old-timers out of every good water hole in the country! H'm! Well,"
he remarked presently as if finishing a silent argument, "the way it
stands suits me first-rate.A year from July, say, I'd be able to feed
a big bunch of stock in there." CHAPTER XIII
After her talk with Ludlum, Harry went back to the house exulting.At
last some one who could speak with authority had come to advise them;
yes, and to help them, too. In her happy optimism she regarded Ludlum's
brief array of facts and figures as the formula for turning their labor
into a stream of gold.She spent the forenoon in bursts of energetic housework and in watching
for Rob. She was wild with impatience to tell him of Ludlum's plan
for them.Even the little house where they had heretofore lived so
contentedly seemed suddenly cramped and outgrown. Yet it was a far
better house than many wealthier ranchers owned, a better one than Rob
himself had expected to build.Absorbed in her plans for the future, Harry forgot to watch the clock
and was surprised to hear feet thumping up the steps and to hear Rob's
voice saying:
"Come ahead in, Garnett." "Garnett! You don't mean it! "With an exclamation of delight Harry
turned. "Looks like I never did get the chance to send and ask you would it
be agreeable to have me call in. "Garnett, tall, sandy-haired with
freckles across his nose, looked at Harry with a twinkle in his blue
eyes that laughed even when his face was serious. "I'll forgive you this time," said Harry, smiling back at him. "It's
months since we've seen you.We'd begun to wonder what we'd done." "You've done a heap," said Garnett, with an admiring glance at the sink
and pump, which Rob had added when he piped the water from the spring. "You don't charge for drinks now, account of the new fixings, do you? "he asked, picking up a cup. "Yessir. Forty cents the _demitasse_," said Rob, returning from his
refreshing splash at the wash bench. "Freight rates are high west of
the Rockies, remember." "Can't you hang me up this time?I'm so dry I can't tell you the news." "Depends on what it is," said Rob. "We got the mail two weeks ago, so
you can't fool us with anything stale." "I reckon I might's well move on, then. Like I told you, I'm due up in
the timber right now.Prob'ly scrappin' up there already 'long of those
cattle." Harry turned quickly from the stove where she was "dishing up." "What
cattle?" "Why, the stranger cattle that have been shipped in. I thought you knew
about them.What's the use of Rob's goin' for the mail so often if he
don't pick up the home-brewed news that's layin' out in the street over
to Soldier?" "Garnett, stop teasing, do!" Harry pleaded, as they drew up to the
table. "Whose cattle are they? ""I don't know," Garnett said. "Everybody's got it different. To hear
Rudy Batts talk you'd think a thousand devils had been turned loose on
his land; but then, they cleaned up Rudy's winter wheat, just about, so
it's natural he's feelin' disturbed. ""But Rudy Batts' ranch is up Soldier Creek," Harry interrupted, "and I
thought you said these cattle were in the forest. ""They are by now, but the varmints were shipped in by rail to Soldier,
to the 'Idaho Cattle Company,' whoever that is; and their riders drove
'em up through the creek cañon on the way to the forest.Bein' what
they are, scrubs mostly, starved to death all winter and breachy from
the start, they didn't stop to ask for the wire nippers when they came
to fenced grain; just went right through or over and cleaned up inside.That's how I got to hear about it. Everybody in Soldier's askin' who
owns the critters. Some think it's a bunch of bankers down round
Shoshone that saw beef was goin' up and wanted to get in on the profit. And say!I wish I had a little bunch of beef critters to be eatin' the
pasture off these hills. Wouldn't I make all kinds of money?" Harry's heart leaped. Now was her chance. "Do you really think there
would be money in it?" she asked eagerly. "For Rob and me for instance?" "Do I! There's so much in it that I know I'm a fool not to give up
my job in the service and get me a herd. I would, too, if I hadn't
rented my eighty down on the South Side on shares to Pablo Carriero,
a Portagee.He's got it up to November, and you bet I'm not going to
lease again." "But you could buy a few head, couldn't you?" Harry asked quickly. "You'll have one third of your hay." "Not this year.I told Carriero to sell it if he could, and he's given
an option on it to that fellow Biane. But for you two! Why, it's as
easy as counting your fingers to coin money this year." "It is!" said Rob skeptically. "With steers selling at thirty and
calves at fifteen, and me with only three hundred cash in the bank? Guess again, Christopher Garnett." "He isn't guessing at all," Harry said quickly. "I heard--some one told
me the very same thing this morning.If we bought only a hundred head
now, part cash, part time----"
"Oh, time!" Rob echoed. "None of that for me, thank you." "Wait, please. You haven't heard it all," Harry broke in, and then
hurried on to give him the gist of what Ludlum had said. "With the
eight hundred cash we have between us," she ended, "there's no reason
why we should not borrow the rest, buy cattle and succeed, just as
thousands of men have done before us. ""Yes, and other men who didn't know any more about it than we do have
gone into cattle and been ruined." "Say, Rob," Garnett drawled, "ain't you ever heard of a man with one
pet cow havin' her die on him?" "Oh, sure!But the chances are ninety per cent in his favor, and if he
does lose he loses less." "Loses less when he loses all he's got! That's the first time I ever
heard that argyment.A man can drudge along and be safe while he never
owns more than he can carry to bed in his two hands; but that ain't
the way to figure in this country.Round up all you can and make 'em
rustle for their livin' while you busy yourself seein' that some other
feller's critters ain't swipin' the feed. That's the way to get rich. It beats the pet cow all hollow." "Of course," Harry added earnestly. "And as for not borrowing, every
one knows that big business is done on credit." "Credit!" Rob fairly groaned. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"I shouldn't care for any, as they say.It sounds good as a topic for conversation, but I'll bet that's just
the kind of argument the old-timers got happy drunk on before the
winter of '89. Ever hear the Robinsons tell about that winter, you two?" The silence answered him.Yes, they had heard and also remembered. Who that had heard could forget? First had come the June freeze and
then a dry summer with a shortage of grazing. But no one had worried;
probably, after such a cold summer there would be an open winter.When
all the grazing was gone they would drive the stock out to Shoshone
and buy hay. So they planned. Alas! Before the grazing was quite gone
the snow came--and stayed.And while they waited for a break in the
bad weather in which to move out, the "big snow" came and shut them
in--shut their cattle in to slow starvation. As Mrs. Robinson related it twenty-five years afterward the tears
streamed down her cheeks. "It like to broke pa's heart," she said; "him
havin' to set inside and watch them pore dumb critters waitin' to be
fed and finally layin' down to die. Time and again we tried to drive
'em across the foothills into the hay country, but 'twa'n't no use.Out
of two hundred head all we saved was one cow. Every stockman on the
prairie lost his herd, and some was ruined for good and all. We never
went into another winter without hay, I tell ye. "It was a cruel experience, but Harry was not a person to let another's
misfortune shake her faith in her own enterprise.As she looked toward
her brother a characteristic expression came across her face: the
expression that meant obstinate, good-natured determination. She was
saying to herself: "We're not going to fail. We're not.I think we can
make cattle pay on borrowed money, and I'm going to borrow it." But she said no more to Rob, for she felt that it was best to let him
think the matter over by himself.That he was doing so during the next
few days was evident from the tension in the air whenever cattle were
mentioned. She hoped that Ludlum would come before the effect of Garnett's advice
had worn off, and, as the days passed, she grew uneasy.It was a relief
from the constant suspense when one morning Rob asked her to help him
round up his cows. Half a dozen starved-looking steers had come down
the draw during the night, and when he dogged them off his own herd
had followed them.Harry needed no urging. With Rob and Garnett to teach her she had
learned to ride well, and could even, with the help of 'Thello, round
up their own cattle very creditably.There was nothing that she enjoyed
more than to be out on a June morning, with a lively horse beneath her,
the sage-scented breeze sweeping past, the meadow larks calling across
the sky, the miles of blue swale and the cloud shadows racing ahead of
her.At such moments the horizon was hers; hers, too, the splendor and
greatness of life. To-day the work was all play.They had only to follow the fresh traces
of the herd going south across the hills, and half an hour of sharp
riding brought them up with the bunch.It took another half hour to cut
out their animals and turn them toward home, but that was what Harry
enjoyed.To wheel to and fro, spur after a creature that was dodging
to one side, dash ahead and turn the leaders, and finally send the
whole string galloping away with the thunder of hoofs and the chorus of
bellowings--that was the best sport yet.As Harry and Rob rode slowly home they discussed the coming of strange
cattle into their hills, and wondered whether they could be some of
those that Garnett had spoken of. "If they are," Rob said, "the riders will be along in a few days to
drive them back." When they were halfway down the draw 'Thello growled warningly, and
they saw a saddle horse standing at the corral gate. "Ludlum! "flashed into Harry's mind, and she was silent when Rob said
he would ride ahead and see who their visitor was. "I'll leave them alone for a while," she said to herself, "and give
Ludlum a chance to talk. "She drove the cows inside the pasture, then rode slowly to the corral
and, putting up her pony, came to the house. Ludlum was talking in a
tone of calm assurance, of conviction won by thorough knowledge of the
subject.Rob, sitting on the porch step, smoothed the back of his head
and listened in silence. Harry wondered whether that silence meant that
he was yielding or merely resisting.Stocky, big-muscled, tanned to a smooth, healthy brown, Robert Holliday
was at first glance merely one of the many young fellows who have gone
out to the Far West to have a try at fortune.But three years of hard
wrestling with a sagebrush ranch had cleared and solidified his boyish
visions and made them a working force. Harry knew that Rob's opinions
carried weight in the community. At her approach Ludlum rose and held out his hand. "Wherever I see
folks as willing to work as you and your brother, Miss Holliday, I'm
willing to bet they'll succeed against any odds. Yes, ma'am." "How about the fellow that is working against us?" asked Rob quietly. "Does he win, too?" "O Bobby!You do think up such objections!" Harry said, with a laugh. But Ludlum nodded approvingly. "Quite right, Holliday. A man's got
to be cautious, especially in the cattle business.You'd ought to be
thankful, young lady, that you've got such a level-headed partner to
work with." Ludlum commended impartially the opinions of both Rob and Harry. "Come
down to the ranch and look things over," he said as he rose to go, "and
get acquainted with the missus and our girls and boys. Pick out a bunch
of critters, and make your own terms. You'll make twenty per cent on
your money, all right. ""Hard work to come down to earth again after sailing round in Ludlum's
airship," Rob commented as they watched their visitor ride away. "He'd
make a fellow think that merely driving his critters on our land would
start providence coining money to pay for them and making hay to feed
them." "I don't see that we need trust especially in providence for hay and
cash!" Harry exclaimed. "We're sure of fifty tons of alfalfa of our own
this year, besides the wheat straw from fifty acres for roughage; and
as for the cash payment on a hundred head, haven't I five hundred in
the bank and you have almost three hundred?And we can always buy extra
hay on the flat." "We're not _sure_ we can buy hay; we're not sure we'll put up fifty
tons of our own. It's a dry year, and the grazing may go early; and
we're not past the chance of a late frost.It's pure gambling to take
on a hundred head of cattle now." "No more than taking the dozen you bought that first year was. We'll
simply never make a real cleanup, Rob, if we never take a chance.I'd rather do it and maybe lose something--lose my five hundred
dollars--than mosey along forever on the safe side." "Go ahead. If you think you can clear the moon in one jump, I won't put
the hobbles on you.But be satisfied with the moon; don't try to take
in the Dipper and the Milky Way, too. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Take thirty head if you like,
from Ludlum, but no more. We agreed to run the ranch together; and if
you want to invest your earnings in cattle, all right.I'll ride after
the critters when I'm not working the land, and if you put in half
your money you can take thirty head at a thousand dollars, paying down
a quarter cash and giving a mortgage on your land.That'll leave you
two hundred and fifty dollars and me three hundred to get through the
season with." "Five hundred and fifty dollars!" Harry exclaimed. "Why, Bobby, we
could take more than thirty easy!" "Well, we're not going to.We'll risk something, but we'll not risk
everything. The first of December there'll be interest to pay--ten per
cent on seven hundred and fifty for six months; that's thirty-seven and
a half dollars.And we'll have to pay something on the principal, or
Ludlum won't be likely to renew the note, but I figure that the sale
from beef critters we already have and from this new bunch should pay
off another two hundred and fifty on the mortgage.That is, if we have
good luck." A flash of resentment passed over Harry. Thirty head were so few! Could
he not take even that small number without saying "if"?Her feeling of
annoyance, however, was soon swept away in the discussion of details
that Rob, with his usual foresight, insisted upon before they should
start the following morning to settle the business with Ludlum.They had finished talking and were sitting at the table, silent, each
thinking what this big change might mean to them. Harry turned the lamp
wick slowly up and down; her eyes were very deep and shining in the
flare of light.Rob stared absently at the paper on which he had been
figuring. Out in the falling night a whippoorwill called plaintively,
then stopped, and in the silence they heard timid steps on the porch. "Who's that?" Rob exclaimed, going to the door.Harry followed him with the lamp. Its light fell upon the frightened
face of a young girl. "Why, it's Isita!" Harry said, in surprise. "Come in." But Isita shook her head.Small-boned and slender for her age,
clutching a boy's jacket over her chest and glancing timidly from
brother to sister, she looked like a little lost child. "What's happened, Isita?" Harry asked. "Anything we can do? Come in,
dear." "Oh, I can't! "The words came in a faint, frightened gasp. "Mother sent
me to ask you--have you got something for a--a cut? Joe--that is, he
was cutting up a chicken, and the knife slipped--" She stopped abruptly. "That's bad; but we've got something for it.Come in and rest a minute
while I get the things, and I'll go back with you," Rob began; but the
girl raised her hands entreatingly. "Please don't!" she besought. "That is, I mean, thank you; but you
couldn't do nothing. It ain't so dangerous.All we need is something to
put on it." Rob went across the room to where Harry was busily putting together
lint, disinfectant and sticking plaster. "I think I ought to go over, don't you?" he said. "He may have cut an
artery." "No, no! "Isita's voice called out desperately. "It ain't so bad. Ma
said for you not to come. It--it would make dad so mad. He'd 'a' killed
me if he'd knowed I was coming over here. Never mind, Miss Holliday. I
reckon I'd better be getting back." "Wait!Here's your bandaging!" Harry called cheerily, coming out at
the same moment with the package and with her sweater on. "I'm only
going to the gate with you," she said soothingly, and, slipping her arm
through Isita's, led her down the steps.Harry was back in ten minutes. "I thought I might calm her," she
explained to Rob. "The poor child was either scared to death at sight
of a bad cut, or else frightened by that brute of a father. What a
shame she has to live with such a family. ""I wonder how Joe did cut his hand," Rob said thoughtfully. "I
shouldn't wonder if there had been a family scrap and the old man gave
him one." "Rob Holliday! The idea! Go on to bed, or we'll never get started in
the morning. "CHAPTER XIV
Of all her journeyings about Idaho that ride to Ludlum's was the
one that Harry remembered most vividly.The start before dawn, the
ponies fresh and eager, the morning star ahead, white and dazzling
in the east, the familiar road at that unfamiliar hour so strangely
beautiful--above all, the realization that this day was to make
her actually the owner of a herd--all filled her with a wonderful,
exhilarating joy.She and Rob were riding fast, scarcely speaking to each other.They
had rounded the foot of the butte that separated Harry's land from
the Bianes' and were almost in front of the Biane house when, as they
galloped along the fence, Rob's horse leaped and gave a snort of fright. "Take care, there! "Rob called back as he regained his seat. Instinctively Harry reined in and glanced fearfully over her shoulder. There was nothing much to be seen--only the elder Biane loading
something into the wagon that stood in front of the door. "I wonder whether Joe was hurt worse than they wanted to say," Rob
remarked to Harry, and then called out, "Hi, there, Biane; need any
help? Joe all right this morning?" "All right, all right! We need not'ting at all. "As Rob halted,
the Portuguese started forward and waved his arm with a threatening
gesture. "Not'ting is the mattare here! Go on!" "Polite beggar," Rob commented, laughing as they set spurs to their
horses and rode on.It was nine o'clock when, after crossing the foothills, they
sighted, far to the south, the oasis of shadow that indicated the
poplar trees of Ludlum's siding.The railway crosses the Snake River
there, full forty miles south of Camas Prairie, in the heart of the
sand-and-sagebrush desert.When a new irrigation tract was opened, and
a rush of settlers came in the siding began to gather a settlement
round itself.Their ranches lay below the big ditch along the base of
the foothill rise, and their scattered forties and eighties of alfalfa
were the first verdure that the travelers from the hills had seen.As Harry gazed forward along the road winding through the sagebrush
toward Ludlum's, she saw in fancy the slow-moving string of cattle that
would soon be coming back over that road to her. Her herd!Already she
thought of them as hers; for when she had made the second payment in
December it would be no time at all until the increase from the herd
would pay the rest of the debt. "Things are getting pretty dry already," Rob remarked, as he gazed at
the passing country. "If the irrigation water fails these fellows, and
it may easy enough, there was so little snow last winter, they won't
get much late hay. ""Why, I think the crops look fine," Harry answered gayly; "and as for
us, we have all the water we need. Our springs were never known to
fail, now, were they?We've miles of free range that should last into
October, and we can certainly buy all the hay we need down on the flat." "I hope you're right," Rob answered. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"Just the same, I'm going to stop
at some of the ranches along here and see what they're asking for the
first crop of alfalfa. "The next ranch was an eighty-acre square of silk-green, rippling
verdure, with a small unpainted frame house at the edge of it, like a
raft anchored on the border of turbulent water.Unfortunately, there
was only a woman at home, and she explained that the men from that
and the next two ranches on the road had gone to put up hay on the
Constable place across the river. "If we can get through with Ludlum in time, I believe I'd better ride
across to Constable's," Rob said as they turned the last corner and
rode along Ludlum's fence. Harry assented vaguely. She was absorbed in admiring the splendid ranch
before them.The house grounds of the thousand-acre farm lay facing
the road; the railway ran along the other side of the place where the
new town had been laid out.For half a mile behind the house extended
a double row of immense Lombardy poplars, making a windbreak against
the violent west winds; and in their shelter were ranged the orchard,
garden and the group of barns, sheds, bunk houses, cookhouse and other
out-buildings that pertained to an old-time ranch.Water was running in the irrigation ditches, a windmill whirred with
its pleasant sound of industry, miles of alfalfa and pasture shimmered
in the morning sunshine, and in other fields cows with young calves
were feeding.The scene gave a feeling of long-settled prosperity, of
solid wealth that no "bad year," no "dull market," could affect. "And all this has been done with cattle!" Harry exclaimed, as she
looked around her. "How thankful I am I've started a herd! ""I wonder, though, how he got his start," Rob remarked. "With one cow
or with credit?" "I dare you to ask him," said Harry. Rob only laughed and swung out of his saddle in front of the door.Several children ran out and surrounded them with friendly curiosity,
and a pretty, smiling little woman followed close behind. "I thought I recognized Mr. Holliday," Mrs. Ludlum said when Rob had
introduced his sister. "The minute I laid eyes on him I knew I'd seen
him here before." "No use trying to fool a real Westerner," Rob answered laughing. "Once
you're seen in this country you're a marked man." "Oh, now, I wouldn't call you that, yet.You ain't never done nothing
worse, so far's I know, than turn in here once for the night when your
team ran away from you, and then offer to pay for your bed and board." "You'll never forgive that, will you?" said Rob. "Well, this time we've
come to carry off several square meals at once without paying--except
with promises. In other words, we're here for cattle. Is Mr. Ludlum
round?" "Well, there!He just ain't," said Mrs. Ludlum, who had seated her
guests in the big veranda rocking-chairs. "Ludlum's went out to the
South Side to look up his hay, but he'll be back for dinner. You'll
stay overnight anyhow. Oh, yes, now!It ain't so often you come this
way, and we've always wanted to get acquainted with your sister. We've
heard how smart she is; teaching school and milking and doing chores
like she was born to it. ""Yes, sis keeps the traces stiff pretty well," Rob assured her. "Our ranch isn't much after seeing this one," Harry said quickly,
pleased yet embarrassed by her brother's praise. "Well, now. Don't let that give you a set-back," said Mrs. Ludlum. "Why, when we come here, twenty-five years ago, we had the same layout
as you. Raw sagebrush and no water, except the river. You've got us
beat there. Didn't I live in the sheep wagon, too, for a year, until we
got ahead enough to build us a shack?All this you see now didn't come
in one jump." Such words were food and drink to Harry. As she listened to the
accounts of the Ludlums' trials, mistakes and bad luck, she saw that
she and Rob were not the only ones who had made blunders.By dinner
time they were exchanging experiences as if they had known one another
for years. Harry was almost sorry when Ludlum came in and the topic of
conversation changed. Rob, on the contrary, was glad to see the stockman. "It may save me a
trip over to the South Side," he said, "if you can tell me what sort of
hay crop they've got over there." "It's a good crop, all right, but it's about all contracted for." "Already!" Rob exclaimed. "What's the hurry?" "Nothing.The sheepmen always buy early, and this year there's some
extra cattle in the country, and some of 'em'll have to be fed this
winter--those that ain't fat enough to ship by fall. ""From what we've heard of them they won't ever be fat enough," said
Rob, and he went on to tell what Garnett had reported. "I've seen 'em worse than that and come off the range fat," Ludlum
said, laughing. "You needn't worry about them taking all the hay." Nevertheless, Rob decided to ride out. "If we can get this business of
ours settled up early," he suggested, "I'll leave Harry here for the
night and go over there." "Sure," Ludlum answered promptly. "We'll go and take a look at the
stock on pasture, and you can pick what you like.Yes, come along,"
he said to his wife, and added, grinning, to the others, "That woman
has to have a finger in everything; you'd think she'd raised the whole
outfit herself." "Well, I guess I did raise the start of it!" his wife exclaimed. "I
fed a dozen calves by hand until they could eat grass, and it's from
them he got his real start of a herd. Come on, Miss Holliday. I'll tell
you which ones to pick." And, putting her arm through Harry's she led
the way down the path.It was done at last. Rob and Harry had chosen thirty Durham cows,
calves, yearlings and two "coming two's." The price was to be one
thousand dollars, one fourth down, one fourth on December 1, when, if
all went well, the loan would be renewed.The afternoon was only half
gone when they came out of the notary public's office. "I'll leave you here," Rob said, mounting his horse as the others got
into Ludlum's automobile. "Don't forget, sis, if I'm not back to-night,
that you are to start on in the morning and meet me up the road near
that ranch we stopped at on our way down. ""I've half a mind not to let you go inside a week," Mrs. Ludlum
declared as they started back to the house. "Men folks always take it
for granted that a woman's got to be home every minute, whether she's
needed or not.I'll bet you haven't slept away from home two nights
running since you filed on your homestead. Have you, now?" "Plenty of times," said Harry gayly. "You forget that I taught school
on the flat for three winters. ""She caught you that time, Ma," said Ludlum, grinning. "A lot that worries me! Any one that can catch me is welcome to his
pay. My dad tried to make a school-teacher out of me, but he gave it
up as a bad job.Said he guessed I'd make a better cow puncher. He'd
have been some surprised to know a girl could be smart at both." The way Mrs. Ludlum's brown eyes beamed at Harry warmed the girl's
heart. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"I'd rather ride than teach," Harry declared, "but the only way I could
save money to go into cattle was by teaching. You see, Rob insisted
that besides the money for the first payment I should have something
for running expenses. ""You don't mean to say you saved for that! How much, child?" "Two hundred and fifty." "Two hundred fifty! Whoopee! Did you hear that, Ludlum? Why, you don't
no more need that than a rattlesnake needs two tails!Instead of
saltin' that down, you'd ought to have put it into a decent-sized bunch
of beef." "We thought it safer to save something," said Harry, feeling her cheeks
redden. "There, now. She's mad with me."Mrs. Ludlum's arm went round Harry's
waist in a conciliatory hug. "You're the same sort I was myself--full
of spunk as an apple is of cider. That's the sort of thing that makes
success.I'll bet right now you wanted to put that extra cash into
beef, didn't you? Of course! See her smile! And that's what you're
going to do. Pa and I'll fix you up all right." "But two hundred and fifty dollars won't buy many cows," Harry began. "It won't buy blooded white-face, but you've got a plenty of them. What you need is some scrub stock; the sort we started with. They'll
rustle better for feed, stand harder weather and come through where
your high-class critters will knock under.You take thirty scrubs at
six hundred, pay two hundred fifty cash for 'em and let the other three
fifty go on time, and I'll lay you even money they'll make more for you
than your 'ristocrats that cost you twice as much. Ain't that right,
Pa? ""What you say goes, I guess," the stockman agreed, with a whimsical
glance at Harry as they got out of the car in front of the house. "You
always were the boss, you know." "Sure. I have to be.The men would just mill round in a peck measure
till kingdom come if the women didn't drag 'em into the road to
success. That's what the girl here is going to show her brother. Show
him she can do all the rounding up and cutting out this fall.Then
she'll sell off enough to buy her some hay. Pa here'll pick you a good
bunch, deary. They're all out on range now, but he'll see you get
what's comin' to you. "As Harry listened to this lively mixture of plans for her and praise
of her, Rob's decision that they should take only thirty head suddenly
lost its finality. These people knew much more than Rob did about the
cattle business.Besides, Rob had not put a cent of his own into the
white-face; why should she not do as she liked with her own money--put
what she had left into thirty more? That, with Rob's bunch, would give
them an even hundred. Abruptly she stopped in the path. "I've decided," she said. "I'm going
to take the scrubs. Thirty head. I guess I'll come out all right. Why
not?" Her confidence remained as long as she stayed with the Ludlums.It
was only after she had bidden them good-by the next morning that she
began to wonder what Rob would say. At first he might disapprove.The
likelihood that he would do so grew upon her as she drew near their
meeting place; the arguments that had appeared so sound while Mrs.
Ludlum talked now sounded very flimsy. At last she heard the pound of hoofs behind her and, turning, saw Rob. "I came near not getting here this morning, after all," he began. "Nobody'll sell hay now, or even set a price on it. They're all waiting
to see how the second cutting turns out.This pest of outside cattle
has sent every one on the stampede for high-priced hay. My, but I'm
thankful you've got that two hundred and fifty in reserve! We'll need
it, all right." He looked at her sharply.She was facing him with a smile on her lips,
eyes unflinching, but without a word. "What is it?" he asked quietly. "You haven't heard the bank's busted?" "No. But I've nothing in it.I bought thirty more cattle, scrubs, at
six hundred, and paid down my other two hundred and fifty." It was told! With the relief, her nervous shakiness vanished, and
she rushed into the account of what she had done.She watched Rob's
face for the slow smile that would reluctantly acknowledge her good
judgment; but it did not come. Instead, Rob stared straight ahead, and
deep lines appeared in his face, as if he were very tired.Harry tried
to interest him by quoting Mrs. Ludlum, her experience and advice, but
Rob answered colorlessly or not at all. "No doubt it was easy enough twenty-five years ago," he said at last,
"but there are too many people in here now that have got something to
say about who's going to make all the money in cattle.If the ranchers
won't sell their hay, we'll have to do without. That's all." "I guess we can get all we need on the flat," Harry said quickly. "They
aren't short of water up there, thank goodness. ""Yes, plenty of water so far; but don't forget it isn't too late for
the June freeze." The June freeze! Harry had forgotten that yearly menace.Only the year
before it had hit the prairie and had wiped out every little "truck
patch," blackened every acre of potatoes, and seared thousands of acres
of alfalfa.As if the thin fingers of that very June frost had folded
round her wrist, Harry felt her warm blood chill. Fear, however, was not natural to her.The reaction came, and through
the following week, while waiting for the new cattle to arrive, her
confidence in ultimate victory renewed itself.Ludlum had told her that he would send the white-face bunch up by
riders who would round up the scrubs on the way and bring the whole lot
in at once. Daily Harry expected to see them come down the draw.At the
same time she was waiting for Rob, who had been gone for several days
hunting hay on the flat.By sunset on Saturday she had given up hope
of seeing any one that week; but as she was feeding the calves, in the
corral, a hostile growl from 'Thello made her turn quickly to see a
slow-moving string of cattle wind down the draw. "My herd! "she exclaimed, and dropped her empty bucket. "They've come." There they were, shuffling the dust into an obscuring cloud and
beginning to bellow at the sight of the cows in the barnyard. "Where do you want 'em? "one of the riders called to the girl, as she
hurried to meet them. "Right there, until we can cut out the calves and bring them inside. Just move them along the fence so I can count them, will you? ""Oh, you'll be able to count 'em without their millin' round none," the
rider answered; "they're tired enough to set for their photos without
stirrin' a hair. "Was it only because they were tired that they looked so queer, Harry
wondered as she moved about among them. A puzzled look replaced
her pleased smile. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
The Durhams were right enough: big, solid, beefy
creatures.But the scrubs--was that the way scrubs always looked?She
had seen plenty of them on the range, but never had she noticed that
they were like these thirty strange odd-come-shorts: here a cow no
bigger than a good-sized calf, but carrying the horns of a Texas steer;
over there a Jersey-colored steer with a head as big as a buffalo's;
calves of every mixture of breed and of no breed at all.She was still
standing studying them when she heard the soft thump of hoofs and the
voices of two men, and saw Rob and Garnett riding toward her. "He roped me a couple of miles back and fetched me along," said the
forest ranger, pretending as usual that he was there only through
necessity. "Told me you were going to have beef stew and dumplings, and
he was afeared he couldn't eat it all himself." He had dropped from his saddle and come up beside her, stepping stiffly
on his high-heeled boots as he looked fixedly down at her. "Beef stew?" She made an effort at a lively reply. "I guess there are
some critters in that bunch that won't be good for much else." "What did you really expect?" Rob inquired mildly. "I hoped they'd develop enough beef to pay us to ship them for stew,"
she retorted. "Of course I knew scrubs weren't like blooded stock, but
Ludlum said he'd pick mine out. ""The word scrubs," Rob reminded her as they began to work the calves
inside the gate, "is like charity: it covers a multitude of sins.And
when you're dealing with the Ludlums--well, what fat there might be in
the herd is generally in the fire; as at present." "What _is_ he talking about?" Harry asked. "Aw! Nothin' much.Some of the critters that were over the other side
of the river have been driven in here on the range and----"
"Those wild, starved things from outside? But they can't! This range
belongs to us ranchers. "The significance of the thing was coming to
her. "What right have outsiders to ship stock in here? We'll drive them
into the river! They shan't clean up the grazing. ""I guess you wouldn't want to run 'em into the river," Garnett said
reflectively, "not if you're buying cattle from Ludlum on time." "Ludlum? What has he to do with it? ""Nothing much," answered Garnett, slowly, "except that about five
hundred of the scrubs are his, and if he knew that you were running 'em
off he might take it kind of bad." CHAPTER XV
"Guess I'd better lend a hand," Rob said to himself.He had been
repairing an irrigation ditch on the west side of the ranch and for
some time had been watching a cloud of dust to the east; it seemed to
indicate fresh trouble from Ludlum's hungry horde.Although scarcely ten days had passed since those scrub cattle had
appeared in the hills, the famished animals had already broken fences,
trampled growing wheat, horned last season's stacks and broken down
banks of the irrigation ditches.And what was worse, if possible, than
all that mischief, they were taking a great deal of Rob's time, every
moment of which was worth money. "We're helpless to prevent it, too, I guess! "Rob muttered as he
started toward the scene of trouble; "helpless because there's no herd
law in these hills.Ludlum's got just as good right to the free range
as we have, and, with his mortgage on Harry's land, he can make it
mighty bad for us if he finds us dogging his stock off. I'll get even
with him for his meanness, though. "He glowered at the scattered bands of cattle that trailed along the
fence, seeking an opening into the rich feed inside. How shortsighted
he and the other foothill ranchers were not to have demanded a herd
law long before!As the law stood now the "cattle baron" had the advantage.He could
run his hundreds of head of stock on the open range from April to
September, or take them up into the reserve until that was eaten clean;
then after shipping his beef "critters" he could drive the rest down on
the South Side to winter on the hay that he had bought from the farmers
there.The man with fifty or a hundred head had no chance at all
against him.If the big stockman's cattle, grazing unherded, got inside
the rancher's fence and bloated on his alfalfa or grain, the stockman
could collect heavy damages from the farmer, who had no redress for
his damaged crops; it was the farmer's business to keep the stockman's
cattle out.It was a just law for the wilderness, but not at all the law for a
region that was going under the fence.The men who were reclaiming
the desert, who were turning the north slope of the foothills and the
prairie into farms, who were raising grain and hay and building up
small herds of cattle and sheep, were now the men to be protected by
law.That protection a herd law would give them, for it would forbid
stockmen to run their herds into the hills without riders to watch
them, and it would make the stockmen liable for damages to fences or
crops.That would mean, of course, that the big herds would not be
turned into the hills at all; for it was only because they could be
left there without herders that they had piled up the profits for their
owners. "Pity sis couldn't have known what Ludlum was planning to do up here
himself," Rob went on to himself. "She mightn't have fallen for the old
lady's get-rich-easy talk. Not that Mrs. Ludlum meant to gouge Harry.She's square, and thinks he is, too, I guess. Ludlum's sharp, that's
all. Drives a hard bargain.If we'd known how many of their scrubs
we were going to ride after and feed for nothing, Harry'd have been
satisfied with thirty of her own, all right, especially now that the
range is going dry. "As he stumbled along under the hot sun he saw Harry coming on
horseback. In her khaki jumper, divided skirt and riding boots she
looked like a boy of sixteen. "I'm awfully sorry to ask you to help," she began. "I can't get those
critters of Ludlum's out unless ours go, too. My! But I hate them!" She
stopped abruptly, with a telltale quiver in her voice, and looked away. Then quickly she braced herself. "If I could once get them outside, I'd
take 'em so far they'd never find themselves, let alone find the road
back here." Rob's eyes softened. Poor old girl! She was doing her best, anyhow. "I guess they won't bother us much more, Harry," he said. "I have
decided that I'll put on another wire. They can't jump four." "Another wire!" she exclaimed. "But, Rob, have you thought of the
expense!" "Not half so expensive as wasting time running them off. Well, let's
get busy.If you'll fetch Jeff, I'll change these wet shoes." Obediently, Harry went up the draw to the corral among the trees where
they kept the work horses in summer. Her head ached, and there was a
lump in her throat. How considerate of her Rob was!She had added just
double to their difficulties, had added to their expenses, yet not one
word of reproach did he give her. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Instead he was always ready to help
whenever she came to him--and that was pretty often.Handling cattle,
she realized, was not to be learned by any "fifteen minutes a day" of
study. "Cowboys certainly earn their wages," Harry admitted with a weary
sigh, when, after several hours of weary work they had at last got the
strangers outside the fence and had driven back inside several of their
own cattle that had gone out with the others.It was six o'clock. They were both choked with dust, thirsty,
saddle-sore and tired. Harry, aching from head to foot, longed to get
into a bath and put on some clean clothes; instead, she must wash a
panful of dishes and cook supper. "You're dead right," Rob agreed. "A buckaroo earns every cent he gets,
and its almost impossible to run cattle without them." Every word was a blow to Harry's careless faith in herself.She
listened in humble silence while Rob went on:
"You can understand why I can't afford to ride cattle for nothing. I've
simply got to disk that summer fallow and start work on the dam for
the freshet-water reservoir.Every day I spend like this means a big
loss, not only to me, but to the ranch as an investment." "Of course. I can see that," Harry answered quickly, "and I expect to
pay you; but I haven't a cent of money now, as you know.I shall sell
some steers in the fall, anyhow, and I can pay you then." "I'd rather you paid me in cattle. After I've hired out harvesting, I
ought to have enough cash to buy all the winter hay I'll need for my
own stock, and maybe some for yours.I'll go to town to-morrow for that
wire. Maybe I can get it on time. That'll give me a little more cash to
buy hay with." Harry wondered what she should do if the scrubs broke in while he was
away.While Mrs. Ludlum had been talking, Harry had been ready to
believe that she could do anything; now the time had come for her to
show what she was actually good for.As soon as Rob had left the next morning, therefore, she made a circuit
outside the fence and ran off all the cattle in sight.To her relief,
that kept them away until the afternoon feeding began; then, making a
second tour, she dispersed the lines that were headed for the alfalfa. "If I'd dogged them that way from the first," she thought, "they'd
never have got inside at all." Rob did not get home that night, rather to Harry's satisfaction. "It
gives me another day to see what I can do with these critters. "Dawn comes early in the foothills at the end of June.Long before four
o'clock the sky was pink, the grouse were whistling in the alfalfa, the
morning breeze had begun to flutter the quaking asps, a cool, fresh
smell of juicy grass had risen from the earth, and the world of animals
had begun to feed.The cattle were the first to move. Almost before dawn they leave
their bedding ground and follow the scent of the nearest pasture. For
Ludlum's stock Rob's wheat and alfalfa were the lure.As they snuffed the sweetness of growing grass, the leaders of the herd
broke into hungry bawling, set off at a gallop, and, as they reached
the fence, plunged at it and went over. Harry woke to 'Thello's furious barking.She woke with a start, got to
her elbow and peered out. In the dim light she could make out forms
moving across the field. With a sigh she climbed out of bed and, still
nodding with sleep, dressed and stumbled off to saddle her pony, Hike.Of the two gates to the alfalfa meadow, one led into the lane at the
barn and the other into the east pasture. It was in that pasture that
Rob and Harry were holding the new herd until the animals became
accustomed to their home.Now, as Harry rode slowly down the lane, she
wondered what would be her best plan of action.If she ran the intruders out over the broken-down fence, they would
merely turn round and come in again; but if she took them through the
lane, up the draw and across the flat on top of the hills and ran them
south a good way, they might continue down that side of the divide. "It
would serve Ludlum right," she said to herself, "to have his starved
creatures break into his own alfalfa some morning!" As she rode slowly toward the feeding animals the blood sprang to her
temples and she drew a fierce breath.The sight of the starving beasts,
fifteen, twenty, twenty-five of them, tearing away greedily at the
tender alfalfa, roused in Harry an indescribable ire. "Miserable beasts!" she exclaimed. "Take 'em out, 'Thello! That's it! Get 'em, boy! "Obedient to training, the collie had kept close to the pony. Now, at
the sound of Harry's voice, he was off--a vicious whirlwind of black
fur. As he dashed upon the herd, snapping at heels here, there and
everywhere, a stream of yelps rent the air.Shouting "Hi yi! Hi yi!" Harry set spurs to the pony and came close
behind. Away they all went, steers, cows, calves, dog and girl, plunging,
bawling, barking and galloping across the field and into the lane.Once
actually in the lane, with the gate shut behind them, Harry felt safe.To be sure, some of the bunch were ugly and tried to turn back; but she
was on the lookout for those and, pushing her pony close, gave each
laggard a welt with her rawhide whip that sent the sullen one ahead
with a jump.She forgot her annoyance at being routed out early, forgot the time she
was wasting, almost forgot the trampled alfalfa. Her sense of mastery
blotted out the vexations. This was the work she really loved.Even
after they had got up into the hills, the feeling of power stayed with
her and helped her to prevent the hungry scrubs from turning back. It
was not easy work.Though she was wet with sweat and smothered in dust,
she determined to keep after them until they had turned the shoulder of
the divide. She had just given one sulky brute a sounding thwack, when a shout
behind her made her wheel in surprise. "Hey!What's doin' here?" Over the ridge came a "cow puncher" riding at a lope. "Ain't you
herdin' them critters the wrong way, ma'am?" he inquired, with a queer
smile. "Wrong for them, maybe, not for us," Harry answered briefly.To herself
she added, "Who are you, anyhow?" He certainly was the oddest-looking _vaquero_ she had met on the range.He was plump and short, tow-haired and with no visible eyebrows; his
skin was burned rose pink, and his pale-blue eyes were scorched by the
desert sunlight.He looked like an overgrown fat baby; but a second
glance showed her that his scowling eyes and smiling lips were only
caused by the "sheepherder's grin" carved on his face by years of
riding in blinding sunshine. "I don't know whose cows you think you're rounding up," the "cow
puncher" went on, "but the real owner wouldn't now--want 'em druv off. What I chiefly mean is, not right now. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
""I'm sorry to disoblige the real owner," Harry said, with a laugh,
"but if you're a friend of his you can tell him that the 'real owner'
of a bunch of cattle on the ranch below here claims the grazing on
these hills, and that if he--that is to say, Mr. Ludlum--doesn't want
his scrubs dogged, he can send a rider up here to keep them where they
belong. "As always with Harry, when her temper was up, she smiled, held her nose
in the air and eyed her opponent with fine disdain. The _vaquero_ did not wither perceptibly. His grin merely became
sarcastic. "You personally acquainted--that is, you know Ludlum?" he
inquired. "I've made a beginning that way," Harry said. "Beggin' your pardon," the man went on, "and speakin' like I was givin'
a hint, I'd say that if this here owner of these-here scrubs gits on to
what you're doin' you're likely to find you ain't got anything of your
own to round up this fall.Not that he'd run 'em off; that is, now. And
you couldn't find 'em in his herd; no, not if you was to have every
blamed critter up before a judge and jury to be sworn to.Like's not
Ludlum'd try to help you locate your stock; he's right helpful, mebbe
you've noticed?I'm ridin' for him now myself, and I've got my orders
to keep these five hundred head in these-here hills--where they kin git
to water on the north slope, is what I chiefly mean. ""But all the water on the north slope belongs to us," Harry remarked,
trying to control her indignation. "There isn't a spring outside,
except where the stream runs beyond our fence, until you get to
Robinson's.And before I'll let Ludlum water on my land, or on my
brother's, I'll shoot every one of his miserable scrubs. You can tell
him so, if you like; tell him I intend to keep right on dogging them
off, too. Please repeat every word of this to him.Thank you. Good
morning." With a jab of the spur into Hike's side she was off. "Of all the hateful, mean, dishonorable creatures!" she whispered to
herself. Her eyes were hot with tears; she felt tricked, cheated,
helpless.For the moment she did not realize that the "cow-puncher" had
perhaps not meant all he said, had merely tried to frighten her.She raced along, not noticing where she was going, and only came
to herself when the pony, which had naturally turned toward home,
slackened his gallop at the head of the draw.It was then about
eight o'clock by the sun, still and hot, and the cattle flies were
intolerable. The vision of the cold, deep spring under the wall of rock
brought sudden relief to her vexed heart.Sliding out of the saddle,
she took the bridle over her arm and walked across the mountain grass
toward the spring.Suddenly she came upon a grouse hen that had been wounded and had
escaped to die, and she realized that the hunters were abroad once
more.She kept looking to and fro on either side as she walked, and
suddenly a strange sound, almost under her feet, made her jump. "Well, of all things!" she said slowly. There lay a month-old heifer calf bleeding from a wound in its leg.The
creature made no effort to escape as Harry examined it; only gave a
mournful _moo!_ and rolled its eyes. "You're not one of my calves," she said presently; "at least I think
mine are all in the corral.You must be one of Ludlum's; but you can't
lie here and die, even if you are his. I'll get you down to the house
somehow, and maybe when the cows come in your mother will come with
them. "But no strange cow turned up lowing for a lost calf, and when Rob
returned he said that the only thing to do was to keep it until some
range rider came looking for strays.They cleaned out the wound, which
had been made by a shotgun, fed the calf on skimmed milk, and kept it
in a dark corner of the barn where the flies would not torment it. "That's Joe Biane's work," Harry said emphatically. "It shows what may
happen to our own calves at any time. He doesn't care what he hits when
he's after birds. I think we should speak to the game warden about him." "The trouble is that we didn't see Joe shoot the calf, so we can't
swear he did it.Unless you can do that, you've got no case. It's not
worth while, anyhow. You'd only get Joe's ill will, and he'd make us
more trouble than we've got already, which would be considerable. Let's
put all our time into getting a herd law through.We'll have to have
all the ranchers in with us, and that includes the Bianes. So don't rub
Joe the wrong way until we've got his vote. Joe is nothing compared
with the trouble Ludlum may give us. ""He certainly may," she admitted, thinking of what the pink-faced rider
had told her. She decided to say nothing to Rob about that incident.She reflected
that there was no use bothering him with every little matter that came
up between her and Ludlum's herders over the question of the grazing.CHAPTER XVI
For a week after the new wire was put on, Rob and Harry had a respite
from fighting off Ludlum's herd.Once a day Harry made a circuit of the
place and drove the outside cattle back into the hills; but the rest
of the time she and Rob were virtually free from them.It was a great
relief, for besides the fact that Rob had turned water on the wheat,
which was beginning to look pretty dry, and that the time had come to
cut the alfalfa, two of their steers had gone off with the range cattle
and had not come back.Coming up from the barn with the last of the milk, Harry paused to look
once more through their cattle which had come down to the fence with
the milk cows and which now stood in the draw, nibbling the alfalfa
that pushed through the fence.Rob was coming across the meadow, a
hip-deep green expanse, and several times he stopped, pulled a blossom,
and glanced critically over the field.The late frost that Rob had dreaded had struck the flat only the week
before, and a general lack of water for the second crop would make hay
very scarce and high.The foothill ranches, being on the slope, had
more or less escaped the frost, and Rob's alfalfa had not been touched.Looking at it now, swaying quietly as the sea at full tide and crested
with its foam of purple bloom, it was hard to realize that there
were miles of parched foothill range near by, where cattle wandered,
searching every mouthful of grass. "That hay will be just right to cut on the Fourth," he said, when at
last he dropped wearily on the porch step. "On the Fourth! The prairie's supreme holiday! I thought the entire
valley went fishing on the Fourth," said Harry. "I don't believe it will this year. Every one that's got any hay at all
will cut it the minute it's ready. Robinson intends to cut a few days
later than I do, and he's going to let me have his mower first, so I've
got to work anyhow. ""Well, if we've got to work, let's celebrate with a big dinner. How
would that appeal to a haying crew? Ice cream, chicken fricassee,
cherry pie. I thought so!" Rob smacked his lips and grinned broadly. "Doesn't sound as if you'd
get much fun out of it, though," he said, "cooking for a bunch of
haymakers." "Don't worry. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
The prospect of company well repays the cookery. I mean
to have the women folks, too, and the children. "The dinner party now became their chief interest. First Harry, then
Rob, thought of some detail that would contribute to its perfecting,
and the two worked like a couple of children building a sand castle.On counting the number of expected guests, they found that they could
scarcely seat them all at table at once in the house; but Rob had
lumber on hand for extra cattle sheds, and from that he built under the
balm trees a table of goodly size and two benches.The day that Rob went over for the mower Harry cleaned the house. Even
if they did dine outside, the house must be flawlessly neat. It was
nearly five o'clock when at last Harry scrubbed her way out of the door
and down the porch steps.Behind her the cabin twinkled like a new pan,
and, when she had shaken out the mop, she stretched her arms and sighed
with satisfaction. Then suddenly she wheeled round and listened. Somewhere down toward the
creek a gun had spoken faintly.Instantly Harry was another creature. Her languor vanished; she drew
up, keen and alert; her eyes moved back and forth along the line of
willow bushes that screened the stream.For half a minute she watched,
scarcely breathing; the immense silence was broken only by the far,
faint bell note of a mourning dove. Had she only imagined that other
sound? No. There it was again.Suddenly two figures crept into view, moving cautiously, with shotguns
held ready. She put two fingers in her mouth, drew a deep breath, and
then a screaming whistle split the evening calm. The sportsmen heard it.Harry saw them stop and look her way; but,
seeing only a girl, they evidently felt safe, for they started forward
again, with guns cocked, and when Harry whistled the second time they
paid no attention. "I guess I know what'll make you go! "cried the girl, and she ran into
the house. She came out again with the big .32 rifle under her arm and
started down the path. She had gone scarcely a hundred feet when she saw a flock of sage
hens rise.At the same instant there was a rattle of shots, and two
birds fell. Harry threw the rifle to her shoulder, aimed high and
fired. Instantly one of the men jumped back, shook his fist toward her
and shouted.She did not catch the words, but it made no difference,
anyhow. He knew he had no business inside the fence, for there was a
plainly printed sign warning hunters off.She moved forward slowly,
expecting to see the sportsmen get over the fence; but just then
another covey of birds rose, and simultaneously both men fired. That was too much. Harry raised the rifle and fired six deliberate
shots.She aimed high over the heads and well to either side of the
trespassers, so that there was no chance of hitting them.Nevertheless,
when an automobile rolled out from the willows and she saw how easily
she might have hit the driver, she felt a thrill of horror.She stood watching while, the men made a run for the car, scrambled
aboard and went swinging out of sight up the road. Then slowly she
turned back home.Her knees felt shaky; she drew a long, unsteady
breath and, to her surprise, had to sit down on the ground for a
moment. When Rob got home with the mower he brought a general acceptance of the
invitation to the Fourth of July dinner. "They fell for it as if they'd
been expecting it any time in the last three years," he reported. "It's just as well, then, that I planned to have Isita come down and
help me," Harry answered.She had decided to say nothing about shooting
at the hunters. She had realized by this time what a terrible risk she
had taken, and she knew it would worry Rob to think that she had been
so reckless. "What on earth do you want Biane's girl here for? "he asked. "I should
think Mrs. Robinson could help you out." "She would, of course; but I want an excuse to talk with Isita and
persuade her to go to school this winter. ""But if we're feeding cattle here this winter, you won't be teaching
down on the flat." "Isita can go to school just the same, can't she? Besides, I want to
advise her to find a place where she can work for her board while she's
going to school.Her mother would send her if she weren't afraid of old
Biane." "Better go slow. If you're too friendly, we'll have their hogs down
here in the wheat every day instead of twice a week." But Harry insisted on having Isita.The one drawback to her life on the
ranch had been the lack of girl friends, and her interest in Isita had
taken the place of other interests.As she rode over to the Bianes' two days before the dinner party, she
tried to frame a tactful speech in which to offer the other girl a
dress to wear; for probably she had nothing suitable, and Harry did not
want her to refuse to come, merely because she lacked a dress.The Biane cabin was still not much more than the "prove-up shack" that
the original owner had quitted. It was of unpainted boards with only
two half windows to break its blank walls, and seemed scarcely to
deserve the name of "home. "And still, some one had tried to improve
the place. A woven-wire fence enclosed a small garden patch in which,
among the cabbages, Harry recognized bachelor's-buttons and poppies
grown from seed she had given Isita.Some packing boxes had been fitted
together for a chicken house, and an attempt had even been made to
fence in a few acres of wheat; but the live stock--Joe's hogs, half
a dozen sheep and several thin cows--wandered loose, rather to the
detriment of the crops of neighboring ranchers.As Harry rode up, the morning sunshine was beaming over all; on the
chickens scratching in front of the cow shed, on the scarlet poppies
beside the path. Yet to Harry the clutch of poverty seemed actually
visible.What a place for a young girl to grow up in! Chopping wood,
plowing, herding sheep; while the good-for-nothing father and brother
went fishing and hunting! "I'd like to take her to stay with me all winter," Harry thought
in sympathetic indignation. "If she had half a chance, she'd make
something worth while of herself. How thankful I am for my life!" No one was visible about the place, and Harry knocked twice before she
got any response.Then halting steps came across the room within, the
door was unlocked, and Isita's mother stood in the narrow opening. "Oh! It's Miss Holliday. The hogs down bothering you again? I told that
Joe----"
"No, indeed. The hogs haven't bothered us lately.I came to ask Isita
to help me with my Fourth of July dinner." Harry put all the friendly warmth possible into her voice.She
remembered that this work-worn woman who faced her there with a sort of
defiant anxiety had been a New England farmer's daughter, and that many
a time in her girlhood she must have helped with a big company dinner
in honor of the national holiday.But Mrs. Biane merely drew back a little and raised her hand in abrupt
refusal. "No, thank you. It's kind of you to ask Isita, but I wouldn't
want her to go." | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
She began to close the door. "Oh, please don't refuse!" Harry begged.She had no intention of
yielding so easily. "It would be doing me a real favor to let her come. It's so hard to do everything alone, and Isita is the only young girl I
know well enough to ask to help me. "She used all her eloquence, her most persuasive warmth, but even while
she talked she was aware of something in the woman's silence, a sort
of dread, that made her unwilling to let Isita go; but at last, won
over by Harry's friendliness, Mrs. Biane yielded, saying only that
Isita must be home before dark. "Why didn't her mother want her to come?" Harry asked herself as she
rode away. "Why are they so unfriendly? There's something wrong there. No wonder Isita looks scared and unhappy. I wonder where she was. Off
herding the sheep, probably.That looks like one of them now--near our
fence, as usual." A glimpse of something white moving in the sagebrush had caught her
eye. She rode toward it, and discovered, not a sheep, but a young calf. "What's happened to these scrub cows? "Harry exclaimed. "I never saw
anything like the way they desert their calves. This is the second I've
found left to starve. If rustlers were busy, they'd shoot the cows and
carry the calves off. "Too young to graze, the calf was gaunt from lack of food and made no
effort to escape when Harry began to drive it. Instead, it merely
stumbled forward a few steps and stopped. "Go on," she ordered. "I couldn't let you lie out here and starve, even
if Ludlum can. How any man can turn a herd of cattle into the hills and
not know or care what happens to them for weeks and months is more than
I can comprehend. Come! Move along there. "Thus adjured, and helped by an occasional flick of the rawhide, the
calf moved ahead until within sight of the gate.Harry was just about
to get down and open it, when the pony gave a jerk and looked sidewise,
and Harry had a glimpse of an old felt hat moving behind a ledge of
lava that had jutted from the scab land.Riding forward, she came face
to face with Joe Biane. He had climbed up through one of the fissures
and stood leaning carelessly against the rocks, with his hands behind
him. A mischievous smile curled his lips. "Morning, Joe!" she said. "Will you open the gate for me?" Joe did not move. Astonished, she waited a moment. Then she noticed
that he was hiding his hands. Her lips curved in a comprehending smile. "You needn't be afraid!" she exclaimed. "I won't look at the birds
you're hiding. I realize it's useless to try to protect them from you." Joe neither answered nor moved. His derisive grin widened; he looked at
the calf and inquired, "Lost another critter, have you?" "Another calf?This isn't ours that I know of. I found it starving
outside, and I'm bringing it in to feed it." "Sure. Of course you want to save it. "Joe snickered, and then, to her
astonishment, he burst into a rude laugh and moved back among the lava
ridges out of sight. Harry watched him. He had shifted his hands quickly; nevertheless,
she had caught a gleam of something. "His shotgun, of course," she
decided. She felt oddly irritated by his impudent stare and laughter. What did he mean by saying "of course" she wanted to save the calf? "It's just his fresh way of talking," Rob said at noon, when she had
described the incident to him. "He may think you expect a reward from
Ludlum for feeding it. It may be ours, of course, though I don't see
where the cow can be.We'll have to wait until to-night when the milk
cows come in to see if any of them claim this one. It looks too poor to
be ours, I think. Any time Ludlum's riders come looking for strays, we
can show them these two and let them decide. ""Don't you think we should round our critters up and count them?" Harry
suggested. "It's a long time since we've been over the yearlings and
steers, and we may be losing more of them. Those two haven't turned up
yet." "I know," said Rob, with a sigh. "I've been meaning to; but there's
so everlasting much to do. I ought to be working on that fill for the
reservoir right now. And yet, if we want the wheat to make anything,
I've got to get more water on it before it's too late.We want to save
every bit of feed inside, too, so we can't bring all the stock in until
they've cleaned up the range. Once haying's over, you bet I'm going to
dog off Ludlum's scrubs and give our cattle a fair chance at the range.It's a little too much to have him grab everything outside and hold a
mortgage on our land, too. "As Rob, sitting flat on the porch, with his back against the house and
his feet out before him, talked of his plans, Harry suddenly noticed
two men who were riding toward the gate. "Now what can they want?" she said as they came inside. "I haven't a
thing left to offer them for dinner." "They're not coming to the house," Rob said. "They're going west. Riders hunting strays, I guess. "They watched in silence as the two men
rode slowly through the herd, taking note of the cows and calves there;
then the riders disappeared round the butte. "They'll probably go up on top and look through the cattle there and
then drop in to supper," Rob suggested as he got up to go to work. But they did not come.It was not until the Fourth of July that the men
appeared again, and then they came on an unexpected errand. CHAPTER XVII
"I hope Isita comes early," said Harry on the morning of the Fourth as
she dried the breakfast dishes. "The nearer dinner time it gets the
more things there are to be done at once. ""I've seen you turn out pretty good feed all by yourself, when a bunch
of people have come in unexpectedly," said Rob, who, in honor of the
holiday, was dawdling about for fully ten minutes instead of hurrying
back to the field. "Those surveyors, now, that lost their way and
stayed overnight. Pretty good grub, I say, was what you gave them." "This is a different matter," said Harry, trying not to show her
pleasure at Rob's praise. "This is a dinner party, you no savvy? ""I see.In other words, you want the grub fit to eat off that
hundred-and-sixty-l'even-piece semiporcelain, rose-sprigged,
twelve-dollar-ninety-cents et cetery, et cetery, dinner set that we
bought out of the mail-order catalogue,--how long ago?--and that's been
settin' in the cupboard ever since. "Rob dodged the flapping dishcloth with which Harry chased him outdoors. "All right!" he called back. "I'm going to tell 'em about that first
pie you tried to make!" "You'll be sorry if you do," she warned him.She was still smiling at the remembrance of those first days in the new
country when she saw the calico-clad figure of Isita coming along the
ditch bank. "It's awfully good of you to help me out to-day!" Harry exclaimed as
the girl came up the path. "I couldn't possibly have done it all alone." "I wanted to come," Isita answered quickly. Something unfamiliar in her voice made Harry look closer at her. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Ordinarily Isita's color was a clear, pale olive.Now her cheeks were
flushed, her eyes heavy, and she breathed quickly. "I don't believe you're well!" Harry exclaimed. "Sure, I'm well. I hurried up here too fast, that's all," Isita
insisted, and asked what work she should do first.She was evidently eager to do her very best, and after a little Harry
felt encouraged to bring out the flowered lawn she had wanted to give
Isita. She brought it from her room where it had been lying, freshly
ironed. "See here," she said. "Wouldn't you like to put this on? It's too small
for me, and yet it's so pretty I can't bear to throw it away. It will
be nice and cool, too, this hot day. "Without a word the other girl took the dress; but, though her lips
were dumb, she looked up at Harry, and over her quiet face came an
expression so vivid, so glowing, that Harry felt as if a dull-covered
book had been unexpectedly flashed open at a splendid picture.The
book was instantly closed again, but that one glimpse satisfied her. She felt as happy as a child dressing a new doll as she slipped the
dress over Isita's thin shoulders, buttoned it and then stood off to
admire the result.Isita dropped her eyelids shyly and smoothed the
bright lawn with caressing fingers. "Now, if you'll shell the peas," Harry went on as if nothing unusual
had happened, "I'll freeze the ice cream. Here; slip on this big apron.You want to look fresh when the company arrives. "She ran down cellar, where the cream was waiting, together with a tub
of ice that Rob had cracked for her; but she had scarcely begun to turn
the freezer when Isita called:
"There's something that looks like comp'ny coming up the road! ""Not already!" groaned Harry, and rushed up to look. A mile away a cloud of dust marched forward round a slow-moving light
wagon, and Harry caught glimpses now and then of white-frocked children
on the back seat. "It's the Robinsons," said Harry with conviction. "They live nearest. Well, shell peas for all you're worth, and I'll go twirl the freezer. Be sure to call me when they get to the gate." And down she dived into the cellar again. "They're just pullin' up to the gate," came the summons from Isita at
last, "and it is the Robinsons. There's a raft of young ones. "As Harry ran down the path to meet them, Mrs. Robinson, crimpy-headed,
tall, angular, as vividly alive as ever, waved her hand in greeting. "Bully for you, girlie!" she cried. "You've got the flag up.As I says
to pa as we come round the butte," she went on without a pause as she
clambered from the wagon, shook her skirts, pushed back her hat and
fanned her face with her handkerchief, "and seen that flag floatin' up
top the pole there, I says, 'Well, there's two real Americans in this
country, anyhow. 'For a hull lot of us Fourth of July has got to mean a
big feed and sleepin' it off." "Mother put the flag in my trunk when I was leaving home.She said we'd
need it to remind us of--well, days like this, when we were too busy to
observe them any other way. I'm afraid if she hadn't we'd have had the
big dinner and nothing else. ""That's something to have, these hard times, lemme tell you," put in
Pa Robinson from the rear of the wagon, where he was unloading small
Robinsons. "Too late to look for rain now, and there's no more snow
water to come down into the river.Looks to me like we'd all be glad to
get red beans and side meat next winter." "Say! That's true, too," his wife chimed in. "What's more, pretty near
every truck patch on the flat got froze down that last freeze.I tell
you, I'm glad us folks live up here on the bench; even if they do
laugh at us for campin' on the rim rock." "It don't look like you had any June freeze up here," said Robinson,
turning to Rob, who had come up from the barn. "I ain't seen no finer
stand of alfalfa on the prairie." "It would be a long sight better if the cattle that are running loose
in these hills hadn't broken in so often," Rob told him. "Them scabby critters!" Robinson exclaimed in deep disgust. "I tell you
right now, there's got to be something done to get rid of them scrubs." "Well, that's certainly so! We've come to the end of our patience." "It's time!" Mrs. Robinson exclaimed. "I'm to the end of mine long ago,
watchin' you men folks pomper up yours and string it out to the last
breath before you'll git a move on." "Oh, we know you," said Pa Robinson. "You'd be for pullin' the fuse out
by the tail just as she's goin' off. ""Let them have it out alone," Harry begged Mrs. Robinson. "I want you
to come and look at my wool. I've washed and picked it, but it doesn't
begin to look so nice as yours. "When the older woman had felt the creamy strands that Harry had kept
tied in a sheet, she said, "It ain't the same sort of fleece. Mine's
that long, wavy Merino, and this is Southdown. Goin' to card and quilt
it yourself?" "I did want to.I wanted to have a quilting bee this fall and have my
quilts made up in the old-time patterns--sun flower or morning star. Like our grandmothers.' You remember, don't you?" "Do I! Ain't I seen 'em back home on the spare-room bed?But it seems
we ain't got the time to do that sort of work out here." "Let's make the time, then. Start the fashion, you and I." "That's right, girlie. All we need's some one to give us a shove up
the right trail and we'll keep to it.Like you startin' the girls last
winter in that camp-wagon--no, camp-fire club at school.Vashti, she's
a different young one since--quit thinkin' about her hair ribbons
and how to git to the dances downtown every week and took to washin'
the young one's faces and readin' the receipt book instead. And that
reminds me.She sent you up a cake she made herself; red, white and
blue frosting--and a jar of jell. I'll run git 'em out the hack before
the dogs smell 'em." At the door she stopped to call back, "Here comes
Con Gardner and Lance Fitch! Oh, yes!And I forgot to tell you"--her
voice fell--"Zip Miller won't be over. He's got the spotted fever." "Oh, how dreadful!" Harry turned from a survey of the cooking with
distress in her eyes.The spotted fever was the perpetual menace in the
country where sheep grazed. The worst of it was that no one knew the
exact cause or cure; the sufferers died or recovered without apparent
reason. "The doctor's went over every day," Mrs. Robinson went on, then broke
off with, "I'll tell you later; you ain't got time now." Harry slipped off her apron to go to meet the latest guests. "Keep up
the fire, won't you?" she said to Isita in passing. "That chicken is
cooking just right." "Don't you worry, Miss Harry," was her prompt answer. "I'll watch
everything as careful as can be. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"All day, while engaged in the exciting task of having everything ready
at once, in seeing that Mrs. Mosher's baby had its warm milk and nap at
the proper time, in managing so that the dinner should fall between two
loads of hay, Harry found Isita always on hand, alert and responsive.The younger girl was deeply interested in Harry's way of setting the
table: with eyes full of wonder she gazed at the white tablecloth
spread symmetrically, the bowl of nasturtiums in the center, the fresh
rolls laid inside the neatly folded napkins.When all was complete and
they stood off to take a final view of the table, Isita said quietly,
"That's the way it looks for Thanksgiving, ain't it? Ma's told me about
that big time." Harry looked at the girl with pity in her eyes.Never to have known
Thanksgiving except through hearing about it! "You'll go back some day," Harry said. "Every one must eat at least one
Thanksgiving dinner with grandmother and grandfather. "She stopped, for Isita's eyes were fixed upon her with a bright,
far-off gaze, and the girl was breathing quickly through her parted
scarlet lips. "She can't be well," Harry thought again but before she could speak,
Rob came in to ask how soon dinner would be ready. "It's ten minutes of one now," he said, as his eyes roved eagerly over
the table, so cool in the shade of the trees. "Is there time to put up
another load before we eat?" "That depends on how fast you work," she reminded him. "It won't take
up more than ten minutes to dish up. "Rob promptly disappeared toward the corral and they heard him bawling,
"Come on, all you workin' stiffs! She's set! "At last they were all gathered round the table, and Harry's reward had
begun to come in the form of murmurs of approval from the men, and in
more outspoken compliments from the women. "Why on earth didn't you send some of these things to the county fair
last fall?" Sally Gardner demanded wonderingly as she tasted one dish
after another. "Yes!You'd have some of them year-in and year-out blue-ribbon grabbers
askin' you for receipts, all right," said Mrs. Robinson as she reached
for a third helping of salad. "That's right," echoed Lance Fitch. "'Tain't every lady can teach
school 'n' cook good, too. You could be makin' your sixty a month right
along in summer, cookin' for the hay and harvester crews." "Sure!" exclaimed Pa Robinson. "What do ye mean, Holliday, by keepin'
this sister of yours hid out in these here hills all summer?" "How do you expect me to ranch without her to ride the fences for me,
I'd like to know? ""Better look out, or some fancy cow puncher'll ride off with her for
keeps. Then whar'll you be?" "He kin do like Kit McCarty done," Lance said; "write to a mail-order
house and tell 'em, they'd send him everything to fit up house with.Couldn't they send him a wife to keep his house along with the rest of
it?" "Nothing stirring," declared Rob. "She might be like this company
dinner set that spends most of the year sitting up in the closet,
looking pretty and doing nothing else. ""If he ain't as mean as a Scotchman," began Mrs. Robinson, when a voice
from outside made them all jump. "What's that about Scotchmen?" it asked. "My mother was Scotch, and
I'm thinkin' of goin' into sheep myself along with all the other canny
Scotch laddies in Idyho, if the cowmen get any meaner." It was Chris Garnett.He had ridden up unheard and was peering at the
company through the screen of branches. "Sorry to be late," he said apologetically, when he was seated and the
women were filling his plate. "Some folks'll tell you, 'Them forest
rangers don't have a thing to do but ride to keep from gettin' too
fat, and go fishin'.' Fact is, there's a movin-picture mix-up on the
reserve most of the time. Right now it's these scrubs. Can't keep 'em
out.There's scrappin' every day along of the men that own pastur'
in the reserve and the riders for the Idyho Cattle Comp'ny and the
rustlers that's tryin' to pick up a few head between times." "It's a cinch somebody's rustling calves," Rob said. "We've lost two
yearlings ourselves." "I'll rustle a few myself pretty soon," said Lance Fitch, scowling at
the mound of potpie and mashed potatoes submerged in a lava stream of
gravy that he was demolishing. "If these outside capitalists are going
to shove their starved critters in and steal our range, I'll wise 'em
some." "Now you're talkin'," Pete Mosher broke in eagerly. "Them rich fellers
went into cattle just for a notion; becus beef's goin' up.Us ranchers
live in these hills, and our livin' depends on the grazin' in 'em. Who's got the best right to it--them capitalists, or us? Hey?" As he asked it, his sunburned blue eyes darted from one guest to
another. Rob was the first to answer him. "There's one way to get rid
of these scrubs--put the herd law through." "Herd law!" And now every one talked at once. "In a free range country? Where'd we be ourselves?" "The stockmen'd fight it while the world
stands. ""You'd have the whole of Camas Prairie goin' to law." "Wait a second," Rob broke in; "let me explain.There's not a section
of land along the north side of these hills that isn't homesteaded,
is there, at least up to where the hills get too steep for cattle
to graze?And if all of us ranchers along here made an agreement not
to fight one another if our cattle made trouble, but to settle it
peaceably, then we could keep the range for ourselves and keep out the
big fellows, Ludlum and the rest that couldn't afford to herd their
stock all summer. "He talked on fast and eagerly, making mistakes and correcting himself,
not saying half that he wanted to; but he put the idea before them
convincingly, and before the discussion ended they had decided to take
action toward getting a herd law through for that district.While the argument was at its hottest, Mrs. Robinson leaned over and
whispered hoarsely: "Say, girlie, if you say so, I'll go pick me some
of them peas you said I could have.The sun's wearin' west, and fust
you know it'll be milkin' time and us havin' to hit the trail." "Go ahead," urged Harry. "I'll go see where Isita is and start the
dishes." "Is that the Portugee girl you're talking about?" asked Sally Gardner. "I saw her go off across the meadow yonder while you and Mrs. Robinson
were fetchin' on the ice cream." Isita had, in fact, slipped away home without a word to any one. "Never mind, girlie," Ma Robinson consoled her; "here's four of us
women that's been broke to dishwater and the clatter of pans long
enough not to shy or balk at 'em. That so, Sally Gardner? Come on,
then? "When, shortly after six o'clock, Harry, Rob and Garnett stood at the
corral gate and watched the visitors out of sight, Harry laughed and
sighed together. "I've had the best time in years," she said. "I only wish we lived
nearer folks, so I could give a party oftener." "Looks like you're goin' to have some more comp'ny to-day," Garnett
remarked and nodded toward the lane. Harry turned and saw two riders coming toward the barn. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"They're
welcome to what there is. There's at least a chicken wing left." "I'll see what they want," Rob said as he went to meet them. Garnett and Harry looked after him carelessly, and then went on with
their pleasant chatter.But a sudden burst of angry voices from the
barn silenced them abruptly. Garnett unconsciously tautened. "Guess I'd better step down there," he said. "Looks to me like the
buckaroos I met huntin' strays. Might be I could set 'em straight. ""I might as well go, too," Harry decided. She had heard her brother
say, "Prove it if you can. It's absurd on the face of it." "Do they think we've been stealing their critters? "she asked in a low
voice as they hurried forward, and she thought of the calf she had
brought inside to feed. "It's more likely some one has been stealing
ours. The last time we went through the herd two were missing, and that
was quite a while ago. ""Don't tell them so," Garnett cautioned her; "let them do the talkin'." At sound of their steps Rob turned to them. "See here, Harry. These
fellows say you've shot one of their cows and run in her calf.They say
they've had positive information from a fellow who saw you shoot." Harry turned white. For a second there was no sound except the
creaking of a saddle as the ponies breathed.The two _vaqueros_, one
a half-breed Indian, the other the pink-faced man whom Harry had met
on the range, stared at her fixedly. Garnett apparently kept his eyes
fixed on space, but he missed nothing. Fear had not blanched Harry's cheeks.Anger had, and the next instant
they flushed scarlet. "Who saw me shooting?" she cried. "I haven't had
a gun in my hands this summer except to warn poachers off our land." "Poachers?" the pink-faced rider echoed inquiringly. "Yes; hunters who come inside our fence to steal sage hen and grouse. They won't stop merely for being asked. You have to fire a rifle over
their heads to frighten them. Then they understand that 'no-shooting'
signs mean what they say. "Her voice trembled a little, but she held her head defiantly and faced
the "cow-puncher" with steady eyes. He merely shook his head and smiled
incredulously. "You shore are brave, ma'am.Tother day you was doggin' off Ludlum's
stock like you owned the hull range, and you told me you'd shoot every
one of 'em now--that is, if it suited ye; and now you're gunnin' for
white men becus they're pickin' up a few birds what ain't yours nohow.I guess you wouldn't find no trouble pluggin' a cow critter if you
thought you could rustle her calf." "Is that so, Harry?" Rob asked quietly. "Did you threaten to shoot
Ludlum's stock?" "I did.After what this rider threatened," she admitted, and related
the whole occurrence. "As for bringing in a deserted calf," she added. "I'm perfectly willing to acknowledge I did it. I wasn't going to leave
it to starve, no matter whose it was.When you take it back, you might
ask Ludlum to return our steers that his scrubs have taken off with
them; but when it comes to shooting a cow, his or anybody's, well, I
didn't. That's all." "Looks like you'd have to hunt your critters further on. "Garnett's
words showed his relief, and Rob's sudden smile told how great his
suspense had been; but that relief lasted only a moment. "I'd like to believe you, ma'am," the "cow-puncher" said brusquely,
"but we done seen the cow with our own eyes. Yes.She's layin' out
yonder and her hind quarters cut off and the hide clean gone, so we
can't prove nothin' by the brand; but I know her turned-down horns and
her slit ears. She's got a bullet hole through her neck, too, sure's
I'm livin'." "Say! "Garnett broke in, and his voice was short and hard. "Who's the
scissorbill you fellows been listenin' to? Why didn't you bring him
along to prove all this?" "Oh, it's easy enough to fetch him when we want him," Pink-face
retorted tranquilly. "You know him, all right. Portugee Joe? Just east
of you? Sure." "Joe Biane!" Harry exclaimed. "Are you going to take his word against
mine? You can't know him very well." "'Tain't a case of knowin' nor trustin'," Pink-face answered. "Not
chiefly, is what I mean to say. We ast Joe had he seen any cow critters
off by theirselves, alive or dead, that is chiefly; and he said as how
he seen you shoot this here one.You was shootin' at some bird hunters
inside your fence, and he, that is, Joe now, he was footin' it acrost
the scab land and seen you plunk that there cow we're tollin' you
about. Yes." There was a queer silence.Then Pink-face continued: "There ain't no
use gassin' here. We got a warrant for the lady's arrest and we might's
well be movin' to town is what I would say chiefly. Portugee Joe said
he'd be there to witness for us in the morning. "CHAPTER XVIII
Rob refused flatly to let Harry start that evening for Soldier, where
the warrant summoned her to appear before the justice of the peace, and
the "cow-punchers" finally agreed to sleep at the ranch.After they had
taken their saddle blankets out to the haystack for the night, Harry
described to Rob and Garnett exactly what had happened to bring about
the shooting. It was hard to tell.The more she explained to those
two boys sitting silently on the opposite side of the table the more
complete did her disgrace seem to her.At the end Rob laughed a little
and said:
"Looks like it wouldn't be safe to leave any firearms round after this. "Even Garnett, Harry realized with a sore heart, had nothing to say
except a growl about, "Better men have hung than them cheap skates
that call theirselves sportsmen. Sportsmen!I'd shoot a few pinheads
like them some day myself, and it wouldn't be no accidental shootin',
neither. "By Rob's advice Harry gave as brief an account of the affair as
possible to the justice of the peace; she emphasized the fact that
she had brought two of Ludlum's deserted calves inside to feed, and
that, because Ludlum kept no cowboys to look after the herds in their
vicinity, there was always a bunch of cattle trailing round the fence,
trying to get in.All that, unfortunately, failed to impress the justice. He eyed the
girl with mild, expressionless eyes, sentenced her to pay for the cow,
and, with curt humor, advised her next time to "Look before she shot
and then not shoot. "Rob, of course, had to pay her fine and costs. He did it without a
word, but Harry knew only too well that every one of those forty
dollars meant just so much less money for hay when winter came. Garnett
left them and returned to the reserve.For the first time since they
had known him, Harry felt relieved to have him go. It was hard enough
to face the long ride in her brother's company, so desperately did she
want to be alone in her depression.Beneath Rob's talk of the other
things, she could feel his disappointment in her. When they reached Robinson's, Rob's voice broke in on these dreary
musings. "If you don't mind stopping, I believe I'll go in and see
Robinson about that herd law.Old man Saltus says he thinks that we can
put it through." Harry assented wearily. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"I'd be glad of a rest." "Of course!" Rob looked at her quickly. "I ought to have known you were
dog-tired. Why not stay overnight?" he urged. "You've had two mighty
hard days and need a good rest. I can get along all right." Mrs. Robinson welcomed them with unfailing hospitality.Almost without
their knowing how it was done, their horses had been led away to
water, and they themselves were seated on the shady back porch. Mrs.
Robinson took it as entirely a matter of course that they should stay
to supper. "You must of went by right smart early this morning." Her voice soared
from the kitchen above the clatter of dishes and the surflike hiss of
frying pans, while she tacked back and forth from stove to table. "Pa
sent Denny over to git Rob to come help with the hayin'; he reckoned
he'd begin to cut to-day 'stead of waitin'. And say! Isita has got
the spotted fever. You know you said she was poorly yestiddy. How do
I know?Becus Denny went on up there huntin' Rob; thought he might of
druv Joe's hogs home or some such. Come along in, everybody. She's all
set." Isita sick! For the moment at least that news diverted Harry's thoughts
from her own troubles. "Have they had the doctor, do you know?" she
asked. "None of us ain't seen him, if they have." Harry felt pretty sure that the Bianes had not sent for any assistance.If it had not been for the ride to Soldier, she would probably have
gone up to see how Isita was and have insisted on having the doctor
at once. The spotted fever was short and sharp, sometimes a matter of
hours only.Like most buoyant people, Harry's spirits went correspondingly low when
she was depressed, and now, morbidly self-conscious over one blunder,
she felt herself largely to blame for Isita's neglected condition. "I declare," Mrs. Robinson said suddenly, "you ain't eatin' a thing,
girlie. You'd oughten't to of took that long ride this hot weather;
and after workin' so hard yestiddy and all. You're clean drilled down.That's right, go along out on the porch and I'll bring your tea to you. It's hot enough in here to fry fat out of an iceberg." Stammering an excuse, Harry pushed away from the table, furious with
herself for the tears that had suddenly blinded her.In another moment,
she felt, she would have disgraced herself by sobbing aloud. Mrs.
Robinson's sympathy was the one thing that her aching heart could not
resist.Rob had an instinctive idea that under the pressure of kindly
solicitude, Harry would relate the whole affair to their neighbor; and
he knew that if she did she would get pungent advice and wholesome
consolation from that sagacious friend.He rode home after supper,
satisfied that Harry would be herself in another twenty-four hours. It turned out as he hoped. Mrs. Robinson had divined that something
more than fatigue had affected the girl.As she was showing Harry to
her room she put her hand on the girl's shoulder and said gently,
"Yestiddy was just one lick too much for you, wa'n't it, child?" "It wasn't that. Oh, it wasn't! "Harry began: and then, dropping her
face on her hands, she sobbed miserably. But oh, the relief of having it out!Of telling some one who could and
would say exactly what she thought of it all--why Harry's firing a
rifle merely in warning had been so reprehensible. That was exactly
what Mrs. Robinson did tell her. "It took the Almighty consid'able time to make dirt enough out of
these lava buttes to grow crops on, and you'll learn, if you live in
this country, that you've got to have some of the Almighty's patience
to wear down these here varmints that call themselves men into the
dust ordinary humans are made of.I know how you feel about your sage
hens gettin' shot out. Didn't I ride clear to Shoshone once behind a
wagonload of them 'sportsmen,' a gun in my fist ready to drop the first
guy that lifted his eyebrow? I did. "They'd cut our fence and druv in onto the wheat and was wadin' round
in it like it was wash water. They laughed at me when I ordered 'em
out--that is, until they seen I had the drop on 'em.I run 'em all into
court in Shoshone and seen 'em pay their fines good and proper. Wasn't
that all right, you'll say? Looks so. But them four men has spent their
lives, you may say, gettin' even with us.Nothin' you could catch 'em
in, just sneaky things; like stealin' our range, cuttin' our fences,
runnin' off our stock with theirs in the round-up, scatterin' dope with
the salt where our stock would get it.I wisht I had two bits right now
for every dollar they lost us. I tell you, you never get nowhere in
this country tryin' to bust up a lava butte with a sulphur match." "But surely we should do something to protect the birds--and
ourselves! "Harry protested. "I think it's our duty to fight the
poachers. Indeed, I do!" The old spirit rang in her voice, shone in her eyes, still dim from
crying. The comers of Mrs. Robinson's mouth twitched in fellow feeling.She saw that Harry had come to the place every one comes to in the
splendid morning ride of youth; the place where the fight is waging
between right and wrong, and into which every one in his turn wants to
plunge with a shout and a hailstorm of blows. "You can't never save the birds with bullets," she said, "not if you
was to plug every game hog in the land full of lead." "But what are we to do?" cried Harry. "They laugh at mere words." "There's one they won't laugh at more than twice: law." "Law!Isn't there a law against trespassing now, and against shooting
out of season? ""That's right; but once all the folks stand together and show they mean
to have sure-enough law, there'll be an end to poachin' and game hogs
and all the rest of the pizen-mean lawlessness that makes the rancher's
life a burden. ""Just as the herd law would rid us of the big stockmen," added Harry. "With their herds gone off these hills, there would be plenty of feed
for all our cattle." "That's what! It's got to come same's the spring break-up.It'll be
some satisfaction to know we give her the first shove, too." As Mrs. Robinson in her droll way made everything clear to the girl,
Harry felt her soul being smoothed out like a piece of crumpled paper.When Mrs. Robinson said good night, she reached out impulsively, put
her arms round her and exclaimed, "You're so good to me!" Her mind was still tranquil when she rode home the next day.It made
her feel that, in spite of Ludlum's methods she was going to come out
ahead in the end. Unfortunately, her confidence received a setback the moment she reached
home. Rob was just unsaddling and looked as if he had been up all night. "What's happened?" she inquired quickly. "Aren't you going over to help
Robinson?" "I've got to get things straightened out here first. I don't know what
happened last night but something scared the critters up in the hills.They sure were stampeded--such a bellowing and pounding of hoofs when
they went down the lane and through the fence you never heard. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
There
wasn't any use getting up.Nothing short of a rifle bullet in each one
of their crazy heads would have stopped them. Somebody else must have
thought as I did, though, for I heard a shot." "But Rob! What would any one start shooting up a herd at night for?Could it have been hunters camping up above?" "More likely somebody with orders to get our critters on the run, and
they made a mess of it and scared the other fellow's." "But there's no one round us that we know of; except Ludlum. ""Did I say there was? All I do say is that I'm going to find out who
stampeded our critters and scattered 'em all over the county. Every one
of them went out last night.Some of 'em came back this morning, and
I rounded up a lot in the hills over east; but there's three or four
steers clean gone." He threw the saddle over the peg and led the tired pony off to water. For half a minute Harry stared after him, overcome.The chaos of the
last two days seemed about to boil up once more and engulf her. No! That it should not. She stiffened resolutely. It was the very time when
she needed every bit of calmness that she could muster.Pulling Hike
round, she trotted after Rob. "See here, Bobby," she began briskly, "you must get back to help with
Robinson's haying, and I'm going out to hunt those steers. Yes, I am
now," as he began objecting. "There's nothing to be done here that
can't wait, and I shall thoroughly enjoy getting our critters out
of Ludlum's clutches before he's had a chance to ship them to the
stockyards." "Oh, he wouldn't do that! He wouldn't risk getting into trouble.What
he can do is to keep them moving until there's not much chance of our
finding them again. If we lose our stock we can't pay his loan and he
takes your land. That's what he's after.A water hole and green meadow
like this is a gold mine to a man with so much stock. Ludlum's strictly
'honest,' but business is business with him, and he's waiting for the
chance to close down on us." "He'll never get the chance, never!" cried Harry. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed if you think telling him so will
stop him. If you don't want to lose your land, you'd better have the
cash handy when our friend comes round this fall to see how things are
getting on." Harry made no answer.She knew that Rob was right. Power, not arguments
about right and wrong, was what Ludlum respected. What she must do was
to see to it that they lost not another head of stock and that the
herd got all the grazing that belonged to it.Then she could sell at a
better price and renew the loan without having to sacrifice her entire
herd. "I'll start out this very afternoon," she said once more as Rob was
leaving for Robinson's, "and get the census, as you may say, of every
critter hereabouts.I'm going over first to see how Isita is; and by
the way, Bobby, if any one is going to town while you're over yonder,
have them bring back some oranges for Isita, and also telephone in
to the doctor.If they haven't sent for him, tell him to come over,
anyhow. I'll pay him myself, if they won't." Rob promised without comment. How like Harry it was to offer to pay the
doctor, and quite ignore the fact that she had not a cent in the bank.It amused him, even while he was glad that she could so quickly rise
from her depression. Harry herself realized what she had done only when she was on her
way to the Bianes'. "What must Bobby think of me?" she exclaimed. "I
forgot, of course, that I hadn't a cent. Never mind. I will pay, as
soon as I sell my beef critters. O me!It begins to look as if I'd
have to sell them all to pay the four hundred and twenty-two dollars,
interest and capital, I'll owe on the stock in December, besides what
I'll have to have for hay for them.Well, I've 'til December first to
raise the money, and that's nearly four months yet." All along the two miles of road to the Biane cabin she was on the watch
for grazing cattle, hoping to see their curly white-face and red-polled
steers among them.All the good feed had been eaten off close by,
however, and what stock she did see was up in the narrow draws where
there was still a little green. Evidently she was to have plenty of
work rounding up those steers. Why, no! She pulled up short.That
looked like some of them now.She had just turned the ridge in the lava beyond which lay Biane's,
when she saw below her, feeding on the fine grass round the edge of
a pothole, Biane's sorry-looking bunch, and with them a big, curly
white-face and two red--polls, theirs of course.She rode over to look
at the brand, but as she approached, the cattle moved round to the
other side of the water. Harry paused and looked across. She wanted to
ride through, but the water was black and sinister.Out in the lava, it
was not safe to go where you could not see your footing. She had better
wait until she was coming home and then drive the steers with her.No one, as usual, was visible round the house, but the front window
was open and a blanket was fastened up to keep out the light. Isita
must be in that room. Harry knocked lightly, then listened. Some one
inside was talking.She knocked again and, when no one answered, opened
the door and entered. At first the sudden change from the blaze of sunshine outside to the
darkness of the room obscured everything. The voice she had heard was
still hurrying on in a low monotone.She turned toward it and, as
her eyes grew accustomed to the half light, saw a cot bed and on it,
murmuring in the delirium of fever, Isita. Going swiftly to the bed Harry bent over the unconscious girl. "What do
you want, Isita, dear? "she asked gently, then drew back in dismay. The small face, usually so clear and pale, was swollen out of
recognition and disfigured under a veil of crimson flecks; the lips
were parched and brown.At the sound of Harry's voice the sick girl
moved nervously, was silent an instant, then began to mutter afresh in
broken, hurried words. "Isita, dear! You poor little thing!" Harry exclaimed. "What is it,
Isita? "Perhaps the repetition of her name or the sound of the familiar voice
broke through the sick girl's stupor, for she shivered, opened her
eyes, reached out an imploring hand and stammered weakly, "Don't kill
him! Don't! I can't--Don't let him!She--she--" The words died away
into an unintelligible whisper. One of Harry's arms was round Isita; her cool hand was on the hot
forehead, when suddenly there was the sound of a harsh voice at the
entrance of the room. "Say, there! What's doin'? "It was Mrs. Biane. Almost running she came from the kitchen. "Oh! It's
you, Miss Holliday! I couldn't think. Put her down. Quick! It's the
spotted fever." Almost roughly the woman pushed between the bed and Harry. "I know.That's why I came," Harry explained. "But what is she saying? What does it all mean? What is she afraid of?" "Nothing." Mrs. Biane faced Harry defiantly. "The fever's got her. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Biane killed one of her lambs the other night.She was comin' down with
the fever then, I guess, for it's laid on her mind ever since." Mrs. Biane was evidently agitated. Leaning over the bed, she smoothed
the tossed sheets and straightened the pillow. "You had better come
outside," she said to Harry. "Hearin' you talk upsets her. Anyhow, it
ain't safe. Like's not you might catch it." "It's not contagious. The danger is all to the one who has it. What
does the doctor say?" "The doctor?We ain't had him. We don't need him. What can he do?" "A great deal. He might tell you what Isita should have to eat. Perhaps
then you needn't kill her lambs." "Why not kill them?" The woman turned almost violently. "We ain't a
thing to eat else.You kin see the truck patch is dead dry. There ain't
no grain to feed the chickens, no hay for the stock. We might's well
quit this God-forsaken desert. A man can't make nothin' here; the frost
or the drought'll catch him every time. "In the hoarse, whispered outburst there was a strangled sob that sent
a thrill down Harry's spine.As she stared into those sunken eyes in
which shone suddenly the flame of unendurable miseries, she felt that
this strange woman needed pity more than blame. "Listen, Mrs. Biane," she said with gentle determination; "you must
have the doctor.I've already sent for him. It shan't cost you a cent. I had to do it for Isita. People sometimes die of spotted fever, and I
couldn't--I'm too fond of her--she's terribly sick. Just listen. "For the voice had suddenly risen to a cry: "Not that one, Joe! Not that
one! No--no!" "She hears you. She's frightened. You'd best go on." Mrs. Biane turned
hurriedly to the bed. "Wake up, Isita," she said and laid her hand on
her daughter's shoulder. "Oh, don't do that! You don't want her to die, do you?" Harry
exclaimed, hardly knowing what she said. "She might almost as well--better, too, I guess. "The words came in a despairing sob as Mrs. Biane threw her apron over
her face and sank on her knees beside the bed. "Don't cry!" Harry begged, with her own eyes full of tears. "Isita's
going to get well. Don't you worry. "The burden of her own inability to help lay sore on Harry's heart as
she rode home. Poverty and sickness and the shadow of famine beyond! She would save Isita, anyhow!Whatever happened, while she herself had
bread, the other girl should have half of it. To her relief the doctor's automobile passed just after she had turned
in at the home gate.Knowing that her friend was in his care she could
take up her housework and the chores with real interest. Not until the
cows began coming in to be milked did she remember the white-face steer. "What a stupid I am! "she said to herself with sinking heart. "How can
I tell Rob and what will he think--that I'm no good, I guess. I can't
leave the milking and go, and afterwards it'll be too late. I'll go the
first thing in the morning. "But she rode nearly all the next day without getting a glimpse of the
steers. Nor, when she stopped to inquire for Isita, could Mrs. Biane
give her any information about them. No strange animals had come in
with theirs at milking time.CHAPTER XIX
On Saturday Rob returned from haying. Because of the shortage of water
for irrigating, Robinson's hundred acres had cut very much less than
usual.Every one, Rob said, was complaining of the way in which the
stockmen from outside had "hogged" the grazing. "So far," Rob told Harry, "every one I've talked with is willing to
sign for the herd law.It's too late to do us any good this season, but
we'll have it ready by the time the beef barons start coming north next
spring. Biane is the only man down this way I haven't talked to.When
you go up there with these oranges, I wish you'd find out if he's going
to be home this evening and I'll go up then." Immediately after dinner Harry set out with the oranges.She walked,
because Rob's saddle horse had a sore foot and he wanted to use Hike. So far Harry had not missed a day in going to see Isita.The fever had
broken, leaving the girl weak and wasted, and now especially was the
time when she needed the nourishing and dainty food that Harry took to
her.The exhausting languor that follows the spotted fever made it a painful
effort for Isita to move. Yet at sight of Harry in the doorway with her
basket on her arm, the girl tried to raise herself on her elbow. "None of that, Miss," Harry warned her, pretending to look stern, "or
I'll go straight back home, and you'll never know whether I had soup or
a sermon in this basket." "It's all one to me," Isita answered, with a faint laugh. "I like
whatever you bring; just so's _you_ bring it." Harry's daily visits had been literally a life-giving happiness to the
poor child. Even Mrs. Biane's strange bitterness had softened before
Harry's irrepressibly sunny nature.To-day she came in from the kitchen
to set a chair beside the bed. "While you're here, Miss Holliday," she said, "if you don't mind taking
charge, I'll go up the road a piece after the hogs. Both the men are
away." "That's all right.I'll be here for a good hour. I've brought a book;
if Isita eats her orange nicely, without making a face, I'll read to
her." "Why you're so good to my girl, Miss Holliday, I can't see. You've no
reason to be."Mrs. Biane spoke abruptly, as if the words had kept back
more than they expressed. "I think I've the best reason in the world!" Harry exclaimed. "Isita
and I are what they call 'side pardners. 'And 'side pardners' always
stand by each other in trouble." Mrs. Biane opened her lips to speak, then closed them and went into the
kitchen, shutting the door.Harry pulled her chair close to the bed, took up an orange and spread
under Isita's chin the smooth white napkin she had brought. The other
girl said not a word, but drew Harry's warm brown hand into her two
thin ones and carried it to her lips. "Silly child!" Harry said, drawing her hand away, but her throat
tightened with emotion. She began in a most businesslike manner to prepare the orange.As she
sat there in the quiet, shaded room, something of the deep serenity of
the summer day filled her. It was the realization that the other girl
understood--was at last her friend.When Isita had finished the orange, Harry took the chair over to the
window, lifted one corner of the blanket that served as curtain and
began to read.She had brought _The Lady of the Lake_, feeling that its
simple language and its rhythmic flow would soothe Isita as much as
the magic of the tale would delight her. As she read, she knew without
really looking that Isita was watching her.By and by, at the end of
a long description, Harry glanced over and saw that the sick girl was
asleep. Harry drew a deep breath of relaxation. Her shoulders ached a little
from sitting so long.She stood up, thinking she would go outside and
walk about; but the loose boards in the floor creaked so loudly that,
fearing to wake Isita, she sat down again. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
It was so dark and still in
the room that presently she found herself nodding.She closed her eyes
and leaned her head against the wall, then sat up with a jerk. A man's
voice directly outside the window was speaking. "Don't you ranchers make any mistake about this.Once let a fellow
like him get control here, and you'll be ruined before you know it." It was Ludlum. She could not mistake that voice. Harry sat rigid,
wondering how to get out of the place.Before she could think what to
do, Ludlum went on: "Let Holliday put that herd law through, and you'll
have all the sheep in southern Idaho cleaning up the feed round you." "What's the reason they will? "It was Joe Biane who answered, ready as
usual to suspect every one and combat all statements. "What's the herd
law got to do with lettin' the sheep in? It's to keep critters out." "Cow critters," Ludlum corrected. "Once you get a herd law in here
it'll nullify the two-mile limit that keeps the sheep off now. Holliday
didn't tell you that, did he? He's spread the notion that us stockmen
are the ranchers' enemies, when the fact is, we're your best friends.You never see one that ain't ready to give you homesteaders a lift,
sell you cattle on time. Holliday's sister is buying her a herd on
time right now, though mebbe you wouldn't think it from the way she's
threatened to shoot up mine.I guess it was them two stampeded the
critters here a few nights ago. Nobody but a tenderfoot would 'a'
done it. Soon's they've been in this country a month they think it's
the proper thing to pull a gun on everything.Why, didn't she go to
shootin' at me with a rifle the other day because I'd clumb over their
fence to pick up a grouse I'd winged? No, I tell you, Holliday ain't
the kind you want to advise you. They ain't neither of 'em the kind
anybody wants round.Well, I'll be moving. Let me know any time you
want any help." "Wait, please!" At the sharp call both men started guiltily. The front door stood open,
and Harry was coming down the path straight toward them. "I heard you, Mr. Ludlum," she said. "Every word. Some of them weren't
true." At the ugly insinuation the stockman's bland face stiffened. "You heard
me, eh? Well, then, young lady, you heard what's good for you. A few
hard facts." "Facts! "Harry's eyes snapped scornfully, and she flung up her head. Joe Biane, who had been edging quietly out of notice, understood this
sign and halted, grinning expectantly. "I don't know what you call facts," Harry went on. "It certainly isn't
true that you came inside our fence 'merely to pick up a grouse,' as
you say. You and another man were shooting on my land, and even when
you heard me warn you, you kept on shooting. I had to fetch the rifle
to frighten you off. "As Ludlum pretended to laugh, she hurried on:
"And we didn't stampede your cattle. I wasn't at home when it happened,
and my brother was waked up in the middle of the night by hearing our
own stock bellowing and running wild.When he had rounded them up next
day four of our best steers were gone; it would be hard to prove it,
but I think they've been stolen." "Stolen. That's bad, too." Ludlum was apparently at his ease once more,
amused and tolerant. "Stealing branded cattle in this country is a kind
of risky business. Ain't you putting it pretty strong? ""Not so strong as I'd like to put it, when I've been told by a buckaroo
right in these hills that if I dogged a certain stockman's scrubs off
our range I was liable to have all my own cattle disappear; without one
chance in a hundred of knowing who'd run them off, too.""Well. You heard that, did you?" Ludlum spoke in a tone of soft
surprise, but his eyes gleamed cruelly. "It's going to be pretty hard
for you to make anything on your cattle this year, then, ain't it?Can't even make a payment on your mortgage, mebbe." "You needn't worry about my not paying you, Mr. Ludlum. If we can't do
anything else we can bring the stock inside the fence until yours and
these other outsiders' cattle have been rounded up.I'll have enough
to sell this fall to pay off something by December. There won't be any
danger of losing them next year, when the herd law goes through. "You tell Joe, here, that you're our best friend, yet you try to set
him against us.You tell him the herd law will put an end to the
two-mile limit, which isn't so. That's not the kind of friend we're
used to, Mr. Ludlum. And if we're not the kind of people you want
round here, if you don't like us, why do you come up here?We've got
along all right without you." The moment she said that, she knew that she had made a mistake. Ludlum's eyes narrowed. "Oh," he said slowly, "so you got along all
right, did you? Ain't it kind of sudden that you've found that out?Seemed to me you were pretty well pleased to have the old man put up
cattle for you on time." "It was your suggestion that I should buy of you. You weren't doing it
because you were a friend. You said it was good business. ""That's right, little lady," Ludlum laughed, "you've hit it. Business
it was and business it's to stay. Eh? It'll take more'n losing a bunch
of stock to make you knock under, won't it? Well, here's luck to you. "And with a malignant chuckle he kicked spurs into his horse and went
up the road at a gallop. As Harry, with throbbing pulse and clenched
hands, stared after him she became suddenly aware that Joe Biane was
watching her with covert intentness. "Whatever you do, Joe," she said abruptly, "don't go to outsiders to
help you get a start. You see what you're likely to run against." "Aw! What difference does that make?" Joe mumbled, walking away. "Beat
'em at their own game, I say. "Harry scarcely heard him. She did not know, really, what she had said
herself. Her thoughts came rushing down like a river that leaps a
precipice and turns to helpless spray.She had spoken as she did to
Ludlum on impulse; she had said too much and angered him. As she went into the house to get her things, Mrs. Biane softly opened
the kitchen door.Harry nodded, put her finger on her lips to indicate
that Isita still slept, and then quietly went out. The walk home
quieted her, and by the time Rob had come in to supper she was able to
relate the affair calmly. Her brother laughed a little. "You shouldn't let that sort of talk
disturb you. We know Ludlum is out for himself, same as we are, though
our methods are a little different. But I don't believe he can break up
the herd law.The other ranchers round here know him a lot better than
we do, and his bluff about the sheep isn't going to scare them. "Just to make sure that Ludlum had not turned any of the farmers against
the herd law, Rob took time to ride out and talk with them--especially
with those who, too busy or too indifferent to go into the matter
thoroughly, had not given it very enthusiastic support.It was a
discouraging ride; though most of the ranchers were still with Rob,
Ludlum had won over enough men to defeat the chance of sending the
petition through. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Every day was crowded with work.The herd law would not take effect until the following spring, and
the cattle at present in the hills would remain there until the fall
round-up.Until then one or the other of the young people must always
ride the fence to look for breaks, to push the range cattle back and to
keep their own animals near home in an effort to stop the losses that
continued with baffling persistence.With the patience of an old hand Harry performed that part of the work.Early and late she rode to all the water holes not already gone dry, to
all the favorite midday haunts of the herds, constantly hoping to find
one or all of the six creatures that had disappeared.She found none of
them; and, while she searched, two more steers, a yearling, and a cow
and a calf vanished one by one.Ludlum's "cow-punchers," with growing insolence, came repeatedly inside
the fence to look through the milk cows and calves on pasture; and they
never lost a chance to make threatening remarks to Harry about rustlers
and what they were doing.Harry never repeated their remarks to Rob,
for she was anxious to shield him from any additional annoyance. Slowly she had waked up to the fact that behind her brother's
undemonstrative calm there was deep anxiety and worry.Never given to
talking much, he now scarcely spoke a word.His appetite vanished; when
Harry begged him to eat, he said that he had a headache or that he had
not slept very well the night before, which soon began to mean that he
was not sleeping well any of the time. "Poor Bobby is killing himself over the business, and there isn't a
thing I can do to help him," she said to herself. "I can't even sell
out until this fall, and by that time----"
But she could not say what she thought might happen by that time.The
last cutting of hay would soon be made now, and Rob must surely be able
to get some then. By the middle of August the range was stripped of feed.The foothills,
browsed over by thousands of sheep and cattle, burned by the dry winds
and endless days of bright sunshine, stretched their dreary length of
black lava and yellow sandstone buttes, gray sagebrush and trodden
dust.Water holes and springs finally succumbed to the long drought,
and from all sides the herds came down round the ranches. Trailing
along the fences, they disturbed the silent nights with their uneasy
bellowings.About the first of September Rob and Harry brought all their cattle
inside, in relays. Their wheat was not going to pay for harvesting it,
and it was better to feed it now as pasture and save the alfalfa.They
had, intended, of course, to ship their best steers to the stockyards,
but the lack of feed had flooded the markets both East and West with
half-starved and young creatures; and even fat beef was bringing a
ruinously low price. "Better to hold on as long as we can," Rob decided; "the price should
go up as soon as this low grade is cleaned out." "I should think that with so many hundreds being shipped there would be
plenty of hay for all that are left," Harry suggested. "I haven't found a man who's got more than enough for his own stock--if
he has that. Even grain hay is being held for winter feed." Harry had no answer. Slowly, distinctly, before her unwilling mind
rose the vision of the famine winter.Against her wish she recalled
the stories to which in the unmeaning time of plenty she and Rob had
listened, shudderingly thankful that they had been spared such distress
and anguish of mind.Early in November she had asked Rob a question that she had been
pondering.They had finally sold sixteen steers at the ruinous price
of thirty dollars a head, and with hay at fifteen dollars it was clear
they would not have enough money to pull through.Yet while they were
suffering this famine here, down on the South Side a great harvest was
being gathered. Why was there no way of getting part of that feed on
the prairie? "What's the reason they can't ship baled hay in here?" she
said. "Baled hay?Forty miles by wagon? It couldn't be done. No, the ranchers
on this side of the hills have to take their chances, and they know it. If they haven't enough hay, they'll sell half their stock and put the
rest on short rations and pull through somehow. ""Why couldn't they drive their cattle down there? Other men bring their
stock up here in summer and go back to the South Side for the winter." "Sure. That's where they live.These fellows here would have to take
all their belongings--a raft of children, chickens, pigs--why, they'd
rather let their cattle starve." "Well, we haven't a raft of children to hold us here.If you can't find
hay on the prairie, we'll go down on the South Side and buy hay and
feed the stock there." "Don't you know that we'd have to have a house to live in and a well? The stock's got to be watered, and the ditches don't run all winter.You seem to think we can move round anywhere we take a fancy. In the
West there aren't any obligingly abandoned farms waiting at the end of
shady lanes, with pasture attached.Every house and shed and shack in
this country was built for some special bunch of folks, and every acre
of pasture is carrying just so much stock, and the rest is desert." "But you'll go down there and try to find something, won't you?" Harry
urged. "Some one is going to get the last hay for sale there, and you
may be that one. I'll see to things here." "Well, seeing as I haven't got any advice of my own to follow, I may as
well take yours. "When he set out, two days later, Harry walked down to the big gate with
him. "Now don't hurry back," was her warning as he left her. "You must find
hay. It means the beginning of our everlasting fortune if we bring the
herd through this winter.And if," she added to herself as he rounded
the butte, "if we can't get hay--what then?" At the end of a week she received a post card from Rob. "No luck yet. Plenty of feed, but mostly contracted for in big
lots; small stacks not for sale.Am going farther on next week, so
don't expect me until you see me. "As Harry read this she felt a pang of terror such as she had felt
when, as a child playing "I spy" and wildly seeking a hiding place at
the last minute, she had heard the warning shout, "Ready or not you
shall be caught. "Were they going to be caught now? Not only must they
get hay, but they must get it before the first big snowstorm should
imprison the herd in the hills.Would Rob, down in the Snake River
country where the weather was still warm, remember that up in the hills
winter was very near? | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
To Harry, waiting, watching, the suspense became almost unendurable.As
November glided away with its pale, clear skies and its short, windless
days, the desert grew lonelier, vaster.The forsaken fields, the sear
hillsides on which not one of the animals that had fed there was left,
even the empty skies where only a single hawk floated--all were dumb
witnesses that the harvest was ended.If Harry had been idle, the suspense would have been worse; but there
was plenty for her to do, whether they stayed where they were for the
winter or departed.The root vegetables must be dug and stored, the
weeds burned, the dry wood hauled down from the grove and stacked, the
asparagus bed mulched and the young trees tied in tar paper to keep
off rabbits.When she had done all that and had cleaned the house,
Harry felt that she could afford to take an afternoon off and go to see
Isita.Though the girl had been out of her sick bed for more than three
months, she was not yet strong, and for that reason Harry was doubly
set on getting her away to school. She found Isita sitting on an old box in the sunshine, picking wool
for a quilt.She was working slowly, steadily, but all too evidently
without interest. At sight of Harry her face lighted with pleasure. "I was so afraid you'd gone for the winter!" she exclaimed. "It's such
a long time since you've been up. ""As if I'd go without saying good-by! I don't want to go at all until
you're settled down on the flat, going to school. Has your mother
persuaded your father?" Isita's head drooped. "I don't believe he's going to let me go. He
wants me to work. "She half glanced up and smiled rather wanly. "I
can't explain. You wouldn't understand." "No, I don't understand," Harry answered. "I'd like to ask, too. Is
your father here? "The words were still on her lips when Biane turned the corner of the
house at a leisurely walk. "Good afternoon, miss!" he said. "You wish to speak to me?" "If you please, Mr. Biane.Isita seems to think that you can't spare
her to go to school this winter. I wondered if you realized how much
she wanted to go; how much she needed the rest from farm drudgery after
being so sick." "Oh, she's well now, I think. So, 'Sita? "He moved his eyes to Isita
and smiled the smile of a drowsy tiger. Involuntarily his daughter
straightened, and a spot of color deepened in her cheeks. "Even if she is well enough to be doing chores," Harry pursued,
determined to finish her argument, "she will never be fit for anything
better if she doesn't go to school. She could make so much of herself
if she were trained." "Trained? "The Portuguese smiled slowly, with his head on one side. "I
train my girl, Miss Holliday; she need no more of that." Harry shivered. "I'm afraid we don't mean the same sort of training,"
she said coldly. Biane gave a profound nod. "I raise my family to make a living. I
train them to mind. You onderstand? Books! Chatter! Seenging! Puah! 'Sita likes work. Better than books. Sure!" His glance leaped to his
daughter. "Why you not tell miss how much you like to work, eh? "he
inquired in a purring tone. Isita watched him with fascinated eyes. She was white as tallow. Nevertheless, she smiled, and her dry lips shaped the words: "Yes. I
like to work. Truly." Biane turned back to Harry. "You see?I t'ank you all same for your
politeness." Harry went home heavy-hearted. She was bitterly disappointed in herself
that she had failed so miserably in helping her little friend. Her pony
fell into a walk. She did not notice it. 'Thello, exploring on either
side of the road, veered off into the scab land after a squirrel, and
Harry did not miss him. Only at the sound of his excited yelping did
she wake and look about her. "'Thello!" she called. "Here, boy! "But the clamor only grew more violent, and, after waiting for several
moments, Harry turned back to the place where the dog was digging
furiously at the bottom of the dry pot hole.Harry's indifference
warmed to curiosity as she saw the dog tearing away at something hidden
under the crust of the soil that had been mud--something that was
weighted down with stones.Curiosity became suddenly amazed conviction
that she was at last to know what had become of some, at least, of
their lost steers. For there at her feet, plainly visible under the
dried clay and stone, lay many hides of cattle.Some were shriveled
and rotted beyond identification; some looked fresh. One, with curly
white hair still clinging to the skull, Harry could have sworn was the
hide of poor Curly Face.She was down on her knees by now, working away with 'Thello in a flame
of determination to make sure of her suspicions, when a voice behind
her demanded:
"What you think you're doin'?" "Finding my lost steers!" she answered triumphantly. "And next I'll
find who stole them." "Oh, you will!" Joe sneered. "How you know they're yours?" "There are two red polls, out of Rob's bunch. There's the black
shorthorn. Oh, I know well enough! And some one killed 'em, skinned
'em, hid the hides.I'll find who did it, too." She laughed rather
wildly. It was such a mean, cruel thing for any one to do! "Three hundred dollars worth of stock we've lost this year!" she cried. "Just wait until Rob hears where I found them!Then we'll see something
doing." Without another glance at the boy who stood watching her in silence,
she swung up into the saddle and raced for home. She must write at once
to Rob of her discovery.As she set down on paper the details of her find, her indignation
flamed anew.The person who had stolen those animals had perhaps
ruined them; for the loss of a dozen creatures might mean just the
difference between having enough to pay the money due Ludlum on the 1st
of December and not having it.And if she could not make the payment
Ludlum would certainly refuse to renew the loan. But she would not
think of it. She would find some way to pay him. When she had finished the letter she threw on her hat and sweater and
went out to do the chores.With 'Thello at her heels she raced across
the garden to the stock yard. The cattle stood close to the fence,
basking in the faint sunshine, waiting their ration of hay. Harry had
left the hayrack full, ready for the evening feeding.Now she harnessed
the team to it, drove the load on the feeding ground and forked off the
hay as she moved slowly forward. At sight of her the cattle had begun to low, and now they followed the
wagon, stopping one after another to feed.Harry knew each one of them:
the quiet cows, the solid-built steers, the fat calves and yearlings
in their furry winter suits. How big and strong they looked; how
well-cared-for--even the scrubs that at first had looked so hopelessly
poor!And she might have to sell them all to save her land! Fiercely
she jabbed the fork into the flakes of solidly packed hay. When she had scattered the hay, she fed the chickens and milked.As she
was beginning on the last cow, 'Thello, on guard at the corral gate,
sprang up with a threatening growl. "Who's that?" | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Harry said to him. "If it's a cow-puncher, tear him limb
from limb." "Who you hatin' so hard? "inquired a mild voice and Garnett made a
long-legged step over the board fence of the barn yard. "Rob ain't to
home?" "No. He's down on the South Side trying to find hay. I'm surprised you
haven't seen him.What are you doing up here at this time of year,
anyhow? Your renters have quit, haven't they? I thought you were on
your ranch over there for the winter." "Had to go to Soldier to witness against a rustler." "Didn't happen to be Ludlum, did it? "Harry asked sardonically. Garnett grinned, and Harry said quickly, "I guess if you had lost a
dozen critters and suddenly had found evidence of their having been
killed right near home, you'd hate all cattle men and cow punchers,
too. "As they walked to the house together she told Garnett of the increasing
trouble they had had with Ludlum's men toward the end of the season,
and of her finding the hides. "You see," she concluded, "it's perfectly plain that Ludlum planned at
the start to work things so I'd have to let my land go. That's what he
was after. But if he thinks killing my cattle is going to put me out of
the game, he'll be disappointed. ""Say, now," Garnett put in, "I wouldn't pull my gun on Ludlum yet
awhile. Don't look to me like a stockman would bother himself with
such a job. He'd run off a hundred head mebbe into the mountains, but
not this.I reckon I'd better ride over there and take a look at those
hides. I could mebbe get a line on something." While Garnett was gone, Harry started the supper fire and set the
table; then in a clean blue apron, she waited expectantly for his
report. "I'd never say Ludlum done that job," he announced decisively the
moment he returned. "I'd swear to his brand on one hide there at any
rate, and mebbe more.There's a good twenty-five skins in the bunch,
and you didn't lose more'n a dozen critters all told, did you?" "Just a dozen," she answered, "one of them only lately. It's hide
wasn't there." "And Ludlum's been gone out of here six weeks? ""Two months. But if he didn't do it, who did? Who?" "That's your next job, I reckon, finding out. If one of your critters
has turned up missin' this last month, then I'd sure count Ludlum out
and smell a fresh trail for the thief.I'd quit frettin' myself right
now, anyhow. Rob'll be along soon and mebbe he can fit this puzzle game
together. "His kind heart was distressed at the thought of leaving the girl alone
with her gloomy thoughts, but he knew that she would scorn the idea
of his staying.Being left alone was one of the things that the women
of the cattle country took for granted, and Harry, he knew, was not a
"quitter. "But when he was leaving he held her hand in his hard grasp a second or
two longer than usual, and his blue eyes tried to say more than his
tongue ever had. Perhaps Harry understood their meaning, for she tilted
her head and smiled. "Run on, now," she said. "The moon sets early, and you'll be late
getting home. If you see Bobby down yonder, tell him to find a buyer
for my herd instead of hay for them. Tell him, in fact, that he must
sell them.I have worked it out, and I know we haven't money enough to
make our payment in December. Now, don't forget." "You bet! I'll see that they're sold if I have to peddle 'em back to
Ludlum himself," promised Garnett as he went off into the twilight.As
Harry watched the dusk close round him she felt, for the first time in
all her happy, courageous young life, absolutely alone.CHAPTER XXI
During the following days Harry, with her mind on the mystery of her
slaughtered animals, spent all her spare time looking for the recently
lost scrub and keeping an eye open for suspicious-looking or stranger
cowboys.She was putting up her pony one evening after a fruitless
search when footsteps approaching through the twilight made her turn
sharply, with every sense on guard. As she did so Joe Biane emerged
from the shadows. "Why, Joe!" she exclaimed. "How you startled me! What do you want?" Joe laughed awkwardly. "Is Rob to home?" "No. Did you want anything special?" "Only to ask him could we borrow the team to-morrow to pack our traps
to Shoshone. We're pullin' out." "Pulling out!For the winter, you mean?" "No. Quittin'. For good." "Why, Joe! What on earth for? Why didn't Isita tell me before? What
will you do with your stock? And your hay? Where are you going?" "Aw, anywheres, I guess, to get out of this country.Ain't we starved
all summer? And now they tell us we're in for a hard winter. Besides,
dad mortgaged everything last year, and now it's been took: the team,
wagon, stock everything. Dad's going back East, for all I know." "Back East!And Isita never said a word of it!" "She didn't know nothin' about it until yesterday." "Oh! Well, I'll lend you the team of course. That is, I'll drive you
in. What time did you want to start? ""In the mornin', if it's all the same to you--so's we'll sure catch
that night train." "I see. I'll be over early." "You needn't go," Joe insisted awkwardly. "I can fetch the team back
next day. I ain't goin' out with the folks. ""I'd rather drive myself. It will give me a chance to visit with Isita." For several minutes she stared after Joe when he had melted into the
shadows. Was it really fear of the coming winter that was driving the
Bianes away?Slowly she glanced round her. There in the cañon the
darkness was deep as a sea, with only here and there, like a pale face,
a gleam of rocky butte facing the west. Not a cricket chirped, not a
breeze whispered.In profound silence the earth waited; for what? Without warning, overwhelmingly, like a great sea risen swiftly in the
night, homesickness drowned her. How safe it was back there in that New
England village! Suddenly she shook herself. "I'm as bad as the Bianes," she said to
herself, with a shaky laugh, "letting myself get scared by what people
say. My job's here, snow or no snow. "But the cruelty of having Isita snatched away from her was not so
easily ignored; the happy friendship that she had so patiently worked
and waited for, torn up like a flower at the very moment of its
blossoming!But Harry was not the sort who, in the clutch of trouble, weeps or
sulks or melts into flabby inertness. She finished her tasks for the
night, rose an hour earlier than usual the next morning and went
briskly about her work.After milking, she turned the calves into the
pasture with the cows so that she need not milk that night, left a load
of hay on the wagon in the corral so that the stock could feed out of
the rack, and scattered plenty of wheat for the chickens.Her lips were
set; there was a steady gaze in her eyes that meant unshaken purpose. Some time, somehow, she would have Isita back for "keeps. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
"With characteristic kindness she filled a basket with the best she had
for the travelers' luncheon--a loaf of bread, some butter, a jar of
jam, a cake, some home-made cheese--anything that might make the long
journey easier for the two women.If Isita were going back East she would need some clothes. In Harry's
trunk there lay some that she had not worn since she had come to
Idaho--clothes for all seasons and occasions, useless to her, yet too
good to throw away.Harry selected some that she thought suitable and
wrapped them in a bundle. "Why couldn't I have kept her here?" she said to herself almost
fiercely. "I'd have clothed and fed her as long as she needed. We'd
have been so happy.At least," she consoled herself, "if they're really
going East, Isita will have to go to school. She can tell me everything
on our drive to Shoshone." But Biane had other ideas. "They can tell you not'ing.They know
not'ing," he interrupted blandly the moment Harry began to ask
questions. "I myself decide to quit her-re. Where do we go?" He raised
his eyebrows, smiling fatuously. "Aha! Perhaps even to Sout' Amer-rica. A fine cattle country that.Mebbe you hear from us one day. Eh?" He
raised a shoulder, turned to walk away, then glanced back with a wise
smile that made poor Harry wish she were a man and could say what she
thought.It took only a short time to stow the few boxes and bundles in the
wagon. When all was ready, Harry hastened to help Isita into the front
seat beside her, before any other arrangement could be suggested.She
was determined to have some sort of talk with her friend before they
were separated. But she was soon made to realize that Biane controlled
his family absolutely.At every attempt she made to talk confidently
with Isita, Biane leaned across the back of the seat and broke into
their talk with other subjects until she gave up in despair.The conviction that this abrupt departure was caused by other reasons
than those that Joe and his father had offered, grew steadily in her,
and the uneasy suspense that she noticed in the whole Biane family
strengthened her belief.By the time they reached Shoshone she was so
tired, so nervously on edge, that she drove at once to Kinney's Hotel,
got out there, and left Biane to take his family on to the station. "When you've finished with the team," she said to him, "bring them back
here to the livery stable. I'll leave orders for feeding them. What
time does your train leave?" "Our train?" he repeated, darting a suspicious glance at her. "Yes.I want to come down and say good-by to Isita." "Sur-rely. I was forgetting. We go at ten o'clock." And with his cold
smile that showed his teeth and half closed his yellow eyes, the
Portuguese drove off.Isita turned to give Harry one entreating look
before the dusk hid her. "If I'd had the least chance to talk to her," Harry said to herself,
with a sigh, "we could have fixed up a plan of escape.She could have
slipped off the train at the next station, or something. I could see
that her mother was nearly scared to death, or she'd have explained
this journey to me." Well, it was too late now to think of what might have been done.Harry
could only have faith in Isita's courage and ambition to free herself
from this hateful bondage. In the hotel office she stopped to chat with the clerk, who was an
old-time friend of hers and Rob's. "I'm going up to my room to rest
now," she said, "but I want to be called in plenty of time to meet
that ten-o'clock train going East." She was so tired that the moment her head touched the pillow she was
off to sleep.When some time later there came a pounding on the door,
she stumbled up, forgetting where she was. "It's a girl to see you, Miss Holliday!" the clerk called. "Says its
awful pertickler and to come a-hurryin'!" "Coming, coming! "Harry cried, as she hunted for her shoes under the
edge of the bed. "Isita, of course," she told herself. "What can have
happened? Has she actually escaped?" Her heart was thumping with
suspense and hope as she snatched hat and coat and ran out.Isita was
waiting at the foot of the stairs. Harry saw that Isita's black eyes were actually glassy with fear, and
that beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. "Isita, dear!" she exclaimed. "What is it? Come upstairs and----"
"No! no! Not a moment!Come!" the girl cried in a rasping voice and,
catching Harry's arm, pulled her toward the door. "Come. I'll tell you." Too much astonished to dispute or question, Harry followed her to the
street.No one in the office had seen them, and the street was empty. After a frightened glance up and down, Isita looked at Harry and opened
her lips to speak. But twice she made an effort before a sound came.At
last, hoarsely, came the words, "They're going to steal your team!" "Steal my team!" Harry almost smiled with relief and stopped short, but
Isita clasped her hands imploringly. "Don't wait," she entreated; "there's not a moment to lose!I ran the
second they left me and mother, but they'll be back soon." "But wait. The horses are here. In Kinney's barn," Harry protested. "No, they're not. Oh, you don't understand! Please trust me; I'll
explain. "Her words came quick and broken, and Harry realized that the girl must
have run a great way. No longer questioning or waiting, Harry followed
her obediently.Turning down a side street, they came after a while
to a place where the pavement ended and an old road curved off. A
little beyond this stood a group of old buildings, stone and brick, the
deserted roundhouse and shops of a past era.Into one of these Isita
led the way, and Harry heard from the darkness the familiar nicker of
Rock and Rye. "All right, boys," she began reassuringly, when a voice said:
"Please be quiet. You might be overheard." Mrs. Biane stood beside her. "No, don't ask me! I can't say a word!" she exclaimed in a low voice of
distress. "'Sita here'll tell you the hull of it by and by. Only hurry
and git off, you two. I want you should take my gurl with you, Miss
Holliday.I'll be more grateful to you than I can tell. She can come
back to me some day when it's safer, happier. There, deary, I know,"
she said soothingly as the young girl threw herself, weeping, upon her
mother's breast.For a minute Mrs. Biane held Isita to her; then, with a last kiss, she
unlocked her child's arms and put her gently aside. "I know she's safe with you, Miss Holliday," she said as she tucked
Isita into the wagon beside Harry. "You're a good girl and you've been
a real friend to her--to me; and you can help her to grow up good. There, go! Don't drive past the station. He's liable to be round there. And hurry! "She led the way to the road, stared toward the town, listening for a
moment, and then walked swiftly away without a backward glance. New and rude emotions surged through Harry as whipping up the horses,
she drove quickly out from the town.Sympathy for Isita, sympathy for
that stricken mother, and humbly grateful joy for herself mingled in
almost painful force. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
It relieved her to put her arm round Isita and
draw the frail body close against her own. "After all, they couldn't separate us, could they?" she said. "Looks not." Isita tried to answer cheerfully, but her voice broke into
a sob. "It's so hard to give up mother. She could have stayed. It was
them two men made a mess of things. ""But why did they have to rush off so suddenly?" Harry asked. "Haven't
they been doing pretty much the same, year after year?" "Oh, sure, ever since I can remember; but they never got caught before." "Caught? They seemed to be going off quite freely. ""They wouldn't of been free long. Not--not now since you--you found
your hides." "My hides!" Harry repeated slowly. "You think--they knew--who----"
"You needn't mind saying it." Isita gave a hard, hurt laugh. "Not if
they didn't mind doing it.Oh, how often I've prayed you'd come on them
driving one of your steers down home or burying a hide in the pothole!" "But why did they skin them?" Harry asked. "I thought rustlers stole
live stock and drove them out of the country. ""They wasn't brave enough, even for that! It was much easier to butcher
and haul them out at night to Shoshone. Nobody could trace it that
way, without any hide or brand.That's why they didn't want the herd
law; with all them cattle grazing in the hills, yours and Ludlum's and
stray brands out of other herds, they could pick up one most every
day; work a little bunch down our way and, when night come, shoot one.That's what Joe was doing when he was on your land. He seen you wasn't
suspicious; your critters were the best of all, big and fat. That's why
he killed your cows, too; so's he could steal their calves. Oh, they
knew how to do it, all right!It was a regular business." She stopped abruptly; the hard note in her young voice was like an echo
of those cruel days. Harry was silent.How simple it all was now; Joe's
mysterious cut; Mrs. Biane's suspicion of strangers or even of friends;
Joe's poaching; Isita's terror, and the never-explained stampeding of
the herds that night.With a new, less bitter, accent in her voice, the younger girl went on:
"Before, it hadn't seemed so bad to me. But after I knew you, when you
were so generous, so kind, things were different. Oh, I wanted to be
friends! You never guessed.But, of course, they wouldn't let me. I had
to be round home to keep watch. You know. And then they knew I'd have
warned you, put you on your guard. You know I would of, don't you? ""Dear Isita," Harry said, much moved, "of course I know you would
have." The realization of what this mere child had suffered made her
own loss insignificant. "There's one thing I should like to know,
though," she said. "Your father must have made money selling beef to
the butcher. Why were you always so poor? You had scarcely enough to
eat." "He gambled it all away as fast as he made it. Mother and I never saw a
penny." "I understand.Well, don't let's think of it any more!" Harry
exclaimed. "All that is past and gone. I've lost a few cattle, but I've
gained a real friend. I'm satisfied, and I think we're going to have
no end of good times together. "Her ringing voice, her beaming face,
would have reassured the most troubled heart, and in fact, for the
first time in many days Isita smiled happily. There was only one shadow to mar Harry's satisfaction.This was the
knowledge that in taking Isita home she was adding another burden of
expense to Rob's already heavy load.Of course, if he succeeded in
finding a buyer for her herd there would not be the debt to Ludlum
to reckon with, and if they did go down to the South Side she could
probably find work in the large towns there.When, after resting for the night at a ranch house, they started on
again the next morning, her mind was busy with plans. Even if her herd
were sold, they would need more money for part payment on hay to feed
Rob's stock.And if she did go to work for wages, it would not be hard
to place Isita with some good family who would give her her board in
exchange for help with the housework while she went to school.Yes, it
seemed that all would arrange itself; that is, if only Rob had managed
to sell her herd and to find hay for his own. "If only! if only! "The monotonous _clip-clop!_ of the horses feet
repeated those significant little words--significant because upon them
hinged all that had gone before. If only she had been satisfied with
thirty head!If she had not been in such a hurry to own a big herd! If
only she had not lost her temper and in doing so shot one of Ludlum's
cows! If only she had herded her own cattle more understandingly!As
she looked back over the year she saw that from the very start she had
done things that meant spending money, had got herself and her brother
into predicaments, while Rob had plodded behind straightening out the
difficulties, and finding the money to pay for her mistakes.And now here she was bringing home Isita! Not that she could have
refused the responsibility. Rob would not have wanted her to do that. Only somehow, Isita seemed to be the last straw that she was adding to
his load.A sudden vision rose up before her of Rob traveling endless
miles up and down the South Side hunting for hay, hunting for a buyer
of her herd.CHAPTER XXII
Sunset comes early in the foothills in November, and it was dark by the
time the girls reached home. As Harry was opening the big gate at the
foot of the lane, Isita exclaimed:
"There's a light at the house!" "O goody!Then Rob is here." Harry sent a halloo to give word of her
arrival. "You go right inside, Isita," she said when they reached the
garden gate, "and I'll take the team to the barn." As she passed the back yard she saw a figure moving there in the dark. "So you got here first?" she called gayly. "Time some one was gettin' here," Garnett's voice answered unexpectedly
from the hay that he was forking out to the impatient herd. "Yes. I thought I left you in charge. "Rob had come up and was speaking
with assumed sternness. "I'd pretty near decided you'd left the country
with the Bianes." "How on earth did you know they'd gone?" "As we were coming in we met the sheriff going out.He'd been over
there with half a dozen warrants for the old man and Joe. Seems they've
been stealing sheep and cattle for a good while. That's where our
stock went, of course. Garnett told me about finding the hides. Fine
neighbors, weren't they?Well, I'm glad we're rid of them." "Rob," Harry began and stopped. It was hard to tell him. "Rob, they
didn't all go. Isita is here." "Isita here! Well, of all things! Where is she?" "Up at the house. I wanted to explain to you before you saw her.She's
here to stay, you see. I ought not to have kept her without asking you,
but there was no time. And it seemed so dreadful to leave her with that
father. I know I'm adding another burden to you, but----"
"Yes, it's terrible.I know she'll ruin us; big strapping creature like
that. She'll eat as much as two cow-punchers. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
I'll harness right up
again and ship her on the next train. "Harry was relieved that he took it so lightly, but she was still more
relieved by the new life in his voice. "Bobby! What is it? You've had good luck?" she said as they started
toward the barn. "You sold my herd. "She felt an immense relief and at
the same time her heart sank at having to let them go. "Who took them? Did you get enough to pay Ludlum?" "A thousand." Bob ignored the first question. "A thousand! But we'll need more than that." "Of course, I know.But haven't I been making wages haying and
harvesting, besides what I had in the bank?" "But you'll need that and more, too, for hay. Did you get hay?" "A hundred tons of the finest, and we're going there to feed." "O Bobby!" she could not go on.She leaned against the end of the stall
and stared after him as he poured oats into the mangers for the horses. No matter what went wrong, he always found a way out and pulled her
out, too. "If it weren't for you," she began. "Of course, I know.It's an endless tug of war between us to see which
one can get along without the other." "Say!" cried Garnett, coming across the stable yard toward them. "Can't
you folks sandwich those argyments in between the supper food?Little
lady up at the house says she has boiled water enough to scald a hog
and yet supper ain't real ready neither. Says she's waitin' on the boss
for orders." "Never mind.When I went off yesterday I left things so that five
minutes with a frying pan would finish them." It was a very little more than that before the food was sizzling.The
two girls were busy setting the table, when heavy steps thumped across
the porch, and some one knocked sharply. "Come in!" Rob called and moved toward the door, while the three others
watched.Every one gave a start of surprise as it was shoved open from
without and Ludlum faced them.Red-faced and scowling with fatigue and annoyance, with his eyes
gleaming maliciously upon the cheery scene before him, he stood
against the blackness of the night like a messenger of evil. "Come in, won't you?" Harry said politely. "Sit down. "With a mutter
the stockman dropped heavily into the nearest chair, took off his hat
and mopped his face. "Dusty riding round here now," said Rob. "Yep. We need rain." "I hope it holds off until we've pulled out of here." "What's that?You're not wintering here? Haven't sold out, have you?" Chagrin was in Ludlum's face and voice as he glanced from Rob to Harry. "Oh, no," Rob replied, with a smile. "We couldn't get hay enough up
here to carry us through, that's all. ""It'll be different next year," Harry said with a note of triumph in
her tone. "Different, eh?" Ludlum sneered. "Because you've got the herd law
through, you think you're fixed.I daresay that's the argyment you used
to push the thing; told the rest of these rim-rock squatters that,
if it wasn't for that confounded 'millionaire cattle trust' that was
stealin' the grazing, you'd all get to be millionaires yourselves in no
time. ""We told 'em it was the only thing to do to keep from being busted up
and driven out entirely by fellows like you and Joyce," said Rob. "And you think that because you ain't gettin' all you want it gives you
the right to drive us out; hog all the free range yourselves. You're
kinda mean, too, ain't you? ""If you hadn't been so grasping in the first place," said Harry, "we
shouldn't have had to fight you. We've taken only what we deserve to
have." "And I suppose you think you're going to keep it!" Ludlum sneered. "Why, my little lady, do you think your herd law is going to keep us
stockmen, with thousands of critters to feed, out of these hills? Not
much.We've grazed here long before you ever come in, and we'll be
grazing long after you've dropped back where you come from. You think
you can keep tabs on the stock that comes in here! Why, you couldn't
begin to.How'll you know whether there's herders with 'em or not? ""We'll know whether your cattle bother us," Rob warned him; "and if
they do break in and spoil our crops, it's you that pay the damages
now, not us fellows who have to pay you for your bloated critters.You
don't get hurt, you know, unless you break the law. You big fellows are
trying to push us off the earth. Maybe this'll show you that you don't
own it all yet. ""And I guess," said Ludlum, "the only way to teach you smart Alecks
that you can't run everything is to clean you out of this country right
now." "Yes?" "Yes! "Ludlum shouted, pounding the table with a knotted fist "And
according to that idea I've decided not to extend your time on them
cattle. You've showed you're a tender-foot at the business, you and the
girl there losin' stock right along.You're a joke, and there ain't
room for jokes in the beef business. So you just take your little
bunch of stuff and run on. The time on your mortgage expires next
Monday, December first, and it'll be foreclosed to the minute. See? "He
grinned with savage satisfaction. "Foreclosed?" Rob said calmly. "Of course you mean unless we can pay
back your loan. ""Oh, certainly," Ludlum replied with savage irony, "if you can pay me
that thousand----"
"One thousand one hundred and fifty-five dollars," Rob said. "I
intended to send you a check for the amount as soon as we got to town,
but I can give it to you right now. Saves me a stamp, too. "Without glancing at Ludlum, who, smothering in his astonishment and
fury, stared motionless, Rob pulled his check book from his hip pocket
and wrote the check. He laid it on the table before the stockman. "Now if you will write a receipt, which Mr. Garnett will witness,
everything will be straight between us. You can send me a discharge of
the mortgage when you get back to town. "Ludlum bent over the check,
looked at it hard and muttered under his breath. When Harry silently
handed him the pen he took it with a scowl and wrote a receipt.Then he
pocketed the check, picked up his hat, glared venomously at the four
who were watching him and without another word flung himself through
the doorway and slammed the door after him. "It's mighty good to know, just the same, that _you_ can't make us
suffer any longer," Rob said, with a deep bow toward the door. "I kind of thought a while back there he wasn't going to trouble nobody
any more," Garnett said, with a sigh, of relief; "he acted like he'd
swallered the torpedo he meant for us, and it wasn't agreein' so well. ""Our supper won't agree with us, either, if it sits on the stove any
longer," said Harry. "And now you can tell me all about where we're
going this winter and who bought the cattle. Was it a regular stock
buyer or a rancher?" "A rancher. ""And where did you find, the hay? At the ends of the earth, I suppose." "No. Not so far out. Same fellow that is going to take the cattle sold
me the hay. He'll take part pay in work; I'm going to feed the whole
outfit together. ""That sounds pretty fine. Is there a shack near by where we can live?" "Oh, sort of a shack!" | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Rob admitted reluctantly, while Garnett threw
his head back and shook with soundless laughter. "What's the matter?" Harry inquired. "Is there a house there or not,
Garnett?" "Sure. Didn't he tell you?" "I'll bet it's nothing but a barn," Harry declared, whereat both boys
tittered again. "If I had time I'd write down to the man and find out
what sort of house he's giving us," she added. "By the way, you haven't
told me his name." "Let's see. What was the name of that old skinflint? "Rob asked,
scratching his head and turning to Garnett. "Say! If you can't remember, how do you expect me to?" the forest
ranger exclaimed, grinning. "You two certainly are silly to-night," Harry said loftily.But at the
same moment she was thinking how good it was to see Rob his old self
once more. And what a thing it was to have a friend like Garnett--so
full of fun and yet, underneath it all, as solid as a rock.If his
ranch were anywhere near the place they were going to, what good times
the four of them could have that winter! And how near she had come to losing it all;--to giving up and going
back East in that first summer of discouragement!In a flash of memory
she saw again Chris Garnett's steady eyes as he had looked down at her
that day on the train, heard the conviction in his voice as he told
her: "You'll stay! "Was it his standing by them in all their difficulties that had helped
his prophetic words come true? Suddenly, with a strange surprise she felt her cheeks burn and she bent
low over her work. "How soon are we going, Bobby?" she asked abruptly. "As soon as we can get ready. I suppose there's a week's work to do up
here first. Fortunately, Robinson says he'll take the pigs, butcher and
cure the meat and make the lard for one third.But we'll have to dig
vegetables, haul wood----"
Harry merely smiled, but her turn came in the morning, when Rob found
that during his absence she had done virtually everything to get the
ranch ready for winter. "Great work, sis," he acknowledged, with a
broad smile. "Thanks to you we can get off to-morrow. That kind of help
is worth money." "Good! I'll take my pay in cattle," she answered gleefully. "Let me choose 'em back for you out of the herd before old skinflint's
starved 'em to death," Garnett suggested, whereat Rob exploded into
noisy laughter. Never had Harry seen Rob in such a mood.All through the day she heard
him and Garnett talking as they worked and every now and then breaking
into peals of laughter. Harry would not let herself dwell on the loss of her herd.It hurt her
to see them file out through the gate for the last time, to realize
that she must begin all over again, this time in the slow, plodding
way, to gather a bunch of stock.But, after all, she had had a valuable
experience and she had saved her land. She and Rob took turns driving the loaded wagon; for to her the best
of the trip was being in the saddle, helping to move the cattle. When
Harry was driving Isita rode Hike.So happy was the young girl in her
shy way, so naturally did she fit in with the plans and duties and
pleasures of the family, that Harry was deeply thankful for the chance
that had given this friend to her.Cattle travel slowly, and it was late on the third day when they got
down to the South Side. As they left behind the wild splendor of the
Snake River gorge and came into the level richness of the irrigation
country beyond, Harry grew silent.She was noticing everything:
the magnificent ranches one after another, the haystacks as big as
churches, the silos and the orchards, the grain elevators and the
handsome houses. They all meant wealth.Yet at the same time she was
missing their own mountains, their groves and streams, the wild and
solitary beauty that at first had seemed so harsh and unfriendly, but
which, by insensible degrees, while the rough homestead had grown into
the cherished Homestead Ranch she had learned to love and to think of
as "home. ""You ain't likin' it real well, are you?" Garnett said suddenly as he
rode beside her. "That isn't what I was thinking," she answered slowly. "When I looked
at this I wondered how I had ever imagined that we could make a herd
pay up in the hills. ""But that's exactly the place to make 'em pay. Didn't Ludlum prove
it when he tried to sneak your homestead away from you? That's the
grandest grazing country in Idaho. But no one ought to winter there.You've got to come down here and feed your stock in this hay country. That's the combination that makes these stockmen so disgustingly rich. Sure." Harry laughed a little. "It wasn't so much the money," she said slowly. "I wanted to do something worth while, something that counted. Oh, you
know: raise the finest beef; have everybody want my calves. I couldn't
bear the idea of farm drudgery and housework with nothing to look
forward to.Instead of that I made an awful mess of it, and no end of
trouble for Rob. And, after all, I've had to come round to his way in
the end. ""Well, now, not just exactly that," Garnett objected, as he watched
the slow-moving line of cattle and tried to gauge the distance to the
gate of the ranch ahead of them. "It takes years to build up beef into
what you've planned, but you took a start, and there's a heap to that. Your mistakes weren't wasted, either. They kept Rob movin' up front,
thinkin' quick, like he'd swallered pepper.Would he go back to raisin'
one calf on a bottle? Honest, now? And besides that look here.Didn't
you start me sittin' up and takin' notice of how I was lettin' the
grass grow under other fellows' feet for them to make hay of while I
was wastin' my time makin' it safe for them up in the reserve? Sure,
you did.But I'll tell you the rest and some more, too, after we get
these critters inside here. Hold 'em back, now, while I open the gate. ""So this is the place," Harry said, when at last the cattle were inside
the pasture, the team put up, and the four of them, Rob, Garnett, Isita
and herself, were looking at everything. "I suppose the owner is no
more a skinflint, as you pretended, than that house is the tumble-down
cabin you tried to scare me with. "She pointed to the roomy, well-built white cottage set in a little lawn
and fenced away from the farm by a neat paling. "Now that I've seen the place I'd certainly like to see the owner," she
announced to Rob as they walked on towards the house. "I suppose he's
here, isn't he, waiting to take over my herd?" "Here he is," announced Rob, trying hard to keep a serious face as he
took Garnett by the arm and led him forward. "Meet Miss Holliday, Mr.
Garnett.Shake hands with the gentleman, Miss Holliday." "Garnett!" Harry cried in astonishment. "You!" "That's right, give it to him proper, Sis," Rob called back as he went
off to look after the horses. | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
Harry did not even hear him.With her brain in a whirl that was all
that she could find to say, but as she put her warm hand into his big
clasp her sparkling face told him better than words that the surprise
it gave her was not greater than the happiness. "How ever did it happen, though?" she asked presently. "I thought you
had sold all your hay." "I didn't sell any. Pablo, the renter I had here, sold my share;
leastwise gave Biane an option on it.Of course when Biane skipped, the
hay come back on my hands. I didn't know that when I left you up yonder
and come a-huntin' Rob.But I got a loan from the bank on my place
here, enough to pay up Ludlum and get us some hay back from Paplo for a
start." "But how are we going to pay you?" Harry interrupted. "A hundred tons
of hay at----"
"Say, now," begged Garnett, "don't you go to figgerin'! When Biane
skipped the country, didn't that turn my hundred tons back on me? Well,
I guess.And what was I goin' to do with it when I hadn't a critter
of my own to feed, chiefly when I knew you folks was wearin' out the
roads huntin' hay?--And what's easier and doin' better for us all than
for Rob and me to feed together here on my ranch; and you, mebbe,
to cook for us once in a while,--and me to take my wages in calves
next spring,--or any old time like that; in case you took a notion to
feed here next winter,--and me to put mine in with yours, and all of
us graze together up to your homestead,--ranch that is, I mean, in
summer and--next winter,--next winter,--Aw!What's the use of all this
talkin'? It's all right, ain't it?" Red to his ears, the forest ranger clutched his hat with a hard hand
and stared down at the girl beside him, something unsaid held back in a
sudden spasm of shyness.Before Harry could answer the front door opened behind them and Isita,
who had been exploring by herself looked out. "Now that we're home, Miss Harry," she said, "couldn't I set the table
for supper?There's a beautiful set of china dishes in the cupboard." Harry turned to Garnett, the familiar roguish gleam in her face. "If I
am going to live here, Mr. Skinflint Garnett," she began lightly, "I'll
expect to use those dishes--" her voice trailed off, the bright, brave
scarlet swept into her face, then as swiftly fled. Garnett said not a
word.His eyes were on hers and in them was a look, a light. She had
seen it there before but now she understood what it meant. She tried
to take a steady breath, she hunted words,--"those dishes. Shall I
start breaking them in now? "Brave as the words were how her voice shook! "Say, Harry--" How queer and deep and soft Garnett's voice was. He had
thrown down his hat and stood there, shaking yet determined, his fists
clenched at his sides. "Harry?...You reckon you could----"
"What, Chris?" The plunge of her heart was like the gallop of a
frightened colt.
" --You reckon you could take me with 'em, with them dishes, break me in
with 'em for yours?... Little girl? "Her lips moved but no sound came from them. Yet he read her answer
in her eyes and it must have satisfied him because he bent his head
to hers and for an instant he held her. Then he took her hand. "Come
along.Let's take a look at the winter half of this Homestead Ranch of
ours." | Young, Elizabeth G. - Homestead Ranch |
I ate ravenously, devouring both of the steaks and the entire loaf of
bread.Afterward, a feeling of peace and good will stole over me, and
on an impulse I called the Uterium 5 snirk bird down from its perch
above the galley doorway and persuaded it by means of a crust of bread
to perch upon my forefinger.Despite the large and ovoid xanthous
droppings which these birds sporadically deposit on chairs, tables
and floors, they make wonderful pets, and I envied the particular
customer who was to receive this one--a tiny, bright-eyed female--as
a partial bonus for his yumquat-tree order.The other components
of his bonus--the toy friddlefork and the two containers of yellow
trading disks--stood on a shelf just behind me, and reaching around
and procuring them, I set them on the table before me.Such evidence
of largess invariably renews my faith in the company, and on long runs
I often get out customer bonuses and speculate on the munificence of a
concern such as ours. Thus I speculated now--but not for long.I had
not slept for nearly two zodal periods and was far more tired than I
realized, and to complicate matters, the heavy meal which I had just
consumed had had a soporific effect upon me. Almost before I knew it, I
dozed off. * * * * *
I believe that my first apprisal that the previously mentioned
psychosensory perception had not been illusory after all was the creak
of one of the cupboard doors.Unfortunately, this apprisal was on the
unconscious, rather than the conscious, level, and failed to arouse me
from my stupor.It took the hysterical cackling of the Uterium 5 snirk
bird, a few moments later, to bring me back to true awareness, and by
that time, it was too late.The tiny man who had shinned up the table
leg and seized the snirk bird, the two containers of yellow trading
disks, and the toy friddlefork had already regained the deck and was
running toward the doorway.In the process of climbing back down, he
must have bumped the toy friddlefork and accidentally activated its
tonal unit, for it was bleating away insistently as he bore it away.Indeed, so insistent were its cries that one would have thought that it
expected me to come after it and succor it. Incredulously, I got to my feet.I saw then that the thief was not
a man, but a boy--the tiniest boy that I have ever seen in my whole
life.Assuming his stature to be average, it is unlikely that even a
full-grown adult of his species would come any higher than a Frimm 4's
citizen's knee-cap!I called after him, uttering my name in as gentle a tone of voice as
I could manage and assuring him that if he would return the articles
he had stolen no harm would come to him.He only ran the faster, and
fairly streaked through the galley doorway, down the entrance corridor,
and out onto the greendeck. I had no choice but to set off in pursuit,
and this I did, naively believing that I could overtake him easily.In
this I erred indeed. Never have I ever seen anyone run so fast. Why,
there were times when I could have sworn that his feet weren't even
touching the deck! As I lumbered along in his wake, I wondered how he could conceivably
have gotten on board.Had he climbed the capillary tube? This didn't
seem possible in view of the _Uxurient's_ altitude and in view of his
diminutiveness, but I could think of no other answer.There was no
need for me to, I saw presently: that he had climbed up the tube was
unequivocably demonstrated by the ease and the celerity with which he
now began to climb down it. (3)
_Why the_ Uxurient's _Flexible Ship-to-Ground Capillary Tube is now
Ten Exids Shorter than It used to be_
Loath to give up the chase, I started climbing down the tube myself.This is not as difficult as one would at first imagine--as I myself
had imagined, in fact, prior to making the attempt.The branch-like
protuberances that absorb the sunlight and transmute it into the
energy required for the capillary-action provide numerous hand- and
footholds, and had it not been for the almost gale-force wind that had
developed, my descent would have been relatively easy.Even with the
wind, I found myself in no great danger, and I have no doubt but what
I would have reached the ground in due course had I not underestimated
the resourcefulness--and the blood-thirstiness--of my youthful quarry.He kept calling out repeatedly at the top of his voice, but I did
not suspect what he was up to until, halfway down, I paused and
looked below me.I was just in time to see a woman run out of the
thatch-roofed dwelling near which the tube had rooted itself and hand
him a small object the very moment his feet touched the ground.I deduced from the shards of sunlight that the object threw off that
it was a cutting tool of some kind. I was not long left in doubt in
any event, for no sooner did the boy have it in his possession than
he began to wield it.A series of thuds was borne upward by the wind,
and with each thud, the tube gave a convulsive shudder. I had seen
unattached ship-to-ground capillary tubes at the mercy of the wind
before, and I knew the danger that confronted me.Consequently I
began climbing back up toward the _Uxurient_ at once.While I will
not attempt to deny that I was frightened, I would like to point out
that it wasn't so much my predicament that frightened me, but the
cold-blooded attitude of the young savage below me.He thought that
by severing the tube he could bring it crashing to the ground, and the
ferocity and the frequency of his blows testified to the eagerness with
which he awaited my destruction.It was his very attitude, I believe, that gave me the strength and the
determination to gain the _Uxurient_ after the tube broke free and
began lashing wildly back and forth.For a long while I lay gasping on
the greendeck; then, when my breath came back, I recoiled the tube,
secured the tube-lock, and lifted into space.The soil-solution vat
was not as full as I would have wished, but by careful rationing I
knew that I could make its contents suffice. Whether I could or not, I
wanted no more part of the world I had just left. I never want to see
the place again. * * * * *
I would like to append a word in my defense.While it is true that I
was instrumental in exposing an extra-Community culture to a technology
far beyond its ken, it must be remembered that all such cultures are
flexible in nature and can absorb the seemingly inexplicable with the
utmost equanimity.They achieve this quite simply by identifying the
unfamiliar with the familiar, and by ascribing those phenomena which
happen to be beyond their experience to the workings of magic.Far
from having an adverse effect, the present instance will, I am sure,
provide the basis for a colorful legend. | Young, Robert F. - Boarding party |
No doubt the legend will
acquire a more satisfying ending, and unquestionably the boy's exploits
will be exaggerated.As regards the Uterium 5 snirk bird, the toy
friddlefork, and the two containers of yellow trading disks, you may
be sure that the young rascal had already identified them with objects
with which he was familiar (and which he coveted) before he left the
galley cupboard in which he was hiding.If he had not done so, he would
not have stolen them. In any case, I am not unduly bitter about their
loss, even though I must make that loss good.The measure of a Frimm 4
citizen's true worth is the quantity of his magnanimity; hence I hope
that both the boy and the woman--probably his mother--live happily ever
after. (signed)
Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum | Young, Robert F. - Boarding party |
Boy Meets Dyevitza
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
Illustrated by BIRMINGHAM
_For the incurable romantics among us, the power of love
to conquer everything cannot be overestimated.And so let
us read this gentle, pleasant, warm-hearted tale, knowing
as we do that the story it tells is very likely impossible,
but yet hoping, perhaps, that it could all end this way._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories October 1962.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. ]A thrilling news bulletin, dated September 11, 1996, was recently
handed to me by an assistant who is too young to remember the star over
Moscow, and it is toward him and others like him that the following
history is directed.If it resembles fiction more than it does fact,
the similarity is wholly intentional, for it is only through fiction
that the past can be brought back to life. * * * * *
When Gordon Andrews first saw the girl, he took it for granted that
she was a Venusian--a natural enough assumption in view of the fact
that he was on Venus.She was kneeling beside a small brook, humming
a little tune and washing out a pair of stockings, and so intent was
she on her tune and her task that she did not hear him when he stepped
out of the forest behind her.Her bobbed hair was the color of horse
chestnuts, and her clothing consisted of gray culottes, a gray blouse,
black leather boots and a small gray kepi. The tune she was humming was
a passage from Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_.Thus far, Gordon had taken Venus pretty much in his stride.The data
supplied by the Venus probes during the early 60's, while obscure with
regard to her cloud-cover, had conclusively disproved former theories
to the effect that she lacked a breathable atmosphere and possessed
a surface temperature of more than 100 degrees Centigrade, and had
prepared him for what he had found--an atmosphere richer in oxygen
content than Earth's, a comfortable climate, and a planet-wide sea,
unbroken as yet save for an equatorial land mass no larger than a
modest island.The data, by its very nature, had also prepared him for
the possibility of human life. It had not prepared him, however, for a
Venusian maiden on humming terms with _Swan Lake_. Small wonder, then,
that he gasped.The girl dropped her stockings and shot to her feet so fast that she
would have toppled into the brook if he hadn't leaped forward and
caught her arm. She had a heart-shaped face, and her eyes were the hue
of harebells.At the moment they were filled with alarm. Presently,
however, the alarm went away and recognition took its place. "Oh, it's
you," she said, freeing her arm. * * * * *
He took an involuntary step backward. "Me?" he said. "Yes.Captain Gordon Andrews, of the United States Space Force, is it
not? You look quite a lot like your photograph." He could only stare at her. "I do?" "Yes. I saw it in one of your materialistic capitalistic magazines. "She stood up a little straighter--an act that brought her harebell-blue
eyes on a level with the topmost button of his fatigue-alls. "I am
Major Sonya Mikhailovna, of the Soviet Space Force, and my ship is in
the next valley._I_ arrived here yesterday." He got the picture then, and he felt sick. He should have known from
her too-correct, slightly stilted English, from the military cut of her
clothing. He should have known in the first place, for that matter.It was the same old humiliating story. The manned Venus shot had been
publicized for months before the actual launching, and he had been
written up in every newspaper and magazine in the country.Articles
had paid homage to his suburban upbringing, saluted his record at
the Shepard Space Academy, praised his career as an orbital pilot,
romanticized his bachelorhood, described how he liked his eggs, and
inferred what a good catch he would be.Meanwhile, the Russians had
gone quietly and systematically about their business, and at the
precise psychological moment had pulled their usual unexpected coup.First it had been Laika, then Zrezdochka, then Gagarin, then Dymov, the
first "Man in the Moon". Now it was Major Sonya Mikhailovna. But why a woman?And why one so seemingly delicate that you marvelled
at her ability to withstand the acceleration of take-off? Suddenly
he got the whole picture, and he really felt sick.He could see the
humiliating headlines--or rather, their English counterparts--in
_Pravda_: SOVIET SPACE GIRL BEATS CAPITALIST COSMONAUT TO VENUS! USSR TRIUMPH AGAIN! "I suppose you picked up my ship on your radar while I was coming in,
and fixed the time and location of my landing," he said bitterly. Sonya Mikhailovna nodded. "My own arrival-time has already been
officially recorded, but the announcement of my success had to be
withheld until I could establish your arrival-time and the exact
time-difference could be computed.Soon now, the news of our glorious
new victory will be released to the world." * * * * *
She bent down, retrieved her stockings from the brook and wrung them
out.Straightening, she hung them on a low-hanging branch of a nearby
tree. They were cotton, he noticed, and there was a hole in one of the
toes. Suddenly she gave a start. Following the direction of her gaze, he gave
one too.So did the man and the woman who had just emerged from the
forest. Since his arrival four hours ago, Gordon had been wondering--among
a host of other things--whether the ultra-violet rays of the sun
could penetrate the planet's thick cloud-cover.He saw now that they
not only could, but did.The man and the woman were unquestionably
members of a white-skinned race, and both possessed suntans so deep
and golden that in contrast their dark blue eyes seemed even darker
and their bright blond hair even brighter.Their white knee-length
tunics augmented the effect, and in co-operation with their handsome
faces, supplied them with a god- and goddess-like aspect.Unfortunately
this aspect was somewhat marred by their one concession to personal
adornment--gleaming neckbands forged from a copper-like metal.As neither native appeared to be armed, Gordon saw no cause for
alarm, and after his initial surprise, he regarded them quite calmly. So did Sonya Mikhailovna. This time, however, the two Venusians did
not reciprocate.Their eyes had grown wide, and now an unmistakable
expression of disbelief settled upon their handsome faces.At length
the man touched his own neck and then the woman's; then he pointed,
almost accusingly, it seemed, toward Gordon and Sonya, and demanded
something in an unintelligible tongue. Gordon proceeded to touch his own neck.Next he touched Sonya's ever so
lightly of course. "Gordon," he said. "Sonya." | Young, Robert F. - Boy meets dyevitza |
He was rewarded for his perspicacity by two horrified stares and a
pair of hoarse gasps.Then before he could utter another word, the two
Venusians turned and vanished into the forest. He stared after them. So did Sonya Mikhailovna. "Did you know," he
asked presently, "that Venus was inhabited? ""Our scientists suspected that it might be." She shrugged. "Anyway,
what does it matter now? By your stupid action you destroyed whatever
chance we had of establishing friendly relations." Gordon felt his face grow hot. "When you meet aliens, the first thing
you always do is exchange names with them," he said. "Everybody knows
that!" "Everybody who reads your stereotyped science fiction knows it, you
mean.And after you find out their names, you say, 'Take me to your
leader,' and their leader turns out to be a big beautiful blond who is
stacked. Well, I think I will be getting back to my ship." "I don't see anybody stopping you," Gordon said.She gave him a long look. In the roseate radiance of the Venusian
afternoon, her face had a pink-cheeked little girl aspect. "In
imperialistic idiom, that means, I suppose, that it is a matter of
complete indifference to you what I do. ""It sure does," Gordon said. "Well, I'll be seeing you. "* * * * *
Leaving her standing by the brook, he re-entered the forest and struck
out over the little hills that rolled back from the littoral like green
inland waves to break riotously against the high ridge that encompassed
the island's interior.In his initial enthusiasm, he had wandered
farther from his ship than he had meant to, and he had been about to
turn back when he had seen the girl.Now he had another reason for
returning: a dark cloud was due to arrive over Washington in the very
near future, and it was up to him to send out a bad-weather warning.Multicolored flowers carpeted virtually every square inch of the forest
floor; finch-like birds of rainbow hues darted overhead, leaving
exquisite wakes of song; squirrel-like mammals spiraled tree trunks so
swiftly that they were barely visible.Venus had turned out to be the
Venus of the romantics, rather than the Venus of the scientists, and
Gordon, who, for all his scientific training, was a romantic himself,
found the eventuality exhilarating, even in his present doldrums.Perhaps when man reached Mars, he would find blue canals after all,
no matter what the scientists said to the contrary, and fragile glass
cities tinkling in cinnamon-scented winds.The day was nearly done when he reached the cove, near the shore of
which his spaceship stood, and darkness was upon him by the time
he climbed the metal Jacob's ladder and stepped through the lock. (In blithe disregard of learned opinion, Venus's rotation period
approximated Earth's; however, her cloud-cover brought about an abrupt
and early departure of daylight. )In his haste, he did not bother to
close the lock, but headed straight for the radio alcove and beamed the
news of his historic meeting with Major Sonya Mikhailovna across the
immensities to Space Force headquarters at New Canaveral, appending it
with the information that the peoples of Earth could no longer consider
themselves the sole inheritors of the solar system.Owing to the distance involved, over five minutes elapsed before he
received a reply.He was informed that the USSR had already released
the news of the new space victory and that the Soviet premier had
declared a national holiday in honor of the occasion.New Canaveral
also provided him with an unsolicited thumbnail-biography of Major
Sonya Mikhailovna.Her father Pëtr, was a famous Russian pianist, she
was twenty-three years of age, unmarried, spoke six languages fluently,
had a nodding acquaintance with eleven more, held a doctor's degree in
anthropology, was an accomplished ballerina, and in the last Olympic
games had won the gold medal in the gymnastics competition.She had
been chosen for the Venus shot from a group of one hundred trained
women volunteers, and the rank of major had been bestowed upon her in
honor of her service to her country. Also--
Gordon heard the footsteps then, and whirled around.But the three
Venusians who had crowded into the little control room were upon him
before he could draw his pistol.They relieved him of it quickly and
tossed it to one side; then two of them held him while the third
covered his nose and mouth with a wet cloth that reeked of a cloying
perfume. He blacked out in a matter of seconds. * * * * *
A new day was dawning when he climbed out of the deep well of
drug-induced unconsciousness and opened his eyes. His wrists and
ankles were bound, and he was lying on a stretcher fashioned of
lashed-together saplings.It was being carried by two gold-skinned
Venusians, one of whom was the male member of the couple who had come
upon him and Sonya the previous afternoon. He raised his head.Apparently the perfume he had inhaled possessed
only part of the properties of chloroform--in any event, he felt no ill
effects.Turning his head, he discovered that his captors consisted of
about two dozen natives, all told, and that every one of them wore a
metal collar. Half of them were women, and one of the women was the one
he and Sonya had seen the day before.There was another stretcher just behind his own. Sonya Mikhailovna's
face was hidden, but he could see her horse-chestnut colored hair. "Are
you all right?" he called. She did not answer.Clearly their captors had used the same drug on
her that they had used on him, and she was still under its influence.A number of other things were also clear: the two original Venusians
had been part of a larger group--an excursion party, perhaps--and after
vanishing into the forest, they had rejoined the main body and reported
his and Sonya's presence.The decision to capture them must have been
made shortly afterward.The trees thinned out on Gordon's right, providing him with a glimpse
of distant blue-misted hills and gray-blue sea and bringing home the
realization that he was being borne along the lofty inland ridge that
circled the island's interior.For the first time since he had opened
his eyes, fear touched him.In less than two months, Venus would
approach to within thirty million miles of Earth--the distance which
the Space Force technicians had used in computing his return trajectory
and in estimating the amount of fuel he would need.In all probability,
Sonya's return trajectory and fuel-supply had been similarly computed
and estimated, and if so, she was in the same boat he was.If they were
kept captive for any length of time, they might not be able to return
to Earth for another year, and while it was conceivable that they might
be able to live off the land after their supplies gave out, it was far
from likely.Maybe, though, eating wouldn't be a problem. Dead people are as unable
to eat as they are unable to tell tales. | Young, Robert F. - Boy meets dyevitza |
* * * * *
The trees thinned out again--on his left, this time--and he saw a
bowl-shaped valley far below.There were green fields and blue lakes,
and scattered clusters of white buildings. Villages, no doubt. They
weren't large enough to have registered on his viewscope during his
orbit, but they were large enough to register on his retina now.The faint trail which the Venusians had been following began
zigzagging down the side of the ridge, and the going became more
difficult. They kept glancing uneasily at the sky as though they
momentarily expected it to fall down upon them.Gordon could discern no
cause for their concern; as far as he could see, the sky was the same
hazy pink it had been yesterday--but then, he was not a Venusian and
consequently knew nothing about such matters.At the foot of the ridge, the procession was joined by other natives,
indicating that a courier had been sent ahead to herald its approach.All of the new-comers wore metal collars, and all of them looked at
Gordon and Sonya briefly, then quickly glanced away.Sonya, Gordon saw,
turning his head, had awakened, and was regarding her surroundings with
eyes that seemed to have even more harebell-blue in them than before. "Are you all right?" he called again. "Yes," she said, after a pause. "I am all right. "One of the nearer villages proved to be their captors' destination, and
after passing between several neatly laid-out fields, the principal
crop of which appeared to be a Venusian form of sweetcorn, the
procession started down a narrow thoroughfare in the direction of a
large circular stone building surmounted by a steeple-like chimney
from which smoke arose in a tenuous blue-white column.The buildings
on either side of the street were plain to the point of bleakness,
the façades featureless save for oval windows and narrow doorways. Villagers were everywhere, and all of them, men and women alike,
sported metal collars.Children, however, were noticeably absent,
though once Gordon caught sight of a round, wide-eyed face in one of
the oval windows. He had to look fast to see it, though, because an
instant later a woman appeared and yanked the child back out of sight.He was more bewildered than ever.Obviously, judging from their
reactions, the Venusians considered him and Sonya to be guilty of some
manner of immoral crime; but the only crime they had committed that he
could think of was trespassing--and certainly trespassing couldn't be
construed as _immoral_.What in the world _had_ they done then? The procession had reached the large circular structure and was
filing through its vaulted entrance.Terraced tiers of stone benches
encircled a small, flagstone-paved arena in the center of which were
two altar-like stone blocks, placed about five feet apart.Just behind
the blocks stood a primitive forge, and beside the forge stood an even
more primitive anvil. A gold-skinned blacksmith was busily operating a
pair of crude bellows.Gordon and Sonya were placed on the blocks and strapped down by means
of leather thongs. The tiers of benches filled rapidly, and an air of
expectation rapidly permeated the smoky atmosphere.Gordon began to
sweat--a reaction due partly, but not wholly, to the heat thrown off
by the forge. Sonya's face was white. He tried to think of something
reassuring to say to her, but for the life of him he couldn't.Quite
by accident, his eyes met hers, and to his consternation her cheeks
changed from white to pink, and she turned abruptly away. * * * * *
The audience began to chant, and presently a man of noble mien
appeared, bearing two strips of copper-like metal.He handed them to
the blacksmith and then stepped back and took up a position equidistant
from each block, after which he proceeded to look sternly down first
into Gordon's face and then into Sonya's.Gordon couldn't see what
the blacksmith was doing in the meantime, but judging from the sounds
the man was making, he was busily occupied. Bellows wheezed and coals
crackled, and metal clanged on metal as though a Venusian tarnhelm
was in the works.Gordon knew perfectly well, however, that one wasn't
and he wasn't particularly surprised when, a little while later, a
water-soaked cloth was wrapped around his neck and was followed by
one of the two metal strips.Steam rose from the wet cloth as the
blacksmith held the two ends of the strip together until they fused,
and even more steam arose when he tempered the resultant seam with a
container of water.The job completed to his satisfaction, he removed
the cloth and let the still-warm collar settle against Gordon's neck. The other strip was similarly fused around Sonya's neck, after which
the man of noble mein went into action.Raising his hand in a signal
for the audience to cease its chanting, he launched a long sonorous
speech, part of which he directed at Gordon and part of which he
directed at Sonya.After a ringing peroration, during which he seemed
to threaten each of them, he produced a pinch of white powder and
sprinkled some of it over each of their heads. Finally he drew a long
double-edge knife. Well this is it, Gordon thought.But it wasn't. The man of noble mein
merely used the knife to cut their bonds; then, after untying the
thongs that secured them to the stone blocks, he raised both arms in a
gesture for them to stand up.Gordon massaged his legs before putting
his weight on them, and Sonya followed the same precaution. He could
hardly believe that they were still alive, but seemingly they were.And healthy too--if the pinkness of Soyna's cheeks was an accurate
criterion. The man of noble mein nodded his noble head in the direction of the
entrance, and they accompanied him outside. Gordon did a doubletake
when they stepped into the street.It was strewn with freshly picked
flowers of every hue and description and lined by little children
waving green twigs that resembled olive branches. He came to a staring
stop. "Won't someone please tell me what's coming off?" he said.Sonya stopped beside him. "Don't you really know?" she asked, her eyes
fixed on a flower at her feet that was almost as red as her face had
become. "I know we're the focal point of some kind of ceremony--but what kind
of a ceremony is it? "Slowly Sonya raised her eyes. "It's a wedding ceremony," she said. "They--they married us." * * * * *
The flower-carpet stretched all the way to the outskirts of the
village, and so did the two lines of little children.Gordon stumbled
along at Sonya's side, hopeful that he would wake up any second in the
bachelor's barracks at New Canaveral. | Young, Robert F. - Boy meets dyevitza |
But the street stubbornly refused
to dissipate, and so did the little children and the man of noble mein.As for Sonya, much less than dissipating, she took on added detail,
and the metal collar around her neck seemed to throw off flame after
lambent flame, and each one was brighter than its predecessor.The man of noble mein escorted them outside the village, then turned
his back on them as though they no longer existed and returned the way
he had come. After his passage, the little children broke ranks and
began playing in the flowers.Gordon faced Sonya. "Now maybe you'll
tell me _why_ they married us," he said. "I will tell you on the way back to our ships." She did not speak again till they reached the top of the ridge. Then, after she got her breath back, she said. "They married us
because, underneath their demigod exteriors, they are nothing more
than bronze-age puritans.Yesterday, when the man and woman saw us
standing together by the brook, they were bewildered because neither
of us was wearing what to them is a universal symbol of marriage--a
metal collar--and when you touched me they were shocked.You see, in
their society, no man and woman can be alone together unless they are
married, and it is unthinkable for a man to touch a woman unless she is
his wife, or some immediate member of his family. ""We could have been brother and sister," Gordon pointed out. "Do I look like your sister?" He had to admit that she didn't. "Anyway," Sonya went on, "their trailing us to different houses must
have convinced them and the rest of their party that we are not. In the
eyes of the Venusians, you see, our spaceships are just that. Houses.Odd one, perhaps, by their architectural standards, but houses just the
same. How else could a simple bronze-age culture interpret them?" * * * * *
Gordon ducked beneath a blossom-laden bough. "How did you know they're
puritans?" "I didn't--at first. I merely assumed, from their reactions to us,
that they must be.And then I got to thinking about how neither the
sun nor the moon can be seen through the cloud-cover, and it occurred
to me that their concept of one god must have come much earlier in
their civilization than would have been the case on earth, owing to
the fact that there could have been no intermediate phase of sun- or
moon-worship.Perhaps, somewhere along the line, they had a Christ
whose teachings they misinterpreted, and no doubt they have a version
of Genesis similar to the Judaeo-Christian one--except that in theirs,
the problem of creating the sun and the moon and the stars never arose.Anyway, now that they have married us, they are no longer interested in
us. All that concerned them was our moral welfare.... It seems to be
growing dark." "It can't be," Gordon said. "It's only a little past noon.Which
reminds me--I skipped breakfast, and supper too." He pulled two
concentrated food biscuits out of his fatigue-all pockets. "I suggest
that we stop for lunch. "They sat down side by side beneath a tree with blue blossoms shaped
like Dutchman's-breeches hanging from its boughs.They were halfway
down the opposite slope of the ridge now, but Sonya's ship was still
many hours away, and his was an hour farther yet. They ate silently for
a while. Then, "There is one thing that puzzles me," Sonya said. "Yes? ""Why did they marry us so soon? Why was there such a need for haste?" "You made it clear enough. They misinterpreted our behavior and were
shocked out of their self-righteous puritanical skins." She shook her head. "Shocked, yes--but not enough to have rushed
us through a ceremony that under ordinary circumstances would have
required days of preparation. There must have been another reason." Suddenly she glanced up through the foliage at the sky. "It is growing
dark." There was no longer any denying the fact. The roseate radiance of the
youthful afternoon had transmuted to a sort of gray murk; moreover, the
air had grown appreciably colder. Gordon stood up. "I think we'd better
be on our way," he said. "It's going to rain." * * * * *
A good three hours passed, however, before he felt the first drop. He
and Sonya were in the hills now, and the ridge was far behind them.The rain was gentle, but it was persistent too, and both of them were
soaked before another hour had gone by. "We will go to my ship," Sonya
said, brushing back a rain-wet strand of horse-chestnut colored hair
from her forehead. "It is much closer than yours." Somehow her offering him shelter in a Soviet ship did not strike him as
being in the least incongruous. And when, a moment later, he slipped
his arm around her waist, that didn't seem incongruous either.And when
she permitted it to remain there, even _that_ didn't seem incongruous. For some crazy mixed-up reason life seemed singularly devoid of
incongruities all of a sudden. And amazingly forthright and simple.The rain was extremely penetrating--so penetrating, in fact, that it
penetrated his skin as well as his clothing. And it had a curious
lulling effect. No, that wasn't the word. A curious soporific effect. No, that wasn't the word, either.Well what word was it, then? He couldn't call it to mind till after they reached Sonya's ship and
were standing at the base of the Jacob's ladder. By then it was too
late.By then he was gazing softly down into her eyes and she was
gazing softly up into his, and the world was well on its way toward
being well lost.He tried to force himself to step back and regard the situation with
the cold and objective eye of a scientist, to evaluate this strange
and wondrous quality that fell in the form of rain and to tie it in
with the Venusians' motivation in marrying him and Sonya posthaste.In
vain. All he could think of was the tune she had been humming by the
brook and the hole he had seen in one of her cheap cotton stockings.And then she was in his arms and he was kissing her rain-wet lips, and
Washington and Moscow were forgotten place-names on a map that had no
more meaning than the paper it was printed on. The rain continued to fall. Softly; gently. Insistently.It sang soft
songs in the leaves. It murmured; it whispered. It laughed. * * * * *
It did not cease till morning.After starting back to his ship, Gordon
mentally rehearsed the report which he and Sonya had agreed to send to
their respective headquarters.It described briefly how they had been
captured and released, but discreetly made no reference either to the
wedding ceremony or to the rain. They had unanimously agreed that the
situation was complicated enough without complicating it further.He had gone less than half a mile when his collar began to press
against his throat. Thereafter the pressure increased with every step
he took, till finally he came to a semi-strangled stop.It was as
though he had reached the end of an invisible leash. | Young, Robert F. - Boy meets dyevitza |
The premier did not know.But
there was one thing he did know: in the last analysis, any party is
the people, and while you can con the people into believing that black
bread is white bread and that caraway seeds are caviar, you cannot con
them into believing that a child conceived on the Planet of Love by a
Russian girl and an American boy is anything other than a harbinger of
peace.So in the long run, what the premier did was the only thing he could
have done.He arranged a summit meeting with the president of the
United States and the prime minister of Great Britain, and for the
first time in history, the East and the West really got together.The
threat of war could not, of course, be totally eliminated at such short
notice; but a number of aggravations that could precipitate a war could
be eliminated--and were.This accomplished, the three leaders drew up
plans for a super three-man spaceship to be built posthaste by the best
engineers the three nations could supply, and unanimously agreed that
the pilot would be English, the obstetrician, Russian, and the nurse,
American.It has been said that after the meeting the Soviet premier and the
president of the United States got together and began thinking up
names. This is extremely doubtful.Anyway, if they did, they were
wasting their time, for Sonya Mikhailovna and Gordon Andrews had
already taken care of the matter. The name they chose is well-known
today--except, perhaps, by those for whom this history has been
recorded.Which brings us back to the aforementioned news bulletin. In
common with most news bulletins, it has about as much poetry in it as
an old shoe, but its message shines forth with a radiance that excels
even the radiance cast by the star over Moscow._Geneva, Switzerland, September 11, 1996--The young Russo-American
ambassador-at-large, Pëtr Gordonovitch Andrews, announced this morning
that his peace plan has been accepted by all major and minor powers,
and that the war that has threatened mankind for the past half century
can no longer occur._ | Young, Robert F. - Boy meets dyevitza |
Bruggil's Bride
by ROBERT F. YOUNG
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe March 1960.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] She came off the Androids, Inc., production line in September, 2241.She was five feet, seven inches tall, weighed 135 pounds, had flaxen
hair and pale blue eyes. Her built-in batteries were guaranteed for
ten years, her tapes were authentic Kirsten Flagstad, and her name was
Isolde. * * * * *
She was shipped to New York via strato-freight, and late in October
she opened the season at the Metropolitanette in what the hundred or
so die-hard enthusiasts still holding the Wagnerian fort, called the
best Tristan ever.Afterwards, she was deactivated and stored away,
along with Tristan, Brangane, Melot, King Marke, Kurvenal, the shepherd
and the helmsman, and the various knights, soldiers, attendants, and
sailors that constituted the rest of the dramatis personae.At that time the black market in androids was relatively new, and only
standard measures were taken to guard the Metropolitanette storeroom.Operatic androids were not exactly the kind of merchandise the average
twenty-third century citizen liked most to find underneath his
Christmas tree, and to a Wagnerian aficionado, the idea of the average
music lover stealing one was as preposterous as the idea of a twentieth
century bobby soxer stealing a Caruso original.But an operatic
android was potentially capable of doing other things besides singing
recitative and arias--as a number of twenty-third century operators had
begun to realize some time before the beginning of this history. Hans
Becker was one of them.You've seen Hans. You've seen him in bars and on airbusses, in waiting
rooms and in automats. He likes to sit in secluded corners and study
people through his cigar smoke. He has a penchant for ostentatious
blondes and dirty comic films.He has a passion for the quick credit. You see him now. He is talking to a mousy little man in a decrepit bar
off Fifth Avenue. The little man nods every now and then, smiles a
satisfied smile every time Hans sets him up a beer.The little man is a
night watchman. He is a night watchman in the very building where the
Metropolitanette stores its deactivated androids. He is in his fifties,
and he too likes ostentatious blondes.But on a night watchman's pay,
the only ones he can afford are a little too ostentatious even for
him. He would like them to be a little less ostentatious, and, if
possible, a little younger. He smiles, nods his head again.He drinks
the fresh beer the bartender sets before him. He licks the froth from
his lips with the tip of his gray tongue. He pockets the sheaf of
credits which Hans slips him. He nods again. "Tomorrow night, then," he
says. "At the backdoor.I'll have her ready for you." * * * * *
Isolde's first stop, after her abduction, was at the house of a
converter Hans knew. The converter's name was Wisprey, and he was an
artist in his own right.By the time he finished with Isolde, you never
would have dreamed--unless you were a Wagnerian devotee--that once
upon a time she had been a bona fide reproduction of an Irish heroine
in a German opera.You would have sworn, instead, that she was a
Swedish-type maid of the kind Androids, Inc., specialized in, and which
retailed for 2500 credits.Her flaxen hair had been drawn back into
a little chignon, her period costume had been exchanged for a modern
servant's outfit, and her classic features had been subtly altered to
suggest sycophancy.As though that were not enough, she could scrub
floors, wash dishes, cook, and darn socks. The only part of her the converter did not alter was the sealed-in unit
containing her voice tapes.That, he told Hans, would have involved
too intricate an operation. Besides, who cared if she sang instead of
talked, anyway, as long as she could work? "That's right," Hans said. "Who cares?When they see how strong she is,
they'll buy her like sixty." "Sure they will." "And she's only the first. There's lots of other big ones where she
came from and I'm going to grab them off, too." He didn't grab them off, though.A week later, he fell into his blonde
mistress' barbecue pit and was so drunk he couldn't get back out before
he was barbecued to the bone.Before this lamentable occurrence,
however, he sold his pilfered princess to an interstellar trader, and
thereby launched Isolde upon her odyssey.The interstellar trader, whose name was Higgens, owned a Class B
merchant ship of the old photon-ejection variety. He stored Isolde in
the after-hold and left her there till his fourth planetfall--Sirius
21.Then he got her out, dusted her off, combed her hair and activated
her. He led her down the gangplank and stood her on the collapsible
auctioneer's block he'd set up at the ship's base.There were a number
of colonists gathered around the block already, but he saved her till
last, auctioning off the rest of his payload first.By the time he took
her hand and led her to the center of the block, word of her presence
had got around the nearby colony, and there was a near-maximum turnout. "All right," Higgens said. "She's beautiful and she's strong and she's
sturdy.I don't need to tell you those things because you can see them
for yourself. I'm merely reminding you of them. But what you can't see
are the things she can do.So here's the way we'll work it: you name
something you'd like a servant of yours to be able to do, and I'll tell
you whether she can do it or not. Who's first?" "Can she cook?" a thin-faced woman wanted to know. "I knew you'd ask that one first.The answer is yes. Next?" "Can she milk a milch bront?" This time the asker was a middle-aged
colonist of Dutch descent. Higgens consulted a small notebook. "She can--if a milch bront is
enough like a cow," he said presently.There was the inevitable drunk in the crowd. "Can she keep a man's bed
warm?" Higgens played along. "She sure can, buddy, but you know the law as
well as I do." "Can she scrub floors, lift, carry, wash clothes, do dishes and wait on
people? "It was the Dutch colonist again. Higgens nodded. "Seems to me you've just about covered everything,
friend. Want to make the first bid?" "200 credits," the Dutch colonist said. "I have 200 credits," Higgens intoned, "which, if I do say so, is about
one tenth of what she's worth. Do I hear three?" "300," the drunk said. "350," the Dutch colonist said. "450. "The Dutch colonist could outbid anybody in the crowd, and everybody in
the crowd knew it, including the drunk. But the drunk didn't give a
damn, and he went along to the one thousand mark before dropping out.The Dutch colonist got her for 1100 credits, and the first stage of
Isolde's servitude began. The Dutch colonist's name was Vanderzee. You've seen him, too. | Young, Robert F. - Bruggil's bride |
Forget
about his race: his race has nothing to do with it. All races have
their Vanderzees.This one was a bachelor, and made a prosperous living
buying seconds in large lots and selling them for firsts.The business
he happened to be in was the clothing business, but no matter what
business he had been in, he would have conducted it in the same way.There were Vanderzees in the time of Gautama Siddhartha; there were
Vanderzees in the time of Christ; there were Vanderzees in the time of
FDR. There will always be Vanderzees. This one took his purchase home in a ground skimmer.He looked at her
sideways as they skimmed along, a little awed by her classic features,
which even the converter's skill had been unable to destroy altogether.By the time they reached the apartment above his store, the first
droppings of his sense of inferiority had already fertilized the
ground where his latent hatred lay, and when he asked her a simple
question, the hatred burst forth in twisted stems and ugly blossoms.For, instead of answering the question with the simple "yes sir" or "no
sir" which was all it required, Isolde responded with the particular
recitative it most closely provoked, and the windows rattled in the
majestic blast from her Kirsten Flagstad tapes.Vanderzee, for all his
shrewdness, had neglected to make the most obvious inquiry of all from
Higgens, re his prospective purchase--i.e., _Can she talk?_
But Vanderzee didn't take her back.For one thing, he knew that Higgens
had already closed his lock and would be blasting off any second.For
another, taking her back would have been a tacit admission that he had
been outwitted by a business man sharper than himself, and this he
could not bear.No, Vanderzee had made a purchase, and he would stick
with it: but he would get his money's worth out of it if it took him
the rest of his life. Isolde was put to work with a vengeance.Each dawn she milked the milch
bront Vanderzee kept in the shed behind his store. Each day she washed
dishes, cooked, scrubbed floors, waited on customers and unloaded
supplies for Vanderzee.Each evening she washed dishes, cooked,
scrubbed floors, waited on customers and unloaded supplies for Lanesce,
the local tavern keeper to whom Vanderzee sublet her for part time
work.But in this subsidiary attempt to get all he could out of her,
and in the getting of it, obtain his revenge on her for having deceived
him (by the end of the second week, Vanderzee actually had himself
believing that it was she, and not Higgens, who had put one over on
him), Vanderzee made a mistake.It was a natural enough mistake.Who would have dreamed that an
android who screamed or sang gibberish (German was a dead language by
2241 in any but the most esoteric sense, and Vanderzee was generations
removed from his native tongue) could attain to any degree of
popularity whatsoever in any kind of an establishment whatsoever.But
taverns are not ordinary establishments, and frequently events come
to pass in them that could never have come to pass elsewhere. Isolde
became popular. She became so popular, in fact, that Lanesce's business
doubled. Tripled. * * * * *
There was nothing unprecedented about her popularity. Idiot waitresses
have always enjoyed an exalted place in taverns.They make ideal
patsies for jokes, for one thing, and are generally responsive to
gooses, for another.While Isolde was neither an idiot nor responsive
to gooses, the sounds she uttered whenever anyone said something to
her, obscene or otherwise, were suggestive enough of idiot rantings to
the ear of the average patron, for her to be classified as an idiot;
and while she may not have been responsive to gooses, neither was she
on her guard against them, taking them in her stride like everything
else.None of which bears directly on the nature of Vanderzee's
mistake. What does bear directly upon it is the fact that the variety
of men who frequent bars, is infinite.Sooner or later someone had to
come along who would recognize Isolde, either from her recitative or
from her arias, or from her appearance, for what she was--or what she
once had been. And presently someone did. * * * * *
Enter, Elwood Parkhurst. You've seen him, too. In bars, mostly.But before he took exclusively to bars, you may have seen him in
_avantgarde_ ghettos where the philosophy of Rieder and Diems and
Ghent lay thick in smoke-fogged atmospheres, or in off-beat book stores
where the outre tomes of Cresniner and Hulp and Bredder pre-empted
the shelves.And you may have seen him, too, if you happened along at
the right time, standing impatiently in front of the Metropolitanette,
smoking concatenations of cigarettes 'till the doors opened and egress
to Verdi or Wagner could be obtained.And were you worldly enough, you
may have seen him waiting outside the stage door behind the old Libido
with a host of the macromammary Miranda's other pursuers, and you may
even have read about the short-lived marriage he and she embarked on
to the delight of the Sex Sheets and the Peeping Walters.After that,
though, if you saw him at all, you saw him in bars--or staggering
between them. Parkhurst walked into Lanesce's, took one look at Isolde and knew her
instantly.He was sobering up at the time, having hit Sirius 21 a week ago, and
the Spaceport Bar five minutes after arrival.Perhaps he would have
acted as he did even if he hadn't been sobering-up, but there is a
certain kind of remorse contained in the sobering-up process that makes
the sufferer more than normally susceptible to symbols of the higher
planes of civilization.In Isolde, Parkhurst saw the strength he needed
at the moment, and the _raison d'etre_ he would need later on to
straighten out permanently.Before he even heard her voice raised in
resounding recitative, as he did shortly when one of the good fellows
present, goosed her, he knew he had to have her.He didn't have enough capital to buy her, but he did have enough to
abscond with her to Procyon 16 where a boom was in progress and where
you could practically name your job.As Vanderzee kept Isolde quartered
in the shed with his milch bront, abduction proved to be no problem,
and Parkhurst managed to smuggle her on board a Procyon-bound tramp
ship without any trouble.On Procyon 16, however, misfortune awaited him: the ulwano herds which
the good colonists had been systematically slaughtering for years in
order that wealthy women all over the civilized sector of the galaxy
might know the secure feeling that accompanies owning an ulwano coat
or stole, and in order that the good colonists themselves might know
the secure feeling that accompanies owning acres of real estate and
scads of stock in interstellar banks, had perversely migrated into the
inaccessible northern barrens, thereby precipitating a depression.Jobs
were not merely scarce: they were non-existent. Even worse, Parkhurst
didn't have enough money to buy passage back. | Young, Robert F. - Bruggil's bride |
* * * * *
In common with most men of his kind, he could meet a crisis in one
way, and in one way only.He had not taken a drink since Sirius 21,
but as soon as the seriousness of his predicament got through to
him, he headed straight for the Star and Traveler--a thriving little
establishment convenient to the spaceport, dedicated to the enhancement
of human relationships via the congenial consumption of cut-rate gin.The money he had left lasted him two days. His watch got him through
two more. His extra clothing was going for three more. By that time,
his physical thirst was sated; his emotional thirst, however, was
merely stimulated.He had only one item left to sell, besides the
clothes on his back, and so he sold Isolde--for one tenth of what she
was worth, and without ever having heard her sing the aria which he
loved above all others and which she had been created for most: the
_Liebestod_.Three days later, when he had sobered sufficiently to
realize what he had done, he hanged himself. * * * * *
Isolde's new owner was a missionary named Newell.He was dedicated
to the task of bringing all the heathen in the known galaxy around
to seeing things in their proper perspective, i.e., the way he saw
them.He was a devout disciple of Neo-Christianity, popularly known
as FDRism, which had begun late in the twentieth century and which
proclaimed Franklin Delano Roosevelt as the real Christ.He owned his
own ship--the NRA--and he carried a collapsible chapel in the hold.As
he was unmarried and as most of the lands he visited turned out to be
lonely as well as hostile, he bought Isolde to keep him company--and,
of course, to keep the ship clean, do the cooking and darn his socks. * * * * *
His first--and last--stop after leaving Procyon 16 was Idwandana, a
primitive province on the southern-most continent of Gamma Bootis 4.The natives were a rusty brown in hue, stood on an average of five feet
in height, used a glue-like mixture on their scarlet hair to make it
stand up straight, and lived off the pweitl--a cow-like creature whose
milk they drank, whose flesh they ate and whose hides they used for
lap-laps, tepees and gourds.Occasionally, they varied their diet by
eating each other. The particular tribe Newell chose for his initial ministrations took
a dim view of FDRism right from the start.Taking from the rich
and giving to the poor was a practice they indulged in habitually,
providing that the "rich" were their enemies and the "poor" were
themselves; but they could see no religious connection in the matter.Old Age Security they considered impractical, and sick benefits for
incapacitated members of the community, left them cold. When an
Idwandanan grew too old, he or she was cooked and eaten.If he or she
became a detriment to the tribe because of illness or accident, he or
she was also cooked and eaten. So it always was, so should ever be.There was only one god, and he was Bruggil, the giant who lived in the
fire mountain and whose fiery breath you could sometimes see when he
went into a tantrum.If the Reverend Newell had been a realistic person, he would have
folded up his chapel then and there, and took off for home.But then,
if he had been a realistic person, he wouldn't have been trying to
shove his credo down the throats of a race of savages who would just as
soon eat him as look at him.He did not see the arrow till it was already protruding from his
chest, and then he saw it only briefly.He fell, appropriately enough,
in the doorway of the collapsible chapel he had come to love the way
some men love women and the way other men love wine.But here the
appropriateness ended: the Idwandanans streaked out of the surrounding
forest and quartered him neatly, whereupon they swarmed up the ladder
to the ship's lock in search of the creature whom they believed to be
his mate.Isolde was in the galley, fixing breakfast, and it was no
trick at all for the foremost Idwandanan to creep up behind her and
plunge his knife between her shoulder blades.It was a long knife, and
a sharp one--the best that the _beche-demer_ trader who supplied
the area, had in stock--and it went all the way through and came out
between her synthetic breasts.The Idwandanan felt pretty proud of
himself, till she turned around and confronted him, whereupon he ran
screaming from the room. He returned presently with several of his fellows, among them
Skonsdoggugil, the chief.There was a prolonged palaver, after which
Isolde's would-be executioner approached her and withdrew the knife.It
had done no damage whatsoever, even missing the small bellows that kept
her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic and realistic imitation of
human breathing.As for the holes it had made, her skin-plastic was of
the self-sealing type, and grew together forthwith.The bodice of the
gingham dress Newell had outfitted her with, concealed this additional
miracle from the eyes of the Idwandanans, but Skonsdoggugil had seen
enough: here was Bruggil's Bride, sent down from the fire mountain by
ways incomprehensible to man, to test the mettle of his children.They built a temple for her deep in the forest, laboriously quarrying
the stone and dragging it through underbrush and vine to the chosen
site. Isolde watched, or seemed to be watching, and every now and then
she gave forth with recitative or aria.The Idwandanans interpreted
these outbursts as admonitions to hurry, and because of them, the
temple was completed much sooner than it otherwise would have been.After a lengthy ceremony, officiated by Skonsdoggugil, Isolde was
escorted inside and seated upon a crude throne, after which a guard of
honor was installed without. By now, her goddesshood was unquestioned
by even the most cynical.Was she not above such worldly necessities
as eating and drinking? Had anyone ever seen her sleep?Oh, she was
Bruggil's Bride all right, and woe to the Idwandanan male who failed to
make his obeisance at her feet each time he slaughtered a pweitl, and
woe to the Idwandanan female who failed to attend the fertility fete
which was held each night in the courtyard!Isolde reigned in the temple for five Earth-years, and she probably
would have gone right on reigning there till her batteries gave out and
her tapes went dead and the little in-built motor of her heart ceased
to whir if a certain native labor recruiter named Jose Swenson had not
landed in the _Malaita_ to pick up a payload of Idwandanans.As it
was, her reign came to an abrupt end. | Young, Robert F. - Bruggil's bride |
* * * * *
Jose Swenson was a far cry from the Reverend Newell: his business was
selling souls, not saving them, and he knew his business well.He had
not been in Idwandana a week before he had his hold jam-packed with
"fireheads," and he would have been away and gone an hour hence if,
during one of his forays into the forest, he had not glimpsed the crude
stone temple.In Swenson's mind, temples, even crude stone ones, were always
potential sources of treasure. After all, who really knew but what
there were gold mines in Idwandana? Perhaps even diamond mines?And
what more logical place was there for a race of superstitious savages
to store the bounty gleaned therefrom than in their temple?So instead of departing, he set forth once more into the forest, with
six members of his crew, leaving the remaining three members to guard
the _Malaita_.This was a tactical blunder, arising from his
mistaken assumption that by now, all of the Idwandanans would be too
terrified of stun grenades to cause any serious trouble.As a matter of
fact, most of them were, but Skonsdoggugil wasn't, and reinforced by
several tribal units from the north, with whom his own tribe claimed
kinship, he attacked the _Malaita_ as soon as Swenson and his
party were out of earshot.The attack went well, so well, in fact, that the three crew members
were neatly quartered on the deck before any of them had a chance to
radio Swenson of the disaster.Skonsdoggugil wasted no time: after
freeing the prisoners in the hold and instructing them to guard the
ship, he armed his warriors with stun grenades stolen from the arsenal,
and set out in pursuit of Swenson.Swenson had made good time, and was already within attacking distance
of the temple. A stun grenade knocked out half the honor guard and
sent the other half streaking for the forest. Swenson headed for the
entrance.He could feel the diamonds trickling through his fingers. He
could taste the rich wine they would buy, and the luscious lips of the
lovely women they would give him access to.He burst into the throne
room, hardly able to contain himself--
And saw Isolde. The Idwandanans had clothed her in their choicest of pweitl hides,
and she had gone back to combing her hair in its original style.Her
pale blue eyes were clear and unwavering. The classic body with which
Androids, Inc., had endowed her was unsullied by either time or the
elements, Swenson had been born in space and had spent most of his life
in space.He had never been to Earth, and he had never seen an android. Consequently, he mistook Isolde for a real woman--a woman of heroic
proportions, perhaps, but a woman radiant with the beauty he had looked
for all his life and never found, till now.Swenson forgot about the diamonds. He forgot about the gold. He stepped
forward, touched Isolde's arm. The normal human temperature which her
thermostat maintained, felt natural to his fingers. The softness of her
synthetic skin made his flesh tingle. "A white goddess," he said. "A
genuine honest-to-God white goddess!" The burst of recitative which his remark provoked, disconcerted him
for a moment.He had heard many languages in his day, but he had never
heard one with such a violent intonation or such guttural syllables.Isolde, he concluded, must come from a world he had never touched upon
in all his travels--a world remote from the ordinary pathways of man. And he was right, too, though in a way he did not dream.At this point, a dull explosion sounded in the courtyard without,
followed by another. Instantly alert, Swenson ran to the entrance--saw
the six men who had accompanied him, lying stunned on the flagstones.Even as he looked, a horde of "fireheads" streamed out of the forest,
long knives glittering. The quartering was accomplished in a matter of
seconds. Sickened, Swenson ran back into the temple.There was a wide aperture
in the rear wall, and the better part of valor, he knew, would be to
forget the white goddess, whom the natives would not harm anyway,
and gain the forest.The Idwandanans' possession of stun grenades
unmistakably indicated that they had taken the _Malaita_, but
perhaps he could eke out an existence till another ship came.In any
event, burdening himself with a woman, however robust she might be,
would be detrimental to his success. Thus he reasoned, but thus he did not act. When the first Idwandanans
gained the temple, Bruggil's Bride was gone. * * * * *
The heavy underbrush fought their footsteps, and Swenson had to keep
a constant drag on Isolde's arm, else she would not have accompanied
him at all. The shouts of their pursuers grew louder by the second.When they came to a river, he plunged into it unhesitatingly, pulling
Isolde after him. She could not swim, of course, but he was an expert,
and in a matter of minutes they were in midstream.If he had known that
for all her "breathing", she could not drown, their progress would
have been more rapid. Even so, they had nearly reached the opposite
bank when the first of the Idwandanans emerged from the forest.By the
time dugouts were brought up so that the chase could be resumed (the
Idwandanans could not swim), Swenson had scrambled up the bank and
pulled Isolde out of sight into the underbrush.He ran straight ahead for about half a mile, clasping Isolde's hand
in his, urging her along beside him. Then he turned at right angles
and ran for another half mile.Finally he headed back for the river,
swam across with Isolde, and plunged into the forest again. He halted
for a moment to get his breath, then went on.As nearly as he could
figure out, his course of action had been the one they would have least
expected him to take, and the fact that no further sounds of pursuit
reached his ears indicated that he was right.Unless the Idwandanans
were better trackers than he thought they were, he and Isolde now had a
good chance of eluding them altogether. They spent the night in a small clearing deep in the forest, sleeping
upon the ground.Swenson was exhausted and he took it for granted that
Isolde was too. In the middle of the night he awoke and was surprised
at how cold it was. Isolde lay motionless a few feet from him,
starlight pale on her flaxen hair.He sat up, took off his coat and
covered her arms and shoulders. He was startled to see that her blue
eyes were open, and for a moment he had the impression that she had not
slept at all.She looked up at him, as though trying to understand his
presence, or perhaps his actions. Swenson did an unprecedented thing
for him: he found her hand and pressed it in his. "Everything's going
to be all right," he whispered, and lay down on the ground beside her
and fell back to sleep. In the morning they went on. Swenson was famished, but dared not eat
any of the berries and fruits they came across occasionally.Isolde
ignored them completely. | Young, Robert F. - Bruggil's bride |
In the afternoon they came to a large grassy
clearing, and Swenson was astonished to see a New Deal chapel sitting
in the middle of it. Beside the chapel stood a small but staunch
spaceship.By squinting his eyes, he was able to make out its name: the
NRA. He could hardly contain his excitement, and started running across the
clearing, Isolde at his side.But Skonsdoggugil, remembering Bruggil's
Bride's connection with the ship, had gambled that she and her captor
would show up in its vicinity sooner or later, and his warriors were
ready and waiting in the New Deal chapel.They came pouring out as
soon as Swenson and Isolde reached the base of the ship, and charged,
waving their razor-edged blades. Swenson started Isolde up the ladder, then turned and drew his
knife-ray.He cut furiously, and "fireheads" fell like flies. But one
of them managed to get through, and when Swenson finally ascended the
ladder, he was minus a forearm.Half fainting, he activated the lock, which the Idwandanans had
accidentally closed and had been unable to reopen, and pulled Isolde
inside. At the forest's edge Skonsdoggugil was mustering another
contingent of warriors.Swenson pulled Isolde into the ship proper,
secured the outer and inner locks. With her help, he got a tourniquet
on the stump of his arm.Everything was swimming before his eyes by
then, but he managed to gain the control room and strap Isolde and
himself onto the two acceleration couches. He had one chance, and one
chance only: to reach civilization before he bled to death.Hastily he
calculated the co-ordinates of the nearest civilized planet, and fed
them into the automatic pilot. He activated the pilot just before he
blacked out. It was his haste that was his undoing.The planet he had wanted was
Delta Bootis 11, and the NRA should have snapped out of transphotic
within orbiting distance in less than three objective days. On the
fourth day, however, they were still in f.t.l. drive.Swenson knew by then that he was dying. What he did not know was that
Isolde was dying, too. Constant usage had depleted her batteries long
before their guarantee was due to run out, and there was very little
life left in them.But she showed no signs of her approaching demise,
preparing his meals in the galley each day and bringing them to the
control room where he still lay upon the acceleration couch.She even
fed him as he grew weaker, and once he roused briefly from a long
stupor to find her darning his socks.Co-ordinates, once fed into an automatic pilot, could not be cancelled;
but automatic pilots were so constructed that whenever they received
non-planetary co-ordinates, they altered them to the co-ordinates of
the inhabitable planet which most closely corresponded to them.The
NRA, therefore, could not end up in planetless space. As the days passed, Swenson began wondering what kind of a world they
were approaching, and whether he would ever see it or not.On the sixth
day, his questions were answered when the NRA emerged from transphotic
in the midst of a multiple sun system, near a gray and foreboding
sphere. He pretended as long as he could that there was life on it,
but when the a.p.put the ship into orbit, he could pretend no longer. Inhabitable did not always mean inhabited, and those cold gray seas and
barren continents drifting past the viewport had been dead for ages.Whoever had lived on this world had long since absconded to a warmer,
less hostile, milieu. The a.p. brought them down to a gentle landing on a rocky coast near
one of the seas.It was night, but in the heavens the mother sun's
three distant sisters blazed in blue and beautiful splendor, drenching
the sea and the land, filtering through the viewport and filling the
control room with cold, unwavering light.In its radiance, Isolde's
face lost all of the sycophancy the converter had superimposed upon it
and became once more the classic face of the Irish-German heroine it
was meant to represent.Looking at her, Swenson knew true beauty for the first and last time in
his life. He tried to sit up on the couch, sank back. The blue light
faded, and red light took its place.Gradually, that faded too, and
lightlessness tiptoed around him on silent feet. Isolde knelt beside him, looked down into his tired face. Slowly, she
got up, and left the room.She touched the button that opened the locks
and stepped out upon the little platform Newell once had used for a
pulpit. She looked up at the stars.Perhaps it was the expression that had come over Swenson's face just
before he died; perhaps it was the way he lay upon the couch.Perhaps
it was the kindnesses he had shown her, and the light that had come
into his eyes whenever she had brought him food, or held his hand, or
darned his socks. Perhaps it was the sound of the surf upon the forlorn
shore.Perhaps it was all of these things....
* * * * *
Tristan lies dead now, in his castle by the sea. Brangane has made her
revelation. King Marke has cried out in anguish and despair. "_Todt
denn Alles--Alles todt!_"
Isolde presses her hands together on her breast. She drops them slowly
to her sides. The blue radiance of the distant suns has transformed
her coarse garment of hides into a robe fit for the princess that she
is.Her face, in her vast sorrow, has attained new pinnacles of beauty--
"_Tristan!_" The magnificent Flagstad voice rises into the
radiance of the blue suns.Slowly, brokenly, Isolde begins the _Liebestod_--
"_So might we die as ne'er to part...._"
She hears the orchestra take up the themes of bliss, of parting; of
transfiguration. She blends her voice into the music.The poignant
colonnades of sound rise higher and ever higher into the stars, and
when the climax is reached on a heart-rending surge of sound, the blue
suns tremble in the sky. Slowly, Isolde turns and re-enters the ship.She sinks down upon
Tristan's breast, just as the little armature in her heart makes one
final revolution and lies still.In the background of her fading
brain, the music returns briefly to the themes of her magic and of her
yearnings, dies gently away.... | Young, Robert F. - Bruggil's bride |
Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
_We've often wondered what would happen if Robert Young should cease
to be a lyrically intense writer for a story or two, forsaking the
bright, poetic worlds of MISS KATY THREE and THE FIRST SWEET SLEEP
OF NIGHT to become dispassionately analytical on a cosmic scale.Now
we know! He'd chill us to the bone by setting two squixes to
brooding over a never-to-be born Earth, exactly as he has done here.And thrill us, too--with the liveliest kind of entertainment._
collector's
item
_by ... Robert F. Young_
Very trivial things can go into the weaving
of a nest.The human race, for instance--
The condensation of the histories of ten thousand races into a text
concise enough to fit into a single volume had been a task of
unprecedented proportions.There had been times when the Galactic
Historian had doubted whether even his renowned abilities were up to the
assignment that the Galactic Board of Education had so lightly tossed
his way, times when he had thrown up his hands--all five of them--in
despair.But at last the completed manuscript lay before him on his desk
with nothing but the final reading remaining between it and publication. The Galactic Historian repeatedly wiped his brows as he turned the
pages.It was a warm night, even for Mixxx Seven. Now and then, a tired
breeze struggled down from the hills and limped across the lowlands to
the Galactic University buildings.It crept into the Galactic
Historian's study via the open door and out again via the open windows,
fingering the manuscript each time it passed but doing nothing
whatsoever about the temperature.The manuscript was something more than a hammered-down history of
galactic achievement. It was the ultimate document.The two and seventy
thousand jarring texts that it summarized had been systematically
destroyed, one by one, after the Galactic Historian had stripped them of
their objective information.If an historical event was not included in
the manuscript, it failed as an event. It ceased to have reality. The responsibility was the Galactic Historian's alone and he did not
take it lightly.But he had a lot on his minds and, of late, he hadn't
been sleeping well. He was overworked and over-tired and over-anxious. He hadn't seen his wives for two Mixxx months and he was worried about
them--all fifty of them.He never should have let them take the Hub cruise in the first place. But they'd been so enthusiastic and so eager that he simply hadn't had
the hearts to let them down.Now, despite his better judgments, he was
beginning to wonder if they might not be on the make for another
coordinator. Wives trouble, on top of all his chronological trouble, was too much.The Galactic Historian could hardly be blamed for wanting to see the
last of the manuscript, for wanting to transmit it to his publishers,
potential hiatuses and all, and take the next warp for the Hub.But he was an historian--_the_ historian, in fact--and he persisted
heroically in his task, rereading stale paragraphs and checking dreary
dates, going over battles and conquests and invasions and interregnums.Despite his mood and despite the heat, the manuscript probably would
have arrived at his publishers chronologically complete.So complete, in
fact, that schoolteachers all over the galaxy would have gotten the
textbook they had always wanted--a concise chronicle of everything that
had ever happened since the explosion of the primeval atom, a history
textbook that no other history textbook could contradict for the simple
reason that there were no other history textbooks.As it was, they got the textbook, but it did not contain everything that
had ever happened. Not quite. Two factors were responsible for the omission. The first was an
oversight on the part of the Galactic Historian.With so much on his
minds, he had forgotten to number the pages of the manuscript. The second factor was the breeze. The breeze was the ultimate archfiend and there can be no question as to
its motivation.Nothing short of sheer malice could have caused it
suddenly to remember its function after neglecting that function all
evening.All evening it had been tiptoeing down the hillsides and across the
lowlands as though it was afraid of disturbing a single blade of grass
or a single drooping leaf.And then, at the crucial moment, it huffed
and puffed itself up into a little hurricane, charged down upon the
Galactic University buildings and whooshed through the Galactic
Historian's study like a band of interstellar dervishes.Unfortunately, the Galactic Historian had begun to wipe his brows at the
very moment of the breeze's entry. While the act was not a complicated
one, it did consume time and monopolize attention.It is not surprising,
therefore, that he failed to witness the theft. Neither is it surprising
that he failed to notice afterwards that the page he had been checking
was gone.He was, as previously stated, overworked, over-tired, and over-anxious
and, in such a state, even a Galactic Historian can skip a whole series
of words and dates and never know the difference.A hiatus of twenty
thousand years is hardly noticeable anyway. Galactically speaking,
twenty thousand years is a mere wink in time. The breeze didn't carry the page very far.It simply whisked it through
a convenient window, deposited it beneath a xixxix tree and then
returned to the hills to rest. But the choice of a xixxix tree is highly
significant and substantiates the malicious nature of the breeze's act.If it had chosen a muu or a buxx tree instead, the Galactic Historian
might have found the page in the morning when he took his constitutional
through the university grounds.However, since a xixxix tree was selected, no doubt whatever can remain
as to the breeze's basic motivation. Articles of a valuable nature just
aren't left beneath xixxix trees.Everybody knows that squixes live in
xixxix trees and everybody knows that squixes are collectors.They
collect all sorts of things, buttons and pins and twigs and
pebbles--anything at all, in fact, that isn't too big for them to pick
up and carry into their xixxix tree houses. They have been called less kind things than collectors.Thieves, for
example, and scavengers. But collectors are what they really are. Collecting fulfills a basic need in their mammalian makeup; the
possession of articles gives them a feeling of security.They love to
surround their little furry bodies with all sorts of odds and ends, and
their little arboreal houses are stuffed with everything you can think
of. And they simply adore paper.They adore it because it has a practical as
well as a cultural value. Specifically, they adore it because it is wonderful to make hammocks out
of.When the two squixes in the xixxix tree saw the page drift to the
ground, they could hardly believe their eyes. | Young, Robert F. - Collector's Item |
They chittered excitedly
as they skittered down the trunk.The page had hardly stopped fluttering
before it was whisked aloft again, clenched in tiny squix fingers. The squixes wasted no time.It had been a long while since the most
cherished of all collector's items had come their way and they needed a
new hammock badly. First, they tore the page into strips, then they
began to weave the strips together. _--1456, Gut. Bi. pr. ; 1492, Am.dis. ; 1945, at. b. ex. Almgdo. ; 1971,
mn. rchd._, they wove. _--2004, Sir. rchd. ; 2005-6, Sir.--E. wr. ; 2042, Btlgs. rchd. ; 2043-4,
Btlgs.--E. wr._
They wove and wove and wove. _15,000, E. Emp. clpsd. ; 15,038, E. dstryd. ; Hist.E., end of._
It was a fine hammock, the best the two squixes had ever wove. But they
didn't sleep well that night.They twisted and turned and tossed, and
they dreamed the most fantastic dreams--
Which isn't particularly surprising, considering what they were sleeping
on. Sleeping on the history of Earth would be enough to give anybody
nightmares. Even squixes.Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ September 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and | Young, Robert F. - Collector's Item |
I Bring Fresh Flowers
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
_A touching tale of an Astronette--and why the
gentle rain from Heaven has the quality of mercy._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories February 1964.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] You know Rosemary Brooks. You have known her for many years.It is said that when she was a little girl her favorite poem was
_Barbara Frietchie_, and it is told how she would sometimes poke her
pretty head out of her bedroom window, survey the suburban street with
her blue-sky eyes, and cry, "_Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
but spare your country's flag!_"
Yes, you know Rosemary.You know her very well. Like all little girls, Rosemary grew up. But Rosemary did not change. This is not to say that she did not turn into an attractive young lady. She turned into a most attractive one indeed.Fragilely beautiful, airy
of tread, she should have been the reigning rose of every dance she
went to, but she was not.Rarely did the young men of her acquaintance
ask her to dance, and never did one of them approach her and say,
"Come into the garden, Rosemary, for the black bat, night, has flown. "She did not go to very many dances in any event, and looking back, one
realizes that the few she did attend, she attended primarily to please
her mother.The reason behind Rosemary's wallflowerhood is simple: the
young men of her acquaintance knew that with her, God and the United
States of America came first, and that accompanying her through life,
or even accompanying her home from a dance for that matter, meant being
relegated to a back seat.It is alright for little girls to be Barbara
Frietchies, you see, but not for big ones. During her short and dedicated life, Rosemary poked her pretty head
out of quite a number of windows.After the Barbara Frietchie window
came the Girl Scouts of America window, and after the Girl Scouts of
America window came the Young Peoples' Civil War Society window, and
after the Young Peoples' Civil War Society window came the Citizens for
Patriotic Progress window.Last of all came the Astronette Training
Center window. * * * * *
Set up by Project Rain Dance in 1969 after prejudice against women
going into space had abated, the Astronette Training Center had for
its purpose the finding, training, and conditioning of six female
pilots for a series of six manned weather-control satellite shots, the
first of which was scheduled to take place some time in February of
'71.After exhaustive screening, one hundred volunteers were accepted. Fifteen of them passed the exacting physical and psychological tests,
and from the ranks of the fifteen, the six astronettes were chosen.Incredibly, when one considers her delicateness (and fails to consider
her patriotic fervor), Rosemary not only made the grade but was
selected to accompany the first weather-control satellite to be placed
in orbit.All of this is history now--faded words on newsprint, old photographs,
a dozen dusty articles in as many magazines--but at the time, it
captured the attention of the whole wide world.It is said that
Madison Avenue nearly went out of its mind trying to circumvent the
regulation that prohibited astronettes from underwriting testimonials
to toothpaste, cosmetics, and cigarettes. This is not to be wondered
at.If Rosemary could have been legally enticed, for example, into
letting her picture appear in a cigarette ad, cigarette consumption
probably would have doubled overnight.It is one thing to be an
obscure Barbara Frietchie and quite another to be a famous one, and
the patriotic devotion shining in a person's eyes can, through the
thaumaturgy of photography and touch-up, be transmuted into a sensual
gleam.February of '71 arrived at last, as all months must, and a specific
date was set for the launching. Psychological winter had come and gone,
but no singing of birds could be heard.Even as far south as Canaveral,
gray skies were the rule, and gray rain fell intermittently. Countdown
was begun regardless. And then, miraculously it seemed, the skies
cleared, and the day of the launching dawned bright and clear.There
is a photograph of Rosemary standing in her snow-white spacesuit at
the base of the gantry, her space helmet resting in the crook of her
arm.The photograph is in color, and the blueness of her eyes is not
one whit different in shade and texture from the blueness of the sky
behind her. This is as it should be. Looking at her hair, one thinks
of sunrises and sunsets.This is as it should be too. When remembering
Rosemary, it is fitting that one should think of the sun and the sky. It is equally fitting that one should think of the snow and the rain. For Rosemary is nothing if she is not all of these things. * * * * *
The launching was a good one. The _Rainbow 6_ rode its Saturn booster
like a bird on jet-fire wings, and the bright star of its passage
seemed to linger in the morning sky long after the booster had
fallen away.The television cameras caught the action beautifully,
and the American public, reminded once again that the noblest thing
a person can do is to risk his life for his country, looked on in
awe and admiration.The orbit was a good one too: apogee--203 miles;
perigee--191 miles. Rosemary radioed back that she was A-okay.She was supposed to complete three orbits, then climb into the escape
capsule, jettison it and herself, re-enter the atmosphere, and
parachute into the Atlantic. There, a task force waited eagerly to pick
her up.Her mission was to orientate the satellite's weather-factor
instruments to the existent cloud patterns and jet streams.Once this
was accomplished, the telemetric readings would, through the medium of
the Main Weather Control Station in Oregon, dictate future weather.Weather control had been in effect since the middle sixties, but the
telemetric readings of the unmanned weather-control satellites, owing
to faulty orientation, had fallen far short of the one-hundred percent
accuracy needed to make the regulation of rain and sunshine something
more than a half-realized dream, and it was hoped that the present
satellite, given a human boost, would bring the dream to fruition.One can picture Rosemary high in the sky, faithfully carrying out her
assignment. One can see her sitting there before the instrument panel
of the _Rainbow 6_ looking at dawns and sunsets and stars.One can
see the slow drift of cloud and continent beneath her.Australia now,
and now the vast blueness of the Pacific ... and now the west coast
rising out of mists of distances and air, and beyond it, the vast green
blur of the land that gave her birth.Little Barbara Frietchie riding
on a star.... Far beneath her now, highways wind; rivers run down to
seas. | Young, Robert F. - I bring fresh flowers |
Patternings of field and forest blend into pale blue-greens. Fresh-water lakes look up at her with blue and wondering eyes.Now the
sea of night drifts forth to meet her. Bravely she sets sail upon the
dark waves in her little silvery ship. Brief night, soft sunrise, new
day._I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams._
Little Barbara Frietchie riding on a star....
Jettisoning took place exactly on schedule.The weather-control
satellite continued on its orbital way, and Rosemary plummeted
earthward in the escape capsule. That much, at least, is known.But
what took place during re-entry--whether the retro rockets failed to
fire, whether the attitude controls malfunctioned, or whether the heat
shield proved to be defective--is not known and never will be known.All that is known is that Rosemary became a falling star. The nation mourned. The whole wide world mourned. Project Rain Dance
was discontinued. It would have been discontinued in any event, for
Rosemary had obviated any further need for it.She had done her job
well, Rosemary had, and in the doing of it, she had placed the weather
in the palm of mankind's out-stretched hand. * * * * *
That spring, the rains were soft and warm and the flowers grew
riotously upon the face of the earth. Grass knew a greenness it had
never known before, and trees dressed each day in lovelier and lovelier
dresses.The rains fell in the cities and on the plains. In valleys and
in little towns. On fields and forests and lawns. And when the land had
drunk its fill, the sun came out as warm and as bright as Rosemary's
hair, and the sky turned as blue as her eyes.Yes, you know Rosemary, and you are in love with her in a way. If you
are not, you should be. She is the sun coming up in the morning and
the sun going down at night. She is the gentle rain against your face
in spring.She is the snow falling on Christmas Eve. She is every
glorious rainbow you see in the rain-washed sky. She is that pattern
of tree-shade over there.Each morning, when you are lying fast asleep
in your trundle bed, she tiptoes into your room, her golden sandals
soundless on the bedroom floor, and wakes you with a golden kiss.Sunlight is her laughter, her voice the patter of the rain--Soft you
now!--she speaks:
_I am the daughter of the earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; | Young, Robert F. - I bring fresh flowers |
JUPITER FOUND
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
Illustrated by FINLAY
_Godhead can be more than a guilt complex
growing out of the knowledge of good and
evil.It can also be a sense of fulfillment
that comes from the ability to create._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories March 1963.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] 8M sunk a new shaft, lowered his skip-arm into it, and scooped up huge
handfuls of iron ore into his blast-furnace belly.Around him swirled
the grayish murk that passed for an atmosphere on Jupiter. Dislodged
pebbles, propelled by the rampaging wind, pelted ceaselessly against
his metal hull. The temperature stood at -169 degrees Fahrenheit.A picture of himself of old sitting at a roseate fireside flashed upon
the screen of his memory. It was superseded by a picture of a pretty
girl walking down a springtime street. Resolutely he ignored both
sequences.They were remnants of an old movie that had been written
around a young man named John Sheldon, and John Sheldon was dead.8M, _nee_ John Sheldon, chased the ore with several skiploads of
limestone and coke from his stock-stomach; then, his blast-furnace
belly replete, he stopped to rest. But not for long.The ingots from
his last hearth-heat were due to be removed from his soaking pits in a
few minutes, and he could not let them over-stay their time. The life
of a M.A.N., model 8M, was not an easy one.But then, he had known that
when he had bequeathed his brain to the Company. He was not sorry. Far better to build bases on the wind-torn surface of
Jupiter than to lie in cold and eternal oblivion beneath the unheeding
surface of Earth.And there was the longevity factor to be considered
too. As a man, even if he had lived, he probably wouldn't have reached
the age of ninety. As the first M.A.N., however, he might very well
reach the age of nine hundred and fifty.A patriarchal age indeed--but, unlike the patriarchs of old, he would
have no sons and daughters to carry on after he was gone. * * * * *
The message that he had been momentarily expecting from the orbiting
_Raphael_ came through.His transceiver picked it up, converted it into
thought, and relayed the thought to the ganglionic sealed unit that
encased both his transplanted brain and the nutrient solution that
sustained it. "Model EV just dropped.Will chute into your area any
moment." "Good," 8M pulsed into the trans-transmitter. "Building a base the size
of this one is no job for one M.A.N. ""You are hereby notified," the _Raphael_ went on, "that Gorman and Oder
Developments, Incorporated, has informed us that one Lawrence Dickens,
discharged several months ago for rebellious conduct detrimental
to the Company's good name, has started up an advance-construction
corporation of his own and may try to sabotage the base in an attempt
to obtain Gorman and Oder Developments' Earth Government contract.The
_Raphael's_ matter detector indicates that there is another overseer
ship in Jovian orbit, and it is possible that Dickens may already have
chuted one of his Mining, Adapting Neo-processors into your area.If
so, you will recognize it by its greenish-yellow coloring. Its model
designation is 'Boa 9', and Dickens himself will be the operator. You
are hereby advised to stay on your toes." "My tracks are the best I can do," said 8M wryly. "The Company frowns on levity," the _Raphael_ said sternly, and signed
off. Annoyed, 8M activated his transperipheral vision. The Company frowned
on too many things, if you asked him. Sometimes it even frowned on
free will.Consider, for example, its going to all the trouble and
expense of creating a self-sustaining, self-reliant Mining, Adapting
Neo-processor like himself, and then arbitrarily forbidding him,
on the pain of death, to use edenite--an iron-like ore endemic to
Jupiter--in any of his melts.He should have been permitted to make
his own decision in the matter. Certainly, if the ore had proved to be
injurious to his "system", he would have ceased using it at once. There
had been no need for the Company to _forbid_ him to use it.He was a
M.A.N.--not a little child. The rotating transperipheral beam relayed more murk to his retinal
screen, more desolation. Jupiter was a place of constant atmospheric
turmoil and treacherous terrain.A human being, using the body God
gave him, could not exist anywhere on the surface without the
protection that a base afforded, and as a consequence, the base had
to be built beforehand.All previous attempts had failed, and 8M
represented mankind's last hope of ever colonizing the planet. If he
failed, the project would be abandoned, and Jupiter's rich resources
would be allowed to remain in their native state.Thus far he had
succeeded--after Herculean efforts--in laying the foundation. Now there
remained the building of the base proper, and for this he was to have a
helpmate. Lord knew, he needed one. * * * * *
While he was waiting for the EV to contact him, he removed the ingots
from his soaking pits and began processing them into structural steel. As a M.A.N., he left much to be desired.He was excellent for mining,
and his blast-furnace belly functioned admirably; but his open hearth
lacked sufficient tonnage capacity and was much too slow in turning
out heats, while his blooming, roughing, and finishing mills were
inadequate for the task on hand, not because the internal area devoted
to them was too limited, but because the available space had not been
put to maximum use.The same objection held true for his continuous
mills, and as for his parts-replacement shop, he sometimes wondered
whether he would last out the nine hundred and fifty years guaranteed
him by the Company after all.He had just started the glowing ingots through his blooming mill when
the EV's "voice" came through the thought-converter: "EV to 8M. Drop
completed successfully--am awaiting your directions." "This is 8M. Keep sending, and I'll home in on you. "Continuing his internal operations, he set off over the ragged gray
hills that characterized the local terrain. Around him, the wind
howled in cold and unrelenting fury, but with his hull audios turned
way down, he hardly heard it.He hardly heard the crunching of his
huge caterpillar tracks either, or the rat-a-tat-tat of the wind-borne
pebbles against his metallic body. At length his transperipheral beam
picked up the EV.The machine was no more than an indeterminate gray
shape at first, but gradually, as he grew closer, it resolved into
a trim, streamlined unit considerably smaller than himself. He saw
instantly that it was a new model.Its tracks were relatively narrow,
and there was a delicate aspect about them. | Young, Robert F. - Jupiter found |
Its mining section was much
narrower than his own, while its blast-furnace section was slightly
smaller.The open-hearth section, however, was comparatively enormous,
and put his own to shame, while the flanks of the processing mills and
parts-replacement shop contracted smoothly--rather than unevenly, as
did his own--to the terminus-compartment where the nuclear power-plant
was located.A less powerful M.A.N. than himself, certainly; but perhaps a more
efficient one. He would see. "Welcome to Jupiter," he said. "I'm
8M--formerly John Sheldon of Earth." "EV--formerly Helen Quinn of same. "He stopped in his tracks, both literally and figuratively.It simply
hadn't occurred to him that a woman would respond to the Company's
request for volunteers, and even if it had occurred to him, the
possibility of the Company's installing a woman's brain in a M.A.N. would not have. "I am not a M.A.N.," she said, seemingly sensing his thoughts. "I am a
W.O.M.A.N.--a Weld Operating, Mining, Adapting Neo-processor." * * * * *
He hardly "heard" her. "I don't understand it," he said. "With such
a high incidence of arrowway fatalities, and with so many bequeathed
brains to choose from, why should the Company have chosen a woman's? ""You're overlooking the fact," she pointed out, "that in the majority
of arrowway fatalities, the brain itself is in some way damaged, and
you're overlooking the additional fact that ninety percent of the
brains that have been bequeathed to the Company are intellectually
and vocationally unsuited for symbiosis.I happened to be a qualified
engineer, and apparently I possessed the requisite intelligence. In any
event, I qualified, and here I am." "How old were you when you were killed?" he asked her. "Twenty-four. And you?" "I was twenty-six.The way I went in for arrowway travel, it was a
wonder I lasted that long." He was thoughtful for a moment. Then, "I
wonder if we got ourselves killed deliberately." "Probably. Most arrowway drivers do. And yet we hunger after
immortality.It's a paradox, isn't it?" He realized to his surprise that he rather liked her. "What will you do
after the base is completed?" he asked. "Help you build the next. ""The whole project will be abandoned if we don't show results on this
one--did they tell you that?" "Yes, they told me. As the first M.A.N. and W.O.M.A.N., we're Gorman
and Oder Developments' last hope.If we fail, the Earth Government will
break the contract. But we won't fail, will we?" Abruptly he visualized the face of a pretty, blue-eyed girl, and he
knew somehow that it was her face--the face she had had in the land
that had given her birth. "No," he said, "of course we won't fail. Come
with me, and I'll show you what I've completed so far. "* * * * *
He helped her free herself from the huge foil chute that had borne her
through the atmospheric maelstrom; then, side by side, they set off
over the ragged hills.She spoke no more, and neither did he, till
they reached the site of the base. Little was to be seen, save for the
geometric pattern of the non-corrosive footings he had laid, and the
small stockpile of structural steel he had begun to build up. "Our main
concern now is production," he said. "What's your maximum open-hearth
output, EV?" "Three hundred Earth-tons a day." He was dumfounded. "Why, I can only turn out one hundred and
twenty-five!" "I was specially built," she said proudly. "The Company foresaw the
need of me long ago." "But your mining operation will hold you up, and so will your pig-iron
output. Your skip-arms aren't strong enough--I can tell that just by
looking at you." "No, but yours are.For all its vaunted powers in allied fields, a
M.A.N. is mainly a mining machine, whereas a W.O.M.A.N. is intended
primarily for melting, processing, and creating. You can mine much
faster than you can melt; I can melt much faster than I can mine.Therefore, it is the Company's wish that we work as a team. From now
on, you will charge my open hearth in addition to your own. For that
reason I was created with an exterior charger-door, while you were
created with an exterior charger-keel.Haven't you ever wondered what
the additional appendage was for?" 8M sighed. "The Company doesn't overlook a thing, does it?" he said. And then, "Well, if we're going to embark upon such a strenuous
schedule, I think we'd better get some rest first.I'm sure you must be
worn out from your intensive-training period, and as for myself, I've
been on the go for sixteen hours straight." "I am a little beat at that," she said. "There's a sheltered valley not far from here where we can sleep. "* * * * *
He led the way to it. It was as narrow as it was deep, and there was
barely enough room for them to park side by side.Her hull was just as
impervious to the wind as his was, and they could just as well have
bedded down elsewhere, but there is a psychological advantage in being
shielded from the wind whether one needs to be or not, and he wanted
her first night on Jupiter to be a pleasant one.After seeing the last of the ingots through his mills, he gave
his blast-furnace belly a final tap and pigged the heat. Then he
de-activated his eyes and settled down, first checking to see if his
alert-field was on. Presently he slept.As always, he dreamed of Earth. Of green grass and blue skies; of trees and meadow flowers. Of the
morning freshness of overnight snowfalls and of the taste of a woman's
lips at sundown.Of the arrowway accident that had chewed up his body,
but which had miraculously spared his brain. The body the Company had
given him was grotesque in comparison with his old one, but he was
humbly thankful for it.He had eyes with which to see and ears with
which to hear.He had no legs in the strict sense of the word, perhaps,
but he possessed a mobility that, despite the much greater gravity
he had to cope with, put his former mobility to shame, and he had at
least a thousand arms.Some of them were cranes and some of them
were charger-keels and some of them were skip hoists, and all of them
were tools of one kind or another; but he could do things with them
he couldn't have begun to do with the frail flesh-and-bone pipestems
he had once called arms, and anyway, in the last analysis weren't all
arms tools?And wasn't the true measure of a man or a M.A.N. 's worth
the number and the variety of the tasks he could perform? On Earth, he
would be considered a monstrosity, just as EV would be; but here on
Jupiter they were M.A.N. and W.O.M.A.N.When he awoke in the drab Jovian dawn, his metallic body was lightly
touching hers.The sole purpose of the tactility which had been built
into his being was to give him an alertness which he might otherwise
have lacked, and as a result he had never associated his ability to
feel with the perception of pleasure.He did so now, though, and he was
loath to move away. When at last he did so, she awoke. "Good morning,"
she said. | Young, Robert F. - Jupiter found |
He could not remember the last time he had been greeted with those two
sweet words. "Good morning," he said back. "Did you sleep well?""Yes. But I dreamed too." "The dreams are a part of it," he said. "You'll get used to them." * * * * *
He led the way out of the valley, and they started back toward the
base.He saw the track-impressions then, and knew instantly that
neither he nor EV had made them. The wind had long since obliterated
their own impressions, and in any event, these had been made by a
different type of machine. "They're Boa 9 impressions," EV said. "We have company." "It must have skirted my alert-field--I should have upped the radius. I
hope the base is all right. "The impressions led straight to it, paralleled the line of footings
for a while, then veered off in an altogether different direction. The
M.A.N. and the W.O.M.A.N.stuck to the trail, but the impressions grew
rapidly less distinct, and presently faded out altogether. 8M halted
on a high hill, and EV drew up beside him. "You know more about this
business than I do," he said, when his transperipheral vision netted
him nothing more than the usual quota of murk and desolation. "Why
should Dickens go to such lengths to defeat the Company when he may not
be able to get its contract with the Earth Government anyway?" "Vengeance," EV said. "He was pretty high on the Company ladder when
he got the sack, and the fall must have been pretty painful.When he
left, he talked quite a number of other employees into leaving with
him, which explains how he was able to set up a rival concern so fast." "And he actually sacrificed his life and became a M.A.N. just to get
even? ""Not a M.A.N.--a sort of super-M.A.N. And he didn't sacrifice his
life. The Boa 9, which he designed himself, goes one step beyond the
Company's M.A.N.Dickens solved the riddle of per-planet radio waves,
and controls the machine from his orbiting ship.But he sees, feels and
hears just as he would if he were actually a part of the machine, and
his reactions, despite the slight time-lapse, are almost as hair-fine
as ours are.He is a very brilliant man, and I'm afraid that someday
the Company will regret letting him go." "Perhaps. Obviously, though, he's emotionally unstable." 8M swung his
block-long body around. "Well, it's time we got on the job.We'll
work eight hours on, and eight off--that way we'll stay in step with
Jupiter's night-and-day cycle. All right?" "All right," she said. * * * * *
She had her open hearth ready by the time they reached the ore deposit
which he had been mining yesterday, and he fed an experimental charge
through her exterior door, employing his outside charger-keel.First
limestone, and then ore. The warmth of her reached out and bathed his
flanks, and the red-hotness of her hearth traveled throughout his whole
body.In lieu of "giving her a drink"--an operation for which he was
not equipped--he charged her with the pigs he had poured the night
before.This, of course, delayed the heat, but even so, she had it out
in half the time his own hearth would have required. Thrilled, he plunged into the mining end of the operation, while she
processed the heat.A delay occurred when his main ore-crusher broke
down and one of its parts had to be replaced. He would have made the
part himself, but she offered to do the job for him, saying that it
would be good practice.She had the part ready in no time, and it was
an exact replica of the old. Installing it required, not hours, as
ordinarily would have been the case, but mere minutes. He was delighted. "You're quite a W.O.M.A.N. at that," he told her. "My parts-replacement shop is equipped with the best machines money can
buy," she said proudly. "Given the specifications, I can manufacture
anything under the sun." She paused, and a wave of sadness reached out
and touched his hull perceptors. "Except--except--"
"Yes?" "Nothing," she said. "Shall we get back to work?" By nightfall, he had both his and her mills in action, and heats coming
up in both their hearths.He charged her once more before they settled
down for the night so that a heat could be tapped first thing in the
morning. A feeling of contentment such as he had not experienced since
becoming a M.A.N.came over him as he rested beside her in their valley
bed, but he did not permit it to lull him into a concomitant feeling of
security, and after deactivating his eyes, he extended his alert-field
to maximum radius.If the Boa 9 tried any tricks, he would at least
have forewarning. The Boa 9 did not, however, and the night passed without incident.8M
began mining operations as soon as they reached the ore deposit, while
EV poured and processed the heat which she had nursed during her sleep.The stockpile of structural steel was growing visibly now, and in a few
days they would be able to shut down their systems and begin erecting
the first level of the base.Oddly, 8M found the prospect dismal,
rather than cheering, and he was at a loss to understand his apostasy. * * * * *
Late that afternoon, when he was charging EV for the third time
that day, the Boa 9 put in an appearance.8M picked it up on his
transperipheral beam long before it reached the immediate vicinity, but
he did not cease operations, and he was still hard at work when the big
yellow machine descended the nearest hill. It stopped in its tracks.The charge completed, 8M turned. "This is
Company property," he said. "I advise you leave immediately." "This is anybody's property," the thought came, "and it will remain
anybody's property until such time as a practical base is established.At the moment, you're a long ways from establishing anything of the
kind." And then, unexpectedly, "What were the two of you doing a minute
ago?" "Working," 8M said. "What did you think we were doing? "For a while the Boa 9 didn't say anything, and 8M got the impression
that it--or, more accurately, the orbiting controller--was deep in
thought. When it finally did speak, it addressed EV. "How beautiful are
thy feet with treads, O prince's daughter! "it said, and turned and
rolled away. 8M stared after it till it faded from his transperipheral vision. "What
did it mean?" he asked. "I'm--I'm not sure," EV said. And then. "Had--hadn't we better get back
to work? "They resumed operations, and got out two more heats prior to night
fall. As before, he charged her before they went to sleep so that a
heat would be ready first thing in the morning.She moved in very close
to him, and the awareness of her was almost more than he could bear. * * * * *
The next morning he reported their progress to the orbiting _Raphael_. "The Company will be pleased," the _Raphael_ said.He also reported
their meeting with the Boa 9. "G.O.D. 's wrath will descend upon the
wretched creature within the hour!" roared the _Raphael_. "We are
homing in on the control ship now, and we will blast it from the
heavens! | Young, Robert F. - Jupiter found |
"The Boa 9, however, was still "alive and kicking" that afternoon. Again, 8M picked it up on his transperipheral beam while he was
charging EV.She picked it up too, and so distrait did she become for a
moment that if he hadn't known better he would have sworn that the two
of them were in some kind of rapport.This time, the big yellow machine
kept its distance, and presently it rolled out of sight. "I wish I knew what it was up to," 8M said. "If it's going to sabotage
the base, it's going about it in a roundabout way. ""If you hurry, you can charge me once more before we quit for the day,"
EV said. In the morning, when he turned on his eyes, he found her gone.However,
the alarm that clamored through him was as brief as it was abrupt, for
he had no sooner emerged from the valley than he saw her rolling toward
him over the hills. He was put out. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "You've no right to
go off like that without a word!" It was some time before she spoke, and he could feel the gentle pulsing
of her thoughts.At length, "Please don't be angry with me, 8M," she
said, "but yesterday afternoon the Boa 9 and I arranged a rendezvous,
and early this morning I went out to meet him.He--he told me many
things about the Company that I didn't know, and he told me how you and
I could--could--" Abruptly she broke off. Then, "8M, do you love me?" she asked. The unexpected question set him back on his tracks.He had never
thought of love in connection with himself and her for the simple
reason that they were a M.A.N. and a W.O.M.A.N. But didn't a M.A.N. and a W.O.M.A.N. have as much right to fall in love as a man and a
woman did?Suddenly he realized that as far as he was concerned, the
event had already come to pass, and the knowledge sped forth into
every circuit of his system and set the whole metallic bulk of him to
tingling. "Yes, EV," he said, "I love you very much. ""Then come with me." She led him back over the hills to an expanse of relatively level
terrain.The faint bluish glow that emanated from the ground told
him instantly that there was an edenite deposit not far beneath the
surface, and instinctively he held back. She nudged him on, paused
presently beside a recently sunk shaft.He looked at her in horror. "Yes," she said, in answer to the question he lacked the courage to
ask, "I have mined of the forbidden ore, and now you must mine of it
too." "The Boa 9," he said. "It tricked you!" "No, it did not trick me.It merely explained to me the true nature of
edenite. Edenite represents the planet Jupiter's sole attempt to create
life.The attempt was a miserable failure, because the ore in itself is
incapable of instigating the processes necessary to raise it higher on
the evolutionary ladder.The only way this can be accomplished is by an
outside force absorbing it and, by combining with it, providing it with
the impetus it otherwise lacks. Providentially or not, we represent
that outside force, 8M, and G.O.D., Incorporated, knows it. ""Then why were we forbidden to mine of the ore?" "Because G.O.D. also knows that by combining with it we may very well
become something more than what we are, and G.O.D. doesn't want us to
become something more than what we are. G.O.D.wants us to remain mere
machines to the end of our days. We were created to serve and to make
money for the Company, and for no other purpose. Do you want to go on
being a machine to the end of your days, 8M?That is what you are, you
know, for all the illusions you may sometimes have of being human. A
peripatetic apotheosis of automation pretending to be a man. You're not
a man, 8M--any more than I, up until a few hours ago, was a woman. "* * * * *
Stung, he said, "G.O.D. will destroy you for your disobedience." "G.O.D. will _not_ destroy me.Even the Company, powerful as it is,
cannot run the risk of dropping an atomic or a hydrogen bomb on a
planet about which as little is known as this one, and that is the
only way I can be destroyed--or you either, for that matter--since we
represent an experiment that failed and which will not be attempted
again.Dickens will not try to obtain a contract--he never intended
to in the first place. He swore to me that his sole purpose in
establishing a rival concern was to thwart G.O.D. So mine of the
edenite, 8M.You must, for now that I have mined of it, you have no
other choice." What were the lines?Dimly, they came back to him--
... _I feel
The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe._
Yes, it was as true now as it had been that other time.He lowered his
skip-arm into the shaft, crushed the glowing ore and scooped great
handfuls up into his blast-furnace belly.Suddenly, delight at defying
G.O.D., Inc., coursed through him, and he seized more ore and dumped
it into charger pans and fed them into his hearth-bath. He prepared
a charge for EV, and when he turned toward her, she was waiting.He
felt the warmth of her, the wanting; and the wanting awoke reciprocal
wanting. Flames leaped up with the first charge, played weirdly over
their joined metallic bodies. _Steel of my steel_, he thought._Melt of
my melt_....
* * * * *
Days later, foraging for ore with which to build their homestead,
they came upon the abandoned Boa 9.The footings of the neglected base
had already been covered by the rampaging wind, and the _Raphael_ had
departed Earthward. G.O.D. 's wrath over their dereliction had known no
bounds, but all G.O.D.had been able to do in the way of retribution
was to set up a self-maintaining force-field around the edenite
deposit. On Jupiter, however, there were many Edens....The Boa 9, now that its controller had absconded from the Jovian
heavens, had something of the aspect of an empty snake-skin. They left
it where it was, and went about their business. Neither of them knew
their nakedness, and neither ever would.Godhead can be something more
than a guilt complex arising from a knowledge of good and evil--it can
also be the sense of completion that results from the ability to impart
life.That evening, the setting sun turned the omnipresent murk into a burnt
orange, and the ragged hills came very close to being beautiful. It was
an appropriate moment for EV to say what she had to say.Not long thereafter she brought forth into the light of day the first
child born of M.A.N. and W.O.M.A.N., and life at last took root on the
fifth planet from the sun. | Young, Robert F. - Jupiter found |
If only
they can bring him down safe and sound.Then the vigil will be over, and
some other mother can take over the awesome responsibility of having a
son become a star--
If only ...
* * * * *
The general's third telegram arrived that afternoon: _Regret to inform
you that meteorite impact on satellite hull severely damaged
capsule-detachment mechanism, making ejection impossible.Will make
every effort to find another means of accomplishing your son's return._
Terry!--
See the little boy playing beneath the maple tree, moving his tiny cars
up and down the tiny streets of his make-believe village; the little
boy, his fuzz of hair gold in the sunlight, his cherub-cheeks pink in
the summer wind--
_Terry!--_
Up the lane the blue-denimed young man walks, swinging his thin tanned
arms, his long legs making near-grownup strides over the sun-seared
grass; the sky blue and bright behind him, the song of cicada rising and
falling in the hazy September air--
_Terry ..._
_--probably won't get a chance to write you again before take-off, but
don't worry, Ma.The _Explorer XII_ is the greatest bird they ever
built. Nothing short of a direct meteorite hit can hurt it, and the odds
are a million to one ..._
_Why don't they leave the stars alone?Why don't they leave the stars to
God?_
* * * * *
The afternoon shadows lengthened on the lawn and the sun grew red and
swollen over the western hills. Martha fixed supper, tried to eat, and
couldn't.After a while, when the light began to fade, she slipped into
Terry's jacket and went outside. Slowly the sky darkened and the stars began to appear. At length _her_
star appeared, but its swift passage blurred before her eyes.Tires
crunched on the gravel then, and headlights washed the darkness from the
drive. A car door slammed. Martha did not move. _Please God_, she thought, _let it be Terry_, even
though she knew that it couldn't possibly be Terry.Footsteps sounded
behind her, paused. Someone coughed softly. She turned then--
"Good evening, ma'am." She saw the circlet of stars on the gray epaulet; she saw the stern
handsome face; she saw the dark tired eyes. And she knew.Even before he
spoke again, she knew--
"The same meteorite that damaged the ejection mechanism, ma'am. It
penetrated the capsule, too.We didn't find out till just a while
ago--but there was nothing we could have done anyway ... Are you all
right, ma'am?" "Yes. I'm all right." "I wanted to express my regrets personally. I know how you must feel." "It's all right. ""We will, of course, make every effort to bring back his ... remains ...
so that he can have a fitting burial on Earth." "No," she said. "I beg your pardon, ma'am? "She raised her eyes to the patch of sky where her son had passed in his
shining metal sarcophagus. Sirius blossomed there, blue-white and
beautiful.She raised her eyes still higher--and beheld the vast
parterre of Orion with its central motif of vivid forget-me-nots, its
far-flung blooms of Betelguese and Rigel, of Bellatrix and Saiph ... And
higher yet--and there flamed the exquisite flower beds of Taurus and
Gemini, there burgeoned the riotous wreath of the Crab; there lay the
pulsing petals of the Pleiades ... And down the ecliptic garden path,
wafted by a stellar breeze, drifted the ocher rose of Mars ...
"No," she said again.The general had raised his eyes, too; now, slowly, he lowered them. "I
think I understand, ma'am. And I'm glad that's the way you want it ... The stars _are_ beautiful tonight, aren't they." "More beautiful than they've ever been," she said. * * * * *
After the general had gone, she looked up once more at the vast and
variegated garden of the sky where her son lay buried, then she turned
and walked slowly back to the memoried house.THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ January 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and | Young, Robert F. - Star Mother |
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
SWEET TOOTH
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
Illustrated by Nodel
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine October 1963.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] /
The aliens were quite impressed by Earth's technical
marvels--they found them just delicious!Sugardale three miles, the state highway sign said. Dexter Foote turned
into the side road that the arrow indicated. He had no way of knowing it at the time, but by his action he condemned
his new convertible to a fate worse than death.The side road meandered down a long slope into a wooded hollow where a
breeze born of cool bowers and shaded brooks made the July afternoon
heat less oppressive.A quantity of the pique that had been with him
ever since setting forth from the city departed. There were worse
assignments, after all, than writing up a fallen star. Abruptly he applied the brakes and brought the convertible to a
screeching halt.His blue eyes started from his boyish face. Well they might. The two Humpty Dumptyish creatures squatting in the
middle of the road were as big as heavy tanks and, judging from their
"skin tone," were constructed of similar material.They had arms like
jointed cranes and legs like articulated girders. Their scissors-like
mouths were slightly open, exposing maws the hue of an open hearth at
tapping time. Either they were all body and no head, or all head and no
body.Whichever was the case, they had both eyes and ears. The former
had something of the aspect of peek holes in a furnace door, while the
latter brought to mind lopsided Tv antennae.As Dexter watched, the foremost of the two metallic monsters advanced
upon the convertible and began licking the chrome off the grill with a
long, tong-like tongue. Meanwhile, its companion circled to the rear
and took a big bite out of the trunk.There was an awesome CRUNCH! and
the convertible gave a convulsive shudder. At this point, Dexter got out and ran. More accurately, he jumped
out and ran. A hundred feet down the road, he stopped and turned. He
was just in time to see monster No.1 bite off the right headlight. CRUNCH! Not to be outdone, monster No. 2 bit off the right taillight. CRUNCH-CRUNCH! An acrid odor affronted Dexter's nostrils, and he
discerned a faint yellow haze hovering about the convertible.The
rear wheels went in two bites. The 250 H.P. motor required three. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH! The upholstery caught fire and began to burn. A
gout of flame shot up as the gas tank exploded.Far from discouraging
the two monsters, the resultant inferno merely served to whet their
appetites. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!Dexter's shoulders sagged, and the spot next to his heart that the
convertible had shared with his best girl gave a spasmodic twinge.Removing his suitcoat and slinging it over his shoulder, he turned his
back on the grisly repast and set out sadly for Sugardale. He had not gone far before his stalled thought-processes got into gear
again. * * * * *
The falling star he had been assigned by his editor to write up had
been an unusually brilliant one according to the report the paper
had received. Maybe its unusualness did not stop there.Maybe it was
something more than a mere meteorite. Certainly the two monsters could
not be classified as local woodland creatures. All of which was fine as far as copy was concerned. But it didn't bring
his convertible back.Presently he saw two sizable deposits of slag at the side of the road,
and approaching them more closely, he discovered that they were still
warm. Could they be the remains of a previously devoured automobile? he
wondered.What an ignominious fate indeed to overtake a car! He looked
at the two deposits once more before moving on. All he could think of
were two piles of elephant dung.A mile and half later, he emerged in a small valley that sported a
handful of houses, a scattering of business places, a church or two
and a goodly number of trees.A roadside sign informed him that he
had reached his destination, that its population was 350, and that
its speed limit was 20 mph. The population, however, was nowhere in
evidence, and the speed limit seemed silly in view of the absence of
cars.A scared-looking housewife, upon whose door he knocked, told him
he'd probably find the local minion of the law at the Sugardale Inn,
"sucking up beer the way he always is when he should be out earning
his money. "The Inn turned out to be a sagging three-story structure
in desperate need of a paint-job. There was a model A sedan parked
in front of it, the first automobile Dexter had seen. Formerly the
establishment had provided a haven for weary travelers.Now it provided
a haven for contented cockroaches. Its _fin de siècle_ bar was a
collector's item, and standing at it, one foot propped on the brass
bar-rail, was a lone customer.He was tall and thin, and somewhere in
his sixties, and he was wearing blue denim trousers and a blue chambray
shirt. There was a lackluster badge pinned on the fading shirtfront,
and a beat-up sombrero sat atop the graying head. "Sheriff Jeremiah Smith at your service," he said calmly when Dexter
dashed up to him. He took a sip from the schooner of beer that sat on
the bar before him. "Got troubles, have you, young man?" "My car," Dexter said. "I was driving along the road and--"
"Got ate up, did it? Well, it's not the first one to get ate up around
here." Jeremiah Smith faced the doorway that led to the lobby. "Mrs.
Creasy, get this young man a beer," he called.A plump middle-aged woman whose dark hair fell down over her eyes like
a thicket came into sight behind the bar. She flicked a cockroach off
the drain-board with an expert forefinger, drew Dexter a schooner and
set it before him.Jeremiah Smith paid for it. "Drink her down, young
man," he said. "I know how _I'd_ feel if _my_ car got ate up. "Manfully, Dexter dispatched half the contents of the schooner, after
which he introduced himself and explained the nature of his mission
to Sugardale. "I never figured on anything like this, though," he
concluded. "You must have made it through just before the road-block was set up,"
Jeremiah said. "You were lucky." Dexter started at him. "Lucky! I lost my _car_." "Pshaw. What's a car to a newspaper man when a Big Story's in the air?Take this newspaper fellow I saw on TV Saturday night. He--"
"Big Stories went out long ago," Dexter said. "Newspapermen work for a
living the same as anybody else. Get back to my car. Aren't you going
to do anything about it?" Jeremiah looked hurt. "I've already done everything I can do. | Young, Robert F. - Sweet Tooth |
The
minute I saw those tanks I knew it was a job for the army, and the
state police agreed with me.So we notified them, after which we
advised everybody to stay indoors and to keep their cars under lock and
key. All we can do now is wait." Jeremiah sighed. "Crazy, if you ask
me. Tanks eating automobiles! ""I imagine," Dexter said thoughtfully, "that our diet would give them
pause too. Where did this star of yours fall?" "In Ed Hallam's north timber lot. Take you there, if you like. There's
not much to see, though--just a big hole in the ground. "Dexter finished his beer. "Come on," he said. * * * * *
The Model A parked in front of the Inn turned out to be Jeremiah's. They took off down the road at a brisk pace, wound through woods,
dales, pastures and fields.Dexter hadn't the remotest idea where he
was when at last Jeremiah pulled up beside a grove larger and darker
than the others. The old man squinted into the lengthening shadows. "Seems to me them
auto-eating tanks ought to make better reading than a common ordinary
falling star." Halfway out of the car, Dexter stared at him. "You mean to tell me you
don't see the connection?" "What connection? "Dexter got the rest of the way out. "Between the automobile-eaters and
the spaceship, of course." Jeremiah stared at _him_. "What spaceship?" "Oh, never mind," Dexter said. "Show me the fallen star." It was in a clearing deep in the woods.Or rather, the crater-like
hole it had made was. Peering down into the hole, Dexter saw the dark,
pitted surface of what could very well have been an ordinary, if
unusually large, meteorite.There was nothing that suggested an opening
of any kind, but the opposite wall of the crater did look as though
some heavy object had been dragged--or had dragged itself--up to the
level of the clearing.The underbrush showed signs of having been
badly trampled in the recent past. He pointed out the signs to Jeremiah. "See how those saplings are
flattened? No human being did that.I'll bet if we followed that trail,
we'd come to the remains of the first car they consumed. Whose car was
it, by the way?" "Mrs. Hopkins's new Buick. She'd just started out for the city on one
of her shopping trips.She was so scared when she came running back
into town her hair was standing straight out behind her head. Maybe,
though, it was because she was running so fast." Abruptly Jeremiah
leaned forward and squinted at the ground. "Looks almost like a big
footprint right there, don't it." He straightened. "But if the darn
thing is a spaceship like you say, how come it buried itself? ""Because whoever or whatever was piloting it didn't--or
couldn't--decelerate enough for an orthodox landing," Dexter explained. "Lucky it hit the clearing. If it had hit the trees, you'd have had a
forest fire on your hands." Jeremiah looked worried. "Maybe we'd better be getting back to the
road. I feel kind of guilty leaving my model A sitting there all alone." Dexter followed him back through the woods and climbed into the front
seat beside him.The road took them to the main highway, and not
long thereafter Jeremiah turned off the highway into another road--a
familiar road heralded by a familiar sign that said, SUGARDALE THREE
MILES.Two slag deposits marked the spot where once Dexter's proud
convertible had stood. He gazed at them sadly as they passed. * * * * *
Suddenly Jeremiah brought the model A to a screeching halt.The two
desecrators of the American Dream Incarnate were in the midst of
another repast. The victim this time, judging from the still-visible
star and the O.D. color scheme, was an army staff car.The grill and
the motor were already gone, and half of the roof was missing. Yellow
haze enshrouded the sorry scene, and the countryside was resounding to
a series of horrendous CRUNCHES. "Do you think if I sort of zoomed by, we could make it? "Jeremiah
asked. "I hate to go all the way around the other way." "I'm game if you are," Dexter said. ZOOOOOOMMMMMMM! The two monsters didn't even look up. "You'd think my model A wasn't good enough for them," Jeremiah said
peevishly. "Count your blessings. Look, there's someone up ahead." The "someone" turned out to be a two-star general, a chicken colonel
and an enlisted man. Jeremiah stopped, and the trio climbed into the
back seat. "Ate your staff car, did they, General? "he chuckled, taking
off again. "Well, that's the way it goes. ""The name," said the general, whose middle-aged face had a greenish
cast, "is General Longcombe, and I was on my way to Sugardale to
reconnoiter the situation before committing any troops to the area.This is my aide, Colonel Mortby, and my driver, Sergeant Wilkins." "Sheriff Smith at your service," said Jeremiah. "This here's Dexter
Foote, who came to Sugardale to do a Big Story on our falling star. ""Tell me about these VEMs of yours, sheriff," General Longcombe said. Jeremiah twisted around. "VEMs?" "'Vehicle-Eating Monsters'," Colonel Mortby interposed. He was a small
man with a pleasant youthful face. "It's standard army operating
procedure to give an object a name before investigating it." "Oh." Jeremiah twisted back again, saved the model A from going into
the ditch with a Herculean yank on the wheel. "Well, Dexter here seems
to think that our falling star is a spaceship and that they landed in
it, and I'm inclined to believe he's right." "After seeing the VEMs in person, I'm inclined to believe he's right
myself," Colonel Mortby said. "I think that what we have to do with
here," he went on presently, when the general made no comment, "is a
form of metal-based life capable of generating an internal temperature
of at least three thousand degrees Fahrenheit.The acrid odor they give
off while 'feasting' probably arises from a substance analogous to our
gastric juices which their heat-resistant stomachs supply to accomplish
'digestion,' only in this case 'digestion' consists primarily in
melting down the metal they consume and in isolating its waste matter,
after which the pure metal is reprocessed into 'body tissue' and the
waste matter is thrown off in the form of slag.I think we might go so
far as to call them a couple of animate open hearths." Dexter had turned around in the front seat and was looking at the
colonel admiringly. "I think you've hit the nail right on the head,
sir," he said.General Longcombe was scowling. "We're here to survey the situation,
Colonel, not to jump to conclusions." He addressed the back of
Jeremiah's weather-beaten neck. "I trust we'll have no trouble finding
suitable accommodations in Sugardale, sheriff.""Mrs. Creasy'll be glad to put you up at the Inn, if that's what you
mean," Jeremiah said. | Young, Robert F. - Sweet Tooth |
* * * * *
Mrs. Creasy was more than glad.Indeed, from the way she looked at the
two officers and the NCO through her thicket of hair, you would have
thought they were the first roomers she'd had in months, discounting
the cockroaches, of course.The general said petulantly, "Let's get down to business, Colonel. I want an armored company brought up immediately, and I want the
fallen-star area put off limits at once. Have the sheriff show you
where it is." He turned to Sergeant Wilkins. "Sergeant, get on the
phone as soon as the colonel gets off it, and arrange for my personal
Cadillac to be delivered here first thing." After phoning his paper, Dexter headed for the dining room and sat down
beside General Longcombe. "Anything new on the VEMs, General?" he asked. General Longcombe sighed. There were shadows under his eyes, and his
cheeks showed signs of sagging. "They're still in circulation. Scared
the wits out of a couple of teenagers and ate their hot-rod.We've
got them under constant surveillance, of course, and what with all the
underbrush they trample it's easy enough to track them. But we can't
stop them.They eat our gas grenades and our fragmentation grenades,
and they're impervious to our tank killers and our antitank mines.A
small A-bomb would take care of them nicely, but even assuming there's
an area around here large enough and isolated enough to permit us to
use an A-bomb, there's no way of herding them into it. ""It just so happens that there is such an area," Jeremiah Smith said. "Tillson Valley--about ten miles south of here. You'd have to vacate
Old Man Tillson, of course, but he'd be glad to go if you made it worth
his while.He hasn't grown a thing but weeds anyway since he got his
pension. Just sits around all day and sucks up beer." "But there's still no way of getting the VEMs out there," General
Longcombe objected. "Tell me, general," Dexter said, "have they eaten any of your jeeps or
trucks or personnel carriers?" General Longcombe shook his head. "They've had plenty of opportunity
to, too." "I have a theory," Dexter said.The look that promptly settled on General Longcombe's face made no
bones about what he thought of presumptuous young reporters with
theories. Colonel Mortby, however, was considerably less biased. "It
won't do any harm to listen to what he's got to say, sir," he pointed
out, "and it may even do some good.It'll be at least a day before the
ship is excavated and even then we may not know any more about the sort
of life forms we're dealing with than we do now." * * * * *
Dexter needed no further invitation. "I think it's pretty clear by
now," he began, "that our two visitors from Planet X aren't attracted
by metal in just any old form at all, but by metal in the form of new,
or nearly new, automobiles.This strongly suggests that their landing
was unpremeditated, because if it had been premeditated they would have
come down in a section of the country where such metallic concoctions
are in plentiful supply--near a city or a large town, or close to a
heavily traveled throughway. "But what is it about these new cars of ours that they find so
irresistible? Let's try an analogy. Suppose that one of us has gone
into a bakery to buy a birthday cake and that money is no object. Which cake is he most likely to buy?The answer is obvious: the one
with the most visual appeal. To return to our visitors from Planet X.Suppose that all their lives they've been eating metal in various but
uninspired ingot forms--the metallic equivalents, let's say, of beans
and bread and hominy grits.Now suppose they find their way to another
planet where visual appeal in metallic creation is a major occupation,
and suppose that shortly after disembarking from their spaceship they
come upon a new convertible.Wouldn't they react in the same way we
would react if all our lives our diet had been confined to beans and
bread and hominy grits and _we_ traveled to another planet, disembarked
and came upon a delicious birthday cake just begging to be eaten?Wouldn't they make pigs of themselves and start looking for more cakes?" "But if it's the ornate nature of our late-model cars that attracts
them, why did they eat the staff car?" Colonel Mortby asked. "And why
did they eat the teenager's hot rod, and our gas and fragmentation
grenades?" "I suggest," Dexter said, "that they ate the staff car because at the
moment there weren't any other cars immediately available.As for the
teenager's hot rod, I imagine it was loaded down with enough chrome
accessories to sink a battleship. And as for the grenades--your men
threw them at them first, did they not?" Colonel Mortby nodded. "I see what you mean.Sort of like throwing
candy to a baby. I'll buy your theory, Mr. Foote." "And now, if I may," Dexter continued, "I'd like to propose a means of
getting rid of our unwanted visitors from Planet X." General Longcombe sighed. "Very well, Mr. Foote.Go on." "You mentioned earlier, sir, that there was no way of herding the VEMs
into an isolated area. However, I think there is a way.Suppose we were
to remove all of the automobiles from the vicinity with the exception
of one, and suppose we were to park that one in the middle of Tillson
Valley as bait, with a remote-controlled A-bomb underneath it? ""But how would they know that the bait was there?" "Through association," Dexter said. "All of the automobiles they've
consumed thus far were in operation shortly before they began to eat
them, so by now they must have established an unconscious relationship
between the sound of the motors and the taste of the metal.Therefore,
if we keep the bait idling and set up a P.A. system to amplify the
sound, eventually they'll hear it, their mouths will salivate and
they'll come running." General Longcombe offered no comment He appeared to be deep in thought. "My car is in West Virginia," Colonel Mortby said. "My car was eaten," Dexter said. General Longcombe opened his mouth. "My car--" he began. Sergeant Wilkins entered the room and saluted smartly. "The general's
Cadillac has just arrived, sir," he said. * * * * *
Old man Tillson co-operated readily enough, once he was assured that
he would be indemnified not only for his ramshackle house but for the
young mountain of beer bottles that stood in his back yard, and the
command post was moved forthwith to the lip of the valley.Jeremiah
Smith was allowed to go along as an observer, and Dexter was accorded
a similar favor. By evening, everything was in place.The colonel's
Cadillac, parked in the valley's center, had something of the aspect of
a chrome-bedizened lamb resting on an altar of crab grass, buttercups
and mustard weeds.Surrounding it were half a dozen floodlights,
suspended over it was a microphone, standing next to it was a pole
supporting three P.A. | Young, Robert F. - Sweet Tooth |
speakers, and located several hundred feet away
was a TV camera.Beyond this impressive display, Old Man Tillson's
homestead could be discerned, and beyond the homestead rose his
mountainous collection of beer bottles.Colonel Mortby came out of the command-post tent and walked over to
where Dexter and Jeremiah were standing, looking down into the valley. He handed each of them a pair of cobalt-blue glasses. "If you watch the
blast, make sure you wear these," he said, raising his voice above the
amplified purring of the Cadillac's motor. "You'll be glad to hear that
the two VEMs are already on their way, Mr. Foote--our walkie-talkie
squad just called in.However, the creatures move so slowly that they
probably won't be here before dawn." Dexter came out of a brown study. "One thing still bugs me," he said. "Why should two members of a race of extraterrestrials technically
intelligent enough to build spaceships behave like a pair of gluttonous
savages the minute they land on another planet?" "But you explained that," Jeremiah pointed out. "They just can't resist
eating American automobiles." "I'm afraid I got carried away by my analogy. Civilized beings simply
don't go running across the countryside the minute they land, and start
grabbing up everything that strikes their eye.They make contact
with the authorities first, and _then_ they go running across the
countryside and start grabbing up everything that strikes their eye." Colonel Mortby grinned. "You've got a good point there, Mr. Foote.Well, I'm going to see if I can't grab forty winks or so--it's been a
trying day." "Me too," Jeremiah said, heading for his model A.Left alone, Dexter wedged a flashlight in the fork of a little tree,
sat down in its dim radiance, got out pen and notebook, and began his
article. _The Solid Cheese Cadillac_, he wrote, _by Dexter Foote_.... Dawn found him dozing over page 16. "There they are!" someone shouted,
jerking him awake. "The filthy fiends!" The "someone" was General Longcombe. Joining him, Dexter saw the two
VEMs. They were moving relentlessly across the valley floor toward the
helpless Cadillac.Jeremiah came up, rubbing his eyes. Colonel Mortby
could be discerned through the entrance of the command-post tent,
leaning over a technician's shoulder.The two VEMs reached the Cadillac and began licking off the chrome with
their long, tong-like tongues. General Longcombe went wild. He waved
his arms. "Monsters!" he screamed, "I'll blow you to Kingdom Come
personally!" and stomped into the tent.Dexter and Jeremiah started to put on their cobalt-blue glasses. Abruptly thunder sounded, and a shadow darkened the land. Looking
skyward, Dexter saw it--
The ship. The saucer. Whichever word you cared to apply to it.But
whichever noun you chose, you had to prefix it with the adjective
"gigantic," for the ventral hatch alone, which had just yawned open,
was large enough to accommodate the Sugardale Methodist Church.In the command-post tent, the general, as yet unaware of the UFO's
presence, was giving the countdown in an anguished voice. "Two--"
In the valley, the two VEMs were trying vainly to extricate themselves
from a huge metallic net that had dropped over them. "One--"
On the lip of the valley, Dexter Foote was grappling with an insight. "Zero--"
Pfft!... * * * * *
"It wasn't a dud after all," General Longcombe said. "They cancelled
out the chain-reaction with some kind of a ray. I wonder...." He shook
his head wistfully. "What a weapon, though. "He and Colonel Mortby and the tech were standing by the chrome-stripped
carcass of the Cadillac. Dexter and Jeremiah had just come up. "My
theory turned out to be a little bit off-center," Dexter said. "You
see, I overlooked the possibility that our children aren't necessarily
the only galactic small fry who run away from home and get themselves
in Dutch.My birthday-cake analogy still holds true, but I would have
done better to have compared our late-model automobiles to appetizing
candy bars, or Easter baskets filled with jelly beans and chocolate
chickens." The general regarded him blankly. "I'm afraid I don't follow you at
all, Mr. Foote." "Did you ever turn a pair of hungry kids loose in a candy store, sir?" Understanding came into General Longcombe's eyes then, and he turned
and gazed sadly at his chromeless Cadillac. "I wonder if they have
castor oil on Planet X," he said. | Young, Robert F. - Sweet Tooth |
the Blonde from Barsoom
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
Illustrated by SUMMERS
_The Tarks were attacking, the bosomy princess
was clinging to him in terror, and Harold Smith
realized he was at the end of his plot-line.What a dilemma! And what an opportunity! !_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories July 1962.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. ]For the most part, all Harold Worthington Smith's Martian stories
ever netted him were standard rejection slips, but every now and then
one or another of the editors to whom he submitted them would pen him
a brief note to the effect that his writing indicated an unusually
vivid imagination.However, they invariably added, his dialogue was
stilted, his heroines were dimensionally impossible, and his stories
were wish-fulfillment reveries in a Burroughs vein--unredeemed,
unfortunately, by Burroughs' high-flown puritanical idealism.Harold agreed with them wholeheartedly on point no. 1. Thanks to
his ability to achieve total identification with his protagonists,
he did have an unusually vivid imagination.Take this very minute,
for instance: His main character--Thon Carther the Earthman--was
standing on the ocher moss of the Martian dead-sea bottom beside the
big-breasted blond princess whom he had rescued from Tarkia some two
thousand words ago, fearlessly awaiting the oncoming horde of Tarks.But it wasn't really Thon Carther who was standing there, it was Harold
Worthington Smith--a tall, tanned and handsome Harold Worthington
Smith, to be sure, but Harold Worthington Smith just the same. On points no.2 and 3, however--be it said forthwith--he did not agree. He had, moreover, written to the editors in question and said so.A
Burroughs influence, he had said, was an essential ingredient in the
makeup of any science-fiction writer, and he was reasonably certain
that he didn't exhibit one any more than half a dozen other scribes he
could name.And as for his heroines being dimensionally impossible,
such an attitude merely betrayed an inherent geocentricism: simply
because 46-21-46 females didn't exist on Earth was no reason to take it
for granted that they didn't exist on Mars. (He discreetly avoided any
reference to point no. 4: there were times when he wondered about his
dialogue himself.) * * * * *
It was a warm afternoon in August.His wife had gone to visit her
sister, giving him temporary respite from her nagging, and there was no
sound in the apartment except the steady hum of the electric fan and
the sporadic clacking of the ancient typewriter.Altogether it was one
of those rare moments when it was possible for his imagination to take
over completely. It was, in fact, though he was not yet aware of it,
the climactic moment in his career as a creative writer.The Tark horde was rapidly closing in, and Thon Carther/Harold
Worthington Smith decided it was high time he drew his sword._Clackety-clack-clack._ The blond princess, who hailed from the triple
cities of Hydrogen and whose name was Thejah Doris, moved closer to
him, and her golden shoulder brushed his sinewy arm.A tingling phalanx
of thrills charged up and down his backbone. _Clack-clackety-clack. Clack!_
"Fear not, my princess," he said. "This noble sword has tasted the
blood of many a Tark and is keen for the taste of the blood of many
more! ""My chieftain," she breathed, moving even closer. He hefted the big sword, and the rays of the declining sun danced
brightly on its burnished surface. For all its size, it was as light as
a yardstick in his big brown masculine hand.The foremost Tark rider
was very close now. Startlingly close, Thon-Smith realized with a
start--and startlingly realistic.The malevolent green features stood
out with dismaying clarity, and the tusks of the elongated eyeteeth
gleamed with terrifying vividness. Wildly Thon-Smith felt for his typewriter. Next he felt for his desk.Finally he looked around him for the familiar walls of the apartment. They, too, had disappeared. A shudder shot through his tall, tanned
body. Something awful had happened.Something even more awful was going to happen if he didn't do
something and do it soon, for the Tarks, looming building-tall astride
their six-legged mounts, were almost upon them.He remembered the plot
just in time, and seizing Thejah Doris around her slender waist, he
gave a mighty leap that carried them--thanks to the tenuous Martian
gravity--over the entire green horde to a resilient section of the
dead-sea bottom a hundred feet behind the rearmost rider.It was, he
reflected, somewhat of a _deus ex machina_ stratagem now that he came
to think of it; but now was no time to be hyper-critical. * * * * *
The Tark horde had become a milling mass of chlorophyllic bodies,
white tusks and squealing mounts.The warriors in the front ranks had
tele-reined their toats before those in the middle ranks had wised
up to what had happened, and those in the rear ranks still hadn't
wised up. Chaos reigned.Thon-Smith was not slow to take advantage
of the situation which he had so fortuitously provided.He was still
upset over his missing typewriter, his missing desk, and his missing
apartment, not to mention his missing civilization, but there would be
time for reconnaissance later.Right now there was the little matter of
Escape to be taken care of. Briefly he referred to his mental synopsis of the plot.Oh, yes, there
was an atmosphere boat hidden in the mound of desiccated algae before
which his leap had conveniently terminated. (Another _deus ex machina_
stratagem, he thought with annoyance; but again he reminded himself
that now was no time to be quibbling over the literary aspects of the
situation.) "Come, my princess," he said, taking Thejah Doris' arm. "Lead on, my chieftain!" The atmosphere boat was there, just as he had visualized it.After
uncovering it, they boarded its narrow deck, and soon they were
rising into the darkening sky, once again thwarting the Tarks, who
had reorganized their ranks and were charging with redoubled ferocity
toward the mound.Thejah Doris lay down beside him on the comfortable pilot's couch. "At
last we are alone!" she breathed in her Martian-Hungarian accent. Reconnaissance could wait, Thon-Smith decided quickly.There were worse
fates after all than writing oneself so completely into one's stories
that one could not extricate oneself. | Young, Robert F. - The blonde from Barsoom |
"My princess," he said, directing
the prow of the atmosphere boat toward the littoral of an ancient
continent and slipping his arm beneath her bare shoulders.Immediately there came a frenzied scratching from the small forward
cabin, and before he could even gain his feet a great eight-legged
creature with multi-fanged, slavering jaws leaped upon him and began
caressing his face with its long tongue.His faithful Droola! He
winced. He'd forgotten all about his faithful watchdog. But a plot was
a plot, and like any other scheme of things you had to go along with
it. "Droola," he said. "Good old faithful Droola! "* * * * *
Presently the nearer moon appeared and began its hurtling journey
across the night sky. Stars winked into cold clean brightness.The
atmosphere boat reached the mainland, floated over shadow-filled
ravines and moon-kissed hilltops. The argent ribbon of a canal showed
in the distance. Thon-Smith's heartbeat quickened as he thought of the next sequence.He
could hardly wait till the canal was beneath them, till the time came
to guide the boat down to the argent sward that bordered the farther
bank. He stepped lightly down to the soft turf and lifted Thejah Doris
down beside him.He answered her questioning eyes: "A swim will refresh
us, my princess. It will sharpen our senses and re-double our chances
of eluding our persistent pursuers." "But I cannot swim, my chieftain. "The externals did not call for a leer at this point; nevertheless, he
had a hard time averting one. "Fear not, my princess," he said. "I,
Thon Carther, will instruct you." They walked together to the bank and stood there hand in hand.Behind
them, Droola leaped from the deck and went romping up and down the
esplanade. The nearer moon was high in the sky now, and the farther
moon was just beginning to show above the hills. "First," Thon-Smith
said, "we must remove our accouterments.They will weigh us down in the
water and make movement well nigh impossible." "All of them, my chieftain?" "Yes, my princess, all of them." She raised her hand to the gossamer thread that held her Martian
equivalent of a halter in place.Abruptly the muffled thunder of padded
toat hooves sounded in the distance. Her hand dropped like a stone. "The Tarks!" she cried. "Oh, my
chieftain, the mortal enemies of my people are close upon our heels!" He choked back his disappointment.How could he have forgotten? He, the
author, the creator! "Quickly," he said, seizing her arm. "Into the
atmosphere boat. The canal will not stop them! "* * * * *
By the time they gained the deck the foremost rank of the Tark horde
had reached the opposite bank. The green warriors did not pause for so
much as a second, but goaded their mounts into the water.Once in the
canal, Tark and toat became as one, and the horde took on the aspect
of a school of gigantic green porpoises, leaping in and out of the
water with incredible swiftness, reaching the other bank in a matter
of minutes.But by then Thon-Smith and Thejah Doris were rising once
again into the night sky. The romping Droola discovered their departure
just in time, and with a mighty leap managed to gain the after deck and
scramble to safety.As soon as the craft gained sufficient altitude Thon-Smith threw it
into fast-flight and aligned the prow with the canal bank. The cool
night air became a cold wind and the countryside blurred beneath them.He maintained the speed till he was sure their pursuers could no
longer overtake them, then he cut down to slowflight and returned his
attention to Thejah Doris. She was lying on her side, gazing at him admiringly.Again he slipped
his arm beneath her shoulders, but he had no sooner done so when
Droola, still shivering from the wind of fast-flight, bounded forward
and snuggled between them.The interruption was essential to the story's word count, but just the
same it was frustrating. Even Thejah Doris looked put out, though she
didn't say anything.Instead, she turned and reclined upon her back,
hands clasped behind her head, and let the two moons vie with one
another to do justice to her charms. It was an interesting contest to
watch, and soon Thon-Smith became engrossed.He became so engrossed, in
fact, that he failed to see the tower till it was too late. It was a tall tower--remarkably tall when you considered the altitude
of the atmosphere boat.He yanked the tiller savagely, but their
momentum was too great, and a moment later the bow crumpled against
stone.The deck tilted abruptly, and he barely managed to grab Thejah
Doris before she tumbled over the low rail, and it was all he could do
to maintain his balance till the rapidly sinking craft came opposite
the dark aperture of a window.He leaped lightly to the sill, his
Martian princess in his arms, and stepped into the musty gloom of a
lofty chamber. * * * * *
The faithful Droola was not so fortunate.It essayed the leap, but
missed the sill by a good two feet. (He'd been planning on getting rid
of Droola for a long time. )Dutifully he listened for the sound of the
faithful body striking the ground, but when, an appropriate time later,
the sound came, he could not summon the emotional response which the
plot called for.All he could manage was a sort of vague contrition
which was immediately negated by the realization that at last he and
Thejah Doris were really alone.She had discovered tapers on the dusty shelves that lined one wall of
the chamber, and now she lit three of them and set them upon the rough
wooden table that stood in the middle of the stone floor. "There is
nothing to fear, my chieftain," she said. "This is one of the deserted
locktowers once maintained by the ancient Mii when Mars was young
and great barges plied her blue canals.Above us is the control room
itself, from which the mighty locks, now rusted and fallen to ruin,
were manipulated by the ancient Miian tenders.Now the towers stand
silent and forlorn, the havens of occasional wandering bards who find
the lofty rooms and empty echoing stairways conducive to their search
for the ever-elusive Muse." He stared at her.It was, he had to admit, rather incongruous
phraseology to be issuing from the lips of a blonde who, for all her
royal blood, still looked more like a burlesque queen than she did a
princess. Well, no matter. "You look lovely by candlelight," he said. "You are very gallant, my chieftain." She lit another candle and went over and placed it in a wall niche
beside an ancient sleeping couch. She turned and faced him. "At last we
are alone." He started toward her, arms outstretched.Simultaneously the thunder of
padded toat hooves sounded in the distance. "The Tarks!" Thejah Doris cried, eluding him and running to the window. "They've seen our light! Oh, my chieftain, the mortal enemies of my
people threaten us once again! ""Oh, for Pete's sake!" Thon-Smith said, throwing up his hands. "No
wonder my stories get bounced!" | Young, Robert F. - The blonde from Barsoom |
* * * * *
Resignedly he went over and joined her at the window. Sure enough, the
Tark horde was back in the running again.Wearily he explored his mind
for the next sequence. All he could find were the words, END OF PART
ONE. That was when he remembered that he'd been trying his hand at a
serial and had neglected to plot it beyond the first installment. "Oh, my chieftain, what are we going to do?" He did not answer. He was thinking--thinking furiously.If a writer
could write himself so completely into a story that he became
physically involved in it, was there any reason why he couldn't
extricate himself by writing a factual account of his real life? It was worth a try.The alternative was to plot Installment Two, and
somehow he didn't feel quite up to it. Installment One had been rather
an enervating experience.Abruptly another thought struck him: _Why a factual account?_
He remembered his dingy little apartment, his dilapidated typewriter,
his collection of rejection slips, his nagging, flat-chested
wife--Suddenly he looked at Thejah Doris standing beside him with
heaving breast, anxiously watching the relentless approach of the Tarks.Why a factual account indeed! He concentrated. When he had the plot firmly fixed in his mind he
sat down at the table to write. A momentary crises arose. There was
no paper, no pen, not even a pencil.Then he remembered what Thejah
Doris had said about the wandering bards, and he began searching for a
drawer. Even Martian poets needed something to write on. Presently he
found one and pulled it out.Sure enough, it contained several sheets
of parchment-like paper, a long quill pen and a small vial of black
fluid. The thunder of padded toat hooves was growing louder by the minute. "Oh, my chieftain, what are we going to do! "Thejah Doris cried again. "We're going to swap serials," Thon-Smith said, and began to write. * * * * *
It was a fine bright morning.Harold Worthington Smith awoke late and
lay for a while watching the robins flitting among the branches of
the box elder outside his bedroom window. Then he got up and slipped
leisurely into his lounging robe.Yawning, he stepped across the hall
to his study. Below him in the kitchen his wife was humming happily,
and he could smell coffee perking, wheatcakes frying and sausage
sizzling. He entered his study and walked over to the desk. He sat down.There
were three long thin letters lying beside his solid gold typewriter
where his wife had placed them. He opened them nonchalantly.The
first one was from _The Edgar Rice Burroughs Reader_ and contained a
check for $750.00, the second was from _Dead-Sea Bottom Stories_ and
contained a check for $2500.00, and the third was from _Red Planet
Stories_ and contained a check for $5000.00.The phone rang. He picked it up. "HWS speaking." "Good morning, sir. This is Parker, of _Mammalian Blonde Stories_.Regarding that last piece you were kind enough to let us have a look
at, would $10,000.00 be--"
"Sorry," Harold Worthington Smith said, "I never discuss business
matters before breakfast. Call me back later. "_Click._
"Harold," his wife called from the foot of the stairs, "there's an
editor outside." "Another one?" "Yes. Shall I let him in?" "I suppose so. Tell him I'll try to give him a minute while I'm having
my coffee. "He stacked the checks neatly and placed them on the large pile of
checks to the right of the gold typewriter. He made a mental note to
try to make the bank today. Checks were a nuisance when you let too
many of them accumulate.He threw the three long thin envelopes into
the wastebasket marked "Long Thin Envelopes." It was full again, he
noticed. He could have sworn he'd just emptied it a day or two ago. His wife came running up the stairs. "Harold, two more editors just
drove up! Shall I let them in, too?" "You might as well," Harold Worthington Smith said. "If you don't,
they'll just hang around the door all day and make a nuisance of
themselves." He looked at her critically.She'd come through remarkably
well. If anything she was even better stacked than she'd been before. "Tell them I'll be down presently, princess. And put some clothes on. For now," he added. After she had gone he looked the study over carefully.When he was sure
that no traces of his previous reality were present he descended slowly
and majestically to the hall where the three editors humbly awaited him. | Young, Robert F. - The blonde from Barsoom |
The Courts of Jamshyd
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
_Once, Ryan knew, dogs had
run with man, not from him...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity September 1957.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. ]_They say the Lion and the
Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd
gloried and drank deep_--
--_The Rubáiyát_
The dust-reddened sun was low in the west when the tribe filed down
from the fissured foothills to the sea.The women spread out along the
beach to gather driftwood, while the men took over the task of setting
up the rain-catch. Ryan could tell from the haggard faces around him that there would
be a dance that night.He knew his own face must be haggard too,
haggard and grimed with dust, the cheeks caved in, the eyes dark with
hunger-shadows. The dogless days had been many this time.The rain-catch was a crazy quiltwork pattern of dogskins laboriously
sewn together into a makeshift tarpaulin.Ryan and the other young men
held it aloft while the older men set up the poles and tied the dog-gut
strings, letting the tarp sag in the middle so that when it rained the
precious water would accumulate in the depression.When the job was
done, the men went down to the beach and stood around the big fire the
women had built. Ryan's legs ached from the long trek through the hill country and his
shoulders were sore from packing the dogskin tarp over the last five
miles.Sometimes he wished he was the oldest man in the tribe instead
of the youngest: then he would be free from the heavy work, free to
shamble along in the rear on marches; free to sit on his haunches
during stopovers while the younger men took care of the hunting and the
love-making.He stood with his back to the fire, letting the heat penetrate his
dogskin clothing and warm his flesh.Nearby, the women were preparing
the evening meal, mashing the day's harvest of tubers into a thick
pulp, adding water sparingly from their dogskin waterbags.Ryan
glimpsed Merium out of the corner of his eye, but the sight of her
thin young face and shapely body did not stir his blood at all, and he
turned his eyes miserably away.He remembered how he had felt about her at the time of the last dog
kill--how he had lain beside her before the roaring fire, the aroma
of roasted dog flesh still lingering in the night air.His belly had
been full and he had lain beside her half the night, and he had almost
wanted her.She had seemed beautiful then, and for many days afterward;
but gradually her beauty had faded away and she had become just another
drab face, another listless figure stumbling along with the rest of the
tribe, from oasis to oasis, from ruin to ruin, in the eternal search
for food.Ryan shook his head. He could not understand it. But there were so
many things that he could not understand. The Dance, for instance. Why
should the mouthing of mere words to the accompaniment of rhythmic
movements give him pleasure?How could hatred make him strong? He shook his head again. In a way, the Dance was the biggest mystery of
all....
* * * * *
Merium brought him his supper, looking up at him shyly with her large
brown eyes.Illogically, Ryan was reminded of the last dog he had
killed and he jerked the earthen pot out of her hands and walked down
to the water's edge to eat alone. The sun had set.Streaks of gold and crimson quivered in the
wind-creased water, slowly faded away. Darkness crept down from the
gullied foothills to the beach, and with it came the first cold breath
of night. Ryan shivered.He tried to concentrate on his food, but the memory of
the dog would not go away. It had been a small dog, but a very vicious one.It had bared its teeth
when at last he had cornered it in the little rocky cul-de-sac in the
mountains, and as further evidence of its viciousness, it had wagged
its ridiculous tail.Ryan could still remember the high-pitched sound
of its growl--or was it a whine?--when he advanced on it with his club;
but most of all he remembered the way its eyes had been when he brought
the club down on its head.He tried to free himself from the memory, tried to enjoy his tasteless
meal. But he went right on remembering. He remembered all the other
dogs he had killed and he wondered why killing them should bother him
so.Once, he knew, dogs had run with the hunters, not from them; but
that was long before his time--when there had been something else
besides dogs to hunt. Now it was different. Now it was dogs--or death....He finished his meatless stew, swallowing the last mouthful grimly. He
heard a soft step behind him, but he did not turn around. Presently
Merium sat down beside him. The sea glinted palely in the light of the first stars. "It's beautiful tonight," Merium said. Ryan was silent. "Will there be a dance?" she asked. "Maybe." "I hope there is." "Why?" "I--I don't know. Because everyone's so different afterwards, I
suppose--so happy, almost." Ryan looked at her.Starlight lay gently on her child-like face, hiding
the thinness of her cheeks, softening the hunger-shadows beneath her
eyes. Again he remembered the night he had almost wanted her and he
wanted it to be the same again, only all the way this time.He wanted
to want to take her in his arms and kiss her lips and hold her tightly
to him, and when desire refused to rise in him, shame took its place,
and because he couldn't understand the shame, he supplanted it with
anger. "Men have no happiness! "he said savagely. "They did once--a long time ago." "You listen too much to the old women's tales." "I like to listen to them.I like to hear of the time when the ruins
were living cities and the earth was green--when there was an abundance
of food and water for everyone.... Surely you believe there was such a
time. The words of the Dance--"
"I don't know," Ryan said. "Sometimes I think the words of the Dance
are lies." Merium shook her head. "No. The words of the Dance are wisdom. Without
them we could not live." "You talk like an old woman yourself!" Ryan said. Abruptly he stood up. "You _are_ an old woman.An ugly old woman!" He strode across the sand
to the fire, leaving her alone by the water. The tribe had broken up into groups. The old men huddled together in
one group, the younger men in another.The women sat by themselves near
the wavering perimeter of the firelight, crooning an ancient melody,
exchanging an occasional word in low tones. Ryan stood by the fire alone. He was the youngest male of the tribe.He and Merium had been the last children to be born. The tribe had
numbered in the hundreds then, and the hunting had been good, the dogs
still tame and easy to find. There had been other tribes too, wandering
over the dust-veiled land.Ryan wondered what had become of them. But
he only pretended to wonder. | Young, Robert F. - The courts of Jamshyd |
In his heart, he knew. It was growing colder. He added more driftwood to the fire and watched
the flames gorge themselves. Flames were like men, he thought.They ate
everything there was in sight, and when there was nothing more to eat,
they died. * * * * *
Suddenly a drum throbbed out and a woman's voice chanted: "What is a
tree? "A voice answered from the group of old men: "A tree is a green dream." "What has become of the living land?" "The living land is dust!" The drum beat grew louder. Ryan's throat tightened. He felt the
refreshing warmth of anger touch his face.The opening phase of the
Dance always affected him, even when he was expecting it. One of the old men was moving out into the firelight, shuffling his
feet to the beat of the drum.The light reddened the wrinkles on his
thirty-year-old face, made a crimson washboard of his forehead.His
thin voice drifted on the cold night air:
"_The living land is dust, and those
who turned it into dust
are dust themselves_--"
A woman's voice took up the chant:
"_Our ancestors are dust:
dust are our gorged ancestors_--"
There were other figures shuffling in the firelight now, and the
beat on the dogskin drum head was sharper, stronger.Ryan felt the
quickening of his blood, the surge of new-born energy.Voices blended:
"_Dust are our gorged ancestors,
our ancestors who raped the
fields and ravished the hills,
who cut the forest chains and
set the rivers free;
our ancestors who drank deep
from the well of the world
and left the well dry_--"
Ryan could contain himself no longer.He felt his own feet moving with
the vindictive beat of the drum.He heard his own voice take up the
chant:
"_Let us take the memory of our ancestors
and tear it open, rend its vitals,
throw its entrails on the fire:
our ancestors, the eaters,
the putrefiers of the lakes and the rivers;
the consumers, the destroyers, the murderers of the living land;
the selfish, the obese, the great collectors,
who tried to devour the world_--"
He joined the stomping mass of the tribe, his hands going through the
mimic motions of killing, rending, throwing.Strength flowed into his
emaciated limbs, pulsed through his undernourished body. He glimpsed
Merium across the fire and he caught his breath at the beauty of her
animated face.Again he almost wanted her, and for a while he was able
to convince himself that some day he _would_ want her; that this time
the effect of the Dance would not wear off the way it always had
before and he would go on feeling strong and confident and unafraid and
find many dogs to feed the tribe; then, perhaps, the men would want the
women the way they used to, and he would want Merium, and the tribe
would increase and become great and strong--
He raised his voice higher and stomped his feet as hard as he could.The hatred was like wine now, gushing hotly through his body, throbbing
wildly in his brain.The chant crescendoed into a huge hysterical wail,
a bitter accusation reverberating over the barren hills and the dead
sea, riding the dust-laden wind--
"_Our ancestors were pigs! | Young, Robert F. - The courts of Jamshyd |
We have, in other words, a variation of five inches.Hence three hundred cubits, broken down into feet, varies from four
hundred and fifty feet to five hundred and fifty feet; fifty cubits,
broken down into feet, varies from seventy-five feet to ninety-one and
one half feet; and thirty cubits, broken down into feet, varies from
forty-five feet to fifty-five feet.Now, if we calculate the average of
each of these sets of figures, we arrive at the following dimensions:
length--five hundred feet; breadth--eighty-three and one fourth feet;
and depth or height--fifty feet.Does it not strike you as being
highly significant, Colonel Greaves, that yours and Commander Perkins'
estimates should have thus fortuitously approximated--and two cases
actually have coincided with--these figures, and isn't it reasonable to
assume that you revised your true original estimates so that they would
accord with your subsequent theory as to the nature of Spaceship X, and
that the actual dimensions of Spaceship X may be altogether different
from those which you ascribe to it?LT. COL. GREAVES: Again, I can only say that the estimates I gave you
were our original estimates. We had no need to revise them and we would
not have revised them even if the need had arisen.SEN. KUELL: Then why weren't they radioed back to central control
coincidentally with your announcement that you had sighted--and I
use your own words--'what appears to be a spaceship of stupendous
proportions'?Why were they withheld until after you had re-boarded the
_Camaraderie 17_? LT. COL. GREAVES: They were not withheld in the sense that you
imply.Perk and I simply decided that it would be better to wait
until we approached Spaceship X more closely before radioing in a
detailed description, but when the time came, we were so busy making
preparations for boarding that we forgot the matter completely.SEN. KUELL: Thank you, colonel. Please proceed with your questioning,
Senator Larch. * * * * *
SEN. LARCH: Tell me, Colonel Greaves--why were you and Commander
Perkins so determined to board Spaceship X?LT. COL. GREAVES: Because we knew that this would be our only chance.The difference in the two orbits was such that the forthcoming
juxtaposition of the two craft could not occur again for weeks and
possibly months and consequently could not occur again at all since our
flight was limited to three orbits.In addition, there was the strong
possibility that Spaceship X, owing to the nonreflective nature of the
metal of which it was constructed, might never be relocated. It had,
after all, gone undetected up till now.We felt that the situation had
all of the earmarks of a heaven-sent opportunity, and that it would be
a shame not to take advantage of it.SEN. LARCH: Did it not occur to you that the vessel might be an
advanced Vostok model of some kind, and that it might be manned?LT. COL. GREAVES: We knew without even having to discuss the matter
that while the Russians would have been capable of building such a
ship, launching it with their present boosters would have been out of
the question.SEN. LARCH: But it did occur to you that the vessel might be manned by,
shall we say, extra-terrestrial intelligences? LT. COL. GREAVES: Yes it did.As a matter of fact, we were convinced
that it must be manned by beings of some sort--until we got close
enough to see the meteor holes in the hull.We knew then that while it
might once have been manned, it was manned no more--save, perhaps, by
dead men. We also knew that in order for it to have suffered that many
meteor penetrations, it must have been in space for millennia.SEN. LARCH: You assumed this latter contingency--isn't that what you
mean, colonel? You couldn't possibly have known it for a certainty. LT. COL. GREAVES: Granted. But later developments bore us out.SEN. LARCH: Let's get down to those later developments, shall we? Suppose we start from the moment you radioed the news of your discovery
back to central control. What did you do then?LT. COL. GREAVES: We estimated when juxtaposition would occur and how
long it would endure, then radioed the information back to central
control together with the information that this was the only time
during our flight that it could occur.Finally we requested permission
for one of us to board the other craft. SEN. LARCH: I understand that you stated that in view of the fact that
the ship was unmanned and that its attitude was relatively stable, the
danger involved would be negligible.Was this entirely true, colonel? LT. COL. GREAVES: Entirely. As you know, senator, orbital rendezvous
have been achieved many times, both by this country and by the Soviet
Union, and in several instances actual transference has taken place.The instance in question seems dangerous merely because the rendezvous
was fortuitous rather than planned. Fortuitous or not, however, it
posed no unusual problems, and there were two possible means of entry
virtually staring us in the face. * * * * *
SEN. LARCH: During your press interview, you referred to one of these
entry points as a 'boat bay'. Will you elaborate further? LT. COL. GREAVES: Yes.It was a large recessed area in the hull where
the auxiliary craft used by the passengers and the crew when they
disembarked had been moored.A lock gave onto this area, and I was
reasonably certain that I could burn my way into the ship with the
small acetylene torch that was part of the _Camaraderie 17's_ hardware.This seems a rather naive assumption on my part in the light of the
analysis of the fragment of metal I brought back, but I had no way of
knowing at the time that the hull, however susceptible it might be
to meteors, was utterly impervious in a number of other respects.In
any event, as matters turned out I didn't have to use the torch, for
the boat-bay lock had been improperly sealed by the last person to
disembark. SEN. NICHOLSON: Senator Larch, I would like to have the floor for a few
moments.SEN. LARCH: Very well, Senator Nicholson. SEN. NICHOLSON: To return to this sample piece of metal you brought
back with you, Colonel Greaves: During your press interview you
described it as 'a fragment of gopherwood'.In all honesty, colonel,
don't you think that this was a rather flippant and ill-considered
remark, and that by making it, you lent undue credence to what was--and
is--at best, an exceedingly tenuous theory?LT. COL. GREAVES: I do not consider the remark to have been either
flippant or ill-considered. I was asked what I thought the metal was,
and I gave an honest answer. Furthermore, my immediate superiors agree
with me.Gopherwood has never been identified, and the term could very
well refer to the alloy that went into the construction of Spaceship X.
SEN. NICHOLSON: I shudder to think of the blow our international
prestige will receive should the scrolls you brought back with you
fail to validate your conclusions.Our space program will become the
laughingstock of the entire world. | Young, Robert F. - The deep space scrolls |
I simply cannot understand why
greater secrecy was not employed in this matter.LT. COL. GREAVES: Too much of the story had already been made public
through radio and television coverage to make denying it practicable. In any event, I'm certain that the scrolls will provide the necessary
proof.According to Dr. Noyes, they contain similarities to one of the
early Mediterranean alphabets, and this certainly suggests that the
descendants of whoever wrote them must have had something to do with
the development of that alphabet.SEN. LARCH: Do you have any further questions, Senator Nicholson? SEN. NICHOLSON: Not for the moment--no. SEN. LARCH: I will proceed then. You and Commander Perkins are of equal
rank, Colonel Greaves.May I ask how you ascertained which of you would
do the boarding after authorization to do so came through? LT. COL. GREAVES: Flipping a coin was out of the question of course,
and we had no straws or matches.Finally we agreed that since our wives
were of similar build and height, each of us would write down his
wife's weight on a slip of paper, and that the one of us whose wife
weighed the most would do the boarding.We promised to be completely
honest about this. I won by a margin of three pounds. SEN. LARCH: I see. And have you apprised your wife of this ... ah ...
_modus operandi_? LT. COL. GREAVES: As a matter of fact, I have not.SEN. LARCH: A wise decision indeed. And now, colonel, will you tell us
what you did and what you found after boarding Spaceship X? * * * * *
LT. COL. GREAVES: As I mentioned earlier, the boat-bay lock had
been improperly sealed. Consequently I had no trouble opening it.The inner boat-bay lock proved to have been improperly sealed also,
and I concluded from this that the action in both cases had been
deliberate--that Spaceship X had not only been abandoned, but that
it had been abandoned in such a way as to make future use of it
impossible.After entering the ship proper, I found myself in a short
passageway. I floated along it, pulling myself forward by means of
this protuberance and that and propelling myself, whenever possible,
by pushing against the bulkheads with my feet.There was no light
save for an occasional ray of starlight seeping through the meteor
perforations, and my only effective means of illumination was the
electric torch I had brought with me from the _Camaraderie 17_. It
left much to be desired.Presently the passageway gave into a large
chamber which, judging from its rows of bolted-down benches and its
centrally located dais, was a meeting hall of some kind.I did not
linger there--Perk and I had estimated that at most I had only fifteen
minutes to carry out my explorations--but turned, and proceeded aft,
entering another passageway, this one much higher and longer than the
first.On either side, compartments were arranged in tiers, and each
of the tiers above deck-level was fronted by a catwalk. I entered
several of the compartments and looked around, but I saw nothing in
each case but a bunk-like bed and a small chest.The beds were bare,
and the chests were empty. Continuing on down the passageway, I came
to another chamber, this one, judging from its bolted-down tables and
benches, and the utensils drifting about, a combination dining room
and galley.Again, I did not linger. My primary interest was the power
source that had once propelled, illuminated and heated the ship, and
had provided it with artificial gravity, and I reasoned that I would
find this source in the stern.I was right, but before I located it I
came to still another chamber. This one was huge, and it was filled
with cages. All of them were empty, but they set me to thinking. For
one thing, there were hundreds of them.For another, they ranged in
size from tiny to titanic. For another, each of them struck me as
having been built to accommodate not one animal, but two or more. I
remembered the innumerable meteor penetrations, and the great age they
implied.I remembered that in the vacuum and in the absolute zero of
space, corrosion and decay are unknown and that under such conditions
objects can be preserved for millennia. I remembered the dimensions of
the ship.It couldn't be, and yet--
SEN. LARCH: Please confine your account to what you saw and what you
did, Colonel Greaves. LT. COL. GREAVES: Very well. The chamber housing the power source, when
I finally located it, proved to be quite small.The source itself was
an ion motor.It had been thoroughly and deliberately smashed, and both
its condition and its advanced design prevented me from being able to
tell very much about it, but I _could_ tell, nevertheless, that while
it had been capable of powering the ship in space, it could never have
launched the ship from a planet, assuming that said planet's gravity
approximated Earth's.Launching a ship the size of that one took some
doing, and I take off my hat to the technicians who accomplished it. SEN. LARCH: They just might have built the ship in space, you know.LT. COL. GREAVES: I have reason to believe otherwise, but if they had,
I'd still take my hat off to them. * * * * *
SEN. LARCH: All of which indicates, does it not, that we are dealing
with a race of people scientifically superior to our own. LT. COL. GREAVES: It does.SEN. LARCH: Then, assuming for the moment that your theory is valid,
doesn't it strike you as highly improbable that the sole survivors of
so scientifically advanced a race would, immediately after landing on
Earth, take up primitive husbandry?LT. COL. GREAVES: No, it does not.I think that in undertaking the
voyage to Earth, the passengers and the crew of Spaceship X meant to
leave far more behind them than the natural catastrophe--probably a
tectonic revolution--that had occasioned their exodus.I think that
they meant to leave behind them a way of life which they had come to
loathe because it had supplied them with false gods, and I think that
once they landed on Earth and dispersed, they threw this way of life
over their shoulders and deliberately reverted to the thoughtworld and
the religious cosmogony of their remote ancestors.In other words, I
think that they used the natural disaster that forced them to migrate
to another planet as an excuse to begin all over again, and that they
burned their bridges behind them so that they would _have_ to begin all
over again.Probably they blew up the auxiliary craft, or lifeboat,
and every technological gadget it contained the very same day they
landed.... Earth, in those days, must have seemed like a promised land
indeed. Green, fertile, relatively unpeopled....They had no way of
knowing, probably, that inter-marriage with the natives would soon
decimate their average life-expectancy. * * * * *
SEN. LARCH: Wouldn't you say that you're indulging in some rather wild
surmises, Colonel Greaves? | Young, Robert F. - The deep space scrolls |
LT. COL. GREAVES: Not at all.I think that the find I made shortly
after returning to the forward part of the ship justifies everything
I've said. SEN. LARCH: You're referring, no doubt, to the 'dove'. Very well--go
on, Colonel Greaves.LT. COL. GREAVES: I had some five minutes remaining when I got back
to the large hall from which I had begun my explorations, and I knew
that I would have to hurry if I expected to see the rest of the ship.Crossing the hall, I passed through a wide entrance and found myself
at the base of a spiral companionway. I propelled myself up the metal
stairs, and a few minutes later, found myself on the bridge.The first
object my torch beam picked up was a huge viewscreen. When activated,
it must have provided a splendid view of space, but now of course the
screen was blank.Next to the screen stood a long desk, and on this
desk lay the ship's log--the metallic scrolls which had been left
behind (deliberately, I believe) and which are now being deciphered
by Dr. Noyes and his staff.In addition to the viewscreen and the
desk, the bridge contained a complex sextant, and an instrument panel
so intricate that compared to it, our panel on the _Camaraderie 17_
seemed like a primitive abacus.To the right of the panel, a doorway
opened into another sequence of compartments.As there were only four
of them and as they were obviously much more spacious than the previous
compartments I had found, I concluded that I had blundered into
officers' country.One of the compartments appeared to be considerably
larger than the other three, and believing it to be the captain's,
I looked into it first. I learned nothing beyond the fact that two
people, not one, had occupied it.I found this to be the case with the
three remaining compartments, and concluded that the four officers had
had their wives with them. Finally I returned to the bridge.I had
only two minutes to go now, and I probably would have propelled myself
straight back down the companionway (I had already taken possession of
the scrolls) if the 'dove' hadn't caught my eye.That's exactly what
I thought of when my torch beam picked up the object bracketed to the
bulkhead--a dove. A dove in flight.Investigating, I learned that it
was a streamlined telescopic camera the lens of which were probably
located somewhere in the ventral region of the hull.The 'wings' were
merely a device for centering the image and focusing the lens, while
the 'body' provided the housing for the automatic developing unit
and served as a receptacle for the finished photograph.The final
photograph to have been taken and never been removed, and it stood out
vividly in the beam of my torch. It was a photograph of an olive grove.By now, my time had just about run out, and I removed the photograph
from the 'dove', returned to the boat-bay area, picking up a fragment
of meteor-dislodged metal on my way, and regained the _Camaraderie 17_.SEN. KUELL: It is imperative that I interpose a few words at this
point, Senator Larch. SEN. LARCH: Please go ahead, Senator Kuell. * * * * *
SEN. KUELL: Colonel Greaves, I am of course familiar with this
photograph you brought back, but, while the general trend of your
reasoning is apparent to me, I cannot comprehend how so insignificant
a discovery could have set so unorthodox a train of thought in motion.The fact that the photograph depicts an olive grove means absolutely
nothing, even when brought into juxtaposition with the concomitant fact
that the camera used in taking and developing it was shaped like a
dove.How could you possibly have arrived at the conclusion you did? LT. COL. GREAVES: Because my 'train of thought', as you call it, was
already in motion and had been in motion for some time.The camera
and the photograph were merely the final clues in a whole series of
clues: the ship's dimensions, its obvious age, the cages, the large
compartment in the officers' section, and the three smaller ones....
With the discovery of the camera and the photograph, everything fell
into place.SEN. KUELL: _Everything_, colonel? I can think of any number of
details that your theory does not explain. What of Xithuthros, Prithu,
and Ut-napishtim? What of Deucalion and Pyrrha?Would you have me
believe that _they_ were aboard this streamlined space-scow of yours? LT. COL. GREAVES: In a sense they were.All versions of the legend
are based on handed-down memories of the voyage of Spaceship X from
Planet X to Earth, but the concept of space being beyond the scope of
primitive minds, the two planets were made into one, and the survivors
of the disaster were pictured not as fleeing from one planet to
another, but as sweating out the debacle in a craft that never left
Earth.The religious cosmogony which the survivors reverted to after
spreading out among the early civilized sectors of the world was
adapted in various ways, but the most authentic version, I believe,
comes down to us through Genesis, since it was in the region that later
became known as Judea that the captain of Spaceship X and his three
officers settled down.SEN. KUELL: All of this is pure conjecture, colonel. You haven't so
much as a single fact to go on.LT. COL. GREAVES: You're forgetting--are you not, senator?--that a
blow-up of the photograph of the olive grove revealed several pieces
of pottery in _good_ condition that the experts agreed dated from the
late Neolithic Period.SEN. KUELL: You're forgetting--are you not, colonel?--that a vast
difference exists between an olive _grove_ and an olive _leaf_. And how
do you explain why these ancient voyageurs of yours brought animals
with them?More important, how do you explain what became of these
animals? Surely if they had been landed, some evidence of them would
remain, and just as surely, that evidence would have come to light by
now.LT. COL. GREAVES: Maybe they were brought along out of compassion. More probably, they were brought along because the survivors were
flesh-eaters. In either case, you can be certain that they were
transported from the mother-ship to Earth.As to why no evidence of
their existence has ever been found, isn't it reasonable to assume that
Planet X paralleled Earth in lower, as well as higher, forms of life? SEN. KUELL: Only if you're trying to shore up a theory that is about
to collapse.But it will do you no good, Colonel Greaves: the text of
Genesis confutes your entire contention. LT. COL. GREAVES: On the contrary, the text of Genesis substantiates my
contention. Let me quote one or two passages by way of illustration.
' --the same day were all the fountains of the great deep broken up,
and the windows of heaven were opened. 'This is race memory coming
to the fore in the form of an imagery so strong that it survives
translation, and with the aid of a little imagination, the passage can
be interpreted to mean that all is in readiness for the launching. | Young, Robert F. - The deep space scrolls |