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CHAPTER IX – THE FOX IS RECKLESS

When Ruth arrived at Silver Ranch that afternoon she found that the ranchman’s niece and the other girls had planned an outing for the following day into the hills West of the range over which Mr. Hicks’ cattle fed. It was to be a picnic jaunt, the object being mainly to view the wonderful “natural bridge” in a small cañon, some thirty miles from the ranch.

A sixty-mile drive within twenty-four hours seemed a big undertaking in the minds of the Eastern young folk; but Jane Ann said that the ponies and mules could stand it. It was probable, however, that none of the visitors could stand the ride in the saddle, so arrangements had been made for both buckboards to be used.

Tom and Bob were each to drive one of the vehicles. Jib Pottoway was to go as guide and general mentor of the party, and one of the little Mexican boys would drive the supply wagon, to which were hitched two trotting mules. The start would be made at three in the morning; therefore the ranch-house was quiet soon after dark that evening.

Maria had breakfast ready for them as soon as the girls and Bob and Tom appeared; and the wagon was laden with provisions, as well as a light tent and blankets. Tom and Bob had both brought their guns with them, for there might be a chance to use the weapons on this jaunt.

“There are plenty of kiotes in the hills,” said Jane Ann. “And sometimes a gray wolf. The boys once in a while see cats about – in calving time, you know. But I reckon they’re mighty scarce.”

“Cats?” cried Heavy. “Do you shoot cats?”

“Pumas,” explained Jane Ann. “They’re some nasty when they’re re’l hungry.”

“Oh, I don’t want to see any more of the wildcat tribe,” Ruth cried. “I had my fill of them last winter at Snow Camp.”

Tom of course was to drive the buckboard in which his twin and Ruth rode; but the chums certainly would not have chosen Mary Cox for the fourth member of the party. However, The Fox usually knew what she wanted herself, and got it, too! She liked Master Tom and wished to ride beside him; and the instant she learned which pair of ponies he was to drive, she hopped into the front seat of that buckboard.

“I’m going to sit with you, Tom,” she said, coolly. “I believe you’ve got the best ponies. And you can drive better than Bob, too.”

Tom didn’t look overjoyed, and Helen, seeing the expression of her twin’s face, began to giggle. There was, however, no polite way of getting rid of The Fox.

In a few minutes they were off, Jib Pottoway heading the procession, and Ricardo, the Mexican, bringing up the rear with the mule cart.

“You keep a sharp eye on them younguns, Jib!” bawled Bill Hicks, coming to the door of the ranch-house in his stocking feet and with his hair touseled from his early morning souse in the trough behind the house. “I’ll hold you responsible if anything busts – now mind ye!”

“All right, Boss,” returned the Indian stolidly. “I reckon nothin’ won’t bite ’em.”

Driving off thirty miles into the wilderness was nothing in the opinion of these Westerners; but to the girls from Briarwood Hall, and their brothers, the trip promised all kinds of excitement. And they enjoyed every mile of the journey through the foothills. There was something new and strange (to the Easterners) to see almost every mile, and Jane Ann, or Jib, was right there to answer questions and explain the wonders.

At first they saw miles upon miles of range, over which fed the Silver Ranch herds. Heretofore Ruth and her friends had not realized the size of the ranch itself and what it meant to own fifty thousand cattle.

“Why!” exclaimed Heavy, with some awe. “Your uncle, Nita, is richer than Job – and the Bible says he was the greatest of all the men of the East! He only owned seven thousand sheep and three thousand camels and a thousand oxen and five hundred she-asses. Why, I believe there are more creatures in that one herd yonder than poor old Job owned.”

“I guess that was a pretty good herd for ’way down there in Arabia, and so long ago,” returned Jane Ann. “But cattlemen have learned a lot since those times. I expect Uncle Bill has got more ponies than Job had mules.”

“And the men who looked after Job’s cattle were a whole lot different from those fellows,” cried Helen, from the forward buckboard, pointing to a couple of well-mounted punchers spurring after a score of strays that had broken away from the main herd. “Dear me, how recklessly they ride!”

“But I guess that all cowboys have been reckless and brave,” said Ruth, quickly. “Somehow, herding cattle on the open plains and hills seems to make for rugged character and courage. Think of King David, and lots of those Biblical characters. David was a cowboy, and went out and slew Goliath. And I expect any of these punchers we see around here wouldn’t be afraid of a giant,” she concluded.

“Huh!” snapped The Fox, who usually found something sharp to say in comment upon Ruth’s speeches, “I guess these cowboys aren’t any better than the usual run of men. I think they’re rather coarse and ugly. Look at this half Indian ahead of us.”

“What do you mean —him?” exclaimed Tom Cameron, who was pretty well disgusted with The Fox and her sly and sneering ways. “Why, he’s got a better education than most of the men you meet. He stood high at Carlisle, in his books as well as athletics. You wouldn’t scoff at any other college-bred fellow – why at Jib?”

“Indian,” said Mary Cox, with her nose in the air.

“His folks owned the country-the whole continent!” cried the excited Tom, “until white men drove them out. You’d consider an Englishman, or a German, or a Belgian, with his education, the equal of any American. And Jib’s a true American at that.”

“Well, I can’t say that I ever could admire a savage,” sniffed The Fox, tossing her head.

For the most part, however, the girls and their drivers had a very jolly time, and naturally there could not be much “bickering” even in the leading buckboard where The Fox rode, for Ruth was there, and Ruth was not one of the bickering kind. Helen was inclined to think that her chum was altogether too “tame”; she would not “stand up for herself” enough, and when The Fox said cutting things Ruth usually ignored her schoolfellow’s ill-nature.

Tom was not entirely happy with The Fox on the seat beside him. He had hoped Ruth would occupy that place. When Mary spoke to him perhaps the young fellow was a bit cold. At least, before they came to the cañon, through which flowed Rolling River, Master Tom had somehow managed to offend The Fox and her eyes snapped and she held her lips grimly shut.

The trail became narrow here and it rose steeply, too. The roaring river tumbled over the rocks on the left hand, while on the right the sheer cliff rose higher and higher. And while the ponies climbed the rather steep ascent Jib Pottoway spurred his horse ahead to see if the path was all clear to the place where the cañon became a veritable tunnel under the “natural bridge.”

“Go slow, Tom Cameron!” shouted the ranchman’s niece from the second carriage. “There are bad places when we get to the upper level – very narrow places. And the river is a hundred feet below us there.”

“She’s trying to scare us,” snapped The Fox. “I never saw such people!”

“I guess it will be best to take care,” grunted Tom. “She’s been here before, remember.”

“Pah! you’re afraid!”

“Perhaps I am,” returned Tom. “I’m not going to take any chances with these half wild ponies – and you girls in the wagon.”

In a minute more they were at the top of the rise. Jib had disappeared around a distant turn in the path, which here was straight and level for fully a mile. The muffled roar of the river came up to them, and the abrupt cliff on the right cast its shadow clear across the cañon. It was a rugged and gloomy place and Helen hid her eyes after glancing once down the steep descent to the river.

“Oh! drive on, Tommy!” she cried. “I don’t want to look down there again. What a fearful drop it is! Hold the ponies tight, Tommy.”

“Pshaw, you are making a great adieu about nothing,” snapped Mary Cox.

“I’ll have a care, Nell; don’t you fear,” assured her brother.

Ruth was as serious as her chum, and as she had a quick eye she noticed a strap hanging from the harness of one of the ponies and called Tom’s attention to it.

“There’s a strap unbuckled, Tom,” she cried. “Do you see it hanging?”

“Good for you, Ruthie!” cried the boy, leaning out of his seat to glimpse the strap. “Here, Mary! hold these reins, please.”

He put the reins into the hands of The Fox and hopped out. She laughed and slapped them across the ponies’ backs and the beasts reared and snorted.

“Have a care what you’re doing, Mary Cox!” shrieked Helen.

“Whoa!” cried her brother, and leaped to seize the nearest pony by the bit. But the half wild animals jerked away from him, dashing across the narrow trail.

“Pull up! pull up!” shouted Tom.

“Don’t let them run!” cried Jane Ann Hicks, standing up in the carriage behind.

But in that single moment of recklessness the ponies became unmanageable – at least, unmanageable for The Fox. She pulled the left rein to bring them back into the trail, and off the creatures dashed, at headlong speed, along the narrow way. On the right was the unscalable wall of rock; on the left was the awful drop to the roaring river!

CHAPTER X – RUTH SHOWS HER METTLE

Shouting after the runaway, and shrieking advice to The Fox, who still clung to the reins, was of no particular use, and Tom Cameron realized that as well as did Jane Ann. The boy from the East picked himself up and leaped upon the rear of the second buckboard as it passed him, and they tore on after the frightened ponies.

Mary Cox could not hold them. She was not a good horsewoman, in any case; and a moment after the ponies broke loose, she was just as frightened as ever she could be.

She did not drop the lines; that was because she did not think to do so. She was frozen with terror. The ponies plunged along the narrow trail, weaving the buckboard from side to side, and Mary was helpless to stop them. On the rear seat Helen and Ruth clung together in the first shock of fear; the threatening catastrophe, too, appalled them.

But only for the first few seconds was Ruth inactive. Behind the jouncing vehicle Tom was shouting to them to “pull ’em down!” Ruth wrenched herself free from her chum’s grasp and leaned forward over the seat-back.

“Give the reins to me!” she cried in Mary’s ear, and seized the leathers just as they slipped from the hands of The Fox.

Ruth gripped them firmly and flung herself back into her own seat. Helen seized her with one hand and saved her from being thrown out of the pitching vehicle. And so, with her chum holding her into her seat, Ruth swung all her weight and force against the ponies’ bits.

At first this seemed to have not the least effect upon the frightened animals. Ruth’s slight weight exercised small pressure on those iron jaws. On and on they dashed, rocking the buckboard over the rough trail – and drawing each moment nearer to that perilous elbow in the cañon!

Ruth realized the menacing danger of that turn in the trail from the moment the beasts first jumped. There was no parapet at the outer edge of the shelf – just the uneven, broken verge of the rock, with the awful drop to the roaring river below.

She remembered this in a flash, as the ponies tore on. There likewise passed through her mind a vision of the chum beside her, crushed and mangled at the bottom of the cañon – and again, Helen’s broken body being swept away in the river! And The Fox – the girl who had so annoyed her – would likewise be killed unless she, Ruth Fielding, found some means of averting the catastrophe.

It was a fact that she did not think of her own danger. Mainly the runaway ponies held her attention. She must stop them before they reached the fatal turn!

Were the ponies giving way a little? Was it possible that her steady, desperate pulling on the curbs was having its effect? The pressure on their iron jaws must have been severe, and even a half-broken mustang pony is not entirely impervious to pain.

But the turn in the road was so near!

Snorting and plunging, the animals would – in another moment – reach the elbow. Either they must dash themselves headlong over the precipice, and the buckboard would follow, or, in swerving around the corner, the vehicle and its three passengers would be hurled over the brink.

And then something – an inspiration it must have been – shot athwart Ruth’s brain. The thought could not have been the result of previous knowledge on her part, for the girl of the Red Mill was no horsewoman. Jane Ann Hicks might have naturally thought to try the feat; but it came to Ruth in a flash and without apparent reason.

She dropped the left hand rein, stood up to seize the right rein with a shorter grip, and then flung herself back once more. The force she brought to bear on the nigh pony by this action was too much for him. His head was pulled around, and in an instant he stumbled and came with a crash to the ground!

The pony’s fall brought down his mate. The runaway was stopped just at the turn of the trail – and so suddenly that Mary Cox was all but flung headlong upon the struggling animals. Ruth and Helen did fall out of the carriage – but fortunately upon the inner side of the trail.

Even then the maddened, struggling ponies might have cast themselves – and the three girls likewise – over the brink had not help been at hand. At the turn appeared Jib Pottoway, his pony in a lather, recalled by the sound of the runaways’ drumming hoofs. The Indian flung himself from the saddle and gripped the bridles of the fallen horses just in season. Bob, driving the second pair of ponies with a firm hand, brought them to a halt directly behind the wreck, and Tom and Jane Ann ran to Jib’s assistance.

“What’s the matter with these ponies?” demanded the Indian, sharply. “How’d they get in this shape? I thought you could drive a pair of hawses, boy?” he added, with scorn, looking at Tom.

“I got out to buckle a strap and they got away,” said Tom, rather sheepishly.

“Don’t you scold him, Jib!” commanded Jane Ann, vigorously. “He ain’t to blame.”

“Who is?”

“That girl yonder,” snapped the ranchman’s niece, pointing an accusing finger at Mary Cox. “I saw her start ’em on the run while Tom was on the ground.”

“Never!” cried The Fox, almost in tears.

“You did,” repeated Jane Ann.

“Anyway, I didn’t think they’d start and run so. They’re dangerous. It wasn’t right for the men to give us such wild ponies. I’ll speak to Mr. Hicks about it.”

“You needn’t fret,” said Jane Ann, sternly. “I’ll tell Uncle Bill all right, and I bet you don’t get a chance to play such a trick again as long as you’re at Silver Ranch – ”

Ruth, who had scrambled up with Helen, now placed a restraining hand on the arm of the angry Western girl; but Jane Ann sputtered right out:

“No! I won’t keep still, Ruth Fielding. If it hadn’t been for you that Mary Cox would now be at the bottom of these rocks. And she’ll never thank you for saving her life, and for keeping her from killing you and Helen. She doesn’t know how to spell gratitude! Bah!”

“Hush up, Jinny,” commanded Jib, easily. “You’ve got all that off your mind now, and you ought to feel some better. The ponies don’t seem to be hurt much. Some scraped, that’s all. We can go on, I reckon. You ride my hawse, Mr. Cameron, and I’ll sit in yere and drive. Won’t trust these gals alone no more.”

“I guess you could trust Ruth Fielding all right,” cried the loyal Tom. “She did the trick – and showed how plucky she is in the bargain. Did you ever see anything better done than the way she threw that pony?”

Jane Ann ran to the girl of the Red Mill and flung her arms around her neck.

“You’re just as brave as you can be, Ruthie!” she cried. “I don’t know of anybody who is braver. If you’d been brought up right out here in the mountains you couldn’t have done any better – could she, Jib?”

“Miss Fielding certainly showed good mettle,” admitted the Indian, with one of his rare smiles. “And now we’ll go on to the camping place. Don’t let’s have any more words about it, or your fun will all be spoiled. Where’s Ricardo, with the camp stuff? I declare! that Greaser is five miles behind, I believe.”

With which he clucked to the still nervous ponies and, Tom now in the lead, the procession started on in a much more leisurely style.

CHAPTER XI – AN URSINE HOLD-UP

The party of young people were so excited by the adventure that they were scarcely in mind to appreciate the rugged beauty of the cañon. The opposite wall was covered with verdure – hardy trees and shrubs found their rootage in the crevices between the rocks. Some beds of moss, far down where the spray from the river continually irrigated the thin soil, were spangled so thickly with starlike, white flowers that the patches looked like brocaded bedspreads.

Around the elbow in the trail – that sharp turn which had been the scene of the all but fatal accident – the driveway broadened. Far ahead (for the cañon was here quite straight again) they could see the arching roof of rock, surmounted by the primeval forest, which formed the so-called natural bridge. The river tumbled out of the darkness of the tunnel, fretted to a foaming cascade by battling with the boulders which strewed its bed under the roof-rock. The water’s surface gleamed ghostly in the shadow of the arch, and before the opening the arc of a rainbow shone in the spray.

As the girls’ excitement subsided, Ruth saw this scene far ahead and cried aloud in rapture:

“Look! Oh, just look! Isn’t that beautiful?”

“The waterfall,” agreed her chum, “or cascade, or whatever they call it, is just a picture, Ruthie!”

“Mighty pretty,” said Tom, reining in the pony beside them.

“The cavern is so black and the water is so white – like milk,” cried Madge from the second carriage. “What a contrast!”

“I tell you what it looks like,” added Heavy, who sat beside her. “A great, big chocolate cream drop that’s broken and the cream oozing out. M – m!”

They all laughed at the stout girl’s figure of speech, for Jennie Stone’s mind seemed always to linger upon good things to eat, and this comparison was quite characteristic.

“I’d be afraid to go down under that bridge,” said Helen. “It’s so dark there.”

“But there’s a path through the tunnel, Miss,” said Jib, the Indian. “And there’s another path by which you can climb out on the top of the bridge. But the trail for a waggin’ stops right yonder, where we camp.”

This spot was a sort of cove in the wall of the cañon – perhaps half an acre in extent. There was a pretty lawn with a spring of sweet water, the overflow of which trickled away to the edge of the precipice and dashed itself to spray on the rocks fifty feet below.

They had become used to the sullen roar of the river now and did not heed its voice. This was a delightful spot for camping and when Ricardo came up with the wagon, the boys and Jib quickly erected the tent, hobbled the ponies, and built a fire in the most approved campers’ fashion.

Never had a picnic luncheon tasted so good to any of the party. The mountain air had put an edge on their appetites, and Heavy performed such feats of mastication that Helen declared she trembled for the result.

“Don’t you trouble about me,” said the stout girl. “You want to begin to worry over my health when I don’t eat at all. And I can’t see where I have got so far ahead of any of the rest of you in the punishment of this lunch.”

But afterward, when the other girls proposed to climb the rocky path to the summit of the natural bridge, Heavy objected.

“It’s injurious to take violent exercise after eating heavily,” she said.

“I never knew the time when Heavy considered it safe to exercise,” said The Fox, who had gradually recovered her usual manner since the runaway. “The time between meals isn’t long enough, in her opinion, to warrant anybody’s working. Come on! let’s leave her to slothful dreams.”

“And blisters,” added Heavy. “My shoes have hurt me for two days. I wouldn’t climb over these rocks for a farm – with a pig on’t! Go on – and perspire – and tell yourselves you’re having a good time. I’ve a book here to read,” declared the graceless and lazy stout girl.

“But aren’t the boys going?” asked Ruth.

“They’ve started for the tunnel down there – with Jib,” said Jane Ann, with a snap. “Huh! boys aren’t no good, anyway.”

“Your opinion may be correct; your grammar is terrible,” scoffed Mary Cox.

“Never you mind about my grammar, Miss Smarty!” rejoined the Western girl, who really couldn’t forget the peril into which The Fox had run her friends so recently. “If you girls are comin’ along to the top of the bridge, come on. Let the boys go down there, if they want to. The rocks are slippery, and they’ll get sopping wet.”

“There isn’t any danger, is there?” queried Helen, thinking of her brother.

“No, of course not,” replied Jane Ann. “No more danger than there is up this way,” and she led the way on the path that wound up the rocky heights.

The girls were dressed in corduroy skirts and strong, laced walking boots – a fitting costume for the climb. But had Jib been present at the camp perhaps he would not have allowed them to start without an escort. Ricardo had to remain at the camp. This was a wild country and not even Jane Ann carried any weapon, although when the ranchman’s niece rode about the range alone she carried a gun – and she knew how to use the weapon, too.

But they could hear the shouts of the boys, rising above the thunder of the river, when they left the plateau and began to climb the heights, and danger of any kind did not enter the minds of the girls. It was like picnicking along the Lumano River, at home, only the scenery here was grander.

Ruth and Helen assumed the lead after a very few minutes; they were even better climbers than the Western girl. But the way was steep and rugged and it wasn’t long before their chatter ceased and they saved their breath for the work in hand. Madge and Jane Ann came along after the chums quite pluckily; but The Fox began clamoring for rest before they had climbed half the distance to the top of the cliff.

“Oh, come on, Mary!” ejaculated Madge. “Don’t be whining.”

“I don’t see anything in this,” grumbled The Fox. “It’s no fun scrambling over these rocks. Ouch! Now I’ve torn my stocking.”

“Aw, come on!” said Jane Ann. “You’re a regular wet blanket, you are.”

“There’s no sense in working so hard for nothing,” snapped The Fox.

“What did you start out for, Mary?” demanded Madge. “You might have remained at the camp with Heavy.”

“And she had sense.”

“It’s too bad you haven’t a little, then,” observed Jane Ann, rudely.

Ruth and Helen, who really enjoyed the climb, looked down from the heights and beckoned their comrades on.

“Hurry up, Slow Pokes!” cried Ruth. “We shall certainly beat you to the top.”

“And much good may that do you!” grumbled Mary Cox. “What a silly thing to do, anyway.”

“I do wish you’d go back, if you want to, Mary,” declared Madge, wearily.

“She’s as cross as two sticks,” ejaculated Jane Ann.

“Well, why shouldn’t I be cross?” demanded The Fox, quite ready to quarrel. “This place is as dull as ditch-water. I wish I hadn’t come West at all. I’m sure, I’ve had no fun.”

“Well, you’ve made enough trouble, if you haven’t had a good time,” Jane Ann said, frankly.

“I must say you’re polite to your guests,” exclaimed Mary Cox, viciously.

“And I must say you’re anything but polite to me,” responded the ranch girl, not at all abashed. “You’re pretty near the limit, you are. Somebody ought to give you a good shaking.”

Ruth and Helen had gotten so far ahead because they had not wasted their breath. Now they were waiting for the other three who came puffing to the shelf on which the chums rested, all three wearing frowns on their faces.

“For pity’s sake!” gasped Helen; “what’s the matter with you all?”

“I’m tired,” admitted Madge, throwing herself upon the short turf.

“This girl says it’s all foolishness to climb up here,” said Jane Ann, pointing at The Fox.

“Oh, I want to reach the very summit, now I’ve started,” cried Ruth.

“That’s silly,” declared Mary Cox.

“You’re just as cross as a bear,” began the Western girl, when Helen suddenly shrieked:

“Oh, oh! Will you look at that? What is it?”

Ruth had already started on. She did not wish to have any words with The Fox. A rod or more separated her from her mates. Out of an aperture heretofore unnoticed, and between Ruth and the other girls, was thrust the shaggy head and shoulders of a huge animal.

“A dog!” cried Madge.

“It’s a wolf!” shrieked Mary Cox.

But the Western girl knew instantly what the creature was. “Run, Ruthie!” she shouted. “I’ll call Jib and the boys. It’s a bear!”

And at that moment Bruin waddled fully out of the hole – a huge, hairy, sleepy looking beast. He was between Ruth and her friends, and his awkward body blocked the path by which they were climbing to the summit of the natural bridge.

“Wu-uh-uh-uff!” said the bear, and swung his head and huge shoulders from the group of four girls to the lone girl above him.

“Run, Ruth!” shrieked Helen.

Her cry seemed to startle the ursine marauder. He uttered another grunt of expostulation and started up the steep path. Nobody needed to advise Ruth to run a second time. She scrambled up the rocks with an awful fear clutching at her heart and the sound in her ears of the bear’s sabre-like claws scratching over the path!