Kitabı oku: «Meg of Mystery Mountain», sayfa 11
CHAPTER XXVI
A RECONCILIATION
The small boy, ignoring Jane, sprang toward the mountain girl and dragged her into the cabin. On the floor lay Julie, her cheeks wet with tears, her eyes dulled with suffering.
With a glad cry Jane leaped into the darkened room and was about to take the small girl in her arms, but Julie turned away and held her hands out toward Meg, when to their surprise Jane sank down in a worn-out heap on the floor and began to sob bitterly.
“Oh, mother, mother!” she cried, as though addressing someone she knew must be present, “help me to take your place with Julie and Gerald. Tell them to forgive me.”
Meg feared that Jane’s long day of anguish had temporarily unbalanced her mind, but Julie, hearing that cry, reached out a comforting hand.
“Jane,” she said weakly, “don’t feel so badly. I guess we were awfully trying, me and Gerald.”
Passionately Jane caught the child in her arms and held her close. She kissed her forehead and her tumbled hair. Then she reached out a hand to the boy, who had drawn near amazed to see his usually cold, hard sister so affected.
“Give me another chance, Gerald!” she cried, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks. “Don’t hate me yet. I’m going to begin all over. I’m going to try to be like mother.”
A cry of pain from the small girl then caught her attention.
“Julie, what is it, dear? Are you hurt? What has happened?”
Gerald spoke up: “That’s why we came in here. We were headin’ down the mountain for the Packard ranch when Julie fell. I guess her ankle is hurt.”
Meg at once was on her knees unbuttoning the high shoe. The ankle was swollen, but there were no bones broken.
“It is a bad sprain,” she said.
Then, swinging the knapsack which she always carried when on a mountain hike from her back, she took out her emergency kit. She washed the angry looking place with soothing liniment and then wound tightly about it strips of clean white cloth.
“Now,” she said, “we will have some refreshments.”
This amazed her listeners and greatly pleased at least one of them.
“Gee-golly!” Gerald cried. “I hadn’t thought of it before, but I guess I’m starving to death more’n likely.”
Meg smiled as she produced a box of raisins. “This may not seem much of a menu, but it is all one needs for several days to sustain life.”
The small boy took a generous handful and gobbled it with speed. Then the mountain girl brought out a canteen.
“Bring us some water from the creek,” she told him. Jane held out a detaining hand.
“Oh, Meg,” she implored, “don’t send Gerry to that raging torrent. Don’t you remember how we heard it roaring?”
“But you don’t hear it now,” was the reply. “The water from the cloudburst has long since gone to the valley to be absorbed, much of it, in the coarse gravel. You’ll find Crazy Creek just as it always is.”
“That’s where Julie sprained her ankle,” Gerald said. “We were trying to reach it to get a drink.”
He soon returned with the canteen full of ice-cold water. His eyes were wide.
“Say, girls,” he began, “we can’t make it home tonight, can we? The sun’s going down west of our peak right this minute.”
“We didn’t expect to,” Meg replied. “Gerald, you come with me and we will bring in pine branches or kinnikinick, if we can find any, for our beds.”
From her knapsack Meg took a folding knife as she talked.
“Kinnikinick?” the boy gayly repeated. Everything that had happened now appeared to him in the light of a jolly adventure except, of course, Julie’s ankle, and she no longer seemed to be in pain. “What sort of a thing is that?”
Meg had led the way out of the cabin.
“Here’s some!” she shouted, and the boy raced over to find the girl whom he so admired bending over a dense evergreen vine.
“It’s prettier in winter,” she told him, “for then it has red berries among the bright green leaves. It makes a wonderful bed. It is so soft and springy.”
After half an hour of effort branches of pine and some of the kinnikinick were laid on the floor, Julie was made comfortable, but Jane would not lie down. She sat with her back against the wall holding the small girl’s head on her lap. Dan had been right. One could carve oneself after a model. Never, never again would she lose sight, she assured herself, of her chosen goal, which was to do in all things as her dear mother would have done.
As soon as the sun sank it began to grow dark. Meg had at once barred the door, and also she had examined the floor and walls to be sure that there was no yawning knothole large enough to admit a snake.
The children slept from sheer exhaustion, but Jane and Meg stayed awake through the seemingly endless hours, while night prowlers howled many times close to their cabin.
At the first gray streak of dawn, Julie stirred uneasily and began to cry softly. Meg begged Jane to change positions with her, and, completely worn out, Jane did lie down on the pine boughs which had been so placed that they were springy and comfortable. Almost at once she fell asleep.
Meg removed the bandages that were hot from the little girl’s hurt ankle and again applied the cooling liniment. Other fresh strips of cloth were used and then, with the small head pillowed on Meg’s lap, Julie again fell asleep. Gerald had not wakened through the night, not even when a curious wolf had sniffed at their doorsill and had then lifted his head to wail out his displeasure.
The sun was high above the peak when Jane leaped up, startled, from her restless slumber. “What was that? I thought I heard a gun shot.”
“You did.” Nothing seemed to stir Meg from her undisturbed calm. “Someone is coming. Julie, will you sit up against the wall, dear, and I will open the door.”
Gerald, half awake, but sensing some excitement, leaped out of the cabin, his small gun held in readiness. “Do you ’spect it’s the Utes?” he asked, almost hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative. But Meg laughed. “No,” she said. “It is probably someone searching for you.” Then she fired in answer. From not far above them came two gun shots in rapid succession.
“Oh, boy!” Gerald leaped to a position where he could see the road as it wound under the pines. “There are two horsemen. Gee! One of ’em is Dan.”
“And the other is Jean Sawyer!” his companion told him.
Julie had wanted to see what was going on, so hopping on one foot, she appeared in the doorway, supported by Jane. The two lads uttered whoops of joy when they saw the group awaiting them. Dan at once caught Gerald in his arms and then glanced tenderly toward the two in the doorway. Little did Jane guess that in that moment, white and worn as she was, she had never looked so beautiful to her brother. And as for Jean Sawyer, he saw in the face which had charmed him, a softer expression, and he knew that some great transformation had taken place in the soul of the girl. Leaping forward, he said with deep solicitude: “Oh, Miss Jane, how you have suffered!”
Dan lifted Julie most carefully to the back of his horse as he said: “Meg, can you ride in front of this little miss and I will walk at your side?” Then he smiled, and Jane, glancing at him anxiously, rejoiced to note he was not ill as she had feared he would be, though he did look very tired. The lad continued: “You see, Jean and I expected to find you all here. Intuitive knowledge, if you wish to call it that, and so we planned what we would do. Jane is to ride on Silver, which Mr. Packard loaned us, and Jean will lead the way.”
“But where are we going?” his older sister inquired.
“Down to the ranch,” Jean replied. “I had strict orders to bring you back with me, all of you, for that visit that you were to have paid at the weekend.”
Meg was about to demur, but the lad hastened to say: “I told your father that I would telephone the forest ranger as soon as you all were located. He is waiting there for a message, and I cannot until I get you to the ranch.”
Still Meg thought she ought to climb back to her own home, but Jane implored: “Oh, don’t leave me! I do so want you to go with us.” That settled it and though the girl from the East little dreamed it, there was a warm glow of joy in the heart of the mountain girl who had so wanted a friend of her own age.
Jane shuddered as they rode down the old trail of the deserted mining camp. Shacks in all degrees of ruin stood about, machinery was rusting where it had been left. The beauty of the mountain had been marred by dark tunnels, outside of which stood heaps of orange and blue-gray refuse. Even in the more substantial log huts, made of aspen poles, windows were broken and doors hung on one hinge. “The desolation of the place will haunt my dreams forever,” the girl from the East said.
“And all this,” Jean made a wide sweep with his arm, “because the paying vein they had been so frantically following was lost. It might have been found, Mr. Packard told me, but another rich strike was made on Eagle Head Mountain and the inhabitants of this camp, to a man, deserted it and flocked to that new mine, and from there they probably followed other lures, ending, I suppose, as poor, or poorer, than when they began.”
Dan was interested. “Then the lost vein may still be here, who knows?” he commented with a backward glance at the deserted camp they had left. And yet, was it deserted? As soon as the young people were gone a stealthy figure appeared, slinking out of one of the huts. It was the old Ute Indian and since he carried a pick and shovel, it was quite evident that he had started out to dig. Was it the lost vein or some other treasure that he sought?
CHAPTER XXVII
THE GREEN HILLS RANCH
Shielded from the fury of the storms by gently sloping foothills, the rambling Packard ranch house presented a very inviting appearance to the young people as the two big horses carefully picked their way down the last steep trail.
“O, how beautiful!” was Jane’s involuntary exclamation when the level road, having been reached, she felt freer to look about and admire the scene.
“I had no idea that a mere ranch could be so attractive.” A great change was evident in the Eastern girl, and Jean Sawyer had been quick to notice it. Not once that morning had she seemed to be posing that she might appear more charming to him. She was just sweetly, sincerely natural. The reason, perhaps, was that Jane had suffered so much since his last visit that she had changed her estimate of real values. She was so happy, so at peace deep in her heart. She had learned that her mother’s little ones were dearer to her than all else, and so the impression she might make had dwindled in importance. If Jean had thought her beautiful on the day of their first meeting, he thought her more lovely now, although her face showed evidence of a great weariness and the hours of anxiety through which she had passed. He smiled up at her as he walked at her side, one hand resting on the horse’s bridle. “Mr. Packard and I have tried out many schemes to make our home more beautiful,” he told her. “That little artificial lake surrounded by cottonwood trees and willows we made quite by ourselves. A mountain stream flows into it. Indeed, there are many springs in these foothills and that is why they have such a soft, velvety-green appearance when the desert and mountains are so dry.” They were passing through a vegetable garden where a beaming Chinaman, hoe in hand, nodded to them.
Then came the flower gardens and Meg’s enthusiasm, though expressed in her usual quiet way, was very evident. “How you do love flowers,” Dan said, smiling up at her.
“Indeed I do!” Meg replied. “They seem like live things to me, and so I was not surprised to read recently that a scientist, with some very delicate instrument, has learned that many plants are sentient, though not acutely so. Since then I have never torn a plant ruthlessly. That scientist advised cutting flowers rather than breaking them.”
It was indeed Meg’s much-loved subject and her eyes glowed as she gazed at the banks of scarlet salvia, at the masses of golden glow, and many-hued asters.
“Someone else must love flowers,” she commented, turning to look back at Jean. He nodded. “It is my best friend, Mr. Packard. You two ought to be great cronies. I sometimes tell him that I think it is the color effect, rather than the individual flower, that he so greatly admires, but here he comes now.”
They were riding up to the circling drive which passed under a vine-covered portico. Mr. Packard leaped down the steps with an agility which seemed to dispute the years his graying hair attributed to him.
“Welcome!” he cried, with a wide sweep of his sombrero. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise, although I can hardly call it that as I have been watching for just such a cavalcade to come riding down my foothills ever since the dawn broke.” He held out his strong arms to lift little Julie, whose face, still tear-stained and white with pain, appealed to him. He held her close as he listened sympathetically while Gerald told what had happened to the poor little foot. Then, after giving a word of greeting to each of the guests, he bade them follow him indoors to the breakfast that had long been awaiting them.
The girls found that a wing, containing two rooms and a bath, and overlooking the little lake, had been prepared for their comfort. Gerald, with the two older boys, sought quarters elsewhere in the rambling ranch house, which had room for the accommodation of many guests.
“When you girls have prinked enough,” Mr. Packard said merrily, “follow the scent of the coffee and you will find the rest of us.” When the door had closed and the three girls were alone, Jane held out a hand to Meg, saying: “Will you forgive me for everything, and let me try to be a real friend?” An expression of gladness in the mountain girl’s dusky eyes was her most eloquent reply.
Directly after breakfast in the dining-room, which seemed to be all windows and where they were served by a silently moving Chinaman, the girls were told that they were to go to their wing and rest until noon.
This was in no way a displeasing suggestion and in a very short while Julie and Jane in one room and Meg in the other were deep in slumber. Gerald was also advised to rest, but he declared that he would rather stay awake and see what was going to happen. Dan laughed as he said that Gerald seemed always to believe that an adventure might begin at any moment.
“What boy does not?” Mr. Packard smiled understandingly down at the stocky little fellow whose clear blue eyes and freckled face beamed good nature. Then, quite as though he could read the small boy’s thought, the man exclaimed: “Gerald, you ought to wear my grandson’s cowboy outfit. He’d be glad to loan it to you.” That this suggestion met with the youngster’s entire approval was quite evident by the wild dance which he executed then and there.
Jean led the little fellow away and before long Gerald reappeared, clothed in a costume of the most approved style, a fringed buckskin suit, a red bandana handkerchief loosely knotted about his neck, while in one hand he held a wide felt hat on which to his great joy a dried rattlesnake skin served as band. His own small gun was never out of his possession.
“Great!” Dan said with brotherly pride. “I wish our dad and dear old grandmother might see you now, Gerry. You do indeed look ready to start on an adventure.”
“Where’ll we go to look for it?” The small boy gazed eagerly, hopefully up at their genial host.
“Well, sonny, what kind of an adventure would you prefer?” the amused man asked as though he were willing, at least, to attempt to provide whatever adventure his small guest might desire.
“I’d like an Indian raid best, or a hold-up.” The boy was thinking of the most exciting things he could recall in his set of Wild-West books, but Mr. Packard shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, sonny, but the Utes are a friendly tribe: peaceable, anyway, and they are no longer our near neighbors. They have moved their camp deeper into the mountains. And, as for hold-ups, since we are neither on a stage or a train we cannot provide that, but if you boys are not too weary I am going to suggest that you ride with me to the old stage road. I’ve been losing some calves lately and Jean believes that they might have been driven into an abandoned corral over in the foothills at night, and later were spirited away.” He hesitated. “It’s a hard ride, though. Perhaps you boys would rather not undertake it until tomorrow.”
But they were glad to go, and Gerald would not agree to being left behind. He was given a small horse that was gentle and used to boys, as the grandson had claimed it as his own, and so they rode away, having left word for the girls that they would return as soon as possible.
In the mid-morning they reached the old abandoned stage road. “No one uses it now, that is, for legitimate purposes, as it is very dangerous. There are washouts and cutways that make it almost impassable for stage or for auto travel.” Then, pointing to the place where the road circled a high hill, Mr. Packard concluded: “Jean, can you see where yesterday’s cloudburst washed out the road? It has started a new canon that will have to be bridged, for now and then a tenderfoot autoist does get started on that old road, thinking that it leads to Redfords. Time and again we have put up signs on the main highway, but they are hurled down in the storms, I suppose.”
Dan had been intently tracing the old road until it was lost from sight. Suddenly he urged his horse forward to Mr. Packard’s side. “May I take the field glasses? I feel sure that I see a dark object moving along that old road and coming this way. You look first, though. Your eyes are better trained to these distances than mine.” Mr. Packard gazed long, then he turned to Jean. “Boy,” he said, “it looks like an auto moving slowly this way. If it ever starts on that down grade toward the washout there is going to be a tragedy.”
Jean was eagerly alert. “What shall we do, Mr. Packard? How can it be averted?”
The automobile had disappeared as the road circled behind a hill, but the watchers well knew that if it did not meet with disaster it would soon reappear above the washout and then be unable to stop because of the steep descent.
“Follow me!” Mr. Packard gave the brief order, and, urging his horse to its utmost speed, he led the way at what seemed to Gerald a breakneck pace. The small boy clung to his wiry little pony, which kept close behind the racing mustangs. It was evident to the boys that Mr. Packard was hoping to round the foot of the hill in time to shout a warning to the autoists before they began the descent which would prove fatal. It seemed a very long distance to Dan and he could not see how they possibly could make it. He kept his eyes constantly on the crest of the hill road, dreading the moment when the car would appear, there to plunge down to certain destruction. Mr. Packard rounded the foot of the hill first, whirled in his saddle, beckoned the boys to make haste, then disappeared, leaving his horse standing riderless. “What can that mean?” Dan asked, but Jean merely shook his head. In another moment they would know. When they, also, had rounded the hill, they saw that “ill fortune,” as autoists usually consider a blow-out, had befriended the travelers. The car had been stopped just as it had begun the ascent of the hill, on the other side of which sure death had awaited them.
Mr. Packard was seen breaking a trail through the underbrush. From time to time he hallooed, and the boys saw that at last he had been heard.
“It will be needless for us to make the climb,” Jean said, “since Mr. Packard will warn them,” and so the three boys awaited the man’s return.
“Who were they?” Jean inquired. Mr. Packard, removing his Stetson to wipe his brow, shook his head. “I do not know. Some family from the East trying to cross the Rockies. They could have done it easily enough if they had not taken the wrong road. The woman in the party is so utterly exhausted that I invited them to come to our place to rest. I showed them the road from the foot of the hill back of them. It certainly isn’t in good condition, but, being on the level, it at least will not be dangerous. The woman fainted when she heard how near death lurked ahead of them, but they’ll be all right now. We’ll inspect that old foothill corral some other day, Jean. These strangers have need of our friendly services.” Mr. Packard turned his horse’s head toward the ranch as he spoke and they all galloped back at a moderate speed.
“That was sort of an adventure, wasn’t it?” Gerald inquired hopefully.
Mr. Packard laughed heartily. “I certainly think it could be so classified,” he agreed. “I shudder to think what it would have been, however, if that tire had not halted them. We could not have reached them in time.”
Although it was not quite noon, the girls were up and dressed when the equestrians returned and were greatly interested in all that had happened. Gerald waxed eloquent as he told Julie the details, and that little girl, who hungered for adventure quite as much as her brother, hoped that if anything exciting happened again, she might be in the thick of it.
Mr. Packard retired to the kitchen to advise Sing Long, the cook, that four other guests were to arrive for lunch. Although that Chinaman’s reply was merely “Ally lite” the American interpretation of his pleased smile would be, “the more the merrier.” Guests were his joy that he might display the art at which he excelled.
An hour later a big, luxurious closed car limped into the ranch door-yard. Mr. Packard went out to greet the strangers in the same hospitable manner that he had greeted his friends. The girls on the wide porch saw a fine looking man with a Van Dyke beard assisting a simply though richly gowned woman from the car, then the front door was flung open! There was a joyful cry from a girl who leaped out and fairly raced up the front steps with arms out-held. “O Jane, Jane! How wonderful to find you here! We were looking for your cabin and that’s how we came to lose our way.”
“Marion Starr, of all things! I thought that you were in Newport!”
