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<h1>MEG OF <br/>MYSTERY MOUNTAIN</h1>
<p class="center">By GRACE MAY NORTH</p>
<hr />
<div class="fig"> id="logo"><ANTIMG src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Girl on Horse" width-obs="132" height-obs="198" /></div>
<hr />
<p class="center">THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
<br/>Akron, Ohio <span class="hst">New York</span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="small">Copyright MCMXXVI</span></p>
<p class="center"><span class="small"><i>Made in the United States of America</i></span></p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_3">[3]</div>
<h1 title="">MEG OF MYSTERY MOUNTAIN.</h1>
<h2 id="c1"><br/>CHAPTER I. <br/>THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL</h2>
<p>Jane Abbott, tall, graceful and languidly beautiful,
passed through the bevy of girls on the wharf
below Highacres Seminary with scarcely a nod for
any of them. Closely following her came three
other girls, each carrying a satchel and wearing a
tailored gown of the latest cut.</p>
<p>Although Esther Ballard and Barbara Morris
called gaily to many of their friends, it was around
Marion Starr that all of the girls crowded until her
passage way to the small boat, even then getting up
steam, was completely blocked.</p>
<p>Jane, when she had crossed the gang plank,
turned to find only Esther and Barbara at her side.
A slight sneer curled her lips as she watched the adulation
which Merry was receiving. Then, with a
shrug of her slender shoulders that was more eloquent
than words, the proud girl seated herself in
one of the reclining deck chairs and imperiously
motioned her friends to do likewise.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_4">[4]</div>
<p>“It’s so silly of Merry to make such a fuss over
all those girls. She’ll miss the boat if she doesn’t
hurry.”</p>
<p>Marion had evidently thought of the same thing,
for she laughingly ran up the gang plank, her arms
filled with candy boxes, boquets and magazines,
gifts of her admiring friends. Depositing these on
a chair, she leaned over the rail to call: “Good-bye,
girls! Of course I’ll write to you, Sally, reams and
reams; a sort of a round-robin letter to be sent to
the whole crowd.</p>
<p>“Sure thing, Betty Ann. I’ll tell my handsome
brother Bob that you don’t want him to ever forget
you.” Then as there was a protest from the wharf,
the girl laughingly added: “But you wished to be
remembered to him. Isn’t that the same thing?”</p>
<p>Noticing a small girl who had put her handkerchief
to her eyes, Merry remonstrated. “Tessie,
don’t cry, child! This isn’t a funeral or a wedding.
Of course you’ll see us again. We four intend to
come back to Highacres to watch you graduate just
as you watched us today. Work hard, Little One,
and carry off the honors. I’ve been your big-sister
coach all this year, and I want you to make the goal.
I know you will! Goodbye!” Marion Starr could
say no more for the small river steamer gave a
warning whistle—the rope was drawn in, and, as
the boat churned the water noisily in starting, the
chorus of goodbyes from the throng of girls on the
wharf could be heard but faintly.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_5">[5]</div>
<p>Marion remained standing at the rail, waving her
handkerchief, smiling and nodding until the small
steamer rounded a jutting-out point of land, then
she turned about and faced the three other girls,
who had made themselves comfortable in the reclining
steamer chairs.</p>
<p>“What a fuss you make over all those undergrads,
Merry,” Jane Abbott remarked languidly. “A
casual observer might suppose that each one of
them was a very best friend, while we three, who
are here present, have that honor. For myself, I
much prefer to conserve my enthusiasm.”</p>
<p>Marion sat down in a vacant steamer chair, and
merely smiled her reply, but the youngest among
them, Esther Ballard, flashed a defense for her
ideal among girls. “That’s the very reason why
Merry was unanimously voted the most popular girl
in Highacres during the entire four years that we
have been at the seminary. Nothing was ever too
much trouble, and no girl was too unimportant for
Merry’s loving consideration.”</p>
<p>“Listen! Listen!” laughed good natured Barbara
Morris. “All salute Saint Marion Starr.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_6">[6]</div>
<p>But Esther, flushed and eager, did not stop.
“While you, Jane Abbott”—she could not keep the
scorn out of her voice—“while you were only voted
the most beautiful.”</p>
<p>“Only?” there was a rising inflection in Barbara’s
voice, and she also lifted her eyebrows questioningly.
“I think our queen is quite satisfied with
her laurels.”</p>
<p>Jane merely shrugged her shoulders, then turning
her dark, shapely head on the small cherry colored
pillow with which she always traveled, she
asked in her usual languid manner, “Marion, let’s
forget the past and plan for the future.”</p>
<p>“You said you had a wonderful vacation trip to
suggest, and that you would reveal it when we
were on the boat. Well, this is the time and the
place.”</p>
<p>“And the girls?” chimed in Barbara. “Do hurry
and tell us, Merry. Your plans are always jolly.”</p>
<p>And so with a smile of pleasurable anticipation,
Merry began to unfold her scheme.</p>
<p>“Aunt Belle is going to one of those adorable cottage
hotels at Newport. She is just past-perfect as
a chaperone and she said that she thought a party
of four girls would be ideal. It will only cost each
of us about $100 a month.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_7">[7]</div>
<p>“A mere mite,” Jane Abbott commented, “and
the plan, as far as I’m concerned, is simply inspirational.
I’ve always had a wild desire to live at one
of those fashionable cottage-hotels, but not having
a mother to take me, I have never been. I know my
father will be glad to have me go, since your Aunt
Belle is to be there, and I shall ask for $150 a
month, so that we may have plenty of ice cream and
not feel stinted.”</p>
<p>The usually indolent Jane was so interested in
Merry’s plan that she was actually sitting erect, the
small cherry-colored pillow in her lap.</p>
<p>“I’m not so sure that I can go,” Esther Ballard
said ruefully. “My father is not a Wall Street magnate
as is your father, Jane, and $100 a month may
seem a good deal to him, following so closely the
vast sum that he has had to spend on my four years’
tuition at Highacres.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Jane flashed at their youngest.
“You are the idol of your artist-father’s existence.
He’d give you anything you needed to make you
happy.”</p>
<p>Then, before Esther could voice her retort, the
older girl had continued: “As for me, I shall need
an additional $500 for clothes. Since we are going
to so fashionable a place, we ought to have the
smartest and latest summer styles from Paris. Let’s
all make note of the wardrobe we’d like to take.”</p>
<p>Out came four small leather notebooks and with
tiny pencils suspended above them, the girls thought
for a moment.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_8">[8]</div>
<p>Then Merry scribbled something as she remarked,
“My first is a bathing suit. Green, the color mermaids
wear.”</p>
<p>“Mine shall be cherry colored. It best suits my
style of beauty,” Jane said complacently.</p>
<p>“You surely do look peachy in it,” Barbara remarked
admirably. “It doesn’t matter what I put
on, my squint and my freckled pug nose spoil it all.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re not so bad!” Esther said generously.
“I heard one of the cadets at our closing dance say
that he thought your squint was adorable.”</p>
<p>“Lead me to him!” Barbara jumped up as
though about to start in search of her unknown admirer,
but sank back again when she recalled that
she was on a steamer which was chugging down the
Hudson at its best speed.</p>
<p>“Do be serious, girls. See, I’ve made out a long
list of things that I shall need.” Jane held up her
notebook for inspection. But Esther closed hers
and replaced it in her natty alligator traveling bag.
“I’ll select my wardrobe after I have had my
father’s consent,” she said. “You might as well stop
planning now, Jane, as we are nearly to the Battery.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_9">[9]</div>
<p>Esther was right and in another five moments all
was confusion on the small steamer. When they
had safely crossed the gang plank, Merry detained
them long enough to say, “Girls, before we part,
let’s plan to meet at my home next Friday. Since
you will all have to travel so far, suppose you come
early and stay to lunch. Then we can make our
final plans. How I do hope that we can all go.”</p>
<p>“I know that I can,” Jane replied confidently. “I
always do as I wish, and nothing could induce me
to spend another summer with my young brother
and sister. They’re so boisterous and bothersome.
As for Dan, he’s so eager to make high grades at
college that he always is deep in a book.”</p>
<p>“Why Jane Abbott,” rebuked Esther. “I think
your little sister is adorable. I’d give anything if I
were not an only child.” Jane merely shrugged.
“Au revoir,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got
to catch the ferry.”</p>
<h2 id="c2"><br/>CHAPTER II. <br/>THE MOST SELFISH GIRL</h2>
<p>The girls who had been inseparable friends during
the four years at the fashionable Highacres
Seminary parted at the Battery to go in as many
different directions.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_10">[10]</div>
<p>Marion Starr’s home was far up on Riverside
Drive, while Barbara Morris’ millionaire father had
an extensive estate on Long Island. Esther Ballard,
the only daughter of devoted parents, resided in the
house of her grandfather, Colonel Ballard, on Washington
Square, while Jane Abbott’s family of four
lived in the same rambling, picturesque wooden
house that Mr. Abbott’s father had built for his
bride long before his name had become so well
known on Wall Street. Edgemere, a pretty little
town among the Jersey hills, Mr. Abbott deemed a
good place to bring up his younger girl and boy,
and so, although Jane often pleaded that they move
to a more fashionable suburb, in Edgemere they
had remained. Nor would her father tear down the
old home to replace it with one finer, for his beloved
wife, who had died at the birth of little Julie, had
planned it and had chosen all of the furnishings.
“Some day you will have a home of your own,
Jane,” he had told his proud older daughter, “and
then you may have it as fine as you wish.”</p>
<p>But in all other things, Mr. Abbott humored her,
for she was so like her mother in appearance. It
was with sorrow that the father had to confess in
his heart that there the resemblance ceased, for the
mother, who had been equally beautiful, had been
neither proud nor selfish. Little Julie, though not so
beautiful, was far more like the mother in nature,
and so, too, was Daniel, the nineteen-year-old lad
upon whom the father placed so much reliance.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div>
<p>Regrettable as it may seem, Jane Abbott, as she
stood on the deck of the ferry that was to convey her
to the Jersey shore, was actually dreading the two
weeks that she would have to spend in her own home.
Marion had suggested that they plan going to Newport
by the middle of July and it was now the first.</p>
<p>It was late afternoon, and there were many working
girls on the huge ferry, who were returning to
their Jersey homes after a long hot day in the New
York offices. As they crowded against her, Jane
drew herself away from them haughtily, thankful,
indeed, that her father was so wealthy that she
would never have to earn her own way in the world,
nor wear such unattractive ready-made dresses. Unconsciously
her lips curled scornfully until she
chanced to catch a glimpse of her own trim tailored
figure in one of the panel mirrors; then she smiled
complacently and seated herself somewhat apart
from the working girls, who, from time to time,
glanced at her, as she supposed, with admiration.
But she was disabused of this satisfying thought
when one of them spoke loud enough for her to
hear. “See that stiff-necked snob! She thinks
she’s made of different clay from the rest of us. I
wish her pa’d lose his money, so she’d have to scrub
for a living.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</div>
<p>This remark merely caused Jane to sneer slightly,
but what she heard next filled her heart with terrified
foreboding, for another girl had turned to look at
her and replied:</p>
<p>“Well, if she’s who I think she is, her father’s
already gone bankrupt, and she’s poor enough, all
right.”</p>
<p>The working girls then moved to another part of
the ferry and Jane was left alone. It was ridiculous,
of course. Her father could not lose his vast fortune.
Jane determined to think no more about it.
The ferry had reached its destination, and the proud
girl hurried away. Never before had she so longed
to reach her home.</p>
<p>“Of course it is not true,” her panicky thought
kept repeating. “But what could it mean? What
could it mean?”</p>
<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p>
<p>Jane vowed to herself that she would not again
think of what the spiteful working girl had said, for
how could she, a mere nobody, have information
concerning the affairs of a man of her father’s
standing, which Jane, his own daughter, did not
have?</p>
<p>But a disquieting thought reminded her that the
working girl’s face had been familiar, and then
memory recalled that she had seen her in the very
building on Wall Street where Mr. Abbott’s offices
were located.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div>
<p>Jane’s troubled reverie was interrupted by a joyous
exclamation, and her brother, who was three
years her senior and a head taller, leaped from the
crowd and held out both hands. His greeting was
so enthusiastic, his expression so radiant, that the
girl was convinced that all was well with their
father, and so she said nothing of what she had
heard.</p>
<p>It was not until they were seated on the train and
had started for Edgemere that Jane noticed how pale
and thin was her brother’s face, and, when his
eager flow of conversation was interrupted by a
severe coughing spell, the girl exclaimed with real
concern, “Why, Brother Dan, what a terrible cold
you have! You ought to be in bed.”</p>
<p>The boy’s smile was reassuring. “Don’t worry
about that cough, sis,” he said lightly. “Now the
grind is over, it will let up, I’m thinking. But it
surely has stuck closer than a postage stamp. Caught
it weeks ago, but I’ve been so busy, well, doing
things, that I haven’t had time to coddle myself.”</p>
<p>Suddenly the lad’s expression became very serious,
and turning, he placed a thin hand, that was far
too white, lovingly on his sister’s as he said: “Jane,
dear, some changes have taken place in our home
since you went back to Highacres last Christmas.
For Dad’s sake try to bear them bravely.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div>
<p>Then it was true, true, all that this dreadful
working girl had said. For a moment the girl’s
whole being surged with self-pity, then she felt
cold and hard. What right had their father to lose
his fortune and bring disgrace and privation upon
his family? In a voice that sounded most unfeeling,
she asked, “And just what may those changes be?”</p>
<p>It was hard, so hard for Dan to tell the whole
truth to a girl whom he knew, with sorrow, thought
only of herself. He had believed that trouble might
awaken the true Jane, whom he had always felt
must be somewhere deep under all the adamant of
selfishness, but as yet there was no evidence of it.</p>
<p>He removed his hand, as from something that
hurt him, and folding his arms, he began: “Our
father is in great trouble, Jane, and he needs our aid,
but at present all we can do is to bear cheerfully the
inconveniences that are not nearly as severe as many
others have to endure.”</p>
<p>But the girl was impatient. “For goodness sakes,
Dan, don’t preach! Now is no time to moralize. If
our father has done some idiotic speculating and has
lost his money, tell me so squarely.”</p>
<p>A red spot burned in each pale cheek of the lad
and a light of momentary indignation flashed in his
eyes, but he replied calmly enough: “Remember,
Jane, that you are speaking of our father, one of
the noblest men who ever trod on this earth. You
know as well as I do that Dad never did any wildcat
speculating.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div>
<p>“Well, then, stop beating around the bush and tell
me just what has happened.”</p>
<h2 id="c3"><br/>CHAPTER III. <br/>FACING HARD TRUTHS</h2>
<p>“It is because our father is honest that today we
are poor,” Dan Abbott began, “and I glory in that
fact.”</p>
<p>His sister, sitting beside him in the train that was
nearing Edgemere, curled her lips but did not reply.
“The firm to which Dad belonged made illegal contracts
in western oil fields. The other men will be
many times richer than they were before, but, because
our father scorned to be a party to such dishonesty,
he has failed. Not a one of the men in
whom he trusted made the slightest effort to help
avert the catastrophe.”</p>
<p>“When did this all happen?” Jane’s voice was
still hard, almost bitter, as though she felt hatred
and scorn for her father, rather than loyalty and
admiration.</p>
<p>“Last February,” was the brief reply.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div>
<p>“Then why was I not informed? Am I a mere
infant to be kept in ignorance of facts like these?
Father has treated me unfairly, letting me boast to
my most intimate friends that I could have an elaborate
Paris wardrobe for the summer. My position
is certainly a most unpleasant one.”</p>
<p>At this the slow temper of the lad at her side
flamed and though he spoke in a low voice that the
other passengers might not hear, he said just what
he thought. “Jane Abbott, you are the most selfish,
heartless girl I have ever known. It is very hard to
believe that you are an own daughter to that most
wonderful woman whom we are permitted to claim
as our mother. In an hour of trouble (and there
were many of them in those long ago days) she was
always brave and cheerful, comforting Dad and urging
him above all to be true to an ideal. But I actually
believe that you, Jane Abbott, would rather our
Dad had entered into dishonest negotiations as did
the other members of his firm.”</p>
<p>The lad glanced hopefully at his sister. Surely
she would indignantly refute this accusation, but
she did nothing of the sort. With a shrug of her
slender shoulders, she sank back against the cherry
colored cushion as she replied, “I have often heard
that an honest man can not be a success in business,
and I do feel that our father should have considered
his family above all else.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</div>
<p>Dan pressed his lips firmly together. He feared
that if his torrent of angry thoughts were expressed
it might form a barrier between himself and his sister
that the future could not tear down, and so, after
taking a deep breath that seemed almost a half sob,
he again placed his hand tenderly on the cold white
one that lay listlessly near him.</p>
<p>“Sis, dear,” he implored, “try to be brave, won’t
you? I’ll do all I can to make things easier for you,
and so will Dad. He’s pretty much stunned, just
now, but, oh, little girl, you can’t guess how he is
dreading your homecoming. That’s why I offered
to meet you at the ferry station. I wanted to tell
you and save Dad that agony of spirit. If you would
only go in brightly and say, what our dear mother
would have said, it will do more to help our father
than anything else in this world.”</p>
<p>Selfish as Jane was, she dearly loved the brother
who had idolized her, and who in moments of great
tenderness had always called her his little girl, remembering
only that she was three years younger
and in need of his protection.</p>
<p>Tears sprang to her eyes, but as the train was
drawing in at the Edgemere station she only had
time to say, “I’ll try. But, oh, it is so hard, so
hard.”</p>
<p>Dan engaged a hack and after assisting his sister
in, he sat beside her. Then, as they drove along the
pleasant streets of the village that were shaded by
wide spreading elms, the lad told her what changes
had occurred in their home.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div>
<p>“Mrs. Beach, our housekeeper, and Nora, her assistant,
have left, and our dear old grandmother has
closed up her farm in Vermont and is staying with
father. It has been his greatest comfort to have his
mother with him. You always thought her ways
so old-fashioned and farmerish, Jane, but for all
that she is the sweetest kind of a little old lady and
as brisk and capable as she was two years ago when
we visited the farm.”</p>
<p>There was a slight curl to Jane’s lips, but she
merely said: “I suppose I shall be expected to wash
dishes now. We must be terribly poor if we couldn’t
even keep Nora.”</p>
<p>“But we have one big blessing,” Dan said brightly,
“the home, which was mother’s can not be taken
from us, for it belongs to us children.”</p>
<p>Jane was not listening. She was trying to figure
out something in her own mind. “Dan.” She
turned toward him suddenly. “I can’t see why Dad
lost his money, just because he did not want to be a
partner in what he considered a dishonest oil deal.
Explain it to me a little more clearly.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div>
<p>“I didn’t at first,” her brother confessed, “fearing
that it would not have your sympathy. Many poor
people invested their entire savings in the oil deal,
supposing that father’s firm could be relied upon to
be absolutely honest. It is their money, much of it,
which is making the rich men richer. Our father,
knowing that many had invested their all because
they trusted his personal integrity, has turned over
his entire fortune to make up their losses, as far as
it will go.” Dan was sorry he had to make this explanation,
for he saw at once the hard expression
returning to the eyes of his sister.</p>
<p>“If our father has greater consideration for the
poor of New York than he has for his own children,
you can not expect me to express much sympathy
for him.”</p>
<p>“Dear girl, wouldn’t you rather have our father
honest than rich?” The lad’s clear grey eyes looked
at her searchingly.</p>
<p>Jane put her hand to her forehead as though it
ached. “Oh, Dan,” she said, wearily, “you and
father have different ideals from what I have, I
guess. I never really gave any thought to these
things. I like comfort and nice clothes and I hate,
hate, hate drudgery and work of every kind. I
suppose now I shall have to scrub for a living.”
Jane was recalling what the working girl on the
ferry had said.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</div>
<p>Dan’s amused laughter rang out. “Oh, Jane,
what nonsense. Do you suppose that while I have a
strong right arm I would let my little pal work in
any of those drudgery ways? No, indeed, so forget
that fear, if it’s haunting you.” But the boy could
say no more, for another violent coughing spell
racked his frail body.</p>
<p>Instantly Jane was self-reproachful. “Oh, Dan,
Dan,” she said, “I know you would give your very
life to help me. I’m so selfish, so very selfish! I’m
going to think of only one thing, and that is how I
can help you to get well, for I can see now that you
must have been ill.”</p>
<p>The boy took advantage of this momentary tender
spell to turn and take the girl’s hands in his and say
imploringly: “Dear, we’re almost home. If you
really want to help me to get well, be loving and
brave to Dad. Your unhappiness grieves me more
than our loss, little girl, and I can’t get strong while
I am so worried.”</p>
<p>There were again tears in the beautiful dark eyes
of the girl, and impulsively she kissed the one person
on earth whom she truly loved. “Brother, for
your sake I’ll try to be brave,” she said with a half
sob as the hack stopped in front of their home.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div>
<h2 id="c4"><br/>CHAPTER IV. <br/>A SAD HOMECOMING</h2>
<p>As Jane walked up the circling graveled path
which led to the picturesque, rambling, low-built
brown house that she called home her heart was
filled with conflicting emotions. She bit her trembling
lips and brushed away the tears that quivered
on her eyelashes. She knew, oh, how well she
knew, that they were prompted only by self-pity.
She struggled to awaken the nobler self that her
brother was so confident still slumbered in her soul,
but she could not. She felt cold, hard, indignant
every time she recalled that her father had sacrificed
his children’s comfort for a Quixotic ideal. “It is
no use trying,” she assured herself, noticing vaguely
that they were passing the rose garden, which was
a riot of fragrant, colorful bloom. How tenderly
her father cared for that garden, for every bush in
it had been planted by the loved one who was gone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div>
<p>The tall lad carrying her satchels walked silently
at Jane’s side. He well knew the conflict that was
raging in the heart of the girl he had always loved,
in spite of her ever-increasing selfishness, with a
tenderness akin to that which he had given his
mother, but he said no word to try to help. This
was a moment when Jane must stand alone.</p>
<p>They were ascending the wide front steps when
the door of the house was flung open and a little
girl of ten leaped out with a glad cry. “Oh, Janey,
my wonderful big sister Janey.” Two arms were
held out, and in another moment, as the older girl
well knew, she would be in one of those crushing
embraces that the younger children called “bear
hugs.” She frowned slightly. “Don’t, Julie!” she
implored. “My suit has just been pressed. Won’t
you ever grow up, and greet people in a more dignified
way?”</p>
<p>The glad expression on the freckled face of the
little girl, who could not be called really pretty,
changed instantly. Her lips quivered and her eyes
filled with tears. “Don’t be a silly,” Jane said rebukingly,
as she stooped and kissed the child indifferently
on the forehead.</p>
<p>A dear old lady, wearing a pretty lavender gingham
and a white “afternoon apron,” appeared in
the doorway all a-flutter of happy excitement. She
had not seen Jane for two years, and she took the
girl’s hands in her own that trembled.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div>
<p>“Dear, dear Jenny!” (How the graduate of
fashionable Highacres had always hated the name
her grandmother had given her.) “What a blessing
’tis that you have come home at last. It’ll mean
more to your father to have you here than you can
think.” The old lady evidently did not notice the
scornful curling of the girl’s lips, or, if she did, she
purposely pretended that she did not, and kept on
with her speech. “You know, dearie, you’re the
perfect image of that other Jane my Daniel loved so
dearly, and she was just your age, Jenny, when they
met. It’ll be like meeting her all over again to have
you coming home now, when he’s in such trouble,
you being so like her, and she was most tender and
brave and unselfish.”</p>
<p>Even the grandmother noticed that her well-meant
speech was not acceptable, for the girl’s impatience
was ill concealed.</p>
<p>“Where is my father?” she said in a voice which
gave Dan little hope that the nobler self in the girl
had been awakened.</p>
<p>“He’s working in the garden, dearie; out beyond
the apple orchard,” the old lady said tremulously.
“He told me when you came to send you out. He
wants to be alone with you just at first. And your
little brother, Gerald; I s’pose you’re wondering
where he is. Well, he’s got a place down in the village
as errand boy for Peterson’s grocery. They
give him his pay every night, and he fetches it right
home to his Dad. Of course my Daniel puts the
money in bank for Gerald’s schooling, but the boy
don’t know that. He thinks he’s helping, and bless
him, nobody knows how much he is helping. There’s
ways to bring comfort that no money could buy.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div>
<p>Dan knew that Jane believed their gentle old
grandmother was preaching at her. He was almost
sorry. He feared that it was antagonizing Jane; nor
was he wrong.</p>
<p>“Well, I think the back orchard was a strange
place for father to have me meet him,” she said, almost
angrily, as she flung herself out of the house.
Dan sighed. Then, stooping, he kissed the little old
lady. “Don’t feel badly, grandmother,” he said,
adding hopefully: “The real Jane must waken
soon.”</p>
<p>The proud, selfish girl, again rebellious, walked
along the narrow path that led under the great, old,
gnarled apple trees which the children had used for
playhouses ever since they could climb. She felt
like one stunned, or as though she were reading a
tragic story and expected at every moment to be
awakened to the joyful realization that it was not
true.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div>
<p>Her father saw her coming and dropped the hoe
that he had been plying between the long rows of
beans. “How terribly he has changed,” Jane
thought. He had indeed aged and there was on his
sensitive face, which was more that of an idealist
than a business man, the impress of sorrow, but also
there was something else. Jane noticed it at once;
an expression of firm, unwavering determination.
She knew that appealing to his love for his daughter
would be useless, great as that love was. A quotation
she had learned in school flashed into her
mind—“I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved
I not honor more.”</p>
<p>There was, indeed, infinite tenderness in the clear
gray eyes that looked at her, and then, without a
word, he held out his arms, and suddenly Jane felt
as she had when she was a little child, and things
had gone wrong.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div>
<p>“Father! Father!” she sobbed, and then she
clung to him, while he held her in a yearning, strong
embrace, saying, “It’s hard, my daughter, terribly
hard for all of us, but it was the thing that I had to
do. Dan, I am sure, has told you all that happened.
But it won’t be for long, Janey. What I have done
once, I can do again.” He led her to a rustic bench
under one of the trees, and removing her hat, he
stroked her dark, glossy hair. “Jane, dear,” he implored,
when her sobs grew less, “try to be brave,
just for a time. Promise me!” Then, as the girl
did not speak, the man went on, “We have tried so
hard, all of us together, to make it possible for you
to finish at Highacres. Poor Dan made the biggest
sacrifice. I feared that I would have to send for you
to come home, perhaps only for this term, but Dan
wrote, ‘Father, use my college money for Jane’s tuition.
I’ll work my way through for the rest of this
year.’ And that is what he did. Notwithstanding
the fact that he had to study until long after midnight,
he worked during the day, nor did he stop
when he caught a severe cold. He did not let us
know how ill he was, but struggled on and finished
the year with high honors, but, oh, my daughter,
you can see how worn he is. Dr. Sanders tells me
that Dan must go to the Colorado mountains for the
summer and I have been waiting, dear, to talk it
over with you. You will want to go with Dan to
take care of him, won’t you, Jane?”</p>
<p>Almost before the girl knew that she was going to
say it, she heard her self-pitying voice expostulating,
“Oh, Dad, how cruel fate is! Marion Starr
wanted me to go with her to Newport. They’re going
to one of those adorable cottage-hotels, she and
her Aunt Belle, and we three girls who have been
Merry’s best friends were to go with her. It would
only cost me one hundred dollars a month. That
isn’t so very much, is it, Dad?”</p>
<p>Mr. Abbott sighed. “Jane,” and there was infinite
reproach in his tone, “am I to believe that you
are willing that Dan should go alone to the mountains
to try to find there the health he lost in his
endeavor to help you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div>
<p>Again the girl sobbed. “Oh, Dad, how selfish I
am! How terribly selfish! I love Dan, but the
thing I want to do is to go to Newport. Of course
I know I can’t go, but, oh, <i>how</i> I do want to.”</p>
<p>The girl feared that her father would rebuke her
angrily for the frank revelation of her lack of gratitude,
but, instead, he rose, saying kindly as he assisted
her to arise, “Jane, dear, you <i>think</i> that is
what you want to do but I don’t believe it. Dan is
to go West next Friday. My good friend Mr.
Bethel, being president of a railroad, has sent me
the passes. As you know, I still own a little cabin
on Mystery Mountain which I purchased for almost
nothing when I graduated from college and went
West to seek my fortune. There is <i>no</i> mystery, and
there was <i>no</i> wealth, but I have paid the taxes until
last year and those Dan shall pay, as I do not want
to lose the place. It was to that cabin, as you have
often heard us tell, that your mother and I went for
our honeymoon. You need not decide today, daughter.
If you prefer to go with your friends, I will
find a way to send you.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div>
<h2 id="c5"><br/>CHAPTER V. <br/>JANE’S SMALL BROTHER</h2>
<p>There were many conflicting emotions in the
heart of the tall, beautiful girl as she walked slowly
back to the house, her father at her side with one
arm lovingly about her.</p>
<p>“Jane,” he said tenderly, “I wish there were words
in our English language that could adequately express
the joy it is to me because you are so like your
mother, and, strangely perhaps, Dan is as much like
me as I was at his age as you are like that other
Jane. She was tall and willowy, with the same
bright, uplifting of her dark eyes when she was
pleased.”</p>
<p>Then the man sighed, and he said almost pleadingly,
“You do realize, do you not, daughter, that
I would do anything that was right to give you
pleasure?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div>
<p>Vaguely the girl replied, “Why, I suppose so,
Dad. I don’t quite understand ideals and ethics.
I’ve never given much thought to them.” Jane could
say no more, for, vaulting over the low fence beyond
the orchard, a vigorous boy of twelve appeared,
and, if ten-year-old Julie had made a terrifying
onrush, this boy’s attack resembled that of a
little wild Indian. “Whoopla!” he fairly shouted,
“If here isn’t old Jane! Bully, but that’s great! Did
you bring me anything?”</p>
<p>There was no fending off the boy’s well meant
embraces, and Jane emerged from them with decidedly
ruffled feelings.</p>
<p>“I certainly don’t like to have you call me old
Jane,” she scolded. “I think it is very lacking in
respect. Father, I wish you would tell Gerald to
call me Sister Jane.”</p>
<p>Mr. Abbott reprimanded the crestfallen lad, then
he told the girl that the boy had not meant to be disrespectful.
“You know, Jane, that children use certain
phrases until they are worn ragged, and just
now ‘old’ is applied to everything of which Gerald is
especially fond. It is with him a term of endearment.”
Then, with a smile of loving encouragement
for the boy, their father added: “Why, that
youngster even calls me ‘old Dad’ and I confess I
rather like it.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</div>
<p>The boy did not again address his sister, but going
to the other side of his father, he clung affectionately
to his arm and hopped along on one foot and
then on the other as though he had quite forgotten
the rebuff, but he had not. They entered a side
door and Jane went upstairs to her own pleasant
room with its wide bow windows that opened out
over the tops of the apple trees and toward the sloping
green hills for which New Jersey is famous.
Grandmother was in the kitchen preparing a supper
such as Jane had liked two years before when she
had visited the Vermont farm, and Julie was setting
the table, when Gerald appeared. Straddling a
chair he blurted out, “Say, isn’t Jane a spoil-joy?
I’m awful sorry her school’s let out, and ’tisn’t only
for vacation that she’ll be home. Dan says it’s forever
’n ever ’n ever. She’ll be trying to tell us
where to head in. We’ll have about as much fun
as—as—(the boy was trying hard to think of a
suitable simile)—as—a——” Then as he was still
floundering, Julie, holding a handful of silver knives
and forks, whirled and said brightly, “as a rat in a
dog kennel. You know last week how awful unhappy
that rat was that puppy had in his kennel, till
you held his collar and let the poor thing get away.”
Then as the small girl continued on her way around
the long table placing the silver by each plate, she
said hopefully, “Don’t let’s mope about it yet. Jane
always goes a-visitin’ her school friends every summer
and like’s not she will this.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div>
<p>“Humph! She must be heaps nicer other places
than she is here, or folks wouldn’t want her.” Their
mutual commiserating came to an abrupt end, for
Grandma appeared from the kitchen with a covered
dish, out of which a delicious aroma was escaping.
Then in from the other door came Dad, one arm
about Jane and the other about Dan. Grandma
glanced anxiously at her big son. His expression
was hard to read, but he seemed happier. How she
hoped Jane had proved herself a worthy daughter of
her mother.</p>
<p>It is well, perhaps, that we cannot read the
thoughts of those nearest us, for all that evening
Jane was wondering how she could make over her
last summer’s wardrobe that it might appear new
even in a fashionable cottage-hotel.</p>
<p>On Thursday, directly after breakfast, Jane went
up to her room without having offered to help with
the morning work. She had never even made her
own bed in all the eighteen years of her life and the
thought did not suggest itself to her that she might
be useful. Or, if it did, she assured herself that
Julie was far more willing and much more capable
as a helper for their grandmother than she, Jane,
could possibly be. The truth was that bright-eyed,
eager, light-footed little Julie was far more welcome
than the older girl, bored, sulky, and selfish, would
have been.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</div>
<p>Dan left early for the city, where he wished to
purchase a few things he would need while “roughing
it” in the Colorado mountains. Gerald went
with him as far as the cross-roads, then the older
boy tramped on to the depot while the younger one,
whistling gaily and even turning a handspring now
and then, proceeded to his place of business, and
was soon nearly hidden in an apron much too big
for him, while he swept out the store.</p>
<p>Mr. Abbott had watched his older daughter closely
during that morning meal. He had said little to
her, but had conversed cheerily with Dan, telling
him just what khaki garments he would need, and,
at Gerald’s urging, he had retold exciting adventures
that he had had in that old log cabin in the
long ago days, when he had first purchased it. How
the boy wished that he, also, could go to that wonderful
Mystery Mountain, but not for one moment
would he let Dad know of this yearning. He was
needed at home to earn what he could by working
at the Peterson grocery. His big brother was not
well, so he, Gerald, must take his place as father’s
helper. He was a little boy, only twelve, and it
took courage to whistle and turn handsprings when
he would far rather have crept away into some hidden
fence corner and sobbed out his longing for
travel and adventure.</p>
<p>All that sunny July morning Mr. Abbott worked
in his garden back of the apple orchard.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div>
<p>Often as he hoed between the long rows of thrifty
vegetables, the sorrowing man glanced up at the
windows of the room in which he knew his beloved
daughter sat. How he wished she would come out
and talk with him, even if it were to tell him that
she had decided that she wanted to go with her
friends to Newport. He had promised to find a
way to obtain the $300 she would need, if she
wished to go for three months.</p>
<p>He sighed deeply, and, being hidden from the
house by a gnarled old apple tree, he stopped his
work and took from his pocket an often read letter
from an old friend who had offered to loan him
any sum, large or small, at any time that it might be
needed. “If Jane wants to go, I’ll wire for the
money,” he decided. Never before had a morning
dragged so slowly for the man who was used to the
whirl, confusion and excitement of Wall Street.</p>
<p>And yet, though he hardly realized it, the warm,
gentle breeze rustling among the leaves of the trees,
the smell of the freshly turned earth in which he
was working, the cheerful singing of the birds far
and near—brought into his soul a sense of peace.
At the end of one row he stood up, very straight as
he had stood before it had all happened, and looking
up into the radiant blue sky, he seemed to know,
deep in the heart of him, that all would be well. It
was with a brisker step than he had walked in many
a day that he returned to the house, when little
Julie appeared at the back door to ring the luncheon
bell.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div>
<p>“Surely Jane has decided by now,” he told himself.
“And equally surely she will want to go West
with the brother who has sacrificed himself, his
ease and his health that she might finish her course
at Highacres.” So confident was he of his daughter’s
real nobility of nature that he found himself
planning what he would suggest that she take with
her. She would ask him about that at lunch. There
was not much time to prepare, but she would need
little in that wild mountain country. At last he
heard her slowly descending the stairs. His anxiety
increased. What would Jane’s decision be?</p>
<h2 id="c6"><br/>CHAPTER VI. <br/>JANE’S CHOICE</h2>
<p>The father, with his hands clasped behind him,
was pacing up and down the long dining room
when his daughter entered. He saw at once that she
had been crying, although she had endeavored to
erase the traces of the tears which had been shed
almost continuously through the morning.</p>
<p>In a listless voice she said at once, “Father, I have
decided to go with Dan since you feel that it is my
duty, but, oh, how I want to go to Newport with
Merry and the rest: but of course it would cost $300
and there is no money.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div>
<p>The father had started eagerly toward his daughter
when she had entered, but, upon hearing the concluding
part of her speech, he drew back, a hurt
expression in his clear gray eyes. He folded his
arms and a more alert observer than Jane would
have noticed an almost hard tone in his voice.
Never before had it been used for the daughter who
was so like the mother in looks only. “The matter
is decided. Jane,” he informed her. “The $300 that
you require will be forthcoming. However, I wish
you would plan to leave tomorrow, the same day
that your brother goes West. I want to be alone,
without worries, that I may decide how best to go
about earning what I shall need to finish paying the
debt that I still owe to the poor people who trusted
me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, father, father!” Jane flung herself into her
chair at the table and put her head down on her
folded arms. “I didn’t know that you felt that you
owe them more than your entire fortune.”</p>
<p>“It was not enough to cover their investments,”
the man said, still coldly, for he believed the girl
was crying because she would have to give up even
more than she had supposed, and be kept in poverty
for a longer period of time. She sat up, however,
when her father said, “Jane, dry your tears. Since
you are to go to Newport, I see nothing for you to
cry about, and I do not wish mother and Julie to
know how I feel about this whole matter.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div>
<p>Hastily Jane left the table to again remove the
traces of tears, and when she returned, her grandmother
and Julie were in their places. Her father
had remained standing until she also was seated.
Then, bowing his head, he said the simple grace of
gratitude which had never been omitted at that
table.</p>
<p>Jane marveled at the courage of her father, for
he was actually smiling at the little old lady who sat
at his side. “Mother mine,” he said, “if this isn’t
the same kind of a meat pudding that you used to
make for me as a special treat, long ago, when I had
been good. Have I been good today?”</p>
<p>There were sudden tears in the fading blue eyes
and a quiver in the corners of the sweet old mouth
as the grandmother replied, “Yes, Dan, you have
been very good. And all the while I was making it
I was thinking how proud and pleased your father
would be if he only knew, and maybe he does know,
how good you’ve been. When you weren’t more than
knee high to your Dad, he began to teach you that it
was better to have folks know that your word could
be depended on than to be praised for smartness, and
that’s how ’tis, Danny, and I’m happy and proud.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div>
<p>The dear little old lady wiped her eyes with a corner
of her apron; then she smiled up brightly, and
pretended to eat the meat pie, which was in danger
of being neglected by all except Julie, who prattled,
“We’ve set away two big pieces, one for brother
Dan, when he comes home from the city, and one
for Gerry. Umm, won’t they be glad when they
see them? They’ll be hungry as anything! I like
to be awful hungry when there’s something extra
special to eat, don’t you, Janey?” Almost timorously
this query was ventured. Julie did not like
to have the big sister look so sad. The answer was
not encouraging. “Oh, Julie, I don’t want to talk,”
the other girl said fretfully.</p>
<p>“Nor eat, neither, it looks like,” the old lady had
just said when the front door bell pealed. Julie
leaped up, looking eagerly at her father. “Oh, Dad,
may I go?” But, being nearest the door, he had
risen. “I’ll answer it, Julie,” he replied. “It is
probably some one to see me.” But Mr. Abbott was
mistaken. A messenger boy stood on the porch.
After the yellow envelope had been signed for, it
was taken to Jane, to whom it was addressed.</p>
<p>Eagerly the girl tore it open, the others watching
her with varied emotions, although Julie’s was just
eager curiosity. “Ohee,” she squealed, “telegrams
are such fun and so exciting. What’s in it, Janey,
do tell us!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div>
<p>Mr. Abbott noted that a red spot was burning in
each cheek of the daughter who had been so pale.
She glanced up at him, her eyes shining. “Dad,”
she cried, “you won’t have to give me $300. Listen
to this. Oh, Merry is certainly wonderful!” Then
she read:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Dearest Jane: Aunt Belle has changed her
plans. She has rented a cottage just beyond the
hotel grounds and is going to take her own cook
and I want you to come as our guest, because, darling
girl, I owe you a visit, since you gave me such
a wonderful time in the country with you last year,
and, what is more, we are going Friday, so pack up
your trunk today, and be at the Central Station tomorrow
at 4:00. Lovingly, your intimate friend—Marion
Starr.</p>
<p>“P. S.—Who, more than ever, is living up to her
nickname, Merry.—M. S.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>During the reading of the “night letter” Mr. Abbott
had quickly made up his mind just what his
attitude would be. “That’s splendid, Jane, isn’t it?”
he said, and not even his watchful mother noted a
trace of disappointment in his voice. “If I were
you I would pack at once. You would better go
over to the city in the morning and that will give
you time to buy a new summer dress, for I am sure
that you must need one.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div>
<p>Jane started to reply, but something in her throat
seemed to make it hard for her to speak, and so she
left the room hurriedly without having more than
touched her plate. Julie followed, as she adored
packing. When they were gone, the man sighed
deeply. “Mother,” he said, “I have decided to send
Julie with Dan. She can cook the simple things he
will need and some one must go with the boy. I
would go myself, but I would be of little use. In a
few days, as soon as I can pull myself together, I
am going back to the city to start in some occupation
far from Wall Street.”</p>
<p>The old lady reached out a comforting hand and
placed it on that of her son nearest her. “Dan,”
she said in a low voice, “Jane doesn’t know a thing
about your long illness, does she? Nobody’s told
her, has there?”</p>
<p>The man shook his head. “Jane has been so interested
in her own problems, and in finding a way
to do as she wished, that she has not even wondered
why I am working about in the garden instead of
going to the city daily, as I always have done. But
don’t tell her, mother. She does not seem to care,
and, moreover, I am now much stronger. My only
real worry is Dan, and I do feel confident that if he
can be well cared for, the mountain air will restore
his health.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div>
<p>Rising, he stooped to kiss his mother’s forehead,
then left the room, going through the kitchen to the
garden. As he worked he glanced often at the open
windows of the room above the tree tops. He saw
the two girls hurrying about, for Jane had gladly
accepted Julie’s offer of service, and the trunk packing
was evidently progressing merrily. This assurance
was brought to him when he heard Jane singing
a snatch of a school song.</p>
<p>It sounded like a requiem to the man in the garden
below. He leaned on his hoe as he thought,
self-rebukingly, “It is all my fault. I have spoiled
Jane. My love has been misdirected. It is I who
have made her selfish. I wanted to give her everything,
for she had lost so much when she lost her
mother. I have done as much for the other three
children, but somehow they didn’t spoil.”</p>
<p>The comfort of that realization was so great that
the father soon returned to his self-imposed task,
and, an hour later, when Dan appeared, he told the
boy Jane’s decision, saying: “Son of mine, it would
be no comfort to you to have her companionship if
her heart were elsewhere.” The shadow of keen
disappointment in the lad’s eyes was quickly dispelled.
Placing a hand on his father’s shoulder he
said cheerfully, “It’s all right, Dad. Julie is a great
little pal.”</p>
<p>But even yet the matter was not decided.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div>
<p>That Thursday night, after the younger members
of the household were asleep, Mr. Abbott and his
mother talked together in his den.</p>
<p>“Julie was the happiest child in this world when I
told her she was to go with Dan.” The old lady
smiled as she recalled the hoppings and squealings
with which the small girl had expressed her joy.
“Luckily I’d washed and ironed her summer clothes
on Monday and Tuesday, and this being only Thursday,
she hadn’t soiled any of them.”</p>
<p>Then her tone changed to one of tenderness.
“Dan,” she said, “Julie and Jane aren’t much alike,
are they? That little girl didn’t hop and squeal
long before she thought of something that sobered
her. Then she told me, ‘I don’t like to go, Grandma,
and leave Gerald at home. He’s been wishing
and wishing and wishing he could go, but he
wouldn’t tell Dad ’cause he wants to stay home and
earn money to help.’”</p>
<p>To the little old lady’s surprise, her companion
sprang up as he exclaimed: “Mother, I won’t be
gone long. Wait up for me!” Seizing his hat from
the hall “tree,” he left the house. “Well, now, that’s
certainly a curious caper,” the old lady thought.
“He couldn’t have been listening to a word I was
saying. He must have thought of something he’d
forgotten, probably it’s something for Jane. Well,
there’s nothing for me to do but wait.” She glanced
at the clock on the mantle. Even then it was late.
She was usually asleep at ten. There had been time
for many a little cat-nap before she heard her son
returning. His expression assured the old lady that
he was satisfied with the result of his errand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div>
<p>“Why, Dan Abbott,” she exclaimed, “whatever
started you off in that way? ’Twasn’t anything I
said, was it?”</p>
<p>The man sank down in his chair again and took
from his pocket a telegram. “That’s what I went
after, mother,” he told her. “I wired Bethel for
one more pass, as I had a small son who also wished
to go West, and this is his answer:</p>
<p>“‘Glad indeed to accommodate you, Dan, and I’m
sending one more, just for good measure. Happened
to recall that you have four children. Let
me do something else for you, old man, if I can.’”</p>
<p>The grandmother looked up with shining eyes as
she commented: “Bert Bethel’s a true friend, if
there ever was one. Won’t Gerry be wild with
joy?</p>
<p>“But, goodness me, Danny, that means more
packing to do. There’s room enough in Julie’s trunk
for the things Gerald will need, and I do believe I’ll
go right up and put them in while the boy’s asleep.”
Then she paused and looked at her son inquiringly.
“Will it be quite fair to Mr. Peterson to have Gerry
leave his store without giving notice?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div>
<p>“I’ve attended to that, mother,” the man replied.
“While I was waiting for an answer from Bert, I
walked over to the grocery and told Jock Peterson
all that had happened, and he was as pleased as he
could be. He wants Gerald to come over there first
thing in the morning to get a present to take with
him.</p>
<p>“He didn’t say what it would be. I don’t even
suppose that he had decided when he spoke. I was
indeed happy to have him praise Gerald as he did.
He said that he would trust our boy with any
amount of money. He has watched Gerald, as he
always does every lad who works in the store. He
said that nearly all of them had helped themselves
to a piece of candy from the showcase when they
had wished, but that Gerald had never once touched
a thing that did not belong to him. Mr. Peterson
was so pleased that he asked Gerald about it one
day, saying: ‘Don’t you like candy, lad?’ And
our boy replied: ‘Indeed I do, Mr. Peterson! I
don’t buy it because I want to save all my money to
help Dad.’</p>
<p>“Gerald hadn’t even thought of helping himself as
he worked around the store.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Gerry wouldn’t,” the old lady replied
emphatically, “for isn’t he your son, Daniel?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div>
<p>“And your grandson, mother?” the man smilingly
returned. “But we must get some sleep,” he added,
as the chimes on the mantle clock told them that it
was eleven. “Tomorrow is to be a busy day.”</p>
<p>It was also to be a day of surprises, although this,
these two did not guess.</p>
<h2 id="c7"><br/>CHAPTER VII. <br/>GERRY’S SURPRISE</h2>
<p>Grandmother Abbott had indeed been right
when she prophecied that Gerald’s joy, upon hearing
that he could accompany Dan and his sister Julie,
would be unbounded. She told him before breakfast
while they were waiting for the others to come
down. They had planned telling him later, but when
his father saw how hard the small boy was trying
to be brave; how the tune he was endeavoring to
whistle wavered and broke, he could stand it no
longer, and, putting a hand on each of the boy’s
shoulders, he looked down at him as he asked:
“Son, if you could have your dearest wish fulfilled,
what would it be?”</p>
<p>The lad hesitated, then he said earnestly: “There’s
two things to wish for, Dad, and they’re both awful
big. I want everything to be all right for you, but,
oh, how I do want brother Dan to get well.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div>
<p>Tears sprang to the eyes of the little old lady, and
placing a hand affectionately on the boy’s head she
asked: “Isn’t there something else, dearie, something
you’d be wishing just for yourself?”</p>
<p>It was quite evident to the two who were watching
that a struggle was going on in the boy’s heart.
He had assured himself, time and again, that his
dad must not know how he wished that he could go
with Dan. He even felt guilty, because he wanted
to go, believing that his dad needed his help at
home, and so he said nothing. His father, surmising
that this might be the case, asked, with one of
his rare smiles: “If you knew, son, that I thought
it best for you to go with Julie, to help her take care
of Dan, would you be pleased?”</p>
<p>Such a light as there was in the freckled face, but,
even then, the boy did not let himself rejoice.
“Dad,” he said, “don’t you need me here?”</p>
<p>“No, son, your grandmother has decided to stay
all summer. She has found a nice family to take
care of her farm. Indeed I shall feel better, knowing
that you are with Julie, if Dan should be
really ill.”</p>
<p>For a moment the good news seemed to stun the
little fellow. But when the full realization of what
it meant surged over him, he leaped into his father’s
arms and hugged him hard, then turning, he bolted
for the stairway, and went up two steps at a time.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div>
<p>“Hurray!” he fairly shouted. “Dan, Jane, Julie,
I’m going to Mystery Mountain!”</p>
<p>This unexpected news was received joyfully by
Julie and Dan, but Jane, who was putting the last
touches to her traveling costume, merely gave a
shrug, which was reflected back to her in the long
mirror. “Well, thanks be, I’m not going,” she confided
to that reflection. “I’d be worn to rags by the
end of the summer if I had to listen to such shrieking.
I’m thankful Merry’s Aunt Belle has no children.
They may be all very well for people who
like them, but I think they are superlative nuisances.”</p>
<p>The entire family had gathered in the dining
room when Jane descended, and, after the grace had
been said, the two youngest members began to chatter
their excitement like little magpies. Dan, who
sat next to Jane, smiled at her lovingly. “I suppose
you are going to have a wonderful time, little girl,”
he said. “I have heard that Newport is a merry
whirl for society people in the summer time, with
dances, tallyho rides, and picnic suppers.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div>
<p>Jane’s eyes glowed, and she voiced her agreement.
“I’ve heard so, too, and I’ve always been
just wild to have a wee taste of that gay life, and
now I can hardly believe that I am to be right in the
midst of it for three glorious months.” Then, as
she saw a sudden wearied expression in her brother’s
face, she added: “You’re very tired, Dan, aren’t
you? If only you were rested, I should try to plan
some way to have you go with me. I’m wild to
have you meet Merry. I do believe she is just the
kind of a girl whom you would like. You never
have cared for any girl yet, have you? I mean not
particularly well?”</p>
<p>There was a tender light in the gray eyes that
were so like their father’s. Resting a hand on Jane’s
arm, he said in a low voice, “I care right now very
particularly for a girl, and she is my dear sister-pal.”</p>
<p>Somehow the expression in her brother’s eyes
made Jane unhappy. She did wish he would not
look at her—was it wistfully, yearningly or what?
Rising, their father said, “The taxi is outside, children.
Are you all ready?”</p>
<p>There was much confusion for the next few moments.
The expressman had come for the trunks,
and there were many last things that the father
wished to say to the three who were going to his
cabin on Mystery Mountain.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div>
<p>“Dan, my boy,” Mr. Abbott held the hand of his
eldest in a firm clasp and looked deep into his eyes,
“let your first thought be how best you can regain
your strength. If you need me, wire and I will
come at once.” Then putting his hand in his pocket,
he drew out an envelope. “The passes are in here.
Put them away carefully.” Then he turned to Jane.
“Goodbye, daughter. You will be nearer. Come
home when you want to. May heaven protect
you all.”</p>
<p>The two younger children gave “bear hugs,” over
and over again, to their dad and grandmother, and
when at last all were seated in the taxi, they waved
to the two who stood on the porch until they had
turned a corner.</p>
<p>Dan smiled at Jane as he said: “This is indeed
an exodus. That little old home of ours never lost
so many of us all at once.”</p>
<p>“Gee, I bet ye the apple orchard’ll wonder where
me and Julie are,” the boy began, but Jane interrupted
fretfully. “Oh, I do wish you would be more
careful of the way you speak, Gerald. You know
as well as any of us that you should say where Julie
and I are.”</p>
<p>The boy’s exuberance for a moment was dampened,
but not for long. He soon burst out with,
“Say, Dan, you know that story Dad tells about a
brown bear that came right up to the cabin door
once. Do you suppose there’s bears in those mountains
now?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure of it, Gerry. Dozens of them, but they
won’t hurt us, unless we get them cornered.”</p>
<p>“Well, you can bet I’m not going to corner any of
them,” Gerry confided. “But I’d like to have a little
cub, wouldn’t you, Julie, to fetch up for a pet?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div>
<p>The little girl was doubtful. “Maybe, when it
grew up, it would forget it was a pet bear, and
maybe you’d get it cornered, and then what would
you do?”</p>
<p>Dan laughed. “The bear would do the doing,”
he said. He glanced at Jane, who sat looking out of
the small window at her side. He did not believe
that she really saw the objects without. How he
wished he knew what the girl, who had been his pal
all through their childhood, was thinking. As he
watched her, there was again in his eyes that yearning,
wistful expression, but Jane did not know it as
she did not turn.</p>
<p>The little station at Edgemere was soon reached,
the trunks checked for the big city beyond the river,
and, after a short ride on the train and ferry, they
found themselves in the whirling, seething mass of
humanity with which the Grand Central Station
seemed always to be filled.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</div>
<p>The train for the West was to leave at 10, and after
it was gone, Jane planned going uptown to buy a
summer dress. Dad had told her to charge it to
him. His credit was still good. As they stood
waiting for the gates to open, Dan took from his
pocket the envelope containing the passes. For the
first time he glanced them over, then exclaimed:
“Why, how curious! There are four passes! I
thought there were but three. Oh, well, they are
only slips of paper, and do not represent money.”
He replaced them and smiled at Jane. The children
raced to a stand to buy a bag of popcorn and Dan
seized that opportunity to take his sister’s hand, and
say most seriously: “Dear girl, if I never come
back, try to be to our Dad all that I have so wanted
to be.”</p>
<p>There was a startled expression in the girl’s dark
eyes. “Dan, what do you mean?” Her voice
sounded frightened, terrorized. “If you never come
back? Brother, why shouldn’t you come back!”
She clung to his arm. “Tell me, what do you
mean?” But he could not reply for a time, because
of a sudden attack of coughing. Then he said: “I
don’t know, little girl. I’m afraid I’m worse off
than Dad knows. I——”</p>
<p>“All aboard!” The gates were swung open.
Frantically, Jane cried: “Dan, quick, have my
trunk checked on that other pass. I’m going with
you.”</p>
<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p>
<p>Mr. Abbott smiled through tears as he handed his
mother the telegram he received that afternoon. “I
felt sure our Jane had a soul,” he said. “Her
mother’s daughter couldn’t be entirely without one.”</p>
<p>“And now that it’s awakened maybe it’ll start to
blossoming,” the old lady replied.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div>
<h2 id="c8"><br/>CHAPTER VIII. <br/>ALL ABOARD</h2>
<p>There had been such a whirl at the last moment
that it was not until they were on the train and had
located their seats on the Pullman, that the children
realized what had happened. Luckily Jane was too
much occupied readjusting her own attitude of mind,
and trying to think hastily what she should do before
the train was really on its way, to notice the
disappointment which was plainly depicted on the
faces of Julie and Gerald. They gazed at each other
almost in dismay when they heard that their big
sister was to accompany them, but the joy in their
brother’s face and manner was all that was needed
to reconcile the younger boy.</p>
<p>In the confusion caused by passengers entering
the car with porters carrying their luggage, Gerald
managed to draw Julie aside and whisper to her:
“Don’t let on we didn’t want Jane, not on your
life! Dan wanted her, and this journey’s got just
one object, Dad says, and that’s to help Dan get
well.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div>
<p>But Julie was too terribly disappointed to pretend
that she was not. “I know all that,” she half sobbed
and turned toward the window across the aisle, “but
I was so happy when I s’posed I was to cook for
Dan, and when you and I were to be the ones to take
care of him. But now Jane will get all the honor
and everything, and we’ll have to be bossed around
worse than if we were at home, for Dad’s there to
take our part.”</p>
<p>Gerald’s clear hazel eyes gazed at his sister rebukingly.
“Julie,” he said, with an earnestness far beyond
his years, “the train hasn’t started yet and if
you’n I are going to think of ourselves we’d better
go back home. Shall we, Julie?”</p>
<p>The little girl shook her head vigorously. “No,
no. I don’t want to go home.” She clung to the
back of a seat as though she feared she were going
to be taken forcibly from the train.</p>
<p>Gerald leaned over to whisper to her, but he first
gave her a little kiss on the ear, then he said:
“Julie, you’n I will have oodles of fun up there in
the mountains. If Jane isn’t too snappish, I’ll be
glad she’s along, because, of course, she’ll be able
to take care of Dan better than we could.” Then
suddenly he laughed gleefully.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</div>
<p>“I’ve got it!” he confided to the girl, who had
looked around curiously. She could not imagine
how Gerald could laugh when such a tragic thing
had happened. “You’re dippy about pretending,
Julie. You once said you could pretend anything
you wanted to, and make it seem real. Well, here’s
your chance. Every time Jane is snappy, pretend
she has said something pleasant. That’ll be a hard
one, but for Dan’s sake, I’m willing to give it a
try.”</p>
<p>Julie’s mania had always been “pretending,” and
she had often wished that Gerald would play it with
her, but he was a matter-of-fact sort of a lad, and
his reply had been that real things were fun enough
for him. The little girl’s face brightened. At last
her brother was willing to play her favorite game.</p>
<p>“That will be a hard one,” she agreed. Then, as
she was lunged against the boy, she also laughed.
“Oh, goodie!” she whispered. “Now the train is
really started—nobody can send us back home. Honest,
I was skeered Jane might want to. She thinks
we’re so terribly in the way.”</p>
<p>Happy as Dan was, because the sister he so loved
was to accompany him to the West, he did not forget
the two who had been willing to go with him
and care for him in the beginning, and, as soon as
the train was well under way, he called to the children.
“Come here, Julie. I’ve saved the window
side of my seat for you, and I’m sure Jane will let
Gerald sit by the window on her seat. Now, isn’t
this jolly?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div>
<p>The children wedged into the places toward which
he was beckoning them. Julie glanced almost fearfully
up at the older girl she had accidentally jostled
in passing, but Jane was gazing out of the window
deep in dreams. Dan noticed his sister-pal’s expression.
How he hoped she was not regretting her
hasty decision.</p>
<p>His fears were soon dispelled, for Jane turned
toward him with a tender light in her beautiful dark
eyes. “Brother,” she said, “I have just been wondering
how I can communicate with Marion Starr.
She expects to meet me at the Central Station at
four. It is now nearly noon. I should have left
some message for her.”</p>
<p>“We must send a telegram to her home when we
reach Albany, or sooner, if we make a stop. I’ll
ask the conductor. Suppose you write out what you
wish to say.” And so Jane took from her valise the
very same little leather covered notebook in which,
less than a week before, she had written a list of the
things she would need for a wardrobe to be worn
at the fashionable summer resort at Newport.</p>
<p>Of this Jane did not even think as she wrote, after
a thoughtful moment, the ten words that were needed
to tell her best friend that she was on her way
West with her brother Dan, who was ill and who
needed her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</div>
<p>The conductor took the message and said that he
expected to have an opportunity to send a telegram
in a very short time. The train soon stopped at a
village, where it was evidently flagged, and the
young people saw the station master running
from the depot waving a yellow envelope. The
conductor received it, at the same time giving
him the paper on which Jane’s message was written.
“Please send this at once.” The sound of his voice
came to them through Gerald’s window. Then the
train started again and had acquired its former
speed when the kindly conductor entered their car.
He was reading the telegram he had just received.
Stopping at their seats, he asked: “Are you Daniel
Abbott, accompanied by Jane, Julie and Gerald?”</p>
<p>“We are,” the tall lad replied in his friendly manner.
“Have you a message from our father?”</p>
<p>The conductor shook his head. “No, not that.
This telegram is from the president of the railroad
telling us that four young people named Abbott are
his guests, and he wishes them to receive every courtesy,
and now, as it is noon, if you will come with
me, I will escort you to the diner.”</p>
<p>“Oh, but I’m glad,” Julie, who treated everyone
with frank friendliness, smiled brightly up into the
face of the man whom she just knew must be a
father, he had such kind, understanding eyes. “I’m
awful hungry; aren’t you, Gerry?” she whispered,
a moment later, as they filed down the aisle in procession,
the conductor first, Jane next, with Dan at
the end as rear guard. Julie tittered and Jane
turned to frown at her. Gerry poked his young
sister with the reminder, “Pretend she smiled.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div>
<p>But frowns could not squelch Julie’s exuberance
when they were seated about a table in the dining
car, which was rapidly filling with their fellow
travelers.</p>
<p>“Ohee, isn’t this the jolliest? I’m going to pretend
I’m a princess and——” But the small girl
paused and listened. The head waiter was addressing
Jane. “As guests of Mr. Bethel’s,” he told them,
“you may select whatever you wish from the menu.
Kindly write out your orders.” He handed them
each an order slip and a pencil and then went on to
another table. Julie gave a little bounce of joy.
The “<i>real</i>” was so wonderful, she would not have to
pretend. She and Gerald bowed their heads over a
typed menu; and then they began to scribble. Dan,
glancing across at them, smiled good naturedly.
“What are you doing, kiddies, copying the entire
menu?” he asked. But Jane remarked rebukingly,
“Julie Abbott, do you wish people to think that you
have been starved at home? Tear those up at once.
Here are two others. If you can’t make them out
properly, I’ll do it for you.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div>
<p>Dan saw a rebellious expression in Julie’s eyes,
so he suggested, “Let them try once more, Jane.
They can’t learn any younger. Just order a few
things at first, Gerry, and then, if you are still hungry,
you can have more.”</p>
<p>Such a jolly time as the children had! When the
train turned sharply at a curve and the dishes slid
about, Julie laughed outright. She purposely did
not look at Jane. She could pretend her big sister
was smiling easier, if she didn’t see the frown. But
their fun was just beginning.</p>
<h2 id="c9"><br/>CHAPTER IX. <br/>TELEGRAMS</h2>
<p>Although the children were greatly interested
in all they saw, nothing of an unusual nature had
occurred, when, early one morning they reached
Chicago.</p>
<p>The kindly conductor directed them to the other
train that would bear them to their destination,
assuring them that on it, also, they would be guests
of Mr. Bethel.</p>
<p>The four young people were standing on the outer
edge of the hurrying throng, gazing about them
with interest (as several hours would elapse before
the departure of the west-bound train), when Jane
was sure that she heard their name being called
through a megaphone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div>
<p>“It’s that man in uniform over by the gates. He’s
calling ‘Telegram for Jane Abbott!’” Gerald told
her. “May I go get it, Dan? May I?”</p>
<p>The older boy nodded and the younger pushed
through the crowd, the others following more
slowly. Very quickly Gerald returned, waving two
yellow envelopes. One was a night letter from
Marion Starr. Tearing it open, Jane read:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Dearest friend: As soon as I received your
message I telephoned your father, knowing that he
could explain much more than you could in ten
words. What you are doing makes me love you
more than I did before, if that is possible. My one
wish is that I, too, might go West. I like mountains
far better than I do fashionable summer resorts.
Will write. Your
<span class="jr"><span class="sc">Merry</span>.”</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>The other telegram contained a short message,
but Jane looked up with tears in her eyes as she
said: “It is from father and just for me.”</p>
<p>Dan smiled down at her and asked no questions.
The few words were: “Thank you, daughter, for
your self-sacrifice. Now I know that Dan will get
well.”</p>
<p>But their father did not know how serious Dan
believed his condition to be.</p>
<p>“And he shall not,” the girl decided, “not until I
have good news to send.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div>
<p>As soon as they were seated in the train that was
to take them the rest of the journey, Jane said anxiously:
“Dan, dear, aren’t you trying too hard to
keep up? You look so very weak and weary. Let’s
have the porter make up the lower berth, even
though it is still daytime. You need a long rest.”</p>
<p>Dan shook his head, though he pressed her arm
tenderly, but a coughing spell racked his body when
he tried to speak. The conductor on the Rock
Island was more practical than their former friend,
but not more kindly. He motioned Jane to one side.</p>
<p>“Miss Abbott,” he said, “there is a drawing-room
vacant. Bride and groom were to have had it, but
the order has been canceled. Since you are friends
of Mr. Bethel, I’m going to put you all in there. It
will be more comfortable, and you can turn in any
time you wish.”</p>
<p>Jane’s gratitude was sincerely expressed. It would
give Dan just the opportunity he needed to rest, and
the lad, nothing loath, permitted Jane to have her
way. How elated the children were when they
found that they were to travel in a room quite by
themselves. That evening they went to the diner
alone, but Gerald was not as pleased as was his
sister.</p>
<p>“I should think you’d be tickled pink,” Julie said,
inelegantly, “to be able to order anything you choose
and not have Jane peering at what you write.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</div>
<p>The boy replied dismally: “I can’t be much
pleased about anything. Don’t you know, Jane’s
staying with Dan ’cause she thinks he’s too weak to
come out here? I heard her ask the porter to have
their dinners brought in there. Julie, you and I’ll
have to keep quieter if we want to help Dan get
well. He’s sicker than he was when we started. I
can see that easy.”</p>
<p>The small girl was at once remorseful.</p>
<p>“I’m so glad you told me,” she said with tears in
her dark violet eyes. “I’ve just been thinking what
a lot of fun we’re having. I’ve been worse selfish
than Jane was.”</p>
<p>Seeing that her lips were quivering, Gerald said
consolingly: “No, you haven’t, either. Anyhow,
I think Dan’s just tired out. He’ll be lots better in
the morning. You see if he isn’t.”</p>
<p>But when Dan awakened in the morning he was
no better.</p>
<p>During the afternoon, that their brother might
try to sleep, the conductor suggested that Julie and
Gerald go out on the observation platform.</p>
<p>“Is it quite safe for them out there alone?” Dan
inquired.</p>
<p>“They will not be alone,” was the reply. “I’ll
put them in the care of Mr. Packard, with whom I
am acquainted, as he frequently travels over this
line.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div>
<p>Julie had been very eager to ride on the observation
platform, but Jane had not wished to go outside
because of the dust and cinders which she was
sure she would encounter, but now that the small
girl was actually going, she could hardly keep from
skipping down the aisle as she followed the conductor
with Gerald as rear guard.</p>
<p>There was only one occupant of the observation
platform, and to Gerald’s delight, he wore the wide
brimmed Stetson hat which the boy had often seen
on the screen.</p>
<p>“I’ll bet yo’ he’s a cattle-man. I bet yo’ he is!”
Gerry gleefully confided to his small sister while
their guide said a few words to the Westerner.
Then, turning, the conductor beckoned to them.</p>
<p>The stranger arose and held out a strong brown
hand to assist the little girl to a chair at his side.</p>
<p>“How do you do, Julie and Gerald?” he said, including
them both in his friendly smile. Julie
bobbed a little curtsy, but Gerald’s attempt at manners
was rudely interrupted by the necessity of seizing
his cap.</p>
<p>“We have to watch out for our hats,” the stranger
cautioned, “for now and then we are visited by a
miniature whirlwind.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div>
<p>Gerald was almost bursting with eagerness. “Oh,
I say, Mr. Packard,” he blurted out, “aren’t you a
reg’lar—er—I mean a reg’lar——” The boy grew
red and embarrassed, and so Julie went to his aid
with, “Mr. Packard, Gerry thinks maybe you’re a
cow-man rancher like we’ve seen in the moving
pictures.”</p>
<p>The bronzed face of the middle-aged man
wrinkled in a good-natured smile. “I am the owner
of a cattle-ranch fifteen miles from Redfords,” he
told them.</p>
<p>This information so delighted the boy that Julie
was afraid he would bounce right over the rail.</p>
<p>“Gee-golly! That’s where we’re going—Redfords
is! Our daddy owns a cabin way up high on
Mystery Mountain.”</p>
<p>The man looked puzzled. “Mystery Mountain,”
he repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t seem to recall
having heard of it.”</p>
<p>Then practical little Julie put in: “Oh, Mr.
Packard, that isn’t its really-truly name. Our
daddy called it that ’cause there’s a lost mine on it
and Dad said it was a mystery where it went to.”</p>
<p>The man’s face brightened.</p>
<p>“O-ho! Then you must mean Redfords’ Peak.
That mine was found and lost again before I bought
the Green Hills Ranch. Quite a long while ago that
was.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div>
<p>Gerry nodded agreement. “Yep. Dan, our big
brother is most twenty-one and he hadn’t been born
yet.” Then the boy’s face saddened as he confided:
“Dan’s sick. He’s got a dreadful cough.
That’s why we’re going to Dad’s cabin in the
Rockies.”</p>
<p>“Our doctor said the al-te-tood would make him
well,” Julie explained, stopping after each syllable
of the long word and saying it very thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Gerald looked up eagerly. “Do you think it
will, Mr. Packard? Do you think Dan will get
well?”</p>
<p>The older man’s reply was reassuring: “Of
course he will. Our Rocky Mountain air is a
tonic that gives new life to everyone. Are you three
traveling alone?”</p>
<p>Julie and Gerald solemnly shook their heads, and
the small girl, in childish fashion, put a finger on
her lips as though to keep from saying something
which she knew she ought not. It was Gerald who
replied: “Our big sister Jane is with us.” The
boy said no more, but Mr. Packard was convinced
that, devoted as the youngsters were to Dan, Jane,
for some reason, was not very popular with them.</p>
<p>Then, as he did not wish to pry into their family
affairs, the genial rancher pointed out and described
to fascinated listeners the many things of interest
which they were passing.</p>
<p>The afternoon sped quickly and even when the
dinner hour approached the children were loath to
leave their new friend.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div>
<p>“Me and Julie have to eat alone,” the small boy
began, but, feeling a nudge, he looked around to
see his sister’s shocked little mouth forming a rebuking
O! and so, with a shake of his head, he
began again: “I mean Julie and I eat alone, and
gee-golly, don’t I wish we could sit at your table,
Mr. Packard. Don’t I though!”</p>
<p>“The pleasure would be mine,” the man, who was
much amused with the children, replied. Then, after
naming an hour to meet in the diner, the youngsters
darted away and Mr. Packard laughed merrily.</p>
<p>It was quite evident that some one of their elders
had often rebuked them for putting “me” at the
beginning of a sentence, he decided as he also arose
and went within.</p>
<p>Meanwhile Julie and Gerald had quietly opened
the door of the drawing-room, and, finding Dan
alone, they told him with great gusto about their
new friend. “Mr. Packard says he’s a really-truly
neighbor of ours,” Gerry said. “How can he be a
neighbor if he lives fifteen miles away?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Gerald, but I suppose that he
does,” Dan replied. “I would like to meet your new
friend. I’ll try to be up tomorrow.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div>
<h2 id="c10"><br/>CHAPTER X. <br/>A CATTLE-MAN FRIEND</h2>
<p>The next day Dan seemed to be much better as
the crisp morning air that swept into their drawing-room
was very invigorating. By noon he declared
that he was quite strong enough to go to the diner
for lunch, and, while there, the excited children
pointed out to him their friend Mr. Packard.</p>
<p>That kindly man bowed and smiled, noting as he
did so that the older girl in their party drew herself
up haughtily. The observer, who was an interested
student of character, did not find it hard, having
seen Jane, to understand the lack of enthusiasm
which the children had shown when speaking of her.</p>
<p>Not wishing to thrust his acquaintance upon the
girl, who so evidently did not desire it, the man
passed their table on his way from the diner without
pausing.</p>
<p>It is true that Julie had made a slight move as
though to call to him, but this Mr. Packard had not
seen, as a cold, rebuking glance from Jane’s dark
eyes had caused the small girl to sit back in her
chair, inwardly rebellious.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div>
<p>Dan, noting this, said: “I like your friend’s appearance.
I think I shall go with you for a while to
the observation platform. I cannot breathe too
much of this wonderful air.”</p>
<p>Jane reluctantly consented to accompany them
there. “Gee-golly, how I hope Mr. Packard is
there,” Gerald whispered as he led the way.</p>
<p>The Westerner rose when the young people appeared
and Jane quickly realized that he was not as
uncouth as she had supposed all ranchers were.</p>
<p>Dan was made as comfortable as possible and he
at once said: “Mr. Packard, Gerald tells me that
you are our neighbor. That is indeed good news.”</p>
<p>“You have only one nearer neighbor,” the man
replied, “and that is the family of a trapper named
Heger. They have a cabin high on your mountain.”</p>
<p>Then, turning toward Jane, he said: “Their
daughter, whom they call Meg, is just about your
age, I judge. She is considered the most beautiful
girl in the Redfords district. Indeed, for that matter,
she is the most beautiful girl whom I have ever
seen, and I have traveled a good deal. How pleased
Meg will be to have you all for near neighbors.”</p>
<p>Jane’s thoughts were indignant, and her lips
curled scornfully, but as Mr. Packard’s attention
had been drawn to Gerald, he did not know that his
remarks had been received almost wrathfully.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div>
<p>“Ranchers must have strange ideas of beauty!”
she was assuring herself. “How this crude man
could say that a trapper’s daughter is the most beautiful
girl he has ever met when he was looking
directly at <i>me</i>, is simply incomprehensible. Mr.
Packard is evidently a man without taste or knowledge
of social distinctions.”</p>
<p>Jane soon excused herself, and going to their
drawing-room, she attempted to read, but her hurt
vanity kept recurring to her and she most heartily
wished she was back East, where her type of beauty
was properly appreciated. It was not strange, perhaps,
that Jane thought herself without a peer, for
had she not been voted the most beautiful girl at
Highacres Seminary, and many of the others had
been the attractive daughters of New York’s most
exclusive families.</p>
<p>Dan returned to their drawing-room an hour
later, apparently much stronger, and filled with a
new enthusiasm. “It’s going to be great, these
three months in the West. I’m so glad that we
have made the acquaintance of this most interesting
neighbor. He is a well educated man, Jane.” Then
glancing at his sister anxiously, “You didn’t like
him, did you? I wish you had for my sake and the
children’s.”</p>
<p>Jane shrugged her slender shoulders. “Oh, don’t
mind about me. I can endure him, I suppose.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div>
<p>Dan sighed and stretched out to rest until the
dinner hour arrived.</p>
<p>Julie and Gerald joined them, jubilantly declaring
that they were to reach their destination the next
morning before sun-up.</p>
<p>“Then we must all retire early,” Dan said. This
plan was carried out, but for hours Jane sobbed
softly into her pillow. It was almost more than she
could bear. She had started this journey just on
an impulse, and she <i>did</i> want to help Dan, who had
broken down trying to work his way through college
that there might be money enough to keep her
at Highacres. It was their father who had been inconsiderate
of them. If he had let the poor people
lose the money they had invested rather than give
up all he had himself, she, Jane, could have remained
at the fashionable seminary and Dan would
have been well and strong.</p>
<p>Indeed everything would have been far better.</p>
<p>But the small voice in the girl’s soul which now
and then succeeded in making itself heard caused
Jane to acknowledge: “Of course Dad is so conscientious,
he would never have been happy if he
believed that his money really belonged to the poor
people who had trusted him.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div>
<p>It was midnight before Jane fell asleep, and it
seemed almost no time at all before she heard a tapping
on her door. She sat up and looked out of the
window. Although the sky was lightening, the
stars were still shining with a wonderful brilliancy
in the bit of sky that she could see. Then a voice,
which she recognized as that of Mr. Packard, spoke.</p>
<p>“Time to get up, young friends. We’ll be at Redfords
in half an hour.”</p>
<p>Gerald leaped to his feet when he heard the summons.
Then, when he grasped the fact that they
were nearly at their destination, he gave a whoop of
joy.</p>
<p>“Hurry up, Julie,” he shook his still sleeping
young sister. “We are ’most to Mystery Mountain,
and, Oh, boy, what jolly fun we’re going to have.”</p>
<p>Half an hour later, Mr. Packard and the young
Abbotts stood on a platform watching the departing
train. Then they turned to gaze about them. It
surely was a desolate scene. The low log depot was
the only building in sight, and, closing in about
them on every side were silent, dark, fir-clad mountains
that looked bold and stern in the chill gray
light of early dawn. Jane shuddered. How tragically
far away from civilization, from the gay life
she so enjoyed—all this seemed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</div>
<p>The station master, a native grown too old for
more active duty, shuffled toward them, chewing tobacco
in a manner that made his long gray beard
move sideways. His near-sighted eyes peered
through his brass-rimmed spectacles, but, when he
recognized one of the new arrivals, he grinned
broadly. In a high, cracked voice he exclaimed:
“Wall, if ’tain’t Silas Packard home again from the
East. Glad to git back to God’s country, ain’t you
now, Si? Brought a parcel of young folks along
this trip? Wall, I don’t wonder at it. Your big
place is sort o’ lonesome wi’ no wimmin folks into
it. What? You don’ mean to tell me these here
are Dan Abbott’s kids! Wall, wall. How-de-do?
Did I know yer pa? Did I know Danny Abbott?
I reckon I was the furst man in these here parts
that did know him. He come to my camp, nigh to
the top of Redfords’ Peak, the week he landed here
from college.” The old man took off his bearskin
cap and scratched his head. “Nigh onto twenty-five
year, I make it. Yep, that’s jest what ’twas.
That’s the year we struck the payin’ streak over
t’other side of the mountain, and folks flocked in
here thicker’n buzzards arter a dead sheep. Yep,
that’s the year the Crazy Creek Camp sprung up,
and that’s how yer pa come to buy where he did.”</p>
<p>Then, encouraged by the interest exhibited by at
least three of the young people, the old man continued:</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div>
<p>“The payin’ streak, where the camp was built,
headed straight that way, and I sez to him, sez I—‘Dan
Abbott,’ sez I, ‘If I was you I’d use the money
I’d fetched to get aholt of that 160 acres afore it’s
nabbed by these rich folks that’s tryin’ to grab all
the mines,’ sez I. ‘That’s what I’d do.’ And so
Dan tuk it, but as luck would have it, that vein
petered out to nothin’ an’ I allays felt mighty mean,
havin’ Dan stuck that way wi’ so much land an’ no
gold on it, but he sez to me, ‘Gabby,’ that’s my
name; ‘Gabby,’ sez he, ‘don’ go to feelin’ bad about
it, not one mite. That place is jest what I’ve allays
wanted. When a fellow’s tired out, there’s nothin’
so soothin’,’ sez he, ‘as a retreat,’ that’s what he
called it, ‘a retreat in the mountains.’ But he didn’t
need 160 acres to retreat on, so he let go all but ten.
He’d built a log cabin on it that had some style, not
jest a shack like the rest of us miners run up, then
Dan went away for a spell—but by and by he come
back.” The old man’s leathery face wrinkled into
a broad smile. “An’ he didn’t come back alone! I
reckon you young Abbotts know who ’twas he
fetched back with him. It was the purtiest gal
’ceptin’ one that I ever laid eyes on. You’re the
splittin’ image of the bride Danny brought.” The
small blue eyes that were almost hidden under shaggy
gray brows turned toward Jane. “Yep, you
look powerful like your ma.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</div>
<p>But Jane had heard only one thing, which was
that even this garrulous old man knew one other
person whom he considered more beautiful. How
she wanted to ask the question, but there was no
time, for “Gabby” never hesitated except to change
the location of his tobacco quid or to do some long
distance expectorating.</p>
<p>Turning to Mr. Packard, he began again: “Meg
Heger’s took to comin’ down to Redfords school
ag’in. She’s packin’ a gun now. That ol’ sneakin’
Ute is still trailin’ her. I can’t figger out what he
wants wi’ her. The slinkin’ coyote! She ain’t got
nothin’ but beauty, and Indians ain’t so powerful
set on that. Thar sure sartin is a mystery somewhere.”</p>
<p>The old man stopped talking to peer through
near-sighted eyes at the canon road.</p>
<p>“I reckon here’s the stage coach,” he told them,
“late, like it allays is. If ’tain’t the ho’ses as falls
asleep on the way, then it’s Sourface his self. Si,
do yo’ mind the time when the stage was a-goin’
down the Toboggan Grade——”</p>
<p>It was quite evident that Gabby was launched on
another long yarn, but Mr. Packard laughingly interrupted,
placing a kindly hand on the old man’s
shoulder.</p>
<p>“Tell us about that at another time, Gab,” he
said. “We’re eager to get to the town and have
some breakfast.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div>
<p>He picked up Jane’s satchel and Dan’s also, and
led the way to the edge of the platform, where an
old-fashioned stage was waiting. Four white horses
stood with drooping heads and on the high seat another
old man was huddled in a heap as though he
felt the need of seizing a few moments’ rest before
making the return trip to Redfords.</p>
<p>“They have just come up the steep Toboggan
Grade,” Mr. Packard said by way of explanation.
“That’s why the horses look tired.”</p>
<p>Then in his cheerful way he shouted: “Hello,
there, Wallace. How goes it?”</p>
<p>The man on the seat sat up and looked down at
the passengers with an expression so surly on his
leathery countenance that it was not hard for the
young people to know why he had been given his
nickname, but he said nothing, nor was there in his
eyes a light of recognition. With a grunt, which
might have been intended as a greeting, he motioned
them to get into the lower part of the stage,
which they did.</p>
<p>Then he jerked at the reins and the horses came
to life and started back the way they had so recently
come. Gabby had followed them to the edge
of the platform, and as far as the Abbotts could
make out, he was still telling them the story which
Mr. Packard had interrupted.</p>
<p>“How cold it is!” Julie shivered as she spoke
and cuddled close to Dan. He smiled down at her
and then said:</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div>
<p>“Mr. Packard, this is wonderful air, so crisp and
invigorating. I feel better already. Honestly, I’ll
confess now, the last two days on the train I feared
you would have to carry me off when we got here,
but now”—the lad paused and took a long breath
of the mountain air—“I feel as though I had been
given a new lease on life.”</p>
<p>The older man laid a bronzed hand on the boy’s
sleeve.</p>
<p>“Dan,” he said, “you have. When you leave
here in three months you’ll be as well as I am, and
that’s saying a good deal.”</p>
<p>Then the lad surprised Jane by exclaiming:
“Perhaps I won’t want to leave. There’s a fascination
to me about all this.”</p>
<p>He waved his free arm out toward the mountains.
“And your native characters, Mr. Packard,
interest me exceedingly. You see,” Dan smilingly
confessed, “my ambition is to become a writer. I
would like to put ‘Gabby’ into a story.”</p>
<p>Mr. Packard’s eyes brightened. “Do it, Dan!
Do it!” he said with real enthusiasm. “Personally
I can’t write a line, not easily, but I have real admiration
for men who can, and I am a great reader.
Come over soon and see my library.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div>
<p>Then he cautioned: “I told you to write, but
don’t begin yet. Not until you are stronger. Stay
outdoors for a time, boy. Climb to the rim rock,
take notes, and then later, when you are strong, you
will find them of value.”</p>
<p>While they had been talking, the stage had started
down a steep, narrow canon. The mountain
walls on both sides were almost perpendicular, and
for a time nothing else was to be seen. It was more
than a mile in length, and they could soon see the
valley opening below them.</p>
<p>“Redfords proper,” Mr. Packard smilingly told
them as he nodded in that direction. “It is not
much of a metropolis.”</p>
<p>The young Abbotts looked curiously ahead, wondering
what the town would be like.</p>
<h2 id="c11"><br/>CHAPTER XI. <br/>REDFORDS</h2>
<p>“Is that all there is to the town of Redfords?”
Jane gasped when the stage, leaving Toboggan
Grade, reached a small circular valley which was
apparently surrounded on all sides by towering timber-covered
mountains. A stream of clear, sparkling
water rushed and swirled on its way through
the narrow, barren, rock-strewn lowland. The
rocks, the very dust of the road, were of a reddish
cast.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div>
<p>“That road yonder climbs your mountain in a
zig-zag fashion, and then circles around it to the
old abandoned mining camp.” Then to Gerald, he
said: “Youngster, if you’re pining for mystery, that’s
where you ought to find one. That deserted mining
camp always looks to me as though it must have a
secret, perhaps more than one, that it could tell and
will not.”</p>
<p>“Ohee!” squealed Julie. “How interesting!
Gerry and I are wild to find a mystery to unravel.
Why do you think that old mining camp has secrets,
Mr. Packard?”</p>
<p>Smiling at the little girl’s eagerness, the rancher
replied: “Because it looks so deserted and haunted.”
Then to Dan, “You heard what Gabby said at
the depot. Well, he did not exaggerate. A rich
vein of gold was found on the other side of your
mountain, and a throng of men came swarming in
from everywhere, and just overnight, or so it
seemed, buildings of every description were erected.
They did not take time to make them of permanent
logs, though there are a few of that description.
For several months they worked untiringly, digging,
blasting, searching everywhere, but the vein which
had promised so much ended abruptly.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</div>
<p>“Of course, when the horde of men found that
there was no gold, they departed as they had come.
For a time after that a wandering tribe of Ute Indians
lived there, but the hunting was poor, and as
they, too, moved on farther into the Rockies, where
there are many fertile valleys. Only one old Indian,
of whom Gabby spoke, has remained. They call
him Slinking Coyote. Why he stayed behind when
his tribe went in search of better hunting grounds
surely is a mystery.”</p>
<p>Julie gave another little bounce of joy. “Oh,
goodie!” she cried. “Gerry, there’s two mysteries
and maybe we’ll find the answers to both of them.”</p>
<p>“I would rather find something to eat,” Jane said
rather peevishly. “I never was obliged to wait so
long for my breakfast in all my life. It’s one whole
hour since we left the train.” She glanced at her
wrist watch as she spoke.</p>
<p>Mr. Packard looked at her meditatively. The
other three Abbotts were as amiable as any young
people he had ever met, but Jane was surely the
most fretful and discontented. Although he knew
nothing of all that had happened, he could easily
see that she, at least, was in the West quite against
her will.</p>
<p>“Well, my dear young lady,” he said as he
reached for her bag, “you won’t have long to wait,
for even now we are in the town, approaching the
inn.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</div>
<p>“What?” Jane’s eyes were wide and unbelieving.
“Is this wretched log cabin place the only hotel?”
She peered out of the stage window and saw two
cowboys lounging on the porch, and each was chewing
a toothpick. They were picturesquely dressed
in fringed buckskin trousers, soft shirts, carelessly
knotted bandannas and wide Stetson hats. Their
ponies were tied in front, as were several other lean,
restless horses.</p>
<p>Mr. Packard nodded. “Yes, this is the inn and
the general store and the postoffice. Across the road
is another building just like it and that has a room
in front which is used as a church on Sunday and a
school on weekdays, while in back there is a billiard
room. There are no saloons now,” this was addressed
to Dan, “which is certainly a good thing
for Redfords.”</p>
<p>“Billiard room, church and a school house all in
one building,” Jane repeated in scornful amazement.
“But where are the houses? Where do the
townspeople live?”</p>
<p>Mr. Packard smiled at her. “There aren’t any,”
he said. “The ranchers, cowboys, mountaineers
and summer tourists are the patrons of the inn and
billiard rooms. But here we are!” The stage had
stopped in front of the rambling log building and
reluctantly Jane followed the others.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</div>
<p>Mr. Packard held the screen door open for the
young people to pass, then, taking Jane’s arm, he
piloted her through the front part of the building,
which was occupied by the postoffice and store, to
the room in the rear, where were half a dozen bare
tables. Each had in the center a vinegar cruet, a
sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers. At least they
were clean, but the dishes were so coarse that had
not Jane been ravenously hungry, she told herself,
she simply could not have eaten. Mr. Packard led
the way to the largest table, at which there were six
places, and as soon as they were seated a comely
woman entered through a swinging green baize door.</p>
<p>“Howdy, Mr. Packard?” she said in response to
the rancher’s cordial greeting. “Jean Sawyer, your
foreman, was in last night an’ left your hoss for yo’.
He said as how he was expectin’ yo’ in some time
today. You’ve fetched along some visitors, I take
it.” The woman looked at the older girl with unconcealed
admiration. The blood rushed to Jane’s
face. Was this innkeeper’s wife going to tell her
that she had never seen but one other girl who was
more beautiful? But Mrs. Bently made no personal
comment.</p>
<p>When Mr. Packard explained that his companions
were the young Abbotts, and that they were to
spend the summer in a cabin on Redford Mountain,
her only remark was: “Is it the cabin that’s been
standin’ empty so long, the one that’s a short piece
down from where Meg Heger lives?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div>
<p>“Yes, that’s it, Mrs. Bently.” Then the man implored:
“Please bring us some of your good ham
and eggs and coffee and——”</p>
<p>“There’s plenty of waffle dough left, if the young
people likes ’em.” The woman smiled at Julie, who
beamed back at her.</p>
<p>“Oh, boy!” Gerald chimed in. “Me for the
waffles!”</p>
<p>The cooking was excellent and even the fastidious
Jane thoroughly enjoyed the breakfast.</p>
<p>When they emerged from the inn, Dan said, regretfully:
“The sun is high up. We’ve missed our
first sunrise.”</p>
<p>“We were on the Toboggan Grade when the sun
rose,” Mr. Packard told them. He then shook
hands with Jane and Dan as he said heartily:</p>
<p>“Here is where we part company. That is my
horse over yonder. A beauty, isn’t he? Silver, I
call him. By the way, Dan, I want you to meet
Jean Sawyer. He is just about your age, and a fine
fellow, if I am a judge of character. I would trust
him with anything I have. In fact, I do. I send
him all the way to the city often, to get money from
the bank to pay off the men. I know he isn’t dishonest,
and yet, for some reason, he ran away from
his home. You know, we have a code out here by
which each man is permitted to keep his own
counsel.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div>
<p>“We ask no one from whence he came or why.
We take people for what they seem to be, with no
knowledge of their past.”</p>
<p>Then, breaking off abruptly, the older man repeated:
“I would, indeed, like you to meet Jean
and tell me what you think of him. Come over to
our place soon, or, better still, since that is a rough
trip until you get hardened to the saddle, I’ll send
him over to call on you next Sunday.”</p>
<p>Dan’s face brightened. “Great, Mr. Packard; do
that! A chap whom you so much admire must be
worth knowing. Have him take dinner with us.
Goodbye, and thank you for being our much-needed
guide.”</p>
<p>When their neighbor and friend had swung into
his saddle and had ridden away, Jane said fretfully:
“I don’t see why you asked that Jean Sawyer, who
may be an outlaw, for all we know, to come over to
our place for dinner.” Then, when she saw the expression
of troubled disappointment in her brother’s
face, again the small voice within rebuked her, and
she implored: “Oh, Dan, don’t mind me! I know
I am horridly selfish, but I am so tired, and these
people are all so queer. What are we to do next?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div>
<p>The older lad knew what an effort Jane was
making, and he held her arm affectionately close as
he replied: “Mr. Packard said that the stage would
call for us at 8:30. We will have half an hour to
purchase our supplies. Grandmother made out a
list of things we would need. Julie has that. Jane,
here is my wallet. I wish you would take charge of
our funds. You won’t be climbing around as I
will. It will be safer with you.”</p>
<p>Together the girls went into the store and purchased
the supplies they would need. Then they
rejoined the boys, who had waited outside. Gerry
wanted to look in the school house.</p>
<p>The Abbotts found the door of the rambling log
cabin across from the inn standing open, and they
peered in curiously. The room was long and well
lighted by large windows, but it was quite like any
other country school. There were eight rows of
benches, one back of the other, with a shelf-like
desk in front of each. These had many an initial
carved in them. The teacher’s table and chair faced
the others, with a blackboard hanging on the wall at
the back. Near the door was a pail and a dipper.
Dan smiled. “It doesn’t look as though genius could
be awakened here, does it?” he was saying, when a
pleasant voice back of them caused them to turn.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div>
<p>“You’re wrong there, my friend.” The young
people saw before them a withered-up little old man
with the whitest of hair reaching to his shoulders.
Noting their unconcealed astonishment, he continued,
by way of introduction, “I am Preacher Bellows
on Sunday and Teacher Bellows on weekdays.
Now, as I was saying, having overheard your remark,
this little schoolroom and the teacher who
presides over it are proud to tell you that your statement
is not correct. It may not look as though
genius could be awakened here,” he smiled most
kindly. “I’ll agree that it does not, but that is just
what has happened. Meg Heger, one of my mountain
girls, has written some beautiful things. Her
last composition, ‘Sunrise From the Rim-Rock,’ is
truly poetical.”</p>
<p>Jane turned away impatiently. Was she never to
be through with hearing about Meg Heger?
“Brother,” the manner in which she interrupted
the conversation was almost rude, “isn’t that the
stage returning? I am so tired, I do want to get
up to our cabin.” She started to cross the street.
Dan quickly joined her. He did not rebuke her for
not having said goodbye to the teacher.</p>
<p>“He’s a nice man, isn’t he, Dan?” Gerald skipped
along by his brother’s side as he spoke. “He loves
mountain people, doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>Dan smiled down at the eager questioner. “Why,
of course, he must, if he practices what I suppose
he preaches; the brotherhood of man.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div>
<p>“Well, I certainly don’t want to claim people like
the ones we have met in Redfords as any kin of
mine,” Jane snapped as they all crossed to the stage
that awaited them. Again the four white horses
drooped their heads and the driver slouched on his
high seat, as though at every opportunity they took
short naps. But the horses came to life when the
driver snapped his long whip and with much jolting
they forded the stream.</p>
<p>“Oh, my; I’m ’cited as anything!” Julie squealed.
“Wish something, Gerald, ’cause this is the first
time we’ve ever been up our very own mountain
road.”</p>
<p>“There’s just one thing to wish for,” the small
boy said with the seriousness which now and then
made him seem older than his years, “and that’s
that Dan will get well. What do you wish, Jane?”</p>
<p>“Why, the same thing, of course,” the girl replied
languidly.</p>
<p>Gerald continued his questioning. “What do you
wish, Dan?”</p>
<p>The boy thought for a moment and then he exclaimed,
“I have a wonderful thing to wish.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could find the lost gold
vein on our very own ten acres? Then Dad could
pay the rest that he owes and be free from all
worry?”</p>
<p>“Me, too,” Julie cried jubilantly. “Now, we’ve
all wished and here we go up the mountain.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div>
<p>The road was narrow. In some places it was
barely wide enough for the stage to pass, and, as
Jane looked back and down, she shuddered many
times.</p>
<p>At last, when nothing happened and the old stage
did stick to the road, Jane consented to look around
at the majestic scenery, about which the others were
exclaiming. Beyond the gorge-like valley in which
was Redfords, one mountain range towered above
another, while many peaks were crowned with snow,
dazzling in the light of the sun that was now high
above them.</p>
<p>The air was becoming warmer, but it was so wonderfully
clear that even things in the far distance
stood out with remarkable detail.</p>
<p>At a curve, Gerald pointed to the road where it
circled above them. “Gee-whiliker! Look-it!” he
cried excitedly. “How that boy can ride.” The
others, turning, saw a pony which seemed to be
running at breakneck speed, but as the stage appeared
around the bend, the small horse was halted
so suddenly that it reared. When it settled back on
all fours, the watchers saw that, instead of a boy,
the rider was a girl, slender of build, wiry, alert.
She drew to one side close to the mountain, to permit
the stage to pass. She wore a divided skirt of
the coarsest material, a scarlet blouse but no hat.
Her glossy black wind-blown hair fluttered loosely
about her slim shoulders. Her dusky eyes looked
curiously out at them from between long curling
lashes. Dan thought he had never before seen such
wonderful eyes, but it only took a moment for the
stage to pass.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div>
<p>They all turned to look down the road. The pony
was again leaping ahead as sure-footed, evidently,
as a mountain goat, the girl leaning low in the saddle.
Jane’s lips were curled scornfully. “Well, if
that is their mountain beauty, I think they have
queer taste! She looked to me very much like an
Indian, didn’t she to you, Dan?”</p>
<p>The boy replied frankly: “I should say she might
be Spanish or French, but I do indeed think she is
wonderfully beautiful. I never saw such eyes.
They seem to have slumbering soul-fires just waiting
to be kindled. I should like to hear her talk.”</p>
<p>Jane shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I certainly
should not. I have heard enough of this mountain
dialect, if that’s what you call it, to last me the rest
of my life. I simply will not make the acquaintance
of that—Oh, it doesn’t matter what she is—”
she hurried on to add when she saw that Dan was
about to speak. “I don’t want to know her, and do
please remember that, all of you!”</p>
<p>“Gee, sis,” Gerald blurted out, “you don’t like
the West much, do you? I s’pose you wish you had
stayed at home or gone to that hifalutin watering
place.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div>
<p>Jane bit her lips to keep from retorting angrily.
Julie was still watching the small horse that now
and then reappeared as the zigzagging mountain
road far below them came in sight.</p>
<p>“That girl’s going to school, I guess. Though I
should think it would be vacation time, now it’s
summer,” she remarked.</p>
<p>“I rather believe that winter is vacation time for
mountain schools. It’s mighty cold here for a good
many months and the roads are probably so deep in
snow that they are not passable.”</p>
<p>Dan had just said this when Gerald, who had
been kneeling on the seat, watching intently ahead,
whirled toward them with a cry of joy. “There’s
our log cabin on that ledge up there! I bet you ’tis!
Gee-whiliker, we’re stopping. Hurray! It’s ours.”</p>
<h2 id="c12"><br/>CHAPTER XII. <br/>THE ABBOTT CABIN</h2>
<p>It was quite evident that the picturesque log
cabin which nestled against the side of the mountain
on a wide, overhanging ledge was indeed their own.
The road curved about twenty feet below it, and
crude steps had been hewn out of the rocks. The
small boy tumbled out of the stage almost before
it came to a standstill.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div>
<p>“Oh, Julie, look-it, will you! We’ve got a real
stairway leading right up to our front door. I’ll
beat you to the cabin.”</p>
<p>Julie, equally excited, scurried up after her brother
and reached the top almost as soon as he did. Then
they turned and shouted joyfully to the two below
them: “Jane! Dan! Look at us! We’re top of
the world.”</p>
<p>“Oh, boy!” Gerald capered about, unable to
stand still. “I’m glad I came. I bet you, Julie,
we’ll have a million adventures, maybe more.” But
Dan was calling and so they scampered back down
the rocky flight of stairs.</p>
<p>The older lad laughed at their enthusiasm. “I
know just how you feel,” he told them. “If I
weren’t afraid of shocking your sedate sister here,
I believe I would—well—I don’t know just what I
would do.”</p>
<p>“Stand on your head,” Gerald prompted. “Do
it, Dan. I’ll dare you.”</p>
<p>But the older boy was needed just then to tell the
surly driver where the trunks were to be put. “Let
me help you, Mr. Wallace.” Dan made an attempt
to take one end of a trunk, but the husky man, with
the unchangeable countenance, merely grunted his
dissent, and swinging a trunk up on his broad shoulders,
he began the ascent of the steep stone stairs
quite as though it were not a herculean task.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</div>
<p>Dan followed. “Just leave them on the porch
until we get our bearings,” he directed. “We can
move them in after we have unpacked.” Then, from
the loose change that he had in his pocket, he paid
the man. A few moments later the stage rumbled
on its way up the road, which circled the mountain
and then descended to a hamlet in the valley on the
other side.</p>
<p>As soon as the four young Abbotts were alone,
Dan, slipping an arm about Jane, exclaimed:
“Think of it, sister! Isn’t it almost beyond comprehension
that we have such magnificence right in
our front door-yard.” He took a long breath. The
pine trees, though not large, were spicily fragrant.
Then, whirling toward her, he caught both of her
hands, and there were actually tears in his eyes as
he said, “Jane, I’m going to live! I know that I
am!”</p>
<p>Selfish as the girl was, she could not but respond
to her brother’s enthusiasm. The younger children
had raced away on a tour of discovery. Their excited
voices were heard exclaiming about something
they had discovered beyond the cabin. Clear and
high Gerry’s voice rang out: “Dan, Jane, come
quick! We’ve found Roaring Creek, and it isn’t
making a terrible lot of noise at all.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</div>
<p>But the older boy had noted the extreme weariness
on his sister’s face. He well knew that she
had sacrificed herself to come to a country which
did not appeal to her; where she had to meet people
whom she considered far beneath her, and she had
done it all to help him get well. Instantly the boy
decided that he would make Jane’s comfort his first
care, that her stay with him might be as pleasant as
possible, and so he called back: “After a time,
Gerald. Come on; I’m going to unlock the door.
Don’t you want to see what’s on the inside of our
cabin?”</p>
<p>“Oh, boy, don’t I, though!” Gerry, closely followed
by Julie, raced back to the wide front porch,
which was made of logs. Dan took from his satchel
a very large key and holding it up, he called merrily,
“The key to health and happiness.”</p>
<p>“You left out something,” Gerry prompted. “It’s
health, wealth and happiness. Maybe we’ll find that
lost mine, who knows?”</p>
<p>Dan merely laughed at that. “Now,” he said, as
he put the key in the lock, “what do you suppose
we’ll find on the other side of this door?”</p>
<p>What they saw delighted the hearts of three of
the young people. A large log cabin room with a
long window on either side of the door. At the
back was a crude fireplace made of rocks. There
was no window on that side of the room, as a wall
of the mountain came so close to the cabin that there
would have been no view.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div>
<p>The rafters were logs with the bark still on, and
the furniture had been made of saplings. There
were leather cushions in the chairs, but the thing
that made Gerald caper about, mad with joy, was
a bearskin on one of the walls.</p>
<p>“Oh, look-it, will you, Dan? What kind of a
bear is it? Do you think it is a grizzly, and do you
s’pose it’s that one Dad said came right down here
to our ledge? Do you, Dan?”</p>
<p>The older boy looked at the rather small bearskin
and shook his head.</p>
<p>“No, it isn’t a grizzly,” he said. “I think it is
the skin of a black bear. But here is another on the
floor in front of the fireplace. That’s Dad’s bear, I
remember now. This old fellow was the grizzly
who was unfortunate enough to come down here to
try to help himself to Dad’s supplies.”</p>
<p>Jane had dropped wearily into a big chair that
really was comfortable with its leather-covered cushions,
and Dan, noting how tired she was, exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Jane, I’ll unlock the packing trunk and get out
some of the bedding, and if you wish, you may lie
down for a while. Dad said there were two good
beds here and several cots.”</p>
<p>Gerald and Julie had darted through a door at
one side and, reappearing, they beckoned to their big
brother.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div>
<p>“We’ve found one of ’em,” the younger lad announced.
“It’s in a dandee room! I bet you Jane
will choose it for hers.”</p>
<p>Then Julie chimed in with: “Jane, please come
and see it.”</p>
<p>The older girl, who was feeling terribly sorry for
herself, rose languidly and went with the small sister.
The boys followed.</p>
<p>“Why, what a nice room this is!” Dan, truly
pleased, remarked. Then anxiously, and in his voice
there was a note that was almost imploring, he
asked: “Jane, dear, don’t you think you can be
comfortable in here?”</p>
<p>The girl’s heart was touched by the tone more
than the words, and she turned away that she might
not show how near, how very near, she had been to
crying out her unhappiness. It was hardship to
her to be in a log cabin where there were none of
the luxuries and conveniences to which she had been
used. She smiled at her brother, but he saw her lips
tremble. He was tempted to tell her to go back to
civilization, since it was all going to be so hard for
her, but something prompted him to wait one week.
Inwardly he resolved: “If Jane is not happy here
by one week from today, I am going to insist that
she return to Newport and to the friend Merry for
whom she cares so much.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div>
<p>But Jane, too, had been making a resolve, and so
when she spoke her voice sounded more cheerful.</p>
<p>“It is a nice room,” she said. “That wide window
has a wonderful view of the mountains and the
valley.” It was hard to keep from adding, “If anyone
cares for such a view, which I do not.”</p>
<p>But instead she looked up at the rafters. “What
are those great bundles that are hanging up there?”
she inquired.</p>
<p>Dan laughed. “Why, those bundles, Dad said,
contain the mattress and bedding which he and
mother stored away. They are wrapped in canvas
and so he expected that we would find them in good
condition.”</p>
<p>“But how are we to get them?” Julie wanted to
know.</p>
<p>Gerald’s quick eyes found the answer to that.</p>
<p>“Look-it!” he cried, pointing. “There’s a ladder
nailed right against the back wall. I’ll skin up
that in two jiffs. Give me your knife, Dan. I’ll
cut the ropes.”</p>
<p>The boy was soon sliding along a rafter. “Out
of the way down below there!” he shouted the warning.
“Here they come!”</p>
<p>There was a soft thud, followed by another as
the two great bundles fell to the floor. An excellent
mattress was in one of them and clean warm blankets
in the other.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div>
<p>“Now, I’ll get the sheets from the packing trunk
and a pillow case, and in less than no time at all
we’ll have a fine bed in our lady’s chamber.”</p>
<p>Dan led Jane to another large comfortable though
rustic chair as he said:</p>
<p>“The rest of us are going to pretend that you are
a princess today and we are going to wait upon you.
By tomorrow, when you have had a long sleep, perhaps
you will want to be a mountain girl.”</p>
<p>Again there was the yearning note in his voice.
How he hoped that Jane would want to stay, but a
week would tell.</p>
<p>Jane was quite willing to pretend that she was a
princess and be waited upon, and so half an hour
later, when the bed in her room was made, she consented
to lie down and try to make up the many
hours of sleep that she had lost on the train. Hardly
had her head touched the pillow before she was
sound asleep. Two of her windows, that swung inward,
were wide open and a soft mountain breeze
wafted to her the scent of the pines. Even though
she was not conscious of it, the peace of the mountains
was quieting her restless soul. She had supposed
that, as soon as she were alone, she would sob
out her unhappiness, but her weariness had been too
great, and not a tear had been shed.</p>
<p>Julie reported that Jane had gone right to sleep
and Dan’s face brightened. Surely his sister-pal
would feel better when she awakened and how could
she help loving it all, so high up on their wonderful
mountain.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</div>
<p>The younger children had gone on another trip
of exploration, and soon burst back into the big living-room
with the information that on the other side
of the cabin there were two smaller bedrooms and a
real kitchen.</p>
<p>Dan held up a warning hand and framed the word
“quiet” with his lips, and so the excited children took
his hands and dragged him from the deep easy
chair where he had sought to rest for a moment and
showed him what lay behind the two doors on the
other side of the cabin. “Aren’t these little bedrooms
the cunningest?” Julie whispered. “See the
front one has a bed in it like Jane’s and the other
has the cot. But there are three of us, so what shall
we do?” Julie’s brown eyes were suddenly serious
and inquiring.</p>
<p>“That’s easy!” Dan told her. “Dad said there
were several cots. See, there they are, hanging up
on the rafters. I shall take one of those and put it
out on the wide front porch. That’s where I want
to sleep. I don’t want to be shut in by walls. And
Julie may have this pretty front room with the bed
and Gerald the other. Now, let’s get them made up,
just as quietly as we can. Then we will unpack the
supplies that you got from the store, Julie, and prepare
a noon meal.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div>
<p>The cots were untied from the rafters and one
was placed on the porch in the position chosen by
Dan, then the bedding was put on all of them and
it was 11 o’clock and the sun was riding hot and
high above the mountain when Julie, suddenly becoming
demure, announced that she wanted Dan to
go to sleep also, and that she and Gerald would get
the lunch.</p>
<p>The older boy did not require much urging and
when he saw the eager light in the eyes of the little
girl, who had in the beginning supposed that she
alone was to be the one to take care of him, he decided
to do as she wished. Julie had had six months’
training with her grandmother, who believed that
a girl could not begin too young to learn how to
cook, and she had often boasted that she had a very
apt pupil.</p>
<p>He soon heard the children whispering and laughing
happily at the back of the cabin, then a door was
closed softly and the lad heard only the soughing in
the pine trees close to the porch and the humming
of the winged insects far and near. Then he, too,
fell into a much needed slumber.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div>
<h2 id="c13"><br/>CHAPTER XIII. <br/>TWO LITTLE COOKS</h2>
<p>The kitchen of the log cabin had one window and
a door which opened out into what Gerry called the
“back-yard part of their ledge.” It was only about
fifty feet to the very edge, and Gerry crept on hands
and knees to look over, that he might see where
their “back-yard went.” He lifted a face filled with
awe and beckoned his sister to advance with caution.
Lying flat, the two children gazed over the rim of
the ledge, straight down a wall of rock, far below
which the road could be seen curving. “Ohee!”
Julie drew back with a shudder. “What if our
cabin should slide right off this shelf that it’s built
on?”</p>
<p>“It can’t, if it wants to,” the boy told her confidently.
“We’re safe here as anything. That’s two
ways a bear can’t come,” he continued; “but on the
other side, where the creek is, and in front, where
the stone steps are, I suppose the bear came in one
of those two ways.”</p>
<p>The small girl looked frightened. “Oh, Gerry,”
she said, “what if a bear should come again? What
would we do?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div>
<p>“Why, Dan would shoot it, just the way Dad
did,” the boy replied with great assurance. His big
brother was his hero, and that he could not perform
any feat required was not to be thought of for one
moment.</p>
<p>“But Dan hasn’t a gun, has he?” Julie was not
yet convinced.</p>
<p>“Indeed he has, silly. Do you s’pose Dad
would let us come into this wild country without
guns? Dan has two in his trunk. One’s a big
fellow! Dad let me hold it once, and, Oh, boy, I’m
telling you it’s a heavy one. I most had to drop it,
and I’ve got bully muscle. Look at what muscle
I’ve got!”</p>
<p>Gerry crooked his bare arm, but his sister turned
away impatiently, saying: “Oh, I don’t want to!
You make me feel what muscle you’ve got most
every day.”</p>
<p>Julie returned to the kitchen, but Gerry followed,
and, if he were offended by her lack of interest in
his brawniness, he did not show it. He was far too
interested in the subject under discussion. “That
big gun I was telling you about is the very one Dad
used when he shot the grizzly, and if it shot one
bear, then of course it can shoot another bear.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div>
<p>The little girl was convinced. That seemed clear
reasoning, but she interrupted when the boy began
again, by saying: “Gerald Abbott, do stop telling
bear stories, and help me clean up this kitchen. Jane
won’t be any more use than nothing and we might
as well do things and pretend she isn’t here, the
way I wish she wasn’t.”</p>
<p>“I sort of wish she hadn’t come, myself,” Gerry
confessed. “Now, let’s see. Here’s a cupboard all
nailed up. I guess I can pull out the nails, but first
I’d better make a fire in this old stove. I’ll have to
fetch in some wood.”</p>
<p>“No, you won’t! Not just at first. There’s a
box full behind the stove. Big, knotty pieces; pine,
I suppose; but maybe we do need some kindling.
Then bring me some water from the creek and I’ll
wash up everything. Dad said we’d find some dishes
in the cupboard, if they hadn’t been stolen.”</p>
<p>“Gee, I hope they haven’t!” The boy, who was
as handy about a home as was his small sister, soon
had a fire in the stove, and then, having found a pail,
he went to the creek, stealing around past the front
porch and under his sister’s window as quietly as he
possibly could. Although dry twigs creaked and
snapped, the two sleepers did not waken.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div>
<p>Such fun as those youngsters had putting the
kitchen in order. In the cupboard they found all of
the dishes which their father had mentioned. Although
the china was coarse, the green fern pattern
was attractive. Gerald, standing on a chair, handed
it out, piece by piece, to the small girl, who put
them in hot, sudsy water and then dried them till
they shone. Gerald, meantime, was washing the
shelves. Then they replaced the dishes and stood
back to admire their handiwork.</p>
<p>“Oh, aren’t we having fun?” Julie chuckled.
“Now, we’re all ready to get the lunch.”</p>
<p>It was one o’clock when Julie went to waken Jane,
and Gerald, at the same time, went out on the porch
where Dan had been sleeping, but the older boy was
sitting up on the edge of his cot drinking in the
beauty of the scene which, to him, was an ever-changing
marvel. He sprang up, wonderfully refreshed,
and going to the packing trunk, he procured
a towel.</p>
<p>“Hello, Jane,” he called brightly to the tall girl,
who appeared in the open door. Then he gave a
long whistle. “Sister,” he exclaimed, love and admiration
ringing in his voice, “I hope that Jean
Sawyer, who is coming to dine with us day after
tomorrow, has a heart of adamant. I pity him if
he hasn’t! I honestly never saw anyone so beautiful
as you are, with the flush of slumber on your
cheeks and your eyes so bright.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div>
<p>Jane came out smiling. This was the sort of adulation
she desired and required, but her brother felt
a twinge of guilt, for, even as he had been talking,
he had seen in memory a slender, alert little creature
with eyes, star-like in their dusky radiance, gazing
out at him from under dark, curling lashes.</p>
<p>But they were so unlike, these two, he told himself.
The one proud, imperious, ultra-civilized; the
other, a wild thing, untamed, or so she had appeared
to him in that one moment’s glance, a native of the
mountains.</p>
<p>“Where are you going with that towel?” Jane
asked him.</p>
<p>The lad laughingly dived again into the packing
trunk and brought out another. “Let’s go to the
creek to wash,” he suggested. “I haven’t even seen
it yet, and I’m ever so eager to feel that cold mountain
water dash into my face.” Then in a low tone
he whispered close to his sister’s ear, “The children
have a surprise for us, Jane, and so let’s be very
much surprised and not disappoint them.”</p>
<p>Jane shrugged. To her, children and their ways
had to be endured, but she took no interest in what
they did or did not do. However, she accompanied
her brother around the house.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div>
<p>She glanced at him with a sense of satisfaction,
which was, as usual, prompted by selfishness. If
Dan seemed so much better in one day, he might be
so well by the end of a fortnight that she would not
need to remain with him. If she were sure that all
was to be well with him, she would return to Merry.
The lad, not dreaming what her thoughts were,
caught her hand boyishly. “Oh, Jane,” he cried as
he pointed ahead, “can you believe it, Sister-pal,
that is our very own mountain stream! Isn’t it a
beauty?”</p>
<p>The sunlight, falling between the pines, lighted
the narrow, rushing, whirling little mountain brook,
which sparkled and seemed to sing for the very joy
of being. Standing on its edge, Dan looked up the
mountain along the course the brook had come.
“See,” he cried jubilantly, “wherever the sunlight
filters through, it gleams as though it were laughing.
Dad said that it springs out just below the
rim rock. Oh, I do hope by next week I will be able
to climb up that high.”</p>
<p>Jane’s glance followed her brother’s up the rough,
rocky mountain side and she shook her head. “I’ll
never attempt it,” she decided, but Dan whirled,
laughing defiance. “I’m going to prophesy that
you’ll climb the rim rock before a fortnight is over.”</p>
<p>Then kneeling, he splashed the clear, cold water
in his face and reached for the towel that Jane held.
Then he implored her to do the same. With great
reluctance she complied, and so cool and restful did
she find it, that she actually smiled, almost with
pleasure.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div>
<p>But Dan had the misfortune to say the wrong
thing just then. “I suppose this brook, or one like
it, is all the mirror that the mountain girl, Meg
Heger, has ever had,” he began, when he sensed a
chill in his sister’s reply.</p>
<p>“I certainly do not know, nor do I care.” Then
she added, as an afterthought, “And I shall never
find out.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div>
<h2 id="c14"><br/>CHAPTER XIV. <br/>FRETFUL JANE</h2>
<p>Luckily Dan had succeeded in changing his sister’s
thought before they returned to the cabin, and
he vowed inwardly that he would never again mention
Meg Heger, since Jane had taken such a
strange dislike to her. How one could dislike a
girl one had barely seen was beyond his comprehension,
but girls were hard to understand, all except
Julie. She was just a wholesome, helpful little maid
with a pug-nose that was always freckled.</p>
<p>“Now for the surprise!” Dan said as they neared
the cabin.</p>
<p>“Well, I certainly hope it is something to eat,”
Jane began, with little interest, but when the two
children threw open the front door and she saw the
table in the living-room close to the wide window
with four places set, she delighted the little workers
by announcing that it was the best sight she had
beheld that day. Then, when Jane and Dan were
seated, Julie and Gerry skipped to the kitchen and
returned with as tempting a lunch as even Jane could
have wished for. There was creamed tuna on toast
and jam and a heaping plate of lettuce sandwiches
and two of the Rockyford melons for which Colorado
is famous. Then there was for each a glass of
creamy milk.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div>
<p>“Great!” Dan exclaimed. “I didn’t know we
were going to be able to get milk.”</p>
<p>Julie nodded eagerly. “It comes from the Packard
ranch, fresh to the inn every day, and Mrs.
Bently said she would send us two quarts every time
the stage comes up our road, which usually is three
times a week. We can keep it cool as anything in
the creek. Mrs. Bently told us how.”</p>
<p>“After lunch can we get out the guns, Dan?”
Gerald asked when he had hungrily gulped down a
sandwich.</p>
<p>“Why, I guess so,” the older boy laughed good
naturedly. “You aren’t expecting a bear to find out
this soon, are you, that we have some supplies that
he might wish to devour?”</p>
<p>Julie looked anxiously toward the open door of
the cabin. “Don’t you think maybe we’d better
keep that door closed when we’re eating?” she asked
anxiously. “You know Dad said he and mother
were sitting right here where we are, maybe, one
morning at breakfast, when mother looked up and
there was an old grizzly standing in the open door.
He had been around to the kitchen and had eaten
up all the supplies he could find and he was hunting
for more.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div>
<p>Gerald chimed in with: “It was lucky Dad kept
his big gun always standing in the corner. I suppose
it was right there, near you, Dan, so he could
just grab it and shoot.”</p>
<p>The children were watching the door as though
they expected at any minute that another grizzly
might appear. Dan laughed at them. “We might
as well have stayed at home if we are going to stay
in the cabin and keep the door closed,” he told them.
“I’m going to suggest that we put the table on that
nice porch just outside of the kitchen. That will
make an ideal outdoor dining-room, with a big pine
tree back of it to shelter us from the sun. It will
be handy to the kitchen, and, what is more, a bear
simply could not scale up that wall beyond the
ledge.” Then, very seriously, the older brother addressed
the younger two. “Julie, I don’t want you
or Gerald to go close to that cliff. It’s too dangerous.”</p>
<p>Honest Gerald blurted in with, “We did go once,
Dan. We squirmed out on our tummies till we could
look ’way down, and I tell you it made us dizzy.
We won’t ever want to do it again.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div>
<p>After lunch the children announced that they
would do up the dishes if Dan would give them a
lesson in shooting the big gun when they were
through. “Well,” the older boy smilingly conceded,
“I’ll try to teach you to handle the smaller gun; yes,
both of you,” he assured Julie, who was making an
effort to attract his attention by motions behind
Jane’s back. “You really ought to both know how
to use it. You might need to know how some time
to protect yourselves.”</p>
<p>“What shall you do, Jane, while we are learning
to shoot?” Julie inquired when the kitchen had again
been tidied and the children were ready for their
very first lesson with the small gun.</p>
<p>“Maybe Jane’ll want to learn too,” Gerald suggested,
but the older girl declared that she simply
could not and would not touch one of the dreadful
things.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div>
<p>“Won’t you come with us and watch the fun?”
Dan lingered, when the two active youngsters had
bounded out of the cabin. But the girl shook her
head. “It wouldn’t be fun to me,” she said fretfully.
“I’d much rather be left all alone. I want
to write a long letter to Merry. She will be eager
to hear from me, just as I am from her.” There
was a self-pitying tone in the girl’s voice and a
slight quiver to her lips. She turned hastily into
her room and closed the door. She did not want
Dan to see the tears. The lad went out on the wide
front porch and stood for a moment with folded
arms, his gray eyes gazing across the sun-shimmered
valley, but he was not conscious of the grandeur
of the scene. He was regretting, deeply regretting
that he had permitted his sister to come to
a country so distasteful to her. He well knew that
she had shut herself in her room to sob out her
grief and disappointment and then perhaps to write
it all to this friend of whom she so often spoke and
whom she seemed to love so dearly.</p>
<p>Once Dan turned toward the door as though to
return to the cabin. His impulse was to go to Jane
and tell her not to unpack. The stage would be
passing there again on the following day, and, if
she wished she could go back to the East. In fact,
the lad almost believed that if Jane went, it might
hasten his recovery. Her evident unhappiness was
causing him to worry, and that was most detrimental.
With a deep sigh of resignation, he did
turn toward the open door, bent on carrying out his
resolve, but a cry of alarm from Julie sent him running
around the cabin and up toward the brook.</p>
<p>He met the children, white-faced, big-eyed, hurrying
toward him, Gerald carrying the small gun.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div>
<p>“What is it, Gerry? What have you seen to
frighten you?” He looked about as he spoke, but
saw nothing but the jagged mountain side, the rushing,
whirling brook and the peaceful old pines.</p>
<p>But it was quite evident by the expressions of the
two children that they at least thought they had seen
something of a dangerous nature. Gerald pointed
toward a clump of low-growing pines on the other
side of the brook as he said in a tense, half-whispered
voice: “Whatever ’twas, Dan, it’s hiding in
there.” Then he explained: “Julie and I were
crossing the water on those big stones when, snap,
something went. I whirled to look. Honest, I expected
to see a grizzly, but there wasn’t anything at
all in sight. Julie and I stood just as still as we
could; we didn’t even make a sound! Then we saw
those bushy trees moving, though there wasn’t a
bit of wind, so we know whatever ’tis, it’s in
there.”</p>
<p>While the small boy had been talking, Dan had
been loading the gun. “You’d better let me go
alone,” he said to the children, but their disappointed
expressions caused him to add: “At least let
me go ahead, and if I think best for you to come,
I’ll beckon.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div>
<p>Dan crossed the brook on the big stones and went
toward the clump of small stubby pines. Then he
stood still, watching the dense low trees intently.
His heart beat rapidly, not from fear, for he almost
hoped that it might be a grizzly, and yet, would it
not be unwise to shoot at it with a small gun? It
might infuriate a huge beast, and so endanger all
of their lives. But, although he waited, watching and
listening for many minutes, no sound was heard.
He began to believe that the children had imagined
the stealthy noise they thought they had heard, for,
after all, they had not really seen anything, and so
he beckoned them to join him. They leaped across
the brook and were quickly at his side.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t it a bear, or a wildcat, or anything?”
Gerald asked eagerly. Dan shook his head, as he
replied with a laugh: “Don’t be too disappointed,
youngsters, even if you don’t see everything on the
first day. This time it was just a false alarm.”</p>
<p>But Dan was mistaken, for, from a safe hiding
place, the old Indian, Slinking Coyote, was watching
their every move.</p>
<p>“Why don’t we shoot into that pine brush anyway?”
Julie suggested. “We might scare out whatever
is hiding there.” But Dan didn’t wish to do
this. He felt that it would be safer to have the
larger gun with him before he started beating up
hidden wild creatures of any kind.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div>
<p>“Come along, youngsters, let’s get back on the
home-side of our brook and set up a target,” the
older boy suggested as he crossed the brook, followed
by the children.</p>
<p>In their door-yard Dan paused and looked about
meditatively. “I want to set up a target near enough
to be within call, and yet far enough away to keep
from disturbing Jane too much with our racket.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know!” Gerald cried. “Over there, just
above where the road bends! That’ll be a dandee
place. Won’t it, Dan?”</p>
<p>The older boy smiled his agreement. “I do believe
it will do as well as any place.” They went
toward the spot indicated and Dan continued: “Suppose
we choose a cone on that lowest pine branch.
If a bullet hits it, the cone will surely fall. Now,
Gerald, just to be polite, shall we let Julie try first?”</p>
<p>The boy nodded, his eyes shining with eagerness.
“Sure! How many tries do we each get? Three?”</p>
<p>“Any number you wish is all right with me.”
Then Dan placed the small gun in the position that
Julie was to hold it, showed her how to look along
the barrel, and how to take aim.</p>
<p>“Hold it steady! One, two, three, go!” But no
report was heard.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div>
<p>“What’s the matter, chick-a-biddie?” Dan was
surprised to see how white the small girl’s face had
become, and to note that her arm was shaking so
that she could hardly hold the gun. “I’m scared,”
she confessed. “I don’t know why, but I am, Dan.”
She dropped the gun and ran to his arms. Then
she smiled up through her tears. “I guess I’m
afraid to hear the noise.”</p>
<p>“Pooh, pooh! That’s just like a girl,” said Gerry
almost scornfully. “Anyhow, you don’t need to
learn to shoot. Dan or I’ll always be around to protect
you’n Jane. Can I have a try now, Dan?
Can I?”</p>
<p>The older lad turned to the small girl. “Suppose
we let Gerald practice today, and later, when you
feel that you would like to try again, you may
do so?”</p>
<p>This plan seemed quite satisfactory to Julie, who
seated herself upon a rock which overhung the curving
mountain road, and was about twenty feet above
it. Gerald, instead of dreading the noise that the
small gun would make, was eager to hear it, and
after repeated trials, he managed to dislodge the
brown cone. “Hurray! I did it! Bully for me!
I’m a marksman now! Isn’t that what I am, Dan?
Now I’ll pick out another one, and I bet you I’ll hit
it first shot.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div>
<p>Julie, having wearied of the constant report of
the small gun, had wandered away in search of wild
flowers. The boys saw her running toward them,
beckoning excitedly. “Dan,” she said in a low voice,
“Come on over here and look down at the road.
The queerest man seems to be hiding. I was so far
up above him, he didn’t see me. He’s hiding back
of some rocks watching the road. Who do you suppose
he is?”</p>
<p>Dan looked troubled. He thought at once that it
might be the old Ute Indian who had not gone with
his tribe when they went in search of better hunting
grounds, nor was he wrong. Very quietly, the
three went to the rim of their ledge. About twenty
feet below they beheld a most uncouth creature
crouching behind a big boulder. Evidently he was
intently watching the road as it wound up from
Redfords. His cap was of black fur with a bushy
tail hanging down at the back. They could not see
his face as they were above him. Julie clung fearfully
to her brother. “Oh, Dan,” she whispered.
“What do you suppose he’s watching for?”</p>
<p>Before Dan could decide what he ought to do, a
pounding of horse’s feet was heard just below the
bend, and a wiry brown pony leaped into view. The
old Indian sprang from his hiding place so suddenly
that the small horse reared, but the rider, her dark
face flushed, her wonderful eyes flashing angrily,
cried: “What did I tell you last time you stopped
me? Didn’t I say I’d shoot? You know I pack a
gun, and I <i>never</i> miss. I can’t give you any more
money. I’m saving all I can to go away to school.
I’ve told you that before, and if you <i>are</i> my father,
as you’re always telling me that you are, you’d ought
to be glad if I’m going to have a chance.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div>
<p>The old Indian whined something, which Dan
could not hear. Impatiently the girl took from her
pocket a coin and tossed it to him. “I don’t believe
you’re hungry. You don’t need to be, with squirrels
as thick as they are. You’ll spend all I give you
on fire-water, if you can get it.”</p>
<p>Already the old Indian, evidently satisfied with
what he had received, had started shambling down
the road in the direction of the town, but the girl
turned in the saddle to call after him: “Mind you,
that’s the last time I’ll give you money. I don’t
believe that you are my father, and neither does
Mammy Heger.”</p>
<p>She might have been talking to the wind for all
the attention the old Indian paid. His pace had increased
as the descent became steeper.</p>
<p>Dan felt guilty because he had overheard a conversation
not meant for his ears, and he drew the children
away toward the cabin, and so heard, rather
than saw, the girl’s rapid flight up the road.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div>
<p>The chivalry of the ages stirred in his heart.
“It’s a wicked shame that she hasn’t a brother to
protect her,” he thought. “A young girl ought not
to be tormented by such a coward. Slinking Coyote,
that’s what he is. Blackmailing, it would be
called in civilized countries.” Dan’s indignation increased
as he recalled how wonderfully beautiful the
girl had looked when her dark eyes had flashed in
anger. “I’d be far more inclined to think her a
daughter of noble birth.”</p>
<p>His thoughts were interrupted by Julie, who, believing
that they were a safe distance from the road,
asked anxiously, “Who was the awful looking man,
Dan? Will he hurt us?”</p>
<p>The same question had presented itself to Dan,
but he made himself say lightly, “Oh, no! That old
Indian isn’t at all interested in us. He evidently is
just a beggar. He was asking the mountain girl
for money and she gave it to him.” Then, as an
afterthought, he cautioned, “Don’t mention having
seen him to Jane, will you, children?”</p>
<p>Willingly they agreed. They were indeed pleased
to share a secret with their big brother.</p>
<p>Julie chattered on, “Dan, I’d like to go up and see
that nice girl. Do you think she’d let me ride on her
pony? May Gerald and I go up there tomorrow?”</p>
<p>Dan forced himself to smile. He did not want
either of his companions to know that he was troubled.
“Yes, we’ll go up there tomorrow. I would
like to meet the trapper who is, I believe, the father
of that little horsewoman.” But even as he spoke
Dan recalled that the slinking Indian had insisted
that he was her father, and that the girl did not
believe it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div>
<p>When he reached the cabin, Jane was still shut in
her room. The children declared that they were
hungry as wolves and that they would get the evening
meal, and so the older lad seated himself on
the edge of the front porch to think over all that he
had seen and heard, and decide what it would be
best for him to do. Perhaps, after all, he had been
unwise to bring either of the girls to a place so wild.
Perhaps he ought to send them both home. He and
Gerald could protect themselves if there were to be
trouble of any kind. He decided that the very next
day, as soon as the mountain girl had gone to the
Redfords school, he would climb up the road to the
cabin, which he believed was just about a mile above
them. Then he could discover from the trapper if
any real danger might lurk on the mountain for the
two Eastern girls.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div>
<h2 id="c15"><br/>CHAPTER XV. <br/>MEG HEGER</h2>
<p>To the surprise of the young people, almost as soon
as the sun had set, night descended upon them. Dan
had helped the children clean the lamps and lanterns.
Their grandmother, at their father’s prompting,
had remembered to put kerosene on their list
and also candles.</p>
<p>Jane chose one of the latter to light her to bed.
She simply detested kerosene lamps, she declared
when Dan had asked if she didn’t want to sit up
with them a little while and read some of the books
their father and mother had left in the cabin. “No,
thank you!” had been the emphatic refusal. “The
nights here are bitterly cold. In bed at least I can
keep warm.”</p>
<p>“Gee-whiliker,” Gerald said when the girl to
whom everything seemed distasteful had retired.
“Ain’t she a wet blanket?”</p>
<p>Before Dan could rebuke him for criticizing his
elders, Julie burst in with, “Why, Gerry Abbott,
didn’t you promise Dad you wouldn’t ever say ain’t,
and there you said it.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div>
<p>The boy squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s an awful
long time since I said it before,” he tried to excuse
himself. “I bet you I won’t do it again. You
see if I do.”</p>
<p>Dan was looking at the empty hearth. “We
should have cut some wood and had a roaring fire
tonight. Let’s do it tomorrow and make it more
cheerful for Jane, if——” He paused as though
he had said more than he had intended, but his alert
companions would not let a sentence go unfinished.</p>
<p>“If what, Dan?” Julie asked curiously.</p>
<p>The boy was not yet ready to tell, even these two,
that he might think it best to start Jane and Julie on
their homeward way the next day. He knew that
the older girl would be overjoyed, but the younger
would be so disappointed that it seemed almost a
cruel thing to contemplate. “I’ll tell you tomorrow
noon,” he compromised, when he saw both pairs of
eyes watching him as though awaiting his answer.</p>
<p>In a very short time the children were nodding
sleepily and Dan was glad when Julie took a candle
and Gerry a lantern and bade him good-night.</p>
<p>“We’re going to get up to see the sunrise,” Julie
said.</p>
<p>“If you wake up,” Dan laughingly told them.
Then, putting out the remaining lights, he, too, retired
to his cot on the porch. He placed his loaded
gun in the corner, back of him, where it could not
be reached by anyone else without awakening him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
<p>For long hours he lay with wide eyes watching
the sky, which seemed to be a canopy close above
him, brilliant with stars. A slight wind kept the
mosquitos away and, as it rustled through the pine
boughs that were so near, a sense of peace stole into
his heart—his fears were banished and he seemed to
know that all was well.</p>
<p>It was long after sunrise when he wakened and
no one else was astir in the cabin. Very quietly he
arose and dressed. Then he went to the kitchen,
and a fragrance of coffee was what finally awakened
the two children. They bounded from bed,
ashamed of their laziness, and when they joined
their big brother he had a good breakfast spread on
the table in their out-of-door dining-room.</p>
<p>“Julie, will you see if Jane is awake?” the older
lad asked, and the small girl cautiously opened the
door into her sister’s room. Then she entered and
went to the bedside. “You’ve got one of your dreadful
headaches, haven’t you, Janey?” The younger
girl was all compassion. She knew well how Jane
suffered when these infrequent headaches came.
What she did not know was that they always followed
a spell of anger or of worry. “I’ll draw the
curtains over this window so the sun can’t come in
and I’ll fetch you your breakfast.”</p>
<p>Julie liked nothing better than to be mothering
someone, but Jane showed no sign of appreciation.
Her only comment was, “Have the coffee hot.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div>
<p>Dan was sorry to hear that Jane had neuralgia,
and, from past experience, he knew that she would
be unable to travel that afternoon, and so she would
be obliged to wait until the following Tuesday,
when the stage would again pass that way. He felt
elated at the thought, but first he must find out if it
were safe for the girls to remain. Directly after
breakfast he drew Gerald aside and asked him if he
would stay at the cabin while he (Dan) went up the
mountain road to interview the trapper. Although
the small boy would much rather have accompanied
Dan, he always wanted to do his share, and so he
consented to remain.</p>
<p>Dan waited until he was sure that Meg Heger
had passed on her way to the Redfords school before
he began the ascent of the mountain road. He
could not have explained to himself why he did not
want to meet the girl. It might have been a feeling
that he had lacked in chivalry on the day before,
when he had listened to the conversation in which
she had probably revealed a secret which she would
not wish strangers to share. He sauntered along by
the brook, his gun over his shoulder, stopping every
few feet to examine some rock or growth or just to
gaze out over the valley, seeing new pictures at each
changed position.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
<p>It was a glorious morning, but with the invigorating
chill yet in the air. He breathed deeply and
walked with shoulders thrown back. Birds sang to
him, squirrels in the pine boughs over his head, or
scurrying among the dry soft carpet of needles, chattered
at him; some were curious, many were
scolding, but he laughingly told them that he was a
comrade. He stopped on a level with one protesting
bushy-tailed fellow to say, “Mr. Bright-Eyes, I
wouldn’t harm you, not for anything! This gun is
merely to be used on something that would harm me,
if it got the chance first. I don’t believe in taking
life from a little wild creature that enjoys living
just as much as I do.” Then, as he continued his
walk, he thought, “I must tell Gerry not to kill any
harmless creature unless we need it for food.”</p>
<p>Coming to a sudden sharp descent of about fifteen
feet, he saw that the brook became a waterfall and
just below it was a large pool which would make an
excellent swimming hole. The water was as clear
as crystal and was held in a smooth, red rock basin.
After standing for some time, watching the joyous
waterfall on which broken sunlight flashed, the
lad glanced at his watch. It was after nine and so
he could safely take to the road without fear of encountering
the mountain girl. She was surely, by
now, reciting to that kindly old man, Teacher Bellows.
After another downward scramble, the road
was reached. The ascent was gradual and Dan’s
thoughts wandered on without his conscious direction.
He wondered how that mountain girl had
happened to have a thirst for knowledge. That, in
itself, proved to him that the old Ute was not her
father, but, if he were not, why did he pretend that
he was? What could be his reason? To obtain
what money he could by making her think it her
duty to help care for him. Dan had just decided
this to be the most plausible explanation of the whole
thing, when he was greatly startled by hearing the
sudden report of a gun from the high rocks at his
right. He looked up and beheld the girl about whom
he had been thinking, every muscle tense, a smoking
gun still against her shoulder. It was pointed at the
bushes directly at his left. “Don’t you move!” she
shouted the warning. “Maybe I didn’t kill it.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
<p>Dan whirled toward the rocks and low-growing
bushes at his left and what he saw reassured him.
A mountain lion lay there, evidently dead, its position
showing that it had been just about to spring
upon him. He turned to thank the girl, but she had
disappeared. She, too, had evidently been convinced
that the animal was dead. On examining it closer,
the boy saw that the bullet had entered the creature’s
head at a most vulnerable spot, and being thus assured
that it was not playing possum, he went on
his way.</p>
<p>Already Meg Heger had won a right to his chivalry.
She had saved his life. How he wished that
in turn he might do something to save her from her
tormentor.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
<h2 id="c16"><br/>CHAPTER XVI. <br/>THE TRAPPER’S CABIN</h2>
<p>Dan felt a glow of pleasure as he neared the log
cabin which nestled against the mountain, sheltered
by rock walls on the side from which the worst
storms always came.</p>
<p>Eagerly he looked ahead, hoping that he would
see the girl. He wanted to thank her for having
saved his life, but no one was in sight.</p>
<p>It was a pleasant, home-like place, with chickens
clucking cheerfully in a large, wired-in yard. Goats
climbed among the rocks at the back, and a washing
fluttered on a line at one side, while, to the boy’s
delight, masses of wild flowers, showing evidence of
loving care, carpeted the earth-filled stretches between
boulders, and some of them that trailed along
the ground hung over the cliff in vivid bloom. It
was Meg’s garden, he knew, without being told.</p>
<p>He rapped on the closed front door, but a voice
from outside called to him. “Whoever ’tis, come
around here. I’m washin’.”</p>
<p>Dan did as he was told and saw a thin, angular
woman, who stood up very straight and looked at
him out of keen blue eyes, as she wiped her sudsy
hands on her gingham apron. Then she brushed
back her graying locks.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
<p>Her smile was a friendly one. “You’re Dan
Abbott’s son, ain’t you?” she began at once. “Hank
Wallace, him as drives the stage, stopped in for dinner
to our place yesterday and he told us all about
having fetched you up. Pa and I knew your pa,
and your ma, too, years back, afore any of you
children was living, and long afore I had Meg.”
The woman nodded toward the wooded mountain
beyond. “Meg’s out studyin’ some fandangled
thing she calls bot’ny.” Then she waved a bony
hand toward the glowing gardens. “Them’s what
she calls her specimens. Queer things they get to
larnin’ in schools nowadays. I didn’t have much
iddication. None at all is more like the real of it.
But pa, he went summers for a spell, and learned
readin’, writin’ and ’rithmetic. All a person needs
to know in these mountains; but Meg, now, she’s
been goin’ ever since she could talk, seems like. Notion
Pa Heger took. He got talked into doin’ it by
Preacher Bellows.” Then, before saying more, the
woman cautiously scanned the woods and the road.
Feeling sure that there was no one near enough to
hear her, she confided: “You see, we ain’t dead
sure who Meg is. She was about three when one of
the Ute squaw women fetched her, all done up in
one of them bright-colored blankets they make. It
was a terrible stormy night. There’d been a cloudburst,
and the thunder made this old mountain shake
for true. Pa Heger said he heard someone at the
door, and I said ’twas the wind. He said he knew
better, and he went to see. There stood a Ute
squaw, and she grunted something and held out the
blanket bundle. Pa took it, bein’ as he heard a cry
inside of it. That squaw didn’t stop. She shuffled
away and Pa shut the door quick to keep the storm
out.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
<p>“‘Well, Ma,’ he says, turning to me, ‘what d’
s’pose we’ve got here?’</p>
<p>“‘Some Indian papoose,’ I reckoned ’twas.</p>
<p>“‘Well, if ’tis,’ said he, ‘I can’t throw it out into
this awful storm. We’ll have to keep it till it clears,
an’ then I’ll pack it back to the Utes.’</p>
<p>“They was over at the Crazy Creek camp then,
but when that storm let up, and Pa did go over,
there wa’n’t a hide or hair left of that Ute tribe.
They’d gone to better huntin’ grounds, the way they
allays do, and we’ve never seen ’em since. None of
’em ’cept ol’ Slinkin’ Coyote. It’s queer the way he
sticks to it that he’s Meg’s pa, but my man won’t
listen to it. Gets mad as anythin’ if I as much as say
maybe it’s true. He’ll rave, Pa will, an’ say: ‘Look
at our Meg! Does she look like a young ’un of that
skulkin’ old wildcat?’ Pa says, an’ I have to agree
she don’t. But he pesters her, askin’ for money.
That is, he used to afore Pa Heger set the law on
him. Pa has a paper from the sheriff, givin’ him
the right to arrest that ol’ Ute if he ever sets eyes
on him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
<p>“But I declare to it! Here comes Pa Heger himself.
He’ll be glad to meet you, bein’ as he knew
your pa so well.”</p>
<p>The lad turned eagerly. He was always glad to
meet someone who had known his father in the long
ago years, when he had come West, just after leaving
college, hoping to win a fortune.</p>
<p>Then, as the boy waited for the man to come up,
he wondered why Meg did not return. Didn’t she
care to make his acquaintance?</p>
<p>“Pa Heger,” as he liked to be called, was a pleasant-faced
man whose deeply wrinkled, leathery countenance
showed at once that he had weathered wind
and storm through many a long year in the
mountains.</p>
<p>As Ma Heger had done, he seemed to know intuitively
who the visitor was. But before he could
speak, his talkative spouse began:</p>
<p>“Pa, ain’t this boy the splittin’ image of Danny
Abbott, him as used to come over to set by our fire
and hear you spin them trappin’ yarns o’ yourn?
That was afore he went away an’ got married.
’Arter that he wa’n’t alone when he come climbin’
up the mountain, but along of him was the sweetest
purtiest little creature I’d ever sot my eyes on. The
two of ’em were a fine lookin’ pair.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
<p>Dan shook hands with the silent man, who showed
his pleasure more with his smiling eyes than with
words. He was quite willing to let his wife do most
of the talking. The lad was pleased with the praise
given his father and mother, when they were young,
and he at once told Mrs. Heger that his sister Jane,
who was with him, very closely resembled that bride
of long ago.</p>
<p>“Wall, now,” the good woman exclaimed, “how
I’d like to see the gal. She’n my Meg ought to get
on fine, if she’s anyhow as friendly as her ma was.
Mis’ Abbott used to come right out to my kitchen.
She’d been goin’ to some fandangly cookin’ school,
the while she was gettin’ ready to be married, and
she larned me a lot of things to make kitchen work
easier. I’m doin’ some of ’em yet, and thinkin’ of
her often.”</p>
<p>Dan did not comment on the possibility of his
proud sister becoming an intimate friend of the
mountain girl, but, for himself, he found that he
very much wanted to know more about their adopted
daughter.</p>
<p>“Mr. Heger,” he turned to the man, who stood
shyly twirling his fur cap, “your daughter has just
saved my life.”</p>
<p>His listeners both looked very much surprised.</p>
<p>“Why, how come that?” Mrs. Heger inquired.
“You didn’t say as how you’d seen Meg, all the
time I was talkin’ about her.”</p>
<p>Dan might have replied that he had not had an
opportunity to say much of anything. But to an
interested audience he related the recent occurrence.</p>
<p>“Pshaw, that’s queer now!” Pa Heger scratched
his gray head back of one ear, which Dan was to
learn was a habit with him when he was puzzled.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div>
<p>“You say the mountain lion was crouched to
spring at you? Then it must o’ been that she had
some young near. They’re cowards when it comes
to humans, them lions are. They kill sheep an’
calves an’ deer, an’ all the little wild critters, but
they don’t often attack a man. They’ll trail ’em
for hours, curious, sort of, I reckon, keepin’ out of
sight. Makes you feel mighty uncomfortable to
know one of them big critters is prowlin’ arter you,
whatever his intentions may be. But that ’un, now,
you was mentionin’, I’ll walk back wi’ you, when you
go, an’ take a look at it. Thar’s a bounty paid for
’em by the ranchers. An’ if young air near by,
there’ll be no time better for puttin’ an end to ’em.”</p>
<p>Ma Heger glanced often toward the wooded
mountain beyond Meg’s “Bot’ny Gardens.” Then
to her husband she said: “I reckon Meg knows
thar’s company, an’ that’s why she’s stayin’ so long.
She said to me, ‘Ma, I ain’t agoin’ to school today,’
says she. ‘I reckon I’ll get some more specimens.’“</p>
<p>At that the man looked up quickly, evident alarm
in his clear blue eyes.</p>
<p>“Did she say anything about havin’ seen that
skulkin’ Ute? Has he been pesterin’ her? The day
arter she’s given him money, she don’ dare go to
school, fearin’ he’ll be rarin’ drunk wi’ fire-water
an’ waylay her. If ever I come up wi’ that coyote,
I’ll—I’ll——”</p>
<p>The wife tried to quiet the increasing anger of her
spouse.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div>
<p>“Pa Heger,” she said, “you’re alarmin’ yerself
needless. That Ute knows the sheriff gave you
power to jail him, an’ he’s mos’ likely gone to whar
his tribe is.”</p>
<p>Dan stood silently, wondering what he ought to
say. He knew that Meg had given the old Indian
money, and he realized that was why she had been
at home to save his life.</p>
<p>“I shall be glad to have you walk back with me,
Mr. Heger,” he said.</p>
<p>Dan wanted to be alone with the mountaineer.
When they had started down the mountain road, the
man at Dan’s side was silent, a frown gathering on
his leathery forehead. Suddenly he blurted out:
“This here business has got to stop. That slinkin’
ol’ Ute’s got to prove that my Meg is his gal. In
the courts, he’s got to prove it, or I’ll have him
strung up. Jail’s too good for him. Pesterin’ a
little gal to get her to give up her savin’s that she’s
been puttin’ by this five year past, meanin’ to go to
school in the big city and larn to be a teacher.
That’s what Meg’s figgerin’ on, and that skulkin’
Ute drainin’ it away from her little by little. I made
her pack a gun, an’ tol’ her to shoot him on sight,
but I reckon she ain’t got the heart to take a life,
though I’d sooner trap him than I would a—well, a
coyote that he’s named arter.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div>
<p>Dan could be quiet no longer. “Mr. Heger,” he
said, “it was about that very Indian that I came up
here to talk to you this morning. I saw him in hiding
near our cabin. Yesterday afternoon he frightened
the children, although he did not come out into
the open; then about two hours later we saw him
hiding behind boulders on the road below us. He
waylaid your daughter, just as you fear. Also she
gave him money.” While the boy had been talking,
the man’s great knotted hands had closed and unclosed
and cords swelled out on his reddening face.
“I knew it,” he cried. “Dan Abbott, I want you to
help me catch that Ute. Meg won’t. She ain’t sure
but what he is her pa, an’ it’s agin nature to ask her
to harm him. I won’t let on that you tol’ me, but,
Dan, we’ve got to trap him. You needn’t be afraid
of him. He won’t harm you or your family. He’s
too cowardly for that. What’s more, he’s paralyzed
in one arm; it’s all shriveled up so he can’t hold a
gun.”</p>
<p>Dan felt greatly relieved upon hearing this, and
wishing to change the conversation to something
pleasanter, he inquired how soon Meg expected to
be able to go away to school. But the subject evidently
was not pleasant to the old man. “Next
fall’s the time, an’ me and ma can’t bring ourselves
to think on it. Snowed in all winter without Meg’s
’bout as pleasin’ as bein’ shet in a tomb.” The
anger had all died out of the leathery, wrinkled face
and in the blue eyes there shone that wonderful
love-light that is the most beautiful thing the world
holds. “Queer, now, ain’t it, how a slip of a baby
girl could fill up two lives the way Meg did our’n
from the start. An’ she cares for us jest as much
as we for her, I reckon. ’Pears like she does.” The
old man’s voice had become tender as he spoke.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div>
<p>“I’m sure of it,” Dan said heartily. Then, after
a pause, Pa Heger continued slowly: “That gal
of our’n has the queerest notions. One’s the way
she takes to flowers.” Then, looking up inquiringly,
“Did Ma tell you how she earned the money
she’s savin’ for her iddication?” Dan shook his
head, and so the old man continued: “Teacher Bellows
’twas got her started on it. He’s what folks
call a naturalist, an’ when he used to stay up to our
cabin for weeks at a time an’ he’d take Meg wi’
him specimen huntin’. Seems like thar’s museum
places all over this here country that wants specimens
of flowers growin’ high up in the Rockies.
So Teacher Bellows and Meg would hunt for days,
startin’ early every mornin’ and late back in the
arternoon, till they had a set of specimens. They’d
press ’em till they was dry as paper, then mount ’em,
as they call it, an’ send ’em off to a museum, and
along come a check. Arter Teacher Bellows went
back to his school, Meg kept right on doin’ it by
herself, him helpin’ now an’ then, an’ she’s saved
nigh enough for the two years’ schoolin’ she’ll need
to be a low grade schoolmarm. She’s got another
queer notion, Meg has. I wonder if Ma tol’
you about that?” The old man looked up inquiringly,
and Dan, finding himself very much interested
in the notions of this girl whom he did not
know, said that he would very much like to hear
about it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div>
<p>The old man removed his fur cap and scratched
his gray head again. His voice grew even more
tender. “You know what it says in that good book
Preacher Bellows is allays readin’ out of, how a
little child shall lead. Wall, that’s sartin what Meg’s
done for me and Ma Heger. When she was about
six year old, or maybe, now, she was seven, it was
curious how friendly even the skeeriest little wild
critters was toward her. She could feed ’em out of
her hand, arter a little coaxin’, an’ how she loved
’em! You see, they was all the playmates she’s ever
had. Then ’twas she started her horspital for hurt
critters, an’ she’s kept it goin’ ever sence. Got one
now, but, plague it, I can’t remember what kind of
patients she’s got into it. She won’t keep nothin’
captive arter they’re well enough to fight for themselves
out in the forest. Wall, as I was sayin’ back
a piece, Meg was about seven as I recollect, when
she sort of sudden like seemed to realize how ’twas
I made my livin’, trappin’ wild animals and sellin’
their skins at the tradin’ post.</p>
<p>“But even then, she didn’t fully sense what it
meant, seemed like, till the day we couldn’t find her
nowhar. She’d never gone far into the mountains
afore that, but when she didn’t come home at noonday,
Ma asked me to go an’ hunt for her. It was
late arternoon afore I come upon her, an’ I’ll never
forget that sight as long as I’m livin’.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div>
<p>“My habit was to set them powerful steel traps
to catch mountain lions and the fur animals I wanted
for pelts. Then, every few days, I’d go the
round and shoot the critters that had been caught in
’em. Wall, as I was goin’ toward whar one of them
big traps was. I heard sech a pitiful cryin’. Good
God, but I was wild wi’ fear, an’ I ran like wolves
was arter me. I’d a notion our baby gal was catched
in it. An’ thar she was, sure enough, but not hurt.
Instead she was down on the ground wi’ her arms
around a little black bear cub that had been catched
hours before and was all torn and bleedin’.</p>
<p>“The fight was gone out o’ him, but he wa’n’t
dead yet. It was our little Meg who was doin’ the
cryin’. Clingin’ to the little fellow, not heedin’ the
blood, her sobbin’ was pitiful to hear. I picked her
up, an’ I ain’t ’shamed to be tellin’ you that I was
cryin’ myself along about that time.</p>
<p>“‘Take him out, Pa,’ my little gal was beggin’.
‘Maybe he’ll get well, Pa.’</p>
<p>“So I opened the great steel jaws of that trap and
took out the little cub bear. He was too small to be
worth anything for a pelt, an’ we fetched him home,
but he died soon arter, and Meg, she had me bury
him. But she couldn’t get over what she had seen.
She had a ragin’ fever for days. I sot up every
night holdin’ her little quiverin’ body close in my
arms, an’ prayin’ God if he’d let my little gal live,
I’d never set another of them cruel steel traps to
catch any of His critters as long as I’d breath in
my body.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div>
<p>“Wall, boy, sort of a miracle took place. That
little gal of mine had fallen asleep while I sat holdin’
her, but jest as I made that promise, silent to God,
she lifted up her little hand and put it soft like on
my face, an’ says, still asleep, seemed like—‘I love
you, Pa Heger.’ An’ when she woke up next mornin’,
the fever was gone, and she was well as ever.</p>
<p>“I kept my promise,” he went on grimly. “I went
all over the mountain an’ I took them steel traps,
one by one, unsprung ’em and dropped ’em down
into that crack some earthquake had split into Bald
Peak. It’s bottomless, seems like, an’ what goes
into that crack never does no more harm. Now,
when I kill a critter that needs killin’, I shoot an’
they never know what hits ’em. Meg is a sure-shot,
too, though she’d never pack a gun if ’twant that I
make her.”</p>
<p>They had reached the spot where the mountain
lion still lay, and the old man stooped to examine it.
“I reckon that was a sure shot, all right.” Then he
shouldered the limp creature. “Thar’s fifty dollars
bounty, so I might as well have it. I’ll hunt for the
cubs tomorrer. So long. Hit the trail up our way
often.”</p>
<p>As Dan walked slowly down the mountain road
toward his home cabin, he found that he was more
interested in this unknown Meg than he had ever
before been in any girl.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div>
<p>Jane’s headache was better when Dan returned,
but her disposition was worse, and poor Julie was
about ready to cry. She had been spoken to so
sharply when she had really tried to help. Gerald
was angry and indignant. He had at first urged his
small sister and comrade to pretend that Jane was
being pleasant, but, after a time, even he had decided
that such a feat was too much for anyone to
accomplish. Then he had intentionally slammed a
door and had declared that he hoped it would make
“ol’ Jane’s” head worse.</p>
<p>It was well that Dan returned just when he did.
He entered the cabin living-room calling cheerily,
“Good, Jane, I’m glad to see you are up.” Then he
looked from one to the other. Julie, tearful, rebellious,
stood near the kitchen door, and Gerald, with
clenched fists, had evidently been saying something
of a defiant nature. “Why, what’s the matter?
What has gone wrong?”</p>
<p>Dan was indeed dismayed at the picture before
him. Jane, who had seated herself in the one comfortable
chair in the room, said peevishly: “Everything
is the matter. Dan, you can see for yourself
what a mistake I made in coming to this terrible
place, and trying to live with these two children
who have had no training whatever. They are defiant
and rebellious.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div>
<p>Even as Jane spoke, a memoried picture presented
itself of Julie’s sweet solicitude for her earlier that
morning, but she would not heed, so she hurried on:
“I have been lying in there with this frightful headache
thinking it all out, and I have decided that
either the children must go back or I will.” A hard
look, unusual in Dan’s face, appeared there and his
voice sounded cold. “Very well, Jane, I will help
you pack. The stage passes soon. If we hurry, we
may be ready.” The children could hardly keep
from shouting for joy. Something which Julie
was cooking, boiled over and so she darted to the
kitchen, followed by Gerald, who stood upon his
head in the middle of the floor. But they had rejoiced
too soon, for Gerry, who a moment later
went to the brook for water, returned with the disheartening
news that the stage was passing down
their part of the road. Julie plumped down on the
floor and her mouth quivered, but before she could
cry, Gerald caught her hands, pulled her up and
said comfortingly: “Never mind, Jule. The stage
will be going past again on Monday. Me and you’ll
stay on the watch and tell Mister Sourface to stop
for Jane when he goes back to Redfords on Tuesday.
That is not so awful long. Oh, boy, then
won’t we have the time of our lives?”</p>
<p>Julie agreed that they would indeed and decided
to be very patient during the remaining two days.
So she went back to her cooking and, with Gerald’s
help, soon had the lunch spread.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div>
<p>Jane ate but little, and again shut herself up in
her room for all that afternoon. Dan was almost
as glad as were the children that she was to go back
to the East, but Jane, strangely enough, was deeply
hurt because her brother, who had been her playmate
when they were little, and her pal in later
years, had actually chosen the younger children in
preference to herself. That proved how much he
really cared for <i>her</i> and, as for his health, he
seemed to be recovering remarkably. He had
coughed a while the evening before, and for a shorter
time that morning.</p>
<p>Then he had evidently been on a long hike. Of
all that had happened Dan had said nothing, knowing
that Jane would not wish to hear about the
mountain girl, toward whom she felt so unkindly.</p>
<p>That afternoon Dan gave the children another
lesson at shooting cones from an old pine, far enough
from the cabin to keep from disturbing Jane. Julie
grew braver as she watched Gerald’s success, and
at last she too tried, and when, after many failures,
she sent a brown cone spinning, she leaped about
wild with joy.</p>
<p>“Now we are both sharpshooters,” Gerald cried
generously. Then, glancing over at the cabin, he
added: “There’s Jane sitting out on the porch. She
does look sort of sick, doesn’t she?”</p>
<p>Dan’s heart was touched when he saw the forlorn
attitude of the sister he so loved. “You youngsters
amuse yourselves for a while,” he suggested, “I
want to have a quiet talk with Jane.” Dan neglected
to tell the children not to wander away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div>
<h2 id="c17"><br/>CHAPTER XVII. <br/>QUEER KITTENS</h2>
<p>Left alone, Julie and Gerald scrambled to the
road and looked both up and down. “Which way
will we go?” Julie inquired.</p>
<p>“We’ve been down—or, I mean, we’ve been up
the down road.” Then the boy laughed. “Aw,
gee! You know what I mean. We came up the
road yesterday in the stage; so now, let’s go on
further up.”</p>
<p>Julie hopped about, clapping her hands gleefully.
“Ohee, I know what! Let’s see if we can find that
cabin the innkeeper lady said was about a mile up
the mountain road from our place. Wouldn’t that
be fun? And maybe that nice girl will be at home
from school, and, if she is, I just know she’ll let me
ride her pony.”</p>
<p>Gerald, nothing loath, fell into step by his sister’s
side, the gun over his shoulder. After the fashion
of small brothers, he could not resist teasing. “I
bet you couldn’t stay on that pony, however hard
you tried. It’s a wild Western broncho sort, like
those we saw at Madison Square Garden that time
Dad took us to Buffalo Bill’s big circus.” Then, in
a manner which seemed to imply that he did not
wish to boast, he added: “I sort of think I could
ride it easy. Boys get the knack, seems like, without
half trying.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div>
<p>They had rounded the bend and were nearing the
very spot where the mountain girl had shot the lion,
when Julie clutched her brother’s arm and drew him
back, whispering excitedly: “Gerry! Hark!
What’s that noise I hear?”</p>
<p>The boy listened and then crept cautiously toward
the bushes. He also heard queer little crying sounds
that were almost plaintive. “Huh!” he said boldly.
“’Tisn’t anything that would hurt us. Sounds to
me like kittens crying for their mother.”</p>
<p>A joyful shout from the girl, closely following
him, turned into “Gerry! That’s just what they
are! Great big kittens! See how comically they
sprawl? They haven’t learned to walk yet. Their
little legs aren’t strong enough to stand on. See, I
can pick one right up. He doesn’t seem to mind a
bit.” The small girl suited the action to the word,
and it was well for her that the mother lion had
been killed, or Julie would soon have been badly
torn, despite the fact that her brother still carried
his small gun.</p>
<p>The boy had lifted the other weak creature, which
had not been alive many days, and, with much curious
questioning as to what kind of “pussy cats”
they might be, they continued their walk and soon
reached the cabin.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div>
<p>Meg Heger, who had remained long in the forest
that day, having sought a rare lichen high on the
mountain, was just descending from the trail that
led into her “botany gardens” when she saw the two
children entering the front yard of her home cabin.
Unbuckling the basket which she carried much as
an Indian squaw carries a pappoose, the girl leaped
down the rocks and exclaimed: “Oh, children,
where did you find those darling little mountain lion
babies?”</p>
<p>Luckily she took the one Julie was holding in her
own arms as she spoke, for if she had not, that particular
“baby” would have had a hard fall, for when
the small girl from the East heard that she was actually
holding a mountain lion, she uttered a little
frightened scream and let go her hold. But Gerald,
being a boy, realized that even a future fierce wild
animal was harmless when its legs were too weak
for it to stand on, and so he continued to hold his
pet, even venturing to admire it.</p>
<p>“It’s a little beauty, ain’t—I mean, isn’t it?” He
glanced quickly at Julie, but the slip had evidently
not been observed, for she was intently watching
the mountain girl, who was caressing the little creature
she held as though she loved it, as she did
everything that lived in all the wilderness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div>
<p>But as Meg Heger held that helpless, hungry baby
her heart was sad, for well she knew that it was
unprotected and perhaps starving because she had
shot and killed its mother. Of course she had to
kill the lion to save the life of the lad who had gone
too close to the place where the mother had her
young; but, nevertheless, she felt that, in a way,
her act had made her responsible for these helpless
little wild creatures, since they had been brought
to her.</p>
<p>Brightly she turned to the children. “Don’t you
want to come with me to the hospital?” she invited.
“We’ll give them some supper.”</p>
<p>She did not ask who the children were, nor from
whence they had come. Perhaps she remembered
having seen them the day before on the stage; or
Sourface Wallace may have told her.</p>
<p>Julie and Gerald followed, wondering what the
“hospital” might be.</p>
<p>Back of the cabin, on a rocky ledge, the children
saw a queer assortment of wooden boxes, small
cages and little runways. “This is the hospital.”
Meg flashed a merry smile at them over her shoulder.
“There aren’t many patients just now. Most
of them have been cured. Here’s one little darling,
and I’m afraid he never will be well. Some prowling
creature caught him and had succeeded in breaking
a wing when it heard me coming. Why it
dropped its prey when it ran, I don’t know, but I
brought the little fellow home and Pap helped me
set its wing. It’s ever so much better, but even yet
can’t fly, but it can scuttle along the ground just
ever so fast.”</p>
<p>Gerald was much interested.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div>
<p>“What kind of a bird is it, Miss Heger?” he began,
very politely, when the girl’s musical laughter
rippled out. “Don’t call me that!” she pleaded.
“It makes me feel as old as the thousand-year pine
Teacher Bellows told our class about. It’s a little
quail bird, dearie. You’ll see ever so many of them
in flocks. There are sixty different kinds of cousins
in their family. The Bob Whites with their reddish
brown plumage have a black and white speckled
jacket. They live in the grass rather than in trees
and are good friends of the farmer because they
devour so many of the insects that destroy grain
and fruits. This one is a mountain quail; it is one
of the largest cousins. The one that lives in the
South is called a partridge.”</p>
<p>Gerald listened politely to the life history of the
pretty bird, but his attention had been seized and
held by what Meg had said about the very ancient
pine. “Was there ever a tree that lived a thousand
years?” he asked with eager interest. The girl
nodded. “Indeed, there are many that have lived
much longer, but this pine was blown over, and
Teacher Bellows was allowed to cut it up to read its
life history. He found that it had been in two
forest fires, and about five hundred years ago an
Indian battle had been fought near it, for there were
arrow heads imbedded in the rings that indicated
that year of its life.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div>
<p>Then Meg concluded with her bright smile:
“Some day, when Teacher Bellows is up here, I’ll
have him tell you the names and probable ages of
all our neighbor trees! It’s a fascinating study.”</p>
<p>Julie was not much interested in the length of a
tree’s life and so she began eagerly: “Miss—I
mean—do you want us to call you Meg?” she interrupted
herself to inquire.</p>
<p>The older girl nodded. Every move she made
seemed to express bubbling-over enthusiasm and interest.
“Haven’t you any more patients?”</p>
<p>Gerry was peering into empty boxes in which
there were soft, leaf-like beds.</p>
<p>“Only just Mickey Mouse. He’s a little cripple!
His left foot was cut off in a trap, but he gets
around nicely on one stump. That’s his hole over
there. I put grain and bits of cheese in front of it.
Keep ever so still and I’ll put a kernel of corn right
by his door. Then perhaps you’ll see his bright
eyes.” And that is just what happened. As soon
as the corn kernel rolled in front of the hole, out
darted a sharp brown nose with twitching whiskers
and two beady black eyes appeared just long enough
for their owner to drag his supper into the safe
darkness of his particular box.</p>
<p>Meg laughed happily. “He’s the cunningest,
Mickey is! I sometimes take him with me in my
pocket. He likes to ride there, or so it seems. At
any rate he is just as good as he can be. Often he
goes to sleep, but at other times, he stands right up
and looks out of the pocket, just as though he were
enjoying the scenery.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div>
<p>At that moment a sharp, almost impatient cry
from the small creature she held recalled to the head
doctor of the hospital the fact that she had started
out to feed the baby lions. She brought milk from
a cave-like room, only the front wall of which was
wood, the rest being in the mountain. “That’s our
cooler,” she told Gerald, whom she could easily observe
was interested in all the strange things he
saw. Dipping one corner of her handkerchief into
the milk, she put it in the mouth of her tiny lion and
the children were delighted to see how readily and
joyfully the creature seemed to feast upon it. Having
gathered courage, Julie wished to feed the other
baby lion and then Meg suggested that they be put
in a soft lined box on the rocks near, since they were
used to being high up. The baby lions, being no
longer hungry, cuddled down and went to sleep.
Gerald’s conscience was troubling him. “We’ll
have to be going,” he said. “Nobody knows where
we are.” Then he hesitated. He knew that it would
be polite to ask the mountain girl to call upon them,
but he was afraid that Jane would not treat her
kindly, so, in his embarrassment, he caught Julie
by the hand and fairly dragged her away as he
called, “Goodbye, Meg, I’m coming up often.”
When they were on the down-road, the boy cautioned
Julie to say nothing whatever of their adventure
to their sister, but just to Dan.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div>
<h2 id="c18"><br/>CHAPTER XVIII. <br/>A YOUNG OVERSEER</h2>
<p>Sunday dawned gloriously, and Dan declared
that he felt better than he had supposed that he ever
would again. Jane, too, though she did not voice
it, was conscious of feeling more invigorated than
she had been in the East, and yet, of course, she was
very glad that she was going back again on the following
Tuesday. She would go directly to Newport
to visit Merry Starr, as had been their original
plan. Her conscience would not trouble her, since
it was Dan’s wish that she be the one to leave.</p>
<p>The two children, on the evening before, had
failed to confide that they had visited the cabin up
the mountain road. They were wild to tell Dan, but
they wished to get him off by himself before they
did so. They dragged him out into the kitchen after
the Sunday morning work was done and asked him
if he would go with them for a hike up along the
brook to a natural bridge that they could see from
their door-yard.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div>
<p>The older lad hesitated. “I’ll ask Jane if she
would like to go,” he began, but the immediate disappointment
expressed by the two freckled faces
made him turn back to add, “Or, rather, I’ll ask
Jane if she minds our going, just for a little while.”
This suggestion was far more pleasing to the
children.</p>
<p>They all entered the living-room where Jane sat
reading. “My goodness, don’t go far,” she said
petulantly. “Don’t you remember that the terrible
overseer from the Packard ranch is coming to take
dinner with you today? I intend to shut myself in
my room and stay there until he is gone.”</p>
<p>“Hm!” Dan snapped his fingers as he ejaculated.
“Queer I’d forget that visit, since I have
been looking forward to it so eagerly.” Then he
queried: “Why do you say that he is terrible,
Jane? A foreman on a vast cattle ranch is not
necessarily an uncouth specimen of humanity.”</p>
<p>The girl flung herself impatiently in the chair as
she emphatically replied: “Of course he’ll be terrible!
A big, rawboned creature who will speak
with a dreadful dialect, or whatever you call it; and
he will be so embarrassed at meeting people from
the city, that he will stutter more than likely.”</p>
<p>Dan laughed at the description. “Maybe you are
right, sister of mine, but we’ll be home to prepare
the meal for our guest, long before the hour he is
to arrive. Goodbye! Fire off the gun if you are
frightened at anything.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div>
<p>The girl merely shrugged her shoulders, and when
they were gone she decided, since it really was very
lovely out-of-doors, to take her book to the porch,
and so she dragged thither the comfortable chair
with the leather pillows. She was soon reading the
story, which interested her so greatly that she did
not notice the passing of time until she heard a step
near by. Jane supposed that her family was returning,
and did not glance up until she heard a pleasant,
well-modulated voice saying:</p>
<p>“Pardon me if I intrude, but is this the cabin occupied
by the Abbott family?”</p>
<p>Looking up in astonishment, Jane saw before her
a handsome youth whose wide Stetson hat was held
in one hand. He wore a tan-colored shirt of soft
flannel, and his corduroys, of the same shade, were
tucked into high, laced boots. Even before she
spoke, Jane was conscious that the youth with the
clean-shaven face, strong square chin, pleasant
mouth, blue eyes with clear, direct gaze was not in
the least embarrassed by her presence. He was indeed
the kind of a lad she had always met in the
homes of her best friends, the kind that Dan was.
But that of which she was most conscious was the
fact that he was very good looking, and that in his
eyes there was an expression of sincere admiration
for her.</p>
<p>Graciously Jane rose and held out a slim white
hand. “We are the Abbotts,” she began; then,
laughingly confessed that, unfortunately, she was
the only one at home, as the others had gone on a
hike—she really had not inquired where.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div>
<p>The lad did not seem to consider it unfortunate.
“Please be seated again, Miss Abbott, and I’ll occupy
the door-step, if you don’t mind. I’d heaps
rather meet strangers one by one. It’s easier to get
acquainted.”</p>
<p>Then, as he thought of something, he exclaimed:
“I hope I have not come over much earlier than I
was expected. I hiked all the way. I thought it
might be easier to come cross-lots, so to speak, than
to ride horseback to Redfords and then up your
mountain road.”</p>
<p>“Was it?” Jane asked, wishing to appear interested.</p>
<p>“It was great! I adore mountain climbing, don’t
you, Miss Abbott?”</p>
<p>Then, not waiting for her reply, he continued with
boyish enthusiasm: “I tell you, it means a lot to
me to have you Abbotts here. I love the West, but
I’ve missed my friends. We’ll have great times!
How long are you going to stay?”</p>
<p>Jane hesitated. She should have replied that she
was leaving on Tuesday, but now she was not sure
that she wished to go.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
<p>For a merry half hour these two chattered. The
lad seemed to be quite willing to talk of everything
but his home, and Jane was too well bred to ask
questions. Jean told of his college life, and when
she asked if he regretted that his days of study were
over, he laughingly declared that they never would
be. “Mr. Packard is a great student,” he looked up
brightly to say, “and our long winter evenings, that
some chaps might call dull, are the most interesting
I have ever spent. We take one subject after another
and go into it thoroughly. We’re most interested
in experimental inventions and we have rigged
up all sorts of labor saving contrivances over on the
ranch.” Recalling something which for the moment
had been forgotten, Jean exclaimed: “Mr. Packard
wished me to invite you all to visit us as soon
as you are quite settled here.”</p>
<p>Then with that unconscious admiration in his
eyes, he concluded: “For myself I most eagerly
second the invitation.” Jane’s vanity was indeed
gratified. She laughed a happy musical laugh which
sounded natural, although it had really been cultivated.
“I am greatly flattered that you should be
so anxious to entertain the Abbotts,” she told him,
“since I am the only one of us whom you have
met.”</p>
<p>“True!” he confessed, merrily, “but you know
we scientists can visualize an entire family from one
specimen. How could the other three be undesirable
when one is so lovely? Maybe it’s because I am
a blonde that I admire the olive type of beauty.”</p>
<p>Just why she said it Jane could not have told, unless
the memory of what that awful Gabby at the
station had said still rankled. Be that as it may,
almost without her conscious direction she heard
herself saying: “I suppose, then, that you must
be a great admirer of Meg Heger?” There was a
note in the girl’s voice which made the lad look up
a bit puzzled. What he said in reply was both pleasing
and displeasing to his companion. With a ring
of sincerity he assured his listener that there were
few girls finer than Meg Heger.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div>
<p>“I do not know her personally very well,” he told
Jane. “She seems to shun the acquaintance of all
young people. I sometimes think that she may believe
her friendship would not be desired since she
is supposed to be the daughter of that old Ute Indian,
but this is not true. We in the West ask not
the parentage but the sincerity of our friends. It’s
through her foster-father that I know the girl, really.
I often go with him to the timber line and
above it, when I am not needed on the ranch. It’s
a beautiful thing to hear him tell how Meg has enriched
their lives.”</p>
<p>Then, as his direct gaze was again lifted to the
olive-tinted face of the girl near him, he said frankly:
“Many of the cowboys and others of our neighbors
rave about Meg’s beauty. But I do not admire
the Spanish or French type as much as I do our
very own American girl.”</p>
<p>Jean did not say in words which American girl
he thought wonderfully lovely to look upon, but his
eyes were eloquent.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div>
<p>Jane could have sat there basking in the lad’s evident
admiration for hours, but the position of the
sun, high above them, suggested to her that something
must be amiss. “I wonder why Dan and the
children do not return,” she said, rising to look up
the brook trail. Jean leaped to his feet and together
they went around the cabin and scanned the mountain-side
and the lad yodeled, but there was no response.</p>
<p>“Of course, nothing could have happened to them
all,” Jane assured him. “They have gone farther
than they planned, I suppose.” Then, turning with
a helpless little laugh, she said in her most winning
way (and Jane could be quite irresistible when she
wished), “I have a terrible confession to make.
You will have to starve if they do not return, for I
have never learned to cook.”</p>
<p>“Great! I’m glad you haven’t, because that will
give me an opportunity of shining in an art at which
I excel.” The lad seemed brimming over with enthusiasm.
Jane smiled up at him. He stood a head
taller than she, with wide, square shoulders that
looked so strong and capable of carrying whatever
burden might be placed upon them.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</div>
<p>“How did you happen to learn how to cook?”
the girl inquired, and then wondered at the sudden
change of expression in his handsome face. The
joyful enthusiasm of the moment before was gone
and in its place was an expression both tender and
sad. “The last year of my little mother’s life we
two went alone to our cabin on the Maine coast.
Mums wanted to take our Chinaman, but I begged
her to let me have her all alone by myself, and so
under her direction I learned to cook. Miss Abbott,”
the boy turned toward her, seeming to feel
sure of her understanding sympathy, “that was the
happiest summer of my life, but it had the saddest
ending, for, try as I might to keep her, my little
mother faded away and left us.” Then abruptly he
exclaimed, as though he dared not trust himself to
keep on: “Won’t you lead me to the kitchen, and
when the wanderers return we will have a feast
ready for them.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div>
<h2 id="c19"><br/>CHAPTER XIX. <br/>A NEW COOK</h2>
<p>Such a pleasant half hour was spent by these two
who seemed content just to be together, Jane, with a
twinge of regret, realized that the youth was idealizing
her. He constantly attributed to her qualities
that she well knew that she did not possess. He
told her that he could understand why she had not
learned to cook simply because for years she had
been away at a fashionable seminary. “But now is
your golden opportunity, and I am indeed lucky to
be your first teacher.” That he was pleased was
quite evident. “I am sure you agree with me, Miss
Abbott, that cooking is as essential in a young woman’s
education as painting or singing.” Then he
laughed boyishly. “I’m afraid, when I am hungry
that I would far rather have a beautiful girl cook
for me than sing to me. Now, what is the menu
to be?”</p>
<p>Jane looked about the kitchen helplessly. She did
not wish to confess to Jean Sawyer that she had not
before been in there except to pass through it to
their outdoor dining-room.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div>
<p>“Julie and Dan were planning the meal. I really
don’t know.” The situation was relieved by Jean’s
asking: “May I prepare anything I can find?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, do please! It really doesn’t matter
which of our supplies are used first.” The girl was
glad to have the problem thus easily solved. After
a few moments of ransacking, the lad looked up
from a box as he asked: “Miss Jane, will you pare
the potatoes?”</p>
<p>She shrank away before she realized what she was
doing. “Oh, wouldn’t they stain my hands terribly?”
Then, with her most winning smile, she held
them both out to him. “You see, they haven’t a
stain on them yet, and I did hope they never would
have.” The boy made a move as though to take the
hands in his. But he stooped quickly over the box
of potatoes and said earnestly: “Right you are,
Miss Abbott. They are far too lovely to mar.”</p>
<p>Perhaps because of associated ideas it was that
he recalled a poem that went somewhat in this way:
“Beautiful hands are those that do work that is
useful, kind and true.” What he said was: “Suppose
you set the table. I’ll make the fire and have a
pot of goulash in no time. That is my favorite
camp menu, perhaps because it is the simplest.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div>
<p>Everything was in readiness when merry voices
were heard without, and Julie, evidently believing
they were unheard, said in a stage whisper: “Don’t
tell Jane that we’ve been up to see Meg Heger’s
hospital, will you, Dan? She’d be mad as anything.”
The older lad was opening the kitchen door at that
moment, and the two, who had been keeping so still
in the kitchen that the surprise might be complete,
could not but hear. Vaguely Jean Sawyer wondered
why Jane would be “mad” because the rest of
her family had been to call upon a neighbor. Glancing
at her proud, beautiful face, he saw a scornful
curl to the mouth which he had thought so lovely,
and it was not pleasant to behold. But a moment
later he had forgotten it, in the excitement that followed
his discovery. Dan advanced with glowing
eyes and outstretched hand. “Jean Sawyer! How
glad we are to have you with us. These are the
youngsters, Julie and Gerald.” The little girl made
a pretty curtsy and Gerry thrust out a chubby,
freckled hand, smiling his widest as he looked admiringly
at the cowboy’s costume. “Gee!” he confided,
“I’d like awful well to have one of those rigs.
Dan, don’t you s’pose they make ’em small enough
for boys?”</p>
<p>But it was Jean who answered. “They do, indeed,
and what is more, there is one over at the
Packard ranch more typical than mine, which I am
pretty sure will fit you. A grandson of Mr. Packard’s
was with us last summer, but he isn’t coming
this year and he’d be glad to have you wear it.”
Then, smiling at the older girl, he said to Dan:
“Your sister, Miss Jane, has agreed to bring you all
over to our place to spend next Sunday. That is a
week from today.” Julie, upon hearing this, was
about to blurt out her disappointment by saying,
“How can she, if she’s going back East on Tuesday?”
But a cold glance from her sister’s eyes
made the small girl turn away with quivering lips.
After all Jane was going to stay and their summer
would be spoiled. Jean Sawyer had also witnessed
this by-play and he felt a sense of great disappointment.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div>
<p>It was quite evident that Jane Abbott’s beauty was
only skin deep.</p>
<p>When Jean Sawyer took his departure that afternoon,
Dan accompanied him part way “cross-lots,”
as the former lad had called it.</p>
<p>They crossed the brook and after climbing many
a jagged boulder, began the descent on the side of
the mountain nearest the wide valley in which was
located the fertile Packard ranch.</p>
<p>These two lads, so near of an age, found that they
were most congenial. When Dan confessed that his
dearest desire was to become a writer of purpose fiction,
Jean heartily applauded. “Great! I’d give
anything if I had the ability to do something fine for
this old world of ours, but, just at present, I believe
I will continue being Mr. Packard’s foreman. Really,
Dan, reading and studying with that man is as
good as having a post-graduate course at college.”</p>
<p>Then apropos of nothing (or so it seemed), Jean
said: “What a beautiful girl your sister is. What
a pity that she has not had the love and direction of
a mother. I had such a wonderful mother myself,
Dan, I well know what girls and boys have missed
when they lost their mothers while they were very
young.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div>
<p>Dan grew serious at once. Then he confessed:</p>
<p>“Jean, I feel as though I had known you for a long
time, and so I am going to tell you my greatest
problem. My sister Jane is beautiful, and before
she went away to that fashionable Highacres Seminary
she was as sweet and lovable a girl as any you
could find, but for some reason she learned there
much that was not in the curriculum. Pride of family,
snobbishness, and because of our father’s position,
many of her companions were so differential
to her that she has come to expect it from everyone.
How I wish I knew how to save Jane from herself.”</p>
<p>It was just as Jean had feared. He surprised
himself by saying: “If she would chum with Meg
Heger a while, I believe it would help her to overcome
those artificially acquired qualities, for Meg
is sincerely natural. But your sister would have to
make the advances. Meg never will. She keeps
apart by herself, and will probably continue doing
so until it is proven that she is not that Ute Indian’s
daughter. I know that you have met Meg, for I
overheard your little sister saying that you had been
there this morning.”</p>
<p>“Yes, we were. The children pleaded so hard
that I go and see their baby lions.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div>
<p>Then he told the story of the death of the mother
lion to an interested listener. “I wondered why Meg
Heger disappeared directly after having saved my
life. Nor would she come to her home while she
know that I was there. It is too bad that she shuts
herself away from people who would gladly be her
friends.”</p>
<p>Jean nodded. “That is just what she does. Last
year, as I was telling Gerald, Mr. Packard’s daughter,
Mrs. Delbert, and her young son were with us.
When Mrs. Delbert heard the story of Meg’s
devotion to her foster-parents and how she is
trying to become a teacher that she might make
life easier and pleasanter for them, she at once
wished to make Meg’s acquaintance. We hiked up
to the Heger cabin one Saturday morning, and although
Meg willingly showed Mrs. Delbert her botany
gardens, and her hurt animal hospital, she was
so reserved and shut away from us, that we realized
at once that she did not wish our friendship. Mrs.
Delbert invited Meg to spend a day with her at the
ranch, but the girl never came, nor have I seen her
since.”</p>
<p>The other lad understood.</p>
<p>“With me she is also distant and reserved,” he
said, “but when she talks to Julie and Gerald she is
very different.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div>
<p>Then, returning to a remark made earlier, he concluded:
“My sister Jane would be greatly helped if
she could see how much more naturalness is admired
than cultivated poses, but she will never learn
from Meg Heger, whom she considers greatly beneath
her.” Then, stopping, he held out his hand.
“Jean,” he said seriously, “I hope I have not given
you a wrong opinion of my beautiful sister. I honestly
believe that the girl she used to be still lives
beneath all this artificial veneer that she has acquired
at the fashionable seminary and my most earnest
wish is to find a way by which that other girl, who
was my dearly loved sister-pal, can be returned to
me. I would not have spoken of this were it not
that I am as greatly troubled for Jane’s sake as my
own.”</p>
<p>“I am glad you told me, Dan. I, too, have faith
in her. Goodbye till next Sunday.”</p>
<p>Dan walked slowly back to the cabin, pleased, indeed,
with his new friend.</p>
<p>Dan found his sister Jane alone with her book on
the front porch of their cabin. She looked up with a
smile of welcome. “I was agreeably surprised in
our guest,” she began at once, “and so, before you
tease me for having described him as raw-boned and
illiterate, I will make the confession that I never
met a better looking or nicer mannered youth.”</p>
<p>“Tut! Tut!” her brother, sinking to the doorstep
where earlier in the day Jean had sat, merrily
shook a finger at his sister, “That is extreme praise,
and I may take offense, since I consider myself good
looking and nice mannered.”</p>
<p>The girl laughed happily. Her brother reflected
that, not in many a day, had he seen her brow unclouded
with frown or fretfulness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div>
<p>Suddenly he said: “Jane, have you changed your
mind about going East next Tuesday?” He looked
up inquiringly, eagerly.</p>
<p>The girl flushed, then said with an effort at indifference:
“I thought perhaps it is hardly fair to
decide that I do not like the mountain life, after
having been here for such a few days. Shall you
mind if I postpone my departure until a week from
Tuesday?” The lad caught the hand that hung near
him and pressed it with sudden warmth to his cheek.
“Jane,” he said, “I’m desperately lonesome for the
comrade that my sister used to be. Won’t you give
up all thought of going away and try once again to
be that other girl?”</p>
<p>Jane looked puzzled, then she drew her hand
away, saying coldly: “You are evidently not satisfied
with me. I suppose that you also admire a girl
who prefers to pare potatoes and stain her hands,
than you do one who keeps herself attractive.”</p>
<p>Dan was astonished at the outburst, but wisely
made no comment, though his thoughts were busy.
Evidently Jean Sawyer had told his sister that he
admired a girl who could be useful as well as ornamental.
What would the result be, he wondered.
But on the following day Jane permitted the other
three to do all of the work of the cabin while she
idled hours away at letter writing to her many girl
friends in the East; finished her book, and started a
bit of lace making which had been the popular pastime
at the seminary.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div>
<p>At nine o’clock on Monday the stage drew up in
front of their stone stairway and the discordant
sound from a horn seemed to be calling them, and
so Gerald hopped down to receive from Mr. “Sourface”
Wallace a packet of newspapers and letters.
“Oh, thanks a lot, Mr. Wallace!” the boy shouted,
knowing that the stage driver was deaf, and then
up the stairway he scrambled to distribute the mail.
There was a letter for each of the Abbotts from
their father and a tiny note inclosed from grandmother
with good advice for each, not excluding
Jane, whose lips took their favorite scornful curve
when it was read.</p>
<p>But a glance at her other two letters sent her to
her own room, where she could read them undisturbed.
One was from Merry Starr and, instead of
containing enthusiastic descriptions of the gay life
at Newport, which it was her good fortune to be
living, the epistle was crammed full of longing to
see the wonderful West.</p>
<p>“Tastes are surely different!” Jane thought as she
opened the second epistle, which was from Esther
Ballard. In it she read a news item which pleased
her exceedingly. “Jane, old dear”—was the very
informal beginning.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div>
<p>“Put on your remembering cap and you will recall
that you told me, if ever I could find another
string of those semi-precious cardinal gems that you
so greatly admired, to buy them at once, notify you
and you would send me the money. Well, the deed
is done. I have found the necklace, and, honestly,
Jane, it holds all of the glory of the sunset and sunrise
melted into one. They will set off your dark
beauty to perfection. But I’ll have to confess that
I haven’t a penny. Always broke, as you know, and
so, if you want them, you’ll have to mail me twenty-five
perfectly good dollars by return post.</p>
<p>“Yours in great haste,
<span class="jr">E. B.”</span></p>
<p>Jane sat looking thoughtfully out of the window.
In about two weeks she would have a birthday, and
on that occasion her aunt, after whom she was
named, always sent her the amount needed for the
gems, but in a postscript Esther had said that she
had asked to have the chain held one week, feeling
sure that by that time Jane would have sent the
money.</p>
<p>Taking from her purse two bills, she put them in
an envelope addressed to Esther, added a hurried
little letter, stamped it and was just wondering how
she would get it to the post when she saw Meg
Heger coming down the road on her pony. Although
she herself would not ask a favor of the
mountain girl, she called Julie and requested that
she hail Meg and ask her to mail the letter. Not
until it was done did Jane face her conscience. Had
she any right to use the tax money for a necklace?
She shrugged her shoulders. What would two weeks
more or less matter?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div>
<h2 id="c20"><br/>CHAPTER XX. <br/>MEG AS SCHOOL-MISTRESS</h2>
<p>Upon arriving in Redfords, Meg Heger had at
once given the letter which had been marked “Important!
Rush!” to the innkeeper, who was about
to start for the station to meet the eastbound train.
He promised the girl to attend to putting the letter
on the train himself, and thus assured that she had
served her neighbors to the best of her ability, Meg
went across the road to the school, only to find that
her good friend, Teacher Bellows, was not to be
there that day as he had been sent for by a dying
mountaineer in his capacity as preacher, and had
left word that he wished Meg to hear the younger
children recite, and dismiss them at two, which was
an hour earlier than usual.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div>
<p>Nothing pleased the girl more than to have an
opportunity to practice the art of instruction, since
that was to be her chosen life work, and a very
happy morning she had with the dozen and one
pupils, queer little specimens of childhood, although,
indeed, several of them were beyond that, being
long, lanky boys and girls in their teens. They, one
and all, loved Meg devotedly and considered it a
rare treat to have her in charge of the class. This
happened quite often, as, in his double capacity as
preacher as well as teacher, the kindly old man had
various calls upon his time; some of them taking
him so far into the mountains that he was obliged
to be gone for days at a time.</p>
<p>Meg had a charming way, quite her own, of
teaching, with story and word pictures. Even the
master had to concede that she was more fitted by
nature than he was to instruct the child mind. At
two o’clock, when the young teacher dismissed her
class, they flocked about her as she crossed the road
to the inn.</p>
<p>The tallest among her pupils, a rancher’s daughter,
who was indeed as old as Meg, put an arm lovingly
about her as she said, “When yer through
with yer schoolin’, don’t I hope yo’ll come back to
Redfords an’ be our teacher.”</p>
<p>The mountain girl laughed. “Why, Ann Skittle!”
she teased. “You will be married, with a home
of your own, by the time that I am ready to teach.
You are seventeen, now, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>Ann’s sunburned face flushed suddenly and her
unexpected embarrassment caused Meg to believe
that she had guessed more accurately than she had
supposed. “Yeah, I’m seventeen. But I’ll be eighteen
before snowfall, an’ then Hank Griggs an’ me’s
goin’ to be married. He’s pa’s hired man. A new
one from Arizony.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div>
<p>“Then why should you care whether or not I
teach the Redford school?” Meg turned at the lowest
step of the inn porch to inquire. Her dark eyes
seemed always to hold a kindly interest in whatever
they looked upon, were it a hurt little animal or, as
at that moment, a girl who had not been endowed
with much natural intelligence.</p>
<p>Ann Skittle, again visibly embarrassed, stood
looking down, twisting one corner of her apron as
she said in a low voice: “Me an’ Hank is like to
have kiddies an’ I’d be wishin’ you could teach ’em.”</p>
<p>Suddenly Meg leaned over and impulsively kissed
the flushed face of her surprised companion. “Of
course you’ll have little ones, dear,” she said, and in
her voice there was a note of tenderness. “No
greater happiness can come to any girl than just
that; to be a mother and to have a mother.” She
turned away to hide the tears that, mist-like, always
rose to her own eyes when she thought of the mother
whom she never knew. Ann, calling goodbye,
walked away toward the corral back of the school
where her pony had been for hours awaiting her.</p>
<p>When Meg entered the front room of the inn, her
smile was as bright as ever. Mrs. Bently often said
that it didn’t matter how gloomy the day might
be, when Meg appeared with “that lighten’ up”
smile of hers, somehow it seemed as though the
sun had burst through, and even if things had been
going wrong, they began to go right then and there.
“Mrs. Bently,” the girl said, “Pa Heger told me not
to come home today without the County Weekly
News. It’s days overdue.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div>
<p>The comely woman’s face brightened.</p>
<p>“Wall, I’ve found that newspaper at last,” she
announced. “That man of mine didn’t have on his
specks when he was sortin’ the mail, I reckon. Anyhow
he stuck that paper o’ yer pa’s ’way over into
Mr. Peters’ box. ’Twas fetched clear out to his
ranch and fetched back agin.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Meg said brightly, as she took the
paper. “It won’t matter any. I don’t suppose there’s
any startling news in it.”</p>
<p>Half way up the mountain road Meg drew rein
and listened. There was not a breath of wind stirring.
The sun beat down relentlessly and heat
shimmered from the red-gold dust of the road ahead.
The only sounds were the humming, buzzing and
wing-whirring of the multitudinous insects all about
her. Then again she heard the sound which had first
attracted her attention. A pitiful little gasping cry.
Leaping from her pony, she commanded: “Pal,
stand still for a moment. One of our little brothers
is calling for help.”</p>
<p>Although the faint cry had instantly ceased, Meg
remembered the direction from which it had come
and climbed agilely down the rocks to find that one,
having been dislodged, had caught a Douglas squirrel’s
tail and had held it captive so long that the
creature was nearly starved.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div>
<p>“You poor little mite,” Meg said with tender
sympathy as she stooped, and, after removing the
heavy stone, lifted the small creature in her hands.
She held it, unresisting, for a moment against her
cheek, then put it into one of her saddle bags. Peering
in, she said assuringly, “Don’t be frightened.
I’m going to take you to the hospital, but as soon
as you are stronger, you shall have your freedom.”
The bead-like eyes that looked up out of the dark
depths of the bag seemed to be more appreciative
than fearful. There was a quality in Meg’s voice
when she spoke to the sad and wounded that soothed
and comforted even though the words were not understood.
“I’ll take the newspaper out,” she
thought; “then his bed will be more comfortable.”
And, as she did so, she chanced to see a name which
attracted her attention. It was a name which had
come, within the last three days, to mean much of
possible comradeship to her. It was “Daniel Abbott.”
Opening the paper, the girl expected merely
to read an article telling of the arrival of the Abbott
family at their cabin on Redfords Peak, but,
to her dismay, the story that newspaper contained
was of an entirely different nature. It was a list of
the properties in the county that were tax delinquents.
Meg learned from the short paragraph that
the ten acres and “cabin thereon” belonging to one
Daniel Abbott, having been for three weeks advertised
as delinquent, was to be sold for taxes on
August the tenth at five o’clock unless the aforesaid
taxes, amounting to the sum of twenty-five dollars,
should be paid before that hour.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div>
<p>The girl stared at the printed page, unable at first
to comprehend its meaning. Then she glanced at
the sun. It was at least two-thirty. But what could
it mean? Surely the young man with whom she was
talking but yesterday, when the children had brought
him to see the baby lions, surely he had known of
this and had paid the taxes. Refolding the paper,
Meg started leisurely up the mountain road, but
something seemed to be urging her to at least tell
Dan Abbott what she had seen. Perhaps he had not
paid the back taxes, and, if not, she might be instrumental
in saving his cabin home for him, and yet,
even as she thought of it, she was assailed with
doubt. It would be impossible to reach Scarsburg,
the county seat, before five unless one rode at top
speed, and the Abbotts had neither car nor horse.</p>
<p>Meg had reached the stairway hewn in the rocks,
leading to the cabin, which, for so many minutes
had been uppermost in her thoughts, and she drew
rein, yodeling to a tall, graceful girl whom she saw
standing by a pine gazing out over the valley. Jane
Abbott turned and looked down, amazed that the
mountain girl should have the effrontery to yodel to
<i>her</i>. “Just because she mailed a letter for me does
not entitle her to <i>my</i> friendship as an equal!” Abruptly
Jane turned her back and walked away toward
the cabin. Meg’s face flushed and her inclination
was to ride on to her own home, but she recalled
the clinging of little Julie’s arms and the sweet,
yearning expression in the small girl’s face when she
had said, “Meg, I like you. I wish you were my
sister instead of Jane. You’d love me, wouldn’t
you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div>
<p>Leaping from her pony, she bade him wait for
her, and, taking the paper, the girl sprang, nimble
as a mountain goat, up the rocky steps. Jane had
seated herself in the comfortable chair on the porch,
and was reading when she heard hurrying footsteps.
She looked up, an angry color suffusing her cheeks.
This halfbreed was evidently going to force her acquaintance
upon her. Well, she would soon regret
it. But the proud, scornful words were never
spoken.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div>
<h2 id="c21"><br/>CHAPTER XXI. <br/>MEG AS BENEFACTRESS</h2>
<p>Dan and the children had gone on a hike, and
Jane, being quite alone, rose and confronted the
mountain girl with a cold stare that would have
caused Meg at another time to have whirled about
and departed, but for the sake of the other three
she was willing to be treated unkindly.</p>
<p>“Miss Abbott,” she said, holding out the newspaper,
and pretending not to notice the unfriendly
expression, “there is news in here which may be of
great importance to you. May I show it to your
brother?”</p>
<p>Suddenly Jane found herself trembling from some
unnamed fear. Instantly she had thought of the
taxes. Perhaps, without really being conscious of
it, she had read the word somewhere on that outheld
paper.</p>
<p>She sank back into her chair, saying, almost
breathlessly, “Dan isn’t here. What is it, Miss
Heger? Is something wrong?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div>
<p>The mountain girl pointed to the paragraph and
was amazed at the effect the reading of it had upon
the proud girl. There was an expression of terror
in the dark eyes that were lifted.</p>
<p>“Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” she implored
helplessly. “Our father gave us the money.
He told us the taxes must be paid, but I thought another
two weeks would do as well as now. Dan did
not know the need of haste.”</p>
<p>Meg, seeing that the girl, unused to deciding matters
of importance, was more helpless than even
Julie would have been, felt a sudden compassion for
her and so she said: “If you can get the money to
the county seat before five o’clock you will not lose
your property.”</p>
<p>A dull flush suffused the dark face. “I—I haven’t
the money! I—I borrowed it for something I wanted.
It was in that letter that Julie gave you this
morning to mail.”</p>
<p>Then looking up eagerly, hopefully, “Miss Heger,
perhaps you forgot to post it. Oh, how I hope that
you did!”</p>
<p>But the mountain girl shook her head. “I sent it
by Mr. Bently to the eastbound train, which was due
about noon. He said that he himself would put it
in the mail car.”</p>
<p>“Then there is nothing that I can do!” The proud
girl burst into sudden tears. “Father has lost everything
but our home in the East, and now, now I
have been the cause of his losing the cabin he so
loved.” Lifting a tear-stained face to the girl who
was watching her, troubled and thoughtful, she implored:
“Oh, isn’t there something I can do? If
I tell them I will pay it in two weeks, when my
birthday money comes, won’t that do as well as
now?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div>
<p>Meg shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is
final. They notified your father some time ago.”</p>
<p>Jane nodded hopelessly. “Oh, if only brother
were here! But the worry would start him to coughing.”</p>
<p>Again the girl, who scorned tears in others, began
to sob helplessly. How vain and foolish she had
been to want that necklace, hoping that it would
make her appear more beautiful in the eyes of Jean
Sawyer.</p>
<p>Meg stood for one moment deep in thought. Then
she said: “Miss Abbott, find your papers. Have
them ready for me when I return. I’ll try to save
your place.”</p>
<p>With that she turned and ran back to her pony,
leaped upon it and galloped out of sight up around
the bend.</p>
<p>“What does she mean?” Jane sat, almost as one
stunned, for a moment, then as the command of the
mountain girl recalled itself to her, she arose and
went indoors to locate the papers their father had
given Dan.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div>
<p>These being fastened with a rubber band into a
neat packet, she held closely while she ran out to the
brook calling Dan’s name frantically, but there was
no response. Soon she heard the musical yodeling
which had so filled her heart with wrath a short half
hour before. Now it was to her a sound sweeter
than any she had ever heard. It brought a faint
hope that her father’s cabin might yet be saved.
Down the stone steps she went, holding out the
papers. Then and for the first time she thought of
something: “But the money—I haven’t any to give
you.”</p>
<p>Meg’s answer was: “I am loaning you twenty-five
dollars from my savings, but don’t hope too
much. It will be very hard for me to make Scarsburg
by five o’clock, but for Julie’s sake I’ll do my
best.”</p>
<p>“For Julie’s sake!” The words drifted back to
Jane as she stood watching the pony hurtling itself
down the mountain road until the cloud of dust hid
it from view. She, Jane, had never done anything
for Julie’s sake, and why, pray, should this mountain
girl loan her own money to strangers who
might never repay her, and risk her life and that of
her pony, as it was evident she was doing?</p>
<p>Jane looked out into the heat-shimmering valley.
Many times the mountain road reappeared to her as
it zigzagged down to Redfords. Again and again
a rushing cloud of dust assured her that Meg was
still racing with time.</p>
<p>Returning to the porch, Jane sank down in the
deep chair, keenly conscious of her own uselessness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
<p>“Oh, what a vain, worthless creature I am! I
don’t see why Dan cares for me so much; why he
risked his health that I might finish my course in
that seminary where everyone, everything, conspired
to make me more proud and helpless.”</p>
<p>Then before her arose a mental picture. Meg,
clear-eyed, eager to be of service in an hour of need,
and more than that, capable of being, and she, Jane,
had snubbed her, but for Julie’s sake the mountain
girl had persevered in her desire to be neighborly.</p>
<p>Unable to sit still, Jane went again to the brook
to call, but the children, with Dan, had climbed
higher than usual and had found so much to interest
them that they had failed to note the passage of
time.</p>
<p>As there was no answer to her calling, Jane went
back to the house, and, because she had to do something
(she had entirely lost interest in her book),
she wandered out into the kitchen. She saw on
the table a pan of potatoes with the paring knife
near.</p>
<p>Hardly knowing what she was about, Jane took
the pan to the porch, and, seating herself on the
step, she began most awkwardly to pare. She had
heard her grandmother say that the peeling should
be as thin as possible as the goodness was next to
the skin. It took a very long time for Jane to pare
the half dozen potatoes and she had almost resolved
not to tell Dan about the taxes until she knew the
worst or the best, when she heard him hallooing
from the brook. Placing the pan on the step, she
ran to meet him. One glance at her white, startled
face assured him more than words could have done
that something of an unusual nature had occurred
during their absence. Catching her in his arms, he
felt her body tremble. He led her back to the porch
before he asked, “Jane, tell me. What has happened?
Has that Slinking Coyote frightened you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div>
<p>Julie and Gerald, wide-eyed and wondering,
crowded near. “Dan,” Jane clung to him as she
had not since the long ago childhood, when she had
so often been frightened and had turned to him for
protection, “please send the children away. I want
to tell you alone.”</p>
<p>Gerald needed no second bidding. “Come on,
Julie,” he called. “Let’s go and practice on our pine
tree rifle range.” He was carrying the small gun,
and so away they raced. Although they were almost
overcome with natural curiosity, they neither
of them desired to stay where they were not wanted.</p>
<p>When they were gone, Jane leaned against her
brother and told the story between sobs that were
almost hysterical. “Oh, brother, brother! If only
this cabin is saved for Dad, I will never, never again
be so vain and selfish. Oh, Dan, tell me, say that
you think Meg will reach the county seat before
five.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div>
<p>The lad found that his heart was filled with conflicting
emotions. The scorn his sister’s pride and
selfishness would have aroused in him at another
time was crowded out by pity for her. She had
suffered enough without his rebuke. Then there
was the dread that the cabin might not be saved, for
well he knew the sorrow its loss would bring to his
father, but, above all, there was something in his
heart he had never felt before, a warm glow of
admiration for a girl who was not his sister. What
he said was, “Jane, dear, quiet yourself. We can
do nothing but wait.”</p>
<p>And a long, long wait they were destined to have.
The hands of the clock moved slowly to four, then
five and then six. Jane’s poor efforts at paring the
potatoes received much comment from the children
alone in the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Gee,” Gerald confided to his small sister, “something
must have happened if it upset Jane so she
didn’t know what she was doing. She surely didn’t,
or she wouldn’t have tried to pare potatoes and
stain those lily hands of hers.”</p>
<p>Try as the small boy might, he could not keep the
scorn out of his voice. But Julie was more forgiving.
“Gerry, don’t be too hard on Jane. She acts
awfully worried about something. I don’t believe
she saw a bear or anything that scared her. I think
it’s something in her heart that’s troubling her. I
think she’s sorry about something she’s done.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div>
<p>“Well, she sure ought to be.” The boy was less
sympathetic. “She’s been dirt mean to us ever since
she’s been home from that hifalutin’ seminary, and
what’s more, she’s none too good to Dan. I’d hate
her, that’s what, if she wasn’t my sister, and if she
didn’t look just like our mother. But even for all
of that, I’m going to let myself hate her hard if she
isn’t better to you, Jule. The way she lets you do
the work, and she setting around reading novels to
keep her hands white so’s folks will admire them!
Aren’t you the same family as she is, and shouldn’t
your hands be kept just as white? Tell me that
now!”</p>
<p>The boy, who was holding the bread knife,
whirled with such an indignant expression on his
freckled face that Julie laughed merrily, which broke
the spell.</p>
<p>“Oh, Gerry, you do look so funny! If I had
time, I’d find some riggins to make you into a pirate.
It could be done easy, ’cause your face looks just
like their pictures and that knife would do for a
dagger.”</p>
<p>Meanwhile, on the front porch, the two who had
long watched and waited, were getting momentarily
more anxious, and often Dan walked to the top of
the steep stairway, down which he gazed at the zig-zagging
mountain road. At last he saw a pony
climbing, oh, so slowly, as though it could hardly
take another step; and at its side there walked a
girl. Dan leaped back to the porch and snatched
up his hat. “Jane,” he said, “you and the children
have your supper. I’m going up to the Heger cabin
and get one of their horses. Meg’s pony is worn
out, and I’m not going to have that brave girl walk
all the way up the mountain, just to serve us.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div>
<p>Jane did not try to detain him, and the lad fairly
leaped up the road to the Heger cabin. He found
the trapper, who had just returned from a ride over
the other side of the mountain. “Take this hoss,”
he said, when he had heard the story which fairly
tumbled from Dan’s mouth. “Ol’ Bag-o’-Bones
ain’t a bit tired, and he’s the best hoss I have on the
place.”</p>
<p>Then the man held out a strong hand as he said:
“Dan, boy, I hope my gal made it! She would if
anyone could.”</p>
<p>Dan silently returned the clasp, then he mounted
the horse, that was not at all what its name might
suggest, but lean and wiry, as were all of the mustangs
of the West, with hard muscles and a loping
step that carried it down the road, sure-footed and
with great rapidity. Jane heard the halloo when he
passed, but she did not stir. She felt that she never
could move again until she had learned the news
that Meg would have for them.</p>
<p>And Meg, far down the mountain, looked up and
saw Bag-o’-Bones, her foster-father’s favorite horse,
descending with speed, and, believing it to be ridden
by Mr. Heger, she wondered why, at that hour, he
was in such haste. But at a lower turn of the road,
she saw that the figure on the horse was that of the
lad from the East, who as yet did not know how to
ride as they did in the West.</p>
<p>Then she knew why he was coming, and for the
first time in her lonely, isolated life, there was a
sudden warmth in her heart. She had a real friend,
she knew that instinctively, and his name was Dan
Abbott.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div>
<h2 id="c22"><br/>CHAPTER XXII. <br/>MEG’S CONFIDENCE</h2>
<p>As soon as Dan was near enough to see Meg’s
face, he knew that all was well. Leaping from the
back of the dusty gray horse, he went forward with
both hands outheld. “Miss Heger,” he cried, and
his voice was tense with emotion, “how can I, how
are we ever going to thank you for what you have
done for us today?”</p>
<p>The girl’s radiant smile flashed up at him. “Be
my friend,” she said simply, and, as the lad stood
there looking deep into those wonderful dark eyes,
he seemed to feel that no greater privilege could be
accorded him than to be permitted to be the friend
of this courageous, rarely beautiful mountain girl.</p>
<p>But she did not give him the opportunity to voice
his feeling, for at once she said in a matter-of-fact
tone: “Wasn’t I lucky to reach the county court-house
at five minutes to five? Pal and I have been
congratulating each other all the way home.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div>
<p>“Poor Pal!” Dan stroked the drooping head of
the faithful little animal which had raced down the
rough mountain road as he had never raced before.
Then, quite irrelevantly, the youth asked: “Would
you mind if I call you Margaret? It fits you better
than Meg.” Instantly Dan was sorry he had made
the request, for he saw the sudden clouding of the
girl’s brow. The joyousness of the moment before
was gone and when she spoke there was a note of
sorrow in her voice. “Mr. Abbott,” she began with
sweet seriousness, “I forgot when I said that your
friendship would be the reward I would ask, yours
and Julie’s and Gerald’s—I forgot who I am, or
rather that I do not know who my parents were.
My real name is not Meg. Mammy Heger called
me that after a little sister of hers who had died
when a baby. Mammy loved that other Meg and so
it meant a great deal to her to call me by that name.”
Then, sighing wistfully: “I wish I knew my real
name,” she concluded.</p>
<p>Dan took her hand in a firm, friendly clasp as he
said earnestly: “Meg Heger, I don’t care what
your name is, I don’t care who your parents were.
I care only to be your friend, your very best. Of
course I would not wish to call you Margaret since
it would be displeasing to you.”</p>
<p>The girl withdrew her hand, replying: “Call me
Meg. I’m used to that and hearing it won’t make
me think. Oh, I’ve thought about it all so long and
so much!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
<p>Then as they started walking side by side, leading
their horses, the girl confided: “Next month,
when I am eighteen, Teacher Bellows, Pa Heger and
I are going to start on a long, hard trip. We’re going
to find, if we can, the tribe that was living in the
deserted mining town on Crazy Creek the year that
I was brought to the Heger cabin.” How her dark
face brightened, and Dan realized that he had never
dreamed that anyone could be so beautiful. “If we
find them, then I shall know,” she concluded. For
a few moments they walked on in silence. “If they
tell me I am the daughter of——” The girl hesitated
as though dreading to utter the name of Slinking
Coyote, then began again, “If I am a member
of their tribe, I shall live near them and help them.
I shall be a teacher to their children. It will be my
duty. But if, as Pa Heger and Teacher Bellows
think, my parents were of a foreign race, my future
will be different.”</p>
<p>Dan, knowing how deeply humiliating the conversation
must be for the girl and wishing to change
the subject, exclaimed: “How stupid of me! I
brought Bag-o’-Bones down for you to ride. You
must be very tired after your wild race to Scarsburg.”</p>
<p>The girl smiled gratefully. “I believe I am very,
very tired,” she confessed, “which happens but seldom.
I had thought that I was tireless.”</p>
<p>They soon reached the road in front of the Abbotts’
cabin and Meg bade Dan take from the pony’s
saddle bags the papers and receipts. Although he
pleaded to be permitted to accompany her to her
home, she shook her head. “You haven’t had your
supper and it is very late.” Then impulsively she
reached down her brown hand as she said with an
almost tremulous smile: “Good-night, my friend.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div>
<p>It was early dusk when Jane, still sitting on the
porch of their cabin intently listening, heard voices
and the clattering of slow-moving horses along the
mountain road below the bend. She leaped to her
feet, her breath came with nervous quickness, she
pressed her hand to her heart. Oh, what if Meg
had been too late. Before she could decide what she
ought to do, she heard Dan’s voice calling to the
mountain girl, who was evidently not stopping.
Jane ran to the top of the stone stairway. How ungrateful
it must have seemed for her not to have
been there to thank Meg for the effort she had made,
whether or not it was successful. But Dan was
leaping up the steps, two at a time, his face radiant.</p>
<p>Jane thought that all of his joyousness was
caused by the message he was shouting to her:
“Sister, that wonderful girl reached there on time!
Our cabin is saved for us! How can we ever thank
her?”</p>
<p>Jane, who had never been so upset by anything
before in her protected life, clung to her brother
almost hysterically. “Oh, Dan, Dan, I am so thankful!
Do you think Meg Heger will ever forgive
me? I was so rude to her when she first came.”</p>
<p>The lad was serious at once. “I do not know that
she will,” he replied as he recalled that the mountain
girl had said the reward she requested was the
friendship of all the Abbotts except Jane.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
<p>It was hard not to rebuke his sister for her foolish
pride, but she was trembling as she clung to him,
and so he encircled her with his arm as he said
hopefully: “Meg is too fine a girl to hold a grudge
when she finds out that your heart has changed.”</p>
<p>Jane said nothing, but she suddenly wondered if,
in reality, her heart had changed. Now that the
taxes were paid and the hours of anxiety were over,
she was not sure that she cared to begin an intimate
friendship with a “halfbreed,” merely to show her
gratitude, but even as she was conscious of this
shrinking, the voice of her soul told her that she was
despicable.</p>
<p>The children, who had been on the kitchen porch,
hearing Dan’s voice, rushed out, but Jane delayed
him long enough to whisper: “They know nothing
of what has happened. Please do not tell them.”</p>
<p>Gerald was the first to reach them, and he cried,
rebukingly: “Dan, why did you go horseback riding
without taking me. I saw you go by an hour
ago. I’m just wild to learn to ride that Bag-o’-Bones.
Do you think Mr. Heger will let me?”</p>
<p>Dan realized that the younger members of their
family thought he had merely been for a horseback
ride, and so he made no further explanation, replying
gayly: “Indeed I do! But I think you would
better take your first lesson on the level. Wait until
we go down to the Packard ranch. You remember
that good friend of ours told us that he had forty
horses and many of them were broken to the
saddle.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div>
<p>Julie clapped her hands as she hopped up and down
gleefully. “Me, too!” she cried ungrammatically.
“Mr. Packard said he had a little spotted horse, just
the right size for me. When are we going down
there, Dan?”</p>
<p>The older lad glanced at his sister. “Did you say
that we are to go next Sunday?” The girl nodded,
but the boy looked perplexed. “But how?” he
queried. “If we went to Redfords by the stage,
how are we to get to the Packard ranch? And we
couldn’t possibly return on the same day.”</p>
<p>Jane thought for a moment, then she looked up
brightly. “I recall now. Jean Sawyer said that we
would hear from Mr. Packard during the week.”
Then she smilingly confessed: “I was so pleased
to find the foreman different—I mean—one of our
own class—that——”</p>
<p>Gerald, noting the blushes, pointed a chubby
finger at his sister as he sing-songed: “Jane likes
Jean Sawyer extra-special.”</p>
<p>It was Julie, knowing that her sister did not like
to be teased, who came to the rescue by saying emphatically:
“So do I like Jean Sawyer extra-special;
and I know what girl you like best, Gerald Abbott.
It’s Meg Heger; so now.”</p>
<p>The small boy grinned his agreement. “Bet you
I do,” he confessed.</p>
<p>Dan said nothing, but by the warm glow in his
heart at the mention of the mountain girl’s name,
he knew that he also liked Meg Heger extra-special.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div>
<h2 id="c23"><br/>CHAPTER XXIII. <br/>JANE HUMILIATED</h2>
<p>The next morning Jane arose early with the determination
to walk up the mountain road and meet
Meg Heger on her way to the Redfords school.
And so, directly after breakfast, she started away
alone. She asked Dan to detain the children in the
kitchen that they might not see her go and perhaps
wish to accompany her.</p>
<p>The older lad, recalling the incident of the mountain
lion, wondered if he ought to permit her to go
alone, but the trapper had assured him that the occurrence
had been a most unusual one, that the lions,
and other wild creatures usually remained far from
the haunts of man, and that in the ten years that
Meg had ridden up and down that mountain road to
the Redfords school, she had never encountered a
dangerous animal of any kind.</p>
<p>The sun, even at that early hour, was so warm
Jane was glad that most of the mile she was to climb
was in the shadow. She found herself scanning the
roadside with great interest, stopping to watch a
scaly lizard that was lying on a rock gazing at her
intently with small back eyes, believing himself to
be unseen because his coat was the color of his surroundings.
He had not stirred, even when she
started away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</div>
<p>It was a still morning and out of many a cool
green covert a bird-song pealed. Again and again
Jane paused to listen to some clear rising cadence.
She wondered why she had never before heard the
singing of birds. Of course, she must have heard
them many, many times. They had often awakened
her in her home, and at Highacres, but she had felt
disturbed rather than pleased. She never before had
listened to a single song, like the one which some
hidden bird was singing. It would be interesting to
know what kind of a bird it was. She would ask
Meg Heger. Surely the mountain girl would know.
Jane Abbott had not been in so susceptible a mood,
at least not since her long ago childhood, and it was
with a sense of eager anticipation that she at last
drew to one side of the road to await the coming of
the small horse and rider that she could hear approaching.</p>
<p>Meg Heger was indeed surprised to see the sister
of Dan Abbott in the road so evidently awaiting her,
but she experienced no pleasure from the meeting.
She well knew that the city girl, who had snubbed
her on the day before, would again do so, if it were
not that she considered it her duty to express gratitude
for what Meg had done.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div>
<p>She drew rein, merely because Jane Abbott had
stepped forward and had held up her hand. The
expression in the dusky eyes of the mountain girl
was at that moment as proud and cold as had been
the expression in the eyes of Jane on the day previous.
Before the girl in the road could speak, Meg
said: “Miss Abbott, I know that you have come to
thank me for having ridden to Scarsburg, but let
me assure you at once that I did not do it for your
sake. I did it for Julie and Gerald, chiefly, because
they are my friends. You owe me nothing. Good
morning!”</p>
<p>The pony, feeling the urging of his mistress’ heel,
started away so suddenly that Jane found herself
standing in a whirl of dust. Her face grew crimson
as her anger rose. She, Jane Abbott, had actually
been snubbed by a halfbreed. It had been only
natural that she, a city girl of family and culture,
should have snubbed Meg Heger. But she had supposed
that the mountain girl would be pleased, indeed,
when she condescended to be friendly. As she
walked slowly back toward their cabin, she did not
hear the song of the birds, nor see the beauty that
lay all about her. She was wrathfully deciding that
she would pack at once and leave a place where it
was possible for her to be snubbed by a halfbreed
Indian.</p>
<p>Then that persistent voice, deep within her, asked:
“Didn’t you deserve it, Jane? Would you admire
a girl who would fall upon your neck after you had
been rude to her?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div>
<p>And Jane had to acknowledge that the soul-voice
was right.</p>
<p>But, though Jane had seemed to have a change of
heart toward Meg Heger, she still felt most irritable
toward Julie. Nothing that small girl could do
pleased her. She had at once retired to her room,
wishing to be alone. True, she had decided to try
to win the friendship of the mountain girl, but after
the first few hours she found herself questioning if
she really wanted it. Of course she did not. She
wanted only friends of her own kind. She flung
herself down on her bed and in her heart was a
growing anger at herself and at everyone. Dan had
gone for the daily climb which he believed would aid
the recovery of his strength, as indeed everything
seemed to be doing in a most miraculous manner.
Julie and Gerald were cleaning house and were dragging
the heavy pieces of furniture about in the living-room
with shouts and laughter. Jane sprang
up and threw open her door.</p>
<p>“I do wish you children would try to keep quiet,”
she blazed at them. Gerald faced her defiantly.
“Come and do the cleaning yourself if you want it
done different. There’s no reason why we should do
it at all, only Julie said, being as it hadn’t been done
right since we came, we’d ought to get at it.”</p>
<p>“You’re just hateful, both of you! I wish you
would clear out of my sight and never come back!”
With this angry remark, Jane closed her door with
a bang.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div>
<p>With a dark glance in that direction, Gerald
caught Julie by the hand. “Come on, sis,” he said.
“You’n I’ll clear out and we’ll stay away till that
Jane Abbott goes back East, that’s what we’ll do.”
The boy snatched up his small gun and put the
cartridges in his pocket. He took his cap and handed
Julie her hat and then led her out of the door.</p>
<p>“Why, Gerald Abbott, where are we going?” the
small girl held back, feeling sure that they ought
not to leave their cabin home in this manner.</p>
<p>“First off we’re going to find Dan and tell him
just what happened. Then, second off, I don’t
’zactly know what we will do, but I just won’t stay
here and have that horrid old Jane saying mean
things to you all the time and us waiting on her and
doing the work she ought to be doing. That’s
what.”</p>
<p>The boy led his small sister along so rapidly that
she tripped and would have fallen had he not turned
and caught her. “Gee, I guess we’ll have to go
slower,” he confessed as they started to climb the
steep rocks that formed the outer edge of the mountain
brook which tumbled in a series of little waterfalls,
now and then tossing a mist of spray over
them.</p>
<p>Julie began to glow with the pleasurable sense of
adventure, supposing, of course, that Gerald knew
where Dan had gone. At last she inquired.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div>
<p>“I sort o’ think we’ll find him up at the rim-rock,”
Gerald said stoutly. “I’m pretty sure we will. He
told me that’s where he goes for his constitootional.
That means a hike to make him get strong, constitootional
does.”</p>
<p>The girl’s freckled face was aglow. “Oh, goodie!”
she cried. “I’d love to climb ’way up there.” Then
she asked, a little anxiously: “Aren’t you skeered
we might meet a wildcat or a lion or a bear?”</p>
<p>Her small brother’s courage was reassuring. “I
hope we will. That’s what! I’m a sharpshooter, I
am, and the wildcat that meets us will wish he
hadn’t.” Julie clung to his hand with a secure feeling
that she was well protected. “Oh, look-it, will
you?”</p>
<p>Gerry pointed ahead and above. “There’s a tree
that has fallen right across our brook. That’s a
nice bridge and if we can get up there we can go
across on it.”</p>
<p>“Is the rim-rock on the other side of our brook?”
Julie inquired. Now Gerald had never climbed that
high on their mountain before, and so he had no
real knowledge of the exact location of the rock
about which Dan had told them, but since it was on
the very top, the small boy knew that if they kept on
climbing, in time they would surely reach it.</p>
<p>The fallen tree was lying across the brook at a
very steep ascent and it was with great difficulty
that Gerald boosted his sister to the narrow ledge
on which it rested. “Don’t be scared,” he said.
“I’ll get you across all right and then we’ll begin
calling for Dan.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div>
<h2 id="c24"><br/>CHAPTER XXIV. <br/>JULIE AND GERALD LOST</h2>
<p>It was nearly noon when Dan returned to the
cabin. He gave a long whistle of astonishment
when he saw the disordered living-room and heard
no one about. Jane at once appeared in her doorway.
Her face still showed evidence of her anger.
“Dan,” she said coldly, “my trunks are all packed.
Please put out a flag or whatever you should do
to stop the stage. It passes about one, does it not,
on the way to Redfords?”</p>
<p>The lad went to the girl with outstretched hands.
“Jane, dear, what has happened? Have you and
the children had more trouble? Is it so hard for
you to love them and be patient with their playfulness?
You know it is nothing more.” The girl’s
lips curled scornfully. “Love them?” she repeated
coldly. “I feel far more as if I hated them. I don’t
believe love is possible to me. I even hate myself!
Dan, there’s something all wrong with me, and I’m
going back East to Merry, who is about the only
person living who can understand me.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div>
<p>There was an expression of tender rebuke in the
gray eyes that were gazing at her. “You are
wrong,” the lad said seriously. “Father and I love
you dearly, not only because we know that you are
different from what you seem to be, but for
Mother’s sake.” Then, turning and glancing again
at the confusion, the lad said, “Tell me just what
happened.”</p>
<p>Jane did so, adding petulantly: “My head was
beginning to ache. I had had an unpleasant encounter
with your Meg Heger.” Dan felt a sudden
leaping of his heart. How strange, he thought, that
for the first time in his life the name of a girl should
so affect him. He had heard of love at first sight,
but he had never believed in it. With an effort he
again listened to Jane’s indignant outpouring of
words. “Don’t say I deserved just such treatment,”
she protested. “No one knows it better than I do.
I acknowledge that I am despicable and I hate myself.
Honestly, Dan, I do, but I don’t know how
to change. I don’t seem to really want to be different.”</p>
<p>“That’s just it, Jane.” The boy had grown very
serious. “Just as soon as you desire to be different
you will at once begin to change. We are the
sculptors of our own characters. We can set before
ourselves a model of what we would like to be and
carve accordingly.” Then, as the clock was striking
twelve, the lad suddenly inquired, “Jane, when
did all this trouble with the children occur? I left
at nine. You think it was about an hour after that?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div>
<p>The girl nodded, then, glancing out of the wide
front door, she exclaimed: “I wonder why they
don’t come back. I supposed, of course, that they
had gone to find you. Gerald knew where you were
going, didn’t he?”</p>
<p>Dan shook his head. “He could not have known,
for I did not myself. Yesterday and the day before
I climbed up to the rim-rock and planned doing
it every morning as a strength restorative measure,
but today, after we had been wondering how we
were to get to the Packard ranch, I thought I would
cross the mountain to the other side and look down
into the valley, and see if I could, how much nearer
was the trail which Jean Sawyer took on Sunday.
But I found that it would be much too rough and
hard for you, and so we will wait until we receive
directions from Mr. Packard. If you will prepare
the lunch, I will go out and put up a white flag.
Surely Mr. Wallace will know that I wish to speak
to him. Then I will call the children to come home.
They may be close, but since you told them that you
wished you would never see them again, they are
probably hiding, hoping that you are to go on the
afternoon stage.”</p>
<p>Jane was indeed miserable. Her flaring anger
had often caused her to say things that afterwards
she deeply repented. “Perhaps if I would go with
you and call they would know that I did not mean
all that I said,” she ventured. But Dan was insistent
that she, at least, prepare a lunch for herself.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</div>
<p>“You must not start for the East without having
a good hearty noon meal,” he told her. As he
spoke he was fastening an old pillow case to a pole.
Leaving the house, he placed it at the top of the
stairway.</p>
<p>Then going to the brook, he began a series of
halloos, but a hollow, distant echo was all that
responded.</p>
<p>Dan, after a fruitless effort to call to the children,
returned to the cabin, his face an ashen white.
“Jane,” he said, and his voice was almost harsh,
“you will have to attend to stopping the stage if it
comes soon. Mr. Wallace can carry your baggage
down without my assistance. I am going to hunt
for those poor little youngsters who felt that they
were turned out of their home. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>Jane, with a low cry of agony, leaped forward
with arms outstretched, but Dan had not given her
another look, and by the time she reached the brook
he was out of sight. The girl sank down on a
boulder and sobbed bitterly.</p>
<p>“If they’re lost I shall never forgive myself. Oh,
how selfish, how unkind I have been, thinking only
of Jane Abbott and her comfort. I can’t go away
now, and not know what has become of Julie and
Gerald.”</p>
<p>Then another thought caused her to rise and go
slowly to the cabin. “They want me to go, all of
them, even Dan. Perhaps it would be the best thing
for me to do, and when they come back they will be
glad to find that I have gone.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div>
<p>Almost unconsciously Jane began to put the living-room
in order. She smoothed rugs and dragged
the heavy furniture into the places it had formerly
occupied. Then she went to the kitchen to prepare
lunch. If Julie and Gerald had been climbing the
mountains all the morning they would be starved,
as she well knew. Again Jane Abbott pared potatoes
and after studying upon the subject for some
moments she made a fire in the stove and put on a
kettle of water. In the midst of these preparations
she was startled by the shrill blast of the horn carried
by the stage driver. Oh, she could not go just
then. She was nowhere near ready. Jane snatched
up a letter that she had that morning written to
Merry and hurried down the stone steps. The surly
driver took it with a grunt which seemed to express
displeasure, although, as Jane knew, taking the mail
to town was one of his duties.</p>
<p>When the big creaking stage had rocked around
the corner, Jane suddenly felt as though a great load
had been lifted from her heart. She had not really
wanted to go at all. She wanted to be sure that all
was well with the children, and more than that, she
did so want to see Jean Sawyer again. But her
pleasure was short lived, for, with a sense of oppression,
she again recalled that they would all be disappointed
to find her there, even Dan.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div>
<p>As the water in the tea kettle had not yet started
to boil, Jane went to her room to change her dress
to one more suitable for the work she had undertaken.
Upon opening her trunk she saw, lying on
top, a miniature picture delicately colored in a
dainty frame of silver filigree. The girl lifted it
and looked long into the truly beautiful face. Then
with a half-sob she said aloud, “My mother!”</p>
<p>Instantly she recalled what Dan had said: “We
are each of us sculptors of our own characters. We
can choose a model and carve ourselves like it.”
The girl sank on her knees, the picture held close to
her cheek.</p>
<p>“Oh, mother, mother!” she sobbed, “I choose you
for my model. Help me; I am sure you can help
me to be more like you.”</p>
<p>A strange sense of strength came to her as she
arose. She had been struggling without a definite
goal. She had known, the small voice within had
often told her, that she was despicable, but she had
not found a way to change, but surely Dan’s suggestion
would help her. She clearly remembered her
mother, gentle, courageous and always loving.</p>
<p>With infinite tenderness Jane again addressed the
miniature:</p>
<p>“Oh, mother, if you had only lived, you would
have helped me carve a character more lovely, but
alone I have made of it an ugly thing, but now,
dearest one, I’ll begin all over.”</p>
<p>But even as the girl spoke she feared that it might
be too late to ask Julie and Gerald to forgive her and
try to love her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div>
<h2 id="c25"><br/>CHAPTER XXV. <br/>JANE’S RESOLVE</h2>
<p>The lunch was prepared, the potatoes had cooked
quite to pieces, but still the children did not return.
Jane was becoming terrorized. She was startled
when there came a sharp rapping at the front door.
Running into the living-room, her hand pressed to
her heart, she saw standing there a tall, uncouth-looking
mountaineer. She believed, and rightly,
that it was the trapper who lived near them.</p>
<p>He began at once: “Dan Abbott came to our
place nigh an hour ago sayin’ the young ’uns was
lost. Meg and me wasn’t to home, but my woman
said she’d tell whichever of us come fust and we’d
help hunt. Ben’t they back yet?”</p>
<p>Jane shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Heger,” she
cried, “what do you suppose has happened to them?
Do you suppose they have been harmed?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</div>
<p>It was unusual for the kind face of the man to
look hard, but at that moment it did so. His voice
was stern. “Dan Abbott said ’twas you as let them
young ’uns go to hunt for him, not knowin’ whar
he was. Wall, Miss, I’ll tell ye this: If ’tis they
ever come back alive, yo’d better keep them young
’uns a little closer to home. Thar’s no harm if
they stay on the road. Nothin’s likely to happen
thar, but ’way off in the wilderness places, wall,
thar’s no tellin’ what may have happened. I’ll bid
you good day.”</p>
<p>Here was still another of her fellow men who
scorned her. Of course, Dan had not told him the
whole truth, that she had said she hoped she never
again would see the children. Oh, why had she said
it? She knew, even in her anger, that she had not
meant it.</p>
<p>She sank down on the porch and buried her face
in her hands. Would this torture never end? The
odor of something burning reached her and, leaping
to her feet, she ran to the kitchen and pushed
back the kettle of potatoes that had started to
scorch. There was no one to eat the lunch she had
spread on the table and at two o’clock she began to
mechanically put things back in their places, when
she heard a step on the porch. Running into the
living-room, hardly able to breath in her great anxiety,
she saw her brother stagger in and fall as one
spent from a long race on the cot-bed they were
using as a day lounge. For a moment he lay white
and still, his eyes closed. Jane knelt at his side and
held his limp hand. “Brother. Brother Dan,” she
sobbed, “you are worn out. Oh, won’t you stay
here and let me be the one to hunt? I would give
my life to save the children. Dan, brother, open
your eyes and tell me that you forgive me and believe
me.” A tightening of the clasp of the limp
hand was the only answer she received. Jane, rising,
brought water, cold from the brook, and when
she returned the lad was sitting up, his elbows on
his knees, his face bent on the palms of his hands.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div>
<p>He looked at her as she handed him the goblet of
water and when he saw the lines of suffering in her
face, his heart, that had been like adamant, softened.</p>
<p>“Sister,” he took her hand as he spoke, “I well
know we none of us mean what we say in anger,
and yet the results are often just as disastrous. I
have sent word to the Packard ranch for them to be
on the lookout for our little ones. Luckily, high on
the mountain, I came upon the cabin of a forest
ranger where there was a telephone to Redfords
and Mrs. Bently said she would relay the message
to Mr. Packard.” Then he rose, coughing in the
same racking way that he had on the train. “Now
I am rested, I must start out again.”</p>
<p>Jane clung to him, trying to detain him. “Oh,
brother, please eat something. I had lunch all
ready. Even yet it is warm.” The lad smiled at
her wanly, but shook his head. “I couldn’t swallow
food, and there are springs wherever I go.”</p>
<p>Then turning back in the doorway and noting
that Jane had flung herself despairingly on the
lounge, he said kindly: “Jane, dear, we often are
taught much-needed lessons through great suffering.
You and I will each have learned one of these if our
little ones are found.” Then, holding to a staff for
support, he again started away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div>
<p>For another two long hours Jane sat in the porch
chair as one stunned. She had lost hope. She was
sure Julie and Gerald, of their own free will, would
not stay away so long. They must have been attacked
by wild animals or kidnapped by that Ute
Indian.</p>
<p>When the clock struck four, Jane leaped to her
feet. She could no longer stand the inactivity. She
simply must do something. Going to her room, she
again unpacked her trunk and took from it a riding
habit of dark blue tweed. She donned the neat fitting
trousers that laced to the ankles, her high riding
boots, the long skirted coat and a small visored cap.
None of her costumes was more becoming, but not
once did Jane glance in the mirror. She had but
one desire and that was to help find the children.
She was about to write a note to tell Dan that she
also had gone in search of Julie and Gerald when
she again heard a step on the porch, a light, quick
footfall which she had not heard before. In the
open doorway stood Meg Heger. Without a word
of greeting she said: “The children, have they been
found?”</p>
<p>“No, no!” Jane cried. “Dan was here two hours
ago, and, oh, Miss Heger, he is all worn out. I am
as troubled about him, or nearly, as I am about
Julie and Gerald. He told me to stay here for the
children might return, but it is so long now. They
left at nine this morning. I am sure they will not
come back alone and I, also, must go in search of
them.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div>
<p>The mountain girl’s dusky eyes had been closely
watching the speaker and she seemed to sense that
the proud girl was in no way considering herself.
“Jane Abbott,” she said seriously, “it would be foolhardy
for you, an Easterner, unused to our wilderness
ways, to start out alone. You would better
heed your brother’s wishes and remain here.”</p>
<p>But the girl to whom she spoke was beyond the
power to reason. “No! No!” she cried. “Oh,
Meg Heger, if you are going, I beg of you let me
go with you.”</p>
<p>The mountain girl thought for a moment, then
she said: “I will leave word for whoever may return.”
Taking from her pocket the notebook and
pencil she always carried, she tore out a page and
wrote upon it:</p>
<p>“Jane Abbott and Meg Heger are going to the
Crazy Creek Camp in search of the children. The
hour is now 4:30. If we think best, we will remain
there all night.”</p>
<p>The Eastern girl shuddered when she read the
note, but made no comment. “Let us tack it on the
door after we have closed it,” she suggested.</p>
<p>This was done, and taking the stout staff Dan
had cut for her, Jane followed her companion, whom
she was glad to see carried a gun.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_202">[202]</div>
<p>Silently they climbed the natural stairway of
rocks that ascended by the brook until they reached
the pine which, having fallen across the stream,
formed a bridge. Meg uttered an exclamation and
turning back she said: “We are on the right trail,
Jane Abbott. There is a torn bit of your sister’s
red gingham dress on the tree. She evidently
feared to walk across and so she jumped over.”</p>
<p>Jane’s eyes glowed with hope. “How happy I
would be if we were the ones to find them, although,
of course, the important thing is that they shall be
found.”</p>
<p>Meg often broke through dense undergrowth,
holding open a place for Jane to pass, then again
she took the lead, beating ahead with her staff to
startle serpent or wild creature that might be in
hiding.</p>
<p>Jane, though greatly frightened, followed quietly,
but now and then, when back of Meg, she pressed
her hand to her heart to still its too rapid beating.
They came to a wall of almost perpendicular rocks
which the mountain girl said would save them many
minutes if they could scale. How Meg climbed them
alone and unaided was indeed a mystery to the
watcher below. The toe of her boot fitted into a
crevice so small that it did not seem possible that it
could be used as a stair, but with little apparent
effort the ascent was made, and then, kneeling on
the top, Meg leaned far down and pulled Jane to a
place at her side.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div>
<p>At last they came to what appeared to be a grove
of poles so straight and tall were the pines. They
were on a wide, slowly ascending mountainside. The
ground was soft with the drying needles and it was
easier to walk. Jane commented on the grove-like
aspect of the place, and Meg at once told her that
they were called lodge-pole trees because Indians
had used them as the main poles in their wigwams.
“It is the Tamarack Pine,” the mountain girl said,
and then, as the ground was level for a considerable
distance, she walked more rapidly, and neither spoke
for some time. Jane was wretchedly unhappy and
she well knew that she never again would be happy
unless the children were found.</p>
<p>“Redfords Peak is one of the lowest in the range,”
Meg turned to say when they had left the pole-pine
grove and were climbing over rugged bare rocks
which in the distance had looked to Jane unscaleable,
but Meg, in each instance, found a way. At
last they stood on a large flat rock which formed a
small plateau. “This is the left shoulder of the
peak,” Meg paused to say, “and it is here that we
begin the descent to Crazy Creek mine. See, far
down there beyond the foothills is the Packard
ranch. The buildings are large, but they do not
appear so from here.” Jane, sitting on a rock to
rest, at Meg’s suggestion, looked about her, eager
to find some trace of the lost children. From time
to time they had both shouted, but there had been no
answer save the startled cry of birds, or the scolding
of squirrels, who greatly objected to intruders.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</div>
<p>Suddenly the Eastern girl uttered an exclamation
of surprise. “Why, there is the stage road not very
far below us. Wouldn’t it have been easier for us
to follow that?”</p>
<p>Meg nodded. “Much easier, but I had been told
that the children started away along the brook, so
if they were to be found we would have to hunt in
the way they had gone.”</p>
<p>“Of course, and we did find that torn bit of
Julie’s dress.”</p>
<p>Meg looked at her companion eagerly. “Are you
rested enough now to start down? It is an easy
descent to the road and we will follow it directly
into the camp.” As she spoke she glanced anxiously
at the sun. “It is dropping rapidly to the
horizon,” Jane, having followed the glance of the
other, commented.</p>
<p>Silently they began the descent. Jane found it
much easier than she had supposed and before long
they were on the stage road which zigzagged downward.
They had not gone far when Jane said:
“What a queer color the sunlight is becoming.” She
turned to look toward the west and uttered an exclamation.
“Meg!” she cried, unconsciously using
the mountain girl’s Christian name, “the sun
looks like a ball of orange fire and the mountain
range is being hidden by a yellow haze. What can
it mean?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</div>
<p>“It means that a summer storm is brewing. Let
us make haste. We will soon be under the shelter
of the pines and just below them is the Crazy Creek
camp. We will keep dry in one of the old cabins.
These sudden storms, though often cloudbursts, are
of short duration.”</p>
<p>There was a weird light under the great old pines,
but in the spaces between they saw that clouds were
rapidly gathering close above them. Then a vivid
flash of lightning almost blinded them. Instantly it
was followed by a crash of thunder which seemed to
make the very mountain rock. Big drops of rain
could be heard pelting among the trees, though few
of them could be felt because of the densely interwoven
branches. Meg drew her companion close to
one of the great old trunks.</p>
<p>“It isn’t safe under trees, is it?” Jane’s face was
white with fear. Her companion’s matter-of-fact
voice calmed her. “As safe as it is anywhere,” she
commented. “It won’t last five minutes and we
won’t be much wet.”</p>
<p>The flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder
were incessant and the road out of which they had
scrambled became for a moment a raging torrent.
“I’ve been struck,” Jane cried out. “I know I have!
I feel the electricity pulling at my hair.”</p>
<p>Again the calm voice: “You are all right. That
is because we are so near the cloud. The air is
charged with electricity.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div>
<p>The storm was gone as quickly as it had come,
but there was a roaring, rushing noise near. “That’s
the Crazy Creek. It floods for a few moments after
every cloudburst. Quick now, let’s make for the
shelter of a cabin. The camp is just below here.”
Meg fairly dragged Jane out from under the pines.
The light was brighter and the Eastern girl saw beneath
her a scene of desolation, but before she could
clearly define it, Meg had dragged her into an old
log cabin. There was a joyous cry from within.
It was Gerald shouting, “Meg, you’ve come. I knew
you would.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div>
<h2 id="c26"><br/>CHAPTER XXVI. <br/>A RECONCILIATION</h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Meg feared that Jane’s long day of anguish had
temporarily unbalanced her mind, but Julie, hearing
that cry, reached out a comforting hand.</p>
<p>“Jane,” she said weakly, “don’t feel so badly. I
guess we were awfully trying, me and Gerald.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>A cry of pain from the small girl then caught her
attention.</p>
<p>“Julie, what is it, dear? Are you hurt? What
has happened?”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Meg at once was on her knees unbuttoning the
high shoe. The ankle was swollen, but there were
no bones broken.</p>
<p>“It is a bad sprain,” she said.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Now,” she said, “we will have some refreshments.”</p>
<p>This amazed her listeners and greatly pleased at
least one of them.</p>
<p>“Gee-golly!” Gerald cried. “I hadn’t thought of
it before, but I guess I’m starving to death more’n
likely.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>The small boy took a generous handful and gobbled
it with speed. Then the mountain girl brought
out a canteen.</p>
<p>“Bring us some water from the creek,” she told
him. Jane held out a detaining hand.</p>
<p>“Oh, Meg,” she implored, “don’t send Gerry to
that raging torrent. Don’t you remember how we
heard it roaring?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“That’s where Julie sprained her ankle,” Gerald
said. “We were trying to reach it to get a drink.”</p>
<p>He soon returned with the canteen full of ice-cold
water. His eyes were wide.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>From her knapsack Meg took a folding knife as
she talked.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div>
<p>Meg had led the way out of the cabin.</p>
<p>“Here’s some!” she shouted, and the boy raced
over to find the girl whom he so admired bending
over a dense evergreen vine.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div>
<p>“And the other is Jean Sawyer!” his companion
told him.</p>
<p>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!”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“But where are we going?” his older sister inquired.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Still Meg thought she ought to climb back to her
own home, but Jane implored: “Oh, don’t leave me!
I do <i>so</i> 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
<h2 id="c27"><br/>CHAPTER XXVII. <br/>THE GREEN HILLS RANCH</h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Where’ll we go to look for it?” The small boy
gazed eagerly, hopefully up at their genial host.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Jean was eagerly alert. “What shall we do, Mr.
Packard? How can it be averted?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div>
<p>“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 <i>that</i> 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
<p>“That was sort of an adventure, wasn’t it?” Gerald
inquired hopefully.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“Marion Starr, of all things! I thought that you
were in Newport!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div>
<h2 id="c28"><br/>CHAPTER XXVIII. <br/>OLD FRIENDS</h2>
<p>Jean, Dan and Gerald had gone at once to the
corral with the four horses they had ridden and were
still there (for Jean had much to show his guests)
when the car arrived, and so the excitement was
quite over when they at last sauntered around one
corner of the porch.</p>
<p>There were four in the party of autoists, Mr. and
Mrs. Robert Starr, Marion, and Bob, her young
brother.</p>
<p>Jane at once took Merry to her room, while Julie
accepted Meg’s invitation to wander about the gardens
and make the acquaintance of the flowers. Mr.
Packard had just returned from showing Mr. and
Mrs. Starr to the guest room when the boys appeared.
Bob Starr had lingered to look over the car,
which was the pride of his heart, and so it was that
he first met Jean, Dan and Gerald. Jean proved
himself an expert mechanic, as was also Mr. Packard,
and they promised the lad that directly after
lunch they would assist him in putting his car in
the best of shape.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div>
<p>Meanwhile Jane and Merry were telling each
other all that had happened since last they had met.</p>
<p>“I simply can’t understand it in the least,” Jane
declared for the tenth time. “To think that you
deliberately gave up the opportunity to spend a whole
summer in Newport to undergo the hardships of a
cross-country motor trip.”</p>
<p>Merry dropped down in a deep easy chair and
laughed happily. “Oh, I’ve loved it! Every hour
of the trip has been fascinating. Of course I’m
mighty glad Mr. Packard saved our lives, but even
that was exciting.”</p>
<p>“But wasn’t your Aunt Belle terribly disappointed?”</p>
<p>“Why, no; not at all. There are steens of us in
the Starr family. She just invited some other girl
cousins. Aunt Belle is never so happy as when she
is surrounded with gay young girls. Then, moreover,
Esther Ballard couldn’t go. Her artist father
had planned a tramping trip through Switzerland
as a surprise for her and Barbara Morris decided to
accompany them; so you and I would have been
quite alone at Newport. But do tell me who is the
girl to whom you introduced me when I first arrived?
She is beautiful, isn’t she?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
<p>Jane surely had changed in the past week, for her
reply was sincere and even enthusiastic. “Merry,
that girl is more than beautiful. She is wonderful!
I want you to know her better. She has saved me
from myself.” Then she laughingly arose, holding
out both hands to assist her friend to her feet. “If
you are rested, dear, come out on the porch. I want
you to meet the nicest, well, almost the nicest boy
I have ever known.”</p>
<p>Merry glanced up roguishly. “Are congratulations
in order?”</p>
<p>Jane flushed prettily, though she protested: “You
know they are not, Marion Starr! Romance is as
far from my thoughts today as it ever was, but next
to Dan, I do like Jean best.”</p>
<p>“Well, I certainly am curious to meet this paragon
of a youth.” Merry gave her friend’s waist a little
affectionate hug, then said: “I have a pretty nice
brother of my own. He ought to be ready by now
to be presented to my best friend.” Together they
went toward the front door. “I know Bob must be
nice,” Jane agreed, “since he is your twin.”</p>
<p>The girls appeared on the porch just as the boys
had completed an inspection of the machine and so
Jane’s “paragon,” with a smudge of grease on one
cheek and smeared hands, laughingly begged Merry
to pardon his inability to remove his hat. Before
Marion could reply, her brother led her aside and
talked rapidly and in a low voice, then returning he
said in his pleasing manner: “Miss Abbott, you
will pardon any seeming lack of courtesy on my
part when I tell you there was something very important
which I wished to say to my sister, and
there is no time like the present, you know.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div>
<p>Merry laughingly interrupted: “And now that
you have made that long speech to Jane, it would be
sort of an anti-climax, would it not, for me to
formally introduce you? However, Jane, this is
my wayward young brother Bob, whom I am endeavoring
to bring up the way that he should go.”
Jane held out a slim white hand, but, although she
said just the right thing, her thoughts were busy.
Something had happened that she did not understand.</p>
<p>Mrs. Starr rested that afternoon in one of the
comfortable reclining chairs on the wide front porch.
Mr. Starr was most interested in all that Mr. Packard
had to show him, while the young people went
for a horseback ride in merry cavalcade. Bob Starr
was eager to see the washout, and decide for himself
what chance of escape they might have had. Julie
was overjoyed that this time she also might accompany
the riders. A small spotted pony was chosen
for her, as it was a most reliable little creature—sure-footed
and gentle.</p>
<p>For a while Jane and Merry rode side by side,
then Bob and Jean Sawyer, who for some time had
ridden far back of the others, galloped up and rode
alongside of the two girls, Bob next to Jane and
Jean close to Merry.</p>
<p>There was a pang in the dark girl’s heart. She
had noticed several times at lunch that Jean had
glanced across at Marion Starr and had smiled at
her when their eyes met. But the trail soon became
too rough to permit four to ride abreast, and so
Jean called: “Miss Starr, suppose you and I ride
ahead and set the pace.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
<p>Marion smiled at her friend. “That will give you
and Bob a chance to become better acquainted,” she
said, then urged her horse to a gallop, and away they
went, Jean and Merry, laughing happily, and yet
when they had quite outdistanced the rest, Jane
noted that they rode more slowly and close together,
as though in serious converse.</p>
<p>“They surely are becoming acquainted very rapidly,”
the girl thought miserably. She had not realized
until now how very much Jean Sawyer’s admiration
had meant to her. Suddenly she felt so alone
and looked back to find the brother who had always
cared so much for her, but he also was completely
engrossed in another girl, for Meg had dismounted
to examine some growth by the trail, and Dan,
standing at her side, was listening, as he gazed into
her dusky eyes, with great evident interest. Jane
sighed.</p>
<p>“I deserve it all,” she thought. “I have not been
lovable, and so why should I expect to be loved?”</p>
<p>“Jean Sawyer seems to be a mighty fine chap,”
her companion was saying. “Is he overseer of this
cattle ranch?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div>
<p>“Yes, I understand that is the position he fills,”
Jane said, feeling suddenly very weary, and wishing
that she could ride back to the ranch house. A fortnight
before she would have done so, but now a
thought for the happiness of others came to prevent
such a selfish decision, for, of course, if Jane turned
back, some of the others would also, for the lads
were too chivalrous to permit her to ride alone.
Bob, glancing at her, decided that she was not interested
in his companionship, but for Merry’s sake
he made one more effort at friendly conversation.</p>
<p>“I do not suppose, though, that so fine a chap and
one so capable will remain forever in the position of
an employee,” he ventured. “Do you know where
he hails from?”</p>
<p>“No, I do not,” Jane replied. Then wishing to
change the subject, she pointed toward a hill over
which one lone vulture was swinging in wide circles.
“There is the washout!” Merry and Jean
were galloping back toward them.</p>
<p>The girl rode up to Jane as she said with a shudder:
“Oh, I don’t want to go any closer! When I
saw that wicked looking vulture and heard why he
is circling there I could picture all too plainly what
<i>would</i> have happened if we had been killed and——”</p>
<p>It was seldom that Merry was so overcome.
“Jane, do you mind riding back with me?” she
pleaded. “I want to go to my mother.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div>
<p>And so the two girls turned back toward the ranch
house. They assured the others that they did not
mind going alone. Jane noticed that Merry said
nothing of the conversation that she had had with
Jean Sawyer; in fact, she did not mention his name
and neither did Jane. When they reached the ranch
house Merry ran up the steps, and kneeling, she held
her mother close. That sweet-faced woman
smoothed the sunny hair of the girl she so loved, marveling
at the unusual emotion, but when her daughter
told her how much more vividly she could picture
their escape, after she had seen the washout,
and the vulture, the older woman understood. Jane,
watching her friend, felt that something more than
a view of the road where there might have been a
tragedy was affecting her dearest friend, nor was
she wrong.</p>
<p>Mr. Packard prevailed upon Mrs. and Mr. Starr
to remain as his guests for at least another day, that
the mother of Merry and Bob might become thoroughly
rested before the return journey to the East,
which was to be made by train, the automobile to be
shipped back.</p>
<p>“O, Mrs. Starr, how I do wish you would permit
Merry and Bob to visit us in our cabin on Redfords
Peak,” Jane said when this decision had been
reached. “Couldn’t they stay until we return East
next month?”</p>
<p>Mrs. Starr looked inquiringly at her husband, but
it was Merry who replied. “Not quite that long,
dear,” she said, slipping an arm about her friend.
“I very much want to be in New York on September
the first.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div>
<p>Just why she glanced quickly up at Jean Sawyer,
a pretty flush tinting her cheeks, Jane could not understand.
There was an actual pain in her heart,
and she caught her breath quickly before she could
reply in a voice that sounded natural: “Well, then,
at least you and Bob can remain with us for two
weeks and that will be better than not at all.”</p>
<p>The selfish side of Jane’s nature was saying to
her: “Why urge Merry to remain, when, if she
were to go, you could have Jean Sawyer’s companionship
all to yourself?” But Jane had indeed
changed, for she put the thought away from her as
unworthy, and gave her friend a little affectionate
hug when Mrs. Starr said that the plan was quite
agreeable to her.</p>
<p>“Good! That’s great!” Dan declared warmly.
Then he excused himself, for he saw Meg Heger
returning with Julie from a “botany expedition”
in the foothills.</p>
<p>The mountain girl smiled up at him in her frank
way when he ran down the garden path toward them.
“Have you news to tell us?” she inquired. “You’re
looking wonderfully well these days, Daniel Abbott.
I do not believe that your lungs were affected,
after all.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, they were not!” The boy whirled to
walk at Meg’s side, and as she smiled up at him in
her good comradeship way, he was almost impelled
to add, “But my heart is.” Instead, he laughed boyishly,
and took the basket of specimens that the girl
carried. Peeping under the cover, he exclaimed:
“Why, if you haven’t taken them up, root and all.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
<p>Meg nodded joyfully. “Wasn’t it nice of Mr.
Packard to tell me that I might transplant them to
my own botany gardens. Aren’t they the most
exquisite star-like flowers and the most delicate
pinks and blues?” Then, when the cover had been
replaced, Meg lifted long-lashed, dusky eyes that
were more serious. “Dan, do you suppose Jane
would mind if I went home this afternoon? Think
of it, in another fortnight I will be going to Scarsburg
to take the entrance examinations for the
normal, and kind old Teacher Bellows is giving me
some special review work which I cannot afford to
miss.”</p>
<p>“If you return, I will also,” the lad said; then,
when he saw that his companion was about to protest,
he hurriedly added: “Not because you need
my protection, but because I <i>wish</i> to be with you.”</p>
<p>Meg gave no outward sign of having understood
the deep underlying meaning of the words that she
had heard, but the warmth in her heart assured her
that she was glad, glad that Dan wanted to accompany
her.</p>
<p>Gerald came bounding toward them, dressed still
in his fringed cowboy suit. “Say, kids,” he shouted
inelegantly, then looked rather sheepishly at Julie,
as though he expected one of her grandmotherly rebukes,
but hearing none, he blurted on: “We’re
going to have a corn and potato roast for supper tonight.
Won’t that be high jinks, though? Mr.
Packard has a barbecue pit on the other side of the
little lake. Oh. boy!” he continued, rubbing the spot
where the feast would eventually be. “You bet you
I’ll be there with bells!” Then, catching Julie by
the hand, he raced with her to the corral, where they
liked to look over the log fence at the horses and
colts in the enclosure.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div>
<p>Dan smiled down at his companion. “Let us wait
until morning and start at sunrise, shall we?” he
suggested. “If we go this afternoon, our host might
think that we do not appreciate his plans for our
entertainment.”</p>
<p>Meg agreed willingly, little dreaming that so slight
an incident was to make a vital change in her hitherto
uneventful life.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div>
<h2 id="c29"><br/>CHAPTER XXIX. <br/>THE BARBEQUE</h2>
<p>Julie and Gerald were hilariously excited as the
hour of the roast approached. Mr. Packard had
selected them as his aides, had made them a committee
on arrangement. They took wood to the pit and
then went with the ever-beaming Chinese gardener
to the field where the corn grew, and they carried
back between them a heavily laden basket. Then
the long table near the lake that was sheltered by
cottonwood trees was set with the plate and dishes
found on every cattle ranch in reserve for round-ups
and similar occasions when many are to be fed.</p>
<p>In the center Julie placed a huge bouquet of scarlet
salvia and golden glow to make the table “extra-pretty,”
and she put Meg’s name nearest the flowers,
but, with the innocence of childhood, she put Dan’s
name at the place directly opposite. When the guests
were finally summoned, Julie’s big brother protested
that he didn’t want to sit directly behind that huge
bouquet because he couldn’t “see anything.” Julie
looked perplexed. “Why, yes, you can so! You can
see the foothills, and just lots of things.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div>
<p>Then Gerald blurted out, “Silly, he can’t see Meg
Heger, can he, when you’ve put her right across from
the bouquet?”</p>
<p>How they all laughed, even Meg, and Mrs. Starr,
glancing at the mountain girl, marveled at her
beauty, and thought it quite natural that any lad
would rather look at her than at a scarlet and gold
bouquet.</p>
<p>Mr. Packard settled the matter by removing the
huge centerpiece to a side table. “There, that’s
heaps better!” Jean said as he smiled across at
Marion. “Now I also have a better view of the
foothills,” he added mischievously.</p>
<p>It was hard, cruelly hard for Jane, even though
Bob Starr, who was seated next to her, tried his
utmost to be entertaining. Bob was indeed puzzled.
He was not at all conceited, but, up to the present,
he had found even very attractive girls seeking,
rather than spurning, his companionship.</p>
<p>“Icebergs aren’t in my line,” he decided, and
turned toward little Julie, who was on his other side,
and whose fresh enthusiasm was interesting, even to
a lad several years her senior.</p>
<p>Merry noticed that her best friend did not eat with
the same zest that was very apparent in the appetites
of all the others, and, after a time, she suggested to
Bob that he change seats with her. The table had
just been cleared and Gerald had darted away with
the Chinaman to bring on the generous slices of
watermelon, and so the change was made very easily.
Merry slipped a hand under the table and held Jane’s
in a close, loving clasp. “Dear,” she said very softly,
“you aren’t feeling well, are you? Shall we go
back to the ranch house? I do not mind missing the
watermelon.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div>
<p>“No, thank you, Marion,” Jane’s voice, try as she
might to make it sound natural, had in it a note of
reserve that was almost cold. For the first time in
the years that they had been so intimate, Jane had
used the formal Marion. The friends who loved her
always called her Merry. Something was wrong,
radically wrong. Merry ate her slice of melon, wondering
what it could possibly be, and finally decided
that if Jane’s manner remained unchanged throughout
the evening, she would accompany her mother
to the East on the following day.</p>
<p>“There is going to be a wonderful moon tonight,”
Mr. Packard said, “Why don’t you young
people climb the foothill trail and watch it rise?”</p>
<p>“That’s a good suggestion!” Jean Sawyer at
once offered to lead the expedition. Then, as everyone
had arisen, he went to the two girls, who were
seated together, and said with a smile which included
them both, “Shall we three go ahead?”</p>
<p>But Jane replied, “You and Merry may go. I
have one of my sick headaches. I shall go to bed at
once.” Jean Sawyer looked at the girl almost sadly.
Then he said quietly, “I am sorry, Jane. May I
walk back to the house with you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div>
<p>“I thank you, no!” The girl’s haughty manner
was in evidence. Then going to Mr. Packard, she
asked to be excused and walked quickly around the
little lake. Merry watched her thoughtfully, then
turning to her companion, she said, “Jean, I think
I understand. May I tell her our secret now—tonight?”</p>
<p>The boy assented eagerly. “I shall be glad to
have Jane know,” he said. Then Merry also excused
herself and followed her friend.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_239">[239]</div>
<h2 id="c30"><br/>CHAPTER XXX. <br/>JEAN SAWYER’S SECRET</h2>
<p>Jane, going to the deserted ranch house, threw
herself down on her bed and sobbed heart-brokenly.
She did not hear the tap on the door, nor was she
conscious that Merry had entered until she heard her
voice: “Jane, dear, have I done anything to hurt
you, to make you unhappy?” The tenderness in the
tone of her best friend was unmistakable. All at
once Jane felt ashamed of herself. Holding out a
fevered hand, she said: “Indeed not, dear girl. It
isn’t your fault at all. Any boy would like you better
than me. You are so sweet and unselfish and
lovable.” Merry’s eyes widened, for she was indeed
perplexed, “Jane, I don’t understand,” she said.
“What boy likes me better than he does you?”
Then, slowly a light dawned. Taking both hot
hands in her own, she cried, her blue eyes glowing,
“Oh, Jane, dearest Jane, <i>did</i> you think that Jean
Sawyer cared for me? Did you think for one moment
that I, knowing how much you liked him,
would even want him to care for me? Indeed not,
Janey! But now that I think about it, I realize that
you might misunderstand. Dear, it’s a long story.
Let’s go out on the veranda in the moonlight.
There is no one around. They all went up the foothill
trail and will be gone for an hour.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_240">[240]</div>
<p>Jane permitted herself to be led to a vine-sheltered
corner of the veranda, where they sat close together
in a hammock swing. Merry piled the soft cushions
behind her friend, whose flushed face assured her
that the head was really aching. Jane sighed as she
sank back among them, but it was a sigh of relief.
How wrong it had been to doubt for one moment
the loyalty of this, her very best friend. But Merry
was beginning the story. “Dear,” she said, placing
a cool hand on the hot one near her, “when you first
introduced me to Jean Sawyer, did you notice that
my brother Bob drew me away to whisper something
to me before I could acknowledge the introduction?”</p>
<p>Jane nodded, both curious and interested. “Why
did Bob do that? I wondered at the time.” Merry
continued: “I was just about to exclaim, ‘Why,
Jean Sawyer Willoughby, so this is where you disappeared
to when you left home last February!’ but
I did not, for Bob gave me no time. What he whispered
was, ‘Don’t let on you know Jean. He wants
his identity kept in the dark. He is using his
mother’s maiden name. Get the cue?’</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_241">[241]</div>
<p>“Of course I got it, but as soon as I could I asked
Jean to go for a canter with me that I might tell him
how heart-broken his family was because he had
disappeared as he did.” Jane was no longer reclining
among the cushions. She sat up, listening intently.</p>
<p>“You and Bob know Jean’s family?”</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed, both his father and older brother
Ken. We met them every summer on the coast of
Maine, where our parents had cottages next to each
other.”</p>
<p>“Jean told me of that cottage where he went that
summer, alone with his mother,” Jane said. “I
mean the summer she died.”</p>
<p>“Poor boy! He never was happy in his home life
after that,” Merry replied. “Ken, his brother, is a
commissioned officer on one of the war boats. He
had little shore leave and that left Jean and his
father quite alone in their big house in New York.
They never had been congenial in their interests,
but the final break came when the father entered
into some oil deal which Jean considered dishonorable.
He told his father exactly how he felt about
it. He said that he refused to inherit money that
was taken from the poor who had invested their
savings in the wildcat scheme, believing the firm to
be honest. Of course his father was angry, and
Jean, refusing to take one penny of what he called
‘tainted’ money, left home to make his own way in
the world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_242">[242]</div>
<p>“The father did not seem to care at first, for he
had always loved Ken more than he did Jean, but
when Ken came home on a leave he took Jean’s part,
and also denounced his father’s dishonorable business
methods.”</p>
<p>Jane was sitting very erect and her breath came
hard. At last she interrupted. “Merry,” she said
in a voice she could hardly recognize as her own,
“Jean’s father, Mr. Willoughby, was my father’s
partner.” Then she burst into unexpected tears.
“Jean was nobler than I! Oh, Merry, I never can
be his friend again. I am not worthy of him. I
want you to be his best friend. You are so good.
I am sure that in his heart of hearts he must love
you.” Merry leaned over and kissed her friend
tenderly. “I hope Jean does love me,” she said simply.
“He is to be my brother, for I am engaged to
Ken Willoughby. His three years in the navy are
nearly over. Ken is coming home for good on
September first.”</p>
<p>Jane’s heart was filled with conflicting emotions.
She was indeed happy when she heard the wonderful
secret which Merry assured her she would have told
her at once but Ken had wanted her to wait until he
had given her the ring which he had bought for her
in Paris. “But I just had to tell you, dear girl,
when I realized that my friendship with Jean might
lead you to believe that we cared for each other.”
Then, slipping an arm affectionately about her companion,
Merry continued: “And now there is just
one thing for which I am going to wish until it
comes true, and that is that you and Jean may care
for each other in the way Ken and I care. Then,
Jane, I will be your sister. Think what that would
mean, for we would share all of the joy that the
future holds.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_243">[243]</div>
<p>But Jane, tears brimming her eyes, said sadly:
“That can never be! If Jean knew the truth; if he
knew that I wanted father to cheat those poor people
who had trusted him, he would scorn me, even
as I now scorn myself. I never knew father’s partners
except by name. We lived so very far apart
and Dad always wanted to just rest when he reached
our village home, and so, even when I was with him,
which was seldom, we had no social life.” Then,
turning with a startled expression, Jane inquired,
“Oh, do you suppose that Jean knows? Do you suppose
he recognized our name as being the same as
his father’s partner?”</p>
<p>Merry replied thoughtfully: “There are a good
many Abbotts in the world, dear, and just at first
Jean did not suspect that your father was the one
who had withdrawn from the firm, and who, by so
doing, had incurred the hatred and wrath of Mr.
Willoughby, but, when I happened to mention why
your father had lost everything, as Dan had told
him, Jean’s face brightened. ‘I am glad,’ he said,
’that the father of Jane had the courage to do the
honorable thing.’ I noticed at the time that he
said ‘the father of Jane’ and not of Dan. That
means, dear, that you are often in his thoughts.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_244">[244]</div>
<p>But Jane had again burst into tears, and rising,
she hurried to her own room and begged Merry, who
had followed her with tender solicitude, to leave her
alone. “I never, never can be Jean’s friend again,
but don’t tell him how dishonorable I have been,
Merry. Promise me that you will not tell him.”</p>
<p>“Of course I will not tell, but, oh, Jane, you are
over-imaginative tonight. I am sure that you never
wished your father to rob the poor that you might
have luxury. But there, please don’t answer me,
dear. You are all worn out and your poor head is
throbbing cruelly. Let me help you undress. Tomorrow
morning when you awake you will see
everything in a different light.”</p>
<p>But Merry was wrong. Because of Jane, the
young people did not start at sunrise as they had
planned, but delayed until after Mr. and Mrs. Starr
had been driven away to the Redfords station. Mr.
Packard accompanied them. Bob was pleased indeed
that he and his sister were to remain in the
Rockies for another fortnight, and Merry was glad
to be with Jane, who, more than ever, seemed to
need her friendship.</p>
<p>When the young people were gathered at the corral,
preparing to start, Jean glanced across at Jane
and noting how pale and weary she looked, he
strode over to her, saying: “Aren’t you afraid the
ride will be too hard for you? Suppose we let the
others start now, if Meg feels that she must get
home. You and I could follow them more leisurely,
starting later, when you are rested.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_245">[245]</div>
<p>There was a sad expression in the dark eyes that
were lifted to his, but the girl’s reply was: “Thank
you, Jean, I would rather go now, with the others.”
Merry felt Jane’s clasp tighten about her hand, and
well knew that she was suffering cruelly, and that it
was a mental, not a physical torture.</p>
<p>Jean assisted both of the girls to mount and then
the string of horses started toward the mountain
trail, for Bob was eager to visit the old deserted
Crazy Creek mine. Jean Sawyer glanced often at
the pale, beautiful face of the girl who seemed purposely
to avoid him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_246">[246]</div>
<h2 id="c31"><br/>CHAPTER XXXI. <br/>AN UNCANNY EXPERIENCE</h2>
<p>At the foot of the trail that led up the mountain,
Dan, who had been in the lead with Meg, called:
“Jean, we’re waiting for you to go ahead, since you
have so often ridden this trail.”</p>
<p>The boy, who had been silently riding at Jane’s
side whenever it had been possible, turned to ask:
“Will you ride on ahead with me?”</p>
<p>The girl tried to smile at him, but her lips quivered.
“No, thank you, Jean. I think I will stay
with Merry.”</p>
<p>A boyish voice called, “Ask me and hear what I’ll
say.” It was Bob, and before Jean could express a
desire for his companionship, the black horse which
the younger lad rode was scrambling up the rocky
trail following the leader. Julie and Gerald, on their
agile ponies, were next; Meg and Dan followed,
while Jane and Merry rode more slowly, each putting
her entire trust in the horse on which she was
mounted. “We do not need to try to guide them,”
Merry had said. “Jean told me that the horses
climb best without direction. Just pull up on the
rein if it should happen to stumble.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_247">[247]</div>
<p>Bob’s enthusiasm over all he saw was given such
constant expression that Jane’s silence was not so
noticeable. Dan, now and then, glanced back anxiously.
He also had noted Jean’s apparent devotion
to Merry on the two days previous, and he wondered
if it had saddened Jane, and yet she had never said
that she really cared for Jean.</p>
<p>When they reached a wide rock plateau their guide
whirled in his saddle to ask if any of the riders were
tired and wished to rest for a while, but they all
preferred to keep on. A few moments later they
were passing through the deserted mining camp.
There was not a breath of wind stirring and the
only sounds they heard were the humming of insects
and now and then a bird song.</p>
<p>The cabins, many of them falling into ruins,
looked as though they might be haunted with ghosts
of the men who had given their lives trying to find
gold. “Say, boy!” Bob drew rein to look about
him. “This places gives one the shivers, all right!
At any minute I expect to hear a ghost groan
or——”</p>
<p>“Hark! What was that?” Merry interrupted. “I
<i>did</i> hear a groan! I am positive that I did.” They
all listened and there was no mistaking the fact that
a groaning noise was coming from a cabin that stood
near a deep pit beside which was a pile of red and
yellow ore.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_248">[248]</div>
<p>“What do you suppose it is, since we know there
is no such thing as a ghost?” Dan turned toward
Meg to inquire. Surely the mountain girl would
know.</p>
<p>But it was Jean who replied: “Don’t you believe
that some wounded animal may have dragged itself
into the cabin to die? They always <i>do</i> try to hide
away when they are hurt, don’t they, Meg?”</p>
<p>The girl nodded, her sweet face serious as she
said: “I will ride over and see what it is. A moan
like that always means that some creature needs
help.”</p>
<p>“You must not go alone,” Dan told her. “I will
ride over there with you.”</p>
<p>Meg turned to the others. “Please wait here,”
she said. “If it is a hurt animal, so many of us
would frighten it.”</p>
<p>In silence the group waited, watching the two who
rode toward the yawning pit. When they were near
the place, Meg dismounted and Dan did likewise.
Together they approached the door of the isolated
cabin. Dan swung his gun from his shoulder and
held it in readiness if harm were to threaten them.
Meg glanced at the door, then turning, motioned the
lad to put up his gun. Wondering what the girl had
seen, the boy hastened to her side.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_249">[249]</div>
<p>Meg entered the old cabin and Dan, standing at
the door, saw on the rotting floor the twisted form
of the old Ute Indian.</p>
<p>His wrinkled, leathery face showed how cruelly
he was suffering, but when he saw Meg, who at once
knelt at his side, his expression changed to one of
eagerness, almost of gladness. He tried to reach
out his shriveled arm, but groaned instead.</p>
<p>Dan stepped inside and looked down pityingly.
Meg, glancing up with tears in her wonderful eyes,
said, “Poor old Ute. He has had another stroke,
and this one is his last.” They both knew that the
old Indian was making a great effort to speak, and
the lad bent to whisper, “Perhaps he is trying to tell
you something.”</p>
<p>“Oh, if he only would! If he only could.” Meg
was rubbing the poor limp hand that was crusted
with dirt in her own. Then, close to his ear, she
asked clearly: “Could you tell me about my
father?”</p>
<p>Again there was a lightening of the eyes that were
beginning to dim. “Fadder he die—hid box——.
Dig, dig, no find box. <i>You</i> find box, then you
know——” The old Ute could say no more, for
another contortion had seized him and it was the
last.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_250">[250]</div>
<p>Meg was trembling so that Dan had to assist her
to rise. The others, having been eager to know
what had happened, had approached the cabin and
dismounted. Jane saw that, for the first time in
their acquaintance, the mountain girl was nearly
overcome with emotion, and going to her, she slipped
an arm about her, saying sincerely, “Meg, dear,
what is it? Can we help you?” But almost at once
Meg regained at least outward composure. “It is
the old Ute Indian who has died,” she told them.
“How thankful I am that we came this way, for he
has told me about my father. Perhaps I shall know
more, but that much is enough.”</p>
<p>Turning back, she looked thoughtfully at the
cabin, then said, “Dan, will you help me bar the door
that no wild creature can get in? The windows
were long ago boarded up. The old Ute shall have
it for his tomb.”</p>
<p>When this was done, a solemn group of young
people rode away. Meg said little, and Dan, riding
at her side, understood her thoughtfulness. When
the Abbott cabin was reached, Meg said goodbye to
the friends who were to remain there, but Dan insisted
upon accompanying her to her home.</p>
<p>When they were quite alone the lad rode close to
her, and placed a hand on hers as he said, “Meg,
dear, how much, how very much this means to you.”</p>
<p>Such a wonderful light there was in the dusky
eyes that were lifted to his. “O, Dan, <i>now</i> I can feel
that I have a right to accept your friendship; yours
and Jane’s.” But with sincere feeling the lad replied:
“It is for your sake only that I am glad.
Your parentage mattered not at all to me, nor, of
late, has it to Jane.” Then, although Dan had not
planned on speaking so soon, he heard himself saying:
“Meg, you are all to me that my most idealistic
dreams could picture for the girl I would wish to
marry. Do you think that some day you might care
for me if I regain my health and am able to make
a home for you?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_251">[251]</div>
<p>There was infinite tenderness in the dark eyes, but
the girl shook her head. “Your companionship
means very much to me, Dan, but I must teach. I
want to care for the two old people who took me in
out of the storm and who have given me all that I
have had.”</p>
<p>“You shall, dearest girl. That is, <i>we</i> shall, if you
will let me help you.”</p>
<p>Then before Meg could refuse, Dan implored,
“Don’t answer me yet. I can wait if you will <i>try</i> to
love me.” They had reached the cabin and saw Ma
Heger, wiping sudsy hands on her apron, hurrying
out to greet them. Dan detained the girl. “Promise
me that you will try to care,” he pleaded. “I
won’t have to try,” she said, then turned to greet
the angular woman who had been the only mother
she had ever known.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_252">[252]</div>
<h2 id="c32"><br/>CHAPTER XXXII. <br/>HUNTING FOR THE BOX</h2>
<p>Jean Sawyer, troubled indeed, because Jane Abbott
continued to avoid him, changed his plan and
decided not to remain at the cabin until late afternoon;
and so, bidding them goodbye, he went down
the road toward Redfords, leading the string of
horses. The other young people climbed the stone
stairway.</p>
<p>“Oh, Jane, what a perfectly adorable place,”
Merry exclaimed when the door had been unlocked
and the young people had entered the long rustic
living-room. “I like it so much better than those
elaborately furnished cottages at Newport. They
are too much like our own homes, but this cabin
savors of camping out. It’s a wonderful spot for a
real vacation.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_253">[253]</div>
<p>“It surely is different,” Jane agreed as she led her
friend into the comfortable front bedroom which
they were to share. Then she confessed: “I do
like it much more than I had supposed that I would
when I first came. Honestly, Merry, I feel differently
inside. When I believed that those poor little
children had been driven out of their home by my
temper, and might never be found, something inside
of me snapped; something that had been holding
me tense, I can’t explain it, and I felt as though I
had been set free from—well, free from myself.
Self, that is it,” she continued bitterly, “planning
for oneself, living for oneself, living for one’s selfish
pleasure and comfort, slowly but surely deadens
sympathy and love and understanding.” Then taking
from the table near the wide window a delicate
miniature, Jane handed it to her companion. “That
is my mother’s portrait.”</p>
<p>“How beautiful she must have been.” Merry
glanced from the sweet pictured face to that of the
girl at her side. “You are so alike. It is only the
expression that is different. I am sure that anyone
in sorrow would have gone to your mother for comfort.”</p>
<p>Jane nodded. “I am not like that—yet; but Dan
thinks that if we choose a model and keep it ever in
thought, we will grow to be like that person or ideal,
and I have chosen my mother.”</p>
<p>Silently Merry kissed her friend and then replaced
the miniature on the table. Jane had indeed changed
that she could talk, even with her best friend, of
these things of the soul.</p>
<p>A moment later there came a jolly rapping on
their closed door, and Bob called: “Come and see
where I am going to hang out, or hang up rather.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_254">[254]</div>
<p>Merry and Jane went out on the front porch with
the lad, who was brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh,
aren’t you afraid a bear will devour you in the
night?” his sister inquired, when she saw a hammock
hung between two pines.</p>
<p>“Hope one will,” Bob replied jubilantly. “What
a yarn that would be to tell when I get back to
college.”</p>
<p>Practical Julie was wide-eyed. “Why, Bob
Starr,” she exclaimed, “how could you tell about it
after you were all eaten up?”</p>
<p>“Which reminds me,” Bob said irrelevantly, “of
a story about the South Sea Islanders. A missionary
was teaching them that they must take great
care of their bodies, as they were to rise on the last
day, and one native asked what would become of
his poor brother who had been eaten by a tiger.”</p>
<p>“Bob, dear,” Merry rebuked, “you ought not to
joke about such things. It does not matter what we
believe ourselves, or how outlandish we consider the
beliefs of others, we ought to treat them with respect.”</p>
<p>“Yes’m,” Bob pretended to be quite contrite.
“I’m willing to change the subject if the next subject
is something to eat.”</p>
<p>“I’ll get the lunch.” Julie, leaning on the staff
Dan had cut for her, limped toward the kitchen, but
her sister caught her and put her on the porch cot
and piled pillows under her head. “Indeed not, little
lady.” Jane kissed her affectionately. “It’s your
turn now to pretend you are a princess and I will
be your maid of waiting.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_255">[255]</div>
<p>Impulsively Julie threw her arms about her sister’s
neck and clung to her as she whispered: “Oh,
Janey, I love you so!” And Jane, when she arose,
felt in her heart a greater happiness than had ever
been there when she had received the adulation of
the admiring girls at Highacres.</p>
<p>“And I will be your aide!” Merry, who had gone
to the top of the stone stairway to look down at the
road, skipped back to say, and, then, arm in arm,
these two friends went, and from their merry laughter
it was quite evident that Jane’s efforts as head
cook were being mirthfully regarded by both of
them. However, when the others were called to the
back porch, where the table was set, they found as
appetizing a lunch as could be desired. But underneath
all her apparent pleasure Jane was sorrowing.
She never again could be Jean Sawyer’s friend. He
would not want her friendship if he knew how she
had felt about her father’s sacrifice, but he must
never, never know.</p>
<p>Jane glanced often at Dan during the lunch.
Never had she seen him look so wonderfully happy.
He had expressed his regret that Jean had departed
before his return and exclaimed: “But the horse I
rode also belongs to Mr. Packard. I wonder why
he did not wait for it.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Packard told him to leave one horse with
us,” his sister explained, “and more if we wished,
but I thought one would be all you would want to
care for.” Dan was pleased.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_256">[256]</div>
<p>He said: “We have made good friends since we
came here. It is hard to realize that it is not yet a
fortnight ago.” Julie chimed in with: “Yep,
haven’t we?” Then, beginning with one small thumb
to count, “First there’s Meg Heger. Next to Janey,
she’s the nicest girl I guess there is.” Merry pretended
to be quite offended. “Little one, you surely
are honest. You ought always to say present company
excepted.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I do like you, Merry, awful much. You can
be third. Will that be all right?” The golden
haired girl laughed gaily: “Of course, I was only
teasing, dear. Now who comes next?”</p>
<p>“Jean Sawyer and Mr. Packard and then the little
spotted pony, and then my mountain lion baby.”
The small girl put down her hand as she concluded.
“I guess that’s all the new friends I’ve made here
in the mountains.”</p>
<p>Bob suddenly thought of something. “Say, Dan,
there is a sort of mystery about that trapper’s
daughter, isn’t there? I understand that at first the
old Ute Indian pretended he was her father in order
to get the girl to give him money, and that this
morning when he was dying he confessed that he
was not.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_257">[257]</div>
<p>Dan nodded. Then turning to Jane, he said: “I
am sure that Meg would not wish it kept a secret
from any of us and so I will tell you what the old
Indian said. His speech was almost incoherent, but
we understood him to say that Meg’s father had died
long ago. He must have told the squaw in Slinking
Coyote’s hearing that he had hidden a box which he
wished given to his little girl when she was older,
but he must have died before he could tell where
he had placed the box.”</p>
<p>“How I wish it could be found,” Jane said earnestly,
“for without doubt it would contain identification
papers. Although it is a great joy to Meg to
know that she is not that old Ute’s daughter, she
will have to seek out the squaw who took her to the
Heger cabin before she can know who her father
really was.”</p>
<p>“And even then I doubt if she would discover
much,” Dan remarked. “My theory is that Meg’s
father was a miner who had brought the three-year-old
little girl to Crazy Creek Camp and had remained
there for a time, even after the exodus. In
fact, he must have stayed until the Indian tribe took
possession of the otherwise deserted camp. Perhaps
just after they came he was seized with a fatal illness
and left his little one with the kindly old squaw,
probably telling her to give the child to a white family,
since that is what she did.”</p>
<p>“I believe you are right,” Jane agreed. “It all
sounds very reasonable to me. But why do you
suppose Meg’s father remained at the camp after
everyone else had left? Do you think he had some
clue to the whereabouts of the lost vein?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_258">[258]</div>
<p>“That we cannot tell,” Dan said. “He may have
remained to hunt for it.” Then, rising, he smiled
around at the group. “What shall we do this afternoon,
or do you want to just rest?”</p>
<p>“Nary for me!” was energetic Bob’s reply. “I
want to hunt for Meg Heger’s hidden box. Who
will go with me and where shall we begin the
search?”</p>
<p>Bob’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I believe that
I now understand the real reason why the Ute Indian
hung around the Crazy Creek Camp,” Dan told
them. “He knew that the miner had hidden a box,
an iron one, of course it must be, and he has been
searching for it, probably believing it to contain
whatever money Meg’s father had.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Bob agreed. “That’s as clear as
daylight. We have clues enough, but the thing is
to try to reason out <i>where</i> would be a likely place
for the miner to have hidden it.”</p>
<p>Gerald, not wishing to be left out of so interesting
a discussion, wisely contributed, “Maybe under
the floor-boards in the cabin where he lived, or some
place like that.”</p>
<p>Dan smiled down into the chubby freckled face of
his small brother as he replied: “One naturally
might suppose so, but I do believe, Gerry, that the
old Ute suspected the same thing and has been ransacking
those cabins all these years. I would be
more inclined to look in some of the dug-outs or
tunnels where, if he were a miner, Meg’s father may
have been searching for the lost vein.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_259">[259]</div>
<p>While the boys talked Jane and Merry had been
washing and wiping the lunch dishes. When they
joined the excited group on the front porch, Bob
stood up, saying, “Shall we start now?”</p>
<p>Jane also arose, but, happening to glance down at
Julie, she saw tears brimming the small girl’s eyes
and that her lips were quivering. Instantly the older
girl sat on the cot beside her, and, putting her arms
about her little sister, she said compassionately: “Is
your ankle hurting again, dearie? Since you cannot
go, I will stay here with you and read to you. Don’t
feel badly, Julie. Your foot will soon be well; long
before they find the box, I am sure of that.”</p>
<p>The small girl leaned happily against her sister
and looked up at her with adoration in her dark violet
eyes. Then Merry announced: “This is a boys’
adventure anyway. We girls will sit on the porch
and have the best kind of a time all together.”</p>
<p>And so the boys departed, armed with stout staffs
and guns and calling that they would surely be back
by supper time.</p>
<p>But when at last they did return, they had discovered
nothing, and Bob was eager to start at dawn
the next day and search everywhere around the
Crazy Creek Camp.</p>
<p>Merry shuddered. “Goodness, don’t!” she ejaculated.
“It was ghostly enough before, but now that
we know that old Ute is entombed in one of those
cabins, you couldn’t get me within a mile of the
place.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_260">[260]</div>
<p>Bob retorted: “Well, we hadn’t invited you girls,
had we? So you need not refuse with such gusto!
We’re going to take the horse, so that Dan can ride
most of the way.” But that lad interrupted: “You
mean that we will take turns riding. Although I
have been in the Rockies so short a time my cold is
entirely cured, and, as my lungs had not really been
affected, I am soon to be as husky as you, Bob.”</p>
<p>“Of course you are, old man,” Bob put a hand
on his friend’s shoulder, “but soon isn’t now. I
won’t go unless you will ride, when I think it is the
best for you to do so.”</p>
<p>“All righto! Anything to be agreeable.” Dan
sank down on the porch step as though he were
rather tired after the climb they had just completed.</p>
<p>Bob then turned to the girls. “You maidens fair
need not awaken. We’ll be as quiet as—as——”
Dan smilingly offered: “How would Santa Claus
do? He steals around very softly, or so tradition
has it.” Bob laughed. “I was going to say as a
thief in the night, but I don’t like to use a simile
which suggests an unpleasant picture, and it’s the
wrong time of the year for Santa Claus.”</p>
<p>“A mouse is awful quiet,” Julie put in.</p>
<p>“Or a cat. They have cushions on their feet,”
Gerald added.</p>
<p>“We’ll be as quiet as all of them,” Bob said, “and
tomorrow, young ladies, we are going to bring home
the box.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_261">[261]</div>
<p>When the boys returned from Crazy Creek Camp
they were weary and disappointed, but not discouraged,
or so Bob assured the girls. It was quite
evident that they were much excited, however, but
what had caused it they would not reveal. When
Merry asked if their search had taken them close to
the tomb of the old Ute Indian, Bob had looked over
at Dan and had asked, “Shall we tell?”</p>
<p>The older boy nodded. “Why, yes, we might as
well. Sooner or later they are likely to find it out.”</p>
<p>The young people were seated about the hearth
in the living-room of the cabin resting and visiting
before they retired for the night. Gerald’s eyes
glowed with excitement. “Julie won’t sleep a wink
if she knows about it. She’ll be skeered as anything,
Julie will.”</p>
<p>The small girl nestled closer to Jane and looked
up at her inquiringly. “What does Gerry mean,
Janey?” she asked. “Are they trying to tease us?”</p>
<p>But Dan replied seriously, “No, it is the truth
that something has occurred since we were last at
the Crazy Creek Camp, and the discovery of it did
startle us. Although we planned to give the tomb-cabin
a wide berth, we at once went to a position
where we could look at it. You girls can imagine
our surprise, and I’ll confess it, horror, when we
saw the front door standing wide open.”</p>
<p>“Oh-oo, how dreadful!” Jane shuddered. “What
did it mean? Had someone opened the door out of
curiosity, do you suppose, and what a shock it must
have been when they found that dead Indian on the
floor.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_262">[262]</div>
<p>Dan and Bob exchanged curious glances. Then
the latter spoke up: “It is just possible that the old
Ute was not really dead and that he revived and left
the cabin.”</p>
<p>“But how could he?” Merry looked thoughtfully
into the fire. “As I remember, the door was barred
on the outside.”</p>
<p>“True!” her brother replied, “but we also found
a loose board on the floor, which had been lifted,
leaving a hole large enough for the Ute to have
crawled through. After that he may have opened
the door to procure his pick-ax and shovel, as both
were gone.”</p>
<p>Julie glanced fearfully at the dark windows of
the room, and Gerald said, almost gloatingly:
“There, I told you so! Julie is skeered. She thinks
the old Ute may be prowling around our cabin this
very minute.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Heger ought to be told about this,” Dan
had started to say, when Gerry grabbed his arm.
“What’s that noise?” he whispered. “Someone is
outside. I hear ’em coming.”</p>
<p>Dan and Bob were on their feet at once. There
was indeed the sound of footsteps outside the cabin,
then there came a rap on the door. Julie implored:
“O Dan, don’t! don’t open it! Get your gun first!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_263">[263]</div>
<p>The older boy hesitated for a moment, but in that
brief time his own fears were set at rest, for a
familiar voice called, “Daniel Abbott, may I speak
with ye?”</p>
<p>The boy’s tenseness relaxed and he threw open
the door with a welcoming smile. “Mr. Heger,
we’re mighty glad to see you! Come in, won’t
you?”</p>
<p>The mountaineer glanced at the group about the
fire, but shook his head. “No, I thank ye. I jest
came down to ask if a big brown mare I found
whinnyin’ around my corral is the one Mr. Packard
loaned ye? I would have asked Meg hed she been
to home, but she went, sudden-like, to Scarsburg,
along of some school-work, and she’ll put up at the
inn there for several days.”</p>
<p>Dan thanked the mountaineer for the trouble he
had taken, adding, “There really is no place here to
keep the horse. I suppose that is why it wandered
up to you. As soon as Jean Sawyer comes again,
I will send it back.”</p>
<p>The mountaineer assured the boy: “No need to
do that, Danny, if you’d like to keep it. I’ll jest let
it into my corral along of Bag-o’-Bones. They
seem to be actin’ friendly enough.” The man was
about to leave, when Dan said, “Mr. Heger, we boys
have been over to Crazy Creek Camp today and we
are rather puzzled about something.”</p>
<p>He then told what they had seen, ending with,
“We’re afraid that old Ute came to life, and that he
will continue to blackmail Meg.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_264">[264]</div>
<p>The mountaineer shook his head, saying: “No,
Danny, Slinkin’ Coyote’ll never more be seen in
these parts, lest be it’s his ghost. Arter Meg tol’
me what had happened, I went down to put the
sheriff wise. He reckoned ’twouldn’t do, no-how,
to leave the body unburied, and that the county’d
have to tend to it.”</p>
<p>The girls uttered sighs of relief. Jane rose, when
the mountaineer had departed, saying, “Well, now,
I guess we can all sleep without fear of a visit from
Slinking Coyote.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_265">[265]</div>
<h2 id="c33"><br/>CHAPTER XXXIII. <br/>JANE’S BIRTHDAY</h2>
<p>For the next two days the boys searched high and
low, far and near, without finding the box. On the
morning of the third, which was Saturday, Jane
announced at breakfast that, as it was her birthday,
she wished to go down to the inn and get the mail.
The stage would not come up that way until the
following Monday. Instantly there was an uproar.
Julie, whose foot was nearly well again, hopped
around the table and threw her arms about her big
sister’s neck without fear of being rebuked because
the fresh muslin collar might be crushed. The older
girl slipped an arm lovingly about the child, who
stood with her cheek pressed against the soft dark
hair.</p>
<p>Dan reached a hand across the table. “Jane, so
it is! This is the wonderful day on which you are
eighteen. I congratulate you!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_266">[266]</div>
<p>Gerry, with a whoop, had pounced upon her, even
as Julie had done, without fear of rebuke. The
older girl had been so consistently loving during the
past few days that, childlike, they had accepted the
change as being natural and permanent. Dan smiled
happily at the group and in his eyes there was a
tenderness that his sister rejoiced to see. But the
lad who had been her chum since little childhood
also knew that Jane’s heart held a sorrow which
she was not sharing with him. That it had something
to do with Jean Sawyer he surmised, but believed
that it was because Jane still thought Mr.
Packard’s overseer liked Merry especially well.</p>
<p>“Let’s have a party!” Gerald shouted as he capered
about the room unable, it would seem, to
otherwise express his enthusiasm. “That would be
sport!” Dan agreed. Julie slipped from Jane’s encircling
arm. Clapping her hands, she sang out:
“Goodie! We’re going to have a party and maybe
there’ll be ice-cream.”</p>
<p>“There probably isn’t any to be had nearer than
Scarsburg,” Dan remarked. Then he grew thoughtful,
wondering how long the girl he loved would be
detained at the county seat, “along of school-work.”</p>
<p>As though voicing his thought, Gerald ceased his
antics to say earnestly: “It won’t be a party unless
Meg is at it.”</p>
<p>“And Jean Sawyer, too!” Julie put in. “Let’s
ask Meg and Jean to our party. You want them,
don’t you, Janey?”</p>
<p>The other girl smiled as she arose to clear the
breakfast table; then turned away, but not quickly
enough to hide the sudden tears from Dan. The
boy’s heart was sad. He also believed that Jean
Sawyer especially liked Merry, and, if this were
true, there was nothing for Jane to do but to try <i>not</i>
to care.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_267">[267]</div>
<p>Bob suggested that he and Dan go up to the Heger
place to get the horse. “Then the girls can take
turns walking and riding,” he ended. Merry seemed
to be very eager to go to the village, far down in
the valley. “I, also, am expecting some mail,” was
all that she would tell the others.</p>
<p>“I’m glad it’s such a shiny day,” Julie chirped.
“Birthdays ought to be all gold and blue, hadn’t
they ought to be, Janey?”</p>
<p>“What a tangled up sentence that is, dearie!”
The older girl tried to hide her own sorrow that she
need not depress the others who were all in a holiday
mood. “But I <i>do</i> believe that birthdays <i>ought</i>
to be sunny, for they are a chance to start life all
over.” Merry looked up brightly. “I love beginnings!”
she said, as she rolled her sleeves preparing
to wash the dishes. “Whatever the mistakes or
faults of the past have been, I feel that on New
Years and birthdays, and even on Mondays, I can
clean off the slate, so to speak, and start all over.”
When the two girls were alone in the kitchen, Merry
slipped an arm about her companion as she said,
“Dear Jane, I wish you would act more friendly
toward poor Jean Willoughby. I know that your
seeming to avoid him the other day, hurt him deeply.”
But Jane shook her head and in her eyes there
was an expression of suffering. “I can’t! Oh, I
can’t!” she said miserably. “Some day he might
find out how I had acted about father’s renouncing
his fortune, and then he would scorn me! I couldn’t
endure it, Merry. Oh, indeed, I couldn’t! I’m going
back East with you next week, and then I shall
never see Jean Sawyer.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_268">[268]</div>
<p>An hour later the young people started down the
mountain road, Julie riding on the horse as the
other two girls, dressed in their natty hiking costumes,
declared that they would rather walk. They
had decided to have lunch at the inn, for Mrs.
Bently was an excellent cook.</p>
<p>Jane covered her aching heart so well that Dan
believed after all he had been mistaken in thinking
that she was sorrowing for Jean. Her loving devotion
to her best friend plainly proved to him that
she was not at all jealous of Merry. Deciding that
he must have been wrong, he entered wholeheartedly
into the joyousness of the occasion and a jolly procession
it was that wended its way down the circling
road toward the hamlet of Redfords. At every turn
Dan glanced down to see if, by any chance, Meg
Heger might be returning to her home cabin. Her
foster-father had not known how long she would
have to stay at the Normal, where Teacher Bellows
had sent her for a time of intensive preparatory
work, but the lad hoped and believed that, even if
Meg would have to return to Scarsburg on the following
Monday, she would visit her home over the
week-end. Nor was he wrong, for, at the bend,
just above the village, Gerald, who had been racing
ahead, turned to shout through hands held trumpet-wise:
“Say kids, Meg Heger’s coming. Gee-golly!
Now she can come to the party!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_269">[269]</div>
<p>Luckily no one glanced at Dan, for his sudden
brightening expression would have revealed the
secret he wished to share with none but Meg. In
another few moments the girl, riding slowly up the
mountain road on her spotted pony, heard a chorus
of shouts, and glancing up, saw the young people on
the bend above waving caps and kerchiefs. What a
warmth there was in the heart of the girl who,
through all the years, had been without a companion
of her own age. And when at last they met, Jane
was the first to hurry forward with outstretched
hands. “We’ve missed our nearest neighbor and
we’re so glad you came home today,” she said in her
friendliest manner.</p>
<p>The beautiful girl looked from one to another of
the group and seeing in each face a joyful expression,
she asked: “What is it? Some special occasion?”
Gerald shouted, “Yo’ bet it is! It’s ol’
Jane’s birthday!” Instantly he remembered the time
in the orchard at home when he had called his sister
“Ol’ Jane” and how scathingly he had been rebuked,
and he looked quickly, anxiously at the girl, but she
was laughingly saying, “You’re right, Gerald!
Eighteen <i>is</i> old! I feel as ancient as the hills.”
Then taking Meg’s free hand, for Julie was clinging
to the other, Jane said, “Won’t you turn about
and take lunch with us at the inn? It’s the first of
the birthday celebrations.” But the mountain girl
shook her head, smiling happily into her friend’s
eyes as she replied: “Ma Heger is expecting me
this noon and will have the things baked up that I
like best. I couldn’t disappoint her nor dear old Pap,
either.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_270">[270]</div>
<p>“But you’ll come later. We’ll be home by two
o’clock and then the real celebration is to begin,”
Jane begged, while Gerald said informingly, “We’re
going to do stunts. I mean something extra-different.
We don’t know what yet, but it’ll be something
awful jolly.”</p>
<p>Meg beamed down at the eager freckled face. “I
wouldn’t miss it for worlds. Of course I will be
there.” Dan, who had been standing silently at her
side said: “I will come up to your cabin for you.
Then you will know when we are back and ready to
begin the frolic, whatever it is to be.”</p>
<p>“Is Jean Sawyer coming?” Meg glanced at Jane
to inquire. The mountain girl noted the sudden
clouding of her new friend’s eyes and although the
reply was lightly given in the negative, Meg knew
that something was wrong. She had been so sure
that Jane and Jean liked each other especially well.</p>
<p>Glancing at the sun, which was nearing the zenith,
she exclaimed: “I must go now; my pony has had
a long walk today and I do not want him to climb
too rapidly.” Then with a direct glance out of her
dusky, long-lashed eyes at Dan, she said: “I’ll be
ready and waiting for you when you come.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_271">[271]</div>
<p>Mrs. Bently was indeed pleased when she heard
that she was to have so many hungry guests for
lunch and asked if she might have one hour for
preparation.</p>
<p>The young people were disappointed when they
learned that the mail had not arrived, but they had
not long to wait before the stage drew up in front
of the inn. Mr. Bently went out to get the leather
bag which both Jane and Merry hoped might contain
something of especial interest to them.</p>
<p>They all crowded around the tiny window in the
corner which served as postoffice and waited eagerly
while the innkeeper sorted out the papers, letters and
packages.</p>
<p>“Wall, now,” he beamed at them over his spectacles,
“if here ain’t that parcel ol’ Granny Peters
been waitin’ fer so long. Yarn’s in it,” he informed
his amused listeners. “Red, black and yellar.
Granny sends to the city for a fresh batch every
summer and knits things for Christmas presents.
I’ve had one o’ Granny Peters’ mufflers every year
for longer than I kin recollect.” He reached again
into the bag. “An’ here’s magazines enough to
start a shop. Them’s for the Packard ranch. They
must have a powerful lot o’ time for settin’ around
readin’, them two must.” Merry was watching
eagerly, for, on the very next package she was sure
that she saw her name. The postmaster looked at
it closely. Then he held it far off to get a different
angle, evidently hoping for enlightenment. Finally
he shook his head and tossed it to one side. “Reckon
thar’s been a mistake as to that parcel,” he said.
“Thar ain’t no Miss Marion Starr in these here
parts.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_272">[272]</div>
<p>“I’m Marion Starr,” that maiden informed him,
laughingly holding out her hand. But before the
postmaster would give up the parcel he presented
the girl with a paper to sign. “Reckon thar’s suthin’
powerful valuable in that thar box,” he said, “bein’
as it’s sent registered.”</p>
<p>Then he leaned on his elbows as though planning
to wait until Merry had opened her package before
he finished distributing the mail, but to his quite evident
disappointment, the girl slipped it into her
sweater coat pocket. “I know what’s in it,” she
said brightly. Jane, noting the radiant happiness
in her friend’s face, believed that she also knew, but
her attention was attracted again to the small window
near which she stood, for the postmaster was
touching her arm with a long letter. “Miss Jane
Abbott,” he said, adding, “Wall, golly be, you’re
sort o’ popular, I reckon. Here are three letters an’
thar’s another that come in yesterday.”</p>
<p>“It’s Jane’s birthday,” Julie piped up informingly.
A month before the older girl would have rebuked
the younger for having been so familiar with one of
a class far beneath her. As it was, she accepted
smilingly the well meant remark. “Wall, do tell!
How old be yo’, Miss Jane? Not a day over sixteen,
jedgin’ by yer looks.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_273">[273]</div>
<p>As soon as the two girls could slip away from the
others, Jane led Merry into the deserted parlor of
the inn, where hair-cloth chairs and sofa, a marble-topped
table, and bright-colored prints on the wall
were revealed in the subdued light from windows
hung with heavy draperies.</p>
<p>When they were alone, Merry whirled and caught
Jane’s hands as she asked glowingly: “Can you guess
what’s in the box? I told mother to forward it.”</p>
<p>For answer Jane stooped and kissed the flushed
cheek of her friend. “Of course, I can guess,” she
replied. “It’s the ring Jean’s brother was to send
you from Paris.”</p>
<p>Merry soon had the small box unwrapped and a
dew-drop clear diamond was revealed in a setting of
quaint design. “Oh, Merry, how wonderfully beautiful
it is!” Jane said with sincere admiration. Her
shining-eyed friend slipped it on the finger for which
it was intended, then, smiling up at her companion,
she prophesied, “Some day another ring, as lovely
as this one, will make you my sister.”</p>
<p>There was a wistful expression in the dark eyes,
but Jane’s quiet reply was, “You are wrong, Merry.
Even if Jean thinks he cares for me, he would not,
if he knew, and what is more, I have no reason to
believe that he even likes me better than he does his
other girl friends.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_274">[274]</div>
<p>Merry, knowing that time alone could tell whether
or not she was a prophet, changed the subject by
asking: “From whom are your letters, dear? How
selfish I have been, opening my box first when it is
<i>your</i> birthday.” Jane glanced at the top envelope,
then tore it open with breathless eagerness.</p>
<p>Merry surmised, and correctly, that the letter was
from Jean Sawyer. It was the one Mr. Bently had
taken from a pigeon-hole where it had been since the
day before. It did not take long for Jane to read it,
and when she looked up there was an expression of
happiness shining through the tears that had come.
Then suddenly and most unexpectedly, the girl sank
down in the stiff chair by the marble-topped table
and bending her head on her arms, she sobbed bitterly.
Merry went to her and putting an arm about
her, she implored: “Don’t, don’t cry, dearie. It will
make your eyes red and the others will wonder. Tell
me what is in the letter and let us try to think what
it is best to do. Is it from Jean?”</p>
<p>Jane lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Then
she held the letter out for her friend to read. There
were few words in it, but they told how sincerely
unhappy the lad was because Jane seemed not to
wish for his friendship. Jean had written: “All I
can think of is that in some way I have hurt you,
and that I do so want to be forgiven. At least, be
frank and tell me just why you do not wish my
friendship.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you tell him, dearie? If it would be
hard to talk it over with him, write a little letter now
and leave it until someone comes for the Packard
ranch mail. Will you do that if I get the materials?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_275">[275]</div>
<p>Jane nodded miserably. “Yes, I would rather
write it. Then I will go back with you next week
and I shall never again see Jean Sawyer.”</p>
<p>Merry procured from Mr. Bently the paper and
envelope, while Bob willingly loaned his fountain
pen. A glance at the big, loud-ticking clock on the
wall showed that there was still twenty minutes before
Mrs. Bently would be ready for them.</p>
<p>Merry thoughtfully left Jane alone, nor did she
ask what her friend had written when, at last, she
joined the others, who were seated in the cane-bottomed
chairs on the front veranda of the inn.</p>
<p>The letter Jane had given to Mr. Bently, asking
him to place it with the rest of the mail for the
Packard ranch.</p>
<p>The boys sprang up when Jane appeared, and Bob,
being nearest, offered his chair with a flourish.
Merry glanced anxiously at her friend, but the beautiful
face betrayed nothing. “Thank you,” Jane replied
with a smile at Bob, who had perched upon the
rail near. Then, to Dan, she said: “Brother, I
have such a nice letter from Dad and one from
grandmother, but best of all is the check in Aunt
Jane’s letter, because now I can repay the debt that
I owe our dear, wonderful Meg.”</p>
<p>Before she could say more, Mrs. Bently appeared
in the doorway, her face rosy, her spotless blue apron
wound about her hands. “The birthday lunch is
ready to be dished up,” she announced. Instantly
Bob was on his feet, making a deep bow before Jane
and holding out his arm as he inquired, “May I
have the great pleasure of escorting the guest of
honor?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_276">[276]</div>
<p>Gerald, taking the cue, bowed before Merry and
Julie, laughing up at Dan, said ungrammatically but
happily: “Me’n you are all that’s left.” The tall
boy caught the little girl by one hand as he joyfully
replied: “Mrs. Tom Thumb and The Living Skeleton
will end the procession.”</p>
<p>Jane, smiling over her shoulder, said rebukingly,
“Don’t call yourself that, brother. You’re not nearly
as thin as you were.” When the dining-room
was reached, the young people were surprised and
pleased. “Say, boy!” was Bob’s comment “Mrs.
Bently, you’ve decked it out in grand style.”</p>
<p>The table to which they had been led was indeed
resplendent with the best of everything that the
good woman possessed. On a real damask table-cloth
was glass that sparkled, while a pink rose pattern
wound about plates and cups. “They’re my
wedding presents,” the comely woman told them as
she beamed her pleasure. “I never use them except
for extra occasions like Christmas and——”</p>
<p>“Birthdays,” Gerald put in. Then, after the boys
had moved the chairs out for the girls and all were
seated, they glanced about the room. Two cowboys
were at a table in a corner, and Jane recognized that
one of them was from the Packard ranch.
“He’ll take back their mail,” she thought, “and so
this very day Jean Sawyer will know all. He will
never, never want to see me after he reads what I
have written.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_277">[277]</div>
<p>The menu for that birthday lunch was indeed an
excellent one, but the children, who sat next to each
other, were eagerly anticipating the dessert. “What
do you ’spect it will be?” Gerald inquired softly,
and Julie whispered back: “I know what I wish
it was. It begins with I. C.”</p>
<p>“You might as well wish for something else,”
Dan, who had overheard, replied, but when Mrs.
Bently appeared, on her tray there were six dishes
heaped high with chocolate ice cream.</p>
<p>“Why, Mrs. Bently, are you a miracle worker?”
Jane, pleased for the children’s sake, inquired.
Laughingly the woman confessed that the ice-cream
had been the reason she had asked for one hour in
which to prepare. “So many folks motorin’ past
want ice-cream,” she told them, “and so Pa Bently
fetched a new contraption from Denver last time he
was up there, an’ it’ll freeze ice-cream in one hour
easy.” Then she disappeared to soon return with
a mountain of a chocolate layer cake. “You’ll have
to get along without candles, Miss Jane,” the good
woman said, “an’ the frostin’ ain’t very hard yet,
but I reckon it’ll pass.”</p>
<p>The girl, who had felt scornful of these “natives,”
as she had called them only a short month before,
was deeply touched and she exclaimed with real feeling:
“Mrs. Bently, I do indeed appreciate all the
trouble that you have taken. I have never had a
nicer party.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_278">[278]</div>
<p>A moment later Jane saw the two cowboys
leave the dining-room. Almost unconsciously she
pressed her hand against her heart to still its rapid
beating as her panicky thought was questioning:
“Do you really want to send that letter to Jean
Sawyer? There is yet time to get it. Do you want
him to know just how dishonorable you were about
the money?” She half rose, then sank down again,
for through the swinging door she had seen Mr.
Bently handing the Packard mail pouch to the cowboy.
It was too late. Then, chancing to meet
Merry’s troubled glance, Jane smiled as she said
with an effort at gaiety: “Gerald, if all of your
wishes are to be fulfilled as magically as this one has
been, you are to be a lucky boy.”</p>
<p>“There’s two things we’ve wished for lately that
don’t happen, aren’t there, Danny?” The small boy
looked up at his big brother, who smiled down, as
be replied, “I suppose you mean that we have not
found Meg Heger’s box. What is the other unmaterialized
wish, Gerry?”</p>
<p>The boy’s wide eyes expressed astonishment.
“Why, Dan Abbott, I do believe you’ve forgotten
that we wished we might find the lost gold mine.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_279">[279]</div>
<p>The older boy laughingly confessed that was true.
Dan had found a gold mine that he valued much
more than the one to which Gerald referred. It was
Mrs. Bently who said, “It wasn’t a lost mine, exactly,
dearie. The vein they’d been workin’ petered
out, although there are folks who reckon that vein
branched off somewhars, but the miners went away
hot-foot when the Bald Mountain Strike was made.”
Then she concluded: “There’s not much use huntin’
for that lost vein, how-some-ever. Time and
again there’s been wanderin’ miners diggin’ around
in them parts, but they allays give up and go away.”</p>
<p>Then, as the young people rose, they each expressed
some characteristic praise for the meal and
indeed Mrs. Bently was almost as pleased about it
as her guests had been. The bill, they found, was
surprisingly small. Then, after bidding the two queer
characters goodbye, the six merrymakers started up
the trail with Julie again on the horse. The other
girls took turns riding with her and so, at about
two, they reached the Abbott cabin. Dan climbed
to the back of the mare. Calling that he would soon
return, he rode up the mountain toward Meg’s home.
How very many things had happened in the few
weeks they had been in the mountains, he thought.
If only Jane could be happy, Dan assured himself,
he would be supremely so. But poor Jane found, as
the moments passed, that she regretted more and
more having sent the letter, but she would not confide
this to Merry, whose suggestion it had been.
Meanwhile the letter had reached its destination and
had been read by Jean Sawyer.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_280">[280]</div>
<h2 id="c34"><br/>CHAPTER XXXIV. <br/>SECRETS</h2>
<p>Merry glanced anxiously at Jane when they were
alone, Bob having gone with the children for a hike
along the brook.</p>
<p>“Dear,” she said, slipping an arm about her
friend, “you are regretting having taken my advice,
aren’t you?”</p>
<p>They were in the bedroom which they shared, removing
their tams and sweaters when, to Merry’s
surprise and grief, Jane threw herself down on the
bed and sobbed as though her heart would break.
“Oh, I can’t bear the humiliation of it all! How I
wish we could leave for the East today, this very
minute. While I am here, I may meet Jean
Sawyer, and if he looks at me scornfully, as of
course he will, I would rather be dead, honestly I
would!”</p>
<p>Merry indeed regretted that she had asked Jane
to send the letter which was causing her so much
unhappiness. “Try to forget about it, Janey, just
for today,” she implored, “while we are celebrating
your eighteenth birthday.” Then an inspiration
came to her and she asked: “What would your
mother have done if she had had a sorrow that
would sadden others if they knew about it?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_281">[281]</div>
<p>Jane sat up on the side of the bed, and, after
glancing at the miniature on the table near, she
turned and looked thoughtfully out of the wide window
and into the sun-shimmering valley. Merry
wondered what her reply would be. A moment
later she knew, for Jane sprang up and after kissing
the golden-haired girl impulsively, she caught her
by the hand, saying: “I’m going out to the brook
to wash my face in that clear, cold water, just as
Dan and I did the first day that we came. And I’ll
try to wash away all selfish grievings and to think,
if I can, only of the happiness of the guests at my
birthday party. That’s what my mother would have
done. I am so glad that Dan told me that we can
choose a model or an ideal and carve our own characters
like it and I’m grateful to you for having recalled
it to me, because, for the moment, I had forgotten.”
The girls took their towels and hand in
hand they skipped around to the brook. Jane knelt
by the big boulder and splashed the cold spring water
over her tear-stained eyes. When she looked up her
wet cheeks were rosy. And later, when they had
gone back to the bedroom to complete their preparations
for the party, Merry begged Jane to wear a
wine-colored dress which was especially becoming
to her. It was of soft, clinging crepe de chine and
had a deep collar of Irish crochet. Then they went
into the living-room to await the coming of their
guest. Merry, whose dainty blue summer dress
made her lovely eyes the color of a June sky, sat
smiling admiringly at her friend. “Jane,” she said,
“you are wonderful. But there is just one more
touch needed to make you look a bit more partified.
I will get it.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_282">[282]</div>
<p>Springing up, Merry went into their bedroom,
took from her suitcase a box which contained a
beautiful scarlet rose with satin and velvet petals.
This she pinned into Jane’s soft, dark hair just
above her left ear. Standing off to note the effect,
Merry declared that her friend was certainly the
most beautiful girl she had ever seen. A short
month before Jane would have considered this praise
her just due, but, so greatly had she changed, her
reply was given in entire sincerity: “I may be the
most beautiful to you, because you love me, but Meg
Heger is really the more beautiful.” Before Merry
could reply, there was an excited shouting without.
Both girls leaped to the open door. They saw Meg
Heger riding on her spotted pony, while Dan on the
big brown mare was at her side, but they were conversing
quietly. The halloos came from the brook.
Turning to look in that direction, the girls saw
Julie, Bob and Gerald racing toward them as fast
as they could over the rocky way, and it was quite
evident that they were all very much excited. “I
wonder what they have seen?” Jane said.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_283">[283]</div>
<p>Before the children and Bob could reach the
cabin, Meg and Dan had climbed the stairway and
had been greeted by the two girls.</p>
<p>The trapper’s daughter wore a simply fashioned
Scotch plaid gingham dress in which many colors
were mingled.</p>
<p>They all turned toward the brook when the three,
who were racing toward them, neared.</p>
<p>“What, ho!” Dan called gayly, and Jane noted
that never before had she seen in her brother’s face
an expression of such radiant happiness. “Did you
three see a bear? It never will do for us to go back
East without having at least sighted a grizzly.”</p>
<p>To the surprise of the four who awaited them,
the newcomers became suddenly embarrassed, and
even Bob acted as though he hardly knew what to
say, which was quite unusual in so straightforward
and impulsive a lad.</p>
<p>“Dan,” he said, “may I speak with you a moment?”</p>
<p>The older boy walked away from the curious
group of girls.</p>
<p>“We did not know that Meg Heger had come,”
Bob began, “and we were just going to call out that
we had found another place where we would like to
look for the lost box. It’s such a queer place, Dan,
but it is one that as yet we have not investigated.
Can’t we get away from the girls somehow? Gerald
and Julie and I want to show the spot to <i>you</i> at
least.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_284">[284]</div>
<p>“Why, I presume so,” Dan agreed, and after explaining
to the three older girls that Bob and the
youngsters wished to show him something, he followed
them back along the brook. It was the way
that he had gone on that day when he had first
visited the Heger cabin. When they reached the
waterfall which Dan had thought so pretty, they
climbed down to the red rock basin into which it
fell. Excitedly, Gerald pointed back of the tumbling
water.</p>
<p>“Look-it, Dan!” he fairly shouted. “See that
little cave opening in there! Doesn’t it look to you
as if it had been made with a pickaxe? Bob thinks
it does.”</p>
<p>Dan looked through the transparent sheet of hurrying
water and smilingly shook his head as he replied:</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose that a human being has ever been
through that crevice, and, moreover, I don’t quite
see how we can investigate, do you, Bob?”</p>
<p>Dan, noting the disappointed expression on his
small brother’s face, turned toward the older boy.</p>
<p>“We sort of had it figured out that Gerald could
stand back of the waterfall and then he could see
better whether that is just a crevice in the rocks or
the mouth of a cave.”</p>
<p>The youngest boy looked up eagerly. “You
know, Dan, I fetched along my bathing suit.
Mayn’t I go back to the cabin and put it on? Mayn’t
I, Dan?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_285">[285]</div>
<p>“Why, of course, if you wish, but perhaps you
had better say nothing to the girls about it. I do
not like to have Meg know that we are searching for
that box, since there is no real likelihood of our
finding it.”</p>
<p>Luckily the girls were not in sight, and so no
questions were asked of the small boy, who dived
into his own room, donned his bathing suit and
raced away, without having been seen. Dan held
the younger boy’s hand in a tight clasp as Gerald
went down into the clear, cold pool.</p>
<p>“Now, hold your breath and step up on that ledge
back of the waterfall,” the older brother advised.</p>
<p>Julie watched wide-eyed, almost frightened.</p>
<p>“Oh, Danny,” she suddenly exclaimed, “couldn’t
there be something terrible hiding in that crack?”</p>
<p>But before Dan could assure her that it was not
likely, Gerald had leaped back into the rock basin,
crying: “It’s a cave in there! Oh, boy! Shall
I go in it, Dan; shall I?”</p>
<p>“Not alone!” The older boy was almost sorry
that the crevice had been found. “Bob,” he said,
turning to the lad who stood meditatively looking
at the waterfall, “I don’t believe that it would be
wise to permit Gerald to go into that cave. He
might suddenly drop into a pit filled with water.
Let’s give it up, shall we, and go back to the girls?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_286">[286]</div>
<p>It was plain to see that Bob was disappointed, but
his reply was: “Of course, Gerald ought not to go
into that cave, if it is one. I had no intention of
permitting him to do more than see if it really is an
opening. I also have a bathing suit and a flashlight.
I never will be satisfied unless I investigate, but of
course I will not take a step inside unless it is solid
rock.”</p>
<p>Against his better judgment, Dan said, “Well, go
ahead, Bob, if you want to.”</p>
<p>The girls had evidently sauntered away from the
cabin, for Bob did not see them when he went there
to don his bathing suit. He rejoined the others in
a very short time. Having been an athlete in college,
he swung himself down and back of the waterfall
without aid. Then flashing the light into the
crevice, he sang out: “There’s a solid floor, all
right, Dan, but I think Gerald had better not come.”</p>
<p>For a long five minutes the group on the outside
waited, listening with ever-increasing anxiety. Dan
thought that he would be sincerely glad when this
foolhardy adventure was over. At last he called:</p>
<p>“Bob, haven’t you investigated enough? Come
on out!”</p>
<p>But there was no reply. Another five minutes
elapsed and Dan was just about to have Gerald
again climb back of the waterfall to look through
the crevice, when Bob appeared, carrying a pickaxe
and a shovel, rusted and dirt encrusted.</p>
<p>“What do you say to that?” he exulted, as he
plunged through the fall and waded out of the red
rock pool.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_287">[287]</div>
<p>Dan was amazed. “Bob,” he exclaimed, “you
were right about one thing at least. The cave was
made with a pick. Was it large?”</p>
<p>“No; that is, not wide. It is a narrow tunnel
which stops abruptly. I found these tools at the
very end.”</p>
<p>Dan lifted his shovel and looked at the handle.
Then he examined it more closely. Picking up a
stone, he knocked away the dirt with which it was
crusted. A name was carved in the handle. Letter
by letter was deciphered and Dan wrote each in his
small notebook. When they had reached the last,
Bob asked: “Is it a message telling where the
box is?”</p>
<p>“No,” Dan replied, “merely the name and address
of the owner of the shovel and pick, I judge. A
French name, Giguette. Yes, that is it, Franc
Giguette.”</p>
<p>“But there is more to it, Danny.” Gerald was
trying to see the pad. “What’s the rest?”</p>
<p>“Where the miner lived, I suppose,” Dan told
him. “Cabin 10, I think it is.”</p>
<p>Bob leaped around wild with joy. “Talk about a
clue! Why, that’s the number of the cabin at Crazy
Creek where this miner lived. Can’t we go right
over and hunt for it, Dan? Do you suppose that
the girls would care if Gerald and I go? We aren’t
at all necessary to the birthday party. You and
Julie are.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_288">[288]</div>
<p>“Of course, you may do as you wish,” Dan acquiesced.
“It’s a long way to the camp, though.”</p>
<p>“Not if we can ride,” Gerry put in. “You and
Meg came down on the horses. Where are they?”</p>
<p>“Back at the Heger cabin by this time,” the older
brother replied. “Meg turned her pony’s head up
the mountain road and said, ‘Go home, Pal,’ and the
brown mare seemed to be quite content to follow.
Perhaps you will overtake them.”</p>
<p>Bob caught hold of Gerald’s hand as he said:
“We’ll have to hustle, old man, if we get back before
dark.”</p>
<p>Gerry glanced at Julie to see if she were terribly
disappointed, but the small girl smiled, though a
bit waveringly. Dan, noting this, spoke for her:
“Julie and I will stay at the cabin. It would hardly
do for us all to leave Jane on her birthday.”</p>
<p>These two sauntered slowly along the brook, and
before they reached the cabin they saw Bob and
Gerald, fully clothed, starting to run up the mountain
road.</p>
<p>Dan had little expectation that they would find the
box of which the old Indian had told Meg, but he
knew that Bob would not be able to enjoy the quiet
party when be might be out following a clue.</p>
<p>The girls were seated on the rustic front porch
when Dan and Julie appeared. Jane smiled a greeting
to them, then asked: “Do tell us what has happened
to Bob and Gerry. They dashed in and out
again, nor would they stop when we called to ask
where they were going?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_289">[289]</div>
<p>“Boys will be boys,” was Dan’s evasive answer
as he sank down on the porch step and smiled up at
Meg. Then he heard his questioning thought asking:
“Is it possible that Meg’s real name is
Giguette?”</p>
<p>The five who remained at the cabin that afternoon
found it difficult to converse idly, for the
thoughts of each kept returning to a subject of great
interest to that individual. Meg’s good friend
Teacher Bellows had told her that as soon as her
examinations were completed he would accompany
her and Pa Heger to a distant valley in the mountains
where he had heard that the Ute tribe was
then dwelling. They believed the finding of the box
to be impossible since all through the years the old
Indian had searched for it.</p>
<p>Merry, who had slipped her ring back into its case
before any of her friends, except Jane, had seen it,
was wondering when would be the best time to put
it on her finger and announce to them all that she
was to become the wife of Jean’s brother. She had
wanted to wait until Jean Willoughby should be with
them, but when that would be, she could not conjecture.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_290">[290]</div>
<p>Dan and Julie were very much excited over the
discovery of the pick and shovel, and the lad could
see by the small girl’s manner that she was finding
the secret almost more than she could keep. Every
now and then, in childish fashion, Julie would look
over at her brother, hump her shoulders and put a
finger on her lips. Jane noted this, but was too miserably
unhappy to wonder about little girl secrets.
But she was being true to her resolve. She was ever
keeping the memory of her mother in thought, and
trying to be interested in what her companions
were saying.</p>
<p>It was indeed a long afternoon, tense with suppressed
excitement. At five-thirty, when the boys
had not returned, Dan began to regret that he had
granted the permission, for, of course, Gerry would
not have gone to Crazy Creek Camp if his older
brother had thought it unwise, and Bob, in all probability,
would not have gone alone.</p>
<p>Jane, after glancing at her wrist watch, sprang
up, announcing with evident gaiety: “Merry and
I have a supper planned.”</p>
<p>Then, turning to the younger girl, she invited:
“Julie, dear, wouldn’t you like to set the table and
make it look real partified?”</p>
<p>“Oh, goodie!” The small girl was glad to be
asked to accompany the older two and away she
skipped. Meg and Dan were left alone, for their
offers of assistance had been refused.</p>
<p>“Suppose we climb to Bald Rock and watch the
sunset,” Dan suggested. The girl, smiling up at
him, arose at once. As soon as they had started to
climb along the singing brook, Meg looked at her
companion inquiringly. “Dan,” she said, “won’t
you share your secret with me?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_291">[291]</div>
<p>“Perhaps,” the lad countered, “if you will share
yours with me.” A merry, rippling laugh, as silvery
as the song of the brook they were following,
was the girl’s first response. Then, “We must be
mind readers,” she told him.</p>
<p>Dan glanced down into the dusky uplifted face
and in his eyes there was an expression almost of
adoration. “Meg,” he said, “doesn’t that alone
prove that we are perfect comrades? We can sense
each other’s unspoken thought.” Then, with greater
seriousness: “I have hesitated about telling you,
and moreover you have been in Scarsburg during
the past week, but it is your right to know. Bob
and Gerald and I have been searching for the box
of which the dying Indian told you.”</p>
<p>“Why, Dan,” the girl’s surprise was unmistakable,
“it is but wasting time. If the old Ute could
not find it, surely it is not findable. There is a
simpler way to learn of my parentage, and one
which Pa Heger, Teacher Bellows and I are planning
to undertake.” Then she told of the journey
into the mountains upon which they expected to
start when her examinations were completed. While
Meg talked, she realized that Dan had still more to
tell, and so she asked: “Where did you boys
search, and did you find anything at all?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_292">[292]</div>
<p>“Yes, Meg, we did unearth something and that is
why Bob and Gerry hurried away in so mysterious
a fashion.” Then the lad told about the dirt-crusted
shovel and pick and of the carved name.</p>
<p>“Giguette!” the girl repeated as though she were
searching her memory for something forgotten.
Then lifting a radiant face, she exclaimed: “Dan
Abbott, that is my name. I was only a little thing,
less than three, when someone taught me to lisp that
my name was ‘Lalie Giguette’ when anyone asked.
Until now, I had completely forgotten.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_293">[293]</div>
<h2 id="c35"><br/>CHAPTER XXXV. <br/>JANE AND JEAN</h2>
<p>Meanwhile the three girls in the kitchen were
preparing the evening meal with much nonsensical
chatter, but Jane was finding the strain almost more
than she could bear. She felt that she might overcome
her desire to go to her room and sob her heart
out, if only she could get away by herself for a few
moments, and so she suddenly, exclaimed, “The one
thing needed for our table is a bouquet. I saw a
clump of the prettiest wild flowers yesterday, and if
you girls will excuse me I’ll go and get them.”
Merry at once saw through the ruse. Jane’s flushed
cheeks, quivering lips and tear-brimmed eyes told the
story, and so she urged, “Do go, Jane, before it is
dark. The cool mountain air will do you good.”
She did not offer to accompany her friend, realizing
that she wanted to be alone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_294">[294]</div>
<p>Jane left the cabin, and after crossing the brook,
she hurried toward the cleft in a rock where she had
seen the flowers of which she had spoken, but instead
of gathering them, she threw herself down on
a wide, flat boulder and sobbed bitterly. She did
not hear footsteps hurrying toward her, but suddenly
she was conscious that someone had taken her
hand and was holding it with great tenderness. “Of
course it is Dan,” she thought, without glancing up.
Dear old Dan who always understood. But in another
second, when the someone spoke, Jane knew
that it was Jean Willoughby and not her brother.
Instantly she was on her feet, her cheeks flaming,
her hand pressed over her pounding heart. There
was a wild, frightened expression in her eyes and
she was about to run, but she could not, for two
strong arms caught and held her, as the lad implored,
“Jane, dear, dear Jane, don’t spurn me any
longer. Don’t you understand that I love you? The
very fact that you could write that letter to me reveals
the true nobility of your soul. I don’t blame
you in the least for finding it hard, at first, to adjust
yourself to the changed conditions, but when it
came to the testing, you would have told your
father to do just what he did.” Then, putting a
hand over her quivering lips, he begged, “Don’t
let’s talk about that subject now. There’s something
ever so much more interesting that I want to say.
Jane, can you care enough for me to promise to be
my wife?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_295">[295]</div>
<p>The sudden change from misery to joy had been
so great that the girl could hardly believe that it
was real, and she gazed uncomprehendingly into the
eager, handsome face of the lad. Then slowly she
read in his glowing eyes the truth of all he had said,
and she smiled tremulously. It was enough for
Jean Willoughby. Joyfully he cried, “You <i>do</i> care,
Jane!” Then taking from his pocket a ring, he
added (and there was infinite tenderness in his
voice), “That last summer on the coast of Maine,
when little mother and I were alone together, she
gave me this for <i>you</i>, dearest girl.”</p>
<p>Again there were sudden tears in the dark eyes
that were lifted to his. “Not for <i>me</i>, Jean. Your
mother would have chosen a girl who could do useful
things; pare potatoes, sew and darn.”</p>
<p>The lad laughed happily, and catching the slim
left hand, he slipped the ring on the finger for which
it was intended. Then he kissed each of the five
finger tips as he confessed, “It may seem inconsistent,
but I want these lovely hands kept stainless.
We will have a Chinaman to pare and cook.” Then
slowly they walked toward the cabin.</p>
<p>Meg and Dan had returned and with Merry and
Julie were standing on the rustic front porch wondering
where Jane had wandered, and why she remained
away so long. When they saw the two coming
toward them, hand in hand, their faces, even in
the dusk, that had so quickly fallen, revealing their
secret, there was joy in the hearts of Merry and
Dan. Jane would no longer be unhappy. When
they had entered the lighted living-room of the
cabin, Merry exclaimed as she held out her left
hand, “I also am to be congratulated. I am to be
married to Jean’s brother on the first day of September.”
“Let’s make it a double wedding, Jane,
can’t we?” her fiance implored.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_296">[296]</div>
<p>“I’d like to!” The radiant girl glanced at Dan,
then added, “If my big brother will give his consent.”
“Indeed you have it, Jane,” that lad said
heartily. “I know that I am voicing our father’s
sentiments-to-be, when I say that I am proud to
welcome Jean Willoughby into our family.”</p>
<p>Of their own secret Meg and Dan had decided to
say nothing.</p>
<p>Then remembering the commonplaces, Jane said:
“We’re waiting supper for the boys. Where did
they go and why?” She looked at both Julie and
Dan. “You two surely know, since you were with
them. It is nearly seven and getting dark rapidly.
Aren’t you anxious about them, Dan?”</p>
<p>“I shall be if they do not soon return,” the lad
replied. “Perhaps we had better have the good
supper you have prepared. There is no need to spoil
it for all.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a bit hungry,” Jane said and Merry
teased: “Why, Janey, you must be in love.”</p>
<p>The table had been placed in the middle of the
cabin living-room. Over it hung a drop lamp with
a crimson shade and, as there was a log burning on
the hearth, the room presented a most festive appearance.
It was with sincere regret that the six
young people seated themselves, leaving two chairs
vacant. All during the meal, at intervals, they
paused to listen, hoping that they would hear the
halloos of the returning boys.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_297">[297]</div>
<p>Dan was becoming thoroughly alarmed and, at
last, after a consultation with Meg, he turned to the
others and said: “We have decided to tell you the
mission on which the boys started out so hurriedly.”</p>
<p>Of course Jane and Merry had surmised that they
had gone in quest of the hidden box, but they knew
nothing of the finding of the pick, shovel and carved
name, and they were much interested.</p>
<p>At eight o’clock Jean Willoughby rose. “I had
better be going,” he said. “I have a long hike ahead
of me.” But Dan protested. “Indeed you shall not
go tonight. Mr. Packard will not be worried if you
remain with us, will he? I may need your help to
locate the boys if they do not soon return.”</p>
<p>That settled the matter, for Jean had not wished
to leave. Another hour passed, and Dan, who had
really become very anxious, arose, but before he
could get his coat and cap, the halloos for which
they had long listened were heard.</p>
<p>Leaping to the door, Dan threw it open and a
welcoming light streamed out into the darkness.</p>
<p>Bob and Gerry, looking almost exhausted, staggered
into the room (although Dan well knew that
it was for effect) and sank down on the vacant
chairs. “Say, talk about a climb! We certainly
had a steep one!” Bob gasped.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_298">[298]</div>
<p>The young people at once noted that neither boy
was carrying a box and so they decided that it had
not been found. “It isn’t such a terrible steep climb
to Crazy Creek Camp,” Dan commented. “Half of
the way is down grade.”</p>
<p>The two younger boys exchanged glances that
were hard for the watchers to interpret. Then Bob
sprang up, exclaiming: “Come on, kid. Let’s wash
and have some of the good grub.”</p>
<p>“You must be nearly starved,” Jane said, also
rising and going toward the kitchen. “We are
keeping your share of the party warm.”</p>
<p>When they were gone, Dan said softly: “I’m
inclined to believe that the boys have something of
a surprising nature to tell us, but after Gerry’s usual
fashion he wants to keep us guessing for a time.”</p>
<p>The two mountain climbers were indeed hungry
and they ate heartily, talking aggravatingly of
everything but the matter which they knew was uppermost
in the minds of their companions. When
they declared that another bite could not be taken,
the table was cleared, magazines and books again
spread upon it, and then Dan, feeling it unfair to
Meg to keep her longer in suspense, exclaimed,
“Now, boys, tell us your adventures.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_299">[299]</div>
<h2 id="c36"><br/>CHAPTER XXXVI. <br/>MYSTERIES HALF SOLVED</h2>
<p>“It didn’t take us long to get to Crazy Creek
Camp, I can tell you.” Bob, glancing from one
to another of the group about the fireplace, saw
in each face an eager interest in the tale he had to
tell. But in Meg’s face there was more than interest,
and suddenly Bob realized that the finding of
the lost box was of vital importance to the mountain
girl, while, to him, it had been merely an exciting
adventure, the mystery of which had lured
him on.</p>
<p>After a thoughtful moment, he continued: “We
found most of the cabins unnumbered, or, if they
had once been so marked, time and storms had done
away with the numerals. But we did find a tunnel
above which the figures 10 had been chipped out of
solid stone. The opening of the small tunnel was
closed, however, by red rocks that had fallen evidently
in a landslide. I suggested that we lift them
away one by one, but Gerry thought it a waste of
time as the carving on the handle had been ‘Cabin
10’ and not Tunnel 10. But I was not so sure, and
so we went to work and in half an hour we had an
opening large enough to enter one at a time. I had
my flashlight with me, and stooping, I looked in.
Strangely enough, I saw a faint gleam of daylight
at the other end.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_300">[300]</div>
<p>Bob paused and glanced about the group to make
sure that they were all properly curious before he
continued: “The tunnel was not high enough for
even Gerry to stand in erect and so on all fours we
crept through it. Since the opening had been
stopped up I did not fear meeting wild creatures,
but as we neared the other end, the daylight grew
brighter and then to our great surprise we came out
upon a wide ledge which hung there in the most
dizzying manner. On it was a rustic cabin, and
back of that a fenced-in dooryard. Surely, we decided,
this was Cabin 10. There was no way of
reaching it except through the tunnel, as the mountain
wall was almost perpendicular above and below
the ledge.</p>
<p>“We were greatly elated and at once tried the door
and found it unlocked. There was only one room
and it looked like the den of a student. Books and
papers were everywhere in evidence; dust-covered
and yellowed with the years. On the desk a bottle
of dried ink was uncorked and a rusted pen lying
there seemed to indicate that someone had suddenly
stopped writing, and, for some reason, had never
again taken up the pen. As further proof of this
we found a letter which was lying near, with even
the last sentence unfinished. It is addressed to ‘My
dear petite daughter—Eulalie.’ We didn’t stop to
read it because it was getting late and so we started
for home.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_301">[301]</div>
<p>Meg, no longer able to keep silent, leaned forward,
asking eagerly, “Bob, may I see the letter
that my father left for me?”</p>
<p>“<i>Your father?</i>” Jane and Merry exclaimed almost
simultaneously. Even then Meg’s calm was
not outwardly disturbed.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said, turning her wonderful eyes toward
her friends. In them the girls saw an expression
of radiant happiness which told them more than
words could how great was Meg’s joy that she had
at last learned who her father really was. Jane
and Merry were perplexed. How did Meg know?
Their question was answered before it was asked.
“I should have told you girls this afternoon. When
Dan spoke the name that he had found carved on
the handle of the old shovel, instantly memory recalled
to me that, as a very small child, I had been
taught to lisp that my name was Lalie Giguette.”</p>
<p>“O Meg, what a beautiful name. May we begin
at once to call you Eulalie?” The mountain girl
smiled at Jane. “If you wish, dear friend.” She
then held out her hand for the letter which Bob had
gone to his sweater coat to procure.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_302">[302]</div>
<p>“We found several books with your father’s
name on them as author,” the boy informed her,
and the girl looked up brightly to say, “O, I am so
glad! Did you bring them?”</p>
<p>“No,” Bob replied, “we thought perhaps you
would like to visit the cabin and find everything
there just as he left it.”</p>
<p>“I would indeed!” Meg rose, and going to the
center table, she spread the letter under the hanging
lamp. After a moment’s scrutiny, she turned toward
the silently waiting group. “It is clearly written,”
she said. “I will read it aloud:</p>
<p>“‘To my dear petite daughter Eulalie,’” Meg
read,</p>
<p>“‘Poor little wee lassie! Not yet three and no
one to care for you. I shall try to get back to New
York before the end comes, but there is no one, not
even in France, where I lived as a boy. All—all are
dead.</p>
<p>“‘But you will want to know much and I will be
gone when you are old enough to question. When
I was twenty-one I came to New York and married
a girl who was as all alone as I. We were very
happy, but my loved one, your mother, died when
you were born. For a long year I grieved until my
health was broken. For your sake, Lalie, I followed
my doctor’s advice and came to the Rocky
Mountains. I was about to put you in a convent
school, but you clung to me and would not loosen
your hold. I feared I had not long to live and I did
so want you with me, hence I brought you here.
But if I do not get stronger soon, I will take you
back to the kind sisters, who will make you a home.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_303">[303]</div>
<p>“‘We reached this deserted mining camp after
weeks of wandering and I built for us a cabin where
we could be alone and unmolested. At last my lost
ambition had returned. I wrote the book of my
dreams and sent it to my publisher in New York. I
hope, dear little daughter, that it will be a success
for your sake, but as yet I do not know.’”</p>
<p>Meg looked up and her dusky eyes were filled with
tears. “That is all on the first sheet,” she said.
“The next was written at a later date.” Then again
she read:</p>
<p>“‘A tribe of Ute Indians has taken possession of
the deserted cabins in the camp, but, as there is little
game hereabouts, I doubt if they will long remain.’</p>
<p>“Two weeks later: ‘I have not been as well as I
had hoped to be. I did very wrong to spend so
many hours writing my dream book, but now that
it is completed I will write no more until I am
stronger. Every day with a pick and shovel I dig
in different places for recreation and exercise, endeavoring
to find the fabled gold mine, the vein of
which was lost, or so I have been told by an occasional
miner who has passed this way. Before
starting out I take you each afternoon to the cabin
of a most kindly squaw who understands some English
and since I pay her well, she is willing to care
for you during my absence.’”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_304">[304]</div>
<p>For a long moment Meg ceased reading and Dan,
noting that her hands trembled, went to her side,
saying with tender solicitude: “Dear girl, what
is it? I fear that reading aloud this letter from
your father is very hard for you. Wouldn’t you
rather read it to yourself?” The girl lifted tear-filled
eyes. “It isn’t that, Dan,” she said. “I want
to share it with my friends who are so loving and
loyal, but I cannot decipher the rest.”</p>
<p>There was a faded blur on the paper as though
the pen had fallen. Then it had evidently been
picked up again, but the scrawled letters that followed
were very hard to read. Slowly the girl deciphered:
“Lalie, when you are eighteen, get
box ——” Then there was another blot and the
pen had evidently rolled across the paper.</p>
<p>The girl held the letter up to Dan. “I fear we
will never know where the box is,” she said, “for
that is all.”</p>
<p>But the lad, after scrutinizing the sheet, held it
up to the light.</p>
<p>“There is more written, but evidently a drop of
ink spread over it. Gerry, bring the magnifying
glass.” The small boy, glad to be of assistance,
leaped to get it. Dan gazed through it for a long
five minutes. Then he began to name the letters,
and Bob, who had seized a pencil and paper, wrote
them down. “<i>B-a-n-k.</i>” Dan glanced questioningly
at Meg. “What kind of a bank do you suppose
it means?” Then to Bob: “Were there any banks
of dirt near the cabin?” That lad shook his head.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_305">[305]</div>
<p>Jane suggested: “Would it not be more natural
to suppose it to be a New York bank, since that had
been Mr. Giguette’s home for years?”</p>
<p>They all decided this to be true. Then Merry
asked: “Meg, or may I say Eulalie, are you willing
that I should wire my father all that we know? He
is a lawyer in New York and be will gladly find out
what he can.”</p>
<p>How the dusky face brightened. “Oh, thank you,
Merry. Please do!” Then, rising, the mountain
girl held out both hands to Jane and Merry. “I
must go now,” she said, “to the dear old couple who
have been all the father and mother I have ever
known.”</p>
<p>Dan accompanied Meg up the winding mountain
road.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_306">[306]</div>
<h2 id="c37"><br/>CHAPTER XXXVII. <br/>THE MYSTERY SOLVED</h2>
<p>“What a glorious moonlit night it is!” Merry
exclaimed when, Meg and Dan having gone, the
others turned back toward the cabin.</p>
<p>“I say, sis,” Bob exclaimed, “why not get that
telegram written and let me take it down to the village.
You can put heaps more into a night letter.”</p>
<p>“Why, Bobby, it must be after nine. The innkeeper’s
family will be asleep by the time you could
get there.”</p>
<p>Jean Willoughby explained: “They have two
sons, and one of them is always on duty as night
clerk. Strangers motoring through put up there at
all hours.” Then the young overseer added: “I
wish now that I had ridden over and you could have
used my horse.”</p>
<p>“We sent the two we had back to the Heger
cabin,” Bob said, but added, as he took a handspring
to prove to his sister that he was not at all tired, “I’d
just as soon walk.” Then, as another thought occurred
to him, he turned to the younger lad, asking,
“If you’re game, Gerry, come along with me. We’ll
put up at the inn for the night and bring back the
answer from father as soon as it comes.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_307">[307]</div>
<p>Since there was no particular reason why they
should not do this, Merry and Jane made no further
remonstrances. Going indoors, a carefully planned
night letter was prepared and in great glee the two
boys started out, each carrying a gun, as Jean told
them that they <i>might</i> meet a wildcat.</p>
<p>“Huh! I hoped you were going to say a grizzly
bear.”</p>
<p>Gerry’s tone seemed to imply that they were quite
fearless.</p>
<p>Soon after the boys had departed, Dan returned.
Glancing at Jean, he questioned: “Ought we to
follow them?” But the other lad replied:</p>
<p>“They’re safe enough! Moreover, I told Bob to
swing a red lantern three times when they reach the
inn. The night is so clear, we surely can see it.”</p>
<p>And so they waited, and an hour later the expected
signal was plainly seen by all of them.</p>
<p>“Now to bed, everybody!” Dan sprang up and
held both hands toward his sister Jane. Julie had
been prevailed upon to retire soon after the lads
started out and was sound asleep.</p>
<p>The girls had decided to be up at an early hour,
but because they had gone to bed much later than
usual they overslept.</p>
<p>It was after noon before Meg appeared.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_308">[308]</div>
<p>“Ma Heger” had needed her help, was all that she
said. Jane and Merry decided not to tell her about
the night letter, for the suspense would be far harder
for her to bear than it was for them.</p>
<p>But after a time Meg began to wonder why, at
frequent intervals, one or another of the young people
went to the top of the stone stairs, and through
field glasses, gazed down the mountain road. It was
two o’clock when the old stage was seen slowly
ascending.</p>
<p>“I entirely forgot that the stage passes us on
Saturday afternoon,” Dan exclaimed. “Of course,
Bob and Gerry waited to ride up.”</p>
<p>But as the lumbering vehicle neared, the passengers
were seen to be all adults—a west valley rancher,
his wife and grown daughters. Then, just as the
watchers had given up hope, the two laughing boys
dropped from the back of the stage and ran up the
stone stairs.</p>
<p>Paying no heed to the others, Bob leaped over
to where Meg was standing, and making a deep bow,
he handed her a yellow envelope.</p>
<p>“But this is for Merry,” the mountain girl told
him.</p>
<p>“True enough!” and Bob gave the telegram to
his sister. Opening it, she read:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Franc Giguette, author of ‘The Star that Set.’
Book was great success! Publishers holding royalties,
as they were uncalled for. Box in name of
Eulalie Giguette at the First National Bank. Contains
contracts and papers of value, also jewels.
Await further advice.”</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="pb" id="Page_309">[309]</div>
<p>While all of the others congratulated the beautiful
girl, Dan stood aside with sorrow in his heart.
He had asked Meg to marry him when he thought
her poor. Even then they would have had a long
wait, for he had wanted to help his father for a time
before he considered his own happiness.</p>
<p>Meg looked over at the lad whom she so
loved. “Aren’t <i>you</i> also glad for me, Dan?” she
asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, very glad,” he said, but he was more than
ever pleased that he and Meg had not told of their
engagement, which might never be fulfilled.</p>
<p>When the excitement had somewhat subsided,
Bob recalled that he had a letter for Jean Willoughby,
and, bringing it forth, presented it to the
young man, who looked inquiringly at the handwriting;
then with a quick, questioning glance at
Merry, he tore it open and read its message.</p>
<p>“Marion Starr,” he cried, “you wrote my father,
did you not, telling him where you found me?”</p>
<p>It was evident that he was <i>not</i> displeased.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_310">[310]</div>
<p>The golden haired girl nodded, then waited
eagerly to hear what manner of message the letter
contained.</p>
<p>“Dan,” said Bob, “your father and mine are again
partners, for Dad has restored the money that had
been supposedly lost. Since your father had recompensed
the investors, the firm of Abbott & Willoughby,
as re-established, is much richer than it
was, for while holding the money, Dad made investments
that have tripled the capital of the firm.
Nor is that all! Father has set aside money to start
my brother and me in any business we may choose,
and your father is to do the same for each of his
boys as the need arises.”</p>
<p>Before Dan could speak, Jean hurried on with,
“Mr. Packard has offered to divide his ranch in
three parts, and Jane and I are to have one of them.
Dan, you love the West. It agrees with you. Won’t
you take the third?”</p>
<p>“That’s wonderful news!” Dan cried glowingly.
“Indeed I would like to own a third of the Green
Hills ranch.”</p>
<p>Then to the surprise of the others, he went to the
mountain girl with hands outstretched, and said, his
voice tense with feeling: “Meg—Eulalie—may I
set the day for our wedding?”</p>
<p>The dusky eyes of the beautiful girl were more
than ever starlike as she nodded up at him.</p>
<p>“Great!” he cried joyfully. “Then we will <i>all</i> be
married on the first of September.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr />
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