Two Wyoming Girls and Their Homestead Claim Part 16

"Well, if you want t' know, I took a drop too much at the dance last night, an' the ole man, he'd said if sech a thing as that ar' took place again he'd feel obligated t' give me the marble heart. Mighty cranky the ole man is. So I jest wended up here along, thinkin' I'd bunk with the ole hermutt till I got a little nigher straight. It's a thing that don't often happen," he added, in self-extenuation; "but the party, it done got away with me. Now you know all about it, an'

you'd better hand over them weapons."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOU BETTER HAND OVER THEM WEAPONS!" (Page 220)]

In spite of his civility, he was plainly angry, and I was the more resolved not to yield. The storm had been gradually lessening, the rain had subsided to a mere drizzle, and, in the increasing silence, I plainly heard the musical tinkle of old Cleo's bell. It came from beyond the ridge, so that it was certain that the cows were in the little green valley where I had hoped to find them. I started to climb the ridge, remarking over my shoulder to the baffled cowboy, "You'll find your things in the pine, where I told you."

"Say, now, don't make me go down there on the high road!" he pleaded; "some one might see me and tell the boss. I won't touch the consarned dog if you'll give me the gun; I won't, honest! The boss, he thinks I'm on the range now, an' it's where I had ort to be."

I was sorry for him, but my fear was greater than my sympathy. Guard had torn the skirt of his coat in such a manner that it trailed behind as he walked, like a long and very disreputable pennant, and I could not be blind to the malevolent looks that he turned on my canine follower in spite of his fair promises.

"I never heard of any one's being the better for drinking whiskey," I volunteered, as a bit of information that might be of interest to him.

Then I started on again, to be brought to an abrupt halt by hearing a voice on the trail below calling in a tone of piercing anxiety:

"Leslie! Leslie! Leslie!" The voice was Jessie's.

"Jessie, I am here!" I called back re-a.s.suringly, and ran down in the direction of the voice, leaving the cowboy staring.

In a moment I came face to face with my sister as she panted, breathless, up the trail.

"Oh, Leslie! Leslie!" she gasped. "What a chase I have had after you!"

"Why did you follow me? I have the cows--or they have themselves--and your skirts are all wet."

For answer, Jessie gazed at me with an expression curiously compounded of horror and dismay.

"The coat! Where is the coat?" she gasped.

I remembered then that in my eagerness to escape from the cave I had left the coat lying as I had used it, rolled up for a pillow.

"It's in the Hermit's cave," I said meekly, ashamed to admit that I had forgotten the thing that she held so sacred that, for its sake, she had followed me in the rain for some toilsome upward miles.

"Go back and get it instantly, instantly!" cried my usually calm sister, wringing her hands in distress. The distress was so unnecessarily acute for the cause that I resented it.

"The coat is all right, Jessie; it is safe; and I do not want to go back there now."

"Why not?"

I told her.

"You must!" said Jessie, with whitening lips. "You must! Come!" and she rushed up the trail toward the cavern.

"What have you done with Ralph?" I asked, hurrying after her. Jessie turned an anguished glance back at me over her shoulder.

"I have left him locked up in the house with a pair of scissors and a picture book; hurry!"

"I hope they'll keep him from thinking of the matches," I said, bitterly. It seemed to me at that moment that Jessie showed more concern for the out-worn garment of the dead than she did for the safety of the living.

Big Jim had gone back into the cavern; he, too, had evidently been searching it, for when, at the sound of our approaching footsteps, he appeared at the entrance, it was with father's coat in his hands.

Jessie went boldly to his side.

"I want that coat, if you please," she said firmly.

Jim backed off a little, holding the coat out at arm's length, and examining it critically.

"Whose is it?" he asked.

"It was my father's; it is ours; please give it to me."

Big Jim shook his head. "No; your dog done tore my coat half offen my back; your sister made way with my tonic--I'm 'bleeged to take it for my lungs--an' she's got my gun an' fixin's, an' won't give 'em up. I reckon as I'll jest keep this coat till she forks them things over."

"Give him his things, Leslie," Jessie commanded.

"No," I remonstrated; "no, Jessie, if I do he will shoot Guard; I'm sure of it."

Jessie turned on the dog: "Go home! go home, sir!" she cried, stamping her foot. Guard slunk off, his tail between his legs, and his bright eyes fixed reproachfully on me. I threw the gun with its trappings at the cowboy's feet. "There, take them! You can shoot me if you like. I threw away your whiskey."

"I wouldn't 'a' cared a bit if you'd 'a' drunk it, as I reckoned you did," Jim returned with a light laugh, as he picked up the gun. "I ain't agoin' to hurt you; tole you so in the first place. Got your little handkercher yet, I have. Here's the coat." He tossed it into Jessie's outstretched arms. Clasping it tightly to her breast she started quickly down the trail.

Following her for a few steps before taking my way over the ridge, I observed that her hands were wandering swiftly over the coat, from pocket to pocket; as if seeking something. Suddenly the expression of intense anxiety on her face gave way to one of unspeakable relief. She turned around quickly and caught my hand: "Come on, you poor, abused girl! Let's run, I am so anxious about Ralph."

"I'm glad you've got some affection left for him!" I retorted scornfully. "It seemed to me from the way you've gone on, that you cared less for either of us than for father's old coat."

Jessie gave the hand that lay limply in her's an ecstatic little squeeze. "Our money, Leslie, is all in a little bag that is pinned in the lining of this old coat; it's here now, all safe."

I could only gasp, as she had done before me, with a difference of names, "Oh, Jessie!"

"Yes," Jessie repeated, nodding, "and it's quite safe, I can feel it.

Our cowboy friend did not have time to find it. I only hope that Ralph has not got into mischief." He had not. I was obliged to leave Jessie and go over the ridge for the cows, but she told me, when I presently followed her into the house, that she had found Ralph still contentedly destroying his picture book.

CHAPTER XVIII

A VITAL POINT

It was the day but one after our exciting trip to the Water Storage Reservoir when, as we were busy about our usual work, our attention was attracted by a loud voice at the gate, shouting: "Whoa! Whoa, sir!

Whoa, now, I tell you!" and I was guilty of a disrespectful laugh.

"There comes Mr. Wilson, Jessie. You can always tell when he is coming, for he begins shouting to his horses to stop as soon as he sights a point where he wishes them to halt. Evidently he is intending to call on us."

"Good morning, young folks, good morning!" was the hearty salutation, a moment after, as our neighbor himself stood on the threshold.

"No, I can't stop," he declared, as usual, when Jessie offered him a chair. "If I set," he continued, "I shall stay right on, like a big clam that's got fixed to his liking, prob'ly, and I've got a heap to do to-day."

Nevertheless, he dropped easily into the seat as he continued: