Two Wyoming Girls and Their Homestead Claim Part 19

"I don't know; I hope not, I'm sure. I think a five-mile walk will do him good. He'll have time to cool off a little."

"He thinks that we have made a false entry here," Jessie went on, resentfully, approaching the window ledge and turning the leaves of the record. "Why," she continued, "it does not seem to me that even a hardened criminal would dare to do a thing like that! And I'm not a hardened criminal--yet. I am not sure but that I might become one if I am obliged to see much of Mr. Horton, though!" She closed the book and, stepping up on a chair, laid it on the shelf where our few books were kept. When she stepped down again she had another book in her arms. It was a large, square, leather-bound volume, almost identical in appearance with the one that she had just laid away.

"What are you looking in the dictionary for?" I asked, as she laid the book on the broad window ledge that made such a convenient reading-desk.

"I want to know exactly what 'fundamental' means," she replied. "I know pretty well, or I think I do, but I want to know exactly."

Finding the word, she presently read aloud:

"'Fundamental--pertaining to the foundation; hence, essential, elementary; a leading or primary principle; an essential.'"

"Well, that's plain enough," she said, closing the book; "but I think we have looked out for fundamental clauses pretty faithfully. I wish that Joe was at home; we must get an early start to-morrow. It is foolish to feel so, when we know just how matters stand; but, somehow, Mr. Horton's threats have made me uneasy."

"No wonder! The very sight of him is enough to make one shudder. But I don't see that there is anything that we can do, more than we are doing, Jessie."

"You might ride over, since you are going out anyway, and tell Mr.

Wilson what Mr. Horton has been saying. If you call on Mr. Drummond, who is our main hope for raising the money, you'll pa.s.s Wilson's, anyway."

"Oh, yes! I'll see him, sure; and now I must be going."

I went out accordingly, observing in an absent way, as I left the room, that, since no fundamental clause required Jessie to replace the dictionary on its shelf, it was still lying on the window-ledge.

I rode immediately over to Mr. Wilson's, and was fortunate in finding him at home. He promised to "turn the thing over in his mind," and, if there seemed to him, as a result of this process, anything, any new move, called for on our part, to ride over during the day and let us know.

Then I went on to the two or three places that we had in mind as most promising, if one desired to raise money, and failed distinctly, in every case. It was, as one of the ranchmen feelingly explained, "a dry time; between hay and gra.s.s. Too late for the spring round-up and too early for the fall harvest." Every one was, accordingly, lacking in ready cash.

I returned home, not greatly dejected by my failure, since, thanks to Mr. Wilson, I had so well understood the existing conditions before starting out that I would have been surprised if I had succeeded.

Joe being still absent, I was obliged to care for Frank myself. When, in the dusky twilight, I at length entered the house, it was to find little Ralph already fast asleep and Jessie about starting for the corral with the milk-pail.

"Haven't you got the milking done yet, Jessie?"

"No; I waited for Ralph to get to sleep and for you to come. Did you get any money?"

"No."

Jessie sighed. "I don't know, after all, that I much expected that you would. Well, if you can wait a little for your supper, come out to the corral and let me tell you what Mr. Wilson has been saying."

"Has he been here again?"

"Yes; he just left a few minutes before you came."

We went on out to the corral where the cows were waiting to be milked, Guard following after us with as much sedateness and dignity as if he had never contemplated, much less committed, a foolish act in his life.

CHAPTER XXI

A FRIEND IN NEED

Jessie seated herself on the milking-stool by old Cleo's side, while I leaned against the corral bars, watching her.

"You're tired, aren't you, Leslie?" she asked, glancing up at me, as under her nimble fingers, the streams of milk began to rattle noisily into the pail.

"Yes; I am, rather. I think I'm some disappointed too, maybe. What did Mr. Wilson say?"

"He said that my best plan--for it must go in my name, now--is to get to town to-morrow before Mr. Horton does, explain to the agent about father's death--he must have heard of it, Mr. Wilson says, but he is not obliged to take official note of a thing that has not been reported to him, and that he has only heard of incidentally--and ask him to make out the deed to me, as the present head of the family. Mr.

Wilson says that I must be there, ready to tell my story, the minute the office opens. He hopes that, in that way, we may frustrate Mr.

Horton, who is likely, he says, to be one of the very first on hand to-morrow morning. After I have explained matters to the agent, he will be forced to wait the arrival of my witnesses, of course, before he can do anything. But Mr. Wilson thinks that anything that Mr.

Horton may say, after the agent has seen me, and heard my story, will be likely to work in my favor, it will show so plainly what Mr. Horton is up to. Mr. Wilson says that I had better take a horse and start for town to-morrow, just as soon as it is light enough to see."

"Twenty miles!" I said. "How long will it take you to ride it?" I knew how long it would take me, on Frank's back, but Jessie is less wonted to the saddle than I.

"It will take me nearly four hours, I should think, shouldn't you?"

She stopped milking while she looked at me, anxiously awaiting my reply.

"Just about that, Jessie."

"It would kill me to keep up such a gait as you and Frank seem to both take delight in," she continued. "So I must be poking along for four hours doing the distance that you could cover in two. The Land Office opens at seven o'clock--there's a rush of business just now, Mr.

Wilson says--and I must start not later than half-past two."

"Dear me, Jessie, I hate to have you start out alone in the night, that way!"

"I don't like it very well myself," Jessie admitted. "But Mr. Wilson thought we'd better not say a word to any one about my going--lest it should get to Mr. Horton's ears some way, and he will drive around later in the morning and pick up the witnesses and bring them down.

Oh, and Leslie, above all things, don't forget the Bible. Be sure to put that in the wagon when Mr. Wilson comes."

"Certainly I shall! Do you imagine that I would forget the one fundamental clause of our proving up?"

"No, of course you wouldn't. Mr. Wilson said that he would go down with me--we could drive his fast horse down in the light cart, if only Joe were here to bring down our witnesses. But he isn't, and I must go alone."

It was evident that Jessie did not relish the prospect of taking a lonely night ride.

"I will leave the money--what little there is of it--for Mr. Wilson to bring down," Jessie presently remarked. "Then, if I am held up, we will have saved that much, anyhow."

"And much good it will do us, with our fundamental clause in the hands of brigands," I retorted laughingly. For, indeed, there was about as much danger of a hold-up as of an earthquake.

"What a fuss you are making, Guard--what's the matter?" Jesse said, in a tone of remonstrance, as she resumed the milking. The dog had been looking toward the house, growling and bristling, for some minutes.

His response to Jessie's remonstrance was a tumultuous rush toward the house, around the corner of which he disappeared. Presently we saw him bounding away into the oak scrub beyond, apparently in hot pursuit of some retreating object, for his voice, breaking out occasionally in angry clamor, soon died away in the distance.

"I hope there isn't another wildcat after the chickens," Jessie remarked, as, the milking finished, we started toward the house.

"I don't think it's a wildcat," I said; "from all the legends we have heard lately, a wildcat would have stood its ground: more likely it was a polecat."

Entering the house that we had left vacant, save for the sleeping child in the bed-room, we were startled at sight of a dusky, silent figure, sitting motionless before the fire--for, in the mountain country, a blaze is always welcome after night-fall, even in midsummer. At the sound of our approaching footsteps the figure turned toward us a head crowned with white wool, and smiled benignly.

"Joe!" we both cried, in a breath.