The Ranch Girls' Pot of Gold Part 15

Ruth surveyed her bouquet critically. From the center of the tangled ma.s.s in her lap she carefully selected a thick cl.u.s.ter of deep blue forget-me-nots, and with a perfectly serious face leaned over and stuck them into Jean's brown hair.

"Here, Jean, suppose we begin with you," she suggested. "I believe a forget-me-not is your flower."

Jean blushed a soft rose color that no one saw except Ruth. "I don't see why you select a forget-me-not for my flower, Ruth, dear," Jean remarked innocently. "I haven't forget-me-not eyes, like Elizabeth and Frieda, and I'm not a wonderful, unforgettable person, like Olive or Jack."

"Never mind, Jean, I have my own reasons for the choice," Ruth returned, and Jean suddenly flung her arms around Frieda and drew her to her lap, so that no one should see her face.

"Olive, dear, you are an evening primrose," Ruth declared, smiling at her own fancy. "I have an idea that part of the time you close up your real feelings inside you, just as this flower hides its blossoms in the daytime. It's almost sunset now and time for it to show its delicate, pink petals. Don't let yourself grow too reserved, dear. Jack has your confidence now, but some day it may be best for the rest of us to know your real dreams and desires." Ruth handed a spray of the blossoms to Olive, with a smile as an apology for her little sermon, though it was well meant and timely.

"Can't you find a flower for me?" Beth asked wistfully, her thin face looking whiter than usual from her fatigue and in contrast with the brilliant, glowing health of the ranch girls.

Ruth looked at the spoiled girl tenderly. Like Jack, she had taken more of a fancy to her than to any member of the Harmon family.

"Here is a flower for you, Beth?" she returned gently. "I hope you will like it. See, it's pure white and like velvet, and though it looks fragile and delicate it keeps its beauty longer than any of the other flowers. Out here in the West they call it an 'immortelle.' It is a prettier name than our eastern t.i.tle of 'everlasting.'"

Elizabeth's eyes swam with tears of pleasure, and Jack, reaching over, found the white buds in Ruth's lap and made them into a crown for her friend's flowing gold hair, until in the soft light the pale girl looked like a mythical princess in an old Scandinavian legend.

Frieda's eyes were big and wistful and her lips trembled slightly, for she was not accustomed to being overlooked while a strange girl was made much of by her own sister; indeed both Olive and Frieda had to stifle many pangs of jealousy at Jack's interest in Elizabeth Harmon.

But fortunately Ruth caught Frieda's expression. "Dear me, baby, I haven't forgotten you," she announced. "Won't you be a bitter-root blossom? The flower hasn't a pretty name, but you remember it was the first you gathered when we entered the park yesterday, and the reason I select it for you is because the old gypsy fortune teller said you were sweet and good enough to eat, and this flower is used for food by the Indians, isn't it, Carlos?"

Frieda now smiled placidly, not understanding Ruth's meaning nor any of the other nonsense they were talking, but just the same not wis.h.i.+ng to be ignored.

"Now we all have our flowers except Jack," Olive remarked fondly.

"Oh, Ruth hasn't a flower for me. She has exhausted the whole collection," Jack answered. "It is just as well, for I am the most prosaic and unflowerlike character in the entire a.s.sembly."

"I don't believe that, Miss Ralston," Mrs. Harmon exclaimed, breaking unexpectedly into the conversation. "You are not like the other girls--I never saw girls so unlike as you ranch girls. I suppose you mean that you are more matter-of-fact and have less sentiment than they have, but you would do anything for a person you loved and you would never turn back from what you thought to be right. You'd face danger, like--well, like we ought all to face it," she ended seriously.

Olive kissed her hand to Jack. "She has done _all that_ for me," she murmured, but Jack shook her head, not wis.h.i.+ng the Harmons to know anything of Olive's past, and no questions were asked.

"Oh, no, I haven't forgotten Jack. I have purposely saved the columbine for her," Ruth replied. "I must agree with Mrs. Harmon, for it is an aspiring flower and grows taller than any of the other wild flowers. And I am sure it has deep, ardent impulses; for see all its beautiful colors from pure white to rich purple!"

Jack blushed uncomfortably. "Hear, hear!" Jean exclaimed half in fun and half in earnest. "For goodness' sake, don't shower any more compliments on Jacqueline Ralston or we won't be able to live with her. I don't see why you find so many marvelous virtues in her. Consider what an angel I am, and yet n.o.body is devoting her time to mentioning my n.o.ble qualities."

Jack extracted a sofa cus.h.i.+on from Elizabeth's pile, flinging it with accurate aim straight at her cousin's head. Jean returned it with interest and then the girls chased one another around the trees until they were out of breath.

A little later Mr. Drummond and Jim Colter were seen walking toward them, summoning them to the hotel. The entire company gathered up their belongings, and Donald carried his sister to a rolling chair which they had brought along in the stage.

Jean lingered a little in the background, putting her arm about Ruth's waist to draw her away from the others.

"Ruth, dear," she said, with a far-away expression in her eyes, "you've a tiny flower in your b.u.t.tonhole which has been there all day. I wonder if Jim gave it to you?"

Ruth nodded. "Why do you ask?" she inquired.

"Oh, for no particular reason," Jean answered, "only I happen to know that Jim got up soon after daylight this morning, and climbed for miles and miles up a steep hill. Why don't you choose that flower, Ruth, as appropriate to your character?" Jean proposed, and her expression was so innocent that Ruth began to guess at her meaning.

"The flower is called Indian Paint Brush," Jean continued; "but the name has nothing to do with you. It is only that it grows on the peaks of high, cold mountains and one has to climb and climb and struggle and struggle to reach it. Poor old Jim!"

Ruth made no reply to her saucy companion, but hurried on to join the rest of the party.

CHAPTER XVIII

"GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN"

It was Frieda who first found words to speak.

After several days more of travel and sight-seeing, the caravaners and their friends stood on a rocky balcony gazing at the Great Falls of the Yellowstone as they dashed over rocks streaked with red, orange, purple and gold into the gorge below.

"It is the end of the rainbow, I know it is, Mr. Peter Drummond," Frieda remarked confidentially to her companion who had tight hold of her hand so she should not go too close to the steep embankment. "Jean and Jack have often told me wonderful stories of finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Now I know better, for this is really the place where the rainbow touched the earth and all her beautiful colors spilled out and ran into these rocks."

Jack, who overheard her sister's speech, dropped down on one knee and respectfully kissed her hand. "Never did I dream until this minute that you were a poet, Frieda Ralston," she exclaimed. "That is a perfectly lovely idea of yours about the rainbow, but you must not let Mr.

Drummond think the rainbow ends anywhere except on our ranch, else why should we call it the Rainbow? He has promised to come some day to see for himself."

It was early morning, the sun had just risen and the dawn colors were now slowly fading out of the sky. The tourists had arrived at the hotel near the Canyon late the afternoon before, and had gone to bed as soon as possible so as to see the latest marvel by daylight. To-day was to end their sight-seeing expedition through the Yellowstone Park. Next morning they were to take the train back to their starting place at the Lake; from there the Harmons were to leave for Rainbow Ranch, Mr.

Drummond to continue his trip west and Jim to escort Ruth and the ranch girls to a little village in the mountains near the Park, where they were to spend the rest of the summer. Then he intended to make his way home to the ranch and get back to work as quickly as possible.

In the course of their travels, Jim had found time to tell the girls of Mr. Harmon's proposal to buy their ranch, but they had laughed the suggestion to scorn and he had written Mr. Harmon that they would not consider selling. Also Jim had explained the matter more fully to Mrs.

Harmon, asking her to make things clear to her husband on her return to the Lodge--Rainbow Ranch was not in the market.

"Peter is coming to the ranch on his way back to New York, perhaps,"

Frieda said. In the last few days she had grown to be almost as intimate with Mr. Drummond as her sister, and had also been allowed to ride his wonderful horse. Jean and Olive had enjoyed their turns, but Jack had received the lion's share of attention from their new acquaintance. Once or twice Mr. Drummond had been almost persuaded to tell her of the girl in the East whom he intended to forget.

"Misses Frieda and Jacqueline Ralston," Mr. Drummond said five minutes later, "I am persuaded that these mighty Falls and this giant Canyon may remain in the landscape for some years to come, but _I_ shall not live much longer unless we go back to our hotel for breakfast. I have noticed our party, and they are pale and silent from exhaustion. Never did I approve of before-breakfast excursions. Let us make a start for the hotel and see if they don't follow suit."

The entire company was standing in little groups at some distance apart.

Elizabeth had been taking Jack's advice and walking more in the last few days than she had dreamed possible; now she was leaning on Donald's arm, having come all the way from the hotel on foot. Jack, Frieda and Mr.

Drummond turned to go down the hill, when Elizabeth caught sight of them. She was worn and tired, for her walk had been too much for her, irritable on account of her fatigue and in a general bad humor with everybody.

"I say, Jack, where are you going?" Elizabeth called out suspiciously in a high, clear voice. "You are always going off somewhere with Mr.

Drummond. It is quite impossible to keep up with you."

Jack and her companions stopped stock still, Ruth and Jim looked around in surprise, Mrs. Harmon blushed, and some strangers from the hotel laughed impertinently. Jack's temper got the best of her. Her heart pounded and the pupils of her eyelids darkened until they were almost black; her mouth was opened to speak.

"Steady, Miss Jack," Peter Drummond whispered quickly. "Remember, Elizabeth is ill and so tired she does not know what she is saying."

"We are going to the hotel to breakfast, Beth," Jack answered quietly, instead of the speech she had intended to make. "Don't you want to come with us? Let me help you." Jack turned back toward her friend and found her eyes filled with tears of regret. Breaking away from Donald, Elizabeth grasped Jack's arm, but was hardly able to stand, even with her a.s.sistance.

"Elizabeth isn't able to walk back to the hotel, Donald," Mrs. Harmon said at this moment. "Won't you go ahead and bring back her chair? And I will wait here with her, so no one else must stay on our account."

Elizabeth shook her head, setting her white lips obstinately. "I can walk perfectly well," she insisted. "Jack says it is much better for me to make the effort." Mrs. Harmon looked reproachfully at Jack, and the young girl blushed uncomfortably over having the responsibility thrust upon her.

"I only meant for Beth to walk a little at a time. I didn't mean for her to overdo herself," she tried to explain.