A BATTLE OF WITS
When the girls went back into the house, Margaret exclaimed, “Pinch
me, Virg, will you? I want to make sure that I am a flesh and blood
person and not a character in a book. I never felt so strange and
unreal before in all my life.”
Virginia laughingly placed an arm about her friend’s waist and
hugged her hard. “Won’t that do as well as a pinch?” she inquired.
“You are real enough, dear. Hark! The clock is striking the midnight
hour. Let us return to our beds. I want to get some sleep. I must be
up at a very early hour, for, as you know, we are expecting company
for breakfast.
“No, indeed, Megsy,” Virginia replied. “You will be glad to learn
that our culinary troubles are over.” Then noting her friend’s
puzzled expression, she added gaily. “We now have with us the best
cook on the desert. Uncle Tex has had charge of the ‘chuck’ wagon at
all of the roundups hereabouts for many years and the cow-boys would
rather have him as chef than either a Frenchman or Chinaman.”
“Good! Then our problem of finding a cook is solved,” Megsy said.
Ten minutes later all was quiet in the V. M. Ranch house, for the
girls, truly weary, were soon asleep.
The sun was streaming into Virginia’s room when there came a rap on
the door. Springing up, the girl slipped on her robe as she called,
“Who is it?”
“It’s yo’ Uncle Tex, Miss Virginia, dearie. Ah has breakfast
a-started, but I thought yo’ all was a-oversleepin’ and maybe yo’d
like me to call yo’.”
“We’ll be with you in a moment, Uncle Tex. Thank you for calling
us,” Virginia replied.
The girls were just emerging from their bedrooms when Margaret,
glancing through one of the wide living-room windows, exclaimed,
“Here come six horsemen. Are they your expected guests?”
“I suppose so,” Virginia replied, and she was right. A few moments
later six men of middle age and all of them with weather-bronzed
faces appeared at the back door. The young hostess bade them welcome
with a kindly dignity and they were soon seated about the long table
at one end of the sunny kitchen. Uncle Tex was busily making the
griddle cakes for which he was justly famous, while Margaret and
Virginia assumed the role of waitresses.
“Don’t your cow-boys have breakfast about this hour?” a keen-eyed
man evidently the leader of the posse, inquired. “I understand that
there’s two as you’ve had a long time and a new one you call Tom.”
Margaret glanced quickly at the face of her friend and was glad to
see that Virginia was mistress of the situation. “Yes, we have three
cow-boys,” she replied with indifference. “They left yesterday to
ride the range.”
This was the truth, for Tom had left just before midnight.
“Which way did they all go?” was the next question.
“I really don’t know,” was the calm reply. “It is not the custom of
Lucky or Slim to tell me their plans for turning back the cattle.”
“But this other fellow, the one you call Tom: perhaps you know which
way he went,” the man persisted.
“Yes, he rode toward the West,” Virginia frankly replied, and then
she added, “May I serve you to more cakes?”
“A cool one for her age,” the leader of the posse thought. “Thanks,”
he said aloud, “I believe I will have a few more.”
While he was eating the cakes he was trying to think of a question
that he might ask the girl that would find her off her guard and
perhaps obtain for him the information he desired.
Virginia was busily refilling the huge coffee cups which were used
only by the cow-boys, when the leader of the posse asked in a casual
manner:
“This ranch house is one of the oldest hereabouts, I understand.
Have you any idea how long it’s been standing Miss Davis?”
Virginia paused a moment before replying, but she could see no
possible trap in the query, and so she said:
“It was built by my grandfather. He came from the East in a prairie
schooner when my dad was a boy of 7.”
“Those were excitin’ days,” the man remarked with seeming
indifference as he continued eating. “I suppose you’ve heard your pa
tell many a time about the Indian raids they used to have every once
in so often.”
This had all happened so very long ago that Virginia was sure that
the conversation was following a safe channel, and so she replied:
“Yes, I have heard dad tell that when he was a boy they were in
constant dread of a raid at the full of the moon. Every month at
that time some one’s ranch house was attacked and of course
grandfather never knew when it would be his turn to receive one of
those most unwelcome visits.”
“Must have been powerful uncomfortable for the women folk those
days, never knowing when they might be scalped, but I suppose your
grandad had an underground room where he could hide his family if he
knew the Indians were coming.”
This had been said in an off-hand manner, but instantly Virginia
understood the meaning of the seemingly innocent conversation.
The leader of the posse believed that she had Tom hidden in the
underground room which many of the old ranches had in the days of
frequent Indian raids. They were often some distance from the house,
the entrance being well concealed.
Knowing, as she did, that Tom was many miles away, Virginia calmly
replied:
“Yes, we have an underground room. Would you like to see it?”
The man looked at her keenly and then he decided that he must be on
the wrong trail, for, if this girl really did have the supposed
cow-boy Tom hidden in an underground room, she would not so
willingly and frankly invite him to visit the place.
“No, Miss Davis,” he replied, as he arose; “I’ve seen many of them
and I suppose, architecturally speaking, they are all about the
same. Guess we’d better be gettin’ on. Thanks for the grub. Good
day.”
Five minutes later the two girls stood with their arms about each
other, watching from a wide window as the men rode away and Virginia
noticed that they were taking the trail toward the west. How she did
hope that they would not turn north at the sandhills, and also that
Tom had not been delayed.
She glanced at the clock, as she said:
“By now Tom ought to be safe in the Papago village.”