A FIERCE WARRIOR
A week had passed and it had been an anxious one for Virginia and
Margaret as they had no way of knowing whether or not Tom had
managed to escape the posse that had been searching for him. True,
they had one day ridden to the Junction and there they had learned
from Mrs. Wells, the station master’s wife, that the posse had
returned to Texas, but whether they had captured the young outlaw or
not the good woman could not tell.
One glorious day Margaret asked Virginia if she would like to go for
a ride but the western girl wished to remain at home and suggested
that Megsy go for a short canter by herself.
“You will be perfectly safe, dear,” Virginia assured her. “Suppose
you follow the trail over the mesa and toward the sand hills, then
circle around them and come home again. That ride will make you good
and hungry for the delicious something that I am going to bake. Our
miners are to return tomorrow, and since Uncle Tex does not know how
to make pies, Mrs. Mahoy offered to teach me this morning.”
Half an hour later Margaret cantered away, feeling very brave
indeed, as this was the first time she had started out on a desert
trail all alone and unprotected. When she reached the mesa, she drew
rein and looked about. Not a horseman was to be seen, only the
gleaming white sand with here and there a mesquite brush, or a clump
of wiry grass or a spot of flaming color where some hardy plant was
blossoming.
Toward the north lay the desolate sandhills on which tall stalks of
yucca stood like silent sentinels. Margaret decided to do as
Virginia had suggested, gallop around the small group of hills and
then, home again. How she did wish that Babs was with her, for well
she knew that her eastern schoolmate would enjoy a canter on so
glorious a morning. It wouldn’t be long though before Babs would be
coming. “Today is the first of March,” Margaret was thinking. “April
and May will soon pass and then it will be June and Barbara will
come.”
Margaret was nearing the first of the three isolated sand hills when
she felt her saddle slipping. She dismounted to tighten the girth
when suddenly she lifted her head and listened intently.
What had she heard? Perhaps nothing really, for well she knew that
being timid, she was very imaginative. She fastened the girth
securely and had one foot in a stirrup about to remount when again
she heard the sound, and this time it was much nearer than before.
Leaping to her saddle, she was about to gallop away when she saw a
band of horsemen coming around the nearest sand hill. Terrorized she
whirled her pony’s head toward the south and urged Star to his top
speed.
She knew by the racing hoofbeats back of her that she was being
pursued. Could she reach the V. M. Ranch before she was overtaken?
Virginia was proudly surveying the row of pies, which, with the help
of Mrs. Mahoy, she had just made, when she heard the front door
burst open and slam shut. Then, almost before she could turn around,
a terrorized girl rushed into the kitchen, and seizing Virginia,
clung to her wildly as she said, “Oh, Virg, I was almost captured by
Indians. They came around the sand hills. The minute I saw them I
galloped for home, but two of them pursued me. Do you suppose they
are coming to raid the ranch as you said they used to do when your
father was a boy?”
“No, no, Megsy, of course not,” Virginia replied. “Tell me what did
your Indian pursuers look like.”
“One of them was a big fierce warrior, and—”
Just then there was a rap at the front door. “Oh! Oh! There they are
now! Virg, you aren’t going to let them in?”
“Megsy, my dear, the only Indians living near here are the friendly
Papagoes. Please do not hold me so tight.” The western girl had to
fairly drag herself away from Margaret.
When the door was opened there on the porch stood the Indian maiden,
Winona, and by her side was little Red Feather.
Virginia was delighted and embraced her Indian friend just as she
would have welcomed a white girl whom she loved and had not seen for
a long time.
“Margaret,” she called, “come and meet my dear friend Winona, of
whom I have so often spoken.”
Margaret approached, feeling rather overcome by the sudden change of
emotions. She held out her hand to the Indian girl and said
sincerely that she was indeed glad to meet Virginia’s friend. Then
she smiled at the little fellow whom she had called a “fierce
warrior.” About his straight black hair there was a band of green,
in which, perched at a jaunty angle, was a bright red feather. The
Indian boy’s white teeth gleamed as he said admiringly:
“Fast pony! Go zip!”
Luckily neither of the Papago visitors had suspected that Margaret
had been frightened by their sudden appearance at the sand hills.
“Can’t you stay awhile, Winona?” Virginia asked.
“Not this time. Some other, perhaps. My father, Chief Grey Hawk,
awaits me. We have buying to do in town, but I wanted to tell you
the nice young man, your friend, he came and went again soon to the
north. Red Feather showed him the way. He reached there safely.”
Virginia’s eyes glowed, and again taking the Indian girl’s hand, she
exclaimed, “Oh, Winona, I am so glad that you stopped to tell me. We
were eager to know if Tom really found your village. It is so hidden
that the entrance is hard to find.”
When the farewells had been said and the two visitors had ridden
away, Margaret went to the old writing desk, declaring that she was
going to pen Babs a letter that would make the boarding school life
seem dull and monotonous. Scarcely was the epistle finished and
sealed, when Lucky called to say that he was riding to the Junction
and would take the mail.
“Be sure to bring us back some letters,” Virginia called merrily as
the cow-boy, waving his sombrero, rode away.