CAUGHT IN A TORRENT
A month had passed. The wild March winds had blown itself out. The
spring rains had filled the usually dry creek with a rushing, raging
torrent which could be forded by neither man nor beast. Then, when
at last the sun shone out, the desert glistened, while here and
there a clump of bright flowers gleamed. The sand had been washed
from cactus and mesquite and there were fresh leaves on the
cottonwood trees. Birds sang, and also there was a rejoicing in the
hearts of the two girls who had been so long held prisoners by the
inclement weather.
“Think of it!” Margaret said as she swept the veranda the first
clear morning after the rains. “It is three weeks since any one has
been for the mail. Do you suppose that it would be safe for us to
cross the creek today and ride to the Junction?”
“Oh, I’m sure that it would,” Virginia replied. “There isn’t a cloud
anywhere to be seen and isn’t the sky the shiniest, gleamingest
blue?”
Half an hour later, when their morning tasks were finished, Virg
hailed her brother, who was on his way to the valley pasture to see
what damage had been done to the mile square fence. “Buddy,” she
called, “is it safe for Margaret and me to ride to the Junction for
the mail? There must be just stacks of it there waiting for us?”
The lad scanned the horizon and replied in the affirmative.
The two ponies, Star and Comrade had been in the corral so long that
they were high spirited and galloped across the hard, desert trail
as though racing with each other.
Having reached the rocky creek bottom, where only a little water was
trickling along, Virginia turned her pony toward the opposite bank
where she expected to find the trail which they had always ascended
but it had been washed away leaving a steep perpendicular cliff, up
which they could not ride.
“What shall we do?” Margaret asked. “Is there no other way to reach
the Junction?”
“Yes, there is another trail farther up the creek, but, to reach it
we will have to ride between these high banks for about a mile. At
this time of the year it is rather a risky thing to do, for if there
should be a cloudburst in the mountains, we would find ourselves in
a raging torrent, but since brother assured us that it is not going
to rain, suppose we take the chance.”
Margaret agreed and silently they rode along the creek bottom. On
either side of them the banks rose sheer and high. Virginia felt
strangely troubled. She almost wished they had not taken the chance.
They were within sight of the low banks, when Virginia suddenly drew
rein and listened intently. Somewhere, up in the mountains ahead of
them, she heard a sullen, roaring noise. What could it be? There was
no wind and the sky was clear. Intuitively, however, the western
girl knew that something was wrong.
“Megsy,” she called, “ride as fast as you can.” The creek bottom was
covered with stones of all sizes and the eastern girl, frightened by
Virginia’s command, urged her horse to greater speed. The dull
roaring in the mountains grew louder and louder. Then, there was a
report like a crash of thunder.
Virginia was only two lengths from the low bank when a rush of water
hurled past them. It had risen to the stirrups when Comrade with a
frightened snort, started to climb the low bank. Virginia looked
back, and to her dismay she saw that Star had reared and that
Margaret was about to be thrown into the swirling ever-deepening
torrent. Seizing Margaret’s bridle, she called: “Let go of the rein,
Megsy, and cling to Star’s neck. It’s your only chance.”
She again scrambled up the low bank with Star in tow and not a
minute too soon, for following the last booming noise in the
mountains, a mad rushing torrent was hurled down the creek,
overflowing the low bank.
“That was a narrow escape,” Virginia had just said when Mr. and Mrs.
Wells and their young son, Davie, rushed out of the station house to
see what had happened.
“It’s the new Pine Canyon reservoir that’s burst!” the excited man
exclaimed, then he added, “Miss Virginia, you gals wasn’t a ridin’
along the creek bottom, was ye?” When Virg replied in the
affirmative, he ejaculated, “Wall, I’ll be jigger-switched. You sure
had a narrow call, but if its mail as yer after there’s a stack of
it for ye.”
Kind Mrs. Wells led the way indoors and gave each of the girls a cup
of steaming coffee. As soon as the flood had passed, Malcolm and
Slim, with anxious faces, appeared, and how relieved they were to
find that the girls were safe. The cow-boy shouldered the bulging
mail bag and they returned home by another trail.
Uncle Tex opened the ranch house door to admit them, and Virg felt
his hand tremble in her clasp.
“Miss Virginia, dearie,” he said in a quivering voice, “don’t yo’ be
doin’ reckless things any more. If yo’r wantin’ the mail, send yo’
old Uncle Tex. He’d ruther be swept away in a torrent than be livin’
without ye.”
The old man was almost overcome with emotion and the girl whom he
had trotted on his knee as a baby, kissed him tenderly on his
wrinkled leathery cheek. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said. “I’m sorry we
worried you all so much. We won’t take chances again. Honest Injun;”
and then in a higher tone, she added, “We’re powerful hungry. Have
you something nice for us?”
“That I have Miss Virginia dearie, an’ ah’ll open up a can of the
preserved strawberries yo’ all like so much.”
The young people did justice to the good meal, and, when the last
delicious strawberry had been eaten Virginia sprang up, quite her
old self again as she said, “Now brother Malcolm, let’s open the
mail bag.”
They went into the living-room and the young giant of a lad
unbuckled the cover of the pouch and shook the letters and papers
out on the library table. Margaret pounced upon one addressed in
Bab’s familiar scrawl. Although Virginia received several letters
from girl friends who were away at school, there was not a line from
Tom. She was surprised to realize how truly disappointed she was,
and, not feeling in a mood to read chattery letters from girl
friends just then, she picked up one of the papers, and, sitting on
the sunny window seat she idly glanced it over. Margaret was about
to read the letter from Babs, when an excited exclamation from her
friend sent her hurrying to her side as she inquired. “What is it,
Virg? What have you found in the paper?”
For answer the western girl sprang up and seizing the astonished
Margaret, she whirled her about as she exclaimed gaily. “I knew it.
I knew it all the time.”
“Knew what?” asked the mystified Megsy. For answer Virginia drew her
friend down on the window seat and then read aloud an astonishing
bit of news.
“WANTED, ONE TOM WENTWORTH.”
“When I read that heading I was sure at once that it referred to our
Tom,” Virg said.
“And does it?” Megsy asked eagerly.
“Read along and decide for yourself,” her friend replied and so
Margaret bent her head over the sheet and read aloud:
“To all whom it may concern, and to the young man calling himself
Tom Wentworth in particular, this article is addressed: Be it known
that a Mexican, Miguel Lopez, on his death-bed confessed to having
been guilty of a crime, the circumstantial evidence of which he
cleverly turned upon an innocent bystander who has ever since (being
unable to prove his innocence) been a fugitive from justice. Tom
Wentworth, a young man of about eighteen is tall, slim, with wavy
light brown hair and blue-grey eyes.
“When last heard of he was hiding in The Seven Peak Range just
across the Mexican border in Arizona. Anyone reading this article
who has knowledge of the whereabouts of the young man in question,
will confer a favor upon the state authorities of Texas if he or she
will inform the same that he is no longer held guilty of the crime
which was unjustly attributed to him.”
“There!” Virginia exclaimed. “Now what do you think of that?”
“It surely must mean our Tom,” Megsy began. Then she added
excitedly, “Oh, Virg, I was right, wasn’t I? Tom’s last names does
begin with W, but it is Wentworth and not Wente. However, it is
curious, isn’t it, that he and Babs have last names so near alike?”
Virginia nodded. “Now,” she said, “the big question is, how shall we
get this glorious news to Tom in the shortest possible time?”
“It surely can’t be done tonight,” Margaret, said as she lighted the
lamp with its warm crimson shade, “for it is nearly dark.” Then she
added, “Isn’t there some way to telephone to the Wilson Ranch?”
Virg shook her head. “No,” she replied, “distances are so great here
on the desert that the only telephone lines are those that have been
erected by neighbors for their own private use. Our telephone
connects us with the Dartley ranch and was put up merely for
protection in case either of us might be in urgent need of
assistance.”
Then as she seated herself by the table, Virg said, “When Malcolm
comes in we’ll ask his advice. Oh, I am so happy about it! How I
wish I might be with Tom when he hears the goods news that I might
see his face glow when he realizes that he is no longer a fugitive
from justice. But who is your letter from?”
“Another plump epistle from Babs!” Megsy replied. “Shall I read it
to you?” Virg nodded in the affirmative and took up her sewing.
Margaret unfolded the truly voluminous letter and began reading
another chapter in the life of Babs at the Vine Haven Boarding
School.