AT THE RANCH
Jean was laid up with a sprained ankle which she twisted in trying to
follow where Jack and Clarence led to the upper branches of a tree in
the garden. It was hard enough to keep still, but it was harder yet to
give up a visit to the Sanders ranch, for just at this time Mr. Sanders
appeared and insisted upon bearing at least one of the girls away with
him. The invitation was originally intended for the twins, but since
Jean could not go and it would never do to let Jack go unattended by
one of the family, Mrs. Corner decided that Mary Lee should accompany
her sister. At first Mary Lee was not enthusiastic, but later on she
came to her mother and reported that she would as lief go as not.
"I hate to leave the señorita," she said, "but maybe I can do her more
good by going than by staying;" which mysterious speech her mother did
not ask to have explained.
"I think," she said, "you can do better for everybody by going, for
I should not want Jack to be among strangers with no one to watch
her, and you are rather more sedate than Nan, or rather you are more
matter-of-fact, and will be more liable to keep her steady. Nan can
get her out of scrapes, but what I want you to do is to keep her from
getting into them."
And so Mary Lee and Jack started off, leaving Jean with a forlorn but
resigned countenance watching them. She had been promised all sorts
of treats at home to make up for her disappointment, so she was not
entirely unhappy. Mrs. Roberts had promised to send a carriage for her
to come and spend the day, Carter had said he would take her upon a
special ride in his automobile when they would stop for soda water, Nan
had already begun some lovely paper dolls with wonderful costumes, and
Li Hung was going to make some little cakes of which she was specially
fond. Yet it was hard to see her twin drive off for a week's stay and
to feel that she was out of it in the matter of seeing Bessie Sanders.
Jean and Jack had talked so much about this visit and now Jack was
going without her twin. Tears actually began to roll down from her eyes
as she watched Mr. Sanders' carriage out of sight.
But just then Nan came over to comfort her, seeing the forlorn little
figure with foot propped upon a pillow. "Poor itty sing," she said,
"they've gone and left us both, haven't they? Never mind, we'll do
something pleasant right away. Here is a magic flower," she leaned
over and gathered a rose from the vine clambering up the veranda; "make
three wishes out loud and I will summon the genii. Shut your eyes and
make the wishes."
"Oh, Nan," exclaimed Jean, half inclined to believe in the magic
flower. "Do you mean truly?"
"Of course I do. Hurry up and make your three wishes. Take the flower
in your hand. Abracadabra! Go ahead. Close your eyes first."
Jean's eyelids fell and she began: "I wish for a little pony----"
"One."
"And a--a--box of candy."
"Two."
"And--and--oh, dear, what do I want most? I wish I had a whole dollar
to do as I choose with, to spend just as I please, without any one's
saying, 'Oh, what did you get that for?'"
"Keep your eyes shut till you are told to open them," was the next
command, and Jean obeyed.
After what seemed long waiting she heard Nan say: "Open thine eyes,
fair maid, and behold what the genii have brought."
Jean's eyes popped open. Upon a chair before her was the picture of a
pony cut from a magazine.
"Now, Nan," began Jean, half disappointed.
"You didn't say a live pony," Nan explained; "you should have said
that, you know. Shut your eyes again and wait for your second wish."
Jean's eyes fell and at the second bidding she opened them to see a
bona fide box of candy which Nan had mysteriously produced. The third
wish was as realistic, for the actual dollar was hers, so that by the
time Jack was well on her way, Jean was entirely comforted.
It was a pleasant trip, and most did they enjoy the last three miles
which took them from the railway station. They drove into the gate with
a dash. A man came forward to take the horses as Mr. Sanders jumped out
of the carriage.
"Why, it's Jo Poker," exclaimed Mary Lee. "How did you get here?" she
asked.
The man frowned, but immediately upon seeing who it was he smiled.
"Why, it's the little gal that wanted to see the pine squirrel," he
said. "How did you get here? I might ask."
"I came on a visit," Mary Lee told him.
"And I came to turn an honest penny," he said.
As he drove away Mary Lee turned to Mr. Sanders. "How did you get hold
of him? I saw him 'way down toward San Bernardino."
"Oh, he travels around, works when he feels like it, loafs when he
pleases. He's a good worker when he takes hold of a job, and I'm always
glad to get him. It isn't every one he'll work for."
"Have you known him long?" Mary Lee kept up her questions.
"Oh, yes, I've known him for years. Saw him first down in Mexico, and
I've run across him on and off ever since. Sometimes not for two or
three years and then suddenly he'd turn up in some entirely different
place. He's a born rover."
"Do you suppose all those stories they tell about him are true?"
"Well, it's hard telling. He's no saint, but I guess he's not as black
as he's painted. He's always acted white with me. There's mother
waiting for you. I'll set your grip right inside and then I'll jog down
to the barn."
Jack had already been welcomed heartily by Bessie and they were now
plotting all sorts of amusements. "We were so sorry Jean couldn't
come," Mary Lee explained to Mrs. Sanders, "but she has sprained her
ankle, and mother didn't want to trust Jack alone, so I came to look
after her."
"I don't reckon she'll need much looking after," said Mrs. Sanders,
"but I'm mortal glad to see you, for you'll be more company for me.
We'll have a real good time hobnobbing together. I've got a Mexican
woman in the kitchen, but she doesn't cook my way, so I'm going to see
about supper. Want to go 'long?"
Mary Lee willingly followed into the large neat kitchen where she
watched Mrs. Sanders stir up biscuits for supper and prepare chickens
for frying.
"That's just the way we do them at home," said Mary Lee. "Are you from
Virginia, Mrs. Sanders?"
"No, but I'm next door to it; I'm from Maryland. I always maintain
there's no better cooks in the universe than Marylanders, and that
nobody knows so well how to eat good. I've been away from there right
smart of a while, but I never saw any place where the eatings suited me
so well. Mr. Sanders says that's what first made him take notice to me.
He'd eat such an awful good supper at our house, and he kept thinking
he'd certainly like it to last, then when he found out I'd made the
biscuits and fried the chicken he just set up to me right off. My, I
never expected to come to California then or I mightn't have been so
particular about my cooking. It's a good bit of a way from home out
here."
"Was it at your home in Maryland that you first met him?" asked Mary
Lee, interested in Mr. Sanders' courtship.
"Yes, at my father's house. He'd come east for the first time since
he left home, and he was down our way. My brother invited him to the
house; they'd been to school together when they were boys, and he'd
been hunting up his old friends, you see. Well, when he went back he
took me along to Texas, and from there we come to California. He's a
good bit older than me, but I reckon we get along as well as most. I
get to thinking about home once in a while, but I've never regretted
marrying."
"You like it out here, don't you?"
"Yes, I like it. At first I pined for the old Eastern Sho', and I yet
think it is the best spot on earth, but I'm satisfied. He's a good
husband and father and we're better off every year."
Mary Lee watched the deft tossing together of the biscuits, and her own
thoughts wandered back to her Virginia home, to Aunt Sarah, with Mitty
in the kitchen, and Unc' Landy plodding about doing his chores.
The biscuits done, Mrs. Sanders left the baking of them to the Mexican
woman, and returned to the house. "I'll go slick up a bit before
supper," she said. "You go make yourself at home anywhere you feel
inclined."
It occurred to Mary Lee that it was time to discover Jack's whereabouts
and she ran out of doors to find her happily playing with Bessie under
the trees and in no need of sisterly attention. Therefore she went
indoors for her work-bag and established herself on the veranda where
she could watch the children and at the same time could occupy herself
with her drawn work. She sat, a neat, sedate little figure at which Jo
Poker cast more than one glance as he passed by.
On his way back he paused. "You got back all right that day?" he said
inquiringly.
"What day? Oh, yes, thank you. I have not forgotten what a nice time we
had there in the woods." Then following out the train of thought which
had been taking up her mind she said: "Did you ever know any people by
the name of Mendez or Garcia?"
He did not answer for a moment but fixed his eyes upon her searchingly,
then, evidently with an effort, "Yes, I did. They're not unusual names.
Where did those you speak of hail from?"
"I don't know exactly; somewhere in Mexico. I knew you had a Mexican
wife, and I thought maybe you could tell me something I want to find
out."
"Well, I reckon I can't," said the man shortly. "It's been years since
I saw any of them; before you were born." And without stopping to
continue the conversation he walked away.
"Well," said Mary Lee, "he's not very polite, but maybe he thought I
was inquisitive. I'll ask Mr. Sanders what he knows." This she did that
same evening. "You knew our señorita when she was a little girl, didn't
you?" she began.
"You mean Dolores Mendez, do you? The one who was here with you all?"
"Yes, but we call her Miss Garcia."
"To be sure; her aunt did adopt her, I remember. She was a quiet little
kitten, pretty in a way, but she kept to herself. I used to see her
around. Her mother was dead then, but her grandfather set great store
by her."
"Did you know her father?" asked Mary Lee.
"No, I didn't, and funny, they never used to speak of him. I believe
his daughter's marriage was a great disappointment to the old man, who
hadn't much use for Americans, at least that is what I heard. I believe
there was a cousin he wanted her to marry, but I don't know. They said
her husband was a very decent sort of fellow, but I never met him, not
to know him."
Then said Mary Lee to herself, "if it was Jo Poker, Mr. Sanders doesn't
know it." She thought over this for awhile and then she remarked:
"Isn't Jo Poker a queer name?"
"He is a queer Dick," returned Mr. Sanders. "All the years I have known
him I don't know much more about him than I did at first. You never
know when or where he is going to turn up. When he leaves me like as
not he'll go as far as 'Frisco, or maybe Seattle, there's no telling.
I may not see him again for a year. He'll take his run then go back
to his cabin and stay there as if he wanted to get shet of the whole
world, that is, the human part of it. I think he's above the common
run, he talks so sensible. If he takes a shine to any one he's decent
enough, but if he don't, then look out. I was able to do him a good
turn once and he ain't forgot it, that's why he's ready to work on my
ranch when he comes this way."
"Do you suppose his name is really Jo Poker?"
"No, it isn't, but he'll not tell what it is, and one name is as good
as another for his purpose. He gets Jo everywhere, anyway."
"When he dies will they just put Jo Poker on his tombstone, I wonder,"
said Mary Lee reflectively.
Mr. Sanders smiled. "I can't prophesy as to that. No doubt when that
time comes somebody will come forward and give his pedigree, or maybe
he'll leave papers."
The mysterious Jo Poker continued to interest Mary Lee and she always
smiled on him when he appeared. One day he stopped suddenly at the
veranda. "Want to go to the woods and see one of those pine squirrels?"
he said.
"Oh, I'd love to," returned Mary Lee, jumping up. "May I bring my
little sister and Bess?"
"Why, yes, I reckon. That's a wide awake little gal, your sister. She
can ask more questions to the square inch than anybody I know. Yes,
fetch her along; I'll be out there by the first windmill."
Mary Lee ran to find Jack and presently the three children, joined by
Jo, were on their way to the nearest stretch of woods. Here the saucy
little Douglas squirrel had his home. As soon as his visitors appeared
he rushed down the tree where he was lodged, uttered his peculiar cry
and made a sudden dash at them as if he would eat them up.
Jack laughed with glee. "Do it again, do it again," she called to
him. But seeing that these beings kept their ground Mars' Squirrel
began a series of antics, ran up and down the trunk of the tree,
cutting all sorts of queer figures, and coming so near that they could
look into his large bright eyes. It was evident that he was very
curious about his callers.
Presently Jo Poker took a flute from his pocket, fitted it together
and began to play softly. Instantly the squirrel was all attention. He
flattened himself out upon the limb of the tree, fixed his eyes on the
player and listened with evident pleasure. After awhile he crept slowly
along and leaped on Jo's shoulder, nosing the flute while he played.
The children clapped their hands over their mouths lest some sound
should disturb him. Presently Jo changed the tune to a slow lugubrious
measure, and at once the squirrel leaped back into the tree, sat upon
his haunches and scolded vigorously. This was not the kind of music he
preferred. Jo took the flute from his lips, wiped it off and looked
up at the little creature. "Don't like that, hey? Well, how's this?"
and he played a little Scotch air which brought bunny down again to
his shoulder, and also enticed from the tree-tops several birds which
fluttered nearer and nearer, but they, too, flew off when the mournful
tune was repeated.
[Illustration: A LITTLE SCOTCH AIR BROUGHT BUNNY TO HIS
SHOULDER.]
After a time Jo declared the concert was over, and put his flute back
into his pocket. "It's queer," he said, "how wild things have a taste
in music. I've been out here every day for a week, and they've got to
know me, but they act just the same every time I play that old psalm
tune. Ain't it funny? I thought you'd like to see how they behave as
long as you like the woods' creeturs."
"I love them," said Mary Lee, fervently. "I wish I knew as much about
them as you do."
"I could tell you a good bit," said Jo, "and I could show you some
queer corners of the earth where things go on you wouldn't suspect.
Any time you want to go 'long, I'll be glad of your company. I get off
about this time every evening." So almost every day after this the
two could be seen trudging off together, talking earnestly, and as
the secrets of the woods were revealed to her, Mary Lee became very
confidential with Jo Poker.
"If I had a gal," he told her one day, "I'd like her to be just like
you. I'd like her to want to go traipsing through the bogs and over
rough ground, to be fond of the beasts and birds, to like the smell of
the earth and the dry leaves, and not to mind camping out in the open."
"Maybe your daughter would be like that if you should find her," said
Mary Lee.
He shook his head. "I've give her up, you know."
"But why should you? I am sure you could take care of her?"
"In a way, but she mightn't like my way. She might want store clothes
and fancy hats. She might mope if she hadn't company, and she mightn't
want to turn her hand to making a home. I've thought it all out, and I
reckon it's better to let well enough alone."
"Maybe you are right about it," said Mary Lee slowly, and thinking of
the señorita. She could not imagine Miss Dolores tramping the silent
woods, cooking a meal over a camp-fire or sleeping in a mountain hut.
No, she agreed with Jo, it was better to let well enough alone. Yet
during one of their tramps and in a burst of confidence she told him
the señorita's story.
He listened silently, poking the rich leaf mould beneath him as he sat
on a fallen log.
"What did you say her name was?" he asked.
Mary Lee gave it in full.
He repeated it slowly. "The Mendez was her mother's name, and Garcia
her aunt's. Yes, that was it."
"You said once----" Mary Lee hesitated. She did not want to lose what
she seemed already to have gained. "You said once, you knew some people
of that name."
"So I did. I used to once," was all he vouchsafed and was silent a long
time. "See here," he said suddenly, "how long are you going to be in
these parts?"
"In California, do you mean? Till summer. We are going to Santa Barbara
pretty soon and then to San Francisco. From there we go home by the
Canadian Pacific."
"That so? Hm, hm. Well, I reckon it might be a good thing if that gal
found her father's folks. Maybe she will. There's no telling. Queerer
things than that have happened. You going to-morrow, are you?"
"Yes, we must. Mother would not like us to overstay our time. I can't
tell you how much I have enjoyed our trips to the woods. You have told
me so much and I do thank you for being so kind to me. I wish you could
find your daughter and that she would be the kind of girl you like."
"'Tain't likely. Well, Miss Mary, I've enjoyed your company and maybe
we'll meet again some time. I'm going to say good-bye now, for I'm off
myself to-morrow early."
The next day Mr. Sanders announced that Jo had gone. "Lit out at
daylight," he said. "Just like him. I paid him off last night, and he
said he'd have to be moving. There's no telling when he'll turn up
again."
"I like him," said Mary Lee, "and I don't believe one word about his
being a bad man."
"He's a good worker," said Mr. Sanders, as he always asserted, "but I
reckon he ain't no church member."
Jack had carried herself well through her visit and had no worse
mishaps than a fall or two, a tumble into an irrigating ditch, and
an attack of indigestion from eating too many raisins and too much
honey, therefore Mary Lee considered that the visit had been unusually
successful, and that in a week one could not expect much less to happen
to Jack.
Bessie looked mournful as she waved good-bye and the tears stood
in her eyes. Never before in her life had she been through so many
exciting adventures as Jack had devised, and never had she had such an
entertaining and lively companion.
"Never mind," said Mrs. Sanders as the carriage disappeared from sight,
"some of these days you will be going to school and will have little
girls with you all day long."
"There won't any of them be like Jack," returned Bessie, and it is
safe to say that she spoke truthfully. But with no Jack to turn to she
possessed herself of her favorite cat, and found solace in a quiet
corner where she could suck her finger and mourn unobserved.