FRETFUL JANE
Luckily Dan had succeeded in changing his sister's thought before they
returned to the cabin, and he vowed inwardly that he would never again
mention Meg Heger, since Jane had taken such a strange dislike to her.
How one could dislike a girl one had barely seen was beyond his
comprehension, but girls were hard to understand, all except Julie. She
was just a wholesome, helpful little maid with a pug-nose that was always
freckled.
"Now for the surprise!" Dan said as they neared the cabin.
"Well, I certainly hope it is something to eat," Jane began, with little
interest, but when the two children threw open the front door and she saw
the table in the living-room close to the wide window with four places
set, she delighted the little workers by announcing that it was the best
sight she had beheld that day. Then, when Jane and Dan were seated, Julie
and Gerry skipped to the kitchen and returned with as tempting a lunch as
even Jane could have wished for. There was creamed tuna on toast and jam
and a heaping plate of lettuce sandwiches and two of the Rockyford melons
for which Colorado is famous. Then there was for each a glass of creamy
milk.
"Great!" Dan exclaimed. "I didn't know we were going to be able to get
milk."
Julie nodded eagerly. "It comes from the Packard ranch, fresh to the inn
every day, and Mrs. Bently said she would send us two quarts every time
the stage comes up our road, which usually is three times a week. We can
keep it cool as anything in the creek. Mrs. Bently told us how."
"After lunch can we get out the guns, Dan?" Gerald asked when he had
hungrily gulped down a sandwich.
"Why, I guess so," the older boy laughed good naturedly. "You aren't
expecting a bear to find out this soon, are you, that we have some
supplies that he might wish to devour?"
Julie looked anxiously toward the open door of the cabin. "Don't you
think maybe we'd better keep that door closed when we're eating?" she
asked anxiously. "You know Dad said he and mother were sitting right here
where we are, maybe, one morning at breakfast, when mother looked up and
there was an old grizzly standing in the open door. He had been around to
the kitchen and had eaten up all the supplies he could find and he was
hunting for more."
Gerald chimed in with: "It was lucky Dad kept his big gun always standing
in the corner. I suppose it was right there, near you, Dan, so he could
just grab it and shoot."
The children were watching the door as though they expected at any minute
that another grizzly might appear. Dan laughed at them. "We might as well
have stayed at home if we are going to stay in the cabin and keep the
door closed," he told them. "I'm going to suggest that we put the table
on that nice porch just outside of the kitchen. That will make an ideal
outdoor dining-room, with a big pine tree back of it to shelter us from
the sun. It will be handy to the kitchen, and, what is more, a bear
simply could not scale up that wall beyond the ledge." Then, very
seriously, the older brother addressed the younger two. "Julie, I don't
want you or Gerald to go close to that cliff. It's too dangerous."
Honest Gerald blurted in with, "We did go once, Dan. We squirmed out on
our tummies till we could look 'way down, and I tell you it made us
dizzy. We won't ever want to do it again."
After lunch the children announced that they would do up the dishes if
Dan would give them a lesson in shooting the big gun when they were
through. "Well," the older boy smilingly conceded, "I'll try to teach you
to handle the smaller gun; yes, both of you," he assured Julie, who was
making an effort to attract his attention by motions behind Jane's back.
"You really ought to both know how to use it. You might need to know how
some time to protect yourselves."
"What shall you do, Jane, while we are learning to shoot?" Julie inquired
when the kitchen had again been tidied and the children were ready for
their very first lesson with the small gun.
"Maybe Jane'll want to learn too," Gerald suggested, but the older girl
declared that she simply could not and would not touch one of the
dreadful things.
"Won't you come with us and watch the fun?" Dan lingered, when the two
active youngsters had bounded out of the cabin. But the girl shook her
head. "It wouldn't be fun to me," she said fretfully. "I'd much rather be
left all alone. I want to write a long letter to Merry. She will be eager
to hear from me, just as I am from her." There was a self-pitying tone in
the girl's voice and a slight quiver to her lips. She turned hastily into
her room and closed the door. She did not want Dan to see the tears. The
lad went out on the wide front porch and stood for a moment with folded
arms, his gray eyes gazing across the sun-shimmered valley, but he was
not conscious of the grandeur of the scene. He was regretting, deeply
regretting that he had permitted his sister to come to a country so
distasteful to her. He well knew that she had shut herself in her room to
sob out her grief and disappointment and then perhaps to write it all to
this friend of whom she so often spoke and whom she seemed to love so
dearly.
Once Dan turned toward the door as though to return to the cabin. His
impulse was to go to Jane and tell her not to unpack. The stage would be
passing there again on the following day, and, if she wished she could go
back to the East. In fact, the lad almost believed that if Jane went, it
might hasten his recovery. Her evident unhappiness was causing him to
worry, and that was most detrimental. With a deep sigh of resignation, he
did turn toward the open door, bent on carrying out his resolve, but a
cry of alarm from Julie sent him running around the cabin and up toward
the brook.
He met the children, white-faced, big-eyed, hurrying toward him, Gerald
carrying the small gun.
"What is it, Gerry? What have you seen to frighten you?" He looked about
as he spoke, but saw nothing but the jagged mountain side, the rushing,
whirling brook and the peaceful old pines.
But it was quite evident by the expressions of the two children that they
at least thought they had seen something of a dangerous nature. Gerald
pointed toward a clump of low-growing pines on the other side of the
brook as he said in a tense, half-whispered voice: "Whatever 'twas, Dan,
it's hiding in there." Then he explained: "Julie and I were crossing the
water on those big stones when, snap, something went. I whirled to look.
Honest, I expected to see a grizzly, but there wasn't anything at all in
sight. Julie and I stood just as still as we could; we didn't even make a
sound! Then we saw those bushy trees moving, though there wasn't a bit of
wind, so we know whatever 'tis, it's in there."
While the small boy had been talking, Dan had been loading the gun.
"You'd better let me go alone," he said to the children, but their
disappointed expressions caused him to add: "At least let me go ahead,
and if I think best for you to come, I'll beckon."
Dan crossed the brook on the big stones and went toward the clump of
small stubby pines. Then he stood still, watching the dense low trees
intently. His heart beat rapidly, not from fear, for he almost hoped that
it might be a grizzly, and yet, would it not be unwise to shoot at it
with a small gun? It might infuriate a huge beast, and so endanger all of
their lives. But, although he waited, watching and listening for many
minutes, no sound was heard. He began to believe that the children had
imagined the stealthy noise they thought they had heard, for, after all,
they had not really seen anything, and so he beckoned them to join him.
They leaped across the brook and were quickly at his side.
"Wasn't it a bear, or a wildcat, or anything?" Gerald asked eagerly. Dan
shook his head, as he replied with a laugh: "Don't be too disappointed,
youngsters, even if you don't see everything on the first day. This time
it was just a false alarm."
But Dan was mistaken, for, from a safe hiding place, the old Indian,
Slinking Coyote, was watching their every move.
"Why don't we shoot into that pine brush anyway?" Julie suggested. "We
might scare out whatever is hiding there." But Dan didn't wish to do
this. He felt that it would be safer to have the larger gun with him
before he started beating up hidden wild creatures of any kind.
"Come along, youngsters, let's get back on the home-side of our brook and
set up a target," the older boy suggested as he crossed the brook,
followed by the children.
In their door-yard Dan paused and looked about meditatively. "I want to
set up a target near enough to be within call, and yet far enough away to
keep from disturbing Jane too much with our racket."
"Oh, I know!" Gerald cried. "Over there, just above where the road bends!
That'll be a dandee place. Won't it, Dan?"
The older boy smiled his agreement. "I do believe it will do as well as
any place." They went toward the spot indicated and Dan continued:
"Suppose we choose a cone on that lowest pine branch. If a bullet hits
it, the cone will surely fall. Now, Gerald, just to be polite, shall we
let Julie try first?"
The boy nodded, his eyes shining with eagerness. "Sure! How many tries do
we each get? Three?"
"Any number you wish is all right with me." Then Dan placed the small gun
in the position that Julie was to hold it, showed her how to look along
the barrel, and how to take aim.
"Hold it steady! One, two, three, go!" But no report was heard.
"What's the matter, chick-a-biddie?" Dan was surprised to see how white
the small girl's face had become, and to note that her arm was shaking so
that she could hardly hold the gun. "I'm scared," she confessed. "I don't
know why, but I am, Dan." She dropped the gun and ran to his arms. Then
she smiled up through her tears. "I guess I'm afraid to hear the noise."
"Pooh, pooh! That's just like a girl," said Gerry almost scornfully.
"Anyhow, you don't need to learn to shoot. Dan or I'll always be around
to protect you'n Jane. Can I have a try now, Dan? Can I?"
The older lad turned to the small girl. "Suppose we let Gerald practice
today, and later, when you feel that you would like to try again, you may
do so?"
This plan seemed quite satisfactory to Julie, who seated herself upon a
rock which overhung the curving mountain road, and was about twenty feet
above it. Gerald, instead of dreading the noise that the small gun would
make, was eager to hear it, and after repeated trials, he managed to
dislodge the brown cone. "Hurray! I did it! Bully for me! I'm a marksman
now! Isn't that what I am, Dan? Now I'll pick out another one, and I bet
you I'll hit it first shot."
Julie, having wearied of the constant report of the small gun, had
wandered away in search of wild flowers. The boys saw her running toward
them, beckoning excitedly. "Dan," she said in a low voice, "Come on over
here and look down at the road. The queerest man seems to be hiding. I
was so far up above him, he didn't see me. He's hiding back of some rocks
watching the road. Who do you suppose he is?"
Dan looked troubled. He thought at once that it might be the old Ute
Indian who had not gone with his tribe when they went in search of better
hunting grounds, nor was he wrong. Very quietly, the three went to the
rim of their ledge. About twenty feet below they beheld a most uncouth
creature crouching behind a big boulder. Evidently he was intently
watching the road as it wound up from Redfords. His cap was of black fur
with a bushy tail hanging down at the back. They could not see his face
as they were above him. Julie clung fearfully to her brother. "Oh, Dan,"
she whispered. "What do you suppose he's watching for?"
Before Dan could decide what he ought to do, a pounding of horse's feet
was heard just below the bend, and a wiry brown pony leaped into view.
The old Indian sprang from his hiding place so suddenly that the small
horse reared, but the rider, her dark face flushed, her wonderful eyes
flashing angrily, cried: "What did I tell you last time you stopped me?
Didn't I say I'd shoot? You know I pack a gun, and I _never_ miss. I
can't give you any more money. I'm saving all I can to go away to school.
I've told you that before, and if you _are_ my father, as you're always
telling me that you are, you'd ought to be glad if I'm going to have a
chance."
The old Indian whined something, which Dan could not hear. Impatiently
the girl took from her pocket a coin and tossed it to him. "I don't
believe you're hungry. You don't need to be, with squirrels as thick as
they are. You'll spend all I give you on fire-water, if you can get it."
Already the old Indian, evidently satisfied with what he had received,
had started shambling down the road in the direction of the town, but the
girl turned in the saddle to call after him: "Mind you, that's the last
time I'll give you money. I don't believe that you are my father, and
neither does Mammy Heger."
She might have been talking to the wind for all the attention the old
Indian paid. His pace had increased as the descent became steeper.
Dan felt guilty because he had overheard a conversation not meant for his
ears, and he drew the children away toward the cabin, and so heard,
rather than saw, the girl's rapid flight up the road.
The chivalry of the ages stirred in his heart. "It's a wicked shame that
she hasn't a brother to protect her," he thought. "A young girl ought not
to be tormented by such a coward. Slinking Coyote, that's what he is.
Blackmailing, it would be called in civilized countries." Dan's
indignation increased as he recalled how wonderfully beautiful the girl
had looked when her dark eyes had flashed in anger. "I'd be far more
inclined to think her a daughter of noble birth."
His thoughts were interrupted by Julie, who, believing that they were a
safe distance from the road, asked anxiously, "Who was the awful looking
man, Dan? Will he hurt us?"
The same question had presented itself to Dan, but he made himself say
lightly, "Oh, no! That old Indian isn't at all interested in us. He
evidently is just a beggar. He was asking the mountain girl for money and
she gave it to him." Then, as an afterthought, he cautioned, "Don't
mention having seen him to Jane, will you, children?"
Willingly they agreed. They were indeed pleased to share a secret with
their big brother.
Julie chattered on, "Dan, I'd like to go up and see that nice girl. Do
you think she'd let me ride on her pony? May Gerald and I go up there
tomorrow?"
Dan forced himself to smile. He did not want either of his companions to
know that he was troubled. "Yes, we'll go up there tomorrow. I would like
to meet the trapper who is, I believe, the father of that little
horsewoman." But even as he spoke Dan recalled that the slinking Indian
had insisted that he was her father, and that the girl did not believe
it.
When he reached the cabin, Jane was still shut in her room. The children
declared that they were hungry as wolves and that they would get the
evening meal, and so the older lad seated himself on the edge of the
front porch to think over all that he had seen and heard, and decide what
it would be best for him to do. Perhaps, after all, he had been unwise to
bring either of the girls to a place so wild. Perhaps he ought to send
them both home. He and Gerald could protect themselves if there were to
be trouble of any kind. He decided that the very next day, as soon as the
mountain girl had gone to the Redfords school, he would climb up the road
to the cabin, which he believed was just about a mile above them. Then he
could discover from the trapper if any real danger might lurk on the
mountain for the two Eastern girls.