A NIGHT WITH A KNIGHT
“Well! I wouldn’t talk as though it had never happened before to
anybody,” said Tavia, at last. “Why! even we, Doro, have been left
behind before.
“Still, I grant you, we were never left before behind a fast express,
which was speeding your aunt and the boys away from us so rapidly that
we will be miles and miles behind before they discover our absence.”
“If, however, they learn that we are behind before they reach----”
“_Stop!_” commanded Dorothy, dropping down beside the track and
covering her ears. “If you say that again, I’ll certainly do something
to you.”
They had followed the train down the long platform, screaming to the
flagman to pull the signal cord. He had not heard them. He had merely
closed the gate and gone into the car.
Here Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers were, deserted at this un-named
prairie station, where--to all appearances--there was not a soul.
“And if anyone _is_ here, I expect I shall be scared to death,”
admitted Tavia, sitting down beside her chum.
It was so dark that only the vastness of the earth and sky was made
known to them--and that but vaguely. Stars twinkled above their heads,
but seemingly so high that, as Tavia complained, they did not seem like
“the stars at home, back East!”
Sitting facing the railroad tracks, they saw no lights but the switch
targets. There was no tower here, nor did there seem to be any life
at all about the railroad property. Why the express train had stopped
here, to tempt them to disembark, the girls could not imagine.
They were sitting close up against the great corral fence. The deep
breathing of the herd was like the distant, low notes of an organ; the
girls were not now interested in the manifestation of the presence of
such a great number of cattle. But the cattle were curious.
Another came and snorted behind them, and Dorothy and Tavia scrambled
up in a hurry. “They sound just as savage as bears,” declared Tavia.
“I don’t see why they have all deserted the cattle,” murmured Dorothy.
“I should think there would be a night watch.”
“And all the railroad people have deserted, too.”
“Oh, dear!” said Dorothy. “We can’t even send a telegram after the
train to tell Aunt Winnie we are all right.”
“But that wouldn’t be true,” said Tavia, shivering. “We are _not_ all
right.”
“We-ell,” said her friend, slowly. “I don’t expect there is anything
here to hurt us.”
“That’s all right. Maybe there isn’t. But I never _did_ like to be
alone in a strange place. I want to be introduced to folks.”
“Maybe there is a cowboy camp near----”
“Bully! let’s find it!” ejaculated Tavia.
“But you wouldn’t know the cowboys. They’d all be strange men.”
“Well! Cowboys are so romantic,” urged Tavia. “Let’s look.”
“You can use your eyes as well as I can,” sighed Dorothy. “But I must
say the prospect for finding anybody in this half darkness is not very
alluring.”
They started, following the line of the corral fence away from the
station. Dorothy was convinced there was no telegraph operator there,
and the barn-like building looked more dreary and threatening than did
the open prairie. So they were glad to get away from it.
The fence seemed unending. Occasionally a beast faced them, glaring
with eyes like hot coals, and pawing the earth. But the fence looked
strong.
They were not booted for walking, however, and the ground was uneven.
So they hobbled on very slowly.
Tavia seized Dorothy’s arm. “Oh! what’s that?”
“Now, don’t you begin scaring me,” commanded Dorothy. “Oh!”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“A man on horseback.”
They could see him between them and the skyline. He was riding slowly,
and riding toward them. The girls hugged close to the fence and their
dark traveling frocks were not noticeable.
The horseman drew nearer. The girls, clinging together, saw that he
wore a wide hat and sheepskin chaps that looked like a woman’s divided
skirt, they were so wide.
His pony pranced and snorted, doubtless scenting the girls. But the man
spoke a soothing word and did not even gather up the reins that lay
loose on the animal’s neck.
His voice had a pleasant, drawling tone to it. “Easy, there, Gaby--yuh
shore ain’t gettin’ no thousand plunks er night for dancing yere--no,
Ma’am! Stan’ still a moment, Gaby.”
Then a spark flared up and the girls knew the cowboy had been rolling
a cigarette and was now lighting it.
“Sh!” breathed Dorothy. “Watch his face.”
The match flared up, held in the hollow of his hand. The yellow glare
of it fell full upon the cowboy’s face.
That was what Dorothy had waited for. She wanted to see what manner of
face it was before she spoke--_if_ she spoke at all.
It was a bronzed, beardless, rather reckless countenance; but there was
nothing bad in its expression, and if the features were not strikingly
handsome they were pleasant. The mouth and eyes laughed too easily,
perhaps; but Dorothy risked it. She walked right up to the pony’s
surprised head.
“Please!” she said.
The match went out. So did the spark of the cigarette, as it dropped
from the man’s fingers.
“Jerusha Juniper!” gasped the man. “I got ’em!”
“Will you please listen?” asked Dorothy.
“A gal--and a gal from back East--shore! Why, yes, Ma’am! I’ll listen
tuh yuh,” said the amazed cowboy.
Just then Tavia joined her chum and the man muttered: “There’s two on
’em--Jerusha Juniper!”
“Please help us, sir,” pleaded Dorothy again.
“I shore will, Miss,” declared the cowboy. “But yuh did tee-totally
sup-prise me--yes, Ma’am!”
Tavia began to giggle. “I guess you’re not used to meeting ladies
around here?” she questioned, saucily.
“Jerusha Juniper! I reckon we ain’t; not around here.”
“I didn’t know, for sure,” said the wicked Tavia; “hearing you take a
lady’s name in vain so frequently, you know. Is she a friend of yours?”
“Who, Ma’am?” asked the puzzled cowboy, while Dorothy tugged at Tavia’s
sleeve.
“‘Miss Jerusha Juniper’--or is she a ‘Mrs.’?”
The man laughed heartily at that and urged his pony nearer to the two
girls.
“We see so few females out here we hafter talk about ’em, and name
critters after ’em, and all that.”
“I see,” said Tavia, quite assured of herself now.
“Oh, dear!” interrupted Dorothy, anxiously. “All this isn’t getting us
anywhere.”
“Jeru---- Well!” said the man. “Where do yuh want tuh go?”
“Why, we’ve been left behind,” said Dorothy, and then she fully
explained their predicament.
The cowboy, who was a young fellow, grasped the situation at once.
“You won’t git even a slow train out o’ yere before noon to-morrer,” he
said. “And ’twixt now and then you’d be mighty uncomfortable, I reckon.
There ain’t nawthin’ yere but a boardin’ shack, an’ there ain’t a woman
ever stops thar only Miz’ Little, whose old man runs the shack and
keeps the corral yere.”
“Goodness!” gasped Dorothy.
“Gracious!” gasped Tavia.
“Oh, they’re nice folks, but they ain’t fixed right to entertain
ladies,” said the man.
“And we don’t want to be entertained,” wailed Dorothy. “We want to get
on.”
“Shore you do,” granted the cowboy. “No other good train on this
road, as I say. If you follered by slow trains you’d never catch that
flyer--not in a dawg’s age.”
“What _can_ we do, then?” demanded Dorothy. “Can’t we even telegraph?”
“Now, I’ll fix that for yuh, first of all,” declared the man. “The
operator lives at Little’s shack. We’ll rout him out and make him tell
your folks on that train that you’ll overtake ’em at Sessions.”
“But how can we?” asked Dorothy.
“Sessions is a junction of this line and the old D. & C. Yuh see, I
know this country pretty well. I’m over yere for the Double Chain
Outfit right now, shipping cows, and I was startin’ back to-morrer,
anyway. I’ll git you ladies ponies, and we’ll start for Killock
to-night.”
“Where’s Killock?” asked Dorothy, doubtfully.
The cowboy pointed vaguely across the prairie. “Right over
thar--that-a-way,” he said. “It’s on the D. & C. There’s a fast train
stops thar at five in the morning. If we make a pretty quick get-away
we’ll easy make it in time, and you’ll ketch your folks at Sessions.”
“Oh, that will be jolly!” cried Tavia.
“But, Tavia!” gasped Dorothy. “How can we ride--in these frocks?”
“Side saddle?” queried her chum, doubtfully. “Why not?”
“We’d never be able to hang on,” groaned Dorothy, “without a proper
riding habit!”
Here the cowboy interrupted. “There isn’t a lady’s saddle in this neck
o’ woods. But I can find easy mounts and easy saddles for you. An’ Miz’
Little will let you have skirts. You can send them back with the ponies
from Killock.”
“You think of everything!” exclaimed Tavia, gratefully.
Dorothy Dale was doubtful. She had trusted the man’s face and his
manner, still----
“Come on, now, to Miz’ Little,” said the cowboy, frankly. “I’ll rout
’em out and we’ll be on the jog in half an hour, ladies.”
The man’s free and familiar way troubled Dorothy more than anything
else. Yet, she knew that this was the West and that western ways were
not eastern ways. And there was a woman they could talk to, at least!
So she and Tavia, hand in hand, followed behind the cowboy. He had
dismounted, but the track would not allow of their walking abreast. And
he made as slow progress in his high-heeled riding boots as the girls
did, over the rough way.
Their eyes were more accustomed to the path now, or else it was not so
dark. However, they could not have mistaken the bulk of the cowboy and
that of the pony, before them.
It certainly was a strange experience. Two eastern girls thrown
suddenly into a situation of this character! An unknown protector, an
unknown locality, and unknown adventures before them.
“What an experience!” breathed the delighted Tavia. “And he’s a regular
knight.”
“Is he?”
“A knight of the lariat,” whispered Tavia. “It’s so romantic.”
“I am glad you like it,” said Dorothy, grimly.
“Why! don’t you, Dorothy Dale?”
“I would give a good deal to be back aboard that train with Aunt
Winnie.”
“Never!” cried Tavia.
“All right there, ladies?” threw back the “knight” over his shoulder.
“There’s the light ahead.”
“Oh! we are perfectly all right,” said Tavia, with assurance.
Dorothy was not at all sure, so she said nothing.
In a few minutes they came to a long, low building. There was a dim
light shining through a window in the end of the shack.
The cowboy dropped his pony’s bridle-rein upon the ground and the
well-trained animal stood still. The “knight” knocked on the door and
at once a fierce voice asked:
“Who’s thar?”
“Lance,” said the man.
“Well. I told you Number Eight was empty, Lance.”
“I ain’t goin’ to stay, Miz’ Little.”
“Aw-right,” pursued the same gruff voice, which the girls could
scarcely believe was a woman’s. “I’ll let the nex’ pilgrim thet comes
erlong have it.”
“I gotter see yuh,” said the cowboy. “Git up, will yuh?”
“What yuh want, Lance?”
“Come yere. Land’s sake! S’pose I’m talkin’ for pleasure?”
A couch squeaked. There was immediately a heavy footstep on the
creaking plank floor. The girls were rather startled. They wondered if
the savage sounding female was coming to the door just as she got out
of bed?
But “Miz’ Little” had evidently been lying down dressed. When the door
opened she was revealed in a shapeless dark gown. Only, her head and
feet were bare.
She was a gigantic creature--a good deal bigger than the cowboy who had
befriended the girls. Dorothy saw at once that she had a very kindly
face, despite her masculine appearance.
“I vow!” she said, starting. “Ladies with you, Lance?”
“Yep. And they want to git on to Killock to-night. They’ll tell you all
about it. I’m goin’ to rout out that thar key-pusher.”
“He’s in Number Six,” said Mrs. Little. Then to the girls: “Come in.
Gals are yere erbout as often as angels--an’ I ain’t never hearn
_their_ wings yit.”
Dorothy and Tavia entered--yet not without some hesitancy. The room was
large, and almost bare of furnishings. There was a broad bed, and on it
Mrs. Little had been lying. But there was no other occupant of it, or
of the room.
There was a small cookstove, a chest of drawers, a clock on the shelf,
and a picture of Washington crossing the Delaware on the wall. One
rocker had a tidy on the back of it, but the other plain deal chairs
were entirely undecorated.
The woman herself, however, drew Dorothy Dale’s attention. She was very
curious as to what manner of creature she could be--this masculine and
gruff spoken female.
In the lamplight Dorothy had a better view of Mrs. Little’s face. Mrs.
Little did not have a single pretty or attractive feature, but the girl
from the East would have trusted her with anything she possessed!
Mrs. Little looked closely into the faces of both girls. She saw
something shining in Dorothy’s eyes.
“Why, chile!” she gasped. “You ain’t re’lly afraid, be yuh?”
Dorothy seized the big, hard hand the woman put out to her. There was
help in that hand--and comfort. Tavia appeared not to care, but Dorothy
Dale knew that her chum was just as much disturbed in secret over the
situation as she was herself.
In rather a breathless way Dorothy told Mrs. Little of the
circumstances leading up to their predicament, and her new friend
listened sympathetically. “Don’t that beat all?” was her comment. “And
I expect your folks is scaret, too. But you do like Lance says----”
“Is Lance to be trusted, Mrs. Little?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.
“Lance? Shore! Ef you was both my darters I’d trust yuh with Lance.
Men is tuh be trusted with gals out yere. They hafter be. Wimmen is
scurce--homes air far apart--a lone woman has a claim on a man in the
wild places that she don’t have in cities. Shore!
“That’s what it is, Miss. It takes an out an’ out vilyun to be mean
to a woman or a gal w’en there ain’t a mite of protection for her
otherwise. Shore! Most western men, I ’low, air to be trusted.”
But Dorothy and Tavia thought of Philo Marsh, and took this broad
statement with a grain of salt. Or was it, that Mr. Marsh, even, would
have been chivalrous under the present conditions?
Dorothy was satisfied that the cowboy called Lance was a man to be
depended upon. She had really believed in him from the start; now she
believed even more in Mrs. Little, who stood sponsor for him.
Almost at once Lance reappeared with a sleepy man whom he had evidently
gotten out of bed.
“Write your message, Ma’am,” said the cowboy, “and this man will
send it. Make it re’l strong. We’ll ketch ’em at Sessions by noon
to-morrer. They kin stop over an’ wait a while for yuh.
“Their tickets will be good on the D. & C. I’ve often done it myself.
And yuh’ll all be in Dugonne to-morrer night, anyway, so it won’t
matter erbout your berth coupons.”
It was evident that Lance had traveled some and knew his way about. Now
he hurried away for the horses while Dorothy wrote the message to be
sent after the flying train. It was not yet an hour since Dorothy and
Tavia had left the observation car.
Fortunately Dorothy had her handbag with her, and the purse in it was
well supplied with money. She asked the operator to count the words of
the message, and paid him for it on the spot.
Meanwhile Mrs. Little had made coffee and she insisted upon the girls
having some and sampling her cake. When Lance came with the mounts he
was likewise regaled, standing in the doorway.
A chill wind was blowing off the prairie, but not a cloud was to be
seen. The sky was thickly speckled with stars.
“You’re going to have a right pleasant ride,” prophesied Mrs. Little,
producing two of her own voluminous skirts for the girls.
She helped them tuck up their own frocks neatly and arranged the skirts
about them after they were mounted.
“Everybody rides a-straddle out yere,” said the good lady, laughing.
“An’ yuh kin cling on better. Yuh got some ridin’ tuh do b’fore yuh
reach Killock. It’s fifty mile.
“Now, Lance, don’t yuh be reckless. Ef anythin’ happens tuh these gals
I’ll be in yuh wool, an’ no mistake!”
“Huh! nawthin’s goin’ tuh happen to them,” laughed Lance. “How erbout
_me_? I eat two slabs of that cake o’ yourn, Miz’ Little, an’ I expect
Gaby will bog right down with me inside of a mile, I’ll be so heavy.”
“Git erlong with yuh!” retorted Mrs. Little, used to the cowboys’ rough
jokes. “It’s better cake than that Chinaman makes you at the Double
Chain Outfit, I vow!”
After that they rode off into the night, with the “knight of the
lariat.”