WHAT FOLLOWED AN ELOPEMENT
“Take my gun, Lance, and stand at the door,” commanded the solemn,
bewhiskered Justice. “Ain’t nobody gwine tuh disturb this court while
in th’ puffawmance of its duty. No, sir!
“Git busy, folks! Ketch holt of han’s,” and he proceeded to read
through the form made and provided for such occasions by the State
Judiciary, while Mr. Peleg Crater continued to hammer at the door.
Dorothy and Tavia marveled at the courage of Molly Crater, who actually
responded to the questions in unshaken voice while her angry father
shouted threats outside.
“Now, by jinks!” exclaimed the Justice, throwing down the book and
saluting the bride with a kiss like the crack of a bullwhip, “yuh air
tied hard an’ fast. Le’s see ol’ Peleg untie yuh.”
“He’s got a gun,” said the cowpuncher warningly, at the door. “Ef he
blows Colt’s head off the knot will be purty well busted--what?”
“Wal, I’ll lend Jim my gun,” said the philosophic Justice. “Then let
’em go to it.”
“No, sir-ree!” exclaimed the newly made Mrs. Colt. “I won’t have my
husband and my father a-shooting at one another.”
“Peleg means business, Molly,” said Lance.
“So do I,” declared the bride. “I’d leave Jim right now ef he aimed a
gun at pap. Just as I left pap ’cause he shot at Jim.”
Dorothy and Tavia were badly frightened. These people talked of the use
of lethal weapons in a most barbarous way. Even Tavia began to think
the West was more uncivilized than it was romantic.
“That’s a good, strong door,” squealed the bewhiskered Whistler. “And
the window shutters are bullet-proof. We kin stand a siege. I got a
cyclone cellar, too.”
“But _we_ can’t stay here!” cried Dorothy, in great distress.
“That is so, Doro. We have to catch that train,” agreed Tavia.
“There’s more’n one train stops at Killock, Miss,” said Molly Colt,
_nee_ Crater, to Dorothy Dale. “And pap will git tired and go away.”
“Nop,” said Lance, the cowboy. “I promised to git these ladies to
Killock in time for the mawnin’ train, an’ I’m goin’ ter do it, or bust
er leg!”
“And it’s after midnight now,” said Dorothy, looking at her watch.
“Yuh’ll hafter slip out the back way, git yuh ponies, an’ scoot,”
advised Whistler through his whiskers.
“We’ll all light out that way,” said young Colt.
“But we don’t wanter get these girls in any trouble,” said Mrs. Colt.
“We’ll leave ’em at once. Make for Branch Coulie. That’ll toll your pap
off _their_ trail,” said her husband of five minutes.
Dorothy Dale, although she was much frightened by the situation, did
not lose her presence of mind. “Why don’t you and your husband stay
here, Mrs. Colt?” she said, clinging to the older girl’s hand. “_You_
remain in the house--or in this cellar Mr. Whistler speaks of, while
Mr. Lance and Tavia and I slip out at the back and get away. Your
father will think we are you.”
“That idea is as good as gold,” declared Lance, admiringly. “What the
little lady says goes, Bill. You agreed, Jim?”
“And me, too,” said Molly Colt, when her husband nodded.
“Go to it,” squealed Whistler in his funny voice.
Tavia nudged Dorothy, and whispered: “You’re crazy! you’ll get us
shot.”
“Not a bit,” said Lance, quickly, hearing her. “Our ponies are as fresh
as can be now, while Peleg’s is clean tuckered out. He’s traveled
already three times as fur as we have--and he ain’t been savin’
horseflesh, nuther, the state of mind he’s in. Believe me!”
“But the sheriff?” asked Tavia. “Won’t he arrest us?”
“If he wants my vote nex’ year,” shrilled Whistler, “he won’t
interfere. He’s only along to see fair play, I reckon.”
“Come on, then,” cried Lance.
“I’ll keep Peleg at the door. Colt, you an’ Molly slip inter the
cellar,” commanded the Justice of the Peace. “Peleg will hear Lance and
these young ladies after they git started, and I’ll sick him ontuh yuh.
He wouldn’t ketch yuh in a week o’ Sundays--an’ I never seed that week
come around yit.”
The girls from the East had only time to kiss Molly Colt good-bye and
wish her happiness, when Lance hurried them out of the back door of the
slab house. They were both keyed up with excitement, but Lance did not
realize how troubled they were as he lifted them onto their respective
ponies, after cinching the saddles again.
“All ready?” whispered the cowboy. “Then we’ll start. I’ll ride behind.
If the old goose does any shooting he’ll aim at me, anyway--and none
o’ these nestors kin shoot wuth a hang. You can see the trail, ladies?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy.
They rode out quietly, skirting a group of sheds, and struck into the
trail. The ponies were well under way before the angry farmer heard
them.
“He’s fell for it!” cried the cowboy. “Jerusha Juniper! Here he comes.
Let ’em out, ladies. The ponies is fresh as jackrabbits.”
For perhaps two miles they heard the farmer hooting and yelling behind
them. But he did not shoot. Then the sounds of his pursuit abruptly
ended. The ‘nestor’ had given up the chase.
“I hope he’ll not find his daughter and her husband until he gets over
his mad fit,” said Dorothy, anxiously.
“That mean man would never be decent,” said Tavia. “But wasn’t it
exciting?”
“Colt’s goin’ to take Molly a fur ways off,” said the cowboy. “Old
Peleg will have plenty of time to simmer down afore he sees airy of ’em
again.”
They rode on through the night and after a time Lance left the regular
trail. Dorothy was a bit worried by this move and asked him why.
“Isn’t there a chance of our getting lost, Mr. Lance?”
“No, Ma’am. This trail goes a roundabout way, and we can cut off nigh
ten miles by striking right ’cross country. If there was high water we
couldn’t do it, but the streams are nigh dry.”
“It looks so dark,” said Tavia. “How can you ever find the way?”
Then he showed them the North Star and other planets and combinations
of stars by which the plainsman casts his course at night, as the
sailor does at sea.
They came to several water-courses, unbridged; the ponies splashed
through the shallow water, and then broke into their easy gallop again.
Dawn came, tripping over the prairie behind them, soon catching and
passing the three riders, and rushing on to lighten the deep shadows of
the mountains far, far in advance. All night these mountains had masked
the western horizon like a threatening cloud.
Dorothy had dreamed of sunrise on the prairie; but she had not supposed
it half so wonderful as it was!
The hem of Dawn’s garment was tinged with opal light, which quickly
changed to faint pink--then deep rose--then an angry saffron which
spread like a prairie fire all along the eastern horizon.
She could not help looking back at it to the detriment of her riding.
But her pony was surefooted, and she came to no harm.
The glow increased. They were bathed in the light, and quickly the
first level rays of the sun chased their own elongated shadows over the
ground. There sprang into view ahead, as they cantered over a small
rise, several sharply sparkling objects.
“What _are_ they?” cried Tavia.
“Them’s winders in Killock,” said Lance. “We’ll soon be there--and in
plenty of time for your train, Miss.”
“Oh, Mr. Lance,” Dorothy said, gratefully, “I don’t know how we can
thank you for your kindness.”
“Don’t say a word--don’t say a word,” urged their knight of the lariat.
“We know how to treat ladies out yere, I reckon. An’ I ain’t done a
thing tuh be thanked for.”
“Are you going on with us to Sessions?” Dorothy asked him.
“I can’t rightly do so,” said the cowboy. “I got to ’tend to some
business for my boss here in Killock.”
“Oh! I am so sorry,” said Dorothy. “I want you to meet my Aunt Winnie
and my cousins.”
“Mebbe I’ll see yuh at Dugonne--later,” said Lance, bashfully. “The
Double Chain Outfit ain’t far from there.”
Dorothy had money enough left to buy tickets to Sessions for herself
and Tavia. Lance refused to take anything for the use of the ponies.
As the train hooted in the distance for its brief stop at Killock, the
girls hugged the ponies, and Tavia kissed Gaby plumb upon her soft nose.
“She’s a dear, Mr. Lance!” she cried. “I hope I shall see her again.”
“You’ll see her if yuh see me,” declared the cowpuncher. “Where I go
Gaby goes, too, you bet!”
They shook hands with the good-natured man and scurried aboard the
cars. As they found a seat on the side away from the station, Dorothy
clutched Tavia’s arm.
“Look at that man, Tavia!” she whispered, pointing through the window.
The person to whom Dorothy drew her chum’s attention was stealing out
of the bushes beside the tracks. He was a gray-haired man, with a Grand
Army hat, although the head-covering was battered and torn. He wore a
ragged blue coat, too, and Dorothy had identified the button he wore on
the lapel of the disreputable coat.
He was an unshaven and altogether unhappy looking object; but that
button assured Major Dale’s bright eyed daughter, that the poor old
creature was a Veteran.
“What do you suppose he is doing here?” gasped Dorothy. “Oh! the poor
old man!”
The car wheels began to turn again. The train had halted for only
a minute. They saw the man hobble across the tracks, and seize the
railing as their car passed him. It was plain to the girls that he
meant to steal a ride upon the fast train.
“Oh! he’ll be killed,” gasped Dorothy, half rising from her seat.
“Sit down, Doro Dale!” exclaimed Tavia. “If you tell anybody, he’ll be
put off.”
Dorothy was greatly troubled. She never saw a Grand Army man without
being interested in him. And she had never seen one before who so
looked like a tramp.
“That worries me,” said Dorothy Dale, the tears standing in her
beautiful eyes. “I fear that poor man will fall off the steps of the
car.”
“I am afraid the brakeman will see him and put him off at the first
stop,” retorted Tavia. “And we haven’t money enough to pay his fare.”
“Goodness! No!” cried Dorothy. “I have less than a dollar left in my
purse.”
“And of course, I have no money at all. I never _do_ have,” groaned the
reckless Tavia.
“After the conductor goes through the car,” whispered Dorothy, seeing
the man in question coming down the aisle, “I am going to steal back
there and see if the poor old creature really _did_ get upon the steps
outside the vestibule door.”