ON THE ROAD TO HARDIN’S
“Goodness gracious, grumpy gree!” yawned Tavia. “Isn’t a really-truly
bed the greatest invention known to civilized man, Doro?”
“I don’t know about its being the first on the list; but it certainly
_is_ a delight after sleeping on a shelf in that car,” agreed Dorothy
Dale, stretching luxuriously.
“I hate to get up.”
“You can stay here all day alone, then,” said her chum, briskly. “Aunt
Winnie means to get to the Hardin ranch-house before night.”
“Then what about Philo Marsh?” cried Tavia.
“She confided to me,” chuckled Dorothy, “that that is why she told him
not to come around until afternoon. She will see him just before we
start for Hardin’s.”
“He’ll be mad as fury.”
“Let him be. Auntie says she is determined to look over the estate, and
see the water supply herself, and survey the proposed new channel,
before she signs a paper.”
“Bully for her!” cried the slangy Tavia. “I bet that pirate, Philo
Marsh, has something up his sleeve beside his arm.”
Bang! bang! bang! A knock at the girls’ door.
“Oh! is the house afire?” shrieked Tavia, leaping out of bed. “Or is it
Papa Crater again, trying to find Molly and her bridegroom?”
“What are you girls waiting for?” demanded Nat, on the other side of
the door. “Come on! Ned and I have been up for hours, and have hired a
four-horse stage-coach--a regular old timer out of a show, I bet--to
cart us and the baggage to Hardin’s.”
“Oh!” cried Dorothy. “You’re not starting at once?”
“Guess you’ll have time to dress and eat breakfast first--if you
hurry,” chuckled Nat, as he went off down the hotel corridor.
This was only Nat’s fun. He and Ned were lonely and wanted to show the
girls the town. Not that the sprawling western metropolis was much of a
sight, after all!
Dugonne was a rambling, raw, uninviting place. The junction of the two
railroads made its existence here possible, for there were neither
cattle interests, farms, or mines very near.
Aunt Winnie remained in her room, but Ned and Nat took the girls
down to the breakfast table and proved that the Commonwealth Hotel of
Dugonne could cater to the taste of touring Easterners.
They saw a small bunch of steers being driven through a back street of
the town and learned that they were from the Double Chain Outfit.
“That is a big concern, they tell me,” said Ned White, who was much
interested in cattle--or seemed to be since his mother had become part
owner of a range and ranch. “Colonel Hardin sold most of his herd
before he died.”
“But the Double Chain isn’t very near this town?” asked Tavia. “That
Mr. Lance told me it was a day’s ride--and you can ride a long way in a
day on these cow ponies--can’t you, Doro?”
“Those dear little things!” cried Dorothy. “They just fly.”
“And you’re not going to have a pony, after all,” said Ned, solemnly.
“Aren’t you sorry you picked that tramp up, Dot?”
“He’s not a tramp, Ned White!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Don’t call him that,
please. And where is Mr. Dempsey?”
“He went with us to hire the stage-coach,” said Nat. “And believe me,
he has his wits about him. He has lived out this way ever since the
war, he says, and he knows all about everything,” added the younger
boy, with some admiration.
“We left him at the corral where we engaged the wagon and team and
driver,” Ned said. “He is going with us--never you fear, my dear coz.”
Dorothy did not mind their poking fun at her because of her protégé.
The quartette of young folks came back to the hotel before noon and
found Aunt Winnie at a late breakfast.
“I have seen one of the lawyers who had charge of Colonel Hardin’s
affairs,” she said. “He will be back here in half an hour with certain
papers, and I shall go to court with him.
“My intention is to go on to the ranch to-day, as I said last evening,”
continued Aunt Winnie. “So don’t go far away from the hotel, children.
What time did you tell the man to have the conveyance here, Edward?”
“Two o’clock.”
“And you ought to see it!” cried Nat. “Looks just like the one the
Indians chase and capture in the Buffalo Bill show.”
“Is that the best conveyance you could find, Edward?” asked Mrs. White,
with some suspicion.
These mischievous young people were forever playing jokes, and she was
doubtful. But Ned was serious.
“Best I could find, Mother--believe me! All the carriages they have
in this man’s town are buckboards--and we’d have to hire a caravan of
those to pile all the baggage on--and us, too. This old coach with four
mustangs to draw it, will take ‘all hands and the cook.’”
“I hope you have done the right thing, my son,” said Aunt Winnie. “Take
care of yourselves, children, till I come back from the court with Mr.
Jermyn.”
There was not much going on in the business part of Dugonne that the
four young Easterners did not see. They came to the dinner table with
ravenous appetites and a whole lot to chatter about.
Mrs. White’s business with the lawyers, and with the court, was
finished for the time being. Just before two o’clock a great,
staggering old coach, on four rattling wheels, drew up at the door of
the hotel. At a former day, mail and passengers had been transported
between Dugonne and various outlying mining camps in all directions in
this vehicle.
“And the mud of twenty years ago is still clinging to the wheels,” said
Dorothy. “Oh, Ned! it is a most disgraceful looking affair.”
“I couldn’t find anything better,” answered the young man.
“He is making a regular show of us,” said Tavia. “I suppose we ought
to dress in short skirts, and buckskin blouses, Doro, and wear fringed
leggins and sombreros. Be regular ‘cowgirls.’”
“Well, Tavia,” drawled Nat. “You have a cowboy on the string they tell
me----”
“Nathaniel!” admonished Mrs. White. “What language!” and she bustled
forward to see the outfit.
Four spirited mustangs drew the coach--and those mustangs looked as
though they had never known currycomb and brush--which was probably
the fact! Old John Dempsey was sitting beside the driver, who was a
broad-hatted, smiling Mexican, with gleaming teeth, beadlike black
eyes, and gold rings in his ears.
“It _is_ an awful looking thing,” gasped Aunt Winnie, when she saw the
old coach.
“It is a whole lot better than it looks, mother,” urged Ned.
“And only think!” cried Nat, “the man that owns it says that that stage
was held up by ‘Billy, the Kid,’ a famous road agent in these parts,
who got the registered mail-sack after shooting the driver, and all the
passengers’ money and jewelry.”
“How deliciously horrid!” said Tavia. “Do you suppose Mr. Billy, the
Kid will hold _us_ up?”
“Not unless his ghost comes back to do it,” chuckled Ned. “They hanged
Billy, the Kid, years ago, so the man told me.”
“It would be just too romantic for anything to meet a real highwayman,”
said Tavia.
“Why, this town has mounted police that patrol the suburbs--I saw a
couple,” laughed Ned. “Romance is dead, Miss Tavia, in these parts.”
“You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen our cowboy--would he, Doro?”
“A cowpuncher!” sniffed Nat. “Like that ‘baby’ old Mrs. Petterby is
going to visit.”
“I wonder where the old lady is?” said Dorothy. “She arrived at Dugonne
ahead of us, of course.”
“Sure,” said her cousin Ned. “She stayed on the train when we left it
at Sessions. But she was just as worried about you girls as any of us
when she learned you had been left behind.”
“We shall look her up later,” pronounced Dorothy. “And I’m awfully
anxious to see her son.”
“Wonder if he works for the same outfit Tavia’s new beau works for?”
queried Ned. “You know, the Double Chain Outfit is the only sizable one
left in this part of the country. Its ranges adjoin Colonel Hardin’s
on the north. On the south of this land we are going to see, lies the
farming country and Desert City.”
“I should think we would have gone right to Desert City by train,”
said Dorothy, “if that is where these people want the water.”
“But you can’t get to Desert City by rail,” her cousin explained.
“North of the Hardin place are the Double Chain ranges, and the mining
properties in the hills belonging to the Consolidated Ackron Company--a
big concern. South of Desert City, the map shows nothing but desert for
hundreds of miles.”
“There’s that Marsh man,” said Tavia, suddenly, to Dorothy. “I don’t
want to see him again.”
“He doesn’t remember that he met us in the road near home----”
“But _I_ haven’t forgotten it,” finished Tavia.
“Neither have I,” sighed Dorothy. “And I am really afraid for Aunt
Winnie to have anything to do with him.”
Mrs. White kept them waiting while she conferred with Mr. Philo
Marsh, for whom she had telephoned when she knew the stagecoach was
in waiting. The gentleman was not pleased by the brevity of the
conference, as his face very plainly showed when he came out. His
piratical mustache seemed to droop more than ever and he had completely
lost his suave manner.
“I shall ride out to see you very soon, Mrs. White,” he said--rather,
he threatened! “And I shall bring the committee with me. We’ve got to
have this thing settled up.”
“Not until I am quite ready to settle it, Mr. Marsh,” said Aunt Winnie,
firmly. “I think you must forget that it is within the power of Major
Dale and myself to refuse to lease the water-rights entirely.”
“Say! that was a stiff jolt Little Mum gave him,” whispered Ned to
Dorothy.
“And did you see his face?” returned Dorothy. “I--I am really afraid of
that man.”
“Ah, pshaw! no reason for being afraid,” returned Ned, confidently. “I
guess nothing will ever happen to mother, with me and Nat along.”
The trunks and bags had been strapped on the rack behind the coach,
or thrown into its interior. The whole party--even Aunt Winnie--had
elected to ride on the roof of the vehicle.
There was room beside the driver for only John Dempsey, but in two
wide, low seats fastened to the roof behind the driver, was room for
the remainder of the party. Aunt Winnie, with Dorothy and Tavia on
either side of her, sat on the more forward of these seats, while Ned
and Nat lolled on the one behind.
“If we only had a horn now, we’d be fixed for this tallyho ride,” said
Nat.
“But, goodness gracious!” gasped Tavia, peering down over the iron arm
of her seat. “Suppose we should fall off?”
“That isn’t what you climbed up here for,” advised Dorothy. “Do be
careful, Tavia.”
At that moment the Mexican saw that all was free and clear, and he
lifted the reins. His long whiplash writhed over the leaders’ ears, and
cracked like a pistol shot. The half-wild mustangs leaped against their
collars.
“Oh--dear--me!” gasped Aunt Winnie. “We shall certainly be shaken off.”
“It will be easier riding, Ma’am,” said John Dempsey, turning and
touching his hat respectfully, “when we get out of town. Don’t you be
afraid, Ma’am.”
But the old coach did dip, and wiggle, and threaten to toss the girls
and Mrs. White off at every turn. Tavia squealed, and then saw that
people on the sidewalks were quietly enjoying her discomfort.
“Do let’s be dignified,” she said to Dorothy. “There! there’s a man
staring---- Oh!”
“It’s Mr. Lance!” cried Dorothy, recognizing their friend, the cowboy
from the Double Chain Outfit.
“My goodness! so it is,” agreed Tavia, and smiled upon the knight of
the lariat ravishingly.
Dorothy would have been glad to introduce Lance to Aunt Winnie and the
boys, but the time did not seem opportune. The Mexican twisted his
team into a side street, and the coach took the corner on two wheels
only!
As Dorothy caught at the rail and hung on for dear life, she looked
back and saw Lance hailed by another man. She could not mistake this
second individual; it was Mr. Philo Marsh. As their coach plunged
around the corner Dorothy saw Marsh seize the cowboy by the arm and
lead him confidentially away.
There was too much happening to her personally just then for Dorothy
Dale to wonder much about this association of the cowpuncher and Philo
Marsh. The mustangs settled into a gallop and the stagecoach was
whirled out of town in a cloud of dust. But when the cobbles were left
behind, the vehicle jounced less, and they could get their breath.
“Don’t ever ask me to sit upon such a thing again, Edward,” exclaimed
Mrs. White, with some exasperation.
“But if you had gone inside, you’d have been shaken about like a loose
pea in a pod,” declared her son. “I fancy you are better off up here,
mother.”
The sweep of the road that lay before them was gray and dusty. The
trees were scrub, and there was rather a deserted look to the country
immediately outside of Dugonne.
Wheeling southwest, they quickly lost the railroad lines, and low hills
surrounded them. There was not a house in sight, and the last few they
had seen were merely slab shacks--some with corrugated iron roofs.
But within two miles of the edge of the town they descried a moving
figure ahead, even if no human habitation appeared. It was a woman,
trudging along, at the bottom of an arroyo, or dry water-course, which
here was the trail.
She did not look around at them, but the young folks on top of the
coach got a clear view of the lonely figure. She wore a close black
bonnet, and she carried a basket in one hand. Her decent black dress
was gray with dust.
“Do you see who that is, Tavia Travers!” gasped Dorothy, suddenly.
“It’s Mrs. Petterby!”
“Never!” ejaculated Tavia.
The mustangs began to prick up their ears as they approached the lone
pedestrian. Dorothy bent forward and seized the Mexican’s shoulder.
“Stop them--do stop them, sir!” she cried. “We know that old lady and
we’ll give her a ride if she’s going our way.”
The Mexican yelled at the mustangs, and dragged them down to a slower
pace. They did not want to stop, but by the time they came abreast of
the little old lady from Rand’s Falls, Massachusetts, they were merely
trotting.
“Mrs. Petterby!” cried Dorothy, leaning down from the seat and waving
her hand. “Wherever are you going--and with Ophelia?”
“Bless us!” exclaimed Mrs. Petterby. “If it ain’t that nice Dale
gal--and all her folks. I was re’l worrited about you, my dear--and
your pretty friend. I see you caught up all right,” and she nodded and
smiled at them all, while the mustangs impatiently shook their heads
and stamped with all their sixteen hoofs.
“We are all right, surely, Mrs. Petterby,” said Dorothy’s aunt. “But
what are you doing on this road?”
“Why, Ma’am, I expect to meet my son out this a-way. They told me he
often stops with a man named Nicholson, just beyond here. I didn’t feel
like payin’ for a ride; and I’m spry. But Ophelia’s gittin’ cross.”
There was a flutter inside the basket and the nearest horse pricked up
his ears and rolled his eyes at it.
“Is Nicholson’s on our road?” Dorothy asked the Mexican driver.
“Si, si!” said the man. “She not far.”
“You will ride with us, won’t you, Mrs. Petterby?” cried Dorothy.
“Wal, child, that’s pretty high for me to climb, ain’t it?”
But she was tired and warm, and the chance to ride tempted her. Spry
as she was, back in Rand’s Falls, this dust and sun of Colorado were
different.
“We’ll give her a hand up,” exclaimed Ned.
Before he or Nat could descend, the driver did so. He thrust the reins
into the hands of old John Dempsey, and went over the wheel in a flash.
Smiling and bowing he put out his hand for the basket, and turned
swiftly to hand it up before aiding the old lady herself.
It was at this very moment that the sensitive Ophelia decided to make a
break for liberty. She squawked, pushed up one of the basket lids, and
flopped right out over the Mexican’s head.
“Oh! stop her!” cried Mrs. Petterby.
But there was no stopping Ophelia just then. She struck the nearest
mustang and he plunged ahead, snorting. On the instant all four of the
beasts were off at a gallop, leaving the Mexican, Mrs. Petterby, and
Ophelia herself, behind.