OPHELIA COMES VISITING
“Will you please tell me, Doro Doodlekins, just why everything in my
trunk is mismates? I believe I have half a pair of everything I own in
the world with me, and the other half is at home!”
Dorothy giggled, deep in the mysteries of her own toilette.
“If I wore spectacles,” pursued the complaining Tavia. “I’d have only
half a pair with me. And half a pair of scissors would be my fate if
I owned scissors. If I wore false teeth, I’d be able to find only the
upper set.”
“You packed the trunk yourself,” mumbled Dorothy, with pins in her
mouth.
“I never!” denied Tavia. “I was so excited over the prospect of coming
West that I just threw the first things that came handy into my trunk.
When it was overflowing I jumped on the lid to make it lock, and--there
you are! At least, it looks as though I did just that when it comes to
finding things.”
“Poor Tavia Trouble-ty-bubble!” cooed Dorothy.
“Yes,” admitted her chum. “Look!” with desperation.
She held up two stockings--they never could have made a pair of “hose,”
for one was white while the other was flesh color.
“See what I am reduced to,” continued the irrepressible. “If I wear
them with pumps folks will think I’m mismated, too! Whatever shall I
do, Doro?”
There was company expected at the Hardin ranch-house and the girls were
“dolling up,” as Nat called it, in honor of old Mrs. Petterby and Lance.
“Wear black ones,” answered the practical Dorothy.
“Oh, but black isn’t fashionable--and certainly not with white pumps,”
said Tavia, sadly.
“I cannot advise you, then,” said Dorothy. “And, anyway, Tavia, you
always talk so fast that nobody ever looks at your feet.”
“But--when I’m silent?” demanded Tavia.
“When is that?” demanded her friend, laughing.
“The unkindest cut of all! But I tell you what I’ll do,” added Tavia,
slowly. “I will bind an emergency bandage around one ankle, and put the
flesh colored stocking on that foot. Then it will look the same color
as the white one. ‘Ah-ha!’ says the villain. ‘I am avenged! Down to
your doom, Jack Dalton!’”
And she sat right down on the floor and proceeded to do this, to
Dorothy’s vast amusement.
The girls were scarcely dressed when a buckboard, drawn by a pair of
half broken ponies, came into view over the break of the knoll, coming
from the Dugonne trail.
“Here comes Lance!” exclaimed Tavia.
“And dear old Mrs. Petterby,” agreed Dorothy.
“Hi!” ejaculated Nat, whom the girls had joined on the big front porch.
“What has the old lady in her lap, I want to know?”
“Oh!” gasped Dorothy. “How the ponies gallop. And look at the carriage
hop and bounce. She was nearly thrown out that time. I wish Mr. Lance
wasn’t so reckless.”
“But she’s hanging to that thing in her lap----”
“It’s Ophelia, of course,” said Tavia. “She’s brought her on a visit,
too.”
“Why not?” demanded Dorothy, as the others laughed. “It’s the one thing
that connects her with Rand’s Falls, Massachusetts. I expect without
Ophelia Mrs. Petterby would be very homesick out here in Colorado.”
Lance drove up with a flourish. Like most people out in the Colorado
mountains, he seemed to be a very reckless driver. His mother was
quite calm, however; she evidently had perfect confidence in her son’s
ability to handle the ponies, and at the same time take care of her.
The girls ran down the steps to help Mrs. Petterby out of the
buckboard. “So delighted to see you, dear Mrs. Petterby,” cried Dorothy.
“And Ophelia,” giggled Tavia, reaching out her hands for the basket,
but making big eyes at the cowboy.
“Howdy! howdy!” Lance was exclaiming, his face very red under Tavia’s
wicked scrutiny. He would not let the girl take the basket, but removed
it from his mother’s lap himself. “Don’t you mind, Miss,” he urged.
“I’ll take this yere along to the bunkhouse, mother. Yuh don’t want
thet thar little hen with you in Miz White’s nice house.”
“Quite right, Lance,” agreed the old lady, hopping out. “But you see
that nothing happens to her, son.”
“I’ll take keer of her like she was eggs instead o’ a chicken,” he
assured her, and then gave the impatient ponies their heads. They
dashed away toward the sheds.
Aunt Winnie appeared at the door to welcome the old lady from
Massachusetts, and they bore her into the house and showed her the
room she was to occupy. Lance would bunk with the Ledgers, but he was
coming up to supper.
As Dorothy came back through the wide central hall a little later,
old John Dempsey appeared from the office. He had gotten everything
cleaned up in there, and kept it tidy. Mrs. White was now using Colonel
Hardin’s old desk as her own.
“Miss Dorothy,” whispered the veteran, “what do you think? That snake
in the grass was after me agin yesterday about that old letter.”
Dorothy looked very grave at the mention of Philo Marsh. “What does he
want now?” she asked.
“He’s after that letter, I tell ye. He offered me sixty dollars for it.
He’s the most persistent critter I ever see. I told him I couldn’t sell
at no price.”
“Wait, Mr. Dempsey,” said Dorothy. “I wrote father about that letter
the day you found it. I expect to hear from him soon.”
“But I wouldn’t sell--if ’tis mine _to_ sell, belike,” said John
Dempsey, earnestly.
“It may be worth a lot of money.”
“Sure, an’ I don’t need a lot of money,” declared the old soldier. “I’m
contint right as I be--as long as your aunt will let me stay.”
“And you may rest assured that she will let you stay,” said Dorothy,
cheerfully. “Why, Mr. Dempsey, she says you are a lot of help around
the ranch-house.”
“’Tis kind of her to say so,” said he, gratefully. “But I feel mighty
beholden to ye all.”
It was because of this brief conversation that Dorothy went down toward
the bunk-house to meet Lance Petterby coming up to supper. Had Tavia
done this, Dorothy would have been scandalized, but Dorothy considered
that she had a good and sufficient reason for what she did.
What old John Dempsey had said reminded Dorothy Dale of the
conversation she had overheard between Philo Marsh and Hank Ledger,
the foreman of the ranch. She had discussed this with nobody--not even
with her chums. It was a secret between the Mexican girl, Flores, and
herself.
Dorothy did not understand what if all meant. Aunt Winnie had not
refused to lease the water-right to the Desert people, and the girl
could not see why Philo Marsh was so anxious to close up the matter and
get Mrs. White’s signature to the papers he had prepared.
Nor did his evident attempt to bribe Hank Ledger serve to illuminate
Dorothy’s mind to any degree. This was a mystery. Philo Marsh--well
named “a snake in the grass” by old John Dempsey--was up to some shrewd
trick.
Dorothy believed Flores knew what it was, but the Mexican girl could
not explain. She understood spoken English well enough, but she could
not speak more than a dozen words herself. Dorothy had, therefore,
determined to talk with Lance Petterby. She remembered seeing Philo
Marsh speak familiarly with Lance in Dugonne--just as Dorothy and her
friends were leaving town on the old stagecoach. Dorothy believed he
was kindly disposed toward her and her aunt. She thought she could
trust him--to a degree. At any rate, she was sure he would tell her
the truth about Marsh.
Lance had unharnessed the ponies and turned them into one of the horse
corrals with a bunch of the Hardin stock. Neither Hank nor the wrangler
was at hand to tell him that the particular bunch in that corral had
just been gathered in off the range and were wilder than his own broncs.
Dorothy saw the cowpuncher from the Double Chain Outfit close the
corral gate and she hurried down to speak to him.
“Mr. Petterby,” she said, “what do you know of Mr. Philo Marsh?”
“Philo Marsh, Ma’am? He’s a left-handed lawyer in Dugonne,” drawled the
big cowboy, with a wondering look.
“Yes. But what _kind_ of a lawyer? and what kind of a man?”
Lance was smiling broadly. “I done told yuh that, Miss Dale, when I
first answered yuh.”
“Left handed?” exclaimed Dorothy.
“Now you done said something, Ma’am.”
“You mean he’s not to be trusted?”
“Not too fur, Ma’am--not too fur.”
“Then, why have the Desert people who want water from this ranch put
their business into his hands?” demanded the girl.
“Have they, Miss Dale?” returned Lance, with surprise.
“Yes. He comes here and bothers Aunt Winnie a great deal. He came ’way
East to see her and my father, about these water rights. He was very
anxious then, and is extremely anxious now, to have the papers signed.”
“Wal, I hear tell Desert City, and them thereabout, are anxious to
git water. But I wouldn’t have looked for Philo Marsh to lead ’em to
it--not much. That air is surprising,” admitted the cowpuncher.
“Why does it so surprise you?” Dorothy asked, quickly.
“Why, tuh tell the truth,” drawled Lance, “I reckoned Philo would
represent other int’rests--if any.”
“What interests?”
“Other people that’s honin’ for that Lost River supply.”
“_Are_ there other people who want it?” queried Dorothy, earnestly. “I
know Aunt Winnie has been approached by nobody but Mr. Marsh.”
“Not by the Ackron Company? The mine people?”
“Nobody but Mr. Marsh,” reiterated Dorothy.
Lance nodded slowly. “That might be. That might be. It’s well known, I
reckon, that your A’nt favors the Desert City folks, just as Colonel
Hardin did?”
“I suppose so,” Dorothy said. “And nobody but Mr. Marsh has come to see
her. He wants to pay down money to bind the bargain.”
“Wal, Miss Dale,” Lance drawled, “if Philo Marsh is willing tuh pay out
re’l money, he expects tuh git somethin’ in exchange. He must want the
Lost River water mighty bad.”
“And in such haste!”
“Wal,” Lance added, “I dunno what they air in a hurry about. The
desert’s been thar a right smart o’ years, an’ Lost River’s been
rollin’ on for an ekal number, it’s likely. Tell yuh A’nt tuh take her
time,” advised Lance, wisely. “When a man’s in sech an itch tuh close a
deal, more’n likely he has his reasons, an’ it’s jest as well tuh wait
an’ find out what them reasons air.”
He had been approaching the buckboard as he spoke and now lifted down
Ophelia’s basket. A hound pup came running from the bunk-house door
and sniffed inquiringly around the basket. Ophelia uttered a squawk of
objection.
The pup started back, sniffed curiously again, and then rolled the
basket over. There was a sudden thunder of hoofs from the far side of
the corral, and raucous squeals rose from the ponies. Dorothy turned,
startled, to see the herd charging straight toward her.
“Don’t be scart, Miss Dale,” shouted Lance Petterby. “They won’t hit
the fence.”
The pup had been busy worrying the basket. He broke the string that
held the cover and Ophelia immediately wriggled out. With another
affrighted squawk she scuttled under the lower rail of the fence, into
the corral. Down upon the scared hen came the charging gang of ponies.
She flew right up into the faces of the leaders.
Instead of breaking evenly and swinging either way to escape collision
with the fence, the forefront of the charging herd went up into the air
to escape the fluttering Ophelia and--the next instant--the full weight
of the mob of ponies dashed against the fence!
Strong as the fence was, two lengths went down before the charge and,
squealing with rage and pain, the stampede of ponies burst through.
Dorothy Dale stood, stricken with amazement and horror, directly in the
path of the stampede.