charge. When Mary V stopped scolding, she became aware that Johnny had
not heard a word of what she had said.
"How many horses did your dad figure had been stolen? I mean, besides the
ones he got back."
"Why--er--you'll have to ask dad. I don't see what that can have to do
with meadow larks' brains."
"It hasn't a thing to do with brains. I was merely wondering."
"Well," Mary V retorted flippantly, "I believe the wondering is very good
to-day. Help yourself, Johnny."
Johnny looked at her unsmilingly. "That," he told her bitterly, "is what
I'm trying to do."
He did not explain that somewhat cryptical remark, and presently he left
her and went to his room. Mary V felt that she was not being trusted by
a person who surely ought to know by this time that he needn't be so
secretive about his thoughts and intentions. If she had not proved her
loyalty and her friendship by this time, what did a person want her to
do, for gracious sake?
Mary V had rather an unhappy time of it, the next week or so. She had,
for some reason, lost all interest in collecting "Desert Glimpses"; so
much so that when her mother told her she must stay close to the ranch
lest she meet more of those terrible Mexican bandits, Mary V was very
sweet about it and did not argue with her mother at all. She seldom went
farther than the ledge, these days, and she could not keep her mind off
Johnny Jewel, even when there was no doubt at all that he was nearly
as well as ever.
Of course, it did not really matter--but why was Johnny so glum with her?
Why wouldn't he talk, or at least quarrel the way he used to do? He did
not seem angry about anything. He simply did not seem to care whether she
was with him or not. She might as well be a stick or a stone, she told
herself viciously, for all the attention Johnny Jewel ever paid to her.
She did not mind in the least; but it did seem perfectly silly and
unaccountable; she wondered merely because she hated mysteries.
It really should not have been mysterious. Mary V made the mistake of not
putting herself in Johnny's place and from that angle interpreting his
preoccupation. Had she done that she would have seen at once that Johnny
was fighting a battle within himself. All his ideas, his plans, and his
hopes had been turned bottom up, and Johnny was working over the wreck.
She sat and watched him from the ledge one day, and wondered why he did
not act more pleased when he walked down toward the corral and discovered
his airplane all repaired, just exactly as good as it had been before. He
stood there looking at it with the same apathetic gloom in his bearing
that had marked him ever since he was able to be out of bed. Mary V
thought he might at least show a little gratitude--not to herself, but
toward her dad, because he had kept Bland and had paid him to repair
the machine for Johnny, when Johnny was too sick to know anything about
it--too sick even to hear the noise of it when Bland tried out the
motor--and the nurse was so afraid it would disturb "her patient."
She saw her dad stroll down that way, and stop and look at the airplane
with Johnny. Johnny seemed to be asking a few questions. But they did
not talk five minutes until Johnny went off by himself to the bunk house,
and stayed there. He did not even come back to the house for supper, but
ate with the boys.
Mary V would have died before she would ask Johnny what was the matter,
but she took what measures she could to find out, nevertheless. She asked
her dad, that evening, what Johnny thought about his aeroplane being all
fixed up again.
Sudden smoked for a minute or two before he answered. "Well, I don't
know, kitten. He didn't say." Sudden's tone was drawling and comfortable,
but Mary V somehow got the notion that her dad, too, was rather
disappointed in Johnny's lack of appreciation.
"Well, but what's he going to do with it, dad?"
"He didn't say, kitten."
"Well, but dad, he was looking at it, and you were with him, and didn't
he say _anything_, for gracious sake?" Mary V could not have kept the
exasperation out of her voice if she had tried.
Sudden's lips quirked with the beginning of a smile. He looked at the end
of his cigar, looked toward the bunk house, scraped off the cigar's ash
collar on the porch rail, looked at Mary V.
"Well, he asked me how it got here to the ranch, and I told him with a
wagon and team and so on. And he said, 'Mh-hum, I see.' Then he asked me
who repaired it, and I told him that buttermilk-eyed aviator he'd had
with him. He replied, 'I--see.' Then he asked me what the repairing had
cost, and the fellow's wages or whatever he had got, and I told him,
'Dam-fi recollect, Johnny.' And he didn't say a word. Just strolled off
as if he'd talked himself tired--which I guess maybe he had."
"Well, but dad, what do you _suppose_ he's going to do? He--he's awfully
queer since he was hurt. Do you suppose--?"
"Kitten," said her dad quietly, "when you're breaking a high-strung colt
he sometimes sorta resents his schooling and sulks. Then you've just got
to wait till he figures things out for himself a little. If you force him
you're liable to spoil him and make him mean. Johnny's like that. He's
just a high-strung human colt that life is breaking. I guess, kitten, we
better not crowd him right now."
"Well, I don't see why he should act that way with _me_," Mary V
complained, and thereby proved herself altogether human and feminine in
her point of view.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SKYRIDER "HAS FLEW"!
Just at dawn the humming of the airplane motor woke Mary V. She sat up in
bed and listened, a little fear gripping at her heart; a fear which she
fought with her reason, her hopes, and all her natural optimism. Surely
Johnny would not be foolish enough to attempt a flight that morning. He
must be just trying put the motor. He would know he was not yet in
condition to bear any physical or nervous strain, sick as he had been. Of
course he wouldn't be so selfish as to make a flight without so much as
asking her if she would like to go with him. He knew she was simply crazy
over flying.
By that time she was out on the porch, where she was immediately joined
by her father and mother, also awakened by the motor. They were just in
time. From the neighborhood of the corral came an increasing roar. A
sudden rush of cool morning wind brought dust and bits of hay and gravel
flying in a cloud. A great, wide-winged, teetering bird-thing went racing
out into sight, spurned the earth and lifted, climbed steadily, circling
like a hungry hawk over a meadow full of mice.
"By heck, the boy can fly, all right!" Sudden paid tribute to Johnny's
skill in one unpremeditated ejaculation. "An airplane using our very
dooryard for a flying field, mommie! Times are certainly changing."
Mary V bit her lip and blinked very fast while she watched the plane
go circling up and up, the motor droning its monotonous song like a hive
of honey bees at work. It was pure madness for Johnny to attempt flying
so soon again. He would be killed; anything could happen that was
terrible. She shut her eyes for a minute, trying to rout a swift vision
of Johnny crumpled down limp in the pilot's seat as she had seen him that
day--nearly a month ago--with Bland, white-faced and helpless, walking
aimlessly around the crippled plane, so sure Johnny was dead that he
would not touch him to find out. If anything like that should happen
again, Mary V believed that she would go crazy. She simply couldn't
stand it to go through such a horror again.
The plane was circling around once more and flew straight northeast. They
watched it until they could not hear the humming; until it looked like a
bird against the glow of sunrise.
"Hm-mm, I wonder where--" Sudden began, but Mary V did not stay to hear
the rest of the sentence.
She went back and crept into her bed, sick at heart with an unnamed fear
and a hurt that went deep into her soul. She gave a little, dry sob or
two and lay very still, her face crushed into a pillow.
But Mary V was not born to take life's hurts passively. Presently she
dressed and went straight down to the bunk house, where she knew the boys
would be at their breakfast--unless they had finished and gone to the
corral. She walked into the old-fashioned, low-ceiled living room where
she had first learned to walk, and stood just inside the door, smiling a
little.
Bud had just finished eating, and was rolling a cigarette before he got
up from the long table. The others were finishing their coffee and hot
biscuits, and they said hello to Mary V and went on undisturbed.
"Hello--what's all that racket I heard as I was getting up?" Mary V
inquired lightly. "My good gracious, I thought you boys had started a
sawmill--or maybe somebody had overslept down here and was snoring. It
sounded like Aleck."
They laughed, and Curley spoke. "That there was Skyrider. He has flew--"
Bud, fumbling for a match, had a fit of genius. He grinned, cleared his
throat, and began to warble unexpectedly.
"Skyrider-r has flew into-o the blew
Ta-da, da-da, da-daa-a-a--
No-obody knew what he aimed to do
Till he went and said adieu.
"Says he, 'Good-bye, I aim to fly
To foreign lands, ta da-a--'"
"Oh, for gracious _sake_, Bud! I always knew you were queer at times, but
I really didn't know you had fits. So it was Skyrider riding off to call
on Venus, was it? I wish I had seen him start; but that's just my luck,
of course. Er--_where_ was he going? Or didn't he say?"
"He didn't say. But he shook hands with us and told us we had treated him
white at times, and that some day he'd write--"
"Oh, say! I got a letter he left for your father," Curley broke in. "I'll
git it and you can take it up to the house." He gave Mary V a mysterious
look and went into the room where he slept.
Mary V followed him as far as the door, and saw Curley take two letters
from under his pillow. Her heart gave a jump at that, and it began to
beat very fast when he turned and put them into her hand with another
mysterious look. She thanked him and hurried out on the porch and
straight to her pet ledge. Her dad's letter could wait.
On the ledge she sat down, and with fingers that shook she tore open, an
envelope addressed to "Miss Mary V. Selmer, care of Curley." It had been
sealed very tightly, as though it contained secrets. Which it did.
Mary V read that letter through from beginning to end five times before
she left the ledge. It was not exactly a love letter, either, though Mary
V squeezed it between her palms and then kissed it before she put it away
out of sight. After that she cried lonesomely and stared away into that
part of the sky where Johnny and his airplane had last been a
disappearing speck.
"_Dear Mary V_," (Johnny had written) "I'm not going to tell anybody
good-bye. Not even you, or I might say especially not you. It's hard
enough to go as it is.
"Maybe you won't care much, but I am a hopeful cuss, and I'm going to
build air castles about you till I come back, which I hope to do when I
have made good. I made an awful mess of things here, and it's up to me
to make good now before I say anything to you about air castles and so
on.
"I told you once that they need flyers in France, and that's where I'm
going if they will have me. I've got to fly and that's all there is to
it, and I can't fly and be a stock hand at one and the same time
because the two don't go together worth a cent, and I have sure found
that out, and so has your dad, I guess.
"Well, I can't ask you to wait till I have made good, because that
wouldn't be square, but I can say that when I have made good I am
coming back, and then if some other fellow has got the start of me he
will sure have to go some to keep his start. Because I am going to have
you some day, if I have anything to say about it. I'll teach you to
fly, and we will sure part the clouds like foam and all the rest of it.
You've got more nerve than any other girl I ever saw, and, anyway, I'd
like you just the same if you was a coward, because I couldn't help it
no matter what you was, just so you were Mary V.
"So good-bye, and look for me back with my chest all dolled up with
medals, because I am sure coming if you will let me. When I get to
Tucson, I'll call you up on long distance, and then if your folks ain't
in the room, I wish you'd tell me if it's all right with you, my loving
you the way I do. Or if they are in the room, you can just say 'all
right,' and I'll know what you mean. And anyway I'll write to you and I
hope you'll write to me, because I am sure going to miss you till I
come back. I wish I had the nerve to go right up to the house and tell
you all this instead of writing, but I know I couldn't do it, so I
won't try. But you be sure and let me know some way over the 'phone. So
good-bye for the present. Always your faithful Skyrider, Johnny."
His letter to her father was not so long, and it was more coherent. To
Sudden he had written:
Mr. Selmer.
_Dear Sir_,--I have decided to fly my airplane to where I can sell it,
and will turn the money over to you to help pay for the expense you
have been under of having your horses stole. I can't find out how many
you lost all told, but whatever I can get for the plane will not cover
it, I am afraid, so I will make up the balance as soon as possible.
I want to thank you for all the kindness of yourself and family while
I was sick, and before and afterwards. You have certainly treated me
white, and much better than I deserve, and I certainly appreciate it
all, and some day I will refund every nickel you are out on account of
having me in your employ. The doctor's bill I intend to pay and the
nurse, too, and whatever you were out on getting the plane repaired.
I am thinking of enlisting somewhere as an aviator, as that seems to be
my chosen field. I am leaving early in the morning if the weather is
all right for flying, and one of the boys will give you this letter so
you will know why I went and not think I sneaked off. I am fully
determined to make good, and when I have done so I will come back and
finish squaring up for your trouble and expense in having the horses
stole. I feel that I balled things up bad, and it is my desire to
square everything up.
I feel that it is merely the square thing to tell you I love your
daughter Mary V, and I hope you will not object to having me marry her
when I have made good. Of course, I would not want to until I had done
so. And I hope that will be all right with you; but if it isn't, it
is only fair to tell you that you won't be able to stop me if she is
willing, and I hope she is. So I am merely telling you, and not asking,
because that ain't my style; when I have made good I will do my asking
to Mary V. And I hope you will not think I have got my gall, because I
am very grateful for all you have done for me and your family also. I
will write when I have made some deal to turn the plane so I can send
you whatever it brings.
Yours truly,
John Ivan Jewel.
Old Sudden did not say anything when he had read that letter--read it
twice, to be exact. He folded it carefully and gave it to his wife to
read, and sat smoothing down his face with his hand while she studied it,
reading slowly, sometimes going back to get the full meaning out of a
somewhat involved sentence.
"Johnny's a dear boy," she observed meditatively, after they had sat for
a little while in silence. "I hope he doesn't enlist in that terrible
war; it's so dangerous!"
Sudden turned in his chair and looked in through a window to where Mary V
was sitting very quietly within three feet of the telephone, her album of
"Desert Glimpses" in her lap. Undoubtedly Mary V was listening, but she
was also undoubtedly waiting for something. He looked at his wife, and
his wife also glanced into the room and caught the significance of Mary
V's position and attitude.
The telephone rang, and Mary V dropped the album in her haste to answer
the call. She glanced out at them while she announced, "Yes, this is
Mary V--it's _all right_--right on the porch, but it's all right--"
Dad and mommie took the hint and withdrew.
THE END
* * * * *
B. M. BOWER'S NOVELS
CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della Whitman
are charmingly and humorously told.
THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures
of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange a
cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house.
THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud between two families,
and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story.
THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the experience of an
Eastern author among the cowboys.
THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the recollection of
a pair of large brown eyes upset "Weary" Davidson's plans.
THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free
outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story.
GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch.
FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his pals.
THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip and the other boys
opposing a party of school teachers.
THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a man's hard fight
on the uphill road to manliness.
THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico by
the "Flying U" boys.
THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The "Flying U" boys stage a fake bank robbery
for film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold.
THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California.
STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure.
THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, excitement
and love.