THE START
Nothing resembling a legal document was found inside the package; but,
instead, were several neatly-arranged rolls of gold and silver money,
with the denomination of each roll carefully marked outside; dollars,
eagles, double eagles. With these was a scrap of paper, saying:
"All my savings for my captain. God bless them to
her. E. M."
"Oh, mother! That big-hearted Ephraim! Was anybody ever so unselfish
as he?"
"Or as unjust as I have been."
"How? What can you mean?"
Mrs. Trent did not answer, save by the tears in her eyes, though she was
tempted to show her child all the base suspicion that had, for a brief
space, dwelt in her own mind concerning "Forty-niner." A suspicion
which Antonio had suggested, and her trouble made her too ready to
accept. Then she reflected it were wiser not, and rose, placing the
precious parcel in Jessica's own hands.
"Let us find that splendid old man at once. We cannot accept his
sacrifice, but we must hasten to show him we appreciate it."
Ephraim was polishing his rifle in his own room when they came to him,
and rose to welcome the unusual visit of the lady with more awkwardness
than he commonly displayed. It was an honor she was doing him, yet he
had far rather she had not come.
But he was forced back into his chair by Jessica's assault of clinging
arms and raining kisses, and, catching sight of the parcel in her hand,
began to understand.
"Oh, you splendid, darling, generous Ephraim! I can never, never thank
you enough for doing this for me, but I could not ever possibly take it.
Why, there must be hundreds of dollars there, my mother says, and that
would mean almost all the years you've ever lived at Sobrante. I never
knew anybody with such a heart as you, dear Ephraim."
The poor old fellow was far more distressed by her rejection of his gift
than she could guess. His face drooped, he worked his hands and feet
uneasily, he shifted his seat, and behaved in altogether a new fashion
for the man who had hitherto borne himself so simply and naturally. Then
the old suspicion returned to sting his loving heart, and he glanced up
to study his mistress' face. To his surprise he saw it wet with tears,
and that she was holding out her thin, labor-hardened hands to clasp
his own.
"Ephraim Marsh, you have done me more good than money could bring. You
have renewed my faith in mankind. In a world where live such men as you
justice will be done the memory of my dead husband. I thank you."
"Don't--don't mention it, Mrs. Trent. I wish it had been double, as it
ought, only----"
"Ephraim, mother says we may go. You and I, as you said, 'together,'
to make everything straight."
"What? You've told her then, Lady Jess."
"Of course. Or she guessed. How could I keep anything from my mother?
And she's quite willing."
"I'm more than willing, Ephraim. I _want_ you to go. I believe that
good will come of the journey, though I am terribly disappointed by not
finding any papers or letters to help you in the search for the men with
whom Mr. Trent transacted his business. Antonio must have taken away all
the records or put them in some place I cannot guess."
"Then we'll find Antonio first."
"Of course. How simple of me not to think of that. Do you happen to know
where he went?"
"No, ma'am, I don't. But you can always track a--well some critters by
their scent. Wherever that scoundrel goes he'll leave a trail. I've
a keen nose for the hunt."
"Don't judge him too harshly, Ephraim. Perhaps he considered that he
was doing all for the best; and if Sobrante is his, he's welcome to it."
"Whew!" was the ranchman's astonished comment.
"Don't you understand, dear Ephraim? Losing a home is nothing to losing
honor," said Jessica, earnestly. "We don't care half so much about
Sobrante as that other thing."
"You shall keep both. Your home and our master's honor," cried the
old man, fiercely.
"Yes, that we will!" echoed Jessica, clasping his hand again.
So doing she dropped the canvas bag on the floor, and, picking it up,
Mrs. Trent would have restored it to its owner, as she so considered the
sharpshooter. But he would have none of it.
"I've heard the little tackers call one another 'Indian giver.' I
couldn't, ma'am, you know. It's Jessie's, now."
The mistress' face grew serious. She had not expected to find the man so
obstinate. But she hated to wound him and turned the matter aside with
the remark:
"Let it rest so, then, for the present. I will keep it in the safe
till you come back--if I can. Though I begin to feel as if nothing were
secure at Sobrante, nowadays."
Ephraim pondered for a moment, then looked up with a relieved expression.
"Asking pardon, ma'am, I'm sure; have you got any--I mean much money
handy by you?"
"No. I have not. Fortunately, beyond the wages of the men, not much
ready cash is needed at Sobrante, where we produce so much."
"Yes'm. Yet I wouldn't like to set out on a journey that might be
long, or even delayed for a spell, without considerable loose change.
Better let the captain pay all expenses of the trip out of that little
handful, and call it square."
"Square! That is even greater generosity than the first. Lying in the
safe you might have found it again; but spent--Ephraim, I fear I'll
never be able to repay such an amount. I must think out some other way."
"Don't you trust me, Mrs. Trent?"
"Am I not trusting you with the most precious thing in life--my
daughter?"
"Then, mother, trust him about the money. It's good sense. We haven't
any and we need it. Besides, it hurts him to refuse. Yes, we'll use it,
Ephraim dear."
So it was settled; but it was not in Jessica's nature to keep the
story from the rest of her "boys." Forgetting her angry feelings of the
morning she called a meeting and spread the news among them. Much as she
loved them, until the time of her recent appointment as "captain,"
she had tried to give them their titles of "Mr.," though not always
remembering. Now she no longer tried. They were just her comrades, and
when she stood upon the horseblock to address them it was with the
joyful announcement:
"John! George! Joe! Everybody! Ephraim and I are going away!"
She paused and looked around, but instead of the sympathetic pleasure
she expected there were darkening looks and evident disappointment.
"Oh! but we are coming back again. Hark, what he did!"
Ephraim was away putting his few traps together against the morning's
start, since, if they were to go at all, why delay? Else he might
have silenced her then and there. But out it came, and be sure the
sharpshooter's generosity lost not one bit in her telling.
"With this money we're going to hire lawyers and pay our lodging where
we have to, and hunt up the men that know about business. Finally, to
find the money--that other lot of it--that Mr. Hale said had been sent
to my father by those New York folks. If they did send it they shall
have it back--if we can find it. If they didn't--they shall tell all
the world they accused him wrongfully. We're going to find the man that
made that title, if we can. We're going to save Sobrante, but we're
going to save its honor first!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Glory to the captain!"
"And old 'Forty-niner,'" added honest John Benton.
They cheered him to the skies, and when the uproar had subsided, their
small chief said:
"You are all to take the best care of Sobrante, and first--of my mother.
Don't you let her worry, nor let Ned and Luis get hurt. And you must
keep Aunt Sally here till I come back."
Somebody groaned.
"Oh! that's not right. I couldn't go if she hadn't come. She'll look
after everything----"
"That's the true word!"
"And I want you all to be--be good and not tease her."
"Hurrah! Hurrah! All in favor of minding the captain, say Ay!"
They swung her down from her perch and carried her on their shoulders
everywhere about the old mission. They offered her all their possessions,
including pistols and bowie knives, at peaceful Sobrante more useful
for target practice and pruning vines than their original purposes.
But she declined all these warlike things, saying that Ephraim would
carry only his own rifle, and finally tore herself away from them to
the anxious mother at the cottage, naturally jealous of each moment of
her darling's company.
"Don't see how Eph. ever saved so much. Hasn't had any wages since
ours failed, as I know of. Mine always go fast as earned, and thought
everybody's did," said one, when Jessica had left them.
"Some folks have all the luck! Why didn't it happen to me to have money
to give her? or to offer first to go hunt them liars? Shucks!" said
Samson, in disgust. Though he had been back some time from escorting
the stranger "off bounds," that task had left him in a bad humor.
"Well, the captain'd tell me envy was wicked, and when I was hearing
her say it I'd believe it. But I do envy old eighty his chance,"
complained Joe. "Hello! there's Ferd! Come to think of it I haven't
noticed him around these two days. Not since that stranger cast his ugly
shadow on the ranch. Hi, there, Dwarf! Where you been?"
"Where I seen bad doings."
"Right. Seeing you was there yourself. What doings was they?"
In ordinary the older men had little to say to Antonio's "Left Hand,"
but he afforded them diversion, just then, when they were all a little
anxious and downhearted over their captain's departure on what seemed to
some of them a wild-goose chase.
Ferd went through a pantomime of theft. Furtively putting one hand
into his neighbor's pocket to instantly thrust it back into his own.
He produced a buckskin bag and twisting some eucalyptus leaves into
rolls, suggesting those of money, thrust these within the bag and that
within his jacket. Then he glanced about with an absurdly innocent
expression, threw his shoulders back, and stepped forward a few paces
with so firm a step and erect a bearing that more than one instantly
recognized the mimicry.
"Forty-niner."
Having produced the effect he had intended, Ferd slouched back into his
own natural attitude and begged:
"Something to eat."
At that moment Ephraim had been approaching and was an indignant witness
of this performance, nor was he less quick to see its significance
than his mates had been. Also, to him that buckskin bag was a familiar
object. With one stride he collared Ferd and shook him like a rat.
"You imp! What do you mean by that? And how came you by Elsa Winkler's
pouch?"
Ferd broke from his captor and his face changed color beneath its
filth. He was one who was perfectly satisfied to live in a country
where water was scarce; but, by way of fun, another ranchman caught him
as he escaped from Ephraim, and forcibly ducked his head and shoulders
in the washing-trough. After that he was let go and later on was given
a liberal supper at the messroom. He ate this as if he had not seen
food since he had gone away two days before, but he was greedy at all
times, and the present instance excited no comment.
The morning came and all was ready for the start. Every person at
Sobrante gathered before the cottage door, and each with his or her
word of farewell advice or good will. Aunt Sally, fluttering with
patchwork strips of already "pieced blocks," flung jauntily over
either shoulder, her spectacles slipping off the point of her nose and
her hands holding forth a fat fig pie, hot and dripping from the oven.
"I've been a-bakin' all night, Ephy. There's a pair of fowls, a ham,
four loaves, some hard-boiled eggs, salt, pepper, sugar, tea, coffee,
butter, dishes, five vials of medicine, some dish towels, some----"
"What in reason! How expect me to carry that great basket, as well as
the saddlebags, and myself--on one horse? You're old enough to have
sense--but you'll never learn it. One loaf----"
"Ephraim Marsh! Are you eighty years old or are you not? At your age
would you starve the little darling daughter of the best friends you
ever had? Here, Jessie. You get off that donkey. We'll wait till we can
pick out some other man that----"
"Give me the basket; I'll carry it if I have to on my head!"
interrupted "Forty-niner," indignantly. But he added to himself:
"I can chuck it into the first clump of mesquite I meet."
Jessica was upon Scruff, whose loss the small boys were bewailing
far more than that of the girl herself. Without Scruff they would be
compelled to stay within walking distance of the cottage, and this
was imprisonment. Without Jessica--well, there were many things one
could do better with Jessica away.
Mrs. Trent's face was pale but calm. Nobody knew what this first parting
with her helpful child was to her anxious heart, but it was her part to
send the travelers outward in good cheer.
"Put the saddlebags on Scruff, in front of Jessica. He's strong enough
to carry double, and they're not so heavy. Few girls, in my days at the
East, would have set out upon an indefinite journey, equipped with only
one flannel frock and a single change of underclothing."
"But the flannel frock is new and so is the pretty Tam that Elsa gave me
last Christmas. What do I want more? specially when there's this warm
jacket you made me take, for a cold night's ride. Isn't it enough,
mother, dear?"
"Quite, I think, else I should have made you delay till I could have
provided more. Be sure to write me, now and then. One of the men will
ride to the post every few days and fetch any letters. Good-by, and
now--go quickly!"
She added no prayers, for these were too deep in her heart for outward
utterance; but she felt her own courage ebbing, and that if the parting
were not speedy she could not at all endure it. Until that moment she had
not realized how complete was her dependence upon Jessica's protecting
tenderness; and turning, toward her home hid thus the tears she would not
have her daughter see.
But neither could Lady Jess have seen them, because of the sudden mist in
her own. All her eagerness for the journey was gone, and her courage was
fast following it. If the start were not made at once it would never be.
"Good-by, mother. Good-by, all! Come, Ephraim! Go, go--Scruff!"
A moment later the travelers were disappearing down the sandy road, and
upon those whom they had left behind had fallen an intolerable burden of
foreboding and loneliness.
"Desolation of desolations! That's what this old ranch'll be till
that there little bunch of human sunshine comes safely back to it. A
crazy trip, a crazy parcel of folks to let her take it. That's what we
are," said John Benton, savagely kicking the horseblock to vent his
painful emotion.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And I never remembered to put in that guava jell!"
moaned a voice of woe.
"Then, mother, just trot it out to us for dinner," said her son,
"we'll take that burden off your mind."
"You will? Have you a heart to eat good victuals, John Benton, when that
sweet child has just thrust herself into a den of lions, and lawyers, and
liars, and--and--things?"
"Oh, hush! Lions! The notion!"
"Well, you can't deny there's bears, anyway," she retorted, with
ready dolefulness. "Ephy's shot 'em himself in his younger days."
"And ended the crop. Now you go in; and if I hear you downhearting the
mistress the least bit I'll make you take a dose of your own picra,"
said this much-tried man.