A SURPRISE
Dorothy had great difficulty in explaining to the kindly woman that her
father not only had not accompanied her and Tavia to Desert City, but
had no intention of doing so.
“But two young girls like you havin’ the courage to travel all this ways
alone!” the woman ejaculated, staring at them as though, in Tavia’s
words, they were “twin animals out of the zoo.” “If that don’t beat
all!”
On the way to the house, and as briefly as possible, Dorothy explained
to the woman—who was Mrs. Hank Ledger, wife of the foreman of the Hardin
ranch—what had brought her to Colorado so unexpectedly.
The woman listened, her handsome head cocked to one side, and
occasionally put in a pertinent question.
“Land sakes! I declare, that’s too bad,” she said, at the conclusion of
Dorothy’s brief recital. “I can’t think what could have possessed the
boy to have done such a thing. But there, that isn’t my business, I
guess. Guess I’d better stir you up a bite to eat. Near starved, ain’t
you?”
The girls were grateful for her good-hearted tact that spared them the
embarrassment of further questioning.
They saw nothing of the little Mexican girl who had formerly helped the
foreman’s wife around the ranch house. In her stead was a rather stolid
country girl who responded to the name of Merry.
“I wonder where Flores is,” said Tavia, when they were in their room for
a quick wash and a change into their riding clothes which they had very
thoughtfully packed in their grips. “It doesn’t seem like the same old
ranch with her missing.”
“We must ask Mrs. Ledger about her when we go down,” said Dorothy
absently, and Tavia, noting her tone, turned thoughtful eyes in her
direction.
“Worrying about Joe, Doro?”
“Do I ever do anything else lately?” retorted Dorothy, with a sigh. “But
I am dreadfully worried about Garry too, Tavia. What Lance told us about
this gang that is out to ‘get him’ is anything but comforting.”
“Suppose you will be stepping over to Garry’s ranch as soon as we get a
bite to eat,” suggested Tavia, and Dorothy nodded.
“If we can be said to step on horseback,” she added.
“Well, the horse steps, doesn’t it?” retorted Tavia, but Dorothy was
again so absorbed in her unhappy thoughts that she did not hear this
weak attempt at humor.
“Tavia,” she cried, at last facing her chum, “why do you suppose Garry
didn’t come to meet the train to-day? I don’t know whether to be
dreadfully angry at him or terribly frightened for him.”
“I don’t believe I would be either until we find out more about him than
we know at present, Doro,” said Tavia gravely. “One thing is certain, we
know Garry well enough to be sure he had a good reason for what he did.”
“The kind of reason we won’t enjoy finding out, maybe,” muttered Dorothy
so softly that Tavia asked for a repetition.
But instead of answering, Dorothy turned toward the door and opened it.
“I am going downstairs and get a piece of bread and butter if there is
nothing else,” she cried. “I can’t stand the suspense any longer. I must
know what has happened to Garry and Joe.”
She was out of the room and down the stairs before Tavia had finished
brushing her hair.
The latter, following more slowly, found her chum seated before a repast
of cold sliced chicken, current jelly, apple pie and milk.
“Make believe this doesn’t look good to me,” said Tavia, and she, too,
sat down to prove her appreciation. Long before she had finished Dorothy
rose and ran outside, calling to one of the Mexican boys to saddle two
fast ponies.
She saw Hank Ledger, who shook hands with her formally, and hastily told
him the story she had told his wife.
When she questioned him eagerly, asking him if he had seen Joe in the
vicinity, he answered in the negative.
“Wherever he’s been, he ain’t come here,” he assured her. “Hurry up with
them ponies, lad,” he called to the swarthy, grinning Mexican boy.
“These here ladies are in a hurry.”
Like his wife, Hank Ledger evidently believed in showing his sympathy in
action rather than in words, and again Dorothy was grateful.
The Mexican appeared presently, leading two splendid ponies from the
corrals which he presented to Dorothy with a white-toothed, cheerful
grin.
“Fastest ponies we got,” he assured her, and Dorothy recognized him as
one of the lads who had been on the ranch during the eventful vacation
she and her chum had spent there. “Nice ones, too. No bite, no kick.
Gentle like kittens.”
Dorothy thanked him with a smile and swung herself to the back of the
little mustang, leading the other toward the house.
“I can send some of the boys over to the Knapp ranch with you, if you
say so, Miss Dale,” Hank Ledger called after her. In surprise Dorothy
checked the pony and looked around at him. His voice had sounded anxious
and his face, now that she saw it, matched his voice.
But anxious about what?
She asked this question aloud, and Hank Ledger’s frown relaxed into a
sheepish grin.
“Folks say that those as look for trouble generally git it,” he answered
enigmatically. “There ain’t no reason for me orderin’ a bodyguard for
you, Miss Dale. Only I’d be mighty glad if you would let one of the boys
go along with you. Your father not bein’ here, I feel sort of
responsible-like.”
Still puzzled, Dorothy thanked him, but refused the bodyguard.
She wondered still more as she approached the house why the phlegmatic
foreman had thought it necessary even to suggest such a thing.
Surely, bandits did not roam the roads in broad daylight!
Was it Stiffbold and Lightly and Larrimer he feared? But what danger was
there to her and Tavia from any of these men?
She thought of Stanley Blake and the little man, Gibbons, who were in
reality Stiffbold and Lightly. They would know soon—probably did
already, for they had seen her and Tavia in conversation with Lance
Petterby—that she and her chum had other interests in Desert City than
the pursuit of a runaway boy.
Stiffbold had even confided in her to some extent concerning his plans.
Would it not be natural then, when he learned, as he must, that she was
engaged to Garry Knapp, for him to include her in any villainous schemes
he might be hatching?
Dorothy felt a thrill of foreboding. She had been so busy worrying about
others that she had never given a thought to her own safety.
But what did it matter? As long as she could feel that Garry and Joe
were safe she would not very much care what happened to herself.
But she must get to Garry. In spite of all the Stiffbolds and Lightlys,
she must get to Garry!
She saw Tavia coming from the house and beckoned to her impatiently.
“You never give a fellow half a chance to eat, Dorothy Dale,” grumbled
Tavia, as she came up to her. “I wanted another piece of apple pie and I
went without it for your sweet sake. You ought to appreciate it—you
really ought.”
“Which I don’t in the least,” snapped Dorothy, at the limit of her
patience. “Are you going to get on this pony’s back or must I go to the
Knapp ranch alone?”
“Well, if I must,” sighed Tavia, and threw her leg over the pony’s
shining back.
Something must have frightened the animal at that particular moment, for
in a flash he flung up his head and dashed off across the fields in the
direction of the corrals, with Tavia clinging wildly to his mane.
Dorothy gasped, touched her pony with her spur, and was off like a flash
in pursuit.
Anything might have happened, but fortunately nothing very serious did.
The young Mexican who had saddled the animals saw the pony coming, swung
to the back of another, and caught the bridle of the running pony as it
passed, dragging it to a quivering standstill.
Tavia shifted to a more secure position in the saddle, felt her hair to
see how greatly it had been disarranged, and, when Dorothy came up, was
smiling winningly at the Mexican.
The latter whispered something in the runaway’s ear, slapped it
chidingly on the flank and turned it gently about till it was headed
toward the roadway once more.
The pony seemed entirely tractable after that, and the two girls
cantered slowly toward the road.
Suddenly Dorothy checked her mount and looked ahead with eager eyes.
“Look Tavia!” she cried. “Some one is coming!”
The rider proved to be Lance Petterby.
He drew up at sight of the two girls and waved his big sombrero at them.
“Been up to Garry’s,” he shouted, as the girls spurred up to him. “Been
away all day. With most of his boys, too. Only an old, fat, half-deaf
feller in charge, and he says Garry don’t aim to be back much before
nightfall.”
The two girls exchanged glances and Dorothy’s face fell.
“You didn’t see anything of my brother Joe about the place, did you,
Lance?” she asked, and the cowboy reluctantly shook his head.
“He warn’t nowheres where I could get a sight of him, Miss Dorothy,” he
said, adding with an obvious attempt at reassurance: “But most likely if
Garry aimed to be away all day he has took the lad with him for safe
keeping.”
“Then, I suppose, there is no use going to Garry’s ranch if no one is at
home,” sighed Dorothy. “I don’t understand it at all. Oh, Lance, what
would you do if you were in my place?”
“I tell you what I’d do, ma’am,” replied Lance Petterby cheerfully. “I’d
come right along home with me, you and Miss Tavia, and see Ma. She’s
mighty much offended that you ain’t looked her up already. It might sort
o’ take your mind off things till Garry gets back.”
“Oh, Dorothy, let’s!” cried Tavia gleefully. “I do so want to see my
namesake, my darling Octavia Susan, again. She is such a perfect pet and
she loves her auntie, so she do.”
Lance grinned and Dorothy’s anxious expression relaxed into a smile.
“Very well,” she said. “Only we must not stay very long, Lance. Garry
may get back sooner than he expects.”
“You can fix that just to suit you, ma’am,” answered Lance obligingly.
“I know how you feel, but I can tell you that if your brother Joe is
with Garry Knapp his troubles and your’n are pretty nigh over.”
“Yes, if he only is with Garry,” Dorothy agreed wistfully.
They started down the dusty road away from the Knapp ranch and Desert
City beyond, heading in the general direction of Dugonne.
They had only gone a short way, however, when Lance turned away from the
road and led them down a trail that wound through the deepest part of
the woodland.
“Talk about the primeval forest!” cried Tavia, in glee. “If this isn’t
it I am a dumbbell. Oh, forgive me, Doro darling. I really didn’t mean
to say that dreadful word. I am about to join the nation-wide movement
for a purer, better English—”
“I feel sorry for the movement then,” said Dorothy wickedly, and Tavia
went through the motions of turning up the collar of her riding coat.
“That was unnecessarily cruel,” complained Tavia. “Before Lance, here,
too! Never mind, I am quite sure he enjoys my slang; don’t you, Lance?”
“You bet I do, Miss Tavia,” agreed Lance, his grin broader than ever. “I
never see you but what I add a few words to my vocabulary. Not that it
needs it none,” he added, with a chuckle.
They rode for a considerable distance through the woods, the ponies
doing excellent work over the rough trail, and presently came to a small
clearing in the center of which sat a tiny cabin that had “home” written
in every line and angle of it.
Lance gave a peculiar whistle that brought both his “women folks”
running to the door.
Yes, Ma Petterby ran, too, in spite of the fact that she was no longer
young and that her old joints were crippled with rheumatism.
She received the girls with literally opened arms and seemed so
genuinely overjoyed to see them that Dorothy was glad she had yielded to
Lance’s suggestion.
The little house was as homelike inside as out, and the girls were shown
through it all by the proud Sue, who had herself brightened and enriched
the unpretentious rooms with pretty needlework and bright cretonnes.
They came back at last to the living room and Octavia Susan, rescued
from a perilous position in her crib, was placed, cooing and gurgling,
in the delighted Tavia’s arms.
Ma Petterby regaled them with all the gossip of the countryside. Then,
when questioned concerning Ophelia, the hen, she told the story of the
little hen’s entry into farmyard society with so much dry humor that the
girls were thrown into gales of merriment.
It was Dorothy who finally suggested that they should be on their way
back to the Hardin ranch.
Lance, who had disappeared to give the “women folks a chance to git real
well acquainted,” was nowhere to be found when the girls were ready to
go, and both Ma Petterby and Sue urged the girls to “set and wait” till
Lance got back.
But Dorothy, driven always by her anxiety concerning Joe, felt that she
could not wait any longer. Garry would almost surely be back by this
time and she must get to him at the first possible moment!
Neither of the girls was the least afraid to go back alone. The trail,
though narrow, was clearly marked and they knew that it would be very
easy to return the way they had come.
“But it isn’t safe for two young girls to wander around these woods
alone,” Ma Petterby protested. “Lance would be terrible put out if he
was to think I’d permit it. He’ll most likely be back before you get
around that curve yonder.”
“What did you mean when you said it wasn’t safe in the woods?” asked
Tavia, in her eyes the joyful gleam that the prospect of danger and
excitement always brought to them. “Any lions or ‘tagers’ or such-like
beasts loose, do you suppose?”
But Ma Petterby did not return Tavia’s smile. She remained unusually
grave and the face of Sue reflected that gravity.
“No lions or tigers that I knows on,” she replied. “But they’s been a
panther hauntin’ these woods of late.”
“A panther! How gorgeous!” cried the irrepressible. “I have always
wanted to meet one, Mrs. Petterby.”
“Panthers aren’t likely to attack without provocation, are they?” asked
Dorothy, and this time it was Sue who answered.
“Most animals—wild animals, that is—would rather slink off without
making a fuss unless they’re cornered and have to fight,” she said. But
after a momentary pause she went on with a grim tightening of her mouth
that made her suddenly look like a man: “But there are some of ’em that
are just naturally mean an’ that likes to kill for the sake o’ killin’.
This panther’s one o’ that kind.”
“Better wait inside for Lance,” urged Ma Petterby again. “Under the
circumstances, he wouldn’t like for us to let you go.”
But the girls persisted, pointing out that it was better for them to go
then than to wait until evening should fill the woods with shadowy
lurking places.
For once Tavia agreed with Dorothy and seconded her. Not that she was
particularly anxious concerning Joe, for she had long since decided in
her own mind that he was safe with Garry, but that mention of the
panther had roused her curiosity and interest and made her doubly eager
to start on the trail again.
The two girls turned to wave to Susan Petterby with little Octavia Susan
in her arms and to Ma Petterby just before a sharp bend in the trail hid
the small cabin from view.
“Cute little place they have,” remarked Tavia, as she played idly with
her pony’s mane. “How happy they are and how comfortable, and how simple
that sort of life is, Doro. Just think, no bother about money, no worry
about what you are going to eat for the next meal—just go out and kill a
chicken if you are hungry——”
“Not Ophelia!” said Dorothy.
“Not Ophelia, of course,” returned Tavia gravely. “That would never do.
But, honestly, I think it must be fun to live that way.”
Dorothy gave her a curious glance.
“Yes, you do!” she gibed. “I can see you living in that atmosphere just
about one week, Tavia Travers, before you’d die from boredom. Excitement
is your meat, my dear. Without it, you must starve.”
“How well you have read my nature,” said Tavia, with a sigh. “However,
there is apt to be excitement enough if you can believe Ma Petterby and
Sue,” she added, with a giggle. “How about that man-eating panther they
were telling about?”
“That may not be so much of a joke as you seem to think it,” retorted
Dorothy, with a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I’ve heard Garry say
that panthers are often seen in this part of the world.”
“Maybe; but I bet I’d never have the luck to see one,” retorted Tavia
dubiously, and Dorothy added a fervent:
“I certainly hope not!”
They had gone some distance along the trail when Tavia announced that
she was a little stiff from riding and would rest herself by walking and
leading her pony a little way.
“Good idea!” returned Dorothy, also dismounting with relief. “It takes a
little time to become accustomed to horseback after you’ve been out of
the saddle for a while. Whoa, now! What’s the matter?”
This last remark was addressed to the horse, who had snorted and reared
suddenly. His ears lay flat against his head and his eyes were distended
with some nameless terror.
At the same moment Tavia’s pony showed symptoms of fright and danced
nervously off the trail, being brought back to it only by persistent
persuasion on Tavia’s part.
“Now, what on earth ails the beasts?” said Tavia, in exasperation.
“Stand still there, will you? Do you want me to think you have St.
Vitus’ dance?”
“Something scared them—” began Dorothy.
“Oh, you don’t say!” Tavia’s retort was sharp and sarcastic, for the
action of the ponies had alarmed her more than she cared to admit. “I
could almost believe that without being told.”
Dorothy took no notice of the acid in Tavia’s tone, but continued to
soothe her frightened pony.
After a moment of petting and coaxing he consented to go on again, but
his ears moved nervously and he walked daintily as though the rough
ground of the trail were a carpet of eggs.
Tavia conquered her pony also, but as they went on again she was
conscious of a nameless dread creeping over her.
Had she really heard something back there in the shadows of the woodland
or had it been only an oversensitive imagination?
It was ridiculous to connect Ma Petterby’s story of the panther with
this suspicion. That miserable little pony had given her nerves a jolt,
that was all.
She glanced at Dorothy to see if she shared her uneasiness, but aside
from a frown of concentration Dorothy displayed no anxiety. She was
still talking to her pony and stroking his shining coat.
“I won’t look back into those woods. I won’t!” declared Tavia, and
immediately did that very thing.
She shivered and started violently. Something had slunk behind the
trees—something that padded on stealthy feet!
Tavia had caught but a glimpse of that shadowy bulk, but it had been
enough to crystallize her fears. She wanted to cry out to Dorothy, to
shout her a warning of the danger that threatened them. But she was
afraid to raise her voice above a whisper, fearing that any sudden noise
might precipitate a tragedy.
Dorothy, leading her pony gingerly a few steps behind Tavia, was
blissfully unaware of any danger. And the worst of it was that Tavia
herself could not be sure.
What was it that she had sensed slinking among the trees? She had seen
something, but whether it was man or beast it was almost impossible to
say.
The panther? That prowling, sinister beast? But it could not be!
Panthers did not stalk their prey so long and patiently.
Again, against her will, she stole another glance into the shadows of
the woods and glimpsed again that lurking form keeping always within the
shelter of the trees.
There could be no doubt this time! This was no human being that followed
them, but some great beast of the forest.
Perhaps it was not stalking them with the desire to attack. Perhaps, as
she had read often of the wild inhabitants of the forest, it was
following them out of curiosity. Sometimes, she recollected, trappers
and hunters had been forced to endure this sinister, silent
companionship for considerable distances until the beast tired and left
them for more interesting company.
But she shuddered at the thought that the animal, with the instinct of
its kind, might soon realize that they were unprotected—had not even a
gun between them. Then——
If she had only dared to pause long enough to mount her pony—to urge
Dorothy to do so—they might still have a chance of escape. The ponies
were swift and used to the broken trail. They might outstrip their
pursuer or baffle it perhaps by the noise and confusion of their flight.
But she dared not pause, even for an instant. Dared call no warning to
Dorothy which would almost certainly precipitate an attack by that
lurking antagonist.
She cast another glance over her shoulder and felt her heart jump
sickeningly as she saw the panther had gained upon them.
It was a panther. She could see the long slim body, not so bulky as the
lion or tiger but almost as large, weaving its way, snake-like, through
the dense foliage, jewel-like eyes greedily sinister, tail fairly
touching the ground.
Dorothy intercepted that look of horror and cried out in fright.
“What is it, Tavia? Did you see something? Did you—” her voice trailed
off into silence, for she also had seen.
The face she turned back to the watching Tavia was drawn and white with
terror. She said nothing, but quickened her pace by slow degrees until
she was close behind Tavia on the narrow trail. The ponies now were
dancing in terror, trying to break away.
“What are we going to do?”
Tavia asked the question more by the motion of her lips than in spoken
words, for she, like Dorothy, felt it almost impossible to break that
intense, waiting stillness.
Dorothy made a gesture pleading for silence, at the same time it urged
Tavia to a little faster pace. It was plain that Dorothy, like her chum,
had decided that their one chance lay in their ability to ignore the
beast. By pretending not to notice him, they might gain time, might
baffle him temporarily. The road could not be far distant!
There was a sound, slight in itself, but breaking upon that silence with
a horrible significance, the sound of a cracking twig.
The creature was becoming bolder, was creeping up upon them!
The girls longed to cry out, to scream for help, yet could not utter a
sound.
It was like a nightmare, this steady approach of the implacable beast.
Their limbs felt suddenly paralyzed. They had a horrible sensation that
they could not have run had they wanted to.
They were going faster, however. Without realizing it they had increased
their pace till they were almost running. Probably it was that that gave
the stalking beast confidence. His victims were afraid! The two ponies
resisted the efforts of the girls to hold them and broke away, bolting
down the trail.
A swift, terrified glance behind her told Dorothy that the panther had
advanced to within twenty paces of them. In another moment he would be
crouching for the spring.
Dorothy called suddenly to her chum in a queer, high voice.
“Stop, Tavia! Stay where you are. I—I’m going to sing!”
“Sing!” For a moment Tavia could only stare in a paralysis of fright and
consternation. Dorothy must have gone mad! Terror had turned her mind!
Dorothy had taken a stand, had faced the crouching beast. She opened her
mouth and began to sing, tremulously, quaveringly, at first, in a
cracked, thin voice that chilled the very marrow of Tavia’s bones.
But the beast had halted, uncertain, baffled, had crouched close to the
ground, baleful eyes fixed suspiciously upon Dorothy, tail angrily
switching the ground.
Emboldened, Dorothy sang on, her voice gaining strength and confidence
as she saw the effect of her ruse. Tavia, standing still in the trail,
mouth agape, watched as though hypnotized.
But it was the panther that was really hypnotized. Here was something he
could not understand and which, consequently, disturbed and baffled him.
No one had ever sung to him before, and he was instinctively afraid of
the thing of which he had had no experience.
Gradually Dorothy and Tavia came to realize that the panther would not
attack while Dorothy continued to sing. But how long could she keep it
up? That was the question.
The cords of her throat were already aching with the strain, her voice
was becoming thin and weak. She could not sing on forever. And when she
stopped—what then?
Her voice broke, died away for a moment.
The great beast so close to them stirred, glared ferociously, moved
toward them.
Dorothy began to sing again, and Tavia, suddenly ashamed of her silent
part in the drama, began to sing too.
Her voice sounded queer to her and she had to labor over each note, but
with relief they noticed that the beast relaxed again, ceased the
nervous switching of its tail.
The two girls kept up the singing for what seemed to their overwrought
nerves an eternity of terror, and gradually they came to the realization
that their voices were failing.
The great beast realized it, too. He was becoming nervous, uneasy,
lustful. Inch by inch he was creeping forward, inch by inch!
Suddenly Tavia’s voice faltered—stopped.
“I can’t go on, Doro!” she whispered, hysterically. “I can’t—I can’t——”
With a snarl the great beast sprang forward, ears flat to his head,
great paws extended!
A shot rang out and the panther fell, clawed desperately at the air in a
curiously impotent gesture, lay still!
The two girls, clinging to each other, saw Lance Petterby come out of
the shadows, smoking gun in hand.