ANOTHER ADVENTURE FOR ALISON
Turning her little pony’s head down the road, Alison cantered in the
direction of Cyrus Sparks’s cabin. It was rather a lonely ride, but she
had taken it several times, knew the way perfectly, and felt no fear.
Part of the road led over the prairie, but beyond this was a bit of
woodland, and further off the road branched; the turning to the left
leading to Cyrus Sparks’s. Though she had not long been riding her
pony Alison had every confidence in the little beast and was growing
fond of him, although at first she had declared that Chico could
never supersede Hero in her affections. Since Christine, however,
had established a tacit right to Hero, Alison thought she must be
provided with something to ride or else stay at home, so Chico had been
found for her by Pedro, approved of by Bud, and she was now his proud
possessor.
Having reached the cabin Alison dismounted, hitched her pony to the
fence, and entered the house without ceremony. She had seen Cyrus out
in the hog-yard and knew he was not within. But she did not expect
to find herself face to face with the unwelcome countenance of Pike
Smith, who sat glowering in one corner. Alison had always been repelled
by this silent individual who paid her sparse courtesy at the best of
times, and who now did not move from his chair, nor give her more of a
greeting than a grunt and a nod.
“Where is Louisa?” asked Alison, pausing on the door-sill.
Pike jerked his thumb in the direction of the lean-to and Alison,
without further words, passed through the room and on to the kitchen
in the rear. Here she found Louisa, red of face and brisk of movement,
beating eggs.
“Why Allie Ross,” she exclaimed, dropping her beater and extending her
hand. “I surely am glad to see you. Set down. I’ll hev this cake in the
oven before you can turn around and then I’ve a power of talk to get
rid of. The good Marster must have sent you here to-day.”
“Why?” asked Alison, as she sat down on the rough bench and watched
Louisa deftly mix her ingredients together.
“Oh, there are lots of whys. I’ll tell you in a minute. Pike Smith
still in there?” she asked in an undertone.
Alison nodded yes.
Louisa made a contemptuous mouth. “Wish he’d git out,” she continued,
still in a low voice, stirring her batter vigorously and then slipping
the yellow, smooth mixture into the pan.
“I thought you must be making the cake specially on his account,” said
Alison with a little laugh.
Louisa cast her a scornful glance. “You know better than that. He
thinks, and they all think, I’m plum crazy to want anything but
corn-bread and fry. I tell dad if I tend to the chickens, and if he
can’t buy me a little flour and sugar once in a while I’ll go where I
can get it easier. I ain’t seen any decent butter sence I came down
here except what I make myself. I never did see people so easy pleased.”
“I’m sure we never get any good butter any more,” complained Alison.
“Christine was saying the other day that we’d have to learn to make it
if you would show us how. Nobody about here knows what real butter is.”
“I’ll show you and welcome. Let’s go outside; it’s getting hot as
Tophet in this kitchen.”
They established themselves comfortably on a log by the door, and
Alison immediately began her questioning. “Why did you say I was
specially sent to you to-day?”
“Oh, things ain’t going the way I like.”
“Better come back to us.”
“Wish I could, but somehow I’ve got the feeling that I ought to stick
to dad right or wrong.”
“I don’t think so at all, if you are not happy here.”
“He’s all I’ve got and I’m all he’s got. He’s told me a lot of things
about old days, same that mother used to talk about, and I know he
belongs to me all right, though he does seem powerful anxious to get me
married.”
“He does?”
“Yes, and what’s more he wants to pick out my man for me. Says I’ve got
to take either Pike or old Jabe Manypenny.”
“I can understand why he might want you to marry old Jabez Manypenny,
for he’s rich, but I can’t see why he should pick out Pike when he’s
about the most disagreeable, glum looking wretch that I ever saw. I
can’t bear him. I’d rather you’d marry Jabez, old as he is. Goodness
knows there are enough hard characters down here in Texas, and
sometimes I think every other man must be an escaped criminal, but of
them all I do think Pike is about the worst. I can’t imagine what your
father sees in him.”
“That’s just what I can’t see. They’re mighty thick, and dad always
treats him as polite as a lord, like he wanted to keep on the good side
of him. Says I mustn’t judge by appearances, and if I keer anything fer
him I’ll be a dutiful darter and marry to suit him.”
“Well I must say I don’t envy you a father, if that’s the way they do.
I’m glad I’ve no one to bother me about such things.”
“How about that young feller I hear comes shinin’ ’round you, that
Blythe Van Dorn?”
“Oh, he’s only a boy. He has said some soft things to me, but I just
laugh at him. I did have a proposal, though, my first, and you’ll never
guess who it was.” She laughed gleefully.
“Not Van Dorn?”
“No.”
“Bud?”
“Bud, indeed. No, of course not. I wouldn’t marry a one-legged man,
would you?”
“I don’t know. It would depend upon how he lost his leg. Suppose your
brother John came home with but one leg, wouldn’t you think him still
good enough for any girl?”
“That I would. I see the difference lies in who the man happens to be.
As it happens my suitor has both his legs, such as they are, but he is
not so young as John.”
“I can’t think who it can be. Tell me, Alison.”
“Old Billy Jones.” Alison’s laughter rang out merrily.
“That old goose, with daughters twice your age.”
“He’s no older than our friend Manypenny.”
“Yes, but Jabez has no family.”
“Can’t you imagine Sally Jones calling me mamma?” Louisa joined in the
burst of laughter, for old Billy Jones had sought a wife in the family
of nearly every newcomer who chanced to have marriageable daughters.
His own daughter, Sally, was a perfect virago and ruled her father
with a rod of iron, but Billy was soft-hearted, and had a special
fancy for the very young girls, whom he courted in turn, being nothing
discouraged when one after another refused him.
“We’re not getting on at all with your story,” said Alison, when the
laugh had subsided.
“Wait till I look at my cake and then I’ll tell you more.” The cake
being in a satisfactory state Louisa returned and began: “Well, you
see dad says he wants to see me settled, says he has only a fatherly
interest in seeing me in a home of my own, that he ain’t so young as
he might be and it’s my duty to be obedient to my only parent and all
that.”
“But though good men may be scarce, surely there are enough of them who
would be glad to marry you without his settling on Jabez and Pike. Now
there is Ira, Lou. When he comes back----”
Louisa turned her head away and began to braid three long blades of
grass together. “Yes, I know,” she said in a low tone, “and I promised
if I ever needed a friend I’d send him word. Dad has been pushing me
closter and closter agen the wall. I do need a friend. I can’t tell you
all, Alison, but there’s things going on that it needs a man to settle.
Dad doesn’t mean me to think so, but he really keeps me a prisoner,
watches me so I don’t go off the place without him or Pike follerin’
me, and I ain’t a-going to stand it.”
“And what will you do? Oh, Louisa, I am sorry you ever left us.”
“So am I, to tell you the truth, but there’s no help for it now. Here I
am. I’m his flesh and blood and I don’t mean to be disobedient out and
out, though I’ll find a way to outwit him if he tries any underhanded
game on me. He is as sly as a fox and he’ll find I can be sly, too.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you? Shall I tell Bud or anybody?”
“No, I don’t need that. He don’t treat me cruel or nothing. All he
wants is to make me do as he chooses.”
“Then will you write to Ira? I know he would lay down his life for you,
Louisa, though he is afraid of you. He is not afraid of anything else,
and he’d do anything you asked him.”
“Yes, I believe that. I reckon I understand Ira. He wanted me to send
him a stran’ of my old red hair if I was in trouble and if you get that
to him I’ll try to stave off dad for awhile. I ain’t fond of writin’
and somehow I’d rather not send none nohow. Anyway a clip of ha’r
couldn’t git nobody into trouble.”
“Into trouble? How could it?”
“I say it couldn’t. Where’s your horse? Did you come on Hero?”
“No, Chico brought me. I fastened him out front.”
“Better bring him around here and water him before you go.”
“So I will. I promised Bud I’d be back early. He didn’t quite approve
of my riding around the country by myself anyhow, but I told him I’d be
safe enough coming here.”
“Well, I reckon you are. I hope so. He’s right, though, about your not
staying out late. The days aren’t as long as they were. I’d like to
keep you, or, better still, I’d like to go back with you. Miss Tina
well?”
“Yes, though I can see she grows more and more quiet and indifferent.
Oh, if Steve would but come back. Louisa, has your father ever said
anything more about his having a right to Hero?”
“No.” Louisa made her monosyllabic answer, then went into the house
hastily with the excuse that her cake needed attention.
A little later Alison set forth on her return journey. She carried a
long shining strand of Louisa’s hair which she had playfully braided
with some pampas grass and twisted around her hat. “It won’t get
tangled that way,” she said. With a wave of the hand she disappeared
from Louisa’s eyes, not the only ones watching, for Pike Smith stood
sullenly looking after her.
The summer was on the wane and the days were shortening perceptibly.
Alison urged on her little mustang as she approached the road through
the woods. It was here alone that she felt any timidity. There were
many possible dangers lurking in the silent forest. Suppose a wildcat
should suddenly spring upon her, or a Mexican lion. Suppose some band
of wandering Indians should be prowling about in search of booty, or,
if not Indians, some of those lawless freebooters who haunted lonely
places, and who, seeing a damsel thus alone and unprotected, might
attack her and carry her off.
“Faster, Chico, faster,” she whispered, and Chico’s short legs fairly
twinkled along. But they were not swift enough to prevent the steady
gain of a powerful horse, the thud of whose hoof-beats was now plainly
perceptible. Some one was coming. Was it friend or foe? A great terror
seized the girl, bending forward in her saddle and urging on her little
pony who, though he responded to the best of his ability, could not
cover the ground with the same speed as the approaching steed. Alison
gave a frightened look behind her and the next moment a man snatched at
her bridle.
“Here, girl, get off,” said a stern voice, and, looking up, Alison saw
Pike Smith’s lowering face above her.
“Why should I get off?” she asked pluckily, though her heart beat fast.
“Because I say so.”
“Suppose I won’t do it.”
“Then I’ll make ye.”
“Don’t you dare to do such a thing. I defy you, Pike Smith. You had
better let me go, and that quickly. Bud Haley and some others will be
coming to meet me in a minute and it will be the worse for you.”
For answer Pike growled something unintelligible, swung his horse
around, and, still holding Alison’s bridle, went crashing through the
bushes forcing Chico along with him, the girl bravely keeping her seat,
and avoiding the low branches and thorny twigs as best she could. Once
she attempted to make an outcry but Pike turned threateningly on her.
“None o’ that or I’ll stop your sassy mouth for good and all,” he said
savagely.
Full of mortal fear Alison could only keep silence and cling to her
horse desperately. A half hour’s ride brought them to a lonely little
hut. Here Pike dismounted, curtly ordered the girl to get down, and,
keeping an eye upon her, approached the hut. “Brigida,” he called. A
shuffling, blear-eyed old woman came out. Pike addressed a few words of
Spanish to her, then lifted Alison from her horse, set her within the
hut and closed the door.
Divided between fear and anger Alison wondered what would happen next.
She was not long kept in suspense, for the woman began carefully to
search her, examining every article of clothing, even to her shoes and
stockings. The twist of hair mingled with the braid of grass around her
hat attracted no notice. It meant nothing to Brigida; she was searching
for a bit of paper.
The search being concluded the old woman made her report and Pike
entered the room. “Well, I hope you are satisfied,” said Alison,
nothing daunted by these investigations. “Will you please tell me what
this is all about? Do you suspect me of being a spy and of carrying
despatches for the Mexican government? Or what is it you are looking
for?”
“What I want is that letter Lou give ye,” said Pike, bluntly. “Ye can’t
deny she give ye one. She’s as sly as her old dad, but they can’t
neither of them pull the wool over my eyes. I ain’t to be made a fool
of by none of that lay-out. The gal’s promised to me and I’ll have her
sendin’ no word to other men. You can’t swear she didn’t give you a bit
of writin’.”
“She did nothing of the kind. You are very far off the track, Mr. Pike
Smith, and I’ll thank you to conduct me safely home.”
“And a purty hue an’ cry ye’ll raise when ye git thar.”
“Naturally.”
“Then ye don’t go. I’ve more’n one grudge agin ye. It was you hit old
man Sparks, wan’t it?”
“How do you know unless you were there?” Alison was quick to draw her
conclusions.
Pike saw his mistake. “Old Cy tol’ me so hisse’f,” he replied.
“Why did he? He was anxious enough to keep the matter quiet and unless
you were in cohoots with him he never would have told it. I suppose you
were one of the men who got away, and if so what have you done with my
brother’s horses? I always suspected you were some kind of rascal.”
The man approached her with clenched fist, but Alison slipped behind a
table and drew forth the pistol she always carried. “I’ll blow out your
brains if you touch me,” she cried.
“Two kin play at that game,” said Pike, whipping out his own pistol.
“It’s a duel, is it?”
“What a fine, brave, manly person you must be to want to fight a girl
who has never done you any harm, who has been on no wrong errand,”
cried Alison. “Why do you want to stain your soul with my blood? Will
it make you any worthier of Louisa that you murder her best friend?”
Pike lowered his pistol with a short laugh. “I only wanted to skeer ye.
Ef ye promise ter say nothin’ of this to nobody and not ever mention
that other time ye was jest talkin’ about, I’ll not harm ye this time.”
It was decidedly an occasion when discretion was the better part of
valor, and Alison gave the promise. Pike without another word stalked
out, leaving the girl alone with the old woman. Presently the sound of
his horse crashing through the chaparral told them he had gone. Alison
seized the old woman’s hands. “I am safe,” she cried, “but I do not
know my way home.” She ran to the door, half expecting to find Chico
gone, but there he stood nibbling at the bushes. She waited a moment
to be sure that Pike had really departed, then she mounted her horse
without protest from the woman, whom she bade adieu with a feeling of
thankfulness.
It had grown much darker and there was no road, only straggling paths
hard to discern. In what she believed to be the right direction
Alison turned, her little horse gallantly making his way through the
difficulties of an unbroken road. After a while, when the girl felt
that they had traveled long enough to have reached the main road, poor
though it actually was, there was still no evidence of it, but afar off
she saw a light, and made towards it. To be sure, it might be out of
the frying-pan into the fire she reflected, and she might be walking
directly into a den of thieves; but on the other hand night was coming
on, there were prowling beasts to fear and she was willing to take her
chances. She drew nearer and nearer to the light and presently she saw
it came from a camp-fire, and that around it were several figures. She
went a few paces further and listened, hoping to gain some idea of what
manner of persons these were. While she waited, half fearing to make
her presence known, a woman’s voice arose, singing shrilly: “How firm
a foundation,” and emphasizing the words as she moved about. A great
sense of relief swept over the girl who, without further hesitation,
rode into the small encampment. A large white-covered wagon stood at a
short distance; some men were gathering wood to feed the fire, a woman
with frying-pan in hand was preparing the evening meal, two or three
little children at her heels. At the sudden apparition of a girl riding
out of the depths of the wood the woman gave a startled exclamation.
“La, where did you come from?” she asked. “We didn’t think there was a
house within miles.”
“Maybe there isn’t,” said Alison. “I’ve lost my way. Can you tell me if
I am near the road to Denton?”
“It’s the road we come over. We passed through Denton this morning,”
one of the men told her. “You belong to these parts?”
“Yes, and I should know my way better, shouldn’t I? It’s lucky I came
upon you all, or I might have traveled around all night. Are you going
much further?”
“A matter of thirty mile or so.”
[Illustration: “THE WOMAN GAVE A STARTLED EXCLAMATION.”]
“And glad enough I shall be to get there. It’s weary traveling all this
way from the States,” said the woman. “I reckon you find it pretty
lonesome down here, don’t you?”
“Not so very. I am used to the country and I am with friends. Besides
we don’t live very far from Denton, just on the edge of it, you might
say, though the store is three miles away. There are two or three
ranchos between us and the village but we can see the houses quite
plainly and that makes it seem less lonely.”
“I wish we were going to be that near somebody,” said the woman.
“Oh, it won’t be long before we have neighbors,” said the man,
cheerfully. “It’s fillin’ up fast down this way. Fine country, miss.”
“Yes, it is so,” said Alison.
“Won’t you light and take supper with us?” said the woman. “It don’t
seem to me like you ought to go on alone; you’d better get down and
stay here with us till morning.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Alison, “but I must go on. My sister will be
worried to death if I don’t get home.”
She bade them farewell and, once on the road, put her little mustang
at his best paces. She felt herself lucky to have struck the right way
and to have the knowledge that there was a friendly company between
her and the stretches of forest beyond the turn. Realizing that he was
on the homeward path Chico cantered along bravely, and in a short time
the twinkling lights of the first house appeared across the stretch of
prairie. At the edge of the woods a horseman came dashing towards the
girl. “Hallo!” came the shout. “That you, Alison Ross?”
Alison rode forward. “That’s just who it is,” she said. “Is that you,
Bud Haley?”
“I’m the feller,” he replied, making his way towards her. “You’ve give
me a purty scare. What happened to ye?”
“I got lost,” replied Alison, with a confused laugh. “At least I heard
something behind me and I got scared and didn’t keep the road.”
“Humph! I reckon you’ll either stay at home after this or hev a man’s
company when you’re goin’ this fur. Miss Christine’ll be scared to
death about ye. She’s there alone, ’ceptin’ Pedro and his gal. Ole
Sofia got tired of her job and has went home. It ’pears to me like you
and Miss Tina better bundle up and come over to our house till your
brother gits back. I ain’t easy one minute about ye.”
“That’s too bad,” said Alison with compunction. “We have no business
keeping you worried about us. I only wish John would come home.”
“Well, you know you’d be as welcome as flowers in May. Hanner M’ri was
sayin’ so this very day. I reckon we’ll hev to talk that plan over
with Miss Tina. See Lou?”
“Yes, and her father isn’t making things any too easy for her. He keeps
her close and says she’s got to marry either Jabez Manypenny or Pike
Smith.”
“The blamed old ijit!” ejaculated Bud. “Ain’t he got no more sense than
to hand his darter over to an ornery rascal like Pike? Bet he swops
her fer a hoss. Pike’s got some sort of holt on Cy and he’s skeered of
him. Why, I’d sooner see old Jabe git Lou; he’s close but he ain’t ter
say cruel and Pike, well I wouldn’t let my orneries’ ole mewl git into
Pike’s hands, not if I could help it. We’ve got to try an’ git Lou out
of this mess. Why didn’t that fool Iry git her landed safe before he
lit out, thet’s what I can’t see.”
“I have something that Lou wants to send to Ira,” said Alison.
“You hev? Well, I’ll see that it gits started good an’ airly. I ain’t
goin’ to hev you goin’ over there ag’in onless me, or Blythe, or some
of us boys goes with ye. Meanwhile we’ll keep our eyes open; I don’t
want no second skeer like you give me this evenin’.”
Christine was nervously watching for her sister when she appeared.
“Brought her back safe an’ sound,” said Bud. “We ain’t goin’ to let her
git out of our sight agin, no siree. She’s too precious to git lost.
Got somethin’ to talk to you about to-morrer, Miss Tina.” So saying he
rode away with Chico in charge.
“What did happen to keep you so late, Alison?” asked her sister.
Alison looked around to be sure Bud was out of hearing. “I had an
adventure,” she said. “Some one followed me, a man, and I was scared to
death; that’s why I got off the road. I found the way back by a mere
chance, for I came across a party of emigrants camping in the woods and
they put me right. Don’t tell Bud about it.”
“Why not? I think he ought to know. Was the man any one you ever saw
before?”
“I hope I shall never see him again,” said Alison fervently. “Oh, Tina,
poor Lou is just the same as a prisoner. Her father is badgering her to
death to marry old Jabez or Pike Smith, and he doesn’t let her off the
place.”
“Pike Smith? That evil-looking man?” In this new piece of gossip
Christine did not notice that her sister had skilfully turned the
subject.
“He is evil-looking, and I can’t bear him. I’d rather see Lou dead than
his wife. I told Bud about it, and, Tina, I have a lock of Lou’s hair
to send to Ira. You may know things are in a pretty desperate case
when she summons him. If the boys were all at home they’d soon settle
matters for Cy Sparks; you know John wouldn’t let him abuse Lou.”
“He doesn’t really abuse her, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t bodily ill-treat her. He pretends he is very fond of
her, but she can’t stir out of his sight, or if he is not there Pike
Smith is.”
“Did you see Pike Smith?”
“I should think I did. What’s this, Tina, about Sofia?”
“She’s gone. She went off this afternoon, was tired of it here, said it
was too lonely for an old woman who had always lived near her own kin.
I believe she has a sister somewhere and a lot of nieces and nephews.”
“Well, I am sure they are welcome to her,” returned Alison, beginning
to lay the table for supper.