A Fit of the Blues
The interest of experiencing a real old-fashioned English Christmas had
kept Diana's spirits up at fizzling-over point, but directly the
festival was over, her mental barometer came down with a run, and landed
her in a bad fit of the blues. There were several reasons for this
unfortunate plunge into an indigo atmosphere. First, the inevitable
reaction after the over-excitement of breaking up, sending off presents
and cards, and duly celebrating the Yule-tide feast. Diana was a
highly-strung little person, whose nerves were apt to get on edge, and
who made the common mistake of trying to live too fast. Her father's
"lightning methods", which she much admired and imitated, were decidedly
wearing to her vitality, and left her sometimes like a squeezed orange
or an india-rubber ball that has lost its bounce. Then secondly, the
French mails had been delayed, and, since the holidays began, Diana had
not received a single parcel, letter, or even solitary picture post card
from her parents in Paris. The blank was great, and though the Flemings
assured her that foreign posts were irregular, and that the whole of
her correspondence would probably arrive together in one big cargo, she
nevertheless could not rid herself of the uneasy impression that illness
or accident to father or mother might be the cause of the delay. Reason
three, a hackneyed but very present trouble was the weather. The English
climate had behaved itself during the first days of the holidays, and
had shown Diana quite a story-book aspect of Christmas, with a light
fall of snow on the fells, hoar-frost on all the plants and ferns in the
garden, and the sun a red ball seen through a rime-tipped tracery of
trees. After that, however, it revenged itself in rain, steady rain that
came down from a hopelessly grey sky without the least glint of sunlight
in it. It was very mild too; the air had a heavy languor that made
everybody feel tired and disinclined for any exertion. Mrs. Fleming
spread the table with sewing, and sighed at the largeness of the task
which faced her. The Vicar shut himself in his study, and pinned a
notice on the door stating that nobody must disturb him. Monty retired
to develop photos; Neale, clad in a mackintosh, went out into the wet;
Meg and Elsie buried themselves in books.
Diana, feeling that life was utterly drab, wandered from room to room
doing nothing. She could not settle to sew, read, paint, write letters,
or any normal employment, and had not even the patience to try to put
together a jig-saw puzzle. She missed Wendy and her other chums amongst
the intermediates, and was almost tempted to wish herself back at
school. Her piquant little face with this new _triste_ aspect was a
sorry spectacle, and Mrs. Fleming watched her uneasily.
"I hope the child isn't going to be home-sick," she said to herself. "I
shall be sorry we took her in if we can't make her happy."
It was evident that something must be done, and something beyond the
ordinary resources of books and dissected puzzles. Mrs. Fleming
cudgelled her brains. Her few days' acquaintance with her young visitor
had taught her that Diana needed judicious handling. It was no use
making palpable efforts to interest her. In her pixie moods she seemed
almost to resent it.
"I believe the secret of Diana is to switch her thoughts off herself on
to other people," ruminated Mrs. Fleming. "Instead of trying so hard to
amuse her, I shall ask _her_ to amuse _us_."
She waited till her guest, who had taken an aimless prowl round the
house, returned once more like a wandering will-o'-the-wisp to the
dining-room, then she tackled her.
"Diana, I want you to do something very kind. I'm in low spirits to-day,
and feeling as stupid as an owl. I believe we all are--Meg and Elsie,
and the boys, and even the Vicar! I'd give anything for something to
buoy me up and to look forward to. Suppose, after tea, we were to make a
circle round the fire and tell stories--really jolly stories that we'd
prepared beforehand. We'd each take the rest of the day to think them
out. If possible, they must be personal experiences; things that have
actually happened to ourselves. You must have had adventures in America,
I'm sure, that would interest us immensely. I'm just longing to hear
about your life out there. Can't you write down a few notes, and give us
a really good yarn? You've no idea how much I'd enjoy it."
Diana stopped whistling, and stood with her mouth screwed into a button.
Her grey eyes were fixed on Mrs. Fleming speculatively.
"I didn't know grown-up ladies ever got bored stiff!" she remarked at
last.
"They do horribly sometimes; indeed the more middle-aged they are the
more they need cheering up, I think. They don't like 'getting on in
years'."
"I guess you want me to act jester."
"That's exactly the role I'd like to assign to you."
The twinkle was slowly coming back to Diana's eyes, and the dimples to
the corners of her mouth. The effect was like sunshine bursting through
a rain-cloud.
"I guess I'll try if I can remember anything to startle you, if you're
out for sensations. It's a kind of literary society, isn't it? Can you
lend me a pencil, please, and some waste paper? I don't know what I've
done with my blotter. Thanks! Now I'm going right up to my bedroom to
sort of ruminate."
Mrs. Fleming's prescription for low spirits acted like a charm. Diana
spent most of the rest of the day scribbling. She came down to tea
looking quite elated. The others tried to question her, but she refused
to be drawn. "Wait and see!" was all she would vouchsafe.
[Illustration: WE SET OFF AND RODE ALL THE MORNING]
It was cosy in the drawing-room when the family collected and made a
circle round the log-fire. By unanimous vote Diana's story was given
first innings, and, seated in a basket-chair near the lamp, she opened
her manuscript.
"I thought I'd rather read it than tell it, if you don't mind," she
said. "I'm a duffer sometimes at telling things. Before I start off,
though, I'd best explain who folks are, or you won't understand. Uncle
Carr Clifford had a ranch in New Mexico, and I used to go and stay there
months. They always kept a special pony for me to ride. Her name was
Darkie, and she was just a peach. I used nearly to live on her back.
Lenox, my cousin, would take me all round the ranch. I'd great times.
Well, it was when I was staying at Buller's Creek (that was Uncle Carr's
ranch) that this happened. Have I made it clear?"
"Crystal! Bowl ahead!"
So Diana began:
"THE LOST PONY
"I had been staying some weeks at Buller's Creek, and one morning,
when I came down to breakfast, Lenox ran into the veranda. He looked
fearfully excited.
"'Do you know,' he cried, 'that Darkie's missing from the stable?'
"We all sprang up at the bad news, and Uncle Carr whistled. Darkie
was my special pet, and, apart from that, she was the best pony on
the ranch. How had she got out of the stable? Lenox had tied her up
himself the night before. Either some malicious person must have let
her loose or, worse still, some one must have stolen her.
"'I believe it's Lu Hudson!' declared Lenox and Uncle Carr nodded.
"Lu Hudson, whom most people called 'Spanish Lu', was the owner of
the next ranch, and a very disagreeable neighbour. He was a big,
rough, dark, hot-tempered fellow, with a bad reputation for picking
quarrels and using his revolver. He and Uncle Carr were continually
having lawsuits about the boundary of their ranches, and his sheep
were constantly trespassing on the Buller's Creek ranges. He had the
greatest admiration for Darkie, and several times had asked to buy
her, but Uncle Carr had always curtly refused to part with her. The
last time there had been trouble about the boundary, Spanish Lu had
sworn that he would pay Uncle Carr out, and he was just the sort of
desperate fellow to keep his word. Of course the first thing to be
done was to ride round the ranch and see whether Darkie could be
found anywhere.
"'I'm sorry I can't look after the matter myself to-day,' said Uncle
Carr; 'but Jake and I have to get off to the mart at Louisville. She
may have strayed, but it's not likely. I don't believe you'll find
her.'
"As soon as Uncle and Jake, the herdsman, had started off in the
buggy, Lenox saddled Whitefoot, his own pony, to go in search of
Darkie. I begged and prayed and implored to go too, so finally they
let me have my way, and saddled Jap for me, a brown pony, quiet and
steady, though not so clever as Darkie. Coonie, a little half-caste
boy, went with us.
"'The air feels heavy this morning,' said Aunt Frances, as we were
starting. 'If a storm comes on, make for cover. Don't try to get
home across the prairie till it's over.'
"The sun was shining, and we did not think the weather looked at all
like a storm. I rather laughed at Auntie as she fastened a wrap on
to my saddle, with instructions to wear it if I felt cold. Lenox had
the lunch-basket, and also a small axe, which he always took with
him when going round the ranch.
"We set off and rode all the morning, but never a trace of Darkie
was to be found. We ate our lunch in a stony little glen, where a
stream flowed down from the ridge above. I was very keen on getting
wild flowers, and while our ponies rested, I wandered up the bank of
the stream, gathering myself a posy. I went on and on, much farther
than I intended. At the very head of the glen was a natural barrier
of rock, with a few steep steps leading on to a kind of plateau at
the top. This spot, I knew, marked the boundary between my uncle's
ranch and that of Spanish Lu. The glen was the property of Buller's
Creek; the farther side of the ridge belonged to the Hudson range,
and the plateau was neutral ground.
"Something, I don't know what, impelled me, as I stood there, to
give the long-drawn, peculiar whistle with which we always called
Darkie. To my astonishment, a whinny came from the plateau above. In
another moment I was scrambling up the rock steps. There, tied to a
cedar-stump, was Darkie. She recognized me at once, and whinnied
again. There was nobody in sight. I did not even stop to think of Lu
Hudson. I just ran to Darkie and untied her, and took her by the
bridle. It was a fearful business to lead her down the rock steps,
but she was as surefooted as a mule, and together we managed it
somehow. The boys nearly had a fit when I made my appearance with
the missing pony. It was pretty plain, so they said, that Spanish Lu
must have stolen her and taken her there for safety, intending to
come back and fetch her. Where was he now? The answer came
unexpectedly.
"'What's that smoke there?' asked Coonie.
"Lenox and I turned to look in the direction in which he pointed. A
grey haze was mounting from the horizon.
"'It's more like dust than smoke,' said Lenox. 'I wouldn't mind
betting it's sheep.'
"Who could have the impudence to be driving sheep on to the
Buller's Creek range? It seemed more than probable that Lu Hudson
had broken his pledge, and was again trespassing on his neighbour's
property. Lenox and I looked at each other. If Spanish Lu were
within short distance of us, the sooner we got Darkie safely home,
the better.
"'I'll ride her, and you lead Jap,' I decided.
"We started off at once. As we got out of the glen and on to the
prairie we could see in the distance an immense flock of sheep,
herded by two men on horseback. We were too far from them to
recognize faces, but the general appearance of one of them suggested
Spanish Lu.
"'They're grazing east of the ridge, in spite of what the judge
settled!' exclaimed Lenox angrily. 'If I hadn't to take care of you
and Darkie, I'd go and tell them what I think of them.'
"It seemed no use running our heads into danger, and perhaps having
Darkie wrenched from us, so we made off east towards home. We had
only gone about a mile when suddenly the sky to the west behind us
turned black. In a few minutes we were in the thick of a terrific
blizzard. My first instinct was to give Darkie her head and fly for
the ranch, but Lenox caught at my bridle.
"'Ride back to the glen!' he shouted.
"Lenox knew enough about prairie blizzards to prevent him from
trying to find our way home through this one. On the open plains,
where the wind has full sweep, a blizzard is a thing to be dreaded.
Though we had to face the storm to ride back to the glen, it was
the safest thing to do, for we were not far away, and we should find
shelter there. With our heads down, and sharp scraps of ice beating
on our saddles, we urged our ponies along. Suddenly we caught sight
of a great moving mass coming on with the storm. It was the immense
flock of sheep, that had stampeded before the blizzard, and were
drifting along across the prairie. Lenox stood up in his stirrups,
and shouted to Coonie:
"'Ride over there, and we'll turn them into the glen!'
"Coonie understood in a second, and so did I. Unless we could drive
the sheep into shelter, undoubtedly the whole number would perish in
the storm. Lenox thrust Jap's bridle into my hand, and dashed ahead.
In a few minutes he and Coonie had succeeded in turning the leaders
towards the entrance of the creek, and after them swept the rest of
the flock. We followed into the sheltered glen, and, dismounting
from our ponies, found a nook under a projecting piece of rock.
There were some tree-stumps about, and Lenox set to work to chop
them with his axe, and soon made a roaring fire. How glad I was that
Aunt Frances had made me bring the wrap! I should have been frozen
without it. Even by the fireside the air was bitter. What must it be
like out in the open prairie, we wondered? We had not sat long in
our sheltered nook before we heard voices, and two figures, covered
with ice and snow, made their appearance leading horses. They
staggered to our camp-fire, half exhausted by the violence of the
storm. Though his hair and his beard were white with snow, we had no
difficulty in recognizing Spanish Lu. He thawed for a little, and
then spoke to his herdsman.
"'The sheep!' he gasped.
"'They're all here,' answered Lenox in triumph. 'We saw them, and
turned them into the creek.'
"Spanish Lu stared at us as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
"'You kids! You turned the whole herd?'
"I expect he felt pretty grateful, for, if it hadn't been for Lenox
and Coonie, several thousand of his sheep would certainly have been
lost, and, as it was, they were safely grazing in shelter. When the
storm was sufficiently over for us to venture home, he led out
Darkie himself and helped me to mount. Neither he nor we said a word
about her loss, though we were perfectly certain he must have taken
her from the stable.
"After that day he kept his sheep to his own side of the ridge, and,
though he was never a pleasant neighbour, Uncle Carr wasn't obliged
to go to law with him again about the boundary of the two ranches.
So we felt that Darkie had patched up peace, particularly as we
didn't accuse Lu Hudson of taking her. Horse-stealing is a very
serious crime in the West, so I expect he thought he had got off
uncommonly well."
"And what became of Darkie?" asked Meg, as Diana's manuscript came to a
rather abrupt end.
"Uncle Carr gave up the ranch when he went into Congress, and Darkie and
all the other ponies were left at Buller's Creek. She wouldn't have been
happy off the prairie, or I'd have begged to have her. Lenox? Why, he's
still in France; but I suppose he'll be demobilized soon, and going back
to Harvard. He wants to be a professor, not a ranchman. He's a fearfully
clever boy. Now, I've read my story, and I'm waiting for yours. Who's
going to come next?"
"After such excitements as horse-stealing and a blizzard, our poor
little adventures would seem very tame," said Mrs. Fleming, voicing the
general feeling of the family, each member of which was showing a plain
desire to shirk. "Suppose we keep our stories for another evening, and
play games now? Meg, get pencils and paper, and we'll have a round of
'telegrams'."