IN THE BLUE BONNET COUNTRY
"IF one of you speaks aloud in the next five minutes," declared Blue
Bonnet earnestly, "I'll never forgive you."
No one being inclined to risk Blue Bonnet's undying enmity, there was
complete silence for the space of time imposed. They were rolling
along the smooth white road between the railway station and the ranch,
Grandmother Clyde and the girls in a buckboard drawn by sturdy little
mustangs, while Alec, Uncle Joe and Uncle Cliff, who had stayed behind
to look after the luggage, were following on horseback.
Blue Bonnet sat tense and still, her hands clasped in her lap, the
color coming and going in her face in rapid waves of pink and white;
her eyes very shiny, her lips quivering. This home-coming was having
an effect she had not dreamed of. Every familiar object, every turn of
the road that brought her nearer the beloved ranch, gave her a new and
delicious thrill.
As they neared the modern wire fence two dusky little greaser
piccaninnies rose out of the chaparral, hurled themselves on the big
gate and held it open, standing like sentinels, bursting with
importance, as the buckboard rolled through.
"They're Pancho's twins!" cried Blue Bonnet. "Stop, Miguel, while I
give them something." Hurriedly seizing a half-eaten box of candy from
Amanda's surprised hands, Blue Bonnet leaned down and tossed it to the
grinning youngsters.
"_Muchas gracias_, Señorita!" they cried in a duet, their black eyes
wide with joy.
"Bless the babies!" exclaimed Kitty, "--did you hear what they called
you?"
Blue Bonnet laughed. "I'm never called anything else here. They meant
'Many thanks, Ma'am.' You will be 'Señorita' too,--better get used to
it."
"Oh, I shall love it," cried Kitty. "It sounds like a title--'my lady'
or 'your grace' or something grand."
"Grandmother will be 'Señora'--doesn't it just suit her, girls?" asked
Blue Bonnet.
"Mrs. Clyde, may we call you 'Señora,' too?" asked Debby, "--just
while we're on the ranch?"
"Debby believes in the eternal fitness of things," put in Kitty.
"Certainly, you may call me Señora," said Mrs. Clyde. "When you're in
Texas do as the Texans do," she paraphrased.
"I intend to learn all the Spanish I can while I'm here," remarked
Sarah. "I brought a grammar and a dictionary--"
A chorus of indignation went up from the other girls.
"This isn't a 'General Culture Club,' Sarah Blake," scolded Kitty. "We
didn't come to the Blue Bonnet ranch for mutual improvement--but for
_fun_!"
"We'll make a bonfire of those books," warned Blue Bonnet.
"All the Spanish that I can absorb through my--pores, is welcome to
stick," said Debby, "but I'm not going to dig for it."
Sarah tactfully changed the subject. "Your house is a good way from
the gate, Blue Bonnet," she remarked.
"Nearly two miles," Blue Bonnet smiled.
"There's nothing like owning all outdoors!" commented Kitty.
"Grandfather used to own nearly all outdoors," returned Blue Bonnet.
"When father was a little boy nobody had fences and the cattle ranged
through two or three counties. But now we keep a lot of fence-riders,
who don't do a thing but mend fences, day after day. There's the
bridge,--now as soon as we cross the river you can see the
ranch-house."
"Is this what you call the 'river?'" Sarah asked, as they rattled over
the pretty little stream.
"We call it a 'rio' in Texas, and you'd better not insult us by
calling it a creek, Señorita Blake," Blue Bonnet warned her.
"I won't--'rio' is such a pretty name," said Sarah, making a mental
note of it for future use.
"There!" cried Blue Bonnet, "behold the 'casa' of the Blue Bonnet
ranch!"
What they saw was a long, low, rambling house, with wide, hospitable
verandas embowered in half-tropical vines. It had evidently started
out as a one-roomed, Spanish 'adobe,' and, as the needs of the family
demanded it, an ell had been added here, a room there, like cells in a
bee-hive, until now it covered a good deal of territory, still keeping
its one-storied, Mission-like character.
"Oh, Blue Bonnet--it's just what I wanted it to be," exclaimed Kitty.
"It looks as if a fat, Spanish monk might come out of that door this
very minute."
"Instead of which there is my dear old Benita, and Pancho and his wife
and the children and--oh, everybody!" Blue Bonnet was bouncing up and
down now with excitement.
Alec and the other two riders came up in a cloud of dust just as
Miguel raced the mustangs up to the veranda steps, where all the ranch
hands were gathered to greet the young Señorita.
"Señorita mia!" cried Benita, and Blue Bonnet leaped from the wheel
straight into her old nurse's arms.
"And this is Grandmother, Benita," said Blue Bonnet, helping Mrs.
Clyde from her place.
"The little Señora's mother--God bless you!" cried Benita in Spanish.
Then, in spite of her stiff joints, she made a deep, old-fashioned
curtsy.
Tears sprang to the eyes of the Eastern woman. "Thank you, Benita,"
she said. "My daughter always wrote lovingly of you."
"Blessed Señora!" breathed Benita fervently.
"This is my grandmother, everybody," said Blue Bonnet, presenting Mrs.
Clyde to the entire circle, "and these are my friends--'amigos' from
Massachusetts."
"Pleased to know ye!" said Pinto Pete and Shady, the only American
cowboys on the ranch; while the Mexicans, as one voice, gave a hearty
chorus of greeting.
The six "amigos" from Massachusetts were thrilled to the core,
although at the same time a trifle embarrassed as to the correct way
of responding to this vociferous welcome. Blue Bonnet set them all an
example: she had a smile and a word for every man, woman and child,
and finally sent them all off with a--"Come back when my trunks
arrive!" And the hint brought a fresh gleam to already beaming faces.
Later, after a bountiful supper, they all gathered once more on the
broad veranda while Blue Bonnet distributed her gifts. That those days
in New York had been profitably spent was fully attested now when the
contents of the many trunks were displayed. There were ribbons, scarfs
and gay beads for the women, toys and sweets for the children, and
wonderful pocket-knives, pipes and tobacco pouches for the men.
The Blue Bonnet ranch had been part of an original Spanish land-grant
in the days when Texas was still part of Mexico, and had descended
from father to son until it came into the hands of Blue Bonnet's
grandfather. Many of the Mexican ranch-hands had been born on the
place and looked on the Ashe family as their natural guardians and
protectors. As yet they had not acquired a Yankee sense of
independence, nor had they lost the soft Southern courtesy inherent in
their race. They came up one at a time to Blue Bonnet as she stood at
the top of the steps, her gifts in a great heap beside her; and each
one, as he received his gift from her hand, called down a blessing on
the head of the young Señorita. Then, laughing, chatting, and
comparing gifts like a crowd of children, they trooped away, the
single men to the "bunk-house" by the big corral, the married couples
and their children to little cabins scattered over the place.
"It's just like some old Spanish tale," declared Alec. "Blue Bonnet is
a princess just returned to her castle, and all the serfs are come to
pay her homage."
"I suppose Don Quixote will be off soon, hunting wind-mills?"
suggested Kitty, with a mocking glance at Alec, whose new gun was the
pride of his heart.
Alec deigned no reply.
"Look!" said Mrs. Clyde, softly, "--there goes the sun."
They followed her glance across the prairie that stretched away, green
and softly undulating, in front of the veranda, and watched the red
disk as it sank in a blaze of glory at the edge of the plain.
"Now you know," said Blue Bonnet, "why I felt like pushing back the
houses in Woodford--at first they just suffocated me."
Mrs. Clyde smiled with new understanding. "You probably agree with our
Massachusetts writer who complained that people in cities live too
close together and not near enough," she said, patting Blue Bonnet's
head as the girl, sitting on the step below her, leaned against her
knee.
"Didn't you ever get lonesome here?" asked Debby, snuggling up to
Amanda. She had been brought up among houses.
"Lonesome?" echoed Blue Bonnet. "I never knew what lonesome
meant--till my first day in school!"
All too soon came bedtime.
"Where are we all to sleep?" Blue Bonnet asked Benita. It was like
Blue Bonnet not to give the matter a thought until beds were actually
in demand.
Benita led the way proudly. "The Señora will have the little Señora's
room," she said, throwing open the door of that long unused chamber.
Mrs. Clyde entered it with softened eyes.
"Señorita's own room is ready for her, and here is place for the
others." Benita proceeded to the very end of a long ell to a huge airy
room, seemingly all windows. It was Blue Bonnet's old nursery, and,
next to the living-room, the largest room in the house. Four single
beds, one in each corner, showed how Benita had solved the sleeping
problem.
The girls gave a shout of delight; visions of bedtime frolics and long
talks after lights were out, sent them dancing about the place.
"I tell you what," announced Blue Bonnet, "--if you imagine I am going
off by myself when there's a sleeping-party like this going on, you're
mistaken. I say--" here she turned on Sarah, "--you've always wanted a
bed-room all to yourself; you told me so, one day. Well, here's your
chance--you're welcome to every inch of mine!"
Sarah, quite willing to confine her "parties" to daylight hours,
accepted the proposition eagerly. Maybe then she could get a peek at
those Spanish books.
"Are you sure you're willing to give it up?" she asked quite honestly.
And Blue Bonnet with an incredulous stare returned: "Are you quite
willing to give _this_ up?"
"Perfectly!" exclaimed Sarah with such promptness that Blue Bonnet
dismissed her lurking suspicion that Sarah was just "being polite" and
accepted the exchange.
It was a happy Sarah who tucked herself away in a little bed all to
herself, in a dainty room destined to be her very own for two long
months. Four times happy was the quartet who shared the nursery. It
was a long time before they subsided. There were so many things to be
observed and discussed in that delightful place. Uncle Joe Terry had
had a hand in its arrangement, and now that worthy man would have felt
well repaid if he could have heard the gales of merriment over his
masterpieces of interior decoration.
In her childhood Blue Bonnet had been blessed--or afflicted--with more
dolls than ever fell to the lot of child before. Now the
long-discarded nursery-folk formed a frieze around the entire room,
the poor darlings being, like Blue-beard's wives, suspended by their
hair. Every nationality and every degree of mutilation was there
represented, and the effect was funny beyond description. On the
broad mantel-shelf over the stone fireplace reposed drums,
merry-go-rounds, trumpets and toy horses; while on the hearth was a
tiny kitchen range bearing a complete assortment of pots and pans of a
most diminutive size. In every available nook of the room stood
doll-carriages, rocking-horses, go-carts and fire-engines, each
showing the scars of Blue Bonnet's stormy childhood.
"I wish," cried Kitty, "that we weren't any of us a day over seven!"
While the girls were still making merry over her childhood treasures
Blue Bonnet slipped away. She had not had a word alone with Uncle
Cliff for days, and had exchanged only a hurried greeting with Uncle
Joe at the station. And there were such heaps of things to talk over!
She found them both on the veranda, enjoying the evening breeze that
came laden with sweet scents from off the prairie. Blue Bonnet clapped
her hands over Uncle Joe's eyes in her old madcap fashion.
"It's Blue Bon--er--Elizabeth, I mean," he guessed promptly.
"Wrong!" cried Blue Bonnet sternly. "Elizabeth Ashe was left behind in
Massachusetts, and only Blue Bonnet has come back to the ranch."
"Thank goodness for that!" breathed Uncle Joe devoutly. "Elizabeth
came mighty hard. It didn't fit, somehow. I reckon you're glad to get
_home_, Blue Bonnet?"
"Glad? Why, there isn't a word in the whole English dictionary that
means just what I feel, Uncle Joe," replied Blue Bonnet, perching on
the arm of his chair. "I love every inch of the state of Texas."
The two men exchanged a significant glance that was not lost on Blue
Bonnet.
"Oh, I know what you are thinking of, Uncle Cliff. You remember the
day when I said I hated the West and all it stood for. I meant that
too--then. But I feel different now. It isn't that I'm sorry I went
away; I just had to go, feeling as I did. I reckon I'll always be that
way--I have to find things out for myself."
Uncle Joe smiled humorously. "Reckon we're most of us built that way,
eh, Cliff?"
Mr. Ashe gave a rueful nod. "Yes, what the other fellow has been
through doesn't count for much. We all have to blister our fingers
before we'll believe that fire really burns."
They were all silent for a moment.
"Has any one seen Solomon?" asked Blue Bonnet suddenly.
"I think Don is showing him over the ranch," replied Uncle Joe. "I saw
them both headed for the stables a while ago."
"I'm glad they're going to get on well," said Blue Bonnet in a
relieved tone. "I was afraid Don would be jealous." She gave a clear
loud whistle, and a moment later the two animals came racing across
the yard, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to be first up
the steps. Blue Bonnet stooped and picked up the smaller dog, fondling
him and saying foolish things. Don, the big collie, gave a low whine
and looked up at her piteously.
"Not jealous, did you say?" laughed Uncle Joe.
Blue Bonnet patted the collie's head. "Good dog," she said soothingly.
"You're too big to be carried, Don." Then she put down Solomon and
bending put a hand under Don's muzzle; his soft eyes met hers
affectionately. "I'm going to put Solomon in your charge--understand?
You must warn him about snakes, Don,--and don't let the coyotes get
him." A sharp bark from Don Blue Bonnet was satisfied to take for an
affirmative answer, and with another pat sent him off for the night.
"Has Alec some place to sleep?" inquired Blue Bonnet, her hospitable
instincts suddenly and rather tardily aroused.
"Benita has put him in the ell by me. He's there now, unpacking
to-night so that he won't have to waste any time to-morrow. I never
saw a boy so keen about ranch-life as he is. He seems to look on
himself as a sort of pioneer in a new country," Uncle Joe chuckled.
"It's all new to him," rejoined Blue Bonnet. "This is his first
glimpse of the West. I hope he gets strong and well out here--General
Trent worries so about him."
"It will be the making of him," Uncle Cliff assured her. "He'll go
back to Massachusetts as husky as Pinto Pete, if he'll just learn to
live outdoors, and leave books alone for a while."
"I'm going to hide every book he has brought with him," declared Blue
Bonnet. "And Sarah Blake will need looking after--she has the book
habit, too."
Uncle Joe shook his head. "It seems to be a germ disease they have
back there in Massachusetts. Glad you didn't catch it, Blue Bonnet."
"Oh, I'm immune!" laughed she, as she said good-night and went to seek
Benita.
She found her old nurse in the kitchen, resting after an arduous day.
Gertrudis, the famous cook "loaned" for the summer by a neighboring
ranch, was mixing something mysterious in a wooden bowl, while her
granddaughter Juanita, a nut-brown beauty, pirouetted about the room,
showing off her new rosettes in a Spanish dance.
Blue Bonnet clapped her hands. "That's a pretty step, Juanita,--will
you teach it to me some day?"
"Si, Señorita," she assented eagerly, showing all her white teeth in a
delighted smile. "It is the _cachucha_."
"The girls will all want to learn it," Blue Bonnet assured her. She
draw Benita into the dining-room and then gave her a hearty squeeze.
"Everything's just lovely, you old dear," she cried. "The girls are
crazy about the nursery, and they think you are the dearest ever!"
Benita's wrinkled face beamed. "If the Señorita is pleased, old Benita
is happy," she said deprecatingly.
"Benita, I missed you dreadfully, off there in Woodford. I had to make
my own bed and do my own mending!"
Benita gave an odd little sound of distress. "But Benita will do it
now," she urged anxiously.
"You'll have to get around Grandmother then, Benita,--I can't."
"The Señora is kind--" Benita began.
"--but firm," added Blue Bonnet. "I leave her to you!"
It was so late before the girls finally settled down into their
respective corners, that it seemed only about five minutes before they
were awakened at daybreak by the most terrific tumult that ever smote
the ears of slumbering innocence.
Bang, bang! Boom, crash, bang! Shouts, yells, wild Comanche-like cries
rent the ear, and punctuated the incessant booming that shook even the
thick adobe walls of the nursery.
Four terrified faces were raised simultaneously from four white beds,
and four voices in chorus whispered: "What is it?" No one dared stir.
Suddenly the door was burst open and in sprang a white-robed figure,
hair flying, eyes wide with terror. Straight to Blue Bonnet's bed the
spectre flew and leaped into the middle of it with a plump that made
its occupant gasp.
"Oh, girls, it's Indians!" wailed the newcomer; and then they saw that
it was Sarah.
"Indians?" exclaimed Blue Bonnet. "There aren't any Indians around
here. Get off my chest and I'll go see."
Casting off the bed-clothes and the startled Sarah at the same time,
with one spring Blue Bonnet was at the window. What she saw there was
hardly reassuring; the whole space between the house and the stables
seemed to be filled with a howling, whirling mass of men. In the gray
half-light of early dawn she could recognize no one. Suddenly a fresh
explosion set the windows rattling; there was a hiss and a glare of
red. In the glow she caught a glimpse of Alec; he held a revolver and
was shooting it with sickening rapidity, not stopping to take aim.
Blue Bonnet staggered back faint with horror, and the girls gathered
fearfully about her. Uncle Cliff's voice giving an order came to them
from outside. Blue Bonnet leaned out and shrieked--"Uncle,
Uncle--what's the matter--oh, what is it?"
Never had voice seemed so welcome as those calm, soothing tones, when
Uncle Cliff replied: "Reckon you've forgotten what day it is, Honey."
Blue Bonnet turned on the girls. "What--what day is it?"
And the light from within was suddenly greater than that from without
as they answered in a sheepish chorus:
"The Fourth of July!"