AN ECHO FROM THE PAST
Though he little relished the errand, the old man yielded to his
daughter’s pleading, and they were quickly galloping toward Petersen’s
“quarter,” Phil riding beside the girl and the other two close behind
them.
“I mistrusted something was wrong when I saw Lem leading that horse,”
said the girl. “He doesn’t buy horses.”
“How does he get them?” inquired her companion, his tone evidencing his
surprise at the statement. “He doesn’t steal them, does he?”
“Not exactly. That is, Lem says it ain’t stealing, but I say it’s just
the same. He lends money, and when the people can’t pay, he takes their
horses. But I saw this black was fat and sleek, so I knew it hadn’t been
worked any.”
“Nice sort of a person this Petersen seems to be,” commented Phil.
“He’s a bad man. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could see his shadow
at noon. But he’s got into trouble with the forest fire patrol. They
think he set a couple of fires last summer and they are watching him all
the time, though he doesn’t know it. They’ve only got to keep watching
him long enough and they’ll get him. And when the patrol gets him, his
money won’t save him.”
“Easy, gal, easy,” cautioned her father. “We’re liable to run across him
anywhere now and he’s too handy with his matches to have him get any
more angry at us than he is.”
These words, suggesting as they did the old man’s fear that Petersen
might seek revenge by burning his buildings, gave the boys their first
intimation of the danger attending the quest of the black to the girl
and her father, and Phil quickly said:
“You mustn’t come another step with us. We can find the way, all right,
and not for worlds would we have any trouble come to you through us.”
But neither the old man nor the girl drew rein, and the boy asked:
“Won’t you _please_ go back?”
“No, we won’t,” snapped the girl. “Pap’s always afraid Lem will burn us
up, but I tell him Lem daresn’t.”
Finding that they could not dissuade their companions, the boys rode on,
but Phil took good care to turn the conversation into other channels,
regaling the girl with an account of their experiences in purchasing
their outfit, and the drive back to the camp.
Well did this serve to take the homesteaders’ minds from the risk they
were running, and they were laughing and joking about the loungers’
advice when a man suddenly stepped from the underbrush into the road in
front of them.
“What you riding on my quarter for, Jasper?” he demanded. “Ain’t I told
you to keep offen it?”
At the words and the menacing manner of the man, the four had pulled in
their mounts.
“We was looking for a black hoss, Lem, and the law says a man ain’t
trespassing when he’s hunting his livestock,” retorted the old man,
sharply.
“What makes you think he come this way?”
“Because I saw you leading him,” exclaimed the girl.
“That warn’t a black, that was my dapple bay.”
“Just as if I didn’t know the difference between a dapple bay and a
black, Lem Petersen,” snapped the girl. “These boys have lost a black,
with a new halter like the one you was leading. Better give it back to
them—and save trouble.”
“I tell you, I ain’t—” began Petersen, angrily, only to be interrupted
by a loud whinny from the heavy brush to the right of the group.
Like a flash Ted leaped his pony into the undergrowth, and before the
others could follow, he shouted:
“Here he is. Here’s our black tied to a tree. Wait there and I’ll lead
him out.”
“You leave that horse be!” roared Petersen. “He’s mine. I bought him
from—”
“Never knew you to _buy_ a horse, Lem. Thought you boasted you didn’t
have to ’cause you could always get enough for debt,” broke in the old
man.
This thrust seemed to render Petersen speechless with fury, and before
he could find words to express himself, Ted reappeared, leading the
runaway black.
“Dapple bay, is it? You’d better have your eyes examined, Lem,” taunted
the girl.
In the face of the discovery that he had lied, Petersen screamed:
“You drop that halter. That’s my horse. I took him from Joe Hunt for
debt. If you don’t let him go, I’ll have you arrested for
hoss-stealing.”
But the old man paid him no heed. Instead he asked Phil:
“Is that the horse you lost?”
“It certainly is.”
“Then come on. We’ll lead him back. You young folks ride ahead. None o’
that, Lem,” he added harshly, as the fellow’s hand dropped to his
hip-pocket. “Murder would be goin’ too far—even for you.”
An instant Petersen glowered at the old man who faced him so fearlessly,
then snarled:
“But I tell you I got that black from Joe Hunt. I ain’t going to let an
old numbskull like you beat me out of him, neither.”
“You know—” began the girl, but she was quickly silenced by her father.
“Let _me_ do the talking, gal. Look a here, Lem, that horse ain’t never
been worked and you know it. If Joe Hunt had a horse like that, he
wouldn’t feed it for a week. He’d figger he could live on his fat that
length of time.” Petersen opened his mouth to reply, when Phil said:
“It is a simple matter to prove the ownership. We’ll lead him over to
this gentleman’s tonight and tomorrow we will ride into Bradley and
bring back Sam Turner, from whom we bought the black. _He_ would
certainly recognize one of the horses he sold us.”
“There, that’s fair, Lem,” declared the old man. “Course, the hoss might
have been Joe Hunt’s, though it would be the _first_ time he ever had a
decent one, but Sam Turner will know if he sold him to these
homesteaders. You know me well enough to know the black will be safe in
my barn.”
Expecting an explosion of wrath, the others were amazed to hear Petersen
break into a loud laugh.
“Say, you folks can’t take a joke, nohow, can you?” he gasped between
bursts of forced merriment. “I was just ‘stringing’ you along, Jasper. I
wanted to see how far you’d go. I found the horse grazing beside the
road. Realizing he had broken loose and seeing he was valuable, I was
taking him home to keep till the owner showed up. When I saw you coming,
I knew these kids was the owners and I thought I’d have a little fun.”
One and all who heard this explanation realized it was a clever lie to
get himself out of an unpleasant predicament, but the old man said:
“All right, Lem. You’ve had your joke and we have the hoss. Now we’ll be
going.”
And without more ado they put their mounts to a trot, Ted still leading
the black. But as they retraced their course, they commented sharply
upon Petersen’s words and actions.
Arrived at the weather-beaten log cabin, the young homesteaders thanked
the girl and her father heartily for their assistance, and turned their
horses to go back to their camp.
“But you mustn’t go home till after supper,” protested the girl.
“Sure not,” chimed in the old man, taking his cue from his daughter.
“Joy’s one rare, fine cook.”
“Thank you, but it will be too dark then for us to find our way back,”
returned Phil, though in a voice that proved his desire to accept.
“Then Pap and I’ll ride over with you, or you can stay till morning.”
“We couldn’t think of putting you to so much—” began Phil, when his
brother exclaimed:
“Oh, let’s stay. My mouth is watering for something good to eat. I’m
tired of bacon and eggs, and I’ve only been eating them for a couple of
days.”
Ted’s ingenuousness sent them into a gale of laughter, and with one
accord they all rode to the barn, where the horses were put up, after
which they returned to the cabin, and the boys watched eagerly while Joy
brought out pies, cakes and other toothsome dainties and set them on the
table.
“Land sakes, here we be, entertaining comp’ny, and we don’t even know
their names,” exclaimed the old man, after they had been eating for some
time.
“We were too excited to remember to introduce ourselves,” apologized the
elder boy. “Our name is Porter. This is my brother, Ted, and I am Phil.”
“Oh, what a lovely name,” exclaimed the girl, and then, blushing in
confusion, she added hastily: “Ours is Jay. They call Pap Jasper and me
Joy.”
The glance that Phil gave the girl showed he thought the name most
appropriate, though he sensibly refrained from saying so, but Ted gave
him a wink to let him understand he read his mind.
Happy in the thought of such unexpected companionship, the young people
laughed and chatted, oblivious of Mr. Jay and the intentness with which
he scrutinized the boys.
All at once, during a pause in conversation, their attention was drawn
to the old man.
“You look like him, yet you don’t,” Jay murmured to himself; then
leaning forward, he asked suddenly: “Be you any relation to Winthrop
Porter?”
For a moment the boys stared at the old man in silence.
“Why, he was our father,” finally replied Phil.
“Glory be! I’ve found ’em at last! I’ve found ’em at last!” cried the
old settler, in delight. “Just to think it was Porter’s boys I helped
get their horse from Lem. That pays part of my debt and this will make
up the balance, though I don’t reckon it will mean to you what it did to
me.”
And fumbling in his pocket, Mr. Jay drew out an old and worn wallet,
from which he took two hundred-dollar bills which he handed to Phil.
“I—I don’t understand,” returned the boy, gazing from the soiled bills
to the old settler and then at the others.
“Thirty year ago, Winthrop Porter grubstaked me for two hundred. It’s a
long story. But it gave me and Melissie our start. For five year I’ve
been carrying them bills against meeting some one who could tell me
where Winthrop Porter was. Joy, she writ when I first had ’em, but the
letter was sent back stamped ‘Not known,’ so I callated he’d moved. Now
me and Winthrop Porter is square, ’s fur as money is concerned.”
“But we can’t take this money, Mr. Jay,” protested Phil, recovering from
his amazement. “If father let you have it, he gave it to you, he didn’t
lend it.”
“Sure you will take it,” flared the old settler.
“Why not let the matter rest for a while?” suggested Ted.
“No. I want it settled right now.”
“Well, we won’t take it,” declared Phil; then seeing the protest in Mr.
Jay’s eyes, he added: “Please don’t ask us to. Father wouldn’t like to
have us.” And he held out the money.
A moment the old settler hesitated, then took it.
“Glory be, Joy! I can git that reaper now,” he exclaimed.