THE VIOLINIST AGAIN
As Allen had predicted, there was a general rush on the part of the
miners to establish claims on the property adjoining the ranch, and the
girls congratulated themselves over and over again that they had reached
Dan Higgins with the glad tidings in time for him to secure the best
location.
All day long the girls were in the saddle, hovering about the new gold
diggings, fascinated at the way new mines seemed to spring up over
night.
Next to those on their own property, they were most interested in Dan
Higgins' mine and in their hearts they would really rather have had him
find gold than to find it themselves.
"They need it so much more than we do," Betty said anxiously. "If Dan
Higgins and Meggy have drawn another blank I don't know what they will
do."
In the midst of all this confusion and excitement, Amy received the
program of the benefit concert given at the Hostess House for which she
had sent home some time before. They had almost forgotten the hermit and
it was with a shock of surprise that they remembered they had not seen
him since the new mining operations. Before that they had run across him
quite often attempting to help Meggy and Dan in his rather eccentric
way.
"Guess he must have been scared off by the crowd," said Mollie. "Too
much excitement for the old boy."
The four of them were sitting on the large front porch of the house,
still in their riding habits, while their horses, at the foot of the
steps, stamped their impatience to be off again. Nothing but the arrival
of the mail could have drawn the girls from the fascination of the new
gold diggings. They hardly took time to eat; and as for sleep, well,
they took that in between times!
Now Grace called to Amy, making room on the step beside her.
"Come over here and show us your program," she said, extracting a bit of
candy from some hidden recess somewhere about her person and popping it
into her mouth. "I'm anxious to see what that violinist's name was."
Amy obeyed, and as Grace opened the program Mollie and Betty drew closer
and peeped over her shoulder.
"Concerto--Liszt," read Grace, her finger pointing down the page. "No,
that isn't it. That's for the piano. Hold on, here we are.
Chopin--Nocturne--Paul Loup, violinist. There he is. Now will you please
tell me how that helps us to find out anything about the hermit?" She
paused with her finger still pointing to the name and looked up at them
inquiringly.
"We-el," said Betty thoughtfully, "it doesn't help very much, I must
admit. It doesn't prove that Paul Loup is our Hermit of Gold Run. Only
that funny feeling I have of having seen him before and heard him
play----"
"I tell you what we'll do!" Mollie snapped her fingers decisively. "It's
a long chance and it may not work at all but--are you game to try it?"
She paused and regarded the expectant girls eagerly.
"Maybe," said Betty, noncommittally. "You might tell us the idea first."
"Listen," cried Mollie. "My idea is that if we take the hermit by
surprise, call him by his name of Paul Loup. Why--" She paused, and the
light of inspiration filled her eyes. "I could even speak to him in
French----"
As the girls caught her full meaning they looked at her admiringly.
"I shouldn't wonder if that plan would work," said Betty swiftly. "Why
can't we go now? Dinner won't be ready for a couple of hours."
"Right you are," cried Mollie, taking the four steps at one jump and
springing upon her astonished horse. "Come on, girls, are you with us?"
"We'll have to lead 'em a merry pace," said Betty to Mollie a moment
later as they galloped abreast up the road. "If we don't get them there
in a hurry they're apt to get cold feet and think we're crazy."
"Maybe we are," chuckled Mollie, urging Old Nick on to even greater
speed. "I've had a suspicion that way several times before."
It was Betty's turn to chuckle.
"So have I!" she said, adding with a sigh of resignation: "But oh, it is
so much fun. Look behind, Mollie. Are they still coming?"
"Strong," reported Mollie, with a glance over her shoulder. Then, as
they reached the trail that led through the woods, she reined in a
little, motioning for Betty to take the lead. "You know the trail
better," she said.
Over the rough woodland trail their progress necessarily became slower,
a fact which the girls did not relish at all. It gave them time to
reflect on what a really rash adventure they had embarked, and any but
the Outdoor Girls might have turned back even at this last minute.
However, curiosity, together with some vague hope that they might become
of service to this strange sad fellow, urged them on. If Paul Loup and
the Hermit of Gold Run were really one and the same person, then surely
there was a real mystery which they might in some way help to unravel.
They did not linger any longer on the way than was absolutely necessary,
for the terrible experience they had had with the timber wolves soon
after their arrival had made them suspicious of the forest, and try as
they would they could not suppress an uncomfortable desire to search
every shadow for some sinister, lurking presence.
In vain had the cowboys on the ranch assured them that wolves were very
scarce in this part of the forest, especially in the summer, and that
they had had an unusual and unique experience. As Amy had said, one
experience like that was enough to last a lifetime.
They came in sight of the cabin without mishap, however, and they
tethered their horses a little farther from the house than usual, so
that their stamping and neighing might not frighten the hermit away.
Then they made their way with as little noise as possible along the
narrow path.
"Suppose he isn't at home?" whispered Mollie to Betty.
"Then we're out of luck, that's all," returned Betty cheerfully.
But the hermit was at home. They could see him moving about, and as they
came nearer they smelled an appetizing odor of frying bacon, as though
he were cooking his dinner.
"Hope he asks us to stay to lunch," said Grace, and the girls giggled
nervously.
"We'll be lucky if he doesn't slam the door in our faces," said Amy
pessimistically.
It was Mollie who knocked this time--and it was no timid little rap
either, but a good, hearty rat-at-tat, that brought the occupant of the
cabin to the door in a hurry. He had the frying pan still clutched in
his hand and on his long narrow face was such a look of dread that the
girls felt sorry for him.
"Well," he said, the emotion within him making his voice sound stern and
forbidding, "what is it you wish? It is not raining to-day as it was
that other time." He gazed significantly up at the cloudless sky seen in
little blue patches through the trees, and the girls flushed, partly
from embarrassment and partly from anger. Somehow, they had not been
prepared to have him take this attitude, and they resented it.
For a moment they stood miserably tongue-tied. Even their usually
quick-witted Little Captain seemed suddenly to have been stricken
speechless. They were just about to turn and run when Mollie saved the
day for them.
Pushing forward through the group she confronted the man on the door
step.
"_Vous êtes Paul Loup, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?_" she said in a clear
voice, gazing up at him fearlessly.
While the girls gasped at her temerity a most astounding thing happened.
The man dropped the frying pan and it clattered to the floor, its
contents spilling out greasily. While they looked he seemed to crumple,
shrivel, and his eyes stared at them glassily out of his white mask of a
face.
"_Mon Dieu!_" he cried hoarsely, staggering back into the shack. "You
have found me! But I swear to you I did not kill him. _Mon Dieu_, I
could not kill my brother!"