The morning after Margaret's departure Rosa awoke with no feelings of
self-reproach, but rather a great exultation at the way in which she had
been able to get rid of her rival.
She lay for a few minutes thinking of Forsythe, and trying to decide
what she would wear when she went forth to meet him, for she wanted to
charm him as she had never charmed any one before.
She spent some time arraying herself in different costumes, but at last
decided on her Commencement gown of fine white organdie,
hand-embroidered and frilled with filmy lace, the product of a famous
house of gowns in the Eastern city where she had attended school for a
while and acquired expensive tastes.
Daintily slippered, beribboned with coral-silk girdle, and with a rose
from the vine over her window in her hair, she sallied forth at last to
the trysting-place.
Forsythe was a whole hour late, as became a languid gentleman who had
traveled the day before and idled at his sister's house over a late
breakfast until nearly noon. Already his fluttering fancy was apathetic
about Rosa, and he wondered, as he rode along, what had become of the
interesting young teacher who had charmed him for more than a passing
moment. Would he dare to call upon her, now that Gardley was out of the
way? Was she still in Ashland or had she gone home for vacation? He must
ask Rosa about her.
Then he came in sight of Rosa sitting picturesquely in the shade of an
old cedar, reading poetry, a little lady in the wilderness, and he
forgot everything else in his delight over the change in her. For Rosa
had changed. There was no mistake about it. She had bloomed out into
maturity in those few short months of his absence. Her soft figure had
rounded and developed, her bewitching curls were put up on her head,
with only a stray tendril here and there to emphasize a dainty ear or
call attention to a smooth, round neck; and when she raised her lovely
head and lifted limpid eyes to his there was about her a demureness, a
coolness and charm that he had fancied only ladies of the city could
attain. Oh, Rosa knew her charms, and had practised many a day before
her mirror till she had appraised the value of every curving eyelash,
every hidden dimple, every cupid's curve of lip. Rosa had watched well
and learned from all with whom she had come in contact. No woman's guile
was left untried by her.
And Rosa was very sweet and charming. She knew just when to lift up
innocent eyes of wonder; when to not understand suggestions; when to
exclaim softly with delight or shrink with shyness that nevertheless did
not repulse.
Forsythe studied her with wonder and delight. No maiden of the city had
ever charmed him more, and withal she seemed so innocent and young, so
altogether pliable in his hands. His pulses beat high, his heart was
inflamed, and passion came and sat within his handsome eyes.
It was easy to persuade her, after her first seemingly shy reserve was
overcome, and before an hour was passed she had promised to go away with
him. He had very little money, but what of that? When he spoke of that
feature Rosa declared she could easily get some. Her father gave her
free access to his safe, and kept her plentifully supplied for the
household use. It was nothing to her--a passing incident. What should it
matter whose money took them on their way?
When she went demurely back to the ranch a little before sunset she
thought she was very happy, poor little silly sinner! She met her father
with her most alluring but most furtive smile. She was charming at
supper, and blushed as her mother used to do when he praised her new
gown and told her how well she looked in it. But she professed to be
weary yet from the last days of school--to have a headache--and so she
went early to her room and asked that the servants keep the house quiet
in the morning, that she might sleep late and get really rested. Her
father kissed her tenderly and thought what a dear child she was and
what a comfort to his ripening years; and the house settled down into
quiet.
Rosa packed a bag with some of her most elaborate garments, arrayed
herself in a charming little outfit of silk for the journey, dropped her
baggage out of the window; and when the moon rose and the household were
quietly sleeping she paid a visit to her father's safe, and then stole
forth, taking her shadowy way to the trail by a winding route known well
to herself and secure from the watch of vigilant servants who were ever
on the lookout for cattle thieves.
Thus she left her father's house and went forth to put her trust in a
man whose promises were as ropes of sand and whose fancy was like a wave
of the sea, tossed to and fro by every breath that blew. Long ere the
sun rose the next morning the guarded, beloved child was as far from her
safe home and her father's sheltering love as if alone she had started
for the mouth of the bottomless pit. Two days later, while Margaret lay
unconscious beneath the sage-brush, with a hovering eagle for watch,
Rosa in the streets of a great city suddenly realized that she was more
alone in the universe than ever she could have been in a wide desert,
and her plight was far worse than the girl's with whose fate she had so
lightly played.
Quite early on the morning after Rosa left, while the household was
still keeping quiet for the supposed sleeper, Gardley rode into the
inclosure about the house and asked for Rogers.
Gardley had been traveling night and day to get back. Matters had
suddenly arranged themselves so that he could finish up his business at
his old home and go on to see Margaret's father and mother, and he had
made his visit there and hurried back to Arizona, hoping to reach
Ashland in time for Commencement. A delay on account of a washout on the
road had brought him back two days late for Commencement. He had ridden
to camp from a junction forty miles away to get there the sooner, and
this morning had ridden straight to the Tanners' to surprise Margaret.
It was, therefore, a deep disappointment to find her gone and only Mrs.
Tanner's voluble explanations for comfort. Mrs. Tanner exhausted her
vocabulary in trying to describe the "Injuns," her own feeling of
protest against them, and Mrs. Brownleigh's foolishness in making so
much of them; and then she bustled in to the old pine desk in the
dining-room and produced the letter that had started Margaret off as
soon as commencement was over.
Gardley took the letter eagerly, as though it were something to connect
him with Margaret, and read it through carefully to make sure just how
matters stood. He had looked troubled when Mrs. Tanner told how tired
Margaret was, and how worried she seemed about her school and glad to
get away from it all; and he agreed that the trip was probably a good
thing.
"I wish Bud could have gone along, though," he said, thoughtfully, as he
turned away from the door. "I don't like her to go with just Indians,
though I suppose it is all right. You say he had his wife and child
along? Of course Mrs. Brownleigh wouldn't send anybody that wasn't
perfectly all right. Well, I suppose the trip will be a rest for her.
I'm sorry I didn't get home a few days sooner. I might have looked out
for her myself."
He rode away from the Tanners', promising to return later with a gift he
had brought for Bud that he wanted to present himself, and Mrs. Tanner
bustled back to her work again.
"Well, I'm glad he's got home, anyway," she remarked, aloud, to herself
as she hung her dish-cloth tidily over the upturned dish-pan and took up
her broom. "I 'ain't felt noways easy 'bout her sence she left, though I
do suppose there ain't any sense to it. But I'm _glad he's back_!"
Meantime Gardley was riding toward Rogers's ranch, meditating whether he
should venture to follow the expedition and enjoy at least the return
trip with Margaret, or whether he ought to remain patiently until she
came back and go to work at once. There was nothing really important
demanding his attention immediately, for Rogers had arranged to keep the
present overseer of affairs until he was ready to undertake the work. He
was on his way now to report on a small business matter which he had
been attending to in New York for Rogers. When that was over he would be
free to do as he pleased for a few days more if he liked, and the
temptation was great to go at once to Margaret.
As he stood waiting beside his horse in front of the house while the
servant went to call Rogers, he looked about with delight on the beauty
of the day. How glad he was to be back in Arizona again! Was it the
charm of the place or because Margaret was there, he wondered, that he
felt so happy? By all means he must follow her. Why should he not?
He looked at the clambering rose-vine that covered one end of the house,
and noticed how it crept close to the window casement and caressed the
white curtain as it blew. Margaret must have such a vine at her window
in the house he would build for her. It might be but a modest house that
he could give her now, but it should have a rose-vine just like that;
and he would train it round her window where she could smell the
fragrance from it every morning when she awoke, and where it would
breathe upon her as she slept.
Margaret! How impatient he was to see her again! To look upon her dear
face and know that she was his! That her father and mother had been
satisfied about him and sent their blessing, and he might tell her so.
It was wonderful! His heart thrilled with the thought of it. Of course
he would go to her at once. He would start as soon as Rogers was through
with him. He would go to Ganado. No, Keams. Which was it? He drew the
letter out of his pocket and read it again, then replaced it.
The fluttering curtain up at the window blew out and in, and when it
blew out again it brought with it a flurry of papers like white leaves.
The curtain had knocked over a paper-weight or vase or something that
held them and set the papers free. The breeze caught them and flung them
about erratically, tossing one almost at his feet. He stooped to pick it
up, thinking it might be of value to some one, and caught the name
"Margaret" and "Dear Margaret" written several times on the sheet, with
"Walpi, Walpi, Walpi," filling the lower half of the page, as if some
one had been practising it.
And because these two words were just now keenly in his mind he reached
for the second paper just a foot or two away and found more sentences
and words. A third paper contained an exact reproduction of the letter
which Mrs. Tanner had given him purporting to come from Mrs. Brownleigh
to Margaret. What could it possibly mean?
In great astonishment he pulled out the other letter and compared them.
They were almost identical save for a word here and there crossed out
and rewritten. He stood looking mutely at the papers and then up at the
window, as though an explanation might somehow be wafted down to him,
not knowing what to think, his mind filled with vague alarm.
Just at that moment the servant appeared.
"Mr. Rogers says would you mind coming down to the corral. Miss Rosa has
a headache, and we're keeping the house still for her to sleep. That's
her window up there--" And he indicated the rose-bowered window with the
fluttering curtain.
Dazed and half suspicious of something, Gardley folded the two letters
together and crushed them into his pocket, wondering what he ought to do
about it. The thought of it troubled him so that he only half gave
attention to the business in hand; but he gave his report and handed
over certain documents. He was thinking that perhaps he ought to see
Miss Rosa and find out what she knew of Margaret's going and ask how she
came in possession of this other letter.
"Now," said Rogers, as the matter was concluded, "I owe you some money.
If you'll just step up to the house with me I'll give it to you. I'd
like to settle matters up at once."
"Oh, let it go till I come again," said Gardley, impatient to be off. He
wanted to get by himself and think out a solution of the two letters. He
was more than uneasy about Margaret without being able to give any
suitable explanation of why he should be. His main desire now was to
ride to Ganado and find out if the missionaries had left home, which way
they had gone, and whether they had met Margaret as planned.
"No, step right up to the house with me," insisted Rogers. "It won't
take long, and I have the money in my safe."
Gardley saw that the quickest way was to please Rogers, and he did not
wish to arouse any questions, because he supposed, of course, his alarm
was mere foolishness. So they went together into Rogers's private
office, where his desk and safe were the principal furniture, and where
no servants ventured to come without orders.
Rogers shoved a chair for Gardley and went over to his safe, turning the
little nickel knob this way and that with the skill of one long
accustomed, and in a moment the thick door swung open and Rogers drew
out a japanned cash-box and unlocked it. But when he threw the cover
back he uttered an exclamation of angry surprise. The box was empty!