JACQUELINE'S MISFORTUNE.
TO one side of Mr. Simpson's big ranch lay a new orchard. The ranch
people in Wyoming were just beginning to discover what wonderful fruit
could be grown in certain portions of their cattle country and Jean and
Jack were dreadfully envious of their neighbor's five acres of pears,
plums, apples and cherries. Their own poor orchard had been set out only
two years before and the trees appeared like a collection of feeble
switches.
"Let's ride through the orchard and fill our pockets with apples before
we start on our way," Harry suggested. The moonlight was so clear and
radiant that the boys could distinguish the color of the few late apples
that still hung on the trees. The road back of the orchard led to a
trail across the prairies, which neither the ranch girls nor Harry knew.
It seemed to travel to the land of nowhere across a shining path of
light.
Jacqueline took the lead, followed by Frank Kent, Jean and Harry. The
ponies had been all day in the corrals and some of the witchery of the
October night had gotten into them as well as their riders. They
galloped swiftly, their shaggy manes shaking and their long tails
arched, and soon left the level lands of their host's ranch far behind.
"I never had such a wonderful ride in my life!" Frank Kent exclaimed.
"How utterly still the night is!"
Jack's hands hardly touched her reins and she laughed joyously. "Oh,
that is because we are out on the prairie and going too swiftly for you
to hear. Over there where we see a line of shadow, I believe we will
find some water and a grove of trees. Then you will hear the noises of
the night, which are part of our Western life."
Jack and Frank slowed down. Jean and Harry were a short distance behind
them. They had ridden to the edge of a ravine, and across the gorge was
a solitary butte or low mountain. On this side the moonlight fell on a
stretch of evergreen forest, whose tall trees rose black between the
splashes of light.
"Listen," Jack whispered softly.
First came the mournful call of the wildcats from the depth of the
ravine, then, near the entrance to the woods, the whimper and squeak of
the owls.
Frank caught a sound which the last few weeks in Wyoming had taught him
to understand, the long melancholy wail of the coyotes, the wolf dogs of
the prairies. But to-night the howl was deeper and more prolonged.
"What was that?" Frank asked quickly.
"Wolves, I suppose," Jack answered with perfect calmness. "There may be
a few of them prowling about. They often come out at night at some
distance from the ranches."
Jean and Harry cantered up. "Hasn't the ride been just too beautiful?"
Jean sighed. "I can't bear to think we must turn back to go home."
"Home? Why it's not late," Harry argued, but Jean shook her head.
"We have got to try the forest trail for just a little bit of the way,
Jean," Jack pleaded recklessly. "We won't go far in. It will be like
fairyland in there to-night. See how plain the trail is, there must be
water somewhere and the trail was made by the deer and antelope on the
way to the pool to drink. To-night I shan't believe that anybody knows
of these woods but us."
Jack did not wait for an answer. She would not listen to Jean's
remonstrance, for all the willfulness in her was aroused and she thought
only of her own desire.
She turned Hotspur's head into the woods. There was no chance to ride
beside her, as the way was too narrow, so the rest of the party followed
in single file.
"You ought to have let me go on ahead, Jack," Harry declared in a
worried tone. "You know nothing of this trail and you may come to
grief!"
Jacqueline laughed teasingly. "Don't be preachy, Harry. You know Hotspur
and I are used to looking after ourselves." Jack whistled like a naughty
boy:
"On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flying fishes play,"--
and waved her hand to the others to follow her at a sharper pace.
"Jack's awfully silly to-night," Jean remarked to Frank Kent. "I hope
Aunt Sallie won't mind, but there is nothing for us to do but to keep up
with her. We won't get back to the ranch until awfully late."
Frank hesitated. "Look here, Miss Bruce, I know I am a tenderfoot, but
do you think we ought to go into these woods at night? Don't think,
please, that I am afraid for myself. But Miss Ralston just told me that
there might be wolves about. I am not armed, though I believe that Harry
has his pistol. I should hate to have you get in trouble."
Jean understood Frank Kent better than Jacqueline did. To tell the
truth, he seemed a bit slow to Jack, she liked people with more get up
and go, more fire and energy in them. But Jean guessed that Frank had
plenty of strength and courage beneath his quiet manner, and Jean was
right.
"Wolves don't attack parties, not once in a thousand times," Jean
explained simply. "And we are making entirely too much noise to be in
any danger. It is the solitary individual the wolves like to get after.
They are such mean cowardly wretches."
Frank Kent smiled grimly. The ranch girls were a puzzle to him, they
talked about wolves and bears and wild cattle as calmly as most girls
spoke of dogs and cats and canary birds, and Frank could see that they
were not putting on airs. They would not have gone deliberately into
danger any more than a sensible fellow would have done; but Jean and
Jack had grown up in a country where men had lived by the killing of
wild game. Their house was filled with the skins of wild animals, shot
by their father and the cowboys from their place. While they were still
little children they had been taught the use of a gun. Jack often had
been on hunting trips with her father in the northern parts of the State
and was perfectly able to bring down a lynx or a cougar with a
well-trained shot between its eyes. She had never been able to shoot a
deer, for in spite of being brought up like a boy, her heart failed her
at the thought of destroying anything that did not live by preying on
other animals.
Jack gave a cry of pleasure. "See!" she called back. "I haven't brought
you to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but I have led you to
a pool of silver." She had brought Hotspur to a standstill in front of a
little silver lake, where the ravine extended in a circle into the
woods.
For a moment the four riders were breathless with admiration, then a big
brown form lumbered out of a clump of low bushes. Hotspur reared and
the indistinct mass rolled by Jacqueline and made for a thicket.
"It's a bear!" Jack shouted triumphantly. "Who would have thought we
could have had such luck? Let's go after old Bruin and see what becomes
of him; he won't eat us up."
Jack was only joking. She had no real idea of following the bear; she
wasn't even sure what beast had trundled by them, but was only in a wild
humor and wondered how far the others would follow her. She gave Hotspur
a little cut with her whip.
"Come back, Miss Ralston," Frank called sharply. He had ridden near
enough to her to reach out for her bridle.
Jack grew more reckless. She sprang aside but did not notice that the
ground opened in front of her in a narrow, broken crevice, until
Hotspur's fore feet went down the incline and Jack pitched headlong over
him, falling with a crash in the brushwood beyond.
In the medley of cries and confusion that followed, Jacqueline did not
know whether she had been unconscious a second or an age when she was
aroused by a peculiar noise which she was familiar with. It was a
horse's terrible cry of pain. She tried to sit up. Jean and Frank Kent
had dismounted hurriedly and come over to her, while Harry Pryor was
trying to get Hotspur out of the gully.
"I am afraid you will have to help me, Frank, if Miss Ralston isn't
hurt; I am afraid Hotspur has broken his leg."
Jacqueline gave a little cry and Jean covered her cousin's eyes with her
hands. There was a pain in Jack's shoulder that was wrenching and
tearing at her, but it was nothing to the feeling that Harry's words
created.
"It can't be true," she sobbed. "I couldn't have hurt my pony like
that."
But it was true, for Harry and Frank had Hotspur on the level ground and
the little pony lay moaning and neighing pitifully. There was only
moonlight to show what had happened, but Jack flung herself down beside
him and her tears fell in his shaggy mane. "What can we do?" she begged.
"Doesn't any one know how to set a pony's leg?"
Harry shook his head. "You know it's hopeless, Jack. There is but one
thing to do for Hotspur. I can ride back to the ranch for help, but it
would only prolong his pain."
"You mean you must shoot him, don't you, Harry?" Jack asked.
Jean and Frank both turned away their heads. Even in the moonlight, they
could see that Jack's face was ghastly white and her lips almost blue.
Only Jean knew how much Jacqueline cared for her pony; he had been her
father's gift and for the past three years Jack had hardly ever ridden
any other horse, unless Hotspur were too weary to carry her. The thought
that her own heedlessness and obstinacy had brought the disaster only
made it the harder to bear.
Harry nodded. "It's the only way, Jack, you know."
"All right," Jack answered briefly. "Be quick."
Jean's tears were blinding her but Jack looked straight ahead.
"Take the girls toward home with you, Frank," Harry suggested. "I'll
come afterwards."
"I would rather wait until it is over," Jack begged. "It is my fault
that this has happened and I won't go away like a coward, Hotspur would
like to hear my voice until the end." Jack felt her eyes burn and her
throat swell as now and then she patted the quivering broncho.
Jean led her cousin a short distance off, but Jack's eyes never left her
pony. She saw Harry get out his pistol, load it and point straight at
Hotspur. A single shot rang out, a long tremor ran through the horse's
body, a single sound like a sigh shook it and Jack's best beloved friend
and servant was gone forever.
"Take me back to the ranch, please," she whispered hoarsely, all her
courage gone. Harry lifted her on his broncho and for a time walked
beside her. Then Frank changed places and Harry rode. For a part of the
time, Jack cried silently. She had not mentioned the pain in her arm,
although it grew stiffer each moment, but now and then she winced.
"You are hurt, aren't you, Miss Ralston?" Frank questioned. "I was
afraid you were all along." But Jack shook her head; she could think of
nothing but Hotspur.
Jean, however, was thinking of something else. She remembered that it
was after midnight and they were not yet back at the Simpson ranch.
What would Aunt Sallie and Mr. Simpson say? And what would Laura and
Mrs. Post think of them? Jean shivered, for now that the excitement of
their trip with its sad ending was over, she realised that she and Jack
ought never to have gone off riding alone. Poor Jean's cheeks were hot
with blushes, in spite of her shivers. She and Jack had not meant to do
anything wrong, still they ought to have known better. Was it because
they had no mother that neither of them had thought?
Just before they reached the ranch, Jack turned a white face toward the
other truants. "Remember, please, that whatever blame we receive for
to-night's ride, the fault is all mine; I proposed the ride, I would go
farther when Jean asked me to turn back. Don't anybody say anything
different, for you know it is true."
Frank Kent listened silently. He made no reply, but it was hardly his
idea that a man should allow a girl to shoulder all the blame for any
mistake.
Mrs. Simpson and her husband rushed down from the veranda, and were
followed by a few of Jean's, Jack's and Harry's most intimate friends.
Dan Norton was waiting for Frank, with an unpleasant grin on his face.
Laura and most of the company had gone to bed, but Laura's mother
surveyed the two ranch girls with an expression they had never seen in
their free happy girlhood.
"I shall never forgive you children as long as I live," Aunt Sallie
exclaimed angrily. "Where in the world have you been? I knew you had
been left to your own devices, Jean and Jack, but I did think you had
more judgment than to ride across the country at this time of the
night."
"It was all my fault," Jack repeated humbly. "We meant to go for just a
short ride and I didn't think you would care, but we went farther and
farther and Hotspur broke his leg, so we had to come back with just the
three horses. Jean did want to turn back sooner, Aunt Sallie," Jack
whispered. They were now inside the ranch house, under the lights of the
lamps. "Please don't scold her. I know I did very wrong and I'm sorry;
won't you please let me explain better in the morning?"
And then Jack saw everything slipping away from her and the place grew
horribly dark. Big Mr. Simpson caught her in his arms.
"There, Sallie, don't scold any more to-night," he ordered. "The child
is worn out. She did wrong, of course, but I expect she has been
punished enough by losing her pony. It's the boys who are most to blame,
I'll warrant you. Of course they led the girls on this wild goose
chase."
Harry and Frank Kent eagerly bowed their heads. "I didn't think you
would believe any such nonsense as Miss Ralston has been telling you,"
Frank avowed. "Of course Mr. Pryor and I are responsible for the ride
and everything that occurred," he ended, with more gallantry than truth.
Aunt Sallie might have kept up her scolding all night, for she was a
good-hearted woman with a very high temper, adored by her successful
husband and accustomed to having her own way, but she saw that Jack was
in pain. There was something in the girl's white face with the dark
circles under her eyes and the look of penitence and pain instead of her
usual almost haughty expression, that touched her.
"Come to bed, child," she said suddenly. She caught Jack's arm. For the
first time, the girl gave a cry of pain at her own hurt. "I think I have
sprained my shoulder a little, Aunt Sallie," she explained quietly. "I
will be all right in the morning."
It was another hour before Mrs. Simpson got Jack's shoulder properly
bandaged and had her stored away in bed. Fortunately, the shoulder was
only sprained, not broken. Yet Jack could not sleep; it was not alone
the pain that kept her awake, but the realization that she and Jean were
no longer little girls and could not do what they liked without a
thought. It was she who had led Jean into mischief, yet try as she
might, she could not bear the whole burden of the wrongdoing, and she
wished to-night, that the ranch girls had some one to look after them,
some older woman.