NO NEWS.
WEEKS passed and there was no word from Olive. The ranch girls had
almost ceased to talk of her return. They had begun to lose hope.
Immediately after Frank Kent and Jack left him, on the day of the
round-up, Jim Colter had gone to the Indian village, but he could find
no trace of Olive there. Curiously enough old Laska had disappeared from
her hut several days before, so she could scarcely be held responsible
for the lost girl. She had said nothing of where she was going nor when
she expected to return. In Indian fashion, she had departed silently,
carrying only a bundle strapped across her back.
Josef would give no information. Jim tried him with threats and bribes,
but the boy insisted he knew nothing of Olive. He had not seen her in
many weeks. It was useless to try to make an Indian betray a secret he
meant to keep and Jim Colter knew better than to waste his time. The
Indian is as suspicious and reticent to-day as he was in the old days,
when no kind of torture ever wrung a sound from him.
Advertisements were inserted in the papers in the nearby towns, but no
girl answering to the description of Olive was ever reported. She had
vanished as completely as though she were dead. By and by Jim Colter
gave up the search. He did not believe that they would ever see the
Indian girl again.
Frank Kent kept quietly at work. He was very rich, and without a word to
anyone, offered a reward for Olive's return, so large that had Laska
seen it and had she had Olive in her possession, she must surely have
given her up. Frank came often to Rainbow Lodge. The girls no longer
thought of him as the guest and relative of their bitterest enemy, and
the name of the Nortons was never mentioned between them. He used to
take Jean and Frieda and Cousin Ruth off on long excursions to keep them
amused, but Jack would rarely go with them. She seldom left the ranch
and spent the greater part of the time alone, refusing to talk either of
Olive or the prospect of losing Rainbow Ranch, which loomed nearer with
each passing day. Jack was polite to Cousin Ruth, but she never
expressed any penitence to her or to Jim for her wilfulness, which
seemed to be responsible for Olive's loss. But daily Jack grew paler and
thinner. She seemed much older and quieter than the radiant beautiful
girl who had been the ruling spirit of the entire ranch. Everyone who
knew her worried over the change in her, and most of all Ruth, who
wondered if she were not somehow to blame for the whole disaster. If she
had not opposed Jack's going to the round-up, Jim would have taken Jack
with him and Olive would not have left the Lodge.
Jean and Frieda bore their troubles differently. Sometimes they would
talk of Olive and again of the loss of their home and Jean would weep
passionately for a few minutes and Frieda would cry softly. But they
would soon cheer up and be convinced of Olive's immediate return and the
discovery of the lost deed to the ranch. Jean even suggested that they
need not perish if the ranch were taken away from them. She was quite
sure she would be able to work and support herself and possibly Frieda.
And for once Jack laughed, for, as she explained to her cousin, she and
Jean knew nothing in the world except how to ride horseback, and ranch
girls though they were, they could hardly be expected to join a circus.
But no one interfered with Jack. She took her long rides alone in spite
of the cold weather, for they seemed to be the only things that would
quiet her restlessness. When she was in the house, she was either
searching in every conceivable crack and corner for the lost title deed,
or else gazing listlessly out of the window.
One clear, frosty morning, Jack came in to an early breakfast, wearing
her riding habit.
"You won't mind if I am away from the ranch all day to-day, Cousin
Ruth?" she inquired quietly. "I would rather not say where I am going,
but I shall be in no danger and I shall be home before dark."
Jean waved her fork pettishly in the air. "What in the world are you up
to, Jacqueline Ralston?" she demanded. "Frieda and I awfully wanted you
to go over to Aunt Sallie's for the day with us. You knew she had asked
us and Cousin Ruth can't go, because she won't learn to ride horseback.
I should think you would be tired of mysteries and secrets by this
time, I am sure I am. Rainbow Lodge didn't use to be like this. It is
the most changed place I ever saw," Jean sighed mournfully. But Jack
made her no answer and waited until Ruth agreed to her request.
By ten o'clock, Ruth Drew was alone at the Lodge. The day began early at
the ranch, as the winter twilights soon closed in and there were no
lights but the stars to guide the wanderers over the prairies.
Ruth had assured the girls she would not be lonely. She had lots of work
to do and letters to be written to the people at home. But somehow Ruth
did not feel in the mood for any of her tasks. She was astonished at
herself. Already the old village life in the East seemed far away;
Rainbow Lodge and the vast, primitive West meant home to her now.
Outdoors the world looked utterly deserted. There was not a leaf, nor a
blade of green grass visible, not a human being, nor an animal in sight,
except old Shep, who howled dismally at having been left at home by the
ranch girls.
Ruth slipped into a heavy old coat and went for a walk up and down the
frozen fields in front of Rainbow Lodge. Old Shep kept close beside her,
with his warm nose thrust in her hand. There were many things Ruth
wished to think about and it would be easier to see clearly and to know
what was best in the open air.
Ruth was exceedingly vexed with the overseer of Rainbow Ranch. What was
to become of Frieda, Jean and Jack, in case they were forced to give up
their home at the beginning of the New Year? Jack had confided to Ruth
that they owned six thousand dollars in bank, beside the stock on their
place. But Jack had no ideas for their future, and Mr. Jim Colter had
not seen fit to discuss with their chaperon any plans that he might have
for the girls. Of one thing Ruth was determined, whatever happened, she
would stay with the girls. She had a little money and she could earn her
living as a teacher if it were necessary, but the ranch girls should not
face the world alone. Nevertheless, Mr. Colter should explain affairs to
her more fully. It was all very well for him to argue that Rainbow Ranch
could not fall into other hands. He should look at both sides of the
question. Ruth had not seen the overseer, except for a few minutes at a
time, since the evening before the round-up. He certainly had not
treated her with proper respect.
The longer Miss Ruth Drew thought of her grievances, the angrier she
grew. Of course there was nothing personal in the matter, but as the
girls' chaperon, she deserved more consideration.
Ruth's cheeks were glowing by this time, partly from the cold air, but
quite as much from temper. She had changed a good deal. Her complexion
was certainly not sallow. She no longer wore her glasses, except when
she wished to read, and her smooth hair was now blowing becomingly about
her face under an old felt hat of Jean's carelessly put on.
But Ruth was not being altogether honest with herself; she did have a
little private spite against Jim. He had promised to teach her to ride
horseback weeks before and he had never referred to the subject again.
She dearly wished to learn. She had wanted to ride over to return Mrs.
Simpson's call and had only pretended an indifference to Jean, because
she did not intend in any way to remind Mr. Colter of his forgotten
promise.
Ruth saw Jim riding up the road that led to the Lodge and drawing
herself up, gave him a stiff little bow. Of course she had known all
along that a cowboy could not be a gentleman, but Jim had struck her as
being rather superior, in spite of his bad grammar. However, no man
worth the name broke a promise to a woman. Ruth turned her back on the
rider and continued her walk with her head in the air.
Jim reined up in front of the frosty young woman. "Good morning," he
said in rather an embarrassed fashion.
The lady's manner was not encouraging. "Good morning," she repeated
severely, "I suppose you wanted to see one of the girls, but they are
all away from the ranch."
Jim shook his head slowly, staring at Miss Ruth Drew with a puzzled
frown. He had not the faintest idea why she was so haughty, and clearing
his throat, continued to stare at her without a word until the silence
grew more and more embarrassing.
Ruth's cheeks grew redder. She was irritated by Jim's silence and the
expression of his eyes, which were as blue and direct as a young boy's.
"Do you want to leave a message for one of the girls or to speak to Aunt
Ellen or Zack?" Ruth inquired irritably.
But still Jim did not speak.
"For heaven's sake, tell me, what do you want, Mr. Colter?" Ruth
demanded. And suddenly Jim laughed.
"Well, I thought I wanted to speak to you, Miss Drew," he drawled in his
slow, good-humored fashion. "But perhaps I had better not. I kind of
thought maybe you would like me to give you a riding lesson this
morning, but I can see now you wouldn't. I have been trying to get one
of the ranch ponies broke in for you ever since I heard you wanted to
learn to ride and now I have got a little broncho that is just about as
gentle as a kitten. But, so long, maybe you'll be feeling more like it
another day."
Jim rode calmly away, leaving Ruth looking as young and foolish as a
cross child.
She did want a horseback lesson to-day of all days, when she was alone
and a little blue. Ruth ran after Jim, entirely forgetting her dignity.
"Mr. Colter, please wait," she called. "I do want to learn to ride,
dreadfully, and I should be awfully glad to have you show me how this
morning, if you don't think I would be too much of a chump."
"Chump!" Ruth's ears burned. Jean's favorite word, "chump," had slipped
out of her lips as unconsciously as though she had never been a New
England school marm with a perfect horror of slang. She wondered if the
ranch overseer had noticed her break.
When Jim turned and smiled down on Miss Drew, she was no longer the
superior person he had just left.
"You'll learn to like it better in Wyoming, once you can ride," he
answered kindly. "Why, when the spring comes, our barren prairies
blossom like a rose and the birds are about everywhere. The ranch girls
want you to get fond of it out here. There ain't any feeling much worse
than being homesick for the things you left behind you. Now run along
and rig yourself up in some kind of a riding habit of the girls. I will
have the pony waiting by the time you are ready."
Ruth rushed into the house, wondering why she felt so absurdly young and
happy all at once.
The young chaperon did not acquire the art of learning to ride
horseback in a single lesson. But Jim was far too sweet-tempered to let
her know that she was the hardest pupil he ever tried to teach. Both the
master and pupil were elated when Ruth finally managed to sit straight
in her saddle, without slipping to either side, and to hold her reins
while the pony walked sedately up and down with Jim at his head.
Late that afternoon, Ruth was sitting alone by the living-room window.
It was growing dark. The day had been a tiring one and she was feeling a
tiny bit depressed. Jack cantered up to the house, gave her pony over to
their colored man, and without so much as a glance at Ruth, strode past
the living-room into her own room and closed the door behind her.
Ruth sighed. It did seem to her that Jack might have come in to speak to
her, thinking that she had been by herself all day. Ruth was beginning
to make up her mind that it was an utterly hopeless desire that she and
Jack should ever be friends. Jack was so reserved and unapproachable and
so bent on having her own way.
Ruth did not expect Frieda and Jean to return for another hour. Mrs.
Simpson had promised to send some one over with them, so they could have
a longer visit with her. It was growing spooky in the living-room, with
only the dancing shadows of the fire. Aunt Ellen had forgotten to bring
in the lamp and Ruth started toward the kitchen down the wide hall.
Outside Jack's door she heard a queer noise that startled her. It was a
strange choking sound, as though some one were in pain. Ruth listened.
The sound was not repeated, but the room was in perfect darkness and she
became vaguely uneasy. She did not understand Jack's disposition. The
girl had been so quiet and unhappy since Olive's disappearance and Ruth
wondered what Jack was doing in the dark alone.
A knock on the door brought no answer and Ruth tried again.
"What is it?" a stifled voice asked.
"Won't you let me come in, Jack?" Ruth urged, feeling her uneasiness
increase.
"I would much rather you wouldn't, I prefer to be alone," Jack replied
in her habitual frigid tones. But Ruth heard a queer little catch at the
end of her sentence that was unfamiliar.
Ruth had her hand on the doorknob and without waiting for permission she
turned it and walked into Jack's room. "I think it is my duty to come in
to you, Jack," she explained, in her self-righteous, lady-governess
tones that Jack so much disliked.
The room was in almost total darkness and Ruth could catch only a faint
outline of Jack's figure, drawn up in its usual proud pose. But to-night
her head was drooping. The fire had burned out in the grate, except for
a few colored ashes, but Ruth found paper and wood and soon brought it
to a blaze. She said nothing and Jack neither moved nor spoke. But Ruth
caught one glimpse of Jack's face, when the firelight leaped up into the
room.
She found an old eiderdown wrapper in the closet and pushed a low chair
near the fire, putting the warm grey gown over Jack's rigid shoulders
and pushing her softly toward the chair.
"There, dear, sit down by the fire," Ruth said gently. "I did not mean
to intrude on you and I will leave you by yourself, but you must try and
not let yourself get ill because you are miserable. There may be a lot,
you know, that you must do for Frieda and Jean."
Ruth could see that Jack had lost her self-control and was trembling
with nervousness and cold, and turned to leave her, but Jack held out a
shaking hand.
"Please don't go yet, Ruth," she pleaded, as though she were one girl
talking to another. "There is something I want to try to tell you if I
can."
Ruth sat quietly down. She realized all at once how much harder it is
for some people to say the things they feel, than it is for others.
"It's about Olive," Jack declared after an instant. "I have been over to
the Norton ranch to-day. I brought myself to ask a favor of Mr. Norton.
I asked him to let me speak to the Indian boy, Josef, who works on his
ranch. Mr. Norton consented, if I would allow him to stay in the room
while I talked. Of course he thought I wanted to play him some trick
about the ranch." Jack spoke indifferently. "I offered Josef everything
I had in the world, a hundred dollars father once gave me and my share
of my mother's jewelry, if he would only tell me what had become of
Olive. He wouldn't tell." Jack shook her head despairingly. "I am
beginning to believe Olive is dead."
"I don't think so, Jack, somehow, though I don't know," Ruth returned
gravely.
"I suppose there is something I ought to say to you, Cousin Ruth," Jack
continued quietly. "I ought to tell you and Jim that I am sorry that I
went off to the round-up against your wishes. Of course I am sorry, it
seems almost foolish for me to speak of it. I don't want to ask you to
forgive me, because of course I shall never think of forgiving myself
for losing Olive, no matter how long I live."
Ruth took hold of Jack's cold fingers. Jack spoke with perfect
self-control, but Ruth began dimly to understand something of her
disposition.
All at once, Jack's calmness gave way. She began to sob, as though she
were torn in pieces. "Oh, Cousin Ruth, won't Olive come back ever? I
used to think that having to give up our ranch would be the most
dreadful thing that could happen, but now I don't. Olive was so gentle
and so timid. I thought I was going to protect and take care of her as
though she were Frieda, but instead of that it was I who led her into
danger."
Ruth and Jack talked quietly after this, until Jean and Frieda came
home. Ruth had entirely lost her school-teacher manner and forgot to
preach.
Jack's reserve having once broken down, she told Ruth all she had
suffered in silence for the past few weeks.
Though Ruth and Jack might have many conflicts of their two strong wills
in the future, they would never misunderstand each other so completely
as they had done in the past.
[Illustration: SOMEONE CREPT UP BEHIND HER WITH THE STEALTHINESS
POSSIBLE ONLY TO AN INDIAN.]