For some minutes Harry walked along the stream without seeing or
hearing the sage hen. But this bit of discouragement only increased her
interest. How could they hide so quickly without flying? The chicks
were too young to fly and surely the hen would not desert them! No,
there they were now!
Harry felt her blood quicken with interest as the covey of bark-gray
birds slid across a sun patch beyond the willows and vanished again
amongst the quaking asps higher up. So absorbed did she become in
this game of hide and seek that she never once thought of the meadow
pasture and it was only as she made a detour to avoid a great patch
of fire-weed that she came alongside the fence. At the same moment,
she saw a man come riding slowly across the shoulder of the hill. He
appeared to be watching for something, for he rode slowly and looked
about.
Harry stood perfectly still, hoping he would not catch sight of her.
But her light dress at once caught the rider's eyes and before she
could move he was riding toward her.
He was a tall, big-shouldered young fellow, dressed in cowboy fashion.
"Seen any strays round here, ma'am?" he asked, lifting his hat. "I'm
looking for one."
"Strays? Horses, you mean?" Harry stammered.
The sound of the stranger's voice had recalled something to the girl's
mind. She had seen this man before. His voice, his smooth, freckled
face, his blue eyes--she knew them. She blushed with confusion, for the
young man was looking at her intently.
"I don't believe there've been any strays here," she said. "My brother
might know."
"Your brother down at the tent yonder?"
"No, not now. He's gone off with--with another man."
"You ain't got no horses of your own here that mine could ha' got in
with?"
"No--yes--I mean we're boarding some horses, but they're colts and
inside the pasture, and I'm sure there are no strays among them."
The stranger had dismounted and, leading his horse, was walking beside
her.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Ain't I seen you before?" he asked.
"That's what I was wondering," Harry laughed. "But I can't remember
your name. Mine is Harriet Holliday."
"Sure thing! It was comin' up in the train, wasn't it? Mine's Chris
Garnett."
At once Harry remembered. After telling each other that they were
glad to meet again, they walked on toward the tent. "Whose horses are
those?" Garnett asked, pointing at the big team in the corral.
"Oh, that's the work team!"
"I thought you said your brother was off."
"Yes, he's riding one of the horses we're boarding."
"A colt?"
"No, you see there were two old--I mean good, broken horses in the
bunch. Rob and the fellow who owns the horses are riding them."
Harry's explanation was somewhat jerky. The subject of Jones and his
horses still rankled in her, and she could not speak of them naturally.
Garnett looked at her gravely. She felt the color rush into her face
and her eyes fell.
"You must stay and have some lunch," she said at last, trying to turn
the conversation away from the painful subject. "I haven't a hot
dinner, because the boys aren't going to be home, but I'd like to have
you stay."
To her surprise Garnett readily accepted her invitation. While she
was setting the table, she kept stealing glances at him, and tried to
harmonize her memory of the very boyish person she had met on the train
with this quiet young man. He was the same big, friendly fellow, with
the same laughter-wrinkled eyes; but now there was something beneath
his reserve that she could not quite understand. Sitting cross-legged
on the grass outside the tent, he played with 'Thello, and talked
casually to Harry while she moved about inside. All the restraint of
the first moments had apparently passed; Garnett said nothing more
about the horses until he left, an hour later.
"If that pony of mine should come in here," he said, turning in his
saddle, "I'd be a lot obliged to you if you'd send me a line. Soldier's
my post office. That horse of mine is about six years old, sorrel,
ring-and-arrow brand. You'd notice him in a bunch of cayuses."
A sorrel! Harry's thoughts flashed to the sorrel horse which Rob had
ridden away that morning. She felt a pang of vague apprehension, and
wondered whether Garnett had noticed her startled look.
When Garnett had gone, she tried to reassure herself. Of course
anything that Rob took an interest in was all right; but _why did he
keep it a secret from her_? Suppose that sorrel horse should prove to
have the ring-and-arrow brand? There might be many sorrels with that
brand, yet her heart beat more nervously and her lips grew dry.
An idea came to her, and she ran up the glen toward the pasture where
the colts were hidden. She knew that the sorrel was not there, but she
wanted to see whether the colts were branded.
When she reached the upper end of the glen she crawled through the
barbed wire, and was just emerging from the shelter of the trees when
she saw Garnett ride along the fence and look at the bunch of colts
inside.
Harry stepped back, instinctively afraid of his seeing her. Why? She
demanded it of herself fiercely. Why should she feel guilty because
Rob was concealing something from her? She had done nothing wrong. But
Garnett suspected something; he had not believed her.
Humiliation swept over her. Even after Garnett, satisfied that his
horse was not there, had ridden away, and after she had returned to the
tent, her cheeks burned at the thought, "He did not believe me."
She determined to tell Rob about the whole affair and to make him
explain the mystery. Also, she would look at the brand on that sorrel
horse.
But Rob and Jones did not get home until ten o'clock. They were very
tired and hungry, and Harry was so busy getting supper for them that
she did not have a chance to go into the matter.
The next morning Jones rode away on the black horse. When Rob had gone
down to the brush to work on the fence, Harry ran out to the corral and
looked at the sorrel. The brand was perfectly plain--ring and arrow!
Her first impulse was to go out to Rob and tell him all about Garnett's
visit; but when she thought of how completely Rob's work always
absorbed him, she hesitated. After all, what was the use of breaking
into his morning's toil with her story? She might just as well wait
until noon.
As she stood, irresolute, her gaze wandered to the distant prairie.
Now, early in June, every minute of the day brought some new and
lovelier expression of nature's magic to view; the color that filled
the valley was slowly deepening with the unfolding year. Far down
the prairie spread the green wheat fields, the squares of alfalfa
and plowed land, the pale clouds of pink where the fruit trees were
in bloom. Through the crystalline air the curve of hill and hollow
shimmered resplendent.
Harry's eyes grew vague while she pondered. For the first time her
heart went out to her new surroundings. She had been stupid to shut
herself out from partaking of this land. She turned restlessly back
into the tent.
Regret for not having filed on the land next to Rob's and the thought
of Jones and the sorrel horse worried her. It was intolerable to think
of settling down to humdrum tasks of housework or garden. Calling
'Thello she set off up the draw in the dumb desire of "working it off"
outdoors.
The narrow vale between the towering buttes was now at its loveliest.
Bees buzzed in the wild rose thickets; wild flowers of vivid
colors--scarlet, blue, violet and yellow--dappled the earth at her feet
and even splashed the sides of the barren buttes. Along the stream,
where the ground was always moist, a dense tangle of weeds and vines
had sprung up and, with the willows, made it difficult to get through
except in certain places.
Harry followed the same course she had taken the day before when
following the sage hen. But this morning she noticed how differently
the ground appeared. The willows had been broken through; the vines
had been torn away; and the stream had been trodden into a slough by
countless hoofs. Some cattle had come through on their way to the
hills, but they had kept to the draw farther east. 'Thello sniffed
suspiciously and Harry wondered what had been there; but as she
crossed the brook for the last time and came out onto the meadow she
stopped short. A great flock of sheep were feeding. Spread out round
the verdant basin they were eating silently, steadily, greedily, with
short, close-cropping nibbles that would leave nothing but the bare
ground of the rich pasture before them. At sight of her, one or two
ewes "blatted" and moved on, but the others were too busy feeding to
notice her.
Harry's first astonishment flared suddenly into sharp indignation. She
looked round and saw the herder watching her from a rocky knoll near
by. "Please come down here!" she called sharply, and then added to
herself, "It's that Boykin--the one Rob ordered off before. Miserable
creature!"
He came down very slowly and stood before her much as he had stood
before Rob, with his eyes smouldering under his half-shut lids.
"Well, come to fetch me my dog?" he drawled.
"Your dog! Didn't my brother tell you not to feed down here? This is
our pasture."
"Is it?"
"Yes, you know it is. And you had better drive your sheep off right
away, too."
"Had I?"
"Yes, at once." Even as she spoke Harry felt how empty her words were.
"You know perfectly well that you have no right on our land. You're
spoiling the pasture, and the stream, too. I wondered what had made
the water taste so queer. It's because your sheep have been in it."
"If you don't like it, I reckon you can dip out of another spring.
There's plenty in these hills."
"How dare you talk so!" Harry was trembling nervously. "You shall see
whether we'll put up with such lawlessness!"
She flew home, with her cheeks hot with anger, and with the sheep
herder's laugh echoing in her ears. When she entered the tent she found
Rob there.
"Oh," she cried breathlessly, "you remember that herder you told not to
come in here? He's up in the glen now. I've just seen him. I told him
to go, but he won't. He laughed."
Rob walked to the door. "Will dinner be ready by twelve, sis?"
"I guess so. Why?"
"I'm hungry," he said quietly. "It's eleven now."
Harry stared at him. "You aren't going up there?"
"Yes, after dinner. He'll be there until then, won't he? If I knew
where to find the camp tender, I'd tell him a thing or two about that
herder--make the whole outfit clear out. I don't care if Joyce has put
him on the next homestead, I filed here first, and he has no right to
put the man on there, anyway. I don't know whether there's any law in
this country, but if there is----"
He left the tent abruptly.
Harry began mechanically to get dinner. When it was ready, she blew
the horn and Rob came in. He said nothing about the sheep herder, but
ate his dinner calmly. At the end of the noon hour he rose, went to the
door, and stood looking out.
"I don't know how I'm going to keep those fellows off," he said, half
to himself. "I can't let my work go, to be chasing them all the time."
He pushed up his hat and scratched his head dubiously.
"Of course not; but if they're going to ruin our drinking water and eat
all the grass----"
"Oh, I'm going to drive this outfit away!" he said, as he went out.
In her anger and excitement over the sheep, Harry had completely
forgotten Garnett and his horse. She began to gather up the dishes,
and then, leaving everything, ran outside. A queer excitement filled
her. She wondered what Rob would do. He had disappeared beyond the
willows and for some minutes all was silent. From where she stood she
could see, above the top of the grove, the rocky slope of the hillside
running across the end of the cañon. Suddenly, from that hillside a
cloud of dust began to rise. Harry could hear nothing, but in a few
moments she saw the sheep spread up over the hill and scatter in all
directions. The dust rose in blinding clouds; the sheep, catching the
panic from their leaders, fled wildly, and finally disappeared round
the hilltop. Harry sighed contentedly and went back to her dishes. Rob
would soon come in and tell her what had happened. Absorbed in her
work, she quite forgot Rob. Not until some time later, when she had
hung up her apron and was putting on her hat with the idea of joining
him at his work, did she remember where he had gone.
"Something must have happened!" she exclaimed. "He's been gone almost
an hour." She went outside and looked up toward the glen. All was
quiet; she could see no sheep or dust. "He's probably gone on over the
hills," she decided, "driving them off so far that they cannot come
back."
Satisfying herself with that explanation, she went inside and sat down
to do some mending. In a few moments her brother came slowly into the
tent.
"Rob!" she cried out. "What is it?"
His face looked strange, and he stared at her without answering. She
took a quick step forward and drew a terrified breath. His hair was
matted with blood; blood oozed from a gash on his forehead; and as she
felt him over with trembling hands, she touched a bruise, swollen and
dark, at the base of his skull.
"Oh, Bobs! What has happened to you, dear? Oh, he's fainting! Bobs,
don't! Oh, what shall I do!"
Rob had turned very white; he swayed dizzily, and then caught himself.
"I'll lie down a while!" he muttered. "Feel pretty mean. That fellow
beat me up. Jumped out on me from the bushes before I saw him. I'd
run the sheep up the hill--was waiting to see if they'd come back. He
knocked me over--kept beating me. Must have fainted."
His words trailed away and his face grew moist with sweat. Stumbling
to the bed, he dropped down on it.
Harry had never seen a person faint, and for a moment she hung over
Rob, staring at him. The sight of his familiar face, bloodless under
the tan, so solemn, quiet, and strange, filled her heart with a passion
of remorse. What ought she to do?
The only restorative at hand was cold water. She bathed Rob's forehead,
rubbed his hands, and tried to force a drink between his teeth.
Then unexpectedly Rob stirred, opened his eyes, drew a slow breath, and
smiled.
"All right, sis," he murmured. "--Just rest a while."
Harry smiled back; then she ran outside the tent and burst into tears.
"I must get a doctor," she murmured, when she got control of herself.
Returning to the tent, she bathed and bandaged her brother's wounds.
The cut on his scalp was bleeding steadily, though slowly; the bruise
at the base of his skull was swollen and throbbing. He was quite
conscious now, but very weak and dizzy from pain; and, although he
answered her when she spoke, he evidently wanted to rest and sleep.
"How in the world am I ever to go after a doctor?" she thought
desperately. "I can't harness the team or even put a saddle on the
pony. If I had only, only learned! I suppose I shall have to walk to
Robinson's and get them to go to Soldier for me. It means leaving Rob
alone for hours. How can I ever do it?"
Tears blinded her as she stared down at him.
"And it's all my fault!" she groaned. "It would never have happened if
I hadn't been so hateful--hadn't made him go, had taken the homestead,
hadn't kept 'Thello in the first place!"
She felt very remorseful and penitent. When she had made Rob as
comfortable as she could, and had put water close beside him, she set
out. The fear that Rob would die haunted her. Sometimes so sharp and
heavy was the pain of leaving him there alone, and so dreadful the fear
of what she might have to face on her return, that she wavered and
looked back.
Only the knowledge that her brother's need of a doctor was greater and
more urgent than his need of her drove her on. Through the heat and the
dust and the white glare, she hurried, hurried, hurried. As she rounded
each butte in succession and saw the empty road curving far ahead round
another, she wondered passionately how much farther Robinson's was.