Harry did not come into view of the Robinson ranch until nine o'clock.
It had been a long, hard drive from Hailey, and three miles yet lay
between her and the homestead. Fortunately, it was not quite dark.
Behind the mountains the after-glow still burned, dull orange and rose,
and the tops of the buttes reflected a pale saffron gleam. But dark
shadows filled the cañons, and objects near by had an odd trick of
disappearing in the darkness just as Harry looked at them.
The ranch house lay dark and silent. Thinking that the family had gone
to bed, Harry was going on without stopping. She was really too tired
to stop and talk. As she came nearer, however, she saw a light in the
kitchen; then the door opened and some one came down the path toward
the gate.
"Hello there!" Robinson called. "That you, Holliday? Don't get down;
I'll open the gate."
"It's I, Harry!" the girl answered. "I won't come in, thank you. But
please tell Jimmy that he needn't ride over in the morning; I'll take
care of the animals now."
"Say, you ain't alone, are you? Where's Rob at? Anything happened to
him?" Robinson had swung back the gate and was peering at the girl
perched on the wagon seat. "Vashti told us something was wrong."
"Yes. There's been some trouble over a horse Rob was boarding for a
man, and he had to stay in Hailey." She broke off. How could she go
into the story here, at this time of night?
"A hoss, eh? Well, them things do take quite some time to straighten
up. But you can stop here with us until he gets home."
"Oh, thank you! Really, though, I guess I'd better go on. It's so late,
and----"
"Sure thing. Too late for you to be chasin' back there alone to-night,
ain't it, ma?"
"That's what." Mrs. Robinson, with her arms wrapped in her apron,
had joined them, and stood listening while Harry told again what had
happened to Rob. As the girl gazed down through the clear darkness the
scent of the wild bean floated down to her from the hillsides. The
hurrying patter of water in the irrigation ditches soothed her tired
brain with the magic of a spell; her head nodded and her words became
indistinct.
"Say, Johnny, she's droppin' in her tracks, she's so tired!" cried Mrs.
Robinson. "Take them lines and hand her down 'fore she takes a header
into the ditch."
Mrs. Robinson spoke in a tone of command, and "Johnny" obeyed. Yielding
the lines with honest relief that she need go no farther that night,
Harry climbed down and walked stiffly to the kitchen with her hostess.
The big, half-furnished room was neat and orderly from Saturday's
scrubbing. Vashti, in her Sunday starched lawn frock and new scarlet
hair ribbons, smiled bashfully. Mrs. Robinson, too, with "rats" in her
hair and wearing a new purple gingham dress, seemed ten years younger.
As she pulled forward a chair, Harry noticed that her right hand was
swathed in a bandage.
"Yes, I burnt me, like a stupid," Mrs. Robinson explained. "Everything
gets in a mill at once, seems like, and I burnt up a cake and busted
a plate and put my hand out of business all at once. I got kind of
behind Sat'day, havin' them extry hands to feed--we've got three here
irrigatin' the alfalfy. We allus feed 'em good; it gives you a name
outside, and you get the pick of hands when the rush of work brings 'em
into the valley. Now, here's your tea warm; come and have a snack. It
ain't much, but it'll hold you till morning, anyhow."
While she was talking, Mrs. Robinson had been setting out dishes at
one end of the table. Harry sat down before a bewildering array of
pickles, jelly, jam, cold meat, and hot fried "side meat," cake, pie,
and some warmed-over vegetables from supper. If this was a "snack,"
Harry wondered what a "square meal" was. She was hungry from her day
in the open air; but more compelling than her need of food was her
need of sleep. Even while she drank her tea and tried to tell of
her experiences on the trip to Hailey, her eyelids sank leadenly.
Presently, in the middle of a sentence, she saw Mrs. Robinson smiling.
"You poor young one! You're that sleepy you don't know what you're
sayin'. Vashti, run get some sheets and comfortables and we'll make up
the davenport in the front room."
"It's good of you to keep me overnight when I know you have a houseful
already," said Harry.
"Don't you worry. Nobody but comp'ny ever sleeps in the front room."
Mrs. Robinson led the way proudly into the room. Exhausted as Harry
was, she knew what was expected of her, and managed to say something
about the gorgeous carpet, the dazzling wall paper, and the vivid table
cover.
The air in the room was lifeless, and as soon as Harry was alone she
carefully drew aside the lace curtains and opened the window wide.
Then, after taking a long breath of the fragrant night air, she
undressed and dropped into bed. For a second she was conscious of sweet
comfort; she gave a great sigh of content--and knew no more until she
opened her eyes to the dawn and heard the clatter of stove lids in the
kitchen.
"Well! You up?" exclaimed Mrs. Robinson in surprise, when Harry walked
into the kitchen. "You could ha' laid another hour yet; breakfast ain't
till six."
"I hoped you'd let me help. How is your hand this morning?"
"It hurts still, but I don't know what more I can do; it's covered good
with flour and lard."
"If you would try it, I have some salve over in the tent. It's really
wonderful stuff. Mother made me bring a big jar of it. I'll bring it
over this afternoon."
"Land sakes, girlie, go all that distance just to fetch me some salve?
Not much! There ain't no need of you goin' over to your place nohow.
Jimmy can easy ride over and feed until your brother gets back."
But Harry was firm. She not only thought it her duty to stay on the
homestead, but she felt a sort of pride in staying there alone. Her
solitary drive, her adventure in the city of rocks, had waked a new
spirit within her, and that spirit was struggling to express itself.
She was, however, quite unconscious of that.
"Please let me cook breakfast," she said suddenly. "I'm sure I can if
you'll just tell me how you have things. I can fry the potatoes and
make good coffee, anyhow."
"Well, I b'lieve I will let you. 'Tain't real good manners to set your
comp'ny to work, but you'll excuse me this once, I guess. I couldn't
even dress the baby this morning--had to leave that to Vashti. Say,"
she added, "you couldn't stay a week and cook for me while these boys
are here, could you?"
Harry grew rather pink and stammered a polite refusal.
"Well," said Mrs. Robinson, "I know you ain't used to this kind of
work, but any one can see you're smart. You'd get the hang of things in
half a day."
"I'd stay in a minute," Harry assured her, "just because you were so
kind to us when Rob got hurt. But you know how it is, with all these
cattle round, and ours just new to the place. If they should get out,
they might get way across the river before Rob comes home."
"Yes, that's right. And you two have got to work together if you're
goin' to make anything of homesteadin'. Pity you didn't take up a claim
of your own while you were at it. A girl that's got a hundred and sixty
in her own name is as independent as anyone."
"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't; but there's plenty to do, even on Rob's land."
"Ain't that the truth! Just wait until you get a crop in, though, and
are lookin' for harvest hands--"
"We shan't have that trouble for a year or two, anyhow. Rob expects to
go out to work, haying and harvesting for other people, and I suppose I
shall stay at home and look after things."
"Say! Why couldn't you come over and help me at haying and harvesting?
I'd pay you five a week and your board, and it'd keep the traces stiff
here. Seems like the wagon is allus on my heels, as you might say, in
the rush season."
"I'll come if I can," Harry promised.
She turned out the crisp, brown potatoes, poured the gravy into a bowl,
and set the coffee back while she fried the eggs. Mrs. Robinson went
out to pull the bell rope. The big iron bell hanging from the gable
clanged its call, and a shout answered from the corral.
While Mrs. Robinson was overseeing the morning ablutions of the smaller
children, who had come tumbling into the room at the sound of the bell,
Harry went to the door to get a breath of fresh air after the heat and
smoke of the kitchen.
The sun was just rising over the end of the foothills, and its rays
shot up into the blue sky like altar flames; its red-gold beams made
the trunks of the quaking asps up the cañon look like the pillars
of a church. Unseen among the leaves a robin was chanting, rapt and
blissful as a cloistered saint. That solitary voice of joy seemed all
at once the voice of the morning--of the desert morning--monotonous,
yet thrillingly significant to one who could see what the desert might
mean. For an instant the girl's spirit flamed up in the knowledge
of things yet to come. Then Mrs. Robinson called her, and she heard
once more in the room behind her the homely clatter of the household
assembling to breakfast.
"Them men folks comin'?" Mrs. Robinson called. "It's on the tap of six
now."
As she looked at the clock, she filled the oatmeal bowls and ordered
the children to their places at the table. Mrs. Robinson prided herself
on serving her meals piping hot, without keeping the men waiting. While
the men were coming in, the ranchwoman quickly filled the cups from
the big blue enamel coffeepot, and set platters of eggs, plates of hot
biscuits, and dishes of bacon at intervals on the table. Wondering and
admiring, Harry watched her.
Mrs. Robinson motioned the girl to a place distinguished by a clean
napkin, and at the same time introduced her to the young men.
"Let me make you acquainted with Miss Holliday; boys. This here's Pete
Mosher, and Con Gardner, and Lance Fitch--Miss Harriet Holliday. She
and her brother have homesteaded just east of here."
The young men bowed and murmured, "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
Mrs. Robinson herself did not come to the table, but standing near by
with her hands on her hips, watched to see that every one had all he
wanted. Harry felt she had learned more this morning about how to do a
great deal rapidly and efficiently than a month of solitary struggle on
the homestead would have taught her. It made her feel as if she must
get back there as soon as possible and "do things."
Mr. Robinson was telling the men about Rob's trouble with the sheep
herder; all of them, it seemed, had had trouble with Joyce's men.
"Joyce is the meanest of all the sheepmen who come through here," said
Lance Fitch. "Never gives a homesteader a bit of mutton, and grabs
every blade of grass in sight."
"That's how he got so rich," remarked Pete Mosher; "by hoggin' the
pasture and stealin' homesteads. I bet he's never hired a herder that
he didn't make at least one homestead off him."
"Can't something be done to stop him?" asked Harry. "Couldn't some one
go and ask him for a job herding, and then, when Joyce tried to get him
to file on a homestead, have him arrested and prove him guilty?"
"Say, you catch Joyce and we'll send you to the legislature," promised
Robinson, with a laugh.
Harry stayed long enough to help wash the dishes; then, in spite of the
family's vigorous remonstrances, she drove over to the ranch. The heat
of the day came on before she reached home, and she was glad that she
had started early. Although there was not a great deal for her to do
on the homestead, she did not finish her various tasks until noon. Hot
and hungry, she went up to the tent to get herself some luncheon and to
look for the jar of salve. She had just started to build a fire when
she heard a horse's tread outside, and thinking that it was Rob, flew
to the doorway. But it was a stranger that faced her--a big man, with
keen, friendly eyes and a low, drawling voice.
"Robert Holliday live here?" he asked.
"Yes," Harry answered, "this is his homestead, but he's not here now.
I'm his sister. Is there any message you wish to leave?"
"Pleased to meet you; Miss Holliday. I'm the sheriff of Lincoln
County--Mason is my name. I've got a bunch of horses down in Shoshone
that I understand Mr. Holliday can tell me something about. Do you know
when he'll be home?"
"No, I don't. To tell you the truth, he's over in Hailey now, in jail,
on a false charge of having stolen one of those horses."
"A false charge?" The sheriff looked at her searchingly.
"Yes." Harry colored under his keen inspection. "Chris Garnett, the
deputy sheriff for this county, found my brother riding a horse that
Garnett claimed as his. As Rob refused to tell him where he got it,
Garnett took him to jail. But he admits now that he doesn't think Rob
stole his horse. Rob could come home if he wanted to, but he's waiting
over there to see Judge Raeburn and explain the whole matter to him."
"H'm! Well, maybe you can tell me where your brother got that horse."
"No, I can't. It was in the bunch of colts that a fellow named Jones
brought in here, but I don't know where they came from."
"What were they doing here?"
"The colts? Why, Jones and Rob had some sort of a partnership in them.
They broke them together, and Jones drove them out and sold them, I
guess, for he had taken more than half of them when he disappeared
about a week ago. We haven't any idea where he went, or whether he came
up and took the rest of the horses without telling Rob."
"I see. And Garnett? Where's he at?"
"Gone to find Jones and see what he can get out of him."
Mason laughed. "Well, I'll be going on. You say your brother is staying
over in Hailey to talk things over with Judge Raeburn? Court opens in
Hailey to-day; so your brother ought to get back here to-morrow. I'm on
my way to Soldier and I'll stop over here on my way back--in a couple
of days or so."
"I wonder if you'll do me a favor?" Harry exclaimed, as Mason turned
his horse. "Will you leave a little package at the Robinsons' for me?
It's some salve for Mrs. Robinson's hand."
"Sure I will. I haven't seen the family for quite some time."
"What a stupid I am!" Harry exclaimed, as she watched the man ride away
in the distance. "I didn't remember to ask him where Jones was, or
where he found the colts, or anything. I wonder whether anything can be
wrong--whether he arrested Jones?"
She turned away. A swarm of new, strange fears had suddenly sprung to
life to torment her.