Standing in the door of the tent, Harry stared out over the desert
where the Sheriff had disappeared.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "It seems that out here in the desert you
have to know more and think quicker and be generally all-around smarter
to be good for anything than you do back East, where every one is
supposed to know everything that's worth while."
All during the afternoon, no matter what she happened to be doing, her
thoughts returned to that curious and not very flattering conclusion.
She recalled to mind the different people she had met in the short time
she had been in Idaho. They had all been "onto their job," as they
would have said. Even when they were not naturally qualified for their
work, they were self-reliant and resourceful.
Harry's great desire now was to find a way to help Rob. She looked
round the vast expanse of untilled acres; neither her hand nor her
brain was yet capable of attacking that work. She turned and surveyed
the inside of the tent, and the spirit of all her New England ancestors
rose up in protest within her. Gazing helplessly at the dishes of
half-eaten food, the piles of canned goods, the eggs and butter
heaped under the table because there was no other place for them, she
saw in her mind her New England home, with its cellars, cupboards,
storerooms, and pantries. Of all the housekeeping necessities for which
this chaotic tent cried to her, it cried loudest for a pantry. Who
could keep house without a pantry?
What, she wondered, had Mrs. Robinson done for a pantry when she had
started housekeeping in her one-room "shack"? Harry's thoughts shifted
to the ranch house, and the Robinsons' cheerful slapdash way of doing
the day's work. She remembered helping Vashti bring in the butter and
milk from the side-hill cellar.
A cellar! Laughing, Harry ran down to the garden. She came back with
the shovel and grub hoe, and went on to the stream where the bank rose
steeply on the other side into the slope of the hill.
At first her enthusiasm made the work seem easy. It was fun to drag the
stones from the bank, to tear out roots and bushes, and gradually to
see a cave shape itself. Of course it would be only a miniature cave,
just large enough to hold a wooden packing box on end; but she could
keep there butter and eggs and milk, and perhaps a few dishes.
Before she realized it the sun was low, the pigs were squealing for
their supper, and her hands were badly blistered.
Well along in the afternoon of the next day, Harry was still digging
bravely at her cellar. It was not enthusiasm now, but determination,
that kept her at her task. She stood in the water and chopped doggedly
at the roots. Sometimes she stopped to wipe her hot face on her sleeve,
or to give her hair another twist.
"About a dozen shovelfuls," she said suddenly aloud, "and it will be
finished."
"What'll be finished?"
"Oh!" With a cry Harry whirled round and faced Rob, who stood on the
opposite bank grinning with amusement at the muddy, disheveled young
person before him.
"Rob! You mean thing! How you scared me! When did you come? I didn't
hear you."
"No wonder, making such a racket yourself. What's that? A playhouse?"
"A playhouse! That's a cellar." She dropped her work and walked back to
the tent with him. "Well, it's good to see you. What has happened? What
did Raeburn say?"
"Oh, not much. Gave me some good advice."
"What about Jones? Oh, yes, I forgot. The sheriff was here from
Shoshone. He stopped here to ask you about those colts. He has them
down in town."
"Yes, I know. I saw them last night."
"Well, then, you know more than I do."
"I know you've thought I was pretty mean, sis," Rob said, after a
moment's silence, "not to tell you all about this business at the
start. It wasn't because I didn't trust you; it was simply to save
you from having to answer questions that you couldn't have answered
honestly without giving everything away. But now it's all settled and
you can know what we've been doing.
"First, I suppose you'd like to know who Jones is. I met him winter
before last when we were both working on the new railway out of
Shoshone. Jones had taken a subcontract under Grant, the man who had
the whole job from the company, and from the start everything was
against him: he struck rock, lost a team, and was laid up sick for a
couple of weeks. He just lost out all around.
"Well, when he came to quit he hadn't a cent and was about five hundred
dollars in debt besides. Grant got out a judgment against him for
supplies, and there Jones was, with his whole winter's work shot to
nothing.
"He worked at odd jobs during the summer. Then when he heard of that
government ditch up in the northern part of the state, he hiked up
there. He worked there all winter, got good pay, and saved some money.
He'd written to me, off and on, and I saw he was worried about that
money he owed. He wanted to pay it, but if he came back and paid up
everything, he'd be cleaned out. If he could only invest it and make a
little profit on it, he could pay his debts just the same and have a
little left over to start on. He'd had such hard luck and worried so
hard it seemed only fair.
"I happened to think of bringing horses in to sell. A work team fetches
a good price down round Jerome and Twin Falls, where the new settlers
are coming in. So we went into partnership on a bunch of horses. Jones
went across into Oregon and got some colts cheap and brought 'em down
here."
"But why did you have to keep it a secret?"
"Why, because, if his creditors had found out that he had a bunch of
horses, they'd have attached the whole lot of them and sold them in
auction for whatever they could get."
"But if he had sold them to you----"
"Yes, that's exactly why he did sell them to me; 'consideration one
dollar.' Of course, he and I understood that they were really his, but
legally they were mine, and no one could take them from me to settle
his debts; but to be on the safe side we kept the colts up in the draw
and worked with them only in the early morning and late afternoon, when
there wasn't much danger of cattle men coming through. Well, everything
was going fine, until one day when Jones was off looking up business
he met a fellow he'd known on the railway that winter. Of course the
fellow wanted to know how Jones was doing. Jones forgot himself and
told more than he meant to. The other fellow was on his way to Shoshone
then, and _he_ said more than he should have. Grant heard about it, and
by the time Jones had got back from Jerome, Grant had sent the sheriff
after the horses."
"But why didn't Mason come down to see you?" exclaimed Harry. "What a
strange thing to do--come and drive the horses off your land without a
word!"
"But he didn't know that they were mine, or that they were on my land."
"Well, how did they know where to find them? Jones didn't tell that
fellow exactly where they were, did he?"
"Of course not. It was through Joyce they found out. He was in town,
at Mason's office, when Grant came in to send the sheriff after the
colts, and Joyce remembered seeing them up there in the draw near the
big quaking asp. Every one knows that tree, so it was easy for Mason to
find the horses. It was dusk when he got there, and so I don't suppose
he even thought of looking round to see whether any one lived down
below in the cañon."
"Well, anyhow, if they're yours legally, why can't you go down and
prevent Grant from selling them?"
"I thought of that. But Jones said not to--I talked with him on the
telephone last night. We've sold half the bunch already, and the market
is as good now as it ever will be, and rather than have any mix-up he
thinks it's better to let Grant sell off the rest as quick as he can.
We've made a good profit already, and so long as Jones is satisfied, I
am. I got him into the scheme, so I felt that I had to stand by him to
the finish."
"You certainly did!" exclaimed Harry. "It isn't every one who would go
to jail for a man who is almost a stranger. Lose all that time and gain
nothing by it!"
"Didn't I gain anything?" Rob looked at her oddly. "Didn't we, rather?"
"Didn't we?" she repeated, puzzled.
"Sure. Wasn't it by coming over to bring me that bill that you found
out all about Boykin Hunter and the chance to contest his filing?"
"Sure enough. I'd forgotten. How did his case come out? Did he get the
six months he deserved?"
"Not yet. Joyce was there, and he made a big powpow; said he could
bring witnesses to prove that Boykin was a noble character, that he
wouldn't hurt a fly, and so on. Asked for a stay until next court.
Garnett says that's to give him time to chase round and find another
man to put on that land. He's going to keep an eye on him,--Garnett on
Joyce, I mean,--and if anything suspicious seems to be brewing, he'll
chase down here and warn us."
"That's nice of him, isn't it? You aren't mad at him any longer?"
"At Garnett? Of course not. I was sore at him for being so bull-headed
about his horse; but of course he was right to hang on to his
suspicions until they were proved wrong. He was there this morning in
court. He saw Mason last night, too, and learned the whole story about
this horse deal. Yes, Garnett's a good fellow. It's fellows like him
and old Dan Brannan that show a fellow what the West really is--the
place where the man himself counts every time."
He got up and stretched himself. "I think I'll drive over to Soldier
to-morrow and get a load of lumber. It's too dry to plow, and it won't
be long before I'll be going haying and harvesting. If I get the lumber
in now, we'll be ready to start building the house early in September."
"Where shall we put the house? I wish we could have it farther up the
glen, near the trees."
"Let's go look round," suggested Rob.
As they walked up the slope, Harry said suddenly, "Oh, yes, I've meant
to ask you a dozen times: how did Garnett's horse happen to be in that
bunch of colts? I never told you how Garnett came here one day to look
for his horse." She went on to relate what had happened, and why she
had always put off telling him of it.
"Isn't that queer, the way a little incident can twist everything!"
Rob exclaimed. "If I'd known that, I'd probably never have ridden the
horse; never have got pinched anyhow, for refusing to tell where he
came from. The way Jones happened to have him was this: You remember
Garnett said he'd lost him? Well, a half-breed up in the reserve had
stolen him, along with another, and was on his way to Boise when he met
Jones coming this way, and got him to give him a colt in exchange for
the two saddle horses."
"Goodness me! What a tangle, and yet how simple when once you know what
caused it all! And where is Jones now? They didn't keep him a prisoner
in Shoshone----"
"Oh, no, he's at liberty, but he had to stay and see how the matter
was coming out. He said that after he pays his debts he's going into
Oregon again to buy more colts."
They had been walking up the slope at a leisurely gait, and had just
stopped beside a big rock to look round when the thud! thud! of a
horse's hoofs came up from the trail, and they saw a buggy and team
approaching. Rob shouted, and as the answering call came back, Harry
giggled excitedly.
"It's Garnett! I'd know that voice anywhere."
They ran down to meet him, and reached the tent just as he climbed out
of the dust-covered buggy.
"Hello, young fellow! What's the complaint now?" asked Rob. "I speak
for one night's sleep before you drag me to jail again."
"Oh, don't worry," Garnett replied calmly. "It ain't you I'm after this
time; it's your sister."
"Me!" Harry exclaimed. "Why, what do you mean?"
"Oh, say now! You're easy, ain't you?" Garnett apologized, with
mischief gleaming in his eyes. "I didn't tell Bob the whole story, but
didn't he tell you that I promised to come after you any time to go and
file a contest on that homestead you're wanting?"
"What do you know about that!" Rob exclaimed in delight. "Has Boykin
admitted he is Hunter, after all, or what?"
"No, it's Joyce that's given himself away; given the whole thing into
my hand the way you'd shove a bottle at a baby."
"Oh, how?" Harry cried.
"It was yesterday, down at the livery stable in Soldier," began
Garnett, as they all sat down on the grass. "I was in the stall way at
the end of the shed fixing up my horse, and Joyce and another fellow
came in along the alley beside me. Joyce never dreamed any one was
listening, and he gave the whole thing up. He's going away to-morrow
morning to show this new herder the land he's to make entry on, and
then they're going to hike back to Shoshone in his automobile and file
a contest over Boykin's filing."
"To-morrow!" repeated Rob.
"You're guessing. That gives us to-night to get ready; we'll make one
first-class early start for Shoshone in the morning."
"To-morrow!"
"Say," said Garnett, turning to Rob, who sat as if he were dreaming,
"don't use so many words. It sort of confuses me."
"You think we can do it?" asked Rob. It seemed too good to be true, and
he was afraid that he should show his feeling.
"Can we! Well, I guess we can! You wait until you get in the rig behind
that team of cayuses. You'll do it, hands down."
Rob looked at Garnett. He did not speak, but in his mute, eloquent
gaze Garnett saw that what he had wished for had at last come to pass:
Holliday was ready to be his friend!
"Isn't it queer," Harry said, after a moment's silence, "the way some
people can take other people's mistakes and blunders and turn them
into other people's good fortune!"
"Ain't you got an awful lot of folks mixed up in that?" asked Garnett.
"Not so many as you might guess, if you wanted to," said Harry,
laughing, as she rose and went inside to her work.
Supper was a merry meal. Rob and Garnett laughed and talked and joked
freely. Harry did not say much, but the sparkle in her eyes showed that
she was very happy.
"And now, Harry, how early in the morning can you be ready to start for
Shoshone?" asked Rob, as he and Garnett prepared to leave the tent for
their beds in the hay. "I don't mean ready to begin to get ready; I
mean ready to hit the trail."
"Oh, I can start now, if you say so," returned Harry, with a smile.
"Say. Let's take a ten-minute nap first," Garnett pleaded. "I feel like
I was a living moving-picture show these days--I keep moving so much up
and down the big road."
"Shall we make it eight o'clock in the morning, then?" said Rob. "By
the way, Garnett, how are we going? We can't all three squeeze into
that buggy."
"We could, but there's no use of it. You'll take the team and I'll ride
your horse."
"You can't. He's down in Shoshone in that bunch of colts."
"Shucks! Well, I'll go as far as Robinson's with you and borrow a
horse. Then I'll ride in ahead and meet you there. No use of me milling
round in the dust behind you for thirty miles."
"I wish there were a short cut to town," said Harry to Rob, as they
climbed out of Spring Creek cañon the following morning and started
across the flats. Garnett had borrowed a horse at the Robinsons' and
had ridden on ahead. "If Joyce sees us on the road, won't he suspect
where we're going?"
"Why should he? He hasn't the faintest idea that we know his plans."
"But he knows that we wanted that homestead, and that we know Boykin
is under suspicion of being some one else. If he hadn't been afraid, I
don't believe he'd have rushed off like this to put a new man on the
land."
"No, I don't suppose he would. Still, I'm not worrying. Even if he knew
everything, he's got to go up on the land before he comes through by
the road, and he's got to go slow a lot of the way. A buzz wagon is all
right on a boulevard, but in a race like this give me a good team and a
light rig and I'll lay my money on that."
As they drove along they laughed and talked, picturing Joyce's disgust
at finding himself beaten, and feeling, in truth, as if they had
already run and won the race. It was not until Rob looked at his watch
and found that it was half-past twelve o'clock that they realized how
much still lay between them and victory.
"I guess we'd better not stop at the Hyslop ranch for lunch," he said.
"I'll let the horses drink, but we won't feed them. They would have to
rest an hour if I did, and we've got to take the next fifteen miles on
the run."
"Yes, yes," Harry agreed earnestly. "We mustn't stop for anything. We
can't lose that homestead, Bobs, we can't."
Leaning forward, with her hands clasped tensely, she watched one after
another the landmarks that Rob had pointed out to her on their first
ride across the hills. How different she felt now!
They stopped to water the horses and to give them a few minutes' rest;
then they pushed on again. Always listening and looking back, they kept
the horses up to their work, and at the same time saved them for the
last spurt.
"We're doing about eight miles an hour now," Rob said some time later.
"We've about an hour and a half before the land office closes, and we
ought to be able to do the rest of the trip in that time. That is,
unless Joyce gets in and does it quicker."
He had hardly spoken when they heard behind them the faint blare of a
horn.
"There he is now!" They said it in one breath, and their eyes met.
Rob slid forward in his seat. "We'll do it or bust."
"How can we?" asked Harry despairingly.
"I don't know. But I'm not going to give up now, would you?"
"Oh, no, no! Let's keep going to the very last. Something may happen
for us."
Although the horses did their best, the motor car gained on them
rapidly. Knowing that the car could pass them even if he held the
middle of the road, Rob drew to the roadside. As the lumbering
automobile went swiftly by it lunged down into a mudhole and spattered
them freely.
"Thanks," said Rob placidly as Joyce glanced back over his shoulder.
"That's one we owe you. Never mind, sis. You want to hold on, for
wherever there's a stretch of good road I'll hit up the pace."
"Yes, that's right. He might break down or strike a snag at the last
moment."
"Snakes and siwash!" Rob cried a few moments later. "He's done it! He's
stuck!"
"O Bobs," Harry cried, giggling hysterically, "please be careful! The
horses might run away."
"O my, O my, O my great-grandmother!" Rob shouted with delight as he
pointed ahead.
They could now see the whole of the road between them and town. It
wound downhill through the sagebrush, and then crossed the main ditch
of the irrigation company; from there it ran in a straight line between
the fenced fields until it entered the town.
About a mile ahead, just after crossing the bridge, the automobile
stood motionless. The three men had climbed out, and were moving
distractedly about it. Apparently their efforts to start it were
proving futile.
"What did I tell you?" chuckled Rob. "He's struck a mudhole and bogged
down. Look! There's a big break in the ditch somewhere above and the
road is flooded a foot deep. Get up, you Derby winners, get up!"