Directly after lunch, Virginia, Margaret and Barbara retired to
their rooms for the customary afternoon nap which seemed to be as
much a part of desert life as anything else in the routine. The sun
beat down upon the shimmering white sand relentlessly during the
noon hours and all live creatures were glad to seek the cool of some
shadow or to hide in underground burrows if that was according to
their nature.
Betsy, unused to sleeping during the day, had decided to take that
time for letter writing. She was wild to tell her Cousin Bob, who
was fourteen, of all the exciting things which had befallen her
since her departure from boarding school such a very short time
before.
How he would envy her. Virg had suggested that she write at the big
old desk which stood on the shady side of the long living room and
there, for a quiet hour the little girl sat scribbling as fast as
her pencil would fly and the story of her adventures was so
thrillingly told that the boy, who was to receive it, would indeed
be envious. She had just concluded with—“Virg hasn’t any idea where
I am going to suggest that we go for our ride when she wakes up, but
of course she’ll have to go because she has promised. I’m ever and
ever so sure that an exciting adventure awaits us and I’ll add it to
this letter before I send it. There’ll be plenty of time, anyway,
for the mail pouch is only taken to the station about twice a week.”
It was at this point in the epistle that the three girls, who had
been asleep, appeared and they were dressed in their riding habits.
“You’ll have to don yours, Betsy,” Babs called. “I’ll wait for you.
Virg and Megsy are going down to the corral to saddle our horses.”
While the young would-be detective was changing her apparel, Babs
sat on the arm of a chair watching her. “Virg has forgotten all
about her promise to you,” she volunteered. “I heard her tell
Margaret that she wanted to ride over to Hog Canon and see the poor
dry ranchers who live there. She has brought some gifts for the
three children and their mother.”
“Oh dear, isn’t that just too provoking. I did so want to ride in
the direction of that Puffed Snake Water Hole and see if we could
find the gypsy caravan, but, of course, if our hostess has other
plans, I suppose I’ll have to give up mine, only I don’t think she
should have promised. Honestly I don’t.”
Babs hardly knew what to say. “But dear, you can visit that water
hole some other time, maybe tomorrow. Wouldn’t that do as well?”
“Why, of course not Babs. You know as well as I do that if we are to
get there before that gypsy caravan moves on, we’ll have to go
today. They’re not going to just camp out there and wait to be
found.”
“Well, you’ll have to be the one to remind Virg of her promise. I
won’t. I heard her say that the little woman who lives over in Hog
Canon is very frail and that she has brought her some things that
she needs just dreadfully.”
Betsy sighed as she laced the riding boots that Virg had loaned her,
but all she said was “What’s a dry rancher anyway? Someone who’s
awfully poor I judge.”
Babs nodded. “Yes indeed. Mr. Wallace, ‘Foolish Andy,’ I’ve heard
him called, is certainly not prosperous. Dry ranching means trying
to get along without water except such as can be caught in a cistern
during the rainy season. There’s no water for the few head of cattle
they have except in water holes. I guess they’re poor enough all
right.”
Betsy stood up clothed, but only partly resigned to the seemingly
inevitable. “Virg would rather go on a visit of mercy any time than
try to unravel a mystery which shows how different we are,” she
confided to her companion as they ran down the trail that led to the
corral where the others awaited them with the four ponies saddled
and ready.
A small pack-horse near had on its back two saddle bags well packed.
“Here you are,” Virg sang out, then noting an expression of
disappointment in the face of their youngest, the hostess recalled
something. “Oh Betsy,” she said self-rebukingly, “I completely
forgot that you were to choose the direction of our ride this
afternoon and here I have packed Old Stoic with food and gifts that
I want to take to the Wallace family over in Hog Canon. Well, I can
unpack him again if you wish me to keep that promise.
“My only reason for wanting to go today is that the children have
heard that I am home from school, Slim told them, and they sent word
that they’re wild to see me, and Slim said I should have seen poor
Mrs. Wallace’s expression when she heard it. He said that it was as
though she had heard something that was going to give her a new
lease on life.
“But of course one day more won’t matter if you wish to hold me to
my promise.”
“I should say not, Virg!” Betsy spoke emphatically. “I was merely
going to suggest that we go over to that Puffed Snake Water Hole Mr.
Slim told about and see if we could find the gypsy caravan. But it
might be a wild-goose chase.” Virginia laughed. “It would be, I can
assure you. The odors around that water hole are such that even
gypsies wouldn’t linger there long. They are miles and miles away by
now.” But Betsy interrupted. “Virg, how can they be? Don’t you
recall what the writing on the newspaper said. ‘Stuck for keeps.’ No
ranches in sight.”
“Then there’s no use visiting the Puffed Snake Water Hole for one
can plainly see Slater’s Ranch from there. Now the question is,”
Virg looked from one friend to another, “which way shall we go? Of
course we can visit Hog Canon tomorrow and—”
“Indeed not! I’m not as selfish as all that. We’ll visit Hog Canon
and your poor family today, then tomorrow we’ll hunt for the gypsy
caravan.”
Little did Betsy dream what her decision would lead to.