AND SOLVES A FASCINATING MYSTERY
Riding furiously with the fury of the storm as though swept onward with
it, looking the very spirit of the wintry season that is made of black
nights and cold, bright days, a woman was hastening upon a jaded horse
toward the Echo Creek ranch house from the direction of El Toyon and
the railroad. She rode well, sitting straight in the heavy saddle, and
she rode hard. When the horse stumbled or floundered in the loose snow
she jerked angrily at the reins and cut sharply with her riding whip.
She entered the yard and rode up to the porch while Wanda was still
deep in Wayne's letter, while Dart was forming his lips to a soft,
silent whistle over a document which had passed from a drawer of the
safe into his caressing white fingers. The woman dismounted quickly
but a little stiffly as though from cold or fatigue, and fastening her
horse's reins with numb, gloved fingers hastened up the steps to the
living room door. She rapped loudly and Wanda, thinking that this was
but a further evidence of the fact that one of Mr. Dart's names was
Delicacy, called out, "Come in."
It was with a little start of surprise that Wanda saw her. A young
woman, twenty-five perhaps, of that rare sort of personality that
asserts itself in a flash. Exquisitely cloaked and furred, clad from
tiny boots to cap in black, her hair black, her eyes large and luminous
and black. Furs and cloak failed to hide the erect gracefulness of the
slender form, the poise of which as well as the carriage of the head
indicated an imperious disposition. The woman was undeniably
beautiful, her loveliness the delicately featured, perfectly chiselled
beauty that is called classic. The fur cap upon the small head was
snow encrusted and sat upon her cold beauty like a coronet; under it
the escaping tendrils of jet black hair were fashioned by the cold into
a glistening mesh of silver threads.
"This is the Leland place, isn't it?" was her abrupt greeting.
"Yes," Wanda replied, not yet quite recovered from the surprise of the
sudden vision.
"You are Wanda Leland, I suppose?" the cool, deep-throated voice went
on as the black eyes flashed critically from the girl's face to her
house dress, her pumps, the letter in her hands, her face again.
"Yes," Wanda repeated quietly. She disliked the little air this woman
had about her, the subtle hint of patronage and superiority, but her
natural wish to be hospitable to a stranger driven hither by the storm
made her seek to ignore this first impression.
"I'm Claire Hazleton. I've just ridden in from El Toyon. My horse is
done up, I'm afraid, or I shouldn't have troubled you."
Wanda's quick, ready smile flashed out at this and she came forward,
putting out her hand.
"I'm glad that you did come," she said cordially. "You must be tired
to death and simply frozen. If you'll come up to the fire and take off
your things I'll make some tea or coffee."
Claire Hazleton's slim gloved hand accepted Wanda's, touching it
lightly.
"You are too kind," she began formally. "If it wouldn't be too much
bother--"
"Nonsense," laughed Wanda. "If you'll make yourself cozy at the fire
I'll be back in a moment."
Hurrying out, Wanda had a glimpse of Willie Dart standing on the porch,
his hands in his pockets, his big innocent eyes beaming approvingly at
the snow and the sky and the world in general. As she went on her way
to the kitchen, Mr. Dart, having in turn looked approvingly at her,
shifted his gaze to the panting saddle horse standing with drooping
head at the steps, and then, putting his hands under his coat tails, he
returned to the living room. Claire Hazleton had just removed her
outer wraps and was warming her hands at the fire. Mr. Dart, noticing
the cluster of rings on her fingers, flapped his coat tails up and down
and closed the door behind him with his elbow.
"Say," he began pleasantly, "it's fierce outside, ain't it? Talk about
a slush party. Ain't this a ring tailed dandy?"
She turned upon him slowly and bestowed upon him a long stare, frankly
curious. Then she laughed.
"It certainly is a ring tailed dandy," she admitted musically. "You
aren't Mr. Leland, are you?"
Dart laughed too, his amusement apparently as genuine as hers, and
entirely unabashed by the unconcealed appraisal of her glance at him.
"You're joshing," he retorted, coming closer so that while he could
look at her he could turn his coat tails to the fire. "There's as much
difference between me and my old pal Mart as there is between you and a
picture of a little country girl picking buttercups."
"You don't think I look the part?" she smiled.
"You?" He favoured her with the full measure of his supreme impudence
as he looked her over. "You're just built to play the queen's part in
a tragedy show on Broadway. After the first night there'd be just one
theatre doing business."
She frowned quickly, her eyes darkening as they had when she struck
with her whip at her tired horse. Then she shrugged her shoulders and
laughed again.
"You're very flattering," she said in a way which made Dart look at her
sharply and which for a very brief time left him a little uncertain.
"Me?" he said. "You wrong me, lady. Honest you do. I'm sired by a
gentleman who was a Baptist minister and who instilled in his only son
if you lie once you'll do it some more and then you'll get caught.
Say, seeing Wanda ain't here to do the knockdown stunt, I'm Dart, Mr.
Willie Dart, to command."
He bobbed her a bow, accompanied the ceremony with a little flap of the
coat tails, and all the while did not shift his round, inquisitive eyes
from her face.
"Being acquainted now," he went on when a little pause assured him that
she was not going to respond with an exchange of names, "just make
yourself to home, won't you? I'll duck in and tell Wanda you're here.
And," merely as an afterthought, "what name will I say, lady?"
"Don't bother," she replied coolly. "She knows I'm here."
"Does she? She hasn't been expecting you, has she?"
"No." Miss Hazleton's interest in the little man had evidently died a
sudden death, and her one concern now seemed to get herself warm and
dry.
"She's one great little kid, Wanda is, ain't she?" he ran on, totally
unaffected by the significance of the young woman's back whose graceful
curves were not lost to his admiring eyes.
"If you say so she must be," came the calm answer. "I never saw her
before to-day."
"And you don't know old Mart?" She did not know Wanda, he surmised,
she had wondered if he were Leland, then it must be Mrs. Leland she had
come to see. "Say," he continued, "maybe Wanda couldn't find Mamma
Leland! I'll just slip in and break the news. Gee, won't she be
tickled to see you, you coming unexpected like this?"
"Really, Mr. Dart," she told him crisply, "you needn't take the
trouble. Mrs. Leland wouldn't be the least bit glad to see me as she
doesn't know me. And if you haven't discovered the fact already I
might as well tell you that I am eminently capable of managing my own
affairs."
Mr. Dart's silent whistle came very near being audible. But he
answered in a voice which was meant to assure her that his sensitive
nature had not been hurt and that his admiration had merely been
stimulated.
"That's me," he said brightly. "Give me the dame every time that makes
her own play and don't yell, 'Help' if she sticks a pin in her finger.
Them doll-babies some guys go dippy over don't qualify for the finals
with me."
But Mr. Dart was puzzled. She had ridden here through this storm, she
had come all the way from El Toyon, for he had not been inattentive
while he had been just outside the door before Wanda left the room, and
she did not know a single person on the ranch. The very reason for her
presence here was a challenge to Dart's peculiar temperament.
"Tell you what I'll do," he resumed, "I'll take that skate of yours
down to the barn and throw some hay into him. He looks like it would
do him good in case the shock don't undermine his system."
He made his hesitant way toward the door, his pride a little wounded at
being defeated in the initial skirmish, his confident optimism looking
forward eagerly to a more skilful attack. And then a word from Miss
Hazleton brought him back to the charge.
"Don't trouble to take the saddle off," she said without turning. "I
shall be riding on as soon as I have my tea."
Riding on? Where? The very course she had come pointed at one place.
"It's quite a ways to Red's," he said quickly. "You better take it
easy and rest up a bit."
"Red's?" she condescended to ask.
"Sure. Shandon's, you know. You're headed for the Bar L-M, ain't you?
Say, I'm going back that way myself pretty soon. Suppose you come
along with me? I got a cart. It ain't much to look at but anyhow it
beats pounding saddle leather. We can lead your skate, if you want to."
And rather to Dart's surprise she answered promptly,
"Thank you. That will be better. But in any case don't unsaddle. And
when you come in will you bring the little bag strapped behind the
saddle?"
Wanda returned then, bringing the tea and a hastily prepared lunch.
Dart winked at her as he went out. He led the shivering horse at a
trot to the barn.
"Now," he grunted in a mournful tone that spoke of disappointment and
hinted at disgust, "wouldn't you think, to look at her, that dame had
more stuff in her head than to do a trick like that?"
For the little black bag was locked and the key was gone, and the lock
was a thing to make Mr. Dart sigh and shake his head as he had done
over Martin's safe.
"I'll get so used to turning baby tricks," he mused, "I won't be able
to do a real man's work. Well, it can't be helped when a man's putting
in time in a place like this. Now, Lady Clamshell, we'll take a peep
and see if your baggage--"
The bag was open, its contents rifled by slim, white fingers that
seemed, each one, endowed with a brain of its own. In an incredibly
short time various negligible feminine articles had been examined and
replaced very carefully and exactly, a handkerchief without so much as
a laundry mark, a silver vanity set with no monogram, and then came the
reward to Mr. Dart's curiosity. It was a card case half filled with
calling cards.
Mr. Dart did a thing he had rarely done in his life. He swore. He
said:
"Well, I'll be damned!"
And being alone, speaking confidentially to himself, he may have meant
it. He looked as though he did.
"You are very kind, Miss Leland," the new-comer was saying quietly. "I
should like to accept your hospitality further. It has been a pleasure
to meet you, I am sure. But you will infer from my being abroad at all
at a time like this that my errand is urgent. I must be going
immediately."
Mr. Dart came in at this juncture, his expression void of all emotion
except a deep, unhidden admiration which embraced the two women, both
of whom he felt honoured in including in the list of his friends.
"Miss Hazleton," began Wanda, "I didn't introduce you to Mr. Dart."
"He did," replied the other briefly.
"Sure," supplemented Dart. He handed the black bag to its owner and
asked casually, "You're strong for hitting the pike right away?"
"If you are ready."
"Right-o, Miss Hazleton," he answered, pronouncing the name as though
he enjoyed the sound of it. "I came over on some hurry-up business,"
with a sly look at Wanda that brought a little flush to her cheeks,
"and I didn't unhook. Old Bots is pawing the earth and snorting his
eagerness to help out. Say the word and we're off."
Involuntarily Wanda showed her surprise at the arrangement. It was the
first word she had had of their way lying together.
"The lady's going over to the Bar L-M," Dart remarked as he observed
Wanda's look. "She's a friend of Red's."
"Oh," said Wanda.
She strove immediately to act and speak as though there were nothing
unusual in the situation. Miss Hazleton put on her coat and furs again
without volunteering further information, while Dart hurried away for
his own cart and her horse. Wanda accompanied them to the porch, saw
them seated and starting and then returned to the house with a little
hurt feeling in her heart which she knew was foolish but which she
could not drive out. If Claire Hazleton and Wayne Shandon were upon
such intimate terms that she made this trip to see him, it was a little
strange that Wayne had never so much as mentioned her name to her.
"Wait a minute," cried Dart, jerking his horse up short before they had
gone fifty yards from the house. "I forgot my gloves."
He shoved the reins into his companion's hands, jumped down and running
back burst in bright faced and eager upon Wanda, startling her with the
sudden unexpectedness of his return. With his finger upon his lips,
his air surcharged with mystery, he came close to her.
"Have you wised up?" he whispered. "Got next to who the mysterious
fairy is?"
"She's Miss Claire Hazleton," said Wanda a little stiffly and a bit
puzzled.
"Rats!" grunted Mr. Dart putting much eloquence Into the monosyllable.
"That's a bum monniker out of a French love story. It's the Roosian
princess. It's Helga, that's who it is!"
He slipped a little engraved calling card into her hand, winked into
her amazed eyes, drew a pair of gloves out of his hip pocket, crumpled
them in his hand and hastened back to the cart.
Wanda stared a moment at the card. Then she flung it from her and with
blazing eyes watched the flames in the fireplace lick at it.