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THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
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BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By AMY BELL MARLOWE
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE OLDEST OF FOUR
Or Natalie's Way Out
THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST FARM
Or The Secret of the Rocks
A LITTLE MISS NOBODY
Or With the Girls of Pinewood Hall
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
Or Alone in a Great City
WYN'S CAMPING DAYS
Or The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club
FRANCES OF THE RANGES
Or The Old Ranchman's Treasure
THE GIRLS OF RIVERCLIFF SCHOOL
Or Beth Baldwin's Resolve
THE ORIOLE BOOKS
WHEN ORIOLE CAME TO HARBOR LIGHT
WHEN ORIOLE TRAVELED WESTWARD
(Other volumes in preparation)
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK
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[Illustration: "CAB, MISS? TAKE YOU ANYWHERE YOU SAY."
Frontispiece (Page 67).]
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THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
OR
ALONE IN A GREAT CITY
BY
AMY BELL MARLOWE
AUTHOR OF
THE OLDEST OF FOUR, THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST
FARM, WYN'S CAMPING DAYS, ETC.
Illustrated
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
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Copyright, 1914, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
The Girl from Sunset Ranch
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "Snuggy" and the Rose Pony 1
II. Dudley Stone 14
III. The Mistress Of Sunset Ranch 26
IV. Headed East 36
V. At Both Ends Of The Route 45
VI. Across The Continent 56
VII. The Great City 65
VIII. The Welcome 72
IX. The Ghost Walk 83
X. Morning 92
XI. Living Up To One's Reputation 102
XII. "I Must Learn The Truth" 111
XIII. Sadie Again 128
XIV. A New World 142
XV. "Step--Put; Step--Put" 152
XVI. Forgotten 164
XVII. A Distinct Shock 176
XVIII. Probing For Facts 196
XIX. "Jones" 204
XX. Out Of Step With The Times 216
XXI. Breaking The Ice 227
XXII. In The Saddle 238
XXIII. My Lady Bountiful 252
XXIV. The Hat Shop 262
XXV. The Missing Link 271
XXVI. Their Eyes Are Opened 279
XXVII. The Party 287
XXVIII. A Statement Of Fact 304
XXIX. "The Whip Hand" 311
XXX. Headed West 317
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THE GIRL FROM SUNSET
RANCH
CHAPTER I
"SNUGGY" AND THE ROSE PONY
"Hi, Rose! Up, girl! There's another party making for the View by the far
path. Get a move on, Rosie."
The strawberry roan tossed her cropped mane and her dainty little hoofs
clattered more quickly over the rocky path which led up from the
far-reaching grazing lands of Sunset Ranch to the summit of the rocky
eminence that bounded the valley upon the east.
To the west lay a great, rolling plain, covered with buffalo grass and
sage; and dropping down the arc of the sky was the setting sun,
ruddy-countenanced, whose almost level rays played full upon the face of
the bluff up which the pony climbed so nimbly.
"On, Rosie, girl!" repeated the rider. "Don't let him get to the View
before us. I don't see why anybody would wish to go there," she added,
with a jealous pang, "for it was father's favorite outlook. None of our
boys, I am sure, would come up here at this hour."
Helen Morrell was secure in this final opinion. It was but a short month
since Prince Morrell had gone down under the hoofs of the steers in an
unfortunate stampede that had cost the Sunset Ranch much beside the life
of its well-liked owner.
The View--a flat table of rock on the summit overlooking the valley--had
become almost sacred in the eyes of the punchers of Sunset Ranch since Mr.
Morrell's death. For it was to that spot the ranchman had betaken
himself--usually with his daughter--on almost every fair evening, to
overlook the valley and count the roaming herds which grazed under his
brand.
Helen, who was sixteen and of sturdy build, could see the nearer herds now
dotting the plain. She had her father's glasses slung over her shoulder,
and she had come to-night partly for the purpose of spying out the strays
along the watercourses or hiding in the distant _coulees_.
But mainly her visit to the View was because her father had loved to ride
here. She could think about him here undisturbed by the confusion and
bustle at the ranch-house. And there were some things--things about her
father and the sad conversation they had had together before his taking
away--that Helen wanted to speculate upon alone.
The boys had picked him up after the accident and brought him home; and
doctors had been brought all the way from Helena to do what they could for
him. But Mr. Morrell had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and there
had been no hope for him from the first.
He was not, however, always unconscious. He was a masterful man and he
refused to take drugs to deaden the pain.
"Let me know what I am about until I meet death," he had whispered.
"I--am--not--afraid."
And yet, there was one thing of which he had been sorely afraid. It was
the thought of leaving his daughter alone.
"Oh, Snuggy!" he groaned, clinging to the girl's plump hand with his own
weak one. "If there were some of your own kind to--to leave you with. A
girl like you needs women about--good women, and refined women. Squaws,
and Greasers, and half-breeds aren't the kind of women-folk your mother
was brought up among.
"I don't know but I've done wrong these past few years--since your mother
died, anyway. I've been making money here, and it's all for you, Snuggy.
That's fixed by the lawyer in Elberon.
"Big Hen Billings is executor and guardian of you and the ranch. I know I
can trust him. But there ought to be nice women and girls for you to live
with--like those girls who went to school with you the four years you were
in Denver.
"Yet, this is your home. And your money is going to be made here. It would
be a crime to sell out now.
"Ah, Snuggy! Snuggy! If your mother had only lived!" groaned Mr. Morrell.
"A woman knows what's right for a girl better than a man. This is a rough
place out here. And even the best of our friends and neighbors are crude.
You want refinement, and pretty dresses, and soft beds, and fine
furniture----"
"No, no, Father! I love Sunset Ranch just as it is," Helen declared,
wiping away her tears.
"Aye. 'Tis a beauty spot--the beauty spot of all Montana, I believe,"
agreed the dying man. "But you need something more than a beautiful
landscape."
"But there are true hearts here--all our friends!" cried Helen.
"And so they are--God bless them!" responded Prince Morrell, fervently.
"But, Snuggy, you were born to something better than being a 'cowgirl.'
Your mother was a refined woman. I have forgotten most of my college
education; but I had it once.
"_This_ was not our original environment. It was not meant that we should
be shut away from all the gentler things of life, and live rudely as we
have. Unhappy circumstances did that for us."
He was silent for a moment, his face working with suppressed emotion.
Suddenly his grasp tightened on the girl's hand and he continued:
"Snuggy! I'm going to tell you something. It's something you ought to
know, I believe. Your mother was made unhappy by it, and I wouldn't want a
knowledge of it to come upon you unaware, in the after time when you are
alone. Let me tell you with my own lips, girl."
"Why, Father, what is it?"
"Your father's name is under a cloud. There is a smirch on my reputation.
I--I ran away from New York to escape arrest, and I have lived here in the
wilderness, without communicating with old friends and associates, because
I did not want the matter stirred up."
"Afraid of arrest, Father?" gasped Helen.
"For your mother's sake, and for yours," he said. "She couldn't have borne
it. It would have killed her."
"But you were not guilty, Father!" cried Helen.
"How do you know I wasn't?"
"Why, Father, you could never have done anything dishonorable or mean--I
know you could not!"
"Thank you, Snuggy!" the dying man replied, with a smile hovering about
his pain-drawn lips. "You've been the greatest comfort a father ever had,
ever since you was a little, cuddly baby, and liked to snuggle up against
father under the blankets.
"That was before the big ranch-house was built, and we lived in a shack. I
don't know how your mother managed to stand it, winters. _You_ just
snuggled into my arms under the blankets--that's how we came to call you
'Snuggy.'"
"'Snuggy' is a good name, Dad," she declared. "I love it, because _you_
love it. And I know I gave you comfort when I was little."
"Indeed, yes! _What_ a comfort you were after your poor mother died,
Snuggy! Ah, well! you shall have your reward, dear. I am sure of that.
Only I am worried that you should be left alone now."
"Big Hen and the boys will take care of me," Helen said, stifling her
sobs.
"Nay, but you need women-folk about. Your mother's sister, now--The
Starkweathers, if they knew, might offer you a home."
"That is, Aunt Eunice's folks?" asked Helen. "I remember mother speaking
of Aunt Eunice."
"Yes. She corresponded with Eunice until her death. Of course, we haven't
heard from them since. The Starkweathers naturally did not wish to keep up
a close acquaintanceship with me after what happened."
"But, dear Dad! you haven't told me what happened. _Do_ tell me!" begged
the anxious girl.
Then the girl's dying father told her of the looted bank account of Grimes
& Morrell. The cash assets of the firm had suddenly disappeared.
Circumstantial evidence pointed at Prince Morrell. His partner and
Starkweather, who had a small interest in the firm, showed their doubt of
him. The creditors were clamorous and ugly. The bookkeeper of the firm
disappeared.
"They advised me to go away for a while; your mother was delicate and the
trouble was wearing her into her grave. And so," Mr. Morrell said, in a
shaking voice, "I ran away. We came out here. You were born in this
valley, Snuggy. We hoped at first to take you back to New York, where all
the mystery would be explained. But that time never came.
"Neither Starkweather, nor Grimes, seemed able to help me with advice or
information. Gradually I got into the cattle business here. I prospered
here, while Fenwick Grimes prospered in New York. I understand he is a
very wealthy man.
"Soon after we came out here your Uncle Starkweather fell heir to a big
property and moved into a mansion on Madison Avenue. He, and his wife, and
the three girls--Belle, Hortense and Flossie--have everything heart could
desire.
"And they have all I want my Snuggy to have," groaned Mr. Morrell. "They
have refinement, and books, and music, and all the things that make life
worth living for a woman."
"But I _love_ Sunset Ranch!" cried Helen again.
"Aye. But I watched your mother. I know how much she missed the gentler
things she had been brought up to. Had I been able to pay off those old
creditors while she was alive, she might have gone back.
"And yet," the ranchman sighed, "the stigma is there. The blot is still on
your father's name, Snuggy. People in New York still believe that I was
dishonest. They believe that with the proceeds of my dishonesty I came out
here and went into the cattle business.
"You see, my dear? Even the settling with our old creditors--the creditors
of Grimes & Morrell--made suspicion wag her tongue more eagerly than ever.
I paid every cent, with interest compounded to the date of settlement.
Grimes had long since had himself cleared of his debts and started over
again. I do not know even that he and Starkweather know that I have been
able to clear up the whole matter.
"However, as I say, the stain upon my reputation remains. I could never
explain my flight. I could never imagine what became of the money.
Somebody embezzled it, and _I_ was the one who ran away. Do you see, my
dear?"
And Helen told him that she _did_ see, and assured him again and again of
her entire trust in his honor. But Mr. Morrell died with the worry of the
old trouble--the trouble that had driven him across the continent--heavy
upon his mind.
And now it was serving to make Helen's mind most uneasy. The crime of
which her father had been accused was continually in her thoughts.
Who had really been guilty of the embezzlement? The bookkeeper, who
disappeared? Fenwick Grimes, the partner? Or, _Who?_
As the Rose pony--her own favorite mount--took Helen Morrell up the bluff
path to the View on this evening, the remembrance of this long talk with
her father before he died was running in the girl's mind.
Perhaps she was a girl who would naturally be more seriously impressed
than most, at sixteen. She had been brought up among older people. She was
a wise little thing when she was a mere toddler.
And after her mother's death she had been her father's daily companion
until she was old enough to be sent away to be educated. The four long
terms at the Denver school had carried Helen Morrell (for she had a quick
mind) through those grades which usually prepare girls for college.
When she came back after graduation, however, she saw that her father
needed her companionship more than she needed college. And, again, she was
too domestic by nature to really long for a higher education.
She was glad now--oh! so glad--that she had remained at Sunset Ranch
during these last few months. Her father had died with her arms about him.
As far as he could be comforted, Helen had comforted him.
But now, as she rode up the rocky trail, she murmured to herself:
"If I could only clear dad's name!"
Again she raised her eyes and saw a buckskin pony and its rider getting
nearer and nearer to the summit.
"Get on, Rose!" she exclaimed. "That chap will beat us out. Who under the
sun can he be?"
[Illustration: "HELEN CREPT ON HANDS AND KNEES TO THE EDGE OF THE BLUFF."
(Page 14)]
She was sure the rider of the buckskin was no Sunset puncher. Yet he
seemed garbed in the usual chaps, sombrero, flannel shirt and gay
neckerchief of the cowpuncher.
"And there isn't another band of cattle nearer than Froghole," thought the
girl, adjusting her body to the Rose pony's quickened gait.
She did not know it, but she was quite as much an object of interest to
the strange rider as he was to her. And it was worth while watching Helen
Morrell ride a pony.
The deep brown of her cheek was relieved by a glow of healthful red. Her
thick plaits of hair were really sunburned; her thick eyebrows were
startlingly light compared with her complexion.
Her eyes were dark gray, with little golden lights playing in them; they
seemed fairly to twinkle when she laughed. Her lips were as red as ripe
sumac berries; her nose, straight, long, and generously moulded, was
really her handsomest feature, for of course her hair covered her dainty
ears more or less.
From the rolling collar of her blouse her neck rose firm and solid--as
strong-looking as a boy's. She was plump of body, with good shoulders, a
well-developed arm, and her ornamented russet riding boots, with a tiny
silver spur in each heel, covered very pretty and very small feet.
Her hand, if plump, was small, too; but the gauntlets she wore made it
seem larger and more mannish than it was. She rode as though she were a
part of the pony.
She had urged on the strawberry roan and now came out upon the open
plateau at the top of the bluff just as the buckskin mounted to the same
level from the other side.
The rock called "the View" was nearer to the stranger than to herself. It
overhung the very steepest drop of the eminence.
Helen touched Rose with the spur, and the pony whisked her tail and shot
across the uneven sward toward the big boulder where Helen and her father
had so often stood to survey the rolling acres of Sunset Ranch.
Whether the stranger on the buckskin thought her mount had bolted with
her, Helen did not know. But she heard him cry out, saw him swing his hat,
and the buckskin started on a hard gallop along the verge of the precipice
toward the very goal for which the Rose pony was headed.
"The foolish fellow! He'll be killed!" gasped Helen, in sudden fright.
"That soil there crumbles like cheese! There! He's down!"
She saw the buckskin's forefoot sink. The brute stumbled and rolled
over--fortunately for the pony _away_ from the cliff's edge.
But the buckskin's rider was hurled into the air. He sprawled forward like
a frog diving and--without touching the ground--passed over the brink of
the precipice and disappeared from Helen's startled gaze.