Billie slept later than her friends next morning. Even their movements
about the room as they dressed did not disturb her, and when at last she
opened her eyes the sun was pouring his rays through the small window of
the cabin and outside was the glory of a mid-summer day; for it was June
21st, and was to be a memorable day in the annals of their trip.
"Dear me," she exclaimed, "why doesn't somebody repeat, 'Go to the ant,
thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.' I seem to scent coffee in
the air. Chief cook and bottle washer, what have you got for breakfast?"
"Corn bread from Minnie's corn meal," replied Nancy, who answered to
this title, "and shirred eggs, the last in our storehouse, and chopped
beef----"
Billie jumped up.
"You lavish and wasteful young persons," she cried. "How do you know we
won't need some of these things before we get back to civilization?"
"There are still baked beans," said Nancy reproachfully. Nancy was a
born cook, and, like other born cooks, she was only amiable when she was
not interfered with.
"Go out and look at the scenery," she continued, "and leave us in peace.
We won't starve. There's a box of wheaten biscuit left."
"I'd just as soon eat a bale of hay," cried Billie contemptuously. "And
there's the Comet. He has to be fed this morning. How do I know that our
provisions will last? If the food fails and the gasoline likewise, '_et
puis bon jour_,' as the song says."
But Billie wasn't really apprehensive. The day was too fine and her
spirits too high.
"The truth is, we are all like the angels in heaven rejoicing over one
sinner repented," said Mary in a low voice, for Minnie could be seen
approaching with a pail of water from the spring.
Toilets are meagre affairs in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains, and in a
quarter of an hour Billie was fully clothed, washed and combed. Mary had
closed the door of the cabin while she dressed.
"Don't look out until you see it all at once," she said. "It's too
wonderful to take it by piece-meal."
Billie, therefore, had not an inkling of what was in store for her until
she stepped out of the cabin.
Nothing on all her journeys with her father could equal the grand
panorama which was revealed beyond the cabin door. They appeared to be
in a world of peaks--"Mr. and Mrs. Peak, and all the young Peaks," she
wrote to her father later. In the far distance were snow-capped peaks
and nearer were lesser peaks. The cabin was built alarmingly near the
edge of a great cañon, at the foot of which, hundreds of feet below, lay
a little green valley amazingly peaceful in all this rugged scenery, in
which cattle no bigger than pinheads at that distance, were quietly
grazing.
Billie trembled to think what they might have climbed the night before
without suspecting it. This was certainly a good place for a robbers'
nest. The cabin was perched on a shelf in the side of the mountain, and
brave were the men, Billie thought, who dared to climb the path that led
to it.
It was a gay breakfast party that gathered around the small table that
morning and Minnie's eyes glistened with appreciation at sight of the
white cloth and the bunch of wild flowers in the center, which had been
Elinor's contribution to the breakfast.
Even Daniel Moore reflected the good spirits of Miss Campbell and the
Motor Maids, although his hat and coat and all his luggage had been
carried away on the train. He had talked a little of Evelyn with Miss
Helen before breakfast.
"Don't you think she is beautiful, Miss Campbell?" he asked.
"I certainly do; but she is very young and impetuous, and we must be
extremely careful what we do, especially if you think she has been
influenced against you in some way. Her father seems dreadfully stern
and cruel. It made me shiver even to look at him."
"He's really quite fanatic about his religion," answered Mr. Moore. "And
you know what such people are--almost madmen; but he is crafty and
shrewd and very cruel, and I would hate to involve you and the girls in
any trouble. That is the reason I was hurrying on to Salt Lake City.
From the itinerary you gave me, I judged that would be your next
address, and I wanted to stop you before you got into difficulties."
"The girls have set their hearts on seeing Evelyn again," said Miss
Campbell, carefully refraining from mentioning that her own heart had
some leanings in that direction also.
But the call to breakfast interrupted the conversation.
Another hour and the front of the little cabin appeared like an
inscrutable face on the side of the mountain, with closed eyes and
sealed lips. No need to bar the door now from the sheriff and his men,
for the birds had flown. But because she was never to see the little
house again, and because, in spite of everything, she had known some
happiness there, Minnie dropped the calico curtain at the window and
fastened the wooden latch on the door. It was the last rites before she
buried her old life forever in the mountains and began a new one with
Jim in the East.
With an expression of grave determination on her face she took her seat
beside Nancy in the front and never once looked back until they had
rounded the curve of the mountain.
Nobody talked much on that morning ride. Billie was engaged in guiding
the Comet carefully along the dangerous road which cut through a cleft
in the mountain, and in many places was just wide enough for the car to
pass. Sometimes they were on the edge of such dizzy heights that Miss
Campbell held her breath and clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
"I dare not even whisper," she said to herself, "for fear of startling
that child at the wheel."
She contented herself with clutching Daniel Moore's arm, but in her
heart she doubted if even Jim's salvation was worth the risk of so many
lives. As for the girls, they had hardly realized the dangers of the
ride, so absorbed were they in the marvelous scenery. The snow caps of
the distant ranges gleamed pink in the sunshine, and deep purple shadows
lay on the ravines below.
As the Comet mounted up and up the steep grade, Miss Campbell's head
became lighter and lighter, and her fears seemed to slip away. The high
altitude had a strangely intoxicating effect on Nancy, too. She began to
laugh just from the sheer joy of living.
"I feel like an inhabitant of Mars," she said. "Just a brains and a
stomach, and no body. I haven't but two sensations--hunger and
happiness."
"Minnie, it's ten minutes of twelve o'clock," said Billie presently.
"Are we anywhere near the Gap?"
The car had now turned a curve on the mountain and was going down grade.
"It's just down there," answered Minnie, "but I don't see Jim," she
added, looking about uneasily.
"Well, really----" began Miss Campbell, and paused.
The notion that Jim might not be there to guide them out of this wild
country had never come to any of them.
"He's had a long ways to go to get here," said Minnie. "He's had to
travel all night on horseback, but if nothin' happens to him, Jim'll
keep his word. He ain't never broke it in his life."
This was reassuring in one way, but discouraging in another--if nothing
happened! Why had it not occurred to them that many, many things could
happen?
Miss Campbell looked reproachfully at Daniel Moore.
"Don't be uneasy," he said. "I daresay we can get a guide if Jim doesn't
show up."
The road now took a downward turn so precipitate that they wondered how
the emigrant vans of the Mormons which had once traveled this way had
been prevented from rolling over the horses and pitching headlong down
the incline.
But the Comet made the down grade slowly and deliberately. Back of them
they could see the road winding around the side of the mountain.
Suddenly a group of horsemen came into sight around the curve. They were
mere specks of black against the white roadway at this distance, but
Minnie recognized them.
"Jim!" she called, her voice rising to a high treble, "Jim, man, it's
the sheriff!"
And then, looking like some wild creature which had been summoned out of
the dark places of the earth, Jim himself appeared, running down the
side of the mountain, stooping low like a hunted animal. The sweat
poured from his face; his clothes were torn in ribbons and his hands
were cut and bleeding.
"You see, I didn't break my word," he said; "but it ain't likely I'll
escape now. I'm too tired. I've been runnin' for half the night."
Minnie was sobbing bitterly.
"Cousin Helen, couldn't we----" began Billie.
"But, my dear, how can we? What shall we do, Mr. Moore?"
"We couldn't hide him in the car. Besides, if they caught him, it would
get you into no end of trouble," answered Daniel.
"He could have saved himself if it hadn't been for us," said Nancy
reproachfully.
"We could disguise him in Billie's polo coat with a veil and goggles,"
suggested Mary suddenly.
Don't blame these good people for what they now proceeded to do.
Certainly it was the wildest, most reckless and dangerous adventure ever
engaged in by six sensible, well-brought-up people, and two of them at
least old enough to know better. Remember only that their sympathies
were very much engaged, and that every cent stolen from the limited
express was to be returned. While the horsemen were hidden behind a wall
of rock, Jim's identity was changed. He became a female of uncertain age
in a polo coat, an automobile bonnet, goggles and a chiffon veil, which
concealed his countenance. And sitting between Miss Campbell and Daniel
Moore on the back seat he resembled any other motorist on a long trip.
They moved slowly down into the valley, and the horsemen as they passed
lifted their black felt hats with quite a gallant air to Miss Campbell
and her party.
And so Jim was snatched from the clutches of the law. As he will not
appear again in this story it will probably interest you to know what
became of this highly romantic, daring individual. After turning over to
the railroad by a secret agent--none other than Daniel Moore himself--a
most remarkable letter, printed below (which you no doubt have seen,
since it was published broadcast in every paper in the country) and
returning every penny of the money taken that day from the passengers,
Jim disappeared from the world as a public character. Taking his real
name, Jim Dolan, he became a private citizen, and at this very moment
Jim and Minnie Dolan are tenants of one of Miss Campbell's beautiful
farms in the vicinity of West Haven. They have two children and are
useful members of society.
And all because a lady asked a common thief to eat supper with her and
treated him as a guest.
Here is Jim's letter to the railroad company, written in a large,
sprawling handwriting:
"To Whom It May Concern--and chiefly the Union Pacific Railroad
Company: The undersigned was once Jim Bowles, train robber. I am a
reformed man from this day. I ain't got religion exactly, but the
world is a better place than I thought it was. I made a mistake.
There are some mighty nice people in it, after all. I herewith
return moneys took; henceforth from now on forever more, amen, I
lead a new life, so help me God! There are two kinds of repentant
sinners. The ones that pray all day for forgiveness and forgets to
work, and them that works so hard they haven't got no time to pray.
I'm the last kind. I'm going to work. Amen!
"(signed) Jim Bowles--that was."