“will you please tell me, doro doodlekins, just why everything in my trunk is mismates? i believe i have half a pair of everything i own in the world with me, and the other half is at home!”
dorothy giggled, deep in the mysteries of her own toilette.
“if i wore spectacles,” pursued the complaining tavia. “i’d have only half a pair with me. and half a pair of scissors would be my fate if i owned scissors. if i wore false teeth, i’d be able to find only the upper set.”
“you packed the trunk yourself,” mumbled dorothy, with pins in her mouth.
“i never!” denied tavia. “i was so excited over the prospect of coming west that i just threw the first things that came handy into my trunk. when it was overflowing i jumped on the lid to make it lock, and—there you are! at least, it looks as though i did just that when it comes to finding things.”
“poor tavia trouble-ty-bubble!” cooed dorothy.
“yes,” admitted her chum. “look!” with desperation.
she held up two stockings—they never could have made a pair of “hose,” for one was white while the other was flesh color.
“see what i am reduced to,” continued the irrepressible. “if i wear them with pumps folks will think i’m mismated, too! whatever shall i do, doro?”
there was company expected at the hardin ranch-house and the girls were “dolling up,” as nat called it, in honor of old mrs. petterby and lance.
“wear black ones,” answered the practical dorothy.
“oh, but black isn’t fashionable—and certainly not with white pumps,” said tavia, sadly.
“i cannot advise you, then,” said dorothy. “and, anyway, tavia, you always talk so fast that nobody ever looks at your feet.”
“but—when i’m silent?” demanded tavia.
“when is that?” demanded her friend, laughing.
“the unkindest cut of all! but i tell you what i’ll do,” added tavia, slowly. “i will bind an emergency bandage around one ankle, and put the flesh colored stocking on that foot. then it164 will look the same color as the white one. ‘ah-ha!’ says the villain. ‘i am avenged! down to your doom, jack dalton!’”
and she sat right down on the floor and proceeded to do this, to dorothy’s vast amusement.
the girls were scarcely dressed when a buckboard, drawn by a pair of half broken ponies, came into view over the break of the knoll, coming from the dugonne trail.
“here comes lance!” exclaimed tavia.
“and dear old mrs. petterby,” agreed dorothy.
“hi!” ejaculated nat, whom the girls had joined on the big front porch. “what has the old lady in her lap, i want to know?”
“oh!” gasped dorothy. “how the ponies gallop. and look at the carriage hop and bounce. she was nearly thrown out that time. i wish mr. lance wasn’t so reckless.”
“but she’s hanging to that thing in her lap——”
“it’s ophelia, of course,” said tavia. “she’s brought her on a visit, too.”
“why not?” demanded dorothy, as the others laughed. “it’s the one thing that connects her with rand’s falls, massachusetts. i expect without ophelia mrs. petterby would be very homesick out here in colorado.”
lance drove up with a flourish. like most people165 out in the colorado mountains, he seemed to be a very reckless driver. his mother was quite calm, however; she evidently had perfect confidence in her son’s ability to handle the ponies, and at the same time take care of her.
the girls ran down the steps to help mrs. petterby out of the buckboard. “so delighted to see you, dear mrs. petterby,” cried dorothy.
“and ophelia,” giggled tavia, reaching out her hands for the basket, but making big eyes at the cowboy.
“howdy! howdy!” lance was exclaiming, his face very red under tavia’s wicked scrutiny. he would not let the girl take the basket, but removed it from his mother’s lap himself. “don’t you mind, miss,” he urged. “i’ll take this yere along to the bunkhouse, mother. yuh don’t want thet thar little hen with you in miz white’s nice house.”
“quite right, lance,” agreed the old lady, hopping out. “but you see that nothing happens to her, son.”
“i’ll take keer of her like she was eggs instead o’ a chicken,” he assured her, and then gave the impatient ponies their heads. they dashed away toward the sheds.
aunt winnie appeared at the door to welcome the old lady from massachusetts, and they bore her into the house and showed her the room she166 was to occupy. lance would bunk with the ledgers, but he was coming up to supper.
as dorothy came back through the wide central hall a little later, old john dempsey appeared from the office. he had gotten everything cleaned up in there, and kept it tidy. mrs. white was now using colonel hardin’s old desk as her own.
“miss dorothy,” whispered the veteran, “what do you think? that snake in the grass was after me agin yesterday about that old letter.”
dorothy looked very grave at the mention of philo marsh. “what does he want now?” she asked.
“he’s after that letter, i tell ye. he offered me sixty dollars for it. he’s the most persistent critter i ever see. i told him i couldn’t sell at no price.”
“wait, mr. dempsey,” said dorothy. “i wrote father about that letter the day you found it. i expect to hear from him soon.”
“but i wouldn’t sell—if ’tis mine to sell, belike,” said john dempsey, earnestly.
“it may be worth a lot of money.”
“sure, an’ i don’t need a lot of money,” declared the old soldier. “i’m contint right as i be—as long as your aunt will let me stay.”
“and you may rest assured that she will let you stay,” said dorothy, cheerfully. “why, mr. dempsey, she says you are a lot of help around the ranch-house.”
“’tis kind of her to say so,” said he, gratefully. “but i feel mighty beholden to ye all.”
it was because of this brief conversation that dorothy went down toward the bunk-house to meet lance petterby coming up to supper. had tavia done this, dorothy would have been scandalized, but dorothy considered that she had a good and sufficient reason for what she did.
what old john dempsey had said reminded dorothy dale of the conversation she had overheard between philo marsh and hank ledger, the foreman of the ranch. she had discussed this with nobody—not even with her chums. it was a secret between the mexican girl, flores, and herself.
dorothy did not understand what if all meant. aunt winnie had not refused to lease the water-right to the desert people, and the girl could not see why philo marsh was so anxious to close up the matter and get mrs. white’s signature to the papers he had prepared.
nor did his evident attempt to bribe hank ledger serve to illuminate dorothy’s mind to any degree. this was a mystery. philo marsh—well named “a snake in the grass” by old john dempsey—was up to some shrewd trick.
dorothy believed flores knew what it was, but168 the mexican girl could not explain. she understood spoken english well enough, but she could not speak more than a dozen words herself. dorothy had, therefore, determined to talk with lance petterby. she remembered seeing philo marsh speak familiarly with lance in dugonne—just as dorothy and her friends were leaving town on the old stagecoach. dorothy believed he was kindly disposed toward her and her aunt. she thought she could trust him—to a degree. at any rate, she was sure he would tell her the truth about marsh.
lance had unharnessed the ponies and turned them into one of the horse corrals with a bunch of the hardin stock. neither hank nor the wrangler was at hand to tell him that the particular bunch in that corral had just been gathered in off the range and were wilder than his own broncs.
dorothy saw the cowpuncher from the double chain outfit close the corral gate and she hurried down to speak to him.
“mr. petterby,” she said, “what do you know of mr. philo marsh?”
“philo marsh, ma’am? he’s a left-handed lawyer in dugonne,” drawled the big cowboy, with a wondering look.
“yes. but what kind of a lawyer? and what kind of a man?”
lance was smiling broadly. “i done told yuh that, miss dale, when i first answered yuh.”
“left handed?” exclaimed dorothy.
“now you done said something, ma’am.”
“you mean he’s not to be trusted?”
“not too fur, ma’am—not too fur.”
“then, why have the desert people who want water from this ranch put their business into his hands?” demanded the girl.
“have they, miss dale?” returned lance, with surprise.
“yes. he comes here and bothers aunt winnie a great deal. he came ’way east to see her and my father, about these water rights. he was very anxious then, and is extremely anxious now, to have the papers signed.”
“wal, i hear tell desert city, and them thereabout, are anxious to git water. but i wouldn’t have looked for philo marsh to lead ’em to it—not much. that air is surprising,” admitted the cowpuncher.
“why does it so surprise you?” dorothy asked, quickly.
“why, tuh tell the truth,” drawled lance, “i reckoned philo would represent other int’rests—if any.”
“what interests?”
“other people that’s honin’ for that lost river supply.”
170 “are there other people who want it?” queried dorothy, earnestly. “i know aunt winnie has been approached by nobody but mr. marsh.”
“not by the ackron company? the mine people?”
“nobody but mr. marsh,” reiterated dorothy.
lance nodded slowly. “that might be. that might be. it’s well known, i reckon, that your a’nt favors the desert city folks, just as colonel hardin did?”
“i suppose so,” dorothy said. “and nobody but mr. marsh has come to see her. he wants to pay down money to bind the bargain.”
“wal, miss dale,” lance drawled, “if philo marsh is willing tuh pay out re’l money, he expects tuh git somethin’ in exchange. he must want the lost river water mighty bad.”
“and in such haste!”
“wal,” lance added, “i dunno what they air in a hurry about. the desert’s been thar a right smart o’ years, an’ lost river’s been rollin’ on for an ekal number, it’s likely. tell yuh a’nt tuh take her time,” advised lance, wisely. “when a man’s in sech an itch tuh close a deal, more’n likely he has his reasons, an’ it’s jest as well tuh wait an’ find out what them reasons air.”
he had been approaching the buckboard as he spoke and now lifted down ophelia’s basket. a171 hound pup came running from the bunk-house door and sniffed inquiringly around the basket. ophelia uttered a squawk of objection.
the pup started back, sniffed curiously again, and then rolled the basket over. there was a sudden thunder of hoofs from the far side of the corral, and raucous squeals rose from the ponies. dorothy turned, startled, to see the herd charging straight toward her.
“don’t be scart, miss dale,” shouted lance petterby. “they won’t hit the fence.”
the pup had been busy worrying the basket. he broke the string that held the cover and ophelia immediately wriggled out. with another affrighted squawk she scuttled under the lower rail of the fence, into the corral. down upon the scared hen came the charging gang of ponies. she flew right up into the faces of the leaders.
instead of breaking evenly and swinging either way to escape collision with the fence, the forefront of the charging herd went up into the air to escape the fluttering ophelia and—the next instant—the full weight of the mob of ponies dashed against the fence!
strong as the fence was, two lengths went down before the charge and, squealing with rage and pain, the stampede of ponies burst through.
dorothy dale stood, stricken with amazement and horror, directly in the path of the stampede.
