Jessica Trent: Her Life on a Ranch

“It’s more; it’s inspiration,” responded “Forty-niner,” enthusiastically. He had already decided to make this journey alone, for Jessica’s sake; but with her as companion he felt that it would be as sure of success as full of pleasure. A little child working to clear her father’s name of dishonor, and to save her mother’s home–what evil could prevail against this noble effort?

It was like his simplicity and hers that neither thought of providing for difficulties by the way, or for any delay in finding the men and proofs they sought, when once they reached the distant city.

Aunt Sally was not so sanguine; yet it was not her part to discourage any attempt to set wrong matters right, and she merely nodded her head and remarked:

“It’ll bear thinking on. Now, run along and see your mother.”

“Has she had her breakfast? Can’t I carry it to her?”

“S’pose I’d let that poor lamb go without her dawn-meal late as this? I heard her stirring the minute I got back into the house, so I fixed her some broma and poached her an egg, and made her go lie down again. You’ll not find her hungry, child, ’less for a sight of you.”

Jessica ran to her mother’s room, exclaiming:

“I’m so glad you’re resting, dear. Were ever more perfect roses? And isn’t it delightful that Aunt Sally should be here just now to look after things. Because––”

“Well, my darling? Why do you hesitate?”

“Mother, may Ephraim and I go on that trip to Los Angeles?”

Lady Jess had intended to be very careful and cautious, for once, and to test her mother’s feelings on the subject she made her request. But frankness was her habit, and the question was out of itself, it seemed, and she waiting the answer with a beating heart.

“Why just now, daughter? And–has Mr. Hale gone?” she asked, in a peculiar tone.

“Yes. He has gone. He left rather–rather suddenly, but he sent his regards to you and his thanks. He said he might come back some time, but–I don’t think he will. He said something to offend the ‘boys,’ and they let him take old Dandy. Samson went with him to show him the way.”

Poor little captain, who had never in her short life had one secret thought from her idolized mother. This first experience did not come easy to her, and after one glance into the sad, yet amused, eyes watching her, she tossed secrecy aside and buried her face on her mother’s pillow.

“Mother, mother! I am so unhappy. I’m keeping something back from you that I cannot tell you; that I cannot have you know, and I don’t like it. But–it’s right, it’s best. So don’t ask me, and, oh, mother–”

“I’ve no need to ask you, sweetheart. I know, already.”

“Know–what?” cried Jessica alarmed, and sitting straight again.

“All that is in your brave heart. All that Mr. Hale had heard against your father. All that you and Ephraim hope from this suddenly decided journey to a distant city.”

“Why–how? And I’d only just thought it out, yonder in the garden!”

“I had begun to suspect, I hardly know why, that our late guest had come here as our enemy, or, rather, as an agent against us. Something held me back from confiding in him, as I at first wished to do. He is a gentleman, and doubtless honest, but he is not on our side. Besides, how and why he went away just as he did is plain enough. I have ears and I have eyes, and I heard all Aunt Sally’s tirade last night, so could easily guess at his own part in the talk. Also–I saw him ride out of the courtyard. My little girl, for the first time in my life I blushed for Sobrante. Even if he had been a wicked man, which he was not, that was a dastardly insult. I am ashamed of your ‘boys,’ captain.”

“And so am I. And I told them so, quick enough. Oh! they pretended not to mind my anger, but they were ashamed–inside themselves, I know. Now, for ever so long, they’ll be so good ‘butter would melt in their mouths.’ You see.”

“Apt pupil of Aunt Sally.”

“Why, mother! How can you smile and take it so quiet? This awful–awful thing he said?”

“To say a thing is not to prove it. The charge is so monstrous that it becomes absurd. Nothing hurts us but what we do, and your father never did a dishonorable deed, from the hour of his birth till his death. I am sorry for those mistaken people who think that he did, and I am thankful that he left a brave little daughter to set them right.”

Jessica stared. For a long time past she had seen her mother anxious and troubled over matters which now seemed trivial in the extreme; yet this blow which had almost crushed her own courage but restored Mrs. Trent’s.

“Then do you mean that we may go?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, mother! Thank you.”

“But you will go armed with the fullest information we can gain. We will examine all the papers Antonio left–if he left any. We will make a thorough search everywhere for that title deed. We shall probably find letters from this New York company to your father, and these will have the name, or names, of those with whom he did business at Los Angeles. I wish now that Senor Bernal were here. His knowledge would be worth everything in this emergency, if–he would give it. Well, he is not here, and we must do the best we can without him. I’m going to get up now and begin to look.”

“Aunt Sally thought you ought to rest.”

“This talk will rest me most of all.”

The mother was now as eager as the child, and together they were soon engaged in opening Mr. Trent’s desk and secretary, which his wife had not before touched since he himself closed them.

Alas! the search was an easy matter, and came swiftly to an end. Beyond a few personal letters from relatives and friends, there was not a scrap of writing anywhere. Even the ledgers and account books had been removed, and at this discovery the same thought came to both:

“Antonio.”

“Yet, why? and so secretly. He was really the master here, and if, as he now claims, Sobrante is his, he has but to prove it, and we will go away,” said the widow, trembling for the first time.

“Let us try the safe. That night before he went off in such grief, Ephraim gave me the key. He thought he was going forever, and I was to look in it some time–when I needed. We’ll look now.”

Mrs. Trent herself unlocked the clumsy iron box and found it empty, save for one small parcel. This, wrapped in a bit of canvas, was securely tied and addressed to “Jessica Trent.”

The mother passed it to her.

“You open it, please, mother. It may be–it must be–that deed and maybe some other things–I couldn’t wait to pick the knots, and I’ve no knife.”

CHAPTER XIII
THE START

Ephraim was polishing his rifle in his own room when they came to him, and rose to welcome the unusual visit of the lady with more awkwardness than he commonly displayed. It was an honor she was doing him, yet he had far rather she had not come.

But he was forced back into his chair by Jessica’s assault of clinging arms and raining kisses, and, catching sight of the parcel in her hand, began to understand.

“Oh, you splendid, darling, generous Ephraim! I can never, never thank you enough for doing this for me, but I could not ever possibly take it. Why, there must be hundreds of dollars there, my mother says, and that would mean almost all the years you’ve ever lived at Sobrante. I never knew anybody with such a heart as you, dear Ephraim.”

The poor old fellow was far more distressed by her rejection of his gift than she could guess. His face drooped, he worked his hands and feet uneasily, he shifted his seat, and behaved in altogether a new fashion for the man who had hitherto borne himself so simply and naturally. Then the old suspicion returned to sting his loving heart, and he glanced up to study his mistress’ face. To his surprise he saw it wet with tears, and that she was holding out her thin, labor-hardened hands to clasp his own.

“Ephraim Marsh, you have done me more good than money could bring. You have renewed my faith in mankind. In a world where live such men as you justice will be done the memory of my dead husband. I thank you.”

“Don’t–don’t mention it, Mrs. Trent. I wish it had been double, as it ought, only––”

“Ephraim, mother says we may go. You and I, as you said, ‘together,’ to make everything straight.”

“What? You’ve told her then, Lady Jess.”

“Of course. Or she guessed. How could I keep anything from my mother? And she’s quite willing.”

“I’m more than willing, Ephraim. I want you to go. I believe that good will come of the journey, though I am terribly disappointed by not finding any papers or letters to help you in the search for the men with whom Mr. Trent transacted his business. Antonio must have taken away all the records or put them in some place I cannot guess.”

“Then we’ll find Antonio first.”

“Of course. How simple of me not to think of that. Do you happen to know where he went?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t. But you can always track a–well some critters by their scent. Wherever that scoundrel goes he’ll leave a trail. I’ve a keen nose for the hunt.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly, Ephraim. Perhaps he considered that he was doing all for the best; and if Sobrante is his, he’s welcome to it.”

“Whew!” was the ranchman’s astonished comment.

“Don’t you understand, dear Ephraim? Losing a home is nothing to losing honor,” said Jessica, earnestly. “We don’t care half so much about Sobrante as that other thing.”

“You shall keep both. Your home and our master’s honor,” cried the old man, fiercely.

“Yes, that we will!” echoed Jessica, clasping his hand again.

So doing she dropped the canvas bag on the floor, and, picking it up, Mrs. Trent would have restored it to its owner, as she so considered the sharpshooter. But he would have none of it.

“I’ve heard the little tackers call one another ‘Indian giver.’ I couldn’t, ma’am, you know. It’s Jessie’s, now.”

The mistress’ face grew serious. She had not expected to find the man so obstinate. But she hated to wound him and turned the matter aside with the remark:

“Let it rest so, then, for the present. I will keep it in the safe till you come back–if I can. Though I begin to feel as if nothing were secure at Sobrante, nowadays.”

Ephraim pondered for a moment, then looked up with a relieved expression.

“Asking pardon, ma’am, I’m sure; have you got any–I mean much money handy by you?”

“No. I have not. Fortunately, beyond the wages of the men, not much ready cash is needed at Sobrante, where we produce so much.”

“Yes’m. Yet I wouldn’t like to set out on a journey that might be long, or even delayed for a spell, without considerable loose change. Better let the captain pay all expenses of the trip out of that little handful, and call it square.”

“Square! That is even greater generosity than the first. Lying in the safe you might have found it again; but spent–Ephraim, I fear I’ll never be able to repay such an amount. I must think out some other way.”

“Don’t you trust me, Mrs. Trent?”

“Am I not trusting you with the most precious thing in life–my daughter?”

“Then, mother, trust him about the money. It’s good sense. We haven’t any and we need it. Besides, it hurts him to refuse. Yes, we’ll use it, Ephraim dear.”

So it was settled; but it was not in Jessica’s nature to keep the story from the rest of her “boys.” Forgetting her angry feelings of the morning she called a meeting and spread the news among them. Much as she loved them, until the time of her recent appointment as “captain,” she had tried to give them their titles of “Mr.,” though not always remembering. Now she no longer tried. They were just her comrades, and when she stood upon the horseblock to address them it was with the joyful announcement:

“John! George! Joe! Everybody! Ephraim and I are going away!”

She paused and looked around, but instead of the sympathetic pleasure she expected there were darkening looks and evident disappointment.

“Oh! but we are coming back again. Hark, what he did!”

Ephraim was away putting his few traps together against the morning’s start, since, if they were to go at all, why delay? Else he might have silenced her then and there. But out it came, and be sure the sharpshooter’s generosity lost not one bit in her telling.

“With this money we’re going to hire lawyers and pay our lodging where we have to, and hunt up the men that know about business. Finally, to find the money–that other lot of it–that Mr. Hale said had been sent to my father by those New York folks. If they did send it they shall have it back–if we can find it. If they didn’t–they shall tell all the world they accused him wrongfully. We’re going to find the man that made that title, if we can. We’re going to save Sobrante, but we’re going to save its honor first!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Glory to the captain!”

“And old ‘Forty-niner,’” added honest John Benton.

They cheered him to the skies, and when the uproar had subsided, their small chief said:

“You are all to take the best care of Sobrante, and first–of my mother. Don’t you let her worry, nor let Ned and Luis get hurt. And you must keep Aunt Sally here till I come back.”

Somebody groaned.

“Oh! that’s not right. I couldn’t go if she hadn’t come. She’ll look after everything––”

“That’s the true word!”

“And I want you all to be–be good and not tease her.”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! All in favor of minding the captain, say Ay!”

They swung her down from her perch and carried her on their shoulders everywhere about the old mission. They offered her all their possessions, including pistols and bowie knives, at peaceful Sobrante more useful for target practice and pruning vines than their original purposes. But she declined all these warlike things, saying that Ephraim would carry only his own rifle, and finally tore herself away from them to the anxious mother at the cottage, naturally jealous of each moment of her darling’s company.

“Don’t see how Eph. ever saved so much. Hasn’t had any wages since ours failed, as I know of. Mine always go fast as earned, and thought everybody’s did,” said one, when Jessica had left them.

“Some folks have all the luck! Why didn’t it happen to me to have money to give her? or to offer first to go hunt them liars? Shucks!” said Samson, in disgust. Though he had been back some time from escorting the stranger “off bounds,” that task had left him in a bad humor.

“Well, the captain’d tell me envy was wicked, and when I was hearing her say it I’d believe it. But I do envy old eighty his chance,” complained Joe. “Hello! there’s Ferd! Come to think of it I haven’t noticed him around these two days. Not since that stranger cast his ugly shadow on the ranch. Hi, there, Dwarf! Where you been?”

“Where I seen bad doings.”

“Right. Seeing you was there yourself. What doings was they?”

In ordinary the older men had little to say to Antonio’s “Left Hand,” but he afforded them diversion, just then, when they were all a little anxious and downhearted over their captain’s departure on what seemed to some of them a wild-goose chase.

Ferd went through a pantomime of theft. Furtively putting one hand into his neighbor’s pocket to instantly thrust it back into his own. He produced a buckskin bag and twisting some eucalyptus leaves into rolls, suggesting those of money, thrust these within the bag and that within his jacket. Then he glanced about with an absurdly innocent expression, threw his shoulders back, and stepped forward a few paces with so firm a step and erect a bearing that more than one instantly recognized the mimicry.

“Forty-niner.”

Having produced the effect he had intended, Ferd slouched back into his own natural attitude and begged:

“Something to eat.”

At that moment Ephraim had been approaching and was an indignant witness of this performance, nor was he less quick to see its significance than his mates had been. Also, to him that buckskin bag was a familiar object. With one stride he collared Ferd and shook him like a rat.

“You imp! What do you mean by that? And how came you by Elsa Winkler’s pouch?”

Ferd broke from his captor and his face changed color beneath its filth. He was one who was perfectly satisfied to live in a country where water was scarce; but, by way of fun, another ranchman caught him as he escaped from Ephraim, and forcibly ducked his head and shoulders in the washing-trough. After that he was let go and later on was given a liberal supper at the messroom. He ate this as if he had not seen food since he had gone away two days before, but he was greedy at all times, and the present instance excited no comment.

The morning came and all was ready for the start. Every person at Sobrante gathered before the cottage door, and each with his or her word of farewell advice or good will. Aunt Sally, fluttering with patchwork strips of already “pieced blocks,” flung jauntily over either shoulder, her spectacles slipping off the point of her nose and her hands holding forth a fat fig pie, hot and dripping from the oven.

“I’ve been a-bakin’ all night, Ephy. There’s a pair of fowls, a ham, four loaves, some hard-boiled eggs, salt, pepper, sugar, tea, coffee, butter, dishes, five vials of medicine, some dish towels, some––”

“What in reason! How expect me to carry that great basket, as well as the saddlebags, and myself–on one horse? You’re old enough to have sense–but you’ll never learn it. One loaf––”

“Ephraim Marsh! Are you eighty years old or are you not? At your age would you starve the little darling daughter of the best friends you ever had? Here, Jessie. You get off that donkey. We’ll wait till we can pick out some other man that––”

“Give me the basket; I’ll carry it if I have to on my head!” interrupted “Forty-niner,” indignantly. But he added to himself: “I can chuck it into the first clump of mesquite I meet.”

Jessica was upon Scruff, whose loss the small boys were bewailing far more than that of the girl herself. Without Scruff they would be compelled to stay within walking distance of the cottage, and this was imprisonment. Without Jessica–well, there were many things one could do better with Jessica away.

Mrs. Trent’s face was pale but calm. Nobody knew what this first parting with her helpful child was to her anxious heart, but it was her part to send the travelers outward in good cheer.

“Put the saddlebags on Scruff, in front of Jessica. He’s strong enough to carry double, and they’re not so heavy. Few girls, in my days at the East, would have set out upon an indefinite journey, equipped with only one flannel frock and a single change of underclothing.”

“But the flannel frock is new and so is the pretty Tam that Elsa gave me last Christmas. What do I want more? specially when there’s this warm jacket you made me take, for a cold night’s ride. Isn’t it enough, mother, dear?”

“Quite, I think, else I should have made you delay till I could have provided more. Be sure to write me, now and then. One of the men will ride to the post every few days and fetch any letters. Good-by, and now–go quickly!”

She added no prayers, for these were too deep in her heart for outward utterance; but she felt her own courage ebbing, and that if the parting were not speedy she could not at all endure it. Until that moment she had not realized how complete was her dependence upon Jessica’s protecting tenderness; and turning, toward her home hid thus the tears she would not have her daughter see.

But neither could Lady Jess have seen them, because of the sudden mist in her own. All her eagerness for the journey was gone, and her courage was fast following it. If the start were not made at once it would never be.

“Good-by, mother. Good-by, all! Come, Ephraim! Go, go–Scruff!”

A moment later the travelers were disappearing down the sandy road, and upon those whom they had left behind had fallen an intolerable burden of foreboding and loneliness.

“Desolation of desolations! That’s what this old ranch’ll be till that there little bunch of human sunshine comes safely back to it. A crazy trip, a crazy parcel of folks to let her take it. That’s what we are,” said John Benton, savagely kicking the horseblock to vent his painful emotion.

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And I never remembered to put in that guava jell!” moaned a voice of woe.

“Then, mother, just trot it out to us for dinner,” said her son, “we’ll take that burden off your mind.”

“You will? Have you a heart to eat good victuals, John Benton, when that sweet child has just thrust herself into a den of lions, and lawyers, and liars, and–and–things?”

“Oh, hush! Lions! The notion!”

“Well, you can’t deny there’s bears, anyway,” she retorted, with ready dolefulness. “Ephy’s shot ’em himself in his younger days.”

“And ended the crop. Now you go in; and if I hear you downhearting the mistress the least bit I’ll make you take a dose of your own picra,” said this much-tried man.

CHAPTER XIV
THE FINISH

“Could not have been so kind and thoughtful as you. Not one. Dearly as I love them I’d rather have you to take care of me on this long journey than any other single one. So do be good and not extravagant. And isn’t it lovely to find how almost everybody knew of my dear father? Or, if they didn’t know him for himself, they’d heard of him and of something he’d done for somebody. It makes the way seem almost short and as if I’d been over the road before.”

“He often passed this way, child; and whenever he went left pleasant memories behind him. He was a grand man, was Cassius Trent. Ugh! To think––”

“That will be all right, Ephraim. I know it. I feel it. And how I do love all the new places and things I see. I should never have cared to leave Sobrante but for this business; yet now I have left it I’m finding the world a big, splendid, lovely place.”

“H-m-m! I reckon even this old earth could show only its best side to you, little girl. However, it has been pleasant and it’s about over. Aunt Sally’s provisions didn’t have to go into the mesquite bushes, after all. What we couldn’t eat we’ve found plenty of others to take off our hands. Even the medicine didn’t go begging, and that’ll do her proud to hear. Poor wretches who have to take it!”

“But they wanted it, Ephraim. Some of the women said they hadn’t had a dose of medicine in years and seemed as pleased as if it had been sweetmeats. Now the basket is empty. What shall you do with that?”

“Leave it at the next place we stop.”

They had set out upon their ride on Tuesday morning and this was sunset, Saturday. They were descending the slope of a mountain and the guide pointed forward, eagerly.

“Do you see that hazy spot off yonder? That’s our City of the Angels! The city where we shall find justice and honor.”

“Oh, shall we be there to-night?”

“No. We might have been days ago if we’d ridden across country and struck the railway lines, but I wanted to do just as we have done. I knew you’d hear so much about your father it would do you good forever. We can go home the quicker way if we think best; and if we have good news to take will, likely, so think, I–I’m almost sorry we’re so near the end.”

“In one way so am I. Not in another. I long to begin to hunt for that money and the men who have it.”

Ephraim sighed. Now that he was thus far on his mission he began to think it, indeed, as Joe Dean had said, “A good deal of the needle and haymow style.” But he rallied at once and answered, cheerfully:

“There’s a house I know, or used to, at the foot of this slope. I planned to sleep there to-night, make an early start in the morning, and ride the fifteen miles left so as to get to the town in time for the churches. To think you’re eleven years old, Lady Jess, yet have never been inside any church except the rickety old mission.”

“Do you like churches, Ephraim?”

“Yes. I do now, child. I didn’t care so much about ’em when I lived nigh ’em. But they’re right. There’s a good many kinds of ’em and they get me a little mixed, arguing. But they’re right; and the bell––It’ll be a good beginning of this present job to go to meeting the first thing.”

“Oh! this wonderful world and the wonderful things I’m learning! What a lot I shall have to tell the folks when I get home. Seems as if I couldn’t wait.”

They found the little lodging-house, as Ephraim had hoped, though now kept by a stranger to him. However, the new landlord made them comfortable, charged them an exorbitant price–having caught sight of his guest’s fat purse–and set them early on their way. “Forty-niner” did not complain. Their next and final stop would be with an old fellow-miner who, at Ephraim’s last visit to Los Angeles, five years before, had kept a tidy little inn on one of the city’s central streets. If this old friend were still living he would give them hearty welcome, the best entertainment possible, and what was more to the purpose–practical advice as to their business.

“The bells! The bells! Oh! they are what you said, the sweetest things I ever heard!” cried Lady Jess, in delight, as over the miles of distance there floated to them on the clear air, the chimes and sonorous tollings from many church towers.

“We shall be late, after all, I guess. That means it’s time for the meetings to begin. Well, there’ll be others in the afternoon; so we may as good take it easy and go slow.”

This suited Jessica, who found more and more to surprise and interest her in every stage of their advance, and most of all as they entered the city. This was much altered and improved since the sharpshooter had himself last seen it, but even thus he could point out many of the finest buildings, name the chief avenues, and comport himself after the manner of one who knows enlightening one who does not.

But soon Jessica saw few of the things which interested him and heard him not at all. It was the first time she had ever seen a girl of her own age, and now–the streets were full of them. In their gay Sunday attire, on their homeward way now from the churches whose bells had long ceased to ring, they were here, there, and everywhere. They lined the sidewalks and glittered from the open electric cars. They smiled at one another and, a few, at her; for to them, also, this other stranger girl was a novel sight, just then and there. Besides the oddity of her dress and equipment, the eagerness and beauty of her face attracted them, and more than one pair of eyes turned to look after her, as Scruff scrambled along, unguided by his rider, and dodging one danger only to face another.

“That’s a country girl, fast enough; and if she doesn’t look out that uneasy burro will land her on the curbstone! Look out there, child!” cried one passerby, just as the animal bounded across the track of a whizzing trolley.

But this peril escaped, Ephraim grasped Scruff’s bridle and presently led the way into a quieter street or alley, and thence to the wide plaza before the inn he sought.

“Thank fortune, there’s room enough here to turn around in! And there’s the very house. Hello! Lady Jess! I say, Jessica!”

Without warning the girl had whisked the bridle from his grasp and had chirruped to the now excited beast in the manner which meant:

“Go your swiftest!”

Scruff went. Following he knew not what, and terrified afresh at every square he traversed. Somewhere a band of music was playing, and the beating of the drums seemed to his donkey brain the most horrible of noises. To escape it and the ever-increasing throng his nimble feet flew up and down like mad; he thrust his head between the arms of people and forced the crowd to part for him; he reared, backed, plunged, and shook himself; but did not in the least disturb his mistress’ firm seat, as with her own head leaning forward she kept her gaze upon some distant object and urged him to pursuit.

The crowd which made way for this eager pair was first angry, then amused. After that it began to collect into a formidable following. Poor Lady Jess became to them a “show” and Scruff’s antics but meant to exhibit her “trick” riding.

Now Stiffleg was an ancient beast, which had been a trotter in his day; but his day, like his master’s, was past. By good care and easy stages he had accomplished his long journey in fair condition; but he was a sensible animal and felt that he had earned a rest. So when Ephraim urged him forward after the vanishing burro he halted and turned his head about. If ever equine eyes protested against further effort, his did then; and at ordinary times “Forty-niner” would have been the first to perceive this appeal and grant it. He had always bragged that “Stiffleg’s more human than most folks,” but he forgot this now. He remembered only that his precious charge was fast disappearing from sight and that in another moment she would be lost in a great, strange city.

“Simpleton that I was! I never even mentioned the name of the tavern we were going to,” reflected, “else she might tell it and get shown the way.” Then came another startling thought. For fear of just such an emergency–why had he been silly enough to think of it?–he had on that very morning, as they neared their journey’s end, divided their money into two portions and make her carry the larger one. She had objected, at first; but afterward consented, and with pride in his trust. “If any scamp got hold of her he’d rob her or–maybe worse! Oh, Atlantic! Giddap, Stiff! Giddap, I tell you!”

To the crowd this appeared but another feature of “the show.” These rustics from the plains had evidently come into town to furnish entertainment for Sunday strollers, and Stiffleg’s obstinacy was to them a second of the “tricks” to be exhibited.

However, it was a case of genuine balk; and the more Ephraim urged, implored, chastised, the firmer were the horse’s forefeet planted upon the highway and the more despairing became the rider’s feeling.

“Build a fire under him,” “Thrust red pepper under his nose,” “Tie him to a trolley car.” “Blindfold him.”

Various were the suggestions offered, to none of which did the sharpshooter pay any heed. The brass band accomplished what nothing else could. Blatantly it came around the corner, keeping time to its own noisy drums, and Stiffleg pricked up his ears. In his youth he had marched to battle and, at that moment, his youth was renewed. He reared his drooping head, a thrill ran through his languid veins, and, though still without advance motion, his hoofs began to beat a swift tattoo, till the towering plumes of the drum major came alongside his own now gleaming eyes. Then, he wheeled suddenly and–forward!

“Ho! the old war-horse! That’s a pretty sight,” shouted somebody.

Alas! for Ephraim. The unexpected movement of the balking animal did for him what was rare indeed–unseated him. By the time that it was “right front” for Stiffleg his master was on the ground, feeling that an untoward fate had overtaken him and that his leg, if not his heart, was broken. Music had charms, in truth, for the rejuvenated beast, and one of the sharpshooter’s pet theories was thereby proved false. Had anybody at Sobrante told him that anything could entice his “faithful” horse away from him he would have denied the statement angrily. He would have declared, with equal conviction, that, in case of accident like this, the intelligent creature would have stayed beside and tried to tend him.

Now, lying forsaken both by Jessica and Stiffleg, he uttered his shame and misery in a prolonged howl, as he attempted to rise and could not.

“O! Ough! Oh! My leg’s broke! My leg’s broke all to smash, I tell you. Somebody pick me up and carry me–yonder–to the Yankee Blade. If Tom Jefferts keeps it still, he’ll play my friend. Oh! Ah!”

Some in the now pitying throng exchanged glances, and one man bent over the prostrate Ephraim, saying, kindly:

“Why, Tom Jefferts hasn’t been in this town these three years. He went to ’Frisco and set up there. If there’s anybody else you’d like to notify I’ll telephone––”

“He gone, too! Then let me lie. What do I care what becomes of me now? Oh! my leg!”

The bravest men are cowards before physical suffering, sometimes. Ephraim would have faced death for Jessica without flinching, but that gathering agony of pain made him indifferent, for the moment, even to her welfare. This calamity had fallen upon him like lightning from a clear sky and benumbed him, so to speak. But it had not benumbed those about him. Within five minutes the clang of an ambulance gong was heard, and the aid which some thoughtful person had summoned arrived. Ephraim was tenderly lifted and placed within the conveyance, and away it dashed again, though almost without jar, and certainly without hindrance, since everything on the street gives place to suffering.

By the time the hospital was reached the patient had recovered something of his customary fortitude, but he was still too confused and distressed to think clearly about his escaped charge and what should be done to find her. As for Stiffleg:

“I hope I’ll never see that cowardly, ungrateful beast again!” he ejaculated; then resigned himself to the surgeon’s hands.

That which Lady Jess had perceived in the distance and had followed so wildly was the tall figure of a gentleman in a gray suit. He wore a gray hat and blue glasses, such as her mother had pressed upon Mr. Hale’s acceptance during his brief stay at Sobrante.

“It’s he! It certainly is he! Oh! Now I can tell him how sorry both mother and I were that the ‘boys’ behaved so rudely. And he’s a lawyer. He’s on the same business we are, if his is the other side. I must stop him–quick!”

This might have been an easy thing to do, under Scruff’s present rate of speed; but, unfortunately, the tall man stepped into a hack, waiting beside the plaza for stray passengers, and giving an order was driven rapidly away.

For a long time Jessica kept that carriage in sight; then it turned a corner into an avenue, where were hundreds more just like it, it seemed to her, and she lost it among the many.

Even yet she pressed on determined. “In a city–it’s just one city, even if it is a big one–I shall find him if I keep on. I must. Go, Scruff! The band is after you. Go! Go!”

The overtaxed burro had already “gone” to his fullest ability. He could do no more, although his mistress whispered “sugar,” “sweet cake” and other tempting words. His excited pace dropped to the slowest of walks, his breath came hardly, and finally he leaned himself against a post and rested. When he had done so for some moments, Jessica turned him about and looked backward, expecting to see Ephraim close behind. But he was nowhere in sight; and in a flash of horror the girl realized that she was lost.

CHAPTER XV
A NEW FRIEND FOR THE OLD

“I remember he told me then that if ever I were lost again I was to keep perfectly still for a time and think over all the things I’d seen by the way. After awhile I might feel sure enough to go slowly back and guide myself by them. But I can’t think here. It’s so noisy and thick with men and women. And I’m getting so hungry. Ephraim said we would have the best dinner his friend could give us. If he’d told me that friend’s name or where he lived. Well, I’ll mind my father in one thing; I’ll keep still. Then if Ephraim should happen to come this way he’d find me sooner. But–he won’t. Something has happened, or he’d never let me out of sight. If I didn’t know the bigness of a city he did and would have taken care.”

So she dismounted and led Scruff back beside the telegraph post, against which the weary animal calmly leaned his shoulder and went to sleep. Jessica threw her arm over the burro’s neck and, standing so, scanned every passing pedestrian and peered into every whirling vehicle.

Something of her first terror left her. She was foolish to think anything harmful could have happened to “Forty-niner” so quickly after she had run away from him. She wished she had called and explained to him, but she had had no time if she would catch up to that gray-coated gentleman. After all they were still in the same city and all she needed was patience.

“That’s what I have so little of, too. Maybe this is a lesson to me. Mother says impatient people always find life harder than the quiet kind. I wonder what she’s doing now! and oh! I’m glad she can’t see me. She’d suffer more than I do. It’s queer how that man, in a fancy coat, with so many brass buttons, keeps looking at me. He’s walked by this place on one side the street or the other ever so many times. I wonder if he owns this post. Maybe it’s his and he doesn’t like us to stand here, yet is too polite to say so. Come, Scruff, let’s walk a little further along. Then he can see we don’t mean to hurt his post.”

Scruff reluctantly roused and moved a pace or two, then went to sleep again. The shadow of a building that had sheltered them from the hot sunshine passed gradually and left them exposed to the full glare from the sky. Both Jessica and the burro were used to heat, however, and did not greatly suffer from it. But this motionless waiting became almost intolerable to active Lady Jess, and the sharpness of her hunger changed into faintness. The sidewalks seemed to be rising up to strike her and her head felt queer; so she pulled the hot Tam from her curls, leaned her cheek against Scruff’s neck, and, to clear her dizzy vision, closed her eyes. Then for a long time knew no more.

A young man sat down to smoke his after-dinner cigar before the window of a clubhouse across the way. Idly observant of the comparatively few persons passing at that hour, his artist eye was caught by the scarlet gleam of Jessica’s cap, fallen against the curbstone.

“Hello! That child has been in that spot for two hours, I think. She was there before I went to dinner and must be dead tired. But she and the burro are picturesque–I’ll sketch them.”

He whipped out notebook and pencil and by a few skillful lines reproduced the pair opposite. But as he glanced toward them, now and then, during this operation, he became convinced that something was amiss with his subject.

“Poor little thing! If she’s waiting for anybody she keeps the baby too long. I’m going over and speak to her. If she’s hungry I’ll send her a sandwich.”

At his touch on her shoulder Jessica roused. Her sleep had refreshed her, though she was still somewhat confused.

“Oh! Ephraim! How long you’ve been! Why–it isn’t Ephraim!”

“No, little girl, I’m not Ephraim, but I’m a friend. I’m afraid you will be ill standing so long in the hot sun. Are you waiting for anybody?”

The voice was kind and Jessica was glad to speak to any one. She told her story at once in a few words. The young man’s face grew grave as he listened, still he spoke encouragingly.

“It’s quite easy for strangers in a big place to get separated. Suppose, since you haven’t had your dinner, as I guess, that you go with me and have some. Wait, I’ll just speak to that policeman, yonder, and ask him to have a lookout for your Ephraim, while we’re in the restaurant. There’s a good place halfway down the block, and from its window you can watch the burro for yourself. I’ll tie him, shan’t I?”

“He’s very tired. I don’t think he’ll need any tying. He’s never tied at Sobrante.”

“Sobrante? Are you from Sobrante? Why, I’ve heard of that ranch, myself.”

“Have you? That makes it seem as if I knew you.”

The stranger smiled and beckoned to the policeman, who proved to be the brass-buttoned individual that had taken so much apparent interest in Jessica, but had not spoken to her of his own accord. He came forward promptly now and the young man related to him what Lady Jess had said. Then asked:

“What would I better do about it? I thought of taking her to the restaurant over there and getting her some dinner.”

“No. She’d better go to the station-house with me. The matron’ll look after her and I’ll have the donkey put in stable. I’ll tell the officer who’s coming on this beat now to keep an eye out for a countryman with a stiff-legged horse; is it, girl?”

“Yes. A bay horse, with a blazed face. The horse’s name is Stiffleg and the master’s, Ephraim Marsh.”

The officer made the entry in his book, then took hold of Scruff’s bridle and led the way stationward. Jessica looked appealingly into the young man’s face and he smiled, then grasped her hand.

“Don’t fear, child, that I’ll desert you till I find your old guardian. There’s nothing frightful about a station-house, except to criminals,” he said, kindly.

However, Jessica knew nothing of such institutions and therefore had no fear of them. With the exception of Antonio’s “crossness” she had met with nothing but love and kindness all her life, and she looked for nothing else. She was already happy again at finding two persons ready to talk with her and help her; and her pretty face grew more and more charming to the artist’s view as she skipped along beside him toward the police headquarters, as this station chanced to be.

“You see, little girl, that when a child is lost in a city the first thing the friends think of is–the station-house. All stray persons are taken and messages are sent to it from every part of the town all the time. That Ephraim will remember that, if he’s ever been here before, and he’ll be finding you long before night. Till then you’ll be safe and cared for.”

Jessica did feel a moment’s hesitation when she had to part with Scruff, but soon laughed at her own dismay.

“I felt as I must take him inside this building with me, for fear he’d be lonesome, too. But, of course, I know better. Why, what a nice, big place this is!”

By far the largest building she had ever entered, but her new acquaintances smiled at her delight over it.

“Not all who come here think it so fine,” said the young man. “Eh, officer?”

“No, no. No, indeed, sir. Now, this way, please. I’ll just enter the case at the desk and call up the matron. She’ll tend to the girl all right. You needn’t bother any more.”

“Oh! are you going?” asked Jessica, her face drooping.

“Not yet. No law against my having a meal with this young lady, is there, officer?”

“If it isn’t at the public charge, sir,” answered the policeman.

“Oh! I’ve money to pay for my own dinner. See?” cried Lady Jess, producing the fat wallet Ephraim had given her and which she pulled from within her blouse, where she had worn it, suspended by a string.

“Whew! child! All that? Put it up, quick. Put it up, I say.”

Instinctively she obeyed and hid the purse again, but her face expressed her surprise, and the young man answered its unspoken question.

“Very few little girls of your age ever have so much money as that about them. None ever should have. It’s too great a temptation to evil-minded persons, and a good many of that sort come here. Ah! the matron! I’ll ask her to show us into some less public place and I’ll order a dinner from that restaurant nearby.”

In response to his request the motherly woman in charge of the women’s quarters offered him her own little sitting-room; “if they’ll say yes to it in the office,” she added, as a condition.

This was soon arranged, the dinner followed and a very hungry Jessica sat down to enjoy it. Her companion also pretended to eat, but encouraged her to talk and found himself interested in her every moment. He, also, promptly told her who he was; a reporter and occasional artist, on one of the leading daily papers. A man always on the lookout for “material,” and as such he meant to use the sketch, he had made. He showed her the sketch, and explained that he would put an item in the next issue of his paper which might meet the eye of the missing sharpshooter and notify that person where to find her, if he had not done so before.

Jessica did not know that it was an unwise thing to make a confidant of a stranger, but in this instance she was safe enough; and it pleased her to tell, as him to listen to, the whole history of Sobrante; its fortunes and misfortunes, and the object of her present visit to this far-off town.

His business instinct was aroused. He realized that here might be “material,” indeed. He was young and sincere enough to be enthusiastic. Times were a little dull. There was quite a lull in murders and robberies; this story suggested either a robbery or swindle of some sort, and on a big scale. His paper would appreciate his getting a “scoop” on its contemporaries, and, in a word, he resolved to make Jessica Trent’s cause his own, for the time being.

“Look here, child, don’t you worry. You stay right quiet in this place with Matron Wood. I’ll get out and hustle. Here’s my card, Ninian Sharp, of The Lancet. That’s a paper has cut a good many knots and shall cut yours. I’ve heard of Cassius Trent. Everybody has, in California. I’ll find that Lawyer Hale. I’ll find old ‘Forty-niner’ and I’ll be back in this room before bedtime. Now, go play with the rest of the lost children–you’re by no means the only one in Los Angeles to-day. Or take a nap would be wiser. Look out for her, Matron Wood. Any good turn done this little maid is done The Lancet. Good-by, for a time.”

Smiling, alert, he departed and Jessica felt as if he had taken all her anxieties with him. She followed the matron into the big room where the other estrays, whom Mr. Sharp had told her she would find, waiting to be claimed by their friends, but none was as large as she. Some were so little she wondered how they ever could have wandered anywhere away from home; but she loved all children and these reminded her of Ned and Luis.

Promptly she had them all about her, and for the rest of that day, at least, Matron Wood’s cares were lightened. Yet one after another, some person called to claim this or that wanderer, with cries of rapture or harsh words of reproof, as the case might be. Jessica kissed each little one good-by, but with each departure felt herself growing more homesick and depressed. By sunset she was the only child left in the matron’s care, and her loneliness so overcame her that she had trouble to keep back her tears.

“But I’ll not cry. I will not be so babyish. Besides crying wouldn’t help bad matters and I’ve come away from Sobrante on a big mission. Even that jolly Mr. Sharp said, ‘That's a considerable of a job,’ when I told him. He was funny. Always laughing and so quick, I wish he’d come soon. It seems to take as long for him to find Ephraim as it would me. I should think anybody could have walked the whole city over by this time,” she thought, in her ignorance of distances. Then she asked:

“When do you think they’ll come, Matron Wood?”

The good woman waked from a “cat-nap” and was tired enough to be impatient.

“Oh! don’t bother. If they’re not here by nine o’clock you’ll have to go to bed. You should be thankful that there is such a place as this for just such folks as you. Like as not he’ll never come. You can’t tell anything about them newspaper men. But you listen to that bell, will you? I don’t see what makes me so sleepy. If it rings, wake me up.”

The minutes sped on. In the now silent room the portly matron slumbered peacefully and Jessica tried, though vainly, to keep a faithful watch. She did not know that her weary companion was breaking rules and laying herself open to disgrace; but she was herself very tired, so, presently, her head dropped on the table and she was also asleep.

Ninian Sharp found the pair thus, and jested with the matron when he waked her in a way that sounded very much like earnest. “He would have her removed,” and so on; thereby frightening Jessica, who had been roused by their voices, and looked from one to the other in keen distress.

“I did–I did try to listen for the bell, but it was so still and I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry––”

“Pooh! child. No more could I. It’ll be all right if this gentleman knows enough to hold his tongue,” said the woman, anxiously.

“I shouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t–where a lady is concerned. And I judge from appearances it’s about time Miss Jessica went to bed.”

The girl’s heart sank. This meant disappointment. She understood that without further words, and turned away her face to hide the tears which would come now, in spite of all her will.

Then the reporter’s hand was on her curls.

“Keep up your courage, child. I’ve been hustling, as I said I would. I’ve found out a lot. I’ve had boys searching the hotel records all over town and I know in which one your Mr. Hale is staying. He’ll keep–till we need him.”

“But Ephraim? Have you heard nothing of him?”

“I heard a funny yarn about a horse with a stiff leg; that the moment the sound of a drum was in his ears cooly tossed his aged rider into the gutter and marched off with the brass band, head up, eyes flashing, tail switching, a soldier with the best of them. See–it’s here in this evening’s Gossip.”

He held the sheet toward her and Jessica read the humorous account of Stiffleg’s desertion. But there was no account of what had further befallen Ephraim, and it seemed but a poor excuse for his non-appearance.

She tossed the paper aside, impatiently:

“But he had his own two good feet left. He could have followed me on them? I–I–he was always so faithful before.”

Mr. Sharp’s face sobered.

“He is faithful still, but his feet will serve him poorly for the next few weeks. Maybe months. Old bones are slow to heal, and the surgeon says it is a compound fracture. When he fell into the gutter, as my co-laborer so gayly puts it, he ‘broke himself all to smash.’ He’s in hospital. As a great favor from the authorities in charge I’ve seen him. I’ve told him about you. I’ve promised to befriend you and I’ll take you to see him in the morning. I’m sorry that your first night in our angelic city must be passed in a station-house, but I reckon it’s the safest till I can think of some fitter shelter. Good-night. My mother used to say that the Lord never shut one door but He opened another. Ephraim laid up–here am I. Count on me. Good-night.”

CHAPTER XVI
A HOSPITAL REUNION

After he had bidden Lady Jess good-night, the reporter called at the hotel where Morris Hale was registered and held an interview with that gentleman. The result of this was pleasing to both men. They had one common object: the recovery of the missing money which had been entrusted to Cassius Trent. Mr. Hale wished this for the sake of his New York patrons, but now hoped, as did Ninian Sharp, that if it were accomplished it would also clear the memory of Jessica’s father from the stain resting upon it. For the present, they decided to join forces, so to speak. By agreement, they went together to the station-house on the following morning, and found Lady Jess looking out of a window with a rather dreary interest in the scene. But she instantly caught sight of them and darted to the doorway to meet them, holding out both hands toward the lawyer and entreating:

“Oh! I beg your pardon for the ‘boys’! And for us that we should ever have let it happen to any guest of Sobrante. Can you forgive it?”

The reporter looked curious and Mr. Hale’s face flushed at the painful memory her words had revived. But he did not explain and passed the matter over, saying:

“Don’t mention it, my child. Odd, isn’t it? To think you should follow me so quickly all this long way. Well, you deserve success and I’m going to help you to it, if I can. So is this new friend you’ve made. Now, are you ready to see poor ‘Forty-niner’? If so, get your cap, bid the matron good-by, and we’ll be off.”

Jessica obeyed, quickly; taking leave of Mrs. Wood with warm expressions of gratitude for her “nice bed and breakfast,” assuring that rather skeptical person that these men “were certainly all right, because one of them had been at her own dear home and her mother had recognized him for a gentleman. The other–why, the other wrote for a newspaper. Even drew pictures for it! Think of that!”

“Humph! A man might do worse. But, never mind. This is the place to come to if you get into any more trouble. There’s the street and number it is, and here’s my name on a piece of paper. Now, it’s to be put in the book about your going, who takes you, and where. After that–after that I suppose there’s nothing more.”

Ninian Sharp watched this little by-play with much interest, and remarked to the lawyer:

“That child has a charm for all she meets. Even this old police matron, whose heart ought to be as tough as shoeleather, looks doleful at parting with her. I think her the most winning little creature I ever met.”

“You should see her with her ‘boys,’ as she calls the workmen at Sobrante. They idolize her and obey her blindly. Sometimes, their devotion going further than obedience,” he added, with a return of annoyance in his expression.

As she stepped into the street, Jessica clasped a hand of each, with joyful confidence, and they smiled at one another over her head, leading her to the next corner where they hailed a car and the reporter bade her jump aboard.

“Am I to ride in that? Oh, delightful!”

“Delightful” now seemed everything about her. Friends were close at hand and a few minutes would bring her to Ephraim. That he was injured and helpless she knew, yet could not realize; while she could and did realize to the full all the novelty about her. The swift motion of the electric car, the gay and busy streets, the palm-bordered avenues they crossed, the ever-changing scenes of the city, each richer and more wonderful than the other, in her inexperienced eyes. She would have liked to ask many questions, but her companions were now conversing in low tones and she would not interrupt. Soon, however, she saw Mr. Sharp make a slight gesture with his hand and the car stopped. “Our street,” he said, rising.

A brief walk afterward brought them to a big building, standing somewhat back from the avenue, with a green lawn and many trees about it. Above the several gateways of its iron fence were signs, indicating: “Accident Ward,” “Convalescent’s Ward,” “General Hospital,” “Nurses’ Home,” “Dispensary,” etc., all of which confused and somewhat startled the country-reared girl. The more, it may be, as, at that moment, the gong of an ambulance warned them to step off the crossing before the “accident” alley beside the main building, and the big van dashed toward an open door.

Jessica gripped Mr. Hale’s hand, nervously, and watched in a sort of fascination while white-garbed attendants lifted an injured man from the ambulance and carried him tenderly into the hospital.

“Is–is he hurt?”

“Yes, dear, I suppose so.”

“Was it like that they brought Ephraim here?”

“Probably.”

“Oh! how dreadful! My poor, poor ‘Forty-niner.’”

“Rather, how merciful. But come; such a brave little woman as you mustn’t show the white feather at the mere sight of a hospital van. Ephraim has been well cared for, be sure; and as he has been told to expect you he’ll be disappointed if you bring him a scared, unhappy face.”

“Then I’ll–I’ll smile,” she answered, promptly, thought the effort was something of a failure.

Soon they entered the building, whose big halls were so silent in contrast with the street outside, and where the white-clad doctors and nurses seemed to Jessica like “ghosts” as they moved softly here and there. Again she clinched the lawyer’s hand and whispered:

“It’s awful. It smells queer. I’m afraid. Aren’t you?”

“Not in the least. I like it. I’ve been a patient in just such places more than once and think of them as the most blessed institutions in the world. The odor of chemicals and disinfectants is noticeable at first, but one soon gets accustomed to it and likes it. At any rate I do. But, see, we’re falling behind. Mr. Sharp evidently knows his way well and we must hurry if we’d keep him in sight.”

Indeed, the reporter was just disappearing around a turn of the broad staircase leading up into a sun-lighted corridor. He was quick and decided in all his movements, and had paused but for one instant to speak with an attendant at the door before he took his direct way to Ephraim’s room.

“Why, I supposed he was in the general ward” said Mr. Hale, as he joined Ninian, who had to stop and wait for his more leisurely advance.

“He was, but he couldn’t stand it. So I had him put into a private room and he’s much better satisfied. He has money enough to pay for it and if he hadn’t–well, it was just pitiful to see the old man’s own distress at sight of the distress of others all about him. I’d have had to do it, even if it had taken my bottom dollar.”

“True to your class! I’ve always heard that newspaper men were the most generous in the world, and now I believe it. Well, count me in, on this transaction. But when were you here?”

“Last night and–early this morning.”

“Whew! If you put such energy as that into the rest of the business you’ll make a speedy finish of it!”

“That’s my intention. Well, child, here we are. Put your best foot forward and cheer up that forlorn old chap.”

Jessica had paused to look down a great ward, opening upon that corridor, and was staring, spellbound, at the rows upon rows of white beds, each with its occupant, and at the white-capped nurses bending over this or that sufferer. The wide, uncurtained windows, all open to the soft morning air, the snowy walls, the cleanliness and repose impressed her.

“Why–it’s nice! I thought it would be dreadful; and where is Ephraim? Can I go in? How shall I find him among so many?”

“Don’t you understand? This way, I said, Lady Jess. The sharpshooter wants to see his captain.”

She turned swiftly at that, and the smile he had hoped to rouse was on her face as she caught the reporter’s hand.

“Why–how did you know that? Who told you I was Lady Jess, or captain?”

“Who but ‘Forty-niner’ himself? Here he is,” and he gently forced her through an open doorway into a little room, which seemed a miniature of the great ward beyond. There was the same white spotlessness, another kind-faced nurse, and another prostrate patient.

“Ephraim! Ephraim! You poor, dear, precious darling!”

She was beside him, her arms about his neck, her tears and kisses raining on his wrinkled face–a face that a moment before had been full of sadness and impatience, but was now brimming with delight.

“Little Lady! Little captain! I’m a pretty sort of a guardeen, I am! But, thank God, I’m not the only man in the world, and you’ve found them that can help you more than I could, with all my smartness. Did you hear about that turn-tail, Stiffleg? Wasn’t that enough to make a man disgusted with horseflesh forever after? Ugh! I wish I had him, I’d larrup him crossing before the ‘accident’ alley beside the main well! And to think you, Cassius Trent’s daughter, spent your first night in town at a station-house! Child, I’ll never dare to go home and face the ‘boys’ again, after that. Never.”

“Don’t talk too much, sir,” cautioned the nurse, offering her patient a spoonful of some nourishment.

“No, Ephraim, I’ll talk. Oh! what wouldn’t Aunt Sally give to be here now! To think she’s lost such a chance for dosing you!”