The mountaineer shook his head, saying: “No, Danny, Slinkin’ Coyote’ll never more be seen in these parts, lest be it’s his ghost. Arter Meg tol’ me what had happened, I went down to put the sheriff wise. He reckoned ’twouldn’t do, no-how, to leave the body unburied, and that the county’d have to tend to it.”
The girls uttered sighs of relief. Jane rose, when the mountaineer had departed, saying, “Well, now, I guess we can all sleep without fear of a visit from Slinking Coyote.”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
JANE’S BIRTHDAY
For the next two days the boys searched high and low, far and near, without finding the box. On the morning of the third, which was Saturday, Jane announced at breakfast that, as it was her birthday, she wished to go down to the inn and get the mail. The stage would not come up that way until the following Monday. Instantly there was an uproar. Julie, whose foot was nearly well again, hopped around the table and threw her arms about her big sister’s neck without fear of being rebuked because the fresh muslin collar might be crushed. The older girl slipped an arm lovingly about the child, who stood with her cheek pressed against the soft dark hair.
Dan reached a hand across the table. “Jane, so it is! This is the wonderful day on which you are eighteen. I congratulate you!”
Gerry, with a whoop, had pounced upon her, even as Julie had done, without fear of rebuke. The older girl had been so consistently loving during the past few days that, childlike, they had accepted the change as being natural and permanent. Dan smiled happily at the group and in his eyes there was a tenderness that his sister rejoiced to see. But the lad who had been her chum since little childhood also knew that Jane’s heart held a sorrow which she was not sharing with him. That it had something to do with Jean Sawyer he surmised, but believed that it was because Jane still thought Mr. Packard’s overseer liked Merry especially well.
“Let’s have a party!” Gerald shouted as he capered about the room unable, it would seem, to otherwise express his enthusiasm. “That would be sport!” Dan agreed. Julie slipped from Jane’s encircling arm. Clapping her hands, she sang out: “Goodie! We’re going to have a party and maybe there’ll be ice-cream.”
“There probably isn’t any to be had nearer than Scarsburg,” Dan remarked. Then he grew thoughtful, wondering how long the girl he loved would be detained at the county seat, “along of school-work.”
As though voicing his thought, Gerald ceased his antics to say earnestly: “It won’t be a party unless Meg is at it.”
“And Jean Sawyer, too!” Julie put in. “Let’s ask Meg and Jean to our party. You want them, don’t you, Janey?”
The other girl smiled as she arose to clear the breakfast table; then turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the sudden tears from Dan. The boy’s heart was sad. He also believed that Jean Sawyer especially liked Merry, and, if this were true, there was nothing for Jane to do but to try not to care.
Bob suggested that he and Dan go up to the Heger place to get the horse. “Then the girls can take turns walking and riding,” he ended. Merry seemed to be very eager to go to the village, far down in the valley. “I, also, am expecting some mail,” was all that she would tell the others.
“I’m glad it’s such a shiny day,” Julie chirped. “Birthdays ought to be all gold and blue, hadn’t they ought to be, Janey?”
“What a tangled up sentence that is, dearie!” The older girl tried to hide her own sorrow that she need not depress the others who were all in a holiday mood. “But I do believe that birthdays ought to be sunny, for they are a chance to start life all over.” Merry looked up brightly. “I love beginnings!” she said, as she rolled her sleeves preparing to wash the dishes. “Whatever the mistakes or faults of the past have been, I feel that on New Years and birthdays, and even on Mondays, I can clean off the slate, so to speak, and start all over.” When the two girls were alone in the kitchen, Merry slipped an arm about her companion as she said, “Dear Jane, I wish you would act more friendly toward poor Jean Willoughby. I know that your seeming to avoid him the other day, hurt him deeply.” But Jane shook her head and in her eyes there was an expression of suffering. “I can’t! Oh, I can’t!” she said miserably. “Some day he might find out how I had acted about father’s renouncing his fortune, and then he would scorn me! I couldn’t endure it, Merry. Oh, indeed, I couldn’t! I’m going back East with you next week, and then I shall never see Jean Sawyer.”
An hour later the young people started down the mountain road, Julie riding on the horse as the other two girls, dressed in their natty hiking costumes, declared that they would rather walk. They had decided to have lunch at the inn, for Mrs. Bently was an excellent cook.
Jane covered her aching heart so well that Dan believed after all he had been mistaken in thinking that she was sorrowing for Jean. Her loving devotion to her best friend plainly proved to him that she was not at all jealous of Merry. Deciding that he must have been wrong, he entered wholeheartedly into the joyousness of the occasion and a jolly procession it was that wended its way down the circling road toward the hamlet of Redfords. At every turn Dan glanced down to see if, by any chance, Meg Heger might be returning to her home cabin. Her foster-father had not known how long she would have to stay at the Normal, where Teacher Bellows had sent her for a time of intensive preparatory work, but the lad hoped and believed that, even if Meg would have to return to Scarsburg on the following Monday, she would visit her home over the week-end. Nor was he wrong, for, at the bend, just above the village, Gerald, who had been racing ahead, turned to shout through hands held trumpet-wise: “Say kids, Meg Heger’s coming. Gee-golly! Now she can come to the party!”
Luckily no one glanced at Dan, for his sudden brightening expression would have revealed the secret he wished to share with none but Meg. In another few moments the girl, riding slowly up the mountain road on her spotted pony, heard a chorus of shouts, and glancing up, saw the young people on the bend above waving caps and kerchiefs. What a warmth there was in the heart of the girl who, through all the years, had been without a companion of her own age. And when at last they met, Jane was the first to hurry forward with outstretched hands. “We’ve missed our nearest neighbor and we’re so glad you came home today,” she said in her friendliest manner.
The beautiful girl looked from one to another of the group and seeing in each face a joyful expression, she asked: “What is it? Some special occasion?” Gerald shouted, “Yo’ bet it is! It’s ol’ Jane’s birthday!” Instantly he remembered the time in the orchard at home when he had called his sister “Ol’ Jane” and how scathingly he had been rebuked, and he looked quickly, anxiously at the girl, but she was laughingly saying, “You’re right, Gerald! Eighteen is old! I feel as ancient as the hills.” Then taking Meg’s free hand, for Julie was clinging to the other, Jane said, “Won’t you turn about and take lunch with us at the inn? It’s the first of the birthday celebrations.” But the mountain girl shook her head, smiling happily into her friend’s eyes as she replied: “Ma Heger is expecting me this noon and will have the things baked up that I like best. I couldn’t disappoint her nor dear old Pap, either.”
“But you’ll come later. We’ll be home by two o’clock and then the real celebration is to begin,” Jane begged, while Gerald said informingly, “We’re going to do stunts. I mean something extra-different. We don’t know what yet, but it’ll be something awful jolly.”
Meg beamed down at the eager freckled face. “I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. Of course I will be there.” Dan, who had been standing silently at her side said: “I will come up to your cabin for you. Then you will know when we are back and ready to begin the frolic, whatever it is to be.”
“Is Jean Sawyer coming?” Meg glanced at Jane to inquire. The mountain girl noted the sudden clouding of her new friend’s eyes and although the reply was lightly given in the negative, Meg knew that something was wrong. She had been so sure that Jane and Jean liked each other especially well.
Glancing at the sun, which was nearing the zenith, she exclaimed: “I must go now; my pony has had a long walk today and I do not want him to climb too rapidly.” Then with a direct glance out of her dusky, long-lashed eyes at Dan, she said: “I’ll be ready and waiting for you when you come.”
Mrs. Bently was indeed pleased when she heard that she was to have so many hungry guests for lunch and asked if she might have one hour for preparation.
The young people were disappointed when they learned that the mail had not arrived, but they had not long to wait before the stage drew up in front of the inn. Mr. Bently went out to get the leather bag which both Jane and Merry hoped might contain something of especial interest to them.
They all crowded around the tiny window in the corner which served as postoffice and waited eagerly while the innkeeper sorted out the papers, letters and packages.
“Wall, now,” he beamed at them over his spectacles, “if here ain’t that parcel ol’ Granny Peters been waitin’ fer so long. Yarn’s in it,” he informed his amused listeners. “Red, black and yellar. Granny sends to the city for a fresh batch every summer and knits things for Christmas presents. I’ve had one o’ Granny Peters’ mufflers every year for longer than I kin recollect.” He reached again into the bag. “An’ here’s magazines enough to start a shop. Them’s for the Packard ranch. They must have a powerful lot o’ time for settin’ around readin’, them two must.” Merry was watching eagerly, for, on the very next package she was sure that she saw her name. The postmaster looked at it closely. Then he held it far off to get a different angle, evidently hoping for enlightenment. Finally he shook his head and tossed it to one side. “Reckon thar’s been a mistake as to that parcel,” he said. “Thar ain’t no Miss Marion Starr in these here parts.”
“I’m Marion Starr,” that maiden informed him, laughingly holding out her hand. But before the postmaster would give up the parcel he presented the girl with a paper to sign. “Reckon thar’s suthin’ powerful valuable in that thar box,” he said, “bein’ as it’s sent registered.”
Then he leaned on his elbows as though planning to wait until Merry had opened her package before he finished distributing the mail, but to his quite evident disappointment, the girl slipped it into her sweater coat pocket. “I know what’s in it,” she said brightly. Jane, noting the radiant happiness in her friend’s face, believed that she also knew, but her attention was attracted again to the small window near which she stood, for the postmaster was touching her arm with a long letter. “Miss Jane Abbott,” he said, adding, “Wall, golly be, you’re sort o’ popular, I reckon. Here are three letters an’ thar’s another that come in yesterday.”
“It’s Jane’s birthday,” Julie piped up informingly. A month before the older girl would have rebuked the younger for having been so familiar with one of a class far beneath her. As it was, she accepted smilingly the well meant remark. “Wall, do tell! How old be yo’, Miss Jane? Not a day over sixteen, jedgin’ by yer looks.”
As soon as the two girls could slip away from the others, Jane led Merry into the deserted parlor of the inn, where hair-cloth chairs and sofa, a marble-topped table, and bright-colored prints on the wall were revealed in the subdued light from windows hung with heavy draperies.
When they were alone, Merry whirled and caught Jane’s hands as she asked glowingly: “Can you guess what’s in the box? I told mother to forward it.”
For answer Jane stooped and kissed the flushed cheek of her friend. “Of course, I can guess,” she replied. “It’s the ring Jean’s brother was to send you from Paris.”
Merry soon had the small box unwrapped and a dew-drop clear diamond was revealed in a setting of quaint design. “Oh, Merry, how wonderfully beautiful it is!” Jane said with sincere admiration. Her shining-eyed friend slipped it on the finger for which it was intended, then, smiling up at her companion, she prophesied, “Some day another ring, as lovely as this one, will make you my sister.”
There was a wistful expression in the dark eyes, but Jane’s quiet reply was, “You are wrong, Merry. Even if Jean thinks he cares for me, he would not, if he knew, and what is more, I have no reason to believe that he even likes me better than he does his other girl friends.”
Merry, knowing that time alone could tell whether or not she was a prophet, changed the subject by asking: “From whom are your letters, dear? How selfish I have been, opening my box first when it is your birthday.” Jane glanced at the top envelope, then tore it open with breathless eagerness.
Merry surmised, and correctly, that the letter was from Jean Sawyer. It was the one Mr. Bently had taken from a pigeon-hole where it had been since the day before. It did not take long for Jane to read it, and when she looked up there was an expression of happiness shining through the tears that had come. Then suddenly and most unexpectedly, the girl sank down in the stiff chair by the marble-topped table and bending her head on her arms, she sobbed bitterly. Merry went to her and putting an arm about her, she implored: “Don’t, don’t cry, dearie. It will make your eyes red and the others will wonder. Tell me what is in the letter and let us try to think what it is best to do. Is it from Jean?”
Jane lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Then she held the letter out for her friend to read. There were few words in it, but they told how sincerely unhappy the lad was because Jane seemed not to wish for his friendship. Jean had written: “All I can think of is that in some way I have hurt you, and that I do so want to be forgiven. At least, be frank and tell me just why you do not wish my friendship.”
“Why don’t you tell him, dearie? If it would be hard to talk it over with him, write a little letter now and leave it until someone comes for the Packard ranch mail. Will you do that if I get the materials?”
Jane nodded miserably. “Yes, I would rather write it. Then I will go back with you next week and I shall never again see Jean Sawyer.”
Merry procured from Mr. Bently the paper and envelope, while Bob willingly loaned his fountain pen. A glance at the big, loud-ticking clock on the wall showed that there was still twenty minutes before Mrs. Bently would be ready for them.
Merry thoughtfully left Jane alone, nor did she ask what her friend had written when, at last, she joined the others, who were seated in the cane-bottomed chairs on the front veranda of the inn.
The letter Jane had given to Mr. Bently, asking him to place it with the rest of the mail for the Packard ranch.
The boys sprang up when Jane appeared, and Bob, being nearest, offered his chair with a flourish. Merry glanced anxiously at her friend, but the beautiful face betrayed nothing. “Thank you,” Jane replied with a smile at Bob, who had perched upon the rail near. Then, to Dan, she said: “Brother, I have such a nice letter from Dad and one from grandmother, but best of all is the check in Aunt Jane’s letter, because now I can repay the debt that I owe our dear, wonderful Meg.”
Before she could say more, Mrs. Bently appeared in the doorway, her face rosy, her spotless blue apron wound about her hands. “The birthday lunch is ready to be dished up,” she announced. Instantly Bob was on his feet, making a deep bow before Jane and holding out his arm as he inquired, “May I have the great pleasure of escorting the guest of honor?”
Gerald, taking the cue, bowed before Merry and Julie, laughing up at Dan, said ungrammatically but happily: “Me’n you are all that’s left.” The tall boy caught the little girl by one hand as he joyfully replied: “Mrs. Tom Thumb and The Living Skeleton will end the procession.”
Jane, smiling over her shoulder, said rebukingly, “Don’t call yourself that, brother. You’re not nearly as thin as you were.” When the dining-room was reached, the young people were surprised and pleased. “Say, boy!” was Bob’s comment “Mrs. Bently, you’ve decked it out in grand style.”
The table to which they had been led was indeed resplendent with the best of everything that the good woman possessed. On a real damask table-cloth was glass that sparkled, while a pink rose pattern wound about plates and cups. “They’re my wedding presents,” the comely woman told them as she beamed her pleasure. “I never use them except for extra occasions like Christmas and——”
“Birthdays,” Gerald put in. Then, after the boys had moved the chairs out for the girls and all were seated, they glanced about the room. Two cowboys were at a table in a corner, and Jane recognized that one of them was from the Packard ranch. “He’ll take back their mail,” she thought, “and so this very day Jean Sawyer will know all. He will never, never want to see me after he reads what I have written.”
The menu for that birthday lunch was indeed an excellent one, but the children, who sat next to each other, were eagerly anticipating the dessert. “What do you ’spect it will be?” Gerald inquired softly, and Julie whispered back: “I know what I wish it was. It begins with I. C.”
“You might as well wish for something else,” Dan, who had overheard, replied, but when Mrs. Bently appeared, on her tray there were six dishes heaped high with chocolate ice cream.
“Why, Mrs. Bently, are you a miracle worker?” Jane, pleased for the children’s sake, inquired. Laughingly the woman confessed that the ice-cream had been the reason she had asked for one hour in which to prepare. “So many folks motorin’ past want ice-cream,” she told them, “and so Pa Bently fetched a new contraption from Denver last time he was up there, an’ it’ll freeze ice-cream in one hour easy.” Then she disappeared to soon return with a mountain of a chocolate layer cake. “You’ll have to get along without candles, Miss Jane,” the good woman said, “an’ the frostin’ ain’t very hard yet, but I reckon it’ll pass.”
The girl, who had felt scornful of these “natives,” as she had called them only a short month before, was deeply touched and she exclaimed with real feeling: “Mrs. Bently, I do indeed appreciate all the trouble that you have taken. I have never had a nicer party.”
A moment later Jane saw the two cowboys leave the dining-room. Almost unconsciously she pressed her hand against her heart to still its rapid beating as her panicky thought was questioning: “Do you really want to send that letter to Jean Sawyer? There is yet time to get it. Do you want him to know just how dishonorable you were about the money?” She half rose, then sank down again, for through the swinging door she had seen Mr. Bently handing the Packard mail pouch to the cowboy. It was too late. Then, chancing to meet Merry’s troubled glance, Jane smiled as she said with an effort at gaiety: “Gerald, if all of your wishes are to be fulfilled as magically as this one has been, you are to be a lucky boy.”
“There’s two things we’ve wished for lately that don’t happen, aren’t there, Danny?” The small boy looked up at his big brother, who smiled down, as be replied, “I suppose you mean that we have not found Meg Heger’s box. What is the other unmaterialized wish, Gerry?”
The boy’s wide eyes expressed astonishment. “Why, Dan Abbott, I do believe you’ve forgotten that we wished we might find the lost gold mine.”
The older boy laughingly confessed that was true. Dan had found a gold mine that he valued much more than the one to which Gerald referred. It was Mrs. Bently who said, “It wasn’t a lost mine, exactly, dearie. The vein they’d been workin’ petered out, although there are folks who reckon that vein branched off somewhars, but the miners went away hot-foot when the Bald Mountain Strike was made.” Then she concluded: “There’s not much use huntin’ for that lost vein, how-some-ever. Time and again there’s been wanderin’ miners diggin’ around in them parts, but they allays give up and go away.”
Then, as the young people rose, they each expressed some characteristic praise for the meal and indeed Mrs. Bently was almost as pleased about it as her guests had been. The bill, they found, was surprisingly small. Then, after bidding the two queer characters goodbye, the six merrymakers started up the trail with Julie again on the horse. The other girls took turns riding with her and so, at about two, they reached the Abbott cabin. Dan climbed to the back of the mare. Calling that he would soon return, he rode up the mountain toward Meg’s home. How very many things had happened in the few weeks they had been in the mountains, he thought. If only Jane could be happy, Dan assured himself, he would be supremely so. But poor Jane found, as the moments passed, that she regretted more and more having sent the letter, but she would not confide this to Merry, whose suggestion it had been. Meanwhile the letter had reached its destination and had been read by Jean Sawyer.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
SECRETS
Merry glanced anxiously at Jane when they were alone, Bob having gone with the children for a hike along the brook.
“Dear,” she said, slipping an arm about her friend, “you are regretting having taken my advice, aren’t you?”
They were in the bedroom which they shared, removing their tams and sweaters when, to Merry’s surprise and grief, Jane threw herself down on the bed and sobbed as though her heart would break. “Oh, I can’t bear the humiliation of it all! How I wish we could leave for the East today, this very minute. While I am here, I may meet Jean Sawyer, and if he looks at me scornfully, as of course he will, I would rather be dead, honestly I would!”
Merry indeed regretted that she had asked Jane to send the letter which was causing her so much unhappiness. “Try to forget about it, Janey, just for today,” she implored, “while we are celebrating your eighteenth birthday.” Then an inspiration came to her and she asked: “What would your mother have done if she had had a sorrow that would sadden others if they knew about it?”
Jane sat up on the side of the bed, and, after glancing at the miniature on the table near, she turned and looked thoughtfully out of the wide window and into the sun-shimmering valley. Merry wondered what her reply would be. A moment later she knew, for Jane sprang up and after kissing the golden-haired girl impulsively, she caught her by the hand, saying: “I’m going out to the brook to wash my face in that clear, cold water, just as Dan and I did the first day that we came. And I’ll try to wash away all selfish grievings and to think, if I can, only of the happiness of the guests at my birthday party. That’s what my mother would have done. I am so glad that Dan told me that we can choose a model or an ideal and carve our own characters like it and I’m grateful to you for having recalled it to me, because, for the moment, I had forgotten.” The girls took their towels and hand in hand they skipped around to the brook. Jane knelt by the big boulder and splashed the cold spring water over her tear-stained eyes. When she looked up her wet cheeks were rosy. And later, when they had gone back to the bedroom to complete their preparations for the party, Merry begged Jane to wear a wine-colored dress which was especially becoming to her. It was of soft, clinging crepe de chine and had a deep collar of Irish crochet. Then they went into the living-room to await the coming of their guest. Merry, whose dainty blue summer dress made her lovely eyes the color of a June sky, sat smiling admiringly at her friend. “Jane,” she said, “you are wonderful. But there is just one more touch needed to make you look a bit more partified. I will get it.”
Springing up, Merry went into their bedroom, took from her suitcase a box which contained a beautiful scarlet rose with satin and velvet petals. This she pinned into Jane’s soft, dark hair just above her left ear. Standing off to note the effect, Merry declared that her friend was certainly the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. A short month before Jane would have considered this praise her just due, but, so greatly had she changed, her reply was given in entire sincerity: “I may be the most beautiful to you, because you love me, but Meg Heger is really the more beautiful.” Before Merry could reply, there was an excited shouting without. Both girls leaped to the open door. They saw Meg Heger riding on her spotted pony, while Dan on the big brown mare was at her side, but they were conversing quietly. The halloos came from the brook. Turning to look in that direction, the girls saw Julie, Bob and Gerald racing toward them as fast as they could over the rocky way, and it was quite evident that they were all very much excited. “I wonder what they have seen?” Jane said.
Before the children and Bob could reach the cabin, Meg and Dan had climbed the stairway and had been greeted by the two girls.
The trapper’s daughter wore a simply fashioned Scotch plaid gingham dress in which many colors were mingled.
They all turned toward the brook when the three, who were racing toward them, neared.
“What, ho!” Dan called gayly, and Jane noted that never before had she seen in her brother’s face an expression of such radiant happiness. “Did you three see a bear? It never will do for us to go back East without having at least sighted a grizzly.”
To the surprise of the four who awaited them, the newcomers became suddenly embarrassed, and even Bob acted as though he hardly knew what to say, which was quite unusual in so straightforward and impulsive a lad.
“Dan,” he said, “may I speak with you a moment?”
The older boy walked away from the curious group of girls.
“We did not know that Meg Heger had come,” Bob began, “and we were just going to call out that we had found another place where we would like to look for the lost box. It’s such a queer place, Dan, but it is one that as yet we have not investigated. Can’t we get away from the girls somehow? Gerald and Julie and I want to show the spot to you at least.”
“Why, I presume so,” Dan agreed, and after explaining to the three older girls that Bob and the youngsters wished to show him something, he followed them back along the brook. It was the way that he had gone on that day when he had first visited the Heger cabin. When they reached the waterfall which Dan had thought so pretty, they climbed down to the red rock basin into which it fell. Excitedly, Gerald pointed back of the tumbling water.
“Look-it, Dan!” he fairly shouted. “See that little cave opening in there! Doesn’t it look to you as if it had been made with a pickaxe? Bob thinks it does.”
Dan looked through the transparent sheet of hurrying water and smilingly shook his head as he replied:
“I don’t suppose that a human being has ever been through that crevice, and, moreover, I don’t quite see how we can investigate, do you, Bob?”
Dan, noting the disappointed expression on his small brother’s face, turned toward the older boy.
“We sort of had it figured out that Gerald could stand back of the waterfall and then he could see better whether that is just a crevice in the rocks or the mouth of a cave.”
The youngest boy looked up eagerly. “You know, Dan, I fetched along my bathing suit. Mayn’t I go back to the cabin and put it on? Mayn’t I, Dan?”
“Why, of course, if you wish, but perhaps you had better say nothing to the girls about it. I do not like to have Meg know that we are searching for that box, since there is no real likelihood of our finding it.”
Luckily the girls were not in sight, and so no questions were asked of the small boy, who dived into his own room, donned his bathing suit and raced away, without having been seen. Dan held the younger boy’s hand in a tight clasp as Gerald went down into the clear, cold pool.
“Now, hold your breath and step up on that ledge back of the waterfall,” the older brother advised.
Julie watched wide-eyed, almost frightened.
“Oh, Danny,” she suddenly exclaimed, “couldn’t there be something terrible hiding in that crack?”
But before Dan could assure her that it was not likely, Gerald had leaped back into the rock basin, crying: “It’s a cave in there! Oh, boy! Shall I go in it, Dan; shall I?”
“Not alone!” The older boy was almost sorry that the crevice had been found. “Bob,” he said, turning to the lad who stood meditatively looking at the waterfall, “I don’t believe that it would be wise to permit Gerald to go into that cave. He might suddenly drop into a pit filled with water. Let’s give it up, shall we, and go back to the girls?”
It was plain to see that Bob was disappointed, but his reply was: “Of course, Gerald ought not to go into that cave, if it is one. I had no intention of permitting him to do more than see if it really is an opening. I also have a bathing suit and a flashlight. I never will be satisfied unless I investigate, but of course I will not take a step inside unless it is solid rock.”
Against his better judgment, Dan said, “Well, go ahead, Bob, if you want to.”
The girls had evidently sauntered away from the cabin, for Bob did not see them when he went there to don his bathing suit. He rejoined the others in a very short time. Having been an athlete in college, he swung himself down and back of the waterfall without aid. Then flashing the light into the crevice, he sang out: “There’s a solid floor, all right, Dan, but I think Gerald had better not come.”
For a long five minutes the group on the outside waited, listening with ever-increasing anxiety. Dan thought that he would be sincerely glad when this foolhardy adventure was over. At last he called:
“Bob, haven’t you investigated enough? Come on out!”
But there was no reply. Another five minutes elapsed and Dan was just about to have Gerald again climb back of the waterfall to look through the crevice, when Bob appeared, carrying a pickaxe and a shovel, rusted and dirt encrusted.
“What do you say to that?” he exulted, as he plunged through the fall and waded out of the red rock pool.
Dan was amazed. “Bob,” he exclaimed, “you were right about one thing at least. The cave was made with a pick. Was it large?”
“No; that is, not wide. It is a narrow tunnel which stops abruptly. I found these tools at the very end.”
Dan lifted his shovel and looked at the handle. Then he examined it more closely. Picking up a stone, he knocked away the dirt with which it was crusted. A name was carved in the handle. Letter by letter was deciphered and Dan wrote each in his small notebook. When they had reached the last, Bob asked: “Is it a message telling where the box is?”
“No,” Dan replied, “merely the name and address of the owner of the shovel and pick, I judge. A French name, Giguette. Yes, that is it, Franc Giguette.”
“But there is more to it, Danny.” Gerald was trying to see the pad. “What’s the rest?”
“Where the miner lived, I suppose,” Dan told him. “Cabin 10, I think it is.”
Bob leaped around wild with joy. “Talk about a clue! Why, that’s the number of the cabin at Crazy Creek where this miner lived. Can’t we go right over and hunt for it, Dan? Do you suppose that the girls would care if Gerald and I go? We aren’t at all necessary to the birthday party. You and Julie are.”
“Of course, you may do as you wish,” Dan acquiesced. “It’s a long way to the camp, though.”
“Not if we can ride,” Gerry put in. “You and Meg came down on the horses. Where are they?”
“Back at the Heger cabin by this time,” the older brother replied. “Meg turned her pony’s head up the mountain road and said, ‘Go home, Pal,’ and the brown mare seemed to be quite content to follow. Perhaps you will overtake them.”
Bob caught hold of Gerald’s hand as he said: “We’ll have to hustle, old man, if we get back before dark.”
Gerry glanced at Julie to see if she were terribly disappointed, but the small girl smiled, though a bit waveringly. Dan, noting this, spoke for her: “Julie and I will stay at the cabin. It would hardly do for us all to leave Jane on her birthday.”
These two sauntered slowly along the brook, and before they reached the cabin they saw Bob and Gerald, fully clothed, starting to run up the mountain road.
Dan had little expectation that they would find the box of which the old Indian had told Meg, but he knew that Bob would not be able to enjoy the quiet party when be might be out following a clue.
The girls were seated on the rustic front porch when Dan and Julie appeared. Jane smiled a greeting to them, then asked: “Do tell us what has happened to Bob and Gerry. They dashed in and out again, nor would they stop when we called to ask where they were going?”
“Boys will be boys,” was Dan’s evasive answer as he sank down on the porch step and smiled up at Meg. Then he heard his questioning thought asking: “Is it possible that Meg’s real name is Giguette?”
The five who remained at the cabin that afternoon found it difficult to converse idly, for the thoughts of each kept returning to a subject of great interest to that individual. Meg’s good friend Teacher Bellows had told her that as soon as her examinations were completed he would accompany her and Pa Heger to a distant valley in the mountains where he had heard that the Ute tribe was then dwelling. They believed the finding of the box to be impossible since all through the years the old Indian had searched for it.
Merry, who had slipped her ring back into its case before any of her friends, except Jane, had seen it, was wondering when would be the best time to put it on her finger and announce to them all that she was to become the wife of Jean’s brother. She had wanted to wait until Jean Willoughby should be with them, but when that would be, she could not conjecture.
Dan and Julie were very much excited over the discovery of the pick and shovel, and the lad could see by the small girl’s manner that she was finding the secret almost more than she could keep. Every now and then, in childish fashion, Julie would look over at her brother, hump her shoulders and put a finger on her lips. Jane noted this, but was too miserably unhappy to wonder about little girl secrets. But she was being true to her resolve. She was ever keeping the memory of her mother in thought, and trying to be interested in what her companions were saying.
It was indeed a long afternoon, tense with suppressed excitement. At five-thirty, when the boys had not returned, Dan began to regret that he had granted the permission, for, of course, Gerry would not have gone to Crazy Creek Camp if his older brother had thought it unwise, and Bob, in all probability, would not have gone alone.
Jane, after glancing at her wrist watch, sprang up, announcing with evident gaiety: “Merry and I have a supper planned.”
Then, turning to the younger girl, she invited: “Julie, dear, wouldn’t you like to set the table and make it look real partified?”
“Oh, goodie!” The small girl was glad to be asked to accompany the older two and away she skipped. Meg and Dan were left alone, for their offers of assistance had been refused.
“Suppose we climb to Bald Rock and watch the sunset,” Dan suggested. The girl, smiling up at him, arose at once. As soon as they had started to climb along the singing brook, Meg looked at her companion inquiringly. “Dan,” she said, “won’t you share your secret with me?”
“Perhaps,” the lad countered, “if you will share yours with me.” A merry, rippling laugh, as silvery as the song of the brook they were following, was the girl’s first response. Then, “We must be mind readers,” she told him.
Dan glanced down into the dusky uplifted face and in his eyes there was an expression almost of adoration. “Meg,” he said, “doesn’t that alone prove that we are perfect comrades? We can sense each other’s unspoken thought.” Then, with greater seriousness: “I have hesitated about telling you, and moreover you have been in Scarsburg during the past week, but it is your right to know. Bob and Gerald and I have been searching for the box of which the dying Indian told you.”
“Why, Dan,” the girl’s surprise was unmistakable, “it is but wasting time. If the old Ute could not find it, surely it is not findable. There is a simpler way to learn of my parentage, and one which Pa Heger, Teacher Bellows and I are planning to undertake.” Then she told of the journey into the mountains upon which they expected to start when her examinations were completed. While Meg talked, she realized that Dan had still more to tell, and so she asked: “Where did you boys search, and did you find anything at all?”
“Yes, Meg, we did unearth something and that is why Bob and Gerry hurried away in so mysterious a fashion.” Then the lad told about the dirt-crusted shovel and pick and of the carved name.
“Giguette!” the girl repeated as though she were searching her memory for something forgotten. Then lifting a radiant face, she exclaimed: “Dan Abbott, that is my name. I was only a little thing, less than three, when someone taught me to lisp that my name was ‘Lalie Giguette’ when anyone asked. Until now, I had completely forgotten.”
CHAPTER XXXV.
JANE AND JEAN
Meanwhile the three girls in the kitchen were preparing the evening meal with much nonsensical chatter, but Jane was finding the strain almost more than she could bear. She felt that she might overcome her desire to go to her room and sob her heart out, if only she could get away by herself for a few moments, and so she suddenly, exclaimed, “The one thing needed for our table is a bouquet. I saw a clump of the prettiest wild flowers yesterday, and if you girls will excuse me I’ll go and get them.” Merry at once saw through the ruse. Jane’s flushed cheeks, quivering lips and tear-brimmed eyes told the story, and so she urged, “Do go, Jane, before it is dark. The cool mountain air will do you good.” She did not offer to accompany her friend, realizing that she wanted to be alone.
Jane left the cabin, and after crossing the brook, she hurried toward the cleft in a rock where she had seen the flowers of which she had spoken, but instead of gathering them, she threw herself down on a wide, flat boulder and sobbed bitterly. She did not hear footsteps hurrying toward her, but suddenly she was conscious that someone had taken her hand and was holding it with great tenderness. “Of course it is Dan,” she thought, without glancing up. Dear old Dan who always understood. But in another second, when the someone spoke, Jane knew that it was Jean Willoughby and not her brother. Instantly she was on her feet, her cheeks flaming, her hand pressed over her pounding heart. There was a wild, frightened expression in her eyes and she was about to run, but she could not, for two strong arms caught and held her, as the lad implored, “Jane, dear, dear Jane, don’t spurn me any longer. Don’t you understand that I love you? The very fact that you could write that letter to me reveals the true nobility of your soul. I don’t blame you in the least for finding it hard, at first, to adjust yourself to the changed conditions, but when it came to the testing, you would have told your father to do just what he did.” Then, putting a hand over her quivering lips, he begged, “Don’t let’s talk about that subject now. There’s something ever so much more interesting that I want to say. Jane, can you care enough for me to promise to be my wife?”
The sudden change from misery to joy had been so great that the girl could hardly believe that it was real, and she gazed uncomprehendingly into the eager, handsome face of the lad. Then slowly she read in his glowing eyes the truth of all he had said, and she smiled tremulously. It was enough for Jean Willoughby. Joyfully he cried, “You do care, Jane!” Then taking from his pocket a ring, he added (and there was infinite tenderness in his voice), “That last summer on the coast of Maine, when little mother and I were alone together, she gave me this for you, dearest girl.”
Again there were sudden tears in the dark eyes that were lifted to his. “Not for me, Jean. Your mother would have chosen a girl who could do useful things; pare potatoes, sew and darn.”
The lad laughed happily, and catching the slim left hand, he slipped the ring on the finger for which it was intended. Then he kissed each of the five finger tips as he confessed, “It may seem inconsistent, but I want these lovely hands kept stainless. We will have a Chinaman to pare and cook.” Then slowly they walked toward the cabin.
Meg and Dan had returned and with Merry and Julie were standing on the rustic front porch wondering where Jane had wandered, and why she remained away so long. When they saw the two coming toward them, hand in hand, their faces, even in the dusk, that had so quickly fallen, revealing their secret, there was joy in the hearts of Merry and Dan. Jane would no longer be unhappy. When they had entered the lighted living-room of the cabin, Merry exclaimed as she held out her left hand, “I also am to be congratulated. I am to be married to Jean’s brother on the first day of September.” “Let’s make it a double wedding, Jane, can’t we?” her fiance implored.