After getting to bed at midnight it could not be expected that the young people at Silver Ranch would be astir early on the morning following the fire scare. But Ruth, who was used to being up with the sun at the Red Mill—and sometimes a little before the orb of day—slipped out of the big room in which the six girls were domiciled when she heard the first stir about the corrals.
When she came out upon the veranda that encircled the ranch-house, wreaths of mist hung knee-high in the coulee—mist which, as soon as the sun peeked over the hills, would be dissipated. The ponies were snorting and stamping at their breakfasts—great armfuls of alfalfa hay which the horse wranglers had pitched over the fence. Maria, the Mexican woman, came up from the cowshed with two brimming pails of milk, for the Silver Ranch boasted a few milch cows at the home place, and there had been sweet butter on the table at supper the night before—something which is usually very scarce on a cattle ranch.
Ruth ran down to the corral and saw, on the bench outside the bunkhouse door, the row of buckets in which the boys had their morning plunge. The sleeping arrangements at Silver Ranch being rather primitive, Tom and Bob had elected to join the cowboys in the big bunkhouse, and they had risen as early as the punchers and made their own toilet in the buckets, too. The sheet-iron chimney of the chuckhouse kitchen was smoking, and frying bacon and potatoes flavored the keen air for yards around.
Bashful Ike, the foreman, met the Eastern girl at the corner of the corral fence. He was a pleasant, smiling man; but the blood rose to the very roots of his hair and he got into an immediate perspiration if a girl looked at him. When Ruth bade him good-morning Ike’s cheeks began to flame and he grew instantly tongue-tied! Beyond nodding a greeting and making a funny noise in his throat he gave no notice that he was like other human beings and could talk. But Ruth had an idea in her mind and Bashful Ike could help her carry it through better than anybody else.
“Mr. Ike,” she said, softly, “do you know about this man they say probably set the fire last night?”
Ike gulped down something that seemed to be choking him and mumbled that he supposed he had seen the fellow “about once.”
“Do you think he is crazy, Mr. Ike?” asked the Eastern girl.
“I—I swanny! I couldn’t be sure as to that, Miss,” stammered the foreman of Silver Ranch. “The boys say he acts plumb locoed.”
“‘Locoed’ means crazy?” she persisted.
“Why, Miss, clear ‘way down south from us, ’long about the Mexican border, thar’s a weed grows called loco, and if critters eats it, they say it crazies ’em—for a while, anyway. So, Miss,” concluded Ike, stumbling less in his speech now, “if a man or a critter acts batty like, we say he’s locoed.”
“I understand. But if this man they suspect of setting the fire is crazy he isn’t responsible for what he does, is he?”
“Well, Miss, mebbe not. But we can’t have no onresponsible feller hangin’ around yere scatterin’ fire—no, sir!—ma’am, I mean,” Ike hastily added, his face flaming up like an Italian sunset again.
“No; I suppose not. But I understand the man stays around that old camp at Tintacker, more than anywhere else?”
“That’s so, I reckon,” agreed Ike. “The boys don’t see him often.”
“Can’t you make the boys just scare him into keeping off the range, instead of doing him real harm? They seemed very angry about the fire.”
“I dunno, Miss. Old Bill’s some hot under the collar himself—and he might well be. Last night’s circus cost him a pretty penny.”
“Did you ever see this man they say is crazy?” demanded Ruth.
“I told you I did oncet.”
“What sort of a looking man is he?”
“He ain’t no more’n a kid, Miss. That’s it; he’s jest a tenderfoot kid.”
“A boy, you mean?” queried Ruth, anxiously.
“Not much older than that yere whitehead ye brought with yuh,” said Ike, beginning to grin now that he had become a bit more familiar with the Eastern girl, and pointing at Bob Steele. “And he ain’t no bigger than him.”
“You wouldn’t let your boys injure a young fellow like that, would you?” cried Ruth. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“I dunno how I’m goin’ to stop ’em from mussin’ him up a whole lot if they chances acrost him,” said Ike, slowly. “He’d ought to be shut up, so he had.”
“Granted. But he ought not to be abused. Another thing, Ike—I’ll tell you a secret.”
“Uh-huh?” grunted the surprised foreman.
“I want to see that young man awfully!” said Ruth. “I want to talk with him——”
“Sufferin’ snipes!” gasped Ike, becoming so greatly interested that he forgot it was a girl he was talking with. “What you wanter see that looney critter for?”
“Because I’m greatly interested in the Tintacker Mine, and they say this young fellow usually sticks to that locality,” replied Ruth, smiling on the big cow puncher. “Don’t you think I can learn to ride well enough to travel that far before we return to the East?”
“To ride to Tintacker, Miss?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why, suah, Miss!” cried Ike, cordially. “I’ll pick you-all out a nice pony what’s well broke, and I bet you’ll ride him lots farther than that. I’ll rope him now—I know jest the sort of a hawse you’d oughter ride——”
“No; you go eat your breakfast with the other boys,” laughed Ruth, preparing to go back to the ranch-house. “Jane Ann says we’re all to have ponies to ride and she maybe will be disappointed if I don’t let her pick out mine for me,” added Ruth, with her usual regard for the feelings of her mates. “But I am going to depend on you, Mr. Ike, to teach me to ride.”
“And when you want to ride over to Tintacker tuh interview that yere maverick, yo’ let me know, Miss,” said Bashful Ike. “I’ll see that yuh git thar with proper escort, and all that,” and he grinned sheepishly.
Tom and Bob breakfasted with the punchers, but after the regular meal at the ranch-house the two boys hastened to join their girl friends. First they must all go to the corral and pick out their riding ponies. Helen, Madge and The Fox could ride fairly well; but Jane Ann had warned them that Eastern riding would not do on the ranch. Such a thing as a side-saddle was unknown, so the girls had all supplied themselves with divided skirts so that they could ride astride like the Western girl. Besides, a cow pony would not stand for the long skirt of a riding habit flapping along his flank.
Now, Ruth had ridden a few times on Helen’s pony, and away back when she was a little girl she had ridden bareback on an old horse belonging to the blacksmith at Darrowtown. So she was not afraid to try the nervous little flea-bitten gray that Ike Stedman roped and saddled and bridled for her. Jane Ann declared it to be a favorite pony of her own, and although the little fellow did not want to stand while his saddle was being cinched, and stamped his cunning little feet on the ground a good bit, Ike assured the girl of the Red Mill that “Freckles,” as they called him, was “one mighty gentle hawse!”
There was no use in the girls from the East showing fear; Ruth was too plucky to do that, anyway. She was not really afraid of the pony; but when she was in the saddle it did seem as though Freckles danced more than was necessary.
These cow ponies never walk—unless they are dead tired; about Freckles’ easiest motion was a canter that carried Ruth over the prairie so swiftly that her loosened hair flowed behind her in the wind, and for a time she could not speak—until she became adjusted to the pony’s motion. But she liked riding astride much better than on a side-saddle, and she soon lost her fear. Ike had given her some good advice about the holding of her reins so that a sharp pull on Freckles’ curb would instantly bring the pony down to a dead stop. The bashful one had screwed tiny spurs into the heels of her high boots and given her a light quirt, or whip.
The other girls—all but Heavy—were, as we have seen, more used to riding than the girl of the Red Mill; but with the stout girl the whole party had a great deal of fun. Of course, Jennie Stone expected to cause hilarity among her friends; she “poked fun” at herself all the time, so could not object if the others laughed.
“I’ll never in this world be able to get into a saddle without a kitchen chair to step upon,” Jennie groaned, as she saw the other girls choosing their ponies. “Mercy! if I got on that little Freckles, he’d squat right down—I know he would! You’ll have to find something bigger than these rabbits for me to ride on.”
At that she heard the girls giggling behind her and turned to face a great, droop-headed, long-eared roan mule, with hip bones that you could hang your hat on—a most forlorn looking bundle of bones that had evidently never recovered the climatic change from the river bottoms of Missouri to the uplands of Montana. Tom Cameron held the mule with a trace-chain around his neck and he offered the end of the chain to Heavy with a perfectly serious face.
“I believe you’d better saddle this chap, Jennie,” said Tom. “You see how he’s built—the framework is great. I know he can hold you up all right. Just look at how he’s built.”
“Looks like the steel framework of a skyscraper,” declared Heavy, solemnly. “Don’t you suppose I might fall in between the ribs if I climbed up on that thing? I thought you were a better friend to me than that, Tom Cameron. You’d deliberately let me risk my life by being tangled up in that moth-eaten bag o’ bones if it collapsed under me. No! I’ll risk one of these rabbits. I’ll have less distance to fall if I roll.”
But the little cow ponies were tougher than the stout girl supposed. Ike weighed in the neighborhood of a hundred and eighty pounds—solid bone and muscle—and the cayuse that he bestrode when at work was no bigger than Ruth’s Freckles. They hoisted Heavy into the saddle, and Tom offered to lash her there if she didn’t feel perfectly secure.
“You needn’t mind, Tommy,” returned the stout girl. “If, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for me to disembark from this saddle, I’ll probably want to get down quick. There’s no use in hampering me. I take my life in my hand—with these reins—and—ugh! ugh! ugh!” she finished as, on her picking up the lines, her restive pony instantly broke into the liveliest kind of a trot.
But after all, Heavy succeeded in riding pretty well; while Ruth, after an hour, was not afraid to let her pony take a pretty swift gait with her. Jane Ann, however, showed remarkable skill and made the Eastern girls fairly envious. She had ridden, of course, ever since she was big enough to hold bridle reins, and there were few of the punchers who could handle a horse better than the ranchman’s niece.
But the visitors from the East did not understand this fact fully until a few days later, when the first bunch of Spring calves and yearlings were driven into a not far distant corral to be branded. Branding is one of the big shows on a cattle ranch, and Ruth and her chums did not intend to miss the sight; besides, some of the boys had corraled Old Trouble-Maker near by and promised some fancy work with the big black and white steer.
“We’ll show you some roping now,” said Jane Ann, with enthusiasm. “Just cutting a little old cow out of that band in the corral and throwing it ain’t nothing. Wait till we turn Old Trouble-Maker loose.”
The whole party rode over to the branding camp, and there was the black and white steer as wild as ever. While the branding was going on the big steer bellowed and stamped and tried to break the fence down. The smell of the burning flesh, and the bellowing of the calves and yearlings as their ears were slit, stirred the old fellow up.
“Something’s due to happen when that feller gits turned out,” declared Jib Pottoway. “You goin’ to try to rope that contrary critter, Jane Ann?”
“It’ll be a free-for-all race; Ike says so,” cried Jane Ann. “You wait! You boys think you’re so smart. I’ll rope that steer myself—maybe.”
The punchers laughed at this boast; but they all liked Jane Ann and had it been possible to make her boast come true they would have seen to it that she won. But Old Trouble-Maker, as Jib said, “wasn’t a lady’s cow.”
It was agreed that only a free-for-all dash for the old fellow would do—and out on the open range, at that. Old Trouble-Maker was to be turned out of the corral, given a five-rod start, and then the bunch who wanted to have a tussle with the steer would start for him. Just to make it interesting Old Bill Hicks had put up a twenty dollar gold piece, to be the property of the winner of the contest—that is, to the one who succeeded in throwing and “hog-tieing” Old Trouble-Maker.
It was along in the cool of the afternoon when the bars of the small corral were let down and the steer was prodded out into the open. The old fellow seemed to know that there was fun in store for him. At first he pawed the ground and seemed inclined to charge the line of punchers, and even shook his head at the group of mounted spectators, who were bunched farther back on the hillside. Bashful Ike stopped that idea, however, for, as master of ceremonies, he rode in suddenly and used his quirt on the big steer. With a bellow Old Trouble-Maker swung around and started for the skyline. Ike trotted on behind him till the steer passed the five-rod mark. Then pulling the big pistol that swung at his hip the foreman shot a fusilade into the ground which started the steer off at a gallop, tail up and head down, and spurred the punchers into instant action, as well.
“Ye-yip!” yelled Bashful Ike. “Now let’s see what you ’ombres air good for with a rope. Go to it!”
With a chorus of “co-ees” and wild yells the cowboys of Silver Ranch dashed away on the race after the huge black and white steer. And Jane Ann, on her bay mustang, was right up with the leaders in the wild rush. It was indeed an inspiring sight, and the boys and girls from the East urged their own mounts on after the crowd with eagerness.
“See Nita ride! isn’t she just wonderful?” cried Helen.
“I don’t think there’s anything wonderful about it,” sneered The Fox, in her biting way. “She was almost born on horseback, you know. It’s as natural to her as breathing.”
“Bu—bu—but it shakes—you up—a good—bit more—than breath—breathing!” gasped Heavy, as her pony jounced her over the ground.
Tom and Bob had raced ahead after the cowboys, and Ruth was right behind them. She had learned to sit the saddle with ease now, and she was beginning to learn to swing a rope; Ike was teaching her. Tom could really fling the lasso with some success; but of course he could not enter into this mad rush for a single steer.
A twenty dollar gold piece was not to be scorned; and the cowboys were earnest in their attempt to make that extra twenty over and above their monthly stipend. But Jane Ann Hicks worked for the fun of it, and because she desired to show her Eastern friends how she excelled in horsemanship. There were so many other things which her friends knew, in which she was deficient!
She was up with the leaders when they came within casting distance of the big steer. But the steer was wily; he dodged this way and that as they surrounded him, and finally one of the punchers got in an awkward position and Old Trouble-Maker made for him. The man couldn’t pull his pony out of the way as the steer made a short turn, and the old fellow came head on against the pony’s ribs. It was a terrific shock. It sounded like a man beating an empty rainwater barrel with a club!
The poor pony was fairly lifted off his feet and rolled over and over on the ground. Luckily his rider kicked himself free of the stirrups and escaped the terrible horns of Old Trouble-Maker. The steer thundered on, paying no further attention to overturned pony or rider, and it was Jib Pottoway who first dropped a rope over the creature’s horn.
But it was only over one horn and when the galloping steer was suddenly “snubbed” at the end of Jib’s rope, what happened? Ordinarily Old Trouble-Maker should have gone down to his knees with the shock; but the Indian’s pony stumbled just at that anxious moment, and instead of the steer being brought to his knees, the pony was jerked forward by Old Trouble-Maker’s weight.
The cowboys uttered a chorus of dismal yells as Jib rose into the air—like a diver making a spring into the sea—and when he landed—well! it was fortunate that the noose slipped off the steer’s horn and the pony did not roll over the Indian.
Two men bowled over and the odds all in favor of the black and white steer! The other cowboys set up a fearful chorus as Jib scrambled up, and Old Trouble-Maker thundered on across the plain, having been scarcely retarded by the Indian’s attempt. Bellowing and blowing, the steer kept on, and for a minute nobody else got near enough to the beast to fling a rope.
Then one of the other boys who bestrode a remarkably fast little pony, got near enough (as he said afterward) to grab the steer by the tail and throw him! And it was too bad that he hadn’t tried that feat; for what he did do was to excitedly swing his lariat around his head and catch his nearest neighbor across the shoulders with the slack! This neighbor uttered a howl of rage and at once “ran amuck”—to the great hilarity of the onlookers. It was no fun for the fellow who had so awkwardly swung the rope, however; for his angry mate chased him half a mile straight across the plain before he bethought him, in his rage, that it was the steer, not his friend, that was to be flung and tied for the prize.
The others laughed so over this incident that the steer was like to get away. But one of the fellows, known to them all as “Jimsey” had been working cautiously on the outside of the bunch of excited horsemen all the time. It was evident to Ruth, who was watching the game very earnestly from the rear, that this Jimsey had determined to capture the prize and was showing more strategy than the others. He was determined to be the one to down Old Trouble-Maker, and as he saw one after the other of his mates fail, his own grin broadened.
Now, Ruth saw, he suddenly urged his pony in nearer the galloping steer. Standing suddenly in his stirrups, and swinging his lariat with a wide noose at the end, he dropped it at the moment when Old Trouble-Maker had just dodged another rope. The steer fairly ran into Jimsey’s noose. The puncher snubbed down on the rope instantly, and the steer, caught over the horns and with one foreleg in the noose, came to the hard plain like a ton of bricks falling.
“He’s down! he’s down!” shrieked Bob, vastly excited.
“Oh, the poor thing!” his sister observed. “That must have hurt him.”
“Well, after the way that brute tried to crawl into the automobile, I wouldn’t cry any if his neck was broken!” exclaimed Mary Cox, in sharp tones.
Jimsey’s horse was well broken and he swung his weight at the end of the rope in such a way that the huge steer could not get on his feet again. Jimsey vaulted out of the saddle and ran to the floundering steer with an agility that delighted the spectators from the East. How they cheered him! And his mates, too, urged him on with delight. It looked as though Jimsey had “called the trick” and would tie the struggling beast and so fulfill the requirements of the contest.
As the agile puncher sought to lay hold of the steer’s forefeet, however, Old Trouble-Maker flung his huge body around. The “yank” was too much for the pony and it was drawn forward perhaps a foot by the sheer weight of the big steer.
“Stand still, thar!” yelled Jimsey to the pony. “Wait till I get this yere critter tied up in a true lover’s knot! Whoa, Emma!”
Again the big steer had jerked; but the pony braced his feet and swung backward. It was then the unexpected happened! The girth of Jimsey’s saddle gave way, the taut rope pulling the saddle sideways. The pony naturally was startled and he jumped to one side. In an instant the big steer was nimbly on his feet, and flung Jimsey ten feet away! Bellowing with fear the brute tore off across the plain again, now with the wreck of Jimsey’s saddle bounding over the ground behind him and whacking him across the rump at every other jump.
If anything was needed to make Old Trouble-Maker mad he had it now. The steer sped across the plain faster than he had ever run before, and in a temper to attack anything or anybody who chanced to cross his trail.
“Oh, Ruth! that man is hurt,” cried Helen, as the chums rode as hard as they dared after the flying bunch of cattle punchers.
Jimsey lay on the ground, it was true; but when they came nearer they saw that he was shaking both fists in the air and spouting language that was the very reverse of elegant. Jimsey wasn’t hurt; but he was awfully angry.
“Come on! come on, girls!” called Tom. “That old steer is running like a dog with a can tied to its tail! Did you ever see the beat of that?”
“And Nita is right in with the crowd. How they ride!” gasped Madge Steele. “She’ll be killed!”
“I hope not,” her brother shouted back. “But she’s just about the pluckiest girl I ever heard of.”
“She’s swinging her rope now!” gasped Heavy. “Do you suppose she intends to try and catch that steer?”
That was what Jane Ann Hicks seemed determined to do. She had ridden so that she was ahead of the troop of other riders. Bashful Ike, the foreman, put spurs to his own mount and tried to catch the boss’s niece. If anything happened to Jane Ann he knew that Old Bill would call him to account for it.
“Have a care there, Jinny!” he bawled “Look out that saddle don’t give ye a crack.”
The saddle bounded high in the air—sometimes higher than Jane Ann’s head—and if she ran her mount in too close to the mad steer the saddle might knock her off her pony. Nor did she pay the least attention to Bashful Ike’s advice. She was using the quirt on her mount and he was jumping ahead like a streak of light.
Jane Ann had coiled her rope again and it hung from her saddle. She had evidently formed a new plan of action since having the field to herself. The others—all but Ike—were now far behind.
“Have a care thar, Jinny!” called the foreman again. “He’ll throw you!”
“You keep away, Ike!” returned the girl, excitedly. “This is my chance. Don’t you dare interfere. I’ll show those boys I can beat them at their own game.”
“Sufferin’ snipes! You look out, Jinny! You’ll be killed!”
“I won’t if you don’t interfere,” she yelled back at him.
During this conversation both their mounts were on the keen jump. The saddle was bounding high over the plain as the steer still bellowed and ran. Jane Ann urged her pony as close alongside the steer as she dared, leaned sideways from her saddle, and made a sharp slash in the air with the hunting knife that had hung from her belt in its sheath. The keen blade severed Jimsey’s best hair rope (there would be a postscript to Jimsey’s remarks about that, later) and the saddle, just then bounding into the air, caromed from the steer’s rump against Jane Ann’s pony, and almost knocked it off its legs.
But the girl kept her seat and the pony gathered his feet under him again and started after the relieved steer. But she did not use her rope even then, and after returning her knife to its sheath she guided her pony close in to the steer’s flank. Before that saddle had beaten him so about the body, Old Trouble-Maker might have made a swift turn and collided with the girl’s mount; but he was thinking only of running away now—getting away from that mysterious thing that had been chasing and thumping him!
Ike, who cantered along just behind her (the rest of the crowd were many yards in the rear) suddenly let out a yell of fear. He saw that the girl was about to try, and he was scared. She leaned from her saddle and seized the stiff tail of the steer at its base. The foreman drew his gun and spurred his horse forward.
“You little skeezicks!” he gasped. “If you break your neck your uncle will jest natcherly run me off’n this range!”
“Keep away, Ike!” panted the girl, letting the tail of the maddened steer run through her hand until she felt the bunch of hair—or brush—at the end.
Then she secured her grip. Digging her spurs into the pony’s sides she made him increase his stride suddenly. He gained second by second on the wildly running steer and the girl leaned forward in her saddle, clinging with her left hand to the pommel, her face in the pony’s tossing mane.
The next moment the tail was taut and the jerk was almost enough to dislocate her arm. But she hung on and the shock was greater to the big steer than to Jane Ann. The yank on his tail made him lose his stride and forced him to cross his legs. The next moment Old Trouble-Maker was on his head, from which he rolled over on his side, bellowing with fright.
It was a vaquero trick that Jane Ann had seen the men perform; yet it was a mercy that she, a slight girl, was not pulled out of her saddle and killed. But Jane Ann had done the trick nicely; and in a moment she was out of her saddle, and before Ike was beside her, had tied the steer’s feet, “fore and aft,” with Jimsey’s broken rope. Then, with one foot on the heaving side of the steer, she flung off her hat and shouted to the crowd that came tearing up:
“That double-eagle’s mine! Got anything to say against it, boys?”
They cheered her to the echo, and after them came the party of Jane Ann’s friends from the East to add their congratulations. But as Ruth and the others rode up Heavy of course had to meet with an accident. Hard luck always seemed to ride the stout girl like a nightmare!
The pony on which she rode became excited because of the crowd of kicking, squealing cow ponies, and Heavy’s seat was not secure. When the pony began to cavort and plunge poor Heavy was shaken right over the pommel of her saddle. Her feet lost the stirrups and she began to scream.
“My—good—ness—me!” she stuttered. “Hold him—still! Stop! Ho—ho—ho——”
And then she slipped right over the pony’s rump and would have fallen smack upon the ground had not Tom and Bob, who had both seen her peril, leaped out of their own saddles, and caught the stout girl as she lost her hold on the reins and gave up all hope.
The boys staggered under her weight, but managed to put her upright on her feet, while her pony streaked it off across the plain, very much frightened by such a method of dismounting. It struck the whole crowd as being uproariously funny; but the good-natured and polite cowboys tried to smother their laughter.
“Don’t mind me!” exclaimed the stout girl. “Have all the fun you want to. But I don’t blame the pony for running away. I have been sitting all along his backbone, from his ears to the root of his tail, and I have certainly jounced my own backbone so loose that it rattles. I believe I’d better walk home.”
It was plain that Jennie Stone would never take a high mark in horsemanship; but they caught her pony for her and boosted her on again, and later she rode back to the ranch-house at an easy pace. But she declared that for the remainder of her stay at Silver Ranch she proposed to ride only in the automobile or in a carriage.
But Ruth was vastly enamored of this new play of pony riding. She had a retentive memory and kept in mind all that Bashful Ike told her about the management of her own Freckles. She was up early each morning and had a gallop over the prairie before her friends were out of their beds. And when Mr. Hicks stated one day that he had to ride to Bullhide on business, Ruth begged the privilege of riding with him, although the rest of the young folks did not care to take such a long trip in the hot sun.
“I’ve some business to attend to for my uncle,” Ruth explained to the ranchman, as they started from the ranch-house soon after breakfast. “And I want your advice.”
“Sure, Ruthie,” he said, “I’ll advise ye if I can.”
So she told him about Uncle Jabez’s mixup with the Tintacker mining properties. Bill Hicks listened to this tale with a frowning brow.
“Bless your heart, Miss!” he ejaculated. “I believe you’re chasin’ a wild goose. I reckon your uncle’s been stung. These wildcat mining properties are just the kind that greenhorn Easterners get roped into. I don’t believe there’s ten cents’ worth of silver to the ton in all the Tintacker district. It played out years ago.”
“Well, that may be,” returned Ruth, with a sigh. “But I want to see the records and learn just how the Tintacker Mine itself stands on the books. I want to show Uncle Jabez that I honestly tried to do all that I could for him while I was here.”
“That’s all right, Ruthie. You shall see the records,” declared Mr. Hicks. “I know a young lawyer in town that will help you, too; and it sha’n’t cost you a cent. He’s a friend of mine.”
“Oh, thank you,” cried Ruth, and rode along happily by the big cattleman’s side.
They were not far from the house when Bashful Ike, who had been out on the range on some errand, came whooping over the low hills to the North, evidently trying to attract their attention. Mr. Hicks growled:
“Now, what does that feller want? I got a list as long as my arm of things to tote back for the boys. Better have driv’ a mule waggin, I reckon, to haul the truck home on.”
But it was Ruth the foreman wished to speak to. He rode up, very red in the face, and stammering so that Bill Hicks demanded, with scorn:
“What’s a-troubling you, Ike? You sputter like a leaky tea-kettle. Can’t you out with what you’ve got to say to the leetle gal, an’ let us ride on?”
“I—I was just a thinkin’ that mebbe you—you could do a little errand for me, Miss,” stammered Bashful Ike.
“Gladly, Mr. Stedman,” returned Ruth, hiding her own amusement.
“It—it’s sort of a tick-lish job,” said the cowboy. “I—I want ye should buy a leetle present. It’s—it’s for a lady——”
Bill snorted. “You goin’ to invest your plunder in more dew-dabs for Sally Dickson, Ike? Yah! she wouldn’t look at you cross-eyed.”
Bashful Ike’s face flamed up redder than ever—if that was possible.
“I don’t want her to look at me cross-eyed,” he said. “She couldn’t look cross-eyed. She’s the sweetest and purtiest gal on this range, and don’t you forgit that, Mr. Hicks.”
“Sho, now! don’t git riled at me,” grunted the older man. “No offense intended. But I hate to see you waste your time and money on a gal that don’t give two pins for ye, Ike.”
“I ain’t axin’ her to give two pins for me,” said Ike, with a sort of groan. “I ain’t up to the mark with her—I know that. But thar ain’t no law keepin’ me from spending my money as I please, is there?”
“I dunno,” returned Bill Hicks. “Maybe there’s one that’ll cover the case and send a feller like you to the foolish factory. Sally Dickson won’t have nothing to say to you.”
“Never mind,” said Ike, grimly. “You take this two dollar bill, Miss Ruthie—if you will. And you buy the nicest box o’ candy yo’ kin find in Bullhide. When you come back by Lem Dickson’s, jest drop it there for Sally. Yo’ needn’t say who sent it,” added the bashful cowboy, wistfully. “Jest—jest say one o’ the boys told you to buy it for her. That’s all, Miss. It won’t be too much trouble?”
“Of course it won’t, Mr. Stedman,” declared Ruth, earnestly. “I’ll gladly do your errand.”
“Thank you, Miss,” returned the foreman, and spurring his horse he rode rapidly away to escape further remarks from his boss.
“Now, what can you do with a feller like that?” demanded Mr. Hicks, in disgust. “Poor old Ike has been shinning around Sally Dickson ever since Lem brought her home from school—from Denver. And she’s a nice little gal enough, at that; but she ain’t got no use for Ike and he ought to see it. Gals out here don’t like fellers that ain’t got sperit enough to say their soul’s their own. And Ike’s so bashful he fair hates hisself! You’ve noticed that.”
“But he’s just as kind and good-natured as he can be,” declared Ruth, her pony cantering on beside the ranchman’s bigger mount.
“That don’t help a feller none with a gal like Sally,” grunted Mr. Hicks. “She don’t want a reg’lar gump hanging around her. Makes her the laffin’ stock of the hull range—don’t you see? Ike better git a move on, if he wants her. ’Tain’t goin’ to be no bashful ’ombre that gets Sally Dickson, let me tell ye! Sendin’ her lollipops by messenger—bah! He wants ter ride up and hand that gal a ring—and a good one—if he expects to ever git her into double harness. Now, you hear me!”
“Just the same,” laughed Ruth, “I’m going to buy the nicest box of candy I can find, and she shall know who paid for it, too.”
And she found time to purchase the box of candy while Mr. Hicks was attending to his own private business in Bullhide. The town boasted of several good stores as well as a fine hotel. Ruth went to the railroad station, however, where there was sure to be fresh candies from the East, and she bought the handsomest box she could find. Then she wrote Ike’s name nicely on a card and had it tucked inside the wrapper, and the clerk tied the package up with gilt cord.
“I’ll make that red-haired girl think that Ike knows a few things, after all, if he is less bold than the other boys,” thought Ruth. “He’s been real kind to me and maybe I can help him with Sally. If she knew beans she’d know that Ike was true blue!”
Mr. Hicks came along the street and found her soon after Ruth’s errand was done and took her to the office of the young lawyer he had mentioned. This was Mr. Savage—a brisk, businesslike man, who seemed to know at once just what the girl wished to discover.
“You come right over with me to the county records office and we’ll look up the history of those Tintacker Mines,” he said. “Mr. Hicks knows a good deal about mining properties, and he can check my work as we go along.”
So the three repaired to the county offices and the lawyer turned up the first records of the claims around Tintacker.
“There is only one mine called Tintacker,” he explained. “The adjacent mines are Tintacker claims. The camp that sprang up there and flourished fifteen years ago, was called Tintacker, too. But for more than ten years the kiotes have held the fort over there for the most part—eh, Mr. Hicks?”
“And that crazy feller that’s been around yere for some months,” the ranchman said.
“What crazy fellow is that?” demanded Lawyer Savage, quickly.
“Why, thar’s been a galoot around Tintacker ever since Spring opened. I dunno but he was thar in the winter——”
“Young man, or old?” interrupted Savage.
“Not much more’n a kid, my boys say.”
“You’ve never seen him?”
“No. But I believe he set the grass afire the other day, and made us a heap of trouble along Larruper Crick,” declared the ranchman.
The lawyer looked thoughtful. “There was a young fellow here twice to look up the Tintacker properties. He came to see me the first time—that was more than a year ago. Said he had been left his father’s share in the old Tintacker Mine and wanted to buy out the heirs of the other partner. I helped him get a statement of the record and the names of the other parties——”
“Oh, please, Mr. Savage, what was his name?” asked Ruth, quickly.
“I don’t know what his name really was,” replied the lawyer, smiling. “He called himself John Cox—might have been just a name he took for the time being. There wasn’t any Cox ever had an interest in the Tintacker as far as I can find. But he probably had his own reasons for keeping his name to himself. Then he came back in the winter. I saw him on the street here. That’s all I know about him.”
“Tenderfoot?” asked Hicks.
“Yes, and a nice spoken fellow. He made a personal inspection of the properties the first time he was here. That I know, for I found a guide for him, Ben Burgess. He stayed two weeks at the old camp, Ben said, and acted like he knew something about minerals.”
Mr. Savage had found the proper books and he discovered almost at once that there had been an entry made since he had last looked up the records of Tintacker a year or more before.
“That fellow did it!” exclaimed the lawyer. “He must have found those other heirs and he’s got possession of the entire Tintacker Mine holdings. Yes-sir! the records are as straight as a string. And the record was made last winter. That is what he came back here for. Now, young lady, what do you want to know about it all?”
“I want a copy, please, of the record just as it stands—the present ownership of the mine, I mean,” said Ruth. “I want to send that to Uncle Jabez.”
“It is all held now in the name of John Cox. The original owners were two men named Symplex and Burbridge. It is Burbridge’s heirs this fellow seems to have bought up. Now, he told me his father died and left his share of the Tintacker to him. That means that ‘Symplex’ was this young Cox’s father. One, or the other of them didn’t use his right name—eh?” suggested the lawyer.
“But that doesn’t invalidate the title. It’s straight enough now. The Tintacker Mine—whether it is worth ten cents or ten thousand dollars—belongs to somebody known as John Cox—somebody who can produce the deeds. You say your uncle bought into the mine and took personal notes with the mine for security, Miss?”
“That is the way I understand it,” Ruth replied.
“And it looks as though the young man used the money to buy out the other owners. That seems straight enough. Your uncle’s security is all clear as far as the title of the mine goes——”
“But according to what I know,” broke in Mr. Hicks, “he might as well have a lien on a setting of hen’s eggs as an interest in the Tintacker Mine.”
“That’s about it,” admitted Mr. Savage. “I don’t believe the mine is worth the money it cost the young fellow to have these records made.”
“Well,” said Ruth, with a sigh; “I’ll pay you for making the copy, just the same; and I’ll send it home to uncle. And, if you don’t mind, Mr. Savage, I’ll send him your name and address, too. Perhaps he may want you to make some move in the matter of the Tintacker property.”
This was agreed upon, and the lawyer promised to have the papers ready to send East in two or three days. Then Mr. Hicks took Ruth to the hotel to dinner, and they started for the ranch again soon after that meal.
When they came in sight of the Crossing, Ruth saw that the little red painted schoolhouse was open. All the windows were flung wide and the door was ajar; and she could see Sally Dickson’s brilliant hair, as well as other heads, flitting back and forth past the windows.
“Hi Jefers!” ejaculated Bill Hicks. “I reckon thar’s goin’ to be a dance at the schoolhouse Saturday night. I nigh forgot it. We’ll all hafter go over so that you folks from Down East kin see what a re’l Montany jamboree is like. The gals is fixin’ up for it now, I reckon.”
“I want to see Sally,” said Ruth, smiling.
“Huh!” grunted Bill, with a glance at the big box of candy the Eastern girl held so carefully before her. “You kin see her all right. That red head of hers shines like a beacon in the night. And I’ll speak to Lem.”
Ruth rode her pony close to one of the open windows of the little schoolhouse. She could see that the benches and desks had been all moved out—probably stacked in a lean-to at the end of the house. The floor had been swept and mopped up and the girls were helping Sally trim the walls and certain pictures which hung thereon with festoons of colored paper. One girl was polishing the lamp chimneys, and another was filling and trimming the lamps themselves.
“Oh, hullo!” said the storekeeper’s daughter, seeing Ruth at the window, and leaving her work to come across the room. “You’re one of those young ladies stopping at Silver Ranch, aren’t you?”
“No,” said Ruth, smiling. “I’m one of the girls visiting Jane Ann. I hope you are going to invite us to your party here. We shall enjoy coming, I am sure.”
“Guess you won’t think much of our ball,” returned Sally Dickson. “We’re plain folk. Don’t do things like they do East.”
“How do you know what sort of parties we have at home?” queried Ruth, laughing at her. “We’re not city girls. We live in the country and get our fun where we can find it, too. And perhaps we can help you have a good time—if you’ll let us.”
“Well, I don’t know,” began Sally, yet beginning to smile, too; nobody could be grouchy and stare into Ruth Fielding’s happy face for long.
“What do you do for music?”
“Well, one of the boys at Chatford’s got a banjo and old Jim Casey plays the accordion—when he’s sober. But the last time the music failed us, and one of the boys tried to whistle the dances; but one feller that was mad with him kept showing him a lemon and it made his mouth twist up so that he couldn’t keep his lips puckered nohow.”
Ruth giggled at that, but said at once:
“One of my friends plays the piano real nicely; but of course it would be too much trouble to bring Jane Ann’s piano away over here. However, my chum, Helen, plays the violin. She will bring it and help out on the music, I know. And we’d all be glad of an invitation.”
“Why, sure! you come over,” cried Sally, warming up to Ruth’s advances. “I suppose a bunch of the Silver outfit boys will be on hand. Some of ’em are real nice boys——”
“And that reminds me,” said Ruth, advancing the package of candy. “One of the gentlemen working for Mr. Hicks asked me to hand you this, Miss Dickson. He was very particular that you should get it safely.” She put the candy into the red-haired girl’s hands. “And we certainly will be over—all of us—Saturday evening.”
Before Sally could refuse Ike’s present, or comment upon it at all, Ruth rode away from the schoolhouse.
When Ruth arrived at Silver Ranch that afternoon she found that the ranchman’s niece and the other girls had planned an outing for the following day into the hills West of the range over which Mr. Hicks’ cattle fed. It was to be a picnic jaunt, the object being mainly to view the wonderful “natural bridge” in a small cañon, some thirty miles from the ranch.
A sixty-mile drive within twenty-four hours seemed a big undertaking in the minds of the Eastern young folk; but Jane Ann said that the ponies and mules could stand it. It was probable, however, that none of the visitors could stand the ride in the saddle, so arrangements had been made for both buckboards to be used.
Tom and Bob were each to drive one of the vehicles. Jib Pottoway was to go as guide and general mentor of the party, and one of the little Mexican boys would drive the supply wagon, to which were hitched two trotting mules. The start would be made at three in the morning; therefore the ranch-house was quiet soon after dark that evening.
Maria had breakfast ready for them as soon as the girls and Bob and Tom appeared; and the wagon was laden with provisions, as well as a light tent and blankets. Tom and Bob had both brought their guns with them, for there might be a chance to use the weapons on this jaunt.
“There are plenty of kiotes in the hills,” said Jane Ann. “And sometimes a gray wolf. The boys once in a while see cats about—in calving time, you know. But I reckon they’re mighty scarce.”
“Cats?” cried Heavy. “Do you shoot cats?”
“Pumas,” explained Jane Ann. “They’re some nasty when they’re re’l hungry.”
“Oh, I don’t want to see any more of the wildcat tribe,” Ruth cried. “I had my fill of them last winter at Snow Camp.”
Tom of course was to drive the buckboard in which his twin and Ruth rode; but the chums certainly would not have chosen Mary Cox for the fourth member of the party. However, The Fox usually knew what she wanted herself, and got it, too! She liked Master Tom and wished to ride beside him; and the instant she learned which pair of ponies he was to drive, she hopped into the front seat of that buckboard.
“I’m going to sit with you, Tom,” she said, coolly. “I believe you’ve got the best ponies. And you can drive better than Bob, too.”
Tom didn’t look overjoyed, and Helen, seeing the expression of her twin’s face, began to giggle. There was, however, no polite way of getting rid of The Fox.
In a few minutes they were off, Jib Pottoway heading the procession, and Ricardo, the Mexican, bringing up the rear with the mule cart.
“You keep a sharp eye on them younguns, Jib!” bawled Bill Hicks, coming to the door of the ranch-house in his stocking feet and with his hair touseled from his early morning souse in the trough behind the house. “I’ll hold you responsible if anything busts—now mind ye!”
“All right, Boss,” returned the Indian stolidly. “I reckon nothin’ won’t bite ’em.”
Driving off thirty miles into the wilderness was nothing in the opinion of these Westerners; but to the girls from Briarwood Hall, and their brothers, the trip promised all kinds of excitement. And they enjoyed every mile of the journey through the foothills. There was something new and strange (to the Easterners) to see almost every mile, and Jane Ann, or Jib, was right there to answer questions and explain the wonders.
At first they saw miles upon miles of range, over which fed the Silver Ranch herds. Heretofore Ruth and her friends had not realized the size of the ranch itself and what it meant to own fifty thousand cattle.
“Why!” exclaimed Heavy, with some awe. “Your uncle, Nita, is richer than Job—and the Bible says he was the greatest of all the men of the East! He only owned seven thousand sheep and three thousand camels and a thousand oxen and five hundred she-asses. Why, I believe there are more creatures in that one herd yonder than poor old Job owned.”
“I guess that was a pretty good herd for ’way down there in Arabia, and so long ago,” returned Jane Ann. “But cattlemen have learned a lot since those times. I expect Uncle Bill has got more ponies than Job had mules.”
“And the men who looked after Job’s cattle were a whole lot different from those fellows,” cried Helen, from the forward buckboard, pointing to a couple of well-mounted punchers spurring after a score of strays that had broken away from the main herd. “Dear me, how recklessly they ride!”
“But I guess that all cowboys have been reckless and brave,” said Ruth, quickly. “Somehow, herding cattle on the open plains and hills seems to make for rugged character and courage. Think of King David, and lots of those Biblical characters. David was a cowboy, and went out and slew Goliath. And I expect any of these punchers we see around here wouldn’t be afraid of a giant,” she concluded.
“Huh!” snapped The Fox, who usually found something sharp to say in comment upon Ruth’s speeches, “I guess these cowboys aren’t any better than the usual run of men. I think they’re rather coarse and ugly. Look at this half Indian ahead of us.”
“What do you mean—him?” exclaimed Tom Cameron, who was pretty well disgusted with The Fox and her sly and sneering ways. “Why, he’s got a better education than most of the men you meet. He stood high at Carlisle, in his books as well as athletics. You wouldn’t scoff at any other college-bred fellow—why at Jib?”
“Indian,” said Mary Cox, with her nose in the air.
“His folks owned the country-the whole continent!” cried the excited Tom, “until white men drove them out. You’d consider an Englishman, or a German, or a Belgian, with his education, the equal of any American. And Jib’s a true American at that.”
“Well, I can’t say that I ever could admire a savage,” sniffed The Fox, tossing her head.
For the most part, however, the girls and their drivers had a very jolly time, and naturally there could not be much “bickering” even in the leading buckboard where The Fox rode, for Ruth was there, and Ruth was not one of the bickering kind. Helen was inclined to think that her chum was altogether too “tame”; she would not “stand up for herself” enough, and when The Fox said cutting things Ruth usually ignored her schoolfellow’s ill-nature.
Tom was not entirely happy with The Fox on the seat beside him. He had hoped Ruth would occupy that place. When Mary spoke to him perhaps the young fellow was a bit cold. At least, before they came to the cañon, through which flowed Rolling River, Master Tom had somehow managed to offend The Fox and her eyes snapped and she held her lips grimly shut.
The trail became narrow here and it rose steeply, too. The roaring river tumbled over the rocks on the left hand, while on the right the sheer cliff rose higher and higher. And while the ponies climbed the rather steep ascent Jib Pottoway spurred his horse ahead to see if the path was all clear to the place where the cañon became a veritable tunnel under the “natural bridge.”
“Go slow, Tom Cameron!” shouted the ranchman’s niece from the second carriage. “There are bad places when we get to the upper level—very narrow places. And the river is a hundred feet below us there.”
“She’s trying to scare us,” snapped The Fox. “I never saw such people!”
“I guess it will be best to take care,” grunted Tom. “She’s been here before, remember.”
“Pah! you’re afraid!”
“Perhaps I am,” returned Tom. “I’m not going to take any chances with these half wild ponies—and you girls in the wagon.”
In a minute more they were at the top of the rise. Jib had disappeared around a distant turn in the path, which here was straight and level for fully a mile. The muffled roar of the river came up to them, and the abrupt cliff on the right cast its shadow clear across the cañon. It was a rugged and gloomy place and Helen hid her eyes after glancing once down the steep descent to the river.
“Oh! drive on, Tommy!” she cried. “I don’t want to look down there again. What a fearful drop it is! Hold the ponies tight, Tommy.”
“Pshaw, you are making a great adieu about nothing,” snapped Mary Cox.
“I’ll have a care, Nell; don’t you fear,” assured her brother.
Ruth was as serious as her chum, and as she had a quick eye she noticed a strap hanging from the harness of one of the ponies and called Tom’s attention to it.
“There’s a strap unbuckled, Tom,” she cried. “Do you see it hanging?”
“Good for you, Ruthie!” cried the boy, leaning out of his seat to glimpse the strap. “Here, Mary! hold these reins, please.”
He put the reins into the hands of The Fox and hopped out. She laughed and slapped them across the ponies’ backs and the beasts reared and snorted.
“Have a care what you’re doing, Mary Cox!” shrieked Helen.
“Whoa!” cried her brother, and leaped to seize the nearest pony by the bit. But the half wild animals jerked away from him, dashing across the narrow trail.
“Pull up! pull up!” shouted Tom.
“Don’t let them run!” cried Jane Ann Hicks, standing up in the carriage behind.
But in that single moment of recklessness the ponies became unmanageable—at least, unmanageable for The Fox. She pulled the left rein to bring them back into the trail, and off the creatures dashed, at headlong speed, along the narrow way. On the right was the unscalable wall of rock; on the left was the awful drop to the roaring river!
Shouting after the runaway, and shrieking advice to The Fox, who still clung to the reins, was of no particular use, and Tom Cameron realized that as well as did Jane Ann. The boy from the East picked himself up and leaped upon the rear of the second buckboard as it passed him, and they tore on after the frightened ponies.
Mary Cox could not hold them. She was not a good horsewoman, in any case; and a moment after the ponies broke loose, she was just as frightened as ever she could be.
She did not drop the lines; that was because she did not think to do so. She was frozen with terror. The ponies plunged along the narrow trail, weaving the buckboard from side to side, and Mary was helpless to stop them. On the rear seat Helen and Ruth clung together in the first shock of fear; the threatening catastrophe, too, appalled them.
But only for the first few seconds was Ruth inactive. Behind the jouncing vehicle Tom was shouting to them to “pull ’em down!” Ruth wrenched herself free from her chum’s grasp and leaned forward over the seat-back.
“Give the reins to me!” she cried in Mary’s ear, and seized the leathers just as they slipped from the hands of The Fox.
Ruth gripped them firmly and flung herself back into her own seat. Helen seized her with one hand and saved her from being thrown out of the pitching vehicle. And so, with her chum holding her into her seat, Ruth swung all her weight and force against the ponies’ bits.
At first this seemed to have not the least effect upon the frightened animals. Ruth’s slight weight exercised small pressure on those iron jaws. On and on they dashed, rocking the buckboard over the rough trail—and drawing each moment nearer to that perilous elbow in the cañon!
Ruth realized the menacing danger of that turn in the trail from the moment the beasts first jumped. There was no parapet at the outer edge of the shelf—just the uneven, broken verge of the rock, with the awful drop to the roaring river below.
She remembered this in a flash, as the ponies tore on. There likewise passed through her mind a vision of the chum beside her, crushed and mangled at the bottom of the cañon—and again, Helen’s broken body being swept away in the river! And The Fox—the girl who had so annoyed her—would likewise be killed unless she, Ruth Fielding, found some means of averting the catastrophe.
It was a fact that she did not think of her own danger. Mainly the runaway ponies held her attention. She must stop them before they reached the fatal turn!
Were the ponies giving way a little? Was it possible that her steady, desperate pulling on the curbs was having its effect? The pressure on their iron jaws must have been severe, and even a half-broken mustang pony is not entirely impervious to pain.
But the turn in the road was so near!
Snorting and plunging, the animals would—in another moment—reach the elbow. Either they must dash themselves headlong over the precipice, and the buckboard would follow, or, in swerving around the corner, the vehicle and its three passengers would be hurled over the brink.
And then something—an inspiration it must have been—shot athwart Ruth’s brain. The thought could not have been the result of previous knowledge on her part, for the girl of the Red Mill was no horsewoman. Jane Ann Hicks might have naturally thought to try the feat; but it came to Ruth in a flash and without apparent reason.
She dropped the left hand rein, stood up to seize the right rein with a shorter grip, and then flung herself back once more. The force she brought to bear on the nigh pony by this action was too much for him. His head was pulled around, and in an instant he stumbled and came with a crash to the ground!
The pony’s fall brought down his mate. The runaway was stopped just at the turn of the trail—and so suddenly that Mary Cox was all but flung headlong upon the struggling animals. Ruth and Helen did fall out of the carriage—but fortunately upon the inner side of the trail.
Even then the maddened, struggling ponies might have cast themselves—and the three girls likewise—over the brink had not help been at hand. At the turn appeared Jib Pottoway, his pony in a lather, recalled by the sound of the runaways’ drumming hoofs. The Indian flung himself from the saddle and gripped the bridles of the fallen horses just in season. Bob, driving the second pair of ponies with a firm hand, brought them to a halt directly behind the wreck, and Tom and Jane Ann ran to Jib’s assistance.
“What’s the matter with these ponies?” demanded the Indian, sharply. “How’d they get in this shape? I thought you could drive a pair of hawses, boy?” he added, with scorn, looking at Tom.
“I got out to buckle a strap and they got away,” said Tom, rather sheepishly.
“Don’t you scold him, Jib!” commanded Jane Ann, vigorously. “He ain’t to blame.”
“Who is?”
“That girl yonder,” snapped the ranchman’s niece, pointing an accusing finger at Mary Cox. “I saw her start ’em on the run while Tom was on the ground.”
“Never!” cried The Fox, almost in tears.
“You did,” repeated Jane Ann.
“Anyway, I didn’t think they’d start and run so. They’re dangerous. It wasn’t right for the men to give us such wild ponies. I’ll speak to Mr. Hicks about it.”
“You needn’t fret,” said Jane Ann, sternly. “I’ll tell Uncle Bill all right, and I bet you don’t get a chance to play such a trick again as long as you’re at Silver Ranch——”
Ruth, who had scrambled up with Helen, now placed a restraining hand on the arm of the angry Western girl; but Jane Ann sputtered right out:
“No! I won’t keep still, Ruth Fielding. If it hadn’t been for you that Mary Cox would now be at the bottom of these rocks. And she’ll never thank you for saving her life, and for keeping her from killing you and Helen. She doesn’t know how to spell gratitude! Bah!”
“Hush up, Jinny,” commanded Jib, easily. “You’ve got all that off your mind now, and you ought to feel some better. The ponies don’t seem to be hurt much. Some scraped, that’s all. We can go on, I reckon. You ride my hawse, Mr. Cameron, and I’ll sit in yere and drive. Won’t trust these gals alone no more.”
“I guess you could trust Ruth Fielding all right,” cried the loyal Tom. “She did the trick—and showed how plucky she is in the bargain. Did you ever see anything better done than the way she threw that pony?”
Jane Ann ran to the girl of the Red Mill and flung her arms around her neck.
“You’re just as brave as you can be, Ruthie!” she cried. “I don’t know of anybody who is braver. If you’d been brought up right out here in the mountains you couldn’t have done any better—could she, Jib?”
“Miss Fielding certainly showed good mettle,” admitted the Indian, with one of his rare smiles. “And now we’ll go on to the camping place. Don’t let’s have any more words about it, or your fun will all be spoiled. Where’s Ricardo, with the camp stuff? I declare! that Greaser is five miles behind, I believe.”
With which he clucked to the still nervous ponies and, Tom now in the lead, the procession started on in a much more leisurely style.