Penny of Top Hill Trail

by Belle Kanaris Maniates

  Produced by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _Penny and the Sheriff match wits under the stars._]

  PENNY of Top Hill Trail

  By Belle Kanaris Maniates

  Author of "Amarilly of Clothes-Line Alley," "Mildew Manse," etc.

  Frontispiece by Philip Lyford

  The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago

  Copyright, 1919 By The Reilly & Lee Co.

  All Rights Reserved

  Made in U. S. A.

  Published, Feb. 8, 1919 Second Printing, Feb. 10, 1919

  Penny of Top Hill Trail

  PENNY OF TOP HILL TRAIL

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I 7 CHAPTER II 33 CHAPTER III 60 CHAPTER IV 90 CHAPTER V 108 CHAPTER VI 116 CHAPTER VII 141 CHAPTER VIII 155 CHAPTER IX 161 CHAPTER X 177 CHAPTER XI 203 CHAPTER XII 216 CHAPTER XIII 232 CHAPTER XIV 238 CHAPTER XV 248 CHAPTER XVI 262 CHAPTER XVII 282

  [Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents was not present in the original publication.]

  PENNYof Top Hill Trail

  CHAPTER I

  On an afternoon in early spring a man lounged against the wall of thestation waiting for the express from the east. Slender of waist and hip,stalwart of shoulder, some seventy-two inches of sinewy height, he was thefigure of the typical cattleman. His eyes were deep-set and far-seeing;his lean, brown face, roughened by outdoor life, was austere and resolutein expression.

  The train had barely stopped when a boyish-looking, lithe-limbed youthleaped from the platform. The blue serge suit and checked cap he wore didnot disguise the fact that his working clothes--his field uniform--werethose of a cow-puncher. A few quick strides brought him to the man inwaiting.

  "Hoped you'd be on hand to meet me, Kurt, so I could get out to the ranchto-night. How's things up there?"

  "Just the same as they were when you left, Jo," said the one addressed inwhimsical tone. "You've only been gone ten days, you know."

  "You don't say!" ejaculated Jo, following his companion through the depot."City does age a man."

  Gone are the days of The Golden West when spurred and revolvered horsemensprang into saddles and loped out of the brush, or skimmed over mattedmesquite on a buckboard drawn by swift-running ponies.

  A long racing car was waiting for the two men and they were soon speedingover a hard-baked, steel-like road that led up, around and over thefar-flung, undulating hills before them.

  "I thought Kingdon's best car was worth a million bucks before I went toChicago," said Joe critically, "but it sure would look like a two-spot onMichigan Avenue."

  The other smiled indulgently.

  "I trust everything out here won't suffer by comparison with the thingsyou have seen during your journey."

  "I should say not! It all looks pretty good to me. I wouldn't change thistrail to Top Hill for all the boulevards and asphalts of Chicago, and ourranch-house has got any hotel I saw skinned by a mile for real living. Ihad _some_ vacation, though, and it was mighty good of you to send me onthat business. I 'tended to it, all right as soon as I got there, before Itook in any of the sights or let loose for my 'time.' I won't forget it inyou, Kurt--to send me instead of going yourself."

  "Well, Jo, you'd been cooped up here a long time for a youngster," saidKurt, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "and I saw you wererarin' for a little recreation. I thought you would settle down to a hardseason's work if you let out a little. I received your report and check.You managed that cattle deal very shrewdly. Kingdon was much pleased."

  "That's encouraging, but I feel better at pleasing you, Kurt."

  They rode on without talking for some distance. From time to time Kurtcast a searching glance at the young man whose eyes shone with a strange,steady light--a look of exaltation and despair combined.

  The car slowed down to conversational need.

  "What 'tis, Jo? Did you come to grief when you 'let loose?' Let go allyour earnings in one big game without any way-slips, or did you have sucha round of theatres, cabarets and night-life that you are feeling thedepression of reaction?"

  "You're guessing wrong," replied Jo quietly. "I know that's the way mostof us grass-fed men act when we get a chance at white lights. I had abeautiful time that was as short and as far off as a pleasant dream. As Isaid, I started out for a regular time, but I didn't take a drink, ortouch a card, or--say, Kurt, I think I'd like to tell you about it! I knowyou won't kid me, for I'm in earnest and--in trouble."

  Another quick glance at the blue eyes, usually so brimming with sparklinggayety but which were now serious and despondent, brought a transformationto the grim face of the older man, making him look kinder, warmer,younger.

  "Shoot, Jo!" was all he said, but the lad felt that the crude word wasbacked up by a real interest, a readiness to hear and advise.

  "Some one gave me a steer to a dance place," he began. "Hurricane Hall, Ithink it was called, and as soon as I looked in, I saw it was tougher eventhan a cowboy's cravings called for; but I sort of stuck around until Ihappened to look at one of the tables over in a cornered-off place. Alittle girl was sitting there alone, different from all those otherfierce-looking ones who were dressed in high water skirts and with waiststhat looked as if they needed inside blinds to get by.

  "She had on a white dress, a real dress--not a skirt and bib--that coveredher, and without much fixings. Her hair was drawn back plain like a kid's.I knew right off she'd got in wrong, and I thought it was up to me to gether out of that joint.

  "I went over to her and said: 'Excuse my nerve, little girl, but I guessyou're in the wrong pew.'

  "She looked at me sort of funny; then she smiled and said: 'Same to you!'

  "Her voice sounded like low, soft music--contralto kind.

  "'Yes;' I said. 'You're right. I'm a cowboy, not a country boy, and I'm inChicago to see the sights; but I'd ask for blinders if I stayed aroundhere much longer. Who brought you here?'

  "'Nobody,' she said, looking down. 'I came by myself.'

  "'I'm glad of it,' I tell her, 'and I'm the guy that's going to take youaway from here.'

  "'Why?' she asked me, 'and how do you know I'll go with you.'

  "She'd kept her eyes away from me all this time. I said: 'Look at me.'

  "She did. Right at me, the way kids do--not bold--just curious. Goodnight! It did something to my heart when her eyes looked into mine thatway.

  "'Can you trust me?' I asked after a minute.

  "'Yes,' she said; and I knew she meant it.

  "'I want to dance with you,' I told her, 'but I don't want to do ithere.'

  "'Where can we go?' she asked.

  "'I know a man in Chicago,' I said, 'who has asked me to come to hisplace. It ain't stylish enough for you, but it's run right andrespectable. It ain't very far from here. Reilly's. Know it?'

  "'I've heard of it,' she said, 'but I've never been there.'

  "Of course she hadn't. I'd seen right off she was just a kid and hadn'tbeen around to places.

  "'Will you go there with me now?' I asked her.

  "'Yes;' she said. 'I know you're all right.'

  "Maybe I wasn't feeling good when I'd got her out of there and steered herthrough the streets! She was a little mite of a thing, and young, but veryquiet; her eyes had a sad look.

  "We went to Reilly's: He was up here in the hill country once for avacation--the time you were out on the coast. We fellows gave him sometime, and he liked it fine. Well, he told us the place was ours. The musicwas great, and we started right out on the floor. Say! I was feeling asfit and stepping as lively as if I had had a million drinks, but I hadn'thad one. There was
no getting around it. That little girl in her whitedress had landed me one right over the heart. She slipped into my arms asquick as she had into my heart, too. I danced the way I felt, andshe--well, she was right with me every time: the slickest little stepper Iever saw. Not dance-mad, like those professional kind; she let me set thepace and she followed any lead.

  "Reilly came up to us on the floor and offered to introduce us to folks. Iasked him if he remembered the time I gave him out west, and he said hecould never forget it and he was now aiming to return it best he knew how.'Take it from me,' I said, 'that I can get right returns from you ifyou'll not give any other fellow the chance to butt in on these dances.''I'm on,' he said, and he let us alone.

  "We danced every time without talking any. When it came closing time,Reilly came up again and said: 'This is the hour we quit, but it don'tmean for my guests. Come back in this little room and have refreshments onme.'

  "He showed us into a little ring-around-the-rosy room with lights half offand asks: 'What'll you have?'

  "'Coffee,' I said quickly and warningly, and the kid said: 'I'll have thesame.'

  "Reilly laughed--because I took coffee, I suppose. We got it good and hot,with sandwiches and pickles thrown in. Then we talked. Someway she got meto do most of the talking. She wanted to hear all about ranches andcowboys and me. Her eyes got bright, and she said it was better thanmovies, and she wished she could see my country. I told her she would,because I was going to take her there. She didn't say anything to that.Pretty soon Reilly comes in and tells me he wants to give us the best timehe knows how all right, but were we planning to stay to breakfast? When Isaw what time it was, I took the hint and we got right up. I asked himwhat there was to pay, and he said if I tried to pay, I'd have to do itover his dead body. We went out into the night, only 'twas morning. Iasked her what her folks would say.

  "'I have no folks,' she said kind of sad-like.

  "That made me feel good.

  "'I am glad of that,' I told her, 'because I want you all to myself.'

  "Then I thought she must be working, and I told her I was sorry to havekept her up so late because she'd be too tired to go to work. She said shewas out of a job, but was expecting something soon.

  "'I am glad of that, too,' I said.

  "She looked sort of surprised, so I knew I'd been too sudden, but you see,time was short with me. I told her I'd be in Chicago another twenty-fourhours and would she help show me around. I had never been on one of thebig boats and Reilly had told me about a fine tour to take to some Saintplace. She knew where he meant, though she had never been there. She saidfolks who lived in Chicago didn't go outside much. They left the trips forvisitors. She promised to meet me at the dock in a few hours.

  "She wouldn't let me go all the way home with her. She said she hadreasons, and made me leave her on a corner which she said was quite closeto where she lived. It was an awful poor part of the city, and I supposeshe didn't want me to know how humble her home was. As if I cared forthat! It was so near light I knew she would be safe, but I stood there onguard for a few minutes after she left.

  "Believe me, I was right on time at the dock, and she came soon after Idid. She had on a plain, dark suit, neat, little shoes, and a hat downover her eyes like the girls in movies wear. I'd passed a corner on theway to the boat where they sold flowers. There were some violets thatlooked like her. I bought a big bunch and when I gave them to her, shesort of gasped and said no one had ever bought flowers for her before. Iwas glad to hear that. I asked her hadn't she ever had a fellow, and shesaid she hadn't. I told her I couldn't see why, unless it was because shedidn't want one. She looked up at me sort of shy and said she might havehad one most any time, but that there had never been one she cared forbefore.

  "I could have hugged her right there on the dock for that 'before,' but itwas time for the boat to start. There weren't many going. It was early inthe season, she said. We went up on deck and sat by the rail and maybe oldLake Michigan didn't look sparkling! Everything looked sparkling to me.She was as happy as a kid with a new doll, because she had never been on aboat before. When we got to the place--St. Joe, she said it was--therewere all sorts of things to do that beat Chicago all to bits for a goodtime. There was a big sandy beach that made me want to go in the water,but she said it was too early. So we sat in the sun-warmed sand andwatched the waves, and we got our pictures taken, and tried a Wheel ofFortune. We went to a big hotel and had a good dinner, though they didn'thave any of the things that were down on their program. The waiter said itwas a bill of fare left over from last year. We didn't mind that. Afterdinner we rode out to a place to see some guys that looked like picturesin the Old Testament. They lived in David's House, too.

  "It was an awfully short afternoon someway. We had supper at the hotel andtook the boat home. What few passengers there were besides us stayed shutup in the cabin, so we had the deck and the light of the new moon all toourselves.

  "She shivered a little, but I had brought an extra coat, because I hadseen Reilly before I went and he told me to take one. I wrapped her up init, and when I buttoned it around her chin, I did what I'd been aching todo since I first met her, but had slipped on my courage. She was lookingdown in a shy, little way she has--and I kissed her. When she lifted hereyes, there was such a surprised little look in them, I felt just as if Ihad hurt a baby.

  "'I didn't mean to do it,' I said, 'but I couldn't help it. Will youforgive me?'

  "'I'll forgive you,' she said in a low voice after a moment, 'but youmustn't--again.'

  "She meant it, so I didn't, but she let me hold her hand and we sat quietand watched the moon-shine on the water.

  "I asked her if she'd had a good time, and she told me it had been themost wonderful day of her life--different from all others.

  "'Honest?' I asked.

  "She didn't answer, but looked off over the water, and I saw a tear on hercheek.

  "'Honest?' I said again.

  "'Yes;' she said. '_Honest_, and I never knew before what it was to behonest.'

  "I didn't know what she meant, but we had got to Chicago now. It wasn'tvery late and I asked her should we go to Reilly's again, and she said itwould spoil the day. I thought so, too. On the way to where I'd left herthe night before, there was a little park. We went in and sat on one ofthe benches. It was only a little clump of trees, but it made a nice placeto visit, because there was no one around. People in cities don't act likethey were seasoned to outdoors except when it's hot weather.

  "I was booked to leave the next morning, so I couldn't let any grass grow.I asked her to marry me.

  "'I wish you hadn't asked me,' she said, and her voice sounded like therewere tears in her eyes.

  "'Why?' I asked.

  "'I wish,' she went on without taking any notice of me--just like she wastalking to herself--'that I dared love a man like you.'

  "That was all I cared to know. For the ghost of a second I held her in myarms, but she slipped out of them, and I saw her face was pale.

  "'You _do_ love me!' I said.

  "'I do,' she repeated after me. 'A lot. If it was a little bit, I'd marryyou, but I love you so much, I'll tell you why I can never marry you.You're the first man that ever treated me like I was white. I'm prettybad, I know, but I am not so bad as to do you wrong.'

  "I told her I didn't know what she meant, but there was nothing in theworld that should come between us.

  "'I tried to tell you to-night on the boat, when you asked me to tell youhow much I had enjoyed the day,' she went on just as though I hadn'tspoken, 'when you said "_Honest_." But I couldn't. I was afraid to tellyou I couldn't do anything _honest_.'

  "Then she told me she was a thief. She didn't try to make any excuses forherself, but when I heard her little hard luck story and knew what she'dalways been up against, I didn't wonder that she stole or committed anycrime. She had had a regular Cinderella stepmother who had licked her whenshe was a kid because she took food from the pantry when she was hungry.The old hag called it s
tealing and warned the school teacher, and theother kids got hold of it and of course you know what it does to any oneto get a black eye. She had the name of a thief wished on her until shegot to be one. She was expelled from school; put in a reformatory; ranaway; stole to keep herself alive. Then they all took a hand ather--ministers, society girls, charitable associations; they gave her abum steer and made her feel she was a hopeless outcast, so she felt moreat home with the vagrant class. The only person who had ever made her feelshe wanted to be straight was a Salvation Army woman, but she had goneaway and no one was left to care now.

  "I didn't let her go any further. I told her _I_ cared and I cared all themore since I had heard her story; and that she _was_ honest, or shewouldn't have told me about herself. What did I care what she had been ordone? Her life was going to begin right then with me. I couldn't budgeher. I talked and pleaded, and at last she gave in--a little. She saidshe'd think it over and meet me at the little park in the morning, andthen she'd talk some more about it.

  "So we parted until morning came. But I made up my mind that if shewouldn't consent, I'd simply kidnap her and bring her up here to Mrs.Kingdon.

  "I was on hand bright and early at the park next morning, and after awhile a slovenly slip of a girl came up to me and asked my name. I toldher. She gave me a note and then started off like a skyrocket, but I'msome spry myself and I caught her and held her till I'd read the note. Itwas from her and she said she couldn't give me the worst of the bargain.That she was going to try hard to see if she could make good and livewithout stealing, and when she was sure, she'd send word to me through Mr.Reilly, and if I never heard, I could know she had failed and for me toforget her.

  "'Where is she?' I asked the girl, who was squirming like an eel.

  "'I dunno,' she said. 'She's left town.'

  "'I don't believe it!' I said.

  "'Yes, she has,' said the girl. 'She pawned all her togs--that new whitedress and the swell shoes and her new suit and hat to get money to make agetaway.'

  "I might as well have tried to hang on to a fish as to hold that slipperylittle street Arab. She broke away and ran. I was after her, but it was nouse. She knew the ins and outs of the alleys like a rat and I lost her.You see, I didn't know my girl's last name. When I asked her, she said:'Call me Marta.' I didn't care about knowing her last name then, because Iwas so keen to give her my own name.

  "I was just about crazy. I hunted all over the part of the city where I'dleft her the first night. Then I went to see Reilly, but he didn't knowwho she was. I made him see what it meant to me to find her, and hepromised to try his best and to forward at once any letter that came tohim. If I don't hear after a while, when work gets slack so you can spareme, I'm going to Chicago and go through it with a fine tooth comb. Reillywill help me follow every girl by the name of Marta that's ever livedthere."

  Kurt's eyes, full of infinite pity and regret, turned to Jo as he brokethe little pause that followed.

  "She is doubtless a poor little stray of a girl and luck has been againsther, but, Jo, put all thoughts of marrying her away, just as she has.Wait--" he hurried on, seeing the anger kindling in the lad's eyes--"if itwere any other offense--But a thief! 'Once a thief, always a thief,' isthe truest saying I know. Your love couldn't--"

  "It didn't make any change in my feelings when she told me," said Joestaunchly. "She could steal anything I had."

  "It might not change your feelings, but it should change your intentions.Do you mean you'd marry--" Kurt had an incredulous expression on hisface.

  "In a second, if she'd have me. I'd buy her everything she wanted so shewouldn't have to steal."

  "But after you were married and people found out what she was, you'd beashamed--"

  "Ashamed! I'd put my little thief on a throne, and whoever dared to try totake her off would get it in the neck."

  The car speeded up again. The man at the wheel saw the utter futility offurther expostulation.

  "I'll leave it to time and cow-punching," he thought sagely. "Time andwork are the best healers, especially for the young. Preaching is of noavail."

  Night came on. Jo looked up at a little lone star which was trying to makeits light shine without a properly darkened background.

  "That's a poor little orphan star--like her. I'll look for it every nightnow. I wish I hadn't blabbed to Kurt. He hasn't a nose for orangeblossoms."

  In the fortnight that followed, Jo worked indefatigably, but his heart andhis thoughts were back in Chicago, except when now and then his eyesturned to a fertile little beauty-spot valleyed between the hills. Forhere he had located an imaginary cottage--his cottage and hers. Thismirage, of course, always showed a little slip of a girl standing in thedoorway. To the surprise and dismay of his associates Jo the spenderbecame Jo the saver that his dream might come true.

  He offered no addendum to the revelation he had made to Kurt. They metoften, but in ranch life discourse is not frequent, and Jo instinctivelyfelt that his recital of Love's Young Dream had fallen upon unsympatheticears, while the foreman, unversed in the Language of Love, was mystifiedby the lad's silence.

  Three weeks later the "man without a nose for orange blossoms" was againin town. As acting sheriff of the county lately, Kurt had dropped in tosee the jailer.

  "How's business, Bender? Any new boarders?" he asked.

  "Yes; a gal run in for stealing. Didn't find the goods on her; but she's asly one with the record of being a lifelong thief. She strayed up herefrom Chicago."

  "What's her name?" he asked casually.

  "Marta Sills."

  "I wonder if it could be Jo's Marta," the acting sheriff thought suddenly."She may have followed him up here."

  He walked back to the hotel, trying to decide whether he should tell Jo.If she should prove to be his girl, her arrest up here should show himthat his love hadn't worked the miracle he expected. Jo had been a littlemore quiet since his return, but he gave no signs of pining away, andmaybe if nothing revived his interest, it might die a natural death. Thestory Jo had told him of the little waif had made a deep impression uponhim, however.

  "Poor little brat!" he thought. "What chance does her kind have? I supposeI ought to give her one. There is one person in the world who might beable to reform her, and I'd put her in that person's charge if it weren'tfor wrecking Jo's life."

  All through the afternoon while transacting the business that had broughthim to town, his heart and his head were having a wrestling match, theformer being at the disadvantage of being underworked.

  "I'll go up and take a look at her," he suddenly decided. "Maybe I cantell from Jo's description whether she is his Marta or not."

  On his way to the jail he was accosted by a big, jovial man.

  "Don't know where I can get an extra helper, do you, Kurt? Simpson, myright-hand, has gone back to Canada to enlist."

  "How providential!" thought Kurt.

  "Why, yes; Mr. Westcott," he replied: "We're well up with our work, and Icould spare Jo Gary for a few weeks."

  "Jo Gary! May Heaven bless you! When can I get him?"

  "Going out home now?"

  "Yes; on my way."

  "Stop at the ranch and take him along with you. Tell him I said to go.It'll be all right with Kingdon."

  Westcott renewed his blessings upon Kurt and drove on.

  At the jail Kurt looked in on the latest arrival. She was sitting at atable in Bender's back office, her head bowed in her hands. There wassomething appealing in the drooping of her shoulders and in her shabbyattire.

  "Now Jo is disposed of, she shall have her chance, anyway," he decided.

  Without speaking to the girl, he sought Bender and they held a briefconsultation.