The two girls had risen and gone to a window. They could see out upon the porch.
“Goodness, Doro!” gasped Tavia, grabbing her chum tightly. “That’s the very man we met on the road this morning.”
We began to get acquainted with Dorothy Dale, and Tavia Travers, and their friends in the first volume of this series, entitled “Dorothy Dale: A Girl of To-day.” At that time Dorothy was more than three years younger than she is to-day. Nevertheless, when her father was taken ill, she undertook the regular publication of his weekly paper, The Dalton Bugle, which was the family’s main dependence at that time.
Later the family received an uplift in the world and went to live at the Cedars, Aunt Winnie’s beautiful home, while Dorothy and Tavia went to Glenwood School where, through “Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School,” “Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret,” “Dorothy Dale and Her Chums,” “Dorothy Dale’s Queer Holidays,” “Dorothy Dale’s Camping Days” and “Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals” our heroine and her friends enjoyed many pleasures, had adventures galore, worked hard at their studies, had many schoolgirl rivalries, troubles, secrets, and learned many things besides what was contained in their textbooks.
In the eighth volume of the series, entitled, “Dorothy Dale in the City,” Dorothy and Tavia spent the holidays with Aunt Winnie and her sons, in New York. Aunt Winnie had taken an apartment in the city, on Riverside Drive, and the girls had many gay times, likewise helping Mrs. White very materially in the untangling of a business matter that had troubled her.
“Dorothy Dale’s Promise,” the volume preceding our present story, deals with Dorothy’s last semester at Glenwood School, and her graduation. Tavia, who is a perfect flyaway, but one with a heart of gold, is close to her chum all the time, and the two inseparables had now, but the week before, bidden the beautiful old school good-bye.
Dorothy Dale was a bright and quick-witted girl; the impulsive Tavia was apt to get them both into little scrapes of which Dorothy was usually obliged to find the door of escape.
Now, when the maid announced the black-mustached man, and the boys departed by another door, Tavia drew Dorothy into the embrasure of a curtained window, whispering:
“Let’s wait. I’m crazy to know what has brought such a brigandish looking fellow here.”
“But it is not nice to listen,” objected Dorothy.
“But your aunt doesn’t mind.”
Mrs. White smiled at the two girls as she saw them pop behind the draperies. There was nothing private about the proposed interview.
The Major sat back in his chair while Aunt Winnie arose to meet the stranger as the maid ushered him into the library.
CHAPTER III
THE “TWO-FACED” MAN
The boys were discussing the extent of Colonel Hardin’s great estate when Dorothy and Tavia joined them at the garage an hour later. The possibilities of the vast cattle pastures and game preserves, walled in by the natural boundary of the higher Rockies, appealed strongly to Ned and Nat, and even to Dorothy’s younger brothers.
“And it was all begun by Colonel Hardin taking advantage of the Homestead Law when he came out of the army. Too bad your father didn’t do that, Dorothy,” said Ned.
“What is the Homestead Law?” asked Dorothy.
“I can tell you,” interposed Nat, quickly. “Not just in the wording of the law—the legal phraseology, you know,” he added, his eyes twinkling. “But the upshot of it is, that the Government is willing to bet you one hundred and sixty acres of land against fourteen dollars that you can’t live on it five years without starving to death!”
“How ridiculous!” scoffed Dorothy.
“What is the use of asking these boys anything?” demanded Tavia, her nose in the air. “They’re like all other college freshmen.”
“Don’t say that, Miss,” urged Ned, easily. “Remember that we’re freshmen no longer, but sophs. Or, we will be so rated next fall.”
“Then perhaps you’ll know a little less than you have appeared to know this past year,” said the sharp-tongued Tavia. “As juniors you will know a little less. And when you’re seniors, you’ll probably be still more human—less like Olympic Joves, you know.”
“Compliments fly when quality meets,” quoth Dorothy. “Don’t let’s scrap, children. We can tell the boys something they don’t know. We’ve got to get a hustle on, to quote the provincialism of the locality for which we are bound—the wild and woolly West. A telegram has been already sent to Tavia’s folks. We start West to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” cried Ned and Nat, in surprise.
“The Mater must have changed her mind mighty sudden,” added Ned.
“She did,” said Tavia, nodding. “Or, rather, we changed it for her.”
“How was that?” asked Nat. “And say! what did the fellow want who came so far for a drink?” and he grinned. “What’s his name?”
“Mr. Philo Marsh,” said Dorothy, gravely. “And a very shrewd, if not an out-and-out bad man.”
“Hul-lo!” exclaimed Ned. “What’s happened? Let’s hear about it.”
“You should have stayed and seen the visitor,” said Dorothy.
“He’s a two-faced scamp!” declared Tavia, with emphasis.
“Right out of Barnum & Bailey’s—eh?” asked Nat. “One of the greatest freaks of the age. Two faces, no less!”
But Ned saw that something serious had happened. “What is it, Dorothy?” he asked.
“I wish you had remained and seen that Philo Marsh,” said Dorothy Dale. “I—I think he is a bad man. I do not trust him at all.”
“And good reason!” broke in Tavia, forgetting that she had first exclaimed over the romantic appearance of the man with the silky black mustache and the yellow diamond.
Then, eagerly, she went on to tell the boys of what had happened to her and Dorothy on the road that morning.
“Why! the scamp!” ejaculated Nat, quite savagely.
“But that isn’t all the story?” queried Ned, turning to Dorothy. “What were you going to say about Philo Marsh?”
Dorothy at once told them how she and Tavia had hidden behind the window draperies when Mr. Philo Marsh was announced, having recognized him as he stood waiting on the porch.
“And you should have heard him talk!” interrupted Tavia.
“He is a very smooth talking man,” went on Dorothy, seriously, “and we could see father and Aunt Winnie were impressed.”
“But what did he want?” Ned demanded.
“He says he represents a committee of citizens of Desert City and the farmers on that side of the Hardin estate. He had papers all drawn up, ready to sign, leasing to him and his fellow-committeemen the water rights on the Hardin place, and he wants father and Aunt Winnie to sign up right now.”
“But they didn’t?” cried Ned and Nat.
“He urged them to. He claims haste is necessary.”
“Why?” asked the older cousin.
“He wasn’t just clear about that. I guess that is what made father doubtful. But he was very persuasive.”
“Say!” interrupted Nat. “What about this water? If there is so much of it on the Hardin place, doesn’t it flow somewhere?”
“That’s a curious thing,” Dorothy said, quickly. “It seems this water-supply is a stream called Lost River.”
“Lost River?” ejaculated Ned.
“Yes. There’s more than one like it out there, too. I guess this particular Lost River has its rise on the estate somewhere. And without flowing beyond the boundaries of the land Colonel Hardin has left to us, it dives right down into a crack in the earth again.”
“Crickey!” exclaimed Nat. “Some river! I want to see that.”
“I’ve read of such things,” said his brother.
“It must be wonderful,” Dorothy said. “You see, they want father and Aunt Winnie to let them turn the water into another channel. From that channel they will pipe water to Desert City, while the surplus will be carried by open ditches to the i
rrigated farms.”
“And how about the water supply for the cattle pastures?” demanded Ned, who, from the first, had shown a deep interest in the cattle end of the business in hand.
“Oh, they say there is water in abundance,” Dorothy answered.
“Well,” asked Ned, “did that fellow get mother to sign up? That’s the important question.”
“Do you think we would let her, after what we know about the fellow?” retorted Tavia, indignantly.
“I don’t see how you girls knew much about him,” chuckled Nat. “You simply did not like the cut of his jib, as the sailors say.”
“What did you do to stop them?” asked Joe Dale, round-eyed. “Walk right in and give him away?”
“That would have been melodramatic, wouldn’t it?” laughed Dorothy.
“But what did you do?” insisted Joe.
“Why,” said Tavia, “we climbed out of the window—and I ripped my skirt, of course!—and we ran around to the hall and sent the maid in to call Mrs. White out. Then we told her about Philo Marsh—the two-faced scamp! Why, to hear and see him in that library, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!”
“Well, wouldn’t it?” grunted Nat.
“I guess the Major was suspicious, anyway,” chuckled Tavia, ignoring Master Nat. “And Mrs. White declared she would have to look over the ground personally before she could make any decision.”
“He was in an awful hurry,” said Dorothy.
“Who’s in a hurry?” asked Ned, quickly.
“That Philo Marsh, as he calls himself. So we are going to start for the West to-morrow, instead of next week.”
“And what is this fellow who’s come East here going to do?” asked Ned.
“Going back. Says he’ll meet us at Dugonne. That is where we leave the train. Oh, Aunt Winnie has already looked up our route, and the time-tables, and all that,” Dorothy said.
“Well, we’ll be on hand to look out for Little Mum, and see that this fellow doesn’t ‘double cross’ her in any way,” said Nat, with assurance.
“We girls shall watch him, too,” Tavia declared. “I believe he’s a regular ‘bad man’—like you read about.”
“Shouldn’t read about such things,” advised Dorothy, laughing.
“I guess we four can hedge Little Mum about so that no wild and woolly Westerner will trouble her,” Ned said, with gravity.
But only time could prove whether that was so, or not.
CHAPTER IV
TO CATCH THE MIDNIGHT EXPRESS
The Fire Bird looked like an express truck—or so Nat said. They had loaded up the boys’ auto with more than a fair share of the baggage.
“But just the same, you girls have got to find room in here,” declared Ned. “Nat and I must have somebody to chin to while we’re driving over Hominy Ridge. They say there are ‘ha’nts’ in the woods, and we’d be afraid to go alone.”
“Poor ’ittle sing!” crooned Tavia. “Doro and I know just how scared you are. But we’ll go with you—providing you can find us room.”
“We’ll make room,” said Nat. “Mother will have to carry some of the baggage in her car. There is no use in putting the last camel on the straw’s back!”
“Joe and Roger have begged to go along,” Dorothy said.
“Well, they’re excess baggage, too,” answered Nat. “They’ll have to go in the other car.”
It was the evening following the June day on which Aunt Winnie had divulged her Great Surprise. The intervening hours had been very, very busy for the girls.
It was arranged that the party should go by auto to Portersburg to catch the midnight express on the P. B. & O.
Dorothy and Tavia—as well as Mrs. White—had made exceedingly swift preparations for this journey. Of course, Ned and Nat did not have much to get ready.
“Wish I were a boy,” groaned Tavia.
“I’ve heard you express that wish a thousand times,” declared Dorothy.
“This is the thousand-and-wunth time then! Look at how easy they have it, Doro! All they have to do is put a clean collar and a toothbrush in their pockets, and start for a tour of Europe!”
It was a long journey over the forest-covered ridge to Portersburg. They started at nine o’clock so as to be sure to be on time at the railway station. The chauffeur who drove Mrs. White’s machine would chain the cars together and bring them—with Joe and Roger—back to the Cedars, after seeing the tourists off for the West.
Dorothy kissed the Major good-bye. “My little Captain” he still called her. Major Dale was very proud of his daughter.
They got away at last, the Fire Bird in the lead. There would be no moon until after midnight, so they had to depend entirely upon the headlights for the discovery of any obstruction in the road.
Nat was under the wheel and he had insisted upon Tavia sitting beside him. Naturally Ned was glad to get Dorothy to himself in the tonneau. It was a tight squeeze for the latter couple, for the motor car was overburdened with baggage.
“Are you comfortable, Doro?” shouted Tavia, turning to look at her chum.
“Just as comfortable as I can be with the end of Nat’s dress-suit case poking me in the back, and a bundle of umbrellas right across my poor shins. Oh! I did not dream it would be so uncomfortable.”
“Our dreams seldom come true,” declared Tavia, sentimentally.
“Don’t know about that,” said Nat. “You know, a couple of tramps were talking about the same thing. One says: ‘Isn’t it strange how few of our youthful dreams come true?’ And the other fellow answers back: ‘Oh, I dunno. I remember when I used to dream of wearing long pants, and now I guess I wear ’em longer than anybody else in the country.’”
“Better ’tend to your business, boy, and stop cracking jokes,” advised Ned.
“I’ll see that he doesn’t run us up a tree,” promised Tavia, confidently.
The Fire Bird swiftly passed out of the neighborhood with which the young people were familiar and struck into the road leading to Portersburg. It was a fairly good auto track, but had never been oiled. Therefore, there were “hills and hummocks,” as Tavia said, “in great profusion.”
“Oh! oh! OH!” she gasped, in crescendo, as the car bounced and jarred over some of these “thank-you-ma’ams.” “Did you ever see such a hubbly road, Doro?”
“I don’t see much of this one,” confessed Dorothy.
The forest shut the road about so thickly that beyond the headlights’ glare the way looked like a tunnel. Occasionally, some small, night wandering animal, scurried across the track.
“There’s a rabbit!” ejaculated Tavia. “I wonder what he thinks this auto is?”
“The Car of Juggernaut,” said Dorothy. “Lucky he escaped.”
They were going down a hill. Suddenly Nat threw out the clutch and braked hard. The horn likewise uttered a stuttering warning.
A ray of light flickered upon some object directly in the path of the flying car. It was impossible to stop and the road was too narrow for Nat to swerve aside and in this way escape the collision.
“Low Bridge!” he shouted, and they all crouched down. The next instant the car struck the creature standing in its path.
“A deer!” yelled Ned, as the car came to a jarring stop, some yards beyond the point of collision.
He hopped out and ran back to see if the poor animal was really dead. His mother’s car meanwhile halted where the deer lay beside the road. The Fire Bird had thrown the creature some distance away, and it was quite dead, its neck being broken.
“Killing game out of season is a misdemeanor, Nat,” said his brother, returning to the automobile. “Lucky you are going to get out of the state to-night. The game warden might be after you.”
“I don’t think it is a thing to laugh over,” said Tavia. “The poor deer!”
“Thank you,” Nat said. “I never expected to hear you call me by such a tender name.——”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Nat!” sn
apped Tavia, scrambling out of the front seat and joining Dorothy in the tonneau. “I don’t want to risk being in front if you are going to run down all the livestock in the country.”
“It’s too bad to leave perfectly good venison behind,” Ned said. “I suppose he was dazzled by the lights. You must have a care how you drive, Nathaniel. Mother says so.”
“Huh! I couldn’t see the deer until we were right on top of it.”
“I know Nat didn’t mean to,” said Dorothy, the peacemaker. “It is awfully dark.”
Nat only grunted, but he drove more slowly. The deer had been actually hypnotized by the lamps; Nat did not want to play the same rough joke on another.
“Huh!” he muttered to his brother. “If the law had been off and we’d come up this way hunting deer, we wouldn’t have gotten within a mile of one!”
“Life is full of disappointments—just like that,” chuckled Ned, turning so that the two girls could hear him. “There was the old farmer who saw something in the clothing store window that kept him marching up and down before it for an hour, looking frequently at his watch.
“Finally he went inside and demanded of a salesman: ‘What’s your time?’ ‘Twenty minutes past five,’ says the salesman. ‘That’s what I make it,’ says the farmer, ‘and I’ll take them pants,’ and he pointed to a ticket in the window which read: ‘Given Away at 5.20.’ But he was disappointed, too.” concluded Ned.
“How ridiculous,” said Dorothy. “Oh! here’s the end of the woods. I’m so glad.”
“It’s the end of this piece,” said Ned. “But there’s more ahead.”
It was much lighter when they came out into the farming lands, and Nat could speed up his engine a little. Behind the Fire Bird coughed the other car. They met nobody, nor overtook any vehicle. This was a lonely road by night. They were still a long distance from Portersburg, and it was after eleven o’clock.
“You’d better get a wiggle on, boy,” declared Ned. “We don’t want to miss that train.”
“And I do want to miss any other deer that may be loafing about this right of way,” grumbled his brother.
Dorothy Dale in the West Page 2