Dorothy Dale in the West

by Margaret Penrose

  “They’ve hived me up in four walls till it’s fair mad they’ve made me. I might strike it rich yet, out in the hills, an’ pay ye for——”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that,” said Mrs. White, kindly. “I am sure we can find something for you to do out of doors on our big place that will make you self-supporting.”

  “God bless ye for saying that, Ma’am,” said John Dempsey, gratefully, and followed on behind the party to the train, where the policeman bade them good-bye.

  The boys took charge of John Dempsey and saw him comfortably seated in the day coach. It was a long run to Dugonne, where the party arrived at nine o’clock that evening.

  Dorothy was so anxiously looking forward to the end of the train journey that she had quite forgotten some of the circumstances connected with this sudden trip. There, on the lighted platform, as the train rolled in, appeared the stocky, black mustached man for whom she and Tavia had taken such a dislike.

  “Philo Marsh!” ejaculated Dorothy to her chum.

  “He got here ahead of us.”

  “He had no intention of letting Aunt Winnie get here first,” declared Dorothy. “Now, Tavia, we must watch that man; he means Aunt Winnie no good, I’m sure.”

  Philo Marsh rushed forward to greet Mrs. White, with both hands extended, when the party from the East left the train.

  “I certainly made good connections,” he said, with enthusiasm, insisting upon shaking hands with the two boys as well as the lady herself. The girls kept away from him, and it was evident that the man did not recognize them, but he swept off his hat and bowed deeply to Dorothy and Tavia, when Mrs. White presented them as “my niece, and her friend.”

  “I’ve the best suite in the best hotel in Dugonne saved for you,” Philo Marsh declared. “I’ve ordered supper for you, too. They’ll serve it just as soon as you arrive, in your sitting room. Oh, we can do things in good style out yere if we put our minds to it,” and the man laughed heartily.

  “And in the morning I’ll come and talk with you, Mrs. White. If you want to see some of the other men interested in this water-right business, I’ll bring them.”

  “Oh, mercy, sir!” cried Aunt Winnie. “Let us get rested and look about a little before we rush into business. But I will let you call to-morrow afternoon, Mr. Marsh.”

  With this, Philo Marsh had to be content. The party of tourists were driven away in a depot wagon for the Commonwealth Hotel.

  CHAPTER XII

  ON THE ROAD TO HARDIN’S

  “Goodness gracious, grumpy gree!” yawned Tavia. “Isn’t a really-truly bed the greatest invention known to civilized man, Doro?”

  “I don’t know about its being the first on the list; but it certainly is a delight after sleeping on a shelf in that car,” agreed Dorothy Dale, stretching luxuriously.

  “I hate to get up.”

  “You can stay here all day alone, then,” said her chum, briskly. “Aunt Winnie means to get to the Hardin ranch-house before night.”

  “Then what about Philo Marsh?” cried Tavia.

  “She confided to me,” chuckled Dorothy, “that that is why she told him not to come around until afternoon. She will see him just before we start for Hardin’s.”

  “He’ll be mad as fury.”

  “Let him be. Auntie says she is determined to look over the estate, and see the water supply herself, and survey the proposed new channel, before she signs a paper.”

  “Bully for her!” cried the slangy Tavia. “I bet that pirate, Philo Marsh, has something up his sleeve beside his arm.”

  Bang! bang! bang! A knock at the girls’ door.

  “Oh! is the house afire?” shrieked Tavia, leaping out of bed. “Or is it Papa Crater again, trying to find Molly and her bridegroom?”

  “What are you girls waiting for?” demanded Nat, on the other side of the door. “Come on! Ned and I have been up for hours, and have hired a four-horse stage-coach—a regular old timer out of a show, I bet—to cart us and the baggage to Hardin’s.”

  “Oh!” cried Dorothy. “You’re not starting at once?”

  “Guess you’ll have time to dress and eat breakfast first—if you hurry,” chuckled Nat, as he went off down the hotel corridor.

  This was only Nat’s fun. He and Ned were lonely and wanted to show the girls the town. Not that the sprawling western metropolis was much of a sight, after all!

  Dugonne was a rambling, raw, uninviting place. The junction of the two railroads made its existence here possible, for there were neither cattle interests, farms, or mines very near.

  Aunt Winnie remained in her room, but Ned and Nat took the girls down to the breakfast table and proved that the Commonwealth Hotel of Dugonne could cater to the taste of touring Easterners.

  They saw a small bunch of steers being driven through a back street of the town and learned that they were from the Double Chain Outfit.

  “That is a big concern, they tell me,” said Ned White, who was much interested in cattle—or seemed to be since his mother had become part owner of a range and ranch. “Colonel Hardin sold most of his herd before he died.”

  “But the Double Chain isn’t very near this town?” asked Tavia. “That Mr. Lance told me it was a day’s ride—and you can ride a long way in a day on these cow ponies—can’t you, Doro?”

  “Those dear little things!” cried Dorothy. “They just fly.”

  “And you’re not going to have a pony, after all,” said Ned, solemnly. “Aren’t you sorry you picked that tramp up, Dot?”

  “He’s not a tramp, Ned White!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Don’t call him that, please. And where is Mr. Dempsey?”

  “He went with us to hire the stage-coach,” said Nat. “And believe me, he has his wits about him. He has lived out this way ever since the war, he says, and he knows all about everything,” added the younger boy, with some admiration.

  “We left him at the corral where we engaged the wagon and team and driver,” Ned said. “He is going with us—never you fear, my dear coz.”

  Dorothy did not mind their poking fun at her because of her protégé.

  The quartette of young folks came back to the hotel before noon and found Aunt Winnie at a late breakfast.

  “I have seen one of the lawyers who had charge of Colonel Hardin’s affairs,” she said. “He will be back here in half an hour with certain papers, and I shall go to court with him.

  “My intention is to go on to the ranch to-day, as I said last evening,” continued Aunt Winnie. “So don’t go far away from the hotel, children. What time did you tell the man to have the conveyance here, Edward?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  “And you ought to see it!” cried Nat. “Looks just like the one the Indians chase and capture in the Buffalo Bill show.”

  “Is that the best conveyance you could find, Edward?” asked Mrs. White, with some suspicion.

  These mischievous young people were forever playing jokes, and she was doubtful. But Ned was serious.

  “Best I could find, Mother—believe me! All the carriages they have in this man’s town are buckboards—and we’d have to hire a caravan of those to pile all the baggage on—and us, too. This old coach with four mustangs to draw it, will take ‘all hands and the cook.’”

  “I hope you have done the right thing, my son,” said Aunt Winnie. “Take care of yourselves, children, till I come back from the court with Mr. Jermyn.”

  There was not much going on in the business part of Dugonne that the four young Easterners did not see. They came to the dinner table with ravenous appetites and a whole lot to chatter about.

  Mrs. White’s business with the lawyers, and with the court, was finished for the time being. Just before two o’clock a great, staggering old coach, on four rattling wheels, drew up at the door of the hotel. At a former day, mail and passengers had been transported between Dugonne and various outlying mining camps in all directions in this vehicle.

  “And the mud of twenty years ago is still clinging t
o the wheels,” said Dorothy. “Oh, Ned! it is a most disgraceful looking affair.”

  “I couldn’t find anything better,” answered the young man.

  “He is making a regular show of us,” said Tavia. “I suppose we ought to dress in short skirts, and buckskin blouses, Doro, and wear fringed leggins and sombreros. Be regular ‘cowgirls.’”

  “Well, Tavia,” drawled Nat. “You have a cowboy on the string they tell me——”

  “Nathaniel!” admonished Mrs. White. “What language!” and she bustled forward to see the outfit.

  Four spirited mustangs drew the coach—and those mustangs looked as though they had never known currycomb and brush—which was probably the fact! Old John Dempsey was sitting beside the driver, who was a broad-hatted, smiling Mexican, with gleaming teeth, beadlike black eyes, and gold rings in his ears.

  “It is an awful looking thing,” gasped Aunt Winnie, when she saw the old coach.

  “It is a whole lot better than it looks, mother,” urged Ned.

  “And only think!” cried Nat, “the man that owns it says that that stage was held up by ‘Billy, the Kid,’ a famous road agent in these parts, who got the registered mail-sack after shooting the driver, and all the passengers’ money and jewelry.”

  “How deliciously horrid!” said Tavia. “Do you suppose Mr. Billy, the Kid will hold us up?”

  “Not unless his ghost comes back to do it,” chuckled Ned. “They hanged Billy, the Kid, years ago, so the man told me.”

  “It would be just too romantic for anything to meet a real highwayman,” said Tavia.

  “Why, this town has mounted police that patrol the suburbs—I saw a couple,” laughed Ned. “Romance is dead, Miss Tavia, in these parts.”

  “You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen our cowboy—would he, Doro?”

  “A cowpuncher!” sniffed Nat. “Like that ‘baby’ old Mrs. Petterby is going to visit.”

  “I wonder where the old lady is?” said Dorothy. “She arrived at Dugonne ahead of us, of course.”

  “Sure,” said her cousin Ned. “She stayed on the train when we left it at Sessions. But she was just as worried about you girls as any of us when she learned you had been left behind.”

  “We shall look her up later,” pronounced Dorothy. “And I’m awfully anxious to see her son.”

  “Wonder if he works for the same outfit Tavia’s new beau works for?” queried Ned. “You know, the Double Chain Outfit is the only sizable one left in this part of the country. Its ranges adjoin Colonel Hardin’s on the north. On the south of this land we are going to see, lies the farming country and Desert City.”

  “I should think we would have gone right to Desert City by train,” said Dorothy, “if that is where these people want the water.”

  “But you can’t get to Desert City by rail,” her cousin explained. “North of the Hardin place are the Double Chain ranges, and the mining properties in the hills belonging to the Consolidated Ackron Company—a big concern. South of Desert City, the map shows nothing but desert for hundreds of miles.”

  “There’s that Marsh man,” said Tavia, suddenly, to Dorothy. “I don’t want to see him again.”

  “He doesn’t remember that he met us in the road near home——”

  “But I haven’t forgotten it,” finished Tavia.

  “Neither have I,” sighed Dorothy. “And I am really afraid for Aunt Winnie to have anything to do with him.”

  Mrs. White kept them waiting while she conferred with Mr. Philo Marsh, for whom she had telephoned when she knew the stagecoach was in waiting. The gentleman was not pleased by the brevity of the conference, as his face very plainly showed when he came out. His piratical mustache seemed to droop more than ever and he had completely lost his suave manner.

  “I shall ride out to see you very soon, Mrs. White,” he said—rather, he threatened! “And I shall bring the committee with me. We’ve got to have this thing settled up.”

  “Not until I am quite ready to settle it, Mr. Marsh,” said Aunt Winnie, firmly. “I think you must forget that it is within the power of Major Dale and myself to refuse to lease the water-rights entirely.”

  “Say! that was a stiff jolt Little Mum gave him,” whispered Ned to Dorothy.

  “And did you see his face?” returned Dorothy. “I—I am really afraid of that man.”

  “Ah, pshaw! no reason for being afraid,” returned Ned, confidently. “I guess nothing will ever happen to mother, with me and Nat along.”

  The trunks and bags had been strapped on the rack behind the coach, or thrown into its interior. The whole party—even Aunt Winnie—had elected to ride on the roof of the vehicle.

  There was room beside the driver for only John Dempsey, but in two wide, low seats fastened to the roof behind the driver, was room for the remainder of the party. Aunt Winnie, with Dorothy and Tavia on either side of her, sat on the more forward of these seats, while Ned and Nat lolled on the one behind.

  “If we only had a horn now, we’d be fixed for this tallyho ride,” said Nat.

  “But, goodness gracious!” gasped Tavia, peering down over the iron arm of her seat. “Suppose we should fall off?”

  “That isn’t what you climbed up here for,” advised Dorothy. “Do be careful, Tavia.”

  At that moment the Mexican saw that all was free and clear, and he lifted the reins. His long whiplash writhed over the leaders’ ears, and cracked like a pistol shot. The half-wild mustangs leaped against their collars.

  “Oh—dear—me!” gasped Aunt Winnie. “We shall certainly be shaken off.”

  “It will be easier riding, Ma’am,” said John Dempsey, turning and touching his hat respectfully, “when we get out of town. Don’t you be afraid, Ma’am.”

  But the old coach did dip, and wiggle, and threaten to toss the girls and Mrs. White off at every turn. Tavia squealed, and then saw that people on the sidewalks were quietly enjoying her discomfort.

  “Do let’s be dignified,” she said to Dorothy. “There! there’s a man staring—— Oh!”

  “It’s Mr. Lance!” cried Dorothy, recognizing their friend, the cowboy from the Double Chain Outfit.

  “My goodness! so it is,” agreed Tavia, and smiled upon the knight of the lariat ravishingly.

  Dorothy would have been glad to introduce Lance to Aunt Winnie and the boys, but the time did not seem opportune. The Mexican twisted his team into a side street, and the coach took the corner on two wheels only!

  As Dorothy caught at the rail and hung on for dear life, she looked back and saw Lance hailed by another man. She could not mistake this second individual; it was Mr. Philo Marsh. As their coach plunged around the corner Dorothy saw Marsh seize the cowboy by the arm and lead him confidentially away.

  There was too much happening to her personally just then for Dorothy Dale to wonder much about this association of the cowpuncher and Philo Marsh. The mustangs settled into a gallop and the stagecoach was whirled out of town in a cloud of dust. But when the cobbles were left behind, the vehicle jounced less, and they could get their breath.

  “Don’t ever ask me to sit upon such a thing again, Edward,” exclaimed Mrs. White, with some exasperation.

  “But if you had gone inside, you’d have been shaken about like a loose pea in a pod,” declared her son. “I fancy you are better off up here, mother.”

  The sweep of the road that lay before them was gray and dusty. The trees were scrub, and there was rather a deserted look to the country immediately outside of Dugonne.

  Wheeling southwest, they quickly lost the railroad lines, and low hills surrounded them. There was not a house in sight, and the last few they had seen were merely slab shacks—some with corrugated iron roofs.

  But within two miles of the edge of the town they descried a moving figure ahead, even if no human habitation appeared. It was a woman, trudging along, at the bottom of an arroyo, or dry water-course, which here was the trail.

  She did not look around at them, but the young folks on top of
the coach got a clear view of the lonely figure. She wore a close black bonnet, and she carried a basket in one hand. Her decent black dress was gray with dust.

  “Do you see who that is, Tavia Travers!” gasped Dorothy, suddenly. “It’s Mrs. Petterby!”

  “Never!” ejaculated Tavia.

  The mustangs began to prick up their ears as they approached the lone pedestrian. Dorothy bent forward and seized the Mexican’s shoulder.

  “Stop them—do stop them, sir!” she cried. “We know that old lady and we’ll give her a ride if she’s going our way.”

  The Mexican yelled at the mustangs, and dragged them down to a slower pace. They did not want to stop, but by the time they came abreast of the little old lady from Rand’s Falls, Massachusetts, they were merely trotting.

  “Mrs. Petterby!” cried Dorothy, leaning down from the seat and waving her hand. “Wherever are you going—and with Ophelia?”

  “Bless us!” exclaimed Mrs. Petterby. “If it ain’t that nice Dale gal—and all her folks. I was re’l worrited about you, my dear—and your pretty friend. I see you caught up all right,” and she nodded and smiled at them all, while the mustangs impatiently shook their heads and stamped with all their sixteen hoofs.

  “We are all right, surely, Mrs. Petterby,” said Dorothy’s aunt. “But what are you doing on this road?”

  “Why, Ma’am, I expect to meet my son out this a-way. They told me he often stops with a man named Nicholson, just beyond here. I didn’t feel like payin’ for a ride; and I’m spry. But Ophelia’s gittin’ cross.”

  There was a flutter inside the basket and the nearest horse pricked up his ears and rolled his eyes at it.

  “Is Nicholson’s on our road?” Dorothy asked the Mexican driver.

  “Si, si!” said the man. “She not far.”

  “You will ride with us, won’t you, Mrs. Petterby?” cried Dorothy.

  “Wal, child, that’s pretty high for me to climb, ain’t it?”

  But she was tired and warm, and the chance to ride tempted her. Spry as she was, back in Rand’s Falls, this dust and sun of Colorado were different.

  “We’ll give her a hand up,” exclaimed Ned.